fluxscape mods. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fluxscapemod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fluxscape2020-08-14 09:00 pm
fluxscapemod) wrote in fluxscape2020-08-14 09:00 pm
Entry tags:
Arrivals - Beachville - OPEN LOG
Who: You and Jerry, the info booth guy!
What: Arrivals! Information! Money! New Homes!
Where: What's commonly referred to as the Information Hub.
When: August 15th, Mid Afternoon.
Synopsis: New faces arrive in Beachville. Jerry is a helper! Probably! Most likely, he isn't. At least, not as well as people wish. He can only tell people so much, see. But there are cookies, if you aren't a jerk.
It starts off simple enough. There isn't even any warning. No feeling like something's coming. No little instinct in the back of your head or what have you that tells you change is coming. You blink, your setting has changed. It's as simple and as quick as that. From where you stand, you're surrounded by tall palm trees. The ground beneath your feet is a mix of dirt and sand and you can smell the ocean. A clean, salty scent only found on untouched, tropical paradises. You can hear the sounds of the beach. People laughing, amusement park rides thundering in the background. And it's actually pretty peaceful. Even the weather is perfect. Just the right amount of Summer heat without being muggy or humid. There are tropical birds singing in the trees around you, and a light breeze in the trees, rustling the leaves. It's pleasant. Until someone clears their throat nearby. And this is when you notice you're not the only person standing there with a confused look on your face. You're part of a crowd, surrounding an information booth with an older gentleman inside.
Was that information booth always there? And how long has the man inside been watching you with that look on his face that suggests he's internally sighing at your presence? He seems friendly enough, however, and once all eyes are on him, he begins speaking.
"Can I have your attention please?" he says, voice calm, lightly accented. And certainly 'no nonsense.' "My name is Jerry Schiff and I run the information booth. I have several envelopes with names on them, so if you hear your name, please step forward and claim your money and information."
With that, he runs down the list of names. And what do you know, your name is on that list.
When you approach, you'll be handed a packet containing money, enough to get through the month, and an information pamphlet about Beachville, along with a note from the mayor welcoming you to town and telling you your stipend only lasts so long and there are many employment opportunities in town. There's also a map with an address and a set of keys. This is where you'll live. The last thing he says to you is to check the chest in your living-room, you'll know which one, before he hands the polite people a box of cookies. They smell amazing and the box is warm, like they're very, very fresh. You might even find your favorite cookies in the box. They've won awards and are delicious. Just as an aside, though; for anyone that's rude, no cookies. For anyone that tries to take a box anyway, they'll find the box is empty. Maybe even full of dead leaves and rocks. That's what you get for acting up, apparently.
Rude enough and he'll shut the information booth windows. No amount of knocking and screaming, magic or psychic abilities will get the doors open again. The booth is pretty resistant, as is the man inside.
Once everyone has their information, Jerry will thank everyone for their cooperation, close the booth down and head into town. Try to follow him. After rounding a corner, he'll seem to vanish and no amount of looking will find him again.
It seems as though the only things left to do are either talk to the people around you, or find your new home.
[ooc: please warn for anything triggery in your threads! thanks! ]
What: Arrivals! Information! Money! New Homes!
Where: What's commonly referred to as the Information Hub.
When: August 15th, Mid Afternoon.
Synopsis: New faces arrive in Beachville. Jerry is a helper! Probably! Most likely, he isn't. At least, not as well as people wish. He can only tell people so much, see. But there are cookies, if you aren't a jerk.
It starts off simple enough. There isn't even any warning. No feeling like something's coming. No little instinct in the back of your head or what have you that tells you change is coming. You blink, your setting has changed. It's as simple and as quick as that. From where you stand, you're surrounded by tall palm trees. The ground beneath your feet is a mix of dirt and sand and you can smell the ocean. A clean, salty scent only found on untouched, tropical paradises. You can hear the sounds of the beach. People laughing, amusement park rides thundering in the background. And it's actually pretty peaceful. Even the weather is perfect. Just the right amount of Summer heat without being muggy or humid. There are tropical birds singing in the trees around you, and a light breeze in the trees, rustling the leaves. It's pleasant. Until someone clears their throat nearby. And this is when you notice you're not the only person standing there with a confused look on your face. You're part of a crowd, surrounding an information booth with an older gentleman inside.
Was that information booth always there? And how long has the man inside been watching you with that look on his face that suggests he's internally sighing at your presence? He seems friendly enough, however, and once all eyes are on him, he begins speaking.
"Can I have your attention please?" he says, voice calm, lightly accented. And certainly 'no nonsense.' "My name is Jerry Schiff and I run the information booth. I have several envelopes with names on them, so if you hear your name, please step forward and claim your money and information."
With that, he runs down the list of names. And what do you know, your name is on that list.
When you approach, you'll be handed a packet containing money, enough to get through the month, and an information pamphlet about Beachville, along with a note from the mayor welcoming you to town and telling you your stipend only lasts so long and there are many employment opportunities in town. There's also a map with an address and a set of keys. This is where you'll live. The last thing he says to you is to check the chest in your living-room, you'll know which one, before he hands the polite people a box of cookies. They smell amazing and the box is warm, like they're very, very fresh. You might even find your favorite cookies in the box. They've won awards and are delicious. Just as an aside, though; for anyone that's rude, no cookies. For anyone that tries to take a box anyway, they'll find the box is empty. Maybe even full of dead leaves and rocks. That's what you get for acting up, apparently.
Rude enough and he'll shut the information booth windows. No amount of knocking and screaming, magic or psychic abilities will get the doors open again. The booth is pretty resistant, as is the man inside.
Once everyone has their information, Jerry will thank everyone for their cooperation, close the booth down and head into town. Try to follow him. After rounding a corner, he'll seem to vanish and no amount of looking will find him again.
It seems as though the only things left to do are either talk to the people around you, or find your new home.
[ooc: please warn for anything triggery in your threads! thanks! ]
no subject
“I’ve not eaten in weeks.” He sighs—but rather than gorge himself, he offers her first pick from the box.
“Go on, now. Swear on my soul, these smell just like the ones the widow Ragenau makes back in Paris.”
no subject
Then she shakes her head a little as he offers her a cookie from the box, her nose wrinkling briefly. "I'm not hungry but thank you."
She doesn't want to tell him that she feels a bit sick at the moment but she is sure that it is probably obvious on her face. Pressing her lips together, she looks around, squinting a bit at just how bright it is or how blue the sky is. Very different from the dark chill of the night that she remembered last in Beacon Hills. It almost feels wrong somehow.
Then she looks at him again. "You're from Paris?"
no subject
"One bite." he presses gently. Removing one madeleine from the box, he offered it to her with gentle sobriety. "No more. Yer in shock, mon amie. You've been ripped from the battlefield, wounded and lost in a strange place. Yer stomach may rebel at the notion, but the sugar will steady yer nerves."
Setting his box down, he broke the cookie in half and pressed the smaller portion into her hand.
"One bite. That's all."
no subject
"Merci." She murmurs, taking the small half that he offers her. She breaks off a smaller bite before popping it in her mouth, letting it soften somewhat until she chews and swallows.
"What did you mean by starving for weeks?" She asks, glancing at him again.
no subject
"Parlez-vous Francais?" he asked. The little nod he got in return brought a brief, but impossibly bright smile to his face--there and gone in an instant.
When she asked about his situation, he switched to French for the comfort of it.
"We've been fighting the Spanish for weeks, my company and I. They cut supply lines--food's all but gone, and the water rations will give out soon. I don't always take mine, give them to the other men."
He laughs without humor, finally reaching for a madeleine of his own now that she's taken at least a bite, switching back to English.
"'Fraid I was a bit delirious when I arrived here, I s'pose. I don't remember how it happened, just wakin' up with a needle in my arm and a pillow 'neath my head."
He finally takes a bite of his cookie--and the way his eyes drift shut, the slow and deliberate way he chews, makes it clear that he's remembering the taste of food again, the sensuous feel of food's texture--the pleasure of flavor bursting across his tongue.
no subject
"You were fighting the Spanish?" She asks curiously at the same time he gives a humorless laugh while finally reaching for his own cookie.
But then she is distracted by the way he eats his cookie and the way his eyes drift closed as he looks like he has found a moment of intense bliss. She figures it has something to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten for a while but there is something about it as well that makes her cheeks warm as she looks away, swallowing thickly.
no subject
"Aye, that we were." he replied, forcing himself to shut his box after wolfing down several cookies in a row. "I serve with the Gascon back home--you? What's yer regiment?"
no subject
"Just..." Not that she knows how to explain it at the moment. "I'm not a soldier."
no subject
Women didn't serve, it wasn't done, but that didn't mean they couldn't--and she was not of his world.
"You've no regiment, fine, but a soldier you remain." he added. "We're not like civilians--we bear the weight of our sword in ways ye canna' hide. The way you bear yours."
no subject
Of course, he was a stranger.
Then she looked mildly uncomfortable as she sat a bit straighter at the comment that she was bearing the weight of her sword. "What do you mean?"
no subject
The effort made him smile just a little--warm, if sad.
"It's the way you hold yerself, the look in yer eye--nothin' that obvious." he reassured her. "The way you check a wound with such a steady hand. You're a blooded soldier, you are...the kind of thing only another soldier would see with clarity."
He hesitates, and his breath catches with the sudden inspiration that strikes him as he watches her.
"A fragile flower
Its petals bent low--
Yielding, finds power:
a soft stem can grow."
no subject
Swallowing thickly, she looked at the rest of her cookie before setting it down. Then she ran a hand through her hair, leaning against the table as she thought about what to say.
“I was fighting...right before I came here. I was trying to help my friends. We were all trying to save my best friend who had been...taken.”