Week 5: April 29th - May 3rd

[cartesio]

Fifth Week

Everything's getting worse. Rose Nylund and Frasier Crane murdered Jughead Jones during the event Jughead worked so hard to organize. Given some of the townspeople were in attendance, it didn't give a good impression -- if the visitors did this when trying to be good people and get along with Cartesio, then how will they behave once they get into destroying everything? The cruel method of Jughead's death also left everyone quite horrified, too.

That may be why it's no surprise the town's quiet unrest is slowly turning into real, tangible fury.

During the week, from time to time stones break some of the windows of the motel, looking outside shows a random passerby running away. Graffiti is left on the walls: 'SEE IF YOU LIKE THIS' 'MURDERERS' 'YOU'RE GOING TO DESTROY US ALL', and other similar messages. Some of the store owners hesitate when the visitors approach, but they don't refuse service because money is always nice.

The Sergeant's pervasive influence is starting to cover not only you, but also the entire town of Cartesio. After all, everything that's happening to you and the motel? It's the result of what you and the other visitors have done.

In the lobby of the motel there's a few more brochures, and the maps have been updated once again.

Links

IC Rules
Guestbook
Room Assignments
Events
Locations
NPCs
Activity Check

Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday

[Welcome to the fifth week! If you want to contact the Sergeant, please post here!. Also please remember to submit your activity check!]

Comments

[amburere]

[ For once the fire in his chest is muted. That might be an instinctive response to all of this, the memories he can't shake, the ludicrous yet earnest nature of the situation, the routines he's developed in the past few weeks in spite of himself. There's so much wrong here, and the worst part of it all is how there are pieces that might be right too. He can't tell anymore. He hasn't been able to tell in years.

There should only be one response to this. In the end, nothing really mattered—everything turned to ash eventually, anyway. He takes the flowers, his eyes drawn to the one contrasting blossom in the sea of blue. The fire never comes. ]

Blue and orange doesn't work in a bouquet. Or ikebana. [ Simply, lamely, this is all he can manage. It's something maybe; unconsciously he pulls the bouquet closer to his chest. ]

[icariot]

[Even if Hawks knew nothing might come of the flowers, or even something negative like Dabi just burning them, it’s relieving that it’s accepted—and, if he’s feeling bold enough to think so, enjoyed. It’s a somber looking happiness, but Hawks will take it. His hands find their way in his pockets, and he rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes. He can’t risk fidgeting with his wings in too tight quarters like this, so the energy has to come out some way.]

I’ve never been formally taught either of those. Or informally, really. I just know a lil bit of some common meanings, but that’s about it.

[Hero school doesn’t tell you anything about flower meanings, and his life before that was even less informative. Miruko and modeling have probably taught him the most in this subject, and even that’s not a lot.

Hawks often wishes he knew more about subjects when some obscure knowledge becomes necessary. Never before has he felt that way about flowers though.]

[amburere]

Picked up some things. [ Less automatic and more focused—the begged question of "where?" is purposely not elaborated on. He can't stay teetering on this line between the past and present, and the smooth texture of the leaves against his scarred hands isn't helping. There's a second where he pauses—no, he had made his decision already—and then he quickly tucks the bouquet into one of the inside pockets of his coat. He'll deal with what to do with it later.

His hands free he breathes out, looking directly at the winged hero in front of him. A beat passes where he quells an urge—if his hands touched anything else right now he might break. Cold to hot, hot to cold, he already wore enough cracks. Instead he settles for leaning back onto the pipe from earlier. ]

Never told me yours. Better not be green.

[icariot]

[The question of "where?" did occur to Hawks, but it doesn't take more than half a moment to toss the idea of asking aside. Direct questions never usually got him anywhere, especially not with how firmly Dabi's body language closes off that avenue of talk. The flowers disappearing into Dabi's coat is an encouraging sign, and he works to tone down the smile tugging at his lips.

The follow up question isn't a terribly far leap for context, so it doesn't take him any extra time to think on it.]

You didn't believe me before, but it is blue.

[amburere]

Bluebird? [ It's the first thought that comes to mind instead of peacock from their talk weeks earlier. With a shake of his head, he clear a tired melody heard from a weathered radio many years ago.

A small smirk as he works to find his center again. ]

So that's why you like my fire so much, huh?

[icariot]

[Hawks almost wants Dabi called him ‘bluebird’ somewhere people could hear—it’d be amusing for them to wonder what part of Hawks looks at all blue.

He had started to tone down the smile earlier, but it creeps up again as an answering coy smirk.]

Certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s blue, that’s for sure.

[Dabi’s flames aren’t the only thing Hawks has an increasing appreciation for, but he won’t volunteer that information just yet.]

[amburere]

Changed my mind. You're clearly a cuckoo bird instead. [ There's no attempt at disguising the equal parts fondness and snark here. Might have something to do with the fact that he was unconsciously chasing that smile too. ]

Explains why I haven't needed an alarm clock for weeks.

[icariot]

Hey hey, you're the one with weirder sleeping habits than me. [Will he ever let the "I'm perfectly willing to sleep drunk in the graveyard" thing go? Probably not in this lifetime.] Besides, early bird gets the worm, and I can't exactly ignore my brethren when they come calling.

[And if Hawks is physically unable to not wake up when the birds start going off, Dabi obviously suffers the consequences too.]

[amburere]

[ He tilts his head downward in deference—guilty as charged on the first count, normally his sleeping habits are shit. A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. ]

Can't you? We'll see 'bout that tomorrow. [ At that he separates himself from the pipe he was leaning on, adjusting his jacket to accommodate the bouquet for travel. He can't stay here where every other word he's tempted to let the wall he's built up burn to the ground. ]

[icariot]

[Hawks wings give a slight shutter in lieu of a joyous shake. He's still cautious of all the plants and clutter around him, but he couldn't stop the reaction in it's entirety.]

It's on, hotshot.

[He'll give a grin and raise a hand in a lazy wave, when Dabi turns to leave. As much as Dabi wants to leave, it's obvious neither can stay away for long.]