introductory mingle: MEMORIA

[riverviewmod]

who: everyone in Riverview!
what: Introductory Log and Memoria Commemoration
when: May 1st - May 8th
where: Anywhere around the city.
warnings: please put any necessary warnings in the subject lines

memoria

In the days leading up to May 1st, residents new and old will notice preparations beginning, a flurry of activity getting the city ready for the upcoming celebration: Memoria. A more solemn celebration than Sampremi or the Flower Festival, Memoria is a week-long time of remembrance for those lost in the Great War and the epidemic that decimated Riverview Quarantine's population 10 years ago. Memoria traditions include lighting lanterns for the dead, telling stories about lost loved ones or lost homes, eating meals with loved ones, and a special gathering to send floating lanterns down the river in honor of those lost.

a solemn commemoration of those lost

While the main city-wide event associated with Memoria is the floating of lanterns down the river on the evening of May 8th, the holiday is generally seen as a time of reflection on and appreciation of things that have been lost - people, homes, cultures, and planets. It is also a celebration of the things that remain. Many locally-owned shops will host displays of culturally-significant food, and will hand out informational flyers sharing the unique customs of their own homeworlds. There is a heavy emphasis on sharing time with family, friends, and lovers, and anyone who is able to will cook meals or treats for loved ones, or at least purchase them something good to eat.

i. hanging lanterns

Throughout the entire week of Memoria, residents will be hanging lanterns around the city. Lanterns are generally placed in greater number in places of passage - streets, bridges, and all alongside the train lines are particularly well-decorated, as are any trees alongside paths, and most homes and businesses have a profusion of lanterns around their doors and windows. This tradition is twofold; some people believe that the lanterns are hung in these places in order to guide the spirits of the dead back to those who still love them, other people believe that the lanterns are to give light for living loved ones to find their doors in times of darkness...many people believe both.

No matter what your character might believe, you can be sure they will find themselves offered a lantern for free from various businesses or friendly citizens passing by, and invited to hang it before the sun sets, or they may be handed a bundle of lanterns and asked to help share them with others.

ii. sharing life

Throughout the city, characters will find groups of people gathering to share hot drinks and talk about their loved ones lost, their homes and planets, or their experiences during the Great War and the epidemic. Anyone who has lost someone, who has fought to survive, who is feeling cut off and homesick, is welcome to sit and share their story. If your character chooses to sit and to share their story, they will find that people will gather to listen, will generally be respectful of the telling, and may share their own similar experiences in return. This is an excellent time to air grief in an environment where most people understand and respect grief, and a good time to deepen the connections to others around you, to understand them better.

There is also a very large focus on cooking or purchasing meals or treats for loved ones during Memoria, with many people taking meals with everyone they care about during the week of the holiday. Some go the extra mile and will hand out baked goods (usually chocolate or cinnamon), packets of candy, or other little treats to acquaintances, especially if they would like to form a closer bond with them. This is a great time for characters to reach out to someone they would like to get to know better with a surprise treat!

iii. floating of the lanterns

On the evening of May 8th, just before sundown, many of the city's residents will head toward the banks of the river, where they will light lanterns in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, in honor of their dead loved ones. The types of lanterns vary wildly, based on personality (either of the person floating it or the person they are honoring), culture, and many other factors. Some lanterns are very simple, others are incredibly complex, but the one common feature they all have is that people write on the shades of them - they write about their feelings for their loved ones, their wishes for their relationships and friendships, a memory from childhood or home, or even just lines of poetry or lyrics from songs that express something they miss, or something that hurts them.

Once those emotions are written on the lanterns, the lanterns are set free, floating down the river in the darkening evening, in a cathartic gesture shared by most residents of the city. Waves of lantern floating will start around 7 pm and continue until the sun rises on the morning of May 9th.

iv. roommates or wildcard

Feel free to use this prompt to set up headers for a communal floor, or threads open to roommates for the purpose of getting to know each other. Or if you have an idea for a prompt that isn't in this list, set during Memoria, feel free to write it up!

visual inspiration

click on thumbnails for larger view

Credit: image i: glowconcepts, image ii: by trenchmaker, image iv: cherryorange; image iii: found uncredited on Pinterest - please let the mod know if you find credit!

navigation

Comments

Morgan Knight | OTA

[morganknight]

I.

Don't ask him how, but Morgan had a dozen lanterns all tucked away in his arms, a shade more than he could easily handle. But that didn't stop him from smiling his way down the street as if all was well with life, though if he saw people who obviously weren't native he veered their way.

"Semi-official lantern distribution! Hang a lantern for Memoria?"

Two more lanterns hung from one of the buttons of his open coat, kept separate from the others. Those definitely weren't for distribution.

2a.

Ask him and Morgan will say he had no stories to tell, and he will stick to that, damn it.

Instead, he sought out others who had a story to tell, joining in the small congregations that gathered around others who spoke up. When they finished, he reached into a pocket of his coat, tugged out a little packet of chocolates, and offered it up.

"I know it's not much, but. A little good thing, when you're remembering the bad."

2b. For existing CR

Morgan had pockets full of candy, chocolates, cinnamon cookies, and a couple of drinking birds that weren't exactly holiday-appropriate but he figured were cool little gifts anyway, and as he roamed around he kept an eye out for people he already knew. As soon as he spotted one, he swerved in that direction, homing in with intent as he pulled one of his goodies out.

"Spirit of the holidays!" he said, offering it over.

III.

The good mood couldn't last forever.

Morgan knelt on the riverbank, using a brush and ink to write on the side of a lantern. He didn't have much artistic talent, as a quick look at the second lantern sitting by his leg showed. The image on it was barely recognizable as a swan, if one squinted.

But the lantern in his hand didn't take art. All it needed was one sentence for Morgan to say everything he needed to, and he put the period on it with a flick of his wrist, then let the brush fall back to the ink pot by his side.

'I will love you forever,' it said.

Lifting his other hand to the side of the lantern, Morgan bowed his head and shut his eyes.

((I will match style if you prefer brackets!))

i

[burntbridges]

He'd offered her one that seemed almost from her time, laced with light metal cut-outs and lit with a burning candle. So perhaps he notices a bit of nervous energy as she gives the lantern a wide berth, instead moving to take one of the others from under his arm that's lit by use of some sort of harmless magic instead. She feels safer with an inexplicable glowing orb near her, instead of a candle.

"Quite the holiday, isn't it... I expected another party, but I must say I prefer this sort of ceremony."

Thornwell has no need for honoring the dead, as the Regis family can all speak to their lost loved ones when they please. But Letha is finding herself in the unique position of being able to understand the feeling of loss... and that's rather novel to her still.

Fatima Merali | OTA | Will match style!

[dust_of_life]

Hanging Lanterns

Fatima was trying as hard as she could to remain utterly unmoved by the ceremonies taking place around her. Half of it was that carefully cultivated image of hers. The other half was the fact that dealing with her feelings tended to work out best for her when she didn't deal with them. She knew she was prone to spiraling. And when she spiraled, it ended to end in a lot of vampires dead. Possibly some unjustified.

Possibly.

But still, for some reason she couldn't really name, when she was offered a lantern by one of the local Moonies, she accepted it. And throughout the rest of the day, she could be found here and there, staring at the lantern like it was both an answer and a question.

Life was always complicated when you were a dhampir princess. And death even more so.

Sharing Life

She wasn't really sure how it happened. Fatima had only gone out to stretch her legs. And to have an excuse to wrap herself in her favorite coat, the one Liam had given to her for her birthday. Maybe it was a way to feel closer to him. She wasn't questioning it too much. Anyway, at some point in her wandering, she wandered her way right into a group of locals sharing...death customs. It was really weird, but she stopped to listen and after that, she was hooked. The next thing she knew, they were asking about her own mourning.

Noddism didn't really provide a lot. But then there was Auntie Diana. She seemed to have a song for every occasion. And Fatima remembered the one that she always sang at funerals.

In the wasteland,
The land laid waste
The fruit of knowledge has a bitter taste
But the bliss of ignorance
Can never be replaced
It's lost in the wilderness

Fatima's voice was hardly American Idol caliber. But she could carry a tune. And without really meaning to, she carried the weight of emotion in her song. Enough to just barely crack her icy veneer.

Floating of the Lanterns

Okay, maybe she'd had a little too much of the Kool-Aid. Or maybe she really needed this exercise. Either way, Fatima decided to release her lantern.

She'd put a lot of thought into what she wanted to say. There was far too much unfinished business between her and her mother. There was how Fatima could never live up to Parvana Merali's greatness. And the anger that she'd left her alone just when she was figuring out who she was. And regret. Oh, so, so, so much regret.

In the end, her message was simple:

Mom. I will always love you.

A trifle cliche, maybe. And not exactly poetry in motion. But it was from the heart and, ultimately, that was what mattered, right?

Fatima let the lantern go, holding on with her barest of fingertips until the absolute possible moment. What was it Auntie Diana used to say? 'The hardest part of love is the letting go.' Shit, Auntie Diana had that right.

[OOC: This is in prose, but I'll happily match style, no problem. Also very open to any wildcard scenarios.]

hanging lanterns;

[advanced]

[Fatima isn't the only one who's somehow found themselves the proud owner of a new lantern that they're not entirely sure what to do with, Bucky is also clutching one oh-so-carefully in his gloved left hand as though afraid he might splinter the delicate wood if he holds on more tightly.

He glances over, only to see the strange woman who he has encountered once or twice - Fatima - nearby.]

You know what these are for?

[He didn't really listen when one was pushed at him, too busy being surprised and then backing off.]

sam wilson | mcu | ota

[wingedman]

i
[Sam has a bundle of lanterns, and he's bustling around the front of the townhouse he shares with Wanda, hanging them around the doors and windows. Eventually, he figures that he's hung enough - but there are still a few extras leftover. While most of the passersby carry one or more already, he eventually approaches someone without any lanterns.]

Hey, you need any of these?

[Might as well share the wealth, right?]

ii [closed to previous cr]
[If you're one of Sam's friends, expect to receive some baked goods sometime this week - a small packet of brownies or snickerdoodles, pressed into your hand or left somewhere for you to find. While his previous gifts haven't indicated a giver, these include a small note to the effect that the recipient has a standing invitation to dinner all week, should they choose to come. They're going to be making extra food, so there's no need to RSVP - just show up. The invitation includes the address to Sam and Wanda's house.]

iii
[Sam's lantern is simple, without much in the way of decoration, and only a few words written on it. He waits till late in the night to release it, in a place of relative solitude. Though he's smiling as he lets it go, tears shine in his eyes, reflected by the light of the lanterns. He's not one to openly express his grief, but tonight, just this once, he lets himself do it.

When he turns away from the water, he reaches up to wipe the tears away from his eyes. Eventually, he finds a vendor selling some kind of fruit juice and buys a cup, sitting down on a bench to sort through his emotions. He doesn't want to go home just yet, and he's not opposed to sitting and people-watching for a little bit, despite the late hour. There are still plenty of people out, carrying lanterns to the river, or returning with empty hands.]

iv
[Wildcard! Feel free to PM me or drop me a line on plurk if you want something not listed here.]

i

[smokedout]

Nah - I got no one to grieve, so. Don't need one.

[He's lying through his teeth, and.. let's face it, no one who looks like Dodger gets there without grief. But he's not about to admit it outright.]

How'd you end with so many, though - you just that bad at saying no to people?

taako | the adventure zone | ota

[spellslots]

☂ one

[This whole thing is the exact opposite of what Taako would want to do like, ever. Grief isn't for airing with strangers, or for dwelling on, it's for burying down real deep and ignoring, which is exactly what he's spent his life doing. Who cares if his family is dead? Who cares about the people he lost in the wars? He never knew any of them long enough to miss them or to mourn them.

So he's not exactly on board with Memoria, as a whole, but that's not going to stop him from getting out and doing the shit he normally does.

Which means at some point, someone tries to hand him a lantern.]

Yeah, uh, no thanks, homie. There's no one I need to lead any—

[anywhere, he means to say, but the word sticks in his throat and there's an ache in his chest that he can't quite place, because there's a tiny part of him that says there is.

The thought isn't one he knows how to deal with, so he quickly shoves the lantern at the closest person.]

Here, this was totally meant for you.

☂ two

[The one thing he can appreciate about Memoria is the focus on food, although the Flower Festival managed that without quite so much depressing shit. Still, this is something he can do without having to think about things like people who've died and people who will die.

He bakes up a storm, resulting in a lot of lantern shaped and delicately iced cookies that are wrapped in cellophane and offered to pretty much anyone he's had a conversation with before. It's basically free advertising, and that's not an opportunity he's going to pass up.

Closer friends are invited to his new digs for a meal, since as shitty as this whole festival thing is, he'd rather find distractions than lock himself away for the week. Every meal is expertly cooked, whether it's dinner, lunch, or the occasional mimosa brunch, and he seems to be in good spirits despite the nagging feeling that something is wrong.]

[[ooc: if you're not sure if your character would get an invite feel free to ask, but anyone he's had a few friendly conversations with is a safe bet!]]

☂ three; spoilers spoilers spoilers

[In the middle of Memoria, something arrives through the portal, a small leather flask filled with a dark, viscous liquid that's delivered to Taako by a perimeter guard. For two days, he ignores it, but finally, on the seventh, he drinks it.

And he remembers.

It nearly kills him, a century of memories crammed into his head instantly without anyone to guide him through it, but there's one single thought that sticks out through it all, and suddenly everything makes sense, from what he saw in the chalice, to the loneliness, to that odd pull of something missing.

Lup.

How could he forget Lup?

All his plans to avoid the floating of the lanterns are thrown immediately out the window, because he has to do something for her, even if this isn't their world, even if it's over half a decade too late. He spends the day searching for the perfect lantern, going from business to business and eyeing over every single one of the options available until he finds what he's looking for.

Sitting on the river bank, a little distance from the crowd, Taako sets down a lantern shaped almost like a lotus flower, except instead of petals, the paper is cut to look like flames. It's exactly what Lup would pick for herself, if she could, and before it floats away Taako casts continual flame on the lantern. The paper doesn't burn despite the flames covering the lantern, and he almost smiles as he watches it outshine the other lanterns as it floats down the river.

If he's crying, well, at least he wore waterproof mascara.]

[ iii ]

[supersweet]

[ Jon knows adults can cry. He's seen his father and mother cry at his . . . death? His vanishing? The whole experience was unclear. All he knew was that he was fading away in his father's arms and his dad was desperate, clinging, I won't let you go.

But sometimes, you had to let go.

Jon tugs on Taako's sleeve quietly, not saying anything yet. ]

Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson | Vikings | OTA

[ragnarsson]

I

[Once Ivar cottons on to what this particular festival is all about, he pretty much shuts down emotionally for a full day. He thought he was done mourning for the loss of his parents and becoming an orphan in such a short period of time, having screamed it all out in Kattegat before turning his thoughts to revenge. But apparently not. He misses both of them terribly. They were the only people who had ever loved him or believed he could be more than just a helpless cripple.

He actively seeks out a few lanterns. If this is the way to properly mourn the dead, he'll partake in it. He can be found staring at several different varieties located at one of the bigger shops, trying to decide which ones would be most appropriate. For his mother, he thinks of a white one, something with a floral design on it. His father is a little more difficult. He would never associate Ragnar with something as gentle as a lantern. He'll have to use a little imagination for this one.

Anyone who knows him will think that he's just his usual sarcastic and slightly abrasive self. But speak to him for a few minutes and it's going to become quite apparent he's crumbling on the inside. For all his tough nature, he's still just a kid who lost his parents.]


II

[Stories. Alright, this is something he can actually deal with. He's back on familiar territory here. The oral tradition is strong among the Vikings. It's how they spread news, tell tales of the gods and men alike, and generally keep their world alive. He knows Ragnar and Aslaug would have found it amusing that he was telling stories about them. Though it's extremely hard, he decides he has to speak. He's quieter than he usually is at first, but that will change as he continues.]

I'm going to tell you a story about Ragnar Lothbrok, the most famous Viking in the world. He was a legend in his own time. And he was my father...

[Anyone who listens to him to tell a story will be able to hear the love and grief pouring through his voice. He's got several stories to tell, so anyone who comes in late will just hear a different one.]

III

[When it comes time to release the lanterns, Ivar knows what to write on them. He's illiterate as far as the English alphabet goes, but he's been taught the Nordic runes. On the lantern for Ragnar, he writes, ᚢ, Uruz, the rune that shapes power and the sense of self, what his father had done for him. On the lantern for his mother, he writes ᛇ, Eihwaz, the rune that provided dependability and helped one achieve their goals. They represent all that his family had given him.

After he lets them go, he watches them float away into the sky. It's a cathartic moment, and unbidden, tears spring to his eyes. He hasn't allowed himself to miss them, too caught up in thoughts of revenge, allowing that to sustain him rather than any soft emotions that would make him seem weak.

Finally, his will has entirely crumbled and he's left to cry his eyes out. Anyone who approaches him right now is probably going to get told to fuck off, but he might also accept sympathies from people he knows.]

IV

[Want a particular starter or just want to give the prickly little badass a hug? Do so here!]

I

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Bucky isn't exactly looking for anyone as he browses the shops selling lanterns for the festival. He's just looking, debating if he's going to when in Rome this whole thing and participate, or if he'll stay home with a few beers and a bad movie on the TV. Maybe it'll be nice. The locals say it gives you a feeling of catharsis.

He's picking up a delicate white lantern when he spots his youngest floormate across the aisle. Bucky sets it back down again, and crosses over, his movements deceptively casual and without purpose. He looks at the row of lanterns, reaching out to pick up a delicate blue thing lacquered with dried flowers before he sets it back down, deciding against it.] Looking for something in particular?

peggy carter 💄 marvel tv 💄 ota

[mannerism]

hanging lanterns;

[ so perhaps, this onslaught of lanterns has gotten peggy carter in a mood. she's entirely unhappy, one would even say a bit annoyed by being offered one at every turn. she feels a fair share of grief but has not a single intention of making it known or sharing it in any way.

you might catch sight of her in the middle of an annoyed strut down the street, not stopping to even deny the lanterns offered to her. only when stopped, she will reply with a terribly-polite-while-terribly-frosty: ]

No thank you.

[ and if you happen to be watching, well! you might find yourself on the receiving end of the same frosty stare. ]

sharing life;

[ but then, every now and then, her sour mood fades, leaving behind nostalgia and longing and a sadness that cannot be denied.

she still has no intention of sharing any of that with the near-strangers of the city. However, you might catch her standing at a safe distance from the different groups, listening and not saying a word before silently turning away.

a quiet, somber audience, she makes; and yet she offers nothing of her own in return. perhaps the subject of great wars and loss strikes too close to home. ]

floating;

[ and then evening comes and large crowds gather near the river to float their lanterns.

peggy carter had some symbolic goodbyes. one was very recent, a vial of blood spilled into the east river, the view of a sunset off the brooklyn bridge ( bye, my darling ) and there were other, silent, private ones and many other goodbyes that she was denied.

she doesn't join the masses. she chooses one of the ( seemingly ) isolated spots to place a single lantern on the water. she wrote nothing, there is nothing to write. peggy had lost so many people. she has lost a brother and friends and allies and men she couldn't stand but could still appreciate and soldiers she barely knew but still mourned. their names wouldn't fit on the lantern, her words wouldn't be worthy of their sacrifice.

if there's someone else there, they won't see any tears. just a steely yet vulnerable expression and a well-mannered: ]

I'm sorry. please.

[ she'll rise to her feet, keen to offer any newcomer some privacy. ]

drinking;

[ once the lantern has been sailed across the water and evening turns to night, she will venture to one of the city's pubs for a large scotch of three.

some things, some events, call for this, the burning in her throat and the clink of bottle to glass.

she won't entirely resist company if offered. ]

wild card + roommates;

[ for those who will want to find her, she'll usually be at the tenth floor. the days of memoria will be difficult and she will be found at the balcony overlooking the city, ankles crossed and quiet.

hardly the vibrant, professional front she usually wears. ]

drinking;

[bone_idle]

[ There's someone else at the bar, has been since, well, before Peggy's arrival. In fact, there's probably a few others scattered around, probably for a lot of the same reasons. In one corner a man stares at his drink with his thoughts a thousand light years away, thinking, perhaps, of his own loved ones, a whole universe away.

There's a woman cradling a glass of wine even as the other hand writes looping line after line in a notebook, putting to paper what she means to say to the people important to her. She has them waiting for her elsewhere in the Quarantine Zone, one of the fortunate, but she's not the sort who can unload her feelings to a circle of even the most sympathetic of ears.

The small figure stooped on a bar stool has his hood up, the better to not upset a patron unused to seeing monsters in their midst, or at least, living skeletons. Who knows? They might be too drunk to refrain from making a scene, and Sans? Heh, he just wants to drink.

Fortunately, it seems like no matter what's goin' on out there, there's always a bar open at night. He's stirring with one bony phalanx a drink that could well be a bloody mary, just judging by the color. It is, just barely. The bartender doesn't comment anymore on his inclination to drink up his supply of ketchup, after finding it invites a barrage of increasingly terrible condiment-based puns.

Spying a familiar face from around the office that has just joined the bar, he wipes his phalanx off with a bar napkin, using that hand to rest his head, elbow firmly planted on the bar. The wink he aims at her is as knowing as it is somnolent; you too, huh? ]

And to think we gotta whole week of this. It's Carter, right?

[ There was only the most passing of introductions to the Force, he's the new guy and doesn't expect to be recognized, let alone remembered -- except as maybe 'that skeleton in criminal profiling'. ]

[advanced]

sharing life;

[Bucky has no desire to tell stories of his own life, but he's there to listen to the tales of others. Maybe it will help, a reminder that he's not the only one drifting through life with a past of grief and pain, or maybe it will just be a distraction for a while.

He's sitting on the fringes of whatever group has gathered, his eyes fixed intently on whoever is doing the storytelling no matter who it is.]

floating lanterns;

[Somehow he's managed to get hold of his own lantern, a little brittle affair with paper sides and a simple aesthetic. His problem is that he doesn't have a pen, his last one ran out a couple of days back and he hasn't replaced it yet. He doesn't want to set it going without any markings, and so he'll look around for anyone nearby.]

Do you have a pen?

[For once, he looks almost relaxed. This festival is sad, but it doesn't feel like a threatening thing to be involved in.]

fireflies/wildcard;

[Bucky can be found in the park most days, either flying his mended kite, jogging, or running through shadow boxing moves a safe distance from everyone else. I am open to all the fireflies, with the exception of lust, so just let me know which one you want him to be bitten by!]

floating lanterns

[livingsymbol]

[Steve is interpreting the lantern decoration in his own way. With not much he feels he can say (at least not much that hasn't already been said), he falls back on what he knows: he draws. His lantern screens are filled with small scenes of figures and locations far out of reach, and it actually feels good to get drawing again, even if it is rough.

He does notice when Bucky walks by, though. There's just something about the man that gets Steve's attention no matter what he's doing, and despite not being close by or really knowing him, he immediately becomes aware of him when he asks someone a few feet off for a pen. Steve, to his credit, does hold back. He tries to tell himself to leave well enough alone, but Steve Rogers is bad at leaving things. He always has been. And that's why he ends up walking toward Bucky, stopping a safe distance away once the man notices him.]

Would charcoal work?

Bucky Barnes (616) | OTA

[anotheroldsoldier]

[I. Sharing Life]
[A group gathered in a park on an nice afternoon, here, apparently, to share stories of their lost loved ones. Bucky joins the circle out of curiosity, at first, but he finds himself smiling slightly as the others get things off their chests, find some sort of relief or closure out of sharing their memories. One turns to him and asks if he's going to share, and he seems flustered for a moment.]

Oh, uh. I don't know, I'd probably bore you all to death.

[II. Floating of the Lanterns]
[Bucky has found himself a spot along the banks of the river, a grassy little spot away from the crowds where he can lean over a slight precipice to drop his lanterns a couple feet into the water. He has a few spread out on the grass beside him, along with a few colors of paint in little glass jars and a brush. He's no artist, not really, but his plain white lanterns deserved a few strokes of color, he thought.

The one he's working on, square and otherwise plain, is sitting in his lap, currently bearing three names: Knuckles O'Toole, Geoffrey Vandergill, Henry Tinklebaum. Focused on his work, he forms the letters of a fourth name with careful brush strokes - Washington Jones. After a moment of thought, he adds below them, Friends. Allies. Heroes. Blowing on the paint, he waits for it to dry and lights the candle inside, before he leans over, sets it adrift in the flowing water.

It's like a breath of relief. Catharsis. Closure. His shoulders relax noticeably as he picks up another lantern. This one... This one, he paints on the name of a girl, just her first name, and he has to stop, staring down at it with an unreadable expression.

Gretchen.] This holiday really gets you thinking, don't it?

[III. Floor 5]
[Giving sweets to people you love, or people you want to get closer to, is apparently a tradition, but Bucky does not bake. Ever. That has never been and likely never will be in his skill set. He does, though, grill like a pro, even on the dinkiest charcoal grill.

If asked, he'll say he just felt like having some, but today he has a six pack of alcoholic cider and a bowl full of halved fruits that look a bit like peaches or nectarines. The grill out on the deck of Floor 5 is up and burning, and soon, the sweet scents of grilled fruit and cinnamon fill the late-evening air. He's got a cooler with a few pints of vanilla ice cream, and some store-bought cookies on the patio table.

If anybody on his floor comes out to join him under the stars, he's happy to fix them a bowl - or if anyone on the other floors happens to smell what's cooking, he'll invite them for a sit-down, too.]

[Closed to Michael Scofield]
[Later in the night, Bucky has one lantern left, a simple, white paper one. The others he brought have been released, filled with little tea lights, and have been sent down the river with the rest of them. He's wandering along the bank, pen in hand and lantern in the other, staring down at it as if it holds the answers to whatever question is bothering him.

That's about when he finds Michael, though, somewhat attuned to the presence of people he knows in the crowd, and he stops beside him, standing in companionable silence for a few moments. His smile is small, subdued.]

It's a nice tradition, isn't it?

i

[livingsymbol]

[Steve is listening to everyone else's stories, not really settling into any one group. He hasn't felt right sharing, not when most of his memories right now are of more recent events and a point of frustration for him. The memories sit like slivers of glass in his skin that he can see, digging in and making every gesture uncomfortable.

He's relieved when he hears Bucky's voice. He moves in that direct, finding his friend sitting with a group of storytellers that are gathered around to share stories. It's an intimate circle, just a small number, and Steve can't help but smile at the way Bucky seems both at home there and flustered by the attention he seems to be getting now that it is his turn to tell a story. He comes up beside him, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder.]

I don't remember you ever being boring, partner.

Steve Rogers (616) | ota

[livingsymbol]

ii. sharing life

[Steve is meandering through the park, stopping occasionally at different points where people have gathered so he can hear their stories of loved ones. He stays at the edges of the groups, smiling and laughing when someone inevitably tells a story of a memory that can only be described as a beloved fiasco--an accident that was terrible at the time but, looking back, only makes their feelings for their lost loved one stronger. He doesn't really volunteer too much. When prompted, he tells a story or two of encounters in the war, or Avengers stories, but most of those he keeps light. These are stories of people that are generally still living, and he's honest about that.

Talking about the ones that aren't just feels selfish. He skips out when he feels that things are getting too close. Remaining polite, Steve thanks the group and separates, escaping before the conversation gets too close. As he drifts out, if he passes by someone keeping their distance or listening and watching without joining the gathering, he approaches them.]

You should go ahead. They're all friendly. And they say it feels good to get things off your chest.

iii. floating lanterns

[Steve joins in decorating lanterns for the river. To him, the traditions of the festival are still not necessarily his, but he likes the meaning behind them and thinks maybe participating will help clear his mind. Instead of writing much, he draws. The sketches on his lantern shades are images of people he misses, even though they may not be dead. Some of them are, but they are faces even Steve hasn't seen in far too long, and remembering them has lost a lot of the pain it used to have. The ones that are alive, the living memories, hurt more. He sketches little pictures of heroes in various costumes standing together, working together. Being a united team again. One sketch is of a younger Bucky Barnes, laughing at what was probably a ridiculous joke he told himself. Another is of a woman with long hair, fists raised and clearly flying across the shade.

Steve leans back to judge his own work, remarking to the person that happens to be nearby:]

I wish I had better words for this.

bar hiding (closed to ult!Tony)

[Something Steve notices during the festival is that someone is conspicuously absent. It's not that they are close or spending much time together, but between the blackout and the dinner, Steve has become concerned about the Tony Stark that has dubbed him the other Steve. As if he's not really Steve Rogers--then again, there's a second Bucky avoiding him too. Funny how both of them seem in bad shape. But at the moment Steve is more concerned about the missing Stark, whose health is clearly bad and who might really be in trouble. He searches the park and the various places around town before remembering the dinner properly and going to bars in search of the man. Eventually, Tony ends up with one super-soldier taking a seat next to him.]

How long have you been here?

[ ii ]

[supersweet]

[ Jon hunches his shoulders. He had amazing stories, but he couldn't share them. Keeping secrets sucked ]

No one wants to hear stories from a kid.

loki laufeyson, marvel-616 (ota)

[ikols]

2. storytime.

[ Loki isn't one to offer up a story without distancing himself from the subject matter a little, telling none of the crowd that he too is one of the gods of which he speaks. He tells of Old Asgard and how it fell, then how Thor raised it anew on Midgard and sought out the souls of those who died during a Ragnarok to repopulate it, how Balder moved the realm to Latveria where the cold mountains were more to the liking of his people ...

Mostly he talks of Thor. He who defeated Harokin the barbarian chieftain; in Nastrond where the Thunder God fought Fafnir the dragon; how a god butcher attempted to kill every god in existence but was foiled by the son of Odin.

Sometimes he throws in this or that about the Avengers and their hammer-wielding leader. ]



3. all the lanterns.

[ Embracing the sentimental rituals of the realm is a good way to kickstart any truth to the magic in them. He can't resist the opportunity when it comes to mending a variety of topics in his life, so Loki has thrown himself headfirst into lantern-making and sits on the bank of the river with a good half-dozen around him, finishing his writings. Mostly in Asgardian runes for privacy's sake but the differences are sometimes stark anyway.

A white lantern scribbled with a small novel and decorated with a scribbled magpie (the Boy). Red with golden lightning strikes and a simple short message on one side (Odinson). A golden pair, ornate and beautiful as they glint with starshine and a short apology (Odin and Freyja). One lantern looks like a tie-dye in pinks, purples, and reds, the only one written in English that goes on about a clever and beautiful seer of truth (Verity). A pretty silver lantern (Thor, the unknown woman). Lastly, he paints an orange and gold lantern, drawing wings all over it (Angela).

Catch him during his intense decorating or as he sets them afloat down the river. Either way he'll be there a while, sitting on his butt in jeans and a green hoodie, legs stretched out like a child intent on their artwork at school. ]



4. housemates &/or YOUR STARTER.

( Toss something else here!! )

[ i ]

[supersweet]

[ Jon tries to follow the story as well as he can. Stories about superheroes and epics are his favourite, but the twists and turns of Asgard's twilight has him lost far too many times. ]

All these names are hard to pronounce.

steve rogers (mcu) | ota

[starspangled]

i. (hanging lanterns)

[steve just looks like a guy who could carry a lot of lanterns. that must be it, because more than one person pressed a bunch of them into his arms, stacking them on top of each other while asking if he minded helping out. he doesn't, not really, it's just going to take him awhile to find homes for all of them. not only does he approach people on the street, he even resorts to knocking on a few doors too.]

I promise I'm not selling encyclopedias. [there's a sheepish smile on his lips that fades when he realizes something - namely, the expiration date on his joke.] Not that people do that sort of thing these days. Need a lantern?

ii. (sharing life)

[it's the stories that get to him. steve learns quickly to leave for work or any other important errands a little earlier than usual. he can't just pass someone by when they're sharing their loss and hardships. some things hit pretty close to home - most things, if he's honest. whether it's someone he knows or someone he's seeing for the first time, steve gives them the same respect and attention.

he's wearing his shield on his back again, the weight of it too light for all of his own stories and heartaches that are attached to it. still, he just listens, eyes sometimes lowering to the baked good in his hands. he knows why he bought it and who it's for, it's just a matter of finding the right time.]

iii. (floating of the lanterns)

[maybe this would've been easier a couple of years ago, back when he thought bucky was dead, or a couple of months ago when peggy's dark curls and bright laugh were confined to his memories and dreams.

but then steve realizes that he's just kidding himself. how could it ever be easy? that and he would never be good at writing out these kinds of feelings. so he draws instead: a woman in a nurse's uniform, the brooklyn skyline, the blurry outline of someone who seems to be moving too fast to properly draw.

he takes a deep breath and exhales, before noticing something in the hand of someone close by.]

Excuse me, could I borrow your pen for a second? The red one.

iii

[anotheroldsoldier]

[With so many people gathered on the riverbanks to float their lanterns, Bucky barely noticed the people around him as he sat down beside the water with one of his lanterns to write on it. It isn't his first, it won't be his last of the evening, but it's a special one, and he's focused on writing on the shade - a name, a few words. When someone asks for a pen, he looks up, relaxes slightly when he sees it's only Steve. The other Steve, anyway.

He's brought a few colored pens with him, laid on the grass next to him. Bucky picks up the red one and passes it over.] Yeah, of course.

Jonathan Samuel Kent | DC Comics | ota

[supersweet]

[ i - hang 'em high. ]

[ When people offered Jon lanterns to hang, he didn't think much of it but he was actually having fun. Climbing to the top of the tree or some high rise balcony to tie the lanterns across a clothings line. He even put on the costume to show he was doing his civic duty.

And probably terrifying anyone nearby with his casual lack of fear of heights. ]

[ ii - these are the stories that live forever. ]

[ Jon loved the story-telling. Being able to listen to stories from different worlds and places. He sat at the corners eagerly, chiming in with his incessant queries and questions. He wanted to learn about all of it. And if the stories had heroes and aliens, all the better.

Then he thought about Captain Storm. His mother had told him to find a way to share his story. Jon had started writing it down, but the words often failed him. Maybe now, with a captive audience, he could give it another try. He clears his throat hesitantly. ]

Uhm. I have a story. It's about a World War navy team called the Losers.

[ iii - we are exiles. we are one ]

[ Jon wished he could fly.

It's a constant wish of his. He dreams about it. Every time he sees a bird, he feels jealous, even bitter. Flying was his birthright. He should have that power, not feel constantly grounded and lost. Watching the lanters float around them into the sky made him yearn for that even more.

But he's lucky and he knows it. He holds five lanterns with him. One for Goldie, one for Captain Storm, one for Krypton . . . and two for his parents. Not his parents, but the other Superman and Lois Lane. Jon wipes his face as he lets the lanterns fly from his grasp. He wasn't going to cry.

But maybe a few tears in the quiet night would be okay. ]

[ wildcard! ] he'll be around the city or at Floor 6 of the Communal Housing.

i

[smokedout]

[Well... if you wanna give Dodger a heart attack, that's a sure-fire way to do it. Although he might do some casual terrifying of his own, given that he looks, acts and sounds like a back-alley gangster.]

Fuck are you doing up there? [He... may or may not be casually positioning himself to catch the kid if he falls.] Are your parents letting you pull crap like this on your own?

[howlongiwonder]

iii
[She avoided festivities and crowds, but this seemed too... appropriate, to miss. No, not just that - too important.

2B puts a single lantern on the water, small, simple and unadorned. She didn't write anything on it. Not because there is nothing to say. There is far too much to say, and androids prefer recording devices. But she barely knows where to begin.]

If somehow you receive this...

[She speaks quietly, head lowered.]

I'm still alive.

We're not gone yet. I'm lost, but I'm here. And if... if 9S is still somewhere out there, I'll find him.

I promise.

[That should be it. She's not sure what happens to androids after their death, but that is the message this member of YoRHa left to the departed ones. Only to the ones she knows are no longer here. No lanterns for those whose fate she is unsure of. 2B steels herself. She knows she must find them.

But not before adding a second, more personal message to the side of the lantern.

"I'm glad you liked the flower."

"I wish you could see the real one."]

hanzo shimada ( overwatch ) — ota

[kuyamu]

i. hanging lanterns

[ it's a good tradition, all of this, with the lanterns and the commemoration of one's history. if there's anything Hanzo lives his life by, it's the past; the things he's lost, and the things he has to honour that came before him. he gladly hangs a lantern when given one, choosing to hang it over a bridge — nowhere particularly special, because there isn't a place here that means anything to him, but the kind of place the dead might appreciate. the crossing of a bridge.

he'll send lanterns off to float on the evening of the event, he knows that for certain. until then, whenever he's handed yet another lantern on the street, he finds someone to pass it along to: ]

Would you care to hang a lantern? [ he offers it, politely. ] I have put up my share already.

ii. sharing life

[ the sentiment of 'sharing life' seems eerily fitting for the place that he and Genji have found themselves in, and the things that Genji (claims that he) wants for Hanzo; he can't really think of anyone but Genji when he sees people sharing food and stories, when he considers taking part in the tradition. it's still strange that he'd be sharing this with Genji himself, rather than wishing he could take sweets to a grave that was never built.

since it is for a living brother, he has a much harder time actually settling on something to take to him. he shouldn't; it's Genji, he's hardly the type to squabble over things like this, certainly not as he is now. but all of a sudden this choice is of the gravest importance and Hanzo ends up wandering from store to store, deliberating. he can't crush the feeling of dread, like there's any way this could possibly go wrong.

while he's staring intently at the display in any particular store — and it doesn't even have to be food — he notices that someone else beside him is also making up their mind. (it's you!) he glances at you just once, and then steps forward to pay the shopkeeper preemptively, jerking his head in your direction as he explains: ]

I will pay for whatever they intend to purchase.

iii. floating of the lanterns

[ he has no graves to speak to here, and those at home are either inaccessible to him or nonexistent, in Genji's case. as far as mourning and honouring the dead goes, this will more than suffice. Hanzo doesn't know that he has any right to honour the people he's lost, doubts that his father would want anything to do with him, but — at the very least, he can take this chance to pass a sentiment along.

a little later, at perhaps 9PM or so once the initial few waves of people sending off their lanterns have passed, Hanzo makes his way to the riverbank with three lanterns. all of the lanterns have their writing done in Japanese calligraphy, so they can only be read by someone that knows the language. one is green, with the name Genji written on it; one is flower-patterned, addressed to Mother; one is plain and with a dark blue shade, for Father. the thing that all three have in common is the short message written alongside the name: 誠に申し訳ありません. it's an archaic phrase, reminiscent of a disgraced samurai. essentially it's a very sincere, formal apology; I am deeply sorry for what I have done, or perhaps more literally, It is truly unforgivable.

he releases each lantern slowly, long pauses between them in which he simply sits in silence, holding the next in his lap with his head bowed over it. and even once his three lanterns are gone, he stays for hours. ]

iv. roommates, floor 8

[ since moving in at the start of last month, Hanzo's attitude has shifted in small ways over time; it used to be that he deliberately ignored most attempts to approach him. he's doing less of that now. but at the same time, he seems to have somehow become even more sombre and melancholic than he was, or perhaps just more obvious about it.

he still keeps mostly to Genji and Jesse McCree, strangely skittish for such a severe-looking man, but on an evening during the week of Memoria, you might be surprised by him bringing you a freshly made pot of green tea. (properly done, too; loose leaf and everything.) he places two mugs down, fills his own, and then holds the kettle poised to pour a second — looks up at you before he does, to ask: ]

Will you drink? I would not want to waste the tea.

( SORRY FOR DROPPED TAGS LAST TIME GUYS meds are being changed rn so withdrawals ate a lot of my month )

iii

[finethanks]

[Eichi has no lanterns in his own hands, but somehow, he hasn't been able to pull himself away from watching those mourning. Death like this was so much different than from his own family affairs. Seeing so many people cherish loved ones, mourn them, and feel sad for their leaving... It creates a strange tightness in his own chest.

But then, a couple of hours after walking back and forth along the riverbank, he catches the familiar brush strokes of his own language and his eyes lock on immediately to someone he's sure he met before. A closer look, as he steps over that way, shows that the phrase is so old timey, it's something he'd expect that friend of Keito to say. Like an old samurai, so incredibly polite that it sounds like it's been ripped from an old history book or something. And there's also a name that he's sure reads Genji. With that phrase right below it, it makes Eichi feel like he's stepped back to read the "world's first novel".]

Am I interrupting? [Eichi is careful to be polite about his appearance, this time, ducking down just a little in a bow from beside Hanzo, once that first lantern has floated a fair way down the river.]

Whatever it is that you might have done, I've seen nothing but a kind heart from you. [Both as a call out that he can read those little messages, and as a friendly little nudge. He may still be on the level of "stranger," or barely an acquaintance, but he's felt nothing but a kind heart from Hanzo.]

Damen | OTA

[goldcuffed]

[i. Hanging Lanterns]
[Lanterns. They're really quite pretty, the way they line the streets and shops outside, and the people of Riverview were all too happy to tell him about their customs. It seems like a nice thought, hanging lanterns to guide the spirits of the dead to find their homes and families again. He doesn't think the spirits of his own lost loved ones are here, but he wants to participate anyway.

He wants to hang a pair outside his and Laurent's window, he decides, but they must be special. Which is why, after acquiring a lantern from someone passing them out, Damen can be found wandering the shopping district, looking for florists' shops. He stops someone with a sheepish smile and holds up a picture of some small, cone-like flowers in poofy clusters.] Do you know much about flowers? I'm looking for some that look like this. They were my mother's favorite.

[ii. Sharing Life]
[Damen joins one of the circles in the park on his way home from a photoshoot, still wearing the designer athletic gear he had been modeling, lightly sweaty. He listens quietly for a while, until he's prompted to share his own thoughts.

The expression on his face, normally so quick to smile, is a little sad, a little lost. It is difficult to share his grief, but it comes so easily to everyone else... He starts to speak, more subdued, a little halting, as if he isn't sure how to put words to feelings.] I've been thinking about my father and my brother a lot, lately. My father in particular. You know, I- I thought, for just a little while, that I was going to be a father myself soon, but... It only made me think of him instead.

I wonder what he would say, if he could see me now.

[iii. Floating Lanterns]
[Sitting cross-legged beside the water, the towering man hunches small over a simple lantern. He has a bit of glue, some paint and brushes, and sprigs of flowers that look similar to myrtle and orange blossom. Damen's large fingers work carefully, gluing delicate blossoms to the white sides of his lantern, on which is written - well, it's likely it's a name, but the Akielon script looks closer to Greek than any western alphabet.

Damen is floating three lanterns that night, though two of them are much more plain, bearing names and a couple of sentences. The one he's working on has only a name, Egeria, but he covers it with flowers. Holding down a white bloom with one hand, he reaches blindly for the glue again, and when he doesn't find it, he asks the nearest person.] Excuse me, could you pass me the glue?

[iv. Floor 7, Shared Balcony]
[The city is strange and beautiful at night, with lanterns lining the streets and walkways, a sea of little lights in the darkness. Damen likes to sit on the balcony sometimes, get some air and look out over his temporary home. It's getting warmer, and tonight, he's leaning against the railing in just a pair of loose, comfortable sweatpants, his feet and torso un-self-consciously bare.

His back is on full display to anyone who might join him on the balcony. He can almost forget the scars are there, sometimes, numerous criss-crossed lines of gnarled tissue striping the entirety of his back. Scarring this extensive can only mean he was nearly flayed to death at one point, though they've healed nicely, and barely pull or ache anymore.

When Damen hears someone else pad onto the deck, he turns to offer a smile.] Good evening. I don't think I've gotten to meet any of our neighbors yet.

[v. Wildcard]

i

[howlongiwonder]

I observed many varieties of flowers while moving around.

[2B sounds confident in that statement while she looks at the picture carefully. However, that confidence soon leaves her.]

I never saw a flower similar to that one, though. Maybe they no longer exist in my world...

Sorry.

Augustine Sycamore | OTA

[megabond]

I. Hanging Lanterns

[While the Memoria isn't as festive as the last two events he attended due to its solemn commemoration of honoring the lives lost during the Great War he has heard about, Professor Sycamore can still see the residents are being friendly as ever since they are offering some lanterns for them to use in the upcoming floating of the lanterns.

However, for him, unfortunately, he got so many lanterns already, that he had no choice but to give most of them to any passing resident. However, he will keep one lantern for him to use for the floating.]

Um... Sorry to disturb you, but would you mind me giving you some of the lanterns for Memoria? I think I got too many of them already...

II.

[You can also see him in a gathering as he is listening to the residents' stories about their lost loved ones and homes.

But if you like, you can ask him if he has a story to tell. Even if he hasn't had any lost loved ones, he can be homesick and might tell you about his friends from his home world including his former assistant.]

III.

[Unlike most of the residents in here, Sycamore didn't lose his loved ones yet. But that doesn't mean he can honor the residents that have been lost from Riverview's tragic past. Because of this, his lantern only has a simple design with only his words of wishes of the future and condolences for the lost.

Once he's done with his lantern, he only stares at the river as he wonders how did the residents go through the tragedy of the Great War.]

WILDCARD/Fireflies

[If you want to plot with me or you want to see him being affected by the fireflies, PM me or hit me up on RunnerRPAwaker! I can take any fireflies except lust.]

I

[howlongiwonder]

Ah.

[The android who helped Augustine before is here. Without any lanterns in her hands, she sticks out of the crowd (though 2B tends to do that either way). However upon receiving the offer she appears defensive.]

It's not necessary. I don't really need them for anything.

[On second glance though, it's Professor Sycamore who is drowning in lanterns here. It's not that she had anything to do at the moment...]

Maybe I can find a use of sort. What is their purpose supposed to be?

nico di angelo ▪ open

[deathkid]

( O N E )

[ figuring at this point that he should probably find a job of some sort, nico has emerged from his dorm to explore the city, especially because of the event that seems to be in full swing. upon learning its nature, nico finds himself feeling incredibly at home with the festival's purpose. remembering the dead... it's one of the things he's good at, especially when it comes time to honor those long gone.

at some point, while wandering the streets, a shop-owner spots him with hands free. within seconds, nico is burdened with a wealth of lanterns and doesn't exactly know where to hang them. he pauses at a darker ally, feeling the presence of a lost soul and glances around him. ]

Here, hold these a second.

[ he'll just offload a few lanterns in order to hang one near the soul he senses and then closes his eyes with a small smile. a few ancient greek worlds fall from his upturned lips and then when he opens his obsidian dark eyes again, he nods. ]

It's okay. [ spoken to the air, to the soul of the lost girl he's seen with his peculiar, unearthly eyes. ] You can let go.

( T W O )

[ nico is rather mum when it comes to telling his life's story. settled in a more secluded cafe with a cup of cocoa, he appears to be alone. however, there's a small upturn of his lips as he sips his cocoa, seemingly listening intently to someone sitting across from him. there's no one there, of course, but nico is completely enthralled. ]

That's amazing. But why have you chosen to stay?

[ said to the spirit of a soldier sitting across from him. for those who can see the man, he is dressed in the garb of a bygone era, but it's clear he was a hero who died in combat. as he speaks, every now and then, nico nods his head in understanding before reaching out and shaking the spirit's hand. to some, it'll probably look like he's shaking hands with the air, but nico has never really cared about how he appears to others. ]

I see now. But you deserve rest. The people will remember you for what you've done. I'll make sure of that.

( T H R E E )

[ night has finally fallen and nico has made his way to the riverbank where various lanterns are already making their voyage along the river's flow. nico settles himself along the bank with several blank lanterns and a black pen. then, he begins writing. the first is a stark white and delicate looking lantern on which the name Maria di Angelo is written. it's a simple affair and one nico regards for several seconds before it is placed in the stream.

the next is a bit more elaborate. streaked with bronze and crimson, it receives the names of several people. they're written in greek, but each with infinite care. names of campers lost in the various wars with the most prominent name on the bottom being Luke Castellan. this too is place with care into the river's stream before nico begins working on his final lantern.

this one receives the most care and focus. made entirely of a shimmery silver paper, it gets a slowly drawn mark, the symbol of his father, hades followed by a delicately drawn bow and arrow superimposed over a crescent moon. when nico finishes the marks, it's clearly that he's very emotional though not a tear is shed. he licks his lips before squeezing his eyes shut and allowing the lantern to drift from his fingers into the water with a whisper. ]

I miss you...

( F O U R )

[ ooc: feel free to hit me up in either pm or laundry for other kinds of shenanigans or roommate stuffs! ]

Two

[howlongiwonder]

[She was trying to avoid crowds, so a small cafe with seemingly no one around looked like a good place for that. However there's still at least one person there - and he seemingly talks to someone else? 2B doesn't detect any other presence though.

Frankly she is a little confused. After a moment of hesitation and keeping her distance, she decides to approach.]

Who are you talking to?

[Nico and her communicated over the network once before, but that's the first time the two actually see each other's faces.]

[hellshot]

ia. -> Oh Death

[He'd have thought, being here for over a month now, that people would stop getting the idea of approaching him so easily. And yet, once again, he's proven wrong. A little old lady had decided that a man with the visage of death was not only the perfect candidate for the task she had in mind: a dozen or more lanterns, unlit and folded neatly are pushed into his arms, and he's asked to hang them around.

She adds that 'he looked used to heralding the dead' before shuffling off with a pleased look on her face. He wasn't even given a chance to respond, and now he's standing here stupidly with an armload of lanterns.

He's so stupefied by what happened, he hadn't much realised that he wasn't quite alone when the little old lady had tasked him, and now he's going to do what Gabe does best: try to coldly dismiss the situation and foist this task off onto you. He turns, and he holds the stupid things at arm's length.]

I'm not doing this. You take the things. I have better things to do.


ib. -> Carry On

[And whether or not he was successful or not in foisting the task he'd been given off on someone else, it turns out he might not have gotten rid of all the lanterns. He's made it back up to the front door of the communal room that he (irritatingly) had to share with a few (irritating) individuals, and he's taking a moment to stare at the stupid thing in his hands. He should have ditched it, like the others.

And yet, after a moment, he'll decidedly hang it over the door. Even taking a moment to light it, the soft glow of it flooding the hallway with the orange-tinted light. ...It felt stupid, honestly. And the longer he stares at it, the more he wants to reach up and tear it down.

Catching gaze of either a passer-by or one of his roommates however, just results in him giving them a very friendly sneer.]

It's just a waste of paper and candles, if you ask me. [Smooth.]


iii. -> Not Dead, But Lost

[And if there's one event Gabe has decided to avoid entirely it's the little meet, greet, and share event that he'd accidentally stepped in on. The moment people started staring at him, he was out of there. He didn't feel like sticking around to idly listen to sob stories of three dozen or more people that he didn't know, and there was no way he was sharing anything about his own past to anyone.

Instead, he finds himself at the bank of the river, where the water is aglow with lanterns being let out by the groups of people who have broken off of their little storytelling groups--and from eavesdropping he's figured out why.

Sending out lanterns to honor those who have been lost... ha, he almost wanted to laugh at such a sentiment. Honoring the dead was so stupid, to him--now that he had died once and knew how people reacted to it. They were sad, and then they got the fuck over it.

People became memories, forgotten to time as the future wasn't any place for what wasn't alive anymore.

And yet, the more he stares out into the river, the more a feeling sinks into his gut...

And about ten minutes later, you might find Death himself clumsily constructing a lantern for himself, writing on the side of it in what seems to be Spanish. If you don't know the language, the only word that will likely stick out to you is Sombra, what with how messily everything else is written, and yet how much care is in the structuring of that single word.]

ib

[finethanks]

If you're going to view it like that, then you should see each life as a waste of space and resources.

[That's Eichi's idea of a playful response, with the little jump in his tone he adds to the end there. Still, as always, he has this small, calm smile on his face as he steps closer to admire that lantern.]

I've been wondering, though. Is this what "mourning" is? Is all of this what people feel is necessary to say goodbye to the lives of others? [He is honestly asking.]

Shigeru Miyata | ota!

[mysophobic]

2a

[ He doesn't wind up sharing his stories, because it's awkward to have to write or type something for people to read, but if your character is telling one or needs someone to listen Shigeru will definitely be there. He's more or less a bit off to the side however, away from any of the bigger crowds of people, as he just listens. ]

2b

[ He might not share his thoughts but he can share something else. Food seems to be a big thing for this so he'll be offering people his homemade cookies and other desserts, cupcakes and even some chocolates, to anyone who wants them. He'll smile and wave people over if they're not busy with anything and he'll just hold up a sign saying: "If you want some, please take some for yourself and friends and family!"

He's not the best salesperson but hopefully he gets some people's attention?! ]

3

[ He knew this time would come and he was bracing for it. He's lost a few good people in his time back home and he's missing others dearly now. His lantern is written in neat handwriting and a few names are mentioned like Alex and Klein also his mother and father's name are there as well. He looks pretty happy though as he sets his lantern down into the river and watches it for a second before letting it go. It's pretty cathartic he has to admit and he's feeling a bit better although the homesickness still remains. ]

2b

[smokedout]

[He'd noticed Shigeru getting a few stories from others... but he's not the type to join the gatherings, less because of a lack of speech and more because of a lack of trust.

But now he notices the mute man handing out snacks, and well. Food and shy guys are Dodger's two favorite things, so he's coming over to nab a small box of chocolates from Shigeru's hand. At least he's nice enough to make sure he does it without touching fingers.]

Hey there, stranger. [Lo and behold, Dodger's doing a good job of being serious. At the very least, he's not immediately teasing or putting himself in Shigeru's personal space. Yet.] Wanna take a walk with me?

Terra | Kingdom Hearts | OTA

[earthy]

I. [It's a touching celebration, really. A chance for hearts harboring any kind of hurt to heal through the telling of stories, the sharing of food, the eventual lighting and release of lanterns down the river...

But Terra doesn't have time for it. He's got too much work to do. There's his job at the school during the day, any temporary jobs he can find to fill the evenings, catching and putting an end to those rainbow fireflies whenever he has the chance, as well as going out beyond the fences and dispatching any threatening monsters... Anything to 'contribute'... Anything to keep busy so he doesn't have to think about... about anything.

Which is how he ends up hanging up lanterns, anyway. An elderly woman asks for his assistance in decorating her house with the heaping pile of lanterns she's collected and, well, sure, he'll help.

It takes him a little less than an hour to hang the dozens of lanterns around the doors and windows of her two-story house. He's just wrapping up with the last couple when a cat slinks up beside him, gives a paper lantern about as tall as it is a sniff, and then grabs the edge of it in its mouth and darts off.]

Hey! [Terra notices the theft right away.] Wait, that's not... Hey! Cat!

[Cat does what cats do best and ignores him, trotting off with its prize. Terra stares after it for a moment then comes to a decision.]

That's not yours! [He calls out as he follows the cat to and then down the street. Realizing its being pursued, Cat picks up speed but doggedly refuses to relinquish the lantern. The chase is on.]

Look, if you need a lantern, I can find you one... Maybe a smaller one that'd be easier for you to carry... But you can't just steal from others!

[Like the cat can understand him and be reasoned with.]

Cat!

[Cat don't care!! Help.]


II. [Terra had never imagined accepting the job of teacher's assistant at Riverview Elementary School would also result in him becoming a babysitter, but on this particular day, one thing led to another and a young couple looking to spend some time reminiscing about lost loved ones without their bubbly daughter underfoot managed to foist said daughter off on him.

A young girl, all of six years old and dressed in proper six-year-old attire of mismatched clothes and a plastic tiara, reaches up and tugs at your sleeve or taps your arm. Her expression's just as sober as she can make it; she received a watered-down explanation of Memoria, she kind of understands the gist of it, and she's determined to participate.

"Hi. Are you one of the sad people? D'you want some candy? Candy makes me feel better when I'm sad."

She starts to offer up a small bag of goodies, pauses to check out what's in the bag herself, and then offers it again. You can totally have this bag, it's got flavors of candy she doesn't like in it. :(

Never mind that shadow falling over you as a fully armored man with a key-shaped blade slung over his shoulder comes to stand nearby. Impossible to tell exactly what he's looking at or what expression he might be wearing under the helmet, dark as his visor is, but he sure does seem to be watching you intently as his temporary charge tries to comfort you with sweets.]


III. [Terra's there at the start of the lantern release and on through the night, a silent (and, again, fully armored) figure standing off to the side, well out of the way. His Keyblade's thrust into the ground in front of him and his gloved hands rest on top of its hilt guards.

Every great once in a while, a spot of color shows in the dark... and a flicker of magic immediately meets it, deftly striking down another stray firefly before it can cause trouble at the ceremony. Sometimes it's a miniature twig of lightning, other times a tiny ember or ice cube engulfing the bug. Curiously, should anyone accidentally or intentionally make contact with the magic, they'll feel only a hint of the element used -- a tingle of static or a bit of warmth or cold.]

Careful. [He occasionally speaks in a quiet voice to the people passing by, on their way to or from the river.] Some of those fireflies are still around.

[No way he can get all of them.]

I

[howlongiwonder]

Ah.

[The cat makes its way around the legs of a strange woman dressed in black, who steps back to make place for it before realizing it's actually carrying something.]

Was that yours?

Wikus van der Merwe | OTA

[onthehalfshell]

Sharing Life (or maybe just liquor)

Wikus has never been much of a drinker - some beers with the boys, wine with the wife, that sort of thing - but now seems as good a time as any to try out the whole 'drowning your sorrows’ thing.

A festival for remembering the lost. Of all the things! He already spent last month remembering everything he's lost (might lose, is still losing). He's already told his story, the parts he's willing to part with, several times over. He's remembered, raged, moped, ranted, and wept. Especially the last one, after the firefly incident.

So he's kind of fed up with all of that. He'd much rather forget it all, just ignore the whole thing as best he can, try and pretend that maybe things might be okay some day. In some ways he really is doing better! He's got some medication to help with the nightmares and insomnia, the transformation seems to be slowing down with every treatment… positive stuff!

And now the whole city is just trying to put him back where he started. Or at least it sure feels that way.

So here he is. Sitting alone on a park bench at dusk, with a bottle of the local hard liquor, just watching the unfamiliar stars come out. Taking his first swig from the bottle, he promptly breaks into a coughing fit.

Yeah. Never much of a drinker.


Paper Lanterns - Closed to Floor 8

There are plenty of lanterns to go around outside, but as the week of Memoria progresses the inhabitants of the Floor 8 communal housing will find a growing collection of paper lanterns around their living space.

These aren't the same as the ones hanging outside. Rather, they're tiny lanterns of carefully folded paper, and they're scattered just about anywhere (watch where you sit).

Many are crumpled up, some seem to have been abandoned part way, a few are almost perfect. They come in different shapes and sizes, some with little designs penned or penciled on their surfaces. Some of them aren't lanterns at all, just little paper animals and flowers.

The culprit can usually be found in the evenings, sometimes at his desk, sometimes at the dining room table, sometimes on a couch… but always with a sheet of paper in hand and a dour expression better suited for performing major surgery than doing arts and crafts.

However his current project turns out, Wikus never seems satisfied, and when he doesn't forget them lying about all the lanterns and friends end up in the recycle bin.


Floating

Despite his professed disinterest in the Memoria festivities, Wikus still finds himself at the river with a lantern in hand. He's finally made a lantern he's satisfied with - or maybe he just ran out of time - and he holds the delicate flower-shaped paper carefully in his palms.

But even though he's been here for awhile, he hasn't made any move to light and float it, and the pale paper remains blank of any message. As other lanterns float by on the river, he just sits quietly and stares at his own.

paper lanterns.

[peacekeeps]

[ the settling in process has been a busy one, and jesse's sort of rued the fact that he hasn't so much as made an effort to talk to too many folks outside of the ones he already knows. it's hard to settle back into the habit of being sociable when you're used to life on the run. and the grim holiday that has the quarantine zone in its elegiac hooks doesn't quite make him further inclined to make friends.

he comes home to the scattering of small lanterns on every and all flat surface, though, and that does give him pause. it's melancholy work, if it's been done in earnest. he adjusts his hat and follows the trail: some messy, some inordinately well-executed, some of them not even lanterns at all but zoo animals and blossoms.

it leads him to wikus at the dining table, where he lingers behind one of the seats for a minute, watching him. ]

Been busy?

[ he doesn't sound not friendly, just curious. ]

Spike | B:tVS | OTA (will match style)

[idolpire]

I - Hanging Lanterns
"Shove off," he said with a frown, pushing at what had to have been the umpteenth person to offer him a bloody lantern. "What part of vampires and fire don't go well together are you not getting?" He shook himself off from the confused citizen who'd likely meant well, but who hadn't quite figured out that Spike wasn't much for celebrating.

He managed to get another block and a half, stomping angrily down the street towards what he'd been told was a decent pub for a pint, when another paper lantern was shoved in his face. "One more time, mate. I bloody well dare you!" It was at that point that the previously normal, albeit scowling and surly looking man's face shifted and Spike went from human to demon, growling at the man with fangs bared. Oh, but he wanted to do more than just snarl, but the twinge in his head reminded him that wasn't a possibility.

Yet.

II - Sharing Life
At the moment, Spike is not feeling all that socially charitable. He's in a place he didn't ask to be with people he doesn't know and has no bloody idea how to get anywhere or anything he wants. Oh, sure, he'd gotten the spiel, same as anyone else, he supposed, but it sounded more like some ridiculous welcome center at some hippie resort. Spike was currently angry and annoyed at everything. At this place. At the little area he'd been directed to and told was 'his' for now, at the device he'd been handed and the patronizing way he'd been told how to use it. The only thing that was making him feel slightly better was that they'd given him a wad of what he supposed was this place's currency -- no questions asked. And Spike intended to go get bloody well smashed on it. If there was any constant in any universe, it was that every place that had a sentient race had some kind of substance to alter the mind and perceptions. Numb it a bit. Make the shit one slogged through on a day to day basis a little easier to stomach.

Adding to the annoyance factor, aside from not being able to hurt anyone, was that every time he found somewhere to sit down and have a drink, some group of tossers had to start moaning about all their losses and loved ones. He thought he'd finally found a quiet little dive, frequented by only a few people. But as he sat, more bodies filled the space and he heard the starting line of "I remember...", which prompted him to drop his head back against the wall and let out a groan. "I remember when a bloke could get a bloody drink without the grief brigade souring everything," he muttered to himself, pushing up to leave before more voices broke out.

IV - Roommate/Wildcard
[Spike will be assigned communal housing for the moment in Floor 2, Bed 2. Anyone is welcome to run into him in/around that area. Possibly as he's maybe going through other people's things. He may also start creeping around town looking for both a decent place to drink that isn't filled with white-bread types, or maybe even around a cemetery or graveyard, if the city even has one (which he will be looking for). If you'd like something particular, feel free to set it up or PM me if you're uncertain.]

[ I ]

[dothelokimotion]

[ Wasn't that an unusual reaction? It reminds him a little of Banner's lurking monster, under his skin. ]

Allergic to company?

"Alexei" Illya Kuryakin | Open

[nikolaievich]

i.

Illya is a very tall man. He’s always stood up in a crowd, he’s easy to spot because he’s usually one of the tallest ones there. Usually he doesn’t think much of it- it’s useful when he has to intimidate someone, of course, but in his line of job back home he’d rather go unnoticed and not draw attention to himself when he’s spying on someone.

But, apparently, being tall is perfect during this ceremony. Everyone wants to hang their lanterns, every store and business and neighbor wants a lantern hanging on their door to guide the death or help the living. And who is better for than the tall guy walking by? And Illya may not be the nicest of people, but he isn’t going to deny help for a ritual that people seem to consider sacred.

So it’ll be very easy to spot Illya around the city, hanging the lanterns high up.

ii.

Illya isn’t a sharing kind of guy. Most people that have met him in here think his name is Alexei, so there’s no way he is going to share much about his life in public, to complete strangers.

But he does respect the celebrations. So he sits solemnly around a fire, listening to other people’s stories and reacting accordingly, sharing sorrows and pain because he’s known plenty of them in his life.

And, if asked to share or if people start wondering why he only listens… well. He has plenty of semi-true stories about his mother he can share without revealing anything about himself or any kind of weakness.

iv.

If you happen to live in Floor 2, you may be greeted by a very tall Russian offering you a piece of chocolate. Even if this is the first time he’s seen someone (though friends or people he trust probably get a higher quality chocolate).

Again, Illya is very into keeping traditions.

ii

[bespredel]

When he had sat down to join in, and listen, he had done so off to Illya's left. Slightly behind the circle, as though he wasn't quite willing, or ready to participate- but still wanted to listen. Yuri wasn't much of a sharer, either. But that didn't mean that this wasn't a festival that didn't strike some sort of chord in him. He may not have lost in the literal sense of so many of those who were sharing their stories, but that did not mean Yuri was not without his own grief. He thought of his grandpa, of his age- of how fearful Yuri was of his own mortality. He thought of his mother, of how she had left them. "It's for the good of the family, Yuri." she had said.

Pulling his knees up closer to his chest, Yuri grimaced, anger washing through him, his fingertips digging tightly into his shins. Without realizing it, his cheeks had stained red as the flames of anger and frustration flashed through him with the thoughts of his own mother. In an effort to distract himself, his green eyes flicked towards the only other person he recognized, a scowl writing itself over his features.

"You're awfully quiet," Yuri shot to Illya, hardly above a whisper so as not to interrupt the stories being shared, but loud enough for Illya to catch. Or ignore, if he really cared to. "Not the sharing type?" As if Yuri was one to talk.

noctis lucis caelum | ota

[heavyhead]

I.
[There's nothing like a week of mourning to make a bad mood worse. Noctis isn't opposed to the festival, not necessarily - there's nothing wrong with it and it's probably great for a lot of people, but he isn't counting himself among them. He's no good at this kind of thing, telling stories and sharing things, so being in the presence of so much openness in the face of loss just makes him feel... crappy.

"Crappy" about covers it. But what he won't turn down is a distraction, which is why he's been taking bunches of lanterns from just about everyone who's asked him to and hanging them up wherever he's told. It makes them happy and occasionally gets him free food, so it's completely fine to "participate" this way, right?

He's hanging a bunch for a little old man, now, most of them in a tree across from the old man's home. Problem: he's supposed to have six, and the last one seems to have disappeared. Who steals a mourning lantern? For real?]

... Hey, [hello, nearest passerby, hi] there was a lantern here a second ago... See anything?

[He's not accusing but he might be accusing.]


II.
[Getting roped into this story circle is the worst thing ever. He's got a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a little bundle of cinnamon pastries someone gave him in the other, and while he's listening intently to the stories being passed around the circle, he seems to be slowly getting more fidgety the closer the actual "sharing" part gets to him.

It would be... so rude to leave, but... ugh. Lucky for him someone calls for a break to pass around more drinks, at which point Noctis leans over to whoever's next to him and holds out his pastry bundle.]

I'll give you these to skip my turn. [it's not even required, noct]


III.
[Three lanterns, a pen, and not a single thing written on any of them marks the entirety of Noctis' evening on the 8th. He's managed to force himself this far, actually picking out lanterns and sitting down with them to do this memory-honoring thing the way he should be, but once he gets to the riverbank he can't think of anything to write.

So he's sitting on a little pier (it's a fishing spot let's be honest), twirling his pen around while he watches everyone else casting off their lanterns. He'll get to the point here, really, but maybe after everyone's left...

Or after he's retrieved his pen, which he's just accidentally flicked off to the side and possibly right into the middle of someone else's progress. Jesus. Heads up.]


wildcard?!
[hmu for anything @ melodrama!!]

ii

[eyeforaneye]

[ If nothing else, this has been a useful learning experience. Sasuke himself has incredible respect for the concept of loss and a keen awareness of the lessons that it can bear, so he listens willingly to each person in their circle. As for himself? No. He has no intention of speaking. And apparently neither does--

Ah. The loiterer. Sasuke looks down at the pastries, then back up. ]

I don't want that.

Jade Harley | OTA

[dogdaughter]

ii.
[ Jade can be found in many different audience clutches over the festival, listening to the storytellers attentively--really, most of the stories are interesting! And if having other people listen makes the tellers feel better, than she's more than happy to help out.

She has happy memories and interesting trivia to relate, if pressed to join in, but she doesn't feel quite right talking about the whole losing part of her lost loved ones. After all, she sort of got them back later, so she's not too sure the whole story would really fit in with the festival's theme!

...Even if getting to meet new versions of the people she lost doesn't change the fact that she lost the first version and still misses them. She can't help feeling like that's being ungrateful, somehow, to somebody, so she's trying not to dwell on it too much. ]

iii.
[ On the evening of the 8th, Jade can be found writing little notes and scribbling doodles on her chosen lanterns with a green pen. She's quietly upbeat about the process. She's decided this is the best part of the festival. Making fun things for people you miss is much better than... well, not doing that.

So far, she's got:
a blue lantern, bearing a somewhat cryptic note: i missed you, im glad i get a second chance. just waiting for other-you to show up here! :)
another blue lantern, with some skulls and... blunderbusses? maybe? Art is not Jade's strongest suit. This note reads: in honor of the blue ladies! :) and jake seems to like skulls, so maybe you did too.
the orange lantern she is currently scribbling out a small novel on, and a pair of lanterns (one white, one black) she hasn't gotten to yet sit nearby. ]

iv.
[ When not out and about, Jade can be found on the floor she was assigned to: floor 6. At least once during the festival she attempts to decorate the common areas with lanterns. ]

ii.

[findingbalance]

[Rey had always enjoyed stories. She had spent a lot of time listening to tales and stories from travelers and traders passing through Jakku's outposts. The storytelling at this gathering is not so different, in some ways, and while Rey doesn't speak up to contribute, she listens with fascinated interest, eating her way through an impressive amount of the offered food like a woman starved.

The diversity of people in the city only feels natural for a girl from a galaxy of many different species, sentient or otherwise, and she takes to the change in scenery and surroundings surprisingly well

After getting up to find another pastry, Rey grabs a few and finds a new seat, settling beside Jade between stories. She offers the stranger one of her collected pastries with a tilt of her head.]

You should try one. [A life living on instant powder portions (just add water for all the nutrients and none of the flavor), the food in the city is nothing short of awe inspiring for her, and these pastries have fruit in them.]