riverviewlogs | introductory mingle: HARVEST FESTIVAL

Entry tags:

introductory mingle: HARVEST FESTIVAL

who: everyone in Riverview!
what: Introductory Log and Harvest Festival celebration
when: The month of November.
where: Anywhere around the city.
warnings: please put any necessary warnings in the subject lines

harvest festival

In the days leading up to November 1st, residents new and old will notice preparations beginning, a flurry of activity getting the city ready for the upcoming celebration: The Harvest Festival. This holiday is in celebration of the harvest season and autumn, as the moon transitions into its winter period, and is characterized by indulging in the plenty that comes with the harvest season with loved ones, cleaning house figuratively and literally, and making sure that those in need don't suffer during the winter. Celebrations tend to focus around food and charity, with citizens enjoying and sharing cultural meals and sharing stories, or participating in any of the wide range of charity projects and events going on during this season.

a celebration of sharing

The biggest traditions of the Harvest Festival are centered around giving and sharing. Charity is central, and the each year the city sets up a large open tent with warm places to rest for anyone who might be homeless and a table capable of sitting over 50 people at any given time, with a round-the-clock catered feast for anyone who wants to sit and have a meal with anyone else who's dropped by. Besides this, there are a wide variety of events benefiting charities in the city, including a karaoke concert, stray animal round up, and the annual "stuff swap" where residents clean their homes and donate anything they don't need to those who might be lacking. There is also a tradition of writing down repressed or bottled up thoughts, feelings, regrets, sins, and other troubles and tossing them into a bonfire to go into winter with a clean soul.

i. harvest feast & stuff swap

For the first few days of November, anyone dropping by the city center will notice a large tent structure being put into place - by November 3rd, as the last of October's ghosts fade into nonexistence, a veritable banquet hall will have been sent up. For a week following the setup, anyone who drops by the hall and steps inside will see a large table laden with food. Bread, stew, fruits and vegetables, soups, roasted meat, and almost anything else one can think of will be on the table, along with plates, silverware, and cups. Anyone is free to take a plate, settle down at the table, and help themselves to a meal.

The Feast is staffed entirely by volunteers, who do the cooking, cleaning, and tidy up the dishes and area afterwards, keeping the constant stream of food coming. Whether your character is heading in to sit beside a stranger and strike up a conversation, or volunteering their time, energy, or cooking skills to the hall, they're more than welcome.

One corner of the hall is entirely dedicated to the yearly "stuff swap." There's a long-standing tradition of fall cleaning in Riverview Quarantine, where residents will thoroughly clean their homes and rid themselves of excess in preparation for the winter. The extra things that aren't needed can be dropped off at the city center where the Feast is set up, and anyone who is in need of a particular item that has been donated can take it free of charge. This is an honor system, so please be kind to others! (Or don't.)

ii. charity karaoke

On the weekend of November 10th and 11th, while the Feast will be cleared away, the tent is being repurposed for a new event - a Karaoke Concert for the needy! Set up as a makeshift bar and lounge area, the space will be fronted by a large stage where singles or groups of people can choose a song and karaoke their hearts out to a crowd of spectators. There's a by-donation cover fee, and guests are encouraged to reward the best (or most hilariously bad) renditions of beloved songs from across the multiverse with digital "tips" that are transferred to the karaoke performer's charity of choice.

Whether you're a spectator tipping a performer, or a performer who's singing their heart out on the stage to benefit a variety of charities from the homeless to the animal shelter to children in need (and almost anything else you can think of), the Karaoke Concert is both hilarious and heartwarming.

iii. stray animal roundup

One of the main charity events that seems to happen every year is the stray roundup. As the seasons turn and it gets colder and colder at night, many residents who have a soft spot for animals band together to round up as many stray animals as possible and take them to shelters where they can be rehabilitated, given a warm bath, fed, and have a safe place to sleep. Volunteers take to the streets with crates and nets or restraining poles as well as generous bags of treats of food to entice the strays with, and capture them safely to be brought back to the various animal shelters around the Quarantine. Any animal who's caught is put up for adoption, and volunteers are encouraged to take home any strays that they bond particularly well with, or are invited to foster animals in their homes.

Whether your character is a die-hard animal lover, looking for a new pet, or just wants some wacky hijinks trying to chase a wily critter around the streets, they'll be suited up with supplies by other volunteers and released into the fray. The most common animals to be found are cats, dogs, and small domesticated foxes, but feel free to assume that your character is rounding up a reptile, rodent, bird, or a domesticated alien critter. Playing a thread with this prompt is a great opportunity to get a cute alien pet for your character without spending AP.

iv. letting go

On the evening of November 15th, a series of large bonfires will be set up all along the beaches of the river, and as the night falls, people begin migrating to the beaches from all over the city carrying slips of paper in a wide variety of colors with words written on them in a wide variety of languages, and throwing them into the fires. This is a way of psychologically and emotionally cleaning house for the residents of the Quarantine, because the papers they bring contain the stories of their pain, poems written about the feelings they bottle up, a venting of their anger and fear and resentment, all to be eaten up by the flames and washed away by the river with the next rain.

No matter where a person comes from, they carry pain and suffering and hurts that they must hide. This is a welcome opportunity for characters to write out their thoughts and feelings and release them. And if the symbolism of burning them isn't enough, there are always other people around the fires who are willing to listen, to hear all those things that people keep locked up inside. Share a story willingly, listen to someone's story, or just get caught holding your deepest darkest secrets on a really vulnerable piece of paper...it's up to you.

v. roommates or wildcard

Feel free to use this prompt to meet new roommates, for the purpose of getting to know each other, or hit up the mod-posted prompt to create a Communal Housing floor mingle. Or, if you have an idea for a prompt that isn't in this list, set during the Harvest Festival, feel free to write it up!

visual inspiration

click on thumbnails for larger view

Credit: image i & iii: Bastien Grivet; image ii & iv: unknown (stock/hobbiton)

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There have been enough occasions where Gamora has hauled Peter home when he can't stand entirely by his own power, so this isn't exactly a new experience. However, the addition of musical numbers is more unusual.

Peter is lucky she doesn't leave him in a ditch somewhere, honestly.

(At this point, she wouldn't, but months ago? She might have considered it more seriously.)

She keeps him from collapsing or turning into a Peter Quill-shaped puddle on the tram, and by some miracle, they make it back to housing. ]

Keep your voice down in here; people are probably trying to sleep.

[ She shakes her head at him with a half-hidden smile as she leads him to the elevators. ]

You're in a mood.

[ A musical one, apparently.

(And the song choices also haven't skipped her notice.) ]

'M in a good mood.

[ Half agreement, half correction, and he grins at her as the elevator doors slide open. They step in, and Peter presses against Gamora's side more heavily, nosing at her hair. ]

I get to hang out with my favorite person. 'Course I'm in a good mood.

Your "favorite person?"

[ That doesn't make her smile (yes, it does), but she has to change the way she's holding him again as he presses up against her. ]

Peter, you're going to knock us over.

[ She has excellent balance and strength, sure, but if he goes down, he might just take her with him.

Or at least run them into the wall. ]

My favorite person.

[ This time, it's full agreement, hardly noticing when Gamora shifts to accommodate his weight. Her warning, though, catches his attention, and he lets out a soft, annoyed huff as he pulls back a little.

Petulantly, ] Am not.

[ Then again, he's hardly making Gamora's job easy on her, as the elevator helpfully announces their floor. The door slides open, and when the two of them stagger out— ]

Darlin', youuuu send me—

[ Apparently he's done with "My Girl" and has moved on to the musical styling of Sam Cooke. ]

Edited (275 icons and i forget to pick one) 2017-11-12 08:40 (UTC)

[ Aaaand something new.

—Except it's not new, because Gamora remembers looking up this song after Peter had recommended it to that girl over the network. She remembers listening to "You Send Me" and "Cupid" over and over for a couple of days.

Unconsciously, her arm tightens around Peter – not to stop him from falling, but a strange little desire to have him closer. ]

Hold— let me get us in.

[ She huffs in mild annoyance, propping Peter up once they get to their door as she fumbles to get them inside. After a moment, the door swings open, and she's helping him into their apartment. ]

You should drink some water.

[ Peter goes where he's guided, and when Gamora moves him to one side to unlock the door, Peter continues to sing the song. ]

Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do, whoa—

[ (Mom had loved Sam Cooke.

"He's of the greatest singers of all time," she had told Peter, while a compilation of his best songs played on the stereo.)

Gamora guides him into the apartment, and sometimes, it almost feels like home. Not all the time, not quite yet, but it's comfortable to return here and the end of a long day, to a space that's more or less theirs. In darker moments, though, Peter misses the Milano – hell, even the Eclector – misses the familiar rumble of engines through the decks, of settling pipes and doors slamming shut.

This time, he smiles as they slip in, as the light flicks on. (A stack of dishes sits in the sink – he'll totally get to that. 100%, it's on his to-do list.) It's nice, being here.

That is, it's nice being here with Gamora, and with the abrupt exit Mantis had made, he worries Gamora might do the same. (Because everyone leaves.)

He answers her suggestion with a noncommittal hum, nosing at her hair again. ]

When're you gonna sing for me?

After you drink water for me.

[ Because she'd rather he be mildly hydrated before he wakes up the next day. ]

Come on; bed first.

[ And then it's even more maneuvering to drag him to their shared room and deposit him on his bed.

She hasn't crawled in beside him since those strange nights where she'd just— wanted to, and though she still feels the pull sometimes, still wants to just wedge herself under the covers and curl against his side, she hasn't. They haven't talked, haven't gone over things yet, even if it was months ago. Things come up, get in the way, and it hasn't been as pressing because they've still been them. It doesn't hang heavily or uncomfortably over their heads, and she's been content to let it be the same.

They still come home to this apartment. They still eat dinner together (when their jobs allow), still snuggle up on the couch. They still sit and listen to music together, still bicker over chores and other menial things. They're still them, and that's been good for now. It's been enough.

She eases Peter down onto his mattress, trying to extricate him from her side. ]

[ He lets out an annoyed sound at that, though he doesn't stop himself from being ushered into the bedroom. He flops onto the bed, and the room spins around him; he screws his eyes shut against it, one hand twisting into the sheets. (Naturally, Peter didn't make his bed before he left for the day.)

As Gamora pulls away, Peter gropes blindly for her. ]

Wait. Hey. Where're you goin'?

[ Gamora doesn't shake Peter off when he grabs onto her, and she leans over to rest a hand on his chest. ]

I am getting water. I won't be gone long.

[ Just to the kitchen and back, and then she'll stay put – probably until he falls asleep. ]

[ He hardly looks pleased by that, and he grimaces, eyes still shut. His grip tightens minutely around her arm (and thank god he managed to grab her arm instead of, like, flailing and accidentally smacking her in the face or something equally mortifying), before he heaves out a sigh, releasing her. ]

You'll come right back?

[ She lets him cling to her arm, not yanking away until he eases up. ]

I will.

[ Her hand shifts from his chest, higher to cup his jaw for an instant – and then she leaves the bedroom behind.

Months ago, she would have rolled her eyes at Peter for being so clingy, would have just sighed at him and told him to get over it because she clearly wasn't going far, but this time, there's something gentler in the way she handles him. Maybe it's because he's too drunk to comment on it or that there's every possibility he won't remember it in the morning.

Or maybe there's a small part of Gamora that's softened around the edges.

She goes into the kitchen, finding a glass to fill it in the still-stuffed sink. She makes a mental note to mention it when Peter isn't half-dying from his hangover, but for now, she just brings the glass to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she reaches out to rest a hand on his arm. ]

Sit up for me.

[ He briefly leans into her touch, but it's gone before he can fully appreciate it.

That sucks.

He cracks an eye open to watch her go, and he frowns a little at her. (She'll be back, he tells himself. It's not like she's going very far, or for very long, and she's not going to just disappear on him.

Right?

... Right.)

And when she returns, Peter lights up with a bleary sort of grin, lopsided and earnest. ]

Heyyyy. There you are.

[ Like he hasn't seen her in a week.

At her direction, he makes a concerted effort to push himself up, shuffling back clumsily to prop himself against the wall.

Praise him. He's upright. ]

[ She's so proud. ~~What a good boy.~~

After he's properly upright, she offers him the water, which she won't immediately let go of until she feels confident he's not going to spill it all over himself. ]

Try to drink all of this, and then you need to sleep.

[ His limbs won't quite do as he asks them to, so it takes a bit of fumbling for him to properly grab hold of the glass, to draw it to his lips with a minimal amount of spilling. He manages it, though, and when he's done, he hands the glass back to her. ]

Pretty sure you still got that matter of the pinky swear to deal with.

[ And the words roll together, sideways and tumbling.

But he makes an effort to straighten, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her expectantly. ]

[ She takes the glass back, setting it on the stand by his bed.

He looks almost hilariously determined, bleary-eyed and out of it, and she reaches out to brush messy hair away from his face. ]

You should lie down.

[ And she gives him a mirrored look of expectance. ]

[ "Hilariously"?

How dare you.

And Peter refuses to be swayed, even if her touch is nice, and he unconsciously lets out a contented hum. ]

You still gotta sing.

I will. Lie down.

[ Which is less of a suggestion now and more command – though not a particularly harsh one.

She's partially buying time, partially trying to get Peter comfortable because he needs to sleep off the amount he drank. ]

[ He frowns at her, mutinous, before reluctantly shuffling down on the mattress. ]

You don't gotta put me to bed.

[ Is he sulking?

Probably. ]

'M not a baby.

[ "I'm not a baby," says the man she just carried home specifically to put to bed.

He's clearly not a baby – because he's at least five. ]

Stop complaining, Peter.

[ She doesn't bother reassuring him that she doesn't think he's a baby when he obviously isn't, and she gives him a vaguely reprimanding look.

She makes herself at home where she sits on the bed, her hand set near Peter's arm as she cocks her head, thoughtful. ]

What was the name of that song on your Zune? With... Thunder only happens when it's raining—

[ There's a lilt to the line as she offers it, only distantly following the tune of Fleetwood Mac's, Dreams. ]

[ Five and three quarters, thank you. ]

'M not complaining.

[ —he complains.

He lies down, at least, shifting onto his side and tucking an arm under his pillow, and when he sees her hand near him, he reaches for it, fingers wrapping loosely around hers. Peter's always been a tactile person, and it comes out all the more when he's had a few too many to drink – getting Rocket into headlocks, throwing his arm around Drax's shoulder, pressing his side against Gamora. This isn't new, exactly.

What makes it different is that unspoken-spoken thing between them, there and not. The elephant in the room, Peter would call it, if he didn't have to then explain what an elephant was, and why no one was talking about it.

It's not quite the song he's asked for, but it's close (and hopefully getting closer), and he flashes a bright, lopsided smile of encouragement for it. ]

"Dreams"? Fleetwood Mac.

[ And in hopes of prompting her on, he starts the first line: ] Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom...

[ it's... mostly on-key, in a loose, unfocused way. ]

[ Peter's fingers curl around her own, and Gamora turns her hand to make it easier. There's that faint flicker of a smile on her face as the warmth blooms all over again, making tension ease out of her shoulders.

It's almost foolish how immediately Peter's touch does that to her.

Her thumb swipes absently over the back of his hand, and she nods, the name sounding familiar. ]

Yes, that one.

[ She doesn't laugh as he starts the song, but the huff of breath might have been a chuckle, if you listen closely.

As he trails off, there's a beat of silence before Gamora follows, ]

Well, who am I to keep you down...

[ Her voice is soft, far from the kind of exuberance Peter had whenever he sang, but she's not trying to find a way out of her promise now; there's something genuine in her singing, even if it's quiet. She doesn't have much practice, other than what she's done on her own when she listened to Peter's music, but there's still a measure of confidence as she summons up the lyrics. She may have forgotten the name, but she remembers the rest of it well. ]

[ He smiles, delighted when she takes up the baton, and he listens in rapt silence.

He's surprised, if he's honest, that she remembers the lyrics as well as she does. He knew she enjoyed listening to the music with him, knew she would hum along occasionally when she thought Peter couldn't hear, but he didn't realize she knew the song well enough to sing it off the top of her head.

(He should've realized, though; Gamora listens, she remembers, and apparently that goes beyond his stupid childhood stories.)

It's not a flawless rendition, sure, and it's not with the foolhardy confidence Peter usually exhibits, but that hardly matters. It's Gamora, and just like he remembered, he loves her voice.

When she finishes, Peter flashes her a beatific (if sleepy) smile. ]

Perfect.

[ She's glad he doesn't interrupt her – not that she thought he would – and she finally glances over at him as she trails off, pleased to see that sweet smile. At least he isn't smug, isn't eager to insist that, ha, he got Gamora to sing, and she's grateful that... he just looks happy.

Her fingers tighten gently around his, reaching out with her free hand to card through his hair. ]

You look tired.

[ Which she can absolutely understand. It's late, he used a lot of energy with his silly performances on the karaoke stage, and he's had a good deal to drink. Humans need rest after such an ordeal. ]

[ He makes a pleased sound, eyes slipping shut at the sensation of her fingers running through his hair. His fingers squeeze around hers, and he gives muted shake of his head. ]

‘M fine. Not tired.

[ Even if the words come out thick and gravelly, rough with exhaustion. He cracks his eyes open, peers up with her with a hopeful sort of look. ]

Sing another one?

I think my promise only extended to one song.

[ But it's not an entirely adamant answer, not completely determined to turn him down. ]

Besides, you look like you would fall asleep in the middle of it.

[ Though that might not be the worst thing if it's what puts him to sleep. ]

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