riverviewlogs | introductory mingle: MEMORIA

Entry tags:

introductory mingle: MEMORIA

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!

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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!))

Edited 2017-05-02 02:46 (UTC)

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.]

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.

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.]

Edited 2017-05-02 04:00 (UTC)

☂ 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.]

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!]

Edited 2017-05-02 06:53 (UTC)

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. ]

[ 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'. ]

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!]

Edited 2017-05-02 15:11 (UTC)

[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.]

[Steve has been approaching the tradition as an outsider. He has felt more acutely that particular nagging feeling of being distant, an observer in a strange world, and somehow these gestures to honor loved ones and keep memories close only only make him feel more like an outsider. Everyone has lost someone, but the ways they keep together as a community and the things they do with family and friends makes all the difference.

He helps out anyway, because at least he can do that. The hanging lanterns aren't really for anyone Steve knows. If the lights are meant to lead spirits home, he's pretty sure no one that he knew and lost will find their way to Quarantine. But at least he can support the tradition for the other people that need it for comfort.

And that is when he sees a familiar woman walking down the street like she's on a mission, clearly trying to avoid being offered any of the lanterns the locals keep giving them. One person actually stops her, and Steve raises his eyebrows at her cold response. It's polite, but stern. Hard. He hands over the lantern he was helping to hang on a cart to a vendor and crosses the small street, catching up to her.]

Not a great time, is it?

[He says that softly, as if to balance out her clipped stiffness with some warmth.]

[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?

[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 has floated all his lanterns by this point in the evening. He's only done a few, some with multiple names. The people who had the biggest impacts on his life. He's tried to let go of regrets tonight, of what-ifs. Gretchen's name drifts lazily down the river with all his pangs about what if I had survived and what if I had gone back for her.

When his thoughts snap back to the here and now, he spies Peggy Carter, standing by the water, and he manages a small, reflective smile.]

No need to apologize. I'm sorry, I interrupted you.

[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?

[So this is what it feels like to have the tables turned on you. Normally, she's the one stumbling on Ian. Today, it's his turn. Really, she's a little surprised that he would approach.

But it's not a bad thing. Maybe he's getting a little less insane. You never know.

Still. He could have picked a better time.

She glances up from the lantern, blinking away a slightly glazed expression that goes so very much against her facade. The shrug isn't as casual as she'd like it to be. Her voice isn't as disinterested.]

It's a festival honoring the dead. I'd say the lanterns are probably totems.

[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.

[Bucky has always been adaptable, especially after the death of his father. Finding himself somewhere new... it isn't all that unusual for him, and he does what he's always done, he tries to find his place. He makes it his home, because home is just wherever he and his loved ones happen to be.

He and Steve are here, so he makes himself at home in Riverview, knowing that when their time comes, they'll pack up and move back to their real home again.

He lets out an embarrassed laugh when he feels Steve's hand on his shoulder, hears his voice. The tension in his shoulders trickles out slowly. Years ago, he would have loved the spotlight, would have told some outlandish story and held their attention til the last word. Today, he's just glad for the out.]

There's a difference between tellin' stories and dragging your ass into whatever trouble I could find. That's how I kept you entertained.

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?

"It's a good holiday. Grieving doesn't get the chance it should where I'm from," Morgan said, his smile waning a bit. "A lot of the time you're just expected to do it in private, keep it quiet, don't bother other people with it. Terrible way to do it, really. I like this better."

[Steve is listening to the stories, staying toward the back of the group so he can remain unnoticed and just enjoy the moment. Maybe make some connection as part of the audience instead of constantly needing to be active. After all, that seems to be tripping him up more often. He always has to lead, has to push, and this festival is no place for either of those things.

When he hears the singing, he waits, listening as Fatima conveys her feelings through the notes. He steps forward when she finishes, waving at her with a small gesture of greeting.]

That was beautiful. Where did you learn it?

[Fatima ripples her fingers in return, taking a second to remind herself that, yes, this is Blocky Steve or Grumpy Steve or whatever Steve that had nothing to do with the unicorn, but is friends with Bucky. The mental gymnastics are getting a little bit easier. But's it's definitely still an adjustment.

She takes a few steps over to him, like she's stepping out of a spotlight. Singing in public isn't something she does often. Especially not without copious amounts of alcohol involved. And this is no karaoke bar.]

My favorite aunt wrote it. She, uh, she's a composer. Has a voice like...

I mean, I'd say "a voice like an angel," but that's kinda cliched.

[ A fox, bigger and fluffier than any in the wild, sits and watches the boy cries and cries and cries some more, the ugly kind of grief which is usually too personal for such a public venue (he weeps like that too, if rarely). Calmly, the green-eyed beast pads over in silence to sit at Ivar's side and watch the lanterns float away. He isn't averse to being petted, if that helps the boy. ]

[He doesn't notice the fluffy beast at first, so caught up in the throes of grief. When he's finally forced to take a breath rather than choke to death, he wipes his eyes and looks up to discover a fuzzy muzzle pointed in his direction. Where had he come from? He might find it odd see a fox in such an urban setting, but with the amount of strange pets everyone seems to be acquiring, it's possible he belongs to someone setting off a lantern.

It seems rather tame, so Ivar reaches out a hand, stroking the fox lightly on the top of the head. Animals have always had a soothing presence on him. The tears are still coming, but a little bit slower now.]

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!! )

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introductory mingle: MEMORIA

Morgan Knight | OTA

Fatima Merali | OTA | Will match style!

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sam wilson | mcu | ota

taako | the adventure zone | ota

Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson | Vikings | OTA

peggy carter 💄 marvel tv 💄 ota

drinking;

no subject

hanging lanterns;

hanging lanterns

Bucky Barnes (616) | OTA

floating lanterns

floating

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no subject

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no subject

Steve Rogers (616) | ota

no subject

sharing life

no subject

iii

no subject

loki laufeyson, marvel-616 (ota)