Gonna burn those blue suede shoes; [OTA & 2 Closed Starters]

[teen_angst_bullshit]

WHO: Veronica Sawyer
WHERE: The River & Various
WHEN: June 23-25
OPEN TO: ALL, Kira & Nerys
WARNINGS: n/a

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[OTA]

Dear Diary,

It's really fucking hot.

Understatement of the year, Veronica thinks as she stares down at the line, sweat tickling down the back of her scalp to gather at her hairline.

Thinking about going bald, she adds in a looping scrawl. Could start a new village fashion.

The sad truth is that she probably could. With the sun giving them the finger day in and day out, it's surprising people aren't lined up at Kira's door begging him to shear them like the sheep. It might even look cute, now that she considers it—

That's it. She's got to get some kind of relief or she really will hunt down the kitchen shears and do something she'll regret later.

Even at half capacity, the river's still the best option available. Well, unless you want to swim in the fountain, and Veronica's just not that comfortable with the idea of accidentally dog-paddling into somebody fresh arrived to what's beginning to actually feel like hell.

Towel in hand, she abandons the steamy shade of the house and trudges to the river, where she strips all the way to her panties and bra before wading in. No jumping from the dock today, unless you want to break something.

[For Kira]

Even with all of the windows pushed all the way open in this house, the breeze that slips through the dining room is paltry at best, barely ruffling the pieces of paper she and Kira have neatly stacked to one side. It's worse outside, though, the sun aggressive and unrelenting. It's a miracle there haven't been more people sick from it.

"Okay, so a map," Veronica says as she flaps a makeshift fan she folded from a piece of her precious typing paper. "We should see what's in the storeroom, too."

[For Nerys]

Truthfully, Veronica feels just a little guilty. In a normal situation, there would be nothing wrong with snagging the discards and peelings that don't make it into a meal, but here, everything always feels so damned precarious, like they're one bad day away from starving or freezing or succumbing to heat exhaustion. Like you have to monitor every step of the food chain like a hawk. Fretting, she'd walked past the compost pile enough times that Mark had begun to look at her funny, and realistically, a few bits of potato and root snagged before they made it in weren't going to make a difference.

Still, she feels a little bad. Not that getting drunk won't immediately fix that.

Soup pot in hand brimming with cast-offs, she knocks on Nerys' door.

Comments

[3ofswords]

The first house he thinks of is Sonny's, right next to the inn and marking where the splitting paths narrow into the one that heads right for the fountain. That being taken, he purses his lips around the end of his pen, bobbling it in his mouth while he leans ever back in the chair and thinks.

Eventually gravity requires him to fall on his head or tip back, and he settles again in a clap of chair legs and his own feet, spitting the pen onto the table. "There's a brick house behind the inn, or across from one of the houses behind the inn, we'll have to check. I'm pretty sure it's empty still, and anyone who didn't want to cook would have a short walk to the daily meals."