For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun...

[gotbottle]

Chicago's trying to move on. So are its residents. Five in particular today are engaged in their own little rituals, trying to either deal with the aftermath of the plagues or to restore some normalcy to their lives.

Rachel Conway steps under the yellow tape that marks off the burnt remains of Twice Sold Tales. She walks up to what remains of

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[marchforthedead]

Tomei sees the redheaded woman pay her respects. He's out again, looking for things to do or for Phoebe. Or looking for things to do if he can't find Phoebe. He pauses, hesitant, and crosses to the remains of the building. There's a necklace and a dagger that he got, gifts for honors received on the battlefield. A matched set of silver lions in relief. The dagger he removes from its little sheath and wriggles into the pulverized ground, just behind the flowers. The necklace...

He gets up and trails after Rachel, catching her up by virtue of leg-length. He touches her shoulder, inclines his head in a little bow, and pulls the necklace off to hold it out. He gestures back at where the shop was, where her offering rests. She lost something there. It's presumptuous and maybe a little stupid, but it makes him hurt a little less to think she might be able to carry a part of what was lost with her.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's so lost in thought she nearly jumps at Tomei's touch to her shoulder. She turns, staring up at him in puzzlement. Her eyes follow his hands; she leans a bit to one side to look past him, taking in the dagger he's left there, the necklace he holds out now.

And then it all falls into place, and she chokes up a bit. "Thank you," she whispers, taking the necklace with shaking fingers. "That's very kind of you."

She blinks up at him. He hasn't spoken a word, communicating only in gestures. So she mirrors his earlier introduction, and bows back, in case somehow her words were lost on him.

[cyfor]

Cy felt Bruce coming. With the return of the firstborn and the end of the plagues, she's going a little crazy.

...Crazier.

She leaps as he goes by, aiming for his foot and instead slamming headfirst into his leg and tumbling onto the pavement. She rolls for a bit, watching the world go 'round.

It's pretty.

[why_dowefall]

An instant after impact, Bruce has stopped and whirled, knees slightly bent, ready for any attacker.

...And then he spies Cy sprawled on the pavement. "Damn," he mutters, crouching and scooping up the cat.

"Cy, you should know better than to try to pounce people when they're running. Are you okay?" he asks, cradling her, scratching her head.

[cyfor]

She rams her skull against his fingers repeatedly, apparently trying to demonstrate that consecutive blows to the head are harmless. She's purring like a run-away lawnmower. "The stars went out," she says. "It was lonely."

Shame on you, Bruce. Making her worry. Really now.

[why_dowefall]

He rises to his feet, scooping up the cat and taking her with him. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I can't imagine what it was like for everyone left here. I wasn't here. My sky changed. I might have even dreamed it."

[prince_stupid]

There is a Ragnar spying on you, Dylan. He is underneath a coffee table nearby. He is steeling himself for what he must do.

Ragnar Gustaffson Coeur de Lion must apologize.

He walks across the sidewalk, talk flicking nervously, and jumps up onto the chair opposite Dylan.

"Good afternoon," he says. He stops. Awkwardly. And twitches his tail some more.

[weepnot_thepast]

Dylan sets down his newspaper way too fast; he tries to cover for the resulting rustle-crunch-crumple of the paper by cooly smoothing it out and folding it neatly into quarters.

"Afternoon, Your Highness," he says, setting the paper by his cup and leaning in a bit, arms folded and resting at the edge of the table. He wants to ask, What do you need? What's wrong? but he doesn't want to annoy the poor fellow.

He gets the sense he's done a lot of that so far. He's trying a different tack.

"Uh... can I get you something? If this place tries to tell me they ain't gonna serve you, I won't be back."

[prince_stupid]

Ragnar sits down and curls his tail around himself. This is uncomfortable.

"I need only to say..." Whiskertwitch. "I must apologize to you, Dylan Hayes. My need for a guardian has been rather dramatically illustrated over the past week. Indeed, I must count myself fortunate that I have been given one."

[weepnot_thepast]

Dylan smiles faintly. "S'all right, Your Highness," he replies. "I'm not offended. I reckon the idea of having a guardian's gotta rankle anybody at first blush. Takes some gettin' used to, on both sides."

[crossindexing]

Winny has been trying to be helpful with the sudden influx of refugees. She's been trying to help move people in, get them settled, do something to keep herself busy (during all the minutes that Dan is out of her sight, at least).

She's been failing rather spectacularly. She's finally been exiled to the Conrad basement's common room where hopefully she will not make things worse. She smells tea and migrates toward the angel responsible almost unconsciously. "Assam," she says absentmindedly. "What kind of strainer do you use? Or was it a tea ball? I like tea balls, but they're annoying to clean. The little curvy-design ones? When they get old and the screen bends up and the leaves get stuck in the curvy bits."

[lefttogive]

Liam quirks an eyebrow and smiles. "You've a good nose, you," he observes. "Most people would get a whiff of the air and just say, 'tea', yeah? Nicely done."

He glances down at his cup and then leans forward to show Winny the leaves floating about in the milky, sugared liquid. "I tried those tea strainer things. Never did get the hang of it--you're right, they get bent and then they're a pain in the ar-- backside to clean. Me mum used to make it like this, no strainers, no bags, just pour the hot water right on the leaves. And don't drink nothin' that ain't your tea, Mum always said. Reckon I've just gotten good at it."

[crossindexing]

"...Huh." She's honestly interested, and it shows. "Well, I guess I do have a good nose, maybe, but I just really like tea. It's one of those things that helps me feel better even when I really shouldn't, like now, you know? Kind of like in all those old movies about wars and things with British soldiers sitting around being proper and sipping at each other and being stoicly put out about... things. Um."

She scratches her nose. "Sorry. I'm Winny."

[lefttogive]

"There's a reason the entire British Empire relied so heavily upon its tea," Liam replies with a cheeky grin. "Makes the world go 'round. Lovely to meet you, Winny. I'm Liam. Fancy a cup? I've a whole pot..."

[museprint]

Casey spots the man with the newspaper as he exits said coffee shop and sighs, rubbing his forehead. He doesn't want to think about the news, or journalism, or anything right now. There's a voice message on his phone, from his boss, saying he's been promoted to an actual reporter. "No more intern title. Just come in as soon as you can, let us know you're okay. Please, Ace."

He should be happy about that, but he's not. It's only because of the circumstances; if so many members of the Tribune staff hadn't died during the plagues, that message wouldn't exist.

He'll go to the office, later. For now, he's going to hang out here and people-watch.

[weepnot_thepast]

Dylan hears the sigh, and looks up. He sees the guy who's just come out turn his attention away and start watching the rest of the scene out here on the sidewalk.

He folds up the paper and sets it aside. He wasn't really reading anyway. He sips his coffee, makes a face at it, and dumps in a couple more sugar packets.

When Ace glances his way again he nods a polite hello.

[museprint]

The nod and wave is returned, with a bonus halfhearted smile. He's tired, still, and the caffeine hasn't kicked in just yet.

Dylan should not take his coffee for granted like that.

Ace hesitates for a few moments before speaking. Dylan might not want company, but...

"Hey."

[weepnot_thepast]

"Hey."

Dylan watches him for a moment, then gestures at the other chair. "They're busy in there today. Need a seat?"