ℂ𝕃𝔸𝕀𝕄𝕊 𝕠𝕗 𝔻𝕆𝕄𝔸𝕀ℕ-wolf/witches/vamps-ALWAYS OPEN

[Ashton_99]

⊰✧⊱𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕦𝕤 𝕎𝕠𝕝𝕗𝕗⊰✧⊱
✧ Vampire Coven Member ✧ Location: Forest/Coven house ✧ Tags: Vamps ✧

Looping around the largest pine tree he'd found yet, Markus Wolff was rather like a specter haunting the forest. He had no need for breathing- he hadn't in an unfathomable amount of time- and the vague satisfaction he once got from seeing his forced breath puff into cold air had long dulled. Agility and senses gifted to him allowed him to all but glide across the forest floor, hardly disturbing even the most fragile of fall leaves. Only the tug of wind on his hair gave away the effect of the mortal world on his body.

Days like this, where the sky was painted shades of grey, were always to be spent outside. He'd been out for some time. Not hunting, he hadn't a need yet having recently fed on an unfortunate elk, he'd simply been spending the overcast afternoon stalking. The birds seemed to be in a frenzy. The species that didn't migrate seemed to be preparing for the oncoming snow storm and at the moment that was more interesting to Markus than anything his coven mates or the citizens of the little town they'd settled in were doing. A bird's call paused Markus at the top of a hill, his misstep broke a delicate fallen branch. The sound of the bird being startled into the air to his left. He watched it's path with sharp eyes. He'd once taken up bird watching in the late 1800s. Some of the knowledge had been useful in the past, but the endeavor itself had proved rather unstimulating.

"Ah. A raven." He clicked his tongue, the flat tone of his accent dulling his voice. "Ill omen." The bird disappeared below the tree line again a short ways off. Markus returned to a clearing he'd found near the beginning of his outing. He picked his navy coat up from where he had left it. The sturdy, well made fabric was nice and warm and entirely useless to him. He hooked it over his arm, putting his silvery hair back into place. Wandering back in the direction of Ute, Markus mused aloud to himself, "Ravens and storms," his eyes tracked up to the sky, tracking the clouds. "Well, this will be an interesting stay at least."

He found the almost entirely abandoned path that lead to the back of the property his coven had claimed. There was an event today, if he wasn't mistaken. The administrator at the school house that he'd talked to had been in a tizzy over it. At the time, Markus had waved away the invitation with platitudes and the excuse that he hadn't finished moving in. But the path of the raven in the dull sky occupied his mind. An outing around people might lead to his little omen. He called into the too large house without regard for if anyone was actually there or not, "I'll be going to that little festival. Do feel free to join me."

[Ashton_99]

⭅☘⭆Wᵢₗₗₐₘᵢₙₑ Bₗₐₖₑ⭅☘⭆
☘ Witch Coven Head ☘ Location: ☘ Tags: Open ☘

Begrudgingly, Willamine had awoken early purely out of habit. She was no morning person, but there was work to be done. There was always work to be done. The cabin was in good repair and had already been subjected to her first round of warding, but Will was the sort of person who could find another thing to do just about anywhere. After she'd gone about her normal routine after waking up. Including taking the time to pull on a patterned cardigan that clashed absolutely everything to keep warm, she'd brought out an old journal that had been passed down to her from her granny's granny which came from her granny and so on and so forth. She started flipping through the familiar tome. The thick pages were yellowed with age and stained with so many different things Will couldn't even guess what they all were. And that was probably for the best anyhow. Not everyone in her family tree had always tried to be helpful and good.

Near the back of the book, written in her own mother's handwriting was a list of components for a series of jars Will planned to plant on the property line. With any luck it would provide them some long standing protection when her temporary wards faded away in the next few days. So far, nothing had actually given Will a reason to put up so many forms of protection, but she went about it anyhow. With their new addition, one couldn't ever be too careful. She herself had never been particularly gifted in divination but Will never needed much as an excuse to prepare. She pulled four large mason jars that once held fruit preserves from one of the kitchen cabinets. The collection of ingredients the coven kept for this sort of work was vast and varied, she was only missing one or two things she needed. But with the farmers that she knew lived in and around Ute, she had a feeling the ingredients wouldn't be hard to find. Will spent most of the morning working on her jars as much as she could.

With black salt, rusted nails, and the petals or leaves and stems from one particular sort of plant or another, Will mixed carefully. Powdered asafoetida stained her fingers, hiding that tattoos there and making her unable to grab her tea mug without getting residue all over it. She glared at the mug like it was it's fault she couldn't touch it. The sound of the door, and louder the sound of her coven mate, caught her attention. She grinned wrly, "Well. At least you've got the tea going for you." Will went to the sink to wash her hands, eyeing the brightly colored flyer like it might be diseased. "And what else did you bring back, oh charmer?" Her already drawn out Virginian drawl was pulled even further by her sardonic tone.

[HauntedMansion]

Bobbie Stefan
She/her - loc: cabin - tags: Farris, Willamine

The cabin was quiet, as it typically was. Living separate from a bustling world that lurked right beyond the trees marking the forests end. Everyday, once everyone departed to their own areas, in an instant, almost on cue, it became a void of silence. Besides the occasional creak of a floorboard or the squeak of a rusty door hinge, most of the nature thriving around them was effectively muted from inside the cabin. It left almost nothing in its wake, offering no background noise, and it had the potential to drive her absolutely bonkers.
Bobbie couldn’t even remember a time when she lived in complete silence. She could hum the familiar music from the circus, the songs that played day after day, each performance having its own unique theme, knowing them all by heart. She could sleep through any weather, through the constant motion of an old, rickety train, moving the entire circus from one state to another. So she was use to thriving in noise, to never having a quiet moment like this. She didn’t prefer the silence, but once she found something to occupy her mind, the void didn’t seem all that bad.

Bobbie finished applying the top coat to her freshly painted nails, a bright emerald shade glimmering under a clear surface. Blowing on them lightly, her eyes lingered towards the window, viewing a much darker tint to the outside world then when she last checked. She stood up from her bedside, fuzzy socks muffling any footstep that didn’t mange to alert the wooden floorboards. She could feel the temperature outside just from standing mere inches away from the glass, gazing up to find dark clouds lingering just over the forest, traveling further along the sky to engulf the land completely. She really did love winter, though she didn’t love the idea of being snowed in, while staying in a cabin, that was also pretty far from town. Okay, maybe not that far, but it was far enough to be unpleasant.
Hearing a breach in the silence, the slam of a door with a familiar cheery voice to follow, instantly brought a smile to her face. Judging by how long the errand took, the other witch must have gotten herself a bit sidetracked from her general goal, (happens to the best of us) and that surely she had a few stories to tell from it. Bobbie made her way out of her room and towards the quiet sounds of rummaging, spotting two of her coven mates once she entered the kitchen. Catching the response their coven head gave, nearly made Bobbie snort, gazing back to Farris with a mischievous smile.
“I’d have to agree, dear.. You must’ve left that personality back at the store.” The redhead teased lightly, striking a coy grin. Bobbie had been pretty relieved that she was welcomed into a place with such cool people, both figuratively and literally. Knowing other people with magic was pretty cool, but everyone having a sense of humor made it even better. It took Bobbie a moment to see what else Will was referring to, but she soon spotted the bright colors dawning a piece of paper on the kitchen table.

[Stargazer3000]

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Farris snickered softly at her coven mates gentle ribbing, responding in her chipper accent, "I knew there was a reason why I hung around you two, someone has to keep me honest," just as her fingers closed around the coffee mug that she had been digging for. Farris triumphantly pulled it out of the cabinet with a small flourish and the happy exclamation, "Step aside Indiana Jones, there's a new treasure finder in town!" before setting about the task of making a cup of tea to fight off the last of the lingering chill. When Will brought up the flyer, her eyes lit up in excitement as she discarded the mug on the counter, and shut the silverware drawer that she was rummaging around in with a bump of her hip.

"Oh yeah! Jimmy - the cashier at the general store, and my new best friend once he seriously reassesses his feelings on the Backstreet Boys - mentioned it. Supposedly everyone from the town comes together, and there's local vendors, and a bonfire, and games which I promise I won't get too competitive in, and anyway, I'm totally going to go," Farris paused for a beat to turn and pour an ungodly amount of honey into her steaming mug, before leaning back against the counter as she continued, "And, well, since one is the loneliest number, I wanted to see if any one would accompany me?"

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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──────────────────────────────────────────── 𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙒𝙊𝙇𝙁 ──────⯮

LOCATION; ranch > cafe ─ TAGGING; Johann, open ─ MENTIONED; Emmett, Dakota ─ WC; 1,622

Overcast light, the kind that was cold, opaque and grey, and weaved through with the essence of the shortening, dark days of November, pressed against the backs of Carson's closed eyelids through the regretfully lifting veil of sleep. The couch beneath her, green, plaid, and threadbare ─ a piece of furniture that said 'this isn't merely a ranch-style house, this is a ranch' ─ was lumpier than a recently ploughed field, and as she roused under the light that had come to blind her ─ her, specifically, as evil, conscious light was wanton to do ─ a grumble crawled from her lips and let the empty living-room know exactly how out of shape her poor excuse for a bed had bent her during the night. The night?
indentindentindentCarson willed herself to open one eye, squinting against the dull light ─ that somehow managed to carry the sharp bright of winter nevertheless ─ as she aimed her gaze past the armrest and to the windows lining the wall, then to the clock ticking along over the mantle. Her eyes were still unfocused from what must have been a generous length of sleep, but the hands seemed to be tipping toward either the early hours of the day or closer to afternoon, and there were two hazy facts floating through Carson's head that ruled out the former: it was light outside, and she only rose from bed before noon if threatened and/or alerted to a sudden and life-threatening fire. Small fires, however, could be slept through ─ this much she knew from experience. Besides, it was easier to rise at a time when she knew her brother would be long gone, having started his shift sometime around five or six in the morning like the hallowed saint he was.

indentindentindentA hand, raised with the mortal drama yet not the grace of something painted by Michelangelo ─ or one of the other Ninja Turtles ─ came to rub across her face, and the more her head cleared, the further it plunged into a sour mood, brought on by nothing more than the position of the planets or the fact she could recall having made the choice to fall asleep on the terrible couch rather than walk across the house and into her lovely, soft, inviting bed. It was this needling sense of upset that had her prying herself up from the cushions rather than the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her she had, as always, chores to complete. I swear I'll get around to them, Dakota. There was a note about them somewhere, she was certain, likely crumpled in the pocket of the green jacket she now picked up from where she had left it on the floor, only to shuffle into the kitchen and drape it across the back of a chair while she poured herself a bowl of cereal.
indentindentindentBowl cradled in one hand and spoon poised in the other, Carson parked herself by the kitchen counters, where she could stand and eat while staring through the fogging window at the outside world with bleary, narrowed eyes. It was there, vacantly observing the fields that stretched out all around the ranch house, that Carson remembered what season, month, and day it was. Not the glaring one, that approaching two-year anniversary of the worst mistake she had made to date ─ that she glossed over as if it were the terms and conditions of a site that sold tomato paste. But the Last Harvest Festival, the one she had likely been expected to help set up. Hell. It would only be her second festival ever, and it seemed it would also be the second time she missed the preparations, which was unfortunate, considering her list of objectives had been short: 1. locate the beverages. 2. don't cause Johann problems like you did last year.

indentindentindentThe bowl clattered into the sink as Carson pulled her jacket from where she had left it, hastily tugged it on, and tore out of the door and down the steps. What hit the ground at the foot of the stairs was a wolf, a flowing creature of black-brown fur and vibrant amber eyes. White-tipped toes betrayed thick claws that dug into the ground and had her cantering into the cover of the woods. The air streaming into her lungs smelled of approaching snow, and it was a doleful comfort. She had always liked winter, the quiet it brought, yet less so during the past few years. It would have most likely been faster to drive into the town, especially considering a wolven shape meant she had to stay away from the roads that meandered into the town of Ute, and instead take a circular path through patches of forest and desolate places, but Carson did not drive. Not after what had happened to Cassandra.
indentindentindentCarson knew, consciously, that the images conjured by her mind were exactly that ─ figments of her imagination, serving no other purpose than to give her a reason to beat herself up over it just a little more. Yet they felt so real, and she had seen them everywhere back in Oregon, during those few days she had tolerated back at home before packing her bags and leaving without a word. The night, headlights sweeping up and down the dark road and catching the rain as streaks of silver, flying past like stars, then the cacophonous bend and crunch of metal, stinging shards of glass, and the rain pelting the side of her face through the broken windows. All of those, conjured from the simple sight of Cassandra's wrecked truck being fished out of the old ditch that lined the road barely minutes from their homestead. Since then, each time she had tried to seat herself behind the wheel of a car, all she could do was clench that wheel and sit with her feet frozen to the floor, unwilling to step onto the pedals.

indentindentindentThe breeze, filled to the brim with the brisk bite of autumn, came to ruffle the dark fur along Carson's shoulders when the trees begun thinning and the land started its familiar fade into buildings and streets. That was where she shed the pelt, a safe distance from the town and its curious human eyes. She tugged up the collar of her green jacket and pressed her hands into her pockets, allowing the sturdy soles of her boots to do most of the work on the downhill descent before she could set her feet on paved ground. That was where she caught the first scraps of Johann's scent on the wind, carried out from the town square, where she believed to remember the heart of the Festival having been the previous year.
indentindentindentThe town square was filled with booths and vendors, and it became even clearer to Carson that she had indeed missed most of the set-up. She meandered into the midst of bustling farmers and the purveyors of other attractions, and the hint of ever-present glower on her face seemed to have them passing her from a little further than anyone else ─ not that she minded, this felt like a day during which she didn't want anyone stumbling right into her personal space. It was only at the sight of a white tent, marked as the place to find first aid by a tell-tale cross, that Carson remembered Emmett was not going to be at work, but volunteering at the Festival. Before she could turn on her heel and wander into some alley, her eyes caught a honey brown pair from across the square. Nope. Emmett raised a hand to wave her over, but Carson turned her head as if she had not seen him in the first place, and as a split second decision of needing a reason to walk the other way, she began once again following Johann's scent through the shifting throng of people.

indentindentindentA bell tinged overhead as Carson stepped through the narrow door of the cafe, from the overcast day into an artificially lit space heavy with the scent of sugar and baked goods. Some tune, muffled by many walls, played in the back room, possibly only heard by lupine ears. Johann's broad-shouldered form was difficult to miss where it was wedged into a booth by the window. Carson sauntered over with her hands still tucked into the pockets of her jacket, not sparing a glance at a single patron or the employee behind the counter in favor of pretending that if she could not see them, they could not see her. Instead of sitting down opposite of Johann, with a thump, Carson slumped herself to lay across the well-worn seat with her knees bent over the end of the booth, shoes still planted on the floor.
indentindentindentThe window radiated chilled air to mingle with the heated indoors. For a moment, Carson didn't say anything, merely closed her eyes and produced some sort of silent, vague grumbling that might have been the closest she had ever come to an apology. Past the tang of cider lingering in the booth, she could smell an undercurrent of sweat, undoubtedly from a day spent working in favour of the Festival. Once the cafe resumed its usual sounds ─ the coffee maker burbling, cups clinking against plates, people shuffling in and out of booths, and the doors opening and closing ─ blissfully ignorant of her existence, Carson slightly curled her lip without ever opening her eyes, and mumbled at Johann from her place obscured half-way underneath the tabletop, her voice low and grudging from not having been used all day: "Someone sort of reeks, and I don't think it's me. No offence."

[Wallflower11]

『 𝒯𝑒𝓂𝒶 𝒮𝓃𝑜𝓌 』
| Location - Festival (art stall) | tagged/interacting - open (mentioned Lyall) |
❀

Tema let out a hum as she inspected her half-finished festival stall. She stood there for a few seconds before readjusting the price tag on a more recent painting she had done of one of the local farmhouses. Tema wanted everything to be perfect, this was her first year getting one of the full larger stalls in the busy center of the festival. Despite it causing her some anxiety over the number of people who would be there, she was very excited. It was much easier seeing that she didn't have to tend the stall herself the whole day (gods only know how that would've gone), Mirabelle, her landlady, and basically adoptive grandmother at this point had called in a favor with one of the local teens to help Tema tend the stall so that Tema could go out and enjoy the festival activities instead of being chained to her work.

Tema let the hustle and bustle of the setup fade behind her as she put the finishing touches on her table, taking time to make sure all the tags were straight. She always brought in a good deal of money at the festival the few years she'd had been in Ute, so there was that ever-present buzz of nerves she always got when displaying and selling works at events and galleries, but her past experiences soothed it. Putting her hands on her hips she took a step back to admire her hard work, a brilliant smile gracing her face. She couldn't help but be proud.

She finally allowed herself to break her singular focus on preparing the stall to look at the commotion surrounding her. Most of the major setup was done the townsfolk were just putting up the finishing touches around the festival. She caught sight of some ginger hair moving away from her the mess of stalls and people. She smiled knowing that it was Lyall, her kind of friend? (look it's complicated to describe your relationship to someone who your biological father who you never knew tried to kill because he was a werewolf and if you could it would be a mouthful) probably checking up on her. He had a habit of doing that ever since he stopped fully avoiding her and just dashing out stores and breaking diner doors to get away from her. Mirabelle had explained that the man was just understandably cautious, and it wasn't her nor was it completely him either. Tema was glad that Lyall was feeling more comfortable around her, she liked him and hated the fact that he had been hurt. She wanted to do something to help him but she knew that letting him set the pace of their cautious friendship was the best idea. She decided to check out her neighbor stalls while she waited for the festival to start.

This is rough because I'm out of practice and that is fine

[Stargazer3000]

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Johann cradled his rapidly cooling cider in his palms, fingers absentmindedly tracing the lower rim as his gaze remained fixed on the bustling crowd outside the café windows. With each passing moment they sky grew gradually darker and even with his next task in mind, Johann found himself unwilling to shed the warmth that his cozy reprieve offered, opting instead to let time pass him by like the vendors just outside. It wasn't until a familiar scent drifted in on an icy breeze that the alpha roused himself to attention; Johann instinctively tracked Carson's movement through the crowded store, the arrival of his packmate shifting the center of his world like gravity, an undeniable pull that Johann didn't think he could fight even if he wanted.

Growing up he'd always been conscious of his packmates, their presence like a snag on a sweater - noticeable, but not the sort of thing that drew his whole attention. He'd often heard his dad, the former leader of the pack, talk about how when he was around the group, nothing but them mattered, and how it felt like the world just...fit. How he could sense when they were close, and how their absence took a piece of him with them. When Johann was younger is sounded like a horrible prison to be so trapped by the whims of others, but now he wasn't certain - there was a comfort in knowing his purpose.

Still, as he tracked Carson's movements the slightly pained expression on her face - part annoyance, part desire to be swallowed by the floor boards, and something distinctly her - made him tear his gaze away, suddenly immensely fascinated by a scratch on the booth's center table. As his packmate flopped down opposite from him, he gave her a beat to get settled, dipping his head in quiet acknowledgment of her not-quite-an-apology apology. At her comment, any lingering concerns about her not showing up to help with the market dissipated - Yeah, she was fine, - and the corner of his lips quirked up into a soft smirk that he quickly hid behind the rim of his now empty cup.

"None taken. Though if it's really bugging you, feel free to cover it up with the scent of a fresh new cup of cider," he joked, extending his foot and giving hers a gentle kick where it rested on the edge of their booth. On a normal day, his irritation with her having missed out on festival setup might have made him more prickly, but as it was he'd been plied with enough doughnuts to fuel at least a few hours of unrelenting cheer.

[Ashton_99]

◄✯▶𝙳𝚊𝚔𝚘𝚝𝚊 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚗◄✯▶
✯ Wolf Pack Beta ✯ Location: Ranch + Festival ✯ Tags: Open ✯ This is the most I've ever written on CS ✯

It was pitch black outside. The blurry watercolors of the sunset from the day before had long since came and went. The entire time- sunset to now in the still, wee hours of the morning- Dakota had been held up in the barn with her most stubborn cow. The portion of the barn she was in was lit by an old lantern that was in desperate need of a new battery if the way it occasionally flickered and cast shadows was any indication.

Dakota huffed out, letting her hands flop at her sides and into the dry, loose hay she'd taken to using as a bed. The tawny heifer she'd named Penelope had been giving her trouble for pretty much the entire year. The start of it all had been when she'd gotten out of her usual grazing field in late January. "You really had to go on that little adventure at the worst time. Huh girly?" The cow, who'd been shifting on her hooves uncomfortably for the past two hours, looked unimpressed by her banter. Because cows tended to all smell pretty similar, tracking the old girl had been one whole headache after another. Dakota had managed eventually, and unfortunately she'd found Penelope exactly where the cow should not have been. In her nearest neighbor's field.

It was only when it was too late that Dakota found out her neighbor's bull had been in that particular field that week. Being about ten years old, Penelope's pregnancy was already more risky than Dakota liked. But it was even riskier now with the pregnancy being out of season and the weather getting colder like it was. And of course, just her luck, Penelope decided the night before the festival that always kept Dakota busy was the perfect time to go into labor. Neither she nor the cow got much more sleep than a short nap here or there through the night.

It was three or four in the morning when a brown calf dappled with white on it's back end joined the two ladies in the barn. It was a scraggly thing, mostly leg, and it was just the cutest baby Dakota had ever seen. It had been trip convincing Penelope to let her get close enough to check the calf's health, but when she did Dakota was sleep deprived and grinning. She pat Penelope on the nose, the cow was placated enough by the alfalfa she'd been given to allow it all. "You did so good girl. Look at her." Dakota sat in the hay watching the mama and baby in awe. Even while she was sleep deprived and covered in the sweat and grime that came from farm work, Dakota loved working on the ranch. Nothing else left the same pleasant soreness in her muscles, or made her feel satisfied to her core as a hard day's work watching over the animals and land. The little shaky legged baby finally seemed to have had her fill for her first meal, and settled at her Mama's side in the warm hay. Dakota felt about ready to fall asleep with them.

Then a muffled alarm rang. "Nooooooo." Dakota whined aloud, only brining down her tone to not wake the sleeping calf. Standing up on sore, numb legs Dakota went to where she left her phone and hat with the flickering lantern. She went about her checks, making sure Penelope and her calf were safely tucked into their stall and everything was battened down. Eyes well accustomed to the dim light glanced back on the two cows. "Night Penelope. Night baby Cider."

Securing the black cowboy hat on her head and wearing her clothes from yesterday, Dakota started her morning chores.

Feeding all the critters that called the ranch home, cleaning up, checking the squeaky hinge on the coop and so on and so forth. The list of chores was endless and she had to get it all done in time to shower and change and be off to the harvest festival to set up her stall at a reasonable time. The morning sun was just cresting the mountains when Dakota finished fixing a broken post on the fence a the southernmost part of the property. She pat the sweat on her neck. "Ugh. Gross." As much as she loved ranch work, she never loved a lot of the scents and grimy sensations that came with it. Nostalgia was unhelpful in the event of super powered senses of smell and all that.

Finally satisfied with the amount of work she got done at about a quarter till noon, Dakota finally ventured into the farmhouse. It was fairly quiet, and while Dakota usually preferred all of life's loud sounds, she was grateful for the peace. She grabbed lunch first- a truly staggering amount of food fit to keep her going through the night till dinner. Post shower, Dakota took the time to style her hair and dress in clothes without a single stain from work on them. It was still a flannel of course, but it was one of her nicer ones. The festival was a pretty big deal to folks like her after all. It was a chance to connect with others in the farming and ranching trades, and to the community as a whole. She topped off her look with her trusty black Stetson- the nice one that was older than she was, not the one she wore while working in the colder months.

Dakota put her hands on her hips, looking at the stuffed toy wolf that currently claimed a spot on her dresser, "Okay Blueberry. Wish me luck." Dakota finished loading up the rest of her supplies in her truck and checked on Penelope and Cider one last time before heading out.

She managed to get to the festival in one piece, by the grace of whatever wolfy god was out there. Full of cheer almost more apt for Christmas than a local festival, Dakota greeted everyone she saw with a big grin whether she knew their name or not. Her stall was mostly goods from the ranch. Among her more normal wares and displays was her newest pride, spun yarn. Earlier that year the ranch had become home to a rather odd new resident, an Alpaca named Peach from Montana. He was a mean thing, Peach, but if his fleece wasn't the softest thing, Dakota didn't know what was.

Mr. Aldrich, a man in his early fifties, was finishing his touches on the stall to the left of hers. "Cuttin' it a bit close this year huh Kota?"

Leaning on her booth was the first break Dakota had pretty much all day. "Whew. You've got no idea. My old girl decided today was the day." Dakota cast the man a significant look. He was, after all, the owner of the bull who helped start the whole mess.

Though it wasn't really his fault, the older farmer looked appropriately chastised. "They doin alright at least?"

Her neighbor's booth was mostly preserves and pies curtesy of the berry patch the Aldrich farm kept. Dakota eyed a blueberry pie like her more furred self would a rabbit so her answer was more on the passive side. "Yeah they're good. Kept me up all night because Pen wouldn't get it over with but ya' know," she halted when Aldrich finally took mercy on her and shoved her the entire pie and a disposable fork. "You are a god among men sir." The older man laughed heartily while she scarfed some pie down with only half an attempt at manners. Her voice was much more present when she grinned, purple-blue smeared on her cheek. "It's a little girl! Her name is Cider and of course she looks just like her daddy." The two continued on like that for a while, at least long enough for Dakota to eat half her gifted pie, before they went back to setting up their own booths.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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LOCATION; ranch > festival tent ─ TAGGING; Kai, open ─ MENTIONED; Carson ─ WC; 1,018

The burnished swathes of orange spreading above the mountain-laden horizon were a stark contrast to the washed-out colors of the November night's mist lingering over the fields and among the spire-like evergreen trees. Emmett tried to grip his tea mug in a way that would keep the steaming brew from burning his fingertips. The handle had broken off years ago, but he had not had the heart to throw out the mug that had world's greatest werewolf printed across its side. With his free hand, he packed things into the medical bag laying open on the kitchen counter ─ first aid supplies, a thicker pair of wool gloves, and a book to read in case it turned out to be a peaceful night at the Festival. While taking a careful sip of his tea, Emmett stole another glance at the outside world, which breathed frost and fresh air this early in the morning. He set the mug on the counter so that he could check his wristwatch ─ almost six am.
indentindentindentHis hair was still tousled from sleep when he pulled his trusty grey beanie on. Alongside with his beard, he had let his hair grow out a little more than usual, and overnight, it had escaped from its regular tame sweep to an impressive puff, which left him looking more like the stereotypical werewolf than ever. Emmett chuckled to himself while fastening the flap of his medical bag ─ maybe Colorado had really gotten to him over the past two years, and looking like a woodsman would surely help him blend in. After finishing his tea and rinsing out his mug, he shrugged his light brown parka jacket on over his forest green plaid shirt and set about loading his 80s station wagon with everything he would need at the Festival. He had had the car, affectionately known as Old Bill, since Oregon and his days training as a paramedic, and he had no intention of getting rid of it until it would start falling apart on the road.
indentindentindentIt took a few trips between the car and the ranch house to load everything into the trunk, but he wanted to be adequately prepared if he was about to spend the entire day at the Festival, first setting up and then looking after the health of Ute's citizens. His day wouldn't just be about first aid either, but spreading awareness about the few health and safety campaigns the local hospital was running merely by being present at what might have been the town's biggest event of the year. With some help from the rear-view mirror, Emmett ran a final hand over his unruly beard to make sure that he would be decently presentable, before setting his medical bag on the passenger seat, cranking up the heating, and turning the tires toward town. The drive was one of his favourite things, with the cozy road meandering through the spruces, yet each time, the town seemed to be stretching ever further into the woods.

indentindentindentTents and booths popped up quickly all over the town square while Emmett worked on setting up the first aid tent, and he occasionally wandered to help prop up a tarp over a table or carry a crate of produce ─ this was what he loved about the town, how everything was rather informal and most residents felt like family whether he had met them before or not. The children over at the hospital had made an activity out of collecting colourful fallen leaves and weaving them into all sorts of wreaths and decorative chains with the help of the off-duty paramedics, and Emmett had gathered them up into his car with a promise of spreading them all over the Last Harvest Festival. He hung a few long chains over the white canvas of the medical tent, although careful not to obscure the red cross, then handed out the rest to his fellow attendees. The wreaths quickly made their way among the twinkling lights hung all around the market, and with the fragrance of spiced cider and cinnamon apple pie lingering around the tent, Emmett was quickly filled with the uplifting Festival mood.
indentindentindentThere were a few hours during which he had nothing else to do than see all the different booths that had emerged, hand out flyers for some upcoming blood drives and local fundraisers, and pet passing dogs, but it was sometime in the afternoon when an elderly man sliced his hand open on a trailer hitch and Emmett was pulled back into the medical tent to patch him up. Once he had sent him on his way to find some warm cider to save his day at the Festival, Emmett saw a flash of a familiar green jacket in the crowd, but the minute he tried to wave Carson over, she had already disappeared into the crowd milling about the square. Patience, Emmett, he reminded himself as he turned to dispose of the gauze wrapper.
indentindentindentThat was when a tall man Emmett recognized as Kai from the library waded into the crowd, and Emmett raised a hand to wave him over to the tent.
indentindent"Hey, over here!" he called out over the murmur of conversation weaving in and out around the booths. "It's a big day, huh?" he chuckled, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled into a wide smile. Had his beard been white, he might as well have been jolly old Saint Nick ─ which, truth be told, was how he saw himself spending his twilight years in the far future.

indentindentindentEmmett ducked toward one of the portable shelves, and after a moment of digging around, emerged with a stack of papers and some tape, which he held up for Kai to see.
indentindent"Mind walking with me? I've got some signs to put up so everyone knows where to find the first aid. Fingers crossed it'll be a quiet night like last year, but there's always at least a splinter or two with all these produce crates around," he laughed gently. "What about you, anything you're looking forward to tonight?"

[Wallflower11]

𝐋𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐝
| Location - Festival | tagged/interacting - Dakota (Johann, Tema) |
☾

Lyall had arrived with Johann to help set up for the Last Harvest Festival. It was a tradition at this point, something the two had done with their father, Lars, when they were young, though to be fair when they were little they didn't do much to help, only cause varying amounts of chaos. A ghost of a smile crept onto his face at the memories, though it was quickly hidden again as he turned his attention to Susan Pike a newer resident in her forties he didn't know much about, who was attempting to micromanage the absolute heck out of the regular group that was working on the festival's decorations. She had apparently decided to hold him as a captive to her chattering about over nitpicky details and gossip about "horrible Laura Field" as she followed him around, taking his silence as he worked, hanging high up banners and wreaths, as confirmation that he was indeed interested in her 'conversation'. Her words quickly faded into white noise after the third complaint about the music her 16-year-old son was listening to. With a new motivation to get away from this woman who smelled of cheap candles and wine, he finished up his assigned work, most of which were only given to him because of the fact he was taller than the rest of the people who were helping with the decoration. Lyall politely excused himself from the woman doing his best to not just brush her off or say something rather rude about how out of touch she was, no matter how much he disliked interacting with people most of the time he knew it was best to be polite especially since he did have a business he was trying to run.

Once he was far enough away he let out a long suffered sigh, the nip of the chilly air at his nose was pleasant keeping him grounded. This time of year was one of his favorites, he'd always enjoyed the cold and he had so many good memories during this time. The pack always made the holidays of this season amazing. It kept the sometimes elusive warmth inside burning and consistent.

He headed towards the center of the festival, get a peek at how the stalls were all coming along. it wasn't so he could check up on Tema, no it really wasn't. Everything was coming together nicely on the main stalls, gourds and quilts set out beside each other, in organized chaos. He lingered a bit longer till his eyes caught sight of colorful paintings of forests and seashores, and the young woman to who they belonged. Lyall smiled he was glad she had gotten one of the bigger stalls this year she was incredibly talented in his humble and uneducated opinion.

Now that he had settled that he turned away before someone caught him in a conversation he did not want to have, he was trying to conserve his social energy so he could survive the entire day. He should probably find Johann and let him know he'd finished with the volunteering. If he knew Johann, which he did, after all, they were basically brothers, he probably headed to the café to get something warm after being in the cold for so long. Lyall started to head in that direction meandering around to look at some of the stalls in the rows that were mostly set up, keeping an eye out for any potential holiday gifts for the pack. His journey was completely stopped when he came upon Kota's setting up her stall.

He couldn't help the big and probably dumb smile at the sight of the beta, no matter how much he tried to school his face back to something resembling neutral he couldn't bring himself to. It was Kota one of the few people he almost never felt anxious around, his best friend.

"Good morning Kota," he greeted his voice ever somewhat monotone despite his happiness, "How's Penelope?" He asked, knowing the health of the heifer had been a little bit of a worry due to her age and it not being the right season. "The stall looks amazing."