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pumpkinhollow) wrote2024-07-21 01:43 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote2024-07-21 01:43 pm
July Mini Event - Seaside Sway
Pumpkin Hollow Community Bulletin
It’s the end of July. Summer is peaking, hitting its stride. In the forest, frogs sing and fireflies dance through the night, and dragonflies go about their business in the sun. In town, farmers roll up their sleeves and young ladies swap out their many layers for breezy floral gowns. And on the beach, swimmers take to the sea for water at its warmest and young crabs climb up from the sun-drenched sand. Kora’s glory at its finest!For about a week now, a flier has been up on the community bulletin board. :
Midsummer Beach Festival!
Join us on July 21st and 22nd for our annual beach bash! Organized by the Temple of Sacred Roots in tandem with Town Hall, all townsfolk are invited to join in for seaside festivities in honor of the height of summer. Activities will include:
- Live music (Sign-ups for performers will be available at Empty Pockets Music Bar)
- Locally made strawberry wine from last summer’s strawberries
- Beach pit barbecues for lunch on both days
- A hot food banquet for dinner on the 21st
- A fish fry breakfast on the 22nd
- Paper lantern float
- Beach games
- Tents and bed rolls for beach camping
And, as promised, the festival opens up on the afternoon of July 21st, where the smell of barbecue rises up from Tawny Beach. Tables sit on wooden plinths to avoid sinking in the sand, bearing fresh summer fruit and drinks. Pork, fish, and lamb roast in a sand pit. Enchanted barrels covered in magic frost keep frozen treats like orange juice shaved ice and strawberry sorbet cold. A station for assembling little wood-and-paper floating lanterns can be seen off in the distance and Cormac and the Banshees are setting up for their opening set. Tents and bed rolls have been set up toward the Marina. Literally everything is decorated with thin golden coins on strands of twine, sea shells, and sea glass. In the center of it all, stones have been laid into the shape of a massive compass rose, whose center houses the makings of a bonfire.
Those who were here last year will recognize that this festival is much larger than last year’s, and was not preceded with desperate pleas from Town Hall for help providing food and decor. It speaks plainly to the health of the town now. Even with all that has been going on, the growing population and renewed sense of community and purpose have improved matters around the island considerably.
Near the tent area, a family of crabs (one red, one blue, and three purple) can be observed. The small purple ones are poking each other with sticks. The Limoncello has made port, and Royal and his crew are splitting helper duty with the staff of Town Hall, and are dancing and partying the rest of the time. All is as it should be. For once, there is no dangerous surprise lurking in the shadows.
So, what’s on your agenda? During the day, volleyball, swimming, and a game that involves throwing small fabric sacks of dry lentils into wooden hoops in the sand can be enjoyed, alongside a plethora of frozen treats. At night, food and wine and lemonade are served at the banquet tables and lively music plays on the temporary wooden stage for dancing by firelight. There is also the lantern float, which encourages participants to send a glowing lantern out on the water in honor of the lost and the distant, ending the first night in a moment of peaceful sobriety. You may also notice a charming stranger milling around, cozying up to Royal, and drinking after nightfall--- a woman with dark olive skin, raven hair that soaks up the firelight, and rum brown eyes who wears a billowing blue dress and (whenever she hasn’t placed it onto someone else’s head for fun) a wide-brimmed black hat.
Then, at night, camp on the beach under the stars or head home by additional lantern light. The festivities will continue until the following afternoon! Feel free to share your beach fit in the fashion show thread below, as well. Enjoy!
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One more try! This time, his hand connects with her elbow, and he succeeds in giving it a couple friendly pats.
"'M glad you're having fun."
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At least, as far as she knows.
"There was one time me and my friends celebrated after managing to make sure that a druid grove wasn't overrun by foes, but that was in the forests. Just for an evening. We didn't make a day of it, and everyone had to move on in the morning. It wasn't really as nice as this one was."
And there were other, greater problems at hand. No rejoicing in the seasons for them.
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She laughs, and that veil over her mind doesn't hold at this point, but her thoughts remain calmer things. Nothing angry or hateful floating his direction, and instead, mostly drawn towards the stars."
"Just...whatever people want to do to be happy they're alive."
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He breaks off, laughing a little.
"We had one night the projector kept breakin' so we all sang 'n did impressions, and y'know it almost felt like home a little? I think about that a lot." He sighs. "Gee, it was a real swell night."
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She reaches out, patting his arm. That's what this night is about. Celebrating summer. Being alive. There's a part of her soul that's still raw and bleeding from how hard she has to hold on, but - well. Right now, they're supposed to be happy.
"You know how to sing? You should."
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But if he's got a willing audience! Radar hums in thought as he tries to decide on a song (and tries not to get distracted by the way the stars wobble and jolt around every time he blinks). At last, a little softer:
"When the lights go on again, all over the world
And the boys are home again, all over the world
And rain or snow is all that may fall from the skies above
A kiss won't mean 'goodbye,' but 'hello to love'..."
Just as he said, his voice isn't much to write home about. Plain, unadorned, a little out of tune, not to mention thoroughly loosened at the seams by all the alcohol. But it matches the wistfulness of the song well.
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When he finishes, there's no applause. It wouldn't feel right. But her voice is as soft as his is.
"That's beautiful, Radar."
The sentiment and the song itself.
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Fever's thoughts echo the emotion back at him, a tiny feedback loop that hums, amplifies, fades out a few moments after the song's end. Idly, Radar stirs his fingers through the sand.
"'S from when I was a kid. There was another war. Bigger than the one I'm in. Way, way, way, waaaaay bigger. They wrote a lotta songs about it." He turns back to the stars. "Wonder if they're gonna do the same about Korea when it's over."
He's quiet for a beat.
"...Sometimes I wonder too if this's all I'm gonna get. War, war, war. New one as soon as the old one's over. I mean I already got two'n I'm not even twenty yet."
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So, instead, she replies soft as seafoam.
"And what if it's not? What if you go home, and it's peaceful? What will you do then?"
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"Hug my mom'n Uncle Ed a lot." No louder. "Save up 'til I got my own farm. Maybe the Richardsons'll be selling by then'n I can get the land right next door. Get married -- for real," he says, with some extra emphasis, "not, not t'someone who's gonna leave me four months later."
(Oh, yes, there's a story behind that.)
"And... I think I'd like to be a dad. Y'know I kinda pretended I was for a little while. It was nice, once I figured it out."
(And a few more behind that, too.)
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(Something aches behind her heart, and she pays it no mind.)
"I think you're going to be a good dad," she says. "When you get there. And a good farmer, too."
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That the barrier comes down; that he goes home, first to Korea and then to Ottumwa. That the war ends. That another one doesn't immediately rise to take its place.
Then Radar asks the question everybody asks each other on late nights at the 4077th, when they're all especially tired and sick of the bloodshed. "What about you? What're you gonna do when you get home?"
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"...I don't have one of those - a home, I mean."
A tiny pause.
"Guess the first thing I have to do is find one, or build one. Or I just have to hope someone doesn't mind me hanging around."
A dog taking up a quiet post in the yard, ever watchful, fine with scraps and a little bit of shelter. Whatever that ends up looking like.
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"Hey. Hey, no, don't say that." He points at her. (Okay, more like a foot to the left of her.) "Fever, don't you say that, you're great. I don't mind. Nobody minds. I like you hanging around'n so does everybody else on this whole entire beach!"
He gestures so expansively at the party that, briefly, he's in danger of faceplanting into the sand.
"When you get home you're gonna find a home or make a real swell one. An' until then?" Very firm. "Y'got us."
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It's sincerely meant, and rejecting something like that would be akin to cutting her own tendons - unnecessary, painful, and damaging. They're words that fall gently on her, and like all the other nice things she's heard, she wants to keep it. Turn it over in her hands as something beautiful, something sweet. Even if it doesn't entirely fit, that doesn't mean it doesn't feel soft in her grasp. Later, to consider and hold it up to the light, and fit it against what she knows to be true in this world. What is and what can be, and what is likely to be.
"Don't know what I'd do without all of you."
wrap?