#orlaith1

[sylviapak]

WHEN: september 18, 2022; sunday evening WHERE: sylvia’s apartment WHO: @orlaithrose​ AVAILABILITY: CLOSED

“I didn’t know who else to call that could still be awake.” Sylvia grimaced into the hallway, opening the door wide to her guest. The pair had crossed paths some time ago through one mutual friend or another. Lixin, perhaps? It seemed likely. The details were blurry and didn’t matter, they got along fast and Sylvia thought that was rare. 

Still, were they good enough friends for a call at one in the morning to help Sylvia free a frantic bird from her apartment? They were now if they hadn’t been before. 

Sylvia leaned on a broom. Her hair was a mess. A few curlers hung on for dear life. She held an umbrella over her head. “It’s pooped on everything. The bird has pooped on everything.” Well, that explained the umbrella at least. 

[zafirankosi]

WHEN: August 14, 2022; Sunday morning WHERE: Beneath a bridge WHO: @orlaithrose​

“Φάε σκατά,” she cursed loudly. Eat shit. With a crunch and a groan she rolled over in the silt and pebbles that lined the riverside splitting fae from vampire territory. She felt every part a troll, sleeping beneath the bridge like this and being awoken in such a mood. “Some of us are trying to sleep here.” And the others, on their mats or in their weatherworn tents, seemed to be succeeding despite the racket. 

It wasn’t as if the sleep had been any good, or restful. Fable had already accepted that tonight she’d need to find alternative accommodation by any means necessary. Still, she wasn’t exactly eager to wake up today and get on with it. Not when there was still some cool morning left to sleep in some comfort to, some cool morning that was being interrupted by one rude woman and her incessant—

“Oh no.” Fable knew that sound. The panting, the shallow breaths in and long exhales out, the grinding out of grunts and groans through grit teeth. “Alectryon above,” she whispered, “this bitch is having a baby.”

And it looked like Fable was going to have to do something about it. Great. She took a moment to close her eyes, still pretending she might not help. Fable prayed, or sort of complained at her god, can’t you send someone else to do this? But the question was hardly out before she was going to the woman’s side. She had faith, but more often than not she knew faith really meant doing it yourself anyway. 

“Keep breathing.” It wasn’t exactly comforting. “I have done this before.”

The pregnant woman—werewolf, Fable suspected—yelled out, “Well I haven’t!” 

“Good,” it wasn’t a very good time for joking, but, “then you will not know if I mess up.” This was met with a growl, but Fable wasn’t deterred. Actually, she’d delivered a surprising amount of babies. But she didn’t care to talk about that. 

[peterpfeiffer]

WHEN: 5/21/2022 WHERE: Treaty Towers WHO: @orlaithrose​ AVAILABILITY: Closed

Courtney couldn’t remember now how many years he had lived in Treaty Towers. He recalled that, at least once, he had re-signed a lease, which he supposed meant he’d had to have signed a lease period a year prior, but the specifics of his time as a tenant were unknown to him. What he did know was this: he had lived here long enough he should have been able to recognize a single other occupant of the building. He could not. 

So, when he stepped into the elevator and the doors closed on him and one other girl, he didn’t bother with pleasantries or small talk, only stepped a polite distance away from her and stood staring blankly ahead content to go one more day where that truth remained. 

Ding. One floor passed them. Ding. Ding. Ding. Three more. Courtney was thinking about the ham sandwich he was going to make once he got into his apartment when the elevator rattled, let out a death wail, and then the entire metal box was pitched into black. “I knew I should have taken the fucking stairs,” he grumbled, fumbling in the dark for his phone to turn the flashlight on in vain. No sooner had he turned it on when naturally the generator kicked in, providing them with some emergency lighting from overhead. “Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “Alright. You see a call button anywhere?”

[jescaiah]

WHEN: 10.18.22; morning WHERE: Treaty Towers WHO: Jescaiah + Orlaith ( @orlaithrose )

.

Honestly, for a Treaty Towers resident, Jescaiah did not look out of place as she shuffled towards the neighbor’s door still dressed in a silk robe and fluffy pink slippers. Her arms were full of various bartering items. A large package of spearmint chewing gum, a box of fudgy brownie mix, and a sampling of a name-brand lotion to name a few. The free hand of hers racked knuckles rhythmically against the door and politely waited for an answer. It was a reasonable time, Jescaiah though. Reasonable enough that a normal person may not be home, too. It was Jescaiah’s obscure day off for the week. When the door began to slide open, she greeted cheerily, “Good morning!” Now, she’d found acting sheepish only worked sometimes. Confidence got you in the door 99% of the time. “I am a woman on a mission. I will trade you anything for a few hits of weed.” You couldn’t disguise the smoking coughs, or even the stench, from neighbors for too long. “If you’ve got allergies,” she nodded at her offering of goodies, “I’m real good at nail designs.”