#bhsstarter

The town square hummed with life, a constant, cheerful clatter of voices overlapping like birdsong. Neighbors greeted each other like long-lost friends, exclaiming over news that had barely aged an hour, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, roasted nuts, and something sweet enough to make Josie’s mouth water. Above it all, the sky stretched wide and blue, the kind of day that practically begged for an adventure. Or a mishap. Definitely one or the other.

She took a deep breath, arms outstretched as if she could gather up the sunshine like a flower, her eyes glinting with excitement for life. Technically, she should be doing her chores right now— but also, technically, one of those chores was to "soak up good vibes," and who could prove she was the one who put it at the top of the list? What were you, her lawyer?

There are two moments every day that Alaina is guaranteed silence: dusk and dawn. As often as humanly possible, she tries to sit in those moments, greeting the sun every morning and conversing with the moon every night. She’s encouraged others to do the same, but far away from her.

These are her sacred moments.

This morning, she’s knelt in front of a tree, slender limbs curled up among the large and sprawling roots. The spot she’s nestled in isn’t too far from humanity, chosen specifically so she can hear the hum of the town as it wakes up. For now, she doesn’t expect anyone to be up, especially at this hour.

She’ll admit she does hear the person approaching, likely unaware of her position on the forest floor. Her eyes are closed, though, and the sound is coming from behind – so she has no explanation for the urge she gets in her stomach, the warmth at the base of her skull.

“Watch your step,” Laney announces, eyes still shut. It isn’t her she’s talking about – she says the words right before her company can trip over (or into) a rather steep dimple in the ground. A bump in the earth she hadn’t even noticed herself. “Dawn’s coming. Are you here to watch?”

That damned storm, blowing out the bulbs in Eternal Rest.

Missy should count her lucky stars that the worst happening was some faulty bulbs cracking from the weather and not the whole of their electricity dying on them  – the good Lord knows she’d hear some rattling coming from Mrs. Buckley’s mortuary chamber, may she rest in peace. But, it’s simply the fact that she has to ask for help. Each day since the weather has cleared has involved the girl climbing atop of various chairs and desks in Eternal Rest, any higher leveled surface to reach those dead bulbs, leading up to the fateful night before involving a moderately serious tumble from the autopsy table; her daddy found her laying stone cold unconscious on the floor, pieces of medical equipment circling around her head in lieu of cartoon stars. One trip to the clinic and a sling cradling her left arm later, and she was grumbling to herself as she posted her flyer on the bulletin board one-handed.

Which, by the way? Needlessly difficult.

So there she is, leaning against the doorway of Eternal Rest – with all the lights shut off inside, the darkened pit looks as if it’s swallowing Missy whole. An annoyed expression furrows her brow, her arms crossed against her chest…well, one is crossed, the other secured tight across her chest. A plate of blondies, near fresh out of the oven sits just inside the abyss of the Mortuary, the smell of sugar and cardamom(her not-so-secret ingredient) drifting out towards the Spring air.  Beautiful, but she's a little too pissed to enjoy the fine weather.

And, when she spots a figure walking towards her place of business, a stark grey in comparison to the vivid blue of the sky, Missy whistles and lifts up her hand in a wave. 

“Right here,” she calls out, her head tilting to the side as her hand drops back down. “Thanks for comin’. I got lemonade, too, if you get thirsty.”

Going from life in the city to working at a clinic in the valley? It's a lot. The early morning train rides are nice; quietly sitting and sipping her coffee as she watches the city roll by, slowly but surely give way to smaller towns and grassy fields, it's quite a peaceful way to start the day. But being in a town where everyone is so friendly and everyone knows one another feels so foreign to her. And, honestly, it's been a while since she's had such a forward facing job. People are so… chatty, it's exhausting.

Valerie sits at the bar, head propped up on one arm as she stares out a window. She's nursing a paloma, watching the rain come down as other patrons chatter and go about their night. There's some country song playing in the background, soft and moody; a woman sings about having a broken heart in her country twang over a repetitive chord progression that has her rolling her eyes.

She huffs out a sigh and takes another sip of her drink. "Can we at least put on something more upbeat?" she murmurs to herself. The comment isn't intended to be heard by anyone else, but alas…

The soft rustle of pages fills the quiet air of the Bleeding Hearts Springs Library as Molly moves slowly through the aisles, re-shelving books while eyeing potential fillers for one of her latest display ideas. Since moving to the area, she's made a point to keep a display of gardening and seed starting books out on a seasonal rotation. At first, she was afraid patrons might tire of seeing the same old books on display year to year, and while she was still within the two year time frame, no one had told Molly otherwise. This spring she managed to get her hands on a few more new books, but she had been searching the stacks for some tried and true staples. 

One of the perks to being in a town like Bleeding Hearts Springs was that there was no shortage of books having to do with gardening, cooking, farming, ranching, carpentry, and various other outdoor vocations and hobbies. Honestly, that had become one of her favorite parts about moving here. Most days she was thanking herself for settling on this little slice of paradise. Though Molly was pretty sure anywhere would've felt like paradise upon her exit from Nashville. Not that she didn't love the place she had considered home, she did.. she was just over the… baggage. 

But that baggage didn't matter anymore, at least that's what she kept telling herself. Her therapist had sort of said otherwise at one point, stressing that she needed to sit with how the move made her feel because it was a big change. As far as Molly was concerned though, she was happy as a honeybee in a hive, a hive that was full of new people who were quickly becoming some of her favorite people. And these people were helping her stitch herself back together, even if they didn't realize it. 

"So, uh, that rain. It's pretty... wet!"

Nothing more embarrassing than a grown man who sucks at a small talk and is completely drenched because of said "wet" rain. Actually, the most embarrassing part of this is the fact that Minjun claims that he thrives on rainy days like this. Born on a rainy day years ago, he always believed that he was the luckiest whenever it was pouring outside. No matter how gloomy it was, Minjun always walked around with some pep to his step and a grin on his face. He really was that guy.

That is, until he moved to the country and he realizes how different it all is. This rain, it doesn't bring him good luck, it only brings him a stream of bad luck. Example A, a dripping wet Minjun and his bag of groceries that he just bought. In his attempt to head back home, he was attacked by a sudden downpour and lost, obviously. Then there's example B, the terrible small talk. Because Haerin has been on his ass about making friends, and for some reason, he thought that this was the perfect time to make some. "It's also very... heavy. Crazy. This rain sure is terrible."

the acoustic tunes flowing from the jukebox are really all tully needed to get excited about being back in her hometown. leaving before she was old enough to drink, she’d never even taken as little as a step into the velvet stag before. a regret she didn’t know she had until she was sitting in front of the bar and ordering her first shot of the lowest priced whiskey on the menu. she was here for one reason and she knew she had to be on her best behavior. even so, a shot wouldn’t hurt anyone. especially tully. the moment the fire finds it’s way into the pit of her stomach, she’s spotted her first victim.

“hey, stranger. you mind if i ask you a few questions about swan lake… it’s for, uh, a documentary i’m filming about lesser known cryptids. and uh, someone told me there’s one right here at your local lake.” tully asks in a hopeful tone. if she were being completely honest to herself, she didn’t know how to go about her investigation. didn’t want to raise any red flags and she didn’t want to get labeled as crazy right off the bat. but how hard could winging this actually be? she’d spent her whole adulthood winging this thing called life and that was no slice of pie with whipped cream on top.

“if you’re not one for talking, i understand… but i got a five dollar bill with your name on it.” a grin paints across tully’s face and before the other person can get a word out. she’s already dumping a pile of useless junk from her pockets upon the surface of the bar. sifting through candy wrappers, receipts, and pennies before finding the wrinkled up face of abraham lincoln. she picks the bill up, stretching out poor abe’s face before sliding it over to the person next to her. and damn, was that luck. for a second, she thought she might have spent the money on a pack of smokes. “and if you’re still not in the mood for questions. i understand that too, believe me, but… i’m gonna need that five back.”

Tori Mae wasn't much for dancing and pageantry but she did enjoy the occasional event to people watch. The Springs came alive every spring with the Rain of Petals Parade and the looks of pure joy on the faces of festival goers was a nice reminder that there still was a little magic left in the world, even if none of it belonged to Tori Mae.

She should've listened to Miss Fortune all those years ago when she told her to expect a big change in her life, but truly, she should'a listened to her mama telling her she had no business putting any trust into what that woman had to say. Tori ignored the instructions to steer clear of her tent then, but had made up for it by avoiding it entirely for the last fifteen years. That counted for something, right, Mama?

Instead, she wandered the festival grounds, savoring the smells of freshly baked teats, hand picked flowers, and honey sticks. She greets local artisans with a big smile, promising to make another round to actually purchase something and sends her Pop's regards. He hated missing the festival but promised Tori Mae's mama he'd rest this year and let Tori take care of the shop talk.