STARTER BLOG

Honey’s first week at Paw Prints Animal Hospital had gone very well. Her new colleagues gave her a warm welcome, and she really enjoyed meeting all the pets that came to see her. Luckily, nothing tragic had happened. Staying busy was keeping her from dwelling on her ex-fiance. 

It was nighttime that brought her down. When there wasn’t anything to preoccupy her, she just felt down. So today, on her first day off, she found herself at Crafty Hands. She spent several minutes going down the aisles taking all the various craft in. What should she get her crafty little hands into? Crochet? Soap making? Embroidery?

She stood in the yarn section of the store looking between two different books. A little blue book that was geared towards teaching kids how to crochet, and a book about knitting.

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: morning

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: OPEN to everyone ( @windsorbaystarters )

Having the day to herself, Cassandra wasn't going to miss the opportunity of getting things done. Currently, she was at Sweet Whiskers, enjoying her latte while working on some of her clients' paperwork and other admin responsibilities. It was a challenge to focus on both her work and the surrounding cats around her, but she managed and was certainly proud of what she accomplished. "Hey buddy..." she suddenly called out to a Calico cat that was approaching her table. "No one tell Cleo...I know she's the jealous type." she mused to the person next to her. "—Do you have any cats of your own?"

Walking in, the smell of paint hit her first. Shade Culture had been on her list of things to try for so long yet Amara had always imagined she'll come with some company to make the whole experience less daunting. The thought of bringing her mother had crossed her mind but the woman had called last minute to let her know she had a change of heart. She offered a small smile at the woman, who greeted her upon arrival and requested a glass of soda before heading towards the long table with set canvas. "Is this your first time, too?" She chuckled, taking a seat next another early comer. Noticing most of the seats were still empty, she hoped to at least break the ice and have a decent first experience.

Single parenting at a new town was a lot harder than Cole expected. There was so much he'd taken for granted back home and he was only now starting to realize that. He strolled down the aisles, his eyes drifting over the books' backs without actually reading the titles. Romance, thrillers, non-fiction — he was honestly surprised at the organization since at least in his opinion there was huge difference between all of it but maybe that was the idea. To help people find their way better. "Excuse me," he spoke softly, trying not to startle the first person that came to his view. "Do you happen to know where I can find the kids section?" He knew he should be looking for bright and colorful covers but book industry seemed to have changed quite a lot in the last few years when even romance books had such now.

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: afternoon

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: OPEN to EVERYONE // @windsorbaystarters

Isa could kill for a joint right now, but she was on the clock at Ink City, counting down the last hour she had left of her shift. While she didn't have any clients booked, she still had an obligation to stick around just in case she's needed for any flash tattoos or potential consultations. Currently on her fifth? Or was it sixth?—Smoke break of the day, she leaned against the store window and scrolling on her phone while exhaling a cloud of smoke in the process. Noticing someone nearby, she glanced up and asked, "Hey, are you here for a tattoo or...Got a question?"

Once outside, Amara pressed her back to the cold brick wall and exhaled, slow and deliberate, like she'd been taught in therapy; nights like this always buzzed too loud, too bright, too much for her. Her breath fogged up immediately, briefly luminous under a street lamp before it vanished. She glanced back over her shoulder, looking through the fogged up window — looking at the party going strong inside. She repeated the exercise a couple more times.

Just when she was about to drop her shoulders and relax, she heard the door opening and instinctively wrapped her arms around her. "Needing a breath of fresh air, too?" Amara smiled softly and stepped to the side.

WHERE: The Lucerna, Downtown.

WHEN: New Year's Eve, 2025.

"Thank you." JJ grabbed a flute of champagne as one of the servers passed by with a tray, giving them a nod before taking a rather generous sip of the drink. He glanced over at his fellow guest and shrugged. "Don't judge me. I'm off the clock, and I'm very determined to properly finish out the year." With that, he chugged the remainder of the champagne. "It's New Year's Eve, for crying out loud."

Tristan had been at Fitness Factory long enough to really regret all the choices that got him there, but not long enough to actually leave. His hoodie was around his waist, his t-shirt sleeves were already dark with sweat, and he was staring at the dumbbells like they had done something bad to him. He rolled his shoulders once, then again, breathing out through his nose. "Alright," he mumbled to himself. "Just because you used to be good at sports doesn't mean your body remembers how."

A machine close by made a loud clank as he finished his reps. He grabbed his water bottle, took a big drink, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He noticed someone nearby, maybe waiting for the same machine, maybe just watching him struggle, and let out a little laugh. "Feel free to lie and say that looked easy," he said, kind of smiling, kind of dying. "Or tell me now if I'm doing something that's going to hurt my back tomorrow. I'm open to suggestions."

Leyla took her seat at the hibachi table, shrugging off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves like she was settling in for some time. The chef hadn't started cooking, but the grill was getting hot, and the air was already smelling wonderful with soy and garlic, making everyone excited. She looked at the empty seat next to her, then around the table, a calm, watchful, and slightly entertained look on her face, waiting for the fun to begin.

"Just so you know," she said, not really talking to anyone specific, tapping her chopsticks gently on her plate. "I'm here for both the entertainment and the food, and I will be judging the knife tricks. Not in a mean way, though. Just… critically." She paused, then gave a small smile. "Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand there acting like you don't want the best view of shrimp flying through the air?"

The moment Adrian Sinclair walked into Magenta, it was already buzzing. The bass thumped right through the floor, like a second heartbeat in the room. Everything – the walls, the people, the glasses – was bathed in pink light, making the whole place feel fuzzy and alive. He shucked off his coat by the bar, rolling his shoulders like he was shedding the day, and just soaked it all in. Good crowd tonight. Relaxed, loud in a good way. The kind of vibe that makes you forget your worries for a bit.

He propped an elbow on the bar, ordering his drink without shouting, clearly a regular here. His eyes roamed the dance floor, not really searching, not bored – just watching, waiting for something to grab his eye. Or someone. When it happened, he focused in, a small, curious smile playing on his lips. "I bet," he said to the person who'd ended up next to him – he didn't care if it was on purpose or not. "First time here, or you know this place messes up your sleep and you come anyway?" He gave a little nod with his glass. "Either way, good night to pick. Magenta only gets like this when it's trying to show off."

"Do you think someone who likes romance would like this one or this one better?" Freddie asked the person next to him, shutting the book he'd been idly flipping through and propping it up next to the second so they could see both covers. Romance novels were not his cup of tea, but his brother was crazy about them and he had more than run out of time to find him a Christmas present. It's wasn't his fault, really. He had been absorbed in a rehabilitation case for work and in planning a new program his boss was letting him pitch as an addition to the educational content they provided for field trips. Important things. But then he'd gotten a cool ass belt from the kid that looked like a fucking fish and he couldn't just not send him something after that. "Hell, even if you just point to whatever cover you think looks cooler, that'd be helpful at this point."

As much as she wished to come in the evening when the christmas tree was all lit up and lights reflected over the smooth surface, it was way less crowded during the daylight. The cold slipped through the seams of her coat and settled against her skin, her cheeks flushed. Amara moved gracefully across the center of the ice rink. Exhaling, pale cloud left her mought and vanished almost as soon as she noticed it. Despite the music, all she could hear were the thin scrapes. She made another small circle before growing enough confidence to try out a jump. A small one but enough to draw the attention of others, landing less gracefully than she wished. "Sorry." She yelled, escaping the almost inevitable bump into another person by quickly taking a turn, costing her another momentary loss of balance.

There were two​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ things Tristan decided very quickly when he got to the fairgrounds: he was absolutely freezing, and the snowman ring toss was just terrible. He stood planted in front of the booth, shoulders hunched in his jacket, and a paper cup of something allegedly "hot cocoa" cooling at his feet. A bunch of stuffed snowmen were looking at him from the prize wall. Their little faces with pointed orange noses all happy with themselves, and each of them wearing a brightly colored scarf. Laughing at him, for sure, laughing at him. "Alright, this one was definitely rigged," Tristan said quietly while he threw a ring another time. The ring didn't hit the snowman's head, it bounced off and fell on the table with a noisy heap. He looked at the rig like it might solve the problem itself by leaving. "You can't tell me those aren't weighted, that's entrapment."

Carolers drifted by behind him, bells jingling, and a local band warmed up somewhere in the distance, but Tristan was locked in. His sleeves were pushed up, his jaw was set, and the competitive switch fully flipped. He grabbed another ring, rolled his shoulder like he was lining up a slapshot, and threw. Failure, once again. He almost laughed at the situation. "I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head as he reached for his wallet to buy another set of rings. "I've beat grown men on ice skates, but a three foot snowman is gonna take me out?" He glanced sideways, finally clocking whoever was nearby, and gestured toward the booth with the ring still in his hand. "Don't," he warned lightly, already smiling. "If you're about to tell me it's 'just a game,' I'll simply pretend I didn't hear you. But if you wanna try? Be my guest. Winner gets bragging rights and a very judgmental snowman."

Marlowe'​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌s hands were in her coat sleeves as she watched all the holiday chaos like it was something that she might suddenly find herself in if she just waited there a bit longer. There were lights strung from one side of the street to the other, happy vendors shouting out, and the air smelled very much of cinnamon, sugar, and fried dough. Somewhere close, carolers were singing. It was loud, bright, and a lot. She changed the position of her cane and exhaled a small breath that turned into a mist because of the cold. Her eyes followed the line of the bulbs that were leading the way to Belmont Park. People were smiling and having fun while they were passing by, couples were sharing hot cider, and children were dashing between different booths with their mittens full of prizes. It was charming in a way that almost made her chest hurt.

There was a hot chocolate stand from which she took a cup. "Give the marshmallows a dangerous work allowance," she said softly to no one in particular. She moved out of the way, making room for anyone approaching. Her face lifted, a small, real smile appeared on her lips. "First time braving the holiday madness," she asked, nodding toward the lights and noise around them, "or are you a seasoned winter carnival survivor?"