Repose

[Public]

Who is owner of garage?

Who: Sam & Svetlana
What: Tea
Where: Samovar
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: It's Sam.

Sam spent four hours with a paintbrush in her hand. Her fingers were cramped, and the side of her hand was stained primary colors. The sleeve of the white shirt she wore under bright yellow overalls was rainbow-hued now, and her messily tied up hair boasted clumps of vibrancy. It was midday, and Sonrisa was fucking CRAMMED with kids and parents, all of them looking for construction paper and markers and glitter. Valentine's Day was coming, yeah? And it was one of the store's craziest time of the year. Valentine's Day managed to cover the bills for like three months, but it was hella exhausting. With Stephanie and Oliver helping Cris out, tho, Sam didn't feel guilty about slipping out into the brisk cold.

Yeah, ok, so she could do without the cold, but it was sunny and bright, and it felt like Spring might chase this bullshit weather away at any second.

Sam walked. She coulda taken the bike, but, nah. She walked on bright yellow Docs, and she tried to clear her head. Painting, it was hella good for the wanton girl stained with pigment. Putting shit down on canvas, it was catharsis, and Sam was the kinda person that bottled until the glass burst into a million blood-drawing shards. So, yeah, painting was good, but it left her feeling vulnerable. Like a cold night, huh? And the blankets all drawn the fuck away to reveal cold and fragile skin or something. So, yeah, she was trying to pull the blankets back up, and Samovar caught her eye.

Sam KNEW the owner of the tea shop was trying to fuck with Iris' bank. And, yeah, that was probably why Sam walked inside. She'd never been in a tea shop before, but Lou liked tea, yeah? It was a good excuse, even if it was totes bullshit.

[Locked to Svetlana K]
[After this.] Has the baker realized, do you think, that you've declared war?

[Locked to Briar M]
I need something that can handle a pressurized environment, is small enough to go undetected, and can get through customs if necessary. Price is no object.

[News: in response to this, Samovar begins to offer a discount to anyone who might have been connected to poor online reviews of the latest bakery offerings. One man, who is rumored to have authored a diatribe on cheese, is presented with a gift certificate entitling him to a week of free tea. ]

[Public]
[Monday night, someone is moving things around the arcade and changing the sign name to simply read: LOOT in bright, green letters. The enigmatic carnival owner has changed professions.]

The arcade is under new management. If anyone is looking for an easy gig where you can shout at kids for money and learn how machines work, let me know.

[Call: Eddie/Cat]
[Ring, ring.]

[Sasha J.]
[One day while looking for her keys, she finds a scroll that can make someone lose their voice for an entire day.]

[Svetty K.]
Remember that time when we were kids and I dragged you to the arcade and you hated it.

Charming little town. I approve.

New magic show at the carnival. Stop on by. Opens tonight at 8pm. Prepare your mind to be blown.

[With a candor that is reliably Russian, Svetlana begins to offer discounts to those who were regulars at the Bakery and who, if they show up at the Bakery, then lose the discounts. Nobody knows exactly how she knows (there are some extremely well-paid school kids at the local school rn) but she does, predictably and consistently. Whoever is making the pastries? They're very, very good. And the small tables covered in gilt in the bulk of the tea-room have been moved out for couches, heavy-covered in velvet and with deep cushions. The wifi? That's charged for, by the half-hour and the tea blends change weekly. On Thursday nights, the music is sultry and the tea-blends have added kick ]

[Public]

I do not believe in resolution. Free pastry and tea to person who breaks resolution best. By end of January.

[The white box is plain, with only a bright red sticky bow attached at the top. Inside is a .45 S&W (as it has slightly less recoil than the .40 or the .357) Sig Sauer P226, DA/SA trigger. And, as requested, the serial number is missing. Счастливого Рождества Svetlana.]

What do you want?

Come to Eddie's Carnival from now until the end of the year and experience the sights and sounds of a Victorian Christmas. You will be transported to a winter wonderland! Take a magical ride in a horse drawn carriage, visit shopkeepers with their old fashioned wares and enjoy traditional holiday entertainment for the whole family. If you come in Victorian-era costume, you get 25% off your entrance ticket.

[Call to Samovar]
[Ring, ring!]

[Hookerville residents - as 'Lana']

I have taken trailer third from left at back. How much does lawman take to pretend no one is here?

Who: Svetlana and Cat
When: Pre-ninja
Where: The Cat

It was small town. Too small for three bars, eh? Unless town had reason for lot of drinking. The hookers, they were in same place they always were in towns like this one. On far edge, where housewives could pretend their husbands didn't pine for a fuck that was more than half-assed. Attention. On far edge they lived together. She did not need to go close to know how it would be. It was the same, eh? When you were making money off what was between your legs. Rich men, poor men. It was same. And she was businesswoman now. Trailer would cost money to rent but it was small town. Men who came would be more embarrassed to be known than woman who waited for them.

But no matter. Three bars. The other side of town, there was facility. Enough men who worked there to keep small bars in business, enough men who worked jobs to keep town in cash. It was adjustment, for Sveta. Adjustment to no longer hear city traffic and light play through the window across the bed at night, adjustment that the streets were people who knew each other and spoke, not because they owed money or protection but because it was small town. Adjustment but she could not sleep easily. There was hardware on the door to apartment over tea-shop, new from hardware shop. There was gun under her pillow and knife in drawer of nightstand and in her dreams she reached for both. But she had neither now and she did not look as if she had not slept, eh? Fresh-dyed copper hair dripped to the sharp of her chin, skin was bone white, slash of vermilion mouth. Her bra was magenta flash under white cotton t-shirt and jeans were city-tight, painted denim. It was not billboard. She was tea-shop owner, not in trailer park but Svetlana dressed the way she dressed. She was not small town.

Bar was not full. Not yet, and her eyes were shuttered as she took in men in uniform who pushed balls around pool table. Men in uniform were men out of it and men, Svetlana knew how to deal with. In uniform, they were unpredictable. But she was innocent here. She was upstanding citizen, with business. She took a seat at the bar and she cupped her chin in her hand and if accent was thick, she was comprehendible.

"Whiskey. Neat." Fuck predictable.

[Anonymously]

Some of the vices that people like to partake in are horribly inconvenient and annoying.

[Public]

Staff needed for the tea-room, Samovar.