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This is sort of a neglected park, off in a corner of the city that doesn't normally see beautification projects. Which was the whole reason that, yanno, Lif had targeted it for planting. And they're back again, dressed in dark jeans and a tank top, black cowboy hat on their head, to water the yarrow and wild ginger they and Vorpal had planted, and offer a little mulch and compost to the plants.
There's a caw caw sound from nearby--a few crows roused and flapping along, moving towards a figure that is heading down the path. Their clothes are warn, filthy and sun bleached to duller shades. The once-black cowboy hat is beat to hell, but it still rests on their head proudly, their long straw hair pinned up inside it, though a few loose clumps hang down around their stitched up burlap face.
"Hey, hey, stop your hollarin'. I hear ya," the figure grumbles, digging into a pocket to pull out a pouch.
The sound of crows startles Lif--it's similar enough to the sound of ravens to cause just a moment of panic. She straightens up, looking around for trouble, and spots Bailey, giving them an uncertain look. "Whatcha doin' over there?"
They dig a hand into the pouch and pull out a handful of seeds and nuts to toss out onto the ground, which the crows dive into to snatch up greedily.
Their head tips, looking over at her. They don't really blink, not having real eyes--just stitched holes filled with dark dried grass beyond. "Feedin' the birds," they say in a dull tone, accent thick. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Feeding the plants." A gesture at the yellow-flowered yarrow at their feet. Their accent is...hard to place, because part of it's Arcadian and part of it's local and part of it's Midwestern and there's some other something that lingers around the edge of words. Their eyes and that crack on their throat leak water, old rivulets carved in their cheeks by erosion.
Bailey pauses and looks down at the plant, hand lifting to grip the rim of their hat to tip up a bit. "Yarrow? Huh. You work here, or just doin' it cause?"
"Just 'cause, but that's kind of bullshit. Yarrow draws in ladybugs, lacewings, certain species of moth. The leaves can be used for an anticoagulant poultice, and it makes a good herbal tea. I've also got wild ginger growing here. They'll share the soil well together." She quietly runs a finger up the stalk of one of the yellow cluster flowers.
"...Huh." Their thumbs hook into their belt loops, eyeing her a long moment. "Most people don' know that sorta thing. S'impressive. You usually go around plantin' things in random places?"
"Call it a guerilla beautification project." There's a bit of a smirk on her face. "Though don't worry, I don't drop anything invasive, and stick with native species as much as possible. And nothing that would be toxic if a kid got ahold of it at parks."
"...That a thing? Illegal gardening?" Their stitched lips twitch upwards in amusement.
"Illegal gardening? That makes it sound so...criminal. This is just my response to 'be fae, do crimes'." Their laugh comes easily.
Bailey laughs as well--the sound comes out dry and a bit gritty, but warm. "Can I help?" The crows get chatty, cawing demandingly. They dig a hand into the pouch again, tossing out a handful of more nuts for the birds.
"Sure. The big white bucket over there is compost--if you wanna help spread it, that'd be useful. And then some watering, and we'll be good."
They eye the birds uncertainly, trying to keep a bit of a distance from them.
"Name's Bailey," they add, brushing their hand on their pants and tucking the pouch away into their beat up leather jacket. They head over to the bucket, but pause to glance over at her. "Don' like birds?"
"Birds, sure. Black corvids...less so. Ravens are the absolute worst for me. Make of that what you will."
There's a pause, where she concentrates on the work. "I'm Lif Loracks."
"Hmm..." Bailey eyes Lif for a moment quietly, then moves to lug up the bucket and carry closer, crouching down to scoop out compost to spread out. Seems like they don't mind getting their hands dirty. Also? They're pretty dang good at this. Its spread evenly, but not coated on enough it'd smother the plants.
"You a gardener, yourself, Bailey?" She looks up from under the brim of her hat, watching them for a moment.
"Yeup," they reply simply, focusing on the composting. "'Bout all 'm good at. Other than shootin' things."
"Mm. I doubt that's actually the case. It sounds like the result of holding up your skills against others and deciding you're not good enough because someone else is better." There's a casual sidelong glance. "Which is a load of compost."
Bailey pauses, squinting stitches at her. "Wha's it matter to you?"
"Oh, it doesn't, not really. I used to be a Joyeux, I'm not anymore, but it's hard to turn that off even now." Her mantle's awfully Summer for someone who used to be a Joyeux.
"Uh huh." They continue to eye her a moment, then shrugs, going back to packing in compost. "Looks to me like ya've changed a lot since then, yeah?"
"Something pissed me off enough that I didn't belong in Spring anymore." They shrug the comment off easily. "Not that I'm much use as a Summer yet. Still trying to figure out what end of a sword to hold."
"Ah. Eh. Shit with a sword, myself. What pissed ya off?"
"The benzene levels coming out of the Philadelphia Energy Solutions refinery before it burnt down." There's something a hair sheepish as she says that. "I realized there was no point in even trying to pursue environmental justice from the stance of a Spring."
"Wha's benzene?"
"A chemical that causes lung problems, cancer. EPA sets an 'action level' of 9 micrograms per cubic meter of air. Before the EPA refinery burnt down, it tested at 49. Now, the people who live in the shadow of that benzene cloud? The ones at risk of ending up with leukemia? They can't afford to move away. Most can't even afford to see a doctor when they do get sick. That's the real thing about environmental justice, it's another way in which the rich end up richer and everyone else gets screwed over." Their mantle flares, ironically with a chemical scent in the air, chlorinated like a hotel swimming pool.
The first part mostly just... makes Bailey stare blankly, but they seem to get the gist of it after she continues on. They frown, stitched lips twisting. "Huh. Yeah. Can see ya gettin' mad enough over that to join Summer. What the fuck."
"It's the sort of thing that happens every day. It's not the rich people whose homes on the coast or riverbank get flooded out because of global warming. It's not rich people whose towns are chosen as dump sites for toxic waste. It's a fucked-up world and only getting more fucked up by the day, and I can't live with myself if I don't try to do something about that, yeah?"
"Yeah. Hm." They nod slowly, eyeing her. "Well, don't sound like that sorta thing gets fixed by holding a sword."
"No, but you show up with a big enough crowd at a protest, you might be able to get shit done." A pause. "And planting native plants where they belong, that can help too, a little. I also help out with community gardens, because, like...there's parts of Philly where fresh fruit just isn't a thing, where people do their grocery shopping at convenience stores, right? And that's part of it all, too."
Bailey scratches at their burlap cheek. "Sounds to me like you got most of your stuff figured out. So you just need help with the actual fightin'?"
"Sounds like you need help with figuring your stuff out. Wanna trade?" This seems to be mostly a joke. Mostly.
They snort softly. "Sounds like I got a lot more gaps to fill. Don' sound like a fair trade. Besides, I don' know shit about swords."
"I'm not actually stuck on swords. My everyday carry is..." She leans down, lifting the hem of her boot-cut jeans to reveal a tidy little hatchet strapped to her leg:
Bailey eyes the hatchet appreciatively, nodding. "That's a nice once. This is my baby." They pull aside their jacket to reveal the pistol--old fashioned in style, but clearly hedgespun. The metal glimmers oddly, the handle made of some strange bone.
They let out a low whistle at the sight of the pistol. "Fancy, fancy. Did you spin it yourself, or?"
"Naw," They let her get a good look, then tucks the coat back over it. "Took it with me, when I escaped."
"Smart. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take anything with me when I got myself kicked out. But to be fair, I didn't really have the presence of body and almost died before I made it here."
A stitched brow arches. "Kicked out?"
"Been a while since I told this story. I was Kept by The Raven Tester, you know? And since I really, really wasn't his usual type, he made me into a thing, in his realm, not a person. Not one of the Valkyries, like my golden-haired sister. No, I was Mimisbrunnr, the Well of Knowledge. And he looked in me for answers, and drank from me for wisdom, and somewhere along the line, I realized that I was only useful to him as long as my water was clear enough to see in, and pure enough to drink. So I convinced the others in that realm to pollute my waters, with whatever was on hand."
"...Huh." Their lips twitch upwards. "Well damn. That's real clever."
"Yeah, it got me out. But I was...in real bad shape, by the time I did. The Spring Court had to pretty much do immediate surgery to save my life." They touch the crack in their neck. "It never fully healed right."
"Ah." They consider the crack a moment, then nods. "Worth it, if it got ya out, I say. That sorta thing makes folks stronger."
"Worth it." She nods quietly. "So, what's your story, since I been spilling my guts?"
"Hmm..." Their lips purse, apparently not too pleased to tell their own story. But they shrug after a moment. "Was in a place where everyone else was animals. Huge endless zoo. Needed someone to take care of 'em. Grow their food--or butcher it, for the predators. Well, He wasn' any good at making people, so." They gesture at themselves. "Just straw."
They shrug. "Took care of the place for a long, long time. Eventually... eh. Accident happened. Accidentally killed one of the animals. Wasn' supposed to hurt any of em. Knew I'd get destroyed for it--or worse, so I ran. Not much else to it, really."
"Well. You made it out alright. You're free now. Do you have a good place to stay? Work?"
"Eeehh... Had a gig, for a while. Ain't too worried. I got a Hollow. Ain't like I got any bills to worry about. I get by."
Lif raises both eyebrows at them. "That doesn't sound like satisfaction with your life."
Their head tilts. "I go where I want, when I want. Occasionally shoot things. Satisfyin' enough." They tilt their hat back down. "Still adjustin' to a new world, s'all."
"Would you tell me if you needed any help to adjust?" The offer's casual, rather than accusatory.
"Maybe. You really give a shit enough to help?"
"Damn right, I do." She nods. "C'mon, do I strike you as the kind of a person who doesn't give a fuck?"
"I just met you," they reply simply. "Don't know shit 'bout you, other than you like plants and shit." They push up to their feet, dusting off their hands--but not seeming to really care that they have compost stuck to their cloth skin. "But sure. Maybe I'd tell ya."
"Good, let me give you my phone number, then. So you can, if the need ever arises."
"Don't got a working phone." Their shoulders lift.
"Ah. Huh. Is there a best way to get into contact with you? Leaving notes in the summer hollow, maybe?"
They nod. "Yeah, that'd work. Check in there often enough."
"Alright then. And I'll start checking more often, too." She nods. "Good plan. Excellent."
"Yeup." They tip their hat towards her. "You take care, Lif. See ya around." And with that, off they wander, the crows following for a while before they give up on getting more food.
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