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--- turnsheet_bureau:1:the_ear-tickling_one [2026/04/11 00:14] – created gm_eloise
+++ turnsheet_bureau:1:the_ear-tickling_one [2026/04/11 18:40] (current) – [Planning can go up here, if you want] gm_eloise
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 ======The Ear-Tickling One======
-=====Planning can go up here, if you want=====
-=====Writeup=====
-{[leilani_akamu]}
-You invite Semolina to set up their base on Baggaban for as much of the season as they’re available – which, as always, is more time than they want to spend away from work, and less than you’d hoped she’d have. But you find a compromise. Semolina can be flexible, sometimes. For you.
-His arrival on Baggaban is still exciting, though. You run down the jetty to meet them, helping haul their bags off the boat and up the path. It’s not too far from the port to your home, a farmhouse nestled in an evergreen forest on the edge of the village, and the two of you struggle your way back together, talking and laughing the entire time. Semolina has brought //so many bags…//
-…and. Well. Mrs Graham is there, too.
-She is lovely, but it makes the welcome a little bit strange. You can’t be quite as open as you’d like, and… you’re pretty sure your family has prepared enough rooms. You hope.
-And it’s only for a moment that your parents’ faces are frozen in shock before they melt back into welcoming smiles. They grab the bags, grab your arms, fuss all three of you through the door and into the hall. You can’t help but smile: it’s good to be back, good to feel the rough flagstones underfoot and smell the rich stew bubbling in the kitchen. Your parents can cook better than anyone else you’ve ever met – you only hope Semolina likes their food, too.
-You eat a family dinner that night, grains and lentils stewed in a rich, meaty broth. It tastes of home, of childhood and warmth, and as you eat it you feel the tension ease. Mrs Graham makes good conversation, bonding with both your parents over the green fingers they share. And that evening, when you’re finally alone together, Semolina looks at you with a grin. “Why were you worried, Leilani? Everything’s fine! What could possibly have gone wrong?”
-Wheat purrs on their lap, as if in agreement. (You can’t help but be endeared by how quickly Semolina and Wheat seem to have bonded. Although, that said, both are equally colourful, and both are equally chaotic. Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise.)
-You smile, let them comfort you, and say nothing.
-A few days later, the two of you leave for Yuu, to visit Penelope. Her island is beautiful, paths cloaked by rainforest and the cheerful song of birds. It’s a strange irony, that they should be so vibrant on this island muffled by mist and mourning.
-But they’re beautiful nonetheless. You hike, and weave, and have a wonderful time with Semolina: the shirts you make are tangled messes, and your trousers end up caked in mud, but it feels like the longest amount of real time, undistracted time, you’ve been able to spend with them in far, far too long. Penelope herself is quiet, but that’s only to be expected – and she still seems happy to see you, spending all the free time she has in your company. You hope that, over the coming days, she’ll be able to enjoy herself a bit more at the festival.
-You hope the same is true for you.
-***
-Back on Baggaban, the night before the festival, you convince your parents to let you host just about everyone – other than Caz Business – who might be interested in coming for a meal. And around a campfire, hair full of smoke and night full of stars, you all discuss the stories you plan to tell at the festival.
-Yours, of course, will be the story of the fruits you’ve already rehearsed with Krates. Krates’ own will be the story of his ancestor Antithane, crossing the sea to Endring; and Semolina’s, a fashion show displaying xir Nemean heritage. Penelope looks uncertain when you ask her, but her eyes catch on the food in her lap, and she smiles: “A feast,” she declares. “The Weaver, and a feast, and finding those who are lost.”
-The flames crackle as you talk, and the food and spiced wine are rich and sweet. From somewhere, as the evening winds down, Semolina pulls out some marshmallows; you run inside to find biscuits and chocolate, and share them around. It’s a piece of your childhood, a piece of a simpler, happier life, without the stresses and pressures of work fighting against passion.
-You close your eyes, lean against Semolina’s side, and taste the burst of sweetness as it explodes stickily into your mouth. For an instant, nothing else matters.
-The next morning is sunny, and bright: the perfect day for a festival. The brisk breeze mirrors your footsteps as you hurry down the path to the town; clouds scud across the sky, and the butterflies dance cheerily in the grassy verges. The square is already full when you get there, clipboard in hand – which can only be a good thing, you think. You’ll get the interviews out of the way before the festival starts, and then be able to relax and enjoy it.
-“Hey! Are you telling a story?” you ask the nearest person available. They nod a yes, and within moments you have an interview secured. The area behind the stage looks more or less empty, so you pull them in that direction – and hear raised voices.
-“...making a parody of Nemean culture.”
-You know that tone. That’s Yeška.
-“I’m just trying to bring it up to date! It’s you who’s stuck in the past. The festival is meant to be a celebration of who we actually are, not some relic of ancient history.”
-Krates.
-You wave the interviewee away and press up to the side of the stage, trying to listen.
-“There’s up-to-date, and then there’s… this. You’ve brought Mundmix here, of all things! What’s so wrong with Nemean food?”
-A pause. Krates didn’t do that, you think, uncomfortably. That was Semolina.
-“Some Arkhon of Baggaban,” Yeška continues, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The farming island. Forgotten that?”
-“The more people who know about it, the better a chance Nemean culture has of surviving. Which is exactly what this festival is for.” Krates is speaking much more quietly, now, in the tone of someone convinced they’re in the right.
-“Not if we let Mayton Greynes march all over it!”
-You slip away. Not today. You’re going to enjoy the festival. You’re going to tell your story, and tell it well, and everything will be fine.
-Back to work.
-The festival opens with an announcement about Ayara, given in both Dyzian and Nemean by a member of the Nemean Heritage Foundation. You don’t know the speaker, but it doesn’t really matter – you’re glad to see the announcement be made either way.
-You open the festival. You pass out the plates of fruit you’ve so carefully prepared, and narrate the tales of each one of them. Pomegranate seeds from Yuu, found by brave explorers climbing up through untouched jungles; the god’s own tears, sour and holy in the mouth. Bushberries, brought to Baggaban from Dyzia after first contact was made, which flourished so quickly and extensively on the island in an undoubted sign of the god’s delight at the new friends her merchants had made. Tangy grapefruits from Xheech, traded for those very same bushberries. From Doip, you’ve brought sloe, so sharp it’s said to have puckered the fisherfolk’s mouths and cursed their speech forever; and from Alaxus, sea grapes, tasting of the salt of tears and the sweetness of survival. As you scan the crowd, you see the excitement on people’s faces, and their eyes closing in delight at each flavour. As you leave the stage, you’re optimistic. You think you’ve done well.
-Yeška is waiting underneath, next onstage after you. For a moment, you wonder if you should ask him about the conversation you overheard – then decide against it. You are going to enjoy today, no matter how badly anyone else tries to derail it.
-“How’s it going?” he asks.
-You nod. “I think it went well!”
-He nods in return, face set and serious as ever. “Good. Relax, Leilani.” A quirked smile. “And fuck Caz and his articles. You’ve got a memory, same as the rest of us, and the festival is being livestreamed. Watch it back later, if you really have to write anything at all.”
-He makes a good point, you think. But then… how soon will Caz want those articles ready? Especially given that he’s also here… if you’re going to watch it back later, you might as well watch it for pleasure, and work now.
-“Well, good luck!” you say, and hurry back to your place in the crowd, where Penelope is holding your clipboard for you.
-Yeška’s own story is one you’ve heard him tell many times, about a hero from Doip reeling in the biggest fish the Archipelago had ever seen. And then someone you don’t know, a slim figure with long, tangled blue hair, is on the stage, and talking about – the Weaver? Wasn’t that Penelope’s tale? You glance towards Penelope, beside you, and know immediately that your suspicion was correct: she is staring at the stage, transfixed, mouth slightly open in horrified shock.
-//This must be the person who was harassing her on the forums.//
-And then the figure is gone, and Penelope herself is walking forwards, before you can say or do anything to comfort her. She tells the same story, a clunky, trembling echo. At one point, Louie’s cat meows over the top of her, drowning her voice out completely.
-She does not return to her place beside you in the crowd – and for all you want to go after her, and make sure she’s okay, you have articles to write.
-The stories continue. Traynnan, whose story is not Nemean at all, but about a Dyzian explorer. Krates, telling the same tale he’d assured you he would, a dramatic recounting of Antithane’s voyage across the stormy Holy Water in search of salvation, leading a crew who had only their faith in her and her word to keep them going. Though it is a traditional tale, derived from family epic, the form of the language he tells it in is strange: stark, stripped back, like hewn wood. You can almost picture the lightning shooting across the purple-black ocean sky, the fragile wooden ship tossing up and down on the vast swell of water. As he’s reaching a climax, the moment the crew first sighted land in Endring, there is a sudden gust of wind, and he is battered by leaves flying from a nearby tree.
-There is a satisfied smile on his face as he leaves the stage.
-It’s Serrick next, with a poem about dust; and Louie, with a story about cake. He, too, provides tasters for everyone. Mrs Graham stumbles onto the stage, stammering a sweet tale about ivy in bloom. The stories continue, tale after tale after tale, and you take frantic notes on them all. Semolina is last, with the fashion show you’ve seen them spend so much time labouring over. The sunlight catches and glitters off the ornaments they’re wearing, and you think that this, too, has to be a sign of the gods’ favour, rejoicing in Semolina’s celebration of their work.
-Eventually, it’s time for the judges to deliberate. This does not take them long: only a few minutes pass before Arkhon Krates Antithane is announced as the winner.
-It shouldn’t surprise you, really. What were the leaves but a sign from the gods?
-You look around at the heaving plaza, the people sipping from Mundmix-branded paper cups in Mayton Greynes’ newest clothing brands.
-What were the leaves, but a sign from the gods?
-===Minor Actions===
-  * You go to Baggabeans with Yeška. The opportunity to have a break from Caz and the tourist board is appreciated, although he seems tense.
-  * You manage to write a few extra tourist articles. Hopefully that’ll get Caz off your back for the length of the festival at least…
-{[ ]}{{tag>writeup1 gm_eloise complete}}