Beyond what’s given in the game’s text, how would your character(s) feel about actual “weather” that isn’t cavern winds or lacre?
I’ll go first: my own fellow would be absolutely distraught. His Melancholy shot straight to 10 after a month and has not dipped below in almost 2 years. Despite refusing to regret his journey he misses the Surface with nearly all he has— weather being one of the things he yearned most for. Now here he is, in a London being flooded with rain. It may not be a true Surface storm, but it’s enough to cast his mind back to what his life once was more than anything else has.
My character reacted almost the exact opposite. She was thrilled with seeing true rain for the first time in years. At first it was calming and soothing, and since then she has been sizzling with energy - granted part of that is the prospect of the Roof and another airship - and despite the danger she has been in a bright mood from the rain since it began.
Sapho alternates between gleefully splashing about outside getting soaked to bone and taking a long hot bath followed by snuggling in at a cozy fire with a warm beverage and a forbidden book.
My character is mostly just b____y annoyed. They were essentially retired already, with a steady source of income from that railway they built and plenty of diversions to occupy their time, like writing plays and destabilizing foreign governments. But now that this blasted rain is going to drown London (and they will sacrifice anything for London, up to and including their own child) they can’t just rest on their laurels like they wanted to.
…I don’t think I’ve ever set out to RP in Fallen London, which is an odd thing to say about a story-based game I’ve been playing for years now. It’s just that over time, memorable choices I’ve made in ESes and events significant enough to elicit real emotion in me-positive or negative-have gradually accreted into something resembling a persona. Like grit in an oyster producing a pearl.
And that persona is near-feral, animalistic schadenfreude. In all respects except the physical (and especially the dental, CURSE my haste to Bag a Legend) my character is the Vake reborn. And the Vake’s reaction to the rain is one hoarse shriek complaining that it’s made hunting slightly more inconvenient, followed by saddling his winged steed to go hunt anyway just to prove that it can nonetheless be done.
My character is absolutely wretched. The one thing as to which she thought the Neath to be superior to the world above is now gone! Though the game doesn’t reflect this, she joined the Navy’s effort largely in hopes of being dry once more, without shutting herself up in her Brass Sanctum. (She has not even counted the possibility of drowning as a result of the rain!)
Funny thing, that. While Koschei’s home, like all of London, is ostensibly waterlogged if not outright flooded, it doesn’t really seem to have affected his daily routine in any way. Still going about his glasswork business, playing Hearts’ game, popping off to Helicon House, that sort of thing. There was a bit of an initial shock, but at this point it rather seems as though this whole rain business has been blown entirely out of proportion.
Besides, most of us late-gamers live somewhere pretty high. The Bazaar Spires? One of the highest places in the Neath. The Royal Bethlehem Suites? On top of what must be a quite large building. The Brass Embassy Sanctum?
THE GREAT JACK WALKER desperately wishes to explore the source of the rain-indid, he’s looking at it in the same way a small child looks at a piece of candy he can’t have-however, he already has so, so very much to do and the pile isn’t getting smaller. He has distracted himself from this issue by going into a hunting frenzy(doing nothing but monster hunting for a looooong time and going more than a little feral as a result)and is therefore not in a very social mode and has bitten several urchins+punched several members of the clergy-that second part very much intentional.
Magmionify, in turn, was happy to experience the rain once more. A true pursuant of ALL kinds of experiences, he missed the dampness of rain, the chilly hug of humidity upon one’s bones, and the urge to go curl up near a stove… even what passes for petrichor here (a subtle fragrance of filth, earth, and mycelia) was a welcomed change!
But as time progressed and the rain did not stop, he felt himself sulking like a bat. Thus he came to accept that a pastime was required in this time of need if he was to stay the ever jovial gentleman. So he picked up a nearby wreck of a hansom and refurnished it into something akin to a boat, with the help of both Urchins and Dockers. Then he donned his Admiral’s hat, perfected his growling, and practiced ceremoniously putting his hand inside his overcoat. After that, it was only a matter of convincing the Cat’s Chiefest Claw (who assured him he was coincidentally visiting London) and reaching an agreement with a certain Honey-Mazed ursine for a crew to be assembled!
Now, the Railway director sails the streets shooting knobs of scintillack in the air as a warning shot, and leaves only the smell of roses in his wake. He does not harm his prey, apart from conducting their inevitable plunging into the water and afflicting them with the dread of knowing that such an individual holds a relevant position in the Fifth City.
Still, in the darkest of hours, he cannot help but wonder if the Neath is getting filled with water… wouldn’t that make it the biggest well? And, more importantly: what does that make its inhabitants? A hunger is growing.