She wandered, an occupation she often found herself enjoying during the slow born changing of seasons. Through the Temple District down toward the WestEnd with her steps more than half dancing and the thoughtful chime of bells.

A merry song throbbed in the base of her throat, trembling against the tender skin there, and she followed the nebulous pull and tug of itching feet and drifting thoughts. No mind paid to direction of distance or time spent in the endeavor, the redneck was not known for making plans or for that matter, sticking to the ones she did actually make all that often.

She passed it twice, and found herself circling around again for the third when she actually looked.

Looked and saw what could be, would be, underneath. And in the manner of all things she found herself doing, Thorn jumped in with both feet.

While she'd decided that the rehabbing and rebuilding would be accomplished best, and most efficiently from top to bottom, Thorn also had plans for the courtyard.

Crews were already working on the roof and upper story of cross beams, strengthening and replacing pretty much everything, everywhere. The debris from a goodly portion of the work showering, raining down into the yard below. And at intervals throughout the day, she was busily sweeping and shoveling and scooping up shards of terra cotta roof tiling, weather and worm eaten wood, bits and pieces of porcelain and glass and syringes and baggies and all manner of things.

Load upon load she wheeled out to the rapidly filling dumpster, up a makeshift ramp that sagged under the weight of her wheel-barrow. Her lips twitched now and then when she caught sight of a few of the more curious, adventurous street dwellers, peering and stretching. Craning their necks to see, to watch in growing curiosity.

The neighborhood rang and echoed with the sound of construction from sun up to past sun down; and it was drawing the curious, and furtive alike. Most days Thorn, and the crew, settled out front with their backs against the gates to eat their lunches, talk amongst themselves, take a well earned break. And bask in the growing pride, and belief, in what was being done. Though, more than a few of the crew still thought the woman was bat shit for wanting to rebuild this place in the first. And for wanting to open anything in this area.

Her money was good though, and it went a long way toward keeping the wolf from the door of many of the men.

Their belief in her lack of sanity was reinforced when she started setting up a table out front every morning. Coffee urns filled to the brim with rich, dark coffee, all the fixings and reusable cups, boxes of home made pastries most days, breakfast burritos others. The sheer quantity of food she set out through the day made sure the crew didn't have to pack their lunches, ever. And there was always, always plenty left over, though by the time she cleared one meal away to set up another, the extras had disappeared.

When one of the older carpenters brought it to her attention that the street rats were stealing the food she'd left out, and maybe she should clear the tables earlier, she'd chuckled, smiled that sun kissed smile of hers, and shook her head.

"That's what I was hoping for."

The old man had eyed her oddly aside, scratched his scalp, and shrugged before shuffling off back to work. Women were a confusing lot to begin with, add in this kind of do-gooding, and he was completely lost.

In all his life in Rhy'din, the rich hadn't cared much for the poor, at least not when it came down to the brass tacks of actually, actively doing something other than throw money at them. --There were some, but not enough. Now there was this ginch, trying to turn an old restaurant into a Community Center for fuck 's sake.


More than a few of the older crew felt roughly the same way, but her money was good and they weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The younger crew, most of them were either from the WestEnd, or the Slums, and they were damned pleased that someone was actively trying. Even if, like the rest, they expected she'd be robbed blind before the end of the first month.

When she wrangled a few of the street rats into sweeping the courtyard, into helping her keep it clear, her lack of sense and sanity was pretty much assured. But, to a one, the crew had to admit that it made the work easier to have someone run and fetch and pick up behind them. Spooky but handy.

The redneck was well aware that there were more than a few eyes watching her, watching her crew, and watching her efforts from the alleys and windows around them. Most of them were simply curious, but some were looking out for whatever they could take, or break. And still others were biding their time, waiting to see whether or not she, and what she offered by the way of food (to begin with) could be trusted.

She had patience, and she had faith.

In the end, she was sure they'd both be rewarded.

Her smile was small, and no little bit smug as she turned a full circle in the courtyard.

The fire rings were dark, but she could well imagine them filled with cheery flames dancing against the evening's backdrop. Indoor/outdoor cushions were grouped around the rings for those who'd rather not sit on stone at the end of the day.

Chairs and tables for sharing meals, or playing board games of some sort were scattered about here and there. Benches and loungers arranged in social groups and separately depending on the needs, or wishes, of those using them.

The air was scented with rich earth and green, growing things from the potted plants, flowers, and trees created the feeling of an open glen in the 'yard. Water burbled over stone and through moss, tumbled playfully down a natural stone wall feature into a widening pond where fish swam like lazy zeppelins in a clear, green tinted sky. Lilies and lotus and other aquatic plants dotted the gently rippling surface, and hugged the shore.

The night winds played over, around, and through the grid-work crossbeams overhead. Sighing and whispering through leaf and vine and bud and bloom, full planters hanging from, built into, the heavy beams. Soon enough there'd be fruit and flowers there, small vegetables for the picking and sharing. Just as there would be in the pots and beds down below.

She was humming, pleased as hells and with a growing excitement as she moved on. Crossed the threshold below one of the slat-work railed balconies, passed through the alcove and into the building itself. Smooth, high gloss, sealed wood gave the impression of warmth underfoot, the soft cream of the plaster on the walls added to it.

The laundry facilities offered both tub and boards, as well as wringer washers. Brass and copper boilers lined the wall shared with the kitchen to take advantage of the hearths and heating, hot water washes were much better than cold. Lines were strung from posts on the roof to catch the sun through the day, and the breezes too.

And the kitchens, rustic it was true, but well appointed and stocked to the hilt. Wood fire stoves and ovens, pits and spits for roasting, refrigerators for chilling or freezing. Pantries stocked with canned goods in the old sense, glass jars of fruit or veg gleaming in the faint light, arranged artfully and for best effect. The sinks were wide and deep, drying racks stored underneath besides stacks of towels. Cups and glasses organized by type and weight in open fronted cupboards beside stack upon stack of plates and bowls. Enough to feed half-a-hundred at a time. The dried and fresh herbs added their appetizing scent to the air, and deepened her smile.

On she went, her final walk through far from complete.