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It was a lucky thing a map of the festival grounds was posted right up near the beach, or you might've had to settle for whatever water source you found first— a dingy storage tank, a drink dispenser, (God forbid) a public toilet. Instead, Gil traced a squiggly blue line from its ocean source up through rows of stands and booths all the way to a big bold star: 'TEMPLE FALLS,' it was labeled. And in smaller print: 'SACRED.' You liked the sound of that.
So the buskers' cries and the grease-smell have fallen away, and so you and Gil and your third-rate lemonade have walked into a very different part of the festival: one with manicured gardens and informative signs and the persistent rushing sound of water. There's still plenty of people milling about, but they skew more contemplative than the throngs behind you. The stone path slants heavily upward. If you stopped and turned around, you're sure you'd have a great view of the ocean.
It'd all be good and pleasant if you didn't hate this place. If- if <span class="mu-r">s</span>omething in you didn't hate this place. You itch. Your leg trembles. God! You guess you're on temple grounds now, and everything's exuding paganness? What a horrible world the past was. But you're <span class="mu-i">not</span> calling off Plan B, chiefly out of spite, also because you have no Plan C. You are going to rehydrate Annie in the stupid sacred waterfall, God-damnit, not some stupid piss-tank. She deserves better. <span class="mu-i">You</span> deserve better.
You peek over at Gil to see if he's similarly righteous-looking and instead find him lost in thought. Is it worth jostling him out of it? You need an ally, damnit. But you round a bend, and before you get the chance to say anything you've locked eyes with a pert namebadged woman.
"<span class="mu-i">Hello!</span>" says Kenzy Certified Liaison. "HappyGodsdayandwelcometothetemplegardens. Weaskthatyouhonorthisspacewhichmeanspleasenolitterpetsorloudnoises. Ifyouareinterestedinleavingofferingswehaveacollectiontable—" Deep breath. "—overthereifyouareinterestedinotherservicespleasereadthesignsandifyouareinterestedintheFallsweareopeningthemtothepublictodayonlyoneatatime—"
You understand a good third of this. Did she say— "The falls? They're here?"
"Thattheyarejustoverthere—" She gestures.
The path has led you into a wide, pretty glade, tiled with cobblestone and dotted with velvety blue tents. Each and every one has a line, but the longest line of all snakes around the glade and out of sight down a different path. You're not immediately sure what it's for— it appears to feed into an area blocked off by a gate and a square set of walls— but the now-roar of water, the mist wafting off the top, and Kenzy Certified Liaison's pointing finger all help explain. Damn. Can it ever be easy?
"How long's the line?" you say, at the same time Gil says "Who gives this much of a shit about some <span class="mu-i">waterfall?</span>"
(3/4)
