Rain-The Residences

Sitting in the shadow of the hills, the little borough simply called the Residences sleeps, sprawling. Little suburbs and apartment blocks. Concrete buildings with clothes hung out to dry in the afternoon sun. The Residences used to be farmlands, and there's still signs of it - wildflowers growing on little hills, the traces of old wells, little ditches bridged by streets leading into this or that suburb.

The Residences

(From closest to town to furthest)

The Library

The wealth of ages, and little kids shouting about computer games.

There's an abstract fountain in front of the library - water pouring over four marble slabs of different colors, representing, as the little plaque says, different forms of wisdom. The library is a squat, brutalist building, cheered up as much as it can by an adjoining flower garden, with one of its wings sectioned off and repurposed to be the police station. And it's the lifeblood of the island.

I mean, sure, there's books - lots of books, in fact - all sorts of weird reference books, and yellowed paperbacks that people keep donating from massive boxes hauled out from attics, or the picture books that have had their spines taped again and again, carefully curated for the little children's section. But it's also got computers - and, well, all the job searches are on computers these days! - It does day camps for little kids, and, well, when the summer's in full swing, that's the only way for parents to get any rest.

There's an inner courtyard that children play in sometimes - since it's isolated, only the tiniest of monsters ever show up there. It used to be a garden, but the grounds haven't been kept, so it's just overgrown.

Iide is the library's usual front staff. Her preferred art form is passive-aggressive notes. When she's looking after kids, old man Uufufadra takes over. (He's more of a catalog clerk, usually. And a former shrine priest.)

The Police Station

Peeling paint and cramped desks. From the basement, the distant pop of the firing range.

After the old police station burned down, they've moved into the records wing of the library, displacing, well, all the records, which are now back in city hall's basement. The renovations are a little slapdash - they have their own front, at least - and the police force of three is visibly cramped at the small space. The chief doesn't even have his own office anymore! The Police on Buga have a lot to do - they're called in to handle monster emergencies, they handle weapons and magic licensing, there's a few paroled criminals they have to run around and check on, and so on.


Someone's radio going off, muffled by concrete walls. The scent of strong cleaner in the halls.
(Or Mocoma Towers, or the Gardenwatch, or the Hearth…)

One of a few apartment blocks that dot the Residences. They're about six storeys high and are all of a pretty similar design - a U shape, wrapping around a courtyard with some sort of small playground for the kids. Balconies for most of the places, often used for laundry or to take in some sun, or often completely ignored except to put up seasonal decorations. They're all pretty much owned by the same company, and are pretty good landlords.

Greenheights itself has a pretty good view of the crater bay to the north, if you can find a way up onto the roof.

Garden Express

Damp soil and a mist in the air. And hotdogs in the warmer.

A little garden shop - potted plants, mostly, meeting the needs of the apartment building across the street - that's combined with a corner grocer. The actual fridge is pretty small, but you can get your bacon, milk and eggs here - mostly, it's a convenience store. An early 30s woman with pink dyed hair, Springblossom - quite obviously not her real name, but she's stuck with it instead of outgrowing it - took over the store she was next to when the owner passed away, and she's gotten a little bit more realistic since she opened her Garden in the first place. She keeps the place decorated with hanging and blooming plants, local ones only.

She does a lot more convenience store business than garden store business, obviously. And she lives upstairs and rents a room.

Surfbreak Manors

Freshly cut grass. The heat of the sun, with nowhere to go for shade.

One of a few suburbs in the Residences. The houses don't really differ too much, and the streets wind in on each-other in infuriating ways. No one wants to live on a main thoroughfare, after all. The neighborhoods are quiet and the monsters are rare, grace to a HOA-hired morning patrol. Not much to do though, aside from catch the bus into town, though. Little stands of woods form gaps between the various neighborhoods, with twisting walking paths leading through them.

Hokade Botanical Farm

The rattling of machinery. The glare of the greenhouses in the sun.

A small scale, mixed-purpose experimental farm, one of the few remaining farms on Buga Island. It cultivates strawberries in the greenhouse, but the cash crop is a Buga-specific coffee varietal, so dark and strong that it makes the jaw ache. The owner, Fox Hokade, is a barrel-chested bearded man, still wearing a bandanna around the brow despite the fact that his farmhands and his machines do all the work these days.

(There's also a dairy farm next door.)

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