Editing An Invitation to Linger

{{Card
|Icon = Hourglass.png
|ID = 324583
|colour = purple
|Description = London sometimes seems to demand blind hurry; but every so often, the bustle of the streets slows down of its own accord, and bids us to stop and listen to the city.

[see below]
|Wiki Note = The second paragraph varies based on the {{IL|Placeholder Quality Denoting the Current Week, That is to Say A Measurement of Time Which may Consist of Roughly Seven Days, When Measured Against the Total Number of Weeks Eclipsed Since the Start of Said Year, Which Is Used in Places For Random Text|Appearance=Placeholder World Quality Used for This Purpose}}, which changes every week on a 52 week cycle.
{{Variant table
|Condition = Placeholder Quality Denoting the Current Week, That is to Say A Measurement of Time Which may Consist of Roughly Seven Days, When Measured Against the Total Number of Weeks Eclipsed Since the Start of Said Year
|Condition alias = Placeholder World Quality|Condition nowrap = no|Effect = Second Paragraph|Compact = yes
|Value 1 = The new year (such as it is) begins quietly, like waking up too early on a too-cold morning.
|Value 2 = The gaslamps waver and swirl, making the shadows on the street dance. Deviations in pressure and quality of the fuel are common.
|Value 3 = Scarves and long coats are in fashion, mostly out of long-obsolete habit; the air of the cavern is still and mild as ever.
|Value 4 = It's 'raining' – condensation dripping from the stalactites above. It falls unevenly; some homes are dry, other drenched.
|Value 5 = The hisses and screeches of bats – a colony has taken up residence in the eaves of a nearby church.
|Value 6 = London is not seismologically active – ordinarily. But sometimes, if you stand every still, you can feel a gentle swaying; as if the Neath was slowly breathing in and out.
|Value 7 = The Feast of the Rose is in full swing. Visitors to Tyrant's Gardens tread carefully, lest they trip over a masked tryst.
|Value 8 = Everyone appears to be making an effort to look especially put-together and composed, following the events of the Feast.
|Value 9 = A fierce tang rolls off the zee today – the stench of salt and guano.
|Value 10 = A small winged creature hurtles past your head, picking up speed as it vanishes over the roofline. Was that—? No. It must have been a bat.
|Value 11 = Devils seem to be everywhere today. Everywhere you go, you see amber eyes.
|Value 12 = Strange sigils, painted in ochre on a wall. Urchins compete to see who can stare at it the longest.
|Value 13 = A whisper from the shadows. Was that— Did someone say your name?
|Value 14 = A haulier winches battered crates off the back of a cart outside a warehouse.
|Value 15 = All the tea shops seem to be full today. Coincidence? Probably. Inconvenience? Definitely.
|Value 16 = A group of children chain hands and dance in a ring, singing a cheerful song about mushrooms.
|Value 17 = Someone moves lightly over a nearby rooftop, sticking to the shadows. Are they following you?
|Value 18 = Two old men sit outside a café, playing cards. Alongside the Cats, Bats, Rats, and Hats, they use some carved figurines to mark some aspect of play.
|Value 19 = Many prominent restaurants strike eggs from their menu at this time of year. It's simply too risky.
|Value 20 = Strange yips, growls, and squawks are heard all about London at this time of year.
|Value 21 = A vendor parks her cart across the street. Words emblazoned on the side advertise '' 'CAT MEAT! DOG MEAT!' ''
|Value 22 = Does the fog feel more humid today? Do you fancy that the air is a little warmer?
|Value 23 = The days run on like treacle. The city has acquired a listless aspect.
|Value 24 = The fog is thick tonight – thick enough to block out the false-stars.
|Value 25 = False-Summer settles over London. Nights are humid. Suits and petticoats run with sweat.
|Value 26 = Your nose wrinkles. There's spores in the air.
|Value 27 = The height of false-summer. Londoners fill their schedules with suitable activities.
|Value 28 = Bells ring in Saint Fiacre's at irregular intervals. The city's timekeeping is disrupted by discordant peals.
|Value 29 = The Stolen River is quiet and lonely. Warm light escapes from the House of Chimes, dappling the cobbles.
|Value 30 = Jack-of-Smiles strikes again! Blood in the gutters. Chaos on the streets. The distant whistles of the Constables.
|Value 31 = A swarm of cats – it can be labelled nothing less – courses down Lusitania Row in pursuit of a lone man.
|Value 32 = The steam-whistle of the Moloch Street Express screams in the distance. Another journey west begins.
|Value 33 = A flash in the corner of your eye. Has that sigil always adorned the Bazaar's flank?
|Value 34 = A hubbub on the edge of the city. An urchin leaps the carnival fence, cackling.
|Value 35 = A brisk breeze briefly dissipates the smog outside your door.
|Value 36 = This morning, you wake up to something sitting on your windowsill.
|Value 37 = Cool wind from the northern unterzee enters the city through Wolfstack Docks.
|Value 38 = Mme. Shoshana has thrown open the flaps of her tent, letting all in the carnival see her tarot readings; a little advertisement, perhaps.
|Value 39 = The gutters here are clogged and claggy. Liquid amber, mixed with drips from above?
|Value 41 = The 'leaves' are 'turning' – which is to say, Urchins are hanging red socks on windowsills and lamp-posts all over London as a sign of imminent terror.
|Value 42 = Ships begin arriving on Wolfstack Docks, laden with strange cargo from across the Zee, in preparation to winter in the city.
|Value 43 = Masked revellers throng the streets – Hallowmas is either here, or fast approaching.
|Value 44 = The Glasswhisper stalks the streets. Shut your doors; shut your windows; safeguard your secrets. All will be confessed.
|Value 45 = The spectre of Christmas rears its terrible head once again.
|Value 46 = Underground, little changes in the weather as the seasons shift; tradition and memory are more important than climate. But sometimes the weather does change.
|Value 47 = The doldrums of November are here. Newspaper-men comb the streets for depravity to report on, lest the publishers still be in the red for the year.
|Value 48 = Shop windows fill with festive goods – from candied mushrooms in wintery shapes to ornate glass baubles.
|Value 49 = Clerks, accountants, solicitors – the middle classes have a new spring in their step. The unspoken agreement has entered into effect: no real work will get done until January.
|Value 50 = Lacre blankets the city in white. Winter is here.
|Value 51 = Christmas is very nearly here, and the anticipation (and fear) in the air is palpable.
|Value 52 - 53 = It is the dead of winter. On the Surface, the shortest day of the year approaches. Underground, a haze of sleep falls over the city.
}}
|Locked with = {{Lock|A Beneficence}}
|Frequency = Abundant Frequency
|Discardable = no
|Option1 = Stop for a moment, and watch
}}