Their snacks finished (and a basket set up from Marigold for Nan and her friends), they are off to visit Nan!
The old folks' home, Whispering Pines Retirement Haven, has a certain charm that belies its slightly worn appearance. The two-story brick building has seen better days; its ivy-covered walls, once carefully maintained, have grown a bit too wild, creeping over windows and partially obscuring the faded sign at the entrance. The wooden sign is chipped in places, and the green paint has started to peel, revealing the bare wood underneath. The grounds, though still neat, show signs of aging—patches of the lawn are a little threadbare, and the flowerbeds, while colorful, are a bit overgrown.
As Thistle, Art, and Gwen arrive, they notice the staff has taken advantage of the pleasant weather by organizing an outdoor activity for the residents. The front lawn, though still inviting, has a few uneven patches where the grass has worn thin from years of use. The wicker chairs and benches scattered around have seen better days, with some fraying at the edges, and the lawn bowling set seems to have been in use for decades, the once-bright colors of the balls now faded to pastel shades.
A few residents are engaged in a card game at a weathered picnic table. Nearby, a group is painting small wooden birdhouses - they have a colorful appearance, perhaps on purpose or perhaps from the paint being half-empty cans that are clearly leftovers from previous projects. Despite this, the residents are in good spirits, their laughter and chatter bringing life to the somewhat run-down surroundings.
Nan—Anita Saltpetre—is unmistakable. She’s perched in her customized mobility scooter, which, despite its obvious age, hums with a powerful, perhaps questionably-legal engine. Her scooter bears various Nocker-style modifications: flashing lights, a slightly too-loud horn, and what appears to be a retractable card table attachment. Her eyes are as sharp as ever, and her presence commands respect, even in a place as laid-back as Whispering Pines.
When she spots Thistle, she gives a wave, a blend of affection and impatience. "Ey, Trina, my lass! Get over here! You're just in time to watch me whip the pants off this lot in Pinochle!" Though the place may be a bit worn around the edges, it’s got a warmth and resilience, just like the old Nocker herself.