[sticky entry] Sticky: Sticky

31 Mar 2016 12:43 am
sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] sixthiteration
onlyeverdoubted: (brave)
[personal profile] onlyeverdoubted
WHO: Bodhi, household residents, OTA
WHERE: Within and around House 39, random streets and spots in town
WHEN: Before, during, and immediately after the earthquake
OPEN TO: All, mingling at House 39 welcome
WARNINGS: Panic attacks, PTSD symptoms

Bodhi does his best to be busy, but his lack of any real expertise and the heat prey on his industrious impulses until there isn't much left. He does his share of the housework, taking over chores he's determined Kira especially doesn't like, but if the house isn't falling down, he's pretty satisfied. He naps a bit more often, the heavy air carving through his reserves enough to chase off the niggling little nightmares, and he works his way through Credence's loan as quickly as he can. He finds Frankenstein utterly mystifying, the world foreign beyond all comprehension, the language strange and stilted, every character's motivation utterly inscrutable. But there is a story in there, which would be worth it even if he didn't owe the loan his attention. He feels faintly guilty every moment he isn't bringing it back, and he reads it everywhere, on the porch and in the woods and here and there in town, drifting for a bit between long, dense packages that really reinforce the theory that Credence is smarter than he is.

The quiet little rhythm holds for a while. It's what he's built his life around here, the life he's not supposed to have. Keep his head down, be useful, enjoy whatever seems to be enjoyable, drift. He's in no one's way.

Then there's an earthquake. It's over so quickly, does so little damage, compared to the roar and the rush of rubble in his memory, but it's enough, and all of his carefully cultivated quiet calm is gone. Not for long, but enough to shake the cage he built himself and leave him less than safe.

Then Credence is missing. Another faint guilt, being so much more hurt by it than Jyn or Cassian's disappearance, but much as the comrades fate threw at him matter, the friend he chose leaves a different ache behind entirely.

After the quake (and after Bodhi stops shaking, which admittedly takes a bit more time), he's frantically busy, even in the face of the dying heat. No surprise that he jumps at the chance when an opportunity to actually help, to really do something presents itself. He's no expert, but planetary science, mapping and recordkeeping, simple survival and first aid, all are pieces of an academy education. Or, sometimes, the one he built for himself out of public files and a desperate attempt to keep up when Galen talked. Packing, planning, just keeping in motion. Maybe it's all just a way to avoid the mess inside his head sneaking out again, but at least it might do someone else some good.

He leaves the half finished book with Kira when he leaves. In case.
bit_fairytale: (troubled)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: June 28th
WARNINGS: Depression

It's been days since Amy's last seen her husband. At first, she'd just thought he'd gone off to the hospital to work himself to exhaustion like the man he is, but then he hadn't come back for dinner and hadn't come to bed with her. No matter how hard Rory worked, he'd always come back to her. Then, Amy had figured maybe he'd found a way out or the Doctor had arrived and Rory was in the middle of something, but the village is calm apart from its usual madness, and no one's seen Rory.

She knows what's happened. She's known since the moment Rory didn't come to bed, but her denial has been the only thing keeping her sane. Even that can't last forever, though, and now, Amy's finally starting to break because she's having to acknowledge that Rory is gone. He's been gone from her so many times before, but she almost wishes it were like the cracks in the universe again, just so she wouldn't have to feel like this.

"Come back," Amy pleads, for what feels like the hundredth time, hands together in desperate prayer. "This is not the sort of anniversary present that a woman wants, especially not for ten years together, Rory Williams, you come back," she demands, gritting her teeth together as she sinks to sit beside the fountain, feeling punch-drunk with exhaustion (she hasn't slept properly in so long, not since he vanished, and it's catching up to her). "We made a promise, it was you and me, together," she pleads, scraping at the stones of the fountain, like she can somehow coax him back with sheer faith alone.

She'd brought them to a bloody hotel prison with faith, she'd brought Rory and the Doctor back from nothing with memory, so why can't she do it again? Only, the water stays placid and still, no one comes out of the fountain, and Amy Pond is spending two days after her wedding anniversary alone. No Rory, no Doctor, and only Amy Pond, alone.

She rests her head on the stones of the fountain, eyes blurred with tears, her limbs heavy with grief and exhaustion. It's not the first time she's lost Rory, but it's the first time she's lost him and felt this aimless and without a plan. What's she supposed to do, now? What's the point of any of this if she hasn't got Rory at her side?
unmakeme: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha and Hawke
WHAT: being the unlucky two in the cave when the pod opens
WHEN: July 1st
WHERE: the cave behind the waterfall

The vibrating arrowheads are no less unsettling after Sam finds a weird pod behind the waterfall, making it most likely that the arrowheads have been reacting to that and not to the waterfall itself. This is apparently not even the first weird pod to turn up, because this place needs help getting even creepier. Unknown forces causing weird shit and lining right up with the weather getting super drunk and deciding the rules no longer apply? Feels vaguely like home. Thor's previous assurances aside, she's still expecting Loki to turn up any day now, smug and insufferable.

The vibrating shiny artifacts could offer some way to combat whatever is inside the pod (that they still can't get open), though it's just as likely the little arrowheads could spell doom. Won't know until something happens, and Natasha hates the sit around and wait part of tense situations like these. So she finds something to do. In this case, that something is hunting for as many of the arrowheads as she can find. Whether they'll help or hurt, they're clearly related, and that's something.
unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHAT: an open post for being hot and miserable, exploring, and also attempting to shield some plants from the sun
WHEN: all of June
WHERE: the river, while it's still a thing, and anyplace with shade once it's not

River )

Fields )


Natasha is going to be mostly in the water, or searching out shade, but as long as you don't want her to work up a sweat, she's always up for a chat.
theintercessor: (dreaming)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Cave at south of canyon, between the River and the Theseus Pod
WHEN: July 1st
OPEN TO: Credence Barebone
WARNINGS: Earthquake/cave-in, mentions of epilepsy symptoms, both characters have abuse in backstories, will edit as needed.

There are only so many days to be spent making paper, and none of them in these temperatures.  Too much of it involves boiling water, and the stacks in the storeroom haven't immediately disappeared.  It's easier to spend the day exploring under the shade of the trees, following the river south, wading in when the heat overtakes him and drives him to dizziness.  He's tied a spare curtain across his chest, a sheer sling stolen from a bathroom, soon filled with arrowheads, interesting stones, leafy--if dried--plants.  He doesn't know if you can make paper out of pine needles, but you can put them in the embers to restart the fire, scent the smoke a little more like home.

His home, anyway.

It never got this hot in the mountains, the sun never hovered over like the concentrated beam of a kid with a magnifying glass, killing ants.  It never got this quiet, even in hunting season.  Especially in hunting season, people moving through the trees, trucking, drinking, shooting.  It's strange not to know where he is.  It's strange not to know his footing in the stream, or know where it leads.  It's strange to come upon the canyon wall: a different kind of stone, a road not touched by trucks or bikes, nothing to follow to some kind of pass.  

It's a lonely thing, somehow.  So much of it seems untouched, or not touched in any lasting way.  Sometimes a tree has the bark slashed away, sometimes the edge of a path or treeline is too neat, but there simply aren't enough people to fill the space.  He's done it, by walking so far from the houses.  He's gotten away, and it feels--too easy.

When he comes up to the wall, he rests a hand against it, looking out into the trees.  Walking is a kind of stimming, mindless motion.  It's too hot, he's walked too far, without enough purpose.  Jude doesn't find the cave with anything but touch, his hand skimming stone until it isn't.  Isabelle had told him: there is no way out, people have already tried.  But she'd also told him the fountain had no bottom, and he'd touched hard edges in the water.  But way out or no, a cave is a much cooler place to rest than the open sun.  Tugging the loop of his sling higher, he tightens it shut against his chest, stones slipping down the folds, leaves rustling as they crushed between.

"I know you're there," he says, pausing in the shadowed opening and pushing his sweaty hair back.  "Stop skulking around."

warriorborn: (easycompany-benny-157)
[personal profile] warriorborn
WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: Backdated to June 20
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly
WARNINGS: adolescent fumblings of a sexual nature

If his Kate is to be believed (and she generally is), they've been here almost a year. Benedict has not been keeping track of the days, having not taken up the habit when he arrived and only thinking of it weeks later, ultimately deciding not to bother since he'd missed the first few dozen days and it seemed pointless after that. He remembers he arrived in what he'd been told was Summer, although it was far less hot at his arrival than it is these days. Is there a season hotter than Summer? There must be, as they are living in it. The endless, relentless sunshine has been slowly baking their habble like an oven, and when it is safe to do so — namely in the privacy of their own rooms — Benedict has taken to wearing very little clothing at all.

It seems pointless, when he and Kate have been living as husband and wife in all but name for months, although he cannot quite shake the little thrill it gives him, the illusion of breaking some kind of taboo, lounging around nearly naked with a girl he's made no promise to. A promise without a ring is worth very little, after all.

Perhaps one day.

If he thinks himself hot, he can't imagine how Kate must feel, wrapped up in her corsets and petticoats all day. Sometimes he thinks she's even more eager than he to retire at night (or what passes as night these days), just so she can peel out of her clothes and flop about their room as uselessly as he is, dressed in their underwear and blowing moist air across each other's skin in a vain attempt to cool down.

Watching her pin up her hair again to keep it off her neck, he's struck with the very strong desire to reach out and touch her, to slide his sun-darkened hands across her pale skin and perhaps follow their path with his lips. The fact he can see her sweating stays his hand, though. He is not so squeamish to find a little sweat distasteful, but considering how much he himself is perspiring, he can take a guess that his touch might not be so welcome after all.

"Sweetling," he rumbles, his head lolling lazily as he props it up with one palm, sprawled across their unmade bed as he hopes in vain for a little breeze to come seeping through the window. "Sometimes I think you do this just to tease me." He's lying, of course, understanding that she would no more want her hair pressed wet and warm against the back of her neck than he would, but watching her sitting at the vanity, her body on easy display, arms lifted and back arched as she fusses with her hair and pins it up high, tries the very depth of his patience. "If this heat doesn't lift, I'm going to have to move into a spare room to avoid temptation."
teen_angst_bullshit: (078)
[personal profile] teen_angst_bullshit
WHO: Veronica Sawyer
WHERE: The River & Various
WHEN: June 23-25
OPEN TO: ALL, Kira & Nerys

Dear Diary,

It's really fucking hot.

Understatement of the year, Veronica thinks as she stares down at the line, sweat tickling down the back of her scalp to gather at her hairline.

Thinking about going bald, she adds in a looping scrawl. Could start a new village fashion.

The sad truth is that she probably could. With the sun giving them the finger day in and day out, it's surprising people aren't lined up at Kira's door begging him to shear them like the sheep. It might even look cute, now that she considers it—

That's it. She's got to get some kind of relief or she really will hunt down the kitchen shears and do something she'll regret later.

Even at half capacity, the river's still the best option available. Well, unless you want to swim in the fountain, and Veronica's just not that comfortable with the idea of accidentally dog-paddling into somebody fresh arrived to what's beginning to actually feel like hell.

Towel in hand, she abandons the steamy shade of the house and trudges to the river, where she strips all the way to her panties and bra before wading in. No jumping from the dock today, unless you want to break something.

For Kira & Nerys )
audaces: (Default)
[personal profile] audaces
WHO: Poe Dameron
WHERE: Waterfall pool and surrounding streams
WHEN: June 22
WARNINGS: Partial nudity, probably

It's been a long time since he's been on a planet without a sunset. Even the dimming is strange, especially if you speak with any of the Terrans who are convinced this is their home-world. Still, Poe is nothing if not adaptable, and living as a pilot in first the Navy and then the Resistance has taught him the enviable skill all soldiers acquire out of necessity: being able to sleep anywhere, at any time, as long as he's got a few minutes to close his eyes, so he's managed to deal with the brightness alright.

The rivers going dry is another story.

Coming from a planet as wet as his, this is truly alarming. He hopes to any gods that might listen that all this is is a summer drought, that sooner or later the tides will turn (literally), and the normal water levels will return. He doesn't want to think about how the hell they're all going to survive if their water supply dries up.

The only good thing about the lower water levels is that it's easier to catch the poor creatures that live in them, which is why he's camped out at the edge of the waterfall pool, using green wood split into narrow strips to weave himself a basket, a smaller funnel-like basket stuck in the mouth pointing inwards so that whatever swims in cannot then turn around and swim back out. He's hoping to catch crawfish today. Wading in and out of the water does a lot to cool him off, but that hasn't stopped him from stripping down to his underwear regardless, both so that his clothes don't get dirty, but also because it's fucking hot. Settling his basket trap under a knot of roots along the water's edge, Poe clambers back up onto the bank and lies down on his stomach, folding his arms in front of him and resting his chin on them as he gets comfortable. He'll keep an eye on the trap for a while, see what saunters in. Hopefully it'll be enough for his lunch.
thecatinahat: (fiddle)
[personal profile] thecatinahat
WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Alvarez-Jensen-Sawyer Residence
WHEN: June 21st
OPEN TO: Jake Jensen
WARNINGS: Haircuts and Complaining

The last time Cougar had been on a mission this far north during the summer, he hadn't slept for a full week straight between the sunlight and the mission. It had left him a little splintered of reality then. Here, he isn't sleeping as much as he'd like, between the heat and the light, and it's taken him back to old habits. He sits in shady spots in high trees to keep an eye on people, his observation skills as critical as ever. Maybe more, because he's not sleeping, and when he is, the nightmares are worse than ever. So instead, he stays awake and he makes notes about people and he watches, always watches.

It's how he notices that Jake is starting to get irritated with the heat and his hair. It's little signs at first, but then, Cougar's unwavering eye notices enough little additions that he knows just what he needs to do. He fetches his scissors and a bowl of the coolest water he can find, putting everything together and then sitting in the corner of their bedroom with his hat pulled low over his head, sweating through his tank top and self-made shorts (his scrubs, cut, which means he will not have them for the winter).

Unmoving, he sits there and waits, his own hair tied in a bun behind his head. After what happened the last time to make him cut his own hair, he's not trying that again. No, this is about making Jake stop with his fidgeting and complaining and sweating, at least, for a few seconds. It will be a few seconds worth it.
canaria: made by me | please don't take (working or some such)
[personal profile] canaria
WHO: Sara Lance and open
WHERE: Fountain, then various, winding up at the inn.
WHEN: June 20th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Mention of death

The cold water is a surprise. But, thankfully, she's a good swimmer, so Sara moves her way to the water's surface and takes a deep breath of air once her head breaks the surface, and she coughs a small bit of water out of her mouth -- her blonde hair is clinging to her face, shoulders, neck, back. while she doesn't have a fear of water, finding herself in a body of water in this kind of circumstance vaguely reminds her of years ago when she was on a ship that sunk.

This also, she's pretty certain, isn't the time travelling she'd just decided to sign up for. Before she found herself in this fountain, she'd been talking with her sister, Laurel, standing right beside her. Why isn't Laurel here too?

But, she hoists herself out of the fountain completely, shakes some of the water off of her arms, and rings out her hair. If anyone happens to be around as she stands there, they'll get a:

"Just tell me that thing doesn't revive the dead." It's a stupid joke about her Lazarus Pit experience.

Elsewhere / inn:
Sara spends the rest of her day exploring what she can of the village she's found herself in. She won't go too far so as not to potentially wear herself out on her first day here, and so she can become more familiar with certain parts before others. Just because she could do it, probably, doesn't mean she should. So she paces herself.

She does, however, eventually decide to go into the inn. There are probably several more people in there, and people equal potential information (about this place, and maybe if someone has seen her sister if she's here too). Also, she should consider food soon. That's ... probably a smart thing to do.

But first, she'll open conversation with the nearest person by asking: "Uh, hi. Do ... you know of someone named Laurel Lance here?"
seekingcrocodile: (A man unwilling to fight for what he wan)
[personal profile] seekingcrocodile
WHO: Killian Jones and ota
WHERE: The inn
WHEN: June 20
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Will update if needed

The fact that when he wakes up he's alone in the bed is unusual, but by itself isn't enough cause for worry. Maybe Emma just got up early for some reason, or had trouble sleeping and didn't want to disturb him, so is somewhere else in the house. A quick check of the house convinces him that she's not there somewhere, so he sets out to look elsewhere for her.

He starts at the inn, ducking into the kitchen, because she often would help with cleaning or whatever cooking tasks that she could. No sign of her there.

No sign of her anywhere else either. She's not at the river, or the garden plot, or in any of the other buildings in the village. He even forgoes his usual tasks (and even food) in favor of searching for her anywhere he can think to look, and finds no trace of her except for her belongings in the house. Which can really only mean one thing.

He's sure that his fears have come true, that Emma has disappeared like so many others before her, and the only way he'll see her again is if he's returned to Storybrooke as well. All he can do now is hope. But there is one tiny sliver of that hope left here. It's possible, perhaps, that she's here, they just managed to miss each other all day. He's got no way of getting in touch with her, after all. They could have just been in different places as each other. He circles back to the inn, at a time when many of the residents of the village are eating dinner. He pushes the door open and steps inside. "Has anyone seen Emma?"
justphases: (pic#10812709)
[personal profile] justphases
WHO: Kitty Pryde and you!
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, the Forest/Lakefront
WHEN: June 20th-June 22nd
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Possible discussion of death/injury considering her canon point

...And promise not to promise anymore )
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Considers)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Outside The Police Station
WHEN: 6/18
WARNINGS: None, save animal birth. (Nothing graphic)

Margaery had read the book she was given by Kate to prepare for the birth of her cow. Over and over again she had read the words until she had them nearly memorized. She knew what to do in her mind, but when the time came, she found herself at a loss. All she could do was sit back and let nature lead the way. It was a gruesome process, different than she had imagined, but still strangely beautiful. It was only when the calf was finally free and wobbling over the grass that Margaery let out a breath.

She stroked her cow's nose, whispering words of encouragement and praise to her. The hard work was over and she had been as strong as any woman Margaery had known. While her cow rested and regained her strength, Margaery carefully cleaned the calf, another girl and one needing a name (however unwise that might be). They would at least have milk in the village.

She spied someone nearby, watching the three of them in the fields. She beckoned the person over with a warm expression. "Come see."
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: The Church
WHEN: Early, July 18th
OPEN TO: Sonny Carisi
WARNINGS: Usual Jude warnings may apply: portrayals of epilepsy, mentions of horror tropes and religious iconography

The house next to his isn't as dirty as some of the others, for all he hasn't been around to see anyone go in or out of it.  If it has a purpose, no one's yet pointed it out, and after dragging more than a few items across the way from the storehouse, it doesn't seem like there's anyone dedicated to slapping wrists or enforcing any kind of ownership over the supplies.  He's more surprised at how much he's found to scavenge out of damaged houses, linens and kitchen supplies, decent pieces of wood, a screen he'll need to make good on his promise of paper.  He might go back for more, once the heat passes and he feels up for boiling that many plants and old books at a time.

It's a strange way to feel useful, but it seems like a need to be filled.  He can't do shit about the electricity problem.

But maybe he can do something about his clothing problem, or the unbearable sun still drying up patches of the crop field.  Peering in the windows first, the house is far from decrepit or damaged, and isn't even as dusty or undisturbed as the one across the way.  It almost looks like someone wrapped it up for safekeeping, but hasn't yet returned.  A disappearance?  A lover's spat that got someone kicked out?  He doesn't know, just that there are sheets being wasted on old furniture when they could be shielding food. 

Looking both ways, the coast is clear when he slips inside.  The heat has been good for clearing the paths when the sun rises above the trees, the only thing it manages to simmer behind for a few hours as it moves backwards across the sky.  

Inside, the house is cleaner than his own, uncluttered by materials or pots full of soaking leaves and books.  There's a cross hanging on one wall, the furniture fanning out from it like something out of a southern gothic horror movie, that pagan edge of twining sticks and twigs, the ghostly fit of sheets hanging in the too-still air.  

It's a long moment before he can set his hands to the back of a sofa, tugging the sheet away from the polished wooden frame.  It isn't quite reverence that stills or starts him: he needs to make this fast, the place kind of creeps him out.

playmakings: (Let me call a few)
[personal profile] playmakings
WHO: Kelsi Nielson
WHERE: The inn, outside the village, forest
WHEN: 16th-18th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: N/A, possible mentions of dying
STATUS: Open, come at me bros

it feels so right to be here with you. )
163: (40)
[personal profile] 163
WHO: Steve Rogers and YOU
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, Town Hall
WHEN: 16 June
OPEN TO: Open to all
WARNINGS: No warnings as yet.
STATUS: Open to new threads

on a steel horse i ride. )
truecaptain: (pic#7062781)
[personal profile] truecaptain
WHO: Kanata Shinonome
WHERE: fountain, around of the village
WHEN: June 14- onward
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as needed!

Read more... )
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (58)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone, Percival Graves, anyone else
WHERE: Barebone-Graves residence, fountain
WHEN: June 15th-16th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Standard Credence warnings, specifically parental death

i ➼ I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; closed to Graves
It's something Tina mentioned to him when he asked why Mary Lou knew about wizards. Why everyone else was sure magic was just a fairytale, but Mary Lou was staunch in her belief. It bothers him less that Graves didn't tell him--he knows that's how the other operates, how Graves answers Credence's questions honestly but doesn't give any unnecessary information. Instead, what's really gnawing at Credence is that he didn't ask the right question. He'd thought he was getting better at that.

It was almost a game, asides from their question-for-an-answer. He's never quite told Graves said game of course, but Credence tries to phrase his questions to get the most out of him. He considers a simple 'yes' or 'no' a failure in these circumstances, even though a yes or no is usually enough to satisfy his curiosity. Credence wants more, ravenously hungry for knowledge. Newt and Tina will happily provide answers to anything he asks, and Credence plans on using this to his full advantage so long as they don't mind, but he still wants Graves to teach him, too.

It's finally too hot for him to handle a long-sleeved shirt and jeans when he gets back from the mill, and since he's just in their house and not planning on leaving, Credence opts to wear his white scrubs again. They're lighter, just cotton, even if his arms show the criss-cross markings of unhappier times. Unhappier times he now knows and recognizes as much more complicated than he could imagine. Which brings him to the question he wants to ask.

He finds Graves in the living room, and he wants to say it's evening despite the never-ending blazing sun. His footsteps are quiet, barefeet, and he stops at the doorway, watching the older man for few moments before speaking.

"Ma knew what I was, didn't she? She knew what my real mom was, too."

ii ➼ Iᴛ's ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜰᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; OTA
The more Credence thinks about how hot it is, the hotter he feels, and the more he thinks about how he shouldn't think about how hot it is the more he does. The circular puzzle he's trapped in is ridiculous. The problem with dressing in long-sleeved shirts and long pants is that, even if they're airier thanks to the fact that they're Kira's clothing and not his own, it's even more hot, which jumpstarts the entire thing.

He does his chores for the day and decides the best course of action is to copy what he'd spied Queenie doing a little while ago: he makes his way to the fountain, book close to his chest, dips his feet in, and reads. It's Frankenstein, which he's sure he's read at least 30 times since Christmas, but it's not like he has anything new.

It's when he finishes a chapter that he looks up--he squints against the sun, frowning--and muses, not necessarily to the person passing by.

"Do you ever wonder why they don't give us books very often? The ones that watch us."


iii ➼ Iᴛ's ᴀ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇs;

Feel free to spy Credence at the fountain or by the river, or sometimes at the inn doing whatever needs to be done (most likely sweeping).
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] weirwood)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: In the woods near the Stark cabin.
WHEN: June 13
WARNINGS: None; will update as needed.

It had arrived in a box.

Ned had carried it to his room, careful and gentle, and left it at the foot of his bed until he'd returned to the house later that afternoon. He's received the mysterious gifts before - a cloak, some gloves, other assorted items - but this was a strange sort of weight. Neither heavy nor light, not muted in sound the way the clothes had been. And tall. The box had been taller than the others he'd received, and for a time upon his return, Ned eyed the thing with careful precision and consideration before even laying another finger on it.

He finds his movements, his very breath to be more laborious than normal in light of the sudden disappearance of his youngest daughter. He'd woken one morning to find simply that she'd vanished, seemingly evaporated into nothingness. He'd been warned many times over that such an event could take place and did take place with some regularity, but - he'd foolishly thought his family to be immune. Certainly, given the what they'd gone through, given the pain and suffering they'd already endured, the Old Gods would not see fit to separate them once more.

What a fool he'd been.

After some deliberation and quiet self-muttering, when he feels the time of curiosity and thought has passed, he removes the lid, peering down into the chamber. His brows lift with surprise, eyes alight for the first time in days with intrigue and something vaguely resembling happiness. He reaches out and pulls out a neatly bundled sapling. To those not of Westeros, it might appear to be any other tree - something similar to birch, as he's learned, but to those from his homeland, they'd know the sight of a Weirwood immediately.

He perches himself on the end of his bed as he inspects it, slowly turning it in his hands. It feels real, true. There aren't any illusions he can find. He worries for a moment that having kept it in the box for so many hours might've damaged or dried out the roots, so - now, with a focal point outside of the grief and mourning he carries with him in his broken, shattered heart - he hesitates not a second longer before making his way outside of the cabin and a bit further down the path, where there are no more cabins to be found. He knows that, over time, the thing will grow great and strong - he needn't encroach on his neighbor's territory, even in the name of the Old Gods.

Ned places the sapling on the ground carefully before leaving and returning with a variety of tools: namely, spades of different lengths and sizes. At once, he pours his sorrow into the repeated piercing of the earth and displacing of soil, cursing the Old Gods under his breath for leaving him a weirwood instead of his daughter.


Sixth Iteration Logs

June 2017

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