viridescere: (contemplative)
[personal profile] viridescere
WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: fountain, 6I woods, border of 6I village
WHEN: 13 August - 16 August
OPEN TO: All (one locked starter)
WARNINGS: TBD



fountain (locked to Felicity)

Oliver doesn't expect the water. He's made his way onto a boat to try and save William from Chase, to try and make a play to save someone from a madman who doesn't play by the rules and he hopes that his team can figure out a way to survive on their own. They're savvy about this stuff now and if the island is rigged to blow, there's nobody better than Team Arrow to figure out how to defuse the situation both figuratively and literally. Oliver puts his faith in that because, otherwise, he's had to make one selfish choice to prevent the consequences of another and he doesn't like being put in that position.

He's not the same man he was ten years ago. He's not the same man he was five years ago. He's someone who weighs consequences, who knows that a final solution has lasting effects and that he cannot be judge, jury and executioner in all instances. He has to put his faith in the law and the blind scales of justice; he's different now than he used to be. He doesn't have to bear it all alone.

Still, he doesn't expect the water. He'd been int he boat moments before, making a play to save his son over everyone else and now he's in water and being pushed upward somehow. Oliver rides the swell, too out of it to really comprehend how he'd gotten from the boat to overboard and when he opens his eyes, he's shocked not to feel the salt of the ocean stinging them. Is that possible? None of this seems possible or likely.

When he breaks free, it takes him a few seconds to get his bearings. There's a fountain, a little park. He pushes himself up and over the lip of the fountain and collapses onto the ground, coughing up the last dredges of water burning his lungs.

This is not Lian Yu.

woods

As soon as he gets some semblance of self, Oliver heads for cover. If this is Lian Yu or another prison like it, he doesn't want to see other people until he knows exactly what to expect. He's not armed and he only has his brain and his fists to get him out of any trouble. While that's more than sufficient in most situations, he doesn't want to force an encounter if he doesn't have to. He wants to spend some time in the woods, wants to see the comings and goings, and then he wants to make a plan.

He'd bolted from the fountain to the woods almost immediately and luckily they're thick enough to provide good cover. He's found enough to eat by foraging but that's going to run out soon and without something to hunt with or clean with, he's not going to survive for long. He needs food, eventually, but he has a little time before he has to start making decisions on his belly.

When he hears a rustling in the woods beside him, he stops short and takes cover behind a tree, trying to see who or what it is. He's not exposing himself unless he has to; he's going to take any measures necessary to keep himself safe.

outskirts of village

After three days, his curiosity gets the better of him and he draws up closer to the buildings that serve as some sort of town center. Oliver has watched people come and go long enough to realize that this isn't a prison in the traditional sense. If it's a prison camp, that's one thing, but there's no shackles from what he can see and people can travel freely. There's nothing inherently dangerous, either, from what he's seen and he's hungry enough and desperate enough to draw close to the village and try to decide if he wants to join their society.

Who is the leader? Who are they loyal to? Is this another one of Adrian Chase's tricks? Oliver doesn't know. He can only trust in himself, for now, and anyone he knows from home. There's nothing else he can trust until he's vetted it with his own eyes and for now, he's going to be cautious. He doesn't want to reveal too much of himself or his skill - that's a great way to get a target on his head. Still, he steps out into the village and greets the first person he sees, tries to pretend like he hasn't been there hiding in the woods for three days.

It's a step.
posilutely: (029)
[personal profile] posilutely
WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: Various; see below
WHEN: ditto
OPEN TO: 1 locked, 2 OTA
WARNINGS: n/a


House #7 - Mid-Late July - Locked to Sonny


It's the locket that confirms it.

When it had first turned up, Tina hadn't been sure if she wanted to trust it, but she'd taking to wearing it anyway. Just like she'd done at home, there wasn't hardly a time when it wasn't around her neck. Queenie's been wandering the village for a couple days now, and seeing it laying there on Tina's vanity table is like a punch right to the gut, her last bit of hope swept clean away in the matter of a moment.

And with Jacob apparently gone, too, it just makes a sad sort of sense, even if it makes her heart hurt to think about.

From the first time she'd felt that tingle of worry, Queenie's been telling herself it's probably better. If Tina's got out, if she's got home, it's gonna be better for them all -- It has to be, right? If anybody can figure out how to bust them out of this place, it's Teenie.

And if they've made her forget, well... maybe that's better too. She hated it here.

But telling herself these things just ain't the same as believing them, and sitting on the front steps of Sonny's house in her new dress, she can't keep herself from crying.


Behind House #17 - Mid-Late August - OTA (3 thread limit)


The funny thing about Tina being gone is that Queenie knows exactly what she'd say about it: That Queenie oughta stay busy and just get on with it. And sure, there's days when she just wants to fall right down onto the floor and stay there wallowing in how empty the house feels now, or how she accidentally made lunch for two, but that voice in the back of her head is awful quick to give her a kick in the pants, just like Teen herself would do.

Some days it's tough to find enough to fill the day, though, and she's been trying some things she probably would be better off to just let alone.

Today, it's splitting firewood. To say she's awful at it without wand would be the understatement of at least two centuries.

She got herself an axe from the inn, but she can't seem to hit the wood at the right angle or hard enough. She's pinged herself with bits of bark at least 20 times, and in the hour she's been out behind the house, she's got exactly 3 pieces of firewood to show for it, and one of them barely counts, if she's honest about it.


7I Shore - Mid-Late August - OTA (3 thread limit)


All of a sudden, they've got themselves an ocean, and all Queenie can do is stare at it.

The beach ain't much good for sunbathing with all its little pebbles, and it takes her a good fifteen minutes just to find a place to put her towel down. But it's the water that's the bigger problem, lapping softly at the shore like it couldn't just swallow her right up if it wanted.

Dressed in her cut-offs and sleeveless shirt, she wades in to her ankles but then just stands there, staring first at the wide, hazy horizon, and then down at the water swirling around her feet.
fishermansweater: (Jacket side-eye)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair + his peacock
WHERE: The 6I park
WHEN: August 3
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Baby peacock being ridiculous. Probably mentions of mental health and anxiety later on.



he's a peacock, a total preener --> fountain park


There's been an escape.

There'd been another aftershock, and after he'd calmed Annie down, Finnick had gone outside to check on the birds, only to find another hole in the fence. He'd thought he'd patched it up before he'd gone back to Annie, but he's come out again to find that Star, the oldest of the peacocks, is on the other side of the fence, and making his determined way down the path towards the village.

Finnick curses and turns, rapidly, to pull open the door of the house and shout in to Annie.

"Star's gotten out, can you check the fence?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, only hopes she's heard him before he's off down the road after the blue and brown bird. Hearing Finnick behind him prompts the bird to take off, skimming low over the bushes at the side of the road and leaving Finnick to chase after him.

They're halfway to the village by the time Star lands again, and the bird doesn't seem inclined to let Finnick catch up. Every time he gets close enough to reach out to catch the bird, Star flutters away out of reach and continues on down the path. They've made it all the way to the park before Star finally stops trying to actually run away and starts contentedly pecking at the grass, looking for something to eat. Finnick gives up the pursuit, too, and sits down on the edge of the fountain.

Perhaps he should consider trying to make some sort of leash or harness for the bird so he can't get away. He always carries some of the nylon cable he'd acquired around with him, so he'd be able to, but he's not sure about whether it's even possible to leash a bird. The propaganda films at home about agriculture in District 10 had never said much about poultry.

While Finnick watches, Star stares at the fountain, then turns around, slowly, holding out its wings, tail held straight up in the air. His tail is quivering, displaying the stubs of feathers that haven't yet grown in.

"You've got a while before you'll make it in the Capitol," Finnick says, eyeing the bird.

theoldlie: (drown)
[personal profile] theoldlie
WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Fountain / Center of Town
WHEN: July 25
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a


drowning

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. At first, he thinks that obviously he can't breathe, the fire and the smoke from the explosion are causing him to experience his last breaths in a way that mimics drowning, the chemicals from Dr. Poison's vials clouding his lungs and making it feel like he can't get a breath. Only, then he opens his eyes to water surrounding him and realizes that no, this isn't the plane, he's actually drowning.

Again.

This time, he's far more conscious than the last and something like a current in the water is pushing him upwards, though it's like there's a block in his mind that's preventing him from getting past the flinch of expecting fire and poison. With one last strong kick, he surfaces and hauls in oxygen in panicked, heavy hauls, the breath he never expected to take again. He reaches for his revolver, out of habit, but there's nothing at hand on him beyond the straps of a bag and a pair of clothes better suited to the hospital than war. Grasping the stones, he feels a little too unsteady to haul himself over the edge just yet, but he digs his fingernails into stonework and pries himself up until he can roll to the ground, collapsing in a wet heap.

He's breathing. He's ... alive? Steve can't see how that's possible, not unless he failed his mission, and if he'd done that, then there are bigger things to worry about. He needs to get up and find out what happened. He needs to find Chief or Charlie or Sami or --

Steve closes his eyes and thinks about Diana, wishing they'd had more time. Maybe he's managed to get lucky and get himself out a tight mess (though he hasn't got the first idea how), but that doesn't mean that he gets to stop working. Hauling himself to a sitting position, he clambers to his feet when he sees someone passing in the distance through blurred vision and wet lashes. "Hey," he calls, coughing up residual water. "Wait, wait, just hold a second, please," he adds, straining to get his legs to work, but he's still so shaky, the explosion is still so fresh in his mind.

bearings

It's sort of like going back in time to his childhood, Steve thinks as he maps his way around the village, using the measure of his step in order to gauge distances and horizons as best as he can. The houses look strangely unfamiliar, built with materials that Steve doesn't really recognize, but there's common buildings that he can pick out and name with ease. He ventures towards the mill and the inn, takes his time with a few of the other public structures, but eventually, makes his way back to the fountain to take inventory of what's in his bag.

He doesn't find any weapons, which is the first thing he's looking for. After so many years working with the BEF under their intelligence arm, Steve's not entirely sure how comfortable he feels being unarmed, which is something he'll have to fix soon enough. Until then, his own two fists will need to do the trick.

There's a whole wall of things he's not thinking about right now, like the part where he's probably dead and he probably burned up in a haze of poison and smoke, but somehow he's managed to come out of it with a body and a pair of gray hospital scrubs? That's what Steve doesn't understand, not to mention if this is supposed to be heaven or hell, he'd expect something out of it.

Adjusting on his knees as he starts to repack his bag, he glances at his surroundings again and tries to decide which way to go. Without a compass, he'll have to go the old-fashioned way, but with the sun high in the sky, he figures he's got time enough to choose. "North," he says aloud, squinting and trying to get his bearings. "Time to head North."
zomboligist: (like please bitch)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital
WHEN: July 22
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a


In the rush of discovering a whole other land, Ravi's excitement may have gotten the better of him. He'd taken all of his scientific equipment and hiked his way over, going as far as the water's edge before he started to take as many samples as he could, still focusing on the water (mainly because he's curious if this water, ocean or cove or bay, has the same healing properties as the fountain or the spring). What he doesn't take into account is how far it is to get all the way out there.

By the time he gets back, the sun is starting to set, but he's sweating and he's fairly sure that he's managed to give himself an impressive neck burn from the way that the sun is reflecting off of his skin all day. Huffing and puffing, he thinks that someone should have put up signs along the way to warn him just how far that trek is.

Collapsing inside the hospital, he slams his kit on the table and collapses in a slump in front of it, groaning for water like he's a zombie. No, bad thought, that's not what he needs to think about, it just makes him miss Liv and home. He drags one of the chairs over so that he can sink into it, stripping off his scrubs shirt until he's just in a sweaty t-shirt (not hot enough that he dares go shirtless, he's not an animal).

Staring at the vials of water, he knows that he should start running tests before time or strange village magic can change anything, but he's just so tired and hot. "I hate walking," he complains aloud, already knowing that his calves are going to ache like mad tomorrow. "This science had better give me something," he continues to gripe as he forces himself to get up and start fetching the rats for their daily bout of tests.
igotacrossbow: (peeking)
[personal profile] igotacrossbow
WHO: Jake Jensen
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Forward-dated to July 25
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, aborted panic attack


Cougar disappearing for a day or two isn't unusual. He's always been the lone-wolf type, prone to withdrawing into himself and doing whatever the hell he feels like despite what anyone else might say, and Jake is used to that. He's used to him climbing trees and staying there all day, to parking himself on the roof and refusing to come down, to skulking around the shadowed corners of rooms and refusing to speak in anything more than the occasional grunt. 

His looming shadow, far-flung as it might occasionally be, has become a central point to Jake's life, the lodestone around which his consciousness revolves. 

Cougar has been missing for nearly five days. 

At first, he'd explained it away. Cougar was out hunting. Cougar was setting his traps. Cougar was exploring. Cougar was sulking. Cougar was lying somewhere in the canyon, injured so badly he couldn't come crawling home, slowly bleeding out into the pine-needle-covered forest floor, wondering why Jake hadn't come to rescue him. 

He hasn't had a panic attack since before he joined the Army. He feels alarmingly close to one now. 

Cougar isn't in the smithy, and he isn't in the store room, and he isn't down by the waterfront. He isn't in the mill, or the cellar of their house, or perched on top of the Inn. Jake is rapidly running out of places to look, and the panic that's been clawing at his throat has really started to get its claws into him, squeezing tighter and tighter. Cougar can't be gone. He can't. They didn't survive Afghanistan and Bolivia only to let this shit hole village to separate them. He's not allowed to leave. 

Frantic, and hiding it very badly, he grabs the sleeve of the next person he passes, for the moment utterly oblivious and uncaring of the fact that he looks like a wild man and could very well frighten the next person he grabs. 

"Tell me you've seen Cougar," he demands, eyes wide and bloodshot behind his glasses. "Do you know where he is?" 

001.

20 Jul 2017 06:55 pm
learntthehardway: (106)
[personal profile] learntthehardway
WHO: Diana Prince and OPEN
WHERE: Fountain, Inn.
WHEN: Evening of July 20th and on
OPEN TO: Open to everyone
WARNINGS: N/A will update if needed



f o u n t a i n

    She felt as though she were floating, coolness surrounding her, caressing her skin. Slowly, she opened her eyes and jerked back realizing that she was emerged in water. She floundered for a moment, trying to figure out just how she got there but decided that getting to the surface was more important at the moment. Normally she loved swimming, but she couldn't think of how she'd ended up in.

    What stated at first as uncertain movements, turned into calm strokes as she pushed herself up towards the light dancing across the water's surface. She'd always been a sure swimmer, able to swim long distances, hold her breath for long periods of time. But now she found that her lungs were beginning to burn before she even got to the surface. She doesn't understand but as she shot up out of the water, she was gasping for breath.

    Diana was still gasping as she pushed her way over to the edge of the fountain she found herself in. She looked around and her eyebrows drew together and she realized that her surroundings are completely foreign to her. She dragged herself out of the water and the black clothing she has on feels heavy and water pools under her as she stands there, trying to make sense of what was happening. She pushed a wet, limp strand of hair out of her face and she shook her head. This was wrong but she knew she had to figure out where she was so she could get back home.




i n n

    She'd explored the village and hadn't really seen anything that would alert her to anything obviously out of place. Except not a lot of people seemed surprised to see a woman walking around sopping wet, carrying around some backpack she'd come out of the water wearing. She hadn't really tried talking to anyone and though she wanted answers, needed the time to pull herself together, to try and just figure it all out. She might not have known where is was, but she knew she needed to get out of there, to find a way back to where she belonged.

    She finally found her way to the inn, and honestly she probably should have gone there first. Inns had people and people meant information. Information meant a way out of there. She stepped inside, eyes blinking to adjust to the change of lighting and then she'd taking stock of the room, examining its occupants. She wanted to ask questions, to get answers but she was also hungry and a bit tired. She pushed that back though and rounded her shoulders and took a deep breath before heading towards the first person she sees.

    "Excuse me!" she called out to them. "Where is this place?"
pretendtoneedme: (running in the woods)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Everyone
WHERE: 6I's Town Hall
WHEN: July 10th
OPEN TO: Everyone who wants in. There will be one subheader for welcoming back the group and one for the actual meeting
WARNINGS: Nothing so far; please add headers in the comment subjects if something does come up that could be problematic



The return is, when everything is said and done, uneventful. The group who went to explore the break in the canyon walks back into the village in the early afternoon, laden down with most of the supplies they'd brought with them and without any obvious injury. There's some scratches, a couple bruises, but whatever had happened to seal them away from the village for a week definitely didn't happen to them, and they're not buzzing with any news so world-shattering that everyone needs to be collected and reported to at once. There's enough time for the group to separate and grab showers, clean clothes, and something to eat, while the word passes from person to person that the explorers have returned and that there's going to be a meeting right after dinner for them to explain what they've found and answer questions.

At the appointed time, the five of them are there, looking less ragged, and ready to talk. They've brought a few things back with them to show the others in the village, but all in all there's just not a lot to show about the other side that's different - except for that one, giant thing. But the non-changes are going to be shocking enough for most people, and decisions have to be made about what to do with the information they have now.
thegreatexperiment: (Tired)
[personal profile] thegreatexperiment
WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Around town
WHEN: Post-quake
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Some shell-shock. And because it's Sam, a lot of swearing.


As hard as Sam tried, she couldn't stop thinking about the night of the Rain of Fire. Compared to what had happened to her and the life she knew that night, an earthquake should have seemed like small potatoes. She lived in stupid California, for fuck's sake. This shouldn't have been enough to scratch up memories of the Rain, like a scab being ripped off her elbow. But introspection had never been Sam's greatest talent. So she understood herself less than complex physics or genetic sequencing or the right way to make fun of people who actually liked Walter Keane portraits. And when the memories flooded her brain, she was helpless to stop them, much less understand.

Sam was fast. She’d been fast even before she died. High school track team. Only for a hot minute, it seemed, but it had stuck with her. And it served her well, now, as she raced through the jumbled and ripped up streets of Los Angeles, jumping over steaming craters in the concrete, dodging around debris that was so twisted and mangled that she couldn’t even begin to guess what any of it had originally been. Was that bent metal rod a piece of the international space station? A support beam from a skyscraper? A fender? No way to know, no time to care.

She raced along Vine, her wig tilted to a terrible angle, her clothing ripped and torn. Her shadow stretched out in front of her, illuminated by fires from every direction. No matter which way she turned, she couldn’t erase the image of Sterling Engelhart being sucked down into the earth. “He had a piece of me with him,” Elizabeth kept moaning to Aubrey, before she succumbed to torpor and the hunters opened fire. If Sam believed in miracles, she’d call it one that no one had been shot. She’d separated from Grace and Avery at the Ordo library, then immediately turned tail and started back for home, despite their protestations that she should stay with them.

Even in this state of emergency, Sam was still afraid to reveal her secrets to them. Karen had well-ingrained the notion that no Kindred could really be trusted. The streets were full of the dead, dying, and bewildered. Most of the people that she passed seemed to come to life only when a large chunk of building fell from above. And then there was screaming and running and still more dying, as if they were reliving the first volley of space junk and satellites all over again.

“Joanna!” she heard someone screaming. “Joanna! Where are you?”

Sam did the math in her head. Based on her rough estimates, Los Angeles had probably lost well over one-third of its population tonight. And it was still too soon to make a final call. The looting hadn’t begun yet. And the panic. That too would inevitably raise the death count. And as for the rest of the world? Who knew?


Sam walked to a pile of rubble, leaning over to move a piece. She didn't hear anyone or anything underneath. With a scowl, she kicked it. What had it even been? A shed? A supply store? A fucking outhouse? There was another way this was different from the Rain. The landscape was still alien, whether it was pristine or wrecked. She was an outsider, a foreigner without any landmark to navigate by.

Her walkie crackled from her belt. “Mother to Sleepwalker.” Avery’s voice. He sounded formal. It was the same voice he used when he was in Court. “This is Mother to Sleepwalker. Come in Sleepwalker.”

She yanked it free, bringing it to her mouth. “This is Sleepwalker.” Her voice didn’t tremble too much. That would probably come later.

Avery’s tone softened. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to force herself to believe it.

“I wish you’d stayed.”

“I have to go.”

“Will you at least tell me where you are?”


And there was yet another way this was all different from the Rain. There wasn't anyone around here like Avery, anyone to worry about her whereabouts or even care if she was alive or dead. For all she knew, she was dead and now a fucking ghost, haunting this clown rodeo. Angrily, she pressed the heel of her palm against the side of her head. She wanted to force the memories out. And maybe hide her face a little, as her expression crumpled.
jokerized: (head tilt and lean)
[personal profile] jokerized
WHO: Tim Drake
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, various houses
WHEN: Evening of July 9 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA with closed starter
WARNINGS: Underage character who was subjected to torture, arriving from the moment he murders his abuser.



introduction )

fountain; july 9; veronica

Tim doesn't want to die badly enough, if the deciding factor is the water's chill. When he wakes up, there's less shock than a physical ache, awareness of his own skin fading in the dark. If only it were warmer, he'd float here until it choked him back to sleep. If only he could just sleep, the dark and dreamless transition from Barbara's grip to this.

Whatever this is. It doesn't rush around him like the river, though it's almost as cold. Tastes better too, when it slips into his mouth.

It's the kind of physical, present, lucid thought that he clings to, swallowing a little more and putting his hands on what feels like concrete siding. Some kind of pool, a wall to kick off from. This is good, this is working: something to do with his body that is only about keeping it alive. Whatever its condition, he's a strong swimmer, and he comes up with his arms catching around the legs and sweeping skirt of a statue.

The park, maybe? The statue is in decent condition: no moss, no vines, no signs of long-term deterioration. An old part of the Manor, closer to the cave than the house? The trees he finds outside the fountain's edge are too wild, the path too foot-worn to be the manicured lawns and carefully edged forest. Bruce's neighborhood is the only part of Gotham to have this many trees without Ivy's meddling.

Nerves build with the chill of the water, soaking into his--scrubs.

Right. That makes a surprising amount of sense, and the first slip of a laugh is genuine, but what follows is a horrible tic, rasping out of a sore throat. He's still trying to swallow the laughter as he gets a grip on the statue and pulls himself up, standing on the platform with her to look out at the twilit wood. In his movement, he notices the press of the backpack, the dragging weight on his shoulders. Is he outside some facility? Did he give Leslie the slip? That--sounds like him, even if he can't remember.

Shuffling his way around the statue, still holding tight, he continues to huff and swallow nervous laughter, trying to decide which way to go.


exploring; july 10-11; ota

The inmates are running this prison, far as he can tell. He doesn't know if this is some remote, free-range asylum disrupted by an earthquake, or there's been no time to breathe before tumbling through a rip in reality.

Or he's just crazy.

That one always starts the wheezing laugh tickling his throat. Nothing is funny, but everything can elicit it. It isn't just--it isn't just what happened. The ugly laughter is just easier than finding the words. Easier than thinking: what does it mean to be stuck here. Would Bruce really send him so far away, let him be taken again?

Is he angry?

Disappointed.

Whatever this place is, it isn't an entirely foreign world. A yellow sun rises and sets, it's temperate enough for the clothes in his pack. People gather supplies and offer meals in two of the larger buildings, and no one is hunting him down with medication or mandates of group therapy. He shelves the first theory pretty quickly, and puts the other two up just below it, in easier reach. Theories get in the way of deduction, and there's a lot of ground to cover, a lot of disparate information to parse.

Finding crude paper in one of the storerooms, Tim adds to his pack, adding a small jar packed with charcoal and a sharpened stick. He wouldn't have needed a notebook on the streets, but he knew those streets the way he knew how far he could jump, the way he knew the fit of his boots. His grasp of information has suffered in transition, and when he isn't slipping in and out of houses that look shaken in on themselves, he can be found at the board in the Inn, copying information with his makeshift pencil, trying to pick out the facts from speculation.

[Find Tim at the blackboard and map on the Inn's first floor, or exploring any house in a state of disrepair. It can even be your house, if it's suffered damage in the quake.]
beallmysins: (Default)
[personal profile] beallmysins
WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: House #10, Inn, river
WHEN: 1 July - 9 July
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: Jax is his own warning. Language, for sure. Probably going to be sex eventually, knowing him.



i. doin' the best i can (house 10, 1 july)

Jax is on the roof when the ground starts shaking. Being from California, he's no stranger to earthquakes, though they're a lot worse down south than in the valley where he's from. Still, he's familiar enough with them to know he doesn't want to be on a fucking roof repairing shingles when one hits and as soon as he feels the first waves, he scrambles down as fast as he can. He's quick but he's not quick enough to escape harm - he scrapes his shin and bangs the ribs on the same side he'd injured several weeks ago.

Fuck, he hisses, hitting the ground and heading to clear ground as fast as he can. The earthquake isn't anything they can control but he knows the best place to be is as far away from structures as he can get and just wait it out. There'll be aftershocks but those won't be as bad as the initial - this is always the worst part.

It's just a few minutes, all told, but it feels like hours. The world seems to stop when the earth starts to move and when it ceases, the sky opens up and rain begins to fall. It's been dry for weeks and the sun's been all fucked up so the rain is a welcome sight, steam rising up from the ground from just how goddamn hot it'd been before the quake.

Jax limps his way back toward the town, favoring his right leg and trying to keep from slipping on dirt paths that are rapidly becoming mud because he's got to have a drink and a doctor and he thinks the drink could replace the doctor if it's a good enough drink.

ii. and when it's time for leavin' (inn, 2 July - 9 July)

One of the things that Jax has in abundance is the ability to do labor and now that there's houses damaged from the earthquake, he's got something worth trading. He's not a jack of all trades like Moana but he makes do with what he has and if they've got the tools, he's got the strong back and the know how to do most things that a house needs.

The Inn is the best place to go and see if someone needs work so he hauls his ass up there every morning for breakfast and to offer his services. Now that the days and nights are actually separate and not one long stretch of sunlight that only changes in hue from yellow to red he's feeling a lot better than he has in a month or so; that never-setting sun shit had been getting old and he's happy to see the rain and the sun and the twinkling of the stars and moon at night. It's simple shit, yes, but it's a sign that this place is returning to some sort of normal.

The first two days he parks at the Inn, he doesn't have much to do. It's pouring rain and there's no way he can get anything done when he can't see his hand in front of his face. By the third day, though, not only has the sun come back but it's not so goddamn hot and he thinks he can get a real start on helping get some of the houses back into working order. There's plenty of things he can do that others might not be able to and he knows there's shit that other people are able to do that he can't; Moana's living proof of that.

He's taken to sitting out on the front porch of the Inn when the weather's good, making his offer for labor as people walk in and out.

iii. a good time down on the bayou (river, 4 July - 9 July)

After a long day of fixing roofs and figuring out how best to repair collapsed porches, Jax likes to bathe off down in the river. The days of rain have brought it up a little and it looks a lot better than it had a few weeks ago even though it still needs some more rain to get back up to the levels it'd been before the drought. The water's cool here and flows in a way the water up at the waterfall doesn't so he prefers taking a dunk down here before heading back home.

Sure, he's got a bathtub like everyone else but the dirt and the grime he's been accumulating while working on houses means he'll end up having to clean his tub out four times a week and he doesn't have time for that shit. He'd rather wash off in the river and save the bath for in the morning when he washes his hair and gets his shave.

He's not shy about using the river, either. Plenty of people come down here to bathe and he's hardly the first to strip down and take advantage of the water to cool off after a long day. He ducks under the water and holds his breath for a few long minutes, just letting his mind focus on the sound of his own heartbeat before popping back up, water sluicing down his bare back and arms.
comfortablyerect: (Default)
[personal profile] comfortablyerect
WHO: Tim Gutterson
WHERE: House 52, then the village
WHEN: July 1st
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Minor ax injury, Tim's Existence probably, possibly nsfw content?



House 52

When it comes to staying occupied, Tim's gotten pretty damn good at it. There's no fugitives to chase here, no shoot-outs or stake-outs or tailing bad guys, and no bars to unwind and relax in afterwards. He's had to reach back to his childhood to remember ways to stay busy, back when his mother shooed him outside and told him not to come back until the sun was setting, just so he'd stay out from under her feet.

Fishing has been put on hold recently due to the decreased water levels, but there's other things he can do. Forging among the trees, collecting berries and edible plant life to drop off at the kitchen. Sometimes, he helps tend to the crops, remembering his mother's instructions from when he helped her with their small vegetable garden as a kid. Occasionally, he goes down to the police station to where they house the animals, checking to make sure they've been fed and watered, trying to introduce Kid to the other goats so that, one day, she might actually stay there.

Today, he's taken to chopping firewood. They use less of it with the heat of the summer, only needing it to feed the furnace for the few times they need hot water. But it's better to cut it and stock up now than wait until it's cold and frigid and everyone wants to stay wrapped up inside. Kid has taken to sprawling out under the shade of a tree, and Tim's thinking about how a break might be in order once he finishes this log.

That's when the ground begins to shake.

He fumbles the downswing, missing the log entirely, clumsily stepping out of the way of its path. Not quite far enough though, because the blade grazes his leg anyway, and Tim lets out a sharp fuck as the pain blooms through him. The violent shaking continues, Kid hopping up with a sharp bleat, running and stumbling to reach him. It's an earthquake, he realizes, maybe a little belatedly, and so he hunkers down on the ground, finding the open area around him a safer option than near any trees or inside. Kid tumbles into his side, and he immediately gathers her up beneath his body to wait out the worst of it.


Around the Village

The injury isn't too bad. At the very least, it's not in need of stitches. So instead of tending to it immediately, he finds a dish cloth and ties it around the gash. It'll do, for now. He has other things to attend to.

The rest of the day is spent around the village, and what he's really doing is looking. Looking for Kira, but also checking up on other people in the meantime, popping his head into buildings and gatherings to ask if everyone's alright. This isn't the first earthquake the village has had, he learns, and he supposes it's nice to know that the place is fucking prone to them. At least it's not sand storms. Fuck sandstorms.

Eventually, he ends up checking Kira's house, but doesn't find him there. Past that, he has no clue. He checks the Inn and the Town Hall, near the river, on the outskirts of the woods. Only once he's exhausting his options does he go into the woods, taking the risk of the trees shifting around him and losing him inside. At this rate, not even the sudden rain is slowing him down.

It's an odd feeling, caring enough about someone to hunt them down after a natural disaster, but not feeling attached enough to really know where to look or who to ask. He's definitely not very fond of it.


[ Feel free to hang out with Tim before the quake or find him afterwards, searching the village and chatting people up in his efforts to hunt down Kira! ]
3ofswords: (resolute)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: July 1st through the 8th
OPEN TO: ALL - Event Mingle
WARNINGS: Please warn in comment headers for sensitive subjects.


The rain had started shortly after the initial quake, a constant downpour counter to the aftershocks trembling through the canyon at-will.  Homes had been destroyed under their own shaking weight or fallen trees, the parched earth quickly flooded and muddy, the river regaining some of its depth.  It's the kind of shit-show Kira had expected after the first quake, his experience of them largely from movies--but this had been so much worse, with no calm blanket of snow to cover all evidence after the fact.

After the aftershocks die for enough time to venture out, the rain is still pouring, the earth still shrugging like it might finish toppling the already ramshackle structures. 

There's no telling who else might be trapped in there, without an orderly line of residents and Veronica's list of arrivals.  There's no telling who might have just up and disappeared in the middle of it all.  The injured will go to the hospital, but there will be plenty of people without serious injuries, who still need somewhere dry to sleep, somewhere to check for friends or family, somewhere to feel like they aren't dealing with cracked and flooded homes alone.

It takes most of the afternoon to drag his supplies to the town hall, use a tarp to cross over to the house he and Veronica use for map-making, and set up inside with a sign-in sheet and basic inventory of supplies.  Now he just has to get people passing through to add to both.

Leaving Aurora and Hoshi safe in one of the smaller storage rooms, he pushes himself back out into the rain, telling everyone he meets to bring themselves and what they can salvage to the Town Hall.

[Mingle post for after the earthquake.  Come sign in as not-dead or missing!  Bring your tools and supplies for recovery efforts!  Report loved ones missing or search for them in the crowd!  Post is set up for people to be in and out of the building throughout the week, mark your OTAs accordingly.]

9601: (.208)
[personal profile] 9601
WHO: Logan Howlett
WHERE: Bungalow #58, the hospital and the village
WHEN: July 1st-2nd; before & after earthquake things
OPEN TO: closed & open threads (see headers)
WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, claustrophobia, and a lotta swearing


July 1st - bungalow #58 - Jean and Peeta
 
 
The day started normal enough, if by "normal" one meant "blazing hot like the last fucking some odd weeks". Logan had already spent enough time after the morning forage fussing with the furnace, sweeping out ash and soot, stacking wood in its iron belly, and coming upstairs to check Jean's progress with the plank of sulfur shelf they'd returned home with. There was an odd quiet about the place that unsettled him, something he couldn't really put a finger to. As he crossed the yard for another armload of wood to take to the cellar, he expected birdsong in the trees, maybe another jay ready to scold him for getting too near her nest, but no. There was nothing.

With that bit of strangeness in mind, and firewood to carry, he was maybe halfway down the cellar steps when they began to move. Undulate, really, with a rumble of the earth that seemed to surround him all at once, engulfing him in noise so swiftly he barely had a chance to turn around. Dust and dirt rained from the ceiling, then debris- a beam snapped and clocked him across the forehead.

Logan awoke a little while later in darkness. There was an odd tangibility to it, cold and hard and pressing in across his lower body, an inexorable weight he couldn't seem to move. Resting on his side, the world came into focus slowly, and with it an awareness of aches radiating from all over his body. The worst was his head, a feeling like he'd taken a baseball bat right to the temple, throbbing angrily against his metal skull.

Someone was calling his name, someone familiar. He grunted, tasting wet, bitter earth on his teeth. A dull sound like the steady drumbeat of rain on the roof seemed to echo down to him as well, and he coughed, the air thick with dust.

"Kitty?" Logan coughed again, feeling dirt shift when he drew a hand to his face, his clumsy fingers meeting wet skin. "Jean? Are you all right?"

 
July 1st - 2nd - hospital - ota


Logan was a terrible patient. The bruises he could deal with, and had intended to, but the wicked cut just beneath his hairline was a different matter altogether. He abhorred feeling weak, just as he abhorred feeling useless, and no amount of reminding himself that he'd lost his power to heal was going to make him feel any better. As the village sprang to life under the rain and the earthquake and all those little aftershocks, he wanted to be out and in the thick of all of it, doing something other than reclining in bed with a wicked headache, feeling like he'd been hit by a bus. Getting up just made it worse though.

Getting up made him dizzy, and the floor feel like it was going to rush right up and slap him in the face. So there he was, having to rest, and all the while incredibly surly for it.

Anytime someone new happened to arrive, whether just to poke their head in to be a looky-loo or to drag an injured friend to an empty bed, would get their asses grilled within an inch of their lives:

"What's happening out there?"
clandestin: (005)
[personal profile] clandestin
WHO: Aurora Luft
WHERE: Fountain & Random House
WHEN: 1 & 2 July
OPEN TO: Neil MacKay & Everyone
WARNINGS: Probable discussions of war and PTSD


1 July, afternoon - Locked to Neil


Aurora's first thought is that something has gone terribly, impossibly wrong. They had all been trained for that eventuality -- Long, grueling hours on drills, actions repeated until they became instinct -- But it isn't the mechanics that are the problem here. It's the logistics.

They'd been flying over land. Lots of land. Acres upon acres of farms and ranches, with no body of water bigger than a shallow pond. This she knows for a fact; she'd studied the map with the same pointed dedication she always did before a jump. Not that the discrepancy matters to her body, which knows only water and the precise number of seconds until she loses mental capacity, strength, consciousness. She shucks off her pack, locates the surface and kicks.

Emerging with a sharply shuddered gasp, she sucks in water, coughs jaggedly, and blinks against a downpour. The world is shaking, she realizes now, rocking her in the water and slapping waves against her skin, the air vibrating with a sound like artillery but not, rumbling and sharp cracking like the earth is tearing itself apart.

Impossibly, there is a wall mere feet before her, and her body seamlessly reacts even while her mind races, hauling herself over the edge as she ticks off possibilities that can't conceivably fit. Collapsing on the far side, she stares panting through the curtain of rain while slick cobblestones shake loose beneath her fingers.


2 July, morning - OTA


Distantly, Aurora is aware that she is in shock. God knows she's seen it over and over again in others, felt it enough times herself to know, even if she's seldom given herself more than a moment before shoving it down hard into the pit of her stomach with every other terrible thing she perpetually carries there. There's never been time for anything else, never the opportunity to dwell on something so intangible. You have to keep moving or you'll stay stalled forever.

Except that time is apparently all she has now, in this place that she is still not convinced is real. She's drifting, ghostlike, as she wanders up muddy streets and behind houses, counting details, automatically taking stock as rainwater slides over her scalp and down the back of her neck.

Merde.

There's a house before her that looks shaken but structurally intact. She slicks her hair back from her face with both hands, makes her way up the steps and wrenches open the front door. Furniture is toppled, the air filled with lazy motes of dust.

"All right," she says with a sigh, and leaving the front door open to the sound of the rain, she steps forward and hefts a china hutch back up against the wall.
assertiveness: (≺ 246 ≻)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Near the inn, then the hospital, then around the village
WHEN: July 1st-3rd
OPEN TO: Various closed threads and an OTA section for post-earthquake recovery nonsense (see headers)
WARNINGS: Descriptions of injuries


all i'm asking is to be alive for once. )
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.
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
WARNINGS: n/a


[OTA]
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
OPEN TO: OTA
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.
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!
STATUS: Open

Read more... )

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