3ofswords: (resolute)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: House 39, the Spring, House 52
WHEN: August 21 
OPEN TO: Credence, comment starter for Tim
WARNINGS: Grief, blood, interpersonal conflict; NSFW content with Tim


read more )

zomboligist: (oookay)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital / Casa di Helen & Mark
WHEN: Anytime between August 7 - 10
OPEN TO: Mark, Helen, Kira, Major
WARNINGS: n/a


It ought to be strange, really, taking your best friend from a world before and hiking him around for all your new friends to meet, but Ravi is somewhat determined to make sure that the people he feels closest to here really do like Major, especially seeing as he's going to end up picking up his life and moving in with him, mainly in an attempt to reclaim some of home again, but also because it's Major. How can he not move in with him and have incredible roomie shenanigans, again?

"They're going to love you," he vows, promising Major like he's the one who needs the pep talk instead of Ravi who needs a little bit of encouragement to sort of get over the fear that any of his friends are going to meet Major and, well, and not like him. He takes Major by the shoulders and stares at him like he's about to give him some sort of sports-related pep talk.

He doesn't, though, mainly because it would just make Major cringe and then Ravi would cringe with embarrassment and generally, it just wouldn't go over well. There's no time like the present, though, which is why he steers Major in the direction of the door, one hand draped around his shoulders like he's proudly showing off his latest creation (even if that sort of mad science has never been his bag of cats), plastering a broad smile on his face.

"Guess who has two thumbs and found a best friend?" he says, gesturing to himself, then to Major, then quickly back to himself. "I'd like to introduce you to Major Lilywhite. Yes, that is his name," Ravi says. "It's an unfortunate American thing, I think."
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.
3ofswords: (Default)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: Tim's house, general places in the canyon
WHEN: After Kira and Sonny pick peaches, date TBA.
OPEN TO: Tim Gutterson
WARNINGS: NSFW content is always possible, nothing immediately planned though.


It's been a couple of days since he put himself in Tim's path, or let himself be at the house to answer any calls.  The orientation house provides a distraction, a place most people wouldn't know him to be, but much as he's avoided the village at large before, he's never avoided Tim.  They'd spent entire days together after the quake, caginess washed away in light of Kira's cold, and after that week--well, he wasn't about to get kicked out of bed to walk home in the dark.

But now his power is back in pieces.  But now Margaery had picked up one of them, and given him a vision to worry about.  

The house felt easier to deal with.  It was down to just him, putting it together, and if something was going to happen to him, he'd need to get it as far along as possible for the next person.  Infrastructure is important, beds for new people, maps, a dedicated face and voice to deliver the most current information available.  Far too important to set aside for visiting some guy he's been having a good time with, so long as everything stays neatly in its lines.

He's as guilty of blurring them as anyone, but even that would be fine, no way of knowing how Tim feels about it unless he says something, and they'd all get home to hell frozen over before that happened.  But walking with Sonny had reminded him--connections are important.  Routines, projects, but also the little things.  A person to share a bed, a face you like the day better for having seen.  If Sonny is starting to slip in a place like this, there's no telling how much better Tim might fare.

As if to press the point about everyone's sanity, the box he'd taken to fill with rumored peaches had shown up that morning, another bottle of Grey Goose and a box of tea.  Knocking on Tim's door in the waning afternoon, he has the cardboard box looped under one arm, the bottle peeking over the edge, the space around it piled with his half of the haul.

It's a beat before Kira stops waiting for Tim to break the days of silence he himself created, remembers who he is, and shoves the door open without waiting for an answer.  "Come on," he calls to the house at large, "I brought you something."
ottimismo: (that god is love)
[personal profile] ottimismo
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: House 11
WHEN: Forward dated to after the peach tree is discovered (will update with specific date later maybe?)
OPEN TO: Kira Akiyama
WARNINGS: Sonny's slowly enveloping depression and discussion of it



It feels as if the sun is up far to early, but in reality, Sonny's just stayed in bed far too late. Not slept, necessarily, but lay on top a nest of covers watching the crack in the curtains grow brighter and brighter. The moments pass, and he could probably lay here all day long, stubble scratching his cheek and neck, messy hair flopped in front of his eyes. He could lay here all day and wouldn't care, and ultimately, that's what finally pulls him out of bed. He's not blind to the hole he seems to be slipping into. It's daunting to fight it, but he's still doing it.

His morning routine is many hours late, not to mention painstaking, but Sonny drags him through each step of it. Washing his face, getting his teeth as clean as he can, smoothing his hair back, shaving his face. He dresses in overalls because they're the only thing that's clean, and begins to make his way to the inn.

First, he has to round up something to eat, but then he'll go to the church to pray. Praying doesn't seem to make a difference these days either, but he's holding onto his faith like it's all he has, the only thing keeping him afloat.

Between a few houses, back behind the inn, movement catches his eye. A bungalow that was once unoccupied looks like it's being fixed up. Sonny can only assume somebody new has shown up and is figuring out how to get their feet back under them. He likes new people — to because he likes seeing other people trapped here, but because the new ones usually stay determined to get back home for a little while. They're not as jaded. Sonny's not sure when he became one of the jaded ones, but he certainly doesn't like it.

He's nearly to the porch when someone steps outside again, and Sonny finds that it's not someone new at all. He blinks, surprised. "Kira? What're you doing back here?"
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.

thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Watches (Tender))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/21
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None



It wasn't something many would accept or celebrate, given how this was seen as a curse to some or a prison to others. While there were difficulties and, quite often, chaos, this place was her home. She couldn't return to Westeros and, for all that she suffered here, she had come to love her life in the village. She and Robb had discussed the idea of happiness and whether or not it was possible. Near a month since then, she felt certain of the answer, reflecting it as she rose from bed to let her animals out to graze.

Maybe she had found happiness? She was alive and had something to herself, something pure and away from the politics of Westeros. It might be small and insignificant compared to a crown, but it was truly hers. Her animals, her crops, they were enough to keep her going during the days. But it was those she had come to know here and care for that brought her genuine joy.

After putting her animals away, she gathered her fresh harvest, creating a large fruit platter for everyone. Spread across were peaches, apples, blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, grapes and cherries, grown to that perfect point where there was a mix of tart and sweet. She set the fruit out at the inn, offering a bit to anyone that entered. Seated near the window with Gilbert at her feet and a bit of sewing in her lap, she turned to regard the person that came to join her.

"I have been here a year," she murmured. "I didn't think it right not to find some way to celebrate."
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.
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.
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.
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 )
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
STATUS: Open


...And promise not to promise anymore )
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
STATUS: Open


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).
3ofswords: (sleep)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: House 39; Riverbank, southeast bend
WHEN: June 5
OPEN TO: Credence + 2 at the house; 2 more at the river
WARNINGS: Edited as needed
STATUS: Open



tl;dr )

at the house

Kira feeds the animals before he gets to work, bringing all of them out to the porch to sort through his materials. Aurora flops in her corner with one bowl of water, and Hoshi drags himself between the sun and another, until enough water has evaporated and the heat is enough that he nests himself down into the cool ceramic. It’s already hot--the sun doesn’t stay down long enough for it to cool one day to the next--but there’s as much shade on the porch as there is in the house, and what breeze comes through the canyon can actually be felt.

He settles his materials into a few piles: pulled and reclaimed shingles, some decidedly not from his own roof; stripped siding, old boards, and most important--nails. He’d settled into a long and silent fight with Casey over the ransacking of Ren’s old house, a fight Casey had won with his disappearance, leaving Kira to finish what he’d started. Leaving Kira with an understanding of the young man he’d only thought to have in his presence--when the world leaves you alone, sentimentality isn’t an option. Ren and Jyn had known that as well, though Jyn had seemed as unable to fully shake it as Kira is.

His hands are already blistered and he’s gone inside for more water before he’s even ready to head for the roof. He’d stripped more nails from the boards with a hammer from the cache at the inn, used his knife to hold them at the heads and hammer them closer to straight. It’s too hot for the work he means to do, but he can’t do it in the few hours of dark they’re getting, and he doesn’t know when the next freak storm is going to tear through. He’s not going to wait on someone to come along and do it for him--catch him fish, bring him wood; carry him back to the inn, take him away from the village when he’s sunk too deep in other people’s problems to see his own.

He’s not coming back. None of them are, and it’s time to stop needing them to.

Working against the heat, Kira carries his materials up to the attic in shifts, doing his best to splash water on his face and hydrate between. The only reason the space hasn’t become a very big, triangular oven is the ventilation of some very noticeable holes, sunlight streaming through to the rafters. It takes some trial and error to brace the boards on the sloping roof with his shoulder, the pockets of his overalls full of old nails, and hammer them into place, but he doesn’t think he’s doing too bad a job, balancing on the beams and boarding up the holes from the inside.

The only problem is how much hotter it gets as the sun rises, and the holes close. By the time he’s sitting half-out the small window, dragging his shingles out and flipping them onto the roof for the last steps, his arms are shaking and it’s more of a struggle than ever to catch his breath. When he tries to pull himself further out to follow the shingles up onto the roof, he wobbles enough to rethink finishing the project today. Instead, he slides his legs out to hang himself down, using the last of his strength to lower himself clumsily back to the porch.

Once there, he slides down on the steps, shoulder against the support beam, and keeps sliding. Down onto his side, then rolled onto his back, back on the porch and legs sprawled on the steps. At his far-flung hand, Hoshi lifts his head and sets to cawing in his small, croaking voice. Aurora shuffles up and he can feel her tongue scraping the side of his head as the bright world dims to black.

at the river

The sun has slipped close enough to the canyon walls that the shadows have lengthened, the world dimmed enough beneath the trees that Kira chances a walk. He’s still shaky, but his brush with heat sickness hasn’t eased his restlessness, his need to prove himself more than the soft civilian who gets pneumonia in a snowstorm and heat stroke in a drought, isn’t good for defending himself from even the fucking weather.

If anyone sees fit to chide him, at least he can say he stayed by plenty of water. Not that there’s as much to go around: the old edge of the river is cracked earth and smooth, exposed pebbles. It stinks, too--the fish left on the high banks aren’t very big, but they’ve been out long enough to go to rot.

Hoshi puts up enough fuss over the exposed treasures glinting under the faded light that Kira sets him down from his perch on his shoulder. His wing seems to have healed, and he has most of his feathers--but he still holds it stiff, and Kira isn’t sure it healed right. He might prove more than a quick rescue and release, no one to teach him to fly, not enough of the right feathers yet to start trying. The little bird picks at the stones, even a couple silver-scaled minnows, but eventually he finds something that captures Kira’s attention as well.

“What have you got there,” he asks, crouching gingerly at the new edge of the water, scooping the little crow back before even he can be swept away in its diminished currents. Moving aside the rest of the pebbles with his own hand, he picks up a dull metal arrowhead, antiquated in shape but so clean, he wonders if it came from the blacksmith up-stream.


[Kira has fainted from heat-sickness in the first prompt, but your character is welcome to come along at any point after he goes out on his porch and interrupt or help.]

zomboligist: (oookay)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Inn, near the Kitchen
WHEN: June 3rd
OPEN TO: All! Mingle post!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open


There's another one of those strange boxes sitting on the porch of their home when Ravi gets up to another scorching, awful day. He's not sure what switch they hit to get this sort of weather, but he wants them to take it back, seeing as he's been sweating so much that he has to do laundry practically every day to cope with the ridiculousness of it. He can't go shirtless because he has absolutely no will to show everyone the out of shape disappointment that it his torso.

He bends to pick up the box and bring it inside, but hisses when his fingers contact something frosty cold at the bottom of the box. Opening it in a hurry, his eyes widen and he tugs the box to his chest as best as he can, taking off in a completely ungraceful run, heading straight for the inn and shouting as he goes. "Ice cream!" he says, like the world's skeeviest ice cream truck on legs, luring children in after him. "Ice cream, there's ice cream, it's going to melt," he warns, because there are six tubs of it, but he fears that in this heat, it's not going to last very long at all. Scientifically, he knows that it's just going to be calories that generate heat, but science can go take a backseat.

He unloads the toppings and the various six flavours (ranging from vanilla to chocolate, cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, butter pecan, and even a treasured cherry garcia), the sprinkles and peanuts going with the caramel and hot fudge sauces. He could weep because there are even serving spades, bowls, and spoons. He knows he ought to be wary about food after the whole chocolate poisoning incident (if it really was the chocolate), but it's just so hot and he's just so hungry.

He'll chance it, because if he doesn't, he just gets some delicious flavoured ice cream soup soon.
markwatney: (014)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Fields and nearby
WHEN: 23 May, evening
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Poop
STATUS: Open
NOTE: Please don't feel you have to talk to him about plants. I know how boring it can get.


The weather is starting to become a concern.

Now, I really am not a person prone to panic. Things have to be going pretty badly pretty abruptly for me to freak out. But I'm also aware of how nefarious a gradual change can be, and how dangerous to people not paying attention. Personally, I'm not interested in being a lobster in a slow-warming pot.

Then again, maybe I don't have much choice in that.

Point is, it's easier to pay attention to the fact that the sun is taking the opposite path in the sky than that we're getting way too warm too soon for this time of year. (And I could get into why it's implausible that the Earth has actually reversed rotation, including disruptions that would likely end all life, but it's way more boring than it sounds, so I'll just say I'm not buying it.) People are finding ways to cool off, and that's good -- Apart from physical health reasons, we don't get nearly enough opportunities to simply relax and have unfettered fun. The plants we've all been so tending so judiciously, though, don't have the option to take a dip.

The hail was bad enough. The damage was... Well, it wasn't great, obviously, but nothing we couldn't recover from. Assuming, of course, that everything stays relatively predictable. This heat and lack of rain? It isn't predictable.

I've been out in the fields all day today, even longer than normal, taking notes and measurements, doing what I can to ensure the plants are well fed and watered. We really cannot afford to lose a significant part of this harvest, not with the number of people in the village now. It's tedious, back-breaking work, but it has to be done.

And it's honestly probably a testament to how tedious and back-breaking it is that I am tired and distracted enough that I end up covered in shit. Not metaphorical shit; actual shit, courtesy of a poorly-timed misstep while I was shoveling fertilizer. Manure's coated all along the front of my thighs and torso, splashed up to my neck and chin.

"God damn it," I moan, picking myself up with a wince.

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