fishermansweater: (Jacket side-eye)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair + his peacock
WHERE: The 6I park
WHEN: August 3
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.

caelus: (pic#11477088)
[personal profile] caelus
WHO: Jim Kirk
WHERE: Around the village, after the earthquake.
WHEN: Backdated to July 1st and 2nd and onward.
OPEN TO: All except otherwise marked.
WARNINGS: Mild injuries. Will update if necessary.

jump to warp. )
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. )
womanofvalue: (disheveled)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Riverbed / Peggy & Stella's House
WHEN: June 10th / June 11th
OPEN TO: 1st section is open to all; 2nd is open to anyone Peggy considers a friend or anyone who would be stubborn enough to barge into hers and Stella's house
WARNINGS: Descriptions of an injury

The River

The sun hasn't gone down properly in too long and Peggy is weary past recollection. She'd never considered herself someone so greatly affected by lighting, yet the steady presence of the sun in the sky has robbed her of her sleep, paired with the fact that it's so unceasingly hot. It's that exhaustion that sets her into a dazed mood, sleepwalking through her tasks. She's barely paying attention when she gets to the river, but even with her attention half there, no one would miss how low the levels are.

It's clear that she won't be fishing today. She's not quite worried, but Peggy is too tired to be worried, slipping her boots into the river in order to measure the true level and how much they've lost in the past few days. Perhaps it's time for her to stop fishing and go back to the canyons, picking up whatever berries and other greens on her way. Her mind drifting back to a cloudy state, she continues to walk up the shallow river, but when she climbs out on a few of the smoother rocks (shaped by the river's flow), her foot slips and her body gives way, crashing down hard on the outcropping of rocks in front of her.

She's ready to criticize herself when a sharp pain accosts Peggy in her side, a familiar place of pain after the incident with the rebar, but it's not quite like that. She hadn't hit her head, so that's a plus, but a glance downwards as she steadies her hand on the rock shows that there's something in the shallow water below her that looks suspiciously like blood. Moving her body up a touch, it doesn't take long for her to see that it is blood and that it's her own.

There, in between the rocks and wedged out like a pointed weapon is an arrowhead, covered in several inches of warm blood that gives Peggy a good indication of how deeply it had punctured her (or perhaps it had scraped her? She can't see, given the angle). Turning herself cautiously, she settles herself on the dry land beside the river, pressing both palms against the wound to apply pressure, most certainly awake now and chastising herself for being so stupidly distracted.

Closing her eyes and swallowing her pride, Peggy knows that she's not getting out of this without at least some intervention. "Is anyone nearby?" she calls, keeping her tone from wobbling. "By the river, it's Peggy Carter!" she calls, a little louder. I need some help, she thinks, but stubbornly doesn't say, because it will be clear soon enough once she's found.

The Day After

It's all terribly familiar, this stinging sensation in her side that's just painful enough that it nearly knocks her out. She's been lying in bed for nearly a full day, though, and the last time she'd injured herself had been far worse. She had gone right back to work. Clearly, that means that Peggy was well-suited to get up and have some breakfast, knowing that Mr. Jarvis wasn't going to come and fetch it for her. She had the presence of mind to check on the bandage at her side, pressing it tightly against her stitched wound. She also took the time to glare at the arrowhead on her bedside table, since that bloody thing caused this whole mess.

Carefully, she pressed a hand down into her bed to lever herself into a sitting position, pressing the back of her hand to her sweaty forehead. The terrible head and the constant sun had been keeping her in a state of exhaustion before, this new injury hasn't done anything to help. When she moves to stand, the weakness in her legs could be for any number of reasons, but whatever the cause, they force her back down to the bed as her frustration mounts.

She'd saved the whole world and she'd been worse off.

Perhaps if she could get to the spring, she could heal herself and this could all be in the past. "Up we go," she says stubbornly, swaying a little as she makes it to her feet, inching her way towards the door at a rate that suggests she'll reach the springs approximately next month if she keeps it up.
assertiveness: (044)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: June 1st, evening
WARNINGS: a. nudity, b. a thread of Mature Adults Doing Adult Things, c. discussion of physical abuse

Read more... )
fishermansweater: (Actual human dolphin)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: During the hot weather in late May
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: PROBABLY NAKED. cw your warnings in individual threads.
STATUS: Open. THIS IS A MINGLE, have at it, tag around, you know what to do. If you want Finnick, let me know in the comment subject!

He wouldn't actually say it was really hot yet, but it's definitely getting to the sort of temperatures that make Finnick miss swimming. There's no substitute for the sand of a beach underfoot, the reassuring roar of the surf, the taste of salt in the air, but there is at least water here, tumbling down from the waterfall and flowing through the canyon until it disappears into the rocks to the south. And he knows from constantly checking his fish traps that the water is deliciously cool.

He's tested out a few spots along the river for swimming, and it's good to be in the water again, after being kept out of it for so long by the harshness of the winter.  Not swimming doesn't feel right to him, and it never has. He's never spent this long somewhere with a winter this cold, and he can't remember ever going this long without swimming. So Finnick's been testing the water out since before it was probably what most people would consider to be warm enough to swim. It had helped that he and Annie had some gifts to hunt for in the river, but those have long been found, and now it's just for relaxation.

The calmest, most relaxing place he's found so far for swimming in the river is the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where the water plunges into the canyon crisp and cool from the heights of the cliffs. It's deep around the falls, and it's big enough to swim, and Finnick spends most of the hottest parts of the day there.

So whenever he hears someone talking about the heat while he's dropping food off in the village, he suggests they try the waterfall pool. Word's likely to get around, so he won't be entirely surprised to find other people stopping by the falls.

When they do, they're likely to find him swimming around the deep part near the falls, stripped down to his underwear and, from the grin on his face, having the time of his life. It's clear just from looking at him that he's good at this, moving through the water with a confidence and grace more like to a sea-creature than a man. He's in such a good mood that he even calls out to greet many of the people who approach.

Of course, he's not the guardian of the waterfall: everyone's welcome to stop by whether he's there or not. Once or twice, there's even a moose to be seen standing at the edge of the pool taking a long, relaxing drink.
assertiveness: (055)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Graves's house
WHEN: Backdated to May 10th
OPEN TO: Percival Graves
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed
STATUS: Ongoing

Read more... )
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (35)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone and apparently half the village (including you!)
WHERE: Inn for the OTA, various in closed starters
WHEN: 5/15
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse
STATUS: ongoing

Eventually, Credence has to leave the house. Eventually, Credence has to face what he's done and eventually, he finds himself blinking blearily into the early morning sun, heart hammering in his chest as his foot crosses the threshold of Kira and Bodhi's residence for the first time since he'd been dragged there from the forest, half asleep and utterly exhausted. He finds he doesn't burn up immediately, nor does he feel like collapsing inwards on himself, and takes another step forward. It's a slow start, but a start nonetheless.

He feels terrible, of course, but he's quick to mentally reprimanded himself. He doesn't deserve to feel terrible, not anymore. Not ever. He's long since stopped sleeping because he's recovering and instead has slipped into sleeping due to what he feels is idleness, choosing to nap constantly to avoid the world. 15 days and he's positive--positive--he's slowly driving those he temporarily shares a residence with absolutely insane. Even if it's false, it's what he perceives, and they have a right to be upset. Everyone does.

That's why, very carefully, he makes his way towards the inn. His body feels strange, dimmed, and that's the only reason he leaves in the first place: he's sure the scratching in his skull stopping altogether means the Obscurus--Obscurial?--is at least contained. It's safe for him to be near other people.

He stares at the inn door for a very long time, for what seems like a lifetime, before he physically wills his body to open the door. The weather's changed, but he's still wearing the black fisherman's sweater Finnick has given him, covering himself and hiding skin, the only scars showing the ones on his palms. He tries his best not to shake and keeps his voice as calm as he can, surprised that his nervousness only cracks his voice once.

"Hello? I was wondering if anyone needed help this morning. With..." His voice trails off, face reddening. "..Chores, or..."

This is stupid. They're going to chase him out.
notabirdcostume: (Jump 3)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson and OPEN (except 1 thread)
WHERE: Inn, Church, Around the Village
WHEN: May 2-3
OPEN TO: All, 1 Closed Thread to Sonny & Stella
WARNINGS: Possible discussions of trauma -- I'll be more specific if something comes up.

1. May 2 Inn -- Kitchen; Morning or Evening [OPEN]
If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there as fast as I can... )

2. May 3 Village: Morning [OPEN]
The road is burning up in flames and nobody wanna take the blame... )

3. May 3 Church; Afternoon [CLOSED - Stella & Sonny]
Let's raise the bar... )
womanofvalue: (cuppa tea)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Carter-Gibson Residence
WHEN: May 3
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson

Peggy feels as if she's lived a year in the last week and a half. In the thick of things, her attention had been wholly fixed on crisis management and coping with the issue at hand. Finally, when things calmed and no one's life had been taken (though several injuries to be noted, including Sam), Peggy felt like she could honestly breathe. She was sore and her head ached every day, as if with the awareness that this place could only get worse.

For the last few days, Peggy has done nothing but rest and sleep, staying indoors for the most part other than visiting the hospital. She barely does more than don her robe and sip at her tea and the fish she's been storing, aware that she ought to do something, but she can't. Her mind is constantly working through alternatives that worry her, including the notion that it might not have gone so smoothly. Beyond that, she truly worries about the future.

What happens now? How will Credence feel? Peggy makes a note to go and visit him, but standing here in the kitchen with a cup of tea, she's caught frowning because she has absolutely no idea what to do when it comes to something like this. She's stuck here, now, even as she hears movement near her and realizes that she hasn't moved in some time.

"Stella," Peggy murmurs, catching the other woman in the corner of her eye. "How are you?"
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (Default)
[personal profile] mund
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: Half an hour after the first sighting / hearing of the Obscurus
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, abuse, hate, etc
STATUS: Something like a mingling -- feel free to post OTAs of your own. If you need Graves to respond, just put his name in the header / or in bold somewhere in your comment!

the ragged they come, and the ragged they kill. )
3ofswords: (yellow/drink)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira
WHERE: Behind the Inn
WHEN: April 21st
OPEN TO: All, Spring Feast mingle post
WARNINGS: Please warn for content in comment headers for individual OTAs

He's hardly the first to arrive for a shift in the kitchens, but those ahead of him have sunk into the the search for the building's chairs and tables--the kitchen is open and empty, the tavern devoid even of stools.  It's another wrench in the works, one of the smaller reasons for routine to fall apart to reactions, and Kira thinks they'll have a better time of solving it if someone gets the fire up in the stove and everyone eats first.
The damage assessment has people upstairs, people on the path wandered out of their homes.  Kira hadn't come through his own dining room on the way out, so he can't say if he's missing furniture or not, and his growling stomach doesn't much care.
It's when he slips out the side door of the kitchen in search of fresh kindling that he finds it.  Every missing table and chair standing in the grass, laden with platters of food, buckets of bottled drinks, carafes of what he finds to be coffee sending steam from their lids.  There are pastries with the coffee, roasted fowl gleaming golden on the next table, between ham hocks shining with honeyed glaze, large fruits piled among wreaths of fresh flowers.
Dotting the tables are jars, more jars than they've had since he arrived, flickering with short candles.  Garlands accent the tables, carry from them into the trees, a web of spring decoration with a feast at its center.  Between the platters are smaller plates, small chocolates laid out under decorative drizzle.  
"Hey!" he calls back through the door, blinking several times to make sure the sight doesn't shimmer away into the air.  "I found the furniture, and I don't think we'll need to cook anything today."

assertiveness: (73)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The fountain/around the village, and Stella and Peggy's house
WHEN: Through March 17th
OPEN TO: OTA, with a closed thread for Peggy
WARNINGS: Stella's increasingly feverish and delusional. Will update if needed.
STATUS: Ongoing

the fountain ; ota
The little jaunt into the woods with Graves, while educational after a fashion, had only left Stella with more questions, a so far harmless sting from a firefly, and a good deal of concern. That one of their own appears to have gone missing is only the latest in a series of difficulties that have plagued them for months, and there's a certain degree of frustration that, for all her skills developed over more than a decade of detective work, she can't do anything about it. Every time she thinks she's getting somewhere, she runs into a dead end. It seems to be a theme, here.

Somewhere, in some distant part of the world, if he didn't bleed out on Slieve Dove, she thinks Paul Spector must be laughing at her.

She's been back from the woods for a few hours when she starts to notice something feels off. Not in the way that this entire place feels strange, but physically, a creeping feeling of being overheated and oversensitive, like even the light fabric of her cotton blouse and trousers is just slightly too much. It's got nothing to do with the weather, which is cold and damp and foggy, and Stella realizes that somewhere along the line she's taken ill. It doesn't as yet occur to her to connect what she's feeling with having been stung; she tries to push through it, stubbornly, as she would were she on an important investigation at home and unable to allow herself to take even a day away from her work. She's not often ill, and the discomfort of even a minor loss of control over her own body is acute.

Stella decides to attempt going for a walk to clear her head. For a little while it almost works, but the rising fever tires her quickly, and she has to sit down, easing herself carefully onto the edge of the fountain. She seems alert, mostly, but she's pale and unmistakably much warmer than normal were one to get close enough to her to notice.

the house ; for peggy
A day or so later, and Stella's fever is in full swing: she's pale, sweating, shaking with chills, and too exhausted to walk more than a few feet. She's been trying to drink water, but her appetite is gone; she's not sure she's even eaten since lunchtime the previous day.

She's seeing things: not full-blown hallucinations, but shadows from the corner of her peripheral vision that make her startle, sometimes reaching for the weight of a Glock 17 in a shoulder holster that's not there. Eventually she finds herself unable to do anything but sequester herself in her room, sitting on her bed with her back against the wall, shivering even with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

There's panic and fear clawing at her throat unbidden, the loss of control an awful violation, and it's all she can do to hold those feelings down with what little remains of her self-control, her composure torn to fine shreds of what it was only a matter of hours previous. Stella thinks of trying to tell someone what's going on, ask for help — from Peggy, perhaps, but right now the idea of trusting anyone even that much seems impossible. She's all too conscious of the fact that she's being watched, listened to, and who's to say anything she says or does won't go straight back to whoever's running this whole goddamned experiment?

She should run, really; she should fucking run before this gets any worse, but she's miserable and too exhausted to move. It doesn't even occur to her that she forgot to lock the bedroom door and anyone could come right in.
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (27)
[personal profile] mund
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Assorted places
WHEN: Mid-March
OPEN TO: OTA, with closed threads for Credence, Stella,
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, epic paranoia, that's pretty much it for now.
STATUS: Open to new threads!

and I'm straining to remember just what it means to be alive. )
womanofvalue: (determined)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Peggy & Stella's House of Intrigue
WHEN: Backdate to March 4th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson, Percival Graves
STATUS: Closed to specific characters

Since she arrived, Peggy has been accumulating information. At first, with Killian's help, she'd put together a decent map picking out routes in the canyon and mapping terrain. After the incident that left her stranded for nearly a full day, she'd shifted her focus to something a little less dangerous. She'd begun to write down people's scrubs colours, their backgrounds, histories, whether they believed themselves alive or not, and began to cobble together working notes.

Now, what she needed was second opinions. She'd been staring at this puzzle longer than she could think about without growing sharp with frustration and needed the help of others to take a look at what she had and determine whether or not she'd absolutely lost her mind. It was why she'd put the kettle on, set out some of the few remaining biscuits she had left, and left word for specific parties that she trusted to offer their analytical minds on her notes.

Thank goodness she had been gifted with a pen and notebook, though even that is beginning to run out. If she decides to analyse another aspect of this strange village, she might have to simply learn how to make paper herself, which certainly wouldn't be a hardship after spending all the time learning how to fish in order to keep herself properly fed.

For now, though, patterns. Patterns and people and predictions, as if she could somehow work a way out forward if only she could see how it all came together.
tsingtauense: (no)
[personal profile] tsingtauense
WHO: Lily Evans Potter
WHERE: The Fountain + The Inn
WHEN: March 7th + 8th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE [Multithreads 4ever]
WARNINGS: she's ruffled
STATUS: UPDATE: added second prompt! So gonna close new tags for her immediate arrival [Fountain] (leaving that mental space a bit) and OPEN new tags for the next morning [Inn]!

rolled a lucky pair of dice / ended up in paradise / landed on a snake's eyes, took a bite and ended up bleeding [FOUNTAIN] )

the truth is, all those angels started acting the same [INN] )
treadswater: (have to be nimble on the waves)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: The Village, around
WHEN: 26th February
STATUS: Open | Ongoing

Auroras, snow, no snow, lightning attacks: a girl's still gotta eat and work for her living. Or something like that. Annie knows she could just stick to the river and fishing with Finnick, remain on the outskirts. But she's been making baskets, bowls, over winter and those need to be dropped off at the Inn.

It's not as bad as a blizzard, she tells herself and her boyfriend. It's merely unpredictable. She can handle that. She's handled waves and storms on a bucking, frightened boat, and even if there is another earthquake, as long as she doesn't lose her head she knows that the shaking ground will stop and then she can move.

(It's an unfortunate choice of words, even within her own skull. Losing her head. Well done, Cresta.)

Naturally, it happens when the small woman is half way between her house on the outskirts and the Inn. Her instincts, honed by Career Academy and the school of the docks, tingle, twitch, pull at her, and Annie hits the ground as a ball of lightening crackles into life where her torso had been half a second earlier.

She hits the ground, rolls, curls up into a ready crouch ready to run, roll, move again if she has to. There's the sudden smell of burnt hair and she's guessing the end of her braid got singed, and the mud is cold against her shin and hands, but she doesn't move.

Not until the lightening is gone.

Not for a long, long moment after, where she stares at where the ball lightening had been. Where it nearly killed her, yet didn't.

"Oh," says Annie. Quietly, Distantly. "Okay."

She'll move, soon. She should. It's not safe, crouching here. She's just going to catch her breath first.

And try very, very hard not to giggle.
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (62)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone
WHERE: The edge of the village, the inn
WHEN: 2/15
OPEN TO: OTA with a closed section for Graves
WARNINGS: severe injury via explodey lightning, mentions of Credence's history re: blacking out, talk of severe abuse in the threat with Rory
STATUS: (Is it open to new threads?)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇs'ʟʟ ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ )
audaces: (flight suit; gdi look how suave)
[personal profile] audaces
WHO: Poe Dameron
WHERE: Outside the Cassidy (#3)
WHEN: February 7th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson
WARNINGS: Undoubtedly lots of flirting, will update if anything changes
STATUS: ongoing

When he had gotten up that morning, Poe had been freezing. Now, he's used to sleeping on a military base, such as it was, and being part of the Resistance meant dealing with things like not having enough money to keep the heating systems working every minute of the day, so a cold morning isn't totally foreign to him. What had been foreign was waking up without hearing BB-8's chirping, without being able to fumble his hand across the messy table by his bed to activate his holo-clock so he could figure out what time it was.

This planet's sun is so far away. He hasn't yet learned how to estimate the time of day based on its positioning.

After greeting Rey and sharing the leftovers from their pitiful dinner the night before, Poe had decided he was going to tackle the mess that was their house. It's obviously been standing empty for months, and since he didn't have anything else to do, he decided he was going to do something about that. As the temperature slowly climbed, he flung open all the windows and doors, even going so far as to haul their bedding out over the railing so he could beat the hell out of them to dislodge dust and dirt and air them out a little. Once that was dealt with, and he'd grown too hot to keep his long-sleeved top on, he'd decided to tackle the sludgy mess that was their front aspect.

He'd borrowed a broom, which made cleaning the path to their door a lot easier, and even begged a bucket off someone so he could take a rag and some hot water and wash down the muddy white-painted trim. Poe learned early on, from long summers being forced to re-paint the fences around the Dameron compound, that the easiest way to keep from having to do a big repair job was to do little maintenance work throughout the year. If he has time, he might even try to sort out the whole firewood situation, since the wood-burning furnace in the cellar eats up an astonishing amount of wood, and he knows how much he and Rey both appreciate having hot water on tap. 

Getting into a comfortable rhythm, he starts to whistle to help pass the time as he works, a cheerful Yavinese melody that warbles through the clear air like birdsong. 
womanofvalue: (relived nightmares)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Outside the fountain
WHEN: February 2nd, Evening
WARNINGS: Ice Powers, Grief

It's been days of searching, to the point that even for a woman of Peggy's stubbornness, there are boundaries as to how much she can take and how long she can go denying the truth. She's searched every possible crevice the village will allow her, looking for bodies alive or dead, but it's becoming painfully clear that she's not going to find her friends because they're not here any longer. She'll miss Barnes and Natasha, of course she will, but that's not what hurts so badly.

Peggy's been at the fountain, her last resort. Perhaps whatever cruel joke this is will vanish and Steve will pop up again, like he's never been gone. She'd honestly thought that something might be going right in the universe again, if only to give her back the best man she'd ever met, but that's all gone too. Inhaling sharply, Peggy can't keep back the grief any longer. Her sobs are a choked sound that she muffles with the collar of her cloak, trying to brush away her tears.

Tears, unfortunately, that are crystallizing on her cheek. Reaching up, Peggy stares in confusion and wonder as she holds an icy teardrop on her fingertip. It ought to melt away with her body heat, but a quick touch to her skin proves that she's just as cold as the weather around her, something that shouldn't be possible by any means.

Swallowing another sound in her throat, Peggy finds herself sitting heavily on the edge of the fountain, not sure she has the energy to cope with this on top of everything. She's been accused of being an icy bitch before, but she'd never thought it would end up being so literal. "You'd laugh," she says aloud, not sure which departed friend she's speaking to now, whether it's Steve or Howard or Jarvis, "it serves me right. The one moment I need affection and compassion, this place drives ice into my heart to keep people at bay." Letting her head hang forward, any tears that come turn to ice nearly immediately, dropping to the ground like a miniature weather event right in front of her, but she can't make herself move just yet.

Steve is gone. He's gone again and she's not sure how to say goodbye so quickly, this time.


Sixth Iteration Logs

August 2017

   1 2 3 45
6789 10 1112
1314 15 16171819


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated 18 Aug 2017 08:57 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios