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



on a steel horse i ride. )
chosenbytheocean: (PB - Awkward)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: Near the river.
WHEN: May 21st - May 25th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: OPEN


Her dress was finally completed and just in time for the sudden heatwave. It had taken her a total of five months and only so short of a time thanks to the appearance of the box that had held Itiiti. She now wore a dress that was similar to what she knew. The skirt was almost identical to the one she wore on Motunui with two layers; one woven and the other a plane grass panel. She took the navy blue scrubs and ripped a strip of the fabric to tie around her waist as a belt, holding her skirts so that they wouldn't shift as she ran. Her top wasn't as colorful as it had been before. It was a pale tan hue with black patterns of fish and turtles that she'd dusted on using rock and stone. The fabric was soft but strong, having been formed from the paper mulberry tree.

She finally felt more at home.

Dancing: Water Front


For the last week, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about her grandmother. A necklace arrived and it quickly became a part of Moana's everyday attire, reminding her of the figure that she'd lost. There was very little that connected her grandmother. There were things that her grandmother had taught her and it was in those lessons that Moana sought comfort.

She could be found near the water's edge, dancing with the currents that pushed and pulled against the shore line. The dance was very specific, moving with the water as she drifted in and out, pulling its currents downstream. Moana rotated her heel and then popped her hip, her skirts flaring out as she turned and twisted to the beautiful rhythm of the water.

Sailing Fails: Boat House/Lake


This was probably a very bad idea but Moana had to at least try. There were a few boats lined up at the boat house and she knew that at least one of them belonged to Killian. He wouldn't mind if she borrowed it, she'd bring it back. Moana wanted to see what was along the river and with the heat she found no reason not to try now. This was weather that she was very comfortable in.

Itiiti, the young pig, was at her side snorting as he ran to jump into the boat that Moana was prepping to push onto the water. She was stronger than she looked and with a hard push the canoe splashed into the steady currents. Moana was quick to jump inside as the boat was pulled onto the currents. "Ready?" She asked the pig who oinked in answer to her question.

There was one problem with her plan; Moana didn't know how to sail. The currents took the boat, pulling her forward roughly as she began to be pushed down stream. "Whoa whoa! Whoa!"

She might need some help or the boat will most likely flip and both Itiiti and Moana will be found crawling out of the water downstream. Hopefully the boat was okay too.

A day in the life of Itiiti: Everywhere


Itiiti was rather small for a pig. He was smart and while he often followed behind Moana there were days when he would set off on his own. He was still learning and luckily he was too small to be seen as food. There was a collar around his neck, one made by Moana that marked him as owned, though there was no way for her to write her name or anything useful on the collar.

The piglet could be found all over the village. He'd eat anything that looked eatable but also start sniffing in odd patches of dark wet dirt. He turned towards anything that was new and interesting to see what it was though any loud noises would have him running quickly away.

Itiiti was smart enough to know when it was time to follow his nose and run back towards Moana.
fantastic_kneads: (little whelmed)
[personal profile] fantastic_kneads
WHO: Jacob Kowalski
WHERE: The Bakery
WHEN: May 21
OPEN TO: All - 1st starter primarily for people who have talked to him before, 2nd open to all
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open


Miss Manners Says...

He's been thinking about what his Ma would've thought about this place pretty much from the second he turned up. Jacob knows that it's not like New York, not even like a street of New York, seeing as he thinks there's more people in his building than there are here, but that come with good things, too. It means people care about you, they worry, and they're real nice. Ever since he's arrived in this weird little village, Jacob's been helped out by a lot of people.

His Ma's voice in his head tells him that he should be repaying that kindness. Since he doesn't think anyone needs his brute strength for canning, he goes right to the other skill he's got. Besides, he figures that some pastries are a lot more welcome than anything else he's got to offer.

With limited supplies, it's not like he can go wild and bake up a whole showcase, but he manages to put together nice little displays, about three filled, glazed donuts, each with a different filling (cherry, lemon, and sugary sweet fluff). He hasn't got boxes, but he lines them up as best as he can to get 'em ready for delivery, heading out into the village one little package at a time to find those people who helped him out.

When he sees someone, he waves a hand to try and get their attention, balancing the little baking tray in his hands. "Hey!" he shouts. "Hey, hold up, I got something for you!"

Give Us Our Daily Bread

After that box of strange things turned up, Jacob's been trying to experiment on the daily, even if he hasn't got much in the way to record his experiments. Bread is bread and it's pretty easy, but there are poppyseeds and sesame seeds and he'd been able to coax a couple of eggs a few days in a row until he's got enough to make a few specialties. Today, it's egg bread, like the challah he used to find in the city. Lucky for him, it's not too far off the regular bread he makes.

By mid-morning, the bakery is putting off the smell of fresh bread. The egg bread is there, but he's also got a version with some poppyseeds and he's managed to get a few into bagel form. Just like the other days, he knows it's not much and he can't feed everyone in the village, not if he wants to keep making 'em regularly (and if he doesn't figure out flour soon, that's definitely going to become an issue).

Still, when that bread comes off the ovens and Jacob smells that incredible fresh smell, he figures that if he's got one purpose in this place, he's happy that it's something he loves doing. "Butter," he says, out of nowhere, searching around him. "I should've gotten some butter."
lefthandfree: (before it's gone)
[personal profile] lefthandfree
WHO: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes
WHERE: fountain, inn
WHEN: May 13
OPEN TO: closed arrival, otherwise open to all
WARNINGS: language
STATUS: second prompt is open closed

     the fountain

closed to pegs )

     the inn (open)

He’s not even going to pretend he’s not new. It seems like something that should be obvious, so why bother with putting people on? Not that it means he won’t do his damned best to make sure people know he’s not incapable, especially with the blatant visible handicap. But he’s dripping a lot less now, and that’s a good time to try and figure out what all he actually needs to deal with given his clear displacement of space and possible displacement of time.

Soaked is still very much the description of his physical state though, something that’s apparently becoming a trend, but he’s far more grateful this time around since his arm isn’t trapped in a vice and, well, he clearly hasn’t gone on a murder rampage either. It’s the little things in life...

There’s a fire at one end of the establishment he wanders into, and even without the cold, it’s a welcome sight. Soggy garments are really not his style, and having a quicker way to dry off other than waiting for the world to end is a huge bonus. He plants himself nearby and takes the opportunity to dig through the pack. It’s sturdy. Effective. But everything else inside is soaked through like him.

God. Why can’t anything ever be easy?

Dragging a hand down his face, he gives a long sigh. One thing at a time, Barnes. And at the least, the water isn’t sopping out of the bag, he tells himself. So it’s not all bad. Maybe.

He wants to laugh, but instead a wry grin plasters itself to his face. Patience is a goddamn virtue, for sure. But as long as he doesn’t get kicked out for being a drowned mess, he’s glad to stay parked here for another couple hours before moving on.
thecatinahat: (fiddle)
[personal profile] thecatinahat
WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Inn
WHEN: Evening of May 14th to early morning 15th
OPEN TO: Mingle!
WARNINGS: None, now
STATUS: Open


He'd been in the middle of a supply run when suddenly, the sky opened up. For a man like Cougar, who holds religion close to him, there's something very biblical about this, like he hasn't been paying enough attention to the pages of the old testament, but then, he also hasn't seen any toads creeping out of the water and making him worry that first blood is going to be next (which would be a problem, seeing as he's the eldest Alvarez). It's not just hail, though. It's hued black, a dangerous thing, and Cougar crosses himself before stepping away from the door.

Even if he runs, he thinks he'll be injured, so that means setting up base in the inn for the next little while. At first, he does nothing but sit and zone out, meditating. Eventually, old thoughts start to creep back and Cougar knows that doesn't lead anywhere good, so he starts digging through what they have.

That's when he finds the playing cards. Smirking, he takes the two sets and heads to the nearest table, whistling loud enough to get the attention of anyone in the main room or anyone upstairs listening. "Poker," he calls out to all of them, shuffling cards and trying to keep the smile from his face, seeing as if there's one thing Cougar likes as much as shooting, it's poker.

Well, no, it's cheating at poker, but no one needs to know that just yet.

Besides, the hail doesn't sound like it wants to stop. There's food, there's a roof, and it's a good way to pass the time. He might as well indulge.
vdova: (Default)
[personal profile] vdova
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: The woods, around the village
WHEN: Mid-January
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle
WARNINGS: Frank Castle???? Probable vague mentions of the traumatic aspects of Natasha’s past.
STATUS: Closed.
ballerinas have fins that you'll never find )
candor1: (Default)
[personal profile] candor1
WHO: Cassian Andor
WHERE: Everywhere he can poke his nose into, whether he's supposed to be there or not.
WHEN: All week after arriving
OPEN TO: OTA; any day, any location. The only one he won't respond to directly is Day One (even if you knock on the door or yell through the wall, he's too out of it), but it could totally set up interactions on Day Two…!
WARNINGS: None at start, will see if that changes while writing. [Update:] Nope, not really!
STATUS: Closed
NOTES: Was looking at all the setting info trying to figure out what C. will be doing and where he'll be living… and realized it was enough to write out IC. I'm not dropping any arrivaltag threads! If you'd to drop there to pick up here, totally cool by me, but anything goes; we can do both.

Si no estás aquí algo falta )
zymasoldat: CW (Default)
[personal profile] zymasoldat
WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: The Inn, Around the Village & Outskirts
WHEN: Mision Report: December 16th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Nothing yet.
STATUS: Closed to new threads


i) inn
For now, Bucky lives at the inn. And, with the weather being as it is, it's also where he spends much of his time. He helps out where he can, wherever Kate will let him, and when he's not, he's practicing the little, essential skills that he's had to re-learn to accommodate his condition. At least tying his boots isn't a frustrating ordeal anymore. He can manage pretty quickly.

Right now, he's downstairs, by the fireplace, trying to tie slip knots and snares one-handed, using his shoelace for practice. The problem? There's a cat who just loves to pounce on the shoelace. Or attack Bucky's ankle. Or flop on top of any surface he's trying to use.

It's really tough to get much done with a cute little tailless tabby distracting him. And, if you walk in at just the right moment, you might see the former assassin smiling and playing with Miss Hoppity.

ii) around the village
To say that Bucky's been feeling frustrated with his role in the village is a definite understatement. For all that he hates what HYDRA did to him, it's been a part of him for so long. The metal arm, the strength, the durability, they were all included in his definition of normal. With the absence of his robot arm and the dampening of his abilities, he's been feeling off-balance. Rudderless.

It's not a new feeling, if he's being honest. The question of what kind of life he'd ever be able to make for himself has been hanging over his head ever since he broke free from HYDRA's conditioning. What can an assassin who no longer wants to kill even do? But at least back home, living off the grid, he still had his strength and both of his arms. Made it easy to get by with jobs that paid under the table. He quickly learned how fulfilling it was to do good, hard work that amounted to something more than a trail of grief and broken, lifeless bodies. Work with his hands, mostly.

The problem being that now? He's only got one. And it's making it tough to figure out what he can do without feeling like a burden. So, when the weather permits, he likes to leave the inn and check out the rest of the village, see if he can lend a hand (don't laugh) to anyone, try to find some niche he can fill and really be an asset to the village.

'Asset.' Poor choice of words.

iii) beyond the village
At first, Bucky didn't venture out of the village as a rule. He wasn't assured enough in his ability to deal with the threats the wilderness might pose to go on any expeditions or hunting trips. He's still not, really. But, over time, he's started to test the waters a little. Always during the day, always following the river, and never going too far from the village. He's not sure what he's after with these little trips. Mostly, he just wants to see the area for himself, get a better feel for it.

It's always possible he'll run into somebody else along the way.
71st_victor: (wicked)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: The Fountain | The Inn
WHEN: December 3, Mid-Day
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Violence, Nudity
STATUS: Open



Under Attack

She opens her eyes to water. There's nothing but water around her and below, there's the distinctly familiar shape she's seen twice below in her life. Launch pad. They've never launched victors in the water before, though, because then there's no way to keep them on the pad until the countdown is done, which means...which means what. The icy cold water is making it hard to think, but she refuses to swim to the top until she's got a plan. She'd been knocked out by Katniss aiming the arrow at the sky, so the Capitol could've gotten to her. The tracking chip is still in her arm (which is something that's coming out the first chance she gets).

So what? What, then? What would the Capitol do to her? They'd make her pay and they'd make suffer. There's no one left to die for her, so why not just kill her? Unless they think that living is a worse punishment.

She's running out of time (and air) and she needs a plan. If this is an old arena, maybe they flooded certain parts of it and that's why she's able to get to the top. Before she does, though, she kicks her way back down until she finds a piece of stone that looks sharp enough to attack with and uses all her energy to kick her way to the top, bursting past the surface of the water with a gasp before she positions herself at the back of the ... fountain? Okay, then.

Waiting, biding her time, Johanna keeps treading water and ignoring the chill of it as she brandishes one hand outside of the water, the small stone shiv ready to pierce if it needs to. Whoever comes by first is going to give her some answers, whether they like it or not.

By The Fire

It doesn't take long for her to figure out a way away from the fountain (which is a launch pad without a detonation device, apparently, which makes sense if this is an arena that's already been used and decommissioned). It takes her a little longer than that to evaluate the area around her for threats, but she heads for the house with the smoke coming out of the chimney. It's stupid, is what it is, but if she's right, then whoever's in there isn't going to be a threat.

If this is an arena that the Capitol is using as some kind of unseen prison, then it stands to reason that everyone here is an ally in the fight against the Capitol. Goody for Johanna, she gets to spend her time behind bars instead of up front in the action, getting the vengeance she's been so sorely denied for so long. She's been looking forward to it ever since they reaped her for the fucking Quarter Quell, all because she was the only one strong enough to have survived.

"At least someone knows how to be hospitable," she says, slinging her bag onto the ground as soon as she's inside, stripping off her clothes without a moment's delay while keeping herself a decent distance from the fire, yanking up one of the curtains lingering around to start drying her hair as she kicks off the pants and underwear, tugging off the bra and shirt next until she's standing completely naked in the foyer of the building.

When she hears footsteps, her guard is up, but she doesn't act like it. She knows better than anyone that you should let your opponent think you're not a threat until the last, crucial moment.

"I know the view's great," she says over her shoulder, still working at drying her hair, "But I don't suppose you've got a change of clothes and some food? I'm starving," she says, the Games having denied her a decent meal and her head is pounding after having to deal with Katniss and her ridiculous lack of trust in her. You cut a girl's arm open one time, and what does it get you? No thanks, that's what.
almightythor: (shirtless)
[personal profile] almightythor
WHO: Thor Odinson
WHERE: The Inn, village roads, his bungalow
WHEN: 2nd December
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: none at this time
STATUS: CLOSED TO NEW THREADS



When Thor awoke, he was not cold. This, of course, was a new development considering that winter had fallen upon their village several weeks ago and had not let up for some time. There had been snowfall for most days and even though it had cleared the day of the feast, it had come right back. He had grown used to the idea that this was a place where it snowed, quite a lot, and they were in for a long, dark winter.

So why, precisely, was it unbearably warm? He kicked off his blankets and padded out onto the porch of his house wearing nothing but the too-short scrub bottoms that he had been gifted upon his first arrival to this strange place. It should have been cold enough to make his skin break out in goosebumps and yet, instead, it was not. When flakes of snow hit his skin, they hissed and melted almost immediately.

"What strange trick is this?" he asked, holding out his hand to examine it? As he did so, flickers of flame extended from the tips of his fingers and he blew on them quickly, trying to extinguish the fire. "Madness," he muttered. "It is clearly madness."

He went back into the house and dressed, intending to head to the Inn for breakfast and for the chance to speak with others. Was he the only one who had suddenly woken up like this or were there others? Were others experiencing fire coming off their fingers and steam off their heads; were others so hot that even a blanket was too much in the cold of winter?

"Tell me the meaning of this," he demanded, stepping into the Inn and opening the palm of his hand, revealing a ball of flame. "Why do I have fire? Does anyone else have fire? Has someone seen my brother here?"

If Loki were involved, there was no telling what all of this meant for the village. No telling at all.
lastofthekellys: (perched to fly)
[personal profile] lastofthekellys
WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn/Pub's main room
WHEN: 2st December
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E not going on science/hunt quest. Hunt a monster, miss a meeting <.<
WARNINGS: TBA as needed
STATUS: Open!




For the past few days, Kate has been spreading the word that there'll be a meeting after lunch today. The previous meetings had been in reaction to something, and to a certain extent, this one is no different. But Kate wants to try something else: planning. Planning on how to deal with the coming months when the weather will only get worse. How to deal with blizzards, storms. How to deal with problems hopefully before they arise.

And, maybe, it makes her feel better doing this. Organising something, now that her comrade-in-practical-arms (Mark Watney) has left her to go trek after a monster. Far, far more practical than having hysterics. Which she won't admit to having to anyone but her cat and Benedict.

(Her tea that night might have been spiked with a dash of whiskey to insure that she slept.)

Today, the weather is cold. There is snow on the ground, and the sun isn't coming out to play. It is the kind of day where people linger over their meals in the warmth of the Inn anyway, seats near the fireplace taken quickly. Towards the end, Kate starts to organise for the meeting. One of the smaller tables is tipped over its side so Ivan has something to write on to take the minutes, and Kate hands him some pieces of precious chalk.

Then she stands on a chair and taps a spoon against a tiny saucepan in lieu of a bell.

"Attention, please! I call this meeting to order. So much as we ever get order. Winter's not goin' away in a hurry, so before we all run into trouble, we're goin' t'come up with some ideas and share knowledge. Not all of us come from the same world, let alone the same environment. If it seems obvious to you, say it anyway, because it might not be to others. Everyone got that? Good."

With that, she steps off the chair and sits on it.

Meeting's begun.


[OOC: Like our other meetings, set-up is mingle and threadjackable unless otherwise specified. Please set up your own heading posts for various topics that your characters would bring up for some organisation, but otherwise, have fun!]
zymasoldat: WS (looking around)
[personal profile] zymasoldat
WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: Fountain / Around
WHEN: Late afternoon, November 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nothing yet. Will update as necessary.
STATUS: Open


/SAD TROMBONE )
womanofvalue: (Default)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Barnes-Carter Residence
WHEN: September 28th
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed


Despite Peggy's stubbornness in many areas, there are things that even she knows better than to challenge and Mother Earth generally falls into that category. So when the rain doesn't abate, Peggy abandons her plans of heading out to the canyon and spends her time carefully navigating her hair into the complicated waves that can take hours. When that's done, the rain is still going on.

It continues through the morning and suddenly, it's been nearly a full day without any indication that it's going to go anywhere and Peggy starts to go stir-crazy. What it also does is throws into stark contrast all the things she's been ignoring since Steve had shown up in a tree, telling her why and how he's alive. The guilt has been sitting at the back of her mind since then, but now that she's stuck inside with nothing to do, it starts to eat at her.

It begins with little thoughts about her trying harder, her pushing Howard to spend more resources, and devolves into these thoughts more often and blaming herself for her failure to get some sort of coordinates. By dinner, she has to do something, but the rain hasn't stopped and she's not in the mood to get drenched.

Dinner, then, seems the best option. Clanging and a touch more forceful with the pots and pans than usual, Peggy finds the fish she'd caught herself using Hook's technique and sets it to begin frying to go along with some greens, using the knife in hand to try and truly excise past demons from her mind, though she suspects it won't be quite that easy.

With one solid whack, taking the fish's head off, she thinks that at least she'll work herself into feeling a little better.
paragon: (avengers | no kwds | 015)
[personal profile] paragon
WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: September 17th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will add if necessary.
STATUS: Closed



Even if Wakanda weren't as historically reclusive as it's been until more immediately recent memory, Steve wouldn't pretend he knows enough about it to say whether the fountain belongs there. He's hardly even been outdoors, for all that he's had quite a view from inside; as a guy who draws things in a notebook on occasion he doesn't really think it comes from the same school as the giant panther carved out of the side of a mountain, but what does he know? He and Bucky arrived bloody and exhausted, in no mood for sightseeing, no matter how much the hospitality of Wakanda might be considered a rare privilege. Hard to see it that way, after sleeping it off for a day or so only to wake up to Bucky having already made up his mind.

He's had a lot on his own mind.

Still, the fountain seems out of place with what he's managed to glimpse of a ferocious sort of beauty, in the midst of buildings that Tony would be more comfortable calling home. This is— well, this looks more like something from his time. And he'll just as surely end up calling the bottom of this fountain his home, if he can't get out of here, since he apparently has enough clothes to get him through a cold winter. At least mulling over architecture is as good a way as any to keep from thinking too hard on how much trouble it's giving him.

He hadn't made the first jump. He puts the sides at about fifteen feet, too high for a straight jump for the edge, but manageable with the help of one of the more horizontal cracks in the wall and a running start. He'd taken a few steps backward, used the momentum to jam the toe of one of his new boots into the crevice and launch himself upward. It'd been no good, the tips of his fingers reaching far below the edge. He'd felt it in his body before that, though, the unexpected effort of the maneuver, when it ought to be so much going through the motions. The second try hadn't gone any better, after trying it from farther back, and he'd looked around at the scattered debris in here with him, determining that the leaves and sticks and dirt weren't exactly enough to make anything of. Gives him an idea though.

Climbing up the centerpiece is easier, even if he can still feel the strain in his calves, his arms and shoulders. Steve ignores it as best he can for now, figures he'll get the answer to why his heart's beating harder in his chest to keep up with his exertion when he finds whoever brought him here. Pretty effective, whatever they gave him, to keep him unconscious long enough to move him, and to weaken him even longer — though he can't help but wonder why, then, he doesn't feel the least bit groggy. He reaches the top of the centerpiece and braces himself there, somewhat unsteadily — which he also ignores — and grabs for a branch hanging from the tree overhead. He's just able to reach the nearest one, though it's by no means the strongest, and it bows toward him. He sighs, mutters, "This part would've been a lot easier seventy years ago," and takes a look at his surroundings.
taiyny: ᴀsᴅᴀɢғsᴅ | ᴅɴᴛ (118)
[personal profile] taiyny
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: Fountain, elsewhere
WHEN: September 6th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed
STATUS: Open



ARRIVAL;

Her lungs feel as though they're about to burst. Natasha feels the small push on her back, and she decides to take the advice; it's clear she's underwater, but the how and why is lost to her, and anyway, she'd rather attempt to not drown than dwell on it. She kicks up, claws her way through the water and surfaces with a loud gasp, arms flailing around for something to grab onto. They land on the edge of the fountain, and Natasha takes a second to catch her breath, hair plastered to her face and neck, what skin peeking through white as a sheet. She swallows thick, using one hand to pull her hair out of her eyes and looks around, first up at the rest of the fountain above her and then out at the village square she seems to be in the middle of. Buildings on three sides of her, with a wide open space on the fourth. Houses, off in the distance, with larger buildings clustered closer to the fountain. She looks back down at her feet treading water in the fountain and then hoists herself out. It's when she lands on her back that she realizes there's a backpack there, and Natasha rolls over to her stomach, shimmying out of the backpack. Once it's off, she sits up, back against the fountain, and unzips the bag.

Clothing. Underwear. A hat. Nothing else. She realizes then that she's not wearing the clothing she was wearing not even five minutes ago — it's a set of black scrubs and a pair of hiking boots instead, and Natasha frowns, picking at the fabric on her torso with a little bit of disdain.

Wherever she is, she thinks, she needs to find a place to dry off, first. And then, answers. It's not the first time she's been dropped in the middle of nowhere with nothing and been forced to survive. She's pretty sure it won't be the last, either. She stands up, brushes the dirt off her rear as best as she can and picks up the backpack. Natasha zips it up and slings it over her shoulder and starts heading for the nearest building. It's bound to have something she can use, right?


EARTHQUAKE;
The ground shakes. There's no warning to it, and Natasha's caught entirely unawares in her position just inside the inn, looking for... well, anything that can tell her just where she is, a lay of the land, a map, a newspaper, something. The entire building vibrates and Natasha goes completely still, gaze locked to the windows, but there's nothing out there that would be causing such a disturbance, at least not that she can see. So she beelines towards the door, although by the time she reaches it, the rumbling's stopped.

"Earthquake?" She mumbles to herself, gripping the wooden frame of the door, and it seems sturdy enough, or at least that it's held. If it was a 'quake, it wasn't a very big one, and nothing inside the inn seems to have been damaged. Nothing outside, either, if her initial sweep of the area just outside the door is any indication. Natasha steps outside, cautious of an after shock, and she starts looking for others, just to make sure they're alright.
markwatney: (004)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: The area right behind the town hall
WHEN: Between August 13-20
OPEN TO: OTA, party-style post
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed


Life, I think, has a way of settling into a routine regardless of where you are. You stay in a place long enough, it just happens -- Your circadian rhythms shift, your psyche builds or pulls down partitions as necessary, and things become some version of normal.

Seeing as how this place is only the second-most screwed up place I've been stuck for months at a time, I consider myself something of an expert on this subject.

So, for weeks now, I've had my routine. I get up near dawn, I splash water on my face, I make myself something to eat from what I gathered the day before, I indulge in a cup of weak chicory tea that never fails to be a disappointing substitute for coffee, and I head out to comb the forest for edibles. For awhile now -- Since the end of the first week, to be honest -- the instinct to be better prepared has been niggling at me. I spent some time prepping a modest plot of soil next to the house, and the greens I seeded in there are coming along nicely, but it's done little to quiet that ever-persistent voice at the back of my head that's saying it's not enough. It's not nearly enough.

Today, I got up, I splashed water on my face, but I never quite made it to preparing breakfast. Sitting on the dining room table was a box, and the box was addressed to me.

Let me just make this clear: There's a world of difference between suspecting that you've been put in a place as someone's plaything and knowing it.

I spent a long time sitting at the dining room table, sipping my terrible coffee substitute and staring at that damned box. Clearly it was meant as a gift, a gesture of goodwill, but objectively understanding that didn't keep my stomach from twisting up at the very idea of it.

But what could I do? Rail against the unfairness of the situation? Scream at the sky and hope my captors would hear? I knew shit about who they were, but already I suspected how little difference any of that would make. Instead, I rinsed out my cup, hefted the box under my arm, and set about working the problem one step at a time.

First things first: Seeds need tilled soil, and we'll need a lot of room to plant enough to help get us through winter. The patch of land behind what I've come to think of as the town hall is more sparse than most of the land around the village, but I'll still need help to clear it. A lot of help.

The good news is, most people can see the value in not starving to death.


[Party-style post! If you're tagging Mark directly, please just note as much. Your character can be cutting down small trees, digging/pulling out stumps (cows can help!), pulling out weeds, tilling soil, planting/watering, building the compost pile, etc.]
justaghost: (pic#10517682)
[personal profile] justaghost
WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: All over the damn place
WHEN: August 12
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: The soul crushing heart break of Steve Rogers
STATUS: Open



Arrival

The water is warm around him, or at least compared to where he just was it's warm. Anything is warm compared to the alps in the middle of winter time. His eyes open to the darkness around him. He nearly chokes when he tries to take a breath, but water fills his mouth. He coughs under the water, expelling air and bubbles through his mouth and nose. His first though is damn, did I fall into the river?

No way, he'd be dead. That drop is too far and the water is far too warm for the river he saw when they were preparing the zip. His head tilts up, he can see the light shining down through the rippling water. He feels himself sink to the bottom, his hands splay out and he can see how smooth the floor is. It reminds him of concrete...but how is that in a river? He doesn't think about it too long before his chest starts to burn from lack of air. He shifts so his feet are under him and he kicks up towards the sky. He counts the seconds it takes for him to rise. 5...6...7...his chest feels like it's about to cave in. His head aches from the pressure as his ears pop and finally he breaks the surface with a gasp. He spits out whatever water was left in his mouth as he stares wild eyed, catching his breath and treading the water.

This isn't the alps.

When in doubt...drink!!

After he finally claws his way out of the fountain he discovers that he is right. This isn't the alps, but where this is...well he still isn't sure. He sees trees, but that doesn't tell him much. Then he sees roads, they are dirt but it's something, and houses-- actual houses not shacks or some pieces of wood with tin over top of it. He moves slowly, looking around at his surroundings. He feels naked without his gun, he hasn't not had it in his hands since he was last in Brooklyn. It's odd now to be lacking the cold metal in his hand or the weight of it strapped to his back.

He makes his way down the road and then he spots a building that makes him ease just a slight bit. An Inn, and where there was an Inn normally meant food, drink, information. All the things he needs right now. He just hopes they don't mind someone coming in that is soaking wet (which has him stuck on the thought of where these clothes came from in the first place). He starts to think of a story about how he ended up in the fountain. Nothing really comes to mind. The last thing he remembers is zipping onto the train. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair as he nears the door. He really hopes he doesn't look like a crazy person right now.

He puts on his best smile as he enters and casually goes to the bar, sitting one seat away from the first person he sees. "Hey, how's it going?" Man, he hopes they speak English here.

Closed to Steve Rogers

At least the bar had some information, even if that information is that no one knows what's going on. He has food in his stomach now, so there is that at least. Apparently one of these houses also belongs to him. Funny, he didn't think he would ever be a home owner. Stuff costs too much and his little apartment in Brooklyn had been plenty for him. The more he thinks about it, the more he misses that old place. His mind starts to wander, thinking back to home. He hasn't written to his sisters in awhile, he needs to do that. He needs to do a lot of things, but he doubts any of that can be done from this place.

He fiddles with the keys in his hand as he walks down the road. This house is really out there. He gets more and more nervous with each step. His mind races and he thinks that this might be a trap. He wishes he had a knife or something with him as he nears the house. He stops in front of it, staring and studying it. It's nice, nicely than anything he could have ever hoped for. He actually found himself smiling as he places a hand on the railing and took the stairs. This house in Brooklyn...that would be perfect.

With the key in his hand he opens the door and takes the first step in. He whistles before his face turns into a grin. "Not bad...."

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