learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] ill/wounded)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed


It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.
chosenbytheocean: (I cant leave you)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7I – Ocean
WHEN: August 3rd
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None



Sad Thoughts & Losses

Small earthquakes had begun to tremble through the two villages but Moana didn't pay them any attention. She crossed the breach and made her way towards the ocean that rested on the other side, hoping to find a friend waiting for her.

She stood at the shore, her feet bare while the wind tugged softly at her grass skirts. There was so much that Moana wanted to ask the ocean but she couldn't find her voice. She knew that it wouldn't reply to her, she was too far from the home that she knew. Frustration rose in her chest and she kicked at the water, sending thick droplets into the air around her.

"Why aren't you here!?" She yelled at the water before falling to her hands and knees. Everything hit her at once: the loss of her friends, the loss of the heart and the constant reminder of her failure that hung like a beacon around her neck. Moana began to cry softly, her body shaking as the tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"I need you." She whispered to the ocean, her voice soft as she begged for some way to escape the crushing defeat that weighed heavily on her shoulders.
theoldlie: (drown)
[personal profile] theoldlie
WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Fountain / Center of Town
WHEN: July 25
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a


drowning

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

Again.

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

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

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

bearings

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

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

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

Adjusting on his knees as he starts to repack his bag, he glances at his surroundings again and tries to decide which way to go. Without a compass, he'll have to go the old-fashioned way, but with the sun high in the sky, he figures he's got time enough to choose. "North," he says aloud, squinting and trying to get his bearings. "Time to head North."
catchallthecats: (It's alright if you do it's fine)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya
WHERE: The fountain, around town
WHEN: 7/23, mid-afternoon to evening
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: N/A



The Fountain
At least this time it wasn’t freezing out.

That didn’t stop Arya from cursing a blue streak as she was spluttering and grabbing onto the edge of the fountain to heave herself out, water splattering across the stonework as she pushed herself back to sit for the moment, taking stock of herself. Once she was convinced she was in one piece she moved to her feet, stopping only to lean back into the fountain to fish out the pack bobbing on the water’s surface.

She gave the bag a shake that sent water flying in fat droplets before slinging it over a shoulder by the strap. As she walked, she was dividing her attention for the moment between squeezing water out of her hair and scanning the area for familiar faces.

House #28
“Hello?”

She didn’t bother knocking, just pushing the front door open to walk in. Either her family still lived here and all was well, or someone else did and things would get awkward quickly. But if that was the case, Arya honestly didn’t care. The only thing that made her being yanked to this strange place again was that so much of her family was there, especially those that they’d never see again back in Westeros. She simply didn’t know what she’d do if they’d gone since then.

“Is anyone here?”
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."
igotacrossbow: (peeking)
[personal profile] igotacrossbow
WHO: Jake Jensen
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Forward-dated to July 25
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, aborted panic attack


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

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

Cougar has been missing for nearly five days. 

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

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

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

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

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

001.

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



f o u n t a i n

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

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

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




i n n

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

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

    "Excuse me!" she called out to them. "Where is this place?"
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Looks Back (Longing))
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/15
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None



Despite her misgivings, she had ventured into the woods, keeping close to the path. There were a number of plants she recognized, many that knew there were uses for but couldn't quite remember. There had been a book in the Vatican that mentioned herbs and plants, as well as their medicinal uses, but she hadn't had the chance to study it or begin her own experiments, as she wished. But now...now there was time, even without the book.

Spreading out the leaves, roots and berries over one of the tables, she sniffed and inspected the plants studiously. There had been a few pieces of paper in the schoolhouse. Using a bit of charred wood, she sketched the plants to the best of her abilities. It was messy work, but she would at least have a record of what she collected.

A few were easy to guess, aloe, lavender, rosemary, but so many others were a mystery to her. But they were beautiful and delicate, entrancing her in her work. Someone took the seat across from her, stirring her from her thoughts as her blue eyes shot up in surprise. "Oh! Forgive me, I didn't see you."
chosenbytheocean: (eeeeeee)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: The Forest & The Inn
WHEN: July 5th - 15th
OPEN TO: Closed
WARNINGS: Fighting/Violence most likely...



The Inn - July 5th - 10th


Moana wasn't sure what to make of it. She had found the heart over a week before but hadn't thought to show it to anyone. She kept it in her grandmother's necklace which was now useful as well as a keepsake of the only family member who truly understood her.

She sat on the floor near the fire place. It was to hot to have the fire going but this had been Moana's seat since winter. She saw no reason to change that now. Itiiti, the little piglet, was snuggled against the side of her skirts, enjoying the feel of the grass around his round little body. She looked down at him briefly, smiling before she gently opened her necklace.

The heart dropped lightly into her palm, glowing a familiar green light.

"Why are you here?" She asked the heart as if it might be able to reply back to her. She'd notice that the strength of it's glow had been changing. Right before the earth quake and now she felt that it was dimming. Like a heart beat that was slowly reaching it's end. "Please. Please don't die. I need to return you to where you belong." Moana begged softly, curling her fingers protectively around the stone.

The Forest - July 8th - Bear


She knew that the heart brought trouble, Moana had seen it first hand on two separate occasions, but she hadn't thought that it would happen here. This village, this realm, felt so far removed from the world she knew. Surely no one knew what the heart was or what it could do.

She'd been wrong.

It still brought trouble to it's bearer though it was a little different from before. Moana had been walking through the forest, following behind Itiiti as the little pig sniffed out mushrooms and other eatable roots. She had a small basket with her that was half filled with things that she planned to bring back to the inn. With the crack in the rocks and the damage to the town, food that could travel seemed more important than before.

Her fingers sank into the earth as she dug up a handful of fungi. Itiiti bumped her elbow, sending Moana face first into the dirt. Her necklace popped open as she hit the ground and the glowing green heart rolled out of it's hiding place. Moana pushed herself up and reached for the stone. When she her fingers touched the smooth surface of the Heart she heard a roar echo threw the forest. The ground trembled and she thought it was another aftershock of the quake. It wasn't. The trees parted and a large black bear lumbered into view.

"Itiiti Run!" The piglet didn't need to be told twice. He squealed and took off into the woods. For anyone who ran into Itiiti he'd be too frightened to lead you back to his owner.

Moana scrabbled to her feet, wondering if she'd somehow stumble onto the bears home. Her basket of roots and mushrooms had fallen over and now sat a few feet to her left. Against all logical reason she reached down to try and gather up the food back into the basket. "Please stay away." Moana was used to monsters that could understand her and talk. She's never seen a bear before.

The Inn - July 15th
Place Holder. ooc: Heart looses it's glow. Unsure if Moana will have traveled to 7i by then or not. Pending how the meeting on July 10th goes. She wants to see the ocean as soon as she can. And try to get a boat there so that she can try and sail across the ocean. I might also have another prompt up where Moana is being chased by wolves on the 11th or 12th if anyone is interested in that.
bit_fairytale: (troubled)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: June 28th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Depression


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

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

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

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

She rests her head on the stones of the fountain, eyes blurred with tears, her limbs heavy with grief and exhaustion. It's not the first time she's lost Rory, but it's the first time she's lost him and felt this aimless and without a plan. What's she supposed to do, now? What's the point of any of this if she hasn't got Rory at her side?
canaria: made by me | please don't take (working or some such)
[personal profile] canaria
WHO: Sara Lance and open
WHERE: Fountain, then various, winding up at the inn.
WHEN: June 20th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Mention of death
STATUS: Open



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's sure that his fears have come true, that Emma has disappeared like so many others before her, and the only way he'll see her again is if he's returned to Storybrooke as well. All he can do now is hope. But there is one tiny sliver of that hope left here. It's possible, perhaps, that she's here, they just managed to miss each other all day. He's got no way of getting in touch with her, after all. They could have just been in different places as each other. He circles back to the inn, at a time when many of the residents of the village are eating dinner. He pushes the door open and steps inside. "Has anyone seen Emma?"
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Considers)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Outside The Police Station
WHEN: 6/18
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None, save animal birth. (Nothing graphic)
STATUS: Open



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

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

She spied someone nearby, watching the three of them in the fields. She beckoned the person over with a warm expression. "Come see."
playmakings: (Let me call a few)
[personal profile] playmakings
WHO: Kelsi Nielson
WHERE: The inn, outside the village, forest
WHEN: 16th-18th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: N/A, possible mentions of dying
STATUS: Open, come at me bros


it feels so right to be here with you. )
truecaptain: (pic#7062781)
[personal profile] truecaptain
WHO: Kanata Shinonome
WHERE: fountain, around of the village
WHEN: June 14- onward
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as needed!
STATUS: Open

Read more... )
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] weirwood)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: In the woods near the Stark cabin.
WHEN: June 13
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None; will update as needed.
STATUS: Yes


It had arrived in a box.

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

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

What a fool he'd been.

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

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

Ned places the sapling on the ground carefully before leaving and returning with a variety of tools: namely, spades of different lengths and sizes. At once, he pours his sorrow into the repeated piercing of the earth and displacing of soil, cursing the Old Gods under his breath for leaving him a weirwood instead of his daughter.
pretendtoneedme: (crossing the fields)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Everyone! It's a mingle!
WHERE: The mill, and the river next to the mill
WHEN: June 13-14
OPEN TO: Anyone! Tag around, tag in, tag things!
WARNINGS: Nothing for now, please warn for content in comment titles
STATUS: All of the Opens



Word had spread in the usual way, one person mentioned it to another, that person mentioned it to a third, and fourth, and so forth and so on. The mill's almost repaired - or, more specifically, it's reached the point where it needs more than one person working on it in order to get it done. Clint wasn't too proud to say this job was above one person's skills, and so he'd designated two days as "group work" days to finish everything that still had to be done beyond some superficial things. As weird as it was to think about, the river going down actually helped with this, since it exposed some outdoor components that needed maintenance and allowed people to work on them without drowning themselves.

The wheel itself needed some repairs, mainly in some of the blades that had rotted after sitting in the water for so long, as well as getting as much algae scraped off the wood as possible. The frame of the gate that isolated the wheel from the flow of the river had been well-built of the same stone as the mill itself and was sturdy, but the rope of the gate itself had broken at some point and the gate had fallen into the river, so it needed replacing. Inside the mill, the grindstones had come out of alignment and the upper one needed to be reseated; the hopper and feeding chute for the grain had been smashed when the demon hail had punched through the roof, and new ones needed to be hoisted up and secured in place. Salvaged scraps from the destroyed houses would do well enough for all of those and the parts had been built; now they just needed to be installed. The connecting belts between the gears had already been replaced with "new" ones made of strips of extra blankets; presumably the original leather ones had disintegrated. Every tool kit in storage at the inn and most of the scraps and salvaged nails Clint had scrounged from the destroyed houses had been hauled down to provide a supply source, along with a few of the ropes or rope-like things and a couple of the first aid kits - just in case. There were a few other issues that wouldn't interfere with the actual mill workings (a couple of hail holes in the roof and one or two other things), so they could be addressed or not as people chose.

Anyone who wanted to show up and help was welcome, as long as they knew which end of a hammer to hit things with. Water to drink wouldn't be an issue since they were right next to the river, but if anyone wanted to bring snacks or any sort of food it would be appreciated by those working. It was still pretty hot, though, so everyone needed to be on alert for people overexerting themselves and potential heatstroke. Anyone who saw someone about to faint or getting dizzy would have been told to make sure the afflicted person stopped working and sat down in the shade with a drink of water. And of course there was always the option of a nice swim as well.
mindmeld: (Default)
[personal profile] mindmeld
WHO: Spock
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, Around
WHEN: Backdated to June 7 & onward
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open


i. fountain

The water is tranquil, rippling over him in gentle eddies lull him into a sense of calm that almost takes him away from the fact that he is currently floating face down in a body of water.

Getting into the enemy ship with McCoy, prepared to crash into a planet, Spock had expected to be shaken and injured; there was always a possibility of such an occurance. He did not expect to wake in something vastly different from the ship, uninjured but decidedly odd.

It does not take long for Spock to react, despite the disorientation he feels; he swims, breaching the surface with a few powerful strokes. Swimming is not an activity which he finds beneficial, but his survival training courses had included lessons, necessary for space missions. Useful now.

What he sees when he breaks the surface is not what he expected from the planet. Between that, and the fact that his clothes are different, and he is decidedly altered from his usual appearance, Spock quickly concludes that he is not on Altamid at all.

"What is the nature of this place?"

It is the only question he asks aloud, though a dozen others run through his head. Now is not the time to speculate; there are more important matters at hand. Such as drying off.

ii. the inn

There are others in the same position as he, an entire village of them. Spock intends to find a place to stay away from the crowd, but for the first few nights, Spock stays in the inn, spending ample time in the common room. Quiet and reserved by nature, he still finds value in socialization - and in understanding where the others are from, how they came to be in this village. Better to find answers that way.

Given a chance, he will approach any individuals who appear to be somewhat idle, or even those busily engaged in a task, to ask, "What was the nature of your arrival?"

iii. the canyon walls

It is logical that the canyon has already been inspected and escape routes discovered - or, in this case, not discovered. But it is far from people and allows Spock an opportunity to assess his situation in relative privacy.

Whatever this place is, it has turned him human. He has made no mention of this to others because the lack of distinctive Vulcan features has made it easy to blend in among the other individuals in the village but it is troubling. Mental control does not come as easily; the awareness of his biology functions is limited; even his heart beats in a different spot.

It is, quite simply, disconcerting. And he wants to be back aboard the Enterprise in order to correct these complications.

The canyon also provides a distraction, as focusing on learning the lay of the land and measuring distances requires more of his attention than customary - one of the downfalls of a human body. Especially since the range never seems to compute; each time he thinks he has an answer for how long the canyon wall is, the number escapes him.

"I have walked fourmiles," he says, at one point, only to take a few more steps and announce, "Perhaps it has only been three."

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