thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Thoughtful (Concerned))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Specimen Room
WHEN: Aug 16 - 29
OPEN TO: Jude
WARNINGS: None I can think of.



White hot blinding light tore through Margaery's mind, jolting her out of bed and onto the floor. She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to shut out the pain as flashes of images danced before her. The sweet images she had seen were gone, replaced by confusion and strange sights that turned her stomach. Her body seemed to spasm, the sounds of the forest clear and sharp against her ears. She was there, she could swear it. The warmth of the day surrounded her as the sun licked at her skin. She could feel Gilbert at her side, his barks echoing off the trees.

Flashes of green, brown and blue passed before, racing quickly as she followed a path. The route was obscured, but she felt certain she had seen it before. It was only when she came at the canyon wall that everything became a bit more clear. A quick succession of images passed, still but clearer than before. There was a cave in the wall, standing wide enough for someone to pass through. There was a strange room with glass walls. There was something resting behind them, but it was too bright to tell. As she tried to get a better look, everything disappeared and she was returned to her room, curled on the floor as she clutched her head. Despite the pain, one thought remained fixed in her consciousness:

There was something in the woods.

***


It was a ways to the canyon and there was a chance that she could get lost along the way, knowing how often the forest changed. She packed several supplies she might need, including food that could last her for several days, if rationed right. Gilbert would be at her side, big enough now to protect her against any creatures she might come across.

For extra measure, she left word with Sansa where she was going. Robb would worry and dislike her exploring the woods, but perhaps coming from Sansa, the news would be taken better? She left a note for Ned as well, asking him to tend to the animals and her garden while she was gone. There was no telling how long it would take.

Fear wasn't something she felt until she was much deeper in the woods and sounds seemed to be dulled by the brush. Each twig snap and rustle of the bushes left her unnerved. More than once, she thought there was someone at her heels, but brushed it aside as paranoia. Yet when the sun began to set, she became more than certain there was someone else nearby. Grabbing a fallen branch, she turned, holding herself ready in case something emerged, fangs and claws bared.

"Who's there?" She called out, Gilbert growling at her side. "Come out."
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: House 19; House 10; The Inn
WHEN: Early August, morning to evening
OPEN TO: Credence, Jax, and Samantha (see comment starters)
WARNINGS: May contain references to epilepsy symptoms


The journals have taken some doing, gathering or making enough materials, deciding how to put them together. They’re nothing as clean as the pads he picked up from the piles of supplies in the Hall, but they’re functional. The paper takes his pencils, the binding holds when he opens and closes the covers, folds open pages.

For how long, he can’t be sure, but it’s not like anyone’s buying the things from him.

After a couple of dry afternoons on his porch--after getting the house sorted; after staking the sheets into the yard and finding a few more window screens on houses too far gone to matter to anyone; after boiling every bit of leaf litter and shredded cloth as he could--Jude has three journals to show for it. They’re thick with hand-torn pages, enclosed in old encyclopedia covers recovered from the ruins of the school, and bound with a combination of rubber tree sap and braided grass. He’d had to punch the holes with a skewer from the kitchen, and they’re still a little rough at the edges--all of it’s a bit rough at the edges, but he kind of likes that about them.

Now he just has to track down the people they belong to.
babyhunter: (Default)
[personal profile] babyhunter
WHO: Clary Fray
WHERE: Fountain & Village & River
WHEN: August 1st to August 6th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Drowning? (Note: Scrub color is black.)



Fountain: Arrival [Aug 1]

Clary inhaled, feeling a cool rush of water fill her lungs. Her chest burned while panic tightly constricted around her heart. She flailed wildly in the water, kicking her arms and legs out in a futile effort to swim. The water stung her eyes when she tried to open them. Clary had always hated opening her eyes underwater but she needed to see.

'I need to breathe! She thought, forcing herself to calm down enough to escape a rather pathetic watery death. After everything she's been through, she's not going to have 'death by water' on her tombstone. Clary saw a blurry smudge of light in the distance and swam towards it.

She broke the surface of the water, coughing and gasping for air. Bright orange hair plastered to her cheeks and neck as she made her way to the fountain's ledge.

It was only when she was pulling herself over the edge of the fountain that she felt the weight of the pack on her back. A groan of complaint vibrated through her torso, even as she managed to tumble herself and the backpack onto the pavement. Clary was laying on her back. The backpack was a surprisingly comfortable pillow though that might have just been in comparison to the water. The sun shined pleasantly in the sky, warming her limbs and face.

Clary decided that it wasn't worth getting up. She'd happily lay there until someone told her to move. Maybe she was in central park? That's the only place that she can think of with a fountain. Either way, Clary knew that someone would find her and she'd sort it out then.


Around the 6I Village [Aug 2-4]

Clary really didn't know what to think of this place. She had named the village Salem in her mind, the broken buildings and dreary feeling reminded her of a town where hundreds of girls burned at the stake. It probably wasn't the best name but the village was surprisingly less daunting with a name attached to it.

She wound her way through the houses, inspecting the ones that were broken and then knocking at the homes that looked like someone lived there. If no one replied, she'd peak inside to see what was there. Clary was naturally curious and not at all shy or hindered by the unknown. This wasn't nearly as scary as trying to get Simon out of the Hotel Dumort.

Clary would take the time to stop and stare at the houses or setting around her. She tried to figure out how she'd draw it: what colors she would use or how certain objects might appear out of focus. At the end of each day, she'd find herself at the inn, usually hungry and sitting at the bar like a ghost might come and take her order.

She was new at this whole survival thing and Brooklyn had pizza. She really missed pizza.


At the River [Aug 5]

Clary was both happy and sad to see Izzy in the village with her. She was happy to see her friend and to know that she wasn't alone but it also made her think about home. How was her mother doing? And Simon? What about Jace? She wondered if any of them missed her. She didn't particularly worry about Alec missing her; he was with Magnus and starting towards his happiness.

She missed her sketchbook. It gave her the ability to get all of her worries out of her head and onto a piece of paper. Without it, her thoughts jumbled together in a messy knot that she didn't know how to untangle. A groan pulled from Clary's lips as she took a seat near the water's edge. She watched the waves for a few seconds before pulling off her scrubs and jumping in.

Clary hadn't been in water since almost drowning in the fountain a few days before and as much as she wanted to avoid it, she felt gross. She had never gone this long without a shower. After drenching herself in water, she floated lazily on the surface of the river.

"This place feels too much like the Twilight Zone." She mumbled to no one in particular.


The Breach Between 6I and 7I: Small Earthquake [Aug 6]

Clary first heard about the mysterious second village at the inn, when she had eavesdropped on two people discussing their plans to cross the breach. She hadn't asked about it then but she couldn't stop thinking of the possibilities that lay on the other side of the ridge. Peeked by her curiosity and her ever-rampant thoughts, Clary decided to head to the breach to check it out for herself.

She wasn't completely unfamiliar with bouldering but the path was not as clear as she thought it would be. She took careful steps over small rocks and then slipping between larger boulders that stood like giants in the path.

Clary was halfway through the breach when the earth began to shake. She'd gotten used to the small tremors over the last few days but she hadn't been standing in a small crevasse in the ground back then. A surprised scream tore from her throat as she ran back the way she had come. Peddles and rocks loosened from above her, falling on her head like rain drops falling from the sky.

She ran out of the breach, stumbling to the ground as the earthquake ended. Clary's head was shaking as she tried to regain her balance. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt a soft sting along her cheek. If she had managed to get out of that with a bloody lip and a few thin cuts then she was happy.

"Okay. Maybe I won't go that way." Clary was talking to the rocks and seriously hoping that they could feel her displeasure.
pretendtoneedme: (running in the woods)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Everyone
WHERE: 6I's Town Hall
WHEN: July 10th
OPEN TO: Everyone who wants in. There will be one subheader for welcoming back the group and one for the actual meeting
WARNINGS: Nothing so far; please add headers in the comment subjects if something does come up that could be problematic



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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

“I wish you’d stayed.”

“I have to go.”

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


And there was yet another way this was all different from the Rain. There wasn't anyone around here like Avery, anyone to worry about her whereabouts or even care if she was alive or dead. For all she knew, she was dead and now a fucking ghost, haunting this clown rodeo. Angrily, she pressed the heel of her palm against the side of her head. She wanted to force the memories out. And maybe hide her face a little, as her expression crumpled.
beallmysins: (Default)
[personal profile] beallmysins
WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: House #10, Inn, river
WHEN: 1 July - 9 July
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: Jax is his own warning. Language, for sure. Probably going to be sex eventually, knowing him.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's not shy about using the river, either. Plenty of people come down here to bathe and he's hardly the first to strip down and take advantage of the water to cool off after a long day. He ducks under the water and holds his breath for a few long minutes, just letting his mind focus on the sound of his own heartbeat before popping back up, water sluicing down his bare back and arms.
3ofswords: (resolute)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: July 1st through the 8th
OPEN TO: ALL - Event Mingle
WARNINGS: Please warn in comment headers for sensitive subjects.


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

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

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

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

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

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

theintercessor: (dreaming)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Cave at south of canyon, between the River and the Theseus Pod
WHEN: July 1st
OPEN TO: Credence Barebone
WARNINGS: Earthquake/cave-in, mentions of epilepsy symptoms, both characters have abuse in backstories, will edit as needed.


There are only so many days to be spent making paper, and none of them in these temperatures.  Too much of it involves boiling water, and the stacks in the storeroom haven't immediately disappeared.  It's easier to spend the day exploring under the shade of the trees, following the river south, wading in when the heat overtakes him and drives him to dizziness.  He's tied a spare curtain across his chest, a sheer sling stolen from a bathroom, soon filled with arrowheads, interesting stones, leafy--if dried--plants.  He doesn't know if you can make paper out of pine needles, but you can put them in the embers to restart the fire, scent the smoke a little more like home.

His home, anyway.

It never got this hot in the mountains, the sun never hovered over like the concentrated beam of a kid with a magnifying glass, killing ants.  It never got this quiet, even in hunting season.  Especially in hunting season, people moving through the trees, trucking, drinking, shooting.  It's strange not to know where he is.  It's strange not to know his footing in the stream, or know where it leads.  It's strange to come upon the canyon wall: a different kind of stone, a road not touched by trucks or bikes, nothing to follow to some kind of pass.  

It's a lonely thing, somehow.  So much of it seems untouched, or not touched in any lasting way.  Sometimes a tree has the bark slashed away, sometimes the edge of a path or treeline is too neat, but there simply aren't enough people to fill the space.  He's done it, by walking so far from the houses.  He's gotten away, and it feels--too easy.

When he comes up to the wall, he rests a hand against it, looking out into the trees.  Walking is a kind of stimming, mindless motion.  It's too hot, he's walked too far, without enough purpose.  Jude doesn't find the cave with anything but touch, his hand skimming stone until it isn't.  Isabelle had told him: there is no way out, people have already tried.  But she'd also told him the fountain had no bottom, and he'd touched hard edges in the water.  But way out or no, a cave is a much cooler place to rest than the open sun.  Tugging the loop of his sling higher, he tightens it shut against his chest, stones slipping down the folds, leaves rustling as they crushed between.

"I know you're there," he says, pausing in the shadowed opening and pushing his sweaty hair back.  "Stop skulking around."

justphases: (pic#10812709)
[personal profile] justphases
WHO: Kitty Pryde and you!
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, the Forest/Lakefront
WHEN: June 20th-June 22nd
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Possible discussion of death/injury considering her canon point
STATUS: Open


...And promise not to promise anymore )
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: The Church
WHEN: Early, July 18th
OPEN TO: Sonny Carisi
WARNINGS: Usual Jude warnings may apply: portrayals of epilepsy, mentions of horror tropes and religious iconography
STATUS: N/A


The house next to his isn't as dirty as some of the others, for all he hasn't been around to see anyone go in or out of it.  If it has a purpose, no one's yet pointed it out, and after dragging more than a few items across the way from the storehouse, it doesn't seem like there's anyone dedicated to slapping wrists or enforcing any kind of ownership over the supplies.  He's more surprised at how much he's found to scavenge out of damaged houses, linens and kitchen supplies, decent pieces of wood, a screen he'll need to make good on his promise of paper.  He might go back for more, once the heat passes and he feels up for boiling that many plants and old books at a time.

It's a strange way to feel useful, but it seems like a need to be filled.  He can't do shit about the electricity problem.

But maybe he can do something about his clothing problem, or the unbearable sun still drying up patches of the crop field.  Peering in the windows first, the house is far from decrepit or damaged, and isn't even as dusty or undisturbed as the one across the way.  It almost looks like someone wrapped it up for safekeeping, but hasn't yet returned.  A disappearance?  A lover's spat that got someone kicked out?  He doesn't know, just that there are sheets being wasted on old furniture when they could be shielding food. 

Looking both ways, the coast is clear when he slips inside.  The heat has been good for clearing the paths when the sun rises above the trees, the only thing it manages to simmer behind for a few hours as it moves backwards across the sky.  

Inside, the house is cleaner than his own, uncluttered by materials or pots full of soaking leaves and books.  There's a cross hanging on one wall, the furniture fanning out from it like something out of a southern gothic horror movie, that pagan edge of twining sticks and twigs, the ghostly fit of sheets hanging in the too-still air.  

It's a long moment before he can set his hands to the back of a sofa, tugging the sheet away from the polished wooden frame.  It isn't quite reverence that stills or starts him: he needs to make this fast, the place kind of creeps him out.

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. )
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. )
posilutely: (003)
[personal profile] posilutely
WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: The fountain
WHEN: About 8:00, June 8th
OPEN TO: ALL
STATUS: Closed to new threads
WARNING: The thread with Sonny will eventually be ADULT


For almost as far back as she can remember, Queenie Goldstein has been a voracious reader. She'd be the first to tell you she doesn't have a head for the books that would make her smart, but there's just about nothing she loves more than losing herself in a good story. At home, she nearly always has a novel or stack of magazines to hand, and the tales of exotic places and sweeping romance are always her favorite. There was one in particular she read about twenty times when she was in school, all about a witch and wizard falling in love amidst the glittering sands of the Sahara. At the time, tucked up in her chilly New England dorm room, it had all seemed so marvelously enticing.

Now, it's a little less so.

To say the days the past couple of weeks have been hot just wouldn't be near accurate enough. It's been about like jumping into a frying pan when you're out in the middle of the day. When you walk around town, you can see it on everybody's faces: They're all waiting for the break that comes at sunset. Except now, the sun isn't going down at all. It's just sitting there on the horizon, brooding behind the cliffs like an angry dog.

That morning, Queenie had woken to another box with her name on it, perched this time on her dresser like someone had stolen in during the night and left it while she was sleeping. Inside, she'd found a pack of needles and several spools of thread, and while a bolt of fabric would've been nice, she's not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. And yeah, she did feel a little guilty about going into one of the houses and pulling down all the curtains and cleaning out the linen closet, but there's nothing in the storeroom in the inn except for scarves and heavy blankets.

It's just past eight o'clock at night, and Queenie's sitting on the lip of the fountain they all came out of, a basket of supplies at her side, bare feet dangling in the cool water as she works on the sewing in her lap and sings softly to herself. There's still plenty of light to see by out here, and the house is too stuffy even with every window flung open. Earlier, she'd cut her pants off above the knee and hemmed the edges; back home they'd be scandalous, but here they're pure practicality. Soon, she'll have a linen shift to wear instead.
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Fountain, House 23, Schoolhouse
WHEN: June 7 + the night, day, and next day after.
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, bodies, general horror genre stuff in the intro; insect hallucination in the final prompt. Please see his opt out in the comments of his profile.
STATUS: Open



introduction )


fountain

Jude learned at an early age to play his cards close to the vest, and that fear should be chief among them. If people thought you weren't afraid of anything, they wouldn't have anything to use against you. He'd taken every dare, stared down every asshole, pushed himself through every heart-pounding moment until he could stand on the other side of it, a little harder but alive.

The only one he couldn't shake, but had at least managed to hide, was the fear of water.

He's been in it plenty of times since the first and last time he drowned. He's jumped off old ropes into lakes, he's taken the dive off the quarry's edge. He's gone under and held his breath just to prove he can handle anything the other guy can, but he'd been in control every time. He'd chosen it.

He didn't choose to be drowned in the tub when he was eight, seeking some higher power, and he didn't choose to wake up in it now, the burn in his nose and throat something from a nightmare.

Fear isn't a good motivator, but it certainly prompts action, narrows everything away from how and when and why to kicking until he pushes against a hard surface, even if it just sends him into another at his back. The space explored that much, he kicks again, shoving himself between walls until he finds he can touch them with hands outstretched, guide himself up and out of the water with a splash and hacking, whooping series of coughs. He rolls over the edge, then several times on the ground for good measure. His body catalogs dry earth, hard stones, and short grass, and the discomfort at his back turns out to be a pack when he finds the wits to examine himself.

Not his clothes, not his bag. Kneeling, he's still choking when he rips open the zipper, leans to one side without getting a look at the contents when he vomits up water and bile. He doesn't know when he last ate, he can't seem to stay conscious enough to keep track of time.

It wasn't this bright when he blacked out. It wasn't this bright, and strange as it isn't to find himself in a wooded path, last he checked the town didn't have a fountain. Coughing into his elbow, he skirts his gaze over it, taking in the treeline, the branching paths, the overbearing sun. This isn't the first time he's blanked or blacked out, woken up somewhere different, but it's the first time he's woken up somewhere new.

Looking down at the pack, its contents don't appear to be anything he recognizes as his or immediately useful, and he pushes himself up to wander around the edge of the fountain. "Dad," he calls only once, weakly, before a new kind of fear sends him into the cover of the trees.


house 23 )

Schoolhouse )

[Feel free to tag in with the explicit starters or something in-between: Jude wandering the trees away from the fountain, casing the house, peeking out windows, etc.]

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