Thorfinn Thorsson }{ Karlsefni (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seekingvinland) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-08-26 08:29 pm
seekingvinland) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-08-26 08:29 pm
The Destruction of Bungalow #44.
WHO: Thorfinn/Jo, then OTA.
WHERE: House 44; The Waverly.
WHEN: Predated to the 29th Storm Surge Event with Mod Permission.
OPEN TO: Jo, Kol + Threads open to those that want to help Thorfinn and Jo at their house.
WARNINGS: A lot of cursing. Will update otherwise.
STATUS: OPEN!
Days had passed since the meeting in the inn. The meeting Thorfinn stormed out of because of a headache. He had never been a social butterfly, but the language barrier was making things harder for him to want to be more social. He was both lonely and pushing the world away. The way he did in his teens to keep the horde away from him. The issue was, he was understanding a lot better than most would a man with as little known English as he had two months ago. He just had major issues with so many talking against one another so fast. It had left him annoyed and feeling isolated. Old feelings from long ago.
Since that day he had been spending most of his time in his routine. Hunt for dinner, look for herbs and collect mushrooms and timber. He keeps busy to not focus on his issues. The nightmares getting more vivid everyday. This had happened before, it was nothing new. When he started to feel the weight of life, sometimes his dead would appear in his vision in his waking hours. Reminders that he deserves whatever pain he was in. His pain would never equal to the pain he had brought upon others.
These were the thoughts littering his mind as he made his way down early afternoon. He no longer really knew how long he had been in the village. Time never really held meaning to one who didn't care about time beyond the holidays, and the approaching cold.
He made his way through the fountain park the way he usually does, cutting past the inn. A nod given to those he passed now and then. He tried to be friendly even when he didn't feel it. He had not slept well, he never sleeps well but the night before had been pretty bad. Bad enough that he felt bad for Jo having to deal with him some nights. He was tired and pondering laying down on the bench, that Jo called a couch, and trying to sleep a little even though he rarely considered sleep in the day, it was shameful to be a layabout. It was while pondering this that he started into the yard, at first not noticing a sloshing feel under his feet like it had rained. AS he neared the door only then did he notice the stream of water rolling from under the door.
"ó fjandinn!"
His eyes widened as he hurried to the door the timber abandoned to the front yard as he pushed the door open and more water rolled out soaking the boots he had on. "ríða, ríða, ríða!"
Their house, by the gods, there was water everywhere. All he could think of was how the lady next door had asked him if flooding had happened in their home. Water belongs in the river and now their home was a river.
He left the door hanging open and turned running as fast as his legs would take him, it had been a long while since he really utilized his speed. His brawl with Snake had been his last true burst of speed. Now he was running down the streets of this strange new land for the inn. Jo was usually there, if not Jo, maybe Kate would know. He came through the door fast sliding to a stop. "Jo!" he called out, the shock and concern all over his house. "House! The house is a river!" He forgot the word that their kind neighbor Peggy had used. He did not recall flood in English.
Closed to Kol
Awhile later Thorfinn was hauling things out of the saturated house. Mostly their personal effects. His carvings and soaked clothes. He was grumbling under his breath in Norse the whole while. The anger and stress showed in his shoulders and grit teeth. He wasn't even trying to hide his displeasure at the situation.
He couldn't help but think of their neighbor and her wet rugs. That would have been much better than their home turning into a river while they were both out to stop it from happening. Not that he understood it much anyway. Still every now and then he would stop and look at Jo. Jo understood more of what this meant than he did. Just was the one who kept him from slipping over to the darker side that hide in the shadows. A side of himself he though was buried, but clearly wasn't. Standing in the middle of their soaked yard he shook his head after a second.
"We will be good." He muttered walking past her to go back inside to gather more things to bring out to the streets. He didn't know what the plan was after that.
WHERE: House 44; The Waverly.
WHEN: Predated to the 29th Storm Surge Event with Mod Permission.
OPEN TO: Jo, Kol + Threads open to those that want to help Thorfinn and Jo at their house.
WARNINGS: A lot of cursing. Will update otherwise.
STATUS: OPEN!
Days had passed since the meeting in the inn. The meeting Thorfinn stormed out of because of a headache. He had never been a social butterfly, but the language barrier was making things harder for him to want to be more social. He was both lonely and pushing the world away. The way he did in his teens to keep the horde away from him. The issue was, he was understanding a lot better than most would a man with as little known English as he had two months ago. He just had major issues with so many talking against one another so fast. It had left him annoyed and feeling isolated. Old feelings from long ago.
Since that day he had been spending most of his time in his routine. Hunt for dinner, look for herbs and collect mushrooms and timber. He keeps busy to not focus on his issues. The nightmares getting more vivid everyday. This had happened before, it was nothing new. When he started to feel the weight of life, sometimes his dead would appear in his vision in his waking hours. Reminders that he deserves whatever pain he was in. His pain would never equal to the pain he had brought upon others.
These were the thoughts littering his mind as he made his way down early afternoon. He no longer really knew how long he had been in the village. Time never really held meaning to one who didn't care about time beyond the holidays, and the approaching cold.
He made his way through the fountain park the way he usually does, cutting past the inn. A nod given to those he passed now and then. He tried to be friendly even when he didn't feel it. He had not slept well, he never sleeps well but the night before had been pretty bad. Bad enough that he felt bad for Jo having to deal with him some nights. He was tired and pondering laying down on the bench, that Jo called a couch, and trying to sleep a little even though he rarely considered sleep in the day, it was shameful to be a layabout. It was while pondering this that he started into the yard, at first not noticing a sloshing feel under his feet like it had rained. AS he neared the door only then did he notice the stream of water rolling from under the door.
"ó fjandinn!"
His eyes widened as he hurried to the door the timber abandoned to the front yard as he pushed the door open and more water rolled out soaking the boots he had on. "ríða, ríða, ríða!"
Their house, by the gods, there was water everywhere. All he could think of was how the lady next door had asked him if flooding had happened in their home. Water belongs in the river and now their home was a river.
He left the door hanging open and turned running as fast as his legs would take him, it had been a long while since he really utilized his speed. His brawl with Snake had been his last true burst of speed. Now he was running down the streets of this strange new land for the inn. Jo was usually there, if not Jo, maybe Kate would know. He came through the door fast sliding to a stop. "Jo!" he called out, the shock and concern all over his house. "House! The house is a river!" He forgot the word that their kind neighbor Peggy had used. He did not recall flood in English.
Closed to Kol
Awhile later Thorfinn was hauling things out of the saturated house. Mostly their personal effects. His carvings and soaked clothes. He was grumbling under his breath in Norse the whole while. The anger and stress showed in his shoulders and grit teeth. He wasn't even trying to hide his displeasure at the situation.
He couldn't help but think of their neighbor and her wet rugs. That would have been much better than their home turning into a river while they were both out to stop it from happening. Not that he understood it much anyway. Still every now and then he would stop and look at Jo. Jo understood more of what this meant than he did. Just was the one who kept him from slipping over to the darker side that hide in the shadows. A side of himself he though was buried, but clearly wasn't. Standing in the middle of their soaked yard he shook his head after a second.
"We will be good." He muttered walking past her to go back inside to gather more things to bring out to the streets. He didn't know what the plan was after that.
First Thread Locked to Jo-Thorfinn, All Others Once They Are Back
Jo looked up the moment the door blew open hard, and her heart skipped in her chest, every nerve screaming, now, now, now and they're not ready. It had her up on her feet, hand on the knife at her spine, and into the hallway, toward the empty foyer and vacant desk area. Danger never waited. Monsters never wanted you ready.
Somehow it still feels like a blow, surprise colliding with confusion, in a slippery roller coaster covered in oil slide in her chest and stomach, ricochetting everywhere, into her ribs and spine, when it's Thorfinn. His face a riot of panic she's never seen here and his voice loud, in a way he's never willing to talk, even in play. Even with her. Not yet. Not with where he is with speaking.
Which is just as loud, given his words made no sense, when she can only sputter. "What? What about the house?"
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Forgive his insolence, I'll beat some manners into the boy.
It had been a joke when Askeladd said it, it had been serious when the slavers got their hands on Karlsefni, when the farm hands found his silence and lack of energy just to much. Now he's more quiet than ever before. It was just the way he had trained himself to people who were not Einar or Jo. They were equal on his scales of life.
Here he was looking at her, panic in those wide eyes, his shoes had dried on the run but he knew the house would not be. As she came into sight He moved his hands quickly unsure how to say it. "Water, much water, house bad!" He tried oh how he tried but in a panic they were lucky he got that far. "Ríða!"
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She might not forget that foreign word, or the absolute demand and panic slamming her through, for a very long time. He chooses other words, piecemeals ones together she will get, and she wants to punch someone for the constant inability to speak, but she can't. She already busy, saying, "Go! Go, go, go!"
There's a wave of her hands and she's coming hard toward him. Dread and confusion sliding into the place of the ride going on through her insides. Heart slamming up into the top of her throat and into her mouth, when she follows him. She's glad it's not too far. But it's still not helpfully anywhere right by the Inn. There are wet footprints on the path there, and she has to look to the other house. Has to know how much of what they are talking about.
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But the point, the point was the house.
Rushing as fast as his legs would take him he knew Jo wasn't far behind. He came to a sliding stop at the edge of the road outside where their saturated yard was spilling into the street now, the door still open as he had left it.
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The other houses are fine. Absolutely, unchanged. They look like they've always looked, walking past them in the dark of morning, in the middle of days, in the evening. Coming from the Inn, or scouting trips, or putting a few hours into the gardens whenever and wherever Mark needs a hand.
The same cannot be said about their house. Which hits harder in comparison.
There's water everywhere as soon as she can even see their house. The ground is soaked dark shades of itself, and soggy to step on. There's water rolling off the stairs up to their porch with a mad force, splashing on all the stairs and all the water on all those stairs. It's like he said, impossibly, but so far into possible when it's assaulting her eyes. Their house is a river. Or somehow. It has one suddenly gushing out of it.
Jo isn't good at slow, or shock. Her heart is rammed somewhere above her head, and breathing has gone out the window, even though she's saying fuck, fuck, fuck with every step. She's all movement still. Feet squishing in the soaked ground. Mud flying around her, and feet slipping as she's trying to get up those stairs, water soaking her scrubs and getting cold wetness into her socks, her boots, in seconds.
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His bag he had left on the porch had already washed down into the yard. It was a good thing it was water proof but still, the fact it had floated down so far already made him sigh moving, more splashing through the yard to snatch it up and he turned throwing it into the street a little harder than intended. Better to get it out of the water when his catch for their dinner was in there.
"Careful Jo!" He called after her, sloshing up after her now. He had not gotten far inside himself, he hadn't tried. Now with the door open and her going in he followed stomping through the water.
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It's everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Chills are going up her skin as the water soaks up her clothes, gets kicked up and keeps roaring out their door like someone had turned on a hose. When everything is how and an attempt to keep her thoughts while, also, keeping her balance. The flat porch is easier and harder. The door opening is just another kick in the stomach. It's everywhere. The wetness feels like it's filled the air, and it's rolled, pooled, at least an inch deep everywhere she can see.
Worse. So much worse it's gushing down the stairs. That's where it's coming from above them. "It's coming from up there."
Her voice is too high and the stairs are a river of their own. Tumbling, little rapid, waterfalls from step to step. When she left this morning it was just a house. Just a place where she laid down her head and stored her crap, and somewhere, somewhere, that was a lie. Because she feels slammed through with a fist, or a blade of some kind. Punched in and ripped out, blood still dripping. Lungs punctured.
Not giving in or up, when she's headed for the other stairs. The only things she even owns are in a bag in the bedroom up there.
They took everything else. Her Dad's knife. River's bracelet. Jack's hat. Jo hates the fear they've taken everything she gathered, too.
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Locked | Kol, Jo, Thorfinn | Italics = Norse
Once he gets closer, away from the treeline and nearer the village, he realizes the problem is at Jo and Thorfinn's house and he cants his head slightly as he heads toward the pair of them. "Go away for a few hours and I missed the party." he says, voice light, more in an attempt at breaking ice and easing moods than mockery, "What happened?"
Re: Locked | Kol, Jo, Thorfinn | Italics = Norse
Jo is a mess. Absolutely, and utterly, at this point. Her hair is coils of dripping hair, and clothes wet, sticking, mud in so many places, from falling, from bailing, for coming in and out, with what little could be salvaged, on breaking and, then, broken stairs and floors, where holes happened due to weight press on hours of water being soaked into the wood, more than she ever wants to have happen again.
She's bruised and scraped up in places, when she's not even used to getting scraped up and not immediately healing anymore, and the last thing she wants is to see certain person straggling in at the last hour, and getting their faces in the way when they gave not a fucking damn while everyone was doing their best to save what turned out to be a heap of trash and not a house.
Her voice drips derision and anger, given a new place to point. "Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence."
Italics = Norse
Thorfinn heard the norse and as he moved dropping the jars of herbs down on the pile of stuff, one breaks since he is still not used to glass. He glares down at it like it just insulted his dead father. "Fucking water has ruined Jo's hall. Everything is ruined."
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He winces at the glass shattering and he hopes it was only one. "How much did you salvage? Just this?" He glances around at the things scattered about. Not much.
"What's your plan?" he asks, looking to Jo again.
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The language they start speaking is grating on her, because everything is grating on her, because she wants to punch a fucking wall and not have the thing crumble like dissolving putter around her knuckles without even giving her the proper burn. Which is a lie. She wants to punch someone in the jaw, to hear that soft crack, feeling the impact and recoil jam through all of her bones the right way. Not the way where she went crashing into and through things.
Specifically, she wanted to punch the bastards in the face who put her here, in this house, with all their damn fuckery around it. Them.
She's not going to snap at Thorfinn though. Not even if it's boiling in her blood to snap at every-damn-thing. He deserves to be able to talk, even if she has no god damn clue what either of them are saying. Which she knows is how 99% of every day is for Thorfinn, which makes her a fucking hypocrite. Makes her bite her own tongue and press her teeth hard, until Kol looks at her again.
"To nuke this place," Jo snaps, because Kol is not under the same rules in the slightest. Even as she looked off, annoyed at her own anger. She frowned, sharp and hard, jaw clenched, and marshalled something like an ability to speak without sounding exactly like she wanted to light everything she could see on fire. "There's nothing left in there now."
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He kneeled down to start picking out the glass. To try and save the herbs. It was the sleeping herb he had worked so hard to find. It was getting wet from everything else being wet and he just sighed and looked defeated. His wet loose hair clinging to his skin and face.
"This is all of it. We had some help from the other villagers, but this is all that could be saved. The house cant be saved. I dont think so anyway." He spoke before looking to Jo, almost apologetic. He felt like he let them both down. Mostly, like he let her down.
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He glances down to where Thorfinn is collecting the spilled herbs, sorting through bits of glass. "No, damage looks pretty thorough." He purses his lips as he considers something for a moment. "Have you gotten far enough along to figure out where you're going yet?"
They had to have a roof over their heads. There were probably plenty of places, but... they'd need to rebuild any stock of anything they'd and that would take time that probably none of them had. He's not sure when in the year they are right now, but they'd all already been talking about the coming winter and that'd be a concern soon enough. "Got somewhere else to stay yet?" He doesn't mind having the same conversation twice, at least.
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Jo and Thorfinn
This is Kate's helpful contribution as she makes her quick, limping way into the flooded house. She'd been at the Inn, of course - she's so often there, living sleeping eating bossing other people to make sure everyone eats - and had heard his shout. His panic. Then Miss Jo's shouted Go!
She can't run. Not yet. Not on her ankle. But she can pause, she can bandage it more thoroughly and pull on the thicker sock to protect it, and she can walk over to try and lend a hand.
As she walks in, careful through the water, she tucks her blue skirt up into its waistband to try and protect it. The petticoat underneath - shorter, white - can just deal with itself.
"What do you need me to grab?"
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"River through house." He tried to explain in his broken English. "Something broken." He doesn't even pretend to understand the plumbing.
"Jo!" He called up. "Ready!" His idea was simple in context, he turned back to look at Kate. "Things come down onto here. Anything." The last word was more for her to grab whatever she wanted to help with. He moved back to start back up the saturated steps. "Careful, bad leg." He pointed to her, still worried about her injury.
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Jo was still upstairs, trying to push everything into her bag that she could still find.
Anything that had touched the floor was soaked, when it wasn't both soaked and already in the hallway, or down the stairs and into another room already. How many hours? How long had this been happening? It'd been dry and silent when she went to the Inn in the earlier hours of morning. She hadn't even looked back. Everything she could find on the bed, on the sink, on tabletops dry and soaked alike was shoved into her bag.
She shoved harder and faster at the shout of her name and though she wanted to run out, her shoulder was already aching from her earlier stupidity of going too fast. And this was even more precarious. The floor was too soft in so many places. Sending her stumbling, and half jump, half dancing from the spots it seemed to turn toward putty under her feet. The last things she wanted to do was go tumbling straight through the floor and the ceiling.
Especially when she could barely heal at all now.
Even if it was better her than Thorfinn. The same height, but smaller. Lighter.
Jo made it to the railing, and shouted, "Incoming!" Before heaving the bag toward Thorfinn, who'd been joined by Kate.
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She doesn't know flooding like this, but she knows rotten wood. Damp wood. Creeks flood, makeshift bridges snap, and she glances up at the ceiling.
Water, she knows from years of hauling it, is heavy. Water-logged furniture, linens, all of that is far, far heavier still. She's the lightest of the three of them - smaller even than Jo, with a body still softer than the farmhand's stringy-toughness she'd once had, but if Miss Jo's already upstairs, already gathering things and throwing them down, then Kate doesn't want to add to the damage.
As Thorfinn's just pointed out, she's got a bad limb. She's not as nimble as she is normally.
"- I'll start in the kitchen," Kate says. Bursts out, really, and turns to march in that direction. "Get your supplies out!"
Whatever they may have, because both can hunt and gather.
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When Jo tossed the bag he shifted to catch it. "Got it!" He called back turning to carry it out. He didn't answer Kate since he wasn't sure what to reply with but he was carrying all he could grab along the way so he could pile it in the street away from the water.
The kitchen had quite a bit, Thorfinn and Jo both gather and work on their projects. Some of the soap sitting on the back porch was already ruined. Left to dry through the day, ruined by a flood.
Helping out
It's been one hell of a long elaborate game.
She's taking a nap in the heat of noon, trying to save her energy for later, when there's shouting somewhere else in the village. It's not angry shouting, but the kind that denotes panic, and Nerys is on her feet before she knows it, and out the door in a few seconds more. It doesn't take long for her to pinpoint where it's all coming from, particularly when she discovers she's starting to walk through a thick slide of mud and silty water.
As ever, Nerys thinks to herself, she's rushed into something without checking it out first--but when she sees the two figures rushing into and out of the flooded house, she pushes forward. "Hey," she shouts. "Hey, let me give you a hand with that."
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What was in his hands was a couple of the pans and he nodded to the woman and handed them over. "Much left, many thanks." He spoke in his broken English. He was trying very hard not to let his emotions take over, the Adrenalin pumping was hard enough to ignore, so help, help was always important. "Careful on stairs. Stairs breaking."
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The water's up to her knees, and she wishes like hell that she'd thought to roll up her scrubs before just barging in, but thus ever has been Kira Nerys. Turning, she pauses, and looks over her shoulder, needing to add something. "You be careful too," she calls, and then staggers out onto the path with the pans, taking them up to drier, higher ground.
The flood seems to have almost come out of nowhere, and that will worry Nerys later, she knows, but right now she has a task. Wringing out the legs of her scrubs, she rolls them back up past her knees, wincing at the clamminess of the fabric, before heading back into the house. They're fortunate it's daylight, for it's dark enough inside as it is, hard to tell what to take and what not to.
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He to was thankful for the daylight, night would have made it harder, more dangerous. Something he didn't want to risk Jo with, or anyone trying to help. As she was coming back in Thorfinn moved out the door with a bunch of stuff piled in one of the larger pans. An awkward smile offered to her. Moments like these he wished his english was better.
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Not that she's confident the Prophets are paying much attention to this place, or that they even know where it is, but better to hedge her bets.
"The structure," she starts, then isn't sure if he'll know what she means, and simplifies. "The house, I'm worried it might not stay up much longer."
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He's making his way back in as she spoke, having seen the new surge make it's way out he looks worried but not anything in the field of fear more just worried about the woman working upstairs.
"House not last, this why we take all out." He explained, he had the same feeling the house wouldn't make it. He moved back inside to go rip down the curtains, the metal of the rods could be used and he knew what he could have the curtains used for as long as Jo approved. "Be safe, nothing here worth danger." He spoke as he ripped the rod off the wall. He and Jo had gotten the most important stuff out fast.
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