002 ♙ open

[booklegging]

WHO: Jess Brightwell.
WHERE: The inn.
WHEN: Sept. 7th.
OPEN TO: Anyone!
WARNINGS: Doomsday prepping because rude, mother nature.
STATUS: Open.

---

Jess wasn't normally one to spend time idling around when he had a canyon to comb through, but the growing ferocity of the earthquakes had shifted his priorities in an abrupt. Getting caught in the forest during yesterday's quake and nearly pitching forward into some brambles on account of the buckling earth had made it abundantly clear these things were getting worse--and the next one could do actual damage.

To think he'd brushed off last week's as an overactive imagination. Hindsight was 20/20.

He really didn't care to find out how bad their living situation would get if the buildings caved in on their already meager stores, and to that end Jess was determinedly preparing the inn in case of the worst case scenario. Being a pessimist had its advantages.

Jess spent the better part of the morning lugging around water and filling up whatever would hold it, then moved on to the unoccupied rooms in the inn, going through each one and making it less of a potential deathtrap taking down mirrors and moving heavy or breakable objects off shelves. His own room had already gotten a makeover: he'd pushed his bed far from the window, moving the rest of the furniture out of the way so he wouldn't be likely to get crushed by a shelf in the middle of the night.

Better. Not great, but better.

Comments

[tooktheblack]

Jon normally did not spend much time within the walls of the inn but in his desire to help see what needed to be repaired after the ground shook earlier, he had gone indoors to see what, if anything, had been damaged. When he saw the young man fetching and carrying water, he was slightly puzzled as to why.

"Why would you need to store water? There is a river outside." Jon had not gotten any water this morning, of course, but what he'd gotten the evening before had been fine for bathing and drinking. Had something changed?

[booklegging]

Testing out the water proofing on an old, scavenged waterskin he'd tried his hand at repairing, Jess looked up at the speaker in the middle of pouring water into the bladder. "Hey." He recognized Jon. Time in town had given him a chance to acquaint himself with the other long-term prisoners; not only was Jon one of them, he had a number of admirable skills that were making him a strong contender among the survivors here, as Jess had gleaned over the weeks.

"That's what I'm worried about," he answered, setting the empty pitcher down. The bladder hadn't spilled its contents on his boots yet. So far, so good. "It's where the town's supply of water comes from. With these earthquakes, if something happens to it, we'll be well and truly hooped."

Jess could hear himself. He knew his grim cynicism made him sound like a doomsayer predicting the end to their little domestic experiment. Restless sleep didn't help with that.

Hard to believe that he'd once lain awake thinking about High Garda assassins and old men with no consciences. Now here he was, thinking about sewage leaks and soil liquefaction, wondering if in the next moment an earthquake was going to level the building. He couldn't die here, and yet every day he got up thinking today could be the day something finally happened. The enemy showed himself, or their luck ran out.

"I've never lived in a bad earthquake zone, but I know the damage they can do. Better safe than sorry."

[tooktheblack]

Earthquakes weren't something that Jon was familiar with from his time in Westeros and the name, certainly, wasn't something he was familiar with but upon hearing it, it made sense: the ground shook, the earth quaked. He tucked that back into his mind for further use and shrugged a bit. He hadn't known that the quaking of the ground could potentially affect the water but now that he did, he would be mindful.

"Wouldn't be a good thing, if we suddenly had no water. I don't know about this place. It seems unnatural, somehow, as if the earth's taken a deep breath and is about to plunge into madness. That's not what I normally think about things but this place sort of drives me to it."

[booklegging]

Jon didn't seem as concerned over the worst case scenarios as he did, but then he also knew he was worrying at them like scabs in the back of his mind he couldn't stop touching. Too many nights staring at the whorls in the wood of his ceiling contemplating all the things he wasn't doing back home, as well as here, were taking their toll.

But then Jon spoke again and Jess reconsidered. Maybe they were both holding their breath along with the earth, waiting for the shite to hit the fan.

"No, it wouldn't." The possibilities of horrible natural disasters were really quite endless. He sighed softly. "Everything's unnatural about this place. You had freak storms accompanied by a siren before I got here, then ruins appear where I didn't see any before, and now earthquakes? I have a hard time believing this is happenstance. It feels deliberate."

Somehow, some way, it feels like a sign. A big, cosmic poke in the eye.

"How's your place looking? You should think about stocking up if you haven't already."

[tooktheblack]

"I will look to preparing for a loss of water," Jon said, nodding once in agreement. It wasn't a terrible idea, all told, and he felt stupid for not considering it before now. He would simply have to hope that something happened later rather than sooner.

"I have been stockpiling food as well. Most of it I take to the inn but I have other supplies. I can't imagine not being prepared for the worst."

[lastofthekellys]

It's an attack to his ankles which announces Kate's presence. Not that she's always accompanied by her kitten, of course, and little Miss Hoppity is perfectly capable of running around the Inn by herself - all those ankles to attack, of course. But since the last earthquake, the kitten has been torn between clinging to Kate and hiding underneath furniture, so kitten being upstairs?

Probably a Kate is around somewhere, too.

And then she appears, tying her apron around her narrow waist before then putting a hand on her hip.

"So, Brightwell," she says, "you mentioned somethin' earlier about sortin' out the kitchen?"

She understands the principle behind his preparations, and has helped find tub upon bucket upon pot for water, but she knows the kitchen. Now the volunteers have cleared out for the day, the kitchen calls.

There's so many things around in that place.

[booklegging]

"Target practice again? You know, I'm going to need those back at some point." Said to the kitten forcing him to a halt in the middle of the hall with a blitz attack on his boots.

She'd be a cute thing if looking at her didn't make him think about where she'd come from. There's no doubt left in Jess' mind that the people running this town are the sort who deserve to bite on a bullet. Putting defenseless animals in here with them? That's a different kind of cold, one he finds makes him feel both sad and resentful on their behalf. Bending down, Jess gently untangles her claws from his laces and hefts her up--not without getting a scratch from her hind leg.

Nice to know the new mouser in the neighborhood isn't afraid to draw blood.

"What do you say, cat? Shall we get the kitchen in order?" To Kate, he adds, "Yeah, let's get on that. Your cat might be eating better than us soon if we lose the food you've been storing to the next big quake."

Maybe he shouldn't say that too loud. He might jinx them all.

[lastofthekellys]

Where Miss Hoppity comes from is never really far from Kate's mind. A gift. In a box with her name on it - her full name, Catherine Ada Kelly - like the salt and the chalk. She's certainly still fond of the box, is Miss Hoppity. But she's a baby. A baby cat, who craves company and cries when Kate leaves her alone. No matter the fierceness in her learning attacks, she's a tiny little thing without even the sense of an adult.

Almost for that alone, Kate's inclined to keep her. Make sure she lives.

"I've been thinkin', if we get the stores really goin', of almost... sharin' 'em out, you know? Just in case. But the Inn's... The Inn."

It's increasingly one of the hearts of the village, if not the heart. And Kate knows that her decision to start feeding everyone puts responsibility on the Inn to keep on doing that.

"Could an earthquake, um, move the kitchen range?" she asks, as they make their way downstairs.

[booklegging]

Jess holds the cat in his hands, letting her paws poke out between the cage of his fingers. He hasn't readily admitted it, but he doesn't mind her presence, in all her mewling and clickety-clacking along the wooden floorboards with her claws in the middle of the night glory. If they have to be stuck together, they could do worse than a sweet-tempered cat for a companion. Ironically, this is the closest he's come to living in a house with a pet... If "house" you mean a rickety inn that's in danger of an earthquake.

"That's a good idea, spreading out what we have," he says, stepping back to let Kate down the stairs ahead of him. "The inn's important to us as a gathering place, and they must know that, too. The best way to hurt us would be to target the hub, but it's harder to cripple someone when their eggs are in more than one basket."

It's true about that old saying, the best offense is a good defense; limiting the chance of harm done to their assets is a smart play, no matter how you look at it.

On the ground floor, Jess lets the cat go free with one last pet and turns toward the kitchen. "I sure hope it doesn't come to that, we could use the stove. But it's tethered to the wall. It's probably one of the safer things in there."

[thekittenqueen]

She had managed to spy him when he was lugging the water, occupied with a similar purpose. The shaking had only increased, raising Margaery's paranoia and fear. Every time the ground trembled, it took her back to her final moments and hysteria threatened to consume her.

Following the example of the others, she went about her chores and tried to prepare for the next one. Much like Jess, she wanted to at least be ready and safe.

She nodded at him as they passed each other. "Do you need any help?"

[booklegging]

Here was another of the residents he'd guessed early on came from a different background--and probably a different social level--from him. Soft hands gave her away. Jess had to feel sorry for the people unused to living hand to mouth. He was new to it for the most part, and even with his experience in street survival, getting by like this was putting all his skills to the test.

"I've got it, thanks. Barely breaking a sweat."

Jess nodded back to her in greeting, a tin container heavy with water in his arms. His hands weren't soft--evidence of a lifetime of doing heavy lifting just like this. And other kinds of work it wasn't acceptable to talk about in polite company.

The container found a new home in one of the pub's low cupboards. His logic was simple--if they spread supplies out, they wouldn't be crying later if an earthquake demolished their main storehouse.

Retracing his steps, Jess brushed his hands off, and asked, "What brings you by? Same idea?"

[thekittenqueen]

Her soft hands were her shame in this world. In her other life, ladies were admired for their hand's softness and beauty. It was remarked that there nothing so beautiful as a woman at her embroidery, her fine fingers wielding a needle deftly. In this place, however, it was her bane and liability. She struggled often with the harder labor, not as strong as the others or used to this sort of work.

She tried, however, and attempted to put a good face on it all. At least she was contributing. While there was no judgement in his eyes, she shifted the pail in her hands, trying to shield her hands from sight.

"Something similar. I need to replenish the water for my livestock. And you? You are not overtaxing yourself?"

[booklegging]

"Are they still doing okay? They've got big jobs to do, helping us stay afloat." Jess would probably be worse at farming than he was at just trying to keep the people here fed and watered, let alone livestock. He was glad others were taking care of the animals so that he didn't have to.

All things considered, fortifying the inn and helping protect their livelihood by playing an oversized shell game of moving furniture and supplies around seemed easier than chasing around goats. Furniture didn't bite.

He stopped where he was for a minute, letting his hands rest on his hips. "I've had worse," he admitted to her truthfully, looking unbothered. Taxing himself was probably just as close to the truth, though he wasn't one to say it.

Why make other people do a job he could do himself? That was how he'd been taught, and the lesson had stuck to a degree. Throwing his all into the fray was how he contributed.

"I'd rather over-prepare and not use it than need it in an emergency. I just wish there was more to do besides sit and twiddle our thumbs waiting for the next potential earthquake to hit. The waiting is the worst part."

[thecatinahat]

In the time between hunting, tending to the chickens, and keeping his household safe, Cougar finds himself with hours to spare. If he lets his mind go idle, it turns to thoughts of burning helicopters and planes, or bullets in people who don't deserve them. It's why Cougar either tries to stay busy or tries to stay in the zone he knows he can slip into, when the world falls away.

Today, that zone is far from him, so it's better now to keep his hands busy. He finds a commotion at the inn and clears his throat to get the boy's attention before gesturing to all of his movements. "Need help?"

[booklegging]

The commotion is in the form of one Jess Brightwell, moving from task to task like a wind-up toy set loose on the inn, jaw a taut line. He has his own reasons for avoiding idleness--idle hands are the Devil's workshop, as they say.

He needs to prepare now, not get lost thinking about what's coming.

Jess has his sights set on a bookshelf that, if knocked over, would fall directly in front of the hallway. The effort to draw his eye and the heavy Spanish accent that follows stop Jess on his way over to it, and he turns to give the man a nod. This Spaniard isn't much of a talker, unlike another Spaniard Jess knows well, and that suits him just fine. He doesn't miss Dario. That's what he tells himself each time he catches himself thinking Dario's bluster would be a welcome distraction.

"Nothing I can't handle," he assures, taking up position on one side of the bookshelf. Does he need help? No. But if Cougar feels like tag-teaming a bookshelf, it's a free country. Relatively speaking.

[thecatinahat]

Cougar raises his brow at the stubborn determination that he can do it on its own, though the bookshelf definitely looks quite awkward. He still wanders inside and cracks his neck before taking up a position on the other side of the bookcase, eyeing the boy with amusement. He remembers being that young and stubborn and proud.

Who is he kidding? He's still young and stubborn and stupid and proud. It just shows less because he tends to keep his mouth shut. "Why this piece?" he asks, because in his mind, the bookcase is a strategic piece that can be a defense against an enemy attacker. It's not like they've had attackers, of course, but a soldier's mind doesn't tend to shut down so easily.

[booklegging]

Although not nearly so broad and hugely muscled as some of the other men present, Jess doesn't for a minute see that as a weakness; he knows what he's capable of and he moves with confidence, pushing the shelf aside with a heavy grating sound of wood on wood.

Cougar probably understands what it's like, having a slimmer frame. When people assume that means a weaker target, they tend to pay for it.

"Because," Jess says, forcing the shelf a few feet over, then stopping to assess, then pushing it a little further until it's in a position of his liking. "This hall runs from the back of the inn to the front. Makes for an easy exit. If one of us breaks a leg, I don't want them having to climb over a heap of wood to get out."

There. Should the bookshelf topple over this way, it'll fall out of the way and not impede foot traffic. It would be better if he didn't have to worry about it falling at all--later he'll have to look at some way of anchoring it down.

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn had borrowed an axe very early in the day. Like many others the shakes had shook him a little, making any sense of idleness wash away. He had work to do, winter was coming and it wouldn't wait for him to stop feeling tired. So, his day had been spent in the woods, when he returned in the evening to return the axe he made his way to the store room.

It was while making his way there that he noticed Jess about his tasks. He stopped, the axe over his shoulder as he watched the younger male a few moments before speaking up. "Is all not well?" he asked trying to be better about using English. "You okay?" That sounded better he figured.

[booklegging]

Evening, and no further tremors. Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing that simply hadn't happened yet?

Not for the first time, Jess' hands craved a Codex badly enough to make his fingers curl into loose fists. With information, he could do more than simply batten down the hatches and hope for the best, but here, devoid of those basic conveniences, he just had guesswork to rely on. He didn't like feeling this way--blind, hands tied behind his back, holding his breath for the next thing to go sideways.

Proactiveness was better than simply going about day-to-day chores and waiting. Jess had moved onto seeing if he could reinforce some of the heavier pieces of furniture--maybe think up a way of protecting the water tank with the materials they had on hand--by the time Thorfinn finished his day.

Hand resting against an old armoire, Jess was in the middle of scrutinizing a light fixture as the other man passed by the room he was in. "Huh? Oh, hey, Thorfinn." Jess shot him a wan smile. Whenever Thorfinn was around, he made an effort to speak more clearly, knowing the man was listening, working to emulate the words the rest of them bandied around effortlessly. He didn't know if it was an obnoxious gesture or not, but one day Thorfinn might be able to tell him in his own words.

"Today, yes. Tonight, tomorrow..." He shrugged. "Things change. I'm preparing in case they do."

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn was hoping Fenrir had just calmed down. Whatever had upset the great wolf had been handled. Though, the pessimist he truly was, expecting worse things to come. He mostly liked this place even when it gave him a chill at times and was to damn hot. He still liked it, and that felt wrong all of it's own.

"Good evening, Jess." He spoke in return with a nod. His English was improving daily. Thorfinn appreciated the slower speech, even if at times it was grating on his nerves he still smiled and pretended it didn't. He had to learn and it was the best way to learn by listening to everyone and picking it up. The faster they spoke the easier he got confused, so even when it bothered him he was thankful for it.

"Tomorrow is not promised." Thorfinn replied, moving to lean in the doorway. "Need a hand?"

[booklegging]

"That's the truth." It could be taken as a positive--that a new day did not bring a guarantee of disaster--but the way Jess said it, that guarantee was implicit. He knew better. They both did. The potential for danger was everywhere and things could, and would, go wrong. It was only a matter of time in that regard.

Control what you can, be ready for what you can't, as his father would say.

Would Callum have expected him to survive this long? Jess honestly didn't know the answer to that. All he knew was that he didn't care for the idea of having it all end on account of an earthquake. That felt... anticlimactic, in a twisted sort of way. He'd expected to go out knowing the hand holding the purse strings of his would-be assassin belonged, without a doubt, to the Library. If he died now, he'd never know for sure.

Dropping his hand, he moved to the door to meet Thorfinn. "Don't worry it. We can handle the inn. There's enough people here now to get the job done fast." Ignoring the fact that Jess was handling the bulk of it himself. Thorfinn was walking off a hard day's labor, and there was no point having him stay at the inn when he had his own work to do at his bungalow. Jess wouldn't ask any of them to turn their attention off their own preparations.

"How was it out there?" He gestured, indicating the axe.

[specialise]

The earth shaking beneath her feet wasn't anything new. For a girl born in a space ship floating in space, the Ark had shifted a little beneath her feet. It wasn't until she was older she learned it'd been constructed to bear a good portion of the thwacks the arms of space would slam against its sides. Her one hundred year old pod didn't have the same bubble wrap as her home had.

She tried not to think too much of it. Unfamiliar with how she should prepare for the oncoming onslaught of the earth shaking beneath her feet, she was in another room inside of the inn, pilfering through it for the sake of seeing if she hadn't found something hidden in a dark corner. Her own workspace had become littered with knickknacks she'd stolen from the other houses at the far ends of the town, and she'd been slipping into her pockets bits and pieces she'd found inside of the rooms of the inn.

With her back to the door, she didn't peer over her shoulder to see who was coming inside. She'd come to know the footsteps of some of the people in the inn, and the ones that tried to sound as quiet as a mouse but were as loud as a crack in a twig belonged to Jess Brightwell. Opening a drawer, she let herself squat, and dug her hands inside of the wooden box in hopes of finding anything she could use to help herself repair an old typewriter.

"Long legs, make yourself useful and check above the doorframe for anything loose."

[booklegging]

"You talking to me?"

Jess had no doubt she was. No one here had quite the extensive variety of one-off nicknames for him than Raven. It was a far cry from his days of being called 'English' and 'scrubber'.

Stopping on the threshold, he pushed the half-open door wider to see what she was up to. Back to the door, Raven was rifling through the room, which wasn't an uncommon sight here. Everyone was picking apart the canyon from the bottom up looking for resources to keep their little ragtag group afloat.

"Yes, sir." Maybe Raven should be in the Garda. She'd make a great drill sergeant. "Anything in particular I'm supposed to be looking for?"

[specialise]

Yes, sir. She smiled at that.

"Something loose," she said. "Either I left a sharp thing up on that doorframe or I'm hoping that someone else left something I need up there." The inn might have been smaller than the Ark in size, but Raven found every room almost the same. Boring, odd, smelling of dust — she walked around almost in the dark these days, and never quite paid attention to where she was going.

Sinclair would tell her losing her little instrument she'd found in another room was karma for her carelessness.

She slammed the drawer and opened another, making a surprised noise when she found the pieces of an old mantel clock inside.

[booklegging]

He aimed a nonplussed look at Raven's back. Somehow he wasn't surprised that she asking him to risk his hand where he could potentially cut his fingers on a sharp instrument instead of her own. "Well, that's vague. What are you doing leaving sharp 'things' above the doors? Booby-trapping the place?"

There were far better hiding spots for stashing gear than above a door, he thought, given it was a day after an earthquake and anything up there already had probably fallen through the floor. He could easily name ten of them off the top of his head.

Her muffled sound of surprise drew Jess into the room, curious about what she was up to despite himself. "What is it?"