Darcy Lewis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sorryitasedyou) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-09-20 02:44 pm
sorryitasedyou) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-09-20 02:44 pm
Entry tags:
( open ) Mary was an acrobat, but still she couldn't seem to breathe...
WHO: Darcy Lewis
WHERE: All Over
WHEN: 9/21-9/22
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, death, injury
Arrival:
Darkness...
And pain? Was it? Everything burned white hot, radiating from multiple points in her body. It made it difficult to discern and origin point. They'd drugged her, that much she knew. Drugged her before dragging her into the van. Had they done that to Thor? No, no... He was too big and too strong. Stronger than her. He'd at least put up a fight from what she'd seen of the surveillance video, probably more than her. If she made it out of this alive, she was sure FDR and Loki would have a comment or two on how she'd handled being overwhelmed by force. She hadn't had time to grab for Amalric's knife in her boot or the taser York had given her in her bag. She hadn't had time and damnit she knew this had to be coming! She'd made the announcement and had basically signed her own death warrant considering some of the info she'd leaked. She'd severed her ties, ended whatever was left of her relationship with FDR for good and said her goodbyes.
But, almost as quickly as it had all come-- it was gone. She felt like she was floating and, oh shit. She actually was. Hands flail, riding the push as she broke the surface of the water. Pulling at the lip of the fountain, she settles on the edge - scanning around her. Alright, this was new. Nothing like the dome, inside or out. She pats down her body, hands hesitating when she reaches the back of her neck.
The ports... The ports are gone.
Her breathing increases, terrified that this is just a manifestation of the insanity that accompanied messing with them. Was this the punishment they'd inflicted on her? Rip out her ports and send her to some weird world alone and in scrubs? These weren't even the usual scrubs they had in the hospital. Fingers roam again, unable to hear much other than the pounding of the blood in her ears. "No, no... no." She's on her knees before she can take a breath, she rips items out of the backpack with the fervor of a panicked woman.
It's not there.
There's no hesitation when she moves to dive back into the fountain, needing to try and either reach the bottom or get back or-- something. Anything. That knife was the last piece of Amalric she had and it was gone. She could tolerate just about anything, deal with it... But for some reason, that was her breaking point.
Exploration:
After her rousing swim, she'd accepted the fact that anything she might've had on her when she'd been taken wasn't here anymore. So, she makes her way into town, red scrubs catching the sun as they start to dry. There was something seemingly unnatural when it came to the idea of settling down somewhere and starting a new life, still not sure she wasn't dead. Only thing she could do right now was keep moving forward.
Darcy grabbed a bowl of food from the Inn, choosing not to eat inside. No, she'd been inside so much - it was time to catch up with legit nature. Not that artificial crap they'd maintained in the dome. Real grass with real food and real sky... And no Dysthrophes. After promising to bring the bowl back, she settles in grass, marveling at how it moved beneath her hands and the heat of the sky.
Whether or not any of this was real, god, she'd missed this.
She savors each bite, probably looking like a woman who hadn't eaten in a year. Not entirely wrong. While Whiskey's food had been the bomb, nothing compared to the real deal.If she was dead, this was a pretty good afterlife.
Seventh Iteration, a wrong turn, and a whole lotta alcohol:
She'd seriously thought about settling at the Inn for a night or two, but of course, that wasn't gonna happen. She could just hear Loki in her head, too many people - too easy of a target. She'd get a room and sleep. Okay, maybe not sleep - she'd pass out. And if she passed out surrounded by people she didn't know, she'd be defenseless. Prey amongst her fellow sheep--
And wow.
Crazy how specific points in someone's life can change so much. Just moments, breaths - decisions. So, instead she opts for the road less traveled, heading into the mirrored town that seems a whole lot emptier. She wanders for a bit, testing boundaries to see if it's the same as the other version of itself. Darcy lets herself into the butcher shop in seventh iteration, wrapping a few knives in the clothes in her backpack, shredding the rest of the tank top she'd torn earlier to wrap another one so she can tie it to her leg. Once sure she's set in the name of sharp knives, she works her way over to the less populated Inn, raiding the kitchen to see what was all over here, eventually locating a bottle of booze.
It doesn't take her long to plop herself in a corner and pry off the top. She downs a decent amount in her first pull, wincing at the burn after a long moment. Probably not the smartest life choice considering the hangover she'll most likely have tomorrow, but she's either dead or insane... So, perspective.
WHERE: All Over
WHEN: 9/21-9/22
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, death, injury
Arrival:
Darkness...
And pain? Was it? Everything burned white hot, radiating from multiple points in her body. It made it difficult to discern and origin point. They'd drugged her, that much she knew. Drugged her before dragging her into the van. Had they done that to Thor? No, no... He was too big and too strong. Stronger than her. He'd at least put up a fight from what she'd seen of the surveillance video, probably more than her. If she made it out of this alive, she was sure FDR and Loki would have a comment or two on how she'd handled being overwhelmed by force. She hadn't had time to grab for Amalric's knife in her boot or the taser York had given her in her bag. She hadn't had time and damnit she knew this had to be coming! She'd made the announcement and had basically signed her own death warrant considering some of the info she'd leaked. She'd severed her ties, ended whatever was left of her relationship with FDR for good and said her goodbyes.
But, almost as quickly as it had all come-- it was gone. She felt like she was floating and, oh shit. She actually was. Hands flail, riding the push as she broke the surface of the water. Pulling at the lip of the fountain, she settles on the edge - scanning around her. Alright, this was new. Nothing like the dome, inside or out. She pats down her body, hands hesitating when she reaches the back of her neck.
The ports... The ports are gone.
Her breathing increases, terrified that this is just a manifestation of the insanity that accompanied messing with them. Was this the punishment they'd inflicted on her? Rip out her ports and send her to some weird world alone and in scrubs? These weren't even the usual scrubs they had in the hospital. Fingers roam again, unable to hear much other than the pounding of the blood in her ears. "No, no... no." She's on her knees before she can take a breath, she rips items out of the backpack with the fervor of a panicked woman.
It's not there.
There's no hesitation when she moves to dive back into the fountain, needing to try and either reach the bottom or get back or-- something. Anything. That knife was the last piece of Amalric she had and it was gone. She could tolerate just about anything, deal with it... But for some reason, that was her breaking point.
Exploration:
After her rousing swim, she'd accepted the fact that anything she might've had on her when she'd been taken wasn't here anymore. So, she makes her way into town, red scrubs catching the sun as they start to dry. There was something seemingly unnatural when it came to the idea of settling down somewhere and starting a new life, still not sure she wasn't dead. Only thing she could do right now was keep moving forward.
Darcy grabbed a bowl of food from the Inn, choosing not to eat inside. No, she'd been inside so much - it was time to catch up with legit nature. Not that artificial crap they'd maintained in the dome. Real grass with real food and real sky... And no Dysthrophes. After promising to bring the bowl back, she settles in grass, marveling at how it moved beneath her hands and the heat of the sky.
Whether or not any of this was real, god, she'd missed this.
She savors each bite, probably looking like a woman who hadn't eaten in a year. Not entirely wrong. While Whiskey's food had been the bomb, nothing compared to the real deal.If she was dead, this was a pretty good afterlife.
Seventh Iteration, a wrong turn, and a whole lotta alcohol:
She'd seriously thought about settling at the Inn for a night or two, but of course, that wasn't gonna happen. She could just hear Loki in her head, too many people - too easy of a target. She'd get a room and sleep. Okay, maybe not sleep - she'd pass out. And if she passed out surrounded by people she didn't know, she'd be defenseless. Prey amongst her fellow sheep--
And wow.
Crazy how specific points in someone's life can change so much. Just moments, breaths - decisions. So, instead she opts for the road less traveled, heading into the mirrored town that seems a whole lot emptier. She wanders for a bit, testing boundaries to see if it's the same as the other version of itself. Darcy lets herself into the butcher shop in seventh iteration, wrapping a few knives in the clothes in her backpack, shredding the rest of the tank top she'd torn earlier to wrap another one so she can tie it to her leg. Once sure she's set in the name of sharp knives, she works her way over to the less populated Inn, raiding the kitchen to see what was all over here, eventually locating a bottle of booze.
It doesn't take her long to plop herself in a corner and pry off the top. She downs a decent amount in her first pull, wincing at the burn after a long moment. Probably not the smartest life choice considering the hangover she'll most likely have tomorrow, but she's either dead or insane... So, perspective.
7I
It's been a general application of fish scraps, patience, and body heat to befriend it, though Owen suspects it was someone's pet before he found it under his porch. He's been letting it in and out of the house and indulging it in a long-standing game of lead and follow, calling it Nineve because--well. He's not the kind of pet owner to call it Emrys II.
He is, apparently, the kind of pet owner who does themed names, though.
This late in the day, he's letting the cat go its way. It's entirely possible Nineve won't even come home until morning, and he'll break off from her after a look around. He's already been to the other Inn today, but sometimes he likes to remind himself of the eerie goddamn emptiness of this one. Perspective is key: he's not going native over being adopted by a stray.
Noise from the kitchen sets him seething, low in his throat, as he follows the fluid shadow of his companion toward the doorway. "Nineve, don't," he tries to intone, like the cat he'd raised from infancy had ever listened to those sorts of commands, much less this new and not at all improved model.
The cat leaps onto the nearest counter to get a sight-line on her intended, and Owen cautiously comes up behind, hand settled on the hilt in one of his belt-loops.
"Thought you were one of those foxes," he says in greeting, not yet relaxing his stance. Nineve's tail curls in and flips back out, more curious than anything. "Where did you find that," he asks of the bottle, his own curiosity starting to overtake the caution.
ARRIVAL
Fueled by instinct, Wanda darted forward. The food in her arms clattered to the ground as she reached the edge of the Fountain. Without thinking better of it she dived after the girl, grabbing hold of her foot to drag her back to the surface of the water. Wanda expected the girl to resist and she'd take each and every hit if it stopped the stranger from drowning themselves.
Unlike Darcy, Wanda wasn't wearing scrubs. She was dressed in a light pair of olive green cargo pants and a black sports bra. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail which Wanda was thankful give how keen it was to get in the way when she was underwater. The other clothing she scared with Darcy were her boots, which she had worn since swimming out of the fountain herself.