sixthiterationlogs | of earthquakes and aftershocks

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of earthquakes and aftershocks

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 10th September and a few days after
OPEN TO: Inn Residents, whoever else might be in the building: then, everyone!
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: Open

Earthquake

It's 5pm, or would be, if anyone paid much attention to things like clocks here. Sunset isn't for another two and a half hours or so, and the day's been hot. Not as humid as it has been. The Inn is mostly quiet, as it's hours after the midday dinner and the only people around either live at the Inn or have reason to be there. Supper will be made soon, as it's been a good day with the food supply.

Then, a minute later, the ground starts to shake.

Repairs and Aftermath

The Inn hasn't been as badly damaged as some other buildings. Foundations are still strong, walls haven't been cracked. But it's a big building, with lots of furniture and light fixtures, and it got shaken.

Having been turned into the unofficial community centre, it'll take some work and a few days to get everything straightened up again.

There's also the little matter of the water supply...

ooc: this is a party-style post, so set up your own OTAs or tag around and have fun! Setting is both for the day of the quake and a few days after to try and fix things up.

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Benedict does not consider himself much of a cook. In fact, he tends to just get out of the way when others are cooking, so he won't accidentally cock things up by interrupting them or distracting them when something is going on.

He is, however, good at following instruction, and even better at chopping things when they're handed to him as he sits at the table with a knife in his hands. He's busy chopping carefully-washed mushrooms when Miss Kelly asks for his assistance with hanging the herbs she's tied into bunches so they will dry without rotting. She brushes aside his pointed offer to hang them himself, as his reach is quite a bit longer than hers, and Benedict is forced to concede her point; she's already standing on her chair, he might as well just do as she tells him and not force her to get up and down multiple times with her ankle still as hurt as it is.

"Really, I can do this for you," he insists again as he holds up a little bunch of stems and leaves for her, just in time for the ground to shake beneath them.

For a moment, he's convinced they're being bombed. After all, Habble Landing shook like this when the Auroran military attacked, attempting to demolish Spire Albion. But there are no sounds of explosions, just the ground shaking under his feet, and the little cry of Miss Kelly as her balance is disrupted and she starts to fall. Benedict, without thinking, lunges forward to catch her.

"Kate!" he cries out, attempting to keep his feet beneath him while also positioning himself beneath her as she tumbles from her chair so that he can catch her in his arms and curl her close to his chest for protection as he hunches over her.

The kitchen around them continues to tremble, pots and pans rattling ominously and the knife he'd been using to cut mushrooms skittering across the table and onto the floor as he sinks to his knees to avoid being knocked over.

Edited 2016-09-11 01:13 (UTC)

Riza had thankfully convinced herself that the earthquakes were just that, which was good because after the other day she was better prepared to expect the bigger one. It was a relief that the inn hadn't suffered bigger damages, not like some of the other structures out there. That's not to say, however, that there wasn't some cleaning up to do.

Riza had chosen then inn because the last time she'd been in a situation like this it had helped to be around people. She'd also liked that it was a central place -- the downstairs was filled with signs that people not only used it for eating, but also a base of operations of sorts. That's where Riza decided to concentrate her efforts when clean up started a few hours after the last of the aftershocks rumbled through. Tables, chairs, utensils, charts, and lists had all been shuffled around in the shaking -- though thankfully few of the really important items were damaged. A lot of it would just need to be put up and swept down.

She was an organized person, so she gets to work quickly and if she spots anyone idling she'll be quick to rope them into helping her pick up heavy tables and set things back into their place.

Edited 2016-09-11 01:50 (UTC)

Really, she'd wanted to scream. Scream as the sudden shaking sent her weight harshly against her bad ankle, scream as she fell because she's Kate Kelly and she's never fallen off a bloody inanimate thing since she was four years old and trying to walk on a fence.

But she can't scream. There's that little cry, all that escapes the fear strangling her and her breath fleeing her. And then... And then she doesn't know, because Sorellin's caught her in his arms and pulled her close. Because she's clinging to him as the only stable thing in this room. Because the ground is shaking, shaking like it's sifting them all for gold, angry that there's nothing there, and all that can escape her mouth is an almost silent sobbing.

Kate, he'd call her.

At least if she died, the last thing anyone said to her would be her name.

But she doesn't die, and neither does Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster. The shaking stops. She can hear herself, those frightened whimpering cries. She can hear his harsh, shaken breathing, and as she turns her head against him to peer out against the kitchen, she can hear his heart.

They're alive.

But she doesn't let him go.

Kate Kelly still hasn't fully calmed down. The hysterical crying has passed, as had her bout of shouting furious insults to the sky as if their captors could either hear or be taken to task. But she's still frightened, and the rage she felt at being kidnapped here in the first place is still crackling under her skin, making her eyes brilliant and intense.

Normally, she'd stalk into the main room as if it were a stage she owned, but her ankle has been hurt - again - and it's more of a cranky limp with the crutches Miss Raven had given her weeks ago.

Kate surveys the main room, which she tries so hard to keep neat. That she scrubs. That she sweeps daily (with a branch, yes, but still, attempt is made). It could be worse. But it still makes her want to cry.

"At least," she tells Miss Riza, "we didn't have the fire on."

Certainly, it would have been awkward with where that chair's ended up.

Edited 2016-09-11 11:18 (UTC)

There's no shame in that fear. Riza can't hold that against anyone, as she had already had her moments like that as well. Her previous experiences had put things like this in perspective though. Riza found other ways of dealing with her frustrations and feelings of powerlessness.

Her gaze drifted to the fireplace and nods, "We got lucky." She crossed over and picked up the chair, figuring that was a good place to start. She moved it away and turned back to the woman.

Miss Kate's injury had apparently been aggravated again in the earthquake if the crutches were any indication. Riza knew, however, that the woman probably didn't want to sit around feeling useless. She looked about ready to cry again, so Riza decided she'd do her best to prevent that. "You're more familiar with how this room was set up before. Would you like to give me some direction?" Riza offered because she wanted Miss Kate to feel like she was doing something, though her injury would not allow for much movement. "I don't want to put it back together wrong. People are going to want to find comfort in the familiar, so I think it'd be a good idea if we could get this place back in order." She spoke from experience. Even on her worse days, it was always the comfort of familiar faces and people that would soften the hardships she had to face.

Miss Kelly's small hands are surprisingly strong as she clings to his shoulders, digging through the soft shirt he wears to press into his flesh. He wouldn't be surprised if he walked away from this — if he walks away from this — with little pink-prick bruises across his shoulders from where her fingers dig into his skin.

He's grateful for the grounding touch as the actual ground shakes beneath his knees. It's all he can do to hunch his broad shoulders over her, cradling her close up against him as he tries to avoid being knocked over.

He wants to curse, but nothing comes up from his throat. Not even a prayer. All he can do is breathe and hold her tightly, shifting his grip on her so he can fit one palm to the back of her head and hold her as gently as he can against his shoulder, shielding her head from anything that falls. Dimly, he's aware of something colliding with his shoulders, a sudden pain that has him grunting, but the adrenaline of the moment subsumes that enough for him to avoid focusing on it at all.

And then, as suddenly as the tremors started, they stop.

For a moment, all Benedict can do is remain exactly where he's been, curled around Miss Kelly on the floor with his head ducked down against hers. Then, after managing to suck in a handful more shaking breaths, he cautiously lifts his head to look around the wreckage that is the kitchen, seeing everything they've worked so hard for strewn about like toys after a child has thrown a tantrum. It's distressing, of course, but he's finding it hard to focus on that, hyper-aware of the girl in his lap who's all but crying into his shirt.

"Miss Kelly," he croaks, his hands trembling as he loosens his death-grip on her so he doesn't hurt her. "Are you alright?"

Nerys is sorting things out in her head, breaking down the bigger problem into pieces she can prioritise, because otherwise the situation is too large to resolve, and that's the kind of thinking that serves no one. Not that she judges anyone for panicking, mind; she's just pretty sure she's no longer able to panic.

So, pieces.

Her house is...in a state, though she's fairly confident that it's not going to fall down around her ears, provided they don't get another earthquake like that until she can shore up the foundations. That, at least, she knows how to do, thanks to far too much time in the Dahkur Province. The windows are effectively shards, so she'll need to figure out how best to cover them, but she's saving all the glass pieces in case someone's got some kind of amazing glassblowing skill they haven't mentioned. Worth a shot.

She's fucked up her ankle, which can't be helped--the first tremor threw her--but she can walk on it, so it's fine for now. The fields are a damn mess, but as that's not killing anyone directly at this exact moment, she's going to save that for tomorrow. That isn't her main concern.

The water, now. The water reeks, and it's a color that it shouldn't be, and Nerys wants a tricorder right now more than anything in the universe, to at least know if it's safe or what needs to be done to it. She's dealt with bad water before, but never with bad water and guesswork, and she isn't sure what to do, if they can even put it on the crops, if there are any left.

Right, maybe Nerys doesn't panic...but she's still able to be afraid.

Peggy is exhausted and extremely grateful that she's not in worse physical shape after what's happened. Things could be a lot worse and yet, without much sleep to help her, she's not sure what that counts for. Tired, she plods her way to the inn to find herself somewhere to sleep given that her house has collapsed in on itself and has nowhere left to live. She'd barely even managed to get her things, but now she has them in her bag, like a homeless person the road.

When she sees Nerys, Peggy heads towards her wearily, thinking that commiseration is the name of the game, now. "Are you all right?" is her first question, thinking it's the one that matters most.

Peggy is toting a bag after her, looking somewhat the worse for wear, wearing her fatigue like a cloak. Nerys can't really blame her; she herself probably looks just about as good right about now. The bag's not a good sign, though--a sign that yet another house is beyond saving. Shit.

"I'm fine," she says, automatically, then clarifies after a moment, "My ankle's been in better shape, and I could use a bath, but...I'm all right. How about you?" She deliberately looks at the bag, lifting an eyebrow, if only because she'd rather hear about it than look at the carnage again.

Kate doesn't reply at first. Her breath is a shuddering, sobbing thing, never quite settling into either crying for sure or calming down into merely harsh breathing. She can't reply, either. She's too shocked, too scared. She's so aware of herself, of being alive. Of the movement of her lungs, the sensations dancing over her skin, the way her heart is thudding so hard it hurts.

His arms around her, too. His chest next to her. Legs underneath her. And, there, still, strong, his heart.

They're alive. They're alive.

The world almost feels too still now, and she's distracted by it that she doesn't really register his question. Instead, she lets go of him with hand only, crossing herself and pressing her fingers to her lips as she whispers an incoherent prayer of thanks.

They're alive.

"Are you all right?" Kate asks, looking up at him with too-wide, too-bright hazel eyes. "Are you hurt?"

Peggy offers a gesture towards her foot. "I'm no doctor, but I could take a look if you'd like. I helped plenty of soldiers with their foot woes, especially during the winter months," she says, but happily takes the opportunity to sit down in front of Nerys, brushing away her frizzing hair from her forehead. "I'm quite well," she promises. "Unfortunately, the same can't be said for my home."

She'll have to move out, that's certain. There's no way she could go back to that place without worrying about her safety. And while she likes to think of herself as quite handy, the way it's sort of collapsed in on itself is a touch too much for even her.

"I'll have to go house shopping at some point," she confesses. "Right now, I just want to decompress and I thought I'd stay at the inn for a while."

"If you have time," Nerys says, "just to make sure I haven't done anything irreparable to it? I think it's probably okay, it doesn't hurt too much when I walk on it." She's figuring not, but there could be muscle damage she doesn't even realize yet, or that doesn't turn up for a while.

She settles into the chair across from Peggy and starts to undo her boot, wincing as the pressure of the laces eases up. After a second, though, she pauses and looks up. "If you want somewhere a little more quiet, my house is still standing, and it's just me in there," she offers. "The windows are all shot to hell, and I'm going to need to reinforce some of the beams, but it's okay provided we don't get another quake."

For that matter, Nerys is used to taking up far less space than her own building, so she's not particularly inconvenienced by the notion of a houseguest or even housemate.

"I'm only really skilled at basic field medicine," Peggy warns, but it had been enough to play nurse to the Commandos when they'd needed the help and beggars couldn't really be choosers in their world. Still, she's already easing towards the food to examine it, thinking that it could use a proper binding and elevation. She reaches for some cloth, gesturing to the foot as she offers to wrap it.

"I'd be thankful if you wouldn't mind my staying a night or two, but I'm still rather fond of my own privacy," she admits. That, and there's a part of her that still feels leery of taking on roommates, what with her bad string of luck with them getting killed or hurt or dragged into her mad life.

It's a good idea. It's a very good idea, and Kate thinks better of Miss Riza for having it. She also thinks better of her for not commenting on her fragile appearance (there are mirrors, Kate knows what she looks like, all pale and brittle), better and grateful.

She'd thought she was going to die: it can take someone a bit to get over that. Get up to their metaphorical feet.

"That's... That sounds wise. All right."

So that's what Kate does. She sits down - on a table, so she can see clearer over the room - and she directs Miss Riza with simple, clear instructions. This is something she's used to doing, both giving instructions and giving ones which are easily understandable.

Baby Alice and Jack had been education, trying to get a pair of toddlers to stay out of trouble.

"Better than nothing," Nerys says. She really is pretty confident it'll be all right, but better to have someone else's opinion on top of that. She gestures in response to Peggy's movement, nodding a little to allow the wrapping, though she wishes that she could wash up first. With the water being like it is, however, it's probably a better idea not to try.

She winces slightly as Peggy touches a sore muscle, but it's not a full jerk of pain, just a hesitation. "It's not a problem," she says. "I know how you feel, believe me--but until people figure out what the hell is going on with housing, you're welcome."

Of course, provided her own place doesn't fall over in a brisk wind.

The smell was one of the first things they'd noticed after the earthquake. Turn on a tap anywhere in the building, and a pungent aroma of spoiled eggs hit like a ton of bricks.

That was bad. Potentially deadly bad.

Contaminated water was no joke. The inn had enough stored water to last those who lived there a few days if they were careful--but only them. That didn't take into account the others in town who'd now lost the river as a water source.

The minute it became clear they had gas in the water, they couldn't afford to take time recovering; drinkable water shot to the top of their list of pressing problems, and the theoretical solutions occasionally passed around during evening discussions (mostly by Jess who had learned a lot, and Raven who had done a lot, where their math met somewhere in the middle) took on a new urgency. How to purify the water with what they had to work with? Filters? Chemicals? Ideas formed and were discarded just as quickly. It came down to the same limitations each time--not enough power, not enough materials.

Coming up with a workable design involved a flurry of planning. Jess' improvisation skills and understanding of the physics involved were strained by the limitations they faced, but Raven was like an automaton set loose on the problem once she had a goal in mind. Given a patchwork idea for aerating the water, she went to work on the inn's plumbing with single-minded determination.

One day passed, then two. Jess pitched in collecting the pipes and other fittings she'd need from houses already ruined by flooding. Raven banged away downstairs. News of the fresh spring water raised eyebrows, but if anything, the discovery only highlighted the importance of taking command of their environment as soon as they could.

Another day passed. A rat's nest of new piping and cobbled-together aerating systems ate up empty space in the basement.

None too soon, it was time to test it out. "Try it now!" Raven's voice echoing up from the depths of the basement.

Jess, waiting for the signal at the kitchen tap, turned it. For an unsettling moment there was a ominous groan from the pipes. Then, amazingly, a splutter of water that turned into a steady stream. Still a foul-smelling stream, but it was a promising start. If this worked, after a few hours of cycling the water they could expect to see some improvement in the water quality. Hopefully enough to make it palatable again.

"It's working!" he called. Yes.

Peggy is cautious with her movements. While she'll need to move the foot around a great deal more, she also doesn't want to hurt Kira in the process. "Thank you," is her sincere reply, beginning to wrap up the foot so that it's bound and some of the swelling should hopefully reduce. "I should have known that the flooding was just a prelude to something worse."

It's not that she believes in omens, but she does believe in the science of picking a logistically poor position. In her haste to get shelter, that had been what she'd done. Now it was time to fix it, is all.

However, Nerys has been hurt--and far worse than this--before. She's determined the fine line between stoicism and expressing pain visibly and verbally, as yelling tends to get you killed behind enemy lines, but bottling it all up results in it feeling far worse.

"I hate to say it," she comments, hissing faintly as Peggy moves her ankle to get the bandage in position, but waving off the other woman's pause. "But maybe it's all a prelude. The orchestra warming up." Having been the plaything of omniscient beings once does add a little to her cynicism.

Peggy finishes by tucking the end of the bandage into the top, making sure that it's not too tight to ache. She does inch closer, to prop her own knee up and offer a little elevation to help, at least while she's there and they're talking. "That quake was worse than anything I could ever imagine," she says. "What on earth do you suppose could be worse than that?"

She asks this as if she doesn't already know. Because, as awful and terrifying and bad as the quake had been, it was still only a fraction of the terror and pain she had felt in those few seconds of Whitney Frost grasping her.

And Riza is very familiar with following clear instructions. They might not be coming from a superior officer or anything and Miss Kate might not even realize the amount of authority she wields here -- but people are going to listen to the person that provides the food. Miss Kate has made herself an integral part of the community, though Riza suspects that Miss Kate is also the type to not realize it or downplay that position quite a bit.

So Riza doesn't say anything about it, and merely follows the directions given. She pushes a table into a corner, uprights chairs and moves them where directed, and even starts making a pile of furniture and items that had been broken. "So if the main room looks like this -- are we going to need to do a lot of clean up in the kitchen area as well?"

She looks terrified. Benedict can relate.

He nods reassuringly, attempting to smile at her even though his shoulders ache with a dull throbbing pain thanks to whatever it was that was knocked into him and he feels half-convinced the ground will start to shake again at any minute. "I'm fine," he assures her, smoothing a piece of hair out of her face with a trembling hand, letting that same hand linger a little when he knows he should not. But she is frightened, and so is he, and he doesn't think a gentle, grounding touch is out of the question at a time like this, especially when she looks at him the way she does.

"Are you alright?" he asks again, resisting the urge to shift off his knees or to roll his shoulders to dull the pain radiating across them.

He will focus on the important things first.

Raven's smile was smug.

"Of course it is," she said, and was glad Jess wasn't exactly within earshot to hear. She didn't want her reputation for being an arrogant space girl to go down the pipe if he saw how her expression wasn't one that was completely smug.

Raven was thinking of Sinclair, and how he'd be looking at her with an I told you so lingering on his tongue. She'd spent the three long months after Mount Weather berating and talking down to herself and about herself, and she knew that within this minute, he had to know that something had happened where Raven Reyes proved him right.

She didn't take a step back from the system she'd built with Jess' guidance. She looked at it, as if daring it to tear itself apart and test her patience, but it continued to thrum as she thought it should.

After a moment, she bellowed, "Don't drown up there, Brightwell! Bring your ass back down here!"

"Good, I'm glad, I'd hate for you to get hurt," she says, dimly aware that her words are coming too fast. But they are honest. She doesn't want him hurt, not at all.

It's when Sorellin brushes a wavy lock of hair out of her face that she realises just how close they are. Arms around each other, her hand still griping him; she's curled up on his lap, curled in against his chest, and if she moved her head in she could-

No, no, she's not thinking about that.

"I'm fine," she says in an unmeaning echo. "I. My ankle's hurt again, but other than that, I'm in one piece.

Thank you. For catchin' me."

Kate's mouth twists bitterly and she laughs, low and short. "I'm sure the damage is mostly aesthetic," she says. "All easily fixed, as me and Brightwall moved a lot of the breakables earlier. And Sorellin and I were in the kitchen when the, the earthquake hit.

But it... It needs a bit of work, yes. I couldn't fix it all. I just needed to get out."

She thinks it sounds like an excuse, but it's true. She needed fresh air, she needed to be outside. Every morning, she wakes up before dawn to clean and then start the kitchen range. She scrubs floors. She washes containers. She sweeps, although she's going to have to make herself a better broom. She does laundry. She tries to make the Inn as freshly aired and decent as she can, but the sight of her hard work undone had been too hard, and too familiar, to stand.

She's not the only one realizing just how close they are. They're so close, in fact, that he could count her lashes as they fan across her cheeks, count the freckles they touch that are scattered across her nose. They're faint little things, and he's surprised by how charming they are. He feels he shouldn't be finding her quite so charming as he does, especially not right now, when things are still potentially quite dire.

Her confession about her ankle has him frowning at her. "It is?"

Right, that won't do. If she's hurt again, she won't be able to escape easily in case the quaking starts up again. Shifting his arms around her, Benedict slides one beneath her legs and wraps the other about her waist, rocking back onto his heels before standing and lifting her up in the air as he goes, ignoring the twinge of his shoulders. He'll figure out what he did to himself later, after he gets Miss Kelly to safety.

"Of course," he assures her, holding her securely to his chest as he carefully picks his way out of the kitchen towards the door. "I would not let you fall."

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