sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

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WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: along the river in 6I
WHEN: 3 November, afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBD

When Oliver was younger, his parents used to refer to this as snow weather. It's just a little above freezing, from what he can tell and there's clouds low and heavy in the sky. It's getting darker earlier in the day; by his reckoning, there's only about eight good hours of sunlight now and there's not much of it to speak of. It reminds him a little bit of home, if Star City were in the middle of the pristine wilderness instead of an industrialized and globalized city.

He's not running today. Instead, he's walking along the river, trying to skip stones across it like he had as a kid. It was good luck to get one all the way across and he remembers his father being really successful at it almost all of the time and Oliver himself failing miserably about 90% of the time. Later, when he'd gotten older, it'd been him teaching Thea how to do the same thing. The stones along the river here are flat and smooth, just right for getting them to skid across the surface.

His first attempt isn't so great. It skips for a moment and sinks down to the bottom with a plop and a splash. His next is better, though, and it skips about halfway across the river before it falls beneath the water. There's a scientific principle to it, he's sure, but that's not what he's interested in right now. Right now, he's wondering what's going on in his city, what he's not able to prevent because he's stuck here.

Oliver closes a hand tight around a stone and curses beneath his breath, frustrated by his impotence in this place. This place holds him here just as much as it holds everyone else and no matter what he's done and what he's capable of, he's held by the same strange power that keeps them all trapped here. He's no better or worse than anyone else. Maybe he has a little edge on some of those who've never had to survive outdoors before but that's it. That's his only advantage in the world.

"Looks like I've turned into just one more madman railing at the sky," he says, frowning deeply. The heavy clouds don't respond.

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With one of his fur-lined cloaks curled tightly around his body, Ned makes his way up the river's edge, an activity he often does in the mid-morning. He makes a habit of checking the traps for any new game that might've wandered in, and sometimes he attempts to skewer some fish in the river itself with a makeshift spear that's little more than a long, sharpened stick. He was unable to get to the traps this particular morning, and so he is making quick work of the traps now.

Most of them have been empty, but he still has a handful more to check.

He hears a peculiar sound as he continues, like hard splashes of water - almost like rocks are being purposefully thrown into it. He has a borrowed blade from the Inn in his hand (used to make the creature's death as quick and painless as possible before bringing it to be dressed and butchered), and his grip on the hilt tightens some as he approaches what appears to be a singular man, tossing rocks at the river, talking to ..

No one.

"Well met," he calls out once he's within ear shot. He glances upwards with a considering look. "I am afraid that no matter how often or how loudly I might speak to them, whomever they might be, they never seem to answer."

Oliver has the sense that this guy talks to someone different than he does but they do have one thing in common: they're both prisoners here. He dips his head a bit in reverence and returns the greeting.

"Well met," he says, cracking a bit of a smile. "No one ever seems to answer me when I ask them questions about this place but maybe that's by design. If we got answers, maybe we wouldn't be stuck here."

"Oft times, the answers we receive are not the answers we seek, leaving us more perplexed afterwards," Ned replies, sharing another thoughtful glance upwards. He is thinking specifically of the Weirwood sapling he'd received some months ago without warning. He'd spent many hours thinking of his connection to home, to Westeros, to Winterfell. He'd spent even more hours thinking of the fates of his children and loved ones, how much pain lay ahead of them. And then, as if to placate him into silence, the Weirwood had appeared - small, barely more than a twig of white bark and red leaves.

"What questions ail you the most this particular morning?" Ned asks before continuing, "In the purpose of disclosure, I am holding a knife from the Inn; I use it in the event an animal has been caught in one of my family's traps. But I have no intention of using it for any other purpose."

"I'm not afraid of your knife, I promise," Oliver offers. He wonders why the man would reveal such an obvious tactical advantage until it comes to him - he offers it to let him know that he's not out to surprise him. It's a strange way of communicating in Oliver's estimation but it's not unappreciated.

"I just don't know how we got chosen to be here. Of all the people in the world, we're stuck here and we're captives but there's no reason why we are. It doesn't make sense. I like it when things seem to fit into some kind of logical progression."

Ned allows for the stranger to process the revealed information, satisfied when his expression seems to convey that he understands the tactic. Ned is, of course, from a world in which almost all men - and many women - carried blades of varying lengths, often out in full view (though many kept theirs hidden in boots and the like). He's learnt that not everyone here is from such a world, and as such, he prefers to show that he means no harm and does not intend to use the weapon for anything other than hunting - unless the need to defend arises.

"Yes, I believe you are in good company with that line of thinking. I am afraid I cannot offer any sort of answer that would satisfy your search, but I can offer solidarity in your unease. Yours are questions I have asked myself many times over since my arrival here."

"Yeah, if there's anything we can count on, it's that we're not alone in this crazy place," Oliver says. He couples it with something of a laugh. It feels a little odd considering how quiet the world is today and how solemn the man next to him is but isn't laughter a balm against discomfort?

"How long have you been here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not entirely, no. I have learnt a saying since I've been here. I believe it was, "misery loves company," and I feel like such words fit no place better than here." Ned isn't entirely unhappy, nor can he complain all that much given everything he's been granted by having been brought here. Still, it would be remiss for him to not acknowledge the things that are lacking, at least on occasion.

"I believe it has been eight months since I first arrived," Ned says with some thought. "It is hard to say for certain, as there is no definitive way to track the days. And you? Have you just arrived recently?"

"Maybe two months, maybe a little less," Oliver says. "And yeah, misery does love company."

He has no idea where Ned Stark is from but he definitely doesn't speak like someone from North America. Oliver hardly considers himself an expert on all cultures but he's got experience with a handful - he can't peg Ned Stark at all.

"Misery has a lot of company around here, it seems. I came with a friend, though, so there's that."

"Forgive me for having not made your acquaintance prior to now, if you've been here that long. I often see others about in the village, but the circumstances aren't always conducive to introductions." He sits silently under the perplexed gaze of the man before him, familiar with the sight of it now. It's happened on a number of occasions, especially when he's met those from places and lands outside of Westeros. "It is always good to have an ally here, especially if it is someone from our previous life. Hopefully it is a friend you like."

"She used to be engaged to me. I like her a lot," Oliver says. As to the reasons why he hadn't made the acquaintance before then, well. Oliver tends to keep to his own for the most part and it's only recently that he's put himself out there to even meet anyone; it's not any fault of Ned Stark's that he's a relative unknown. Oliver smiles a little and shakes his head.

"I live on the other side of the canyon, on the abandoned side. That's probably why you haven't seen me before now, or not much of me anyway."

Ned nods in acknowledgement of the man's relationship to his friend. Or would companion be the better choice of word? It isn't something on which to dwell for someone like Ned, a stranger to the man opposite him.

"Ah, I see," he replies with a knowing nod. "I was there for the first expedition to the other side of the canyon wall. I have gone back since, however sparingly. Are there others who've joined you there? Or is it still relatively abandoned?" Whenever Ned's gone to explore it, he's never seen a soul. Of course, he also meanders about the public spaces; he's never gone into any of the cabins, no matter how vacant they might appear.

"There are only a few who live over there permanently," Oliver admits. "I think Felicity and I are some of the few who are actually living there full time. Plenty of people come over and forage or hunt, though."

It's not abandoned, necessarily, but it does see a lot less foot traffic than the other side of the breach.

"Mm. It would make sense, for most to still be here as they've already established themselves in this half," Ned reflects with a slight nod. After a moment's silence, he adds, "While I am regretful to be unable to answer your questions, I am glad to've met you. I mean not to keep you a moment longer, though I would appreciate a name, if you are willing to give it. I'm Ned Stark." He extends a hand towards the man, having now learnt the way many of the others greet each other - gripping at the hand, rather than the elbow.

Oliver shakes his hand, gripping it nice and firm, and gives Ned Stark a true smile. "Oliver Queen. It's good to meet you, Ned. Good to know there's people here who are willing to help someone out."

Most of who he's met here has been magnanimous and his original assessment of the village is starting to change a bit with experience.

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