Owen Prichard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
underpinnings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2018-07-03 10:19 am
underpinnings) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2018-07-03 10:19 am
[Wendigo-go] cry like guns across the water
WHO: Owen Prichard
WHERE: 6I Village - Inn and surrounding area
WHEN: July 27-31
OPEN TO: Aragorn, Bucky Barnes, Rose Hathaway, Peeta Mellark
WARNINGS: Horror/Violence, possible injuries and descriptions -- CHARACTER DEATH IN FINAL THREAD
WHERE: 6I Village - Inn and surrounding area
WHEN: July 27-31
OPEN TO: Aragorn, Bucky Barnes, Rose Hathaway, Peeta Mellark
WARNINGS: Horror/Violence, possible injuries and descriptions -- CHARACTER DEATH IN FINAL THREAD
It made sense for the storms to disturb local wildlife, for the tremors to send it down from the mountains to collide with what they already knew. It didn't make sense for it to look like fog lights in shadow, a creature of borrowed parts in a shroud like smoke and dead skin.
Somehow, for all the lost lore of his lifetime, Owen doesn't need the nickname explained to him. It should be a word near devoid of meaning, for something so devoid of a foothold in reality. Until there were multiple sightings, until they had the physical evidence of mutilated prey, the bright-eyed predators chased away from corpses on the plains. Until the sightings grew closer and closer to home.
Funny, how creatures dragging that filament skin could get under his. It helps that the village has been picking him apart at the seams since he arrived, letting people in, making him something like amenable to Kero's raspy, whistling calls.
Kero's ugly; the Wendigo he spots shredding one of Kero's bretheren by the lake is terrifying. When Kero darts back among the houses, Owen isn't far behind, and it's something of that terror--and some of those people he's met--that spur him back to the main village with his heart pounding in his ears. When he sees that kid with the crow, meandering back with another load of peaches, there's no time for niceties--there's barely time to catch his breath.
Pulling the load from the kid's hands, to loud protest, Owen drops the bucket to the ground. "Get Mark," he tells him, knowing that much about the huffy stranger. "Get who you can to the Inn, those creatures are getting closer."
"Half the village is already at the fucking inn," Kira--the acerbic kid tackling survival in the wilderness in flip flops is Kira--says. "Or did you miss the annual earthquake on your nature quest?"
Owen kicks the bucket away when Kira dips to reach it. "So go back to the inn," he grinds out, sucking air through his teeth to catch his breath. "And get us started on the plan to deal with this. I don't know if the thing saw me, and it seems to favor gutting its victims, if you're not very attached to your own intestines." Maybe it's the shove he gives the kid, maybe it's that bitchy is his first language, but Kira seems to rile himself like Owen's cat waking up before it wants to, angry little noise in the back of his throat and all.
"What the fuck are you going to do," Kira asks, slipping out of his shoes and taking them in-hand for the long jog over the river.
"Get the stragglers," Owen answers, Kira marking the first. "Engage if it gets too close."
And, he realizes later, as he circles the edges of the village back to his house, put Kero and Nim in the cellar. Christ fucking help him--help them all--he's checking on the cat.
THE MEETING
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: July 27
TAG ORDER: Free For All
[ As desired or needed, post under this comment if you'd like to thread teaming up, gearing, or planning for the fight with applicable characters! ]
Bucky
Owen used to like small, dark spaces. He can still see the advantage of them, with something like the wendigo stalking the village. With it's low ceiling, it might be a last resort for anyone who can't run or fight. It would have been a lot better than the tree he'd climbed, when the badger stormed through.
But standing in it today just makes his shoulder itch, his remaining fingers tap hard to his thigh. He isn't the only one who had volunteered to check supplies, judge the building's defense. He could have eased his mind counting arrows upstairs, but the threat of another earthquake and those old instincts--to close up in some echoing compartment of his father's boat--they told him to go below. Now he's trying to judge the sturdiness of the shelves and the stretch of canned fruits while his new instincts tell him to get the fuck outside where he can at least plot an exit, where he won't be stuck in a hole with a monster.
When the stairs creak under someone's weight, his head whips, a harsh breath slips through his teeth. He's a little too wild-eyed for counting peach preserves, and the number escapes him.
"Barnes," he murmurs, letting the shit go unspoken before a softer exhale. It's not a silhouette that's easy to forget, even after the simple introduction of splitting their tasks. "How are they doing with the windows?"
no subject
It's not with the sole interest of checking on him that he follows; he actually came to grab some of the disused shelving to take back up, but a status check isn't a bad side quest.
He rhythmically clears the last few steps with bouncing heels, settles at the bottom before he answers.
"Doing what they can," is his vague answer, and he surveys Owen's face. "What about you?"
no subject
He could have stayed in his own cellar, with his stupid reptile, with his cat. Ride out the panic and wait for someone else to deal with the problem. Let the traps in his house shred anything pushing in.
But he's here, wishing he'd brought some of the nails and wire to string around the doors. The creature had followed too soon, they're left with what they have. Barnes gives him the only real answer, with no judgment in it. Owen's impression of the man is--that he fits here, in his own way. That he might be good for the whole. Right now though, he's between Owen and the door, and somehow--that's grinding his back teeth.
Shake it off, Prichard. "Trying to figure out how many of them could fit in here, if we can't close up the ground floor. I thought--" keep talking, keep working. "Upstairs has more space, but that thing is tall enough I don't think it would matter even if we knocked out the stairs."
no subject
"I think if that thing gets in it's not gonna matter if we're down here or up there," is his dark reply, just before securing his hands around the blank and forcibly ripping it from the wall. It only takes two firm jerks before it detaches, dust falling and splinters coating the shelf beneath it. Mission accomplished, he tucks it under a metal arm and turns toward the other occupant again. "Doesn't matter anyway. It's not gonna get a foot in."
no subject
He was green, once. He was more-than, and there's a spark between anger and shame, that anything can still make him feel that way. Literal monsters at the doors, and his body can still remember, prioritize the past. It's stupid; this is stupid. Making himself stay where he is, Owen squares up his shoulders and lifts his head. "I don't want to leave that to some building materials," he says.
Hiding in a hole isn't the answer; hasn't been for a long time. He remembers Kamala, terrified she'd brought her monsters with her. He'd told her they would deal with it if she had. He'd told her it was safe.
He's a fucking liar, when he needs to be, but he doesn't want that to be one of them. "What were your plans for after," he asks, nodding at the thick plank. "I'm a decent shot with a bow."
no subject
This is step 1.
Step 2 would have a leg up if a decent shot with a bow were involved.
"Goin' out there," is his answer, flatly as though it should be obvious. "Seeing if I can take it's head off"
There's a subtle invitation in the way one of his eyebrows arches up a bit.
no subject
At least the comfort in a stretched bow is still there for him.
"You might be the man to do it," he agrees, not so obvious as to stare at the man's arm. It's an advantage, it's something they need. At the very least, it probably doesn't bleed when some living imprint of hunger and rage tries to chew on it. With no sense of how well the thing could climb or jump, he hadn't wanted to immediately start stalking it across rooftops--but if someone intends to be on the ground, they could at least cover each other.
"Let me recruit another archer; we'll set up watch on the roof while you finish boarding up. See if we can't poke a few holes and keep it off the livestock."
no subject
His lips twitch in consideration, but after only the briefest of pauses he nods. "If you can keep it zoned, it'd help. Keep it from heading for a house or a civilian, keep it from circling for the cover of the inn."
Not that he's generally comfortable giving orders or organizing things that could potentially get other people hurt, but if Owen's volunteering... it'd be a strategic advantage he'd be stupid not to accept.
no subject
"I already know a couple of people to ask, we'll keep fire on it from above." As much time as he spends out of it, he hadn't quite realized they were still pulling people in--and that realization begs the other, what if someone comes out of that fountain?
They'll need eyes on it, at the very least. "We don't need everyone to fight it," he suggests, "but if anyone's willing to round up stragglers while we cover them...I'm going to remind people to use their distress signals, see if we can get past the recent communication issues."
no subject
"Good plan. I'll see what we can do." He nods, and for the life of him he doesn't know what gives him the audacity to reach out and press a hand on Owen's shoulder. His answer is nothing more than a gentle squeeze of approval. It's something he might've done to Steve, but Owen's a virtual stranger.
He's got no reasoning for it, and before he can overthink it much more he turns, taking the steps two at a time, plan still stuffed under his arm.
OTA
The weapons, he at least remembered how to wield. He grabbed one of the larger knives and tucked it into his belt, his heart already hammering. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat, the same adrenaline rush he had when he entered the arena. 'May the odds be ever in your favor.'
He shook his head, pushing himself from those darker memories. There was no fight or flight here. After two months, it was clear that he was going to be allowed some peace. This was the first sign of combat he'd seen, but it still managed to make him nervous. and return him to that scared boy, certain he was going to be slaughtered.
"Keep it together." He muttered to himself.
OTA
What you had to realize about Rose was that this, for all its extreme danger and weirdness combined, was as close to normal as the brunette had known since she'd found herself back in this place. She was aware she shouldn't light up at the chance to risk her neck, sure as hell not with the destruction this thing had wrought ever since it had been drawn to the village. The truth was? She had to fight to keep the edge of excitement from taking over.
Returning to one of the machetes she'd dismissed at first, Rose picked it up and gave it an experimental twirl. Testing the weight and the length as she tucked it flat against her arm. The small wrinkles that crease her brow suggest that she's not entirely happy with her choice, but the kind of weapon she was used to fighting with, wasn't exactly on offer.
With a huff of acceptance, she moved away from the table and headed over to one of the few windows yet to be boarded up. The wrinkles returned as she squinted, trying to adjust her sight to the darkness beyond. The sound of people moving about inside the Inn, made it impossible for her to hear much beyond its walls. Rose's weight shifting from one foot to the other as her impatience rose to the surface.
"Anyone thought about what we're going to do if we can't kill this one the way we did the others?" The idle thought, given voice as she glanced over her shoulder to seek out anyone who might be listening.
no subject
Right now, Owen was the only audience, and his response was almost as idle. "We learn from the attempt. Or the next group learns from our failure."
That they could slip out to their deaths come morning didn't weigh much on him; every sunrise had that promise back home. The passage of time, for individuals, was not guaranteed: only for the whole. "Better than sitting in here; I'd like to die with my thumb outside of my asshole, personally."
no subject
“That works.”
If she was going to die? She always wanted it to be for something: Protecting others, or at least damn well trying.
As if reading her own thoughts, he, in turn, offered her the same sentiment in words, a hint of a smile playing across her lips as Rose nodded her agreement. Back to the window frame now, she folded her arms across her chest, sizing Owen up, more out of habit than judging if she thought him worthy for the upcoming battle. She’d seen Guardians twice his size and probable skill brought down by a single Strigoi, while people less seemingly capable than him, came out on top against a dozen. Rose was living proof that you can’t judge a book by its cover.
“I’ve never been one for staying put, either.” Or keeping out of trouble for that matter. Though she’d argue it found her first, not that she went looking for it. The truth was likely somewhere in between.
no subject
"Some of us have to be stupid enough to go out there," he agreed, plucking idly at the string of his bow. He used it too often not to know its condition, and sizing each other up could only kill so much time, done silently.
He had little to judge her by, even returning her gaze. Straight-shouldered, not put off by talk of failure. Young, in a way that didn't surprise him. He'd put down his share of runners by her age. He'd put down soldiers, toward the same purposes: survival, escape. Nothing like this creature, but he was trying to level his idea of it, his nerves. Shadow though it might be, it was just--something big, something mean. Faster than he was used to something that terrible being. Not faster than things he's had to shoot, thankfully.
"Though, correct me, but I don't think you've been here that long. Just one for volunteering?"
no subject
She couldn’t say that he reminded her at all of the Guardians she’d spent her whole life surrounded by, at least not in terms of build. There was something in the eyes though, a look that she’d learned to recognize, especially since she’d been out in the ‘real world’. It was the very look that a novice would acquire shortly after becoming a full-fledged Guardian, one that she’d caught in her reflection ever since the events of Spokane.
Tall. Strong. Fast. None of that really mattered. The only thing that made a difference, in the end, was if you had luck on your side, and anyone who lived long enough to have that look in their eyes, had been allowed a healthy share of it in their life.
His question elicited a shrug from her, Rose for once, considering her answer before she allowed it to tumble out.
“Kind of. New I mean.” Her weight shifting from one foot to the other, too amped up to remain still. “I came. I saw… I disappeared for six months.”
She shoots for casual indifference but there’s the slightest of edge to her voice as she speaks, Rose more bothered by the not knowing, than she is by having returned.
“I wasn’t here that long, though. And this -” She waved a hand around the room, at the organized chaos that came with people gearing up for a fight. “This is just what I do. What I’m good at, you know?”
no subject
Better a brief hunger, than grief.
And from the sound of it, ends and beginnings weren't so straightforward, here. Nodding with her words, he picked up the new topic. "It seems like most people don't remember, when something like that happens. Did you--go back, for those six months? Or did the time just kind of snap you back into place?"
no subject
“So it has happened before?” Rose perking up at that, not sure if she should be grateful for the memories or not now she knew there was another option.
“No, it was just… like I was here one minute and then woke up in the fountain, the next.” Only six months had passed in between and there was a blank spot where those memories should have been. Assuming there were any to have. “I thought somebody was trying to tell me I needed a bath.”
no subject
A fight's a good distraction. Picking at the imperfection of a place put that long journey a little further out of reach. Now it was something to keep regret at his heels.
Make the same mistake enough times, it's just your fucking lifestyle. And it didn't suit the people who needed him, so maybe they'd learn to need someone else. "If we survive this, I'll shove you back in and bring you some soap." Six months was about twice the time he'd been here; it was a strange thing, to have better sense of the days here than he did at home. Working watches, a functional network; electricity in less than a dozen locations. "You missed--the changeover, I take it. Everyone says there used to be a canyon."
no subject
“It was like living in a giant hole in the ground.” Nodding her head in response as she glances towards one of the windows, as if she still expects to see the canyon despite all that had changed (and despite the fact that it was dark out).
“I hear this place is pretty big now.” Or was it always? The more she tried to think about it, the more irritated she became, which was exactly why she hadn’t experienced it for herself. That and she still expected the canyon to magically reappear at any moment, crushing anyone who had dared to go beyond the village.
Nobody could ever accuse Rose of being logical.
no subject
"When you're on foot, anything you can't cross in a day seems big. North or south, if you don't stop too much--four days out from the village you get beaches? No one's gone very far east or west, too many mountains and rivers to get over."
What they needed were boats, sturdy enough for the rivers and the shallow waters of their border. Or a point high enough to see if there was an ocean on every horizon.
"I was trying to figure out the local horses," he admitted, "before those things came down off the mountain. Well." He had another crease for concession, set between his brows. "I call them horses, but they've got big racks of antlers and patches of scales. If we can't tame them we might just have to find out how they taste."
no subject
The four day trek to even get there seemed like more effort than she was willing to expend, however, certainly not until she’d had a little more time to find her bearings in this changed place - or at least - until she knew whether she was going to survive this fight.
“You mean those things that look like a unicorn had sex with a deer?” She’d never gotten close enough to even notice the scales, Rose choosing to give all wildlife here a wide berth. Just because what she’d encountered hadn’t reacted like she was Dhampir, didn’t mean she wanted to put that to the test any time soon. She liked animals just fine, always had. They just, for whatever reasons, seemed to hate Dhampir.
“I think I’d rather drink the green milk than try to eat the Unideer.” And that she’d been avoiding as well. It was one thing eat food the milk was likely in, another entirely to try it all on its own. Rose was perfectly fine with ignorance.
no subject
Work experience entry one: ownership of the weird cow that made the green milk.
Owen sucked air through his teeth until it clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "It's kind of peaty," if he had to describe it. "Having a better grasp of colors than animal science, I wonder if they just don't break down what they eat as much. It's not bad for carrying on a long trip."