[Wendigo-go] cry like guns across the water

[underpinnings]

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

---

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.

Comments

[freightcars]

He wouldn't really take offense if Owen did visibly scope out his arm; it's not exactly something he's conscious about. Doesn't make him feel insecure, with or without the metal prosthetic plugged in. He's got so much more going on, they all do, and in his opinion his bigger handicap has thus far been mental.

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.

[underpinnings]

In situations like this, someone has to take the lead--even if it's just to trade off between a few minds, a few mouths. The thing about shit this dire, with a nightmare stalking toward their door, nothing really feels like an order. It's just a blessed idea of what to fucking do.

"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."

[freightcars]

He doesn't even consider the fountain; he can't right now, because he's got no way to handle that issue personally. If that beast is stalking around the inn and he goes running it'll just follow him, he'd lead it directly to some poor new bastard. If they go out and fight it, though, keep it distracted? Better odds.

"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.