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littledhampir) wrote in
sixthiterationlogs2018-08-15 09:08 pm
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You have that look in your eye
WHO: Rose Hathaway
littledhampir
WHERE: Various places around 6i
WHEN: 15th - 25th of August (Before the end of Sirens Call)
OPEN TO: OTA - Late tag-ins are always welcome.
WARNINGS: Minor references to blood & a pack of rabid Bambis. Character Death. Others may well come bc… Rose, so. Watch this space. FYI. So much TLDR under the cut.
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WHERE: Various places around 6i
WHEN: 15th - 25th of August (Before the end of Sirens Call)
OPEN TO: OTA - Late tag-ins are always welcome.
WARNINGS: Minor references to blood & a pack of rabid Bambis. Character Death. Others may well come bc… Rose, so. Watch this space. FYI. So much TLDR under the cut.
If you go out in the woods today...
THE WOODS + THE INN
She’d been getting a little too comfortable with the fact that the wildlife here didn’t seem to have a problem with her. Rose’s strictly human status here in the village was generally a point of contention for the Dhampir, but if she had to have picked one thing that didn’t suck - it was her recent ability to be able to pet an animal without fear of it trying to snack on her. Until today.
In her defense...Who the hell would think to be careful around something that looked like Bambi had been left in the dryer on high for too long?! Sure they lull you into a false sense of security by sending one out to try and get your attention, and the next thing you know there’s eight of the little suckers - and she does mean that word literally - all trying to sink their teeth into you while you flail around like a fish that had escaped from its bowl. (Or. ya know. The lead singer of a popular Australian 80s band.)
While it was true that Dhampir blood was considered to taste better than that of a Human, Rose had been hoping that her change in race, courtesy of this godforsaken place, might have meant that had changed it. If the last ten minutes of her life was anything to go by, she hadn’t gotten so lucky.
You would be forgiven for laughing, however, if you happen to spot Rose as she emerges from the edge of the woods. Her appearance mildly alarming due to the bite marks that adorn her arms and legs. The long dark hair that had been pulled back into a ponytail was now a tangled mess that half framed her face. The clothing she’d raided from the discarded items of the Inn, probably more useful as dishcloths than it would ever be for training now. You may even spot one of the little creatures in question as it’s brave enough to think about having another go. And if you do, you’ll also spot Rose as she turns around and sends it back towards the treeline with a kick that sails wide.
Don’t worry if you miss it, she’ll be dragging her sorry self back to the Inn, looking like the disaster that she is, in search of something she can use to clean herself up and bracing for the numerous questions she knows she’s going to regret.
People are strange when you're a stranger
BUILDINGS AROUND 6i
If her encounter with the pack of Rabid Bambis had taught Rose anything, it was that this place was in desperate need of somewhere she could use to train. Running every day might be a part of her routine, but if she weren’t so bored out of her skull from not being able to take to the mats of a gym, maybe she wouldn’t do stupid things like, oh… say… pet the cute yet utterly terrifying spawn of satan.
It’s why she’s been out scouting the various buildings around the village, something that seemed like a wise idea until she realized that half of them were occupied and Rose had no idea which half. The ones with lights on inside made for an easy avoidance, but seeing as most of the people around here didn’t actually have electricity, there was a 50/50 chance that one of the windows she peered through belonged to an inhabited residence. Surely this was going to be fine.
And can you shake it off?
HOT SPRINGS
Even before the Wendigo attack, the Hot Springs had been a regular haunt of Rose’s, dating back to the first time she’d found herself in the village with a busted ankle and a series of conspicuous bite marks that weren’t exactly easy for her to keep covered. From the very moment she’d found out about the spring water and it’s healing potential, she’d been coming here every day. In part because of the healing but also because it seemed to be one of the few places she could visit that wasn’t overrun with people like the Inn was.
Of course, coming here these days wasn’t half as relaxing as it used to be but that was a story that even Kira didn’t have enough alcohol on hand to pry it out of her. It’s usually around dusk that she can be found this way, though, when most are making use of the last hour of natural light the village is afforded.
They say life carries on
PEETA'S GRAVE
When a Dhampir - a Guardian, died in her world, their death wasn’t something that was marked in any significant way. There was no memorial for people to come together and grieve. No procession of mourners to see them onto whatever came next. They were simply buried in a grave with a headstone that read the words ‘Eternal Service’. Dhampir, who like her, had dedicated their lives to protecting others. Dhampir, who like her, had always known that they would one day die because of it.
It was a part of her culture that had never particularly sat well with Rose. The attitude that when a person died, it was acknowledged - albeit briefly - and moved on from. Peeta was by no means a Guardian and yet, he’d gone into the fight knowing he could well die protecting others and while perhaps her only real connection to him was that she’d been there with him at the end. The thought that his death could be just like the many Guardians who had fallen before him, sat uneasily with Rose.
Those who have visited Peeta’s grave might have noticed the appearance of the forget-me-nots that somebody had been leaving there regularly. A single, lavender flower that seemed to be replaced with a new one every day. She never stays long, only long enough to retrieve the wilting flower and replace it with a new one. For Rose, it wasn’t so much about mourning as it was about remembering. About making sure, that at least as long as she was here, the boy who had sacrificed everything to help keep the people here safe, wouldn’t be just another headstone in a row of forgotten heroes.
Wildcard
Pick your poison. Rose lives at the Inn so when she’s not outdoors, she does spend an awful lot of time there.
Peeta's Grave
He's been trying to contribute to their personal and uh, "unconventional" food stores by going out and seeing what creatures might be caught in traps, trying to remember all that Wanda had taught him the last time about hunting. He still can't quite get over the moral aspect of it (ironic, given his history), but he's gotten better in terms of accuracy and aim. He's caught a couple of squirrels whose brains he'll happily harvest when he decides to take the long way around back to the shared cabin.
In doing so, he stumbles upon Rose, removing and replacing a flower at what appears to be .. a grave? He thinks to simply scurry off without being seen or heard, not wanting to interrupt whatever moment she's obviously having. But something makes him stay. He doesn't want to be a total creep, so he makes some kind of noise - a jostling, rustling sort of sound - to announce his presence and avoid startling her. Though he wouldn't be surprised if she'd somehow already figured out he was there.
"Hey," he offers quietly, solemnly as he approaches by a few steps. He looks to the grave once close enough. He's been fortunate enough to not have had to bury anyone while here, but it's not as though he's a stranger to death. "I never knew him well enough. I wish I had, though." He places the squirrels far enough away from the grave so as not to make things weird and walks closer to the grave. "I heard about what happened. I'm .. I'm sorry, Rose."
/smacks her tbh
“Hey-” Straightening and likely looking every bit as guilty as she felt, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. It’s not exactly easy to look casual or unaffected when you were standing by a grave, her hands tingling as they remembered her digging it, far better than she actually did.
Rose follows his gaze to the grave as he sets the squirrels down, her weight shifting uncomfortably as her escape has now been cut off. It would be, frankly weird for her to scamper off after having been caught here and while there are not many people she’d fight the urge to do that for in the village, Major had earned more than that from her.
“So do I.” She answered honestly, still clutching the flower in her closed hand. “We weren’t friends - “ Rose almost too quick to point that out, not wanting his sympathy for a loss that wasn’t truly hers to feel. Maybe she and Peeta could have been friends, if things had been different but they weren’t and Rose had never gotten very far in life by looking to the past.
“He was just, somebody I met really.” Rose glossing over practically everything about what had happened, unsure how much Major actually knew. While she was sure he’d heard about the Wendigo, she saw no reason why her name would have come up in relation to it all. She hardly thought of herself as making enough of an impact on people for them to be bothered talking about her.
“It’s on the way back to the Inn.” The half-lie tasting bitter on her tongue as her weight shifted once again.
LOL it's okay /pets
He's not comparing that to what Rose is experiencing, but he knows that sometimes sadness strikes without warning, and people often try to justify it or stupefy it.
Very much in the way Rose seems to be doing now.
"You don't need to come up with excuses," he continues, voice soft and soothing. "Not with me." He takes another step forward, eyes drifting from her face to the grave. "I'm glad you do something to remember him by. I think it's the least anyone could hope for - here or back where we come from."
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“I’m not sad.” It’s not defensive, not an excuse. There’s enough truth in her words for them to ring honestly as she speaks them and she allows herself to look at him then. Giving up the hiding of the flower, she uncurls her fingers, staring at the crushed petals that lay in the palm in her hand. Rarely did Rose ever wish she had even an ounce of the abilities that Liss had, but right now she wished she could have brought that flower back to life. That was Lissa’s gift though, the light to her dark. She would always bring life while Rose’s gift was death.
“I’m not… That’s half the problem.” Rose absently stroking the petals of the dying flower with her thumb. “I should be, or I should at least feel something but I just… don’t.” Or at least, not what she thought she should feel. She felt guilt, even anger but not at the people who deserved it. She was mad at Peeta of all people for throwing himself into danger when he should have known he was at a disadvantage. Guilty because she’d seen that he was and hadn’t tried to stop him, hadn’t done enough to keep him out of the path of the beast.
“I don’t know when I reached a point when somebody could die in front of me and I’d just feel… nothing.” But after Siberia, after Spokane, after everything that had happened in between the two, she felt like she’d reached this points where the things that should affect her, can barely touch her at all. She wasn’t grieving the loss of a boy that she barely knew. In many ways she was grieving the loss of the person she used to be, she just didn’t know that yet.
“I come here because… when somebody dies the way he did, people should remember.” And perhaps, more than that, she came here because there were people she wanted to remember, but there would never be any grave for her to visit them, not here and not back home. “That’s not really how it works where I’m from.”
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Her voice draws his gaze towards her face, though - just for a brief moment, to acknowledge her. It drifts down towards the crushed up flower in her palm, the tiny purple petals now darkened and withered. He only knows obvious flowers like tulips and roses, so he's got no idea what the plant is that she's got in her hand, but he figures there's some kind of significance. She'd have chosen it for a reason, whatever it might be.
He continues to listen to her, allowing her to say as much or as little as she pleases. He understands more, now, with her explanation.
"Sometimes, shock and grief sort of make a cocoon around us, to protect us from too many emotions at once. The brain will always try to protect itself. Sometimes, we go into that shock and feel absolutely nothing because there's no other way we can get through whatever's going on. We compartmentalize, dissociate. And then we often feel a sudden outburst of emotion later on down the line, sometimes unexpectedly." He clasps his hands in front of him as he stands, now looking at the grave again. "I used to work at a homeless shelter for youths. Most were young teenagers. I saw that sort of thing a lot there." He shifts a little bit closer to her, gently tapping her with his elbow. "I was told once that feelings aren't right or wrong; they exist outside of the realm of morality. They just are. So if you aren't feeling as sad as you think you should be, it doesn't mean that what you're feeling is wrong. It's ... just what you feel." He turns towards her now, not reaching out for her (though he's the sort of person who's generally inclined to do that), but unclasping his hands to show they're there should she want to hold them. "You coming here, putting flowers on his grave even when no one else knows about it, because you want him to be remembered, because you want to not forget, regardless of how sad you feel or how ... not-sad you feel .. that speaks more than feeling sad for the sake of feeling sad. Feelings are simply feelings, but we've got control over what we do with them, how they affect our behaviors."
He reaches up, places a gentle hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before letting his hand fall again.
"It seems to me like you're feeling plenty, but being constructive with it."
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Peeta's Grave
But he's been in and out of the sky enough times now to realize it's something he's doing, that he can choose to be man or bird, apropos fucking nothing. Some kind of twinge in his wrist, if he recalls. Bitten by a rogue magpie and now turning in the light of the...not full moon? In the middle of the day?
Whatever: point is, he can fucking fly. If this place is going to be an absurd nightmare day in and out, at least let him live that dream. It also just makes getting around easier, and, not knowing how long it'll last--he's staying somewhat close to the ground, somewhat close to home, and also using it as much as possible. Rose, on her morbid errand, will find a magpie sitting on Peeta's grave, setting down a cluster of goldbells like it knows exactly what it's doing.
With half a hop, Kira exchanges the fresh flowers for the withered blossom she came to replace, not surprised to find she's the one doing so. Still getting the hang of taking off, he kicks back off the piled stones, dislodging a few smaller pieces as he pulls himself into the air to wind up on her shoulder.
Magpies can mimic a wide range of sounds, but it's debatable that he manages to croak Rose into her ear before kicking off again, gliding a short distance to a branch and looking back, waiting.
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She stopped, eyes narrowed, watching the Magpie with what looked like a miniature bouquet of flowers, the cluster of goldbells bringing a spark of color to a place that was rendered drab, purely because of what it was. She watched it for several moments, finding a rare smile touch her lips at the awkward way it hopped towards the grave and set the flowers down.
She had the strange sense that it knew what it was doing, even before it took the flower from her hands, Rose watching the exchange with an odd mix of fascination and unease as she thought back to the Crow who weirdly had more in common with her, than anyone she’d ever known.
A huff of laughter spilled past her lips as she watched its uncoordinated take-off, Rose about to stand up and leave when it landed on her shoulder. She stiffened, half expecting it was going to pack her for laughing at its folly before dismissing that as too stupid to consider. It was a bird for fuck sake, it didn’t give a damn if she laughed or shooed it away.
And then as if to prove her wrong, it squawked in her ear, its wings lifting her hair as it took flight and landed not far from where she stood. She thought - she swore she’d just heard the damn bird say her name, Rose’s head snapping around to stare at it accusingly before she shook her head and ran her hands down her face.
“Jesus... I really am going crazy again.”
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It had taken months to get Hoshi to repeat certain words, given very little else to entertain himself with. Kira at least has the avantage of his mind, but translating it into speech is still a process. Easier with words he's heard, easier if he repeats it a few times in his head, and tries to push it through his beak.
"Crazy," he mimics, hopping sideways on a branch.
Fuck, but it's weird to be this small. Less by the day, but still.
"Going," he adds, head tilted, pegging her with beady black eyes. "Going."
Gliding from branch to a cluster of tall weeds, Kira bends them under his weight, flapping several times to make up for his poor judgment. Rose might be crazy, or this bird might just be very bad at being what it is. Looking back, he calls it again, waiting for her to follow.
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She hesitates, however, mostly because she’s not quite ready to embrace the title of ‘actual serial killer’ by being that person who tortures animals in her spare time, the brunette watching the Magpie’s uncoordinated attempt at existing as it moves about and she swears - again - looks at her with an intelligence that is painfully familiar.
“Just so we’re clear bird… if this goes bad, I’m having wings for dinner.” Because threatening a creature is exactly what a perfectly sane person would do. The Magpie can at least be content to see that in spite of her instincts telling her to get the hell out of dodge, her curiosity wins out, twigs and leaves, cracking underfoot as she trails after the bird, grumbling to herself; “This better be good.”
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House 40
Maybe, this many months in, it's time to take down the traps.
"Can I do something for you," he asks, handle in one hand, end of a looped wire in the other. The gleaming metal of the line leads back to a jar, now partially tipped, dropping black dust and nails to the floor.
Very...very probably time to repurpose the set. Owen still squares his stance and stands there like she's come to a perfectly normal house with what he will act like is a perfectly normal request--no matter what it is, at this point.
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Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when it was Owen who opened the door, her gaze honing in on the jar in his hand, her eyes narrowing as she followed the wire to where he’d rigged it up. Back home, she had a healthy amount of paranoia herself, it was drilled into her to be so from as early as she could remember but it was one thing to sleep in front of a door, another thing entirely to rig your home with an elaborate network of wires that had potentially nasty surprises at the end of them.
“You’re a little scary… you know that right?” Look he might be able to act like all of this is normal but even by this places standards? It wasn't, okay.
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Not that he has much to protect, here, but it's easier to let himself have a full shower, sleep in a bed, if someone else is going to get the bad end of their own intrusion.
"Come in, I guess?" A pinch at the corners of his eyes adds credence to the idea that he's never quite said the words before. He walks in from the door, reeling the wire around his bad hand. "You want some water?"
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“Fair enough.” Accepting the paranoia as well, good sense really.
She briefly considers telling him the truth - that she wasn’t actually here to see him, but rather a suitable place - but of all the people who live here, she’s found that he’s one of the few whose presence she can… tolerate, better than most. He reminded her of being around the Guardians back home, which in itself was a strange yet nostalgic comfort.
“You sure you can get to the sink without a tomahawk flying at my head?” She jokes - dryly - and yet… really? What she'd seen in the last few minutes, warranted asking.
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The Woods
She does come after the obviously injured woman, though, abandoning her workout.
"Hey, you need a hand cleaning up? That's uh... a lot." She waves a hand to indicate basically all of Rose's limbs.
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It took her a second to fully comprehend what Steph was actually referring to, Rose looking from the girl to the edge of the woods again before finally inspecting the damage.
“The little assholes bit me.” Is there a plural for bit? You’d think somebody who spent her life around Vampires, she might have had the answer to that. “Tiny little… rabid vampire deer!” More indignant it seems than she actually is afraid. She will come back to answering the question of help bit for right now, she’s a little too stunned to focus on the cleanup.
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"Yeah, I saw one of them. It had that furby vibe, but with more blood around the mouth. No foam, though, so it probably wasn't rabid."
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"That's something though... I guess?" No Rabies - Inspecting the bites on her arms with an air of annoyance rather than shock. "They might be cute but they're nasty little shits." Unashamedly trying to wipe off some of the blood by using the hem of her shirt.
"People eat deer, right?" She was sure that was a thing. These could be like the four-legged equivalent of eating quail, only more satisfying for Rose on account of the whole, getting bitten a bunch.
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hot springs;
She walks to the edge, divulges herself of her shoes, and sits down, letting her legs slip into the water to just below the knee.]
Hey you.
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"Hey yourself. [Her eyes opening as she sat on a smooth slab of rock, half submerged in the water. The majority of her clothes lay in a pile beside the springs, Rose stripped down to a black set of standard-issue underwear that probably covered more than most bikinis. Her skin was already looking a shade or two darker than her regular olive complexion, Rose only too happy to drink up as much sun as was humanly possible these days.]
Seriously considering pitching a tent just over there. [Nodding to a line of trees.] Save myself the bother of making this trek every day.
[Not that Rose would have the first clue how to do that, but ya know. Semantics.]
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You could always move closer.
[Her kick gently beneath the water before she finally stops resisting the urge to slide into the small pool, though she quickly pulls her bottoms off before she does so.
They nearly match, with their dark olive skin and deep brown, long hair. Even their body types were similar, though her friend was physically stronger than she could ever be.]
I've been thinking about getting out of the inn.
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[Almost absent in her reply. She had thought about it, but the Inn was also weirdly familiar to her. It was just like living in the Academy. One room. Shared bathroom. Being at the center of all things and only a short work from food she didn't have to make herself - at least around lunch time.]
I've never lived in a house. [Thinking out loud.] Not since I was little, anyway...
[And it's not like she remembered any more than she could remember the people she was living with. It was just this place she stayed at until she was old enough to leave, at the ripe old age of five.]
I should probably warn you... I can't cook.
[As if it was only natural this was a conversation about them maybe moving in together.]
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BUILDINGS AROUND 6i
It was difficult to find a place that wasn't occupied but not impossible. He sat in one such house, the couch had been pushed against the fireplace so that Danny could sit in the center of the living space. His eyes were closed, his wrists resting gently on his knees as he meditated. He could hear the clatter of the buildings next to him and the distant call of the forest.
It wasn't a great choice but it wasn't a bad one either.
He heard Rose at the door before she got close enough to knock and called out to her. "Come in." Yet. He was still getting a feel for the space, testing if it was good enough to become a Dojo. He wanted to get tatami mats but he didn't think that was possible. If he found the right material he might try a hand at making them but he had no idea how to do that.
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The door opened with a soft click, Rose following the direction she’d heard the voice come from, her footsteps light as she moved around as if she’d practiced being quiet on her feet. She came to a stop in the entrance to the living area, leaning against one wall. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched him quietly for a moment or two.
“You realize you’re not helping to kill the whole, monk stereotype, yeah?”
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"I am a monk." Which was his only retort to her reply to her remark.
He liked this house so far but he was curious what Rose thought. "I was thinking of setting up a Dojo here. Finding ways to make training equipment and training those interested in fighting." Fighting was a way of life for Danny. No matter what was happening he felt the world around him sharpen into clarity when he was fighting.
It was the only think that made everything come into focus.
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Thoughts of him naked or silent quickly slipped away, a spark of interest lighting up in her eyes at his explanation and Rose found herself moving into the middle of the room with a renewed sense of energy. “A place for fighters to train.” Elaborating on his idea with the very thing that was driving her. There was sense in what he was suggesting, though. Training those who were at present incapable of protecting themselves. They’d hardly make warriors out of them all but a fighting chance had to be better than nothing.
“You could even set up an obstacle course in the backyard… get people used to the idea of fighting on the move in rougher terrain.” It’s what they did at the Academies to break novices out of the mindset that a fight would ever come on their terms. The niceties of combat were reserved for the mats. Real life wasn’t like that.
“I might have been thinking along the same lines…” She admitted, feeling a quarter half smile play at the corner of her mouth.
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