ψ i've got a friend he's a pure bred killing machine

[fishermansweater]

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Outside the Police Station
WHEN: November 4
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Animal death, gore, possible PTSD
STATUS: Open

---

( don't tell me it's a worthy cause )

i was following the pack all swallowed in their coats

[tooktheblack]

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: Woods, village, along the road
WHEN: 4 November, before Finnick's post
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None at this time.
STATUS: open.

---

The weather had turned sharply cold in the last fornight or so and ever since Sansa's arrival, the winds had been bitter and snow had fallen. It had melted quickly, as autumn snow often did, but there was no denying that winter would soon be on its heels. Jon had been hunting and preserving as much as he could since he'd arrived but now, with the bite in the air a sharp reminder of just how ill-prepared they were in some ways, his need was a little more urgent. He spent longer in the woods hunting each day, fighting the low light to bring back everything he could. He gathered berries and herbs, knowing that the green things would be hard to find once the snows fell thick.

Winter is Coming. Those had always been the words of House Stark, understood by few outside of the family and none outside of the North and here in this place, Jon thought he might have found some that could understand it. They would all need to work together in order to survive this winter, however long it ended up lasting, and while he knew that he, Ygritte, Robb and Sansa could make it through relatively unscathed he worried for the others. What did they know about a harsh winter, about snows that did not break? What did they know about how to survive when the sun barely rose above the horizon for days on end, when you rose in the dark and went to bed in the dark and the only light was from the fire crackling and popping in the night? What did they know?

It was not as cold here as it was at the Wall by any means and not even as cold as it could get at Winterfell in the summer and autumn and, yet, Jon was worried. He did not know if their clothing would carry them through, if it would be warm enough, and not everyone was as lucky as he to have someone to share their bed and keep them warm. Today, he'd spent long hours in the woods and was coming back to the village with less game than he'd like; he would clean it and give it over to Kate to cook and hope that he'd do better later. It would have to be better later.

As he walked, snow began to fall from the sky, the light flakes bright against the dark of his hair. They melted almost as soon as they touched him but, still, given how heavy and gray the sky was and the way the wind had turned, there was a chance they were in for yet another storm. Jon tucked his head down and walked a little faster, trying to make it to the Inn and then back to the house before the true snow began.

cat in a tree (or a carter)

[womanofvalue]

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Canyon | Inn
WHEN: mid-day November 4 | end of day November 5
OPEN TO: Steve | OTA
WARNINGS: Potential language
STATUS: Closed

---

For Steve

It's been colder than Peggy likes, but that's no reason to stop exploring the canyon. If anything, it's actually a good incentive as if she doesn't finish her work of mapping out the area, then she's going to end up locked out from onslaughts of snow that piles up too high to do anything about. It's why she's clad herself in her coat, grasped the rope, and starts towards the canyon.

She stops, though, outside of the house Steve is living in. It's the sort of adventure that she thinks he might like. More than that, it's the sort of thing that she imagines they might have done together at some point, had he come home from the war. "Steve, it's me," Peggy says, trying to stay brisk and refuse to allow any emotion to creep into it.

Adjusting the rope a little more, she reaches up to tweak her hair to ensure it stays pinned up.

"I've got a prospect I think you won't want to turn down."

Down The Ledge

Later, much later, Peggy feels like she's had a long experience that she's not sure she can quantify. Truly, it's a stressful thing because she'd been up on that little crumbling edge so high above everyone else that she had genuinely worried about ever coming back. There had been moments, up there, where all she could imagine was a broken leg that led to her death or something else equally as terrible.

She's made it back to the inn with some help, but she still feels shaken. The canyon map is spread out in front of her with all its conflicting information. She wants a drink more than anything else, because her whole life had flashed before her eyes and she feels like she's neglected whole parts of it and for what?

Some bloody map that still doesn't make sense.

Months and months of work and this is a dead end. Staring forlornly at it, Peggy leans down to rub sore muscles from standing on that little ledge for so long, wondering what comes next. "This bloody, awful, ridiculous thing," she swears, her voice trembling slightly as she crumples the map before her (for all the good it does, seeing as fabric doesn't crumple quite well).

It's nearly cost her her life. What else might this place try and take from her next?