001 ➠ first there's lights out, then there's lock up

[windchasing]

WHO: Pietro Maximoff & YOU
WHERE: The fountain, the inn, the woods
WHEN: January 30th
OPEN TO: All, except the first starter
WARNINGS: Nothing in the top post, will update.
STATUS: Closed to new threads

( masterpieces serving maximum sentences )

001 ★ gimme back my bullets

[comfortablyerect]

WHO: Tim Gutterson
WHERE: The fountain, briefly, House 52, and eventually the Inn.
WHEN: January 30th and 31st.
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: Brief description of war zone and depictions of a very mild PTSD episode.
STATUS: Open!

Thirtieth

Tim does not remember going to sleep underwater, but that's where he wakes up.

At first, he thinks it's one of his many nightmares, but he's never had one like this before. Normally, the nightmares that so often plague him are hot and dry — gritty sand on his tongue and between his teeth, sun beating down on the back of his neck, fatigues sweaty and uncomfortable. Usually in these dreams, he's on some high, rocky cliff side when the ghosts of the men he's killed come back to haunt him. Sometimes, the dreams involve the fellow soldiers he's watched die. Never are they wet, and never do they leave him scrambling for breath.

Maybe his dreams are evolving. That would be unfortunate.

Only, it's not a dream, and he becomes very aware of that when he accidentally inhales a bunch of water. He's awake, and he's drowning. Thankfully, he's close enough to the surface that a bit of scrambling has him breaking through, immediately coughing violently as he reaches for something to hold onto. Fingers grip roughly at the stone edge of the fountain, clinging desperately until he can gather his wits and examine his surroundings. All he knows for sure is that he's definitely not in Lexington anymore, and the shocking change is more than enough to put him right on edge.

Panic tries to burrow itself in his chest, but he shuts it out quickly, instead pulling out the only version of himself he's truly comfortable as: the soldier he became in Afghanistan.

It doesn't take long to take stock of himself. The clothes he wears are not his, there's no gun at his hip, and there's a backpack secured over his shoulders. It's also freezing, and while there doesn't appear to be anybody around, he seems to be in a small town, a little reminiscent to the one he grew up in.

He hauls himself from the fountain, but he doesn't go towards the nearest building. He finds a large rock near the base of the fountain, easy enough to carry but big enough to do some damage, and moves quickly but quietly through the village. The house he settles on going into isn't the furthest away, but it's remote enough, and the one directly next door seems to be in shambles. Inside, he takes stock of what's in his backpack before changing into something dry, then ventures back outside for all the time it takes to gather a little bit of wood from the nearby destroyed house to build a fire with. That night, he doesn't sleep. He flinches at every single noise, sits with his back to the fire, and keeps the rock firmly in his hand.

Thirty-first

The next morning, he still hasn't relaxed any. His back is sore from sitting so ram-rod straight, and he feels so bare without a firearm on him. But the sun begins to come through the window and Tim knows he can't stay here forever. The fire's out and he hasn't eaten and he needs to explore his surroundings one way or another.

In the kitchen, he finds a couple of knives, slipping them into the waistband of his longjohns and pulling his now-dry scrubs on over them. He grabs the iron poker from beside the fireplace and with that, he's slipping out of the house and into the light of day. He skirts around the outside of the village, doing his best to avoid being seen by anyone, taking in the size of it and the various homes, some standing and some damaged. It's only when he makes a full circle around the village does he take to the road, choosing to go into the building that's likely to have the most people in it: the Inn.

[ ooc: This intro definitely got away from me in the end, but! Feel free to interrupt him doing any of these things on either day! ]

01 🌠

[scrounged]

WHO: Rey
WHERE: The fountain and the forest
WHEN: January 30th
OPEN TO: Anyone and everyone!
WARNINGS: Near-drowning on arrival, but otherwise none inherent
STATUS: Open!

---

a) The fountain
Rey had always dreamed of the ocean, and it was only when she finally arrived on Ahch-To that the island and the sea became real to her, the smell of the salt and the sound of the waves crashing around her the second she stepped out of the Falcon bringing the water to vivid life. The one thing she'd never anticipated, however, was the feeling of being under that water, as there hadn't been enough on Jakku to even paddle in. As she flails around now, her body feeling light but sluggish, her chest tightening with her panic, she assumes she must have somehow fallen, perhaps having lost her footing from the steep incline of the island to the waters below. But she doesn't remember falling: one moment she'd been stood there, hand outstretched, offering Luke the saber he'd lost so long ago, and as quick as blinking she was underwater, thrashing and kicking and hoping that some survival instinct would help her propel herself the surface.

When she manages to grip the rim of the fountain she pulls herself up, rolling her body over until she's safely on the ground, coughing and sputtering as she tries to clear the water from her lungs. As she gathers herself together she stares around her in bewilderment, taking in the trees and the buildings and the strange white stuff that covers the ground. It's only when she gets her breath back that she realises she's shivering with the cold, her teeth chattering, and it's with difficulty that she manages to pull herself to her feet.


b) The forest
At any other time she'd stop and marvel at the trees, but right now Rey needs to think practically. She'd seen a number of buildings on her way into the woods, but many of them looked like private residences and she didn't feel right assuming that she could stay in one - just for the night, just until she's figured out a way out of here, she tells herself. Her priorities are finding a weapon, starting a fire, and getting some sort of shelter, and the forest seems like a good answer to all of those. She figures she can probably trade something from her pack - the strange looking hat with the flame embroidered on it, perhaps - for something to light a fire with, but before that she needs to make sure she's not wandering around with no means of defending herself.

It takes a few minutes for her to find a branch of the right length, and when she does find one that she thinks will do, she leans her whole weight against it to snap it from the tree. Leaning against the trunk, she begins to strip the branch of smaller twigs and leaves to make herself a rudimentary staff.

† equipped for oratory with every advantage of nature or training

[ad_dicendum]

WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Inn and around the village
WHEN: January 30
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: None so far
STATUS: Open!

---

Even after what must be a month or so here, Gaius has not yet grown used to being so completely unable to express himself to most people in this place. He'd been raised from childhood to be a man who would sweep the people of Rome before him with education, eloquence, argument. Even the men who'd hated him had admitted he was the finest speaker in Rome. Even when the people had turned from him to his enemies, it was because they had out-promised him, never because they had outspoken him.

Yet here, every morning he wakes into a world in which the barest handful of people can understand the slightest thing he says. Many of them have never even been introduced, because neither of them knows how to do so, save by baldly stating their names, which is hardly much of an introduction.

He's expecting it to be the same today when he dons his strange blue clothes and goes downstairs to the main room of the Inn for breakfast.

Except that when he hears someone call out a greeting, he understands that it means salve.

Gaius pauses, mid-step, and turns, his hand pressed to one side of his chest where the sweep of a toga would be, and listens. And finds that he can understand every word of English as though it were perfect Latin.

When he next sees one of the residents, he pauses, nods, and says, "Good morning."

The words sound strange in his voice, and he doesn't sound like the others, his accent thick and rolling, but he can speak English.

When he goes out, later that day, the black wool not-quite-cloak wrapped around him, he pauses to greet the people he passes on his way through the village. Not just with a nod, which has been usual for him up to now, but with the greeting of their own people in their own language.

He's got a lot of lost time getting to know these people to make up for.