It Comes Crashing Down

[thekittenqueen]

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Bungalows #58, #4
WHEN: Feb 12th
OPEN TO: Logan, All
WARNINGS: Injuries, the fallout from being struck by lightening
STATUS: Open during the aftermath

---

I. [Closed to Logan]

( Read more... )

II. [Open]

She had been seen and received treatment. While the injuries were minor, her mind still whirred, raising anxiety in her. The burns hadn't been severe, but they left her trembling and afraid. She kept her mind from drifting back to Westeros, focused on every small detail of her room. The feel of her mattress beneath her, the cold in the air and the sound of the bungalow settling.

It took a great deal for her to remain in bed. Gilbert rested at her side, his soft fur a sweet balm to her burned skin. Finally her heart had settled in her chest and she could breathe once more. Her eyes trailed over her room, bored and restless.

She wouldn't remain in bed for long, not if she had her way.

(no subject)

[warriorborn]

WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn kitchen
WHEN: February 12, evening
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: lightning-related injury, specifically burns/scalds from the stove
STATUS: ongoing

---

ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ

The lightning storms have been worrisome. At the beginning, they had been fascinating in their novelty; to someone like Benedict, who's lived his whole life in the controlled environment of a Spire, not accounting for the brief sojourns taken in transport ships, even the most mild of weather patterns are fascinating. That fascination wore off quickly, though, when the lightning started to strike their habble. The storms had gone from a distant, perplexing thing, to something immediate and dangerous. He'd been woken up by a frankly terrifying amount of noise, some nights, and found scorched earth the next morning, clearly indicating a lightning strike.

Then that house had been hit, and Kylo Ren had been killed. Then the redhead Benedict didn't know very well had been injured, followed by at least three others. And then even Ivan had been hit, and Benedict couldn't even feel self-satisfied about it, because injuries like that are not something he'd wish on anyone. Even someone as eminently punchable as Ivan Vorpatril.

He'd been quietly herding Kate inside as often as possible, not wanting her to be the next victim of the lightning strikes, doing his best to make sure that she was safe indoors and not out wandering.

He's in the kitchen when it happens, wholly unprepared.

The kettle is heavy at the best of times, but filled with boiling water, fresh from the stove, Benedict usually takes it upon himself to be the one to move it. He's far stronger than Kate, with a longer reach, too, which means that, using a bit of cloth to protect his palms, he has an easier time hauling it around to where it needs to go.

He's just lifting the thing off the stove when a sudden ball of light materializes before his eyes, blindingly bright and so hot he feels like he's just opened the furnace. Yelping in surprise, he jerks back as quickly as possible, the sharp movement toppling the kettle and opening the lid so the boiling water spills like a waterfall all over his hand. The red-hot pain is immediate, prompting another instinctive yell, and Benedict snatches his arm back out of the way, but it's too late. The arcing water from the falling kettle cascades down his arm, narrowly missing his trousers as well, and splashes onto the tile beneath his feet mere seconds before the heavy kettle follows, cracking the tiles it lands on.

Cradling his burned arm to his chest, Benedict curses. Loudly.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

The last time Benedict had burned his hands, the adrenaline of the moment had blocked most of the pain, and he'd been able to power through the worst of it until he'd been able to retreat to safety. He'd also been poisoned by Silkweaver venom at the time, but that's not relevant to this situation. He doesn't remember much of the healing, having been in a coma at the time, but if the pain he'd missed out on was anything like this pain, he's glad he had been unconscious for the worst of it.

The flesh on his left hand, as well as a good chunk of his forearm, is one giant blister. The skin is swollen and tender, and the blister is an alarming yellow, ballooning up his skin and demanding all of his attention. Even after submerging his arm in cold water in the sink on and off for most of the evening and the next day, the skin feels like it's burning, and he's afraid his temper is rather short as a result.

He feels useless with only one arm in commission, the other wrapped loosely in strips of cold, wet cloth, carefully cradled in a sling that drives him absolutely crazy. He can barely even sit and read like this, unable to hold the book open and turn the pages with any sort of grace using only one hand, and the constant burning pain that isn't receding nearly quickly enough isn't making his life any easier. He feels churlish, snapping at people, feeling sorry for himself the way he is, especially when he knows that there have been others similarly affected by lightning who were injured worse than he. Especially since it was really his own stupidity that injured his arm. He didn't even have the decency to be hit by actual lightning, like the rest of the invalids in the habble. No, he had to pull a hot kettle down on himself like a fool child who didn't listen to the warnings from their cook, and now he's paying the price and he's miserable because of it.

001 Arrival Post

[scepterschild]

WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: Fountain & Around
WHEN: February 12th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE!
WARNINGS: Threatening people in the first post.
STATUS: CLOSED

---

Fountain; Very Early Morning

Wanda pushed her way from the fountain, a noticeable frown tugging at her lips as she moved. She was soaked, it was freezing and she had no idea how she got here. Moving quickly, Wanda pulled the backpack from her shoulders and rummaged through its contents. She didn't know what she was expecting to find but she was grateful to see a set of dry clothes stashed inside. After making sure that there wasn't anyone watching, Wanda began to strip off the wet layers and pull on what she had found.

Her movements were quick as she pulled the pale gray scrubs over her head. Any sound or inclination of another person would cause her focus to shift. She'd quickly turn towards her new company, red mist snapping an icicle from nearby shooting it towards the stranger.

Wanda would stop her attack just before striking. She wanted answers.

Around; Mid-Day

Wanda took the time to explore the village; learning the few threads of information that were available as well as who else was around. Her powers felt different, distant, and her tests to use them confirmed that a large fraction of her strength had been taken from her. It was frustrating and it pulled at the strands of tension that gathered beneath her breastbone.

She didn't like feeling like a rat in a cage.

She meandered through the village and around it's outskirts, her eyes inspecting for details that might offer a clue that others have missed. Wanda was familiar with cold weather and snow; neither deterred her from having a look around however she didn't wander very far.

Near the Inn; Night Sky

As the afternoon drifted away from Wanda she began to noticed the intensity of the lights stretching across the sky. She's seen auroras in the past. They were streaks of light that curled like brilliant ocean waves against the dark contrast of night. She had hoped to see the stars but the auroras were shining like a second sun, efficiently hiding anything else from sight.

"Hmm?" Her tone was soft, her chin tilted up to stare at the sky. "How is it that people sleep."

Wanda knew she should sleep but her thoughts were heavy and distracting. The auroras gave her something to focus on and for the moment she wanted that distraction.

no i don't want to battle from beginning to end

[00nothing]

WHO: Alex Rider
WHERE: around the village, then inside the inn
WHEN: February 12
OPEN TO: anyone
WARNINGS: severe lightning injuries, probably references to past injuries
STATUS: open

---

( i don't want to follow death and all of his friends )

Mi corazón te abrí, desde entonces llevo el cielo dentro de mí [closed]

[candor1]

WHO: Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor; with cameo by Finnick Odair!
WHERE: Cabin 56
WHEN: February 6, later that night, directly out of this.
OPEN TO: Jyn, Cassian, not enough o' Finnick [Thank you again, JK, for letting us rope him in!]
WARNINGS: …we're not planning in advance where this will go, but we're also not ruling anything out…? Update: Nope, yep, smutalert.
STATUS: CLOSED. /collapses in happy tears/ Sequel coming soon!!!

( desde que llevaste vida )

California, rest in peace; [Arrival + OTA]

[tarnishing]

WHO: Taylor Baum
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: Late afternoon, then evening
OPEN TO: Jax Teller & YOU
WARNINGS: Possible narrative mention of drug abuse
STATUS: Closed to new threads

---

fountain, for jax;

When Taylor jolts awake, it isn't the water that's the biggest shock; it's the cold.

One moment sunk into the warm, bubbly depths of a much-needed bath, the next her body has seized, the drop in temperature a vise across her chest that jerks her legs and arms inward and leaves her floating for a moment, embryonic and quaking in the cold, shimmering depths of the pool. Instinct and Mrs. Lennon's kindergarten swimming class kicks in, butterfly kicking her up and up until she surfaces, coughing, grasping against rough concrete, trying to haul herself free and failing. Her fingers have gone rigid and her muscles don't want to work, skinny elbows wavering when she makes a second attempt, mind already racing at the flood of unexpected information, finally flopping over the lip and curling into a ball on the hard ground with a throat-tearing, "FUCK!"

What has happened, what has happened, what has happened?

Bunched on the ground, her eyes are wide, blinking against the cold, and this is nowhere she has ever been, nowhere she has ever seen, she's sure of it.

"What, what, what, what," she whispers, the words shuddered out as she watches the sun dip past the tops of the line of fir trees, and she knows she has to move, but isn't certain she can.


inn, later that evening, ota;

If this is a dream, or a coma, or a drug-fueled hallucination, it is an impressive one.

It's been hours since Taylor changed into clean, dry, clothes, but still she's huddled beneath a blanket and parked in front of the wide hearth in what everyone is calling the "inn." It makes her wonder, dimly, if that name really applies if nobody's paying to be there.

She's not such a SoCal girl that she can't handle a little cold; she's been to Big Bear and Tahoe enough times. She owns a pair of skis, for fuck's sake, along with several super cute sets of stylish-yet-practical leggings for hitting the slopes or showing off her yoga butt at the coffee shop at Sundance. But this weirdness wasn't a gradual cooling; it was like a hard slap that reverberated down to her bones. She can't seem to get warm.

The sun has fully set and she probably needs to be more practical than this, probably needs to figure out where the hell she's sleeping tonight, but right now she's pretty sure could pass out right here and be okay with it.