Without Wings, I Still Fly

[notabirdcostume]

WHO: Sam Wilson & Open
WHERE: Around the Village -- Cliff Walls
WHEN: March 19 - March 21
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Bugs (but only in one thread)
STATUS: Open

---

( 1. Discovering Abilities: March 19 Morning )

( 2. Test Flight: March 19 Afternoon - Morning of March 21 )

( 3. Cliffs of Danger: March 21 Afternoon )

002 ☠️ and today this is my truth (ota)

[beallmysins]

WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: front steps of the Inn
WHEN: several days spanning over 21 March - 25 March
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: White Boy Angst
STATUS: open

---

the pen and paper has no judgment, no vote.

The box had come two days earlier and Jax hadn't opened it because he doesn't trust a single fucking thing about this place. He'd let it sit on the little table in his house and when the curiosity had finally eaten him alive, he'd opened it and found cigarettes and matches and a little notebook and pen. He'd been so goddamned elated to have a pack of cigarettes (eight packs of them, actually) that he'd wanted to start chain smoking them but he has decided he's going to ration them and try to make them last. Who knows if he's ever going to get another box like this again anyway?

He'd taken the notebook and stuck it in his pocket, stuck the cheap ballpoint behind his ear and taken a pack of the smokes up to the Inn so he could write. It's something he's always liked to do, get his thoughts down on paper, and while it's not going to be anything novel-worthy he thinks he wants to keep a record of this place and what happens here just in case he disappears and someone else from Charming shows afterward. He wants to leave an indelible mark so that it matters that he got marooned here and it's not just some fucking useless detour.

Right now, he's writing about everything that's happened so far that he can remember - the fountain, the people he's met. He's writing it in case Abel or Thomas ever get to read it. He thinks they'll like Moana, at least, maybe some of the others. He doesn't do a lot of editing when he writes like this, just stream of consciousness, and when he's finished for a while he puts it down and lights another cigarette, letting the smoke curl up and the embers flicker in the fog. He takes a drag, exhales, and thanks God that he's got at least a several days' supply if he rations. Maybe he can go three weeks if he's real good about it. When he hears someone approach, he figures it's only polite to offer a smoke even if he doesn't want to waste them.

"You want one? I can share."