Someday My Prince Will Come

[thesavior]

WHO: Emma and Killian and YOU (The whole Village, even people they don't know)
WHERE: The church, outside, the Inn
WHEN: Friday May 5th Mid afternoon
OPEN TO: All (one locked to Killian)
WARNINGS: It's a party so idk
STATUS:Open Note: This is a mingle style post. Feel free to write your own starter, tag around, have fun!!!

---

If life was truly a fairytale, then Emma would have woken up and the birds would have been chirping, and everyone around her would have burst into song. Life, however, at least in Emma's experience was not a fairytale. Today, however, felt different. She opened her eyes and a slow smile crossed her face. It was early so she had time to be lazy.

She was getting married today, or they were getting married today. She still had to pinch herself to believe that all of this was happening, and that, she, Emma Swan was finally going to get her happy ending. The powers that be must have noticed something was up because earlier in week she had received a box with enough pasta and meat sauce to feed their guests as well as some bottles of wine to share at the party. Emma had spoken with Kate and Sonny about the church and the inn, and even gone as far as to check in with Sansa about her dress. All of the details were in place, which was kind of scaring the crap out of Emma, because she was usually a fly by the seat of your pants kind of girl. For the first time in her life, Emma didn’t feel nervous or scared when it came to her relationship. She knew from the deepest part of her soul that Killian was her destiny and today she would get a chance to acknowledge that in front of everyone.

Emma felt like a princess as she stood before Killian, and pledged her love and her life to him. She left her hair down because Killian liked it that way. She couldn’t help the tears of happiness and the smile that just wouldn’t go away. Part of her was glad they were here and not back home, at least here they didn’t need to worry about curses and memory loss. They could just be happy and celebrate with their friends.

The Inn was sparsely decorated with flowers, but it was beautiful and Emma was happy. The food was served, and the wine flowed. The one thing Emma hadn’t thought about was music, but she didn’t care, she was happy to hum along as long as the guests were having a good time. This was a celebration of love and life after all. The party lasted well into the night, and after the last guest had left, Emma and Killian left, walking home hand in hand to start their new life together.

When's a mutant not a mutant?

[frankensteinian]

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr and open
WHERE: Firewood pile, inn, in the village
WHEN: May 1-8
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Grumpy mutant ahead. Also sex in the thread with Claire.
STATUS: OPEN

May 1st

It had been a shock to him when he'd gone out this morning to chop some wood and had found that he could no longer control the ax like he used to be able to. Concentrating on moving it does nothing but threaten to leave him with a headache that will keep him from being able to do anything all day. Which is tempting, except for the headache part. So he convinces himself to stop trying, and by that point he feels the anger swell up. It had been hard enough to accept that someone had been able to take away so much of his ability, but now they've gone and taken all of it. That will never set well with him.

Thanks to his ten years of purposely not using his powers, he has some practice at doing things without them, and there's an ax and a pile of wood that needs to be turned into firewood. Put those together with the anger he feels right now, and soon enough there's a pile of firewood large enough to fuel one or two fires for a couple of days.

He only stops when the blisters that have formed on his hands threaten to burst, even after he wraps rags around them. The pain kept him going, but also fueled his anger some more. He shouldn't have to worry about a thing like blisters, but here they are. When he returns to the inn in the village, he leaves the rags wrapped around his hands until he gets inside, where he carefully removes the wrappings to take a look at his hands.

He hadn't stopped soon enough. One of the blisters has burst anyway.

May 2nd – 8th

The rest of the week, he stays around the inn and the other buildings in the village, helping however he can around there. The blisters on his hands prevent him from doing his usual task of chopping firewood, and he has a hard time even using a knife, but he'll find something that he can do to help out. He's not living simply off the charity of others. It's been his experience anyway that most people aren't as charitable as they claim to be.

Sweeping, washing dishes, prep work in the kitchen, give him a task to do.

Hold On to This Lullaby, Even When the Music's Gone

[bewaretheniceboy]

WHO: Peeta Mellark and YOU
WHERE: Inn and Bakery
WHEN: May 7-10
OPEN TO: Anyone who wants to contribute to the records
WARNINGS: None at this moment, but he's still got a broken leg. Will change if it does.
STATUS: Open

---

It's taken two weeks for the medical people to feel comfortable letting Peeta leave the hospital since the supplies available in this place were so... primitive, and they had to be sure his leg was set properly and his ribs were mostly healed before turning him loose. But two weeks was all he could take in a bed, and he suspected they wanted him and Katniss out of their hair, so at that time he's given clearance to leave and permission for light duty to let him relieve some boredom. His return to the bakery and the inn is without fanfare, just him showing up one day to help Jacob and Miss Kate, trying to return to his normal duties in baking, cooking, and caring for the burgeoning garden behind the bakery. But two weeks without much movement has obviously robbed him of some of his strength and stamina, and he's moving slower and having to take more breaks, not to mention having to sit propped on a stool to keep the weight off his leg, since it's hard to cook, bake, or garden while standing on makeshift crutches.

Fortunately, he has another project to help with that, one he began technically before the attack. Digging in the storage room at the inn one day had turned up some blank, unlined books and some sets of drawing supplies, and he'd grabbed them all without remorse. Remembering the Everdeen family book he'd helped Katniss expand on while she was recovering after her misadventure with the fence, he'd planned to start turning these books into something similar: guides to plants and maybe animals in the area, with notes on what they could do in medicine, or for cooking, or if they were poisonous, and a sketch of what they looked like to guide unfamiliar eyes. He'd started planning it out before the attack, and now he could actually get going on the project, as long as people were willing to contribute what they knew.

The second book would be a little different, though. He'd heard about how people could disappear from this place by now, witnessed it once or twice, and so the second book would be a record of everyone in the village. A sketch of the person, their name, and a general description of them - just something to remember them, to prove they were there in case they vanished. Almost a memorial without the death. He'd begin with the faces he knew from home - himself, Katniss, Johanna, Finnick, Annie - and slowly expand to others around them and maybe even people who'd disappeared before he'd come and had never gotten to meet. Anyone who wanted to see him work on the books or contribute anything to them could approach him and ask questions or volunteer knowledge, since he isn't exactly hiding what he's working on. He can be found at the tables in the inn or the bakery sketching and writing, with a piece of charcoal from the fire to rough sketch unfamiliar plants (or faces) on the table so as not to waste precious paper or pencils (and a wet rag to wipe away the lines, don't worry Kate). Anyone who stops to look will immediately be able to tell he's a talented artist even with minimal supplies, as his drawings always look lifelike and almost as though they're about to jump off the page.

what a garden to be made ( OPEN )

[ethnobotany]

WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: Hospital, outside House #15
WHEN: Second week of May
OPEN TO: Anyone, with one closed for Wanda
WARNINGS: Nothing for now, will update if necessary
STATUS: OPEN

---

HOUSE #15

It was a strange box she'd found that morning. What was even more strange was what she had found inside the box. A bunch of seeds of all sizes and shapes stared up at her, glinting in the little bit of light filtering through. What startled her more than those were the gardening tools resting above the seeds. It was like someone knew she liked gardening, knew she would want to help out and wanted a garden of her own. Was this something those Observers she had heard so much about liked to do?

Pulling out the tools, she set them aside and began to sort through the seeds. There were so many, she barely even knew where to start. Two of most things, except one willow and four aloe. The willow made sense, though she hoped it was the seed for a smaller willow tree. The aloe plant also made sense. The more aloe they had, the better off everyone would be. Some of these would have to wait for a greenhouse or something of the sort. Otherwise, the climate here would kill them. But some she could go ahead and plant.

So for the rest of the week, she could be found outside when she wasn't on a shift at the hospital. With tools in hand, she's either working on getting some of the seeds into the ground or trying to remember how Annie and Finnick were doing their fence so she can make her own. The last thing she wants is to have her new garden get eaten or run over when it finally starts to grow. She makes a point of looking for anyone who might want to help on either one of these endeavors.


HOSPITAL

Her colleagues at the hospital are all very important here. Beverly doesn't know what each of them knows about herbal remedies, but she sees no reason not to offer what she does know to them. The more of a supply of those remedies they have and the more people who know what they are and how to use them, the better. So at some point during the day, she finds each of them, walking up to ask a few simple questions.

"I've just received a bunch of seeds for herbs and plants we can use for medicine and poultices when they finally grow. How much do you know about medicinal herbs?"


WANDA

Wanda is one of the people Beverly wants most to work on her garden with. Unfortunately, not knowing Wanda's schedule means she isn't familiar with the proper times and places to try to catch her. So Beverly sorts out a handful of the ones she wants to plant now, setting them aside so she can plant them with Wanda at a later date. It isn't until the end of the week that she finally happens to make it into the Inn at the right time to find Wanda. Making her way over, again being careful not to sneak up on her, she offers a small but very warm smile.

"I remember you being interested in gardening," she comments easily. "I've just discovered a whole bunch of seeds that I'd like to plant. If you're interested, maybe you could help me."

[OTA] Who Could Cross the Fade Into the Waking World

[andrastianherald]

Fountain

Dreaming is always dangerous. Every night, mages enter the Fade in their dreams, bright and fascinating beacons to the demons that prowl the shifting realm. There is risk every time, being found, being tempted. Evelyn knows this, even in her slumber, and wages war against the easy way out every single night.

Tonight is different. Tonight there are no demons, no lurking spirits, no shifting of the landscape in a crazy array of her hopes and desires, of her mind wresting to make sense of her day. Not even a pleasing dream of time alone with Cullen. All she can see is water, with light overhead, and a desperate need to reach that light. Evelyn swims upwards, still wondering why the Fade should take the shape of deep waters, until she breaches the top and gasps for air. Inside a fountain.

This is a terribly peculiar dream.

She hoists herself out of the fountain and sits on the ground, blinking in the sunlight and holding up a hand to shade her eyes. Her left hand, in particular, where the Anchor still resides and yet is reacting to nothing at all. That is puzzling in itself. The hand is lowered back down into her lap where she runs a finger across the mark where it lays dormant. This must be the Fade, she's so certain of it, but why isn't the Anchor sizzling or popping or glowing as it is wont to do?

A test then. She reaches out her left hand to open a rift in the Fade to escape from, but nothing happens. Evelyn then attempts to pinch herself to force wakefulness. Again, nothing changes, nothing happens.

All alone and confused, Evelyn allows herself one brief moment of frustration in the form of a sigh. "What is happening now?"


Around Town

Given a couple of days to adjust and settle in, Evelyn has not adjusted. Not truly. She is very hard pressed to believe that this isn't the Fade and that she is merely unable to wake or exit. She's quite ready to and not just because the clothing she's in is foreign and hideous. Who wears such things anyway? Nor has she a hairpin or comb or ribbon to her name and it's made wresting with her long hair something of a nightmare. Her solution today has been to braid it, lightly knot the end and then wrap that into a knot at the nape of her neck. Serviceable enough but not pretty. Practical.

Nonetheless, she's more or less absorbed with thought as she roams the town, wandering as if lost. She is, though not in the way one might think. She mumbles the Chant under her breath, trying to steady herself and find comfort in that familiarity. Something Evelyn desperately needs for she's lost, lost as to what she should do. Lost as she was in those fateful days after being told the Circles voted to disband, to go home, she was "free." Free to do what? All her life had been spent in the shelter of the Circle. She knew neither how to sow seed nor bake bread, and her family certainly would not be taking their embarrassment of a mage daughter back under their roof for anything longer than the briefest of visits. She had no idea how to live outside then.

The Inquisition had given her direction, a purpose, something to justify her own existence. And now that too is gone. At least there she could put her education to use, she could investigate or collect elfroot. She knows nothing of these plants, nothing of the lands, and she has found no library with which to educate her ignorant self. That distressing reminder that she is quite useless in every way prompts her to wring her hands while resuming the Chant. All the while, her mind keeps churning over the same question again and again: What am I do to? She is no fool, she has no truly practical skills with which to keep herself alive or contribute in any meaningful way.