[closed] sentiment's the same but the pair of feet change

[3ofswords]

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: 7I Peach Tree
WHEN: November 18, late
OPEN TO: Mark Watney
WARNINGS: N/A

---

The letter had arrived days prior, tucked into the last box he'd moved between what were apparently his houses. Who was he not to commit to an action everyone said he was taking, especially if it made practical sense? And he was practical, by all accounts. Helped others, volunteered for work. Things that are both true and very convenient to tell the guy who just showed up.

Kira doesn't think the reward the letter promises will get him home. He believes them when they say no one gets out, but--maybe he can know when people are lying again. Maybe he can at least live in a canyon that doesn't ask him to have faith, trust strangers, believe in general goodwill.

Knowing's better.

Knowing's saved his life.

Being known is less appealing: it's an easy choice of who to steal from, and what. Even if he doesn't get his power back, can't know what Mark's intentions are, or how deep into this he's involved--Mark won't fucking have a scrap of paper in his handwriting anymore. Kira won't have to engage the fact that he was here, writing things down, letting them fall into someone else's hands.

Stealing the shit is the easy part: the house is unlocked, he has an easy excuse for being there. There's another tarp sled behind Mark's house, already rigged up better for Aurora to carry it than the one in his own home. The only hiccup is another dog, but it's as familiar with him as the people here: he pets some ears, he lets Aurora distract it, and he's in and out of Mark's house before anyone returns, leaving only drag marks in the thin snow and frozen dirt.

Getting the shit to the peach trees is the hard part.

There's no moon tonight, and he's glad he had multiple houses worth of towels to soak in animal fat and tie to a stick. Which just leaves him in the fucking woods, trying to navigate terrain (which he's never done) through a gap in a canyon wall (that he's never seen before), to some hypothetical trees he doesn't recognize, but finds mapped out in a journal full of his handwriting.

It's lunacy, the kind of thing he might die doing, but--what's one more trek through a cold and hostile environment? At least he has a dog to drag his stuff, and at least no one's shooting at him.

According to map, he's at the peach trees--but they're hard to recognize in the dark, bare of leaves, flowers, or fruit. It's too cold to be wrong, and too cold to make another stab in the literal dark: Kira adjusts his scarf away from his humid breath, tucking it around the bird nested down on his shoulder, and holds his flaming walking stick closer to the journal, the letter spread over the other page.

"Should I just leave it in the sled," he asks the dog, a sure sign that he's losing it out here. "Two for one?"

My Lord God, I Have No Idea Where I am Going

[collaronhisneck]

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy
WHERE: 6I, the "group" areas like the inn etc
WHEN: November 18th
OPEN TO: Any
WARNINGS: War? Kind of a constant thing for him

---

Being in this village is... a trial. He's used to doing as well as he can with little - and frankly the food produced in the village is better than what he's been used to eating - but the other things that happen here have made Mulcahy skittish. His faith isn't shaken, he still trusts that everything happens according to God's plan, but for one of the few times in his life he's starting to doubt whether that plan is good. Bringing him here, to the village, he can see that could have benefits - but turning him into a ghost? Leading others to so much despair? Those are actions designed to break people, not heal them.

And it doesn't get any better when he starts getting... glimpses. At first Mulcahy thinks it's just his eyes or his mind playing tricks on him, because he knows those glimpses: the 4077, his home neighborhood in Philadelphia, the airport in San Franscico, all places he has reason to recall. Bits of his family and his friends, none of them lasting more than a moment... but gradually increasing. Until one morning, as he's dutifully making his bed after rising and a quick wash-up in too-chilly water, one comes that shakes him more deeply than anything he's experienced yet. The view of his small room in the village's makeshift church burns out for a moment, replaced with a scene he knows, not far from his tent in the camp, and miraculously with no other people around. Because the words he's saying, he knows he wouldn't say with anyone around to hear them.

"What good am I now? What good is a deaf priest? I've prayed to you to help me... and every day I get worse. Are you deaf, too?"

The vision clears, but it leaves him standing there, shellshocked, for a solid five minutes. Eventually, he gets himself going again, heads out for his daily routine - helping with meals and cleaning at the inn, checking in at the hospital to see if there are any patients, keeping an eye on the fountain to see if anyone's showing up, and in general looking for anyone in trouble. But the good father is an open book, it's impossible for him to keep his emotions off his face, and that... revelation has shaken him deeply. Anyone who looks at him will be able to tell he's troubled, and he moves through his chores with an uncharacteristic distraction.

let it slip away into the stream

[theoldlie]

WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Inn - Main Room
WHEN: November 18
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Language, memory loss

---

For days, Steve's had a piercing headache that's invading his head, making him feel terrible. At first, he'd written it off as bad weather causing headaches or maybe he's just getting sick. Then, though, things start to happen that make him worry. He's always been insightful and able to pick up and retain information sharply. These last few days, it's all gone down the drain. By lunch, he can't remember what he had for breakfast, he's forgetting key landmarks on the maps, and there are people he sees that he knows, but it takes him at least a minute to put their name down.

It continues like, but it seems like it's getting much worse. Today, he wakes up and sees the woman sharing his bed and for five whole minutes, he lies in panic and worry, with no idea about who she is. Diana, it clicks, it's Diana, but that it took him so long to remember that is terrifying. Maybe heading out isn't the smartest thing, but he bundles into his coat with a map in pocket and begins to head into the center of town to make his rounds.

At least, he thinks he'd been doing that.

He's by the fountain when the memory of what he's doing slips away, panic encroaching on him slow and steady. He spins a little, trying to place himself, but his mind refuses to place him. Belgium, he tells himself. He should be in Belgium or France, but it hasn't been this cold since the winter snap ended. He turns again, sighting buildings the likes of which he hasn't seen since his childhood. "Where am I?" he repeats, asking it again and again. "Where am I, where am I, where..." He says it like it'll jog something of his memory.

He heads for the largest of the buildings and stands at the door, closing his eyes tightly, trying to force himself into remembering what's going on, what's happening, but it's like chasing after a sliver of light as it fades away. It keeps getting darker and darker, blotting out Steve's memories of what he's supposed to be doing, where he is.

"Fuck," is all that slips past his lips feeling like a useless soldier who's just joined training and hasn't got any idea what to do. This isn't supposed to be him. What's more terrifying, though, is the fear that this is only going to get worse? What if he keeps losing? What if he starts to forget not just this place, not just the people, but himself and all the skills that make him above-average?

Problem for another day, he decides, pushing into the large building to try and figure out where he'd been meaning to go.