sixthiterationlogs | log: settling in

WHO: Asch the Bloody
WHERE: The Inn, The Woods, House 23
WHEN: 9/14 - 9/19
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None yet

The Inn
Asch was sitting at a table, with one of the survival machete's from the cache that he had just signed out. Intending to go out and hunt as best as he could. He was eating by himself, with a cup of whatever drink there was that morning, his bag on the floor by his feet. It was early enough that it wouldn't be as hot out.

He had spent the last day or so cleaning out the dust and much from a house he had claimed for himself, but had yet to make quite livable. Though the inn was good and probably the best place to be more people had arrived since him, people with less skills to survive, he assumed anyway, those people needed the space more than he would. So, he was trying to make it livable.

The Woods
It was between eight and nine am when Asch made his way out into the woods. The clothes had been emptied out of his bag and left at the house, so that he had room for things he might gather. He kept in mind the things he had learned from Alec a few days ago. The Machete in hand as he made his way deeper inside of the woods. Moving silently up to sit in a tree and wait for something bigger, though in time he would get bored when that didn't have much luck and go back to smaller game. Aiming to leave at least one or two small animals and some mushrooms or something to make up for the food he's eaten while gathering for his new home to.

He stayed in the woods until near nightfall, returning to the Inn long enough to drop off two small prepared squirrels, and a good sized pile of mushrooms, before cleaning off and leaving the machete back where he got it and crossing out his name in the book.

House #23
Making his way back from the inn, with his bag over his shoulder, Asch made his way up onto the porch and inside to drop the bag off in the kitchen. He made his way back out dropping on the porch looking out at the sunset. The day was ending and he was tired from his day in the woods but the house still had a lot of work to do, but it could wait until tomorrow.

When the morning came he set about cleaning the house for awhile, there was work to be done and he needed to keep busy for now. He'd head out to the woods by noon at the latest but for now, the doors and windows were open as the red head would randomly come out with linens and such for a few minutes before going back in with whatever else he ahd left on the porch before.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Asch had struck Cael's interest with certain overlaps, if not contradictions--that straddling of understanding between magic and the circumstances the village found themselves in; the walls thrown up around his obvious issue with it; the rough angle of the machete with the odd tint of his hair. Had they dyed it for this copy, was it a dye?

At least it makes him easy to find, in even the most bustling of inn mornings. Cael sits opposite with his own fare, a little rough at his own edges. There doesn't seem anyone to polish up for, in a place like this.

The smile he gives Asch is quick, almost genuine. Cael taps his own nose. "You've got a smudge," he says in easy greeting.

Cael had been helpful in a ways of someone to talk to. Asch had never been one to open up much, but after the meeting it was nice to talk shop with someone. It all felt a little to close to home. More so since he fully believed, even claimed to know, he was a dead man walking.

The printer surely didn't run out of red yet, boy the next red head may be lacking in color.

His green eyes met Cael's as the man smiled, a playful roll of his eyes given as he reached up to brush whatever was on his nose off. "Morning." He offered after he did, motioning to the chair across from him.

Settling in, Cael unfolds his hand from his wrist, movements practiced on the simple utensils, manners intact even for the village's simple fare. No one to polish up for, no one to make a show of manners toward--and if he meant to blend in, he'd relax them, he'd match the edited movements of the others--but no one seems to care.

A people, scattered and expecting nothing of each other. Unknown to each other, from unknown places, just trying to make it work. What a place, what an odd and still strangling freedom.

At least he's sorted himself in the chair, if not in the rest of this place. "You start early," he approves, washing down his food with a sip of tea. "What do you get up to all day?"

Wanda wasn't much of a hunter. She usually kept her community activities to the inn where she helped prep meats to go into long term storage. It helps with electricity and the refrigerator but they still need to make sure they have enough to get through the winter and there is no telling when their unseeing overlords will decide to leave them without power. Today, however, she has Clint's bow and arrows and another task in mind.

She stepped quietly through the woods, an arrow knocked but her bow lowered as she listened for her prey.

A soft rustle made her pause and listen. There was something close and judging by its footsteps it's larger than the smaller fair who rummaged through these woods. Wanda slows her breath and steels herself before quickly turning and pulling back the string of her bow. When she spots the red hair she quickly lowers the weapon, cursing beneath her breath. "Sorry." It was lucky that she'd seen him in time and hadn't decided that shooting him was the best course of action.

log: settling in

The Inn

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Woods