mingle post | open

[booklegging]

WHO: Jess Brightwell and everyone!
WHERE: The inn.
WHEN: Sept. 28th to Oct. 11th.
OPEN TO: Everyone who lives at or would visit the inn during the non-stop rain. If you don't feel like making a log for the inn but want a place to tag around, this is the mingle post for you!
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
STATUS: Open. Mingle away, comrades.

---

There's nothing quite like the sky opening up and releasing a torrential downpour to bring people together. With water coming down in buckets and the streets turning into waterways, it would be wise to seek shelter until this lets up...

If it ever lets up.

For those needing a place to warm up, the inn has a roaring fire and hot tea waiting. Pass the time watching the rain at the window, or telling stories around the main room's fireplace, or enjoying friendly company in the pub. You're even welcome to stay the night in one of the inn's spare rooms, just don't mind the leaks. It's an old building. Luckily there are plenty of buckets to go around.

Comments

OTA

[zomboligist]

He walks into the inn covered in mud. The scrubs that used to be a nice, cool black are currently caked brown and while it might be fine if it were drying and caking off, it's the sludgy awful stuff because it hasn't stopped raining and he really thought that he was done with Seattle-type constant rain that basically sucked your soul out. Worse than the dirty scrubs and boots, though, is the fact that there's mud all over his face and in his hair.

This is not the mud facial he ordered. In fact, if he's thinking about spa treatments he wants, then he'd order a deep tissue massage before working out to maybe a seaweed wrap.

He hasn't even made it home to his own home because a part of him sort of wants to get another person's tub dirty and leave his own pristine, because the last thing he wanted to do was survive the mudslide he'd found himself in (which was more of a tripping situation) and have to then scrub out his tub for hours and hours. Yes, he does it for work, but he's not usually the monster from the mud lagoon there.

Squinting, he stares at the mess he's making on the floor. "Is there a bucket I can stand in?" he asks. "I'll feel like an idiot, but at least I won't ruin the floors."

[lastofthekellys]

Kate, in the middle of scrubbing the floor, looks up and then sits up. For a long moment, the girl just contemplates him. Then, deciding that tossing her bucket of warm, soapy water over him will probably just make some more mess, her full mouth quirks into a quick smile and she stands up.

"One moment," she says, holding up a hand. Wiping her hands on her apron (a tablecloth pressed into the cause of Kate's Victorian Cleaning Habits), she walks off into the kitchen.

A couple minutes pass, punctuated by the occasional clutter.

Then she re-emerges, tub in hand, and, putting it on the floor, she gently kicks it over to him as precise as any soccer player.

"That suitable?"

[thekittenqueen]

She hadn't seen Ravi since he had wandered across the springs and was knocked to the ground. It seemed as though he had an affinity to the mud, but at least this time, it was his fault for being covered in mud. Still, it managed to make her laugh, something that she needed during the storms.

Given his response before, she couldn't help but tease him with the reminder of what he'd seen. "Perhaps you should consider bathing in the spring? Though," she looked up at him with a wry smile, "you should be careful. Apparently there are peeping toms lurking about."

Re: OTA

[notsocommon]

"You and everyone else." Helen was absolutely convinced that her skin was never going to dry out and she was seriously concerned they'd all come down with trenchfoot after this many days of rain. Her hair was dripping wet, as were her scrubs, and if there weren't so many people around she'd take her bra off in an attempt to get it a little dry.

"I don't think I'll ever be warm again, Ravi. I really don't. There may actually be water dripping from my eyelashes."

October 2 - For Kate

[fishermansweater]

It's been two days since Finnick and Annie were forced to leave their campsite in the woods, and the rain hasn't abated. The careers may have taken care of the immediate problems of shelter and warmth, problems they'd initially ignored because they'd been trained to consider the strategy of the fight first of all, but worse problems had replaced those.

The river's too swollen to safely fish in, and the rain seems to have driven much of the game into hiding so that the traps Finnick and Annie have set have been left empty. Early in the rainstorm, Finnick had tried to go out gathering, looking for the fruits, seeds, and grasses that he recognizes as being edible, but it's barely possible to see where he's going through the deluge, and in the end, it comes down to getting lost in the woods to find a little food.

They'd been running low on food before they'd had to move, and they haven't dared try foraging again. He's been worried about Annie, because she'd felt the cold and the wet so deeply, and with so little food, he doesn't want her to get sick. He's seen too many times what lack of food does to someone long before they starve.

He hasn't told Annie what he's doing this morning. He's emptied out his backpack and filled it up with jars and dishes out of the kitchen in the house he and Annie have taken refuge in, and he's slipped out this morning under the pretense of checking about what's been going on in the village during the storm. That's not what he really has in mind, though.

He's got his hat pulled on low, so the visor cuts a little of the rain out of his face, but he's already drenched through by the time he gets to the inn. He'd timed his visit carefully and he's there very early, well before people usually arrive for the midday meal that's such a part of the village routine.

He doesn't knock, though: he doesn't want to risk that potential threat. He keeps himself fairly well-hidden in the scrub that's everywhere around the village, watching the back door to see if Kate Kelly's around.

[lastofthekellys]

Kate's morning start early, the moment the sky is light enough to see. She washes, dresses, comes down to the kitchen to clean and start the range. With the addition of the chicks and her kitten, though, there's some added complications. Namely, Miss Hoppity throwing temper tantrums that she's not allowed to eat the tiny fluffy things.

It started yesterday, with the chicks' arrival, and now, Day Two, Kate's not looking for this to be a habit.

Which is one reason why she opens the door, cradling the kitten.

"Look," she's in the process of saying, "you don't want to go outside, missy girl. It's made of rain."

So much rain. Still. Days of it, now, and Kate peers out into the grey gloom with a sigh.

OTA

[specialise]

It doesn't really matter how many days pass since the rain begins and never ends, Raven Reyes can always be found drenched and looking very much like a sewer rat.

It'd rained on the ground, poured even harder than it does in this town, but she hadn't been able to enjoy it. Trying to keep herself and the kids around her alive, she'd remained indoors, in her little corner full of electronics, and had her head down and her mind whirring as she got to work. Thereafter, she'd remained inside, not daring to go out into the slick and deep mud of Arkadia with her bum leg.

It's different now.

She stands out in the rain, sometimes squinting up at the sky, sometimes simply looking ahead as though she's searching for something in the distance. She doesn't know how long she stands out there, but she comes back into the inn dripping wet, grey scrubs soaked and sticking to her skin like it's merely another layer of flesh. Her hair's knotted and a mess, but Raven doesn't particularly care.

She always goes out, even though it's the same view every day. She's looking for something, but she doesn't know what.

[thekittenqueen]

It was early morning when Margaery darted towards the inn, her bag tightly clutched to her chest in an effort to keep it from getting damp. For the first few days, she had tried to ignore the rains, going about as often as Raven seemed to. She had been determined to not interrupt her routine. But after two days, she had to admit defeat.

It had been a shock to see Raven just standing in the downpour, staring up at the sky, but she hadn't thought much of it. On her subsequent trips to the inn, Raven had repeated the action several times. It was becoming worrisome...and a little strange.

When she returned inside, dripping wet as always, Margaery made a point to approach her. "You should be careful," she said gently. "You could make yourself sick."

[thenewways]

Much as she'd prefer to hole up in her own house and not even try to venture out into the rain, Nerys makes an effort every day to go to the inn for lunch, to at least see other people. Otherwise, she's bound up inside her own head, turning over ideas, telling herself old stories, thinking of regrets and changes.

It's not escaped her, as part of all the thinking, that maybe this is what she's intended to be doing; hence she's going to fight it wherever possible.

Today she's been productive, though, rummaging through the school for smaller items to bring to general stores back in the inn. Slates, without chalk; inkwells, without ink; a single handbell that's making clunking noises in her pack as she walks. Despite the greased piece of fabric she's got for a half-assed umbrella, her too-long-dammit hair is plastered to her face by the time she makes it over towards the inn porch.

The girl she remembers from the weapons meeting is standing out in the rain, looking like she doesn't give a damn about the fact that she's completely drenched. She's just...standing there.

"You okay?" Nerys asks, concerned, but her body language indicates she's willing to back off if the girl doesn't want to chat. "Think the temperature's gone down a little."

Raven, 1st October

[lastofthekellys]

She's had three boxes from their captors so far, all outside the Inn's front door with Catherine Ada Kelly printed on the lid, and nor is she the only Inn resident to have a gift. So, maybe she shouldn't be surprised when, while opening the shutters on the windows today to try and let some light in, she spies a box, and yet, she is. It's only because of the roof on the verandah, and the angle of the rain this morning, that the cardboard isn't completely saturated.

Except, when Kate goes out to retrieve the box before ruination, she hears cheeping.

Swallowing a curse, she hurries the box carefully to the kitchen - carefully, carefully, not spilling a drop if it'd been water, hopefully not scaring the occupants. Pulling a chair over in front of the slowly warming up kitchen range, she puts the box on it, gently pries Miss Hoppity off the chair leg, and opens it.

Seven fuzzy chicks look up at her. They are huddled together, which means they are cold, the poor things, and much like with Miss Hoppity, Kate feels a wave of rage wash through her, leaving her sick and cold and hot all at once.

What in God's good name are their captors doing? Putting little things like this out in here?

At least they seem to have some soft woodchippings and sawdust at the bottom of their box.

But Kate can immediately see their value, beyond just kindness, and chickens can grow up, make eggs, feed everyone. Seven chickens, if they are all female, is a valuable asset. And they are cold. This time she does swear, but she's taking off her blouse as she does it.

"Here, darlins," she murmurs as she carefully tucks the body-warm garment around them. "Here, hopefully this'll keep you warm until we work something else out, yes?"

It means she's standing there in her skirts with that tiny chemise the captors gave her over her corset and proper chemise, but... But nothing can be done about that. She'll just have to fix this. Putting the lid back on the box and an iron skillet on the lid to hopefully thwart the now very, very intrigued kitten, she leaves the kitchen at a run. Up the stairs, over to Miss Raven's door, where she knocks.

Loudly.

"Miss Raven? Are you awake? I need your assistance."

[specialise]

Raven often naps at odd hours through the day, rarely sleeping unless she's tired enough to be knocked out for a good portion of time. When Kate raps at her door, she's dozed off at her workstation, fist pressing hard into her cheek.

She wakes with a start and wipes a hand hard over her face. Wondering whether she'd been hearing things, Raven almost doesn't get up to investigate. Pulling herself from her seat at her little table, she walks to her door and opens it wide.

Dressed in her grey scrubs, Raven wears a red jacket slipping off her shoulders. Her room isn't particularly warm, but it's not necessarily cold, either. Ever since she received her tools and the jacket she wears from a mysterious box with her name on it, she hasn't wanted to let at least the comfortable present off her form.

"What's up?"

OTA

[taurohtar]

When the rains had first started, Tauriel had been determined to wait them out as deep in the forest as she could. For a time, she had hunkered down beneath a fir tree, using its lush green branches to shield her from the rain as best as they could. When that didn't work as well as she had hoped it would — the trees here are not the same as the trees of her beloved Greenwood, much to her disappointment — she had attempted to wait out the rains in the abandoned buildings by the river, hiding in the mill and the storehouse, hunkering in a corner and debating whether or not she should risk lighting a fire to keep warm. She's not concerned about the fire spreading, she knows how to keep that from happening, but she is concerned about giving away her position.

There are approximately two dozen people living in this settlement. Tauriel does not trust them all to be friendly.

But, after a few days of torrential downpours, Tauriel's firm resolve begins to waver.

The people she has spoken to seemed friendly enough. Would it really be so bad to throw her cap into ring, to lend her talents where they might be needed in order to reap the benefits of communal living? There is nothing to say she cannot slink back out to the forest should she not be welcomed, but she would never know unless she tried.

The eternal deluge of water overnight strengthens her resolve, and after five solid days of rain, Tauriel eventually gives in and slinks along the pathway up towards the Inn, silently stepping over the threshold and lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

Should she introduce herself? Say hello? Stand there silently in a paroxysm of nerves as she drips water all over the floor?

[hawkeyesniper]

After several days of rain, Riza had stopped letting it bother her that people were coming in soaking wet. It was unavoidable really, especially since they didn't exactly have umbrellas here. Riza was actually looking forward to people stumbling into the inn now because it meant a change of pace from the monotony of the rain. Riza was currently working on getting the fire going. This place was wet constantly now, so they were lucky they had a good stash of dry wood before all of this started.

When the door to the inn opened, Riza looked up from her spot at the fire place. She jabs the logs one more time, embers bursting and causing the flames to spring higher, before standing up. "While I appreciate you trying not to get the floors muddy, it's pretty unavoidable. We've started keeping towels over there if you want to grab one and dry off with," Riza said as a way of greeting. She looked back to the fire, "The fire might help too."

Re: OTA

[thecatinahat]

Soaked from the rain, but not intending to be rude, Cougar finds himself standing behind the tall woman in front of him, clearing his throat as he shakes a hand through his hair to loosen the water from it. His cap is currently holding the eggs he's brought for trade and use, because no matter how much it rains, people still need to eat and he wants to provide (especially now that the chicklings have grown into hens). "Come inside," is what Cougar says, guessing at the look on her face.

"It is warm. Dry," he provides. Lifting the cap, he gives her an encouraging nod. "And there will be food."

[upinhisnest]

Someone has been keeping towels downstairs near the door. Maybe it was Clint. Maybe it wasn't. He won't cop to anything if asked.

But when an unfamiliar woman (with pointed ears? Is that a thing? Probably, he tries not to think about it too much) walks in, dripping wet and looking awkward and uncertain, his instinct is to help her out, so he shoves himself to his feet and snags a towel, holding it out.

"Here, go ahead and dry off."

OTA -- October 03 morning

[hawkeyesniper]

Once again the sound of rain greeted Riza as she awoke. Normally the sound would be pleasant, but after days of it Riza was starting to grow weary. She pushed her hair back, frowning at the small window streaked with rain, "I'm starting to understand why the Colonel hates rain so much." She swung her feet off the bed and started to get up, but paused when she noticed something by her door. It hadn't been there when she'd gone to sleep and she slept lightly enough that anyone entering her room would have been heard. She scowled and crossed over to it to investigate further.

It was a set of two boxes, one larger than the other. Riza knelt down in front of them and plucked the tag off of the larger one. She read, in neat print, her own name. Right. The others had mentioned gifts like this before. They didn't to vary from person to person. Supplies, tools, and sometimes even animals tended to lurk inside. There was some dispute about the reason behind them or if they should be used. Riza had been wondering when or if she would ever receive one for herself and now here she was with two. She sat in front of the packages for a few minutes, just studying them and waiting for an answer to come to her.

A debate whirled in her mind, all of the reasons to leave the boxes alone and all the reasons to open and use them flashed through her mind. At the end of the day though, Riza knew that there were ways of turning a game around. Of using your opponents efforts against them. These boxes could hold something like that and their usefulness, in her opinion, might mean the difference between getting out or not. Besides, it was another clue to add to the table and Riza wasn't going to pass that up.

Still, she didn't want to be on her own while opening them. Riza turned away, got dressed in her scrubs, and then scooped up the boxes on her way out. She carried them to one of the table's in the inns main area and placed them gently on the tabletop. She probably wouldn't have to wait long for someone to join her, usually the rest of the inn started to wake up around this time as well -- if they weren't up already.

As soon as someone appeared, she looked up from her position of studying the boxes and asked, "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

[OOC: If one person is there to open the box with her, but other people still want some Riza CR, you can feel free to tag in asking Riza about the open boxes she's sitting with and maybe get a cup of tea out of it. That way it doesn't get confusing if everyone is there for the first opening of the box.]

[booklegging]

The sound of rain pounding on the roof had been relaxing for the first five minutes, but in the time since it had just become another worry on the pile. Between the chill and the constant need to empty out buckets on account of the leaks, Jess had gotten up even earlier than usual to check the basement for flooding. The foundation was holding up better than expected after a series of earthquakes.

Bounding up the basement steps, Jess moved into the other room with the intention of stoking the fire, but hearing Riza, he paused. He was wearing his last anonymous gift--jeans and a black sweater that were clean, a state Jess was starting to forget clothes could be in--but it was still a bribe, the same as anything else that came out of the boxes, and seeing two more lined up on the table in front of Riza made him blink, immediately wary.

You either accepted a bribe with the strings attached, or you didn't, but you never trusted them.

"The mail must have come," he observed. Yeah, he didn't think that was very funny, either.

OTA

[warriorborn]

Benedict has fallen into something of a routine, living at the Inn. A routine that has been completely fucked over thanks to all this endless rain; all he can do is putter around the Inn, helping when he's needed and finding things to do when he isn't. Being one of the tallest people currently living at the Inn, he often winds up clearing cobwebs from the rafters, using the same twig-and-leaf broom that he uses to sweep the floor to brush above the windows and high up under the stairs.

If, six or seven months ago, he'd ever considered that he'd spend most of his day sweeping the floors or helping chop vegetables, he'd have laughed. Such boring, menial labor was something he thought he'd escaped when he left the Order. And yet here he is, happily doing tasks he hasn't done in years just because a petite brunette asked him to.

If Miss Kelly is still unaware of his regard for her, Benedict is not entirely sure what he can do to convince her.

Today, he's hauling the heavy kettle from the sink, where he had just filled it with water, over to the stove so it can be put to boil so that tea can be brewed for anyone who wishes to have a cup while they wait out the seemingly-endless rain. Humming absently to himself, he lifts the kettle up onto the stove and pushes it into place so the water will heat as efficiently as possible, then bends down to check the flames beneath — they burn wood here; he can still hardly believe it, how wasteful — before poking at them with the iron prong-stick-thing.

[thekittenqueen]

Having come in from the rain, drenched and shivering, Margaery had tried to warm herself by the fire. But even as her clothes had dried, the chill hadn't been completely chased away. There was food and talk of tea being served, but she had seen nothing being passed around.

Abandoning her seat, she wandered to the kitchen, relieved to find the kettle being set down on the stove. She had seen the young man around the village and at Kate's side, but never had the opportunity to speak to him.

"I don't suppose anyone collected honey for the tea?" She asked, hoping that the kettle would boil quickly.

OTA

[markwatney]

I can't deny it: I'm worried. The last three days, I've been out in monsoon weather, fortifying the drainage on the field in whatever ways I can, but the truth is that if the onslaught doesn't start to slack off soon, we're going to lose a good portion of our harvest. Most of the plants just aren't mature enough to withstand being waterlogged for so long.

And the worst part, of course, is that there's just not much else I can do but wait and see.

The inn's already playing host to at least half a dozen people looking to escape the weather when I bang through the front door looking like a drowned rat. Someone was nice enough to leave a stack of towels on a nearby table, and I do my best to keep from leaving a massive puddle on the floor.

Towel still draped over my head, I take a seat by the fireplace and tug off my boots, steam rising with a hiss when I pour them out into the embers edging the hearth.

"I'm too old for this," I mutter under my breath, already knowing that doesn't make a damn bit of difference.

[thekittenqueen]

"Lunch will almost be ready," Margaery offered from her place by the fire, leather gathered in her lap. "There will be broth, which should help warm you." It was something to look forward to at least, considering how little the weather offered them. How many days would this go one?

She regarded Mark thoughtfully, remembering him from the town meeting and when everyone tended the fields. They had exchanged words briefly, but nothing substantial and hardly enough to get to know each other. She at least knew that he was resourceful, given the way he organized things before.

"Is it still a downpour?" She asked, pausing in her work to speak with him fully.

OTA

[thekittenqueen]

After being stuck inside for two days, Margaery had braved the storm and hurried towards the inn, desperate for company and a change of location. It was only after it became clear that the rains would not let up that Margaery disrupted her usual routine. She had been obstinate, going out into the forests in the morning, ignoring the cold and the torrential downpour, which left her unable to see anything past her hand. Never mind that she returned to the Stark residence damp and chilled.

It was only after she was reprimanded sharply that she finally gave up on the matter entirely. The only other time she left the house was to move her livestock to the townhall, newly changed into a barn. The animals were as miserable as she was, but at least had no sense of stir craziness.

Finding a project for herself, Margaery settled at one of the tables at the inn, sewing by the fire as she tried to fight the continuing chill that seemed to be rooted in her bones. She focused instead on the leather pieces she was stitching together, only to accidentally stab her finger with the needle.

"Seven hells!" She whispered, sucking on her finger. As though the day couldn't be even more miserable.

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn had been working on the board he and Jess were making as a team, a chess board. Sat not to far from Margaery, just a couple tables away. His long hair was down, and despite being naturally straight as a rail, it was curly as could be today, he had fallen asleep without brushing his braids out the night before with his hair wet, it made the curls the braids make stick. He hated it but it's how he looked for the day, his hood left down. Hearing her curse he looked up at her leaving his project on the table he pushed up and moved over to her.

Margaery had become one of his closer friends thanks to their daily meetings in the woods before the rain and she reminded him very much of a dead dear friend. He remembered Arneis pricking her fingers doing tasks often. So he knew that kind of noise, most might not have heard Margaery, but Thorfinn had a hunter's hearing, trained from a young age to pick up the slightest things. So when he appeared at her side at the table he looked concerned. "How bad?" He asked concerned that her wound prick might be terrible. Margaery didn't have the most work ready hand's she was clearly a lady of class. Kate seemed like one, but Kate's hands were not soft like Margaery's had once seemed. "Can help?"

ota yo

[fe_male]

Like most people, Tony arrives at the inn in some degree of 'soaked' and a bit muddy. He supposes he wound up there because of the food potential, since he doesn't have any yet, as he has yet to level his survival skills that high yet. Or perhaps the element of teamwork that might help figure out what to do about all the rain, but honestly it's mostly that he didn't feel like being by himself. While he does appreciate a certain amount of alone time, if he doesn't have anything to do during it then it's just the worst. Being stuck with people is better than being stuck alone. Especially if there might be food.

Anyway, he's seen everyone around here and there, but he's still not over the whole ~team colors thing. Why is everyone dressed like nurses? Why do they have overalls? Why - his litany of questions just keeps growing faster and faster and it is frankly pathetic how few of them are being answered. He's not used to not being able to answer his own questions.

He shucks his coat by the door and moves closer to the fire, being somewhat less conscientious apparently than some others who have recently come in from the rain. "I didn't realise this season of Survivor: Bruges was actually taking place in the rainforest," he says to no one in particular on the way there. "I mean, I like a nice shower - cleans out the air, alleviates allergies, you can use 'petrichor' in a sentence to impress that girl you like, it's great. But at this point if we'd just dug a big hole a couple days ago we'd have a pool."

[taiyny]

Natasha sees him come in from her place by the fire, where she's got a pile of fabric in her lap and a needle and thread in her hand. Rain isn't going to hamper the mending, even if it puts a damper on the laundry; it's hard to dry clothes outside when it's not, well, dry. She glances up briefly at his entrance but turns her attention back to her sewing, pulling the needle through as she speaks without looking up at him.

"No one uses petrichor, Tony, it's too pretentious, even for Portland hipsters."

She ties the knot, grabs the small knife she's using in lieu of scissors and finally looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, jerking her chin towards the stairs.

"There's towels in the bathroom upstairs, if you want to dry off."

OTA

[lastofthekellys]

If there is one thing Kate doesn't understand about this rain, it's how it has turned the Inn into a small place. It's not. It's not small. It's particularly not small to Kate, growing up as she did in a small hut with cloth partitions for most of the interior walls, growing up as the seventh of twelve babies her ma had. But days and days of this obscenely heavy rain, and the many rooms and spaces of the Inn feel smaller than the Hut at Eleven Mile Creek ever did.

She tries to keep busy, using the enforced inside life to catch up on projects she's kept on putting off. There is sewing to be done, of course, and she spends time in both the Inn's main room and the little sitting room upstairs sewing, quilting garments to make them warmer. But there are other things that have her attention...

Storage

The first bedroom after one goes up the stairs, the one with the crates and the weapons, Kate decides to make better use of. Taking two sticks of her captor-given chalk, she writes STORAGE in careful letters on the door, before going inside to reorganise.

Between her ransacking two of the houses on the other side of the river and other people going into the earthquake-destroyed houses, there are number of items, pieces of linen and all of that which really needs a better system of organisation. Besides, if she manages to use the space effectively, maybe she'll even be able to liberate one of the weapons crates to use as a large pen for her new chickens.

Miss Hoppity helps, of course. Even if the kitten's idea of helping does not quite align with Kate's.

Kitchen

Kate's domain is, of course, the kitchen. It would be dishonest to say she's not sure how this happened, for she remembers every single step she took. All of them practical, motivated by trying to keep people alive and well and healthy; it's just that when she looks back at where she started, she seems to have accumulated responsibilities she never intended. It doesn't help her sleeplessness, although the work itself does. Much like with the storage, Kate's decided to try and use the time indoors productively. She makes stock and broth to add to the daily pottages and stews, she roasts tubers and what Watney calls rhizomes and spends patient hours grinding them down to flours.

One afternoon, she devotes to making bone-and-skin glue. If the smell means that maybe, she'll have some time to herself, well... That's just an added bonus, isn't it?

(Except this is the Inn, during this never-ending rain, and people are snoopy.)

Kate opens the kitchen windows to let in some fresh air, lets the connection simmer for a few hours and if she puts her head down to rest it, it'll be fine. She certainly won't fall asleep.

No.

She won't.

She's just... She's just closing her eyes.

Leaky Roof...

One morning, a morning where the rain sounds like it is easing off, Kate wakes in the dark. No panicked cries from her chicks saying that Miss Hoppity has gotten to them, no sounds of Miss Hoppity being ill or getting into mischief. No earthquake, no smell of smoke. No one is banging on the door demanding she let them in, in the name of the law-

No, what wakes her is wetness on her face. Still not Miss Hoppity being inconsiderate, although Kate'd almost prefer to deal with that. She's had to raise her ma's babies while ma was in prison, and she's a farmgirl. Bodily mess just requires cleaning.

A leaky roof, right over her bed?

Kate swears under her breath and grabs her (empty) chamber pot from under her bed, moving it until she hears the drip of water on porcelain. There. That's settled. For that.

Come the first parts of morning light, and Kate - only partially dressed - is in a fine enough temper that she doesn't care if she wakes up everyone. She put a lot of effort into moving this big bed into her little room, and she's not moving from her room with its two windows and little alcove. So, logically, she has to move the bed until the drip is fixed.

That this is a noisy enterprise, well.

So be it.

[OOC: Feel free to find Kate anywhere! <3]

Leaky Roof

[paragon]

It's one of the few times Steve's stopped by the inn to find nary a soul about, making themselves useful, which is funny considering the racket coming from above when he steps through the front door. Maybe they've already been woken by it and found somewhere else to be.

He certainly wouldn't be here himself if Natasha hadn't found the leaks in her own room yesterday, too near dark to do anything about it right then save find a couple buckets to hold the rainwater until morning. She'd asked him to stop by to help once it was light out, and Steve's not sure exactly what he can do about it. He knows some stop-gap measures that will work, memories of himself and his mother finding ways to keep out rain and snow until the summer when he was less likely to be sick and they could spare the money for fixes. Actual repairs, though . . . he'll figure something out. He just knows he hadn't wanted to say no to Natasha, not with things still so tenuous between them. They're being careful around each other in a way they never were before, and the sooner they can be done with that, Steve thinks, the better.

He leaves his boots by the door along with dozens of others. The rain may be letting up, at least for the moment, but it's been going on for days, and no one goes inside anywhere without tracking mud behind them. His footfalls on the stairs are therefore silent beneath the sound of shifting furniture. It's apparent enough that's what it is; modern furniture is lightweight, but in his day even the furniture in the tenements was made to last, and heavy for it. He recognizes the sound.

He locates the right door and angles his shoulder close to it, listening, but there are no other sounds that he can detect, so after a few seconds reaches up to rap his knuckles against the wood.

"Everything okay in there?"

OTA

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn was tired of the rain by teh second day, the third day, he spent cleaning his boot and other things until he ran out of little tasks to keep himself busy and attempted to do dishes and help clean up around the house. By the fourth day he pulled his boots and tunic that Kate had made on, and moved across the back yard and to the door of the inn. Pushing the door open he made his way inside.

His blonde hair was hanging lose for once as he tugged his hood down as he looked around the inn. First to the map on the wall and the trading listed as well. After looking at the list a moment and pulling up on the the charcoal sticks in his wet hands he moved to draw a rough circle on the map of the valley where he was finding the goats for Thor. Placing the charcoal back down he moved to a table and took a seat, not saying anything to anyone. He was feeling awkward again around people, the moods where he just found it better to observe and not interact until a moment presented itself.

He was dressed in the stained up gray scrub pants, with his boots tucked in, his long sleeved tunic was clearly made of an old curtain, but Kate was amazing with her sewing skills. Getting the mud out of it from his trip down a muddy slope had been a challenge but well worth it. Not only to hide his scars but to allow him the peace of mind of not always feeling eyes on him when he was around the others. He could always tell when people were looking at it. Though he'd not admit it, it bothered him. He had been trained to vanish from sight. To be in plain view but easily over looked. Even if he was no longer that man he had been in his youth the old lessons die hard.

A sign of his change was in the soft smile he offered anyone who did pass by where he was seated quietly, as if waiting. All he had was time, at least until the rains stop.

ota

[seekingcrocodile]

Days like this, when the rain poured down and made even the simplest of tasks impossible to perform, were the worst days to spend on board a ship. Often not only they would they be unable to do anything that needed to be done, but they were becalmed as well, unable to make sail. Stranded. He hates the feeling of being stranded.

At least being stranded here had still given him something to do, because of how much work there needed to be done to survive. He'd tried it, once the rain had started, but since he couldn't continue repairing the house, and fishing during a torrent of rain turned out to be as impossible as he expected it to be, he'd been forced to give it up after a couple of days.

He figured that the inn is a better place than most to wait out the rain, with its potential for making connections, and the fact that it's sure to be warmer and drier than his house. Once he's there, he still has the problem of needing something to do to fill his time and keep from losing his mind. He studies the map of the settlement, now filled in with more information than it had the last time he looked at it. He repairs his makeshift nets made from vines in whatever way he can. He even tries to find a needle and thread that he can borrow to make some repairs to his clothing. He helps with the cooking, if he can, and even helps Kate organize the storage room.

In the moments when he can come up with absolutely nothing to do, he stares morosely out the window at the rain. When will it ever stop?

[itchtokill]

Kol was so utterly and completely annoyed by the rain. What was it with this place and water? It has a bloody fetish, he's convinced. He's not soaking wet now, at least, since he'd taken solace in the inn awhile ago, but he's not much looking forward to leaving, returning to his own home later, and starting the process all over again. But, hey. The Inn had been closer at the time and somehow he actually felt the cold these days. Which was sort of problematic to him in a lot of ways.

He does his best to keep busy, but mostly it's hard. Most of what they need to do is out there in all that mess, where it's impossible to do anything worth something. So, mostly he wanders through the Inn and chats with people. Some he's talked to before, others he hasn't. It's then that he notices the other man looking awfully broody, staring out the window. Broody's not really his thing, but screw it, why not?

"This place really likes screwing with us with water, donnit?" Rain and storms that first night, floods in recent weeks, now this? The whole angle was ridiculous.

ota

[flagration]

There are moments where the fire sputters, due to the rain. The flue isn't exactly waterproof, and at one point the rain is so hard that the fire almost goes out, the coals wet and sputtering. It comes to life soon after, roaring back almost unnaturally, defiant of the wet and the humidity. Each time it starts to die down, it flares back up a few seconds later, the lone woman seated next to it, tying up herbs for drying, unheeding of it's unusual behavior.

Probably because she's the cause of it.

At one point, when the flames are particularly close to dying, Karen goes so far as to glare at it, and it rises back up in submission, possibly even chastised, if fire can be such a thing. She can't do much around the inn to make herself useful; she's not used to manual labor, and as such isn't particularly good at it, though she tries. She doesn't really know how to sew, helps with the laundry when possible but isn't quite strong enough to lift all the heavy, wet, clothes. But the fire, she can tend. She can help Miss Kate start the range in the morning, and keep the inn lit and heated even during this rainstorm. It's not much, she thinks, but it'll do.

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn didn't need to be told that the fire was in danger of dying. He could tell. Fires were something he knew well, and understood. While he had been sitting at his table carving away at the chess board he was working on with Jess, he kept randomly looking up at the fireplace. Watching the strange way the flames seemed to fight back against the water.

Something else was at work here.

His knife stabbed into the table as he usually did. The poor table had lots of marks where he had stabbed his knife into it. It was the only table he usually worked at. The table where Jo usually perched in meetings. He pushed himself up and moved over next to the woman with the strange colored hair. His own blonde hair was in waves instead of its usually straight or braided look. He was wearing it down after having fallen asleep with it wet in braids. Waking to unruly waves once he pulled it down. He took up a split dry log and put it into the fire with no worries of the flames licking at his fingers. He was already scarred up, he feared no new marks.

"Strange... it fights the rain." He spoke not in an tone of accusation, but he's noticed her around the fire. And was starting to wonder of maybe she was a witch. It wasn't a bad thing to him, in fact it was a good thing. "Something blessed the fire to burn on even with rain trying to kill it." he spoke offering her a slight smile. His heavy scandiavian accent and failing with some english words he did his best to appear friendly.

OTA

[booklegging]

I. Foyer | Sept. 28th-Oct. 3rd

It was raining, just as it'd been raining for the last handful of days. Every night, rain. Every morning, rain. Rain, rain, every day a punishing torrent of rain.

Once the indoor work was done in the afternoons, Jess was left to burn time prowling the inn like a tiger patrolling the perimeter of its cage, restless for something meaningful to do that would make up for over two months of nothing. He tried (operative word: tried) to catch up on sleep. He checked out the windows. He exercised.

Jess wasn't one to say 'uncle' easily, but this weather had their hands tied behind their damn backs.

To retaliate against the sense of aimlessness, Jess started parking himself on a bench in the foyer, where he had a view out the window behind him. He brought hunks of wood with him, which he stretched out with and delicately worked at with a knife. They were shapeless blobs for now, but the game board Thorfinn was designing, a board divided into sixty four squares, might give Jess' purpose away. He needed something to occupy him--and helping the Norseman get a game of chess off the ground at least promised to keep his mind sharp.

II. Upstairs sitting room | Oct. 4-11th

Other times Jess could be found in the common room on the second level, where those who called the inn home had made a habit of gathering around the squat fireplace to talk, or work in the comforting presence of company.

He had a favorite love seat he liked to lay crosswise on, and during the early evenings it wasn't uncommon for him to recline there after calling it a day. With the fire going, the smaller room was more snug than downstairs where the front door let in drafts; the warmth and the sound of flames crackling lulled him into rare moments of relaxed quiet. Only then did Jess allow himself to pull the string on thoughts he usually kept bundled up like a stack of old letters, letting them unfurl.

All this rain reminded him of London. Snippets of memory kept rising from the depth: the sound of rain pattering on the warehouse's windows. Wet cobblestones slick under feet. The smell of the flower bouquets his mother would cut from the garden after a light rain. He wondered what was happening at home. Had Brendan finally returned like he'd meant to? Had he and father made peace? By now Jess would've been presumed dead--that left Brendan an only child and the last surviving son. Their father would have had to take him back, there'd be no point in holding grudges.

He thought of other things in those moments, too, painful and bittersweet things. Would Morgan forgive him if she believed he was dead? Or was she still hating his memory to this day?

I

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn had been getting up from the table he usually perched at every now and then and talking to people he knew before returning to his task. Finally in one of the afternoons he carried the mostly squared out board over with a bit of charcoal on a small bit of cloth, and his favored knife, which Jess was sure to recognize by now, all laid on the board. He took a seat next to him and moved the knife into one hand and some of the charcoal into the other, and looked to Jess.

"How pieces coming?" He asked, in an attempt to make conversation. Despite how quiet Thorfinn was, it was clear he wanted to be more social. It was up between his own awkwardness and the language barrier as to why he didn't try to reach out more. He seemed pleased enough to just work himself till he drops, but days where he cant work he shows that need to be social. He lifted the charcoal and started to rub it into every other spot to darken the squares, using the knife to keep the squares even so he didn't rub the charcoal into the lighter spaces. "Maybe next we make Hnefatafl." He didn't know the game was dead to the modern world. All that was left was the boards and peices but no means of what the rules may have been.