allison argent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
overdraws) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-10-07 09:14 pm
overdraws) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-10-07 09:14 pm
let the only sound be the overflow;
WHO: Allison Argent
WHERE: Fountain,
WHEN: October 6, beyond
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death/dying!
STATUS: Open
A R R I V A L
She inhales.
It's a mistake, because water instantly fills her lungs, and while she's struggling to expel it underwater, Allison's one brief thought is can you drown when you're already dead? Survival instincts kick in right after that, and Allison kicks forward and up towards the light she can kind of see through the ripples above her. She surfaces with a cough, water expelled from her lungs, chest tight and she almost drops under again as she struggles to catch her breath. Her hand grasps at the edge of the fountain, and Allison pulls herself towards it, clings to it to keep her upright as she hacks, gasping for air.
And then it hits her that she's breathing. She's breathing and upright, and she feels warm. As she catches her breath, breathing ragged and deep, her lungs aching with each inhale, Allison blinks up at her surroundings. She reaches up, scrubs the water out of her eyes, noting the trees, the fountains, the buildings.
Wasn't Heaven supposed to have pearly gates? Did she even get to go to Heaven?
She takes one last deep breath and hoists herself up over the edge, noticing the pack on her back as she 's climbing out, rolling onto her side and shrugging it off. She lays on the ground for a moment, regathering her strength, sitting up when her arms don't feel like jelly anymore and her breathing evens out, reaching up to squeeze the water out of her hair. Allison eyeballs the pack with more than a little suspicion, and she's not even sure she wants to open it. Whatever afterlife this is, she's not so certain she should trust strange backpacks.
H O U S I N G
The inherent lack of privacy of living at the inn is fine for the first few days, but Allison (while a social person) finds herself longing for just a little privacy. She likes everyone here well enough, has found herself something to do in setting traps in the woods using only things found in the woods (her father would be proud of her, she thinks, even as she tries not to think about it), and has already begun to tell herself that this is where she's staying. She needs to act like it.
She's not sure about getting a house on her own. It might be too much space, an empty reminder of other people who have gone on before her — the exact reason she and her father had moved from their house into an apartment. Too many empty rooms and too many empty places. Most of the houses she's found so far in her search have reminded her too much of that house in Beacon Hills that, as far as she knows, still stands empty. She's opening front doors and peering inside, but not venturing any further. Undecided.
H U N T I N G
She'd use a bow, if she could. The weapons themselves are communal, and she'd been happy to learn that they had them, at first— but the lack of arrows that she can use puts a damper on that pretty quickly. She knows how, mostly, though the material she's used to using isn't readily available in this place, so it's been a little slow going. She's turned, in the meantime, to traps and tracking. Her resources there are limited, too, and so Allison makes due using the lay of the land, pulling plants and using them in place of string and twine, braiding the longer strips of grass she can find into short ropes when she needs something a little stronger. Her traps are simple, and most won't catch anything — which, to her, is to be expected. She doesn't want to catch everything. She's got no idea of the populations in this place, how much the people have already been hunting to keep themselves alive. But she puts them up, all the same, just in case.
She's settled on the porch of the inn, twisting the bundles of grass in her hands into rope, setting aside each piece when she's finished and starting anew. She'll use these to tie to a branch which she'll set at an angle on a tree; the ropes will form loops, and with luck, a lazy squirrel will make his way through, and catch himself on one of the loops. Squirrel isn't exactly what Allison would prefer eating, but meat is meat, and she's pretty sure someone can use the hide for something. Two or three squirrels could probably make a pair of mittens, or something.
She keeps her hands and mind busy. It keeps her from missing what she can't have anymore too much.
WHERE: Fountain,
WHEN: October 6, beyond
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death/dying!
STATUS: Open
A R R I V A L
She inhales.
It's a mistake, because water instantly fills her lungs, and while she's struggling to expel it underwater, Allison's one brief thought is can you drown when you're already dead? Survival instincts kick in right after that, and Allison kicks forward and up towards the light she can kind of see through the ripples above her. She surfaces with a cough, water expelled from her lungs, chest tight and she almost drops under again as she struggles to catch her breath. Her hand grasps at the edge of the fountain, and Allison pulls herself towards it, clings to it to keep her upright as she hacks, gasping for air.
And then it hits her that she's breathing. She's breathing and upright, and she feels warm. As she catches her breath, breathing ragged and deep, her lungs aching with each inhale, Allison blinks up at her surroundings. She reaches up, scrubs the water out of her eyes, noting the trees, the fountains, the buildings.
Wasn't Heaven supposed to have pearly gates? Did she even get to go to Heaven?
She takes one last deep breath and hoists herself up over the edge, noticing the pack on her back as she 's climbing out, rolling onto her side and shrugging it off. She lays on the ground for a moment, regathering her strength, sitting up when her arms don't feel like jelly anymore and her breathing evens out, reaching up to squeeze the water out of her hair. Allison eyeballs the pack with more than a little suspicion, and she's not even sure she wants to open it. Whatever afterlife this is, she's not so certain she should trust strange backpacks.
H O U S I N G
The inherent lack of privacy of living at the inn is fine for the first few days, but Allison (while a social person) finds herself longing for just a little privacy. She likes everyone here well enough, has found herself something to do in setting traps in the woods using only things found in the woods (her father would be proud of her, she thinks, even as she tries not to think about it), and has already begun to tell herself that this is where she's staying. She needs to act like it.
She's not sure about getting a house on her own. It might be too much space, an empty reminder of other people who have gone on before her — the exact reason she and her father had moved from their house into an apartment. Too many empty rooms and too many empty places. Most of the houses she's found so far in her search have reminded her too much of that house in Beacon Hills that, as far as she knows, still stands empty. She's opening front doors and peering inside, but not venturing any further. Undecided.
H U N T I N G
She'd use a bow, if she could. The weapons themselves are communal, and she'd been happy to learn that they had them, at first— but the lack of arrows that she can use puts a damper on that pretty quickly. She knows how, mostly, though the material she's used to using isn't readily available in this place, so it's been a little slow going. She's turned, in the meantime, to traps and tracking. Her resources there are limited, too, and so Allison makes due using the lay of the land, pulling plants and using them in place of string and twine, braiding the longer strips of grass she can find into short ropes when she needs something a little stronger. Her traps are simple, and most won't catch anything — which, to her, is to be expected. She doesn't want to catch everything. She's got no idea of the populations in this place, how much the people have already been hunting to keep themselves alive. But she puts them up, all the same, just in case.
She's settled on the porch of the inn, twisting the bundles of grass in her hands into rope, setting aside each piece when she's finished and starting anew. She'll use these to tie to a branch which she'll set at an angle on a tree; the ropes will form loops, and with luck, a lazy squirrel will make his way through, and catch himself on one of the loops. Squirrel isn't exactly what Allison would prefer eating, but meat is meat, and she's pretty sure someone can use the hide for something. Two or three squirrels could probably make a pair of mittens, or something.
She keeps her hands and mind busy. It keeps her from missing what she can't have anymore too much.
no subject
"Definitely too many — we're probably doing them a favor by eating them. What'd you have in mind? Rabbits? Or something else?"
no subject
Cougar's still hoping for a rooster. If he can get one of those, then he can work with the chickens to produce more and be able to kill some for food, as well as keep some for laying.