sixthiterationlogs | let the only sound be the overflow;

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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.

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The rain's let up, so Clint's been moving around more. Largely, he'll admit, because he was getting antsy cooped up in the Inn for so long. He's been working on some interior repairs on one of the nearby empty houses so hopefully he can move in before it gets too cold.

And, of course, he's swung by the fountain most times he's done so, to make sure no one needed any help - which is what he's doing now. He missed Allison's arrival, but when he sees the dripping girl sitting on the ground, he immediately picks up his speed, trotting over to give her a hand up if she needs it.

She looks young. Not a little kid by any stretch, older than his kids, but young enough to spike his dad instincts. He doesn't like the people running this place dragging kids into whatever the hell this is. They already had the kids in the woods, now this one? It's fucked up.

"You okay there, kid?" he asks as he gets close, holding a hand out to her.

Allison looks up sharply, still suspicious, glancing from his hand to his face. He looks kind enough, and if this is the afterlife, then it's not likely he's here to hurt her. The things that want to hurt her are usually a lot more open about it, in her experience. So she takes the offered hand, stands up and stumbles a little bit as her legs remember how to keep her upright, and she looks around, ignoring the backpack on the ground.

There's only one question on her mind as she nods in response to his.

"Is this Heaven?"

"No, this is Iowa," Clint responds, almost without thinking, a little shit-eating grin on his face. He holds it for a second, then laughs and rubs the back of his head.

"Sorry, no it's not, that was just too good an opening," he says, only a little bit apologetic. "Sure ain't heaven either, though, that's for sure." He bends down and grabs her backpack and jerks his head a little. "C'mon, you can get dried off and warmed up at the inn. Just over there."

He starts walking, assuming she'll follow (though he does glance over his shoulder to make sure she does) before asking, "What's a kid your age assuming you're in heaven for, huh?"

Thor didn't spend much time hunting. He imagined that he might be able to manage, even if it was as simple as bashing something with a rock, but he left it to others. What he did, instead, was heavy labor. Each day he went to the inn to get a list of tasks from the small woman who ran things and each day he worked until he had no more work to do.

He was between tasks when he noticed the woman upon the porch, a slim, dark-haired girl that he'd not seen before now. Her face was new to him and he flashed her a quick smile, teeth bright and eyes glinting a bit even though he was coated in a bit of grime from the course of his work.

"Is she indoors? Or am I allowed to sit and rest?"

She's so engrossed in her task that she doesn't even register that he's standing there until he speaks, and when he does, she jumps, eyes wide. She chastises herself internally for not paying attention — but the man before her isn't a threat. She's seen him around, during the lunch hour, though this is the first time either of them have spoken to one another.

It takes her another second to realize who he's talking about, and she smiles a little, scooting over on the bench.

"I think she's gone, so you can sit. I won't tell her you did."

"I do not mind work," Thor said, his smile getting a little wider at her invitation to sit down, "But I don't want to work as much as she wants me to." He had never done so much labor in his life. He had always been a warrior first, had always fought with his hands rather than toiled.

"What is it that you're doing? Weaving? My mother used to do that, long ago."

Tauriel has taken to disappearing into the woods now that the rains have let up, searching for game and for fungi alike. Thankfully, the wet weather has created a perfect breeding ground for most species of mushrooms and other edible fungal plants to thrive, and she has been taking advantage of this fact by filling the pack she'd arrived with with as many mushrooms as she can pluck. Most other plants are still attempting to recover from the torrential downpours, pummeled into submission and only now returning to their previous sturdy selves.

Even with the heavy boots she'd been provided, her steps are silent as she emerges from the forest, her pack slung across her back and the carcass of a dead raccoon dangling from her hands. She has yet to clean and gut it, a task she would normally accomplish within the forest, for she wants to try and keep as much of the organs as possible; with careful planning and tending, she might be able to turn the intestines into catgut; probably not of a length necessary to string a bow, but it would not hurt to practice the skill, and she might even be able to fashion strings long enough for a lap harp, if nothing else.

There is a new human girl sitting on the steps of the Inn, her dark head bowed over her lap as she twists grass into ropes. Her quick movements indicate she knows what she is doing, and Tauriel finds herself approving; there are a few people here in this place that do not seem to have any survival skills to speak of, and it worries her. To know that there are others who do not need teaching is a relief.

"Hello," she greets as she nears the Inn, not wanting to startle her by appearing suddenly at her side. She has learned humans do not appreciate such things. "I do not believe we have had the chance to speak. What is your name?"

Cougar is out because there are traps to check on, even though the rain is still out there enough to be annoying. He's here to deliver his game for the day and to return the bow, arching his brow as he comes up to knock his boots off and avoid some of the mud. She's new, yes, but he's starting to wonder how many people will come and be new before it will stop being strange.

He nods to the rope that she's making, an impressed glean in his eyes. "You have good, quick fingers," he says, quiet and steady.

Boyd's watching her, from his spot. He himself has chosen the house that most reminds him of Ava's house, straight down to the room he uses for himself. Allison finds wariness in things that are familiar where Boyd has a soft spot for anything that reminds him of home.

He's mainly wishing he had a rocking chair.

He recognizes the girl from the Inn where he's been a few times, mostly to connect with a few people there and say hello to one Kate Kelly. She's a new arrival, but Boyd had felt she might be uncomfortable with someone his age being so forthcoming and welcoming. Instead, he smiles and nods, and he's sure she's heard his name as he's overheard hers.

Currently, though, it seems like a way to get acquainted.

"I'm not so sure you need an invitation to enter any of these abodes," he says from the next building over, a smile on his face.

She doesn't get the joke, blinking at him in vague confusion before she even realizes that he is joking, because right now, she's still a little disoriented. But he seems adamant that they're not in the afterlife; she follows him only because she doesn't really see any other choice.

At his question, she presses her lips together in a thin line. She still doesn't know where she is, is still a little uncertain that it isn't some kind of afterlife. But after a moment of deliberation, she doesn't see a reason to not tell him. What's the worst that could happen?

"I... died." And saying it gives it a kind of finality, makes it real (even more so than it actually happening), and she doesn't continue for another moment, letting the word hang over her.

"My best friend was kidnapped by an evil Japanese fox demon who was possessing the body of another friend. And I went to save her."

"Making rope, actually," she says with a smile, and turns slightly, so he can see what she's doing better. Allison slows down the movements of her hands, twisting the grass one way, and then turning it and twisting it the opposite direction, twining the grasses together.

"I can't make very long pieces with the grass at hand, but it'll work for tying traps and snares together."

Allison looks up as the woman calls out, fingers stilling. Allison raises one hand in a wave, smiles as the woman approaches.

"Allison," she answers, setting her bundles aside and standing up, holding out her hand.

"Allison Argent."

Manners had been drilled into Allison from a young age, and she recognizes the woman as older, and likely more experienced than she. The raccoon carcass in her hands is telling; most people don't normally eat them, and Allison herself is only faintly aware of the use you can get out of it. Bait for larger predator animals and supernatural beasts, for one. The hide can be useful too, but Allison's never gone out of her way to try and hunt them down. She's actually a little curious to know what the woman intends to do with it.

Allison glances at him out of the corner of her eye when he approaches and removes his boots, but doesn't turn to look up at him until he speaks to her. She smiles, a little self conscious, fingers gripping the twists in her hands a little tighter.

"Thanks," she says, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "My dad actually taught me how, and he was kind of a stickler for perfection."

"I haven't done any hunting. There are others who hunt," Thor explained, thinking of the few hunters he'd seen coming in with their spoils over the course of the few weeks he'd been here in the village. He hadn't been among them. He'd spent his time doing other types of labor, especially after the quakes had rent the ground in two, and he tended the goats he'd been given as sacrifices.

He had little experience with farming, yes, but he was learning. Goats seemed to be easy to keep, if stubborn, and Thor had enough will to overpower them more often than not. He would win those battles on most occasions and when he lost, he would learn for another day.

"I help keep the buildings in repair and I have been raising goats for milk and meat. I am Thor, son of Odin," he offered, extending a hand to her. He'd learned that this was the traditional form of introduction on Midgard and made the educated guess that this would be the proper way to introduce himself to this woman.

She's not aware she's being watched, and she's a little mad at herself for it; she should have seen him there nearby as she approached the house, and she takes her hand off the doorknob like she's been burned (even as his comment gives her permission to do open the door). She's a little embarrassed, like she's been caught doing something she hadn't, but from what she'd learn, most of the houses here were unoccupied and free for people to live in, when they found one they liked.

She turns to Boyd, smiling a little sheepishly.

"It's not that," she finally says, lacing her fingers together. "I just haven't seen one I like yet."

Using the hand that is not holding the raccoon, Tauriel gives the girl a traditional salute, holding her hand to her chest and then extending it in front of her. "I am Tauriel," she replies. She eyes the girl's hand in confusion for a second before she realizes that she is expected to take it.

She moves closer still, reaching out and clasping her hand.

"May I join you?" She still has to clean and gut the animal, and she would be happy to sit on the warm porch to do her business.

She takes his hand with a little hesitation. Thor, son of Odin? Like the actual god Thor? Norse mythology was something Allison had little knowledge about; her family's beastiary had some information on berserkers, but that was the extent of it. But she'd be remiss to not know that name, and she blinks a couple of times, trying to wrap her head around it. Is he crazy? Or is he the real deal?

It's still not the weirdest thing that's happened to her, she finally decides, and her smile turns from confusion to warmth as she squeezes his hand.

"Allison. Alison Argent. I'm still trying to figure out what I can do, here. Hunting is just something I did back home. The familiarity helps."

"Oh! Yeah, sure, hang on—" Allison turns quickly and gathers up her things, making room on the bench for Tauriel. There's more than enough for the two of them to do their work, dirty and otherwise, and if she's being honest, she wouldn't mind the company. It's not raining as hard as it has been, but it's still gloomy and grey outside, with the distant rumble of thunder. It's not doing much to improve her mood; another person, even if they both sit in silence, will at least help with that.

When she's done, Allison settles back on the bench, picking up where she left off, although she's not watching her hands work this time, her movements slowed to accommodate the lack of attention. She's watching the other woman instead, curious.

Tauriel manages a smile at the girl before setting the animal carcass down on the wood of the porch. "I will return shortly," she says, and disappears inside the building behind them.

Once she has deposited her mushroom hoard and given instruction to the tall, golden-eyed boy who so often is in the kitchen on how to cook them, and once she has acquired a a few containers for the organs and the offal of the racoon, Tauriel returns as she promised to the front porch.

She moves to sit on the floor, crossing her legs neatly in front of her, before producing a knife from somewhere so that she can start to clean the animal.

"You have not been here long." It is not a question. Tauriel may be new herself, but she has been here long enough to be able to recognize almost all the residents of this settlement by sight, at least, and she has not seen this girl much.

"It helps to have something to remind you of where you came from," Thor agreed. There was little in the way of those things here for him but at least there were people he knew as comrades; even with no familiarity of place or task, he had friends. At least she had the familiarity of a task to fall back upon.

"Your family, they were all hunters then? Or was it just something that you did alone?"

Kol is on his way to his own house after checking a couple of the traps he'd set the day before. Nothing yet, but it's early still and he'll check on them again later. The rain that didn't seem to want to ever let up in recent days still has him in less than descent moods. Working on anything in the rain was annoying, and it had been steady and solid enough to make a lot of tasks harder than usual.

What he doesn't expect on his trek back to his house, is to find the ghost of another person he'd known in Lawrence. He had a daily reminder of it all living in house, so he was faced with it all the time, but this one is different. This one he knew. This one he hurt. Well, not him so much as a demon inhabiting his body at the time, but he carries the guilt for it all the same.

"Allison?" Chances of her being the "right" one were slim to none, but he'd try anyway. He always tried, no matter how futile.

He's attentive because in this place, any new skill can be beneficial and this is something that he hasn't seen done; at least, not with these materials. He gestures for the spot beside her and nods to it, silently asking if he could join her. He knows a thing or two about needing perfection, but not from his father.

Clay, though, is as much father as Cougar has ever had, in terms of trying to please and perform for. "Can I join?"

She'd introduced herself to plenty of people in her first few days here; the sound of her name being called out doesn't surprise her, although she really needs to start paying more attention to her surroundings. She's so focused on finding a place that she doesn't register that someone else is there at all until he calls out her name. She turns, a little abruptly, and gives him a curious smile.

He isn't someone she's seen before, or at least that she recalls. There's been so many faces at Miss Kate's lunches that she'd had to have least passed by him at least once; he'd probably picked her up her name at that time, despite her not formally introducing herself.

"Yeah?" She gives him a courteous smile; she doesn't have any idea what he could want with her, but she's not going to turn down helping someone if they need it.

"Well," Clint says, a bit at a loss for words. "That... sucks."

Ever eloquent, our Hawkeye. He lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. Kids dying trying to save their friends from crazy bullshit like that is just... "Where the hell are the adults in your life?" he asks, unintentionally speaking his mind.

The tone in her voice, the look on her face, it all adds up to only one thing: She has no clue who he is. Because none of them ever do, or if they happen to, it's always a wrong version anyway. He'd rather that he just didn't care, but every time he finds a familiar face in this ramshackled little village of theirs, he can't help that tiniest swell of hope for someone he truly knew.

"You've no clue who I am, do you?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer, a soft scoff and a little shake of his head. "Well, no matter. No time like the present for introductions." He offers a hand in her direction, "Kol Mikaelson." And he'll be keep a surreptitious eye on you from here on out.

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let the only sound be the overflow;

Arrival

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h u n t i n g

Hunting

Housing;

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Housing

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