sixthiterationlogs | It's Not the Waking It's the Rising

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It's Not the Waking It's the Rising

WHO: Kurt Wagner, You!
WHERE: Fountain (Open to 1), Inn, Various Outdoor Locations
WHEN: Nov. 27 - Dec 4
OPEN TO: OTA, Arrival Locked to 1
WARNINGS: None yet.

Arrival

Yellow eyes open in the dark. It's cold. And he's weightless- wait, no, he's in water. Did he teleport in his sleep? No, that hasn't happened since he was a teenager. He struggles for a few precious seconds to locate the light, and bamfs-

Or not. His movements feel clumsier too, though that might be the oxygen deprivation. It takes him several more seconds to truly register the full extent of his situation as he struggles to the surface- he can't even cling to the stone walls of the well! This is strange.

He gasps loudly as he breaks the surface, groping one arm over the ledge of the fountain and spitting out a mouthful of water. "Scheisse," he coughs as he begins to haul himself over the ledge- and noticing just how much harder it is than it should be to do so. The laws of gravity are not meant to be so restrictive where he is concerned, and he feels downright clumsy. This isn't right.

Also, it is definitely not Central Park.

Inn

Dressed in the dry set of light grey scrubs he'd found in his pack, Kurt has made his way to the social center of the village, even if he's not feeling too much like his usual social self. But there's hot food and, most importantly a roaring fire that he's gotten himself as close to as one can without risking burning off one's fuzz off.

He's got a bowl of something hot that someone was kind enough to spare, and it reminds him enough of the big pots of stew or curry that they'd leave bubbling in big pots around the clock when the circus was performing that it's bringing him some modicum of comfort.

The Great Outdoors

This feeling of unbalance, this simply will not do. If he is to function here as anyone else, he has to get used to life without the superhuman agility he's been used to since his very first steps. So he's found somewhere nice and empty aside from a few felled trees, and clad in sadly very drab scrubs, he's doing what he would with any other setback-

Pushing past it, and with style.

Even with the loss of his powers, he still has his tail. That lends him more balance than most would have, and he's making the most of it as he makes running leap after running leap, pushing himself into handsprings, backflips, using the tree trunks as balance beams.

And, every so often, falling on his fuzzy blue butt. Or face.

The muscle memory of years in the circus and cross-time swashbuckling is still there, it just feels hindered. He can work with hindered. Hindered just means it's harder, not that it can't be done. The effort of having to work these muscles and his spacial awareness this hard means- well, he's not as aware of the rest of his surroundings than he might be.

He does not realize he's being watched until he stops to perch on a sufficiently stable rock to catch his breath.

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There is something very nice about seeing someone else obviously not human and Bull smiles as he goes to grab a bowl for himself. Then he heads over to sit down not far from the other. "Hi, mind if I sit?"

Thor is in the very, very early stages of starting to memorize faces. He's spent a good amount of time in the building he's learned is called an "inn" (and someone's been kind enough to explain what that means, as he was confused as to why it would be "in" and not "out"), and doing so has allowed him to recognize the usual patrons. Some come and drop off food for future meals, some appear to be living upstairs, others come simply to socialize. It's a place of warmth, literal and otherwise, and Thor finds that he enjoys sitting near the fire, especially as his stupid mortal body seems more sensitive to the frigid outdoors.

Pathetic.

He's on his fifth or sixth bowl of stew when he sees someone walk in with the most shockingly blue skin he's ever seen. Thor wonders if it might be a Jötunn, but his smaller stature tells him that he is not. Perhaps he's a younger Jötunn, not yet fully grown into the giants they turn out to be.

When he gets close enough, Thor leans over and says with a friendly smile:

"It's very good." He raises his own bowl slightly to show he's talking about the soup. "It isn't a box of Poptarts, but it is still very good."

7 is impressed.

In her world, she was the quickest, so it's refreshing to be here and to find people who could keep up with her, offer her a challenge.

She's content to just observe, watching him try and fail and try again. She understands that mindset; that getting up after you fall is the most important part to learning, to trying again and doing better.

Eventually, though, her target must sense she's had her eyes trained on him for some time; she steps from the brush, swinging her spear around to stab it into the ground, and pushes up the cave-dog-skull-mask she'd finally finished.

"Not bad. How did you learn to move like that?"

Edited 2018-11-29 04:04 (UTC)

Zevran hasn't at all been making a daily pass at the well in case someone he knows might arrive. That would be foolish. That would be bordering on some manner of sentimental and he knows far too well that it is best to leave such things behind as he finds his footing in the village. It is not at all a slight twist of fear that Taliesen might break the surface and require prompt drowning.

That Rinna might float up all sodden curls and betrayed grimaces.

Or worse yet- Oghren with his foul breath and frustrated snarling.

Well practiced in denial Zevran knows it is for none of these reasons he makes a circuit of the park each day- it is pragmatism. Pulling someone from the fountain, hurrying them to the Inn? How better to earn himself a few favors than to assist the newly arrived? That is his story and he is sticking to it.

Water ripples, breath catches- and he darts forward to offer a hand to the soaked new arrival- ignoring the skin and ears and eyes for a moment. "One moment, we shall have you free in no time at all!"

"Mind if I join you?"

Wanda was dressed in a pair of loose khaki's and a white tank top. She had taken off her jacket while cooking and hadn't gotten around to putting it back on yet. Her long hair was tied back and curled at the ends tinting red the further it got from her scalp. She had a bowl of stew in one hand with a mug in the other.

She waited for Kurt's reply before taking a seat next to the fire. "I don't think I've seen you around here before." Wanda would have noticed Kurt.

Kamala's life is pretty consistent here. She has a home to maintain with many adorable pets. She's still hard at work on her holiday project to make sure all her friends have gifts. It's on her way back home from one of these tasks where she spots Kurt. There is a blue man with a tail. She's trying not to get her hopes up. He is supposed to be dead, after all!

Sure enough once he gets closer it becomes impossible to deny that is in fact a member of the X-Men, dead or not. She responds the only way she knows how: running and screaming with a look of pure delight on her face. "Oh my God! It's really you! Hi! I'm such a huge fan!"

Living with someone who doesn't really cook either, the two of them often have to venture out for food, so Matt's back at the inn with an empty bowl in his lap after he's finished eating something plain and warm. Probably the same thing that Kurt is having right now.

He's sitting in front of the fire and doesn't seem to be aware that Kurt is there. He didn't turn to say hello when Kurt sat down and, in fact, for the most part he seems to be in a bit of a daze. When he accidentally drops his spoon it clatters noisily on the floor and Matt's brows furrow. His hand crawls dangerously close to the flame looking for it.

(Sorry I'm like a week late to this)

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