sixthiterationlogs | I wanted to stay home but I went running running running running from the troubles

WHO: Valkyrie
WHERE: The Bunker, around the village
WHEN: End of November
OPEN TO: Bruce Banner (Bunker), OTA (Village)
WARNINGS: Possible mentions of alcohol abuse, past implied slavery, and PTSD.

Arrival in the Bunker

To wake with swirling, swimming vision, everything distorted in front of her, is nothing new. Many are the nights where the previous night's inebriation simply bleeds over into the morning, one day into another. But the tube? The tube's a decidedly new development.

Groggily she draws a hand up to push at the glass. Then knock against it a few times, the noise enough to discourage further taps with a groan and a squint. Okay, no, hangover is not liking that at all. Though this didn't feel quite like the average hangover.

Still might puke, though.

There's a shape moving past the glass that she can't quite make out, and she tries to lean forward enough to see who it is. One of the Grandmaster's goons? A gladiator? Is this the new pit? She'd worked her way out of that mess already, or so she'd thought. Or was this some scavenger crew who thought to sell her out?

"Hey!" And that initial shout reminds her with a grimace that yes, still in glass tube. Still only really hurting her own ears here. Ow...

Arrival in the Village

Freed of the tube, she's free to marvel at how much...really hasn't changed at all. She's stuck here, instead of there, with less food and booze but more trees and greenery, and fewer tasers or holding cells. Maybe they like their 'prisoners with jobs' free-range, here.

Still, for a new arrival, she doesn't look that fussed by the change of scenery. Anyone look at her could tell she was new, a well-muscled but slight woman with messy dark hair bound back out of her face. Her expression? Says she's already about a thousand percent done with the shake-up and ready to move on. This gaping uncertainty under her feet is a little less than ideal, but she's handled herself in worse.

Clad in telltale red scrubs and carrying her complimentary pack on her shoulder, she's making her rounds, from building to building. Taking in the landscape, such as it is. There's a vague tally to keep, places to sleep, people she'd be expected to work with to do...whatever needed doing. Because of course they're going to ask her to do things, that's not a question, really.

So the sooner she finds out what she needs to do to get secure and get out of her own mind? The happier she'll be.

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No room for that sort of optimism here. She knows what people disappearing in the woods means likely as not.

"Well. That's more than nothing." The plate clatters to the table as she wipes her hands off. "And they're trying to build things up around here before the cold sets in?" That would be the plan anywhere else. It's cold but not unbearable outside yet, but it seems as though it's just setting in rather than starting to clear up. If there's a winter to be endured here, people would need to scramble for supplies and fortification.

Which meant opportunities to be of use, and not get left out in the cold.

"That is the plan. Watchtowers are going up, stores of food being filled before the winter begins in earnest. Fishing shouldn't change much but hunting in the woods and any crops we've left to tend will become thin until spring. Provided the winter is not overlong, we should be able to last." Key word being should but- he is a recent arrival and this is not a climate he is entirely accustomed to.

Hence the constant huddling by the fire.

"There is a lot of heavy lifting to do as well, at least in the southern village. It is where most of us live."

"Think I could probably pitch in with that. I've got a moderate interest in not freezing to death."

It's bleak, as outlooks go, but not impossible. It'll be a bit of a change, working alongside other people for survival as opposed to against them. But clearly they're not all bad.

Zevran, despite coming across a little too slick for his own good, clearly knows the score. She suspects he's every bit as interested in staying alive through the winter, if only to see what happens next.

"As do we all." He lifts his mug in a quiet toast, leaning back to sip as he considers again the weather, his skills, and the village. It isn't the worst place he's landed,

But it isn't the best either. Far from.

"There is a great deal of muddling through from those of more...advanced worlds. They seem less accustomed to the work." The minutinae of survival when their comforts aren't as readily available.

She snorts inelegantly. "It's not the advancement of the world. Trust me. It's the people."

Asgard, after all, had been a beacon of advancement. Technology so grand mortals would consider it magic. But she'd done without all that for a while now, and could continue to do so if need be.

So too could her capable friend here, it seems, from the way he talks.

"If you let yourself get comfortable and shrink away from getting your hands dirty, it's going to be rougher for you when you get dumped in the middle of nowhere and have to make your way. That's just how it is."

"Work ethic?" The more comfortable, advanced words breed softer, less hardworking folks. Or it could seem as such, he has yet to meet anyone that lazed about without attempting to pull their weight. A lack of a place to bitch anonymously does prevent him from knowing the truth.

He could fix that.

Probably should. It would be the best way to get the village gossip.

"I suppose you and I will have no trouble finding our footholds." Separately, of course.

She makes a quiet noise of agreement before settling forward, arms folding across the table in front of her.

"So. What sort of world are you from?" It's not Alfheim, not anywhere advanced from the sound of it. He seems comfortable enough in rustic settings like this.

It probably won't make a difference, but here's her asking anyway. Why not?

"One of mages, dragons, darkspawn, and assassins- at least in Antiva, my home country. Orlais has their brand in Bards but they are more of the spying sort than the stabbing, yes?" Different flavors of similar wines. "We do not have power such as I've seen here, but we do have creatures and magic. I've not heard of dragons in the mountains just yet and for that, I am glad. They are annoyingly difficult to kill."

"So what sort of creatures do we have running around? Game, obviously. We're eating somehow." And she gestures to her empty plate, licking her lips. Hunting wouldn't be the worst use of her time. It might even be enjoyable, tracking and hauling in something that wouldn't curse her name and beg for mercy the whole time.

There isn't much of that business here going on, it looks like. Small mercies.

I wanted to stay home but I went running running running running from the troubles

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