sixthiterationlogs | [Mingle] One-Man-Show

Compared to her initial lost aimlessness when arriving in December, this morning's panic sorts itself quickly into a to-do list, thanks in large part to Reeve and Tony's guidance from afar. (And in the back of her mind, with that familiar adrenaline leaping in her chest from the feeling of a brewing crisis, Brigitte can't help but think: this was what they all warned her about, wasn't it?)

She's going through all the houses, knocking loudly at the door before coming in, to look around for candles left lit or cooking gas still running. She goes to the forge to feed and look after Elton -- it's also the first time in awhile that the forge fires haven't been lit at all, and the village is missing that reassuring column of smoke. The woman stands restlessly in the doorway of the smithy for a while, watching the street with Elton gathered in her arms and tucked under her chin, letting the pea-cat soothe and settle her.

And then, in the end, Brigitte wends her back to the inn to be around the remaining people in the village. What few there are.

[ also open to wildcards or things set over the next few days! xx ]

Annie, currently making no effort to hide her red hair, strikes a highly visible figure. Red hair, black coat, determined step. No geese following her today, not even her ever loyal East, and she makes her way straight to the forge. Then she blinks, looks up, pauses.

"I was, um. Coming to see if he was okay. The cat."

She looks upset. Redden eyes, a bitten bottom lip, an overall air of twitch. She needs something to do to keep herself occupied, but the forge is quiet and what even needs to doing right now? She can't remember. It can't be that important then.

But Finnick's not here, and she's worried, and she to do something.

Annie is a familiar-ish sight from the smithy, but even ish is good enough for Brig, and therefore a welcome thing. The two women have crossed paths at the forge, but they've also been ships in the night for a bit, and not had a chance to really get to know each other yet. Figures, that it had to be something like this to bring them together.

"He's okay. Tony reminded me to check in on him." A small laugh; not from any real amusement, but it's a self-deprecating sound, a what-the-hell-can-we-do-but-laugh sound. "Trust that man to remember everything even when he's away."

'Away'. That's a safe, toothless way of describing the situation. Brigitte wouldn't ordinarily shy away from calling a spade a spade, but she doesn't even know how to pin the right words to what's happening. Where even are the others?

"Are you okay?" Annie patently isn't, but Brigitte is polite enough to ask, gently, first.

Brigitte has seemed nice, as far as Annie could tell. But that's the thing: so many people seem nice. Are nice, in fact, until they turn and laugh. She's trying not to let that paranoia get to her. She's been fighting it reoccurring for months, but with Finnick gone, everything is tipped upside down and it's harder.

She tries.

"Animals are easy to remember," Annie says. Mutters. She shakes her head a little, tries again. "There's, there- Miss Kate, over at the Inn? She's got a cat, too. I guess, um, we should check on her, too. I couldn't find her." It's unclear if she means Miss Kate or the cat.

Then Brigitte has to ask that, all kind, and Annie's bottom lip starts to tremble. "Finnick's- He's. Gone." She's blinking now, trying to keep the tears back. "My, my husband."

"Oh, I-- oh."

Caught off-guard by that revelation, Brigitte realises that as fucking awful and unsettled as she must feel, the other woman must be feeling a thousand times worse. There's the tell-tale glint of tears in Annie's eyes, and somehow it's the sight of that -- more than blood, more than broken bones -- that finally manages to panic the squire. She can bind up a wound, suture a cut, but she's not sure what the right thing is to say to a woman whose husband's been kidnapped by all-seeing entities. What do you say??

So with that little jolt of concern, she instinctively reaches forward to bundle the peacock cat gently into Annie's arms: Elton's warm body, warm fur, purring throat, eventual endorphins. It's been doing a good job of settling Brig, at least. (It's dangerous to go alone; take this!!)

"Shit. Annie, I'm sorry. Have you been able to reach him on the network?"

Bit by bit, Maine has grown accustomed to the quiet of the North Village. It's still strange to not hear the reassuring hum of the Mother of Invention, but it's ... nice. Calm. Remote and removed from the strangers living in the South, most of whom Maine doesn't trust and generally doesn't give a shit about.

Walking into the South Village today, however, feels all wrong. It's quiet where it shouldn't be, like a town that's been evacuated before the enemy arrives. Or one that didn't evacuate in time, and the residents are all lying dead somewhere.

The massive Freelancer remains tense, ready for a fight, and keeps his head on a swivel. He's fallen behind Wash and is watching his teammate's back as they move. When they arrive at the Inn, Maine's eyes sweep the room, dark and distrusting...

And then he sees Brigitte, and that distrust fades.

Silently, Maine motions for Wash to follow him and starts approaching the young woman.

Even he can tell that it's quieter here than it normally is. He's been down here enough to be able to tell that something is off, even if he hadn't seen the notice on the network. Walking in there with Maine... reminds him of empty towns on planets that have been attacked, the kind where you know the mission has changed from rescue to reporting on losses.

Horrifying as that is, there's also something oddly comforting about it. Maine is at his back, they have some kind of purpose now. They can deal with bad shit and it's sure as hell better than waiting.

They enter the inn surveying the few people already there. Wash doesn't recognise any of them, but apparently Maine does. Young woman, red hair. He follows after Maine, a few steps behind, waiting for him to explain.

The whole place feels haunted, is what it feels like. Brigitte has walked through ghost towns before — a whole German village on lockdown, with people hidden away from the gangs tyrannising them — but here there isn’t even the watchful flicker of villagers peering through curtains, disappearing behind shuttered windows. There’s no one.

Brigitte has been brooding in the corner of the inn (extremely unlike her) until someone familiar enters, and then relief quickly flickers across her face; she rises and crosses the room to meet them halfway, like a little echo of how she’d once accidentally charged across the inn to greet him. “Oh, thank god, you’re still here—” Though if there’s anyone who could take care of themselves out in the wilderness, it’s probably Maine, and she suspects she needn’t have worried.

And then her gaze skips past Maine’s bulk, to the blond man who entered with him. And there’s no doubt, really, that they came in together: there’s something in the way they’re moving, how one falls into lockstep behind the other, and instinctively covers the angles the other one can’t, that has the feel of a well-synchronised machine. (A twinge of familiarity. A synchronicity she misses.)

“Hi,” she says, with a flash of a smile for them both, and an instinctive glance back at the man in the lead.

This time, at least, Maine is prepared for the way Brigitte hurries forward. He doesn't tense or stare in bewilderment, wondering if she might be trying to greet someone behind him. Instead, he flashes her a small, quick smile in return. It's not as relieved as her own — unless he's drunk or extremely relaxed, Maine's expressions are almost always reserved — but the fact that he's smiling at all in this situation is significant.

Maine nods a greeting and angles his body to open communication between Brigitte and Wash. (In other words, he turns so that his giant shoulders aren't in the way.)

"Wash," he says with a gesture to his best friend. However, thanks to the situation in the village (and the fact that 'best friend' is an emotion-laden label for Maine), he introduces the other man as, "Teammate."

Then he looks to Wash and tilts his head toward Brigitte. "Brigitte. Makes armor."

To Wash, the way that Maine's expression shifts — a subtle hint of enthusiasm creeping in — may make it clear that Maine thinks the armor in question is pretty great.

He's watching Maine's actions with interest. He knows Maine, even if he's a little bit rusty. It's rare to see Maine acting like this; open and friendly. Smiling. They're small things, and he knows that to anyone else, Maine wouldn't really look friendly at all; not actively hostile is the best that they can usually hope for. But from Wash's perspective, he's practically hanging neon lights over the fact he thinks this woman is awesome.

He manages a small smile of his own, gives a nod. "Well, that's a pretty ringing endorsement from Maine. I'm Wash. Nice to meet you."

Teammate still says a great deal, especially coming from what she knows of Maine's history. War forges bonds. She's seen the unshakeable friendships between the men in her life, won in trenches and bloodied conflicts, the unspoken trust earned between them. So when Wash gives his verdict, she takes it as truth, bemused and a little charmed as she glances between them: "Ringing, huh?"

She's not an expert in reading the Freelancer's micro-expressions yet, so the validation from someone who knows him better is an unexpected little beat of assurance. "I didn't know Maine had a teammate here. Happy to meet you, Wash, even if the circumstances are..." She trails off, and a flap of her hand to the abandoned, near-empty inn around them speaks volumes, summarises it all in a way that words can't. "Apparently they say this just happens sometimes."

There's a low ebb of frustration in the woman's voice as she says that, crossing her arms, but the sight of these two men stalking in means she feels on steadier footing, at least. Competent people. Soldiers, fighters. Much as she appreciates the level head of people like Foggy, she's a child of war herself, and automatically feels better with a pair like these two by her side. (It makes her fingers curl against her arm, itching for a shield, a rocket flail. Old habits die hard.)

Hey, don't just call him out like that, Wash! Maine gives a little huff, but he's not truly bothered. In fact, his expression brightens more when Wash smiles at Brigitte. Getting Wash to smile has become something of a mission for Maine in this place. Might seem like an insignificant mission compared to those he took on back home, but it's important to Maine.

The brightness fades when Brigitte waves a hand at the nearly empty inn. As far as Maine's concerned, that gesture sums things up just fine. He grunts in agreement — to her frustration, not the treatment of this as something 'normal' — and folds his arms as well, unintentionally mirroring Brigitte's body language. Then he scans the few remaining occupants again, dark brows drawn together in a frown.

That so many people could be "magically" moved is concerning, to say the least. He wonders how it was done. Wonders how it can be prevented.

Turning his gaze to Wash, Maine raises his eyebrows in a silent question: "thoughts?"

Edited (forgot a bit!) 2019-02-03 05:14 (UTC)

"I learned how to speak Maine," Wash explains, and nudges Maine himself with his elbow. Sorry big guy, he knows you too well. He's absolutely going to use that knowledge for evil. And He trusts Maine's judgement. Mostly. About people at least. He's not planning on emulating Maine's attitude towards combat.

And now people are asking for his thoughts like he actually know what he's doing. Like he hasn't been lone-wolfing it up for the past few years, trusting only himself.

"We need to make sure stuff still works. Like it or not, we're still stuck here, and we're gonna need whatever's left to keep us alive through winter. If we get that sorted, then we can think about rescues or... whatever."

That’s another chilling proposition right there — what if all of the others don’t make it back? what if they don’t have enough people left to sustain the village?

But Wash’s point is pragmatic, too, and therefore gives her something to concentrate on. Keeps her centered. Brigitte gives a firm nod, agreeing with him: “Then we need hunters for food. Are you guys any good at that? Someone will have to cook at the inn, too, but that’s easier.” The communal meals had been such a steadily reliable thing; she’s kicking herself now for having taken them for granted. “Foggy’s still here and he can butcher the meat. We might have a fisher and farmer left. I can be a medic, if anyone gets injured and we don’t have anyone better.”

She’s mentally running through the list of people she knows and recognises in the village. There’s some unfamiliar faces, though, and she’ll have to remedy that. Brigitte draws in a deep breath to steady herself. “At least nothing’s actively attacking us or anything, I guess?” It’s meant to be a wistful joke, a pick-me-up — but after a pause, she raps her knuckles on the nearest heavy Edwardian tabletop. Touch wood. Just in case.

They’re not village leaders, but they can at least focus on the problem of food. It breaks the overwhelming shitshow down into one solvable problem to start with.

The big man tolerates Wash's elbow nudging his side without complaint. Few people can initiate casual contact without Maine stiffening or shoving them away. But the contact with Wash actually appears to relax Maine, clearing some of the cloudiness that had settled on his brow.

The bonds of war, indeed.

Awkward as Wash may feel in being asked for his opinion, Maine's grateful when his friend gives it. It's not something that the big man had considered. Judging by the way Brigitte jumps on the idea, it's a good plan. She runs with it, breaking down what needs to happen in a way that has Maine wondering if she's done something similar before — right up until she says that she can act as a medic.

Of course she's done something like this. It's triage.

"Can cook," Maine says. It won't be anything adventurous, but it'll be edible. Something he learned to do out of necessity rather than for pleasure; a man his size can't depend on others for food all the time. "Kill," he adds. Tracking things is still hit-or-miss (mostly miss), but he's good at killing.

At Brigitte's joke, Maine glances toward the front door. Considers barricading it. Weighs the advantages of doing so against the work involved in removing the barricade every time a non-hostile needs to enter or exit.

After a pause (during which Brigitte knocks on wood), he settles on suggesting, "Lookouts."

He shares a look with Maine when Brigitte asks if they can hunt. "We can definitely kill things. And sometimes they are even edible." He's started working out the best places to set snares so finding food isn't so time consuming. Neither of them is great at stealth, and animals tend to be better than people at sensing something coming.

He looks back at Brigitte. "We're good at surviving. Not necessarily at living well." And he's not actually sure how Maine survived as the Meta for so long. The AIs must have fed him but... he needs to not think about that.

He's pretty impressed with how Brigitte is handling this. She has a good run down of who can do what. He appreciates that. They need level headed people. "It might not be a bad idea to have a watch set. It might even be a good idea to get everyone into the Inn and adjoining buildings. We don't know if there is an attack coming but keeping everyone together lowers the chances of people being caught out."

"Yeah. The rooms upstairs are almost entirely empty, so there's space to get everyone in here, at least." She's been keeping her tone successfully level so far, steady and business-like; but at that mention of the empty rooms, her voice finally wobbles before she can even it out.

The village had been so stable until now. Brigitte is vaguely irritated with herself for having let her guard drop, for having settled so quickly into a routine and trusting it would stay the same -- but she pushes all that down. For later. "The rooftop is accessible and Tony's built a few watchtowers, so there is that, for lookouts. We can probably find binoculars somewhere in the communal stores."

She's been all stiff angles like a cat with its fur on end, but the more they talk, the more she settles. Having a plan is so much better than spinning free-wheeling and untethered. So after a beat, Brigitte loosens her crossed arms to scrub at her face, and wearily admits, "I'm glad you're both here. Scientists are useful, but times like this, I want a soldier around."

That the rooms are nearly empty is concerning on its own. Since his arrival, the Inn has always seemed near full to bursting. One of the reasons Maine instantly eschewed the idea of staying in it, even for a single night. Too many people whose motivations he didn't know. Too many strangers whose faces he couldn't trust.

At least he can trust two of those faces, now. Whatever's going on, he's grateful that Wash and Brigitte weren't swept away with all the others.

Maine nods in agreement with Wash; the two of them can survive. Sheer stubbornness could keep them going even if food failed. The two of them wouldn't have made it to the top of Project Freelancer's leaderboard if they were easy to kill.

When Brigitte's voice wavers and she rubs at her face, however, Maine presses his lips together. That's not good. He gets it, he thinks — it looks like relief — but it's not good that she's already feeling strained.

So, seeking to reassure her, Maine reaches out with the intention of patting her firmly (though not too hard) on the shoulder. He considers himself pretty shitty at offering comfort, especially since Wash damn near recoiled from him a few weeks ago. But he likes Brigitte, and they need her at her best. Therefore, he's making an attempt.

"That's something at least." At least people have been considering some kind of security. Watchtowers are helpful, if they can get binoculars, even better, although he imagines they're likely to be as outdated as the rest of the technology here. What he wouldn't give for a decent scope and a sniper rifle right now.

At least Maine is here. And Brigitte seems trustworthy. He's willing to trust Maine's judgement on this. And Maine obviously trusts her more than a little. Interesting. He doesn't usually take to people that quickly.

"I understand that. No-one else quite gets being pragmatic in the face of potential death in the same way."

The pat on the shoulder is a slightly clumsy offering that catches her off-guard, but the fact that Maine tried at all is appreciated. She shoots him a grateful smile, and then winds up echoing Wash with a little laugh: "Pragmatic in the face of potential death. That's one way of putting it."

It's not mocking; her voice is warm when she adds, "You just remind me of someone back home." She still remembers her teen years when some of the Overwatch agents came round for dinner, or her poring through pictures of the organisation in their youth. Wash reminds her a bit of a weary version of a young Commander Morrison, blond and blue-eyed and square-jawed.

Then she glances around. A few more villagers are starting to drift in, following the general call for people to gather in the inn. Some have been familiar faces, but not any that she knows especially well. It's odd to realise, but she's probably best-situated right where she is.

"Okay. So! I'll see if I can talk to Foggy about butchery later, and in the meantime -- want to start that watch shift?" She highly suspected no one else had gotten on that particular task yet. "No time like the present."

Funny what kindness, food, and an utter lack of fear can do to Maine's defenses. Brigitte slipped straight past layer upon layer of apathy simply by trusting him. If Maine were more shrewd, he might wonder if it was a calculated move — but he's never been adept at recognizing manipulation.

Good thing Maine has Wash to watch his back. Not that Brigitte is a devil on anyone's shoulder.

The big man watches Wash and Brigitte speak, pleased when they seem to be getting along. Maybe Brigitte will tell Wash about the armor she makes back home. Not now, perhaps, but at some point. Maine thinks it's pretty fucking awesome; he'd like it if Wash knew about it, too.

He's less enthused when Brigitte suggests they take watch. It's necessary, he knows, but the watchtowers are ... well, towers. Not tall ones — certainly not one hundred and ten story buildings — but still taller than anything Maine's climbed since his arrival.

At least there's no risk of getting kicked off the tower this time. Especially if he stays away from the edge, which he fully intends to do.

So, after a near-imperceptible pause, Maine nods in agreement. Might as well get to work.

"Might as well," Wash agrees. There's enough people filing in now that he'd rather be outside than in here for any length of time. Especially if they're going to get potential panic going on. He knows his skills; being reassuring is not one of them. "Let us know if you need any help," he adds with a nod towards Brigitte. She seems to have things under control now she's got a purpose, but god knows how quickly things could go FUBAR.

He pats Maine on the shoulder, and bites his lip when he spots his expression. It's not obvious to anyone to but Wash most likely, but he knows Maine too well by now.

"Come on big guy. Let's get to work. At least Carolina isn't here to go jumping off the towers."

And with that, he starts heading for the door.

Leonardo needs a distraction from his concern over Ezio and his new friends, since it appears most of the people he met were gone now. At least they knew for certain they were alive and well, if stranded far away. He has faith that Ezio will be fine, he is very adaptable after all, but he feels the anxiety in him all the same.

He can be seen going from house to house feeding animals, sometimes he will even have animals following him once they realize he's the one with the food. He tries to shoo them back in their house or pen and keep everyone well. Leonardo can be found wandering the North Village alone or banging at something in the other Forge up there, although it's always quiet up there.

He will be anxiously pacing in the inn and looking at his watch after Ezio is said to be isolated from the others.

Okay, so, this is currently my day: I am sitting in the dining room of an inn in an Edwardian village that is possibly on another planet, fielding text messages from most of the people I know because they have been beamed onto a mountaintop and made to relive their most awful memories, while Leonardo da Vinci paces the floor in front of me.

Welcome to the new normal.

"Were there any animals in the North Village?" I ask him as I glance up, eyes calmly tracking him as he walks. "It might be easiest to get someone to just stay over there with them if there are."

Edited 2019-01-28 21:04 (UTC)

"Not that I was told, there are only five who live there currently. I haven't seen any." Leonardo likes the quiet of the North Village, so it is an excellent place to spend time. He is still pacing; feeling helpless is not really new to him, in terms of working with the Assassins and having no idea if they will succeed or die. But this is more alarming, for dying of starvation, thirst, or cold are far worse ways to go than a tragic but quick stabbing.

He tries to clear his head and focus on Mark, smiling faintly at him, his inner light diminished with worry but not gone. "I have a list so far," he taps his forehead, for he doesn't need paper, "and what they eat, where they are. Who needs a check up more than once a day." Mostly the dogs on that front, as cats and livestock are slightly more self-sufficient.

Finally he plops down in a seat. "Perhaps we can learn from this. Create stop points between here and other locations with small stashes of things, just in case."

"That's a good idea," I concede with a nod. "For a long time, nobody bothered to live over there, but there's more of us now, and with this place, it never hurts to be as prepared as possible."

I glance down to my watch, scroll through some messages and then tap out a response. "I'll head over there later just to make 100% sure there aren't any animals," I absently add, and then look back up again, head tilted.

"You feel like helping me build a smoke signal?"

"If this is not the first time people have found themselves that far, it is wise to prepare for the possibility it will happen again." Better prepared than not, in his opinion. Leonardo is a mixture of impulse and pragmatism, jumping from project to project in his mind, but remembering the basics at all times.

He sighs and glances to the side before returning his attention to Mark. His eyes light up. "Ah, yes, a very good idea. It would make it easier for them to spot. Somewhere a fair distance from where we live and breathe, of course, but easily reachable with firewood." Leonardo is already putting together a rudimentary design in his mind; it will take very little effort to create it, although the bigger the better.

"You are very well organized, my friend, the village is lucky to have you."

"Apparently that also makes me creepy, but thank you," I reply with a faint smile. "I think some people are a little unsettled by my familiarity with this place, and I can't say I blame them. I've just been here a long time." Seen things that would definitely blow Leonardo da Vinci's mind about twelve times over, that's for sure.

"And I can't take credit for the idea, but it is a good one. The fields are clear and tilled under, we can do it there. There's nothing but dirt there, so the fire risk should be relatively low. Of course, we can't account for the change in the wind, so we might get some smoke in the village, but I think we'll live," I add as I push myself to my feet.

Leonardo's eyebrows go up, confused. "Creepy ... I assume the word is not about stealth or quiet walking now?" It will be some time before popular speech makes any sense to him, but he doesn't let it be discouraging. "You were being very helpful and concerned, I do not know why that would be unsettling." But he is a very trusting and sincere soul. Questioning someone reaching out like that seemed rude. "If you hadn't, communication might not have been so quick."

He does like having a project to take his mind off things. Ezio is out there, but so are his new friends, and while he knows Ezio can take care of himself, he is not so certain about the others. "It should not be to dangerous levels, but if it goes to the worst end, we can warn people to stay in." There are not many of them left, after all. And there is always the north village. This is just in the possibility of the worst case scenario, it is not likely to be that.

He looks at Mark, intrigued. "How long?"

"It's fine," I add of the creepiness, with a faint wave of my hand. He seems to get the context, and there is something really wrong about encouraging this particular man to keep going on about my usefulness.

I left my coat on a hook by the front door, and I step over to shoulder it on with a glance back his way. "Over two and a half years," I answer with a wry arch of my eyebrows. It's a double-edged sword for some people, learning how long some of us have been here. On the one hand, we've gotten pretty good at weathering the weirdness storm and can help others do the same. On the other, we're still here, with no better insight for it.

If Mark says it is fine, it is fine. He would know his own mind and comfort after all. Leonardo obviously responded well to his attempt to check in with everyone. It informed him of what was happening, and gave him an idea of how to help others, which he is doing his best to fulfill.

Leo gets his coat as well. And his hat and his scarf. He overdresses for the weather outside, or it would be overdressing if he isn't actually cold, but he is. All of the time. He despairs of ever getting used to it. He does look wide eyed at Mark at that date. Two and a half years. That is slightly alarming, yes. While he doesn't hate the situation he's in, that seems so long to be gone from his projects, from his country.

"You must miss your home a great deal."

"I miss the convenience," I allow, fingers quickly buttoning up the front of my coat and then reaching into the pockets for my gloves. "I moved around a lot before coming to this place, spent a lot of time in space, then on Mars. I wouldn't say I like this place, but I like the people, and at this point, it's become like a home to me."

And when I let myself consider it, I do have to acknowledge that I enjoy the challenge. I enjoyed the challenge on Mars, too, when I was able to shove down the primal fear of having been left there. Whether I appreciate the methods of putting and keeping me here is something else entirely, though, and that's always been the rub. Why it's hard to just say yeah, I'm settled, this is Home.

"I'd like to say things get less odd and alarming, but that wouldn't be the truth. But most of the time it isn't as bad as this."

"You went to space! I cannot imagine such a thing. And you've been to Mars! We've only seen it in the sky and speculated for centuries about its secrets." It wouldn't be for many years before exact details about Mars would be further identified, but Leonardo took astronomy and the stars seriously. Like any good scientist, he gazed up at the night sky and wished he knew the answers to everything there was. The future was so exciting, and if he had any regrets, it was that he might have suited modern time better with his curiosity and knowledge. But alas, time constructs were what they were.

Leonardo nods, believing Mark without question. "From everyone's responses, it does seem like this is an unusual situation." He worries for Ezio, although he knows he need not, he is very dangerous and competent. But this is unlike anything they have dealt with. "I do not understand the purpose. Taking them and forcing what sounds like ... difficult memories? Surely the people who brought us here wouldn't want us dead?" What use were they then? He is very innocent, unfortunately, and it's hard to assume the worst.

I motion Leonardo to follow me out the door, holding it open for him as the winter wind stirs the remaining coats hanging on the row of hooks. "You know, I personally don't think they want any of us dead," I agree as we crunch our way across the frost-covered lawn. "The whole time I've been here, three people have died. Every time, it felt like an accident. Something beyond their control, unaccounted for. Rogue animal attacks, lightning." Although it does make me wonder now whether Karen and Ren had really been real to begin with.

"We're not being pitted against each other, and they give us these little gifts, these parties like they're trying to improve morale. Like we're an investment. But I honestly have no idea why they'd force people to go through that, or why it was only some of us and not all of us. Is it supposed to harden us? Or is it just sadistic?"

Because we've been through similar situations before, people disappearing and ending up somewhere far-flung, having to work through the unique challenges presented by this place. But this feels like some next-level shit.

Leonardo follows without question. It is so cold out, always, and he wonders when spring will come to this place. Its climate is so different from his own. "They could perhaps make it far easier to harm us if they wanted to," he agrees, although he looks terribly sad to hear any number of deaths happening. "I am very sorry to hear of those three, though. Did you know them well?"

He is new to this situation, so he doubts he is the most helpful on the speculation. Still ,he likes speculation. He has plenty of wonder within him. "Perhaps they intend to use us, or we are testing out the abilities they wish to give others, or use themselves. It is wise to test several times, seeing which result is best, which one is correct. I do not think this is the last of an occurrence similar to this." He thinks perhaps they are part of a larger picture. As a scientist, he often did trials and tribulations. he kept tinkering with each attempt.

"As for what is happening now ...." He frowns. "Perhaps there is a lesson being learned. As strange as that sounds, they appear to be forced to address things they might be avoiding."

[Mingle] One-Man-Show

Brigitte Lindholm | OTA

Forge

some cr handwaving, if that works!

totally fine! and sorry for the late reply oh gosh

ahfdkjghkd

inn! 25 jan

Re: inn! 25 jan

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y'all!! i thought i tagged this already! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ i'm sorry!

Re: y'all!! i thought i tagged this already! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ i'm sorry!

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Leonardo da Vinci - OTA

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