sixthiterationlogs | [Mingle] One-Man-Show

Entry tags:

[Mingle] One-Man-Show

WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: The Inn, South and North Villages, and surrounds
WHEN: 25th January - ?
OPEN TO: All OMS opted-out characters
WARNINGS: Warnings in subject lines as needed
NOTES: Feel free to make your own OTAs or closed threads dealing with the plot here!

While it seems as if most of the villagers have vanished off to the shrine, there are still those left behind. Not only the villagers, but also the animals - the pets, companions, farm animals, and animals starting to be tamed. They still need care and attention, no matter what shenanigans the Observers are up to. Not to mention, the other chores and duties. Not to mention, dealing with the sudden vanishing of so many people.

It takes at least three days for the first of the vanished villagers to return: there's a lot to do in the meantime.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Mingle] One-Man-Show

Re: inn! 25 jan

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

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

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

no subject

no subject

no subject