[another night when everything i know was just a lie]

[pop_of_color]

WHO: Rosa Diaz
WHERE: Fountain, Village
WHEN: Late January/Early February
OPEN TO: Fountain Arrival is open to ONE PERSON (will update when taken); the rest is OTA.
WARNINGS: Cursing. Always so much cursing. Also, probably violence of some kind, at some point. ALSO also, spoilers for S05E09 of B99.

---

ARRIVAL - OPEN TO MARK
The squad had made it back to Manhattan in time for the Captain’s interview for Commissioner. Amy had climbed back up on her high strung ladder and managed to work out a plan that — unsurprisingly — came to fruition down to the literal minute. What a nerd.

The first thing Rosa did when she got back to her apartment was peel away the beige-on-beige-on-beige she’d been forced into thanks to the explosion incident with The Creeper that incinerated all goods within, including clothing. She hopped in the shower, set to scalding hot (as per usual), and washed away the events of the last few days: McGinley's funeral, spending a mind-boggling amount of time fulfilling Jake’s Die Hard fantasies in “Nakatomi Plaza” (including the 600+ photos he made Boyle take), Holt’s continued attempts at sabotage to prevent them from getting back to New York in time for his interview, the Creeper, Scully’s bathroom horrors in the Creeper, learning Holt had compromised himself to get she and Jake out of prison, the Texas Boyles’ weird cow sex farm, the weird (and alarmingly loud) cow sex, the beige, and ... maybe most nerve-wracking, finally telling the Boyle the truth.

About her. About who she loved and who she could love. About the mysterious woman’s voice on the phone she had hoped Boyle wouldn’t hear (damn him and his weird rat senses). About the fact that she’d tried so hard to keep it all covert and unearthed since the 7th grade when she first set eyes on Zack Morris and Lisa Turtle and realized ... holy fucking shit, they’re BOTH hot.

There’s a moment, standing in the shower, where she opens her eyes and manages a small smile - one meant only for herself. Of course Boyle supported her. Of course he still behaved as the same weird little rodent man he’d always been and always would be. It’s one of the things Rosa loves most about him, and even in the face of what was, at least to Rosa, earth-shattering news, all he wanted to know was the woman's name.

She gives that mysterious woman a call before she hops into bed that night, promising to see her the following day after work. She falls asleep, exhausted, but weightless and bolstered by how well it had all gone down. She thinks of her girlfriend’s face as she slips into sleep, happy to know she will be seeing her in person the next evening ..

Only ..

Instead of the caresses and kisses and quiet murmurs she's expecting, she’s instead gasping for air, clawing at the nothingness around her — wait, no. It isn’t nothingness. There’s resistance and fluid. Fluid? Water, she realizes. It’s water. Shit, is she having one of those weird “I have to pee” dreams? Is she drowning in some symbol of her full bladder? 'Wake up, wake up, wake up, you asshole! You cannot wet the god damn bed!'

Why do her lungs feel like they’re going to explode out of her chest? Why can she feel the searing blades of cold all over her body? Why can’t she breathe?

She clamors and fights (because fuck if she isn’t a fighter) until she’s finally sucking in a gasp of cold, arctic air that stings all of her insides and makes her feel dizzy.

“FU- MOTH- SH- GO- HE-!” she tries to shout all of her pent up profanities and, finally, a call for help, but she can’t seem to keep her head up above the water long enough to get a word out. She digs at the side of the fountain (?) she seems to be in and manages to grip onto the sides. ‘C’mon, Diaz; what the fuck is wrong with you? You know how to swim. You know how to climb. Don’t be a fucking wimp!’ For all of her .. "encouraging" self-talk, it does little to combat the absolute panicked adrenaline in her body. “MOTHERFUCKING HELP!” she finally shouts, finally stabilizing herself on the fountain wall.

AROUND THE VILLAGE
Needless to say, it takes approximately -0.1 seconds for Rosa’s survival instincts to take over. First thing that she wants to do is scout as much of the village as she can, to get a general layout of the land. It feels a fuck ton like some weird cult commune, those kinds that one reads about that are stumbled upon in the Canadian wilderness, or like there are going to be mutant, eyeless creatures who come out of the woods at night to feast on young children or cats or people or whatever.

Actually, she isn’t entirely convinced that won't happen, so after she spends a few hours scouting and gathering intel, she sets her sights on finding shelter. She enters a few cabins in her haste only to realize they’re already occupied. Whoops! Sorry about the unintentional B&E.

She’s also probably looking a bit like a wild woman, crouching in the brush, attempting to sharpen sticks and rocks with other rocks in an effort to make some kind of weapon, just in case she needs it. Whoever’s brought her here has taken her arsenal of firearms, blades, and torture devices, so she’s got to improvise somehow.

When the sun begins to set (and Rosa fears the mutants might start emerging), she heads to the Inn and sits, glaring into the fire. And make no mistake: it’s a glare. Like, if she could set the fire on fire with her eyes, she’d do it. And she’d burn the whole place to the ground, probably while laughing. If you want to take your chances on offering your help, feel free — but maybe keep your distance. She’s looking a little like a rabid animal.

Comments

Village - Post worst summer camp sleepover ever

[fooloftheking]

There's a part of Bobo that figures he should take a few days, curl up in front of the fire at his place, feed the salamander and basically do just about nothing else but that for the next few weeks. Pretty much until a need for food forces him to get up.

Instead, still hurting from days on end of forced hiking, he's made the walk down from the other village at close to dawn o'clock, figuring he'll see to the butcher shop if for no other reason than to make sure everything was cleaned up from the things he'd left out days before.

At least that's the plan until he sees someone a bit out from the trail, watching the village and looking like one of the revenants he'd left staked at the border for a few days. It's not a good look, and likely not one that's safe for most of the people in the village.

Shifting to brush his coat aside to where the hand made stone knife sits on his hip, Bobo clears his throat.

"If you're looking for a sharp stick? I think there's harpoons at the inn. If that would help."

[pop_of_color]

Rosa feels the eyes on her first; there's no mistaking that feeling. Sure, her sense of that can go a little haywire sometimes, but it's a sense she's honed and used to her advantage as a detective. In fact, it's a skill that's saved her life on more than one occasion. She does a quick assessment of her surroundings:

- is there adequate cover nearby? No, there are only bare and barren bushes, shrubs, and some trees.
- can she defend herself? Sure, but not with the weapon she's attempting to make currently. Of course, just about anything can become a weapon to some degree, and if worse came to worse, she could use the half-sharpened stick in her hand to stab an jugular or an eye at the least. If that doesn't work, she's confident in her hand-to-hand combat abilities to not feel overly worried.
- is there anything else close at-hand to aid her if she needs to fight off a creature or another person? There are some medium-sized rocks that can do in a pinch, and they'd provide some long-range ammo if need be.
- do the pair of eyes belong to beast or human? Her gut tells her human, something that would normally make someone stranded in the middle of fuck knows where for fuck knows why a little bit better. But not for Rosa. She'd take the beast over the human in her current state.

She hears the approach of footsteps next. Sure enough, they're bipedal. Unless this place has got some weird, giant ass chickens roaming around, it's human.

Only her eyes dart in the direction of the voice, once it speaks. Quick scans bring her gaze straight to the sharpened stone knife at his hip. No other weapons that can be detected, at least not yet. His face is the last things at which she looks. Her face, as neutral as ever, betrays nothing of her judgments of him. She does straighten out to a full stand once he approaches, however — somewhat sharpened stick in one hand, scraping stone in the other.

She considers his suggestion for a moment.

"Why would you willingly tell a stranger sharpening a stick in the middle of the fucking woods where your better weapons are?" It's a question that maybe comes out more accusatory than is intended, but she is curious as to his rationale behind his willingness to share information. To her, it reeks of a trap.

[fooloftheking]

Perhaps it's not the most sane expression, but as she rises up, stick in hand, Bobo only grins. A wide grin of sharp teeth and narrowing eyes as he takes her in. Not recognizing her face, having already assumed that she isn't new by the weaponry choice. Though the question makes him laugh.

"Because I'm not concerned," he admits, shrugging as he lets the coat slide back into place, and then sliding his hands into his pockets, casual and still giving that Cheshire Cat grin. "People show up new all the time. You get the fun of drowning in the fountain or lucky enough for someone to pop you out of the tube before then?"

His gaze goes to the stick though, pausing there a moment before moving back up to meet her gaze. "Though I admit, been here about five months and never saw anyone go Lord of the Rings," he admits with a snort. "Just don't take anything from the butcher shop. I actually need those to ensure the masses here don't starve."

Sure there's the possibility he's toying with her, and he knows that. Knows it more with the smile he's giving her. He may be a changing man in this place, but he's still a bastard and a revenant, even if this place brings out the best in him. Well, the better parts of him.

[pop_of_color]

That shit isn't unsettling or anything. There's something unhinged in the way he eyes her, the curl to his grin. Where that would normally make others go running, for Rosa, it does the opposite. It makes her like him more.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. It's a subtle change, but it's to show that she isn't going to attempt anything — not with the stick, not with her hands, not with her teeth. It puts her too off balance, makes it harder for her lunge forward (or backward, for that matter), if it came to it. No, she's showing that she's ready to spar if necessary, but she isn't going to be the one to make the first move.

"Fucking fountain," she replies with a disgruntled snort. She flicks her head in its direction, curls leaping away from her face. "There are fucking tubes that people come in here?" That's some Star Wars shit if she's ever heard it, and whereas she always thought it'd be dope to see it in real life, she finds she's less enthralled by the idea now that it's real. Besides, she doesn't have Palpatine Lightning Powers, as far as she knows, so what's the fucking point?

Five months? Fucking hell. Rosa's barely been here a day, if time and shit works the same as it did back home, and she can barely stomach the idea of waking up tomorrow to same shit show. Five months sounds like inhumane treatment.

"Lord of the Rings? What part? No, ignore that, pretend I never asked." Fucking Jake and fucking Sarge and their fucking nerd fiction. "Where is this butcher shop? I won't take your shit, but .. it's probably good for me to know where I can get food, if I need it."

Fountain

[markwatney]

Well, shit.

This eventuality should have occurred to me before now. I've been entirely focused on the immediate — The people still trapped on the mountain, the folks making their way back, taking care of what's been left behind. One step at a time to get this massive problem solved and the ordeal over with. I didn't think about the potential for new folks arriving when our regular cadre of volunteers isn't around to do the welcome wagon. I don't even have a blanket on me.

"For the record," I say, the words huffed opaquely into the air as I reach out and lug the woman over the lip of the fountain, "you have the worst timing."

The moment she's clear of falling back into the water, I'm hastily shucking off my coat to throw around her shoulders. She has her own in the pack, but it's way too cold out here to worry about that right now.

"Let's get into the warmth and then I'll explain. I promise I won't hurt you, I just don't want you to get frost bite or go into shock."

[pop_of_color]

Rosa's only half-listening to whatever this guy is saying. Some of it's because of the water still sloshing around in her ear canals, some of it's the shock, some of it's the delayed 'who the fuck are you?' processing her brain's scrambling to deal with, some of it's not caring.

Because who the fuck are you? Where the fuck is she? Why the fuck is she here? Who the fuck's kidnapped her?

She only lets herself stay on the ground for a breath of a second before she's on her feet and clenching her fists at her sides. Holy fuck, it's cold. No, it's not cold — it's freezing. Last she checked, it was early autumn, not the dead middle of fucking winter in the fucking arctic.

Okay, so she knows it's not the arctic because where are the penguins and the melting glaciers and shit, but the comparison still stands.

If she could manage to punch this guy in the face, she would. Just because. It might even make her feel better about all of this.

But then she's tuning into what he's saying, like an old-timey radio that needs some warming up before the sounds come out, only the sounds are going in this time. Bad timing, warmth, frost bite, shock. She gets the gist, and she immediately latches onto the most appealing word she's heard in a long time (ew, she feels like Amy, getting all excited about words): warmth.

"W-w-warm-m-th," she manages to shiver, widening her eyes to show that she would like some, and she would like some now. Immediately. "B-b-but d-d-don't f-f-ucking t-t-ouch m-me ag-gain." A weak threat in her current state, but hopefully some of her normal strength shows up in her dagger-like glare — even if she's simultaneously tightly clutching his chivalrously sacrificed coat to her frame.

[markwatney]

I hold my hands up in easy surrender. "You're the one who yelled for 'motherfucking help,'" I add as I turn and begin walking toward the path through the little band of trees that circles the park. This one I presume will know to follow, but I do glance back to make sure she's not turned blue.

"There's a communal building right through here, it's really close. There will be a fire and a bathroom where you can change. You should have dry clothes in the pack on your back."

The good news is that the snow is mostly melted, although there are still some patches to crunch through on our way across the inn lawn. "Just right in here," I add once we reach the porch, and I tug open the door to motion her shivering body through. "The fireplace is right through there, you can't miss it. I'll go grab you some blankets."

[pop_of_color]

"Shut the fuck up about it," Rosa quips back through gritted teeth. Not exactly the most eloquent of arguments, if it could even be called that in the first place, but she blames it on the fact that she's on the fast track to Town Hypothermia, Population: Her.

She's wrapping the coat so tightly around her body that she's practically ripping it apart at the seams in a futile attempt at trying to get warm. But the cold she's experiencing is the kind that settles right in the bones, refuses to melt or budge unless completely submerged in a bath of dangerously hot water. And even then, it lingers. She's not exactly hopeful, even as she shuffles along behind her "savior."

Rosa moves as fast as she can manage to towards the fire, wishing she could jump into the damn thing. That would warm her up enough. She even considers it for a quick second, under the premise that all of this is some super fucked up dream, but when she gets too close and feels the burn of the flames, she realizes .. it's real. However the fuck it's happened, however the fuck she's ended up here, it's real.

"Fucking hell," she mumbles to herself, teeth chattering, gaze lost somewhere in the heat of the flames. "Fucking hell."

Inn at night

[clouded_heart]

Foggy doesn't try to speak to her.

He's spent the day trying to keep things going, being the only butcher in town right now, and looking after a collection of chicks, kirin and a kitten that he's carrying in one arm as he approaches Rosa.

He has a bowl of hot stew. It's not gourmet, but it tastes fine, it's hot and it's filling. He puts it down on the table and slides it closer to her, then a spoon after.

[pop_of_color]

Rosa hears the dull, muted thud of boots against wooden planks as Foggy gets nearer to where she's sitting. Normally, she'd send out a warning glare, like how cats twist their ears back and hiss before launching a full-blown assault. But after having spent a few days in this fucking no-name, nowhere, possibly-mutant-riddled village, she's finding herself a little jaded.

She does shift her glance towards him, but only when she hears the scrape of the bowl against the table beside her, followed by the light rasp of the spoon being pushed after. She eyes the bowl with deep suspicion, wondering whether it's been poisoned. Maybe that's not such a bad option, she thinks. At least she wouldn't be stuck here, and maybe she'd wake up back in her bed in Brooklyn. Maybe she'd wake up to some annoyingly cheerful Boyle text (or, really, more like ten texts) and suddenly be overcome with feelings of fondness.

It looks harmless enough. And fuck, is she hungry. On cue, her stomach lets out a roar which she casually tries to hide by shifting in the chair and discreetly placing a hand in front of her stomach.

She finally lifts her eyes to meet his, and surprisingly, she .. doesn't see anything overtly alarming about him. Years of being a detective have made her pretty solid when it comes to reading people, and there's nothing nefarious about this guy. If anything, he seems like the kind of guy who'd go to crossword puzzle parties with Amy and gush over the tricky answers.

"What do I owe you?" she finally asks, flicking her chin in the soup's direction.

[clouded_heart]

He doesn't sit down, doesn't invite himself like that, instead just shifting the sleepy, full kitten in his arm and rubbing over the round belly.

Working in Hell's Kitchen gives you a pretty good insight on paranoid people. Hell, he represented Frank Castle, who didn't give off the same air of menace despite having committed multiple mass murders.

"Nothing. There's a pot in the Inn kitchen and everyone who grows or preps food contributes to it. Anyone's free to get a meal there. I work at the butchers, so while I can't hunt food, I prep what others bring in."

[pop_of_color]

Rosa's gaze slowly scans the entirety of the guy's face before floating down to the sleeping kitten in his arms. Well, it isn't skinned or mutilated. That's generally a good sign. The assholes who torture animals always end up being fucking psychopaths — and usually serial killers, too. It also appears that the kitten's alive and happily dozing off to sleep, which means that it trusts the guy enough to let its guard down. Rosa suddenly feels a pang in her chest, and after a second of soul-searching for the reason, she realizes it's because she misses her dog, Arlo.

She shifts in her seat again and turns back to the fire to regain her composure. Barely a day in this fucking place, and she's already getting soft. Like an idiot.

When she feels steeled again, she turns back to the stranger. Keeping her eyes trained on his face, she slides the bowl closer to her before putting it in her lap. She grabs the spoon next. She dips the spoon in the stew and brings it to her mouth, still maintaining eye contact. (It's an intimidation tactic; is it working?) The stew's piping hot, but she doesn't seem to notice as she shoves the whole spoon in her mouth without flinching. After a few seconds, she swallows, and it's only then that the frozen veneer melts ever so slightly.

There might even be the glimmer of softness in her eyes as she finally looks away from him and down at the stew.

"Thanks," she mumbles, dipping her spoon back in. "What sort of shit do you butcher? And where is it?" A butcher's got to have knives, right?

In the Brush lol

[capturetheworld]

Leonardo is someone who likes being alone, on the whole, but he also likes having people around in case that changes, and it had been so very quiet in the village when everyone was gone. There was tension in the air since they came back, and whatever ordeal they went through seemed serious. He on the other hand spent his time taking care of the beasts and trying not to worry too much about his friends. They made it.

He is curious to walk by a strange woman attempting to make what appeared to be a rudimentary weapon. Leonardo still does not know most people in the village, so he's more likely to assume he is new than they are. "Hello Signora!" He is one of the least threatening people in the area, slim and soft looking, and his smile is very sincere. "There are weapons in the common space for the village, if you are looking to hunt or do something that needs one!"

He plans on making better though. They seem like what people left behind, not what was forged there. "I am going to create some myself soon, once I get the proper materials!"

LEONARDO, YOU DESERVE BETTER

[pop_of_color]

What.

In the fuck.

Is with this guy?

First of all, what the fuck is with the "signora" bullshit? That's Italian, isn't it? It reminds her of all of those stupid operas that Scully sings.

Also, who the fuck is this ... bubbly? Happy? Joyful, even? In a place like this? She figures the guy's either on a shit ton of drugs (in which case, she may want to have a conversation about them and where she can get her hands on some), or the guy's a fucking lunatic. Maybe it's both. She's putting her money on it being both. Because what the fuck.

Her gaze is something of a dagger - slicing him open, staring at his insides, trying to figure out what's going on beneath the surface. She doesn't hide any of this on her face, the way she would normally. No, if this guy's a psychopath, it's better she put on as tough a front as possible. Make him think twice about fucking with her.

When he tells her about the available weapons, she's certain he's insane. Why would you just tell a stranger about that?

"What kinda weapons?" she asks, filing away his tidbit about making his own in the back of her mind. She'll ask some follow-up questions about that later.

no regrets

[capturetheworld]

It is strange to be this cheerful in their situation, but it is a mask as much as anyone else's. He is truly this way, but he is trying to make the most of a ridiculous problem. Leonardo has never been gone from his home, his country, this long, and he is terribly homesick. The constant cold does not help, and he's uncertain how long it will take to adjust, if ever.

He recognizes the suspicion in her eyes and understands instantly that his approach isn't the sanest. This is not the first time people have stared at him with such what???? in their eyes. And while Leonardo has no reason that he can think of to fear people in this village, everyone has been very polite to him so far, he also knows others are dangerous. Caution, his friend would warn him, you never know who you are interacting with. She seems very capable, after all.

"Blades, mostly! Crossbows, perhaps, given the materials. I can make gauntlets and rudimentary armor as well, although it will take longer. I dabbled in smithery and inventions in my world, it was very helpful in a dangerous time. Firenze is no safe place, although a city for refuge and art as well." He misses it.

He doesn't offer her a hand, just in case she doesn't want it. "I am Leonardo da Vinci, I know it is strange to be pleased to meet others in this place, but it is true all the same."

you should probably have some, leo

[pop_of_color]

"Bla .. des," Rosa repeats, drawing out the middle vowel, like she's trying to wrap her tongue and mind around the concept. It's not that she doesn't know what they are — duh — but more that she's trying to wrap her mind around how to get her hands on one. She's not above stealing (even if the rest of the squad would be), especially in the name of self-protection and self-defense.

But the more the guy talks (holy fuck, he just keeps going), the more she comes to understand that she may not have to steal anything.

"So, there are blades and crossbows. Anyone can use them? Take them? Do shit with them?" She's not overtly suggesting she'll kill anyone, but she's also not saying she wouldn't. Her eyes scan him from head to toe before lifting again to meet his gaze. "Jesus fuck, I feel like I'm at one of those nerd conventions. Like you all are fucking LARPers, and this is all just some fucked up hallucination," she groans. "Though if it is, you're missing your nerd armor, so —" There's so much to unpack in what this guy is saying, but the name is what fucks her up the most.

"Leonardo ... da Vinci," she repeats, drawing the name out. She takes a long, long pause, eyebrows lifted with skepticism. "Like ... the Vitruvian Man da Vinci? Mona Lisa da Vinci?" She scoffs loudly. "This is the worst fucking nightmare I've ever had."

[ataashihunter]

Unfortunatly for Rosa, there is at least one member of the village who looks like a mutant. Well if you're not going for the weird religious angle to him. But he makes his way to the inn and then inside, smiling and saying hi to a few people before he picks up some tea to come over to the fire.

"Nice and warm isn't it?"

oh no

[pop_of_color]

Rosa's been told stories of ... non-human entities inhabiting the village. She hasn't seen anything that classifies as "non-human," at least she's pretty sure she hasn't, so she isn't really doing much in the way of looking at the fray filing into the Inn at random intervals. The fire keeps holding her attention, and it gives her the chance to sort of zone out, try to organize her thoughts, pretend that it's her setting things ablaze instead of it all being contained in the fireplace.

She misses ... everyone. She misses her girlfriend, Alicia. She misses the squad. She even misses Scully and Hitchcock, which is the most irritating and bizarre feeling she can imagine.

Everything. Everyone.

And losing herself in the light and heat and destruction of the fire gives her time to process that. Even if it all it makes her want to do is break shit with a sledgehammer.

So when a voice breaks through the din of the fucked up world in which she finds herself, she doesn't break her gaze. Not right away. It's only when she realizes that ignoring the voice isn't making it go away, and she lolls her head to the side in a body-wide eye roll to lay her sights on —

"Oh, what the fuck?" she mutters under her breath, getting up from her chair immediately. She backs away a few subtle steps. "Let me guess. You're Iron Bull?"

[ataashihunter]

Bull holds up his hands when she backs away to show that he is not carrying any weapons and not meaning any harm. But the mention of his name makes him break out into a wide smile. "It's The Iron Bull. But yes that is me. And you've heard about me? Are you from Thedas?"

The brush

[cryptoherpetology]

What is Alex doing out in the woods? The same thing Alex always does out in the woods. Well, almost always- he does his share of hunting to supply the inn with meat, sure, but the majority of his time out in the wilderness, even in this weather, is spent watching different segments of the wildlife, both native and the more familiar ones.

The figure of a tall brunette in the midst of improvising weapons gives him a pang of homesickness. Damn. He's been here long enough he even misses Antimony.

He purposefully makes his steps heavier, and coughs lightly to announce his presence before offering a polite "hey there- we, ah, have a toolshed more than adequately stocked with knives," he offers. There's one in a sheath hung from his belt loop, but he doesn't do anything stupid like reach for it. "If you promise not to stab me, you can have one of mine," he says, trying to make the offer sound chipper, but it sounds more like... well, kind of like Amy offering one of her highlighters for optimal organizational use.

He's been in the woods several hours, and he looks like it. A tall, leanish sandy-blonde-haired man whose clothing is smudged with mud and bits of forest detritus. The only pristine things on him are the knife and his glasses.

[pop_of_color]

Rosa silently appreciates the approaching stranger's attempts to make itself known. It's also an ego boost, if she's to be honest. After all, it means that the sight of her crudely whittling down a stick to be pointy enough to stab someone in the throat is intimidating and/or frightening enough that the person's trying to do as much as possible to keep their throat un-punctured.

She stands and whirls around on her heel as soon as he starts talking, bent on intimidating him the fuck away from her, but his offer of a blade is what stops her. Her entire demeanor changes in an instant — her eyes become wider and more doe-like, the tension around her lips dissipates into something vaguely resembling a smile, and the almost-spear balances very loosely in her hand. She's not going to make an aggressive move. Not yet, at least.

There's something about the guy that makes her tilt her head in consideration. Not that she knows him or recognizes him or anything like that. Honestly, he looks like one of the many hipster assholes that's taken over Brooklyn in more recent years, and she wouldn't know him from the next Maysynn or Mheadouw or whatever the fuck, yet — there's something about him that feels familiar.

Weird.

"Well?" she asks, raising her brows expectantly. Not the most gracious of gift recipients, but at least she's in no mood to stab the stranger's jugular.

[cryptoherpetology]

Well, he did grow up near Portland. An unfortunate coincidence that hipsters adopted the styles he just happened to like unironically. Shelby used to tease him that he'd aged in to the wardrobe of an Oxford professor before he hit 30. She... isn't entirely wrong. Well, minus the entirely region-less American accent.

Holy shit she even sounds like Antimony. Were he an entirely rational person, this would be a sign that she's the last person to hand a knife to- but, honestly, half of those improvised weapons look like they'd be deadlier than the folding knife he has in his pocket. He reaches into the pocket slowly- and it's not the nervous, slow reach of a suspect. The deliberate, calm motion of someone used to handling predators on a daily basis. You don't make sudden moves when you come across something dangerous in the field, whether it's a murderer hiding a body, or a manticore.

He doesn't unfold the knife when he hands it to her, because that would be really stupid. "I don't like being unarmed either," he tells her. "The closest you'll get here to a gun is a crossbow, which don't really lend themselves well to concealed carry."

Around the Village

[thecatinahat]

After getting back from the video, Cougar's gone back to being more of his usual self. He perches up high, he doesn't talk to many people, but he keeps an eye out and he makes sure that he always has a weapon on him. Watching a new woman he doesn't recognize heading into the house, he disentwines from his perch on the ledge to head downstairs, knife and whittled arrow still in hand as he raises his brow at the woman in his house.

No questions, no pointed yelling, just a brow raise under his hat, suggesting that maybe she should explain what she's doing there.

If she doesn't, then Cougar does have Jake's new inventions to test out. Maybe intangibility will be a good thing for someone who thinks they can rob them, if that's what she's here for.

[pop_of_color]

Rosa realizes too late that she's ... just barged into someone's house. In her defense, it's not like the place is decorated in a way to suggest someone lives here. No pictures, no photos, no knick-knacks. It's only after she's given the place a visual once-over that she realizes it thanks to some other tell-tale signs: the lack of dust patterns, things placed down askew after being used, the lingering smell of sweat.

She's about to back out and try to find herself somewhere else to camp for the night when she's met with the sight of a stranger. Another one. And one who's got more of a weapon than she does.

Fuck.

She immediately puts her hands up, palms out, to show that she doesn't have anything with which to attack him — nor does she intend to. There's no squad to come rushing to her rescue now; she's got to be more careful.

"I thought it was abandoned," she explains, voice calm and betraying nothing. "Trying to find somewhere to crash for the night. I just came through that god damned fountain a few hours ago."

[thecatinahat]

Once he figures out she's not here to do harm to him, Cougar shrugs and his posture relaxes, the tension bleeding out of him. He begins to move into the house a little more and heads for the kitchen where he can perch on the counter, opening one of the drawers to dig out the beef jerky.

While he's still be on edge since the videos, no one deserves to be pushed back out. He gives her a nod of his head and offers the jerky out, little more than an extension. It's bad luck when you're first here and he feels a little guilty that she has him to talk to, but here he is.

"Food?" he offers, not giving explanation or anything else yet, but best to start with basics.