sixthiterationlogs | Nida, With A Shiny White Band

WHO: Nida
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: February 5th - 15th, Closed Mingle on February 9th
OPEN TO: OTA, one Closed Post for now
WARNINGS: Possible Mentions of Self-Harm

OTA - Dojo - Taking Over

He was asleep when it happened. Somewhere in the night of the fourth the change happened, a screen that made no sense, the band on the device at his wrist turning white. OF course as it was one of those rare nights lately where Nida had gotten some sleep, he hadn't noticed. Instead, when he'd woken up he'd just found himself... moving. He couldn't stand being still anymore, not with all these people who needed a bit of something to keep them moving after those visions. He skipped breakfast that morning ~~not a mistake he'd make another day~~ and headed over to the empty dojo.

Most of his days are spent in the dojo for the next chunk of days. When he's not actively out talking to others, trying to serve as a support network, he's in the dojo from just before sun up to just after sunset. Sometimes he's sitting on a chair, a knife working over a piece of wood as he cut out the general shape of some practice daggers. Other times he limps ~~damn him for spraining his ankle, it wasn't what he'd meant to do~~ around the edges of the mats to check for any tears or splits he needs to repair. Still other times he regards the empty spaces, mind already building up the ways he can make this place better.

And always, always he calls out a bit cheerfully if someone enters while he's there. Because this space, he has resolved, will welcome all comers. No matter what.

OTA - Around South Village - A Little Luck

You can't always be at the dojo.

Nida had stared at Seifer when he had been told that. Clearly it was not true. Clearly he was more than capable of doing just that. But... Well, he got the point. Being holed up in two places isn't much better than being holed up in one.

So a bit of time every day, usually around the lunch hours, were spent with Nida wandering the village. There were rounds to be made, friends to be found, help to be supplied. And, whenever there was a chance of skin to skin contact, a hand reaching out to touch. Not like people here couldn't use a bit of extra luck.

Closed Mingle - Because You Miss Them - Closed to Seifer, Rinoa, Sam, Billy, Tommy

The boxes show up that morning, just sitting in the kitchen when Nida hobbles in at an ungodly hour. He moves immediately to grab a kitchen knife to cut the first one open. Despite his name being on it, it's full of yarn. He smiles and shakes his head, moving that one aside because he can talk to the others about it later. The next is a larger box, but strangely light for its size. With another few cuts he finds himself pulling out a wok. What in the world could that be...

Somehow he knows what the last box will be. With a quick cut it's open and he starts unloading ingredients into the fridge. Curry. Seems like he had the answer he needed for when and what to cook.

A quick message goes out to the others over the network. He doesn't care how early it is.

Hey nerds, dinner at my house tonight. Red Lamb Curry. Eat at six, come by earlier if you want to help cook. Someone please help cook, I don't want to mess this up.

[OOC: Please see first comment for Mingle, everyone can post their own things under that if they want to interact.]

[OOC: If anyone would like their own closed starter for the first half of this month, please let me know. This is mostly meant to cover Nida through the White part of his Off-Color time.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"More than a few," Nida shrugged, like it wasn't much of a question. "This is from, you're Earth, what was the word again..."

He thinks for a while before it comes back to him. "There's a creature in my world like a Tyranosaurus-Rex. One tried to eat me when I was, what, thirteen or so? I'm apparently tasty."

Wait, humping his... He's thrown off by that, especially since that story wasn't an impressive one.

"Why would... Okay, context here please. What is a fox?"

"Kinda sucks that you almost got eaten, but also kinda dope that you destroyed a fucking T-Rex dragon thing." Jake would be freaking the fuck out right about now, talking to this guy. Rosa can practically feel the vibrations of his second-hand nerdiness traveling through space and time to reach her, and it almost makes her roll her eyes. Because that's exactly what she would do if Jake were here and geeking out.

Of course, he's not. And fuck, does that suck.

"Oh, uh," Rosa starts, brows knitting together. She's never had to think about how to describe a fox before. "It's this — animal. Kind of looks like a dog, but — kinda small. There are different types, I think, but the one that he was dressed as is usually — orange, copper in color. Pointed, triangle ears. white muzzle and chest. Black paws and legs that make it look like it's wearing stockings. Furry, pointed oval kinda tail with white at the tip. But he was dressed as like, a cartoon version of that, and — you know, human sized."

"Yeah, don't have anything like that. I can't imagine why someone would dress like that, but you know, people do what people do."

Doesn't even know this could be a kink and yet still doesn't kink shame. Give him credit, he's a good kid. But he doesn't correct the idea that he killed the Trexsaur. It hadn't been him, he'd needed saving. But since then he'd taken on a good number of things since then.

"Well, I'm glad you took care of the issue the person created."

"Beats the fuck outta me. I've been doing the detective thing for a while, and I still don't get why people do almost anything." Rosa's grateful that she's not involved in the Sex Crimes Unit; they really see the worst of humanity. Sure, her squad has to solve murders and shit, but those are the things she can deal with. The real fucked up cases? Nah, she'll pass. Even she has her limits.

"As far as I know the guy hasn't done it again — or hasn't gotten caught, at least. I think he was just trashed out of his mind, didn't even really realize what he was doing. I dunno. Like I said, I don't get why people do anything."

"Well, we're going to teach you to adapt to a place like this. Once my ankle is good again. Until I can find someone good with swords for you, I'll be able to start you on basic stances. I tried them when I was younger, but... Well, I'm better the way I am."

With that he gestures to where the punching bag and mats are. "For now, those are all available. We're open sunup to sundown unless power comes on in this place. If you get hurt there's a guy with a gray band that lives here, upstairs. If he's in, he can pull some of the pain."

"Question is: do I really want to adapt to a place like this?" More specifically, Rosa thinks, doesn't that signal a general sense of planning to stay here for a while? Or at least long enough to have to adapt? She's still clinging to the faint hope that she'll get out of here sooner rather than later, but with each passing day, that hope gets dimmer and dimmer.

Confirming it out loud, however, would be like a boot to an ember; it'd extinguish the hope all together.

She glances to where he gestures, eyeing the bag and mats. They're not the best she's ever seen, but they'll do in the meanwhile. She holds them in her gaze for a few extra moments before looking back to Nida. She clenches her jaw in preparation of the words that come awkwardly fumbling out afterwards, like she had to push them out of her mouth:

"Thanks. You've been — uh. Just. Thanks."

"I admit, my life is a little bit better here not serving as a mercenary," he shrugs. So yeah, adapting to this place, accepting it as the gift it can be, as the place that has Billy, he's not going to hesitate over that. However, there's more to his concern than that. "People have died here, Rosa. Adapt, or run the risk of dying."

He watches her eye the facilities, and trust him, he thinks they are lacking too. He's still got to figure out where he's going to get good sand to go into the bag. It's all a work in progress. At the most generous.

"You're welcome," he says, and his tone says he gets it. How hard that was for her to say. Because she reminds him of his brother, and anything resembling those words were hard one.

Rosa's attention snaps back to him, and though there's some interest in her expression, it's mostly something like .. concern. Did the guy just say 'mercenary?' Her eyes flick over his face for a second, but she doesn't say anything. It's information to be brought up at a later time — maybe when he's healed up.

Her gaze drops a bit when he talks about the people who've died. It doesn't take much for her to surmise that he's speaking from experience.

"How long you been here?"

Actually, he hasn't had experience with people dying here, yet. But he's read the records, and he's concerned. Better to prepare people for the worst.

"Since December. So not long at all. There are people who have been here for years. There's records in the inn, they cover details like that. I refuse to be a loss in that book."

No, that's not long at all. Interesting that the guy seems fairly well-adjusted for having been in the village for a couple of months.

"The other villagers keep the records?" Sounds like something she might want to check out next time she's at the Inn. She's no stranger to loss herself, personal and professional. She's surrounded by it all the time — homicides, suicides, whatever. She kind of forgets that not everyone's as steeled to the gruesome shit as she and the other detectives are. "Not a bad goal to have."

Not well adjusted. Just great at faking it.

"Don't know who fills out the book, but it's there. Talks about the history of this place, as far as people have been keeping records. Since the beginning of this 'iteration' or whatever.

"I'm a trained survivor, so it's not a concern."

Rosa offers a singular nod, deciding that she'll go in search of these records at some point in the near future. It feels a little like reading up on a case, and that process is familiar to her. It's a far cry from being back home in Brooklyn with her squad, but at least it'll give her something to do, something to channel her energy into.

"Trained survivor?"

"Mercenary, trained by an academy for them. I had to take a lot of survival classes," Nida explains with a small smile. But also not too much of one. He knows how people feel about that part. He gets such strange reactions, or at least strange from his point of view. "I'm hoping to teach people about taking care of themselves in the wilderness too."

Nida, With A Shiny White Band - Open and Closed Prompts

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject