sixthiterationlogs | When I was stranded at the crossroads it was dismal and grey

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When I was stranded at the crossroads it was dismal and grey

WHO: Diego Hargreeves, No 00.02
WHERE: The fountain, around the village, the inn
WHEN: First days of March
OPEN TO: All, only one for the fountain please
WARNINGS: Will keep spoilers to a minimum, try and avoid details unless told they're okay, otherwise language, will update

Fountain, Arrival late in the evening

This was it. There was only one answer, one chance, and if it failed then they weren't any worse off than they already were. They were together though in ways they hadn't been for longer than Diego wants to think about. Just like he doesn't want to think about those lost. All they can think about is the chance they have now.

Panic and pain give way to peace, to knowing that all they've done, all Diego has done in training, has been meant for this.

And then he's inhaling water.

Years of training kick in and he scissor kicks his way to the surface, gasping for air as his lungs burn and the world comes into blurry twilight color as he blinks away the water. Bitter cold air bites into his skin, stealing the precious breathes he's taken with the the frigidness of the air. Managing to catch the edge of the fountain, Diego gives one last kick, pulling himself up and out and flopping onto the ground beside the fountain with wet thwock.

Laying there panting, ignoring the pressure of something under him in the form of of a backpack and not yet aware of his missing fear and clothes. Staring up at a sky slowly turning from purple to dark navy, a fine shiver beginning to set in as the cold not only settles over him but seeps in from beneath.

"F..." He tries to start and find the words failing. The worst hasn't happened, but this isn't what it is supposed to be. Closing his eyes, Diego forces himself to picture the word. Four letters. A single word. A sibling's name. "Five," he manages with the barest hint of a tremor. "What the hell have you done?"

The Inn

The inn seems to be the hub of the town, such as it is, and Diego spends a lot of time in that area with a hope of finding his missing family members. As the days go on, he knows he'll have to face that they've all been scattered to the four corners of the universe, but he's not willing to give up hope.

Not that he's happy in those damn red scrubs. How the hell is a person meant to do anything circumspect dressed like an escapee from a horror movie asylum? Most of the time he has the heavy black coat on, trying to cover up the fact that he's new enough not to have somehow come across a wardrobe as so many in this place seem to have managed.

Most days he can be found sitting in the back of the room, chair turned with his back to the wall, eating or reading whatever he might have found, his gaze moving too much to really absorb any of it. Much too suspicious to do more than watch and wait more often than not.

Around the village

During the daylight hours Diego is often pacing the area of the village, slowly exploring everything within "city limits" and then working his way outwards as the days go on. Figuring that most have asked for answers, and that he isn't the first one here, but he's looking for things in particular. His father's writings, signs of his siblings, a freaking briefcase that he's heard about that could mean getting the hell out of here.

Most of it leads to frustration as little shows up to help, and there's no sign of those he's looking for. It isn't until several days into things that he figures he should at least set up and get in some practice. Snagging some butter knives and a pillow from an empty house, he heads to a tree by the edge of the forest to practice.

And finds something is definitely wrong.

Sure he's hitting the targets because twenty-five years of practice means that he knows what he's doing, but the aim is just a little off. It's not as easy as it's been his entire life. Gathering them up time and again, throwing them hard and with all he's got, snarling as they don't go just as he wants them to. And instead of looking for the reason, he keeps practicing, putting small cuts in the pillowcase as he tries desperately to click with the very skills he was born with and now seems to be missing.

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With his schedule shifting a bit around the fact that people are missing, apparently again, North was out later than he normally allowed himself. After finishing up picking up an extra EMS backpack and some clothes from the inn his intention had been to head to the storehouse to gets some supplies to cook his dinner with. Instead he'd hearing a bit of splashing and moves to consider where it's coming from. The fountain?

He moves slowly across the path toward the fountain before he really confirms there is a body on the ground. He drops his things as he goes, pulling the coat off his back. Something clearly needs to be done to help the man, and he comes to a stop kneeling by the stranger. Doesn't even have much concern about what might happen to himself, his concern is the potential for hypothermia with the guy so wet.

"Hey, can you tell me your name?" he asks as he puts his hands on the man's cheeks, the exposed parts of his arms, trying to determine how cold he was.

Shit. A medic. He's attracted a damn paramedic or cop or something and shit, he knows he's in for it when they realize how loaded he is with weapons. Or that he's an escaped murder suspect. Except he's not loaded with weapons and he hasn't put that together yet. Right now he's just trying to figure out where the hell this is and why he's alone.

"Uhmmm, yeah. Which one you want?" Because he's got a few that could be known by, and one of them is wanted. "But Diego. Sure, we'll go with that," he says, blinking to look up at the man, to get a look at who he is and hoping he won't have to hurt him. "I've got a dumb question though."

And he's pretty sure this is where things could turn pear shaped if this guy thinks he's wasted and that's why he's asking.

"Where the hell am I?"

Still North is looking the man over, taking in what he says with a thoughtful moment of consideration. Interesting. Seemed like the guy was a bit like him, if he's got a few names to go by. But those aren't his concern right now, not like making sure hypothermia doesn't set in.

"That's actually less of a dumb question than you'd think actually. But it's not one I can answer in a satisfactory way. You're in the South Village, I don't have another name I know it by, but I've only been here about a month. You've been kidnapped by who knows who, a group the people here like to call Observers. They've got some interested technology behind them because they've either a) kidnapped us from across space time and suppressed powers because there are actual Norse gods here, b) cloned us which is its own worry because we remember a wealth of different worlds and full lives, or c) this is some sort of purgatory because I remember dying. Pick your poison. But let's do it at the inn. I'm concerned about the potential for hypothermia. I can give you a full sit rep in there."

Less of a medic than he seemed apparently. Because that sort of terminology is military all the way.

"So, two options, you want to walk there, or should I carry you?"

He'd prefer Diego walk himself, should work some warmth into his body. But carrying is good too because North could share some body heat. Of course either way his clothes will probably get some degree of wet. Oh well.

Annie is not being subtle. It's hard to be subtle when she's walking her geese. No leashes, of course, that would be ridiculous. No, the birds just follow her, or walk around her, or stick in her vague area. She's their momma, this is how things work. The birds peck and scrabble around, and they chat to each other. A constant goosey honking as the birds amble around. So, there is enough noise to make it clear that she's not sneaking up on Diego, or trying to, and - at least, in Annie's head - to please not throw anything at her.

(The Games have been on her mind a lot, recently. Not that they ever go away, but the area is feeling more and more like an arena.)

"Um," the short woman says, hovering. She's stopped walking at the edge of the forest, near where the target is, and the birds take the opportunity to spread out. Including one enterprising fellow, who starts attacking her bootlaces.

Annie means to continue, to ask if he wouldn't mind taking a break while she and her birds pass, but she's distracted by his expression.

"Uh, you okay?"

Whatever answer he is expecting in that moment, this is making less sense than his hasn't aged a day brother talking about the apocalypse, or Klaus going on about talking to Ben. Except, shit, both of those turned out to be real, and none of it was shit, and that means he has to consider accepting that whatever this shit he's talking about is real.

"There's a fourth option," he says, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. Not caring how cold his fingers feel, or that his ass is frigid on the ground beside the fountain. He still has yet to realize that his leather and tactical gear is gone. "Fourth option is that my brother fucked up," he says, sighing heavily, a puff of white steam as his breath hits the air. "I'm not accepting that we died. Worked too fucking hard to end up in some twisted ass purgatory," He adds, though his gaze turns sharp, eyes narrowing at the next part.

"Try carrying me and this is going to get ugly quick," he says, shaking his head, but it's enough to make him move to get on his feet, trying to process all of this and finding his mind coming up short. Just because it's all madness, but then so is all of his life as of late.d

There's wildlife around this place, wherever it is, and so at first the sound of geese is not surprising. Hell, they're around nearly every city these days, so why not in whatever odd pocket of time and space his brother's ability dumped him off in.

Except the sound is getting louder, and he frowns as geese come into view... and not alone. At that moment his hand was up, knife poised between his fingers as he prepares to try again. Yet he doesn't let go of the night, definitely not comfortable with the sorts of things he might have tried before with others around. Then he would have been certain that no one but his intended would be harmed.

Now he has to worry that he's going to end up harming her pets, and damn but he knows he wouldn't handle that well. Probably not as badly as she would, but bad enough.

Slowly Diego lowers his arm, lips parting as he starts to speak and then he shakes his head a bit, heading closer though to gather up the knives he's thrown and the pillow. If she's wandering the area, he doesn't want to risk hurting her or others. Not with how things are with his aim. It's not bad, but he can't swear by it like he would have before this place.

"Honestly? Nope. Not at all," he admits, looking a bit sheepish as he faces her and her flock. "Feeling a bit off with this place," he says, glad that his reputation hasn't followed him here. Not with how dangerous to others he feels right now.

"Well, the whole purgatory thing falls apart with Lucifer and Thor around," North agrees. "Do you want to borrow my coat for the walk? I'm really concerned about hypothermia chances."

Don't mind him, he's going to hover with that brotherly concern on his face, that isn't going away.

"But don't discount the death thing. I died before arriving here."

Foggy lives at the Inn. He helps keep the pot full and stewing away and he often putters about in the lower areas in the evening with the carpentry tools and spare bits of wood.

Most of it has ended up kindling, but he is slowly and steadily making advances in his wood skills.

He also recognises the hunted, on edge look. Which is why he approaches with a sweatshirt from the wardrobe and a bowl of stew. "If no one's told you, the pot in the kitchen is for everyone." He offers out both. "And there's a box of spare, shared clothing I can show you."

Already Diego is watching this new man approaching, making no aggressive move, but definitely looking more than a bit uncertain. Even as he's offered the hospitality of dry, warm clothes and food. Considering both before he gives a nod to the chair across from him.

"Who makes the food?" Sure it sounds paranoid but when the rest of it is leaving him feeling like he's being fucked with, he can't help but to ask. "Spare clothes? So like hand me downs, or collected when people disappear?"

He isn't sure it matters though, taking the bowl because even if it's drugged, he's starving. He can't remember the last time he stopped for a meal and not just grabbing whatever he could. Then he remembered. When Grace made him smiley face pancakes. Shit.

"There's a pot constantly on the simmer, basically. People contribute whatever food they can to it. I work at the butchers, so we contribute whatever meat people bring in that isn't going into smoking, drying or anything else." He puts it down and slides it closer.

"And the clothes... yes, both of those, plus some people make clothes when we have the resources. Sometimes boxes appear with stuff. Sometimes people had things and then they vanished. It's a bit of a mixed bag. I'm Foggy." He offers out a hand to shake.

Diego can't help but chuckle at that, shifting to pull down the pack he's never seen, frowning at it. Which is about when he notices the clothes. "What the ever loving fuck," he mutters, running his hand over the bright red of the thin fabric. "Where the fuck are my things?"

Raising his gaze to this man, arching a brow. "You have to know how you sound, right? And my life is full of weird shit, and I'm still staring at you like you're nuts. For one? Only my brother sees ghosts. Two, after everything? I really don't believe in Hell. No offense man if you do, and if you think you died and you're not dead? That's great for you but..."

But yeah, he lost him somewhere around Lucifer and Thor. The dead part he could handle, but it's not his deal.

"You seen a kid around here about this high," he says, gesturing with his hand. "A lot of attitude and probably telling everyone what to do?" He figures starting there is the best bet. "I can describe the rest of my siblings, but he's going to be the loudest and most annoying if you ran into him. And what the hell if up with the scrubs? What year is it?" That might explain some things.

"There's a butcher shop here, but apparently most of the place is without electricity and those experimenting on us before we wake up here are not known. Okay then." He shakes his head, not even sure what to think about any of this.

"How long have you been here and how did you end up here, Foggy?" Arching a brow as he asks. "And I don't mean drowning in the fountain. What transported you here?" He holds out his hand though between bites. "I'm Diego."

He says it hesitantly, not sure if anyone here might know who he is and not wanting to deal with that."

Well, yes, North knows how he sounds. He pauses and turns to look at Diego. "I'm from 2554, after Earth and her colonies had been at war for the entirety of my life against aliens seeking to wipe us out to a head because their religion demanded it. Or they thought it did. And I'm telling you that since my arrival here, I've met Thor of the Aesir, who remembers things from thousands of years in my past, I've met a man who goes by Lucifer Morningstar who speaks of missing his wings and refers to his 'father' with an actually audible capital letter there. I've met women with naturally blue hair and right now a portion of our village has been whisked away by unknown means in pairs of two, out into the wilderness to collect things like feathers from an archeopteryx, which is a dinosaur that is long extinct, and the feathers can make you float. So I assure you, no matter how weird I sound, you're going to learn to adjust."

And he hasn't even mentioned the self-aware and fully intelligent computer program in his own head. But he's left offering Diego a soft, sad smile. "You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

As for the other thing, North closes his eyes for a moment, letting Theta run through the whole of faces of those he's met here. At last he shakes his head. "I haven't met anyone like that before. The youngest person I've met here was an older teen than that. As for the scrubs, we all show up here in them near as I can tell, with a pack of other supplies. The technology seems just prior to proper good things, not all the houses have electricity or appliances. And at this point I'd ask that you hold further questions until we can get you somewhere to warm up a bit. We don't have much we can medically to address things like pneumonia if you were to develop it."

"Well, this is an old village. A ghost town. One of the places was an old butchers' shop, so that's where we set up for the butchering."

Foggy took a seat opposite, not blocking sight lines. "I went to bed. I woke up coming up the fountain. That was it. I have no idea beyond that. And it's good to meet you Diego. Ex-military? Vigilante?"

The other man might be visibly frustrated with his performance , but Reyes -- passing by on his way to a hunt, bow and arrows slung over one shoulder -- pauses to admire the show, impressed. The strikes aren't quite dead-center, but the knives spin reliably and hit the pillowcase with consistent accuracy. The sharp end always strikes true, embeds itself satisfyingly in the pillowcase and tree. Whereas Reyes is fairly certain that if he tried, the handle itself would hit the bark and the butter knife would clatter uselessly to the ground.

"Are you accepting lessons?" Reyes calls out, during a safe lull when the other man is stalking over to gather up his projectiles. If Diego had a tail, it'd probably be lashing. "I'm dreadful with knives. Never had cause to learn, until this place."

"You know, I have a brother that talks just like that," he says, nodding and while his words don't change, his expression does. A bit softer, not quite as aggressive as he has been, even if he's cold, and hungry, and trying to figure out how his brother could leap through fucking time to pick up girlfriends and umbrellas for his damn margaritas, but this time when it's most important, he fucked it up. But his experience is making him think one thing specifically, and if that's the case, he feels for the guy.

"And when he does, I have to take it all with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila because just because he believes it's real doesn't make it reality for everyone."

Which is him being much kinder than he might have been to many. He knows a lot of it is reality for Klaus, and some of it is but that's the voices coming through to him from the other side. The rest is a lot of drugs to shut out those same voices.

"You know running down all of that and then expecting a stranger to follow you after they've woken up like they've been unwilling committed is basically asking a guy to accept he's running up the stairs rather than out the front door of a horror movie, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer though, just gestures with one hand. "But sure, lead on. I'm willing to play along."

His head cants back, eyes darting as he considers the way everything looks. "Huh, that's why it felt so familiar. One of those reproduction towns, right?" He nods, because that makes sense in a lot of ways. Not that it makes sense in any other way.

A brow arches at that. "You meet a lot of vigilantes?" It's not most people's first guess, after all.

About to bend over to pick up the knives, slowly turning his head when he realizes that he's not alone. Considering the man for a moment, more than that his words as he bends to pick up the knives without looking away from the man.

"I can teach you if you want," he says with a nod, a tiny mollified that someone recognized his skills even if he was bemoaning his lack thereof. "I've been doing this since I was a kid," he admits. "Seems a bit off here though. Someone told me that might be normal?" He shrugs at that. "But I'm willing to show you if you want to learn."

"We don't have tequila, but I hear Iron Bull, and you're definitely going to have trouble taking how appropriate that name is with a grain of salt, and Desmond are working on beer. So give it a while and you'll at least have something."

Reality is what the world around you reflects, North is coming to realize. Which is definitely not comforting. But the guy isn't fighting him, and that's all North needs. It's just across the hall, it's a public place, and North's only care is warmth. He lets Diego grumble all he wants as he guides the man across the street and right in to the warmth of the inn. Which his lights on, but they're Edwardian electric lights, they are not modern at all, and the fireplace is clearly a better source of light at this hour than anything else.

"Bathroom is that way. In your backpack there's a change of warm clothes. The pack's waterproof. I suggest changing in there and spreading your clothes in front of the fire. After that I'll show you the kitchen, you're welcome to prepare your own meal. You strike me as paranoid enough not to trust me to cook for you."

"Maybe? No one really knows. Maybe there was a group before us. Maybe they just found this place and used it." He shrugs.

Second guess, thank you. Ex-military was first. "I represent a few vigilantes, I've worked with others, and I also work with super powered individuals when they get into legal binds. It's become my field, I guess. And with the twitchiness, the way you position yourself, the scars... seemed like a solid guess."

"Maybe they're fucking with us and think this is fun and entertaining to see how bad things are for us," he says, shrugging, considering that. "And where we'll take things."

He isn't sure why he thinks that, but then he's used to people fucking with others. Of course, he knows nothing of this place, especially after where he is meant to be.

"You have lawyers that represent vigilantes? Seriously?" He chuckles at that, sitting back and considering this guy. "And the super powered. Huh. The ones I knew only ever had the estate lawyer, and one of them had a criminal lawyer on retainer, but not because of the super thing." Because as a vigilante he got picked up a lot. "Well, Klaus had a public defender, but that's it."

"Quite probably," Foggy agrees, amicable as ever about it. "And... yes, frankly. We have super heroes. We have street level super heroes. I worked with someone they call Daredevil, which is a step up from what they originally called him, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He had information and sources and needed someone he trusted to get it into the system and out in public. He'd come to me and my partner with information he had picked up. After that... I ended up defending a vigilante at a mass murder trial. And then word got around and I started acquiring clients."

More or less the truth.

"You'd be amazed at how much I can dismiss when I put my mind to it," he says, though a giant Bull isn't much different than his ape brother so maybe that one will be easier than most. "Sad part is? Much as I joke about it, I don't drink that much. I'm kind of always on call and drinking like would be needed is risking my life and others," he says.

But he follows, heading for the inn. Not looking at all impressed when he got inside, considering the place and the hint of smoke in the air, and that smell that likely reminds many people of camping. He's never been though.

"Paranoid people live," he points out, considering the pack he's carrying. "But sure. Give me a minute and I'll get changed and see how much more insane this place can sound," he says with a bright smile and heads for the way indicated.

Diego snorts, rolling his eyes though there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Try being the Kraken since the time you were old enough to show up in public in a diamond mask and school uniform," he says, one hand rubbing the other forearm where the tattoo was. When you weren't old enough to legally get the ink either. "But least I wasn't Space Boy," he says, smirking rather cruelly.

"We were public, and people seemed to be okay with the things we did," he admits. "Hell, when I started working on my own, a lot of it was overlooked because of who I was. Who we had been," he says, considering this guy curiously. He gets it, more than most could he suspects.

"I had a cop or two that I took things to, and some of them knew I was listening to the radio and sometimes put more through than maybe they should have, for me." So he knows how that goes.

"You're not wrong. Until they die," North shrugs as he moves to settle down by the fire. But look, he's still got the clothes he took from here. With a thought he sits by the fire and starts folding it in front of the fire. Better to have the clothes tidy again.

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When I was stranded at the crossroads it was dismal and grey

Fountain Arrival

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did someone say knives

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The Inn

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by the woods 🔪

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