sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Evie Frye

WHERE: South Village Fountain

WHEN: March 16h

OPEN TO: OTA

WARNINGS: Nothing, will update if needed.

I. The Fountain

Water filled her nostrils at sudden consciousness. The Ganges? She didn’t remember being by the river or a river. But memories didn’t matter when what she needed to do was swim up and out of the water. Sunlight was glimmering above and easy enough to kick up to. Air was taken in sharply as she broke the surface. Blinking away water she saw this wasn’t a river at all. Instead the boundaries were distinct and she found herself in a fountain. One deep enough for a person to sink in. Unusual.

Pulling herself up the side, she landed quietly as possible with the squish of her shoes against ground. Instinct had her reach for a hood that wasn’t there. Evie’s hand reached up again, feeling for the missing piece of fabric that should have been there. And it was then that she noticed the color of her sleeve. And the strange change of fabric. And the strange lack of fabric. Arms out, she looked over herself. What sort of decency would allow this? They looked nearly like undergarments, so simple and plain. She liked the color at least, a deep blue. Self inventory found that her weapons were missing. No hidden blade, no blades at all, no bombs, nothing. That nearly made her feel as naked as the strange clothes. And a strange bracelet that looked nothing like she had ever seen before.

II. Strolling through Town

She was decidedly not in India anymore. And this looked not at all like England either. Which left, well, the rest of the world really. Just not any of the parts of it she had been to. The itch to pull up her nonexistent hood was still there, however she noticed there were some other people in similar clothing. And others in different outfits entirely that bordered from familiarish to not at all.

First step. Establish surroundings. Integrate with the population. Blend. That was doable. In theory. People liked to talk and once she was familiar with the layout of wherever she was maybe this anxious buzzing in her mind would stop. If she was here for now she'd need to know where things were, where to go and where people said not to go. Structures were being noted and mapped as she walked along, faces and voices observed as well in case there seemed to be ones that popped put for interest.

There was none of that instinctive viewing of her surroundings, not as it had been. There was no glowing of targets or information. Concern buzzed in her mind again but she had plenty of skills to sort people out while seeing them as they were. Maybe they were all important. It was a possibility. At least none seemed to give off the instinctive look of enemies. Which might mean nothing at all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He shook her hand firmly. His own hand was soft, even after working here, he had still spent years at a desk. "Good to meet you, Evie. And I'm sure you'll find something to pick up soon enough. Now the winter is starting to ease up, I suspect we're going to be moving into more outdoor work, building and drying timber and whatever else needs doing."

A butcher with soft hands, a beaten face, and carving a crucifix. More notes of interest, though given she barely knew her surroundings she hardly knew how to put together what that said. Former gentry of some sort?

"I can't save I've much experience building, well, building" Evie tilted her head as her own calloused hand fell back to her. "But I've learned quite a few new things today, the list could get longer."

"I'd never done wood working before here. Not really." he lifts the small crucifix. "I got given tools, so I thought I'd work at it. Making this for a friend, he's blind. We've been making the beads together, but I think this might be a bit beyond his sense of touch."

He sets it aside. "There's a library full of books about how to do things. From making fabric to cooking, to building mills."

A friend. Then that might explain it more. A blind man of god and a butcher who carved wood. "It's detailed work if you're still learning." she offered with a smile as she looked to the crucifix.

But the library caught her interest. "Does it? Is the collection only on practical skills?"

"Thanks. It's pretty terrible, but it's a huge step up from where I started." He's not aiming for details, just a human figure.

"There's stuff on plants and... a lot of non-fiction stuff."

"Practice does have a tendency to do that." her smile quirked up playfully.

"Local plants?" There was a curiosity to the tilt of her head. She'd become fond of plants in recent years. "Or history?" That was less of a recent fondness.

"Plants, maybe. History, definitely no. There is nothing about this place, what it is, the history, nada, zip, zilch." People have tried to find more information about here but as far as Foggy can tell, there's never anything concrete.

"How terribly unfortunate." though she supposed it made a certain amount of sense from what she had gathered so far. "Well. Unless there is something on plants. I've a certain fondness. My husband collects flowers."

The thought of Henry squeezed at her heart, but only for a moment. She could build a new book of pressed flowers for him. He'd be awfully intrigued.

"I hadn't looked for something on plants, but there was a discussion about herbs as birth control, so someone's probably dug into them... no pun intended." He looks at her, surprised. "Yeah? What's he like, your husband?"

He's genuinely interested.