Jo Harvelle runs on 100 proof attitude power (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tobeclosetohim) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-11-13 07:11 pm
tobeclosetohim) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-11-13 07:11 pm
{ raining blood, from a lacerated sky
WHO: Jo Harvelle, a dead elk, and you!
WHERE: In front of The Inn
WHEN: November 13
OPEN TO: Everyone (Especially those in the inn or close enough to hear!)
WARNINGS: Animal Death's w/ Mutilation, Manipulation, Gore, Blood
STATUS: Open
People have been sticking close to the buildings, to each other, to not being out late after dark if they can help it, and even then, almost never alone. There's a charged air to everything, like a shot about to crack, or like they are strung up and held in a never ending loop on that second of shock the moment after the crack sounds, before the body can relax again.
Mapping has slowed to nothing this week, and Jo's among the many who remind people to be more careful when hunting right now. The Village seeming less and less safe with the animals that had appeared in the wide open of the buildings and fountain, with no one seeing anything, which made the dark, closed in shadows of the forest seems even darker and even more closed in.
She's as much not expecting it as expecting it, whens she opens the door, intending to head to the house she's sharing with Kol and Thorfinn, and there's a huge hulking animal form mountained right in front of the path into and out of the Inn. The same path people walked all day to get food, and everything else.
"Fuck," is revulsion for the smell, black and bloody and something else, the sheer size of the body, the still towering form, with its cracked and somehow dangling antlers, before her hand is tightening on the door still in it and she's calling back inside. "We've got another one!"
Jo goes for the knife in her boot even though there hasn't been an attacked attached to one yet, before she's headed down to the huge beast. It looks like the others have all reported in, and gotten written down by her. Ripped apart by teeth and claws, chunks of flesh hanging here and there, but nothing taken, nothing missing. Limbs twisted and contort in impossible ways, pointing toward the door.
The blood everywhere all around it. On the steps. On porch. On the door.
More like it was thrown than like it sprayed in an attack.
The same as the animal that looks like it was dropped -- no, placed -- so far from where it ever might be found in this place. Leaving Jo looking quickly all around there. The whole wide space of the creeping, settling early night dark of this place.
WHERE: In front of The Inn
WHEN: November 13
OPEN TO: Everyone (Especially those in the inn or close enough to hear!)
WARNINGS: Animal Death's w/ Mutilation, Manipulation, Gore, Blood
STATUS: Open
People have been sticking close to the buildings, to each other, to not being out late after dark if they can help it, and even then, almost never alone. There's a charged air to everything, like a shot about to crack, or like they are strung up and held in a never ending loop on that second of shock the moment after the crack sounds, before the body can relax again.
Mapping has slowed to nothing this week, and Jo's among the many who remind people to be more careful when hunting right now. The Village seeming less and less safe with the animals that had appeared in the wide open of the buildings and fountain, with no one seeing anything, which made the dark, closed in shadows of the forest seems even darker and even more closed in.
She's as much not expecting it as expecting it, whens she opens the door, intending to head to the house she's sharing with Kol and Thorfinn, and there's a huge hulking animal form mountained right in front of the path into and out of the Inn. The same path people walked all day to get food, and everything else.
"Fuck," is revulsion for the smell, black and bloody and something else, the sheer size of the body, the still towering form, with its cracked and somehow dangling antlers, before her hand is tightening on the door still in it and she's calling back inside. "We've got another one!"
Jo goes for the knife in her boot even though there hasn't been an attacked attached to one yet, before she's headed down to the huge beast. It looks like the others have all reported in, and gotten written down by her. Ripped apart by teeth and claws, chunks of flesh hanging here and there, but nothing taken, nothing missing. Limbs twisted and contort in impossible ways, pointing toward the door.
The blood everywhere all around it. On the steps. On porch. On the door.
More like it was thrown than like it sprayed in an attack.
The same as the animal that looks like it was dropped -- no, placed -- so far from where it ever might be found in this place. Leaving Jo looking quickly all around there. The whole wide space of the creeping, settling early night dark of this place.
no subject
And she levels him a look at the idea she can lift it. Jo would be stubborn enough to try if he pushed it, but she was maybe 110 lbs soaking wet, and the thing, given it's size was probably five to seven times her weight.
"I don't believe in omens," Jo retorted, but she followed it up honestly. "But I do think it's from whoever or whatever is running this place."
no subject
Unfortunately, this place does seem intent on proving that science and facts can't quite answer everything. Frankly, it's very rude. "We shouldn't have to leave it here. Besides that, we need the meat. An elk? This could feed us for days."
no subject
"Thorfinn went to gather some of the men to take it away." Jo looked to one side. She supposed if she wasn't stopping Thorfinn from taking the pelt, even if the whole thing creeped her out, it was an efficient thought. Skin, and meat. "If you're going to do that, you could have them take it to the butchery. I think the lawn--" Or lack thereof at this already ramshackle enough inn. "--has seen enough of the inside of him already."
no subject
no subject
It's a second late, but it's meant, even hollow with this event. "Thanks."