sixthiterationlogs | Every second of the night I live another life

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Every second of the night I live another life

WHO: Thorfinn
WHERE: House #8 and around the Village
WHEN: November 17th.
OPEN TO: OTA except for one closed at the end.
WARNINGS: The link to his nightmare mentions zombies and cliff falling.
STATUS: Open

House #8, Early morning.
A loud scream ripped through the house, followed just seconds later by the loud scream of a name 'Arneis' screamed loud through the night air, his window as always was opened so the scream tore through the night as well. The normally quiet man was loudest at night when his dreams would attack him in ways most people never could.

He had shot up in bed and was sitting up panting holding his chest not yet noticing the tears rolling down his cheeks. He never in his darkest thoughts thought the terrors of night would bring his departed friend into them. Seeing her face unmarred by her horrid death hurt so much worse than the dead touching him as they always did. His throat burned yet again and all he could do was stare off into space trying to force it all back down. Not yet realizing his roommates were in the room with him around his bed.

House #8, Back yard, mid afternoon.
Thorfinn never got back to sleep that morning. Instead he worked on getting soap made and stretching the useless pelts to be rawhide. The cellar had lots of his little projects littering it. The cellar had mostly become where Thorfinn worked so he wouldn't leave a mess or blood around the house. Today he wasn't down in the cellar but in the back yard splitting logs into firewood. He was gaining well defined sleeplines on his face. He knew a day would come where he would just sleep through a day no matter how bad the nightmares were. He had no time for that right now, he was very busy. Or at least he always said. His hair was twisted up funny with two smoothed bits of branch holding it in place. He didnt take the time to braid it today and had yet to consider making a leather band out of one of his many collected pelts.

Each strike of the axe if loud when he brings it down, putting his strength into it so he doesn't have to swing twice. Despite the elder master warning him before that doing so would tire him out faster, that was what he was doing. When each was cut he pushed it off the stump and moved to the next. With the snow coming down he should have been wearing his coat, but he had tossed it on the porch when he got started. The snow he found better and easier to deal with. He felt more at home with the snow despite the biting cold. At least he was used to it, and no longer sleeping in a pile of hay in this kind of weather.

The Village
Thorfinn almost always kept himself busy but his body was growing tired of the constant running despite his will to keep going. After dragging some lumber home and scavenging for more herbs, which filled his bag on his shoulder he made his way back to the village. It was nearly dark as he made his way through the streets. His hands shoved into the jacket pockets of the strange coat he had taken to wearing since he still had not taken the pelts to be stitched by one of the women yet. His hair was down to protect his ears as he walked.

He knew that people were growing worried with the animal deaths and even Jess had agreed no one should be out at dark alone, Thorfinn didn't care. He refused to be frightened even when he knew there was danger. He walked alone as he always had. Tromping through the freshly falling snow.

House 8: closed
The house was cold, despite the lights being on and movement inside. Their furnace wasn't coming on. The kindling was to wet to get a fire going. It spelled trouble and had sent Thorfinn pacing in circles trying to think of answers. Eventually, it was settled that they should all just stay in one room together, a room with a door to close with the blankets and bigger pelts pulled with them. Anything to keep warm. Thorfinn wasn't as cold as one normally might be, given how used to the cold he was, but his two dearest friends mattered more in this situation. He was sitting against the headboard of the bed picking at his nails as he looked to the other two. He considered himself close to them, but all sitting under a blanket in one of their beds? That was a new close.

"I will find more kindling tomorrow, a way to dry it." He spoke after a moment feeling a little awkward.

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It was easier when they weren't this close to her. She was able to curl up and will her muscles to hold still and strained until the shaking got too loud. Now she wants to smack her head back on the headboard anytime she trembles even the smallest bit, because they are pressed against her. They can feel it. She hates it, but not as much as every bone in her body hates how cold it is. God. Fuck.

She hates being cold more than she hates the multiverse and even feeling like every uncontrollable shake is a weakness.

"You better." Jo grit it out, even as she pulled more of the blanket up, since around her was closer to impossible with people on each of her sides now who, also, needed that blanket just as much as her.

Edited 2016-11-18 19:51 (UTC)

Kol was...cold and that was new and different and annoying. Another thing to add to the list of things that merely being in this blasted village had changed without any warning and clue as to why. He worried, still, that all this meant somehow, their captors were slowly turning him human again. And oh, the danger there was to that.

But right now, that wasn't on his mind. Not much else besides the bone-deep chill he's feeling is on his mind right now, really. The three of them had failed to get anything figured out with the bloody furnace and he's annoyed at everything. They'd piled into one bed, under every potential heat-trapping thing they had around the house, huddled together for whatever scrap of warmth they could garner from each other.

He hates it. That he even needs to be here right now. Every tiny shiver has his clenching his jaw a little tighter. "Oh, like it's his fault." He rolls his eyes at Jo's snappy comment.

Even as Kol says it's not, he feels like it is completely his fault. He was the one who had wholeheartedly jumped to work when it came to getting wood and keeping them warm and cared for. Tonight he felt like anything but useful. He was cold even if he knew they were colder.

He looks a bit dejected but he wasn't tye type to give up. It took all his will not to get up and try to go find another solution for the heating problem. He didn't say anything as he stared forward looking at one if the walls. His mind churning ideas already of how to get kindling dried for them. He spaced out a lot, but like now it was usually at bad times.

"Who asked you?" Jo looked at the vampire to one of her sides, who seemed anything but terrifying when she was jut as frozen as the rest of them. Burrowed under just as man blankets, tense and yet shivering. The bed was like the worst island of attempt she could even think of at the moment. "I do see you-u bring a single useful idea to the table."

If only she could get her voice to stop quivering, her teeth almost chattering every time she opened her mouth to say that many words. Impossible to stop the faint chatter, or the shivers it slid in that then wracked her whole body. She just wanted to damn the cold and every other thing she could. Overbearing heat, even a lack of light, those were things she could deal with. This?

She hated everything about this, and about needing both of them right where they were.

"Yeah, well, neither are you." He snipes back, eyes narrowed. Truth was, they were in the exact same boat. Too similiar to get along at this moment and the forced close quarters were rather unfortunate, considering. Not that he could do anything like leave and do something about it. This is exactly where he has to be right now, until they can figure out some kind of work around the broken furnace.

Thorfinn blinked a bit realizing they were snipping at one another again. He didn't feel like listening to it. Unlike normal he couldn't just escape to the woods or go to bed. So instead he just spoke up, though his voice lacked his usual determination.

"Stop it."

He reached up and pushed his hair from his face, the blanket shifting down a moment as he caught it before a blast of cold could get Jo.

"I will fix it. Even if I have to go find someone to help. I did this. I will fix it."

Jo froze anyway, expecting it to come, and cursing at herself silently. She didn't flinch and freeze half the time for monsters. Hadn't even for the blood bath and behemoth elk outside the Inn, and now she was freezing into a brace at the idea of just getting hit by a blast of air. Even if she is the one who snapped at him only seconds ago, Thorfinn is taking it like she meant, taking the whole situation like it is. His fault.

It makes her roll her eyes and huff a breath. Shifting where her hands and arms are, getting some of the blankets between her body and arms, and some between her arms and the top of the pile, scooting down a little more even. Annoyed at everything and first, seeming more like she was talking to the blanket, before she's looking over. Thorfinn took things more literally than he should, and she knew that. But the cold, and being angry.

"None of this is your fault. It's theirs." Jo shivered, trying not to think about turning sideways and just curling up tighter. Not looking at Kol, like maybe if she didn't, she didn't have to think about not-quite-apologizing in front of him. "It's always theirs. You didn't even know what a furnace was before this place."

Edited 2016-11-22 00:52 (UTC)

Kol snapped his mouth shut when Thorfinn spoke. Something about his tone reminded him of something from a long time ago. Elijah, soft-spoken and fatherly, trying to make the tinier of them listen.

But it's the self-blame that annoys him all over again. Because it was Jo's fault that he even thought it was his fault. Or that's what he was telling himself anyway. He sighs, a soft huff of a noise, shaking his head. "You didn't do it." The 'Don't listen to her,' burns on the tip of his tongue, but he manages to bite it back-- but only just, and it hangs in the air if a person knew to look for it. "We'll figure something out."

He wanted to get up, to go and find a solution even if there was none to be found this late. Maybe if he had come home sooner. Maybe if he had slept better tye night before he wouldn't feel like it was all his fault, but seeing her in his dreams had messed with him more than he expected. His throat still ached a bit from the scream that had escaped him that morning.

"They may have, may be, but I know better. I have become dependant on this technology again. The fireplace is just as well. Maybe better it does not break." He explained his view just as quiet not wanting his throat to start burning again when they couldn't even heat water. "Maybe we ask Cougar or Jake." He offered "I will see Cougar tomorrow."

It's an act of gods, devils, and parliament all across the multiverse that Jo manages to keep her damn mouth shut on the first thought that almost parades itself right out the gates, and off her tongue, because fireplaces are hardly perfect. Especially here. Nothing here should be taken for being the perfect, but not correctly chosen first option.

She manages, even if without looking any more cheerful than she's been since everyone realized it broke.

"I can check with the kids in the Inn, too." Jo was going to end up suggesting they got rooms there, much as she didn't entirely want that, for a few days, if someone didn't fix it soon. But that wasn't something to actually put out yet. She was damned if she was giving up a second house, to this place and it's fucked up weather, without a fight first. "Raven's good with fixing things."

Edited 2016-11-22 03:05 (UTC)

"Technology breaks, but the old ways weren't perfect either." He says, a sigh on his lips as he sinks down further against the mattress more laying than the half-leaning-sitting thing he'd been doing moments before. It takes everything in him not to let out a frustrated groan at the whole of this situation. He didn't know a damn thing about how the blasted furnace worked, despite being alive before, during, and after the thing was bloody invented. The Mikaelsons had never been low-class, no point during the centuries, even in the height of their on-the-run lives, they never lowered themseast. lves to that. And suddenly, he's regretting it. A lot.

"Think she'll help us?" His voice is the slightest bit softer, not as snappy at the idea of someone actually getting their main heat source fixed. It'd be better than this, at least. Even if they had to give her something in turn. Which they would, probably, because regardless of the community situation, no one was going to do things completely free, right?

No one but the bleeding heart on the other side of Jo. There were reasons why she was in charge of trading and handling anything he makes that can be distributed. Thorfinn spent so long at the bottom he didn't see much wrong with working himself to death for little to nothing in return. It was just business as usual for him. Jo was important for so many reasons, but that was one of the biggest.

He stayed quiet listening, nodding. This was one of those things that Jo and Kol were better at handling in truth how would a man who doesn't even understand the inner workings of ... well any machine explain what was wrong with the furnace? He quietly shifted down on the bed some. He didn't have much else to add but he decided staying sitting up was doing little to keep his back warm. So, he shifted to lay down. They were stuck together till dawn and he'd be damned if he sat up all night. Even for Jo or Kol. He was tired and he knew it was making his emotions raise, It was best to just try and end the terrible day.

It's awkward, and she does her best not to think about that, because awkward should not even count compared to freezing to death, or losing body parts to hypothermia. But it still is. It's not like she spends a lot of time this close to anyone, and now it's with two different people, even if she knows them, hunkered down low in her bed, for not the only reason she usually ever deigns to share her bed with anyone.

(Who hadn't been the closest thing she had to a best friend nearly a year ago, or a baby fox half a year ago.)

Worst of all? She thinks it's actually working. That it's starting to feel not frigid as death under all this.

"Yeah." Jo breathed out, half a sigh, and half just a puffed heavy breath of annoyance at herself, rubbing her nose with the blanket, even if it muffled her first few words. "I don't think anyone wants anyone else to die right now. Especially with what's going on, having already jumpy enough about whether it's going to get worse." Littered, violent, bloody corpses, and now freezing on top of it. "If she wants anything for it, I'll find a way to get it for her, whether it's now or later."

"Yeah, s'pose we'll cross that bridge later." He mumbles, voice growing tired. He's exhausted. He's annoyed. He's cold. He'd really rather just let the day end, but in all honesty, he doesn't see it happening any time soon.

Especially when this situation, dire as it is, as little as it is a choice, is reminiscent of things he'd been doing pretty well at ignoring lately, pretending he'd forgotten. Thorfinn isn't him, and Jo isn't her, they're neither anything like them at all really, but it's stirring things in his head anyway. And he's trying to ignore it, to press it down, but he can't.

And for the two people in this whole village that probably know him best of anyone...it may be more obvious. The sudden switch almost like emotional whiplash, from sharp sniping to quiet reserve. He's pulled into himself, emotionally, but also physically, turning his back to them, knees drawn half toward his chest, a hand braced over his eyes. He refuses to do this, to feel this way in front of them. Especially her.

Thorfinn stayed quiet as he settled down, on her bed. He shifted his hands up from under the blanket as he laid on his side facing the wall, to start undoing his braids despite the fact it was likely better to keep them up when he had so much hair, he hated sleeping in the braids. He listened to them breath, the words from Jo and the sound of Kol.

"Thank you, Jo." He finally spoke, as his fingers worked up the left braid, he had been braiding them over his ears of late to protect them, and hide the fact he was missing part of one of his ears from people outside of the house. His eyes were already starting to feel heavy, he felt the warmth from them through the blanket. It had been a good idea even if it was an awkward one. He was already worried about his dreams being a problem. Silently praying for the gods to give him a night of peace if just for the sake of his beloved friends. Neither of them was Einar, and even Einar got pissed at having to wake him nightly. Both had to deal with it through walls, not in the same sleeping space.

"Good night." He spoke again, his hand moving to the other braid, the one resting under his head, He would either have to roll towards them or sit up to get it fully down.

Kol settles down and turns away, and as much as that's a comfort, it's not entirely either, when she's aware of just how close he is by the lift of the blankets over his highest shoulder. So close she could reach out and touch his back without much effort, maybe without meaning to, and that's not a thing she does. Touching the vampire in her house. It's a navigated space with a buffer they've kept.

She and Thorfinn have an easier space they cross in and out of brushing against each other, especially since he started braiding her her. But not Kol. Not a vampire. Or not this version of him, with his semi-violent temper tantrums and moods. Like the obvious one for some reason going on right now. From snappy, to quiet, to turned away from huffily.

One turned one way, the other turned the other, leaving her right there in the middle. Still in the middle. But like a valley, with her back on the bed and a wall of their backs and shoulders, pulling the pile of blankets and pelts a little more down to her, over her, tucket in at her shoulders, even if she briefly considered curling up with her head under it.

The thanks is unneeded, but somehow it still settles like its own warm layer on some part of her head and chest, just like the soft words that follow, even though as Jo did was let out a slow breath and close her eyes, hoping that sleep would come soon and she wouldn't wake up every time they shifted or made a noise in their sleep.

Kol isn't wrong-- it takes a long time for his mind to slow down and shut off, but eventually he is captured by sleep and thankful for it. He never exactly needed sleep as a vampire, but it was nice to have at times, and since showing up in this village, he's found it more a necessity than he was used to. Each thing that comes up is new and takes adjustment, but sleep was one he didn't have as much choice in as the rest, since it tended to happen whether he wanted it to or not.

Somewhere in the night, Kol had shifted, turned onto his other side, seeking out the heat of the body next to him and curling into it. His cheek is nestled against the shoulder of the person next to him, the haze of sleep still clouding his mind as the first rays of light start to peek through the window. Enough consciousness peeks in for him to recognize two things: That he's in bed with someone and that someone is female. It's all that's needed for his sleep-addled brain to tug her closer as he mutters, "C'mere, Anna." still half asleep and not opening his eyes, not letting awareness break through yet.

Sleeps comes, light as the dusting snowfalls at first, waking anytime one of them shifts, flops, makes a noise, or some does something she can't identify that shakes the bed. But it ebbs the further the night wears, like the snow, like the heat building, dipping and dunking her further and further under, until she slides away entirely. To the endless black. And then the red-black shades that always come.

Faces, and fire. The decided lack of them, where the dark is still so hot it burns.

It builds and it builds, until she less than half wakes up in the middle of the night. Surfaces jut barely. Just enough to feel the face that presses into her skin. The arm that settles across her waist, pulling her into a body, while it forms to her, against her, entirely, and something in the darkness soothes somehow. She isn't alone. She isn't alone. She's safe. She's safe. Safe. In her bed. In his arms. Home, or the Impala. Isn't there. Isn't real. He's here, and she's not there. Not even when she slides back down, toward the darkness just as quickly as she almost came out.

Morning comes, heavy and sticky, hot enough she thinks she might actually have been sweating. Her eyelids still stuck together, and hot breath, with words breathed against the thin skin of her neck, sending an electric snap down through her, to all the familiar places as easy and fast as lightening. Leaning back into it, languid with a ready want, a hand reaching up find Dean's head, slide into his hair, before she freezes at that name, and far too many things snap into place as fast as the blink of her eyes actually opening.

It's not Dean she'd stretched back into, tilting her head to give more room, more of her skin, more of her to touch, take, have. It's Kol. And Thorfinn, with his blonde hair fluffed everywhere around his shoulders, face slack with sleep barely inches from hers, and very likely one of the heavy arms and hands, possible a large part of the suddenly there legs, tangled up with hers, on her suddenly far too aware body. Kol. Kol. Vampire. Kol. With his mouth against he throat. Saying that name. Calling her it. In his sleep. Curled around her.

Her hands is still in the air, only just pulled back, when she has to say his name. "Kol."

Has to pretend her heart isn't suddenly rammed into her throat for a number of unadmittable reasons.
She's only human. And there's a vampire, who hasn't drained anyone here, with his mouth against her throat.

Edited 2016-11-23 18:31 (UTC)

The shifting, moving, arching into him doesn't cause him to wake any more than he is. He'd rather stay in the comforting haze of sleep just a little bit longer if she'll just let him. Except she doesn't want that, apparently and--

The voice that hits his ears is all wrong and his eyes pop open, met with a fluirry of blonde that wasn't what he'd expected seconds ago before reality had so rudely crashed in on him. He lets go of her, like he'd touched fire and for all that he's concerned, he may as well have done.

He almost tries to speak, but he doesn't have the capability or the words either one, just a strangled noise or two before he debates the unfortunate idea of getting out from under the blankets and storming off before questions can be thrown at him. Surely the cold of the morning was better than this.

She hates, vehemently, that the sudden feeling of absence when he nearly jumps back is cold and almost violent as a slap.

A feeling no part of her half-awake mind and far-too-interested-in-other-things skin, is quite prepared for. Jo isn't even positive she remembers how to breathe. It's cold inside her chest against the warmth all over her skin. The heat of the night finally turned the bed toasty like an oven, and the heat of --

Running away is brilliant thought, except Thorfinn is still inches from her, blonde hair loose everywhere, still with the waves from his braid being taken out hours ago, and she doesn't want to wake him, he never sleeps enough, he's always screaming awake and he's peaceful right now, or some derivation of that, even if her skin and her heart are doing their best, both, to try and escape her bones, and she doesn't want to, but she runs on a life of doing what she doesn't want to, and she has to look her shoulder at Kol, not even positive what she's looking for or expecting to find now.

One thing about Thorfinn and his sleep, was once he was out, he was out. It hadn't always been this way, he used to be the lightest sleeper in battle, but his years on the farm had done a wonder in letting him relax a little. Learn to let sleep take him fully down. He slept so bad so often that sometimes when he went down there was no coming up until he came up swinging. His normally quiet voice ripping through the night the way he used to scream on the battlefeild when he charged his enemies.

The thing that drove Askeladd up a wall. His need to scream like a wild beast.

He was so far gone he didn't even shift when the two moved, when the name was spoke. Something deep inside not registering danger, there was none, it was just Einar... right? Sometimes it was just strange how the mind refused to let things go. His dreams had been peaceful, it showed on his face to, the faintest smile, a low mumble escaped his lips. Nothing, just sleep gibberish. Not even norse. He snuggled more into himself, dangerously close to the edge, and yet he was fine, his arms curled under his head and the golden strands of hair snaked across the bed, spilling over the edge. His hair was everywhere.

Aside from rolling towards them at some point in the night, his shirt was across the room, hanging off the doorknob where he had thrown it half asleep at some point. Where they were warm and toasty he had been horribly overheated. Now, he just looked peaceful and content almost smiling in his sleep.

He hasn't found it in him yet to move, not beyond the sudden jerk away from the hunter he'd so readily curled into, called the wrong name. His heart is thudding too loudly in his own ears and, God, that's still so jarring to notice, even all these months later.

He wants to speak, to say something, anything in the silence of the room that's pressing on him like a vice. But his words are still lost to the shock and he isn't sure how to find them again.

He only barely registers the mostly-peaceful and definitely still sleeping form of the warrior on Jo's other side. Distantly, he wonders how he's slept through them and their noise and their movements. But right now, it doesn't matter.

"Sorry," is the only thing he can think to mutter into the painful quiet of the room at all.

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Every second of the night I live another life

House 8; Closed

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