ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢᴜᴛᴛᴇʀ ʀᴀᴛꜱ 𓂀 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2016-07-25 11:29 pm
booklegging) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-07-25 11:29 pm
001 ♙ open
WHO: Jess Brightwell.
WHERE: The fountain, the town, and later on, the inn.
WHEN: July 25th.
OPEN TO: Anyone!
WARNINGS: Wet, grumpy teens and probably swearing.
STATUS: Open.
I. Fountain
Jess woke up to bone-chilling darkness. A wet darkness, some part of his mind supplied when a pressure pushed on him from below and he felt his limbs, sluggish and heavy, cut through liquid in an uncoordinated thrash.
Water. He was in water.
The jolting realization came too late to stop himself from doing the one thing he shouldn't do: open his mouth and inhale. The burn of frigid water in his lungs and up his nose instantly woke Jess up, and then panic was setting in for real, colder even than the gloomy water in which he was submerged. Instinct was a screaming voice in his head propelling him in the direction he'd been pushed. Up, he prayed. Let it be up.
Just when Jess thought he couldn't hold back the need to expel his lungs a second longer, he breached the surface, coughing until every muscle in his chest felt like it was spasming. He paddled his arms, fighting to clear his eyes, his movements made extra jerky by an unfamiliar weight on his back. The backpack was hardly as heavy as the fully-stocked travel packs he'd trained with, but between it and getting caught by surprise, he wasn't as graceful pulling himself from the pool as he would've liked. Half-rolling, Jess ended up in a sprawl, caught at an awkward angle on his side because of the backpack like a turtle flipped on its back.
If Glain could see this display, she'd have him running laps around the training field for the rest of his life and then some.
... Glain. The High Garda compound. The barracks.
Now that he wasn't in any immediate danger of drowning in his sleep, the questions were tumbling in. How had he gotten from there to here without waking up? Wherever "here" was.
Instinct told him something was wrong, horribly wrong, eclipsing the sweet relief at having air to gulp down. Wriggling out of the backpack, Jess pulled himself onto his knees and looked down at himself, and what he saw justified the renewed panic beating in his chest like a second heartbeat. He didn't recognize a single thing he was wearing. Where was his uniform? His belt with his tools? Anything? He reached for the bag--also unfamiliar--and tore into it, shoving aside more unfamiliar articles of clothing. Nothing. No knife, no Codex. Things he wouldn't leave behind and people wouldn't dare take from him. What the hell.
This was bad. It certainly couldn't be good.
II. Town
Later in the day, Jess could no longer resist the urge to get out from under prying eyes and take some air by himself, prompting him to head out into town on alone. Seeing was believing, and Jess needed to see what he was up against with his own eyes.
Keeping away from the main drag to avoid notice, he cautiously picked his way along the outer fringe of the settlement. Everything had a threatening newness to it that had Jess on high alert, pausing at every unfamiliar crack of a branch and checking over his shoulder at each turn to make sure he wasn't being followed. The town was larger than he'd expected and had the uncanny appearance of a set piece. Like an elaborate replica of a pioneer village that time had forgotten.
It's strange, ghost-like feel made Jess uneasy, and he put a concentrated effort into avoiding the view of windows, approaching from the rears of building until he was close enough to peer in through them. He wasn't sure he wanted to meet whoever lived in these ramshackle houses, if they were even occupied.
At one house, he tried a side door. The knob turned soundlessly under his hand. It felt like a trap. All of it did. This entire town. He'd never thought he would, but for once he missed his armored uniform and the heavy High Garda weapons that went with it. He'd feel safer with something besides a dull fear pounding in his head.
III. Inn
By all rights, Jess should be dead to the world after this rotten day--the cherry on a shite cake as he hadn't been averaging much sleep in the days proceeding this anyway--but no amount of mental and physical exhaustion could dull Jess' prickling nerves, even after day gave way to late night, and the quiet town grew even quieter.
He'd taken shelter in the inn once it'd started to get dark, seeing no better option, yet he couldn't bring himself to touch the abandoned beds. Eventually Jess crept into the front room and picked a perch near one of the windows, staring out into the inky darkness beyond with restless intensity.
He should rest. He needed to rest. He was running on fumes, stomach churning with hunger and unease both. But he just couldn't. He was used to the noise and bustle of Alexandria and having his fellow recruits around him in the barracks. This place was as quiet as a grave... and that was definitely not a comparison he appreciated, especially with how conveniently timed his abduction was when he considered all the variables at work. They'd been making moves against the Artifex, and suddenly he ended up in the middle of nowhere without his Library identification? Too well-timed.
Explanations chased themselves around his head--how he'd been taken, who would've taken him, who would notice him gone--and ended up at the same dead ends each time. Jess rested his chin on his knees, frustrating with each fruitless loop. The not knowing would kill him if the jaws of the trap he could feel closing around him didn't first.
WHERE: The fountain, the town, and later on, the inn.
WHEN: July 25th.
OPEN TO: Anyone!
WARNINGS: Wet, grumpy teens and probably swearing.
STATUS: Open.
I. Fountain
Jess woke up to bone-chilling darkness. A wet darkness, some part of his mind supplied when a pressure pushed on him from below and he felt his limbs, sluggish and heavy, cut through liquid in an uncoordinated thrash.
Water. He was in water.
The jolting realization came too late to stop himself from doing the one thing he shouldn't do: open his mouth and inhale. The burn of frigid water in his lungs and up his nose instantly woke Jess up, and then panic was setting in for real, colder even than the gloomy water in which he was submerged. Instinct was a screaming voice in his head propelling him in the direction he'd been pushed. Up, he prayed. Let it be up.
Just when Jess thought he couldn't hold back the need to expel his lungs a second longer, he breached the surface, coughing until every muscle in his chest felt like it was spasming. He paddled his arms, fighting to clear his eyes, his movements made extra jerky by an unfamiliar weight on his back. The backpack was hardly as heavy as the fully-stocked travel packs he'd trained with, but between it and getting caught by surprise, he wasn't as graceful pulling himself from the pool as he would've liked. Half-rolling, Jess ended up in a sprawl, caught at an awkward angle on his side because of the backpack like a turtle flipped on its back.
If Glain could see this display, she'd have him running laps around the training field for the rest of his life and then some.
... Glain. The High Garda compound. The barracks.
Now that he wasn't in any immediate danger of drowning in his sleep, the questions were tumbling in. How had he gotten from there to here without waking up? Wherever "here" was.
Instinct told him something was wrong, horribly wrong, eclipsing the sweet relief at having air to gulp down. Wriggling out of the backpack, Jess pulled himself onto his knees and looked down at himself, and what he saw justified the renewed panic beating in his chest like a second heartbeat. He didn't recognize a single thing he was wearing. Where was his uniform? His belt with his tools? Anything? He reached for the bag--also unfamiliar--and tore into it, shoving aside more unfamiliar articles of clothing. Nothing. No knife, no Codex. Things he wouldn't leave behind and people wouldn't dare take from him. What the hell.
This was bad. It certainly couldn't be good.
II. Town
Later in the day, Jess could no longer resist the urge to get out from under prying eyes and take some air by himself, prompting him to head out into town on alone. Seeing was believing, and Jess needed to see what he was up against with his own eyes.
Keeping away from the main drag to avoid notice, he cautiously picked his way along the outer fringe of the settlement. Everything had a threatening newness to it that had Jess on high alert, pausing at every unfamiliar crack of a branch and checking over his shoulder at each turn to make sure he wasn't being followed. The town was larger than he'd expected and had the uncanny appearance of a set piece. Like an elaborate replica of a pioneer village that time had forgotten.
It's strange, ghost-like feel made Jess uneasy, and he put a concentrated effort into avoiding the view of windows, approaching from the rears of building until he was close enough to peer in through them. He wasn't sure he wanted to meet whoever lived in these ramshackle houses, if they were even occupied.
At one house, he tried a side door. The knob turned soundlessly under his hand. It felt like a trap. All of it did. This entire town. He'd never thought he would, but for once he missed his armored uniform and the heavy High Garda weapons that went with it. He'd feel safer with something besides a dull fear pounding in his head.
III. Inn
By all rights, Jess should be dead to the world after this rotten day--the cherry on a shite cake as he hadn't been averaging much sleep in the days proceeding this anyway--but no amount of mental and physical exhaustion could dull Jess' prickling nerves, even after day gave way to late night, and the quiet town grew even quieter.
He'd taken shelter in the inn once it'd started to get dark, seeing no better option, yet he couldn't bring himself to touch the abandoned beds. Eventually Jess crept into the front room and picked a perch near one of the windows, staring out into the inky darkness beyond with restless intensity.
He should rest. He needed to rest. He was running on fumes, stomach churning with hunger and unease both. But he just couldn't. He was used to the noise and bustle of Alexandria and having his fellow recruits around him in the barracks. This place was as quiet as a grave... and that was definitely not a comparison he appreciated, especially with how conveniently timed his abduction was when he considered all the variables at work. They'd been making moves against the Artifex, and suddenly he ended up in the middle of nowhere without his Library identification? Too well-timed.
Explanations chased themselves around his head--how he'd been taken, who would've taken him, who would notice him gone--and ended up at the same dead ends each time. Jess rested his chin on his knees, frustrating with each fruitless loop. The not knowing would kill him if the jaws of the trap he could feel closing around him didn't first.
no subject
The man had gone on the offensive instantaneously and clearly knew what he was doing with a blade. Strong build, vigilant. And he was keeping himself between Jess and the sharp implements and the easiest exit routes. Smart. Not someone Jess would want to tangle with even on a good day.
Not to mention he'd said we. Jess listens for sounds of other people in the house, but doesn't hear anything. That doesn't do much to reassure him, though.
"No harm intended. I'll go," he adds, almost at the same time the man takes a harder look at him. He pauses briefly. "Define 'new'? I came to in a park." His gaze wanders to the discarded clothes--scrubs in the same style as the grey ones he's wearing. He's getting the impression being ejected out of a fountain like a cannonball isn't a singular experience.
no subject
"Yeah, but is this your first day?" The more he asks, the more he's certain of the answer. He doesn't recognize the kid's face, and while he hasn't exactly been Miss Congeniality since he arrived, too busy trying to look after Cougar and his teenage sidekick, he's been here long enough to recognize most people by sight, he thinks. "I'm sorry, I should have realized. This must be totally overwhelming. I'm Jake."
Wiping his hand on his navy-blue bottoms, Jake holds it out to shake, as friendly and non-threatening as he can be.
no subject
But he knows better. Someone had wanted him here badly enough to remove his band and cut him off from the Library, from the High Garda and Wolfe and the others. Whatever this is, there's no avoiding it, he's in the thick of it now.
The man--Jake--isn't wrong, either. Inwardly, Jess is holding it together by will alone, and though the man genuinely seems to relax from regarding him as an immediate threat, the coil of tension in Jess' stomach is wound tight as a drum. But he takes the offered hand, mostly because he is the intruder here and it's a show of good faith.
Not before he mimics Jensen and wipes the cold sweat off his hand first, though.
"Jess. I was getting a lay of the land when I saw the houses. Your back door was open and... you know." He doesn't say what he's obviously thinking: that waltzing up and knocking on the door hadn't seemed safe. Then again, slinking in the back hadn't worked out as well as he would've liked. He can't hold the guy at fault for his reaction--that he reserves for himself. He shouldn't have gotten caught.
no subject
Namely, laundry.
"Here, gimme a hand with this, if I don't get it washed and hung up it'll never dry." There's a large metal basin, like an oval bucket, placed on the kitchen table, with a corrugated glass washboard propped up inside and a box of what proclaims to be powdered soap sitting beside it. Jake had gone rummaging for supplies the first few days he'd been here, and had discovered a fair amount tucked away in basements and cupboards.
He gestures at the clothes he'd thrown lying strewed all over the ground, clearly asking Jess to collect them for him, as he pointedly turns his back to go towards the giant cast-iron stove that dominates one wall so he can lift the frankly alarmingly huge kettle off the top and pour it into his wash basin.
"Most of the houses are empty," he says through a cloud of steam, leaning back a little so his glasses don't fog up as he empties the kettle into the bucket. "Either side of us is occupied, but I think across the street is almost all up for grabs still." The kettle gets put aside, and then he eyeballs how much powder should go into the water. He doesn't want to waste the soap, but it's not like he was exactly great at doing laundry before all this started, so who knows what's enough. "Or you can grab a room at the inn, if you don't fancy living all by yourself. I'm sorry, are you hungry?"
no subject
Instead of stating the obvious, Jess focuses on the factors at play. "That long and the person behind this hasn't stepped forward with demands? No one's managed to signal for help? Find a way out of the canyon?" That people could just disappear into a town without a single successful attempt to reach the outside world seems impossible. About as impossible as being dumped in a fountain with no knowledge of how he'd drifted ten feet under the surface and not woken up.
For the first twenty minutes, Jess had wondered crazily if the High Garda was behind this--it wouldn't be the first time he'd been unceremoniously dragged out of bed for a training simulation. He'd quickly discarded that idea, however. This feels like something the Library would do. It's not impossible to make people disappear into prisons that technically don't exist, he'd learned that from the Artifex.
But an abandoned town?
The sheer scale of a town-turned-prison makes him want to vomit. Picking up the laundry gives him an excuse not to let it show on his face, and he bends to collect the scattered articles of clothing obligingly. He'd asked for worse, walking into someone else's safe house.
"What happened to the people who used to live here originally?" he adds to his train of thought as he bundles the laundry on the table so Jensen can do with it as he sees fit. Frankly, the idea of staying here long enough to need a bed worsens his sick feeling, but a distant part of him recognizes the information is meant well.
He's staring out the kitchen window, half-expecting to see Library automaton stalking the streets, when the question registers. Truthfully, he hasn't eaten since yesterday, but surging adrenaline has killed his appetite. "No. But thanks. Did you arrive here with your personal belongings?"