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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
His pulse starts to even out as he picks his way around the edges of the room. He'd made sure the soles of his boots were completely dry so as not to attract the dust, and he's mindful not to brush up against anything that would transfer to his clothes.
No, not his clothes. The clothes someone had dressed him in.
Left with no supplies in a ghost town. Not even my Codex. What's the connection? Jess doesn't have the slightest clue what he's supposed to be doing here, and if that means going through every damn building from top to bottom to find out, so be it. The light fixtures and appliances particularly draw Jess' interest, and he even dares to touch a light socket, frowning in wonder. These aren't like homes he's ever seen, a mix of familiar and alien.
But once Jess nears enough to see the difference between one half of the kitchen and the other, the cold fist returns to his chest and tightens. Signs of recent activity show someone coming and going from the room. And that doesn't look like tomato paste in the sink. Go or stay? Those are his options. Get while the getting's good and he might avoid unfriendly company. But there's no telling how recent the activity is. He could still be in and out without anybody being the wiser.
Jess knows he's made the wrong choice the minute he takes one more step and a voice issues from the basement entry, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Should've kept a closer eye on that door, idiot. So much for that.
He hazards a glance without moving his head, waiting for what the next move's going to be. "I'm not armed." Not that he thinks for a second that'd stop the guy from adding him to the mess in the sink if he wanted to, but to make it clear this isn't a home invasion.
no subject
The way this kid freezes under pressure, though — waiting, not panicking — that's not something every teenager does. It's not something most people have to learn between one and twenty, and Frank can think of a few reasons why you might — none of which are anything he'd wish on a teenager. For a beat, he stays just as still, studying the stranger through the gap between door and frame.
Even if this were a home invasion, Frank wouldn't be too concerned. No signs of a partner, and he's probably got fifty pounds on this kid soaking wet. Not that he has anything worth stealing to begin with.
"Well, that wasn't real smart," he says finally, with a mite less seriousness than the situation may warrant. (But really, who breaks into a house without a weapon?) One big hand curls around the edge of the door to swing it the rest of the way open, though he doesn't make any move to close the distance between them yet. The man inside is well-built, overall-clad, and half covered in grime, but his manner is easing into something gentler. He nods to the floor.
"Lucky for you, stepping on my tile isn't a capital offense. You wanna tell me what you were looking for?"
no subject
He holds still, ignoring the bunched muscles in his legs telling him to run. The man hadn't even let so much as a stray breath slip to alert Jess to his presence, and that's taking into account Jess is already jumping at every rustle of branches--he's no amateur. If there is a weapon trained on him, his gut tells him he wouldn't make it to the door.
Even so, Jess' lips quirk humorlessly at the comment. Frank has no idea how true that is. He and Glain and the others had blown past "smart" a couple train stops ago and now an innocent woman is dead.
"It's one of those days," he admits.
A decision is made and after another pregnant, nerve-prickling second, the door creaks open and Jess looks. The scare Frank had given him doesn't make it to his face; his unease with this town is on tight lock down, and he keeps his stance wide and his hands slightly lifted from his sides to show his lack of weapons. He knows dangerous men. He'd grown up with them. The burly figure filling the doorway is one--he wears that toughness like a second skin. He could've easily been one of Callum Brightwell's crew. Dark, solid. Around his father's age, possibly.
And not carrying a gun that Jess can see. Good bluffing. His father probably would want to add him to the payroll, Jess thought bitterly.
"Answers. Someone responsible so I can talk to them." The way Jess says talk makes it sound as though it could just as well be swapped out with punch. "I'm the new guy, so I've been told. Sorry to burst in unannounced."
no subject
"Good luck," he says, and apparently decides that's enough of a stand-off for him. Who is a threat to whom is clear enough, and that's all Frank is interested in establishing right now. He takes a step through the doorway, then another, crossing toward the dining room. "Answers aren't something we've got a lot of around here."
"You know how to braid?" he asks without preface or explanation, as he steps one foot into the dining room to reach around the wall, not quite letting Jess out of sight just yet.
no subject
"I'm gathering that. You can't blame a guy for being curious."
Jess relaxes his hands, satisfied for the moment that he won't have to do any brawling in a dusty kitchen just yet, but he still plants himself where the two of them are never any closer than the narrowest part of the kitchen allows. Maintaining the distance between them so that he can't be easily grabbed or rushed while keeping the other person in view is something Jess does as naturally as breathing, and he appreciates it's mutual.
For some, the smell of home-baked apple pie brings on a sense of familiarity. Suspicion works pretty much the same for Jess.
The question is unexpected, however, and his brow wrinkles faintly. What? "Sure. Why?"
no subject
"Might as well make yourself useful," he says with a nod to it, and he grabs another for himself. Down time isn't something they can afford much of here, and that suits Frank just fine.
"We've been looking for patterns, trying to figure out their motives," he explains, settling in with his back against the wall to start braiding. "You remember where you were before you woke up here? What you were doing?"
no subject
Picking the bundle up, he asks in disbelief, "I break into your hideout and you want me to make cord?" Might as well call it what it is: trespassing. Jess won't pretend he'd waltzed in under the pretense careless youth and ignorance--he'd done it knowing these buildings could be inhabited. It's not even the work that has him angling his head in silent question, it's that the man isn't more perturbed or wary of him. Intruders aren't generally invited to stick around and help out around the house.
Making rope had been one of the many survival skills he and his squad had been barraged with in their first few weeks of training; as if to simply prove he can braid as promised, his fingers find their positions. This sort of thing had come easier to him than to some of the others. His father had had him and Brendan learning how to handle rope and tie knots as soon as they were old enough to learn how to tie their shoes.
But if an extra set of hands is all the man needs to keep him talking and maybe provide some information, Jess can oblige. It's a small price to pay to satisfy his burning need to know what's going on.
"Anyone got a line on who 'they' are yet? Everyone I've talked to is drawing a blank," he says as if braiding, and talking, and contemplating the collapse of his entire life is a juggling act he does every day. It is. This is a new chapter in an old story. "It was night. I was sleeping, and then next thing I knew, water. No one could pull that off without waking a person under normal circumstances."
no subject
He doesn't miss the way this kid sounds used to this kind of craziness. Or how he neglects the where part of Frank's question. His eyes are watchful, but mild.
"Plenty of things can make you lose time — drugs, head injuries." He's just saying. Not necessarily supernatural. "I've got a couple theories what they're after, but who they are seems to be nobody any of us have crossed before. Unless you've got any enemies capable of traveling through time and dimensions."
no subject
"Sleeping gas, maybe. It would explain some things." 'Supernatural' isn't in his vocabulary; he'd agree that chemicals or an ambush to keep a person unconscious make the most logical sense, but Jess isn't Thomas. A whack on the head while he'd slept wouldn't work on him as easily. "But not everything."
Jess stays where he is, giving himself a view out the back window. Having already been taken by surprise once, he's not in the mood to have it happen again. Fool him once, congrats to whomever managed it. Fool him twice... There wouldn't be a twice if he could help it. His gaze skips from the sunny day outside, to the dim interior of the house, then to Frank. Watching Frank watch him.
"Like why we're alive and walking around," he's still saying as he begins braiding the strands in his fingers, taking the comment about dimension-hopping as a joke. "The only enemies I know of that would go to that much effort to take someone alive are the kind that either want you quietly cut out of the picture, or want something from you. Long leashes don't work in their favor."
And yet here they are. That's the part that really worries him.
no subject
"They're letting us roam, so they must not care much about who goes where, at least not individually," he says, folding a piece of grass over as he works through the idea aloud. "And they've gotta be pretty sure we can't get out. They put us somewhere there's houses, plumbing, supplies, so they're probably expecting us to stay a while. Whatever they want from us, it's a long game."
"The upside to that is, that gives us time to figure out how not to give it to them."
no subject
Jess had never trusted front doors. It's why he frowns at the freedom Frank describes--there's a catch, there has to be a catch. One hand offering freedom on an open palm, the other a fist.
"How sure are you we can't get out?" An unguarded town? Open countryside? What's stopping them?
no subject
"I'm not." Their captors are, but not him. He's not ruling anything out. "But I'd wager they're counting on the canyon to keep us in."
"-And any other canyon, I'd say that wasn't real fucking smart of 'em, but this one seems to be man-made. Moves around, right? Makes it tough to map, tougher to get out of."
no subject
A cage with an open door, that's what it looks like--so there must be a deterrent for no one to have taken the easy out yet. People are predictable when they're under threat. They'll run, they'll fight, or they'll surrender. The right application of pressure can be crippling, and the more Jess hears, the more he suspects that's what's happening. The situation has the stink of power games all over it, a rank aroma he's become keenly familiar with thanks to the Artifex.
But then he falters in his work, sure he must have misunderstood something. "Wait. What did you say? A man-made... canyon?"