sixthiterationlogs | I've been thinking to much...

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: Around the Village, and the roof of the Blacksmith
WHEN: January 4th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of Depression and deliousions.
STATUS: Open

A: Around the village
The day started like any other for Thorfinn, screaming nightmares and jolting awake. He had hung around the house making sure to get the fire going extra hot between dosing on the couch. The furnace was fixed but he preferred the fire place. Once again he had been pulling back from people, becoming more quiet keeping to himself. As more people came the less he felt he needed to go and try to be out going. There was plenty of people to keep other's company and he was just blue despite how beautiful their prison was covered in blankets of pure white.

When he finally pushed himself up and got dressed properly to head out he didn't bother braiding his hair. He hadn't been braiding it much since the gift's arrived. Just a old feeling he thought he was past had worked its way back into him, the guilt and the endless tired that overtook him before he met Einar was returning. All he wanted to do of late was sleep. Sleep was never easy, sleep brought bad dreams. He felt like he wasn't really living his own life, so much of the time these days. Like he was watching someone else live his life while he floated above.

He pulled one of his new cloaks on, with the half hood that Sansa had gifted him, knives in place he set out to go to the blacksmith, his head hung a bit as he moved through the snow towards the building, the wind nipping at his skin made it a little more miserable, but he didn't mind it, he didn't feel it like he was sure he should. The cold never really bothered him that much.

What did was the fact he could see something moving out of the corner of his eye. He kept his head down and moved quicker down the street a brisk walk but not watching where he was going, trying to not see what he knew he saw.

B: The Blacksmith late night
Thorfinn had not returned home that day, having wandered around a bit, before eventually going to the Blacksmith as he had intended, smelting the bogiron he figured the other's would do. He had more or less given up on the project the deeper they got into winter, but it was still his favorite place to go when he wanted to get away from the noise of people. It was only after the sunset and everything got quiet that he found a way to pull himself on the roof the way he used to when he lived with Jo at the Waverly back when it was just to hot for him to deal with the building. His reasoning had nothing to do with heat. His new found powers seemed to help with that.

No. it was the lights in the sky that made him lay back across the roof watching the colors dance across the sky. He was utterly homesick and the lights made it so much worse. His mind drifting back.

'Father, Mr. Leif said we ran away here'
'That is what is said.'
'So if someone wants to run from here… where do they go?'

The look on his father's face that night had stuck with him, while the family buried a dead slave they had saved under the aurora. He missed his father, he hated that it took him so long to get what the man had been trying to teach him.

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Claire was honestly sort of miserable. The last few places that she had lived in had never had snow or cold temperatures like this and so she felt cold almost all the time. It was truly a shock to the system since she wasn't used to feeling much of anything these days. Except, now she did.

Bundled up in her scrub top, the overalls and her jacket, she had her hands tucked into the pockets as she hurried along with her head ducked down slightly. Just enough that she wasn't really seeing anyone in front of or around her. Which was probably why she didn't see the young man just ahead of her as she quickened her step.

She was heading from the Inn to...somewhere. She needed to find wood for the fireplace in her house.

Both walking quickly not paying attention lead to the collision. Thorfinn falling back, just barely enough time to manuver himself so he hit a knee instead of his back. Unfortunetly it made both hands land in the snow and he wasn't wearing gloves either. He lifted his hands up, as he stayed kneeled. No longer caring who saw the power flames rose from his fingers moving down his hands the water dripping a moment to dry. He looked to the woman only then. His hood had fallen and his tired eyes looked to her.

"I am sorry, are you okay, ma'am?"

If she took a moment to think about it, Claire might have laughed at the situation. It was sort of a running theme in her life to run into people in a rather literal sense. One minute she was walking, the next she was colliding with someone hard enough to actually stumble back and end up on her backside in the snow. It softened her fall but she was instantly aware of the chill through the thin material of her scrubs.

Biting back a swear word, she started to nod as she looked at the man across from her. "I think so. You?"

There's someone coming.

Amy's been madly trying to find anyone around this stupid fountain that knows anything, but keeps running into people who have terrible explanations or who don't know enough about this place. Weird, she can deal with. Weird without any purpose or answer behind it? Not so great. She'd been inside to warm up so that her hair is no longer frozen, but has come back out for another search for Rory. The man's way too short to be Rory, but he's got this look in his eye, like he's walking with purpose.

Purpose is a good thing. Purpose means answers, so Amy vaults from where she's been sitting, strapping her backpack against her back to follow him about six paces behind, trying to figure out what to start with. Turns out she doesn't have to worry much, because her long strides catch her up to him fairly quickly and she gives him a nod of greeting. "Hi there," is her start. "You look like a man with answers. I like that," she praises, "so how about maybe you shed some light on a few things here for me. Wouldn't that be handy?"

He could tell he was being followed, it was one of those old skills he could never quiet kick, like feeling eyes on him. He hadn't been walking very quickly either, so when she caught up and spoke only then did he look her way. With a long scar down his right cheek and tired looking brown eyes, he blinked a moment.

"You just arrived." People said these kinds of things when they arrived he knew that much easily. So he stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Answers, not so much but i can try for you. I make no promises." He spoke in an heavy Scandinavian accent. He hated being useless but he had a feeling that was what he was about to be.

Norwegian. Or Danish? Swedish, maybe. Amy's really crap at this without the TARDIS to help her with this, which is probably going to start feeling really awkward soon. Of all the things she hadn't counted on, suddenly losing her decade-plus ability to speak any language is smarting more than she expects. "You're local here? Native? Does that mean we're somewhere north?"

Maybe they're just in some weird snowy northern town and she's about to be beset by Vikings, if the man with her is anything to go by. "I only have one question," she promises, using her finger to poke him in the shoulder as if to make her point before showing the index finger. "Where is Rory Williams?"

"There are no locals or natives... we are all taken." He spoke honestly, he rarely saw a point in lying anyway. "We are... not any north I know of. I have no idea where we are, I thought at first it might be Vinland, but the land is not right." He reached up scratching at his ear a little.

"That would make four questions." He managed a smile then, a little more playful because how the wording hit him. "I am sorry, I do not know the name. Ask at the inn, they will know."

"Well, aren't you just a regular accountant," Amy says with a mild, slightly derisive scoff at being called out. She tries not to let her face fall, because she'd been so sure that the way he'd been moving made him someone who knew his business and this place and if he didn't know Rory, then it didn't bode very well for her finding him.

She honestly can't remember the last time she'd been without Rory in her life and it scares her to death, imagining a life without him. "What's your name, then?" she asks, trying to muddle through her disappointment (that she knows probably shows on her face because she's likely not doing a great job of hiding it).

Thorfinn blinked a little, before he realized what the word meant, giving a sheepish half smile he shrugged a little. "Math is strong point." His sister had assured of that when he was small, he was often the one told to count the enemies for Askeladd since he was sharp with numbers, but he was also a smartass at heart even when he tried to be a better person.

"My name is Thorfinn Karlsefni. Tell me though, what does your Rory look like. I can keep an eye if he is one of those newly arrived. People come often." he motioned to the fountain. He still hoped he would see Einar come through one day. "And your name, so I know who to say is looking for him if he is found?"

"You can't miss him," Amy insists, clinging again to the hope that she feels resurfacing. "Tall as me," she says, gesturing to her nose. "Big, pointy nose, the kind you can't miss. It's the sort of nose that when you're kissing, you think, 'is it going to poke me this time'?" she jokes, aware that her teasing that edges on cruel probably isn't the smartest thing to lead in with. Not everyone is Rory or the Doctor, who've had years to get used to Amy's sharper jokes.

"Thorfinn," she echoes. "Is that the only way people come here? No spaceships?" she checks, on the off chance that maybe the Doctor is lingering around, just waiting to jump out and surprise her.

I've been thinking to much...

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