'Casey'; Son of John (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theroadremains) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-01-07 09:49 pm
theroadremains) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-01-07 09:49 pm
I will jump right over into cold, cold water for you
WHO: Son of John
WHERE: The Fountain, The Inn, The Butcher, The Baker,The Candlestick Maker. Pretty much all the big buildings near the fountain/inn. If your character lives there he might knock or peek through the windows.
WHEN: January 7th - Night and January 8th
OPEN TO: The post is open to everyone but each section has a set number of tags available to it.
WARNINGS: an instance of short, mild musings about ceasing to exist.
STATUS: CLOSED
The Fountain
7th; Dusk, Closed - Moana
He doesn't dream much. He sleeps too light for dreaming, and even when he had dreams in the past they had never been this. For a moment the urgency and the survival instincts don't kick in. The water is cool and clear, it doesn't burn even though his eyes are open. They're sore but he's able to see in the dark liquid without feeling like they're on fire. He floats, just slightly upward with the push before he starts to sink again. It doesn't register as anything more than a strange and wonderful sensation until his lungs wake up and he inhales a nose and a mouth full of water.
His survival instincts kick in all at once. He thrashes, air bubbles of a yell of surprise escaping and the gentle dream of floating becomes a nightmare as he kicks and thrashes too out of sync to make any headway. He's not getting any closer to the top and his lungs have started to burn. That sensation is too familiar. and he grabs for the fountain wall with a desperate clawing reach of his arms, trying to climb his way out when 'swimming' fails.
The Fountain
7th; Night, Closed
Some time after his rescue he had pulled on nearly every piece of grey, white and black clothing in the pack and on his person. He was so thick in layers of odd mismatched clothing the only thing left in the bag were a few pairs of socks and briefs. He took a seat on the edge of the fountain, his clothing still wet. Ice had formed on the ground everywhere water had sloshed when he made his great escape. His fingers were dipped into the cool, clear water, making ripples and patterns in the cold medium. His eyes were not trained on the designs he sent out, but on the sky above him.
Up in the night sky, brilliant colorful lights danced like fire, breathtaking and in colors he had no names for or knowledge of. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. The cold was in his bones and in the water. It seeped through the dense layers of fabric and rested in freezing beads on his skin. It was a threat, and he knew he couldn't stay out in the unprotected night for long. But for night, the air was warmer than it usually came to in the day. The snow was blindingly bright white, untouched by ash, and the snow falling from the sky was pure and clean. He breathed in deep lung-fulls of air, unimpeded by ash polluted particles, and watched the lights dance in between the clouds with open awe.
The Inn
7th/8th; Night/Morning, Closed - Mark, Kate
"Can I help you with that?" The question comes from a young man just off to the side. The words have a southern drawl and a slight rasp to them, but seem friendly in tone. He's dressed in what looks like every piece of clothing he had entered the village with, a mix of white, black and dark gray. He seemed to appear from no where, suddenly there as if the walls had been hiding him in their paper coverings. He had been watching the people of the camp move about, fascinated by the colorful clothing some of them wore. They were all so bright and relatively clean.
Few seemed to openly carry weapons, no one wore masks, and no one had given him a look like they needed to watch to make sure he didn't grab extra rations and stuff them away in his pockets. It was all surreal. A dream. A far away and impossible dream of things his mind didn't have words for and couldn't have imagined.
He can't focus on it for long without his mind spiraling and grasping for answers. He just knows he needs to make himself useful so he can learn how they had rid themselves of the ash that clung thick to the air, the ground, the walls and the living.
Nearby buildings
8th; Day, Closed
All through the day he wanders the village, stopping now and then to peer through front windows or lightly knock on doors. There are two pairs of cotton socks pulled over his shoes now in addition to all the layers of clothing he wore. He steps carefully through the high packed snow almost gracefully, as if he knows just how to deal with and walk through it. Other times he can be seen using bare, ungloved hands to dig paths through the snow, a few solid armful scoops at a time. By afternoon he's a little blue in the lips, and his black coat and denim overalls are white with snow and frozen damp.
He stops now and then to scoop some snow up to his mouth, or wanders back to the fountain to watch the water, but he otherwise looks thrilled to be out in the cold, clear air. Snowfall and all. Somehow his new coat is already ripped in several places, snagged on tree branches or rough pieces of wood. He isn't bothered, and he keeps on knocking.
Anyone who answers will find him, head slightly tilted to try and look past them indoors, and ready with a simple, hopeful question.
"Have you seen a wheelbarrow or an old white dog?" He rasps the question, voice hoarse from frozen lungs, but the rasp is something older and more lasting.
The Inn
8th; Night, Closed - Kira
Having exhausted himself in the cold and the snow searching every inch of the village for the dog, he comes to a conclusion he had already known but hopefully been ignoring. The dog isn't in the fountain, or in the village, or anywhere nearby. No tracks, no coming when whistled for, no abandoned wheelbarrow. Just an echo of a voice in the back of his mind, irritated and huffy, asking why he's taking so long.
Night presses him back into the inn, well after most of the village seems to have gone to sleep. He shakes the snow off at the door, shedding his frozen stiff coat and overalls. He steps out of snow packed, sock covered boots and slowly, stiffly makes his way to a slow, barely breathing fireplace, kneeling in front of it before dropping onto his side in front of it like a tired old dog in his scrub trousers, shirt and tank top. the longjohns peek out from under the sleeves and he pulls the arms of them over his hands and stares into the fire, watching tiny embers snap and float upward as lone, escaping flames.
"You're still up." It's a statement more than a question. He didn't miss the form reading by the light, he just needed a moment before he found his voice, a little hoarser now, the rasp a bit more evident from a day out in the cold air.
WHERE: The Fountain, The Inn, The Butcher, The Baker,
WHEN: January 7th - Night and January 8th
OPEN TO: The post is open to everyone but each section has a set number of tags available to it.
WARNINGS: an instance of short, mild musings about ceasing to exist.
STATUS: CLOSED
The Fountain
7th; Dusk, Closed - Moana
He doesn't dream much. He sleeps too light for dreaming, and even when he had dreams in the past they had never been this. For a moment the urgency and the survival instincts don't kick in. The water is cool and clear, it doesn't burn even though his eyes are open. They're sore but he's able to see in the dark liquid without feeling like they're on fire. He floats, just slightly upward with the push before he starts to sink again. It doesn't register as anything more than a strange and wonderful sensation until his lungs wake up and he inhales a nose and a mouth full of water.
His survival instincts kick in all at once. He thrashes, air bubbles of a yell of surprise escaping and the gentle dream of floating becomes a nightmare as he kicks and thrashes too out of sync to make any headway. He's not getting any closer to the top and his lungs have started to burn. That sensation is too familiar. and he grabs for the fountain wall with a desperate clawing reach of his arms, trying to climb his way out when 'swimming' fails.
The Fountain
7th; Night, Closed
Up in the night sky, brilliant colorful lights danced like fire, breathtaking and in colors he had no names for or knowledge of. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. The cold was in his bones and in the water. It seeped through the dense layers of fabric and rested in freezing beads on his skin. It was a threat, and he knew he couldn't stay out in the unprotected night for long. But for night, the air was warmer than it usually came to in the day. The snow was blindingly bright white, untouched by ash, and the snow falling from the sky was pure and clean. He breathed in deep lung-fulls of air, unimpeded by ash polluted particles, and watched the lights dance in between the clouds with open awe.
The Inn
7th/8th; Night/Morning, Closed - Mark, Kate
"Can I help you with that?" The question comes from a young man just off to the side. The words have a southern drawl and a slight rasp to them, but seem friendly in tone. He's dressed in what looks like every piece of clothing he had entered the village with, a mix of white, black and dark gray. He seemed to appear from no where, suddenly there as if the walls had been hiding him in their paper coverings. He had been watching the people of the camp move about, fascinated by the colorful clothing some of them wore. They were all so bright and relatively clean.
Few seemed to openly carry weapons, no one wore masks, and no one had given him a look like they needed to watch to make sure he didn't grab extra rations and stuff them away in his pockets. It was all surreal. A dream. A far away and impossible dream of things his mind didn't have words for and couldn't have imagined.
He can't focus on it for long without his mind spiraling and grasping for answers. He just knows he needs to make himself useful so he can learn how they had rid themselves of the ash that clung thick to the air, the ground, the walls and the living.
Nearby buildings
8th; Day, Closed
All through the day he wanders the village, stopping now and then to peer through front windows or lightly knock on doors. There are two pairs of cotton socks pulled over his shoes now in addition to all the layers of clothing he wore. He steps carefully through the high packed snow almost gracefully, as if he knows just how to deal with and walk through it. Other times he can be seen using bare, ungloved hands to dig paths through the snow, a few solid armful scoops at a time. By afternoon he's a little blue in the lips, and his black coat and denim overalls are white with snow and frozen damp.
He stops now and then to scoop some snow up to his mouth, or wanders back to the fountain to watch the water, but he otherwise looks thrilled to be out in the cold, clear air. Snowfall and all. Somehow his new coat is already ripped in several places, snagged on tree branches or rough pieces of wood. He isn't bothered, and he keeps on knocking.
Anyone who answers will find him, head slightly tilted to try and look past them indoors, and ready with a simple, hopeful question.
"Have you seen a wheelbarrow or an old white dog?" He rasps the question, voice hoarse from frozen lungs, but the rasp is something older and more lasting.
The Inn
8th; Night, Closed - Kira
Having exhausted himself in the cold and the snow searching every inch of the village for the dog, he comes to a conclusion he had already known but hopefully been ignoring. The dog isn't in the fountain, or in the village, or anywhere nearby. No tracks, no coming when whistled for, no abandoned wheelbarrow. Just an echo of a voice in the back of his mind, irritated and huffy, asking why he's taking so long.
Night presses him back into the inn, well after most of the village seems to have gone to sleep. He shakes the snow off at the door, shedding his frozen stiff coat and overalls. He steps out of snow packed, sock covered boots and slowly, stiffly makes his way to a slow, barely breathing fireplace, kneeling in front of it before dropping onto his side in front of it like a tired old dog in his scrub trousers, shirt and tank top. the longjohns peek out from under the sleeves and he pulls the arms of them over his hands and stares into the fire, watching tiny embers snap and float upward as lone, escaping flames.
"You're still up." It's a statement more than a question. He didn't miss the form reading by the light, he just needed a moment before he found his voice, a little hoarser now, the rasp a bit more evident from a day out in the cold air.
no subject
"Most of our stories and histories are passed down through story telling. I know my island is far away now but I can still share a piece of it with everyone. I think that's important because we learn from those around us." It was just how she'd been raised. Moana had loved her grandmothers stories of monsters and gods. Even now she took those lessons with her, as well as the thunder of her grandmothers voice.
"What about you? You said your home was filled with ash. Is there an ocean?" Obviously he didn't know how to swim. "I was told that the ocean connected everything and there used to be voyagers who'd sail from island to island to find what was out there." This time her tone sounded almost dream, as if this was what she wanted more than anything in the world.
no subject
He couldn't fathom holding onto it all, or the pain and misery it would have brought him. It would have driven him mad, he was sure. It had for plenty of others. He wanted to run, bolt, get away. Go back to the cold and the harsh, unpleasant familiarity of the ash and acid and sulfur, just to escape all new ideas and unimaginable dreams trying to pull him back down and drown him in the fountain she had saved him from.
"There was. I saw it a couple times." Dark, bleak, violent, immense. He shuddered at the thought and shook his head. "I've walked the road all my life and only ever came across it twice. It didn't look like a place anyone should go."
no subject
"The ocean is a friend of mine." She smiled at him. "I know it can be scary but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it." Moana was fully aware of the power of the ocean but that didn't mean she'd stay away from it. She loved the water.
"Where did you walk?"
no subject
"Maybe I would like it more, if I could move in it. If it didn't pull me down. It's not like walking at all. It's heavy." Heavier than all his layers and all the snow and ash."Roads are solid. Even under everything they have a set path. They're easy to follow. You don't get lost on the road." Not that he ever had a destination, but he could always tell which way he was going and which way was behind him. There were no roads in the ocean.
no subject
When it was warmer. She didn't want either of them getting sick.
"Every path I take always lead me back to the ocean." She admitted softly, shifting closer to the fire. "There might just be something wrong with me though. No one else seems to have that problem." That's how her father saw it anyway.
no subject
"I would say if you like the ocean, it does not sound like a problem. It sounds like you find the paths that lead to where you are going." It was a good quality. Far better than his problem of endlessly following a path with no idea of his destination, or when his traveling would end.
"Eventually, you will find the road again. They connect everything. You can not go far without finding your way back."
no subject
She wanted to tell him more. That going back to the ocean was a problem but the words got stuck somewhere in her throat. "I always thought the ocean connected everything, not paths." A wistful smile tugged at her lips. "My island is very small but-" her expression began to brighten. "I hope there is a path where I get to talk with you again."
In this canon, they were connected by paths, not seas.
no subject
He even went so far as to smile for her again, going through the motions of the expression in an attempt to return the favor. With a nod, he left her to continue to warm herself with her tea and left to try and figure out more about the camp.