sixthiterationlogs | We can push on through till morning; [OTA

We can push on through till morning; [OTA | MINGLE POST]

WHO: Mark & Anyone
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: Feb 16, afternoon through evening
OPEN TO: EVERYONE! This is a mingle post!
WARNINGS: N/A - Please warn in thread subject lines if needed
STATUS: Open

When we all get together and have our town meetings, the truth is that a lot of times we don't come up with the sort of solutions we're looking for. I'm not trying to say we're complacent -- Or at least not all of us, not the people speaking up in the meetings -- but just that the nature of living here, such as it is, means that answers aren't exactly forthcoming.

But the latest meeting, the one about organizing, creating some kind of formal entity to oversee the group of us, it threw something into sharp relief for me: I've been talking for a long time about how we all need to be sharing our knowledge as a safeguard, but I haven't been doing much to make this happen beyond sharing my own personal knowledge. And that's really just not acceptable -- Not here, not when we've apparently got an entire section of the population asking for active leadership and another section who might just be too shy or apathetic to admit it.

So, I've been trying to figure out a way to kickstart this project. A way for people to even put out there the sort of knowledge they have to share. You have to start somewhere.

I've never had a problem getting people together to help with the field, but somehow we've been neglecting the town hall building right next to it this entire time. It's one of the biggest buildings in town, but it's still coated in dust and cobwebs, piles of leaves drifted into corners. The inn is starting to get a little crowded during meetings; it might be nice to have a little more room, a place where people come to share.

Regardless of how you feel about community leadership, I think most of us can get behind that.

A couple days before, I put out the call: A cleaning party. We get together, clean out the town hall, and afterward we have a little potluck. People can bring premade dishes, or we can cook out back over a bonfire. We can just be around each other, in a relatively safe space, just having a moment to relax and say hello. Meet someone new, find out where to begin.

After everything that's happened recently, I really think we could use it. I'm just hoping I'm not the only one who shows up.

[CLEANING PARTY & MIXER! Threads can take place during the CLEANING portion, after during the MIXER or BOTH. They can be indoors, upstairs, in the attic, out back by the bonfire, chowing down, whatever -- It's 100% cool to improvise! Mark will have expressly told folks this is about getting to know each other and what they can each do, too. There are some additional OOC notes here.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The building is large, but the work is made much easier with plenty of hands to help. The dust was the worst of it, but the weather was forgiving today, so we were able to open up the front and back doors so we didn't all choke on what we stirred up. The attic is probably still a little questionable, but who has a meticulously clean attic?

I made a sort of stew entirely on my own, and it doesn't taste terrible. Stock made from leftover bones -- Smaller fowl mostly -- and veggies I've had tucked away. No potatoes, but some beets and greens and even a few little tomatoes along with basil, and sure, it could use a pinch more salt (as in, any salt at all), but it's hot and decently flavorful. Granted, anything not plain potatoes seems pretty flavorful to me, but my point is, I don't think it's a bad effort.

I've brought over the pot and a stack of bowls from my own kitchen, and now that the room is scrubbed, I settle down on one of the benches to dig in as I scope out who all has showed up.

Edited 2017-02-17 20:50 (UTC)

To suggest that Robb hadn't been the most social creature since his arrival would be a severe understatement. The twisting fear that had prevented him remained, a hard knot in his stomach that never fully relaxed, but in recent weeks it had at least ebbed somewhat -- Enough to make him feel something approaching his normal self, at least.

And let no one ever say that he'd failed to lend a hand regardless.

Currently, he was in one of the smaller rooms off of the main hall, one that must have been used for a study or perhaps storage for whomever it was that lived in this place before. He'd opened a window to dispel some of the dust and was perched atop a chair, attempting to remove a stubborn panel of drapery from its rod so that it could be aired out outside.

When it let go, it was abrupt and unexpected, the fabric snapping down to cover Robb's entire head as a voluminous cloud of dust puffed out and then settled around him.

"Seven hells," he muttered from beneath the heavy folds, and coughed.

"Is there something more extreme about there being seven of them rather than just the one?"

Raleigh hasn't really picked up on all the idioms of Westeros and, honestly, Sansa isn't one to curse anyway. She's too ladylike for that. Still, he kind of likes the flavor of 'seven hells' and thinks he might use it sometime just to mix things up. It's probably going to come in handy the next time he scales a cliff and falls.

"It is a ton of dust, though. I bet nobody's been in here for years."

Raleigh hadn't been kidding about the abandoned state of the place when the first group arrived, some of the signs lingering more than half a year later. Worsening, probably, the dry air settling all the more dust over the hall. It was strange to think about who might have built the structures--the people in charge, the first captives, or were they one and the same?

The gift box still has him shaken, wondering if there are people like Jean and himself among them, if that's how they always seem to know. There's a finger of paranoia that runs its nail up and down his back: this could be some kind of proving ground.

It curls into its favorite subject: what are they going to want from Credence?

But Credence is why he's here, trying to take his mind off it all and get back to being useful. The boy had told him to get up and away from his bedside for a bit, clear his head, bring him news about what happens tonight. He'd also realized, standing in the dusty space, that there might be clues to hunt in the old buildings. It's how he finds himself in one of the smaller rooms with who he assumes is a stranger, coughing and--he assumes that's a curse--from under some truly unfortunate drapery.

"I always heard there were nine," he says, as close to himself as he's sounded in days. Finding an edge with his hands, he tugs sharply--it frees the man, but it also drags him into Kira in the dim space, sending them both stumbling and tripping on each other's ankles in a new cloud of dust.

Finally allowed out of the house and recovered, Margaery had made a mad dash towards Town Hall, intent on helping with the efforts to clean. She had learned from her time alone how to pick up after herself and turn a room spotless, though it had been a difficult journey from pampered lady to now. She could at least sweep and scrub and do a rather pleasing job of it, much without complaint.

Once finished, she wandered about the room, deliriously pleased to be around activity once more. The sounds of people talking and laughing was a sweeter music than any minstrel could offer. She preferred to avoid the conversations about an actual leader in the village, uncertain how she felt about such things and not interested in discussing politics for once.

She wanted to enjoy her day out and to spend time among her friends. She circled the room, only to stop in her tracks as she bumped into someone. Even in Town Hall, it could still get a bit crowded.

"Pardon me." She smiled.

Johanna's trying not to look suspicious, but she has the feeling that her determined evaluation of the area as she tries to clean and look for any signs that someone from the districts or the Capitol has already been here. Nothing adds up, which is pretty much what she'd expect, but the problem is that there's a lot going on that she can't just discount so easily.

The boundaries, the gifts, the strangeness of this place. It's all too much like an arena and she's been in two of them during her lifetime. The last one hadn't exactly been a graceful departure for her and the lightning is way too close to what Katniss had done to pull down the whole arena the moment before Johanna had shown up in another watery pod.

Now, she's just focused on inspecting the floorboards, cleaning them as she goes and hauling whatever pieces of crap she can to take for traps in her own home, trying to find some evidence or proof or records and finding none. By the end, her frustration is running high and she's sweating badly, despite the cold outside. "Didn't anyone think to bring some drinks?" she demands critically.

[CLEANING UP:]

Something that Annie was familiar with was cleaning and repair; during her time in South Ossetia, she'd managed to work with the group that had repaired the Opera House and spent time with the homeless and orphans. This was something that let her feel like she was getting back to the roots she'd cultivated before joining the Agency.

As someone passed by, she dusted her hands off on her scrubs and flashed a smile. "Hey. Anything else I can do?"

[MIXER:]

It wasn't possible for Annie to cook - she had no skill at all in that area - but she didn't want to disappear as soon as she was done helping out, either. It didn't seem fair to eat what others had brought if she hadn't brought anything, so she took a bite of something here and there, but mostly stayed away from the food, instead choosing to stick to the wall for the beginning part of the mixer and greet anyone who passed by her.

"It's nice to see you (or meet you)," she'd say, and introduce herself if necessary.

// CLEANING //

Jyn hasn't spent a great deal of time interacting with the other villagers. It isn't that she's necessarily against it, but socialization was always done in the context of war with the express purpose of sharing commands, skills, tactics, plans. Groups were created for briefings, assaults. Not for friends. So she'd debated whether or not to go to the Town Hall, knowing the majority of the people in the town would be there - and that it would force her to communicate with them.

Still, she figured, she might as well be useful - if this place was going to be her home for the foreseeable future, there's no reason not to be a bit more involved in its upkeep and general maintenance. It'd be wrong to leave it to fall on the shoulders of the others alone.

She'd told Cassian, prior to leaving their cabin, that she was heading towards the Town Hall to assist in the clean up. He'd agree to meet her later on, and she'd begun to make her way to the building. She is still learning the layout, and she takes a bit of a roundabout route to get there, but she arrives all the same.

Jyn slips in the front door, eyes darting and observing the scene. She figures she'll get a layout of what or who needs the most work and proceed from there.

// MIXER //

The mere thought of forced socialization makes Jyn want to scream, but she feels as though it might be the most useful way to meet the others - get to know them, their strengths, their skills. She isn't thinking in terms of friends, she's thinking in terms of usefulness. In terms of allies and mutually beneficial exchange of skills, goods. You can take the girl away from the battlefield ..

She forces herself to attend the gathering after the clean-up, despite everything inside of her aching to return home - away from everything and everyone (other than Cassian, naturally). She lingers mostly on the outer ring, closest to the wall, circling the commotion in the middle. It's a bit like a creature, scoping out its prey, but she has no intention of attacking - and her casual, non-committal gait and posture are proof enough. She clutches onto a cup of some kind of fruity liquid in her hand, the other shoved deep into her pocket.

There was something kind of nice about ending a hard day's work with a party. Sometimes Sam was still surprised that they had the morale around here to party after everything that had been going on, but it was a good sign nevertheless that they could. Sam had decided to splurge for the occasion and had done his very best to put together some mini pancakes. The mix had technically been a gift from him, to Natasha during that weird Christmas haul, but now that she was gone he didn't want to see the package go to waste. He might now have been able to make them for her, but he was certainly going to try to make something nice for everyone else.

That being said, he had decided to make small talk with the help of food and when he noticed Annie drifting past the table of food without grabbing anything, Sam held out the platter, "Here. Try one of these."

I. Cleaning - Beware of Spiders
Sam was actually surprised they hadn't gotten around to dealing with this building much. They were often so focused on the surrounding woods that it seemed this building had gotten completely overlooked in terms of putting it to use. Sam liked Mark's idea though and had been eager to start getting something together. It gave him something to do, another purpose, and he'd been dying to have one of those ever since winter had set in.

At the moment, Sam was taking a rag to some windows on the upper floors. They were pretty grimy and Sam was determined to get them clean. He noticed a large web in the upper corner of one window and went to smack it with his rag. Unfortunately in doing so he must have disturbed the creator of it because a large, house spider dropped down, bounced off the rag, and came dangerously close to Sam's face.

Sam did the manly thing and screamed.

II. Mixer - Much Later

Sam had survived spiders and cleaning and he was exhausted. Now that things were clean though he could relax outside by the bonfire, watching the flames jump up as they grilled some fish over the open flames. It was like camping, he supposed, not exactly something he'd enjoyed back home but there were worse ways to spend an evening. He took a sip from his wine, lost in thought until someone might come and talk to him.

Cassian and Jyn had deliberately left separately. They both thought it was a good idea to attend, knew they'd been letting themselves get far too insular, ignoring their surroundings and fellow inhabitants. (…as little interest as either currently had in anything but each other… that was no way to insure security. Being able to keep… each other.) So they should both attend. But they should also do so as independent agents. Possibly even avoid one another. This fear of the other vanishing as miraculously as they'd arrived was becoming debilitating… especially since there would be nothing either could do about it regardless. The precept again: if you dread the amphora's destruction you don't appreciate it while it's whole. No point ruining their togetherness by worrying about something they couldn't control. …Especially if by that fear they were abdicating any possible level of effect.

So, while they were agreed to meet up eventually, if Cassian had seen Jyn immediately on arrival, he'd headed elsewhere; in this case, upstairs.

He had just entered the room when he heard the scream.

On instant autopilot, Cassian sprinted forward and backhanded the threat away from its intended target.

His combat impulses dissipated when he realized the projectile in question hadn't reacted to the impact the way it should. He looked down with interest to see the spider now crawling on the back of his hand.

It's not that an unknown organism, with clear defensive adaptations, doesn't unsettle him. It's that the strategic brain has taken over and is reminding him that further sudden motions make getting bitten more likely; keep movements fluid and slow and get rid of it.

Still without letting any of this quite catch up to him, Cassian crossed over to the window, opened it with his free hand, and laid his other hand out on the roof until the spider crawled off of it.

He watches it go, in a bit of a fog, apparently not remembering the man to whose "rescue" he'd leapt.

Edited 2017-02-18 18:58 (UTC)

Cleaning

At first he's glad to have this. Activity, just active enough to require him to pay attention to what he's doing. He's very sure that the worst thing he could do would be taking time alone to rest. He's no stranger to scut work, though, and he gets used to it fast, giving his mind room to wander freely. This is so bizarre and inefficient, humans managing things like this without droids or decent tools. He descends into cranky in short order. Focusing aggressively on how inconvenient the tasks are is better than letting his mind go wandering into unsafe memories, anyway.

But complaining during work detail is a piece of one of the safer things in his old life, the quiet bonding of academy students over shared gripes. He'll share a snarky observation with any passerby. "Breathing seems overrated, right?" or "This is just the perfect use of three pounds of brain," or, having inevitably knocked something over (because he was clumsy before he got snippy, and it doesn't help), "Well, gravity and I are having a wonderful day."

Mixer

He's a little uncomfortable. Parties, as such, are not his kind of event. But he doesn't have the option of a quiet dinner and drinks with fellow academy graduates, and he should be out and doing things if he possibly can. He feels a little lacking turning up, too new to have anything to bring but himself, but he can't think of a way around that. He just has to hope he's not being too egregiously out of line, and he did clean things all day. That might count.

He settles near the bonfire, uncertain about how to approach the strangest strangers he can imagine, people apparently from different worlds. None of his usual conversational openers seem like they'll function, and he hates working without a script. He can't come up with anything to try but, "Hello, I'm new."

Jean tended to keep to herself these days too. She had been the closest to Ren, who was gone now, and the death still shook her. Sure, she'd seen death before. She'd seen death on a wide scale in Egypt, even, but this was something different. This was someone she knew and well.

Still, she forced herself out to meet new people. Moana was still here, after all, and there were other people who were more or less friendly. Nobody had attacked her for being a mutant. It was going to be okay.

She was lost in all those thoughts when she accidentally ran into the dark haired woman and when she did, she dropped her cup; Jean carefully caught it before it hit the ground and guided it back to her hand. It was a parlor trick compared to what she used to be able to do but she would take it.

"Ugh, sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Jyn's absorbed in a game she's created for herself: Mystery. She finds a person - any one of them - studies them. Studies their expressions, their ways of interacting with others, their voice, their inflection, everything. Days of being trained to discern between friend and foe come roaring back to her as she plays. And then, based on the information's she observantly collected, she tries to imagine where the person came from, who they might be, why they might be here. She's never vocalized the conclusions she's come to, but it's a way to not only pass the time but get a better feel for life here.

She's caught up in observing a woman who she suspects might have been royalty at some point when she feels the collision. Instinctively, her hands open and she moves one to her thigh - still expecting, still wanting the blaster that used to find its home there. It takes her a moment to realize that the drink she'd expected to be splattered on the ground is still safely within its cup, and that the woman - girl? - who bumped into her had caught it.

The hair on the back of Jyn's neck prickles; how could she have moved so quickly?

She takes the cup, eyes it suspiciously before reflecting the same look on the woman.

"- How did you do that?" she asks, completely ignoring the apology (but silently accepting it).

"I think it looks good for now," Thor said. He'd worked alongside her to help clear away some of the dust and debris inside the room and now that they'd been working with the others for a while now, it had started to resemble a proper town hall again.

"Who would have imagined a Prince of Asgard scrubbing a floor? Not me."

Thor had never truly met a stranger. He had always been gregarious nearly to a fault, loyal and trusting even when he shouldn't be. Since coming to the village, he'd found himself crippled by the lack of his powers but this element, this core being, that had never changed.

"New? Well met, then. I am Thor, son of Odin," he introduced, offering the man a hand to shake if he so desired.

"Pardoned," Jon said, stepping back just a bit when Margaery ran into him. She was light on her feet, even if she didn't intend to step on him, and it was hardly painful.

He hadn't talked to her in weeks. While he still didn't trust her political motives, necessarily, he didn't think she had much of the way of leverage in this place and it wouldn't harm him any to be polite to her. She had done the same and more for him.

"Have you been well? It's not often a lady busies herself with the work of servants."

Seeing as Jyn didn't know many in the village outside of those she'd known from her previous life (as well as the few who'd come to her aid upon her arrival), she didn't know exactly where she was needed in the clean-up. All she knew was that she wanted to help, somehow. Keep herself busy, immerse herself a bit more in the community in a - safe and sterile sort of way.

It also gave her a chance to start to scope out the other villagers, begin placing them into categories based on their skills. She knew where she was lacking and that she might find a counterpart to make up for those lacking abilities in someone else.

So she'd wandered about, looking for an area most needing her assistance. She walks into the room where Robb is, precisely as she sees it about to snap off the wall.

"Watch out! It's -" but it's too late; the thing has gone flying off the wall and onto the poor suspecting man underneath. She rushes over, careful to peel the heavy fabric away from him. He's caked in a grey film now, and Jyn sneezes as soon as the dust hits her nose. Once, then twice, then a third. "You all right?"

"At least no one who cared about cleanliness," Robb agreed as he flopped his way out from beneath the heavy fabric. He sneezed once, twice, three times, eyes watering before he turned back to Raleigh, drapes bunched in his arms.

"Our mother's religion had seven gods," he explained, and then coughed again, waving away some of the dust from his face. He had to be utterly coated with it; he could feel it settling into his hair and across the back of his neck.

He's never heard anyone actually introduce themselves that way outside a story. He decides he likes it, though it makes his own, "Bodhi Rook," seem rather lackluster. He takes the hand after just a moment's hesitation, his grip firm if not particularly strong.

Riza had decided to walk around the hall first before committing to any one room. It had allowed her to get a sense for the space and which rooms were worse off. There were more people here than she'd expected, but it wasn't like there was much else to do some days. Winter and the recent storms had made getting out difficult, but still they persisted in the usual activities and this was as much of a change of pace as any.

When Jyn walked in, Riza was occupied with wiping down the windows in the front entrance area, so she was right by the door. She looked up and nodded at the woman in greeting, "Hello. Here to help clean with everyone else?"

"Sansa doesn't say it but I figure that's more because Sansa doesn't curse and less about what she believes," Raleigh says. His nose is a little itchy from all the dust, too, and he waves his hand a little to knock a cloud of it out of the way.

"But you said it was your mother's religion. Does yours only have one god in it?"

Raleigh doesn't know Margaery aside from recognizing her face and knowing she's one of Sansa's friends. Considering how close he and Sansa are now, he thinks that warrants getting to know her a little better and he tosses her a quick wave before drawing up close to say hello.

"Uh, hi. You're Margaery, right?"

"Er - yes, I am," Jyn replies, for some reason a bit surprised that someone's addressed her. She debates whether or not to explain that she's still relatively new, that she hasn't had a chance to explore all that much, but still understands the meaning of communal togetherness - blahblahblah - and instead stays quiet, eyes darting to see what needs to be done. "Any more rags to use? To wipe down the rest?" she asks, flicking her head gently towards the one in the woman's hand.

All the help Annie had done before hadn't exactly ended in a party, exactly, but she knew what it meant when a small community came together to share what they had in celebration for a project being finished. That didn't mean she was prepared for someone holding out a platter, but as she glanced up into a welcoming face, she returned the expression and took one of pancakes he offered.

"Something I've noticed around here," Annie said, then took a bite, nodding as she appreciated its taste. "Is that things come together pretty nicely and still can taste like home in the weirdest ways." Holding out her free hand, she said, "Annie. Annie Walker."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 17

We can push on through till morning; [OTA | MINGLE POST]

Mixer | OTA

Cleaning | OTA

Re: Cleaning | OTA

no subject

Cleaning and Mixer | OTA

Cleaning

Annie - OTA

Jyn - OTA!

Mixer

Cleaning & Mixer | OTA

I. Cleaning [ILU]

Cleaning and Mixer: OTA

// MIXER //

no subject

Re: Annie - OTA

Re: Cleaning and Mixer: OTA

Re: Cleaning and Mixer | OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

Cleaning

no subject

Re: Cleaning and Mixer | OTA

no subject

no subject