sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Julian Bashir
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, also feel free to catch him wandering around looking lost
WHEN: 3/17
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: Open

Fountain;
The last few days had been darkness, silence, and stifling confinement. The Dominion didn't exactly believe in the comfort of their prisoners, especially ones that were causing trouble. There was nothing to do in solitary confinement but worry and try to sleep.

Between one heartbeat, one breath and the next, he was inhaling icy cold water, feeling the pressure of it pressing down around him.

His eyes flew open, and he flailed for a bit before striking out for the surface, swimming until his head broke water. He sputtered, spit water, and flung his long arms over the edge of the...fountain.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think he'd finally gone round the bend and was hallucinating. How else could he explain having gone from a prison asteroid to half-drowning in the (surprisingly deep) fountain of a quaint brick-paved park?

He hauls himself out of the water, rolling onto the pavers and taking a very brief moment to shiver and feel the stretch in his muscles before pushing himself upright and taking stock.

Park, late-winter to early-spring, the plants looking for all their nakedness like Earth trees, heavy fog hugging the ground, making visibility limited. The fountain itself could've been at home in any park in London, once he craned his head back to look at it. He almost felt homesick. He would, if he didn't know that what he was seeing was impossible. He was literally halfway across the galaxy from Earth.

And to top off the absurdity he had a bloody backpack and was wearing what seemed like soaking wet, dark green hospital scrubs instead of his uniform.

He shivers again. It's not freezing, thankfully, but it's still too cold to stay in wet clothes, hypothermia is not a laughing matter. But he's tired, weary in the bone-deep way of someone who's beyond physical exhaustion. What can a few more minutes hurt?

Inn;
He'd found the inn after nearly an hour of aimless wandering, only noticing the road straight to it from the park after he'd circled back around from the other side. He'd stopped to peel off his dripping wet clothing a while back, it now hung from the outside pocket of the knapsack, but his hair was still damp and curling wildly around his ears as it dried.

He feels the tension melt out of his shoulders as he steps inside. He's not used to being so defensive, but recent experience...well. He might have reason to be suspicious.

Instead of approaching anyone who might be there, he quietly excuses himself to sit by the fire, settling in and trying to dry himself out the rest of the way.

Threaded | Flat

There's a new face by the fire. This is what his life has become. Before, he could relax and play Diablo III or Call of Duty, he could watch football (the right kind and not the bastardized American version) and he could enjoy a light smattering of zombie-cure research. Now, he settles around the inn for a few hours and just waits for something to happen. It's sad, really. Sadder, still, with how excited he gets to see someone new.

It's not that he means to linger, but new means that he also doesn't have to stay creepily staring and can instead be an actual person and introduce himself. "If you're after a snifter of brandy or a pipe to contemplatively smoke, you're out of luck, but excellent pondering," he praises.

Helen made the point of checking the fountain at least once or twice a day just to ensure that no one had arrived and been unable to direct themselves to the Inn or to one of the houses and, as she always was when she ran across a new arrival, she was grateful she'd taken the time.

"Damn. You'd think that this place would be a bit more polite when spitting us up but no, it doesn't really care about the temperature, does it?"

Several days ago, Gaius had woken to find a box in the Inn common room, addressed to him. Inside, there had been writing tablets, bound together so that their writing surfaces faced together but could be opened, like the pages of his notebook. He'd never seen so many tablets bound together before, but he'd taken to them immediately.

He'd also found three tunics, purple-striped to denote the equestrian rank which apparently means nothing to anyone here. Whether anyone here is aware of the distinction the stripes convey, however, Gaius has been wearing the tunics every day since then, and today is no different.

Gaius has some small morsels of food in one hand, leftover from the village's midday meal. He approaches the fire, quietly, and tosses the scraps in, closing his eyes for a few moments to murmur a quiet invocation to the gods, in accompaniment to their portion of the meal.

It's only when he re-opens his eyes that he turns to the man sitting in a chair a little way apart from the fire.

He has, at least, learned enough English by now that he can offer the appropriate greetings.

"Good afternoon," he says, his voice heavily accented, rolling the r more heavily than he should.

"You are new here?" he asks, after a moment's thought to remember the words. In Latin, he could say it much more politely, much more elegantly, but he has not such skill in English.

It's the second day since the fireflies had attacked her. Jyn spent the first portion of the previous day arguing with some dark-haired man who claimed to know her, who wore her mother's necklace (how did he know about it?), who reached out to touch her like she'd somehow given him the permission to do so. He'd been a threat, a hostile she needed to disarm and disable in order to escape, and so she'd sent her fist like a proton-torpedo, straight into the shoulder he'd had in a sling. He'd curled over, crumpled in on himself like a leaf in a flame, and she'd taken advantage of his distraction to put her foot to earth.

The rest of the day had simply been spent .. running. Running for cover, running from enemy fire, running in an attempt to find Saw's base. Where had the kriffing thing gone? Why was no one coming back for her? Sure, Codo had refused to look at her since the moment she'd denied his advances in the grotto, but the others - surely the others wouldn't have taken his side? Had they discovered her secret? Did they finally link her back to the great Galen Erso, genius and lackey for the Empire? Had they left her out here to die?

It's during one of her many laps of the perimeter of the town that she decides to cut through by the fountain - hears the unmistakable sound of furious water as she draws near. Something lucid in her knows it's an arrival, remembers hers only a few weeks earlier.

The delirium of the venom tainting her blood and rampaging her system tell her: it's a threat. Enemy forces staging an ambush. How could she have been so stupid?

When she approaches, she sees a man sitting on the ground. He looks perplexed, shocked, confused. Clothes drip, body trembles with the cold she cannot feel. Who shivers while they're on a jungle planet?, she wonders. She takes a step forward, hands loosely clasped into fists at her side, body in a defensive posture - squared shoulders, puffed chest, angled knees with feet like solid roots in the ground. Eyes the color of jade - wild, feral, visceral, untrusting - with pupils far too large try to scan him the way she would any adversary; he doesn't seem to be armed.

"If you're going to learn to stalk more effectively, you should probably work on the volume of your entrance."

"It's warm, isn't it?"

Credence is in the corner, and when he speaks, it's from there. He doesn't move towards the other and the fire, he merely watches, broom in hand, from a shadowy section of the inn. He doesn't speak right away, either--he watches and observes carefully, taking in the other's appearance, and gait, and the way he sits around people he doesn't know. A survival tactic in Credence's case: observe and judge the room first. It used to be, at least--now he most likely just looks like some strange person with too short hair and a hunched over posture staring at the new arrival like a piece of meat.

Should he smile? He feels like he should smile.

...Probably not. It might come across as terrifying.

"When I arrived here, there was snow everywhere. The fire probably saved my life." A beat. "Are you okay, sir?"

Inn

Fountain

The Inn

fountain

inn;