001 ►►► arrival ( my heart won't forget. )

[maternis]

WHO: Newt Scamander
WHERE: the fountain, the canyon wall, and the woods.
WHEN: March 20th + onward.
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Just an extremely introverted magizoologist who prefers the company of all things not human.
STATUS: Open!


The Fountain:


Newt was still in quite the state after finding himself in this place. A place, which, he apparently couldn't leave. A place that separated him from his creatures, thrust him into a place where his magic was little more than barely within reach at his current ability level, and wandless. After recovering from the strange arrival in the fountain, he had gathered what belongings he had found himself possessing, and distanced himself from what seemed to be the town center.

After taking stock of everything, he'd gotten a very basic idea of the general layout, and since, has returned daily to the fountain. He may look rather strange, a tall man in navy blue scrubs hunched over as he checks the fountain, and the ground surrounding it for clues. What he's looking for are tracks of any sort that might mean any of his creatures might have accidentally found themselves in this place as well. So far, he's found nothing to indicate as much, but he's hardly keen on giving up so easily.

The Canyon Wall:

When Newt isn't tracking creatures who have simply not followed him through to this place, or foraging or fishing for the necessities, he is exploring the land. He's seen swarms of fireflies, and inspected them from a distance. Something nagging in the back of his mind kept him from straying too close, and they seem to congregate in places that might offer means of escape. The fountain. The canyon wall. How curious. He walks along the rock face, one way for a time, keeping a steady pace and counting his steps. He wishes he had paper to map out the area, but perhaps he can find something the next time he goes into town. If someone were willing to trade pad and paper for fish or what edible berries and plants he's found, that would be most appreciated, but it also requires he be willing to make the trek into the small town center.

He would really rather not, if that was all right with everyone.

The Woods:

Newt is used to sleeping rough. He spent a year in the field, the brunt of it in Equatorial Guinea, either taking rest in the shed and on the cot in his case, or making use of nature around him in the wilds. He finds a secure place to rest, where he is sheltered, and his position is protected, and he can gather his things quickly if entirely necessary. While he was not the war hero his brother was, he did still serve and fight (albeit under some duress) in the Great War, and he learned to move quickly from compromised positions.

When he isn't catching sleep at odd times, or running himself ragged as he finds ways to busy himself in this new environment, he's exploring and gathering. While there may not be much by way of hunting or foraging, there are seeds, and he gathers those in case they might be of use at a later time. It's during one of these trips that he hears the high-pitched chirp that most might mistake for a bird of some sort, but Newt knows to belong to a rather small mammal. A squirrel, in particular.

After a little bit of searching, mimicking the sound that the mother would return in answer as she tried to find her youngling, he finds a small, injured baby squirrel at the base of a tree. He crouches down carefully to inspect her, and lifts her up after she's grown somewhat accustomed to his scent.

"Hush, now," he murmurs as he lifts her close to his chest, bringing his peacoat around his hand to offer more warmth to the animal huddled in the palm of his hand. From what he can tell, she has a broken paw, and it doesn't look as if she's been seen to by her mother for days. Orphaned, probably. It does happen. A tension in his chest he hadn't realized had grown so tightly coiled lessens a little, and he smiles gently after what feels like ages. "Mum's here."

Comments

canyon wall

[notsocommon]

Helen, too, had spent quite a lot of time afield when the time called for it and she'd been trying to study the fireflies at a distance and see if she could possibly find a dead one so she could work on synthesizing some sort of antidote. Of course, naturally, she didn't really want to swat at them if she didn't have to and that made her work quite slow and not very satisfying. She couldn't help but notice another person who seemed to be doing some sort of investigation of his own and while the fog was thick, she could spot his shock of red hair all the same.

"I wouldn't try the climb. The rock face tends to crumble and the handholds aren't very reliable. One good rain and you have nothing to hold on to," she said. "For reference."

[maternis]

Newt had only heard of the effects following the firefly sting in passing. The few whispers and hearsay since his arrival, and he hadn't ventured close in any attempt to examine them in the strictest scientific sense. He was curious, as he usually was by nature, but he was more interested in why they congregated in places that might offer avenues of escape, if one had the tenacity for such a venture. The fog made progress slow, but he was aware of a person in his general vicinity, even before they spoke.

"Um, no, definitely not. It didn't look sturdy in the least. Shale, I assume," he starts, casting a glance backward at her, but not meeting her gaze. "But---thank you. I was more curious as to the clusters here."

[notsocommon]

"I was studying them myself, though more out of a want to see if I could get a dead specimen to examine. I just don't want to have to go out of my way to kill one, if I don't have to. It's not the proper thing to do."

Helen had always been of the opinion that one should affect the natural habitat as little as possible and to let well enough alone when it came to most creatures. Even if a firefly might not be traditionally sentient, she still didn't want to go out of her way to kill one if she didn't have to do it.

"They do have a unique swarming pattern, though. What have you ascertained thus far?"

[maternis]

"I haven't seen any that seem to have died, from natural causes or otherwise, and they don't seem to have any natural predators, which is rather strange."

The swarm shifts, but seems wholly uninterested in them for the time being. Newt can appreciate the opinion of interfering in the natural order of things as little as possible. He feels very much the same about magical creatures from his world, but things are as such that he cannot simply leave most in their natural habitat. It's why his case has become a sort of conservation for them.

Still not looking directly at her, he nods as she continues, and then looks back to the fireflies. There's a shift in his pocket as he watches them, followed by a high-pitched chirp that sounds almost like a bird's if one isn't wholly familiar with multiple kinds of animals, and a tiny, furry squirrel head peers out. He reaches up to cover the top of his pocket gently, turning his face so that he can hush at it quietly, and then returns his attention to Helen.

"I find it interesting that they seem to congregate around the specific places that might offer some hope of escape."

Woods

[bit_fairytale]

Amy's seen a lot of weird in her life, truthfully. It's sort of part and parcel of travelling with the Doctor, which is why when she comes across a bloke crouched over some little furry thing in the woods, calling himself 'Mum', she doesn't even do a double-take (at least, she doesn't once she clarifies that it's not her Doctor, because that is the sort of thing he'd do).

"What happened?" she asks, a bit more concerned with whatever injury has befallen the animal instead of a man calling himself Mum and tending to it like a baby. "Did something do that? The fireflies or something?"

[maternis]

If Newt ever hears tell of this man. This Doctor, he might be interested to meet him, considering that she finds he might actually do something similar to him. It would be a novel sort of experience, he imagines, to meet someone who thought along the same lines as he did.

He hadn't been paying proper attention to his surroundings until he heard the woman's voice, and startled only slightly. He hadn't heard her approach. Her accent is familiar at least, which makes him feel a little less out of place than usual.

"Um, no," Newt begins, cupping the little squirrel in one hand. "It's more likely that she fell out of the tree. I imagine her nest must be up there."

He doesn't quite meet her eyes, but he is giving her his attention. At least the part of it that isn't devoted to the baby squirrel. "Just a broken paw, but the mother likely won't be returning. Good thing I happened along then."

[bit_fairytale]

Amy squints upwards and, not for the first time, hates that she didn't have her glasses on her when she'd arrived, because it's one of those perils of getting older that she doesn't exactly like to admit, a physical piece of proof that she's not as young as she once was. "Why wouldn't the mother come back?" she asks, seeing as it's just a broken paw. "It's only a little bit of a hurt, shouldn't the mother want to tend to the baby?" she says, her own maternal instincts kicking in fiercely, even if hers tend to skew more along the lines of 'you hurt my baby and I will put something sharp through your eye, just watch me'.

Why should animals be any different? She hovers a little closer to give her attention to the squirrel, tucking her hair behind both ears as she looks at the paw in question, not sure she can see how it's even broken.

[maternis]

It is a peril of getting older, yes. Luckily, he hasn't had to worry about such things quite yet.

"It doesn't always work that way in their world. The wounded are harder to care for, and easily picked off by their natural predators," he tells her, lowering his hand so that she might get a better look as he gently looks the little squirrel over.

Then to the little bundle of fur in his hand. "But I'm not going to let that happen. You'll be safe with me."

Canyon Wall

[3ofswords]

To Kylo Ren, from Allison. The tag sits neatly in one hand, the travel pack of toiletries in another. Kira had only hoped to stretch his legs and get an hour's time away from even Casey and the dog, abandoning the safety of the fire-lit camp to wander deeper south and west than he ever had before. The spring wasn't immediately near the walls, but it gave him a point of reference, and the replacement deck of cards in his pocket was decent enough at offering him directions.

Hearts and diamonds, no coincidence that it leads him to another of Ren's hidden gifts. He hadn't realized there might still be items tucked away from December, never found. Even the giver has disappeared from their midst, and he wonders if there was any intent in his finding it. If it's his own fault, if he's the one who can't let it go, when he's been moving his things in across from the house he dragged Ren's body out of.

The sound of footsteps breaks him from his contemplation, suffers a hiccup of thought--I'm standing in the foggy woods getting maudlin over a fucking toothbrush--before he gives the sound his full attention. The tag and its item go into separate pockets of his spare coat, and this, this is what Ren gave him that knife for. To at least appear threatening enough to not be worth bothering, when the figure coming out of the mist neither looks nor feels like Casey, isn't shadowed by a month old dog. "Who's there," he asks, stance widening for flight behind the emptied, Christmas-wrapped box on the ground.

[maternis]

Newt had been paying little attention to most of the other people of the little town unless they approached him first. It likely isn't the best way to ingratiate oneself, but he's never been keen on that sort of thing. He has no illusions as to how he is perceived in general, and how his habits and tendencies usually annoy those who stay for too long in his company.

His attention is drawn by the swarms of fireflies dancing like winking stars clustered in strange patters throughout the area. He's aware enough, to know that he isn't alone here in the woods, and makes his steps more noticeable as he comes up on the stranger.

"Apologies," he says, voice soft as Newt comes around a tree into view. "I wasn't intending to startle anyone. I was only following---" He points up at the fireflies. "Them."

He sees the man's stance, the emptied box, and how he seems ready to bring a weapon to bear.

"I'm Newt Scamander."

[3ofswords]

Kira's stance relaxes into something more assessing than ready to flee, once he hears an amicable enough, entirely human voice. Newt hasn't chucked a rock at him and hidden behind his tree, so he shrugs off the idea of some offense in his approach, and stoops to gather the box. The paper can join the collection from December, the box can--amuse the dog for an afternoon, who fucking knows.

"They've been more a reason to be startled," he points out. "A whole swarm chased me out a cave, north of here." Maybe it wasn't best to give directions to someone keen enough to wander out to the edge of the canyon after patterns of insects, but the whole point of being out here was the behavior of the village being no skin off his nose. "I met someone who thinks they're tiny robots built to herd us around, though I haven't seen them until recently."

[maternis]

Newt would never dream of doing something so untoward. They haven't even been introduced, why would he have cause to attack him at random? Newt watches him gather up his items, and nods.

"They do seem to be particularly ferocious at times," he admits, looking towards what he believes to be the north where this cave must be. He's interested, certainly. He'll have to go see if he can track down this cave.

"Could I ask---do you think the cave might have afforded a way out of this area?" It seems to be a pattern. They seem to congregate and protect areas that either first offered ingress or avenues that might now offer escape. He offers a soft, disbelieving laugh at the mention of tiny robots.

"No, I don't think so."

The Woods:

[chosenbytheocean]

Moana had returned to grab her spear from her unfortunate fall a few days before. She was heading away from the canyon wall with the broken pieces when she heard the soft cooing sound that emitted from Newt. She carefully made her way towards him, her feet crunching against the underbrush as she approached. She hadn't seen much of the wildlife around here. Moana had only been around during the winter and she preferred to fish over hunt.

She paused a yard or so away from Newt, her lips tugging into an affectionate smile."Do you want to take her back to the village to take care of her? They have food and medicine there." She saw no problem with sharing their few supplies with a squirrel.

[maternis]

Newt doesn't immediately give Moana his attention, still focused mainly on the little creature held in the palm of his hand. He'd heard her approach, and had been ready to hide the baby squirrel away, only she seemed to be the sort to react with a kindness not usually observed in his opinion.

He kept the little one held in his hand where she could be seen as he gently inspected her broken paw.

"Nothing's broken through the skin. I think I can take care of most of it without too much help, but it might help to look at some of the medicine they have," Newt begins with a little nod. "Just in case."

[chosenbytheocean]

Moana smiled fondly before crouching down in front of the pair. Her dark eyes turned up towards Newt with a confident stare "I can ask Rory. He's a nurse, it's like being a healer." Moana's culture was very different and while she knew what a doctor was, Rory had specifically introduced himself as a nurse.

"I can show you the way. The hospital is still being cleaned up but I know there are things there." She didn't know as much about animals as Newt but Moana knew that the squirrel will probably keep running, even on a broken paw, they should do what they can to make it better.

"But do you think it's okay to take him from his home? I can see if I can run and grab something." She would need to know what to grab.

[maternis]

"I'm a fair hand at patching up creatures. Given the right tools, I'm certain I can manage." And he doesn't know many, if any, of the people here. Newt looks up to meet her eyes briefly, before letting his gaze slide away.

"I'd appreciate that, you're most kind." Though she mentions that the hospital is still being cleaned up, and it piques his interest. "Cleaned up from what, if I might ask?"

He looks up at the tree they are under when she mentions taking it from its home. "It's a she, actually, and it's sadly likely that the mother has abandoned it. Wounded creatures aren't likely to survive for very long in the wild, but I can look after her."

MOMMY.

[mund]

Graves is only close enough to pick up the tail end of that sentiment after a strange series of sounds. All things considered, Percival Graves is a city man born and bred, admittedly not nearly as savvy in the woods as one should be. But he adapts quickly, his vigilance and a solid grasp of common sense coming in handy more often than not.

He's in the woods to pick up some herbs and plants, engaging in some exploring of his own when he catches a glimpse of auburn, the whisper of another's voice amidst the thickness of the trees. At first blush, Graves mistakes him for another.

"Theseus?"

No, that's not it. He's smaller, younger. He frowns.

DADDY.

[maternis]

Newt keeps to himself, much as he has for the bulk of his life. Very few people have ever made way past the walls he's built up to protect himself from the cruelty inherent in humans. He hardly expected to be thrust into this situation, but he's nothing if not adaptable.

As he's checking over the injured baby squirrel, he hardly expects anyone to happen upon him that might possibly know him. Or know of him at least. He knows his voice, the man who has just said his brother's name, and it's that fact that doesn't immediately have him distancing himself. The other didn't know Theseus. He didn't know Newt.

"Um, no," he begins, voice soft and a little uncertain as he stands up, cradling the little animal to his chest. He's taller than he was when they first met, not quite as awkward, and more certain of himself. His eyes flick up to the other man's face for a brief moment as if he's looking for something that may not be quite right, but he finds nothing. It doesn't earn a relaxing of his tense posture.

"That would be my brother, Mr. Graves."

[mund]

Brother.

Yes, of course. Brother. He doesn't miss how the younger man tenses up, tall and lanky and so unlike Theseus even if the familial resemblance is difficult to shake. He racks memory, attempts to remember. Ah --

"Newton." Newt seems like a pet name Theseus uses, and Graves feels like an intruder if he is to pick that name up as well, especially if they don't know each other all that well. He thinks of Ironbellies, a young, lanky man very briefly met a lifetime ago, almost forgotten. He notices the squirming of the little rodent-like animal, the tenderness with which Newt handles it, and he supposes the young man's gift for beasts both great and small are as his brother described, after all.

Theseus is a generous narrator, but he seems to live up to what he describes. He doesn't step forward, but he doesn't retreat, his gaze settling evenly on the tiny creature.

"Is it hurt?"

by the fountain

[fishermansweater]

It's taken some doing, convincing Star back into the box it had arrived in. But it's ridiculous that neither Finnick nor Annie know what sort of bird it is, especially now there are three younger little versions of Star in their flock now. So, now that the weather's not as impossible as it had been and Finnick has recovered from the bites of the firefly-mutts, he's got the bird back into its box, and is carrying it into the village.

The lid is open, so anyone passing him on the pathways will see a young man with a box that is letting out an annoyed cheeping sound.

"Shh, it's all right, you don't have to stay in there long," he says. "I just need to find someone who can tell me what you are." He's starting to wonder, though, whether it would be a good idea to let the little bird out for a run in the fountain park and then carry on. He's just nervous that Star might run away, this far from home, though one of the goslings had followed Annie into the village and back a couple of weeks ago.

He just doesn't like the little thing sounding so upset.

"Shh, Star, shh."

In his occupation with the bird in the box, Finnick has entirely failed to notice that there is a young man crouched by the basin of the fountain, staring at the ground.

[maternis]

Another day, he's foraged for what he was able, fished as well, and made his way back into the small town to the fountain. Another day, still no sign of case or wand. Another day, and still no sign of his creatures, save the little squirrel he rescued from the base of a tree she must have fallen out of.

Another day, and he's convinced his heart is breaking just a little more as time passes.

He's the only one that knows how to care for those creatures properly. Nevermind the charms needed to allow access to his case. What's going to happen to them? It's one of the few times in his life he's found himself feeling as though his own personal philosophy has failed him. Worrying means you suffer twice. He is suffering.

Newt catches only snippets of the conversation between the other man crouched by the fountain and the box with the cheeping sounds emanating from it. It's how he hears the question posed, and stops, looking at the animal, but not the man.

"That would be a peacock," he starts, voice quiet. "I'm sorry. I was only passing and I---. Do you mind if I take a look?"

[fishermansweater]

Finnick doesn't react defensively, though it's still his instinct. His hands are full of the box with Star in it, his knife inaccessible in his pocket without abandoning the baby bird that's so dependent on him (and apparently fond of him). So Finnick doesn't make any move in response to the man's words other than to turn enough to see who's there.

His body, though, has tensed for someone who knows how to read it to see, in his shoulders, his legs, so that if he has to defend himself, he can.

The man doesn't approach, though, just seems to be looking over, less at Finnick than at Star's box.

A peacock, he says, and Finnick looks down at Star. There is, when he knows to look for it, something like the showy, ostentatious birds that are popular as pets in the Capitol in the little creature: the tuft of feathers on the head, the shape of the feathers in its tail, but there is far more that looks very unlike the animals he's seen in Capitol gardens.

"They look different when they're babies," he admits, and pauses for a moment to consider whether he should let the man look.

But Finnick and Annie have only been doing what they think will be best, they don't know anything about raising geese or peacocks, and maybe someone who does can help.

Star, looking up at him, gives a couple of cheeps.

Finnick nods. "Of course."

fountain;

[repressings]

He thinks, maybe, that he's dreaming when he sees Newt. That's his first thought. That's his initial gut reaction as he heads away from Mr. Graves' house to go on a morning walk.

The weather is brisk, but it doesn't bother him: walks are calming. With walks, it doesn't matter where he goes so long as it's not close to the village outskirts. He can do nothing but think, and oftentimes, that's all Credence needs. He walks, and he thinks of questions to ask Graves about the magical community, and maybe if he's feeling adventurous, he stops by the inn to say hello and have a snack if there's anything available. It's a strange routine, but one Credence takes comfort in. Routines, like walks, make him feel better. They make him feel like things are going to be alright.

He's not wearing his scrubs - he's got overalls and a black knit sweater courtesy of Christmas day, where he'd actually gotten presents for the first time in his life and cried. He's mulling that over, wondering when the next time the Observers will be kind to them for once, when he sees it. Rather, he sees him.

Surely, that mop of shaggy red hair and that strange, opposite of pigeon-toed walk can't be him? Credence squints.

No. No, surely, he's just imagining it. Making things up. It can't be the man from the subway, the one with the kind voice and the pale eyes.

Could it...?

Credence clears his throat, and keeps his voice soft and cautious.

"Sir?"

[maternis]

Newt hasn't spent enough time in town in order to work out the people who are there, or really meet many of them. He hasn't actually made an effort to, unless it was an accidental sort of thing. He prefers his own company and that of creatures over humans.

But days wear on, and nothing comes of his case or wand at his arrival here. No sign of either of those. His creatures. Nothing. It doesn't stop him from looking. Doesn't stop him from going to the fountain every. Single. Day. He's crouched next to it, looking for any sign of tracks when he hears the soft question that seems to be directed at him.

"It's Newt, please. I never really cared for that sort of formality," he starts, not knowing immediately who is speaking, even as he looks over from where he's crouched before going still. He doesn't often meet people's gazes, or linger on their faces in general very often. This time it is different. It was impossible. Of course he thought he'd seen a bit of ---something survive the subway, but---

He slowly stands, and takes an abortive step towards the younger man. "Credence? Is that---?"

[repressings]

So this is what the man sounds like when he's not trying to talk him down from harming people. Credence takes it in and finds himself pleased, suddenly, that he's not recognized first.

Newt has a musical quality to his voice, Credence observes. A breathy mumble that he's sure Modesty would latch onto, and the quality that makes how urgent the softness in his voice in the subway stand out. He knows just a little more about him courtesy if Mr Graves, but not much. And even then, outside of that, the lanky man is a mystery.

A good one, he hopes.

He nods his affirmation as Newt steps forward, and while his fists clench he finds himself not stepping back. This is a small piece of what the Village has done for him, and while he is still skittish, still shy and afraid of the world, he knows enough not to immediately backdown if he remembers someone's kindness. This is the man from the Subway, and a large part of Credence is wondering what to say or do to hope he never hears that urgently strained tone in that musical lull ever again.

"You're here, too," he says, and keeps his tone quiet and what he hopes is serene. He's nervous, and he knows he's shaking just a small amount. "What do you---I mean, can I ask.. Can I ask what you remember?"