sixthiterationlogs | 001 ♥ i'm standing on my own two feet

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001 ♥ i'm standing on my own two feet

WHO: Isabelle Lightwood
WHERE: The Fountain, The Inn, and probably the rest of the village, too.
WHEN: 18th.
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Your general panicked-crawling-out-of-the-fountain, some violence because she might punch some people
STATUS: Open

The Fountain; somewhere hanging in between

She's dreaming. She's back at the Adamant Citadel, where the Iron Sisters reside and craft their weapons. This is one of the places she's always dreamed of going, wanting the meet the highly renowned Sisters and see the Citadel with her own eyes. But when she'd gotten the chance to lead up that mission, she'd managed to mess things up. This time, when she's in the water, she doesn't burn. It doesn't bubble and mark her of the sins she's committed, of the impurities she's put herself through.

This time, the water is cool against her skin, and her white dress clings to her thighs. When she opens her eyes, she can see sunlight streaming through the water's surface. She reaches out to touch it, to break her fingers past the surface. But it never happens. The pool at the Citadel isn't that deep.

Her lungs begin to burn. She reaches further, trying to push herself upwards. There's nothing for her feet to find purchase on, and she finds herself scrambling, panic beginning to set in. There's no way she can die like this. Not after dedicating her life to fighting demons. A pool of water is nothing compared to some of the things she's faced, she can't--

Fingers break the water's surface. Air touches her hands, and one last push has her surfacing complete, dragging in a deep breath. This isn't a dream — it's a nightmare. Her surroundings are unfamiliar, her clothes are unfamiliar, her hair hangs wet and heavy around her, and she can only imagine how terrible her makeup must look. But more importantly, she needs to find the others. Alec, Jace, Clary, anybody.

This has to be some sort of portal gone wrong. Really, really wrong.

The Inn; my life and the death of me

She searches. She searches, and she searches, and she searches. There's a police station holding farm animals, a hospital and a town hall that she peers into. Dozens of houses, of which she looks through the windows of. Some appear empty, some appear occupied. Some actively have people in them, and she's always quick to duck away before she can be seen. It would probably be helpful to talk to some of the people she sees, ask them if they've seen her friends.

Normally, she's willing to give everyone a chance. Right now, she doesn't know who she can trust and who she can't. Any of these people could be the reason she's here, and she needs to gather her bearings first. There was a pack with her when she climbed out of the fountain, and she's already searched it. Clothes, mostly. No stele, no whip, no weapon of any kind.

All she has going for her are the runes already burned into her body and her natural angel-infused powers.

After searching the village, she delves into the woods. Here, there are less people. Here, she calls her brothers names until her voice is hoarse. She searches and she yells until she's lost track of time, and she all but tumbles out of the woods, sticks and leaves stuck in her hair. For once, she doesn't care how she looks. She walks towards the lights of the town, and walks into the Inn. She'd peered through the windows before, but deemed it too full and busy to go inside.

But now, she doesn't care. She doesn't care how she looks, or how many people she runs into. She's tired and she's dejected and she has no idea where she is, or what's going on, and she needs some answers. It's warm in the inn, and there's a few people around. She clears her throat, and picks a few sticks from her hair before speaking up, voice strained and raw.

"Would somebody mind telling me where the hell I am?"

[ ooc: feel free to find her around the village too! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The sense comes and goes, or perhaps he's simply used to the low volume of it, the constant bubble of it like a stream running slowly aground for a dry season. Sometimes the cards shuffle and split in his hands by chance, no voice in them, no wisdom to be gleaned. Sometimes the birds lift from the trees in a pattern that says stay in today. Most days, they're just birds.

Today, he has Aurora to back him up. They're in the bedroom, right at the front of the house, the window cracked for the temperate air as he works burrs and knots from her fur with his fingers, sometimes cutting clumps free with his shears.

Her ears swivel and she perks up toward the window, and it bubbles one sense up from the mud they've sunk into: not quite of someone at the window itself, but a kind of loss. A door opening in an apartment down the hall, the sound of keys settling on a ring, a voice disappearing down stairs. Exchanging a look with the young dog, he eases her off his lap, putting the shears in his pocket. "Guess it's time for a walk," he says, and she stamps her feet once before heading for the door.

When he comes out the front of the house and starts down the steps of the porch, there's a woman he hasn't yet seen standing outside Ren's house. It's worse for the wear after Casey's ransacking, but still standing as much as it can, the medusa's head still burned into the roof, only just visible from his porch. Only distinguishable because he's climbed up on his own roof to examine it, and know it's full shape.

"Are you new here," he calls, wondering why anyone else would come this far south. The only real attractions are Ren's grave and the spring.

Some of these houses look like they've seen some disasters. They're ruined, burned, crumbling apart. Not decaying, not like the years have worn them down. But like a storm hit them, or some sort of tornado or earthquake. Others stand nice and tall and pretty, and the difference is a bit unsettling. The intact ones reminder her of older versions of the look-alike houses in suburban neighborhoods where demons hardly ever wander, so she spends very little time there.

She's turning away from this one, deeming it vaguely interested but ultimately useless. There might be something she could use as a makeshift weapon inside, but she'd rather find the others first than get distracted.

A voice calls out and she whirls, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before narrowing. He doesn't look very threatening, but that doesn't mean much. Demons, warlocks, other Shadowhunters — they all have the ability to disguise themselves into something they're not. Her fingers extend before she remembers she doesn't have her whip coiled around her wrist, and her jaw tightens.

"Where am I?" she asks, gaze flickering briefly to the dog. She'll fight it, too, if she has to. Though she won't be very happy about it.

"On my front lawn," he says, for all that there is a dirt path between them. His posture is loose as he takes the steps, his limbs bouncing with the momentum and resistance, until he drops to sit on the last one. He's had a lesson or two recently in getting his ass handed to him by actual trained fighters, and with his senses it's enough to know when she's considering the offensive. If he shifts in turn to defense, that might be all it takes to start something.

It's more energy than he feels like expending, anyway. Clicking his tongue at Aurora, she follows down, and he takes hold of the skin and fur of her neck to guide her back into his lap. She's still young, floppy-proportioned and in love with every new thing or person the world shows her.

Kira goes so far as to drop his gaze from the girl, picking another scab of mud from Aurora's ankle once she's sprawled across him. He imagines the only other thing he could do to broadcast his lack of intent would be tying himself to the rails. "None of us are really sure where this is, though I found some books about foraging in the Pacific Northwest. We might be in the fucking Oregon Vortex," he grouses, and as he says it, realizes that isn't a horrible idea. He'll need to put it on the board when he gets back to the inn.

"No one I've met here so far is actually from here, and there are signs the place was abandoned before we started arriving." Ren's house seems like a relic of that, but it had been lived in, it had held their own until being struck down.

Isabelle looks down at the grass beneath her boots, frowning. She'd noticed before, of course, that her clothes were not her own, but now she actually has longer than half a second to consider it. The plan scrubs on her body are a bright magenta color, and her feet are laced into sturdy hiking boots. Now that she thinks about it, none of the other clothes in the pack slung across her shoulders were her's, either.

That means somebody's undressed and redressed her, not only physically stripping her, but stripping her of her weapons as well. She feels terribly, awfully violated, and she has to swallow down a lump in her throat.

She doesn't come any closer, but she doesn't look quite as ready to attack as before. Her shoulders relax, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding leaves her body slowly. He doesn't seem interested in fighting either, and the way he says we implies that he's apart of the same boat she is.

"Have you seen a tall guy, black hair, bad attitude? Or a self-centered blond guy or a short redheaded girl? I need to find my friends and get home."

"Do your friends have names," he asks, not unsympathetic but--enough people come to mind for each description he has no idea who she is to any of them. The first could have been Ren, the second Jax or Draco, the third--Amy, perhaps. Some people have come in groups--Credence and Jyn both have plenty of people from home, and Peggy had lost a handful of her comrades just before Ren's passing.

But there were also people like Kira, or Casey, surrounded by strangers and struggling to cobble together something like home in the absence of everyone they'd ever known.

At least figuring out which group she belongs to is something he can actually do. Scratching along Aurora's side, until her foot thumps the dirt below, he adds, "You'll have plenty of time to look for them, no one's found a way out of here in almost a year of trying."

She highly doubts that any of them would've hung around long enough to exchange names. Except for Clary, maybe. But Jace and Alec — they would've searched like her, wouldn't have stopped to chat up the mundanes or ask questions. Hell, the only reason she's playing twenty questions is because she got stopped by one, and decided it'd be better to get a little bit of info, some sort of lead, before continuing her search.

"Alec, Jace, Clary," she says, unable to help the exasperation or impatience in her voice, though she does manage to stop just short of rolling her eyes. "Maybe a Luke or a Magnus."

She could name off about twenty other names, but she's sure it's not going to make a difference. If they're here, they're looking for her like she's looking for them. She smiles, tin and pretty and icy. "Well, I'm going to. As soon as I find my friends."

None of the names are familiar, though Veronica's the one who keeps a list. He's not about to set anyone interrogating her though, so he shrugs, stretches the dog off of his lap and lets Aurora roll once in the dust before trotting up to inspect her potential new friend. Hopefully, her youth and bright demeanor will keep her from seeming like a threat.

He doesn't exactly know how to train caution into her, if so far no one's given her the bad reaction that might take.

"I haven't heard of any of them," he answers, rolling up off the step to stand again. "But I'll go with you, and the dog. We've spent a lot of time in the woods this side of the river, and there are some animals it'll be better to smell coming."

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