sixthiterationlogs | late april catch all, focus on smoke monster reactions

Entry tags:

late april catch all, focus on smoke monster reactions

WHO: Natasha Romanoff, Neil Mackay, Clint Barton, Jyn Erso, open for others
WHAT: getting sick on chocolates, reacting to the chaos of the obscurial, anything else
WHEN: 22nd for being sick, 24th for the obscurial stuff
WHERE: house 43, town center, the forest

WARNINGS: none yet
NOTES: if you want custom starter, hit me up on discord or plurk

obscurial

Natasha isn't sleeping when the noise kicks up. She's trying, and failing. Once she hears screaming and shouting, all hope is lost, and she's on her feet (which she shoves into boots on her way out the door, grabbing her bag as she goes) and running toward the commotion in a matter of minutes. She still misses the start of it, and by the time she makes it to the heart of town, people are already injured and it's chaos. Which, damn, whatever it is moves fast, and Natasha tries to shake off the mild fatigue and lethargy to be able to think just as quickly. Right, she needs to connect with people to figure out what's going on. Clint will have heard the noise, and he's still pretty spry for an old man, as she's so fond of telling him. If he's not here already, he will be soon. She keeps an eye out.

There are people, injured but not dead. The dead don't make noise. She'll check on anyone she passes, but that's not her focus. She's damn good at field first aid, but that's with proper supplies, and no one seems to need stitching up. Doesn't mean they should just be left in the road, of course.

Once she finds Clint and the others, she'll see if anyone has information she's missing. The thing didn't pass bay her house, but it must have gone by someone in order to get to the center of town.

After that, the name of the game is tracking, and the trick is to not waste any time. Especially with something that moves this quickly and causes this much damage. Time wasted is time lost, and there's enough of a crowd now that she can raise her voice and be heard by quite a few people. "Right. We need to know what that was, but we also need to know where it went. I'm going after it. Help would be welcome, but no one is obligated. It's clearly dangerous, so it's your call."

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The first thought Natasha has, on waking up, is that slow poisoning is a fucking cruel card to play. Immediately followed with the thought that this is not food poisoning, and doesn't seem to come from anything ingested. She's sick. She hates being sick, but she knows what sick feels like, and she knows what poisoned feels like. This feels sick. Fevered and dizzy and itchy and fuck life, seriously. At least she doesn't have to be anywhere. There's all that food she took from the aftermath of the party, but that'll keep a bit before she absolutely has to start preserving it. It'll keep for one day, certainly. Probably. Only, what if it doesn't? Double fuck.

That's what gets her out of bed, in the end. She brushes her teeth, picks through her hair with her fingers, and hates how tired that makes her. Still, there's no one around to see her looking this bad, and that's a small blessing. In the kitchen, she lights a fire and starts boiling water. It gives her a vague and unfocused sense of accomplishment. Then she sits down heavily at the kitchen table, and tries to eat an apple.

Neil would be by pretty early in the morning, since he was up and he wanted to get the errand done before he went on with the rest of his busy day. Hah. Busy. No, it was just because he wanted to feel like he'd accomplished something, for once.

Retracing his steps was easy, he'd seen it the night before, and it wasn't long before he had to shift the bucket he was carrying to one side so he could knock briskly. "Special delivery."

Oh fuck.

She hadn't forgotten about Neil, exactly. She remembered tasking him with helping her to cart things home, sharing her plans for the bulk of the food, asking him for any fireplace ashes he could get together for her. She just hadn't expected him to turn up first thing in the morning, if he'd turned up today at all. Was it still first thing in the morning? She realized that she'd been staring off into space for a while, trying to feel every system in her body and the ways it might be betraying her. Measles seemed likely. The rash all over her arms and torso, the fever, the lightheadedness. Coming later on the heels of those, the nausea, the dry mouth, the pain in her joints.

If it were Sam or Wanda or Clint, she'd yell at them to go away, come back later. She'd claim she was busy, and hopefully they'd go. Well, Clint probably wouldn't, but he'd take care of her, and while part of her would hate it, part of her would drink it up. She couldn't just shout at Neil to get lost, though, she didn't know him that well. So she dragged herself to her feet, and then to the door, taking a moment to pull up a facade of composure before swinging it open, a big fake smile pasted on her face. "You're up early," she said, waving him in. "There by the fireplace is fine, thanks."

"Force of habit. Army and all that-" Neil frowned as he got a better look at Natasha. Either they'd had a lot more to drink than he remembered or there was something wrong- she looked unwell, feverish even. "Christ, you look like you should have slept in a lot more. I didn't wake you, did I?"

He stepped inside to set the bucket down by the fireplace, looking over his shoulder at her. Usually he might try to get a look at the inside of the house, but he was more concerned about the occupant. "I didn't think we drank that much. Anything I can get for you?"

How could he-- There was absolutely no way she looked bad enough to-- Though, she did feel like she was about to crumple. Hungover, though, that really wasn't a bad excuse. She tugged at the neck of her scrubs, making sure the rash she could feel creeping up the side of her neck was covered. A quick flip of her hair to that side and she figured she was good.

Now she just needed to get rid of him. Quickly.

"I think I might have overindulged a little, yeah. Probably a combination of the alcohol along with all that rich food. You know, mixing liquors and sugar and fat and-- and--" She swallowed heavily, far too much saliva in her mouth all of the sudden, and oh shit she wasn't going to get rid of him before-- Nope. Nope nope nope. Getting rid of Neil was not happening, Natasha was just grateful she made it to an empty bucket before her stomach completely betrayed her.

Fucking measles.

"Aaaaand there we go." He followed her, hovering for just a moment before he decided to help. "Sorry, but-" Her hair was going to get disgusting. He reached over to pull it back and away from her face, averting his own gaze until she was done.

When it seemed like she was done, he stepped back, pulling a chair closer for her. "I'm going to get you a glass of water. You sit down before you topple over, yeah?"

Natasha couldn't see them, the tracks of clear skin through the rash on her neck where Neil's fingertips had swiped her hair away to hold it back for her. She couldn't feel the difference yet. She just knew that she hated having a weakness, showing it to someone she didn't know she could trust. Though, in Neil's defense, she would have hated showing it to someone she did trust almost as much. Still, unable to handle your liquor was a hell of a lot better than possibly dying from god knew what. "I'm hungover." She said it with conviction she didn't feel, in the hope that he'd take his first conclusion and not look any deeper.

Faking her way through anything was going to take a reserve of energy she was pretty sure she just didn't have. Not to mention she hated throwing up. Not that anyone loved it, but for most people it was just a matter of being sick. For Natasha, there was more there, a feeling of guilt, of needing care, of wasting food of all things. Holdovers from a childhood that she liked to pretend didn't exist.

Neil only looked like a complete meathead. Once you got past the muscles and sarcasm there were... more muscles, and more sarcasm, but under that was a mind that was a lot sharper than most people thought. "Your hangovers usually come with a rash like this? Mine bloody well don't."

And that rash was worrying. There weren't kids around here, but if they got an epidemic of the measles or something like it- that wasn't anything to toy with. In a closed population, those could wreak havoc. Christ. "You have a fever? Let me check your forehead."

He lifted a hand to do so, but waited for her to give the okay.

Natasha sighed, was about to protest, and then gave up and nodded her head. She felt so off. Maybe she did have a fever. Wouldn't that just be fucking perfect? Die of the fucking measles, after everything she'd survived, everything she'd fought her way through for the right to her own life. Measles. That would be her end.

Jyn had thought she'd been having a nightmare - she'd remembered the sound of explosions throughout Scarif, had somehow been transported back into the jungles of Onderon (which then caused random flashbacks from her hallucinations after being bitten by the fireflies), had heard the screaming girl she'd tried to save in the marketplace in Jedha City. The images and scenes and sounds jumbled together into a knotted mess she couldn't begin to untangle - and she wakes from it with a start, bolting upright in her bed. The first thing she feels is a trickle of sweat down the side of her neck, and it's enough to bring her back -

In her cabin, in her bed, at night. She remembers where she is, quickly shoos the ghosts and apparitions from her dreams wailing at her side. She instinctively reaches over to touch Cassian, but at the feeling of the cold, damp sheets, remembers that, although he's returned, they've not yet resumed sleeping in the same bed. He has no memory of being here, of the life they'd started creating together before his disappearance.

Then the screams filter in, quiet at first, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. It's barely a moment when Jyn's dressed, checking in on Cassian (though unwilling to disturb him), tugging her boots on as she hobbles out the door, and heading towards the center of town.

An unfamiliar voice cuts through the murmuring and increasing sounds of concern and panic. She makes her way over to the woman, studies her face as she approaches - she's not yet met her, nor has she seen her before. Strange, she thinks, to have been here for so long (or what feels like so long) and still have strangers in the town.

"I'm in," she says firmly, with a quick nod of her head.

"Excellent. Thank you. Anyone else?!" No one seems to be immediately offering, and that's fine. Natasha will take one eager volunteer over half a dozen who need to be roped in any day. She doesn't know the woman, not even her name, but Natasha has gotten very good over the years at sizing people up quickly. First impression of this woman tells Natasha that she's resourceful, driven, and most importantly right now, unafraid. At the very least, not someone who allows fear to stop her.

Which is good, because whatever they're going after is fucking terrifying. She hasn't even seen it properly and she knows that. Anything that can drop bodies like this qualifies.

"Natasha. Do you have everything you need? I want to get after it now if we can."

Jyn nods, assessing the situation as best she can. There's some very evident destruction throughout the town, and the first thing Jyn thinks of is an Imperial AT-ACT, the hollowed bodies of which she'd seen scattered on Scarif. Taken down by Rebellion forces, no doubt. But seeing them here makes no sense; and she'd be able to see them towering from just about anywhere in the town, even if they were at the far reaches. Eyes scan as quickly as they're able to confirm: there are no AT-ACTs here.

Her eyes flick back to the woman in time for the one-word introduction.

"Jyn," she replies. "I'd prefer a blaster and truncheons, to be honest, but seeing as those aren't available here, I've got everything else." She has her multi-tool, which has a small knife and a small saw on it, but she'll use her fists just fine.

That noise was impossible to ignore, and House 20 is fairly close to all the madness going on. They'd probably lost a couple of shingles off the roof in the creature's passing, but at least the building hadn't been wrecked, especially with them in it.

First priority for Clint is making sure no one's still under fire and dying, but while he's good at emergency trauma-based field care thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D. training, there's actual medical professionals in the village and as they start showing up, they seem to have things well in hand. Some people are injured beyond his ability to be of any use; Sam is hurt, but it's not severe, and after making sure he's in the hands of people trained for this there's other things to concentrate on. Next thing is making sure no one was in the schoolhouse when it went smash. He'd grabbed his knives and shoved his feet into his boots before he'd left the house, but other equipment is up at the house or at the inn, and he turns to run and get it. But before he leaves, he spots Natasha.

"Nat!" he calls, jogging over to her. "You're going out after this thing?" It's technically a question, but they both know the answer to it. "Grab something from the stores before you do, just in case it can be stabbed. I'm not gonna let you live it down if you killed like that other girl."

"You're staying behind? Look after the injured?" Also technically questions, but she knows the answers just as he does. She turns her head in the direction of the thing, the destruction left in its wake. Her heart is pounding but her mind is clear. She sees that he's already heading toward the Inn, most likely to get supplies, because that's what she'd be doing if their positions were reversed. He'll keep everyone here safe, choose the most defensible position and guard it should the monster return. Running after the thing, through the changing landscape, she's better suited than him for that. He'll pick his position and defend it come hell or high water, that's where he really shines. No, this is better.

Doesn't mean she hasn't taken their conversations to heart. "I'll find backup. Shouldn't go alone. You're getting supplies?" Again, a question but not really. "Find me a light and a weapon." He knows the stores of supplies better than she does, and he knows what she'll be able to use.

They've got this.

"Starting rescue work." Clint's response is a little grimmer than she might expect, but he's right, and she's right - splitting up is the best thing they can do right now. There's a building down and they've both seen what that can do, even if it's not nearly as dramatic as some they've seen in the past. It's unlikely that anyone's in there, given the hour, but they have to check and make sure. Taking a headcount is also something that needs to be done, but as people wake up from the noise of the creature's passing and run in from all directions, that'll happen mostly naturally. He's an expert hunter and tracker, he could keep up with her in the woods, but he's got that construction experience that will be of more use in town. He can also get any reactions, explanations, and other information to put together into a coherent whole with her later at a time when things aren't falling down around them.

"My stuff's back at the house, it's not that far away. No flashlights, do you want a torch?" Also known as something on fire that could light up the area around her, and something that can't be deadened and could give away her position. If she says yes he'll get her one, but it's a real question.

A torch with actual fire. Lovely. Natasha doesn't want it, but she knows she needs it, and things are rushed enough that Clint might not pick up on the distress in her voice when she answers. "Torch, yes. It finding me is just as good as me finding it." The point of this all is to gather information. She's not trying to be stealthy, she's trying to get results. She drops into a crouch almost immediately to start tying her shoes properly. They don't have time to waste, and Clint is the only person here she trusts to know her well enough to know what to get her and to not need her to lay everything out for him.

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late april catch all, focus on smoke monster reactions

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