Credits & Style Info

<div class="postheader">WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
OPEN TO: (Who the post is open to tags from -- Specific characters, all, none, etc.)
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) <hr></div>
Put your post text here

ad_dicendum

WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Storehouse and the Inn, 6I
WHEN: 21 February
OPEN TO: All, with a starter for Kate
WARNINGS: Violence, possible mentions of human and animal sacrifice

The Storehouse & The Inn

OTA

( Inn and Storehouse )

The Inn

locked to Kate

Gaius returns to the Inn later in the day, carrying with him a small amount of grain to add to the supplies for the communal meals the Inn hosts. Before he can make it to the kitchen, though, he finds another thing addressed to him, this time in the main room. He sets down the container of grain and bends down to examine the box.

When he opens it, it turns out that there is more wine, another pair of boots similar to the ones he'd been wearing when he came out of the fountain, some wax to melt onto his tablets, and under it all, something soft and dark blue. He carefully lifts the fabric out of the box, and his hands close on soft wool, like the finest woven garments he'd had at home. There's a lot of it, several arms-lengths, but when he unfolds some of it, it's not a garment, just a length of unsewn dark-dyed fabric in the same color as the garments he'd had when he arrived.

He's so engaged in looking at it that he doesn't notice anyone else enter the room.

seekingcrocodile

WHO: Killian Jones
WHERE: 6I inn
WHEN: February 21st
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mild animal death?

February 17

He's heading for the river to do some fishing when he sees the first flash of red among the dead leaves littering the forest floor. It's an unusual place for such a bright color, especially at this time of year, so he bends over to pick it up. He notices first that it's addressed to him, complete with title: Captain Killian Jones. Then when he turns it over, there's the flame insignia that keeps popping up everywhere, the one that no one has been able to figure out what it means. He knows what it means this time though. It's a message to him from whoever's behind this.

He's heard about these letters, but thankfully hadn't gotten one of his own yet. He's not interested in playing their little game, so he tucks the letter aside and continues to the river. By the time he's got his nets set, curiosity has gotten the best of him, and he pulls the letter back out to read it.

This one's different from the ones he's heard about. This one promises that if he sacrifices another living creature, he will be allowed to return home. And for a moment, he contemplates it. It says living creature – it's not like it says a person. But no, in the end, despite everything that's waiting for him at home, he can't bring himself to do it. Despite what he's heard about the letters, he tears it up and tosses it in the river, letting the current carry it away.

February 18 & 19

The second letter he finds waiting for him in his kitchen when he goes in to make breakfast, as though someone thinks that yesterday he may have failed to notice the first one and they want to be sure he gets this one. Still uninterested in what it directs him to do, he tosses this one in the fireplace without reading it, not even caring to watch it turn into ashes.

The third morning, the letter is next to his pillow when he wakes up. Whoever is leaving them for him is getting more insistent. By this point, when he's had two days to think it over, two nights to dream of home, it's harder to resist what the letter is telling him. He might be more used to worlds like this than ones with modern conveniences, but he really does miss hot showers. And Emma, most of all. If the letter is to be believed, he could see her again. But could he really leave everyone here behind? Maybe the best way he can help them is from the outside, and to do that, he has to be able to leave.

But the desire to see Emma again, that's the real deciding factor. So he has a plan, and he'll be free of the letters and get to see Storybrooke and all of its residents again. When he heads out into the woods, it's not to go fishing. He chooses a likely spot and stands and waits, until at last he catches a flash of movement. It's easier than he expected: just lifting his foot and crushing the snake underneath. All he can do now is hope it's sufficient to meet the requirements of the letter, and wait.

February 21

He's determined this morning. Not that anything can be changed today; he knows better than that. But he also knows the power of working together, and that the only way they'll accomplish anything is if they do.

He picks up a spare piece of wood and writes a message on it with chalk: "Town meeting this afternoon." Then he props it outside the door of the inn and hopes the message gets around.

That afternoon, he picks up the chalk again and starts making notes on the chalkboard. Four columns' worth: scrub color, request, reward offered, reward delivered. Then he fills in the columns with his own information: black, sacrifice, return home, and an emphatic NO. Then he turns to address whoever has gathered so far.

"I apologize for bringing you here from whatever you were doing, and I know we've discussed those letters before. I don't know that we came to any kind of conclusion about them, because I don't know that we can. They may have seemed relatively harmless before, or at least concerned with minor requirements, but they're not anymore."

He holds up an unburned portion of his that he fished out of the ashes before coming here. "This one told me that if I sacrificed another living creature, I would be allowed to go home. This one lied. It wasn't home. It was an illusion that lasted for a day, and then I was aware that I had never left."

He points at the chalkboard behind him. "I don't know what we can do about these letters, but they've shown no sign of stopping. I figure we at least ought to know what we can about them. If you've received one, there's room on the chalkboard to fill out some details about them. It's not much of a start, but it's a start. Maybe we can find a pattern. Maybe there isn't one. But we won't know if we don't keep track. And of course, theories are always welcome, whether you've gotten a letter or not. If you haven't gotten one, consider yourself lucky. And keep an eye out."

That's all he has to say. Stick around and have a conversation if you want. He just wanted everyone to know that the letters are still coming, and that they've upped their ante.

[ooc: I've also got a spreadsheet for this information here. Anyone should be able to edit it.]

digging

WHO: Karen Page
WHERE: Peggy's house
WHEN: 16 Feb 2018
OPEN TO: Peggy
WARNINGS: Discussion of killing

After talking to Bela, the red envelope and its macabre yet enticing letter inside had seemed like an inevitability.

Even so, Karen stares at it for a long, tense moment before giving in and opening the thing to confirm what she already knows. It's asking her to kill something in exchange for going home. It can't be for food. Killing simply for the sake of it, for the entertainment of the People in Charge, or simply just to prove how desperate their captives have become.

And that's really the worst part about it, Karen thinks: She is desperate. Maybe even that level of desperate.

She tucks the letter back into the blood red envelope and takes her morning shower, but there's no lingering in the hot water and no waiting for her hair to completely dry after — She knows better than anyone she shouldn't be out in the chill with a wet head, but she knows too that she needs advice. Going about her day like normal isn't going to fly, here. If she doesn't talk to somebody about this, it's either going to drive her crazy or drive her to do what's being asked.

Well-bundled, scarf wrapped snugly around her head in an attempt to protect her still-damp hair, she makes her way as quickly as she can to Peggy's bungalow and raps insistently on the front door.

learned_to_die

WHO: Ned Stark
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Mid-February
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: N/A; will update as needed.

The Setup
It was the blaze of red that had caught Ned's eye, carefully perched like a patch of newly spilled blood on the windowsill of his chambers. He'd thought himself mad, seeing visions of death in the blossoming sunlight of dawn, but upon closer inspection, the realization and understanding had cracked over his skull like an egg. He'd seen these envelopes before, twice - first with Moana, as she tried to rid herself of the letter by one of the trees on the outskirts of the village, and then with Beverly, as she sat, brows furrowed and concerned, by the crackling hearth in the inn.

Each letter demanded something of its recipient, the thing itself unable to be destroyed or ignored. He'd run his finger across the wax insignia. It had reminded him of the flaming tree of House Marbrand, but he knew this was no raven-sent message of home. This was sent from their captors, the Observers. The controllers who went unseen and unheard, known only through their manipulations of the villagers' lives. It had unsettled Ned down to his core, rattling his molars and vibrating his bones with a sense of dread he couldn't quite understand.

But now, it seems, his turn has come.

He takes hold of the sealed envelope, turning it over carefully in his hands a few times before finally slipping a finger underneath the flap to open it. With trembling fingers, he removes the letter - eyes skimming over letters without truly understanding, needing to go back and re-read to fully absorb the demand being made like a blade at his throat.

A sacrifice. The price to return home. The word itself, "home," screams out at him from the page, practically rendering him blind and deaf. But - what waits for him back in Westeros? Would he be returning to his last known breath? He'd rather not experience the horrors at the Sept of Baelor, listening to the jeers of the crowd with a thirst for blood and a call for his head. Hearing his daughter's pleading, frantically searching for his other daughter's face in the sea of sneers and flustered, angered faces. But if he could return to a time before that? Back to when life had been simpler, back to when he'd had his beloved Catelyn at his side, when they'd watched their children train in the yard and their worries seemed few and far between? How sweet a thought; it almost makes his chest ache with want.

The Stark House
He removes his fur-lined cloak from his wardrobe, folding the letter up and keeping it close to his chest underneath his other wintry Westerosi garments. As he makes his way through the house - getting himself something to sup on for breakfast, stoking the hearth, ensuring they've enough to eat, going about his morning routine - he seems to be preoccupied. His mind is elsewhere, brows stitched together with concern, worry, and silent dispute. He might even be grumbling to himself about this thing or that, not making much sense of whatever can be heard.

Outdoors - Anywhere around the village
Once he's finished there, he makes his way into the village, taking time to enjoy the silent solitude that these early morning walks provide him. Margaery had started the pattern shortly after he had first arrived, and he finds that he cannot seem to truly start his day without them now - though her company is more and more scarce as time goes on. (Deep down, this pains him as he'd come to enjoy her friendship, but he will never admit such a thing).

Still, he seems distracted, absent-minded. He goes about the motions as he heads towards the center of town, eventually heading north to check traps and investigate the riverbed, but it's clear his eyes are not truly seeing what lies around him. They're envisioning other worlds, other possibilities. He stops a few times at seemingly sporadic moments and locations, completely lost in thought, only to come to after a few moments, after which he continues on his way.

The Inn
Finally, as he does most days, he finds himself wandering back towards the warmth of the inn, sitting opposite the raging fire. He cradles a mug of something in his hands, though he's barely touched its contents. Instead, he idly spins the mug in between his palms and fingers, both restless with unused energy and worry.

It's only here, when his guard is down, that he reveals the envelope, clutching it in one hand, as he fights the call of home as best as he can.

cleptes

WHO: Bela Talbot
WHERE: Bela's house and the forest
WHEN: 3rd - 5th February
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Swearing

Background - no prompt: - 3rd

Bela had come across the letter whilst she was out gathering firewood near the outskirts of the forest. She saw a flash of red poking out from beneath the brush and went to investigate it, in the hope that it was something useful.

That was several hours ago.

Now she was seated by the fire in the inn, turning the letter over in her hands and trying to decide whether or not to open it. Was it a test? The letter was addressed to her and she was the one who just happened to find it outside; dismissing it as just a coincidence didn't feel right to Bela. She was worried that there may be consequences if she didn't open it, but there may also be consequences if she didn't.

She frowns, lifting her gaze to the roaring fire. There is a pause, and then Bela tears up the envelope, tossing the pieces into the flames and watching it burn. Choice made. Now she won’t know the contents and they won't affect her.

( Prompts below )

thekittenqueen

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: By the Fountain
WHEN: 1/26
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Talk of sacrifice and death

She crumpled the letter in her hands, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart. It had been over a week since she had first found it, but it sat no better with her now than it did when she first found it. The shock was the same, though she had suspected something like this was coming, but still she doubted what she had seen, even after the Specimen Room. Margaery tore a piece from the corner of the paper, well aware that if this was destroyed, it would simply come back again. The last town meeting had told her how this game worked. It wouldn't go away, not until the Observers either grew bored or she gave in.

In a different time and a different place, she might even have a candidate, someone who needed to be eliminated in her steady climb towards her far reaching ambitions. But this wasn't Westeros and she learned long ago that those underhanded means didn't have a place here. So what should she do instead? Sit on this directive and pretend it didn't exist? She had done that for over a week and none of it got better. All of her control of the situation was snatched away, replaced by a firm command from the Observers.

"Kill and see home."

She could see her grandmother again, she could see Highgarden and the bramble maze about the keep. Gods, she could feel the sun and smell the roses in the air. Nothing came close to that here. But even before she became swept away with the memory, she forcefully reminded herself how impossible it was. She was dead. The Observers could offer her anything else, but this? This was suspect.

Margaery sat on the edge of the fountain, tearing off more pieces of the letter. No, she would need to think of what to do, how to answer and how to make this go away. These sacrifices weren't just to see home. They had been attached to other things in her visions, and while one was true, it was hard to say if the others were. There was a grand design and she was missing it and that was the most disturbing thing of all.

theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Police station, river, area between
WHEN: Late January
OPEN TO: Up to 4 tag-ins
WARNINGS: Epilepsy symptoms, mentions of past violence or horror/apocalypse conditions, suicide ideation, seizure, contemplation of animal sacrifice, literal drowning.

( whatever i've got, i've got no reason to guard )

womanofvalue

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Police Station Area / Outskirts of Town
WHEN: January 12th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Animal Death, Violence

i. with blood on my hands

( Animal death within )

ii. with grief in my heart

( Home, spoilers for Agent Carter )

ithuriels_blood

WHO: Clary Fray
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: January 2nd
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: n/a

Clary had heard about the letters. In fact, there had been a meeting about these exact letters. She figured that it would be like the other events in the village and by the following month, it'd be over. She'd been wrong. Clary came downstairs that afternoon to find a letter sitting next to her usual spot next the fireplace.

"You can't be serious…" She looked around to see if someone was around but at that exact moment, as short as it'd be, she was alone. "Perfect."

While Clary had stayed silent through most of the meeting she remembered a few facts from it. Fact number 1, if she destroyed the letter then another would appear in its place. Fact number 2, it wouldn't stop bothering her until she did what it said. Clary thought it had something to do with stealing but she couldn't remember all of the details. Fact number 3, she should really open the envelop and see if it's different from the others.

She tore open the letter and paused when she read the words typed across the page.

"What?" This wasn't the same letter.

She heard people milling about around. She wasn't alone anymore but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the letter.

Clary ran upstairs to her room and dressed in the Shadowhunter-like attire she’d been given, sliding two daggers into her belt. When she returned down stairs the letter was still clamped in her hand. She was absolutely going to do it.

It was really too bad that Clary wasn't good at hunting animals.

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Hanging around outside House 20
WHEN: December 28
OPEN TO: Clint Barton
WARNINGS: Violence gonna be violent, passing references to coercion

It's early morning when he arrives at the house Beverly Crusher shares with Clint Barton and a couple of the others. Finnick has come here before starting any of his chores for the day, because getting this over with with little chance of being observed by passers-by is important if he's not going to make himself any bigger of a target than he already will be.

Finnick isn't proud of the fact that he's here.

In some ways, he wishes that he had some of Annie's hangups or Beverly's determination about refusing to bow to what the Gamemakers want them to do. But Finnick's never had that strength. He's not Johanna, not Katniss Everdeen. The most he can do against the Capitol is scheme from the shadows, his resistance kept private while he outwardly complies. He can steal the Capitol's secrets, but he can't refuse its desires. It should be no surprise that eventually he'd come here, to do what he'd been asked to do. Even Annie has more courage to defy their captors than he does.

Finnick's not planning on using any weapons; he doesn't even particularly want a confrontation. He's only come here because Clint volunteered at the meeting and seemed genuinely interested in seeing what would come of doing what the letters told them. But other people live in this house, so Finnick settles himself into some of the overgrowth across the path and waits, watching to see if Clint either leaves from or returns to the house.

girlwednesday

WHO: Felicity Smoak & Oliver Queen
WHERE: Outside their house in 7I
WHEN: Last week of December
OPEN TO: Oliver
WARNINGS: Plot!

( Read more... )

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: House 57
WHEN: 17 December
OPEN TO: Locked to Annie Cresta-Odair
WARNINGS: References to sexual assault. Probable mentions of anxiety, depression, coercion, repressive dictatorial nonsense

( The letter is still sitting ... )

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Outside House 20
WHEN: Backdated to 10 December, daytime
OPEN TO: Locked to Beverly Crusher
WARNINGS: Probable mentions of anxiety and mental health problems, coercion, repressive dictatorial nonsense

It had been a hard afternoon and night for Finnick and Annie. Eventually, she'd come back to herself enough to do some jobs around the house, but Finnick had been reluctant to leave her until much later in the day, when there'd been just enough time to collect his fish catch and drop it off before it got dark. Not enough time to linger at the Inn, nor to do what he'd promised and go see Beverly Crusher.

This morning, though, after a restless night, she'd gone outside to feed the birds, and she'd stayed there, curled up on the porch they'd covered-in for the birds to take shelter. When he comes out after her, she's sitting on the steps with a couple of the geese pecking around at the foot of the stairs, another settled into a fluffed-up bundle of feathers on the porch. Annie's staring at them, watching them in their simple bird-actions. As he watches, one of the peaheans -- Wind, he thinks -- flaps up onto Annie's shoulder, where she's greeted with a fond encouragement and Annie's fingers stroking along her back. He trusts the birds with her, trusts that they'll help ground her in that way that they have that he's never quite sure how to replicate. He's glad for it, the new way of helping her, when he's not her only support.

She'll be okay, and that's why the first thing he does isn't to go out to the river, it's to head towards the village, and the house that Beverly Crusher shares with a few other people. He's hoping as he approaches that she'll be working in her garden, that he can find her easily.

"Hey," he calls out, as he approaches the house and sees Beverly outside. He veers off the path towards her, hands stuck in the pockets of his black, beaten-up coat.

iron_beneath_beauty

WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: By the Weirwood Tree
WHEN: 12/12
OPEN TO: Ned Stark
WARNINGS: Supreme Angst

She kept a number of her thoughts to herself over the course of her life in the village. When the initial glow of happiness at being reunited with her brother had worn away and the confusion of her place in the village faded, doubts and insecurities reared up in its wake. In the night, it was hardest to escape those thoughts as well as the gnawing feeling that something was missing in her life, something important that she had hoped for and needed. That emptiness had a way of tearing at her heart and weathering away her strength. Iron became brittle and broken, tested by so much loss and tragedy. Eventually, it began to feel as if she were wearing a face not her own, made to smile and tease when she didn't feel much need for it anymore.

Lyanna relied on the normal chores of the day, the routines that helped her through her thoughts. Seeing Ned daily was both a help and further difficulty. There was so much unsaid between them about the matter of Jon, her own thoughts as well as recent developments (though she had no idea what they were). The better place for such soul searching and confessions had always been in the presence of the Old Gods, but there was no Godsgrove here. There was only a place where a hopeful spring took root and struggled to grow.

She knew she would find him there alone, away from the eyes of the rest of the village. Kneeling beside him, she peered at the familiar white and red that colored so much of her childhood. "How is it faring?"

markwatney

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: 10 Dec 2017, sundown
OPEN TO: All, mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

Since that tense standoff in front of the peach trees, Kira and I have been waiting to see whether the promises in the letter he'd received would come to fruition. I'd actually left the stolen papers out there longer than I'd intended, not wanting to disrupt the process further if I hadn't already ruined it by catching him in the act. Now that he's confirmed to me the arrival of what, for most people here, would probably be a collection of true treasures, I can't put off the inevitable. We need to let everyone know what's happened, and find out if we're alone in being targets.

Because this morning, I received a "mission" of my own, in the form of a box filled with 3 vacuum-packed, single servings of ground coffee. Speaking of treasure.

Before the breakfast rush, I made a note on the blackboard in the Inn's front room, the writing big and bold enough that nobody should miss it:

VILLAGE MEETING TONIGHT, TOWN HALL, SUNDOWN

Fortunately, there's little enough to entertain a person in this place that plenty of people show. Kira's in the front row with his "gifts," presumably ready to back me up despite not seeming to like me much yet. I guess I can't blame him, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the rapport I had with Old Him.

"Hey, everyone," I call out, waving to get the small crowd's attention. "I asked everybody here tonight because we've had a development that I think we all need to know about. Kira here—" I pause, pointing. "Not too long ago, he got a letter. It asked him to steal something of value from someone and take it to the peach trees over on the East Side. It said if he did that, he would be rewarded. When he tried to get rid of the letter, another copy would always turn up. So, he did it. And putting aside that dubiousness for a moment, the reward was delivered. He found some items from his home that couldn't have gotten here without intervention from our hosts. Today, I actually got a box of coffee with a note asking me to take a portion and pass it on. Like a game or a chain letter. The note I got was threatening — If I don't do as asked, it says there will be a punishment. So."

I pull in a deep breath and spread my hands. "I know there's only so much we can realistically do about all of this, but has anybody else gotten anything like this?"

[If you want to thread with Mark directly, please say so in your subject line and let me know. Otherwise, this is a MINGLE and folks can jump around at will. Have at!]

treadswater

WHO: Annie Cresta-Odair
WHERE: House 57, then the outskirts of village
WHEN: 9th December, following week
OPEN TO: Finnick Odair, e v e r y o n e
WARNINGS: Anxiety, intrusive thoughts - more tba as needed

( Locked to Finnick )

For the next week, the already shy Annie is shyer. More nervous. She takes her birds out for their regular walks when the weather allows, and the familiar sight of the small redhead surrounded by her geese and peafowl remains that constant. But while she has her good social days and bad, now it's nearly impossible for her to meet anyone's eye and her greeting is a mumble.

The Gamemakers want her to hurt someone. Anyone. A true injury, and they want her to do it. She'll be rewarded if she does. Apparently. It sounds like a victor's bargain: lavish rewards for doing as you're told but the consequences for disobeying are only whispered. Warned about, maybe and then only softly, oh so softly.

Annie has spent years as a hostage to Finnick's good behaviour in such a bargain. Here, she doesn't know what to think. Something jumbled about the other shoe dropping or the price to be paid for marrying Finnick, because her mind keeps slicing her thoughts with options. Suggestions.

You could hurt that person, her mind whispers. You know how. You know how to break their wrist, dislocate their knee, shatter their nose. Her minds offers her images and images and so Annie tries to blink them away. She smiles nervously at people, trying to pretend that she can't see exactly how she could kill them.

Sometimes, she giggles. When she's walking alone with her birds down a muddy path, or just after she's startled, trying not to bump into someone her distracted mind hadn't noticed. Then she'll giggle, mumble an apology, and try to escape.

3ofswords

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: 7I Peach Tree
WHEN: November 18, late
OPEN TO: Mark Watney
WARNINGS: N/A

The letter had arrived days prior, tucked into the last box he'd moved between what were apparently his houses. Who was he not to commit to an action everyone said he was taking, especially if it made practical sense? And he was practical, by all accounts. Helped others, volunteered for work. Things that are both true and very convenient to tell the guy who just showed up.

Kira doesn't think the reward the letter promises will get him home. He believes them when they say no one gets out, but--maybe he can know when people are lying again. Maybe he can at least live in a canyon that doesn't ask him to have faith, trust strangers, believe in general goodwill.

Knowing's better.

Knowing's saved his life.

Being known is less appealing: it's an easy choice of who to steal from, and what. Even if he doesn't get his power back, can't know what Mark's intentions are, or how deep into this he's involved--Mark won't fucking have a scrap of paper in his handwriting anymore. Kira won't have to engage the fact that he was here, writing things down, letting them fall into someone else's hands.

Stealing the shit is the easy part: the house is unlocked, he has an easy excuse for being there. There's another tarp sled behind Mark's house, already rigged up better for Aurora to carry it than the one in his own home. The only hiccup is another dog, but it's as familiar with him as the people here: he pets some ears, he lets Aurora distract it, and he's in and out of Mark's house before anyone returns, leaving only drag marks in the thin snow and frozen dirt.

Getting the shit to the peach trees is the hard part.

There's no moon tonight, and he's glad he had multiple houses worth of towels to soak in animal fat and tie to a stick. Which just leaves him in the fucking woods, trying to navigate terrain (which he's never done) through a gap in a canyon wall (that he's never seen before), to some hypothetical trees he doesn't recognize, but finds mapped out in a journal full of his handwriting.

It's lunacy, the kind of thing he might die doing, but--what's one more trek through a cold and hostile environment? At least he has a dog to drag his stuff, and at least no one's shooting at him.

According to map, he's at the peach trees--but they're hard to recognize in the dark, bare of leaves, flowers, or fruit. It's too cold to be wrong, and too cold to make another stab in the literal dark: Kira adjusts his scarf away from his humid breath, tucking it around the bird nested down on his shoulder, and holds his flaming walking stick closer to the journal, the letter spread over the other page.

"Should I just leave it in the sled," he asks the dog, a sure sign that he's losing it out here. "Two for one?"

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with - plot: the lottery

Credits & Style Info

† qui primum, ut impio dignum fuit

The Storehouse & The Inn

The Inn

Second star to the right [Mingle post]

[Locked] If they try to pull you out, would you even go?

[we're quiet on the ride, we're all just waiting to get home]

OTA - I should be so lucky

"So You Believe You Are Pure? Perfect? Wholly Without Sin?" "None Of Us Are"

[ota] a pretty painful and very imposing before

it's got a lot to do with having to finish what I started

004 - Mysterious Letter - [OPEN]

ψ they are the hunters, we are the foxes | CLOSED

/closed to Oliver

ψ see the vultures circling, dark clouds | CLOSED

ψ this is why we can't have nice things | CLOSED

Pay to Play

[OTA - MINGLE] Town Hall meeting

(no subject)

[closed] sentiment's the same but the pair of feet change