babyhunter: (Hurt)
[personal profile] babyhunter
WHO: Clary Fray/Fairchild
WHERE: 6i Inn
WHEN: October 1st – 7th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: N/A


Clary has been through a lot over the past few months: uprooted from her home, learned that her father was a psychopath, that her father-figure was a werewolf and that she was a descendant of the angel Azrael and supposedly part of some secret organization that fought demons. Comparatively, pulling her way through the fountain hadn't been all that traumatizing. It was just another drop in the bucket of weird that was becoming her life.

At first, this Red versus Blue like canyon hadn't been so bad. Clary hadn't been here very long but Isabelle was here and it looked like everyone was working towards the general goal of survival and finding the way back home. Now it sucked. It sucked like perpetually stubbing your toe on the bedpost.

Isabelle was gone.

She had heard stories about people vanishing. Most of which were told to her by Isabelle but she didn't think that it would happen to her. Now she wanted to go home: to see her mother, stop her father, save Jace and see Isabelle again.

Clary tried to think of other, more creative ways, to leave the canyon but without magic of some sort, she was stuck. She ended up moping around the inn with the pieces of paper that had effectively become a replacement for her sketchpad.

Most of her skills were useless here. Nothing had to be kicked in the face or hacked to pieces and there was no one to recklessly try and save. So Clary began the long tedious processes of making a nicer map that fit roughly on one sheet of paper and then duplicating it for anyone who wanted one. The job took up most of her free time and it distracted her from her friends sudden disappearance.

When drawing the map got boring, she switched to a fresh sheet of paper and began to draw bits and pieces from home: Isabelle with her whip looking strong and fierce, an angel with beautiful blond hair, a crystal cup or a demon that was partially obscured in shadows. When this depressed her more, she began to draw the people around her. Eventually her drawings covered the table in front of her.

Clary didn't feel any better. It seemed that no amount of distraction was going to stop her from missing Isabelle.
learntthehardway: (6)
[personal profile] learntthehardway
WHO: Diana Prince and Open
WHERE: 7I area
WHEN: September 30th
OPEN TO: Anyone in the area
WARNINGS: None as of right now.


Diana had heard that there was another area, had heard that it was pretty much just the same as the original area. She had been meaning to check it out, to see what the deal was with this new area, but time had slipped away from her - besides, she hadn't wanted to go too far from Steve just in case he had a relapse with the illness he'd had.

But, when she'd heard that the new area had been overrun by foxes, she'd had to go and check it out for herself. She'd left Steve a short note, just to let him know where she was, because she knew he'd be worried if she didn't and knowing him, he'd set off to find her and make sure that she was doing okay. That's just the type of man he was and it was one of the reasons she loved him.

With everything all set, she'd packed her pack with water and some sandwiches and off she'd gone.

It took a little longer than she'd planned to get there. And at first, she wasn't even sure that she'd arrived at the correct place, only because it pretty much looked like the other area - though the fountain... That was strange, it looked like it had smashed or neglected. She shook her head and moved on.

No foxes. She peered around, peeking under things as she moved through the area and yet there wasn't any signs of the so called foxes. Maybe people had been mistaken. Maybe they'd only thought that they'd seen them. Or maybe they'd just returned from wherever they had come from. It was odd and for a moment she felt a flash of disappointment. She'd missed the foxes.

Sighing, she made her way back to the crumbling fountain and took a seat on an edge that was still intact and began to dig through her pack for the sandwiches.
babyhunter: (Turning)
[personal profile] babyhunter
WHO: Clary Fray/Fairchild
WHERE: All Around 7i
WHEN: September 8th – 9th [Friday – Saturday]
OPEN TO: OPEN
WARNINGS: None



Clary had sorted through Isabelle's closet and, mixed with what she found at the inn, she was now wearing a pair of tight black yoga leggings, well-worn boots and a black crop top. Her fiery red hair was back showing off the runes burned into her skin. She had her backpack with her and a borrowed pair of daggers from the inn. It was a little odd that weapons had been carelessly tossed into the storage area but Clary wasn't going to question it. At least, not until an axe murder showed up and the valley turned into a B-rated horror movie.

That would suck.

Clary wasn't looking for anything specific when she journeyed to the other side of the breach but on her list of stops was the peach orchard, the river and eventually the ocean. She had told Isabelle that she would be in the other village for a few days but she didn't want to stay away for too long. Knowing her luck, she'd somehow be trapped on the wrong side of the breach.

| September 8th |

Clary had been at the river when the mayhem began. She had a black fur cloaked laid out on a rock with a blank bit of paper in her lap. She had taken off her shoes and socks to feel the fur beneath her feet as she began to draw. Clary was planning to make a map of the new area but for now, she wanted to sketch in the relative quiet of the river.

Her pencil scratched against the page as she poured her thoughts onto the white canvas. She didn't notice the bright orange foxes as they stalked closer too absorbed in the world of her drawing. Soft scratching noises finally pulled her out of her thoughts.

Clary turned to see the bright orange creatures running off towards the town. She looked down at her things to find that her socks were gone. "You can't be serious?" She groaned as she ran, barefoot, after the fox. "What kind of creature steals socks!?" Everything in the village was limited except for socks. Of course, Clary didn't want to make the walk home without them and she hadn't thought to bring a spare. With the thought of foot pains in mind, she couldn't just let the sock disappear. This was somehow worse than the endless void beneath her bed.

"Come back here!" She cried as she ran after the fox.

Through the rest of the day, Clary could be found chasing two foxes, each one with a sock clamped tightly in its mouth. She cut paths all over town, through the park, passed the dried fountain, around the inn, and through the blacksmith.

| September 9th |

After retrieving her socks, Clary returned to her things by the riverside. She should have realized that there were more foxes. "You gotta be kidding." She exhaled as she watched a bundle of bright orange peek its head out of her backpack. A book was in its jaws with the words 'Don't Panic' written across the cover. "There is irony in there somewhere." Clary groaned as she ran towards her things.

The fox bolted back towards the town except that this time Clary packed up her backpack, taking everything with her before searching for the stupid fox. She should have just left it, except that the notebook it had stolen wasn't technically hers and it was partially filled with notes that she did not want to lose.

She searched high and low for the fox, only to end up back at the empty fountain. Clary slipped her backpack off her shoulders, looping a leg over it so that another creature wouldn't go through it without her noticing, and took a break.

"I am so done with this."

She exhaled, feeling her limbs tingle with exhaustion. Clary was used to running around but not like this. What she was experiencing now was a nightmare.

[ooc: Feel free to run into Clary at any point during any of these. She is missing two socks and a book. She's also super tired by the end of all of this. If you'd like to run into her after wards at the 6i inn, grumbling about stupid foxes and Japanese fox lore I can totally set something up with that too.]
tooktheblack: (119)
[personal profile] tooktheblack
WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; House 25; weirwood (locked to Starks only)
WHEN: 18 August (plague prompt); early September
OPEN TO: all; weirwood prompt locked to Starks only
WARNINGS: usual sad bastard warnings.



a. bring out your dead

It had only taken a few days after visiting his lord father for Jon to fall ill and he tried to ignore it and push past it as much as he could. He did what he could to keep going, to maintain his routine, but after three days he fell to the fever and the rash and took to his bed.

Jon couldn't ever remember being ill like this. Once, during the False Spring, he'd fallen ill with a flu that all the rest of the Starks had fallen ill with one after another in succession. While Sansa and Robb had the touch of Catelyn Stark to soothe them when they thrashed in the sheets, Jon only had broth from Old Nan and the fevered dreams of a boy who wanted his mother more than anything. He wanted his mother to put cool cloths against his forehead and to brush his hair back from his brow.

His mother never came.

Now, as a man grown, he wouldn't do anything so weak as beg for his mother but he did, in passing, wish to be put out of his misery a handful of times. He hoped that none of his other siblings had fallen ill with this and that only he and Father had gotten it. Perhaps the girls and Robb had been spared and Jon would be better in a few days. Didn't it pass? All things passed in time.

So, for the first time since that illness as a boy, Jon Snow took to his bed and didn't rise for a week.

b. but i'm feeling better!

After laying in bed for a week and a half, Jon finally felt well enough to venture out into the woods. His traps were all a loss, considering they hadn't been checked while he was ill and he spent a few hours redoing the lot of them. It was tedious work, yes, but he was just glad to be out of his bed and moving around again. He hadn't been the best patient while he'd been ill and he'd been really glad to be out of the house; he had the idea that he'd spend the whole day out of doors if the women in his life would let him.

Once he'd reset all of his traps, he took one of the bows to actually hunt, feet silent against the leaves. It was times like these that he missed Ygritte. For all that he was good with a bow, she was better, and she could shoot further and cleaner than he ever would. Still, he had a duty to feed those in the village and he wouldn't manage that if he was lost in a dream of days past. Seeing a rustle out of the corner of his eye, he nocked an arrow and let it loose, pleased when it struck a grouse. It'd make a fine dinner for someone, whether it was his family or up at the Inn.

c. you have found...the shrubbery!

The weirwood was still a tiny thing but even as a sapling, Jon knew what it meant. He occasionally said prayers in front of a heart tree for his family who hadn't come here to this village - for Bran, for Rickon whom he knew was dead and gone. He said them for Catelyn Stark, that his siblings might have their mother again. He said them for Ygritte, for the brothers he'd lost at the Wall and the brothers who had betrayed them. It was a time to think and reflect, to remember the Old Gods and the First Men and how they'd given rise to the man he was today.

It seemed so far away from him now, the snows of the North and the battle that they had yet to fight. There was a war to wage against the dead and yet he was here in a place that was summer-green, a place that winter lasted only a few turns of the moon before it became spring and then autumn. It seemed like madness that seasons would last only a few moons' turn but he guessed for those not from Westeros, the opposite must seem true.

He knelt for what felt like an eternity, his lips moving without sound escaping as he gave his prayers to this fledgling tree in hopes that House Stark would take root here in this village and be strong once again.
catchallthecats: (But I miss things that I have done witho)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: Village outskirts/Forest, Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: During the plague event, backdated
OPEN TO: Village section OTA, Cabin section open to Stark CR
WARNINGS: blanket warning for violence/death chat because it’s murderchild with no filter.


Village outskirts and the forest, OTA
It was no new thing, how Arya all but seemed to vanish when she really wanted to, the only sign of her existence anywhere the fact that her chores were still being done. But she’d seen the illness that seemed to be flying around, and with how off she was starting to feel, she knew it was better to avoid others in order to minimize the risk of spreading it to others. So instead of seeking out one of the rare people she considered a friend, or any of her family, or lurking near the fountain, she spent her day exploring the forest, a satchel slung over a shoulder for anything interesting she found, though her attention was more on finding the kind of trees she remembered as being good wood for things like bows. She’d not made one herself, but she’d seen plenty in the process of being made, and felt that if she was careful, she could possibly manage to teach herself to make one with minimal waste. Given how few bows there were, it would certainly help to have more, and even if they weren’t strong enough for proper hunting at first, they could be used for teaching others how to shoot.

Others might spy her picking her way through the woods, or near the outskirts of the village on her way back. Still alert though she was still paler than usual aside from the red flush of her cheeks.

Stark Family Cabin, Closed to Starks and pre-existing Stark CR
Arya might not have gotten this bad if she’d rested herself when she first became aware she wasn’t well. But then she’d never been one to fuss, had counted on youthful health to help her through, at least until now. She hadn’t even managed to get out of bed before the way the world seemed to spin had her on her back again, kicking away blankets in a vicious if uncoordinated manner as if they were responsible for the boil of heat that had seemed to settle over her like a pall. The only sign beyond her bedroom door that anything was wrong today would be that none of her chores were finished.

As the morning drew on, she hadn’t left her bed, only tossing and turning in some attempt to find relief from the fever, or the itch of the rash that had crept up along the side of her neck over her collar. Sometimes she managed to catch scraps of sleep, the only real relief to be found at this point, but even that didn’t help. Not when she started to wake disoriented, too delirious to realize where she was, or what was going on. In the state she was in, it was probably for the best that the illness had sapped her strength enough that she wasn’t about to go wandering today. The vehemence she sometimes called out with, the way her hand reached blindly for weapons that weren’t there was hint enough that had she the energy for it, violence would be had.


((ooc: If your character wants HORRIBLE MURDERCHILD TRUTHS in the cabin threads, let me know! Otherwise they’ll luck out and find her in the midst of a childhood memory or something instead.))
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] ill/wounded)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed


It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.

001.

20 Jul 2017 06:55 pm
learntthehardway: (106)
[personal profile] learntthehardway
WHO: Diana Prince and OPEN
WHERE: Fountain, Inn.
WHEN: Evening of July 20th and on
OPEN TO: Open to everyone
WARNINGS: N/A will update if needed



f o u n t a i n

    She felt as though she were floating, coolness surrounding her, caressing her skin. Slowly, she opened her eyes and jerked back realizing that she was emerged in water. She floundered for a moment, trying to figure out just how she got there but decided that getting to the surface was more important at the moment. Normally she loved swimming, but she couldn't think of how she'd ended up in.

    What stated at first as uncertain movements, turned into calm strokes as she pushed herself up towards the light dancing across the water's surface. She'd always been a sure swimmer, able to swim long distances, hold her breath for long periods of time. But now she found that her lungs were beginning to burn before she even got to the surface. She doesn't understand but as she shot up out of the water, she was gasping for breath.

    Diana was still gasping as she pushed her way over to the edge of the fountain she found herself in. She looked around and her eyebrows drew together and she realized that her surroundings are completely foreign to her. She dragged herself out of the water and the black clothing she has on feels heavy and water pools under her as she stands there, trying to make sense of what was happening. She pushed a wet, limp strand of hair out of her face and she shook her head. This was wrong but she knew she had to figure out where she was so she could get back home.




i n n

    She'd explored the village and hadn't really seen anything that would alert her to anything obviously out of place. Except not a lot of people seemed surprised to see a woman walking around sopping wet, carrying around some backpack she'd come out of the water wearing. She hadn't really tried talking to anyone and though she wanted answers, needed the time to pull herself together, to try and just figure it all out. She might not have known where is was, but she knew she needed to get out of there, to find a way back to where she belonged.

    She finally found her way to the inn, and honestly she probably should have gone there first. Inns had people and people meant information. Information meant a way out of there. She stepped inside, eyes blinking to adjust to the change of lighting and then she'd taking stock of the room, examining its occupants. She wanted to ask questions, to get answers but she was also hungry and a bit tired. She pushed that back though and rounded her shoulders and took a deep breath before heading towards the first person she sees.

    "Excuse me!" she called out to them. "Where is this place?"
maternis: (fb-6)
[personal profile] maternis
WHO: Newt Scamander
WHERE: In the forest, the village, and at where Graves and Credence live.
WHEN: July 8 and onward.
OPEN TO: All with closed starters for Graves and Credence.
WARNINGS: None yet. Will update if necessary.



everyone needs a place.  )
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Serious)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: Lake, Side A
WHEN: July 13-16
OPEN TO: Spock
WARNINGS: N/A



The news about the lake had been enough motivation for Lyanna to push herself out of her seat and nearly race to go explore herself. It was only through the protests of others that she waited for someone to volunteer to join her. She didn't know the man that was going with her, though his sharp features were intriguing to look at. He was a different sort of man that she had seen before in Westeros. He seemed to have sense that she didn't and perhaps that made him the best choice. They would need food and weapons, both she would have forgotten in her haste to explore.

With the supplies readied and a bow and quiver over her shoulder, it was safe to venture out and see what lay past the lake. It was warm, but not oppressive. It wouldn't be too difficult of a trek, though the sun might still cause them a bit of problems if they weren't careful.

She shielded her eyes, staring across the glistening water. "It looks like it goes on forever." She glanced towards her companion with the funny name. "It might take a few days to get to the other side." Unless they kept a good pace.
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Horror)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna and Sansa
WHERE: The Woods
WHEN: July 1
OPEN TO: Sansa Stark
WARNINGS: Talk of destruction, earthquakes and injury



It was becoming a daily ritual for Lyanna to sneak off into the woods during the early morning. After claiming a bow and a quiver full of arrows, she would find her favorite tree and climb high into its branches, waiting for rabbits to cross her path. By noon, she would have a fair collection, enough to trade or enjoy for herself later. Between her and Jon, they weren't about to starve.

With the sun heavy overhead, sometimes the heat would effect her enough that she would doze in the tree, leaning against it as she slept. It would only be when someone else came trampling through the woods that she would wake and return home with her trophies. It might be a monotonous existence, but it was better than the simple waiting she had done in the Tower of Joy. She could at least enjoy the woods and trees as she had when she was in the North.

It was this thought that was dancing about her head as she napped in the tree, listening to the leaves rustle softly from the wind. There was a soft rumble in the ground, a short warning before the world seemed to turn upside down. There was a loud CRACK as several roots and trees broke, the sky vibrating violently before Lyanna's eyes. One moment she was holding onto the tree before she was toppling towards the ground, the branch falling from under her.

A bed of moss softened her fall, the large branch falling short of her legs. She braced herself, covering her head as she waited for the shaking to stop. It lasted for what seemed like hours before everything stilled. The sounds of the forest still, even the animals frightened away.

Lyanna was getting to her feet when she spied a flash of red caught in the sunlight. Her heart stopped in her chest. "Sansa?" Was she out here during the quake? Gods, but was she safe?
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] weirwood)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: In the woods near the Stark cabin.
WHEN: June 13
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None; will update as needed.
STATUS: Yes


It had arrived in a box.

Ned had carried it to his room, careful and gentle, and left it at the foot of his bed until he'd returned to the house later that afternoon. He's received the mysterious gifts before - a cloak, some gloves, other assorted items - but this was a strange sort of weight. Neither heavy nor light, not muted in sound the way the clothes had been. And tall. The box had been taller than the others he'd received, and for a time upon his return, Ned eyed the thing with careful precision and consideration before even laying another finger on it.

He finds his movements, his very breath to be more laborious than normal in light of the sudden disappearance of his youngest daughter. He'd woken one morning to find simply that she'd vanished, seemingly evaporated into nothingness. He'd been warned many times over that such an event could take place and did take place with some regularity, but - he'd foolishly thought his family to be immune. Certainly, given the what they'd gone through, given the pain and suffering they'd already endured, the Old Gods would not see fit to separate them once more.

What a fool he'd been.

After some deliberation and quiet self-muttering, when he feels the time of curiosity and thought has passed, he removes the lid, peering down into the chamber. His brows lift with surprise, eyes alight for the first time in days with intrigue and something vaguely resembling happiness. He reaches out and pulls out a neatly bundled sapling. To those not of Westeros, it might appear to be any other tree - something similar to birch, as he's learned, but to those from his homeland, they'd know the sight of a Weirwood immediately.

He perches himself on the end of his bed as he inspects it, slowly turning it in his hands. It feels real, true. There aren't any illusions he can find. He worries for a moment that having kept it in the box for so many hours might've damaged or dried out the roots, so - now, with a focal point outside of the grief and mourning he carries with him in his broken, shattered heart - he hesitates not a second longer before making his way outside of the cabin and a bit further down the path, where there are no more cabins to be found. He knows that, over time, the thing will grow great and strong - he needn't encroach on his neighbor's territory, even in the name of the Old Gods.

Ned places the sapling on the ground carefully before leaving and returning with a variety of tools: namely, spades of different lengths and sizes. At once, he pours his sorrow into the repeated piercing of the earth and displacing of soil, cursing the Old Gods under his breath for leaving him a weirwood instead of his daughter.
pretendtoneedme: (crossing the fields)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Everyone! It's a mingle!
WHERE: The mill, and the river next to the mill
WHEN: June 13-14
OPEN TO: Anyone! Tag around, tag in, tag things!
WARNINGS: Nothing for now, please warn for content in comment titles
STATUS: All of the Opens



Word had spread in the usual way, one person mentioned it to another, that person mentioned it to a third, and fourth, and so forth and so on. The mill's almost repaired - or, more specifically, it's reached the point where it needs more than one person working on it in order to get it done. Clint wasn't too proud to say this job was above one person's skills, and so he'd designated two days as "group work" days to finish everything that still had to be done beyond some superficial things. As weird as it was to think about, the river going down actually helped with this, since it exposed some outdoor components that needed maintenance and allowed people to work on them without drowning themselves.

The wheel itself needed some repairs, mainly in some of the blades that had rotted after sitting in the water for so long, as well as getting as much algae scraped off the wood as possible. The frame of the gate that isolated the wheel from the flow of the river had been well-built of the same stone as the mill itself and was sturdy, but the rope of the gate itself had broken at some point and the gate had fallen into the river, so it needed replacing. Inside the mill, the grindstones had come out of alignment and the upper one needed to be reseated; the hopper and feeding chute for the grain had been smashed when the demon hail had punched through the roof, and new ones needed to be hoisted up and secured in place. Salvaged scraps from the destroyed houses would do well enough for all of those and the parts had been built; now they just needed to be installed. The connecting belts between the gears had already been replaced with "new" ones made of strips of extra blankets; presumably the original leather ones had disintegrated. Every tool kit in storage at the inn and most of the scraps and salvaged nails Clint had scrounged from the destroyed houses had been hauled down to provide a supply source, along with a few of the ropes or rope-like things and a couple of the first aid kits - just in case. There were a few other issues that wouldn't interfere with the actual mill workings (a couple of hail holes in the roof and one or two other things), so they could be addressed or not as people chose.

Anyone who wanted to show up and help was welcome, as long as they knew which end of a hammer to hit things with. Water to drink wouldn't be an issue since they were right next to the river, but if anyone wanted to bring snacks or any sort of food it would be appreciated by those working. It was still pretty hot, though, so everyone needed to be on alert for people overexerting themselves and potential heatstroke. Anyone who saw someone about to faint or getting dizzy would have been told to make sure the afflicted person stopped working and sat down in the shade with a drink of water. And of course there was always the option of a nice swim as well.
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Walk)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: Around the village, the Woods
WHEN: Early June
OPEN TO: OTA, Jon Snow
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: Open



Village

After a week's recuperation, Lyanna was back on her feet, energized and ready to explore. Her arrival had been during a hail storm, forcing her inside, along with the need to recover. Now that the weather had cleared and she could stand upright again, she wanted to see everything. There were a number of buildings that had been converted for different uses, like the police station. They received a passing glance. Instead, she headed towars the destroyed bungalows

There would be a number of things to take and claim, it just meant having to find her way inside. Carefully stepping over some of the debris, she peered into the broken windows. There was someone else passing by, someone that was out enjoying the day as well.

"Has anyone tried to go into these houses before?" She looked back. "What happened to them? They look like they collapsed."

The Woods

There were at least weapons available for use, including a bow. Gathering a handful of arrows, Lyanna headed into the woods. There was apparently good game, given what Jon brought back to the bungalow every day. It wouldn't be the same without a horse and hounds, but she would make do.

There were a few climbable trees, a place where she could sit and wait for the game to come out into the open. She hoisted herself up and perched herself on a large branch. Apparently others passed by often, as she would hear the brush being disturbed. Just as she took aim, she'd have to lower her bow at the sight of another person.

"You're scaring the rabbits."

The Woods - Closed to Jon

It was a strange thing to sit on a secret of this magnitude. Ned had told her the truth about Jon when she first arrived, but health and surroundings took her attention. There was so much else to process before she digested that her newly born son had grown into a man. She had lost so much time, surrendering him into the care of the man she trusted more than anyone. It didn't change the longing she had in her heart to know him better, to talk with him and learn about the man he had become.

But how to even approach it. Each time she tried to tell him she knew, she found the words wouldn't come. So instead, she fell back and retreated from the topic. She would ask other questions, but none of what she really wanted to know.

Having enough, she followed him out to the woods, making mention before that she wanted to hunt with him. She wasn't ever good with delicacy. So instead of easing into the topic, she simply blurted out, "I know you're my son."
stillplaying: ([action] pausing the hunt)
[personal profile] stillplaying
WHO: Katniss Everdeen
WHERE: Outside House 41
WHEN: May 22
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: Open


It's taken her a while to find the perfect branch. Something that wouldn't require too much trimming in size. Something that was relatively straight, free of the knots and side branches and anything else that might get in the way of carving a decent bow. She had found that bow a few weeks back, shortly before Peeta had wound up with a broken leg. Her project had been put to the side in favor of fretting over Peeta. Maybe that had been a mistake. If she had actually worked harder on finding the right branch, if she had worked harder on making her bow, maybe she could have done something to prevent Peeta from getting hurt. It's a stupid and irrational thought but it's one that's plagued her nonetheless.

Although his leg is still broken, it's finally sunk in that she doesn't need to watch him every second. He's capable on his crutches and that's something that she should respect. This new arena might be dangerous in its own way but there's no one actively trying to kill them. Besides, it's easy to keep an eye on the bakery from the porch of their house. She can stay out of his and Jacob's way but still monitor the bakery's comings and goings.

She sits quietly on the porch, the branch between her knees as she works on carving one edge. The paring knife is small but sharp enough to gently remove the wood from the belly side of the bow. She slowly works her way down the branch, crafting the wood until the limb bends in an even curve. Eventually, she carves notches into either end before moving on to working on the strings. Every now and then, she looks up to watch the bakery entrance - especially if she hears footsteps.

It's not a bad way to pass the afternoon, though she'd rather be out in the surrounding woods. That's the purpose of making this rough bow though, isn't it? She won't feel fully comfortable in her new surroundings until she had a way to protect herself and Peeta. And a way to provide them with extra food.
fishermansweater: (Actual human dolphin)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: E V E R Y O N E
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: During the hot weather in late May
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: PROBABLY NAKED. cw your warnings in individual threads.
STATUS: Open. THIS IS A MINGLE, have at it, tag around, you know what to do. If you want Finnick, let me know in the comment subject!





He wouldn't actually say it was really hot yet, but it's definitely getting to the sort of temperatures that make Finnick miss swimming. There's no substitute for the sand of a beach underfoot, the reassuring roar of the surf, the taste of salt in the air, but there is at least water here, tumbling down from the waterfall and flowing through the canyon until it disappears into the rocks to the south. And he knows from constantly checking his fish traps that the water is deliciously cool.

He's tested out a few spots along the river for swimming, and it's good to be in the water again, after being kept out of it for so long by the harshness of the winter.  Not swimming doesn't feel right to him, and it never has. He's never spent this long somewhere with a winter this cold, and he can't remember ever going this long without swimming. So Finnick's been testing the water out since before it was probably what most people would consider to be warm enough to swim. It had helped that he and Annie had some gifts to hunt for in the river, but those have long been found, and now it's just for relaxation.

The calmest, most relaxing place he's found so far for swimming in the river is the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where the water plunges into the canyon crisp and cool from the heights of the cliffs. It's deep around the falls, and it's big enough to swim, and Finnick spends most of the hottest parts of the day there.

So whenever he hears someone talking about the heat while he's dropping food off in the village, he suggests they try the waterfall pool. Word's likely to get around, so he won't be entirely surprised to find other people stopping by the falls.

When they do, they're likely to find him swimming around the deep part near the falls, stripped down to his underwear and, from the grin on his face, having the time of his life. It's clear just from looking at him that he's good at this, moving through the water with a confidence and grace more like to a sea-creature than a man. He's in such a good mood that he even calls out to greet many of the people who approach.

Of course, he's not the guardian of the waterfall: everyone's welcome to stop by whether he's there or not. Once or twice, there's even a moose to be seen standing at the edge of the pool taking a long, relaxing drink.
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Terror)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn
WHEN: May 13th
OPEN TO: Jon, OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, childbirth, war, blood
STATUS: Open



"Promise me, Ned." "I promise, Lya."


The Fountain - Closed to Jon

Read more... )

The Inn

Not the Seven Hells, some place that pulled people from different worlds. She had to keep repeating those words to herself as she rested in front of the fire. Jon had helped her home, letting her rest and recover what little strength she could. The ache and fever were still there, but it wasn't as great a concern as it had been in the Tower. She wasn't dead apparently and this place was real.

With a bit of assistance, she was taken to the inn, surrounded by more people than she had been in over a year. The noise around her was soothing and the fire was warm. In only a year, she had grown used to heat and felt repelled by the cold. So much of her life had been snow and ice, she missed the dragon's flame.

Others moved around her and spoke, but they seemed separate from her consciousness. She felt so tired and run down, emotionally and physically. The fire cast shadows around her, the crackling as soothing as any lullaby. Just as she started to doze, someone took the seat next to her, murmuring some words at her. She turned her head, bringing the person into focus. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

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