thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Shields Eyes)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Village
WHEN: 10/17
OPEN TO: All; Closed Starter for Robb
WARNINGS: Pain, headaches, sickness, dark visions

I've Lost my Shadow (OTA)

As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, the seasons were beginning to shift and winter was steadily approaching. That was something the Starks could be given credit for, they were right about that. As much as she normally enjoyed the color of the leaves (and they were a brilliant collection of reds, oranges and yellows), it was the subtle disappearance of something else that held her attention.

Setting down her basket of harvested fruits, Margaery paused on her walk to the inn. The sun was beginning to descend in the sky, a time when her shadow should have been lengthened, but there was nothing. She could see the homes and trees casting shadows, but hers was simply gone. She stood alone, adrift without her anchor, confused and lost.

Of all the strange things that had happened, this was the most baffling. Earthquakes, rain, hail, she could understand and predict that. But this? This was an oddity that couldn't be explained.

"How is this possible?"

Closed to Robb

It was a feeling that she was beginning to learn to anticipate, the sudden tingle in her head that indicated a vision was about to come. The sun was only beginning to peak over the horizon, a soft pink spreading over the dark sky. Robb was in bed beside her, seemingly undisturbed by her stirring in his arms.

It was only a second between acknowledging that a vision was coming when it hit her at full force, making her feel as if her head was splitting apart. She gave a shriek as she fell off the bed, pressing her palms against her eyes as a swirl of emotions raced over her, feelings not her own. Horror, shock and a looming dread. She could see a hole in the ground, no. It was something else but there and gone again. There was illness and a collection of lost villagers, confused and uncertain though about what, she didn't know.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath, nausea rising in her stomach. It seemed like hours, but finally everything disappeared, the visions and emotions they brought. She was crumpled on the floor, the pain in her head intense, leaving her trembling.

When she looked up at Robb, there was shock and disbelief on her face. "What are you doing here?"
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Looks To (Gentle))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Village
WHEN: 9/19
WARNINGS: Visions of things that could be triggering

The specimen room hadn't left her mind, neither had the collection of thoughts and worries it had created in her. As much as she wanted to brush it aside, there were too many questions about what was happening to them. Whether or not it had been an illusion or some game. Then there was the deeper fear, rooted and coiled about her mind. What if none of this was real? The vials, the samples, it was of them, of all of them. Her analytical mind didn't want to take everything at face value, but fear far too often took control.

Her only means of escaping those thoughts was to focus on something else, specifically the ability that seemed to emerge out of nowhere. Perhaps once she could have brushed it aside as nothing, but these visions were coming true. Despite the headache it could cause her, she found herself trying to summon one, staring off into the distance as she mentally struggled to unleash the ability, if only to control it.

It was why she was standing in the open field, just beyond the ruined houses. Her eyes locked ahead at the forest. This was where she had seen the barn in her vision, the first of the images to appear. Perhaps if she concentrated enough, she could find the will to bring those images back. Her head was starting to ache, something that for a moment gave hope, until she realized she was concentrating too hard.

Frustrated, she placed a hand against her face and turned, ramming into someone behind her. "Forgive me." She let her hand fall, a weary smile on her face. "I didn't hear you come up."
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Seated (Somber))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Woods
WHEN: Shortly After Specimen Room
OPEN TO: Robb Stark
WARNINGS: Nothing so far

She walked the forest in a daze, her headache long gone, but replaced by a different sort of pain. Somewhere along the way back from the canyon, she and Jude parted. The news of what they found was not something she wanted to share, as she didn't understand much of the technology or what it meant completely. She only knew what the vials had left her feeling and that was lost. Hair and blood, not only of the villagers but of the animals they received. Even poor Gilbert was among them and that frightened her most of all. What was real? What was true? She had memories of Westeros, she still felt the warmth of the sun and the lush grass of Highgarden. She remembered how the Black Cells smelled and the sight of Loras huddled in the dark. She could simply reach back in her memories and she was there again, the weight of the Lannister cloak on her shoulders as she wed Joffery and Tommen's boyish eagerness during their wedding night. Was she real or created? Was something implanted in her or stolen?

All of the sweetness that she found in the village had become ash against her tongue and the beautiful sounds of the wood were dead against her ears. Only Gilbert caught her attention as he stopped and lifted his head to the wind. With a small excited bark, he raced through the underbrush and away from Margaery's side. Numb, she followed after him. Even if he wasn't real, even if he was created, he was hers and she couldn't bear to let go of the only thing that was holding her together.

It didn't take her long to find him, yipping and circling around the one person that could chase away all of this insanity. Robb. From the look of things, he was hunting. It should have occurred to her that it was early morning. The night in the canyon had not been pleasant and time had slipped away from her. Of course he would be hunting, as he did every day.

If Gilbert was holding her together, Robb was the foundation that kept her standing. He was home, the only home that could ever be hers. She looked ragged and exhausted, but her face and frame lightened as she approached him. She didn't say anything, only fell into his arms and clutched him tight against her. How could this not be real? She had never felt love before, but she knew it was strong and fierce within her. If they were created, they were created for each other. Others take the Observers, she needed and would guard this with all of the strength she could muster.

"I'm glad to see you."
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.
chosenbytheocean: (I cant leave you)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7I – Ocean
WHEN: August 3rd

Sad Thoughts & Losses

Small earthquakes had begun to tremble through the two villages but Moana didn't pay them any attention. She crossed the breach and made her way towards the ocean that rested on the other side, hoping to find a friend waiting for her.

She stood at the shore, her feet bare while the wind tugged softly at her grass skirts. There was so much that Moana wanted to ask the ocean but she couldn't find her voice. She knew that it wouldn't reply to her, she was too far from the home that she knew. Frustration rose in her chest and she kicked at the water, sending thick droplets into the air around her.

"Why aren't you here!?" She yelled at the water before falling to her hands and knees. Everything hit her at once: the loss of her friends, the loss of the heart and the constant reminder of her failure that hung like a beacon around her neck. Moana began to cry softly, her body shaking as the tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"I need you." She whispered to the ocean, her voice soft as she begged for some way to escape the crushing defeat that weighed heavily on her shoulders.
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Desperate)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery and Robb
WHERE: Bunglaow #4
WHEN: July 1
OPEN TO: Robb Stark
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, destruction, wildfire, etc.

Margaery's garden had accelerated in growth quickly. Within only a few months, she had blooming roses and an abundance of fruit trees. There was a sweet perfume in the air when she woke each morning, reminiscent to her childhood in High Garden. That world that seemed so distant to her, more like a dream than reality, had become more tangible as each blossom unfolded and filled her senses. She didn't need to search among the brushes and bushes for wild strawberries, ripe and small. All she needed to do was walk into her garden and harvest those that had grown.

It was the cotton though that had her focus that afternoon. Deciding against gloves, Margaery picked the cotton as best as she was able. There were cuts, but nothing worse than her work tilling the fields. Her mind filled with thoughts of the things she could make and weave with cotton, the new fabrics that would be available to them. They were in a different state now when they arrived. So many luxuries were available to them that seemed impossible before. Perhaps if she was fortunate, the observers might send silk worms?

The day was quiet, reminding her of the summer when she first arrived. While the heat was difficult, it was largely ignored. It was too beautiful to spend inside. The blue sky was dazzling and she wanted to stare out over the landscape. She was pushing a curl back from her brow when a familiar rumble rolled beneath her feet.

Her blood went cold as that fleeting warning shifted, breaking into a violent quake. She cried out loudly, instinctively reaching for Loras. STAY WITH ME! The world seemed to turn green before her eyes, that familiar heat and pain present in her mind. Was it fear that made her feel wildfire on her skin or was it bursting beneath her again?

She collapsed to the ground, drawing her knees to her chest as she watched her fruit trees sway wildly. Fruit fell to the ground, some of the peaches bursting, spilling juice across the grass. The sweet smell now mixed with the sickening scent of burnt flesh. She forced her eyes open, refusing to close them and see the images of the Sept bathed in green.

She was trembling after the earthquake passed, mistaking her body's tremors for the shaking of the ground. She was locked in place, rigid and stiff. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. She wasn't one to faint, but she felt that urge race through her. Gods, not again.
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
WARNINGS: None; will update as needed.

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.
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Ah Well)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Inn, the Woods, the Police Station, Bugalow #4
WHEN: May 11th - 16th
OPEN TO: Jon, Robb, Claire and Open
WARNINGS: Red Wedding talk

Jon - May 11th:

Read more... )

Robb - May 14th:

Read more... )

Claire - May 16th:

Read more... )

OTA - The Inn (Hail Event)

With the hail showing no signs of letting up, Margaery found herself unable to venture into the woods for her daily walks. It was perilous to go between her house and the barn too often, so the inn was where she spent much of her day. She had a few of the games she received during the gift giving, games that she had been taught and understood. There were also books. With her cow soon to give birth, she read and reread the chapters in her animal care book at how to handle births of that scale.

She at least had tea and something to eat as she watched the hail fall outside. After beating herself for the third time in Solitaire, she glanced up towards one of the other villagers. "Would you like to play with me? I'm still learning a few of these games, so I imagine you will win quite regularly."
forthecrown: (red flower)
[personal profile] forthecrown
WHO: Elizabeth Windsor
WHERE: Fountain; Inn; garden behind the Inn
WHEN: 6 April - 8 April

Domine salvum fac reginam

Elizabeth had arrived late in the afternoon on a day that wasn't terribly auspicious in any way at all. Given that her life of late had been more unsettled and undone than she'd like, she'd rather enjoyed that this was a day where she could settle in and have tea with her family and not have to concern herself with the nonsense going on outside her own four walls but, apparently, that was not meant to be. Having politely excused herself from tea with her mother and sister to go and see about her children (who were supposed to be having naps and were likely not, as the case usually went), she had not expected to find herself sputtering and flailing in a murky pool of water.

Her natural inclination was to shout, call for help, and that simply caused more water to sink down her throat and into her lungs causing them to burn. She'd learned to swim as a girl - first in small ponds and then, later, in the freezing waters of the oceans off Scotland. She could do this. Once she had her head about herself she pushed herself upward where it seemed there was light and gripped at the stone edges of this strange pool.

She coughed and sputtered, coughing up the water she'd swallowed, and pushed the mop of her wet hair off her brow in order to get her bearings. She didn't recognize the place. It certainly wasn't the palace or any of the associated gardens, places she'd known most of her young life, and the sun was brilliant and bright, almost warm against her skin.

"I don't think this is England," she said, half a whisper. A knapsack floated up beside her and without a second thought, Elizabeth plucked it out of the water. She had no idea what was in it but it could prove useful later and she was nothing if not practical.

et exaudi nos in die qua invocaverimus te.

After having made her way away from the fountain park and the fountain, Elizabeth eventually found her way along a road to an Inn. It was a simple place, to be certain, and was not in possession of a telephone or any electricity. It was all right. She'd done without before and had lived under heavy rationing during the wartime years so this would simply be another time of austerity. She wasn't too good for that. Unlike her sister, she had never really developed a craving for the finer things and while they were nice, they weren't the things that were necessary. She could be content with very little, so long as her family was taken care of and her people were all right.

The thought of her family, her children - it pained her every moment that she was away from them and she had to actively push it down and remind herself that even in her absence, they would want for nothing. They were children of a sitting sovereign, after all, and her son would ascend to king if the worst were to happen.

The only way to avoid that particular sort of brooding was to keep herself busy and so she had. She'd changed into dry clothing upon arriving at the Inn and set herself to any task that was asked of her - she'd lit fires, fed fires, helped prepare the morning and evening meals. She had dressed a chicken and set it to boil in a large pot on a wood-burning range and felt, for all the world, like she'd done something when she finally sank down in a chair before the fire and let out a little sigh of exhaustion.

Perhaps if she simply worked herself to the bone each and every day she wouldn't have the time to dwell upon her unique situation.

et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum.

Elizabeth had taken herself out into the garden early and while she had no hat to shield her face from the sun, she still wanted to work and contribute to the collective effort. It was no mean task, to weed a garden, and while she occasionally liked to work with flowers or things of that nature this was no flower garden. This was a tidy and well tended vegetable garden full of edibles and this garden was part of the effort to keep the villagers in a healthy diet. There were no markets here, after all, and the only things they had were the ones they caught from the river, gathered from the woods or grew with their own hands.

It was a stark difference from her own life, a life that was sheltered and full of comforts even during wartime. She had always had the option of fleeing to Canada, after all, and that luxury hadn't been afforded to many. Her family hadn't availed themselves of it, her father being a frugal and practical sort such as herself, but it had been there. They'd actively made a choice. Here, there weren't many choices to make. From her understanding, one worked and one ate and eked out a survivalist existence in hopes that some sort of disaster didn't cause one to start over again.

As she knelt in the garden, pulling weeds by hand to keep them from choking out the tender shoots of the edible things growing along side them, sweat beaded her brow and her palms ached from blisters. She'd ridden horses, yes, but she was no woman to work with her hands on a daily and consistent basis. Until she built up proper calluses, it would continue to pain her. Well, unless she could get her hands on a pair of proper gardening gloves.

Elizabeth straightened a bit, flexing her right palm and wondered if this was one of those situations where her hand might get stuck a certain way if she overworked it. She'd been through that nonsense in Australia and wasn't looking for a repeat of the situation.

"Perhaps I should simply take a quick break from all this and come back, yes?"
chosenbytheocean: (Saving the Chicekn)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
NOTE: Moana was gone for a little over 24 Hours. Anyone at the Inn probably noticed since she lives there and is there a lot. You are welcome to run into her at any point during any post.


Moana didn’t expect to be pulling herself from the fountain wearing the same navy blue scrubs that she had found herself in on day one. She pressed her palm against the fountain’s basin, making sure that her fingers didn’t slip on the wet stone that surrounded the familiar landmark. Moana pulled herself free of the waters grasps and tumbled forward until she was lying face up, her limbs sprawled at her sides. She watched the clouds roll by and while the ground beneath her was chilly, the air brushing over her damp skin felt nice.

She took a minute to lay there, her dark hair heavy with water and matted to her cheeks and neck. She hadn’t had the backpack this time. It was good in a practical sense but she hoped that her things were still in her room. Moana didn’t know how long she’d been gone. Her chest heaved with each unsteady breath and while remaining in her prone state she picked apart her memories of this strange village. It took her a moment for everything to catch up to her and in a rush she was on her feet, running through the town.

"I made it past the reef!"

Moana shouted happily at the top of her lungs. She’d run past people on the streets; pause and then backtrack; running over to them to share her excitement.


Moana’s excitement was fleeting. At her core, she wasn’t happy to be back in the small foreboding village, not after making it past the reef and then finding Maui. She had something to do, something that only she could do; the ocean had chosen her… … … … … … …

Moana stopped mid-step, her palm quickly pressing to her clavicle moving over her chest and then down her sides.

"I lost the heart." Her voice was high pitched and frantic. She turned on her heel and ran back to the fountain. Her hands continued to search her clothing but it wasn’t on her. Her abdomen crashed against the edge of the fountain as she peered over its edge, searching its depths for the small shimmering green stone.

"Give me back the heart!" She yelled at the water. Moana had spent days talking to the ocean, it was her friend, but the water didn’t respond to her now.


Moana woke with the sun and rolled out of bed. The morning air uncomfortably pricked at her skin as she moved about the small room. Her room was the place she slept, kept her things and a bunny. She didn’t spend a lot of time in her room that wasn’t dedicated to sleeping.

She tugged her fingers through her messy black hair and then headed towards her door, hoping that there might be something small she can eat in the kitchen. As Moana stepped from her room she tripped over a small box that had been perfectly placed to obstruct her path. A loud grunt echoed down the hall as Moana found herself upside down, her feet rather spectacularly positioned in the air and a box resting on her head. She heard the faint clamor of a squealing pig inside the box enticing her to move quickly and release the startled animal.

She hadn’t meant to trip over it.

As Moana opened the box she saw a small baby pig running in very small circles around a coconut. "Hey there. Calm down. It’s okay." She wasn’t going to let the pig out of the box until it was calm.

A half hour later Moana had sorted through the box. There hadn’t been a lot outside of the pig in it but she had gotten two coconuts and two sticks from a tree that she recognized. It was exciting to have coconuts again and given that there were a few people who’ve never eaten a coconut before, Moana set to cutting and cooking one to share with those in the Inn. She hoped that she could spot Credence since she’d told him specifically about coconuts a month or so before.


With the appearance of the box, Moana had a new project. She sat in the inn’s common room, positioned close to the fire, her feet were bare and her hair was tied in a not on the top of her head. She had the two sticks from a mulberry tree in front of her, both were a little under a foot in length, and a baby pig asleep next to her thigh. The fire had clearly been too much for it.

As carefully as she could, Moana cut a thin line down the sticks, splitting the bark. It was layered inside and with this opening she was able to pull the curled long strip of plant matter from its center. She was very careful while doing this, knowing that she wouldn’t get a second chance if she mess up.

Her dark eyes occasionally flicked to the young pork bun at her side making sure that she didn’t wake him from his sleep. It had been a tiring day for them both.
thekittenqueen: (Default)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery
WHERE: #4 Bungalow, Woods, the police station
WHEN: 4/3 - 4/4
WARNINGS: Nothing, but will update if needed

The Woods

The mornings were much the same as ever. With winter slowly coming to a close, it meant that many of the plants and flowers would bloom again, allowing Margaery to gather with the same fervency and delight as before. While her walk through the woods had been to collect kindling and winter fruit, she made a point to stop by many of her favored places to inspect how the plants were faring. Were there buds yet? How far along were they?

It wasn't uncommon to hear noises in the woods. There were others more often about now, many hunters or villagers exploring. When she heard a twig snap behind her, Margaery expected to see a familiar face. Instead, a deer slowly walked from the underbrush, sniffing the ground and listening for potential predators. Margaery rooted herself, hardly daring to move or breathe.

She could sense someone nearing behind her. Taking the risk, she raised her hand, signalling for them to stop. "I have never seen a doe this close before." She whispered.

The Police Station (Outside)

The usual sounds of animals protesting filled the air as Margaery opened the station doors to allow her animals out, her dog Gilbert herding them towards the fields where they could graze. There was still no large pen for her to let them roam about in, much to her chagrin. However, this was better. Gilbert had become diligent in keeping the animals in check, ushering back a sheep that strayed too far or yapping at a cow that lingered too long in the grass. It was pleasant, comforting.

She watched from a reasonable distance, scanning the fields for wolves or any other predators. She counted her animals in her head, tallying the amount she saw ever half hour. Many of the sheep were growing fat, a few pregnant with lambs. She would need to find a place for them all soon.

As someone passed her, Margaery tore her eyes away for a moment to smile at the nearby figure. "It is finally becoming warm again!" She announced happily. "We can begin planting again and think more about what we wish to do with the animals."

#4 Bungalow - Closed to Ned

It was common routine for Margaery to work on her weaving once her animals had finished grazing until the sun could no longer provide her proper light. The cold weather no longer hindered her from sitting on her porch, listening to the sounds of the world around her. She had fond memories of spinning during the summer, now she could weave during the spring. There were birds in the distance, optimistic for the coming warmth. Gilbert was at her feet, worn out from his work and napping as she lightly sang "The Bear and the Maiden Fair."

It was only when she came to the chorus that she noticed Lord Stark nearing her home. They had walked together earlier in the morning, having explored the woods and simply spoken about what he needed to learn. Once they returned to the village, they had parted ways and she had left to let her animals graze. She hadn't paid much mind to what the Starks might be doing, but she assumed they'd be together. Not that it wasn't pleasant to find one Stark or another turning up at her door.

She paused in her work, rubbing her hands on her skirts. "Back so soon?"
yorkist: (Default)
[personal profile] yorkist
WHO: Bess
WHERE: Fountain/House #51
WHEN: 4/1 + onwards
WARNINGS: Aside from maybe some amusing 15th century cursing, nothing.
STATUS: backtagging


Fountain ━ April 1 )


Village + House #51 ━ April 2 & beyond )
chosenbytheocean: (Water explosions)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: Cliffs & Inn
WHEN: March 17th - 18th
WARNINGS: bruising, that's it.

It doesn't look too high. )

Inn – Open

Moana had decided take the time to heal after Ned found her at the base of the cliff. She was lucky that she didn’t get stung; however she was bruised from head to toe and sore. Her plan didn’t work, which was fine, because now she knew not to do that.

She spent the next day or so around the inn, wearing a tank top with the provided navy blue scrub bottoms. This gave anyone looking a clear view of the lightning scar across her shoulder and back as well as the dark purple and black bruises that trailed from the base of her neck, all the way down to the heel of her foot. Sitting was difficult but Moana could be found standing next to the fire, her arm leaning against the wall to keep her upright while she focused on the task in front of her.

She had decided to work on a new project. Making long strings, like nets and ropes, was boring. Instead, Moana started to work on something more complicated. She used the same milkweed fibers as before. Her fingers nimbly dipped and weaved with the threads creating a lace like pattern that she hoped to turn into a necklace, bracelet or anklet.
learned_to_die: ([moment] the end)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: Fountain/Around the Village
WHEN: March 10, afternoon into early evening
OPEN TO: OTA (Separate thread for Sansa (continuation from TDM))
WARNINGS: Mention of death/execution (will update as needed)

// Arrival - The Fountain //
The last thing Ned could remember was the chilling, screaming sound of approaching death as the executioner used his own weapon against him. After that -

He'd ended up here. Clawed his way out of the fountain, felt the press of hard earth against his back as he stared at a sky bluer than any he'd seen before. He'd thought he'd died, been transported to some sort of afterlife, but it would've been too good to be true. Instead, he'd found himself in a village, of sorts. There were similarities, to his beloved home of Winterfell, but also -


His belabored breathing is mottled with violent, hacking coughs - many of which force water up from his lungs to saturate the ground beneath him. He rolls over onto his side, presses a palm to the ground, forces himself up onto his knees. As he brings the back of his hand to his mouth, he feels the strange tug of the fabric around his body -

It isn't the leather he's used to, nor does it even vaguely resemble his usual garments - the ones he'd loved and left behind up North: the furs, the pelts, leather delicately woven and dark as the frozen earth. Even the pieces he'd had to wear in the warmer King's Landing are missing. He then feels the tightness of straps against his shoulders, realizes he's carrying a satchel of some sort on his back. He thinks to remove it, to investigate, but first, he has to figure out how to answer a very pressing question:

Where in the Old Gods' names is he?

// Later - The Village //
He's determined to explore more of the town, now that he's forced himself to scout the area, taking advantage of the cover of a number of trees to finally bend a knee, investigate the contents of the strange satchel he'd arrived with. He'd also taken the opportunity to peel away the saturated clothing for the dry set he'd found - marvelling at how much quicker it was to dress as opposed to before with layer upon layer. Perhaps there's something to the simplicity of it all.

He tries to retrace his steps back towards the fountain or what he believes to be the center of the town, pack lazily slung over one shoulder, long tendrils of hair still dripping and soaking the shoulders of his shirt.
markwatney: (013)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark & Anyone
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: Feb 16, afternoon through evening
OPEN TO: EVERYONE! This is a mingle post!
WARNINGS: N/A - Please warn in thread subject lines if needed

When we all get together and have our town meetings, the truth is that a lot of times we don't come up with the sort of solutions we're looking for. I'm not trying to say we're complacent -- Or at least not all of us, not the people speaking up in the meetings -- but just that the nature of living here, such as it is, means that answers aren't exactly forthcoming.

But the latest meeting, the one about organizing, creating some kind of formal entity to oversee the group of us, it threw something into sharp relief for me: I've been talking for a long time about how we all need to be sharing our knowledge as a safeguard, but I haven't been doing much to make this happen beyond sharing my own personal knowledge. And that's really just not acceptable -- Not here, not when we've apparently got an entire section of the population asking for active leadership and another section who might just be too shy or apathetic to admit it.

So, I've been trying to figure out a way to kickstart this project. A way for people to even put out there the sort of knowledge they have to share. You have to start somewhere.

I've never had a problem getting people together to help with the field, but somehow we've been neglecting the town hall building right next to it this entire time. It's one of the biggest buildings in town, but it's still coated in dust and cobwebs, piles of leaves drifted into corners. The inn is starting to get a little crowded during meetings; it might be nice to have a little more room, a place where people come to share.

Regardless of how you feel about community leadership, I think most of us can get behind that.

A couple days before, I put out the call: A cleaning party. We get together, clean out the town hall, and afterward we have a little potluck. People can bring premade dishes, or we can cook out back over a bonfire. We can just be around each other, in a relatively safe space, just having a moment to relax and say hello. Meet someone new, find out where to begin.

After everything that's happened recently, I really think we could use it. I'm just hoping I'm not the only one who shows up.

[CLEANING PARTY & MIXER! Threads can take place during the CLEANING portion, after during the MIXER or BOTH. They can be indoors, upstairs, in the attic, out back by the bonfire, chowing down, whatever -- It's 100% cool to improvise! Mark will have expressly told folks this is about getting to know each other and what they can each do, too. There are some additional OOC notes here.]
turned_to_steel: (❥ injured (cut on her cheek))
[personal profile] turned_to_steel
WHO: Sansa
WHERE: Outside the Stark house, then inside
WHEN: February 8th
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: will update if needed but part of the lightning plot where Sansa gets hit

Read more... )
kissed_byfire: (pic#10377337)
[personal profile] kissed_byfire
WHO: Ygritte
WHERE: Her and Jon's house, #50, out wandering the Village/Inn
WHEN: 28th of January - Afternoon and evening
OPEN TO: Sansa; Open!
STATUS: Open again

Read more... )
tooktheblack: (face front)
[personal profile] tooktheblack
WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods
WHEN: 14 December
OPEN TO: Robb Stark
WARNINGS: Starks being stubborn idiots
STATUS: locked post, only open to Robb Stark's thread.

Jon had not really spoken to Robb much over the past several weeks. He'd moved into a house shared with Ygritte, which had worked out to be for the best given the influx of family over the past moon. Sansa and Arya were with Robb now, along with Margaery, and there simply wasn't room in Robb's house for the lot of them to live there together. It was no Winterfell, after all, and after Margaery had accused Ygritte of...whatever she'd accused her of, it had simply been for the best that Jon take a house further away from Margaery in order to simply keep the peace.

Still, he missed his brother. They used to talk quite a bit, especially when they first arrived and it had only been the two of them, and Jon missed that. He had been reminded of how things were before they ever left Winterfell, how they'd been as boys. He wanted that closeness back even though years and battles and politics would ensure that neither of the men would ever be the same as the boys they once were; nostalgia painted things warmer than cold, grey reality.

It was cold today, wet and the snow was the sort that seemed to be changing into a half-melted sleet as Jon went along the lines to check his traps. He had a bow in an attempt to hunt a deer or something but there was no way he'd spot anything in miserable weather like this. The animals had all taken shelter, much like he should, but he had duties to fulfill to the other villagers and one of those duties was trying to ensure they were all fed.

He spotted Robb's red hair along the tree line and cursed under his breath, wanting to avoid him if he could. He was in a foul mood from the cold and wet and didn't want to be reminded that he couldn't exactly just say hello to his brother without opening up the wound of not having spoken with him in the better part of a month so he wanted to avoid the subject entirely. He gripped his bow hard, shocked when it went up in flames. How had that happened?

He'd heard of one person who had this gift, the tall man called Thor Odinson, but this was something Jon had never seen with his own eyes. The fire came again, a towering flame this time, and scorched a tree in front of him. "Seven Hells!" he shouted.

So much for slipping away unnoticed.
catchallthecats: (We won't be broken)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: By the fountain
WHEN: December 13th, afternoon
WARNINGS: Arya Stark being Arya Stark, discussions of violence more than likely

It had become something of a habit. Arya would explore the strange town, and on the days when her older brothers weren’t keeping tabs on her? She’d range further. Into the woods, looking for any signs of anything off. Old campfires, ruined buildings, anything that might hint at what story this place had. Not too far yet, not with what had happened. Just enough to start getting used to what was normal, so she’d notice when things were off. While snow hid quite a bit, the lack of leaves and undergrowth currently meant she could see much more of her surroundings.

But even on days when Robb or Jon were paying more mind to what she was doing, her daily explorations took her to the fountain park. If anyone asked, she was simply hoping that other members of her family might show up. Not entirely a lie, but the knife borrowed from the kitchen hidden under her coat belied the claim, as did the dark expression she sometimes cast towards the fountain when alone.

There were specific people that if Arya saw them arrive would certainly get a hand, though that would be followed rather quickly with a knife somewhere unpleasant. There was no way she’d take any risks and if there was one Southern lady here already, who was to say more wouldn’t come? Those who meant her family harm? So no one should pay any mind to the girl scowling at the fountain like it had somehow personally offended her, hands in the pockets of the coat she wore. She wasn’t bothering anyone, wasn’t getting into trouble. Just plotting a bit of hypothetical murder, nothing wrong with that.


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