Credits & Style Info

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WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
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sixthiteration

WHERE: Anywhere; multiple locations
WHEN: Apx. 19-27 November
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Serious illness and reactions to such, snakes, hallucinations

IMPORTANT NOTES: This is the second of two mingles. Please see the timing and general event details here.

Not putting any mod top-levels in this one — Just make sure you label your own top-level clearly as to whether it's Expedition or Recovery, and as always, whether it is OTA or not!

Please keep in mind the established plot details, but creative license is welcome and encouraged as long as it doesn't step on toes.

sixthiteration

WHERE: Anywhere; multiple locations
WHEN: Apx. 13-18 November
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Serious illness and reactions to such

IMPORTANT NOTES: This is the first of two mingles. Please see the timing and general event details here.

Illness Presents and Putting Heads Together will have their own top-levels in this post, but you may make separate top-levels for whatever you like! Anything is welcome, as long as it tangentially relates to the Worried/Sick plot.

Please keep in mind the established plot details, but creative license is welcome and encouraged as long as it doesn't step on toes.

sixthiteration

WHERE: Hot Springs
WHEN: 21 Sept, after sunset
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Please warn in your subject line as needed
NOTES: Details found here

It's been a strange, rough couple of months for our intrepid villagers — Bunkers, superpowers and clones, oh my! Perhaps the Observers are sympathetic to their plight, or maybe they just have a peculiar sense of humor. At any rate, they've set up a gathering space chalk full of summer camp goodness, no strings attached. Not that anyone knows that part.

Just before sunset, a cheery message pops up on wrist devices all across the settlement and beyond. The instructions seem simple enough, although one does have to wonder at what dubious gift awaits them all after everything is said and done.

Marshmallows are on the house, so grab yourself a stick, strap on a sash and get to roasting, villagers. Skinny dipping, sing-alongs and friendship bracelets optional.

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I inn front lawn
WHEN: 4 August, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Some mentions of drug use
NOTES: Full plot details here. List of favors here.

The fourth of August dawns pleasantly mild and clear, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Which is good, because it means there's plenty of sunshine to see the riot of color that has errupted on the front lawn of the inn.

The general set-up will be familiar to those who've been in the village long enough — Tables and chairs from inside the inn set up outside for a party by the time everyone wakes. This party, though, seems to have been turned up to about 11, and the theme is definitely new: Balloons, streamers, party favors, and everything in a rainbow of colors that villagers have come to know extremely well.

Each place is set with its own (occasionally large) goody bag and birthday present, each in the color belonging to the owner on the tag. One place, done up all in silver and gray, is set for the lost.

The tables are piled high with the sort of fare you'd find at a children's party: Cake, soda, hamburgers, pizza. Not a beer or cup of coffee in sight. And on the edge of the lawn, beside an area possibly kept clear for dancing, is the most bewildering, magical thing of all, no pocket change needed.

Tuck in and let loose, villagers. If you're lucky, maybe someone will spike the punch.

warriorborn

WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: House #12, the Sorellin-Kelly residence
WHEN: June 7
OPEN TO: the waifu 💑
WARNINGS: nothing triggering unless you find gratuitous sweetness worthy of a tw

It's been two weeks since his disastrous attempt at bonding with Bucky Barnes, and through some help from the healing springs, even the worst of the bruising has faded, leaving Benedict as good as new. (Even if his nose is a little tender, still, and sometimes he coughs more than he used to. That will pass in time, he's sure.) The problem with no longer convalescing is that he grows bored much more easily than he used to. Add that to the weather looking more and more grim, and eventually the stormclouds breaking overhead with spectacular results, and Benedict spends the majority of the day pacing restlessly, making a tight circuit through one room to the next, down to the cellar and upstairs into the bedrooms, even going so far as to climb up into the crawl-space that one can only charitably call an attic.

He's not really expecting to find much there, setting himself the task more for something to do than out of any other expectation, but once he gets his head and shoulders into the narrow gap afforded them, a small package catches his eye tucked away in one dim and dusty corner. Staring at it and trying to calculate how best to fetch it, he idly wonders if he'd be able to see it at all were he not warriorborn, a concern that gets brushed aside for more practical matters as he wriggles around and manages to get an arm up through the gap, his fingers straining as he reaches, only just barely managing to catch a corner with his fingernails. Eventually he is able to winkle it closer, close enough to grasp it in his hand as he drops back down to the floor beneath.

Upon closer inspection, it is a box. A plain white box, the size and shape of the box that he had discovered down in the Inn all those months ago, the box that had held his robes from the monastery (or at least, a reasonable reproduction of his robes; it wasn't as if he has put his name in the neck) that he had since all but forced Kate to repurpose into a blouse for herself. He has no need of Temple robes in this habble, and a part of him had chafed at the idea of some nameless observer dictating what he did or didn't do. Just like the previous box, his name is affixed to a label on the lid. He's certain the uptick in his heartbeat at this discovery is not his imagination, nor is the immediate surge of irritation that follows in its wake.

He will not let these mysterious overseers manipulate him quite so easily, thank you.

Scoffing at himself, he rips into the box, flummoxed slightly when the only contents is a smaller box, crafted of red velvet, small enough to fit in his palm. It's clearly a ring box. He's not so sheltered as to never have seen what jewelry comes in, on the contrary, but it seems a strange gift to give. The robes had unsettled him deeply. This...

He drops the external box, weighing the little red one on his palm curiously for a moment before using his thumb to unclasp the little gold latch and push the top half away from the bottom, revealing a delicate and brilliantly-sparkling ring nestled in the velvet inside.

Stunned, he stares at it in silence for a minute before letting out a loud whoop and all but bounding out of the room, taking the stairs down to the kitchen nearly three at a time, yelling for Kate at the top of his lungs loudly enough to compete with the thunder crackling overhead the entire while.

markwatney

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn front lawn
WHEN: 21 June 2018, afternoon/evening and onward
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
NOTES: A few thinsgs: You may assume your character helped set up; There are tubers in pot with the red salt, negating the warmth effect; The list of of potluck dishes is here; The list of local provisions is here

The weather is great, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and it's pleasantly mild. Time for an (extremely) old-fashioned low country boil.

We've got two small fire pits built out in front of the inn, each with a massive pot filled with loads of vegetables — corn, carrots, potatoes, onions — and of course the rainbow crabs Finnick and Annie discovered not long after we arrived here. We've even got salt, if you can believe it, although the red salt in this place is pretty spicy and usually makes me sweat, so I've only put it in the one pot, and then set a bowl of it out for garnishing.

Tables and chairs have been brought out from inside, a couple of them set aside specifically for piles of plates, bowls, cups and whatever potluck provisions the rest of the village brings.

freightcars

WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: The Inn - Open Space / Fitness Area
WHEN: 06/20/1018
OPEN TO: Benny
WARNINGS: violence / adult themes.

Through all of his time here so far, Bucky's started to develop something of a rhythm. A routine that's so regular it's almost uncomfortable; waking up with the sun, watching it rise through the window in his room. Eating breakfast with the other quiet early risers in the dining room of the Inn, usually by himself but occasionally with company. In the morning before the sun bears down and it gets too hot he likes to run, usually making laps around the town at a pace not quite up to his norm before he got here but fast enough to make even an athletic man balk. He typically does another chore after, usually something he's the most physically apt to do like chop wood or help Clint build whatever he's working on that day. After sweating through his clothes entirely he bathes, changes, has lunch, and does some exploring, cooking, cleaning, whatever needs done.

Not today. Today it's raining, not just a light drizzle but rather scattered thunderstorms that roll through the area, drenching the ground, muddying everything and making running an impossibility. It's the first time his mind's not occupied with a schedule, and a restlessness settles deep into him immediately. It's directly following that feeling that the change happens.

Slowly at first, but gradually speeding, he feels... no, he sees a line forming along the ground. It's beautiful, a blue, pulsating fairy light, a comforting looking thing leading from his table, across the dining hall, and around the corner. He glances around, but nobody else seems to notice it. The one stranger he asks gives him a funny look, and with that established he assumes he's the only one who can see it.

And so he follows it carefully. It may feel comforting, it may scream in his gut that it's the right place to go and he should definitely, absolutely go there, but he's suspicious of it's origins and intentions. It leads him down the hall and toward an open room with plentiful space and only one inhabitant. It's a familiar face, one of the first people he'd met here and one he occasionally sees around the halls.

Benedict stands motionless in a strange pose that seems to flex ligaments most people wouldn't think possible, one Bucky distantly recognizes as something he's seen in the back of his mind, a distant memory when they were teaching him to fight that he's since blocked out. Beneath Benedict's body, the light pulses one final, sure time before fading to a dim, barely noticeable circle around him.

He realizes then that he's been staring for a couple of seconds worldessly and his mouth drops open, head ducks, eyes flit away immediately.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt, I just-" His brow furrows, replaying the events in his mind, eyes flitting to the line and back up again. "You seen anything... weird today?"

ex_enlisted288

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: June 19 - 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None yet, but will update

[ Fountain ]

[ It's over. Right? It's definitely over. A letter has been sent, friends are rescued, some of the dust is settling. Steve can sit down and take one damn minute to catch a figurative breath. To get his head together, so he can figure out what to do next. Oh, there will be a next. There's always a next. He settles down on a bench in an otherwise empty hallway in Wakanda's palace, grateful for the lack of company. That won't last, of course. Someone will come to fetch him soon but, for now, solitude.

It's great. He hunches his shoulders, elbows braced on his knees and heaves a tired sigh.

Then, abruptly, there's a lot of water surrounding him and when the hell did he fall asleep? Where the hell did he fall asleep? For a moment, there's panic and sputtering, and then Steve's instincts take over. Kick down, swim up, head for what looks like the light. It seems a long way off, though, which means he has to keep reminding himself not to take a breath and risk drowning.

He surfaces in a fountain, throwing one arm over the edge, and takes a couple of seconds to just breath. Before completing the task of hauling himself out and rolling onto the ground in a heap. And stays there, too, for ... he's not sure how long, actually. A minute, maybe two. Maybe even three. Whatever. He takes stock without moving: wet clothing, wet boots, there's something lying against his back, but he's going to have to wait until the disorientation fades. The air doesn't smell stale or like medicine, so this probably isn't a medical facility. No giant tank of icy water and god knows what else, no artificial voice offering stilted reassurances while he endures a panic attack. No hint of the needles-and-pins sensation that comes with being defrosted.

Steve takes a shaky breath. The lack of a frozen, watery tomb is. Good. Very good. Eventually, sitting up seems like a good idea, so Steve follows that instinct too, shoving hair (and water) out of his eyes and peers down at the white, wet scrubs he's currently decked out in. The heck? Then he looks up and around, blinking in confusion. There's a .. little square with a fountain behind him, and a whole lot of bushes. And trees. But not the kind of trees found in Africa.

Which means this isn't Wakanda. Well, shit. ]

[ Inn ]

[ Later, when he's has had a little time to adjust to the idea of a brand new set of omniscient beings deciding to screw around with his life (protip: he hasn't actually adjusted yet), Steve decides to do a little scouting. Of the informational variety. There are also some sketchy plans to wander around and see what can be seen and learn the layout of the immediate area. Then learn the layout of the not-so-immediate area. Here's hoping he'll only be here a couple of days. There are people, back home, who are counting on him and Steve doesn't intend to let them down.

But first, something to eat. He chooses a seat near the wall, where he can see the exits and probably anyone trying to sneak up on him for nefarious purposes. Because people don't sneak around for non-nefarious purposes in his experience. He hunches his shoulders a little, to try and negate some of the space his body takes up, and starts watching other patrons. Best way to figure out local customs, also in his experience.

And locate someone who looks like a waiter. Or who can point him in the right direction. ]

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: The woods, by the fields, and the Inn
WHEN: June 6
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None so far but always the chance of Panem-related asshattery

THE WOODS

OTA

He thinks they're dandelions. At least, they look like dandelions. But for all his training, edible-plants was never Finnick's strongest point. Fishing, hunting, improvising nets and ropes out of whatever he could find around him, those were the skills that got him through the arena of the 65th Hunger Games. So when he finds that a spot in the woods near one of his fishing traps has, in the space of a few days, erupted into a carpet of fluffy white balls that burst seeds into the air as he walks through them, Finnick's immediate response is uncertainty.

He crouches down by one of the plants and peers at its leaves. Dandelions, he knows, are safe to eat. He's seen tributes eat them in the arena. But he isn't sure if these are actually dandelions or just some other plant that acts like them, and he can't remember as he studies the leaves whether or not that's what dandelion leaves look like. if they were dandelions, shouldn't there have been flowers? Or at least, flowers for longer than the time it's been since Finnick last walked through this spot?

Maybe someone in the village will know. Maybe Katniss will know, since somehow she seems to know a lot more about how to survive in the wild than any tribute from her District he's ever seen. (There's a story there, somewhere, but it's a story that nobody would expect anyone else to share, at least not someone who's spent as long under the Capitol's surveillance as Finnick.)

So Finnick gathers a collection of leaves from the plants, and tries his best to collect one of the fluffy heads without it bursting into the air, and puts them in one of the woven baskets he and Annie use for transporting fish.

THE FIELDS

OTA

Finnick plans to stop by the fields on his way home, with the vague thought that there might be someone there who's able to help him work out what the plant he's found is. But as he cuts across from the woods towards the fields, Finnick's suddenly overcome by the smell of salt on the breeze, the tangy smell of the sea that means home.

He stops, uncertain, and raises his trident, his body suddenly tense, the alertness that's always running under the surface suddenly springing to the surface. It's impossible that he's smelling the ocean here; surely it can only be some sort of trap.

He waits, only sign of movement the rapid rate at his his gaze goes from one spot to another, scanning trees, shrubs, anything that could act as cover. It's only slowly that he realizes there's no real apparent danger, and heads towards the smell.

THE INN

OTA

The smell of the sea had turned out to be coming from another unexpected spring blossoming, this time an expanse of purple flowers on the boundary of the fields. He doesn't remember seeing wildflowers there before now, and now there are so many of them that they look like a field of their own. Since he already has a sample of uncertain flora in his pack, he'd picked some of these flowers, too, and he heads for the Inn with his samples in his backpack.

He stalks into the main room of the Inn, because it's one of the places it's common to see a lot of the villagers gathered. He has one of the purple flowers in his hand, and he holds it out, his head tilted to one side, as he leans on the never-stocked bar.

"Is it me, or are there more plants around than there should be?"

[ We're playing with Fluffpods and Forget Me Nots! Check them out on the Flora list for more information about them. ]

freightcars

WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: spawn fountain, inn, butcher shop
WHEN: 05/27 & 05/28
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: A:IW spoilers in the first section, adult language and potentially traumatic themes referenced.

( behind the cut )

fwips

WHO: Peter Parker
WHERE: 6I Fountain, elsewhere
WHEN: 3 May 2018, afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: BIG spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War both in the post itself and probably in Peter's narrative in threads

( Avengers: Infinity War spoilers )

[First person welcomes/explains. Anybody else can find him at the 6I inn or wandering later, dry and curious.]

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Fountain Park & Elsewhere
WHEN: April 1
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

Far, far away, in a place that isn't really there, people begin to blink out of existance.

It is the first of April.

It is precisely ten o'clock in the morning.

[Please see event details and guidelines here.]

warriorborn

WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn/immediate surrounding area
WHEN: Jan 13, after supper
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: foul language probs

LEAVING THE INN

OTA

He'll never get used to Winter.

This is Benedict's second cold season down on the Surface, and he would have thought he'd be prepared for snow; after all, he had plenty of experience with it last year — never mind that it hardly feels like a year has passed, he's had it explained that the seasons only happen once each per year and a year is shorter here than it is back home, by nearly a third! — but he was wrong. He's starting to think that one can never be ready for snow, that it catches you unawares every time, that you're left scrambling to deal with it no matter how well prepared you think you might be.

It started snowing overnight. In his humble opinion, that's the absolute worst time for snow to begin to fall. When snow begins during the day, you can keep an eye on it, keep abreast of it, decide how you're going to deal with it and make the effort regularly to go out and maintain your pathways. When it snows after you're already in bed... It's pretty to look at, he'll admit that, but only from the warm safety of his bed, with Kate beside him like a warming stone tucked against his side. When he inevitably hast to get up and get started for the day, the crushing weight of the impending snow-removing work he has to do feels like a physical weight on his shoulders.

By the time the evening meal is concluded, Benedict is afraid that, by the time morning rolls around again, he won't be able to even guess where the path is to shovel it even if he wanted to.

Bundling up as best he can, making use of some of the abandoned cold-weather gear left behind by those who've disappeared in the past, he heads towards the front door, a coil of climbing rope over his shoulder. As he nears the door, he grabs the sleeve of the person closest to him.

"Do you have a minute?" he asks, voice muffled by the way he's turned up the collar of his coat and has already burrowed down into it in anticipation of the miserable task ahead. "I would be eternally grateful for an extra pair of hands for a brief moment."

BACK AT THE INN

OTA

Surely it's not healthy to be this cold. Benedict is fairly learned, more so than many of his peers, but while he studied human anatomy in both an academic and a military-triage sense, he does not have much knowledge about extreme temperatures and their effects on the human body. In the climate-controlled Spires, it wasn't exactly an issue, outside of perhaps accidents involving fire or blaster burns. The only time he had ever possibly gotten close to being as cold as he's grown used to becoming during treacherous Winter was on the airship Predator, and even that felt wildly different than this.

He's hung up his sopping wet clothing, changed into something dry from the wardrobe, and even went so far as to drag the blanket off his and Kate's bed so he can wrap it around himself as he huddles near the fire in an attempt to thaw out his frozen extremities.

"How do you people live like this?" he grumbles to nobody in particular, tucking his fingers into his armpits and pulling his knees up to his chest.

sixthiteration

At the Inn, there are a number of tables set up with neatly labeled place cards. At each place is a favorite dish from home, something that kindles warmth and goodwill — But try to move seats, and you will find a surprise: Your dish refuses to move. It seems that if you want to indulge, you're stuck with whoever happens to be at your table for company.

Outside, a gentle snow is falling - not enough to discourage any patrons but just enough to blanket the world in clean, soft white.

mulletrock

WHO: Dean Winchester, and anyone crossing his path.
WHERE: The fountain, and the town. Other locations through writing?
WHEN: Night of the 18th.
OPEN TO: ALL.
WARNINGS: Probably profanity. Mentions of violence and death.

The last thing Dean can remember is blinding white light. Whenever Castiel ported him anywhere it was a blur of lights, color, sound and an unparalleled brush with vertigo. Afterward his legs felt like jelly, the earth felt like sand, and the buzzing in his head didn't die down for a good hour. That was the kind of crazy that he could count on.

Instead, the cool rush of water was the first thing to bring him back to reality. On all corners, immersed, and the push up is only part of what moves him to the surface. At this point, the sudden spike in adrenaline is driving him and it's what pulls him higher and higher until he's finally able to break the surface. Did Cas fucking drop him? What the hell was this?

The first sharp inhale rakes against his ribs and rattles around with the cool air outside. It's a painful reminder of the fact that he's alive, this is real, and not another pipe dream of Zachariah's. Even if it could be, this didn't really seem his style. Too decorated, too close to the last shit show.

With good old-fashioned upper body strength, Dean heaves himself out of the water, it's dark, too dark to really get a clear lay of the land. All he knows is that it's nowhere he's ever been before. His phone wasn't gonna do him any good, but some other provisions might. After a second to reign in his breath, Dean double checks his pockets and his fingertips meet the crude set of cheap cotton scrubs. Now he knows somebody screwed the pooch.

"Sonuvabitch!" No weapons. No I.D. No phone - not that it'd matter. No amount of rice was gonna fix whatever the hell just happened to him. He had absolutely no idea where he was or where he needed to go to get some answers. Timbuktu with no map and no geographical comprehension, normally there'd be a lot more screaming but after everything with Sam with Zachariah, himself, and with Cas, he doesn't bother wasting the energy.

An open palm finds the ridge of the fountain and with a muted grunt he uses the force of his blow to the side of it to push him to his feet. Dean doesn't bother wringing out the set of clothes. He lets them trip as he treks toward the soft glow of what he can only hope is charitable civilization and a warm meal.

A warm meal and a drink were all the convincing Dean needed to head toward the inn and tavern to hang his hat for the night. He hadn't heard anything about this kind of hospitality since he was a kid and cowboy shows were his favorite late-night stories, but it was a kind of comfort he hadn't experienced in a while that beat the hell out of a full-scale apocalypse.

Keeping to himself is only part of the game, old habits die hard. It's a lot easier to white knuckle a pint and keep his eyes on the people around him than to just dive ride in. People were easy to read. Body language, laughter, hell- sometimes the eyes said all the things they wouldn't or didn't. So, scoping out the place came naturally to him even if it meant picking a corner seat in a dimly lit area so he could case people and figure out who he should talk to first.

His bedroom is calling his name at this point, after 2014 and the shit that happened there, and the trip back home with Cas that never actually landed him home. He's world-weary and exhausted for more than one reason, even if it is easier to blame it on the swim and the chilly night air. Surveillance had to be prioritized, Sam would be doing the same thing if he were here. If he just ran upstairs Bobby would've had his ass. That kind of negligence got you lifetime ticket ride on the guilt-trip train.

Once he got somewhere quiet he made sure to be root through the bag he showed up with. Nothing useful, besides the provisions and some survivalist items. This is starting to seem more and more like an M. Night Shyamalan film. Besides the fact that the people aren't even interesting to watch. Two beers and he's still coming up goose egg.

notdrfrasier

WHO: Carolyn Lam
WHERE: The Fountain and the Inn
WHEN: December 15th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None yet but will update if needed

Water. That's the first thing that Carolyn Lam thought about as she came to. She was in water and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how she got there. One minute she had been at her desk at the SGC gong over the medical tests for one of the teams and then she was suddenly immersed in water.

Breathe.

She had to breathe. Kicking her legs, she propelled herself up as she fought to hold her breath. She could see what looked like sunlight dancing across the surface, at least she hoped it was the surface. And she kicked a little harder, trying to hurry her ascent. She couldn't die in the water, she had to... And then she was breaking through the surface and sucking in a deep breath as she floundered for a moment.

Cursing in her mind, she paddled to the edge of, God, she didn't even know. A freakin fountain? She sighed as she threw her arms over the ledge and held on for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Holding on didn't last long because it was colder than the water and she knew she needed to get out before she caught hypothermia. Somehow she gathered the strength to pull her entire body out of the water and she very ungracefully rolled off the ledge and onto the ground.

She didn't even care. She was out of the water and that was what was import for the moment. She knew she needed to move, needed to find some sort of shelter before she began to try and figure out where she was and how she could contact the SGC, but first, she just needed to catch her breath. She wouldn't close her eyes, she would just rest there for a few minutes.

Somehow she had ended up at the Inn. If anyone had asked her how she had got there, she wouldn't have been able to answer. But, she was warm and sitting before a fire with a blanket wrapped around her. There was a bowl of some sort of stew in front of her, but... She wasn't so sure it would be a good idea to eat anything in this strange place.

Instead, she was looking around, watching the people who were also in the Inn. They didn't look weird, or primitive but they didn't exactly look like they were space age either. No one she could hear was talking about a God or anything... Which was strange because she was pretty sure some Goa'uld had managed to beam her out of the SGC and plop her... Well, where ever she was.

Carolyn knew that once she was dried, she was going to have to explore and try and figure things out. She was also going to have to try and find a gate. Hopefully there was one there. But if a Goa'uld had dropped her there... There had to be a gate. God, she hoped there was a gate because she wasn't sure how she'd get off the planet if there wasn't one.

Her stomach grumbled, breaking her thoughts. She looked around quickly, really hoping that no one had heard and then she was reaching for the bowl of stew. Her nose wrinkled a bit but... Oh, she didn't know.

ex_assertiveness90

WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The inn + Stella and Peggy's house
WHEN: Backdated to early October
OPEN TO: OTA except where marked
WARNINGS: This post got more sad than anticipated :( Otherwise, none as yet.

ota;

Stella first notices something's wrong when Credence doesn't show up to meet her for tea at the inn one evening like he'd suggested. This is Credence Barebone, whom she's always known to be a conscientious, punctual young man, who would have warned her in advance if he'd planned to meet her somewhere and then couldn't make it. It's still possible he's been waylaid by something minor, but Stella learned a long time ago to listen to her gut instincts, and her gut is telling her something feels off. She waits till the next morning to go on the hunt — and what she finds is an empty house, both Credence and Graves gone, their things left about as if they'd suddenly got up and run off in the middle of something... or been abducted, or simply vanished. She doesn't touch anything or take anything, because it's not hers to take, but she's seen enough people suddenly disappear from the village to know what's happened here.

It occurs to her, too, that she hasn't seen Sonny since the day she pulled him out of the fountain after he'd nearly drowned trying to get himself home, and a cursory check reveals much the same scenario. Then she hears from Peggy that she hasn't seen Steve, and fuck, it must be the time of year — it must be autumn, with the way the weather's turning and the note she'd made in her diary this morning about how she's been here nearly a year now when she arrived in the middle of winter. It's just a season, and Stella's far from superstitious, but autumn in so many cultures means loss and melancholy. Or maybe it's just the observers, fucking with them again as always.

There are reasons Stella doesn't allow herself to get too close to people, though the reasons here and at home are different — here, it's out of self-protection against scenarios just like this one, when inevitably someone she cares about will disappear. The problem, naturally, is that she's a human woman and it's in human nature to want to care about things and people, and she can only do so much to control when that happens. Her many years of practice at keeping her emotions carefully regulated keeps her from showing too much of what she's feeling on her face, but anyone who happens to run into her while she's sitting in the inn common room with her usual cup of herbal tea that evening will notice she seems a little more distant than usual.

It's been nearly a year, she realizes again, which means it's got to be nearly her birthday. And Stella usually doesn't care one way or the other about her birthday but shit, she'd meant to be spending her 45th birthday at home in London after putting Paul Spector behind bars like he'd deserved, not trapped in what amounts to a fucking prison herself.

locked to peggy;

Stella has her tea, and allows herself time to converse with a couple of people, but eventually she makes her way back to the house. By now it's nearly dark; she goes to her bedroom and fetches the quilt off her bed, then goes back to the living room, lights a couple of candles, and sits down on the sofa with the quilt draped over her to wait up for Peggy. It's not winter-cold, not even close, but she's always felt cold easily and the extra layer helps.

Peggy had gone out to look for Steve earlier, and though Stella had offered to go with her she'd insisted otherwise. There's a lot of ground to cover in this village and the one on the other side of the canyon wall both, and it might have gone easier with two people, but Peggy's as stubborn as she is and Stella knows she can only get so far with her when she's so determined.

She's half-asleep when she hears the front door open and close; the sound wakes her up completely, and she pushes off the quilt and gets off the sofa to meet Peggy halfway. Maybe there's some good news out of this terrible fucking day — but by the look Stella can see on the other woman's face, she doesn't think so.

She waits, quiet, to let Peggy broach the topic — to allow her the time to collect her thoughts.

markwatney

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 19 Oct 2017
OPEN TO: ~~ALL~~ Closed to new threads

I think most people have an unspoken list of things they intend to do when they have the time and inclination. Mine I usually actually write down, even in a place like this where paper and writing implements are scarce — Days with much downtime don't happen often, and my list is embarrassingly long. It helps to have a note so I can look everything over and figure out what's most pressing. I managed to get off of Mars this way, so I figure it's not a bad system.

Today, though, my choice was made for me. I woke up to two things: A box with my name on it, and a sky full of snow. Fortunately, all of the harvesting had been done on the less cold-hardy plants already, and unless this cold snap dragged on into something long-term, it would be good for what we picked later in the season. Sweetens the berries.

I've got plenty of ways I could fill a free day, but the snow and that mystery box left little question what needed to be top of the list: Taking a census before winter fully moved in. As far as I could tell, while various people in various places took notes about events and connections, we'd never had one central, definitive list of everyone in the community, where they were living and how long they'd been around. With a second village in the mix now, this information was more important than ever. A proper census would give us the tools to start to prepare for winter in earnest — Not just in predicting how much food and firewood would be needed, but what roads needed to be cleared, medical preparations and more.

The box I mentioned before, it helped with this. It was full of items that were a huge help in getting organized: Pencils, binders, blessed paper. And chalk. There was only one place to use that.

After carefully copying the information that had been collected on the blackboard at the Inn, I wash down both sides and jump right in: At the top of the outfacing side, I make three headings:

Name - Residence - Apx. Arrival

Beneath this, I start with my own info:

M. Watney - W. outskirts, blue - 1yr, 4 mo

"Why haven't we named the damn streets yet?" I mutter, and then began writing in what information I know on the rest of the villagers, leaving blank spaces for others to fill in next time they're at the Inn. But seriously, though, one more thing added to my to-do list: Street names and house numbers.

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: Waterfall
WHEN: 20th September
OPEN TO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WARNINGS: TBA

Kate does not particularly like the forest here. It's too different from the bush of her home, too green and then changing so dramatically when it gets cooler. The smells are different, the shadows are different (oh, except for that strange period when the shadows were right but the sun was wrong), and she'll never forget that time she was lost with Margaery. She will venture into the forests with a group, but on her own? Never.

But today she's decided to stop being a silly little girl, and take Benedict out to the waterfall where the river begins. It is nice to have a day without work, so blessedly nice, although that's not the main reason why she's here. No, she has Plans with a capitol P and they involve swimming.

Kate doesn't trust the river. It changes, and she knows from last year that the weather will turn, and who knows what their captors will think up this time. The best way to deal with a flood is to avoid getting in the water altogether, but just in case...

Well. She'd prefer Benedict know what he was doing. And if they take all day, and make a nice day of it, with some packed food and just them, then it'll be a nice day from whatever weirdness is going on.

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 15th August | Noon
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: N/A
NOTES: All sections are completely free for all! You can handwave your character helping out or thread it out, or just jump in to them eating. All characters are ICly invited, as they are every day. In light of the illness plot, feel free to use this post as an excuse for your characters to catch ill or spread the plague around.
STATUS: Open and ongoing!

Rain, hail, shine; blizzard, earthquake or lightning storm, the meals at the Inn have continued. People can, and do, wander in at breakfast and supper - as long as the stores are enough for three meals, anyway - but the main meal remains the one at midday. It's this meal which is the main event that Kate structures her day around, making sure volunteers arrive to help prepare, serve, and then clean; double-checking that there is enough food for all, that stores aren't too low and that fresh greens have been gathered. With the village chickens now producing eggs regularly there's a welcome addition of protein to the foodstuffs, and by now there are a number of experienced cooks in the village. At least, experienced in the ways of cooking communally and with what's on hand.

The main room of the Inn is swept, dusted; cutlery and bowls, plates are laid out on the sideboards in piles to be collected as people need. Everything is as it should be, even if some people - Kate included - are feeling a bit under the weather. But that's to be expected, isn't it? Everyone gets run down, has a day or two of feeling off colour. Certainly, it's nothing to worry about.

So come on in, help at the kitchen or pull up a chair at a table and enjoy some warm food and company while the outside confusion stays firmly outside.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with cinder spires: benny sorellin-lancaster

Credits & Style Info

[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 2: Snake Expedition & Recovery!

[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

[MINGLE] Scout's Honor

[MINGLE] EVENT: Birthday Party

be careful, it's my heart

[MINGLE] Crab Boil

everybody was kung fu fightin;

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

ψ haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? | OTA

THE WOODS

THE FIELDS

THE INN

mild A:IW spoilers in option a.

[OTA] I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain;

[EVENT] The Simulation Ends

"the snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches." -- e. e. cummings

LEAVING THE INN

BACK AT THE INN

[EVENT - MINGLE] Home for the Holidays

[ota] when the levee breaks i'll have no place to stay

Took My Faith (OPEN)

i know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay.

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south;

lessons

mingle | we have bread and fishes and a jug of.... well, herbal tea.