girlwednesday: (Default)
[personal profile] girlwednesday
WHO: Felicity Smoak
WHERE: Outside their house in 7I
WHEN: Third week of October
OPEN TO: Oliver
WARNINGS: Plot!


Read more... )
underpinnings: (looking down in reds)
[personal profile] underpinnings
WHO: Owen Prichard
WHERE: 7I; the beach; near house 120
WHEN: September 16-17th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Fox mischief, language, possible mention of burn scars



i. beach, 9/16 (open to 2)

The foxes--are new.

Everything about the side of the canyon he calls home is relatively new, he’s found, but he’d had some time to get settled before they started coming out of the woodwork. Not so settled that he can’t adjust more than a few behaviors to preserve his meager belonging: he’d seen someone out in the water one morning--that welcome-wagon guy who’d left a note and fucked off--tying his bag and clothes to man-made stakes. A decent brain to pick, he still believes, but getting close has proven difficult. Maybe it’s the dog or the bird, but he always sees the man at a distance, and he’s always gone by the time Owen catches up.

At least he figured out how to hide his stuff. Not everything fits in the bag, and he’s wary of leaving his belongings out overnight. He’s got food locked in the cellar, clothes and notes stuffed into corners of the attic. At night he puts the clothes he isn’t wearing under the mattress, guarding them with his own weight.

It’s a nuisance, and in the early days when his food stores were being dug into, the long-term consequences were troubling. Cautious new habits in place, however, he’s returned his attention to the boats. If he’s out on a canoe, he’s as safe as his bag tied to a stick out in the tide.

Today he’s flipped the boat over on its makeshift cradle, giving himself shade to work in. It’s early enough that the wet rocks and sand are cool against his back, but the sun is high enough to drive him underneath the log. The center has been hacked into a generally hollowed shape, but he’s taking his time to smooth and shape the edges, guiding the ax with a hand flat to its side as he pushes it along the grain of the wood.

Just when he thinks it time for a break, curling shaves of wood littering the ground and his chest, the sounds outside the canoe change. Pebbles scatter, wood creaks, a sound like grass on grass hisses between something like--laughter.

Owen stills himself to listen, puts his ax flat on the ground at his hip and steadies his hands on the canoe’s smoothing edges, trying to pinpoint the sounds as they dance too-close and too-far. The next time they come in close, he almost ducks out to look, but a sharp crack pulls him in and puts his arms instinctively over his head. The rough canoe drops off its cradle of branches, one end and then the other, trapping him in the dark.

When the weight of the log proves too much to shove off on his own, he lays there, staring at the dark until pinpricks of light form at the edges--spaces between stones. There’s slight ventilation, and he can dig at the edges, maybe even carve himself out if it came to it.

He’d rather not, considering the work he’s put into getting it this far. Scrabbling his hand at the nearest meeting of beach and wood, he gets his fingers through, and keeps going. “HELLO,” he calls, coughing against the dust shaken free of the log. “IS ANYONE THERE? I NEED SOME HELP.”


ii. house 120, 9/17 (open to 2)

After the canoe, he’s been a little more on edge. That could have been a bad day, made worse if he’d had any of his body turned out of the log’s shadow. He’ll get back to it tomorrow: turn it right-side-up and do without the cradle now that he’s got the basic shapes. He might enlist some company just in case.

That’s harder to find this side of the wall, and he’d spent the last night back in the other village, tending to his notes in what felt like relative safety. He marked a third day with no sign of the guy with the bird and dog, and he wonders if they crossed back over as well, if they ran into some surprisingly malicious mischief. Maybe he’ll finally catch up the guy’s corpse.

Not today, he won’t: today he’s staying at home. Every other path he tried to take seemed to have a fox at its end, some in mirrored poses, blocking the gap. They’d seemed a little childish, compared to other obstacles the villagers have faced, but--it’s a creeping kind of unease, rather than the terror of an earthquake.

The house isn’t safe. His belongings can be taken at any time. The forest is a little more dangerous than before.

“Feels like home,” he mutters wryly, turning away from another fox-laden shortcut to the house. When he catches sight of it from the main path, he breaks into a jog: the door is ajar, and there’s a long tail lifting up from the porch, where he’d buried a bag of fish behind the latticework. “Hey,” he yells, then louder upon approach. It isn’t until he’s cornered the thing that he realizes--not a bushy fox tail, just a tail.

What turns and shimmies out of the gap is the right size, but it’s--one of those exotic pets, minus the rhinestone collar, rough around the edges and hackles up against the wall of his house.

He had wanted some company, and he isn’t getting home to Emrys any time soon.

“Shhh,” he says, putting his pack down to one side, lowering himself into a crouch. “Thought you were a fox, calm down.” He doesn’t expect the cat to respond to anything but the quieting of his voice: he keeps low, eventually shifting to sit on the ground after his long hike home. Slowly, he reaches for his pack and opens it, leaving it for inspection as he finds some of the crumbling bread from the other inn to break apart and toss between them. “Can’t imagine how you’re dealing with these things,” he tells it.

Alone at the end of a long and unpredictable day, talking to a cat? This isn’t so different from home either.


iii. wildcard, any day (open to all)

If you have your own fox related hijinks or starters to play out, feel free to toss one at him, I’m happy to play out anything with anyone!
girlwednesday: (Sidelook)
[personal profile] girlwednesday
WHO: Felicity Smoak
WHERE: The Village
WHEN: Sept 8-9
OPEN TO: Everyone in the village
WARNINGS: There should be none



It had been a couple of weeks since she and Oliver had pulled themselves out of the fountain in the middle of, well. Nowhere. A week had gone by before Oliver had let her leave the woods and moved them into a house on the outskirts of, well, nowhere. The packs they'd been given didn't give much in the ways of clues and Oliver didn't want Felicity showing herself to too many people unless it was necessary and he hadn't yet deemed it necessary.

By the beginning of the third week, Felicity herself deemed it necessary.

A lack of technology was one thing, but short of nagging Oliver into submission (not likely), all she could do was wait until he'd left to scout yet another something in another place and then walk out the front door. She knew he didn't expect her to do it, figured she'd still be taking him at his word that hiding away from everyone who might have answers would be best for them, but she was done with that.

Done hiding. She wanted more answers, more interaction, and figured that at least if someone killed her, at least there'd be an end to the wondering.

So, it was about ten o'clock in the morning on a Saturday when a woman in (mostly) white scrubs makes her way into town and starts looking around. She's not new, but she certainly looks it.


[OOC: Feel free to run into Felicity anywhere your character might be!]
viridescere: (contemplative)
[personal profile] viridescere
WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: fountain, 6I woods, border of 6I village
WHEN: 13 August - 16 August
OPEN TO: All (one locked starter)
WARNINGS: TBD



fountain (locked to Felicity)

Oliver doesn't expect the water. He's made his way onto a boat to try and save William from Chase, to try and make a play to save someone from a madman who doesn't play by the rules and he hopes that his team can figure out a way to survive on their own. They're savvy about this stuff now and if the island is rigged to blow, there's nobody better than Team Arrow to figure out how to defuse the situation both figuratively and literally. Oliver puts his faith in that because, otherwise, he's had to make one selfish choice to prevent the consequences of another and he doesn't like being put in that position.

He's not the same man he was ten years ago. He's not the same man he was five years ago. He's someone who weighs consequences, who knows that a final solution has lasting effects and that he cannot be judge, jury and executioner in all instances. He has to put his faith in the law and the blind scales of justice; he's different now than he used to be. He doesn't have to bear it all alone.

Still, he doesn't expect the water. He'd been int he boat moments before, making a play to save his son over everyone else and now he's in water and being pushed upward somehow. Oliver rides the swell, too out of it to really comprehend how he'd gotten from the boat to overboard and when he opens his eyes, he's shocked not to feel the salt of the ocean stinging them. Is that possible? None of this seems possible or likely.

When he breaks free, it takes him a few seconds to get his bearings. There's a fountain, a little park. He pushes himself up and over the lip of the fountain and collapses onto the ground, coughing up the last dredges of water burning his lungs.

This is not Lian Yu.

woods

As soon as he gets some semblance of self, Oliver heads for cover. If this is Lian Yu or another prison like it, he doesn't want to see other people until he knows exactly what to expect. He's not armed and he only has his brain and his fists to get him out of any trouble. While that's more than sufficient in most situations, he doesn't want to force an encounter if he doesn't have to. He wants to spend some time in the woods, wants to see the comings and goings, and then he wants to make a plan.

He'd bolted from the fountain to the woods almost immediately and luckily they're thick enough to provide good cover. He's found enough to eat by foraging but that's going to run out soon and without something to hunt with or clean with, he's not going to survive for long. He needs food, eventually, but he has a little time before he has to start making decisions on his belly.

When he hears a rustling in the woods beside him, he stops short and takes cover behind a tree, trying to see who or what it is. He's not exposing himself unless he has to; he's going to take any measures necessary to keep himself safe.

outskirts of village

After three days, his curiosity gets the better of him and he draws up closer to the buildings that serve as some sort of town center. Oliver has watched people come and go long enough to realize that this isn't a prison in the traditional sense. If it's a prison camp, that's one thing, but there's no shackles from what he can see and people can travel freely. There's nothing inherently dangerous, either, from what he's seen and he's hungry enough and desperate enough to draw close to the village and try to decide if he wants to join their society.

Who is the leader? Who are they loyal to? Is this another one of Adrian Chase's tricks? Oliver doesn't know. He can only trust in himself, for now, and anyone he knows from home. There's nothing else he can trust until he's vetted it with his own eyes and for now, he's going to be cautious. He doesn't want to reveal too much of himself or his skill - that's a great way to get a target on his head. Still, he steps out into the village and greets the first person he sees, tries to pretend like he hasn't been there hiding in the woods for three days.

It's a step.

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