Credits & Style Info

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WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
OPEN TO: (Who the post is open to tags from -- Specific characters, all, none, etc.)
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underpinnings

WHO: Owen Prichard
WHERE: Grasslands, Old Corrals
WHEN: May 10 and onward
OPEN TO: Oliver Queen
WARNINGS: N/A

Owen lifts his foot up from the mossy rocks around the spring, and puts it down in dry grass.

He stumbles the next step forward, boots acclimating to the flat, solid earth, his senses adjusting from the rustling forest to the open wind and sun of a wide field. Sucking in a deep breath, he blows it out, arms coming up and shoulders hunching, elbows slightly out. All of him braced as his eyes clear and he realizes--he's travelled miles in a single step.

Another breath, one more. Each slower and steadier than the last. Weird shit happens here: at least he's not underwater this time. At least he feels more or less the same, in his clothes and with his bow slung over one shoulder.

Lost space; maybe not so much lost time.

Looking around, he has some bearings--he recognizes the shapes on the horizon, a few of the mountain ranges he'd seen on the trek with Karen. Once he gets his heart rate down and his feet moving again, he can pick a direction based on that, or--

To his left, he hears running water, can see the dip in the land where it might slope into a stream. Likely as not, it'll lead to the river they crossed to get the moss, and he knows the way back from there. Maybe he'll find out what those flying snakes taste like; it's a long enough walk that he'll need something, unless he can find one of those nuts they accidentally fed to the antlered buffalo that dragged them home.

Looking to his right, he sets the question of how and how far aside for a moment. One post set into the earth draws his eye to another, and the detris resolves into segments of a fence. A little further beyond, a lean-to stands somewhat intact against the wind.

Cover won't hurt, while he finds a way to keep his sanity clutched tight in both hands. He feels better slinging the bow down his arm and nocking an arrow; no telling what might already be using the structure to escape the wind.

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: Morning, 18 April
OPEN TO: ALL - This is a mingle post
NOTES: Details may be found here

In the often-bustling front room of the inn there sits a large, old-style chalboard on a wooden stand. Chalk is a precious commodity, but limestone can be found easily, and both sides of the board are often covered with notes and notices from villagers.

This morning, the board has been wiped clean and a much different message has appeared on its worn gray surface:

Jude Sullivan and Francis Mulcahy have been exposed to toxic spores and will slowly drown if a counter-agent is not procured.

A yellow lichen is needed. It only grows on a small stand of trees in marshland two days to the southeast. There is no other antidote.

The following people have coordinates for the lichen loaded into their wrist devices. Only they may retrieve it, and only if they work together. If anyone else attempts this, the expedition will fail.

Peggy Carter
Beverly Crusher
Jean-Luc Picard
Owen Prichard
Margaery Tyrell
Mark Watney

Hurry. Soon it will be too late.

sixthiteration

The Inn is still a place that most of the villagers gather and, as such, a perfect place to conduct an experiment. Since it is a place of high traffic, it is not uncommon to see people come and go at all hours of the day and night; men and women come through to eat meals, to deliver game and simply to talk and catch up with others. If there's any bit of news or a new development within the village, it always spreads through the Inn like wildfire.

So what happens when the Inn is locked away from everyone else? What happens when the doors cease to work and the traffic in and out of the myriad doors is forcibly stopped for an afternoon and evening? Chaos? Panic? Both? Neither? That is precisely the hypothesis being tested today.

There are ways out, yes, but they're cleverly hidden. The keys are not in the normal, visible places they should be kept and each key fits a certain door. Additionally, those doors have to be opened in a certain order or nothing is going to happen.

How long will it take for the Inn to open up to the public again?

[Details can be found HERE]

viridescere

WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: 6I Inn; lake in 7I
WHEN: 21 January
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: TBD. Also a note - Oliver has a lot of tattoos and scarring that will be visible.

but i only see one way out (lake)

OTA

It's probably idiotic to do this but Oliver at least has come prepared. He has his warm jacket, a sweater he'd recently gotten in the box, two pair of socks and three blankets set at the shoreline. For his part, he's naked as the day he's born and trying to get up the courage to jump into icy cold water. It's slow to come, yes, but eventually he just takes in a deep breath and wades into the water until he can start to swim.

He swims until his lungs burn and each pull of his muscles borders on painful rather than a good stretch. His concentration on form and speed helps to distract him from how goddamn cold the water is and he feels like this lake is endless. Is it endless? It certainly seems that way from the shoreline. Right now, he has no idea how long it's going to take him to get to the other side but he's going to do his best.

He doesn't know how many meters he manages before he just has to stop and tread water for a moment, the shoreline distant and small from where he is. It feels like he gets further every time he tries this but he still can't get there and never getting the carrot on the stick is starting to weigh on him.

He's going to crack this place. Eventually.

For now, though, he gathers as much strength as he can and pushes himself back to shore. When he reaches it, he collapses against the stony shoreline and just gasps for a moment, trying to get his bearings. It's so cold, made even worse by the fact that he's soaking wet. He reaches for one of the blankets and dries himself off as quickly as he can before getting dressed again. He wraps the other blankets around him in an attempt to conserve warmth and walks back toward the village, wanting to warm up with some food and a fire.

This is possibly one of the stupider things he's done lately.

then i floated out of here (inn)

OTA.

After his particularly stupid excursion trying to swim the lake, Oliver finally manages to get to the inn and he's settled in front of the fire with a mug of some kind of herbal tea between his hands. The tea is all right, so far as those things go, and more than tasting good it is warm and it's helping him start to feel the tips of his fingers again. That can only be a positive.

His hair is still damp and he's shivering but his eyes are alight with possibilities. Could they build a boat, possibly? A boat would be a lot less risky than trying to swim the lake in the middle of winter and Oliver thinks if he could build a kayak-style boat and row himself out as far as he can manage and try to see if there's a way out. It's futile, probably, but he can't let it lie when he'd gotten so close this time.

When someone comes into the inn Oliver turns his head, trying to see who it is. He calls out a quick hello and goes back to curling up before the fire, trying to decide how best to attack the problem of getting the hell out of here.

girlwednesday

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

( Read more... )

chosenbytheocean

WHO: Moana.
WHERE: All Over.
WHEN: November 4th – 15th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE.
WARNINGS: None.

[ooc: Let me know the day and where you tag her. It is all open to run into her at any time or in between any action!]

Nov 4th – 10th | Letters Everywhere | 6i & 7i

( Many days and many letters )

Nov 11th – 15th | Green House Glasses | 7i

( Finding stuff and she has no idea what it is. )

viridescere

WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: along the river in 6I
WHEN: 3 November, afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBD

When Oliver was younger, his parents used to refer to this as snow weather. It's just a little above freezing, from what he can tell and there's clouds low and heavy in the sky. It's getting darker earlier in the day; by his reckoning, there's only about eight good hours of sunlight now and there's not much of it to speak of. It reminds him a little bit of home, if Star City were in the middle of the pristine wilderness instead of an industrialized and globalized city.

He's not running today. Instead, he's walking along the river, trying to skip stones across it like he had as a kid. It was good luck to get one all the way across and he remembers his father being really successful at it almost all of the time and Oliver himself failing miserably about 90% of the time. Later, when he'd gotten older, it'd been him teaching Thea how to do the same thing. The stones along the river here are flat and smooth, just right for getting them to skid across the surface.

His first attempt isn't so great. It skips for a moment and sinks down to the bottom with a plop and a splash. His next is better, though, and it skips about halfway across the river before it falls beneath the water. There's a scientific principle to it, he's sure, but that's not what he's interested in right now. Right now, he's wondering what's going on in his city, what he's not able to prevent because he's stuck here.

Oliver closes a hand tight around a stone and curses beneath his breath, frustrated by his impotence in this place. This place holds him here just as much as it holds everyone else and no matter what he's done and what he's capable of, he's held by the same strange power that keeps them all trapped here. He's no better or worse than anyone else. Maybe he has a little edge on some of those who've never had to survive outdoors before but that's it. That's his only advantage in the world.

"Looks like I've turned into just one more madman railing at the sky," he says, frowning deeply. The heavy clouds don't respond.

viridescere

WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: Throughout 7I and 6I
WHEN: early morning 22 October
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: none at this time

Ever since coming back from Lian Yu five years before (or, well, more like seven but his official story was five), Oliver had a routine that he's stuck to fairly regularly. He gets up early, trains, runs, then grabs breakfast and heads on about his day. He's found no reason to change that since arriving in this village and, besides, the run gives him time to think.

The scrubs aren't terrible to run in but the boots leave some to be desired. Back home, he's got Nike trainers that are custom-fit to his foot and his particular idiosyncrasies. Here, he's got boots that fit but not well enough, scrubs that are thin and not meant for the cold rain that comes down in streams and does just enough to melt the snow from the past two days and the peacoat is woolen and bulky. None of it is what he's used to.

Still, this is what he does. He runs. Since coming here, Felicity's been a lot more open to being together than she'd been back in Star City and he's not really sure why that is. She's explained bits and pieces of it, yes, but none of it seems to come together seamlessly in the way he'd like. He runs with that thought in his head, stops in at the Inn to spend a few moments drying off with a cup of tea, and then heads back out for the run home to the other side of the settlement.

The run back is quiet too. Not many people or animals out this early or in this kind of weather and Oliver can't say he blames them. It's cold even if it's not snowing and it's dark and gloomy besides.

girlwednesday

WHO: Felicity Smoak
WHERE: Outside their house in 7I
WHEN: Third week of October
OPEN TO: Oliver
WARNINGS: Plot!

( Read more... )

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

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

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.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with dc: oliver queen

Credits & Style Info

[closed] homeward bound

[MINGLE] Color Coordination: The Announcement

[MINGLE] Glitches: Locked In

004 ➵ you know i love the element of surprise (OTA)

but i only see one way out (lake)

then i floated out of here (inn)

/closed to Oliver

014 Finding to many things [OPEN]

(no subject)

step out of the driving rain (open)

First you see me...

[fox ota] throw my hours on your line, no need to rush

Defying Orders

001 → all these things that i have done [open]