bit_fairytale: (conquer)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Border of 7I
WHEN: September 24th / 25th
OPEN TO: OTA / Locked Log to Jax


The little mirror village has been Amy's solace and quiet place ever since Rory vanished. She's not saying the earth opened up and gave her the Scottish female equivalent of a mancave, but she's also not-not-saying that. It's quiet, there's thankfully barely any people, and there's been peaches to keep her from starving, not to mention that snagging a peach is a thousand times easier than trying to hunt rabbit and then deal with all the blood and the bones and the gross parts of rabbits that Amy doesn't want to think about.

It's perfect, right up until the stupid foxes come along.

At first, it's just that Amy notices a lot of them are around. It's not too strange and since she's not exactly kicking off a fox hunt, she doesn't care. Then, they start to get involved around her. The peaches she picks and sets on the ground go missing. Flattened, gone, or ruined, but they're missing. Seeing as no one else seems to be around, she figures that it has to be the stupid animals, but she can live with it.

What she can't live with is that they seem determined to kick up their levels of mischief when Amy keeps going back. She's taken off her shoes to get comfortable and read one of the books she'd brought over with her (squinting more than she likes, which just makes her wish she had her reading glasses with her), when sh hears a faint rustling sound nearby.

Then, when Amy clocks it for what it is, her eyes widen with alarm. "Don't," she warns the furry little thing, who currently has one of Amy's boots in its mouth. "No, you...! Idiot fox!" she snaps when the thing takes that as a sign to run away. It's got a heavy boot in its mouth, she ought to be able to keep up, but the stupid thing is fast and Amy doesn't have any shoes on. Glancing back to the other, she lets out a sharp, "Oi!" of anger when she sees another fox is making good on getting both that boot and the book.

That's it, Amy decides. Fox hunts are back in style. "If you don't drop that boot," she shouts at the fox, one of them, who cares which one, "I'm gonna wear you for a hat and gloves!"

For Jax

"Hey!" she shouts at the furry thing that's currently making off with the bottom leg of her trousers. It's not cold yet, but she's fairly sure that one long leg and one shorts leg isn't the height of fashion anywhere in the world, not to mention that Amy has stubbornly decided that instead of being mature and calm about it, she's going to go chase after a stupid fox like a maniac, marching right into a fight with one of mother nature's creatures.

This can't go wrong, right?

She's closer than ever to getting her pant-leg back because she's managed to corner the fox into one of the little nooks and crannies, crouching over to try and approach quietly like this is some easily spooked alien creature and not the devil's own little dog-cat pets. She's going to time her moment right, she's going to make it happen, except when she does lunge forward for the fox, it darts out, her scrubs-pant-leg flapping in its mouth, leaving Amy flat on the ground, dusty and dirty and hating her life.

Instead of getting up right away, she flops into her hands, chin pressed stubbornly there.

"Guess I'm spending winter in half-shorts," she mutters sarcastically, unless she can actually catch up to one of the stupid things and skin it for leggings, that is.
theluckygirl: (▲ i'll listen)
[personal profile] theluckygirl
WHO: Claire Temple
WHERE: Fountain and settling in
WHEN: September 2 - 4
WARNINGS: None, but will updated if necessary


Like probably a lot of other people, once Claire was out of the fountain and able to look around, there wasn't much convincing that this was all some crazy dream. How else would one explain being teleported from the second largest city in the world to a place that looked like the population barely met 100.

And as nuts as her life had become, there was no way this involved the Hand.

Oddly enough, even though she kept telling herself it was a dream, it didn't feel like one. Physically and mentally speaking. She felt wide awake. So, Claire sat there soaking wet, looking at the fountain, trying to figure it out as she pulled the bag off her back and opened it up to hopefully find more clues.

"You know what this is, Claire? This is you finally cracking." she muttered to herself.

[Around the Village]

So, she wasn't crazy, but this was still insane and what made it worse was that Claire was by herself. No Luke, no Colleen, or Danny. Hell, she would have been happy to have Jessica around to share in the absurdity of the place. Then again, no. Having Jessica there would likely result in a lot of beaten up people.

But it would keep her busy.

Thoughts such as these ran through the nurses head as she explored the area over a couple of days. She checked out the inn and the hospital, which were both a stones throw from the house she claimed for herself. Everything else was more or less found as she walked past it.

And despite the new face looking calm and relaxed, she was doing a little freaking out on the inside. Oh, she definitely didn't want to be there. But by the third day in, she was quite aware that going home wasn't going to be happening any time soon.
rangerbecket: (097)
[personal profile] rangerbecket
WHO: Raleigh Becket
WHERE: 6I village, Inn
WHEN: 21 August - mid morning
OPEN TO: All + Mingle
WARNINGS: Put on your Eclipse Glasses TBD

Raleigh had been on his way back from his normal morning routine of checking his traps and fishing for a while when he noticed the sun wasn't quite the way it normally looked - he'd caught a glance at the reflection and saw that the sun, normally perfectly round, was looking a little like a lemon that had gotten beaten up at the grocery store. Huh. An eclipse. He hasn't seen one since he was in Ranger training and he hadn't gotten a good look at that one because he hadn't been directly in the path of it (and, obviously, he'd been preoccupied).

This one, though, looks like it's just starting so Raleigh has time to go to the Inn and tell the people there that there's an eclipse starting and they should get something to try and look at it. He's not exactly sure of the science behind it but he remembers being a kid and making something with a box and earlier he'd done pretty well with the water. Maybe they can take pots outside with water and just look at the reflections? Might work. Maybe, too, one of the scientists has a better idea of how to get a look at the thing.

For his part, it's just something that's different from the norm. Raleigh hopes it's not a sign that the sun's going to start moving backward or staying up all month like it had a few months back and that it's just a perfectly normal, natural event. After earthquakes and people getting sick with some kind of crazy illness, it was good to just have something...mundane to focus on.
remporter: <user name=bangparty> (ne font plus pleurer mes yeux)
[personal profile] remporter
WHO: René Vallières
WHERE: The fountain, the inn, 7thi's peach trees
WHEN: 18th
OPEN TO: Open to all, with closed prompts for Neil and Aurora
WARNINGS: Talk of war, nazis, ptsd probably.

elle était si tranquile, cette révolution )
lastofthekellys: (rabbit and dandelion stew)
[personal profile] lastofthekellys
WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 15th August | Noon
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.
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.
igotacrossbow: (peeking)
[personal profile] igotacrossbow
WHO: Jake Jensen
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Forward-dated to July 25
WARNINGS: Grief, aborted panic attack

Cougar disappearing for a day or two isn't unusual. He's always been the lone-wolf type, prone to withdrawing into himself and doing whatever the hell he feels like despite what anyone else might say, and Jake is used to that. He's used to him climbing trees and staying there all day, to parking himself on the roof and refusing to come down, to skulking around the shadowed corners of rooms and refusing to speak in anything more than the occasional grunt. 

His looming shadow, far-flung as it might occasionally be, has become a central point to Jake's life, the lodestone around which his consciousness revolves. 

Cougar has been missing for nearly five days. 

At first, he'd explained it away. Cougar was out hunting. Cougar was setting his traps. Cougar was exploring. Cougar was sulking. Cougar was lying somewhere in the canyon, injured so badly he couldn't come crawling home, slowly bleeding out into the pine-needle-covered forest floor, wondering why Jake hadn't come to rescue him. 

He hasn't had a panic attack since before he joined the Army. He feels alarmingly close to one now. 

Cougar isn't in the smithy, and he isn't in the store room, and he isn't down by the waterfront. He isn't in the mill, or the cellar of their house, or perched on top of the Inn. Jake is rapidly running out of places to look, and the panic that's been clawing at his throat has really started to get its claws into him, squeezing tighter and tighter. Cougar can't be gone. He can't. They didn't survive Afghanistan and Bolivia only to let this shit hole village to separate them. He's not allowed to leave. 

Frantic, and hiding it very badly, he grabs the sleeve of the next person he passes, for the moment utterly oblivious and uncaring of the fact that he looks like a wild man and could very well frighten the next person he grabs. 

"Tell me you've seen Cougar," he demands, eyes wide and bloodshot behind his glasses. "Do you know where he is?" 
bit_fairytale: (troubled)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: June 28th
WARNINGS: Depression

It's been days since Amy's last seen her husband. At first, she'd just thought he'd gone off to the hospital to work himself to exhaustion like the man he is, but then he hadn't come back for dinner and hadn't come to bed with her. No matter how hard Rory worked, he'd always come back to her. Then, Amy had figured maybe he'd found a way out or the Doctor had arrived and Rory was in the middle of something, but the village is calm apart from its usual madness, and no one's seen Rory.

She knows what's happened. She's known since the moment Rory didn't come to bed, but her denial has been the only thing keeping her sane. Even that can't last forever, though, and now, Amy's finally starting to break because she's having to acknowledge that Rory is gone. He's been gone from her so many times before, but she almost wishes it were like the cracks in the universe again, just so she wouldn't have to feel like this.

"Come back," Amy pleads, for what feels like the hundredth time, hands together in desperate prayer. "This is not the sort of anniversary present that a woman wants, especially not for ten years together, Rory Williams, you come back," she demands, gritting her teeth together as she sinks to sit beside the fountain, feeling punch-drunk with exhaustion (she hasn't slept properly in so long, not since he vanished, and it's catching up to her). "We made a promise, it was you and me, together," she pleads, scraping at the stones of the fountain, like she can somehow coax him back with sheer faith alone.

She'd brought them to a bloody hotel prison with faith, she'd brought Rory and the Doctor back from nothing with memory, so why can't she do it again? Only, the water stays placid and still, no one comes out of the fountain, and Amy Pond is spending two days after her wedding anniversary alone. No Rory, no Doctor, and only Amy Pond, alone.

She rests her head on the stones of the fountain, eyes blurred with tears, her limbs heavy with grief and exhaustion. It's not the first time she's lost Rory, but it's the first time she's lost him and felt this aimless and without a plan. What's she supposed to do, now? What's the point of any of this if she hasn't got Rory at her side?
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.
mindmeld: (Default)
[personal profile] mindmeld
WHO: Spock
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, Around
WHEN: Backdated to June 7 & onward

i. fountain

The water is tranquil, rippling over him in gentle eddies lull him into a sense of calm that almost takes him away from the fact that he is currently floating face down in a body of water.

Getting into the enemy ship with McCoy, prepared to crash into a planet, Spock had expected to be shaken and injured; there was always a possibility of such an occurance. He did not expect to wake in something vastly different from the ship, uninjured but decidedly odd.

It does not take long for Spock to react, despite the disorientation he feels; he swims, breaching the surface with a few powerful strokes. Swimming is not an activity which he finds beneficial, but his survival training courses had included lessons, necessary for space missions. Useful now.

What he sees when he breaks the surface is not what he expected from the planet. Between that, and the fact that his clothes are different, and he is decidedly altered from his usual appearance, Spock quickly concludes that he is not on Altamid at all.

"What is the nature of this place?"

It is the only question he asks aloud, though a dozen others run through his head. Now is not the time to speculate; there are more important matters at hand. Such as drying off.

ii. the inn

There are others in the same position as he, an entire village of them. Spock intends to find a place to stay away from the crowd, but for the first few nights, Spock stays in the inn, spending ample time in the common room. Quiet and reserved by nature, he still finds value in socialization - and in understanding where the others are from, how they came to be in this village. Better to find answers that way.

Given a chance, he will approach any individuals who appear to be somewhat idle, or even those busily engaged in a task, to ask, "What was the nature of your arrival?"

iii. the canyon walls

It is logical that the canyon has already been inspected and escape routes discovered - or, in this case, not discovered. But it is far from people and allows Spock an opportunity to assess his situation in relative privacy.

Whatever this place is, it has turned him human. He has made no mention of this to others because the lack of distinctive Vulcan features has made it easy to blend in among the other individuals in the village but it is troubling. Mental control does not come as easily; the awareness of his biology functions is limited; even his heart beats in a different spot.

It is, quite simply, disconcerting. And he wants to be back aboard the Enterprise in order to correct these complications.

The canyon also provides a distraction, as focusing on learning the lay of the land and measuring distances requires more of his attention than customary - one of the downfalls of a human body. Especially since the range never seems to compute; each time he thinks he has an answer for how long the canyon wall is, the number escapes him.

"I have walked fourmiles," he says, at one point, only to take a few more steps and announce, "Perhaps it has only been three."
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Melancholy)
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia Borgia
WHERE: Bunglaow 27
WHEN: 6/07

The shock of arrival had worn off as the day was nearing its end. To go from the Roman style celebrations to a vast wilderness had been a shock for her. The smell of Rome was familiar to her, the waste, food and people were almost comforting, even behind the walls of her mother's palazzo. To leave that and surround herself with...nothing, it was as much of a shock as the cold water she emerged from.

Villagers greeted her, others brought in through similar means. They apparently were confronted with new arrivals often, as their explanations seemed well rehearsed. They weren't disingenuous, just...memorized. She wasn't the first and she got the impression she wouldn't be the last.

Without Cesare or her father to guide her, Lucrezia followed the advice of those that found her. Once she was cleaned, she found a house to her liking and waited for the last of her daze to depart. Was this how her precious Djem felt when he arrived in Rome? So out of sorts and confused? The thoughts of her family weren't far from her mind, quickly chased by an overwhelming sorrow that threatened to suffocate her, as though she were drowning again.

Forcing herself to think of other things, Lucrezia collected a number of linens from the house and brought them to the front porch. She didn't know very much about cleaning, but she knew how to soak and treat linens, having sat beside Francesca as she tended to Giovanni Sforza's home. It took a bit of effort to bring a bucket of water to the house, but eventually she was seated on the front porch, singing to herself as she scrubbed the linens in fresh water. There was no soap, but did that really matter?
sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] sixthiteration
Hail had been falling for two days now, peppering the ground and shredding the grass but rather than melt away like a late spring storm it had only intensified, growing in diameter and moving from a mild annoyance to damned near deadly. As the storm raged, ice flew up through updrafts and was forced back to earth in the downdraft, accumulating layer after layer of murky debris until it went hurtling toward the earth with wicked accuracy.

Shingles were ripped from roofs, the wind howled and lightning cracked. The hail had driven both humans and animals into the safety of the indoors, to the dark corners of buildings that might withstand the assault. With only candlelight and the hushed voices of villagers to stave off fear and boredom, the storm raged like a sentient being heedless of those who might be caught in the path.

After the storm, a calm came over the land and weak sunlight glinted off smoke-tinged ice. Steam rose from the melt and humidity was thick in the air; petrichor hung heavy, a soothing scent after a savage display of natural fury.

[OOC: Your hail mingle post. Feel free to have characters on the run, gathering animals or inside the Town Hall waiting out the storm.]
frankensteinian: <user name="preciousblueberry"> (grumpy)
[personal profile] frankensteinian
WHO: Erik Lehnsherr and open
WHERE: Firewood pile, inn, in the village
WHEN: May 1-8
WARNINGS: Grumpy mutant ahead. Also sex in the thread with Claire.

May 1st

It had been a shock to him when he'd gone out this morning to chop some wood and had found that he could no longer control the ax like he used to be able to. Concentrating on moving it does nothing but threaten to leave him with a headache that will keep him from being able to do anything all day. Which is tempting, except for the headache part. So he convinces himself to stop trying, and by that point he feels the anger swell up. It had been hard enough to accept that someone had been able to take away so much of his ability, but now they've gone and taken all of it. That will never set well with him.

Thanks to his ten years of purposely not using his powers, he has some practice at doing things without them, and there's an ax and a pile of wood that needs to be turned into firewood. Put those together with the anger he feels right now, and soon enough there's a pile of firewood large enough to fuel one or two fires for a couple of days.

He only stops when the blisters that have formed on his hands threaten to burst, even after he wraps rags around them. The pain kept him going, but also fueled his anger some more. He shouldn't have to worry about a thing like blisters, but here they are. When he returns to the inn in the village, he leaves the rags wrapped around his hands until he gets inside, where he carefully removes the wrappings to take a look at his hands.

He hadn't stopped soon enough. One of the blisters has burst anyway.

May 2nd – 8th

The rest of the week, he stays around the inn and the other buildings in the village, helping however he can around there. The blisters on his hands prevent him from doing his usual task of chopping firewood, and he has a hard time even using a knife, but he'll find something that he can do to help out. He's not living simply off the charity of others. It's been his experience anyway that most people aren't as charitable as they claim to be.

Sweeping, washing dishes, prep work in the kitchen, give him a task to do.
bit_fairytale: (know better)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Blacksmith
WHEN: April 10th

There's been a box of little jewels under Amy's bed for a few weeks now, collecting dust. Most people would probably hoard them and use them up right away, but Amy hadn't known what to do with a box of diamonds and other gems that she'd just received. Of course, five minutes later, she'd figured out what she wants with them, but there's a problem. She's still annoyed with this place for stealing her wedding bands, but she's got jewels and absolutely nothing to put them on, not to mention that of all the skills she'd accumulated with the Doctor, blacksmith didn't exactly make it on the list.

Good news for her, then, that they've got this place in town that looks plenty like a blacksmith's, though she hasn't exactly seen anybody in there, when she's been scoping the place out. After she sends Rory off to the hospital with a kiss, she decides that today's the day she goes and finds out. Box clasped tightly to her chest, Amy heads out and starts to knock on the wood the minute she's there, even though she doesn't really hear any of that clanking or see any sweaty, shirtless hunks around slaving over a fire, the way you'd expect.

Or, well, the way that Amy would expect, but it's not her fault that she's developed certain fantasies over the years, not with the actual eras of history she's been to.

"Hello," she drawls, peering inside and at all the nooks and crannies to see if anyone is there, nudging over some old tools as she meanders through the place, despite the sinking realization that she is absolutely all alone here. "Married woman, looking for some help, here!" she shouts out to absolutely no one at all, settling herself down on the table with a box of precious gems in her lap. She's got no gold, no rings, and no one to help her out.

She wishes she knew why this is bothering her so much. Shouldn't it be the confines of this place? The boredom? Except, she'd been about to settle down in New York and do just that, but she was going to do with Rory, together, and part of that marriage was the rings they'd exchanged. That ring means more to her than most, seeing as that little ring had helped pulled Rory out of nothing and nowhere in her memory, a man that didn't exist, except to Amelia Pond. Now, she hasn't even got that, but she wants it back. She wants something of her old life back, even if it's just a little piece of jewellery.

Not today, apparently.

Pushing to her feet, Amy heads outside with a briskness in her step, which is why she's not really thinking too much about pushing the front door open as hard as she does, which is instantly regretted when it comes into contact with something that's definitely not thin air. Closing her eyes tightly to avoid looking, she takes her hand off the handle. "Please be a shoe or a rock or some sort of animal," she mutters to herself, peering around the door belatedly. "I really hope I didn't hit anything delicate," she says to whatever (or whoever) is on the other side of the door.
welshdragon: ([Henry] Somber)
[personal profile] welshdragon
WHO: Henry Tudor
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 4/3
WARNINGS: Talk of war and death.

He had felt as though he were on solid ground when the battle had concluded and breath returned to his lungs. All else had been a spinning wheel, determining where fate should land and where his life would fall. On Bosworth soil or in a king's bed? How could he know that neither choice were upon the board. He had felt the weight of the crown in his hands, the feel of the eyes of his men, and the overbearing awe that it had all ended. The war was waged and won, the will of God had been fulfilled and his destiny was no longer an idle dream. He could remember staring down at the mud covered crown and wonder "What now?"

The answer was a swirling mass of water, filling his lungs and churning about him as he kicked towards the surface. The fountain, for it was a fountain, was the source of his arrival. Magic was at work, though he didn't ask many questions when he had been found. He remained silent and listened, following the advice of others and choosing a place to stay. It was well with him. He needed to sleep and rest his mind, already weary from the long battle.

Once he woke and felt able to comprehend it all, he left for the inn that had been shown to him. There were others there, the sounds of life and merriment (as much as there could be). There was a chair by the fire and a woman that handed him tea. With a tired expression, he stared into the flames. It was no dream, this place was unknown to him and now he was stuck here.

The question returned: "What now?"
maternis: (l)
[personal profile] maternis
WHO: Newt Scamander
WHERE: the fountain, the canyon wall, and the woods.
WHEN: March 20th + onward.
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Just an extremely introverted magizoologist who prefers the company of all things not human.

The Fountain:

Newt was still in quite the state after finding himself in this place. A place, which, he apparently couldn't leave. A place that separated him from his creatures, thrust him into a place where his magic was little more than barely within reach at his current ability level, and wandless. After recovering from the strange arrival in the fountain, he had gathered what belongings he had found himself possessing, and distanced himself from what seemed to be the town center.

After taking stock of everything, he'd gotten a very basic idea of the general layout, and since, has returned daily to the fountain. He may look rather strange, a tall man in navy blue scrubs hunched over as he checks the fountain, and the ground surrounding it for clues. What he's looking for are tracks of any sort that might mean any of his creatures might have accidentally found themselves in this place as well. So far, he's found nothing to indicate as much, but he's hardly keen on giving up so easily.

The Canyon Wall:

When Newt isn't tracking creatures who have simply not followed him through to this place, or foraging or fishing for the necessities, he is exploring the land. He's seen swarms of fireflies, and inspected them from a distance. Something nagging in the back of his mind kept him from straying too close, and they seem to congregate in places that might offer means of escape. The fountain. The canyon wall. How curious. He walks along the rock face, one way for a time, keeping a steady pace and counting his steps. He wishes he had paper to map out the area, but perhaps he can find something the next time he goes into town. If someone were willing to trade pad and paper for fish or what edible berries and plants he's found, that would be most appreciated, but it also requires he be willing to make the trek into the small town center.

He would really rather not, if that was all right with everyone.

The Woods:

Newt is used to sleeping rough. He spent a year in the field, the brunt of it in Equatorial Guinea, either taking rest in the shed and on the cot in his case, or making use of nature around him in the wilds. He finds a secure place to rest, where he is sheltered, and his position is protected, and he can gather his things quickly if entirely necessary. While he was not the war hero his brother was, he did still serve and fight (albeit under some duress) in the Great War, and he learned to move quickly from compromised positions.

When he isn't catching sleep at odd times, or running himself ragged as he finds ways to busy himself in this new environment, he's exploring and gathering. While there may not be much by way of hunting or foraging, there are seeds, and he gathers those in case they might be of use at a later time. It's during one of these trips that he hears the high-pitched chirp that most might mistake for a bird of some sort, but Newt knows to belong to a rather small mammal. A squirrel, in particular.

After a little bit of searching, mimicking the sound that the mother would return in answer as she tried to find her youngling, he finds a small, injured baby squirrel at the base of a tree. He crouches down carefully to inspect her, and lifts her up after she's grown somewhat accustomed to his scent.

"Hush, now," he murmurs as he lifts her close to his chest, bringing his peacoat around his hand to offer more warmth to the animal huddled in the palm of his hand. From what he can tell, she has a broken paw, and it doesn't look as if she's been seen to by her mother for days. Orphaned, probably. It does happen. A tension in his chest he hadn't realized had grown so tightly coiled lessens a little, and he smiles gently after what feels like ages. "Mum's here."
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.
chosenbytheocean: (Oh fuck)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana Waialiki
WHERE: The School House
WHEN: March 7th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE [Feel free to make top posts!]

Moana had begun planning event about a month before the date that she had set. She told everyone she could about her and Jean's idea of having a dance class. She didn't know who would come but she hoped that some might find the idea interesting enough to peek their heads inside; if enough people were interested she'd have classes regularly or see if others wanted to teach as well. She'd love to learn dances from other places like the Moon Walk that Jean had taught her.

She got to the school house early and pushed the desks to the side, stacking a few on top of each other to make room. She had a drum that she'd made with her though she'd have to ask someone who didn't want to dance to beat it to a steady tune.

As the time she'd decided grew near she would stand outside of the school house, waving for people to come inside. If it was someone that she'd met or knew she'd grab their hand and pull them into the building without much prompting.

bit_fairytale: (Default)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Outside the Mill
WHEN: February 13th
WARNINGS: Temporary confusion due to lightning & unconsciousness


Something's happened to her, something that hurts and is making everything fuzzy. Amy stares up at the sky from where she's lying on the ground, not sure why it feels like she's coming around from a nap, her body covered in dirt except for her right arm, which has a strange pattern by the shoulder, like little tree limbs stretching out from her neck down her arm. It hurts to move, but the worst is that everything is fuzzy.

"Rory?" she ekes out, trying to sit up as she stares around her, panic beginning to well. She's not entirely sure what's going on, but she's not in her clothes, her ring is missing, and she's not sure how she got these marks on her arms. For a brief moment of panic, Amy's hands fly down to her midsection and she wonders if they've got her at Demon's Run, still, if all that time in between was just some sort of dream...

"Rory!" she shouts, a little louder, more panicked. "Doctor, where are you?" Her head is splitting and she's covered in dirt on the ground in what looks like an old little village? She knows it, though, why does she know it? Rubbing a hand to the side of her head, Amy tries to sit up, but she keeps her eyes closed because everything aches so badly.

Did she get knocked out? Why does she remember a bright flash and then nothing?

Wait. Did she get struck by lightning? Does that actually happen to people? Amy manages to get to her feet, stubbornly trying to keep her balance, but she's still a bit dizzy and ends up stumbling towards the nearest building, pressing a hand to it and rubbing at the mark on her neck, grimacing at how bad it looks as she wonders if this'll be permanent. Right, she decides, she's clearly got something wrong with her, which means she needs some medical help and maybe something strong to drink.


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