wittyskepticism: ({ 062)
[personal profile] wittyskepticism
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: By the forest in 6I, then all over
WHEN: October 7th

In all honesty, for the longest time Hawke has been expecting something to blow up. Ever since the earthquakes and especially since the eclipse and the rash of illnesses, she has been expected something to happen. A darkspawn invasion, the world to implode, a Rift into the Fade. Something. But for the most part, things have been relatively normal. For whatever passes as normal in this strange little village.

So when she spies what looks like a pear tree in full bloom, complete with actual pears, she is both suspicious and intrigued. Pears are good. Pears mean food. She's more interested in food than a lot of things here and though she isn't much of a farmer or a gardener, she isn't about to let this one go without at least trying it. So, even though she also doesn't have a basket or anything to carry a lot of them back, she decides she'll at least pick one to try. If they're ripe, she'll come back for more later.

Reaching up, she chooses the one that looks the best, twisting her hand once she's grasped it and tugging until the pear comes free. What she doesn't expect is for the thing to vanish. One of her eyebrows arches and she turns her hand over. No sign of the pear at all can be seen on her hand.

Case of the vanishing peach, is what she wants to say. Except nothing comes out. She mouths the words, but no sound can be heard. It's like the air won't even push through her throat right. She tries again. Same result. Now her expression morphs into something like irritation. She can't even make terrible puns to cope without her voice!

This better not be permanent.

Deciding to avoid any other peaches that might be skulking around, she heads out of the forest and back towards the village. Her first stop is the Inn, where she looks for something to eat just in case it's some sort of illness that just needs a good bowl of soup. When that doesn't seem to do the trick, she leaves for the hospital. Eventually, she wanders around the village, looking grumpy and put out, and ends up back at the house she's sharing with Fenris. It's easier just to be there than anything else.

With her luck, this will be permanent and she's certainly going to sulk and complain for as long as it lasts.
pretendtoneedme: (aiming)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: Area behind the inn/police station, fields/forest, and behind the boathouse (all in 6I)
WHEN: October 1-3
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Nothing yet; will update if anything changes

( October 1 - Archery Lessons )

The leaves are starting to turn colors, everything except the needlers going gold or red or brown, and it's getting less comfortable to wander around in shirtsleeves although he's still doing it most days. But back home that cooling and color changing means something specific to him that it doesn't mean to a lot of people he worked with - namely, hunting season. It's something he grew up with and still participates in, back home, and here it'll be even more important considering the number of mouths they're going to have to feed over the winter, even with the recent losses of a fair number of people, since among them were some of the regular hunters. In the latter half of September, Clint's switched his focus more towards food acquisition than construction and repair for that reason (and the fact that the scavenged wreckage is beginning to run out), but good as he is he knows he can't feed over fifty people alone. There's other hunters, but not enough, and not nearly enough equipment. It's time to get to making more and teaching other people to use them. Finding Baze trying to make bows and arrows a couple weeks before had basically forced his hand, and Clint had offered to teach him exactly what to do, both in crafting and in actual shooting.

Now, the fruits of their labor are ready for testing. The four bows aren't that great, they were all done in too big a rush and probably nothing's going to last longer than late spring, but they're even and basically smoothed out and Clint figures even getting some basic weapons out into the community will help and he'll have the winter to really get down to crafting some good bows. The arrows are much better; there's a huge box of arrowheads in the inn storage, more than even he could ever possibly need in a year, and he'd liberally helped himself to them and feathers from some of the geese he'd brought down to make quality arrows. They're more likely to break than the bows simply because they're thinner and they're the things making direct contact with whatever's being shot at, but they'll shoot straight and true until then, and their non-wood parts can likely be reclaimed and used again.

He's also taken five of the abundance of snuggies from the inn storage (why would there be so many snuggies?) and rolled them all up to make a target that he'd balanced on a tree stump and weighed down with some rocks so it wouldn't go rolling off into the sunset when it got shot. The blue of the outer snuggie is eye-catching, and he's carefully testing each bow and its cord of tightly twisted duct tape with the new arrows. They work... well enough. Not what he's used to, but they'll work fine for anyone with some sort of skill at aiming - and he's willing to help people find out if they have that skill. He might even make this a real thing every few days until it gets too cold for any but the most dedicated hunters to be out seeking a target.

He looses an arrow, which pierces his fluffy target, then speaks to whoever's watching him while reaching for the next one and not moving his focused sight on one bit. "If you wanna try it out, come on over. Just don't get in the gallery."

( October 2 - Dastardly Tricks )

In the vein of archery, Clint's taken to roaming the forests looking for good slim branches he can cut for arrows for about an hour a day, and today's no exception. Archery lessons went decently well and he's cautiously optimistic about their chances at finding enough game. If the bows don't break. If they don't run out of arrows. If there's not another natural disaster. If- So, yeah, looking for more supplies is always good. He also keeps his eyes open for any branches he could use to make another bow, but those are harder to find. He's debating binding reeds together to give them another one, as makeshift as that is.

It's almost harvest time, so he's not taken aback when he sees the apple hanging from the tree in front of him - big, red, bright and shiny, like the tree had been tended by the foremost gardeners in the world from the time it was a sapling. Their own fruit output looks pretty good, but none of them are as perfect as that sample. Clint doesn't even try to stop himself from reaching up and picking it, not realizing any significance in the fact that it's just inside his comfortable reach, and-

-it vanishes in a little puff of apple-scented air, prompting an outburst of дерьмо́! and him nearly dropping the small bundle of sticks he'd gathered to season for arrows. "I was looking forward to that," he mutters, regathering the sticks he'd fumbled and continuing on through the trees. Without realizing that he'd come away with something even if it wasn't a nice, juicy apple: a set of soft gray, fluffy bunny ears and a matching white-tipped tail smashed flat under his scrubs pants.

( October 3 - Under Construction )

Did Clint want to go outside and face a few dozen people who were probably still laughing at the stupid ears and tail? No. Is that what he's doing? Yes. Well, sort of.

He's gone out after breakfast at the house, sure, but even though he's not hiding, he's not exactly hanging out in the middle of the village tempting everyone to tease him. While he's still one hundred percent not happy with the trick played on him, the snow that had dusted the ground when he'd woken up had lit a fire under his ass on a project he'd been working at off and on for about a month. The days had been getting chillier, hunting season was coming, sure, but snow? Whatever hands are controlling the weather, he's pretty sure they're about to fuck with the residents again. Over the past few weeks, Clint - and lately, Baze - have been forming mud bricks with some plant fiber mixed in, leaving them to dry after being shaped in a wooden frame Clint had lashed together from branches and paracord. It's something they can only work on on days with no rain, since the bricks need to dry in the sun, but they've manufactured a respectable pile of bricks that are more or less 12"x6"x4".

Today's all about putting that together. Using the mud technique, Clint had cleared a small swath of grass and moss and other ground cover from a small area behind the boathouse and mixed it up to form a concave "dish" of mud in the ground, which he's now piling the bricks around in a square formation, leaving space for a door that he's planning on stealing from one of the damaged homes. He's also got a few thick, more or less straight branches piled off to the side, chopped down to matching lengths that are clearly for some latter step in the process. But the smokehouse he's been planning is finally being assembled, and hopefully soon it'll be ready to start preserving their meats.
wittyskepticism: ({ 074)
[personal profile] wittyskepticism
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: House 49
WHEN: during the plague stuff, backdated
OPEN TO: Fenris
WARNINGS: will update as needed. Likely talk of death to start.

Days have passed since Fenris fell sick, since his fever and hallucinations and whatever else began to manifest. Days since Hawke started to really worry for him. She's not a healer; she can't cure this. Even if she were a healer, her power would have been stripped from her and she wouldn't be of any use. If only she could find some decent elfroot here, she could make a potion or a poultice to help him. But she's got nothing but time and energy, both of which are fading into exhaustion.

She keeps a compress on his forehead and water by the table, but it never seems to be enough. If he's dying, she can't tell, but she might lose herself if he is.

The Champion of Kirkwall ― the woman who never broke in the face of a crisis, not even when her own lover turned out to have used her to help him destroy the Kirkwall Chantry and was responsible for the deaths of countless innocents in what was no more than a power play to force a war ― had long ago taken Fenris' hand in one of her own, her head and arms resting against what little space is left to her on the bed. He's asleep, she knows he is, but she can't find it in her to try to rest herself. Instead, she's let the mattress and sheets get wet, the only sign that she's let tears fall at all.

"Fenris," she croaks out after a while, her voice thick with worry and fear and pain. "Maker, please. Please let him survive. Let me wake up tomorrow to him as he always is. I miss his grumpy self already. It's endearing."

It's more than endearing, but that's too hard to admit. His grumpy self is comforting to her, the one constant in a sea of confusion and turmoil. He and his friendship are the two constant things she knows will stay with her, but this sickness of his has brought up her fear of losing everyone. Of forcing them away. Her life is like a trash fire. Eventually, she loses everything.


"Not Fenris. I can't lose him, too."
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.
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.
unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha and anyone who wants to swap theories about the pod or help her out
WHERE: Running through the village on the way between the pod, her house, and back again. Then the pod for a few days.
WHEN: First few days of July
OPEN TO: Anyone and everyone! 1 July is open to anyone who might run across her in town. After that, it'd have to be someone who knows she's at the pod, or who has their own reason to be there.

1 July, afternoon/early evening - passing through town, round trip )

from 1 July late evening forward - back in the pod )
wittyskepticism: ({ 028)
[personal profile] wittyskepticism
WHO: Hawke
WHERE: Dragon Age House + all over
WHEN: July 1st, a while after the earthquake
OPEN TO: ALL + closed starter for Fenris
WARNINGS: None for now, will update if needed

Natasha had wanted to stay for a while to look over some of those papers. What Hawke could gleam from them didn't make much sense, but Natasha seemed to think it was worth looking through just so they wouldn't lose anything. That made sense, given that the first papers they tried to take out of the pod disintegrated. So she did her best to look over a few of them, too, though her memory wasn't the best for things like this. Besides, Natasha was also right in that this scary metal thing would probably survive better than they would if the cave system fell apart around them.

What that would do to everything inside they couldn't say, but both of the women seemed more willing to take their chances here than outside.

Everything changes when Hawke finally steps outside to see the damage. Maybe those tremors they were feeling were worse than they'd thought. She pauses for a time just to take it in and for a moment, for one long moment, it's like standing on the edge of Kirkwall after that last talk with the Arishok. After Isabela had run off with the relic, after Hawke and Aveline had failed to talk down the Arishok and the order to attack Kirkwall came. It's like the final confrontation with Meredith. Just in that long, terrifying moment, Hawke feels the fear all over again, briefly paralyzed with the worry that the city, the town, might be gone for good or that all of the people might not survive. That her friends, her sister, might pay in blood for something she'd done.

It doesn't last and she snaps out of her thoughts, her gaze drawn immediately in the direction of her claimed house. "Fenris." Not that he can't take care of himself, but he's the one remaining piece of her life in Thedas. The most important part of her life here. "I'm going to help people," she tells Natasha, "but first I have to find Fenris."

And then she's off, tearing across the ground as quickly as she can. "Fenris!" she yells as she nears the house, praying to a Maker that might not be capable of listening that he's all right. "Fenris!"

Once she's sure that Fenris is okay and the house will survive, Hawke will take to the streets as she always does. A crisis is always a reason to be out and about. Hawke has never shied away from helping people in need and now is no different. If someone needs help getting somewhere or finding someone or getting dug out of rubble, she's there and she will help. It makes her miss her family mabari, though. Cailan would be vital in helping her sniff out people trapped or injured. But all she has is herself right now; that's always been good enough in Kirkwall, so she's determined to make it enough here.

"Are you all right?" she always asks whenever she runs into someone else out here. "Do you need anything? Are you looking for someone?"

In its own way, those simple questions are a cry, a plea, for the one thing Hawke has always wanted in her life: Let me help you.
assertiveness: (≺ 246 ≻)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Near the inn, then the hospital, then around the village
WHEN: July 1st-3rd
OPEN TO: Various closed threads and an OTA section for post-earthquake recovery nonsense (see headers)
WARNINGS: Descriptions of injuries

all i'm asking is to be alive for once. )
unmakeme: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha and Hawke
WHAT: being the unlucky two in the cave when the pod opens
WHEN: July 1st
WHERE: the cave behind the waterfall

The vibrating arrowheads are no less unsettling after Sam finds a weird pod behind the waterfall, making it most likely that the arrowheads have been reacting to that and not to the waterfall itself. This is apparently not even the first weird pod to turn up, because this place needs help getting even creepier. Unknown forces causing weird shit and lining right up with the weather getting super drunk and deciding the rules no longer apply? Feels vaguely like home. Thor's previous assurances aside, she's still expecting Loki to turn up any day now, smug and insufferable.

The vibrating shiny artifacts could offer some way to combat whatever is inside the pod (that they still can't get open), though it's just as likely the little arrowheads could spell doom. Won't know until something happens, and Natasha hates the sit around and wait part of tense situations like these. So she finds something to do. In this case, that something is hunting for as many of the arrowheads as she can find. Whether they'll help or hurt, they're clearly related, and that's something.
scepterschild: (Oh no)
[personal profile] scepterschild
WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: Outside House #20, the Inn, the River
WHEN: June 9th – 11th

June 9th 🙈 Unhappy Chiclets Outside House #20

Wanda had begun to hate the days. Their prison changed as if it was on the careless whims of a child. The sun had been blazing constantly for the last three days and it was wearing on Wanda's nerves. She had taken some extra blankets to cover her window, trying to keep her room as dark as humanly possible. It was difficult to tell the time with the sun’s constant presence in the sky. There was no way to counter it. Wanda worked until she was about to pass out and then slept. She had no idea how long each task took or what hours she kept. After the first day, she stopped trying to keep count.

Her sleep was restless, even with the semi darkness she had managed to attain in her room. Her nightmares were getting worse and she'd begun to wake to the sounds of her screaming. They weren’t ever screams of fear but the sounds of someone lashing out at the world around them. In this regard, it was good that her powers had been taken from her. There was no chance of her hurting anyone in the house.

This morning Wanda woke up sweating. She ran her palm over her face controlling the frantic beat of her heart. She brushed and tied up her hair, lifting the chestnut strands off the nape of her neck and then dress for the day. With the encroaching heat, she’d begin to walk around the house in her underwear. She didn’t care how it looked, anything to fight off the threat of heat exhaustion. She took a bucket of water and stepped into the backyard to dump the bucket over her head. It wasn’t warm but it felt good and it washed the sweat from her body.

It’s only as she’s turning to walk back into the house that she notices the two boxes sitting next to the house. One box had fallen off to the side while the other was slowly jumping forward. Wanda had heard about people getting things in boxes, it was how Clint had gotten his throwing knifes. It had never happened to her. She moved over to the moving box first and opened it.

This was a mistake.

Out of the box jumped 6 Chiclets who were finally released from the hot container that they’d be stuck in. They scattered in all directions in the back yard. Wanda cursed under her breath and ran after them, trying to return the little balls of fluff back to the small cardboard box. "Fuck hold still." Her accent was lighter and her tone tense. This was not what she wanted to do today.

June 10th 🙊 Fucking Sun the River

Dressed in green cargo pants and a white tank top Wanda headed towards the river. Her hair was braided and pulled over her right shoulder though she thought about tying it back into a high ponytail instead. She wasn’t enjoying the heat and by the time she reached the river she felt a dizzy wave wash over her. Her hand reached out towards a tree at her side to steady herself and pull the small container of water from her side. She never left her house without it and while the water was usually warm, it was still water. The liquid touched her lips and she took small sips before returning it back to her side.

The river was receding.

A brief flash of panic jolted through Wanda before she reminded herself to stay calm. She pressed her back against the tree, feeling the bark as it scraped uncomfortably against her skin. The realization that there was nothing they could do about the river hit her hard. She felt helpless and tired.

She closed her eyes and hoped to feel a breeze rise from the water. Exhaling she opened her eyes, directing the dark green orbs at the water. It glistened and winked in the sun and despite her annoyance at the sun it was a beautiful thing to see. Exhaling a tired breath Wanda pulled off her pants and walked out into the water. It wasn’t very cold but it felt good against her legs. It was only standing out in the river that she noticed the glint of the arrowheads where the water had once been. Another sign that there were people here before them or perhaps a war along the river bank? Wanda didn’t know.

June 11th 🙉 Strumming Along the Inn

Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep. It’s been days with the constant sun but it felt like much longer than that. She found a place towards the back of the inn, just after finishing her task of preserving the meats and fish that had been caught that day. She’s sitting in her underwear again but her hair is loose, falling over her shoulders in thick brown waves. A wooden post was pressed between her shoulder blades and her legs sprawled over the floor while her newly obtained ukulele was sitting in her lap.

She knew how to play a few songs on the guitar though she usually used the instrument as way to organize her thoughts. She picked a song that she knew would be playable on the smaller instrument and began to play. After she’d gotten the hang of the cords she began to sing along to the tune.

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of Colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night

[ooc: Hotel California on the Ukulele: HERE. It’s beautiful, you should listen to this song. Please note even when singing Wanda would have her accent.]
zomboligist: (oookay)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Inn, near the Kitchen
WHEN: June 3rd
OPEN TO: All! Mingle post!

There's another one of those strange boxes sitting on the porch of their home when Ravi gets up to another scorching, awful day. He's not sure what switch they hit to get this sort of weather, but he wants them to take it back, seeing as he's been sweating so much that he has to do laundry practically every day to cope with the ridiculousness of it. He can't go shirtless because he has absolutely no will to show everyone the out of shape disappointment that it his torso.

He bends to pick up the box and bring it inside, but hisses when his fingers contact something frosty cold at the bottom of the box. Opening it in a hurry, his eyes widen and he tugs the box to his chest as best as he can, taking off in a completely ungraceful run, heading straight for the inn and shouting as he goes. "Ice cream!" he says, like the world's skeeviest ice cream truck on legs, luring children in after him. "Ice cream, there's ice cream, it's going to melt," he warns, because there are six tubs of it, but he fears that in this heat, it's not going to last very long at all. Scientifically, he knows that it's just going to be calories that generate heat, but science can go take a backseat.

He unloads the toppings and the various six flavours (ranging from vanilla to chocolate, cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, butter pecan, and even a treasured cherry garcia), the sprinkles and peanuts going with the caramel and hot fudge sauces. He could weep because there are even serving spades, bowls, and spoons. He knows he ought to be wary about food after the whole chocolate poisoning incident (if it really was the chocolate), but it's just so hot and he's just so hungry.

He'll chance it, because if he doesn't, he just gets some delicious flavoured ice cream soup soon.
primals: (06)
[personal profile] primals
WHO: Corsina Surana
WHERE: The fountain park, the inn
WHEN: May 21st
OPEN TO: Corsina's arrival is locked to Hawke, and I'm taking up to five threads for the OTA portion at the inn.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed.

the fountain; locked to Astrid Hawke

The first thing Corsina is conscious of is that she can't breathe. Her lungs feel on fire, burning pain and a tightness in her chest like — like drowning, and the second thing she realizes is the reason her limbs feel slow and heavy: she's in water, although she can't for the life of her recall how or why. Among the things Corsina learned at the Circle and with the Wardens, swimming wasn't really one of them — but she can tread water a little, and her arms and legs work just enough to propel her to the surface.

She breaks through the water with a gasp, and probably would have sunk right back below the surface if not for the instinctual grab at something that turns out — when she can get her breath and her bearings enough to focus — to be the rim of a stone fountain. She clings onto it for a while, trying to get a sense of where she is. She's in what looks to be a courtyard of some sort with the fountain at its center, but there are buildings in the near distance; this must be a village of some sort, although not like anything she's ever seen.

Corsina pulls herself out of the fountain, waterlogged and still gasping for breath a little. She remembers where she was — in Denerim, although she was supposed to travel to Amaranthine in a few days, to take up possession of the fortress Vigil's Keep as a new central base for the Fereldan Grey Wardens. This — she doesn't know where this is, but it's nowhere near Denerim nor Amaranthine, of that much she is certain. She's dressed in strange clothes — trousers and shirt made of some plain blue-green fabric, and heavy brown boots with laces — and the heavy weight on her back turns out to be a pack, though she doesn't yet try to open it to see what's in it, overwhelmed just from the realization that she's nowhere near where she was and fighting not to panic at the idea that she must have been kidnapped somehow, there's no explanation for this that makes sense otherwise.

"Where in the Maker's name—" she manages, half of a breathless sentence as she sits right back down on the rim of the fountain.

She'll recover in a few minutes and get to finding someone who can tell her where she is and what's going on. She will. But right now — right now this is all a little bit much.

the inn; open

Corsina's had a few things explained to her now, and realized a few things about herself and why she feels so strange, but even so, there's still a sense that maybe this isn't really happening. Everything's fine; it has to be. This is a dream and she'll wake up, or someone will come and rescue her, or — something, because she's not processed the idea that being trapped here might be for good.

Hawke has been kind to her, but eventually she has to leave the house to take a walk, try to clear her head and get a sense of her surroundings. She's trying not to be intrusive and look into people's houses, but there's a large building that looks like it might be a common building of some kind.

Stranded in this strange village she might be, but she pushes open the door and — well, she knows a tavern when she sees one. There's a small sigh of relief — finally, something that makes some kind of sense — and she takes her time to look around, examining the tables and chairs, the fireplace, and then moving a bit further into the kitchen.

Corsina doesn't know what she was expecting, but she startles a little on seeing someone else in the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she says. "I... didn't realize there was anyone here."

It sounds silly as she says it; she's not quite blushing, but a rueful, self-deprecating smile pulls at her mouth. Everything about this entire situation is throwing her off. Warden-Commander she might be, but right now she feels more like the sheltered girl from the Circle that she used to be than anything else.
thegreatexperiment: (Upset)
[personal profile] thegreatexperiment
WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Near that old arrival fountain
WHEN: May 19
WARNINGS: Probably some adult language
STATUS: Ongoing

"If I die in this attempt, I need you to drop everything and run for that truck to save yourself. Don't look back. Don't try to save me or anyone else. Just escape."

Everything inside of Sam wanted to argue, to fight to resist the command. But Avery had her in his power, his eyes consuming her entire being. It was funny, really. Although they were siblings only by sire--they shared no blood--it was remarkable how much they looked like. Apart from red hair, Avery had the exact same blue eyes as Sam. It felt almost like a cruel joke. This was the brother she was meant to have, but instead, she'd been saddled with the Predators and now it was too late to even...

The thought cut itself off sharply, along with the feeling of helplessness. But all of a sudden, Sam felt like she was underwater. She was underwater. And it was cold and she had no idea how she'd gotten there and...could Avery have somehow wiped her memory? No, then she wouldn't have remembered his final command about saving herself. And there's no way Avery, or anyone else, could have somehow caused the pressure that was building up in her chest. It was a familiar sensation, but one she couldn't immediately identify. All she knew, on instinct, was that she needed to swim.

She cut through the water as fast as she could, thankful for once for the Illinois State Department of Education mandate that all high school students had to pass a swim test. She'd missed out on plenty of rites of passage as a child. Learning to swim was not one of them. In no time, she'd launched herself over a stone ledge, drawing in deep and greedy breaths as she rolled across the floor. It was amazing how good breathing felt. Of course, she wasn't one of those vampires who'd aged out of breathing. She still did it on instinct. But it had never felt so...good... It almost felt like she...needed to...

There was no exact way to pinpoint when it happened. The realization just crept up on her slowly as she gasped and coughed and spit up water. Her heart. She could feel it beating, pounding in her chest like a little jackhammer, the way it used to after her high school track meets. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. And the sunlight was shining down on her face without even so much as a hint of pain.

...she was human.

Sam started to laugh. Or maybe sob. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.
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.]
perseverances: (Default)
[personal profile] perseverances
WHO: Cullen Rutherford
WHERE: Fountain, around town
WHEN: May 11-13
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nothing yet.
STATUS: Ongoing


There's something that tells him to open his eyes. Something deep within that tells him something is wrong. When isn't something wrong, his brain wants to argue, but the need to breathe takes over, and he opens his eyes. Underwater, unlike when he last remembers being back dry at Skyhold. Had he fallen asleep amid the festivities? Was this a dream? Something that he'll wake up from soon?

The need for breath is suddenly present, and Cullen pushes himself to the top with ease - something that makes him wonder, considering the armor he had been wearing and should be wearing - and breaks the waterline with a gasp for air. A quick swim to the edge, and he holds on for a minute, pushing hair from his face while he looks around. A fountain? He doesn't recognize this place. He pulls himself out, and once on dry land he leans forward to take a few more deep breaths before straightening. "What in the Maker's name...?"

He had to be dreaming.

[Around Town]

He's not sure what to make of it all.

It's not a dream, nor some haze of a nightmare from lyrium withdrawal. Quite real, he had been assured, and frankly, there was something deep within him that just felt wrong. That he didn't want to accept that somehow he had pulled here against his will and was, for lack of a better term, stuck.

Cullen's taken to observing as he walks around, trying to figure out this place. He's nothing like Leliana; he doesn't know how to lurk in the shadows like she can, he's too clunky and loud for that, despite him not having his armor. But he does know how to watch, how to figure things out tactically and strategically. Eyeing buildings and whatever defenses the town might or might not have.

And how strategic it might be to drink until he wakes up from this. Either might be good.
not_a_slave: (I do not brood)
[personal profile] not_a_slave
WHO: Fenris
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: May 8 - 10
WARNINGS: ... nothing yet

i. avanna, soporati | fountain park

It is cold in Ferelden. Cold, with the clamminess of skin-piercing damp, in a way Minrathous never was, a cold that seems to seep into the bones over the course of a night in camp. Not like this. This is cold and splash and the feeling of disorienting movement, as though he'd been thrown into the lake as he slept. Fenris' mouth opens involuntarily, and he swallows a mouthful of water as he forces himself upwards, the only thing he can focus on. He's not a strong swimmer, for what reason would a slave have to need the skill? He'd learned of necessity as he ran from the slavers, but he'd mostly learned to force his way through the water, rather than to swim, and he forces his way now, until one of his reaching arms breaks the surface into free air.

He coughs as he grabs onto the stone wall of what seems to be a fountain, grabs it and pulls, hauling his body out of the water. His feet are heavier than they should be, and when he glances down he sees boots instead of the stirrup heels of his armor leggings. That's not all that's wrong; his clothes are too light, fabric, not metal, and when he reaches around his back for the Blade of Mercy, he finds a backpack instead.

He should run.

That life was years ago, but it's never left him. Something is wrong. Something has broken into his camp, taken his blade and his armor, and an anger swells in him, stirs deep in his veins and under his skin.

"You will not take me!"

He reaches into the anger, reaches down under his skin for the power resting here, and finds ... nothing.

The sensation jolts, like a foot breaking through a rotten plank, and suddenly defiance seems dangerous in a way it hasn't in as long as he can remember.

ii. benefaris | Inn

It is some time later, after Hawke has explained to him, that Fenris reluctantly leaves the house to explore some of their surroundings. There is a mill, a river, a path that leads into a forest which would be easy to lose pursuers in.

He'd never lost the ability to read a location and see what he can use if he needs to flee. A coward's way of viewing the world, perhaps, but a practical one, for a fugitive slave. He follows the path away from the woods, past the mill and across the bridge, and finds himself in the midst of a small village, the houses built in a style completely unlike any he's seen in Tevinter or the Free Marches. The basic shape, yes, shares something with the buildings in Ferelden, but little enough that it all seems strange and unfamiliar.

It's perhaps incautious to follow the person ahead of him into the large, two-storey building, but it's the one place other than the mill which he can wager the purpose of. As he steps inside, it's with a certain sense of smugness that he looks around.

"Ah. This would be a tavern."

Very unlike the Hanged Man, but that is hardly a criticism.
andrastianherald: (Cannot Look)
[personal profile] andrastianherald

Dreaming is always dangerous. Every night, mages enter the Fade in their dreams, bright and fascinating beacons to the demons that prowl the shifting realm. There is risk every time, being found, being tempted. Evelyn knows this, even in her slumber, and wages war against the easy way out every single night.

Tonight is different. Tonight there are no demons, no lurking spirits, no shifting of the landscape in a crazy array of her hopes and desires, of her mind wresting to make sense of her day. Not even a pleasing dream of time alone with Cullen. All she can see is water, with light overhead, and a desperate need to reach that light. Evelyn swims upwards, still wondering why the Fade should take the shape of deep waters, until she breaches the top and gasps for air. Inside a fountain.

This is a terribly peculiar dream.

She hoists herself out of the fountain and sits on the ground, blinking in the sunlight and holding up a hand to shade her eyes. Her left hand, in particular, where the Anchor still resides and yet is reacting to nothing at all. That is puzzling in itself. The hand is lowered back down into her lap where she runs a finger across the mark where it lays dormant. This must be the Fade, she's so certain of it, but why isn't the Anchor sizzling or popping or glowing as it is wont to do?

A test then. She reaches out her left hand to open a rift in the Fade to escape from, but nothing happens. Evelyn then attempts to pinch herself to force wakefulness. Again, nothing changes, nothing happens.

All alone and confused, Evelyn allows herself one brief moment of frustration in the form of a sigh. "What is happening now?"

Around Town

Given a couple of days to adjust and settle in, Evelyn has not adjusted. Not truly. She is very hard pressed to believe that this isn't the Fade and that she is merely unable to wake or exit. She's quite ready to and not just because the clothing she's in is foreign and hideous. Who wears such things anyway? Nor has she a hairpin or comb or ribbon to her name and it's made wresting with her long hair something of a nightmare. Her solution today has been to braid it, lightly knot the end and then wrap that into a knot at the nape of her neck. Serviceable enough but not pretty. Practical.

Nonetheless, she's more or less absorbed with thought as she roams the town, wandering as if lost. She is, though not in the way one might think. She mumbles the Chant under her breath, trying to steady herself and find comfort in that familiarity. Something Evelyn desperately needs for she's lost, lost as to what she should do. Lost as she was in those fateful days after being told the Circles voted to disband, to go home, she was "free." Free to do what? All her life had been spent in the shelter of the Circle. She knew neither how to sow seed nor bake bread, and her family certainly would not be taking their embarrassment of a mage daughter back under their roof for anything longer than the briefest of visits. She had no idea how to live outside then.

The Inquisition had given her direction, a purpose, something to justify her own existence. And now that too is gone. At least there she could put her education to use, she could investigate or collect elfroot. She knows nothing of these plants, nothing of the lands, and she has found no library with which to educate her ignorant self. That distressing reminder that she is quite useless in every way prompts her to wring her hands while resuming the Chant. All the while, her mind keeps churning over the same question again and again: What am I do to? She is no fool, she has no truly practical skills with which to keep herself alive or contribute in any meaningful way.
notabirdcostume: (Jump 3)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson and OPEN (except 1 thread)
WHERE: Inn, Church, Around the Village
WHEN: May 2-3
OPEN TO: All, 1 Closed Thread to Sonny & Stella
WARNINGS: Possible discussions of trauma -- I'll be more specific if something comes up.

1. May 2 Inn -- Kitchen; Morning or Evening [OPEN]
If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there as fast as I can... )

2. May 3 Village: Morning [OPEN]
The road is burning up in flames and nobody wanna take the blame... )

3. May 3 Church; Afternoon [CLOSED - Stella & Sonny]
Let's raise the bar... )
wittyskepticism: ({ 009)
[personal profile] wittyskepticism
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: April 26th and 27th

April 26th - Fountain, Midday
Hawke is fairly certain that the Nightmare Demon she was fighting didn't have the ability to make her drown. Then again, she was in the Fade last she checked and the Fade is malleable enough to manage that. Still, the demon knows she hates spiders most of all. Why it would try to drown her is beyond her comprehension at the moment.

Not that she minds not staring at giant arachnids at the moment, but it is confusing.

Those thoughts flit across her mind as she struggles to push herself to the surface of the water. She can see it glinting above her like Isabela's ship, like a priceless personal goal that's just out of reach. Just a little further. She reaches, her hand breaks through, and then she's sucking in deep lungfuls of air as she pushes herself up and out, nearly falling over the edge and onto the ground below. For a few seconds, she just lies there, catching her breath and looking around for any sign of the Nightmare Demon.

Nothing. Groaning to herself about the way her life has gone, she finally rolls over and pushes herself to her feet. "That's two apologies the Chantry owes me," she complains with her usual dry humor. "This doesn't look like the Maker's bosom, either."

April 27th - Inn
Hawke takes up a room at the Inn at the first opportunity and her first day is spent just trying to cope. Of course, Hawke's version of coping is hardly the same as everyone else's, so mostly she stays away and tries to figure out what she can. She gets the main idea of the place and that's enough. No one has heard of Thedas. It's enough to make a girl crazy.

So the next day, she hangs out in the Inn proper and not in her room. It almost reminds her of the Hanged Man and that realization brings with it a squeeze of pain. She misses her companions, even if it was her choice to leave Kirkwall. She wonders vaguely how Bethany is doing, if Isabela has managed to find herself a new ship, if Fenris ever cleaned his estate, what Merrill is doing now, and if Aveline and Donnic have decided to try for children. They would make good parents, she thinks. Her mind wanders to Varric and she finds herself smiling into her cup of tea as she sits by the fire. She misses him most of all and she knows he probably misses her, too. He and Aveline were her best friends and she really misses their counsel. And Varric's very broad sense of humor and storytelling.

She keeps her mind pointedly away from Anders. That is a subject she would rather avoid.

Once she has drained her cup, with or without company, she sets about asking for work, trying to see if anyone needs any kind of help. Anyone nearby may find her walking up to start a conversation with a quick, "Mind if I ask you something?" If they say no, she'll start asking and hopefully not badgering, but if they say no, she'll politely leave them alone. Or as politely as possible.


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