assertiveness: (≺ 103 ≻)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: 6I - the inn
WHEN: September 24th
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly
WARNINGS: None, will update if needed

A couple of months or so after breaking her arm in the earthquake, Stella thinks it's high time she sat and talked to Kate Kelly.

She hasn't been avoiding the issue, honestly — in fact, she'd meant to thank her for helping her get to the hospital as soon as she could. But with the earthquake and its aftermath, and then the number of people that had fallen ill in the epidemic after that... well, suffice it to say she'd been distracted and occupied. Now, though, they've room to breathe, at least until the next crisis the observers see fit to throw at their little village.

Stella comes in after lunch, when most people have finished eating and gone their separate ways. The post-meal cleanup seems mostly done, but Kate is still there in the kitchen, dealing with the last of the dishes. This is probably as good a time as any other.

"Miss Kelly," she says, polite, and soft so as to try to avoid startling her. She doesn't exactly smile, but she's trying as best she can to appear nonthreatening. There is a particular skill Stella has developed, a talent for being intimidating despite her height — or rather, her lack thereof — but she's learnt the opposite, too, a quiet, unimposing, self-contained calm. If she makes a point of seeming at ease, perhaps Kate will follow suit.

"Do you need any help?" she asks, nodding to the pile of plates and pots and pans. She wasn't brought up so privileged as to balk at hand-washing a few dishes — and she does try to help people here when she's able, because not contributing would be counterproductive at best.
ottimismo: (Default)
[personal profile] ottimismo
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn, other places in the village
WHEN: September 4th
WARNINGS: Sonny trying to drown himself, mentions of religion


Sonny bounces back. He always bounces back. He did in high school, after years of relentless bullying, and in law school, when he thought the course load was going to be enough to kill him. He's bounced back from every single case he's ever had, even the toughest ones. Even the ones where the victim didn't make it. Coming back from a hard time has never been difficult for him. It's only ever taken some quality time with his siblings and his niece and a little bit of church.

Those are all things he doesn't have here. No sisters, no family. He has his little makeshift church, but it doesn't make much of a difference. It's been weeks since he's felt God in the village.

And now, Queenie's gone. He's spent the last two days searching high and low for her, but nobody else has seen her around, either. A lot of people have left lately, with no pattern or rhyme or reason. There's no telling who's next, or when it'll happen. if it will happen. They don't know how it happens, or if the people who leave are safe, if they go back home. There's too many questions and not enough answers and Sonny is so tired. He's never felt so tired in his life.

He wants to go back home. Back where things make sense, and he can connect the dots and solve the case and nobody is going to stumble upon any strange pods or discover weird rooms with blood vials.

Probably, anyway.

It's late in the afternoon now, and his feet hurt from trekking across the village looking for Queenie. It's hopeless, he decides as he sits on the edge of the fountain. She's gone from this God forsaken place, and he wants to be gone from it, too. The water ripples, showing him his wobbly reflection in its surface. This is where they all crawl out of, somehow, without fail. It's the only sure thing that happens in this place. Everyone comes out of the fountain. That never changes.

Sonny kicks off his boots, peels off his socks. He doesn't bother with anything else as he slips over the edge of the fountain, into the cool water. A single breath, and he slips beneath the surface, heading straight for the bottom.


There's no fire in the fireplace, but Sonny sits in front of it anyway, wrapped in a spare blanket from the storeroom. Since being dragged out of the fountain, he's eaten some food and dried off a bit, though his white scrubs are still damp and unchanged.

In retrospect, it was obviously a stupid idea. He's always encouraged victims to get help, find someone to talk to, be open about what they're feeling and going through. He never realized until now that he's terrible at taking his own advice.

He probably needs to apologize to some people. He needs to pray and get some sleep and figure out how he's going to pull himself back together.

For now, he sits, sipping on a cup of now luke-warm tea.

[ Stella will be pulling Sonny out of the fountain, but other than that, interaction is entirely open! Feel free to find him wandering the village before, or sitting at the fountain immediately after almost drowning himself, or chilling at the inn!

Also to be noted, Sonny has been pretty withdrawn and absent the last month or so. ]
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.
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: The fields (behind the Town Hall)
WHEN: August 18, Afternoon
OPEN TO: ALL, Mingle style post for the Specimen Room plot
WARNINGS: See the Plot Post for details of the Specimen Room and its contents

Jude's glad to have the meeting out of doors, with or without the illness to prompt it. The cave-in hadn't scared him out of the canyon's cracks and crevices, but the room he'd found with Margaery might, and he needs every helping factor he can get to keep himself steady through the meeting. Public speaking is less a great fear than a thing he's never cared to do, but public speaking on a subject like this might prove too much, and if he pitches over again in front of someone, he's going to throw himself in the fountain and never come back out.

He'd gotten some help to carry the board out of the inn, tacking up fresh sheets of paper to the back of it. While others gathered those villagers well enough to come out to the fields, he'd done his best to recreate his and Margaery's view of the room through the glass, the layout of the coolers, the shape of the machinery at its center. Next to that, he'd tried to draw a rough overview of the room--what shape it might have from above, the placement of the door, the curve of the tunnel that Margaery had led him down.

As far as he'd noticed, there was no way around the rest of the cave to get at the door, but he hadn't been very inclined to look. When he pulls back from the board, charcoal staining his fingers, his brow where he'd wiped back his hair, he turns to find a crowd gathering behind him.

When it comes to the actual explanations, he struggles a bit to project his voice, but the words are there when he looks for them. He sticks to using the drawings to present the information, pointing to each element in turn. "There're electrical lights, florescent ones, in the room and the coolers, so I guess they're working too. And the glass was--uh, well, it was thick enough that knocking into it didn't break anything."  He drops his gaze to his feet, hiding behind his hair at the memory.

[OTA within the post or tag others. Please indicate in top levels if you do not allow threadjacking, or if you have specific warnings for threads. Use the link above for a complete list of details about the Specimen Room; ask questions, or assume that the details have been given in your threads!]
ethnobotany: + alexander | i am so sorry i couldn't save him }{ ethics ({ confusing stars for satellites)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: The Inn, her house, fountain square, the spring
WHEN: August 15-20
OPEN TO: every section is OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of: death, terrorist attacks, being held hostage. She'll be having delirious flashbacks and I'll update warnings as needed based on threads.

August 15th is mostly a normal day for Beverly. The luncheon is nice, the only difference to her day. Otherwise, she spends the day at the hospital doing her duty or at her house, working in the garden or inside. It's while she's in the garden that she begins to notice how... off she feels. It isn't much at first, though she wobbles a bit when she tries to move and can often be found leaning over with her hands on her thighs and her eyes closed. Sometimes she's even very obviously leaning against the fence itself for support, and she isn't entirely sure she can manage to make it through.

Eventually, she manages to get back into the house. Just inside the door, she calls out, "Jean-Luc―" and falls to her knees on the floor.

The 16th hits her hard. Visitors may be welcome to stop by while she's sick, but she may or may not be lucid. During those lucid moments, she's chilled and feverish and very obviously ill, but she can at least hold a decent conversation. When she isn't lucid... less than pleasant may not accurately describe her condition. She paces when she can pull herself out of bed, and when Jean-Luc will allow her to. While stuck in bed, she rolls and tosses, not entirely aware of her surroundings, and can be heard mentioning something called the "Ansata" or "Cardassians" with a tone of distate mixed with fear. Someone lucky might even hear "Q" in a tone of quiet loathing. The unlucky may hear something else in a tone of cold and very real fear: "It's the Borg."

Early on the 17th, she starts escaping. It's never for long, but any time Jean-Luc needs to use the bathroom or make tea or food or check on her garden or even closes his eyes for half a second she takes the opportunity to flee. She's fast for someone who's as ill as she is. Clearly there's a lot of built-up energy inside her. Either that or she's literally running on empty and will drop to the ground in the next instant. Either way, she ends up in places like the Inn or fountain square. One time, she even makes it to the spring, where she ends up cooling herself off by swallowing a bit of it at some point. By the end of the day, she's back in bed.

For the 18th and 19th, she stays in bed for any visitors who might want to come by again, but this time Jean-Luc is stricter about her confinement. It's just as well, though she isn't in any frame of mind and hasn't the strength to escape again. By the 20th she has miraculously recovered and after lunch, she heads back to the Inn to see if she can find anyone who visited or might have heard that she was ill so she can reassure them that she's fine.
fishermansweater: (Jacket side-eye)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair + his peacock
WHERE: The 6I park
WHEN: August 3
WARNINGS: Baby peacock being ridiculous. Probably mentions of mental health and anxiety later on.

he's a peacock, a total preener --> fountain park

There's been an escape.

There'd been another aftershock, and after he'd calmed Annie down, Finnick had gone outside to check on the birds, only to find another hole in the fence. He'd thought he'd patched it up before he'd gone back to Annie, but he's come out again to find that Star, the oldest of the peacocks, is on the other side of the fence, and making his determined way down the path towards the village.

Finnick curses and turns, rapidly, to pull open the door of the house and shout in to Annie.

"Star's gotten out, can you check the fence?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, only hopes she's heard him before he's off down the road after the blue and brown bird. Hearing Finnick behind him prompts the bird to take off, skimming low over the bushes at the side of the road and leaving Finnick to chase after him.

They're halfway to the village by the time Star lands again, and the bird doesn't seem inclined to let Finnick catch up. Every time he gets close enough to reach out to catch the bird, Star flutters away out of reach and continues on down the path. They've made it all the way to the park before Star finally stops trying to actually run away and starts contentedly pecking at the grass, looking for something to eat. Finnick gives up the pursuit, too, and sits down on the edge of the fountain.

Perhaps he should consider trying to make some sort of leash or harness for the bird so he can't get away. He always carries some of the nylon cable he'd acquired around with him, so he'd be able to, but he's not sure about whether it's even possible to leash a bird. The propaganda films at home about agriculture in District 10 had never said much about poultry.

While Finnick watches, Star stares at the fountain, then turns around, slowly, holding out its wings, tail held straight up in the air. His tail is quivering, displaying the stubs of feathers that haven't yet grown in.

"You've got a while before you'll make it in the Capitol," Finnick says, eyeing the bird.

caelus: (pic#11477088)
[personal profile] caelus
WHO: Jim Kirk
WHERE: Around the village, after the earthquake.
WHEN: Backdated to July 1st and 2nd and onward.
OPEN TO: All except otherwise marked.
WARNINGS: Mild injuries. Will update if necessary.

jump to warp. )
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. )
womanofvalue: (disheveled)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Riverbed / Peggy & Stella's House
WHEN: June 10th / June 11th
OPEN TO: 1st section is open to all; 2nd is open to anyone Peggy considers a friend or anyone who would be stubborn enough to barge into hers and Stella's house
WARNINGS: Descriptions of an injury

The River

The sun hasn't gone down properly in too long and Peggy is weary past recollection. She'd never considered herself someone so greatly affected by lighting, yet the steady presence of the sun in the sky has robbed her of her sleep, paired with the fact that it's so unceasingly hot. It's that exhaustion that sets her into a dazed mood, sleepwalking through her tasks. She's barely paying attention when she gets to the river, but even with her attention half there, no one would miss how low the levels are.

It's clear that she won't be fishing today. She's not quite worried, but Peggy is too tired to be worried, slipping her boots into the river in order to measure the true level and how much they've lost in the past few days. Perhaps it's time for her to stop fishing and go back to the canyons, picking up whatever berries and other greens on her way. Her mind drifting back to a cloudy state, she continues to walk up the shallow river, but when she climbs out on a few of the smoother rocks (shaped by the river's flow), her foot slips and her body gives way, crashing down hard on the outcropping of rocks in front of her.

She's ready to criticize herself when a sharp pain accosts Peggy in her side, a familiar place of pain after the incident with the rebar, but it's not quite like that. She hadn't hit her head, so that's a plus, but a glance downwards as she steadies her hand on the rock shows that there's something in the shallow water below her that looks suspiciously like blood. Moving her body up a touch, it doesn't take long for her to see that it is blood and that it's her own.

There, in between the rocks and wedged out like a pointed weapon is an arrowhead, covered in several inches of warm blood that gives Peggy a good indication of how deeply it had punctured her (or perhaps it had scraped her? She can't see, given the angle). Turning herself cautiously, she settles herself on the dry land beside the river, pressing both palms against the wound to apply pressure, most certainly awake now and chastising herself for being so stupidly distracted.

Closing her eyes and swallowing her pride, Peggy knows that she's not getting out of this without at least some intervention. "Is anyone nearby?" she calls, keeping her tone from wobbling. "By the river, it's Peggy Carter!" she calls, a little louder. I need some help, she thinks, but stubbornly doesn't say, because it will be clear soon enough once she's found.

The Day After

It's all terribly familiar, this stinging sensation in her side that's just painful enough that it nearly knocks her out. She's been lying in bed for nearly a full day, though, and the last time she'd injured herself had been far worse. She had gone right back to work. Clearly, that means that Peggy was well-suited to get up and have some breakfast, knowing that Mr. Jarvis wasn't going to come and fetch it for her. She had the presence of mind to check on the bandage at her side, pressing it tightly against her stitched wound. She also took the time to glare at the arrowhead on her bedside table, since that bloody thing caused this whole mess.

Carefully, she pressed a hand down into her bed to lever herself into a sitting position, pressing the back of her hand to her sweaty forehead. The terrible head and the constant sun had been keeping her in a state of exhaustion before, this new injury hasn't done anything to help. When she moves to stand, the weakness in her legs could be for any number of reasons, but whatever the cause, they force her back down to the bed as her frustration mounts.

She'd saved the whole world and she'd been worse off.

Perhaps if she could get to the spring, she could heal herself and this could all be in the past. "Up we go," she says stubbornly, swaying a little as she makes it to her feet, inching her way towards the door at a rate that suggests she'll reach the springs approximately next month if she keeps it up.
assertiveness: (044)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: June 1st, evening
WARNINGS: a. nudity, b. a thread of Mature Adults Doing Adult Things, c. discussion of physical abuse

Read more... )
fishermansweater: (Actual human dolphin)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: During the hot weather in late May
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: PROBABLY NAKED. cw your warnings in individual threads.
STATUS: Open. THIS IS A MINGLE, have at it, tag around, you know what to do. If you want Finnick, let me know in the comment subject!

He wouldn't actually say it was really hot yet, but it's definitely getting to the sort of temperatures that make Finnick miss swimming. There's no substitute for the sand of a beach underfoot, the reassuring roar of the surf, the taste of salt in the air, but there is at least water here, tumbling down from the waterfall and flowing through the canyon until it disappears into the rocks to the south. And he knows from constantly checking his fish traps that the water is deliciously cool.

He's tested out a few spots along the river for swimming, and it's good to be in the water again, after being kept out of it for so long by the harshness of the winter.  Not swimming doesn't feel right to him, and it never has. He's never spent this long somewhere with a winter this cold, and he can't remember ever going this long without swimming. So Finnick's been testing the water out since before it was probably what most people would consider to be warm enough to swim. It had helped that he and Annie had some gifts to hunt for in the river, but those have long been found, and now it's just for relaxation.

The calmest, most relaxing place he's found so far for swimming in the river is the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where the water plunges into the canyon crisp and cool from the heights of the cliffs. It's deep around the falls, and it's big enough to swim, and Finnick spends most of the hottest parts of the day there.

So whenever he hears someone talking about the heat while he's dropping food off in the village, he suggests they try the waterfall pool. Word's likely to get around, so he won't be entirely surprised to find other people stopping by the falls.

When they do, they're likely to find him swimming around the deep part near the falls, stripped down to his underwear and, from the grin on his face, having the time of his life. It's clear just from looking at him that he's good at this, moving through the water with a confidence and grace more like to a sea-creature than a man. He's in such a good mood that he even calls out to greet many of the people who approach.

Of course, he's not the guardian of the waterfall: everyone's welcome to stop by whether he's there or not. Once or twice, there's even a moose to be seen standing at the edge of the pool taking a long, relaxing drink.
assertiveness: (055)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Graves's house
WHEN: Backdated to May 10th
OPEN TO: Percival Graves
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed
STATUS: Ongoing

Read more... )
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (35)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone and apparently half the village (including you!)
WHERE: Inn for the OTA, various in closed starters
WHEN: 5/15
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse
STATUS: ongoing

Eventually, Credence has to leave the house. Eventually, Credence has to face what he's done and eventually, he finds himself blinking blearily into the early morning sun, heart hammering in his chest as his foot crosses the threshold of Kira and Bodhi's residence for the first time since he'd been dragged there from the forest, half asleep and utterly exhausted. He finds he doesn't burn up immediately, nor does he feel like collapsing inwards on himself, and takes another step forward. It's a slow start, but a start nonetheless.

He feels terrible, of course, but he's quick to mentally reprimanded himself. He doesn't deserve to feel terrible, not anymore. Not ever. He's long since stopped sleeping because he's recovering and instead has slipped into sleeping due to what he feels is idleness, choosing to nap constantly to avoid the world. 15 days and he's positive--positive--he's slowly driving those he temporarily shares a residence with absolutely insane. Even if it's false, it's what he perceives, and they have a right to be upset. Everyone does.

That's why, very carefully, he makes his way towards the inn. His body feels strange, dimmed, and that's the only reason he leaves in the first place: he's sure the scratching in his skull stopping altogether means the Obscurus--Obscurial?--is at least contained. It's safe for him to be near other people.

He stares at the inn door for a very long time, for what seems like a lifetime, before he physically wills his body to open the door. The weather's changed, but he's still wearing the black fisherman's sweater Finnick has given him, covering himself and hiding skin, the only scars showing the ones on his palms. He tries his best not to shake and keeps his voice as calm as he can, surprised that his nervousness only cracks his voice once.

"Hello? I was wondering if anyone needed help this morning. With..." His voice trails off, face reddening. "..Chores, or..."

This is stupid. They're going to chase him out.
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... )
womanofvalue: (cuppa tea)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Carter-Gibson Residence
WHEN: May 3
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson

Peggy feels as if she's lived a year in the last week and a half. In the thick of things, her attention had been wholly fixed on crisis management and coping with the issue at hand. Finally, when things calmed and no one's life had been taken (though several injuries to be noted, including Sam), Peggy felt like she could honestly breathe. She was sore and her head ached every day, as if with the awareness that this place could only get worse.

For the last few days, Peggy has done nothing but rest and sleep, staying indoors for the most part other than visiting the hospital. She barely does more than don her robe and sip at her tea and the fish she's been storing, aware that she ought to do something, but she can't. Her mind is constantly working through alternatives that worry her, including the notion that it might not have gone so smoothly. Beyond that, she truly worries about the future.

What happens now? How will Credence feel? Peggy makes a note to go and visit him, but standing here in the kitchen with a cup of tea, she's caught frowning because she has absolutely no idea what to do when it comes to something like this. She's stuck here, now, even as she hears movement near her and realizes that she hasn't moved in some time.

"Stella," Peggy murmurs, catching the other woman in the corner of her eye. "How are you?"
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (Default)
[personal profile] mund
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: Half an hour after the first sighting / hearing of the Obscurus
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, abuse, hate, etc
STATUS: Something like a mingling -- feel free to post OTAs of your own. If you need Graves to respond, just put his name in the header / or in bold somewhere in your comment!

the ragged they come, and the ragged they kill. )
3ofswords: (yellow/drink)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira
WHERE: Behind the Inn
WHEN: April 21st
OPEN TO: All, Spring Feast mingle post
WARNINGS: Please warn for content in comment headers for individual OTAs

He's hardly the first to arrive for a shift in the kitchens, but those ahead of him have sunk into the the search for the building's chairs and tables--the kitchen is open and empty, the tavern devoid even of stools.  It's another wrench in the works, one of the smaller reasons for routine to fall apart to reactions, and Kira thinks they'll have a better time of solving it if someone gets the fire up in the stove and everyone eats first.
The damage assessment has people upstairs, people on the path wandered out of their homes.  Kira hadn't come through his own dining room on the way out, so he can't say if he's missing furniture or not, and his growling stomach doesn't much care.
It's when he slips out the side door of the kitchen in search of fresh kindling that he finds it.  Every missing table and chair standing in the grass, laden with platters of food, buckets of bottled drinks, carafes of what he finds to be coffee sending steam from their lids.  There are pastries with the coffee, roasted fowl gleaming golden on the next table, between ham hocks shining with honeyed glaze, large fruits piled among wreaths of fresh flowers.
Dotting the tables are jars, more jars than they've had since he arrived, flickering with short candles.  Garlands accent the tables, carry from them into the trees, a web of spring decoration with a feast at its center.  Between the platters are smaller plates, small chocolates laid out under decorative drizzle.  
"Hey!" he calls back through the door, blinking several times to make sure the sight doesn't shimmer away into the air.  "I found the furniture, and I don't think we'll need to cook anything today."

assertiveness: (73)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The fountain/around the village, and Stella and Peggy's house
WHEN: Through March 17th
OPEN TO: OTA, with a closed thread for Peggy
WARNINGS: Stella's increasingly feverish and delusional. Will update if needed.
STATUS: Ongoing

the fountain ; ota
The little jaunt into the woods with Graves, while educational after a fashion, had only left Stella with more questions, a so far harmless sting from a firefly, and a good deal of concern. That one of their own appears to have gone missing is only the latest in a series of difficulties that have plagued them for months, and there's a certain degree of frustration that, for all her skills developed over more than a decade of detective work, she can't do anything about it. Every time she thinks she's getting somewhere, she runs into a dead end. It seems to be a theme, here.

Somewhere, in some distant part of the world, if he didn't bleed out on Slieve Dove, she thinks Paul Spector must be laughing at her.

She's been back from the woods for a few hours when she starts to notice something feels off. Not in the way that this entire place feels strange, but physically, a creeping feeling of being overheated and oversensitive, like even the light fabric of her cotton blouse and trousers is just slightly too much. It's got nothing to do with the weather, which is cold and damp and foggy, and Stella realizes that somewhere along the line she's taken ill. It doesn't as yet occur to her to connect what she's feeling with having been stung; she tries to push through it, stubbornly, as she would were she on an important investigation at home and unable to allow herself to take even a day away from her work. She's not often ill, and the discomfort of even a minor loss of control over her own body is acute.

Stella decides to attempt going for a walk to clear her head. For a little while it almost works, but the rising fever tires her quickly, and she has to sit down, easing herself carefully onto the edge of the fountain. She seems alert, mostly, but she's pale and unmistakably much warmer than normal were one to get close enough to her to notice.

the house ; for peggy
A day or so later, and Stella's fever is in full swing: she's pale, sweating, shaking with chills, and too exhausted to walk more than a few feet. She's been trying to drink water, but her appetite is gone; she's not sure she's even eaten since lunchtime the previous day.

She's seeing things: not full-blown hallucinations, but shadows from the corner of her peripheral vision that make her startle, sometimes reaching for the weight of a Glock 17 in a shoulder holster that's not there. Eventually she finds herself unable to do anything but sequester herself in her room, sitting on her bed with her back against the wall, shivering even with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

There's panic and fear clawing at her throat unbidden, the loss of control an awful violation, and it's all she can do to hold those feelings down with what little remains of her self-control, her composure torn to fine shreds of what it was only a matter of hours previous. Stella thinks of trying to tell someone what's going on, ask for help — from Peggy, perhaps, but right now the idea of trusting anyone even that much seems impossible. She's all too conscious of the fact that she's being watched, listened to, and who's to say anything she says or does won't go straight back to whoever's running this whole goddamned experiment?

She should run, really; she should fucking run before this gets any worse, but she's miserable and too exhausted to move. It doesn't even occur to her that she forgot to lock the bedroom door and anyone could come right in.
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (27)
[personal profile] mund
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Assorted places
WHEN: Mid-March
OPEN TO: OTA, with closed threads for Credence, Stella,
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, epic paranoia, that's pretty much it for now.
STATUS: Open to new threads!

and I'm straining to remember just what it means to be alive. )
womanofvalue: (determined)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Peggy & Stella's House of Intrigue
WHEN: Backdate to March 4th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson, Percival Graves
STATUS: Closed to specific characters

Since she arrived, Peggy has been accumulating information. At first, with Killian's help, she'd put together a decent map picking out routes in the canyon and mapping terrain. After the incident that left her stranded for nearly a full day, she'd shifted her focus to something a little less dangerous. She'd begun to write down people's scrubs colours, their backgrounds, histories, whether they believed themselves alive or not, and began to cobble together working notes.

Now, what she needed was second opinions. She'd been staring at this puzzle longer than she could think about without growing sharp with frustration and needed the help of others to take a look at what she had and determine whether or not she'd absolutely lost her mind. It was why she'd put the kettle on, set out some of the few remaining biscuits she had left, and left word for specific parties that she trusted to offer their analytical minds on her notes.

Thank goodness she had been gifted with a pen and notebook, though even that is beginning to run out. If she decides to analyse another aspect of this strange village, she might have to simply learn how to make paper herself, which certainly wouldn't be a hardship after spending all the time learning how to fish in order to keep herself properly fed.

For now, though, patterns. Patterns and people and predictions, as if she could somehow work a way out forward if only she could see how it all came together.


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