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<div class="postheader">WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
OPEN TO: (Who the post is open to tags from -- Specific characters, all, none, etc.)
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super_seal

WHO: Steve McGarrett
WHERE: River, Lake, North Village paths, and forest near house 114 / House 114
WHEN: Around the 20th of September
OPEN TO: OTA / Danny Williams
WARNINGS: None to start, will update

Since Danny broke his leg during the earthquake, Steve hasn’t ventured far from their house in the North Village. He was well aware that Danny could reach him easily enough by their wrist communicators, and at first that had been enough that he’d still trap and fish in the stream or run into town to fetch the ax to spend some time in the forest chopping up firewood for the winter, but then Mary disappeared. Now if it wasn’t for necessity he wouldn't leave Danny at all.

Mary disappearing had shaken Steve. She’d been taken in the moment it took to walk from one room to another. At first he’d thought it was like when he'd suddenly been transported out of the villages a few months back, but her name was missing from the communicator. Next he suspected that they were being relocated again, similar to when they woke from the simulation… But no one else was reported missing and neither Danny or he eventually followed. He knew that sometimes people were taken away and he tried to accept this was what had happened to her. Although, he’d yet come to terms with still wanting her here and at the same time preferring to think she’d been sent home.

Danny not being overly mobile made becoming clingy to him easy. Not that Steve would say he was being clingy. No, he would just say that he was taking care of his partner - since Danny couldn’t get around much it was up to Steve to be there for him, and he certainly didn't mind. That being said, a good part of him felt guilty for being thankful and relieved that Danny was trapped here with him. It wasn’t generally in his nature to be selfish, but that’s how he felt he was being. He had Danny all to himself and he was going to enjoy their time together as much as possible. Who knew when he’d suddenly disappear too?!

[ OTA ]
As much as Steve would prefer never to leave the house, he did need to go out. Checking his traps in the river, lake or woods, as well as gathering produce and bringing in fresh water remained as part of his daily routine. While out he would regularly check his communication device – verify Danny’s name was still there and that he hadn’t missed any messages from him. He skipped going into the main town for the time being though and neglected keeping up with the any other messages on the communicator. For now he was content to be in his own little world. To say he was out of the loop was an understatement.

[ For Danny Williams ]
Upon entering the house after his brief time away, Steve yells out for Danny before he’s even fully in the door. “Hey Danno, I’m back. One of the traps caught that duck-tasting-goose you like so much.” There’s no doubt Danny is here somewhere, he can’t get to far on his own and Steve’s just checked the communicator…

Current Music: Failure - Breaking Benjamin

zomboligist

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Bakery
WHEN: August 19 / 20
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Ravi's monthly zombie time, so zombie topics about brains likely

The one thing Ravi truly hates about his monthly time is the period in which all regular food starts turning to dust in his mouth. It's not like they're sitting on a goldmine of takeout here, but it's still absolutely disappointing to have scrambled eggs in the morning and find absolutely no satisfaction in them at all, craving hot sauce to try and add some taste.

It's awful because he knows what that means. It's time.

He digs out his baseball cap and puts it on before perusing the options in the fridge, trying not to go wholeheartedly teeth-first into one of them, though plenty of them have already been sliced and diced what with the need to stabilize two and a quarter zombies in a limited population. Sighing, he decides that maybe it's best to go with what he knows (roughly), so he slides out Peeta Mellark's brain from the fridge and ends up having a secod omelette that day.

Ravi hates how god it tastes, he honestly does.

What he doesn't hate is when it starts to kick in. Sure, the whole romantically pining for someone bit isn't amazing (because he already misses Peyton and Helen enough), but when he suddenly gets the urge to make cheese buns, he'll take that over other weird personality traits. It's why he's fired up the bakery's oven in the dead of night, working through until the morning. Anyone who comes by would see the light, but into the morning, they'll also smell the aroma of fresh bread and cheese buns, though he's not working with exactly the right cheese. No matter. He's steady enough and he can roll with that.

Hat still securely on to hide the streak of white hair, he plates them all up and starts to stock the window display like he's been doing this for years. And, really, with the brain in his stomach guiding him? He sort of has been.

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I inn front lawn
WHEN: 4 August, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Some mentions of drug use
NOTES: Full plot details here. List of favors here.

The fourth of August dawns pleasantly mild and clear, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Which is good, because it means there's plenty of sunshine to see the riot of color that has errupted on the front lawn of the inn.

The general set-up will be familiar to those who've been in the village long enough — Tables and chairs from inside the inn set up outside for a party by the time everyone wakes. This party, though, seems to have been turned up to about 11, and the theme is definitely new: Balloons, streamers, party favors, and everything in a rainbow of colors that villagers have come to know extremely well.

Each place is set with its own (occasionally large) goody bag and birthday present, each in the color belonging to the owner on the tag. One place, done up all in silver and gray, is set for the lost.

The tables are piled high with the sort of fare you'd find at a children's party: Cake, soda, hamburgers, pizza. Not a beer or cup of coffee in sight. And on the edge of the lawn, beside an area possibly kept clear for dancing, is the most bewildering, magical thing of all, no pocket change needed.

Tuck in and let loose, villagers. If you're lucky, maybe someone will spike the punch.

sixthiteration

WHO: EVERYBODY
WHERE: EVERYWHERE
WHEN: 13 July (afternoon, main quake) - 14 July (morning, last aftershocks)
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Potential injuries, PTSD, and anxiety

The sun is still high when the earth begins its initial, almost benign sway, but seasoned villagers know well enough that what follows will be far from gentle. Vibrations ramp up swiftly, exponentially, until within the space of a few seconds, the whole world is shaking — Dishes pinging down from shelves, young trees sifting free of the earth, shingles dislodging and tumbling like rain.

After 20 seconds, the worst is done, and after 30 the shaking has ebbed completely. Some will have escaped relatively unscathed, but others will not have been so lucky...

...and the aftershocks are still to come.

reprobate

WHO: Sirius Black
WHERE: Fountain & Bridge outside of town
WHEN: 26 June, 28 June
OPEN TO: ALL - Please mind the notes for the prompts
WARNINGS: Standard Padfoot warnings

It's a God-awful small affair;

Open to ONE thread, fcfs

Sleeping was always a bit of a risky prospect within the hallowed walls of Azkaban prison. If you were the steady sort and could dutifully ignore the constant wailing, it was one of the few activities a prisoner could manage with any consistency. The trouble was, the ratio of steady to unsteady wasn't exactly through the roof to start, and it was nearly guaranteed that whatever marbles you brought in were well lost within weeks.

And a bad dream, the sort that everyone in the place eventually fell into, night sweats and jolting awake to a heart hammering in your ears? Like honey to the Dementors. Good luck staying sane then.

As a matter of fact, Sirius reckoned he was the sanest person in the joint, which didn't say much for the general level of mental health in the British wizarding prison system. And it was only being a dog most of the time that allowed him that dubious distinction — With a few notable exceptions, he'd spent most of his life as the dodgiest person in the room.

The days ran together, but he got his hands on a newspaper every now and then, and was clear enough on the date. Nearly five years he'd been locked in this cage, fueled by a deep-seated anger, his savior the very thing that had allowed his nemesis to escape (relatively) unscathed. The wailing didn't bother him anymore, nor the fleas. He gladly ate what slop he was given, and kept a sliver of his strength up by tenacity alone. He stayed a mangey black dog more often than not, and his sleep was blissfully simple.

The shift now he felt before waking, the heaviness of human thought sliding into the watery place between sleep and awareness—

Wait, no. That was actual water.

Sputtering, he surfaced with a spate of violent coughing, his arms skinny and wobbling as they pulled him over the lip of the fountain and to the worn stones surrounding it. On hands and knees, he hacked up the rest of his dinner, indifferent to the mess as he blinked into the startling brightness of a clear summer day.

So much for being the sanest person in the place.

To the seat with the clearest view;

OTA

As unlikely as it had seemed even then, at first Sirius had thought he'd been victim of an apparating accident. Granted, he'd not been trying to disapparate, and certainly wouldn't have been aiming for someplace so far from England, but it wasn't unheard of.

Well, unheard of from inside bloody Azkaban, but not generally.

But apparently that wasn't it at all, it was something that was odd enough and inexplicable enough that two full days later, he was still not entirely certain he hadn't simply, finally had the mental break loads of people had been predicting for years. Not that he was complaining, really; if this was what a mental break was like, he reckoned he ought to have had one years back — Free food that tasted better than he remembered anything ever tasting, free lodging with an actual bed with an actual mattress, loads of sunshine, a giant box full of cigarettes with his name on it, along with the freedom to go wherever he liked... If Peter had been here to strangle when he'd first arrived, it would've been practically paradise.

Presently, he was seated on the edge of the wooden bridge that crossed the river just outside of town, his long legs straddling one of the supports for the railing, idly swinging heavy black boots over the water while he smoked a cigarette and just took it all in. It was loud and quiet here all at the same time, all the sweet, everyday noises he didn't realize he'd forgotten replacing the cacophony he left back in prison.

super_seal

WHO: Steve McGarrett
WHERE: North West of 7I Village
WHEN: End of June
OPEN TO: Mary McGarrett and Danny Williams
WARNINGS: None yet

It had become striking clear to Steve how fortunate they were in the villages when he’d been transported to the middle of nowhere with nothing. While they didn’t have all the modern conveniences they did at home, they could still be far worse off. For himself, it wasn’t that big of a problem. Being a Navy SEAL, Steve was more than familiar with wilderness survival and making due with his surroundings. But when he considered how Mary or Danny would fair out there on their own… If it was in the city, they’d likely manage better than he, but in the wilderness, he didn’t like their odds.

So once he returned he started dropping hints about spending a couple of nights away from the villages. Camping, although he hadn’t planned on taking any supplies. Subtle at first, if you could ever call Steve subtle, and then more direct as time went on. He was more than pleased when they both agreed.

Knowing how that yes could quickly change to a no, he negotiated on the supplies. Finally agreeing to the bare minimum - such as a tent, sleeping bags, water, a bit of food, and the tools to hunt for more. He didn’t want to make the experience a negative one, but rather one they all enjoyed and with any luck gained a better ability on how to survive without supplies.

markwatney

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn front lawn
WHEN: 21 June 2018, afternoon/evening and onward
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
NOTES: A few thinsgs: You may assume your character helped set up; There are tubers in pot with the red salt, negating the warmth effect; The list of of potluck dishes is here; The list of local provisions is here

The weather is great, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and it's pleasantly mild. Time for an (extremely) old-fashioned low country boil.

We've got two small fire pits built out in front of the inn, each with a massive pot filled with loads of vegetables — corn, carrots, potatoes, onions — and of course the rainbow crabs Finnick and Annie discovered not long after we arrived here. We've even got salt, if you can believe it, although the red salt in this place is pretty spicy and usually makes me sweat, so I've only put it in the one pot, and then set a bowl of it out for garnishing.

Tables and chairs have been brought out from inside, a couple of them set aside specifically for piles of plates, bowls, cups and whatever potluck provisions the rest of the village brings.

dann_0

WHO: Danny Williams
WHERE: In the villages
WHEN: June 18th
OPEN TO: Everyone who is in either of the villages
WARNINGS: None as yet

The chat with Clint had gotten the idea into his head and the more he thought about it the more he thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of census of the people who were here, who their emergency contacts were and where they were living. It would make it easier if people went disappearing again. He'd spent a couple of days making a map of the villages, not to scale but at least they had the houses on them and now he is going around starting the slow work of mapping out who lives where and how to get in contact with them in case something happens. He starts with the inn in the 6I village. It just makes sense to him since that is where he went first.

He walks around to the people he sees in there, starting every conversation more or less the same. "Hello. I am making a map of where everyone lives in case something should happen. Where do you live?"

After he's finished there he starts walking around the villages, knocking on doors and stopping people he meets in the streets, all with the same question, where they live.

zomboligist

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Behind the Inn
WHEN: May 23
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) Gravedigging, brains, zombieism talk

It's probably alarming, but in the early hours of the morning, Ravi has been out with a shovel, digging up graves that he'd once put bodies into. It had been something he's been wary about ever since Major started showing symptoms, because maybe if he could somehow find old brains, he could at least keep Major off the animal ones.

Unfortunately, days of digging in the exact place he remembers the corpses being yields nothing but dirt on his face and frustration. He needs to figure out some sort of solution that's more viable (and horrifically gross as it sounds, tastier than what they're doing). Unfortunately, replicating myelin is a strange idea to begin with and that's with a postulation that the myelin is what's causing the zombie to be fed.

So here he is, another early hour, trying yet another grave site that he thinks might be the location of one of the bodies he'd performed his autopsies on. If this is a bust, then he's going to have to resort to trying to lure the new animals into a trap of some kind and hope that possibly, the brain chemistry or the effects of one of their new friends can help to keep Major fed without him resorting to wanting to hoard nuts for the winter every single time.

Sticking the shovel in the ground, he wipes at the sweat of his brow, having dreadful flashbacks to the days of their delightful tainted utopium searches and he knows, more than ever, that this is absolutely not the sort of life he wants to keep on repeating.

Grateful it's hardly sweating season, Ravi stares at the large mess he's made, realizing he'd started far too late today and he's definitely appearing to audition for town gravedigger with absolutely no intentions of taking that job, but honestly? He's just absolutely too worn to do anything but stare right now, because the emptiness is too much to handle.

underpinnings

WHO: Owen Prichard
WHERE: 6I Fountain Park; 6I Inn
WHEN: April 1st. On the tail end of everyone else exiting the simulation and coming out of the fountain.
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Owen's coming to 6I just after killing a zombie he was locked in a room with, which will be described in an intro segment under a cut.

( cw: violence, zombies )

arrival; fountain; after the groups of three have arrived

Owen comes to submerged in water, something solid and braying pushing on his chest. A splash, concrete at his back; his hands instinctively find and map the object at his chest, pressing him up out of the water. Wet nose, wicking in fur, a wide brow. He coughs and sputters awake to find a cow blowing hot breath and shockingly loud calls into his chest. It butts him with its brow, shoving him all the harder against the side of--

A fountain.

One arm wings back over the edge, steadying him as he looks for any kind of bearing. Cattle's not unheard of in the right places; but a fountain that's still running, not overgrown with ivy and moss--that isn't something he's seen. People build wells if they're smart, aqueducts if they're trying to save the world--but they don't build shit for decoration.

Satisfied with his grip, the cow butts into him one last time, before paddling to the right. He's still catching his breath when it reaches over the short barrier with its head, dragging with its heavy chin in the grass until it can scrape a foreleg over the edge. On the other side of the centerpiece, there are wide antlers breaking the water, a bull moose pushing a younger one similarly onto the grass.

Did he get out? Did he push north? The tree cover is a little heavy for where he'd been, once he starts looking out. When he looks down, he's in blue-green scrubs, and there are black straps on his shoulders. Did he steal the scrubs and pack, had they prepped him for surgery or had he simply escaped?

He can't remember. Just the bite of the needle, and the fountain.

On the list of vital information, he shoves am I infected to the bottom. There are others a short distance away; their similar attire answers no questions, but it might let him blend in. They're disheveled, long-haired, and someone appears to be taking stock. Did they all escape the compound? Were there more unwilling victims, hidden deeper in the facility? Right now, it doesn't matter. He could be infected, they could. He needs to roll himself out of the fountain--accomplished after a few floundering tries, and find a place to watch.

Next to him, the cow keeps trying to drag its second leg over the stone lip. Its legs aren't as long as the moose, and it doesn't appear to have any family to help it besides. Livestock has to be important, and at this point--one good turn deserves another. Owen pauses briefly in his retreat, dragging off the backpack and looping one of the straps around the cow's head in a makeshift lead. Digging booted heels into the dirt, he leans back, adding his weight to the effort to pull it free.

( post-arrival prompt )

collaronhisneck

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy
WHERE: House 24/the Church; the Inn
WHEN: March 5-6
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: None, though that may change

( House 24, March 5 )

It's something he's been meaning to do for awhile, and now that the weather's starting to turn (it's undoubtedly the tail-end of winter, rough and raw in its own way, but the ice is slowly melting and the breeze seems a little less cutting), he's finally getting around to it. A scrap of wood board salvaged from the storehouse, likely from one of the destroyed buildings he's noticed in the village - a lump of wood charcoal from the fire - a little time - and there's a sign leaning against the balustrade of the porch on the makeshift church where Mulcahy has made his residence.

If you need to talk about anything, please come in. The door's always open, day or night. Absolute discretion, no judgement.

The words are then repeated in Latin, then slightly broken Korean, and then very broken French even though he's not yet heard it spoken in the village. It's not a large sign, but it will do, although he's probably going to have to redo it if there's a heavy, blowing rain as it might get washed clean. He's also got a much smaller one (Open door and willing ear at the church) to prop up on the mantle in the Inn. But in his opinion, it's high time he's started contributing more in a way that will hopefully make a real difference, and if people don't know he's always available when needed, they won't come. Even if it's only one or two, it will be worth it.

( The Inn, March 6 )

The next day, Mulcahy comes to the Inn to perform his usual round of chores and helping with any meal preparation along with any other little odd jobs that need doing, but this day he's also got a few other goals in mind. When they're both not busy enough to be able to talk for a bit, even if they continue working, he's specifically looking for Kate Kelly to ask her a few questions. And once lunch rolls around and people start trickling in from wherever they were working (or weren't, whatever the case may be), Mulcahy's going to find people who aren't too preoccupied with other things and walk over to their table, pulling out a chair nearby and sitting down with a polite smile.

"Hello - I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

tooktheblack

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; inn
WHEN: 4 March
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBD

As the weather had been a bit milder these past few days, Jon had taken the bow and been ranging more than he had when the snows were thick and coming down on a regular basis. It was easier to find game when fresh shoots were pushing up through the earth and there was one clearing in the forest that was especially good for hunting; deer liked to gather around a small pond and drink and it was easy to bag at least one before the others scattered in panic.

One buck would be enough to feed people for several days, even if the whole village ate from it, and while he still hunted birds and the like it was a good target to have. Approaching the watering hole, he nocked an arrow in his bow and aimed, only to be startled out of the shot by being in Winterfell again.

Winter is here.

Sansa looked at him with grim determination, the girlish features of her face hardened now into stone. She'd gone through so much in the last several years, changed so much, and yet beneath it all she still had what made her a Stark. He was a Stark too, he guessed, after having been crowned King in the North but he didn't feel it. He would never feel like a true Stark in these walls.

When he came free of the memory, the arrow was lodged in a tree and the deer were gone. He headed back to the village empty handed and went to get something to drink. He wished it were ale, considering, but it was only tea because they had nothing stronger. Why would that have felt so real? Why would he be standing on the battlements at Winterfell with Sansa - a Sansa that was older than the one here? It made no sense.

"Something queer is going on in this place," he said, speaking loud enough to be overheard by anyone else who might be walking into the Inn. "I've never had a vision of home before."

learned_to_die

WHO: Ned Stark
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Mid-February
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: N/A; will update as needed.

The Setup
It was the blaze of red that had caught Ned's eye, carefully perched like a patch of newly spilled blood on the windowsill of his chambers. He'd thought himself mad, seeing visions of death in the blossoming sunlight of dawn, but upon closer inspection, the realization and understanding had cracked over his skull like an egg. He'd seen these envelopes before, twice - first with Moana, as she tried to rid herself of the letter by one of the trees on the outskirts of the village, and then with Beverly, as she sat, brows furrowed and concerned, by the crackling hearth in the inn.

Each letter demanded something of its recipient, the thing itself unable to be destroyed or ignored. He'd run his finger across the wax insignia. It had reminded him of the flaming tree of House Marbrand, but he knew this was no raven-sent message of home. This was sent from their captors, the Observers. The controllers who went unseen and unheard, known only through their manipulations of the villagers' lives. It had unsettled Ned down to his core, rattling his molars and vibrating his bones with a sense of dread he couldn't quite understand.

But now, it seems, his turn has come.

He takes hold of the sealed envelope, turning it over carefully in his hands a few times before finally slipping a finger underneath the flap to open it. With trembling fingers, he removes the letter - eyes skimming over letters without truly understanding, needing to go back and re-read to fully absorb the demand being made like a blade at his throat.

A sacrifice. The price to return home. The word itself, "home," screams out at him from the page, practically rendering him blind and deaf. But - what waits for him back in Westeros? Would he be returning to his last known breath? He'd rather not experience the horrors at the Sept of Baelor, listening to the jeers of the crowd with a thirst for blood and a call for his head. Hearing his daughter's pleading, frantically searching for his other daughter's face in the sea of sneers and flustered, angered faces. But if he could return to a time before that? Back to when life had been simpler, back to when he'd had his beloved Catelyn at his side, when they'd watched their children train in the yard and their worries seemed few and far between? How sweet a thought; it almost makes his chest ache with want.

The Stark House
He removes his fur-lined cloak from his wardrobe, folding the letter up and keeping it close to his chest underneath his other wintry Westerosi garments. As he makes his way through the house - getting himself something to sup on for breakfast, stoking the hearth, ensuring they've enough to eat, going about his morning routine - he seems to be preoccupied. His mind is elsewhere, brows stitched together with concern, worry, and silent dispute. He might even be grumbling to himself about this thing or that, not making much sense of whatever can be heard.

Outdoors - Anywhere around the village
Once he's finished there, he makes his way into the village, taking time to enjoy the silent solitude that these early morning walks provide him. Margaery had started the pattern shortly after he had first arrived, and he finds that he cannot seem to truly start his day without them now - though her company is more and more scarce as time goes on. (Deep down, this pains him as he'd come to enjoy her friendship, but he will never admit such a thing).

Still, he seems distracted, absent-minded. He goes about the motions as he heads towards the center of town, eventually heading north to check traps and investigate the riverbed, but it's clear his eyes are not truly seeing what lies around him. They're envisioning other worlds, other possibilities. He stops a few times at seemingly sporadic moments and locations, completely lost in thought, only to come to after a few moments, after which he continues on his way.

The Inn
Finally, as he does most days, he finds himself wandering back towards the warmth of the inn, sitting opposite the raging fire. He cradles a mug of something in his hands, though he's barely touched its contents. Instead, he idly spins the mug in between his palms and fingers, both restless with unused energy and worry.

It's only here, when his guard is down, that he reveals the envelope, clutching it in one hand, as he fights the call of home as best as he can.

minus1twin

WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: All over the Village
WHEN: January 15th (After the snow storm)
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: N/A (please label any warnings in headers when they come up if they do.)

Wanda was happy to see the last bit of snow fall from the sky. She had nothing against the snow or the cold but she could only spend so long cooped up inside. There was work that had to be done now that the blizzard was at it's end, however, work wasn't the first thing on Wanda's mind as she stepped out into a world of perfect white.

She recalled what Raleigh had said. At the time, her memory had been lost but she remembered now, like he was standing next to her speaking into her ear. 'Even as an adult stationed up in Anchorage, we'd blow off steam having snowball fights. You ever do that? Duck and cover, try to see if you could get someone more than they got you?'

Wanda looked down at the snow and smiled. They all needed to blow off a little bit of steam. She gathered the snow in her palms as she made her way towards the inn, looking for unsuspecting victims to pull into her game. She waned everyone to play. They all needed a little bit of fun.

[ooc note: this is an open log for a large village snowball fight that Wanda is going to start. I'll be tagging everyone with her but feel free to post a header and say that Wanda dragged your character into the game. I'm good with assuming anything so that everyone can get involved! There might also be a puppy following Wanda, giving away her position if you want to nail her with a snowball :D]

ex_assertiveness90

WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The 7I lake, then the 6I inn
WHEN: Backdated to January 5th
OPEN TO: The section at the lake is open to one thread only (first come, first served), while the inn section is OTA.
WARNINGS: N/A, will edit if needed

7I - lake - afternoon - closed

It’s a bit misleading to say Stella has finally had it up to here with the village and the observers. Stella has been fed up with their situation for a long time now, more than a year, and that hasn’t got any better with time. But while she’s been doing what she can to find a way out of this place, it hasn’t yet resulted in her doing anything dangerous, at least not voluntarily.

She’s taken a walk — a long one — over to the other village on the opposite side of the canyon wall, after the snow eases up and it’s a degree or two above freezing. There’s a body of salt water over here that she’s been interested in, though she’s never been sure whether it’s a lake or an ocean, as she’s never been able to see to the opposite bank if there is one, and she knows people have tried to circumnavigate it with no success. It’s tempted her to move over here a time or two, in order to better go back to her swimming routine, at least when the weather’s warm — but she’s comfortable enough where she is with Peggy that she hasn’t seriously considered it yet.

Today, she’s greeted with a strange sight: she can make out a cliff face on the opposite bank of what she now suspects is a lake, one she hadn’t seen before. In fact it doesn’t seem to be that far off — and, taken aback by this, Stella considers. They’d never been able to climb out of the canyon successfully in the original village, but then a hole had appeared in the wall. She’s not sure she’ll be able to do anything but get cold and wet swimming to the other side of the lake, only to be unable to climb this new cliff — but what if. What if.

It’s a decision she makes from her gut, not her head — she knows better than to do this, but in the moment, the temptation is impossible to ignore. Stella leaves her coat, her boots, her socks, and her gloves behind, thinking enough to realize she’s going to have to have something dry to put on when she comes back. She takes a few deep breaths to prepare herself for the shock of diving into water that’s probably only a dozen or so degrees warmer than the air. And then — she just does it, dives right in and cuts through the lake water as quickly as she possibly can. She might have lost a little bit of muscle mass living here, but hasn’t lost any of her skill, and her body knows what to do here without her even needing to give it thought. Before she knows it, she’s resurfaced on the other side, and — well, up close the cliff doesn’t look too bad, enough outcroppings to use as handholds —

Except at some point, she tries to reach higher and can’t. She remembers others describing this, the feeling that you ought to be able to climb more, or that you’ve climbed higher than you have, but the summit is just out of reach. Stella doesn’t want to give up, but eventually, defeated, climbs back down. Somehow, she’s lucky enough not to fall, or have her hands slip.

She’s realized now how stupid an idea this was. What the fuck did she think she was going to accomplish, except to put herself in danger in this weather? Stella manages the swim back to the other side, gets her boots and gloves back on, and as she’s putting on her coat she notices someone approaching from the other side of the canyon, maybe attracted by the same sight she was. She shakes her head when they’re close enough, unusually visibly distraught.

“It’s useless,” she says. “I’ve been across the lake, but you can’t climb out that way either.” Stella realizes she’s shaking with cold now. Either she needs to build a fire, or — well, going back home so she can put on a change of clothes is probably more imperative. “Sorry, could you— I’ve got to get back.”

That might not have made any sense, but what she means is that she needs someone to go with her, to make sure that she doesn’t freeze on the way.

6I village - inn - evening - ota

Later, Stella can be found at the inn, dressed in clean clothes, sat a little way from the fireplace in order to thaw herself out slowly. She has a cup of hot tea, which she sips from at intervals, and a pile of her notes spread out on the table in front of her. She began running out of paper some time ago, but she still has just enough to make notes on what she saw on the other side of the lake.

Now that she’s back and more or less unharmed — she thinks maybe she’s getting frostbite, a little, but there’s nothing to be done for that here — she’s really thinking about what a stupid idea that was, and how if anyone else would have done it she’d have said as much. Jesus, what was she thinking?

She wasn’t. And that’s the entire problem. “Fuck,” she breathes, and only after the fact realizes she’s spoken aloud, and that the person sitting at the next table probably heard her. Stella offers a slight, crooked, rueful little smile. “Sorry,” she says, after the manner of someone who isn’t really that sorry. Not for the swearing, at least. But she doesn’t typically talk to herself, either.

ithuriels_blood

WHO: Clary Fray
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: January 2nd
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: n/a

Clary had heard about the letters. In fact, there had been a meeting about these exact letters. She figured that it would be like the other events in the village and by the following month, it'd be over. She'd been wrong. Clary came downstairs that afternoon to find a letter sitting next to her usual spot next the fireplace.

"You can't be serious…" She looked around to see if someone was around but at that exact moment, as short as it'd be, she was alone. "Perfect."

While Clary had stayed silent through most of the meeting she remembered a few facts from it. Fact number 1, if she destroyed the letter then another would appear in its place. Fact number 2, it wouldn't stop bothering her until she did what it said. Clary thought it had something to do with stealing but she couldn't remember all of the details. Fact number 3, she should really open the envelop and see if it's different from the others.

She tore open the letter and paused when she read the words typed across the page.

"What?" This wasn't the same letter.

She heard people milling about around. She wasn't alone anymore but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the letter.

Clary ran upstairs to her room and dressed in the Shadowhunter-like attire she’d been given, sliding two daggers into her belt. When she returned down stairs the letter was still clamped in her hand. She was absolutely going to do it.

It was really too bad that Clary wasn't good at hunting animals.

triplerose

WHO: Loras Tyrell.
WHERE: The fountain, the inn.
WHEN: Dec. 19 (probably through to Dec. 20).
OPEN TO: Anyone and everyone at The Inn.
WARNINGS: Probable mentions of death/murder, captivity/torture, usual Game of Thrones things.

The Fountain ( Closed to Margaery Tyrell )

The Inn

It had seemed as good a place as any to go. Bustling with the occupants of the village, full of others in similar circumstances, people making the best with what they had. The last thing Loras wanted at the moment was anything bustling or lively, but he felt that his sister would grow to worry too much if he confined himself inside their home. He owed Margaery too much to cause her any burden, so the Inn it was. It was as good as any place to start to size up the other residents.

Though Loras couldn't bring himself to engage. Not on his own accord. He'd found a spot where he could sit by himself, where he could see people as they came and went if he wanted to look. He scarcely raised his eyes up from the warm drink nesting between his hands (though he had glanced up, quickly, muttering a thank you when it was brought to him). His thoughts were distant, detached, eyes dull as he focused his attention on nothing at all.

It was likely that everything about him screamed NEW ARRIVAL.

collaronhisneck

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy
WHERE: 6I, the "group" areas like the inn etc
WHEN: November 18th
OPEN TO: Any
WARNINGS: War? Kind of a constant thing for him

Being in this village is... a trial. He's used to doing as well as he can with little - and frankly the food produced in the village is better than what he's been used to eating - but the other things that happen here have made Mulcahy skittish. His faith isn't shaken, he still trusts that everything happens according to God's plan, but for one of the few times in his life he's starting to doubt whether that plan is good. Bringing him here, to the village, he can see that could have benefits - but turning him into a ghost? Leading others to so much despair? Those are actions designed to break people, not heal them.

And it doesn't get any better when he starts getting... glimpses. At first Mulcahy thinks it's just his eyes or his mind playing tricks on him, because he knows those glimpses: the 4077, his home neighborhood in Philadelphia, the airport in San Franscico, all places he has reason to recall. Bits of his family and his friends, none of them lasting more than a moment... but gradually increasing. Until one morning, as he's dutifully making his bed after rising and a quick wash-up in too-chilly water, one comes that shakes him more deeply than anything he's experienced yet. The view of his small room in the village's makeshift church burns out for a moment, replaced with a scene he knows, not far from his tent in the camp, and miraculously with no other people around. Because the words he's saying, he knows he wouldn't say with anyone around to hear them.

"What good am I now? What good is a deaf priest? I've prayed to you to help me... and every day I get worse. Are you deaf, too?"

The vision clears, but it leaves him standing there, shellshocked, for a solid five minutes. Eventually, he gets himself going again, heads out for his daily routine - helping with meals and cleaning at the inn, checking in at the hospital to see if there are any patients, keeping an eye on the fountain to see if anyone's showing up, and in general looking for anyone in trouble. But the good father is an open book, it's impossible for him to keep his emotions off his face, and that... revelation has shaken him deeply. Anyone who looks at him will be able to tell he's troubled, and he moves through his chores with an uncharacteristic distraction.

dann_0

WHO: Danny Williams
WHERE: Fountain/Inn
WHEN: Friday 17 -> 22
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Some mentioning of violence, almost freezing to death and possibly some nudity once he gets inside somewhere warm and can change clothes

Fountain/Inn Nov -17th
The cold water comes as a shock to Danny's system. He had been... well not really safe or sound for that matter but at least warm in Colombia. The last thing he remembered was calling Grace and talking to her before the guards had caught on and dragged him outside to deliver a beating. He had blacked out in the middle of it and now he is surrounded by freezing water. He blinks and sees the light far above him. It feels too far but he has no choice but to swim for it. An eternity later he breaks the surface and gulps in cold air. He can see the edge of the pool and swims for it even as he can feel his strength leaving him by the second. He manages to pull himself out of the fountain, soaking wet and for a moment he just kneels at the side of it, looking around the area.

He wants to just lay down and rest, he feels so tired. And cold. His whole body shakes with the cold and it is hard to think and to breathe. But he sees a house with lights and he feels like he can almost feel the warmth reaching for him. He somehow manages to get to his feet and stumbles towards the inn. By the time he gets to the door, he doesn't have enough strength left to raise his hand and push the door open and instead he just collapses against it.

After he gets dragged inside and changes to warm and dry clothes he will be hiding next to the most convenient heat source until he feels human again.

Inn+Outside Until 22nd
Danny spends a lot of time at the Inn. Even days later he feels like he hasn't quite gotten warm again and he likes staying somewhere it is nice and warm. The fact that there are people here who can explain where he is and what is happening is a bonus as well. After a few days, he starts to get a little bit of cabin fever though and packs on as much clothing as he can before he sets out to explore the village and get a feel for the place.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with h50: danny williams

Credits & Style Info

Tear the whole world down

The Butcher, The Baker, and the Temporary Zombie Who Can Bake Cheese Buns (For 5 Days)

[MINGLE] EVENT: Birthday Party

[MINGLE] Great Shakes

[OTA] Is there life on Mars?

It's a God-awful small affair;

To the seat with the clearest view;

Gone Camping

[MINGLE] Crab Boil

A headcount

braaaaains?

[arrival] doomed as the source

O My God: Henceforth I Resolve to Strive Earnestly to be Patient and Gentle

we know no king but the king in the north (ota)

[we're quiet on the ride, we're all just waiting to get home]

009 Snowball Fight [OPEN MINGLE LOG]

some get snowblind with the daylight.

004 - Mysterious Letter - [OPEN]

[OTA] When the sun has set ...

My Lord God, I Have No Idea Where I am Going

001: Slippery when wet