Sixth Iteration Logs

<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.)
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) <hr></div>
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jokerized

WHO: Tim Drake
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, various houses
WHEN: Evening of July 9 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA with closed starter
WARNINGS: Underage character who was subjected to torture, arriving from the moment he murders his abuser.

( introduction )

fountain; july 9; veronica

Tim doesn't want to die badly enough, if the deciding factor is the water's chill. When he wakes up, there's less shock than a physical ache, awareness of his own skin fading in the dark. If only it were warmer, he'd float here until it choked him back to sleep. If only he could just sleep, the dark and dreamless transition from Barbara's grip to this.

Whatever this is. It doesn't rush around him like the river, though it's almost as cold. Tastes better too, when it slips into his mouth.

It's the kind of physical, present, lucid thought that he clings to, swallowing a little more and putting his hands on what feels like concrete siding. Some kind of pool, a wall to kick off from. This is good, this is working: something to do with his body that is only about keeping it alive. Whatever its condition, he's a strong swimmer, and he comes up with his arms catching around the legs and sweeping skirt of a statue.

The park, maybe? The statue is in decent condition: no moss, no vines, no signs of long-term deterioration. An old part of the Manor, closer to the cave than the house? The trees he finds outside the fountain's edge are too wild, the path too foot-worn to be the manicured lawns and carefully edged forest. Bruce's neighborhood is the only part of Gotham to have this many trees without Ivy's meddling.

Nerves build with the chill of the water, soaking into his--scrubs.

Right. That makes a surprising amount of sense, and the first slip of a laugh is genuine, but what follows is a horrible tic, rasping out of a sore throat. He's still trying to swallow the laughter as he gets a grip on the statue and pulls himself up, standing on the platform with her to look out at the twilit wood. In his movement, he notices the press of the backpack, the dragging weight on his shoulders. Is he outside some facility? Did he give Leslie the slip? That--sounds like him, even if he can't remember.

Shuffling his way around the statue, still holding tight, he continues to huff and swallow nervous laughter, trying to decide which way to go.

exploring; july 10-11; ota

The inmates are running this prison, far as he can tell. He doesn't know if this is some remote, free-range asylum disrupted by an earthquake, or there's been no time to breathe before tumbling through a rip in reality.

Or he's just crazy.

That one always starts the wheezing laugh tickling his throat. Nothing is funny, but everything can elicit it. It isn't just--it isn't just what happened. The ugly laughter is just easier than finding the words. Easier than thinking: what does it mean to be stuck here. Would Bruce really send him so far away, let him be taken again?

Is he angry?

Disappointed.

Whatever this place is, it isn't an entirely foreign world. A yellow sun rises and sets, it's temperate enough for the clothes in his pack. People gather supplies and offer meals in two of the larger buildings, and no one is hunting him down with medication or mandates of group therapy. He shelves the first theory pretty quickly, and puts the other two up just below it, in easier reach. Theories get in the way of deduction, and there's a lot of ground to cover, a lot of disparate information to parse.

Finding crude paper in one of the storerooms, Tim adds to his pack, adding a small jar packed with charcoal and a sharpened stick. He wouldn't have needed a notebook on the streets, but he knew those streets the way he knew how far he could jump, the way he knew the fit of his boots. His grasp of information has suffered in transition, and when he isn't slipping in and out of houses that look shaken in on themselves, he can be found at the board in the Inn, copying information with his makeshift pencil, trying to pick out the facts from speculation.

[Find Tim at the blackboard and map on the Inn's first floor, or exploring any house in a state of disrepair. It can even be your house, if it's suffered damage in the quake.]

teen_angst_bullshit

WHO: Veronica Sawyer
WHERE: The River & Various
WHEN: June 23-25
OPEN TO: ALL, Kira & Nerys
WARNINGS: n/a

[OTA]

Dear Diary,

It's really fucking hot.

Understatement of the year, Veronica thinks as she stares down at the line, sweat tickling down the back of her scalp to gather at her hairline.

Thinking about going bald, she adds in a looping scrawl. Could start a new village fashion.

The sad truth is that she probably could. With the sun giving them the finger day in and day out, it's surprising people aren't lined up at Kira's door begging him to shear them like the sheep. It might even look cute, now that she considers it—

That's it. She's got to get some kind of relief or she really will hunt down the kitchen shears and do something she'll regret later.

Even at half capacity, the river's still the best option available. Well, unless you want to swim in the fountain, and Veronica's just not that comfortable with the idea of accidentally dog-paddling into somebody fresh arrived to what's beginning to actually feel like hell.

Towel in hand, she abandons the steamy shade of the house and trudges to the river, where she strips all the way to her panties and bra before wading in. No jumping from the dock today, unless you want to break something.

( For Kira & Nerys )

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
STATUS: Open

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."

thecatinahat

WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Outside Bungalow #22
WHEN: Mid-day, March 17
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: Discussion of animal butchery
STATUS: Open

Sometimes, Cougar really feels for his ancestors. He knows he's had rough situations before and has had to rough it, but that just means camping and surviving on minimal rations. Being in this place is a whole other game. It means building things from scratch and unearthing old skills he barely remembers. The chickens had been easy enough to build a coop for, but the rabbits had been a little harder. It's more than that, too. Keeping himself and his house fed means keeping the animals fed, which means long days, like he's gone back to his early days in Spec Ops, but this time, at least the only yelling that happens is by angry animals and not angry lieutenants.

Lately, he hasn't been able to do much hunting in the fog, which means he's turned to work closer to home. He'd managed to find several rabbits a few months back and has been treating them as best as he can, prodding and waiting for them to breed. He'd even brought them into the house, using the spare room, but now that the temperature seems to be stable, they're back outside.

That, and there are little ones.

"Aquí, pequeña madre," he says, leaning over to pet the mother for a job done well, offering out small pieces of foliage for the five little ones. He's not naming them and he's not raising them for pets, but right now, they are very small and very helpless and maybe Cougar has just a little bit of a soft spot for them, especially when they're this little, and this adorable.

Now, though, the trouble is that he's only built his hutch for four rabbits to grow and he has a fifth. He's sure he can convince someone to take it off his hands, but it will be hard to part with it, especially given that his future meal is very cute right now.

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: The Fountain & The Inn
WHEN: 3/16
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None
NOTES: a heads up Thorfinn has been updated and wiped clean of his CRAU and chunks of his memories are gone. His English will be much more broken because of this.
STATUS: Open!

The Fountain
Two days before, Thorfinn had left into the woods to hunt, nothing unusual for him, he tended to keep to himself a lot more than he had in the past since Jo vanished. His solidarity became more profound once her belongings had been distributed. What was different was he didn't return that night, or the next. The fire had long gone out in his hold and everything was cold. His cloak was not hanging by the door and his boots were gone. Signs he was not home. No lights at night was also a good sign.

It was mid morning when His eyes snapped open and he felt the freezing waters around him, like a shock to his system he pushed hard for the surface, just as he had done the first time. Memories over memories. Odense. He was supposed to be going to Odense He had left Karli with Einar and the others, promising to be in Odense in four days.... it was nearly a week later and he now here he was bursting through the cold ass water as he gasp grabbing the edge of the fountain yanking himself off and over. When he hit the ground the first thing he noticed was that he was in his scrubs, not the clothes he had been wearing. His cloak no where around him, shivering he pushed himself up.

"Hver fjandinn .... hvernig er ég aftur hingað?"

He moved away from the fountain slower than he might normally move the cold shooting right to his joints and old injuries. He didn't head home, but down the streets shivering, the water in his hair already starting to freeze.

Claire had cut his hair just a few weeks before, after he had been struck by lightning and now wet it looked longer than it seemed just days before.

The Inn

Pushing the door open he made his way inside shivering. It had already been well into spring, damn near summer last he remembered, it was strange with the overlapping memories. Running from a psychotic kid trying to force him to fight, having Vagn's head thrown at him by the same kid... Vagn, another soul gone because of him. His father's friend... Floki had to be behind it...

He shuttered with the cold as his thoughts raced, moving quickly inside to get near the fireplace. Still shivering. He had been lucky last time to come through while it was hot out.

"Cougar...Peggy...Kate...Margaery...Jake...Veeronika." He started muttering the names of those he remembered best. Something was wrong and he knew it, he could feel it deep in his marrow. When he had been home he had remembered nothing of this place, he prayed it would be the same, otherwise his friends and family were in deep trouble.

He was huddled near the fire, cold and dripping, staring into the flames. Something was wrong. Why had he gone back through the fountain?

Current Location: I come from the water - The Toadies

teen_angst_bullshit

WHO: Veronica Sawyer
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: 24 February, evening
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Mild self-harm, mention of death
STATUS: Closed to new threads

( Read more... )

markwatney

WHO: Mark & Anyone
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: Feb 16, afternoon through evening
OPEN TO: EVERYONE! This is a mingle post!
WARNINGS: N/A - Please warn in thread subject lines if needed
STATUS: Open

When we all get together and have our town meetings, the truth is that a lot of times we don't come up with the sort of solutions we're looking for. I'm not trying to say we're complacent -- Or at least not all of us, not the people speaking up in the meetings -- but just that the nature of living here, such as it is, means that answers aren't exactly forthcoming.

But the latest meeting, the one about organizing, creating some kind of formal entity to oversee the group of us, it threw something into sharp relief for me: I've been talking for a long time about how we all need to be sharing our knowledge as a safeguard, but I haven't been doing much to make this happen beyond sharing my own personal knowledge. And that's really just not acceptable -- Not here, not when we've apparently got an entire section of the population asking for active leadership and another section who might just be too shy or apathetic to admit it.

So, I've been trying to figure out a way to kickstart this project. A way for people to even put out there the sort of knowledge they have to share. You have to start somewhere.

I've never had a problem getting people together to help with the field, but somehow we've been neglecting the town hall building right next to it this entire time. It's one of the biggest buildings in town, but it's still coated in dust and cobwebs, piles of leaves drifted into corners. The inn is starting to get a little crowded during meetings; it might be nice to have a little more room, a place where people come to share.

Regardless of how you feel about community leadership, I think most of us can get behind that.

A couple days before, I put out the call: A cleaning party. We get together, clean out the town hall, and afterward we have a little potluck. People can bring premade dishes, or we can cook out back over a bonfire. We can just be around each other, in a relatively safe space, just having a moment to relax and say hello. Meet someone new, find out where to begin.

After everything that's happened recently, I really think we could use it. I'm just hoping I'm not the only one who shows up.

[CLEANING PARTY & MIXER! Threads can take place during the CLEANING portion, after during the MIXER or BOTH. They can be indoors, upstairs, in the attic, out back by the bonfire, chowing down, whatever -- It's 100% cool to improvise! Mark will have expressly told folks this is about getting to know each other and what they can each do, too. There are some additional OOC notes here.]

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: Evening of January 20th
OPEN TO: EVERYBODY! Kate and Finnick will be doing their best to make sure everyone ~~is summoned~~ knows
WARNINGS: ~~Who knows with Finnick?~~ Nothing expected.
STATUS: Open!

It's late in the day by the time Finnick and Annie return to the village. They've pushed the timing as late as they can: while the auroras are still lighting up the night well enough to see by, they do nothing for the cold that creeps deeper under Finnick's skin with the sinking of the sun. And they definitely do nothing for the snow that had begun to fall again while Finnick and Annie were in the cave, their light dimmed somewhat by the heavy clouds.

The Careers need to get back to the village, and night falls early, now it seems to be something like midwinter.

They'd discussed whether or not to tell the villagers what they'd found. Finnick had thought they'd be giving up a vital potential advantage, but ...

Annie had been right that hiding what they'd found would damage their standing, and while he doesn't care about their reputation here much, he does care that Annie thinks they should be trying to get themselves closer to the villagers, not further away from the community. It has seemed to be the point of their gifts.

So when they make it back to the village at around dusk, they don't skirt around the houses like they usually do, sneak their way through the edges of the woods and find a roundabout way to get back to their house. Today, they go straight for the crossroads at the centre of the village, and straight into the Inn.

Finnick needs to find Kate Kelly, because she knows how to make things happen around here, and if they're going to tell everyone what they found, they need the villagers to gather.

"Kelly," he tells her when she finds her, "We need to call a town meeting. There's something people should know."

So it is that as night falls over the rooftops, gleaming green in the aurora-light as it bounces off snow, people who arrive response to a summons to the large main room of the Inn will find Finnick standing at the front of the room, holding a sketchbook. His ever-present spear is resting against the wall next to him, just next to their meticulously sketched map of the canyon on the stolen curtain.

There's a new mark on one side of the canyon walls.

[ This is your standard mingle-type meeting post! Finnick will have an OTA comment but feel free to mingle, start your own things, threadjack, whatever. ]

mund

WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: The fountain, the inn, town hall, by the houses. Graves is curious and is out and about exploring, feel free to bump into him anywhere.
WHEN: 16 January morning, afternoon, evening
OPEN TO: Open to everyone!
WARNINGS: Nah, none. Will warn if it comes up.
STATUS: Open to new threads!

( we were hungry before we were born. )

00nothing

WHO: Alex Rider
WHERE: the butchers & along the village road
WHEN: January 12, throughout the day
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: nothing yet, idk
STATUS: open
( they give him prescriptions and shine bright lights on him )

ad_dicendum

WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: Outside the Inn
WHEN: During the aurora event, around Jan 6
OPEN TO: Anyone willing to try talking to the guy who knows barely any English
WARNINGS: Slightly squicky injury reference
STATUS: OPEN

The gods are speaking.

It is hard to look at the sky at night and not think that. Gaius has never been a man to let omens stand in the way, but twice now, he and his brother had continued their work under ill-favored birds, and it had ended badly for them. Tiberius, he's been told, had split his toe crossing the threshold as he set out for the forum on the day he'd been killed. And the omens in Junonia had been nothing but bad, wolves stealing the boundary markers, winds breaking the standards and scattering the sacrifices, and he's been wondering ever since his return to Rome if those omens weren't for the colony, but for him. Nothing had gone right for him since Junonia. He'd lost his support, he'd lost the elections (or had them rigged against him) and he'd found his enemy elected to the consulship.

And now here the skies are afire at night, blazing in greens and blues and colors he's never known the night sky could have. It can surely bode no good to this strange village he's found himself in that the gods have set their aethereal flame every night for more than a week now. It can bode no good, but that hasn't stopped Gaius from going out to stare up into the dancing light and wonder at it. Wonder, and marvel, too, for all his fear.

"O, Iuppiter," he murmurs, the start of some half-formed evocation to the sky god, king of the gods of Rome: tonight, the skies are brighter than ever.

He's wrapped up in his coat, but the Roman is standing in the middle of the path that runs past the inn and paying no attention to the weather, or to anyone who may approach: instead, he's entirely absorbed in the sky.

turned_to_steel

WHO: Sansa Stark
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: December 20th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Will update if needed
STATUS: OPEN

Sansa had her jaw clenched and her hands buried deep in her pockets, hurrying towards the Inn as quickly as she could make herself go without running. It was tempting to run but she didn't trust the snow that clung to the ground and the fact that there could possibly be ice patches somewhere underneath. She didn't relish the idea of possibly slipping and hurting herself when she was supposed to be going to the Inn to get her first lesson in cooking breakfast.

So she was more than grateful for the heat she felt when she reached the front door and pushed it open to let herself inside the nice, warm building. Stomping her feet, she shut the door and looked up to see if she could spot Kate anywhere. What she found instead was enough to have her eyes going wide and her lips parting in surprise at the sight of boxes stacked everywhere in the main room. It didn't matter where she looked, there seemed to be a new stack of varying heights and sizes. So many of them that she wasn't even sure she could count them all.

It wasn't like the box she had found on her front step, though. These boxes were wrapped in pretty paper of different colors and designs, and all with a tag sitting on top of each one.

Unbuttoning her jacket, she moved to the closest stack of boxes and took a peek at the first tag that was visible to her. She recognized both names and found herself blinking in confusion while she glanced at the second tag. Had everyone else found a way to get presents to give to someone else and she had missed it? She wondered briefly if maybe it was something that had been planned from before she had arrived but why hadn't her brothers mentioned it to her? It was something she was still puzzling over until she found a tag that was intended for someone else but had her name on it as well.

A quick search at another stack had her finding a present that was intended for her.

Still curious and wanting answers, Sansa set her jacket aside and went back to the first stack of boxes. Plucking the first box off the top, she set it to the side and moved the second box to another area. By the time someone came downstairs or came inside, Sansa was making new piles sorted by the name of who the presents were meant for. She thought it would be easier for people to find their presents rather than everyone stomping around poking through every stack and reading every tag.

[ooc: This is a mingle post for people to find their presents if they are located at the Inn! If you wish to, please feel free to have your character find their stack of presents already sorted.]

itchtokill

WHO: Kol Mikaelson
WHERE: House #8
WHEN: Evening, Monday, Dec 9
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Predicting nothing warning-worthy, will update if necessary.
STATUS: OPEN

( Make a wish, you'll be fine. )

thecatinahat

WHO: Cougar Alvarez & The Hunting Party
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: December 12th
OPEN TO: All - jump in wherever it suits!
WARNINGS: Discussion of violence
STATUS: Open

In a way, the village is strangely like coming home even though it's not one that Cougar would ever have claimed. Maybe it's not that he's relieved to see the village, but just that he's relieved that the long hike back with a heavy, eight foot beast on his shoulders that reeks and makes him smell awful has been wearing on his last nerve, making his patience dwindle to the point that when the inn comes into sight, it's a good thing, otherwise Cougar might have killed the first thing they came across.

The beast is large and looming and he's inclined to believe Helen's theory that this is what killed the animals and Karen. The rest of what they've found is equally as confusing, but given the amount of people they seem to be attracting given their cargo and the smell, Cougar doubts they'll have any trouble rallying the troops to discuss it.

He hefts up the animal over his shoulder for the last few feet into the inn when the door is held open for him, heaving it off his shoulders so it collapses on the floor. Cougar digs out his hat from his back pocket, sliding it on his head, and glancing over his shoulder at the people who have come in. He tips his hat to them as he glances back at the creature, bending down to haul the arrow out of the thing's eye, because he'd carved this one himself. "It's dead," he offers in a rough deadpan, the sarcasm dryer than some of the winter days.

Sniffing himself, he grimaces and heads off to the corner with one last jut of his thumb towards the group. "They know more." And with that, he heads upstairs to try and get some of the awful smell off and to wrap up the bruise on his chest, just in case.

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn/Pub's main room
WHEN: 2st December
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E ~~not going on science/hunt quest. Hunt a monster, miss a meeting <.<~~
WARNINGS: TBA as needed
STATUS: Open!

For the past few days, Kate has been spreading the word that there'll be a meeting after lunch today. The previous meetings had been in reaction to something, and to a certain extent, this one is no different. But Kate wants to try something else: planning. Planning on how to deal with the coming months when the weather will only get worse. How to deal with blizzards, storms. How to deal with problems hopefully before they arise.

And, maybe, it makes her feel better doing this. Organising something, now that her comrade-in-practical-arms (Mark Watney) has left her to go trek after a monster. Far, far more practical than having hysterics. Which she won't admit to having to anyone but her cat and Benedict.

(Her tea that night might have been spiked with a dash of whiskey to insure that she slept.)

Today, the weather is cold. There is snow on the ground, and the sun isn't coming out to play. It is the kind of day where people linger over their meals in the warmth of the Inn anyway, seats near the fireplace taken quickly. Towards the end, Kate starts to organise for the meeting. One of the smaller tables is tipped over its side so Ivan has something to write on to take the minutes, and Kate hands him some pieces of precious chalk.

Then she stands on a chair and taps a spoon against a tiny saucepan in lieu of a bell.

"Attention, please! I call this meeting to order. So much as we ever get order. Winter's not goin' away in a hurry, so before we all run into trouble, we're goin' t'come up with some ideas and share knowledge. Not all of us come from the same world, let alone the same environment. If it seems obvious to you, say it anyway, because it might not be to others. Everyone got that? Good."

With that, she steps off the chair and sits on it.

Meeting's begun.

[OOC: Like our other meetings, set-up is mingle and threadjackable unless otherwise specified. Please set up your own heading posts for various topics that your characters would bring up for some organisation, but otherwise, have fun!]

seekingcrocodile

WHO: Frank Castle, Killian Jones, and ota
WHERE: near the inn/the inn
WHEN: the night of the feast
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: Uh. Gore and blood and stuff.
STATUS: Open and ongoing.

After four mutilated animals in as many weeks, Frank isn’t feeling much like celebrating. Word gets around, and the sudden appearance of this morning’s feast does nothing to settle him. They need the food, to be sure, with more hungry mouths coming out of the fountain every day and their winter stores getting no fuller; he doesn’t begrudge those who decide to eat it — but a meal like that appearing out of thin air? Sounds like a trap to him, and somebody’s got to not get caught in it. (If the feast would have turned his thoughts to crayon-colored hand turkeys and cookie crumbs and Frank Jr.’s small, still fingers in the blood-wet grass no matter what the circumstance, Frank doesn’t let his mind linger too long on that. )

Almost as soon as he’d arrived at the inn, Frank had set back out into the cold, bright day, but by the time the sun start to dip he’s swinging back towards it again, black wool coat buttoned up over his overalls, a lamp swinging by his side.

The now-familiar scent of fresh woodsmoke gusts through the air — and beneath it, the coppery bite of blood.

Killian had fewer qualms about enjoying the feast, even though he is still uncomfortable at the thought of someone watching them. Someone toying with them. But like he’d said all those months ago after he and Jo found the weapons (or tools, as some prefer to think of them), it’s also about survival, and the spread of food currently occupying the inn will go a long way towards ensuring their survival for another day. Discovering the presence of alcohol, which he hasn’t had a drop of in months, was another deciding factor in his determination to enjoy the food and worry about its consequences later. (He’s good at dealing with consequences. He’s had a lot of practice at just going with a situation.)

Even though the warm inn, with its smells of food and the smoke from the fire, is exactly the sort of place he used to frequent when he and his crew would put in at some port or another, he finds himself in need of some fresh air to clear his head. He’s been indulging in the rum, and having lost his tolerance due to going without a drop of it for months, it’s gone to his head more than it used to. Plus there is the looming concern about making it through the winter, and even if he’s not in charge here, worrying about the survival of everyone present is a hard habit to break.

He’s a distance from the inn before he stops, reaching for a tree for support. There’s the smell of blood in the air, familiar from his many years of a life at sea, but he thinks nothing of it. There have been so many attacks lately, and the smell ends up clinging to his clothes when he’s been preparing a pile of fresh-caught fish. It’s a smell he’s used to by now.

It’s when he’s reaching for the tree that it happens. His foot connects with something, something that shouldn’t be at the base of a tree. Something he can’t see in the dark. If only he’d thought to bring something with him when he came outside.

“What the hell…?”

At the sound of a voice, Frank squints ahead into the dark, trying to make out the approaching figure. Luckily, it’s someone he’s seen around enough to recognize from a vague outline in the dark. “Everything alright, Captain?”

As Frank lifts his lamp, the light falls across the well-trodden ground toward the tree, and Killian — and the limp arm resting against the ground at his feet. A woman’s, and far too quiet and still out here in the night. Frank lifts the lamp higher.

"Karen," he breathes, as the light hits her pale face. "Karen--" Louder now, Frank’s moving before he's thinking, boots skidding through the dirt as he rushes for her, his lamp hitting the ground hard and his knees harder as he drops down beside her.

She's too still. Too red. At her neck, in her hair, there's so much red, Jesus. Meat is coming out of her abdomen, and on some futile instinct Frank reaches to scoop it back in, like he can just put her stomach back where it belongs and she'll make it. She'll be okay. (She doesn’t look like she’s going to be okay.)

When Killian catches sight of her face, he can tell right away that she’s someone he saw around but not anyone he ever talked to in any way more than passing. He wishes he had, though, if only because he’s sure that she wouldn’t want to be remembered this way by strangers. He reaches out to stop the other man -- he doesn’t have to be a sawbones to know that it’s too late -- but then stops. This is how he’d be reacting if it were Emma beneath the tree, and he’d strike out at anyone who tried to stop him.

“The others need to know.” They’ll probably wonder, for one thing, and now it’s a matter of everyone’s survival. “I’ll keep them from coming out here themselves.” For privacy, and also because even during the course of several lifetimes at sea, he never saw anything like this. The others don’t need these images keeping them from sleeping tonight.

He turns away from the tree and heads back to the inn, allowing time for Frank to speak if he wants, but not expecting it. Killian pauses for a moment outside the door to the inn. He really doesn’t want to be the one to break the festive mood, but there’s no other choice. At least it’s given him a chance to sober up somewhat.

He stops just inside the door and waits until he has everyone’s attention. It takes a moment, because everyone is enjoying themselves, but the grave look on his face and the blood that he’s sure to have picked up from stumbling in the dark should help with that. He makes sure to stay calm when addressing the room -- panic would only cause more panic, and he’s hoping to keep enough of them calm for this not to turn into an even bigger disaster.

“It’s not just animals. Whatever is out there, going after livestock, has come for one of us now.” He pauses a moment to let that sink in. “Her name was Karen.”

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 24th November
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: OPEN

Aside from the days when she'd been too drunk or too hungover to get up, Kate's kept a farmer's hours all her life. Even in winter, when the bitterly cold winds that'd come up from the south and make its way through the cracks and holes in her ma's hut, she'd get up, get dressed, do her chores. But lately, it's been harder to extract herself from her bed. Benedict's been sharing her bed more often than not lately, and the chasteness of their interactions does nothing to change how warm and safe she feels. How little she wants to get up, get dressed, go out into the colder spaces of the Inn and do her work.

So, today, she's late getting out of bed - at least, by her standards. She's late getting down the stairs. She's late, so she's hurrying; she lazed in bed, and now she needs to start the fire in the main room. Start the fire, open the shutters, show that the Inn is standing and warm. And welcome, so she moves the -

No, Kate doesn't move the chairs stacked precariously at the front door as a rudimentary alarm of someone, something, coming through, because the chairs are gone. She neither dismisses it as one of the residents not getting the message, nor panics. Instead, she just opens the shutters to let in the dawn light and see if there are footprints, except, no, the snow has mostly cleared. The day is sunny. As welcome as it is, that doesn't help at all. Miss Hoppity jumps down from the foyer's desk to rub her face against Kate's skirt, apparently entirely unconcerned.

Kate eyes the cat for a moment, then approaches the closed doors leading to the main room. Closed, but with light coming through the cracks between door and floor, door and door frame. Cautiously, Kate opens one of the doors and peers in.

Then, she gapes.

The fire is blazing - hot, cheery - but so are the candles. The candles: candles on the unused candlesticks, candles clustered on tables, light up sideboards. Candles bobbing in bowls of water and apples. Candles white, yellow and red, when the village had none. Boughs of wheat, corn, decorate tables and the mantle over the fire, apples and pumpkins and collections of yellow, orange, red flowers seem to be everywhere.

And the food.

Each table is piled high with food. Roasted, baked, cooked on stoves and Kate knows how to cook, she knows how long this would all take, how many people, and it's impossible. What she's seeing is impossible to have done with the resources on hand: even an attempt would have woken up the whole building.

Disbelieving, Kate walks in. For a moment, she's entirely dumbfounded. Miss Hoppity, however, is nothing of the sort. The cat has leapt up onto the sideboard next to Kate and - well, Kate isn't sure what happens next. Just that suddenly there's movement and something large seems to lunge at her. Miss Hoppity yowls and speeds off: Kate screams as she battles something, falling backwards and hitting the floor along with a broken bowl of water, spilled apples and some tiny candles, and her attacker.

Pushing the food-turkey off her, Kate sits up and is, for once, entirely lost for words.

andrend

WHO: Kylo Ren
WHERE: Near the fountain
WHEN: Evening, November 15th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Incoming angry wet former Jedi with family issues
STATUS: Closed

( An inconvenient chill- )

thecatinahat

WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Outside the bungalow
WHEN: October 18th, PM
OPEN TO: Jake | OTA
WARNINGS: Amnesia
STATUS: Closed

( Wake up, Carlos, you'll miss your life sleeping in like this )

He's quick to hurry out of that bedroom, but when he tries for escape, his foot comes across a box on the porch. Cautiously, Carlos looks down at it and when he sees his name on the cardboard, he opens it to find jeans, a light pink long sleeve shirt, and a tarp hat, weathered with many logos. He yanks it into his hands and changes in the kitchen swiftly, his stomach growling. He still needs to get out of here, away from the strange man in the bedroom upstairs before someone figures out what he's done.

If this gets back to his parents, then any chance of reconciliation is gone. Hurrying outside, Carlos shoves the hat onto his frizzing, short curls and starts to walk with his head resolutely on the ground, every step a stubborn one.

It's why he doesn't realize for a whole minute that he's not in California, that this isn't home.

The weather is brisk, sending a chill down his spine, and nothing around him makes sense. Suddenly, waking up in bed with a stranger that he can't remember isn't the only one of his worries and he's convinced that he's been kidnapped. He spins to debate going back and getting answers from the gringo, but he's not sure what to think about that man and the situation, so instead, he turns back to study the foreign ground in front of him.

Carlos is lost, without a school to turn to, without an army base to hide behind, and without any friends or family (though they abandoned him long before this). Feeling sick to his stomach, he feels his knees going a little weak as he struggles to find someplace to sit. In the end, he ends up on the very porch of the house he'd been trying to escape from, taking his hat off his head to wring it between his hands, the worry showing all over his face.

If only he could go home, but Mexico is even further than California and home doesn't want him back.

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: The woods/Thor's House, The Inn, The River, House #8.
WHEN: Sept 29
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mild cursing, bathing nudity?
STATUS: Open

The woods / Thor's house
Thorfinn was nothing if not stubborn and hopeful all at the same time. When he had left the house that morning, he knew the sky was pouring, but he had hoped it would ease up by the time he borrowed the axe from the inn, ignoring any protests of it being to wet or chilly to be out working in the woods. He still went as if nothing was the matter. The rain didn't stop or even slow. He was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the place he had been doing most of his cutting. Leaning under the leaves of an older tree waiting. After an hour or so it became clear that the rain wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

That meant one thing. The gods were displeased.

At least the Thunderer, it must be that.

Thorfinn had not bothered doing his hair that morning, just leaving the blond strands to whip around him in the wind until they were too wet to move. He set out to find another tribute, maybe another goat would appease his lord. It was almost an hour and a half later when Thorfinn emerged from the woods a young goat following behind him, again his belt serving as a leash. The axe and one of his boots in one hand, the belt in the other. His tunic's hood down, the fine fabric along with the Norsemen and the ax he had borrowed all caked in thick mud. He looked almost like a tiny swamp thing coming out of the woods, mud and twigs sticking to him as he walked, looking far from pleased.

A knock wasn't bothered with this time, he was not in the best mood and figured maybe Thor wasn't either given the weather, so his muddy hands pushed the window up and open as he slipped his belt free from the little goat and moved to put it in the window like the last goat. Maybe now the rain would ease.

The Inn
He knew he should have gone to the river first, but he didn't stepping up to the back door of the inn near the well he knocked on the door standing there with the axe and his boot, still caked in mud and looking completely annoyed. Normally he might have just walked in but today he knocked staying just outside in hopes of not dragging the mud with him inside. The rain had thankfully cleaned most of the mud off of the axe. Which was why he had come. He waited outside the door for someone to answer so he could hand over the tool and be on his way to try and wash some of the heavy muck off of him.

The River
Cutting across the land behind the inn he reached the root cellar of Kol's home, he had left the jar that he stored the small chestnut soap balls in the cellar along with his bone comb had been left in the cellar the night before after he combed the curls caused by his braids out of his hair. Thorfinn liked the root cellar, a little space away from everyone where he could do whatever work he wanted or just think without disturbing anyone or being disturbed. He made his way down the steps leaving heavy muddy prints leading down into the dark space, opening the jar he shook two of the soap balls out before moving away from the house, leaving his belt in the cellar, but taking his comb. He could have gotten something to dry off with but, he was filthy and unhappy and just wanted to get clean and go home if he couldn't work he'd just stay home for awhile, work on some of his other projects.

When he reached the water he looked up at the sky a moment before pulling his muddy tunic and stained up tank top over his head throwing it on the ground behind him, his pants came next, and with his mood he didn't care who saw him. He moved into the water, and started washing the mud from his skin first, the hair would be next. Then he would get started on his clothes.

Though it was already cool with the rain coming down and the river water, Thorfinn wasn't bothered by it, though he was weary. The last time he let himself get soaked to the bone in a rain like this outside of his own world, he had ended up emotionally unstable and sobbing on Jo after attacking one of those he had called a friend. He worried this rain would effect him like that. He wanted to hurry through his bath, but he didn't want to get home and find his hair matting either. So he had to take his time to assure he got all the mud washed away.

On his way to House #8 & Inside
On his way back from the river, Thorfinn had his tunic and tank top draped over an arm, with just his pants on. Walked barefooted towards the house he shared with Jo and Kol. His day was a bust, no animal brought home for dinner, no wood either. Just a day of letting the weather get to him. It was to hot most of the time, then came Fenrir's shakes, now just heavy rain. He couldn't stand the weather here. He hated it.

It was beyond his power to affect the weather however, so he just made his way home. Eventually reaching the house and pushing the door open but not entering yet. His boots not with him. He stood on the porch under its protection as he wrung out his hair as best he could before doing the same with his tunic. Finally he went inside closing the door behind himself going and draping the tunic over the back of one of the dining room chairs to let it dry. Walking on through the house to his room. Pushing the door open with it's helm of awe carved in the door, painted in red with his blood the day he carved it. Moving inside he changed out of the scrub pants into the overalls and dropping across his bed. He wasn't tired, he just watched the rain from where he laid with his window open. He could see the lights of the inn but didn't feel like trudging back over there through the rain.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with heathers: veronica sawyer

Credits & Style Info

[arrival and ota] subtract my age from the mileage on my speeding heart

Gonna burn those blue suede shoes; [OTA & 2 Closed Starters]

[Mingle OTA] Spring Feast

(no subject)

Open: It's more than nature It's like my destiny.

What goes on in that place in the dark? [OTA]

We can push on through till morning; [OTA | MINGLE POST]

ψ they are the hunters, we are the foxes | OTA MEETING

uncover our heads and reveal our souls

my friend has problems with winter and autumn

† monstra evenerunt mihi

Tis the season...for a lot of boxes? [Presents!]

{Let tradition live on

(no subject)

Meeting - How To Deal With Winter Without Blaming The Starks

(no subject)

Let us eat quickly-- let us fill ourselves up. {Harvest Feast}

Hypothermia and You: A Guide No One Ever Reads

let's go back in time - ota

Pour your misery down...