fishermansweater: (Tux - Photo op)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta
WHERE: 6I: Church (House 24) & Odair Residence (House 57)
WHEN: 7 October
OPEN TO: Francis Mulcahy, Johanna Mason, Bodhi Rook
WARNINGS: Excessive amounts of sap. Possibility of references to traumatic backstory/sexual abuse.



If he'd been asked, perhaps Finnick would have imagined something different. In District Four, a wedding would have been a cause for celebration, with the formal part of the ceremony performed by a respected member of the community, and they would have been surrounded by people they knew. Not his family, no matter how much he would have wished them there, because they're long dead, destroyed in proof of the President's hold over him. But Annie's family, maybe, and the other District Four victors, and people they knew from the city. There'd have been a song about marriage being the voyage of love, and music and dancing. But that wedding was impossible in Panem, so impossible that Finnick had never allowed the image he thinks of now to tempt him.

It's only here, because they're away from Snow, that they can dare to do this. And if it's going to be simple, and different, what matters is that it's happening at all, and that Johanna will be there. He'll be with the two people left who mean the most to him, and at the end of the day, Annie will be his wife.

Finnick and Annie have spent days in preparation, working on the traditional net that should form a canopy over the couple. At Annie's suggestion, because the church-house is small and their supplies are limited, they'd draped it over the roof instead of setting up a canopy. Finnick's collected salt water from the sea -- if that's what it is -- to the east, to be used in the ceremony. They had wedding clothes already, gifts from Credence and Johanna on the day last winter when gifts had appeared. Annie even has a pretty necklace to wear, and Finnick's done her hair with the ribbons she'd gotten in one of her gift boxes from whoever's looking after them here.

They've been cleaning their house so they can have their small group of attendees and participants for a celebration lunch, and as much as possible is prepared ahead of time. That leaves just the ceremony itself, and at the designated time, the two of them make their way to the church.

[ starters in the comments, one for a short thread of the ceremony, and another for mixing at lunch ]
learntthehardway: (6)
[personal profile] learntthehardway
WHO: Diana Prince and Open
WHERE: 7I area
WHEN: September 30th
OPEN TO: Anyone in the area
WARNINGS: None as of right now.


Diana had heard that there was another area, had heard that it was pretty much just the same as the original area. She had been meaning to check it out, to see what the deal was with this new area, but time had slipped away from her - besides, she hadn't wanted to go too far from Steve just in case he had a relapse with the illness he'd had.

But, when she'd heard that the new area had been overrun by foxes, she'd had to go and check it out for herself. She'd left Steve a short note, just to let him know where she was, because she knew he'd be worried if she didn't and knowing him, he'd set off to find her and make sure that she was doing okay. That's just the type of man he was and it was one of the reasons she loved him.

With everything all set, she'd packed her pack with water and some sandwiches and off she'd gone.

It took a little longer than she'd planned to get there. And at first, she wasn't even sure that she'd arrived at the correct place, only because it pretty much looked like the other area - though the fountain... That was strange, it looked like it had smashed or neglected. She shook her head and moved on.

No foxes. She peered around, peeking under things as she moved through the area and yet there wasn't any signs of the so called foxes. Maybe people had been mistaken. Maybe they'd only thought that they'd seen them. Or maybe they'd just returned from wherever they had come from. It was odd and for a moment she felt a flash of disappointment. She'd missed the foxes.

Sighing, she made her way back to the crumbling fountain and took a seat on an edge that was still intact and began to dig through her pack for the sandwiches.
treadswater: (to lose sight of the shore)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: Annie and Finnick's house
WHEN: 26th August
OPEN TO: Finnick Odair
WARNINGS: Depression, other mental health issues



They've long been a see-saw; when one is down, the other will reach out to help them, and then be helped in return when the debt is due. )
treadswater: (Default)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: #House 57
WHEN: 2nd, 3rd and 6th July
OPEN TO: Finnick Odair, Beverly Crusher, Natasha Romanoff and Percival Graves
NOTES: Most starters in the comments
WARNINGS: Anxiety - disordered thinking, intrusive thoughts, etc. Potential panic-attack, discussion of Panem.



2nd July | Finnick Odair

She has to watch. )
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. )
fishermansweater: (Beautiful smile)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Woods and waterfall
WHEN: June 1
OPEN TO: Annie Cresta
WARNINGS: Nothing yet
STATUS: Ongoing


Finnick has been thinking about what Johanna said. He's been thinking about it a lot, like the mere mention of the idea of marriage unlocked something in him that made him want the forbidden, the thing that had always been denied to him. He's had to teach himself a lot about refusing to admit to things he wants since he became a victor. Ironic, since the victors were always supposed to be the ones who had everything they could ever want thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, but that was never any more than another lie.

He's been thinking, so much that he's a little distracted by the idea, by imagining how it could happen, what he could say to Annie, how he could make Johanna's certainty into reality. He's also spent a lot of time imagining the things that could happen if he tries, because he can't let go so many years of terror about daring to choose his own lover, his own future. But as the weeks passed and nothing happened to either him or Johanna, he started to try to really believe it could happen, if he could find a way.

The first step came when Moana showed him how to make a fine, pale cord out of the stalks of a plant she'd discovered in the wood. He found another stand of it to use himself, harvested it, and set to work secretly making lengths of finer and finer cordage until he thought he had something he could use to weave a ring. He remembered the way Johanna had said that Annie would be happy with a ring he made, and how uneasy her judgment of Annie's taste had made him, but it was true. What would matter would be that he'd made her something.

The next thing is to work out how to actually start the conversation with Annie. The inspiration comes from an unlikely source, when he stops by Jyn's house to take her some fish and finds that she's gone three days in a row. There's no sign of her when he goes inside, all her things abandoned, none of the fish he's left over the last few days collected when she returned from wherever she'd been. Her house is, to all appearances, untouched for the last few days, and she hasn't brought him and Annie any food either.

She's gone.

Which is why Finnick takes some time to look around her now-empty house for things that might be useful, and comes away with a hank of cord and, after some consideration, a telescope. Annie loves the stars, she always has, always felt them linked with the sort of freedom the Capitol denies its subjects. So he takes the telescope, and that night, he goes to bed early, so that he can wake up before the ever-earlier dawn. It's still dark when he wakes up, and he dresses quietly in the green suit and black boots he'd recently found, and slips what he'll need into his backpack.

"Annie," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed near her. "Annie, I'm going out to check my traps early. Want to come with me?"
maternis: (pic#11116489)
[personal profile] maternis
WHO: Newt Scamander
WHERE: outside gathering animals during the storm, helping people into the town hall (if need be), and at graves' house.
WHEN: backdated to the 14th when the hailstorm began
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Just an extremely introverted magizoologist who prefers the company of all things not human.
STATUS: Open, save for the closed starter that is marked.

Gathering the animals:

It had been quite an eventful month, thus far. While he was still making due with feeling as though he had lost a sense with having no access to his magical abilities at all. Still, he did much as he usually did. He kept to himself mostly, though Carol had insisted that Percival was to be visited quite regularly. She had become rather attached, and so he had started to come to the village more regularly than he had in the previous months. Mostly, it was to check in to see if anything had changed with Credence, say hello to Tina and Queenie in brief, and Jacob as well.

He had been in the relative safety of the forest when the hailstorm began, and likely would have stayed if things hadn't begun to grow worse. It was during the start of it that he had found his newest passenger, though he had yet to introduce him to anyone as of yet.

But while he's helping to gather the animals, some by ushering them towards the safety of the Town Hall, and others by the armful if he's able to grab hold of them, one might notice the tiny triangular face of something that looks suspiciously like a weasel of some sort. Newt will be happy to introduce you to him after the current situation is handled.

"Come on, that's it. In we go," Newt soothes, warmth in his voice despite the urgency of the situation. "All of us inside where it is warm. There we are."

He looks back over one shoulder, his left cheek is stinging and starting to bruise from a glancing blow from a chunk of ice, but otherwise he's unharmed. "Is that all of them?"


Helping people inside the Town Hall:

While Newt has experienced his fair share of bad weather, the brunt of it had been during his time past in Equatorial Guinea, and the monsoon season coming to bear. It's tropical climate meant that he didn't have to contend with something so fierce as a hailstorm that seemed to have no end in sight, but rather the torrential rain that came instead.

If anyone needs assistance with supplies, or merely getting to a place of shelter, Newt is there to help take items, or offer the slight shelter of his peacoat over the top of their heads as they go to the Town Hall. He won't be staying for long, and will likely attempt to make a break when it is safer.


Closed to Graves at his house:

Newt shows up during a small lull with a polite knock to Graves' door that belies his current state. The hail is still coming down all around the village, but most everyone is safely away from the worst of it to wait it out. He isn't much for crowds, much less of people he doesn't know well, and decides that this is the better option. What Percival might see upon opening his door, despite the quiet ask for entry, is a sopping wet Newt Scamander, curls sticking wetly to his forehead, a small cut and bruise forming on his left cheek, and his coat tucked carefully around his thin frame.

It's obvious that his coat wrapped as it is, while not for his own benefit, is for the benefit of yet another creature he has managed to gain the trust of.

He casts a glance up, meeting his gaze briefly, and then letting it settle on the other man's shoulder. His expression, however, is warm as he offers a smile as if it were a day like any other. "Hello."

Wildcard! choose your own adventure:

( Perhaps I missed something you'd like to see. Go ahead and comment in, and I'll happily join in! )
warriorborn: (easycompany-benny-18)
[personal profile] warriorborn
WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The beehives/surrounding area
WHEN: Backdated to May 5
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: beeeeeeeeees 🐝
STATUS: ongoing


For the gift-giving day — Christmas, as some had called it — Benedict had been given multiple sets of beekeeping equipment. A bonnet, gloves, a full suit to protect himself. He'd been quite touched by the thoughtfulness of it; clearly even people he did not speak to very much knew enough about him to know how protective he felt of their makeshift apiaries, one order of business he knew how to take care of without any instruction at all. 

Every now and then he'd idly wish for a smoker, but he'd managed to make do just fine by wrapping grass and leaves and herbs in a tight bundle and charring the end and waving that over the bees as he checked their hives, and while it wasn't as effective as a purpose-built smoker, it worked well enough that he had managed to make do. Bees do not think or see the way humans do, but he likes to think that they've spent enough time together, the hives and he, that they've grown used to each other, and Benedict has taken to tending to them without bothering to do much in the way of covering himself. He's been stung enough times in his life that it hardly registers anymore, and his body doesn't react with the same angry swelling as it had when he was a novitiate monk at the Temple. 

As is his routine, he heads out to the apiaries mid-morning after the clean-up from breakfast was completed to check on how the bees are faring. Much to his pleasure, he can hear the bees buzzing even before he rounds the corner. What he doesn't expect, though, is to see the bees swarming. The air is thick with them, fat little yellow and black bodies bobbing everywhere, and he can already see them converging on a nearby branch, most likely clustering around their new queen to keep her safe and warm while they look for a new home. 

Whooping with surprised joy, Benedict turns on his heel and runs full-tilt back towards the Inn, careening through the door and taking the stairs up to the room he shares with Kate two at a time, shouting nonsensically about his bees, returning in short order with his beekeeping suit and a skep he'd been building throughout the winter. 

The suit gets dumped unceremoniously on the ground when Benedict makes it back out to the bees, abandoned in favor of just getting on with things, and he immediately shifts from the flat-out run to a much more sedate amble so he doesn't agitate the bees. They aren't aggressive at the moment, busy doing important bee business, so he doesn't expect to be stung much, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious. 

Carefully laying down the tea towel he'd tucked into the skep when he finished it some weeks ago, Benedict positions it beneath the swarm and then holds the skep directly below the branch before tapping it sharply a few times, knocking the bees into the woven grass receptacle. 

"There you go, my lovelies," he coos at them, seemingly oblivious to the bees buzzing about his head, using his bare hands to carefully brush any stragglers into the skep. "You don't have to go far for your new home." 
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
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."

markwatney: (013)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Field, orchard and town hall
WHEN: Anytime in April
OPEN TO: Everyone -- MINGLE POST!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open
NOTE: Details on this year's planting can be found here.


Before I managed to wander completely off the map (again), I'd never been a farmer. Oh, I'd worked on a farm for purely academic purposes while I was in school, and I don't think it's unreasonable to say that I got to know the daily beats of tending to fields. But my time farming had previously been limited to a single term, and one of the things I'd missed was how quickly your days can go from stretching out long and listless to not having enough hours in them.

Planting season is finally here again.

Once the ground had thawed enough to allow for it, we'd expanded our fields and tilled them as well as we could -- We were still lacking in what most of us would consider "proper" tools for that, but I'd had plenty to time to rig up alternatives over the winter, and I have to admit, I'm pretty pleased with the outcome. "Engineer" tends to get overshadowed by the "botanist" in my list of credentials, but I'm glad I'm still a little worthy of the title.

Now it's just a matter of getting the seeds and seedlings planted, fertilized and watered as quickly as we can -- We've lost a handful of people to mysterious disappearances, but if the new arrivals keep on as steadily as they have been, we're going to have a lot more people than we did last fall. If we're going to feed everybody and still be able to put away enough for next winter, we need to harvest as much as we can as quickly as we can.

And no, today I'm really not going to think about the dubiousness of still being here next winter to care. One thing at a time.

I'm also not going to think about how I got another mystery box filled with seeds a few weeks back, and how god damned creepy that is.

The main fields will be split between a generous diversity of fruits, vegetables and the new grains I received. This year we're adding things like melons, corn, and yes, bane of my existence but still-useful staple, potatoes. We've also cleared out an area for an orchard where we'll have grapes, berries and eventually apple trees from the seedlings I've been fostering inside over the cold months. Also new is a little plot dedicated just to herbs, more necessary than ever now with our lack of ready salt.

With the town hall scrubbed and organized, it makes a perfect staging area and place to rest, have a drink or snack. That's also where we've laid out our tools of the trade, both gifted and cobbled together. This year, I want to make sure everyone has some kind of glove if I can. If they're willing to work, it's the least I can do.
fishermansweater: (Wry amusement)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair & Annie Cresta
WHERE: House #57 - The Windemere, and the woods
WHEN: April 2 - 9
OPEN TO: Everyone! Let us know whether you're after Finnick or Annie or both of them in your subject line. Or look out for a separate starter from Annie and tag her there.
WARNINGS: Nothing so far, but if things come up we will edit.
STATUS: Ongoing!



Twelve birds, five of them geese who are now getting towards fully-grown, are too many to keep in the house.

The birds living or sleeping in the house was never meant to be permanent, but they'd arrived in the midst of winter, and even knowing next to nothing about caring for birds, Finnick and Annie had known they couldn't be outside when they were so little and vulnerable. Now, though, their oldest geese are starting to look recognizably like adults, and the noise and the mess and trying to keep them fed indoors is too much.

The difficulty is that there's nowhere they can safely leave them without the risk of them wandering off and annoying Johanna by settling into her front yard, or wandering further afield and disappearing into the woods, where predators await. There's the remains of a fence around the house, but even the bigger birds would have no trouble escaping through it. Finnick and Annie have been talking, as the weather grew warmer, debating what to do and where to keep their flock. A little experimentation, and a lot of brush gathered from shrubs and trees, and they've done some experimenting and worked out a hardy-looking brush fence. The start of one, at least.

Once the fog has cleared, they've gotten to work, harvesting wood, shaping fenceposts, and soaking branches in their bathtub to make them pliable enough to weave. Most of the first week of April, one or both of them is usually out the front of their home. They smooth down the sturdier branches they're using for fenceposts, with a machete or Finnick's bright orange hatchet. They've borrowed a toolkit from the Inn storeroom to help, and the hammer proves useful when it comes to driving in the fenceposts. Once the posts are in, Finnick and Annie set to weaving the water-soaked wood into a fence.

The entire endeavor is made somewhat more difficult by the curiosity of the geese, who have taken to trying to nip at the brush if it's left too long unattended. In general, though, that just makes their owners laugh, and shoo them a little. Star and the three younger peacocks are less involved, choosing mostly to perch on the front porch and watch, occasionally keening at their foster-siblings.

The two victors are busy at work for day after day, and occasionally one or the other of them can be found in the woods, gathering a new bundle full of brush to take back for the fence.

Wherever they're found, there'll be a pause in the work if anyone approaches. It's necessary to assess any newcomers.

By the looks the geese give, they think so too.


treadswater: (watches the gap between sea and shore)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: Northern side of the village
WHEN: 28th
OPEN TO: Gaius Gracchus
WARNINGS: TBA as needed
STATUS: Ongoing




The birds are getting big. All twelve of them; she reckons the geese of the first brood must be fully grown by now, or close to it. Much bigger than the tiny balls of peeping fluff they'd been when they'd arrived in their boxes, and more inclined to boredom. Not to mention they are animals and animals really need to be outside. She and Finnick aren't some fancy Capitol people, to keep birds in cages. Geese lay eggs. Eggs can be eaten straight away, or left to turn into more geese. Which can be eaten.

Not that Annie is planning on eating any of her darlings, not when they follow her around and tug at her clothes all curious and friendly. Her darlings' chicks, maybe. She won't get attached to them.

All of this adds up to Annie deciding that the flock really needs to get out of the house for some exercise and to forage. The geese and the not-geese can handle themselves, she's sure, and it gives her a strange sense of safety to be out with her birds. They'll attack if anyone gets threatening.

So it is that today, the small, redheaded woman is out with twelve birds, carrying only a long, slim branch she's turned into a switch to gently guide her flock when they start getting too far afield. Mostly, the birds are content to peck amongst the grass and foliage.

Mostly.
kestreldawn: ([cassian] love of mine)
[personal profile] kestreldawn
WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: By her cabin, Finnick/Annie's cabin, around town
WHEN: March 22
OPEN TO: OTA (Specific thread for Finnick/Annie)
WARNINGS: Mention of death/loss (will udpated as needed)
STATUS: Open

Note: You can find Jyn anywhere! She'll just be wandering, trying to see if she can find Cassian.


Something was wrong. Jyn knew it the moment she'd opened her eyes, found Cassian's side of the bed to be empty (and worse, cold). They'd made a promise, a pact - to always tell the other when one was leaving, wait for confirmation and response before moving. A promise to keep Darkness at bay, the one that lurched in and lived in and poisoned them both -

Darkness, which hissed and seethed and slithered around the curves of their ears and the beats of their hearts.
Darkness, which promised empty beds and forgotten memories.
Darkness, which predicted missing warmth and the bodies that went along with it.

It promised loneliness. It promised abandonment. It promised absence. It promised itself - darkness - enveloping and swallowing and encasing.

She heard its familiar jeering as she ransacked the cabin looking for any trace of him, or even a note, indicating that he'd gone out, that maybe what had happened weeks ago had happened again - maybe he had told her goodbye, had told her his intentions of leaving and going about his business for the day, but she'd forgotten. Perhaps sleep had stolen those fragments away from her, nestled them under the blanket of her subconscious. Perhaps he is outside cutting down boughs the way he had been back then.

She finds the necklace she'd given him, the one that so hauntingly reminded her of the one her mother had given her. She finds his pouch of seeds, his multi-tool, the flint and steel, the pocket knife. His toothbrush and toothpaste still in the bathroom. Why are none of these things in his pockets? Why would he leave to go cut down some branches for their furnace without his tools? She grabs the necklace, buries it in her grasp.

"Please," she breathes - a prayer, a dream - to whatever might be listening. "Please. Karking hell, please." The twisting, gnawing, nauseating convolutions of her stomach grow. Somehow, she knows; underneath the cloak of 'misunderstanding' and 'oversight,' underneath the near-paralyzing fear swiftly descending upon her, she knows. Something is wrong.

Jyn shrugs on her coat, slipping her feet into her boots without a spare thought to tie them, and bursts through the door, intent on rampaging around town to try and track him down.

// For Finnick/Annie //

The first thing she remembers as the cold air prickles her skin is the letters Cassian had been exchanging with both Finnick and Annie. He'd shown them to her as they'd arrived -

Annie's, full of fire and anger and distrust;
Finnick's, laboriously written and quoting some sort of document (the contents of which she can only vaguely recall).

She thinks to ask if they'd seen him out and about, or if they'd received any other letters from him she hadn't had a chance to see. Darkness whispers conspiratorial hypotheses into the growing hole in her chest, implicating one or both of them in Cassian's disappearance.

- No. No. There's no proof that he's gone (aside, of course, from the screaming voice at the back of her skull, her intuition, so rarely incorrect and so rarely proved wrong). She has to talk to them first. See if they know anything. There's no reason to panic, Jyn. He's fine. Cassian's fine. Once on their stoop, she balls her fist, raises it, and lets it hover in the air for a few moments. She wonders if it's pathetically foolish to ask, to jump to such ridiculous conclusions. But she remembers their rules, tacked up on the wall - she remembers the promise, the warm onyx of his eyes, the touch of his skin - and, biting back the tears gathering at the rims of her eyes, raps her knuckles against the wood of their door.
fishermansweater: (Running)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Out on the edges of the area, later Finnick and Annie's house.
WHEN: March 15th (forward-dated for schedule reasons because it's a long weekend and the rest of March will be terrible)
OPEN TO: Cassian Andor, Annie Cresta
WARNINGS: FIREFLIES so insect attack, paranoia, PTSD; also issues to do with powerplay and sexual abuse, plus you know, Hunger Games is a murdergame despotic dystopia canon.
STATUS: Ongoing!



retaining my composure... )
candor1: (recuerdo)
[personal profile] candor1
WHO: the Starhungry Wargames soap opera troupe
WHAT: Ongoing follow-up to this. More correspondence possibly as top comments; other scenarios as top comments encouraged!
WHERE: their respective cabins, wherever else they wanna write or read
WHEN: -ever slips in comfortably with everything else (I defy continuity)
OPEN TO: Jyn, Finnick, Annie, Cassian. If Annie or Finnick actually want to involve anyone else they absolutely can.
WARNINGS: None planned; any comments can have own warning tags
STATUS: open
CREDIT NOTE: don't remember the origin of the story, but I learned it from a retelling by Jane Yolen.

~~~~~~~~~begin~~~~~~~~~


Cassian finished writing before turning to Jyn. He pulled her into his lap, leaned them both into the light, and held up the finished paper for her to read it.

Finnick or Annie would later find it folded and slipped under their door.

The sentence structure and formatting were hardly up to communique/report standard; but it was considered impiety to write it down at all, so he did so minimalistically. It seemed… that construct again… a worthy infraction.

The text:

parable of Naqshban passed by chain of transmission from the elders of Varadan through many generations to d'Djiera al-Terasu to Cassian Andor (tariq muttasila – unbroken) to Jyn Erso + Finnick Odair + Annie Cresta (tariq munqati‘a – approximation)

I was told this on a lifeless planetoid, by a woman with no memory, who somehow knew it anyway.

Azraa'vel shepherd of the angelic tribe went to a great mortal leader who was about to die
Azra. said: "you have served and protected many people with all of your life, you have earned your choice in death: eternal reward or eternal punishment" • Leader said: "can I see both before I choose?" • Azra. took her in his wings and they flew
Azra. landed them and said: "behold punishment"
it was a fertile land with many beautiful plants • hills and streams all the way to the horizon • beside their landing was a long table that stretched as far as they could see • piled with wonderful delicious food and pleasurable nourishing drink • to sit at that table should be to want for nothing but taste enjoyment forever
• all the people at that table were wailing with torment
Leader demanded "Why do they suffer?" • Azra. pointed to their hands • every person was shackled in their place • a person could reach food and drink but could not bring any of it to their own mouth • Leader covered her face in grief • Azra. took her in his wings and they flew
Azra. landed them and said: "behold reward" • it was a fertile land with many beautiful plants • hills and streams all the way to the horizon • beside their landing was a long table that stretched as far as they could see • piled with wonderful delicious food and pleasurable nourishing drink
Leader said "this is the same – we've gone nowhere" • Azra. pointed to the people at the table • they were still shackled down • but these people were talking and laughing in love and joy
Leader said "I don't understand they're still chained" • Azra. pointed to their mouths • these people could also reach the food and drink • they could also not bring it to their own mouths to feed themselves • these people did not try
• they raised their food and drink to either side and gave it to each other
Azra. to Leader: "it's for you to choose"

c.
treadswater: (have to be nimble on the waves)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: The Village, around
WHEN: 26th February
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: Open | Ongoing




Auroras, snow, no snow, lightning attacks: a girl's still gotta eat and work for her living. Or something like that. Annie knows she could just stick to the river and fishing with Finnick, remain on the outskirts. But she's been making baskets, bowls, over winter and those need to be dropped off at the Inn.

It's not as bad as a blizzard, she tells herself and her boyfriend. It's merely unpredictable. She can handle that. She's handled waves and storms on a bucking, frightened boat, and even if there is another earthquake, as long as she doesn't lose her head she knows that the shaking ground will stop and then she can move.

(It's an unfortunate choice of words, even within her own skull. Losing her head. Well done, Cresta.)

Naturally, it happens when the small woman is half way between her house on the outskirts and the Inn. Her instincts, honed by Career Academy and the school of the docks, tingle, twitch, pull at her, and Annie hits the ground as a ball of lightening crackles into life where her torso had been half a second earlier.

She hits the ground, rolls, curls up into a ready crouch ready to run, roll, move again if she has to. There's the sudden smell of burnt hair and she's guessing the end of her braid got singed, and the mud is cold against her shin and hands, but she doesn't move.

Not until the lightening is gone.

Not for a long, long moment after, where she stares at where the ball lightening had been. Where it nearly killed her, yet didn't.

"Oh," says Annie. Quietly, Distantly. "Okay."

She'll move, soon. She should. It's not safe, crouching here. She's just going to catch her breath first.

And try very, very hard not to giggle.
fishermansweater: (What's left of me?)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: House #57, the Windemere
WHEN: Late on the night of February 6, immediately after he leaves Jyn and Cassian in House #56, the Worthington
OPEN TO: Annie Cresta
WARNINGS: References to suicidal ideation. Likely references to sexual assault/abuse/quasi-slavery, Hunger Games is a terrible canon. Passing references to character death.
STATUS: Ongoing



Cut for potentially triggering content )
fishermansweater: (What do you think?)
[personal profile] 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. ]
fishermansweater: (Backpack)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE:
PROJECT ATHENA POD, far western edge of the canyon
WHEN:
20th January
OPEN TO:
Annie Cresta
WARNINGS:
Surprisingly little given it's the Careers...
STATUS: Completed



They've been hiking for the better part of the day now, and Finnick and Annie have made it to the western edge of the canyon. Starting in the south and working their way back up, they've been hunting for anything that might match the description of a bear and a grotto given in one of the clues for Finnick's gifts a few weeks ago. Some of the clues have been difficult, near-impossible, for them to decipher, but this one at least seems to have enough clues in it. They've just been wary of meddling too much with bears, but today they're exploring in the hopes of being able to find the place they're looking for without encountering the creature.

It's been slow work, the two of them wrapped up warm, their stout hiking boots laced tight, trying to make enough noise to alert the wildlife to their presence. They're also looking for bear tracks, for what good that will do in the snow, and so far they've seen no hint of a bear, nor any of the other wild animals they know live in the woods.

Finnick is carrying his spear, leaning on the haft like a walking stick, trying to ignore the sparking jolts that are sometimes still dancing from its head, even though the lights in the sky have dimmed a little since a few days ago. Worse are the occasional jolts of static from the knife he carries in his pocket, and the somewhat erratic behavior of the compass he's occasionally inspecting, taken out of the bag of equipment Jo Harvelle had given him.

This part of the canyon doesn't look like it did last time he was here. There are more boulders gathering at the bottom of the rocky walls, big chunks of stone that look like they've been thrown down from on high. Annie's already nervous in the aftermath of the earthquake, so he doesn't comment on the altered landscape.

Not until he glances up into the cliff-face and, above them, sees the tell-tale patch of darkness that indicates a cave.

"Was that there before?" he asks, lifting the spear to point up above them.
candor1: (Default)
[personal profile] candor1
WHO: Cassian Andor
WHERE: Everywhere he can poke his nose into, whether he's supposed to be there or not.
WHEN: All week after arriving
OPEN TO: OTA; any day, any location. The only one he won't respond to directly is Day One (even if you knock on the door or yell through the wall, he's too out of it), but it could totally set up interactions on Day Two…!
WARNINGS: None at start, will see if that changes while writing. [Update:] Nope, not really!
STATUS: Closed
NOTES: Was looking at all the setting info trying to figure out what C. will be doing and where he'll be living… and realized it was enough to write out IC. I'm not dropping any arrivaltag threads! If you'd to drop there to pick up here, totally cool by me, but anything goes; we can do both.

Si no estás aquí algo falta )

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