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sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] 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.
juststayalive: (don't talk to me about life)
[personal profile] juststayalive
WHO: Haymitch Abernathy
WHERE: somewhere near the village
WHEN: August 2
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of child death)

This is not something Haymitch ever wanted to experience. He's seen too many kids die, some before they even made it to Peeta's age. After both Peeta and Katniss had made it out of the arena alive, this was something he had thought they could skip.

This is also not something he expected to be at the head of. In District 12, it would have been Peeta's family. Here, in the absence of Peeta's family, the duties fall to Haymitch, as the one who knew him best, and the traditions of his home.

Peeta had asked them to paint his coffin, which isn't part of the usual funeral in District 12, but is so very fitting for Peeta. Haymitch is nowhere near as skilled at it as Peeta was, but he has enough skill to paint a crude symbol of a circle enclosing a bird clutching an arrow. It won't mean much to anyone not from Panem, but it's the only way he can think to honor what Peeta meant. And a promise to keep fighting for a world where innocents don't die for entertainment, whether they're killed by a mutt or by another person.

He doesn't have much to say, instead letting the painting do the talking. There are no appropriate words for this situation, anyway, and none that he's willing to share with relative strangers. He listens in silence to any words that anyone else might have to say.

Once everyone else has had their say, Haymitch steps up next to the coffin again. He only has a few words to add: "For the honor of his sacrifice." The Capitol's words, intended for a fallen tribute, but more appropriate than ever in this case. Here his sacrifice had been not for the supposed glory of gluttons living out their lavish existence in isolation from those who actually made that existence possible, but for the rest of those living here.

He adds something to the end of his statement, something that most here can't know isn't typical of a funeral in Peeta's home. It's a particular three-fingered salute. and if the Capitol's watching, well, they already know Haymitch is a threat. There's no point in attempting to hide it now, and there's nothing more that can be done to punish Peeta for any imagined infractions.

He lets his hand fall back to his side and steps back into the crowd.
sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] sixthiteration
WHERE: 6I Village and Inn
WHEN: 27-31 July
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
NOTES: The Wendigo threatening the village will be killed mid 28 July, with a Blue Lily, per these threads. Plot details here. Note: The final fight is close enough to be seen from the upstairs inn windows.
WARNINGS: Wendigo attack mingle, please warn in comment headers if discussing violence, gore, or related trauma. Possible mentions of character death.

The urgent warnings come from villagers returning south from the lake: a creature twice the size of a man, antlered and voracious. Larger than any they've seen on the plains, stalking its way to the main village. Some might have their own names for this hunger in a skin of shadow; others might remember that it was the first to claim a life, in their village's short history.

Whatever context one has for it, best to secure all pets and loved ones before it arrives. With weapons and food stores at the inn, the call goes out to gather — And to bring back any tools, because there's no telling what doors and windows can do to stop such a creature.
markwatney: (015)
[personal profile] 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.
pretendtoneedme: (mister fix-it)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Clint Barton, Master Carpenter (kind of)
WHERE: Area past House 20, Inn common room, out in the wilds
WHEN: Through mid-June
OPEN TO: Anyone, except the third part
WARNINGS: Nothing immediately, warnings will be in comment headers if they're needed




( Destruction and Construction, out past House 20, Open )

It's become inevitable, really - the house needs more space for all the creatures living there, at least not the ones not human. Arado stayed with Clint, of course, and the now-grown chickens had their hutch and run on the side of the house not occupied with Bev's garden, but somehow Clint had ended up with Moana's pig Itiiti when the girl had disappeared and also there were more (native? were they native any more than the people were?) animals coming around, some of which could apparently be domesticated. Despite living on an actual farm, Clint had never been a farmer, but he did know at least something about animals, and more about building. Not to mention their house was out at the end of the row, still close enough to where it was fairly central but with a pretty open expanse next to it, filled with a few trees but not a full forest.

Basically, it was perfect for a corral, and whoever the dicks were that had dumped them here, they'd at least left them some new tools for getting work done. So Clint had raided the storage room at the inn, taking a lumber saw, an arborist's saw, and full-sized axe, and had started cutting down trees. These wouldn't be going for firewood, however; as the day went on, it would be clear that Clint had a more specific purpose in mind, as he used his own toolkit to measure sections of the trees to cut into logs, followed by stripping the outer bark off with the smaller saw, and then splitting them into posts and planks. There's going to be a fence around the area in about a week if he has anything to say about it. If anyone wants to wander by and ask questions or help, they'd be welcome (it's not like it's a quiet thing he's doing, after all).


( Planning For the Future, Inn, Open )

The tools they've been given are surprisingly good, he's happy to see: sturdy, either completely new or very well-kept, with equipment to see to their upkeep. It gives him a vague hope that there's a way to beat this "game," whatever it is; that these people want to see them succeed to some degree or other, and that they're willing to give them a little help along the way. He's still massively pissed off at them of course, for all the myriad other reasons people are pissed at them, but good tools are good tools and it's a bit of help he didn't expect.

And now that they have those tools, they have capabilities they didn't before, and Clint's got something cooking in his mind. The animals that are coming around, some of them are herd creatures, but some of them aren't - and he's pretty sure he's spotted some horse-like things out when he's been hunting. And right now, they don't have anywhere to put large animals where they can be safe from predators or the weather, but he's sure that residents are going to want to tame some of these guys. To that end, Clint's devised the beginnings of a plan, but it's going to be a good idea to ask for any help that he can get with it.

So one day on his lunch break at the inn, he finds a spot on the community chalkboard that's non-essential and can be erased and does so, much as he'd done the month before when people suddenly disappeared. But instead of putting up a list of names this time, he first puts up the words "BARN? - IDEAS?" and begins sketching under them. For a chalk sketch in a fairly awkward position, it's a very good drawing; Clint's obviously had a lot of practice at making (and reading) blueprints, and a lot of practice at getting freehanded lines straight (a lot more than at making his handwriting easily legible). He outlines two sections in swift chalk strokes: one, the bottom, with a door on either end and an open path connecting them, four stalls on either side, and a small window in each stall. The other looks to be the same general size and shape, but without anything other than, seemingly, a roof and a single door, more a big square than anything. In that one, he writes "hay and feed storage."


( Rodeo Time, the woods, Closed to Nat )

Getting the barn started is one thing, but Clint wants to have some sort of transportation now. They've all felt the lack of it in their time there, not being able to jump into any sort of vehicle to get where they need to be fast, and if there's a way to negate at least part of that, he wants in. Which means Clint's grabbed Nat for back up, and the two of them have gotten some of the rope in the storage room at the inn, and they're going out to try and wrangle one of the horse-things that have been spotted but always run away.

It's an overnight trip to get to where things open up more and the horse-creatures are easily visible; thankfully their captors had also provided sleeping bags and tents, and Clint and Nat are old hands at spending a night "roughing it". Hopefully this'll have a good reward, and it won't be just a wasted trip, though Clint's at least spotted some interesting plants to take back to Mark even if they don't wind up with mounts. But at last, after some long but not too rough hiking, they reach the grassy plains where the things they're looking for seem to congregate, as well as a few other animals that don't look too aggressive, but that Clint's going to keep an eye on just to make sure they don't get charged. Both of them have ropes (a climbing rope is still a rope), and both of them have some of the early fruit from the community trees in their packs to act as bait.

"I think this is about the best we're gonna get - you ready?"
juststayalive: (don't talk to me about life)
[personal profile] juststayalive
WHO: Haymitch Abernathy
WHERE: The fountain and nearby
WHEN: May 23
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Probable mentions of torture, murder, death, alcoholism, all the sunshiney Panem stuff


The Fountain (closed to Finnick)

"You and a syringe against the Capitol. This is why no one lets you make the plans." He barely has time to finish what he's saying before the scene is shifting around him, and he's not on a hoverplane anymore, but in some location he can't identify. Is it water? Where did that come from? Or perhaps a better question is, how did he end up in it?

These are questions he doesn't have time to contemplate. Every instinct he has kicks in and he's pulling for the surface, or at least the direction that's lighter than the rest, because that must be the surface, right? He barely notices the backpack or heavy-duty boots weighing him down, which is some kind of minor miracle because he's not exactly in swimming shape. Even before, when he'd been young and fit, he hadn't really known how to swim. Not like some other tributes.

How he manages to break through the surface of the water he'll never figure out. It might have to do with his incredible desire not to die. At least not here, like this. That would be letting them win.

He's out of the water and over the edge of the fountain before he even knows what he's doing. He has no time to pause, to assess his new location, to analyze the situation. The images are creeping in again, although they're not images of water, and he can't afford to let them. He needs to get somewhere safe before he gives in.

He takes one stumbling step, then another, in a direction that he hopes leads to safety. Or at least somewhere he can sit down.

The Village (open to all)

It might be unwise to go to the center of the activity -- there was always a blood bath at the Cornucopia, after all -- but how else is he going to figure out anything about this place? Once he's away from the fountain, he heads for the more populated area, but still making sure to stick to the trees along the edges. He's not as good at defending himself with weapons as Katniss, or as good at blending in as Peeta, so he'll have to make the best of it.

Satisfied that he's in no immediate danger, he creeps closer through the trees, aiming for the edge of the village. He hasn't forgotten the tricks for making it out of an arena, although this doesn't feel quite like any arena he's familiar with. The longer you avoid drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, the longer you stay alive. Hence the creeping.

It doesn't take long for the aching of joints and shortness of breath to convince him of one thing: he's too old for this. There's a reason that the tributes were teenagers, after all. All the years of idleness make a difference, too. Not going back into the arena was the one thing he was supposed to be sure of, as a Victor, but that promise had already been broken once. Why not again? Is this some sort of punishment for his involvement in the nascent rebellion?

He finds an unused building to use for cover and leans his back against it, so he can look over the trees behind him. If he were younger, he might attempt climbing one. But he's not, so he'll do what he can. Once he's sure that there's no one behind him, he turns to look around the building toward the village on the other side.