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WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
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sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Fountain Park & Elsewhere
WHEN: April 1
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

Far, far away, in a place that isn't really there, people begin to blink out of existance.

It is the first of April.

It is precisely ten o'clock in the morning.

[Please see event details and guidelines here.]

sixthiteration

The Inn is still a place that most of the villagers gather and, as such, a perfect place to conduct an experiment. Since it is a place of high traffic, it is not uncommon to see people come and go at all hours of the day and night; men and women come through to eat meals, to deliver game and simply to talk and catch up with others. If there's any bit of news or a new development within the village, it always spreads through the Inn like wildfire.

So what happens when the Inn is locked away from everyone else? What happens when the doors cease to work and the traffic in and out of the myriad doors is forcibly stopped for an afternoon and evening? Chaos? Panic? Both? Neither? That is precisely the hypothesis being tested today.

There are ways out, yes, but they're cleverly hidden. The keys are not in the normal, visible places they should be kept and each key fits a certain door. Additionally, those doors have to be opened in a certain order or nothing is going to happen.

How long will it take for the Inn to open up to the public again?

[Details can be found HERE]

71st_victor

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Behind the Hospital
WHEN: February 20th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Drug Use

The box had turned up a week ago, but for the better part of that time, Johanna has been carefully hiding all the other bags of morphling (or morphine, as it'd been printed on the bags) in places that no one would think to look. She'd kept to her usual routine, made sure that she wouldn't cause attention to herself, and hidden them in places with little marking. She knows, on some level, that what she's doing is wrong. She knows that it's wrong because of how she's hiding it, how people will disapprove, but she doesn't give a fuck.

Once she taps into that first bag and lets herself drift into the sweet oblivion she's been missing all this time, she's not letting the others go without a fight. Waiting until she's delivered her wood haul for the day, she slips off her normal routine back to Baze's house, heads instead to the hospital. While she'd been given the bags, they didn't exactly give her needles.

Waiting for an all clear takes at least an hour, but she pockets one, making the smallest of small talk, and then she's at the back of the hospital, hissing as she slides in the morphine through the drip, breathing out the first real relief she's felt in ages as everything starts to float away. The bad memories, the nightmares, the reminder of what the Capitol did to her...

For the first time since she resurfaced in that fucking fountain, Johanna feels like she can let go. Mindful that she can't waste the whole bag right now, she wiggles the needle out, too drugged out to mind the pain (or the blood), and too out of it to realize she hasn't hidden the bag like she should, but just shoved it in her pocket. Everything is brighter, everything sounds incredible, and she thinks the world is thumping in time with her heart, jolting up to meet her.

Stumbling towards the front of the hospital, she sees a hazy figure start coming into focus. "What's your rush?" she drawls, smirking at them as she lets herself lean, loose-limbed and relaxed, like all of her demons are melting into the ground. "There's plenty of doctoring to go around for all of us, take a number," she jokes, like it's hilarious, snorting and giggling to herself as she lets her back hit a pole, sliding into a sit so she can push her fingers into the earth, eyes wide and intent as she watches them dig into the ground.

treadswater

WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: Various
WHEN: 2nd - 19th February
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBA as needed

The Inn, 2nd February

OTA

Today, Annie has decided to pitch in at the daily meal-making activities at the Inn. The river has been teaming with fish, and fish is on the menu, and she knows her sociability is inconsistent at best which is... Well, it's not good. She holds to that. Things change here, and she needs not to be an all too convenient outsider if the Gamemakers spice up the arena. Like with more of those awful notes, upping the stakes. It's all too easy to go from 'hurt' to 'kill'-

And it's while she's thinking down that path that her hand slips, the knife slips, and while she's gutting a fish the knife slices into her hand.

"Ow! Fuck," Annie hisses, dropping the knife and jerking her hands away. It's not so much the pain, but she knows the rates of infection in arenas (and, honestly, the docks). And blood is so inconvenient. Except, before she moves away from the table to wash her hands, she stops. Stares.

Spilling out of the fish is something that shouldn't there. Something cylindrical and red.

Holding her injured hand in the air to keep it out of the way, Annie pokes at the red thing with her knife and flicks it out of the fish. It looks like a scroll.

"Um," she starts, looking up and around at her fellow volunteers. "Could someone unroll this for me?"

By the river; 3rd February

Closed: Finnick

It's not that she and Finnick are catching no fish. They are catching fish, just as normal. It's that just as normal is the problem. They shouldn't be. They should be catching so much fish, the village would be running out of salt and firewood to preserve them. Everyone should be eating so much, they'd stage a protest. No more fish, they'd say, even though being sick of something is better than starving.

(Is that what that stupid scroll meant? Alas! The onion you are eating is someone else’s water lily, as if that means anything. It's probably just something to annoy her.

If so, it is working.)

Instead, she and Finnick aren't catching huge numbers of fish. It is Day Three of the river turned silver with fish and moving water, and Day Three of the nets and traps bringing in a perfectly ordinary.

"I don't understand," Annie says once the last net has been cleared and the fish put away into baskets. "We should be drowning in the damn things. All of our gear can't have holes in 'em, or bung lids. Right?"

She looks at her husband helplessly, foreseeing a lot of frustrating repairs in her future and not liking it a single bit.

Various locations around the village: 4th-19th

OTA

For the next two weeks, the normally somewhat reclusive Annie is far more obvious. When she walks her birds in the mid-mornings and mid-afternoons, there is a degree of stomping to her boots more often than not. The cast of her face is grumpy, particularly whenever she regards the river. Occasionally, she mutters theories and obscenities to herself when glaring at the teaming water. It's a dramatic sulk for a woman prone to second and third guessing her social interactions, but Annie doesn't care. It's insulting, is what it is. All those fish.

Not that she indulges so much in her sulk that she forgets to be practical, however.

Her walks with her increasingly confused birds often take her to the river, where she harvests reeds and checks on the traps - traps which, inevitably, have a perfectly serviceable amount of
catch and not the feast swimming around. Still, it all needs to be checked and taken in, as normal.

Most days, Annie can be found outside House 57. Sometimes she is engaged in the normal upkeep of her fence and gate, while her geese and peafowl keep her company, but normal her focus is repairs. The nets she and Finnick have woven and use are strung up between trees as she goes over them, row by row, fixing any rips and tears. It pays to do this anyway, but now... Well, now, she's trying to see if the fish are escaping due to a fault in the equipment.

Occasionally, she swears like the deckhand she once was. The cause? either the net is perfectly fine (more common), or there are obnoxiously large tears (rare, yet obnoxious).

She has enough self-awareness to know she's being ridiculous, but for once, she doesn't care. The whole situation is annoying her, and it's nice to indulgence in annoyance rather than fear.

As far as everyone else in the village is concerned, with Annie's annoyance holding back her nerves more often than not, it's far easier to get more than two words out of her should one strike up a conversation. Just be prepared for a certain amount of glowering if she talks about the fishing.

Current Mood: frustrated

sixthiteration

At the Inn, there are a number of tables set up with neatly labeled place cards. At each place is a favorite dish from home, something that kindles warmth and goodwill — But try to move seats, and you will find a surprise: Your dish refuses to move. It seems that if you want to indulge, you're stuck with whoever happens to be at your table for company.

Outside, a gentle snow is falling - not enough to discourage any patrons but just enough to blanket the world in clean, soft white.

mulletrock

WHO: Dean Winchester, and anyone crossing his path.
WHERE: The fountain, and the town. Other locations through writing?
WHEN: Night of the 18th.
OPEN TO: ALL.
WARNINGS: Probably profanity. Mentions of violence and death.

The last thing Dean can remember is blinding white light. Whenever Castiel ported him anywhere it was a blur of lights, color, sound and an unparalleled brush with vertigo. Afterward his legs felt like jelly, the earth felt like sand, and the buzzing in his head didn't die down for a good hour. That was the kind of crazy that he could count on.

Instead, the cool rush of water was the first thing to bring him back to reality. On all corners, immersed, and the push up is only part of what moves him to the surface. At this point, the sudden spike in adrenaline is driving him and it's what pulls him higher and higher until he's finally able to break the surface. Did Cas fucking drop him? What the hell was this?

The first sharp inhale rakes against his ribs and rattles around with the cool air outside. It's a painful reminder of the fact that he's alive, this is real, and not another pipe dream of Zachariah's. Even if it could be, this didn't really seem his style. Too decorated, too close to the last shit show.

With good old-fashioned upper body strength, Dean heaves himself out of the water, it's dark, too dark to really get a clear lay of the land. All he knows is that it's nowhere he's ever been before. His phone wasn't gonna do him any good, but some other provisions might. After a second to reign in his breath, Dean double checks his pockets and his fingertips meet the crude set of cheap cotton scrubs. Now he knows somebody screwed the pooch.

"Sonuvabitch!" No weapons. No I.D. No phone - not that it'd matter. No amount of rice was gonna fix whatever the hell just happened to him. He had absolutely no idea where he was or where he needed to go to get some answers. Timbuktu with no map and no geographical comprehension, normally there'd be a lot more screaming but after everything with Sam with Zachariah, himself, and with Cas, he doesn't bother wasting the energy.

An open palm finds the ridge of the fountain and with a muted grunt he uses the force of his blow to the side of it to push him to his feet. Dean doesn't bother wringing out the set of clothes. He lets them trip as he treks toward the soft glow of what he can only hope is charitable civilization and a warm meal.

A warm meal and a drink were all the convincing Dean needed to head toward the inn and tavern to hang his hat for the night. He hadn't heard anything about this kind of hospitality since he was a kid and cowboy shows were his favorite late-night stories, but it was a kind of comfort he hadn't experienced in a while that beat the hell out of a full-scale apocalypse.

Keeping to himself is only part of the game, old habits die hard. It's a lot easier to white knuckle a pint and keep his eyes on the people around him than to just dive ride in. People were easy to read. Body language, laughter, hell- sometimes the eyes said all the things they wouldn't or didn't. So, scoping out the place came naturally to him even if it meant picking a corner seat in a dimly lit area so he could case people and figure out who he should talk to first.

His bedroom is calling his name at this point, after 2014 and the shit that happened there, and the trip back home with Cas that never actually landed him home. He's world-weary and exhausted for more than one reason, even if it is easier to blame it on the swim and the chilly night air. Surveillance had to be prioritized, Sam would be doing the same thing if he were here. If he just ran upstairs Bobby would've had his ass. That kind of negligence got you lifetime ticket ride on the guilt-trip train.

Once he got somewhere quiet he made sure to be root through the bag he showed up with. Nothing useful, besides the provisions and some survivalist items. This is starting to seem more and more like an M. Night Shyamalan film. Besides the fact that the people aren't even interesting to watch. Two beers and he's still coming up goose egg.

super_seal

WHO: Steve McGarrett
WHERE: McGarrett House, Both Villages, The Inn, River
WHEN: November 21 - 30th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None to start

7I – Woods around House 114

Since the ice storm passed Steve had been working to rebuild their supplies at the house. With three of them there now, and winter coming in, he wanted to be as prepared as possible. Being a SEAL he’d learned how to live off the land in various conditions, winter included. Part of him even enjoyed the challenge of doing so, being out in nature… There was a certain peace to it.

For a couple hours every day, Steve can be found in the woods behind their house. He’s got a few traps set out there that need to be check on. None too close together, and nothing large enough to seriously hurt an adult human, but from time to time he catches something that they can eat - whether that something is enough to feed the three of them or not though is often a different story.

While out there he'll also collect things that can be burnt in the fireplace. At first he limited himself to things he could breakdown on his own, but after he found out about borrowing an ax from the Inn, he'll haul out bigger branches that have broken off from the trees to be chopped.

Both Villages - Path from House 114 to Main Village

When they’d moved into the house in the ‘new’ village, Steve had been happy it was so close to the open body of water. He had intentions of going swimming there regularly as well as possibly honing his spear fishing skills and various other open water activities. With the cold weather, however, that would all need to wait till the spring. Instead he had a long hike back to the main village daily. Not that he minded, Steve enjoyed the exercise and often traveled in a steady jog.

Inn – Borrowing Tools

Finding out that he could borrow certain tools from the Inn had been a huge relief, especially when he heard there was an ax. Steve had been gathering what he could to burn from the debris around their house but there was the need to chop some larger pieces as well. A couple days while he was in town he made his way to the Inn to sign out the ax, only to return home, chop some wood and then return back the ax back to the Inn.

Fishing by the River

The other location Steve could be found regularly was sitting on a rock near the river. His fishing pool was a long stick with a woven vine hanging down from the end of it into the water. It didn’t look like much, but Steve was often successful with it. Beside the rock he’d dug a small hole where he kept his catch as he tried for more.

Everywhere… Including Above.

Regardless of where he was, if there were others around he’d smile and nod in greeting. Anyone looking like they wanted to talk he’d easily engage in conversation.

All the while, he also kept his eyes open for others who either appeared to be gathering supplies or those who may be interested in making a trade. This winter was going to be harder on them than he liked, not having as much time to prepare as he'd prefer. They’d make due of course and he’d help others where he could, but he anticipating that trading what they could would help them the most.

Current Music: Failure - Breaking Benjamin

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 10 November, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE POST
NOTE: Details can be found here.

In the wee hours of November 10th, before even the earliest risers have roused themselves for another day, items begin to appear in the front room of the Inn. Decorations first — Boughs of autumn leaves in their reds and golds, wreaths of dried flowers and silken ribbon, flickering candles among the goards and berries and acorns. The food arrives next, the decadent aroma slipping up the Inn stairs to tempt those lingering in bed — Every imaginable harvest time delicacy, from roast turkey and ham to smoked salmon and oysters; fresh, soft bread warm from the oven to plum pudding and ice cream. And did we mention pie?

Once again, it's time for a feast. The bar is stocked, the coffee is brewed and the tables are groaning with food. Indulge, there's more than enough for everyone — That is, if you don't lose your appetite worrying about what it will all cost.

71st_victor

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: October 28th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Johanna will be suffering from some very recent PTSD and there will be trauma. Please note that Johanna's hair will have all been shaved off, she has bruises and scabs, and is in her red scrubs again when found.

fountain

The shocks are coming. Everything is water around her, which means that the shocks are going to come next, they're going to put them on her and make her scream. No, no. Not this time. No! She's not giving anything up, you fuckers, when are you going to learn...

But the water keeps rising, surrounding her, choking her lungs. She needs to fight, like she has before, but everything in her mind starts to shut down when the water rushes her ears and makes her feel sick, because she knows that they're coming for her with the electricity after and they'll make her scream and weep and shake until she pisses herself, but she won't give them anything. She's not going to give them anything. Why won't they just kill her?

Why do they always put her back in the water?

This water is different, though. It's not the buckets that she's used to and the water seems to be pushing her out. It's enough to make the part of her brain that has sense kick in and start to fight, hauling great lungfuls of what she wants to be air, but only gets more water. She thrashes, fights, and kicks, screaming the whole way up until she broaches the surface of the water and that's when she remembers.

Here, the village, she's here, but she's not. She was somewhere else, being tortured, but she's always been here. Inhaling in sharp, panicked breaths, that haze of memories falls away when Johanna realizes she's still submerged in water and she knows what comes after that. "Get me out! Get me out, get me out of here, get me out!" she screams, borderline panicked shrieking, fighting to get to the edge of the fountain, but doing more damage as she only ends up submerging herself so many times that the fight bleeds away and the shock rolls in, leaving her half catatonic as she scrabbles to dig her nails into the fountain, until they're bloody with the effort.

bed rest - for bodhi

She's been lying in bed for days now, without speaking much to anyone or moving. She'll haul herself out to use the facilities, drink something that might blind her (or take away the pain) and then she's back to bed. She doesn't want to talk to anyone and she doesn't want to even get near water. When she closes her eyes to sleep, she wakes up screaming, so she's stopped doing that, too, the end result meaning that she has dark bags under her eyes.

She's exhausted and even though she's supposedly safe, she just sees another trap and one that put her through the torture of water knowing, somehow, what happened to her.

When she hears footsteps near the door, she turns over in the bed and drags the blankets up with her bandaged hands, mumbling a tired, 'just come in' when it sounds like whoever is there isn't just coming inside. For all that she's exhausted and worn, she hasn't lost all of her bite.

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 ]

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi
WHERE: Around the forest, his house, wandering random paths
WHEN: 10/11-10/12, general second half of the month
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)

( And the creepers of the ivy and the bending boughs of yew. )

chirrutsluck

WHO: Baze Malbus and OTA
WHERE: Outside the inn and around the village, 6I side
WHEN: October 3
OPEN TO: Any and all
WARNINGS: Miniature thunderstorms

At first, Baze is relieved that no one saw him stop in his rounds of the snares that morning to try and pick the round and ripe-looking melon, only to have it disappear as soon as he straightened up again. He's still not sure what exactly happened, but if no one saw it, then he doesn't have to explain it to anyone until he's worked that out.

It isn't until he walks out into the sunny morning, out of the dappled trees, and notices he's still standing in shadow that he realizes that something even stranger happened. He's standing on the edge of the village, underneath a tiny dark cloud, three feet in diameter at most, looking baffled and annoyed. The cloud rumbles with tiny crackles of lightning, and starts to drop a fine mist of rain on his head.

And it doesn't even go away as the day progresses, and he attempts to do normal things like making mud bricks for Clint's smokehouse or whittling some arrows down for drying out while underneath a cloudshadow or, worse, more rain. It isn't very conducive to getting things done, and it's doing a number on his mood-- which, with Chirrut in the village, has lately been better than usual. BUT NOT TODAY!

super_seal

WHO: Steve McGarrett and YOU
WHERE: Fountain, Forest, Village (behind and in between buildings)
WHEN: September 3rd
OPEN TO: All
SCRUB COLOR: Hunter Green
WARNINGS: None to start
STATUS: Open

[ Fountain ]

Coming to, Steve knows instantly that he’s underwater. Fighting the upwards momentum, he opens his eyes and tries to get some idea of what the hell is going on. All he sees is darkness with light shining down from above. He knows which way to go and after confirming he’s alone without any detectible threat in the water he kicks up.

Slowing just before surfacing, he eases his eyes and nose above the water with barely a splash. SEAL training coming in especially helpful at the moment. He scans his surroundings, only to find that nothing looks familiar.

The last he remembered was taking Wo Fat prisoner and flying a chopper from an island not far off Hawaii. They’d been over the pacific, he remembers that, but then nothing until coming to in the water. Had someone shot them down? The chances of him landing in the fountain he found himself in was extremely slim, but it is possible someone attempted to dispose of him there. The landscape doesn’t look familiar and he doesn’t think he’s on the islands anymore. Which makes him wonder how long he’s been out and where exactly he is.

But first things first. Easing up high enough to see over the edge of the fountain, he sees what looks to be... a park?

[ Forest ]

Out of the fountain, he makes quick work of getting some distance between him and it. It’s not till he has some cover in the trees does he notice what he’s wearing. It strikes him odd to find himself in scrubs and instantly he misses his cargo pants and everything he normally keeps in his pockets. What he misses most though is a weapon.

Taking inventory of what he has in the backpack, he decides against changing at the moment. Changing may help him fit into whatever mess he’s found himself in, but until he has more intel he’ll stay as he is. Instead he removes only one sock from the backpack and with a quick look around him he picks up a rock about the size of his fist and slips it into the sock. Not a great weapon, but it’s better than nothing until he has time to either acquire some or make something better.

With the backpack secured to his back, he carefully scouts out the forest staying as concealed as possible while also gathering as much information as he can. As he moves through he does some light tracking of any animal trails that he might find as well as notes any vegetation that could be useful for food, weapons, tools or anything else he may need. He may not need any of it, and doesn’t waste time lingering, but if he needs it later he’ll know where to find it.

[ Village ]

Once he ventures out far enough from the fountain, he sees the buildings. With the fountain he had figured there was a settlement of some sort not far off and now that he finds it, he’s curious to see what he’s up against. Attempting to keep as concealed as possible, he peaks into windows and around corners.

The town isn’t what he was expecting and he’s still confused about where he is and why. His leading theory is that Wo Fat somehow managed to get the upper hand, knock him out and brought him here, but seeing the village and the people walking around without weapons he realizes that doesn’t seem likely either.

After watching for a bit he slips his ‘rock-in-a-sock’ into his backpack and ventures in closer. He can only find out so much information by remaining hidden and so far he’s not detected a specific threat. Still, he came to by almost drowning in the fountain and as far as he knows, any one of these people could have tossed him there... Along with a backpack with three days worth of clothing. Whoever put him in the fountain hadn't expected him to die there. So, he’s ready for anything.

chirrutsluck

WHO: Baze Malbus and OTA
WHERE: Out and about, and then the inn
WHEN: August 16th and onwards
OPEN TO: Any and all
WARNINGS: Grumpy spaceman is grumpier than usual, plague is catchable if you want it to be

Yesterday he'd started to feel... off. Today, he definitely feels off, and it's more obviously in a "sick" kind of way. It's ridiculous. Baze hasn't been sick in years. Decades, even. So he ignores it, and continues doing his usual things-- prowling the forest setting snares, doing rebuilding on one of the various projects around the village, helping around the kitchen for mealtimes, sitting on the inn porch trying to whittle tree branches into some sort of bow-shape. It just all seems to take longer than usual, and it all leaves him exhausted and over-heated.

And itchy. That red patch on his back and stomach definitely itches, though he tries not to scratch at it.

It takes a couple of days of this, pushing himself through what he figures is just a cold, before the really awkward stuff sets in, like seeing storm troopers out of the corner of his eye only when he looks, they're not actually there. Or making the rounds on his snares twice because he's forgotten he already did it, and being annoyed at finding nothing there on the second round.

Or seeing Chirrut laughing at him from the next chair over, on the porch of the inn, interrupting Baze's staring tiredly at the latest attempt at a bow and not actually making any progress on it. "You're dead," he tells the apparition flatly, unaware if anyone is watching him. "And now I'm seeing things."

71st_victor

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Outside the Mill
WHEN: August 11th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a

The last few times that she's been out in the woods have been silent, solo jaunts, which means that her temporary friend had been just that -- another person who left, whether of his own volition or not, but isn't that just like home? Everyone goes away, no one sticks around. Whatever, it just means there's more for her, which is why she's working with a lot of firewood, to the point that she eases back on the cutting and starts to look at other uses.

She doesn't build with them, doesn't know any tricks to make them into a floor or a roof or anything else handy, but what she knows is making a weapon or two. She's been whittling using her axe, turning a large slab of redwood into several well-turned staffs of about six feet tall, careful to keep her work clean. She could (and should) put a point on one end, but she'll save those for hunting, for later. Some of these, she's just working on because she misses fighting and keeping her anger hot and boiling. Fists are fine, but no one wants to come after her with the axe in her hands, so she's been thinking about evening up the playing field with a few good blunt instruments.

Twisting the second now-finished staff, she eyes the handiwork with all its errors and flaws, shrugging when she doesn't really care how perfect it is, so much as it's done.

Tossing it into the finished pile, she reaches down for the remainder of the log, using the axe absently to throw all her weight into the strike, cutting it clean in half so that she can pin it down with her boot, prying it up to start on a third. Even if she doesn't end up finding someone who's willing to practice, at least Johanna intends to be well-stocked in weapons for whatever comes next.

fishermansweater

WHO: Finnick Odair + his peacock
WHERE: The 6I park
WHEN: August 3
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Baby peacock being ridiculous. Probably mentions of mental health and anxiety later on.

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

There's been an escape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9601

WHO: Logan Howlett
WHERE: Bungalow #58, the hospital and the village
WHEN: July 1st-2nd; before & after earthquake things
OPEN TO: closed & open threads (see headers)
WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, claustrophobia, and a lotta swearing

July 1st - bungalow #58 - Jean and Peeta

The day started normal enough, if by "normal" one meant "blazing hot like the last fucking some odd weeks". Logan had already spent enough time after the morning forage fussing with the furnace, sweeping out ash and soot, stacking wood in its iron belly, and coming upstairs to check Jean's progress with the plank of sulfur shelf they'd returned home with. There was an odd quiet about the place that unsettled him, something he couldn't really put a finger to. As he crossed the yard for another armload of wood to take to the cellar, he expected birdsong in the trees, maybe another jay ready to scold him for getting too near her nest, but no. There was nothing.

With that bit of strangeness in mind, and firewood to carry, he was maybe halfway down the cellar steps when they began to move. Undulate, really, with a rumble of the earth that seemed to surround him all at once, engulfing him in noise so swiftly he barely had a chance to turn around. Dust and dirt rained from the ceiling, then debris- a beam snapped and clocked him across the forehead.

Logan awoke a little while later in darkness. There was an odd tangibility to it, cold and hard and pressing in across his lower body, an inexorable weight he couldn't seem to move. Resting on his side, the world came into focus slowly, and with it an awareness of aches radiating from all over his body. The worst was his head, a feeling like he'd taken a baseball bat right to the temple, throbbing angrily against his metal skull.

Someone was calling his name, someone familiar. He grunted, tasting wet, bitter earth on his teeth. A dull sound like the steady drumbeat of rain on the roof seemed to echo down to him as well, and he coughed, the air thick with dust.

"Kitty?" Logan coughed again, feeling dirt shift when he drew a hand to his face, his clumsy fingers meeting wet skin. "Jean? Are you all right?"

July 1st - 2nd - hospital - ota

Logan was a terrible patient. The bruises he could deal with, and had intended to, but the wicked cut just beneath his hairline was a different matter altogether. He abhorred feeling weak, just as he abhorred feeling useless, and no amount of reminding himself that he'd lost his power to heal was going to make him feel any better. As the village sprang to life under the rain and the earthquake and all those little aftershocks, he wanted to be out and in the thick of all of it, doing something other than reclining in bed with a wicked headache, feeling like he'd been hit by a bus. Getting up just made it worse though.

Getting up made him dizzy, and the floor feel like it was going to rush right up and slap him in the face. So there he was, having to rest, and all the while incredibly surly for it.

Anytime someone new happened to arrive, whether just to poke their head in to be a looky-loo or to drag an injured friend to an empty bed, would get their asses grilled within an inch of their lives:

"What's happening out there?"

bewaretheniceboy

WHO: Peeta Mellark
WHERE: Village in general, bakery, riverbank
WHEN: June 8, 9, and 10
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: It's Peeta, so there's always possibilities of the Games coming up, especially now
STATUS: Open

( June 8, Village )

When he'd woken up that morning, it had been with his heart hammering in his chest and a barely contained panic. The symptoms weren't at all unfamiliar to him after a year: a nightmare, a bad one, the kind that made it impossible to ever think things could be good again, and he turned to look at Katniss like he always did to reassure himself that they were okay, that they were safe (relatively, at least), and-

She wasn't there.

He hadn't panicked at first; sometimes she woke up before him and went out to do different things. Sometimes the hunting or tracking was better in the early day for reasons he didn't understand. But she'd always show up for lunch, at least long enough to grab something she could eat as she moved if she didn't stay for an actual meal, and this time she didn't... He'd left Jacob in the bakery to go check the house and see if she was there, and that was when he'd found that almost all traces of her had vanished. There was only one set of the clothing and supplies that people carried with them up from the fountain, only one scrubs top. The bow and arrows she'd been shaping were still there but nothing that had been supplied to them. As much as Katniss liked the woods, she wouldn't have packed up everything and run away to them, not without giving something away.

All of that means that Peeta goes into a mild frenzy and immediately into search and rescue mode, crutches be damned. Katniss is far from the most social person in the village, but she's been there long enough to still be familiar to most people, and anyone he runs into is likely going to be a target for that question of Where is she? whether he knows them or not. His first target is, of course, the inn and anyone there, but he spirals out around the village as well as he can while still being limited in mobility, getting more panicked as the day drags on.

( June 9, Bakery )

He can't search the woods in his condition and he's angry about that on a level no one in the village has seen from him, but he's not stealthy to begin with and a broken leg, even one that's mostly healed, makes him even worse. There's still two weeks, give or take, before the rigid brace can come off his leg and he can drop the crutches, and while he's gotten pretty good at dealing with them in the village, that's still somewhere with places for him to stop and sit and rest and convenient water and loads of other things. There is literally just nothing he can do right now that other people can't do better than him, so Peeta is pouring that anger and energy he has into doing something that's at least productive, mixing up, rolling out, and cutting down batches of pasta which he hangs to dry on a series of branches he'd carefully washed before using. It's very basic, just flour, water, and a little salt, but it's more food for people to eat and something to say "thank you" to everyone who wanted to help him or even commiserate with him. Even worried and angry he wasn't about to make things worse for the rest of the village residents, not when they all needed each other to get through this.

( June 10, River )

Two solid nights of terror have taken a toll on Peeta and he knows it's not really going to get any easier, though he also knows he'll reluctantly get used to it the longer it goes, and he just needs a day away from the normal haunts he'd established within the village. In case something happens, though, he's not gone all that far: just down to the river, not near the waterfall since that's the most popular area, but downstream from it a little to enjoy the cooler air around the moving water. The way it's drained reminds Peeta a little too much of when the Gamemakers had drained the stream in the 74th Games to herd them towards Cato and the finale, but it has uncovered a small cluster of rocks that make good seating for someone who can't swim. He's brought his pencils and one of the books he's working on to continue his project, the one that's a record of all the residents. The pages are opened to a certain entry and as the water swirls by he carefully begins embellishing it, adding more words and details to the sketch there, slowly and lovingly. Katniss' entry, of course; she almost looks as if she's staring at him from the page. He's entirely wrapped up in his work and oblivious to anyone coming up on him.

theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Fountain, House 23, Schoolhouse
WHEN: June 7 + the night, day, and next day after.
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, bodies, general horror genre stuff in the intro; insect hallucination in the final prompt. Please see his opt out in the comments of his profile.
STATUS: Open

( introduction )

fountain

Jude learned at an early age to play his cards close to the vest, and that fear should be chief among them. If people thought you weren't afraid of anything, they wouldn't have anything to use against you. He'd taken every dare, stared down every asshole, pushed himself through every heart-pounding moment until he could stand on the other side of it, a little harder but alive.

The only one he couldn't shake, but had at least managed to hide, was the fear of water.

He's been in it plenty of times since the first and last time he drowned. He's jumped off old ropes into lakes, he's taken the dive off the quarry's edge. He's gone under and held his breath just to prove he can handle anything the other guy can, but he'd been in control every time. He'd chosen it.

He didn't choose to be drowned in the tub when he was eight, seeking some higher power, and he didn't choose to wake up in it now, the burn in his nose and throat something from a nightmare.

Fear isn't a good motivator, but it certainly prompts action, narrows everything away from how and when and why to kicking until he pushes against a hard surface, even if it just sends him into another at his back. The space explored that much, he kicks again, shoving himself between walls until he finds he can touch them with hands outstretched, guide himself up and out of the water with a splash and hacking, whooping series of coughs. He rolls over the edge, then several times on the ground for good measure. His body catalogs dry earth, hard stones, and short grass, and the discomfort at his back turns out to be a pack when he finds the wits to examine himself.

Not his clothes, not his bag. Kneeling, he's still choking when he rips open the zipper, leans to one side without getting a look at the contents when he vomits up water and bile. He doesn't know when he last ate, he can't seem to stay conscious enough to keep track of time.

It wasn't this bright when he blacked out. It wasn't this bright, and strange as it isn't to find himself in a wooded path, last he checked the town didn't have a fountain. Coughing into his elbow, he skirts his gaze over it, taking in the treeline, the branching paths, the overbearing sun. This isn't the first time he's blanked or blacked out, woken up somewhere different, but it's the first time he's woken up somewhere new.

Looking down at the pack, its contents don't appear to be anything he recognizes as his or immediately useful, and he pushes himself up to wander around the edge of the fountain. "Dad," he calls only once, weakly, before a new kind of fear sends him into the cover of the trees.

( house 23 )

( Schoolhouse )

[Feel free to tag in with the explicit starters or something in-between: Jude wandering the trees away from the fountain, casing the house, peeking out windows, etc.]

zomboligist

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Inn, near the Kitchen
WHEN: June 3rd
OPEN TO: All! Mingle post!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open

There's another one of those strange boxes sitting on the porch of their home when Ravi gets up to another scorching, awful day. He's not sure what switch they hit to get this sort of weather, but he wants them to take it back, seeing as he's been sweating so much that he has to do laundry practically every day to cope with the ridiculousness of it. He can't go shirtless because he has absolutely no will to show everyone the out of shape disappointment that it his torso.

He bends to pick up the box and bring it inside, but hisses when his fingers contact something frosty cold at the bottom of the box. Opening it in a hurry, his eyes widen and he tugs the box to his chest as best as he can, taking off in a completely ungraceful run, heading straight for the inn and shouting as he goes. "Ice cream!" he says, like the world's skeeviest ice cream truck on legs, luring children in after him. "Ice cream, there's ice cream, it's going to melt," he warns, because there are six tubs of it, but he fears that in this heat, it's not going to last very long at all. Scientifically, he knows that it's just going to be calories that generate heat, but science can go take a backseat.

He unloads the toppings and the various six flavours (ranging from vanilla to chocolate, cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, butter pecan, and even a treasured cherry garcia), the sprinkles and peanuts going with the caramel and hot fudge sauces. He could weep because there are even serving spades, bowls, and spoons. He knows he ought to be wary about food after the whole chocolate poisoning incident (if it really was the chocolate), but it's just so hot and he's just so hungry.

He'll chance it, because if he doesn't, he just gets some delicious flavoured ice cream soup soon.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with hunger games: johanna mason

Credits & Style Info

[EVENT] The Simulation Ends

[MINGLE] Glitches: Locked In

you can't win when you are the system

theoretically, there's plenty of fish in the sea - OTA

The Inn, 2nd February

By the river; 3rd February

Various locations around the village: 4th-19th

[EVENT - MINGLE] Home for the Holidays

[ota] when the levee breaks i'll have no place to stay

Calm Before the Cold - OTA

[MINGLE] Harvest Feast 🍂

oh take me back to the start

ψ take me to church | CLOSED

And there she'd sit serenely 'neath the thorns upon the holly

04. Rain, rain, go away

OTA - First Things First

02. Someone isn't good at being sick

whistle while you axe

ψ I knew you were trouble when you walked in | OPEN

Oh you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you

All Your Actin', Your Thin Disguise, All Your Perfectly Delivered Lines

[arrival] little wings of white flame; butterflies in my brain

we all scream (but this time, for ice cream)