zomboligist: (like please bitch)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Under a delicious tree (an evil, delicious tree)
WHEN: October 17th
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: Ferrets, mischief, swearing


There is a ferret currently pawing at a sweater vest near one of the trees on the outskirts of town.

This isn't a sentence that Ravi would've ever assembled prior to this place, and yet, now it feels commonplace. If he weren't currently in a little ferret body, he might even feel compelled to squeak about how this place is awful. No. Wait, squeaking is for right now, which is what he's doing. It's all that bloody apple's fault for looking so green and perfect, and if someone's going to change you into a ferret after a few bites, he thinks he ought to be warned.

Of course, right now, maybe his priorities are a little off. First, there had been the immediate 'oh, fuck, I'm a ferret', and yet, after that, Ravi didn't think about switching back instantly. No, instead, he's far more concerned about the fact that he'd been wearing one of his best shirts and sweater vests and they're currently all in a pile where someone might step on them or, worse, might take them for their own. That won't do.

This is how there's come to be a tiny little angry Ravi-ferret pawing and clawing at the sweater vest to try and figure out a way to drag it with him back to his and Major's place. No opposable thumbs rule out hands, which means that teeth are next. That is, teeth are next until heavy footsteps and a looming shadow above him makes Ravi realize just how small he is and just how much he currently detests that stupid apple for making him like this.

What if it's permanent? What if he has rabies?

What if their dog eats him?

Letting out a panicked and angry squeak, Ravi clambers to protect his clothes ever the more, while simultaneously hiding behind one of his boots in case he ends up accidentally pelted by an over-eager kick.
majorlyugh: (with . koala . pucker up)
[personal profile] majorlyugh
WHO: Major Lilywhite
WHERE: Major/Ravi's cabin, around the village
WHEN: Mid-October
OPEN TO: All, specific starter for Ravi
WARNINGS: PUPPIES.


Major had been lured outside by the sound of whimpering. Every ounce of softness and kindness he'd ever held in his body had been tingling like a small fire, spreading over the expanse of his body from head to toe at the sound. When he had opened the door, two boxes were sitting side-by-side on the porch - one about half the size of the other and, to his surprise, moving around like one of those fake ferret toys for cats, the kind that's glued to a mechanical ball that moves around.

Only a little less erratic.

He took the stationary box in first, setting it off to the side of the living room, before returning to get the one that had now seemed to calm down a little bit. As he lifted it, there was a quiet yelp from the inside, and Major knew in an instant what the mystery box's contents were, without having to remove the lid.

He sets the box down in the middle of the living room, carefully lifting up the cover to reveal the small, Basset Hound puppy gazing up at him inside. At the sight of his face, it lets out another yelp, this one happier but still pleading, and tries to stand on its hind legs to see outside the open top of the box. It doesn't quite have the hang of what it means to be coordinated yet, and so it tumbles backwards, causing a very loud "AWW!!" to come rushing out of Major's mouth.

He reaches inside, carefully scooping the puppy up in his arms. Once near enough, it begins to lick his face and squirm around in his grip. As Major's trying to check the box for any other dog-related items, the puppy manages to wiggle its way out of his arms and, before he can manage to do anything to stop it, runs straight out of the door that Major's foolishly left open by mistake.

He opens his mouth to shout a name, but realizes he doesn't have one at the ready, so he shouts the only thing he can think of:

"HEY! ... HEY YOU! COME BACK!" as he scrambles to his feet and out the door, chasing after the bounding, long-eared puppy.
majorlyugh: (obligatory . you don't say)
[personal profile] majorlyugh
WHO: Major Lilywhite
WHERE: All around the village
WHEN: Sept 19/20
OPEN TO: OTA, specific starters for different characters; please feel free to have your character run into Major at any point during his re-clothing.
WARNINGS: Nudity?


The Hot Spring. Ever since Major had found out about it, he made a point to stop there a few times a week, if not once a day. Although he didn't rely on them the way some people did, he liked having a few things in his life that were more or less routine, and it didn't take long for him to incorporate the almost-scalding, healing waters into what had now become his daily life in the village.

He'd even made the act of going to the spring a bit of a routine in itself, taking his items of clothing off one by one before folding them up and setting them off to the side - far enough away from the water's edge that they didn't risk getting soaked, but not so far that he couldn't see them if he needed to. It always went pants, shirt, underwear (which he sandwiched between the pants and shirt, to keep some kind of modesty in case someone else were to come meandering by), and today hadn't been any different.

Except for when he had crawled out of the water, letting himself air dry for a few minutes, then went to the retrieve his clothing.

Because when he goes to collect his things, he's met with the very unpleasant sight of them being completely .. gone. Nada. Zilch. Kaput.

"That's .. unfortunate," he mutters to himself, glancing around at the surrounding brush. Maybe he'd put them somewhere else, and hadn't remembered. After scouring the bushes and grass along the perimeter, he comes up just as empty handed - and just as naked - as he'd started. "Crap." Not that Major gets easily embarrassed about being in the wind, but - he usually likes it to be his decision to be wandering around in his birthday suit, rather than having it foisted upon him in some very bad practical joke. "Ha-ha, okay, okay, I get it!" he shouts, thinking that maybe the perpetrator might be nearby, mindfully using both hands to cover his most sensitive areas. "Play a joke on the new guy, right? I set myself up for it, putting my stuff off to the side - but like, c'mon! You can't expect me to walk around the village naked! Can I have my stuff back? .. Please?"

When he's met with silence, he realizes he has no other choice but to try and track down his clothing, one article at a time.
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: The fields (behind the Town Hall)
WHEN: August 18, Afternoon
OPEN TO: ALL, Mingle style post for the Specimen Room plot
WARNINGS: See the Plot Post for details of the Specimen Room and its contents


Jude's glad to have the meeting out of doors, with or without the illness to prompt it. The cave-in hadn't scared him out of the canyon's cracks and crevices, but the room he'd found with Margaery might, and he needs every helping factor he can get to keep himself steady through the meeting. Public speaking is less a great fear than a thing he's never cared to do, but public speaking on a subject like this might prove too much, and if he pitches over again in front of someone, he's going to throw himself in the fountain and never come back out.

He'd gotten some help to carry the board out of the inn, tacking up fresh sheets of paper to the back of it. While others gathered those villagers well enough to come out to the fields, he'd done his best to recreate his and Margaery's view of the room through the glass, the layout of the coolers, the shape of the machinery at its center. Next to that, he'd tried to draw a rough overview of the room--what shape it might have from above, the placement of the door, the curve of the tunnel that Margaery had led him down.

As far as he'd noticed, there was no way around the rest of the cave to get at the door, but he hadn't been very inclined to look. When he pulls back from the board, charcoal staining his fingers, his brow where he'd wiped back his hair, he turns to find a crowd gathering behind him.

When it comes to the actual explanations, he struggles a bit to project his voice, but the words are there when he looks for them. He sticks to using the drawings to present the information, pointing to each element in turn. "There're electrical lights, florescent ones, in the room and the coolers, so I guess they're working too. And the glass was--uh, well, it was thick enough that knocking into it didn't break anything."  He drops his gaze to his feet, hiding behind his hair at the memory.



[OTA within the post or tag others. Please indicate in top levels if you do not allow threadjacking, or if you have specific warnings for threads. Use the link above for a complete list of details about the Specimen Room; ask questions, or assume that the details have been given in your threads!]
zomboligist: (oookay)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital / Casa di Helen & Mark
WHEN: Anytime between August 7 - 10
OPEN TO: Mark, Helen, Kira, Major
WARNINGS: n/a


It ought to be strange, really, taking your best friend from a world before and hiking him around for all your new friends to meet, but Ravi is somewhat determined to make sure that the people he feels closest to here really do like Major, especially seeing as he's going to end up picking up his life and moving in with him, mainly in an attempt to reclaim some of home again, but also because it's Major. How can he not move in with him and have incredible roomie shenanigans, again?

"They're going to love you," he vows, promising Major like he's the one who needs the pep talk instead of Ravi who needs a little bit of encouragement to sort of get over the fear that any of his friends are going to meet Major and, well, and not like him. He takes Major by the shoulders and stares at him like he's about to give him some sort of sports-related pep talk.

He doesn't, though, mainly because it would just make Major cringe and then Ravi would cringe with embarrassment and generally, it just wouldn't go over well. There's no time like the present, though, which is why he steers Major in the direction of the door, one hand draped around his shoulders like he's proudly showing off his latest creation (even if that sort of mad science has never been his bag of cats), plastering a broad smile on his face.

"Guess who has two thumbs and found a best friend?" he says, gesturing to himself, then to Major, then quickly back to himself. "I'd like to introduce you to Major Lilywhite. Yes, that is his name," Ravi says. "It's an unfortunate American thing, I think."
babyhunter: (Default)
[personal profile] babyhunter
WHO: Clary Fray
WHERE: Fountain & Village & River
WHEN: August 1st to August 6th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Drowning? (Note: Scrub color is black.)



Fountain: Arrival [Aug 1]

Clary inhaled, feeling a cool rush of water fill her lungs. Her chest burned while panic tightly constricted around her heart. She flailed wildly in the water, kicking her arms and legs out in a futile effort to swim. The water stung her eyes when she tried to open them. Clary had always hated opening her eyes underwater but she needed to see.

'I need to breathe! She thought, forcing herself to calm down enough to escape a rather pathetic watery death. After everything she's been through, she's not going to have 'death by water' on her tombstone. Clary saw a blurry smudge of light in the distance and swam towards it.

She broke the surface of the water, coughing and gasping for air. Bright orange hair plastered to her cheeks and neck as she made her way to the fountain's ledge.

It was only when she was pulling herself over the edge of the fountain that she felt the weight of the pack on her back. A groan of complaint vibrated through her torso, even as she managed to tumble herself and the backpack onto the pavement. Clary was laying on her back. The backpack was a surprisingly comfortable pillow though that might have just been in comparison to the water. The sun shined pleasantly in the sky, warming her limbs and face.

Clary decided that it wasn't worth getting up. She'd happily lay there until someone told her to move. Maybe she was in central park? That's the only place that she can think of with a fountain. Either way, Clary knew that someone would find her and she'd sort it out then.


Around the 6I Village [Aug 2-4]

Clary really didn't know what to think of this place. She had named the village Salem in her mind, the broken buildings and dreary feeling reminded her of a town where hundreds of girls burned at the stake. It probably wasn't the best name but the village was surprisingly less daunting with a name attached to it.

She wound her way through the houses, inspecting the ones that were broken and then knocking at the homes that looked like someone lived there. If no one replied, she'd peak inside to see what was there. Clary was naturally curious and not at all shy or hindered by the unknown. This wasn't nearly as scary as trying to get Simon out of the Hotel Dumort.

Clary would take the time to stop and stare at the houses or setting around her. She tried to figure out how she'd draw it: what colors she would use or how certain objects might appear out of focus. At the end of each day, she'd find herself at the inn, usually hungry and sitting at the bar like a ghost might come and take her order.

She was new at this whole survival thing and Brooklyn had pizza. She really missed pizza.


At the River [Aug 5]

Clary was both happy and sad to see Izzy in the village with her. She was happy to see her friend and to know that she wasn't alone but it also made her think about home. How was her mother doing? And Simon? What about Jace? She wondered if any of them missed her. She didn't particularly worry about Alec missing her; he was with Magnus and starting towards his happiness.

She missed her sketchbook. It gave her the ability to get all of her worries out of her head and onto a piece of paper. Without it, her thoughts jumbled together in a messy knot that she didn't know how to untangle. A groan pulled from Clary's lips as she took a seat near the water's edge. She watched the waves for a few seconds before pulling off her scrubs and jumping in.

Clary hadn't been in water since almost drowning in the fountain a few days before and as much as she wanted to avoid it, she felt gross. She had never gone this long without a shower. After drenching herself in water, she floated lazily on the surface of the river.

"This place feels too much like the Twilight Zone." She mumbled to no one in particular.


The Breach Between 6I and 7I: Small Earthquake [Aug 6]

Clary first heard about the mysterious second village at the inn, when she had eavesdropped on two people discussing their plans to cross the breach. She hadn't asked about it then but she couldn't stop thinking of the possibilities that lay on the other side of the ridge. Peeked by her curiosity and her ever-rampant thoughts, Clary decided to head to the breach to check it out for herself.

She wasn't completely unfamiliar with bouldering but the path was not as clear as she thought it would be. She took careful steps over small rocks and then slipping between larger boulders that stood like giants in the path.

Clary was halfway through the breach when the earth began to shake. She'd gotten used to the small tremors over the last few days but she hadn't been standing in a small crevasse in the ground back then. A surprised scream tore from her throat as she ran back the way she had come. Peddles and rocks loosened from above her, falling on her head like rain drops falling from the sky.

She ran out of the breach, stumbling to the ground as the earthquake ended. Clary's head was shaking as she tried to regain her balance. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt a soft sting along her cheek. If she had managed to get out of that with a bloody lip and a few thin cuts then she was happy.

"Okay. Maybe I won't go that way." Clary was talking to the rocks and seriously hoping that they could feel her displeasure.
majorlyugh: (sassy . squinty)
[personal profile] majorlyugh
WHO: Major Lilywhite
WHERE: The fountain, around the village
WHEN: July 23, then July 24th - the end of the month
OPEN TO: OTA; specific thread for Ravi.
WARNINGS: N/A


[Arrival - July 23, Early Evening]

The first thing Major notices when he breaks through the surface of the water is the sudden rush of air in his lungs, making his brain vibrate and buzz in his skull. It's a feeling he hasn't experienced since .. well, since he was last human. Does that mean that he's no longer a ... ? Huh. Will have to come back to that one later.

The instinct to survive, gather his bearings, figure out his sudden location change override any inkling he has to focus on the very human sensations he's experiencing. He crawls his way out of the fountain, tumbling up and over the edge of it, rolling onto the ground. On his back, he catches his breath and stares up at the sky overhead for a few seconds before the feeling of the fabric clinging to his body finally sizzles a few nerves in his fingers, and he realizes he isn't wearing the henley he remembers wearing, nor is he wearing the jeans he'd had on. Instead, he's wearing a .. very vibrant pair of magenta .. well, for lack of a better word, scrubs, and there's something digging its way into his back.

He sits up, loosening the straps of the strange pack he has on to take a look at it before deciding to get out of the open and somewhere sheltered. No weapons, no bullet-proof vests .. no hungering for brains. There's that weird buzzing in the back of his skull again.

He gets himself up, slips the pack back onto his shoulder, and begins to wander around the town.

[From July 24th to the End of the Month]

Major's memorized the layout of the town; it isn't all that large, and from his preliminary investigations, it also seems like there isn't a clear way out of the place. He's mostly stuck to the outskirts, having found some shelter in what appears to be an abandoned cabin somewhat near the river's edge (he thinks it's a river, anyway). He takes the subsequent days after his arrival to do more exploring of the village, this time venturing closer to the heart of it, as well as exploring the river to what he thinks is the southeast of his new "home."

He eventually finds himself wandering into the Inn at the center of town, intent on interacting with and asking the others any of the question he hasn't already gotten answers to.
zomboligist: (like please bitch)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital
WHEN: July 22
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a


In the rush of discovering a whole other land, Ravi's excitement may have gotten the better of him. He'd taken all of his scientific equipment and hiked his way over, going as far as the water's edge before he started to take as many samples as he could, still focusing on the water (mainly because he's curious if this water, ocean or cove or bay, has the same healing properties as the fountain or the spring). What he doesn't take into account is how far it is to get all the way out there.

By the time he gets back, the sun is starting to set, but he's sweating and he's fairly sure that he's managed to give himself an impressive neck burn from the way that the sun is reflecting off of his skin all day. Huffing and puffing, he thinks that someone should have put up signs along the way to warn him just how far that trek is.

Collapsing inside the hospital, he slams his kit on the table and collapses in a slump in front of it, groaning for water like he's a zombie. No, bad thought, that's not what he needs to think about, it just makes him miss Liv and home. He drags one of the chairs over so that he can sink into it, stripping off his scrubs shirt until he's just in a sweaty t-shirt (not hot enough that he dares go shirtless, he's not an animal).

Staring at the vials of water, he knows that he should start running tests before time or strange village magic can change anything, but he's just so tired and hot. "I hate walking," he complains aloud, already knowing that his calves are going to ache like mad tomorrow. "This science had better give me something," he continues to gripe as he forces himself to get up and start fetching the rats for their daily bout of tests.
3ofswords: (sleep)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: House 39; Riverbank, southeast bend
WHEN: June 5
OPEN TO: Credence + 2 at the house; 2 more at the river
WARNINGS: Edited as needed
STATUS: Open



tl;dr )

at the house

Kira feeds the animals before he gets to work, bringing all of them out to the porch to sort through his materials. Aurora flops in her corner with one bowl of water, and Hoshi drags himself between the sun and another, until enough water has evaporated and the heat is enough that he nests himself down into the cool ceramic. It’s already hot--the sun doesn’t stay down long enough for it to cool one day to the next--but there’s as much shade on the porch as there is in the house, and what breeze comes through the canyon can actually be felt.

He settles his materials into a few piles: pulled and reclaimed shingles, some decidedly not from his own roof; stripped siding, old boards, and most important--nails. He’d settled into a long and silent fight with Casey over the ransacking of Ren’s old house, a fight Casey had won with his disappearance, leaving Kira to finish what he’d started. Leaving Kira with an understanding of the young man he’d only thought to have in his presence--when the world leaves you alone, sentimentality isn’t an option. Ren and Jyn had known that as well, though Jyn had seemed as unable to fully shake it as Kira is.

His hands are already blistered and he’s gone inside for more water before he’s even ready to head for the roof. He’d stripped more nails from the boards with a hammer from the cache at the inn, used his knife to hold them at the heads and hammer them closer to straight. It’s too hot for the work he means to do, but he can’t do it in the few hours of dark they’re getting, and he doesn’t know when the next freak storm is going to tear through. He’s not going to wait on someone to come along and do it for him--catch him fish, bring him wood; carry him back to the inn, take him away from the village when he’s sunk too deep in other people’s problems to see his own.

He’s not coming back. None of them are, and it’s time to stop needing them to.

Working against the heat, Kira carries his materials up to the attic in shifts, doing his best to splash water on his face and hydrate between. The only reason the space hasn’t become a very big, triangular oven is the ventilation of some very noticeable holes, sunlight streaming through to the rafters. It takes some trial and error to brace the boards on the sloping roof with his shoulder, the pockets of his overalls full of old nails, and hammer them into place, but he doesn’t think he’s doing too bad a job, balancing on the beams and boarding up the holes from the inside.

The only problem is how much hotter it gets as the sun rises, and the holes close. By the time he’s sitting half-out the small window, dragging his shingles out and flipping them onto the roof for the last steps, his arms are shaking and it’s more of a struggle than ever to catch his breath. When he tries to pull himself further out to follow the shingles up onto the roof, he wobbles enough to rethink finishing the project today. Instead, he slides his legs out to hang himself down, using the last of his strength to lower himself clumsily back to the porch.

Once there, he slides down on the steps, shoulder against the support beam, and keeps sliding. Down onto his side, then rolled onto his back, back on the porch and legs sprawled on the steps. At his far-flung hand, Hoshi lifts his head and sets to cawing in his small, croaking voice. Aurora shuffles up and he can feel her tongue scraping the side of his head as the bright world dims to black.

at the river

The sun has slipped close enough to the canyon walls that the shadows have lengthened, the world dimmed enough beneath the trees that Kira chances a walk. He’s still shaky, but his brush with heat sickness hasn’t eased his restlessness, his need to prove himself more than the soft civilian who gets pneumonia in a snowstorm and heat stroke in a drought, isn’t good for defending himself from even the fucking weather.

If anyone sees fit to chide him, at least he can say he stayed by plenty of water. Not that there’s as much to go around: the old edge of the river is cracked earth and smooth, exposed pebbles. It stinks, too--the fish left on the high banks aren’t very big, but they’ve been out long enough to go to rot.

Hoshi puts up enough fuss over the exposed treasures glinting under the faded light that Kira sets him down from his perch on his shoulder. His wing seems to have healed, and he has most of his feathers--but he still holds it stiff, and Kira isn’t sure it healed right. He might prove more than a quick rescue and release, no one to teach him to fly, not enough of the right feathers yet to start trying. The little bird picks at the stones, even a couple silver-scaled minnows, but eventually he finds something that captures Kira’s attention as well.

“What have you got there,” he asks, crouching gingerly at the new edge of the water, scooping the little crow back before even he can be swept away in its diminished currents. Moving aside the rest of the pebbles with his own hand, he picks up a dull metal arrowhead, antiquated in shape but so clean, he wonders if it came from the blacksmith up-stream.


[Kira has fainted from heat-sickness in the first prompt, but your character is welcome to come along at any point after he goes out on his porch and interrupt or help.]

zomboligist: (oookay)
[personal profile] 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.
markwatney: (014)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Fields and nearby
WHEN: 23 May, evening
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Poop
STATUS: Open
NOTE: Please don't feel you have to talk to him about plants. I know how boring it can get.


The weather is starting to become a concern.

Now, I really am not a person prone to panic. Things have to be going pretty badly pretty abruptly for me to freak out. But I'm also aware of how nefarious a gradual change can be, and how dangerous to people not paying attention. Personally, I'm not interested in being a lobster in a slow-warming pot.

Then again, maybe I don't have much choice in that.

Point is, it's easier to pay attention to the fact that the sun is taking the opposite path in the sky than that we're getting way too warm too soon for this time of year. (And I could get into why it's implausible that the Earth has actually reversed rotation, including disruptions that would likely end all life, but it's way more boring than it sounds, so I'll just say I'm not buying it.) People are finding ways to cool off, and that's good -- Apart from physical health reasons, we don't get nearly enough opportunities to simply relax and have unfettered fun. The plants we've all been so tending so judiciously, though, don't have the option to take a dip.

The hail was bad enough. The damage was... Well, it wasn't great, obviously, but nothing we couldn't recover from. Assuming, of course, that everything stays relatively predictable. This heat and lack of rain? It isn't predictable.

I've been out in the fields all day today, even longer than normal, taking notes and measurements, doing what I can to ensure the plants are well fed and watered. We really cannot afford to lose a significant part of this harvest, not with the number of people in the village now. It's tedious, back-breaking work, but it has to be done.

And it's honestly probably a testament to how tedious and back-breaking it is that I am tired and distracted enough that I end up covered in shit. Not metaphorical shit; actual shit, courtesy of a poorly-timed misstep while I was shoveling fertilizer. Manure's coated all along the front of my thighs and torso, splashed up to my neck and chin.

"God damn it," I moan, picking myself up with a wince.
sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] sixthiteration
Hail had been falling for two days now, peppering the ground and shredding the grass but rather than melt away like a late spring storm it had only intensified, growing in diameter and moving from a mild annoyance to damned near deadly. As the storm raged, ice flew up through updrafts and was forced back to earth in the downdraft, accumulating layer after layer of murky debris until it went hurtling toward the earth with wicked accuracy.

Shingles were ripped from roofs, the wind howled and lightning cracked. The hail had driven both humans and animals into the safety of the indoors, to the dark corners of buildings that might withstand the assault. With only candlelight and the hushed voices of villagers to stave off fear and boredom, the storm raged like a sentient being heedless of those who might be caught in the path.

After the storm, a calm came over the land and weak sunlight glinted off smoke-tinged ice. Steam rose from the melt and humidity was thick in the air; petrichor hung heavy, a soothing scent after a savage display of natural fury.

[OOC: Your hail mingle post. Feel free to have characters on the run, gathering animals or inside the Town Hall waiting out the storm.]
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." 
ethnobotany: have you noticed how your boobs have started to firm up }{ insurrection ({ i'm back for more)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: Hospital, outside House #15
WHEN: Second week of May
OPEN TO: Anyone, with one closed for Wanda
WARNINGS: Nothing for now, will update if necessary
STATUS: OPEN


HOUSE #15

It was a strange box she'd found that morning. What was even more strange was what she had found inside the box. A bunch of seeds of all sizes and shapes stared up at her, glinting in the little bit of light filtering through. What startled her more than those were the gardening tools resting above the seeds. It was like someone knew she liked gardening, knew she would want to help out and wanted a garden of her own. Was this something those Observers she had heard so much about liked to do?

Pulling out the tools, she set them aside and began to sort through the seeds. There were so many, she barely even knew where to start. Two of most things, except one willow and four aloe. The willow made sense, though she hoped it was the seed for a smaller willow tree. The aloe plant also made sense. The more aloe they had, the better off everyone would be. Some of these would have to wait for a greenhouse or something of the sort. Otherwise, the climate here would kill them. But some she could go ahead and plant.

So for the rest of the week, she could be found outside when she wasn't on a shift at the hospital. With tools in hand, she's either working on getting some of the seeds into the ground or trying to remember how Annie and Finnick were doing their fence so she can make her own. The last thing she wants is to have her new garden get eaten or run over when it finally starts to grow. She makes a point of looking for anyone who might want to help on either one of these endeavors.


HOSPITAL

Her colleagues at the hospital are all very important here. Beverly doesn't know what each of them knows about herbal remedies, but she sees no reason not to offer what she does know to them. The more of a supply of those remedies they have and the more people who know what they are and how to use them, the better. So at some point during the day, she finds each of them, walking up to ask a few simple questions.

"I've just received a bunch of seeds for herbs and plants we can use for medicine and poultices when they finally grow. How much do you know about medicinal herbs?"


WANDA

Wanda is one of the people Beverly wants most to work on her garden with. Unfortunately, not knowing Wanda's schedule means she isn't familiar with the proper times and places to try to catch her. So Beverly sorts out a handful of the ones she wants to plant now, setting them aside so she can plant them with Wanda at a later date. It isn't until the end of the week that she finally happens to make it into the Inn at the right time to find Wanda. Making her way over, again being careful not to sneak up on her, she offers a small but very warm smile.

"I remember you being interested in gardening," she comments easily. "I've just discovered a whole bunch of seeds that I'd like to plant. If you're interested, maybe you could help me."
zomboligist: (ruh roh)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital
WHEN: April 22
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: General illness/unhappiness of digestion
STATUS: Open!


Ravi hates everything.

No, that's too kind. Ravi loathes everything with the fires of hell layered upon teenybopper performances and CDC-firing bosses on top of that. Ever since he'd woken up from the morning after the feast, he's felt sort of off. Then, this morning, 'off' became the fiery guts of Dante's circles of hell, at least four through seven. He's trudged to the hospital on the auspices that he might work, but truthfully, as soon as he's arrived, he collapses face down on the nearest bed and manages to groan. Even that ends up hurting his body, peering out through blurry vision at a shape that seems to be coming in the door.

What he hasn't actually noticed is the rash, mainly because he's been so occupied with feeling miserable. He turns onto his back and stares at the too-bright ceiling, squinting as he drapes his arm over his eyes, wishing death upon himself.

"Why?" he complains, searching for something to drink because he doesn't even know what would make him feel better. He doesn't even know what it is, because this has no hallmark of food poisoning and he doesn't think this is a disease that he's seen before. Or maybe it is and he's just too discombobulated to actually tell what's going on.

He stares at the person, squinting and reaching out with a needy hand. "Please tell me you've come to put me out of my misery," he pleads.
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."

humancatdroid: (I Don't Like It)
[personal profile] humancatdroid
WHO: Kay Tuesso (K-2SO)
WHERE: The Fountain, Here or there…
WHEN: 19th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Screaming. Mild freak outs. And then a ‘human’ who doesn’t know how to human… Aka: Droids don’t do Organic well...
STATUS: Open

This didn’t seem right. )
ethnobotany: ({ waiting till I see it in your eyes)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: By the fountain, Inn, and wandering around
WHEN: 3/17 for the fountain, 3/18 all else
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None, except references to the cybernetic zombies that are the Borg
STATUS: Open


3/17 - Fountain
Getting dunked into a pool of water was not on Beverly's list of things to do today. She'd been expecting to punch back through time and space, get back to Sector 001, and see what the hell the Borg were up to now. And also prepare for a debriefing by Temporal Investigations when it's all over. The last is arguably what she's least looking forward to. No one likes those guys.

What she finds instead, as she climbs out of the fountain, is that she's not anywhere she recognizes. She's not in uniform, not even in the civilian 2063 clothes she'd been wearing last, and nothing looks familiar. To add to it, she can't remember how she got here. Even better.

Well, first thing's first. She shifts the pack off her shoulders and begins to rifle through it. A towel would be nice right about now, but she's not really expecting that. She does, however, suspect that one of two things happened to her and she mutters, "Q, if you're behind this..." to the air around her, just loud enough for anyone passing by to overhear. If no one stops for that, eventually she shifts the pack back onto her back and looks around for someone who appears more familiar with the area. Amnesia is something she can feign easily, so she approaches with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry. I seem to have gotten lost. Can you tell me where I am?"

3/18 - Inn/wandering
The next day dawns not so bright for her. Nothing she'd learned yesterday really makes her feel any better about being here. But here she is and she's determined not to let it get to her. Not yet. She's been kidnapped, held hostage, and forced to work before. This is almost old hat, as scary as that is to think. The Inn sees her for a short time, as she pokes her head around to see if there are any other Starfleet officers undercover. At this point, she'd even take a member of the Bajoran Resistance, someone from Deep Space Nine, or hell even a Cardassian just for something familiar.

Or Q, so she could yell at him. No matter what anyone might say, she's still convinced he's responsible for this somehow. It would be just like him.

The fireflies she sees around are as unsettling as they are beautiful and she does her best to keep away from them. She doesn't know what they might do on whatever planet this is. It's not Earth, that's for sure, not the one she knows. Unfortunately, that's not very helpful at the moment, so she ends up walking anywhere and everywhere, particularly if there aren't fireflies around. At some point, she's almost sure a group of them are following her, though she can't decide if that's a hallucination or paranoia talking. She eyes the group of them anyway.

"You can stop following me now," she tells them firmly, as though they can actually hear and understand. And care.
asklepian: (pic#7053845)
[personal profile] asklepian
WHO: Julian Bashir
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, also feel free to catch him wandering around looking lost
WHEN: 3/17
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: Open


Read more... )
3ofswords: (facepalm)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira
WHERE: Anywhere between the canyon walls and the edges of the Village; The Fountain
WHEN: Evening/Sunset, March 15
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Flying insects with intent to harm
STATUS: Now closed to new threads


the woods

If not for the cloud of insects herding him, Kira isn’t sure how long it would have taken him to find the village again. His cards were back in the woods, somewhere in the fog, and the creatures spared him no time to choose directions--only cut him off in glowing streaks, stretching across openings in the trees until he was forced to turn for another. Once he was darting in what seemed the acceptable direction, they would pull back into their teeming mass, gather, and dive at him again, on an arc that dragged the ugly, static noise of them terrifyingly close to his head.

He’d dreamed of being consumed in a roar of fire, concussive heat, for a third of his life. They should only be fireflies, should only cast small lights in the fog, but at every cluster and pass, there was fire in their glow, a roar in their wings, a prickling terror. He wondered if their touch might burn, if their rounded bodies hid sharper parts.

They’d been pretty, like the lush moss around the spring, when he’d found them in the narrow cave. His exploration of the foggy woods had taken him north and west, until the dirt had become chipped stone, and his hands were touching the cold surface of the walls. Trailing along it, hoping to find the river and follow it home, he’d come across a natural crack--some feat of water and winter cold--that he’d just been able to slip inside. The passage had carried on to a slight corner, starting to widen, and the blue-dark walls had been dotted with winking lights like a night sky.

Kira had stood transfixed, another moment to wonder if there weren’t small rewards in the shit-river they were swimming against the current of--until the lights had drifted from the walls, forming the buzzing cloud he now ran from.

When he’d backed out of the narrow passage and into the open, the fireflies had streamed out after, and he’d lost his coat fending off their first attack. Sweeping it through their ranks had bought him a few moments of time, but had cost him the protective layer, his knife, and his cards. Down to his dark scrubs, he’d bolted into the forest, dodging and pushing himself around trees as they appeared through the fog. The paths this far out were unclear, but they seemed intent to steer him in some direction--perhaps the river, perhaps home. All he could hope was that a shelter or body of water was on their trajectory, and that his aching legs and lungs didn’t drag him down before he found it.

the fountain 

As the sun sets against the blooming canopy, new leaves briefly gold above the fog, Kira breaks the trees at the edge of the fountain path. His faded scrubs are torn by branches, his hair damp with fog and sweat. His bare arms are striped with scratches and scrapes, but he still flees the dreaded burn or bite of the insects, the cloud of them building behind him in a final coil before a strike.

With one backwards glance, he carries on his breathless momentum, dragging one cold and cutting breath into his lungs before he pushes himself up, a long leap over the stone lip of the fountain, crashing through the water in a splash that reaches up as the fireflies swipe down. Lungs already popping from the exertion, he snatches only moments of cold sanctuary before he breaks the surface with a gasp, but the insects are already following their arc up into the sky, dispersing out over the trees.

The water is too cold for comfort, a shock to his exhausted body, but he makes no immediate move to pull himself out. He sucks down another stinging breath, letting himself float on his back, staring at a lone star appearing against the purples and reds of sunset. “What the fuck,” he sighs in the exhale, body slipping higher and lower in the rippling water as he catches his breath.

[Feel free to join his flight from the fireflies in the first part, or find him in the fountain in the second; again, if you want to use this as an opportunity to get stung, feel free, but Kira is bite-free.]

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