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.
collaronhisneck: (working hard)
[personal profile] collaronhisneck
WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy and others
WHERE: Various, check starters
WHEN: September 2nd through 4th
OPEN TO: Everyone, but only the last prompt will be an open in full. The rest are first come, first served in order to prevent Topic Fatigue.
WARNINGS: None so far; mentions of wartime problems may come up



( fountain, September 2, open to Major )

Considering he'd gone to sleep in his normal rickety cot, the familiar sounds of an April night outside Uijongbu drifting through the lashed-down sides of his tent, the rumble of engines passing by on the road in the distance...

Well, the last thing he expected to wake up to was water.

Jolting awake with the sudden plunge and the screaming lack of air, instinct kicks in just like his feet, and Mulcahy surges in the direction he hopes is upwards, towards light and away from the darkness, a stray thought passing through his mind that he hopes he's not heading for The Light just yet. There's so much left to do, after all. The coughing starts when he founders into the early morning light, because he'd managed to swallow some of the water before he surfaced, though fortunately it seems to be coming out fairly easily. What he doesn't realize right away is that his glasses seem to have disappeared; he's more concerned with catching the rim of the fountain and clinging to it while he spits up the water that invaded his esophagus. Not the most comfortable of welcomes, this.

inn, hospital, and church prompts under the cut )
unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha and anyone who wants to swap theories about the pod or help her out
WHERE: Running through the village on the way between the pod, her house, and back again. Then the pod for a few days.
WHEN: First few days of July
OPEN TO: Anyone and everyone! 1 July is open to anyone who might run across her in town. After that, it'd have to be someone who knows she's at the pod, or who has their own reason to be there.
WARNINGS: n/a

1 July, afternoon/early evening - passing through town, round trip )

from 1 July late evening forward - back in the pod )
unmakeme: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha and Hawke
WHAT: being the unlucky two in the cave when the pod opens
WHEN: July 1st
WHERE: the cave behind the waterfall

The vibrating arrowheads are no less unsettling after Sam finds a weird pod behind the waterfall, making it most likely that the arrowheads have been reacting to that and not to the waterfall itself. This is apparently not even the first weird pod to turn up, because this place needs help getting even creepier. Unknown forces causing weird shit and lining right up with the weather getting super drunk and deciding the rules no longer apply? Feels vaguely like home. Thor's previous assurances aside, she's still expecting Loki to turn up any day now, smug and insufferable.

The vibrating shiny artifacts could offer some way to combat whatever is inside the pod (that they still can't get open), though it's just as likely the little arrowheads could spell doom. Won't know until something happens, and Natasha hates the sit around and wait part of tense situations like these. So she finds something to do. In this case, that something is hunting for as many of the arrowheads as she can find. Whether they'll help or hurt, they're clearly related, and that's something.
unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHAT: an open post for being hot and miserable, exploring, and also attempting to shield some plants from the sun
WHEN: all of June
WHERE: the river, while it's still a thing, and anyplace with shade once it's not

River )

Fields )

Wildcard!

Natasha is going to be mostly in the water, or searching out shade, but as long as you don't want her to work up a sweat, she's always up for a chat.
unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha Romanoff, Neil Mackay, Clint Barton, Jyn Erso, open for others
WHAT: getting sick on chocolates, reacting to the chaos of the obscurial, anything else
WHEN: 22nd for being sick, 24th for the obscurial stuff
WHERE: house 43, town center, the forest

WARNINGS: none yet
NOTES: if you want custom starter, hit me up on discord or plurk

obscurial stuff )
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."

unmakeme: (Default)
[personal profile] unmakeme
WHO: Natasha Romanoff, one person or group for her arrival, and anyone who wants to find her wandering around
WHERE: starting at the fountain, then most likely up and down every road in the place taking an inventory of her surroundings
WHEN: Sunday afternoon for her arrival, exploring the town can cover the next couple of days
OPEN TO: all
STATUS: open

NOTES: Please let me know where and when you'd like to run into her in your subject line. if you have an idea for a starter that you're not sure of, hit me up on plurk or discord and we can talk about it.

arrival - still open

It's possibly not as surprising as it should be, coming into awareness far enough underwater that the pressure in her ears almost hurts and she can't see what's around her. One moment, she's lying down with a headache, a mild anti-inflamatory and a glass of water. The next, her head is clear and the water is murky and everywhere. There's weight on her back, straps, she shucks them quickly. The boots, waterlogged and heavy, won't come off as easily. She skips that and begins kicking for the surface. Her hands find a wall quickly, and she pushes off, hoping to use the momentum to get her to the surface, only to be brought up short by something else. So it's not wide, only deep. She points herself straight up, struggles toward what she can now see is a small patch of weak light.

By the time she breaks the surface, the headache is back. She knows it will pass, though. It's not much work to heave herself out of the fountain and onto the stone path, lying on her back, arms above her head, sucking in deep breaths to clear her head. She takes a brief inventory. She has no injuries, sturdy boots, black hospital scrubs. Or perhaps another dark colour and they only look black because she's soaked. The weather is mild, wherever she is. Not dark enough yet to see any stars for help in determining her exact location.

exploring

The way out is not back through the fountain. That would have been too easy. So all that leaves is every other conceivable options, and quite a lot of ground to cover. She starts with the buildings closest to the fountain - the blacksmith, the police station, the inn, then over to the the butcher and baker, and further along that road to the hospital, schoolhouse, and town hall. She doesn't go looking for people specifically, not right away - just for the lay of the land. She works her way out further, traveling down winding roads, counting out houses and making mental note of which seem to be occupied and which appear deserted. Every path out of town brings her up short, and adds to her frustration. There is a way out, she just can't find it. That doesn't sit well with her. None of this does.

SUNDAY
afternoon - arrival - n/a
afternoon - schoolhouse - Kira
afternoon - town hall - Peggy
evening - mill - Clint

MONDAY
morning - police station - Wanda
vdova: (Default)
[personal profile] vdova
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: The woods, around the village
WHEN: Mid-January
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle
WARNINGS: Frank Castle???? Probable vague mentions of the traumatic aspects of Natasha’s past.
STATUS: Closed.
ballerinas have fins that you'll never find )
paragon: and a stronger right arm. (aou ☆ 005)
[personal profile] paragon
WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The inn, The Florence, about town
WHEN: Evening of January 9th
OPEN TO: Natasha Romanoff
WARNINGS: Sadly, none.
STATUS: Ongoing


It's one of the few times he's ever been grateful for the cold. Steve opens the box with his name on it that he finds on the porch one morning (he's heard of them appearing, but never gotten one himself) and knows immediately and with a deep, steadying breath, the fog of condensed air in front of his mouth a visible, ephemeral proof of his nerves, what he'll use it for. But he needs a day or two to secure time to himself in the inn's kitchen, to ask Sam to clear out that evening, and to ask Miss Kate for some of the salt she hoards so closely. For a special occasion, he ends up telling her. Hopefully, he doesn't say, though she also lets him have a pinch of pepper from her supply, and rosemary when he asks for it for the potatoes, so he figures he didn't have to.

(She warns him only to use a little, because their taste buds will feel the kick more intensely after months without, which sounds promising to Steve.)

In the meantime, the box will keep just fine, nestled in the snow by the side of the house (and secured against any foragers, like Tony's pet raccoon, of all things). When he opens it again it's two days later and a couple of hours before he plans to get started in the kitchen. The meat needs the time to thaw, after Steve carries the box to the inn with the spices. There's (unsurprisingly) little of the wine left from the Thanksgiving meal, but with the gifts last month they've preserved enough of a supply to be sufficient for cooking and a couple of full glasses, and he has no compunctions about using it for this.

After more than one trip between the inn and the house (and pressing the man named Gaius into standing lookout in case Natasha had come down the stairs in the meanwhile, though it'd involved a bit of miscommunication at first thanks to Steve's barely passable Italian and the combined efforts of Bucky and Tony on him until they'd all three formed a sort of motley guard around the entrance to the kitchen), Steve closes the door to his and Sam's place to head to the inn one last time. He looks up at the sky as he crosses the porch and heads down the steps again — it's not quite as bright as day, but the auroras illuminate everything below them well enough for none of them to need help to see where they're going at night now. Safer, too, though it's not the selling point he's planning to go with.

Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets to open the inn door, the shape of it familiar now, and once inside heads directly to the stairs. He goes to Natasha's floor and then her room, knocking once on the door. "Nat? I'm gonna take a quick look around outside before turning in, if you wanna join me."
00nothing: (my friend has maladies)
[personal profile] 00nothing
WHO: Alex Rider
WHERE: The fountain
WHEN: 12/12
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: slight deep water phobia, reference violence maybe?
STATUS: Open


Alex opens his eyes to the all too familiar sensation of drowning in deep water and tries very hard not to panic. This shouldn't be happening. He should be home and safe in Chelsea, or at the very least drowsing wearily on the plane flight back to London, not... not this again. His chest feels tight, and it has nothing to do with needing to breathe.

This isn't fair, he thinks viciously, and his eyes burn. He never asked for any of this and he doesn't want to do this anymore.

Frigid water presses down all around him and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, his hands into fists until his nails cut into his palms. When he opens his eyes again his heart is beating loudly in his ears, but he's clear headed enough to look around and get a fix on the way out. And then he's swimming, long, powerful, slightly desperate strokes to the surface. He's gasping for breath as soon as he clears the water and flinging himself over the edge of the fountain before he even takes a moment to register his surroundings.

Of course, then he does, dragging himself up into a seated position, leaning back on his hands and giving the fountain in front of him a wide, wild eyed look. "What?" Who on Earth was going around leaving him in fountains, of all places? That was hardly an effective way to try and kill someone.

They hadn't even put a shark in there with him or something.

He shrugs the weight of a bag from his shoulders when he registers the pressure, and then pauses in analyzing the contents of the bag when he realizes that the shrug hadn't hurt like it should, no burnt skin pulling uncomfortably tight. With slowly dawning disbelief, Alex reaches up with one hand to press to his shoulders, and feels only the slightly upraised pale pink skin of a new scar.

"What." He says, once more with feeling.
vdova: (383)
[personal profile] vdova
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: November 14th into November 15th
OPEN TO: Everyone! This is a mingle log.
WARNINGS: Description of injuries/probably descriptions of violence.
STATUS: Open to All
cut off one head... )
notabirdcostume: (Lap 14)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson
WHERE: Near the Police Station/Barn
WHEN: October 30, Day
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: CLOSED


Venting Frustrations )
thingsfall: (Default)
[personal profile] thingsfall
WHO: Bruce Wayne
WHERE: The Fountain | The Inn | Fountain Park
WHEN: October 15th and the days following
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: to be updated as needed
STATUS: open


what are we saving for? )
booklegging: (⇆ of the summer clouds)
[personal profile] booklegging
WHO: Jess Brightwell and everyone!
WHERE: The inn.
WHEN: Sept. 28th to Oct. 11th.
OPEN TO: Everyone who lives at or would visit the inn during the non-stop rain. If you don't feel like making a log for the inn but want a place to tag around, this is the mingle post for you!
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
STATUS: Open. Mingle away, comrades.




There's nothing quite like the sky opening up and releasing a torrential downpour to bring people together. With water coming down in buckets and the streets turning into waterways, it would be wise to seek shelter until this lets up...

If it ever lets up.

For those needing a place to warm up, the inn has a roaring fire and hot tea waiting. Pass the time watching the rain at the window, or telling stories around the main room's fireplace, or enjoying friendly company in the pub. You're even welcome to stay the night in one of the inn's spare rooms, just don't mind the leaks. It's an old building. Luckily there are plenty of buckets to go around.
paragon: (avengers | no kwds | 015)
[personal profile] paragon
WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: September 17th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will add if necessary.
STATUS: Closed



Even if Wakanda weren't as historically reclusive as it's been until more immediately recent memory, Steve wouldn't pretend he knows enough about it to say whether the fountain belongs there. He's hardly even been outdoors, for all that he's had quite a view from inside; as a guy who draws things in a notebook on occasion he doesn't really think it comes from the same school as the giant panther carved out of the side of a mountain, but what does he know? He and Bucky arrived bloody and exhausted, in no mood for sightseeing, no matter how much the hospitality of Wakanda might be considered a rare privilege. Hard to see it that way, after sleeping it off for a day or so only to wake up to Bucky having already made up his mind.

He's had a lot on his own mind.

Still, the fountain seems out of place with what he's managed to glimpse of a ferocious sort of beauty, in the midst of buildings that Tony would be more comfortable calling home. This is— well, this looks more like something from his time. And he'll just as surely end up calling the bottom of this fountain his home, if he can't get out of here, since he apparently has enough clothes to get him through a cold winter. At least mulling over architecture is as good a way as any to keep from thinking too hard on how much trouble it's giving him.

He hadn't made the first jump. He puts the sides at about fifteen feet, too high for a straight jump for the edge, but manageable with the help of one of the more horizontal cracks in the wall and a running start. He'd taken a few steps backward, used the momentum to jam the toe of one of his new boots into the crevice and launch himself upward. It'd been no good, the tips of his fingers reaching far below the edge. He'd felt it in his body before that, though, the unexpected effort of the maneuver, when it ought to be so much going through the motions. The second try hadn't gone any better, after trying it from farther back, and he'd looked around at the scattered debris in here with him, determining that the leaves and sticks and dirt weren't exactly enough to make anything of. Gives him an idea though.

Climbing up the centerpiece is easier, even if he can still feel the strain in his calves, his arms and shoulders. Steve ignores it as best he can for now, figures he'll get the answer to why his heart's beating harder in his chest to keep up with his exertion when he finds whoever brought him here. Pretty effective, whatever they gave him, to keep him unconscious long enough to move him, and to weaken him even longer — though he can't help but wonder why, then, he doesn't feel the least bit groggy. He reaches the top of the centerpiece and braces himself there, somewhat unsteadily — which he also ignores — and grabs for a branch hanging from the tree overhead. He's just able to reach the nearest one, though it's by no means the strongest, and it bows toward him. He sighs, mutters, "This part would've been a lot easier seventy years ago," and takes a look at his surroundings.
womanofvalue: (Default)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Out amidst the houses
WHEN: September 12th, Evening
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed



House Shopping

Peggy has a hovel.

Before the earthquake, she had been proud to say that it had been her home. True, it had a flooding problem being so close to the river and yes, so it never lost that stink, but it was still a roof over her head and a place to sleep. That had been before the earthquake. Now, she has a home that's collapsed in on itself and no bed to speak of. She had taken hours to get her things out, collecting them all in the small bag that she'd been given on arrival, and now she's on the road.

While the inn had been a pleasant enough stay, Peggy's want for privacy is enough reason for her to want to move on. There's something quite mad about the fact that she's ambling through town looking at empty houses as if she's suddenly some model of suburbia, living a life that others after the war have started to recede back to.

Peggy, of course, had decided to continue with the SSR, which had led her here. It's a strange and roundabout way of getting her into a little three bedroom home, isn't it? Checking her self-drawn map at the next fork in the road, she opts for going left before arriving at another little bungalow, surveying it and trying to picture herself here.

"Well, at least it's quaint," she comments and tucks the map under her arm as she begins the walk up. "Though nowhere will be quite as good as a home with Jarvis." Shaking her head, she resigns herself to a second-rate existence without her favourite butler.

Message in a Pigeon

The birds had been something of a shock to Peggy when, upon opening up the box, had been confronted with two of the ugliest birds she had ever seen in her life. Within a few days, she'd figured out that they're meant to be pigeons and they seem to be the carrier sort that they had used to relay messages. She hadn't been alive for that war, but Michael had always shown her books and stories about people using them. The tricky part, of course, is trying to figure out how to train them.

At this point, they're simply flying to and fro while Peggy tries to attach the little message container to one of the little claws, feeling awkward for dragging the young pigeon forward every time it doesn't hook.

"Oh, for god's sake, would you behave," she snaps at the bird when it starts to coo and try to inch away. Hand to her forehead, she thinks the recent events have started to wear on her sanity, because here she is yelling at birds who don't deserve it. In fact, these could help her in relaying messages and prevent having to cross the settlement without needing to.

If only she knew how to train a carrier pigeon to actually carry a message for her.

"I don't think telling you to straighten up and fly right is going to do anything, is it?" she asks the two birds before her.

They coo, unhelpfully, in return.
upinhisnest: (pic#4142693)
[personal profile] upinhisnest
WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: The (Empty) Fountain
WHEN: September 11th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Loser Archers Within
STATUS: Open


The thing about being on the Raft is that every day Clint wakes up disoriented for a split second, confused as to why he's not in his bed next to his wife. The sensation is enough to almost make this situation familiar. He goes from wondering where Laura is to wondering why he can't hear Sam, Scott, or Wanda - usually at least one of them is up, moving around enough that he can tell they're alive even if they're not talking. Sometimes they talk - it seems to annoy Ross when he's there and Clint's more than happy to annoy that son of a bitch.

But then it sinks in that he's not in a prison cell. His scrubs are white, not blue, there's no security circuitry on them, he's wearing boots and has a backpack, and is in some deep empty well or cistern of some sort. Yes, unlike most everyone else who's arrived here, Clint does not arrive sopping wet and sputtering from the fountain. It's a nice treat, not that he's aware of his luck, as going from one prison to another is bad enough without having every single item of clothing you own coming out soaked in the process.

But that doesn't change the fact that he's in a strange place, in strange clothes, in a pit he can't get out of on his own. He doesn't even bother to try - he knows his physical skills and they're not bad, but even he can't jump straight up to a ledge 15 feet over his head. "Well this is just great," he mutters to himself, then decides to take stock of what he's got.

He checks his clothes, is glad to see that even though they're white (who wears white scrubs?), the scrubs seem sturdy. A dig through the pack reveals no information to where he is, no means of communication, and no weapons. Disappointing but not particularly surprising. The only explanation he can think of is that Ross has decided to start experimenting with them, and that's what's going on here. Maybe they're free, maybe Thor showed up and had some Asgardian magic transport them somewhere safe, but it doesn't seem very likely to him.

He takes 5 minutes or so to orient himself with his belongings and check to see if he can tell if he's had any sort of injection or something, maybe a subcutaneous tracker, and after that he sets about getting out of the pit. And there's only one way he can do that.

"HELLO?" he shouts up at the top of his lungs. "Anyone up there? Could use a little help!"
almightythor: (wtf)
[personal profile] almightythor
WHO: Thor Odinson
WHERE: The Fountain, the village road
WHEN: 10 September
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: Open



Battle was something that sung to him. Thor knew that as a king, he should want to see his people in peace and prosperity and, all told, he did but there was something about battle that drove him to be his best. He loved to fight, to champion those who needed to be championed and he loved to put down tyranny whenever he could. It was this desire that led him to continue to lend his aid to the Avengers and it was this desire that had brought him to Sokovia to begin with.

He'd fought alongside Rogers and Stark, had lent the strength of his hammer to Romanoff and Barton. There was little he wouldn't do for his comrades at arms and even less he wouldn't do in defense of someone helpless, of a city on the brink of peril. He would fight until there was no more strength in his body and, even then, he wouldn't be broken. He wouldn't allow death and tyranny to plague the people of Midgard or any of the other realms so long as he still drew breath.

So how was it, exactly, that he'd wound up in this place? The world had begun to spun after taking a particularly-painful blow and when Thor could open his eyes again, he was in a rapidly-draining pool. He clawed himself upward, scrabbling against the lip of stone, and hauled himself to the ground only to find that it, too, was quaking. An earthquake. How could it be? What did this herald? Long ago, the people of Midgard had read much into such natural phenomena and had thought them portents of something dangerous; Thor knew them to be only the natural shifts and pulls of the earth but he hadn't been in anything as violent as this in a long, long while.

He launched himself to his feet, thinking little about the loss of his armor or Mjolnir and ran away from the trees in hopes that he wouldn't be struck. It would take a great deal to fell him, yes, but he didn't want to find himself compromised in a place that was unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous. Running brought him along to a village, of sorts, though it did not look like anything Midgard or Asgard had to offer. The ground had stopped quaking for a moment and he kept his steps cautious; would it begin again?

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, voice loud and far beyond being polite. He had been in the heat of a great battle, had been needed alongside the rest of his team. Here, he was no use to anyone. What if someone needed him? What if his hammer struck the final blow and now, with him out of sight, the battle was lost?

"It had better not involve Loki," he muttered, somewhat softer. If his brother had a hand in this, there would be hell to pay.
notabirdcostume: (Lap 6)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson
WHERE: #14 The Plaza (Inside and Outside)
WHEN: Sept 10
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Language--probably
STATUS: Open


Just one more thing )

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