womanofvalue: (plotting)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: In the Inn
WHEN: October 20th, at sundown and moving towards
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: She's fading, fading away!


Something strange has been happening to her, though Peggy has been having a terrible month and the truth is, she hasn't seen fit to get out as much as she ought to. It had begun earlier, when she'd started to see Steve less around town and then, when enough time had passed that she was sure he wasn't just avoiding her, Peggy had come to the epiphany that he was gone again. Then, when she'd gone to find Barnes to ask him about it, he wasn't there either, though at least with him, someone had mentioned seeing him go off with Moana earlier.

And yet, couldn't he be gone, too? Just like all the others who've left.

It's been a recipe for isolation and Peggy has spent most of her time in her home with Stella, but each night, she ventures out to the inn to see if perhaps James has returned. The strangeness that's happening each night upon which she seems to be less opaque than usual worsens and as midnight nears, Peggy hasn't been able to put her hands on anything and secure them. With the sun beginning to set, she feels that same sensation again as she stands in the lobby of the inn, pacing and watching the door as she tries not to fidget, and yet, it's a futile exercise in two ways.

The first being that it's not going to stop her thoughts.

The second in that, her fingers keep slipping through the strands of hair she keeps absently touching. Yesterday, no matter how she tried, she couldn't get Stella's attention when she'd called for her in the middle of the night, and now Peggy has had to put aside her grief and admit that something is very wrong. The trouble is, what happens if she can't figure it out? Will she simply vanish? It's a terrible thought, but right now, with no solution, she has little else to do but worry.

"Hello," she says, frantic to escape these thoughts when someone opens the door. Before she even sees who it is, she's blasting into a question. "Can you hear me? See me?"
ethnobotany: they're exactly the same }{ insurrection ({ now i'm asking questions)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: Outside mostly
WHEN: backdated to October 14th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: will update if needed


A lot of things have happened since Beverly surfaced out of the fountain. Some of them have seemed almost normal for a Starfleet officer to experience, while others seemed like something a Cardassian or Q would cook up. Despite still not being pushed for Starfleet intel or information on the Enterprise, Beverly isn't entirely convinced that one of the above isn't running the entire show.

On days like today, she leans more towards Q. If she were at all aware that yesterday was her birthday, she would be even more convinced that Q is the prankster.

The day starts out as well as most, but partway through, when she's headed to the Inn for lunch, she notices that the ground is unusually bright. She lifts a hand to shade her eyes from the sun and barely anything happens. In fact, as she turns her hand over, she notices it isn't casting a shadow at all. More to the point, she isn't casting any kind of shadow. Even turning around and looking down doesn't produce anything. Nor does lifting her feet.

"The trees and buildings are all casting shadows," she comments to herself, but loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. "Are the people just not?"

She probably looks a little strange wiggling her arms and legs around, as though a shadow will simply fall off of her if she moves enough. Eventually, she'll end up in the Inn, where she finds she is still not exactly casting a shadow, even in the unnatural light inside. Still, even shadowless people need food. And maybe a bit of company.
pretendtoneedme: (aiming)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: Area behind the inn/police station, fields/forest, and behind the boathouse (all in 6I)
WHEN: October 1-3
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Nothing yet; will update if anything changes





( October 1 - Archery Lessons )

The leaves are starting to turn colors, everything except the needlers going gold or red or brown, and it's getting less comfortable to wander around in shirtsleeves although he's still doing it most days. But back home that cooling and color changing means something specific to him that it doesn't mean to a lot of people he worked with - namely, hunting season. It's something he grew up with and still participates in, back home, and here it'll be even more important considering the number of mouths they're going to have to feed over the winter, even with the recent losses of a fair number of people, since among them were some of the regular hunters. In the latter half of September, Clint's switched his focus more towards food acquisition than construction and repair for that reason (and the fact that the scavenged wreckage is beginning to run out), but good as he is he knows he can't feed over fifty people alone. There's other hunters, but not enough, and not nearly enough equipment. It's time to get to making more and teaching other people to use them. Finding Baze trying to make bows and arrows a couple weeks before had basically forced his hand, and Clint had offered to teach him exactly what to do, both in crafting and in actual shooting.

Now, the fruits of their labor are ready for testing. The four bows aren't that great, they were all done in too big a rush and probably nothing's going to last longer than late spring, but they're even and basically smoothed out and Clint figures even getting some basic weapons out into the community will help and he'll have the winter to really get down to crafting some good bows. The arrows are much better; there's a huge box of arrowheads in the inn storage, more than even he could ever possibly need in a year, and he'd liberally helped himself to them and feathers from some of the geese he'd brought down to make quality arrows. They're more likely to break than the bows simply because they're thinner and they're the things making direct contact with whatever's being shot at, but they'll shoot straight and true until then, and their non-wood parts can likely be reclaimed and used again.

He's also taken five of the abundance of snuggies from the inn storage (why would there be so many snuggies?) and rolled them all up to make a target that he'd balanced on a tree stump and weighed down with some rocks so it wouldn't go rolling off into the sunset when it got shot. The blue of the outer snuggie is eye-catching, and he's carefully testing each bow and its cord of tightly twisted duct tape with the new arrows. They work... well enough. Not what he's used to, but they'll work fine for anyone with some sort of skill at aiming - and he's willing to help people find out if they have that skill. He might even make this a real thing every few days until it gets too cold for any but the most dedicated hunters to be out seeking a target.

He looses an arrow, which pierces his fluffy target, then speaks to whoever's watching him while reaching for the next one and not moving his focused sight on one bit. "If you wanna try it out, come on over. Just don't get in the gallery."

( October 2 - Dastardly Tricks )

In the vein of archery, Clint's taken to roaming the forests looking for good slim branches he can cut for arrows for about an hour a day, and today's no exception. Archery lessons went decently well and he's cautiously optimistic about their chances at finding enough game. If the bows don't break. If they don't run out of arrows. If there's not another natural disaster. If- So, yeah, looking for more supplies is always good. He also keeps his eyes open for any branches he could use to make another bow, but those are harder to find. He's debating binding reeds together to give them another one, as makeshift as that is.

It's almost harvest time, so he's not taken aback when he sees the apple hanging from the tree in front of him - big, red, bright and shiny, like the tree had been tended by the foremost gardeners in the world from the time it was a sapling. Their own fruit output looks pretty good, but none of them are as perfect as that sample. Clint doesn't even try to stop himself from reaching up and picking it, not realizing any significance in the fact that it's just inside his comfortable reach, and-

-it vanishes in a little puff of apple-scented air, prompting an outburst of дерьмо́! and him nearly dropping the small bundle of sticks he'd gathered to season for arrows. "I was looking forward to that," he mutters, regathering the sticks he'd fumbled and continuing on through the trees. Without realizing that he'd come away with something even if it wasn't a nice, juicy apple: a set of soft gray, fluffy bunny ears and a matching white-tipped tail smashed flat under his scrubs pants.

( October 3 - Under Construction )

Did Clint want to go outside and face a few dozen people who were probably still laughing at the stupid ears and tail? No. Is that what he's doing? Yes. Well, sort of.

He's gone out after breakfast at the house, sure, but even though he's not hiding, he's not exactly hanging out in the middle of the village tempting everyone to tease him. While he's still one hundred percent not happy with the trick played on him, the snow that had dusted the ground when he'd woken up had lit a fire under his ass on a project he'd been working at off and on for about a month. The days had been getting chillier, hunting season was coming, sure, but snow? Whatever hands are controlling the weather, he's pretty sure they're about to fuck with the residents again. Over the past few weeks, Clint - and lately, Baze - have been forming mud bricks with some plant fiber mixed in, leaving them to dry after being shaped in a wooden frame Clint had lashed together from branches and paracord. It's something they can only work on on days with no rain, since the bricks need to dry in the sun, but they've manufactured a respectable pile of bricks that are more or less 12"x6"x4".

Today's all about putting that together. Using the mud technique, Clint had cleared a small swath of grass and moss and other ground cover from a small area behind the boathouse and mixed it up to form a concave "dish" of mud in the ground, which he's now piling the bricks around in a square formation, leaving space for a door that he's planning on stealing from one of the damaged homes. He's also got a few thick, more or less straight branches piled off to the side, chopped down to matching lengths that are clearly for some latter step in the process. But the smokehouse he's been planning is finally being assembled, and hopefully soon it'll be ready to start preserving their meats.
womanofvalue: (tastes good)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Peach Trees - 7I
WHEN: August 31st
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes
WARNINGS: n/a


It's almost exciting to have so many new things to explore, to the point that Peggy has stopped looking past the why. Well, that's hardly true. She's never going to stop wondering why these things are here, but she can at least enjoy the fruits of their spoils. Literally, in this case, given that she's dragged Bucky out to the grove of peach trees in the name of exploration. That ocean or lake or whatever it had been has yielded nothing, along with the strange room they can't breach (but that weighs on her mind), and it's left her wanting more answers and receiving none.

She's using the peach trees as an excuse both to get out of her house, but also to drag Bucky with her, because perhaps, if there's anyone, he might understand what's been troubling her lately. Unfortunately, that does require Peggy to inevitably talk about the vials of blood and how they've put her in such a place in the past, not to mention the other emotional icebergs that Steve Rogers presents.

"Here," she says, already half-climbed atop a tree and fishing around for some of the peaches to drop down, craning back as she uses a branch to support her as she winces, seeing that she'd just narrowly missed striking Barnes in the head. "Duck?" she offers, belatedly, perching on a little spot halfway up the tree with a peach in hand.

They're quite good, actually. They must be something else, given that she'd heard rumours of people healing after eating them, but as far as she's concerned, all she really wants is the fresh fruit.
womanofvalue: (off kilter)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Outside the Inn
WHEN: September 1st
OPEN TO: Steve Rogers
WARNINGS: n/a


It's been an odd few weeks most recently, what with one thing after another. Part of her feels like there are pieces of this puzzle that she's missing, because it seems far too obvious that the flu had somehow been connected to the opening to the other side of the village, not to mention that strange room of samples. It's the latter that's truly weighing on her, tugging at old, raw memories that she doesn't like to think about. Every night, she dreams about standing on the Brooklyn Bridge with what she'd thought was Steve's last vial of blood, but she'd been wrong, hadn't she?

What if they've got more of it here? What if this is some elaborate scheme to get at Erskine's serum and she's been looking past the obvious the whole time? Part of her is also aware that she's using the incident and discovery as a way to ignore the other dreams she's been having. Steve has been here with her for months now and Peggy is no closer to understanding how to open up and tell him how she feels if it isn't already glaringly obvious.

Every time she closes her eyes, she thinks about bloody Steve Rogers and how she'd kept trying to protect him even after he'd gone, like somehow she could save him when he had been frozen so far away from her. Will this just be another retreat of last time, another instance of Peggy being unable to do anything but let fate trod all over her and take away what she'd just figured out she wanted. It's these thoughts that plague the back of her mind as she wanders around the village to try and give herself inspiration and perhaps it's simply her mind directing her there or the universe pointing her that way, but she ends up finding Steve outside, working, and isn't entirely sure whether she's prepared.

Well, now she has to be, she decides, never one to shy away from something potentially difficult.
notquitegeisha: war stories (You call my name)
[personal profile] notquitegeisha
WHO: Inara Serra
WHERE: Fountain and around the village
WHEN: September 1 - September 4th
OPEN TO: to all
WARNINGS: angst, anger, mild language



Fountain

    Inara Serra broke the surface of the water, sputtering and gasping for air. Frantically she was trying to make her way to the edge of the pond or fountain she'd found herself in. She hauled herself up over the edge and still gasping for breath, she rested her forehead on the edge of well, a fountain.

    She had no idea how she'd got there. Because the last thing she remembered, she'd been speaking to Sheydra on the terrace outside of her quarters on Sihnon. Sheydra! Her head snapped up and she was frantically looking around as she tried to push herself to her feet.

    "Sheydra!" she called out, worry and fear making her tone sound almost hysterical. "Bāngbāng wǒ!" she cried out before leaning over the side of the fountain as she desperately stared at the water, hoping and praying that her friend would break the surface of the water. "Sheydra, please," she whispered but didn't see anything other than her own reflection.

    She could feel her chest tightening and tears beginning to form in her eyes. No Sheydra. But if she'd been taken, surely Sheydra had been as well. She didn't know why she'd been taken though--- Wait. Her eyes narrowed and her fear quickly melted away to cold fury.

    Malcolm Reynolds.

    She'd probably been snatched because of something he'd done. It wouldn't have taken much digging to find out that she'd rented a shuttle from him at one point. But it wouldn't have taken much more digging to find out she'd left the Serenity months before.

    Her head tilted back as she straightened and took a few unsteady and very waterlogged steps. "I don't know where he is! You might as well take me right back where I belong! The Guild doesn't take kindly to kidnapping!" Surely whoever had taken her would be listening and once they realized their obvious mistake, they'd take her back to Sihnon.



Around Town
    Somehow she'd managed to make herself look presentable before she'd headed out to look around the village. She wasn't sure how she'd done it but even though she looked presentable, she was uncomfortable. The fabric of the teal scrubs felt scratchy against her skin. She wasn't use to wearing such things and she found herself longing for her silky dresses and her lotions and her makeup.

    It was selfish and petty, she knew that. But she still missed it.

    She exhaled as she reached up, pushing back her hair back over her shoulder. Her curls looked almost wild, but there was little she could do about them since she didn't have any of her products with her. But the wild curls looked good on her, even if she didn't particularly think so. Sighing, she dropped her hand and looked around. As much as she tried to mask her emotions, it wouldn't be entirely too hard to tell she was confused and lost. She wanted answers, wanted answers and wanted out of there.

    She wasn't sure she'd get those things.

    But, she could at least try and find answers. Maybe there was a library, something that had some sort of information. Something.



((OOC: Hover over the Chinese for translation))
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!]
ethnobotany: + alexander | i am so sorry i couldn't save him }{ ethics ({ confusing stars for satellites)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: The Inn, her house, fountain square, the spring
WHEN: August 15-20
OPEN TO: every section is OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of: death, terrorist attacks, being held hostage. She'll be having delirious flashbacks and I'll update warnings as needed based on threads.


August 15th is mostly a normal day for Beverly. The luncheon is nice, the only difference to her day. Otherwise, she spends the day at the hospital doing her duty or at her house, working in the garden or inside. It's while she's in the garden that she begins to notice how... off she feels. It isn't much at first, though she wobbles a bit when she tries to move and can often be found leaning over with her hands on her thighs and her eyes closed. Sometimes she's even very obviously leaning against the fence itself for support, and she isn't entirely sure she can manage to make it through.

Eventually, she manages to get back into the house. Just inside the door, she calls out, "Jean-Luc―" and falls to her knees on the floor.

The 16th hits her hard. Visitors may be welcome to stop by while she's sick, but she may or may not be lucid. During those lucid moments, she's chilled and feverish and very obviously ill, but she can at least hold a decent conversation. When she isn't lucid... less than pleasant may not accurately describe her condition. She paces when she can pull herself out of bed, and when Jean-Luc will allow her to. While stuck in bed, she rolls and tosses, not entirely aware of her surroundings, and can be heard mentioning something called the "Ansata" or "Cardassians" with a tone of distate mixed with fear. Someone lucky might even hear "Q" in a tone of quiet loathing. The unlucky may hear something else in a tone of cold and very real fear: "It's the Borg."

Early on the 17th, she starts escaping. It's never for long, but any time Jean-Luc needs to use the bathroom or make tea or food or check on her garden or even closes his eyes for half a second she takes the opportunity to flee. She's fast for someone who's as ill as she is. Clearly there's a lot of built-up energy inside her. Either that or she's literally running on empty and will drop to the ground in the next instant. Either way, she ends up in places like the Inn or fountain square. One time, she even makes it to the spring, where she ends up cooling herself off by swallowing a bit of it at some point. By the end of the day, she's back in bed.

For the 18th and 19th, she stays in bed for any visitors who might want to come by again, but this time Jean-Luc is stricter about her confinement. It's just as well, though she isn't in any frame of mind and hasn't the strength to escape again. By the 20th she has miraculously recovered and after lunch, she heads back to the Inn to see if she can find anyone who visited or might have heard that she was ill so she can reassure them that she's fine.
lastofthekellys: (rabbit and dandelion stew)
[personal profile] lastofthekellys
WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 15th August | Noon
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: N/A
NOTES: All sections are completely free for all! You can handwave your character helping out or thread it out, or just jump in to them eating. All characters are ICly invited, as they are every day. In light of the illness plot, feel free to use this post as an excuse for your characters to catch ill or spread the plague around.
STATUS: Open and ongoing!




Rain, hail, shine; blizzard, earthquake or lightning storm, the meals at the Inn have continued. People can, and do, wander in at breakfast and supper - as long as the stores are enough for three meals, anyway - but the main meal remains the one at midday. It's this meal which is the main event that Kate structures her day around, making sure volunteers arrive to help prepare, serve, and then clean; double-checking that there is enough food for all, that stores aren't too low and that fresh greens have been gathered. With the village chickens now producing eggs regularly there's a welcome addition of protein to the foodstuffs, and by now there are a number of experienced cooks in the village. At least, experienced in the ways of cooking communally and with what's on hand.

The main room of the Inn is swept, dusted; cutlery and bowls, plates are laid out on the sideboards in piles to be collected as people need. Everything is as it should be, even if some people - Kate included - are feeling a bit under the weather. But that's to be expected, isn't it? Everyone gets run down, has a day or two of feeling off colour. Certainly, it's nothing to worry about.

So come on in, help at the kitchen or pull up a chair at a table and enjoy some warm food and company while the outside confusion stays firmly outside.
womanofvalue: (spy conversations)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Lake - B Side
WHEN: July 13 - 16
OPEN TO: Wanda Maximoff
WARNINGS: n/a


In all honesty, the minute that the team had come back and reported the lake, it had been a miracle that Peggy had remained as long as she had. She did see the point of waiting for someone to go with, which was why she'd been pleased that Wanda had also volunteered. She trusted the other woman and knew that if Steve thought her capable of serving on a team together, then Peggy would be safe with her at her side. That didn't mean she was going to skimp on her weapons, bringing everything she had with her.

They might not have encountered anything when they went, but Peggy has seen far more than enough to know that this place was not to be trusted.

The trek itself had only been a few miles, but Peggy found herself relishing the ability to do something. Each ache, each bead of sweat, it's all earned, but it's a glorifying feeling because it's better than nothing. "What do you think?" she asks, when the lake starts to come into view. It's a sparkling and glorious sight, even if only because the canyon has finally yielded something. She wants to jump into the water, but she has to prioritize the exploration, she knows.

"Left or right?" she asks, turning to Wanda and allowing the other woman to make the choice.
3ofswords: (resolute)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: July 1st through the 8th
OPEN TO: ALL - Event Mingle
WARNINGS: Please warn in comment headers for sensitive subjects.


The rain had started shortly after the initial quake, a constant downpour counter to the aftershocks trembling through the canyon at-will.  Homes had been destroyed under their own shaking weight or fallen trees, the parched earth quickly flooded and muddy, the river regaining some of its depth.  It's the kind of shit-show Kira had expected after the first quake, his experience of them largely from movies--but this had been so much worse, with no calm blanket of snow to cover all evidence after the fact.

After the aftershocks die for enough time to venture out, the rain is still pouring, the earth still shrugging like it might finish toppling the already ramshackle structures. 

There's no telling who else might be trapped in there, without an orderly line of residents and Veronica's list of arrivals.  There's no telling who might have just up and disappeared in the middle of it all.  The injured will go to the hospital, but there will be plenty of people without serious injuries, who still need somewhere dry to sleep, somewhere to check for friends or family, somewhere to feel like they aren't dealing with cracked and flooded homes alone.

It takes most of the afternoon to drag his supplies to the town hall, use a tarp to cross over to the house he and Veronica use for map-making, and set up inside with a sign-in sheet and basic inventory of supplies.  Now he just has to get people passing through to add to both.

Leaving Aurora and Hoshi safe in one of the smaller storage rooms, he pushes himself back out into the rain, telling everyone he meets to bring themselves and what they can salvage to the Town Hall.

[Mingle post for after the earthquake.  Come sign in as not-dead or missing!  Bring your tools and supplies for recovery efforts!  Report loved ones missing or search for them in the crowd!  Post is set up for people to be in and out of the building throughout the week, mark your OTAs accordingly.]

clandestin: (005)
[personal profile] clandestin
WHO: Aurora Luft
WHERE: Fountain & Random House
WHEN: 1 & 2 July
OPEN TO: Neil MacKay & Everyone
WARNINGS: Probable discussions of war and PTSD


1 July, afternoon - Locked to Neil


Aurora's first thought is that something has gone terribly, impossibly wrong. They had all been trained for that eventuality -- Long, grueling hours on drills, actions repeated until they became instinct -- But it isn't the mechanics that are the problem here. It's the logistics.

They'd been flying over land. Lots of land. Acres upon acres of farms and ranches, with no body of water bigger than a shallow pond. This she knows for a fact; she'd studied the map with the same pointed dedication she always did before a jump. Not that the discrepancy matters to her body, which knows only water and the precise number of seconds until she loses mental capacity, strength, consciousness. She shucks off her pack, locates the surface and kicks.

Emerging with a sharply shuddered gasp, she sucks in water, coughs jaggedly, and blinks against a downpour. The world is shaking, she realizes now, rocking her in the water and slapping waves against her skin, the air vibrating with a sound like artillery but not, rumbling and sharp cracking like the earth is tearing itself apart.

Impossibly, there is a wall mere feet before her, and her body seamlessly reacts even while her mind races, hauling herself over the edge as she ticks off possibilities that can't conceivably fit. Collapsing on the far side, she stares panting through the curtain of rain while slick cobblestones shake loose beneath her fingers.


2 July, morning - OTA


Distantly, Aurora is aware that she is in shock. God knows she's seen it over and over again in others, felt it enough times herself to know, even if she's seldom given herself more than a moment before shoving it down hard into the pit of her stomach with every other terrible thing she perpetually carries there. There's never been time for anything else, never the opportunity to dwell on something so intangible. You have to keep moving or you'll stay stalled forever.

Except that time is apparently all she has now, in this place that she is still not convinced is real. She's drifting, ghostlike, as she wanders up muddy streets and behind houses, counting details, automatically taking stock as rainwater slides over her scalp and down the back of her neck.

Merde.

There's a house before her that looks shaken but structurally intact. She slicks her hair back from her face with both hands, makes her way up the steps and wrenches open the front door. Furniture is toppled, the air filled with lazy motes of dust.

"All right," she says with a sigh, and leaving the front door open to the sound of the rain, she steps forward and hefts a china hutch back up against the wall.
assertiveness: (≺ 246 ≻)
[personal profile] assertiveness
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Near the inn, then the hospital, then around the village
WHEN: July 1st-3rd
OPEN TO: Various closed threads and an OTA section for post-earthquake recovery nonsense (see headers)
WARNINGS: Descriptions of injuries


all i'm asking is to be alive for once. )
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.
canaria: made by me | please don't take (working or some such)
[personal profile] canaria
WHO: Sara Lance and open
WHERE: Fountain, then various, winding up at the inn.
WHEN: June 20th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Mention of death
STATUS: Open



Fountain:
The cold water is a surprise. But, thankfully, she's a good swimmer, so Sara moves her way to the water's surface and takes a deep breath of air once her head breaks the surface, and she coughs a small bit of water out of her mouth -- her blonde hair is clinging to her face, shoulders, neck, back. while she doesn't have a fear of water, finding herself in a body of water in this kind of circumstance vaguely reminds her of years ago when she was on a ship that sunk.

This also, she's pretty certain, isn't the time travelling she'd just decided to sign up for. Before she found herself in this fountain, she'd been talking with her sister, Laurel, standing right beside her. Why isn't Laurel here too?

But, she hoists herself out of the fountain completely, shakes some of the water off of her arms, and rings out her hair. If anyone happens to be around as she stands there, they'll get a:

"Just tell me that thing doesn't revive the dead." It's a stupid joke about her Lazarus Pit experience.

Elsewhere / inn:
Sara spends the rest of her day exploring what she can of the village she's found herself in. She won't go too far so as not to potentially wear herself out on her first day here, and so she can become more familiar with certain parts before others. Just because she could do it, probably, doesn't mean she should. So she paces herself.

She does, however, eventually decide to go into the inn. There are probably several more people in there, and people equal potential information (about this place, and maybe if someone has seen her sister if she's here too). Also, she should consider food soon. That's ... probably a smart thing to do.

But first, she'll open conversation with the nearest person by asking: "Uh, hi. Do ... you know of someone named Laurel Lance here?"
163: (40)
[personal profile] 163
WHO: Steve Rogers and YOU
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, Town Hall
WHEN: 16 June
OPEN TO: Open to all
WARNINGS: No warnings as yet.
STATUS: Open to new threads



on a steel horse i ride. )
caelus: made by chatona for me dnt (Default)
[personal profile] caelus
WHO: Jim Kirk
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: Backdated to June 10 and onward.
OPEN TO: All, unless otherwise marked.
WARNINGS: No warnings as of yet.
STATUS: Open.



jump to warp. )
womanofvalue: (disheveled)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Riverbed / Peggy & Stella's House
WHEN: June 10th / June 11th
OPEN TO: 1st section is open to all; 2nd is open to anyone Peggy considers a friend or anyone who would be stubborn enough to barge into hers and Stella's house
WARNINGS: Descriptions of an injury
STATUS: Open!


The River

The sun hasn't gone down properly in too long and Peggy is weary past recollection. She'd never considered herself someone so greatly affected by lighting, yet the steady presence of the sun in the sky has robbed her of her sleep, paired with the fact that it's so unceasingly hot. It's that exhaustion that sets her into a dazed mood, sleepwalking through her tasks. She's barely paying attention when she gets to the river, but even with her attention half there, no one would miss how low the levels are.

It's clear that she won't be fishing today. She's not quite worried, but Peggy is too tired to be worried, slipping her boots into the river in order to measure the true level and how much they've lost in the past few days. Perhaps it's time for her to stop fishing and go back to the canyons, picking up whatever berries and other greens on her way. Her mind drifting back to a cloudy state, she continues to walk up the shallow river, but when she climbs out on a few of the smoother rocks (shaped by the river's flow), her foot slips and her body gives way, crashing down hard on the outcropping of rocks in front of her.

She's ready to criticize herself when a sharp pain accosts Peggy in her side, a familiar place of pain after the incident with the rebar, but it's not quite like that. She hadn't hit her head, so that's a plus, but a glance downwards as she steadies her hand on the rock shows that there's something in the shallow water below her that looks suspiciously like blood. Moving her body up a touch, it doesn't take long for her to see that it is blood and that it's her own.

There, in between the rocks and wedged out like a pointed weapon is an arrowhead, covered in several inches of warm blood that gives Peggy a good indication of how deeply it had punctured her (or perhaps it had scraped her? She can't see, given the angle). Turning herself cautiously, she settles herself on the dry land beside the river, pressing both palms against the wound to apply pressure, most certainly awake now and chastising herself for being so stupidly distracted.

Closing her eyes and swallowing her pride, Peggy knows that she's not getting out of this without at least some intervention. "Is anyone nearby?" she calls, keeping her tone from wobbling. "By the river, it's Peggy Carter!" she calls, a little louder. I need some help, she thinks, but stubbornly doesn't say, because it will be clear soon enough once she's found.

The Day After

It's all terribly familiar, this stinging sensation in her side that's just painful enough that it nearly knocks her out. She's been lying in bed for nearly a full day, though, and the last time she'd injured herself had been far worse. She had gone right back to work. Clearly, that means that Peggy was well-suited to get up and have some breakfast, knowing that Mr. Jarvis wasn't going to come and fetch it for her. She had the presence of mind to check on the bandage at her side, pressing it tightly against her stitched wound. She also took the time to glare at the arrowhead on her bedside table, since that bloody thing caused this whole mess.

Carefully, she pressed a hand down into her bed to lever herself into a sitting position, pressing the back of her hand to her sweaty forehead. The terrible head and the constant sun had been keeping her in a state of exhaustion before, this new injury hasn't done anything to help. When she moves to stand, the weakness in her legs could be for any number of reasons, but whatever the cause, they force her back down to the bed as her frustration mounts.

She'd saved the whole world and she'd been worse off.

Perhaps if she could get to the spring, she could heal herself and this could all be in the past. "Up we go," she says stubbornly, swaying a little as she makes it to her feet, inching her way towards the door at a rate that suggests she'll reach the springs approximately next month if she keeps it up.
fishermansweater: (Actual human dolphin)
[personal profile] fishermansweater
WHO: E V E R Y O N E
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: During the hot weather in late May
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: PROBABLY NAKED. cw your warnings in individual threads.
STATUS: Open. THIS IS A MINGLE, have at it, tag around, you know what to do. If you want Finnick, let me know in the comment subject!





He wouldn't actually say it was really hot yet, but it's definitely getting to the sort of temperatures that make Finnick miss swimming. There's no substitute for the sand of a beach underfoot, the reassuring roar of the surf, the taste of salt in the air, but there is at least water here, tumbling down from the waterfall and flowing through the canyon until it disappears into the rocks to the south. And he knows from constantly checking his fish traps that the water is deliciously cool.

He's tested out a few spots along the river for swimming, and it's good to be in the water again, after being kept out of it for so long by the harshness of the winter.  Not swimming doesn't feel right to him, and it never has. He's never spent this long somewhere with a winter this cold, and he can't remember ever going this long without swimming. So Finnick's been testing the water out since before it was probably what most people would consider to be warm enough to swim. It had helped that he and Annie had some gifts to hunt for in the river, but those have long been found, and now it's just for relaxation.

The calmest, most relaxing place he's found so far for swimming in the river is the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where the water plunges into the canyon crisp and cool from the heights of the cliffs. It's deep around the falls, and it's big enough to swim, and Finnick spends most of the hottest parts of the day there.

So whenever he hears someone talking about the heat while he's dropping food off in the village, he suggests they try the waterfall pool. Word's likely to get around, so he won't be entirely surprised to find other people stopping by the falls.

When they do, they're likely to find him swimming around the deep part near the falls, stripped down to his underwear and, from the grin on his face, having the time of his life. It's clear just from looking at him that he's good at this, moving through the water with a confidence and grace more like to a sea-creature than a man. He's in such a good mood that he even calls out to greet many of the people who approach.

Of course, he's not the guardian of the waterfall: everyone's welcome to stop by whether he's there or not. Once or twice, there's even a moose to be seen standing at the edge of the pool taking a long, relaxing drink.
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (35)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone and apparently half the village (including you!)
WHERE: Inn for the OTA, various in closed starters
WHEN: 5/15
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse
STATUS: ongoing




Eventually, Credence has to leave the house. Eventually, Credence has to face what he's done and eventually, he finds himself blinking blearily into the early morning sun, heart hammering in his chest as his foot crosses the threshold of Kira and Bodhi's residence for the first time since he'd been dragged there from the forest, half asleep and utterly exhausted. He finds he doesn't burn up immediately, nor does he feel like collapsing inwards on himself, and takes another step forward. It's a slow start, but a start nonetheless.

He feels terrible, of course, but he's quick to mentally reprimanded himself. He doesn't deserve to feel terrible, not anymore. Not ever. He's long since stopped sleeping because he's recovering and instead has slipped into sleeping due to what he feels is idleness, choosing to nap constantly to avoid the world. 15 days and he's positive--positive--he's slowly driving those he temporarily shares a residence with absolutely insane. Even if it's false, it's what he perceives, and they have a right to be upset. Everyone does.

That's why, very carefully, he makes his way towards the inn. His body feels strange, dimmed, and that's the only reason he leaves in the first place: he's sure the scratching in his skull stopping altogether means the Obscurus--Obscurial?--is at least contained. It's safe for him to be near other people.

He stares at the inn door for a very long time, for what seems like a lifetime, before he physically wills his body to open the door. The weather's changed, but he's still wearing the black fisherman's sweater Finnick has given him, covering himself and hiding skin, the only scars showing the ones on his palms. He tries his best not to shake and keeps his voice as calm as he can, surprised that his nervousness only cracks his voice once.

"Hello? I was wondering if anyone needed help this morning. With..." His voice trails off, face reddening. "..Chores, or..."

This is stupid. They're going to chase him out.

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