Credits & Style Info

chosenbytheocean: (PB - oooooo)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: River/Waterfall/Cave
WHEN: [Forward Dated] Event – Finding the Pod June 16th
OPEN TO: Sam Wilson
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: CLOSED



They chase anything that glitters. )
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.
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.]
notabirdcostume: (Jump 3)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson and OPEN (except 1 thread)
WHERE: Inn, Church, Around the Village
WHEN: May 2-3
OPEN TO: All, 1 Closed Thread to Sonny & Stella
WARNINGS: Possible discussions of trauma -- I'll be more specific if something comes up.
STATUS: OPEN


1. May 2 Inn -- Kitchen; Morning or Evening [OPEN]
If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there as fast as I can... )

2. May 3 Village: Morning [OPEN]
The road is burning up in flames and nobody wanna take the blame... )

3. May 3 Church; Afternoon [CLOSED - Stella & Sonny]
Let's raise the bar... )
scepterschild: - (Please don't)
[personal profile] scepterschild
WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: Home/Inn/Woods
WHEN: May 1st - 8th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None yet
STATUS: OPEN



Home - May 1st – Early Morning



It wasn’t unusual for Wanda to be woken by her nightmares. They came more readily here than they had at home, playing over every loss and uncertainty like a Scooby Doo rerun on TV. Lately her dreams have been about her brother and more often than not she’d find herself jolting awake by slinging a ball of red sparks across the room. This morning brought no damage to her surroundings. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest while sweat matted her long dark hair to her neck and shoulders.

She was quick to get dressed, pulling on her jeans and the white tank top that she’d been given on her arrival. The house was warm though she could feel the morning chill creeping like thin tendrils through the air. With a heavy sign Wanda kicked open the door to her room and headed down stairs to see how much of the night’s fire was still burning in the hearth. Her fingers laced through her hair pulling the brown silky strands back from her face. When she reached the living room Wanda extended her fingertips out towards the far side of the room, willing her powers to move a log onto the fire.

Nothing happened.

She called for her abilities again but nothing happened. "Move." She kept her hand pointed towards the far side of the room, her voice harsh as she glared at the stack of logs. "MOVE!" Wanda shouted as she quickly stepped towards the small stack of logs, kicking the one she’d been commanding halfway across the room. The log thumped loudly against the floor. She wanted to scream at the piece of wood but what little self-control she had stopped her.

Woods/Around - May 1st - All Day



Eventually Wanda left her house. Tension was set in her shoulders as she walked straight for the forests edge. She didn’t want to believe that her powers were gone, that there was now nothing she could do. She was helpless, defenseless. She couldn’t protect anyone.

She’d had her powers for so long; she didn’t know how to handle them being gone.

When she reached the trees she shouted, listening to her pained cry carry over the canopy. She kicked at the trees around her, her boots stopping with every solid object that she’d come into contact with. Rage, pain, fear, frustration and hate mingled in her chest as she lashed out at everything around her. She threw a fist into the tree, feeling the rough texture of the bark scrape and bruise her knuckles. Again and again she hit the trunk of the tree, wishing she could push all of her feelings away.

When she returned her town her knuckles were bloody and brushed, her hair matted to her neck where a thin layer of sweat covered her skin. She looked tired and worn out, having managed to release the bulk her frustration in the woods.

Inn/Around - May 2nd - 8th - Brooding



Wanda could be found in many places throughout the village. She was determined to prove that being without her powers didn’t change anything. She knew it did but it was the only way she could fight the frustration that knotted and grew uncomfortably in her chest.

Early in the morning Wanda would split wood for her home, occasionally kicking a piece of timber that wouldn’t split properly. She helped Kate preserve the meat at the inn; this never required the use of her abilities and was now one of Wanda’s favorite tasks. While every other after noon she could be found cooking at the inn, using the few spices that she knew and testing the ones she didn’t. Wanda wasn’t sure when the last time she ate was. She remembered making food but not eating it.

In the evenings Wanda dreaded to return home. It was when she was trying to sleep, alone in her room that she’d lose herself to her thoughts and her doubt. It was stupid. She knew that but so many things were changing and there was nothing she could do to stop it. A distraction, all she needed was a distraction.

She could usually be found sitting at a random table in the common area. There was a button on the table in front of her; sometimes she’d spin it on its side with her finger while other times she’d just stare at it, expecting something to happen. Towards the beginning of the month she’d search for any abandoned liquor from the feast, welcoming the dizzying sensation that it brought with it.
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (Default)
[personal profile] mund
WHO: Percival Graves
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: Half an hour after the first sighting / hearing of the Obscurus
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, abuse, hate, etc
STATUS: Something like a mingling -- feel free to post OTAs of your own. If you need Graves to respond, just put his name in the header / or in bold somewhere in your comment!



the ragged they come, and the ragged they kill. )
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."

yorkist: (Default)
[personal profile] yorkist
WHO: Bess
WHERE: Fountain/House #51
WHEN: 4/1 + onwards
OPEN TO: OPEN
WARNINGS: Aside from maybe some amusing 15th century cursing, nothing.
STATUS: backtagging


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fountain ━ April 1 )

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Village + House #51 ━ April 2 & beyond )
notabirdcostume: (Flight 13)
[personal profile] notabirdcostume
WHO: Sam Wilson & Open
WHERE: Around the Village -- Cliff Walls
WHEN: March 19 - March 21
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Bugs (but only in one thread)
STATUS: Open


1. Discovering Abilities: March 19 Morning )

2. Test Flight: March 19 Afternoon - Morning of March 21 )

3. Cliffs of Danger: March 21 Afternoon )
posilutely: (008)
[personal profile] posilutely
WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: Fountain and Inn kitchen
WHEN: 22 & 23 February
OPEN TO: Graves, Credence and YOU
WARNINGS: Potential spoilers for Fantastic Beasts
STATUS: Closed to new threads



fountain (for graves & credence);

As far as prime places to wake up out of a deep, snuggly sleep go, Queenie is pretty darned sure this one goes at the very bottom of her list. In the muddy mental place between sleeping and waking, when her body jolts sharply forward, upward, she thinks she's done a doozy and disapparated in her sleep. Just last week, there had been a story in the papers about a little old lady minding her sweet business in Queens who ended up in the middle of a No-Maj cheese factory. She'd accidentally fallen asleep with her wand her in her hand and sneezed. It happens, it really does.

And oh, Queenie's gone and added insult to injury and ended up smack in the middle of the ocean -- No, the Hudson -- and her wand isn't in her hand anymore. She's going to drown out here and Tina will be all alone, and gosh, she'll be so ashamed of Queenie she'll probably have to make something up about it. Trembling hand clutched bravely to her breast, my sister Queenie died battling a rabid fire crab. She saved three starving orphans and an 80-year-old nun.

Because the thing is... Queenie Goldstein never learned to swim.

When she sputters to the surface, she's gotten there by sheer instinct alone, her muscles flailing with rigid panic. She coughs, spitting up water and then gulping more down, arms frantically slapping before she sinks once again.


inn kitchen, the next day (ota);

Every inch of Queenie's body feels utterly worn out. The confusion of finding herself just about as far away from New York City as it's apparently possible to get is lingering, crouching at the back of her mind, but she guesses she oughta be grateful that she's too tired to do more than just shove it aside and get on with... well, whatever the heck this is.

Just now, breakfast.

Without a wand.

Hands on her hips, she's crouched down in front of one of the ranges, peering inside the heavy opened door at the neat pile of firewood inside. "Oh, applesauce," she mutters, and then puffs out a breath that stirs the short hair skimming her cheeks. She's never had to light a fire without magic before, not once.
markwatney: (013)
[personal profile] markwatney
WHO: Mark & Anyone
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: Feb 16, afternoon through evening
OPEN TO: EVERYONE! This is a mingle post!
WARNINGS: N/A - Please warn in thread subject lines if needed
STATUS: Open


When we all get together and have our town meetings, the truth is that a lot of times we don't come up with the sort of solutions we're looking for. I'm not trying to say we're complacent -- Or at least not all of us, not the people speaking up in the meetings -- but just that the nature of living here, such as it is, means that answers aren't exactly forthcoming.

But the latest meeting, the one about organizing, creating some kind of formal entity to oversee the group of us, it threw something into sharp relief for me: I've been talking for a long time about how we all need to be sharing our knowledge as a safeguard, but I haven't been doing much to make this happen beyond sharing my own personal knowledge. And that's really just not acceptable -- Not here, not when we've apparently got an entire section of the population asking for active leadership and another section who might just be too shy or apathetic to admit it.

So, I've been trying to figure out a way to kickstart this project. A way for people to even put out there the sort of knowledge they have to share. You have to start somewhere.

I've never had a problem getting people together to help with the field, but somehow we've been neglecting the town hall building right next to it this entire time. It's one of the biggest buildings in town, but it's still coated in dust and cobwebs, piles of leaves drifted into corners. The inn is starting to get a little crowded during meetings; it might be nice to have a little more room, a place where people come to share.

Regardless of how you feel about community leadership, I think most of us can get behind that.

A couple days before, I put out the call: A cleaning party. We get together, clean out the town hall, and afterward we have a little potluck. People can bring premade dishes, or we can cook out back over a bonfire. We can just be around each other, in a relatively safe space, just having a moment to relax and say hello. Meet someone new, find out where to begin.

After everything that's happened recently, I really think we could use it. I'm just hoping I'm not the only one who shows up.

[CLEANING PARTY & MIXER! Threads can take place during the CLEANING portion, after during the MIXER or BOTH. They can be indoors, upstairs, in the attic, out back by the bonfire, chowing down, whatever -- It's 100% cool to improvise! Mark will have expressly told folks this is about getting to know each other and what they can each do, too. There are some additional OOC notes here.]
repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (62)
[personal profile] repressings
WHO: Credence Barebone
WHERE: The edge of the village, the inn
WHEN: 2/15
OPEN TO: OTA with a closed section for Graves
WARNINGS: severe injury via explodey lightning, mentions of Credence's history re: blacking out, talk of severe abuse in the threat with Rory
STATUS: (Is it open to new threads?)


ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇs'ʟʟ ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ )
seekingcrocodile: (this thing doesn't sharpen itself)
[personal profile] seekingcrocodile
WHO: Killian Jones
WHERE: The inn
WHEN: February 14th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: Open


Someone's in a good mood. Which is probably a little strange for this place, but that's just how it is right now. He's got something to look forward to, namely his wedding with Emma (or as much of one as they can manage to put together in this place, at least), and the weather's finally improving, a little at a time, and the whole situation is helped along by the occasional sip from the flask in his pocket. (Although he is rationing as much as he can, since he knows that he has a finite supply of rum to fill it with.)

He got a particularly good haul of fish today, and he's out of the way in a corner somewhere, with a basket of his catch and a bucket that he scrounged up somewhere, to use for catching the insides of the fish as he cleans them out. This (hopefully) avoids a mess all over the floor, and the contents of the bucket can then be used as bait or possibly as animal feed.

As he works, he finds himself setting a rhythm, which then leads to humming, soon followed by singing. That had been the point of these sea shanties, after all, to set the rhythm of a task for the crew. It comes naturally to him now, and the mood and the rum mean that he doesn't care what others might think.

"I'll sing you a song, a good song of the sea
(To me way, hey, blow the man down)
I trust that you'll join in the chorus with me
(Give me some time to blow the man down)
"

If only random bits of metal would stop sticking to his hook while he's working.
scepterschild: - (Fighting)
[personal profile] scepterschild
WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: Fountain & Around
WHEN: February 12th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE!
WARNINGS: Threatening people in the first post.
STATUS: CLOSED



Fountain; Very Early Morning


Wanda pushed her way from the fountain, a noticeable frown tugging at her lips as she moved. She was soaked, it was freezing and she had no idea how she got here. Moving quickly, Wanda pulled the backpack from her shoulders and rummaged through its contents. She didn't know what she was expecting to find but she was grateful to see a set of dry clothes stashed inside. After making sure that there wasn't anyone watching, Wanda began to strip off the wet layers and pull on what she had found.

Her movements were quick as she pulled the pale gray scrubs over her head. Any sound or inclination of another person would cause her focus to shift. She'd quickly turn towards her new company, red mist snapping an icicle from nearby shooting it towards the stranger.

Wanda would stop her attack just before striking. She wanted answers.


Around; Mid-Day


Wanda took the time to explore the village; learning the few threads of information that were available as well as who else was around. Her powers felt different, distant, and her tests to use them confirmed that a large fraction of her strength had been taken from her. It was frustrating and it pulled at the strands of tension that gathered beneath her breastbone.

She didn't like feeling like a rat in a cage.

She meandered through the village and around it's outskirts, her eyes inspecting for details that might offer a clue that others have missed. Wanda was familiar with cold weather and snow; neither deterred her from having a look around however she didn't wander very far.


Near the Inn; Night Sky


As the afternoon drifted away from Wanda she began to noticed the intensity of the lights stretching across the sky. She's seen auroras in the past. They were streaks of light that curled like brilliant ocean waves against the dark contrast of night. She had hoped to see the stars but the auroras were shining like a second sun, efficiently hiding anything else from sight.

"Hmm?" Her tone was soft, her chin tilted up to stare at the sky. "How is it that people sleep."

Wanda knew she should sleep but her thoughts were heavy and distracting. The auroras gave her something to focus on and for the moment she wanted that distraction.
womanofvalue: (relived nightmares)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Outside the fountain
WHEN: February 2nd, Evening
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Ice Powers, Grief
STATUS: Open


It's been days of searching, to the point that even for a woman of Peggy's stubbornness, there are boundaries as to how much she can take and how long she can go denying the truth. She's searched every possible crevice the village will allow her, looking for bodies alive or dead, but it's becoming painfully clear that she's not going to find her friends because they're not here any longer. She'll miss Barnes and Natasha, of course she will, but that's not what hurts so badly.

Peggy's been at the fountain, her last resort. Perhaps whatever cruel joke this is will vanish and Steve will pop up again, like he's never been gone. She'd honestly thought that something might be going right in the universe again, if only to give her back the best man she'd ever met, but that's all gone too. Inhaling sharply, Peggy can't keep back the grief any longer. Her sobs are a choked sound that she muffles with the collar of her cloak, trying to brush away her tears.

Tears, unfortunately, that are crystallizing on her cheek. Reaching up, Peggy stares in confusion and wonder as she holds an icy teardrop on her fingertip. It ought to melt away with her body heat, but a quick touch to her skin proves that she's just as cold as the weather around her, something that shouldn't be possible by any means.

Swallowing another sound in her throat, Peggy finds herself sitting heavily on the edge of the fountain, not sure she has the energy to cope with this on top of everything. She's been accused of being an icy bitch before, but she'd never thought it would end up being so literal. "You'd laugh," she says aloud, not sure which departed friend she's speaking to now, whether it's Steve or Howard or Jarvis, "it serves me right. The one moment I need affection and compassion, this place drives ice into my heart to keep people at bay." Letting her head hang forward, any tears that come turn to ice nearly immediately, dropping to the ground like a miniature weather event right in front of her, but she can't make herself move just yet.

Steve is gone. He's gone again and she's not sure how to say goodbye so quickly, this time.
andrend: (04 I hear something more)
[personal profile] andrend
WHO: Kylo Ren
WHERE: Just outside the Inn
WHEN: February 1st
OPEN TO: All; Threadjack style
WARNINGS: None other than that this is really long.
STATUS: Open


The fact that daily meals not only existed, but seemed to do so in spite of snow, earthquakes, and auroras in the sky, was one of a few consistently positive glimmers of hope for the village and its inhabitants. It also had the benefit of drawing a large number of those same inhabitants to one predictable location more often than not. For Ren, that was normally a reason to avoid the inn in the hours after dawn and before dusk. However, with his mind on the conversations he had had with Sansa and Veronica, and the missing beast presumably still roaming somewhere out in the canyon, Ren knew he couldn't keep approaching the problem the way he had been, previously.

Veronica's advice still lingered in his mind fresh enough after a month of thought to have him trying something new. He waited for a good number of people to enter the inn before doing so himself, and asked, with a softened tone and a calm voice, if people could spare a moment when they finished to have a discussion.

He had missed the most recent meeting, entrenched as he had been in his training. It had been another lost opportunity, and he wanted no more of those. This was as good of a chance as any, and he was taking action before action could be taken from him.

With his request submitted, he left the inn and borrowed a sturdy crate from outside one of the unused buildings. He took a seat on it, just outside the front of the inn, during the meal. Most people came and went through the doors, and it gave him a good position without worrying about the crowding of the growing village's size packed inside one space.

When enough people decided to come out and take part, he stood back up, his long hair loosely pulled back, and the scar the cut across his face and down his arm far more visible for it. He looked around at the faces gathered, some familiar, others new, and straightened his back, standing taller and more assured. He needed people to trust him, or at least trust that what he had to say might be important. But he could not be harsh, he could not demand. He had to coax reason out, and the only way to do so was to offer his ideas as ideas, and nothing more.

"A lot has happened in this canyon. Some of you have been here for far more of it than I have. There have been hazards, storms, unusual discoveries, and violent creatures. People come and go, almost always without the slightest inclination as to how or why. I myself have gone and returned, and I remember nothing of it." He paused there, one hand holding onto the metal staff he had been using so long now it had become an extension of him. He rested it on the ground like a cane now, using it to keep himself grounded.

"This canyon is unpredictable. The dangers and threats that may face us in the future can not be anticipated wholly, and there is no way of knowing who among us will still be around to see them. But one thing is clear. I do not believe our captors have ever intended anything positive of this place. They observe, and they prevent our escape. They take our strength, our possessions, our memories," He hesitates a moment, his grip tightening on the staff, his voice sharper for a moment before settling back to an even tone. "And they toy with us. We have no idea who they are, what their true intentions may be, or how they came to bring us here, only that for now we are trapped here, together."

He looks over the group that has gathered, a frown crossing his face, his brows furrowed a moment before smoothing over. He has to choose his words carefully, and for the sometimes reckless young man, it isn't easy not to dive straight in.

"I think it's time we discuss whether or not this place needs more than the loose assortment of tasks and common, repeated actions it has as it currently stands. I believe we need a leadership in place. A council. With how unpredictable this place has proven to be, no one person can or should be trusted with that task but more dangers will come, we will face more disasters, more attacks that we can not see coming. We can not assume that we will always have the luxury of waiting until after the fact to react."

He breathes, slow and deep, and tries to find the words again, searching for the right phrasing, the right voice.

"I think a council is something we should consider. A group of people to share the burden of making tough calls or assigning tasks when things go wrong, or when something needs to get done. It will not work, however, if disagreement runs rampant underneath it. That's why I came here. At the very least, it should be discussed. If the majority is against it, I will drop the matter, but if we do not at least have this conversation, I do not think this village will last many disasters before the fragile organization the structure of it is currently built on collapses and falls apart."

Having said his piece, Ren stepped aside, and offered the area he had been speaking from to anyone who might choose to use it.

[This is a meeting post open to threadjacking, interruptions, opinions, and the like. If your character has anything to say, let them do so. I'll drop a secondary comment below for Ren specifically, otherwise go wild and respond to anyone you like or start your own thing. It's intended to be an IC discoure over whether or not the village needs some form of leadership, but any actual organizing of a leadership is not intended or planned to be formed from this meeting.]
womanofvalue: (big eyes)
[personal profile] womanofvalue
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: January 23, PM
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Lie detection afoot!
STATUS: Open


It should just be any other morning, as far as Peggy's concerned.

When she wakes, the village still appears charged with whatever powerful magnetism has been at work for some time, but that's not the only strange thing. She can't put her finger on it, but she goes about her business as usual, taking the time to get herself ready for a day of exploring and fetching supplies. She spends the morning amassing wood for hers and Stella's home, delivering that back, and when her stomach rumbles a warning, she heads towards the inn.

That's where things begin to get even stranger. Alvarez is there, delivering his eggs, and when Peggy makes the briefest of small talk with him, she ends up asking whether everything is going well at home and with the man who looks like Steve's cousin. When he says 'yes', it's like something in her pings an alarm. Peggy can't explain why, but she instantly can tell that he's lying to her. With her heart and soul and everything around her, she knows that he is, but she just doesn't know why she knows.

By the time she's wrapped her head around the fact, Alvarez is gone, but Peggy feels compelled to test this out a little more, trying to understand exactly what is going on and whether it's measurable or whether she's just developed even better senses at detecting untruths than usual.

If that's the case, she half wishes she'd been able to have this back in New York. It would have made discussions in the office and with Howard far easier, if she'd known when he was lying. So she waits, impatiently, and when the door opens, she springs forward without even taking a long look at whomever it is. "I need your help," is what she insists, in a tone that implies there's very little choice in the matter.
pretendtoneedme: (tac suit)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Clint Barton, whoever
WHERE: Around town, the fountain...
WHEN: Throughout January 19th
OPEN TO: Anyone who wants to encounter him
WARNINGS: Standard mentions of drowning, otherwise TBD, but there'll probably be talk of fighting at the very least. Violent babies.
STATUS: Yes (if this changes, I'll edit)




1) Arrival (Early Morning)

Waking up underwater was pretty much the last thing Clint expected after managing to fall asleep after their rescue – and it was pretty much the worst. Whatever phobias he'd had as a kid had been trained out of him over the course of his life, but there was still a lingering thread of unease about really deep water, since even with as good as swimmer as he was he probably wouldn't be able to escape it fast enough to find breathable air. It didn't ever lock him down or stop him from going on any sort of underwater transport, but he was always just a hair more primed to act when on a sub or a submerged helicarrier. Birds just did better in the air.

So when he woke up not only not where he expected, but underwater, Clint's first reaction was one brief moment of panic before clamping it down, because panic would definitely get him killed and he had a lot to live for to die so stupidly. There was a soft light filtering down from what was probably above him if the pull of gravity was any indication, something looped around his shoulders that felt familiar and so was discarded as not a threat for the moment, and a sense of being pushed up. Whatever was going on here, getting air was the most important thing, and only about a second of orienting himself and taking all of that information in passed before he was following that push and kicking to the surface. Fortunately it wasn't as deep as it looked and he broke the surface only a few moments later, gasping for a clean breath and sculling to the edge of the... fountain? What in the hell...? And why was a fountain so deep...?

Grabbing the rim, Clint hauled himself bodily up and over the side to sprawl on the ground, breathing heavily and waiting for the pressure in his head to even out. Once it did, he was smacked clean in the face with how cold it was, especially for someone who'd gone to sleep in early summer in Africa. It wasn't made better by the fact that he'd managed to fall in a pile of old snow, or that he was only wearing what looked like white scrubs and some decent boots – neither of which he'd ever seen before. (At least the scrubs weren't blue.) Sitting around wasn't going to help anything, and he needed to dry off and warm up before his muscles seized and he got hypothermia. Waiting would do him and anyone else stuck in this situation no good. Pushing himself to his feet, Clint started stumbling to the nearest building that looked like it was inhabited, determined to find some answers.

2) Acclimatization (Early Afternoon)

Absolutely nothing about this place made sense. That was the only conclusion he could come to – it had to be magic, or alien science, or something. How else could a person (group of people, probably) kidnap so many different people from so many different times and worlds and with so many different skillsets? And not have any of them remember how they got here or be able to find a way out? They had to be dealing with something beyond any of their experiences and that, more than anything, was a frightening thought.

But he didn't let it show, because it would do no good. Panicking would just leave them stuck at square one, and so the first step was to canvas the area. It would take him a few days to map the entire place (as much as he could), but for now Clint – now warm, dry, and wearing every speck of clothing that had been in that pack since it was a shock to go from summer to winter – was taking his first walk around the village, ducking into every major building just to see what's going where and start making his mental map. Know where all the hiding places and all the exits are. Don't get stuck in a corner if you can at all help it. Maybe they were trapped in this place, but they didn't need to make it easy for whoever put them there.

3) Analysis (Late Afternoon/Evening)

Maybe it was a dumb idea for his first day, but Clint didn't even try to stop himself from taking a short walk into the woods. He wouldn't go far – monsters or animals or whatever weren't something he wanted to take on without at least a knife he could throw – but it was another resource, another set of potential hiding places, and it sounded like their best chance for food. He hadn't grown up with nothing in the backwoods of the mountains, but he knew how to survive out there and how to best live off the land if he had to. He was good at hunting and he was not good at sitting around and doing nothing (much to the annoyance of the doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D.). Day One was probably too early to jump in like that, especially since he had nothing to hunt with, but he wanted a first look so he could start making some plans.
ottimismo: (Default)
[personal profile] ottimismo
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn, House Number 7, House Number 24 (the Church-in-progress), and in-between
WHEN: January 17th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Religion? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open!



i will get down on my knees and i will pray )