chirrutsluck: (worried)
[personal profile] chirrutsluck
WHO: Baze Malbus and OTA
WHERE: All around, particularly the inn, woods, and a spare house at 6I
WHEN: October 18 and onwards
OPEN TO: Any and all
WARNINGS: Varying degrees of poltergeisting

At first, Baze doesn't really notice anything different. Chirrut can't see him anyway, and in the morning light he's tangible enough to be heard and felt before he heads out for the morning to go hunting and collecting wood for arrows. Walking the shadowed woods and not being noticed by the birds and small animals is strange, but he doesn't think too much about it except to take advantage of it.

But anyone who spots him there might not see him until he steps into a patch of sunlight, or he brushes against a branch or leaves. And when he brings the results of his snares and arrows into the inn, he's nearly impossible to see in the dim light. It's only out in the sun that he's obviously there, and even then, he looks a little... see through, and his voice, normally easy to make out if not given to long statements, is muted and distant, hard to make out. The later in the day it is, the worse it gets.

Unlike the raincloud, this doesn't go away after sunset, and Baze spends the next couple weeks in frustrated (and worried) variation of tangibility and visibility, waxing and waning with the sunlight. If he still believed in such things, he'd consider himself some sort of Force ghost, but even if he did believe in such things, powers and magic and the Force don't exist here, everyone says so. He keeps trying to do the things he normally would... with varying levels of success to go along with his varying levels of fazing out, and a constant, low-level, and unspoken buzz of anxiety that maybe he's finally getting around to dying again.
chosenbytheocean: (I got this... I hope)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7i Ocean
WHEN: October 1st
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes
WARNINGS: N/A


It's Calling Me! )
chosenbytheocean: (PB - oooooo)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7i Beach Area [Also around the 7i Boat House & Town looking for stuff]
WHEN: Month of September
OPEN TO: EVERYONE [Feel free to make top posts if you'd like as well. Moana will hit everyone up but this is open to whatever people want.]
WARNINGS: None





Building a boat! )

Image References: Moana's Boat, Boat One, Boat Two, Drawing One, Drawing Two, Drawing Three, Drawing Four.
ottimismo: (Default)
[personal profile] ottimismo
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn, other places in the village
WHEN: September 4th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Sonny trying to drown himself, mentions of religion



Fountain

Sonny bounces back. He always bounces back. He did in high school, after years of relentless bullying, and in law school, when he thought the course load was going to be enough to kill him. He's bounced back from every single case he's ever had, even the toughest ones. Even the ones where the victim didn't make it. Coming back from a hard time has never been difficult for him. It's only ever taken some quality time with his siblings and his niece and a little bit of church.

Those are all things he doesn't have here. No sisters, no family. He has his little makeshift church, but it doesn't make much of a difference. It's been weeks since he's felt God in the village.

And now, Queenie's gone. He's spent the last two days searching high and low for her, but nobody else has seen her around, either. A lot of people have left lately, with no pattern or rhyme or reason. There's no telling who's next, or when it'll happen. if it will happen. They don't know how it happens, or if the people who leave are safe, if they go back home. There's too many questions and not enough answers and Sonny is so tired. He's never felt so tired in his life.

He wants to go back home. Back where things make sense, and he can connect the dots and solve the case and nobody is going to stumble upon any strange pods or discover weird rooms with blood vials.

Probably, anyway.

It's late in the afternoon now, and his feet hurt from trekking across the village looking for Queenie. It's hopeless, he decides as he sits on the edge of the fountain. She's gone from this God forsaken place, and he wants to be gone from it, too. The water ripples, showing him his wobbly reflection in its surface. This is where they all crawl out of, somehow, without fail. It's the only sure thing that happens in this place. Everyone comes out of the fountain. That never changes.

Sonny kicks off his boots, peels off his socks. He doesn't bother with anything else as he slips over the edge of the fountain, into the cool water. A single breath, and he slips beneath the surface, heading straight for the bottom.


Inn

There's no fire in the fireplace, but Sonny sits in front of it anyway, wrapped in a spare blanket from the storeroom. Since being dragged out of the fountain, he's eaten some food and dried off a bit, though his white scrubs are still damp and unchanged.

In retrospect, it was obviously a stupid idea. He's always encouraged victims to get help, find someone to talk to, be open about what they're feeling and going through. He never realized until now that he's terrible at taking his own advice.

He probably needs to apologize to some people. He needs to pray and get some sleep and figure out how he's going to pull himself back together.

For now, he sits, sipping on a cup of now luke-warm tea.

[ Stella will be pulling Sonny out of the fountain, but other than that, interaction is entirely open! Feel free to find him wandering the village before, or sitting at the fountain immediately after almost drowning himself, or chilling at the inn!

Also to be noted, Sonny has been pretty withdrawn and absent the last month or so. ]
catchallthecats: (But I miss things that I have done witho)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: Village outskirts/Forest, Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: During the plague event, backdated
OPEN TO: Village section OTA, Cabin section open to Stark CR
WARNINGS: blanket warning for violence/death chat because it’s murderchild with no filter.


Village outskirts and the forest, OTA
It was no new thing, how Arya all but seemed to vanish when she really wanted to, the only sign of her existence anywhere the fact that her chores were still being done. But she’d seen the illness that seemed to be flying around, and with how off she was starting to feel, she knew it was better to avoid others in order to minimize the risk of spreading it to others. So instead of seeking out one of the rare people she considered a friend, or any of her family, or lurking near the fountain, she spent her day exploring the forest, a satchel slung over a shoulder for anything interesting she found, though her attention was more on finding the kind of trees she remembered as being good wood for things like bows. She’d not made one herself, but she’d seen plenty in the process of being made, and felt that if she was careful, she could possibly manage to teach herself to make one with minimal waste. Given how few bows there were, it would certainly help to have more, and even if they weren’t strong enough for proper hunting at first, they could be used for teaching others how to shoot.

Others might spy her picking her way through the woods, or near the outskirts of the village on her way back. Still alert though she was still paler than usual aside from the red flush of her cheeks.

Stark Family Cabin, Closed to Starks and pre-existing Stark CR
Arya might not have gotten this bad if she’d rested herself when she first became aware she wasn’t well. But then she’d never been one to fuss, had counted on youthful health to help her through, at least until now. She hadn’t even managed to get out of bed before the way the world seemed to spin had her on her back again, kicking away blankets in a vicious if uncoordinated manner as if they were responsible for the boil of heat that had seemed to settle over her like a pall. The only sign beyond her bedroom door that anything was wrong today would be that none of her chores were finished.

As the morning drew on, she hadn’t left her bed, only tossing and turning in some attempt to find relief from the fever, or the itch of the rash that had crept up along the side of her neck over her collar. Sometimes she managed to catch scraps of sleep, the only real relief to be found at this point, but even that didn’t help. Not when she started to wake disoriented, too delirious to realize where she was, or what was going on. In the state she was in, it was probably for the best that the illness had sapped her strength enough that she wasn’t about to go wandering today. The vehemence she sometimes called out with, the way her hand reached blindly for weapons that weren’t there was hint enough that had she the energy for it, violence would be had.


((ooc: If your character wants HORRIBLE MURDERCHILD TRUTHS in the cabin threads, let me know! Otherwise they’ll luck out and find her in the midst of a childhood memory or something instead.))
underpinnings: (sidelong over shoulder)
[personal profile] underpinnings
WHO: Owen Prichard
WHERE: 6I Woods and river, 6I Inn, 7I Beach, others
WHEN: August 24 - 30
OPEN TO: OTA starters with caps
WARNINGS: Burn scar mentions, possible allusions to childhood abuse (blanket warning for the character and threads)


intro

It’s morning when Owen comes to in the water, swims for the pale yellow patch of sky, and pulls himself out of a fountain. Few and far between, it’s still deeper than any fountain he’s ever known, and the preoccupation with it is quickly replaced with preoccupation with: the trees, the morning sky, the gap between grinding cigarette butts under his foot in the Valley and — this.

Patting at his chest, he swipes the wide collar of a shirt wide over his shoulder, blindly checking himself as he stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the trees. Northern species, not even browning for autumn. Foot worn, patchy grass at his feet, a treeline broken in three directions. No tire tracks, no cigarette butts, no wrappers. He was on a street corner, getting ready to bail. Cloudy skies overhead, night painting the clouds purple against a setting sun. Now he’s in the woods, morning dew shining on the grass, starting to shiver in wet — something. Wet scrubs, he finds, looking down at his hands still searching for a jacket that isn’t there, pockets he doesn’t have. When he feels the back of his head for possible injury, even his fucking earrings are gone.

“Fucking shit,” he seethes, coughing once and looking over his shoulder. No one in view. The morning is a quiet one, no signs of who dragged him here, who tossed him in a fountain. Did Eddie sell him out? Is Eddie still in the fucking water?

Catching himself at the fountain’s edge, he searches the clear depths, finding only the shadows of its sides and central pillar.

Do most fountains even warrant pillars? It isn’t a helpful detail, but still — it feels off. As off as a pristine fountain in the woods, the area around it tread flat rather than manicured. If this is some kind of estate, it isn’t the best kept, but maybe it’s hard to find lawn guys you can count on to look away while you toss people into your water fixtures. Staring into his reflection, Owen grips tight to the edge of the fountain, trying to let the questions go until something clicks. His pale face stares back, silhouette against the sky, and he’s neatly distracted a second time when he looks down at his hands.

His arms are bare.

That stabs him in the gut worse than crawling out of the fountain, worse than not knowing where his clothes and wallet are. His left arm holds his attention a moment longer, and he realizes — the lines are too clean. Trisha finished inking those lines two days ago, petals and leaves unfurling around scar tissue, waiting for color, and he’d still been wearing the bandages last night. The skin should be tight and red, itchier than a rash, screaming at him for soaking in the water — but it’s just skin, black ink settled, irritation healed.

How long has he been out?

Owen’s reflection answers only one question: the weight on his back is attached to black straps, stood out against the white scrubs. Slinging one arm free, he lurches it onto the ground. The zipper sticks twice, struggles open on the third try, and he’s relieved to find dry clothes. A trail of water is harder to cover, and wherever he is, whenever it is — it’s colder than LA. Pulling a white shirt with sleeves free, he tugs the wet one over his head without a thought, covering himself rising to the top of his concerns. Overalls aren’t his first choice, but they’re dryer and sturdier than what he’s wearing, and he swaps them out with equal disregard, shoving the wet clothes into the pack and doing what he can to fit the wet boots as well, zipping the bag from both ends to secure the excess at the top.

Replacing the pack at his back, he examines the fountain one last time, confident he’s never seen it before in his life. What he needs is a vantage point, and one he won’t be spotted in from the trails. Following the shadows to turn himself north, he slips past the treeline on damp, bare feet.


prompts within )

elderflowermacarons: (glower)
[personal profile] elderflowermacarons
WHO: Taako
WHERE: A fountainy arrival followed by some pacing around town and barging into the inn
WHEN: 8/22-23
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: None, will add



and that is beautiful )
rangerbecket: (097)
[personal profile] rangerbecket
WHO: Raleigh Becket
WHERE: 6I village, Inn
WHEN: 21 August - mid morning
OPEN TO: All + Mingle
WARNINGS: Put on your Eclipse Glasses TBD



Raleigh had been on his way back from his normal morning routine of checking his traps and fishing for a while when he noticed the sun wasn't quite the way it normally looked - he'd caught a glance at the reflection and saw that the sun, normally perfectly round, was looking a little like a lemon that had gotten beaten up at the grocery store. Huh. An eclipse. He hasn't seen one since he was in Ranger training and he hadn't gotten a good look at that one because he hadn't been directly in the path of it (and, obviously, he'd been preoccupied).

This one, though, looks like it's just starting so Raleigh has time to go to the Inn and tell the people there that there's an eclipse starting and they should get something to try and look at it. He's not exactly sure of the science behind it but he remembers being a kid and making something with a box and earlier he'd done pretty well with the water. Maybe they can take pots outside with water and just look at the reflections? Might work. Maybe, too, one of the scientists has a better idea of how to get a look at the thing.

For his part, it's just something that's different from the norm. Raleigh hopes it's not a sign that the sun's going to start moving backward or staying up all month like it had a few months back and that it's just a perfectly normal, natural event. After earthquakes and people getting sick with some kind of crazy illness, it was good to just have something...mundane to focus on.
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.
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] ill/wounded)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed


It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.
chosenbytheocean: (I cant leave you)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7I – Ocean
WHEN: August 3rd
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None



Sad Thoughts & Losses

Small earthquakes had begun to tremble through the two villages but Moana didn't pay them any attention. She crossed the breach and made her way towards the ocean that rested on the other side, hoping to find a friend waiting for her.

She stood at the shore, her feet bare while the wind tugged softly at her grass skirts. There was so much that Moana wanted to ask the ocean but she couldn't find her voice. She knew that it wouldn't reply to her, she was too far from the home that she knew. Frustration rose in her chest and she kicked at the water, sending thick droplets into the air around her.

"Why aren't you here!?" She yelled at the water before falling to her hands and knees. Everything hit her at once: the loss of her friends, the loss of the heart and the constant reminder of her failure that hung like a beacon around her neck. Moana began to cry softly, her body shaking as the tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"I need you." She whispered to the ocean, her voice soft as she begged for some way to escape the crushing defeat that weighed heavily on her shoulders.
theoldlie: (drown)
[personal profile] theoldlie
WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Fountain / Center of Town
WHEN: July 25
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a


drowning

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. At first, he thinks that obviously he can't breathe, the fire and the smoke from the explosion are causing him to experience his last breaths in a way that mimics drowning, the chemicals from Dr. Poison's vials clouding his lungs and making it feel like he can't get a breath. Only, then he opens his eyes to water surrounding him and realizes that no, this isn't the plane, he's actually drowning.

Again.

This time, he's far more conscious than the last and something like a current in the water is pushing him upwards, though it's like there's a block in his mind that's preventing him from getting past the flinch of expecting fire and poison. With one last strong kick, he surfaces and hauls in oxygen in panicked, heavy hauls, the breath he never expected to take again. He reaches for his revolver, out of habit, but there's nothing at hand on him beyond the straps of a bag and a pair of clothes better suited to the hospital than war. Grasping the stones, he feels a little too unsteady to haul himself over the edge just yet, but he digs his fingernails into stonework and pries himself up until he can roll to the ground, collapsing in a wet heap.

He's breathing. He's ... alive? Steve can't see how that's possible, not unless he failed his mission, and if he'd done that, then there are bigger things to worry about. He needs to get up and find out what happened. He needs to find Chief or Charlie or Sami or --

Steve closes his eyes and thinks about Diana, wishing they'd had more time. Maybe he's managed to get lucky and get himself out a tight mess (though he hasn't got the first idea how), but that doesn't mean that he gets to stop working. Hauling himself to a sitting position, he clambers to his feet when he sees someone passing in the distance through blurred vision and wet lashes. "Hey," he calls, coughing up residual water. "Wait, wait, just hold a second, please," he adds, straining to get his legs to work, but he's still so shaky, the explosion is still so fresh in his mind.

bearings

It's sort of like going back in time to his childhood, Steve thinks as he maps his way around the village, using the measure of his step in order to gauge distances and horizons as best as he can. The houses look strangely unfamiliar, built with materials that Steve doesn't really recognize, but there's common buildings that he can pick out and name with ease. He ventures towards the mill and the inn, takes his time with a few of the other public structures, but eventually, makes his way back to the fountain to take inventory of what's in his bag.

He doesn't find any weapons, which is the first thing he's looking for. After so many years working with the BEF under their intelligence arm, Steve's not entirely sure how comfortable he feels being unarmed, which is something he'll have to fix soon enough. Until then, his own two fists will need to do the trick.

There's a whole wall of things he's not thinking about right now, like the part where he's probably dead and he probably burned up in a haze of poison and smoke, but somehow he's managed to come out of it with a body and a pair of gray hospital scrubs? That's what Steve doesn't understand, not to mention if this is supposed to be heaven or hell, he'd expect something out of it.

Adjusting on his knees as he starts to repack his bag, he glances at his surroundings again and tries to decide which way to go. Without a compass, he'll have to go the old-fashioned way, but with the sun high in the sky, he figures he's got time enough to choose. "North," he says aloud, squinting and trying to get his bearings. "Time to head North."
catchallthecats: (It's alright if you do it's fine)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya
WHERE: The fountain, around town
WHEN: 7/23, mid-afternoon to evening
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: N/A



The Fountain
At least this time it wasn’t freezing out.

That didn’t stop Arya from cursing a blue streak as she was spluttering and grabbing onto the edge of the fountain to heave herself out, water splattering across the stonework as she pushed herself back to sit for the moment, taking stock of herself. Once she was convinced she was in one piece she moved to her feet, stopping only to lean back into the fountain to fish out the pack bobbing on the water’s surface.

She gave the bag a shake that sent water flying in fat droplets before slinging it over a shoulder by the strap. As she walked, she was dividing her attention for the moment between squeezing water out of her hair and scanning the area for familiar faces.

House #28
“Hello?”

She didn’t bother knocking, just pushing the front door open to walk in. Either her family still lived here and all was well, or someone else did and things would get awkward quickly. But if that was the case, Arya honestly didn’t care. The only thing that made her being yanked to this strange place again was that so much of her family was there, especially those that they’d never see again back in Westeros. She simply didn’t know what she’d do if they’d gone since then.

“Is anyone here?”
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Watches (Tender))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/21
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None



It wasn't something many would accept or celebrate, given how this was seen as a curse to some or a prison to others. While there were difficulties and, quite often, chaos, this place was her home. She couldn't return to Westeros and, for all that she suffered here, she had come to love her life in the village. She and Robb had discussed the idea of happiness and whether or not it was possible. Near a month since then, she felt certain of the answer, reflecting it as she rose from bed to let her animals out to graze.

Maybe she had found happiness? She was alive and had something to herself, something pure and away from the politics of Westeros. It might be small and insignificant compared to a crown, but it was truly hers. Her animals, her crops, they were enough to keep her going during the days. But it was those she had come to know here and care for that brought her genuine joy.

After putting her animals away, she gathered her fresh harvest, creating a large fruit platter for everyone. Spread across were peaches, apples, blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, grapes and cherries, grown to that perfect point where there was a mix of tart and sweet. She set the fruit out at the inn, offering a bit to anyone that entered. Seated near the window with Gilbert at her feet and a bit of sewing in her lap, she turned to regard the person that came to join her.

"I have been here a year," she murmured. "I didn't think it right not to find some way to celebrate."
igotacrossbow: (peeking)
[personal profile] igotacrossbow
WHO: Jake Jensen
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Forward-dated to July 25
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, aborted panic attack


Cougar disappearing for a day or two isn't unusual. He's always been the lone-wolf type, prone to withdrawing into himself and doing whatever the hell he feels like despite what anyone else might say, and Jake is used to that. He's used to him climbing trees and staying there all day, to parking himself on the roof and refusing to come down, to skulking around the shadowed corners of rooms and refusing to speak in anything more than the occasional grunt. 

His looming shadow, far-flung as it might occasionally be, has become a central point to Jake's life, the lodestone around which his consciousness revolves. 

Cougar has been missing for nearly five days. 

At first, he'd explained it away. Cougar was out hunting. Cougar was setting his traps. Cougar was exploring. Cougar was sulking. Cougar was lying somewhere in the canyon, injured so badly he couldn't come crawling home, slowly bleeding out into the pine-needle-covered forest floor, wondering why Jake hadn't come to rescue him. 

He hasn't had a panic attack since before he joined the Army. He feels alarmingly close to one now. 

Cougar isn't in the smithy, and he isn't in the store room, and he isn't down by the waterfront. He isn't in the mill, or the cellar of their house, or perched on top of the Inn. Jake is rapidly running out of places to look, and the panic that's been clawing at his throat has really started to get its claws into him, squeezing tighter and tighter. Cougar can't be gone. He can't. They didn't survive Afghanistan and Bolivia only to let this shit hole village to separate them. He's not allowed to leave. 

Frantic, and hiding it very badly, he grabs the sleeve of the next person he passes, for the moment utterly oblivious and uncaring of the fact that he looks like a wild man and could very well frighten the next person he grabs. 

"Tell me you've seen Cougar," he demands, eyes wide and bloodshot behind his glasses. "Do you know where he is?" 

001.

20 Jul 2017 06:55 pm
learntthehardway: (106)
[personal profile] learntthehardway
WHO: Diana Prince and OPEN
WHERE: Fountain, Inn.
WHEN: Evening of July 20th and on
OPEN TO: Open to everyone
WARNINGS: N/A will update if needed



f o u n t a i n

    She felt as though she were floating, coolness surrounding her, caressing her skin. Slowly, she opened her eyes and jerked back realizing that she was emerged in water. She floundered for a moment, trying to figure out just how she got there but decided that getting to the surface was more important at the moment. Normally she loved swimming, but she couldn't think of how she'd ended up in.

    What stated at first as uncertain movements, turned into calm strokes as she pushed herself up towards the light dancing across the water's surface. She'd always been a sure swimmer, able to swim long distances, hold her breath for long periods of time. But now she found that her lungs were beginning to burn before she even got to the surface. She doesn't understand but as she shot up out of the water, she was gasping for breath.

    Diana was still gasping as she pushed her way over to the edge of the fountain she found herself in. She looked around and her eyebrows drew together and she realized that her surroundings are completely foreign to her. She dragged herself out of the water and the black clothing she has on feels heavy and water pools under her as she stands there, trying to make sense of what was happening. She pushed a wet, limp strand of hair out of her face and she shook her head. This was wrong but she knew she had to figure out where she was so she could get back home.




i n n

    She'd explored the village and hadn't really seen anything that would alert her to anything obviously out of place. Except not a lot of people seemed surprised to see a woman walking around sopping wet, carrying around some backpack she'd come out of the water wearing. She hadn't really tried talking to anyone and though she wanted answers, needed the time to pull herself together, to try and just figure it all out. She might not have known where is was, but she knew she needed to get out of there, to find a way back to where she belonged.

    She finally found her way to the inn, and honestly she probably should have gone there first. Inns had people and people meant information. Information meant a way out of there. She stepped inside, eyes blinking to adjust to the change of lighting and then she'd taking stock of the room, examining its occupants. She wanted to ask questions, to get answers but she was also hungry and a bit tired. She pushed that back though and rounded her shoulders and took a deep breath before heading towards the first person she sees.

    "Excuse me!" she called out to them. "Where is this place?"
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Looks Back (Longing))
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/15
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None



Despite her misgivings, she had ventured into the woods, keeping close to the path. There were a number of plants she recognized, many that knew there were uses for but couldn't quite remember. There had been a book in the Vatican that mentioned herbs and plants, as well as their medicinal uses, but she hadn't had the chance to study it or begin her own experiments, as she wished. But now...now there was time, even without the book.

Spreading out the leaves, roots and berries over one of the tables, she sniffed and inspected the plants studiously. There had been a few pieces of paper in the schoolhouse. Using a bit of charred wood, she sketched the plants to the best of her abilities. It was messy work, but she would at least have a record of what she collected.

A few were easy to guess, aloe, lavender, rosemary, but so many others were a mystery to her. But they were beautiful and delicate, entrancing her in her work. Someone took the seat across from her, stirring her from her thoughts as her blue eyes shot up in surprise. "Oh! Forgive me, I didn't see you."
chosenbytheocean: (eeeeeee)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean
WHO: Moana
WHERE: The Forest & The Inn
WHEN: July 5th - 15th
OPEN TO: Closed
WARNINGS: Fighting/Violence most likely...



The Inn - July 5th - 10th


Moana wasn't sure what to make of it. She had found the heart over a week before but hadn't thought to show it to anyone. She kept it in her grandmother's necklace which was now useful as well as a keepsake of the only family member who truly understood her.

She sat on the floor near the fire place. It was to hot to have the fire going but this had been Moana's seat since winter. She saw no reason to change that now. Itiiti, the little piglet, was snuggled against the side of her skirts, enjoying the feel of the grass around his round little body. She looked down at him briefly, smiling before she gently opened her necklace.

The heart dropped lightly into her palm, glowing a familiar green light.

"Why are you here?" She asked the heart as if it might be able to reply back to her. She'd notice that the strength of it's glow had been changing. Right before the earth quake and now she felt that it was dimming. Like a heart beat that was slowly reaching it's end. "Please. Please don't die. I need to return you to where you belong." Moana begged softly, curling her fingers protectively around the stone.

The Forest - July 8th - Bear


She knew that the heart brought trouble, Moana had seen it first hand on two separate occasions, but she hadn't thought that it would happen here. This village, this realm, felt so far removed from the world she knew. Surely no one knew what the heart was or what it could do.

She'd been wrong.

It still brought trouble to it's bearer though it was a little different from before. Moana had been walking through the forest, following behind Itiiti as the little pig sniffed out mushrooms and other eatable roots. She had a small basket with her that was half filled with things that she planned to bring back to the inn. With the crack in the rocks and the damage to the town, food that could travel seemed more important than before.

Her fingers sank into the earth as she dug up a handful of fungi. Itiiti bumped her elbow, sending Moana face first into the dirt. Her necklace popped open as she hit the ground and the glowing green heart rolled out of it's hiding place. Moana pushed herself up and reached for the stone. When she her fingers touched the smooth surface of the Heart she heard a roar echo threw the forest. The ground trembled and she thought it was another aftershock of the quake. It wasn't. The trees parted and a large black bear lumbered into view.

"Itiiti Run!" The piglet didn't need to be told twice. He squealed and took off into the woods. For anyone who ran into Itiiti he'd be too frightened to lead you back to his owner.

Moana scrabbled to her feet, wondering if she'd somehow stumble onto the bears home. Her basket of roots and mushrooms had fallen over and now sat a few feet to her left. Against all logical reason she reached down to try and gather up the food back into the basket. "Please stay away." Moana was used to monsters that could understand her and talk. She's never seen a bear before.

The Inn - July 15th
Place Holder. ooc: Heart looses it's glow. Unsure if Moana will have traveled to 7i by then or not. Pending how the meeting on July 10th goes. She wants to see the ocean as soon as she can. And try to get a boat there so that she can try and sail across the ocean. I might also have another prompt up where Moana is being chased by wolves on the 11th or 12th if anyone is interested in that.
bit_fairytale: (troubled)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: June 28th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Depression


It's been days since Amy's last seen her husband. At first, she'd just thought he'd gone off to the hospital to work himself to exhaustion like the man he is, but then he hadn't come back for dinner and hadn't come to bed with her. No matter how hard Rory worked, he'd always come back to her. Then, Amy had figured maybe he'd found a way out or the Doctor had arrived and Rory was in the middle of something, but the village is calm apart from its usual madness, and no one's seen Rory.

She knows what's happened. She's known since the moment Rory didn't come to bed, but her denial has been the only thing keeping her sane. Even that can't last forever, though, and now, Amy's finally starting to break because she's having to acknowledge that Rory is gone. He's been gone from her so many times before, but she almost wishes it were like the cracks in the universe again, just so she wouldn't have to feel like this.

"Come back," Amy pleads, for what feels like the hundredth time, hands together in desperate prayer. "This is not the sort of anniversary present that a woman wants, especially not for ten years together, Rory Williams, you come back," she demands, gritting her teeth together as she sinks to sit beside the fountain, feeling punch-drunk with exhaustion (she hasn't slept properly in so long, not since he vanished, and it's catching up to her). "We made a promise, it was you and me, together," she pleads, scraping at the stones of the fountain, like she can somehow coax him back with sheer faith alone.

She'd brought them to a bloody hotel prison with faith, she'd brought Rory and the Doctor back from nothing with memory, so why can't she do it again? Only, the water stays placid and still, no one comes out of the fountain, and Amy Pond is spending two days after her wedding anniversary alone. No Rory, no Doctor, and only Amy Pond, alone.

She rests her head on the stones of the fountain, eyes blurred with tears, her limbs heavy with grief and exhaustion. It's not the first time she's lost Rory, but it's the first time she's lost him and felt this aimless and without a plan. What's she supposed to do, now? What's the point of any of this if she hasn't got Rory at her side?

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