[EVENT] The Simulation Ends

WHERE: 6I Fountain Park & Elsewhere
WHEN: April 1
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

Far, far away, in a place that isn't really there, people begin to blink out of existance.

It is the first of April.

It is precisely ten o'clock in the morning.

[Please see event details and guidelines here.]

Entry tags:

[MINGLE] Glitches: Locked In

The Inn is still a place that most of the villagers gather and, as such, a perfect place to conduct an experiment. Since it is a place of high traffic, it is not uncommon to see people come and go at all hours of the day and night; men and women come through to eat meals, to deliver game and simply to talk and catch up with others. If there's any bit of news or a new development within the village, it always spreads through the Inn like wildfire.

So what happens when the Inn is locked away from everyone else? What happens when the doors cease to work and the traffic in and out of the myriad doors is forcibly stopped for an afternoon and evening? Chaos? Panic? Both? Neither? That is precisely the hypothesis being tested today.

There are ways out, yes, but they're cleverly hidden. The keys are not in the normal, visible places they should be kept and each key fits a certain door. Additionally, those doors have to be opened in a certain order or nothing is going to happen.

How long will it take for the Inn to open up to the public again?

[Details can be found HERE]

Entry tags:

[we're quiet on the ride, we're all just waiting to get home]

WHO: Ned Stark
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Mid-February
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: N/A; will update as needed.

The Setup
It was the blaze of red that had caught Ned's eye, carefully perched like a patch of newly spilled blood on the windowsill of his chambers. He'd thought himself mad, seeing visions of death in the blossoming sunlight of dawn, but upon closer inspection, the realization and understanding had cracked over his skull like an egg. He'd seen these envelopes before, twice - first with Moana, as she tried to rid herself of the letter by one of the trees on the outskirts of the village, and then with Beverly, as she sat, brows furrowed and concerned, by the crackling hearth in the inn.

Each letter demanded something of its recipient, the thing itself unable to be destroyed or ignored. He'd run his finger across the wax insignia. It had reminded him of the flaming tree of House Marbrand, but he knew this was no raven-sent message of home. This was sent from their captors, the Observers. The controllers who went unseen and unheard, known only through their manipulations of the villagers' lives. It had unsettled Ned down to his core, rattling his molars and vibrating his bones with a sense of dread he couldn't quite understand.

But now, it seems, his turn has come.

He takes hold of the sealed envelope, turning it over carefully in his hands a few times before finally slipping a finger underneath the flap to open it. With trembling fingers, he removes the letter - eyes skimming over letters without truly understanding, needing to go back and re-read to fully absorb the demand being made like a blade at his throat.

A sacrifice. The price to return home. The word itself, "home," screams out at him from the page, practically rendering him blind and deaf. But - what waits for him back in Westeros? Would he be returning to his last known breath? He'd rather not experience the horrors at the Sept of Baelor, listening to the jeers of the crowd with a thirst for blood and a call for his head. Hearing his daughter's pleading, frantically searching for his other daughter's face in the sea of sneers and flustered, angered faces. But if he could return to a time before that? Back to when life had been simpler, back to when he'd had his beloved Catelyn at his side, when they'd watched their children train in the yard and their worries seemed few and far between? How sweet a thought; it almost makes his chest ache with want.

The Stark House
He removes his fur-lined cloak from his wardrobe, folding the letter up and keeping it close to his chest underneath his other wintry Westerosi garments. As he makes his way through the house - getting himself something to sup on for breakfast, stoking the hearth, ensuring they've enough to eat, going about his morning routine - he seems to be preoccupied. His mind is elsewhere, brows stitched together with concern, worry, and silent dispute. He might even be grumbling to himself about this thing or that, not making much sense of whatever can be heard.

Outdoors - Anywhere around the village
Once he's finished there, he makes his way into the village, taking time to enjoy the silent solitude that these early morning walks provide him. Margaery had started the pattern shortly after he had first arrived, and he finds that he cannot seem to truly start his day without them now - though her company is more and more scarce as time goes on. (Deep down, this pains him as he'd come to enjoy her friendship, but he will never admit such a thing).

Still, he seems distracted, absent-minded. He goes about the motions as he heads towards the center of town, eventually heading north to check traps and investigate the riverbed, but it's clear his eyes are not truly seeing what lies around him. They're envisioning other worlds, other possibilities. He stops a few times at seemingly sporadic moments and locations, completely lost in thought, only to come to after a few moments, after which he continues on his way.

The Inn
Finally, as he does most days, he finds himself wandering back towards the warmth of the inn, sitting opposite the raging fire. He cradles a mug of something in his hands, though he's barely touched its contents. Instead, he idly spins the mug in between his palms and fingers, both restless with unused energy and worry.

It's only here, when his guard is down, that he reveals the envelope, clutching it in one hand, as he fights the call of home as best as he can.

Entry tags:

004 ➵ you know i love the element of surprise (OTA)

WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: 6I Inn; lake in 7I
WHEN: 21 January
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: TBD. Also a note - Oliver has a lot of tattoos and scarring that will be visible.

but i only see one way out (lake)

OTA

It's probably idiotic to do this but Oliver at least has come prepared. He has his warm jacket, a sweater he'd recently gotten in the box, two pair of socks and three blankets set at the shoreline. For his part, he's naked as the day he's born and trying to get up the courage to jump into icy cold water. It's slow to come, yes, but eventually he just takes in a deep breath and wades into the water until he can start to swim.

He swims until his lungs burn and each pull of his muscles borders on painful rather than a good stretch. His concentration on form and speed helps to distract him from how goddamn cold the water is and he feels like this lake is endless. Is it endless? It certainly seems that way from the shoreline. Right now, he has no idea how long it's going to take him to get to the other side but he's going to do his best.

He doesn't know how many meters he manages before he just has to stop and tread water for a moment, the shoreline distant and small from where he is. It feels like he gets further every time he tries this but he still can't get there and never getting the carrot on the stick is starting to weigh on him.

He's going to crack this place. Eventually.

For now, though, he gathers as much strength as he can and pushes himself back to shore. When he reaches it, he collapses against the stony shoreline and just gasps for a moment, trying to get his bearings. It's so cold, made even worse by the fact that he's soaking wet. He reaches for one of the blankets and dries himself off as quickly as he can before getting dressed again. He wraps the other blankets around him in an attempt to conserve warmth and walks back toward the village, wanting to warm up with some food and a fire.

This is possibly one of the stupider things he's done lately.

then i floated out of here (inn)

OTA.

After his particularly stupid excursion trying to swim the lake, Oliver finally manages to get to the inn and he's settled in front of the fire with a mug of some kind of herbal tea between his hands. The tea is all right, so far as those things go, and more than tasting good it is warm and it's helping him start to feel the tips of his fingers again. That can only be a positive.

His hair is still damp and he's shivering but his eyes are alight with possibilities. Could they build a boat, possibly? A boat would be a lot less risky than trying to swim the lake in the middle of winter and Oliver thinks if he could build a kayak-style boat and row himself out as far as he can manage and try to see if there's a way out. It's futile, probably, but he can't let it lie when he'd gotten so close this time.

When someone comes into the inn Oliver turns his head, trying to see who it is. He calls out a quick hello and goes back to curling up before the fire, trying to decide how best to attack the problem of getting the hell out of here.

Entry tags:

"the snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches." -- e. e. cummings

WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn/immediate surrounding area
WHEN: Jan 13, after supper
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: foul language probs

LEAVING THE INN

OTA

He'll never get used to Winter.

This is Benedict's second cold season down on the Surface, and he would have thought he'd be prepared for snow; after all, he had plenty of experience with it last year — never mind that it hardly feels like a year has passed, he's had it explained that the seasons only happen once each per year and a year is shorter here than it is back home, by nearly a third! — but he was wrong. He's starting to think that one can never be ready for snow, that it catches you unawares every time, that you're left scrambling to deal with it no matter how well prepared you think you might be.

It started snowing overnight. In his humble opinion, that's the absolute worst time for snow to begin to fall. When snow begins during the day, you can keep an eye on it, keep abreast of it, decide how you're going to deal with it and make the effort regularly to go out and maintain your pathways. When it snows after you're already in bed... It's pretty to look at, he'll admit that, but only from the warm safety of his bed, with Kate beside him like a warming stone tucked against his side. When he inevitably hast to get up and get started for the day, the crushing weight of the impending snow-removing work he has to do feels like a physical weight on his shoulders.

By the time the evening meal is concluded, Benedict is afraid that, by the time morning rolls around again, he won't be able to even guess where the path is to shovel it even if he wanted to.

Bundling up as best he can, making use of some of the abandoned cold-weather gear left behind by those who've disappeared in the past, he heads towards the front door, a coil of climbing rope over his shoulder. As he nears the door, he grabs the sleeve of the person closest to him.

"Do you have a minute?" he asks, voice muffled by the way he's turned up the collar of his coat and has already burrowed down into it in anticipation of the miserable task ahead. "I would be eternally grateful for an extra pair of hands for a brief moment."

BACK AT THE INN

OTA

Surely it's not healthy to be this cold. Benedict is fairly learned, more so than many of his peers, but while he studied human anatomy in both an academic and a military-triage sense, he does not have much knowledge about extreme temperatures and their effects on the human body. In the climate-controlled Spires, it wasn't exactly an issue, outside of perhaps accidents involving fire or blaster burns. The only time he had ever possibly gotten close to being as cold as he's grown used to becoming during treacherous Winter was on the airship Predator, and even that felt wildly different than this.

He's hung up his sopping wet clothing, changed into something dry from the wardrobe, and even went so far as to drag the blanket off his and Kate's bed so he can wrap it around himself as he huddles near the fire in an attempt to thaw out his frozen extremities.

"How do you people live like this?" he grumbles to nobody in particular, tucking his fingers into his armpits and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Entry tags:

[ota] 002 | we've come as far as we're ever gonna get

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: Early January
OPEN TO: All (up to 4)
WARNINGS: Very mild description of quarantine/emergency zones.

There had been electricity in Manhattan, the entire time. The supply companies ran all the way up into Canada, and apparently no one had the idea of shutting it all off for the quarantine. Kira hadn't really thought about the people left behind, because--well, they'd been left behind. He'd assumed it was for the sake of all the military sent in. He'd assumed it was so they could keep testing blood samples and getting a leg up on a cure, in case the river didn't contain the problem.

Some sections lost power--his apartment hadn't been able to run anything--but those were problems on the ground. Cut wires, downed poles. If you wandered all the way up to Times Square, there were shot-out billboards and flickering screens, but enough of them still ran. The Christmas lights in the streets had never gone out.

He hasn't been so long without it that he thinks anything of walking into the inn's kitchen at first, wandering past an antiquated fridge into the pantry. It's when he goes to start up the stove after a long, cold night, that he realizes the boxy thing's been replaced. There are more burners, odd little boxes on one side, and it stands on legs like a desk, a cord visible along the wall beneath. There are more dials than he can count things to heat up, and he turns them gingerly, as if it might simply explode.

It doesn't, but it takes some time to feel one of the burners heat up. Setting all the dials back, he pokes his head in the ovens, tries and fails to determine how far behind the counter the cord goes, and finally blinks a little more awake at the boxy fridge by the pantry.

That takes a little more poking. It isn't any colder than the room inside, and unlike the fridges at home, the doors don't span the entire length. There are overhead vents that sit silent while he examines it, until he finds the switch at the back, flipping it all the way around. They hiss and rattle to life, filling the kitchen with heavy white noise.

"What the fuck," he wonders softly. Hunting the space doesn't reveal any more new appliances, but he does find a switch near the door. When he flips it, the bulbs around the room fill the corners the morning sun doesn't reach with soft light, and he wonders how far it goes.

Abandoning breakfast, he starts wandering the rest of the inn, flipping switches in each room to watch the lights come on.

[The Inn has electricity! Lights, stove, fridge--come find Kira fussing with the appliances or flipping lights on and off like a child.]

[EVENT - MINGLE] Home for the Holidays

At the Inn, there are a number of tables set up with neatly labeled place cards. At each place is a favorite dish from home, something that kindles warmth and goodwill — But try to move seats, and you will find a surprise: Your dish refuses to move. It seems that if you want to indulge, you're stuck with whoever happens to be at your table for company.

Outside, a gentle snow is falling - not enough to discourage any patrons but just enough to blanket the world in clean, soft white.

Entry tags:

I Can See Clearly Now

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 12/05
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nothing

Much to her chagrin, she had missed the feast. Being ill in bed for weeks had left Margaery restless and frustrated, making her feel as if she had missed so much with the village, even though life was very much the same. She could remember the last Harvest feast and what happened that night. It seemed though that nothing happened and everyone returned home safely without trouble. Whatever happened last year had been a rare occurrence. Since then, there were no monsters coming from the woods and the villager count was only lessened by disappearance, not death.

If that wasn't something to celebrate, what was?

When she was finally able to climb out of bed, she made her way often to the inn. Her health was still a bit fragile, but not nearly as serious as before. The visions passed and her memory was back, sharper than ever. But it wasn't wise to push herself. So instead of returning to her usual chores, she instead sat inside the inn for most of the day, sewing a new cloak for Robb for winter.

Turning to the person next to her, she asked, "Is there anything left over from the feast?" She had missed the food and the chocolate when it was fresh, but certainly it wasn't completely gone?

Entry tags:

let it slip away into the stream

WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Inn - Main Room
WHEN: November 18
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Language, memory loss

For days, Steve's had a piercing headache that's invading his head, making him feel terrible. At first, he'd written it off as bad weather causing headaches or maybe he's just getting sick. Then, though, things start to happen that make him worry. He's always been insightful and able to pick up and retain information sharply. These last few days, it's all gone down the drain. By lunch, he can't remember what he had for breakfast, he's forgetting key landmarks on the maps, and there are people he sees that he knows, but it takes him at least a minute to put their name down.

It continues like, but it seems like it's getting much worse. Today, he wakes up and sees the woman sharing his bed and for five whole minutes, he lies in panic and worry, with no idea about who she is. Diana, it clicks, it's Diana, but that it took him so long to remember that is terrifying. Maybe heading out isn't the smartest thing, but he bundles into his coat with a map in pocket and begins to head into the center of town to make his rounds.

At least, he thinks he'd been doing that.

He's by the fountain when the memory of what he's doing slips away, panic encroaching on him slow and steady. He spins a little, trying to place himself, but his mind refuses to place him. Belgium, he tells himself. He should be in Belgium or France, but it hasn't been this cold since the winter snap ended. He turns again, sighting buildings the likes of which he hasn't seen since his childhood. "Where am I?" he repeats, asking it again and again. "Where am I, where am I, where..." He says it like it'll jog something of his memory.

He heads for the largest of the buildings and stands at the door, closing his eyes tightly, trying to force himself into remembering what's going on, what's happening, but it's like chasing after a sliver of light as it fades away. It keeps getting darker and darker, blotting out Steve's memories of what he's supposed to be doing, where he is.

"Fuck," is all that slips past his lips feeling like a useless soldier who's just joined training and hasn't got any idea what to do. This isn't supposed to be him. What's more terrifying, though, is the fear that this is only going to get worse? What if he keeps losing? What if he starts to forget not just this place, not just the people, but himself and all the skills that make him above-average?

Problem for another day, he decides, pushing into the large building to try and figure out where he'd been meaning to go.

Entry tags:

001: Slippery when wet

WHO: Danny Williams
WHERE: Fountain/Inn
WHEN: Friday 17 -> 22
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Some mentioning of violence, almost freezing to death and possibly some nudity once he gets inside somewhere warm and can change clothes

Fountain/Inn Nov -17th
The cold water comes as a shock to Danny's system. He had been... well not really safe or sound for that matter but at least warm in Colombia. The last thing he remembered was calling Grace and talking to her before the guards had caught on and dragged him outside to deliver a beating. He had blacked out in the middle of it and now he is surrounded by freezing water. He blinks and sees the light far above him. It feels too far but he has no choice but to swim for it. An eternity later he breaks the surface and gulps in cold air. He can see the edge of the pool and swims for it even as he can feel his strength leaving him by the second. He manages to pull himself out of the fountain, soaking wet and for a moment he just kneels at the side of it, looking around the area.

He wants to just lay down and rest, he feels so tired. And cold. His whole body shakes with the cold and it is hard to think and to breathe. But he sees a house with lights and he feels like he can almost feel the warmth reaching for him. He somehow manages to get to his feet and stumbles towards the inn. By the time he gets to the door, he doesn't have enough strength left to raise his hand and push the door open and instead he just collapses against it.

After he gets dragged inside and changes to warm and dry clothes he will be hiding next to the most convenient heat source until he feels human again.

Inn+Outside Until 22nd
Danny spends a lot of time at the Inn. Even days later he feels like he hasn't quite gotten warm again and he likes staying somewhere it is nice and warm. The fact that there are people here who can explain where he is and what is happening is a bonus as well. After a few days, he starts to get a little bit of cabin fever though and packs on as much clothing as he can before he sets out to explore the village and get a feel for the place.

Entry tags:

[i'll use you as focal point so i don’t lose sight of what i want]

WHO: Major Lilywhite
WHERE: Around both villages
WHEN: Nov 1 - 4, Stage I; Nov 5 - 6, Stage II; Nov 7 - 9, Stage III
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: Will update as needed.

i. i have a bad feeling about this

The beginning is mostly mild, with Major forgetting the names of a few folks around the village. In each of the conversations, he chalks it up to having a rough night's sleep (mostly true), the general exhaustion of life in the village, or just having "one of those days." The only person whose name he didn't forget was Ravi's, though he doesn't connect it to the fact that he'd known him before his arrival in the fountain.

If someone he knows in the village were to run into him while he's at this stage, he will do his best to hide the fact that he has absolutely no idea what that person's name is. He'll try to carry on and having conversations as normal, but the other person might suspect that something's up. He'll laugh it off, apologize, make some joke about it - but there'll be a slight glint of worry in his eyes that he is forgetting something so basic and simple.

ii. there is always something worse

Things don't seem to get much better as time wears on. If anything, Major's forgetting more and more. Now, instead of forgetting names only, he seems to be forgetting people entirely, greeting people he's spoken to or has developed relationships with as though he's never seen them before. He can be found wandering the village a lot, eyes saucer-wide and full of curiosity, as though he's seeing the place for the first time. He might also be overheard complaining about the lack of electricity, the lack of video games, and the lack of modern technology - and he might be asking why all of those things are abhorrently absent, as though he's realizing it for the first time.

Conversations with Major at this stage will be on the frustrating side, fleeting. He'll forget things that were just spoken about a few minutes earlier. He might ask the other person what their name is again, how he got here, where Seattle is, where any of his missing friends are. He only vaguely recognizes Ravi, and he might insist that the real Ravi is still somewhere back in Seattle. The one in the village is just an imposter.

iii. only catastrophe is clearly visible

By the end, Major seems to have reverted back to his college football days. Somehow, the strange location and setting don't seem to bother him as much as one would expect, but he can be seen in any open field, utilizing whatever he can find as a makeshift football, running drills for hours on-end. He has no memory of the village, of his more recent days prior to the village in the city of Seattle, Ravi, the whole zombie outbreak, being the Chaos Killer, nothing.

He talks a lot about his parents' divorce, how his mom had come out as a lesbian and found a girlfriend, how he'd chosen his dad's side because he didn't know what else to do. He talks about a new girl he's been dating, a woman named Olivia Moore, who goes to UW with him. He talks about being nervous about meeting her friends for the first time, especially a woman named Peyton, whom Liv has known since high school. He talks about being a starting Safety on the UW football team. He talks about grappling with what to do with his life, his thoughts of pursuing social work, and everything else that a college co-ed might grapple with half-way through school.

Entry tags:

014 Finding to many things [OPEN]

WHO: Moana.
WHERE: All Over.
WHEN: November 4th – 15th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE.
WARNINGS: None.

[ooc: Let me know the day and where you tag her. It is all open to run into her at any time or in between any action!]

Nov 4th – 10th | Letters Everywhere | 6i & 7i

( Many days and many letters )

Nov 11th – 15th | Green House Glasses | 7i

( Finding stuff and she has no idea what it is. )

Entry tags:

ψ colors in autumn so bright before they lose it all | OPEN

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: By the river and at the Inn in 6I
WHEN: November 4
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: N/A

Being married hasn't actually changed much. Finnick and Annie have been living together since they arrived here, and they've long ago given up the pretense of being anything less than devoted lovers. Functionally, they've lived like husband and wife for years, in private, and in Panem it was only in public that they pretended to be less than that, when they'd had to lie to the public and the media for the sake of Finnick's Victor narrative.

All it's changed here is the fact that now he wears a ring woven of rabbit-leather on his left hand, and Annie wears a matching one on hers. That sort of makeshift ring isn't uncommon in the poorer parts of District Four, where not everybody can afford jewelry, because food is more pressing, even as a new household comes together. In a way, this place is similar: no break from the business of survival can be afforded for the luxury of being newlyweds. Like in the districts travel restrictions and cost prevent most people traveling far on their honeymoon, confinement here means there's no time to stop, and the day after the wedding they'd been back gathering and fishing and caring for their birds. If a little later than normal.

Finnick misses summer. The leaves have been turning over the last few weeks, and they're falling now, crunching underfoot, slick with frost in the early mornings as he makes his way down the river. It's cold enough that he, used to coastal, tropical weather, has taken to wearing the winter clothing he'd been given the previous year. Today, because he's heading down the river, he's wearing a heavy cabled sweater and the he's carrying gloves in his pockets to put on after he's had his hands in the river.

He stops about halfway between the village and the waterfall, next to an old, tall tree that forks into two magnificent crowns and steps across to a particular spot where the river eddies past some rocks. He tugs on the cord that connects to a fish trap and hauls it out, only to find the trap empty, a hole smashed in it by something that the river's carried along. That means less fish, and more time spent, because he has to go find some sticks pliant enough to mend the trap with.

Anyone who happens across him by the river that morning will find Finnick with an oddly-shaped basket in his lap, weaving sticks into and around a hole in one side. But he's still vigilant; he looks up each time he hears footsteps, and if a knife happens to be close by, it's because it's useful for working with the wood.

Later, after the trap's fixed, a somewhat damp Finnick makes his way to the Inn, where he strips off his sweater and hangs it off a chair near the fire to give it a chance to dry, leaving him in just his now very well-worn red scrubs pants and shirt.

And he'll be staying by the fire until the sweater is dry. It's warm there.

Entry tags:

[reset] 001 | the shit is running and it runs deep

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: Fountain, Village
WHEN: November 3rd and later
OPEN TO: OTA with closed starters
WARNINGS: Gunshot wound and recovery description

( Arrival )

Inn (OTA)

Whatever he does or doesn’t believe about this place, he’s keeping his mouth shut until he has the strength to deal with it. So far no one’s walked him by the wall of strung up cops or offered him jerky of questionable origin—he wants to believe this is some waypoint, some remote safe haven in upstate New York they were transported to while he was unconscious. But if it is, everyone’s gone off the fucking rocker.

He’s never been here before. Certainly not as recently as three days ago. The gap in his memory, between getting shot and Ty’s sickbed—that doesn’t contain a fucking year.

It itches him to move, even as his body protests. Wrapping a blanket tighter around himself, he moves away from the fire, starting to explore the lower floor of the inn. The blackboard waylays him for awhile, especially finding his name at the top of it. A house description, a—man or woman’s name, he can’t really tell. Rook, in the same location. Eleven months. Fuck.

Wandering away from it, he roots around at the bar, finding nothing for his nerves. The kitchen is next, the fire banked low this late. The dim lighting is something he’s used to, trying to avoid being seen in the dark. When he bangs into a chair despite all his practice, he muffles a curse into the blanket folded over his hand, held close.

The hardest part of this, inability to locate alcohol notwithstanding, is this: feeling half blind and deaf to the world. No warnings, no sense of the people around him. Everything he used to keep himself safe stripped away. Everything that would tell him if these people were lying.

He hopes they’re lying about the booze, at least, as he presses onward to start going through the cabinets.

House 39 (Bodhi)

It takes another couple of days before he’s recovered enough to brave the cold. A closet upstairs outfits him with sweaters and coats, and he manages to find the brick house he supposedly cleaned out—which hits him with the first piece of evidence that he might have existed here. The maps, carefully stacked by the linens, bear his handwriting, if not his actual cartography skills.

He loses several more hours exploring the space, finding touches of occupation. Trinkets in a bedside table, a pack of clothes that don’t—look or feel like his, but there’s a box in the closet that has his name fixed to it on a tag.

Kira Akiyama.

His full name, scraps of wrapping paper inside. From a December past? How many winters has he lived in the last four months?

Finding gloves and a pair of jeans, he layers himself again for the cold, and starts the trek across the village to the house marked on his hand-drawn map. Bodhi might be there, with the rest of their things. With answers of some kind, further proof that he’s existed here, or proof that this is an elaborate delusion.

He assumes it isn’t the burnt out husk of a house lightly dampened by snow, and climbs the porch of the other where the path ends. It’s an odd thing, knocking on a door you supposedly own, but he does it all the same. The first thing he hears is a dog’s low bark, rising with the scrape of claws on wood. Then the call of a bird, a clatter at the window that draws his eye—is that a crow?

Then, footsteps, and all he can do is square up and stare at the door.

[Kira's been canon updated as well as reset; he now comes from 3 days later than his first arrival, with knowledge that he did save his boyfriend and a healing graze wound to the side of his head.]

Entry tags:

It's a pirate's life for me

WHO: Killian Jones
WHERE: The inn
WHEN: October 30
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS:

It's a nice day for a walk. Well, no, it's not, really, but he doesn't really have much choice, does he? It's either walk around the village or stay in his house all day. True, that last option may be tempting, especially with the temperature turning cooler, but now that Emma's been gone for what he assumes are months, it's easier to get up and go about his daily routine.

Life goes on, like it always had.

He starts his day out in the usual way, heading to the river to catch some fish for the day, to share with the lunch crowd and some to take home for himself. It's when he's on his way to the inn that he notices a tree he's never noticed before. A tree with the juiciest-looking pears he's ever seen. Which is strange by itself. He doesn't remember seeing pears here before. Still, they're tempting. Very tempting. He's used to the lack of fresh foods when at sea, and the lack of fresh foods here for most of the year. But that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy fresh foods when he's got them.

He pulls a pear off the tree, and takes a bite, and it's a delicious pear. It's not a typical pear though, which he won't realize until he's inside the inn. He drops the fish in the kitchen and heads into the main room, where he finds some people doing apparently nothing. It doesn't matter much whether they're actually doing something or not; he picked a pear from the wrong tree and they'll be getting a scolding anyway.

"Arrr, ye scurvy dogs! There's work to be done. The lass in the galley needs some assistance, and if someone doesn't swab the deck I'll make you all walk the plank!"

The pirate's not drunk. He just shouldn't have eaten that pear.

Entry tags:

There's No Place Like Home | Open to All

WHO: Bela Talbot
WHERE: Fountain, Village, The Inn, Claimed house
WHEN: October 28th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None so far, but will update if necessary
NOTE: Link to her bio if you're interested!

( Intro )

( Village )

( Inn )

( A place to rest )

Entry tags:

🍁 the times they are a changin' (ota)

WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: porch of the 6I inn
WHEN: 25 October - mid afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: cursing, lbr

Hey, Abel. It's been a little while since I wrote to you so I wanted to sit down and tell you what's going on in this ~~fucked up~~ crazy prison I'm in. I miss you. You need to take care of Thomas and your mom, all right? I know I tell you that every time but I'm gonna keep writing it just to make sure it happens.

Snowed here the other day. It's getting cooler here but I don't have any idea of what the date is or shit like that. It's not like the real world, this place, and the longer I'm here the more it feels like I'm losing touch with what's real and what I can see and touch. It hadn't been that cold though, before, so the snow kind of came as a shock - seems to have melted, though.

Snow reminds me of Tahoe or up in Oregon where Gemma's people are from. It's not something we're ever gonna see in Charming, not unless something crazy happens. I'll take you kids skiing sometime when we get away. We're gonna get away someday, you know. Your mom's been after me to make that happen and I...

The wind catches then and the sheets come flying out of Jax's notebook, scattering the letter and some of the previous ones out across the porch and into the street in front of the inn. He scrambles to gather them up before they get trampled on and muddy because fuck if he's letting his only connection to his kids go and get ruined.

Is this what happened to his old man when he wrote his letters? Did John Teller write letters on scraps of paper on blustery fall days and hope that someday he was going to get to read them to his son? Jax has no fucking idea. There's so much shit he's finding out about his father after the fact that makes the hazy, golden childhood image of him tarnish a bit. He's afraid that's gonna be what happens with Abel and Thomas, that they'll read his letters and hear stories about him and think of him as some asshole and not as a hero like a father ought to be.

Jax pushes that down for the moment and focuses on grabbing up as much of the paper as he can, trying to keep his words and his tether to Charming and the real fucking world from getting soaked up with the mud and gloom of this place. Even if the snow's melted now and the leaves are pretty shades of red and gold he doesn't want to fucking be here.

"I hate this fucking place," he grumbles, stuffing bits of the letter back into the binding of the notebook.

Entry tags:

05. Force Ghosts?

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.

Entry tags:

13 Voyage [CLOSED]

WHO: Moana
WHERE: 7i Ocean
WHEN: October 1st
OPEN TO: Bucky Barnes
WARNINGS: N/A

( It's Calling Me! )

Entry tags:

12 Building A Boat~! [OPEN MINGLE]

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.