ad_dicendum: (in contionibus)
[personal profile] ad_dicendum
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The fields, the storehouse in 6I, around the village, and the Inn
WHEN: October 8-31
OPEN TO: All!!
WARNINGS: Brief mentions of slavery

The seasons are turning )

[ all locations are open, feel free to catch him in the fields, storehouse, scavenging around the village, or in the Inn]
ad_dicendum: (gestu)
[personal profile] ad_dicendum
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Inn foyer, exploring 7I, the peach grove, and back at the Inn
WHEN: August 12
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: None yet

morning of August 12 --> Inn foyer and outside

Gracchus had woken that morning to find another of the strange gift boxes outside his room. The last one had contained tunics, tablets, and styluses, and this time, he opens it to find an offering bowl, a small cup, incense, wine, and a stole that could be used for covering the head. Supplies for making offerings. Since he came here, he's had to rely on saving parts of his meal and leaving them with the little wooden figures he'd found. Now, he can do something properly. Not that there's a household altar here or anything like it, but there is an entrance space to the Inn that doesn't serve the same function as an atrium, but is at least in the same important location.

So before breakfast, he carefully washes and shaves, and murmurs the words of ritual cleansing, before he takes the figurines and the box he's just received down to the Inn's atrium. They're not his, not the little figures of the gods and his family kept in their lararium in his home back in Rome. But he's kept them since he found them here, because they would be enough, if he managed to get anything to make the offerings to his gods and his family that were a part of the life of every Roman head of household. He places the figurines and the offering-bowl on the edge of the desk, then places the stole over his head and shoulders. Then he holds out his hands in supplication as he begins the prayers: first to Janus, as is proper, but then to Neptune -- whatever Aristotle and the Greeks may say about the causes of earthquakes, there have been too many here, so many that a prayer and offering to Neptune seems wise -- and then on to the spirits of the household, whatsoever of them exist here. Last, he speaks to the spirits of his family: his father, his brother, and in their absence his mother, wife, and daughter. He pours wine into the cup, then into the offering-bowl, then sips it and invites the spirits to join him.

Later, after the ritual is finished, he sets the figures to one side, out of the way but still there, in the room, where they can perform their watch over the household, and takes the leftover wine in the offering bowl outside, to pour it reverentially into the ground.

later --> exploring 7I

He hadn't felt comfortable venturing out into the new area that had been uncovered by the earthquakes until now, but now that he's made a prayer and offering to Neptune, he dares the journey. Gracchus is dressed in one of his tunics, the most comfortable clothes he has here, but he's also carrying the strange pack that he'd been given when he first arrived. He has few supplies to carry with him, but he does want to bring a tablet with him in case there is anything that needs recording, since he doesn't think the whole area has been explored yet. He's heard tell of a sea that's been discovered, but he's just as interested in the land: lacking a boat, the sea isn't going to help them to escape, and he knows more about the use of the land than the sea.

It's strange finding himself in a mirror-image of the village that's been his home-in-exile in these past months, but while he's exploring, he pays attention to what he finds where, and after he's determined precisely how similar the village is, he decides to see what else is the same. There are other spots around the village he's used to that are important, and learning if they are the same or not may be significant to understanding more about this place.

It's when he gets to where he's expecting to find a spring bubbling into a deep, calm pool that he finds a major difference. Instead of the large clearing with the spring in it, there's a grove of unfamiliar trees, branching up towards the sky, some of them far beyond his head. The branches are laden with a fruit he's never seen before, round and reddish-gold, firm to the touch when he reaches up and picks one. His hand rests on the trunk of one of the trees as he looks up into its leaves, and a roughness under his palm makes him look down again. There's a symbol carved onto the trunk, one that's completely unfamiliar to him. It looks a little like a tree with a dangling branch, with a trunk and then some lines drawn across it, with another cut at an angle to the others. It's not Greek, and he wonders if it might be Egyptian, that strange language of pictures he'd heard of from some of his tutors.

Whatever it is, he carefully takes out his tablet and scratches a drawing of the sign onto the wax, before he starts picking the fruits.

evening --> back at the Inn

When Gracchus gets back to the Inn, it's with a pack full of fruits from the trees. He hasn't tried any himself, uncertain whether they're good to eat or not, but if they are, they should be a good supplement to the food stores here at the Inn, and Kate Kelly can probably use them. He heads for the main room, unsure whether or not he will have missed the evening meal. Whether it's past mealtime or not, that's usually the place where the most people can be found.

He takes one of the fruits out of his bag, and holds it out as he walks into the room.

"Excuse me," he says in English to the first person he meets, "do you recognize this?"

evening prayers --> he will be repeating prayers in the evening if your character wouldn't be at the Inn in the morning


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

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 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."
bit_fairytale: (troubled)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: June 28th
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?
pretendtoneedme: (crossing the fields)
[personal profile] pretendtoneedme
WHO: Everyone! It's a mingle!
WHERE: The mill, and the river next to the mill
WHEN: June 13-14
OPEN TO: Anyone! Tag around, tag in, tag things!
WARNINGS: Nothing for now, please warn for content in comment titles
STATUS: All of the Opens

Word had spread in the usual way, one person mentioned it to another, that person mentioned it to a third, and fourth, and so forth and so on. The mill's almost repaired - or, more specifically, it's reached the point where it needs more than one person working on it in order to get it done. Clint wasn't too proud to say this job was above one person's skills, and so he'd designated two days as "group work" days to finish everything that still had to be done beyond some superficial things. As weird as it was to think about, the river going down actually helped with this, since it exposed some outdoor components that needed maintenance and allowed people to work on them without drowning themselves.

The wheel itself needed some repairs, mainly in some of the blades that had rotted after sitting in the water for so long, as well as getting as much algae scraped off the wood as possible. The frame of the gate that isolated the wheel from the flow of the river had been well-built of the same stone as the mill itself and was sturdy, but the rope of the gate itself had broken at some point and the gate had fallen into the river, so it needed replacing. Inside the mill, the grindstones had come out of alignment and the upper one needed to be reseated; the hopper and feeding chute for the grain had been smashed when the demon hail had punched through the roof, and new ones needed to be hoisted up and secured in place. Salvaged scraps from the destroyed houses would do well enough for all of those and the parts had been built; now they just needed to be installed. The connecting belts between the gears had already been replaced with "new" ones made of strips of extra blankets; presumably the original leather ones had disintegrated. Every tool kit in storage at the inn and most of the scraps and salvaged nails Clint had scrounged from the destroyed houses had been hauled down to provide a supply source, along with a few of the ropes or rope-like things and a couple of the first aid kits - just in case. There were a few other issues that wouldn't interfere with the actual mill workings (a couple of hail holes in the roof and one or two other things), so they could be addressed or not as people chose.

Anyone who wanted to show up and help was welcome, as long as they knew which end of a hammer to hit things with. Water to drink wouldn't be an issue since they were right next to the river, but if anyone wanted to bring snacks or any sort of food it would be appreciated by those working. It was still pretty hot, though, so everyone needed to be on alert for people overexerting themselves and potential heatstroke. Anyone who saw someone about to faint or getting dizzy would have been told to make sure the afflicted person stopped working and sat down in the shade with a drink of water. And of course there was always the option of a nice swim as well.
notsocommon: (Neck; workout)
[personal profile] notsocommon
WHO: Helen Magnus
WHERE: woods, river, butcher's shop
WHEN: 10 June - 12 June

i. ❝ the year's at the spring ❞

Helen found that paper was a precious and limited commodity around the village and the bits and scraps she had leftover from her gifts over the winter were rapidly dwindling. She had written on every inch of paper as best she could, cramped writing fitting every square of space, and she was reminded for not the first time of Carentan and how things had to be made to last and last again well beyond their original expiration date. In this, she felt her age for one of the first times in her long life. She felt as her friend Tolkien had once described thin, like butter scraped over too much bread and facing her mortality head on wasn't a position she thought she'd ever find herself in.

She didn't particularly face it head on now if she could help it. This morning she'd found herself in the woods hunting for herbs but, honestly, they were few and far between. The sun was up nearly all the time now and while it flirted with the horizon, it never sank beneath it at night. The best they got was a few hours of near-twilight but no true night fell over the land and hadn't for the past several days. To add insult to injury, it was stifling hot and miserably dry. The grasses had either been eaten down to the earth by the grazing animals or withered and dried up.

Her basket woefully empty aside from some indigo for dyeing, she made her way back to the village, brow furrowed a bit with worry. She made a note in her already-cramped notebook: Sun - constant. Arid. Vegetation scorched.

ii. ❝ the hillside's dew-pearled ❞

Later in the day (for a given definition of day, anyway), Helen made her way down to the river to make observations there. It was dangerously low, the banks exposed to a worrisome degree. Much of their food came from the river by way of fish and if they didn't have that resource and the plants were scorching under the bright sun, what were they going to eat? Rations would need to be put into place regardless but this was escalating to a degree that had Helen wondering if they ought not call a meeting to discuss it. It was something she would certainly be discussing with Mark and Ravi when she got home to see if they ought to bring it to the village at large; her roommates were always a good sounding board for such things.

The bright sun glinted against something bronze and shiny against the dried mud of the riverbed and she picked it up, uncertain of what it could possibly be. It appeared to be some sort of arrowhead but she knew the people here who fletched and made arrows typically used flint for them, not bronze. This was something that didn't seem to fit with the activities that the residents normally engaged in and she slid the arrowhead in her pocket, intending to ask about it once she'd gotten back to the village. Perhaps the others might have a better idea as to what it could possibly be.

iii. ❝ all's right with the world ❞

In spite of the strange happenings of late, some things never changed and one of those things was the need for soap. A village like theirs with about five dozen people, give or take, went through a good bit of soap both for personal bathing and for laundry. It took a lot of Helen's time each week to make soap, cut it, leave it to dry and to distribute that which was ready to be used. Each batch of soap had to be cured for at least three weeks to a month before it could be used but given the bright, beating sun of the past month or so she'd had luck with curing soap for much less time.

"The only good thing to come out of this bloody heat is that I can turn over the soap much faster," Helen muttered, stepping outside the butcher's to get away from the hot lye and fat mixture bubbling over the fire and get some sort of relief. It wasn't coming to her here, given it was nearly as hot outdoors as it was inside, but at least she could fan herself and get a chance to get a few deep breaths without inhaling the scent of soap-in-process.

She slid off her t-shirt, standing in just her bra for the moment, and used the soft cotton to mop off her brow.
goldsteins: (0010013)
[personal profile] goldsteins
WHO: Tina Goldstein
WHERE: Goldsteins, School house
WHEN: April 29-May 1
WARNINGS: N/A at this time

april 29 )may 1 )

[OOC: Note, I'm up for any other prompts/people! If you want to plot/a specific one let me know and I'll be happy to do so.]
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

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."

treadswater: (watches the gap between sea and shore)
[personal profile] treadswater
WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: Northern side of the village
WHEN: 28th
OPEN TO: Gaius Gracchus
WARNINGS: TBA as needed
STATUS: Ongoing

The birds are getting big. All twelve of them; she reckons the geese of the first brood must be fully grown by now, or close to it. Much bigger than the tiny balls of peeping fluff they'd been when they'd arrived in their boxes, and more inclined to boredom. Not to mention they are animals and animals really need to be outside. She and Finnick aren't some fancy Capitol people, to keep birds in cages. Geese lay eggs. Eggs can be eaten straight away, or left to turn into more geese. Which can be eaten.

Not that Annie is planning on eating any of her darlings, not when they follow her around and tug at her clothes all curious and friendly. Her darlings' chicks, maybe. She won't get attached to them.

All of this adds up to Annie deciding that the flock really needs to get out of the house for some exercise and to forage. The geese and the not-geese can handle themselves, she's sure, and it gives her a strange sense of safety to be out with her birds. They'll attack if anyone gets threatening.

So it is that today, the small, redheaded woman is out with twelve birds, carrying only a long, slim branch she's turned into a switch to gently guide her flock when they start getting too far afield. Mostly, the birds are content to peck amongst the grass and foliage.

posilutely: (010)
[personal profile] posilutely
WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: Graves' House/Inn & Hot Springs
WHEN: 1 week after her arrival & March 22, evening
OPEN TO: Graves, Credence & All
WARNINGS: Half-naked witch? IDK
STATUS: Closed

for graves & credence )

current: at the hot springs (ota)

The hot springs has, by far, been the flat-out, absolute best thing Queenie has discovered about this place. A chance encounter on the road a couple of weeks ago, a teenage girl with big, tired eyes and a towel looped over her arm, dark hair still pinned high on her head.

I don't want a scar, is what the girl had said when she'd pulled up her sleeve to show the ghostly web of lines tracing her skin. It's great for your hair, too.

Queenie's been slipping out into the forest every few days since.

The girl hadn't been wrong; curls once limp were now bright and bouncy again, and Queenie just felt better each time she took the time to go the springs. She could swear she had more energy than ever before, but even if she didn't, she thinks she'd go anyway. Sure, she's got a tub at home, but it's just not the same.

Today she's carried along a couple of bath towels and an empty teapot to fill with water to carry home. They're set neatly aside under the nearest tree, under a low branch draped with her coat and clothes, black cotton fluttering gently in the warm mist skating off the water. She's kept on her underthings -- She's not that bold, no matter what her sister might think -- but there's not all that much left to the imagination as she gratefully sinks in, all the way up to her shoulders.
asklepian: (pic#7053845)
[personal profile] asklepian
WHO: Julian Bashir
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, also feel free to catch him wandering around looking lost
WHEN: 3/17

Read more... )
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

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.]
ad_dicendum: (νοσώδους ἅμα χειμῶνος)
[personal profile] ad_dicendum
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: Backdated to February 2
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly
WARNINGS: Historical sexism, references to slavery
STATUS: Ongoing

There had been much that was discouraging in the previous day's meeting. Not simply the attitude of the people here that government, even so much as a guiding council, was something to be feared, but also the way the arguments had driven home that he is nothing here. He has never before in his life been nothing. Even at the height of the Senate's odium, or in the months after his brother's death when espousing his politics could mean exile from the city, he'd still been the son of a man who'd been twice consul and twice triumphant, the grandson of the man who'd saved Rome from the Carthaginians. His presence, his vote, his voice, had strength based on the men he could claim as his ancestors as much as on the gifts of his eloquence, education, and intelligence.

Not a single person here has recognized his name. But this is exile, or whatever it is, and the whole point is that it's not Rome, and not being Rome means that none of what had made him briefly the brightest star of a political generation matters.

There has, though, always been more to Gaius Gracchus than simply his parentage and his education. However easily his experience could be dismissed, he knows its value. He'd kept an entire army in supplies and winter clothing through three years in Sardinia, with the Senate turned against him and willing to do whatever it took to thwart him. If he cannot turn that experience to helping the people of this village stay warm, fed, and supplied, then he was never worth his election as quaestor in the first place.

So, once lunch has been served and cleared away, Gaius goes in search of the one person who'd asked for his assistance and advice the day before: Kate Kelly, the innkeeper. He brings with him the pen and the book of lined paper he'd received in the gift-giving shortly after his arrival; though many of the pages are already filled with Latin cursive, there are still plenty of pages left to fill.

He seeks Kate out in the kitchen, first, and if she's not there, will make his way back to the main room, then the sitting room the guests use upstairs.

"Miss Kelly? Are you there?"
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.

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.]
ad_dicendum: (Default)
[personal profile] ad_dicendum
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Inn and around the village
WHEN: January 30
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: None so far

Even after what must be a month or so here, Gaius has not yet grown used to being so completely unable to express himself to most people in this place. He'd been raised from childhood to be a man who would sweep the people of Rome before him with education, eloquence, argument. Even the men who'd hated him had admitted he was the finest speaker in Rome. Even when the people had turned from him to his enemies, it was because they had out-promised him, never because they had outspoken him.

Yet here, every morning he wakes into a world in which the barest handful of people can understand the slightest thing he says. Many of them have never even been introduced, because neither of them knows how to do so, save by baldly stating their names, which is hardly much of an introduction.

He's expecting it to be the same today when he dons his strange blue clothes and goes downstairs to the main room of the Inn for breakfast.

Except that when he hears someone call out a greeting, he understands that it means salve.

Gaius pauses, mid-step, and turns, his hand pressed to one side of his chest where the sweep of a toga would be, and listens. And finds that he can understand every word of English as though it were perfect Latin.

When he next sees one of the residents, he pauses, nods, and says, "Good morning."

The words sound strange in his voice, and he doesn't sound like the others, his accent thick and rolling, but he can speak English.

When he goes out, later that day, the black wool not-quite-cloak wrapped around him, he pauses to greet the people he passes on his way through the village. Not just with a nod, which has been usual for him up to now, but with the greeting of their own people in their own language.

He's got a lot of lost time getting to know these people to make up for.
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[personal profile] ad_dicendum
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: Outside the Inn
WHEN: During the aurora event, around Jan 6
OPEN TO: Anyone willing to try talking to the guy who knows barely any English
WARNINGS: Slightly squicky injury reference

The gods are speaking.

It is hard to look at the sky at night and not think that. Gaius has never been a man to let omens stand in the way, but twice now, he and his brother had continued their work under ill-favored birds, and it had ended badly for them. Tiberius, he's been told, had split his toe crossing the threshold as he set out for the forum on the day he'd been killed. And the omens in Junonia had been nothing but bad, wolves stealing the boundary markers, winds breaking the standards and scattering the sacrifices, and he's been wondering ever since his return to Rome if those omens weren't for the colony, but for him. Nothing had gone right for him since Junonia. He'd lost his support, he'd lost the elections (or had them rigged against him) and he'd found his enemy elected to the consulship.

And now here the skies are afire at night, blazing in greens and blues and colors he's never known the night sky could have. It can surely bode no good to this strange village he's found himself in that the gods have set their aethereal flame every night for more than a week now. It can bode no good, but that hasn't stopped Gaius from going out to stare up into the dancing light and wonder at it. Wonder, and marvel, too, for all his fear.

"O, Iuppiter," he murmurs, the start of some half-formed evocation to the sky god, king of the gods of Rome: tonight, the skies are brighter than ever.

He's wrapped up in his coat, but the Roman is standing in the middle of the path that runs past the inn and paying no attention to the weather, or to anyone who may approach: instead, he's entirely absorbed in the sky.
bit_fairytale: (lit up)
[personal profile] bit_fairytale
WHO: Amy Pond
WHERE: Outside the Fountain / The Woods
WHEN: January 4th
WARNINGS: Potential, incredibly likely yelling


In her last moments, she's not entirely sure what to expect. Will it hurt? Will she regret it? Will something happen that makes her take back her insistence that the Doctor blink for her? What if she doesn't end up in the same place as Rory, what if something goes wrong and she's stuck away from him and the Doctor forever? Then she doesn't have any time to think because when she opens her eyes, it turns out that the angel's sent her to the bottom of the bloody Hudson river. Thrashing her way up, Amy inhales air as deeply as she can, scrambling and hauling herself out of an icy fountain to find that not only has she been sent to the wrong place, but all her clothes are gone and they've gone and strapped something bulky on her back. Glancing at her surroundings to make sure no one's about to come out of the treeline with anything sharp, Amy takes her time shifting through the bag, peering at the long johns with a wrinkle of her nose.

"No thank you," she says, jamming them at the very bottom of her bag, shivering wildly as her hair starts to ice at the ends with the continued exposure to the cold, but that's in her periphery for her attention. She bundles up in her coat while scanning the area, wiping tears from her cheeks when she realizes that she's been crying since she got out of that stupid looking fountain. "Rory?" she tries, an echoing croak in a quiet space. Trust a weeping angel to muck everything up. Bundling herself a little tighter, Amy shoves everything back in her bag, glancing down to see a shade of green she doesn't even think she owns anything in, anymore, and hauls the bag over a shoulder as she sets out to find out where it is she's landed.

Apparently, judging from the buildings and the lack of anything like technology, there's a creeping fear that she's gone too far back. What did New York look like in the 1800's? The 1700's? Why isn't the Doctor here when she needs her? Why doesn't she know this sort of thing? Stubbornly readying herself, she starts in the direction of one of the paths, heart pounding wildly, as if she's going to turn around and there'll be an angel there, ready to take her life because it turns out she can't trust them after all and it's all just some elaborate, cruel trick. It's ten minutes before she sees someone, but when she does, she won't pretend that she doesn't flail and charge towards them.

"Hey!" she shouts, at the top of her lungs so that people in the neighbouring hemisphere would be just as likely to hear Amy as the person she's shouting at. "Stop right there and you tell me where Rory Williams is, or I swear to you, I will..." she presses her lips together and stares down at her boots, which are really tightly laced, so there goes taking that off and punting it at them. "I'll probably just shout some more, but I can be very cross. Because," she says, eyes blazing with determination, "I just lost my husband at least three times today and I am tired of tracking him down through time and space and I'm not leaving until I've got some answers!"


The woods remind her of the forest on the ship, all those years ago when they were fleeing the angels. Those stupid weeping angels have been there for some of the worst parts of Amy's life, but she'd really thought that by making the choice to go back in time to find Rory had been the right one. The only trouble is that finding Rory is turning out to be more of a production than she'd expected.

She's been wandering around for hours now, with a quick stop in a few homes where someone had mentioned seeing someone that fit Rory's description, but with no idea where he might be. Once her hair had dried and she'd warmed up past the point of 'shivering her knickers off', Amy had gone for the woods. Maybe Rory's out here, trying to find a way out (trying to find a way to her). Maybe she'll find him and it'll have been barely a few seconds since he'd been stolen by the angel. Not likely, but whatever, sometimes miracles happen. After all, she helped reboot the universe with the Doctor in it, why shouldn't she be able to find Rory in a small little forest?

Out here, the snow is beautiful and untouched, but at the same time, that level of pristine nature also sends a chill down her spine. Hearing footsteps behind her, she tries to find something to defend herself, thinking that maybe she should have started with that, given that she ends up with a branch that looks more like a feather duster than a weapon, but it's something.

"I hope you're here to help," she warns as she turns, wielding out the branch, "or I'll...tickle you until it's really uncomfortable," she warns, and hopes that she can make that seem somehow frightening.
oncewasroman: (Wants to Help)
[personal profile] oncewasroman
WHO: Rory Williams
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: Dec 22 -- Various Times

How many times...I've lost count. )


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