Sixth Iteration Logs

<div class="postheader">WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
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WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) <hr></div>
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theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: Police station, river, area between
WHEN: Late January
OPEN TO: Up to 4 tag-ins
WARNINGS: Epilepsy symptoms, mentions of past violence or horror/apocalypse conditions, suicide ideation, seizure, contemplation of animal sacrifice, literal drowning.

( whatever i've got, i've got no reason to guard )

3ofswords

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.]

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi and Jude
WHERE: Jude's house
WHEN: After the holiday party
OPEN TO: Closed to Jude Sullivan
WARNINGS: Sappy bullshit

Bodhi's not usually quite this stupid over Jude, partly because he restrains himself, partly because even he's not this ridiculously romantic. Their banter at the party wasn't even that out of the ordinary, even if Jude taking his hand in public was a bit beyond the usual. They both fed each other's nonsense until they were completely twitterpated, and it feels fantastic, if distantly kind of foolish. Too hard to care through Jude carefully (and unnecessarily) helping him into his robe and scarves, through the snow-shimmering walk hand in hand, the cold bringing a little extra color to Jude's cheeks (and probably his, but what does he care). Impossible to think about anything else as they finally wend their way toward the house and Bodhi's hand tightens on Jude's through their gloves and looks away just to give himself a break from grinning so hard. Spending nights with Jude has ceased to be a big deal and of course his damage is still a wall between them, but he's the good kind of nervous anyway. This feels like it could almost be normal, a real, regular date with a functional person like Jude deserves. The faint swirl of soft, pretty nothingness lets him collect himself a bit as they head up the steps.

Then there's hurrying through the door as a practical matter. No reason to let the house get colder. But that's as practical as he feels like being, and as soon as the door is closed he turns, catches Jude's shoulders, and steals a kiss. A quick one. He knows they have to deal with the fire and coats and bullshit, but he's been waiting on that for what feels like a very long time.

theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: 6I Canyon and village; The Inn
WHEN: November 19
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Mentions of death/hallucinations in reference to his arrival.

the village

Clary had taken her sketches with her, but not the memory of them, or the conversation. Bad enough for the snows to drift in, bad enough for the feast to set him forward or back in time. Something about the winter air usually made him better. Clear, crisp. Solitude was easy, the mountains seemed to disappear beneath it--and all their spectres, their sulfur vents. Charlie made idle warnings of sinkholes, and Jude wandered out with barely a wave.

Before he got his license he'd walk out of the park into the woods, snow up to his thighs, a sweater under his denim jacket and a scarf on his shoulders. On clear nights with teal skies he'd be the only soft sound beneath trees cracking from ice, and he'd walk a spiral of the valley--daring the ground to swallow him.

No one talks about it, but between the hot spring and earthquakes, the ground here might be just as unpredictable.

Two days in the house proves too much: he finds an early morning lull in which to wander. The trees and snow groan, ice and wood crack, branches fall under the weight of icicles. The cave to the west that he'd crawled out of after the quake has a mouth of clear teeth, and the river pushes displaced ice into piles around the rocks. Jude walks the length of it, deciding at its end between a trek of the western wall, or heading back.

He doesn't want to go home. Even when he isn't sleeping now, something seems to sit on his chest, follow him room to room. He follows the sound of scratching in the walls, breath steaming in the bedrooms he's never used, closets investigated with wooden fingers. When he sleeps, he's back in the valley: the truck is idling out behind him, its front end folded up against the tree, smoke slipping under the hood. His steps go side to side, blood is hot down the side of his face. Footsteps crunch the snow, he lurches along as the ground slopes beneath it. He had to get out of the dorm, he had to get away from the people without faces, knocking at the door. He drove home, he crashed the truck, he walked into town.

When he looks at his hands in the dream, they're cut at the palms and bloody, and the shadows on snow are bodies hanging in bare branches--

So he leaves the house, he walks. He proves to himself that here and now, the trees are clear. His head is in one piece, his hands are clean. And if he falls into a sinkhole, at least he won't have to remember what he's left behind.

the inn

The weather decides him: spotty rain begins to fall, ushering him back toward the village. He doesn't want to go home, but he doesn't have to--there's a fire and company at the inn, and he knows he needs that. Fire, dry, something to eat--but also people. Something by which to measure his own sanity, someone to keep him out of his head.

He'd tried it the other way at school. That dorm would have killed him, he's sure of it. Half a semester without a roommate and he'd covered that side of the room in paper and ink, manifested the eyes he could feel on him. Manifested the teeth.

The dining room in his house isn't covered in teeth. It's just trees, over and over. The slope in winter, bare branches and shadows. He puts them up then he takes them down, afraid of looking up one day and seeing something between them.

By the time he gets to the inn doors, he's soaked through; he should have come straight here while the weather held. Another icy shower puts a shine back on the encrusted village, and all he can do is lean his weight into closing the door, denim and wool hanging heavy and dark from his frame. Jude sways a couple of steps to the right, then left, struggling out of his clothes until he's carrying a coat in one hand, jacket in the other, and aiming for the kitchen.

It's fine: everything is fine. He grits his teeth against a shiver and hangs his first two layers over the nearest chairs to the door, carrying on in until he's out of a sweater and using it to dry his hair, grateful for the fire already started in the grate.

[It's the last day of the ice storm; feel free to meet Jude out early between rain/sleet showers, or at the inn after he's been caught in one. He's starting to remember his arrival point and generally having a bad time, but it's not a bad time to meet him.]

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi Rook
WHERE: House 23
WHEN: Shortly after Kira's arrival
OPEN TO: Jude
WARNINGS: None anticipated, will add

He had to be alone for a while after. There are things he's finally started trying to fix after the better part of a year, but there are also things he understands are futile, and trying to talk to anyone after he finally left Kira would have been one of those. And probably just as uncomfortable for them as for him. So he walked. It's what he does. The chores that he usually uses as excuses are gone now, all the herbs and little edibles dead or entering some sort of seasonal torpor, the kindling wet even if the supply wasn't fine at home, the dog in no need of his companionship... No, can't find an excuse, just a walk, and he stays out until the day begins to fade and the cold gets in too deep.

Bodhi likes to insist he's never cold. He's too Jedhan to be cold. Everyone else is overreacting. And for a while it's true, but the still, wet cold here is completely different from the arid wind he knows how to take, and his robe isn't really up to it. The cold sneaks in subtly, or he's just that distracted. It takes him unawares when he realizes he's shivering and the line between hurting and numb is getting fuzzy in certain extremities.

He's still not really ready to talk to anyone, but dragging himself to exhaustion did make it a bit better. And Jude's not someone, he's safety. Not to mention in a house far away from what Bodhi can't really face right now. He knows he's supposed to come to Jude now, unnatural as it feels to be any trouble. This is where he should go. But knocking still feels awkward and presumptuous and like it can't possibly be a good idea.

3ofswords

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.]

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi
WHERE: Around the forest, his house, wandering random paths
WHEN: 10/11-10/12, general second half of the month
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)

( And the creepers of the ivy and the bending boughs of yew. )

theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: 6I Woods and paths
WHEN: September 23rd, after dark
OPEN TO: Bodhi Rook
WARNINGS: Usual warnings for mentions of epilepsy symptoms, specifically hallucinations.

Sometimes you have to steer into the slide. Sometimes you let circumstances take you by the hand and lead. Jude’s used to being led: by Parker, by his dad, by a tug in his center of gravity that just told him to go. He’d drop everything to drive out to whatever field Parker woke up in on a given Wednesday; he’d quit a job that hurt his hand under Charlie’s orders, or he’d go find another one when the stuffy summer days in the trailer started to suffocate.

The illness is a little different.

Given a choice, he wouldn’t bow to it at all, but maybe that’s why he rolls over so easy in the day to day. If the strings can cut at any moment, if something can spark a nightmare, if something can take over his head and launch him at a given target--what’s control anyway? What’s its weight, what’s its worth?

The things he sees, the ones that aren’t really there--a lot of them are easy to ignore. It’s just a bad smell no one else notices. It’s just bugs that dart between one crack and another. Tonight a creature of pure shadow sat a physical, choking weight on his chest, looking at him with baleful eyes, breathing sulfur across his face. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t anything: he could close his eyes and breath through his mouth against the stink. But it sat so heavy, pressed down on his chest until it felt like the burn of water in his lungs, and he’d shoved up, tangled in a curtain, torn the hooks off the rod rolling onto the dining room floor.

That had knocked the weight off his chest.

The air outside is clean and fresh, cold enough to warrant his new jacket. There will be dew in the morning, and he might stay up to feel it on his ankles. He puts his feet on the path and starts walking, no destination in mind. Nothing better to do when he blinks white butterflies against the dark than follow their lead.

When next he looks up, he’s in a moonlit field, probably south of the village proper. Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, he tilts his head back, wondering if all the stars in the dark sky are really there, or--projected, imagined. The best part of being alone, he thinks, is having no one to tell you the difference.

girlwednesday

WHO: Felicity Smoak
WHERE: The Village
WHEN: Sept 8-9
OPEN TO: Everyone in the village
WARNINGS: There should be none

It had been a couple of weeks since she and Oliver had pulled themselves out of the fountain in the middle of, well. Nowhere. A week had gone by before Oliver had let her leave the woods and moved them into a house on the outskirts of, well, nowhere. The packs they'd been given didn't give much in the ways of clues and Oliver didn't want Felicity showing herself to too many people unless it was necessary and he hadn't yet deemed it necessary.

By the beginning of the third week, Felicity herself deemed it necessary.

A lack of technology was one thing, but short of nagging Oliver into submission (not likely), all she could do was wait until he'd left to scout yet another something in another place and then walk out the front door. She knew he didn't expect her to do it, figured she'd still be taking him at his word that hiding away from everyone who might have answers would be best for them, but she was done with that.

Done hiding. She wanted more answers, more interaction, and figured that at least if someone killed her, at least there'd be an end to the wondering.

So, it was about ten o'clock in the morning on a Saturday when a woman in (mostly) white scrubs makes her way into town and starts looking around. She's not new, but she certainly looks it.

[OOC: Feel free to run into Felicity anywhere your character might be!]

theintercessor

WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: House 23
WHEN: September 6th [predated]
OPEN TO: Bodhi Rook
WARNINGS: Usual warnings for mentions of epilepsy symptoms may apply.

( Read More )

3ofswords

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: House 39
WHEN: September 15 [predated]
OPEN TO: Bodhi Rook
WARNINGS: N/A

( Read More )

71st_victor

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Outside the Mill
WHEN: August 11th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a

The last few times that she's been out in the woods have been silent, solo jaunts, which means that her temporary friend had been just that -- another person who left, whether of his own volition or not, but isn't that just like home? Everyone goes away, no one sticks around. Whatever, it just means there's more for her, which is why she's working with a lot of firewood, to the point that she eases back on the cutting and starts to look at other uses.

She doesn't build with them, doesn't know any tricks to make them into a floor or a roof or anything else handy, but what she knows is making a weapon or two. She's been whittling using her axe, turning a large slab of redwood into several well-turned staffs of about six feet tall, careful to keep her work clean. She could (and should) put a point on one end, but she'll save those for hunting, for later. Some of these, she's just working on because she misses fighting and keeping her anger hot and boiling. Fists are fine, but no one wants to come after her with the axe in her hands, so she's been thinking about evening up the playing field with a few good blunt instruments.

Twisting the second now-finished staff, she eyes the handiwork with all its errors and flaws, shrugging when she doesn't really care how perfect it is, so much as it's done.

Tossing it into the finished pile, she reaches down for the remainder of the log, using the axe absently to throw all her weight into the strike, cutting it clean in half so that she can pin it down with her boot, prying it up to start on a third. Even if she doesn't end up finding someone who's willing to practice, at least Johanna intends to be well-stocked in weapons for whatever comes next.

pretendtoneedme

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: 6I's Town Hall
WHEN: July 10th
OPEN TO: Everyone who wants in. There will be one subheader for welcoming back the group and one for the actual meeting
WARNINGS: Nothing so far; please add headers in the comment subjects if something does come up that could be problematic

The return is, when everything is said and done, uneventful. The group who went to explore the break in the canyon walks back into the village in the early afternoon, laden down with most of the supplies they'd brought with them and without any obvious injury. There's some scratches, a couple bruises, but whatever had happened to seal them away from the village for a week definitely didn't happen to them, and they're not buzzing with any news so world-shattering that everyone needs to be collected and reported to at once. There's enough time for the group to separate and grab showers, clean clothes, and something to eat, while the word passes from person to person that the explorers have returned and that there's going to be a meeting right after dinner for them to explain what they've found and answer questions.

At the appointed time, the five of them are there, looking less ragged, and ready to talk. They've brought a few things back with them to show the others in the village, but all in all there's just not a lot to show about the other side that's different - except for that one, giant thing. But the non-changes are going to be shocking enough for most people, and decisions have to be made about what to do with the information they have now.

notsocommon

WHO: Helen Magnus
WHERE: 6I village, canyon breach, 7I village
WHEN: 2 - 10 July
OPEN TO: Bodhi Rook, Ned Stark, Mark Watney, Clint Barton
WARNINGS: None at this time.

As happened the last time an expedition was mounted, Helen found herself as part of a team to go and investigate something at the edge of the known world. This time, though, the known world had expanded to great degree and it seemed that the canyon that had hemmed them in and been the bane of all those trying to escape the last several months had rent in twain, leaving them with another side of the world to push forward and survey.

Of those she found herself traveling with, only Mark was truly familiar to her. She knew the others in passing, yes, but knowing faces and part of a name weren't the same as knowing someone and she hoped that they were as stalwart and competent as they seemed to be upon first glance. All of them seemed well aware of what such a trek was going to entail, at least, and Helen wasn't concerned that she'd end up having to carry a load bigger than she'd intended in asking them along.

She wished, as always, that she had supplies to be able to draw a map or make notes about the lay of the land beyond the breach. While she knew the forest and fields beyond the village well enough, everything beyond the canyon wall was going to be new territory entirely and she wanted some way to memorialize it for the others. She hoped that someone else had access to paper and pen, that someone would be willing to give up such a precious commodity for the good of the community and for the furthering of knowledge. Supplies gathered and goodbyes said, the hike was begun to the edge of the known world and into the great beyond.

"I have no idea what's beyond this breach," Helen said. "I cannot even speculate, since none of us have been able to climb it. Geology was never my strong suit."

3ofswords

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: July 1st through the 8th
OPEN TO: ALL - Event Mingle
WARNINGS: Please warn in comment headers for sensitive subjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi, household residents, OTA
WHERE: Within and around House 39, random streets and spots in town
WHEN: Before, during, and immediately after the earthquake
OPEN TO: All, mingling at House 39 welcome
WARNINGS: Panic attacks, PTSD symptoms

Bodhi does his best to be busy, but his lack of any real expertise and the heat prey on his industrious impulses until there isn't much left. He does his share of the housework, taking over chores he's determined Kira especially doesn't like, but if the house isn't falling down, he's pretty satisfied. He naps a bit more often, the heavy air carving through his reserves enough to chase off the niggling little nightmares, and he works his way through Credence's loan as quickly as he can. He finds Frankenstein utterly mystifying, the world foreign beyond all comprehension, the language strange and stilted, every character's motivation utterly inscrutable. But there is a story in there, which would be worth it even if he didn't owe the loan his attention. He feels faintly guilty every moment he isn't bringing it back, and he reads it everywhere, on the porch and in the woods and here and there in town, drifting for a bit between long, dense packages that really reinforce the theory that Credence is smarter than he is.

The quiet little rhythm holds for a while. It's what he's built his life around here, the life he's not supposed to have. Keep his head down, be useful, enjoy whatever seems to be enjoyable, drift. He's in no one's way.

Then there's an earthquake. It's over so quickly, does so little damage, compared to the roar and the rush of rubble in his memory, but it's enough, and all of his carefully cultivated quiet calm is gone. Not for long, but enough to shake the cage he built himself and leave him less than safe.

Then Credence is missing. Another faint guilt, being so much more hurt by it than Jyn or Cassian's disappearance, but much as the comrades fate threw at him matter, the friend he chose leaves a different ache behind entirely.

After the quake (and after Bodhi stops shaking, which admittedly takes a bit more time), he's frantically busy, even in the face of the dying heat. No surprise that he jumps at the chance when an opportunity to actually help, to really do something presents itself. He's no expert, but planetary science, mapping and recordkeeping, simple survival and first aid, all are pieces of an academy education. Or, sometimes, the one he built for himself out of public files and a desperate attempt to keep up when Galen talked. Packing, planning, just keeping in motion. Maybe it's all just a way to avoid the mess inside his head sneaking out again, but at least it might do someone else some good.

He leaves the half finished book with Kira when he leaves. In case.

posilutely

WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: The fountain
WHEN: About 8:00, June 8th
OPEN TO: ALL
STATUS: Closed to new threads
WARNING: The thread with Sonny will eventually be ADULT

For almost as far back as she can remember, Queenie Goldstein has been a voracious reader. She'd be the first to tell you she doesn't have a head for the books that would make her smart, but there's just about nothing she loves more than losing herself in a good story. At home, she nearly always has a novel or stack of magazines to hand, and the tales of exotic places and sweeping romance are always her favorite. There was one in particular she read about twenty times when she was in school, all about a witch and wizard falling in love amidst the glittering sands of the Sahara. At the time, tucked up in her chilly New England dorm room, it had all seemed so marvelously enticing.

Now, it's a little less so.

To say the days the past couple of weeks have been hot just wouldn't be near accurate enough. It's been about like jumping into a frying pan when you're out in the middle of the day. When you walk around town, you can see it on everybody's faces: They're all waiting for the break that comes at sunset. Except now, the sun isn't going down at all. It's just sitting there on the horizon, brooding behind the cliffs like an angry dog.

That morning, Queenie had woken to another box with her name on it, perched this time on her dresser like someone had stolen in during the night and left it while she was sleeping. Inside, she'd found a pack of needles and several spools of thread, and while a bolt of fabric would've been nice, she's not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. And yeah, she did feel a little guilty about going into one of the houses and pulling down all the curtains and cleaning out the linen closet, but there's nothing in the storeroom in the inn except for scarves and heavy blankets.

It's just past eight o'clock at night, and Queenie's sitting on the lip of the fountain they all came out of, a basket of supplies at her side, bare feet dangling in the cool water as she works on the sewing in her lap and sings softly to herself. There's still plenty of light to see by out here, and the house is too stuffy even with every window flung open. Earlier, she'd cut her pants off above the knee and hemmed the edges; back home they'd be scandalous, but here they're pure practicality. Soon, she'll have a linen shift to wear instead.

71st_victor

WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: The springs
WHEN: May 11th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nudity and adult content
STATUS: Open

Out of nowhere, it's suddenly nice outside, with warmth and sun and all sorts of things that ought to make Johanna suspicious. Still, suspicion can take the back seat to her personal comfort, because the great weather means that she can enjoy the springs the way they ought to be. There's a trail of clothes leading up to the springs, with the scrub bottoms first, then a boot, another boot, and finally, the top before the path opens up to Johanna soaking up in the springs. She's heard that they heal people, but the truth is that she doesn't give a damn about healing anything.

All that she wants right now is to soak and relax into the water, pretending that she's not in some giant prison where someone might be watching at any point in time. She hasn't fully relaxed. If she had, then she wouldn't have hidden her axes within an arm's reach under a few branches.

She doesn't expect to be left alone too long, not with the weather warming up so perfectly, but still, when she hears footsteps, she can't help a little showmanship, sinking down into the water and raising a leg to let the water drip off, legs freshly shaved because she might be in the wilderness, but she's still vain enough to care, smirking as she watches the company approach.

"There's always room for more," she guarantees with a wink, moving in the water like a snake to the other side of the springs where she can rest her elbows out of the water, chin on her hands as she lets her gaze roam upwards, expectantly and with an assessing bent. "Unless you didn't want any room," is her dry addition. "I wouldn't mind sharing, if you don't."

onlyeverdoubted

WHO: Bodhi Rook
WHERE: Cabin 39, around town
WHEN: After the Obscurial Event
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Reflections on Jedha, including everything that might reasonably be supposed from a war zone being destroyed by mysterious death from above
STATUS: Ongoing

( Deep inside their dreams I see your memories )

3ofswords

WHO: Kira
WHERE: House 39
WHEN: March 22, Evening
OPEN TO: Casey, Bodhi
WARNINGS: grown men crying over cheese and hot sauce?
STATUS: n/a

Good as the solitude has been to him, there's still a point when the fire-cooked fish loses its flavor, is just a texture his teeth are tired of shoving against the inside of his mouth. When his joints are aching from sleeping on the ground, from the damp chill that the fog laid across the canyon. When his clothes are starting to hold their wrinkles, and the spring just isn't the same as a bath, and he's honestly just tired of shitting in the woods.

He's tired of being in the woods.

Casey had compromised on the temporary nature of the their departure, and after a week, Kira pushes open the front door of the house, having trudged dutifully past the skeleton of Ren's on the way back, finding it full of long shadows in the setting sun, but warm and dry. He'd all but forgotten asking Bodhi to stay and tend it, hadn't really expected the man to bother, and it's more than a pleasant surprise to drag his tired, dirty carcass into a house that really feels like more than a place to squat for the night.

The bruise is still dark on his jaw, green and yellow at the edges, and he's only as clean as his morning swim in the spring could get him, but he drops his pack just inside the door and has a glimmer, a half-sense to hold still as Aurora bustles around his legs to explore the space. It lets him hold the door open for Casey as he trails behind.

Shutting the door behind them both, he steps around man and dog to carry on to the kitchen, following a flicker of light. There's a fire lit in the stove, giving the room some extra warmth and light, and he holds his hands out to it a moment before the smell of hot grease turns his head toward the source.

Sitting on the counter are a pair of boxes and cartons familiar in shape, if devoid of any logo he recognizes. As he walks toward them, the light catches the edge of a bottle, and there are two--there are two liters, there is soda, behind a stacked pair of pizza boxes and, when he lets himself touch one, a carton of wings. Swallowing thickly against the smell, he lifts one of the box lids and stares down at a mess of toppings, and maybe he has the same fever Jyn had before they ran off into the trees, because, "I have got to be hallucinating."

"Casey," he calls, then, wondering if the fire-keeper is still here, "Bodhi! Get in here and tell me if you see this."

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with star wars: bodhi rook

Credits & Style Info

[ota] a pretty painful and very imposing before

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

Just to break my own fall

[OTA] if you save your soul you will think you're happy now

(no subject)

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

And there she'd sit serenely 'neath the thorns upon the holly

[closed] dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight

Defying Orders

[closed] the life you learn from someone else

[closed] gravity won’t get you through the mazes

whistle while you axe

Slow Rider, Slow Rider, Move On a Little More

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More [Closed]

[earthquake mingle] town hall

It's driven me before, and it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal

So get your hep boots on, and then you'll carry on [OTA]

way down deep where the water is heavy

Battered columns stand as silent monuments

[closed] homecoming