onlyeverdoubted: (rogue one)
[personal profile] onlyeverdoubted
WHO: Bodhi
WHERE: Around the forest, his house, wandering random paths
WHEN: 10/11-10/12, general second half of the month
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)

And the creepers of the ivy and the bending boughs of yew. )
theintercessor: (dreaming)
[personal profile] 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: (Sidelook)
[personal profile] 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: (enigmatic smile)
[personal profile] 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: (Default)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: House 39
WHEN: September 15 [predated]
OPEN TO: Bodhi Rook

Read More )
71st_victor: (consider)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Outside the Mill
WHEN: August 11th

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: (running in the woods)
[personal profile] 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: (adventurous)
[personal profile] 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: (resolute)
[personal profile] 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: (brave)
[personal profile] 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: (003)
[personal profile] posilutely
WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: The fountain
WHEN: About 8:00, June 8th
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: (wink)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: The springs
WHEN: May 11th
WARNINGS: Nudity and adult content

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: (brave)
[personal profile] 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: (yellow/drink)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira
WHERE: House 39
WHEN: March 22, Evening
OPEN TO: Casey, Bodhi
WARNINGS: grown men crying over cheese and hot sauce?

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."
onlyeverdoubted: (you are all unreasonable)
[personal profile] onlyeverdoubted
WHO: Bodhi
WHERE: Around town, the inn
WHEN: Forward-dated to March 18
WARNINGS: None, will update

The storms didn't bother him a bit--he had far more on his mind when he first arrived, and wild weather has always been a bit of a specialty of his. The odd little flickers of light excited his curiosity, but he's known planets with much odder bits of phenomena. The soft, wet cold is just as unusual by his standards. Fog is kind of fun. Not, it turns out, the best thing to wander into alone, not when he can't trust his memory to race away to unsafe places, when shifting shapes and unpredictable dimness can so easily evoke... Well, he learns not to stay too far after the first time out.

Aside from that, he doesn't give the little lights or insects or weather much thought. He has Jyn's crisis to deal with, after all, and while he has yet to really find his niche, he's always intent on staying busy, contributing enough with odd jobs to justify the time he spends meandering physically and mentally. He doesn't try to avoid the little lights.

He notices the fever itself. He was a sickly kid, and he's not particularly sturdy now, but what he lacks in immune system, he makes up for in resilience. He moves a little more slowly, takes a few more breaks, but he keeps going. The other symptoms come on more slowly, and these, Bodhi doesn't notice. He's always sure he's doing everything wrong and that if anyone knew the truth they'd hate him. He glances to the side too quickly to see shifting shadows that couldn't be there more often than he'd like to admit. It's a little bit of a bad day, but he's not feeling well. It'll work itself out.

There are slips he doesn't usually make, though, or not without checking carefully to see if anyone's around. Talking to himself--a low, constant murmur, hard to make out any individual pieces. Drumming his fingers in complicated patterns against each other and whatever satisfying surface is nearby (actually, he's done that all his life, but if people notice they sometimes ask, and he gets flustered by having no answer). Long moments that, left uninterrupted, stretch on and on of just being... absent. It's so easy to slip back under, let bor gullet have him. Keeping his head together is the hard part.

There's nowhere he really does belong, and he winds up in the trees and the fog over and over again, but once in a while he gets lost near the inn, his usual base of operations.
71st_victor: (a little bit left)
[personal profile] 71st_victor
WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: Outside Johanna's House
WHEN: March 13th

Her plants have grown. They're not fully there yet, but when Johanna woke up, they were just saplings with a little dirt. She'd brought them into the house, found the closest window, and let them be. Only, when she comes downstairs today, they're not the same as before. They've grown months worth of time overnight all of a sudden, and better than that, the belladonna has two beautiful little blooms on it. Normally, she'd have put the poison garden outside, but Annie and Finnick's stupid geese might eat them and then she'd never hear the end of it, so inside they stay for now. She plucks one bud and drops it into water, but the other she takes into her hands once she's put on some the plastic gloves from the first aid kit and uses the hilt of her toy axe to start grinding it down, adding just a little bit of water.

Her axes, she won't taint with this. Belladonna's not the kind of poison she wants on a utilitarian set of axes, but that machete she got, well, that'll do perfectly. She heads outside when the fog seems to be breaking just enough for her to see through it, setting up on the porch as she starts to dab and apply the small ounces of poison to the weapon, feeling pleased that her deadly weapon just got a whole lot deadlier.

She whistles, low and steady under her breath, a sad melody she remembers hearing in the woods while her father taught her how to use the axe, wishing for some of the clothes from home. It's been ages since she thought about her family, mainly because doing that only hurts her, but she can't help but wonder how much they'd hate what she'd become.

Maybe it's a blessing they all got killed because of her. Sure, your daughter survived, but had to turn into a bloodthirsty murderer to do it. What kind of parent can live with that forever before it turns and you start wondering when it'll be them, next?

She pauses in her work when she hears the crunch of a boot in soil, lifting her gaze as wisps of hair fall into her eyes. "You're lucky I don't startle," she calls out to the shadow in the fog, "or you'd be dealing with another corpse," she says, steadying her hand as she adds another application of the poison.
kestreldawn: ([surprise] jedha)
[personal profile] kestreldawn
WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: By the fountain/Jyn and Cassian's Cabin
WHEN: Future-dated to March 16, late afternoon/evening
OPEN TO: OTA/Cassian (Separate thread posted for Kira)
WARNINGS: Mention of war, blood (sort of self-harmy?), violence (Will update as needed)

// OTA - By the Fountain //

It had been a mistake, realized too late: attempting to climb the precipice in the northern part of town. She hadn't been doing it for any reason other than pure curiosity - wanting to know first-hand whether the stories she'd been told held any truth ("no one can leave," "everyone who tries is struck down," "the only way out is by death").

Even more foolish had been her attempting to do it alone.

She'd reached about ten feet up when the first floating orb wafted by. She hadn't thought much of it until another one showed, then another, then another - until they practically congealed around her in a brilliant, blinding burst of light - and for a moment she thought, the air sucked out of her lungs -

Scarif. The Death Star. It's happening again.

And in her panic, she'd begun to flail her arms while trying to maintain her grip on the rock's surface, not realizing that this would agitate the insects - or that they would retaliate against her.

It had been one sting - a little zap of pain on the side of her neck. She swatted, bringing palm to skin with a resounding slap. Then it was another, on her left arm - then four more through the fabric of her shirt on the expanse of her back. She leapt down from the crag, covering the back of her neck as she tried to run away, tried to escape the incessant daggers masquerading as flying insects.

It's when she reaches the fountain that the hallucinations and paranoia begin to set in.

She is back at war, back in the jungles of Onderon. She reaches for the blaster at her thigh only to discover it's been lost - or worse, taken. She ducks for cover in a small patch of trees, heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears, breathing short and furious. She trembles, petrified of an unknown enemy, wondering where the kriff her comrades have gone off to; have they left her behind?

// Cassian - The Cabin //

She hadn't told anyone where she was going that morning - not even Cassian. Part of it was because she didn't wholeheartedly believe in the danger, despite the warnings she'd received. Part of it was because she knew the reprimanding sort of look he would give her if she had told him - the silent worry glittering like a galaxy behind the blackness of his eyes. She couldn't stand to see it. So, she'd ventured out alone - didn't lie or come up with an alternative excuse, just said she would be back later.

After the attack, she eventually finds her way back to the cabin - some dull, weak part of her brain remembers it - knows it's familiar. She still sees the jungle, still feels the oppressive heat and the stink of rotting vegetation, but there's something in her, underneath the layers of fever and projected surroundings, that knows this place is safe. Or safer than the rest.

She's crouching, hiding underneath their porch - taking cover from imagined enemy fire that feels more real than the dirt pressing against her belly. Mutters and curses to herself that she's lost her weapon and has been left defenseless, not realizing the volume at which she speaks.
putorius: (Let the guitar scream like a fascist)
[personal profile] putorius
WHO: Draco Malfoy
WHERE: Around the village, the river, house #49
WHEN: Hazy, up to and including the afternoon of March 2nd
OPEN TO: Anyone who desires it (jump in anywhere, it's a wandery thing)
WARNINGS: Draco's attitude, possible talk of torture and murder, will update as necessary

I. Lies right down within it
It's been nearly a month. At least, he thinks it has. With no strict schedule like classes to adhere to, he'd started to find it difficult to track the days. At first it was easy, but somewhere around the two week mark, he was too exhausted to keep track anymore. Had it been one day or three? Did he remember to count the day before? This would be so much easier if he would only just accept his position. If he would stay at the inn, properly. If he would give in and stop trying to get home.

His efforts were growing weaker, especially in the last week. His conviction had run out some time ago, but he wasn't sure when. Maybe it was around that party thing. It was no longer that he believed he could get home, he could feel that it was pointless. But dread and fear have a strange sort of motivation in and of themselves, especially when that fear comes out of knowing one's failure will result not only in his own torture and death, but that of his family as well. It became a frantic, desperate sort of search for a way out, pushing himself despite utter exhaustion. He wandered through the woods, more aimless than ever before. He wasn't venturing as deep as he had before, too tired to risk the perils he'd already found.

Most nights he could be found sitting outside the inn, or on the porch of an empty house. On the nights when the streaks of the auroras were still visible, he could frequently be seen staring up at them with great unease. They were just brilliant ribbons of color, but they way they shifted sometimes, he feared they might suddenly contort into a shape to match the tattoo on his arm. At least he was too tired to be sick with fear anymore.
Keep reading to see the ferret getting soggy again )
zomboligist: (like please bitch)
[personal profile] zomboligist
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: February 20th, Evening
OPEN TO: Gathering style, so all!
WARNINGS: Casual drug use

Two boxes were on Ravi's porch.

It's barely even been his porch for very long, so it might well be for Helen, but on closer inspection, they both are inscribed to him. Crouching down cautiously, he'd been careful in case there were new rats in these ones, but a quick glance inside the first and then the second yields delighted surprise and then an immediate plan. Really, it looks like a baker and a drug dealer have decided to woo him, given that one box is filled with rolling papers, enough pot to satisfy the village's population twiceover, and butter. When he opens the second box, he finds all the ingredients to match a large batch of chocolate chip cookies and cool milk.

Instantly, he wonders if this isn't some sign from the universe. "Are you trying to get me stoned?" he questions the heavens, but he thinks the reality is going to be very different. Given everything that's happened lately, he absolutely believes that people deserve a break and what better break than cookies, pot, and potentially just a few pot-cookie combinations?

He commandeers the kitchen in the inn and gets to work, recalling old recipes from uni about how to properly mix the butter and the marijuana to make sure that it's baked into the cookies properly, making a clean batch and very clear labels. While they bake, he rolls the remaining drugs into joints, and tries not to think about how he's basically about to become a drug dealer to the whole village.

At least it's not utopium. After that night with Major, he's ruling out scientific drug-taking for a while, yet. Soon, the cookies are freshly done and he's got everything ready, so he tapes up a sign on the box so that it sits in one of the chairs at the inn, an arrow pointing outside towards town hall.


Well, he had to cover all his bases, didn't he?
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.]


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