Sixth Iteration Logs

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Inn, near the Kitchen
WHEN: June 3rd
OPEN TO: All! Mingle post!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open

There's another one of those strange boxes sitting on the porch of their home when Ravi gets up to another scorching, awful day. He's not sure what switch they hit to get this sort of weather, but he wants them to take it back, seeing as he's been sweating so much that he has to do laundry practically every day to cope with the ridiculousness of it. He can't go shirtless because he has absolutely no will to show everyone the out of shape disappointment that it his torso.

He bends to pick up the box and bring it inside, but hisses when his fingers contact something frosty cold at the bottom of the box. Opening it in a hurry, his eyes widen and he tugs the box to his chest as best as he can, taking off in a completely ungraceful run, heading straight for the inn and shouting as he goes. "Ice cream!" he says, like the world's skeeviest ice cream truck on legs, luring children in after him. "Ice cream, there's ice cream, it's going to melt," he warns, because there are six tubs of it, but he fears that in this heat, it's not going to last very long at all. Scientifically, he knows that it's just going to be calories that generate heat, but science can go take a backseat.

He unloads the toppings and the various six flavours (ranging from vanilla to chocolate, cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, butter pecan, and even a treasured cherry garcia), the sprinkles and peanuts going with the caramel and hot fudge sauces. He could weep because there are even serving spades, bowls, and spoons. He knows he ought to be wary about food after the whole chocolate poisoning incident (if it really was the chocolate), but it's just so hot and he's just so hungry.

He'll chance it, because if he doesn't, he just gets some delicious flavoured ice cream soup soon.

sixthiteration

Hail had been falling for two days now, peppering the ground and shredding the grass but rather than melt away like a late spring storm it had only intensified, growing in diameter and moving from a mild annoyance to damned near deadly. As the storm raged, ice flew up through updrafts and was forced back to earth in the downdraft, accumulating layer after layer of murky debris until it went hurtling toward the earth with wicked accuracy.

Shingles were ripped from roofs, the wind howled and lightning cracked. The hail had driven both humans and animals into the safety of the indoors, to the dark corners of buildings that might withstand the assault. With only candlelight and the hushed voices of villagers to stave off fear and boredom, the storm raged like a sentient being heedless of those who might be caught in the path.

After the storm, a calm came over the land and weak sunlight glinted off smoke-tinged ice. Steam rose from the melt and humidity was thick in the air; petrichor hung heavy, a soothing scent after a savage display of natural fury.

[OOC: Your hail mingle post. Feel free to have characters on the run, gathering animals or inside the Town Hall waiting out the storm.]

herworship

WHO: Leia Organa
WHERE: At the canyon wall & on the outskirts of town
WHEN: Late morning & early afternoon, 27 April (A couple of days after arrival)
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Angry birds
STATUS: Closed

[1 | Late morning, at the canyon wall - CLOSED to new threads]

There's no way around it: There is something here that Leia just isn't seeing. She likes to think that she's gotten pretty damned good at thinking outside of the box, of finding ways out of a tight fix and then wiggling through. That's what they do, her and Luke and H—

It's what she does.

There are people stuck in this hole in the ground who are much bigger, much stronger, definitely much smarter than she is, and okay, she gets having priorities -- You don't want people to starve. But two days in and it's already driving her crazy that there aren't more people out here every, single day trying to find that one weakness. The chink in the armor. Because it's here, she knows it is. There's always something to pry open or shake loose.

And okay, it's probably stupid that she's out here alone, that she has nothing but her own hands and feet against a sheer cliff wall, but what else is she supposed to be doing? Making soup? She wouldn't know how to begin. This, this she knows how to do, or at least how to start.

Even if you're trapped in a trash compactor or dangling from the bottom of a floating city, there's always something.

"Damn it," she hisses as her feet lose purchase and she goes sliding back down the side of the cliff once again. Wincing, she looks at her right index finger, the nail torn to the quick.

"That's what you get for forgetting the gloves," she mutters to herself, and then presses her lips into a line as she stares up the ragged rock. Maybe that bit of outcropping, if she could just reach it --

Leia turns, eyes widening as the sound of rapid flapping swoops down from the clear sky, an entire flock of of small birds agitated and on a collision course with her head.

The sound she makes is high-pitched and definitely undignified, and as she scrambles away, she's distantly glad that there's no one she knows here to hear it.

[2 | Later, back in town]

There are still feathers in her hair, Leia is sure of it. Leaves probably, too, to match the smears of dirt across her cheeks and hands and the sprung knees of her pants. She's definitely looked worse before, but she doesn't need a mirror to know she's also looked much better.

Pride smarting more than any scrapes and bruises, she's frowning as she emerges from the treeline and onto one of the dusty thoroughfares running through the village. At first, she'd balked at the idea of finding herself an empty house to settle into, had scoffed at the mere thought that she'd be here long enough for settling to be necessary. But the prospect of cleaning herself up in a shared bathroom twists her stomach. If she's going to take her licks, she'd like to do it in private, thanks.

There aren't any signs indicating occupancy on any of the tidy little homes, so she detours anytime one looks neglected, stepping quickly from the street and up to the porch to peer inside the grimy windows and take stock of what's inside. Under the circumstances, she probably shouldn't be so picky, but every good leader knows the importance of a proper headquarters, and if she's going to do this, she's definitely staking out a good one.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with star wars: leia organa

Credits & Style Info

we all scream (but this time, for ice cream)

if the sky can crack [OTA mingle]

Episode V.I | She sees stars and rocket ships; [OTA]