Sixth Iteration Logs

<div class="postheader">WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
OPEN TO: (Who the post is open to tags from -- Specific characters, all, none, etc.)
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) <hr></div>
Put your post text here

itchtokill

WHO: Kol Mikaelson
WHERE: House #8
WHEN: Evening, Monday, Dec 9
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Predicting nothing warning-worthy, will update if necessary.
STATUS: OPEN

( Make a wish, you'll be fine. )

tobeclosetohim

WHO: Jo Harvelle
WHERE: Home, and The Inn/Around The Village
WHEN: Week of Return
OPEN TO:Everyone, Except the First
WARNINGS: It's Jo Harvelle, okay?
STATUS: Open

The Night of The Return
[ House #8 Only ]

The last thing Jo is expecting is to be told that shortly after she left a box came for her. Her. The person who scoffed and itched at all the others, who hadn't ever envied the others their boxes nor longed for one herself, and still it's there, waiting in the living room when they get home from the meeting, after telling everyone about the Hunt and the Wendigo and The Watching Station.

She's suspect of the whole thing and exhausted enough it barely shows. She picks it up and drops it on the couch, dropping herself on it next, and opens it, starting to pull things out. Thick fabrics and all of it black, black, black.

"They send me warm clothes now?" Jo scoffs, holding up the next pieces, a well made black long johns set, that would have served her a lot better in the middle of nowhere on that trek, with the wind and ice trying to blow through her. "Seriously?"

~*~

The Following Week
[ Everyone! ]

Jo won't call it home, and she won't call it normal, but things return to ... how they are. She sleeps like the dead the first night, and the second, but after those it's back to its constant and barely helpful, too. Waking early, in the darkness, for both, and making her way to the Inn. Writing more details that come in clips and snaps to her mind in the shorthand she's made, about where they went, how. Everything.

Pouring over Kate's notes in the light of a low early fire, hours before dawn, until she can talk to Kate herself about these things. What happened with the village in the last two weeks, about the meeting written about, and the number of provisionments against the bitter winter. (Not to have missed Allison's admission about her family and werewolves.)

Pondering how rude it would be, in light of their tacit growing agreements and work together, to comment on Kate's hand writing and spelling errors, that she edits through. Not to fault Kate, but more, because Jo's gotten so used to helping Thorfinn with Everything The English Language, and one more wouldn't be so hard.

When Jo's not at the books, playing both marathon memory and two weeks odd catch up, she takes shifts wherever a body's needed: patrolling with Steve's people, in the kitchen for Kate, doing odds jobs for Helen's creations, at least once checking on the two in from the forest.

~*~

Unexpected Surprises
[ Everyone! ]

Midweek another box appears for her. This one, though, not at her house, but at The Inn.

When she makes the trek one pre-dawn morning she finds it instead on top of the table that she works at, before clearing off to make room for Kate's breakfast. It's another large brown box, the same script of her name, and though less filled, it's heavier than the one that had been waiting at her house, and its contents leave her staring at them longer than the black winter clothes she's been wearing ever since.

Three journals, with real paper, lined and blank and graphed.
Two sets of real pencils, one normal and another full colored set.

Jo feels the needle of it. This head tip of some statement of what she's doing, giving her better than curtain pieces and borrowed paper, and even more, that colorful flame insignia embossed in the center of the black leather covers, staring back at her. Acknowledgment of knowledge and yet no help to them before.

Still, eventually, she gets to work, starting a process of moving five months of shorthand into them.

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn/Pub's main room
WHEN: 2st December
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E ~~not going on science/hunt quest. Hunt a monster, miss a meeting <.<~~
WARNINGS: TBA as needed
STATUS: Open!

For the past few days, Kate has been spreading the word that there'll be a meeting after lunch today. The previous meetings had been in reaction to something, and to a certain extent, this one is no different. But Kate wants to try something else: planning. Planning on how to deal with the coming months when the weather will only get worse. How to deal with blizzards, storms. How to deal with problems hopefully before they arise.

And, maybe, it makes her feel better doing this. Organising something, now that her comrade-in-practical-arms (Mark Watney) has left her to go trek after a monster. Far, far more practical than having hysterics. Which she won't admit to having to anyone but her cat and Benedict.

(Her tea that night might have been spiked with a dash of whiskey to insure that she slept.)

Today, the weather is cold. There is snow on the ground, and the sun isn't coming out to play. It is the kind of day where people linger over their meals in the warmth of the Inn anyway, seats near the fireplace taken quickly. Towards the end, Kate starts to organise for the meeting. One of the smaller tables is tipped over its side so Ivan has something to write on to take the minutes, and Kate hands him some pieces of precious chalk.

Then she stands on a chair and taps a spoon against a tiny saucepan in lieu of a bell.

"Attention, please! I call this meeting to order. So much as we ever get order. Winter's not goin' away in a hurry, so before we all run into trouble, we're goin' t'come up with some ideas and share knowledge. Not all of us come from the same world, let alone the same environment. If it seems obvious to you, say it anyway, because it might not be to others. Everyone got that? Good."

With that, she steps off the chair and sits on it.

Meeting's begun.

[OOC: Like our other meetings, set-up is mingle and threadjackable unless otherwise specified. Please set up your own heading posts for various topics that your characters would bring up for some organisation, but otherwise, have fun!]

lastofthekellys

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 24th November
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: OPEN

Aside from the days when she'd been too drunk or too hungover to get up, Kate's kept a farmer's hours all her life. Even in winter, when the bitterly cold winds that'd come up from the south and make its way through the cracks and holes in her ma's hut, she'd get up, get dressed, do her chores. But lately, it's been harder to extract herself from her bed. Benedict's been sharing her bed more often than not lately, and the chasteness of their interactions does nothing to change how warm and safe she feels. How little she wants to get up, get dressed, go out into the colder spaces of the Inn and do her work.

So, today, she's late getting out of bed - at least, by her standards. She's late getting down the stairs. She's late, so she's hurrying; she lazed in bed, and now she needs to start the fire in the main room. Start the fire, open the shutters, show that the Inn is standing and warm. And welcome, so she moves the -

No, Kate doesn't move the chairs stacked precariously at the front door as a rudimentary alarm of someone, something, coming through, because the chairs are gone. She neither dismisses it as one of the residents not getting the message, nor panics. Instead, she just opens the shutters to let in the dawn light and see if there are footprints, except, no, the snow has mostly cleared. The day is sunny. As welcome as it is, that doesn't help at all. Miss Hoppity jumps down from the foyer's desk to rub her face against Kate's skirt, apparently entirely unconcerned.

Kate eyes the cat for a moment, then approaches the closed doors leading to the main room. Closed, but with light coming through the cracks between door and floor, door and door frame. Cautiously, Kate opens one of the doors and peers in.

Then, she gapes.

The fire is blazing - hot, cheery - but so are the candles. The candles: candles on the unused candlesticks, candles clustered on tables, light up sideboards. Candles bobbing in bowls of water and apples. Candles white, yellow and red, when the village had none. Boughs of wheat, corn, decorate tables and the mantle over the fire, apples and pumpkins and collections of yellow, orange, red flowers seem to be everywhere.

And the food.

Each table is piled high with food. Roasted, baked, cooked on stoves and Kate knows how to cook, she knows how long this would all take, how many people, and it's impossible. What she's seeing is impossible to have done with the resources on hand: even an attempt would have woken up the whole building.

Disbelieving, Kate walks in. For a moment, she's entirely dumbfounded. Miss Hoppity, however, is nothing of the sort. The cat has leapt up onto the sideboard next to Kate and - well, Kate isn't sure what happens next. Just that suddenly there's movement and something large seems to lunge at her. Miss Hoppity yowls and speeds off: Kate screams as she battles something, falling backwards and hitting the floor along with a broken bowl of water, spilled apples and some tiny candles, and her attacker.

Pushing the food-turkey off her, Kate sits up and is, for once, entirely lost for words.

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn
WHERE: House #8 and around the Village
WHEN: November 17th.
OPEN TO: OTA except for one closed at the end.
WARNINGS: The link to his nightmare mentions zombies and cliff falling.
STATUS: Open

House #8, Early morning.
A loud scream ripped through the house, followed just seconds later by the loud scream of a name 'Arneis' screamed loud through the night air, his window as always was opened so the scream tore through the night as well. The normally quiet man was loudest at night when his dreams would attack him in ways most people never could.

He had shot up in bed and was sitting up panting holding his chest not yet noticing the tears rolling down his cheeks. He never in his darkest thoughts thought the terrors of night would bring his departed friend into them. Seeing her face unmarred by her horrid death hurt so much worse than the dead touching him as they always did. His throat burned yet again and all he could do was stare off into space trying to force it all back down. Not yet realizing his roommates were in the room with him around his bed.

House #8, Back yard, mid afternoon.
Thorfinn never got back to sleep that morning. Instead he worked on getting soap made and stretching the useless pelts to be rawhide. The cellar had lots of his little projects littering it. The cellar had mostly become where Thorfinn worked so he wouldn't leave a mess or blood around the house. Today he wasn't down in the cellar but in the back yard splitting logs into firewood. He was gaining well defined sleeplines on his face. He knew a day would come where he would just sleep through a day no matter how bad the nightmares were. He had no time for that right now, he was very busy. Or at least he always said. His hair was twisted up funny with two smoothed bits of branch holding it in place. He didnt take the time to braid it today and had yet to consider making a leather band out of one of his many collected pelts.

Each strike of the axe if loud when he brings it down, putting his strength into it so he doesn't have to swing twice. Despite the elder master warning him before that doing so would tire him out faster, that was what he was doing. When each was cut he pushed it off the stump and moved to the next. With the snow coming down he should have been wearing his coat, but he had tossed it on the porch when he got started. The snow he found better and easier to deal with. He felt more at home with the snow despite the biting cold. At least he was used to it, and no longer sleeping in a pile of hay in this kind of weather.

The Village
Thorfinn almost always kept himself busy but his body was growing tired of the constant running despite his will to keep going. After dragging some lumber home and scavenging for more herbs, which filled his bag on his shoulder he made his way back to the village. It was nearly dark as he made his way through the streets. His hands shoved into the jacket pockets of the strange coat he had taken to wearing since he still had not taken the pelts to be stitched by one of the women yet. His hair was down to protect his ears as he walked.

He knew that people were growing worried with the animal deaths and even Jess had agreed no one should be out at dark alone, Thorfinn didn't care. He refused to be frightened even when he knew there was danger. He walked alone as he always had. Tromping through the freshly falling snow.

( House 8:closed for Jo and Kol )

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: The Inn, House #8, The River.
WHEN:One Backdated to October 9th // The other for October 13th
OPEN TO: One thread closed to Sam, the rest OTA
WARNINGS: Some heavy cursing in Norse?
STATUS: Open

Backdated to the 9th: Closed to Sam
Once the rain had stopped, Thorfinn had been quick to get back to his daily tasks, he had days to make up for after all. When he came in the afternoon to drop off lumber he heard about the fact Kate and Margaery was missing, and he hadn't seen Margaery that morning, which in itself was strange but he didn't see reason for alarm when they were only out of sight a few hours at most. They had been seen at breakfast then gone after they went into the woods.

If it had been anyone else he would have rolled his eyes and gotten back to work, but it was both Kate and Margaery, and people were going off to look for them. So he watched and listened a few minutes before he looked to the person nearest him, Sam Wilson.

"You want me to go with?" He offered, though still he didn't look too concerned. If it had been a full day he'd be worried, but a few hours was not a big deal in his eyes. Kate was capable, and Margaery was learning.

OTA; Morning October 13th.
( cut for length )

OTA: Following the river.
The axe-head was in his bag over his shoulder, but the wheat seeds had been left in his room. Thorfinn got to work quickly on moving to the river to start following it. He was looking for off orange coloring, for signs of bog iron. He wasn't an expert and his lessons on the stuff had been ages ago when he was in Medietas, but, it was something worth looking into. A possibility of getting the smith up and running. He didn't have high hopes on finding the bog iron, but, it was worth a shot to try. Worse come to worse he'd time to find a stick worthy of whittling down into a handle for the axe-head.

overdraws

WHO: Allison Argent
WHERE: Fountain,
WHEN: October 6, beyond
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death/dying!
STATUS: Open

( pockets full of stones )

booklegging

WHO: Jess Brightwell and everyone!
WHERE: The inn.
WHEN: Sept. 28th to Oct. 11th.
OPEN TO: Everyone who lives at or would visit the inn during the non-stop rain. If you don't feel like making a log for the inn but want a place to tag around, this is the mingle post for you!
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
STATUS: Open. Mingle away, comrades.

There's nothing quite like the sky opening up and releasing a torrential downpour to bring people together. With water coming down in buckets and the streets turning into waterways, it would be wise to seek shelter until this lets up...

If it ever lets up.

For those needing a place to warm up, the inn has a roaring fire and hot tea waiting. Pass the time watching the rain at the window, or telling stories around the main room's fireplace, or enjoying friendly company in the pub. You're even welcome to stay the night in one of the inn's spare rooms, just don't mind the leaks. It's an old building. Luckily there are plenty of buckets to go around.

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: House #8
WHEN: Backdated to September 10th
OPEN TO: Kol Mikaelson, Jo Harvelle.
WARNINGS: Cursing, minor injury, will warn for more.
STATUS: Ongoing

Thorfinn had spent his morning bathing far upstream so no one would find him, with Jo's tracking of days he assumed it to be Saturday, so every seven days he goes and baths extra well on that seventh day. His hair was still drying as he sat shirtless at the table working with one of the smaller pelts that he knew would not be useful in his eventual cloak. He was skinning the fur off of it so it could be worked into raw hide for more uses later.

Then the shaking started things started to fall and shake hard around the kitchen his knife stabbed into the table as he rushed over to the large cabinet, throwing his back against it to keep the large piece of furniture that held the dishes from falling over and shattering everything. He could hear glass breaking inside as the pans and other things shook out of the other cabinets, the others were on the walls.

His heart was pounding, for once in a very long time he felt fear course through himself. Fight or flight instincts kicking in but he didn't have it in him to flee, no. He and Jo already lost enough he had to keep the cabinet standing up though the harder the shaking got, the harder standing up became. When he was finally knocked off his feet he rolled out of the way as the cabinet shook but didn't topple. A horrible noise came from further inside the house but the shaking was still to firm to get up yet. He was trying to keep from getting hit with any of the larger things that came falling from the counters, he was hit with a few smaller objects, a glass shattering near by when he tried to get out of the way of a pan, taking a chunk of glass to his upper right arm. Eventually the shaking stopped, and he was able to push himself to sit up, holding his heart as he looked at the mess around him. As he sat there he finally realize he was bleeding, more than that a chunk of glass was sticking out of his arm. Reaching back he yanked it free, a sharp noise came from him, things always hurt worse coming out.

He sat in the middle of the mess that filled Kol's kitchen holding pressure on his arm. In the rush of the moment he forgot Kol was home.

seekingvinland

WHO: Thorfinn/Jo, then OTA.
WHERE: House 44; The Waverly.
WHEN: Predated to the 29th Storm Surge Event with Mod Permission.
OPEN TO: Jo, Kol + Threads open to those that want to help Thorfinn and Jo at their house.
WARNINGS: A lot of cursing. Will update otherwise.
STATUS: OPEN!

Days had passed since the meeting in the inn. The meeting Thorfinn stormed out of because of a headache. He had never been a social butterfly, but the language barrier was making things harder for him to want to be more social. He was both lonely and pushing the world away. The way he did in his teens to keep the horde away from him. The issue was, he was understanding a lot better than most would a man with as little known English as he had two months ago. He just had major issues with so many talking against one another so fast. It had left him annoyed and feeling isolated. Old feelings from long ago.

Since that day he had been spending most of his time in his routine. Hunt for dinner, look for herbs and collect mushrooms and timber. He keeps busy to not focus on his issues. The nightmares getting more vivid everyday. This had happened before, it was nothing new. When he started to feel the weight of life, sometimes his dead would appear in his vision in his waking hours. Reminders that he deserves whatever pain he was in. His pain would never equal to the pain he had brought upon others.

These were the thoughts littering his mind as he made his way down early afternoon. He no longer really knew how long he had been in the village. Time never really held meaning to one who didn't care about time beyond the holidays, and the approaching cold.

He made his way through the fountain park the way he usually does, cutting past the inn. A nod given to those he passed now and then. He tried to be friendly even when he didn't feel it. He had not slept well, he never sleeps well but the night before had been pretty bad. Bad enough that he felt bad for Jo having to deal with him some nights. He was tired and pondering laying down on the bench, that Jo called a couch, and trying to sleep a little even though he rarely considered sleep in the day, it was shameful to be a layabout. It was while pondering this that he started into the yard, at first not noticing a sloshing feel under his feet like it had rained. AS he neared the door only then did he notice the stream of water rolling from under the door.

"ó fjandinn!"

His eyes widened as he hurried to the door the timber abandoned to the front yard as he pushed the door open and more water rolled out soaking the boots he had on. "ríða, ríða, ríða!"

Their house, by the gods, there was water everywhere. All he could think of was how the lady next door had asked him if flooding had happened in their home. Water belongs in the river and now their home was a river.

He left the door hanging open and turned running as fast as his legs would take him, it had been a long while since he really utilized his speed. His brawl with Snake had been his last true burst of speed. Now he was running down the streets of this strange new land for the inn. Jo was usually there, if not Jo, maybe Kate would know. He came through the door fast sliding to a stop. "Jo!" he called out, the shock and concern all over his house. "House! The house is a river!" He forgot the word that their kind neighbor Peggy had used. He did not recall flood in English.

Closed to Kol
Awhile later Thorfinn was hauling things out of the saturated house. Mostly their personal effects. His carvings and soaked clothes. He was grumbling under his breath in Norse the whole while. The anger and stress showed in his shoulders and grit teeth. He wasn't even trying to hide his displeasure at the situation.

He couldn't help but think of their neighbor and her wet rugs. That would have been much better than their home turning into a river while they were both out to stop it from happening. Not that he understood it much anyway. Still every now and then he would stop and look at Jo. Jo understood more of what this meant than he did. Just was the one who kept him from slipping over to the darker side that hide in the shadows. A side of himself he though was buried, but clearly wasn't. Standing in the middle of their soaked yard he shook his head after a second.

"We will be good." He muttered walking past her to go back inside to gather more things to bring out to the streets. He didn't know what the plan was after that.

itchtokill

WHO: Kol Mikaelson
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: Anytime in the week's aftermath of the discussion [Aug 22-28]
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: Open, with specific starts for Jo Harvelle and Kate Kelly

( There is no explanation that makes a person understand it until they've lived it. )

thenewways

WHO: Kira Nerys
WHERE: the Inn
WHEN: Saturday,
OPEN TO: All (August Plot, part 2)
WARNINGS: none at present
STATUS: Open

When Nerys heard about the boxes that Jo and Killian Jones had found, she was surprised. When she heard what was in them, that they were all marked with intent, the surprise lessened, and now was turning into sinking overwhelming tunnel vision in her head, her gut. The physical sensation of knowing, knowing that someone had plans for you, and those plans were likely ugly--oh yes, she knows it. Just because it's familiar, though, doesn't make it something she enjoys by any stretch of the imagination.

No, it's the kind of feeling that Nerys had learned at a very young age to transmute into anger. The kind of anger that fed her family, then the kind of anger that blew up Cardassian weapons depots, then the kind of anger that kept her focused on her job and kept her people safe.

She knows that if she's feeling this way, things are just as bad or worse for others. While she hasn't been entirely candid with everyone about her past, though she certainly hasn't lied, she's pretty sure she's seen complexity (let's be frank, darkness) in some of the people she's met, and like fuck did they need a full-scale civil war on their hands here.

It's a good way for them all, in the not-so-long run, to die.

Clearly, they all needed to have a gods damned talk before this boiled over, and as Nerys sees no one else volunteering, she steps up, roaming through the village like an old-fashioned crier. "Hey," she shouts at the people in the field, around the town, using the rather powerful pipes the Prophets had seen fit to give her. "Hey. Meeting at the Inn, fifteen minutes. We need to talk."

She gets to the inn in a few minutes' time, then clambers up onto one of the tables in front of Jo's lists, and sits, cross-legged, to wait. Folks filter in, a few at a time, and Nerys taps her jaw with her fingertips, counting out the seconds (she'd like a chronometer, but that'd be like asking for latinum dust). Once enough time's passed, she clears her throat. It doesn't really do much, so she rolls her eyes, then turns up the volume a little--not aggressive, but enough to catch people's attention. She's accustomed to walking the fine line between too much and too little leadership, because unlike her Starfleet colleagues, she doesn't expect the hierarchy of rank and linked formality of sometimes-grudging respect. Makes it easier to actually talk to people.

"Hey. My name's Nerys, for those of you who I haven't met properly yet. You've probably heard what was found out in the forest," she starts. "I figure we should all sit down and discuss it, because the last thing that's going to be any good for anyone is us starting to distrust each other and get into fights. So...let's hash it out, right?"

If she has to scream the 'this is what they fucking want, they want us to hurt each other, fuck them' message into people's heads, she's willing to do that. Eventually. Hopefully someone else will agree.

itchtokill

WHO: Kol Mikaelson
WHERE: His house; #8
WHEN: Narrative spans a bit from the 14th-16th, action takes place Saturday, 7/16
OPEN TO: Jo Harvelle
WARNINGS: Vague glossed-over violent descriptions; language pending; possible anxiety triggers
STATUS: Closed

( But he does scream. Just once. Long, loud and ringing in his ears. )

WHO: Kol Mikaelson
WHERE: Various; around the village, by the river,
WHEN: Saturday (7/16) & Sunday (7/17)
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Language pending; TBD will edit as needed
STATUS: Open

( Weekend OTA )

sixthiteration

WHO: Arrivals
WHERE: The fountain park
WHEN: July 1, 12:00 PM
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: CLOSED

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

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

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

It is the first of July.

It is precisely twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with tvd: kol mikaelson

Credits & Style Info

{Let tradition live on

{ crack the windows and take the shutters down

Meeting - How To Deal With Winter Without Blaming The Starks

Let us eat quickly-- let us fill ourselves up. {Harvest Feast}

Every second of the night I live another life

The gods are laughing.

let the only sound be the overflow;

mingle post | open

It's The End Of The World

The Destruction of Bungalow #44.

(no subject)

keep that fury deep inside you: primitive weapons plot

(no subject)

July Arrivals