maternis: (pic#11116489)
[personal profile] maternis posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Newt Scamander
WHERE: outside gathering animals during the storm, helping people into the town hall (if need be), and at graves' house.
WHEN: backdated to the 14th when the hailstorm began
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Just an extremely introverted magizoologist who prefers the company of all things not human.
STATUS: Open, save for the closed starter that is marked.

Gathering the animals:

It had been quite an eventful month, thus far. While he was still making due with feeling as though he had lost a sense with having no access to his magical abilities at all. Still, he did much as he usually did. He kept to himself mostly, though Carol had insisted that Percival was to be visited quite regularly. She had become rather attached, and so he had started to come to the village more regularly than he had in the previous months. Mostly, it was to check in to see if anything had changed with Credence, say hello to Tina and Queenie in brief, and Jacob as well.

He had been in the relative safety of the forest when the hailstorm began, and likely would have stayed if things hadn't begun to grow worse. It was during the start of it that he had found his newest passenger, though he had yet to introduce him to anyone as of yet.

But while he's helping to gather the animals, some by ushering them towards the safety of the Town Hall, and others by the armful if he's able to grab hold of them, one might notice the tiny triangular face of something that looks suspiciously like a weasel of some sort. Newt will be happy to introduce you to him after the current situation is handled.

"Come on, that's it. In we go," Newt soothes, warmth in his voice despite the urgency of the situation. "All of us inside where it is warm. There we are."

He looks back over one shoulder, his left cheek is stinging and starting to bruise from a glancing blow from a chunk of ice, but otherwise he's unharmed. "Is that all of them?"

Helping people inside the Town Hall:

While Newt has experienced his fair share of bad weather, the brunt of it had been during his time past in Equatorial Guinea, and the monsoon season coming to bear. It's tropical climate meant that he didn't have to contend with something so fierce as a hailstorm that seemed to have no end in sight, but rather the torrential rain that came instead.

If anyone needs assistance with supplies, or merely getting to a place of shelter, Newt is there to help take items, or offer the slight shelter of his peacoat over the top of their heads as they go to the Town Hall. He won't be staying for long, and will likely attempt to make a break when it is safer.

Closed to Graves at his house:

Newt shows up during a small lull with a polite knock to Graves' door that belies his current state. The hail is still coming down all around the village, but most everyone is safely away from the worst of it to wait it out. He isn't much for crowds, much less of people he doesn't know well, and decides that this is the better option. What Percival might see upon opening his door, despite the quiet ask for entry, is a sopping wet Newt Scamander, curls sticking wetly to his forehead, a small cut and bruise forming on his left cheek, and his coat tucked carefully around his thin frame.

It's obvious that his coat wrapped as it is, while not for his own benefit, is for the benefit of yet another creature he has managed to gain the trust of.

He casts a glance up, meeting his gaze briefly, and then letting it settle on the other man's shoulder. His expression, however, is warm as he offers a smile as if it were a day like any other. "Hello."

Wildcard! choose your own adventure:

( Perhaps I missed something you'd like to see. Go ahead and comment in, and I'll happily join in! )
markwatney: (014)
[personal profile] markwatney posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Fields and nearby
WHEN: 23 May, evening
NOTE: Please don't feel you have to talk to him about plants. I know how boring it can get.

The weather is starting to become a concern.

Now, I really am not a person prone to panic. Things have to be going pretty badly pretty abruptly for me to freak out. But I'm also aware of how nefarious a gradual change can be, and how dangerous to people not paying attention. Personally, I'm not interested in being a lobster in a slow-warming pot.

Then again, maybe I don't have much choice in that.

Point is, it's easier to pay attention to the fact that the sun is taking the opposite path in the sky than that we're getting way too warm too soon for this time of year. (And I could get into why it's implausible that the Earth has actually reversed rotation, including disruptions that would likely end all life, but it's way more boring than it sounds, so I'll just say I'm not buying it.) People are finding ways to cool off, and that's good -- Apart from physical health reasons, we don't get nearly enough opportunities to simply relax and have unfettered fun. The plants we've all been so tending so judiciously, though, don't have the option to take a dip.

The hail was bad enough. The damage was... Well, it wasn't great, obviously, but nothing we couldn't recover from. Assuming, of course, that everything stays relatively predictable. This heat and lack of rain? It isn't predictable.

I've been out in the fields all day today, even longer than normal, taking notes and measurements, doing what I can to ensure the plants are well fed and watered. We really cannot afford to lose a significant part of this harvest, not with the number of people in the village now. It's tedious, back-breaking work, but it has to be done.

And it's honestly probably a testament to how tedious and back-breaking it is that I am tired and distracted enough that I end up covered in shit. Not metaphorical shit; actual shit, courtesy of a poorly-timed misstep while I was shoveling fertilizer. Manure's coated all along the front of my thighs and torso, splashed up to my neck and chin.

"God damn it," I moan, picking myself up with a wince.

01. Death is... wet

22 May 2017 09:22 pm
chirrutsluck: (Default)
[personal profile] chirrutsluck posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Baze Malbus
WHERE: The fountain where we all wake up...
WHEN: May 22, late afternoon
OPEN TO: Anybody!

Baze didn't expect death to feel so... wet. The grenade went off, and the light was so blinding that he couldn’t see Chirrut's body behind him anymore. He'd expected pain, but really, it's over so soon he doesn’t feel much of anything-- until he feels something that seems very much like water. He'd rather expected to feel nothing at all or, in the desperate hope that maybe Chirrut was right and they’d be together again in the Force, a kind of glowy meeting of molecules on the ruined beach or even in the emptiness of space somewhere.

Instead, now, he feels wet and heavy and a bit like he's floating. The floating sort of makes sense. The urgent need to breath does not.

He opens his eyes, and below him is the ripple of sunlight through water on cobbled stone. He's definitely underwater, or floating on it. Startled, angry, he surges back, and out of what appears to be a fairly shallow... fountain? He's coughing, pushing heavy hair out of his face, and squinting at the fountain, because it is definitely a fountain. This... is not death. Is it? Not even the teachings of the old Jedi, who would have known if anyone had, said anything about waking up in a fountain in the middle of some sort of town square, wet and wearing different clothes and decidedly lacking in his usual heavy gun on his back.

"Chirrut?" he calls, once he has his breath back. If this is death, surely his partner would be here somewhere. They both died in the same time and space, mere minutes and yards apart. There would be no way for him to get far.

There's no way for him to be here, at all. This isn't Scariff.

"Chirrut!" If he isn't here somewhere, Baze is going to be unhappy.

(no subject)

22 May 2017 10:53 pm
stillplaying: ([action] pausing the hunt)
[personal profile] stillplaying posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Katniss Everdeen
WHERE: Outside House 41
WHEN: May 22

It's taken her a while to find the perfect branch. Something that wouldn't require too much trimming in size. Something that was relatively straight, free of the knots and side branches and anything else that might get in the way of carving a decent bow. She had found that bow a few weeks back, shortly before Peeta had wound up with a broken leg. Her project had been put to the side in favor of fretting over Peeta. Maybe that had been a mistake. If she had actually worked harder on finding the right branch, if she had worked harder on making her bow, maybe she could have done something to prevent Peeta from getting hurt. It's a stupid and irrational thought but it's one that's plagued her nonetheless.

Although his leg is still broken, it's finally sunk in that she doesn't need to watch him every second. He's capable on his crutches and that's something that she should respect. This new arena might be dangerous in its own way but there's no one actively trying to kill them. Besides, it's easy to keep an eye on the bakery from the porch of their house. She can stay out of his and Jacob's way but still monitor the bakery's comings and goings.

She sits quietly on the porch, the branch between her knees as she works on carving one edge. The paring knife is small but sharp enough to gently remove the wood from the belly side of the bow. She slowly works her way down the branch, crafting the wood until the limb bends in an even curve. Eventually, she carves notches into either end before moving on to working on the strings. Every now and then, she looks up to watch the bakery entrance - especially if she hears footsteps.

It's not a bad way to pass the afternoon, though she'd rather be out in the surrounding woods. That's the purpose of making this rough bow though, isn't it? She won't feel fully comfortable in her new surroundings until she had a way to protect herself and Peeta. And a way to provide them with extra food.

07 Skirts & Sails [OPEN]

22 May 2017 12:26 pm
chosenbytheocean: (PB - Awkward)
[personal profile] chosenbytheocean posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Moana
WHERE: Near the river.
WHEN: May 21st - May 25th

Her dress was finally completed and just in time for the sudden heatwave. It had taken her a total of five months and only so short of a time thanks to the appearance of the box that had held Itiiti. She now wore a dress that was similar to what she knew. The skirt was almost identical to the one she wore on Motunui with two layers; one woven and the other a plane grass panel. She took the navy blue scrubs and ripped a strip of the fabric to tie around her waist as a belt, holding her skirts so that they wouldn't shift as she ran. Her top wasn't as colorful as it had been before. It was a pale tan hue with black patterns of fish and turtles that she'd dusted on using rock and stone. The fabric was soft but strong, having been formed from the paper mulberry tree.

She finally felt more at home.

Dancing: Water Front

For the last week, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about her grandmother. A necklace arrived and it quickly became a part of Moana's everyday attire, reminding her of the figure that she'd lost. There was very little that connected her grandmother. There were things that her grandmother had taught her and it was in those lessons that Moana sought comfort.

She could be found near the water's edge, dancing with the currents that pushed and pulled against the shore line. The dance was very specific, moving with the water as she drifted in and out, pulling its currents downstream. Moana rotated her heel and then popped her hip, her skirts flaring out as she turned and twisted to the beautiful rhythm of the water.

Sailing Fails: Boat House/Lake

This was probably a very bad idea but Moana had to at least try. There were a few boats lined up at the boat house and she knew that at least one of them belonged to Killian. He wouldn't mind if she borrowed it, she'd bring it back. Moana wanted to see what was along the river and with the heat she found no reason not to try now. This was weather that she was very comfortable in.

Itiiti, the young pig, was at her side snorting as he ran to jump into the boat that Moana was prepping to push onto the water. She was stronger than she looked and with a hard push the canoe splashed into the steady currents. Moana was quick to jump inside as the boat was pulled onto the currents. "Ready?" She asked the pig who oinked in answer to her question.

There was one problem with her plan; Moana didn't know how to sail. The currents took the boat, pulling her forward roughly as she began to be pushed down stream. "Whoa whoa! Whoa!"

She might need some help or the boat will most likely flip and both Itiiti and Moana will be found crawling out of the water downstream. Hopefully the boat was okay too.

A day in the life of Itiiti: Everywhere

Itiiti was rather small for a pig. He was smart and while he often followed behind Moana there were days when he would set off on his own. He was still learning and luckily he was too small to be seen as food. There was a collar around his neck, one made by Moana that marked him as owned, though there was no way for her to write her name or anything useful on the collar.

The piglet could be found all over the village. He'd eat anything that looked eatable but also start sniffing in odd patches of dark wet dirt. He turned towards anything that was new and interesting to see what it was though any loud noises would have him running quickly away.

Itiiti was smart enough to know when it was time to follow his nose and run back towards Moana.
fishermansweater: (Actual human dolphin)
[personal profile] fishermansweater posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHERE: The waterfall
WHEN: During the hot weather in late May
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: PROBABLY NAKED. cw your warnings in individual threads.
STATUS: Open. THIS IS A MINGLE, have at it, tag around, you know what to do. If you want Finnick, let me know in the comment subject!

He wouldn't actually say it was really hot yet, but it's definitely getting to the sort of temperatures that make Finnick miss swimming. There's no substitute for the sand of a beach underfoot, the reassuring roar of the surf, the taste of salt in the air, but there is at least water here, tumbling down from the waterfall and flowing through the canyon until it disappears into the rocks to the south. And he knows from constantly checking his fish traps that the water is deliciously cool.

He's tested out a few spots along the river for swimming, and it's good to be in the water again, after being kept out of it for so long by the harshness of the winter.  Not swimming doesn't feel right to him, and it never has. He's never spent this long somewhere with a winter this cold, and he can't remember ever going this long without swimming. So Finnick's been testing the water out since before it was probably what most people would consider to be warm enough to swim. It had helped that he and Annie had some gifts to hunt for in the river, but those have long been found, and now it's just for relaxation.

The calmest, most relaxing place he's found so far for swimming in the river is the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where the water plunges into the canyon crisp and cool from the heights of the cliffs. It's deep around the falls, and it's big enough to swim, and Finnick spends most of the hottest parts of the day there.

So whenever he hears someone talking about the heat while he's dropping food off in the village, he suggests they try the waterfall pool. Word's likely to get around, so he won't be entirely surprised to find other people stopping by the falls.

When they do, they're likely to find him swimming around the deep part near the falls, stripped down to his underwear and, from the grin on his face, having the time of his life. It's clear just from looking at him that he's good at this, moving through the water with a confidence and grace more like to a sea-creature than a man. He's in such a good mood that he even calls out to greet many of the people who approach.

Of course, he's not the guardian of the waterfall: everyone's welcome to stop by whether he's there or not. Once or twice, there's even a moose to be seen standing at the edge of the pool taking a long, relaxing drink.
goldsteins: (0010095)
[personal profile] goldsteins posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Tina Goldstein
WHERE: Around the Village, outskirts of the forest, outside of house 17
WHEN: May 20-23
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: N/A, mild language

I. MAY 20
She's never had a pet before and she never thought to start now. It had been a week ago that the box with her name had arrived. The woman couldn't help but think that it was some poor joke, giving her a cat of all things. If she had found Newt that first day she would have shoved the poor creature off on him. Not for any other reason than it would obviously do better with him. Tina had gone as far as to refuse to name it the first few days, as if that would be proof she didn't own it.

Leave it to her to absently call it by a name a few days ago and accept her fate. She wasn't even sure she was a cat person.

Especially not right now-- Not when the blasted cat had waited at the door of the house she shared with Queenie waiting for its escape all afternoon. The kitten had an adventurous and curious streak that far beat out her own, Tina thought mildly-- And she was supposed to be a Thunderbird. Favors the adventurer, hah! Chasing down a kitten who'd made a break for it was not the adventure of a life she wanted.

"Molly," Tina hissed out as she ducked to look under wooden steps to someone's house. Not there. The increasingly familiar yowl made her straighten immediately and turn towards the sound. The kitten was now across the street and sat primly on that porch.

"Oh," the woman huffed a laugh, "you think this is a game."

Her answer is another yowl which she took as most assuredly a yes. "You're lucky I don't just give you away," She chastised, though there's no heat to her voice. Somehow, just somehow chasing after the blasted cat is the most relaxed she'd been in days. She moved towards the kitten trying to remember what little Newt had taught her about creatures those times ago-- but this kitten certainly wasn't wary of her, did that even apply?

She gets just in just enough distance to reach the kitten before it darted off again and her features twisted into a grimace. Tina wheeled around in time to see the kitten skirt pass a stranger and pressed her lips together. Defeated, for the moment.

"Sorry," she breathed out an almost self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips at her inability to catch one kitten.

II. May 21
in which a lot of feelings happen )
When she pulled herself together sometime later, Tina had come to a firm decision. She dressed quickly and put the necklace around her neck without any other further ado. Tina made certain she looked fit to slip from her room and to the outside world. Today, unlike most days, she does not head for the Inn but headed into the forest. After her first few days she hadn't dared yet go back in, for no other reason than she wanted to be equipped to do so. But she'd had to have learned something, she has a survival kit and the closest thing to a weapon she could obtain.

If the locket's presence was to upset her, it had done that. If it was meant to serve as a catalyst to action, it had certainly managed that as well.

Tina has half the mind to go looking for the man she knew to reside in the forest if only for his assistance. But as she hadn't gone to where he was staying-- if he was still saying there-- she had just as much luck finding him as she did her answers. So instead the woman pressed on and made her way through the forest. For a woman used to the terrain of New York back alleys and underground she fared fairly well.

Perhaps it was that reason that things decided to go wrong.

She was far from a scout used to nature, but she was trained for harsh situations and investigating. It hadn't taken much to notice the grooves on a cliff side where one might clasp onto to climb up it. Tina thought she remembered something about this from the maps and it was some deliberation that she decided to try to climb them for as terrible an idea as it sounded (but she felt that trying anything was terrible without magic, so maybe that was part of why she had to). She doesn't do nearly so well here. Her limbs are thankfully longer and able to reach grooves she might not be able and she's careful enough--

Later she would not be able to tell you if it was the appearance of the large snake-- was it even a snake?-- from one of the many crevices or her hand slipping that ends in the fall. What she would be able to say is she by no means wants a repeat of it. She was grateful she hadn't been much higher though and that she hadn't done something more dastardly such as hitting her head. A string of curses left her lips as she refused for some time to move more than just to sit up straight.

At least she was used to injuries on the field enough to assess somethings: A bruised rib and a sprained ankle she thought acidly. Of course. The survival kit next to her would have something of a flare, she supposed, but Tina was too stubborn for that. A test showed her the amount of weight she could put on that ankle-- virtually none-- and she pressed her lips together before she shifted (crawled) for a suitable stick and tried to get back up. Between that and the trees she could possibly make it back just fine on her own.

Of course, this way was much more labored. She had to stop more than she cared to and plenty of those stops were from tripping and falling. What had taken her a relatively shorter time to get too took nearly triple to get back though the sun is only just fading over the horizon when she finally, gloriously tumbled out of the forest proper.

Tina doesn't even try to make it any further since whatever adrenaline she had gathered to get back faded way the minute she collapsed just outside of the forest. A puff of breath escaped her lips that's almost a scoff of a laugh. Deliverance Dane, that didn't really accomplish anything at all.

III. May 23
It's two days later the woman can be found on the porch of house seventeen looking more frustrated at herself than ever. Tina may have properly restricted herself to the house and not doing much as she wasn't fool enough to think she probably made any injury worse by coming out on her own. Though, of course later, she realized she wasn't even quite sure how to use those matches in the survival kit so maybe the flare wouldn't have worked after all. The sense she had, the knowledge of how to use them-- not so much, another thing she'd have to learn.

She still can't help but hate being cooped up inside and that is the primary reason she is glaring at the sky instead of the roof. Things had been odd here and they weren't getting less strange. First the sun, then the hail, and she's pretty sure it's much too hot. She sighed and turned where there was a thunk at one of the windows-- Brow arching as she glanced back to see Molly trying to paw her way out of it.

Snorting, Tina shook her head and turned back to open the well-worn survival manual she had picked up. "The weather could at least make up it's mind," She mumbled just loud enough for any passerby's to pick up.

(no subject)

21 May 2017 08:37 pm
primals: (06)
[personal profile] primals posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Corsina Surana
WHERE: The fountain park, the inn
WHEN: May 21st
OPEN TO: Corsina's arrival is locked to Hawke, and I'm taking up to five threads for the OTA portion at the inn.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed.

the fountain; locked to Astrid Hawke

The first thing Corsina is conscious of is that she can't breathe. Her lungs feel on fire, burning pain and a tightness in her chest like — like drowning, and the second thing she realizes is the reason her limbs feel slow and heavy: she's in water, although she can't for the life of her recall how or why. Among the things Corsina learned at the Circle and with the Wardens, swimming wasn't really one of them — but she can tread water a little, and her arms and legs work just enough to propel her to the surface.

She breaks through the water with a gasp, and probably would have sunk right back below the surface if not for the instinctual grab at something that turns out — when she can get her breath and her bearings enough to focus — to be the rim of a stone fountain. She clings onto it for a while, trying to get a sense of where she is. She's in what looks to be a courtyard of some sort with the fountain at its center, but there are buildings in the near distance; this must be a village of some sort, although not like anything she's ever seen.

Corsina pulls herself out of the fountain, waterlogged and still gasping for breath a little. She remembers where she was — in Denerim, although she was supposed to travel to Amaranthine in a few days, to take up possession of the fortress Vigil's Keep as a new central base for the Fereldan Grey Wardens. This — she doesn't know where this is, but it's nowhere near Denerim nor Amaranthine, of that much she is certain. She's dressed in strange clothes — trousers and shirt made of some plain blue-green fabric, and heavy brown boots with laces — and the heavy weight on her back turns out to be a pack, though she doesn't yet try to open it to see what's in it, overwhelmed just from the realization that she's nowhere near where she was and fighting not to panic at the idea that she must have been kidnapped somehow, there's no explanation for this that makes sense otherwise.

"Where in the Maker's name—" she manages, half of a breathless sentence as she sits right back down on the rim of the fountain.

She'll recover in a few minutes and get to finding someone who can tell her where she is and what's going on. She will. But right now — right now this is all a little bit much.

the inn; open

Corsina's had a few things explained to her now, and realized a few things about herself and why she feels so strange, but even so, there's still a sense that maybe this isn't really happening. Everything's fine; it has to be. This is a dream and she'll wake up, or someone will come and rescue her, or — something, because she's not processed the idea that being trapped here might be for good.

Hawke has been kind to her, but eventually she has to leave the house to take a walk, try to clear her head and get a sense of her surroundings. She's trying not to be intrusive and look into people's houses, but there's a large building that looks like it might be a common building of some kind.

Stranded in this strange village she might be, but she pushes open the door and — well, she knows a tavern when she sees one. There's a small sigh of relief — finally, something that makes some kind of sense — and she takes her time to look around, examining the tables and chairs, the fireplace, and then moving a bit further into the kitchen.

Corsina doesn't know what she was expecting, but she startles a little on seeing someone else in the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she says. "I... didn't realize there was anyone here."

It sounds silly as she says it; she's not quite blushing, but a rueful, self-deprecating smile pulls at her mouth. Everything about this entire situation is throwing her off. Warden-Commander she might be, but right now she feels more like the sheltered girl from the Circle that she used to be than anything else.

(no subject)

21 May 2017 08:36 pm
fantastic_kneads: (little whelmed)
[personal profile] fantastic_kneads posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Jacob Kowalski
WHERE: The Bakery
WHEN: May 21
OPEN TO: All - 1st starter primarily for people who have talked to him before, 2nd open to all

Miss Manners Says...

He's been thinking about what his Ma would've thought about this place pretty much from the second he turned up. Jacob knows that it's not like New York, not even like a street of New York, seeing as he thinks there's more people in his building than there are here, but that come with good things, too. It means people care about you, they worry, and they're real nice. Ever since he's arrived in this weird little village, Jacob's been helped out by a lot of people.

His Ma's voice in his head tells him that he should be repaying that kindness. Since he doesn't think anyone needs his brute strength for canning, he goes right to the other skill he's got. Besides, he figures that some pastries are a lot more welcome than anything else he's got to offer.

With limited supplies, it's not like he can go wild and bake up a whole showcase, but he manages to put together nice little displays, about three filled, glazed donuts, each with a different filling (cherry, lemon, and sugary sweet fluff). He hasn't got boxes, but he lines them up as best as he can to get 'em ready for delivery, heading out into the village one little package at a time to find those people who helped him out.

When he sees someone, he waves a hand to try and get their attention, balancing the little baking tray in his hands. "Hey!" he shouts. "Hey, hold up, I got something for you!"

Give Us Our Daily Bread

After that box of strange things turned up, Jacob's been trying to experiment on the daily, even if he hasn't got much in the way to record his experiments. Bread is bread and it's pretty easy, but there are poppyseeds and sesame seeds and he'd been able to coax a couple of eggs a few days in a row until he's got enough to make a few specialties. Today, it's egg bread, like the challah he used to find in the city. Lucky for him, it's not too far off the regular bread he makes.

By mid-morning, the bakery is putting off the smell of fresh bread. The egg bread is there, but he's also got a version with some poppyseeds and he's managed to get a few into bagel form. Just like the other days, he knows it's not much and he can't feed everyone in the village, not if he wants to keep making 'em regularly (and if he doesn't figure out flour soon, that's definitely going to become an issue).

Still, when that bread comes off the ovens and Jacob smells that incredible fresh smell, he figures that if he's got one purpose in this place, he's happy that it's something he loves doing. "Butter," he says, out of nowhere, searching around him. "I should've gotten some butter."
thegreatexperiment: (Upset)
[personal profile] thegreatexperiment posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Near that old arrival fountain
WHEN: May 19
WARNINGS: Probably some adult language
STATUS: Ongoing

"If I die in this attempt, I need you to drop everything and run for that truck to save yourself. Don't look back. Don't try to save me or anyone else. Just escape."

Everything inside of Sam wanted to argue, to fight to resist the command. But Avery had her in his power, his eyes consuming her entire being. It was funny, really. Although they were siblings only by sire--they shared no blood--it was remarkable how much they looked like. Apart from red hair, Avery had the exact same blue eyes as Sam. It felt almost like a cruel joke. This was the brother she was meant to have, but instead, she'd been saddled with the Predators and now it was too late to even...

The thought cut itself off sharply, along with the feeling of helplessness. But all of a sudden, Sam felt like she was underwater. She was underwater. And it was cold and she had no idea how she'd gotten there and...could Avery have somehow wiped her memory? No, then she wouldn't have remembered his final command about saving herself. And there's no way Avery, or anyone else, could have somehow caused the pressure that was building up in her chest. It was a familiar sensation, but one she couldn't immediately identify. All she knew, on instinct, was that she needed to swim.

She cut through the water as fast as she could, thankful for once for the Illinois State Department of Education mandate that all high school students had to pass a swim test. She'd missed out on plenty of rites of passage as a child. Learning to swim was not one of them. In no time, she'd launched herself over a stone ledge, drawing in deep and greedy breaths as she rolled across the floor. It was amazing how good breathing felt. Of course, she wasn't one of those vampires who'd aged out of breathing. She still did it on instinct. But it had never felt so...good... It almost felt like she...needed to...

There was no exact way to pinpoint when it happened. The realization just crept up on her slowly as she gasped and coughed and spit up water. Her heart. She could feel it beating, pounding in her chest like a little jackhammer, the way it used to after her high school track meets. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. And the sunlight was shining down on her face without even so much as a hint of pain.

...she was human.

Sam started to laugh. Or maybe sob. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.
assertiveness: (055)
[personal profile] assertiveness posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: Graves's house
WHEN: Backdated to May 10th
OPEN TO: Percival Graves
WARNINGS: N/A, will update if needed
STATUS: Ongoing

Read more... )
3ofswords: (facepalm)
[personal profile] 3ofswords posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: Outside House 39
WHEN: Backdate: March 13-14, hail storm
OPEN TO: Tim Gutterson
WARNINGS: Tim Gutterson is in this thread, will update as needed

Read more... )
repressings: (35)
[personal profile] repressings posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Credence Barebone and apparently half the village (including you!)
WHERE: Inn for the OTA, various in closed starters
WHEN: 5/15
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse
STATUS: ongoing

Eventually, Credence has to leave the house. Eventually, Credence has to face what he's done and eventually, he finds himself blinking blearily into the early morning sun, heart hammering in his chest as his foot crosses the threshold of Kira and Bodhi's residence for the first time since he'd been dragged there from the forest, half asleep and utterly exhausted. He finds he doesn't burn up immediately, nor does he feel like collapsing inwards on himself, and takes another step forward. It's a slow start, but a start nonetheless.

He feels terrible, of course, but he's quick to mentally reprimanded himself. He doesn't deserve to feel terrible, not anymore. Not ever. He's long since stopped sleeping because he's recovering and instead has slipped into sleeping due to what he feels is idleness, choosing to nap constantly to avoid the world. 15 days and he's positive--positive--he's slowly driving those he temporarily shares a residence with absolutely insane. Even if it's false, it's what he perceives, and they have a right to be upset. Everyone does.

That's why, very carefully, he makes his way towards the inn. His body feels strange, dimmed, and that's the only reason he leaves in the first place: he's sure the scratching in his skull stopping altogether means the Obscurus--Obscurial?--is at least contained. It's safe for him to be near other people.

He stares at the inn door for a very long time, for what seems like a lifetime, before he physically wills his body to open the door. The weather's changed, but he's still wearing the black fisherman's sweater Finnick has given him, covering himself and hiding skin, the only scars showing the ones on his palms. He tries his best not to shake and keeps his voice as calm as he can, surprised that his nervousness only cracks his voice once.

"Hello? I was wondering if anyone needed help this morning. With..." His voice trails off, face reddening. "..Chores, or..."

This is stupid. They're going to chase him out.
lefthandfree: (before it's gone)
[personal profile] lefthandfree posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes
WHERE: fountain, inn
WHEN: May 13
OPEN TO: closed arrival, otherwise open to all
WARNINGS: language
STATUS: second prompt is open

     the fountain

closed to pegs )

     the inn (open)

He’s not even going to pretend he’s not new. It seems like something that should be obvious, so why bother with putting people on? Not that it means he won’t do his damned best to make sure people know he’s not incapable, especially with the blatant visible handicap. But he’s dripping a lot less now, and that’s a good time to try and figure out what all he actually needs to deal with given his clear displacement of space and possible displacement of time.

Soaked is still very much the description of his physical state though, something that’s apparently becoming a trend, but he’s far more grateful this time around since his arm isn’t trapped in a vice and, well, he clearly hasn’t gone on a murder rampage either. It’s the little things in life...

There’s a fire at one end of the establishment he wanders into, and even without the cold, it’s a welcome sight. Soggy garments are really not his style, and having a quicker way to dry off other than waiting for the world to end is a huge bonus. He plants himself nearby and takes the opportunity to dig through the pack. It’s sturdy. Effective. But everything else inside is soaked through like him.

God. Why can’t anything ever be easy?

Dragging a hand down his face, he gives a long sigh. One thing at a time, Barnes. And at the least, the water isn’t sopping out of the bag, he tells himself. So it’s not all bad. Maybe.

He wants to laugh, but instead a wry grin plasters itself to his face. Patience is a goddamn virtue, for sure. But as long as he doesn’t get kicked out for being a drowned mess, he’s glad to stay parked here for another couple hours before moving on.

(no subject)

14 May 2017 06:42 pm
thecatinahat: (fiddle)
[personal profile] thecatinahat posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHEN: Evening of May 14th to early morning 15th
OPEN TO: Mingle!
WARNINGS: None, now

He'd been in the middle of a supply run when suddenly, the sky opened up. For a man like Cougar, who holds religion close to him, there's something very biblical about this, like he hasn't been paying enough attention to the pages of the old testament, but then, he also hasn't seen any toads creeping out of the water and making him worry that first blood is going to be next (which would be a problem, seeing as he's the eldest Alvarez). It's not just hail, though. It's hued black, a dangerous thing, and Cougar crosses himself before stepping away from the door.

Even if he runs, he thinks he'll be injured, so that means setting up base in the inn for the next little while. At first, he does nothing but sit and zone out, meditating. Eventually, old thoughts start to creep back and Cougar knows that doesn't lead anywhere good, so he starts digging through what they have.

That's when he finds the playing cards. Smirking, he takes the two sets and heads to the nearest table, whistling loud enough to get the attention of anyone in the main room or anyone upstairs listening. "Poker," he calls out to all of them, shuffling cards and trying to keep the smile from his face, seeing as if there's one thing Cougar likes as much as shooting, it's poker.

Well, no, it's cheating at poker, but no one needs to know that just yet.

Besides, the hail doesn't sound like it wants to stop. There's food, there's a roof, and it's a good way to pass the time. He might as well indulge.
sixthiteration: (Default)
[personal profile] sixthiteration posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
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.]

That's When All the Smiles Died

13 May 2017 10:55 pm
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Terror)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn
WHEN: May 13th
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, childbirth, war, blood

"Promise me, Ned." "I promise, Lya."

The Fountain - Closed to Jon

Read more... )

The Inn

Not the Seven Hells, some place that pulled people from different worlds. She had to keep repeating those words to herself as she rested in front of the fire. Jon had helped her home, letting her rest and recover what little strength she could. The ache and fever were still there, but it wasn't as great a concern as it had been in the Tower. She wasn't dead apparently and this place was real.

With a bit of assistance, she was taken to the inn, surrounded by more people than she had been in over a year. The noise around her was soothing and the fire was warm. In only a year, she had grown used to heat and felt repelled by the cold. So much of her life had been snow and ice, she missed the dragon's flame.

Others moved around her and spoke, but they seemed separate from her consciousness. She felt so tired and run down, emotionally and physically. The fire cast shadows around her, the crackling as soothing as any lullaby. Just as she started to doze, someone took the seat next to her, murmuring some words at her. She turned her head, bringing the person into focus. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
71st_victor: (wink)
[personal profile] 71st_victor posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Johanna Mason
WHERE: The springs
WHEN: May 11th

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."
comfortablyerect: (Default)
[personal profile] comfortablyerect posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Tim Gutterson
WHERE: The river
WHEN: Backdated to May 10th
WARNINGS: Just Tim, I Guess

Like clockwork, Tim wakes up with the sun. It doesn't matter how late he stays up, doesn't matter what time he finally crawls into bed. He can never seem to sleep past 6:30 at the latest, not even if he tries. With no clocks to be found in the village, it's one of the very few ways Tim can make some approximation of what time it is. Still, the days always seem to feel endless, with everyone basing their days around where the sun's at in the sky, closing themselves inside once it disappears behind the horizon.

On the bright side, he can tell the weather's nice before he even steps outside. The perfect sort of weather for him to put some new gifts to use, a spool of line and fish hooks he got in a box earlier in the month.

It's been awhile since he's had to make his own pole, not having done it since he was a kid, but the process is a basic one. A sturdy, curved stick, with the line wrapped around it and a hook secured at the end. The only thing left to take care of was bait, and it wasn't like there was a bait shop to buy any worms or live crickets from. So, it looked like he was getting even further back to the basics.

Barefoot, in a tank top and overalls rolled up to the calf, he spends the better part of the morning catching crickets in the grass, storing them away in the box his gifts came in for safe keeping. It's a lot of crouching and kneeling, crawling through the damp grass, but it's an oddly therapeutic routine, almost as therapeutic as the fishing itself is, when he gets to it.

That happens around midday, after he's caught plenty of crickets and taken a break to eat lunch. Then, he's by the river again, standing at the bank with his toes in the mud, fishing for whatever the river in this area holds. He's nabbed a bucket from the storage house, and it's half filled with water with a few decent sized fish darting around inside. He figures he'll be able to catch several more before the sun sets, and then he can pass them along to whoever cooks around here to make some meal out of.

He's doing his part, at least. And having a good time while at it.

[ feel free to find him anytime throughout the day around the river! ]
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Ah Well)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Inn, the Woods, the Police Station, Bugalow #4
WHEN: May 11th - 16th
OPEN TO: Jon, Robb, Claire and Open
WARNINGS: Red Wedding talk

Jon - May 11th:

Read more... )

Robb - May 14th:

Read more... )

Claire - May 16th:

Read more... )

OTA - The Inn (Hail Event)

With the hail showing no signs of letting up, Margaery found herself unable to venture into the woods for her daily walks. It was perilous to go between her house and the barn too often, so the inn was where she spent much of her day. She had a few of the games she received during the gift giving, games that she had been taught and understood. There were also books. With her cow soon to give birth, she read and reread the chapters in her animal care book at how to handle births of that scale.

She at least had tea and something to eat as she watched the hail fall outside. After beating herself for the third time in Solitaire, she glanced up towards one of the other villagers. "Would you like to play with me? I'm still learning a few of these games, so I imagine you will win quite regularly."