assertiveness: (≺ 189 ≻)
[personal profile] assertiveness posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Stella Gibson
WHERE: The inn + Stella and Peggy's house
WHEN: Backdated to early October
OPEN TO: OTA except where marked
WARNINGS: This post got more sad than anticipated :( Otherwise, none as yet.


ota;
Stella first notices something's wrong when Credence doesn't show up to meet her for tea at the inn one evening like he'd suggested. This is Credence Barebone, whom she's always known to be a conscientious, punctual young man, who would have warned her in advance if he'd planned to meet her somewhere and then couldn't make it. It's still possible he's been waylaid by something minor, but Stella learned a long time ago to listen to her gut instincts, and her gut is telling her something feels off. She waits till the next morning to go on the hunt — and what she finds is an empty house, both Credence and Graves gone, their things left about as if they'd suddenly got up and run off in the middle of something... or been abducted, or simply vanished. She doesn't touch anything or take anything, because it's not hers to take, but she's seen enough people suddenly disappear from the village to know what's happened here.

It occurs to her, too, that she hasn't seen Sonny since the day she pulled him out of the fountain after he'd nearly drowned trying to get himself home, and a cursory check reveals much the same scenario. Then she hears from Peggy that she hasn't seen Steve, and fuck, it must be the time of year — it must be autumn, with the way the weather's turning and the note she'd made in her diary this morning about how she's been here nearly a year now when she arrived in the middle of winter. It's just a season, and Stella's far from superstitious, but autumn in so many cultures means loss and melancholy. Or maybe it's just the observers, fucking with them again as always.

There are reasons Stella doesn't allow herself to get too close to people, though the reasons here and at home are different — here, it's out of self-protection against scenarios just like this one, when inevitably someone she cares about will disappear. The problem, naturally, is that she's a human woman and it's in human nature to want to care about things and people, and she can only do so much to control when that happens. Her many years of practice at keeping her emotions carefully regulated keeps her from showing too much of what she's feeling on her face, but anyone who happens to run into her while she's sitting in the inn common room with her usual cup of herbal tea that evening will notice she seems a little more distant than usual.

It's been nearly a year, she realizes again, which means it's got to be nearly her birthday. And Stella usually doesn't care one way or the other about her birthday but shit, she'd meant to be spending her 45th birthday at home in London after putting Paul Spector behind bars like he'd deserved, not trapped in what amounts to a fucking prison herself.


locked to peggy;
Stella has her tea, and allows herself time to converse with a couple of people, but eventually she makes her way back to the house. By now it's nearly dark; she goes to her bedroom and fetches the quilt off her bed, then goes back to the living room, lights a couple of candles, and sits down on the sofa with the quilt draped over her to wait up for Peggy. It's not winter-cold, not even close, but she's always felt cold easily and the extra layer helps.

Peggy had gone out to look for Steve earlier, and though Stella had offered to go with her she'd insisted otherwise. There's a lot of ground to cover in this village and the one on the other side of the canyon wall both, and it might have gone easier with two people, but Peggy's as stubborn as she is and Stella knows she can only get so far with her when she's so determined.

She's half-asleep when she hears the front door open and close; the sound wakes her up completely, and she pushes off the quilt and gets off the sofa to meet Peggy halfway. Maybe there's some good news out of this terrible fucking day — but by the look Stella can see on the other woman's face, she doesn't think so.

She waits, quiet, to let Peggy broach the topic — to allow her the time to collect her thoughts.

step out of the driving rain (open)

Oct. 22nd, 2017 06:48 am
viridescere: (Default)
[personal profile] viridescere posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: Throughout 7I and 6I
WHEN: early morning 22 October
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: none at this time



Ever since coming back from Lian Yu five years before (or, well, more like seven but his official story was five), Oliver had a routine that he's stuck to fairly regularly. He gets up early, trains, runs, then grabs breakfast and heads on about his day. He's found no reason to change that since arriving in this village and, besides, the run gives him time to think.

The scrubs aren't terrible to run in but the boots leave some to be desired. Back home, he's got Nike trainers that are custom-fit to his foot and his particular idiosyncrasies. Here, he's got boots that fit but not well enough, scrubs that are thin and not meant for the cold rain that comes down in streams and does just enough to melt the snow from the past two days and the peacoat is woolen and bulky. None of it is what he's used to.

Still, this is what he does. He runs. Since coming here, Felicity's been a lot more open to being together than she'd been back in Star City and he's not really sure why that is. She's explained bits and pieces of it, yes, but none of it seems to come together seamlessly in the way he'd like. He runs with that thought in his head, stops in at the Inn to spend a few moments drying off with a cup of tea, and then heads back out for the run home to the other side of the settlement.

The run back is quiet too. Not many people or animals out this early or in this kind of weather and Oliver can't say he blames them. It's cold even if it's not snowing and it's dark and gloomy besides.
elderflowermacarons: (I have magic powers)
[personal profile] elderflowermacarons posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Taako
WHERE: Prowling both villages
WHEN: Throughout the fading plot
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: None anticipated



It doesn't take him long to notice the lack of a shadow. He's an accomplished arcanist, sure, trained by the wildly disparate realities of a hundred worlds over the course of at least two human lifetimes to keep an eye out for anomalies. But mostly he's very vain, and anything that effects Taako is clearly an all-points bulletin.

He's turning over theories in his head immediately as he strides off in search of an audience for his cleverness, the likelihood of various schools of magic at work, the possible mechanisms to introduce the effect without a spellcaster on-site, the ramifications that might follow such a slight variation in the normal state of things. Mostly he's just excited. More proof of magic at work! If they can do it, he can find some way to do it. And blow the ever-loving fuck out of whatever was so presumptuous as to put him here.

For all the flighty bullshit that streams off him in an unceasing miasma of mean-spirited absurdism, Taako's a perfectly able researcher. (Though without Lup and Barry to ground him he doesn't bother to do anything useful like design for reproducible results or write down the shit he figures out.) He stands in direct sunlight and in shade, picks up various sized objects in an attempt to figure out the limits of the effect and runs around with them, tries to trick the spell into slipping by twisting quickly or darting between large objects. He more or less looks deranged, but that's par for the course and he's having the best time he has in a while. It's only when he wonders what his sister would think of this odd little curse that the enthusiasm dims.

His attempts to gather other witnesses to back up his observations are... less than systematic. Most commonly, bystanders are treated to something along the lines of "You seein' this shit?" or "Hey, is this just me?" or "Objectively, shadow-puppets are the worst kind of puppet, right?"

bye bye baby

Oct. 20th, 2017 08:26 pm
womanofvalue: (plotting)
[personal profile] womanofvalue posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: In the Inn
WHEN: October 20th, at sundown and moving towards
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: She's fading, fading away!


Something strange has been happening to her, though Peggy has been having a terrible month and the truth is, she hasn't seen fit to get out as much as she ought to. It had begun earlier, when she'd started to see Steve less around town and then, when enough time had passed that she was sure he wasn't just avoiding her, Peggy had come to the epiphany that he was gone again. Then, when she'd gone to find Barnes to ask him about it, he wasn't there either, though at least with him, someone had mentioned seeing him go off with Moana earlier.

And yet, couldn't he be gone, too? Just like all the others who've left.

It's been a recipe for isolation and Peggy has spent most of her time in her home with Stella, but each night, she ventures out to the inn to see if perhaps James has returned. The strangeness that's happening each night upon which she seems to be less opaque than usual worsens and as midnight nears, Peggy hasn't been able to put her hands on anything and secure them. With the sun beginning to set, she feels that same sensation again as she stands in the lobby of the inn, pacing and watching the door as she tries not to fidget, and yet, it's a futile exercise in two ways.

The first being that it's not going to stop her thoughts.

The second in that, her fingers keep slipping through the strands of hair she keeps absently touching. Yesterday, no matter how she tried, she couldn't get Stella's attention when she'd called for her in the middle of the night, and now Peggy has had to put aside her grief and admit that something is very wrong. The trouble is, what happens if she can't figure it out? Will she simply vanish? It's a terrible thought, but right now, with no solution, she has little else to do but worry.

"Hello," she says, frantic to escape these thoughts when someone opens the door. Before she even sees who it is, she's blasting into a question. "Can you hear me? See me?"
frankensteinian: <user name="preciousblueberry"> (look behind)
[personal profile] frankensteinian posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Erik Lehnsherr
WHERE: Near the inn
WHEN: October 19
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None


Most days when he's about and about in the village, walking from one location to another, he doesn't mind it too much. It's a good way to enjoy the nice weather, and it's easy enough, most of the time, to find something to do to kill time if it's necessary to wait out a bit of bad weather. But now the weather is starting to turn, and there's a decidedly chilly feel to the air today. But it's not too terrible yet, and requires nothing more than wearing an extra layer or two. Good thing that clothes box from awhile back had that flannel shirt in it (even if he'd rather not look at that particular shirt).

Of course when he left the house, it hadn't been raining yet. He might have waited a bit longer if it had been, and he's got no waterproof layer. So he's attempting to get his outdoor tasks done as quickly as he can, although chopping firewood in most types of weather is a challenge. He manages it though, adding today's amount of wood to the pile of wood ready for burning to the pile outside the inn. He takes the ax back to where the extra tools are being stored, for anyone else who might have use of it.

Once he's done with that for the day, he wraps his shirt tighter around himself to keep out the wind and heads back to the inn, hopefully to find something warm to drink. He pauses when something catches his eye. Why hadn't he noticed that apple tree before? Especially with such nice-looking apples. It's been months since he's seen such fruit that looks that good.

He's suspicious of this place, and suspicious of everything given to them by this place, but this is just fruit on a tree. What can be wrong about that? As soon as he plucks it though, it turns from an apple into a sweet-looking treat. Which is weird, and he should leave it alone. But he won't. It's been so long since he's had a treat, either, and he misses those more than fruit.

As soon as he pops it into the mouth though, he knows exactly why he should have left it alone. Instead of sweet, it's like taking a bite out of a lemon as if it were an apple. Anyone walking past will see his face twist into an expression that shouldn't be on anyone's face, followed by a shake of the head like a dog drying off after a bath.

He really should have left it alone.
markwatney: (004)
[personal profile] markwatney posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 19 Oct 2017
OPEN TO: ALL Closed to new threads


I think most people have an unspoken list of things they intend to do when they have the time and inclination. Mine I usually actually write down, even in a place like this where paper and writing implements are scarce — Days with much downtime don't happen often, and my list is embarrassingly long. It helps to have a note so I can look everything over and figure out what's most pressing. I managed to get off of Mars this way, so I figure it's not a bad system.

Today, though, my choice was made for me. I woke up to two things: A box with my name on it, and a sky full of snow. Fortunately, all of the harvesting had been done on the less cold-hardy plants already, and unless this cold snap dragged on into something long-term, it would be good for what we picked later in the season. Sweetens the berries.

I've got plenty of ways I could fill a free day, but the snow and that mystery box left little question what needed to be top of the list: Taking a census before winter fully moved in. As far as I could tell, while various people in various places took notes about events and connections, we'd never had one central, definitive list of everyone in the community, where they were living and how long they'd been around. With a second village in the mix now, this information was more important than ever. A proper census would give us the tools to start to prepare for winter in earnest — Not just in predicting how much food and firewood would be needed, but what roads needed to be cleared, medical preparations and more.

The box I mentioned before, it helped with this. It was full of items that were a huge help in getting organized: Pencils, binders, blessed paper. And chalk. There was only one place to use that.

After carefully copying the information that had been collected on the blackboard at the Inn, I wash down both sides and jump right in: At the top of the outfacing side, I make three headings:

Name - Residence - Apx. Arrival


Beneath this, I start with my own info:

M. Watney - W. outskirts, blue - 1yr, 4 mo


"Why haven't we named the damn streets yet?" I mutter, and then began writing in what information I know on the rest of the villagers, leaving blank spaces for others to fill in next time they're at the Inn. But seriously, though, one more thing added to my to-do list: Street names and house numbers.
collaronhisneck: (head bowed)
[personal profile] collaronhisneck posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Francis Mulcahy
WHERE: All of 6I, especially the church
WHEN: October 13-24
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Panic? Memories of war? Will update if something specific crops up.



For all that he's been told this place is not like the home he's used to on so many levels, for all that he'd seen that in effect in many minor ways, in truth Mulcahy hadn't entirely believed it to be true. Oh, of course he'd been brought to the village in a way he couldn't account for, for a reason he couldn't begin to comprehend, and there were people here from worlds he couldn't even begin to imagine, but in terms of day to day life everything had been surprisingly calm. Well, except for the little tricks that had been played on a few of the residents recently, but that seemed fairly harmless in the grander scheme of things.

Suddenly, though, it's no longer a laughing matter.

The first day, it's barely noticeable, since he's only at the inn for the usual help with the midday meal, but by the time the sun sets it's unmistakable when he reaches for a cup and he can barely feel it, even seeing some of the metal through his fingers in a way that nearly gives him a heart attack. Walking back to the church after sundown, it feels both like he's being stared at by an unseen entity and like he can't be seen, as the few people out don't seem to be focusing on him with their eyes. The second day he's awake early, though he's barely slept, and is out in the pre-dawn trying to find anyone awake and who can see him, though it seems to be a losing battle. It gets better as the sun rises, and he calms somewhat - and then worse again as the sun descends, and the panic kicks in once more. He's seen the same fear on the faces of far too many soldiers, especially the ones who'd been trapped in shell holes or buildings that had been bombed, that fear that they'll be forgotten and left behind to die on the battlefield in horrible ways... and while he's never had to face that fear himself, he's rapidly becoming all too familiar with it, as he fades out every day as the sun goes down and the world seems to forget he exists.

After five or six days, Mulcahy's established a kind of routine to give him something to hold on to as this... existence doesn't seem to be getting any better, though it also doesn't seem to be getting any worse, at least for him. He still shows up at the inn for lunch, helping as best he can but still somewhat hazy even then, and as the sun goes down he wanders the village looking for anything he can find that might provide some sort of clue about what's happening, or the other people affected by this phenomenon. At night, he retreats to the church, kneeling in the "nave" and praying over the rosary in the darkness, sometimes varying it with recitations of parts of The Republic. He's praying for any sort of answers or deliverance from this half-state, but he's also wondering if he's truly done something to anger God and this is his punishment.

(no subject)

Oct. 19th, 2017 07:08 pm
rangerbecket: (Default)
[personal profile] rangerbecket posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Raleigh Becket
WHERE: 6I, 7I
WHEN: 19 October
OPEN TO: Sansa Stark
WARNINGS: sap



*** )

what the hell....

Oct. 19th, 2017 10:58 am
guessihavelostcount: (98. biting her lip uncertainly)
[personal profile] guessihavelostcount posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Claire Bennet
WHERE: Around the inn
WHEN: Oct 14
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: will update if needed



Claire wasn't sure when exactly it had happened since it was just one of those things that she didn't always pay attention to. It wasn't that she took it for granted but it was just kind of natural to think that one's shadow would always be there in some way. Except for the fact that Claire's wasn't.

At first, she just sort of glanced down, didn't see it and continued on. At least for a couple steps until she was suddenly stopping dead and looking down again. Then she was turning in a circle trying to see if maybe she just wasn't looking in the right spot for it. When she didn't see it, she glanced at the sky and then back down again as the feeling of unease started to creep up her spine. It wasn't such a bad thing but it made her feel weird.

Maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her?

Glancing up when she spied someone walking close, she waved her hand to catch their attention before she pointed at the ground. "This is going to sound kind of crazy but can you see my shadow?"

"Vale Mi Amice"

Oct. 18th, 2017 08:58 pm
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Melancholy)
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Lucrezia Borgia
WHERE: Outside #27, Night
WHEN: 10/19
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None I can think of.



Amy's absence was sharply felt the evening after she had gone. The quiet of the night had never sounded so ominious or sinister, even after her arrival to the village. Bringing Amy to stay with her had been more for her benefit, but it had combated the loneliness that Lucrezia felt every night. Now, she was more accuately aware of how isolated she was and how unprepared for the world.

Somehow, being inside was worse than stepping out into the night air. There was at least space and the sight of numerous homes, reminding her that she wasn't completely alone. Wrapping herself in her cloak, Lucrezia sat on the stairs of her porch, staring up at the stars miserably.

There were so many of them and the were so bright. Perhaps Amy was on one of them now in her strange box and with her husband. It was all she could hope for for her friend.

There was someone else in the night, which set Lucrezia on edge. The sun had long ago set and this was normally the time for spirits and demons. It wasnt much of a comfort to remember this was another world. For all the strange things that happened, there had to be demons. She pulled her cloak tighter and rose to her feet, facing towards the dark figure.

"Who's there?"

05. Force Ghosts?

Oct. 18th, 2017 11:27 am
chirrutsluck: (worried)
[personal profile] chirrutsluck posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Baze Malbus and OTA
WHERE: All around, particularly the inn, woods, and a spare house at 6I
WHEN: October 18 and onwards
OPEN TO: Any and all
WARNINGS: Varying degrees of poltergeisting

At first, Baze doesn't really notice anything different. Chirrut can't see him anyway, and in the morning light he's tangible enough to be heard and felt before he heads out for the morning to go hunting and collecting wood for arrows. Walking the shadowed woods and not being noticed by the birds and small animals is strange, but he doesn't think too much about it except to take advantage of it.

But anyone who spots him there might not see him until he steps into a patch of sunlight, or he brushes against a branch or leaves. And when he brings the results of his snares and arrows into the inn, he's nearly impossible to see in the dim light. It's only out in the sun that he's obviously there, and even then, he looks a little... see through, and his voice, normally easy to make out if not given to long statements, is muted and distant, hard to make out. The later in the day it is, the worse it gets.

Unlike the raincloud, this doesn't go away after sunset, and Baze spends the next couple weeks in frustrated (and worried) variation of tangibility and visibility, waxing and waning with the sunlight. If he still believed in such things, he'd consider himself some sort of Force ghost, but even if he did believe in such things, powers and magic and the Force don't exist here, everyone says so. He keeps trying to do the things he normally would... with varying levels of success to go along with his varying levels of fazing out, and a constant, low-level, and unspoken buzz of anxiety that maybe he's finally getting around to dying again.

† tamen defendebat aerarium | OPEN

Oct. 18th, 2017 10:18 pm
ad_dicendum: (in contionibus)
[personal profile] ad_dicendum posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The fields, the storehouse in 6I, around the village, and the Inn
WHEN: October 8-31
OPEN TO: All!!
WARNINGS: Brief mentions of slavery


The seasons are turning )

[ all locations are open, feel free to catch him in the fields, storehouse, scavenging around the village, or in the Inn]

what's ferret for 'bitch please'?

Oct. 17th, 2017 10:21 pm
zomboligist: (like please bitch)
[personal profile] zomboligist posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Under a delicious tree (an evil, delicious tree)
WHEN: October 17th
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: Ferrets, mischief, swearing


There is a ferret currently pawing at a sweater vest near one of the trees on the outskirts of town.

This isn't a sentence that Ravi would've ever assembled prior to this place, and yet, now it feels commonplace. If he weren't currently in a little ferret body, he might even feel compelled to squeak about how this place is awful. No. Wait, squeaking is for right now, which is what he's doing. It's all that bloody apple's fault for looking so green and perfect, and if someone's going to change you into a ferret after a few bites, he thinks he ought to be warned.

Of course, right now, maybe his priorities are a little off. First, there had been the immediate 'oh, fuck, I'm a ferret', and yet, after that, Ravi didn't think about switching back instantly. No, instead, he's far more concerned about the fact that he'd been wearing one of his best shirts and sweater vests and they're currently all in a pile where someone might step on them or, worse, might take them for their own. That won't do.

This is how there's come to be a tiny little angry Ravi-ferret pawing and clawing at the sweater vest to try and figure out a way to drag it with him back to his and Major's place. No opposable thumbs rule out hands, which means that teeth are next. That is, teeth are next until heavy footsteps and a looming shadow above him makes Ravi realize just how small he is and just how much he currently detests that stupid apple for making him like this.

What if it's permanent? What if he has rabies?

What if their dog eats him?

Letting out a panicked and angry squeak, Ravi clambers to protect his clothes ever the more, while simultaneously hiding behind one of his boots in case he ends up accidentally pelted by an over-eager kick.
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Shields Eyes)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Village
WHEN: 10/17
OPEN TO: All; Closed Starter for Robb
WARNINGS: Pain, headaches, sickness, dark visions



I've Lost my Shadow (OTA)


As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, the seasons were beginning to shift and winter was steadily approaching. That was something the Starks could be given credit for, they were right about that. As much as she normally enjoyed the color of the leaves (and they were a brilliant collection of reds, oranges and yellows), it was the subtle disappearance of something else that held her attention.

Setting down her basket of harvested fruits, Margaery paused on her walk to the inn. The sun was beginning to descend in the sky, a time when her shadow should have been lengthened, but there was nothing. She could see the homes and trees casting shadows, but hers was simply gone. She stood alone, adrift without her anchor, confused and lost.

Of all the strange things that had happened, this was the most baffling. Earthquakes, rain, hail, she could understand and predict that. But this? This was an oddity that couldn't be explained.

"How is this possible?"

Closed to Robb


It was a feeling that she was beginning to learn to anticipate, the sudden tingle in her head that indicated a vision was about to come. The sun was only beginning to peak over the horizon, a soft pink spreading over the dark sky. Robb was in bed beside her, seemingly undisturbed by her stirring in his arms.

It was only a second between acknowledging that a vision was coming when it hit her at full force, making her feel as if her head was splitting apart. She gave a shriek as she fell off the bed, pressing her palms against her eyes as a swirl of emotions raced over her, feelings not her own. Horror, shock and a looming dread. She could see a hole in the ground, no. It was something else but there and gone again. There was illness and a collection of lost villagers, confused and uncertain though about what, she didn't know.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath, nausea rising in her stomach. It seemed like hours, but finally everything disappeared, the visions and emotions they brought. She was crumpled on the floor, the pain in her head intense, leaving her trembling.

When she looked up at Robb, there was shock and disbelief on her face. "What are you doing here?"

004 - Fading Event - [OPEN & CLOSED]

Oct. 17th, 2017 06:02 pm
babyhunter: (Default)
[personal profile] babyhunter posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Clary Fray/Fairchild
WHERE: Around
WHEN: October 27th – 30th
OPEN TO: Everyone [With a Closed Section for Diana & Claire]
WARNINGS: N/A


October 27th - 30th | Faded [CLOSED]

It flickered like one of the neon lights outside of Pandemonium. It was purple and marked in both Japanese and English. It was odd. Clary couldn't read the Japanese lettering but she knew it. She had spent a lot of time researching western culture for art projects in school. She had never thought that it would have helped her now. The riddle was a strange one but not completely unfamiliar. Clary searched her brain for the answer before realizing that it was simple and it was leading her somewhere.

She knew that she shouldn't rush off on her own but she had another complication. She was invisible...

It had started earlier than morning when she managed to be out of phase with the wall. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone but worse because it was real and happening to her. She reminded herself not to freak out, to think like a shadow hunter but it wasn't getting better. She screamed and yelled but she couldn't be heard. So she had a choice, go back to the in and repeat that situation. Or, follow the clue and see what the fuck was going on.

When she arrived at the next clue she found that someone was already there. Most likely someone else who couldn't see her. Except that this person was staring at the lettering on the ground, half in English and half in Japanese.

"Wait? Can you see that or me?" She asked as disbelief colored the tone of her voice. Little did she know that someone else was following close behind them.


October 30th | No Longer Faded [OPEN]

They were finally free.

Clary ran from pod. More accurately she swam back through the cavern and then ran but she was ecstatic and she had to test to make sure that this was real. That people could see her. She made her way to the inn and burst in. She spotted the nearest person to the door and took long strides over to them. Clary was hesitant to touch another person but she had to make sure.

She was soaked from head to toe and wearing the sweatpants and tank top that she usually slept in.

"Can you see me?! Touch me?"

It wasn't as weird as it sounded. For the last three days she had been wandering around and no one had been responding to her. Now she was herself again and she had to check. Not to mention that she had to tell people about the pod, the tests and the possible small army that their overseers were trying to form. This was definitely the Twilight Zone and just as fucked up.

First you see me...

Oct. 17th, 2017 08:40 am
girlwednesday: (Default)
[personal profile] girlwednesday posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Felicity Smoak
WHERE: Outside their house in 7I
WHEN: Third week of October
OPEN TO: Oliver
WARNINGS: Plot!


Read more... )

fading in and out

Oct. 16th, 2017 08:32 pm
ethnobotany: they're exactly the same }{ insurrection ({ now i'm asking questions)
[personal profile] ethnobotany posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Beverly Crusher
WHERE: Outside mostly
WHEN: backdated to October 14th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: will update if needed


A lot of things have happened since Beverly surfaced out of the fountain. Some of them have seemed almost normal for a Starfleet officer to experience, while others seemed like something a Cardassian or Q would cook up. Despite still not being pushed for Starfleet intel or information on the Enterprise, Beverly isn't entirely convinced that one of the above isn't running the entire show.

On days like today, she leans more towards Q. If she were at all aware that yesterday was her birthday, she would be even more convinced that Q is the prankster.

The day starts out as well as most, but partway through, when she's headed to the Inn for lunch, she notices that the ground is unusually bright. She lifts a hand to shade her eyes from the sun and barely anything happens. In fact, as she turns her hand over, she notices it isn't casting a shadow at all. More to the point, she isn't casting any kind of shadow. Even turning around and looking down doesn't produce anything. Nor does lifting her feet.

"The trees and buildings are all casting shadows," she comments to herself, but loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. "Are the people just not?"

She probably looks a little strange wiggling her arms and legs around, as though a shadow will simply fall off of her if she moves enough. Eventually, she'll end up in the Inn, where she finds she is still not exactly casting a shadow, even in the unnatural light inside. Still, even shadowless people need food. And maybe a bit of company.

ψ take me to church | CLOSED

Oct. 15th, 2017 03:29 pm
fishermansweater: (Tux - Photo op)
[personal profile] fishermansweater posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta
WHERE: 6I: Church (House 24) & Odair Residence (House 57)
WHEN: 7 October
OPEN TO: Francis Mulcahy, Johanna Mason, Bodhi Rook
WARNINGS: Excessive amounts of sap. Possibility of references to traumatic backstory/sexual abuse.



If he'd been asked, perhaps Finnick would have imagined something different. In District Four, a wedding would have been a cause for celebration, with the formal part of the ceremony performed by a respected member of the community, and they would have been surrounded by people they knew. Not his family, no matter how much he would have wished them there, because they're long dead, destroyed in proof of the President's hold over him. But Annie's family, maybe, and the other District Four victors, and people they knew from the city. There'd have been a song about marriage being the voyage of love, and music and dancing. But that wedding was impossible in Panem, so impossible that Finnick had never allowed the image he thinks of now to tempt him.

It's only here, because they're away from Snow, that they can dare to do this. And if it's going to be simple, and different, what matters is that it's happening at all, and that Johanna will be there. He'll be with the two people left who mean the most to him, and at the end of the day, Annie will be his wife.

Finnick and Annie have spent days in preparation, working on the traditional net that should form a canopy over the couple. At Annie's suggestion, because the church-house is small and their supplies are limited, they'd draped it over the roof instead of setting up a canopy. Finnick's collected salt water from the sea -- if that's what it is -- to the east, to be used in the ceremony. They had wedding clothes already, gifts from Credence and Johanna on the day last winter when gifts had appeared. Annie even has a pretty necklace to wear, and Finnick's done her hair with the ribbons she'd gotten in one of her gift boxes from whoever's looking after them here.

They've been cleaning their house so they can have their small group of attendees and participants for a celebration lunch, and as much as possible is prepared ahead of time. That leaves just the ceremony itself, and at the designated time, the two of them make their way to the church.

[ starters in the comments, one for a short thread of the ceremony, and another for mixing at lunch ]

[OTA] every single night's a fight

Oct. 12th, 2017 10:19 am
theintercessor: (Default)
[personal profile] theintercessor posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Jude Sullivan
WHERE: 6I Village; Various
WHEN: Mid October and onward
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Epilepsy symptoms, including hallucinations


Each season seems to come with its triggers, like crazy can relate to allergies.  Winter was easiest, like the cold took too deep a root in the world to let it affect him.  He was calm and collected at the end of the year; his spine kept to its purpose and he didn't blink away so many insects and shadows that weren't there.  Spring was always long rains, trapping him indoors, storms breaking pressure behind his eyes and making them pop with color, making shapes crawl in the shadows of the water running over windows.  Spring stranded the truck in churning mud and clipped the line that told him to care, so that he'd sit twenty minutes with a foot on the gas, snapping out of it when tires found earth and shoved him forward.  Summer was the worst, most dangerous.  Late humid heat boiled his head in his skull, and those were the months he could really snap: fall over in a pile of elbows, sob uncontrollably, disappear into a white hot rage and come out not knowing why he'd felt any of it.

He doesn't know if it's leaf mold or just the haunted atmosphere of Autumn, but it's when the shadows crawl the longest, when he has to decide if the thing in the corner is real based on a twitch in his pinky or a smell no one else seems bothered by.

Looking at the leaves, his birthday must have passed.  The anniversary too, and it's better not to know.  Better to just keep making paper while the weather allows him to use the wood and take the work outside.  He's started experimenting with the fallen leaves, and they don't add the color he thought they might--but new batches of paper hold their fragile skeletons on the surface.  He doesn't know how much to stockpile for the winter, but--it's the last thing a lot of people would complain about running out of.

The shorter the days get, the more he can be found scavenging the wooded areas; the more his staked out blankets and drying paper are replaced with him out in the yard, chopping wood while it's dry on the ground.  Sometimes he tosses what look like perfectly good branches away from himself, wiping his hands furiously on his denim jacket.

Sometimes, though always mid-morning or mid-afternoon, he squints down a path at a familiar enough figure, only to watch the world pass through it.  By the time the sun sets, he can't be sure the person even exists, and he swallows down the urge to ask.  It's always just been in his head.


When he takes meals at the inn, he keeps his head down in his portion, refusing to look at certain corners, out certain windows.  When he sits on his porch or on a rock in the southern field, his sketches of the trees include pale figures or bright eyes.  For those who venture out at night, he's sometimes on the porch or also wandering, and there are dark circles growing under his eyes behind the lengthening fall of his hair, his already quiet nature burrowing down as if to prepare for winter, as he struggles with a stress that compounds its source.

[Jude's struggling with some hallucinations as the weather changes--though some of those figures might just be villagers waxing and waning from existence.  His hallucinations tend to be shadow-figures and insects, and you can choose if your character notices his behavior or just his general not-doing-great.]
onlyeverdoubted: (rogue one)
[personal profile] onlyeverdoubted posting in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs
WHO: Bodhi
WHERE: Around the forest, his house, wandering random paths
WHEN: 10/11-10/12, general second half of the month
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)


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

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