riverviewlogs | catch-all;

Entry tags:

catch-all;

who: Flint or Ellie (but probably not both) and anyone who cares to join them.
what: general catch-all log for the month of March
where: All around!
warnings: Ellie is a foul-mouthed teen with some trauma she'll never bother talking about but that might come up in introspection, and Flint is a considerably less foul-mouthed carpenter nee pirate captain with the same. Both tend to kill things with impunity, so maybe that? Idk. Will change if anything comes up.
notes: There are a variety of starters under the cut. Feel free to PM if you'd like one specifically tailored to you/your character or any scenario you'd like to run. I have a strong preference for present-tense brackets, but I'll match style if it's an accessibility issue no prob.

a; anywhere around Quarantine,

[Ellie definitely has a bag full of assorted types of candy that she is Determined To Try, but also: she pays a lot of attention to her surroundings and the people that occupy your space. You look sad? Lost, out of place, upset or any species of alone? Kid, adult, whatever, doesn't matter. Have some candy.]

Hey. You look like you need this more than I do.

b; anywhere around Quarantine,

[She has definitely found a place that's chill about renting motor scooters to minors (she has a permit now and everything). And that scooter has definitely gotten a flat tire. So now she's sitting on the curb with a mess of tools trying to strong-arm the exhaust off so she can get at the lug-nuts behind them. The new tire is on the sidewalk beside her and she is probably cursing loudly at something. Care to help?]

c; (for MCU!Bucky) in the woods somewhere,

[She is terrifically shitty at making her own arrows, but loathe to rely on just bullets. You never know when you'll need something quieter, or that you have a good chance of being able to recover later. So. She's. Experimenting. Out in the middle of nowhere, with a shitty fire, and some shitty sticks, and a variety of shitty arrow heads made from a variety of things she's collected. She is sitting down by a fire trying to figure out how to fletch them properly, and there's definitely a ruined pile of feathers beside her.]

Oh, for fuck's sake!

[Yep, she definitely just split that stick halfway down. There is a moment of vehement frustration, and then she throws the damn thing on the fire. It kicks sparks up into the sky, and she huffs in pure exasperation.

Also: be careful of the half-dozen tripwires she has set up around her perimeter, pal. Smoke-bombs are pretty harmless, but boy do they give away a position.]

d; (for DCEU!Clark) Clark's floor and shared quarters,

[Being able to cook, being able to find ingredients that aren't 'whatever you can throw in a pot' is probably the biggest fucking novelty of her life. Cookies. She's gonna do it. She thumbs through recipes on her tablet and eventually decides on gingersnaps. Some trial and error, one burnt batch and another decent one later and she is knocking on his door with a plate of them.]

e; (for Prison Break!Michael) sad stairwell shenanigans,

[She doesn't like elevators. Like, call her crazy, but relying on something that's just a series of pulleys and counterweights really isn't her thing, so she sticks to the stairs. It's not like they don't have their own problems (narrow corridors, not a lot of exits, etc) but she's more comfortable in them and tends to take them two at a time on principle.

Today, as she's heading down to the ground level she's stopped short by a guy. He's sitting down at the bottom of the steps that lead out to the second floor landing, facing away from her. There's something about the tension to his posture that makes her think he is probably several shades of not okay and she honestly debates with herself about whether or not she should just quietly edge out the door she came in through.

But. Eventually,]

Hey, pal, you all right?

[Her voice is gentle and soft, but she absolutely has one hand on the gun stuffed into the waistband of her pants. Just in case.]

z; forests around Quarantine and near the perimeter fence,

[Monsters pose no especial trouble to him. They are fierce and many, of course, but more predictable by half than any one man he has faced down at the point of a sword. He kills them, and having observed some resort to cannibalism he has taken to burning the bodies afterwards. Thick black smoke roils up from this latest pit, and James stands at the edge of it leaning on a shovel. He is dressed simply in all black, with no particular nod towards any one point in time. He has a modern rifle slung across his back, a modern handgun at his hip and a sword at the one opposite, so really: it's anyone's guess where the fuck he's from.

He can be found either killing monsters, burning them, inspecting various parts along the fence and/or cooking a particularly well-seasoned rabbit on a spit that is, thankfully, roasting over a fire made of wood rather than monsters. Feel free to join him at your leisure, but for the love of God don't sneak up on him.

Welcome in this thread: monster fighting! chats, cr building, disagreements about his Monster Murder, etc, all such things.]

y; communal living space floor 1, all comers welcome,

[And speaking of cooking. James is not a chef, nor a particularly charitable man, but he certainly knows how to foster camaraderie and the role in which food features to that end.

So: he's made a meal of glazed salmon, several side-dishes and has left a note out on the counter next to it, help yourselves in a neat, calligraphic scrawl. He can be found sitting on his bed with his back to the wall, reading, at any point thereafter. He keeps a chest at the foot of his bed absolutely laden with books, but he's presently working his way through Don Quixote by Cervantes.]

x; down by the river,

[He has claimed to be a carpenter, and to that end he has built several things with his own bare hands for use as a sort of... curriculum vitae, should the need for it arise. Presently, he is working on roughing out a single-log canoe. He's burnt out most of the inside, and is currently shaping the interior with a variety of hand-tools. He works simply, with speed that does not seem to be borne of urgency, and he will likewise seem untroubled should anyone join him there.

He'll give an acknowledging nod to anyone lingering nearby, but because he's a Stubborn Prick will likely not instigate conversation without prompting. Godspeed.]

v; (for Eddie Thrawn) cutpurses and piracy and thievery oh my

[Flint is not one for indulgences, but the public festival of Sampremi could potentially yield information beyond what he's culled from his own investigations, and so he goes.

He does not mingle. Mostly, he observes. This place has a dearth of the usual suspects he would expect to find in a crowd. No whores, no cutpurses to speak of, nothing that marks it as a place in which civilization has festered. But then, he has not yet had time to survey the jails, nor the local ordinances to see what the penalties are for failing to abide by the laws of men. Perhaps everyone is simply executed, and that would explain their lack.

He is standing beside a stall, having paid for an apple that he is currently polishing on the shoulder of his shirt when he sees it. A young girl. She is looking for a mark, he can tell by the way she looks so specifically at everyone that passes her, and once she sees someone who fits her criteria, she makes a point of stumbling into them. He watches her hands, and true to form she comes away with the man's wallet and turns to hurry off into the night.

James shrugs - neither his business nor his problem. If you don't keep a hand on your money you deserve its loss. But, as it turns out, he is not the only one to have seen this particular transaction. He was about to turn away when he sees the other man cut across the street to apprehend the girl, and it is then that he decides to drift closer. He does not care for thievery but less for men who set themselves above thieves.]

w; sailing the ocean blue,

[He has cleared an area on the ground. There are targets set up for projectile weaponry (ranging from bows to knives to guns) and an arena for physical combat. James will be seated at a table he has obviously built, working on building a star chart of the night sky as people arrive.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[At least the direct question is something he can answer.]

Yesterday morning.

[He doesn't feel the need to lie to her for some reason, perhaps because she hasn't given off the impression that she's ever going to get overly sympathetic or try to trap him for his own good.]

[She does groan faintly in something very much like exasperation.]

Seriously? Come on, guy.

[She sets her arrow aside for now, and reaches for the tinfoil wrapped remainder of the bird, which she holds out towards him. Olive branch, and all. How has this dude survived this long on his own, tho. Well, she's pretty sure she knows the answer to that question, but still.]

Here. We can call it payment for you teaching me how not to fail entirely at making arrows. Deal?

Deal.

[Payment is easier to accept than charity, so he takes the wrapped tinfoil and opens it up. The remains of the bird are gone in literally sixty seconds flat, wolfed down until there's nothing but bones and grease left.

He lives in a strange dichotomy, in that his body needs a lot of calories to keep going, the serum burns through them at a ridiculous rate, but he's also been taught to endure long stretches without food, water, or shelter, so he can ignore the hunger. He's not going to pass it up when it's right there, though.

Done with the food, he picks his arrow up again and keeps fletching.]

Why a bow?

[He could ask her who taught her, but that's too personal a question. The why is probably less so.]

Holy shit, dude.

[Yesterday morning in-fucking-deed. She has more with her, of course, mostly canned goods. She likes knowing she can survive a few days out here if something goes sideways, but now she's thinking it might be better if she just cooks it on the spot to make sure this jerk doesn't starve. Jeeze.

She shakes her head at his question, and lifts one shoulder. Half a shrug.]

I dunno. It's quieter, I guess. If you need to shoot somebody.

[And quiet, for somebody her size, is a big deal. If you can take somebody out and move to another spot without ever having given away enough for them to track you? Funny, how she thinks of it as something to use against hunters rather than Infected. Maybe that's telling. Once upon a time she might have balked at killing another human. Sure as shit not anymore.]

[It's a good enough reason, though it does raise other questions. Does she not come from a world with silencers? Strangely, he doesn't find himself wondering what sort of world a teenage girl would need to shoot silently in. He already knows that world, there are dark places everywhere.

She can definitely use her gun, he's seen it in the way she holds it. A silencer would be a better idea than a bow and arrow; that's unwieldy, limited, hardly ideal.]

You need to shoot somebody often?

[It's a quiet question, completely without judgement.]

[Officially the strangest conversation she's had here. Maybe the most honest, too. She's been pretty up-front with Clark, but there's nothing hunted about him, not the way there is about this guy. She's not really one for regaling anyone with her horror stories at the best of times, but being honest? That she can do.

Her hands still on the knife. The enamel in its handle is chipped, and there's a bit of blood - long dried - that's trapped in the cracks. She pulls her shirt sleeve down over her hand to rub at it. As if that'll erase it.]

I don't just run around killing whoever, you know, at the drop of a hat. But... the place I'm from, sometimes there's no choice. Them or you.

[That's still a choice. Not an easy one, not a good one, but still a choice. That's good. As long as she can live with the choice she makes to value her own life above another's, then he has no judgement to pass on her. She's not doing any more or less than any soldier in a war.

He nods and sticks the arrow point down in the ground, drawing out a small whetstone to start sharpening his knife again. Paring down wood blunts a good blade very quickly.]

Shouldn't have to here from what I've seen.

[She makes a little frustrated noise as she hits a small whorl, a twist in the wood of the arrow she's working on.]

Yeah, well. That can change real quick. I'd rather be ready.

[She frowns after a moment, because that sounds-- colder than she'd like, and all of a sudden she just feels so fucking old. Like something Joel might say. Like something he'd believe. She would burn the world for him, but she does not, not ever want to be like him. She scrubs a hand over her face, tugs her ponytail off-center in a half-hearted attempt at tightening it.]

If it was up to me I wouldn't hurt anybody. For the record.

It is up to you.

[Issues of autonomy and choice are pretty much his big red buttons to push, though his voice remains at a mostly calm and level pitch, it's just harder than it was, more unyielding.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the fire as he continues.]

Maybe it's not a good choice to make, dying or killing, but it's still a choice. You still make your decision to hurt, for whatever reason, and that's okay. I'm not going to tell you that it's wrong to kill to save yourself, but it was up to you.

[She doesn't flinch, but a muscle tightens in her jaw, and she makes a rather... emphatic cut in the wood with the point of her knife.]

Guess I just don't feel like being a victim.

[She meant for it to sound waspish, to imply she was pushing back against his warped idea of what choice is. If someone's coming at you with a knife and intent to kill, as far as she's concerned there's only one. But instead, it just sounds tired. Resigned, almost.]

[He shrugs just slightly, he's not judging her. Everyone has to make their own choices and learn to live with them, she's no different just because she's still a kid.

There's a moment or two of silence before he changes the subject, probably better for them both.]

You have any other weapons here?

[He's seen the gun and now he knows about the bow.]

[She gives him a rather arch look, and debates rather obviously about whether or not she wants to tell him. Just because he's been nice so far doesn't mean he'll stay that way. Maybe this is all some elaborate ruse to gain her trust.

Jesus fuck, Ellie, be less paranoid. She exhales a wobbly breath.]

Nah.

[She's proficient with shotguns and rifles, too, but neither of those were kind enough to come with her the way her backpack was. She feels way more vulnerable than she wants to without the firepower she's gotten used to carrying, but. You live with it.]

Kinda... feels weird, you know? Not having other shit.

[He nods, he understands how naked he'd feel without his armoury. Luckily for him, he always carries it and so it came with him, a multitude of guns, knives, even grenades. Both in his backpack and secreted about his person.

He pulls a knife from his sleeve and flips it expertly in his hand, holding it out handle first to her with an inscrutable expression.]

Payment. For the food.

[She can take it or not, he doesn't care. It feels weird to be giving something dangerous away, but right too.]

[She twitches very visibly when he pulls out the knife, something that's only slightly abated when he flips it and offers it to her. There's a very long pause while she weighs her options.

He's already helping her learn and in her mind that's payment enough, but. Gifts given by people who don't have much to start shouldn't be refused, because they genuinely mean them. It's just rude.

So she nods hesitantly and reaches out to take it. Still, she can't help but barter:]

For the food and a shower. You can take one at my place, and I won't tell anybody you've been there. Okay?

[He feels a weird ambivalence as she reaches out to take it. It feels good to give something that might help protect a kid, and it also feels like the stupidest act in the world to give a weapon to a potential threat.

But he doesn't change his mind, only dropping his hand when she's taken it. It's a good knife, a switchblade that locks out.]

Does anyone else live in there?

[She flicks the blade out a couple times just to test it, and then slips it away into a pocket. The problem with weapons is they can always be taken away and used against you, but the more she carries at any given time the more comfortable she feels about her chances in a fight. Maybe that's fucked up. She isn't going to dwell.]

Nope. Just me for now. I mean, there are other bedrooms, but... maybe the people in charge of this place think I'm a bad roommate or something.

[that's a joke. ha, ha.]

[He weighs up the potential danger of agreeing to go and take a shower at her place, he'd be vulnerable while he's cleaning himself and she could easily tell other people where to find him to cause an ambush. But he doesn't think she's going to, and he really does need a shower.

It's not that the smell or the feel of greasy hair bother him, they don't, but the filthier he gets then the more notice he'll attract. People pay more attention to something that smells foul, than someone who just seems to be another face in the crowd.]

Okay. You won't tell anyone.

[It's half a question, half an order. If she does then it will all go south very quickly.]

[She hears it for what it is, and nods.]

I won't tell anyone. I promise.

[She rolls her tongue across her teeth and then shifts her jaw off to one side, deciding to add a caveat:]

Unless you try and kill me. Then all bets are off.

[Reasonable, right? But in all honesty, she doesn't think he'll do that, either.]

[He nods as if that really is a perfectly reasonable caveat.]

If I try to kill you, run away.

[Because it's not so outlandish as he might hope, he still doesn't entirely know what might trigger the Soldier. It's all too new, this freedom of his.]

There are people here that can protect you.

[That's a weird fucking thing to say, but Ellie's seen that arm, and too much here besides to think that he doesn't mean it. That she stands a chance. Sometimes running away is all you've got.

She rubs her forearm across the bridge of her nose, sniffing loudly as she does it. Everything smells like smoke and wood and faintly of cooked meat.]

Yeah, well. Who's protecting you? You never know, I could be some-- scary immortal vampire or something.

[Ha, ha... it's funny because vampires. And Halloween, and Riley. Okay, maybe it's more macabre than hilarious, but that's just life these days, and she's smiling a little as she says it. She even wiggles her fingers in a sort of ooh, scary sort of way.]

[At least she doesn't argue that it's unnecessary, which makes it a bit more palatable to go with her back to hers and take her up on the offer of a shower. He wouldn't forgive himself if he ended up hurting someone just so he could get clean, it's not worth it.]

You don't have fangs.

[Just... pointing that out.]

Pretty crap vampire.

[She laughs a bit, mad at herself for how hollow it rings, and then shakes her head.]

Well, we can't all be Dracula.

[A huff. She reaches out to poke a stick into the fire.]

You like it out here? Away from people?

[He glances sidelong at her before nodding, she's shown him some vulnerability today, maybe it's safe to be at least somewhat honest.]

It's safer that way.

[He doesn't clarify whether that's safer for him or for others.]

[Well, when you try to get out of clarifying a statement like that around a teenager...]

For them, or you?

Does it matter?

[Will it change anything here?]

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