hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Puddle Jumpers

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Intro Log: Puddle Jumpers

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for September
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: September 10th-13th
Warnings: Fresh meat, lots of rain and angry ogres

If the rain on your face isn't enough to wake you up in the colosseum, maybe the thundering footsteps and- well, thunder- is. The first thing that you may notice is that it's incredibly wet around here, with winds that could knock you over if you aren't careful and thunder that brings with it a torrent of constant rainfall.

That's all fine though, because the gods saw fit to help you out on your way in and now everyone will be waking up wearing a rain coat! These coats are a little odd, and some of them are downright silly, but we trust that you'll make do. Of course, a few of the raincoats have additional sleeves, neck holes, and entirely too many buttons as well- but hey, it's the best we could do.

Wait, what was that about thundering footsteps? Oh right, as you're navigating your new fashion choices, there are some monsters afoot who will want nothing more than to grind you into a pulp and eat you- well, if you're organic, that is. If you're not organic, then they still want to grind you to a pulp, but maybe not so much the eating part.

Ogres are from many fantasy stories, but these in particular are from the Dragon Age series. With incredible strength and stamina and massive horns, fangs, and a bloodlust for violence, these monsters won't stop until everyone around them is a blood smear on the ground. They're also not too happy about this rainfall either, so be careful not to slip in the puddles as you run away from them!

Once you've splashed around a bit, feel free to run off into the stormy abyss of our islands. You can explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers September 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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» HOME SHIT HOME, FOR NOW? — closed to Daryl

[ The house had been something Jesse had spotted while outrunning an ogre, eyes wide with terror. Exhausted, bare feet all cut up and mud-covered, just like his skinny bare legs, ridiculous pink umbrella-shaped raincoat likewise splattered with mud, Jesse had veered off to the left mid-frantic run and thundered towards the house. Pounding up the steps, he'd hollered at Daryl to get his attention, screaming Over here! breathlessly at him.

And now they're inside. Safe from harm. For now. Door slammed shut tight behind them, Jesse sagging back against it while gasping for breath. He gulps, makes aghast choking noise while trying to suck oxygen down into his burning lungs. He's dripping with mud, with raindrops, blood oozing on the floor from his feet. The raincoat bent up at a weird angle from being slumped against the door. ]

Holy shit. Holy shit. [ That's all that's tumbling out of him, a hoarse and whimpering whisper, eyes squeezed shut, like he's mindlessly babbling out a prayer. ] Holy shit. Holy shit, ohmygod, holy shit—

» NO PHONE RECEPTION — outside, around the city; open to anyone

[ Three days. He's been here three days so far. Holed up in the house he and Daryl had taken refuge in - which turned out to be empty. Over those three days, though, Jesse keeps checking his phone. Not the one that seems to connect to the city he's found himself in - his other one. From home. The red flip phone that he'd been calling Jane's number on, again and again, and again, just so he can listen to her voice. The only piece of her he has left.

God, he knows this place must be Hell. Or some kind of place for damned, evil people like him to be dragged into by whatever these gods are that rule this place. Wherever he is, Jesse knows he deserves it. After all, he deserves whatever happens to him, right? But god, does he miss Jane. He misses her so much. He aches for the familiarity of home, of the smell of her on his bedsheets, those sardonic smiles of hers she used to give him, the smell of her cigarettes, her aloof sweetness. Inside the house, he'd kept trying to call her number, just so he can hear her voice one last time, just one last time, and he keeps getting no reception. Which is why he eventually, against his better judgement, ventures outside. Maybe, just maybe, there's better phone reception outside somewhere. Even though he knows deep down that he's lost any and all connection to the world he's always known.

Jesse is a skinny waif of a guy. Bony legs, scrawny frame, his dark t-shirt clinging to him from the misty rain, dark blond hair matted to his forehead. Green boxer shorts, no shoes. Cuts on his feet from running for his life the other day from that ogre. He's punching in a number on the dial pad, then crossing an arm across his middle, thin shoulders hunched, as he presses the phone to his ear. Shifts restlessly from foot to foot, chewing on his lip with anxiously withering hope. No reception. Again. His mouth bites a despairing grimace, tears beginning to prickle at his eyes, and he yanks the phone from his ear to punch the number in again, a little more desperately this time. And, again, he shoves the phone to his ear. No reception. Again. Nothing. Dead silence. ]

( ooc: Feel free to approach this starter however you like! An ogre suddenly coming out of nowhere, for instance! Or some other rabid, dangerous beast! Or perhaps your character has never seen a cellphone before! Honestly, feel free to hit me with anything, but also feel free to PM me or shoot me a message over at heisenbong if there's anything in particular you'd like to ask or discuss! )

[ It's a sight that makes Sharon's heart twist painfully in her chest. Too close to home. Too familiar. Her first couple of hours in Hadriel were spent on her cell phone, repeatedly dialing her father's number, desperate for him to answer.

He never did. ]

It won't work. [ Sharon informs him when she finally decides to approach, doing so with some caution. She's got a knife shoved in her boot if she needs it but her hands are empty. ] It's kind of the shitty thing about being pulled to another world.

[ Jesse whips around, everything in him tensed up. Phone still pressed to his ear, arm still tucked around his middle. He's long since figured this out, really, that the phone isn't going to work. He's not wanted to admit it to himself, though.

Looks like he's going to have to eventually, doesn't it?

Looking down, he pulls the phone away, peering at it in his palm. He's right on the edge of crying. He fights it back, a hard swallow around how tight his throat is. ]

Y-Yeah, I... [ Voice quiet, determinedly steady, albeit shaky around the edges. ] I know. Just... Giving it another try, just in case.

[ She tightens her jaw, lips a thin line, slightly concerned but mostly uncertain. This kid is new, he's lost, he's alone, and Sharon is shit at things like comfort. She pushes her bleached bangs from her eyes, a little uncomfortable. ]

I—uh... I did that, too. Called someone when I got here. I dialed the number... I don't know, a hundred fucking times. I'd have been happy just to get his voicemail. [ At least if she got his voicemail, she could hear her dad's voice even... worlds or universes apart. ] It's shitty but the only cell that'll work is the one Hope gave you and... it only works to contact people stuck here, too.

[Tinya has tried to use the communicator function of her Legion flight ring more times than she can count. every time, she gets nothing. she can only assume that she must be in another corner of the galaxy and perhaps a thousand years in the past to get no response. it's maddening and disheartening.

so she approaches the young man in--in his underwear? carefully with a neutral-edging-on-sympathetic expression on her face]

Whatever you're using, it won't work. Nothing works here except for the phones the aliens give to us.

[ By the time she's approaching him, Jesse has snapped his phone shut, pressing the edge of it against his forehead with his head bowed, eyes closed. His arm is still tucked around his middle. He looks like a guy utterly lost and despairing about what to do. He's trembling slightly - hard to tell if it's from the rain, clothes clinging to his skin, or if he's simply that keyed up.

He looks up, startled. A cagey up and down glance at the girl, his watery gaze mistrustful. ]

Th... The aliens?

[ Look, he's read the 'welcome message' thing, but has anything actually sunk in? Not really. ]

[she can't help feeling badly for him, seeing him in that pose. she's not sure she can help him, but it's in her nature to at least want to try.

what he'll see is what looks like your average fifteen year old girl, but even in this drowning downpour, she's dry. it looks as though the rain is going through her]

Yes, the aliens. Most people call them gods, but gods don't exist.

[she'll do what she can to help, but she's only been here a month herself]

[ He'll happen upon Starscream at some point, the 12 foot tall robot will just eye the other with an impassive glance. He finally gets fed up with the others repeated attempts at using their phone before he lets out an annoyed sigh. ]

How many times are you going to sit there and try that? It obviously doesn't work on foreign planets. So it's best to just stop trying.

[ It's annoying having to bear witness to this, which is only reason why he's commenting at all. ]

[ Jesse turns quickly, phone pressed to his ear while chewing anxiously on his thumbnail. He stops dead, all his despairing helplessness dissolving into dumbfounded gaping. His eyes go wide. He looks at the giant — thing up and down, his brain struggling to comprehend what he's actually looking at, as he starts taking scurrying steps backwards. Tripping over his own feet, losing his balance, assplanting with a sprawling flail of legs right into a muddy puddle. ]

[ Oh please, so he's one of those types. Starscream will roll his eyes as he gives Jesse a sneer. He's actually finding this amusing but he does enjoy picking on the smaller and weaker. ]

Don't get so dramatic. If I wanted to squish you I wouldn't have spoken to you to begin with.

[ Yes because that is so comforting to hear from a 12 foot tall robot. ]

[ His crossbow had not worked so well on the ogres, had really just seemed to enrage the one chasing them more than anything, so despite his exhaustion and injuries Daryl had been forced to run. At least shooting it had slowed it down, distracted it long enough for them to get away, but when Jesse suddenly veers off, shouting at him, Daryl feels as if he has no choice but to follow. So much for getting that arrow back.

But fuck, if he doesn't feel safer with a door slammed behind him, even if he has no idea where they are, what sort of place they're in, or what exactly was chasing them. Normally Daryl wouldn't be as out of breath as Jesse is, but his two untreated injuries are still leaking blood, the arrow wound in his side almost doubling him over in pain. He tries to breathe as deeply and slowly as he can, but it's a trial. ]

Hey. Hey! Would you just-- calm down?

[ It seems like a weird demand to make, considering what's just happened to them, where they've just found themselves, not to mention all that out there, but Daryl at least knows that freaking the fuck out has never helped anything. He scowls at the kid, leaning his hands heavily on his knees, worried about the noise he's making but-- he notices Jesse's feet and the trail they've made on the surprisingly clean floor. ]

Shit, you're bleedin'... why ain't you wearin' shoes?

[ As if Daryl isn't bleeding too, but he can't help but notice the way the kid is dressed, their raincoats notwithstanding. Tearing off his own ridiculous pink thing now that they're out of the storm, it becomes that much more obvious that he's got a steady stream of blood dripping down the side of his head an a pair of matching arrow-sized holes in his left side thanks to the fall he took. ]

Just... shut up an' sit down, yeah?

[ Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, why is this happening, why is any of this happening. Jesse's eyes are squeezed shut and he feels like he might puke. From terror or from being so out of shape, with smoker lungs, and having just run for his life - he can't tell which. He snaps his eyes open to look at the guy, and he looks down at his feet. Or tries to. The goddamn pink umbrella raincoat is jutting right out, blocking his view entirely.

Dashing up a hand, he slaps it down against his chest, and — Shit. His feet, yeah. They're seriously messed up.

Jesse looks back up, to the guy. God, he can't seem to catch his breath. ]

Calm down? After — [ Shoving away from the door, almost skidding in his own blood, and throwing a trembling arm out to point at what they'd just been running from out there. The pink umbrella part of his raincoat pops back out into shape with a snap. His words are a stage whispering shout. ] That? [ A sarcastic scoff of incredulity at the guy. ] Oh, yeah, sure, yeah, piece of cake! Yeah, this is a real 'sit down and shut up' kinda situation we're in.

Edited 2018-09-15 06:13 (UTC)

[ This guy is so animated that Daryl has a second to wonder where all his energy is coming from, even after their dash, the raincoat really capping off how much of a cartoon this kid is. Daryl just scowls though, still worried more about the fact that there could be walkers hidden anywhere, ready to come around any corner, than anything else. He hasn't even had the chance to clear the house yet to make sure they're alone, but...

Well. With all the noise Jesse is making? If the house had any in it they would already be here. And least there's that.

But when Jesse starts to freak out again and skids, practically slipping in his own blood, Daryl steps forward and forcefully grabs him by the upper arm, grip like a vice, and drags his struggling, stupid ass over to a weirdly shaped couch. He shoves him down, the world's worst nurse.

Just what he needs now, after losing his people - to be babysitting some little asshole that doesn't know what's good for him. ]

I said, sit. [ And Daryl raises his crossbow, but it's just to take with him down the first hall, checking that the first floor is deserted before making his way back to the front room. ] Ain't no one here, so chill. We gotta figure this shit out. [ And he nods pointedly at Jesse's feet. ] An' you gotta deal with those.

— Yo, what the hell, lemme go, bitch!

[ Jesse hiss-whispering this all the he's while trying to yank his arm, trying to fight his way out of the guy's grip, feet slipping and skidding smeared bloodied footprints across the floor with each protesting step. To no avail. Dumped in the couch, Jesse sprawls ungracefully, almost bouncing off the couch onto the floor. In his dumbass pink umbrella raincoat, no less.

With a flail of arms and legs, he kicks himself into a sitting position, glaring defiantly up at this bleeding asshole. Although... the fucking crossbow. Jesse gulps in spite of his outrage. Yeahhh, nah, not gonna say shit so long as the guy is right near him with that thing.

So, Jesse waits, until the guy is safely in the hall with the crossbow, before daring to yell out: ]

How 'bout you eat me, bitch!

How 'bout you don't tempt me! [ Yelled back, fuck being quiet at this point. Nope, definitely no walkers here. No sound from the upstairs floor, either.

No living people either, which Daryl is both surprised and somewhat disappointed by. If there were people here they might have scared the shit out of them, but they'd have someone able to tell them what's happening - at least tell them where they are. Daryl had been half-expecting to find someone in here, what with how weirdly clean the place is, but there's no one - not even the signs of a life having been lived before they got here.

Daryl was panicked before, but now he's starting to get seriously weirded out.

There's a strangely designed kitchen down the hall but it's the towels at the sink he makes for, bypassing the appliances Daryl can't begin to explain to himself. If the kid wasn't being so irritating, Daryl might have called him in to have a look, but he also doesn't want him walking around on those feet. What sort of idiot has managed to make it this far if he doesn't even know how to take care of himself?

Daryl broods, thoughtful, soaking the towels under a stream of running water (another surprise) before bringing them back into the front room. ]

Here. [ He throws one of them at Jesse, hard, taking a little of his slow-boiling fear and annoyance out on him. Daryl sits heavily on the other end of the couch, doubled over and resting on his knees, the crossbow propped between his legs. He dabs carefully at his head, at where he thinks he's been shot somehow, and the towel comes away soaked red. ] Shit...

[ Oh fuck, thinks Jesse, with the guy now out of sight. Oh fuck, oh Jesus. Dropping both elbows onto his knees, head dropping into his hands with an anxious drag of his fingers through his hair. Fuck, what the hell is happening, what the fucking hell is happening? A tear dribbles out of the inner corner of his eye and he sniffs and quickly wipes his nose with the back of his hand, before peeking down at his feet. Blood everywhere, all over them. Smearing messily on the floor immediately around them.

He's got one bloodied foot propped up on his knee, examining it with grimacing alarm when the guy returns, and launches that wet towel at him. It slaps him half on his face, half on his chest so hard. ]

Hey, fuck you, man! [ Snapped in an angry almost-shriek... although, as several tense, silent beats pass, Jesse, still sitting motionless with the towel slung over him, sneaks a glance across at the guy. Watches him. And he finds himself daring to ask, in a much more cautiously subdued voice: ] ...You... you okay?

[ This guy sure wears every mood on his sleeve, doesn't he? Daryl listens to Jesse cycle from furious to almost timid in less than a minute, Daryl refusing to look over at him until the question makes him scoff. ]

M'fine.

[ But he isn't, really. And he's still not looking at the brat, not quite, but he nods at the bloody foot propped up on his skinny knee. ]

Anythin' deep?

[ Jesse's eyes dropping back to his foot. He clutches his ankle and tugs it in a way to get a better look at the bottom of his foot. So much blood... ]

I, uh... I dunno. I mean, they-they're both, like... [ Gingerly setting that foot down, bringing up the other to set it on his knee to inspect the bottom of that foot. He grimaces slightly at the pain. ] All messed up and shit, but... might be worse than it looks, y'know?

[ Daryl sighs straight at the floor, the sound so depleted and exhausted, even a little exasperated. He closes his eyes for a long second. ]

Hang on, just don't- don't touch 'em anymore. Put 'em up on the couch, 'kay?

[ And he's forcing himself to his feet again, rag pressed against his head, and a minute or two later he's back with a full jug of water from the kitchen and an empty bowl. The jug itself is a bit weird-looking, but it'll pour, and he sets the bowl by Jesse's feet. ]

Rinse 'em. Don't wipe till you know what you're dealin' with.

— Whoa, wait, man, what're you—?

[ Watching Daryl haul himself off the couch and head for the kitchen. And when the guy returns to the living room with the jug and the bowl... Jesse's anxious confusion withers into relenting guilt as both are set down by his feet. The guy looks like death, and he's helping Jesse?

Just for that... Well, Jesse can't bring himself to argue. Seeming to shrink into himself a little, Jesse does as he's told, leaning forward to pick up the jug in his trembling hand, and it shakes as he tips it into the bowl. He glances up at the guy, though. What a mess this guy is. ]

...Jesus, sit down, man.

[ Daryl is just... used to it, in a way. Both helping those who need it and putting up with his own poor treatment and rough shape. It comes as second nature to him, even though he doesn't exactly seem happy about it.

Though he does sit down heavily on the couch next to Jesse, dabbing at his head. The bleeding seems to be slowing, at least. That's good news for a head wound. But then he notices Jesse's hands shaking, and he does not feel like getting up again to replace a broken pitcher. ]

Give it here.

[ And Daryl takes it out of Jesse's hand whether it's offered or not, weakness and blood loss causing less of a shake in Daryl's hands just because he's used to controlling his own nerves by this point. As unnerved as he still is.

The steady stream of water reveals nothing bad on the first foot, thankfully, but Daryl has to put the jug down on the table in front of them right afterwards to recover himself. ]

[ Wait, yo, wait, he can do this on his—! All Jesse manages is his mouth opening in protest as the pitcher is tugged out of his hand. But what can he say, especially when he has to focus on the water being suddenly poured onto his foot. He darts it into place over the bowl, biting back a small hiss around a self-reproaching sigh huffing out of him. And so, reluctant obedience, turning his foot this way and that. The unexpectedness of it all, where Jesse was instead anticipating being berated, subdues him into sheepish obedience, and when the guy lugs the pitcher onto the table, Jesse looks quickly over to him. ]

Hey, you—? Look, I... I got it, it's cool, man, just relax. Take it easy. [ Reaching for the pitcher, leaning in to peer with a startled grimace. ] Jesus... Man, you okay? The hell happened?

[Ianchus has taken to wandering the streets on and after the day of arrival, to check to make sure whether there's anyone in distress or in danger, or simply lonely. Fighting isn't his favorite thing, but he has the gear, and he has the weapon, and he has the canniness, and who would he be if he didn't go to try to protect the vulnerable?

He doesn't expect someone in such a bad state, though, and he's taken aback. His expression immediately softens as he sees the man (and for a moment he thinks of Royal, because all he sees in the dark and rain is that jagged silhouette, that hangdog stance).

He's not going to ask if he's alright--it's clear enough that he's not. But...]

Can I help you? It's not good to be out in this weather.

[Hm. Harlan has been watching this kid for a couple minutes now, dialing and redialing and apparently getting nowhere. Is he trying to call someone from home? He hopes not. It's a bad sign if he's that deep in denial after three days here. He's gotta be new, after all.

Harlan could walk over and talk to him like a human being, but he's taking a break from the rain under a roof overhang, and... He's all the way over there. Magic will make this more fun. The next time Jesse puts the phone to his ear, Harlan uses a spell to sneakily cancel the call, dialing his own number instead.]

Hey. What happened to your pants?

[If Jesse looks around, he'll spot Harlan a little ways down the street, waving.]

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Intro Log: Puddle Jumpers

Jesse Pinkman » One closed prompt + one open!

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Home Shit Home

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