hadriel_logs | World Log: Jungle Arrival

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World Log: Jungle Arrival

Who: Everyone in the city
What: The event log for the Planet Transfer
Where: All over the city
When: March 28th
Warnings: None

One minute you're freezing your ass off in the middle of a light snowstorm, and the next you're suddenly boiling in the wet heat. Sunlight streams down through green- so much green, more green than you could possibly have imagined since coming to Hadriel- and it's beautiful in its own way, if you're into that sort of thing.

The more sensitive of citizens may feel some slight nausea from the move but otherwise everything is as it should be. Alien birds squawk in the trees, you can hear the local fauna rustling through the brilliantly-colored leaves. Everything is alien here, but a forest is universal. Luckily, a section of forest has been cleared away for the city, so you can still see the sky above and you can still move around without getting lost in the thick foliage that surrounds this place, but be careful when exploring! There's no telling what could be out there, and you want to be prepared for anything.

So what is your new home like? It's hot, for one- you might want to shed and burn all those winter coats and Christmas sweaters immediately! You'll be sweating buckets before the day is over, but at least we still have cold showers to help wash off the grime as you adjust to your new life in an alien jungle. Have fun, enjoy your stay, but don't forget: we may need to fight here soon. Be ready.

► This log covers March 28th-March 30th.
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you get bitten by one of the locals, please let us know here.

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[Rosen's messily swept up some of the longer pieces of his hair into an awkward ponytuft (it does not have the respectability nor quantity to be called a tail) on top of his head and is wandering with a notebook under his arm and the sleeves of his tatty shirt pushed up to uneven degrees above his elbows. Occasionally he stops, jots something down or squats to do a quick sketch, then he stands and continues again, jaw set in an angled determination.

Though watch your step, because he's entirely focused on his task and is liable to run into you if you don't move out of his way first.

And he's only partly likely to pause even if he does. More likely he will mumble something and continue on his way, nose down]

I;

[It's humid out.

It's humid out, and miraculously, Rosalind Lutece isn't dying of it.

She's hot, of course. She can still feel temperature changes. But whereas once this kind of environment would have left her disgustingly sweaty and in desperate need of a permanent cold bath, now she merely feels charmed, warmed up without overheating, her too-cold body greedily soaking up the heat.

She can't be under the sun directly, of course, which is why you might find her with an umbrella, wandering in and out of the patches of sunlight. It comes in handy when the bursts of rain occur, but still, it's most definitely to hide from the sun.

Animals are around, as they do when one is in the middle of a forest. And yet Rosalind doesn't seem all that concerned. Indeed: as she walks along the bank, that crocodile like thing bursts out at her, snarling, growling out a warning as it waddles out of the water.

She stares.

It stares back at her.

And then, more than a little awkwardly, with the air of someone who just remember that they've something to do at home, it retreats.

She smiles, gratified. It's nice to be recognized as the biggest, baddest predator around. It's also nice to be able to hear people coming a mile away; she doesn't bother to turn around when she addresses the person behind her.]

I wouldn't linger if I were you. He'll be particularly vicious once I leave.

II.

[Of course, it's not all pleasant.

You know what sucks when you're in the jungle? Sleeping in a coffin made of copper. It's disgustingly hot, even for her; so much so that by the third evening, she's busy outside. Sorry if she keeps you up with her hammering and nailing, but also, she needs something a little more breathable to sleep in, so. Wood it is.

She's not all that good at it, in no small part because she's figuring it out as she goes. It's irritating and she hasn't slept in two days; there's a lot of nails being pried out with her bare fingers and wood being dropped down to the ground with a soft curse.]

III. Closed to Newt;

[Newt is . . . complicated.

Confusing. Confusing for the both of them, honestly, the two of them a mess of assumptions and contradictions and uncertainties that she can only begin to guess at. She knows he knows a version of her. That he'd cared for her to some extent, although Rosalind isn't sure to what degree. Oh, she knows that they'd been friends, that they'd slept together, but that doesn't answer anything. She's just come from a city where everyone slept with everyone; sex isn't a marker for intimacy.

And yet the way he looks at her sometimes, the way he seems to know how she'll react . . . it lends weight to the thought that they'd been close, once. Or-- no. Not her. There is no they. A version of her, that's what she should think, but good god, she's so bloody starved for companionship right now.

Why deny it? She is. She's desperate, lonely, a broken wretched little creature, and here's a man who seems to want to be near her. Is it any wonder she wants desperate to turn towards him? Not give in, not yet, she's not that pathetic, but she can't help but chase this thread. Why not? Why shouldn't she? It doesn't matter. It's not as if she has anything better to do, as if Robert's going to come (he has to, he will, but perhaps it won't be for years and years).

All of this to say that when Newt wakes up this morning, he'll find a few hints she'd been around. There's his lab, for starters: things are absently straightened up, put into more proper positions, organized better than he left them. There's no hint of a spill or half-empty cups of coffee; all his mugs and plates are in the sink. Chairs are pushed in, and then she'd left, because there's only so much she can clean without coming across as passive-aggressive. But she'd straightened up enough, enough to find a letter half-hidden beneath a stack of books, and of course she'd looked, how could she not, and then--

Well. Anyway. The point is, his lab is different.

But maybe the biggest change comes from the Echo flowers. There's a new song they're humming, born from Newt's keyboard, and maybe it's easy to visualize Rosalind there, her fingers gliding over keys, each movement so certain and sure as she draws the song out. It's fairly long and utterly melancholic, and maybe that's not so hard to imagine with her nowadays either.

But what all this leads to, at nine in the morning, is Rosalind herself. She sits at his kitchen table, sipping something dark from a mug. Her hair is tied up in a messy braid, her clothes thinner than the ones she'd arrived in. She likes the heat more now than she had as a human, but that doesn't mean she can bear it easily. She's even rolled her sleeves up to her elbows.

She's also reading a letter. Rereading, really. Her fingers smooth over it as he walks in, and she tips her head up, though she doesn't yet glance back at him.]

You've been avoiding me, Newt.

[It seems as though he's been avoiding everyone. And why shouldn't he? A man dies, of course he's going to avoid people. She can understand that. She can certainly relate to it.

But-- and this is important-- Rosalind has never once considered herself a part of what she considers people. He ought to avoid them, that's all well and good. But why should he ever avoid her?]

IV. Wildcard;

[JUST MAKE SHIT UP I'm easy, Ros will be in the lab or basking in the heat. Or hit me up if you want to plan something else out!]

Edited 2019-03-30 06:28 (UTC)

(First Impressions)

(Her heavy dress, her fur cloak and all her various undergarments are simply too much. Upon feeling the heat of the jungle, Sansa finds a quiet place to strip off her layers, changing instead into a pair of trousers she uses for sword practice and a lightweight tunic. Her hair is hopelessly long, so it takes her some time to braid it and secure it with a ribbon. Then she slips on some boots and tries to prepare herself for a whole new range of monsters and obstacles.

She really should be accustomed to this by now.)

Is everyone safe? (Drawing her sword - a precious gift from Maedhros - she slices through the leaves, searching for others who might feel a bit more disoriented.) It's alright. The move is done.

(For now.)

We should see to any injuries swiftly. I don't know what awaits us.

Edited 2019-03-29 09:00 (UTC)

I'm fine! [He's a little nauseous but he's honestly faced much worse, considering what has happened in his life.] I'm not hurt. That move could have been much worse, considering. We check and see if the others are all right, though.

What about you, though? You're not hurt, are you?

Edited 2019-03-29 23:58 (UTC)

[Pratt's out exploring because he's so excited that everything is green again. Sure he wanted a forest, and this is a jungle, so the trees are wrong and it's hot as hell, but it's something. He's ecstatic honestly.

Which almost matches the atrocious Hawaiian shirt he's wearing. It's looked ridiculous since he got it, but here it sort of fits in.

Kind of.

He does notice Rosen wandering around and taking notes, something he's pretty familiar with being from a place that attracts all kinds of botanists and amateur wildlife enthusiasts.]

Find anything interesting?

[It takes a moment for Rosen to realize that he's being spoken to and he continues scribbling another moment or two until he realizes no one has responded to the voice that spoke. He looks up, scans his surroundings and locates Pratt. Something that is not difficult to do with that shirt....]

I'm not sure yet.

[He stands, straightens himself and closes his notebook]

I would like to find out if any of these [He gestures to the plants surrounding them now] are edible....or possibly medicinal. Have you found anything noteworthy about this new planet of ours?

1. Closed to Harlan

[It is a well-established fact that Delmar is not good with change. It is another well-established fact that Delmar has nearly made wearing layers, namely sweaters and collared shirts, a religion. As such, the sudden shift to a jungle planet has him particularly flustered and out of sorts.

In time he'll perhaps come to enjoy the bright colors and the odd looking but cheerful birds, but for the moment he is on a mission, marching determinedly (if not light-heatedly given his refusal to wear weather-appropriate clothing) to the door of one Harlan Halliday, and when he arrives he's knocking in his polite yet harried way.

Please still be here, Harley]

The Bakery [OTA]

[Delmar has discovered, to his horror, that vibrant and alien foliage has nearly consumed his bakery. It's curling around chair legs, covering the counter tops...and it had taken some maneuvering and getting himself scratched up to get through the door in the first place.

If you happen to pass by you might hear the sounds of shuffling, banging, and loud fretting, and if you peek inside you will see one older man, his cheeks pink and dusted with dirt as he tries to wrestle with some vines, and his nice sweater smudged with mud as he is seemingly failing in his endeavor.]

i.

[ Well, this whole month has sucked.

The whole soulmates thing had had some awkward repercussions afterwards, but honestly, it hadn't been bad. Not at all. It had been great while it lasted, actually, and if Taako had seemed even more set on ignoring the shit out of her afterwards, they'd at least had a few hours of normalcy. Plus, there's nothing like suddenly finding yourself soulmates with someone to fasttrack new friends. Worth it, for sure.

This month, though? Delight's death and the overwhelming sadness that had followed? Hadriel's own personal Hunger Games? Nah. No, there had been nothing good about that at all.

Her staff still bears the scorch marks from her fight with Taako. Mending really isn't meant to repair fire damage, but she's making it work. Slowly. It's hot out, but after months of icy cold Lucretia's willing to take it, sitting out in the shade of a tree, stripped down to capris and a sleeveless shirt, and patiently casting the spell again and again, repairing the damage one bit at a time.

She glances up whenever anyone passes by, looking slightly apprehensive at first, then relaxing and smiling in greeting whenever it proves to be someone she doesn't have any recent, awkward, murder-y history with. ]

ii.

[ Later, once she finishes mending her staff or maybe just does as much as she's willing to do for the day, Lucretia decides to explore. It's fascinating, the way the entire city had moved, whole buildings and their content untouched - and yet the surrounding environment is entirely new. The plan is to observe the local flora and fauna, take a few notes, make a few sketches.

It's exactly what she does. An hour or so later will find her bent over her notebook, engrossed in sketching the lizard that seems to be almost posing a foot or so in front of her. She's so busy flicking her eyes up to the lizard, then back down to her sketchbook, and back up again over and over that she's effectively deaf and blind to all else - including the large crocodiloid creature that's taken an interest in this new thing sitting on its riverbank, and is slowly ambling forward to take a closer look. Or maybe an exploratory bite or two. You never know.

Hopefully someone else happens to see all this and warn her before she becomes lunch. ]

Good. (She smiles briefly, glad she isn't alone in being in one piece.) We can search for them together if you don't mind?

(Being alone in such an odd, lush, hot location doesn't appeal to her.)

No, I'm fine. I'm accustomed to these moves by now.

Ah.....if you're really sure. [He's not used to people wanting to spending time with someone like him. However, recent happenings in the city and conversations with various people have made him change a little.]

Well, we have been moving planets so often that doesn't surprise me. [It is really hot though. So he removes his jacket and places it over his shoulder. He's healthier than he used to be but he probably should be careful.]

I was chasing a deer and it sprouted spider-legs and climbed into the trees and yelled at me. So kind of?

[He glances at the plants. He doesn't know anything about botany, but not much here looks like anything from earth either.]

Isn't everything that's medicinal poisonous? Probably the only way to find out is to get some volunteer to try it. Or catch a bunch of mice and start some animal testing in the lab.

[ Maria had been meaning to seek Sansa out, ever since their little encounter she couldn't get the other woman out of her mind. Though, Maria had done terrible things before they were so rudely transported here. She'd kept a low profile, sequestered herself away from everyone for everyone's safety.

As she approached, her steps were almost silent in the overgrown foliage. Still donned in her full Hunter attire, hat, boots and several layers, yet she didn't seem to even break a sweat. ]

Lady Sansa. Are you well?

[ There was a kindness in her strange, foreign accent. Despite her calm, cool appearance, she seemed to truly care for the others wellbeing. ]

Allow me. It would be foolish to overexert yourself. Accustom yourself first, climatizing can be taxing when you're usual dwellings are far more cold and harsh.

[ Swinging her trick blade in its two forms, slicing through amble rows of bush and shrub as if she were sinking a hot knife into butter. ]

It alarms me that the Great Ones can be so careless with us. We should look out for ourselves as much as possible. In saying that, I believe I saw a clearing with some shade. I'll show you.

[Rosen eyes him oddly, not sure for a moment if Pratt is being serious about spider deer or not.]

....yelled?

[Then he addresses the question posed to him]

All things are 'poisonous' in their extreme. [A pause] And for the moment neither of those are ideal options.

[He's not ruling them out either...just...perhaps he can think of something else first. That odd little man at the lab might have something that could be of use...]

I'm unharmed.

[Fingon tells her, amused, and nods approvingly at her change of garments.]

Are you prepared for this heat? I know you prefer colder climates.

I. Pls!

...I hadn't planned on it....

[Rosen's voice, soft and somewhat graveled with age, betrays how odd he finds this scenario. Not beyond belief, given his experiences here and well...his experiences at home...but the strangeness still makes him wary. He slows to a full stop several paces away until he knows how this will play out.]

Is it a friend of yours?

Good lord, no.

[She turns, facing him. It might be hard to see from this distance, but her eyes are a dark, blood red. Which is weird. But there's nothing but vague amusement in her expression.]

Simply a very sensible reptile.

[He's close enough to see that something is odd about the eyes of this young woman, though not close enough to make any more detailed observation than that.

Rosen's gaze flicks briefly between her and the reptile then falls on her again]

I, uh, I don't recognize you.

[One tentative step closer]

...are you one of our newer residents?

That's a rather good drawing.

[She says it softly. There'd been no sound as she walked up behind her, but that isn't meant to be creepy. She just can't make much noise anymore, in the same way ballet dancers have a hard time clunking around.

Rosalind steps forward, shifting so she's standing between the reptilian . . . alligator . . . thing . . . and this woman, staring down at it. She does not look impressed.]

But perhaps you'd best finish it another time.

I am, yes. I've only been here a month, if that.

[But she doesn't look particularly disoriented or frightened by this.]

It's . . . interesting, to say the least. Have a name?

[Newt has not been sleeping well as of late. Imagine that. Not that his sleeping habits have ever been strictly normal, per se, but they worked for him. He's been known to go days without rest while engrossed in some project only to later pass out for so long that he's not immediately sure what day it is when he wakes up, even after looking at the clock. It's not healthy, he knows, but it's his choice.

So spending each night rolling around fitfully, either unable to sleep or waking up sweating and clutching his throat when he does, is annoying. It's more than annoying, actually, but he's going to call it annoying. It's easier.

All this to say: Newt hears someone monkeying around outside his room, but he chooses to ignore it. Chances are, it's Semiyon finally getting sick of his shit and tidying up after him. Good. That was their arrangement, after all, and it's better than him crashing Newt's pity party.

He crawls out of bed eventually, once it's late enough in the morning that trying to sleep is truly pointless, and then he stumbles out of his bedroom in his underwear. It's warm enough for it, and it's not like Semiyon hasn't already seen—]

Oh. Um.

[As if Rosalind seated his table making accusations wasn't jarring enough, the echo flowers start up as soon as he moves through the doorway. There was all of a second or two between the start of their song and him noticing Rosalind at the table, but really, he knew she was there even before he saw her. It's instinctive—who else would be capable of immediately mastering the echo flower chorus?

He stands at the edge of the kitchen, kicking himself for not having bothered to put on more clothes and not really knowing why he's hung up on that particular detail.]

Not... you specifically. It's not p— Hey!

[Without his glasses, he hadn't quite pieced together what she was reading, but now that he has, he crosses to the table in an attempt to snatch it away from her. Like that'll matter.]

[She lets him grab it, because it really doesn't matter. She's read it twice; she has it all but memorized by now.]

It's in my handwriting.

[It's not a foolproof test, of course. Handwriting is easily faked. But it lends a great deal of credence to his statement, a weight that hadn't been there before. She had been fond of him, then. She can tell. She can hear that fondness nestled between the words, the softness that couches each statement and turns it from something blunt into something sweeter. She knows what kind of affection that is. She's written it before.

She just hadn't hadn't thought she'd ever be able to write it to anyone but Robert.

Her eyes drag slowly down his frame, taking in the almost violent splashes of color painted over his bare torso and arms. That's interesting. Is that related to the kaiju her other-self was talking about? Likely. She'll ask after that soon, but one topic at a time.

(It doesn't occur to her to pretend she isn't staring. She's spent so long in Duplicity, she's seen so many people naked, it's hard to remember what standards of modesty are).]

You've been avoiding others, then, which is hardly healthy either. Come sit. This is a topic I know a great deal on, as it so happens.

i.

The city whirls away in the moment between one breath and another, and for the first time in months Fingon lifts his face to the sun and enjoys the feel of the light across his face. With the exception of the desert planet, it's been years since he's felt this warm- not since the Aman of his youth, perhaps, given the relative chill of Beleriand.

It will be nice, he thinks as he stretches his limbs, to put the furs away for a while. What he has to replace them, though... he shrugs at the thought, shucking his tunic off and climbing up to the curved roof of his house. That can wait until he's enjoyed a bit more sunlight.

ii.

The sunbathing was fun, but now it's time to go be marginally responsible. Fingon checks the shops to see if they have anything useful or clothing that doesn't make him want to die again to avoid it. As usual, the latter is sparse.

He also takes the opportunity to check the wards he and his cousins set up in town- the ones over Sansa's house and Margaery's shop. Any passersby will hear him singing under his breath as he works, seeing how they fared in the move and restoring any power lost over time.

iii.

There are flower-bearing shrubs in front of the Fire House doors.

Not terribly large ones, yet; no one's going to have to cut through the plants to make their way inside. But it's going to be very inconvenient if they keep growing, and if there's an emergency the fire engines might have a problem with them.

With more than a few plants he's seen in the city, actually, and perhaps he should take that up with Oscar. But for now, it's time to try to get these plants out of the way.

"I need you to move," he addresses them in Sindarin, "I know you were here first and it isn't fair, but you're likely to be crushed otherwise. I'd rather not see that."

Not surprisingly, the plants don't move on their own. Fingon thinks they may be a bit more alert than they were before, but it's proven harder to tell when dealing with non-Arda plants. And he's a Noldo, and not terribly good at this in the first place. But they do seem... more amenable now, at least? That's a start.

He shrugs, and goes off to find a shovel so that he can move them properly.

Edited 2019-03-31 07:31 (UTC)

[With his magic back in full swing, Harlan answers the door about a second after Delmar knocks. He's wearing his usual jeans and, because he's at home, a t-shirt. This planet isn't actually as hot as he was afraid it would be, but, still. Humidity is gross and bad.]

Hey, Del. What's up?

Edited (dw keeps not wanting me to use icons!!!!!!) 2019-03-31 08:31 (UTC)

[ peter hasn't slept properly since his arrival — fitful nights of sleep broken only by inevitable crashes when he's too tired to pay attention to the endless concerns and worries and thoughts that keep him awake at night; before, he'd waved it off with a loose 'it's too cold' followed by blaming it on everything that had happened with the — well, whatever the hell that had been with half the city intent on killing the other half.

now, though? he's settling on blaming it on the bangs coming from outside, irregular and he's a light sleeper, okay? (if asked). the humidity doesn't drop even at night. it's a stark contrast to the snow and the cold and quite frankly, peter isn't sure which he's less a fan of. he's hot and clammy and the layers he'd opted for previously have been swapped for shorts and a t-shirt, though it's not quite helping — he's used to humidity in summer, but this is something else entirely.

(gross gross gross.)

he recognises her, of course: rosalind(, the vampire). he's seen her in and around the lab, though their paths — peter's and hers — had crossed only in terms of various iterations of excuse me. his skill with diy isn't much better than hers (though he harbours a sneaking suspicion he could do better than that), and he watches her build (or: attempt to build, key word — attempt) to build what he can only assume is supposed to be a box for only a moment before chiming in with: ]

I'm guessing the instructions got lost in the move. [ he shifts his weight a touch, peering at her handiwork with curiosity he doesn't attempt to disguise. ] Maybe if you put a complaint in to the gods, they'll provide us with an Ikea.

Edited 2019-03-31 10:15 (UTC)

[Laura hates this place already. it's way too hot for her preferred clothing of a sweater set and wool kilt, so she's been forced to raid the stores for something that would work better. so now she's in a pink tank top and jeans that most people would probably call "mom jeans" as they have a high waistline. but hey, that was in fashion where she's from.

she fights her way through the plants until she reaches the Bakery. which unfortunately also seems to be overrun with plants, at least on the outside looking in. and she can hear Delmar fretting even from out here.

so she enters the Bakery, saying to Delmar]

Hi. Could you use another set of hands?

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Page 1 of 21

World Log: Jungle Arrival

Rosen [OTA / Will match format]

Rosalind Lutece | Bioshock: Infinite | OTA

Sansa Stark (OTA)

Re: Sansa Stark (OTA)

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Delmar [ 1 Closed + OTA ]

Lucretia | OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

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no subject

Re: Rosalind Lutece | Bioshock: Infinite | OTA

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II;

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iii obvs

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Fingon | OTA

1

ii.

Bakery