001-003 » a chilling mathias welcome

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: The east end of Mathias, along the waterfront.
WHEN: Days 001-003
WHAT: The newest residents of Mathias Township are welcomed with a storm.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: A small love letter from your mod. This spot can be used for plotting.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Mara"

DAY 001
THE ARRIVAL BEGINS

Is it the whooshing crash of waves on dark jagged rocks that wakes you? Perhaps. It might also be the near-continuous rumble of thunder growing closer every second, the vibrations almost seeming to come from the wet sand beneath your hands. Or maybe it’s the shivering of your own body as water recedes from the pebble-covered shore, the cold sinking into your very bones as a chilled wind picks up. It could be any of these things that rouse you from a deep slumber that leaves you feeling groggy and out of sorts--

But it’s the fear that gets you moving. A deep, intense terror grips your chest and squeezes the breath right out of you, and you know without a shred of doubt that you have mere minutes before whatever it is you’re so afraid of arrives on that stretch of rocky beach to greet you. Even if you want to stay rooted to that spot and faced it head-on, your body betrays you, a survival instinct etched into your genetic code forcing you to seek shelter.

Welcome to Mathias. You should probably run now.



THE STORM ARRIVES

When the storm crashes into the small township, it's hard to remember what life was like before it. The ocean becomes a raging thing, waves rising and falling as if trying to attack whatever they can reach along the coast. Any foolish enough to venture along the beach have no hope of surviving the encounter; their bodies will be swept out with the current, gone in the blink of an eye.

The wind is a howling beast, screaming between buildings and driving spikes of cold into any crevice it can reach. The rain is just shy of freezing, every drop like a shard of icicle trying to itself into your skin. It will bite at your nerves and leave you shaking if you stay out in it too long, so you had best get inside if you haven't already. You certainly don't want to attract the attention of the lightning that arcs in the sky like a vengeful god ready to unleash its wrath.

The Grey Gull restaurant sits at the edge of the town along the beach, and just a few yards away are two parallel rows of houses lining what might be a picturesque street if the world weren't beginning to resemble an apocalyptic landscape.

Move quickly, and choose wisely.

DAY 002
THE STORM RAGES ON

The storm has somehow become even more violent overnight. The world outside your shelter might be trapped in an endless night, for all you can see through the thick covering of storm clouds. Lightning continues to streak across the sky, thunder following almost immediately in its wake, threatening just how near those spikes of electricity truly are. You can see them touch the shore at times, even the street between the homes, but never the buildings themselves. A blessing, perhaps, or an oddity to take note of?

Some may be foolish enough to try venturing outside. They are welcome to, of course, that is their right, but the rain is still like ice and that lightning is so very near. You may try heading further into town, and you can certainly see buildings beyond this row of houses, but should you walk toward them...

Well. It is far from a pleasant experience. Exhaustion sinks into your bones so quickly that it leaves you reeling, and every second you push through it makes you physically ill with a feeling that you might collapse at any moment. The second you turn away from that path, however, you feel infinitely, and even more so each step back the way you came.

Something wants you to stay where you are. Perhaps you should.

DAY 003
THE CALM DESCENDS

The third day begins much as the second, with waves crashing upon the shore and thunder booming with such force that the ground seems to shake. It feels very much like the world might end right there, torn apart by a force of nature unlike any seen before. Any who venture outside at this time are almost immediately afflicted with a terror so intense that they can make it no more than a few yards or the short distance to cross a street before they become incapacitated by the fear that sets their heart beating dangerously fast. The term scared to death may very well become literal this day.

And then, suddenly it stops. The rain, thunder, lighting— all if it just stops and the silence that fills the night is deafening. There are no sounds of life within the town, no car motors or dogs barking or the voices of anyone beside those new arrivals in the immediate vicinity. In fact, none of those things even exist in Mathias. There are no cars, no animals or insects, no other people. There is just... emptiness and silence.

It may be best to wait until daylight to move further inland.



THE NIGHT DARKENS

For those who are foolish enough to leave the relative safety of the cluster of houses near the Grey Gull, they will find their journey quite chilling, in a very literal sense. There is another row of houses beyond where they had been, branching off on either side into a neighborhood. There are no lights on in any of these homes, though there are occasional streetlights illuminating their way. But as they continue further, reaching a third block of houses, those lights begin to dim, until they have gone out completely, and what had previously been a simple fall chill becomes biting cold as the temperature sharply drops.

In all of this, there is silence. No sounds travel through that night air to comfort them, and even looking up to the sky stretched out above them offers little reassurance. That sky is black, without a single star and not even the faintest outline of the moon to guide them. All that reaches them here is the barest hint of light traveling from the way they've come. The longer they linger outside in this place, the colder it will become, and any light they carry with them will slowly begin to dim as well.

Truly, they should have waited until the sun rose once more.

---

LOCATIONS

THE GREY GULL is what one might expect of the most frequented restaurant in a small coastal town. The wrap-around porch is lined with white chairs characterized by peeling paint. Exposed wooden walls and worn seating speak to its many years of existence, and the mishmash of décor confirms that the owner never much cared for how the place looked. What mattered here was the food, and faded chalk menus advertise soup specials and a daily pie. The bar appears to have once been well-stocked, but all the bottles remaining are unfortunately empty. There is, however, quite a bit of food in the kitchen that is somehow as fresh as if it were purchased that day.

The second floor of the restaurant is a sparsely furnished apartment. There are no personal items to be found; perhaps it was waiting to be rented out to someone.

THE HOUSES are well-kept, middle-class homes, four lining either side of the street. Their doors are unlocked, windows unshuttered, and everything within feels like the owners might return at any second. There is running water and electricity, fresh food in the fridge, photographs on the wall... but also dust everywhere. If you didn't know better, you'd say the place had been abandoned for years, and yet nothing has aged. It is both strange and unsettling, and yet no matter how hard you search, no answers may be found within these homes.

What can be found within them, however, is a phone. One single black phone within a main room of the house, and beside it, a list of handwritten numbers and names that have been crossed out.

1302 8-5491 Thomasen
1304 8-9256 Lyrie
1306 8-4712 Anders
1308 8-3201 Mulcalley

1301 8-0415 Sanderson
1303 8-6762 Reese
1305 8-9132 Evers
1307 8-9025 Hirano

Should your character choose to shelter in one of the houses, you are welcome to choose the features of that particular unit. Please reply to the comment thread below with the details you decide upon, specifying the house number in the subject line.

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Five Hargreeves ☂ Day 1 ☂ OTA

[fika]

DAY 1

I: run, boy, run

Five is stumbling up, sand harsh against knobby knees and a shiver setting in almost as soon as his senses return, as the ringing in his ears recedes, and he takes a steadying breath and faces the oncoming storm.

"Oh, come on," exasperation comes first before the fear does. Before there's something intrinsic telling him to run as the wind whips hair into his eyes and the cold cuts through his clothes. That sort of suffocating anticipation and goosebumps rush up his spine again, heart hammering hummingbird quick under his ribs. Alone, his mind echoes as he sets off in a sprint towards the town, but not without throwing searching glances all around him first. Did they do it again?, comes another thought, too quick and panicked to temper.

One might catch a blur of a lanky kid, running across and away from the beach. If he catches sight of someone else, he doesn't hesitate to teleport himself beside them as if it's nothing to even think about. The first question he will ask then, with no other introduction, is: "Hey - what year is it?"

II: You can't go back to Constantinople

The storm hits full force maybe twenty minutes after he first came to here, and just as he reaches the inn. He jumps himself inside when he's at most ten feet away, cold and tired and lungs stinging from the hard ocean wind. It's instinct more than thought, and he stumbles - very abruptly - into a table inside, careened forward by the momentum.

Five takes a second to straighten out his jacket, twist the flop of hair out of his face, and look around. If he finds no one inside, he will set to exploring the restaurant until he finds what he's looking for. He also pockets a butter knife, because that's the only thing he can find.

If anyone else comes indoors, they will see what looks to be a kid chugging a cup of coffee, haggard and tired and staring daggers outside, into the storm, a hand stuffed into the pocket of his shorts. He will start when he sees anyone else here, a brow raised along with his cup. "What a shitshow, huh?"

He says it with the knowledge of someone who has to go out there.

( plotting post here, or hit me up on berezka! i'm open to anything, and happy to toss him out there C: )

☂ Day 2 ☂ OTA

[fika]

DAY 2

I: the clock is moving, hands to midnight

Five wasn't good at waiting. He had to have a modicum of patience for his powers to feel strong enough to know he could reliably go anywhere in a shitshow like this - which was another facet of annoyance he would have to deal with at a later date.

The storm made no sign of stopping, and he was growing impatient, small stature wound tight as bowstring and jaw clenched at a table in the Grey Gull. Lightning streaked across the horizon, as he eyed the row of houses outside. Now or never. He had to check - he had to make sure that if there was a trace of his family, he would find it.

He's grabbed a couple of chocolate bars he's found in the kitchen, stuffed it into his pockets, and pushed himself forward with a blink of his power. The rain was like ice, tremendously cold and biting and it knocked the breath out of him for several unbearable seconds before he kept going.

Another jump of temporal blue. He's inside the closest house, hair plastered to his forehead and the rain already seeping through his blue blazer. The first house is empty, even as he calls out the names of the people he hopes to find.

Another blink. He's outside again, looking around, shout drowned out by the howl of the wind that feels like knives inside his lungs after each breath.

He teleports again. Back to a house. This happens one more time before he realizes he's pushed himself a bit too much and a bit too quick and the next house he teleports into will find him crashing into a wall, or a chair, with a loud clutter and lifting up dust. He's shivering again, pale and exhausted from the blistering moments spent in the storm or from the overexertion. It will take him a few seconds to notice if he somehow accidentally crashed into an already occupied living room, soaked and angry. "Should have brought an umbrella," he mutters.

II: in hell i'll be in good company

He settles, almost begrudgingly, into a house with the number of 1302 8-5491 Thomasen. There was no rhyme or reason to having picked it other than it was closest, and he was tired. It was stocked and dusty as all hell. But it kept the terrible weather out, and he needed somewhere to warm up before the hypothermia kicked in, or before he nearly stranded himself outside by overusing his jumps. Again.

It's funny, how quickly his survival instincts kicked in, falling into place like an old friend. He could go another lifetime without any of this. But especially now, with everything around him reminding him too much of the solitude of the apocalypse way back when, it is difficult to not let the panic get to him, as he sits down on a perfectly untouched couch and stares at the wall.

He alternates between pacing and staring out the window. If he catches anyone outside, he'll open the door, or the window and yell: "Hey. You should get inside!"

Should anyone knock, or call, he'll answer that too. Cautiously, of course, but with the confidence of someone entirely not harmless.

[thering]

Whatever sliver of hope Doc might have clung to about a familiar face showing up at the Grey Gull turned to ashes on his tongue when he startled himself awake at the break of dawn. It's a bitter revelation to know that the events of yesterday weren't a dream, and the foul weather that hasn't let up one bit isn't going far to improve his mood. He'd spent most of his first day at the restaurant, hoping (without hope) that something or someone might turn up to assuage that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it's only been a sea of unfamiliar faces pouring through that door, and people with similar questions as he has, and there's really no point sticking around anymore.

Not having given his clothes much time or air to dry out, the fabric is clinging to his skin by the time he makes it indoors to the closest house and pulling the door shut behind him. Half-formed questions amble in circles around his head like shambling ghouls as he tries to fight off the kind of chill that bites to the bone, the kind of aching weariness that he hasn't felt since he was mortal. There's no time to be weary.

With his hat tipped he's dripping an uneven rhythm of water droplets onto the photograph he'd peeled from the fridge. There's no date. No note on the back. Pruned fingertips dance over the faces when he hears an unexpected sound coming from behind in between the claps and rumbles of thunder. Instinct takes over and Doc grabs a fridge magnet, left leg shifting back half a step. He spins and throws the ceramic ornament aiming straight for the head, realising half a second too late that it's just a kid.

[fika]

Five was running on empty since day 1, clawing at foolhardy desperation to keep up his search. If there were others here - others he caught barely glimpses of, or others that barely gave him a good answer - that meant there was a chance at finding his family. That despite the screaming notion of not letting himself hope, he still was because hope is an awful thing.

He needed more clues however, and at this time he kept finding none. No glass eyeball to hang on to like a lifeline. Not even a date, an old newsprint.

Nothing. He's angrier by the time he jumps into the same house Doc chose, soaked to the bone, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from rattling.

It takes him a split moment longer than usual to notice the silhouette by the fridge, wide rimmed hat leaving puddles on the hardwood floor. It takes a even second longer before the sharp motion registers and Five drops to the floor in a crouch. The magnet just manages to nick the top of his head before clattering against the wall behind him, and when he straightens himself out, he's rubbing the spot with a quickly forming scowl.

It isn't that Five blames the reaction. To be fair, it bordered on reasonable given the circumstances, and he was being way less careful than he should. The whole thing was a miscalculation based on assumption that this house was as empty as the rest.

"Yeah, screw you too," Five grinds out, unhappy at the fact that he nearly ate a magnet.

[thering]

"My most sincere apologies," Doc humbly replies as he hurries over, hands raised slightly as he starts to crouch down. This kid wasn't in the picture, so he isn't the owner's son at least, but of course that doesn't go any way to making Doc feel any less sheepish or embarrassed. He's also concerned, even if the young man had managed to duck in time to escape the worst of it. It could have cut him or left a nasty bruise.

"Are you alright, son? May I take a look? I am- was, a doctor." Still is, he thinks, but times have changed and many of the old ways have fallen out of favour. A little bump though shouldn't need any old or new ways to come right.

He's too focused on their little mishap to notice that the doors and windows are still closed, but there will most definitely be questions in a minute.

i,,,am so sorry

[fika]

Oh. Oh no, not this shit again. If Doc had chosen to leave it at a simple apology, it would have been fine and moved on to more pressing questions.

Listen, rationally, sure. It makes sense. Grown adults see someone who looks like he just got out of boarding school, they're going to have a reaction.

But Five is past the point of rational, because his pride smarts more than the silly little bruised scalp. Because he's had two long fucking weeks, his family is hell knows where, and this wasn't helping any of it and Doc's display is so sincere that it's laughable. Not only does Five not need it, he doesn't deserve the concern reserved for actual children. He's lived too long and done too much for that to be true. "You try and get down to my level any more than that and I'm taking out your kneecaps," he glowers, hinging just a touch forward with narrowed eyes and a serrated smile.

"I'm sure there's plenty out there who need your expertise, doc, but my head's just fine," less sharp than the previous threat, but no less pointed because there is no part of him that wants to be fussed over right now.

it's fine

[thering]

Doc very much likes his 166 years old and still going strong kneecaps so he pauses and hovers, somewhat awkwardly, eyes darting left and right before he slowly straightens up again. The kid has certainly got spunk, he'll give him that. Just the kind of fire they would need under their asses to get them going, going, gone out of here right quick. Hopefully not the same wet and wild way they came in.

"You came out of nowhere," he explains, placing his hands on his hips above where his empty gun holsters dangle uselessly by his sides. "You-" Doc cuts himself off and looks around, eyebrows furrowed. He's pretty sure he checked all the rooms, and there's a trail of water on the floorboards to prove it. There was no one else here.

"How... did you get in?"

honestly loving this cr already btw!

[fika]

"Didn't think to knock," Five shrugs, getting back to a fastidious attempt at smoothing out his blazer, and his hair, and his tie. It isn't productive, but he feels better for it.

Here is the thing, as he considers his answer and the man in front of him. Right now was a choice of showing his hand, or not. His hostility is a knee jerk reaction, sure, but he's never been terribly cagey about his powers. Childhood in the limelight, and all that. So, he'd prefer to get this out of the way faster than not.

Besides, someone else's reaction wasn't going to be his problem, and hey, Doc asked.

So Five makes a decision, and with a resigned sigh, he steps forward and is gone in a blink. Only to reappear on the other of the room with a quiet pop of his powers: "Simple spatial displacement."

[chuju]

the clock is moving, hands to midnight

He's not the only one who's grown impatient of waiting. Daisy might be feeling a very particular brand of awful and exhausted after a really crappy last few days, but she has to find her team. Her family. They're out there somewhere, they have to be, and she can't just leave them to fend for themselves. She's noticed by now that others are arriving without weapons, and while everyone at SHIELD receives some combat training, they're not all equipped to handle the same sort of things she is. (She is steadfastly ignoring the fact that she can't handle much of anything right now for very long. She'll push herself to breaking if that's what it takes to keep her family safe.)

So out into the storm she goes. Without any protection against the onslaught of icy cold rain, she's soaked in seconds, right back to shivering like when she'd arrived, but she pushes forward nonetheless. Hopefully those houses have some spare clothes she can borrow for whenever she settles somewhere dry after finding her people.

Unfortunately, she doesn't make it very far. An arc of lightning strikes the pavement maybe ten feet away from where she stands in the middle of the road and the thunderclap shakes the air and ground alike. She feels it in her bones, though it's nothing like it should be. The wind whips around her like a whirlwind, like a frozen hurricane trying to knock her down, so she gives in. For now. Into the first house she sees, the number completely unnoted as she flings the front door open and then closed again.

That was fun.

Trying to catch her breath in what is a very dusty and very empty living room, she actually flinches when it becomes not so empty. The flash of blue reminds her of Gordon and her chest tightens at the memories. It isn't Gordon though, and there's no sign of anyone she recognizes. Just a kid in a blue school uniform, looking a bit less drowned than she probably.

Cool. This is fine. Don't mind her staring, it's been a rough week.

[fika]

Five was very quickly reaching his limits, running on fumes he didn't have, wasting strength he couldn't afford to. But a day in, he hadn't found any clues. Hadn't heard any answers short of fuck knows. No dates, no leads, hand devoid of any glass eyes to hang on to and keep him going like a proverbial high. (And that scared him more than any shit weather could, lightning arching across the horizon and all, rattling in his ribcage.)

And at the same time, he was back in a position he knew well. Isolated until he wasn't, and all of this searching was to prove to himself that he was truly and well enough alone, powers albeit useless where he was concerned.

He had to make sure, though. He had to make sure his family wasn't here, wasn't lost in the storm or injured or anything in between.

Five tries to ignore the intrinsic guilt that comes with the waves of fear. That what if this apocalyptic landscape was still somehow because of them, because they certainly were too good at being the catalysts of disaster.

He careens himself into another house, one of the last ones he hadn't checked and knowing that he will need a break after this whether he likes it or not. He's more wobbly than he'd care to admit, hair dripping and blazer cuttingly cold with the rain.

Still, he lands on his feet, and wipes at his face until he catches someone staring.

He stares back at the woman looking just as drenched and just as bone tired. A moment later, and he's moving across the room, keeping her in his periphery because he's trained to, but beginning to rummage through whatever shelf, or coffee table he can find for clues.

"Did you wake up here yesterday?" He asks mildly, glancing up.

[chuju]

It's funny how similar they are at their core. Both of them searching for their family and fearing the worst, both battling guilt over the possibility of not having done enough to save the world. The weight of that world rests on their shoulders and it's so much to bear alone.

Not that either of them knows that about the other, of course. Hard to say what difference it would make if they did.

"Yep," she answers with a heavy sigh, finally moving away from the door. Her body moves slowly, the cold making her limbs feel like they're full of lead, and it's a sensation that is exceptionally unsettling because of how recently she felt it for a very different reason. But she can't think about that right now. Instead, taking note of what he's doing, she asks her own resigned question. "You don't know what's going on either, huh?"

Of course, he doesn't. No one has, why should this kid with superpowers be any different. They're all just trying not to die of hypothermia before they can find a way out of this mess. She hasn't even been able to guess who might be behind all this, which is pretty damn unusual these days.

[fika]

A world of similarities between the each of them, and Five would never even think to compare. A childhood of being told they were something singular, something special sure made for narrow vision.

Or maybe that would involve sharing, and talking, none of which were of his strengths, and certainly not with the given circumstances.

Though, given how she hardly even reacts to his appearing from thin air, it gets her a curious look. Brows knitting slightly, and a long enough pause for him to stop what he's doing, papers held uselessly in his hands. "No. There's not even a date," said as though that's the most important thing in the world.

"It's like this place doesn't exist." He steps in the direction of the fridge, disappears and reappears because this is second nature.

The fridge doesn't have anything useful hanging on it either. No Timmy's soccer practice or whatever bullshit places like this would have. "- Nothing."

And his attention pivots back to her. "What year was it? Before you showed up here?"

[chuju]

Okay, normally the lack of dates would just be an oddity she'd note down with a huh and probably not think of again until it eventually became relevant. But considering how she's spent the last few weeks... Well, it's disconcerting, to say the least. And it makes her even more confused over who or what might be behind this mess.

She doesn't blink when he just disappears, a casual display of powers nothing more than normal in her life. There is an absent wonder of if he's an Inhuman, but that's not the most pressing thing at the moment. The fact that this kid in a frankly ridiculous school uniform is familiar enough with time travel to be asking questions like this? That is what she needs to focus on.

"1983," she answers with a frown, crossing her arms and watching him carefully for his response to the next piece of her particular puzzle. "But I'm from 2019."

II

[40seconds]

Coulson's been out and moving around, dipping in and out of the houses closest to his current location, looking for any objects that might turn out to be useful. It hasn't been the most fruitful of searches, and after a decent amount of time (about 20 to 30 minutes; it's hard to track the passage of time here, even though he has a watch), he decides it's time to put the search on hold just long enough for him to catch his breath. As luck would have it, a house is just a few paces away, and he passes by the window, peering into it as he walks by.

He doesn't immediately spot anyone just inside, but there's a chance someone's already holed up in there, and while he's not being too picky about the places he stops by, he doesn't want to intrude either.

So, with that in mind, he slowly turns the handle and pushes the door open a crack.

"Anyone in here?"

[fika]

Five hears the footsteps only when they're at the front door, and the knob turns shortly after.

He hadn't bothered locking the door. Which is either confident or stupid or straight up careless, but he didn't see the point.

He has another steaming cup of coffee out in front of him, and a half-eaten peanut-butter marshmallow sandwich, because he's exhausted. Papers are already strewn out on the coffee table in front of him, notes scrawled in blue ink when he looks up at the door and immediately tenses.

It's habit and training both that makes him grip his pen in his fist, and firmly plant his feet on the rug, ready to spring.

But the stranger doesn't seem inclined on anything other than a polite question, so Five shrugs. "Yeah. You don't happen to live here, do you?"

[40seconds]

Coulson's the door-locking type sometimes, but other times, like Five, he just doesn't see the point in it. It doesn't feel like complacency to think that even if there is someone with a hidden agenda among the people here, the few people Coulson's encountered so far were lacking in weaponry (as far as he could tell), so unless there's folks here capable of breaking necks with their bare hands or anything else equally unpleasant, he's decided he can take that chance.

And the houses themselves don't have much of value either, so that's another reason why locking the door feels a little unnecessary. But the narration digresses, so moving on.

Coulson takes in the scene in front of him, from the coffee (!!) to the sandwich (are those marshmallows?), and then he looks back at Five. "No, I don't. I'm starting to think these houses are uninhabited, except for us."

[fika]

Five has, for the most part, gotten very used to being one of the most dangerous people in the room. In his world, anyway. Between dear old dad and the Temps Commission, they all made sure of that.

So, why lock a front door when you can, in fact, break a neck with your bare hands in the blink of seconds?

It isn't that he'd geared up for those terms. And he especially doesn't want to be. This was still, more than not, a display of carelessness. The fact remains that he should have locked it. Maybe it's the continued lack of sleep, catching up to him from all directions.

He gives the other man a small, pressed smile. Polite and tired and maybe (definitely) a little forced. "I've been through all of them. On this street, anyway. So you're correct on that."

(leave his marshmallow peanut butter sandwich be!!) ..."Coffee?"

[40seconds]

It's an interesting thing to be, even if it carries a certain weight to it, but as someone who's never been that person, Coulson figures he can only speculate what it must be like.

And, well, he certainly hopes that no one's about to break his neck, because that would really be counterproductive to figuring out what's going on here. Not that he's made any particular strides towards that goal, but he doesn't anticipate any speed bumps being thrown in his path either.

"That does beg the question of who lived here before we did, but I don't suppose we'll be learning that anytime soon." At least, Coulson hasn't stumbled upon any particular clues to point him in any useful directions.

He'll pass on the sandwich, though; he's not that adventurous. But there's no denying that a cup of coffee would be great right about now. "If you have any to spare, if not, I'm fine." Far be it for him to take someone else's stash.

☂ Day 3 ☂ OTA

[fika]

DAY 3

I: time, time time, see what's become of me

The storm stops so suddenly it almost gives Five whiplash.

The silence, he finds, bothers him so much more as he opens the door to the house he found himself in just before the storm's end. It sets him worse on edge, even as he catches a scant few others venturing out. If he catches the eye of someone closer to him, he will find himself shouting: "Have you seen anyone local here?"

It feels too close to the apocalypse, and there's still the thought that somehow, he and the rest of the Hargreeves were the cause; even if there were others around him now, instead of forty-five year isolation before, it wasn't much of a consolation.

Day 1: II

[waywardsister]

Claire goes for the first shelter she can spot, a seaside restaurant, trying to cling to hunter instincts rather than the storm still lodged behind her ribcage as she gets ready to force her way in... less than gracefully, as it turns out. She assumes the door locked, and tries to bust it open with her shoulder, and stumbles a few steps inside when she finds out with momentum that it is, in fact, not locked.

"The... hell."

Catching herself, she shoves wet hair out of a heavily bruised face, and glances around, tension immediate in her shoulders when she spots the... kid?

Well... she's not one to judge, she doesn't think she'd have been much older when she started falling in with Randy and his crew to pick locks and pockets. After a first quick glance at him, she moves further into the room, teeth chattering - the leather jacket would be a momentary reprieve from the icy rain, but the black hoodie underneath is soaked, and so are her jeans. No sense yet in getting dry yet, though. Restaurant's an obvious place to hole up. Means more people, and Claire isn't sure she's that interested in cosying up quite yet.

"That's one word for it," she offers back, moving to one of the tables. The chair scrapes against the floorboards loudly as she pulls it out. Rather than sit in it, though, Clair tips it onto its side. "Kitchen have any knives?" He's got the coffee - so he's probably been in there.

What's a kid calmly drinking coffee for in this place, anyway? Questions for later. If he's observant, he might notice that Claire doesn't turn her back to him or the door, and that she seems to intend to break off a chair leg.

Shelter, weapons. Hunter priorities.

[fika]

Five doesn't turn his back, either. The gesture is casual, sipping out of the nondescript ceramic white mug, leaning one elbow on the window sill as he pivots around to look at her.

He's been trained long enough in his old age to recognize the tells of someone more used to having to fight than not - she notes the exits (open door, windows), notes the threat (him, which...more fair than she likely knows). He watches her break the chair leg with mild curiosity. Not a bad idea, either.

"Only for the really persistent," he says, waving the slender butter knife, pinched between his thumb and index finger. He doesn't bother expanding on any of that further. He's tired, exhausted to the bone, and all he wants to do is not be here. But he needs the energy, so he takes another long sip.

[waywardsister]

Claire pauses in her stage 1 vandalism to glance at the kid, raising an eyebrow.

"Morbid," is her conclusion. "Funny, though."

There's a thing in one of those old movies Dean made her watch. Something about carving a heart out with a spoon and that being the point. Kid's got a dark sense of humour, that's for sure.

With the chair leg freed, she gives it a test swing or two to get used to the weight and feel. It's not great, honestly, but it'll do, for now. If someone or something barrels through a good swing with this without flinching, then it's probably time to book it, at any rate.

"You seem pretty calm about all this."

[fika]

He wonders if he should tell her he was being serious, but decides against it, with a polite picture-book smile and a shrug.

"Well, we got slim alternatives here," he raises his arm, mug in hand, to give a pointed sweep of the room. "Butter knife, or a poor man's baseball bat."

He gives her a curious look at her final comment, though. Was he? Calm, that is. Being out of the storm soothed the visceral fear the wind and the rain and the lightning brought with it. He's been afraid plenty of times before, admittedly or not - though not like that. No, that felt brought on, and he lived long enough to know the difference between fear and panic and this was still...something else entirely.

"Do I?" He asks mildly. "Just taking a break. From the tantrum I'm supposed to be throwing, I guess."

A pause, giving the broken chair leg an unconvinced look. "What're you anticipating fighting, anyway?"

[waywardsister]

Everything.

Maybe not the best thing to say to a kid. Claire doesn't exactly claime to be the most sensitive person in the world, but even she knows to at least try and not make trauma worse. So she glances to the kitchen, then takes a few steps towards the kid.

She doesn't let her guard down, not exactly. Well aware that this kid could very well be... any number of things, honestly, and none of them good. And that's before taking into account that leaving the Bad Place and ending here, she might not be in Kansas anymore. Or rather, her own world.

"Don't know yet," she admits, then. "Listen, kid. This place feels like bad news, right? In my experience, that usually... has a source. And that source is usually something you can take out. That's what I do. So yeah... poor man's baseball bat, just in case."

She hesitates, and the way her eyes track over them is... calculated. Trying to figure him out.

"Do you need help getting anywhere?"

[fika]

Oh, of course. He was wondering when this was going to start happening. The listen kid, it's not safe here, the surface concern that Five could never bring himself to appreciate.

That's what he gets for messing up the calculations.

There's advantage in underestimation, to be sure. He might not be a demon or changeling or whatever else Claire had known, but he was a monster of his own sort. But advantage or no, it didn't stop it from being absolutely annoying in moments like this, after the forty-five years of dues paid. Anyone more positive would see this concern as touching. It is unfortunate that Five's cynicism is such an immovable force.

So when she takes a few steps closer, his dimple smile is markedly sarcastic and grip a little tighter on the handle of his cup. His eye may or may not twitch, just once. "Oh, the kid's all set, thanks."

"Before you go out there trying to fist fight a storm - what year was it? Before you got here?" Listen, did he think her half-baked plan was going to lead to disaster? Absolutely. It sounded like something Diego or Luther would come up with and think it brilliant.

Not that he didn't want to fight whatever brought him here. He just thought it was more complicated than what she was suggesting.