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Faith trudges into the Lodge, hunched over, head bowed. Pretty much the picture of defeat and misery. It's been a rough time for her, since the last time she was here - and that's no small amount of understatement.

Her Watcher is dead. Kakistos is chasing her. She's alone in the world, scared, and for the first time in quite a while she feels like a child, too young for what she has to be doing.

At the same time, though, she feels....way too old.

Six days ago, it was her eighteenth birthday.

This isn't what it was supposed to be like.

Welcome to adulthood, Faith. Enjoy the ride.

Mar. 15th, 2008

It was probably inevitable that Faith would wind up at the Lodge injured, one day. Given what she does and all.

She's limping today, and holding her left arm in a very uncomfortable-looking manner. There are nasty bruises on her neck (near-strangulation by a demon), her lip is split, and she's bleeding in a couple of places.

Gauze and bandages are ftw.

First arrival

It had been one of those days. Honestly, it had. First his rotation in the morning schedule had come up without the usual note arriving, so he'd been hounded forth by an irate Tad keeper. Then he'd been late to Molecular Identification class and had to demonstrate compound separation, and now...swimming into a wall.

A wall in the main corridor.

At least it had been a relatively soft wall, his data crys had been spared impact, though it did leave the water muddy and murky.

Muddy and murky?

The school's halls were kept clear of silt through first year projects. And yet, he could taste the heaviness along his throat and the not exactly unpleasant grit along his tongue. His notes drifted forgotten into the murk as he began to explore this strange apparition, only to discover that he was surrounded! A pond perhaps? Near the surface?

Air was a thing rarely experienced by a tad so young as he, and it took him a moment to quit blinking against the odd dryness as he lifted his head from the waters.

Yes, there was a blue, blinking fish boy peeking out at the dry world in the wood.

He was so going to get in trouble.
Oh look, it's a Slayer, sitting by the fireplace.

She's polishing a very, very sharp shiny killing stick thing.

Feel free to admire. Either the knife or the girl.

(Or both.)

Nov. 27th, 2007

It isn't until she's made it into the Lodge and glanced at the book that she realizes just how odd it is to have fallen into a pool in her own room. She's fairly certain that she's going to get in trouble but this is interesting and so Lissar just looks around instead of looking for a way back.
Caspian left in the summer but it was winter in Nottingham now.
Then Marian had counted the days, but the dark and cold of home consumed her now.

Home which was Knighton Hall and not Nottingham Castle over a year now. Home where bodies were coming back from the war each month. Home where Lucy had been amazed a woman of her stature would even be willing to share her medication. Home where the taxes were rising and the death penalty was no longer a surprise verdict. Home where bravery and honesty and idealism were punished, while greed and cruelty and malevolence were venerated.

Home was changing and it demanded that she change with it.

Marian had been stalking through the woods in the moonlight when she found herself in a place she hadn't expected. The sunlight had replaced the moonlight and she had wandered, her bow defiantly raised, for almost two minutes in a calm confusion before it sank in just where she was.

The Wood Between the Worlds.

The black fletched arrow lowered, and she reached up pulling off her mask, as she approached the lodge with reluctance.
[Scents of Change and Flame]

She didn't make it far from her pool, she would have had to be thinking for that. No, she crawled two or three feet, her right arm curled tight to her chest as ash shifted from the burned arm. Two or three feet were enough...just enough. Shock and the damage that caused it demanded her mind to be elsewhere, and meekly, she obeyed.

So, there was a Hound, once more in the peaceful wood...curled about her injury and out cold.

~Mun still has typing issues, so delayed responses!~
The very small young man really hasn't been by in ages. It hasn't been nearly that long for him, of course. His boots are, dripping, tucked into his belt and his hands are pulling shadows between them in an elaborate set of patterns that started out as Cat's Cradle and is, at this point, something far different.

He's not watching where he's going, really, and he bumps off the door frame of the lodge before making it inside. What he's doing, and the humming that accompanies it, is taking all of his attention.
The left bank of the River Drell, from the Fort to the falls, is alive with celebration. The peace was signed today, and most Tortallan warriors, full knights and foot soldiers alike, have been taking every opportunity to toast the end of the Tusaine War.

Not Alanna.

She would much rather take advantage of the situation by sneaking off for a swim and time to be alone with her thoughts. It's been a long summer and much has changed. In two days, they will ride for Corus and the return of normalcy, such as it is, and Alanna is convinced she will go insane if she doesn't first come to grips with everything that has happened.

Leaving Faithful curled up on the bank, she strips down to her breeches and shirt, and wades into the cool water... only to find herself in the Wood. Surprise registers on her face, followed by satisfaction, and she's smiling when she steps out of her pool -- lean, battle-hardened and still favoring her left arm, but smiling.

It fades when she approaches the lodge, fidgeting with the ends of her shirt and eyeing the door. She hesitates. Perversely, it's not the fact that she's wearing less than she would prefer that's making Alanna feel naked. It's the lack of weaponry.
Faith's sitting in the Lodge, a fairly grim expression on her face, and cleaning a very, very pretty (and very sharp) knife.

The expression doesn't exactly invite company, but that's okay! She probably won't skewer you!


Aug. 3rd, 2007

He's never sure if he should be wanting the path beneath his feet to turn to a todash pool or not. It doesn't seem to matter, anyway; the way appears when it wants to, or when something (or somebody) else decides. So far as he can tell, he has nothing to do with it.

Today, though, it did. In the morning, for a change, as he was heading to Vannay's schoolroom.

Well, he decides, the chance for more breakfast won't go amiss.

(Nor, perhaps, the chance to see certain people.)

Jul. 31st, 2007

Lucy's not been back in a week or so.

They took a trip for the holiday's to the seaside, and she didn't feel quite right using the ring to leave her family to come here.

(Peter and Susan managed to quarrel and make her rather wish she had, though.)

Still, it's nice to be back in the Lodge, a bit. If only for biscuits when she doesn't truly want to go to the store.

And, you know.

Many other things.
Here is a face who hasn't been seen for a while, sitting at a table, carving arrows.

(The wood didn't come from the forest here, don't worry.)

Feel free to ask her why she doesn't just buy them.
Benjen is not sulking at the corner table in the back. Sulking is unseemly and below his station. He is instead meditating on the unfairness of the world for saddling him with an insane older sister who insists on being treated like a man. And then when you do, she suddenly changes her mind and starts haranguing you for not being sensitive to her feelings. It's no wonder most of the Targaryns went mad, if they married their sisters!

Benjen's mood is as dark as his black eye in case anyone couldn't tell.
There are pools of water. And grass. There's a lot of grass. Pools, grass, and a pervasive zen-like calm that would remind her of the high school basement in the wake of pothead invasion if she could actually remember the high school basement. Or anything else.

Buffy looks around.

She doesn't know where she is, but she doesn't know who she is, either, so that makes sense. And while global amnesia should probably be cause for worry, at the moment all she feels is the strong inclination to take a lie down in the sun and take a nap.

Maybe this is Heaven. Buffy can't remember if she usually sunbathes, but she knows -- she knows, deep in her bones, with a knowledge that transcends time and memory and skin cancer warnings -- that uninterrupted sunbathing is a lot like Heaven.

"Did I die?" she says, to no one in particular.

And looks around again, with dreamy curiosity. "Was I a golfer?"
It's the balcony of her own home, this time. River deposits a mug of hibiscus tea on the nearest bench, cuts a quick bit of footwork from the solo she's been working on, and plops down in front of the politics textbook she laid on the floor a few minutes ago.

Except she never quite hits the ground. Or, at least, not the same ground.

She remembers her name, this time, and remembers that she's been here before. But it's all distant and hazy, and none of what she remembers seems to really matter. She walks the direction that... well, that one walks. That's all.

Until she steps through the door, and halts in sudden waking surprise.

Jun. 27th, 2007

It's been a while.

Eventually Cox's father had to return, of course, from that spectacular St. Patrick's Day bender, and wasn't he in a good mood.

Well, Perry wasn't really interested in playing varsity baseball, anyway, right?

Enter one perpetually pissed-off adolescent, with his right arm in a sling, and a book bag over his other shoulder. The bruises have faded, but there's not much he can do about the cast. "Enh. So it wasn't head trauma."

Jun. 26th, 2007

Those who would be out walking near the world pools would witness a rather strange sight. A girl, lean and dangerous in all black leather...was carefully holding her hands together to form a cage, her claws mere centimeters apart. If one looked close enough, there was a dim, glowing light pulsing between those fingers and claws, making the cage a bit more secure.

She didn't head to the lodge, no, but to a clearing where she carefully uncurled her hands to release...crickets. A double handful of terrified, sleek, black crickets. Her self appointed task complete the Hound almost smiled, a twitching of lips over teeth as she settled on her haunches in the grass to listen.
It's not been a good day. It has, in fact, been rather a bad one. Cort's mood, never stuffed with flowers on the best of days, was particularly ferocious this day's training. Roland's head still rang with a particularly nasty thump he's been fetched to the back of the head. His fingers touched it again as he thought of it, testing to see if the back of his skull had been turned to so much pudding. Pressing in, no matter how gently, rang a soft growl of frustration from him at the steady thump. He'd never been the type to dash to his Da, whining like some cradle-babe over a little punishment; Roland was always more of the school of thought that said, "What's dished out is usually what's deserved".

Even so, he'd roamed off to be alone in his thoughts after the boys had scattered to the four winds in the early evening. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't angry, he wasn't much of anything at the moment. Merely turned inward. Bert would most probably try to draw him out of himself, make him speak more than he felt like, should he see the vacant, broody cast to Roland's features. He wasn't sure there was much to draw out at the moment, so he let his boots lead him, aimless.

He'd been walking long enough that he should be out past the practice field, should be feeling grit beneath his boots, crunching with each lift-and-step when he notices the wetness.

"Huh," is the only sound such an occurence draws from Roland as he looks around at a place altogether unfamiliar. Something small moving through the grass draws his wary, cautious eye as he advances through the wood, with no clear destination in mind.
Every time Alain finds himself in the wood, he spends a moment wondering whether he should turn around and head right back. It's more halfhearted now than it used to be, and passes faster, but the thought still crosses his mind.

And then, every time so far, he shrugs internally and heads deeper into the unnatural forest instead. It's a more circuitous route than usual he follows this time, and he keeps an eye out for anything different. Anything new, anything but trees and grass and pools and guinea pigs and the single unexplained building of the Lodge.

He finds nothing. And he's not willing to range too far afield yet, not alone and with no reason for urgency, so he lets his path turn eventually towards the Lodge itself.

He could do with some coffee, anyway.
Lucy's rather not planning on going into any more pools quite this soon after her last adventure.

Even if it was entirely Mary's fault for picking said pool.

Instead, she's content to be inside, skirt tucked neatly around her knees as she sits curled up on a couch and half-reads a book.

She's more watching the room, really.

The servants are still interesting to her, and the other people here are too.
He really likes this place, Zuko has decided. It feels like someplace his mother his mother would want to be. Peaceful and warm and welcoming. But there are the pools and Zuko is somehow aware that father wouldn't want him to dawdle and get soft here. He has to learn to be strong and rule the nation.

Doesn't stop him from sitting there at the edge of his pool, looking uncertain about the whole thing. Here is nice. There-- is not so much.

Makes for conflicted little firebender boys, alright.
The tiny, tiny little Sorcerer-in-training is back again with a wry look at his sopping wet boots. There isn't any hesitation at entering the Lodge and setting them down to dry out. As long as he's found himself here, he might as well have supper and relax before returning to his lessons.

...He's not kidding anyone, least of all himself. Shadows twist around his hands as he plays cat's cradle with them instead of resting.
[OOW: A few days after this thread in the wood, Alain and Cuthbert go for a ride around Gilead.

And talk.]
Today, they'd gone a-Maying, given chase, with laughter and brightly winded horns, to leaping stags, and come back, merry and laden with flowers, for a picnic on Dancing Lawn. Today there was dancing and music, but tomorrow...

Tomorrow, he turns seventeen and tomorrow they weigh anchor, with a dawn tide and the following land breeze to carry them far out to sea. After supper Caspian takes his leave and wanders the quiet halls, the lawns and stables and grounds of Cair Paravel. It's hardly a surprise when such wanderings take him to the woods, whose patient trees and dappled light he'll not see again for what feels, to a very young king, like an age.

And when those trees give way to small pools and absolute stillness, he takes a deep breath and lets it out again, putting a friendly hand on the graceful trunk beside him and looking up into the leaves above with a smile. Trees, he feels certain, will be something he misses dearly in the months to come.
[Projects run on more than flesh and steel]

It had been long enough since her last visit that she had almost fully convinced herself that it was a delusion. Delusions were a simple fact of life, Hounds broke, they went insane, they were killed. Her imagining a whole other world was simply the onset of the end of her life as a Hound.

Then her feet had been wrapped in wet leather and she'd seen her own face rippling in the pool beneath her. And so she was returned...yet she froze in a crouch outside the lodge doors, unable to force herself further. Delusion or reality, it did not matter, as last time, there had been a soldier. A being she was trained to obey, a Master. And...she did not want to go in and face such again.

She...did not want to.

So she slunk off around the building until she came to field full of fat, stupid creatures. Had she been hungry, perhaps she would have taken one, taught it off predators, but luckily, she was not. Instead she sat and slowly peeled off a clawed glove. She wanted to touch, to feel the grass and it's softly whispering blades...

The human hand revealed was pale and so oddly delicate, stripped of it's lethal leather as she marveled at textures rarely seen in her existence. Perhaps this was peace, or something like it...though the lack of sound disturbed her deeply. Where were the crickets? The bugs? The incessant buzzing of insects that could be found even in the ruins?

And so, there was a Hound, crouched in the grass, and sadly lost as she played with the grass...

May. 28th, 2007

Lucy's been here most the day.

There was no one about this morning when she arrived--or it felt like morning to her, at any rate--and asked the staff for two rings, softly.

She's wearing one now, twisting it absently as she reads a newspaper she brought with her.

The other's in her pocket.

These facts are probably all irrelevant.
River was heading down the familiar stretch of park between the Hawkins Dance Complex and the Capitol City hover-shuttle stop, bag slung over one shoulder.

And then she... wasn't.


She's in a green wood -- a park, she thinks -- and her feet are soaked, and she's standing at the edge of a pool. She has no idea how she got here, and no idea where here is, and somehow none of that seems at all relevant. It's the most logical thing in the world to be suddenly transported to a park of identical pools and identical trees.

She sits on the grass to strip off her shoes. She thinks vaguely that it's not proper to run around barefoot in public spaces. Her--


well, someone would disapprove. But no one else is here, anyway. And worries like that all seem very far away.

She doesn't know how long she sits by the pool, breathing the warm air and listening to silence. But eventually she shoulders her bag and picks up her shoes, and begins to walk. She doesn't know how long she walks, either, or where she's going. But when she comes to a building, and an open door, she walks in.

And stops dead, mouth open, staring at the room as the dreaminess drops suddenly away.

Welcome to the Lodge, River Tam.
Jon stomps out of the tent, where his cousin Roger was holding a strategy session for the approaching battle. After being shooed out yet again, Jon kicks at a rock and stalks off towards the woods surrounding the camp that has been set up on the banks of the River Drell.

Muttering to himself about how he is a full knight as well as heir to the kingdom, Jon isn’t paying much attention to where he is going until a flash of red catches his eye. He sees Alanna moving into the woods, and quickens his pace to meet her. Suddenly, she disappears.

He is looking around for her when his attention is jerked back as he finds himself ankle-deep in water. He looks up in confusion to find himself in a much different wood, standing in a pool of water. The wood stretches out around him, dotted with other pools.

Jon clambers out of the pool and begins slowly walking through the woods, peering absently at the other pools as he passes them. He isn’t sure where he is, or he soon realizes, who HE is either, but it doesn’t seem very important at the moment.

His wanderings soon bring him to a small lodge. As he enters the building, his face twists into confusion as his memories return, and he looks around, straining to see something familiar.
Life in a military camp isn't all that different than living and working in the palace, Alanna is surprised to discover, with the simple exception that she doesn't have as much to do. The realization is quite disconcerting, as is the discovery that she must explain to a new group of men why she prefers not to swim, and will only bathe alone. There's safety in numbers, they say, and Alanna is hard-pressed not to snort in response. She'll take her chances.

(Two days in camp and she still hasn't risked a full bath in the wide, shallow waters near the falls. She's beginning to disgust herself; the ride from Corus had been long and dusty.)

It's easy enough to look after Myles and Jonathan’s belongings, making sure everything is battle ready, and Alanna spends her time grooming the horses, riding and exercising, content to learn a few tricks from Big Thor and some of the more amiable men from Fort Drell. Even so, her mind is always bent around the war councils at the fort, and whether she could get to Jon in time if he needed her.

She's quiet a lot, keeping herself busy.

Today she's swinging an axe on her way to meet Big Thor, when she finds herself standing in the pool, looking at an entirely different set of woods than those lining the banks of the river Drell. She's not displeased. Startled but perfectly content to be here, she sets off for the lodge. Perhaps Thom will be about. And perhaps she can take a hot bath somewhere. Grinning, she enters and looks around, momentarily forgetting the axe in her hand.

May. 14th, 2007

Thom walks self-consciously through the door, as if he thinks he might be followed. He drops into an empty seat by the fire with a grateful sigh; stretches, yawning faintly.

Settles back down.

May. 9th, 2007

A little time has passed since the last time Faith was in the Lodge. Not a LOT of time, but time enough for her to have turned 16, and to have been Chosen.

She didn't tell her Watcher about this place; Diana would probably forbid her from coming, and she liked it. So when she has the time, she returns to the Quarry, stuffs her clothes into a bag to protect them (because coming back soaked would not go over well with her Watcher), and makes her way into the Lodge.

Her hair is wet when she comes in, but her clothes and shoes are dry, and so are the stakes, dagger and crossbow hanging in various places on her person.

(She hasn't quite mastered the art of hiding them yet.)
Anakin walks into the Lodge, soaked from head to toe, leaving little puddles behind him as he walks. He doesn't really realize this until he finally stops near the fireplace and then manages to wave apologetically to one of the waitstaff.

After that, he starts shucking off his robe, boots, belt, and basically everything that he can without looking indecent. Once he sets things up by the fire to dry he settles himself down to dry off as well.

There was something to be said for missions. There wasn't much to be said for boring diplomatic missions on planets where it rained constantly.

May. 6th, 2007

"--fighting up around West Boise, Jamie says, though what even Farson would want with someplace that out-of-the-way--huh."

That would be the sound of a talkative gunslinger 'prentice noticing mid-sentence that his feet are wet.

And glancing sideways to make sure that his conversation partner is still there, and grinning.

"Hey. Didn't know it could work like that."

May. 4th, 2007

At some point, this young man will be worried about his CO giving him hell for walking out into enemy territory. Falling into water no less. What the hell was the kid thinking?

At some point.

Right now there's only the peace of the jungle. It's pretty here (funny, it's the only puddle in this place that's got the right sort of trees.)

Wiping a hand through his hair, he rubs at his eyes before settling himself down on the ground to pull off his boots. It's instinct. They're wet.

At some point, he'll wonder just how he ended up outside when he was inside with every intent to stay inside.

Was he ordered out here? A distinct possibility.

These thoughts are all farthest from his mind however as he pulls off his socks with a smile. His CO is going to give him hell.

Let him. Wasn't that bad.

Climbing to his feet, He put a hand on one of the trees and stared up into the branches. Birch. Old Oak maybe. Like back home (in the middle of the jungle?)

When his feet start walking he can't explain the destination. He only knows that there's a building and being inside is better then being outside where Charlie can get you.

The moment his bare feet cross the threshold however it all comes back. He'd tripped (stupid). This wasn't the Hanoi jungle (even more stupid and potentially dangerous) And, metaphorically speaking, he wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Above all however there is a name. It's embroidered over his left shoulder, and he has to touch it himself as a reminder. John (How hard did he hit his head?) My name is John.

John Winchester. Welcome to the Lodge.
Delia hasn't, it should be said, been able to come back to the woods and the Lodge. And, in truth, she hasn't been searching. It had all faded into something akin to a dream as week after week past without her stumbling in.

Now, however, she's back. Her wet slippers in front of the fire, and the delicate girl herself curled up in an armchair.

She is also, unlike the bright, flirty girl of before, looking very, very worried.

The promise of war tends to do that to people, really.
(Pre-arrival here.)

Alfred's still standing when he comes to the Woods. He never made it as far as getting down into the compartment he and Fallon had found, and even if he had, even if he'd shown up curled up in a little ball, he wouldn't have thought much of it. Just like he doesn't think much of suddenly loitering in the middle of nowhere without Fallon. He doesn't think much of anything, truth be told, his mind blank - and he has no real desire to pursue why, exactly, that might be.

Instead, he takes it upon himself to enjoy this peace of mind, and idles through the woods at a leisurely pace, letting his feet carry him where they might. Finding a rubber ball in the pocket of his tattered vest - and a matchbox in the other, but that's not important - he tosses it up and down as he walks.

Throw, catch. Throw, catch. Throw -- he spots the Lodge, and it fills him with a sense of curoisity, though it's as meandering as everything else that's passed through his head has been. And bending down to pick up the ball he failed to catch, he replaces it in his pocket before heading for the Lodge. He's got nothing better to do, after all.

The second he passes through the door, however, he regrets it.

The peace shatters like the glass of a failed tank trick, and ice fills his blood. Not even bothering to notice the book, he looks around frantically, hoping that Fallon is somewhere in view. And finding that his to-be ingenieur is not, his breath hitches in his throat.

For a moment he stands there, stunned, and then in a shaky voice, "... Fallon?" There's no response - he didn't really expect there to be one - and it only seems to cause him to fall further into a panic.

"Fallon?" he tries again, his voice a terrified bellow now. If there's someone here, they'll surely have heard him, and when they show up, he will damn well make them explain where his best friend is.
There were a few facts of life that mutants, in their infinite variety, could often escape. Some mutants that was. This particular one was not of the sort to not require food or sleep. And though she felt this place to be safe, the people within it were another thing entire.

That was why she was curled under her table, alert and tense...and yet, her head kept dipping and her eyes slid shut, blocking the solid glow of her Hound mask eyes...

After close to two hours of fighting the need for rest, and snarling at herself for each lapse, she finally gave in and pillowed her head on her arms, still tense, but even a muscle knotted rest was better than none.
[OOW: Marian is not always so sure of the changes in her world, even as they are represented by constants.]

Marian had been helping decorate the Sherriff’s banquet hall all morning for the May Day celebration. Which was why she'd escaped to the flower garden for some air. When she arrives in the woods, with a look of pleasant bemusement on her face, she's still carrying a basket full of ribbons, miniature icons, and lilies.

She had thought it only worked in the one spot in the woods, but she's needed a break from setup, so she's not complaining.

In fact, she's humming softly and making her way through the sunstreamers leisurely on the way to the lodge.

She'll be there, for tea, biscuits, and maybe a brithday treat, once she's done dancing with the sun.

Apr. 30th, 2007

[OOW: Timed to a week ago. Marian was enamored with pools, so Caspian got a trip to Nottingham. Rated GK for the first Good King in Nottingham in a very long time.]

the path is straight, I know it well

TS knows his way back to the lodge, by now, thank goodness. He punts a guinea pig or two on the way, mumbling continuously under his breath as he makes his way into the hall, kicking off his shoes.

"Stupid tests stupid teachers stupid freaking rehearsals with stupid people who've never seen the stupid movie before and the stupid theatre advisors and my stupid stupid stupid stupid father."

He crashes down into a chair and puts his feet up. Go ahead, try and tell him to take them down.

For once, he has no backpack, no book, no nothing, save his scrawny, slightly ill-complexioned self.

And he is, most definately, sulking.

((OOC: Hi... Still here, I swear. Was busy the last few weeks. Gaaaah.))

Apr. 24th, 2007

It's been a while that Claire's been sleeping here at the lodge - she's actually sort of lost count. But everyone says time doesn't pass pback home, and she's never had any reason not to trust what she's been told.

But she can't stay here forever.

She's met a lot of people here, she likes most of them, even though she wouldn't exactly parade them as friends in front of who she considers her real friends - Jackie and Brody and everyone - but the one thing she's determined is that no one comes from a world where people can just heal themselves.

Claire's been doing some thinking. And most of what she's been thinking is: the answers aren't here. Not to mention she misses her parents, even Lyle.

So she asked for a replacement uniform - the sweater of the last one was torn on Shadow, which she's wearing now, bag slung over her shoulder as she scans the Lodge, looking for people she feels she ought to say goodbye to.

[OOC: Open to everyone, but particularly people who know her. It'll be so for days at least.]

Apr. 22nd, 2007

Lucy is reading poetry today. Elizabeth Barret Browning.

It's not fantastic, but it's amusing, and the waitstaff members keep bringing her tea, and really, life could be far worse.
Only a week left.

It's what thrums through his mind even while the grass of the wood whispers against his boots; in his mind's eye, Caspian sees a great shining stretch of water and the sun rising high and white above, instead of the peaceful trees and the dappled green light that sifts through their leaves.  In fact, it's only once he's reached the lodge itself that he turns to look out over the wood, rather than going directly inside.

He likely will soon, but it is so very peaceful out here.

[OOC:  Mostly for Marian]


Apr. 19th, 2007

[OOW: Hounds did not dream...]

And yet, she was wet again, dreamy, strange greens and trees about her. And there was the building once more, as solid as anything she had climbed or run upon...it was a mental diversion that should worry her. And oddly, it did not. This strange place had not broken her hunt before...

...and that was all that mattered.

All that could matter. No matter how soothing or quiet a place, this mental field trip, it could not break her stride. She'd not let it...

But that did not mean she ran from it. No, perhaps it was a weakness to slink back indoors to curl up under a table once more, but there was not a Master there to beat her for it.
Mel's fallen into a habit of coming and going from the woods at pretty much random: sure, it's warm, comfortable, and there's food, but there's just no challenge - and therefore no fun - to a Lodge which gives everything away for free.

So that's why she stays in Haddyn, where she steals and fights and is learning, slowly, to live instead of just surviving. But it's also why she returns to the Lodge, because sometimes all she wants to do is be comfortable, for once.

So the scarred, ragged street-brat is sitting against the side of the fireplace, ignoring the soot, wolfing down a burger and watching the comings and goings of the Lodge.

She might not even be rude.
Almost a year has passed since Alanna asked George Cooper to make inquiries into the situation with Tusaine, and when she enters the lodge this evening, she has the fruits of his labor -- a small, dirty map -- tucked into her shirt. Moments before she found herself in the wood, she had been racing through the lower city, struggling to see through the pouring rain. It is vitally important that Myles receives the map as soon as possible.

Luckily, no time will be lost if she dries off a bit here and has a warm drink.

She's shivering and dripping on the floor, purple eyes wide and looking altogether too large for her face. Her arms are folded over her chest, even now trying to protect the map. Future warrior maiden or not, war is a daunting prospect.

[OOC: responses might be a bit slow this evening, but I'm around for the next couple of days.]
[Out of the Wood: After Claire and Mal's first meeting, Mal invited her to Shadow with him.

The following is rated HC for both Horse Chases and Horrendously Cute.]
[Through the trees]

Duck's carrying his boots but he's not so worried about drying them. He's not so worried about anything, really, not here. Barefoot and grass adds up to something familiar and comforting; not familiar enough to do more than play at the edges of his mind, but you'd have to be actively thinking about things to notice you've forgotten. Right now he's more occupied with just watching the way the light filters down through the trees. He feels pretty at ease with the world around him (and that's not so familiar at all.)

It's a little while before he decides to investigate the building, pushes through the door to find a whole bunch of people he's never seen before. (Sometimes he forgets that Wilby isn't the world.) Eyes still adjusting (not noticing any books) he finds someplace to sit himself, already looking slightly more wary and a little more closed than he did when he found this place. Should've stayed outside a little longer.

(He'll wonder about this place, about how he got here, in a minute or two. For now, it's not Wilby. That's enough.)


In the Wood Between the Worlds

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April 2008

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