crossing_lostrp | [Daniel] Day 11: Grim News (tag all)

By the time Daniel gathered the majority of the survivors around the cookfire, it was writ on many of the faces that the news had already trickled down the metaphorical grapevine. What was the saying? Good news travels fast, but bad news travels faster?

He looked out at the eclectic assortment of people, from different walks of life with different knowledge and different skills, all thrown together into this community due plane crashes, spaceship crashes, misdirected wormholes, and rips in the fabric of time. All brought here by people or beings unknown with reasons just as unfamiliar and unknown, with the slowly waning hope that they would ever be rescued.

Taking off his glasses, Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought for a moment, tossing out the previously rehearsed words in favor of just speaking from his heart and his head. He wasn't going to give empty platitudes or hollow words, these people didn't want to hear that and truly, he hated the sound of such things.

"As I'm sure most of you may have heard, Lucy Brightman is no longer with us. She took her own life this morning and drowned in the ocean. Plans are being made to retrieve her body from the reef, and there will be a burial and a memorial service. If anyone would like to say a few words, then please see me and we'll make arrangements. If anyone has any questions, please feel free to see me or Blaise."

The hardest part over, Daniel took and released a breath. "Now, unfortunately, as callous as it sounds, Lucy is gone, yes, but the camp is still here and we still have to survive another day. There is still food to be gathered: foraging, fishing, snares, and possibly boar pits to be dug. A raft is being built to retrieve the body, and any help with salvaging logs or materials to strap them together would be a great help.

"Most importantly, and I *cannot* stress this enough, talk to one another. Everyone here, we are all a community now and we need to pay attention to the needs of one another and the general feeling within the camp." His gaze nearly strayed to Clarice, but he resisted. She was pushing herself again, trying to hold it together while helping with the raft and as much as he wanted to tell her not to, he didn't think that preventing her help would be good for her; of course, he wasn't sure that her helping was good for her either. "Help one another.

"Any questions?"

"I have a question," Shannon piped up.

"Yes, Shannon?"

"What's going to happen to her stuff?" Shannon looked around, speaking over the rumbling growls and indignant mutterings, "What? It's a practical question. Survival. Isn't that what Daniel was just talking about? Life goes on? He can say it, but I can't?"

Current Mood: somber

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

estirose.livejournal.com

Chris glanced around at the crowd. Clearly they were as disturbed by Shannon's pronouncement as he was. Scrounging dead peoples' stuff sounded vaguely demonic at the moment.

"Shannon," the older Rose (not to be mistaken for the younger one leaning on the Doctor) said, "there's a line between going on and being insensitive."

He found the words at that moment. "We should hold onto Lucy's stuff - it might give us clues as to why she killed herself. He'd seen enough death as a Whitelighter to know that demons frequently left clues if one knew how to spot them, why shouldn't it be the same in the mundane world?

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Nodding to himself at Chris' words, Jon scanned the crowd for anyone looking less than sad about Lucy's passing - or too sad, for that matter. He had enough experience with people to get a good idea of when someone was hiding a dirty secret or otherwise trying to throw the wool over his eyes, and even more experience of seeing people deal with the death of a colleague, sadly.

Maybe looking into the causes of Lucy's suicide would be one of those times when being seen as an irritating kid worked in his favor. Maybe not. Either way he was still pretty good at sneaking around and provoking reactions, with the added bonus that it'd give him a good reason to avoid Tommy, Mara and their overly astute observations for a while.

From:

sinanju.livejournal.com

Harry sat among the other survivors feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He'd been awakened by the rising furor in camp and learned that Dr. Jackson wanted to address everyone shortly about something important. Nobody had bothered to tell Harry what the subject was, so it had come as a complete surprise.

(Lucy was dead? She'd killed herself?) Harry struggled to grasp the meaning of this event. What could possibly have driven the woman to take her own life?

Maybe you treating her like a whore had something to do with it.

The thought popped up without warning, alien and unwelcome as a roach on his dinner plate. Harry recoiled from the idea, rejecting it vehemently. (No. No, no, no. It wasn't me. It couldn't have been me.)

It couldn't have been. Lucy wasn't the first reluctant lover Harry had ever had. Not by a long shot. None of the others had ever killed themselves!

You paid them. You always paid them somehow. Explicitly or implicity. Beforehand or after the fact. With money, jewelry, favors, connections. How did you pay Lucy? What did you offer her?

(It wasn't me! It was Ethan!) Harry's gaze strayed to Ethan, who stood apart from the others, looking perfectly shocked and saddened. He never glanced at Harry, gave no indication whatsoever of any relationship with Lucy apart from being a fellow castaway.

And was it Ethan alone who fucked her, Harry? Was it only Ethan who forced her to spread her legs? Was it only Ethan who took his pleasure in her body as she grimly endured? Was it Ethan who got a secret thrill from taking what he wanted against her will and tasting her silent tears?

(No,) Harry thought stubbornly. (It wasn't my fault. It was Ethan. Only Ethan.) He repeated the thought repeatedly, making a mantra of it, throttling the sense of guilt by slow degrees. It was an old and reliable technique. It had seldom failed him in his life and it didn't fail him now.

Harry rewrote his personal history, incrementally altering his memories of how things had happened, shifting the blame and making himself the hero of the piece. His guilt receded slowly, leaving him able to breathe again. By the time he was paying attention to the world around him again he was once again secure in his position at the center of the universe.

Lucy was dead. That was too bad, but these things happened. It was inconvenient, though. Ethan would have to find them another playmate. Harry studied the women around him, wondering which one it would be.

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

Suicide.

McKay took a dim view of it, particularly now, after everything that's happened to him over the past year. How easy it would have been to give up instead of fight. He'd lost people he'd considered friends, laying down their lives in a battle of survival. How selfish now, when the handful of people here needed every bit for that chance off the island and back to, well, their own realities.

He'd wanted to give up, sure. Many times. But a word was all that was needed to find his strength and continue on, even when things looked their bleakest. And boy, were they bleak.

As a result, the astrophysicist took the death with little but that feeling that the woman he didn't know was one of the most selfish he'd now heard of. And for that, he couldn't quite understand all the emotion surrounding it all.

Coffee.

Rising from his spot in the small powpow, McKay went in search of his own stash from those few nights before.

"I'm making coffee for anyone who wants it." Looking at Jon, he offers a nod. "Want some?"

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

"Coffee? Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Jon almost grinned at the thought, despite the morning's events. They'd been spoiled by those couple of nights in the TARDIS, where real coffee actually existed. He wondered whether anyone had dared tell Daniel that little snippet just yet, though the substitute that Ripley and McKay came up with was apparently pretty good.

He put away dreams of the previous morning's breakfast and went back to watching faces then, trying to be circumspect about who he was focssing on. Zoe was one - apparently they had some kind of history back in Sydney, and she'd taken up with Amanda and Shannon fairly quickly after the crash. Jon doubted that any of them would have done anything deliberately, but could a trio of bitches really wear someone down that much in so short a time, given the right material?

Jon let his eyes wander, absently munching on a wax apple while the camp commiserated. He met Harry's gaze at one point, reading only a little sadness and a little calculation, then realized the guy was far more interested in the women - as per usual. The loser was probably wondering if any of them would let him get away with a sympathetic grope.

His other initial suspect was Ethan, mainly down to the stories he'd heard about women being approached last week. All that stuttering made the guy seem relatively harmless though, and for all his height Jon didn't think the guy could have done anything without leaving a few more marks. On the other hand Jon knew he hadn't been paying much attention to that end of the camp and had been away for a few days. He needed to talk to someone who had, preferably someone he didn't have to pussyfoot around too much.

OOC: Is this is the cuckoo island coffee? Any side effects to watch out for?

From:

starborn-scribe.livejournal.com

Yep, cuckoo island coffee. *snicker* Most everyone's been treating it as really strong coffee plus the intoxication of alcohol without the sedative effects. IIRC Daniel started getting loopy after three cups.

From:

sinanju.livejournal.com

The island coffee, of course, had no effect on George. It takes a lot of booze to get her loaded--or a lot of island coffee.

The fact that she spent the rest of the day shagging Carlos senseless is, of course, completely coincidental.

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

ROTFL!

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

Had one cup, but McKay has coffee instead of blood, so he was fine. Awake, a little more animated, but fine.

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Rose ended up bouncing in her seat singing songs by the Kinks. ;)

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

Actually, the beans weren't all that bad. A little caffeine rush, a little harsher than what he had at home, but all in all, not that bad. Couple that with the fact that one takes what one can get, and they are coffee beans after a sort? One makes coffee.

McKay returned quickly, tossing a handful of beans into the makeshift mortar and pestle gotten from the Doctor, and after sitting down, began the hand process of grinding them. He glanced around at the small groupings, following Jon's line of sight. The astrophysicist had nothing in common, really, with any of them. The Doctor, sure. His companion, the cute blonde? She was nice, didn't seem to mind him much. And the pair had no chips on their shoulders, at least in regards to him.

Daniel, well... Dr. Jackson seemed more lost than McKay'd ever noticed in the mission reports. Probably wasn't easy keeping this 'group' together and focused. And Rodney had problems focusing? Ha.

The grinding was quickly finished, and into the pot to be put over the fire. Rodney shifted the wood a little, more poking, trying not to get burnt in the process, settling the pot down before blowing on his hand and waving it wildly for a second or two. "Hot-hot-hot..."

"So, ah, you tell me. Think Carter'll figure it out?"

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Jon snorted. "'Course!" Then blinked. "Which bit?"

McKay glared at him, clearly ready to launch into another rapid-fire diatribe. Jon merely smirked and held up a hand.

"Look, as far as I'm concerned both of you have achieved the impossible before so why not now? It might take a while, but she'll get there. Either way they know we're all alive and they're looking for us, which is more than either side had a few days ago."

The trouble was that if it was as simple as plotting a course to the island, the Navy would be here by now. The Doctor and McKay said they'd broken through this time bubble thing, which was great, but what other kinds of camouflage had the people who'd brought them here put in place?

"I've waited longer for rescue before, or as good as - I can do it again." He grinned broadly. "So can you, now that we've got coffee."

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

As the pot began to boil, the aroma of island java began to fill the immediate area. No doubt, now that McKay's back, it'll be a pretty consistant smell in camp.

"Well, now that they know where the team ended up," That'd be Daniel and Blaise, "that helps." Rodney paused a moment, watching the coffee as the pot began to boil. He checked his watch quickly, now timing exactly how long it had to do it. "Wouldn't they ask, well, you know, the 'big guys' to help?" Thor. Odin. He could have mentioned their names and simply been thought to still be one of those fringe Canadian/Norwegians that still followed 'the old religion', but truthfully, he'd rather not. "Seems they'd be able to help. If they could figure out how to deal with the time elements." Which, truthfully, may actually be beyond them. Oddly enough, that gave the astrophysicist a warm, fuzzy feeling. He may be the only scientist on earth with a practical application of being able to cross time. With the right technology, of course. And he wasn't just aping it. He understood it.

"Personally, I don't want to wait a long time for rescue. Who knows what Dr. Zelenka is doing to my city."

McKay looked back at the boiling pot, and after a couple more long moments, leaned over to pull it from the fire, making 'my hands are burning' noises once more as it finally drops it into the sand. "It's ready. Just needs to stop boiling..."

"You know. I heard they were making a raft. What if we used the raft after, tried to sail it, unmanned, out, see how far we got? I'm sure we could rig something. Back to the plane, see what we had as far as a power source? Wouldn't have to be anything powerful. Watch the water, catch the tides, and send it out? Sort of like a MALP. Put some sort of EM tester on it and see what happens." See? Rodney didn't ignore Jon back at the TARDIS. He just needed some time to let the idea foment. "I'll talk to the Doctor about it, and Dr. Jackson. To get the raft."

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

There ya go, Rodney. Good brain :-)

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

Where's my cookie?
:)

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

"Forgive me if I don't sound all that keen about calling in the 'big guys'. Personal grudge," Jon replied wryly, though he couldn't help but be amused by the idea that a 4 foot high Roswell grey was 'big'. It was about as appropriate as calling Charlie a hobbit.

"But yeah, they might send out a call. How long it'll take them to get to this, uh.. neighborhood.. is another matter. They had trouble at home last I heard." He shrugged, glancing in Daniel's direction. "You guys know more than I do."

Jon scooted to the other side of the fire when Rodney declared the coffee ready for consumption, returning with a motley collection of mugs. There'd be a queue of coffee addicts soon enough, so they might as well be prepared. The raft idea sounded interesting though.

"You mean like a beacon of some sort? Or to see how far the bubble thing goes? Blow it up, perhaps?" He grinned at the eye-rolling he got for that one. "Whatever it is, if it looks feasible just go for it. Oh, and hey - the plane that Mara and Faith came down in is still out there. If you're missing a few parts there might be some spares available."

Jon held out two coconut bowl/mugs, his expression oh so innocent as he waited for McKay's reaction to the idea of another hike.

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

LOL!

Nice LoTR reference there...I always forget though, was he Merry or Pippin?

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Um.. *off to IMDb* Merry :)

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

"I don't know. I thought they had that bug problem taken care of." Rodney blew on his hand to try to get the tingling to stop and feeling to come back, and waved it around in front of him before reaching for a cup.

Jon did receive the requisite eye-roll. It's almost as if the kid asked for it. "That's always the first answer, isn't it?" The scientist exhaled in a rather put-upon sigh before he brought up his free hand to gesture with, accenting his words. "You were the one who said that we have no idea what the Navy would encounter. You're right. But that raft'll give us an idea as to how far the field goes, and whether or not it's penetrable, and if they actually have something up their sleeve."

The coffee was done, and there was no sense letting it now get cold, so Rodney picked it up once more and began to pour the black liquid of life. Well, his anyway, the two cups, at least, filled. Thinking about it a moment, he poured one more for Daniel to be taken at the anthropologist's whim.

Jon received a scowl for that particular suggestion, but the problem is, McKay's a realist. If anyone was going to scavenge, it'd be him. He knew what was needed, could identify it in a second and determine if it was, indeed, salvageable. So, while he really didn't like the idea, there wasn't any other that he could think of at the moment. "We'll use the raft after they're done with it; I'll write the specs up to get the best use out of what we have here, but we might have to find their airplane. If the raft can make it out past the bubble, it might be good to have their black box attached."

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Jon stood, balancing his bowl of coffee in both hands so it didn't spill.

"Sounds like a plan, McKay, or the beginnings of one in any case," he sniffed the hot liquid appreciatively and gave it a test sip, then screwed up his face. "Gah, hot.. but good. Thanks."

He looked over the dispersing crowd one last time before heading off. The general consensus wasn't all that surprising: everyone was sad that Lucy was dead, and Shannon was a callous bitch for raising the issue of the woman's inheritance quite so soon. A fair proportion of the camp hadn't even bothered attending though - some were clustered around the half-built raft, others by Mara's tent.

I gotta get me one of those tinfoil hats. Or maybe he should just bite the bullet and ask her what she thought she was playing at when she called him 'sir'. Ya. Sure.

"Right, I'm off to gather wood or.. something. Gimme a yell if you do decide to go on this next trek, unless Daniel decides to send Blaise. I don't know how open Faith is to tag-alongs or when they're setting off, but you're still a natural resource."

Jon wondered silently when he'd stopped thinking of Daniel as someone who needed babysitting, particularly since the old coot seemed to (what with the Marine escort). Or maybe that was an anthropological "show of strength" thing. Either way McKay seemed a lot higher on the vulnerability scale despite fighting intergalactic space-vampires on a regular basis, and Jon didn't rate his chances of survival if he let the guy out alone because his feet hurt.

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

Rodney watched Jon rise with coffee in hand, his expression turning back to a thoughtful scowl. He didn't move, however, instead preferring to continue sitting before the fire, and, as a result, near the coffee.

"I'll let you know." Even now, the scientist was beginning to think of ways around having to have some sort of primitive power to get the raft out as far as he figured it'd need to go. "I'm going to have to watch the tides first before I even think about finding the other airplane."

Truthfully, McKay probably was one of the more vulnerable here, having lived, up until a year ago, a completely sheltered, academic, theoretical life. His personality, his ego, it all conspired against him, making him a target for some until it was discovered that it was all compensation. That need to be included, even if he was difficult. His friends had figured it out long ago, shrugging his gaffes off as 'That's just Rodney'. He needed to be protected, and sometimes, even from himself. He needed, at times, to be told what to do under high stress or he'd completely fall apart. With something to occupy himself, however, he was focused on the task, and now was no different, though his single-mindedness would probably lead to yet another dangerous trek back into the jungle.

Rodney shook his head, exhaled in a sigh, and after grabbing a small twig, began to write in the sand an electrical diagram, filled with small lines, squiggles and boxes. "Keep it simple, McKay."

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Molly was shocked to learn of the suicide. She'd foraged with Lucy, but the other woman hadn't gone beyond the idle chitchat that was just filling silence. She hadn't talked about herself much. Lately she hadn't even participated in that while in the woods.

Molly had thought it was the trauma from the attack. It struck people differently.

Now she saw it as a sign of withdrawl.

Molly chewed on her lip. She wasn't foolish enough to blame herself. Although she did wish she had spoken to the woman more, maybe gave her someone to listen. Humans had such short life spans. To end that span before its time was tragic.

That explained the apparent effort to build a raft. They were... OH!

Molly's eyes scanned the water, and spotted the circling gulls as they darted down. Oh. The poor woman, not even dignity in death.

She hugged herself against the sudden chill that had little to do with the temperature.

From:

starborn-scribe.livejournal.com

Ooh! Great Molly icon. :)

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

I'm the icon pathos woman. I am sorely tempted to make new icons for my PCs.

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

I'll stick will childish humour meself XD

(this one was inspired by a Methos discussion elsewhere.. somehow we went off on a Star Wars tangent *snort*)

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Thanks. I made three new ones for her. Not thrilled with the first, but I was happy with the one you commented on. And the one I'm using here.

I've been going Icon nuts.

I even did a Rodney/Doctor one with alternate lines of "The brains of this outfit" and "The REAL geek squad". Haven't used them yet. LOL.

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

*laughs*
Okay, I like that.
I am sooooo un-icon-abled.

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Here it is, for

lost_mckay's inspection

From:

lost-mckay.livejournal.com

*dies*
I love it.

From:

starborn-scribe.livejournal.com

That's terrific! XD

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

Stump. Stump. Stump. Faint clack of The Pimp Stick. There was absolutely no mistaking that bearish walk after all this time.

"Now here I am sittin' by the fire helpin' Rodney and the others crank out coffee'n tea for this fiasco, and I suddenly notice we're down a redhead. And I say to myself, well, that can't happen. So I go lookin' around, and who do I see standin' off alone pulling Clarice's usual act, but the only girl I ever met outside of Dublin or my family with that hair color."

He came up beside her, leaning a little on his cane. "And she's busy drinkin' in a gruesome sight she really shouldn't force on herself." Pointed look.

He heaved a big sigh then, and put a callused hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, there, don't be watching that. You want some tea or something?"

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Molly gave Hugh a sad little smile. "I'd love some tea. But I'm strictly an herbal gal. I have a really bad caffine allergy."

She turned from the depressing sight, if not totally from such thoughts. "And I don't mean your special blend, either." She winked at him. "I have a nice mint tea already dried and in cloth bags."

She was greatful for the distraction Hugh offered. "I can't understand it, I'm afraid. I suppose under cetain extreme citrcumstances I can. But life is often short enough." For you, and sometimes for the Sidhe as well, she thought morosely. Her sixth Cousin, Donal, had been killed in battle two years ago. He'd been younger than Molly.

Molly walked beside Hugh, keeping to his pace. "I wish I could say I'd never seen it before. My family has a long history of taking in foster children. Usually abused, neglected, tormented. On great occasion, the weight of what they endured becomes too great, and no amount of love, support, and counseling makes a difference. I lost a foster sister in such a way. It was so hard, for all of us." She looked over her shoulder forcing a bit more of that gruesome sight on herself before watching where she was going once more.

Indeed, it was only in overcoming that loss that kept Molly from a foolish spiral of what ifs and self recrimination. She'd done that before. Dealt with it, and had grown. "Another cruel lesson on how friends are important, I suppose. I don't recall Lucy ever getting close to anyone. But I'm glad for the likes of you, and Clarice, and Tara. Friends help chase away the shadows."

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

After getting them bowls of hot water and dropping a pinch from his stash into his, Hugh moved slowly over to a log that faced the stream, not the ocean, and sat down with considerable care. "Your family sounds like a not-bad bunch there, Molly.

"Suicide's usually a response to somebody believing that the situation they're in is never going to get better enough for them to go on living. The problem is, unless they're terminally ill, they're generally wrong. But they're too mired in their troubles to see that.

"The thing that makes everyone feel so helpless is that they get tempted to think they coulda seen it coming, coulda done something to prevent it. Well, yes, maybe. If their luck had been different. But if you didn't get the opportunity to do something, you can't regret not doing it. It's not like we have a time machine handy that we could use to jump back and fix this. Best we can do is damage control, and making sure it doesn't happen again."

"Now...how 'bout a distraction?" Unshouldering his bag and laying it on his lap, he opened it and pulled out a wooden case. "Santa Claus came early this year," he said conspiratorially, and winked. "Get a look at this."

He opened it to show a set of woodcarving knives in all sorts of different shapes and sizes, each blade sheathed in its own little leather holder. "Want me to pimp out your bow for you?"

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Molly examined Hugh as he spoke. That he was an aging hippie was obvious. But then the Hippies hadn't been a bad bunch, just often naive, or too ensconced in dreams to anchor those dreams in reality. Most felt they had to let go the dreams in the harshness of reality. It was a shame.

When he mentioned a time machine Molly had to chuckle. She’d heard the claims, but Tara had confirmed the reality.

She wished she could share the truth of who she was with Hugh. But she had seen how badly some took it. And there would be no adept to work a memory spell to erase the knowledge if things went bad. Tara would be wary of doing it again after the Adam incident.

“My family have always been very fond of children.” She offered him truth, as much as she could afford. “For hundreds of years, so it’s become a kind of legacy, I suppose.”

Molly added a packet of mint to her own cup of boiling water. But her eyes widened at the site of the carving tools. They were real steal, for certain, but she didn’t fear them.

Her eyes misted at Hughes offer and thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Hugh. I would be honored if you would decorate my bow. Her name is Dílis, by the way. Tis, Gaelic for the word ‘Faithful.”

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

"Welp, it's a better legacy than many families, believe you me. My grandfather wanted us to all be war heroes." He smirked. "Not my style, personally."

He nodded about the bow, and scratched his beard. "Got a preference for a design? Or should I just see what comes out of my hands?"

Over Molly's shoulder, he caught sight of Clarice crying and Daniel giving her a hug. /Better out than in, especially with that one./

He sighed. "Truth is, we're in a hard situation, and we each gotta do what we can to make it better. I can't carve us a ship to get us out of here, but with these, I can make a lot of useful things, and some pretty things too."

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

"I think I'll trust whatever comes from your hands. I wouldn't want to set limits on a gift so freely offered."

Molly understood Hugh's point. "I think Mara has been doing her part in adding beauty to our camp. There's something to be said for decoration. Function is all well and good, but beauty feeds the soul. With all we do to survive here, so few of us stop to nurture our spirits. I think you've found another hat for yourself, Hugh. Hunter, leather crafter, tea maker,now carver. What other hidden talents lurk in there?" She smiled teasingly at him.

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

Hugh smiled. "Got it handy? I think I have something in mind that you'll like."

He nodded slowly. "Mara's kind of a character. She's usually talkin' to someone I can't see, but around here, that could just mean she has a six-foot invisible rabbit as a sidekick. Anyway, it's true. If we're stuck here for a while, we can't live like castaways. We have to live like inhabitants. And that means beauty, utility, and whatever conveniences we can manufacture to make life easier."

He grinned again at her interrogation. "Hidden talents?" He chuckled. "Welp, let's see. I was a civil rights lawyer for decades, I've raised horses, I'm pretty damn good at taxidermy, I've fended off a few vampire attacks, and I have the perfect root-beer float recipe."

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Molly had run off for a moment, to the shelter she shared with Tara, and returned with her unstrung bow.

"Ooooh... root beer float... with french vanilla ice cream." She sighed over dramatically. "I'd love one of those... and a whopper. Onion rings too. Damn. I miss civilization more than I thought."

Mollys eye brightened. "But horses, you said? My da was a horse breeder. I spent some time in stables as a child." Both for true horses and elvinsteeds, and she'd helped deliver more than one foal when the foaling went wrong. "I love to ride when I can."

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

Hugh took the bow and started carving a narrow-coil grip on it, then smoothing and shaping the bowstring-notches. He blew off the shavings and took a sip of his tea.

"I've got a Mustang and a Morgan back home. Guess the neighbor's gonna inherit 'em by default, since I have no idea when we're gettin' outta here. He's a stand-up guy anyway, little short on money. I don't mind. Mostly I worry about my family worrying."

"I can understand that."

"Well, my little girl has her family to keep her company now, but we've always been close...I'm still hoping to see her again, but..." his eyes got distant for a moment, and he busied himself extending the coil grip into a jasmine vine that wrapped elaborately over the wood. He blew the shavings off again and started adding the leaves and flowers one by one.

"Anyway, we get outta here, you're welcome to come stay a while. I'll be invitin' Tara too--there are lotsa Pagans and hippies in the area, I'm sure she'd run into like-minded people around. Only unfriendly supernatural folk I've run into are the vampires."

"So Tara's outing herself didn't bother you?"

Hugh grinned. "I already know the bad guys have magic. Knowin' the good guys do too is a real pleasant thing for a battle-scarred old fart like me."

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

Molly watched Hugh carve. Vines and flowers seemed to emerge from the wood, like he was just ppeling back what was already there. Even partly done, it was lovely.

"I might just take you up on that. A visit sounds nice. I have a feeling quite a few people here will be keeping in touch when we get home." She made sure she said when. Because she might be able to wait a long time, but these people couldn't.

"And there are more than a few good guys with magic. One of my best friends is a mage. That's one of the reasons Tara's magic didn't even make me blink." And I was raised in a world of magic, but that has to remain unsaid, damnit, and it isn't fair. "My friend isn't pagan... not like Tara anyway. I think he might be agnostic. But he's definately one of the good guys."

"I think Tara would be pretty much at home where you live. Pagans and some Vampires to hunt. She has her own personally carved stake, you know. She doesn't look or even feel the vampire hunting sort, but she's got so much depth, I think she doesn't even realize how strong she is inside." Molly drank some of her own tea.

"And I'd love to meet your daughter. Another redhead to terrorize the world with. She pass it on to any of those grandsons you mentioned?"

From:

panteraonca.livejournal.com

Hugh shook his head a little. "The vampires round Santa Carla are a nasty bunch, all right. Flyin' around through the hills, grabbin' people...we get a lot of runaways, and oftentimes they disappear just as fast as they show. Some of the locals are doin' their part, but a lot of 'em want to hide their heads in the sand. S'pose it's human nature. Like I said, anyway, it's nice to know those of us who fight are less alone."

The corners of his eyes crinkled in merriment as she mentioned his grandsons. "Nope, one took after his father and is blond, the other one's got dark hair like me. Which means he gets to look forward to startin' to lose it as fifty, poor thing. He's breakin' some hearts now, though, from what I hear."

From:

scarred-muse.livejournal.com

As Daniel made his announcement to the others, Mara sat quietly down the beach in her shelter, sipping water because she couldn't keep food down quite yet. She was doing all right. She had been through much worse than this, after all, and survived it. Someone had fed Orrie, her friends were sticking by her regularly, and with her temporary shields, as long as she kept her distance she couldn't feel so much of the reaction rippling through the crowd.

/I don't understand why the people here would do evil like this to each other when there is so much threatening us from without. But...I've never understood why people hurt each other deliberately anyway./

"Sally" stood next to her, emotional numbness on two feet, her eyes as dull and empty as ever. The ghost had been drifting around the beach since Mara ran back to her tent, but eventually found its way back to her as faultlessly as Orrie did.

"I know this happened to Lucy and not to me," she confided quietly in the ghost as her hand moved a pencil over her sketchpad. It was growing hot and close inside the tent, but the illusion of security was badly needed. "I know that she's free now. I know I won't feel this...filthy...forever. But I'm scared. He's looking for someone new. I'm scared it will happen to me next. I've never been touched by anybody...I don't want my real first time to be like that, you know?"

The ghost blinked very slowly, and the faintest line appeared in her forehead.

"I miss Alex. He's gone now...and maybe it really really would have killed me, but...he called out to me, Sally. It had me crossing continents to reach him. And now he's gone forever." She sighed.

"I wish he was here now. I really do."

She looked down and saw a tall, female figure in bloody robes standing on the reef where Lucy's corpse was. She had a scourge in her fist and brass wings on her back.

"I...hope...it finds him before he finds me. Or anyone else. I really hope it does."

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

After Mara repeatedly assured Ami that she could handle being alone for a while, and then convinced Ami that she should look after herself and refused to back down, Ami relented. Promising to come back and check on the other woman later, Ami checked in with Scott; she told him to take his time with Blaise and that she was going to have a lie down.

She crawled into the teepee, which was a few degrees cooler than the outside air, and somehow at least gave the illusion that she was getting away from it all.

In the dim quiet, already drained from the day's activities and stress, she fell quickly asleep.