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sirenspull_logs2013-01-01 01:12 am
thepull_mods) wrote in sirenspull_logs2013-01-01 01:12 am
Entry tags:
- * open log,
- *anniversary event,
- allen walker,
- alouette,
- amy sorel,
- ciel phantomhive,
- dave strider,
- deadpool,
- discord,
- ella,
- enjolras,
- frau,
- gabriel | the trickster,
- grantaire,
- harry dresden,
- hellmaster phibrizzo,
- hiccup,
- iroh,
- jake english,
- jesse pinkman,
- john egbert,
- john marcone,
- keigo asano,
- lisbeth salander,
- master eraqus,
- nelliel tu odelschwanck,
- raphael sorel,
- roxas,
- rue,
- sasuke uchiha,
- sissel,
- son goten,
- teito klein,
- toothless
[Anniversary Event Starting Log] I Awaken To Another Day...
Who: Open Log! This means everybody!
When: September 1st, 1918. Dawn.
Where: Farmer Whitty's Squash Patch, City of Missionworth (Ye Olde... Baseball Diamond?)
Summary: Midnight on New Years Eve finds the entire Newcomer Community thrust backwards in time...oh, 95 years or so?
Warnings: A lot of potentially drunk people are about to land facefirst in a field. Once word is out that a small horde of strangers have mysteriously arrived on the island, Military Forces will be rounding them up for questioning. You be the judge of how badly this goes.
Whether right in the middle of a rowdy parties as toasts are raised with complementary champagne, or having a quiet evening at home on the couch, watching GloTV's annual Auld Lang Syne Countdown Extravaganza, a sickeningly familiar tug of a feeling suddenly wrenches in the gut of every Newcomer on the island who has been brought here by Pull in the past three years.
As fireworks sound over AGI tower and the clock finishes striking twelve, the world spins. For a dazzling colorful moment, flashing scenes from their stay in Port roll backwards like rewound film before their eyes. It becomes a blur, the Pull drawing tighter and tighter, ears might pop and there's a very good chance the contents of their stomachs might be turned out.
And then there is coolness, a brisk breeze, morning dew and damp earth beneath them all.
The newcomers are scattered across a planted field of winding vines and colorful gourds, which won't be ready for harvesting for another month or so. Several startled crows are circling overhead, screaming. There are no tall towers on the skyline, and there are more surrounding trees, particularly toward the western horizon- golds and oranges of early autumn.
To the east, a picturesque early 20th century settlement stretches to the island shoreline, already bustling with traffic and construction in the early dawn's light. There is no putrid, sick-sweet rotting smell which normally lingers for awhile in the morning fog, after the lifting of darkness.
Two young boys stand agape at the edge of the field for several moment, leaning over a fencepost, then turn and tear off towards a homestead not far away, shouting for their papa.
Welcome to the City of Missionworth. Look's like The Core's decided to give you all a history lesson for the New Year.
When: September 1st, 1918. Dawn.
Where: Farmer Whitty's Squash Patch, City of Missionworth (Ye Olde... Baseball Diamond?)
Summary: Midnight on New Years Eve finds the entire Newcomer Community thrust backwards in time...oh, 95 years or so?
Warnings: A lot of potentially drunk people are about to land facefirst in a field. Once word is out that a small horde of strangers have mysteriously arrived on the island, Military Forces will be rounding them up for questioning. You be the judge of how badly this goes.
Whether right in the middle of a rowdy parties as toasts are raised with complementary champagne, or having a quiet evening at home on the couch, watching GloTV's annual Auld Lang Syne Countdown Extravaganza, a sickeningly familiar tug of a feeling suddenly wrenches in the gut of every Newcomer on the island who has been brought here by Pull in the past three years.
As fireworks sound over AGI tower and the clock finishes striking twelve, the world spins. For a dazzling colorful moment, flashing scenes from their stay in Port roll backwards like rewound film before their eyes. It becomes a blur, the Pull drawing tighter and tighter, ears might pop and there's a very good chance the contents of their stomachs might be turned out.
And then there is coolness, a brisk breeze, morning dew and damp earth beneath them all.
The newcomers are scattered across a planted field of winding vines and colorful gourds, which won't be ready for harvesting for another month or so. Several startled crows are circling overhead, screaming. There are no tall towers on the skyline, and there are more surrounding trees, particularly toward the western horizon- golds and oranges of early autumn.
To the east, a picturesque early 20th century settlement stretches to the island shoreline, already bustling with traffic and construction in the early dawn's light. There is no putrid, sick-sweet rotting smell which normally lingers for awhile in the morning fog, after the lifting of darkness.
Two young boys stand agape at the edge of the field for several moment, leaning over a fencepost, then turn and tear off towards a homestead not far away, shouting for their papa.
Welcome to the City of Missionworth. Look's like The Core's decided to give you all a history lesson for the New Year.
no subject
Quickly, she turned away and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, before turning back.
"Please - M'sieur, don't touch it. It's sore, that is all; a wolf bit me just the other day. There are stitches; I am fine - I just landed on it. Where are we?"
((ooc: If Howl can heal, that's fab! Eponine will be grateful forever!))
no subject
"No idea," was his idle reply, releasing her, sending a second glance around the field. "But if anything like the last one, there will be more than wolves."
no subject
"What did you do? How - are you the magician friend of Ella's?"
She looked around warily too. "I'm not afraid of wolves or monsters... Who are you, if you please, M'sieur?"
no subject
A pause at her request for his identity. This was the problem with small towns -- always connections, always someone who knew someone. (An honest man couldn't use a false name and get away with it properly!) With a breath, more to borrow time than anything else, he passed a hand through currently-dark hair, mind flicking through alternative options. "Wizard. Not magician."
Name avoided for now. Longer if he could get away with it.