[Anniversary Event Starting Log] I Awaken To Another Day...

[thepull_mods]

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.

Comments

[faking]

"Well what do they expect us to do," Alois says desperately, though he takes his hands from Ciel's to tenderly cup the boy's face with them. Then he's tugging his sleeve down over his palm, and brushing at Ciel's cheeks and chin with it, dabbing at him and making sure he's all right. "Your face is cold. There's a farmhouse, let's go to it, look, mind your feet."

The chill's bad enough for him; he can only imagine how it must run right through Ciel's chest.

[littlest_lord]

If they'd been wearing proper clothes, the chill mightn't have been so awful. As they were in nightgowns and barefoot however, it was anything but pleasant.

"Let's go then."

A tug and the two of them made toward the farmhouse and away from the gathering crowd, stepping carefully over vines and squash until they made it out to the road leading to the building. Before they could get to the front door however, two boys ran out from the house a man in tow - one that could surely only be the farmer. Both sets of people stopped in their tracks, bare feet on gravel as the boys exchanged glances across the way.

The look they were given wasn't exactly welcoming, but it wasn't cruel either.

They had to tread carefully. It wouldn't be safe to assume that people here were used to others arriving out of the blue.

"Pardon the intrusion, sir. My cousin and I mean no harm. We're simply terribly lost, as you can probably tell."

Sweet voice, worried and meek - the perfect act to get information and not rouse anymore suspicion.

"We were both ill and fevered, last we remember, having come down with something dreadful you see, and next we both woke on a street unfamiliar to the both of us. We've a nasty habit of sleepwalking, my cousin and I, but I fear we've come down with amnesia of all things for neither of us can remember our dear uncle's name or where he might live, nor the date or year or anything at all save for our names, sir."

[faking]

"Runs in the family," Alois adds, voice gone a little higher - and he seems quite polite, too, knees draws together shyly, free hand bunching up the fabric at the side of his nightgown in worry. "My mum, see, we live with her brother now cos she - just, I'm glad we both woke up all right, quite addled as we were. Sir, please, my little cousin—" He looks anxious and earnest, clutching Ciel's hand in plain view like an older brother might hold on to his kid sibling. The farmer holds up his hands, though, flabbergasted, red-faced from the commotion.

"Now see," the farmer starts, and then mops at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Now see, you two, there's something - pardon - something damned strange going on here and we don't want no one gone from here until them army men come."

Alois leans in closer to Ciel, bending a little, and murmurs loud enough to be heard but smooth enough to keep it from seeming like the stage-whisper it is. "I told you," he says at Ciel's ear. "There are loads of other people around, I think it's that."

The farmer clears his throat, as his boys look at one another. "That?" he asks. Alois looks up, feigning a startle.

"I," he says, demure— "Our uncle's been quite worried about the times, we... sir, I haven't the slightest how we've come here. My cousin—" This time his urgency is real. "He has asthma, oh, sir, it is so cold." And, out of sight, he pinches Ciel's wrist: Your turn, give me a hand. He's hoping for a convenient cough or something.

[littlest_lord]

If there was one thing Ciel was good at, it was acting pathetic. He didn't even really have to put on a show of it in all honesty, what with how frail he usually looked, doe eyed and prone to illness to begin with. His constitution had always been weak. At least for now, he could be thankful for it.

The cough came naturally, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth as he did so.

"The date sir, please. What day and year is it? I haven't a clue how long we've been sick for."

Because if the mention of army men was any vague indication...

"September 1st, 1918."

The date is plucked from Ciel's memory with little effort - 1918, the year the first World War had ended. He remembered reading about it, along with the second World War that had followed back in Siren's Port. If it was September that meant the war was finally winding down, but that didn't mean tensions were diffused completely.

"You're two British boys, aren't you?"

Oh how lucky they were to be British.

"Yes, yes. Oh yes we are. From England we are. Born and raised. At the start of it all though...well...we were sent here to live with Uncle. To be kept safe, you see. War is a terribly nasty thing."

[faking]

"It's been that long, has it," Alois says, hushed, but he's thinking, Fuck, what the fuck. He rubs one of his ankles against the other, goosefleshed. "Oh, we've been in bed too long, but this isn't how I wanted to stretch my legs..." Fuck, shit, war, he thinks; This is bloody stupid. The squeeze to Ciel's hand isn't for show this time.

"His mum," he says more loudly, gesturing to Ciel with his chin, "she sent us over cos of the, you know, everything's just - oh, I couldn't bear for it to be coming here, too, I couldn't..." This means: Army men? Why the fuck are there army men? This place mustn't be so used to people falling from the sky as Siren's Port proper.

One of the boys nudges his dad, eyeing Ciel, who might turn blue soon his nightgown is so thin. Alois severely hopes he doesn't, but at the same time thinks it'd be good for their theatrics. Sensing an opening, he asks, "Sorry, just, really, could we even trouble you for a hot cup of tea?" Pip pip, cheerio, he thinks bitterly, British as hell. "Or even some hot milk, anything really..."

[littlest_lord]

There's a sigh from the farmer as he eyes the two of them one last time before looking down to the boys at his sides.

"Hurry in and take them with you, fix them some tea or milk. I don't care. I need to deal with the commotion in the field."

Having decided the two aren't a threat (how can they be, in nightgowns and looking so pathetic?) the man makes his way off toward the crowd in his field, clearly not pleased, mumbling to himself about how they better not be ruining his crop before harvest.

"...Come on then." The older of the two said, gesturing for Alois and Ciel to follow. Into the house they went, sitting down as instructed at a small wooden table, two teacups set out for them as the kettle was filled with water and set on the stove.

"You're not with them then...that group in the field?" The answer was two shaking heads - no.

[faking]

"Thought we'd wandered in to some festival or something," Alois says nervously, rubbing one of Ciel's hands in between his, trying to get some warmth back into that skin. "You really don't know what's happened either?"

"We come out for morning chores," the younger boy says, hauling himself up to sit atop the kitchen counter. "And then we seen all those folk stumbling around." He scrubs at his nose with his wrist, watching Ciel and Alois with open curiosity. "We figured you was some of them, but you look like you just come out of bed."

The older brother swats at the younger. "Mom's going to holler if she sees you up there." He turns to his chilly guests, a little skeptical. "It's weird you ended up here of all places. What were you sick with? Is it... catching?"

At least by now the feeling's coming back to Alois' toes. He worries his bottom lip for a moment. "We catch fever sometimes..." he says vaguely, thinking, Nosy cunt. "But no one's been sick from us; Uncle looks after us just fine and hasn't taken ill." He leans his shoulder against Ciel's. "Your father has a lot to deal with this morning, hasn't he? Is the army truly coming out?"

[littlest_lord]

"That's what father said." The younger of the two pipes up. They're in control in these parts, what with the war and all."

That's all that came out however, the kettle whistling from the stove distracting the two brothers as the elder fixed tea in a teapot, setting it on the table for the two to pour themselves.

"Thank you."

Alois decided to pour the tea, taking the initiative. Ciel had never been more glad for a warm drink than that moment.

"You wouldn't be able to tell us how to get into town, would you? Where the church might be?"

[faking]

The church? Really? Alois glances at Ciel, but is wise enough to keep a glare at bay. He's prideful, and a church is the last place he wants to go. Ciel probably has a good plan, and Alois knows this, but decides to doubt him for the sake of being petty. Instead he plays mother for Ciel and himself, and makes a show of his nervous smile as he sets the teapot aside. "Yes, that would be best. I'm certain we could get ahold of Uncle from there."

"Dad wants you to stay put," the elder says, skeptical again, but his little brother seems to like the sense of power he can achieve by taking charge of this situation.

"Not that far," the kid blurts out, and ignores his big brother's glower. "Well, might take a half hour walk." He pauses, and looks Ciel up and down, likely taking in how pathetic and scrawny the barefoot boy is. "Dunno, forty-five," he amends. "You don't got shoes though. You won't wait?"

"We shouldn't," Alois says gracefully, then sipping his tea. He closes his eyes. "I don't know how long we've been gone, and I promised I'd look after him no matter what, and..." Oh, how sympathetic he can bring his face to be. "Mustn't tarry," he murmurs, incredibly British for the brothers' benefit. "We really must find our way there."

The younger brother nods, with a deep sense of purpose, and scrambles to fetch a scrap of paper and a pen so that he can scribble out a crude map of which directions they need to go in order to find the church. The older brother still isn't liking it, though. "But the army's coming," he protests.

[littlest_lord]

And it's that protest that makes Ciel ever more urgent to leave as he warms his fingers around the mug of tea. Forty five minutes of walking sounds brutal, especially in the chilly morning air and without shoes. It's necessary, however. The army is the last thing Ciel wants to deal with and even worse - they could very easily end up separated from one another.

When the map is drawn it's set upon the table and stared at intently. The younger brother's babbled explanation is listened to as Ciel nods and, in understanding, takes the map and folds it up.

"How long till they arrive, do you think?"

The elder pauses for a moment before responding, still not pleased. "Twenty minutes at most." The tea is hot so it's hard to drink quickly, but Ciel manages a few sips without burning his tongue. "I see. We really ought to go then."