[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

[seclusion]

"Oh, you found them, that's good," Emil says, pleasantly, relieved. He's got one of his hands clutched loosely up near his chest, and sets one foot carefully forward, toeing around before taking a step. He seems used to the ginger action, at least, and certainly doesn't topple over or anything. "Yeah, I think we should be all right. And - " Brightly, and earnestly, he turns his face toward Joe, and, smiling, gives a nod of assurance. "I'll protect you too! It's best if we both do it, right? I don't want anything to happen to you, either."

He doesn't sound frightened at all, now, just very grateful, and quite certain of what he's just said. Anyway, it can sometimes be hard to let people protect him, since there's the risk of them being hurt, and no one should hurt for him. It's just not right.

He does pause for a moment, though, and looks a little like he wants to wobble, but refrains from doing so. "There are an awful lot of people in this field," he says vaguely, swiveling his head around this way and that. The cluster of anxious voices is more than he used to; it's a little bit overwhelming for him. "Say, you don't see any sticks laying around, do you? Any long ones?"

[madeinoblivion]

Joe smirks a little, glad that Emil can't really see the look on his face, which is a skeptical-fond sort of 'that's cute'. A kid like this, protect him? How could he manage that? Still, it was nothing to hold against someone who couldn't see at all, who needed help learning how to use a microwave by learning the little indentations of the buttons, and where all the keypad numbers were.

Still, cooking with a microwave was much safer without eyes than trying to cook on a stove. And Emil had been getting by alright, by the looks of him now.

"Sure." He shrugged, to humor him, trying not to sound too dubious. "You can protect me too."

"Sticks?" And then he remembers blind people he's seen on the subway before, wearing sunglasses, and poles with little balls on the tips. That's probably the sort of think Emil wants, and so he scans the ground, shaking his head. "No, it's all like- vines and not-ready-yet pumpkins and stuff."

"Oh! Wait-" The sound of his voice brightens. "There's a scarecrow over there, I could take the arm pole off, maybe?"