( april event ) wayward falls

[officialnotice]

EVENT: WAYWARD FALLS

It begins with a crack, as many alarming and unfortunate things tend to do. Anyone who's ever jumped a little too hard on a frozen river will recognize the sound in an instant: It's the sound of ice caving under pressure, and it echoes through the cozy wooded canyon just in time for the first trickle of water to drip over the face of the northern cliffs. Within the hour, tens of thousands of gallons of water are pouring over the cliff, a waterfall of meltwater finally freed from behind an icy dam.

It doesn't take long for the north end of town to flood as the endless torrents of water rushing through the canyon quickly overwhelm the river, despite the town's best efforts to shore it up. Which means that one guy with the kayak in his garage will finally be the one to have the last laugh: 'What was it you said about pointless hobbies again, Susan?'

You could always just stay inside instead of dealing with the flooded streets of course. The power flickers but ultimately holds and the clean up is certainly going to be annoying later but it's hardly the end of the world.

And then comes the debris.

Without any real warning or ominous portent, solid objects come careening over the cliffs' edge, carried in by the runoff cascading down to the forest below. First, it's large rocks, almost boulders in their own right. Dangerous, certainly, if you happen to be standing below them when they fall but the solution seems a bit obvious there. Just, you know, don't. But then the debris starts to look a little more... man-made.

What has the floodwater brought the little town of Wayward Pines? And possibly more importantly, will the waterfall ever cease?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the flood!

PLEASE INCLUDE IN YOUR TOP-LEVEL SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, date, location, and open or closed, to help keep things a bit more organized.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here.

Comments

Sam Seaborn, April 13th, THE SCHOOL, closed to Steve

[fidelis]

It didn't start with a crack.

It started with a familiar voice screaming a terrible word.

Then that shot, bang, rolling through the world, the eternity of shock that followed. Then again. Again. Again, again, from above and below. Echoes building on echoes until he wondered - face pressed against a woman's neck, gravel digging in to one palm - if there would ever be another quiet moment in the world.

When Sam hears that thunder from overhead, it all comes roaring back. It doesn't matter that he's in the school, inside, that he doesn't hear the sound of breaking glass. He doesn't think. He doesn't question. He just grabs the arm of the person closest to him and tries to drag them with him to the hallway floor.

It's his voice. (It's Gina's voice.) "Gun!"

The kids.

Before he's even half-way down, he's plotting the shortest distance to the main office and the intercoms. They need to go into lockdown. Someone is going to need to announce it, and if no one has yet-- do they even know? Do they even know what's happening?

[paragon]

The thing about battle that you don't really know until you're in it is that it's loud. Loud as hell. Steve would be lying if he said he didn't hear it half as something outta the past himself, the violence of the kind of sound that can split both the air and a body in half. They wouldn't be hearing the echoes at all if it were that close, but it still calls the old standbys to mind: mortar and mud and pieces of men all flying up from the same place, indistinguishable from one another. Sometimes you see that from a distance, too.

He knows it's not on them, but he lets Sam pull him down because his own instinct is to put himself between the noise and the nearest body, and some part of him — a part Steve's well aware of — does expect to look up to see the hallway in rubble, bodies down with it. But though they were hardly the only ones to react, it's all still intact, and Steve doesn't force the man to let him go but says, "There's no gun, Sam. We've gotta find out what it is, but they're all safe. You with me?"

[fidelis]

No gun. Did Steve not-- does he not hear it?

But it's the guns of his memories, not the present moment. It takes a few seconds for him to realize it. (A few seconds too long, a few seconds staring at Steve with a blank panic that demands he get to the office, get to the office now.)

"Wh... Yeah. Yeah, I'm. Yes."

He lets go of the other man and scrambles to his feet, raising his voice to the people in the hall. "It's all right! Everything's all right, sorry for--" He stops, clears his throat. "Please everyone make your way to interior rooms, Mr. Rogers and I are going to. We're going to find out what that was."

Then he looks at Steve, trying to see past the details of disaster filling his head. Shattering glass, screaming civilians, the president, where's the president?

He scrubs his face with both hands, breathing in sharply. "Right. Right. That sounded like it came from outside."

[paragon]

"Ice," Steve says. "Sounded like ice." He's a Brooklyn kid, a city kid, but he navigated through Europe at the height of winter and beyond. It's more than enough explanation for why he'd know it. Never mind that it takes him a second or two to get there, that once he knows what it isn't, there's less of the war to see past and more of the whistling and settling of metal in his ears. Or maybe just his dreams; he can't even say for sure that he'd ever really heard it. Better if he didn't, probably, or else that's a whole lot of years' worth of nothing else in his head. "From the mountains."

Steve doesn't have much of an instinct for coddling, having shrugged it off his own shoulders for the entirety of his life, but that does mean he's got one for doing something about the problem — doing something in spite of it — and he gives Sam a quick, assessing glance to make sure he's good to go before heading for the front doors to the school, assuming Sam will follow.

"You're not a soldier." And it's not a question, not really. But it's enough to give Sam to go on if he wants to say any of it out loud. Or to tell Steve to shove it if that's his druthers.

[fidelis]

Sam barks a laugh. "Me? No. God no. I couldn't even handle hunting with my father, the blood, completely gunshy--"

He trails off with an exhale. He remembers. He remembers his parents, his actual parents, not the ones who exiled a sister he never had. Sam presses his fingers to one temple, hand shaking a little. "What is going on? I shouldn't be here, I should be-- We were at a town hall, the president was-- And then we went outside, and...."

Sam throws himself against the front door in frustration, shoving it open into the cool spring day.

Even the time of year is wrong. He looks suddenly at Steve, the implication of the man's statement finally sinking in. "You are."

Jefferson | April 17th | Home [Closed to Housemates & Neighbors]

[royalpassport]

[ Grace. Her name is Grace.

Nothing prompts the sudden recollection; it just happens, random and uncontrollable as every other impression/delusion/fantasy flitting about in Jefferson's head. Another piece of his mind has been put back in place, memories connecting and filling in the blank spaces.

That pervasive feeling of loss and grief within him finally has a name: Grace. (It's Paige, something inside him says, but he knows that's not right. She's Grace.) She has a face now, too, with a button nose and a bright smile and kind eyes-- her mother's eyes, he thinks, though he still has no idea who her mother (his wife?) was. One clear memory stands out: his hands, usually so nimble and clever, trying to style her hair, but only managing a clumsy, lopsided braid. She beamed and said she loved it anyway. Next time, he said, he'd braid flowers into her hair.

But there wasn't a next time. He lost her. Or he was taken from her. No... No, he left her. He left her, and then he went and forgot her. How could he? What kind of a father was he to do that?

At least he knows, now, that the nurse at the hospital was wrong. She told him he never had a daughter, made him feel like he was crazy, but now he knows. She's real, and he has to find her. It's flooding and the power's flickering and she might be out there and he has to find Grace. Jefferson's not quiet about it as he rushes from his bedroom, down the stairs, foregoing his shoes as he flings the door open to go wading in the flooded streets. He's heard the debris crashing down outside, but it doesn't stop him.

He'll find her, whatever it takes. ]

[OOC: Rumlow's going to be finding him and dragging him back to the house, but neighbors are welcome to have maybe seen him run out into the floodwater and stop by later to check up on him, IF THEY WANT.]

[comesfrompain]

[After a day of fixing up the gym to be relatively safe from the floodwaters, Rumlow is glad to be home where he can relax and process the plan for the week. He's sat on the couch, letting his sauce simmer for dinner, TV off and enjoying the quiet. He takes a breath, and that's when he hears the bedroom door slam open. He starts, sitting upright and watching as Jefferson practically throws himself down the stairs, rushing towards the front door. Heedless of all, he just opens the front door and shoots out of it like a bat out of Hell.]

The fuck..? [Rumlow murmurs before he's on his feet, rushing after him. Jefferson hadn't even shut the door behind him and he's already in the water steadily rushing through the street. Frowning, Rumlow chases after him, even if it means soaking his sweats and going just as barefoot.] The Hell are you doing? Jefferson?!

[Rumlow is glad the water isn't deep, as it's a lot easier to chase after the guy when all he's got to do is run and ignore the rough gravel and whatever other debris the flood has brought into the street digging into his feet. There hasn't been a lot of traffic since the streets are full of water, but he keeps his eyes out, just in case an adventurous driver forgets breaks don't work so great in water even if it's not real deep.

Besides, he knows Jefferson, kid isn't exactly stable. This could be another event like the day they met. He doesn't know if he's been drinking or what, but Rumlow's sure that a guy running around in this mess might be a little suspicious to the local constabulary. He's not running that risk. Gotta catch him and drag him back, where he can calm him down.]

[royalpassport]

[ He hears Rumlow calling his name, but it doesn't exactly register to him. It's just a noise, shouted by a man. All Jefferson has on his mind is his daughter, though he has no idea where he could even find her. There are... people. Other parents. He used to watch them, didn't he? Are they here, or in that other town? First, he starts down the sidewalk, running barefoot, then changes course at the end of the block.

Jefferson doesn't seem to check the road before he starts to cross it, the floodwater soaking into his pants, at least up to his shins. It's chilly, but that, too, he ignores. Instead, he stands in the middle of the intersection, unsure of where to go next. What's he even going to do? Check every house until he finds his daughter? ]

Grace? [ It's a longshot, but at least it's something. He looks around and shouts her name out again: ] Grace!

[ He starts forward again, his steps interrupted only when some sharp piece of debris cuts into his foot. ]

[comesfrompain]

[Swearing under his breath, Rumlow follows after Jefferson, water splashing up to his knees. It's cold, but he's determined to catch Jefferson. Pushing forward, he's relieved to see him slowing, presumably cutting up his feet as much as Rumlow has been. Gives him an edge to charge forward, finally catching Jefferson with a strong hand around his upper arm.

He draws him back towards him, enough to throw him off balance in case he tries to surge forward and break away. Rumlow turns Jefferson to face him, expression showing his obvious concern as to why his housemate decided to just run outside screaming some chick's name. He doesn't know any Grace, and Jefferson's never mentioned anyone named that before. It can only mean she's someone he remembers now. Which, sure, great. Except public? Bad.]

Hey, hey. [Rumlow says, voice soothing as he grips Jefferson's other arm.] What's gotten into you?

[He asks voice low just in case.]

[royalpassport]

[ Thankfully, Rumlow has the foresight to pull him off balance, because as soon as Jefferson feels a hand on his arm, he tries to jerk forward and break free, snarling to be let go. Instead, he's jerked around to face his housemate, his eyes wild and pleading as he pushes against Rumlow to try to get loose. Even though the other man's got him beat in strength, Jefferson still stubbornly thrashes against him. ]

Grace! My daughter, I-- I have to find her. Please. Help me find her.

brock rumlow | april 17 | crossbones boxing | open

[comesfrompain]

[Why's it always gotta be the small town where all the weird shit happens? At first, Rumlow thought maybe some kind of artillery had gone off -- a flash of memory as a massive shell was fired nearby, deafening as it rocketed towards some unknown enemy. (Whether that memory was real or not, Rumlow wasn't sure.) Instead of seeing a distant explosion though, there was a massive rush of water from the cliffs, or so he'd been told by the locals as he came out of the gym to look for a cloud. Better than a bombing, he thought and figured the town had infrastructure in place for just such an occasion.

A few days later however, the flooding breaks through the barriers the townsfolk had set up and Rumlow finds himself having to wade across the streets that're acting more like canals. Sticking to the sidewalks as best he can, he moves quick, not about to let his gym flood and ruin anything that might be within reach of the water. (Like his file cabinets that contain all the gym's paperwork, since apparently computers are practically nonexistent in any functional capacity.)

He's relieved to find it hasn't crept up further than the edge of the sidewalk, but that doesn't mean it won't rise. Best to take precautions. He gets into his office, where he starts writing up a list of students he's got to call at opening to make sure none of them come in for their classes. He's gonna be too busy flood-proofing the place. Whether it's stacking weights or folding benches and leaning them against the wall, Rumlow's working at some serious menial labor, knowing none of his employees are going to be in for another thirty minutes at least.]

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx is only as late getting to work as he is because he's been up for a few hours already doing his best to stave off the press of water. He'd been directed to the town's stores of sandbags (pitifully few for the amount of water they got assaulted with), and had been handing them out to residents to try to keep their houses dry even if their yards are lost.

He'd...discovered something in the last day while fighting the flood. Something about himself that he isn't sure how to deal with, though it came at an opportune time. His memories seem to do that: return when they're most relevant to what he's going through, and he guesses it makes a kind of sense. At least this time the blanks he fills won't incapacitate him.

His pants are soaked up past the knee, and his arms already ache from moving bags all morning when he realizes he needs to be somewhere. Cursing, Nyx grabs a few of the remaining sandbags and wades his way to the gym.]

[comesfrompain]

[Rumlow is just dragging a sandbang into place by the entrance of the gym when he spots Nyx heading over with a few of his own. Rumlow waves, glad to see him and the extra sandbags. He's not sure how much higher the water will rise, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. Beckoning Nyx to bring them over, Rumlow waits until he's in earshot before he greets him.]

Bet you weren't expecting to be doin' this today, hunh?

[He says with a huff of a laugh. It's clear Rumlow is particularly distressed by this turn of events. Maybe annoyed that he's been derailed from his schedule, but really shoring up for a flood is pretty low on the list of stressful emergency situations. After dealing with gunshot wounds and bombs, a bit of water is relatively unimportant.]

[sirnyxalot]

[Rumlow should go to the edge of town if he wants more than 'a bit', though the walls are high enough it was easy to see the brand new waterfall in the distance. It was showing no signs of stopping, either, and the woods on that side of the river were practically a swamp.]

I've woken up to worse. Kinda reminds me of where I grew up.

[He grunts as he drops the bags, shaking out his arms to work out some of the strain.]

They weren't prepared for this.

[comesfrompain]

[There's a line there. Does he ask Nyx about it, risk them getting overheard by the surveillance equipment, if it turns out 'where I grew up' doesn't align with whatever narrative this place tries to sell. Or does he let it lie and suffer the curiosity? Probably better to do the latter. Easy enough too, with the out Nyx has provided in the change of subject.]

Sure weren't. Then again, I guess they didn't expect there to be so much melt water.

[He hefts another bag up to stack it with the others.]

Seen worse floods, but always sucks when it comes somewhere residential. Not like we got anywhere to go if it rises beyond the stacks of sandbags.

[paragon]

[ When Steve found out about Rumlow, as his own memories (for want of a better word; lies, for sure, but that's a pretty broad category here) started to filter in, he changed his usual route from the one where his head tells him they've crossed paths before. He's the last person to try to avoid a fight, but nor is he spoiling for one with a man who won't even remember why and how he earned it.

Well, mostly not. It's the best he can do, so he stays away.

Steve figures it's been more than a month, though, since Rumlow would've gotten here, whatever his memories would have him believe. That's longer than it took for Steve to remember himself, so he figures it's time to pay him a visit. He wouldn't put it beyond Rumlow to keep up the pretense of amnesia with Kenzi or anyone else in this town once he realized what he really was. God knows he had Steve fooled, and the man was SHIELD as much as he was Hydra before the helicarriers had done their work on him.

The flooding hasn't reached Steve's doorstep yet, but he wears boots anyway and makes his way through the water farther in, stopping outside of the gym to look at the name for a few seconds before he walks beneath it, opening the door and stepping inside. He doesn't remember in any great detail, but— it feels like he's been here before, and if his jaw weren't already tense it would be now. ]

[comesfrompain]

[The majority of the work's been done to shore up the gym and pile up the equipment that would get damage from any encroaching waters by the time Rogers comes around. Rumlow's been sitting in his office, looking over some paperwork to kill the time. He hears the door, and looks up, expecting to see Nyx. Instead, the familiar face and form give him pause and Rumlow has to wonder how this is gonna go.

He knows from Kenzi that Rogers and Barnes are as tight as they were once upon a time, remembers it even from the thoughts that belong to this place. Yet, he's stayed away despite those 'memories,' after the way Barnes reacted. Doesn't need to stir shit up in this town and reap the rewards from the friendly neighborhood sheriff's office just in case Rogers has a similar sentiment.

Rumlow just wishes he knew why. With Rogers, it'd make even less sense, since as far as Rumlow's concerned, they're teammates. Whatever mission is being worked here, the distance between them is nothing personal. He's just trying to stay on the down low.]

Rogers. Didn't expect to see you here.

[Rumlow starts as soon as he walks out of his office, shutting the door behind him. He stands a few feet away, looking him over and assessing his demeanor. He's got that tight jaw Rumlow knows means shit's serious. He effects a less intense mien and goes for curious instead.]

[paragon]

[ Steve looks from the equipment to Rumlow as he comes out of the other room, and the contrast between their expressions isn't exactly a surprise. It's hardly the first time he's seen it; in the past there's often been some secret amusement underlying whatever the man had been focused on at the time. Usually a mission; Steve had never really tried to get to know him outside of the team, and he thinks now there was probably a reason for that. Nevertheless for the last few years that focus has been on Steve, and he wonders if it's the same face Bucky saw (certainly more possible now than the last time Steve saw it) but will never ask. Not Bucky, sure as hell not Rumlow. ]

Well, I'm not here to work out.

[ Not much with his own amusement, in spite of the words, and there's no reason not to cut to the chase. ]

I wanna know how much you remember, Rumlow. And I'll know if you're telling the truth.

[ He might not, strictly speaking, but Steve is nothing if not a man who trusts his instincts, regardless. ]

[comesfrompain]

[So much for thinking there's any camaraderie left between them. It could be a cover, but Rogers has never been the subterfuge type. So, this is it. Rumlow glances down, lips twitching into a frown of something like disappointment. When he looks back up to Rogers, he almost appears contrite. Not that he has anything to apologize for, as far as he knows. Unless the guy is stuck in whatever false memories that are a part of this place, and there's some bad blood between those versions of themselves -- but Jesus that's so fucking convoluted that he doesn't even want to lend it credence. It's just him hoping that Rogers isn't his enemy.

There are so few people here he thinks he can trust. Losing the guy he knows would believe him? Hell. Rumlow guesses he'll have to perform the dance Rogers is asking of him.]

Place is bugged. Just as​ a preface. [He takes a breath.] I remember getting recruited to SHIELD. Meeting Fury. Gettin' told I was gonna work with Captain America. And I remember STRIKE. Remember us going on that op on the Lemurian Star. There's other shit, but a lot of it's fuzzy. Snippets of being taught how to withstand interrogation, fighting on the streets. Other missions with the team, some with you, and Romanov.

[He scrubs at the stubble on his chin.]

And then I remember working here. Marrying Kenzi in Vegas. Being a part of a military spec ops unit, but Hell if I can remember which branch. I remember living here, meeting people. But that... it ain't right. I'm not fuckin' crazy.

[He tells himself, mostly. Because he can't be. He knows he's dealt with some fucked up shit, but this is pretty jacked. Rogers giving him the silent ultimatum sure ain't helping, neither.]

[ouzel]

[ It may be early and it is definitely flooding, but as far as Cassian knows everyone is more or less still going to work. Which includes Cassian. Which means...he needs to bring coffee to the gym, for Rumlow and for Nyx, actually.

(What the hell else would people do here? Not work? Sit in their houses, staring at the walls, at the cameras? That's pretty much what he does at 2am so no, thanks.)

Cassian manages to navigate the swelling streets without spilling either coffee cup and bumps the door with his hip, glad that it gives. Means that Rumlow is there. ]

Coffee!

[comesfrompain]

[A lot of unexpected things seem to be happening today, Rumlow thinks as he hears the door and a muffled voice. Finishing pushing a bench against the wall, he walks out of the room and around the corner to spot his visitor. Seeing Cassian bearing his usual delivery of caffeine is definitely one of the more pleasant ones. A smile gets slapped on his face to go with the relief in his eyes. After all this mess, he could use a cup of joe. He approaches, reaching out for one of the cups.]

Well ain't you a saint, coming here through the flood. [Rumlow says with a chuckle.] Jefferson's lucky to have an employee as dedicated.

[He knows he's just as lucky with Nyx, who ought to be in the back room hanging up ropes. It's refreshing, seeing a little above and beyond service.]

[ouzel]

Patron saint of schoolteachers, shorthand writers, and parish clerks. [ Because if your brain is going to be full of useless information there is nothing quite as rewarding as passing it along to someone else at an equally useless point. It's the small things, really, like coffee during floods.

Anyway. Cassian lets him pry it free from the carrier with a nod. ] Left to his own devices I'm not sure that we'd even serve coffee.

[ It's easy to be dedicated to Jefferson; he isn't a bad person, or a side in an escalating conflict. It's a nice change of pace, actually. ]

Clary Fray - OPEN [13th & 17th]

[babyhunter]

APRIL 13th - Cracking sounds [At School]

That morning, Clary felt sluggish. Her nightmare's where getting stranger. This time it was about a cup which quickly turned into a sketch of a burning goblet with strange runes doodled around its edges. Ignoring the unsettling feeling that her sketch gave her, Clary made herself some coffee and got ready for school.

She packed her backpack with two different sketchbooks, her math notes and her french notebook. She pushed a blank spiral into the small front pocket with a few pens, pencils and colored markers. Clary had classes until lunch when she planned to then head to the shelter to put in a few hours of work before focusing on her art portfolio.

Everything was normal, as normal as she remembered it.

Halfway through the day, a loud crack jolted suddenly through the small town and for a moment Clary thought that the school was crashing down around her. Her head turned, her feet continued forward and as she looked back to where she was going she walked into the front doors of the school.

The force knocked the wind from her lungs and she found herself stumbling backwards while her palm gingerly pressed against her forehead. There were more cracking noises after the first but Clary was to focused on the thundering noise shaking around inside of her head to notice.

APRIL 17th – Power Outages [For those who want to check in on Clary]

Clary was sitting on the couch in her small family room with her sketchbook positioned comfortably in her lap. Her knees were pulled towards her chest with her bare feet resting on the soft sofa cushions. Her position often changed when she sketched as if moving might circumvent whatever mental block she encountered. Today brought her little inspiration. Her page remained frustratingly blank.

Groaning, Clary began to draw. She hoped that something halfway decent might come out of it. The moment her pencil touched the paper the lights in her house darkened, leaving her momentarily blind.

Seriously?!

Clary pushed her sketchpad and pencils to the far side of the couch. She was waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark shapes in the room before she made her way over to the closest where she hoped she had a flash light. It took over twenty minutes of digging through the closest to find a flash light, only to realize that there were no batteries inside.

"Damn it." Today was not going well.

Clary moved over to the window and pushed open the blinds using the soft gray light from outside to find her way to her bedroom. She eventually located batteries and was able to turn on the flash light which offered little against the encroaching darkness. Over the next hour she'd try drawing, give up, pace around the dark room, eat ice cream that she hadn’t wanted to melt and slam her knee against the coffee table.

The one thing that pulled her from her cursing was a knock at her front door. She’d make her way to the door with a half-eaten cookie dough ice cream container in her left hand. When she finally opened the door she would be found wearing her panda pajamas with her bright red hair falling in messy waves around her thin pale shoulders. She looked tired and annoying but forced her lips into a smile.

"Hi. Ice Cream?"

pepper potts, april 17th, at home. closed to tony.

[ceoinstilettos]

[ ever since she had fallen into the lake she hadn’t been feeling all that great, but she had brushed it off as the start of allergy season and continued working herself half to death. her colleagues had seen right through her halfhearted i’m fines and i’ll be alrights and, despite her protests, sent her home. but pepper was nothing if not stubborn and so she grabbed dozens of documents, files, and reports from her desk, stuffing them into her portfolio before storming out the door. she was not sick, but she couldn’t muster the strength to argue. ]

[ once at home she dropped her purse by the door and, stepping out of her heels, ambled over to the couch to collapse. she had work to do, a lot of work to do, but… maybe it wouldn’t kill her to take a nap. closing her eyes she started to drift off when a thunderous boom shook the house, causing her to let out an undignified yelp as she tumbled over the side of the couch. ] TONY! [ clambering to her feet she found herself rushing down the hall to check on him. was he alright? and what did he break or blow up now? ]

[ that was on the thirteenth. ]

[ the next couple of days were nothing but a blur… between the weather, her headache, and the cold ( ok, fine, she was sick! ) she just couldn’t keep up. by the time she had her thoughts in order the streets flooded and the lights were flickering. ] What is going on out there… [ leaving her blanket behind she moved to the window, setting her hand on the glass and peering out. ] It’s a mess out there. [ a sigh fell from her lips as she set her forehead against the glass, the lights going out all of a sudden and prompting her sigh to devolve into a groan. ] You’ve got to be kidding me. [ but, really, she shouldn’t be all that surprised. ] Tony?

Ana Lewis | various locations | (The 18th)

[seeyaduke]

[The crack of ice a few days prior had been terribly familiar, and as Ana had sat with it, she remembered something of ice falling the wrong way and bringing bars of steel with it. This wasn't the same thing, she told herself over and over, but in the end she can't help but go through her closet looking for things that look or feel familiar, something that would help.

In the end, at least it was black, but it was clothing that she would have worn for a workout, Ana decides, even if she pairs it with a pair of hiking boots so that her toes won't get wet. Even if it wasn't the same as what was in her head, Ana was pretty sure that the water was going to be cold as hell. Looking out her front door and then looking back, Ana packs a bag with a flashlight and some water and food in it. Just in case. Maybe she had been a girl scout in a prior lifetime.

But then she heads towards the waterfall and the debris, her steps certain and sure. Ana looks in her element, even if she's not quite in the catsuit that she would prefer to be in. At least it's not raining, and she looks around to anyone whom she happens to see and offers a smile. Looking very not teacher like with her hair down, she just shrugs and asks:]

Well, at least the rain's stopped. [A beat.] Mostly.