Fiddleford Hadron McGucket (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terribibble) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-01-02 06:51 pm
terribibble) wrote in singillatim2024-01-02 06:51 pm
January Catchall; so swing down that sledgehammer through the wood
Who: Fiddleford McGucket and anyone unfortunate enough to be near him
What: Settling in and trying to stay busy
When: Throughout January
Where: Around Milton; specifics in prompts
Content Warnings: General Fiddleford content warning for memory loss, lost time, unreality and paranoia. Everything else is in specific prompt headers/will be added as needed.
A. OTA
There are a lot of abandoned cabins scattered throughout Milton, a reminder that the town was once a lot more lively than it is now. Today, though, one of them is showing signs of activity. The door is open. It hangs at an odd angle, like the hinges aren't attached quite right. A bit of the roof is sagging. Whoever lived here hasn't been in residence in a very long time, and that's perfect, because that means it's unlikely they'll come back and get mad to find someone else has set up residence.
That had felt like the thing to do to Fiddleford, once he'd got his feet under him a little. He certainly wasn't going to stay on a cot in the community hall forever. That had felt too crowded, too exposed. Too many variables and too many unknowns. If he has his own space he can be a little more certain that it's safe. It'll be nice to have a door between him and everything else around here, or at least it will once he fixes the door. A project, something to do with his hands, that's what he needs. That'll keep his brain busy, and if his brain's busy it'll be harder to think himself into a corner about where he is and how he got there and how none of it makes any sense.
There's an odd assortment of junk on the porch and every now and again something else gets tossed out the door and added to the pile. It's very possible that a rusted-out pot or bent frying pan or bit of rotten wood might fly a little too far and wind up out in the street, but listen. It's the new year and that means thorough cleaning. A few moments later a man who looks like he has not slept in a week pokes his head out the door and waves a hand. He's wearing a green tweed suit with scuffed elbow patches and he is at least trying to look friendly. He is even sort of managing it!
"Sorry! Wasn't aiming for you, I swear."
B. Closed to March and/or Wynonna; warning for alcohol discussion
One of the first things he did was read the message board more or less top to bottom. That had seemed like one of the fastest ways to get a read on the people around him (or at least the people who would bother posting something up on the town message board). It takes him a bit to find the place indicated on the note given that he is still new enough to not know his way around, but he saw 'booze' and 'still' and that had seemed like something he ought to investigate. That's another project to keep busy with. And more than that, he could just really use a drink. This is the kind of situation it feels appropriate to drink about, right? He feels like if you're going to drink about something then getting kidnapped to a snowed-in mining town by unknown forces is probably the thing it should be.
"Hello? I read some folks were looking for help with a still."
C. Wildcard! If you've got an idea hit me up on the Discord or just tag in, I am game for whatever.
What: Settling in and trying to stay busy
When: Throughout January
Where: Around Milton; specifics in prompts
Content Warnings: General Fiddleford content warning for memory loss, lost time, unreality and paranoia. Everything else is in specific prompt headers/will be added as needed.
A. OTA
There are a lot of abandoned cabins scattered throughout Milton, a reminder that the town was once a lot more lively than it is now. Today, though, one of them is showing signs of activity. The door is open. It hangs at an odd angle, like the hinges aren't attached quite right. A bit of the roof is sagging. Whoever lived here hasn't been in residence in a very long time, and that's perfect, because that means it's unlikely they'll come back and get mad to find someone else has set up residence.
That had felt like the thing to do to Fiddleford, once he'd got his feet under him a little. He certainly wasn't going to stay on a cot in the community hall forever. That had felt too crowded, too exposed. Too many variables and too many unknowns. If he has his own space he can be a little more certain that it's safe. It'll be nice to have a door between him and everything else around here, or at least it will once he fixes the door. A project, something to do with his hands, that's what he needs. That'll keep his brain busy, and if his brain's busy it'll be harder to think himself into a corner about where he is and how he got there and how none of it makes any sense.
There's an odd assortment of junk on the porch and every now and again something else gets tossed out the door and added to the pile. It's very possible that a rusted-out pot or bent frying pan or bit of rotten wood might fly a little too far and wind up out in the street, but listen. It's the new year and that means thorough cleaning. A few moments later a man who looks like he has not slept in a week pokes his head out the door and waves a hand. He's wearing a green tweed suit with scuffed elbow patches and he is at least trying to look friendly. He is even sort of managing it!
"Sorry! Wasn't aiming for you, I swear."
B. Closed to March and/or Wynonna; warning for alcohol discussion
One of the first things he did was read the message board more or less top to bottom. That had seemed like one of the fastest ways to get a read on the people around him (or at least the people who would bother posting something up on the town message board). It takes him a bit to find the place indicated on the note given that he is still new enough to not know his way around, but he saw 'booze' and 'still' and that had seemed like something he ought to investigate. That's another project to keep busy with. And more than that, he could just really use a drink. This is the kind of situation it feels appropriate to drink about, right? He feels like if you're going to drink about something then getting kidnapped to a snowed-in mining town by unknown forces is probably the thing it should be.
"Hello? I read some folks were looking for help with a still."
C. Wildcard! If you've got an idea hit me up on the Discord or just tag in, I am game for whatever.
no subject
This does not actually mean what he's saying isn't crazy, even if that's what he thinks, but as far as he's concerned he's never been anything but reasonable and sane. It always makes sense to hope for the best but plan for the worst, that way you're covered in both cases.
"I'd hope I know my way around this sort of thing."
no subject
Building robots or whatever doesn't exactly qualify you to fireproof houses.
no subject
This isn't even fluffing up his resumé, it's more that once he wants to tinker with something he can't be stopped and that is a threat. If anything it's downplaying the resumé a little, because he's left out the panic bunker and the cryogenic specimen lab and all that, and he doesn't remember the interdimensional portal so he couldn't mention it even if he wanted to.
"It's good to be well-rounded."
no subject
no subject
For a moment he's quiet, and then he ventures to ask a question that's a little more dangerous.
"How long have you, ah -- how long have you been here?"
He feels like someone told him when all this started, and he can't quite pull the number up to the front of his brain, and she certainly is talking like someone who's settled. Like she knows the town, at least well enough to be getting on with, which is more than he's got.
no subject
“Last batch. I'm still cleaning my place out, too.” Sorry, Fiddleford, she just spends most of her time chatting people up instead of doing work. “Same for you, I'd wager.”