▷ open & closed - get about as oiled as a diesel train

[lasttoolong]

Who: Logan (lasttoolong) & various
What: Settling in, getting to know people, starting fights.
When: Throughout May.
Where: Milton and surrounds.

Content Warnings: Potential violence, injury, talk of degenerative illness, inadvisable amounts of moonshine. More will be added if needed.

[ OOC: Open & closed starters will be posted to the comments. Feel free to throw wildcards either off the back of something else we've discussed, or something new you think would be neat! Or if you want to plot something out or request a closed starter, hit me up on Plurk (laetificat) or PM! ]

Comments

[fidior]

Hey, what a funny thing to hear someone else say, he feels the exact same way, Randvi!

Edward coughs a few times, staggering a bit with each one, but manages to stay on his feet. One hand clasps his middle while the other stays hovered close to his face, though not daring to directly touch the angry red skin around his eye that pangs with sharp, white-hot pain. He concentrates on taking deep breaths as directed, before he's slowly, slowly trying to reach for his cap.

"Thank you. I'll be all right, I just need to... gather myself. And then deal with this. Learn what caused the quarrel — there may be retaliation..."

[meadqueen]

Randvi smiles a bit ruefully. “I think it was drink that caused that fight. We can hope that the lack of a clear winner will mean there is no specific target.”

She bends to the ground again herself, filling one of her orange mittens with snow.

“You should hold this to your eye to limit the swelling.”

[fidior]

Gingerly, Little places his hat back onto his head, though it aches, sending another dizzying pang through him. But he can withstand some pain — it's important to keep to uniform....

He takes the offering, nodding gratefully as he presses it gently to his eye, jaw tightening at the contact for a moment before he releases a shaky breath.

"I hope that will be the case. I didn't recognise the two men involved — they must be newcomers here." And... frightful ones at that, even if drink may have been involved. He can't help fearing the worst case scenario, that there may be consequences to follow.

"They'll have to be talked to. They must understand that such behaviour cannot be allowed in this community. What if there had been passerby on the street...!"

[meadqueen]

“Perhaps until you've recovered, another should do that talking. We can only exercise the authority granted to us by the others here.”

At home, Randvi’s power is granted through her blood, and the blood and honour of her husband. In this place, things are much more precarious.

“I do not wish to see you struck again so soon.”

[fidior]

"It's quite all right, I—" But there's a pause as he continues gathering up his things, slowly but with determination — reaching for his shotgun next to pull it closer, and obstinately ignoring the fresh rush of dizzy swirl that has him wobbling a little.

'I do not wish to see you struck again so soon.'

That... is a good point. The tempers directed his way would have had no time to abate. Still, he doesn't feel right about just letting it go... what if they direct that rage towards other townspeople? Those men were out of control.

....And the main, pressing concern is Wynonna. What if they try to pursue her?

"....I do deeply fear for the safety of Miss Earp. You said some sort of... jester had taken her?"

[meadqueen]

“It - yes. He…” Randvi had even spoken to this man once, though considering the circumstances she can't recall if they'd exchanged names. “He’s very orange.”

[fidior]

Very orange.....

Edward winces as he squints at Randvi, one-eyed, the other currently covered by the mitten he's gently pressing to it. Given how disoriented he is, he very well may be imagining half of what the woman's saying.... Is this a fever dream?

"Do you mean... the colour of his hair?"

[meadqueen]

“No. The colour of his clothing. My people don't have such colours.” That's true of a lot of the fabrics here but most aren't as loud.

[fidior]

Admittedly there is only one person he knows who wears orange in a way that would be so notable — the very opposite of his own time and societal customs, which are to draw the least amount of attention to one's self as possible...

Still squinting one-eyed at Randvi— "I wonder if you might mean Mr. March."

It would be a relief if so, and it would make sense, given that he knows the man seems to have a friendship with Wynonna. He hopes it's March; he'll have to make sure soon. ...He's anxious about it, tensing a bit with worry.

"Whomever it was, they were not hostile to her, were they? She's already been injured before this..."

[meadqueen]

“It may be so.” It sounds as if it would be good if it were. “He was not involved in the fight and seemed concerned for her well-being, so I decided to tend to you first.”

He’d looked pretty pathetic, slumped over like that in the snow.

“We Norse love a good fight, but all of this is a bit much. Why would they escalate when it's clear she's wounded?”

Barbarians.

[fidior]

It sounds as though it was a friend to help her — a deep relief, and he'll make sure of the details as soon as he's able. Little gives another shuddering exhale, closing his eyes again as he tries not to keep thinking about how much more badly all of this could have gone. Those men seemed apt to keep and keep fighting. Wynonna could easily have been.....

"I did not recognise them. They must be newcomers to this place... without respect to our community." Just what they need — ruffians! He'll truly have to take care of this...

Opening one eye again, he nods earnestly to Randvi. "I am immensely grateful for your kindness. Thank you." No matter the stabs of dizzying pain making his words tight and strained, he can't forget manners.....

"I have not had the chance to properly introduce myself. Lieutenant Edward Little of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, miss."

[meadqueen]

“With one of our own involved, perhaps they thought they were keeping custom.” Yes, Randvi sounds a little sour but Wynonna!!! She thought you were an ally!!

Lieutenant is another title, she thinks, since she's met other men here named Edward. “Well met. My name is Randvi, of the Raven Clan. How does it feel now, your eye?”

[fidior]

That.... might be a point, actually. Whether Wynonna instigated things or not, she was clearly involved in the fighting part.... He doesn't want to speak ill of Wynonna's character, but he can't help his own workable eyebrow from lifting.

"Miss Earp does rarely shy away from.... confrontation. It may set a precedence for them..."

What a frightful thought.... god.... But as he looks back to Randvi, he's met with something else that's frightful. No surname is offered to him, and he pauses for an odd moment, uncertain. H-how does he refer to her, in this case...

"Ah- the snow is helping, thank you. I'm sure it will settle down within the hour." No it won't, Edward....

"Are you a doctor?"

[meadqueen]

“Your men hit one another as well,” Randvi points out. Though that had at least only been two people, and a preexisting rivalry at that.

“A doctor? Oh, no. But I am accustomed to treating minor injuries. I used to raid when I was a girl.”

She has no idea how alarming that might sound.

[fidior]

There's a grimace from the half of his face that isn't covered up. He knows what she's referring to, and the incident is still a source of horror in him. "They are not meant to, and I deeply apologise that you had to witness it. Such behaviour is... indecent."

It was something he clung to obstinately, no matter how severe their circumstances became, back out on the ice. And here, as well... It frightens him deeply to see how easily men can become like beasts.

"Raid?" He does blink in startle at that — and when she was only a girl?

"That sounds.... quite dangerous, if you do not mind my saying so."

[meadqueen]

“It is, and I'm glad to hear you say so.” That's not how disputes are settled! These men should call a proper duel or get over themselves.

Raids are, of course, a completely different kind of violence. “Oh, it was. I was shot in the leg on my first raid. My father was furious.”

[fidior]

"I assure you, it is not typical of my men." ...An odd beat; they aren't actually his men anymore, are they? But he nods, firmly, reassuringly. "I trust it will not happen again."

He's deeply embarrassed that a woman had to see such a sight, and especially that such behaviour happened in the Community Center, of all places....!

"Your first raid... You were expected to execute more?"

[meadqueen]

“I would hope not!” It's much more embarrassing to have been knocked out so easily if such fights are commonplace among the men. “I do understand that tensions are high with everything that's happened. Perhaps they should all be sparring more often.”

Surely that would provide an outlet for the aggression…?

“Of course. My people typically raid every summer, though I had to stop when I married.”

[fidior]

"Sparring?" He'd thought the display of violence offended her sensibilities (as it had his own..) but maybe that's not actually the case, here..

"I should prefer them to temper their aggression, as much as possible." He looks visibly nervous by the thought... "Although much of their tension came from before this place, admittedly. Circumstances were... very dire."

Ah... a meaningful insight into the Raven Clan... He looks visibly nervous by this, too.

"Might I ask, what were your people seeking to raid?"

[meadqueen]

“If it builds up, it can explode into what we saw today. My people have seasonal feasts with competitions, and the raiders spar often to keep sharp. It helps, I think, to limit duelling to a reasonable level.”

Yes, there is a reasonable amount of duels to have.

It's a bit of a shame to imagine that this man’s England no longer fears the Danes and their allies.

“We raid for things we can use. Trade goods, building materials… thralls as well, though we don't do that anymore in England.” And just as well, she's felt oddly conflicted about that for a while now, and Ravensthorpe has never needed it. “Your god keeps so much gold in his house. That's useful for us.”

[fidior]

This... is all giving him something to focus on that isn't the searing pain felt behind his eye socket with every pulse of his heart. Edward keeps squinting, one-eyed, at the woman, listening to her words with growing unease. He's no stranger to what naval service can involve, of course, fighting and wartime, but his particular stations have seen little direct conflict — and especially with his last upon Terror, a discovery ship tasked with the pursuit of knowledge, advancement...

Well. Things like duelling and raids sit uneasily against his heart, but it also stirs a certain curiosity. He's cautious before asking, not wanting to risk becoming offensive by asking the woman personal questions about her backgrounds.

"If it is not too presumptuous of me to ask, might I know what year in time your people are from, Miss— Miss Randvi?" It isn't attractive to stutter on a woman's name, but he struggles around it, the lack of surname, inwardly wincing at himself. He must be making such a horrible impression...

[meadqueen]

The stutter on her name isn't too notable both because he has been as nervous as a startled horse every time she's seen him and because he's not the first man here who has had some sort of aversion to addressing her by her name.

"In the manner that they use to mark the years here, the year at home is 874."

[fidior]

Did she say— the year eight hundred, seventy-four....!

Little's eyes (...eye) widen in startle, though he remembers himself a beat after and tries to regain his composure. It's just... this is a lot. And actually, she's the first person here he's met who isn't from what would be considered his future.

(Of course, there are many concerns to think about, such as the fact she alluded to... raiding churches? That's what she meant, right? That's... not great...)

"This place must be quite the adjustment.... It has been for my men, as well. It was 1848 — I believe most of our community here would consider it to be..... rather outdated."

[meadqueen]

“The farthest back we’ve yet seen; many have said as much.” Randvi smiles a bit. The consternation had been somewhat disturbing at first but now she can see the humour in it. “I believe that honour had previously been held by Edward Kenway.”

And even so, this man is closer chronologically to this place’s year of 2015 than her own.

“It is. There is so much here that I would never have even imagined. Do they mass-produce books in your time?”

[fidior]

Coming from an era of monumental changes in the world — spending his childhood and youth in the Georgian and witnessing the start of Victorian innovations — Edward is no stranger to a particular marvel; there are still some inventions of his own time he considers brand-new and incredible. The mechanical printing press had been life-changing; he thinks to it now as Randvi speaks.

"They do, though many inventions of our time are still very novel to me. Ours was an era of much change."

It's strange to think of, now. Knowing his fate, that he will never return to his home and see what came of those things. (Tragically, he just missed the invention of the chocolate bar.)

"Ah, Mr. Kenway..." Something in his features shifts a little, and he nods, finally lowering the mitten from his face. Whatever... became of him? Is he still alive? "It must have been some relief, to make acquaintance with someone from his time. I must confess, I often feel very... out of place amongst the population here."

People wearing skinny jeans...