Follow Me, Lamb - IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Dawn, Sep 29, 2014.

  1. Sommeil, XXXX, Europe



    The babbling of water laping at the sides of their canoes was nearly hypnotic. An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the group from the moment the river began to narrow and the trees moved in overhead. And even though most of them had long lost their leaves, their spiny fingers reached out to tangle with each other and do their best to snuff out the frail sunlight from an overcast midday sky.

    Not a sound came from the forest around them. No critter footprints on snowy banks to be seen. The river was narrowing by the minute and patches of newborn ice were appearing at the edges. A thin mist arose ahead, hovering just barely over water, making it difficult to spot any obstacles that might have been peeking out from below the surface. But it was fine since they'd finally reached the dock.

    Jutting out from the bank, it was old and battered but still rather sturdy even if it creaked and protested at each person who climbed up onto it. Quickly the canoes were unloaded and dragged up out of the water. They were carried back from the bank a little and chained to a tree, just in case. And as if to test the strength of those chains, a cold wind swept down the river, clawing at the canoes and even more at the 'guests' as they gathered on the dock.



    Despite the low temperature nipping at his nose, Denver Liu donned his best friendly smile and gazed around at his group. "We'll have to walk from here. The forest is too thick and the river lessens considerably." His voice pierced the air, commanding attention like an unnatural sound in the basement at night. "Conversation amongst the group is fine, but remember to pay attention to where you're going. Don't stray from the path. This forest has a knack for making you horribly lost. And when we get to Sommeil, never go anywhere by yourself. The buddy system is tried and true, so make a friend now." Dark eyes sweeping the group of faces for a moment, Denver smiled again and bent to pick up his backpack. "Any questions before we go?" he asked, sliding his arms through the straps and adjusting the heavy weight on his back with a jerk of his shoulders.

    All of their packs were heavy. Each person had been required to bring food and water, a sleeping bag, and a spare set of warm clothing. Anything extra was up to them, but they were only allowed the one pack and they had been warned that they would be hiking to the town.
     
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  2. James whistled a soft tune to himself as he prepared his bag on his back. Not too heavy, not too light, just like in Scouts. Listening to his guide's advice, he quickly began scanning his companions for a suitable partner. Deciding to take the lead as well, he smiled at the others and the guide, "None right now, sir, and for everyone here, my name is James." One of the boards below him creaked and he quickly adjusted his weight, not wanting to fall through and into the chilly water below.
     
  3. "So, it looks like we're getting pretty close," Beckett Freeling said into the camera, his breath lingering in the chilly European air. He spoke in a hushed tone, with the clandestine urgency of a war reporter. He wore no Kevlar, however. Instead, he opted for the 'Brooklyn hipster out for a hike' look. Beckett pulled his gray wool hat down over his ears. "Our tour guide says this river is the only way in or out of Sommeil. I think I might've already figured out what happened to the people here: they got lost. I mean, look at this fucking fog." He reversed angle and held the camera out over the mist-laden river. "Any second now we're gonna row by some hundred year old French family asking for directions."

    The canoe docked, Beckett flipped his camera shut, lifted his pack over his shoulder and came ashore.

    "Any questions?" asked the tour guide. Beckett ironically raised his hand.

    "Yeah, I got one," he said, smirking. "Are we gonna have to drink our own piss on this trip?"
     
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  4. As the tall man chattered away into a video camera he held in his hand, a Belizean woman gave a distinct scoff. This man needs to stop his rass, she thought. Studying the others in the group it was quite obvious she was not like the others--in dress, purpose, belief, and acclimation to the cold.

    She was far away from home, in a land three times colder than her own with a hefty backpack filled with food and water and bones and liquids and feathers and all sorts of strange paraphernalia that no others carried. All the food she was accustomed to, the busy streets, and the heat of the midday sun were only the few things she sorely missed when she looked about. All that she saw were colors: white, gray, and brown. Everything seemed to resemble death (or maybe nature in its comatose state?) as it lay still in the silence of winter.

    Whatever might be wrong with this land, it was this woman's intent to remain in it, however miserable she may be. Tightening the shawl around her shoulder and hiking up her multilayered skirt, she huffed and puffed as she maneuvered and trotted and hopped this way and that. "Ahhh, rass, ih kol!"
     
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  5. Whistling winds whipped up Annabeth's platinum hair as the group gathered on the bank of the river. The rolling fog seemed to hang around her head like an eerie halo while the looming trees wavered behind each other. Despite this, there was a gleeful expression on Beth's face as though she couldn't be happier to be in freezing conditions and at risk of dying alone in an abandoned forest. Still, the young woman had wrapped up in a large parka coat with a thick fur hood; not to mention the bed socks that snuggled up to her feet inside her 'priceless' UGGs. Where everyone had brought heavy hiking packs, she carried a small rucksack which settled on her back after a quick jump and shuffle.

    "We're off to see the ghouls, the wonderful ghouls of Sommeil! La la la-l-l-laa!"

    She sang the tune to Wizard of Oz and jumped up in front of Beckett's camera, interfering with the view of the fog he was trying to capture. The lens caught her juvenile features as a blur until finally settling on her button nose. With a giggle, Anna covered her mouth with a curled fist. It was sweet in a way and contrasted almost humorously with the dramatic setting behind her.

    "I refuse to drink my own urine-" A discreet chuckle passed her chapped lips, "But I'll hold the camera when Beckett drinks his!"
     
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  6. Scott shivered as he waited for the canoe to pull up to the dock. His nose was cherry red and his cheeks were a bit stripped from the bitter wind that swept down the river. The young man pulled his hood up over his head and tied the strings under his chin. The thick black frame glasses sat slightly off center and seemed to accent the grimace he wore to help fend off the dreary weather. Normally, Scott was a cheery soul but he had spent the entire boat ride perfecting the use of willpower. He was constantly thinking about being seasick and thus, his body reacted accordingly. A pale green color welled up underneath his skin giving him a very ill appearance and the occasional wretching. This façade was hard for him to accomplish but he had spent months practicing the art of weakness.

    +++++
    “I don’t understand, Captain. You want me to play dumb?” Scott lifted an eyebrow at the elderly man who was built like a brick pizza oven and had a temper twice as hot.

    “Not dumb, Richter…weak.” Capt. Paul hovered over his desk and leveled his eyes to the young subordinate. “You can’t jump in around these types of people and be an alpha.” Capt. Paul set down a stack of dossiers on his desk with some random names and faces. “You have to blend. These people are smart, possibly nuts, but smart nonetheless. If you go academy on them, they’ll never open up to you.” The big man sat down behind his desk and the heavy leather chair groaned and creaked in protest.

    The young man across from his superior leaned forward on his left forearm and ran the fingers on his right hand through his dark hair. “Alright, sir, I can manage but what makes this so important?” The southern drawl was more than apparent in the cool and smooth baritone voice that escaped Scott’s lips. “Why don’t I have a case file?” He sat back and lifted his right foot and set it atop his left knee. His hands gripped the carved faces of the chair’s arms.

    Capt. Paul leaned forward and closed his eyes, his large face sinking down for a moment. His voice dropped into a deep bass that was both soft and foreboding. “This is a mission assigned by top brass and to be honest, I don’t know what it’s about. All I was told is that Director Reese wants you to investigate the area and report all of your findings at the end of the excursion.” The big man looked over the top of his Teddy Roosevelt glasses with a small amount of concern for his young agent.

    Scott saw the concern and smiled a crooked and charming grin. A soft chuckle rolled from between his teeth then he shifted his weight and stood up. “C’mon Captain, I’ll be fine.” He reached over and slapped the big man on the shoulder. “All I gotta do is convince some geeks I’m one of them and enjoy the pretty sights of a European town time forgot. What can go wrong?” Scott turned and walked out the door but stopped mid-exit. “I’ll see ya after vacation, sir.”

    +++++
    “Aachoo!” Scott doubled over from the force of the sneeze trying to exit the canoe which sent it flirting with the idea of capsizing. “Oohh…my therapist was wrong about this trip.” The southern accent was still there in his voice but it was masked by a nasally whine and a bit of congestion. Scott clambered up onto the dock nearly falling twice. He turned and hoisted a full-size Kelly backpack. Once the weight of the pack was borne onto his shoulder, Scott staggered to the side and nearly fell into the murky water but caught himself on one of the poles. A tiny whine passed through his lips but morphed into a groan. He lifted his vivid eyes to scan around at the others who had assembled so far.

    There was a man named James who seemed to be very confident, a second man with a camcorder who seemed to at least be some kind of skeptic, a woman with mocha skin who seemed out of place and a bubbly lil blonde girl who didn’t seem bothered at all by the situation. Scott looked at the camcorder, “I better not end up on YouTube…ugh!” He moved his eyes back to the blonde girl. He could already sense that she was going to make him feel bad about himself simply because he probably won’t be able to keep up. “At least she’s pretty…” He sighed and walked towards the trail where the tour guide was standing. "Hey, mister tour guy, how far is it to Sommiel?”
     
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  7. Aurora was naturally small and thin, making it very easy for her to feel cold. After adjusting her backpack and getting a good grip on her sleeping bag she looked ahead at the diversity of people she was traveling abroad with. She made a mental note of the members of the group; but keeping an eye on the one who she believed was named Scotty.

    She felt oddly accustomed to the fog and embraced the dreariness while her counterparts seemed to be irritated by it. "Well, before we start the little trek in Narnia, I want to say that I'm really excited about this."
     
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  8. Gwen stepped up onto the dock with an audible "Ooof." It was the strain of stepping up with her heavy bag on her back. She knew that she'd be carrying whatever gear she brought along, but she just had to bring her camera equipment. And the essentials, of course. "Bright side is... I could stand to lose a couple pounds. Even if I'm already fabulous." She muttered to herself, listening to the tour guide as she peaked through the viewfinder of her Canon and aimed it up at the thick fog and spooky bare branches of the trees. She snapped a few pics, really hoping she might capture something that looked especially spooky. Maybe she'd find a skull shape or something cool like that.

    "Hey, weren't we just introducing ourselves or something? Poor James over there is gonna think you're all ignoring him. Anyways, I'm Gwendolyn, call me Gwen. I hail from London, and uhh... I quite enjoy the feeling of fuzzy slippers. Oh--" Gwen quickly moved to snap a few quick pictures of the blonde girl and her perfect little pose in the dreary landscape. For now, she preferred not to mention the blog she ran, or that she was taking pictures to be a subject on said blog. But she made a mental note to later ask the group for permission to use any photos she took of them.
     
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