George Milton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bindlestifflost) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
apocalypsehowcomm2022-07-02 11:27 pm
bindlestifflost) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2022-07-02 11:27 pm
Over the hills and far away LOG [OPEN + Closed prompts]
Who: George Milton + various
When: July
Where: Various locations in Gloucester, on the train, in and around ADI
Summary: TDM Prompts + July catch-all
Warnings: scopophobia; paranoia; unnatural animals, thalassophobia; mild scopophobia, bodily harm, stalking, bullying, altered perception, alcohol abuse, discussion of mercy killing/murder, mob "justice," gun violence
Train Home
George can be found in various parts of the train throughout the ride home, the dining car, the passenger area, the scenic window look-out, or the sleeping cubbies when it's dark and late. Pick a place if you want to talk to him about the events in Wolf's Pen or anything else. He's quiet and a little subdued but approachable and willing to talk.
Birdswatching
Maybe it's because he has spent so much of his time outside in his life, or maybe it's because he has always been extra wary of eyes on him, but it doesn't take George long at all to notice something is very off about the birds in the trees and in stealthier spots beneath bushes on the ground watching.
He pulls the brim of his LA Dodgers ballcap lower to conceal as much of his face as possible when he faces you and says, "This is a new one. What do you make of it? Think we ought to cut patrol short?"
If they're just watching, that's one thing. There's no guarantee they'll keep it to that. In his thin, short sleeved t-shirt and jeans, he doesn't feel nearly protected enough from sharp beaks or swarming talons. Not all of those birds are small or harmless, if they got it in their heads to get punchy.
Current Events
Riptide
((OOC: Please note, I'm doing 2 of these. 1 rescuing someone else, 1 being rescued. After that, George would be getting out of the water and not getting back in. First come first serve.))
1. Rescue
George has been enjoying himself in the water, a good swimmer even if being in the surf is new to him. He's swimming slow laps out beyond the breaker line when he notices you shoot past him, and whether you realize you're in trouble or not, he realizes it. "Hey!" he shouts, changing his trajectory almost immediately.
"Hang on! I'm coming for you!" He picks up speed to cut through the water to catch up.
"Relax if you can. If you fight me, we's both gonna drown."
2. Help!
Well, he'd only just managed to get someone else to safety. Whether the current shifted or he somehow managed to get further to his left than he intended, he feels himself very suddenly in a strong pull and sweep. Instinctively, he goes to his back, face out of the water and as little of him under as he can manage. It's still very fast, very far, and he's feeling both nervous and a little queasy when he looks back toward shore.
That's a long way to swim when a body is already tired out. He's looking for anything he can grab onto, and if not, trying to scull sideways to get out of the worst of it.
Poseidon Quivers
George is no artist. He'll be the first person to say it, but building sand castles isn't half bad. He's enjoying himself except for his legs going to sleep under him. He has just finished a rounded turret with a bucket when he's standing up and trying to walk it off. "Damnedest thing," he mutters.
He's wearing a LA Dodgers baseball cap, a plain pair of red swimming trunks that hit mid-thigh, and a cheap pair of sunglasses. His unfortunate permanent farmer's tan and very white legs are on full display, the latter covered with sand.
We Feast upon the Flesh
"You little bastard!" George is swatting his ballcap unsuccessfully at a seagull that just lunged in and stole his entire hotdog out of its bun. "Did you see that? Unbelievable!"
OR
George is sitting on a lounge chair hunched over a plate of food protectively and watching out for any sign of bird movement with paranoid eyes. He's eating in quick, decisive bites. If you draw close, he says, "Better watch your food. Those damned birds are out for blood today."
Spot the Difference
((OOC: Just one thread for the actual artifact, please, since it doesn't make sense to me he'd continually handle something that hurt him. I'll take repeat threads for the other injuries appearing later. First come first serve for the knife part.))
Wearing a pair of thick leather work gloves, George has picked a box and begun carefully looking at, taking pictures of, and cataloging the items inside. He's not keen to discover any weirdness. It's part of the job, and after the events in Wolf's Pen, he's both more resigned to this aspect of it and a little more confident in his ability to handle things.
He has a knife in gloved hand he's turning over to look for odd markings on the blade or handle. A strange sensation stabs through him. He glances down to see a spreading red stain on his white t-shirt on his right side over his ribs. "What the Hell?"
Setting the knife aside, he untucks the shirt and begins rolling it up carefully. There's a five inch gash across his ribs, not quite deep enough to need stitches. "You got a better angle on it. How bad is it?"
OR
It's lunch at the cafeteria. George is digging into a sandwich and some chips when a long wound opens across the back of his left hand. He drops the sandwich and grabs his hand, grimacing in sudden pain. "Aww, Hell, not again. Don't suppose you could grab me a handful a' some of them napkins, could you?"
He's bleeding onto the tray and table despite efforts to stop it with one hand clamped hard to the back of the other.
OR
It's another morning heading out for patrol around the perimeter of the dog park. George seems cheerful enough if a little subdued, his left hand bandaged and his ballcap set a bit low. He doesn't like the idea of the birds able to read his expression easily. He's setting a rapid clip until he suddenly stumbles and grimaces.
"You gotta be kiddin' me," he grumbles. "Hold up. I need to check something." He hobbles to take a seat in the grass off the sidewalk and moves to pull off his left work boot.
Studying
George can be caught in various places around ADI with a study book from the DMV. He doesn't try to hide it if he's caught with it but will need to be approached or spoken to if someone wants him breaking away from his work to engage.
SOL/Handwave Prompts
((OOC: Feel free to pick anything from this list as a log prompt if you want something lighter or fill it out if we've threaded at least once before.))
When: July
Where: Various locations in Gloucester, on the train, in and around ADI
Summary: TDM Prompts + July catch-all
Warnings: scopophobia; paranoia; unnatural animals, thalassophobia; mild scopophobia, bodily harm, stalking, bullying, altered perception, alcohol abuse, discussion of mercy killing/murder, mob "justice," gun violence
Train Home
George can be found in various parts of the train throughout the ride home, the dining car, the passenger area, the scenic window look-out, or the sleeping cubbies when it's dark and late. Pick a place if you want to talk to him about the events in Wolf's Pen or anything else. He's quiet and a little subdued but approachable and willing to talk.
Birdswatching
Maybe it's because he has spent so much of his time outside in his life, or maybe it's because he has always been extra wary of eyes on him, but it doesn't take George long at all to notice something is very off about the birds in the trees and in stealthier spots beneath bushes on the ground watching.
He pulls the brim of his LA Dodgers ballcap lower to conceal as much of his face as possible when he faces you and says, "This is a new one. What do you make of it? Think we ought to cut patrol short?"
If they're just watching, that's one thing. There's no guarantee they'll keep it to that. In his thin, short sleeved t-shirt and jeans, he doesn't feel nearly protected enough from sharp beaks or swarming talons. Not all of those birds are small or harmless, if they got it in their heads to get punchy.
Current Events
Riptide
((OOC: Please note, I'm doing 2 of these. 1 rescuing someone else, 1 being rescued. After that, George would be getting out of the water and not getting back in. First come first serve.))
1. Rescue
George has been enjoying himself in the water, a good swimmer even if being in the surf is new to him. He's swimming slow laps out beyond the breaker line when he notices you shoot past him, and whether you realize you're in trouble or not, he realizes it. "Hey!" he shouts, changing his trajectory almost immediately.
"Hang on! I'm coming for you!" He picks up speed to cut through the water to catch up.
"Relax if you can. If you fight me, we's both gonna drown."
2. Help!
Well, he'd only just managed to get someone else to safety. Whether the current shifted or he somehow managed to get further to his left than he intended, he feels himself very suddenly in a strong pull and sweep. Instinctively, he goes to his back, face out of the water and as little of him under as he can manage. It's still very fast, very far, and he's feeling both nervous and a little queasy when he looks back toward shore.
That's a long way to swim when a body is already tired out. He's looking for anything he can grab onto, and if not, trying to scull sideways to get out of the worst of it.
Poseidon Quivers
George is no artist. He'll be the first person to say it, but building sand castles isn't half bad. He's enjoying himself except for his legs going to sleep under him. He has just finished a rounded turret with a bucket when he's standing up and trying to walk it off. "Damnedest thing," he mutters.
He's wearing a LA Dodgers baseball cap, a plain pair of red swimming trunks that hit mid-thigh, and a cheap pair of sunglasses. His unfortunate permanent farmer's tan and very white legs are on full display, the latter covered with sand.
We Feast upon the Flesh
"You little bastard!" George is swatting his ballcap unsuccessfully at a seagull that just lunged in and stole his entire hotdog out of its bun. "Did you see that? Unbelievable!"
OR
George is sitting on a lounge chair hunched over a plate of food protectively and watching out for any sign of bird movement with paranoid eyes. He's eating in quick, decisive bites. If you draw close, he says, "Better watch your food. Those damned birds are out for blood today."
Spot the Difference
((OOC: Just one thread for the actual artifact, please, since it doesn't make sense to me he'd continually handle something that hurt him. I'll take repeat threads for the other injuries appearing later. First come first serve for the knife part.))
Wearing a pair of thick leather work gloves, George has picked a box and begun carefully looking at, taking pictures of, and cataloging the items inside. He's not keen to discover any weirdness. It's part of the job, and after the events in Wolf's Pen, he's both more resigned to this aspect of it and a little more confident in his ability to handle things.
He has a knife in gloved hand he's turning over to look for odd markings on the blade or handle. A strange sensation stabs through him. He glances down to see a spreading red stain on his white t-shirt on his right side over his ribs. "What the Hell?"
Setting the knife aside, he untucks the shirt and begins rolling it up carefully. There's a five inch gash across his ribs, not quite deep enough to need stitches. "You got a better angle on it. How bad is it?"
OR
It's lunch at the cafeteria. George is digging into a sandwich and some chips when a long wound opens across the back of his left hand. He drops the sandwich and grabs his hand, grimacing in sudden pain. "Aww, Hell, not again. Don't suppose you could grab me a handful a' some of them napkins, could you?"
He's bleeding onto the tray and table despite efforts to stop it with one hand clamped hard to the back of the other.
OR
It's another morning heading out for patrol around the perimeter of the dog park. George seems cheerful enough if a little subdued, his left hand bandaged and his ballcap set a bit low. He doesn't like the idea of the birds able to read his expression easily. He's setting a rapid clip until he suddenly stumbles and grimaces.
"You gotta be kiddin' me," he grumbles. "Hold up. I need to check something." He hobbles to take a seat in the grass off the sidewalk and moves to pull off his left work boot.
Studying
George can be caught in various places around ADI with a study book from the DMV. He doesn't try to hide it if he's caught with it but will need to be approached or spoken to if someone wants him breaking away from his work to engage.
SOL/Handwave Prompts
((OOC: Feel free to pick anything from this list as a log prompt if you want something lighter or fill it out if we've threaded at least once before.))
no subject
He lets George guide where he's meant to be and starts to try to 'help' in their kicking and propulsion, but stops as soon as he's told not to. Probably for the best...he felt heavy., like the water had filled him while he'd been dragged.
"Give me a few moments and I can help if you get tired." He's pretty sure, anyway. "Thank you...I don't know what happened. The water...grabbed me?"
no subject
At first it's going...OK. The shore never really seems to be getting all that much closer no matter how hard he kicks or strokes one armed, but then he sees a gray, black tipped triangle cut the waves about fifteen feet to their left before it sinks back down again, and his heart feels like it's jumping into his throat.
Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic. "Garner?" His voice sounds tighter yet. "Need you to do me a real big favor. You feel anything, uh...bump you that ain't me, you tell me right quick, OK?" What the hell either one of them can do about it, he has no idea. He still wants to know.
no subject
When George speaks again, something is...off. He sounded strained before, but now he sounds tense. And for good reason, what sort of instruction was that in a normal circumstance?
"Bump? Alright..." It doesn't take much thought to put it together. something is in the water with them. Something George perceives as a threat or something to be concerned about.
There's a brief pause, but he keeps his voice calm and level when he asks: "What sort of creature?"
no subject
"Well, I ain't completely sure because I only seen pictures, but I think we got ourself a shark. Saw a pretty big fin with a black tip on it not near as far away as I'd like." He's trying to remember everything he's heard about them besides big teeth and they bite. He's trying to keep rising fear out of his voice, because somehow not seeing it is way worse.
"You, uh, bleedin' anywhere?" He knows he isn't.
no subject
"Very possibly..." He says it about as sheepishly as you can get when still half trying to support himself now that there was a threat. A threat he actually hears this time in the form of a swish of water from a tail barely ten feet from them.
"Let go a moment." Whether George does or doesn't, Garner brings his right hand up towards his face. The deepest scratch there had largely closed over, but not enough he couldn't bite into it to open it back up. Blood seeps from the wound which he holds above the water. That thrum of energy leftover from his Hunt flows forward as he tries to pinpoint the shark's movement. It doesn't take long as he hears that swish again not too far from George's left. A red swirl lifts up from Garner's hand over towards the shark which- freezes in place.
no subject
He somehow forces himself to let him go when he's the one wanting to grab onto something now, use it to climb right out of that water. "What in God's name you doin'? You bleed more—" It cuts off when he sees everything that's happening, wide eyed enough to be white around the edges.
"That God damned thing. That God damned thing is right there! We gotta go." He's grabbing for him again, kicking and pulling with one arm through the water as hard and fast as he can. The fact it's not moving isn't even registering for him yet. He can see most of it at the surface, and in the water with it, it looks probably twice its actual size with the creepiest, blackest eye he has ever seen on any animal in his entire life.
no subject
"It's not going to come closer, George, don't give yourself a cramp." Those he was more familiar with. O'terra had cramped up trying to stubbornly show off how quickly he could swim the lake and it hadn't bee a fun day for anyone.
no subject
Right now, there's only room for kicking and stroking through the water as steadily as he can with his heart trying to come up into his throat. Finally the shore looks closer, and when he's burning all over good and proper, from legs to lungs, he realizes he can touch bottom. "You can stand up," he tells him, so out of breath he can barely talk.
He doesn't let go of him fully until they're past the breaker line and back on the packed sand of the shore. Dropping to elbows and knees, he lets the top of his head rest on the sand while he struggles to catch his breath and make his limbs feel like something besides jelly. "Christ," he mutters.
no subject
George lets go and there's a part of him that's more earnestly surprised he held onto him as long as he did. Appreciative, yes, but surprised. More of that need to care for others at work, Garner suspected.
He can hear his friend's heavy settling into the sand and Garner joins him soon after. He might have quite a bit of stamina and strength to him, but he was only human and that was...a lot. It's only once he's sat and laid back to catch his breath that he lifts the wounded hand up slightly to wave off the effect on the creature still caught in the surf, then sets it on his chest with a sigh. "Thank you...I regret that that was such...an ordeal. Are you alright, George? You sounded very scared."
no subject
He coughs once or twice from the rawness of so much heavy breathing before finally turning and flopping onto his back, staring up into blue sky and a few high, scudding clouds. "I was. I ain't never dealt with no sharks before. Jes' heard lots a' bad things. If we'd a' been bit, it'd've been bad. The teeth on them things is razor sharp, and they's got a whole mouthful."
no subject
"I've never encountered a shark before...there was a shark-man in the house I'd been staying in back home, he was the cook. He told me a bit about normal sharks while he was teaching me to bake." Which...even he knows that might be a bit of a larger sentence to try and swallow, but it was the truth all the same.
"My injuries did not occur to me before I got into the water, otherwise I would have stayed out...as it is, I don't think I'll be going back in the ocean any time soon." It simply wasn't for him on a number of levels.
no subject
"Naw, I ain't never goin' back 'less I have to. That was pure bullshit." From watching Garner shoot past him, the thought he might not be able to get to him in time, and then the shark. No part of him finds the idea of trying that again appealing in any way.
no subject
"Reasonable of you." He sighs and sits up, every limb leaden, but whole and functional, so he was fine. "Perhaps we ought to head home?"
no subject
"You ain't gonna get no argument from me. We done showed up here and paid our dues." No one could say they didn't stay long enough to make a good showing, and if anyone tries to blame them for wanted to leave after that, he might just get in his first fist fight since his scrape with Owen.
no subject
"That is true...besides, it is warm and...very sunny." He smiles ever so slightly. "Perhaps I am feeling faint and you are simply ensuring I do not suffer ill effects of exertion." Worst case scenario...have something plausible in your back pocket for getting out of hard questions.
no subject
All he has is a towel, t-shirt, hat and sunglasses. He's quick to put on the clothes and toss the towel over his shoulder, and then takes Garner's arm casually to guide him off the beach. He doesn't announce the departure on the chance it will make it less likely their absence is even noticed.