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.))
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Hence, the stones to throw at them. It helps to be able to fight back against it, even in little ways. It keeps him from feeling so helpless, which in turn helps him fight the paranoia.
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"We surprised 'em last time. Maybe they don't like surprises and think if they keep a close enough eye we can't do it twice."
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He hurls another pebble at a trio of gulls inching closer, beaning one right on the wing, and they scatter back again.
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"Yeah, I reckon it does. We got any idea how many a' these avatars there is?" How many people are they going to have to kill? And for that matter, why are so many people so quick to ally with things trying to destroy the whole world? None of it makes sense to him.
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Part of him wonders, too, why people are willing to do this. But the rest of him knows. People want power. People think that the world-ending monsters won't hurt them or the people they love. People are short-sighted and don't think through their choices. People feel like a little harm here oughtweighs harm elsewhere. People want to help and don't know any other way to do it.
Sometimes it's nice to not be all the way a person yet.
"We'll keep stopping them, though," he promises. "I just. Hope they give us a little more of a breather, this time." People need to heal, dammit.
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"You 'n be both. Had some close calls back in Wolf Pen. Be nice if things calmed down a little here for a while. You 'n me got more dancin' to do."
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His face swivels around in George's direction at the last, though, immediately and thoroughly distracted. "We do?" George wants to dance again, too? "I showed Belova. Yelena. She knows lots of dances, but didn't know those ones. She wants to do it again, too. And Steve. Steve should know some." Or Winter will show him. Surely somebody who fights that well can be taught to dance.
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"I wouldn't a' pegged Yelena as the type, but if she's up for it, bring 'er. I ain't met Steve. Who's that?"
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Winter settles back a little in his seat, eyes on the birds, but expression maybe a little more relaxed, both at the prospect of more dancing and the subject matter. "Steve is the very big one who is not Jeager. Blonde, blue-green eyes, nose clearly broken a few times. He's from our world. Belova's and mine. He was my target once. But he was my friend before that. He says." The last is clearly tacked on, a plausible deniability. He no longer really doubts it.
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After he has swallowed and washed it down with some soda, he adds, "Oh, yeah. Seen him around. Ain't had the chance to jaw yet." The rest of it earns more of a thoughtful look. "Sounds like a good reason for me to change that. A friend a' yours is probly a stand up guy."
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Steve, though. "He is a stand-up guy," Winter agrees. "He's a hero. Back where we come from. Saved the world from me and the people I worked for."
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"Maybe you can introduce us sometime." He pauses in his hot dog devouring for some of the chips. The one thing he's still not used to here is how easy it is to get food, to be able to be full whenever he wants to. He's still doing enough physical labor and training that he's in no danger of busting his britches, but he's finally not looking so hollowed out, a little less starved stray dog.
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"Find us somewhere to dance, and I'll bring him," he promises. "I'm going to try to drag him to training, too. In the gym. He's lost muscle mass because he doesn't know how to exercise."
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"Doesn't know how to exercise?" he laughs a little bit at that. "Send 'im out on the fence line with me. We gets plenty a' exercise diggin' them post holes."
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"Huh. It wear off, or somethin' else?"
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