st_rummer: (under you)
[personal profile] st_rummer
I don't wait for a calendar to tell me when it's okay, but for everyone playing along,

🎵 It's the First of May! 🎵

Those of you who were here last year may remember what that means.

Just remember, sand gets everywhere, bug repelling candles are your friends, and wrap it for your protection (if necessary).


ETA: On a completely unrelated note, is there anyone who could and would be interested in making a smallish lathe? I might have told Loki I could make some drop spindles, and we could get a whole series of boredom busters out of it. You make a lathe. I make spindles. And other things. Maybe teach people to lathe. Loki teaches spinning. Other people learn. And on and on.
st_ackeddeck: (shy but sly)
[personal profile] st_ackeddeck
I've been thinking (don't tell me, yes, I know that's a dangerous thing) and I've had some ideas I kind of wanted to mention, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to throw out there, and that meant I didn't write anything.

So I'm just going to toss out my ideas like spaghetti and see what sticks.

(Please don't throw spaghetti at the wall. The best way to tell if it's done is to take a bite. You'll know if it's al dente.)

[hand sketched knife, bowl & whisk, eggs, and a few veggies]


I've been thinking about the menus for May. Do you have any favorite dishes you'd like to have? Anything you've been missing maybe? Or things we have but you want more often? As long as we have the ingredients (and who knows, maybe, if we make it clear we want it, something new will be added to the food stores), I'm happy to make it, or learn if you'll teach me, or try to reverse engineer it from your descriptions (as long as you're willing to taste test along the way for feedback.

[hand drawn flourish, complete with sketched pen at the end]


I know we had a sign-up way back when where people listed what subjects they could and were willing to teach, but from what I remember, a lot of those things were more in-depth topics that were going to take investment of time and effort to learn. But I was wondering, what about more discrete options, demonstrations, things you could maybe pick up the basics at least in an afternoon.

Like how to make an omelet. Or turning doodles into something more. Or, I don't know, how to foxtrot.

Kind of an "each one, teach one" thing. Somebody picks something they're good at doing and an afternoon, and whoever wants to learn they can. And then another day, someone else teaches something they're good at.

I'm probably not explaining myself very well. It's just an idea.
st_argateman: (who moi?)
[personal profile] st_argateman
Jack had taken up jogging as one of the ways to pass the time. The interesting thing about where he was stuck was it seemed like jogging different paths and directions always gave something new for him to see. It was the early hours of the morning when he took off on a jog. The weather was nice and the coolness of the morning meant that he wouldn't overheat while running. About an hour into his jog, he slowed to a halt. There was a baby deer that appeared to be trapped in some leafless bush. Its leg was bleeding, presumably from trying to get out of its entanglement. He slowly approached the deer and crouched, beginning to try and free the baby animal.

~*~

Ned was a-buzz since Peter mentioned the news of him going all the way with Liz. He finally had a friend that had done it. Peter Parker was both Spider-Man and not a virgin - he was living his ultimate life. This was what preoccupied Ned's thoughts as he sat in the lobby trying to program part of the video game he and Peter were working on. He kept making way more mistakes than he normally would.

Finally he decided to stop and switch projects. His other project required less thought since it was almost done. After several key strokes later, he placed a small homemade helicopter on the coffee table. He pressed ENTER. The propeller on the helicopter started to spin and it flew up a foot in the air. Ned grinned, pleased.

~*~

Liz sat on one of the lounge chairs outside by the pool with her journal beside her and chemistry homework out on her lap. On top of her chemistry homework was her sketchbook. She couldn't quite concentrate today, either, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was what happened on the weekend with her and Peter or maybe it was the conversation she had with Mr. Stark. She decided that trying to draw, despite not having Piotr around, would be helpful. There were some flowers trying their hardest to bloom and she tried to draw them where she sat. Of course, she was still too critical on herself and she continuously erased her work and started over

~*~

Not too far away from Liz was Bo on a yoga mat. She was stretched out doing yoga int leggings and a work out bra and currently doing the triangle pose. She was stressed, but she didn't know why exactly. Maybe it wasn't stressed as frustrated, but she still couldn't pinpoint why. She moved to the downward dog, giving anyone who was paying attention a rather good view of her backside as she tried to stop her mind from wandering, but it was hard. She let out a little frustrated breath.

~*~

Alec was coming back from his own run. He still had energy to burn so he made a change in course and he headed toward the pool which seemed to be pretty busy, though no one was actually swimming. As he neared the pool he toed off his shoes and then pulled off his shirt, leaving a trail of his clothes as his pants where last and he dove into the deep end. He didn't come up right away either. He let the cool water hug his body. Finally, he pushed off the bottom of the pool and surfaced.

~*~

Mary wasn't outside. She was in the bakery trying some vegan recipes for brownies and cookies. It wasn't necessarily because she was vegan, but she thought that she should have some option for people who might be. So far there were two abandoned batches of brownies on the table - one wasn't sweet enough and one had used too much applesauce. She mixed the pumpkin mix into the new batch and poured it in, hoping the third time was the charm.
st_evengrantrogers: (021)
[personal profile] st_evengrantrogers
To Whom It May Concern,

You never know who's going to reply to these random entries. It's a nice thing to know that we're not alone here; there's a community out there, only a pencil scribble away. Or pen, actually, because right now I'm writing using a disposable, Madonna Inn pen that I found on my bedside table.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I appreciate you. When I'm feeling lonely all I have to do is flip through here and read some of these entries, and I'm reminded that I'm not alone. Not even close.

Thanks.

Best,
Steve
st_james: (pic#12194762)
[personal profile] st_james
Has anyone misplaced the ability to short electrical outlets, break plumbing and move everyday objects with an accompanying... light show?

And if so, might you be willing to tell me how to stop it before I destroy my room?
st_igmatized: (Wilderness)
[personal profile] st_igmatized
Need someone to come put me down.

No, really.

I don't know how it happened but I know what happened and everyone walking by my door smells delicious and the only reason I haven't done anything is this severe light allergy I thought was no longer a part of my life, so someone get the hell to Safari Room with a wooden stake, please.
st_rummer: (spot in the corner)
[personal profile] st_rummer
I'm bored.

You're probably bored too. And if you aren't right this minute, wait an hour. Maybe a day.

So I thought, why not use these magic messaging journals for something that will help fill the time instead of stuff that saves one of the few things we already have too much of?

ASK ME ANYTHING

For those of you not from a time and world similar to mine, AMAs are a whole thing, but it's pretty self-explanatory. You ask questions. I answer them. Obviously questions about me, or things I have a chance of knowing or forming an answer are best, but if you want to ask me the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, go for it.
st_oneswidow: (Riding the night wind)
[personal profile] st_oneswidow
Curnen could not rightly have said what had changed from one night to the next, but at this, the official turn of the season and the full moon shining bright overhead she knew. She knew deep in the core of her being. Slipping out of her room into the night, she relished the feeling of the wind caressing her face and lifted her arms to the sky. Her head tipped back and she sang to the stars.

Oh time makes men grow sad
And rivers change their ways
But the night wind and her riders
Will ever stay the same


In a blink between one moment and the next, she was gone from the ground.

The now familiar harmonica still hung about her neck, it's magic unused as she shot into the sky on shimmering butterfly wings. This was the feeling she had craved for so long, like finally being able to run full tilt after decades of limping. She was flying, and it was all her, and she sang her elation to the black in harmony with the night wind.

Dizzy and almost uncertain in her joy, she did land from time to time wherever she could find a perch. Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps she was making it up and she really was limited. But then she shot right back up again, whenever she damn well pleased.

She could do this all night.
st_illfleshandblood: (shot)
[personal profile] st_illfleshandblood
Jackson was, as often at this hour (unless he had plans with Corbie), at the bar, and well on his way to completely sozzled. He would have sworn up and down that he could still walk in a straight line, if asked, but the truth was that that line would have to be a little squiggly in places. But his Virginia drawl was more pronounced than usual, and he was at that energetic, talking-too-much stage where everybody nearby might be treated as a friend, no matter what his relation to them were, if they even had one.

"We don't talk about it often enough," he told the next such person his eyes landed on, without so much as a hello, "but the clitoris is, by far, the best organ in the entire human body. 'd ya know it's the only organ, the only one, that serves no purpose but pleasure? That's just..." His hands moved in the air as he looked for the right word, narrowly avoiding splashing bourbon with the one still holding a glass. "That's amazin'. Twice as many nerve endings as in a penis, too. Just picture that amount of pleasure. Men got played."

Perfectly respectable conversation to have with anyone, after ingesting as much bourbon as he had. Perfectly. Respectable.
st_oriedqueen: (the light I chase)
[personal profile] st_oriedqueen
Finished with self-imposed paperwork and emergency planning for the week, Regina permitted herself a leisurely ride on this absolutely gorgeous spring day. After a good gallop, Grace was content to walk, cropping at dried scrub and new shoots when Regina gave her rein. Regina steered the mare gently toward the west; she could teleport, of course, but she appreciated the quiet of riding toward the beach. She found, in the wake of Henry's Christmas visit, she more often craved the scent of the salt air and ocean breezes. Of course, the Pacific never quite smelled like the Atlantic, always warmer and less bracing somehow, but it soothed the wildness in her just the same.

Back at the Inn, Kitty busied herself with stocking the pool bar and generally setting up for the warmer seasons. The pool had been skimmed of winter detritus and chlorinated by the staff-spectre she rarely if ever saw, and there were fresh towels set out like a proper resort. Since the choice of music was hers, the air around the bar filled with dance beats, Afro-Caribbean today, and Kitty moved right into it. She didn't usually dance at work, but she felt bright today and maybe Lara would come down and work with her and they could goof around Cocktail style.

Sam passed through the Copper Cafe in search of a cup of coffee and a salad, or one of the two gorgeous women he'd somehow wound up involved with. His brow scrunched like a caterpillar hurrying away from a predator while he semi-consciously outpaced thoughts about babies and brothers, and possibly babies and girlfriends. His mild scowl wasn't helped by the pack of spirits trailing him and chatting at him about the lives of his family members. He'd asked them not to gossip about people he wasn't close with, but as a consequence, they talked rapidly and often about River's most recent oddness or his mother and Hathaway acting like...well, like him and Molly and Bo, and no thanks. Ditto on Dean and Jane. For all that he looked a little bothered, there wasn't anything menacing or aggressive about it. If anything, the slight tilt of his head as he strolled through the Inn looked thoughtful, as though he listened to something somewhat distant.

Lillith had come to a bit of a routine for arrival days, and around noon, she sat for tea with River Song. They spoke little, and it was difficult to tell whether the women even liked each other. But for all that, Lillith was content with the ritual. If Curnen sang, she would go out to the lawn next and listen. In fact, on such a sunny day, she would undoubtedly flop on the lawn with a sketchbook and a practice notebook, letting her mind float between image and spellcraft as it would. Out here, she would quickly veil herself at the approach of anyone new, but she often was distracted enough that they might catch her in her true form with her all unaware.

Around them, the Inn hummed and buzzed with the happy energy of winter giving way to spring. The most patient and subtle would undoubtedly note the undercurrents of tension, fear, frustration, and boredom that built up over time. But for day, at least so far as this four were aware, the worst of it had been suspended, in favor of enjoying warm sun and the company of friends.

[OOC: GP. It's a gorgeous day. Come and play! All four of mine can be available. Ping me if you're inspired to tag. <3 Welcome, Carol, Toby, and Number Five!]
st_runningshoes: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] st_runningshoes
It is a delightful change of pace when the carnival shows up and eyes the traditional rides fondly; as if there's some sort of false and vague memory of having gone to the carny as a human child.

Though as fond looking Mr. Smith is looking at the traditional rides; he just doesn't seem to want to get on them - himself. After all, a bit silly by himself as an adult, right?

(Feel free to drag John off to any of the rides :))
st_oneswidow: (Black Eyes)
[personal profile] st_oneswidow
Seven days and seven nights. That was how long he'd been running her down.

Or at least, that was how long the calendar would say he'd been doing it, but Curnen wasn't so sure anymore. He had been in the inn, performing on his banjo for the inhabitants and making the strings of that fucking thing ring like the bells of Christian heaven. Just to taunt her. Just to show that in this new form, he could sing just as powerfully as ever. He had taken her back in time to show her his indomitable will, over her, over her mother, over the whole of the valley. He had been in her room, in her bed, so she couldn't sleep but in stolen snatches of rest in the trees. And even when she'd managed that, he had been singing in her dreams. She could not shake his haint. He would break her. He would kill her.

She could remember no more songs. She couldn't remember her own name. She remembered only the fear and the hate and the pain and the panic and the power as he opened his mouth to sing her dying dirge.

But when Rockhouse got to the end of "Pretty Polly," nothing had happened.

Father and daughter watched each other across the grass, the former faltering for the first time, the latter nearly naked in her tattered dress and snarl of long black hair, eyes huge and staring and mad.

She sprinted. She lunged. She tore his throat with her teeth and laughed in his face as his blood ran all down her chin, her breasts, her stomach. Had it been any other part of him touching her there, she would have wailed and buckled under the horror of it, but she could bear the copper salt heat of blood just fine. Hell, she stayed close and let it spurt all over her.

As the blood burbled out of his gaping throat and the haint faded, Curnen laughed so hard she screamed. She screamed so hard she howled, baying up at the waning moon. Only the banjo was left behind, Rockhouse's favorite six-string banjo. She brought it down hard against the ground, and the dying smash of the frame and twang of popped strings created a crashing harmony to her howling. Even when the body was smashed she continued swinging the broken neck like a bludgeon, daring him to come back. She laughed and screamed and howled and danced.

Sometimes there were no songs.
st_ackeddeck: (not giving up)
[personal profile] st_ackeddeck
There was only so much not-thinking you could do at the inn, when there were so many hours needing to be filled, and best hope you had for breaks in the monotony were the check-in days twice a month. The check-in days, a concrete example of why hopes and fears were usually represented by the same card in tarot spreads. Hoping for familiar, loved faces to show up, and dreading it on their behalf. Emma wasn’t sure she believed that her fellow ‘guests’ could lose track of when the next check-in day would arrive, but this one in particular had loomed large in her thoughts, no matter how much she tried not thinking about it.

A year. She’d been here a whole year.

A year not being able to travel more than four hours. A year of cooking anything but chicken. A year of getting to know people who already knew, and loved, another her. A year of racist rooms and kitschy pink. A year without Sabine, without Dani, without Sarah. A year worrying about Pyro without her. A year *ahem* alone.

She’d mostly held it together, but as December first had gotten closer, the desire to hermit had grown. She tried to follow Dani’s example, spending more time in the kitchen, cooking even when her own appetite shrunk. And she’d spent more time in the quiet of the temple, thankful once again that Vax had been inspired to build it in the first place. That was when she’d noticed the empty alcove, brick slab for an altar, but no signs of being used or dedicated to anyone.

So when she’d woken up on the first and couldn’t bring herself to care if anyone ate, couldn’t face the idea of waiting and watching for anyone new around the inn, she’d taken her pastels and a bucket of sidewalk chalk down to the temple and started to draw on the wall above and behind the unclaimed altar. As she worked the colors began to come together into a nearly life-sized female figure wearing stola and palla, an overflowing cornucopia in one hand, and a rudder in the other.

Her hair was up in a sloppy twist pinned in place by a pencil, and there were smudges of chalk on her face, not to mention her fingers covered in it, when she stepped out of the alcove into the main temple area, looking for a stool or chair to stand on. Only to find someone else there. “Sorry. I’m not disturbing you, am I?” she asked, smearing more color across her forehead as she brushed a lock of hair from her face, and not quite meeting their eyes.

~*~*~


It had been a year for Jag too, and Emma could still remember that first moment he’d walked into the room and found her there. If she’d known she could slip into the suite and up to her loft room without running into him, she probably would’ve done just that, to hermit the rest of the day, wallowing in homesickness. But if he was there… she couldn’t face him right then, not with as off as he’d been for months, and yeah, maybe it had been a little better lately, but she hadn’t stopped worrying about him, and today, she just didn’t have it in her.

Which was how she found herself in the gym. Maybe, if she got herself physically and psionically exhausted, she’d be able to ignore all the things she didn’t want to think about or feel. Maybe she’d be able to fall into bed and pass out for a little while. She dug through her bag, finally settling on a couple of cards from different decks. Her eyes went white as her clothes seemed to shift: striped close-fitting trousers, a short military jacket, and a hooded cloak taking the place of her sweater and leggings, and she could feel the weight of the staff in her hands.

Moving the staff to one hand, she flipped the second card through her fingers, considering. She wasn’t sure she could project both on herself and separately at the same time, not and use them both to fight. Maybe she should try to find a real, live sparring partner first? She honestly hadn’t paid much attention to who else was around when she came in, not exactly up for being social. But she looked now, biting the corner of her mouth as she tried to work around to asking someone if they were interested in sparring with her.
st_alksthroughwalls: (dancer)
[personal profile] st_alksthroughwalls
Burning up whenever she'd 'lived' too long was hella inconvenient.

Terrifying the first few times, too, but once she got used to that, it wasn't that different from becoming insubstantial. But being reborn from ashes? That full on sucked. Not because it hurt particularly. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but neither were the pointe shoes and the headdress she'd taken from the box to go with the Firebird costume she'd been working on for the last few months.

No, the part of being reborn from ashes that sucked was the mouth, eyes, ears, nose and other mucus membranes coated in ashes that came with it. Gross trumped uncomfortable and inconvenient any day. And the worst part was that if she tried to get herself totally cleaned up, she barely had enough time to do anything before she was ashes again.

Tending bar with bird claws was damn near impossible as it was. So by the time the newcomer arrived, she'd given up and taken to drifting lazily on the warm currents. She burned up less often that way.



[ OOC: Feel free to use this post for any November 1 costume related needs, but Kitty is only available for Valkyrie. ]
st_oneswidow: (Riding the night wind)
[personal profile] st_oneswidow
Being a woman and not a First Daughter, Curnen knew nothing of the men's mysteries of her community. She did not know the words of the Silent Sons, "Silence is more musical than any song." But when Kash disappeared from her life, he who had given her songs back to her... she could think of no better way to mourn. What song was there? He had not been her love, but he had been more than her friend. And her utter fucking joy at not having to keep an eye out for Zahra, at being able to move freely in their small space again, made everything even more confusing. So when out and about, for weeks there had been no singing. No playing. No whistling, no humming, no dancing, not so much as idle tapping on a table. She did not forbid herself to speak, but it was rare, if she wasn't spoken to first.

In public at least. In the privacy of her room she threw herself into a project she had been cobbling for some months now, but this it seemed was the final push she needed to see it through. She told Coby, when she realized she really needed a man's voice for the last piece, but even he was not privy to the whole of the project.

No one would have known until the flyers went up a few days before she planned to do it. "Thirteen Tales of Change and Desperation" they promised. Not quite horror stories, but a story hour for the time of year. She had never performed a whole set by herself at the inn before. Kash would have told her to be brave. If it was time. If she was ready. And now, she really thought she was.

Saturday night, Curnen put on her good dress (and still no shoes) and played for the dinner crowd. She didn't expect everyone--or even anyone--to deliberately come and stay through the whole thing. Indeed, she tried not to pay attention to that, the comings and goings of faces. She sang for the audience she had. Between songs she flirted, she charmed, she teased, and she taught, explaining what pieces were and where they had come from.

Beginning with a song that could sound perfectly innocent if not for the unease infused through the arrangement and her voice, Curnen progressed through a series of tragedies and murder ballads. At the seventh and center piece she set her guitar aside and sang unaccompanied, and this was the first admission after a kind. Though she did not think anyone in the audience had the language. She explained neither before nor after what the words meant.

The center of this labyrinth wasn't the heart, though. They proceeded there next. These four songs were chosen not just for their nature, but also because each one them touched on something of Curnen's life--her curse, her losses, her trials. For anyone who had not heard the story from her already there was nothing to make it obvious. But there was something there in the increasing wildness of her eyes, in the edge in her voice. In the way she swapped a guitar for a bodhran when she came to the heart of it.

"I know least one of y'all's impatiently wondering, 'Curnen, honey, what's the worst story you know? Just tell us that and get it over with.' All right." And she told them. And she didn't die in the telling.

The twelfth song was a break, to dispel some of that dark energy. At the thirteenth she had Coby join her on guitar while she drummed, and the two of them passed "The Ballad of Tam Lin" back and forth between them.

She could not say what compelled her toward the end, when she took up the words of the fairy queen in her mouth. By now, she had done a handful of things that no ordinary girl could or should be able to do, but no one had been able to pin down and put a word to what she was. She told them as best she could now, in the way the room went colder, in the way her eyes went black from end to end, in the way her voice crashed like bells and broken glass, in the ghost of glamour wings (for still, still her own eluded her) for just those verses to show the queen's icy rage.

Then she was herself again, and the song ended. Curnen grinned. "Happy Halloween. Tip your waitress." And it took everything in her not to stumble away from the stage. Bliss would have killed her, and Curnen was terrified and defiant all at once, but also lighter for it. She had not said the word 'fairy.' But she had shown them. Maybe they'd be fine. Maybe they'd stone her. Only way to find out was talk to anybody with a thing to say.
st_rangepalette: (wounded)
[personal profile] st_rangepalette
To: All
From: Lillith Anioska Daturai

Subject: Zahra and Kashaw Have Departed

I am sorry to make another such announcement so soon upon the last, but needs must, and I have not the heart to make the announcement in person.

Zahra and Kash have checked out of the Inn. Although I have not yet discussed it with the appropriate parties, I do consent to their inclusion on the memorial in the temple.

If anyone would like to take over Zahra's forge, it remains, although her tools left with her. There are a few weapons in progress, including new spears for Kash's students. Please speak to me if you would like them.

Snow, Kash left several items that I know he would want you to have, including Socks. I will keep them for you until you are ready to collect them, kochanie.

I will be in their room, my room, or the nursery if I am needed.

Lillith

[Linkdrop]

Oct. 8th, 2018 05:57 pm
st_rangepalette: (Default)
[personal profile] st_rangepalette
Date: Dec 22, 2017

Emma brings cake to show and tell with Lillith. From way way way back because somehow it never got posted.

[Here | PG | FTB | cake and cuteness]
st_opsummoningme: (pause)
[personal profile] st_opsummoningme
To: All
From: INR

Subject: Piotr Rasputin Departure

It has been brought to my attention that my brother Piotr has departed this plane in what is referred to at the inn as "checking out."

I understand that Piotr acted as a teacher, a farmer, and an artist within this community. I know that some of you will miss him. I have consented to the inclusion of his name in the memorial for the departed within the temple.

EDIT: Piotr's artwork is now available in the Copper Cafe. Kitty and I are presiding. Come take Piotr's artwork away. For free. Just come take it. Now.
st_oneswidow: (Fae)
[personal profile] st_oneswidow
The woodwinds in her collection were for noodling mostly, and the violin was for memory of her family, but when Curnen really wanted to play she turned again and again to her guitar. This would probably always be her best instrument. It was the first of the month, she’d been here over a year, and it was probably a check-in day. So she sat on the lawn with her instrument in her lap, sending out a subtle magic to call anyone stranded in their little world this way.

At one point, though, she set aside the guitar and turned her face to the sky. For just a few minutes she required a different kind of magic.

It had been a week now since Scanlan had vanished in the battle. And Pike, too, though Curnen honestly couldn’t have cared less about her going away if she tried. Still. The two of them were family to people very dear to her, people who missed them. And Scanlan had been her friend. You marked something like that with a song.

Of all the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all


It was a traditional Irish goodbye, a farewell to friends said with love, drinking, well wishes, and the hope of meeting again. She couldn’t think of a better one for the occasion. And as she sang she twined her magic into her voice in a new way, sending the song to any ears that needed it, ears of those who knew and missed the departed. Not all of them might understand it, not all of them knew what she was, but she didn’t particularly care about that right now. The song was more important than the hiding.

Once the last note had dissipated she picked up her guitar again and resumed her work. If there were anybody out there, they had to know where to go.

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