1st batch | video, open to action

[aintdancing]

[ The communicator is still on someone's wrist, and that someone is walking with a strange kind of calmness. Occasionally smoke will get in the way, like strands, but not very often--not until the person lifts it to his mouth. Ah, it's a cigar.

They're in the bar. Hovering near the entrance, peeking in. Not hesitant, but cautious, and it shows in they're footsteps--big boots, heavy boots, certainly masculine--as he walks closer to examine the alcohol. The cigar gets put on the counter, and with a grunt--yes, definitely male--he hops the counter, heading towards the back to grab a half-finished bottle of whiskey. He unscrews the cap, takes a sip, and his shoulder's sag, grunting contentedly. Looks like the booze is Bondurant approved, folks.

All that without a word--it looks like he doesn't realize it's recording. ]

[open video]

[likely_evil]

[Sam is sitting on a picnic table, looking north away from the town. In the distance along his line of sight are the docks, and then water with hint of land beyond.]

Has anyone tried to get to the island yet?

[his voice is a bit distant. Competent, but at the same time, confused and curious.]

(no subject)

[porcelainpride]

[Kurt is looking particularly wintry here, despite it still being very gray and bland, rather than anything remotely white and seasonal. He has an absurd knitted hat on his head (matching scarf is a given) and he's tromping around town with a look of barely contained glee. Pun unintended.]

It's colder. Like, not the sort of cold it's normally like, the miserable, damp, disgusting cold.

It's winter-cold.




Christmas cold. [:D]