Layla Abdallah El-Faouly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scarabwings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
annexedlogs2022-11-23 12:33 am
scarabwings) wrote in annexedlogs2022-11-23 12:33 am
Open Log
Who: Layla and OPEN
What: Mini-missions and downtime
When: Throughout the month
Where: Around the Witch's Camp
Content Warnings: Possible violence, illness
I. Propaganda: Media
In one of the small parks in the Magitech district, there is a pack of children, ages ranging from four to eight, chasing a stuffed ragdoll that skitters and scampers with a stumbling gait, weaving around its pursuers, ducking between the taller ones' legs, and occasionally bouncing harmlessly off some obstacle, living or otherwise.
Mostly, it avoids passers by. Mostly.
The source of the thing's motion is, presumably, the slim dark-haired woman sat on a nearby bench, gaze unfocused, video camera set up next to her and trained on the spectacle.
It isn't until, through concerted effort, four of the children simultaneously tackle the doll with a gleeful and only slightly bloodthirsty cheer that she snaps back to attention, wincing slightly and rubbing her temples, then pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. It's only then that she seems to notice she's gained an audience, and flashes a weary smile.
"That wasn't you at the end, was it?" she asks. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a tree. Navigating the world without proper sensory organs isn't the easiest feat, after all.
II. The Weather Wizards
Today, it's freezing rain. Layla stands just outside the zone of hostile weather, frowning at the ice-slicked street. She hadn't actually intended to go chasing trouble today, but her destination is on the other side of the chaos, and she's tired enough - head pounding and stomach sour - that she has no desire to detour several blocks because some idiot has decided they need to get alien internet famous.
She glances sidelong, and maybe you're out visiting the markets with her, or maybe she just recognizes you from a briefing, or around the barracks, or those early raids on the Sylphid's facilities, but regardless, she smiles, though there's an exasperated edge to it, and it doesn't quite touch her eyes.
"Any bets on how long it will take us to sort this one out?"
III. Around the Camp
Layla isn't usually difficult to find - she has coffee at Cyborg most mornings, teaches a self-defense course at a small studio several afternoons a week, and spends much of her free time training, in the library, or making a circuit of various markets, window-shopping and listening to gossip.
Usually being the operative word. The first couple weeks of the month, she's less in sight, harder to pin down. And when she can be, she looks pinched and tired, like she hasn't been sleeping well, or is fighting some illness.
Whatever it is, she seems to throw it off towards the end of the month, sliding back into what passes for her usual routine. If she occasionally looks a little distant, attention caught by something not immediately apparent - what of it? That can't be so uncommon here.
Wildcard
If you have an idea for something else, go for it, or shoot me a PM to plot!
What: Mini-missions and downtime
When: Throughout the month
Where: Around the Witch's Camp
Content Warnings: Possible violence, illness
I. Propaganda: Media
In one of the small parks in the Magitech district, there is a pack of children, ages ranging from four to eight, chasing a stuffed ragdoll that skitters and scampers with a stumbling gait, weaving around its pursuers, ducking between the taller ones' legs, and occasionally bouncing harmlessly off some obstacle, living or otherwise.
Mostly, it avoids passers by. Mostly.
The source of the thing's motion is, presumably, the slim dark-haired woman sat on a nearby bench, gaze unfocused, video camera set up next to her and trained on the spectacle.
It isn't until, through concerted effort, four of the children simultaneously tackle the doll with a gleeful and only slightly bloodthirsty cheer that she snaps back to attention, wincing slightly and rubbing her temples, then pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. It's only then that she seems to notice she's gained an audience, and flashes a weary smile.
"That wasn't you at the end, was it?" she asks. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a tree. Navigating the world without proper sensory organs isn't the easiest feat, after all.
II. The Weather Wizards
Today, it's freezing rain. Layla stands just outside the zone of hostile weather, frowning at the ice-slicked street. She hadn't actually intended to go chasing trouble today, but her destination is on the other side of the chaos, and she's tired enough - head pounding and stomach sour - that she has no desire to detour several blocks because some idiot has decided they need to get alien internet famous.
She glances sidelong, and maybe you're out visiting the markets with her, or maybe she just recognizes you from a briefing, or around the barracks, or those early raids on the Sylphid's facilities, but regardless, she smiles, though there's an exasperated edge to it, and it doesn't quite touch her eyes.
"Any bets on how long it will take us to sort this one out?"
III. Around the Camp
Layla isn't usually difficult to find - she has coffee at Cyborg most mornings, teaches a self-defense course at a small studio several afternoons a week, and spends much of her free time training, in the library, or making a circuit of various markets, window-shopping and listening to gossip.
Usually being the operative word. The first couple weeks of the month, she's less in sight, harder to pin down. And when she can be, she looks pinched and tired, like she hasn't been sleeping well, or is fighting some illness.
Whatever it is, she seems to throw it off towards the end of the month, sliding back into what passes for her usual routine. If she occasionally looks a little distant, attention caught by something not immediately apparent - what of it? That can't be so uncommon here.
Wildcard
If you have an idea for something else, go for it, or shoot me a PM to plot!
no subject
The rough shape of a plan is beginning to form. She's half expecting this to end in violence regardless of how they start, but there's a chance, at least, to avoid it.