This is the game that I shouldn't have played... [OTA]
There is a giant, fluffy black dog padding purposefully through the village, head low, shoulders hunched slightly. He's not as dangerous as he looks - just pissy. Harry has had a very long day, not at all helped by one particular overly sympathetic angel, and being furry and four-legged? Not improving his mood one bit.
He's got a destination in mind, but if someone happened to waylay him before he got there... well, he wouldn't bite them. Probably.
Meredith has been wandering methodically from one unused cabin to the next, searching through any cabinets or closets or drawers they might contain, and moving on when she doesn't find anything, getting more and more annoyed with each building. Seriously, she's not even asking for clean clothes at this point - she just wants to find something to wear that isn't scrubs. She doesn't feel this is an unreasonable thing to ask for.
In the woods, still within easy sight of the barracks walls, Tarma is weaving her way among the trees, keeping one eye out for any sign of creatures or spirits or... whatever else lives in this wood and might be out for blood. But most of her attention is on scanning the trees for a sapling she'd be able to shape into a bow. Yes, there's food readily available in the storehouse, but she's not going to count on that lasting - or sure she should trust it - and if she doesn't find something to do with her hands, she thinks she might go mad. Making a serviceable bow would at least keep her occupied for a little while.
The Doctor is tucked in the quiet shady area between the outer wall of the barracks and the back sides of some of the cabins (one of which may or may not be currently housing one Neal Caffrey). Cross-legged on the grass, he keeps turning a fedora over and over in his hands, staring at it intently, occasionally pausing to scan it with his stuttery, half-broken screwdriver on one setting or another. None of those settings seem to be doing him any good, though - he's still staring at the hat with an equal mix of fascination and frustration, like it's some puzzle he just can't work out how to piece together.
He's got a destination in mind, but if someone happened to waylay him before he got there... well, he wouldn't bite them. Probably.
Meredith has been wandering methodically from one unused cabin to the next, searching through any cabinets or closets or drawers they might contain, and moving on when she doesn't find anything, getting more and more annoyed with each building. Seriously, she's not even asking for clean clothes at this point - she just wants to find something to wear that isn't scrubs. She doesn't feel this is an unreasonable thing to ask for.
In the woods, still within easy sight of the barracks walls, Tarma is weaving her way among the trees, keeping one eye out for any sign of creatures or spirits or... whatever else lives in this wood and might be out for blood. But most of her attention is on scanning the trees for a sapling she'd be able to shape into a bow. Yes, there's food readily available in the storehouse, but she's not going to count on that lasting - or sure she should trust it - and if she doesn't find something to do with her hands, she thinks she might go mad. Making a serviceable bow would at least keep her occupied for a little while.
The Doctor is tucked in the quiet shady area between the outer wall of the barracks and the back sides of some of the cabins (one of which may or may not be currently housing one Neal Caffrey). Cross-legged on the grass, he keeps turning a fedora over and over in his hands, staring at it intently, occasionally pausing to scan it with his stuttery, half-broken screwdriver on one setting or another. None of those settings seem to be doing him any good, though - he's still staring at the hat with an equal mix of fascination and frustration, like it's some puzzle he just can't work out how to piece together.