BUT I FLEW TOO HIGH ★ OPEN, JOINING

[LINCOLN L.]

[align=center][div style="background:transparent; width: 600px; text-align: justify; color: black; font-size:12px; line-height: 100%"]Lincoln has major issues with blindly tackling dangerous situations without being actually fully prepared, turns out. Sure, he's been praised a lot by a lot of people for his ability to do anything that's asked of him without a single complaint or any ounce of fear to deter him from his goals, but despite his overflowing courage, that doesn't excuse the fact that he has a massive issue with being far too full of himself sometimes. Or... Well, all the time, really. For example, just a week or so ago, that flaw in his character had put itself into play for the millionth time in his life, and it all started because he has a good heart and a strong moral compass (curse being a good person!). See, while he'd been exploring along a few snowy pines, collecting some wild berries in a bucket to cook for a nice dinner later, a man had suddenly run up to him in a flurry, looking absolutely shaken. Breathlessly, he'd pleaded for Lincoln to get a journal back from a group of bandits who had stolen it only a few days prior. It was a journal written to document the blackout and research ways to bring society back together from the ruins of the days of old, so obviously it was pretty important, and Lincoln knew that. Besides, taking one look at the guy, you couldn't really just say no. His hands had been clasped together, knees knocking in the cold, skin wrinkled and his hair a stark white—he was an old man, and what kind of man would Lincoln be to just say no?

...He's regretting his decision just a little.

Apparently, as he'd found out halfway into this mission, these bandits have guns. Guns! As an old-fashioned sword-and-bow kind of guy, getting into a gunfight spells a very quick death, so the moment he'd gotten the desired book, he'd bolted. But, alas, they'd spotted him at some point, and now he's in this situation, with three guys chasing him with pistols. And that's not great, because they're shooting at him, and though he's metaphorically dodged a bullet multiple times in his life, he doesn't really want to test literally dodging a bullet. Despite his desire to live, a gunshot cracks like a clap of thunder somewhere behind him, and Lincoln doubles over himself instinctively as he runs, one arm throwing itself over his messy blonde hair to create a (sort of useless) protection of his head while the other clutches the priceless journal he'd worked so hard to steal back tightly between his upper arm and torso. He refuses to drop it, despite continuously tripping over the tangling brush that he's currently trying to run through. He hadn't brought his sword to cut the plants because this was meant to be a stealth mission, and that was stupid. Again, unprepared Lincoln strikes again. There's a huge chance that he's going to be hit in these few seconds—there's a chance that this whole return mission will turn out to be a failure despite his best efforts, and he's never going to get to say sorry to the poor man for dying when he promised him he'd get his book back. And yet, by some stroke of luck that he somewhat blames on whatever god is watching over him, the bullet whizzes just past him to bury itself deep within the wood of a tree to his left; though it hadn't physically hit him, the shot still reverberates through his entire body, manifesting itself as a physical flinch. Great Goddess. He's lived another attempt on his life. Silently, he thanks whoever is watching over him a second time.

The flinch slows him briefly as he basks in the accomplishment that his head is still firmly attached to his neck, but everything screams in him to keep moving. Adrenaline rushes through him, and though he should have probably collapsed long ago, the refusal of failure keeps him firmly on his feet. The absolute certainty that he will get away from these people pushes him on, and yet too much confidence can always lead to failure—which that's a bit of a problem for Lincoln, too, considering what he's about to do. After a while of panicked running, he doesn't hear footsteps, nor does he hear any more shouting, and with the apt thought that he's surely far ahead of his slow, gun-wielding chasers, wide blue eyes make the mistake of glancing backward over his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the people tailing him. And hey, good news! As he'd thought, they're far behind him—not even visible anymore, actually. They've probably given up on chasing a young man who has a hell of a lot of stamina to keep up with, and to the assumption of his victory, Lincoln feels a need to stop and rest so that his heart doesn't explode. However, his luck has apparently suddenly fallen flat, because the moment he finally slows to a stop to catch his breath, it's then when he steps on his ankle wrong. And, considering he hadn't been looking where he'd been going, he happens to do this right at the edge of a cliff. He wants to curse whatever goddess is above in that moment. He wants to curse her and everything she stands for—he doesn't, because she's saved his ass multiple times, probably, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he wants to. And that's because now he finds that he's no longer running—he's falling. Off the cliff. Which is... Not ideal. A sharp yell rips itself from his lips as he suddenly hits ground a few feet down, and a burning pain shoots up his right wrist, but he bites back the desire to scream like some kind of damsel in distress. And then he keeps rolling, hitting pretty much every single rock on the way down, until finally his body is burning and he can't think straight anymore. As one last blow to his confidence, the last rock he runs into slams right into his head, and with that, he's out like a light, coming to a very pathetic, almost laughable stop.

What a success, eh?

— OOC NOTE: this is a casual character (like all of them) that i won't rp often unless i feel like it, lmao. don't feel the need to match muse! you can powerplay medical and nonviolent actions, and he's currently passed out at the foot of one of the mountains the forest. he's got a lot of bruises and cuts, but nothing too bad aside from a broken wrist on his right hand. feel free to nickname him link, that's the point of his name whoops

[JOSIE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]To be honest, Jo hasn't had many horrific moments in life where she could blame poor decision-making skills. To be more honest, she actually hasn't had that many horrific moments at all. The lowest points involved the deaths of the animals she cared for, but she had learned rather quickly that that was simply the way of things. Old animals could no longer support themselves, or the feral dogs caught them because they needed to eat too. Life was a constant circle of what needed to be done, at least until humans were introduced to the equation. She had found nothing else in her admittedly small world that could act the way humans do — for enjoyment, revenge, or morality. The tiger has no concept of right and wrong, and as such could not be good or evil. But humans do, and she's struggling with the idea that there are some out there whose morals aren't right. The Group of Captors, they'd been called. Kidnapping innocent people, taking them. Now there are these raiders chasing Lincoln, and even if she's not going to see them face to face, she has to wonder. What about the blackout made people do this? It's not something she really wants to know.

These are the kinds of thoughts she leaves in the snow as she walks. The wind bites and she'd much prefer some company, but lately it feels as if she's been... Stuck. Not in Flintlock, not with the people here. Just within her own mind. The young woman chews at the inside of her lip with a thoughtful expression, and any attempts to pay more attention to her own footsteps than the thoughts in her head quickly failed. It's lonely out here when she doesn't even have a dog with her, and Jo doesn't know where she's going. But she goes, and before long she realizes that the farther she walks, the less cold she feels. And the less comfortable she feels with the height. Her fingers are still numb and her cheeks are a rosy red, and there's not as much snow on the ground. Eventually she begins to pay a little more attention to her surroundings, and this — this was similar to the area that she and Ellie had passed through on their way to Flintlock the first time. At the realization, Jo immediately stops walking.

Frozen in place, with her hair falling in wisps around her face, it takes a second for Flintlock's director to really realize what she was seeing. She clumsily brushes loose strands from her face with mittened fingers, heart jumping a little at the sight in front of her. "Hey," she breathes, and then a little louder — "Hey?" There's no movement, and she's not sure if she expected it or not. She pushes herself into a jog for the last few steps and falls to her knees, tugging off her mittens to skim her fingers over what skin she can reach. It looks as if he'd hit his head on something, which wasn't surprising if he was knocked out. It just meant that he had to wake up soon, so she gently reaches out to shake him as she shifts him away from the stupid rock. "Can you hear me?"

/ your muse is too good grea

[LINCOLN L.]

[align=center][div style="background:transparent; width: 600px; text-align: justify; color: black; font-size:12px; line-height: 100%"]Lincoln isn't terrible at making decisions, for the most part. He has flaws—flaws concerning his way of acting, his way of doing things—and that's pretty clear to anyone who meets him, but he's certainly no moron who doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't get thrown into bad situations just because he was stupid about it. He gets thrown into bad situations ultimately because he's set on helping each and every person he comes across, and though he makes a few mistakes here and there, he does try his best to be smart about things as to not fail at the tasks given to him. It's just... Well, he's a teenager, to put it simply. He's not lived as much life as a wise adult has, and he's prone to making mistakes, because he's still learning. He may play the hero, but the truth is, he's still vulnerable. He's been through many horrific situations that have made him stronger, but he's nowhere near the perfect warrior yet. What he is, though, is stubborn. Lincoln is set on only doing the right thing no matter how many times he fails, and if he has to throw himself into a dangerous camp of immoral gun-wielding bandits to save a book for some random old man, that's what he's going to do. Alas, as stated before, he's failed at his little excursion, because now he rests at the bottom of the cliff he'd fallen off of, injured and unconscious in the middle of freezing snow. As some stroke of lingering luck (which he'd previously thought had left him), this had been the mountain base that he'd hidden his weapons at, so thankfully his sword, shield, bow, and arrows lie under a small tree nearby. When he wakes up, they'll be there for him, which is quite useful, because he's going to need those—they're all he's got to defend himself. First he needs to regain consciousness, though. His weapons are useless without a master to use them, after all.

"Hey. Hey? Can you hear me?"

...Well, getting help doesn't take very long at all. An unfamiliar hand shakes him and moves him away from the rock that had knocked him out cold, and when Lincoln stirs slightly and cracks opens his eyes, the first thing he does is let out a low, hoarse groan in response. Everything hurts, especially his wrist. He struggles to remember what just happened through the fogginess in his head, and his eyes blearily focus onto the woman in front of him to try and remember if he's ever seen her or not. He doesn't think he has, but she seems as if she's worried, so he's not all that wary of her. She's not a threat. Not now, at least. "Ugh," Lincoln huffs quietly under his breath as he lifts himself up into a sitting position without asking for any help, cradling his right wrist to his chest, though he releases a brief hiss of pain from the pain of moving it. Goddess, it hurts, but he needs to address this person, because she seems as if she cares that he's injured, and he doesn't want to leave her waiting. "I'm alright," the blonde-haired teenager murmurs after a few seconds, and then he looks to the left and right, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes in his surroundings. Right, he remembers this place. He remembers that this is where he'd hidden his weapons.

Blue eyes briefly focus on the small tree, and he's glad to see the shining tip of a blade sticking out from under one of the roots—everything's right where he'd left it. His wrist really hurts, though, and with a swallow, he looks back up to Josie, a deep breath leaving his nose in a plume of white. Out of instinct, he looks her over immediately, looking for any sign of malice in her body language or her expression, but honestly, be doesn't see anything. If he had, though, he'd be in trouble, because how can he use a sword or a bow without the use of his dominant hand? One more wary glance is cast toward Josie, and then he furrows his thick eyebrows to shadow his eyes, looking down at his wrist so he can assess its damage. "Is there a medic nearby?" he then asks quietly, already lifting himself to his feet despite the pain his body is in, what with all the cuts and bruises and blood left in the snow. He only loses his balance for a second the moment he's on his feet before he quickly shakes away the fuzziness in his head. He then makes his way toward his weapons, kneeling to gather them with his good arm without another word. That's all he really needed to say. He just needs a medic, and he's already said he's fine. There's nothing else to say to her.

[ i promise you my muse is actually terrible ]

[ELLIE]

[align=center]
[div style="text-align: justify; width:490px;font-size:9.2pt; line-height:1.4"]Ellie made it a point from a young age to orchestrate a careful plan before approaching an issue. She hadn't faced any dire situations wherein choices could determine whether she walked away, but insects -with other interests in astronomy and botany- were her life, and botching any of her research or her experiments would have strongly rebelled against her composure and peace of mind. She wasn't certain if it was some kind of inherited trait among the Cross family to proceed meticulously with everything, but it was certainly how she went about making decisions for herself, regardless of what they involved. Even coming to Flintlock hadn't necessarily been spontaneous- the only part of her recent life that wasn't what she had planned was meeting Jo, because running into someone in pursuit of a butterfly wasn't the kind of scheming Ellie got up to. People weren't her strong suit, after all, which was something she and Jo seemed to have in common, and that was one of the first tethers between them. Jo didn't mind so much having to listen to Ellie's rambling, and Ellie nurtured a gentle kind of affection for her that had Ellie wondering if maybe she should be a bit more spontaneous if it meant such outcomes. She probably wouldn't considering she was content with her place now, but it was something to consider. In the meantime, there were plenty of other matters that required her attention.

This appeared to be one of them.

Originally, Ellie only approached because of Jo, but when she soon discovered what had Jo's attention, her walk, while not quite swift, was brisker than it was. The stranger she was with looked worse for wear, though he was making his way to his feet, which was something. It meant he wasn't dead, at least- Ellie was no expert on human anatomy, only insects'. They had the right idea evolving an exoskeleton. Standing at Jo's back with enough room left for the woman to stand back up, Ellie folded her hands behind her back and raised an eyebrow into the edge of her cap. "We probably have someone back at the lodge, if you think you can walk that far. Were you heading anywhere specific before your...accident?" They could point him in whatever direction once they took him back for an examination, and maybe after he ate something.