February 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

FEBRUARY 2025 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.

PROMPT TWO — WINTER'S BITE: Tales of superstition from the Northern Territories appear to come to light in the form of fearsome creatures made of ice and bone.

PROMPT THREE — FROZEN HEARTS: A strange, new affliction causes Interlopers to find themselves figuratively and literally turning to ice, and there's only one way of saving them.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Start of the month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.

Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

The daylight is thin. Hours are few. It will get dark soon.

You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.

You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.

Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“They come again. I had thought we may not see more of you.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

WINTER'S BITE

WHEN: The Month of February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; magical beings; potential cold injuries; potential cuts/bleeding

Amongst the original inhabitants to the Northern Territories, superstition and folk tales were much more prominent — stemming from a mix of superstitions that settlers brought with them to the area and those beliefs of people native to Northern Territories. Some are familiar to Interlopers, others may be less so.

Much of this is now lost, with the population of Milton dead or gone, but some writings can be found in the town. Some wrote of their superstitions in regards to the changing weather and wildlife in personal journals in the lead up to what is known as The Flare, which may still be found in the empty homes uninhabited by Interlopers. Some note feeling as if 'the souls of the animals are angered somehow' or that the changes to the Aurora may be as if 'the afterlife comes too close to the world'.

Maybe they had a point, maybe they were on to something. It’s hard to really say for sure.

Whether it’s magic, some supernatural cause, or something caused by the Aurora, there’s a strange shifting in snow that blankets the Northern Territories. Throughout the month, angry chittering and clacking — like glass or bones — can be heard out in the wilds. Out of the corner of one’s eye, they may see the snow move of its own accord — with confronting it leading to nothing, and stillness.

For a time.

Until whatever it is finally strikes.

Out from the snow, spectral creatures comprised of ice and animal bone spring forwards — jittering and clunky in their movements. Long bodies that twist and dance in the air, all sharp teeth and even sharper ice. Is it a kind of animal? Or spirit? Some mix of both? An angered spirit of nature or some long dead animal? It’s hard to tell for sure.

Despite their clunky movements, their bodies rolling and jaws chattering, these strange spectral creatures are fast and they’ll strike hard — looking to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting and unprepared Interlopers. Even just brushing against one of these strange creatures can lead to some nasty lacerations if they knock themselves hard enough against you. What’s maybe worse than the lacerations themselves is the wounds will burn with their chill, colder than anything you’ve ever felt.

But being made out of bone and ice means they are also just that. Blunt force may just be enough to end up shattering the bodies of these creatures, sending their remains flying. Be careful, though. Those shards are still just as sharp and will become flying projectiles which could cause further injury to Interlopers.

Alternatively, a way to battle back these ice creatures would be through the use of flame. Fire, torches, Interlopers with the Lightbringer Feat would prove vital in getting rid of these creatures long enough to get to safety.

Fleeing is also an option. The creatures will attempt to chase for a time, but will soon give up and end up returning to the snow once more.

FROZEN HEARTS

WHEN: The Month of February, into March.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; body horror; characters turning to ice; potential character death.

The cold is a persistent thing in the Northern Territories. Even during the summer months, it doesn’t seem to get warm all that much. But the winter is a different kind of beast, and the cold seems to sink into your very bones.

It starts with a kind of cold that you find it hard to get warm, no matter how long you spend by the fire. In time, it feels like that cold has started freezing your body up: your joints feel stiff and sore. Moving around is a chore, even for the simplest of tasks like walking or sitting down. In time, it gets into the smaller joints: fine motor skills become tricky. You drop things, fail to grip on to items, struggle to close your hands into fists. Even talking can be a bit of a struggle, like you’re slowly getting lockjaw.

With that, it’s not surprising that your mood will dip. Sour moods, and even icy manners aren't out of the ordinary. It’s easy to be miserable when you’re so damn cold and you’re struggling to move and speak. It is so easy to find yourself with lowered spirits, to be irritable and closed off from your fellow Interlopers.

It feels as if nothing might warm you, physically or emotionally.

You find yourself being cold towards others, even those you care about most, your closest companions in this world. You may snap at them, or continually brush them off. You find yourself with little patience for them, and are often unmoved by their attempts to bring you some good cheer.

And certainly, what isn’t out of the ordinary is the strange affliction that plagues your skin. It isn’t frostbite, that you know of. Your skin doesn’t turn red, then white then black. No, it turns blue, frosted with white. Your skin looks less like skin and more like stone….. Or, rather, ice.

It starts in the fingers and toes, and will slowly work its way up your limbs, working its way towards your center. Even your hair may start to freeze. As it progresses, you find it harder to move. In enough time, you may find yourself completely frozen on the spot, and in time, unable to even speak as the ice slowly encloses around you.

If something isn’t done quickly enough, you may find yourself completely turning to ice and being trapped as nothing more than a statue.

Hope isn’t lost, though. They say in stories there’s such things that might save some terrible affliction such as this: An act of true love.

This cold isn’t beaten back by flames, but a different kind of warmth.

But what is true love?

It might just be enough to reverse the effects and undo this terrible affliction before it’s too late, to let the ice slowly melt back again and restore you to what you once were.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.

2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.

3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.

4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

WINTER'S BITE

1. Digging in the snow where the creatures have returned will prove fruitless, Interlopers will not even find bones.

2. The creatures can spring on Interlopers in groups of up to three.

FROZEN HEARTS

1. The notion of true love is open to interpretation. Platonic love, familial love, romantic love could be deemed as acts of true love. Perhaps even the genuine compassion of a fellow Interloper could be seen as true love.

2. An act of showing true love is very flexible! It could be a kiss, a hug, shedding tears for the afflicted, some desperate attempt of helping the afflicted from freezing. Players are encouraged to play around with what this might entail!

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

Bruce Wayne | DCEU

[shoving]

Arrival

[ When Bruce wakes up, he's face down in the snow. The force that's brought him was, at the very least, kind enough to take him while he wore an expensive, tailored coat. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold - but it does enough that Bruce doesn't shiver too badly.

But it takes moments for him to orient himself, because seconds ago, he'd been at home. Seconds ago, he'd been in an elevator descending into the heart of the earth where his beats its strongest. And now, he's an interloper, laid out in the snow. He doesn't belong here.

Well, no shit.

Moments is only the amount of time he allows himself because he cannot stay still. It's freezing and he will freeze too if he doesn't find warmth soon. But in the vast, wilderness, all he sees is snow.

Thankfully, he finds a trail in the snow drift and it leads him away from the yawning emptiness. And with the hopes of a town of some kind at the end of it, it spurs Bruce on to find it. ]


METHUSELAH'S FEAST

[ Bruce isn't sure what he expected, but Milton was not it. He doesn't comment on it. Not to the kindly, wizened man who greets him at the community hall, nor to anyone else who might approach him while he soaks in the warmth of the room.

Inside, he ignores the food and drink, puts himself out of the way in a corner where he cannot be immediately observed. The fire's warm enough. He'd dry out soon, even though his clothes are very damp from the melting snow. He could already feel his fingers again. And right now, he just wanted to gain his bearings. ]

Wildcard

[ Hit me with your prompt. Or if you want to plot, you can reach me at tapsters ]

arrival

[brushoff]

[ Unfortunately, Bruce doesn't find a town just yet. Instead, he finds a young-looking man, someone who appears to be in his twenties, with floppy black hair and pale skin. The man, Dorian, has a British accent and is completely decked out in designer clothes.

To nobody's surprise, Versace kind of sucks when you're trapped in a frozen wintery hellscape. He eyes Bruce's coat for a moment, as if he's debating pushing the man down and just taking it himself, but Dorian soon settles on a different avenue: complaining. ]

Finally. I was worried I was the only one out here. You must have come from a town, a city, something like that, right? Where is it?

[ His teeth chatter as he keeps talking. Somebody is having a very bad day. ]

[shoving]

[ When it's quiet like this, it's easy to pick out the sounds that aren't just ambient noises. He can hear the crunch of the snow under his shiny black shoes. He can hear the quiet whistle of the wind in his ears and it makes him pull up his collar to give them as much cover as possible.

And he can hear the steps of someone approaching him. He glances in the direction of the new footsteps and sets his eyes on Dorian. He can see the way the other man eyes his coat and while he's ready for a confrontation if it comes down to it (he's not going to just let this man steal his coat), he decides it's better not to escalate if he can help it. ]

Technically. But I don't think it's near here.

[ He sounds friendly enough and pulls the coat a little tighter as Dorian's teeth chatter. ]

It wasn't nearly this cold back home.

[brushoff]

Obviously, [ Dorian points out, with a roll of his eyes and a little frown. ] Neither of us are dressed for this.

[ He doesn't know this man. He doesn't know where he's from, what he was doing before here, things like that. But Dorian knows one thing for sure: he's not wearing a parka. Sure, he's moderately dressed for the temperatures. But the key word here is moderately. ]

Which opens up dozens of questions, all of which I'll focus on answering when we find that town and I can get warm.

[shoving]

Hey you asked if I came from a town. The answer is yes. Just not this one.

[ There's always some kind of precipitation in Gotham, so it is decidedly damp all the time. A coat - especially in the cooler months isn't very unusual. He would be warmer if he'd worn something other than these black Gucci loafers. ]

If we can find a road or trail, should lead us to a town. What's your name?

arrival wildcardish.

[reneger]

( it's getting closeish to a year, since jason woke up in the snow himself. his hood had been shattered, bright red against white and clearly visible while he tried to pull himself back together to figure out what the fuck had just happened and how he'd gotten here.

which means he's relatively comfortable with the aurora by now, and what their arrival may mean. it's part of why he's out in the snow, wandering around in the cold with a multitude of layers covering him - because jason hates the cold, because having a few extra coats on has come in handy several times, and because it makes kneeling in the snow just out of arms reach of a guy who is face-down in the snow significantly less cold and wet than it'd be otherwise. )

Wake up, sleepyhead. This is a real crappy place for a nap.

[shoving]

[ Bruce is awake and knows he's not alone. The voice doesn't sound like the one he heard before he came to be here. He sounds human, young. No discernible accent. He cannot fully judge how close the owner of the voice is, because for the moment, he is very much pretending to be out. There's no real strong sense of danger, so he turns his head to take in the stranger. Then he pushes himself up to his knees and finally up to standing. ]

You're telling me. My dry cleaner is going to have a fit.

[reneger]

( while one may be able to place a face along to a name, it's not just one's face that makes up their entire identity. it's everything. their voice, the shape of their nose, the way they talk, the nuances in their tone, their gait, everything. and jason's no batman, but he's not an idiot either. this guy moves, talks, and jason's working out the hows of why this guy feels so familiar before he even gets more than three syllables into his snark.

it doesn't take all that long. it's not an exact match, but he's close enough.

and jason - doesn't offer a hand. doesn't try and help bruce - or hell, thomas elliot if they're really having a shit time - up to his feet, just follows him up with his eyes before he's shoving both hands down against his thighs and pulling himself up to his feet on after him. )

Considering how goddamn wet Gotham is, I bet it's not anything he hasn't dealt with before.

[shoving]

[ Bruce is shaking the snow from his pants and out of his hair and off his shoulders when Jason says Gotham. Bruce is famous enough that he expects to be recognized. Maybe not way out here in the middle of nowhere, but his face's been on enough magazines that anyone could look at him and think 'he seems familiar.'

But it's not the fact that he's been recognized that gives him pause.

It's Jason's emphasis on Gotham, as if it's meant to communicate something other than 'I've seen you before.' The problem was, Bruce's already given this guy a once over and he has no idea who he is. It feels off. So while he is wary, he is not unfriendly. ]

You're right about that.

[ He notes Jason's layers. ]

You seem better prepared for this place than I am. Which way is the town?

Feast

[ployboy]

Tim is actually dying, on account of this headache that's quickly morphed into a reason to never get up from his bed again, but he'd heard the news of newcomers. And he'd been hungry (he guesses).

He can't hunt, not now. His success was abysmal to begin with and he's been beaten down by whatever fresh plague he's harboring this time. Tim hadn't even had the chance to scurry back to Lakeside after the storm; now Tim's half convinced he can't move at all, an acute and mournful pain in his body.

Tim Drake is in the Community Center and he is actually dying, on account of the monster that is history, and great expectations.

Because Bruce freaking Wayne is defrosting in the Hall.

Tim finishes his food in that pitiful way that's unmistakably forced. And then he's so out of there. Because he needs

to not hurl, maybe?

Everything hurts.

So it takes him a while; he grapples with life, the universe, and everything; he double checks his gun's on him; he glances at himself in a mirror for a sec as he bunches the things into weak arms- all Mr Midday Melodrama as he tells himself he's not doing this shit again he's not playing the game anymore.

B is still damp when Tim, having welcomed himself back into the big ongoing feast, holds out his loot to the sad soggy man.

Tim is cringing back a cough. Tim is a dirty liar. (Maybe?)

"Here."

He swallows- hard, otherwise he'll cough a lung out, again- and counts the effort of standing straight a blessing. Can't worry over faking a poker face if his photograph's decorating the dictionary's page on Dead Tired.

It's neat. It's cool. It's fine.

"These should fit you."

It's fine. In his arms is a hunting man's overcoat, previously worn by Bruce Wayne. Jeans previously worn by Bruce Wayne. Socks that seem clean enough. And Tim has a headache to blame for the exhausted frown that seems so permanent on his expression now. It's fine.

[shoving]

Bruce is pretty good at not being seen when he doesn't want to be. He's better at it in the suit, of course, but even as just Bruce Wayne, he can disappear into a corner and typically no one can find him unless he wants them to.

Or if they know how. Tim seems like he knows how.

Bruce sees him when he wolfs down his food. Sees him when escapes the Hall and thinks he seems a little odd. So when he reappears, Bruce makes a note of it. Just a few details he wants to remember if this kid turns out to be a problem. Tim's very deliberate approach feels off putting and it raises his defenses that much higher. Bruce isn't one to be rude while he's pretending to be normal about things; he looks at the bag then back at Tim and for a minute his brow furrows, like he's running Tim's face through a database in his brain. Did he know this kid? The kid knew him.

Or his size at least. He takes the bag and sets it aside.

"Thanks. Not sure how you knew my size though."

His way of saying 'who are you' without saying it. Maybe it'd cause a scene and Bruce didn't want more attention on him than necessary.

[ployboy]

It's that weird and uncomfortable position of not knowing whether this is a game again, a test (again), or if there's something so out there that it can't even register in Tim's mind. The scrutiny (suspicion, Tim corrects himself) is met by an unimpressed disbelief- like walking into the ballroom and finding out Mrs Haggerty's dress isn't zipped up to the top and he's supposed to pretend everything's in order.

The whole thing is stupid and Tim explains to this stupid man, "The other big guy in here has a horse. You have- what, Brioni?"

The other big guy (with a horse patiently waiting outside) had been in Milton already, right? So why the need the fill up in the dinner for newbies, unless-? Tim grunts.

Recognition, not realization, dawns. And some of that fight meant for himself and aimed at anyone but seeps out of him.

"So you," he drawls, "get the off-the-rack hand-me-downs in men's large."

There's the childish need to tell B that Tim had said no such thing about the goods being in his size, only that they would fit. Over explaining is dangerous. They both know this. Wincing with a friendly pang of his earache, Tim adds, "I didn't last six minutes in Givenchy when I got here and that was the wool blend. But if you're waiting for a tailored fit you're out of luck. Let me guess, you haven't had anything to eat either."

Tim thinks-- fuck it, this could be fun.

[shoving]

If it is a game, Bruce isn't entirely aware he's playing. He realizes there's something happening because everything Tim's done - his leaving and returning, his approach, handing Bruce the bag - has been very intentional. People recognize him. Some of them are confident enough to approach him, call him by his name, want to shake his hand. But it never feels as personal as this. It feels like familiarity and not just a passing recognition. And this is the second time it's happened. Bruce isn't sure how he feels about it and so he leaves it for something to think about later.

He knows Tim didn't say his size specifically. He'd hoped maybe it would catch him in a way that he'd reveal something Bruce could use to solve this mystery beyond 'this guy knows me.' He takes a moment to peek in the bag and already appreciates the socks nestled in there - his are soaked through. Gucci loafers are shit for walking in snow.

When Tim winces, it's easy to ignore his question in favor of one his own. "Are you alright? You should get that seen about."

Of course he hasn't eaten. The only thing he'd been certain of upon entering was this was a place called Milton. Everything else, he kept a respectable distance until his paranoia's satisfied that it's safe.

arrival

[littlestderolo]

[There is a town, out there in the snow. But first he finds something else. SomeONE else; a slip of a girl in a bloody blue dress with a pair of short swords (although, given how slight she is on her they look a lot less short) on her back looking a little younger than her thirteen years, her white-streaked dark curls falling wild over her shoulders, shivering in the cold as she trudges through the snow. Towards the path she’s spotted at last.

Until she sees someone else, of course, and goes still. Wary. He’s the first person she’s seen since her arrival here.]

Hello?

[She calls, in a voice laced with what sounds like a rather proper English accent. If England existed in Exandria.]

[shoving]

[ He sees her because the contrast is so stark. Blue and blood are always bound to stand out against white and the drab brown of the gnarled dead trees. The swords he spies next and now he must wonder if the blood on her dress is her own or someone else's.

He's careful in how he approaches so he doesn't startle her and so she can see that he is unarmed. ]

Hi there. I wasn't expecting to see anyone else all the way out here.

[littlestderolo]

[It’ll be easy enough for him to tell, probably, once he’s close enough, because she’s still bleeding a little from a wound on her neck (that, through the blood, looks like a bite if he looks close enough). That, and some of the blood splotches are slowly growing larger, slowly growing darker. Not quickly enough to be immediately pressing, but at some point she will need to patch herself up. (She just isn’t concerning herself with that until she’s survived the more immediate issue of the cold. And not being dressed for it.)

Cassandra notes how he’s careful in approaching her, how he’s making sure she can see he’s unarmed. And while she’s not quick to trust, anymore, it does earn him a few points in his favour. She offers him a little, lopsided smile that’s friendly enough considering their situation. Even if she is still wary.]

Neither was I. Thought I might be alone, here. Wherever here might be.

[Being alone would have been an improvement from where she had come from. What she had come from. If the Briarwoods aren’t here… I might be safe.]

[shoving]

[ It's hard to assess how badly she's injured without getting a good look at the wound, but Bruce isn't reassured by the growing splotches on her dress. He's not prepared for field medicine, considering he's been snatched in fine tailored threads, so getting her somewhere she can be stitched up is his priority.

It does make him feel better that she seems coherent and lucid. The blood loss must not be as urgent as it looks. ]

I'm looking for a road that might lead us to town. We can get that wound on your neck looked at.

[ He sheds his coat and offers it to her. There's a suit jacket underneath so he's not totally bare, but he does feel the chill a little more now. ]

Here, take this.

Feast

[thebuntking]

[Clark wasn't one to take on the anti-social approach like Bruce had. His clumsy act was only partially an act as he fumbled his way from the door to the fire. Not only was a little difficult to navigate the world without his powers, his chest felt a little tight as his gifted heart worked a harder than his old one had to get him around.

Either way he parks himself in front of the fire an immediately starts to rub his hands together before raising out toward the open flames.]

Phew- Oretty cold out there, huh?

[shoving]

[ For the second time tonight, Bruce has been seen when he did not want to be. He'd watched Clark's entrance into the Community Center and for a brief moment, there's a feeling of familiarity and he thinks it must be the glasses. When he moves closer Bruce shifts to accommodate the extra person. It's not unfriendly, but he isn't exactly welcoming either. ]

I'm used to cold winters. This one is something very different.

[thebuntking]

[Clark had a habit of showing up when he wasn't exactly wanted, but he felt it evened out by how often he was needed. He unfortunately doesn't quite have the same familiarity with Bruce, as he's only come across other heroes during a few world crossing events.

Either way he's happy to settle in when Bruce shifts over.]

It doesn't feel like the typical Kansas winter, that's for sure.

Where are you from?

[shoving]

[ It hits him as Clark sits down. Clark Kent, Daily Bugle. What's your position on the bat vigilante in Gotham? It seems odd that Clark doesn't seem to recognize him, considering he'd spent part of Luthor's party trying to interrogate him over the Batman.

But then he thinks about Tim and he thinks maybe this Clark isn't the same one. Only one way to find out. ]

Me? Oh I'm from Jersey.

[ No need to be specific now. Clark wasn't. ]

methuselah's feast

[bigbaddy]

[ There's something familiar about this, Bigby thinks.

But he can't place it. Not right away. Maybe, he figures, it just feels familiar because it's something he might have done, if he had been first arriving in this place by now. Just standing there. Not talking to people. Not even having any of the food. (Didn't he meet someone, only a little while ago, who had been doing the same?

.. he isn't sure he remembers. It's been a hectic while.)

Bigby loses track of the other, considering the spot Bruce has picked for himself. It's only after a long while - and Bigby getting up to grab some more food - that he manages to finally spot the other again, realizing Bruce must have stood there this entire time.

Weird.

Weird enough for Bigby to approach the other, asking: ]

You're not hungry?

[shoving]

[ Bigby catches Bruce's attention the second he lays eyes on the other man. There's nothing particularly off about him that Bruce can see. But he's done this long enough to trust his suspicions and listen to his instincts. Or he's just paranoid. Alfred would tell him he was paranoid. Either way, Bruce is intrigued when Bigby looks in his direction the first time.

The second time, Bruce thinks Alfred would be wrong and briefly laments his friend isn't here for him to say 'I told you so' to.

As Bigby approaches, Bruce puts his hands away in his pockets. They're still a little damp on the inside. He really should change into the clothes Tim brought him. ]

Big lunch. Maybe later.

[bigbaddy]

[ The 'big lunch' comment definitely gets a raised eyebrow from Bigby, but thankfully(?) he doesn't seem to actually comment on it out loud otherwise. ]

Well, you might want to make sure to at least get some. I don't know how much people told you about this place, but we're not exactly getting a buffet like this all the time. [ And that's putting it mildly, Bigby thinks. He hasn't forgotten the months where it definitely seemed like food was getting more and more scarce..

And though there could be other reasons for it, he can't help but wonder if maybe this guy is just standing there and doing nothing because he hasn't realized the full extent of the situation he's found himself in just yet. ]

You have to be prepared to survive in this place.

[shoving]

[ Bigby's insistence is noted. Bruce glances at him then back to the people gathered. ]

I'm aware. Thanks.

[ A moment's silence and then: ]

You do this with all the newcomers or am I just lucky?