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methuselah ([personal profile] singmod) wrote in [community profile] singillppl2025-02-05 07:03 pm
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February 2025 Test Drive Meme

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!

kidproof: (pic#16337160)

joel miller | hbo tlou

[personal profile] kidproof 2025-02-05 08:03 pm (UTC)(link)
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

A:
[ When Joel comes to in the snow it's with an irritated wince and a pained exhale to follow. His eyes roll into his skull, as he weighs the possibilities of this being a bad dream, instead of his unfortunate reality. The bitterness of the ice seeps into every skin cell and with a grunt he gets back onto his haunches and dusts the snow off of his coat.

He knows where he is. He remembers, and he scans the horizon looking for the plume of smoke, but visibility is low and snow is still following so instead he treks pulling his lip up between his bottom teeth to whistle. ]


Where is that goddamned horse?


B:
[ The thing about showing up to a party you don't want to be at is that no amount of pageantry can take the intensity out of your shoulders but a crackling fire and some meat were what he needed instead of a stiff drink and with the snow melting through his hair dripping in rivulets onto his canvas coat he slams his bowl of stew down on the least occupied table and pushes his spoon through the mash with an irritated look aimed Methusalah's way. It might not be his fucking fault, but it sure felt like it.

Unfortunately for his tablemates, he's not immune to their glances either. ]


What?


WINTER'S BITE

[ There's a first time for everything and with a lantern in hand, Joel has Callus, finally, and is on his way back to see if the farmhouse he'd once claimed for himself was still available to house him when an animal skitters by out of eyeliner and spooks Callus who takes off running through the powdery snow, no doubt in pursuit of the barn he used to stay in.

Joel goes flying, hits the ground hard enough to make his ribs ache and the lantern falls a few feet from him and promptly goes out. ]


Shit!

[ Joel grapples with the snow, as the skeletal wolf starts circling and what he can make out isn't tangible enough to avoid as it lopes and snaps in his direction. ]


WILDCARD: CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

[ Feel free to include your own hot-take on any of the above prompts, as well as to write your own. I'm also open to frozen hearts but chose the bitey meaner prompt instead because I'm awful. So, the world is your oyster get shucking. I can be found on plurk at [plurk.com profile] doggos and Discord newdlle on discord. Happy to be back now that my life's leveled out some. I love this bar. ]
Edited 2025-02-05 20:09 (UTC)
kidproof: (Default)

[personal profile] kidproof 2025-02-05 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)
for returning characters would they still have their feat? and how hazy would the memories be? like a vague dream or twisted nightmare or somewhere between waking and dreaming deja vu style?

also, ilu

have bird


nicehobbit: (→76)

Frodo Baggins // Lord of the Rings

[personal profile] nicehobbit 2025-02-05 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
METHUSELA'S FEAST

A. Arrival


[ Frodo is soaking wet.

This would be bad enough if he was still where he's supposed to be, with the bugs and the humidity of the marshes. Here, it is absolutely miserable. The wind wastes no time biting into him, his first breath a pained gasp as he struggles up onto his hands and knees.

For a moment before the lights and the darkness, there was a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. Sam's hand, he's certain. But it's not there anymore.

Obviously, the first wrong thing he noticed was the snow and the cold. The second was the lack of that hand. The third is that his neck doesn't feel heavy. The coldness is less important as panic grips him, and he lifts a snow-covered hand to search for the chain, and the ring, and is utterly confused when he finds it. And relieved. And concerned.

All of this is so, so wrong.

He turns over, looking this way and that, and feels his heart sink as he sees nothing but white. ]


Sam? Gollum?

[ No answer, of course.

A violent shiver alerts him to the current most pressing danger. He needs to get out of this cold. Immediately. Getting up is a struggle, because his clothes are heavy, his pack is heavy, and all his body wants to do is curl up into a ball and pretend none of this is happening. ]


B. The feast

[ The smartest thing to do would be to remove all of these wet clothes and let this dry blanket heat him up. But Frodo doesn't feel safe, and so he leaves his trousers and shirt on, takes the blanket from Methusela with a grateful smile and a thanks with a voice that shakes from the cold that's burrowed into his marrow, and wraps it around himself. The heat from the fire is starting to do its work - his skin pricks painfully to let him know - but it will take a very long time until he feels warm, he knows it. The dark curls on his head that for a while were looking more white with ice are starting to look right again.

Despite the cold and the exhaustion settling into his body, he feels ... good? Better than he's had in so long. Like he could sleep soon and it might actually be a pleasant sleep. At least, it would be if he didn't have many things to worry about.

Nothing to do about it now. He needs to warm up and dry up before he can go anywhere and work out what to do now. Which means he can't allow himself to wonder what will happen with the ring, with Sam and Gollum, with-- Can't allow himself.

It has been so long since he's had food other than lembas. He breathes in the smell of food and he can feel his mouth watering with an appetite he also hasn't had for equally as long as they've been eating nothing but lembas. Possibly longer. So he takes two corners of the blanket and a bowl in one hand, and goes to fill it with stew with his other hand. When in doubt, eat.

He's not really looking to be social, but he will smile at anyone who happens to meet his eyes. ]


WINTER'S BITE

[ After speaking with others, Frodo doesn't feel much hope for getting out of here anytime soon. But that doesn't mean he should just be sitting around. Sitting around means more time to think, and it also guarantees nothing much will happen. He makes his way back to the place where he thinks he arrived, though he's not sure what exactly he hopes to find. Maybe at the very least a frozen pond. It seems like it would make more sense to somehow travel from one body of water or another.

But he's probably just telling himself that.

Digging in the snow for a while doesn't lead anywhere, unsurprisingly. Instead, as he straightens, he tries to work out where that noise is coming from. The chittering. He squints into the distance, trying to see-- Is the snow moving?

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand, and he feels anxious restlessness spreading through his body. He turns around immediately, because he cannot afford any risks when he's out here all alone and it's not the first time he hears these noises.

It's a good idea, but he decided on it too late. He sees the thing in the corner of his eye as it lunges at him, and he immediately starts to run. Or, rather, he tries to run. He manages to avoid the bite himself, but it catches his cloak instead, and he makes a startled noise as the thing yanks him back. ]


WILDCARD

[ Your usual wildcard option. Feel free to approach him wherever because SHORT. I can be found at [plurk.com profile] Tossino and tossino on Discord! ]
imperatour: (132)

furiosa | mad max

[personal profile] imperatour 2025-02-05 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[ general content warnings about mad max canon/furiosa's history are here. particularly apparent will be evidence of a traumatic injury resulting in limb loss and possibly some internal reference to the apocalyptic setting she comes from. despite the topics, the canon is actually more about hope and human resilience, and i'm always happy to edit or pivot based on ooc comfort. don't be afraid to reach out! ]

001. feasting
[ There are a few things that should be immediately apparent about this woman who's stumbled in from the cold. First among them is that she's missing part of her arm, her left forearm blunted just past her elbow. It's an old wound with an ugly, gnarled scar, the opposite of what you'd might expect from a neat and tidy surgery.

The second is that she has no manners. She bursts through the door like a dangerous squall. She gulps hot tea like she's been deprived of water for days. Her teeth tear at charred meat with remarkable desperation and hunger. She tucks a bowl of stew up against her side with her shortened arm so she can scoop every last droplet with her fingers and suck them clean. She does this without regard of any odd stares or whispers.

She does not really talk either, the occasional grunt should not be confused for intentional communication. She will however menace at anyone who looks at her for too long, not unlike a dog growling at a hand reaching for its bowl. ]
002. wounded
[ Furiosa does not linger at the feast. Too many people and too many unknowns, but must important the open wound in her side aches more with every second. She's not sure if it's from gorging herself at the feast, a bloated stomach not used to ever being full pressing on it from the inside, or if the adrenaline from her mad man's high-octane blood transfusion is rapidly subsiding and she can't stand upright without a little more chemical assistance. Her skin pales, sweat beading on her face despite the brutally cold temperatures.

She retreats to the first abandoned cabin she can find, using the last of her strength to force open a lock and slamming it shut behind her. She hurries to the bathroom, too preoccupied to take notice if anyone has followed her. The edges of her vision start to tunnel again, black around the edges. Hurriedly, she unhooks the belts around her waist and hips, hands shaky, woozy and feverish. They fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Her shirt is sticky with blood underneath. She winces when she peels up the hem, hissing as open skin hits the air.

What's that noise? Did someone come in? Her head turns like a swivel, eyes sharp and narrowed with a defensive, animal instinct. ]

003. hunting
[ No scrubs allowed. Even armless, Furiosa doesn't let herself sit around waiting but instead makes opportunities for herself. While this place may not have deigned to give her her prosthetic, at least she came with a comically above average amount of leather belts. She's rigged up sling for a hunting rifle, something that makes it more adaptive and manageable with only one hand. She's been practicing her draw with squirrels and rabbits nearby the small cabin she's taken for herself on the periphery of everyone else.

The cold and the dark still formidable opponents all on their own, but she doesn't let that stop her from venturing out into the edge of the woods in search of bigger game. There's a buck she's spotted a few times, and she's scouting for him. Her footsteps are light, but she's slow underneath all the layers to protect against the cold (and despite those, she still has to spend hours by the fire to warm up her bones). The snow is a new environment, but she takes careful steps to limit the sound of her bootfalls.

Maybe not everyone is though. She hears a loud crack from behind her, the undeniable sound of a careless foot over fallen sticks. Her buck's head shoots up from the brush as it bolts deeper into the forest.

She grunts and turns to whoever spoiled her hunt. ]


Now you owe me dinner.
004. wildcard
[ feel free to throw something else at me! tall, intimidating woman with 1.5 arms who clearly isn't used to the cold. if you want to plan something, you can dm me here or hit me up [plurk.com profile] beehaw ]

Winter's Bite

[personal profile] load_aim_shoot 2025-02-06 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
Raju’s been tracking that chittering noise. He shouldn’t be — if he did anything but avoid this newest bizarre thing, even not knowing yet what the noise is coming from or whether it’s dangerous, Francis would worry — but Raju needs to know where it is if he’s going to avoid it, doesn’t he? And if the odd noise and oddly moving snow does happen to be something dangerous, maybe it won’t be such a bad thing to do something properly exciting, for a change. And Francis doesn’t have to know Raju was tracking it on purpose.

The sound of footsteps hurrying over snow and the startled noise is no scream, but along with the more unnatural sounds that preceded it it’s easy to forget what he’d been thinking before and run into the little clearing. And see—

The moving snow is something made of a hundred little pieces jittering in the air, hung loosely together in the shape of something long and living, with a stranger’s cloak caught in floating shards of teeth. Raju skids to a stop, eyes widening. The only skin he’s left exposed to the cold is the tips of the fingers holding his knife the slivers the scarf can’t cover around his eyes, but that’s enough to tell him — if he needed it — that the wind’s moving in the wrong direction to make the snow move that way. There’s not a hint of anything explicable or natural here. He’d thought he was past expecting there to be.

No time to think about it. Raju darts forward, the blade of the knife catching fire as he slashes it down toward where the creature’s snout should be. At times like this, Raju’s control over the ‘gift’ — the feat — of the fire is better than it ever is when he’s at rest, but the fire on the blade may still be large enough or hot enough to burn the man’s cloak, too. Raju’s more focused on driving the creature away from him than keeping his things neat.
Edited (ack, forgot to match your brackets, I'll do brackets on my next reply) 2025-02-06 01:26 (UTC)
pursuitspecial: (pic#17620352)

(002.) https://i.imgflip.com/1wjkrz.jpg?a482904

[personal profile] pursuitspecial 2025-02-06 03:36 am (UTC)(link)
[ In the middle of the woods, amidst a sea of endless trees and snow and rocks, a man moves slowly and quietly, testing each footstep before leaning his weight onto it, a cat stalking prey so as not to be heard.

Max's entire system is in overdrive. Even with a blanket of snow to cover movement, everything is so loud. Branches snap underfoot, rocks become dislodged, animals cry out into the pitch darkness. Animals. He can't remember the last time he heard something living that didn't walk on two legs.

Something heightens in him, senses sharpening as adrenaline continues to flood his system. Keep going, keep moving. Live. The litany he tells himself, his own voice carrying in his mind, to try and drown out the harsh whispers that come from the pockets of space around his head.

Left them behind again, didn't you?

Didn't you?


Max exhales hard through his nose, the white puff of breath piercing the cold air to interrupt the rising threat of voices. Then they all but disappear when the sound of crunching snow filters through the frost.

He stills, letting the sound resonate into steps with a decidedly human-like gait. And then, under the dim light of the stars and moon, he catches it: the silhouette of someone he knows. A head and shoulders that drip something into the pit of his gut. The silhouette passes him, seemingly unaware of anyone or anything else, and heads for a darkened cabin.

Heart hammering in his chest, Max barrels through every other instinct and follows.

The cabin's dark and empty, save its new resident. Max takes notice of the handle and door jamb, wood splintered where the door's been forced open. He should be careful. And he is up until he finds unmistakable leather belts on the floor, rounding the corner to face someone Max has more than just one reason to believe he'd never see again.

Chest seizing with shallow breaths, his mouth falls open as if to say something, but it's a second before the words come out, breathless. ]


It's you.

[ Furiosa. And then the other information filters in. Her posture, the dewy sweat on her brow, despite the cold. The blood.

He rushes forward, a hand around her waist and the other held out for her arm to lean on, to steady herself on him. He knows the wound - it's his. Holding firm, Max guides Furiosa to sit on the edge of the bathtub, kneeling beside her with a hand on her side like a question, a palm light over her ribcage, above the wound. His voice is soft when he asks: ]
Let me see.
stevieboy: (119)

Steve Harrington | Stranger Things

[personal profile] stevieboy 2025-02-06 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
arrival.
[ When Steve dove into the lake to find a portal to the Upside Down, he expected to find ... Well. The Upside Down. Being dragged in and coming up in a snowdrift wasn't even on his radar.

And, hell, maybe this is the Upside Down. He isn't an expert on this shit. He doesn't even want to acknowledge this shit exists, but he can't seem to escape it. And if it's not one thing, then it really is another, isn't it?

He can't really think about that right now, because he's here in the snow without a shirt or shoes, and it's really fucking cold.

Jesus Christ, he's going to die like this, isn't he?

Luckily, Steve Harrington is stubborn, so he does the sensible thing and that's push forward. He trudges through the snow, eyes set on the smattering of buildings he sees up ahead. He can totally make it. Right?
]

feast.
[ Somehow Steve made it to the community hall. He doesn't really remember the last bit of it, pretty much blacked out from the bone-chilling cold. He immediately found himself a blanket to wrap himself up in, and he's set himself up by a fire to warm his cold and bare feet. Even with the fire, the blanket, and the tea he's drinking, Steve can't stop shivering. The cold doesn't seem to want to seep out of him, but the vaguely blue tint that's come to his lips is slowly fading at least.

He still gives a nod in greeting to whoever might come by, and he'll even move over to make space if someone wants to be close to the warmth of the flames, too. Once he feels like his limbs can move again, he decides to go scope out the food, figuring warming himself up from the inside isn't a bad idea.
]

winter's bite.
Jesus Christ -

[ No, this isn't the Upside Down (maybe), but apparently that doesn't stop weird creepy things from trying to kill you for no reason. But, hey, Steve's faced worse, right? Or at least he's faced something equally screwed up and terrifying, and what he's learned it Hit Things.

By now he's found a house to hang out in, and whoever lived there liked to snowshoe, which gives Steve a reasonable enough whacking device.
]

Hey, look out!

[ He smashed the flat side of the snow shoe into one of the icy bone bags, sending the shards dangerously close to himself and whatever interloper he's helping out. ]

We need to get inside.

satanicpanics: (pic#15853997)

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things

[personal profile] satanicpanics 2025-02-06 03:48 am (UTC)(link)
🦇 Methuselah’s Feast

A.

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

Ah, there it is. Awfully familiar words that Eddie recognizes he’s heard before. He’s experienced every step of this song and dance before, actually, and he heaves a deep sigh as he awakens to the cold, damp cabin, harboring the same aches and pains as when he’d disappeared from Milton months back. At least he isn’t bleeding out onto the floor the time, but he is without his jacket.

Swearing, he forces himself to his feet and shuffles over to peek into the closet in hopes of finding something, but this cabin has been long since ransacked. There aren’t even any sheets left on the bed. That’s fine, he tells himself. This time, he knows the way back to Milton, and he knows it isn’t far.

So that’s what he does. Unprotected for the elements, he trudges his way through the snow, and it’s not a fun walk. Eddie has never been particularly light on his feet to begin with, and he’s shivering so intensely, it feels like his teeth might rattle out of his skull, but he makes it. He waves away Methuselah’s welcome speech—again, he’s heard it before, and he barrels into the warmth of the community hall. He makes a beeline for the familiar leather jacket laid out on a table, pulls it on, then throws his arms out, a grin on his face.
]

A bit of a belated encore, I know, but uh…who’s keeping track? What did I miss?

B.

[ Cold and aching though he may be, Eddie never stumbles far from being Eddie. He forces himself though two bowls of Methuselah’s stew, though he eyes the old man with a glare of mistrust as he does. When he’s through, he makes his rounds to the different tables, inviting himself to sit, and asking: ]

Hey, so….I was wondering if you’d seen a guitar around here. Electric. Red and black, kind of the most beautiful object to ever grace this earthly realm?


🦇 Winter’s Bite

[ There’s little time to settle back in before the Northern Territories are back to their old tricks, and Eddie is quick to recall that the cold isn’t the only reason this place is absolute misery. There’s always something to be concerned about, and the flavor for this month seems to be…skeletal ice dogs.

It turns out that when you disappear for half a year, people will claim your stolen shit as their own stolen shit. Eddie is out and about, doing his fair share of plundering and pilfering what little may be left in the empty cabins, when something crawls out of the snow and ice, angry and snarling and bounding right for Eddie.
]

Ah, shit. Shit, shit, shit—

[ He scrambles backward, practically tripping over his own feet, and slowly reaches for a chunk of dead wood near his foot. ]

Hey! Hey. Nice doggie, right…? Nice…Go fetch!

[ He hurls the stick just over the creature’s head, and while its icy gaze follows the object’s trajectory, it doesn’t move to fetch. It merely stares at Eddie for a brief, chilling moment, and then continues advancing. ]

Shit—Come on!


🦇 Wildcard

[ Surprise me with something or hit me up at [plurk.com profile] muttonchops or poultrylegs on discord! Hoping to return to u all this app round… ]
imperatour: (177)

a tag for me? 🥹🥹

[personal profile] imperatour 2025-02-06 04:08 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's you, she wants to say back, mirroring him in all the ways that feels natural, but the words don't quite make it out. Her head is cloudy, mouth fuzzy and dry in a way that makes her tongue trip over itself. Her brow furrows, too confused to fight the way he shepherds her down to the tub's edge. She studies him quizzically, eyes tracing the blood on his face, the scar on his cheek, the shape of his plush lips. All of her defensiveness has given way to confusion, and she looks at him half convinced he's a ghost although he was always the one who was staring past her to something that wasn't there.

She blinks, trying to take stock of the situation, log each distinct thing happening, but they blend. Everything's blurred at the edges, and it's hard to ground herself on feeling of cool smooth porcelain when his hand is on her side and his head is tucked so close to hers. She remembers this. His hand on the back of his neck, his face close enough to share breath. His blood a gift, first to ink a path home. Then to warm her own veins. Someone reliable.

(The shake of his head as he turned down her offer. The back of his head as he left the Citadel in the dust. A loner, her mind unhelpfully provides.)

She means to swat his hand away, but somewhere along the way her weak protest gets lost. Instead, she finds her hand grasping around the back of his. To push him away or hold him close? Hard to say. ]


Think it needs stitches.

[ A pressure bandage won't be enough, certainly not the way she moves around. Won't be easy to do herself one handed, but she will manage. She has always managed. ]
pursuitspecial: (furiosa; last request)

sharing the wealth!

[personal profile] pursuitspecial 2025-02-06 05:17 am (UTC)(link)
[ A wave of something close to relief crashes through his body at the sight of her, even as she peers at him like he ought to be anyone else, even if she looks as peaky as when she was last in his arms.

The strangeness of their surroundings (of everything) comes secondary as Max peers at her side, at the fresh blood blooming through the fabric of her shirt. He knows how deeply he pierced her body with the slim knife, remembers the way the air in the cabin of the car changed when they all heard full breath return to her lungs. A sense of relief crested with the kind of fear Max does almost anything to keep at bay. It rises again now, though the fact that she's standing and talking to him are good signs.

The warmth of her hand over his makes him pause, long enough to consider spreading his fingers and move underneath hers.

He offers a grunt of affirmation, nodding. ]


Mmn. Got a needle. Think you can lay still for me?

[ She's right: this is the kind of wound that doesn't like to stop bleeding without more help. And Max is nothing if not prepared to mend deep cuts: in leather, fabric, or flesh. It's all the same principal, even if the material is different.

Moving his hand to her thigh, he gives her an encouraging squeeze, to keep her present. Stay with me. (You're more than welcome to come with us.) Max shakes his head, looks for her eyes to focus on his. ]
Edited 2025-02-06 05:18 (UTC)
satanicpanics: (pic#15737640)

FEASTING...

[personal profile] satanicpanics 2025-02-06 05:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ Eddie observes from afar for a time, not wanting to get his hopes up that a familiar face is finally back here with him until he’s totally sure. He inches closer, closer, right up to the fire…and yeah, it’s definitely Steve.

Eddie gives him one look, sighs, slips off the leather jacket he’s only just been reunited with, and deposits it in Steve’s lap. It’s not the first time he’s done his part by preserving Steve Harrington’s modesty, but he’s well aware of the screwiness of the timelines, and one look at Steve tells him everything he needs to know: he most likely just came from leaping into Lover’s Lake.

Meaning Eddie’s vest is still somewhere in the depths of the War Zone, and he’s going to make that Steve’s problem for as long as he possibly can.
]

We have got to stop meeting like this, Harrington.

[ He counts himself lucky that he still has use of his Lightbringer Feat; he’s warmed up far more quickly than he might have otherwise, but he still drops to the floor beside Steve with a grin, grateful for the fire. ]

You know, I could be wrong, but I think you dressed for the wrong occasion, Steve.
stevieboy: (Default)

[personal profile] stevieboy 2025-02-06 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
[ The plop of the jacket in his lap startles him just enough that the tea in his hands sloshes, but he's not too upset about it. Tea isn't that great, he's just drinking it because he has to, and it's not like he's worried about spilling anything on the blanket. ]

Eddie?

[ Steve looks at him with a what-the-hell expression. But weirdly enough ... He's sort of glad? Like, he doesn't really know Eddie much, but he knows that Eddie's wrapped up in shit too and he knows that Dustin and the other idiots like him. So that's gotta count, right? ]
afterdrop: (sweet shiver burn)

arrival.

[personal profile] afterdrop 2025-02-06 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[There's been talk over the last few hours: strangers showing up in the woods again, like they haven't in months. Charles had begun to think his had been the last bunch, somehow. That the Interlopers would just begin to dwindle down as more disappeared. It isn't until he sees the dark shape of a person trudging through the moonlit snow that the reality actually hits him.]

Oi! [He leaves the stoop of his cabin, already pulling off his heavy coat.] Are you fucking mad, mate?

[It's clearly not the guy's fault, getting pulled from his world dressed in practically nothing, but the friendly prod is more an intended distraction than anything, both for the stranger and for Charles. He leaves the light cast by his cabin, heading towards Steve with long strides, his non-existent heartbeat growing quicker with each moment.]

Thought you'd just step out and lose a few toes, did you?
afterdrop: (JaydenRev01369 copy)

winter's bite.

[personal profile] afterdrop 2025-02-06 02:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Dog breath!

[The shout comes from the left, somewhere off past Eddie's shoulder where the cabin's shadow stretches across the snow. Something in the darkness glints - moonlight catching metal, perhaps, or the shine of a glowing eye. Then, an awful noise, like a rasping wail of pain. Live bait, maybe? The culprit finally comes into view, the poor creature dangling from one hand, and-

It's a dog's squeaky toy, held by a gangly teenager. Some kind of rubber chicken, worse for the wear. He holds it up and gives it another squeeze, trying to shift the creature's attention to him. And at least for a moment, it works.

Good old Gladys and her dead chihuahuas, coming in clutch.]


Go on, [he hisses at Eddie, more confident than he feels.] Get out of here.
afterdrop: (in the crowd)

feast b.

[personal profile] afterdrop 2025-02-06 03:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[The harsh tone doesn't shake the boy's glance. Charles just raises his eyebrows from down the table, spoon clinking back down into his empty bowl.]

You've got to dry your hair, mate. [It's not coddling, just gently chiding, like this is something he'd expected a grown man to know.] Just 'cause you're inside doesn't mean you can't still get hypothermia.

[Not the sort of thing he might have expected to come from a slouchy punk with eyeliner, but Charles is nothing if not friendly.]

Want me to get you a towel?
imperatour: (172)

[personal profile] imperatour 2025-02-06 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The answer to his question gets lost somewhere, distracted by the way he's touching her. Not enough oxygen to her brain to respond when it's all pooling in the part of her that feels him touching her thigh, the gesture feeling embarrassingly intimate. Here he is to save her ass again. Will it go any differently this time or will he patch her up and go?

Her throat bobs with a swallow. Don't leave after, is what she wants to say, but at least she is conscious enough to hold back that foolish impulse. He will do whatever he is going to do.

She realizes, belatedly, that she has been staring at his hand on her leg and not responding. She forces her chin up to look at his face instead, but with kneeling in front of her, she's not sure it's any better. Finally, she manages a jerky nod, first in agreement and then gesturing toward the door, back out to the living space. More windows, so he can stitch her by the light of the stars and moon bleeding in. A fireplace, so they don't freeze overnight.

She rests her arms over his shoulder for balance, her right fist gripping tightly onto him as she pushes herself to her feet so they can walk out there together. She is not so pathetic that she needs to be carried.

There are many things to say. Things she wants to say, but is afraid of the sting of rejection when she's already so raw and vulnerable in front of him.

So instead, an observation that seems almost comical juxtaposed with their habit for continual peril: ]


Never seen snow before.
kidproof: (pic#16337167)

[personal profile] kidproof 2025-02-06 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Joel on the other hand doesn't bother to stop eating, he continues with his brows pinching into the bridge of his nose. Down the hatch, bite after bite, because the sooner he fills the hump the sooner he can sit in front of the fire and get away from everyone and figure out what the fuck he was going to do now that he was back in this White Christmas on Elm Street nightmare.

By now, he knows he should expect compassion from the other interlopers and travelers that got sucked into this station. He was here from day one, he helped dig up bodies and shovel them into heaps and heaps below the snow. He'd helped clear out debris and damages in the main town so the stores could be sourced through. He knew what was waiting for them when only Methusalah was here to tell them anything. It's why he wasn't the guy's biggest fan. ]


I appreciate the concern but I know where the towels are, and I ain't goin' anywhere yet. Not for a while anyway.
brushoff: (smoke break)

methusalah B

[personal profile] brushoff 2025-02-06 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Dorian is big grumpy. He's stuck in some new place? In the cold? With no electricity? And no hot water? Why does the universe hate him. He knew the universe hated him but again, seriously, why does the universe hate him.

So he's grumpily eating his stew, freezing through his Versace, not bothering to hide the fact that he's doing a big ol'pout at the moment. And then this teenager (ew) approaches him and asks about an electric guitar?

Alright, priorities, sure.
]

Alas, I'm a new arrival. What I've seen is snow, ice, snow, frozen limbs, and oooh, one more thing, more snow.
moonwitch: (0 0 7.)

esmeray şahin, original character (forgotten realms)

[personal profile] moonwitch 2025-02-06 06:40 pm (UTC)(link)
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

I.
She feels absence, the quick snap of a bright tether.

Then the cold rushes in all at once, filling her lungs when she starts with a gasp. Snow threatens to soak into the cloth of her light armor, Esmeray having removed the accompanying breastplate and gloves only moments ago — a fact she sorely regrets right about now, considering.

Instinct pushes her to her feet, that she may keep what heat remains. Blood from a recent encounter lingers on her face, her armor. She lifts her hand to her cheek in confirmation and finds it a strange comfort: what she last remembers is real, even if she can't explain the rest. Yet.

Her mace lies some feet away from her, shield nowhere to be found. There's a difference when she holds it. There's a difference in her and she does know why. She pushes past the disquieting thought, the uncertainty, and moves. Shelter is her first priority, but she's on the lookout for supplies, for others.

Snow tends to mute sound, but the crunching sound of footsteps to her left is unmistakable. Her hold on her mace tightens: "Show yourself."

II.
It's the little things sometimes. The smaller victories.

She holds a bowl of soup in both hands, and quietly sighs her relief to feel its warmth. To feel warmth at all. Mildly shivering still, even with a blanket wrapped around her, one might deduce she isn't used to this kind of winter. This is correct, though she's trying to put on her bravest face.

A face that is no longer caked in blood, at least.

Methuselah moves about the community hall, doing the sort of things she would if she weren't so newly arrived and so godsdamned cold: tending to the wounded, fetching this and that.

She looks after him, pensive.

"He is not a man of many words, is he?"


WINTER'S BITE
Her haul for the day is a lone box of adhesive bandages, assorted writings on an event known as The Flare, and ... she isn't sure what the third item is, actually.

But it might be important?

Esmeray places it all in her saddle bag and returns to the community hall, or attempts to. On her way there, she hears the screams of an NPC someone in distress close by.

Too close.

She doesn't have her moon magic, the magic that made her so formidable in a fight. She only has her mace, and a refusal to turn down cries for help. The proximity means she's in danger regardless. When she arrives to the scene, however, the NPC man already looks somewhat mangled.

The good news is a hard swing of her mace shatters the culprit. The bad news is more creatures made of bone and ice are bursting out from the snow.

Assistance would be nice here, maybe.

NOTE: I write all my starters in prose, but I love brackets as well, so go with your preference and I'll match you. Info can be found here.
Edited 2025-02-06 18:48 (UTC)
kidproof: (pic#16681716)

003

[personal profile] kidproof 2025-02-06 06:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The bucks come and go, and have been known to get into stock on the outside of storefronts and even nearby his own reserves at the farm. Being that he just made it back to Milton, his top priority hasn't been hunting yet. He still needs to go back to the farmhouse, and check his supply cache to see what was left and if any of his booby traps had been triggered, and what that might mean for the place overall.

The disappearance of her meal couldn't be helped, because broken twig or not, on horseback with Callus the buck would have run with or without the snap of foliage. ]


I reckon you should've taken the shot when you had it. A sure thing goes pretty fast in this place, but if you're that hungry I've got rabbit and I'm about to see what's left of the place I used to hole up in.
nicehobbit: (→34)

[personal profile] nicehobbit 2025-02-06 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ OOC: Sike I'll match your prose instead, now what. ]

The fact that the thing has his cloak in its jaws is frightening enough by itself. Frodo turns enough to grasp his cloak with both hands and try to pull it free, but he doesn't get very far. Suddenly, he's not alone. He doesn't know where this man came from, and he doesn't like that he doesn't know. His heart leaps into his throat and for a moment he freezes with uncertainty about what to do. He knows he wants to get away from both of them, but he's not sure how he'll accomplish that.

The next moment, he's freed. The flame melts the creature instantly - at least enough of it that whatever is left falls apart - and he immediately stumbles back with a couple of panicked gasps of breath. He's so focused on Raju that he doesn't realise the fire very much did spread to his cloak.
spiltblood: (pic#17621869)

Lottie Matthews | Yellowjackets

[personal profile] spiltblood 2025-02-06 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[OOC: Yellowjackets is a grisly little show, so warning for discussion or mention of teenagers being hurt/killed, blood/violence, starvation, injury towards animals, general mental health crises, and cannibalism! Nothing graphic will be discussed, but things may come up relating to this in her narration or in conversation. Lottie is also a character with a somewhat ambiguous "is she mentally ill, or is she supernaturally inclined" character arc -- I will be playing it more the latter, with lingering mental health issues from her situation.]

I. ARRIVAL


[Lottie had been not been fairing well, before this very moment. It was of her own design — she had asked Shauna to give in to her grief and pain, to unleash her fists and anguish on Lottie's own body. She had clutched her hands behind her back, had resisted the natural urge to protect herself as her friend's fists and feet launched an assault on her. It was for the good of the group; it was to protect her people; it was something that would appease the hungry emotions that coiled up in the forest, where the wilderness cried out for blood in return for healing. In this case, her blood.

The days had been a blur after that. Her face had swelled up, and her body gasped and sputtered and suffered through the beating. Flickers of memory had come and gone: Misty, perching her upright, coaxing her to try to eat or relieve herself or let her inspect the seeable wounds on her face. Sometimes, she would fall asleep and not exactly know if she would make it through. Maybe this would be it: the moment the forest would take her spirit, that she would nurture her hungry friends with her own body while the wilderness finally welcomed her into its embrace.

Maybe then the visions would end. The fear that came with the darkest ones. Maybe she would be rewarded for her dedication and patience. Maybe... maybe...

Then she woke up, crumpled in the snow outside, shivering violently with the chill of the white carpet beneath her. Rolling over and standing was not easy, but she felt some instinctive swell of strength that only the human body's stubborn will to survive gives out. Something's wrong, she thinks. Something is missing. Despite standing in the very forest that was guiding her (she's sure of it, isn't she?), there's a thread so suddenly snapped inside her that it takes the breath that the cold air doesn't.]


Why...? Where are you...?

[Abandoned. In that moment, she realizes with startling clarity that the thing that had gripped her in the forest was no where in her presence. She begins to limp in a direction, any direction, because nothing looks familiar anymore.]

Natalie...?! M... Misty?!

[She keeps walking, hoping to find some missing piece inside her. The longer she walks, the more panic wedges in her bruised chest. The girl is a rough sight to those who may run into her.]

II. METHUSELAH'S FEAST


[She eats like a rabid animal who had been hunting for weeks without prey. The shellshock hasn't quite worn off from her, but she doesn't need to process the situation to feel her starved body move for her: she grabs plates, pulls them close and starts eating urgently with her fingers.

Meats, soups, anything — they burn her mouth and she hardly flinches. So hungry — so hungry, and the food is delicious, it's seasoned and prepared with humanity. She's a skinny thing in a dirty dress, and looks rightfully embarrassed when someone else catches her eye mid-bite.

What does she even look like, to someone who wasn't among the Yellowjackets?

Or maybe... maybe there's something about this place that feels cursed, too.

She's not really sure. Actually, she thinks maybe she's hallucinating again. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Laura Lee might spring up at any time, telling her to get up, to hurry back to the cabin before she freezes out in the cold...]


III. WILDCARD


[If you've got a starter or plot idea in mind, feel free to hit me up via PM or reach out to me at my plurk, [plurk.com profile] simpledog!]
kidproof: (pic#16337167)

arrival

[personal profile] kidproof 2025-02-06 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ With the line of sight being a problem thanks to the damn aurora, Joel is stuck wandering around while whistling, looking for the damn horse he'd made it to this shit heap with last time. If Callus was dropped off in the wilds with him, he wasn't answering, and so the trek through the snow becomes a painful jaunt that leaves his jeans wet and his boots soaked through.

He's got the benefit of a jacket, but the chill has eaten right through straight to the bone and his hair has gone from salt and pepper to almost entirely white from the falling snow.

He can hear something on the wind, but the howl from the weather and the view ahead is obscured in the storm until all he can make out is the color of her hair and the vague shape of another person moving in his direction.

Joel stops, hand moving to the strap on his firearm, but as the form manages a stronger shape he realizes with some dismay that it's a kid, a teenage girl, and she looks beat to hell. His arm drops from the rifle but he stands firm where he is. ]


You need to calm down, ramping up your heart rate is just gonna make you go hypothermic faster. Or hyperventilate and pass out.
Edited 2025-02-06 21:00 (UTC)

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