October 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

OCTOBER 2023 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 — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.

PROMPT TWO — GUILTY PARTY: Interlopers are kidnapped and held captive by a being and forced to confess their wrong doings, or face fatal consequences.

PROMPT THREE — OFF THE BEATEN TRACK: Interlopers get more than they bargained for when a mysterious albeit friendly dog comes across them and persuades them to follow them into the wilds.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
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.

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. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. 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.

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.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “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 and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. 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 is troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst the new faces.

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 perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.

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.

GUILTY PARTY

1. Characters will find that once they have confessed, they will pass out. When they awaken, they will find themselves lying or sitting on the floor — the being, chairs and chains have gone. They are free to leave.

2. Attempts to search the outbuildings at later dates will prove fruitless. There is no sign of the being, nor the chairs or chains that held characters, but there will be blood on the floor that can be found.

3. One character can confess, or both. Player choice! As long as someone's doing some confessing.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

1. Gyests, sometimes called Ghests or Bargyests are evil creatures from Northumberland, UK folklore. They seek to lure travelers away from a known and safe road to their miry and marshy demise, or perhaps lead them to walk in the darkness of a Cheviot night over the edge of a precipice. Often taking the shape of horses, donkeys or large dogs, Gyests could also shape-shift to appear as men, or even stacks of hay. But always their intention was to trick humans, for their own amusement, and lure them to their doom.

2. Attempts to lure or trap the Gyest will not work.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

Lyon | Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones

[princeofgrado]

1 - Arrival

[From the cold floor of the Dark Temple in the Darkling Woods to a cold floor in a remote cabin. As much as Lyon felt glad for not embracing complete nothingness, what he expected after being consumed by the demon king himself, this was far from what he expected from the afterlife. Religions all over Magvel talked about divinities rewarding the noble souls and condeming those who dared to step out of a path of righteousness, they spoke of pits of fire where souls burnt for all eternity, not frozen wastelands that reminded Lyon far too much of the mountains of his country. Not to mention his heart was definitely still beating and he could feel the cold...

At least he knew how to travel in the wilds. Not because he spent much time in the woods, of course, but he read plenty of books about it to be able, someday, to impress Ephraim... that and having plenty of knowledge when it came to plants helped him as well. At some point he could tell that some specific roots had been taken from a medicinal plant, like he could tell where the rose hips were missing, that told him civilization wasn't too far from there. And, indeed, after a good moment there was smoke in the distance.

People! He did take off his golden jewelry before approaching, even if the elegant gradoan silks he was wearing weren't as easy to hide. Not that he wanted to, of course. His people's robes were warm and perfect for the weather, Lyon couldn't imagine exposing himselt to the low temperatures considering his poor health... if that even counted, considering he just died.]

Ahem... excuse me? Do you happen to know where we are? Or what is going on?

[The gradoan had so many questions and the people around the town all were all so... weird looking? They style of clothing and some words being used just felt 'wrong'.]


2 - Guilty Party

[If Lyon thought fate somehow blessed him to the smallest degree, by letting him survive in some way even if he didn't deserve that... well, the idea that he was trapped in some kind of nightmarish hell came back full force once he found himself trapped with a stranger. The smell of blood wasn't unfamiliar to the fallen prince, quite the contrary, he spent the last few mounts surrounded by death, but this is unnatural and- oh! He's not alone!

His eyes take a moment to put the other person in focus and the man does try to speak to them before their captor shows up. After that? Only silence. While the person who imprisoned them is imposing and certainly scary, the fact he's expected to bring up the horrible things he did- how can he confess in front of any other soul? What if anyone in the village knew what monster Lyon used to be?

The man is shaking, eyes only staring at the floor in front of him. He knows what he has done, how his weakness allowed the most cruel of demons to nest inside him, how countless lives were lost because of his inability to accept his father was dead and his country was doomed... yet he cannot bring himself to say anything, not now at least.]

3 - Off the beaten track

[What was Lyon's desire to help an apparently friendly animal turned into a nightmare. Trapped at the bottom of a weird, almost unnatural depression, the Gradoan knew very well he had to pray for help or accept that he was going to freeze to death in there, the snow covered ground was too steep and unstable for him to climb out.

Wrapped in his cloack, trying to retain any heat he could, the man could only try to call for help. Sometimes he heard sounds, steps, something or someone chuckling in the distance, but so far no real person came to his help. Still, he wasn't going to give up so easily, if he had been given a second chance to do something right, maybe, he wasn't going to squander it like that.]

Hello? Anyone out there? Please, I need help!

[Even with a hoarse voice, even with his throat hurting and his body half frozen, the man kept trying to get someone's attention. The dog, the entity, it didn't lure him that far from the main village, did it? He could only hope...]

4- Wildcard

[ooc: He may look frail and delicate but can definitely take a good beating, in case. He won't be really good at fighting back, though, since he's a mage and without powers he's hardly the best in combat. I'm open to pretty much anything with him. Assuming he survived the initial part, he can be found wandering and gathering resources, he canonically specialized in growing and harvesting plants in a difficult area (his country) and has great medical knowledge so... he's probably out there looking for medicines.

Considering that despite being a good person he was the villain in the game (Demonic possessions and all), know he'll be relatively easy to manipulate if your character can notice his insane sense of guilt over what he did and take advantage of that.]

3

[solitarysoul]

[Levi'd heard Lyon while on one of his patrols and headed over to where it came from.]

Hello?

[In a few moments the boy with the oversized coat and the rifle is looking down the pit at Lyon.]

Are you--[no, not okay, he's clearly not okay]--uh, injured?

[This guy needs help getting out, or else he wouldn't have been calling out. But just how hard it'd be to get him out wasn't clear yet.]

Cooper | Agent of Hel

[emotioneater]

I. Arrival

"Well, fuck me." That was the first thing Cooper had to say when he woke up in the cold. At first, he thought that he'd just fallen off the motorcycle he'd been on, knocked off by a lucky shot one of the mercenaries had gotten off. But when he got to his feet, he saw that he was nowhere near the town of Pemkowet, Michigan any longer. This was some other snowy landscape.

What had happened? A spell? Something Persephone had cooked up to scatter the forces that had gathered to stand against her? Well, he wasn't going to know unless he found his way back to civilization and soon. He got up, noting that he still had his handgun with him. In his pocket, there was his usual packet of cigarettes and lighter.

What was more troublesome was the spot where his usual emotion-based powers would be felt...muted. Like someone had turned the volume all the way down on a radio. He could still feel them there, deep down, he just couldn't access them. Well, that was gonna be bad if he got hungry soon enough. Cooper would deal with that when it came time and not a moment before. Right now, the more pressing need was to find shelter before he turned into a ghoul-shaped popsicle.

As he went through the woods, he found someone else there. He put on his most charming smile, trying to make light of things. "Don't suppose you know where the hell we are, do you? Seems like I took a wrong turn when heading for Tahiti." His voice held an Irish accent, still strong despite all the centuries he'd lived. For those who had an ear for it, his accent sounded particular old-fashioned, which made sense given how he'd been born in the late 1700s.

When he got to the Community Hall, he ate some food, and then settled down in front of the fire to dethaw. As he did so, he took in the people around him. It confirmed that he was without the power to sense emotions or take them from people any longer. Right about now, he wished he still had them. Just from the observant nature he'd developed over his long life, he could tell a lot of people here were confused, scared, in pain, or all three. It would have been nice to soothe some of that if he could. But there was nothing to do but carry on as best he could until he understood what was really going on around here.

He was busy lighting up a cigarette in the corner, smoking quietly, until someone came near. Then he'd call out to them. "Hey! Do you know where I can find some new clothes?" The reason he was asking was because his current clothes had been shot to pieces. There was a great number of bullet holes in them. The most alarming part was that most of them had been in areas that should have resulted in fatal injuries for any normal human being.

II. Guilty Party

When Cooper woke up, his nose was immediately assailed with the smell of old blood. He nearly choked on it for a moment. There had been far too many times in his life when he'd been surrounded by far too much blood and it was never a situation he willingly wanted to be in. Glancing about, he wondered if he had been bound and trapped in some sort of slaughterhouse. When he saw someone else there with him the gloom, he called out. "Are you alright? Do you know how we got here?"

When the jackal appeared, he didn't need his still-missing senses to tell him the figure holding that dangerously-sharp sickle was a supernatural being. No human being would be quite this unearthly or this demented about the 'confessing sins' theme they seemed to be on about. Despite the dangerous predicament he was in, Cooper couldn't help but be flippant about the whole thing. He knew it was impossible for him to die, even by 98% of supernatural means. But he didn't want the other person with him to suffer. So he started talking. "Well, d'you want the short version or the long version? Cause if we go with the long, we're gonna be here all day, and I think we all have better things to do 'n places to be besides here."

III. Off The Beaten Track

Cooper had gone off into the woods to find something that could be added to the food stores. Pinecones could be a good source of nutrition if prepared properly, so he was trying to find them in the trees. That was when he saw a dog black as the heart of the Devil himself. He didn't think much of it being a threat despite the dark color. "And who do we have here? Where'd you come from? Escaped from A Wild Hunt, have we?" He scratched the dog's ears for a moment vigorously. It certainly looked like a black dog straight out of the mythology of the British Isles.

When the dog tried to get him to follow, like a fool, Cooper immediately went after him. He stumbled through the woods, trying to keep up, until he fell right into a huge trench of earth. He lay there for a moment, wincing at the sensation of pain that sprang up in his left ankle when he landed. "Yep. It's just one of those days." He muttered to himself. When he began to push himself up, he found himself face-to-face with the desiccated corpse of another Interloper only a few feet away.

"Jesus Christ!" He yelped out as he scrambled to his feet, favoring his left ankle now. One of the main disadvantages of being forever seventeen and stuck in his scrawny body was that he really wasn't all that physically strong. Trying to drag himself out of such a steep trench was not an option. All he could do was yell out for help at the top of his lungs. "Can anyone hear me? Help!"

IV. Wildcard

[Want to do something different? Give me a poke at Light_shade or .lightshade on Discord!]

III

[princeofgrado]

Cooper isn't the only person wandering through the woods and foraging, truly. Lyon comes from a harsh and unforgiving land and, despite being the prince of said place, he had a large garden and tended to countless plants (especially medical ones) in the hope to find ways to grow them in cold and difficult terrains.

So, yes, when Cooper follows the dog around, he may or may not pass not too far from a purple blur of clothes and robes carrying around a basket filled with roots and leaves, when he falls down what seems to be some kind of slope from the distance the Gradoan isn't too far.

"Oh dear..." He almost fell to the same kind of 'trap' the other day, since he desperately wanted to help the animal if needed, but... "Hey- I'm here!" He is quick to run in the other man's direction, careful not to slip in the snowy trap, and leans from the trence's border, gasping at the side of the body. To think he went almost a week without seeing a corpse, a record considering his latest months of 'ativity'.

Note to self: don't trust animals that try to lure you around. Got it.

"Are you okay down there?" He merely asked, placing his basket down and looking around for anything to use as a rope.

[emotioneater]

"Eh, I've been better," Cooper said, glancing at his surroundings. "Right now I'm at about a three out of ten." Still, despite his first panicked reaction, he was rapidly was beginning to calm down. One of the advantages of being so old was that nothing fazed him for very long, not once he'd gotten a handle on the situation.

"Think you can lend a helping hand to get me outta here?" He asked with a hopeful note in his voice. He glanced around where he was, but aside from the rotting clothes of the corpse, there was nothing he could have used to improvise a rope or anything like that.

i

[solitarysoul]

Levi came across Cooper near the edge of the woods. He pauses and looks Cooper over for a moment. "Kind of. Its called Milton."

He looks back towards the town. "I can take you to the hall. There's food and a fire there."

Dominique DiPierro | Mr. Robot

[alexaandme]

• methuselah's feast; cw death/suicidal ideation

[ Dom's first thought is she's dreaming, a rare occurrence that only recently has begun to be more regular and is always a nightmare. The abandoned cabin she finds herself in is supposed to be her parents' house, she figures, and the desolation in it means the Dark Army killed them. She should feel upset about it, even panicked, but she's as cold inside as the air here is.

Maybe she's finally losing it. That might be good. If she's useless to the Dark Army, maybe they'll kill her. Then her family will be safe.

She tells herself to wake up. She waits for the cold to get so bad that her body jolts awake so she can pile on blankets. She pokes around the structure, hoping some Dark Army goon is waiting in the shadows to attack her. Nothing.

Not one to just sit and wait, Dom goes to the door and opens it just enough to get a look at the street with its well-worn, tamped-down, dirty snowy surface. Further up, she spots a few people heading somewhere; further down, she sees a few people approaching the small collection of buildings that might pass for a village. Some people look resigned, others confused or thoughtful. It's one of the latter she decides to approach. ]

Where are you heading?



• guilty party; cw ref to violence/gore

[ Nope. Nope. Nope nope n o p e N O P E.

Which sin is this creepy figure seeing? When she betrayed her family and her country as she watched Irving take an ax to Santiago? Her sleeping with an informant? The day she quit law school, and all the rest it entailed?

She'll go with the last one. The other two involve some level of deceipt or coercion from the other party. ]

I should've just told them no. I just left them. I can't even say I panicked, I was pretty calm--

[ No, Dom. Come on. Time to be really honest. ]

I wasn't in love with them. I wasn't in love with my life. I needed a change, and they just... they proposed to me, and I took it and ran with it. Ran away. They didn't deserve that.

[ The next thing she knows, she and the person across from her are lying on the floor in the empty barn, alone and free to go. ]

Hey. Hey. Are you hurt?



• off the beaten track

[ Dom likes dogs. Worse still right now, she trusts them, and has faith in her sense of direction, so she follows this dog until it disappears through some rough, tangled branches in the other side of which is a massive drop down the sheer face of a cliff.

It's only the fact that she trips on a root that saves her, and even then, one arm hangs over the edge. With the wind knocked out of her, Dom just lies there, gasping as she stares out at the ground far below, where she would have at the very least broken something on impact. ]

Jesus Christ, [ she hisses. ] This is why the buddy system is important.



• wildcard

[ She'll be eating at the feast, she'll be happy to not be the one confessing a bad deed, and she's quick-witted enough to save you from the dog leading you toward peril. I'm at punnyinpink @ plurk if you want to plot something out o/ ]

guilty party;

[20likes]

[ What happens seems to do so in a rush. Movement, sound--the situation blurs and stills and Heartman barely has a grasp on what's going on or where he even is when the woman next to him started to speak. He of all people is consistently aware of how fast time appears to move--or how slow, given the situation--but experiencing it in this sort of fashion has him completely winded and bewildered.

He's laying on the barn, eyes wide, glasses somewhat askew and breathing heavily. Shock, fear, panic--a myriad of emotions, the least of which is concern for the brave woman who barely hesitated. The redhead's words seem to jostle him slightly, pulling him out of his mind and into the situation. He doesn't get up--he's used to the floor--but he does turn his head, fingers curling into hands and then unfurling as he processes. ]

No, I-- [ He should at least sit. Heartman does so, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to gain some sort of control. ] --I'm quite alright.

Are you? [ What a frightening thing to confess for a stranger, even if Heartman's not entirely sure he understands the full weight of her words. ]

Re: guilty party;

[alexaandme]

Yeah.

[ Relief hits her only once he confirms he's okay. Dom sits herself up on her elbows, waits to make sure her head is okay, and then sits up the rest of the way.

And sighs. ]

Surviving this place is hard enough without having our souls judged.

[princeofgrado]

[Lyon arrived hours before Dominique, so he could hardly hellp much but... at least he managed to visit the Community Hall and understand what was going on. Well, the little the current locals knew at least, it wasn't like anyone had any real answer.

Somehow he knew he probably wasn't dead and, if things were true, his spirit (and body?) had been kidnapped in... another place? World? Who knew. It was certainly taking him some time to process the fact that, despite his many sins, he had somehow (maybe) been spared.

Did he deserve it? Absolutely not. Was he glad that he was still walking? He wasn't that sure about it. Probably not, he didn't deserve so much kindness. Anyway, he was definitely lost in his thoughts as she approached, almost jumping when Dom decided to talk to him.]

Mh? Oh... Uhm... No real destination. I'm seeking shelter, I suppose. Just... still trying to figure things out. It's quite a lot to take in.

[A pause, realizing the woman was far from covered enough to walk around in the snow. The gradoan hesitated a moment before taking off his long, purple cape and passing it in her direction, awkwardly moving to pass it around her shoulders and stopping midair not feeling too comfortable touching a stranger.]

Cover yourself with this for now, there are a few stains but it's wooly and warm. I think they have other clothes inside for the newcomers like us.

[alexaandme]

[ All right, Lyon, you've got yourself a buddy for now.

It's not until he offers her his cape that Dom realizes she doesn't have to just grit her teeth and bear the cold. There's only a little bit of awkwardness as she works with him to settle it around her shoulders and tugs it tight around herself. This is much better than moments ago. ]

Thank you. Are you warm enough, though? We can always share it until we get to-- the shelter for newcomers. So this happens a lot? People just showing up out of nowhere?

Benton Fraser | Due South

[maintiensledroit]

arrival.

[ At first glance, it's simple: there's a man and a dog tromping through the snow.

A closer look would reveal that the man is wearing a flat-brimmed campaign hat that has been brushed within an inch of its life, and a vibrantly red coat cut in a military style. Such an onlooker would undoubtedly note how at home this man seems to be, steadily striding through the snow with a long-furred dog at his side.

The keenest of observers might then note, as this pair comes closer, that the dog is no dog at all, but a wolf.

The man holds out a gloved hand as the wolf comes up to sniff their new companion. His voice is friendly. ]

It's all right. I have a license.

[ A... wolf license? Apparently so. ]

guilty party.

[ He sits perfectly straight in his chair, apparently ignoring the chains altogether, and his gaze is clear and steady as he addresses the other in the room. ]

Don't be afraid. You're going to be just fine.

[ Clearing his throat, he lifts his voice a little. ]

Listen, whatever you're hoping to hear, you can hear it from me. Let this innocent bystander go and I'll give you what you want.

off the beaten track

Hmm.

[ He considers the black dog, the faintest crinkling line tugging between his brows. At his side, the wolf growls, low and constant, its teeth sharp and yellow and its eyes fixed on the dog. ]

Well, it's up to you, of course, but I have to say I trust Diefenbaker's judgement. He's a very good judge of character. Uh, usually.

[ But perhaps someone followed the dog after all, in which case they might later see a robin-red figure come searching through the woods. He cups his hands around his mouth and halloos. ]

Hello, there! If you'll just hang on a moment, I'll find a way to get you out of this predicament.

arrival.

[rescapee]

[ The new arrivals are the hardest to deal with. After people have been in Milton for a while and become accustomed to the idea of their frozen prison, the problems become easier to deal with. The loneliness, the despair, the fear of whatever might come for them next. But the newcomers... They're unpredictable, to say the least.

La'an knows she should be the first one to greet every single person who arrives here, but she just can't always manage it. The last batch had stumbled in through the snow while she'd been ill, and even now that the worst of it is long behind her, there are times when she pushes herself too hard and overdoes it. Being forced to rest because her body isn't doing what she's trained it to is beyond frustrating, but there's nothing she can do about it except slowly work to rebuild her stamina and strength.

Which is how she happens to be outside to spot that splotch of red in the distance moving toward the town. She stops to observe its approach, enough of her self-appointed perimeter patrol behind her to take a break, and before long she realizes it's a person coming toward her. A person and a... wolf. That's definitely a wolf.

When they finally reach her, La'an is grateful to see that the wolf is just a normal canine and not the type that attacked the town a few months back. Despite that, she still looks confused as she accepts the man's hand in a firm shake. ]

Right. A license...

[ She glances up at the giant hat and then back to the impossible-to-miss red coat, a frown deepening as she considers how dangerous it might be for him to walk around out there like that. Even she removes her red scarf when she ventures beyond the borders. ]

You've just arrived, haven't you? [ The answer is obvious, but she has to be sure. ]

[maintiensledroit]

Yes, ma'am.

[ His grip is firm without being crushing, and his blue eyes are steady as he meets her gaze. ]

Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mountain Police, at your service. And as happy as I am to be back up north, I admit I'm a little surprised to be here. I – Diefenbaker, no.

[ This, along with a stern look, is directed at the wolf, who has been sniffing at the woman's boots. ]

You're being extremely rude.

[ The wolf whines, but settles back onto his haunches, and Fraser turns a slightly abashed glance back on the woman. ]

Please excuse him. He seems to have picked up some shocking manners during our time in Chicago. City living, you know.

off the beaten track!

[fidior]

[ It goes against his better judgment, stomping off through the woods on his own to pursue the dog, but there is a reason, something strong enough that the decision to do it was an easy one.

The barking that people have been speaking of hearing.... the phantom call of a dog in the distance. Could it be Neptune? Such a thought should be impossible, but if some of the men have arrived here, then why not the Captain? Perhaps with the dog at his side.... or perhaps the dog could lead him to Crozier, or to anyone. Perhaps he's wrong, but Edward could not rest until he found out for certain.

And so he's spent a couple of hours in pursuit, following the sound of barking and the occasional flash of dark fur somewhere up ahead. Something within his chest knows this feels wrong; Neptune is not so lithe and quick, and would come if his name were to be called, which Edward has been doing consistently, voice ringing loud through the trees which grow thicker and thicker. But he still has to try... Faithfully following the dog until—

—he feels his feet faltering, crying out in alarm as he realises the snow is crumbling inwards. He hadn't realised there was a trench up ahead, the ground sloping steeply inwards. The man ends up right at the bottom, and it's a miracle he'd kept his gun from going off in the process, though it's ended up banging against his back a few times. Fortunately his greatcoat is a thick padding, but he's still groaning in pain as he sits up, covered in snow, looking around for his cap which tumbled off in the process. That's when he hears a voice calling — had someone seen his fall? Quickly, he calls back out in return, loudly. ]

Down here—! Take caution, there's a slope!

[maintiensledroit]

[ A slightly unusual visage pops over the edge of the ground up above; a man, wearing a flat-brimmed hat. There's a flash of brilliant red from his sleeve as Fraser lifts a gloved hand in acknowledgement. ]

Thank you!

[ Called down, before he takes stock of the situation. The snow had given way suddenly beneath the man's weight, and the path down is rocky and steep. It's too far for him to lower the end of his belt for the other man to reach, and Fraser disappears for a moment to look about himself, searching for a likely looking branch. In the meantime... ]

Diefenbaker, fetch.

[ He looks back over the edge again as the wolf comes trotting over the edge, skidding down in a scree of rocks and ice. ]

Please don't be alarmed, he's quite safe! But he is mostly deaf, so I encourage you to speak loudly and as clearly as you can. Hang onto him, he'll help pull you up the slope – I'm just –

[ His voice fading as he turns toward the woods, tromping off in search. Meanwhile, the wolf, upon reaching the bottom of the gorge, comes trotting up to the fallen man with his tail waving like a banner, ears pricked, sniffing curiously at him. ]

Arrival

[solitarysoul]

[He'd seen a few people in bright red around town, but Benton's jacket is different. Looks more like a uniform that that long red thing Vash and whoever else wore. So it catches his attention, but the wolf does more so once he's closer. He's pretty sure its not a dog, and wolves had only been trouble here. He starts moving to take his rifle off his back but pauses when Benton speaks. Huh?]

You have...what?

[questioningmermaids]

I'm not sure I trust either.

[ No offense to this mountie looking guy. Sorry, this mountie full stop, it's definitely official with how snazzy the uniform is. There's his attack dog that's huger than a goddamn bear and wild animals are not a thing whatsoever with March sans the scant few times he's been to the zoo. March stays almost completely behind Fraser out of the intense need for self preservation.

March flashes half an apologetic smile--no offense, bud, he's like this with everyone--until something catches up with him. This is probably not the time. This is also probably not the place. It comes out anyway. ]

Did you just say your dogs name was Diefenbaker?

arrival;

[20likes]

[ Heartman has gloves of his own. Leather and fingerless and ill equipped for the cold but comfortable to work with in his lab back home. He accepts the handshake without hesitation, feeling a strange burst of giddiness he can't help but smile at. It's nice to be out, if confusing and uncomfortable in the way that unfamiliar territory is. He's not used to other people--other real people other than Sam occasionally popping in, or a Chiralgram. Here there seems to be actual people he can touch. It's fascinating and worth it even if he has to bundle up, his long borrowed coat unusually bulky in the chest region.

The other man is almost as fascinating as the large dog the stranger apparently needs a license for. Is it a dog? Heartman flashes a quick, polite smile at the man but his gaze immediately dips back to the fascinatingly well behaved animal beside them, cheeks and the tips of his hears red from the cold, glasses glinting as the angle reflects the sun off of the snow snow as he kneels down. ]

Canis lupus familiaris? [ He doesn't extend a hand to the dog, not yet, instead looking up and over at the other man for permission. ]

May I? [ He absolutely wants to pet the dog. ]

maj. elisha harper | american civil war oc

[fieldhospital]

[ a civil war surgeon who was unwillingly foisted into the position of brigade hospital director. elisha has severe burnout/compassion fatigue and undiagnosed C-PTSD manifesting in growing resentment toward the people he's supposed to be helping and increasingly violent intrusive thoughts, but on the surface, he mostly just gives the impression of someone who is impatient and tired. dusting him off and tweaking icons/bio for the first time in literal years so bear with me lmaoo.

I. PLEASE PUT ME IN A MEDICALLY INDUCED COMA (DON'T MAKE ME LIVE AWAKE, I'M TIRED & I DON'T WANNA)
( arrival. )

[ Before his eyes even crack open in the semidarkness, Elisha knows he's dead.

He's resting on a real mattress for the first time in three years, the springs and straw engulfing his aching body like the warm waters of a healing spring. There's no artillery in the distance, no talking, no sounds human or equine. Just complete silence, colder than Petersburg, Virginia in October.

Rest. It feels so, so good to exhale and rest for the first time since his enlistment even if he is dead. Maybe because he's dead. He has no responsibilities, no hospital to oversee. He's free: of the responsibility, of the looming fear of his own death he hadn't realized he'd had until it was lifted. The worst has already happened.

So the newly deceased Elisha James Harper, Surgeon Major, brigade hospital director, shifts slightly, getting more comfortable, and goes back to sleep without even opening his eyes to take a good look at the afterlife. For the first time in three years, he finds himself granted the trickle of autonomy necessary to declare that something can wait, and even faced with the Beyond, that takes precedence.

Another four hours pass before he opens his eyes and looks around the bedroom of the cabin. Nothing jumps at him as an anachronism; maybe he was dragged here—but he's not wounded, which eliminates that idea. He pushes himself up from his face-down position on the mattress, spine cracking as he does, and rises to his feet, shoving them into the familiar boots lined up on the floor beside the bed.

It's winter, he determines after lighting the gas lamp on the bedside table and taking it with him into the snow outside of the cabin, and he's at the very least further north than Harrisburg. There are lights dancing in the windows of one of the buildings towards the edge of town; he follows them like a Star of Bethlehem, trudging through the snow at an easy pace. As he gets closer he sees the sign in front of the place, reading 'Milton Community Center', and climbs the recently shoveled steps. There are others here. Elisha opens the door.

There he stands, just a few steps inside, bits of melted snow dripping from the ends of his jaw-length hair and onto the wooden floor. For anyone remotely familiar with the history of the American mid-1900s, he's identifiably a Union soldier in his deep navy double-breasted overcoat, a major, as the gold oak leaves on his uniform indicate. But some things have changed over time: instead of a star of life or caduceus, his shoulderboards are marked with a simple 𝕸.𝕾. in gold embroidery, something near contemporaries or those with historical knowledge might recognize as an indicator of his noncombatant status, but few others.

Only a few people look over at him when the door opens; from that alone he discerns that they've been here longer than him. When someone approaches, he doesn't introduce himself, not yet—just asks a simple, one-sentence question without any particular emotion behind the words. ]

Am I dead?

II. MY CLOTHES DON'T FIT AND I CAN FEEL MY SPINE
( off the beaten track. )

[ For all that the war has anaesthetized, Elisha has mercifully retained his love of dogs, of the uncomplicated goodwill of animals. It's a small glimmer of light, seeing one here, bounding and ducking into play bows that remind him of his family's Norfolk spaniels at home. He takes time to play with it, the two of them running through the snow, the dog tucking its rump and launching into a fast, joyful gallop in circles around him, at least at first. It mellows somewhat after a few minutes of gleeful cavorting have tired it out, tugging at his pants leg, starting toward the horizon and stopping a few strides later to look over its shoulder at him. There's clearly something that it wants him to see—another demonstration of the so often underwritten intelligence of dogs, really.

Elisha follows, never more than a few strides behind it, at least until it starts to pick up its pace across more and more uneven ground. He stops, however, when he hears a cry for help, addressing the dog before he makes his way toward the ravine it's coming from. ]

I'm sorry, boy. That's enough for right now.

[ He picks up his pace, carefully stepping around old roots and sharp crevices until he sees the figure lying at the bottom of the ditch. ]

I'm a doctor! Are you hurt?

III. MY BONES ARE BROKEN BUT I DON'T FEEL IT
( guilty party — cw strangulation imagery/fantasization, graphic description of limb amputation, PTSD flashbacks. )

“CONFESS. UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

[ At least there's instruction. At least they know why they're here. Elisha lets out a shuddering breath, bracing himself against the vileness of his own soul, if such a thing were to exist, and closes his eyes. It's easier to say, if he's not looking at anyone in particular. Why shouldn't someone here finally know the truth about him? ]

— I thought about killing my patient. No, I... I wanted to kill him. He was screaming, and screaming, and nothing I did, nothing the assistant did, made him shut up. [ He takes a stiff breath against the tightness in his throat, finding himself unable to stop the deluge of the recollection now that it's in the room with him. His hands clench and unclench in fists. ] Nobody else screamed like that. I thought he was going to lose consciousness but he never did. I was trying to saw as fast as I could and my arms were aching but he just kept screaming.

[ The words come faster, a jumbled mess, a tangled stream of consicousness hemorrhaging from his mouth like a severed artery. His eyes burn with rising wetness he finds himself unable to control. ] I close my eyes and I hear it. I go to sleep and I hear it. I wake up and the roosters are crowing and for a moment I'm there and I hear it.

I looked down at him and I saw my own hand covering his mouth and holding his head down into the table until he stopped moving. I'm insane. I went insane and started seeing things and I didn't tell anyone. But—who was I going to tell? Who was going to take my place? I did... I did what I had to do. Who are you—who are you to judge!

[ The sudden shout doesn't get an answer. Instead himself and his audience collapse like ragdolls, and when Elisha's eyes reopen, there himself and the stranger are on the floor together in a pool of blood, freed of their bonds and the man with the sickle gone, only the inhuman revelation left between them. ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ have an idea that's not on here? shoot me a pm, dm redmaresociety on discord, or send a pp to bluehellgazette! ]

I.

[bestsir]

Goodsir is one of those who notices the door opening—he generally tries to be attentive to any new arrivals. The man's clothing strikes him as military, but nothing English, clearly.

And then he speaks, asking a question that seems to be one of the most common in these parts.

"Sir—come, sit." Goodsir goes to usher him to the nearest seat.

nicholas d. wolfwood / trigun stampede

[yoke]

— METHUSELAH'S FEAST; pt. 1

[ it's a moment of clarity you only get in those precious last moments; whether you're bleeding out in the desert, on a couch, or in his case, freezing face down in the snow. actually, the sensation of freezing in and of itself is a novel one, something that wolfwood had never thought he'd ever experience given the fact that he'd crossed an entire godforsaken desert with no body of water in sight just to babysit some alien psychopath's twin brother, but hey. cross that off his bucket list.

did you find a reason to put down your cross? conrad had asked him. at the time, wolfwood didn't have an answer. he still doesn't. he doesn't know what's worse: not finding a reason to, or finding one. each step across that wasteland of a planet felt like digging himself deeper and deeper into his own grave; can you hit rock bottom if all that's left is sand? or now, snow?

and it's in the middle of his existential crisis that he takes in a deep breath and chokes on a mouthful of snow, coughing it all back up as he scrambles onto his hands and knees. flecks of white dot his hair and glasses, melting on the dark fabric of his clothes, and he is so ill prepared for the sudden change in climate, it's almost comical. but at least he's thankfully (?) alive, blinking the remnants of the light from the explosion above july from his vision as he attempts to get his bearings. a weird backwards baptism; he's off to a great start already.

but first, wolfwood pats shaking hands over his clothes, eventually fishing out his lighter and pack of smokes. he sticks a cigarette between his lips, hand cupping the end as he flicks the lighter once, twice, before the paper catches. it's cold, but as he takes a deep drag of nicotine, it steadies him marginally, at least enough to pull his jacket tighter around him as he starts walking.

sorry if you run into him. maybe he'll share a smoke if you ask, but he sure as hell won't be happy about it. ]

— METHUSELAH'S FEAST; pt. 2

[ eventually, once he makes his way to town, wolfwood can be found hitting up the feast. no one says no to free food, even when you've been highkeylowkey kidnapped. he eats voraciously, like he hasn't had a good meal in a while, and it's probably true with the way he looks—fit, but in a healthy stray dog kind of way, burning his tongue on the hot stew and soup without a care. with a diet of predominantly worm meat, this is honestly the best meal he's ever had, even as simple as it is.

afterwards, he lingers near the fire, hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. he mainly listens in on any conversation to try and glean whatever information he can on where they are currently, but should he find someone looking a little more worse for wear, he'll offer his mug to them. ]

Here. Watch your tongue, though. It's hot.

— GUILTY PARTY

[ honestly, it's a little funny. an undertaker forced to confess his crimes? the irony isn't lost on him, and he actually wheezes out a short laugh through the chains wrapped around his body. unburden your heart and be free, it says, but wolfwood knows better. he doesn't deserve that kind of freedom, no. not a sinner like he, with too much blood on his hands already. but that was the thing about grace, about freedom, wasn’t it? at times it was simply ineffable.

still, acting in the interest of self-preservation has always been his way. it's cowardly (add that to his ever growing list), but it's gotten him this far. weighing up one confession against another, he says, ]

I'm a murderer.

— WILDCARD

[ wolfwood is taken mid-episode 12 of trigun stampede, after escaping with meryl out of july! if none of the above strike your fancy, feel free to throw something else at me. or shoot me a pm and i'd be more than happy to come up with something more specific 👌🏻 ]

1 but also wildcard but also https://tenor.com/bxoMd.gif

[skelters]

[ he won't be as sorry as vash will be ... but that moment is not now. that moment is still seconds and minutes and hours away; he is still heartbeats away from where wolfwood pushes himself up through the snow with the frost stabbing pink needled syringes at the bare skin of his wrists. he won't be there for ages and ages. he's busy keeping himself busy, you know. he is busy with everyone else's little problems, busy with making everything such a fucking big, important deal, busy jamming himself into the nooks and crannies of whoever will give him the time of day or maybe not even half that because that is better than the alternative where all that lingers is the crashing sound of the piano keys echoing through the dead eyes of his sisters.

he is good at distracting himself. he is good at running away. he is good at looking the other way. look where the alternative got him, trapped in a fishbowl with nowhere to go.

not that vash knows this, of course - but the blank, bland look of conviction in his brother's eyes is real. the calm deliverance of his sins spelled out like bloodstained letters, that is real. the sinking feeling in his gut where his brain can't quite follow the sheer drop of his body in time? that is real too.

the sky clicks from grey to more grey, like the shifting colours of the sand ocean before the first of the sunrise. vash finds himself craning his head up - scanning the sky for any sign of the aurora which is by now almost by habit, as he crunches through the snow with an axe slung over his shoulder. it is, ostensibly, for self defence - a laughable sort of notion, really, but not for reasons you'd think - and half for its intended purpose which is to gather firewood. the church is not too far away, you see, sitting on the very edge of the town, just where the forest is about to swallow it up; you can just peek over the gaps of the thickset trees at the spire that points itself out with all its unnatural manmade shadow cast over the graves both fresh and old. vash still can't really look at those; can't help the other two bury their dead - ha, think about that - and instead has to find other ways to make himself useful somehow. hence, the running away. back around in circles again to end up exactly where he started.

honestly, it's not even that he sees wolfwood; he is just a shadow among shadows, black upon black upon black in the spreading sea of grey shapes. his red coat that he insists on keeping over all the layers make him stand out like a flaming beacon of something that shouldn't exist. what was that storybook called? something hood. not robin. that's a bird, and birds can't set fire to things.

it is smoke that he smells, over the caustic-edged cold of the hoarfrost. and it's not just smoke; it is not just tobacco. it is the sweet-sour-bitter of worm glands and intestine crushed and ground until it can burst over your tongue like multicoloured wildfire. vash knows it - much too well, by now. it drifts like the edge of consciousness between waking and sleeping, and vash stops dead in his tracks - snapping his masked face around in the direction where it's coming from, the orange lenses tinting dark in the half dusk. ]

ain't no party like a guilty party

[lastdecember]

[ Across from Wolfwood, chained up the same as he is, is a broad-shouldered man in a tattered black suit, with thick black hair. His head is slumped forward, all that hair obscuring his features. He doesn't show any signs of life as the Jackal-faced figure issues their commands, but once Wolfwood opens his mouth to confess, the figure twitches.

His laughter is harsh and guttural, the voice of a man who hasn't spoken in a long time, perhaps. With a cackle, the man flings up his head, wild eyes seeking out not the Jackal, but Wolfwood. He looks crazed. He looks feral.

He looks like Wolfwood. ]

Is that all you've got?

[ The chains rattle as he tries to straighten up in his seat, but they're sturdy, and heavy, and no matter how much he strains his neck upward, they don't give an inch. ]

We can do better than that!

[ He swings that shaggy head around, his smile gleaming with too many, too-sharp teeth, as he snaps at the Jackal with a mad laugh. ]

I'm not just a murderer. I've killed so many people that I lost track of the number before I ever had to shave!

[ If this is Hell, and he's going to be judged for his sins? Then he's going to make sure they don't miss a thing. ]

A lot of 'em were kids, too, don't leave that bit out. [ The chains rattle again as he turns back to Wolfwood, sizing up his double. ] 'Specially at first.

2

[amo]

[ As he is wont to do, Vash has been helping Methuselah with the feast from the moment the old man came rolling back into town. The only difference this time is that he has to take things a little slower, still recovering from his bout of illness as he is. Without his powers, he doesn't heal the way he used to. (Not to mention he wouldn't have gotten sick in the first place.) He is so very mortal, very human, and although he generally doesn't mind, it comes back to bite him in the ass occasionally.

Like right now.

He's been banished from the kitchen for the moment, made to take a break against his will when it became obvious that staying upright for as long as he had was starting to take its toll. With great reluctance, he's seated himself close by the fire — a nondescript figure clad in black, his rot-tainted hair a floppy mess — trying (and failing) to keep the weariness from his face. He figures staying still for ten minutes before he gets back to helping should be long enough to count as a break. No one can complain he hasn't taken one in that case.

Vash is counting down the minutes, gaze unseeing on the gently dancing flames in the hearth, and gets about over halfway when there's movement in his peripheral and a voice pulls him from his thoughts. Even before the words themselves have a chance to register, there's a familiarity to the cadence and the accent that's being spoken in that has Vash nearly giving himself whiplash with how fast he turns his head to look.

His heart stops. He forgets how to breathe.

Even immediately stunned as he is, he can tell what he sees isn't entirely right, but he would recognize that face anywhere. ]

Wolfwood...?