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

Louis de Pointe du Lac | Interview with the Vampire (AMC)

[flambeaux]

1. Arrival

His head doesn't whip around. It's not the first time Louis has heard a voice in his head. Neither are you, he feels the need to answer back to a fellow immortal. Claudia? he tries to reach out with his mind. Nothing. It's like speaking through cotton, and nothing but cotton answers.

He was traveling, last he remembers, in a suit good enough--if not formal enough--to be buried in. He shivers in his coat, thankfully wool, but not built for heavy snow. He doesn't need to examine the new old weakness in his body. He can feel the paltry strength of a mortal with each crunch of his thin shoes in the snow. His limbs don't feel smooth and powerful. They feel sluggish and, most of all, cold. This is hell. He's a Southern boy used to hot nights and humid storms; he's not built for this.

Nevertheless, he straightens his hat and stubbornly drags a shiny black coffin behind him with a scavenged rope.

2. Guilty Party

Additional CWs: brief reference to suicidal ideation

Groggy as he is, he immediately knows something is wrong. Louis de Pointe du Lac sleeps in his coffin, or tucked under a blanket in comfort and safety, not upright in a hard chair. And the smell. It calls to him so sweetly. He's hungry. Cinnamon, cabernet, leather, iron--tasting notes only for him, but strangely not as sharp as usual.

His eyes open, preternatural stained-glass green nearly obliterated by the dilation of his irises. He moves against the chains, struggles with a faint puzzlement, as if he expects them to fall away like paper.

Finally he screams, hot murderous anger in his blood, and virulent hunger, and a deep sorrow cutting through the panic; for if he's been captured and had the strength sapped from him, surely this is the end. He's wanted to die so many times, yet he keeps struggling for life like some wriggling crawling thing.

"FUCK YOU!!"

He's usually a little more classy than that.

3. Off the Beaten Track

Additional CWs: attempted animal hunting

"Just a little closer," he coaxes in a voice suited to dogs and children. "Promise it'll be quick--Aw, damn..."

So much for that. He trudges after the elusive dog, fancy walking stick in hand, hoping at least it'll lead him to some other game. Maybe he should have asked someone how to set rabbit traps in town. Maybe he should have asked about a lot of things. But he left town quickly. The night is young, and like youth, it is fleeting. He has to feed before sunrise, and he has to do it in private.

2. guilty party

[flanerie]

Oblivion is not entirely unpleasant. As much as Lestat revels in the pleasures of the embodied world, in his times of greatest unhappiness there is undeniable comfort in the brief cessation of self that comes with dreamless sleep.

To be abruptly jarred from that reprieve is bad enough. The cause and quality of that jar amplify the insult, the injury, unbearably.

"Va te faire foutre aussi!" Lestat crashes into wakefulness as a body flung through a window, jagged shards and the rip of gravity, his instinctive retort wracked with passionate tongues of flame. He does not know the alien air of this strange land rips his words up by the root to transform them into the bluntness of their meaning. "Fuck you, too!"

There is nothing else in the room, in the world, but the man bound to the chair before him. Lestat surges against his bonds heedlessly of their strength, blown wide eyes fixated on the prize he seeks. He will fling himself on him like the wrath of the absent God. He will wrap his arms around him and crush him into dust. He will press his face against his chest until he may feel the wounded throb of Lestat's heart and repent everything, and still, he will give no mercy, no misbegotten tenderness, no, his weakness cost him enough the once, he will - he will get out of this fucking chair.

Lestat snarls like a rabid thing as he jerks at his bonds, his eyes like the death of light.

season 1 spoilers

[flambeaux]

"Shut the fuck up, Lestat!" Pure reflex. Then Louis knows what he is saying, and who he is saying it to, and there is a terrible still moment before he roars again, wordlessly. He tastes blood, and he does not know if it is from the air or from having bit himself.

Some small part of him isn't completely surprised. He himself did not finish the job. He didn't throw Lestat in the fire or trap him in the depths of the Atlantic. He ran like the coward he was. (He clutched that pale stilled thing to his heart and bawled like a child who cannot possibly imagine any greater misery than in that moment.)

"Where is she?!" he snarls and cries, struggling like an animal in a trap. "What did you do?! I should have burned you with the rest! This is your fault! Where the fuck are we?!"

He is wasting blood by letting it fall out of his eyes, and he does not care about that any more than he cares about slinging questions out of order. Beloved, beloathed, there is no human equivalent for the bond they share, and there is something horribly human about the way Louis wants to tear him apart.

season 1 spoilers

[flanerie]

"Oh, she, she, she!" Lestat mocks, viciously. "Treasure of your heart, prized above all! I did nothing to that wretched poppet - nothing but make her, raise her, protect her! And with this gratitude I am answered for it!"

If he cannot strike at Louis with his hands (but he swore to himself he never would again, and even now, in his fury, does he not recall that?) he may strike him with words, batter him with blows of the tongue. It is not sufficient, not by a fraction, but the storm of feeling in him cares not for what is sufficient, what is reasonable.

"Perhaps she tired of you as well, Daddy Lou," Lestat spits, fangs glistening in the taut rictus of his furious grin, "Patricide is so sweet an indulgence, and her appetites have always been rapacious. Rid of both of us at a stroke, and free to seek her final death at her leisure!"

He knows Claudia is not the architect of their circumstances. She has no such powers of her own, and she was never one to gather allies. But if they are to make absurd accusations, he will not be left out in the cold.

"But blame me, as you always do! Lestat, architect of all evil! Lestat, left hand of the Devil!"

always and forever | cw: familial abuse

[flambeaux]

"She wouldn't!" His hand at her throat, his failure to kill Lestat, choosing Lestat over her over and over--Louis's heart of hearts whispers insidiously, and it is much more preferable to rail and rave at a monster than to look at the one within.

"I let her go! You kept her in a prison! I listened to nothing but you two taking shots at each other! Why didn't you just let her go?! You had me!"

He had the shell of him, really, and Louis bows his head with the pain of it, desperate acidic sorrow in his voice. Lance the boil, and let all the fetidness pour over Lestat. If this dank blood-soaked side building is to be their confessional, let that rot be their cleansing. Let it banish the thing Louis clasped to his heart, deaf to Claudia's insistences that they burn it.

"Don't kid yourself, you never cared about evil," he snaps at the ground before looking up. "You always did whatever you wanted to anyone you wanted. Torture people before you kill them, drop me from halfway to Heaven, and now you mad you ain't got no gratitude? You act like the Devil and you surprised?"

He lurches against his chains again and demands of him who always seemed to withhold secret knowledge, "Who is it? Who put us down here?!"

cw: familial abuse

[flanerie]

As Louis temporarily subsides from the peak of his fury, so does Lestat. He slumps back in his chair, limbs lax in their binds, his shoulders sunk under some indeterminate weight. When Louis surges back up against his restraints, Lestat remains curiously still, staring back at him with terrible, inchoate bleakness.

"But she would," he says, soft as a cat's paw, "You have always loved her too much to see her clearly, and I resented her to the same end. But she surprised us both, did she not?"

Lestat lets his head tilt back, cruelly exposing the fine lines of his bare and unmarred throat. He does not break the focus of his gaze, fixed to Louis' broken, tear-bloodied face. It takes skill to evoke dignity in chains, in despair, but Lestat has always prided himself on his skill at presentation.

"You are right, Saint Louis," he admits, freely, "I never cared for your petty wrestling with good and evil. All I did to free you from it, and yet you preferred to flagellate yourself with the words of a thousand lying priests and philosophers, then heap condemnation on me when you fell short of your own precious morality. Was that not why man created the Devil in the beginning? So he might have some head besides his own on which to place all sin? So you see, even in this, I have been generous to you."

He lowers his chin, his ever-mobile, expressive features hardening to disdain.

"I do not know who did this. Perhaps your cherubic indulgence managed to seek out that which she should not have, and we are to torment each other while they visit all manner of the knowledge she coveted upon her head. I hope she enjoys it. She has always so hungered for education."

2; cw: family abuse

[ploiesti]

Claudia awakens to chains around her wrists and ankles and knows, with bone-chilling clarity, that her plan failed.

It's not new knowledge. She began to understand as soon as Louis wrapped his hands around her throat that her escape would be incomplete at best. She's known that for even longer, perhaps. A man's voice rings between her ears: tickets, please.

Not even the smell of blood is enough to comfort her. It smells old, for some reason. The staleness of rust. She doesn't hunger for it like she typically does, and Claudia chalks that up to her restraints.

Someone is across from her. Claudia recognizes the scream immediately.

"Are you done?" There's no gentleness in Claudia's soft voice. She's just exhausted. "It's me."

season 1 spoilers

[flambeaux]

"Sis," he says brokenly, and resists the urge to call her anything else but her preferred form of address. (She'll always be his little girl.) He picks out Claudia's chained form in the dark. It's maddening how poorly he can see after decades of watching every heightened shade and color.

"I'm sorry, I'll--I'll get us out of here," he whispers gently, as if he isn't the one sweating and shaking. "Where are we? This isn't..."

In searching for an explanation, people often reach for the nearest thing to blame. It is not Claudia. It is much easier to blame someone else. (Louis's hand at her throat, Louis's failure.)

"It can't be, there's no way, there's no way he could be up that soon," he stammers stupidly, pulling fruitlessly once again at the chains. He knows, doesn't he, deep down? He didn't finish the job. And he thinks it is not outside the bounds of Lestat's cruelty to punish them like this. Louis very nearly screams again, but Claudia does not seem disposed to putting up with that.

season 1 spoilers throughout

[ploiesti]

There Louis goes again. The lies, the delusions. Claudia's heart aches for him, as a sister's should, but a larger part of her wants to scream. To rattle her chains until they break, never mind how they chafe. To sink her teeth through the metal that binds her, until they crack into pieces, whereupon she can turn the shards against her captors.

None of that happens. All that's left is a woman, and a broken old man.

"He could be. And you won't. I gave us an opportunity for us to go free. I made sure you could still say goodbye."

There's a figure standing behind Louis. Claudia can't quite make it out, so she closes her useless eyes.

"You wasted it. I didn't even need your help. All you had to do was step aside."

[flambeaux]

Claudia crafted the perfect escape. Louis was merely the distraction, and he got distracted. He could not put a permanent end to Lestat. He chose him over her, again. He ran like a coward, again. The love for both of them in his heart could not do it.

She could have sunk her teeth into him and tore out his throat, for how much this hurts and how this silences him. Louis doubles over as much as the chains will allow, which is not much at all. He jumps when a sickle is put to his neck, but the chains hold him fast.

"WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU. I HAVE SEEN IT. CONFESS. UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE."

It's not Lestat. How could it be? Do they not know him better than anyone else? He loves theatrics, but he would be in no mood for play. He would waste no time making the horror of his identity known, Louis thinks. If Louis had all his senses as they used to be, he could suss out another immortal. As it is, he can't get any sort of bead. All he knows is it's not Antoinette. (Poor Antoinette, cloistered away in Algiers, promised an immortal lifetime only to be reduced to ash. They burned her just to be sure.)

"You ain't no priest." Not the way he understands priests and confessions, anyway. And then, "Let her go. You can have me, but let her go."

The figure does not seem to hear him. "CONFESS," they repeat.

3

[bigbaddy]

Bigby has been looking for the dog all over town for at least a week now. So the moment he caught sight of it, even just a glimpse, just a trail of pawprints, he was quick to head over in that direction.

Unfortunately that was at the exact same moment the dog left town. And while the idea of following a dog out into the woods at night seemed like a generally bad idea, Bigby has been chasing down this clue for just a little bit too long to simply let it go like that. (And, let's be real - it's not like it'd be the first time Bigby stupidly risked his own life, anyway.)

It's only when he's already out in the woods too that he realises the dog isn't alone. One set of pawprints, one set of footprints.

.. And a person out in the distance. Bigby can hear Louis before he can spot the other in the dark woods, but as he approaches, he figures the crunching of the snow underneath his boots will give away his presence anyway.

So the man speaks up, apparently uncaring about the fact that it does seem like he followed Louis out into the woods. Even though i-it's not you, dude, it's the dog, okay!

"Where did you find that dog?"

A very normal question to ask when you've tracked someone down in the woods in the middle of the night, right. Especially a stranger.

A totally normal situation.

[flambeaux]

If he were out to get him, he'd have come here more quietly. Still, Louis doesn't want to draw suspicion. He wanted to hunt alone...

"Why? He your dog?" Sorry friend, but he doesn't care all that much if it is. He doesn't put his knife away either. "Best keep your dog close, else the wolves goin' eat fine tonight."

He shivers. Louis is from New Orleans, and he's always enjoyed a warm Gulf breeze. Once again, he laments the loss of his vampiric durability. But he still has the thirst, the brilliant green eyes, the glasslike nails. He can't even warm up with a bit of soup.

Hence the hunting. At night. Normal and not dangerous at all.

[bigbaddy]

"Not mine."

If only it was his dog.. :(

Desires for canine companionship aside though, it does seem like the other really doesn't know what's going on with the dog either, if Louis' words are anything to go by. The other's attitude about it seems too real for it to be some big lie. So that means the other probably just ran into it out here.

Bigby pauses for a moment, then slowly shakes his head.

"'sides, I think they're going to end up eating pretty well all the same if you stick out here like this at this time of night." Granted, most wolves don't randomly eat people.

But with some of their behaviour Bigby has seen the past month, it's anyone's guess at this point. Even the wolf expert - you know, from actual life experience - doesn't know what the hell is going on with their mindset anymore.

[flambeaux]

A dog lover? Maybe... Admittedly, having a dog to help with hunting could be a boon. Louis isn't particularly a dog person, so he wouldn't know.

"Wolves don't usually mess with people. We're too much trouble." Even as he says this, he's unsure. He's heard inklings of wildlife being crazy, along with electrical instruments. Louis has to wonder about effects on humans (and vampires).

"You lookin' to find a hunting dog? Not so sure about that one. He was more interested in getting me to follow--I think."

That's his theory, for in the distance a bark can be heard, and a black four-legged shape emerges teasingly from over a snow-covered hillock.

[bigbaddy]

Bigby is about to mention that the wolves here sure do love messing with people - because he knows Louis is right about his assessment when it comes to wolves in general, but Bigby was also quickly proven wrong in his own assumption that the dogs would at least leave the town alone.

Still, they do seem to have calmed down since the other month. And considering the other thing Louis brings up here, Bigby figures it's something that can wait for another time without being dangerous right now.

Because he really wants to think about this dog instead, especially as he can see it all the way over there now. A long while of trying to chase down this thing's tracks, and now it's just.. here.

He stares at the dog for a moment or two, but then looks at Louis.

"You tried following it yet then?"

Arrival! ⚰️

[fidior]

Relentlessly, Lieutenant Edward Little searches for the newcomers whose arrival have been spoken of by Methuselah. He journeys out past the outskirts of town, as far as he's able — to check the smaller abandoned shacks there, and out into the snow off the path leading back to town, boots moving slow and sure.

(Whether it's the act of a brave man or a guilty one, there is a thought guiding him, and it lives in a tight, aching twist deep within his chest, felt in every breath. He can't let anyone be left behind.)

When he sees movement up ahead, he's making his way there quickly, one gloved hand held up in a gesture of mollification; he knows well from experience that waking in this strange, cold dream is a disorientation and an upset, and being met with a sudden stranger (especially one with a shotgun strapped to his back) could have any variety of reaction.

"Good day, sir! Do not be alarmed!" he calls, to further appease the figure. He hopes the sight of him may be a relief to any lost souls, dressed in uniformed greatcoat and cap.

It's as he's hurrying closer that Edward realises the man is dragging a..... coffin, and he comes to a slow halt, staring down at the object with a stun that is at first confused. A certain unease, even horror, may be lingering close behind it, but for now—

....Well. He doesn't say anything, because he does not know what to say.

[flambeaux]

He has no inkling his arrival has been foretold. Even if he did, subtlety makes way for survival. He needs to get somewhere warm, and his coffin is able to shut out all light. There isn't a guarantee he can find or make another container of similar advantage before sunrise. Perhaps if he hauled for longer, he might consider leaving it behind, but he's not at the point of giving up yet.

Louis drops his rope and grips his fancy walking cane a little tighter. Why did this man hail him? He looks like he walked out of last century, but the most concerning thing is the gun. Louis feels a little like a fugitive. Now he's got to explain himself, and he's already having a terrible time. Do not be alarmed. What a laugh.

"It's evening, actually--not that it's easy to tell in all this. And yes, since you're wonderin', it's empty--sir," he adds as an afterthought, though it pains him a little. The older he got (and he's much older than he looks) the more the forms of address he was forced to give (and never receive) rankled him. He doesn't let on, letting his accent smooth everything over.

[fidior]

Many hours have passed by since he's been out here searching, and the shift in time has registered only dimly to him. There's a certain startle to hear that it's already evening — though evidence certainly is there, once he's not stuck in his own head and actually brought back into reality — but everything's swallowed up by the startle involving this stranger and his coffin......

Edward's eyes continue staring down at the great box, uncertain how to process the sight. It's an unnatural one to be sure — something so unnatural that the mind struggles how to sort it out. But as the seconds trickle by, he remembers other unnatural sights he'd known (such horrific, impossible things; man is not meant to know them), and his fluttering brain calms a little.

An empty coffin. There is a reason why someone would drag it along; reason is there. Perhaps he means to bring it back to the town, for one of the dead.... Edward's eyes move back up to the man, taking him in. He doesn't recognise him, and he knows the faces of everyone who came to Milton months before. This man is new, and perhaps that is why he is trying to drag back a coffin.

"Unfortunately, the earth is too hardened by the cold to be able to dig deeply enough for it," he tips his head towards the thing. "We have only been burying the dead in shallow ground, by the Church." Come Spring, they may need to be re-buried... a gruesome, awful thought. Edward frowns quietly.

"But your effort is commendable."

[flambeaux]

It if were proper day, Louis's skin would be a burnt sight to see. He might even be dead, just a pile of ash next to an empty coffin and a walking stick. He has no intention of testing that at this time.

The man's eyes keep darting to the coffin. It is a curious miracle how easily people justify what is clearly strange with ordinary explanations. Reason governs Louis's actions, but the truth behind it would drive the reason out of a person.

"Most coffins rest above ground in New Orleans, on account of the floods. If the ice is that bad, maybe you oughta invest in tombs. Louis de Pointe du Lac." He lets his accent drawl over his name a little, accustomed to saying it for people unfamiliar with French. "You get a lot of dead around here, Mr...?"

He really doesn't like being caught alone by a man with a gun. Maybe he's a cop or some kind of militia--no friend to Louis.

[fidior]

Edward gives a soft grimace, not allowing the gesture to take control of his features too severely (he wouldn't want to present himself so unattractively to a stranger....) but enough to convey some slight, polite displeasure. It's one aimed at the whole subject itself — death, and how much of it is seen in this place.

"I am sorry to say, that this place is rife with it. Something... happened, to the townspeople, here. Most of them were dead when I arrived."

It's not news he's happy to report, and he gives his head a solemn dip forwards.

"Edward Little, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, though I wish our circumstances themselves were more pleasurable."

Formal as ever, the lieutenant then looks back to the coffin, both parts impressed and disquieted that the man is lugging it all on his own — and with a cane in his other grasp, no less.

"Might I lend my hand?"

(arrival)

[skelters]

Look, it isn't every day that you find yourself suddenly in a field of snow (which is in itself novel enough for Vash, more used to the burn of the suns and endless stretch of arid desert lands), with no idea where to go or why he is here. But, Vash thinks, as he catches sight of something (or someone, hopefully) moving in the half darkness of dusk falling and tries to hurry his frozen limbs into walking faster, this might be something even rarer; it's a man, looking almost as cold and frozen as he himself feels, dragging a mass of something behind him. It is only when he gets a little closer that Vash realises it is a coffin.

He only hesitates for a moment, before starting off again - clumping along the deep snow with enough sound to alert Louis of his approach, if he isn't too distracted with his task at hand.

"... Um, hello?" He is close enough for the other man to see him, but not close enough (hopefully) to give alarm, and Vash stands with a hand braced against a tree, hunching his shoulders from cold and habit both.

"Sorry, I don't mean any harm! I just ..." giving a little laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, Vash gestures with his free hand at their surroundings.

"... I think I'm a little lost."

[flambeaux]

Given the deep runnels of snow, it's easy to miss. And, a coffin isn't an everyday object to be dragging around. Surely a giant cross-shaped gun would be more suitable and not at all conspicuous.

Louis scowls and straightens, tightening his hold on his walking stick--for fashion and defense only, his legs are fine. It's reflex, having been caught in a less than ideal situation. Louis really doesn't want to talk to anyone, in the habit of securing any and all vampire secrets and accoutrements in private, yet here this fool comes...

"I saw lights before the fog rolled in. That's the direction I'm headed in. No idea who or what's there."

His bright green eyes dart briefly down. That prosthetic sure can move. Louis has never seen one crafted with such artistry.

[skelters]

Hey, don't call out his friend like that ... Let's just agree that either of them would sure raise a few eyebrows, even if it does seem rather terribly appropriate and perhaps not at all out of place, given their desolate surroundings.

Vash takes in the scowl, the subtle tightening of the grip around the walking stick, and probably a myriad of other tells that alert him that his presence near Louis is not a welcomed thing - but he stays anyway, if out of sheer foolheaded stubbornness than anything else. It just isn't safe for anyone to be out here by themselves, and carrying such a heavy looking load as it is.

"Oh! Then you're lucky - I didn't really manage to see anything, and now it's all dark!"

Does he always sound so idiotic? Maybe, maybe not, but there doesn't seem to be an ounce of thought in his head as Vash smiles again - just full of some well-meaning friendliness.

"Would you like a hand with that?"

[flambeaux]

He weighs his options. It’s damn cold out here, and this is slow going. Though Louis has only the intention of self-preservation in mind, he’s not used to giving others the benefit of the doubt. It’s just not the way he was treated.

"Surprised you haven’t asked me who’s in here. I would."

A bit of gallows humor keeps the spirits up. Against his better judgment, he moves to the back and gestures for Vash to take the front. He doesn’t like the idea of a stranger in his blind spot.

"Careful with it."

Though made of good wood, the coffin is more awkward than heavy. It’s empty.

[skelters]

Well, he has his reasons for not asking ... or wondering. At the other man coming out so blatantly and saying it outright, though, it would surprise Vash into letting out a laugh, though the sound cuts off halfway as he realises that maybe Louis might be offended by it.

"Ah, well - it really is none of my business, isn't it?" Yeah, he is half-joking as he points out the prickly attitude, but not necessarily pointing fingers at it. He totally understands it, the natural wariness when dropped into some harsh, unrecognisable surroundings, and it isn't as though Vash is too thin skinned or inexperienced to take offence. It is also partially because it is, really, none of his business - and also, which he will keep to himself for fear of the other man walking away and abandoning him to the snow and the dark - if it wasn't something important to the other, he wouldn't be wasting all this effort to haul it through the tracks.

Which is why it would be better for Vash to help out. Two people are better than one, right?

He quickly slips to the space that Louis vacates, his attitude completely and stupidly without any sort of suspicions whatsoever, and takes up the ropes. The admonition doesn't dim his smile even a fraction as he grins brightly at the other man.

"Whoa, it sure is heavy, huh?"