August 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

AUGUST 2023 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A group of newcomers 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.

PROMPT TWO — HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE: Once recovered from their journey, newcomers are free to explore the town of Milton for supplies and find any signs of the townsfolk.

PROMPT THREE — THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN: A mysterious woman haunts the frozen lake of the Milton Basin, trying to lure newcomers to their deaths.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Day One.
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 days, maybe longer. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are a little mouldy. 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.

But it won’t be long until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire.

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. As you head into the outskirts and 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, are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up. Other than those heading in the same direction, towards the smoke, you won’t find any townsfolk coming to greet you, or even looking at you from behind curtains. … Where is everyone?

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the smoke 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.

“It seems like a great deal of you have come.” he muses finally. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. Please, warm yourselves. Eat. Get your bearings. Mother Nature has not been kind to you.”

The room is dim, lit mostly by the weak 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, places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold or any injuries. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long, foldable tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred moose, deer and rabbit meats, 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.

If you ask him where you are, he will simply respond: “This is Milton, of the Northern Territories.”

If you ask how you came to be here, he will shake his head: “Something has changed. The sky, it was… full of light. The Flare. I felt you coming, a great arrival. But I cannot say for certain how, or why you are here.”

He is regretful, genuinely so. He wishes he had more answers for you, but he does not. Instead he will simply insist you rest, get warm and eat. There is plenty to go around. Eventually, when you feel well enough, Methuselah will gesture to the door: “When you are ready and able, explore the town. Many left, others could not make it out. I have found no one but the dead. They will have no use of the place now, perhaps you might in the meantime.”

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

WHEN: First couple of weeks since arrival.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: frozen dead bodies, unexplained deaths, suicide, murder.

Other than Methuselah in the Hall, the town of Milton is void of life. While not a particularly large town, there’s a few stores and even a gas station. Life here is rustic. Function over form. Homes are simple but sturdy and warm, it’s a rugged place and one can easily deduce that the folk living here led simple, self-sufficient lives.

Commercial buildings and stores of note include a bank and post office, a hunting/fishing supply store, a grocery store, and a clothing store. There is even a church just on the outskirts of town. The buildings are ripe for picking, with most of them still with the doors unlocked, including the residential buildings. Others are locked, but can be broken into easily enough. A few are even trickier, with some of them boarded up or with entrances blocked. In terms of contents, a third of the residential buildings seem to be almost empty, as if the owners moved out long ago. There might still be things left behind of use: old, warm clothes good for the wintery weather, tools and cooking utensils — but little in terms of food. Even if the former residents move some time ago, they didn’t completely empty their homes.


Most of the homes in Milton seem to be left as if the owner stepped out only a short while ago, and with very little disturbance. Some houses, however, seem to be abandoned in a hurry, with a mess of items strewn about in some last-minute dash to grab essentials: keys, identification, treasured personal items, supplies for a quick exit. Cupboards are typically filled with an abundance of canned goods, and some chilled goods might have survived in the cold weather within the fridge-freezers, but it might be a gamble if one wants to try and eat them. Any and all electronics within homes: televisions, computers, mobile-phones — although dated, will all appear cracked and damaged, and will not function or turn out at all. The same will go for any vehicles around the town: there is no hope of starting any of them.

Diaries and journals kept by the former residents may remark on a change in the weather, with the cold and harsh climate becoming more hostile as of late. Others remark strange lights in the skies, dating several weeks or so ago, strange noises in the air, issues with power and electrical items. Some make mentions of changes to the wildlife, with wolves coming close to the town even when they had never done so before. One or two mention problems on the Mainland, with increasing difficulty of reaching out to loved ones who don’t live in the Northern Territories, or deliveries being unable to arrive. The growing trend is that something odd and terrible has been happening, although no one can truly explain what, and the problems have been growing increasingly worse and worse up to the final entries. You might note that the actual years and dates might not line up with your own: the current year given in these entries is 2014.

The newcomers are free to take over these homes, if they wish. No one appears to be stopping them, and even Methuselah seems to shrug about moving in. And as he’d mentioned, he has found no one but the dead: and plenty of them can be found.

Bodies of the town’s former residence can be found scattered over the town. In homes, in stores, out in the snow. They appear still relatively fresh, although it may be hard to tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s from very little time passing. Most appear to have died from cold exposure, some appear to have simply dropped dead on the spot. Others may be found with a gun in hand. Some, worryingly, appear to have perished by another’s hand. You won’t find the entirety of the town’s population, but there’ll be at least several dozen. Men, women, children.

Methuselah seems to have begun laying the dead to rest, but there’s too many for one man to do. Maybe you can work out what to do with them, try to bury them in their backyards, or try to take them to the churchyard.

THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN

WHEN: Until the next Aurora.
WHERE: Milton Basin.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation, malevolent mythical creatures, falling through ice, attempted drowning/possible successful drowning, potential character death.


Those who venture further south of the town will find themselves traversing the steep, winding paths down towards the Milton Basin. The way down is treacherous, but if enough care is taken you should be able to make it down in one piece. The water is just about completely frozen over down here, thick and sturdy enough to walk over for the most part. Within the Basin there’s more wildlife to be found: deer and rabbit are plenty. And there’s even plenty of foragables, too.

Out on the water are two small ice-fishing cabins, enough to fit one or two people inside comfortably, which hold a few forgotten supplies to try out some ice-fishing if you want to see if anything bites. Both even hold little log burners to keep warm. An old hunter’s shack can be found along the water’s edge, for those not quite brave enough to travel out onto the ice, to take shelter in for when the weather gets a little too difficult, with an old log burner still working within it.

But it’s calm down here, for the most part. Peaceful even. It’s an excellent place for fishing and hunting, and a little more sheltered from the freezing winds.

Until you hear the voice. Something soft and feminine, echoing across the ice. The Basin helps to amplify the sound, and for a long time you can’t quite be sure of where exactly it’s coming from. It’s singing, she is singing. Something old, in a language you can’t quite understand. Maybe it’s not even a language at all, but simply melodic vocalizations. It’s... beautiful, you’ve never heard anything like it before in your life.

And then you see her: a woman standing upon the frozen waters of the Basin. You realise she’s probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life, even if you can’t quite even begin to describe her. She appears different to everyone who beholds her, some one might see her hair is long and dark, others might see her with neat red curls. Some swear her skin is dark and rich, that looks almost plum when the light hits it just so, others claim it to be cool-toned that glistens like sunlight on snow. Whatever someone might find aesthetically pleasing is how she’ll appear, and even then to describe her to others will bring you at a loss for words. And she’s singing… to you, for you.

You’re compelled to go to her, although you can’t explain why. You’re drawn to approach her, to hear her better, see her better. Your feet carry you onto the ice, out into the midst of the Basin. You ignore the calls of everyone and anyone around you, fixated on the woman before you. She smiles when you’re close enough, beckons you a little closer.

… Then everything changes. Without warning, the woman leaps for you, her face contorting into something hideous, mouth opening to scream to reveal rows upon rows of tiny, needle-like teeth. She collides with you, and the force (paired with the slippery ice below you) is enough to send you off your feet. As you fall back, the ice cracks beneath you with an almighty sound, plunging you into the frigid depths below.

The woman fights to put you beneath the water’s surface, those needle-like teeth bared like some ferocious beast. She can be fought off easily enough, but she might just drown you before you’re able to. If you’re lucky, someone might be able to help pull you out. Tools or weapons made of iron or silver are especially harmful to her.

Once you’re pulled from the water, getting somewhere warm will be the utmost priority — otherwise the cold will kill you quicker than the woman would. The woman, you’ll find, will have vanished, and the ice where you’d fallen will have restored itself, as if it had never been broken at all.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. If asked how he knew that the Newcomers were arriving, he concedes that although it is a strange thing to know, it is much like how one knows a storm is coming.

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

1. Characters are welcome to take up residency in any of the homes of Milton. Methuselah will strongly advise characters to leave a huge, dilapidated house — known as Milton House — well alone, due to extensive fire damage.

2. More information about Milton can be found here.

THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN

1. Characters with hearing impairments will not be susceptible to the Siren's song, or may only be somewhat susceptible depending, but may be entranced to a degree by looking at the Siren. However, this will be far easier to snap out of.

2. The Siren cannot be killed, only fought off. She will disappear for a length of time to recover before she attempts to lure her next victim.

Comments

ted lasso | ted lasso

[goldfished]

arrival — methuselah's feast:

[ Already settled at one of the folding tables, seated on a rickety, flimsy chair, is a man with a rather impressively thick upper-lip moustache, and basic trainers on his feet. Ted Lasso might look like your dad, or what you imagine a wholesome American dad should look like, and he doesn't look especially bothered by the strange circumstances that surround him. It's a little like he's impenetrable to the downsides of any situation. Whether that's a front or not, you'll likely have no time to register the thought before he's looking up, meeting your eyes, and gesturing to the little bowl in one hand with a warm and friendly smile. ]

The food's not half bad! [ His accent is soft and a little twangy. ] You know, considering the circumstances and what I imagine must be a shortage in foodstock what with the weather outside and the influx of visitors like you and me here. But I highly recommend you try the soup — feels a little like a warm hug right in your gut. Might go for a little top-up myself, if the big guy'll let us.

[ Or later, you might meet him at the beverages station where he's helping himself to coffee, eyes already surveying the table for the familiar little sugar packets, and maybe a little creamer. ]

You want one? [ He'll happily start to fill a second cup. ] It looks like real coffee, which is more than I can say about the tea. And tea's already trash-water in the best places. [ Mumbled more to himself, he continues. ] I still do not understand how anyone drinks that stuff.


hope nobody needs this anymore:

[ In the days following their arrival, Ted bundles himself up in his best borrowed winter-wear and sets out to explore. The town has the barest resemblance to his hometown in Wichita, Kansas if it were ... maybe at least thirty-some years in the past, and had undergone some real rough apocalyptic circumstances, but the buildings are ones he recognizes. The things still kept in the houses are too.

It weighs on him, all the untold stories, or the stories cut short when whoever had once lived here likely had to evacuate. All those families ... and he hasn't got even the barest idea yet as to why.

If you happen on a house he happens to already be snooping, he'll lift a hand to wave in your direction with a friendly, 'Hello!' and may suggest that a little teamwork could help the explorations go faster.

Experimenting with the television or the radio, he says: ]

It sure would be handy if any of this stuff worked. [ And then: ] How about you grab some'a those cans and I'll just check the back pantry real quick.

[ For a while it's quiet. Just the opening and closing of a door, some shuffling, a set of footsteps — presumably Ted's.

And then in the midst of the silence comes a sudden shriek that sounds a little too high-pitched, a little too shrill to be anything other than real, pure, fear, followed by an, Oh my god oh my god oh my god!

Maybe you should ... check it out? ]


wildcard:

[ ooc: gently voicetesting a complete normie in a horror setting, as you do. hmu here for anything else that your heart desires — i'm open for anything! ted is roughly set from around the end of season 1/early season 2 for those canon-familiar.

pm me if you want to plot anything out, but i am pretty easy peasy and will happily follow your lead! teamwork makes the dream work! ]

[greatwhitehope]

[ iggy is used to getting around with little issue, he always has the flock with him or his senses make up for his blindness. everything is a little muffled here, which is unfortunate, because it means he can't very well fake it until he makes it and it's been grating under his skin that he has to keep needing a little more help than he's used to.

luckily, this guy offers before iggy has to ask and even elaborates so iggy doesn't need to clarify. it's going great! they're the same height, or close to it based on where iggy orients the sound of his voice so when he turns his head it looks for all intents and purposes that he's looking at ted. his pale blue eyes regrettably see nothing.

the mustache is lost on this boy, what a tragedy. ]

I don't think coffee tastes that good either but beggers can't be choosey, right? [ almost got it, dude. ]

arrival

[metaldad]

Since arriving at the community hall, Din's mostly kept to himself as he's gotten his bearings. Seated on the very edge of the room, he's been listening to the confused conversation between other people newly arrived here. They've been discussing theories, and talking about what they'd been doing, and trying to figure out what to do now and if there's a way home.

Din's not optimistic about the latter. From the technology he's seen here, there's no way there's a spaceworthy vehicle anywhere near here.

On his way in, he'd picked up a shotgun from a body frozen stiff, and he's got it on the table in front of him as he examines it, taking it apart. Until he hears someone addressing him from the next table over, and looks up to see a mustache that, frankly, puts his own to shame. Not that anyone present will know, given it's hidden under his helmet. Din glances at the soup that's being gestured to -- it does look good, he'll admit -- and there's a long, silent pause as he considers what he'd have to do to eat it in amongst this crowd.

"No, thank you," he says at length, politely.

He's already an apostate, having removed his helmet twice before. He's not going to make it worse by doing it a third time.

"I'm sure Methuselah will let you. He... seems kind."

hope nobody needs this

[jackdawvision]

[Ted is a strange man, from what little Edward’s noticed of him at the feast, but he’s got the right idea. Edward starts putting cans of food away into a bag he’d scavenged from a house a bit ago, one that might once have been hot pink, under the grime and mud. He tries not to think about who it might’ve once belonged to, who’d buy something so garish.

It’s as he’s trying to fit one more can into the bag that he hears Ted’s scream, and that kicks Edward into action. He rushes in after him, hidden blade flicking out from under his sleeve, ready to stab.]

Get behind me! [He’s going to try and put himself between Ted and whatever the threat is, hidden blade at the ready. The cold steel glints in the light, and Edward falls into a stance like he’s ready to Do Some Violence.]

arrival

[comfortably]

[ Aziraphale is trying his best to keep a happy face, but getting sent to this place and with all his powers stripped really feels like some sort of punishment, so he's just a little bit put-out. However, when addressed by Ted, he looks up and smiles. ]

Oh, yes, the soup. I'll - sure, I'll have a bowl.

[ He also isn't used to taking food when there's a lack of resources, preferring to save it for the humans, but then he realizes for the fourth time today that he is one of the humans now. ]

A hug, you say? Well, perhaps, if nothing else, it was made with an abundance of love.

rei ayanami (ii) | neon genesis evangelion

[alef]

01: methuselah's feast.

[ It takes a considerable amount of coaxing to convince this girl to sit and eat.

From a distance, you may be able to see Methuselah say a few things to Rei, but she does not respond. Nor does she react when he wraps a blanket around her slim shoulders, or leads her to the table. Someone places a bowl of stew before her, and she stares at it for a long time before picking up a spoon and beginning to mechanically eat. She's lucky the stew hasn't grown cold. Her expression remains blank, focused somewhere in the middle distance, except when she steals another look at Methuselah, who has long since gone onto assist other newcomers.

If you sit near her, however, she'll put down that spoon. And she will stare at you, unashamed, and will not say anything. ]

02: hope nobody needs this anymore. cw: corpses.

[ Rei has watched everyone long enough to know that if she wants supplies, she'll have to go find them herself. She begins by stealing a blue quilted jacket and pair of boots off of a young boy about her size.

Once she's dressed for the weather, the real work begins. She's methodical in her process, going house by house, looking for anything interesting. The dead bodies prove the most useful.

You might find her examining one of the bodies, digging through its pockets, and when that proves fruitless, taking its gun and checking for bullets. The weapon does not seem to intimidate her. Or, you might find her sitting up against the wall of someone's former home, engrossed in an old journal. Regardless, Rei will not greet you - the living are not the most interesting beings here. ]

03: the siren of milton basin. cw: drowning.

[ Rei is not certain she has seen anyone this beautiful. There are no beautiful things in NERV. She cannot describe what the beautiful woman looks like, except that she has so, so many eyes.

Rei approaches, hand outstretched. Everything else after that happens quickly. One moment, she's on land, the next, her body is submerged under frigid, piercing water. That's the worst part of it - water, which usually feels nice, betraying her like this. Rei does not realize that she has cried out. She doesn't hear anything else besides the waves.

And then, just as suddenly, it stops. Someone has slain the monster, someone has dragged her back to shore. Rei stares at you - her rescuer - and there is so much she cannot understand. After gasping for air, however, Rei only has one question. ]

Why?

2!

[infiniteheart]

[During her ongoing quests for supplies, Yanli's come across a few other but not quite as eye-catching as this girl. She's never seen hair or eyes those colors before and it's curious. Something about give her gives Yanli the impression that she's lookig at a spirit more than a mortal human.

What a silly thought.


She makes her way to the girl, equally curious about the strange tool she's holding. She's seen a couple lying around but lacks the technical knowledge to make heads or tales of it.]

Oh, are you familiar with those devices? Do you mind if I ask what they're called?

3

[deathroadtocanada]

[Kara never expected herself to move so quickly. She spotted a kid on the ice, approaching that... thing. So, she moved, and the next while was a blue. She remembered pulling a gun from her coat, a scream, the sensation of ice-cold water.

And now, here she was. On the shore, rapidly peeling her coat off so that she could throw it around the kid - actually a teenager - who was soaking wet. Cold. But alive.

She almost doesn't notice her speak.]

Hm? W-what?

1

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey's been eating like a starving man (which considering he was a starving man before arriving here, it's less of an apt comparison and more of a damn fact.) He's been here for a while and is going back for another bowl of soup, only to find that someone's taken his seat. No matter. There are others here.

Unfortunately for Rei, the nearest seat is near her. He sits down, starts to eat his soup, then feels her gaze on him. He pauses, frowns, turns to look at her before sassing, ]

Something on my face?

[ Hickey's accent is British, his clothes are that of the 1840s, and his manner is sarcastic as fuck. ]

1

[solitarysoul]

Levi recognized that stare, or at least he thinks he does. It wasn't an unfamiliar stare among soldiers, and he's sure he's had it himself at times. Seeing Rei as more of a kindred soul than, well, anyone else here the boy with the rifle sits near her.

He just stares back at her, avoiding eye contact, for about a minute before speaking. "...is it okay for me to sit here?"

[aetherialshackles]

[Methuselah's Feast]

[Death was not what Erichthonios expected, far from it. The world was about to go dark anyway for him, as he laid under the claws of one of the many nightmarish creatures that now ran rampant in the Pandaemonium. His entire body was in pure pain as he expected the final blow, but that's when the usually dark and cloudy sky that usually hid his facility started to shift: light filtered through windows that had never seen a single ray of sunshine, the entire world seemed to shift and change and for an instant it was like his own soul was being torn apart... and then the cold hit. The warder didn't quite know how he ended in a shelter of some sort, nor how he had been teleported to a place that reminded him of the winter area of Ktisis Hyperboreia, but with only his robe on he knew he had to move if he didn't want to freeze to death.

Had he been teleported? But if he still was in his time, his world, wouldn't balls of fire drop from the sky as far as the naked eye can see? Wouldn't monsters roam free and attack anything in sight? The silence surrounding him was enough to understand almost immediately something was amiss, something didn't quite make sense. Not to mention he couldn't see any facility nearby, nor any beacon... and his suspicion that he was no longer in the proximity of anything he knew was consolidated as soon as he reached Milton. That was one of the tribes his friend Themis often mentioned, right? The ones the seat of Azem visited and cherished... right?

Still feeling confused, the young warder accepted thehospitality, trying to understand if he was truly in the afterlife -nothing like he had ever imagined- or if he had been sent to a distant corner of the world where the calamity still had to reach. He bit his lips as he was offered food, this was nothing like the things he had in the cafeteria growing up and it was probably not the most sanitary option he could pick but... how long had it been since he just had a meal? The fire was warming his bones, the local, singular, seemed friendly enough and it seemed like he wasn't the only person who found himself lost in such a manner... had he been saved, somehow? But the Pandaemonium... it shouldn't be left unattended, right? He had so many worries, so many thoughts, especially considering he left everyone back home facing danger on their own. Yes, he had no powers compared to anyone else in the facility, but... no, there was nothing he could immediately do.

For the moment, he merely sat down to the side with a bowl of soup and some herbal tea, looking at the other arrivals. None of them had the tall and lanky body of his people, some seemed to be part of species he had never encountered or read about before. The only thing that makes sense is the sky being full of 'light', but if no one knows how him and the others got there, apparently far from the reach of the calamity itself, there was no point rushing for answers. He only knew he had to go back, somehow...]

[Hope Nobody needs this Anymore]

[Being surrounded by death no longer an unusual thing for Erichthonios. If just a few months before the Pandaemonium incident he would have been terrified to walk between bodies, the events of the Final Days shaped him differently: the warder reached for the bodies, aware he couldn't even offer them a proper burial, not with no tools and with how frozen the ground was. He merely dedicated his first days checking house after house, settlling down in a small building with two beds, one for himself and one for... he didn't quite know. His instinct kicking in told him 'if someone gets wounded, you better have a place where to keep them', but Erich knew he barely talked with any of the other newcomers so far.

The house was cleaned, he piled all clothes that couldn't be used in a neat pile on the side and started gathering supplies and things to keep warm from buildings that had been left on their own. He... couldn't do much, especially considering even his only ability seemed to have been locked away- not that Erich had much magic to begin with but...]

Excuse me, do you need this? [He asked in the direction of one of the fellow new 'residents'] I'm trying to stockpile things together so if anyone else comes we will have some ordered supplies for them ready to go. I know it's not much- [He commented scratching his cheek.] But... yeah, if you're not using this coat- [that had been left outside to freeze and was probably forgotten by the previous owners of the building if its state was anything to go by.] -I'd be happy to take it?

[Wildcard]

[ooc: I'm voicetesting this boy. he won't leave on his own for prompt 03 since he's not a fighter and I am considering to have him slowly specialize as medic, but I'm more than down to write for it if you're interested in it. Otherwise you can find him around the town studying the little flora that's left, medical plants, the local fauna or trying to organize things so when others arrive he may have some supplies at hand.

Hope

[solitarysoul]

[Levi had since found a light jacket and a thicker coat (the latter was too big but that just made it easier to hide in.  He was wearing both while going through the cabinets in the kitchen, his rifle resting on a counter.]

Huh?

[He looks over to Erichthonios]

Um, no.  I'm good.  I guess it's probably a good idea to collect those things.

[Possibly off the bodies too, hm.]

matthew clairmont [All Souls Trilogy]

[filsdysabeau]

[methuselah’s feast I - OTA]

[matthew is shocked awake by the sensation of biting cold snow against his pale flesh. it has been centuries since the cold has bothered him in such a way. he sits up quickly, but not so quickly that it would be incomprehensible to human eyes. it hits him like a sack of flour to the face; he’s human. if he’s human, he needs to get out of this cold fast. all he’s wearing is a thin black sweater, a pair of slacks, shoes, socks, and undergarments. his briefcase, lying next to him, is quickly claimed.

he scrambles to his feet and feels his heart beating faster than it has in hundreds of years. while his sight isn’t what it used to be, he can make out chimney smoke in the distance and immediately begins trudging toward it. at least, until he hears crunching footsteps behind him…]

[methuselah’s feast II – OTA]

[food. he smells the most delicious fragrances wafting towards his nose after the man greets him and it makes his stomach react in a way he never could have predicted. matthew accepts a bowl of food and tentatively takes a bite. He can taste it! matthew clairmont smiles! he digs into the rest of it finishing off the bowl in under two minutes. he lets out a peaceful sigh and looks around, actually happy to be human once more.]

You should try the little bowls.

[is his accent french? Is it english? It’s difficult to say. matthew was born in france centuries ago and whenever he gets terribly emotional a touch of the accent comes back.]

I

[solitarysoul]

[Levi pauses when he comes across someone, half raising his rifle. It seemed like everyone here was sane--or at least not the type to attack on sight--but the reflex was hard to break. Even without any rounds in the gun.]

Hi. You, uh...new here?

[Inwardly he groans. They were all new here, what kind of question was that.]

la'an noonien-singh | star trek: strange new worlds

[rescapee]

i. arrival

[ Snow. Why is there so much snow? She can feel it against her cheek, crunching dully as she shifts her weight, automatically moving her hands beneath her to push her body upright. The cold air bites at her skin, immediately slipping under her 21st-century clothing that had barely withstood the chill of Toronto. This is something else entirely, and as she looks at the trees surrounding her, she begins to realize how true that is on many other levels. 

You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design. The words filter up through a hazy recollection of darkness, sending a spike of fear up her spine. Surely it must have been a dream, an effect of some sort of transporter malfunction combined with an old memory of the insults lobbed at her as a child. Augment. Monster. She'd been accused of being something unnatural her entire life, so surely this must be some sort of repressed trauma resurfacing at an inopportune moment. Perhaps one of the other landing party is also experiencing— 

No. There is no landing party. She looks down at her hands, at the bulky silver wristwatch missing its glass, and then her eyes catch on the small device nestled in the snow at her feet. The little light no longer glows either red or green, and as she picks it up, there's no response to her attempts at activation. Panic swells within her and she struggles to tamp it back down. This isn't the Enterprise and something has gone very, very wrong. Shoving the device into the same pocket where she can feel the comforting weight of her Starfleet badge, she spares a moment to take full stock of her surroundings and the new set of problems she's been dealt. 

Twenty seconds after the gravity of her situation has set in, La'an starts walking. She has no communicator or tricorder, and with years of survival and security training behind her, she fully understands how quickly hypothermia will set in if she doesn't keep moving. So she picks a direction and moves, the snow creaking beneath her boots as the distant howl of predators drifts to her on the wind. ]

ii. methuselah's feast

[ Finding the little town feels too easy, and she realizes why as she enters and finds her way to that central building with others who appear as equally lost. There is something wrong with her being there, yes, but more than that, there is something wrong for all of them. The empty town, the many people who have suddenly found their way here, the old man who cannot answer their questions to anything resembling satisfaction. La'an isn't sure she can trust him, but since there's no telling when or where she might be, she can't even be certain if the man would understand the possible implications of whatever atmospheric phenomena the Flare might be. 

There are far too many uncertainties for her liking, but as she slowly begins to thaw from the bitter cold outside, she has to be grateful for the warm shelter and the food. She loads a plate with potatoes, meat, and vegetables, and takes a seat as far from the fire as she can get while still benefiting from its warmth and the ability to listen in on snippets of conversation. If there is anyone here with answers, she'll find them even as she keeps her own secrets. ]

iii. hope nobody needs this anymore

[ Explore the town is a direction La'an takes quite seriously. It doesn't matter that this isn't the Enterprise and she has no official role here — her duties as Chief of Security are ingrained in her very being and she could no sooner shirk them than stop breathing. So explore she does, starting with the residential buildings. One by one, she moves through those that still remain unoccupied, noting the ones that have now been claimed by others trapped here. It strikes her as particularly strange that so many of the buildings are empty while others were clearly vacated in a hurry. Even stranger is the state of all the electronics, the cracks and damages speaking of something happening more than a simple lack of electricity. And then there are the journals. 

2014. The date sits like a weight on her chest, threatening to crush her with all it means. But an emotional breakdown isn't something she can afford right now, so as with the trauma she'd endured just prior to her arrival, she shoves it all back down within her and keeps moving forward. It's only when she finds the first body that she stops, understanding now that she'll need a more scientific method to her approach of solving this problem. The disarray of the abandoned home provides her with a small notebook to begin recording her findings, and anyone entering the building will find her crouched next to the corpse still sprawled facedown on the floor with a gun in its hand, making careful notes of her observations. Or perhaps they might find her at another body outside in the snow, or sat at a table in one of the homes with a journal spread in front of her. 

If there are answers here, she's going to find them. ]

iv. wildcard

( Choose your own adventure! La'an will be doing frequent security checks around town, walking the perimeter to be sure none of the predators she heard in the forest are coming closer. She'll also be checking out the stores and other public buildings for more clues as to what the hell is going on.

For reference, La'an is being pulled from the end of episode 2x03 and is fresh off a time-travel adventure and so will not be in typical Star Trek gear. Until she's certain she won't royally fuck up the timeline, she'll be keeping her status as From The Future a secret. For any SNW fans, I can avoid major s2 spoilers as needed. My default format is brackets but happy to switch to prose if that's preferred. I can be reached via PM for plotting! )

hope nobody needs this anymore

[aetherialshackles]

[Erichthonios has been busy gathering... anything he can, truly, even items that he doesn't personally need. Trying to make a small inventory for the new 'residents' and have things ready for whoever may need them is his priority at the moment, mostly because he needs something to do in order to feel at least a bit useful and stepping in the wilderness is not an option for the man.

He does approach the woman while she's checking the corpse. He's carrying a few coats and a pair of boots, now mostly looking for first aid kits and other good supplies and... he just stops there, tilting his head and wondering what the woman is looking for. Most of the corpses he checked so far were frozen and he barely touched them, especially the kids, but...]

Huh... good day? [He offers a small smile, even if there's no real joy behind it.] Found anything interesting, there?

Axel - Kingdom Hearts

[skeletalliar]

i. mesthusela's feast

he wakes with a start, his body aches all over and his eyes have trouble opening entirely. he twists to the side, and notices voices in the direction he turned. within a few minutes he manages to open his eyes and with a start, he realizes he was sleeping. he actually feels tired with the remnants of dreams he had been chasing in said sleep.

he stretched his limbs and sat up, then swiftly stood. his chakrams lay at his sides. what a day to be alive. did he mention how ravenous he felt? he wanted to eat deer for some reason. he walked down the hallway and found himself among the people there. "Whatever that is, it sure smells good," Axel commented.

The old man offered him food and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gathered himself some savory bits and sat down by the fire. His cloak was warm and the fire was just the icing on the cake.

He had questions, like why was he here? why wasn't he in oblivion and by chance were any of his comrades around? mainly Xion, Roxas and a couple others he enjoyed the company of. He figured after he ate, he could start gathering his thoughts about how to approach these subjects.

ii. hope nobody needs this anymore

He found himself searching through homes that hadn't been claimed, but much of it was either useless or he didn't know what the hell to do with it. Currently he was considering how to burn a pile of bodies that mesthusela and several other people had stacked up over the last couple weeks. he couldn't summon fire for some reason, and that really tore some ire in his side.

He searched for a lighter, some lighter fluid and a flint wheel. so far he found two of three. a flint wheel and lighter fluid but no lighter. what kind of crime had he committed in a past life in order to have this kind of heinous baloney happen? Oh, right. Yeah, he did commit some war crimes in the name of friendship and love.

"Why can't I find a goddamn lighter?," he muttered to himself as he overturned a barrel that had it's lid missing and not a damn thing inside. He stopped and leaned against a wall. There had to be a better way than this. He was always so resourceful, he knew how to find things others couldn't. "Sue me for wanting to make this easier..."

iv. wildcard
make a post about anything and Axel will respond. ty.

[aetherialshackles]

[Methuselah isn't the only man in the building and that's good, but Erich feels... alone. He's still riding on the adrenaline of living his last moments and then escaping the wilderness once he found the little city, so his body isn't ready to rest or allow him to relax... and in his restlessness he finds himself approaching the fellow redhead while holding a cup of tea between his hands]

What a day, huh?

[The most pathetic conversation starter, but at least there's an attempt.]

violet sorrengail (the fourth wing)

[threshing]

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST:
[’You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.’

Of course, Violet can hear her own voice inside her head, ringing loud through the muted darkness. Tell me something everyone around me doesn't already know.

Those are her last thoughts before the chill consumes her and forces her awake. She's fortunate enough to be somewhere that seems safe. It's dark in here, the smell of mold overwhelming. As she sits up and gathers the threadbare blanket on the bed around her, memories of Xaden and her final few moments in battle fill her mind. She leaps out of bed with a gasp, fresh feelings of betrayal and pain filling her senses. When she barges out of the heavy wooden door to the structure she's found herself in, she's shocked to step into deep and heavy snow. This...can't be. It was still spring. There's no way there can be snow on the ground here, not even in these far reaches of Navarre. It wouldn't even be like this in The Barrens. But that must be where she is now.

She's struck with a sudden pang as she reaches out to Tairn and Adarna, and finds herself unable to hear or feel either. She hasn't been with them long now, but enough that their constant presence within her is calming. Being cut from them is like losing a part of her soul itself, and she feels the urge to curl in on herself and scream and sob. She knows that's what the enemy would want, that if she's fallen into their territory she has to remain strong. Having her dragons on her side would benefit her greatly, but she is not weak and she will not fall here.

She will keep going.

The flimsy blanket is wrapped around her shoulders as she carefully makes her way through the slippery terrain. It reminds her of crossing the parapet, and given the fact she's still wearing Mira's boots she's able to use the treads combined with muscle memory to make it through the elements safely enough. She walks for hours before she finally sees the shadow of another person. She's on guard, grateful for the fact her daggers still seem to be on her person. Whoever has brought her and trapped her here hasn't completely stripped her of dignity or opportunity. Regardless of what else happens, she at least still can defend herself.]

You seem lost.

[She calls out to the other person, trying to act as if she belongs here and knows exactly where she is. The key to seeming powerful is acting as if you hold all the information. Surely she can do that here.]

Have you been walking for long?

-OR-

[The elderly man, Methuselah, he's kind. But like any aged mind, the information he provides seems broken into pieces that have to be deciphered for true meaning. Violet would be frustrated, but she thinks this man could be like her father, if he had gotten a chance to live. That's enough to get her to bite her tongue and stay quiet. In these circumstances, her silence is kindness.

But her hunger to seek out knowledge has her seeking out one of the others to try and form an alliance with. If she could make friends at Basgiath, she can do it here too.]

If he cannot tell us more about The Flare, we need to seek out anyone else here that might be able to. Will you come with me?

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE:

[Violet has spent the first week in this new land of Milton exploring. It's not right to break into these homes that once belonged to others, but like everyone else she needs warmer clothes and supplies. She finds a small structure to settle in with a guilty uneasiness, and reads through the dairy she finds there. A young woman lived here, barely older than she was. It feels like a violation of privacy to read through her entries, but she tells herself it's what she would have done if she had become a scribe instead of a dragon rider. It's what Brennan wanted her to do with his journal he had Mira gift to her, it's what her father would tell her to do.

Knowledge is power, but all she can decipher from the entries is the year these entries were written was 2014, which means nothing to Violet. But mention of the sounds and lights in the sky interest her, and she writes her own notes in the margins of the journal, filled with questions she has no hope of finding answers to just yet.

When her quest for information turns into nothing, she takes to assisting Methuselah as best as she can with the bodies. Death is no stranger to anyone in Navarre, and she's seen her fair share of corpses over the past year. Like she had done with friends who had fallen, she thinks these people deserve to be laid to rest honorably. They can't be left out in the elements like this.

She's managed to find a broken down wheelbarrow in one of the boarded up stables in town. It's currently being pushed through the snow with a surprising amount of ease for someone that's as short and scrawny as she is.]

I saw a churchyard not far from here. We should help him bury the dead. These are his people, and it would be cruel to ask him to take care of all of them alone.


THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN:

[The journey down to the Milton Basin was dangerous, but Violet and a few others were able to make it safely enough. They've taken up residence in the fishing shacks overnight, until they have the benefit of daylight to help guide them back to the settlement they had come from. She sleeps sitting up, perched on the edge of one of the cots. She dreams of home, of dragons and danger and flashes of her brother's face. She dreams of her sister, singing her a song she used to sing as a lullaby when she was just a little girl.

Mira's song turning into a wailing scream tears her from her sleep and she bolts awake with a sharp gasp. Violet takes prompt notice that one of their numbers is missing, and leaps to her feet. Outside, she can hear screaming and the distinct sound of ice cracking. Someone falling in is heard next, and Violet curses beneath her breath as she runs out to see what's going on.

Seeing a ghastly, monstrous woman she hadn't ever noticed before puts chills up and down her spine. As the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, she withdraws two of her daggers from their places near her chest and takes aim before throwing. They make contact and the woman screams like a banshee, but tears the daggers out and throws them to the ice in rage. As Violet produces two more, the strange woman turns her attention toward her and Violet wonders if she's venin. That gets her to slide to a stop across the ice, cautious as she takes on a defensive stance.

The wailing ghost of a woman screams, Violet throws another dagger. This one right toward her throat. It connects, but is quickly pulled out as the creature runs away. Whether she's injured or not doesn't matter to Violet. She takes off at a run to retrieve her daggers, but finds one is missing. There's another deep pang of loss, but she knows she has to focus on whoever's fallen into the water.

As she dives in and swims down to retrieve them, she realizes two things. The first is that as soon as she grabs them and tries to tug them upward along with her, her shoulder pops out of socket and she opens her mouth in a scream. Which of course causes icy water to fill her lungs, and she has to use all of her flailing strength to get them both to the surface. As they crest the water and topple out onto the ice, the second harsh reality enters her mind.

The fishing shack provides little to no warmth from the elements, and with her shoulder dislocated and in need of a wrap she definitely is unable to drag their ass all the way back on her own.]

Get on your feet, do you hear me? [She coughs out water, and demonstrates climbing up on her own feel so they'll follow suit.] We have to make it back to where we were, so we can get you warm. Otherwise, you're as good as dead.

Arrival

[solitarysoul]

Levi was standing near the door, but still somewhere within reach of the warmth of the fire, fiddling with his rifle. He looks up at Violet as she speaks. "Yeah. Better than staying here."

the darkling. — grishaverse, ota

[underage]

METHUSELAH'S FEAST

( death slips away like a poorly tied knot.

cold isn't so unusual of a feeling, because dark and cold go about as well together as light and heat, but the discomfort is new, an unfriendly reminder of all the changes wracked from his body. a byproduct of death, he presumes, is the turning of the shadows on him, their abandonment when arguably he needs them the most. it's typical. for awhile, he lays on his back in the snow and stares at his hands, wondering when everything became so needlessly complicated in his life, as if he doesn't already know. numbness follows the cold, and as if replacing his vein with the icy trails of freezing icicles, numbness follows throughout the rest of him, too. eventually, he gets up. it is arguably a victory.

the darkling of him knows better than to rejoice the standing on one's own two feet, as infantile as taking the first few steps away from his mother. aleksander will take the victories he can, sensing that this is a rebirth in and of itself, deserving of mock congratulations for the tenacity to continue on. and the corpse, half worm food and turning to dirt, carries this empty body forward in some direction that suits it, ignoring the snow in its boots and the frozen chill of the air making its nose so cold it burns. all things are possible, when one has enough time to reflect on them. aleksander talks himself in circles internally, between the braided feelings of hurt, anger, resignation, and bitterness.

when he stumbles across someone making the same headway, he almost doesn't notice them. when he does, it's with an inhuman kind of curiosity, a detachment between brain and eyes as he watches them, unseeing, plotting. )

Come. ( he says after a second, jutting his chin towards them. a hand reaches up and clutches the side of his hood to his face, doing a poor job of concealing the blackened scars that cut across cheeks and forehead, as if worried they will upset his new partner. essentially, guilting them into thinking he is a good person. ) I will share my cloak.

( he extends one arm, almost hissing at the rush of cold air that seeps between the folds of his kefta. he is completely harmless. he will not cook you over a spit if no meat is to be found. )

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

( holing up in one of the buildings is a decision aleksander makes without much strategic sense behind it, mostly just looking for expediency, which is how he ends up in a residential building not far from the city center. all in the name of his current starring role of acting as a normal individual, unbothered by threats. inside, he slides the wet cloak off his shoulders, his kefta left on a door to dry, and replaces it with an fisherman's sweater, mildewy from disuse, but still quite warm. like a scavenger, or a infectious parasite, he raids the house.

there's something very perverse about reading a diary — no less, the diary of a young girl, detailing her days in almost excruciating triviality. nonetheless, aleksander reads on, only getting to more recent times when he hears a bustle at the front door. someone intruding.

turning on his most guileless expression, which by nature looks devoid of any emotion, he comes to meet them, book in hand. he raises a hand in greeting. )

Hello. ( before they have offer to leave, or something of that nature, ) Come, I don't mind sharing. There's plenty room for two.

WILDCARD

( anything else! feel free to hit me up with your own prompts and/or message me over pm or at trashmouth to plot something out. )

hope nobody needs this

[ravkas]

[ there are bodies everywhere, and it feels criminal to simply leave them, abandoned, to the elements. a handful of the new residents drag bodies to street corners and alleys, covering them with old sheets in lieu of a proper burial. the ground is impossibly frozen, impossible to penetrate. nikolai has mentioned the building of pyres, has offered his assistance, because it seems only right. if he could find an axe, he’d go out into the woods right now and start chopping just to feel useful in the face of all of this death.

as it is, he can only keep searching the houses. most of the doors require lockpicking, and he’s in the middle of doing just that when it swings open and he’s greeted with the dead expression of a very familiar face. there is a long moment in which nikolai thinks that this is part of the dream — the nightmare — that he’s exhausted himself to the point of delirium, that his shadow has decided to hallucinate its maker because nikolai has not been an entertaining enough host. of course the darkling would be here. this is essentially a recreation of the worst parts of the fjerdan wastelands, so why not add the worst parts of ravka, too?

his eyes fall on the book. the darkling could have chosen any one of the titles lining the walls, but of course he would find it appropriate to poach a dead girl’s memories for amusement, and it’s in that moment that he knows with absolute certainty that this is, unfortunately, very real.

nikolai is not a man prone to anger, but something hot sparks through him, splashing like an overfull kettle. the sense memory of blood in his mouth at least comes paired with logic. if the darkling is here, then nikolai’s life is about to get worse.

he filches the book with as much care as he can manage while using his forearm to shove the other man against the wall, rattling a set of framed paintings hanging nearby. the darkling looks different out of his black kefta hanging from him like robes. weaker. more human. like nikolai could sink claws into his throat and have the satisfaction of knowing there would be heinous damage.

that thought startles him out of the moment, his sudden and uncharacteristic longing for violence leaving a sour taste on his tongue. better than blood. at least one reminds him he’s human. ]

Don’t pretend as if you have any care for the dead. [ he steps back, slipping the diary onto a shelf beside a volume of poetry that looks to have been collecting dust for years. ] Leave her memories be and go search for her body instead. It should be somewhere in this house. Or do you intend to be just as insufferable here as everywhere else?

C

[solitarysoul]

[Levi looks up from idly using the barrel of his rifle to turn over bodies.  He shakes his head, since he's never heard of the Dya...something pass incident.]

...I've heard of bigfoot.  I don't think this It though.

[Given what he heard was horror stories he figures there'd be more blood.]

Aliens?  Like in that radio play that drove people crazy?

Rorschach | Watchmen

[moralabsolutism]

A. Arrival - Methuselah's Feast

The cold was the first thing Rorschach realized upon waking up. He was lying in a soft blanket of snow and the iciness of the temperature was biting right through all the layers he was wearing. He would have wondered if he and Nite Owl had arrived in the Antarctic but he couldn't remember the ship landing or crashing. He did remember the strange voice before he'd....what, blacked out?

Well, he couldn't stay where he was, so up on his feet he got. Not one for knowing how to navigate the wilderness, he simply picked a direction and started walking. Anyone who encountered him would be struck by two things: one was how the short man appeared to be completely unaffected by the cold. He simply refused to give out any signs of what might be perceived as weakness, so Rorschach remained as if it didn't feel like a thousand needles were being jabbed through his skin. He might as well have been made of wood for all that the ice and snow were causing him discomfort. The other was the mask on his face. At first glance, it looked as if he simply didn't have a face, that he was some sort of ghost. But on second look, it became apparent it was a white mask with black splatters on it. Weirdly, the dots moved around constantly; up, down, side to side, but never mixing with the white.

If one wanted to talk to him, they could try, but they'd only receive one or two word answers at first. Rorschach wasn't a big talker and the lack of facial features being seen made it near-impossible to figure out what he was thinking. He didn't trust easily but, hey, at least he made for a good listener if anyone wanted to have a one-sided discussion over the bizarre circumstances they found themselves in.

If someone encountered him once he'd gotten to town, they'd find him skulking off in one corner, possibly with his mask shoved up to just above his nose so that he could eat some food. His table manners were absolutely atrocious but he also had an enormous weakness if one wanted to engage him: he was blatantly drawn to anything that was sweet or sugary, even if it was something as simple as dried fruits.

He wouldn't willingly engage anyone in conversation but there would be an intense sense of being watched as he observed everyone else. The best time to approach him is when he'd be picking up his belongings, a grappling gun that was surprisingly compact and a leather journal with the years 1985-1986 stamped upon the cover. He'd be scribbling in the latter occasionally, though anyone who tried to read it would discover either his handwriting was so atrocious they couldn't even read it or that it was being written in a deliberate messy cypher that made it impossible to understand. He'd be more willing to engage people during this time.

B. Hope Nobody Needs This Anymore

While he'd remained relatively unruffled at everything that happened so far, taking it all with his usual stoic nature, what really started to get to Rorschach was seeing the corpses of children lying in the snow amidst the adults. He'd always had a soft spot for children and the thought of these ones having been killed in ways he didn't even want to think about....well, if one found him unmoving there in the snow as if he'd turned to stone, staring intently down at the bodies of a woman and two children, it might have been a good idea to figure out a way to snap him out of it.

When it came to exploring the buildings, one would find having him as a companion a boon. He searched with the practiced air of someone who had been forced to scrounge for supplies his whole life, whether that was clothes, food, or tools to help make things easier for him. He seemed to know all the usual nooks and crannies that people would store hidden things in. If finding an extra pair of socks or gloves tucked away, he'd toss them to whoever he was with. He figured they'd need them more than he did.

What really drew him was finding a journal in one of the houses. He just plopped down right there on the ground and flipped through, pausing occasionally when an entry caught his eye. What he read disturbed him. He muttered to himself. "End of the world..."

C. The Siren of Milton Basin

Well, this was an odd situation to be in. Thanks to a whole boatload of issues he really would have been better off dealing with in therapy instead of dressing up as a masked vigilante, Rorschach had a huge Madonna/whore complex. Therefore, the ideal woman in his warped worldview wasn't so much reality as an unobtainable fantasy in his head. So basically what he saw was like most standard Western depictions of the Virgin Mary: a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman with rosy cheeks, red lips, and dressed in blue and white.

But when the woman attacked him, Rorschach was hardly surprised. Given the issues he had with women in general, he'd expected her to turn on him eventually from the very start. All women had an agenda in his mind. There was no such thing as innocence inside of them. With a growl, he started to fight back. He had no qualms about hitting someone of the opposite gender, especially since he figured this being didn't really count as a "woman" by any traditional standards. Anyone around to give a superhero a hand before he ended up getting drowned?

[OOC: Canonpoint is taken from when he and Nite Owl are still flying to the Antarctic. If you want to opt-out of playing with Rorschach for any reason at all, given his extreme right-wing views can oftentimes hit a little too close to home for some people, just send me a PM!]

B

[solitarysoul]

Levi pauses as he notices someone just standing there in the snow. That was weird...was there something wrong with them? Was this some sort of monster hunting trick? He stops a few feet from Rorschach, his riffle half raised. Since people didn't seem to be turning into monsters here, though, he softly calls out.

"You okay?"

vash the stampede — trigun maximum

[amo]

I. what's this? what's this?

[ Finding oneself inexplicably waking up in a foreign, hostile environment is unsettling and confusing enough. Having to brave the bitter cold and trek through the snow in search of answers isn't likely to make anyone feel better either and the confusion probably isn't helped at all by the figure of a black-haired, red-clad man downright frolicking through the snow. That's exactly the sight some might stumble across soon after arriving though.

Observe him for even more than a few passing seconds and Vash can be found skipping through the snow, purposefully falling into mounds, or scooping up snow into his hands if not downright patting the ground with child-like glee and wonder. Having lived the majority of his life on a desert planet, he's clearly never seen snow before.

So give the weirdo a break, please. Or, y'know, maybe stop him before he gives himself hypothermia or loses any of his remaining limbs to frostbite.

Alternatively, if he notices anyone struggling in his vicinity, he'll stop his reveling to come over and nosily check on them. ]

II. a helping hand

[ Methuselah's kindness warms his heart as much as the roaring fire and the hot drink does his body. It shows the very best of humanity that he loves so much and it's heartening to see someone be so generous in what is obviously a rough and upsetting time for everyone. However, Methuselah is only one man and the amount of newcomers is considerable. Vash isn't one to sit idly by anyway, so he waits approximately as long as it takes for him to feel his extremities again before he's leaping into action to try and help the old man out.

He moves around the place to join in on handing out blankets, food and drinks, as well as tend to any wounds. If you're newly arrived, he'll be there to drape a blanket over you or gently push something warm to consume into your hands. Even if you've already been tended to by Methuselah, Vash is there to double-check. ]

Here. Are you hurt? Can I get you anything else?

[ Let him fuss over you!! Unlike Methuselah, he's more apt to linger and make conversation. ]

III. bury your dead

[ Rather than finding a place to settle in once he's gotten around to exploring the town, Vash's first and foremost concern becomes the former residents whose bodies are dispersed across the place. Whatever happened to them, they deserve a better rest. Be it out in the snow or inside of establishments, Vash can be found somberly gathering and carrying bodies to the graveyard to help Methuselah out once again. Whenever he finds bodies near or inside houses, he makes sure to check if there's anything personal of theirs like pictures, letters, or worn, well-loved toys (for the deceased children) that he can find and bring along to bury with them. Maybe now that house you've been eyeing might be more tenable with his free body removal service?

As solemn and subdued his demeanor is, he still has polite greetings and kind words to spare for any living he comes across while he works. He's a little less talkative when he's eventually in the graveyard trying to dig graves in the frozen soil; it's a bit more of a struggle than he's used to. Come help or possibly persuade him to take a break? He's been at it for an awfully long while and it's visibly starting to take a toll. ]

WILDCARD

( can definitely do some siren rescuing/being rescued as well. but feel free to come at me with whatever or hmu at gusts for last-minute plotting or such! )

II

[solitarysoul]

[Levi isn't exactly newly arrived, but he is newly returning from wandering aimlessly around town scouting. The warmth here was hard to resist after a few hours out in the snow.

He blinks as he takes the bowl of soup Vash shoved at him]

...Uh...Thanks?

Harry Goodsir | The Terror (TV 2018)

[bestsir]

1. Arrival
[CW: References to suicide.]

Harry Goodsir awakens with a gasp and, more than anything else, is shocked that he is capable of waking. He casts about in bewilderment, trying to understand his surroundings, and then frantically pulls back his bloodstained sleeves. There are thin lines of scars on his arms, but those wounds were not ever meant to heal.

Surely this must be Hell. He almost laughs. Just when he'd stopped believing in such things. And apparently Hell is cold and miserable and smells of dust.

He almost lies back down again, resigned, but some instinct pushes him to his feet and he opens the cabin door. There's an outside. Cold and terrifying, but in the distance he can see smoke. Now he notices that his medicine chest is there, as well as his coat and the rucksack in which he carried his few remaining belongings. He gathers these things up, and then, for lack of anything better to do, he wraps himself up as well as he can and ventures out into the night.

By the time he arrives at the feast, he is well and truly baffled, but what really stops him in his tracks is the food. Food. Such as he hasn't seen in years. Someone has to prod him to get him to get something, and then half-dazed, he wanders over and gets a bowl of stew and some water.

The taste brings tears to his eyes.

II. Hope nobody needs this

Harry has found a house. It's much like the others, but what catches his attention is that it appears to have been owned by a person—a woman, he concludes from the clothing and other belongings left behind—with an interest in natural history. There's a bookcase in the front room with a variety of scientific and medical texts—nothing scholarly per se, but popular studies accessible to lay readers. He cannot find any other trace of the former inhabitant—no body—and so after wrestling with his conscience for a bit, he eventually gathers up what seems most personal and puts it all in a storage closet. Just in case.

He'll open the door to anyone who stops by.

III. Wildcard

[Roll your own!]

II | cw: reference to withdrawal symptoms, drug addiction, injury, infection

[missionem]

Thomas should be abed in his own stolen little house. If he had more sense, less disregard for himself, or an appropriate balance of both, that's where he would be, sweating and shivering through pains familiar and novel.

But that would be for his own comfort, and so it would be a waste. The inexplicably half-closed wounds in his side have begun to seep something unclean into their bandages. There's a new heat in them, distinct from the transient fevers of unmet craving. That's that, then.

So Thomas rouses his carcass and he goes about his remaining business. The clink of canned foods in the satchel slung over his shoulder break through the creeping fog of his mind. He doesn't linger on the why of it all.

It's stupefaction, not politeness, that has him knock on the door of this particular house instead of simply throwing it open. This leaves him ill-prepared when it's actually opened for him from the other side.

Harry will be greeted by a pair of widened blue eyes set in a feverish pallor over the edge of a black scarf wrapped around the other man's face. The rest of the tall figure is bundled in winter clothing, obscuring almost every other feature except a lank lock of blond hair escaping a knit cap. Thomas tightens his grip on his satchel's strap and attempts to find his tongue in the sticky cotton of his mouth.

"Good day," he manages.

Thomas Jopson | The Terror (AMC)

[lieutenantsteward]

|| Arrival ||

It's another hallucination.

It's the feast in the hall, it's the clatter of plates and cups and silverware. It's the feeling, the unending, yearning maw of guilt and horror and grief and loss all over again. It weighs on him. But he can feel his fingers. The pressure of his hands on the ground is met with yielding snow, not hardened ice and rock. He hasn't seen actual snow in so long.

Jopson pushes himself up, a feat that already has him worried. If this is indeed heaven, then God's picked a poor place. If this is hell, well, Jopson almost yeans for the warmth of hellfire. He picks up his coat, almost tragically ineffective against the cold, and slings it on before he starts walking. The others must be nearby; that's the only way he would have been able to transport here.

It's only when he spots another walker that he stumbles over himself to meet with them, practically tripping in the snow to catch up.

|| Methuselah's Feast ||

It's been a very long time since Jopson has seen food that didn't come from a tin. It's been a very long time since food was something to be savored and tasted and enjoyed rather than consumed and rationed and agonized over. Even now, old habits keep him from attacking the feast with the sort of ferocity usually attributed to a wild dog. He forces himself to sit, proper as always, and swallows back the urge to eat himself ill. That would serve no purpose, as much as he might want it.

These things take time, he tells himself. He's gone without for long enough to recognize that. He chews as slowly as his body allows, sticking with the easier-to-handle broths and soups rather than the richer game.

He's as unobtrusive as always, but when he notices that the person beside him has an empty bowl, he'll offer to ladle in a bit more of the stew with an incline of his head and an unspoken question.

|| Hope Nobody Needs This Anymore ||

Another body. He tsks softly, stepping over it with a prayer with the sort of efficiency of someone quite used to traversing back alleys. He kneels down beside one of the doors, taking a pilfered pin from his pocket and using it against the lock. He casts a glance around, hoping to find himself quite alone for this bit of ungentlemanly conduct. Still, necessity does not recognize propriety, and he has to turn and focus on what he's doing.

It takes him a few tries, despite the fact that it's quite obvious this is not new to him, and eventually the lock succumbs to his efforts. His quick "ha!" as a burst of breath escapes like smoke is perhaps a little too loud, but he's already pushing open the door, footsteps light on the empty floor.

He's not looking for anything in particular, but the set of boots by the door get first priority. He sits down, comparing the sizes, hardly noticing when a shadow crosses the door.

Re: Thomas Jopson | The Terror (AMC)

[bestsir]

Word of new arrivals has gotten to Goodsir, and so one day he goes around the houses where hr now sees signs of life. He catches sight of movement at one door, watches someone slip inside, and follows—not to stop them, of course, but to see if they're all right.

He approaches the open door and knocks softly.

Francis Crozer | The Terror

[goingtobeunwell]

I. Arrival - Methuselah's Feast

An ulu is useless as a weapon, even more so when when wielded by a one-handed, middle-aged man, but besides a bone-tipped harpoon strapped to his back Francis Crozier has little else to use for self-defense. All he can do is trudge forward and hope for the stars to come out, though he's at least saved from the bitter chill by his sealskin trousers and caribou parka.

He's mildly perplexed, but nothing seems amiss quite yet. He's fallen ill before and woken up in a strange place (and missing key body parts); perhaps this was just another one of those instances, though he suspiciously still has most of his limbs. He doesn't understand the sudden change in landscape though; why had they gone so far south? It was highly unusual to move once they'd chosen a place for seal hunting and hunkered down for the winter.

Things become more muddled when he finally comes across buildings. "What in the goddamned hell..." he mutters, gobsmacked in a way that robs him of his breath worse than the cold currently freezing his eyelashes. His confusion lessens when he finally sees a person, and shouts over the crunching of snow under heavy boots to get their attention.

"Ikajuq!"

His Inuktitut is far better than it had been just a few years prior, but then again necessity facilitated the tamped-down Irish inflection and increase in overall fluency. However he's quick to notice that this person, despite the furs, is not Netsilik. Are they French then, perhaps a wayward trapper gone too far north?

The name does little to dispel his confusion, but Methuselah -- oh, that is rich. He chokes down a laugh, unsure if the kind old host would find it as humorous and deeply ironic as he does, and steps inside to defrost his old bones.

The smell of something that isn't raw seal meat or frozen whale blubber almost makes his legs give out.

II. Hope Nobody Needs This Anymore

Crozier is deeply, terribly, horribly uncomfortable to find himself back in a town, even a dilapidated and (clearly) haunted one. Stumbling across the dead always prods at the very deep-seated melancholy, but the way the men and women and young children of this town lie in the snow echoes the huddled masses of frozen men in tents, the innocent Netsilik family sprawled out on the rocks, the lines of bodies ripped apart and laid out to be burned. It makes his chest tight.

The greenery is nice, at least. He admires it as he's breaking through a window of some sort of shanty, hoping to find an axe or at least a damn shovel.

Re: Francis Crozer | The Terror

[bestsir]

Goodsir doesn't recognise the man in the furs who's trying to break into the little outbuilding—but his heart skips a beat at the sight of what is almost certainly Inuk clothing. He hurries over, racking his brain for how to greet someone, and when he remembers the word for good afternoon, calls out, "Ublutkut! Ah—halloa!"

h.g. wells ★ warehouse 13

[indelibles]

★ hope nobody needs this anymore

( after reading a few of the journals that helena had found in one of the houses she'd set back out into the cold, searching the town not specifically for anything but rather anyone. it was how she'd found the first body, half-hidden by the snow, face down until she'd turned them over )

Well, let's see what happened to you, hmm?

( she's talking to herself as she crouches down, starting to slowly uncover the body further, pushing snow away as she settles it into a better position. male, adult, no obvious signs of death yet. aside from the cold, though that's also help preserve the body better. something she's glad for as she starts looking under collars and sleeves. how undressed will this body be before someone gets to her? )

★ the siren of milton basin

( she'd seen the other walk towards the woman, shouting to them, questioning whether that was a good idea but her calls had been ignored. she'd been too late to grab them, only physically getting to them when the woman had attacked, trying to pull them under. she'd gripped their hand tight, her other grasping an arm to try and pull them back up and out, struggling until they're out of the water )

We should run.

( of all of the times to be unarmed. she doesn't stop to ask if they're okay, figuring that's a much better question when they're out of danger, not even sparing a look at the woman -- it's not going to be a good sight and they don't have time to waste )

Come on, hurry.

the siren of milton basin

[strongnarrativevoice]

[ Anyone who knows this man could have told her that all attempts to dissuade him from a bad idea will invariably be ignored. Most of those acquaintances would be unsurprised, too, to see him abandoning sense to do as a beautiful woman tells him--though maybe if he'd turned back around and looked at the one trying to warn him, he would have been more conflicted between the two.

None of this matters at the moment, of course. Coughing frozen lake water out of his lungs takes priority. Running would be another good idea, yes, but between the deep shivering, the exertion of elbowing the siren in the face, and the blood dripping into his eyes where he's hit his head on a jagged edge of the ice, it's going to take him a minute. ]

I thought--it must have been some sort of illusion, but how--