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

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror (AMC)

[friendsfordinner]

arrival - methuselah's feast
There's food here.

Fucking finally.

Hickey eats with the vigor of a starving man. Soup, meat, potatoes, it doesn't matter, he is eating it. He is hungry, his last meal not doing that much to satiate the hunger that broils and churns in his gut, the hunger that grows inside you when you've starved for months. There is food here and he's eating it because who the hell knows when his next meal will be.

That being said, there is one thing that Hickey seems to be studiously avoiding: the tinned vegetables. As he slurps down the last of his soup, he nudges the person next to him who, let's be real, has probably been dodging food particles for the past five minutes. "That soup came in tins. D'you know where they put them afterwards?"

arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2
His knife is there. A boat knife, with the word 'Hickey' carved in the handle. Hickey picks up the knife as well as two other items close by it. A bedroll, rolled up, for sleeping on the ground. And a small ring on a chain.

Huh. He never really expected to see that again.

Hickey picks up the ring, looking at it, quizzical frown on his face. The next person who approaches him gets asked, "I gave this to somebody else. Why the hell's it here?"

A question for the ages.

hope nobody needs this, possible cw for gross body horror/corpse abuse
Cornelius Hickey is looting a body. Granted, it's a little bit hard to loot the body when it's cold to this extent. Rigor mortis has set in and then some. But that body is holding a gun. Hickey wants that gun.

He's squatting next to a body, wearing a hat and a muffler that you might have seen on a different body. They're not using it anymore. More for him. Waste not, want not. And here, in this new world that annoyingly is so fucking close to the world he left behind? He's not wasting anything. He's not going to let it get like it did before. Here? He's going to thrive. And he's going to thrive with a gun.

When he spots someone walking down the street, Hickey calls out, "Oi! Got any warm water on you?"

arrival pt 2

[residues]

"Um, because they didn't want it?"

That's definitely not what he's asking, but Jules loves to be annoying, and this is simply a golden opportunity. She offers a cheery smile, and then looks properly at the ring, tilting her head to one side to give it a proper look.

"It's kind of ugly. No offence."

Re: arrival pt 2

[friendsfordinner]

It is indeed kind of ugly. The ring is cheap, something bought by someone without that much money. It's the sort of ring that someone buys when they just want one nice thing, and Hickey's looking at it with a quizzical frown.

"I didn't pick it out," he points out, with a dismissive little shrug. Technically true! He stole it off a corpse! "Anyway, considering the person who used to own this is dead, don't know if they can have much of an opinion on anything these days."

It's said very casually. You know, everybody knows a dead person that they gave a ring to. Perfectly sensible.

[residues]

He's certainly convincing, if only because Jules doesn't know people who would blithely admit to that sort of thing if it wasn't totally normal to them. Which makes him just a little bit dangerous, possibly. At the very least, he's a graverobber. She makes a mental note not to die in front of him.

"Maybe the last thing this person thought before they died was about how ugly it is." Jules is actually capable of tact, which is not even remotely being demonstrated right now – it's just that she's also trying to match what she's being given. She's a chameleon, honestly. "And it was such a powerful thought that it banished it all the way here."

graverobbers united llc

[unwifeable]

Hickey's not the only one looting bodies. Anne's going through buildings and alleys, pockets full of treasures that are mostly bullshit. Paper money of unknown worth, trinkets, jewelry that's not real gold, but might trick someone. Best thing she's found is a pair of warm boots a size or two too big, but her feet aren't cold anymore, at least. Waking up here after falling asleep in Nassau's been an adjustment.

If she'd seen this body in her travels, she'd have gone for the gun, too. She's not halfway through the look up and down she gives Hickey (there's no lust in it, it's more a glare than anything) before she decides she could take him, if she wanted to.

"Ain't got water," she says, not meaning to sound aggressive, but the gravel in her voice is by default. It's working-class, English. Rough, like this isn't her first rodeo, just her coldest. "Got one better."

From inside her coat, Anne pulls a camping hatchet, collected from one of the deserted houses near the lake, and without warning, brings it down on the corpse's wrist with a grunt. It's frozen, but that just means it needs a couple good whacks, instead of one.

[friendsfordinner]

When he sees the hatchet, Hickey's eyes widen with barely concealed admiration. Where'd she find that? He wants one as well! All he's got at the moment is his knife! A hatchet...hell, he's going to have to look around a bit more.

There's no flinching, no sign of hesitation as Anne slams the hatchet down on the corpse's wrist. As far as Hickey's concerned? You do what you need to in order to get what you want. Besides, bastard's not going to be using that hand anyway.

"I'll need to get me one of those," he says, with a low chuckle. His voice is also English, lower-class, with a barely hidden sarcasm lacing his words. "After all, I doubt this gun is fully loaded."

Any bullets in this gun yet. Hickey picks up the hand holding a gun, looks at his coat pocket, realizes that the presence of a hand is just a little too big, then decides to simply hold onto the severed hand + gun instead. His gun now. Like hell he's giving it away.

[unwifeable]

She’ll show him, if he wants. It’s not like she’ll need to carry around more than one, what with the blades already at home on each hip.

“Down by the lake,” Anne directs him, straight to the point. She tends to use just as many words as it takes to get her point across, no more, no less. As for the gun, the idea that it could carry more than one round at all is a new one to her. Miss 1715 used to carry a pistol, just in case, but they’re not as reliable as swords. She didn’t see it in the cave she woke up in.

After a pause, she continues.

“There’s tools there. For fishing, hunting. Most of ‘em are rusted up.”

There, see? She can be helpful. Even someone as bullheaded as her knows she won’t survive this place without any allies, even if it is her missing partner’s voice in her head telling her so.

hope this is all right! <3

[extramuralise]

Methuselah. The name is ominously recognizable in a way Irving can't manage to locate his feelings on just now, except to know that it is of no particular comfort to him in the way it, perhaps, should be... but should it be? It's much too strange, but everything is strange here, and none of it clear in the way he'd always assumed death would be.

Meanwhile, there is an entire feast before him spanning multiple tables, which smells absolutely heavenly -- so to speak -- but puts up his guard, making him wary despite the way his stomach growls and stirs and pleads for even just a single bite of it. If this indeed be Heaven, well then, the food should be safe, but Irving isn't convinced yet of where he is, and he knows well the dangerous of eating the fruits of Hell.

He plucks up a dinner roll and simply holds it experimentally, another gurgle disturbing his stomach with a shudder. It's round and firm, the crust golden and just so crisp that it makes a soft noise beneath his fingers, and so hungry is he (the seal meat before had fed him, but not filled him) that he raises it to his lips to bite into it like an apple--

But then a voice rings close and stops him suddenly, not especially loud, but familiar enough to send a jarring shiver up Irving's spine and through his heart, a piercing stab of shock and fear that brings him no pain, but still feels just as physical as being cut open with a blade. His pale eyes scan the room quickly, and it only takes moments to locate the source; Cornelius Hickey is not exactly a conspicuous-looking man, but nor is he a hard one to recognize, either, if one knows who they're looking for.

"Mr. Hickey," he speaks with the breathlessness of a gasp, mostly just to himself and not (intentionally) loud enough to be heard, but still it may be. It's hard to modulate such things when one is so frozen with shock like Irving is.

This can't be Heaven, then, not if he's here as well. His heart plunges, and he braces against the table for balance, making far too much of a clatter for him to leave the hall unnoticed, although his impulse is naturally still to try, dropping the roll in his haste, then cringing at the waste of even surely bedeviled food. Less for other people to be tempted by, but...

No. At any rate, he won't run. He won't show fear to this man again, if he can help it.

"Such an inordinately lavish feast laid out by benefactors completely unknown, and your first concern is something so earthly as saturnism?" Irving scoffs, speaking louder now as he directs his words to Hickey. "Exactly where must you think we are?"

john irving and his terrible horrible no good very bad day

[friendsfordinner]

It's obvious based on the dirty plate at Hickey's side, the grease on his fingers and the small bits of food clinging to his beard that the thought about not eating the fruits of Hell has never crossed Hickey's mind. There's food here. He's hungry. He doesn't know when he'll next get food. So of course, he's going to eat his fill and see if he can squirrel a bit away, slipping it into his coat pocket or wrapping it up for later. It's as simple as that.

It takes a moment for Hickey to place that voice. After all, it's a voice he hasn't heard in a while (and he's around an episode 10 canonpoint). But a moment's all he needs to be reminded of the irritation at his shoulder, chiding him and scoffing at his choices (as that irritation always did, always tried to be so holier than thou, so pious, well look at where all that sanctimonious bullshit brought you in the end, hmm?) He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his coat before turning to face Irving, giving him a smile with a barely concealed ferocity underneath.

He killed this man before. A part of him wants to do it again.

"In case you haven't noticed, Lieutenant," there's a biting sarcasm in that word, "there's a roof over our heads. Warm food in front of us. No bear dogging our footsteps, no march to who knows where. Does it matter where we are?"

just SHOCKING hickey should happen to be there for it...

[extramuralise]

Of all men, John Irving has never been one immune to learning his lessons -- if, granted, not always the right lessons, not always the ones he had truly been meant to learn -- but what on God's green Earth could such a moment as this one possibly be teaching him now? Though he'd already been under no delusions that this cold, dilapidated ghost town might somehow, indeed, truly be the sanctuary of everlasting paradise which Irving, like all Good Christians™, has always strove so hard at grooming and depriving and sanctifying his soul for, it is not even so much the shock and disgrace of finding himself anywhere else but Heaven now that has jarred him so, but that Hickey is the one who is here to greet him.

Hickey, or perhaps something else that wears Hickey's face. It is impossible to know at a time like this, in a situation dedicated to only providing countless questions no man can answer.

Irving hasn't lost his fear of the man, naturally-- if anything it's only grown significantly worse since recognizing him here and now, his emotions rushing to fill every empty space inside him that not long ago been void of feeling, memory, thought, or anything else at all. Making up for lost time, as it were. Yet, if he could only know what Hickey was thinking at that moment of mutual recognition, he might still ask of him the very same: Look at where all your deceit and immoral aims have brought you in the end. Was it all worth it?

Never mind that something, something which he either cannot name, or else is simply refusing to, has brought Irving here, too, and that is obviously the most disturbing fact of all. They are not alike, them two, so then why? In Heaven's name, why?

Despite himself, despite the fear and the cold and everything else overwhelming him nearly to paralysis, Irving scoffs.

"Ever the fool am I for thinking that even you might spare more a second's thought upon the state of your soul," he says back with enough frigidity that his voice does not betray him otherwise by weakening, shaking, growing soft. "Yes, Mr. Hickey. It always matters. Or do you truly believe this banquet will not cost you?"

( OOC | Should also note that last time I RPed Irving I took him pre-murder, actually, so in the event of actual Terror!cast happening here we can totally discuss/coordinate/whatever about canon points as seems most fun & interesting! However, still just could not resist #thatawkwardmomentwhen here,  )

hope nobody needs this aka another Terror Shocked By Hickey's Presence!!!

[fidior]

While Hickey may be in his element here, Edward Little is quite the opposite. He's wandered this strange, empty town as though in a daze, having to pause to Take A Moment more than once.

It doesn't make sense, this fever he's caught in. It is a dream. A nightmare. Perhaps this is Hell.

He hears a voice coming from up ahead, and whether it's fate or coincidence that led Edward to turn the particular corner that led him to face the particular man crouched there against the cold ground, the lieutenant freezes, shocked enough that it wears itself too plainly in his face for a moment. Like he's been struck in the gut.

Then his expression shifts, authoritative and severe, gun lifting (he'd found his own placed there in the dining hall, as though awaiting him.) He aims it at the other, although he has very little ammunition left, a fact he certainly isn't about to reveal. Edward's voice rises to a shout — voice demanding (and desperate somewhere just beneath it, pushing; this man took the captain, could've killed him by now.)

"Mr. Hickey!"

(What is he doing? There so close to that... that corpse. Little's stomach curls.)

"On your feet! You will stand and face me. Now!"

ned and john having a meeting later like "so THIS fucking guy......"

[friendsfordinner]

Well. This is interesting.

Annoying, yes. But interesting. Because of all the people to be chosen to be brought here (because of course they were chosen, Hickey refuses to believe otherwise, this can't be simple chance), why the hell is one of them Lieutenant Little?

The question plays in the back of his mind as he raises his hands, mostly to show Edward that see? Nothing's wrong. He's not doing anything. Just ignore the knife in one of them and that slight hint of already freezing blood on the blade. All of Hickey's movements are slow, deliberate, and when he turns to look over at Edward, there's a patronizing smile on his face. He's in his element. This place is survival, pure and simple, and he is a creature built to survive at all costs. He suspects the lieutenant might not be.

"Now Lieutenant," said in a mocking tone. "Don't tell me you're going to do something so foolish as to shoot me?"

You can't sit with us at the dinner table, Hickey >8|

[fidior]

Edward tenses when the other man moves, gun sliding down his arm (having to be readjusted to aim towards Hickey). His eyes drop to the knife there in hand, and he feels a sharp hitch of breath. What horrible thing was done to John Irving— the truth of it.... Edward feels a sickness within him, queasy and wavering.

This demon murdered him, and not only that, but he has been setting a plan into motion. And now he has the captain (has Crozier already met his end? Or is Hickey drawing it out, indulging in power for a time before?) Edward's dark eyes move back to the lighter pair, staring.

He will not shoot Hickey, and many reasons present themselves as to why. It would be foolish to, he needs him alive so that he can be led to Crozier in this unfamiliar place. Not only that, he has hardly any ammunition left. (But there is another part that creeps in among the rest, the shameful part that simply shirks so unpleasantly from the thought of shooting another man. Even this one.)

He doesn't lower his gun, but his finger is not against the trigger.

"You will stand now," Little repeats, jaw tightening, nostrils flared. "And you will take me to Captain Crozier, at once."

Listen to him!!! (no one does)

arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2

[myfavoritemurder]

"Consider yourself lucky," says Callisto, as she does a few practice swings with her sword. She's not out of shape in using it, but it's been about half a day since she'd last seen it, which means she's just about due for brandishing it menacingly in a room full of innocent people. "Why would you give it away in the first place? You could have sold it."

The look she shoots him is pure confusion mixed with disdain over his foolishness.

Re: arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2

[friendsfordinner]

"Not where I was back home," he points out, in a tone of voice that implies it's obvious and she should know this already (despite the fact that there's no goddamn way Callisto would know that).

"We weren't anywhere near civilization. We were trapped in the ice for years. And anyway, thing like this? It wouldn't get much to begin with."

Also he kind of stole the ring off of a corpse who died when they were trapped in the ice, but Callisto doesn't need to know that much!

[myfavoritemurder]

"You and I may have different definitions of 'not much'," she says critically, though this opinion is probably more based in her time period than anything. Metal jewelry is always precious.

"Tell me you at least didn't give away the knife."

1

[your_harbour]

"I am not sure what a tin is - like a barrel?"
Max can barely hide her disgust at Hickey's table manners. It takes her a moment, but she controls her gag reflex and smiles at her dining companion. Her own food looks completely untouched.

"Why do you want to know? Are there not more important questions we could be asking?"

Re: 1

[friendsfordinner]

"Y'know, a tin." He gestures to one of the canned goods at the other side of the table. "And I want to know because I'm curious. There was something off about the tins back home. I want to see if the same thing happens here."

[your_harbour]

So that is 'tin'. Max makes a mental note.
"Where I am from, we use barrels and crates, all wooden with iron seals."
She chuckles. "What can be off about a tin? It's contents spoiled? More often it is a man pilfering than a rat."

hope nobody needs this

[missionem]

The man so addressed pauses, taking in Hickey next to the gun-bearing corpse. His eyes gleam over the top of a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face.

"No," Thomas says, tugging down the scarf, "Why?"

It's a very stupid question, as Thomas well knows. What the other man means to attempt is obvious, and the clear reason why follows shortly on its heels. There's a gun in the hand of a frozen corpse, and the other man wishes to have it come into his possession. It's a reasonable enough desire.

What he's interested in is how the other man reacts to the query, given the disrepute of the occupation of grave robbing. Although, Thomas supposes, one could argue that no graves are being robbed, and therefore another term ought to be applied to the activity at hand.

Re: hope nobody needs this

[friendsfordinner]

"Warm the hand up, loosen up the muscles, melt the ice, suspect I can pry this gun out of his hands."

Fun fact: Hickey doesn't know that rigor mortis is a thing.

"Smart solution, don't you think? Lot less messy and lot less offensive to things like 'human dignity' than my other options."

Hickey's reacting to the question with a casualness, a nonchalance at the simple idea of robbing a corpse. He's not using this anymore, this place is obviously dangerous, why not take advantage of this moment and help himself out?

[missionem]

"Ah."

Thomas ambles closer, hands casually visible, as is the hatchet hanging from his waist. He doesn't think much of the posture. It's old habit to him by now, after all those years in the rough.

"Thoughtful," Thomas says, with a nod, "And leaves no trace of disturbance. But you'd need to keep it warm for some time. Perhaps more practical to move the body indoors, near a fire, and then return it to the cold before rot can set in."

hope nobody needs this.

[patchwork]

"No, I do not."

Grace stops dead several paces away from the man hunched over a lump that she can only imagine is a corpse, her hands clasped together tightly, shorn auburn hair covered modestly in a cap, apron pinned to the front of her dress. It doesn't take a genius to work out what he's doing, or what problem he's trying to solve – it doesn't even take a close look. Grace can imagine well enough what a man looks like when he is robbing a corpse, and has also heard of what happens to bodies when they have been dead for some time. Even from this distance, the revulsion is clear on her face, perhaps because it is so well reflected in her voice. She is, in contrast to Hickey, actually Irish, with a clear accent in a high, almost girlish pitch.

"And I suggest you are less open with your requests of this nature, before someone thinks you a vagabond."

[friendsfordinner]

A vagabond.

Well, he's been called much worse.

Hickey looks over at Grace, eyebrow raised, clearly judging her disgust and finding her wanting. He turns his attention back to the corpse as he continues to try and pry the gun out of it's hand. "As far as I'm concerned, there's no need to act high and mighty. The bloke's not using this anymore, yeah? Might as well indulge in some Christian charity and give it to someone who will."

[patchwork]

"Have you no respect for the dead at all?"

If they're going to have this conversation, then she'll have it standing far away from him, as if she's worried she might be tainted by moving too close. He reminds her almost immediately of James McDermott, not chiefly because of his actions but because of his conviction that they are the only correct ones.

"What are you going to do with it when you have it?" At this distance, she can't even see what it is, but it certainly bodes ill.