methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
Entry tags:
August 2023 Test Drive Meme
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
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.
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.
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.
no subject
But then, at the core of himself, Edward has always been a man of sensibility, not one to be easily spooked by thoughts of Hellfire, or the creaking things beneath the ship that some of the men met with such shudder, imaginations running wild with superstition and fear. Little has always believed what he sees before him and what he knows to be true — and that is where his faith has always dwelled: faith in his position, his duty.
But it is easy for the mind to conjure up thoughts of Damnation, of stepping through Hell, after what he has seen and known (and done), and this circumstance he is in could make even the most sturdy man falter, vision turning to explanations that might be of something Beyond. A different kind of Hell than the one he'd known these past years.
He stands there torn a little between the parts of himself, between sensibility and horror (and knowing the two have already been so tangled and re-formed into something anew) as he listens to Kate speak, eyes fixed on, something in his chest caught by the girl's words, ensnared. '—this is punishment. I know it is.'
....Punishment. It's exactly what he deserves, himself, (and what he's feared so fiercely), and listening to this girl voice it aloud feels like his own spirit speaking to him. Little blinks widely, taken aback (struggling to keep himself composed, sturdy). But it's impossible to hide that her words have affected him. He stands there stunned, then blinks, expression softening, wounded. What could this poor girl have done to know she deserves Damnation? What things plague her spirit, weigh on her, so unbearable? ]
If this is punishment, then I, too, deserve to walk here. ...I am sorry. To be burdened by such inner turmoil... it is not a fate I would wish upon anyone.
[ He allows himself this brief moment to touch upon his own despair.... it lingers within him, but no, no. There is someone he must help, now. ]
But you will not walk it alone. We must keep trying to find solace — must keep going. I will get you somewhere warm, and safe.
no subject
And now she's here, from one Hell and into another. From emotional, to physical. She doesn't understand why, why God would mean such a thing to happen to her?
It is a treacherous thing. What was build so strongly to now form cracks so deep they threaten to crumble. What warms her feels cold, now trying to desperately grasp at scraps to feel comfort. She doesn't think she believes in miracles any more.
But she is touched by the kindness. She has done nothing to make him think she is undeserving of Hell, other than she guesses at just being a young person. And yet he has done plenty for her: to offer his coat, to help, words that sound like a promise: 'I will get you somewhere warm, and safe.'
What has he done to deserve such a Hell, too? ]
... 'Those who are gracious to the poor lend to the Lord, and the Lord will fully repay them.' Bless you. [ The words are soft, but she means them. ] I wouldn't wish this on anybody, either. Not even the people who've hurt me.
[ Not even Victoria Chase. Not even Nathan Prescott.
Her faith is precariously intact, but still intact. For now, at least. There's another thin, sad smile, even if it still doesn't reach her eyes. ]
I've just been kind of following the trail. I guess going either way will mean it'll lead to something, eventually.
cw: themes of depression
'Not even the people who've hurt me'
Who could have? What has been done to the girl, smile gossamer-soft and just as softly melancholic? There's a sadness about her, a grey thing hanging. He knows it well, perhaps. When he sits in a room of men, he always feels strangely out of place, burdened, mouth sunken at the corners to a frown. When did smiling begin to feel so forced? He has always been a serious man, but it came naturally, comfortably. Over time, it began to feel like something ever-hanging around his neck, footsteps heavier, thoughts listless. True, the circumstance he'd found himself in on Terror would leave any man a shell of himself, and all of them had become such a way, but...
...she is so young to smile so sadly. Edward watches for a long moment, before uttering softly. ]
Thank you.
[ He doesn't deserve this blessing, surely, but the resolve within him sparks itself, finds itself, again. He must not succumb to his own distress, or his weaknesses (and he knows them well.) He will not falter; this girl will not face this Hell (whatever Hell it truly may be) without his aide. He will keep her safe. ]
Aye — whatever awaits us at the end of this path, it will be an answer. [ He moves, boots heavy against the snow, to step against the trail, and looks over her to make sure she's all right for the moment. Even with the warmth of his greatcoat, the cold will find ways to seep in, and there's her footwear to worry about... not nearly adequate for this environment. Edward's jaw tightens, fretful, but they can't rush their pace. One can't, not in this cold. And he isn't out of danger, himself — the clothing now exposed without his greatcoat is warm and thick, a jumper beneath a waistcoat and both are meant for the cold, to keep warmth pressed to his core, but.... he knows it won't be enough. Not for long. ]
Here, if you may step behind me, into the places my boots leave imprints... it will lessen the snow that reaches your feet.
[ Not fully, but it will help. He'll walk slow and deliberately, keeping his gait shorter so that the girl can follow his footsteps. After a few moments of walking, he speaks again, head turned slightly to glance back over his shoulder. ]
Is it cold, where you are from? Are you used to some snow?
.... I don't have enough room in the tag line for the cw's....
[ ... Plenty. Her time at Blackwell has been short, but filled with plenty of people who've flung plenty of unkind words. And even far more darker, sinister things. Did Nathan... hurt her? Did he put something in her drink, enough that one sip would make her sick? And what happened, when he promised to take her to the hospital? Why did she never get there? Why did she wake up in front of her dorm room door, dishevelled and her skin crawling without being able to remember why. What... what did he do to her? What did he do to hurt her...?
Plenty has been done to her. The world often has no kindness, not even for Kate Marsh. ]
It's something at least, I guess. [ She nods once, her head turning that way to look down the trail before she tucks the coat a little tighter around her — wrapping her arms around her middle. She's glad the sleeves are kinda long, she hide her hands in them. ] ... Okay, I can do that.
[ There's a pause as she waits for him to start moving, before she falls awkwardly into line behind him — some strange sight of two shivering soul trekking through snow like some duck leading a duckling to water. Her shoes are not nearly adequate at all, really. Fine enough for an early autumn day in a relatively warm climate, but not this. ... Not to mention they were already sodden from a walk in the rain. She hadn't noticed the rain. Everything had been weighted down on her, Mr Jefferson's words ringing in her ears: knock off this martyr crap, stop acting so brittle... maybe this is your way of getting attention. Something had snapped in her then, something beyond the grey heaviness — as the tunnel had narrowed and she'd seen only one thing left to do. Her head bent, staring at her feet carrying her through the school corridors, then out into the heavy rain, on slowly flooding concrete littered with the first of the fallen leaves.
She stares at them now, peeking out from the coat with every step she takes. White trainers lost in the white, small in the hollows left by larger boots. Not to any rooftop, this time. But to the promise of safety and warmth, led by the kindness of a stranger in this frozen Hell. ]
Not really. Arcadia Bay's mostly pretty warm. We barely get much snow, even in winter... so... nothing like this. [ There's a short pause before she remembers, her head lifting slightly. ] It... snowed the other day. It was... really weird.
[ Her voice falls to a hush. Was that related to all of this? Snow is rare enough, but to have it on an otherwise sunny evening when it's still warm out in early October — it was some pretty weird weather. She doesn't know. ]
You're lucky you're more dressed for this kind of thing. [ There's the tiniest of cringes: she's... kind of 'stolen' his coat, hasn't he? Temporarily!! Like, just until they get to where they're going!! ] I didn't think it snowed this much in England...?
U KNOW IT'S BAD WHEN U DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ROOM IN THE TAG LINE... rip my entire heart
...Still. They'll need to find shelter soon.
He isn't much of one to make smalltalk, but this isn't — it's a way to gather more information on his unfortunate new companion, and also to keep them.... aware. Thinking. And— certainly, also to help ease the girl from falling to melancholy, things he's glimpsed moments before.
Arcadia Bay... it does sound like somewhere warm. Though strange snow....? Is it another piece of this bizarre dream? This impossible thing? ]
Not quite this much. [ He affirms with the slightest tug back of his mouth, not quite a smile. ] The journey I faced before this place, the ship I was assigned to.... she was meant to brave the cold. First we traveled the Orkney Islands of Scotland — and then on to Greenland for some time. It was.... beautiful, in the beginning.
[ The not-quite-smile pauses in place as he reflects back on the early days of the expedition, head lifted to face the cold before him, feeling it sting his cheeks and nose. ]
But our true destination was the Arctic waters between the Atlantic and Pacific. We sought to find and chart the North-West Passage, where no Englishmen had yet been. But we became stuck, trapped in the ice.
....We have been stuck for years.
[ He reflects, quietly. It's the first time he's speaking to someone who wasn't there with him, conveying their circumstances to a stranger. Voicing it is... odd, an odd ache. He feels it blossom within him, cold and unpleasant, and he's quiet for a few long moments before continuing. ]
We had abandoned our ships, walked until we could no longer. Made camps out on the cold beach. But circumstances are... dire. My remaining men are... sick. Starving.
[ The lieutenant pauses walking for just a moment, chest feeling tight, breaths so frigid. What he last remembers is....... His stomach curls in shame and horror, and he wills himself to keep walking again. ]
....Although this landscape is not familiar, surely they must not be far from here... If we can find refuge at the end of this path, and a compass, a map — then I can gather my strength to return to them. To help them.
Life is Strange: pretty game with time manipulation but also Lots Of Bad Shit
And she listens: a journey, an adventure. She lifts her head, looks up to the back of his head with a curious look. It sounds like the beginning of a story... a story that very quickly turns into a nightmare. Horror quickly sinks in, enough to make her falter in her steps behind him. ]
... No one sent out a search party? Like, no one back home realised the ships were stuck? [ How couldn't they realise? Ships just don't go missing like that, right? Someone would have realised something had gone wrong, that they were stuck. For years, he says. They've been stuck in the ice for years in the middle of the frozen far reaches of the world.
... It then gives her pause: is that where she is? How did she end up here from Arcadia Bay? How is that even possible? ]
... I'm thousands of miles away. How did I get from Oregon to here? That doesn't make any sense. [ She makes a soft sound, the quietest of whimpers. She feels small, forsaken. It's not possible to go from one place to another like that. Hell does truly make even more sense than that. She feels at a complete loss, and all she can do is keep walking. There is someone to follow, someone who's promised to lead her to safety — it's all she has left to hold on to. ]
Maybe... maybe if we can find more people, or if there's like... a town. Something. [ She tries to occupy herself with the thought. ] You could ask them to go with you, so you're not on your own. A rescue party. People'll have sleds or snowmobiles. They'd help you.
no subject
[ To think that they had the most advanced ships of the Royal Navy, such proud vessels. Terror had faced harsh conditions before; she had been broken and remade, stronger even than before. ...But none of it mattered, in the end. Abandoning their proud ships had been the only option. And they had done so, too late.
Edward's reflecting quietly on it, melancholy weighing more heavily within him again, threatening to open up too wide, like a gaping mouth, swallowing him whole. He resists its pull as much as he can, mouth tightening, brows knit. He can't fall to despair. He must keep going. Must... try.
—He hears a soft sound, something not quite a gasp or a cry, but softer even than either. A sort of whimper, a fleeting thing, but its sound of upset won't leave him. For as confused as he is, as lost, at least this is... somewhat familiar. But for the young woman.... this place is too far, too unfamiliar. He's frowning more deeply to himself, wishing he could be of more help than this, feeling that helplessness that he has never quite been sure what to do with. He thinks of when the remaining men were looking to him for leadership, guidance, safety... and he did not know what to do.
Every way in which he has failed threatens to bite down against his heart with needle-teeth, threatens to steal his breath. To leave him unable to move, to think, to be anything at all. (And through it, the thought, constant, and reaffirmed to him in the face of her own soft sound of despair — if he fails this young woman, she may die.)
Edward swallows and listens, lifting his head again to look outwards as he moves. ]
It is a wise plan, and one I hope I may find myself able to set forth. [ Although he isn't certain what a "snowmobile" is, it's not a term familiar to him... perhaps something American. Ordinarily he might ask, but in this moment, something else persists, her shock, upset at being so far from home.... Little isn't the best with reassurances, awkward with his own words, but how can he not try? ]
And if there are people at the end of this path, surely they will know our location. And how to help you to be sent back to your home.
[ Discounting the possibility this does turn out to be Hell... however strange way they've been brought to this place, there must be a way to get back. And he will make certain to help her do that. ]
They most certainly have ships, and perhaps know routes that have not been frozen as ours was. We shall find your way, Miss Kate.
i figured we could move this along a bit to make space for new things when the event drops?
[ That too sits within in her, with her own misery. It doesn't bode well for herself. What if.. what if they're all trapped here now? What if she's stuck too? Clinging to hope is hard to do, and it makes tears sting her eyes. But she quickly tries to wipe them away. It hurts too much to cry, to let them fall down her cheeks. She inhales shakily, trying to calm herself, soothe herself somehow.
His words help. If there's people, people who live here — then they're able to help them. They know this place far better than the two of them. They'll help send her home, they'll help him get back to his men to rescue them. Surely, surely. ... Right? ]
... My parents are going to majorly freak out over this. [ There's a little sound, almost like a laugh. It feels like such a silly thing to voice aloud, and she certainly feels that way when she says it. But she doesn't really know how else to say it. All this at Blackwell with that stupid party and awful viral video and now she's... literally thousands of miles away from home, in some frozen remote place. ]
... My dad would probably want to shake your hand for helping me. At the very least he'd want to write to you.
[ Like a proper letter, she means. Not email. He tends to do that. She'll have to make sure she gets an address just in case, so her dad can write him.
—and then, something drifting on the air. Faint but unmistakable; the dark scent of burning wood. She stops, reaching forwards for his hand and tugging on it slightly and lifting her head, looking: wait. ]
... I think I can smell... smoke—?
perfect!! We can definitely handwave/wrap this very shortly, maybe soon after they get inside!
Part of it feels as though.... some bad dream, [ he admits, something he hasn't done to anyone. Of course there was always some threat of such an outcome — they'd prepared for it, to be trapped. But... not like that. None of them could have truly ever been prepared for what happened, and how. And though it is so fresh in his mind, now that he is here and speaking to another human being, it feels as some nightmare.
(Or is this the nightmare? Will he wake up?)
He tilts his head slightly to the side as he listens, keeps an ear out for the girl's words, and can't help another one of those almost-smiles. ]
I should be honoured to shake his hand. And when you are home and well, you will have new adventures to share with him.
[ Hopefully brief ones — he means to send her home as quickly as he is able. There must be something here, other people to find, if a girl has been placed here...
And there it comes, with a tug to his hand, Edward pausing his walking and turning his head to look back around to her, before his body follows suit, facing the other. Smoke....? He lifts his head, nose to the frigid air, mouth suddenly parting as his eyes widen. Smoke. He smells it too — brows lifting, eyes moving in the direction of it. The air is still, not particularly windy at this moment; it isn't difficult to discern where the smell comes from. ....And it seems to be along this path, up ahead of it. Edward gives the younger's hand a squeeze and then a gentle pull, as though to urge her with him. ]
I smell it as well, up ahead—!
[ There is the thought that it might be the camps, where the men had made fires. Yearning for warmth, heating up the meager remains of food they had left. Le Vesconte will be there, Erebus' remaining lieutenant; he can help. Together, they'll find help for the girl and then for themselves.
But as they near (Edward moving more quickly, and he'll take Kate's hand again if she needs help along the way), it becomes clear that it isn't camps to be found. No, this is..... a town. The snow thins out a bit, easier to step across, and so he can walk alongside his companion instead of leading her through, wary and hopeful all in equal measures. His eyes are wide, mouth tipped open slightly. It seems.... abandoned, with no sign of moving life, and the homes they pass by are dark and neglected. All is silent, save for the heaviness of his footsteps, and the movement of their clothing.
But there is a clear trail of smoke in the air, and it comes from somewhere, a building not far ahead. A place with a fire, with warmth... she'll need it, quickly. Edward keeps near to his companion, brows furrowed. The thought that whomever did this to them may be at the heart of this place.... is a fear that shifts around beneath the rise of relief in his chest. He has no weapon with him, should one be needed. Everything about this is an unknown, and he does tip into worry very easily..... ]
Stay close to me, Miss Kate. And if there is trouble to be found, you must run. Into one of these homes — you must run and hide. I will come find you again.
no subject
The idea of sharing her 'adventures' with her father does pull her from the thought. That, too, feels surreal. As if she see herself telling this whole strange story with him. But in a way, it's a pleasant thought. He's always believed in her, even if she's done nothing but hurt him lately.
Kate hurries with him through the snow, half-stumbling in their haste. She does indeed take his hand to keep herself from falling, determined to stay upright so they can keep up the pace and get there as quickly as they can. Her eyes flickering between her feet and the trail of smoke, they're so close. And soon enough, the snow's depth lessens somewhat, the sight of buildings coming into view. Oh, thank the Heavens.
It feels short lived, that relief. As the town grows around them, silent and empty, there's a gnawing wariness in her. There isn't a soul in sight. So many houses and no one around. This is... well, she imagine horror films must be something like this. She wouldn't know, she's never seen them. There's footprints, however. But she has no idea how long ago they could have been made. ]
... Where is everyone? This is— really spooky. [ She doesn't like it, not in the slightest. She nods at his words though, understanding. Run, if there's trouble. Run and hide. He'll find her. Her head turns, looking towards possibilities. Will the doors be unlocked? Her brow pinches in worry, but she agrees. ] Okay, I can... I can do that.
[ She hovers close to Edward, unsure of what's to come. There's more footprints in the snow ahead of them, half-hidden in the snow. When they draw close enough, one of the Hall's double doors open and out steps an elderly man dressed in furs. He is unarmed. Behind him, there is already the sounds of others. Movement and uneasy, low chatter, the clattering of utensils. It reminds Kate of the school cafeteria. He regards the two of them for a moment in concern before smiling kindly, with a gentle pity.
'Well, now. Two more poor souls from the wilds.' He ushers them to come forwards with a gloved hand. 'I am Methuselah. Please, come. There's warmth, and food. Warm yourselves. Eat. Get your bearings. Mother Nature has not been kind to you.'
The name isn't lost on Kate, her eyes widening at that. Methuselah. Son of Enoch, father of Lamech, grandfather of Noah. She wouldn't expect to hear someone with such a name. She looks to Edward, a little reeling from the sight: a stranger offering them shelter, warmth, even food. Her voice low but hopeful. ]
Maybe... maybe it's okay?
and ft. an unnecessarily long wrap!!! SORRY but ty this is helping me flesh out his voice u///u
Methuselah. Certainly, the name and its Biblical meaning aren't lost to him, either, and perhaps it all feels like some cruel joke. (Memories, so painfully fresh, ache. One by one, his men, comrades, friends die. Sooner than himself. The first lieutenant carries on.
He should already have died, but here he is, outliving them.)
There is little time for his own dazed thoughts, to become lost to them. Kate's voice at his side stirs Edward into reality (or whatever world has been spun around them), and he looks to the man again at her question, searching his face. There are... questions for him, this man with his ancient name — so many questions, but it's then that Edward smells it, coming from within.
Food.
Something— shifts, within him. Something draws a soft gasp from the man's lips, startled, disbelieving. It..... cannot be. Not out in this coldness. There is no food, not like this. There is... nothing.
His suspicion almost leaves him stagnated, unwilling to move. His mind cannot accept this as true, as safe, and yet there is another factor... Kate's safety, the promise of warmth.... and oh, he can feel it coming from within that threshold, like a pair of warm arms opening to embrace. Edward shudders softly as he stares into that open door, before he tips his head to the man — stiff, strained, but polite all the same — and nods to the girl. She looks to him for guidance; he must give it. And this... may be exactly what he'd hoped for. People, people to help. To get her home.
So in he'll lead them, looking around with wide eyes as he does. Dimly-lit and cosy, warm with a flickering fire. He takes in the cots, the scattered people.... Could this really be sanctuary? His heart both sinks and lifts, somehow. Are his men here? Is... the captain?
But he sees people handing out blankets, and gently urges Kate that way, keeping right alongside her, and roaming the place with her from there — taking it all in, introducing himself to anyone who approaches them as Lieutenant Little, some authority within him building. Only once she's gotten warmth draped over her and taken a moment to sit if needed, will he turn towards the food being offered, eyes wide, just a little wet. His body almost doesn't know how to react, something that feels oddly like revulsion dominating everything to begin with.
But then it comes. Inside of him has long-felt so empty and aching, a state that Edward has almost grown used to. His belly stopped being capable of growling long ago, and began to make different kinds of noises. Pained sounds, like an animal screaming, crying; the inside of him has learned to hurt, something scraping its claws up under his skin. That thing stirs again now, as his body reacts to the smell of food in the air. Even now, his body tries to live. The starving creature that is his stomach croaks and groans; he places one hand against it with a soft gasp.
And to the food he'll go with Kate, to accept a bowl into his trembling hands. Perhaps, after eating, questions can come. Perhaps answers will be found. ]