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

Bucky Barnes AKA the asset | MCU | OTA

[worthallthis]

I. Arrival

The asset knows about waking up in the cold. He always wake up in the cold. Or in pain. One of the two. Finding himself curled up in the snow with the metal arm practically frozen in place is a little strange, but the cold... the cold is familiar. So is not knowing how he got here. That happens a lot, too.

He's alone. That's not right. There should be techs, guards, handlers...

... except no, he didn't go back to the safehouse. To the bank. To the handlers. So being alone is appropriate. He picks himself up, ignoring the aches and the unusual heaviness of the arm, staggers a little, and starts walking. There should at least be a building or a cave or something out of the wind. He's... pretty sure he knows how to start a fire. Pretty sure.


II. Feast

The asset is not supposed to ask questions, but he is... very confused. He huddles in a corner of the schoolhouse building sipping at a bowl of soup, the only food that seemed familiar from the kinds of things HYDRA would feed him (and it's warm, oh god it's warm). He watches people warily, uncertainly, flinching back when anyone gets too close. Normally he'd have that under control, he's not supposed to react when people approach, but he's pretty overwhelmed right now.

No one looks like a tech or a handler. They all look like civilians. He knows how to pretend with civilians, he does, he can blend in when he needs to. But that's on a mission, when he has a goal and a time limit. This is-- not that.

So he watches, trying to put some kind of familiar name to this gathering of apparently equally confused people, and drinks soup. He won't speak unless spoken to, but he'll respond if someone does make an attempt.


III. Exploring

With no mission and no goal, the asset sets about at least mapping out the surroundings. And scrounging up better clothes than the ratty shirt he'd thrown over the tac vest and the metal arm, because wearing the tac vest all the time is kind of exhausting and uncomfortable-- unusual but a lot of things are unusual, so he just deals with it like all the rest.

He can be found prowling the mostly-empty village in orderly patterns, like an actual patrol, and checking in each abandoned building, eventually layering up in multiple shirts and a couple pairs of pants, needing to be warm if he can't be completely frozen in his copious downtime.

He avoids the lake, though he does go down into the basin once or twice to check the buildings there. Once he retraces his steps back the way he came, but can't find the same patch of snow and trees where he woke up.


IV. Hunting

There had been two of his guns on the feasting table, which he'd retrieved immediately. Clearly supplies are limited, so he's using them sparingly rather than wildly as is his wont on missions when HYDRA can just resupply him at any time. But this is still something he knows, and once he has the town and near surroundings mapped out, he still has... a lot of downtime on his hands.

So between scavenging for warm clothes, blankets, and any other useful items, the asset goes hunting. He prowls through the snow and woods, gun out, stalking deer and wolves and anything else big enough to skin and eat. He remembers how to set snares for rabbits, for some reason, and checks them obsessively.

If he finds you've set one of those snares off on accident (or on purpose) he'll glare at you and wait pointedly for you to step aside so he can fix it.

II

[forasecond]

Number Five is perched near the flames, his clothes are mostly dry now, and the coffee in his mug nearly drained. He’ll have to get another cup soon, but… he’s people-watching at the moment. There are plenty of them bustling all about, some people still trickling in, some getting wounds tended to, others still eating or drinking.

But it’s the quiet guy who’s all but fully isolated himself in a corner that catches Five’s attention at the moment. He’s a little twitchy, even if it’s in a subtle way most people might miss, Five can see it. He feels the same itch under his own skin, so maybe it’s a matter of like knowing like.

He gets up from the chair he’s been sitting in and wanders off to fill up his mug with another round of coffee, and grabs a second cup that he uses as a peace offering of sorts when he approaches the guy, “Coffee,” he explains, holding it out to him. “Not the best, but it does the trick.”

Re: II

[worthallthis]

There were only occasionally children in HYDRA bases, and they were uniformly girls. So there is very little about Fives to remind him of things he can't actually remember. He stares slightly to the left of his actual face, maybe at his left cheekbone, with his faint expression perhaps translating to "bafflement", but he does slowly set down the mostly-empty soup bowl for the coffee mug.

It smells familiar. Which is weird.

This isn't a handler or a tech or even a baby widow. (The fuck's a baby widow?) So he dredges up some of the acting-like-a-person-in-public protocols and says, in a softer voice than it looks like someone his size should have, "Thanks."

[forasecond]

He sees the guy clock him as a kid, there's just... a look people get, and usually, it's annoying, but... there's just something about this one. He gets a pass, because if Five is right, and in his own personal experience he usually is, he's somehow even more confused than the rest of them, in a way that's got a lot less to do with showing up somewhere weird and a lot more to do with... well. That part, he has no ideas on yet.

His voice doesn't fit him, either. The weird notes just keep collecting, but Five's features stay passive. "Don't mention it," he waves a hand dismissive of the thanks, and moves in almost seamless motion to sit on the floor next to the guy. Puts them on the same level instead of continuing to stand over him.

"You've been here about as long as the rest of us," he starts with a shrug, "met the man of the hour," a gesture with his mug toward Methuselah doing whatever welcoming committee thing he's doing for another new set of folks still slowly trickling in. "what are you making of it so far?"

Why is he asking this guy? Maybe it comes across more like a kid picking the toughest-looking guy in the room to get on the good side of and buddy up with in a strange place. If he really was some punk 13-year-old, it'd be a good strategy. Mostly, it's because he's one of the more interesting people in the whole room.

[worthallthis]

The asset watches him sidelong, without ever making actual eye contact, and holds the coffee up to his face without actually drinking it, just feeling the warmth and smelling the steam. Both hands are covered in gloves, so it's impossible to see the metal of the left one, but with the movement, there's the faint sound of gears and metal under his sleeve that Five might notice.

His vaguely confused expression remains for a beat after the question as he tries to parse why someone would be asking him for his opinion, then smooths out into nothing when he finds a reason. It's a request for tactical analysis. For a sitrep. From a child. (Well. Adolescent? The asset is not great at gauging ages.) "Arrival methods unknown, no clear connection between those brought here, and only one man in an otherwise abandoned town waiting for us," he reports quietly. "Eighty percent likely to no bet the one who brought us here, does not appear to have that ability. But he refuses to talk about himself. Or answer any real questions. Suspicious behavior." The asset doesn't trust people, in general, but even he can tell that's weird. So he finishes, "Potentially dangerous situation."

[forasecond]

He watches the other man curiously, taking down mental notes of everything he can— he’s big enough to be a real threat under the wrong circumstances, there’s something just this side of militant about him, especially once he answers Fives question more like a mission debriefing than a real conversation.

Five isn’t complaining, though. He likes the pragmatism of it. “Eighty percent?” He almost sounds like he doubts it, but he nods, “yeah, sounds right to me. I don’t know that the guy’s hands are completely clean, but I’m thinking he’s definitely not the one pulling all the strings, here.”

He chuckles lightly at the end of the… well, it really does sound like a report, doesn’t it? That’s curious, but so far everything about the man is. “More dangerous for some than others, too.” Because he’s sure there are idiots among their group of displaced people here.

He takes a sip of his coffee and finally says, “You got a name? I’m Five,” he wonders how many people here will have reactions to his number-name. One item in a long list of things he’s sure he’ll grow tired of explaining at some point.

[worthallthis]

Guess who is not going to question the name? This guy. His brows come together a little, but not over Five, over his question. He should give a cover name. There's usually potential cover names on mission briefs-- there wasn't on the last mission brief. The only one he truly remembers. Because there was no need to blend in.

And he's not part of HYDRA anymore. He didn't go back. So there will be no more mission briefs, and maybe no more cover names.

And he's not using that name. He's not even sure he can say that name. His brain shies away from even thinking it.

"They called me the asset," he finally says, slowly and a little cautiously. "Or sometimes the Winter Soldier."

it trips me up every time you're in my inbox b/c MY bucky journal is ~NOTworthallthis fjdksldfj

[forasecond]

The absolute lack of reaction to that introduction is probably going to be one of the most refreshing things he deals with today, so he'll take it as a win.

"They?" his eyebrows arch slightly in question. Ambiguous. And immediately, it brings The Commission to mind, though he's sure that isn't who he means. "Do you want to be called either of those things?"

He has a feeling that question is going to dig at something. It's why he phrased it that way. Stressed that word, specifically. The cautious, careful way he speaks around something as innocuous as a name to be called says a lot.

omg that's awesome XD nice choice

[worthallthis]

If he isn't with them anymore, then he can... say the name. Right? It won't matter anymore if his former allegiances are known. He takes a moment to try, but the word won't come out, tied down by fear of being discovered. He's supposed to be a goddamn ghost. (Even though that last mission was anything but subtle....)

What he goes with it, "My handlers. The techs. Anyone but targets, who usually don't see me." There's something, at least.

He ignores the question about wants. He knows those are a trick. You don't respond to questions about whether you want something, because both answers, yes and no, are always wrong.

like minds, baby~

[forasecond]

There's a lot going on, here. The hesitations are more than that, they're distinct pauses that aren't quite natural to conversation. In favor of not killing the whole discussion, though, Five keeps his observations to himself.

There's a little bit of a bristle at the word handlers, if only because it brings to mind a particularly vile woman he hopes to never see again a day in his life. "You're more than a soldier... you're an assassin." That might explain some things. Like does seek out like, after all.

He downs the rest of his coffee and sets the mug aside. "I know what it's like being someone else's weapon."

[worthallthis]

The asset hasn't even had any of his coffee yet, just cradling it in both hands.
He nods after a beat. He is an assassin. (He's a goddamn wind-up toy, is what he is.)

The second statement earns Five a brief moment of eye contact before his gaze slides away again. That's when he realizes he isn't really surprised. Something about the way the boy moves, and the questions he asks, makes that make sense. "Whose," he asks. "Whose weapon." Not HYDRA, surely. Or... the Red Room? That name seems connected with children who fight, but only the girls.

[forasecond]

"My father's for the first part of my life," he explains with a casual, maybe even dismissive, wave of his hand, "then later it was The Temps Commission, which is a little bit more complicated to explain."

He still hasn't completely processed the fact that... he was the Founder. Something about it all just sits wrong and at this point? He wouldn't be surprised if it was just another in his father's long list of lies somehow. For the time being, he's set it aside as something to not think about too deeply.

[worthallthis]

There's a pause while the asset searches his (admittedly limited) memory, then shakes his head. "I don't know that organization." It hasn't occurred to him that there are different worlds going on here. This still seems like Earth, and the concept of multiple Earths is a bit beyond the scope of his imagination at the moment. "I belong to HYDRA."

A briefer pause, then he adds, much more quietly, like he expects to be punished for saying so if someone overhears, "Belonged. Past tense."

III

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach had scavenged for many years to get what he needed. That was how his original costume had come to be put together, just what he could steal that others wouldn't miss. These days it was more for food than anything else given his lack of money in his day-to-day life, so going through the homes to find supplies doesn't bother him at all.

When he heard footsteps in the house, he turned from the bottom of the closet he was crouched in. He took in the sight of the man, who for some reason reminded Rorschach of the sight of a stray dog. The problem with dogs is you never knew if they were going to try to get along with you or bite your hand off. Rorschach didn't move for a long moment, the spots on his mask the only thing that did, always moving about.

He moved slowly, a few pieces of clothing he'd found in the closet. People always forgot to clean out the corners when it was time to do laundry. Wordlessly, he rolled a pair of thick socks towards the man in a movement that could only be described as kind. He wasn't interested in starting fights with people. Make too many enemies and you ended up all along against the rest of the world. Best to at least try to get along until they inevitably gave him a reason not to.

[worthallthis]

The asset has not decided what he thinks about fighting with these people. So far, he hasn't done it. There is no one to order him to, and no one has tried to hurt him (yet) so there hasn't been any reason to.

So when he pokes his head into one of the empty buildings to find someone else already there, he pauses, rather than pulling his gun or retreating. He stays mostly out of a kind of detached fascination. The man's face is... not there? No-- it's a mask. A moving mask. That's actually creepier than his own mask, he thinks, and he's suddenly glad he's not wearing it. Two masked creeps in one building is too many.

He slowly crouches when Rorschach rolls the bundle of fabric at him, looking wary, like he half-expects it to bite him. It doesn't. It's just socks. And frankly, he could always use more socks. So after a ginger poke at them, he picks them up. And, because he remembers manners now and then, he says, "Thank you."

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach gave a short nod when he was thanked. For all of the mental armor he wore when facing the often cruel world he lived in, he did have a heart underneath it all. He felt much more deeply than he was ever willing to let on. If he was going to be stuck in this place for a while, it was better to look out for others instead of just himself.

"Haven't checked kitchen yet." It was a rough voice that had the kind of rusty disuse that came from not speaking much and with a deep, growling tone like nails and screws that had been put into a blender. The spots on his mask congregated down on the spot where his mouth is under the mask, staying there as long as he kept talking. He was folding up the other two pieces of clothing he'd found and sticking them in one of the pockets of his trenchcoat.

He made sure not to turn his back on the man as he made his way to the door that would lead to another room. He hadn't lived this long by being stupid and trust wasn't easily earned with him.

[worthallthis]

He nods, and steps back a little to give Rorschach more room to pass him without letting either of them get into easy striking range. He hasn't had a lot of luck with kitchens, like people left behind extra clothes but not a lot of extra food. Still, maybe they'll be lucky.

He trails after Rorschach, ready to help pull open cupboards and drawers. The fridge and freezer, long defunct and probably moldy by now, to Rorschach, assuming his mask will protect him from the smell like his own would.

[moralabsolutism]

In the kitchen, he once again went through the cupboards with the practiced air of someone used to looking for that which most people ignored or had forgotten about. There wasn't too much to be found but there were some cans he thought would still be edible. He wasn't sure if they were expired or not given he wasn't even sure what year it was but he wasn't about to be choosy.

He started to put the cans in a neat little pile on the table. "Try up there." He motioned to the shelves higher up. Rorschach was on the short side and the only way he was getting up there was climbing onto the countertops, which would have made him look more than just a touch awkward in front of his new companion. He wasn't quite ready to experience that loss of dignity just yet.

[worthallthis]

Yeah, the asset is definitely the taller of the two. Mostly what's up there are cobwebs, and a decent-looking pot, big enough for a few servings of something, which he pulls down and blows clear of said cobwebs. That could be useful.

No more cans, though. He sets the pot next to Rorschach's cans, and tries a little door to what looks like it must've been a pantry. More cobwebs. An actual spider to go with them, which the asset leaves alone. A rotten box that at one point must have held some kind of pasta, all of which is gone now, stolen by rats or ants or something.

Again he wonders what happened to these people. Not out loud, he's not in the habit of saying his thoughts out loud, but he does wonder. He frowns more at the empty pantry, then closes the door. "Nothing in there."

[moralabsolutism]

After going through the cabinets, he went through the drawers. Cans weren't going to be much good without a can opener. Fortunately, he found a manual can opener after some searching. There was also a churchkey and he figured that could be useful as well, so he put it off to the side as well. Dusty as they were, they'd work well enough once they'd been cleaned up. The silverware didn't seem practical to take beyond one of each, which is just what he did, setting out one set for himself and one for his quiet companion as well.

Once he'd done that, something on the nearby wall caught his attention.

He went over to where several darker patches and hooks suggest that framed photographs had previously hung, tapping one of the spots lightly with a glove, and cocking his head to the side like a curious dog trying to figure out a puzzle. A completely unsentimental sort, it seemed odd to him that the former residents would prioritize things like family photos in their attempt to escape whatever had happened here, though he still wasn't sure just what that something was.

Well, no matter. Either they'd gotten out or they were now some of the many corpses he'd seen littering the ground around town. It was too late for him to do anything, much as those thoughts always tended to occupy his mind.

[worthallthis]

The asset continues his search for things up high, finding some plastic bags inside other plastic bags in the top of a coat closet, and a moth-eaten scarf behind them. He peers over his shoulder at Rorschach, trying to decide which one of them had fewer clothes and thus would need the scarf more. He'd already layered up once over his tac jacket and he doesn't have a scarf while Rorshach has the mask, but Rorschach is also probably not a supersoldier.

Not that the asset is currently a supersoldier. But he's used to thinking that he is.

He holds out the scarf after a moment, wordless. Might as well offer it first.

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach's mask had two splotches split into four, two one either side of his face that went up towards his eyes and down his cheeks, when he was offered the scarf. The splotches never stayed still from one moment to another, always constantly shifting into new patterns. He took the garment from the asset, examining it before folding the scarf up and put it into another of his pockets.

After a long, belated moment he remembered people generally showed gratitude when given something. "Thanks," he finally said. There we go. He knew how to interact with others....sometimes. On a good day. When the moon was full and wind blew in from the east.

[worthallthis]

Though he might remember manners, the asset isn't exactly used to having them used at him. He had already started to turn away when Rorschach spoke, and he looks over his shoulder, expression vaguely baffled. You don't thank assets. You just assume they're going to look after you. (Or do what you say, whatever.)

He hesitates a beat more, then nods awkwardly and continues towards the door. "There is a garage. There might be useful items in there."

[moralabsolutism]

The two of them were definitely functioning at the same level of 'trying to act like a person interacting with another person is very difficult.' Rorschach was at least self-aware enough to wonder if this is what it was like for the other Watchmen when they dealt with him all the time. If so, he was beginning to think Nite Owl had a lot more patience than he'd been willing to give his partner.

A garage sounded like the perfect place to find some useful tools. When he went through the door, the sudden gloom made it hard to see. He automatically groped for a light switch before remembering that the electricity wasn't working. He went over to the garage door and tested it to see if it was iced shut. While it was cold, there was still some give to it. He managed to pry it open and pull it up to let some light in. Glancing around, he began to take note of what might have been in the garage that was useful.

[worthallthis]

The asset taps Rorshach's shoulder lightly for him to move aside before he can wrestle too hard with the garage door. Instead, he moves in front of Rorschach and gives the door a solid punch with his metal arm-- not enough to dent it, but enough to shatter the ice on the other side. There's a distinct clang of metal on metal, even through the asset's glove.

It hurts, but then, everything hurts, so he ignores it.

Then he steps back and lets Rorschach lift the door with much more ease, and starts to poke around, beelining towards a red box that hopefully has tools in it.