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

kieren walker | in the flesh

[burying]

✞ ARRIVAL PT. 1

[ Kieren is plenty used to the colder climates, but certainly nothing like this before. This isn’t the rolling hills of Northern England, with its clinging damp and dreariness, the bleak emptiness of a landscape still recovering from the return of the dead. Instead he finds himself staring out of the open mouth of a cave, slack jawed in some slow-dawning horror and confusion. He remembers the lights, the noise and then… well, he doesn’t know where this is. The uncertainty is a gnawing ache, over-shadowing any sense of wonder and marvel at the sight of this place. He’s never seen snow this deep before, not in person. But it isn’t home, snow would never fall like this back home, not even in the hardest of winters. And the question of where he might be is one that sits within him like a stone. He knows he can’t just stay here, though. Wherever this is, he needs to work it out, and work out just how he’s going to get back home. The voice rings in his ears, clear as day: you are not part of nature’s design. It almost makes him want to laugh, yeah, you didn’t need to tell him that twice.

Whatever it is that’s brought him here, at least they were kind enough to send him with supplies. He stuffs the boxes of his cover up mousse and contact lenses into his hoodie pockets with haste. The photograph he finds upon the floor he’s a lot more careful with as he gently puts it in his back pocket, not wanting to stare too hard at the two faces in it.

He stumbles off into the unknown, clumsy and awkward through the deep snow. It’s the most difficult part of it all. He doesn’t feel the cold; part of him wonders if that might just be a blessing. He knows it’s not exactly going to be tropical temperatures stumbling around in this winter wonderland. Very little breath fogs around him, only with the sharp exhales of frustration can it be seen — a room-temperature body in a frigid world.

Upon finding one of the trails he'll eventually come across someone, slowing to a stop with a cautious air. Holy shit, a person? ]

Uh, hello. [ There's an awkward wave. Wait, this isn't him just imagining things, is it? God knows how long he's been walking for. Ages, probably. ] I'm... shit, are you real? I was thinking I was completely alone here.

[ This place definitely feels a bit... desolate. ]

✞ ARRIVAL PT. 2

[ The first thing Kieren does is head into the Hall’s bathroom in search of a mirror. He needs to check his cover-up, to make sure his hike through the woods to get into town hasn’t smeared away anything on his face. The need to remain undetected in strong. He doesn't know how well people will react to him, there's so much unknown here.

At first he’ll keep to the fringes of the room, just watching the happenings as more and more people file in. He stands somewhat awkwardly, hands in his hoodie pockets and half-soaked from the trek into the town through the snow. If anyone comes to him with food, or tries to encourage him to get something to eat, he'll quickly shake his head with a smile. He doesn't eat. Not anymore. ]

Oh, no. I’m alright. I ate, already. [ Yeah, back in 2009. He pats his stomach with both hands and chuckles. ] Still full.

[ Knowing fine well not eating isn’t very… uh, ‘normal’, he will eventually take a seat by the fire. His hood up as he quietly warms his hands by the fire. Even if he doesn’t feel the heat, it would probably be the thing to do, would it? Yeah. Try to not draw suspicion, that’ll be good. If anyone draws near, there’ll be the faint disarming smile as he half-looks to the person ]

So... has anyone actually worked out where this place is yet?

✞ HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

[ It isn’t long before Kieren is out searching the town of Milton. He doesn’t want to dwell in the Hall for long, a new gnawing in his stomach. He has his cover up and his contacts, but they won’t be enough to last him long. A few months worth, at best. One very important thing has been absent: his Neurotriptyline. The gnawing feeling hasn’t quite slid into panic just yet, but it’s certainly rising. He needs the Neurotriptyline. If he doesn’t have it, then… then— he can’t think about it. Not yet.

The first thing he does is head to the store in hopes of finding some kind of pharmacy section, quickly heading to the back of the store to find a small, locked up pharmacist's counter. If there’ll be any Neurotriptyline, then surely it’ll be there. Only there’s a locked door in his way, and he certainly doesn’t have a key. He looks around, seeing if there’s something he can use to break the door – it doesn’t look too difficult, or so he thinks. At least there’s not any kind of passcode for the door, he’s got that on his side.

He’ll try ramming the door with his shoulder a few times, until he stops with the uncertainty of if he’s either using enough force, or if he’s using too much and about to give himself some kind of injury. Eventually, he gives up and finds a nearby fire extinguisher to start bashing it against the door handle.

... Until someone comes across him and Kieren’s startled back enough to cry out and drop the fire extinguisher. He quickly raises his hands up in a defensive gesture. It’s not a very good look to be immediately breaking into a pharmacy, and he cringes a little at the whole visual. ]

Christ, you startled me. [ There’s a strange little sound, half-whine, half-nervous laugh. It quickly melts away into an awkward silence as he looks to the fire extinguisher at his feet then back to the person who's happened upon him. ] Listen. So... as bad as this looks, I’m not a junkie. Promise.

arrival pt 2

[friendsfordinner]

[ Cornelius Hickey, who has his cheeks almost bursting at the seams due the amount of food stuffed in there, looks at Kieran like he's a goddamn idiot. He finishes chewing and swallowing, chipmunk cheeks doing down to something normal. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve (a Victorian era naval officer's coat, please ignore the dried blood on the back of it) before pointing out, ]

Well that's a bloody stupid decision. [ He's got an English accent and a slightly sardonic tone: Hickey isn't hiding the fact that he thinks Kieran's being an idiot. ] But if you want to turn down what might be your last chance at a good meal, more for me.

[ He'll take another bite of the charred moose on the plate he's holding. Hickey eats with a voracity unknown to most men, a purposeful sensation that this meal might be his last. That nothing is for granted. He doesn't know when he will get food next, so he's eating his fill and then some. ]

As for where we are? Only one place I can think of that gets this cold. We've got to be in the Arctic.

[ he is totally guessing. ]

[burying]

... I had a really good breakfast. [ A little dryly offered in return. There's a thin, tight-lipped smile for a long moment before he shifts a little awkwardly. Alright, bit rude. Whatever. He's used to it with Jem, in all honesty. Even if things are getting better, Jem is... Jem.

It's fine. Better the food goes to people who actually need it. It's not like trying to eat will do him any good. Probably put everyone else off for life, really. ]

Arctic? So like... north? Really north? [ His nose crinkles a little. He supposes that makes sense, actually. ] I've never even been abroad. Don't think this would have been my first pick. Or any pick.

cw: slight period appropriate racism

[friendsfordinner]

It's nobody's pick, [ Hickey points out, with a dismissive little frown. ] Who'd want to spend time in a place so cold it freezes your bloody fingers off?

[ The air of judgement he has around Kieran is even judgier. This kid won't eat and he makes stupid statements like 'this wouldn't have been my first pick? Hickey's judging. ]

It looks like the Arctic I know, [ he points out. This is a goddamn lie, the Arctic he knows didn't have trees. But Hickey says that goddamn lie with enough conviction that it's totally plausible. ] Though I've got to say, the people here have got their act together more than those Eskimeaux back home. No snow huts for us!

[burying]

An entire town, apparently. [ The quip back is quick, but quietly spoken. Yeah, he's definitely getting Jem vibes, even if this isn't a teenage girl but in fact a grown arse man. Funny how the world is like that, sometimes. But the judginess he's getting is something he's plenty used to. Roarton was full of them.

There's a nervous laugh, and his voice lowers slightly. Careful, cautious, but he means the words: ]

Alright, no need to— shit on how other people live. They were doing alright before anyone who made houses out of wood or whatever turned up, when you think about it. [ There's a shrug. ] What were you doing in the Arctic, anyway?

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey raises an eyebrow slightly, matching Kieran's cautious tone with an obviously judgemental expression of his own. But fine. He can drop it. He gives Kieran a nod of his head before answering his question. ]

If you'll believe it, work. I was a sailor back home. They loaded us up on two ships and shoved us off to the Arctic to try and find a passage to the East—for trade and the lot. HMS Terror and Erebus, if you've heard of them, [ just said so casually and conversationally. There is a barely hidden hint of bitterness as he continues with, ] Didn't expect to be frozen in, trapped in the ice for years. They conveniently left that danger out of the recruitment pitch.

[ Someone hasn't yet gotten the memo that a good number of people here would be from his future. Someone also hasn't gotten the memo that said ships he's mentioning famously went missing. Hickey's just casually talking about being a Victorian sailor going to find the Northwest Passage as if it's something everybody knows about! A perfectly sensible career choice! ]

hope nobody needs this anymore!

[fidior]

[ There is an impossible mixture of the familiar and the foreign — and how strange, to think that the cold and the ice has become the former to him, now. But it has; the crunch of snow beneath his boot and the frost that coats his overgrown beard and stings his eyelids is a state that Edward has grown used to. Even the isolation.... the eerie stillness. He is no stranger to the way the mind fills in that silence at times, and other times becomes nothing at all.

But the town itself..... this deserted place. It should not exist, not here. And what's within it.... parts of it feel like something from a dream. There are items he can't recognise, technologies beyond him. Relics of something he does not belong to.

With perpetual uneasiness resting uncomfortably in his gut like the pit of a fruit, the first lieutenant of the HMS Terror wanders through the town, searching for a familiar face — checking each building carefully. He's a severe-looking man, clad in the long black uniformed coat and cap of the Royal Navy, shotgun strapped to his back (he'd found it waiting for him, although it is low on ammunition, a fact that fills him with more worry... The Creature could be anywhere.) Heavy boots are stepping across a small store when Edward hears some sort of commotion and tenses, gloved hand moving to touch his gun, but it doesn't take long to spot the source of it, trying to smash his way into a door. A boy.

The man exhales sharply, eyes widening as he takes in the other's spooked disposition — searching him; could he be one of the two ships' boys....? Does he recognise him? But his clothing is... strange (what is a hoodie, help, he's A Victorian), and Edward stares at him, before lifting one of his own hands in an equally placating manner. ]

My apologies. [ He isn't too bothered by your pharmacy theft attempts, Kieren, there's a matter pressing at hand he has to check upon, even if the lad's clothing suggests otherwise— ] Pardon the inquiry if it seems strange, young man, but might you belong to the Erebus or Terror?

[burying]

[ He's plenty familiar with military uniforms, army mostly. The guards of the treatment center that watched over them with wary eyes and ferried him and the others from place to place — but not this kind of uniform.

Kieren swallows, his eyes still wide and an air of caution still about him. Even with what the old man in the community hall said, that they could essentially help themselves, it still looks pretty bad to be smashing his way into a pharmacy. Especially to be caught in the act, even if the man doesn't seem all that bothered. Guilt is a feeling that comes way too easily with him. ]

... Uhm, no. [ A beat. Slowly, he lowers his hands. ] Sorry, I don't— are those ships—?

[ Hazarding a guess. The man wouldn't have looked out of place in the Titanic movie as one of the crew, he reckons. ]

[fidior]

[ The boy remains frightened in demeanour, and Edward continues to attribute it to himself more than even the overarching situation they are in (guilt coming way too easily, what A Mood, as the modern kids would say.) He adjusts his gun strap a bit, nudging the end of the weapon back. He's never cared for being looked at with fear.

He mirrors the boy's gesture, lowering his own hand to his side. Slow and steady, and struggling to maintain his own composure, a thing which used to come so naturally to him. Now his desperation shows too well in his eyes, searching the younger man so hard for any sign of the familiar.

But the lieutenant takes a moment to gather himself, to put on the calm mask he'd always worn. He can be trusted. He can be here to help, as much as he is to seek out what he's lost. (He remembers the boys on the ships, sweet-faced and trying so hard to be men, crumbling so quickly when things began to sour. They would cry for their mothers in the night; he'd hear them from his small room in the officer's quarters.) ]

Yes, of the Royal Navy. They have long been abandoned by their crews, but I thought.... the men may have come here.

[ He casts another look over the boy, taking him in. To attempt breaking through a door with the device (....a fire extinguisher? It looks like one, but different from what he knows, something reimagined, strange) shows a certain vehemency. ]

You're seeking something inside? May I help you to reach it?

[burying]

[ Ah, Navy. Well that makes sense, he supposes. The gun being nudged back is helpful. There's the awareness of it in the dim, but to not have it pointed at him is a welcome sight. He's had far too many guns pointed at him than he'd care to admit. It would almost make him laugh, plenty of people of guns out in the countryside — all wary of the world around him. It's just like home.

... But not this man's home, unfortunately. Kieren gets it. The need for familiarity. He's already begun to want for his parents, for Jem. But in some ways, he's glad they're not here with him. He knows if he doesn't find what he needs, it'll mean the end of him. No more Kieren. He doesn't want them to see that, to see what he'll become. Especially not Jem, he couldn't do that to her again. ]

Sorry. [ It's genuinely apologetic. He forces out a soft, short exhale — mouth curling at the edges in some wry smile — before he adds after a long pause: ] I've never even been on a boat before.

[ But it's what gives him pause. He wavers on it for a long time, on that offer of help. Unsure what to do. He has to tread so carefully, he has no idea what anyone of them would do if they found out what Kieren was. This might not be Roarton, but it might still be Roarton, too. Recent events still hang heavily at the back of his mind.

The man doesn't need details, though. And the sooner he finds Neurotriptyline, the better. Finally, Kieren gives in and nods. ]

Uh, yeah. The pharmacy. [ He gestures half-heartedly at the door. ] I'm— looking for medication, something specific. It's locked, no key.

[ Because that would be easy. ]

cw: mention of lead poisoning

[fidior]

[ To the boy's apology, Edward finds his own mouth moving, some ghost-echo of a smile, though it does not reach his eyes. It's been too long since he's been capable of a true smile — when was the last time? He can't recall it.

But there's a genuine earnesty to the reply — 'I've never even been on a boat before' — that tugs against something within the man's chest. So this boy is no sailor; what is he, then? Apart from young, and lost?

Well, at the moment he is in need, and Edward will waste no time helping him reach the medication he seeks. Perhaps there are other things to be found within, things he could bring back with him to the tents, for the men. .....If he can find his way back from here. This dream world continues on. ]

If I may, young sir. [ Formal politeness clings to him even with his beard and scruff grown so wild, hair tangled and matted in places, like some shaggy dog. He is an Englishman, even after..... what has been done. He must remember what he is. Having someone to assist helps him remember. The man steps forwards, reaches for the extinguisher the boy dropped near his feet, and begins to knock it against the lock the same — though exerting more force, given his stature and size (sometimes a polite Victorian has to go to town on a lock, when the situation is dire enough for it; the need for medicines is.)

Though Edward's strength has certainly depleted over so much time and fatigue, he is still a sturdy man. He has not deteriorated in the ways the other men have. Stopped eating from those cans, the way the highest officers were warned to. (The other men did not know, and their gums turned blackish-blue, and their teeth began to fall. They bled from places skin usually does not bleed. He carries their cries of agony with him, always.)

The wood of the door is also thin, and splits easily around the lock; after a few slams, it clatters away and to the floor. Edward sets the extinguisher down and pushes the door open for the boy, letting him in first. ]

I hope they have what you seek. I may also look around for anything that may be helpful to my men.

arrival part 1;

[questioningmermaids]

[ It's cold it's cold it's cold it's very very extremely cold and this is not a very fun time Holland March is having whatsoever. Where Kieren can't feel the cold March absolutely can courtesy of his loose, airy 70s suit suited for the summery smog of LA and not the snow covered ground of wherever-this-is.

He's surprised he hears Kieren over the chatter of his teeth, arms curled around himself and stuck in his armpits for warmth. He looks about as miserable as he feels. ]

Nope.

[ He's real is what he means, and he's too cold to notice the minute lack of breath in the air from the other. March is smart and can be observant in the right situations, but the odds are completely stacked against him when he can't feel his toes. ]

There's--there's fire-- [ he motions his head towards what he's spotted because he sure as hell isn't going to bring a non gloved hand out to point in this weather. ] Should probably go to it. Before we die.

[burying]

[ At the very least, even if doesn't feel the cold, he's dressed somewhat appropriately for colder weather: his dad's hoodie, a thick wool jumper, decent enough boots he'd use for long walks in the hills. Better than nothing, but better than this guy too.

This guy looks bad, actually. Although Kieren doesn't know what he can do in much of helping him. But the guy nods to something and he tries to follow it with his gaze. Fire. ]

Holy shit. [ His eyes light up at the sight. ] Okay, okay sure. C'mon.

[ The cold can't kill him, can it? Kieren doesn't know. There's plenty about him he doesn't really know. He can die, sure. But he still remembers others like him, some with missing limbs, or necks in braces.

It'd probably kill this guy, though. Lending a hoodie won't do him much good, it's probably not that warm anyways. But maybe—]

I bet it's a really, really big fire. Inside somewhere. It kind of looks like a chimney fire, we'll be there in no time, right?

[questioningmermaids]

[ March is fairly sure the only reason he isn't flat out dying of hypothermia is because there's so much booze in his body it's forced itself to relax, like that one guy who survived the titanic. He's also pretty sure he still straight up can't die, so. There's that. Invincible Holland March on the case, cold as hell and pushing through the tundra with a complete stranger. The other's words are helpful, too--they get his mind off of the cold. ]

The only way that could sound better is if it was an In-N-Out. [ Confidently, through chattering teeth: ] I'm gonna get my fries animal style. You like them animal style?

[burying]

[ Kieren huffs out a laugh. This is good. That was the idea. God knows there's not much else he can do, but the very least he can do is to try provide some mental distraction while they trek through this snow. ]

None of them where I come from. McDonalds is a thing, though. [ In the cities. There is absolutely no chance of McDonalds in Roarton. A decent enough chippy, though. His eyebrows raise a little: animal style? ] I wish I knew what that was. I think.

[ Does he want to know? Should he know? ]

[questioningmermaids]

Cheese, onions, special sauce. Tastes like an angel's french kissing you. [ There's a beat as he considers McDonalds, considers it's menu, and decides to talk despite the fact that his facial hair is actively freezing with every breath he takes. They have to be close, right? They have to be. ] Like the stuff they drizzle on big macs.

[ He pivots to his next thought seamlessly, both because his brain has finally caught up and because he just usually talks like this. ] You're not cold.

arrival pt. 1

[myfavoritemurder]

["Are you real?" is, perhaps, an especially valid question when the person you're talking to is a bedraggled-looking woman in absolutely ridiculous skimpy leather armor. She's shivering lightly (as she should be; her arms, legs, and midriff are bare), a fact which she barely seems to notice as she takes several tromping steps towards Kieran, looking him up and down the way a predator might size up a meal.]

I don't know.

[She says: her tone sincere, and somewhat less directly threatening than her body language.]

Are you a ghost?

[burying]

[ Alright, yeah she looks absolutely terrifying, even if the skimpy leather armour looks like it came something out of a teenager's wet dream. Kieren doesn't even know where to look, visibly embarrassed when he realises.

Are you a ghost? It reminds him of his sister, a similar question: What are you? Are you a demon? ]

No. [ He shakes his head stiffly. ] I'm Kieren. I'm— I'm a person.

[myfavoritemurder]

All ghosts were people once.

[Her tone is thoughtful, and her voice is almost soft - uncharacteristically so, and he'll probably eventually learn.]

So, you can be both. I am.

[burying]

... You don't look like a ghost.

[ There's something kind of surreal to all of this. This random lady(... ? She looks a bit older than he is, although maybe not by much) in the snow telling him she's a ghost. You can be a person and a ghost at the same time.

God, does he know that one. And she looks more alive than he does. ]

But... I'm not a ghost, okay? I'm just a person. [ He speaks softly, carefully. Whatever he is, he's still just a person. ] What's your name?

[myfavoritemurder]

Callisto.

[She answers it simply and easily, with a solemnity that probably won't last. But it's easy to be made melancholy by the talk of ghosts, and by the fact that, if he is either a Tartarus vision or a fellow tormented soul, he's talking to her rather than taunting or torturing. And melancholy is one of the very few things that makes her draw inwards far more often than it makes her lash out.

Still, she doesn't ask his name in return. She doesn't see why it matters.]

And how long have you been wandering, Just A Person?

arrival pt. 1

[bigbaddy]

[ Seems like the caution is coming from two sides here - though on the side of the man Kieren comes across, it seems to manifest in a slightly different way. There's nothing awkward about his posture. If anything, he seems very guarded.. which, you know, may actually look a little intimidating, given the man's gruff face and his large build.

(He's actually really trying to surpress the shivers from the cold, thank you very much. And he's not even sure why, he's not supposed to feel this cold, not even out here. Sure, he's standing in the middle of the cold in just a not-too-clean button up shirt, but that was never a problem before.

It shouldn't be a problem, and yet it is. It keeps bothering him.) ]

Yeah, I'm real.

[ Unfortunately there's not much compassion to be found in his tone. If anything, his response sounds a little curt instead.

(The other looks young though - a teenager, definitely. Mundy, probably?

Mostly harmless, Bigby determines, even if it doesn't lower his guard in the slightest.) ]

So you've got no clue what's going on here either?

[burying]

[ Given the situation, caution does seem like a really good idea. He has no idea who this is, and isn't looking for anything to start going pretty nasty. For a multitude of reasons. Caution's great. ]

Uhh, bunch of noise, waking up in the middle of this, weird voice in your head? No clue. [ Genuinely, he doesn't. ] Feels a bit like some weird dream, or something.

[ He dreams. For a much of what he can't do, he sleeps and dreams. Maybe just so he can be haunted by the things he's done. He can do that much. ]

[bigbaddy]

Sure would be nice if it was just a dream. [ Though the tone of the man's voice already indicates he doesn't think it's very likely this is a dream.

He's had a whole lot of weird dreams himself, sure, but this doesn't feel like any of them. Especially since it's not often that he sees people in his dreams he doesn't recognize - like this guy here. ]

Seems more like a kidnapping to me.

[ Maybe a weird way to describe it, considering they woke up in the middle of nowhere without any kidnappers around, rather than somewhere tied up. But considering the amount of time Bigby's spent as a sheriff, he can't help but refer to it in these terms. They're a little too close to the top of his mind.

It's why he keeps glancing around them before returning his gaze to Kieren as he speaks. Like he's expecting whatever took them to show up any moment now. ]

[burying]

Yeah. I'd kinda like to wake up now, thanks. [ Wishful thinking. Kieren's tone is flat, he's less than thrilled about all of this. Although to be fair, this wouldn't have been the worst dream he's ever had. ]

Not how I'd picture a kidnapping, really. [ Yeah, it's a kind of weird way to put it. He'd absolutely be thinking it would be like how it is in the movies: waking up in some dark room, all tied up. This... certain isn't that. And even still, this feels... too big. ]

And I mean, we don't ever really get snow like this. This definitely isn't England, or any part of the UK, really. [ He feels... very far from home. ] Someone kidnapping us to another country seems a bit much.