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.
roy kent | ted lasso
[ Roy's knee hurts like a motherfucker, but that's nothing new. What is new is waking up in the middle of the snowy wilderness with an arse numb and frozen balls. Coming from England, snow is somewhat of a rarity, and when it does come - barely - it's nothing to make a song and dance about. This is the kind of snow Roy has only ever seen in Coca-Cola Christmas adverts.
Sitting up, Roy tries to move his bad knee and immediately feels like someone's stabbed a knife into it. The cold has made the sports injury that finished off his career as a footballer so much worse, and the only thing that stops him from crying out one of his usual F-bombs is an unexpected howling in the distance, distracting him from the pain. He can't be in London if there are fucking wolves about, surely?
He hisses out: ] What the fuck?
[ Then he lies back down, hoping he'll wake up from whatever nightmare this is inspired by The Revenant. ]
( CLOTHING STORE )
[ One could argue Roy has enough body hair to keep him warm, but it's probably worth hunting down more clothes than just the ones on his back. Not to mention, his usual leather jacket isn't really cutting it weather-wise. It feels odd to be taking from a store without paying, but since he has no choice, he's looking through what's left. He can't afford to be fussy, but Roy Kent does have some standards.
He picks up a jumper that's the colour of sunshine - the complete opposite of his brooding personality - and frowns like it personally offends him. Noticing he has company, he catches your attention. ]
Oi. You want this? [ It's not his colour. He only wears black. ]
( LAYING THE DEAD TO REST )
[ Roy has an uncomfortable relationship with death. After losing his grandfather when he was nine years old and spending a year praying for him to come back, he's pretty sure he doesn't react the way a normal person should to death. At the last funeral he went to, he kept making jokes, and not in a charming way to cheer people up. In a this guy needs therapy kind of way.
He's standing over a body he's found, the first dead body he's ever witnessed. The dead woman doesn't look much older than his sister, which is a disturbing thought. ]
Fucking hell. [ He can't just leave this dead woman out in the open. What if it was his sister's body? (Stop fucking thinking about that.)
After locating a shovel, he starts digging. Roy Kent: ex-footballer, ex-football pundit, ex-coach to under 9 girls, current assistant coach to AFC Richmond, and now gravedigger. ]
[ ooc: Roy swears a lot... if you don't like that sort of thing, it's probably for the best you avoid him! ]
( CLOTHING STORE )
his face turns to roy but just slightly off, eyes unfocused. he holds up a hand like he is ready to catch whatever "this" is. ]
Sure, toss it over.
[ hopefully it's not, like, a crowbar.
it would be messed up to take out the blind kid on day... something. one? three? whatever, iggy doesn't have a day/night schedule on account of not being a rooster that wakes with the sun. ]
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A rescue team should be able to spot you for fucking miles in that.
[ He continues rifling through clothes until he eventually comes across something that doesn't blind him (pardon the joke). He strips off his leather jacket to pull on another dark layer. ]
Got any theories as to why the fuck we're here? [ He usually hates small talk with strangers, preferring silence, but isolating himself in a situation like this probably won't help his survival. ]
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A test? Torture? A test devised of torture?
[ for variety. ]
What color is this? [ he's putting it on, but he'd still like to know. ]
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Are you—
[ —fucking blind or something, he almost says, then it finally clicks. ]
Yellow. [ He grunts his reply, then clears his throat awkwardly. If he was in Iggy's position, he wouldn't want any sympathy from anyone, but he'd also feel like a dick if he left this guy to it. Then again, the guy had come this far without freezing to death, so he had to be fairly independant. ]
You need anything else?
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[ clearly, he doesn't care, chuckling softly as he runs his hands over the sweater's sleeve again. (yellow, huh, probably looks horrible on him, honestly.) no one jokes about being blind more than iggy does himself and he's used to having to remind his own family sometimes. "hey ig, can you read this?" that's gonna be a no from me, dawg. ]
Is there a sunglasses tower around? I don't want to go blind with the sun reflecting off the snow.
[ see? jokes. ]
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clothing;
There's just something universally familiar about clothes. And he feels a wave of delight at being addressed by someone, since Ken is also used to being around a bunch of people who are all incredibly friendly and social. )
Me?
( His face lights up at the colour. The bright yellow speaks to him on a level that cannot be put into words. )
Thank you.
I never knew I needed this interaction
No, the fucking mannequin behind you. [ His voice is low with heavy sarcasm but maybe Ken won't detect it if he's had no experience of it before. He shouldn't take it personally though. His knee has been hurting since he woke up in Milton and pain tends to put him in an irritable mood. ] Yeah, you. [ He at least holds back from adding dipshit which is progress for Roy. The pure joy on the guy's face makes him feel bad for being snappy with him though, something almost childlike about it. Roy's surly expression softens as he hands him the jumper, nodding towards him. ]
You're welcome. Now do me a favour and pass me anything that doesn't make me look like a fucking clown.
honestly same
Oh - Good joke, so funny.
( From anyone else, it would sound potentially sarcastic. Coming from Ken, it's just sincere, and he holds on to the yellow sweater like it holds the source of life for him.
Then he's on a mission to find Not Clown clothes. )
It's a good thing you passed on the yellow. Masquerade Ken's clown costume is yellow and it's incredibly unsettling.
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Masquerade Ken? That's a shit name for a child entertainer. [ Roy assumes that's who he's talking about. The reality would blow Roy's mind, or make him think Ken's on drugs. ]
This whole town's unsettling. I'm not sticking around long enough to join the dead bodies. [ Roy has a lot of motivation to find his way home - his closest family, consisting of his sister and niece - but also his football family, though he's too embarrassed to admit they're family too. ]
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( Ken shudders a little at the thought of Masquerade Ken's creepy mask. But based on the stranger's current outfit (and his bristly and uncalled for demeanour), Ken keeps his eyes out for boring and basic black. )
I didn't even know about death until a few days ago. Well, I knew about it, sort of, but then Barbie started thinking about it so then I started thinking about it. It doesn't look great.
"boring and basic black" ajgdgh I loled
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laying the dead to rest;
She's been out for a while, by the time she comes across Roy. Backpack slung over one shoulder, it wouldn't take much to leave him to it. Practically, there's a lot of earth to dig, even if it looks like he's made progress. And there's more than one body out in the cold. And it takes time, burying bodies. She knows, since it took five of them to dig one up, however many years ago.
Weird, how even in Milton, all roads lead back to House.
Thirteen rights the bright blue beanie she's jammed onto her head, exhales, and dumps her backpack to the side. It lands with the thunk of canned foods and who knows what else. ]
Here. [ Closer now, she offers him her gloved hand. Hard to tell, if she means for him to take as support to straighten up, or to give her the shovel. Either way, the sentiment's the same: ] It'll save us the energy if we take turns.
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Yeah, alright. Cheers. [ He accepts her offered hand, using it to help pull himself up from the hole he's dug so far, gritting his teeth from the pain in his knee. He hands her the shovel once he's out, then has a thought about how suspicious he looks. ]
I didn't kill her, just so you know. [ Sure he's had some murderous thoughts about people he works with and certain footballers (namely Jamie Tartt), and he does look serial-killer-ish when he's in a bad mood or surprises you out of nowhere, but this death isn't on him. ]
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You know, as funny as things can be, in the circumstances. ]
Yeah, that's a— [ She grunts a little with effort, shoulders bunching as she gets into the rhythm of, yeah, digging a grave. In the dark and cold. Is this how people are going to know each other here? Hey, this is my name, let's go figure out this dead body situation? ] —super reassuring thing to say to a stranger.
[ Thirteen exhales into it. It's work that makes her muscles burn, each less-than-satisfying sink of metal into half-frozen dirt marking the time. ] She looks like she's been dead a while, anyway. All the discoloration looks antemortem. [ She pauses, a bit. One hand on the top of the shovel, sunken into the ground; the other gestures vaguely between Roy and the body. ] And a better way of destroying evidence would've been to set a fire, so I think you're in the clear.
[ And then because, given everything, people are who they are, Thirteen doesn't miss the opportunity to ask: ]
How'd you hurt your knee?
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I'm not known for my social skills. [ Football skills? Yes. Communication skills? Fuck no. It makes for some interesting press conferences, most of which come with the following warning: we apologize for Roy's offensive language even though the press conference hasn't started yet. We've told him not to swear. He probably will anyway.
'All the discolouration looks antemortem.' Roy lifts an eyebrow at that. It's not something a typical person would say. It's all very... Sherlock-y, for lack of a better term. Either she's qualified to talk about the dead or she's watched too many true crime shows. ]
Yeah, I know, I've googled it. [ Again, not a reassuring thing to say to a stranger, so Roy adds: ] You would too if you worked with the pricks I have to put with.
[ And then she asks The Knee Question, and Roy's body language tenses, crossing his arms uncomfortably. It's not something he likes to talk about even with his loved ones, let alone a stranger. Note to self: hide your fucking pain better, Kent. ]
Football. [ He'd leave it at that and walk away from this conversation, but he can't without abandoning her and the dead woman, so he carries on, keeping any emotion out of his voice. ] Used to play pro. My own fault. All the times I should have rested it I just kept playing. Fucked it beyond repair, so I had to retire. Now I coach.
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He has a lifelong injury, which he confesses he did to himself; he ignored medical advice, presumably a little for glory and a lot because it was, back then, his job, or maybe even out of loyalty for the sport, all the way until he physically couldn't play anymore; he decided to dig this grave anyway, even in spite of all that. She knows, better than most, that pain transforms people all the time. Patients, House; herself, her brother. But it doesn't always leave you all that kind, either. Maybe it does for some.
She gives this Guy Who Doesn't Murder People a look that verges a little on thorough, slipping downward once to clock his knee, and then she shrugs. One shoulder lifting, up and down again, before she gets back to digging. Okay, that motion says. Sure. Is what it is. ]
Well, it's nice to know that you're never going to follow my medical advice.
[ Delivered dryly, but not unkindly. She arches a brow at him in-between shovels, peering up at him through flat bangs, as if she's expecting him to— swear? Take up riding a motorcycle? Get really, severely attached to vicodin? Flip her off? ]
I had a really shitty boss too. No— [ Another grunt, and her muscles are warmed up, so she takes off her beanie and sort of — throws it to the side. ] —respect for privacy whatsoever.
[ A beat. She huffs out a wry laugh. ] I guess it'd still be better there than here.
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★ clothing store
It looks a little big for me.
( but really, can she afford to be picky? how often will they get to pick out clothes? )
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This one looks about your size. [ And it's a darker colour. He passes it over to her. ]
It's like the fucking Arctic here. [ Not that he's ever been. ]
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( so yeah, probably like the arctic. she wouldn't know, she's not that much of a traveller.
but even if it's not her usual colour she takes the jumper with a small, polite smile )
We might need more than just jumpers but I don't know what there is here.
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[ Unless you count travelling for football matches, Roy isn't much of a traveller either. His last holiday for the first time in years ended up being a complete disaster on his own, alone with his thoughts for six fucking weeks, and resulted in him breaking up with his ex who chose work over him (which he doesn't blame her for - who would be stupid enough to make him their first choice?) ]
Thermals would be helpful but we should be so lucky. [ He can feel himself getting pissed off over this whole situation again and tries breathing calmly like he does during yoga. ]
arrival (and i'm sorry i had to)
[ Barely recognizable in his over-thick parka and accompanying hood, aside from the way little snowflakes have found themselves in the tuft of his moustache (and probably, most definitely the cheery tone in his voice), one (coach) Ted Lasso lifts a mittened hand to wave, and then leans in to offer same said hand to help Roy to his feet.
Extra careful though, to mind what the windchill must be doing to the poor guy's knee. ]
I gotta say though, it is pretty. It's enough to dream up a whole Hallmark rom-com about Lindsay Lohan and her latest Christmas-related beau.
don't you dare be sorry!
No, no, no, no... [ He repeats like he's stuck in a Diamond Dogs meeting he can't get out of, then in a moment of desperation, he quotes a movie he's sure will make Ted smile. ]
There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like... [ After squeezing his eyes shut for several moments, he opens them again to stare up at Ted's face filled with optimism hovering over him, and Roy finally admits defeat. Using the support of Ted's hand, he pulls himself up, biting into his bottom lip to quell the pain. ]
What the fuck have you done? [ Because this has to be Ted's fault somehow. ] If you've kidnapped me to show me what a fucking Hallmark movie is like, I'll shave off your mustache and feed the hairs down your throat until you choke. [ He's definitely thought about that before. ]
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[ Ted is practically beaming. He's so proud of you right now, Roy, and literally nothing can ruin this exact moment in time. And because he has to add to the joke (it's not a want, it's a need, okay? It's practically a gosh-darned duty) he adds: ]
Sure hope Toto's around here. [ ... or maybe not, considering.
Either way, there's the reference to the joke before he waves his free hand in protest. ] Now, hold on. You and I both know that my magic abilities start and end with The Four Burglars. Transporting people to frigid tundra is way above my paygrade.
[ He pauses. ]
You really thought that one through, huh?
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[ That howling he heard earlier starts up again, and Roy arches one of his scary eyebrows at Ted. ]
There's your Toto. Did you want to stick around to give him a cuddle?
[ The sarcasm is evident in his voice, though the way his teeth are chattering from the freezing temperature makes him sound more pathetic than he'd like. He zips his leather jacket up as far as it'll go and shoves his hands into his pockets. ]
You sure we didn't piss off Beard enough to slip something into our drinks? [ He'd love for this to be some weird drug trip they're on and in reality they're just high in Ted's office right now. ]
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[ When and where is the come-down?
He's already gesturing back towards the town now, where Roy might be able to make out the barest of warm, yellow lights blinking from the main hall where the rest of the stranded — like them — are huddled for warmth against this relentless cold.
His own heart starts to hammer at the sound of distant howling, and he takes initiative to begin trudging back through the snow, each footstep like dragging his feet through molasses — except with a crispy, frosty crunch. Roy's little comment about Nightmare Toto goes cheerfully unanswered. ]
Glad I found you when I did, Roy. [ He sounds a little breathless. ] We can get some warm clothes for you, some food, some of that garbage water you Brits like so much. It's hot at least.
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