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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.
remy "thirteen" hadley / house md
ii. methuselah's feast, part two. (the obligatory accelerated cr option)
iii. hope nobody needs this anymore. (cw: obligatory corpses/gore/it's not lupus, it's bodies.)
iv. wildcard. [ feel free to hmu with another kind of starter if you'd like! thirteen is a doctor, so, you know. if you're hurtin', come a'knockin'. ]
ii
Once they've done the best they can and she's collapsed onto a bench, Maurice comes trotting over, tucking himself under the table and resting his head in her lap so she can scratch behind his ears. She's grateful he's here, and grateful that his Shepherd coat will keep him warm in these conditions.
He also serves as a good warning system, giving a low grumble as Thirteen arrives with some terrible coffee. Max murmurs at him that it's alright, and graces Thirteen with a smile.]
It can't be worse than the coffee my ex used to make. [She's a normal person with things like exes. That's a normal person thing to joke about, right?] Thank you.
[It's hot, which counts for pretty much everything right now.]
no subject
Wow. Shitty ex, and now you're stuck here?
[ She clicks her tongue against her teeth. ] The universe has really got it out for you. [ A beat. ] Well. Out for us.
[ It's all pretty clear in the tone of her voice that she means it in a way beyond, you know, making sure newcomers aren't dying of hypothermia. Thirteen raises her coffee slightly, tips it towards Max in clear invitation for a cheers, hesitating for only a second. ] I know I just ran you into the ground, but I don't think I know your name.
no subject
It could be worse, he could also be here. So the universe isn't as cruel as it might seem.
[This is a joke! She's going to get a good grade in having conversations, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.
She raises her cup in an echo of the toast, before taking a sip and trying not to grimace.
It really is awful coffee.]
My name is Max. Max Briest.
[She tips her head in an unspoken and you?]
no subject
They're everything, their exes are just Kens!]Thirteen.
[ Which she quickly follows up with, ] It's a nickname someone gave me, and it stuck. I also answer to Remy, Dr. Hadley, and 'God, if you're listening, I would do anything for a martini right now'.
[ Instead, she settles for bad coffee. Thirteen makes a face that's a lot more intense than the one she first made when she got here. ]
It just does not get better, does it.
no subject
Do you have a preference?
[It's a genuine question, asked by someone who knows what it means to choose a name. If Thirteen has a particular name she prefers, Max will happily refer to her using it.]
If anything, it seems to be getting worse. I never expected to miss Dunkin Donuts, of all things.
[Truly. Desperate times.]
wildcard, ii-ish?
There's only one that's big enough to cause some concern, and though he managed to roll up his sleeve far enough so that his shirt didn't get fully blood-soaked it's still pretty ugly looking. He's debating on whether he should just grab some supplies and stitch it up himself when he comes face to face with one of his fellow new arrivals, a young woman, clearly either a nurse or a doctor given how she's been triaging people since before he stepped into the place, and she's understandably eyeing his arm and the sorta-clean cloth he tied around it to deal with the bleeding. ]
I'll be fine, they need more help than I do.
[ He's worried but he's also lot calmer, both about the injury and their overall situation, than a lot of the people who have come stumbling in. What can he say, he's used to bizarre circumstances. And pain. It comes with the job. ]
no subject
Look. [ She fixes him with a stare. It's pointed, like everything else she's doing, and she puts her elbows on the table. Hunkers forward a bit, companionable. ] That's a nice and selfless sentiment, but it's not going to get you very far.
[ Is it macho bullshit? Is it disassociation? Maybe he's a veteran — there's something about him that lends itself to that, maybe, being truer than the rest. ]
C'mon. Let me see.
[ He's objectively right, obviously, there's a clear system to triage or none of it works. But it looks like she's not the only one with medical expertise, and there's enough food and warmth and rest to go around, and if someone bleeds out in the middle of Winter Camp, that's going to be a real knock to morale. ]
I'm not going to leave you alone unless someone starts to have a seizure. And worst case scenario, something tells me you don't want to end up losing a limb in this place, either.
no subject
Like that's anything new. ]
I'd rather not lose a limb anywhere if I'm being honest. [ He attempts a smile, and much like his general acceptance of his situation it comes from a place of familiarity rather than an attempt at putting on a brave face despite a simmering panic just below the surface. If there's a silver lining here it's that he doesn't have to pull someone aside from their nice house in a quiet little normal town to tell them that they're dealing with a ghost or a ghoul or a pack of werewolves.
He might have to get into it later, but the ice has been broken, nothing normal is happening around here except for what they're forcing into existence via sheer stubborn determination. ]
Have you eaten anything? [ It seems like a fair question, if she's going to bully him into letting her do the stitching. ]
no subject
He sounds tired, but she can chalk that up to almost anything. Hell, what are any of them running on right now, if it isn't adrenaline and some degree of disbelieving shock? ]
What, did I get enough of five star venison stew and boiled potatoes? [ Not that she's complaining. With the cold, with how strange it is to be here, it's practically the best thing she's ever eaten. Also, it helps that it's not industralized American prison chow. ] Yeah, I did.
[ The steps are simple. Disinfect, check the damage, assess how to get from A to B with the supplies they have on hand. ]
I'm Thirteen, by the way. [ Her attention back on his arm, she's careful about not pulling too much as she opens some sterile wrapping, begins to clean out his wound. ] Bad nickname, but it stuck. [ Frowning now, the line of her mouth flattens a bit. ] You're going to need stitches. I don't know how your pain tolerance is, but I can find out if anyone's got anything stronger than coffee before we start.
no subject
He does appreciate a professional touch. If he's not doing it himself then it was usually Dean patching him up, and while his brother is absolutely just as skilled as he is with this stuff and he's nothing if not practical, to say that his bedside manner is lacking would be an understatement. That thought tugs at the corner of his mouth, as he can almost hear Dean's voice telling him to walk it off in typical Winchester 'pretend it's nothing serious and that we're not worried' fashion.
Missing Dean has already become pretty routine too lately, and things are bad enough without that too, so he tugs his mind away from it to focus on the present. On his new acquaintance... Thirteen? Well, whatever she prefers to be called he's not here to judge. ]
My name's Sam Winchester. [ There's always a slight pause, because he can never be sure who will recognize the name these days. ] And it's fine, I've had to give myself stitches with no anesthetic before, I can handle it.
[ It's a lot easier when someone else is holding the needle, when he can focus on keeping himself still and not on properly tugging the edges of a wound back together. And as far as pain goes this is a paper cut compared to other things he's had to endure, but obviously getting into that would possibly be a conversation to send her running for the hills. ]
So how do you get stuck with a nickname like Thirteen?
(no subject)
iii
There's a door open, and the sounds of someone moving inside. Another person scavenging, he's assuming, so Din heads inside to see if they need any help. He finds a young woman standing over yet another dead body, both of them frozen for different reasons.
"I have."
Din crouches down beside the body, studying it. The way they died isn't exactly subtle. Bullet to the chest. They're so frozen there's no hope of closing their eyes, so Din tears a strip off their shirt and lays it over their eyes. A futile symbol of peace.
"Whatever happened in this town, some of their ends were violent." He reaches over to pick up the discarded pistol, checking it over. It's still in good shape. He offered it up to the young woman. "You should have this. For your protection."
no subject
Her eyes study the rhythm of his movements carefully, and if there's hesitation to take the outstretched pistol, it's brief. Before this, she hadn't practiced medicine in over half a year. Technically, she still isn't even licensed to. Honestly, what's one more way to break the hippocratic oath? It's all just extra icing on the cake that a faceless man in full plate armor is giving her the opportunity. ]
So much for 'Do no harm.' [ She exhales, breath coming out in an opaque, white smudge, and takes the firearm. ] Thanks.
[ The motions aren't fast or skilled or smooth, but they are thorough. She unloads it, barrel pointed downwards and away; checks for pitting, deep rust. Tests that the safety works, before pulling it all together and tucking it into the back of her jeans.
Still. She stays like that for a moment, one hand at her hip. The other pressing her thumb to her chin, staring down at the body. ]
You think this is gonna happen to us? [ It's not worry in her tone. It's factual, analytical: sourcing another opinion, based on whatever else he's seen. ]
no subject
"Good." Din's head dips briefly in a nod. "It's primitive, but it'll do the job."
He goes back to examining the body, patting over the bulky jacket they're wearing. This is not honorable, but survival comes first. You think this is gonna happen to us, she asks, and Din doesn't pause in his examination, coming up with a box of matches. More primitive tools, but effective enough.
"Only if we're not careful." He pauses, and then adds tiredly, "Or if everyone loses their minds."
Which could easily happen. Din's seen it before; people in extreme survival situations get sick or exhausted or they snap mentally, and they turn on each other. He doesn't think that's what happened here to all of these dead people, though. They had the means to survive and stay warm in the long term; something different must have happened. Something new.
One by one, he sets found items down next to the body. The matches, a small journal, a torch that's not working, a pocketknife, and an extra pair of gloves. Din surveys it, and then looks back up at the woman. "Take what you need."
no subject
Thirteen huffs a laugh. It's wry, edging on pessimistic. ]
Yeah, we're definitely going to lose our minds.
[ Good thing she just spent six months with nothing to do but pull-ups and read. She's expecting him to stand up, make their way to the next house, but him methodically and steadily offering part of the spoils first makes her expression twist. Something strained and unhappy flickers over her face, then smooths out into a short, accepting nod. Thirteen crouches in the spot beside and picks up the matches, slipping them easily into her pocket. The journal, she lingers over, opening it to leaf through its pages.
She's watching to see if he picks anything up, out of the corner of her eye. It's like some weird, personality test. Primitive knife? Primitive torch? The gloves — does he even need the gloves, does he even feel the cold under all of that? ]
There's something written in here about losing power. [ She says after a beat, frowning, flicking to the next page in the journal. ] Deliveries didn't make it on schedule.
[ Well. That's nice and reassuring. Her eyes are still downcast, taking in the page and not looking at him, but she adds, ]
I'm not going to complain about your gallantry, but if you're looking to cash-in on a favor later, that's probably not going to happen. It's not like I'm going to play favorites when it comes to medical attention.
no subject
At her discovery that they lost power, Din makes a little hmm noise, but otherwise doesn't react.
Solar flares, maybe? That would explain why all the power's out, and even the damage to the electronic devices from shorting out.
After she speaks, Din's silent for a long moment, her distrust rolling off him like water off a massif's back. He picks up the torch that she didn't take, and examines it, sliding open the battery casing and revolving them in the idle hope that'll spark something. "Before the Purge of Mandalore, my people used to believe in strength in numbers." He doesn't expect the first part of his sentence to make any sense to her; she's been staring at him weirdly, and anybody in his galaxy would recognize his armor. So, she's not from around his neck of the woods. "Our greatest asset is still our community, and making sure that even the smallest and weakest of us is well equipped."
He makes a mental note that she's obviously versed in medical knowledge. Good.
He gathers what she didn't take, and puts them in a pocket in his flightsuit. "I will take these to give to anybody who might need them. Please let me know if you find anything relevant in that journal."
(no subject)
(no subject)
iii;
Most of the exploration thus far has looked like empty, abandoned homes. Not always long-abandoned, though. Some of the places look like maybe they were left unexpectedly or in a big hurry for some reason or other. He has a small notebook and a pencil he'd found somewhere that he's starting to take notes in.
Thirteen– and boy, he'd had A Moment™ when she'd introduced herself that way– exclaims and it catches Five's attention away from whatever boring things he was finding in the cabinets. He's a lot calmer as she approaches the body, which does admittedly tell a pretty brutal story.]
Nope... how long you think this guy's been here? [He nudges the body with the toe of his shoe– not the most respectful move, oops?] Takes awhile for blood to look that dark, right, doc? [He asks with a glance in her direction.]
no subject
Also, Five looks about fifteen. That's a fun twist! ]
Yeah. I mean, I never did a rotation in the morgue, but I'm guessing it wasn't yesterday.
[ The longer it oxidizes, the darker it looks. At least that disrespectful nudge with his shoe makes her expression twist (less of a scowl, more of a Dude, come on,), which has the added benefit of propelling her back into action. She heaves a sigh, swinging her backpack around to the ground beside her, and kneels over the corpse. His eyes are frozen open — not much to do about that — so it's jarring, but not impossible, to start patting down pockets. Keys, some prescription glasses in the left breast pocket. Being in proximity also means she can look at the edges of the wound, although the blood's frozen fabric and skin together, making it difficult to really ascertain anything.
That's cool and fun and very, very normal. ]
You know, did you grow up on horror movies or something? Because you seem really un-weirded out.
[ A fifteen year old boy who does not freak out at very real, very human corpses requires some follow-up, is the thing. ]
no subject
The not-quite-scowl just earns her a haphazard shrug. He never pretended to have anything that could be called a decent bedside manner, okay, move on.]
Nope. [Is the unhelpful and definitely not nearly elaborated enough answer she gets to that question. He does add: ]
You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you, anyway.
no subject
The dead body also has a journal tucked into his inside jacket pocket. That, she takes out, and wordlessly offers over her shoulder to Five — he can look that over, thanks, while she finishes checking this guy over. ]
I think people usually say "try me" in situations like this.
[ Also, ]
I don't know about you, but my reality right now is that I woke up with a voice telling me some bad line, in the frozen snow, which is not possible for me to have gotten to, even if I was sleepwalking. And there's a guy in metal armour around here. I saw two others who look like they came from pretty realistic historical reenactment camps. So.
[ So. Try her, dude. ]
(no subject)
ii
Oh, you don't look so good, [he informs the injured person, and uses his other hand to gently pat their cheek, drawing their attention to him. Have you ever seen this much snow?
[He doesn't expect a response. The barely conscious patient doesn't look capable of giving one, but Huaisang is undeterred, starting to chatter about a blizzard like this that came to the mountainous region where he grew up. It's a very lively story, very distracting, and Huaisang can tell that the patient is deeply annoyed by his useless prattling in the middle of such a dire situation. However, Huaisang can also tell that the story and the annoyance have both distracted the poor person away from focusing on their pain and dread.
When the doctor finishes her work with an even more critical injury, Huaisang's hands move out of her way. When they need to lift the patient a little to wind bandages around his midsection, Huaisang follows instructions exactly and with steady hands.
The next person they help has a broken arm, and Huaisang whimpers more than once as he draws near to it, and again when his hands are needed to help hold while the doctor sets the arm. He still looks and feels like he's going to faint, but for every moment that the doctor's not talking to either him or the patient, Huaisang's telling this one about how she looks like an opera singer he once knew, who was involved with an increasingly implausible romantic triangle which sounds more and more like he's actually just telling the plot of an opera he once saw. But it means that the injured woman is looking at him instead of at the awful bruising around the fracture, and by the time the doctor is ready to move on the woman is scoffing heatedly that the opera singer should have married the scholar rather than the merchant.
When the triage is finally completed, Huaisang accepts the mug of warm black liquid that the doctor offers him.] What's coffee? [he asks, voice small and demeanor spacey, like the shock is only just now settling in. His hands, which never so much as twitched while he was helping her, are quivering so badly now that the coffee sloshes around in the mug he's holding.]
no subject
But it's who you become in the face of it. Thirteen's been around death a lot: her job description, sure, and years and years of med school training, but she's also known the inevitable comes to face everyone, all ever since she was a kid. Huntington's isn't the only disease she's seen win. Life is cruel and messy and chaotic. People react differently to it all the time.
So she's clinical in her triage instructions, methodical, flat-toned or urgent but never impatient. Hold this. Tighten that. Move that here. I need that, let me change places. Even in the middle of changing gloves, or checking for internal bleeding through blood and deep wounds, she catches snippets of what Huaisang does. They're all pretty great stories. It's kind, she thinks. It's so full of empathy that it almost seems brave, stepping up to do it just because she asked, or because there was a need for it.
Jury's out on what place kindness is going to have here, at the end of the day.
Still. Her expression twists softly, and across from the table, she gently reaches out. She doesn't touch his hand, but just the other side of his mug, a bare touch where her pinky knocks against his index. It's enough to still the shaking of the mug, at least, and pointedly doesn't try to startle. ]
Hey. Look at me.
[ Firm tone. Clear instructions. Thirteen nods when he meets her gaze, encouraging and approving. ]
You did really, really great. I'm really thankful that you held it together. [ If he doesn't know what coffee is, well. Either he's really dedicated to historical re-enactment, or the shock and panic is really doing a number on him. Still. Empathy and kindness. She can extend that back, too. ] Coffee's a bitter drink, but it's warm, and it's a stimulant. It's made from roasting coffee beans that come from flowering plants.
no subject
The information about what coffee is works just as well on him as his distraction efforts has worked on others. He looks down at the black liquid, taking that information in. A stimulant, probably like tea. Roasted beans from flowering plans, how fascinating. He's certainly had liquors made from roasted grains, and a tisane made from roasted red beans, but he's never encountered a bean that's a stimulant.
He gives it a tentative sip, then immediately coughs, grimacing at the unexpectedly bitter flavor. Nothing like tea. People here must be very desperate if they use this as their stimulant. He glances at her with slightly concerned betrayal, trying to determine if she's entirely serious about this being a drinkable substance. She is a doctor. It's definitely not the worst-tasting medicine he's drunk, though, and it's well known that medicine is most effective if it tastes terrible.]
methuselah's feast pt. ii
the former vampire looks up at the potent but pleasant smell of coffee and grabs a cup with an appreciative smile. with his very slight french accent, matthew opens his mouth to speak before taking a sip of the coffee.]
You’re a doctor. Emergency room experience? I’m only guessing because you’re handling this so well.
[he looks at his coffee with wide eyes making a noise that probably should be reserved for sex.]
Mon dieu, this is amazing!
no subject
[ It's a casual way to sidestep confirming two things: that she's a doctor, and that she's, you know, licensed to practice right now. It probably doesn't matter, given the fact that they're all— here. Nothing like the freezing, arctic cold to unite people in common suffering.
Now that there's a sliver of time to just think things through, Thirteen gives him a long look over. She's pretty relaxed, shoulders set low, elbows on the table as her hands cup around her own coffee. It warms straight through to her palms. The smile she gives him is a little amused, but also thoughtful — he's obviously helpful, and takes to instructions pretty easily. Thinking mountain-grade coffee is amazing is, well. That part's new. ]
Seriously? I mean, I think the more amazing thing is how people band together in times of crisis, and that there have been little to zero screaming matches about taking more than you need here, but sure.
[ Meeting his eyes over the lip of her coffee, she takes a noisy sip. ]
The coffee's good. But I bet it doesn't compare to anything in France.