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

QUESTIONS

[singmod]

Ask them here.

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.

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror (AMC)

[friendsfordinner]

arrival - methuselah's feast
There's food here.

Fucking finally.

Hickey eats with the vigor of a starving man. Soup, meat, potatoes, it doesn't matter, he is eating it. He is hungry, his last meal not doing that much to satiate the hunger that broils and churns in his gut, the hunger that grows inside you when you've starved for months. There is food here and he's eating it because who the hell knows when his next meal will be.

That being said, there is one thing that Hickey seems to be studiously avoiding: the tinned vegetables. As he slurps down the last of his soup, he nudges the person next to him who, let's be real, has probably been dodging food particles for the past five minutes. "That soup came in tins. D'you know where they put them afterwards?"

arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2
His knife is there. A boat knife, with the word 'Hickey' carved in the handle. Hickey picks up the knife as well as two other items close by it. A bedroll, rolled up, for sleeping on the ground. And a small ring on a chain.

Huh. He never really expected to see that again.

Hickey picks up the ring, looking at it, quizzical frown on his face. The next person who approaches him gets asked, "I gave this to somebody else. Why the hell's it here?"

A question for the ages.

hope nobody needs this, possible cw for gross body horror/corpse abuse
Cornelius Hickey is looting a body. Granted, it's a little bit hard to loot the body when it's cold to this extent. Rigor mortis has set in and then some. But that body is holding a gun. Hickey wants that gun.

He's squatting next to a body, wearing a hat and a muffler that you might have seen on a different body. They're not using it anymore. More for him. Waste not, want not. And here, in this new world that annoyingly is so fucking close to the world he left behind? He's not wasting anything. He's not going to let it get like it did before. Here? He's going to thrive. And he's going to thrive with a gun.

When he spots someone walking down the street, Hickey calls out, "Oi! Got any warm water on you?"

Matt Murdock | Marvel 616ish

[motiontostrike]

arrival

It’s not the realization that he can't remember falling asleep that's most distressing. Matt scarcely sleeps any more. If it's not his own tormented guilt keeping him awake, it's the sounds of anguish from those around him — the ones they don't even know he can hear. But when he jerks himself awake, everything is quiet now. The stillness is beyond that which he's ever known. More profound, even, than the cold, it's that suffocating sense of absolute stillness that brings Matt Murdock lurching back to consciousness. For a man who's used to an incessant cacophony of sounds and scents and vibrations, the total absence of anything at all is all the proof he needs that something is terribly wrong. The voice he thought he'd heard just as he was slipping under might not have been his own conscience after all.

Well, maybe not entirely nothing; not exactly. His first instinct is to reach out for anything with which to orient himself, but the particulars of his current environment are further away than they've ever been. He's searching for something deeper than the obvious that surrounds him, but when he flails out he's met with a hard, unforgiving reality: frigid tree bark scrapes at his bare arm and he realizes all of a sudden that he's sitting in snow. Matt thinks to cry out, and then stifles the notion. He can hear his own hands on his skin, but not his heartbeat, nor the heartbeat of anyone else. If there is anyone at all. Head swimming with static, he climbs to his feet, steadying himself against the massive conifer. Except it isn't steady. Not at all. His hands disappear into a thicket of sharp pine needles, and he finally does cry out. "Damn it!"

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The Man Without Fear. Who would believe it now?

methuselah's feast

Help is the last thing on earth that Matt Murdock wants, and help is exactly what he needs. The community hall is teeming with people. At least, that's what it feels like to the man suddenly struggling to differentiate one person from another. Matt still can't seem to get his bearings, but a bowl of stew and a mug of hot tea might start to set things right, if he can find his bearings.

Once he's sufficiently warmed up and feeling a little more like himself, Matt will jump immediately into helping out. He may not have any formal medical training, but the man's an old hand at field medicine. It's a little different when he can't hear the creaking of other people's bones or feel the way their breath hitches unevenly, but the standard ways of treating hypothermia aren't too varied, and blood still smells like blood. He's parked himself near the fire as part of the queue to help any newcomers who arrive with injuries. "Here, sit down. Tell me what's wrong."

Later on into the evening, he can be found negotiating cot assignments. That is to say, he'll keep offering his own to anyone who seems to be struggling to find a place to rest. "Here, you can lie down here."

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

Time passes, as it is wont to do, and Matt adapts, as he, too, has developed a capacity for. It's not the weirdest place he's ever found himself (which is certainly saying something), but the circumstances are among the most frustrating. So the normally cool and self-aggrandizing Matt Murdock appears more subdued than he normally would be. Not that a stranger would know the difference. In fact, anyone meeting him for the first time now would be forgiven if they didn't like him very much. Needing help and needing to ask for it are the worst things imaginable for the formerly superpowered blind Catholic.

Maybe you run into him on one of his daily walks as he's meticulously mapping out the town foot by agonizing foot. Maybe he's finally found his way into that old clothing store to pick over the fashions that have been left after all the newcomers have had their turn. Or maybe he's just faceplanted into the snow after tripping over one of those frozen corpses. Whatever the case may be, you might find yourself sucked into playing navigator.

wildcard

[Prefer something different entirely? Come at me with whatever you've got. TBH this is as much a voice test as it is a test drive for him! As a note, I typically play him of the 616 variety, but he's in his mid-thirties and his canon is coming up on its 60th birthday so things are weird, time is weird, and I'll follow your lead.]

max briest | original

[thephix]

one » arrival

[Anyone wandering through the forest will come upon a woman in the snow, dressed simply in jeans and a leather jacket, her hair tied up in a braid, looking almost peaceful for the split second before she awakens with a gasp. She's up remarkably quickly, despite the cold, reaching for the gun that had been hidden under her jacket.

She trains it immediately on the person approaching, finger resting against the trigger guard.]

Who are you?

[Her voice is even, despite the shiver that runs through her.]

two » community hall

[There is absolutely nothing about this situation that she likes; the fact that she can't shift is high on the list, but so is the presence of a seemingly kind stranger who isn't saying nearly as much as he likely knows. Max watches Methuselah carefully, even as she carefully picks at the food, wary but knowing that it's better to be well fed.

The only relief is that Maurice is with her; all 130lbs of him sitting calmly by her side as she occasionally slips him pieces of bread or meat. Back home, he isn't allowed human food, but she's making an exception on account of dog food not being offered in the hall, right now.

Once she's eaten her own meal, she starts approaching others, with food or first aid supplies or blankets, being sure to look kind and gentle. Maurice trails behind her, but he won't approach anyone without permission from Max.]

Can I help?

three » scavenging

[The mystery of this place is important, but Max's immediate priority is supplies, and that's exactly what she heads out to do during her first several days in Milton.

Her first few stops yielded more appropriate shoes and a heavier jacket, after which she'd found a slightly cracked child's toboggan. It had taken her a little while to patch it up and find a rope, but now she has a makeshift sled to fill with any supplies she finds. Maurice trots alongside her, alert for danger.

He leads her to anyone else out in the town, but she makes sure to speak up before approaching, not wanting to startle anyone.]

Hello, have you found anything useful?

[She's willing to help ferry supplies back and forth; helping each other is going to be the difference between surviving or dying, in a place like this.]

four » unraveling mysteries

[In an ideal world, Max would pick a comfortable house for herself and hole up there, but that seems exceedingly stupid when she has no idea why she's here, or what this place is, or what threats might lurk out in the darkness. There's safety in numbers, so she simply claims a cot for herself in the community hall, setting up a little home base.

Right now, after a hard day of scrounging up supplies, Maurice is sleeping on the cot while Max sits at one of the tables with a spread of diaries, calendars, planners and letters, along with a roll of butcher paper and a handful of mismatched pencils.

She's pouring over everything she's gathered, making notes in the margins and on the butcher paper. Anyone who approaches might be able to tell that she's trying to figure out a timeline of events, hoping that may help solve this mystery.]

five » wildcard

[[ooc: other things! idk what!! if anyone wants a rescue from the siren, Max can definitely help on that front.]]

maria juliana anthony | original

[residues]

001. arrival.

[ If you were to take an objective look at Jules, who not half an hour ago had stumbled blearily out of an abandoned and utterly empty cabin and has since been trekking through bitter wintry cold like a grey smudge from an inky thumbprint on a sheet of white paper, you would assume she's somehow, against all odds, having fun. Her spirits are clearly up. She's even smiling, despite the fact that it feels like her fingers and toes are about to snap off and she's sort of sick of the colour white. None of that means anything to her. In fact, she's barely aware of it. What she is aware of, more than anything else, is that something is missing from her. Hence the high spirits.

If you stray close enough to her, she offers her sunny disposition fully and blindingly. ] I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. Do you?

002. methuselah's feast.

[ By the time Jules actually gets to the building and its warm fires and spread of food, Jules is actually aware of how hungry she is. Her spirits, which had inevitably dampened a little the longer she walked, dressed only in a thin nun's habit and an equally useless green bomber jacket, are back up again now that she's warm and her extremities are warming. She pours herself a cup of coffee, heaps a plate with as many offerings of food as she can manage to fit on it without losing the structural integrity, and goes to sit cross-legged on one of the cots to eat. ]

I bet this is just what summer camp is like. [ She's carefully levering food into her mouth with one hand, and massaging a stockinged foot with the other, trying to rub some feeling back into her toes. ] Except it's not freezing or run by Apocalypse Santa and it's all kids and not adults and you wouldn't die of hypothermia if you jumped in the lake. But other than that, probably exactly like summer camp. I can't wait to make some memories.

003. bodies.

[ Settling in is hard and weird and Jules doesn't much like it. She's good at adapting, and usually she likes the process, but the shine has worn off this place by now and there's not nearly as much fun to be had with snow as she imagined there might have been. Nobody, for example, is interested in a snowball fight. And, of course, there are all the dead bodies.

She finds herself clinging to her habit, the one piece of familiarity in an unfamiliar place. It's probably why she feels the need to present herself as available to take part in the dirty job that is deciding what to do with the bodies strewn about this place like confetti. Chewing her lip as she stands near a long-departed frozen body, she clears her throat and sighs. ]

Churchyard, right? It's the best place for them.

004. diaries.

[ Exploration naturally requires a bit of snooping, and it's not like these people are around to be upset that their diaries are being read, so when Jules stumbles on a diary as she's looking through an abandoned house, she doesn't think twice before she cracks it open. This is because she thinks maybe three or four times about it, and eventually decides that it's worth a look, even though it feels a little bit shitty. It's fine. She's barely only opened it, though, when she recoils from it as if bitten. ]

Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck. [ And then, in a hushed, horrified voice: ] It's 2014 right now? Does that mean I'm twenty-two again? May God strike me down as a mercy.

005. wildcard.

[ feel free to find jules elsewhere or hit me up at crowders if you want to plot something specific out! ]

arrival pt 2

[residues]

"Um, because they didn't want it?"

That's definitely not what he's asking, but Jules loves to be annoying, and this is simply a golden opportunity. She offers a cheery smile, and then looks properly at the ring, tilting her head to one side to give it a proper look.

"It's kind of ugly. No offence."

Re: arrival pt 2

[friendsfordinner]

It is indeed kind of ugly. The ring is cheap, something bought by someone without that much money. It's the sort of ring that someone buys when they just want one nice thing, and Hickey's looking at it with a quizzical frown.

"I didn't pick it out," he points out, with a dismissive little shrug. Technically true! He stole it off a corpse! "Anyway, considering the person who used to own this is dead, don't know if they can have much of an opinion on anything these days."

It's said very casually. You know, everybody knows a dead person that they gave a ring to. Perfectly sensible.

Anne Bonny | Black Sails

[unwifeable]

1. arrival;

a;

[ She hasn’t seen snow since she was thirteen years old. That was the second time she was ripped, without any input from herself, from the life she knew and thrust into a new one. This will be the third. Anne doesn’t realize it at first, when she wakes up in the cave, curled up like an animal, cold like she’s never felt before seeping through her coat, past the skin and the meat of her, into her bones. This is a woman who could be comfortably called frosty, on a good day, and that’s in the bright Bahaman sun. This is unsettling in a way she rarely feels, and even more rarely lets on. She’s only got one thought, as she puts herself on her feet and sits her wide brimmed hat back onto her head.

Where the fuck is Jack?

The pirate is a sight against the landscape of snow, bright red hair and a scowl, trudging through terrain her leather boots aren’t meant for. Eventually, she comes across a body, laying on its back in the snow. Anne crouches beside the other person, one hand on a dagger at her hip, and the other tapping the person’s face, seeing if they’re alive. She’s never been the most sociable woman in the New World, but someone’s got to know what the fuck’s going on. ]

You’ll die of cold, laying around like that.

[ Not an ounce of concern in her tone. Just the facts, like she’s telling them they’ve got food on their face. ]

b;

[ The Northern Territories. Sounds like a load of shit, from where she’s sitting. The old man’s lucky she hasn’t slit his throat. Anne hasn’t completely decided that she won’t.

After she eats. She’s absolutely ravenous, and she eats like it, not too good to turn up her nose at game meats. Not too good to chew with her mouth open, keep her hands clean, or make sure her hair isn’t dragging through her stew either. She looks nearly feral, pink from the sudden warmth after traversing about outside, dirt under her nails and caked on her rings, and eyes darting around, like a wild dog getting ready to protect its hunt. ]

Got a problem?

[ A snarl at the person she catches looking at her, her lip curling up dangerously. She hates it, feeling looked at. Jack demands enough attention that most people don’t bother giving her a second glance, but he’s not here, is he? He’d have found her by now, if he were. It’s been hours. ]

2. nobody needs this anymore;

[ Anne’s been a pirate since before she sprouted tits, and as such, she’s got more experience with dead bodies than most. She may not know cold, but bodies, sure. Once she’s found herself some halfway decent boots, she starts looting them, picking up gloves, scarves, going through pockets, breaking off frozen solid fingers for the rings stuck to them, whether they fit her own hands or not. Anything that might be of value is in danger of being stolen, and anything she doesn’t know what it is, almost certainly will be. After a week, she’s come to realize there’s a lot she doesn’t know - this place claims to be three hundred years in the future, after all. Her partner would give her an earful if she didn’t try to learn. ]

Hey. Fuck’s this?

[ It’s a cracked cell phone, shoved in front of the unsuspecting person who’s caught her going through dead men’s pockets. ]

3. Siren’s song;

[ Sailors know not to follow the siren’s song. No matter how much they want to. No matter how beautiful she is, no matter how thick and shiny the hair that frames her face looks, no matter how the smooth, dark skin of her bosom heaves, how much the goosebumps that rise along her flesh urge for a warm hand to touch them, to hold her close and soothe that chill.

She knows better. And yet, she’s close enough to see those goosebumps in the first place. It’s as if Anne had floated here. She doesn’t remember giving her feet permission. Not to come out on the ice, and certainly not to plunge beneath it.

Suddenly, there’s no trace of her, but a hand with a blade in it, stabbing into the ice as she scrambles to pull herself up. ]

wildcard me?

[ Hey I’m trying a new character hit me up! I am at dorsquee if you want to chat <3 ]

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!

[residues]

He's certainly convincing, if only because Jules doesn't know people who would blithely admit to that sort of thing if it wasn't totally normal to them. Which makes him just a little bit dangerous, possibly. At the very least, he's a graverobber. She makes a mental note not to die in front of him.

"Maybe the last thing this person thought before they died was about how ugly it is." Jules is actually capable of tact, which is not even remotely being demonstrated right now – it's just that she's also trying to match what she's being given. She's a chameleon, honestly. "And it was such a powerful thought that it banished it all the way here."

nobody needs this

[friendsfordinner]

[ Inevitably during her corpse looting session, Anne's run into Hickey who's also doing a corpse looting session, with just as much blatant thievery, breaking fingers, and absolute disrespect of things like 'the dignity of a corpse in death.' That bastard's not using his boots anymore. His now.

Hickey's trying to gently finagle a scarf off of a nearby corpse, possibly the partner of that dead body Anne's dealing with, when she shoves the cell phone in his face. Unfortunately for everybody, ye olde pirate lady is asking this question to ye olde Victorian man. ]

Hell if I know, [ Mr. 1840s responds. ] There's a button on it, maybe something happens when you press it?

2

[residues]

Wow, hello. Okay. Hi, first of all.

[ She did say 'hey', in her defence, but it wasn't really a greeting, followed as it was with a demand for information. Jules takes a step back automatically, eyes swivelling from the cracked phone to the hand holding it and finally to the face with the lips that asked the question. It's a long eyeball journey, during which Jules feels, again, the awful squick of guilt that she, like everyone else around here, is being reduced to picking things from dead bodies like vultures. ]

It's a cellphone? You know, the worst invention ever conceived by humanity? [ She's trying to be charitable here. Maybe this woman got a particularly rough bonk on the head on landing that she's still trying to work through, or maybe (and hopefully it's this) she's one of the old-timey people scattered throughout this place. Jules shifts her gaze back to the phone, which is radiating a distinctly brick-y energy. ] I think it's dead, though. Have you tried turning it on?

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey has a sneaky feeling that the last thing the person who previously owned the ring thought was 'oh no, oh shit, help I'm dying.' He doesn't say that, but there's a wry little smile on his face like he's privy to his own inside joke.

"Well, I'm not going to say no to what is obviously a gift from whoever brought us here," he lightly teases, pocketing the ring as he does so. "Who knows, maybe someone'll decide to take advantage of this snowy hellscape to propose and I can sell it off to them. Doubt it'll be a papist wedding," he says, giving Jules a little nod, "but I'm certain the good Lord provides exceptions for circumstances like these."

graverobbers united llc

[unwifeable]

Hickey's not the only one looting bodies. Anne's going through buildings and alleys, pockets full of treasures that are mostly bullshit. Paper money of unknown worth, trinkets, jewelry that's not real gold, but might trick someone. Best thing she's found is a pair of warm boots a size or two too big, but her feet aren't cold anymore, at least. Waking up here after falling asleep in Nassau's been an adjustment.

If she'd seen this body in her travels, she'd have gone for the gun, too. She's not halfway through the look up and down she gives Hickey (there's no lust in it, it's more a glare than anything) before she decides she could take him, if she wanted to.

"Ain't got water," she says, not meaning to sound aggressive, but the gravel in her voice is by default. It's working-class, English. Rough, like this isn't her first rodeo, just her coldest. "Got one better."

From inside her coat, Anne pulls a camping hatchet, collected from one of the deserted houses near the lake, and without warning, brings it down on the corpse's wrist with a grunt. It's frozen, but that just means it needs a couple good whacks, instead of one.

siren's song

[thephix]

[There's a woman walking out onto the ice, drawn by the strange apparition. Max calls out to her but there's no answer, nothing to even suggest awareness of her presence, before suddenly the woman is gone.

Max runs as fast as she can, sliding across the ice until she's close enough to plunge her hands the icy water, getting hold of whatever fabric she can (and probably some hair, sorry Anne) and pulling.

The knife barely registers, it's more important to get Anne out of the water, and she'll just have to hope she doesn't get accidentally stabbed in the process.]

[residues]

"To be completely honest with you, I actually don't think the Lord would approve of a wedding in these circumstances. It's pretty godless around here. Anyone fucking and sucking in this wasteland is probably supremely weird and God wouldn't want to hang out with them." That said, she folds her arms over her chest and eyes him a little more suspiciously. "What makes you think I'm a papist? Maybe I'm Lutheran."

[unwifeable]

[ You might as well be teaching her how to construct an atomic bomb. Anne's not stupid, but she's used to having someone around that she trusts to do most of her problem solving for her, and she's from 1715, besides. The look on her face is confused, and pissed about it. ]

That don't mean shit to me.

[residues]

[ Okay, definitely an old-timey person. Jules purses her lips for a moment. This could have been a simple bonk-on-the-head moment, but now she has to explain cellphones in a way that makes sense to someone who maybe doesn't even know what a house phone is. Also, Jules is distinctly aware that she doesn't want to upset this woman, who is unsettlingly forthright and also radiating the energy of someone who would not like being either condescended or misjudged. Something in the set of her jaw. ]

So – it's a phone. [ Jules narrows her eyes a little, trying to get a read on whether that means anything either. Just to be safe: ] You can use it to communicate with someone who also has one, who's far away from you.

[unwifeable]

[ Everything is ice. From her crown to her toes, in her eyes and in her nose, ice, all of it. It would feel that way, she's sure, even if she hadn't spent the last decade or so in the Caribbean. It fills her lungs and turns her clothes into wet, dead weight, pulling her down just as well as if it had been the hands of the siren.

When Anne feels real hands, warm ones, she thrashes, the blade skidding across the ice, whatever blood from that monster was left on it long since lost to the cold water. It takes her a moment, to realize that this is a helping hand instead of a new threat, but then she takes it, her rough hand gripping around the forearm of the strange woman intent on pulling her out.

Once pulled from her hole, she rolls over on her hands and knees, coughing up water until her throat is raw, fingers clawing at the ice as if gripping it hard enough might make it not ice any longer, but sand, warm and familiar and lacking in surprises. ]

My hat.

[ She croaks. ]

[unwifeable]

[ "Phone" does nothing for her. Still just gibberish. Anne makes no secret of it on her face, her jaw setting harder, her teeth gritting, lip curling up over them like a dog deciding whether or not to bark.

But the second part clicks. Her eyes widen for the briefest moment, and in them, there's something other than anger. Hope, maybe, for the first time this week. Or even fear. It's gone as quick as it comes, bright blue eyes narrowing again into their comfortable glare. ]

How?

[unwifeable]

[ She's not surprised to find another corpse looter. In fact, she's surprised there's not more of them. Seems like the practical thing to do, waking up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead, and not a lawman in sight. Whatever he'd be taking wouldn't fit her, anyway. There's enough to go around.

Anne stabs at the button with her pointer finger, and it doesn't do a damn thing. ]

Don't think so. But it ain't food and it ain't money.

[ But it was in the guy's front pocket. So he thought it was important. ]

Oberyn Martell | Game of Thrones

[the_redviper]

[ Arrival; Methuselah's Feast ]

[ Dorne is not a region that sees the kind of weather that Oberyn has found himself in. No, his first thought when he awakens is how he managed to get from King's Landing to the North. Had he died? He might have, but so will his opponent. Eventually. The last thing he can remember is the pressure on his eyes and the Mountain's giant thumbs in his sockets. Fortunately, he can see but there is still blood in his eyes and his head throbs as if he has drunk himself unconscious.

When he arrives at the building, Oberyn wraps himself in a blanket and asks the old man where exactly Milton is and whether it is near Winterfell, or Beyond the Wall, but the vague answer he gets only frustrates him further. So, he begins asking the others that are steadily gathering in the hall. ]

So many people and no one knows where this place is? [ He looks at several people nearby as he speaks. ] Or how we all got here?


[ Arrival; Methuselah's Feast (PT 2) ]

[ There's conversation and speculation but after a couple of hours, Oberyn has resigned himself to being stuck where he is for the time being. There's no way he'll revisit the horrible weather conditions outside to try and find a way out and it is warm and there is food. Eventually, he finds himself on a cot, watching people come and go at first until something catches his eye.

His belt and dagger. Two things that should not be here. With it was a coat adorned with the Dornish sun motif, one that was often kept for trips to the colder parts of Westeros. Oberyn's dark eyes dart around the room, looking for familiar faces: Ellaria, any one of his beloved daughters, even his brother Doran, with no luck.

The Prince looks uneasy. ]


[ Hope Nobody Needs This Anymore ]

[ With not much to do and no way to leave, surviving is the only thing he can do. So, Oberyn takes refuge in a small home down the way from the community hall. It was nothing like the palaces in Dorne, but he found plenty of firewood and some food and a number of technical advances that he wasted very little time trying to understand. Nothing of the sort exists where he's from and he saw no use to educate himself that simply looked odd with absolutely no functionality.

He spends his days learning and helping who he can along the way. If anything, it's a distraction from the growing ache in his chest that longs to return home.

Traipsing from building to building, and house to house in search of supplies, he passes by people all the time. But this time Oberyn hits the jackpot by finding a bottle of something that, after opening, he realizes is some potent type of alcohol. ]

Do you know what this is?

[ He asks, sniffing the contents again. ]

It's unlike anything I have ever smelled before.


[ Wild Card! ]

[ Find Oberyn anywhere else or you can find me on lilbeejack to chat something more specific ]