August 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

AUGUST 2025 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals 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 — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.

PROMPT TWO — IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE: Interlopers take a walk through the woods, and discover who they are as a person in this Quiet Apocalypse.

PROMPT THREE — BEACHED: A threat emergences from the sands of The Coast, threatening to drown Interlopers in a tarry grave.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
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.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

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. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. 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.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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.

Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

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. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

As you head into the outskirts and then 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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail 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.

“Ah. Once more, you poor souls come.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by 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, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. 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 will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

WHEN: The month of August.
WHERE: Everywhere…?
CONTENT WARNINGS: amnesia memory loss; skeletal remains of animals and humans; themes of honesty; themes of deep/thoughtful conversations/self-realisation; mention of eye-injury/body horror.

You do not remember falling asleep. You open your eyes to find yourself lying in the snowy undergrowth of a burned-out wood. The scent of charred trees hangs in the air, a little petrichor. The world is cold and empty and dead. The sky above you is a pale lavender-grey, a strange half-light gloom and a mist drifts around you. The stillness is not peaceful. Instead it feels like a sense of loss.

You do not remember your name. You do not know who you are.

There are only two things you do know: this is the ending of all things, and you must find out who you are.

When you look down, there are shapes in the snow and dead undergrowth. You reach for them, only to find the things you reach for— bones. Animal. Human. Scattered, half-bleached by the elements. You may be filled with horror, loud and jarring. You might be filled with sorrow. You might be filled with indignant and defiant rage. You might even be filled with something muted and quieter, something like resignation. Because, after all: this is the ending of all things.

You don’t recognise this place, nor do you know where you’re going but you still move forwards — picking any direction and hoping for the best. You trudge through the snow, looking for… answers. Even if you don’t know what those answers will be.

You find another, equally lost as you. Someone else who shares the same situation: not knowing they are and only knowing the same two things as you do. You walk for a while, trying to work it all out. But the woods are endless, and no matter which direction you head in, the burned and blackened trees never seem to thin.

Out of nowhere, a woman’s voice drifts through the trees: What kind of survivor are you?

The question settles on the air. You look at your companion, speechless for a moment. But if you take a little while, the words will come. The truth of yourself: what kind of survivor are you? And you’ll talk with your companion, talking about yourselves like it’s so new to you. You speak honestly. There are no lies here. You begin to remember a little more. A memory, an event, an instance. What kind of survivor you are. You will get your first answer.

Soon enough, another question will come: When you lost everything you knew and loved, how did you keep breathing?

Once again, the words will come. Between yourselves, you will answer and find the answer about yourself — speaking the words as if you are breathing life into your very existence. And more questions will come, giving you and your companion plenty to talk about.

The third question: Do you survive for yourself alone, revelling in the solitude? Or do you hunger for a connection, seeking out others?

The fourth: Do you settle into the silence, and embrace it? Or do you crawl into it whimpering and it crushes you?

The final question: Who are you and how will you face this Quiet Apocalypse?

You remember who you are now, don’t you? Your name. What kind of person you are, what shapes and guides you.

A woman stands before you in the woods. She is dressed in furs. She is gaunt, exhausted — her left side of her face is black and withered, her eye absent from the socket. Her other eye is blue and sad. She looks proud, and she smiles. This is Enola, the First Interloper.

“I see you.” she says softly.

With the blink of an eye, you are no longer in the woods but wherever you last remember being. Your companion is no longer with you, but you’ll find them again soon enough.

BEACHED

WHEN: The month of August
WHERE: Beaches/shorelines of The Coast, Silverpoint.
CONTENT WARNINGS:

The shorelines of the Northern Territories’ Coastal Region have been a boon to those who live there, thanks to the many opportunities for beachcombing and the occasional crates of random goods that will wash up on the shore from long-forgotten ships, along with regular fishing opportunities. However, in the month of August, there's a strange kind of emptiness to the beaches that even keeps some of the locals away. Interlopers who speak with Molly and Jace will be told that something about the beach creeps them out.

Jace in particular will mention that he has seen strange footprints in the sands made of tar. While he’ll point out where he’s seen them from a distance, he doesn't recommend Interlopers going to check it out. It’s bad vibes, and generally when that sort of thing goes down it’s best to stay away.

But he can't exactly stop anyone who wants to go see what the fuss is about.

Interlopers who go to explore the beaches will feel overcome with the strange sensation of hollowness; like something has clawed away at you from the inside. Some may describe it as a sense of sorrow or grief. Others might describe it as a strange kind of inner-disconnection. Some may describe it as a kind of stillness, the kind that comes after death, or standing in an empty room after someone has just left it.

The feeling is small at first but the longer an Interloper spends time on the beach, the bigger that feeling grows.

Interlopers who followed the footprints of tar in the sand after an extended period of time on the beach will notice that the footprints will actually be actively moving. You will see them being made in real time. Soon enough, the footprints will start to turn and walk towards the Interloper. They never hurry, but make a beeline at a steady pace — easy enough to outrun, but will catch the Interloper if they’re not careful enough. If the footprints catch up to them, they'll soon find out just exactly what is lurking within the sands.

Figures burst forth from the tar, writhing and scrambling towards you. A mass of several of them, a mob. The beings look human, but are twisted and distorted, and appear to be entirely made out of the tar. Their eyes are green and smoking, their hands are sharp and clawed. However, they’re extremely solid, as if they are a person after all. They hiss and shriek, trying to grab at you in hopes of pulling you down into the tar that pools and floods around them.

You can shake off one or two of them but let enough of them swamp you, and you’ll be dragged down into a tarry grave — never to be seen again.

The beings can be fought off — guns and bows can keep them back but won’t hurt them. Flames work well on them, too. If they manage to claw at you and draw blood, the blood itself will actually be harmful to them and they’ll cower away from even a few drops. Fighting them off will have them retreating back into the sands, leaving nothing but a pool of tar behind.

Leaving is also absolutely an option, if you can get off the sand itself and back onto land. The beings will not follow and seem to be stuck completely on the beaches.

But the experience will leave you feeling emotionally raw in the days that follow. Interlopers will be left feeling hollow, but spending time around others will have the feeling fading and you’ll feel like your usual self again.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. 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. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

1. Interlopers are compelled to speak about themselves honestly — describing who they are as a person, using the questions provided. They can talk about canon experiences or simply share their own thoughts about themselves concerning the question.

2. While they will find bones, there is nothing else living in these woods. There will be nothing they will be able to glean from the bones.


BEACHED

1. While the claws are sharp enough to cut an Interloper, the beings aren't aiming to maim — they're simply trying to grab hold of the person to drag them down into the tar.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

Sabina Octaviana | OC

[praetoriana]

Arrival

Sabina dreams of the aurora. She’d been watching it before her world suddenly went dark… a shining silken ribbon of light a thousand miles long, fluttering in cosmic winds… it had been beautiful, otherworldly, a glimpse into the numinous, more awe-inspiring than she had ever imagined, and if she could only watch it for another moment…

But now the aurora is gone, and the dream of it is fading. It is replaced by something else - something soft and wet, and, oh, something cold, cold as chilled saline in the blood, cold enough to bite.

She sits up, and looks at her surroundings. She is not where she expected to be. There is snow everywhere, white and crisp and new - there is snow on the ground, mounded thickly into piles and hummocks; snow on the trees, many trees, cone-shaped conifers up on the hills in endless ranks shrouded in white, so many that they fade off into the horizon in all directions; snow in the air, a fine haze of it, making the frigid wind smell like burnt copper. The sky is the gauzy dark purple-blue of an overcast night, lighter than a clear sky because of the refraction of moonlight over the clouds, but too dark to illuminate much. And it’s cold, so cold in this unknown place…

Say nothing to anyone until I send you a sign, she’d been told. Then, wait for me faithfully. She had never been told what the sign might look like - but surely this must be it, mustn’t it?

She would sit here and wait, if she could. The cold hurts - she’s only wearing a thin cotton robe, so that isn’t surprising - but that hardly matters because she’s good at enduring pain. But this kind of cold might put her in danger of frostbite, or other damage to her body. She can’t allow her body to be damaged; it isn’t hers to abuse. So, that means she must stand up and walk to some place that can offer shelter. With a few cracks of stiff joints, she climbs to her feet and begins to walk.

Feast

Sabina is not at all comfortable in this crowded hall, with its bright yellow lights and chaotic noises and thick warm air full of new, strange smells: it’s overwhelming after weeks of solitude. But it’s better than being in the cold, slowly feeling her limbs freeze.

She’s currently sitting right at the corner of a table, as far removed as possible from the main spread of food. The old man has bidden her to eat, and of course she is hungry, but none of this looks like food she can eat. She can’t even identify most of these dishes, and among the few that she can identify, none of them have been approved for her.

But she’s got a cup of water, and that seems safe enough. She drinks it with small, quick sips, like some nervous prey animal. It doesn’t taste like the water she’s used to; there’s some kind of mineral content to it that makes it taste bitter and slightly metallic. But she is thirsty, and this water is satisfying nonetheless.

When someone approaches or sits near her, she will scoot her chair out of the way to give them more space. Then, without uttering a greeting, she will watch them owlishly over the rim of her cup.

Feast

[desperate_times_right]

The woman who sits next to her is looking a bit pale and sickly herself these days, but she definitely doesn't share the other woman’s lack of appetite. Her long black hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, and her red T-shirt and jeans are both streaked with dirt.

Chloe is nearly finished her bowl of soup, which is being consumed with nearly rapturous abandon, when she realizes that this new person isn't eating. She's had enough friends in this place by now that need to eat weird stuff to live that she can't help asking.

“Hey, are you okay? You're not eating anything.”

Re: Feast

[praetoriana]

Despite the fact that she has been staring at her for much longer than might be considered polite, Sabina still raises her eyebrows in surprise when Chloe speaks to her.

"What is that?" she asks, rather than answering Chloe's question. She indicates the bowl of soup with a nod of her head. It, like much of the food around them, is completely unrecognizable to her. It is clearly warm, given the fact that it is steaming and radiating enough heat that Sabina can faintly feel it even from across the table; that in and of itself is tempting. But she is not about to eat anything that isn't approved.

Re: Feast

[desperate_times_right]

Chloe looks down at her bowl, even more confused than before.

“It's soup? There are two big pots on the table over there, one with meat in and one without. Mine’s the veggie one.”

She’s not supposed to eat beef, so when she doesn't know for sure what meat is she figures it's better to be safe than sorry.

Re: Feast

[praetoriana]

Soup is certainly a food that Sabina has heard about before now. She's even seen people eating it: soldiers eat a soup made from hot water and whatever meat or produce they have been able to requisition off of the people of whichever land they happen to be invading, and the grand men and women of the capital eat soup made with any number of spices and delicate, subtle flavorings that are somehow achieved from dicing, juicing or simply mixing together the rarest ingredients from across the Empire. Both dishes are called soup, and neither seem to have very much in common with the thick, rich-smelling dish that the woman across from her is eating aside from the fact that they all look much more like something to drink than something you can eat. In any case, Sabina has never tried such a dish and is fairly sure that it must contain something that is not appropriate for her to ingest.

"What makes it so... fluid?" she asks. She's vaguely aware that this is not the most appetizing way to describe a food, but in this moment she has no better words to describe what she sees in her new acquaintance's bowl.

Re: Feast

[desperate_times_right]

…Huh. Chloe hadn't even really realized that there are cultures out there that don't have soup. It seems like one of the basics.

“The fluid in it is made by boiling stuff in water for flavour - aromatic vegetables in this, meat and bones in the other one. It'll really help to warm you up after being out there in the cold.”

There are cold soups too but they can get into that later.

Re: Feast

[praetoriana]

The idea of eating something hot is tantalizing: even now her fingers and toes are smarting as they finish thawing out, and her thin robe is still slightly damp where it got first wet and then frozen out in the snow. Despite the humid, smoky warmth of the crowded hall, she still feels herself shivering, as if the cold has caused her body to pick up a new habit that it does not want to give up.

She sits up straighter, holds herself more stiffly to force her body to be still. She will not permit herself to shiver now that she is out of the cold, she decides, and she will not give in to the temptation to eat this strange food, either.

“I do not eat meat,” she says. She can’t truthfully say that she doesn’t eat vegetables, so she tries to avoid the question of eating vegetarian soup altogether.

“Is there a kettle for hot water?”

Re: Feast

[desperate_times_right]

Chloe nods. It's going to make life harder for her, but she can respect a firmly held belief.

“The vegetable one doesn't have any meat at all. All of the plants in it were grown here, up at my greenhouse on the farm.”

Her hesitation could be some kind of provenance thing.

“They usually make coffee of sorts and tea, but I don't know if there's any stuff in here to boil your own water.”

Arrival

[meadqueen]

There is a woman on the road, dressed for the weather in warm blue wool and a fox fur cloak. She wears a spear on her back, and a young wolf walks at her right side.

Randvi wears a warm smile, but her face is heavily scarred, and there is a patch over her right eye.

“Peace. I mean you no harm. I can help you reach a nearby village where you can warm up.”

Re: Arrival

[praetoriana]

Sabina stops in her tracks before she can even see Randvi: in the close, muffled quiet of the snowy landscape, she can hear her coming by the sound of her footsteps in the snow. She reaches her mind out to cast a spell of protection - but her brain senses no magic to channel. A knot of fear instantly tightens in the bottom of her stomach; clearly, imprisonment has left her too depleted to channel any magic for now. Instead she takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the freezing air reaching deep into her lungs like a knife, and focuses on making her body calm and relaxed, nimble enough to move. It doesn't come as easily as usual, given how cold and dead her bare legs feel.

At which point Randvi emerges out of the snow. Sabina can see instantly that she belongs in this place from the warm fur she wears and the fluid way she moves through the landscape. She has a spear - dangerous, a potential enemy, better armed than Sabina is right now - but she is also smiling. It is this confusing juxtaposition of signals alone that keeps Sabina from leaping into action. Instead, she stays still, or as still as she can given the shivers that are starting to overtake her, frowning.

"Who are you?" she asks after a moment. She does not come any closer, nor does she give any other sign that she has heard Randvi's offer.

Re: Arrival

[meadqueen]

The woman frowns but doesn't immediately attack or aim a weapon at her, which is a fairly promising start to one of these encounters on the road.

“My name is Randvi,” she says, her voice calm and even. “Of the Raven Clan. I am a victim of the same force that took you away from your home world, as are the majority of the others in the village.”

Re: Arrival

[praetoriana]

The woman's name is as foreign to Sabina as her clothing, and as the easy, casual way she moves on this snowy terrain. She has never heard of the name Randvi and she has never heard of any clan named after a raven. But that in and of itself is not enough to alarm Sabina. She has been to strange, foreign regions before and she has met strange, outlandish people there. What is alarming is that she is - somehow - here in this foreign land meeting this foreign person alone, without her handler or any other commander. This is not something that is supposed to happen.

"What force is this?" she asks, still not moving any closer. She can't imagine any force that might be able to pluck her out of her prison, whisk her out of the capital of the Empire, and drop her here. Surely, this must somehow be the work of Thurinus, because he told her to wait for him until he sent her a sign. But how can Thurinus achieve something like this? And, more importantly, why did he bring her here and put her in the path of this woman?

Re: Arrival

[meadqueen]

“We still do not have much concrete knowledge about it,” Randvi says, spreading her hands apologetically. “We know people come here periodically with the aurora - you may have even seen it shortly before your arrival, in your home - and are left like this along the road. We are brought here against the will of a god of this place called the Darkwalker. The one who called you Interloper. I believe that we have been brought here to prevent it from fulfilling its function, but that has not been proven.”

She looks at the woman again, sickly thin and out here in her shift.

“I can tell you more in town,” she offers carefully. “You can wear my cloak until we arrive, or if you walk close to me I can warm you with my power.”

Re: Arrival

[praetoriana]

Much of the explanation that Randvi gives sounds nonsensical, but not all of it - yes, Sabina thinks, she did see the aurora, dancing impossibly in the sky above the courtyard of her prison chambers. It was just as she had always imagined it, just as vivid and strange and unearthly as in her mother’s stories - like a ribbon made of light, like the trailing imprint of a god’s fingertips on the looking glass of the sky. And then - then as she was watching it, staring upwards in awe, the sky had turned suddenly sideways and she had fallen, and seen only darkness. And then, yes, there had been that voice, deep and cynical and ancient - and it had called her, “Interloper.”

She stares silently at Randvi for several moments, trying to understand. Trying to fit the notion into her head that she has been brought here by some unknown force in order to thwart a god, one who has spoken to her personally.

No. No, she thinks, clearly the woman in the blue fur has misunderstood the situation. Gods do not deign to talk to humans, after all, unless they are priests. And she does not know why anyone else is here, but surely she must be here because Thurinus wished her to come here. There can be no other explanation - no one else would call on her for help, no one but Thurinus would want to transport her anywhere. And, after all, he told her to wait for a sign.

She takes one step toward Randvi - her feet are already feeling like heavy, senseless bricks at the bottoms of her legs - but stops before she can come within arm’s reach.

“From where do you draw your power to create heat?” she asks suspiciously.

Feast - cw: misogynistic thinking

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach knows the new people will be showing up when Methuselah starts setting out the usual food. Rorschach scans the woods for them, and once he's done that, he makes his way back to see if any have escaped his notice.

In Rorschach's mind, there are only two types of women: innocent types that need to be protected from the cold, cruel world around them and slutty whores who have no sense of self-respect. It's Sabina's hair that catches his attention first. He's rarely seen that pale shade of white-blonde before and usually it comes out of a bottle. But he's not so sure that's the case here with this young woman. It intrigues him and he comes closer.

As for Rorschach, his own distinctive trait is the mask he wears, that stark white with the black dots that are constantly moving around. It's hard to tell at first glance if it is even a mask at all or if he's some sort of strange ghost. He asks a single word in that deep, growling voice of his. "Name?" He'll need to put it down in his journal for his usual obsessive record-keeping.

Re: Feast

[praetoriana]

Just about any woman, innocent or not, could probably be forgiven for being startled by Rorschach’s appearance; a man with a bunch of moving black blotches for a face and a growl for a voice is not going to make anyone feel at ease.

Sabina, though, does not startle when she sees Rorschach, at least not visibly. Instead, she deliberately lowers her cup back onto the table, narrows her eyes and gives him a clear once-over, head to toe, taking him in with methodical care. Then she tips her chin up to look him in the - well. To look at the place where his eyes should be.

“I would not offer my identity to a man who hides his own,” she tells him.

[moralabsolutism]

There's a small huff from Rorschach, the barest sound of a laugh he's capable of, as he finds amusement in what Sabina says. She does have a point, he will admit that. "It's still a more honest face than some here wear." He thinks of Hickey and Dorian, both wolves hiding among the sheep in plain sight. Rorschach has nothing to hide, not when having a "real" or "fake" identity here means nothing. He just chooses to wear what he considers to be his true face.

"Rorschach," he gives as his own name. He can at least do that much.

[praetoriana]

She is silent for several long moments, her gaze moving back and forth across his masked face as if searching for an expression. Finally, just as it looks like she is going to refuse to answer again, she sits back.

“Sabina,” she says. There is just the one name, no surname or title, perhaps because Rorschach introduced himself with only one name.

“Who here has a dishonest face?”

[moralabsolutism]

"Depends. Do you mean dangerous? Or just those who lie?" For someone like Louis lies quite a bit about who and what he is. But in Rorschach's eyes, he's not a dangerous person, not after he's gotten to know him over the course of nearly two years. Or someone could take a look at John, thinking he's dangerous given his overall appearance, but Rorschach has seen nothing but goodness in the being thus far.

But then there's someone like Dorian, who looks harmless on the surface, but who killed someone not that long ago without remorse. Rorschach knows people like that can be the worst ones of all, especially after his dealings with Ozymandias back home.

feast

[bigbaddy]

"You look like you think someone is about to eat you," Bigby points out - though only after a moment of silence, with him having taken a seat in her neighborhood and having endured the staring for a few moments.

The man doesn't look too bothered by the staring itself. Bigby is used to it, after all. He's saying it pretty neutrally - like it's just an observation, perhaps with some natural gruffness that's stuck in his voice at this point at the edges of said observation.

Re: feast

[praetoriana]

Oddly, it has not occurred to Sabina that her incessant staring might be read by others as fear or anxiety. She never has to bother wondering what others think of her at home: they all think that she is immune to fear and that she is always in control. Or at least that her handler is always in control, and that’s practically the same thing.

Here, though, it seems that people don’t know a martial magician when they see one. This isn’t necessarily a problem; lots of people outside the Empire don’t know who she is when the first see her. If they think that she is just a frightened girl, they soon learn that their assumptions were in error.

“Well then, is someone about to eat me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. She looks him directly in the eye, assertive rather than demure.

[bigbaddy]

He raises an eyebrow as he looks at her.

"Not me, if you're asking." Usually Bigby would make a semi-joke about how he stopped doing that sort of thing long ago now, but.. well, he's learned to not bother the newbies with the whole big bad wolf thing right away, if he can help it. Usually they're either too confused for it or they start asking dumb questions about it.

So he leaves it at that, looking at Sabina for another moment instead. Mostly noting the assertiveness, really. He doesn't comment on that part, but the man does speak up again about something else.

"But there's plenty here that might. The wildlife usually isn't very friendly. And sometimes there's worse than just the wildlife."

[praetoriana]

Sabina continues to stare at him as he considers her, her gaze moving back and forth over his face methodically as if making notes on his appearance. It’s true, she is acting assertively, and fearlessly - it’s how she has been trained.

“And what is worse than marauding wildlife?” she asks, apparently unconcerned.

[bigbaddy]

"Monsters."

The word almost feels weird for him to use, given what he is. But through all of the people he's spoken to in this place Bigby has learned that's the word most people would recognize for the shit that's out there.

But then again, after saying monsters, the next wording may seem a little bit too casual in comparison, as the man adds: "Some shitty entity trying to kill us all."

[praetoriana]

She tilts her head to the side, still studying his face. Her lips tilt into a lopsided smile. "I have heard of it," she tells him. "A dark - walker. But it has not eaten you yet."

The unspoken point seems to be, if it has not eaten you, is it really something to fear?