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

Challia Bull | Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX

[jupiterman]

✘ ⸻ the arrival.

Frostbite nips at his fingertips as he walks farther into the woods. Even the white gloves he wears are insufficient to keep the frost at bay, but this is not the first time Challia has been exposed to such cold. The commander lets out a disgruntled sigh as he looks up at the dreary grey clouds above. His olive green uniform stands out against this field of endless white. Despite the presence of a few trees along the perimeter, most of the field is blanketed with miles and miles of snow.

"How did I get here?" He wonders aloud, looking for signs of life in this freezing wasteland. "This is insane; I was in Side 6—" Challia abruptly trails off when he notices a stranger traipsing through the snow. He has to squint to get a better look at them since his eyes are starting to ache. A classic sign of photokeratitis, better known as snow blindness. It doesn’t really snow much in the space colonies, so he’s having a really terrible time here.

“Hello?!” Challia waves over towards the figure. “Hey!” He waves his arms towards them in hopes of getting their attention.

✘ ⸻ the feast

Challia gives out a mournful sigh as he attempts to warm himself by the fire. Despite throwing a shawl across his shoulders, he's still shivering. While he's suited better for the cold than most people, that commander uniform isn't designed for freezing temperatures. Nonetheless, Challia is pleased that he made it out of the cold.

He softly blows into his bowl of soup before sipping it, and the hot liquid gradually warms him from head to toe. It's remarkable how a warm bowl of soup can soothe his aching bones. Challia was almost confident he would have died out there without help. After all, he is a Spacenoid who hasn't spent much time on Earth. He doesn't know anything about this place, let alone how to survive in the tundra. This entire incident has made him wonder how he can possibly survive here.

“I can’t sense anything,” he mutters to himself while staring into the fire. “I can’t sense anything or anyone. It’s as if…I lost something.”

Something feels off, horribly off.

✘ ⸻ wildcard.

(Do you have something else in mind? Feel free to send me a PM or contact me at devillady, and we can plot something!)

The Arrival

[astrogator]

Tayrey's long, bright blue uniform coat also stands out starkly against the snow. She's walking briskly, carrying a laden backpack, with a gray scarf wrapped over her dark hair and around her neck for warmth. At her collar there's an eight-pointed silver star insignia, along with a single chevron. The young lieutenant comes to an abrupt stop as she hears someone calling, and she turns, shading her eyes to get a better look at the waving figure.

He's a stranger, she can tell that much. She has been here long enough to tell the regular residents of Milton by sight. That could mean that he travelled here from further out, of course. Or, given the telltale intensification of aurora activity, it could mean that he was brought here as she was. Displaced. Very from home.

She hurries towards him as best she can, planting her feet firmly in the snow and carefully minding her balance. Even so, with the expanse of snowy terrain between them, it takes longer than she would like, so she gives him a reassuring wave as she draws nearer. It does give her more time to assess him, and although his uniform isn't one she can identify, she's in no doubt that that's what it is. Tayrey hasn't stopped wearing her own spacer uniform, but in this climate, she has several warm synthetic underlayers beneath it.

'Peace and prosperity!' she greets him, with an encouraging smile and an extension of one gloved hand.

[jupiterman]

Except for the color and the odd silver insignia on the side, that bright blue coat is strangely similar to the Federation's usual apparel. While numerous fringe groups pass through the Lagrange Point daily, he doubts this woman is from the Federation. After all, if she was—he doubts she'd stop to assist a Zeon officer.

If anything, she would've shot him.

His uniform is as Zeon as it gets, with golden wings on the collar of his black dress shirt and a smaller symbol a few centimeters away from his jacket's lapels. It's a more modern spin on their traditional dress uniforms, which Challia has become accustomed to donning over the years. Unfortunately, he's freezing to death in his fashionable white dress shoes and green ensemble, which explains why he shivers as he reaches in for a handshake. Despite the white gloves, Challia's hands are freezing.

"Peace and prosperity? That's quite the greeting." He chuckles. "A much nicer greeting than I deserved. Thank you for coming over here." Challia shakes her hand firmly before letting go. He then decides to introduce himself.

"Lieutenant Colonel Challia Bull of the Principality of Zeon, but please just call me Challia." He might as well acknowledge his role in the military. It's not like the woman doesn't have eyes. Even if his uniform seems unfamiliar, there's no hiding his affiliation here.

"And you are?"

[astrogator]

She shakes hands firmly, and brings her free hand over to briefly grasp his forearm, Tradeline-fashion. His introduction, however, takes her aback, because she feels she can't possibly do what she's asking. Calling any stranger by just their first name feels impossibly rude to her - and since he seems to be an officer in some sort of planetary militia, that goes double. She stares at him awkwardly for a moment, before realising that this in itself isn't exactly polite.

'Lieutenant Arilanna Tayrey of the Tradeline Starship Prosperity,' she offers in return. 'Most people just call me Tayrey.' Some people get to just call her Tayrey. The Tradelines are keen on formalities - but she's trying her best to smooth over the obvious cultural difference.

'I was second astrogator there. I'm afraid I don't know your homeland, but I'll wish it peace and prosperity too. That's the custom where I'm from.' Again she smiles. Friendly face of the Tradelines. 'I'd like to know more about your people, but I... don't think either of us want to be standing still out here too long.' It occurs to her that she really should carry a blanket in her pack for such eventualities, but presently it's full of foraged goods.

'The walk to town isn't far. I'll take you there? It'll be warmer.' Another glance over him, considering, and then she asks, all brisk practicality: 'How are your feet? I've got extra socks.' She's not completely unprepared.

[jupiterman]

A Tradeline formality, hm? Challia isn't exactly familiar with this kind of handshake but he prefers the forearm grab more so than the 'Hail Zeon' gimmick. Something about that salute never sat well with him, especially since Challia is a well-learned man, all things considered. However, Supreme Commander Gihren is a fascist in the truest sense of the word, and humanity has long forgotten its history since their ascent into the stars.

"Well met, Tayrey, though I don't recall a starship of that name before." He confesses with a bashful chuckle. Honestly, it's a lovely name. If her vessel was named the Prosperity, it certainly lived up to its name.

"My craft, the Sodon, is an antique landing warship from the Jupiter Fleet. I believe it's more of a flying relic nowadays than an operational battleship." However, it was intimidating enough to cause the Mobile Police of Side 6 to stand down when they docked inside the space colony.

"Yes, let's find somewhere warm to discuss this further lest I end up freezing to death." He jokes despite the fact his teeth are chattering at this point. "My feet have long become ice icicles despite wearing my lucky red socks." He is wearing dress shoes, after all.

"Extra socks? Do you normally wander around with extra socks?"

[astrogator]

'Always. Can you imagine how much of a hazard it is to have wet feet with the temperature this low? Always take extra socks.'

With that cheery piece of advice, she points over to the path she had originally come from. It's difficult to see today, almost completely obscured by the snow. 'This way,' she tells him, before setting off at as brisk a pace as she can manage. It's only once they're in motion, getting warmer, that she indulges her curiosity.

'So you're a spacer!' she exclaims. She won't tell him that she assumed he was planetary militia. 'There are so few of us here! You and I aren't from the same sector, but would you credit it, most people here hadn't even left their homeworld before they arrived here.' The young lieutenant is full of enthusiasm. She misses the stars so much; talking to someone else who has seen them is the next best thing.

'I'm second astrogator on my ship. Charts and piloting, yes? And you - are you lieutenant-in-command of yours?' It's her best guess, given that she doesn't know anything about ranking systems beyond her own.

[jupiterman]

Challia laughs at that cheerful bit of advice. He has been trying to keep his feet dry despite the fact that he is wearing formal footwear. It's a more difficult task than it appears, despite his exceptional balance. Luckily, he can keep up with her pace. Of course, he nearly slips a few times but he recovers each time almost like a cat.

"Indeed, I am. I confess this marks the first time I ever traversed through snow." While Challia has seen snow before in the form of tiny icy flakes, he has never really experienced this level of snow before. It's as if the entire world is experiencing a second Ice Age. It's rather haunting, to say the least. "While some colonies get snow, it's never to this volume." However, Side 4 only has two seasons: hot and fairly cold.

"I'm more the commander nowadays but I once played a similar role long ago." Challia explains with a faint smile. "Although, I'll confess I somewhat miss the days when I was just a captain." That is because he misses the man who used to be his commander; that's why. However, Challia would divulge that much info.

"Having to be responsible for so many lives, having so many people rely on my judgement alone, is rather unnerving."

[astrogator]

As soon as she hears that he's unused to snow, Tayrey slows her pace. Her priority is getting him to safety without frostbite or any other adverse events, yes, but pushing the pace hard enough that he ends up tripping and falling won't do either of them any good.

Confusion flickers across her face as he explains his role, momentarily, but she's not so caught up in her own people's starship structure and way of doing things that she can't recognise his must be very different. She revises her equivalence estimate up from lieutenant-in-command to very senior captain, the highest rank on the Tradelines. Ordinarily that might concerned her, start her worrying about diplomatic protocol, but right now she's more focused on the road to Milton.

'I imagine it must be,' she echoes quietly when he mentions his responsibilities. 'It's my ambition to be a starship captain someday, and I know how heavy that responsibility is. I feel some of it already, looking after my chartists.' She took it very hard when she lost one, but she sees that was a fault in herself. Leaders have to be prepared for such things.

'My homeworld is a terraformed colony with climate control, we didn't have snow there either - but when I was out by the frontier we went on an expedition to a frozen planet. I had that experience - only this place is so much harder. It's like a failed colony, none of the technology works and most of the native population didn't survive.' She shares the bad news solemnly. Better to get it over with.

The Feast

[mikoshi]

"You and me both," Vincent replies to Challia's muttering, unable to stop himself from eavesdropping. Cold comfort that other people lose cyberwear, abilities, powers, whatever the fuck in this place too. "If you had anythin' that made you superhuman in comparison to other peeps, I'd bet you a thousand eddies this place took it."

Done stuffing his face with every dish this place offered, Vincent moved on to herbal tea. Chamomile with sugar brings to mind his mother, the old lady who served as their clan's healer, who loved their manzanilla as a cure all. Hokey as it sounds, Vincent must admit it's soothing his nerves and stomach like nothing else has so far.

(Well, nothing else but Johnny. But the rockerboy needed to rest and, unsurprisingly, Vincent was told to fuck off for a couple of hours, stop fussing, go relax.

Instead, he's doing recon.)

"S'not all bad though. I feel... this sense of clarity. All the fuckin' noise's gone."

[jupiterman]

Challia is a little startled once he hears the reply but not surprised. He has a terrible habit of muttering to himself sometimes. A side effect of being telepathically inclined. However, it seems he somehow lost this ability since arriving here. While he appreciates the silence within his mind, it's almost too quiet now. It's truly unnerving.

"But whatever for?" Challia asks with a hint of worry in his tone before asking the following. "And what exactly are eddies?" Yeah, he's not too hip on the Night City lingo. Hell, Challia most likely doesn't even know that city exists. The world he's from is a complete mess after Operation British. It's a miracle that the Earth still exists after all of Zeon's crimes.

"Losing your otherworldliness doesn't worry you? Interesting." He can't help but frown a little.

"Perhaps I've forgotten what it's like to be just human."

[mikoshi]

Vincent stirs his tea, the silver spoon appearing dainty in comparison to his thick, callused fingers, his bruised, cut up, blood-crusted knuckles. Wherever he came from, whatever he was doing prior to landing in this place, it couldn't have been pretty.

"Worries me a bit," he admits, setting the spoon aside to take a sip, "But got more experience than most with this... peace, guess you could call it." Meditation. Breathing deeply, reaching into yourself, acknowledging your body, thanking it. The visage of the Zen Master comes unbridled in a swish of saffron. "Yeah. It's not so bad. S'just..." Different. "...dunno. It is. In a way the other stuff isn't."

[jupiterman]

Challia, on the other hand, appears to be in excellent shape. Despite the cold, he retains his prim and proper appearance, minus the hair. His hair is a bit messier than usual. The only real difference is that he's not wearing his customary olive uniform jacket. That is hanging near the fireplace to dry. 

"I have to admit, I don't know what any of this is." He gestures his hand towards this cozy cabin. "Or what any of this means, but I'm certainly curious to see how this goes." Challia mutters, looking down at his bowl of soup. "Although, a part of me wonders if just accepting this peace would be better than fighting against it." He sighs, obviously tense.

After a moment of thought, he turns towards the man with a faint smile. "I'm Challia, and you are?"

[mikoshi]

"Don't see the point of fightin' folks who are feedin' you." Well, unless the food's poisoned. But if it were they would all already know it. Guest rights are sacred. If curses are real then this is the sort of shit that'd cause them—attacking your guests, your hosts. "Willin' to hear 'em out first. Be dead if it wasn't for this place." Gratitude. He taps his foot on the wooden floor beneath them.

"V." Just V. Some people have given him odd looks about it. Force of habit. He's sure what his actual name is will get out soon enough, that with Johnny using it freely. But for now he's content to go by his first initial the same way he has for months.

[jupiterman]

Fortunately, the food does not appear to be poisoned. The seasoning is a tad bland for his taste, but Challia is used to spicy foods. After all, Iraqi cuisine is known to be rather spicy. Nevertheless, he cannot dispute that Methuselah is a wonderful host. That much is true, even though Challia believes the old guy should rest for more than five seconds at a time.

"Fighting a little old man isn't my cup of tea." He quips before giving V a wry smirk. "But fighting Fate, well...let's just say I'm good at that." All kidding aside, Challia has a 1:0 record against Fate. In one timeline, he has died, his heroism lost to time and history. While in another universe, he is alive and well, following out the dream he has had since joining Char Aznable's side against the Zabi royal family.

"Just V?" He inquires with a somewhat bemused look. "Talk about a cool nickname."

[mikoshi]

Bland it might be but it's still the best damn food Vincent's ever tasted. If this northern fare tastes like heaven, he can't imagine what foodstuffs with actual spices will bring to his palate.

Alright, mind made up—find spices. Try cooking some of the favorites from back home, the simpler the better, like tamagoyaki. Surely there's a chicken running around somewhere in this place?

"You like playin' dangerous, huh?" Nothing kills people quite as going against fate. True men, however, make their fate. So it's inevitable he'll struggle against something (or someone) in here. Just not the old guy, Vincent hopes. Seems nice enough. And wouldn't it be nice that, for once, appearances are exactly as they seem?

"Just V. Not a nickname, but..." He shrugs. "Initial." There. That's enough of a lore drop to pique interest, but not so much that it makes Vincent uncomfortable. Privacy might not be a merc's best shield here in this idyllic realm, but it's still a tough habit to break.

Arrival

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach is in the woods, foraging for whatever late season food might be left. He wants to get as much stored away as possible before the weather turns really cold again as fall sets in. He hears someone yelling and slowly turns in their direction. Ah yes, it's the time that happens every so often when people end up in this frozen wasteland.

Challia will notice the most distinctive thing about Rorschach right off the bat: the pure white mask he wears with the black dots on it that move around constantly. It's not even clear it is a mask at first, with a number of people having mistaken him as being some sort of faceless ghost before. He sizes up Challia, hand shoved deep into his pockets. "New?" He asks laconically in a deep, gravelly voice.

[jupiterman]

Challia becomes suspicious as soon as he gets a better look at the white mask. A mask, really? What's with men and masks lately? While Challia wears a metaphorical 'mask' in everyday life, he is unsure how to react to seeing someone dressed in such a way in a cold wasteland. Of course, he understands that judging a book by its cover is wrong, but Challia isn't a fool. As the man approaches, Challia tries to get better footing in the snow just in case this encounter turns left.

"Unfortunately." He responds, seeing that the masked man's hands remain in their pockets. That's quite troubling. So far, the odds do not appear to be in Challia's favor. He's unarmed, freezing to death, and may now be facing a man in a mask wearing essentially a trench coat. This is not a good start.

"I take it you're more of a friend than a foe." He hopes.

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach observes the man for an uncomfortably long period of time, nodding at Challia's assumption that he's a friend, but not elaborating anymore on his motivations for the moment. It's clear he has no social skills whatsoever.

But what he does have is a large streak of empathy within him, even if it's hidden beneath layers of anger and cynicism as a protective measure. He pulls out an extra pair of gloves and a scarf from one of the many pockets of his trenchcoat and hands them over. (How deep do those pockets go? Deep enough to comfortably hide a full-sized journal and grappling hook gun in them.)

"Will lead you to town," he says, the words spoken definitively as if he will hear no protests or arguments. Not that this new person has much in the way of leverage. If he refuses, Rorschach can just leave him out here to freeze for a few hours until he decides to be less ornery.

[jupiterman]

The hush that descends between them is quite uncomfortable. Challia stares at this masked man, unsure what to believe. If they had met under more advantageous conditions, Challia would have believed he could defeat this man in a struggle. However, he is already losing the battle with frostbite and hypothermia. Challia is doomed thanks to the freezing temperatures and never-ending snowfall. He's simply not designed for this type of weather, especially since the weather in his space colony was generally moderate.

Fortunately, Challia is not in danger. On the contrary, the masked man offers him an extra set of gloves and a scarf. "Thank goodness." Challia gives a relieved chuckle as he steps closer to accept the accessories.

"I might be able to feel my fingers again," he replies, quickly tying the scarf around his neck. Putting on the gloves is a bit difficult, especially because he can barely feel his fingers anymore. They are entirely numb, almost as if they had been frozen solid. However, as he puts on the gloves, Challia feels the circulation return to his hands. 

"Quite the helpful one, aren't you?" Challia askes with a cheerful smile as he walks in step with the masked fellow. See, you should never judge a book by its cover. "I didn't quite catch your name, I'm Challia."

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach looks over at Challia as he walks besides him. He's got a more cheerful outlook on waking up in the middle of the woods than most of the Interlopers Rorschach has seen when they first come to Milton. Honestly, it's a nice change of pace.

"Rorschach," he gives by way of his own name with a somewhat friendly nod to go with it. For those that know what a Rorschach test actually is, the name makes perfect sense. For everyone else, they just think he's got an unusual name difficult to pronounce and even harder to spell.

Rorschach clearly knows his way around the woods. After spending so much time with Methuselah in the wilderness, he's learned his fair share about being out in the wild. He heads for the direction of town with utter confidence like he knows exactly where he's supposed to go. "Will be food and supplies at Community Hall." Something that he knows is always welcome for those coming in out of the cold for the first time.

the feast

[bigbaddy]

Huh.

The thing the other is saying immediately draws Bigby's attention. He wasn't even trying to listen in - he just overheard it as he was grabbing some of the food for himself.

But the words themselves are enough to make his head turn and head over towards where the man is sitting. It's a pretty familiar sentiment, after all. Those words are practically the same thing Bigby thought the instant he found himself here. He eyes Challia as he approaches, wondering if maybe the other is saying that because he's also a wolf - though it doesn't look like it, if he had to make a guess.

Once he's close enough to the other to be visible to Challia, Bigby just pipes up with: "What are you supposed to sense?"

Just.. a very straightforward question.. Not even a greeting or anything first. Bigby doesn't look like he cares a whole lot about being polite, apparently.

[jupiterman]

Challia almost jumps as he hears the question. He swiftly glances over his shoulder and gives this man a piercing stare. While he honestly doesn't mean the big guy any harm, he's beyond agitated at the moment. Instead of getting a chance to peek at this man's thoughts, he is welcomed by an uncomfortable silence instead. It's nearly enough to make him scowl.

"Do you make it a habit to mind everyone's business?" He asks before letting out a frustrated sigh. "If so, you won't have long to live at this rate." He returns to his soup, idly wondering why and how he managed to arrive here. While Methuselah is a rather helpful host, a part of Challia can't quite understand how he managed to arrive here. He also can't seem to make sense of the words he heard earlier before he woken up.

"'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design,'" Challia mutters before glancing over at the curious man from earlier.

"Does this saying mean anything to you?"

[bigbaddy]

Honestly, Challia is so valid for asking that. Yet Bigby doesn't seem to react all that much to it - almost like he's used to hearing this sort of thing. He just keeps that sort of resting gruff face on as he's listening to the other.

It's only when he brings up that saying that Bigby does speak up again.

"Of course. That's what everyone here hears before they wake up here." Bigby says it incredibly casually - like this is really meant to be a normal thing, and not something people should definitely feel weird. "It's the Darkwalker talking to us."

[jupiterman]

Despite his frustration, Challia couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in perplexity when the big guy revealed the source of that phrase. "The Darkwalker?" He repeats, his tone tinged with amusement. Honestly, what kind of name is the Darkwalker? He finds that utterly absurd, and where he's from, absurdity is a common occurrence.

"For once, I'm glad to be called the Gray Ghost." He adds jokingly."I assume the Darkwalker is the one who brought us here? If so, how can we locate them?" Challia gets the sense that it will be much harder to find the Darkwalker than he thinks. He notices how many newcomers have congregated here, after all. Clearly something is wrong.

"If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been here?"

[bigbaddy]

"Two years."

It's the sort of information that might be a little hard to take in, considering what it says about anyone's chances of actually getting out of this place, but Bigby doesn't seem to drop any pause after it to give Challia a moment to process it.

If not just because the other did ask him a question just now.

"And I don't think you want to find the Darkwalker. That thing's out to kill us." Considering what he's saying here, Bigby may just be the king of answers that are technically helpful, but lack a whole lot of extra context that'd help said answers.. Apparently he's not a man of too many words unless prompted.