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singillppl2025-08-05 10:18 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-08-05 10:18 pm
Entry tags:
August 2025 Test Drive Meme
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
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.
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.
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.
Palamedes Sextus | The Locked Tomb
Darkness. A whispered voice. Falling.
Palamedes awakes to the feeling of damp snow seeping through his clothes. It isn’t the first time he’s gained consciousness only to find himself in a different place than he last remembered, but a snowdrift in the middle of the forest is new. Carefully, he pushes himself to his feet.
“Update—“ the word dies on his lips as he realizes two things in quick succession.
One: he is alone.
Two: he is in his own body.
Somehow, Camilla’s body is gone. Pal peers out through spectacles lenses, his sight made blurry by the snow that clings to him. He’s tall, limbs ungainly. He’s, well, male.
Palamedes lays two fingers on his neck and takes his pulse. Elevated, but that’s to be expected, given the circumstances. He checks his blood pressure. Nothing.
No, that can’t be right. Brow creasing, Palamedes shakes out his hand, blinking a few times. It must be the stress of whatever’s just happened, he tells himself. Nevermind that the necromantic theorem required to evaluate one’s own blood pressure could be executed by an agitated six-year-old. He takes a breath, bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, spits in his hand, and tries again.
Still nothing.
And that isn’t the only thing that’s wrong. With growing bafflement and no little panic, Palamedes realizes that he can no longer feel the low and constant hum of thanergy and thalergy around him. Even on a thalergenic planet—even on a spaceship—he would feel something.
There’s just one reason Palamedes could think of that would find him in his own body, lost in a strange landscape, without the ability to perform necromancy. And that reason is one he refuses to consider.
He bites his cheek harder and tries to take his blood pressure again. And again. But each time he executes a theorem, it feels like he’s struggling to hold a weight he can’t carry. Eventually, he faints from the strain, landing in a grey pile of robes in the snow.
Methuselah’s Feast
Eventually, and with great relief, Palamedes arrives in the large, cozy building, drawn by a sort of warm glow that he can feel even from the edge of town. Pal is shivering when he steps inside, his grey robes soaked past his knees and covered in frost that quickly begins to melt in a puddle.
Aside from some polite words to Methuselah (a name that rings a bell, but that he can’t quite place), the gangly young man doesn’t say much. Instead, he takes a cup of tea and finds a place out of the way with a clear view of the door. Gradually, he defrosts: he stops trembling from cold, his extremities regain feeling, his clothes even begin to dry.
Yet his expression remains one of troubled concentration. He looks a bit like he’s trying to sort out a particularly difficult math problem, and the numbers just aren’t adding up.
Wildcard
[Hit me with any additional ideas! Feel free to DM or find me on plurk at
Arrival
It's a man. Immediately she kneels down beside him, pulling off one of her thick gloves to press her fingers to his neck, checking for a sign of life. It wouldn't be the first time she discovered a body in the snow, but he still has warmth. Color. She hopes she isn't too late - and she isn't. There's a pulse.
Tayrey takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. 'Citizen!' she calls out. 'Citizen, can you hear me?'
If he opens his eyes, he'll see a young woman in a bright blue military coat, a gray scarf wrapped over her dark hair and around her neck. She looks awfully concerned about him.
Re: Arrival
She isn’t familiar to him, which isn’t surprising, given the surroundings. Her clothes say uniform, but it’s not one he recognizes—it’s not Cohort, and nothing about it identifies her as a member of one of the many Blood of Eden factions. In short: he doesn’t know her loyalties. And for a renegade necromancer, that’s a dangerous situation to be in.
Still, he merely offers her a watery smile as he pushes himself to sit. Pal takes off his glasses and shakes them, managing to dislodge the worst of the ice crystals that have begun to form on the metal frames. “…Hi. Hello. Sorry. I’m all right. Mostly.”
He just has a splitting headache, he’s shivering with cold, and he doesn’t seem to be able to perform necromancy.
no subject
'Peace and prosperity,' she says to him, with some relief. 'I'm glad. I feared the worst when I saw you.'
Tayrey gets to her feet, turning away to brush the snow off her coat and boots, before reaching out a hand to help him up.
'Were you unwell?' she asks cautiously, 'or did the cold overcome you?' Taking him for a newcomer, she won't blame him for being out here unprepared, but knowing what caused the collapse seems important - or rather, it seems the thing to do. Tayrey doesn't have so much as a basic emergency medical kit with her, and she already knows how primitive the local offerings are.
no subject
“The cold? You’re right, that was probably it.” That might not be exactly true, but the chill is seeping into his bones in such a way that it certainly could be true. “I’m not used to this sort of thing.” At least that part isn’t a lie.
Palamedes doesn’t need to read his vitals to know the effect the cold must already be having on his body. Undoubtedly, his temperature has already begun to drop. Blood is moving away from his extremities to keep his most important organs warm. Eventually, that won’t be enough and his heart will begin to slow.
But he won’t leave until he knows more about his situation. “Apologies, I must have gotten lost at some point. I’m afraid I don’t know where I am. This may sound silly, but can you tell me how far we are from New Rho?”
no subject
'It's not silly,' she tells him promptly. 'It's a very sensible question. Trouble is, it's one with a complicated answer. Walk with me, and I'll try to explain?'
Tayrey wants to get him moving, keep his body temperature up, as far as she can. 'There's a... settlement, not too far from here,' she adds. 'Warmth, and shelter.' And charitable aid, although she's far too polite to mention it. Some of the collectivist sentiments she's heard at that community hall are downright disconcerting.
Methuselah's Feast
No one watches exits because they're having a good time. Nor do they look like they're solving complex theorems, veins practically bulging, because they're content with their current lot. Can't know the specifics of course, but the more immediate cause of that sentiment—being dropped into a strange world without rhyme or reason—is a safe bet.
"You want my recommendation?" Palamedes's getting it even if he doesn't want it. The man who stands in front of him smiles a bit awkwardly but at least it is friendly. Which is good, since his physique, despite obscured by darker, baggy clothes, exudes martial prowess. "Don't think too hard why this is happenin'. Take it one step at a time."
"Got the feelin' we're gonna find out the why soon enough. So no point in runnin' ourselves ragged tryin' to solve a problem we don't have all the pieces to yet." He looks past Palamedes towards the door, the snow falling outside and squints, spinning an empty mug.
"Name's V. Just got here?"
no subject
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, tone mild and maybe a little distracted, “but ‘don’t think too hard’ is absolutely awful advice to give me. I’d never follow it, even if I wanted to try. Sorry.”
He offers his hand. “Palamedes. Yes. It’s been an eventful couple of hours, to say the least.”
no subject
"Yeah, why I said it." Cerebral types can't see the forest for the trees. And there's a lot of trees in this winter resort slash snowy purgatory. "Should try meditation. Or getting tied up. Whatever helps the mind get off things." Getting high and drunk would be the suggestion of his inner Johnny, former id now roaming around in reality.
Might never get used to that, actually.
Vincent takes that hard. His grip's strong, confident. Done a fair amount of handshaking. "V. It has. Kinda wish they would've thrown us in this cozy room to start out with. Get the feelin' nearly freezin' our asses off's part of the test." Convinced this is some sort of purgatory. Plenty of things Vincent has to repent for. Impossible to take his pick. "I shouldn't be..." Alive. But he shakes his head. No need to scare the newbies. "...here. Shouldn't be here."
no subject
Pal tilts his head to the side slightly. "So you think this is a test?"
no subject
"Place strikes me as some sort of purgatory. Like we all fucked up back home, now we're here to make up for it. How is part of the test." How much does a soul weigh? How many years must you toil if you've bathed in blood for months? Will it be cold arithmetic or something more nuanced?
no subject
“In that case: who, exactly has condemned us? They’d have to have a remarkable amount of power, for starters.”
no subject
See, this is the problem when you start thinking too deeply about stuff, poking holes in your own theory—it makes mountains outta molehills. Gives you a headache. "Whoever it was? Think I could kiss 'em." Frozen hellhole is better than the capitalistic hellhole that is Night City. Better than what awaited him back home after Mikoshi—six months stretching before him and his grave, alone. "I, uh, wasn't exactly in a great spot back home."
methuselah's feast
But as he's there at the Feast, he can't help but spot Palamedes. And, more importantly, the way the other seems to be thinking so intensely to himself like that. Even if he may be reluctant to involve himself with this new guy's - he must be, or Billy would have seen him around before, not to mention that his robes still look pretty wet - business, he is also very nosy.
The latter seems to win out after a few moments, since he can't help but feel himself approaching the other to ask, asking in a way that sounds neutral, yet polite: "Were you thinking about something?"
no subject
It’s possible that this is a joke, though Palamedes’ expression is perfectly serious.
no subject
Billy blinks.
He stares at the other like he's trying to discern whether or not Palamedes is trying to make a joke here. Billy does like to think he can tell this sort of thing, but somewhere between the way Palamedes looks so serious yet is saying something so ridiculous at a time like this he truly can't be sure. Maybe this is some sort of weird otherworldly kind of humor he doesn't understand.. The culture shock in this place has been heavy enough at times already.
"That is seriously what you are considering right now?"
At least it doesn't sound like the man is mocking Palamedes. Instead he sounds mildly baffled, like he isn't sure what to do with the other's question.
no subject
The young man frowns and drums his fingers on his knee. “Have you tried talking to him? I have. He seems incapable of saying anything of substance. That troubles me.”
no subject
He says it a little softly - almost as if contributing to whatever weird things Palamedes is thinking of seems to embarrass him. (It's the proper Victorian Englishman in him, really. Billy may not be proper in all ways, but the idea of being found Weird still sure does not sit well with him, leading to this.)
After saying all of that, he even looks away a little.
"Of course he is strange."
Arrival! [with apologies for the pupper (i couldn't resist)]
Teddy's gotten into a habit of taking long walks, hikes even. Not every day, as she finds more to do with herself, but it's a good routine. Scout needs the exercise whether it's in town or not, and Teddy always did better at home when she got out of the damn house -- could be around nature, had to be out of her head a little and aware, but still had room to think.
(And that was somewhere they could listen to music and be online. Here...? There's even less to keep them occupied, even if more work to do it. It could be worse -- they could not have their guitar, or like Eddie's, it could also be electric -- but seriously, "stuck in a place where you can't listen to even analog music but a couple times a month" feels pretty close to "torture designed specifically for Teddy".)
Honestly, Scout picking up on service training as well as she did has been like having the freedom snatched away when Teddy's seizures got worse, handed back. Maybe not completely, but on the upside, in the form of a happy-to-please, slightly-protective, adorable puppy (...grown ass dog, but, puppy). It - and she -- are not a thing Teddy will ever take for granted.
The murmurs about likely newcomers haven't escaped her, though, and she remembers very well how freaked out and lost she was when she got here. Although Teddy takes care to be well prepared and cautious for wildlife, she does push herself a little further afield these days, exploring the edges of the area. And Scout's happy to go as far as she wants.
Scout's a few feet ahead, off lead because it's honestly safer for both of them that way, when she catches a scent. She's distracted by it for a few moments, following, before lifting her head and looking to Teddy, and -- encouraged by the fact that Scout hasn't tensed and just looks inquisitive, Teddy smiles and gives her an 'okay' sign. "What've you got, baby?" they call to her encouragingly. "Go find it."
"It" doesn't take too long to go find. Scout leads them, nose to the ground, off the trail they were on and up a rise, unbothered by the skift of snow. Teddy takes the slope more cautiously; they get over it to see the dog heading straight for what at first looks like a -- grey pile of blankets, and then Teddy realizes with a sharp breath is a man.
Generally unperturbed by distractions and typically hesitant to interact, Scout has clearly identified her target as being in trouble, or at least having an issue that smells or looks to her like a bad thing, because she's already nosing and licking at his face, looking anxiously back toward where Teddy's followed.
Teddy clucks and signs leave it, coming over to see if that woke him -- at least she can tell he's breathing now -- or if he's really out. "Hey," she calls even before she comes to crouch at his side. "Can you hear me?"
no subject
Glasses askew, he opens his eyes. There’s an animal—a dog?—too close to his face for him to see properly, and a figure crouched beside him that he can’t quite make out thanks to said dog. He can hear just fine, though, and answers as he tries (unsuccessfully, of course) to shove the animal off him: “Perfectly. Now would you be so kind as to do something about your friend here?”
no subject
His accent is interesting. Kind of British? But not, quite, and it’s not as though Teddy’s an accent expert but she doesn’t think she’s just fucking up like, Australian or something, she thinks there’s something that feels slightly unusual.
(Of course it could have to do with the same reason he looks like he’s wearing robes. If Teddy stumbled on a fucking wizard they’re going to have to tell Eddie he’s been outdone.)
“Sorry about that,” they say, mildly, and crouch by him, frowning. “It might be perfectly now, but you must have had one hell of a blackout. Scout’s trained to react to my seizures, and she knows to ignore most other things. But she picked up the scent from down trail and she went right for you like she was on a mission.” They offer a hand. “Here. Take it slow.”
Teddy pauses. “I feel like I should be asking you the date and where you are but um. I’m gonna take a real wild guess and say you don’t know the answer to that, do you.”