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singillppl2025-12-04 08:00 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-12-04 08:00 pm
Entry tags:
December 2025 Test Drive Meme
DECEMBER 2025 TDM
A FINAL APP ROUND IN FEBRUARY WILL BE POSTED FOR RETURNING PLAYERS / CURRENT PLAYERS ONLY.
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: The penultimate 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 — JUST A SONG: A being arrives at the doors of Interlopers, causing mischief — and rewarding Interlopers for being such good sports.
PROMPT THREE — THE ICE CAVES: Interlopers find themselves as unwelcome guests in a labyrinth of ice caves.
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. This ancient creature that sneers at you, who does not want you here. Your fellow Interlopers will fill you in on this being soon enough.
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.
“Here we are, once again. This place continues to draw more souls in.” he nods gravely. “But I wonder for how much longer you turn up in this town. I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. This world has been long since changed by the lights. And more change is still to come, I feel. 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.
JUST A SONG
WHEN: The month of December.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creatures; folklore-inspired creatures; skeletal beings (horses); pranks/mischief.
Sounds of revelry have been heard through the streets of Milton: music, singing, bells. You can hear them from your cabin, or even as you venture through the town. It really sounds like someone’s having a pretty good time. It’s actually kind of nice to hear it, all things considered. Interlopers often find themselves with little to be cheerful about with the long night, bitter cold and difficult daily life.
Going out to find the source of such festivities will come up with nothing, however, which is both disappointing and a little unnerving. Until one night you hear the noise right at your door, and there’s the sudden boom of a knock.
Opening the door will lead to silence, but instead stands a tall being that towers higher than the door frame. Slow to move, a skull moves into view and you find yourself staring at a horse skull, adorned with ribbons, bells and flowers, its ears flicking in curiosity. Its eyes glow white in the dark. The remainder of the being’s body is covered by a huge white shroud and while it appears as a rather frightening creature — it makes no move to attack you. Instead, it stands calmly, relaxed.
Its teeth chatter for a moment, and it bursts into song: slow and cheerful:
I am come, dear friend, why won’t you let me in?
If I trespass, tell me then, why that I must go.
If I trespass, state in song, you should tell me so.’
You must tell the creature, in song, why they cannot come in. It’s… almost like a game—?
So you try, singing to the creature why it cannot enter your home. But the creature is clever, and can come up with plenty of ways in which it can argue for coming inside an Interloper’s home — returning its arguments in song. It starts off a back and forth, a debate in song. Eventually, you’ll fail to come up with reasons against the creature gaining entry and fail to argue back a reply. The creature jaw chatters cheerfully and ducks — charging forwards and passes right through you. As you turn to look back inside, you’ll see nothing there — the creature is nowhere to be seen.
However, you’ll soon find yourself falling victim to a… well, it’s almost a harmless prank if anything:
Altered Speech: Interlopers find themselves talking backwards, no matter how hard they try to not. Even Interlopers with Aurora Call will find their ‘mental voice’ speaking backwards, too.
Animal Ears: Interlopers find themselves with some kind of animal ears. While they certainly don’t get the benefits of said animal’s hearing — it does make wearing hats a bit of a pain.
Confetti: Everywhere you go, rainbow-coloured confetti will fall from your head. It can either be a constant stream, like a little raincloud above your head. Or maybe it comes out when you sneeze, or cough, or even just speak.
They See You: There’s googly eyes. All shapes and sizes. Everywhere. On the furniture. On your toothbrush. On your soup can. On you. No one knows where they come from, and if you take them away — they will come back.
Plastic Wrap: When you try to go through a door, you’ll be hit in the face with plastic wrap. It won’t be every door, though. And you’ll never know if a door’s been booby-trapped with it. But any door might be one that gets you.
They keep finding a random item in every drawer
These shenanigans will keep up for several days. However, on the morning of the day after the effects have passed, Interlopers will awaken to find everything back to normal. They’ll also find at the foot of their bed a small parcel. Inside, they’ll find a sweet treat of their choice: maybe a cake or candy they like the most, something they can’t otherwise get in the Northern Territories.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.
THE ICE CAVES
WHEN: The month of December.
WHERE: Everywhere…?
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks / wolf attacks; supernatural animals; potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
You wake up cold, to the sound of a great beast breathing restlessly. The sound echoes, and it feels far away and incredibly close at the same time. The air is humid, which makes the cold even more biting and the ground feels wet beneath you. As you sit up, you realise why: there are patches of ice that make up the floor, which now melt beneath your warm body. The light is dim, but you can see well enough with the soft blue glow that encompasses the area around you. As you get up to examine this glow, you realise it’s greeted by bioluminescent fungi which creep around the walls, floor and ceiling.
It’s an ice cave, and you find yourself not alone. Another is here with you.
Taking a few moments to recollect yourselves and take in your surroundings, you decide to traverse the caves in hopes of finding an exit. What meets you is a labyrinth of tunnels and atriums: all covered in the very same bioluminescent fungi and ice. The ground is slippery to walk on, and care should be taken. Every so often, the walls tremble and quake — not enough to cause any kind of cave-in, but enough to keep you on your toes.
But it’s not just you two in this cave. Not just the mysterious beast’s troubled breathing either. Something else is here, too — something far more familiar.
And soon you’ll find out: wolves.
You’ll find three here. Their eyes glowing green in the dim light. The first wolf is distinguishable by its more fluffy coat, their scruff poofs up a great deal more — tinged with white. Its approach is more softer, hoping to catch Interlopers unaware in the caves.
The second wolf is recognised by its scruffy coat, looking mangier than the others — missing chunks of it in places. This wolf is far more noisy compared to the others and tends to run more, barrelling into the Interlopers headfirst.
The third wolf is bigger than the other two, but its behaviour could only be described as being… sketchy. This wolf is far more silent, and likes to hide and stalk Interlopers from afar — even waiting for them to pass before it sneaks up from behind.
The wolves can be fought, they can even be killed — but they won’t stay down for long. Eventually, even if you’re sure they’re dead, they’ll get back up again and resume the chase of you through the caves. It’s best to keep moving and find a way out of this maze of a cave system.
You’ll find the opening soon enough, and stepping through the cave’s mouth will bring you back into a random location: you could find yourself outside a random cave in the Milton wilds, suddenly entering a long-abandonned cabin in Lakeside, or stepping inside the Frozen Angler in Silverpoint (to a confused-looking Molly). There seems to be no rhyme or reason to where you end up, and you certainly can’t go back — just hope you’re somewhere you’d like to be.
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. The being is inspired heavily by a festive Welsh folk tradition Mari Lwyd, where participants would visit homes, singing and engaging in a rhyming battle of wits, known as pwnco. The Mari Lwyd is a figure of mischief and havoc, but also one of good luck to the homes they successfully win at entering.
2. The being can come to the same home multiple times, so Interlopers can be affected by multiple ‘prank’ effects.
3. Failure to sing at all will result in an automatic loss.
4. The being cannot be harmed, and attempts to hurt it will pass right through it. It will also mean an automatic loss — and the being might just leave you your WORST/LEAST FAVOURITE sweet treat instead.
1. The three wolves are a call out to the player-named unique wolves of The Long Dark who exist within internal locations: Fluffy, Scruffy and Sketchy.
2. Characters end up in the Ice Caves with whatever they happen to have on their person at the time.— if it’s typical for them to carry weapons, they’ll have this with them.
3. While the wolves will never stay dead for long, they can be killed by any means you would normally kill a wolf: bullets, knives, arrows, etc.
The Creature / Frankenstein (2025)
( The cold is a familiar friend to him. It seeped into his reanimated skin and found a place in his bones during his months spent on the Artic tundra as he hunted his Maker, and Victor hunted him in turn. It is a relentless, disquieting companion, the cold, but Adam barely registers it as he wanders another frozen landscape. He has no recollection of how he arrived here, how far he must have walked south to trade the frozen sea for hills and trees, but his surroundings seem no less desolate than the furthermost north had been. So, he continues to walk. Such is his fate, forced to wander the earth for eternity.
As he marches on, he trips slightly on a patch of ice hidden by the snow, and unthinkingly grabs the arm of a tree to steady himself. Pain bites into his palm, a splintered branch cutting his pale skin, but he gives it no notice. He and pain are familiar bedfellows, and he knows his skin will knit itself together soon enough. But as he walks, a steady dripping of blood blots the snow beside him. He raises his hand and stares at his palm, befuddled: the wound has not healed. A storm of emotions crowds his mind all at once at the realisation - curiosity, worry, a profound relief - but the wound throbs, demanding attention. He wraps it with a piece of his ragged coat, the chill stinging at its edges, and he hikes forward with lighter steps when he sees smoke on the horizon.
The village is... strange. The houses seem alien to him, constructed in precise but foreign shapes and sizes, and his eyes pass over several items he has never seen before. Curiosity compels him, but the cold is starting to pierce through his armor of indifference, so he follows the smoke to the larger building. Outside, he lingers for several minutes, sure that his visage will cause an upset with these strangers - but the blood is seeping through the bandage on his hand, and the pain has reached a high enough pitch to overwhelm his anxiety enough for him to finally walk inside.
The old man who greets him there makes his hollow chest ache. He reminds him of his long-gone friend who had welcomed him with a similar open kindness, though his man is much less forthright with explanations. While he accepts the offer of hospitality, he notices that this place is crowded with people, and his instinct is to shy away from them all - yet, he cannot exile himself back out into the chill while cocooned by this place's warmth. He stays to the side of the room, face hidden behind his black covering, eyeing the food as his stomach pangs with hunger, but every time he resolves to approach the table, his anxiety reigns supreme, causing him to skitter away.
It's only when he sees a drop of his blood stain the floor that he gathers the courage to approach the nearest stranger and finally seek help. He towers over most people, and he knows he looks frightful, but he's timid as he approaches, hunched over to make himself as unthreatening as possible. Being constantly hunted is an exhausting existence, and he only wants a small reprieve from it while here. )
Pardon me. ( The voice muffled behind the mask is low and full of gravel, but soft, tentative. His eyes don't meet the other's, instead staring at their ankles. ) Do you know where I could find bandages?
THE ICE CAVES
( Waking from the darkness of death is nothing new to him, but this instance is particularly strange, as he has no memory of dying. Neither does he recognize his surroundings: a cavernous abode, walls slicked with ice, yet somehow dimly lit with an ethereal glow. As he gets to his feet, his eyes find the source of the mystical illumination, and he is fascinated by the mushrooms instantly. He wants to take a step forward and inspect them, but a growl in the dark stops him where he stands.
Always the hungry wolves, waiting in the shadows to find their next meal. He watches carefully as they slink into the light, three of them, their haunches raised, their teeth bare. He has survived wolves before, but his wounds do not heal in this place like they should, and that should give him pause. Still, fear does not properly grip him until the moment he realizes that he's not alone.
As the wolves encroach, he notices that he is not their only target. There is another here, a stranger, and a queer but overwhelming panic immediately seizes him, coursing adrenaline through his veins.
He lost his last companion to the merciless teeth of wolves; he will not lose another. )
Go! Run! ( He bellows at the stranger, then stands to face the three wolves that stand only a few paces away. Then, he throws his arms back, and he roars. )
WILDCARD
[ throw me something! ]
arrival, I am so sorry in advance
It's a bit hard trying to melt water enough to wash one's hair, but Dorian has always been the sort of man to care about his image, to care about the carefully crafted idea of Dorian Gray he puts out into the world. It's hard to melt water to wash his hair but dammit, he's going to melt water to wash his hair.
He's also going to judge people who haven't washed recently. Traipsing across the Arctic to draw out your maker isn't an excuse! Use some product! ]
But yes, there's a supply closet here with some bandages. Follow me, [ said as Dorian starts to walk towards a closet, walking like he expects to be followed and he expects the crowd to part for him. ] I'm afraid we're a bit shot when it comes to actual doctors—if you're bleeding so much that it requires stitches, good luck. You're most likely to end up with a scar.
[ Which, based on the tone in Dorian's voice, is truly a fate worse than death. Traces of being wounded? Something to mar his good looks? Gross. ]
lmao YES the chaotic gothic duo we need
Still, the man offers assistance, so he follows after him tentatively, trying to keep his body away from others as he moves, a giant bundle of furs and rags. The stranger continues to befuddle him with the way he speaks; not in their content, but the manner in which they are spoken. Are scars such an evil, as well? It seems that all he is are scars. But he's been called a horror by others, and he's not so naive anymore to think his appearance isn't the reason why. )
Scars indicate healing. Is that not what matters most? ( His voice is made of gravel, low and rich, but the words come out as soft as possible from his stolen mouth. ) You have no scars of your own?
no subject
Scars indicate foolishness. Granted, they can also indicate that you're unlucky—but more often than not, the story of 'how did I get this scar' ends up being something remarkably short-sighted.
[ And looking at Dorian, he doesn't seem to have much of anything in the way of scars. There are traces of age and injury here and there, thanks to six months without his immortality (which he HATES and is BIG MAD about and wants it BACK, PLEASE). But those traces are a hint of dark circles under his eyes, a gray hair here and there, the tiniest hint of crookedness to his nose, small hints like that. Dorian has still tried very hard to keep himself from getting anything more permanent than a bruise.
As they reach the supply closet, Dorian pulls out a small medical kit. This is very much a basic first-aid kit: a bit of gauze, some antibiotic ointment, a few bandages more fitting for paper cuts. He ducks his head back in the closet as he asks, ]
So yes. I have no scars of my own because I am very cautious and very lucky. [ That first part of the sentence is a goddamn lie. Very cautious? Him? Not at all. Dorian continues the conversation, though, pushing forward with a, ] How big is your wound, by the way? There are bigger bandages here somewhere....
no subject
At the man's question, he glances down at his hand. It is not bleeding as steadily as it was before, but the wound still leaks red from his palm, insistent as it was before. Instead of answering, he simply puts his hand out so the other can see his wound. (Not close enough to touch the other man, of course. Victor had taught him that lesson well enough long ago.) His eye is untrained in the ways of medicine, but he knows well enough that the bleeding needs to be stopped soon, or he will lose his supply, just as his wounded friends before him. ) I may require stitches after all, horrid as they are to you.
no subject
[ Until a malevolent force enters your brain and turns you more murderous than usual. Or hailstorms hit the town. Or you wake up in a cave with no idea how you got there. Dorian will happily keep his mouth shut about those things, though, as they do a terrible job fitting his narrative.
The comment about stitches, however, gets a little wrinkle of his nose. ] I'm afraid I can't do that much—profoundly useless, after all. I don't have medical training. But I can at least wrap the wound up to try and staunch the bleeding until someone sees to it. Give me your hand.
[ And he reaches out with his own hand, to take this odd man's wounded hand into his own. ]
no subject
And more grating. There is something funny about this man, who in many ways reminds the creature of his departed father - self-assured, befuddling, with an obvious affection for hearing his own voice - lacking any medical training. But it is the best assistance he has at the moment, and he does not know enough about the human body to heal himself.
Still, he shifts away slightly when this man reaches out, his shoulders hunched to shield himself by instinct alone. )
no subject
[ Also, going out to hunt or forage requires time? And effort? And frankly, that's gross, Dorian would prefer not to deal with that time and effort. He can just mooch off of other people instead!
As the Creature moves away, Dorian can't help but wrinkle his nose a little in irritation. And, with a voice like he's explaining something to a small child, he points out, ] You'll have to give me your hand if you want me to tend to your wound.
arrival
She always helps out Methuselah each time. She likes the old man, and has always admired his generous spirit. He doesn't have to help Interlopers, not really. But he does, every time. He does his best, and Kate if forever grateful for it.
So she keeps an eye on the amount of food around, making sure there's enough for those who come through the font doors of the Hall. But she's also hurrying through the Hall helping Methuselah tend to injuries — her powers a Godsend for things a little more serious, and taking the burden from Methuselah. She knows when not to burn herself out, to pace herself.
Even as he hunches over, and even with her own height taller than most girls, he still towers over her. She turns, arms full of blankets and stares up with wide eyes. He's so tall, and his while his face his hidden she sees— scars?
And blood? ]
Oh, I— [ Her gaze lowers and she's looking for signs of injury. He's bleeding. ] Hey, it's okay. Uh, come with me. Okay? Why don't you come over and sit over on one of the bunks—
[ She adjusts the load of blankets in her arms to gesture with one hand towards the cots where Methuselah tends to the wounded. ]
I can take a look and get you fixed up.
no subject
She does not seem as old as Elizabeth once was, but neither does she seem as young as Anne Maria had been, so she must be an age in between. Not quite a child, not quite grown; a stage regular humans must inhabit, but he himself never did. He decides then that he will do his best not to frighten her and keep his face hidden, especially when she is kind enough to offer her assistance. )
Thank you. ( He looks back down at his bleeding hand, wincing at the pain, unused to enduring it for this long. The worst of his wounds had always healed quickly. ) I... am unsure how to treat it, myself.
no subject
[ Kate holds her own hand out for his to examine it, waiting patiently for him to let her take a look. When he does finally let her see, she's gentle as she examine the wound. His fingers are... dark, worryingly so. Like frostbite, but he doesn't seem bothered by it — only by the wound itself.
Her hands are warm, warmer than what would be usual. Setting fires by accident sucks, but at least the added heat under her skin is a bonus. ]
It looks like it need stitches. It's better someone else does that for you. [ She doesn't recommend anyone doing stitches on themself, unless they really can't help it and there's no other option. ] But the important things to remember is to keep the wound clean and keep it bandaged up.
[ She smiles a little, head ducking. It's a simple enough wound to heal, she's done much worse than this. ]
But I can do a bit better than that. Just— take some breaths for me, okay?
no subject
He never had to tend to his own wounds before, but the girl's instructions are simple enough, and he doubts he will have trouble following them if he can supply bandages from this place. But when she implies that she can do better than stitch his wound up and instructs him to breathe, his neck tilts to the side on its own, painting his demeanor with curiosity, even with the majority of his face hidden.
Still, he has trusted her with this much, and she has shown him nothing but kindness and care. Though the ever-present coil of anxiety does not unspring from his reanimated muscles, he gives her a small nod besides, deciding to trust her further. Taking a breath, he allows air to flow through his stolen lungs, willing the last of his sewn-together pieces to relax. )
no subject
It's different for everyone, how they help the ability manifest. She's seen others do things in other ways to her — but always managing the same end goal. For Kate, she uses Psalms— ]
They cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He sent out his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave—
[ Gently uttered, her voice steady with rhythm. There's no flash of light, no moment of brilliant wonder — just the quiet workings of her power, slowly healing his wound under her palm. It only takes a few moments before she moves her hand away — the wound completely healed and only the blood remains.
Her own corresponding hand aches and she flexes it, frowning from the bite of pain as she draws back. But she smiles through it, pausing to reach for cloth and water to clean the blood away. ]
There, all good. [ She mops at his hand gently, cleans it so she can show him. ] See?
no subject
But when she finishes, he opens his eyes, and as they meet his open palm, he sees that the wound that had festered for hours before has sealed itself completely. It is as if his immortality had returned to him, but only for a moment. He considers this option, then decides that cannot be the reason, not as his feet still ache and his stomach still sours with hunger, afflictions he had never suffered for long before coming to this village. Instead, he feels the lingering warmth in his long fingers from where the young woman had touched him, and knows she must be the cause. Gratitude and affection immediately swell his heart. )
Thank you. ( His voice is quiet, awed, and when he looks at the girl again, it's with wide eyes, wonder reflected even in his dead one. He pulls his hand back quietly, a small smile starting to form behind the mask that the black fabric around his face makes. And despite himself, he asks, because buried deep underneath his jaded exterior lies the child that never stops wondering at the world around him: ) How?
no subject
A gift. From the Aurora, and Enola. [ She points upwards, towards the sky, before continuing. ] Every so often, Enola helps us gain abilities — for a lot of us it's things no one could do back home. This is just one thing I can do.
[ It's honestly kinda of weird, but in a good way. Like talking to people using her mind? Healing people? Making fire? The last of those three is... still a little scary to her, and she's still trying to get to grips with it. ]
But this? Healing? It means— [ She considers the words from the dream she'd had. ] Never again. This time, it will be different. Better.
ice caves!
Something growls, and something else moves. Something very large in stature. Even years later, his mind fizzles in a static whirl of panic — Tuunbaq — but he can tell immediately that the shape is not that. It's a person, two-legged, tall and strong and strange. (Too tall, too strong, too strange.)
Of course, he himself is a very strange thing now. He may not look it on the surface, but he is a creature of darkness, cursed by the Darkwalker, damned to live away from the sun's light. Even now he can feel his senses prickling in the dim cave the way no man's should — alert, aware, alive. And even now he can feel that demon's desire within his spirit, for something no man should hunger for.
He scrambles to his feet, a mess of long greatcoat and sliding boots, lifting his gun in trembling hands. It aims towards one wolf, then another, then the third, then the unnatural figure himself, before— the person is telling him to go, to run. Dumbly, Little blinks, realising. The figure means to protect him.
Then comes that roar, and it chills him to the core. The lieutenant stands there, frozen, but not fully in fright. No, something else wills him to stay where he is, gun lifted. He finds his own voice lifting in a shout. )
They are not natural wolves! You cannot take them on alone!
( He sees that green glow to their eyes; he knows. And despite this stranger's animal-like disposition, he might not be able to conquer them. )
no subject
They are not natural wolves! This makes him pause, then waste precious time by turning to look at his companion in surprise: the man isn't running. He's going to stay and fight. The panic in him rises, even knowing that he is the unarmed one of the pair. He cannot lose anyone else to the wolves, unnatural they may be.
He's caught unawares when one of them pounces on him. He manages to avoid the wolf's snapping teeth by mere inches, and when the creature sends him tumbling, he finds he cannot lift it off of himself as easily as he could before. He is weaker here, he realizes, and he growls in a frenzy as he punches the creature's snout to get its mouth away from him, using his legs to kick it off. Its weight is tremendous, and he nearly buckles under it, but a pure instinct to survive gives him the strength to get it off. )
Arrival
When Rorschach hears the man speak, he looks over at him, though it's hard to tell just what this enormous man looks like Still, Rorschach is immediately reminded of some small shy creature given how he won't even attempt eye contact with the vigilante. Maybe like a rabbit or a little child. He nods in response, wordlessly gesturing for the creature to follow him.]