December 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

DECEMBER 2025 TDM

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS TDM IS THE FINAL PUBLIC APPLICATION ROUND. IF YOU ARE A NEW PROSPECTIVE PLAYER, THIS WILL BE YOUR FINAL CHANCE TO APPLY FOR THE GAME. RETURNING PLAYERS AND CURRENT PLAYERS CAN APPLY DURING THIS ROUND TOO.

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, at your door to sing.
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

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.

JUST A SONG

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.

THE ICE CAVES


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.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

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QUESTIONS

[singmod]

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Edward Little ⚓ The Terror

[fidior]

ooc — current player, indulging in some shenanigans✨ happy to utilise these for cr, bumping into newcomers, etc.!

---

JUST A SONG —

( Edward Little is no stranger to being cursed in strange ways. As the days stretch out, so cold and dark, he comes to life in ways that no good-hearted, mortal man should. Of course, Little isn't sure that he is either of those things, anymore.

Like any predator, he now thrives in the darkness. His body, mind, spirit — his senses themselves come alive in the gloom. He moves easily, more vital and hale now that the sun can no longer cause him grief and pain. He patrols the town as always: a figure dressed in the full uniform of the Royal Navy: cap, gloves, boots, and wool, lengthy greatcoat cloaking most of him, sweeping with movement. He checks in on everyone routinely — though anyone with a feat (and especially more than one) will notice he keeps a bit more physical distance — and when he hears wind of a new wave of Interlopers, he'll seek them out: both those who have already made it to the community center and those who may still be out there in the wilds, in need of assist.

As it goes, he becomes the victim of humiliating pranks multiple times throughout the month. Despite how troubling they are, he maintains his responsibilities...

When he suffers from altered speech, communication is all but impossible. Still, he tries: the Distressed Victorian Man might approach you, eyes wide as saucers, barely swallowing back a wave of panic. )

Me pardon! Me tell you can, please... Words my understand to able you are?

( It's also possible that you hear his voice, but inside of your mind. A stream of thought that may sound like gibberish, but closer inspection might reveal to you that it's actually just words spoken backwards. As Little mentally and inadvertently projects his frenzied thoughts, he roams around looking stricken, wringing his gloved hands.

There's also a time in which he has animal ears. This is particularly mortifying, but one must keep soldiering on, after all... No matter what else he has become these days, he is still a first lieutenant! So he pulls his officer's cap down as much as he can in attempt to cover the pair of fluffy brown cow ears sticking out from thick waves of hair. His hat pushes them downwards a bit, and he pulls the large lapels of his coat upwards, but it's impossible to conceal the affronting things. Especially when they twitch here and there at various sounds — though they don't affect his hearing or heighten it in any way, they're certainly very reactive. He's looking very mournful about it, which — given those big wet cow eyes of his — only adds to the overall concept.

There are other times they see you, aka the number of 'googly eyes' (not that Little knows what they are called) peering your way from various places and being of various sizes on his person. These unnerve him in a special way — after removing a few of them and discovering immediately that they simply come back, he's been quite horrified. The eyes are... sightless, and appear to be made of some... manmade material...? ("plastic" doesn't exist yet for him, not in this sense of the word, anyway)...

He doesn't like this at all, and especially how the eye-things shake with movement, as though looking around. There are some on his coat, some on his gloves, but worst of all — one on his cheek, the side of his neck, and his forehead. He lifts a palm to cover the side of his face, too distracted to properly watch where he's going, and might bump right into you, all those googly eyes shifting and tilting around wildly as he jerks back. This is very scary.... )

Ben Hargreeves ☂️ The Umbrella Academy

[chogsu]

ooc — some Important Things: this is OG!Ben, canonically dead but thanks to the setting, will be as solid and visible as any living person. The Horrors that manifest through him will also be unable to breach now, as the eldritch portal in his stomach is closed off. I'm pulling him from the end of season 1!

---

ARRIVAL —

( The first thing Ben notices is that it's cold. He hasn't felt cold in a very, very long time. He hasn't felt anything.

Something's wrong. The others aren't in sight, none of them (not even Klaus, he realises, with an odd hitch of startle) and it wasn't supposed to be that way. He was supposed to be back, with them, back in time, back to save the world from what went so wrong with Vanya, not—

—all alone. Ben stands up in a pile of snow, shuddering against the cold wet of it, staring out into an expanse of dark winter. Something's voice, impossibly ancient, still echoes in his thoughts. Is this.... the afterlife? Did he cross over, despite avoiding that inevitable fate for as long as he could?

When he realises he's shivering from the cold, he freezes, staring down at himself. The sensation is foreign after so many years of existing in an incorporeal form. Tentatively, his hands explore his chest, moving down the material of his dark leather jacket, patting himself down. When he reaches his stomach, he hesitates, but doesn't dare touch there. Something's.... not right, with his body. Until he knows what's happened to him, he has to be careful not to poke and prod the monsters that lurk just under his skin, the ones he has no true control over. Mere minutes ago, they'd burst out of him, so strong and lashing and hungry to spill blood.

He needs to keep moving, find... something, anything at all. The endless stretch of land frightens him, all that nothingness. He doesn't want to be alone. So he starts walking, trudging through the snow, arms wrapped around himself. When he glances back, he can see that his footsteps leave prints in the snow. As if he were... real.

When he comes across someone nearby, he halts, eyes widening. He hesitates a moment before slowly lifting an arm into the air, the other still wrapped around his middle as he asks something extremely normal. )

Hello...? Uh... can you see me?

( Later, when he makes his way to the community center, he's moving cautiously around the place, sort of sneaking around and calling out in a hushed whisper— ) Klaus? Dude, where the hell are you? This is weird!

( He might bump into you on accident as he searches for his druggie spirit-medium brother (every family has one, right?) and he'll flinch back apologetically. He somehow occupies actual space now, is capable of actually making physical contact, and it's insane. ....It's everything he's wanted, for so long. ) Sorry! My fault!

THE ICE CAVES —

( Ben wakes with a soft groan, reaching up to wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. It takes a few moments for him to realise — and then he's startling, scrambling to his feet. The ground is slippery beneath his boots, and he slides a little bit, arms moving to try and find balance again. Being a ghost was so much easier when it came to this stuff, at least.

There's a blue glow that's as beautiful as it is eerie, and he's blinking up and around before he realises he's not alone in this.... place. This ice castle looking shit. Ben blinks, taken aback. )

Oh— hey— ....You come here often?

( He cracks a dumb awkward grin as he says something equally dumb and awkward by way of greeting, because interacting with living human beings is not something he's used to. But just as immediately, Ben sobers up as he looks the stranger over in concern. ) Are you okay?

ice caves

[gascogne]

[Having woken just moments earlier, taken stock of himself and odd humidity he'd not felt since he'd been in this place, adjusted to the light when apart from the auroras now it's always dark, D'Artagnan has ventured only a few feet away from the unfamiliar man he'd found lying near him. He'd been prodding at the wall of the cave, the fungi a source of curiosity as it seems to glow from within. As he hears the startled movements of Ben getting to his feet, he turns, dagger in hand, but otherwise appearing an unassuming young man in an ill-fitting down jacket. He quirks an eyebrow at the greeting, the phrasing unknown to him and falling flat as a means of levity, yet he's somehow accidentally answering it appropriately in his own awkward way, voice rasping and lacking the inflection of concern that should be present in this situation.]

Never been.

[D'Artagnan sheathes his dagger at the small of his back, and steps away from the wall as the unsettlingly ambient breathing sounds grow apparently closer and recede again. He ignores it for now, beyond a quick glance behind them, lifting his hand to point at Ben with one finger, gesturing to the unsteady gait on the ice.]

I'm fine. You, my friend, look distressed.

[He's not had the time to perfect walking on the melting ice and its more slippery measure, but he's better off with his Milton-scavanged boots and their spiked straps he'd been fortunately wearing on his first ice fishing endeavour, the last he recalls.]

Nancy Wheeler | Stranger Things

[consistentpatterns]

[Her canon point is the end of season 4.]

ARRIVAL.

The last thing Nancy remembers is watching the “snow” from the Upside Down starting to fall in Hawkins, red lightning in the sky. This? This is not Hawkins. Or the Upside Down, either. Unless things have changed since the last time she was down there. It’s just… snow, and trees. And cold. “Shit.” She’s not dressed for this. She’s not dressed for this at ALL. She folds her arms and shivers as she tries to curl in on herself as best she can.

Okay. Think Nancy. First things first. Figure out what’s going on. Where she is, and maybe find somewhere out of the cold. Or at least a coat. SOMETHING to keep her from freezing to death. Then she can go from there.

She starts trudging through the snow, shivering. Keeping an eye out. For familiar faces. And for more dangerous things, too.

METHUSELAH’S FEAST.

There’s a lump of blankets on a cot in the corner that’s vaguely Nancy-shaped, hands curled around a bowl of stew. As much for the warmth as it is because she’s hungry. She’s not sure she’s ever going to thaw out, but she might sit here in her lump of blankets to see if she ever does. She’s been told the basics. And after everything that’s happened in Hawkins, she no longer thinks the strange and unusual to be unbelievable.

Beside her, on the cot, is a shotgun. HER shotgun. She doesn’t know how it got here separate from her, but she’s glad for it. Somehow she thinks that it might be useful.

THE ICE CAVES.

Nancy is scrambling to her feet a second after she wakes up. What is it with this place and her finding herself somewhere she wasn’t? She definitely wasn’t in this cave before. At least she has a gun, and the bat she’d found exploring. It had reminded her of Steve. Of home. She’d sooner use the bat than the gun. She doesn’t know how the ammo situation is here, yet. Better to keep that in reserve.

She turns in a slow circle, taking in the cave, the soft blue glow, when she finally sees that she’s not alone. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how we ended up in here, do you? Or better yet, a way out?” She doesn’t think it’s going to be that easy. It’s never that easy. But maybe they’ll luck out.

WILDCARD.

[Choose your own adventure.]

Lucy Gray Baird | The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (movie)

[somethingtosay]

Arrival.

Well. At least there’s no snakes. Lucy thinks she ought to be worried that there aren’t. That the arena is nowhere in sight. Just a… dusty ol’ cabin that’s seen better days. “Haven’t we both,” she murmurs softly, shivering as she gets to her feet and starts to look around. This can’t be any worse than where she was, she’s pretty sure. She isn’t dressed for the cold, though. And even having her mama here with her in spirit isn’t enough to make her any warmer. So she starts digging around, scrounging for something, anything, that might be useful.

The fur coat is huge, and almost swallows her whole, but more importantly it’s WARM. The gloves she’s found fit better. Almost perfectly. A brightly coloured flannel goes on under the coat, over her dress. Once she thinks she might actually survive whatever waits for her outside, she opens the door to her little sanctuary, and sets off.

Just a Song.

This at least, she knows. She might not know anything else, but she knows music. She smiles at the guest at her door as she slings her guitar over her shoulders, fingers brushing the strings before she starts to play, and she starts to sing.

🎶‘My mama always told me not to let strangers in
My mama always told me to avoid letting danger in’🎶

She’s sung for her life before. This isn’t any different. She keeps going and going, countering any argument her visitor tries… until she doesn’t. Until she fails. It chatters at her and charges at her, THROUGH HER and she gasps, spinning on her heel… to find nothing. It’s gone. Whatever it was. It’s gone.

Only it’s left something behind. Every time she tries to talk, tries to sing…. It comes out wrong. It comes out SDRAWKCAB. She goes up to someone, several someones, reaching out to touch their arm as she tries desperately to talk to them. “.em dnatsrednu nac uoy em llet esaelP ?em dnatsrednu uoy naC”

Or there’s confetti, falling from her head, coming out when she talks, or coughs. It’s better than the backwards talk. At least she can still sing, this way. Even if it looks like a constant celebration every time she opens her mouth. She tries to keep it from getting in her guitar as she plays. As she sings.

🎶You can't take my past.
You can't take my history.
You could take my pa,
But his name's a mystery.
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.'🎶

Wildcard.

[Choose your own adventure!]

[chogsu]

( Ben hasn't even noticed the odd sound around them — it's some overarching thing he's not honed in on consciously, like static on a faraway television set. All of his senses are fixed on other things for the moment: the shocking chill of ice around them, the stranger in the room. Being a ghost for so long, a thing that existed more as a concept than a true person, adjusting to sensations is hard. He keeps getting distracted by things, knocked off-kilter by them.

It's also exciting, and he's as enthused for it as he is nervous, drawing in a steadying breath as he takes in the other man more after that very earnest response of his. Ben hadn't even noticed that weapon yet, only becoming alerted to it when D'Artagnan sheathes it, and he belatedly startles a bit at the realisation, eyebrows lifting. One hand lifts to his jacket front but makes no movement otherwise. Since waking up in this place, he hasn't really felt Them the way he usually can — that constant awareness of something pushing, pressing, restless in that strange secret world inside of him, wanting out — but that doesn't mean They aren't still there. They've always been there, even when he was dead. Maybe They've been weakened, are having to heal. Not a great idea to try and unleash a bunch of angry murderous tentacles in a cramped ice cave, anyway. It's the only way he could defend himself if he had to, but... it's never a choice he likes making. It never was.

Besides, the other man isn't acting like a threat. The weapon's tucked away, he's reaching a hand out in gesture, and Ben stares at him, giving another awkward grin, and an uncertain-sounding chuckle to go along with it. God, it's so weird that someone else can see him. Is talking to him! What the hell does he actually say now? Sorry if he keeps staring at you with awe, D'Artagnan. )

I guess I've had better days, ( he finally admits, tone light-hearted despite everything. Right on cue he wobbles again, unsteady, and gives a little sound of surprise. ) Okay, this is slippery. Uh... this is ice, right?

( He knows what it is, but only the way someone who's read up on a subject would know about a thing. He hasn't experienced ice in so long that it might as well be a foreign thing altogether. The world of the living is so strange; it's as though he's dreaming. )

[gascogne]

[D'Artagnan smiles faintly, crookedly, at the very obvious staring, unnerved by it as if under undue scrutiny. He says nothing of it though, presuming himself in some way strange to this man, as others have been to him, but without any context on why. It could be any number of things, considering the spread of times and places and cultures... and indeed, odd attributes that make one not exactly human. As Ben slips again, D'Artagnan steps closer, not quite assured in his stride, but neither is he so careful, reaching out to grasp Ben's arm, a firm grip without warning of his personal space invasion.]

It... yes, it's ice.

[One eyebrow furrowed, the other rises as he considers the reasons one might ask, mundane and completely logical reasons.]

I'm from a warmer place myself, but I've seen it. We have it. Have you been anywhere so cold before?

[Now thinking of it, he's pulling off his gloves to hand over. Surely the man must be colder than he in that leather jacket, and upon his own arrival, someone had done such a kindness for him.]

[chogsu]

( Ben tenses when the stranger moves closer, not afraid, just— not used to this. And especially not used to the grasp against his arm. He blinks widely, stare finally torn from D'Artagnan's face and going right down to stare at his hand for a long moment, wholly taken aback by the sensation. Even Klaus hadn't been able to... touch him. Not like this. The little blips of tangibility were different, but this.... it really is as though he's alive, again. )

Thanks, ( he finally says, realising that the grasp is an attempt to steady him, and he almost tentatively reaches with his free hand to hold onto D'Artagnan's arm in return. His fingers hesitate before curling into the material of his sleeve for a moment to further secure balance, loose at first, then a little tighter. Woah. He really can feel this. Whatever reality or timeline he's been brought into... he's no longer just a ghost. )

Oh, uh... ( Attention distracted by the very amazing sensation of clothing against his fingers, Ben quickly looks back up at the question. ) Nothing like this. I've kind of lived all over the place, but this is— new. All the snow and... ice.

( He blinks again as he realises the other is offering him his gloves, reaching to take them but slowly, holding one up as though to examine it. He can feel the warmth from the other man's hands still lingering against the material, fingers brushing against it. But then he's starting to hand them back, earnest. )

I don't wanna take these from you. People usually lose warmth from their fingers first, right?

( He may not have direct experience with it, but lord knows he's had years of nagging his dumbass brother to take care of himself so he doesn't wind up dead, too. How many times has he had to whisper in Klaus' ear to put on thicker socks, put on some gloves, remind him that living humans need to bundle up in the winter— ...A nurturer at heart, or maybe by necessity, or some mix of both, Ben has a hard time taking from someone else. )

[gascogne]

[There's something enduringly strange of this man, and he's starting to suspect more than unfamiliarity, perhaps a head injury. Ben does nothing to dispel that current theory with his examination of D'Artagnan's jacket and the glove. Chewing as his lip as the breathing gets louder again, he tries to be patient with this, though his instincts are to either flee or investigate — surely the latter had he been in this cave by himself.]

Generally, the extremities.

[D'Artagnan's not insistent about it, taking the gloves back without protest. A man must make his own decisions, foolish as they are. He's gotten them tugged back on just as the sound slides through in a wavering fashion, as if coming from all sides. D'Artagnan turns his gaze sharply from Ben to looking into the darkly lit crevices and tunnels around the larger cavern, apprehension growing.]

We should go. Look for a way out. It's no doubt a beast of some sort.

[Closer, suddenly, more distinct and different, a new sound, an eerie howl for its reverberation in the space more than it's strangeness. He does know it, recognisable as a wolf. D'Artagnan acts decisively then, shoving at Ben without apology.]

Go, go.

[Waving off down one larger tunnel, he sets to hustling the man along, though he knows not where he's going. They'll figure it out, he's faith in that for he refuses to die this day.]

The Creature / Frankenstein (2025)

[simplyam]

ARRIVAL

( 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! ]

Altered speech ( ・ω・)

[swill]

[Allegedly, this is Canada. O Canada! Land of the brave, home of the free. There's gotta be truth to it because Hawkeye could have felt his very blood turn to maple syrup now that he's among pines, its long-yearned-for natural state of being... if he could have felt anything at all. As it is, he's but a popsicle cloaked in standard winter garb: olive, dusty, oversized and undersized canvas with straight yet too-broad stitching boasting the finest of American mil-spec. The parka is drafty, old, and cold. It sucks. It's crap. It's crap! It's crap, it's crap, it's crap it's crap crap cr

But then: life. Someone approaches. Even in the dark, trying his damnedest to not get turned around by the steady flurries that sting his eyes and cling to his eyelashes, Hawkeye cocks his head as he catches sight of the guy that's speaking in... not tongues. But close enough.

He nods. There's confidence there, even if God says there shouldn't be.

...because why shouldn't he have some fun? His ass is freezing. He deserves this much before he dies. (in Canada!)]

Well I've gotta say, sailor, that's mighty forward of you.

[One glance to the left. One glance to the right. One glance over his shoulder, for good goddamn measure.

Hawk drops his voice to a conspirational whisper.] But no. No, I don't have a wife.

arrival, I am so sorry in advance

[brushoff]

Good God, you need to do something with that hair, [ Dorian dryly responds, as he looks up at the Creature. Daylight is scant in the months of December and in the twilight and night, Dorian is thriving. He looks like the young, attractive, whole person he should be. And, unlike the Creature, his hair looks like it's been regularly shampooed.

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. ]

ice caves

[friendsfordinner]

The person she's stuck with is a man who looks to be in his early thirties, with a pointy little beard that screams 'I would be cast as an evil advisor in a fantasy play.' Fortunately, he's also wearing a dark green puffer coat, which looks remarkably out of place compared to the 1840s facial hair that Hickey is still determined to rock. He's standing upright, frown on his face, looking at the walls of the cave as if they'll start shifting if he stares at them enough.

"Last time I was stuck in something like this, we had to tell a secret to get out. Don't think this is the same, though. This cave feels...different."

There's a pause before,

"Course, last time also had words written on the side of the cave telling us what to do. Maybe something like that's here, yeah? Can't hurt to look."

[chogsu]

( It's probably fortunate that Ben ended up with D'Artagnan as his partner-in-crime, here. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the man who has a difficult time accepting a pair of gloves — even when the decision will come to his own detriment; it's cold in here — has little in the way of self-survival instinct or drive.

There's a reason he was the first of his siblings to be killed on a mission. That reason may have involved his bleeding heart and deep empathy! It's probably only a matter of time before both things lead him to end up dead here, too. .....Can he die again? Is he still technically dead? Would he be double dead?

Maybe, thanks to his new friend here, he'll survive the day.

That sound ripples through the chambers of the cave, and now Ben hears it too, attention alerted as he freezes, tensing up. ) Uhhh... what the fuck was— woah!

( There's a shove to his back and he's stumbling forwards in surprise, but obediently lets himself be coaxed along a few feet before he starts moving on his own, as fast as he dares. He turns his head to look back at the other man while he does, speaking in a frenzied, hushed whisper. )

I'm sorry, did you say a beast?

[gascogne]

[A short nod as he tugs on Ben's sleeve to direct the man through a smaller passageway that shoots off to the left and twists and turns, the ice underfoot thicker but perhaps thankfully less slippery for the moment.]

The nature of which, I don't know.

[D'Artagnan speaks quickly and hushed, and the howling sound again, slightly more distant.]

That is a wolf, but the other could be anything, even that unimaginable. I've seen monsters manifested from naught but thoughts, men corrupted into foul decaying creatures, heard tales of great bears and ghostly apparitions.

[chogsu]

( If there were any lingering doubts that he's somehow been made solid, the fact his new companion is fully capable of pulling him along just about settles those. Some part of Ben still half-expects to slip right through Mr. Old Timey here, but no — he stays right there with D'Artagnan, stumbling and rushing along. It gets easier the further they go, the ice no longer so slick, illuminated in that eerie blue glow. Well, easier until there's a few tremours in the walls around them.

The sound of another howl sends a shudder down Ben's spine, and he can't help thinking back to the horrors that his body serves as a vessel for. Again, probably not a good idea to unleash a mass of uncontrollable tentacles into a cavern like this, but... if it comes down to protecting themselves.... (But could he even let them out if he wanted to? Something's not right with them. It's a weirdly uncomfortable thought that he might actually be helpless right now.)

Anyway: monsters, men turned into creatures, weird animals, ghosts— )

Sounds like one of my family reunions! ( he only half jokes as he quickly takes another twisting corner, a bit more nonplussed by this variety-pack of potential nightmares than an average individual might be. That's been his reality for his entire life, after all. A lot of real weird shit. )

I think we're outrunning it, though. It sounds far away.

( Unbeknownst to him, there's more than one evil wolf to contend with, and that sketchy member of the trio is actually silently stalking them... When Ben turns another corner and comes to a solid wall, he turns around to face D'Artagnan, brows lifted. ) Dead end! We'll have to double back— Dude, watch out!

( He scrambles to pull the other man back a bit, pointing at the thing crouched low to the ground and slinking around the corner they just came from, eyes glowing green and mouth stretched into a wide grin. )

arrival

[castitas]

[ Another feast, another blur of organised chaos. Kate's well used to the busy vibe of Methuselah's feasts — more and more Interlopers trekking in from the cold. More and more of then for over two years now who've ended up in this place through the Aurora. Each time they come with injuries, or hurt by the journey in from the cold. The winters are so much harder — when the sun doesn't rise and the temperature stays well below freezing.

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.

[gascogne]

[Eyebrow raised, D'Artagnan thinks to ask if he might be one of said creatures — he knows others to be capable of somehow transforming into wolves, but he's yet to witness it — but they encounter the wall, and he can feel the tremors in the side of the tunnel where he's placed his hand. Ben has repaid his 'favour' in kind by pulling him away from the wolf, but as he settles low beside the other man, D'Artagnan knows they've not avoided any of its surveillance. The wolf before them is menacing in a quiet way, the odd glow of its eyes not quite as unnerving as the slant of its mouth, the odd animal equivalent of a smirking satisfied smile, incongruent with what he knows of them.]

I didn't hear it at all.

[This one. D'Artagnan moves slowly, drawing his hand behind his back to retrieve his dagger once again. He keeps his eyes on the wolf's, direct and trying not to show any fear, of which he truly does feel very little, it's more a burgeoning excitement. The trembling starts again, and small bits of ice and rock crack down between their position and the wolf, neither the sketchy creature nor D'Artagnan move with it, a standoff.]

Is there another turn?

[His voice is hardly above a whisper, as if the wolf may very well discern what it is he asks.]

ice caves!

[fidior]

( Little wakes with a soft groan, slow to sit up and orient himself. Almost instinctively, he sorts himself out before he can make any true sense of his environment — a gloved hand groping along the cold ice beneath him until it finds his officer's cap, which he pulls down over his eyes. Next he reaches for his shotgun, which isn't far away. Everything that was on his person before he— fell asleep? is still there. And a strange blue light, a soft and almost unnatural glow. It might almost be beautiful.

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. )

feast

[satanicpanics]

Eddie is only really using the Community Hall as a shortcut back home, not really anting to stay for Methuselah’s Mystery Stew. He’s been here for well over a year in all, and he still can’t bring himself to trust what the old man cooks up. As he slips through the rows of cots, he pauses mid-step, blinks, then whips back around to face the person lumped beneath the blankets.

“Hey, Wheeler.”

It’s such a casual reaction, like this is an ordinary day and this is an old hat—which it is. After everything that happened in his Week from Hell back home, he’s prepared to believe and accept just about anything. People from home aren’t that uncommon, and he’s entertained himself and his anxiety by taking a guess at who might cycle through next and how long they’ll stay before disappearing again. It was Max once, Steve twice, and now he’s down to Dustin and a Mike who doesn’t even know him.

As he stares at her with wide eyes, that calm demeanor slips right off of him and concern slowly settles into his features. He pauses only briefly, then finally asks:

“So, uh…are you gone be the on who finally catches me up on what went down back home, or do I need to wait for the next person?”

shoukfjfj thank you sm for this gift

[fidior]

( There's a rush of relief — or maybe hope — when Little swoops in on the man, finds anyone to swoop in on at all, because this feels like something's been knocked out of place and perhaps he can correct it if he only tries hard enough. (Since that has, of course, historically worked out so well for him — trying hard enough. No it hasn't.)

It's a bone out of place that just needs to be snapped back in, or a speck of something hard that only needs to be wiped from his eye, or a piece of clothing that simply needs adjusting. If he keeps trying, then surely this... ailment will correct itself. Right? That means that any potential person to interact with could help knock him back into the right state.

That the man is a stranger, and therefore a newcomer to this place, certainly doesn't go over Edward Little's head. He has every Interloper memorised and categorised and documented, after all. It's especially important that he reach through to this man in all the right ways, find himself back into normalcy as quickly as possible, so that he can assist him. So he's drawing up to Hawkeye very seriously and earnestly, eyes locked on as he listens, ready to take all of this with utmost care—

There's a beat of startle, because he doesn't fully grasp the implication of the words yet, eyes following those movements and leaning into that whisper, and then.....

Oh dear lord! )

Pardon beg I! Inquiring was I what isn't that— ( He gives a sound of frustration and despair, nostrils flared, visage flushed. He's been horrendously misinterpreted and he can't even explain properly.... With a clench of a fist, a rare curse comes, and at least that one word gets through correctly. )

Damn!

arrival...i love ben...

[satanicpanics]

[ The nothingness of that vast white void is terrifying, which is exactly why Eddie never travels far from town. He doesn’t exactly have spades of good luck, and he knows he’ll be the one to get lost in the snow if he doesn’t keep Milton just over his shoulder, especially with the night as long as it is now. But that doesn’t stop things from needing fetched—water, firewood, food, and in many cases, lost newcomers.

Such is the case now. Eddie stops dead in his tracks in the snow. He lifts his own arm in a mirror of the other young man’s movement and gives an awkward, almost questioning little wave of his hand, grinning despite the cold. Sure, can you see me isn’t a question people normally ask, but it’s absolutely the least weird thing he’s heard in a good long while. ]

I mean, I can pretend I don’t if you want, but, uh…kind of can’t help you into town if I do.

oh please I couldn't pass it up

[swill]

[And so Hawkeye yips. Yelps. Squeaks. Squelch. (He's very comfortable in his masculinity, thank you.) The inflection is slow, dull, low. An ( _"aaha?" ) paired with Hawkeye's jump as Little's visage shifts towards familiar irritation is sure to be a hardy juxtaposition. Let it be a long-lasting impression; Hawk surely has no dreams of scurrying away.

Not when this bass-ackwards charade is clearly so troubling to the Brit.

The doctor composes himself effortlessly, mittens clutching at the collar of his parka as he straightens himself to impart the sage wisdom of,] You kiss your mother with that mouth? [that clearly comes with the motherly nagging edge it's meant to. Sailors sure do have their potty mouths, eh? Even shipwrecked out in God-knows-where. But Hawk has yet to feel a fist colliding with his face.

He likes this guy.

His own expression melts to something resembling stern worry. The mitten-hand holding his hood over his head now gestures for him to be followed as he turns toward one of the sorry cabins.] Come on, come on. Come in to my office. I'm a doctor. We'll figure you out. Though I gotta warn ya I'm a little far from home and still getting my sea-legs, ya know? Crabapple Cove's winters at least have the Rieves' sweet potato pies to tide you over, but this place? Yeesh. I'm Hawkeye. [And: the grace of returning some control to the other man, if only he answers with a single word:]

What's your name?

Lt. Ari Tayrey | Original | OTA

[astrogator]

[ooc: Hi all! I miss this game and I'm hoping to bring her back. She remembers everything from her last stay here. Previous CR and new both very welcome to tag!]

1. [Re]Arrival

[This isn't the first time that Arilanna Tayrey awakes face-down in the snow on a bitterly cold planet. She feels it before she even opens her eyes, the cold seeping into her bones, leaving her sluggish. It would be very, very easy just to go back to sleep. To turn off that little alarm sounding in the back of her mind, and give in the ice-white blanket around her.

She doesn't, of course. She resists, because she was trained better than that, and because while all of this is strange, none of it is new. Tayrey gets to her feet, snatching up her bright blue wool coat that is once again inexplicably lying beside her, and pulling it on while her muscles protest. Milton. It has to be Milton again. If it isn't Milton again, probability itself is sentient and hates Arilanna Tayrey, she tells herself. She has to proceed as if there's shelter out there, not so very far. She walks, and walks, until she finds a trail.

Those who knew Tayrey before will see her changed for the better. Over the months she had grown thin and sallow, but she's now the picture of health. The worn, patched uniform that hung far too loosely on her frame has been traded in for a perfect tailored fit, brilliant blue and silver. Tayrey would pass for an officer out of one of the recruiting holovids, if not for all the snow.

That doggedly determined look on her face hasn't changed a bit, though. Seeing someone up ahead, she quickens her pace.]

2. Methuselah's Feast

[Tayrey greets Methuselah like an old friend. There's something almost giddy in her manner. She accepts a mug of hot coffee, but no food, and she speaks loudly, almost to herself.]

I know not to trust the food here. I know what this is, you eat dead things. I had to go to such lengths last time-

[Her trade route. Her stores. Are they still here? She can't blame anyone for raiding them; if she was gone she was as good as dead, and the dead don't need food and supplies. It would have been foolish not to break into her house and take them - but she finds herself hoping she's among fools. Starting again will be a real trial.

Tayrey takes a long sip from her coffee mug. At least the coffee is safe. Someone's looking at her, and whether she knows them already or not, she's going to be polite.]

Peace and prosperity to you.

[The perfect greeting for all occasions.]

3. Just a Song

[It turns out that telling a creepy horse skull that it has no contract with you and no authorisation to enter your home doesn't count if you don't sing it. Ari Tayrey didn't play along with the strange game at all. Now she's paying the price.]

Prosperity and Peace!

[That's the greeting she offers, and to most it might not sound any stranger than what she intended to say, but the young lieutenant is horrified, her gloved hand flying to her lips.]

That say to mean not did I!

[Her eyes are wide with panic. Tayrey's brave enough to face down physical threat without flinching, but this? This feels like her own mind betraying her, her own voice refusing to obey her will. It's worse than any wolves.]

Wrong is something. [Flatly. Emphatically. That, at least, should be understood.]