The Final Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

DECEMBER 2025 TDM

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS TDM IS THE FINAL APPLICATION ROUND. WHILE ANYONE IS FREE TO PLAY IN THE TDM, THE FINAL APPLICATION ROUND WILL ONLY BE OPEN TO CURRENT PLAYERS, OR RETURNING PLAYERS WHO CHOSE THE 'AURORA' OPTION WHEN THEY DROPPED.

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER’S FEAST: The Aurora signals back a group of familiar faces, for the last time, with the Darkwalker close behind.

PROMPT THREE — THE ERRODING: A toxic fog settles onto the Northern Territories, spoiling food and spreading rot.

PROMPT THREE — WINTER OF OUR YOUTH: With the Darkwalker’s presence ever looming, the former Forest Talkers living amongst Interlopers perform their final rite.

ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER’S FEAST

WHEN: Early February.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; themes of terror; themes of stalking; mental manipulation/degradation; physical degradation; potential character death.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.’ A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. The Darkwalker hisses to you: ‘And I am coming for you.'

You saw the lights, your world went dark and in the blackness the Darkwalker called to you. The words echo as you open your eyes once more — squinting and straining to a world of dark, green gloom.

There are no stars above you, no moon. The world is impossibly quiet. You do not get the sanctuary of some abandoned cabin. Instead, you awaken out in the open — in the bitter cold and snow. You can barely see your breath cloud in front of you as you sit up; the gloom feels so oppressive, stifling. You are alone in the wilderness, in the frozen land of the Northern Territories — you are completely alone. 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 call out. There is no answer. Your voice cuts short. You stand alone in the wilds of Milton, the woods are dark and deep — but the feeling of being alone does not last long. You only have but a few minutes to collect yourself, pick up any stray belongings that might have been dumped alongside you.

Suddenly, there is a sound that breaks the suffocating silence: a long, low, moaning growl. Something neither human nor animal. You cannot place the sound.

You feel a bolt of cold heat through your chest. You are afraid.

(Some of you may remember this sound. Remember the noises of the being who struck out at Interlopers, turning them into twisted corpses, frozen in horror.)

In the distance, you hear the heavy, thundering of footsteps. Something is coming. The Darkwalker is coming. You cannot stay here. You need to move, need to get away from those footsteps. Although slow, they are persistent, steady. You do not want to know what will happen if those footsteps catch up. And if you do not move, the cold might kill you just as quickly.

You must work out where you are, and you must find civilization as fast as you can. So you pick a direction and hurry into the unknown, trying to navigate your way through the gloom — to try and find a trail, something which might lead you to warmth and safety. Along the way, you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused and afraid. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear the inhuman, low, growling moan once again, 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. Out looking for you. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town.

All the while, the footsteps boom in the near-distance. They grow louder and louder, and you realise the reason why they’re drawing closer: they are coming for you. The Darkwalker is hunting you, and in your bones you feel that anxious gnawing. It sets your teeth on edge, makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle.

You are a hunted animal.

You must keep going. The Darkwalker is behind you, making a beeline for you — the thuds of its footsteps making the ground quake a little the closer it gets. You cannot see the Darkwalker, save for the sickly-green footprints you may see if it is immediately upon you, but the effects of its presence will become more profound.

Move too slowly, or dawdle and soon enough that anxiousness within you will turn into true fear. You find yourself lost to hysteria, unable to move, and you find yourself growing weaker and weaker — like you might die before it has an actual chance to catch up to you. Your very life slowly ebbs away. Only gaining distance from the Darkwalker will bring you back to your senses and restore your energy — but the effects on you from the Darkwalker will linger in the days to come.

The trails will lead to paths, and the paths will lead to roads. You can smell the heavy, low scent of fires burning in the dark. 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”.

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, most are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. The town is quiet in this endless night, but you can see the warming lights of your fellow Interlopers in the windows.

Once you enter the town limits, the Darkwalker stops chasing you. But you can still sense its oppressive presence not too far off.

You are not greeted by Methuselah at the Community Hall. There is no Feast.

Some of your fellow Interlopers may have gathered and attempted some kind of half-hearted welcoming committee, instead. There may be a little soup, some charred meat, hot tea. Someone may be on hand to tend to any wounded from slips and falls out in the snow, or deal with any cold injuries sustained in the journey to town. But there is nothing compared to the Feasts Interlopers have grown accustomed to, or have perhaps taken advantage of.

But, no. No feast. This time, if you are not quick enough, you are the feast.

May the Darkwalker never catch you.

THE ERRODING

WHEN: The Month of February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; poisonous/toxic fog; themes of food insecurity, themes of food scarcity; supernatural illnesses; breathing-related illnesses; nausea and vomiting.

The Darkwalker told you once: I am the Rot.

The Darkwalker’s arrival has only just begun. Not only does it stalk around the edges of Milton, but its presence brings atmospheric shifts to the world that make it difficult to get about. Interlopers are well accustomed to bouts of supernatural weather, and they’ve faced something like this before — a caustic fog that burns and erodes everything it touches, or the fog that ignited Interlopers into fight or flight.

It may linger in the minds of many when this new kind of fog sets in.

It’s hard to tell it’s settling in at first, with the eerie green gloom that covers the entirety of the Northern Territories in darkness. Vision in the world is difficult, for the most part. But you notice a certain kind of heaviness in the air, and looking up has a kind of clouded, greenish haze — like a fog is slowly drifting in.

Things seem fine, at first. Just another string to the Darkwalker’s wicked bow. But when you tend to your traps, your fishing, your smokeboxes — anything kept outside — the stench of decomposition hangs. You find the meat, the carcasses, the food rotting. Anything kept outside, no matter how well protected in boxes, crates or storage, will slowly succumb to putrefaction. It isn’t just the food that begins to rot. Even vegetation will find itself prone to withering and dying — cutting off another form of food.

The fog will drift heavier, sometimes it rolls in quickly and you’re lost in a thick fog. Being out and about in this fog will make it hard to breathe, and enough to bring the taste of blood in your mouth as your lungs slowly begin to rot with each breath you take. Interlopers who spend long enough outside will slowly drown in their own blood, and will also find themselves coming down with bouts of nausea and sickness — and if they continue to remain outside, they will fall more and more ill, withering away to nothing until death.

Fog will even try to seep into houses, with unsecured buildings most at risk — the fog appears to actively try and get in anyway it can. If it fills a home, you are as good as dead.

Interlopers must work quickly to try and secure their food sources, their very homes. But how do they when something is actively turning their food to rot and their very bodies?

You remember from a dream in January. Enola drew a rune. in blood upon the snow:

“Use this, when the time comes. It will help keep it at bay. You have power, never forget that.”

There was once a rune Methuselah told Interlopers about. A warding rune to keep the Darkwalker from stealing an Interloper’s wits during its comings. A rune etched in Interloper blood.

Paint the rune in your blood, and true to Enola’s word: it will keep the fog at bay.

WINTER OF OUR YOUTH

WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of suicide; depictions of suicide; ritualistic suicide; human sacrifice; death of NPCs; death of teenage children; potential character injury; potential hostage situations; potential murder of NPCs.


Well over a year ago, the remaining Forest Talkers — some mere teenagers, barely on the cusp of adulthood — had absconded from their group to join the side of Interlopers when the Forest Talkers came to Milton to bring devastation and death. The Interlopers had taken them in, and they’d existed quietly in Milton — getting to work, contributing to the town and gently struggling with integrating with their former enemy. And while some of them have died one way or another in that time, eight still remain.

They have kept up their habits, private rituals of beliefs that have still stuck with them even after all this time — the hunting of small game to carry out their grisly displays out in the woods: animal remains placed in particular manners, the snow dug away to the earth.

They had once told Interlopers, when discovered in these rituals: The world is still dead, even if we don’t want to fight you anymore. We just want everything to be reborn again, so next time it’ll be better. We have to give them a chance. I guess we just have to see what happens.

And now the Darkwalker is here.

Over the course of the month, the former-Forest Talkers put plans into action. Some are quieter than others, some are far more violent in their displays. It will always be outside. They shed their outer-layers, removing boots and coats.

”Don’t you see it now?” they’ll tell you. ”Don’t you understand? This all has to happen. This has to be the way of things. The world is dead. It must be reborn. The Yawning Grave has been opened. The Long Dark awaits. Leave me to the wilds, or bury me. I will return renewed.”

A knife. A gun. And it’s all over. A sudden, violent act.

Or maybe you can stop it. Wrestle a weapon out of their hand. And maybe a fight breaks out. The young Forest Talkers have no interest in trying to hurt Interlopers but they will fight to the death to meet their own end. They refuse to be stopped, one way or another they will try to end their own lives. Maybe you might have to do it yourself, maybe they force you into putting them down when they try to hurt someone else, someone you care for.

In the quieter instances, it's slipping out into the wilderness. Letting the fog take them, or trying to succumb to the elements. Maybe you’re trying to drag one of them back into town, to try and talk some sense into them, maybe you win. This time. They listen, but they do not hear you. They have already decided what must be done.

There will be other times. More attempts.

By the end of February, all eight of them will be dead — one way or another, no matter how many attempts it takes.

The Yawning Grave has been opened, and they must go into the Long Dark.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER'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.

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. Returning players who are bringing characters back with Feats will note their Feats aren't working as they should, there is further information on this on the Tales From The Northern Territories, linked at the bottom of the page.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

THE ERRODING

1. A rune etched in Interloper's blood will provide a powerful protection against the fog. It will keep the fog from drifting into homes.

2. The rune itself will only cover small areas, so while it could be used in the close quarters of the centre of town — it would require multiple runes all over the place.

3. The runes must be maintained with fresh blood every day to keep their protective enchantments active.

WINTER OF OUR YOUTH


1. Players can either play out a successful halting of a former-Forest Talker's suicide, or be unsuccessful.

2. There are eight Forest Talkers who will ultimately die during the month of February, despite Interlopers best attempts. These are: Jean-Marc Sun, Jack St Pierre, Steven Forest, Gabriel Dunlop, Guy Harvey, Colette Ayotte, Renee Langevin and Marnie Mann.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

kieren walker | in the flesh

[burying]

ARRIVAL — THE DARKWALKER'S FEAST — MILTON WILDS

[ One moment, he's standing amongst the mourners at Amy's wake, the next he finds himself staring up at the expanse of void above him — a sickly green cast over the world like a film. The Darkwalker's words make him shudder, and it all comes back to him: he's been here before. And now, somehow... he's back. Things were okay. Sort of. Shit, because he's lost Amy. But he's Simon, he's got Jem and they're going to get her some help and she'll be okay too. He'd gone home and been there all this time and now he's back and it feels like a bad dream.

But it's not, it's real — and the Darkwalker is coming for him.

So Kieren starts moving, and he's slower and clumsier than he remembers he could be — lumbering through the snow in a funeral suit and dress shoes and the fact he's au naturale and how he must look isn't lost on him. But he has to keep moving, because as much as he does want to think he's imagining it — he can hear the faint booms of the Darkwalker's footsteps behind him, and he has to keep moving because he doesn't want to see what happens if it catches up to him.

He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, he's sure of it. Anxiousness that's all too easy to stir in him twisting knots in his rotten insides, squeezing his stomach, his lungs. And it's almost enough to keep him distracted from the fact that there's someone else up ahead as he travels through the woods. Almost. He's makes a soft sound by the time he realises, ducking down and away out of view.

It's not that he's ashamed. He isn't anymore. He's okay. But the last thing he wants is getting shot down because he knows he's in a place where not everyone knows what he is, or what he really looks like. That'd be just... really shit.

But it's hard to keep his voice even, with the Darkwalker on his tail. He keeps himself low, obscured from view. ]

Hey, it's okay—! I'm friendly—! I'm an Interloper—!

ARRIVAL — THE DARKWALKER'S FEAST — MILTON

[ By the time Kieren makes it to Milton, the whole vibe is just... really off. It's a given, considering the Darkwalker's made the whole place green again and while he isn't sure how long it's been going on for — he wishes Enola would put a stop to that shit. He heads for the Community Hall, sticking out like a sore thumb as she stands in the doorway: a very obvious (Partially) dead person in a funeral suit.

Well, this is probably a little bit awkward. And it's weird, because there's no Methuselah and this whole show feels more like half-organised chaos. Kieren does what he does best, moves carefully and quietly, keeps himself small as he drifts around the edge of the room for a time. He's okay, but there's habits that are hard to break — the wariness of prey animals. Then, a blanket draped over his shoulders, he sits by the fire to dry himself off and to double check his fingers by the firelight for any signs of damage.

Things feel off. He isn't moving how he used to, and maybe he isn't as protected as he thought he'd be. He feels... precarious in his body. Less steady. And for once, he's sure he can feel the cold biting at him. Maybe it's just his head. Maybe he's just imagining it.

Or maybe this place is just fucking with him. Again. It's par for the course. ]

THE ERRODING

[ Green fog is never a good sign, and Kieren's been through this twice already. The first time it would burn you if it touched you, the second time round it made people... weird. Like an animal, in their heads. As he moves through town, trying to work out just who's still here and who isn't anymore — he spots it.

It takes him a few moment, squinting in the dark light. No moon, no stars, no sunlight. Just a strange green half-light that is neither night nor day. It drifts in softly, deadly and unnatural and envelopes him before he barely has a chance to truly understand what's happening.

He feels the bite in his lungs, and he knows he shouldn't. And Kieren's quickly pulling a scarf over his nose and mouth and forcing himself to stop even the reflex of breathing. He needs out of this, and fast. Turning, he's stumbling towards buildings — disorientated as he tries to find one that might be occupied.

He's hammering on doors with a fist, his shouts muffled through his scarf. ]

Hey, hey—! Anyone there—?! Let me in, please—!

WILDCARD

open to wildcards / alt starters with Kieren's return. find him picking through his old house, trying to settle in again. in general, Kieren will now he barefaced and very much looks like a dead person. he will not be wearing his coverup mousse and contact lenses unless stated otherwise.

heolstor / _heolstor @ discord for plotting!

the eroding

[thehorrorofcaring]

[ Days here, paying attention, contributing, keeping a low profile, and she's learned about the sigil. Luck, yes, and sheer determination to get through this. Everything ends. Everything leads somewhere else, even if the differences are tiny, barely there.

Someone is at the door. There's urgency in their knocking (no, pounding), in their voice.

Alice lets them in, and as soon as Kieran is inside, she slams the door shut. ]

Are you all right?

[ First things first. But then-- ]

I hoped it'd be gone by now.

[ How long has it been like this? She can't tell. She isn't quite ready to trust linear time in this strange place. ]

[burying]

[ Oh, thank Christ. Kieren heaves out a rattling breath of relief, coughing a little. He's grateful, nodding at her question. ]

It won't be gone for a while, if ever— not the first time stuff like that's been around.

[ He moves his scarf from his face, she's able to get a better look at him — in all his zombie, uh. Glory. He doesn't know this woman, doesn't remember her from the last time she was here. ]

Uh. Hi, so— just a quick one. [ He gestures to his face. ] I look like this normally. Don't freak out.

[thehorrorofcaring]

[ Well, that sounds terrible.

And maybe she should be terrified of him, maybe once, what feels like a lifetime ago, she would've been: but all she sees now is a boy who's been through hell, who's in here with her, in the little candlelit haven she's made for herself.

Alice gives him a sympathetic smile. ]

I've seen so much worse. You're fine. Do you... need water? Some food? Sorry, I'm not used to Milton yet. My name is Alice.

[burying]

... Oh. [ There's a long, awkward pause. Like Kieren doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He stands for a moment before he blinks a few times. ] I don't reckon if I should feel comforted or concerned with that.

[ He shakes his head at the offer. Will he still need to eat here, like he did before? It's hard to tell. But he reckons he will, and that's not really something he wants to broach with this woman when she's been really nice and let him in to her home. ]

No, I'm fine. [ He moves to a window to peek out at the swirling fog. ] I'm Kieren, I've... been here before.

It'd be better if you find something to cover up the doors and windows, it might still get in through the cracks.

[thehorrorofcaring]

[ Same, honestly. ] Probably better just not to think about it.

[ And, with the way things are for her right now, she won't be here long enough for it to become a problem. ]

Right. I got distracted by looking for candles. [ Despite everything, she's still not a fan of darkness. To put it mildly. ] Will you help me? You might be here a while. May as well put your touch into the interior decorating.

[ It will feel less weird for him when she's gone, maybe. It'll feel less like it's wholly hers and he needs to somehow honor this temporary resident of the cursed, creepy town. ]

[burying]

[ Well, ouch. Kieren isn't sure what to say, and after a few long moments he just nods stiffly. Fair enough. ]

Yeah, sure. I can help. [ This is familiar territory for him, and it's all too easy to slip back into again. Keeping his head down, doing what he can to help, to be useful. He doesn't need to keep his head down now, not anymore. ] I'm not sure how much might be left in this place. Interlopers have been here for ages now, we've stripped a lot of the houses of the good stuff.

[ He's going to make a move to looking for a cupboard. Maybe there's some towels or old sheets he can use to shove at the bottom of the door. He's... aware of how negative it sounds, though. ]

Y'never know, though. There's always something kicking about. [ He offers belatedly. ] And... I know how to make a fire if you can't find candles.

the erroding

[satanicpanics]

[ Shit’s weird. Weirder than it’s ever been up until this point, which is saying a lot. It’s darker, it’s colder, and the fire that runs through Eddie’s veins thanks to the Aurora no longer warm him the way it used to. He’s lucky if he can still get a fire going in the little fireplace at all.

And then there’s green fog, which never means anything good, especially when it seems so intent on getting into the cabin. That’s why, when the knocking and shouting comes to his door, he flings it open, wielding his guitar like a club. ]

What the fuck do you--Kieren?

[ His expression shifts in an instant, softens. Scarf or not, he’d recognize his voice anywhere. He hesitates, looking uncertain and distrustful, but just for a moment. Only for a moment. In the end, he decides to abandon his mistrust. That door can’t stay open for too long, and he won’t leave an interloper to this fog. So he leans his guitar back against the wall and tugs his old friend inside the little cabin, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He really missed you, Kieren. ]

Holy shit, did you ever decide to come back at the worst fucking time.

[burying]

[ It all happens so quickly, Kieren's eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Like his brain can't keep up, can't process it all at once over the fog and bite of it in his lungs. Kieren stares back for a beat or two. A voice that's so familiar, a face and hair and guitar and the next thing he knows he's being pulled inside and into a hug.

He doesn't feel as awful to hug now. Just his usual 'what hugging a dead person' might feel like, more than anything. Something's going on with him. ]

Eddie.

[ Holy shit, indeed. He's still stunned until he finally catches up, heaving out a breath and hugging back. ]

Yeah, sounds about right. I am so glad to see you again, mate.

[satanicpanics]

Jesus Christ, I’m glad to see you too, man.

[ Too many people leave, too many people never return, too many people die. He wouldn’t wish this place on anyone n truth, but he’s always selfishly wishes to see those lost faces again.

If Kieren is any different to hug, Eddie doesn’t really notice in the moment. It’s always been kind of weird to hug someone whose body is dead; he’s just happy to have the embrace returned. ]

Where were you…? I mean, did you get to go home? Are you alright?

[burying]

... Yeah, I'm okay.

[ It's maybe the first time he's been able to answer that question for a really long time. Maybe the first time he's been able to answer that since he came back from the dead, and even before he died. He's okay. He means that.

He pulls away, but not entirely — keeps his hands braced on Eddie's shoulders. He's smiling, exhaling softly. ]

I mean, I was literally at a funeral before I woke up here again. So there's that. But I'm okay. [ He shrugs a little, making a helpless face. ] I went home. It's been— months and months. Loads has happened. I wouldn't even know where to start.

I just— I didn't even remember being here. But then as soon as I came back, I remembered everything. How... long was I gone?

arrival, milton proper

[friendsfordinner]

[ He knows that face. And thank fuck that face is here. Out of everything that's happened, all the shit that Hickey's had to deal with what with Chloe dying and Hickey feeling as weak and fragile as he did when those tins were poisoning him, at least he's got a win. At least Kieren's back.

So, without saying a word, Hickey walks over to Kieren, claps him very hard on the back, and pulls him into an awkward male side hug. We're not doing a full hug here, thank you very much, we have some dignity. But it's very much the sort of 'I missed you but I don't want to admit that I missed you, so I'm just going to give you an awkward side hug' sort of hug a man gives his other male friend. ]

Christ, I'm glad to see you.

[burying]

Cornelius, hey— [ There he is, that weird little guy that's his mate. And like, he gets it. Hickey might not be the most Victorian, but he's still a Victorian. And considering where Kieren's from, he sure knows an awkward man-hug when he sees one. He shifts his arm, giving Hickey a clap back on the shoulder. He'll spare you your dignity this time, Hickey. ]

Considering how it looks like the world's gone to shit again, don't blame you. [ Kieren is glad to see him again though, smiling, dark lips pulling back. It's a nervous smile, considering he's still feeling a bit off from the journey to Milton. ] The Darkwalker back to fuck with us again like midsummer last year?

[ He doesn't even know how much time's passed. Not the fact he's been gone like eight months. ]

This doesn't feel like last time. It's out there, in the woods.

[friendsfordinner]

It's worse, [ Hickey admits, with a little frown. It's obvious he's debating what to say, how to talk about this, as the conversation continues. ]

The sun didn't rise about a month ago. The night's been going on ever since then. And a few weeks ago, the Darkwalker showed up. It killed two people.

[ It's obvious Hickey doesn't want to talk about this. That he doesn't know how to talk about it. He pauses, frown still on his face, debating what to say before, ]

One of them was Chloe. Dunno how close the two of you were, but we were mates.

[burying]

[ Kieren's head twists about a month ago, his brow furrowing. It wasn't even a full month last night. A good chunk of a month, sure. Then Enola brought the sun back, or something. But... this is longer..? The more he listens, the more his brow furrows — the Darkwalker came for two people.

It's been a while since it's done that too.

Hickey goes quiet, and Kieren's head tilts — looking at him expectantly. For a brief moment, he's quietly horrified: did something happen to Billy? And the frown suddenly softens and Kieren looks wounded. No, it's not Billy. But Kieren's quiet too, as if he can't be sure Hickey's said the right name and he's not quite able to process it. ]

... What—? [ The Darkwalker killed Chloe, and Kieren grapples with it for a long moment. ] Chloe, she—

[ He swallows. Reeling. ]

... I was at a funeral back home, before I ended up here again. My mate Amy, she was— like me. She got stabbed by this— [ He doesn't finish his choice words for Maxine Martin. He's angry, and he's hurt. But he pauses, sniffs and wipes at his mouth. ] ... I'm sorry I wasn't here.

Chloe was good to me. She... she knew what I am, knew the shit that went with all of that in this place. She never wanted people to fuck with me.

the erroding

[simplyam]

(The knocking at his front door is sudden and frantic, and it startles Adam from where he had been reading Paradise Lost by a barely-lit fireplace. Fear grips him first - have strangers finally come to hunt him down like the monster he is? - but as he walks to the door, he hears not angry shouts, but terrified pleas from the other side.

He opens the door immediately, then shuts it as soon as the man is inside, expecting wolves to be at his heels by how hunted the man had sounded through the door. ) What is it? ( Worry paints his low words with an urgent growl, forgetting to grab his scarf to cover his face as he walks over to the window, searching for the threat outside. )

[burying]

[ Kieren's not used to people being taller than him. He's often one of the taller ones, and he's only six feet. But his head jerks upwards at the stranger who opens his door, eyes wide for a moment. He doesn't waste time dwelling, ducking inside and pulling the scarf from his mouth — heaving out a rattling breath of relief. ]

Fog. Bad fog. This stuff's— [ He cuts off, getting a better look at the man. His skin isn't quite the same as Kieren's, but it's not too much different either. He remembers back at the treatment facility that people came back from all sorts of deaths: car-crashes, burns, accidents. He thinks of Rick, his face covered in stitches from the IED blast where they'd pieced him back together. Is he... like Kieren?

He realises he's staring, shakes his head. ]

This stuff's happened before. It's caused by the Darkwalker.

[simplyam]

( When he realizes the threat is not the physical one he feared, he turns back towards the stranger, his reanimated heart still thumping with urgency in his chest. He realizes that he's been stared at, but he's come to learn that it's a natural reaction strangers have to first seeing him. He understands why - he is distinctly other - but he's surprised to find himself staring at the young man, at the palor of his skin and the bright, unnatural gleam in his eyes. Perhaps --

But there is no time. The man mentions the Darkwalker, and Adam's ears echo with the voice from his dreams, her warnings suddenly made viable, and the threat made real. ) Can the fog enter the cabin? I have only ever seen fog on the water. ( He simply does not know how these things work yet, not even back in his more ordinary world. One of the many lessons his father never imparted on him. )

[burying]

[ At the question, Kieren moves to one of the windows — eyeing it with suspicion. The last couple of times, one fog could only be found where the ground had cracked open. The other fog seemed to stay out of homes. Each time it's been a bit different, and he doesn't want to bank on this one being the same. ]

M'not sure. Maybe? We should cover up the doors and windows, just in case. If you have any spare old sheets and towels, we could use those? [ He looks to the man with eyebrows raised, a little expectantly and apologetic. Sorry, mate. It's your house, he gets that. But there's certainly no time like the present. ]

Where's Enola, anyway? She's the one who normally stops this sort of thing. She not turned up?

arrival — the darkwalker's feast

[sputnik]

[ Methuselah hasn't come back, and the welcoming feast is only a pale imitation of its usual bounty — there's barely enough to go around. The hunger gnaws at Konstantin, deeper than it ever has. He tries to keep steady, keep calm, but anxiety pulses like a second heartbeat up under his skin. And the thought keeps coming, again and again: This is the ending of all things.

The enhancements he's grown so used to have faded away, leaving him a shell of himself. It's horribly familiar: it's reminiscent of how he was when he first arrived to this place and for months afterwards. Weak and fumbling, nauseated and ill. Body healing from its wounds but never able to recover enough, never able to really function well, because of the presence of its unwanted inhabitant, weakened so much here, unable to heal itself or him in turn.

He's had to take breaks from helping the few newcomers who trickle in, had to sit down on an unused cot like an invalid, eyes closed and body aching. Even the act of moving around is difficult, now. It's upsetting in a way that he can't overcome, and he's already worn down by it. Bleary-eyed, breathless, he makes his way over to the fire to stand for a moment, to gaze lifelessly into the flame. The mug of warm tea he holds shakes in his hands, his grasp so damned weak. Finally Konstantin turns, fingers shuddering, to find somewhere to sit and that's when he sees a pair of too-pale eyes and a dark mouth, a thin young man with a blanket draped over his shoulders, sitting off just a few feet away in an armchair.

Konstantin stares. Then, in a voice that's hoarse around the edges, tired and aching, he speaks. The diminutive comes without thought; an affectionate term that he'd designated, as he commonly has, for those he's met and come to know and care for in this place. This one was never spoken aloud before, but now it comes. ]

Kirya?

[burying]

[ His fingers look okay, from what he can tell. Lucky, considering he can't exactly tell if frostnip's taking hold — and well, he never got to the extent of frostbite to know what'll happen. It's not like he's got a beating heart to cause infection to kill him, but he doesn't like the idea of potentially having fingers removed.

His hand tremors briefly and he closes it into a fist quickly. It had done that earlier, just before he got here. Mm, weird— but a voice makes him look up. It kind of sounds like his name, but it's not— but the voice itself is definitely one he knows, even if he can barely recall the last time he heard it. Kieren exhales into a smile, dark lips pulling back to show teeth at the man. ]

Hey—

[ He moves to stand, shedding his blanket and then hesitates briefly once he's back on his feet. Konstantin has seen parts of him without cover-up, sure. Months and months of rationing his cover-up when he was last here meant making sacrifices as to what to cover up. But he'd always have his face covered, always have his contacts in. Now he has neither, and there's a gentle nervousness. It was defiance, back home. It was embracement in the face of prejudice.

But here? It's different here. A silent 'ta-da' Kieren isn't quite sure how to express. ]

Long time no see, yeah?

[sputnik]

[ It's like looking at a ghost — for more than one reason. Recognition of a person he knows, knew, but one who might as well have been dead now. People sometimes come back, but rarely. Tayrey came back, but Konstantin can't rest about that fact, because historically, when an Interloper returns, they don't last. He'll always think to that lieutenant, the woman from future space (so similar to Tayrey actually, which means it's all an even deeper ache of dread and worry in his gut) — how gruesomely she'd died after her return here.

Kieren also looks... different. The light of the fire reflects eerily in those eyes, like something not quite an animal, and he's as pale as death, colour all wrong. As Kieren stands, Konstantin even hazily realises the boy's wearing a black suit, which adds to the overall feeling of death.

But he's Kieren. In shape and voice and smile. Konstantin doesn't usually rush into things thoughtlessly (when he rushes, it's with clear thought that he doesn't care if it's dangerous or not) but there's little time to think or reason or second-guess. If this is a trick or a true ghost or another affect of what's happened to him (maybe it's not just his body failing, maybe his mind is going too).

His shuddering hands set his mug down on the fireplace's mantle and then he's moving to the younger man to pull him into a flush embrace, arms wrapping around the tall, thin body with a soft sound. It's tight, warm, even if some part of him can feel his own weakness even through the gesture; he's a little breathless, tired even just with this. Still he holds on, blinking against a sudden prickle of heat at the corners of his eyes. Like with Tayrey when he'd seen her again, though that embrace had involved bright laughter and grins, and right now Konstantin just feels the heartbreak rolling in again, never quite made easier over time. ]

It's really you?

[burying]

[ There's a few brief blinks of surprise; he's pulled into a hug — unexpected, enough to draw a little oh out of him. He's getting better at hugs these days, though. And touch in general. He's still relying on memory for them, but there's far more practice at it now. Less fear to touch him, and Simon and Amy were always touchy-feely people.

A few beats pass, and Kieren's hugging back. He's still cold to the touch. Whatever's going on with him powers means whatever fights the cold back isn't working right — he isn't ice-cold, but he's still room temperature at best. He offers a few tentative pats at the man's back. ]

Yeah, it's me. [ There's a smile at the words. Who else would he be? Kieren huffs out a breath. ] Hey, it's okay— just look a bit different, is all.

[ Not smothered in makeup, hiding what he is. It hasn't been easy, but he's getting there. ]

I'm still me. A lot's happened, but— I just look like how I'm supposed to.