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singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
Entry tags:
December 2023 Test Drive Meme
DECEMBER 2023 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — MISTY FALLS CAVE: The Interlopers go out in search of a hidden cave in the mountains found by Methuselah, which may still contain the hidden stash of a doomsday prepper. However, they get a little more than they bargained for when they venture inside.
PROMPT THREE — SERPENT'S BREATH: Interlopers investigate the mysterious cause of whatever is killing and poisoning the wildlife and vegetation of the area — and discover a supernatural creature is behind it.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-Decmber.
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.
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. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in a long time. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are pretty mouldy. 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.
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.
It’s possible you may come across someone here. Another fellow Interloper, 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. Civilisation…?
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 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.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Ah, even more, still. Just as I thought.” he muses. “I wonder if this is perhaps the new status quo. I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. They bring more of you every so often. 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, 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 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 and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus grilled fish. There's also things like instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast, although newcomers will note from others who have been here some time that this particular feast is less bountiful this time.
Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. 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 is troubled, thoughtful.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the time and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
However, he will speak of something important, and will gladly share with others: “I have been looking for something for you all. There was once a townsfolk I knew of: Matthew. A suspicious, paranoid old miner who was interested in Prepping. He often spoke of the world coming to an end and strived to survive it. He often spoke of a cache hidden in the mountains, where he collected things of value. I have found the place, a hidden cave, but I am unable to get through, myself.”
… Well, he is an old man, after all.
“There are signs outside, so it is promising it is still intact. Perhaps the cache is still there. It might provide something useful for your growing numbers.”
MISTY FALLS CAVE
WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: booby traps; claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;
Methuselah gives directions to those willing to check out the lead for the old prepper cache. Following the river up from Milton Basin will lead to rugged, difficult pathways up towards Misty Falls — a waterfall, the river source itself. Most of the river is completely frozen with the freezing temperatures, but it is not completely so the closer to the source you go. Misty Falls is certainly idyllic, or it would be perhaps on a fine summer’s day — good for a nice hike. But the place looks desolate in the eternal winter cursing the Northern Territories.
The half-frozen waterfall is a din of sound, but the water itself is incredibly fresh and cooling for those hot and tired from the hike up. Those paying attention might notice a small space between the water and rock, big enough to squeeze through to get behind the waterfall itself. In the small space, the entrance to a small cave can be found. There are faded handmade signs, all in the same hand, reading ‘DANGER KEEP OUT’ and it isn’t too far of a stretch to wonder if perhaps this might be the secret stash of the old miner that Methuselah spoke of.
Venturing into the cave will not be an easy task. It seems the old miner was keen to keep any trespassers out, and most of this comes down to the cave itself. The walls of the cave quickly narrow, with only enough space to walk in single file. Jutting stone will easily make those stumble and trip. Occasionally the cave’s passage becomes narrower, meaning one might have to stoop or even crawl to carry on through. Here and there, the uneven floor dips, and your feet will find themselves in shin-deep frigid water. It’s slow-going, even if the actual passage itself isn’t incredibly long.
But perhaps the worst of all is the pressing darkness. A darkness so black even with lanterns switched off, one’s eyes cannot adjust to it. It is smothering, pressing. The air is stale and damp, you feel small — and the cave itself still presses in on you. The miner also kept a few tricks up his sleeve in order to keep out intruders. There are dead-ends, making it easy to get lost. Trip wires are hidden in the darkness, causing small man-made cave-ins to fall upon unsuspecting heads.
It might be safer, saner to give up and turn back. But persevering will see the cave opening up once more, this time widening into a room. The place is fashioned into some crude shelter. There is furniture, lanterns to be lit.
With more light, the miner’s stash is revealed: the painstaking, time-costing work of a paranoid old recluse. Crates of non-perishable foods, MREs, and bottled water. Medicines and basic medical supplies, flares and tools.
A perfect supply of survival goods, ripe for the taking.
SERPENT'S BREATH
WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of dead animals; malevolent creature; snakes/serpents; poison/airborne toxins; potential poisonings; potential burn injuries; potential (temporary) blinding.
It’s noticed in different ways: perhaps a trail of dead animals stands before you, each one with no particular injury other than what appears to be burned hides and flesh — it is as if the wildlife simply dropped dead, for the most part. Perhaps you notice huge, tunnel-like grooves in the deepest parts of the snow, a few feet in width — as if something long and thick had made its way through to clear a path. More worryingly for some, they might notice trails of rot: destroyed trees, decaying plant life, as if the very earth itself has been scorched in the wake of something passing through, leaving nothing but destruction and devastation.
Something is destroying the flora and fauna of the world. There seems to be no pattern, simply the random trails all over the place. There appears to be no other tracks, other than the long, smooth tunnel-like pathways. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. Resources are so precious in this world, if the beast is allowed to continue then all who live here will soon starve due to lack of animals to hunt and plants to gather.
Following the tunnels is a sure-way to hunt the beast down, although these paths will lead far from town. It is best to go prepared. But soon enough, you may come across the slumbering beast, curled up on the snow or coiled underneath some jutting space of stone along the mountains. You’ll hear and smell it before you see it: the long grumbling snores as it sleeps, and the putrid stench of rot. Everything in you tells you to flee, much like when an animal senses something toxic, or poisoning.
You press on, finally stumbling across the beast: a long, serpent-like dragon, with tremendous horns and fangs, coloured with muted grey scales and huge, glowing, flamed eyes.
The element of surprise will work in your favour to try and kill the beast, but it will give up a good fight. It will take several rounds of fights with it before it will finally be taken down permanently. It moves quickly, with scales like steel. Its eyes and mouth are its weakest spots, as is the soft underbelly of its body — fire will work well on harming this beast, especially with a well aimed shot into its mouth.
Its open mouth is where it holds its most powerful weapon. Not the fangs, no. The very reason why the air smells of rot, why the wildlife lay dead, why the earth decays at your feet: its breath. The beast’s breath is highly toxic, it will burn the skin of those it comes into contact with. Breathing in the fumes will poison those who breathe it in, and will cause a weakening, sickly illness. The breath may even temporarily blind.
These injuries are not fatal, and will heal with time and the basic medical attention available in the world. Victims will require rest for at least a week, depending on how severe the blast of the serpent’s breath. But killing the best will ensure its havoc is brought to an end.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.
1. The Stoor Worm, or Mester Stoor Worm, was a gigantic evil sea serpent of Orcadian folklore, capable of contaminating plants and destroying animals and humans with its putrid breath. Assipattle, the youngest son of a local farmer, defeated the creature by flinging still-burning peat into its mouth. As it died its teeth fell out to become the islands of Orkney, Shetland and the Faroes, and its body became Iceland.
2. It is possible the harvest the beast once it is killed, particularly for its fangs and skin. The skin/scales will provide ample protection to try to use it for armouring themselves. The fangs would provide useful for crafting knives or weapons.
3. It is... technically possible to eat the meat of the beast. Care should be taken in butchering, however. And it is not advised to eat the head.
no subject
Or about where Milton is. Or how he got there. Or why this other man seems to have just as little of an idea about either of those things as he himself does.
For a moment Billy stares at the hand like Lestat just thrust out a poisonous snake towards him - which, in Billy standards, is with a mostly neutral expression with just slight suspicion in his eyes - before he actually moves to shake the other's hand. It won't do to immediately piss off the first person he's found in this frozen wasteland, after all. Especially when he'd prefer to not freeze to death right after somehow escaping it. ]
Gibson. [ His answer is short, though, but not necessarily curt. More the impression of a man of few words, rather than someone actively trying to be rude. ] William Gibson.
[ He pulls his hand back after the brief handshake, shoved right back into the coat of his pocket. Even if he did find his coat in the snow, seems like all of his accessoires to protect him against the cold otherwise sure are missing. ]
.. How come you don't know where Milton is, Mr. de Lioncourt? [ Might as well get to the improtant questions. Or rather - this one feels pretty weird and important, so maybe at least this one can come right before 'oh god, how do I get to some place warm here.' ]
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Because I was in your position myself only a month ago. Disorienting, isn't it?
[ He can affect sympathy easily under these conditions - even manage to conjure a modest amount up in truth. Even the dullest of mortal men have their attachments to their habitual spaces. Displacement leaves one vulnerable, a fact Lestat has taken advantage of countless times in his life. What advantage he might find here remains ambiguous, but he's confident in his ability to find it. ]
I do know where the town is from here. It'd be no trouble to show you the way, if you'd care to get in from the cold. [ He assesses the starkness of Gibson's features, stamped with privation. ] They're quite hospitable to newcomers.
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Yes, please show me the way. [ Despite the way the man seems very taciturn - a complete contrast to Lestat's own smiles and easy friendliness - it seems like he hasn't forgotten a sense of politeness of manners. Billy is very much aware that he's at this man's mercy when it comes to actually managing to find his way over to a settlement here before he'd just straight up freeze out here in his coat.
And sure-- maybe Lestat is just leading him into a trap. Who knows. Billy has no idea of the situation, after all, and is even less sure how to feel about someone being so overly friendly under such strange circumstances.
But it doesn't feel like things can get worse than they are right now, somewhere between having almost died (or having died, look, this is weird, he has no clueanymore--) and being stuck in yet another freezing place. ]
I hope you'd be willing to answer some more questions along the way too.
[ He'll take just the way to the town too, really. That feels like the most important part here, since it's a little more closely linked to survival.
But it's hard to fully shut up all the questions in his mind when so many of them get pretty close to being utterly existential right now. ]
no subject
But of course.
[ He gestures to the direction they are to head in before he begins to walk, affecting an easy pace for the sake of his new companion. His stride is assured and nearly silent, his bearing confident.
As deplorable as he finds isolation most of the time, he must admit that this little period of solitude has afforded him time to retrieve certain old knacks in unobserved peace. ]
Ask me anything you like. I've been in desperate want of conversation the last few weeks.
[ The lilt of his tone suggests that, if anything, Billy is the one performing a favor on Lestat's behalf. ]
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But being here alongside someone so talkative and clearly social also wasn't on that list. It's great in the sense that it might actually provide Billy with some answers here, but on the other hand, he's never been all that good at dealing with people who are just a little bit too social. Like lieutenant Hodgson, thanks to whose friendly ramblings Billy has perfected the art of seeming engaged in a social conversation without ever really saying all that much in return.
It's a little bit more difficult to rely on that method though when there actually are things Billy wants to get out of this conversation, rather than just biding his time until he can leave a room. ]
If I may ask, [ he starts, having a hard time not falling back on habits, on the polite way of speaking he's so used to due to spending most of his time with people above his station. ] what were you doing before you found yourself here?
[ He's trying to look for similarities.
Or maybe just desperate to find proof this isn't some terrible afterlife.
Either way, Billy does continue to walk alongside the other man as he speaks. There's an odd sort of hobble to his walk, and it's not even due to him seeming to favour either one of his legs. It's like he's having a hard time properly moving either of them, even though the man doesn't look injured in the slightest. The only reminder of the fact he was injured in the first place is the large patch of relatively fresh blood on the back of his shirt, after all, hidden underneath his coat. ]
no subject
Which in turn goes some modest way towards safeguarding his neck, because otherwise he would seem a most tempting target, the way he teeters uncertainly on his legs stiff as pins. Blunted as his senses are, Lestat could swear he catches the tang of old blood somewhere about his person, and his gums ache with longing sensitivity. How easy it would be to turn and topple him into the snow, descend on the fragile column of his neck, and drink him to the last drop with none the wiser. ]
I was at a party. Mardi Gras, in New Orleans. Have you heard of it, Mr. Gibson? The last great hurrah of a decadent city before it turns to pious fasting...or so it's meant to be. I find very little fasting tends to ensue.
[ He flashes another one of his winning smiles, so much like a movie star's he's been told more than once he ought to try his luck in Hollywood. He was always flattered. He's certain he could be quite the star if he applied himself to the task. ]
no subject
It's not a thought Billy explores right now. It's just something he senses at the back of his mind before he dismisses it in favour of the plenty of things he feels like he should be thinking about right now. Survival, most of all, but if he's really headed for a village right now, then he's got a better shot at that than he's had in a long while.
So it's just attempts to lift the confusion for now - the second priority, even if it's far behind survival. ]
.. no, I'm afraid I haven't. [ His words come a little slowly, but at least the reason for that is easy to determine just by how cold the man looks right now. ] The party, I mean. I know New Orleans.
[ Not that he's ever been there. But for someone of his station, Billy sure is a whole lot smarter than most might assume him to be.
Even if he's not sure whether that knowledge helps him right now. If anything, it makes things more confusing. This man was at a party in New Orleans, then here. Billy was actively dying in the Arctic, then here. It makes no sense, unless Billy were more willing to dabble in the kind of beliefs that belonged more to the officers, lieutenant Irving in particular, than to him. And he isn't.
He needs more information. And there's one thing Billy can tell already: it won't be hard to make the other man continue to provide it, since he seems to love hearing himself talk. Billy's seen the type enough to know. ]
It must have been confusing. Being at a grand party, and then being here.
no subject
What manner of life could a man have led to make him so reflexively obsequious? Does it conceal a survivalist's mind, or a cringing hollow? It could well be both, and often is. Whatever the case, he sees no reason not to keep enjoying the opportunity it presents. ]
Perhaps a little.
[ He says it in French, with an airy wave of his hand, counting on the magic of Babel to convey his meaning. Another one of the confusing things about this place, to be sure. He switches back to English to go on. ]
And what of yourself? You seem to already have your feet firmly under you.
[ There's nothing but innocent, congenial praise to his tone, as if it doesn't occur to him that the words might rankle a man who seems barely able to stand. He watches Billy's face for his reaction with equal innocent seeming curiosity, everything in his bearing shifting subtly towards charming vacuousness. A man who attends grand parties, and likes his walks in the woods, and might simply be too unintelligent to grasp the severity of their situation. ]
no subject
You never know when something can be used against you, after all. It's the natural vigilance of a man who's had to hide a huge part of himself for far too long.
It leaves him quiet for a moment, unsure what to address, what to admit to. Just the sound of footsteps crunching against the snow until he speaks. ]
I was out in nature.
[ Not a lie, which is why he can make it sound so believable. It's just that said nature could be anywhere, and not specifically an Arctic hellscape while in the middle of a mutiny that could get him killed-- or, you know, killed again. At the same time it could serve as an answer as to why he might - if Lestat truly believes that, Billy assumes he might, going by the other's expression - look like he's got things a little more under control here. Let Lestat assume he's not as weak and confused as he feels right now. Let him bury that to keep himself safe.
Though thinking about his situation a moment ago reminds him of something else entirely. A part of him feels like a fool for asking, but this time the words roll off his tongue before he's had time to contemplate it much. ]
Have many people been appearing like this in Milton? Anyone who has stood out to you?
[ Look, even if this question is a little more impulsive, he's not going to ask whether anyone mentioned the HMS Terror or Erebus and give himself away that blatantly. But he has to know if there are others here, if he should be taking that into account. God knows he's not the only person who died on this expedition. ]
no subject
Do I look so much like a census taker?
[ A tease, undercut by a conspiratorial glance Billy's way. There's an open inkling that he might reach out to touch in some fashion, a nudge to the arm or perhaps an arm slung about the shoulder, but of course he doesn't. Projecting chumminess, as this tightly buttoned British specimen might put it, can be more effective than actually engaging in the clasping of flesh. ]
Less than a hundred, as far as I can tell. I haven't spent much time there myself. I've been enjoying my own little sojourn in nature too much.
[ Another flash of his teeth in a smile, slightly restrained. For all appearances, he's doing his best to moderate his exuberance for the sake of his travelling companion. ]
Where was this nature of yours? If you'll forgive my curiosity - I've travelled extensively, and I always like to hear of places I've been.
no subject
[ For a moment he isn't too sure whether or not he actually annoyed the other with it. Even if nothing about Lestat's attitude seems particularly fake or forced, maybe it's just Billy's nature trying to avoid the chumminess at all costs. Despite the fact that Lestat doesn't actually move to touch him in any way, it's like Billy still moves away a tad, like he's trying to avoid it happening..
Maybe under different circumstances he would feel entirely flattered about a handsome - look, Billy has eyes? - man like Lestat touching him, but right now Billy is - pun unintended - still a little touchy after everything. It feels like he might feel the knife in his back all over again if someone were to touch him even slightly. ]
The Arctic.
[ It's a little more honest of an answer than he'd like to give, but he does realise avoiding questions while still asking them of Lestat would only make the other more reluctant to answer Billy's own.
And before Lestat gets any Ideas about him that Billy would prefer to not be included in anyone's impression of him-- ]
Before you assume-- I don't particularly enjoy being out there. [ Please don't take him for an explorer!! For someone who would do wild stuff!! Absolutely not!! He is not thrilled about being in yet another cold as balls place! ]
no subject
Of course, that was when he possessed a body fit for enduring the harsh elements. In his current state, even this relatively moderate clime is uncomfortable in ways he could do without. But that's neither here or there compared to what's interesting: that Mister William Gibson would assume that Lestat would think him fond of the cold.
A touchy subject, it seems. And he does so love to touch. ]
You don't? [ Lestat blinks at him, a little astonished. ] Then why were you there? I never stay anywhere I don't care to be.
[ It's fun, playing at gormlessness. He's been too serious by halves lately. ]
no subject
Work.
[ No one is out here for the view.
It's a sentiment he only felt growing stronger and stronger within himself the longer they were out there in the cold. And now? He died, and suddenly he's in yet another cold place, an unknown city, a stranger asking him questions about it all. It still makes no sense.
It's an honest answer, but it gives so little away, other than a seeming sentiment of it's a living. ]
It was supposed to not be that long of a journey, but things got delayed. [ To put it.. very, very mildly.. Mildest summary of the Franklin expedition ever.. ]
no subject
It also solves the mystery of Gibson's dreadful condition. Lestat lived through the era of great Arctic exploration. The gruesome details of failed voyages were common parlour talk, at least in his favoured scandal-driven social circles.
And now he's here, his 'rescue' being whisked to another frozen hell. There's something almost poetically tragic in it.
He affects sympathy readily and nearly seamlessly. The shadows will help hide how alight his eyes became at understanding the scope of Gibson's misfortune. ]
I've heard that can happen. The ice freezes entire ships in place for months at a time...I can't imagine how dull it was.
[ The dullness of darkness, starvation, desperation. Interminable suffering without reprieve in sight, only endless miles of bitter wasteland. When in time did Gibson wash ashore from? What doomed voyage did he embark on? Would Lestat know it if he learned its name? ]
no subject
(.. he tries to not think about it too hard right now.) ]
A year.
[ He corrects, though there's nothing harsh about it. He doesn't expect anyone who hasn't lived through it to know the details of such a thing. He gladly would never have learned of these things, were it not that he had been part of them himself. ]
They were stuck for a year. [ Pretty much. And now he'd never know if those ships ever moved from there. ] Though being stuck on a ship isn't that bad, when you're used to it.
[ And Billy's work certainly went on, day after day. ]
It's the cold.
[ That's the awful part. The way it seeps into everything.
He dares sneak a sideways glance at the other man to add: ] You must understand. [ This place doesn't seem all that different in that regard. If anything, it almost feels colder, somehow. ]
no subject
It's a clear path down from where they stand. He'll soon have William Gibson tucked up neatly in the town hall, sat down with his supper by a roaring fire. Lestat, the Good Samaritan. ]
I might be beginning to. [ Lestat says, softly, voice weighed down with memories of frost. ] It is...interminable.
[ He finds it easier to make himself sound sincere than he expects, although it's never very difficult. Perhaps, in his way, he does understand. Perhaps he even understands better than Gibson himself, if the span of time is what impresses the comprehension of cold's withering gnaw. ]
You find the warmth quite a relief, I think.
no subject
Something does seem to grow just a little bit less tense about Billy's body language, though. Maybe it's the lack of a threat of Physical Touch or Physical Proximity in this moment, or maybe it's just how seriously Lestat seems to take the topic, but it seems to ease Billy a bit in turn.
It's not as much compassion as much as it is shared experience, but even that isn't something Billy often gets to partake in, with the way he so often he puts up his walls. ]
I think so too.
[ It's a certainty. After all, what has been the last time he felt truly warm?
(Not the fires of carnivale, he doesn't want to think about that.) ]
I won't forget your help, Mr. de Lioncourt.
cw: cannibalism
[ Lestat flashes a smile patently radiant in playful sincerity. ]
I tease. [ He waves a hand dismissively. ] Think nothing of it. We all must weather this hardship together. What's the aid of one weary traveller to another but natural?
[ He's rather taken with his own turn of phrase on the subject. Perhaps he could have taken up a career in seafaring as a captain, in another life, and roused his crew to feats of heroic survival.
He wonders what human flesh must take like in the mouth of a fellow man. Is it ambrosia, as blood is to him? Does forbidden appetite sharpen the palate? Or does it taste only of far too human guilt, and the dull necessities of tedious mortal endurance? What would it be like, then, to discover oneself a cannibal if one enjoyed it?
Lestat doubts that Gibson has such a refined taste as that, but there's a mystery to it for the time being. ]