December 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

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

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.

MISTY FALLS CAVE

1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.

SERPENT'S BREATH

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.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[amo]

[ The sweet little smile is instantly memorized and tucked away into Vash's mental catalogue to linger on fondly later; a precious gift he'll treasure when he never thought he would get to see Wolfwood smile in any kind of way ever again, much less that split-second of genuine surprised pleasure at being praised. (Vash will have to do that more often, maybe.) It's a wonderful image he can plaster over his very last memory of Wolfwood in which his face had been slack and eyes vacant in death. That he'll get to make any new memories at all is something he can't imagine he'll stop (perhaps selfishly) feeling thankful for regardless of what horrors this place might throw their way. He has his brother. He has his best friend. There's nothing else Vash could want. (Save perhaps to see one other person again, but that he doesn't even dare to hope for, not here.)

Wolfwood abruptly jumps to his feet and it leaves Vash to stare at him nonplussed from where he'd been ladling stew into the bowl. Fortunately his confusion doesn't last for long because of course Wolfwood would assume the worst of Methuselah. He should have known. The pang of fond exasperation he experiences almost makes him smile. Almost. ]

No, no, no, absolutely not! You sit back down right now.

[ Bowl expertly balanced on the tips of his fingers on one hand, Vash moves swiftly to put himself between Wolfwood and the way out of the kitchen, reaching out with his free hand to gently yet forcefully push him back down to sit on the stool. ]

I've known the man for months. Buried those dead with him, helped him prepare these feasts. He's been nothing but helpful and kind.

[ Yes, Methuselah can be secretive and withdrawn, not likely to give much in the way of answers, but his presence has been invaluable. So many more would not have survived without his helping hand and wisdom. Vash trusts him and there's no way he's letting Wolfwood confront him.

Instead Wolfwood gets the bowl pushed into his hands and a firm: ]

Here, just be good and eat your stew. I promise you Methuselah is not the cause for any of this.

[lastdecember]

[ He lets Vash push him back down onto his seat, feeling the insistance behind the gesture. He takes the bowl of soup with slightly less grace, with only the rich smell and the gnawing hunger in his gut preventing him from snapping back how he's never once been good and he's not about to start now. ]

You don't have to be the cause of a problem to know what's going on with it!To know who's to blame!

[ He wasn't going to hurt the old bastard, geez. He was just going to ask him some questions, that's all! Sure those questions would be more gruff than the ones Vash has certainly already asked, but sometimes the gentle touch isn't the right one – some situations require gruffness. ]

How do you even know he is who he says he is, huh? You're too trusting, Spikey.

[ His stomach growls again, interrupting his complaints. Before Vash can tell him once again to eat, Wolfwood eats, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his face with an exasperated huff. It tastes even better than it smells, and his protests have to be put on hold for the moment as he inhales the entire bowl. ]

[amo]

I know him, Wolfwood.

[ Vash sighs and crosses his arms once the bowl has left his hands, put-upon as he remains standing right where he is — a barrier between his friend and the door — just in case Wolfwood might get any bright ideas and get up again. As much as he always wants to believe the best in people, he isn't as naive as Wolfwood seems to think he is. When it comes down to it, he doesn't consider himself a bad judge of character at all. He can tell when someone has ill intentions. Methuselah doesn't, he's sure of it. ]

He knows as much as we do and that's that the Aurora is probably the most likely the culprit for our presence here.

[ Not that it changes much in the way of knowing things when the Aurora is as much of a mystery as everything else is. But that at least gives him a different subject to segue into while Wolfwood devours the stew, hopefully redirecting the attention away from Methuselah for the foreseeable future. The old man has his hands full tending to the newcomers and is far too busy to be accosted by anyone, much less Wolfwood and his gruff ways. ]

And I believe it. The auroras are these beautiful lights that randomly appear in the sky every now and then. They seem to have strange powers that affects us plants and all electricity in town. Honestly, it's been a pain in the ass for us.

[lastdecember]

[ Vash folds his arms in that way that says he wants to be done arguing about this, and Wolfwood wisely just keeps ladling stew down his throat so he doesn't say anything about it. Vash is too gullible, too willing to believe good where there's none to be found. He's a terrible judge of character, and his body's covered with reminders of that fact. Maybe the old man doesn't know anything more than he's told – maybe he is just a kindly old victim of circumstance. If he's been around long enough for Vash to know him as well as the blond... as the spiky-haired idiot seems to think, then there'll be time for more questions later.

Both Vash and Knives have lost their powers, and both Vash and Knives now have black hair. That can't be a coincidence, right? ]

Lights?

[ He's scraped the last of the stew off the sides of the bowl and is just debating – just deciding, the debate was a short one – to lick it clean when Spikey drops that particular bomb. The only context he has for strange lights in the sky is the ark, and the way that beast of a ship would trundle across the heavens. At night it looked like nothing so much as a grand city in the distance, but then, as it approached, the horrors of its true form revealed themselves. Combined with the electrical humming of a ship that carried with it all the power stations of an entire planet, and he can't help but draw the connection.

He's a little pale as he lowers his empty bowl. ]

Spikey, tell me straight. Are you in danger here?

[ After all, coming from Mr Sunny Side of Life here, a pain in the ass could encompass everything from too much humidity making his hair curl, to regularly fighting for his life against a monster made of electricity. They've certainly seen stranger. And if it only affects the plants, and not the humans here, then that sounds targeted. ]

[amo]

[ Lights is the only word he has for the beautiful ribbons of colour in the sky that herald the Aurora so he nods even though it's wholly inadequate. Wolfwood will understand when he sees and given the reoccurring nature of those northern lights, it probably won't be too long before he does. Despite the chaos that tends to follow, the sight is one of the most stunning things Vash has ever seen. Watching the light display from the safety of one of the church's windows with a hot drink in hand is one of his favourite things to do even if he'll have to deal with the inconvenient sprouting of wings and feathers. He'll have to share the experience with Wolfwood when he can.

Watching Wolfwood pale already has him feeling and looking remorseful about what he'll need to tell him. For all Vash's claims that this isn't a sinner's Hell, it's not going to sound like it. ]

We're all in danger here, I'm afraid. There are forces at work that want to see us dead and gone, voices that somehow know all our secrets and will try to tempt you to... well, end it all, ghosts that play out their last moments on a loop for us to see. And that's just to name a few of the weird things that have happened here. Not to mention how hard it is just to survive this cold environment.

[ But to address that you part in particular, he circles back to it wryly. ]

Aside from that, I guess the only danger for us plants in particular is that someone mistakes us for feathery monsters during the Aurora and shoots on sight?

[ He lets out a sheepish laugh before he seems to realize something, quickly correcting: ]

Ah, that only applies to me and Knives though. The other me just glows instead! Apparently his plants look quite different from ours, it's fascinating. I wish I could see a sister from his world...

[ Is he babbling to distract from the Horrors? Maybe. Maybe not. He could be genuinely getting sidetracked by the thought... or quite possibly the next. ]

Do you want another bowl? Or something else to eat?

[lastdecember]

[ Voices that know their deepest darkest secrets? Ghosts – their ghosts, is what Wolfwood hears, ghosts of those they've killed – reenacting their deaths? Taunting them with suicide? Lights in the sky that make Vash and Knives both erupt into the feathery monstrosities that demolished July? The other one glows, he says, and all Wolfwood can picture is the heated surface of the moon turning red-hot as it was incinerated and turned to dust and ash. And this happens often?

Wolfwood stands, and sets his bowl down slowly on the nearest surface. This is Hell. Vash is wrong about that. ]

I want a drink. [ And to wake up... but he did that already, didn't he? This is reality now. This is home. He laughs it off, a humorless chuckle as he crosses the room to Vash's side and claps his friend on the shoulder. ] Please, Spikey, I'm beggin' you, no more. Don't tell me any more until I've got a drink in my hand and two more lined up behind it.

[ Knives, two Vashes, ghosts, resurrections... Next Vash is going to tell him that they're all actually robots, or that this is just a dream, and Wolfwood might actually lose it! ]

[amo]

[ His words are only scratching the surface and each point he raised deserves a better, more in depth explanation to help prepare Wolfwood for all the terrible things that Milton and its mysteries will have in store for him, but it's just so much and he's already overwhelmed his friend enough as it is. Coming back from the dead is more than anyone could easily swallow, much less all of... this. It's too much for anyone.

That fact only becomes all the more apparent when Wolfwood gets up and proclaims a desire Vash understands all too well. They both could use several drinks at this point. Yet the thought momentarily leaves his mind entirely when Wolfwood comes over and sets a sturdy hand on his shoulder, pleading for no more information. Briefly Vash has to struggle with the desire to either reach up and grasp that warm hand in his own or to step forward and bury his face in Wolfwood's shoulder all over again.

He does neither, managing to suppress both urges and staying still while his expression flits to something that seems downright pained for the briefest of moments. ]

I'm sorry.

[ You deserve better than this.

He'd like to tell him that, but doesn't for fear of only overwhelming him further or getting into an unnecessary argument when he knows Wolfwood might be apt to disagree when it comes to topics of deserving anything. In that regard, they're alike.

He has no further mind-shattering news to give, only something that will be quietly devastating and he looks appropriately rueful about it. ]

I'm afraid alcohol is in quite a short supply here at this point. I do have some stashed away where I'm staying, but there's not a lot left. People have been trying to figure out how to make our own.

[ Supplies in general are dwindling and will only continue to do so. What little Vash has saved for a rainy day, he's more than happy to share with Wolfwood. It's just not enough to be anything like their usual nights out drinking until they pass out in a drunken haze. He wishes he had more to offer in any kind of little comfort, he—

... He does, doesn't he? ]

Oh! But I do have this.

[ He redirects his attention and fiddles with the pouch strapped to his thigh that's held in place by the harness around his waist with more little belts than is strictly necessary. (Some things about Vash just don't change.) What he retrieves from it he holds out to his friend: a pack of cigarettes from the brand Wolfwood usually smokes. There's a few cigarettes missing, but it's still mostly full. ]

[lastdecember]

[ There's not a lot left, says Vash, and Wolfwood's face falls somewhere around his knees. It's a tragedy! A disgrace! Cruel and unusual punishment!

And okay, he's playing up his disappointment to make a joke of the situation (mostly so Vash doesn't worry), but the lack of booze is going to be a real problem soon. Without something to quiet his mind and keep the nightmares at bay, how's he going to sleep? He hadn't dared be anything but sober during the months he was back under Chapel's thumb, and the nights during that time had been bad. Worse than bad. A hour here, two there, and that's all the sleep he managed to snatch for himself, sometimes for weeks on end. In between 'jobs', when the ark was between cities and there was nobody to murder and rob on Knives's behalf, sometimes he could find a dark corner of the ship to lock himself away and scream and cry in peace, but for the most part, he just didn't sleep.

That first night after their rescue, once the talk of the arriving Earth ships and Knives's plan to destroy them had finally died down and he'd had the chance to close his eyes for the first time in months, he'd dared to pop one of the painkillers the doctor had offered him. Those ship folks didn't mess around with their drugs, he'd learned! That was the deepest, most dreamless sleep he'd ever had in his life. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of those pills now.

He'll just have to find himself a spot to curl up where he won't be a bother when he wakes in the night, he decides, as Vash apologizes. Someplace where he won't accidentally hurt anybody. Someplace where Knives won't get to see how weak he is.

He's just about to turn back for his empty bowl – if he can't sleep, he might as well glut himself! – when Vash digs into a bag at his side and holds up a pack of his brand of cigarettes. The instant Wolfwood recognizes the package, he snatches it out of Vash's hand with a gasp, holding it to his face and drawing in a deep breath to savor the aroma. ]

Where'd you find these?

[ This place doesn't have drinks, but they happen to sell his smokes? That seems unlikely as hell, but so does everything else that's happened today, so Wolfwood's just rolling with it. He's already tapping one out of the pack as he speaks, tucking it into the corner of his mouth and patting down his pockets for a lighter that has to be in there somewhere. ]

You're a lifesaver!

[amo]

[ Wolfwood might be playing up his reaction, but it's one Vash feels wholeheartedly all the same. The lack of alcohol has not been easy when a lot of what happens leaves Vash craving drunk oblivion. Although booze might not exactly help their situation — might even make it easier to fall victim to hypothermia from what he's read in survival guides — it sure would make coping easier. Fortunately a few other Interlopers have been figuring out how to make their own, but that requires sugar and who knows for how long their stock of that will last. There's so many things that they're steadily running out of, it's a lot to worry about. It probably won't be long before they're living on only what they can find out in the wild.

The few bottles he has, he'll share when they get back to the church and there's really no question that Vash will bring Wolfwood back to their little home. They can convert the church's office into a private bedroom for him. At least until they find some place bigger. The church's small living space wasn't meant for three people, much less four. Keeping Wolfwood and Knives in close quarters also seems... very ill-advised. Just thinking about having to deal with that particular situation is already giving Vash a preemptive headache. There's no way he can leave either of them to live on their own though. He wants to have them both near him where he can see them alive and make sure they stay that way, utterly selfish though that may be. However, getting them to be civil with one another is going to be a struggle and a half if their encounter just now is anything to go by.

It'll be worth it if he can manage it. Somehow.

Offering the pack of smokes gets the desired reaction and Vash can't help but smile at it, secretly glad he hasn't been smoking that many of the cigarettes. As for how he got them, he can only shrug. ]

They were just there with me when I first arrived here.

[ Lying nearby where he woke up and it had felt like a punch to the gut seeing them. It's the only instance of seeing Wolfwood's particular brand about so he's figured it arrived with him in the same mysterious manner he had. Stranger things have happened since.

His pleasure doesn't last long when it becomes obvious Wolfwood intends to light a cigarette right there and then. A swift step forward has Vash in his friend's space and plucking the cigarette right from Wolfwood's mouth with two fingers and a stern protest. ]

No smoking inside! Wait until we step out.

[lastdecember]

[ Any other day he'd be suspicious as all hell that Vash's kidnappers has decided to deliver him here with a pack of Wolfwood's cigarettes. It makes it seem like bringing him here was part of their plan all along, doesn't it? And that just lends credence to his worry that he's here as a torment to Vash -- after all, whoever kidnapped them sure didn't do it out of the kindness of their heart, not with everything Vash just told him about what life here is like. No, later on, when he's had time to process everything that's happened, he'll have a real worry about what his presence here means for Vash, and what kind of a trap he might have been brought here to be.

Right now, though? Right now his own pack of cigarettes is wet and muddy and encrusted with old dried blood, and dammit, he's going to smoke one of Vash's! ]

No way! I'll freeze out there!

[ He lunges for the stolen cigarette with his own two grasping fingers, this squabble reminding him of fighting over a meal with Vash the first time they'd been reunited, when his hair was long and he'd been calling himself Eriks. ]

Just let me have the one!

[amo]

[ Apparently none of their reunions are ever complete without them devolving into bickering over something stupid. That's just them. The way Vash responds is practically automatic, immediately stretching his arm out and leaning away to keep the cigarette out of Wolfwood's reach. ]

No!! A lot of people live here, they don't need to smell your shitty cigarettes! Especially not in the kitchen!

[ Falling back on their usual back-and-forth comes as easy as breathing; it's like slipping on an old favorite coat, worn and familiar. It's the most normal he's felt since— forever, it feels like. Even though in truth it's been less than a year. Grief has a weird way of distorting time. He's been having to find new normals in this place, with his twin and his new brother. But this is old and dear, so very much missed, and he lets it bolster him, his chest feeling lighter for it.

He twists his torso away and hastily puts the cigarette between his own lips to free up his hands so he can fend off Wolfwood more easily. Mostly it's so he can reach for the abandoned bowl once he's ducked and slipped past Wolfwood. Since Wolfwood hadn't answered him, Vash is making the decision for him and getting his friend a refill of the stew, arguing around the cigarette in his mouth as he goes. ]

We'll get you some warmer clothes, eat more first!

[lastdecember]

[ Every interaction in Wolfwood's life revolves around fighting – that's just how life is, in his experience. He likes fighting with Vash, though, not that he'd ever think of it in those words. But it's safe to bicker with this annoying idiot. Vash will never hurt him, not really – what's a punch or two between friends? – and Vash will never make him hurt somebody else. There's nobody in the world he trusts more than this man... although that trust won't stop him from knocking the jerk down if he doesn't give that cigarette back! ]

Don't offer a man cigarettes then take them away, you rubber-jointed jerk!

[ If Vash thinks tucking that cigarette into his own mouth will keep it safe from Wolfwood, he's got another think coming. Before he can ladle up any of that stew Wolfwood feints low, then moves in close. His aim is to catch Vash at the back of his stupid spikey head with one hand, fingers tight in that floppy black hair to hold him still while he plucks the cigarette free from his lips with the other.

Sure he's got the rest of the pack in his pocket now, and sure, his cravings aren't nearly so bad that he can't wait another couple of minutes, but it's the principle of the thing! And, too, this is exactly what he needed after the morning's stress and fear – a safe, friendly fight to get his heart really pumping and remind him about what's important. ]

[amo]

[ It doesn't matter that Wolfwood already has the entire pack and can simply grab another one if he so chooses to, that's not what this is about. Not truly. They both need this. Maybe it's not the best or healthiest way of coping, but it's theirs and theirs alone. In lieu of a bottle, this is the next best thing they'll have to settle for. ]

Well, excuse me for thinking you'd have enough common sense to wait, you lousy priest!

[ He manages to snatch up the bowl and get to the stove where it's really only a matter of time before Wolfwood catches up given that Vash has to stop and stay put in place. Still, he makes a valiant attempt and tries to be quick about it... to no avail. He only gets as far as picking the ladle up before there's a hand on the back of his head, fingers curling tight enough in rot-black hair to make Vash yelp. With the bowl in one hand and the ladle in the other, he doesn't have much to defend himself with anymore.

Not that it's ever stopped him before.

Vash doesn't hesitate to make use of what little he does have to work with, twisting to try and push Wolfwood back (or at least deliver a jab) with a pointy elbow as well as raising one leg to try and drive him back with a shin to Wolfwood's abdomen. It leaves him precariously balancing on one leg. And although it smarts like hell and makes his eyes water, he also tries to resist the grip and turn his head away, rolling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth with a certain practiced ease to keep it as far away as possible while letting out a muffled: ]

Geroff!

[lastdecember]

[ They haven't had a chance to fight like this in ages, and it feels like coming home. Not that he'd say so, if asked. Not that he even recognizes the feeling himself. Vash is frustrating, too moralistic, and slobbering all over his cigarette! That warmth fluttering excitedly in his chest? That's just adrenaline, and he'll fight anyone – including himself – who says otherwise. ]

Give it!

[ Vash twists his head away just enough to keep the cigarette out of Wolfwood's grasp, hitting back with a one-two of an elbow and a kick to the gut that leaves him unsteady on a single leg. Vash is more flexible than he is, Wolfwood knows, so in a contest of balance and bending, he won't win. But Wolfwood's a better grappler – or so he thinks – so obviously the best course of action is to take out Vash's remaining leg as he falls, bringing the bony bastard down with him, then pin him to the floor and claim his prize. What could go wrong? ]

[amo]

[ Vash probably should have seen it coming. Of course Wolfwood would play dirty, but just as he'd hoped his friend would have the sense not to smoke indoors (and in a kitchen no less), he'd figured Wolfwood would have enough sense not to turn this into a near all-out brawl while Vash has his hands full.

He was woefully wrong. ]

No-

[ The protest has only barely left his mouth before a blow connects with the leg currently supporting all of his weight. Maybe it's because he wasn't entirely expecting it or maybe it's because he no longer has the inhuman strength he once had, but his knee buckles under the force easily. He can't get his other leg back down fast enough and so down Vash the Stampede goes. Both the bowl and the cigarette go flying, the ceramic bouncing once and then shattering with a loud crash and the cigarette rolling who knows where after slipping from his lips.

Vash hits the ground hard and normally it wouldn't be too much of a problem, he's used to it — knows how to fall and brace himself perfectly well. Mentally he's already prepared to try and trap Wolfwood with the use of his gangly limbs before Wolfwood can go for the fallen cigarette. But what goes wrong is this: the impact makes it feel like something in Vash's chest is knocked loose and there's the telltale itch in his throat that he desperately tries to suppress to no avail. Still recovering from his bout of illness as he is, the remnants of it linger and now promptly launch him into a coughing fit. All he can do is turn his head to press it into his arm and let it run its course. He prays V got his brother out of here by now or else Knives might come bursting into the kitchen to forcibly haul him back home and into bed to languish in boredom.

He's left wheezing and too winded in the aftermath to enact his original plan and so, realizing he's still holding the ladle, he uses that to weakly swat at Wolfwood while drawing in enough air to yell in a raspy voice. ]

Ugh, you idiot!! Do you want to get kicked out!?

[lastdecember]

[ Vash goes down as planned, but then he just keeps falling, hitting the ground harder than Wolfwood expected he would and letting the bowl slip from his grasp. That, before the coughing even kicks in, is what tells Wolfwood there's something very wrong here. Whoever can knock the other down just depends on the day and the mood and a thousand other little things – Vash has always been supernaturally fast and strong, but Wolfwood can read him like a book, and that's made them pretty close to equals in hand to hand.

But even if Vash decided to take the fall, he shouldn't have dropped that bowl.Wolfwood's already easing off his hold once that coughing fit starts, and by the tie Vash swats him with the ladle, he's sitting on his heels at Vash's side, confusion and worry written all over his face.

He didn't know Vash could get sick. ]

What... [ It takes him a second to wind back up to arguing, trying to conceal his worry with rude confrontation. ] You're the idiot! What were you thinking, making food for everyone when you're sick?!

[ Is this just sickness? A cold, from getting too cold? We don't have our powers anymore Vash had said, and he looks so weary, and weak. He's never been weak before. Wolfwood's gaze flits up again to that dark dark hair now hanging in Vash's eyes, and he has to tear himself away, springing to his feet with nervous energy. There's got to be a broom in here, and he'll find it, to clear away that broken bowl.

He was just playing around, and he nearly hurt his friend. His hands are shaking again, and he clenches them tight into fists to make the motion stop. ]

You should've said something, dummy!

[amo]

[ He's made a terrible mistake, he realizes too late. At the very least he should have caught the bowl, should have been able to, but there's no denying he's slower and more sluggish now, exhaustion still stubbornly hounding his body as it does its best to recover from his first time ever catching a (human) sickness. He'd underestimated all of it every step of the way, learned about and empathized even more with what humans regularly have to go through with their frail, decaying bodies. He was never supposed to fall ill like that. Then again, he's in a more active state of decay now, too.

There's a rising dread when Wolfwood backs off all too quickly, too easily, looking at him with that all too familiar expression. Vash is sick (ha ha) of seeing dark hair and blue eyes filled with such earnest concern on him like that. It doesn't help at all that he feels, distinctly, like he ruined the moment and shattered their much-needed sense of normalcy. All because he couldn't stay upright and dropped the stupid bowl. ]

I'm nooooot.

[ It comes out as a blatant whine that's followed by the put-upon sigh of someone who has had to argue he's fine now, stop fussing, for a million times. Anything to quickly distract from how Wolfwood's eyes dart to his hair. His friend can be far too clever for his own good sometimes. After his other self's reaction to the news of what their blackened hair meant, Vash can't bear to tell him. ]

I WAS sick. I'm doing much better now, I'll have you know!

[ A truth thrown out there to hastily distract from another obvious one. Save for an occasional itch in his throat or some old phlegm being coughed up, he's recovered sufficiently enough to be out and about doing things; a freedom he'd had to earn in the eyes of an overbearing worried older brother. Sure, he tires out much quicker, but that's nothing a few extra breaks can't mitigate.

Vash pushes himself up into a proper sit, ignoring the hot twist in his gut that's akin to shame or guilt as Wolfwood rushes to his feet, all frenetic energy again. Vash should have been better prepared for his friend's antics — it's not been so long that he could have forgotten — and he should not have shown weakness like that. He tries and fails not to sulk about it. ]

I'm fine. Worry about yourself, I'm not the one who's hurt!

[lastdecember]

[ Kitchens are the same in every world, he discovers, finding a broom and dustpan just like he expected to, and confirming the presence of the trash bin in the corner before he heads over to sweep up the broken bowl. Big brother Wolfwood, moving on automatic, always ready to jump in and clean up everyone else's mess, the familiar movements of clearing away the fragments giving him something normal to focus on, instead of Vash's illness.

Granted, he's only really known this gangly pile of trouble for about a year, but in all that time he's never once seen any signs of illness. Sure, he got hangovers sometimes – with how he drank there wasn't any avoiding that – but Wolfwood had never seen him with a cough, or a fever. Or infections either, for that matter, not even when burned or stabbed. Deep wounds always festered, on everyone but him. It was part of what made him so sturdy, so beyond mortal limitations. Not any longer, though, it seems.

He gets sick now.

What else is different? ]

My wrist is fine, don't change the subject!

[ The last of the tiny fragments get swept into the dustpan, and Wolfwood carefully brings them over to the trash to dispose of them. I'm fine, Vash whines, but he's not getting up. Wolfwood swallows hard, forcing the lump in his throat down. What if he'd thrown a friendly punch, instead of going for a leg sweep? Or a throw? The Grader in his shoulder harness bumps against the underside of his arm as he taps the dustpan into the bin, raising a whole new worry – if he can't avoid a simple takedown move, can Vash even dodge bullets anymore?

Can he even fight? ]

That cough sounds like shit, Spikey. If you're sick you should be resting, or you'll never get better.

[ They're not here voluntarily, which means at some point there's going to be a fight. If Vash can't fight, and Wolfwood's only got a handgun...? He'll have to talk to the other one, the one who isn't Vash's kid. He needs to know what their defenses look like.

He needs to keep this man safe, at all costs. ]

C'mon, old man. [ All Wolfwood needs is his blanket, and he's ready to go. ] Where're you staying? Better not be too far.

[ A new wardrobe, questions for Methuselah, drinks... that all can wait. A cough like that should be inside, in the warmth, not running around in the ice and cold taking care of people who can look after their own damn selves. ]

[amo]

[ While Wolfwood deals with the mess on the floor, Vash glances around to see where the cigarette might have landed. He's staying down where he is because it makes searching easier so low to the ground and not at all because it's the first time he's sat down in hours and he needs to catch his breath in the wake of the coughing fit. He's choosing to stay down for convenience, that's all.

Even though he already knows the kind of treatment that he's likely to receive now — they've always berated and fussed over each other's injuries in their own ways — he's still vaguely hoping not to be treated any differently than just before when they were tussling and bickering as usual. He doesn't need yet another person to treat him like he's going to keel over at the slightest breeze. He gets that enough from his brothers.

... Of course his hope gets dashed when Wolfwood next opens his mouth.

He resists the urge to throw the ladle at Wolfwood's head in an attempt to provoke another fight, aware that the bait is unlikely to work. He settles instead for pausing his search to glare at his friend. ]

I'm telling you, I'm already doing much better! I've been recovering just fine.

[ The glare turns more sullen, more of a pout, as he adds in a quiet mutter something to the affect of 'you sound just like Knives'. It's just as he's turning his head away while grousing that he catches a glimpse of white on the floor, right under the stool he'd gotten Wolfwood. Shifting to crawl over and grab it, his fingers stop just short of reaching it when Wolfwood delivers the next blow. Vash immediately looks back with an expression that's somewhere between stricken and offended. ]

Who are you calling an old man?! I'm plenty young!

[ For a plant anyway. He's not even two centuries old!

With a huff, he's snatching up the cigarette and finally getting back on his feet to deposit the ladle by the rest of the dirty dishes. There's a slight hesitation before he answers the question, fearing that the location itself is going to betray too much about the depth of his grief and yet knowing that sharing it is going to be inevitable. ]

There's a church near the outskirts of town. I've been staying there with my brothers.

[ It's a small town, the walk there isn't going to be much of a problem. The presence of his twin might be though. ]

[lastdecember]

[ The location doesn't register as a place to hold Vash's grief. What Wolfwood hears instead is that Millions Knives has made himself at home in another house of worship, and he's dragged both Vashes along with him. He can't help but wonder, briefly, if Knives has already desecrated the cross to reflect his own image, or if he spends the evenings hammering away on the organ, the way Midvalley said he used to do. His own little paradise, with not one but two brothers to keep him company.

How the hell is he supposed to watch Vash's back when the idiot is putting himself right in harm's way by letting Knives run around freely? Sleeping under the same roof as him? If Vash was staying near Knives just to keep an eye on him, that Wolfwood could understand. And sure, okay, Vash loves everyone, and Knives is his family. Wolfwood can't pretend that he doesn't understand having a dangerous brother, but Livio... Livio was just a kid, with a messed up passenger in his head. He did what he had to do to survive. Knives, on the other hand, was practically a god, and he used that strength and power to murder millions. How can that be put aside? How can he ever be trusted, ever again?

If he puts a bullet in Knives's head, would that be enough, finally, for Vash to hate him?

He pulls the blanket tighter around him, snug around his throat with his free hand tucked inside, both for warmth and for easy access to his gun, should he need it.

You sound just like Knives.

There's just too much here he doesn't understand, and with every new revelation the fear only grows that he won't be able to make the right choice in time. ]

All right. Lead the way.

[amo]

[ There's a brief moment in which Vash merely looks at Wolfwood, assessing him for... he's not sure himself what before he ultimately nods, figuring his previous plan with the various detours is not going to fly now. It's fine. They've got everything they need at the church anyway. ]

Okay, just let me grab some stuff.

[ But first, he moves closer to Wolfwood so he can tuck the recovered cigarette behind his ear with a stern look that serves as a silent warning to wait until they're outside. It's only after that he motions for Wolfwood to follow him as he turns and leaves the relative privacy of the kitchen behind. There's a growing sense of unease as he does and it's not helped at all when he spots a glint of steel on the floor that he recognizes when he steps outside. His stomach drops at the sight of Knives' skinning blade. He'd been so focused on Wolfwood, he hadn't even noticed it in the moment. Does that mean if he'd been there just a few seconds later that—

... No, he can't bear to think about that. Vash stubbornly pushes the thought and rising nausea down, wordlessly walking over to pick it up from the floor and putting it away in the pouch strapped to his thigh. He flashes Wolfwood an apologetic smile and then swiftly flits away to gather everything he needs and say his goodbyes to Methuselah and the rest of the volunteers. When he returns to Wolfwood's side it's with his coat, a sturdy leather satchel that he's stuffed some thermoses of soup and stew into for dinner later tonight along with some painkillers for Wolfwood's and Knives' injuries if needed, and another coat pilfered from the haphazardly gathered pile meant for under-dressed newcomers. ]

Here, we can find you something more your style later, but it'll do the job for now.

[ It'll work better than the blanket will either way. He can borrow some of Vash's clothes back at the church in the meantime, too. He's pressing his own gloves into Wolfwood's hands before declaring in chipper defiance of his apprehension: ]

Let's go! I can give you a mini-tour along the way.

[lastdecember]

[ Vash tucks the cigarette behind his ear and gives Wolfwood a look that he can't fully parse. Behave is all he's able to get out of it, but he's too distracted by the gentle gesture to read any more into it.

He follows Vash into the other room, only barely paying attention to what the other man's doing. His ear is still tingling from that touch, so much so that he has to put his own hand over it to make sure it's not actually changed, not really burning, or frozen. Vash has touched him more in the last fifteen minutes than in the entire year (give or take) that they traveled together... and while Wolfwood knows that it's just surprise at his resurrection, it's just Vash wanting to keep confirming that he's alive, and here, and warm, it's still making him feel... he doesn't know. A lot of conflicting shit, honestly. It's just one more thing to process from today, and he doesn't know how much else he can carry.

So when Vash heads into the crowd to tidy, or talk to people, or whatever the hell he needs to do before they can leave, Wolfwood turns away from him, giving himself a moment's space from Vash the Stampede and the whirlwind that surrounds him, and instead he looks over the other people in the room. There's all kinds here, although they're mostly young. Some look like they could hold their own in a fight, and some wouldn't last two seconds. He sees angry faces, frightened ones, people laughing over steaming bowls of what he assumes is the same stew that's currently warming his own belly. The whole town's population was killed off, and these are the replacements, hmm? All these interlopers, these unwanted guests. How long until whoever killed off the town's original residents comes for them? How long until this batch of arrivals starts seeing ghosts, and hearing voices, like Vash said had happened?

How long until they find out why they're really here?

Thankfully, Vash returns before Wolfwood can fall too far down that particular rabbit hole, coming back with a smile and the ugliest jacket that Wolfwood's ever seen. And sure, okay, he's a big man, and after so many other arrivals there's slim pickings in the coat department, but really? Orange??

At least it fits... and he can't deny how warm it is. ]

Goddamn, Spikey, this thing's bright enough to read by.

[ The gloves – which Wolfwood doesn't realize are Vash's – are at least properly plain, and they fit perfectly. He flings the blanket over his head and shoulders, muting that brilliant orange, tucks that unlit cigarette between his teeth, and he's as ready as he'll ever be to face the cold.

Or so he thinks until they're outside, and the bitter chill cuts right through the holes in his trousers, freezing him from the waist down. It's going to be a long walk to the church. ]

Fuck! I'm never gonna complain about the heat again, I swear.

[amo]

[ Vash at least has the decency to look the tiniest bit sheepish at the complaint, flashing a smile that's meant to be apologetic, only there's some obvious amusement ruining that. The jacket is garish, but it's function over form when it comes to importance right now. ]

That's probably the point. Makes it easy to see in the snow or during a storm.

[ Not that it matters at the moment, the weather's calm and Vash will be sticking to Wolfwood's side like glue. His amusement grows when Wolfwood pulls the blanket over his head, only barely refraining from laughing at the rather sorry sight his friend makes. They'll have to make it a brisk walk, both to keep Wolfwood warm by moving and so they can get him something better to wear from Vash's wardrobe as soon as possible. That fact becomes all the more obvious the second they step outside.

He chuckles wryly. ]

I never thought I would actually miss the heat of the desert, but I do.

[ Mostly he misses the suns and the sight of blue skies. The lack of light and near-constant grey overcast has been depressing to say the least.

In what is maybe a quiet apology for ruining their moment of normalcy before or just simple attentive consideration, Vash produces a lighter from his pouch and lights the cigarette dangling from Wolfwood's mouth for him. The smell has been a source of both comfort and grief; the very reason why some of those cigarettes are missing from the pack. When the spark catches and a breeze wafts the scent in his direction, he finds it more comforting than ever before. He focuses on that and tries not to think of the flutter of anxiety in his chest at the prospect of putting Wolfwood and Knives in the same room after what just happened. It'll be inevitable.

There's the urge to reach out and hook their arms together, much like he'd done with Knives when his twin had arrived, but he suppresses it. It's something he and Knives had done as children, walking arm in arm or hand in hand through the vast emptiness of their ship. It was an old but familiar gesture between them. With Wolfwood, it's different. They might have supported one another in battle and during drunken stumbling like that, but not outside of those circumstances. Maybe he could use sharing heat as an excuse, but it... feels like too much, somehow.

He tucks his hands in his pockets instead, turning to start leading his friend to the church. ]

Alright, this way.

[lastdecember]

[ He'll adapt, he knows. He can adapt to anything, will adapt to anything, because the alternative simply isn't an option. A day or so in the cold – ideally with a couple more layers between the biting air and his skin – and he'll be as comfortable as he ever was with the oppressive dusty heat of Noman's. But until he manages to adapt, he'll have that blanket pulled tight around his face like a little old lady, his shoes uncertain on the ice.

He's so bundled up, in fact, that he's already decided that his smoke will have to wait until they get to the church, because he doesn't want to have to let go of the blanket long enough to dig through his pockets for his lighter. Like he could read Wolfwood's mind, Vash leans in right as Wolfwood's come to that conclusion, a lighter in his hand.

There's so much he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask, but he doesn't know how to even begin. So he just nods in thanks and sucks down a searing lungful of smoke, letting the heat fill his chest and seep into his veins.

It's not a large town by any measure, he notes, plodding after Vash step by careful step. Nearby every building looks deserted, although there's definite signs of life here and there – smoke rising from many of the rooftops, and the ice underfoot shows clear signs of having been trod by several different people. There's no defenses though, at least none that he can see – no wall, no watch towers – and no signs of industry. Without a plant, very few towns on Noman's were able to be self-sufficient – food and water needed to be purchased, and that required money. Maybe there's mining outside the city limits, he thinks, or livestock yards or something like that, but mostly this seems like the kind of place where resources have to come in from the outside.

No resources, no defenses, and nobody to rely on other than a group of lost strangers. This is a hard place to end up. ]

How many people are here, give or take? [ At the end of this walk are Knives, and the other Vash, but he'll deal with that problem when they get there. He can't think about that right now – one thing at a time. ] Anyone made contact with any of the neighboring towns?

[ A place this small couldn't exist without neighbors. Surely there's other towns like this one nearby, maybe even a city? ]

[amo]

[ The route between the church and community center is so familiar that Vash can walk it blindfolded by now, feet carrying him forward without a thought. The crunch of snow underneath their feet has become as known as the shifting of sand. In so many ways Milton and No Man's Land are alike in their inhospitable nature and yet they're opposite ends of an extreme spectrum. He has no doubt Wolfwood will adapt though. If he and his brothers can manage it, then surely his friend in all his resilience and determination to survive will too. It helps that they've found more ways to cope with the cold by now; the discovery of the hot springs being one of the biggest boons they could ask for when they have no running hot water.

The questions Wolfwood ask as they trod along have more loaded answers than their seemingly simple premise would suggest. Vash is reluctant to give them when Wolfwood's already plenty overwhelmed and doesn't need anything more to worry about, but Vash gives them regardless. These are truths he can't hide and Wolfwood deserves to know what goes on here. ]

60 or 70, maybe? We get around 20 new Interlopers whenever another wave of people is brought in every other month and we lose nearly half of that in the interim. A lot of people go missing whether because they couldn't survive and their bodies just weren't found or because they got whisked away again, it's hard to say.

[ There are plenty of faces he's seen in town that have just vanished, not leaving behind a clue as to what's become of their fate. Possibly some might have tried to leave Milton, but... ]

No one's managed to make contact or get to any neighboring towns, if there's even any left out there. Honestly, just surviving here takes up so much effort, there hasn't been much room to go exploring.

[ It's a bleak world they've found themselves in indeed. It may not be Hell, but it's close. ]