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singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
Entry tags:
February 2024 Test Drive Meme
FEBRUARY 2024 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: Yet another 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 — OF FAIR FORTUNE: After spell of bad luck, finally, the Interlopers find A Very Good (albeit slightly spooky) Boy.
PROMPT THREE — BAD PICKINGS: An error is made when foraging for mushrooms that have been altered by the Aurora makes for some interesting situations for the Interlopers.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
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 several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. 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. Interlopers who arrive during the month of February will find themselves especially likely of falling foul to accidental injuries and the like. It's as if the bad luck of finding yourself in this place only gets much worse. Maybe you get yourself horrendously more lost than you mean to, maybe you end up with a sprained wrist or ankle after a fall, torn clothing from fighting through the thicker parts of the wilderness.
But soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.
There is a sombre mood to the town. Although you can't quite place why, maybe you should ask?
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a community hall, by the looks of it. 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, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And 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 very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, his mood is... low, mournful. but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
This time, if he is approached, particularly by those who have been in Milton for some time, he will frown in thought. He is… considering something. Finally, he will speak:
“I had hoped that the secret cache I and your fellow Newcomers had found two months past would be enough until the spring comes.” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze moving to one of the many windows of the Community Hall. “If she ever arrives, that is.”
He doesn’t believe it will.
“More and more of you come. Life will continue to get harder with the numbers rising.” Methuselah explains. “Milton is but one town, and the way out to the south is blocked.”
He means the road out — the one that follows out of town, past the gas station and through the mountains. The tunneled road ends there, caved in with snow and stone. There is no way out that way. Methuselah is quiet for a few moments.
“... There must be another way out. For all of our sakes. It must be found."
OF FAIR FORTUNE
WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts, Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: otherworldly animal;
The Interlopers have discovered that it is not best to trust the canines in this world. The wolves and volatile, aggressive — prone to attacking the town, people. There has even been an instance of a dog leading Interlopers off the beaten track some months ago, into trips and falls and all sorts of mischief. To come across any sort of dog these days would draw suspicion, perhaps even aggression from Interlopers.
And certainly, coming across this particular dog is enough to turn plenty around and start heading in the opposite direction.
There is something…. Otherworldly about this dog. In terms of breed, one might recognise it to look a great deal like an Old English Sheepdog — but far bigger and hardier. It almost looks as if moss and vines are matted in its long fur, which seems ridiculous — but it’s true enough. The dog does not bark, but instead will stop and look at you silently when you come across one another. If approached, it will not run off, but it does not want to be petted and prefers to keep a respectable distance between you and it.
Then, it will turn to look in one direction and begin heading that way. It looks as if it wants to take you somewhere, but it won’t run off for you to catch up. It keeps to your side, silent and steady as you head through the snow, the woods. Wherever you’re going, there seems to be no rush in getting there.
It’s a little unnerving: where did this dog come from? Why does it look so… strange? Where is it going? Where is it taking you? But even with these questions, it doesn’t seem like you’ll find much in terms of answers, not at first.
Soon enough, you’ll find it. It’s different for everyone, but it seems like it all has some recurring theme. Perhaps out in the cold wilds of the Northern Territories, you’re in desperate need of shelter or warmth — you and the dog will find yourselves facing an abandoned cabin, a place of safety from the cold, perhaps with warmer clothing within. Or perhaps the dog may lead you to some secret stash: a metal cache half-hidden in the snow, a small stone cairn — with vital loot hidden within: matches, flares, maybe even food. It may even lead you to foragable foods: mushrooms, berries or of the like — all safe to consume.
Whatever the strange dog leads you to, it is a fortune. A small one, but a fortune nonetheless. It seems as if it wanted to bring you to something to aid you in your time here. Upon finding whatever it is the dog leads you to, the dog disappears — never to be seen again.
BAD PICKINGS
WHEN: Mid-month onwards for a few weeks.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered food/foraged foods; drugs/hallucinogens / negative hallucinogenic trips; severely altered/warped moods; temporary amnesia; personality switches; loss of senses
The Northern Territories may be harsh, difficult conditions to survive in, but certainly not impossible. There is an abundance of wildlife, hardy enough to withstand the weather — even in the extreme, unpredictable times such as these. Foraging will soon come to be a staple for those stuck here in this world, and is just as important as hunting down any deer or rabbit. Flora is not only useful in terms of sustenance, but in its use in medicines and tinctures.
Mushrooms can be found here and there in particular areas: taking advantage of the wet, rotten wood of downed trees, or nestled in the sheltered undergrowth of the more densely wooded areas where it’s a little more suitable for fungi to grow. But not even the flora of this world is safe following the recent Auroras. The world is changing, and for the next few weeks — foraged mushrooms will have some… interesting effects, when consumed.
Interlopers that come across these mushrooms in the wilds will find themselves compelled to pick and eat these mushrooms right away. They're perfectly fine to eat raw, just more enjoyable to eat once cooked.
The effects of the mushrooms will last between eight hours to a full day, depending on how much was consumed. Nothing can be done to alleviate symptoms. You will feel incredibly hungover the day after the effects have subsided, and feel completely fine after that. The Aurora’s influence on mushrooms is only temporary, and the mushrooms will cease their effects after a few weeks.
Reishi mushrooms This mushroom will temporarily take away one of your five senses: sight, touch, smell, taste or hearing. You may find yourself feeling completely numb to touch; or unable to hear or see anything.
Oyster mushrooms Eating one of these mushrooms will give you temporary amnesia. You may forget yourself, things about your life, even your own name. Or maybe you will forget those around you. Or perhaps both.
Black Morel Eating this mushroom will seem to switch your personality to its complete opposite. Introverted sorts will become extroverted, those prone to anger will become more calm and chilled out, cheerful sorts will become more morose — and vice-versa.
Chanterelles Your mood is lifted and you become more cheerful and affectionate with those around you. You may even become more enamoured with the next person you happen to meet, regardless of your feelings towards them previously or your own orientation/attractions.
Amethyst Laccaria There is nothing supernatural or strange that happens when this mushroom is consumed. You just have a super bad hallucinogenic trip of your own horrible making. This mushroom is literally a nightmare. Sorry about that.
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. Please Do Not Pet That Dog.
1. Interlopers that pick a variety of the mushrooms and cook them together to eat will suffer the effects of whichever mushroom was in the largest quantity.
2. The mushrooms are fine to eat raw, and characters will feel compelled to eat them raw.
WE THEM LIEUTS ♡
He sees the other man slip into a cabin — one still abandoned, Edward thinks; he knows most of the occupants of this place, and where they occupy. It's one of the responsibilities he's clung firmly to amongst so many others; he keeps records of stock, supplies, residents.... as if any of it really matters. The same patterns have been repeating themselves, here. People have suffered and died. There is something inexplicably huge and powerful (and supernatural, he's learned) stalking them here, some overarching presence that has claimed lives and continues to terrorise those who are left.
And he has failed, once again, to keep everyone safe. He fails over and over and over, and if this place truly is some sort of Hell, then he knows he deserves to roam it.
But as he stands there with his heart in his throat, the knowledge that yet another one of the men are damned to this place and all of its horrors, there's a lilt of joy, and it's an emotion that Edward Little has scarcely allowed himself to feel. In fact— can he even recall the last moment he had? But it's there now, and his eyes are wide and soft and wet as he moves forwards, following the fresh set of footprints in the snow from a pair of boots exactly like his own.
He's always been a fool, holding onto a certain hope longer than any wise man would. The others shed pieces of their uniform over time, but he'd kept his own obstinately on as though it still mattered, rotting away beneath the layers of his clothing but on the surface never letting himself be anything other than Lieutenant Little. In this place, too, he's held onto that role longer than perhaps he should. Desperately. He's never given up that he might see John, George, again (conflicted as he might be about that fact, for so many reasons).
He steps up to the porch of the neglected cabin, boots heavy against wood, and peers into that open door, but cautiously. He doesn't want to startle the other man, but he can't stop himself from calling out for the third lieutenant as though he'd been searching for him all this time. So many of his companions, his men, were lost. This place, for everything that it is, has also given him a second chance to find them again. To protect them, this time. (He's failed again and again but he tries again and again.) ]
John?
ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL...!
He breathes in sharply, heart suddenly feeling so thick in his throat, so loud his ears, and then turns with his whole body. Can it really be-- ]
Edward?
[ His voice is soft, tentative with astonishment, if not quite disbelief; from his side of the equation, seeing Edward Little here makes no less sense than anything else so far, and in fact, actually feels more likely that he'd not have ended up all too far from where he'd been... before, and for the past three unspeakably long years.
Really, to be looking at a stranger in this moment probably
will bewould have been more shocking and unexpected for him, but only by comparison-- and even that, to his memory, had only just happened to him not very long ago at all. ]Edward. [ He repeats more firmly, enforcing a certain permanence to their reunion that they'd lacked during most of their shared time together as lieutenants. ] You're here-- it's really you?
[ Are you really here with me, Edward?
Mere moments ago, he might as well have been alone on the moon for how cold, remote, and empty he's found everything, but now he hesitantly steps forward, approaching Little as if he could still be nothing more than a trick of the light. Irving's not really one for physical affection -- or, truly, most any form of physical contact at all -- and he is especially not really a hugger, but the temptation to embrace his friend is palpable, nigh to overwhelming.
Instead, he settles for reaching out to touch Little's shoulder, grasping it loosely in hand to confirm the flesh-and-blood reality before him. ]
God is good. [ he murmurs, mostly to himself, looking Little in the eyes. ] Tell me what's happened, Edward-- what is all this?
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His eyelashes flutter, throat tight, and he nods. He knows, by now, that time will be different for his companion. That they've all come from... different places in time. It should be impossible, but so many things here should be; he can only cling onto what is right in front of him. The hand finds his shoulder, and Edward swallows hard at the touch — solid and real, no matter how loose it may be. That same desire to embrace the other floods him, but he restrains himself, does not want to alarm John, or let himself crumble in the face of him. He needs to be strong. So much has happened.
Still, he can't resist from reaching right back out for the other man. And it's with both of his own gloved hands, echoing Irving's gesture and then carrying it further, as he places them upon the taller man's shoulders to give a firm squeeze. A greeting but also a reassurance — something steady and secure. His head tips to another nod, and he allows the barest glimpse of a smile, controlled, but eyes wider and wetter as he makes contact with the steel-blue pair before him. ]
It is me. I am.... endlessly glad to see you.
[ The words feel too simple to convey what is in his heart. He barely had the capability to process the death of his friend, when it happened out on that strange, endless beach. There wasn't time or peace to properly mourn him; he felt robbed of it.
And now Irving stands before him again, whole and alive (or whatever all of this is). Edward gives those shoulders another squeeze before he lets go, wills himself to let go, though stays close by. And keeps his words careful, knowing the other man must have a plethora of questions, but not wanting to overwhelm him. ]
There is... a town. Abandoned by the people who originally lived in it. We are there.
[ As he speaks, he's looking John over for signs of... distress. Taking in the state of him, heart thudding with some quiet dread. ]
Are you injured anywhere? Are you all right?
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[ The question, combined with first the shock of-- well, most importantly still Edward Little himself, of course, but to say nothing of everything else Irving has seen, heard, and felt since waking here to begin with, too, altogether catches him so purely and drastically off-guard that for a moment not even he can remember whether or not he's injured.
He pats absently at his chest, but the knife holes seem limited only to his coat and not the flesh beneath. Of course. Not likely he could have made it even as far as this cabin if he'd still been riddled with fresh, open stab wounds, however little he can understand why he's not. ]
No, I-I'm... [ He shakes his head. Not injured. ] Y-yes, I'm all right. Are you...?
[ Irving doesn't know Little to have been injured anytime in recent memory, but that really means nothing anymore, now doesn't it? His eyes scan over his friend in a rapid up-and-down, but find nothing of particular concern to land on before returning to Little's face.
He should ask more about this town, but looking into Little's eyes, somehow the words don't come. ]
How are you?
no subject
He follows the third lieutenant's movement of hands down to his chest, staring there. And there they are, those little slashes — so many of them in the material of his clothing. Edward's heart thuds dull and heavy, and his stomach tightens with nausea and hurt and relief all mingled into one impossible mixture, almost overwhelming. The last time he saw this man, he was... ]
You're all right, [ he echoes the words in a soft exhale. Alive, at least as much as any of them can be here. He doesn't know if John knows what happened to him, if he's come right on or after the brink of his own death. He cannot ask him. Not yet. Not now. He can only swallow hard as he nods at his friend, caught so hard and so deeply by the realisation that he is reunited with someone he'd never thought he'd see again. ]
I'm all right, I'm— I'm well. [ It's both true and isn't; things are bleak here, and he's been unsure how to handle any of it, but on the other hand— ]
There is food here, John. Food, and— plenty of shelters, like this. [ He lifts a gloved hand in gesture of the cabin they stand within. It's all meagre, and food is in limited supply, but they still have it. ]
Are you hungry? Thirsty?
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Certainly not much. ]
Good, that's-- [ Irving murmurs softly, nodding his head deliriously. ] You do look it; much healthier than I remember.
[ Or at least Little doesn't look any worse than Irving can remember, so that's something.
He shakes his head. ]
N-no, I'm-- not so hungry that it can't wait a while. [ Not that he's full, per se, but he was just fed recently, after all. ] But thank you. Thank you. This is... more than I could have imagined.
[ Which is, ahem, an understatement, but still. ]
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And John's statement about his health is one such reminder that explaining such a thing will inevitably lead to more questions, confusions... horrors. The first lieutenant takes a long moment of silence, breathing controlled and quiet. He knows he has to reveal so many of those things to John, but he hesitates, wanting to prolong upsetting him for as much time as he can; it's his responsibility, to take care of him. He'd failed that once. If he'd realised certain things sooner... been more observant, kept a closer watch on him, could he have stopped anything...? ]
It is.... more than I could have imagined, as well. [ He starts with a nod, agreeing, and then looks to the nearby dining table, gesturing with a gloved hand. ]
Perhaps we should sit while we converse. I'm sure you must be tired. And... very perplexed.
[ A soft wince, and something that almost seems self-deprecating for some reason — and he'll wait for the other man to sit first, if he agrees to it, before moving to join him in one of the rickety old wooden chairs. His eyes never leave him, almost as though afraid if he looks away even for a moment, John might disappear again. But— no, he's here, he's real, just as he remembered, and Little has to swallow against that lingering tightness in his throat before continuing. ]
I wish that I could give you more relief, but the truth is that this place... our circumstances here... All of it is so very strange.
[ A beat. That could of course describe their time out on the ice, as well.... Are they damned to always live this way? Is this just a continuation of their previous nightmare? ]
....I have been here for several months, John. In this place. Time seems to work... differently here, somehow.
no subject
This is, of course, to some extent how he'd managed to process the Tuunbaq in the end-- something all too terribly real despite it all, yet not in a way Irving had ever been forced to confront himself, personally or firsthand. It allowed him to better compartmentalize the overall experience, though, which is to say at all, which is to say: desperate times call for desperate coping mechanisms sometimes.
The impossibility of it all does deeply disturb and offend Irving greatly, but he's never been the kind of man who needs to outright make sense of all the world, the vast and mysterious universe, either. He's known from boyhood that there would always be parts of life he could never understand, for mankind was simply built that way; it's what faith is for.
The ability to sometimes put aside those Great Unknowns where he doesn't have to see, hear, or think about them whenever they're just too much.
Whether this be Heaven, Hell, or even (Heaven forbid) some kind of cold and cruel limbo, Irving hopes will become more clear in time. For now, however, it seems beyond their reach of knowledge.
He watches Little carefully as the other man speaks, listens to him closely, holding fast to every word and detail. ]
Very well, then... yes, let us sit.
[ Nodding slowly, he moves toward the table and pulls forth a chair to sit upon primly, legs crossed and hands resting loosely over one knee. Little seems to be watching him quite carefully as well, Irving notes; even more so, perhaps, than Irving has thus far observed him in return. ]
But you mustn't take it upon yourself to manage my... relief, Edward, nor to make sense of that which clearly defies all rhyme and reason whatsoever. Remember that the truth is still the same everywhere: we will understand it only when we're meant to.
[ Irving falls briefly quiet, a contemplative but troubled silence. That time might somehow move differently here seems just plausible enough if they allow this may not be the land of the living, but then what could be the alternative? '
They truly do seem damned, but he can't let himself believe it. ]
I bid you, please speak freely now. Tell me of the months you've spent here.
no subject
How can he do it? To this person whose fate he knows? A horrific death, gruesome and brutal. There are reassurances to reach for, to hold onto — that there is food and shelter here, and people, is a huge relief. An almost unbelievable one at first; he'd struggled with it for a very long time. Some days it is still difficult for him to... eat, to rest, (to exist), as though his body and mind can hardly accept being taken care of in those ways.
....But there are so, so many dark things here. Little fidgets nervously at the other man's words, eyes dropping down to his hands, which he places upon the table. His fingers rub against themselves, some attempt to self-soothe, and his tongue wets his bottom lip, one of many nervous habits. To speak freely of it seems a devastating task; where does he even begin? How? ]
Like you, I.... arrived here. I seemed to wake as though from a dream, but it was far too real for that. When I discovered there were other people here, civilisation — however neglected — I searched for the others. I found some of them. And I've spent much time these past months waiting to see if more of you would arrive, somehow.
[ Both longing to see them again and dreading the thought of them being cursed to this place. Little's eyes finally look up again, heavy, mournful. If only he could spend this reunion with his lost friend catching up, jovial. Instead, every single horrible thing that can be dangerous for Irving is flooding in, threatening to overwhelm him. ]
This place is very much like what we knew before. There is... something here. Some creature that torments and kills. Something that seems... not of this world.
....It is a dangerous land, and we have found no rescue. The wilds of this land are remote.... largely impossible to traverse. A man recently left the town, attempting to find help. He has not returned.
[ His voice falters off again into silence for a few moments. There is more to warn him of, but those things.... can he, right now? He must, of course, before he lets John leave the safety of this cabin. But right this moment? How can he tell him that the man who murdered him is here? No... not now. He can't. Instead, his heart finds its own words, has its own things to be said, and the words come through a fresh thickness in his throat, a lump he has to work around— ]
Despite these horrors, it is good to see you again. For me...... for me, it has been a very long time.
no subject
Or so it's often been said, anyway, but could God's nature truly be such a vengeful one as to be punishing them all for the many sins and crimes committed in the British Royal Empire's name, or for the Royal Navy's fatal negligence, for Sir John Franklin's pride and hubris?
By Irving's estimation, most probably yes, unfortunately, lest he invoke the wrathful destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and all those who'd lived there; lest he forget Lot's wife, or the curse of Ham, or Samson and the Philistines. “Never avenge yourselves, beloved, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is mine and I will repay, says the Lord,"” reads Romans 12:19, and Irving has always believed in both the spirit and the letter of it— what he can't understand, however, is why God would see fit to punish them all not only once, but again and again, over and over and over, like Prometheus and the eagle.
What lessons still haven't they already learned by now? ]
I had... hoped for something similar, you know, [ he says, with a voice that's steady and deliberate, though grown softer, more subdued. ] When we encountered the Netsilik people. I'd imagined them teaching us where and how to best hunt for game, o-or how to properly remove the fur from off an animal carcass to be treated and worn-- naturally there'd be plenty of trade, as well, and perhaps they could even tell us whereabouts or approximately when any whaling ships might be known to sail past.
[ Irving falls quiet again, biting his lower lip as he stares down mournfully at his hands. ]
Somehow they've managed to survive out there all this time, a-and to build for themselves such a humble yet well-functioning society upon land that is all but unlivable. S-so we know it can be done... even here, surely.
[ The sentence inclines slightly upward at the end, though, like a question; as if Irving's asking more than telling Little: Even here, surely?
Because what could Irving really know about what it's taken everyone to survive here even this long...? And would he even be able to cope properly to live in a society that's so far beyond the bounds of any civilization he's ever been accustomed to, let alone have any remote idea of where to actually start with helping to create it? But...
Perhaps it really could be done, now couldn't it, and perhaps here more than anywhere. Perhaps all hope for their continued survival hasn't yet been lost after all.
Irving raises his eyes back up to Little's, holding his gaze. ]
I'm quite... gladdened by seeing you again as well, Edward. Very much so. [ He forces a faint, rueful smile. ] Most especially am I grateful for it.