February 2024 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

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

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.

OF FAIR FORTUNE

1. Please Do Not Pet That Dog.

BAD PICKINGS

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.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[chuju]

Things could be worse is a perspective Daisy knows all too well, though it's been hard to keep that perspective when each new day in this frozen hellscape reminds her of everything she's lost. Her friends, her family, the cause she'd been willing to give her life for...

And her powers. It feels like part of her nervous system has been ripped out, that extra sense such a vital part of who she is that it aches to be without it. She is far from helpless, years of SHIELD training saw to that, but she feels like she is, and the struggle to overcome that feeling would be so easy to lose if she let her guard down.

Setting her backpack at her feet, she takes hold of the bandage and starts to wrap it around his hand with practiced ease, not hesitating to make it as tight as the wounds require. She doesn't ask about them yet, but she notes how unusual they are.

"As much as anyone else," she answers almost casually, though her expression remains serious. "I arrived with the last group two months ago."

[lasttoolong]

She clearly knows what she's doing, Logan has to give her that. He lets her keep hold of his hand as she works -- heavier than she's used to, maybe, fingers soft and strangely unscarred besides the wounds themselves. His gaze lingers on her face, noting the small tells of a woman used to stepping up where she's needed, and maybe not taking as much care of herself as she should be as a result.

"The last group?" He repeats, frowning. He's had some of the scope of it from Methuselah, but the whole concept of someone -- something -- gathering people together is unsettling. It speaks to the kinds of bullshit that usually ends in blood and death, in Logan's experience. Leaning forward a little over the table, he drops his voice, enough to make their conversation somewhat more private.

"What the hell is goin' on here?"

[chuju]

Taking care of herself is always an afterthought. Daisy Johnson is the typical example of a hero: everyone else comes first, and her own needs are only met out of necessity. She has plenty of experience patching herself up, though — it comes with the territory when your power is just as destructive to your own body.

"I wish I could tell you," she says, the words coming out in a sigh. Exhaustion, both emotional and physical, clings to her like a second skin. "We've been trying to piece things together, but there's still a lot we don't know. How or why we're here, for starters. But we do know a new group arrives every other month, practically like clockwork. There's no pattern to who is brought here, though. Different ages, different backgrounds, even different worlds."

Yes, the brand of weird she's used to dealing with includes different worlds, which she discusses with the same ease as one might talk about the weather.

[lasttoolong]

"Shit," Logan growls, which feels like an understatement. He's not about to assume that just because there's no walls or fences they're not prisoners of some kind -- certainly it doesn't sound like anyone's found a way out. The thought makes a desperate agitation claw at his insides. Being dumped in the middle of nowhere with no reason and a lot of mystery hasn't historically worked out well for people like him.

Whether she's done or not, Logan pulls his hand back from her. He flexes his fingers experimentally, then waves at the seat opposite, indicating she should just go ahead and sit down.

"The old man," he directs a quick glance up over her shoulder to Methuselah, across the room, "talked about a Darkwalker. I've heard stories like that before. Assumed it was just a story." His gaze is back on Daisy, studying her closely. "But.. I'm guessing it's more than that."

[chuju]

She'd nearly finished the wrapping, just needing to tuck the end in, but she doesn't try to keep hold of him, his hand sliding out of hers. That reaction adds another puzzle piece to the board, the vague image of who this man is slowly taking shape. There's something under the surface that's only hinted at in the way he'd been watching the door, in the injuries on hands otherwise unblemished. (Hers are less so.) Questions bubble up inside her, but she shoves them back down for later. He deserves his answers first.

Taking the offered seat, she keeps her backpack close, the items inside clearly of value, whether in general or to her personally. She leans in on her elbows and speaks as quietly as he had before. Everyone here will know this all soon enough, but she'd rather not be the one to cause a panic.

"It's a lot more," she confirms, her expression dark and serious. "You heard the voice, right? The one that called you Interloper? That's it, and as far as we can tell, it wants us all dead."

[lasttoolong]

That earns her a disappointed grunt. Logan glances aside from her for a moment, his expression growing closed and thoughtful.

"Thought that was just.." a memory, maybe, or some shred of his already abused psyche reasserting itself. He doesn't continue that out loud, though. Not yet. Instead, he flicks his gaze back to Daisy. The idea of something intangible and evil hunting them all -- it's not exactly good news. But at least he's used to being hunted.

"If it doesn't want us here, maybe it should have a word with whatever dumped us out. But I don't have any intention of dyin'." He makes a fist, letting the blood-spotted bandages pull tight across his knuckles.

[chuju]

"None of us do," she comments quietly, watching as the bandages are pulled tight. She doesn't say anything about it, but from all the growling and other little signs, she'd bet good money he has a bit of an anger issue that is going to be a problem when it comes to those wounds healing.

"It's more complicated than that, though," she continues, strain evident in her voice as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The Darkwalker is almost constantly on her mind, but that doesn't make it any easier to actually talk about her terrifying experience with it. "I wasn't here the first time it came, but the second was a few weeks after I arrived. It killed four people and none of us could do anything to stop it."

[lasttoolong]

"Four people?"

Logan's brow furrows as he considers it. In a small community like this, four people must have seemed like a massacre. He glances around the room again, seeing it with a new perspective. Methuselah's warnings and dour mood don't seem so out of place any more. They're not prisoners. They're prey.

"How did it kill them?" He looks back at Daisy, thinking about how something could kill four people and not be stopped, and still be a subject of mystery and concern.

[chuju]

Prey is precisely the word for it. They're all of them just waiting to be picked off with no way yet to stop it...

"We don't know," she admits tightly, anger and helplessness warring for dominance inside her. "When it comes, there's this— Everything changes. You're terrified and you have to hide, even if you would normally run out and face it. No one could move until it left, and then we found the bodies in the church, looking like they'd literally been scared to death."

She hates that she'd been trapped like a frightened child, unable to help those people. It goes against absolutely everything she is.

[lasttoolong]

Her anger is understandable; Logan feels a little of it himself, though he wasn't there and they're not his people. But it's not something he likes to experience, not being able to help, to throw himself out onto the front line and let himself get mown down because he can take it. He'd be pissed, too.

"Telepathy," he says, like he's ticking it off. There's a hard edge to his voice, a determination not to give in to the same kind of bullshit that's been beating him down for decades. "Some kinda fear powers. Doesn't sound too tough."

[chuju]

Well, that's unexpected. Daisy's brow furrows slightly as she considers the man across from her in an appreciative new light. Finally, someone else who speaks her language.

"Sounds like you're used to dealing with that sort of thing," she observes almost conversationally, crossing her arms where they rest on the table. "Do you have any sort of power yourself? Something that's maybe not working the way it should right now?"

cw: gore, injury, degenerative illness

[lasttoolong]

It's enough to lighten the stony expression on Logan's face a little, a wry twist of his mouth showing his amusement at being used to dealing with nasty creatures like the Darkwalker. The rest is interesting -- especially the way she already knows what's not working. He leaves his hand on the table, fingers curled into his palm and knuckles pointed away from her, and pops his claws. Better to just show her than try to explain.

He lets her look at the long gleaming blades for a few moments, then snaps them back into his arm again with a wet metal-on-metal noise. The bandages she's just helped with are holed and the blood starts to show on them almost immediately. Logan watches her face, weighing her reaction, then tugs the bandages loose, enough to show her the wounds between his knuckles, deep cuts a little less than an inch long -- recently closed, now open again, beaded red and leaking.

"That's supposed to heal, usually so fast I don't see 'em. Same as the rest of me. Made me hard to kill, for a long time." He studies Daisy. His own acceptance of the fact is a heavy weight in his gaze. "Looks like it's not gonna happen any more. Worst thing is.." He turns his hand over and flexes his fingers gently, feeling the ache of the cuts. "The metal they're made from is all over my bones. Right down to the goddamn marrow. And it's poisonous. So.. if I'm stuck here, darlin', it's gonna be a long, slow death. Probably not a very pretty one, either."

[chuju]

Daisy doesn't flinch so much as tense up at the display, her instincts screaming to do something against the perceived threat. Except he isn't a threat, just showing rather than telling her about his situation, so after a second her muscles relax and she can focus on more important things.

A comment about the state of the bandages dies on her tongue when he explains the full extent of how screwed he is without his abilities here. There's a sinking feeling in her stomach as the words slam into her with the force of a freight train, and suddenly she has one more person to try to save here.

"Shit." The curse slips out without her permission, and she lifts a hand to rub at her forehead for a moment before steeling herself back into her usual determined state. "Okay. One: We're going to find a way out of here before it comes to that. Or a way to turn our powers back on, at the very least. If we can do that, I can take out anything that tries to stop us."

There's no bravado in her words, just the bone-deep belief in her own capability. If she says she can do it, she can, plain and simple.

"Two: Resources are finite here, so try to keep those demonstrations to a minimum, okay?" Clean bandages, disinfectant — they'll run out quick if he shows off to everyone he meets, and if those wounds get infected...

[lasttoolong]

It's not often that Logan finds someone willing to fight for him after knowing him for less than an hour. That alone is enough to sketch a crooked grin across his face, but the determination is also pretty endearing.

"You're a powerhouse, huh?" Leaving aside any need for him to promise not to pop his claws, since he's pretty sure he can't do that, infections or not. He studies Daisy closely, interested in her answer.

"Our powers. What can you do?"

[chuju]

Protecting people is Daisy Johnson's reason for being. For years now, she has known her purpose in life with steadfast certainty, and that hasn't changed just because she can't access her powers. She will do whatever she can to help the people here, up to and including giving her life to ensure they survive.

(Advertising that last part might not get the best results, though, so she tends to keep it to herself.)

"Vibration manipulation," she answers easily, not at all put off by the way he's watching her. "Everything in the universe vibrates at a certain frequency. I can tap into that."

[lasttoolong]

That's a new one for Logan. It sounds pretty powerful, too -- not difficult to imagine what a power like that could do to a person's body. Or a building, scaled up enough. He grunts, interested, though he can't help the amusement that hooks into the corner of his mouth and drags it up a fraction of an inch.

"Vibration, huh?" His eyebrows lift a little, mischief edging into his expression. "Sounds like it would be useful." Getting crude is a time tested method of distracting people from caring too much and Logan is more than happy to make use of it.

[chuju]

"Oh yeah, it can be," Daisy replies, leaning into that air of mischief right along with him, a smile tugging at her lips. "Like if I ever wonder if that's a gun in someone's pocket, I can just quake it apart and find out."

The longer they talk, the more she finds she likes this guy. It's not just the whole having powers in common thing, either. He's funny without being stupid, and he's taking all of this a whole lot better than most people here. While she wouldn't wish being stuck in this frozen hell on anyone, she's glad that he's among the new arrivals — and she'll do everything she can to get him out of this place as quickly as possible.