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singillppl2024-04-06 07:44 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-04-06 07:44 pm
Entry tags:
April 2024 Test Drive Meme
APRIL 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 — FROM FROTH-CORRUPTED LUNGS: The heavy fog plaguing the Northern Territories takes a far more deadly and sinister turn.
PROMPT THREE — SHARP CLAWS, YAWNING MAWS: Interlopers come face to face with another native animal to the Northern Territories stalking the rockier areas — and unfortunately, these feline beasts have also been warped by the Aurora.
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 April will find themselves waking up in a world filled with freezing cold fog, cold enough that it will feel as if your skin is burning. A kind of cold that will not shake easily. It will be easy to get lost in the fog. Best hope there's someone out here that might come across you to help you find your way.
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 smell it through the fog: the scent of smoke that seems to cling in the still air. Fire. Not just one, but several perhaps. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the foggy mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights, even if it may appear a little eerie in the half-light gloom: 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.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building where many people seem to gather: 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. Everyone looks as though they could faint from the cold at any second, damp and shivering.
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, this fog has made it so difficult.” 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.
FROM FROTH-CORRUPTED LUNGS
WHEN: The month of April.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; poisonous fog; potential respiratory/lung-related illness/injury; potential burn injuries; themes of peril
A thick fog has descended onto the Northern Territories as April comes, often difficult to navigate in and a kind of cloying damp that often brings a certain kind of wicked chill to Interlopers out travelling in it. The kind that sinks in one’s bones and takes too long to be chased away with heat and dry clothes. Sometimes, it feels almost suffocating, like it’s exhausting to be out in it — as if one might feel more like they’re underwater than on dry land, struggling to breathe if they’re out in it for too long.
It’s certainly a miserable affair for those in this world, the cold was bad enough without this.
And certainly, it can get even worse.
Maybe it’s a trick of the light, the strange thickness of the fog in the pale Spring light, but you notice in certain patches there’s… an almost green tint to the fog. You don’t have time to look at it for long. It descends upon you with a fluid steadiness, silent in its approach.
To touch the fog with bare skin, a hand, even the exposed face — you will be met with a sudden burning pain, far different to the biting cold pain of the rest of the fog. As soon as the green fog comes into contact with you, it slowly begins to burn at you — searing away at any flesh, a slow and terrible experience.
To breathe it in will be an even worse experience: it will feel as if one is slowly inhaling tiny fragments of glass, and each breath will be painful and suffocating. Coughing up blood is likely, and being out in it for too long will bring a slow, agonising death of suffocation.
Heading indoors is the best bet to ensure survival, with plugging up any doors and windows or drafty spaces to ensure the fog doesn’t seep inside. After that, it seems like the only thing you can do is wait it out. Hopefully you're stuck inside with a friendly face, and somewhere with a fire. Otherwise, it's going to be a bad time trapped inside waiting it out. The fog will eventually dissipate, and all that Interlopers will be able to see is the usual cold fog — but that could take hours of waiting.
Burns to the skin can be treated with typical medical care, and bathing the wounds will cleanse them of any lingering poison, but Interlopers should take care of signs of infection in the days afterwards. For those who suffer from inhalation of this green fog, Methuselah will direct them to Reishi mushrooms — known for their antibiotic healing properties and can be found in abundance in the world. Interlopers will find that breathing in the steam from boiling and steeping these mushrooms in water will soothe their lungs and help in the healing process.
SHARP CLAWS, YAWNING MAWS
WHEN: April, onwards.
WHERE: Milton wilds; Milton Mines (Lakeside Entrance) area; The Ravine area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks, altered wildlife, gore, possible character injury/death, possible animal injury/death.
Certain kinds of wildcats are native to Canada and thus the Northern Territories. They are elusive animals, often keeping to themselves and have largely gone unseen by the Interlopers during their time here in this world. But the world is changing, and it has long been understood that wildlife has been altered due to the Aurora’s influence — particularly with wolves. Unfortunately, these solitary and evasive felines will not remain this way for long.
The wildcats tend to stick to the more mountainous areas of the Northern Territories: Milton’s outskirts being a primary example of this, but also the sheltered and rocky passage Interlopers must take if they are to travel through the mines and down the train tracks that lead into Lakeside. It is here in particular that they make their appearance with the recent footfall between the areas.
For newer Interlopers, it is a frightening sight. For some Interlopers who have been in this world for some time, it is an all too familiar sight to behold but no less terrifying. These beasts are warped by the Aurora and are far bigger and faster than any usual wildcat, with huge, hulking bodies, elongated fangs and unlike wolves: they can climb. Green, glowing smoke curls from their bodies and eyes, a kind of electrical current rippling over their coats with a strange shimmer. They lurk from above and wait for the opportune moment to strike — a far more silent and deadly attack than the wolf packs of last year. But if you’re paying attention, you might be able to spot them before they make their move.
These altered beasts will come no more than three at a time, but will usually attack alone. They will work with a frenzied determination to bring you down and make you their next meal. Cats, after all, are obligate carnivores. They will enjoy giving chase, and running will be the worst thing to do in dealing with them. It is best to stand your ground and try to fight back this way.
They are frightened of flames, and loud noises from gunfire or flares will keep them at a distance — but it’ll take a decent amount of ammunition to take them down, much like their canine counterparts Interlopers already encountered. Taking one down will be no small feat, but there will likely be the reward of a thick, warm pelt for those interested.
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. Skin open to the elements is at the most risk of being burned, so it's best to wrap up/cover any bare skin. Covered skin would eventually burn if Interlopers spent enough time in the fog to have their clothes saturated by the damp.
2. Breathing in the fog is the most pressing issue for everyone as a whole. The green fog can affect Interlopers who don't breathe.
1. Bobcat, Canada Lynx, and Cougar are the three kinds of wildcat native to Canada. Due to the Aurora's influence, these wildcats are bigger, faster and stronger than typical wildcats — with Cougars being the largest of the three.
2. Killing them is difficult, but not impossible. Scaring them will be far easier to accomplish than killing them.
3. Wildcat activity will continue onwards from April, but will reduce with the Interlopers' efforts to fight them back.
4. Wildcat is technically edible. But not advised due to parasites. Characters are still welcome to harvest the wildcats they kill, however.
no subject
[ she doesn't expect her answer to the rhetorical question to mean anything to him; she hopes it doesn't. but he's right about the other thing: she's noticeable, if nothing else because of her hair. she used to be so proud when people tell her it catches the light so prettily, especially against the harsh blandness of the north. now she almost wants to dye it a darker color again. maybe later. if she finds something for it. ]
So I'm bait. Just as well, I can't fight. [ no offense found in her tone, but no gratitude, either. with a huff sansa loosens the neck of her thin cloak and unbinds her braid, letting the finer strands fan around her ears and neck. looks at the man pointedly. ] My red stands out more than your black, in woods like these.
Do you have a name, Ser? [ ser, but not sweetly. the way lady gives a decisive nudge at the man's hand is almost amused. ]
no subject
he'll work it out eventually.
jason hasn't needed an alias. he's red hood, john doe, prisoner fuck if he remembers the number, it's been a while. jason todd is dead, even when he's been called out by name in the field, it's not as if anyone's going to connect jason or jay to bruce wayne's dead adopted kid. but paranoia generally wins out, as it does here. )
You can call me Red. ( funny, given what she'd just pointed out. lady nudges at his hand, and considering she's not trying to bite at him, jason takes it as a good enough sign as any it's safe to pat her head. he doesn't raise his hand much; keeps his right side to sansa even once he's caught up to her and hanging just a step back, given she's the one he's pretty sure he doesn't have to guard against. it's anyone else coming out at them that he's concerned about. ) And you're not bait.
( there's a shitton of ways to explain his reasoning. most of them end with him sounding like an asshole. )
I've got armor, it doesn't look like you've got shit. I can see what's happening in front of us, but if shit comes at us from behind and I'm not ready for it, my armor'll take the brunt of it.
( it's kevlar-based, at least, and jason can handle a few hits. )
'sides, I'm bigger. It ain't about which target stands out the most. Most'll go for what looks harder to take out first, get 'em down before they've got their guard up.
no subject
[ he moves like he expects a fight regardless of company; maybe he's more of a sellsword than a sworn shield, but the private needling in calling him ser has stuck. much like he'd called her a princess, she'll keep to it until he brings it up. ]
My father hunts. My brothers, their men. Mostly it's for food, but sometimes it's to keep the woods from being overrun. You want the healthiest of the beasts if you mean to hang their heads over your mantle, but good hunting isn't always making the biggest kill.
Sometimes it's trapping the smaller game, starving the bigger thing until it moves off your land.
[ father had taught this to robb and jon, had let her and arya listen in because sisters must always go together, why, she never liked these stories back then. now, she understands.
it was never about the animals. ]
You seem strong, even with your injury. You insist on it, too. If I were a wildling, why would I waste the element of surprise on prey that could fight back?
[ it's colder now. it's so much colder than when they started. ]
My name isn't Lyanna Snow, [ sansa says, finally. ] But I'd be grateful if you called me by either name, Ser Red.
no subject
girl's got a mouth on her, despite her saying she can't fight. he'd argue the snark's just as good as knowing how to throw a good punch, depending on who you're fucking with. jason's used both interchangeably. the wildling comment gets sorted away for later. he doesn't know what she's referring to, but he doubts it's particularly relevant at this moment, and prying will, eventually, cause her to shut him out entirely.
there's a small quirk to the corner of his lips. the barest hint of a grin. )
I'm not that kinda hunter. ( but he can put it into similar terms. ) I hunt monsters. Usually, the more human shaped ones. I'm sure you've heard of 'em - the asshats that fuck over everyone else just 'cause it'll benefit them.
( he's no superman, but he knows gotham's underbelly better than most. knows who to hit and how hard to push. jason knows his limits. )
Lyanna, then. ( another big step forward, so he is walking beside her - but with enough distance between them to fit her wolf pal. ) You mind if I throw an arm 'round you? It's cold as hell out here.
( if he's cold, she's cold, and a little body heat goes a long way. but he's asking first, because the last thing he wants to do is startle her or piss off her friend. jason gets bitchy about people being in his space when it's not to kick the shit out of each other, he's not pissing someone off by doing the same thing.
unless he wants to piss them off. she hasn't gotten there yet. )
Feel free to tell your wolf to take a bite out of me if I make you uncomfortable. I won't even bitch about it.
no subject
I know men like that. [ might as well start with the biggest cut out of all of them. it's the rawest one, in every sense; she can still feel his marks on her every time she walks. ] The man I was given to is like that.
[ she could say it's why her name is different, but that feels a little too honest. too close. will you hunt him for me, then? she almost dares to ask; what's the harm? he doesn't know her or ramsay, or the entire bloody, mangled mess back home. ]
I'll hold you, [ she offers instead. an arm around her back— she could bear through it, maybe, but she doesn't want to. she frees her cloak and offers the edge of it to red, so he could wrap it around his shoulders for extra warmth. it'll be a tight huddle, but it's better than nothing. ]
Her name is Lady. My wolf.
no subject
Yeah, see. Back where I come from, we call that human trafficking, an' it's the kind of shit I make sure monsters don't walk away from.
( he's sworn not to kill, and still intends to keep that promise, but the no killing rule doesn't prevent him from removing limbs and otherwise severely limiting their mobility and brain function. she offers the cloak, and while he almost opts to take it back, jason instead slouches down enough she can place it how she wants. it is a tight fit, but it's fine - for the moment. )
She's a good girl. Lady. ( his lips press together for a moment, before he offers a, ) My little brother's got a Dane. Ain't a wolf, but I've seen that dog pull some crazy stunts to keep him safe.
no subject
I can imagine it. There are hunting dogs in— where I'm from, every great house had a kennel for them. They could be vicious, but they could be sweet, too.
My father gave Lady to me. [ my father killed lady because of me. sour on the tongue; sansa pushes through it. ] Her and the rest of her litter. One for each of us his children. Grey Wind and Ghost for my older brothers, Nymeria for my little sister, Summer and Shaggydog for my younger brothers.
[ most of them are gone. she doesn't mean to, but her hold on red tightens just so. ]
How old is your brother? Are you fond of him?
no subject
That kid'd take home a whole zoo if he thought he could get away with it. If I came back and found a giraffe hanging around the house, I wouldn't be surprised.
no subject
He'd be fifteen now, Bran. My youngest brother would be eleven; my eldest would be twenty-three.
[ jon is lord commander of the night's watch. is lord commander. she repeats it in her head, over and over; jon is alive. theon says he didn't kill bran or rickon, and she wants to believe him, she does, but men have only ever lied to her. she'll believe him in her true heart when she sees her brothers alive before her. arya might have survived, she doesn't know, she hopes to never know if she's dead. if arya is still alive, she desperately hopes she's found herself in circumstances different from her own.
she tells herself it's the need for warmth that has her leaning her head against his shoulder. not too much, to not give the wrong idea, just enough that she can feel a little warmer where her head touches his clothed shoulder. ]
Are you both of the same mother? You're quite far from thirteen.
[ not that she's calling him old, or anything. ]
no subject
( he's not offended. if anything, jason's amused. however old she was thinking - well, jason's been through enough shit to age him a little faster than most, he's covered in scar tissue, intentionally bulky in a way that's almost too much. there's a wide grin on his mouth, which he keeps faced forward as they walk. she can lean on him all she wants: his arm's in shit shape, he's not moving it any, and jason's not reading into it any deeper than he would have if he'd thrown an arm around her to keep her warmer. he's fine like this. )
But no. I'm adopted. ( and damian was a surprise for all of them. granted, when he'd come around, jason had been busy trying to ruin everything. hadn't thought much of him, he'd been more focused on tim at the time. but even when jason had been at his bitchiest, he'd at least appreciated damian's inability to watch his mouth. it's an important family trait to pass on. ) Kinda.
( given he's legally dead and all. )
no subject
I thought you much older. [ she has to phrase her actual question carefully; most don't take kindly to being accused as proof of marital liberties. ] Are you a cousin, then? Or someone else's bastard?
One of my brothers is that. Father raised him with us, and my mother hated him for being our brother. I wasn't very nice to him when we were growing up, either. He's a Snow, and all Snows are bastards.
[ foolish little girl. jon is all that remains with any certainty. would he even care, if she reached for him? she hopes he would, but people can change in a day. it's been five years. ]
You should be kind to your brother. Adopted or whatever kind you are. [ oh, speaking of— ] Is your arm still numb?
no subject
( jason had two parents up until his old man got thrown in prison and offed, which, while not necessarily positive for him, was more than a lot of kids who grew up in crime alley had. even if he'd discovered significantly later down the line that the person he thought was his birth mother was just--someone who decided to treat him as if he were hers. the complex web of his relationships with his family would take forever and a half to go through.
if he'd be honest about it. luckily for both of them, outside of vague bullshit, jason's a liar. )
It's not numb. I took a hard tumble, pretty sure I fucked up something. ( and he's - twitching his fingers, his wrist. ) Upper arm fracture, I'm betting. ( it's relatively unimportant. )
That why you wanna go by Snow?
no subject
[ if he means to carry on like a fool, sansa decides, she will not question it. his arm will heal; it will correct itself or it will not, and she had done her duty, she has to repeat it to herself else she'll find herself spinning around the same thought. i must be dutiful. i must be useful.
i must be more than a girl, but less than a person.
she takes her weight from him, though. discreetly lets her cloak slip more across his shoulders than hers. ]
I wasn't expecting to lie about who I am so soon. Snow. It was the first name that came to mind. Jon's the only family I know for certain who hasn't been killed.
[ oh, if she knew better. ]
no subject
which, fair. jason with one arm is still deadly, but he's easier to take out than if he'd had two and had his head on straight. )
You did good. ( the praise comes easy, as does the smile he offers, the little quirk of his lips that looks less smarmy, more genuine. he's a softie at heart, even if he dislikes showing it. ) Always stick with shit you know when you're pulling out lies, especially with aliases. It's easier to remember to answer to it if it's something you're already familiar with.
( the smile slides of his mouth, replaced with something a little more serious. )
But don't tell anyone else a it's a lie, if it's one you wanna stick with. An' when we reach town, if it doesn't seem like it's shit - we'll go our separate ways. You've never met me, I've never met you. I'll keep an eye out, but chances're high you're gonna want to keep a wide berth 'round me and rep.
no subject
[ the realization dawns on her slower than she would have liked, but when it does come, it settles in her mind like a balm. these are familiar tactics, learned at petyr baelish's wandering hands and slippery words, but she doesn't feel the same slithering feeling under her skin now.
he even warns her. there's no doubt in her mind that he means what he says, and for her benefit—why? why give someone else an advantage, no matter how small? leverage should be given only when you can afford to lose it, cersei made that clear to her years ago.
perhaps, like herself, some part of his identity cannot be escaped where he's from. a named thing cannot be unnamed, and what is seen cannot be unseen even if you take your eyes out. ]
Good that I only know one name for you, then. For your safety and mine.
no subject
( he can vaguely see the town in the distance, and - starts to pull himself back up to his full height rather than the slouch he's been leaning into since she offered part of her cloak over.
offers over a playful little grin as he raises his good hand, to press his palm against her hair. not quite the hair ruffle he would have gone for usually, but he's not fucking up her hair. )
Watch out for yourself, alright? If you need shit, come find me.
and done! 🔥
when she smiles at him, there's a wet shine to her eyes. it's not his fault. she won't blame him. her lack of control over her feelings is her own mistake. ]
Take care of yourself too, Ser Red. Don't let death come for you too early.