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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.
froth-corrupted lungs... tealdeer.....
He doubts Jason would love the comparison to dear ol' dad, eroded in an acid tinge of sour hopelessness as it is. But still.
Still.
Tim didn't emerge from snow in work attire, night-shift edition; his Givenchy shirt has long since been fed to a fire with a childish touch of chaotic glee, and besides. This might just be the only (other) Bat (Bat--!?) to see him with facial scruff. If Jason (Red Hood) makes the connection at all, seeing as Tim has a hood over a hood and a coat over a coat (hoarding lil' fuzzy animals by the hundreds has its perks, who knew?) and then the moment his brain sparks back into action (rare) he's dropping the line to the trap he'd been setting. The tracking collar, though, he holds stubbornly on to. It's fit for a retriever dog, not a bobcat, but he has a nagging need to pluck a corrupted creature from its wilds, alive, and--
Anyway. Anyway.
Wild. Alive. Corrupted. Green.
His heart's in his throat before Tim can know it, and he's been trapped between a rock and a hard place too many fucking times to count. To stay immobile is to get beaten by the... monster. To move is to acknowledge the reality of this... and get beaten by the monster, this time very solid and built like a fucking brick shithouse.
Tim sucks in a vile, cold breath.
(There are few things more terrifying than being left alone with Jason Todd.)
Tim snarls, unsure if he's already bluffing or if he's just that pissed off at the fog for forcing him to drop his only goddamn tracking collar and,]
There's a cabin to the left, quarter mile at the most.
[this guy isn't getting a hand on him; the bo staff has taken the place of the collar in Tim's quick hands.
Tim is, also, not budging unless acted upon by an outside force (bullet and-or lots of bullets), the bo trained on Jason's hulking self. Fairly contradictory to the next bark out of his mouth:] Move it!
[The fog, like bleak and black Time, waits for no one.
But Red Hood does need to lead so Tim can trail. Follow. Stalk. Tim won't be the prey-thing here.
This is his patch of frozen hellscape, thankyouverymuch.]
poor tim.
jason doesn't recognize tim. not at first. he's a smaller guy, and right now? he's covered in enough fabric jason figures whatever idiot's lingering around in the snow needs a pickup to be carried out of it. what he isn't expecting is tim's voice, the bo pointed at him with intent that leaves jason skidding to a sudden stop before he gets close enough to touch. he'd pissed off bruce before getting here, but - that's nothing new, they always knew it'd end that way. he didn't think he'd pissed off tim that much, they have an understanding.
maybe he's wrong. maybe the very tim-like guy with the tim-like weapon isn't tim at all, which is significantly less likely. but they don't have time to stand around figuring shit out.
tim barks out an order, and jason's huffing out a soft sound but following directions. no hesitation, no pause to ask who the hell tim thinks he is, no attempt at pulling that bo out of his hands to start a fight, because - well. jason doesn't want to. and he's in shit enough shape as is. he does tip his head to look over his shoulder after he starts running in the direction tim had pointed out, to offer a snarky, )
Who pissed in your cereal this morning? 'cause it sure as shit wasn't me, I wasn't even here!
no no, trust me he deserves this really
Or maybe his insides are screaming because a second day hunting a Cat equals a second day of barely dodging The Green. He scoffs. Just barely keeps from that evolving into a cough. Snarks back that,]
The burning mist isn't what's making you a little ray of sunshine?
[Burning Mist would make a hella great name to feature in the backstory of a loud ninja-- anyway. Anyway. It's not just adrenaline wanting to lock Tim's muscles mid-step. There's a crap-ton of people now entirely unaware that a solid brawl in the town square wouldn't do a thing to keep Jason down. Damian is... well... Damian doesn't make friends. Besides the cow. Jason, however, has a big mouth. Has maybe even more of a need to prove himself than the brat. Is somehow even more volatile and
and fog doesn't march on in a neat line. It just spreads.
The wet squelch of his freakin' socks is as jarring as the white-hot shock of the realization that Tim's well into the grasp of sheer green veil. And if that won't stop him from getting lost in his empty head, Tim doesn't know what will. (Feels like deja vu to even think it.) It's an easy course correction. "Easy" because the fucking fog is everywhere but in front of the hunting cabin and Tim wonders if dying by acid is better than sharing a single room with
and then he coughs and,
well,
if he dies he dies.]
Th- there! Door opens th' wrong way but just hurry and get inside!
[--he's always kind of stupid with anything that has to do with Jason.]
oh ok, good then. suffer, tim
well.
it was an inconvenience that's becoming even more of an inconvenience because tim's threatening him with a stick while the fucking air is threatening him with death by inhaling green shit. jason's starting in the direction tim's trying to threaten him into (what the hell else is he supposed to do here?) but he's keeping his pace slow enough to make sure tim's still right behind him with his
bostick. because he's not letting tim get burned into a gross corpse, regardless of how much of an idiot he's being.the door opens the wrong way saves him a good several moments of trying to shove the door in. as soon as the door's open, jason shoves a booted foot up against the bottom of the door, reaches back for tim and his bo, not to take it from him, but to yank him forward into the hunting cabin. tim can threaten him just as well from inside as he can outside, and jason needs to - shove off his jacket, pulling it roughly off his right arm with his left hand as he starts finding shit to shove under the doorway.
they don't have a lot of time, he'd rather keep all the not-deadly air inside and worry about the rest later. )
Tape - you have any tape? Get the windows.
( together they have two capable arms, clearly that's enough to handle closing off an entire cabin in record time. or it would be, if, ) An' put your stick down - what am I gonna do, risk fucking us both up?
wow okay be that way (i'm so slow forgive me)
Tim knows this room like the back of his hand: it was a parting gift from the old pirate Kenway. However, it's a testament to the incredible human ability to adapt that Tim hears himself in an unbelievably waspish tone hiss:] Tape? No, of course there's not any tape! [Goddamn. (The adhesive makes most rolls useless when applied in below freezing weather. The good stuff is set aside for emergencies- medical emergencies.)
Tim never knew the day would come where he misses tape. And yet...
He's also shuffling to the window, his back never turned on Todd (wearing a Bat, uncaring of an injury, spewing good sense), not even as Tim leans the staff against the wood of the wall and mirrors Jason's undressing with his own. (Sayin' it louder for the people in the back: Tim gets stupid around Jason.) There's more layers on Tim, though-- old furs below new ones, and shirts some sizes too large for his amply deconditioned body. (There's no free protein or carbs here, much less meal plans. A home gym is a pipe dream and free weights for strength training are limited to frozen-in-place car tires or moving feeding troughs around the farm. For Tim, someone who very much isn't naturally gifted with muscle mass, the result is annoyingly quick deterioration. Tim still works out, tries to slow the inevitable. Really. He does.) Anyway. There's no way Jason will miss the outline of a handgun on Tim's person. Anyway-- it's just their standard grappling gun. Mold some leather around it, take an evening to tighten the stitches of the holster, and the watch the waters of the high and mighty Ideals get all murky in the name of... one hell of an internalized power struggle. A.ny.way.
He can sympathize with Jason, he guesses, because as he's stuffing a half a hide to seal the window properly, he can think back on his own broken arm and the fucking headache it made for everybody.
Speaking of headache, Tim barks a single laugh; he's freezing already and his laugh stutters into a sore sort of wheeze. Jason asks, what am I gonna do, risk fucking us both up? and Tim feels like he's been nursing this migraine his whole-ass life because, uh,
Yes?]
You, go sit on your hands. On the chair. I'm the one who knows where this cabin has the drafts. I'm the one who knows where I planted the bear traps. So don't get any stupid ideas: some floorboards are loose.
[Blustering done, Tim needs to check the damage done to the door--]
we can be slow together.
tim starts losing his shit - laughing, wheezing, keeping himself turned towards jason as if he's expecting jason to pull out a knife and shove it through his thick skull any moment, which -
now that jason's slowing down a bit, he's starting to get. he's picking up tim's cues, picking up the differences between how tim looks and how jason's expecting him to. maybe it's not all just this cold as fuck area in the middle of nowhere canada.
there's nothing he can do about it now, not here, so jason rolls his eyes and raises the hand that isn't fucked to hell and back. )
Fine. ( fine! fine. this is fine. jason does tim one even better: he goes to the chair, as directed, but sits himself down backwards on it, face towards the wall. it's about as defenses lowered as jason ever gets. doesn't sit on his hands, but does turn his arm so it's down on the chair behind him, clearly visible to tim. the other hangs lamely at his side, because while jason can bend it and put it up behind him, too, he's not going to. look at all this effort he's going through already, tim can go fuck himself if he wants to ask for anything more than that. his chin rests down against the back of the chair, back hunched forward.
trust might not go both ways, not right now, but jason knows damn well tim's not going to hit him hard if he does hit him at all. he's a sucker, always has been.
discounting that time he stepped right out from the future and worked hard to fuck them all over. but even then, the shitty, fucked up future!tim had gone to debilitate, not cause any new damage. )
If that shit gets in here and I keel over from inhaling poison, 's your fault.
( because look: jason's down, he's not moving, he's perfectly still, offering no further assistance but also making it damn clear he's not a threat either. or trying not to be one currently. whether or not that lasts depends on how stupid tim decides he's going to be today, but he's trying. )
i have plenty of excuses but I'M HOME NOW ofc feel free to discard this
It's cold as hell
(ha-- funny)
and divided attention between methodically moving to effectively seal them in this coffin (far less funny) and straining his ears for any movement out of place is quickly bringing Tim to a cold sweat.
He remembers the sting of the fog and is stepping on the heels of his wading boots to get wet socks off of his pained feet when he says,] Don't worry about the fog but you're in for a real treat when the ghosts come back to visit.
[Timmy's taken too many hits to the head in his short life; he doesn't really hear his own dang voice until he's barefoot and halfway twisted up the lone tube of chimney above the wood stove. With that job done (and with a parting shudder as the last of the outside world is locked out), Tim cringes again. This time in belated but no less sincere] Okay, I didn't mean it like that-- [it's like, both apologetic and not, in that way that sheltered and unworldly affluent people often are.
Christ, what does that even mean?
Resolution is forged in fire, but it's all about the brittle freeze here in the Northern Territories. Tim straightens up and squares his jaw and tries not to think about his teeth, like, exploding. Facing Jason- Red Hood-- the one bastard who drilled it into Tim's head to never meet his heroes (also funny because of the extent of the hero community weaved into his life and very fibers of being)...]
There's only one thing left to do.
[Hear that voice? It's suspiciously like the voice of Him From Five Seconds Ago, but Tim is fortunately now older and wiser. Technically. So...]
it's too late, i'm dedicated to seeing where this goes now.
he figures - the priority here is to make sure the place is locked down, that they aren't going to keel over and die from whatever the hell that fog bullshit is, and they can get around to handling everything else later. prioritizing. see? jason's plenty capable of it. enough he keeps his hands behind him, enough he leans forward against the back of the chair, slouches into it, and looks as off guard as any bat can. he isn't here to start shit with tim. hell, he'd prefer it if they didn't start shit, because jason already pissed off bruce (again) just before he got here, he's got enough crap going on between that bullshit and ending up here with minimal answers, minimal resources, and apparently - two little bats who have already been rampaging around.
the ghosts comment earns a quiet snort, but nothing else. isn't that jason's job? to come back around and haunt them all like the ghost of christmas past he is.
and then the tim who had been threatening him with a bo comes back with a vengeance, and jason doesn't sit up, but he does still his foot. tips his head back a bit like he's thinking of turning around, but isn't yet. he's the new one here, the one who's encroaching on tim's turf, not the other way around.
still. ) If you're planning on coming over here and disarming me, I'm not gonna play Mister Nice Guy anymore. ( but he will be nice and offer a, ) 've got two knives on me. Thigh holster. Belt. But I'm in a real shit mood as is, an' if your sticky fingers get anywhere near 'em, it'll be your ass on the line.
good bc
Tim has never felt so sure.
He spreads his arms out. And commands,]
Hit me.
[--and welcome to Jackass.]
no subject
raises a brow. )
I'm not gonna hit you.
( he could. it wouldn't be much different than any of their sparring or playfights. jason doesn't have an issue with slamming a fist into tim when the situation calls for it, that's just how their lives are. but. )
Have you looked at yourself lately? You're in shit shape as it is.
no subject
He's only mildly disappointed that he can't even take the W because there's not going to be any proof to the fact that he didn't even flinch when Red Hood rounded on him.
The next thought in his noggin is that,] What? Why?
[Klarion the Witch Boy, who so obviously orchestrated this heap of bullshit, must be laughing his butt off.
Tim just... can't, and he swallows back a dry cough, and he's already lost his aggressive bravado when he stalks back to his Bo. (And collapses it.)]
You know, you say that, but only one of us has two working arms.
[--maybe.
And sounding more like himself (in a fever dream he had once where Jason thought of him as a brother or something, har har), Tim adds on, (with the wisdom of someone who's been there done that)]
You're going to want to get that bone set before it needs to be rebroken to heal properly.
[Procrastination leads to a Bad Time.
Or so he's heard.]
no subject
why, tim asks, as if jason not wanting to pummel him is what's off here. he probably deserves that. but it doesn't stop him from rolling his eyes at the comment, and jason's - turning himself around in the chair properly, slouching against the back of it while he watches tim collapse his bo. )
You wanna fix it? ( ignoring the whole hit me bit, because jason isn't in the mood, tim's looking for something that he has no intention of giving him, and jason's already fucked enough without adding tim-caused injuries to his list. ) 'cause I can't exactly set it myself.
no subject
the fog has surrounded the cabin. For now, it doesn't seep in. He shakes
his head, hysterics taking the backseat to practicality.]
No.
[He would lose his one (assumed) advantage.]
Sorry.
[And what the hell is he supposed to do about Damian? He needs to reach the
brat before.... before...
Tim shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He might as well be naked
with the lack of clothes he now has on. (Note to self, do NOT ever repeat
the word 'naked' when at a standoff with Red Hood.) Tim hopes the restless
fidget will be brushed aside as a poor attempt at warming himself.]
Welcome to Canada. Rugged Individualism is a thing here.
no subject
's fine. ( tim's a planner, jason's brute force and muscle, and aside from what's been left around in the shoddy cabin, he doesn't have much to turn to his advantage. leaving jason down an arm both gives him something good to hit if he needs to shove him over, and leaves jason full of openings that tim'll know just how to hit if it does turn into a fight.
with a cheeky grin, he offers a, ) I do just fine with the one.
( it'll need to get fixed sooner rather than later, tim's right on that front. he'll add track down damian and ask him for a hand to his list of things to do after the fog clears up - because jason's not asking someone else for a hand fixing himself up. )
And at least when I grow a beard to fit in, it won't look nearly as ridiculous as your attempt does.
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[Or so he figures, but now isn't the time to mull over what Jack neglected to tell his only son.]
That thing out there? Not the giant mutant wild cats, the Big Bad Magic? I know you heard it. If you just woke up... I know you can still feel it.
That's what we're up against.
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( the magic bit. the extremely uncomfortable feeling that settled low in his gut ever since he woke up in the snow. it also means they're going to have to work together to get out of this, which, given tim's current stance - )
I'm not gonna hurt you. ( not intentionally. not without good reason. jason may be prone to losing his shit in a fit of violence, but he's not angry at tim. and he's gotten himself more under control than he used to be. ) We're not on opposite sides of the playing field.
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Tim paces to his left, bo tapping distractedly at the log walls of this prison.]
There's the Darkwalker. It seems to pick victims at... random. Often single people, but there's been a group of men who were devoured by it. No sign of trauma. No poison. Empty stomachs and the bodies are all frozen in fear. And that's it. That's what it does to us. What can we do against it? I don't know.
[Actually-] Someone was making talismans, but the effects are yet to be seen. I guess.
[--]
Goodsir can set and splint your arm like he did mine. There's immediate concerns to the town that... I think you can help with.
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tim paces, and jason stays where he's at: 'comfortably' slouched while he lets tim have control of the room. it's not as if he has any need for it. not now. )
Yeah? Like what?
( it's not his town. he hasn't been here all that long, and most of it has been spent trying to figure out what the hell is going on. unsuccessfully, for the most part. )