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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
Yeah, it's a big moment for me, too.
[ It would be great if she didn't actually have to shoot this guy, seeing as she's not a legendary gunslinger with ambidextrous aim. She'd probably get him in the leg and then they'd have an awkward few minutes waiting for him to bleed out, and nobody wants that. ]
Tell you what: you put that knife away, and I won't shoot you with it. How's that for a 'welcome to the neighborhood' deal?
no subject
( it'd take her a minute to pull the trigger. sure, he's betting she'd still hit something, which would really, really suck for him. but there's something about her threatening him with a nice, shiny gun that makes jason just that much more of an idiot. it might not even be her aim. hell, it might just be the thrumming headache right behind jason's eyes that's fucking him over, but he's opted to run with it being her. )
You a rightie? Man, I bet having to nurse that arm's real inconvenient. Me? I'm a leftie, ( with a nod down to the hand that's still holding the knife up. ) but I shoot great with both.
( what he wouldn't give to have one of his trusty glocks on him right now. who the fuck ran off with his guns? )
How about I make you a counteroffer? You put down the gun, save your ammo, an' I'll put down the knife. You won't even have to teach me how to play cards, I've been playing at the big boys' table since I was half your size.
no subject
You know what? You're right.
[ Sugar-sweet, even as she shifts Peacemaker's muzzle down, away from center mass, until that gleaming barrel is aimed directly at his crotch.
She might not be a leftie, but she's pretty damn sure she can do some real damage, anyway. ]
So, that was what, like two years ago?
[ He doesn't actually look that much younger than her, but why let facts get in the way? ]
Whatever. How about this: you put your knife away first, and I won't take away every romantic evening between you and your left hand for the rest of your life.
no subject
(the head trauma really isn't helping him here, but in his defense: he's this big of an idiot all the time regardless.)
some people might take having a gun aimed at their crotch as a good sign to, you know, do what the person holding the gun says. jason? jason's legs shift minutely, leaving a better target for her to hit but more importantly, gets his weight onto his knees. just in case her fingers do get a little trigger-happy. )
Try me. I'm betting the recoil'll fuck up your aim more than you trying it left-handed will. But if you're gonna shoot me with that thing, you're gonna lose it. I've always wanted a piece I could pretend to be good ol' Wyatt Earp with.
no subject
Well, this would be the one to do it with. It was his gun.
[ And she'd just as soon not shoot a man in cold blood with it, no matter how much of a dick he's being. He's right, too; Peacemaker's kick would send her shot wide. She hasn't practiced enough with her left hand, and her right arm is starting to ache in this chill. ]
Be a good boy and I'll let you take a look up close.
no subject
( but he does - quirk a brow, teasing lilt leaving his voice for a moment to ask, )
Wait, really?
no subject
[ She can just about hear Doc's velvety Georgia drawl. Wyatt Earp christened it Peacemaker.
She hasn't cocked the gun yet. If he's an aficionado, he'll know: you can't fire a Buntline without cocking it first. ]
He was my great-great granddaddy. And there's no way in hell you're taking his gun from me.
no subject
( his head tips, the smarmy grin back on his lips. )
A cheat, a pimp, a claim-jumper, con artist, and -
( a pause, which to most might seem like he's mulling it over. pulling off memory from history books read ages ago.
instead, it's a pause meant to pull her in, piss her off maybe, and jason's using the moment to lurch forward. the gun isn't cocked, she's close enough it only takes a good three paces for him to cut across to where she's at, wrap his fingers around the barrel of the gun and point it off above his shoulder.
he'd yank to take it, but it's not his goal here. disarming her is. )
- a career criminal, wasn't he?
no subject
[ There's no change in her eyes as he lists off all the worst things about Wyatt Earp— she knows them all. Knows exactly what kind of man he was, what made him famous.
He lurches forward and grabs Peacemaker's barrel and oh god she wishes he were a rev and this was home so she'd have the satisfaction of seeing Peacemaker burn his palm off. It doesn't, but he's given her a different opening— and permission, as far as she's concerned, to escalate this.
Which is why she allows him to drag not just Peacemaker forward, but her, too, bringing her in close enough that when she shifts her weight to her left leg, she can send the sole of her right boot slamming into the inside of his left knee. ]
Crazy runs in the family.
no subject
well. that's never a pleasant experience, now is it? he bites down on the inside of his cheek, half between opening his mouth for another smarmy comment when he drops down onto one knee. yanks her forward with real intent this time, so he can twist his body a little and shove the elbow of his opposite arm into her side. it's a real, real shit move, especially considering how much it hurts to move his arm, but.
well. from this distance and this height, he's running a little low on moves that don't involve leaving gashes in her, and they're playing, not mauling each other. yet. )
no subject
She doesn't... scream, that is. She bites it down, the cords of her neck standing out with the effort of not yelling in pain, and reaches for the back of his head with her free hand.
Which is a mistake. Her free hand is her right hand, which is attached to her right arm, which is currently alight with pain she never knew existed before, but she needs to curve her fingers around the back of his skull so she can better ensure the knee she pushes up and stabs forward will hit him in the bridge of the nose. ]
Enough—
[ She's not screaming. But her voice sure sounds like it wants to be. ]
—flirting. Let go, asshole!
no subject
but she's shoving his head down as he tries to shove her over. her knee comes up and slams into his face. jason hears the crunch of cartilage as his nose breaks before he feels it, and then there's the rush of blood that comes with taking a hard hit to the face, dripping down onto the floor as jason--doesn't make a sound but opens his mouth. drags his tongue across his cheek where he'd just bitten down hard enough to make that bleed, too. and he
he needs a minute. maybe a few. his head's swimming, his vision's going a little fucky, but the stubborn part of him that refuses to let go regardless of how fucked his body is manages to keep a good hold on the gun even as his head ducks down.
gives a choked laugh around the blood spilling from his mouth, his nose, and yanks on the barrel. )
Hot. ( poor word choice, even if it's true. he's still not letting go. considers instead getting up to his feet, but with how fucked his head is, he doubts he'll stay up all that long. ) 'mon, sweetheart. Wanna get your toy back? 'ry harder.
whoops cws this whole time for blood & injury I guess
[ Gotta be, with that blood-stained grin, the way he's still holding onto Peacemaker, and that's what ends up fucking her over — he's still grabbing onto the barrel and she's bent over and off-balance, and he's got probably fifty to seventy-five pounds on her — the shift he makes sends her finally sprawling onto her back in the snow with a strangled grunt of pain.
Okay. Maybe it's more of a yelp. Her right arm is ablaze, hot with agony, and her left hand and wrist give a yelp of their own in surprised pain at the sudden and uncomfortable angle they're asked to take in her attempt to hang onto Peacemaker. Her head thumps back into the snow and the ground beneath, and for one breathless moment she sees stars.
She is so getting yelled at again. ]
...Okay. What if I ask really nicely?
oops.
or they were, until opens her mouth again and he's releasing the gun entirely. letting go of the tension in his frame and falls face-first into the snow with a low, pained grunt.
the snow feels great on his face, at least. really helps with the throbbing pain in his goddamn nose. he'll need to sit himself up in a minute, fix that before it gets worse, but that's a problem for him to solve - in a minute. not right now. right now, he's enjoying the snow. )
Manners'll get you everywhere.
no subject
And yet I didn't even have to say please.
[ She lifts her left hand and the gun with way more effort than it normally takes, settles both on her stomach, safely away from the snow she's still lying in. ]
If you busted my gun, I'm kicking your ass again.
[ But it's said conversationally, without a hint of heat to it. She doesn't know who this guy is, but she almost wants thank him for this; she'd needed something to hit. (She'd needed to get hit back, something not even March might understand, another aspect of her impetuous nature for Little to lecture her about if he ever learns about it.) It's amazing how much better she feels now, even with her arm shrieking in pain. ]
no subject
that's a later problem. right now, he's just fine here, turning his head just a little to the side so he can speak without it being as muffled. )
I didn't hurt your baby. You think I'd do that to such a nice piece?
( his words are a little slurred--maybe in part due to how much his brain has been rattled inside his goddamn skull, and in part due to being face down in snow, but aside from how one eye is slightly more dilated than the other, he looks like he's probably fine.
probably. )
I ain't a monster.
no subject
[ That's fine; she is, too. She lies there for another second, then awkwardly shoves Peacemaker back into the holster before getting to her knees and then her feet with a series of pained grunts.
Once she's up — and once her head has stopped spinning — she leans over, hand outstretched to him. ]
Come on. Can't let you freeze to death out here. What the hell kind of welcome would that be?
[ What the hell kind of welcome was this, Wynonna??? ]
no subject
( he just might. it is cold as hell out here. he considers pushing her hand away and getting himself up, but realizes he, too, is a little extra dizzy. so he takes the offered hand, uses it to balance himself against as he pushes himself up to his feet. to get out fo the snow. )
no subject
[ She's sore all over; she's going to be black and blue everywhere by tomorrow. But at least her face is still in one piece. Small favors.
She's got to lean back against his weight — he's big. Six feet, easy, with probably a hundred pounds on her, and she sends up a short, silent thanks to Dolls for all the training. ]
But you complimented my gun, so I'd like to keep you around for a while.
no subject
It's a good piece. Who wouldn't call her pretty?
( with a grin, which he easily redirects wynonna's way. )
Not as pretty as her owner, but close.
no subject
Glad to see you've got good taste.
[ In guns? In women? She doesn't clarify. She watches him brush snow off himself, studies the outfit he's wearing. It looks more like a uniform of some kind than anything else. ]
What's your name?
no subject
Red. ( it's close enough to a name; jason'll answer to it, which is really what's important here, isn't it? ) And yours?
( since they're exchanging pleasantries and all. )
no subject
[ Red. Be more obvious about not wanting to give your name, kid. ]
Whatever you say, Shawshank.
[ She double-checks her gunbelt and holster, then flips her hair over her shoulder and starts combing snow out of it. ]
Wynonna Earp.
no subject
( but he's grinning, playful and easy. reaches a hand out to grab onto a few strands of hair she'd missed to get the snow out of it, too. see? he's helping. )
If it makes you feel better, you can call me Mal. As in, John Malone.
( also not his name. but it's better than john smith, his usual prison default. )
no subject
Was that so hard?
[ Mal. Fine. ]
Now I know what to call you when I tell Goodsir I broke your nose. Come on, Mal. You've made me wait to get back to town long enough.
(no subject)