singillatim | but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

JANUARY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: NASCENCE: Following the strange dream at new year, a three-day Aurora takes place. During which, Interlopers discover a possible ally in the mysterious woman heard in the static and heard in the dream — potentially earning new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — ADUST: The Interlopers find out what happened to the owners of long-destroyed Milton House in the form of hauntings.

PROMPT THREE — THE VISITOR: Interlopers find themselves with an unwelcome visitor — a shadow doppelganger here to make everything absolutely worse.

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

WHEN: January 13th - 15th.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being burned alive; some minor supernatural horror; some minor ‘ghost’ horror/hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.

In the middle of the month, it happens. A herald. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night: The Aurora has come.

Much of what happened previously happens again: Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering at times. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, both only occasionally blaring standard emergency broadcasts. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

There are still some instances of the ‘ghosts’ from the previous Auroras, but they are now only faint outlines, and far fewer in number. However, whilst the Aurora would usually only last until the next morning on sporadic nights over the month — this time it will last for a full three days. The world is plunged into darkness, a seemingly endless night with only the Aurora to light the skies.

On the second night of lights and noise, a voice calls out to you: static-like, and distant — as if someone speaks over a radio. A woman’s voice. It is the same one you’ve been hearing for a few weeks now, but finally it is far stronger than the scant whispers of name and the word ‘help’. She is far clearer now.

“You.” she says. She may whisper your name, too. “I see you.” You’re unable to speak back, the communication is only one way. She sounds upset, but there’s something more… a kind of wonder, perhaps.

”It’s not just a regular aurora borealis, but then you probably worked that out already, haven’t you? It’s so much more than that. Everything is… changing.”

”I don’t know how you can go back. But— but I can help. Maybe. Maybe I can make this place easier, somehow. I need help, but I’m stuck—” There’s frustration in her voice for a moment. ”It took from you. Took you away. It doesn’t always have to take. We can take, too. Sleep. I will help you take back. You will survive this. You will not go into the Dark. This is not the end.”

You have no idea what that means, for the most part. But you might just end up taking the chance and doing as the woman asked, even if it’s difficult with the noise and light with the Aurora. Sleep, and a dream may come to you.

FREE RUNNER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are a magnificent stag, galloping through the snowy woods with ease. You seem to go on and on, never tiring, never slowing. You feel like the wind, or perhaps the very wind itself carries you. Not once do you stumble or fall, even when the snow is thick and deep, or the ground is shaky and uneven beneath you. You feel free.

When you awaken, you feel the most refreshed you’ve ever felt since you first came here. For the final day of the Aurora, you are bursting with energy and even when the lights in the sky fade — that revitalised feeling within you remains. There’s something within you that understands: you are the Free Runner. The ground will yield beneath you, your energy will not desert you, the wind will carry you.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Light Bringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. A woman’s voice calls to you, it is the same voice that spoke to you before you slept: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

ADUST

WHEN: From mid-month to month end.
WHERE: Milton House.
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; ghosts; mental manipulation; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing.

There is a reason why it is advised to avoid Milton House other than the simple fact that it’s a miracle the house is still standing. Once one of the largest buildings in the town of Milton, it is now a former shell of what was once a fine and grand house. It has lain in ruin for many years, dilapidated and host to a great deal of fire damage.

While he is in town, Methuselah will not speak of the place, but he often looks sad when it has been brought up in conversation. “A great tragedy.” he will say before falling into a pensive silence. “A blackened mark on the town’s memory.” He does not wish to say much more of what happened: sometimes there are things that are just too painful. He will continue to advise the ruin is left alone, out of respect, and the fact that the place is a danger.

Of course, advice will not stop anyone from attempting to get into the ruins and exploring the house, even if it is in fact highly dangerous.

The sounds of voices and whispers may be enough to pique anyone’s interest. You're sure you heard something, maybe you should go to check it out?

It is true in the fact that the house itself is incredibly dangerous structurally: floors and stairs may give way and you’ll find your foot (and half of you) falling right through the floorboards. Damp and rot that have long since set in, and it will be dangerous to breathe in. But you’ll find that the house itself is pretty ordinary: this was once a family home. Just about the entirety of the house and its contents aren't salvageable, but you’ll be able to find out a little about who once lived here.

There are faded, half-destroyed photos that show a family of five: a father, mother, and three young children all under the age of ten. The father with warm, beaming smiles, the mother has kind eyes, the two oldest boys with toothy grins much like their father, the younger girl looks shy, wanting to hide against her mother. They look happy. Just a typical family. In a world where so many strange things are happening, it feels so strange to look upon these family photos and around this home to realise that they simply lost their home in a house fire.

But as you hold a family picture, or some half-destroyed trinket: a toy, a shoe, a book, a vase, you’ll find the item will suddenly catch alight, bursting into flames in your very hands. The flames do not burn you, and as you discard the item, it will fall to the floor as if nothing had happened.

Then, it comes to you. Here and there. Different sensations that stop and start suddenly: the house groans and creaks around you; the smell of smoke enters your nose; the sound of fire cracking and popping with a roar fills your ears; the sensation of heat against your skin; the clawing and suffocating feeling in your lungs that makes you cough and choke; the sounds of terrified shrieks of children echoing above you. Feelings flood you: fear, panic. When you next turn around, the entire house is aflame around you, and you can’t tell if this is real or if you’re reliving some terrifying memory.

You need to leave, get out of here. For some, it will be what comes naturally. You’ll have to fight through the flames and escape the house before it burns down completely around you. You’ll have to fight your way out, find an exit not already consumed by flames — through a window, perhaps. Crashing out of the house and into the snow, you’ll look back and see Milton House just as you entered it: nothing more than a half-burned ruin.

But for others, there will be another pull. You are drawn upstairs, to the screams of children. You need to get to them, to help them, save them. You will battle through the flames, heading towards the ruins of what was a child’s bedroom, or towards the bathroom. Inside either, you will find a figure cowering, engulfed wholly in flames: one in the bathtub or one in the closet. You recognise them as the two sons from the family pictures.

Mom. They will call you. Or Dad. They weep, terrified of the flames. I’m scared, I’m scared. I want the fire to go away. Help me. Stay here.

The tragedy of Milton House is before you. More than just a fire. What is more tragic than the death of a child? What silences voices? Breaks spirits? Leaves one helpless to act in the wake of such a passing?

There is something to be done here. You are not so powerless. Calm the child. Offer gentle assurances. They will get out. They are safe. You are there for them. You will stay. Embracing them will set you alight. Too hot. Too bright. It will hurt, but you won’t burn. But don’t let go; holding them will eventually calm them down enough for the flames to grow dim, to slowly ease their spirits to rest.

Soon enough, the flames will go out and the child will disappear, leaving you alone in a decaying, dilapidated room.

In the churchyard of Milton, there is a family grave by the name of Barker. Three lie within it: Thomas it reads, and his beloved sons, Patrick and Christopher.

THE VISITOR

WHEN: The month of January.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: erything absolutely worse.
THE VISITOR — CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; dream-related horror/disturbing dreams; doppelgangers; themes of depression; themes of self-harm; themes of isolation; potential themes of suicide.

It seems the dream of the New Year and the Aurora dreams are not the only odd sleep-related instances occurring this month. You first notice that something is off when a strange dream pulls you from sleep. The dream may feel like any particular dream you have, whether it be a usual nightmare or strange concoction your brain has conjured up for you this night. Maybe it’s a dream you’ve had before, maybe it’s a new dream entirely. But no matter the dream, there is one thing that is odd about it. In tiny moments within the dream, you notice that there is something different, something that feels out of place. Something is there that shouldn’t be.

A figure, tall and silent, entirely made of shadow stands lurking in the background. It looks human, but there is not much more that you can really describe further. It is a sad, unsettling presence.

When you awaken, eyes bleary from sleep, and you look about the room, to the bottom of your bed, for a half-moment you see that figure standing there silently. That unsettling sadness permeates the room, and after a few seconds of blinking and sitting up — the figure disappears. Perhaps it was just some trick of the mind, some half-awake illusion.

But the next time you sleep, it appears again. The same figure, the same emotions surrounding it. And when you awaken, it stands at the bottom of your bed once more. Only this time, it lingers, and you find yourself staring down the figure before it disappears once more.

Over the next several days, the presence continues to linger more and more. It stands silently in the corner of the room of your home; it hovers by the window, staring out into the snow; it stands in the middle of the road as you go about your business. More and more, it is there. Always standing, always watching — silent and sad.

No one else seems to notice it, only you. And over time, the shape of it seems to change — the vague, undefined shape of it slowly shifts into something you recognise. The same hair, the same height, the same way it holds itself: it is exactly like you. A perfect doppelganger, a second shadow. And with it, it exudes an oppressive sadness, a particular kind of loneliness. It is suffocating, bleeding into you.

It makes you withdraw from the world around you, from the people around you. Perhaps you stop spending time with others, retreating into solitude. You hide from others, keep to yourself. You find yourself not sleeping at all or perhaps sleeping too much. Perhaps what little you already eat becomes nothing. The shadowy doppelganger draws ever closer to you, close enough to touch you - ever hovering at your shoulder. Its presence bores down on you, making you feel small and more and more alone even with its ‘company’. No one else can seem to see it but you, mentioning it to others will earn odd looks, or even concern. It seems you and your double are alone together.

Hopefully, those around you will notice the change in you. How you stopped reaching out, how you’ve stopped taking care of yourself. Hopefully they will see something isn’t right and reach out. You are doomed to the doppelganger's company otherwise.

However, those around you can push the shadowy double away, and can break its influence and hold over you. Genuine care and concern for you will have it shrinking back. Perhaps it is a kind word, perhaps it is the gentle but insisting coaxing to eat. Perhaps it is an attentive ear to listen to your thoughts, to how the presence has made you feel. Maybe it is even the simplest of touches, an embrace or the holding of a hand, the grip of a shoulder. Continued connection with you will slowly have the visitor’s power diminish.

And hopefully it is done before it is too late, or it may be all too easy to fade into the Long Dark.

FAQs

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

1. Aurora Feats are now unlocked! Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

2. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After January, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

3. This Aurora will last a full three days. It will be a period of only night.

4. For more information on the ghostly loops seen during the Aurora, see this previous event, under 'The Aurora: Aftershocks' prompt.

5. For new players who would like a little extra context regarding the woman can look at December's Tales From The Northern Territories, under the 'New Happenings in December' section.

ADUST

1. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

2. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

3. The children cannot leave the house. They will be too scared to leave. In addition, they are tethered to the house, given that this is where they died. Simply being calmed/comforted is the best way to help them and they will disappear after that.

THE VISITOR

1. An Interloper's Visitor can't be seen by anyone but the Interloper themselves.

2. The Visitor can be spoken to, but it will not speak back. It cannot be interacted with and is intangible.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ A hard jolt goes through her at the sound of an unexpected voice, animating her for the first time in what feels like hours. ]

God, don't you knock?

[ Or had he knocked? She grimaces, runs a hand over her face, and sets aside the pillow she'd been holding onto to get up. Her feet are bare, and the floor is cold. Did she really almost let the fire go out? ]

Nothing's –

[ Out of the corner of her eye, that shadow with her hair and her silhouette shifts. She swallows, throat working, cutting a sidelong glance at it. It doesn't speak, standing silent just behind the rocking chair she'd covered with blankets but hasn't been using. ]

Do you see that?

[ The way she startled and snaps at him doesn't even seem to faze Bigby. Really, he's had ruder greetings than this one.. It hardly even registers on the scale.. Especially when the man's thoughts are much busier trying to figure out what's going on here, or why Wynonna would allow herself to fall into this sort of state in the first place. She sure doesn't seem like the type to leave her door ajar, for one.

.. but then she speaks, and it's only more alarming. The man frowns and looks in the direction she's staring, careful to follow her gaze.

Though.. ]

I don't see anything.

[ And while some people might dismiss it as her hallucinating. Bigby knows better. If he didn't know from back home that sometimes things can be off without you seeing anything yourself, then this place would have taught him that.

He stares for another moment at the empty spot, like he might see what she's seeing, but then just ends up stepping close to Wynonna.

(It's not protectively at all, okay. D-Don't misunderstand! He's just.. wandering!!) ]

What are you seeing?

[ She barely notices when he comes up next to her, gruff and straightforward. Her own voice is small, distant... almost dreamy. ]

It's me.

[ Not Willa after all. Or Daddy, or any of the others she ever expected to come for her. ]

Like a... shadow of myself. It's been here for days.

[ Maybe longer. Maybe it's always been here and she'd just never seen it before. Wouldn't that explain how familiar it feels? Like those awful days after the attack, when her mind had cut loose from reality. ]

...just me. It's just been me.

[ A shadow of her?

Bigby can't think of anything he's seen like that. Not of himself, nor of anyone else in this place. But he's fully willing to believe that it's really there. Why else would Wynonna seem so different from how he's seen her before? Nothing about this suits her. It only makes sense if there really is some creature, some being, some boogeyman that's..

.. god, wait, it's sapping everything that makes her her, isn't it? It's like her energy got drained or something. Is it trying to absorb her? Bigby can't be sure, but it's not like there aren't enough tales of being like that where he comes from.

And he of all people knows just how damn real tales can be. ]

Hey. [ His voice is sharper now, like it's trying to call the woman to attention. Despite him not being the most physical person ever - not outside of fights, anyway - his hand reaches out, landing across her arm, like it's showing her there's another physical presence here, that she too is a physical presence. ] Look at me.

[ He'll wait a moment, but if she needs a little more help to snap out of that dreamy state, he'll add: ]

Over here. Not at that thing.

[ She blinks at his sharp voice, then glances down at the hand on her arm. It feels so strange, like those few inches he's touching are the only parts of her that are real and solid and feeling.

Obedience has never been a strong point with her, but there's something in his voice she can't ignore; some command, mixed with something else. Concern? Annoyance? Whatever it is, it shakes her loose of her drifting thoughts, and for a second she blinks her eyes clear of their haze. ]

Peacemaker didn't work on it.

[ Had she even told him about Peacemaker? Has she told anyone here about Peacemaker? She can't remember. It's hard to remember much past the cold, empty cabin, the photo. She'd run into a fire only days ago – or is it weeks? – to save Waverly... no, not Waverly. The boys. And she hadn't saved them. She hasn't managed to save anyone. Being the Heir isn't about saving people, no matter what she'd told herself. It's about being the best killer she can be.

Her thoughts have drifted again. With an effort, she focuses on Bigby. ]

Not that it works on anything other than flesh and blood here... you really don't see anything?

[ She blows out a slightly shaky breath. The floor of the cabin is ice-cold under her feet, but she doesn't feel herself shivering. ]

Well. That's probably not great.

[ Bigby exhales, but doesn't move. He doesn't even pull his hand off her arm, like he's keeping it there as long as she still is minimally reactive like this. ]

Yeah. Not great. [ .. still, it's not like he's going to fake optimism where it isn't warranted. He's not just going to tell her it'll be okay for sure when he isn't sure what to do about this situation yet. Especially when Bigby's main solution (of beating things up) doesn't exactly work on something he can't see.

He figures the best thing he can do right now is most likely just to not leave her alone with it until he figures out more. ]

.. what's Peacemaker?

[ Maybe that's better. Give Wynonna something to focus on in her current state. It somehow seems like her mind is so far away, like she's in a haze-- maybe talking about something familiar to her might help things snap back into place.

Less commanding this time, and perhaps even - by Bigby standards, anyway - a little more gentle: ] Tell me about it.

[ Her glance – usually so clear, now so dull and distant – drifts past him, to the gun on the table. She'd taken such good care of it up until now, but it's been days since she's even touched it; maybe a week or more. Dust clings to the gun, dulling the gunmetal and the usually gleaming ivory. ]

That's Peacemaker.

[ A single action antique Colt revolver with a twelve inch barrel – she knows everything about it by heart. Its weight in her palm, the tick-tick-tick-tick of the hammer cocking. Even now, she can hear the echo of the gun's thunderous report in her memory. ]

You familiar with Wyatt Earp?

[ Why not tell him everything? Why has she even bothered keeping it a secret? It was always going to come out, in the end. ]

[ There's something familiar about this.

Yet not at all.

After all, this is the way someone might talk about a weapon back home. A Fable object. Like Woody and his axe - something that has special meaning enough to have a name, to have a story. To have a meaning. It's not like Bigby doesn't know that mundies also put value on objects, but it almost feels like there's something a little more here.

Maybe it's just the way she talks about it, despite the fact that it still looks like all signs of life left Wynonna.

Still, it's enough to get Bigby to pay full attention. Even if she might not be in the right state to notice, it still shows in his gaze by the time he looks away from the gun and back to her. ]

No, I'm not.

[ But he can make a guess. Maybe she could use some nudging along anyway, while she's in this state. ]

Original owner of that gun?

Edited 2024-01-30 22:25 (UTC)

[ She nods, slow. Everything feels slow and impossibly far away. ]

And my great-great granddaddy.

[ I do reckon I know that gun, comes Doc's voice, drawling in her memory. Wyatt Earp christened it Peacemaker.

What a load of crap. As if peace ever came about because a Marshal rolled into town, guns blazing. As if it's given her any kind of peace, and not the crushing burden of Wyatt's bloody legacy. ]

It used to be magic. Killed all kinds of things: demons, ghosts. [ Daddy. ] Not anymore, though. Maybe it's dead.

Edited 2024-01-31 19:32 (UTC)

[ Oh. That object definitely is what Bigby thought it is, then. Maybe not from his own world, but something similar from another. Something that carries power inside of it.

He slowly exhales. ]

Look. [ For a moment he contemplates sitting down next to her, but with how Wynonna's head barely seems to move, like her gaze is fixed or her body too slow, Bigby instead moves to kneel down in front of her, just so he remains within her field of view without awkwardly hovering over her. ] I doubt any of this is about that gun.

[ He gestures around with his hand a little when he says 'this' - probably meaning Wynonna's current state.

Bigby believes what he says. But while he's still unable to ascertain whatever exactly is wrong with Wynonna, he might as well go down this track first, see where it gets things. ]

But you should know that this place takes the magic out of everything. It's got nothing to do with you. If that thing is just a normal gun right now, it's because of whatever weirdass thing this place is doing to us, not because of you.

[ She's too tired to lift her head to look at him, so it's a distant relief when he kneels down in front of her, looking up into her face. He tells her it isn't her fault, which is a kind thing to say, but she shakes her head, slow. Barely a movement at all. Maybe it's this place that's leeching the power from Peacemaker, but isn't she the one who brought it here? ]

How do you even know that?

[ Her voice is a mumble, the words barely discernible. Her hair hangs lank and lifeless around the pale drawn oval of her face. ]

I was never supposed to be the Heir. Always the fuck up.

[ Here, too. Running from the strain of being in the Community Hall and out into the blizzard, risking other people's lives. Getting blind drunk in the middle of the town. Sleeping with March, letting a vampire bite her, all so she could feel something other than self-loathing, just for a little while.

He's looking up at her, but her glance is beginning to drift again, sliding back over to the shadow that's standing there, waiting. It knows she's right. Whatever happens to her here, she deserves it. ]

Maybe this place knows I never deserved it. Why should I have any magic?

Fuck that.

[ Maybe Bigby should think a little bit more about his response.

'Thinking about his responses', however, isn't exactly very much of a Bigby activity. Not when the words she's saying draw such a natural instinct out of him. Even if he doesn't know the full context, other than putting together the pieces that she's the heir to some sort of.. gun ownership, at least, if not an outright monster hunting job, he still feels the words shooting right out of his mouth.

Because he refuses to think of this any other way.

His voice rises in volume, though he's not outright yelling. More just speaking very intensely. ] What's this place to tell you anything like that? Who would anyone be to tell you that?

[ Forced into a role you feel like you can't live up to. One you feel like you keep screwing up in.

Isn't that familiar? ]

If you're doing your best to do good in your own way, then fuck whatever anyone else tells you. You know what you're doing.

[ He pauses. There's more Bigby could say here, but he first wants to make sure he isn't losing her, especially with the way her gaze drifts. ]

You hear me?

[ There's a growl to Bigby's voice when he gets animated, and that, along with the words he's pushing at her, hit her with a zing like she's bitten into a lemon. It's enough of a shock that, for a moment, her eyes clear and life bleeds back into her expression. Doc's voice, telling her she needs to be harder, colder; Dolls' voice, berating her for shooting that rev at the ranch – both of them dissipate like a cloud.

They don't mince their words. But neither does Bigby. He's got no reason to lie to her; he barely knows her, and he doesn't seem like someone who gives a shit if he says something someone doesn't want to hear. ]

Yeah. I hear you. I... there's a curse.

[ Words she hasn't spoken since she came here. She told Ruby about the revs, but the curse is different; the curse is personal.

She swallows, and doesn't notice the shadow twin drifting further away. All she knows is things seem a little clearer, that she can feel his warmth and her own chill. She blinks, bewildered by the sudden clarity in her vision, and glances back at Peacemaker. ]

That gun's part of it.

I'm trying, you know? Trying to break the curse. To protect people. But they still hate me.

[ It's like Bigby's stomach makes a freefall all the way into his shoes. It's what it feels like on the inside, anyway, hearing that last part. It'd be one thing to just listen to Wynonna talk about a curse - if anything, it's a concept that's likely more familiar to Bigby than to most people, given just how many of the other Fables had to deal with curses.

His own lycantropy is a curse too, technically. Different from hers though, judging by the way Wynonna is talking here.

But that last sentiment? God, it's too familiar. And it's the one thing Bigby has no solution for. How do you get people to stop hating you when you're trying to do what's best for them, when you're trying to protect them, when you're getting hurt for it every single day and people still chew you up and spit you out?

He doesn't know. If only he knew.

Maybe it's why his sigh is a little heavier, his gaze momentarily turning away before the man realises he has to look back at Wynonna. He can't lose her attention now he's finally gotten it. He can't leave her rotting here in her home alone.

So he looks at her again, tries to ignore the way he can feel something more troubled appeared in his own gaze while thinking about all this. ]

How about here? [ He has a little more faith in that. Some people here know what he is. Most of them didn't treat him like crap for it. ] Has anyone hated you here? Or given you shit?

[ Her gaze had started to drift before he looks back at her and she blinks her focus back on his face, wondering dully about the expression in his eyes. It’s different now, not just the worry hidden behind sternness from earlier. ]

Here?

[ For a second, it’s not Bigby’s she’s hearing but another one, asking her did someone upset you? like she’s not the one usually handing out shit before it can get dropped on her doorstep.

She’d made the mistake of thinking that just because someone asked that question it meant they gave a damn. But why would anyone here care? Even if they don’t hate her the way they do at home. And that’s probably a temporary state of affairs.

But she shakes her head at Bigby’s words. So far, at least, the animosity and hostility haven’t started springing up in every word people say to her, here. ]

No.

[ She can’t help a brief, sardonic puff of laughter. ]

If anything, I’m the one giving them shit. Because why not shoot myself in the foot when I’ve got a chance, right?

I think the only person you're giving shit right now is yourself, Wynonna.

[ Maybe this is the sort of advice Bigby should be giving himself, but.. you know. Pot, kettle and all that. It's just so much easier to say when it's someone else. When Bigby wants her to treat herself better, especially in the middle of whatever kind of state she is right now. It doesn't even matter that he's not close to her.

He still wants her to be okay. ]

I bet there's plenty of people in town who'd be damn worried to know you're just sitting in here like this, not doing anything. Letting yourself waste away. [ A slight pause, since it's a little harder to admit, especially with Bigby being Bigby not the most emotionally expressive guy ever..

.. but he does try, even if it takes a bit more of forcing himself. ]

Hell, I'm worried to know that. You'll die if you keep this up.

[ Plenty of people, yeah right. Who would even notice if she never showed back up at the Community Hall, or at Goodsir's little clinic, or anywhere else in town? March, maybe. He'd said you're the best thing about this place and he'd sounded sincere, but a lot of people sound sincere when they're drunk. And it's not like she's done a bang up job of befriending people here.

She'd started to think of Little as almost a... not a friend, but an ally, maybe. Someone she's run into now a handful of times, who's chosen to help her each time, even while she's given him basically nothing but lip in return. But even he'd turned his back on her, literally. And when even the world's politest man turns his back on you, you know you're really screwed.

And it's not like March or Little have shown up here, wondering where she's been. She retreats into herself at the thought, and the shadow, unseen by Bigby, moves a little closer, cold. Patient. Just waiting for him to go, too.

... Except he hasn't gone. He'd come here, a guy who barely knows her and has no reason to care about her, and he's still here, trying to talk her out of this empty haze she's floating in. Wynonna uncurls, just a little, meeting his eyes as he says: hell, I'm worried.

He's worried? The guy who warned her about what people here would expect, what they were like? The one who she met on the outskirts of town, just minding his own business?

There's a twitch, then a flicker, at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a curve, but something like the shadow of a smile, carefully poking its head out to see if it's a bad idea to hang around. ]

You big softie.

[ His first reaction is a surprised blink.

It's not even like it's the first time someone has told him this sort of thing completely out of the blue - okay, maybe they didn't use the word softie, and that makes this even stranger, but he's pretty sure they meant about the same thing as Wynonna seems to be trying to say here - but it's surprising all the same. Bigby never sees it coming, and it always feels wrong in a way. He's not soft. Or gentle. He's always out there screwing things up exactly because he's neither of those things, because he's maybe exactly what everyone expects him to be after all. The big bad wolf. A monster.

The way the man ducks his head for a moment seems almost weirdly shy, even though it's born out of not just fluster, but some general awkwardness too. He needs a moment before he can raise his head to actually look at her again. ]

Okay, I know you're really out of it when you start saying stuff like that.

[ There, he'll just downplay it a little - but in a light sort of way, to try and prevent Wynonna from sliding further back in what has taken hold of her. Like it's just a slight joke, even if Bigby isn't great at jokes.

He rises to his feet, but he holds out a hand towards her, waiting for her to take it. ]

C'mon, you should at least get some fresh air outside. Start moving around a little bit. That's how you get the life back into you.

But it's cold out there.

[ It's cold in here, Wynonna. Maybe that's why, despite her whining, she lifts a hand and slips her fingers into Bigby's open palm. When she looks around next, it's not to see if she can spot her shadow twin, it's to try and figure out where she'd put her socks and boots. Her jacket. A scarf, maybe.

Just thinking about all the things she'll need for outside has her shivering, her body finally catching up to the reality that it's almost as frigid here in her cabin as it'll be out in the crisp, frosty air.

But Bigby's hand is warm, and steady, and strong. He came out here and he stayed, just to help her, and she doesn't know how to wrap her head and heart around the small warm feeling now tapping at the inside of her chest. If she weren't so numb, she might recognize it as gratitude. ]

You're not the boss of me.

Sorry, but I'm declaring myself the boss of you right now. You can have the boss title back once you've gone outside.

[ There's almost something a touch amused in his tone as he says it - or it sounds lighthearted, at least. Maybe it's the fluster from a moment ago still having brushed away some of Bigby's usual gruffness, especially when he uses the hand she's given him to help drag her back up onto her feet.

He waits for a moment like that, making sure she's stable and not going to fall right back into the chair, before he lets go to look around the cabin for a moment for.. well, some sort of coat. It takes a moment for him to find it, when it seems like the cabin clearly hasn't been cleaned or anything for a few days, but when he's got it, he returns to Wynonna's side and holds it out to her.

Hopefully she can at least put it on by herself. ]

The faster we do this, the faster you're the boss of you again, y'know.

Sir, yes sir.

[ The sarcasm is back... she must be feeling better, Bigby. Wynonna takes the coat and puts it on, her limbs feeling strangely heavy and slow, like she's moving through water, but she manages. Next step is socks and boots... she finds them where she last left them, half under the bed after getting kicked off. Tugging them on, she gives the laces a desultory tug, then looks up to wrinkle her nose at him.

(Somewhere behind her, the shadow has started drifting away, now half through the cabin wall itself. It's not following her, it's... leaving.) ]

Good enough? Boss?

[ He stares at her getting ready - mostly because he's noting that Wynonna is indeed slowly starting to seem more lively again. Like life left her before, and now it's suddenly slowly returning to her.

It's almost enough to distract him from that last word.

Almost.

Which means he does sure hear it, and Bigby accepts it with a huff and a roll of his eyes. ]

Guess it'll have to do.

[ Considering the energy that seems to return to Wynonna, as long as she's capable of getting back up on her own feet again when she's got those boots on, he'll let her walk by herself, figuring that she should be able to do that again now. Instead the man walks over towards the door, holding it open for her. ]

Time for your return to this cold as shit world.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

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cw: mention of gun violence, patricide

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maybe wrap them with getting outside to get something new in March/April?

yes! we can probably wrap it with this one, i figure, unless you want to do a last wynonna tag c: