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

[singmod]

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

Comments

[pacificator]

"Are you kidding? I learned to shoot from the greatest gunslinger who ever lived, and he was drunk off his ass for almost every one of those lessons." She scoffs at him, swaying slightly on her feet, and lifts her eyebrows. "Hell, it'd probably make me an even better shot."

But thinking of Doc Holliday threatens to pour cold water all over her still reasonably decent mood; the man is irascible, impossible, a hot-tempered jackass with a lazy Georgian voice and frustratingly blue eyes, and it's been months now since he dragged her close under the cold winter sky and pressed his body to hers. Months since he'd touched her; months since anyone has. And Louis isn't like that, she doesn't like him like that and she's pretty sure he feels the same way, but he's right here and what is a bite if not a kiss that shows its teeth?

And doesn't she deserve it, anyway, a little pain. There's a thin scar on her throat from August Hamilton's razorblade, white even against the paleness of her skin, where he hadn't gotten a chance to make her pay for all her sins. Not that she gives a damn what he thought her sins might be, or what she deserved for them. No one decides that but herself.

The moonshine burns through her veins, hot and potent. Her blood singing through her ears, flowing through her in a reckless flood. August Hamilton had decided he had the right to spill it, but nobody's got that right. Nobody but her. Wynonna considers Louis for a moment, then shrugs.

Fuck it. "Go for it. But – "

She holds up a warning finger. "A. if you lose control and start taking too much, I will shoot you. And, B. no turning me into a vampire. I barely get out enough in the sun as it is."

cw: vampire feeding!

[flambeaux]

Mistakes were made. Louis hovers, at all times ready to bolt. She's looking at him, still speaking to him, and it occurs to him she's thinking about more than just her gun and moonshine. A panicked rush of scant blood in his ears screams at him to run before he kills her.

His eyes are too quick to dart to her finger--gun--neck. Louis has recently acquired an aversion to neck scars--nothing to do with Wynonna. He's terrible at unpacking. He's avoided unpacking despite the risk to life and limb before. His fangs have led him places he wouldn't go with a gun--or his knife, the one he can't look at straight anymore. (Neck scars.)

The last time a human offered him their blood and lived, results were... mixed. He had to be torn off. Someone Louis could have gotten along with in an uneasy truce, given some time perhaps, now bristles at his presence. They're like a glass trembling under waves of sound that should have cracked it long ago.

Louis stops shivering and goes still with intent. He removes his hat, tosses it on a bench, and stows his gloves in a coat pocket. His nails are pointed. His mouth waters. He forces himself to swallow and speak.

"No need to shoot. Just pull me off and I'll come to my senses." He hopes. His eyes flutter closed as he tries to remember how it is for a human on the other side. "Keep your eyes open, alert. Be very still or you'll tear. Listen to the flow of your blood. You get dizzy or have to breathe harder, I've already taken too much and should stop."

Before he can lose his nerve, he steps close as if to give a hug. It's almost that, as he places his hands on her shoulders. One moves to the side of her neck to feel her pulse, thumb steadying her jaw, expertly keeping his nails away. He's icy cold.

He bends his head to the unscarred side of her neck. Wynonna is only a couple inches shorter than him. He takes a moment to twitch her hair out of the way, and he looks like someone whispering a secret to a friend. His body lacks the arch of a lover, but it's still more intimate than he has any right to be. His cold dry lips open on her neck, and he sinks his fangs in.

[pacificator]

He's cool, which she stupidly didn't expect – he's dead, dummy, she thinks, which probably makes him something she'd be hunting if they were in the Ghost River Triangle, but the're not in the Triangle. They're here, and Louis is... not a friend, but a person. A vampire person, sure, but still a person and one she likes. They've got that whole 'mortal blow' deal they'd worked out, after all; that shit bonds for life.

Hopefully hers isn't about to end. In the long, long list of stupid and self-destructive things she's done up until now, 'volunteering to feed a vampire' is right up there with the dumbest, probably. Right up there with 'went home to attend a funeral.' Which is about as far as she gets before his lips are on her neck – she shivers – and then there's a bright icepick spike of pain, followed by one of the strangest sensations she's ever experienced.

Would it be different if she weren't swimming in alcohol? She's got no idea. All she knows is that, right now, it's a potent mix of fear and pain all mixed up with confused physical intimacy, and she doesn't think it's just the drawing of her blood that's making her knees a little watery. It hurts, and it also aches in a way that has her wanting even more – not from Louis, exactly, but from someone, someone to touch her and want her and make her heart pound just like this, with this combination of fear and desire. She doesn't move, because the prospect of a tear is even more unsettling than the idea of him gulping at her blood like she's a gas station slushie on a summer's day.

He'd better be appreciating this.

She keeps her eyes open and focused on a tree not far away, and when the branches begin to look a little blurry and her knees feel not just watery but weak, she grabs the back of his jacket and pulls. "Hey, enough. Get off."

cw: suicidal ideation, the intimacy in vampire succ, mild iwtv s1 spoilers

[flambeaux]

He's killed before, many times, but those deaths were on purpose. To accidentally kill someone, to lose control of himself, is anathema to Louis. If he sets his humanity aside to brutally murder someone, he wants it to be on his terms. He doesn't want Wynonna to go like Claudia's poor Charlie.

It's worse when humans throw themselves at them out of infatuation, misplaced desire, or even self-destruction. Louis wanted to destroy himself when he let Lestat take him. This will not be like that either, Louis reminds himself. No one will die tonight.

He lets the blood fall into his mouth, lips clamped tight so as to not spill any. He moans like a man in a desert having his first drink of water. Louis doesn't grip her, but he keeps a steadying hand on her neck to avoid tearing. His other curls around and secures her shoulders. His heart beats in time with hers, that is the way it goes, and his lips move as he begins to suck in earnest to keep up with it.

Louis doesn't mind if Wynonna enjoys it. Better than her looking at him with horror and disgust ever after. It's not as though he's never held a woman in his arms for a good time (for her) while telling himself a lie about himself. Louis thinks he deserves to die really, so any clemency is a treasure. At least her gun isn't pointed at him.

He withdraws his fangs with the skill of a surgeon, but he has to follow the tug of her hand to gain any sort of backwards direction in his delirium. He nearly stumbles, eyes dilated, fangs out, a spot of red on his lip, tongue working behind his teeth wet with iron. It's obscene, profane as dancing on his own grave, and laced with the vulnerability a vampire experiences as they drink the ultimate experience.

He shuts his eyes and turns his head away, shoulders shaking with little ashamed gasps. He splays his fingers out so his nails won't stick in his palms with how much he wants to ball his hands. The cold doesn't bother him; her blood heats him inside. It flares stronger like a hot iron instead of mellowing out. He feels full and energized and... giddy. Straight from one tap to another, the effect is immediate.

"...How much did you have to drink?"

cw: alcoholism (evergreen tbh)

[pacificator]

The sounds he makes and the way he touches her, like a mockery of intimacy, don't bother her; she's done worse with worse for less reason. Unlike most of those bad choices in human form, Louis actually does pull away and back off when she tells him to stop, but without him all but holding her up, she takes one step and crumples into the snow when her knee gives out like a cheap stripper heel at the end of a long night. She lands knee first, and wavers as she pushes herself back up to standing, then has to take a few steps to the side, to the back, to steady herself, like she's standing on the rolling deck of a ship in a storm.

There's a not-quite-all-there giggle in her voice as she lifts a hand, holds her index finger and thumb a few centimeters apart. "Lil' bit?"

Or. Well. Maybe a lot, now that she's thinking about it. She wanders towards Louis with those rolling, staggered steps, still giggling. "Stuff tastes like shit but. It sure does the trick."

[flambeaux]

He tries to go help her up, but he doesn't even come close. One step and he's teetering dangerously, caught in a rocking motion between her and where his hat is on that bench. That bench looks like his best friend suddenly. Hilarious.

"Oh goddamn..."

He tries to look at a dead lamppost to center himself, but there are two of them, and his eyes can't focus, and the ground keeps rocking, and there's Wynonna.

"I haven't had a drink in so long... A good one..."

He's trying to thank her, but it's all muddled in the need to put his arm out to steady her, or to be steadied, trying to grab his hat (his dignity) with the other, and not falling ass first in the snow. He visibly struggles, this difficult multitasking taking all his concentration.

"Just... so you know... I wasn't... Lady out alone at night, I wasn't tryin'a... D'you get my meanin'?"

Taking advantage of a lady is the last thing on his mind, but Louis now has a (vague, alcohol-muddled) idea of what this might look like to a bystander.

[pacificator]

Louis puts an arm out and she reaches, clings to it for dear life as the world reels around her. Between the pine shine flooding her system and the sudden blood loss, her head feels like a balloon that's being kicked around like a soccer ball. She feels great. All the shit that's been piling up in her head feels about a million miles away, unreachable.

And he is talking nonsense. She purses her lips and stutters out a messy chuckle, an obnoxious pfbbbbpfbb sound. "You're not. Sense... You're not. Making any."

She wobbles, her legs threatening to give out again, to sit her right back down in the snow and ice. "M'not a lady alone. Got a gun... big gun. So."

She pauses, her hazy brain trying to make connections, then sloppily pats down her own hip, relieved when her nerveless fingers come into contact with Peacemaker's ivory grip. Her face is numb, and her skin is buzzing. She hasn't felt this good in forever.

[flambeaux]

"Oh--you're not alone, my apologies, you have, uhhh..." give him a moment, he's got this, he's got this, "Mr. Big Fancy Gun with you... yeah..."

He's doing great. He's wobbling and unnecessarily gendering a gun. He's doing fantastic. He leaves his hat alone for now. He'll pick it up later. Probably. He's aware he's not at his best. Unseemly. But he's too drunk to care. It's a floating tropical storm of not caring, and he's the calm in the eye. (If he shifts wrong, he will care too much

"So why... why'd you buy me a drink... so to speak... You can't tell anyone." He's suddenly serious, or as serious as he can be when he looks like he just remembered he left the stove on. He moves his arm with her attached like a barnacle to try to stare into her face. The whites of his eyes are less blinding, more naturally clouded due to the rush of blood. His irises are still very green.

"Don't matter how friendly they are... when times are tough... they'll kill anyone who's different... Oh no, you're bleedin', take my handkerchief..."

[pacificator]

Louis moves his arm and Wynonna goes with it, like an especially stubborn squirrel clinging to a tree limb getting blown about by the wind. Her head sloshes. Her stomach sloshes. As a result, it takes her a second to realize what he's talking about.

Second up, her face crumples into an expression of deep disdain. "Not gonna tell anybody. Asshole."

She's no narc. She can keep a secret, as long as it's not about demons. He flutters a handkerchief at him and she reaches for it, grasping nothing but air until she can feel her way over to the piece of cloth. Wynonna sets it against her throat, idly wondering how much she's bleeding. "Don'... be stupid. Who'm I even gonna tell."

Every word slurs into the following one. "Dolls in't here. So. 'S fine."

[flambeaux]

"Watch your mouth, I ain't no asshole... most days..." he half-whines like he's talking to a cute cat who just took a swipe at him. Or perhaps his kid brother, when he was a kid himself. Louis liked to indulge his brother and sister back in the day, and he could do it because he was the oldest. The heckling makes him homesick, dredges up memories he hasn't thought of in years. Things that sunk to the bottom float up, buoyed by alcohol-infused blood.

He blinks, focusing, resists the urge to sniff the air for the smell of blood. That's creepy. "Who'd believe you anyway... but there's folks here who do, so watch out. Yeah just... put pressure on that... Who's... Dolls...?"

[pacificator]

"You drink people's blood," she points out. That's asshole behavior! But there's no bite to the words (ha), and she's obediently pressing his handkerchief to her throat even as she sassing him. Probably she should be giving Louis a lot more respect, seeing as he could murder her in the blink of an eye, but – and this is important –

She is far too drunk to be worried about it. And besides, he doesn't seem like he has murdering on his mind.

Not if he's asking her questions. Wynonna gives him a wall-eyed look that's much too hazy to be as suspicious as her voice is. "How'd you know about Dolls?"

[flambeaux]

"I asked!" he protests, but he throws his head back in exaggerated defeat--and has to take a moment to make it stop spinning. She's got him there. He ate her, and not in the fun way.

"You just said... 'Dolls'... somethin'." Oh Lord, he's forgotten too. "You'd tell this Dolls... somethin'... about me. Probably the drinkin'... Look, if you goin' run your mouth when you drunk, how do I know you ain't goin' mention the drinkin'?"

The drinking of blood. The blood drinking. Not drinking drinking. He points to his own mouth (the fangs have receded back to looking human) from which every word now blends into the next.

[pacificator]

"I won't!" she shoots back, offended despite her obvious hypocrisy. Wynonna shakes her head to try and clear it, then staggers back as the world whirls. He points at his mouth, where no fangs appear no matter how owlishly she peers at his teeth, and she waves him off. "Dolls is. Was."

Is? How long has she been here? Dolls might have left... but no, he wouldn't. He doesn't want Purgatory to turn into a smoking crater. Maybe he's brought in a whole crew of Black Badge agents to try and mitigate the disaster of the heir suddenly disappearing and taking Peacemaker with her. She presses her lips together, swaying gently. "My boss."

That's not right. "Partner."

Still wrong. "He's... Dolls, I don't know what you want me to say about him. He's not funny."

That feels very important, and she lifts her fingers to tick off other failings, fully missing tapping each finger with the index of the other hand and not noticing at all. "He's bossy. Kind of an asshole. Scary as fuck."

A beat. "Great ass, though."

[flambeaux]

He waves her off too, a movement a little too fast for normal human gesture--whoops--stop staring Wynonna! Louis's eyes follow her fingers, as if keeping track of them will help him understand her piecemeal picture of this man.

"Leave your boss's ass alone," Louis says in an attempt to regain some of his gentlemanly dignity. He just sounds exasperated. "'S not advisable... although... who am I to talk..."

His voice softens fondly, but he's not looking at her, he's looking into the past. Combined with the drunken lilt, his words jumble together in a graceful chaos.

"Long time ago, I started seein' someone. Not my teacher at the time, but... offered to teach me, and I accepted. So there's that. Bossy... mean... scary... great ass."

He lets out a breath and a shy grin at the ground. It's not a giggle. It can't possibly be. Giggling is for blushing schoolgirls. (It is a giggle.) But let Wynonna think he had the hots for an older woman back home. It's a harmless lie by omission he feels he can say, floating on the headiness of alcohol and company.

[pacificator]

“Pffffffft.” Scoffed blearily at him while she tries to figure out if she’d counted things off right. (Not a chance.) “He wishes.”

Does he, Wynonna? “I’m not doing anything to his ass. Aside from kicking it… sometimes.”

Which is a little petulant. Nine times out of ten, Dolls is still the one putting her on her back on the mat, but he was a Marine! He trained for that shit! But Louis has pretty much stopped paying attention, instead waxing on all cow-eyed about some past dalliance, which is definitely not what Dolls is. He isn’t even a current dalliance. “Hot.”

Fucked up? Yes. Toxic? Probably. Do those both describe the majority of her own relationships, such as they are? A hundred percent. She’s not in any position to throw stones. Especially not at the present moment, when she’d probably fall over while trying. “So what happened?”

Long time ago, he'd said. Yesterday, she would have thought that meant a year or two, maybe five at most. But now, knowing what she knows...

How old is he?

[flambeaux]

So he's a martial kind of teacher. Interesting. (Also hot.) Lestat taught Louis to hunt, but never how to fight another vampire. Lestat was reticent on the subject of other vampires. Louis spent decades with Lestat, alternating between periods of sweet and sour.

Now he looks truly desolate, vampire-smooth skin creasing with emotion rippling under the surface of a dark lake. His face doesn't collapse, but his eyes do seem bigger and slightly reddened. (Or maybe it's the alcohol.) He has difficulty speaking. (Again, maybe just the alcohol.)

"We were together a long time. Longest I ever been with someone. Then we was always arguin'.... I... ended things and moved out. It felt like... tearin' my own heart out."

[pacificator]

"Ughhhhhhhh." She's rolling her eyes so hard they might get stuck facing the wrong way. "Please don't tell me you're a weepy drunk."

God, she needs booze. Wait –

The bottle in her hand happily rediscovered, Wynonna tips more of the pine wine into her mouth, letting the burn of the moonshine dull the pain in her throat down to a dull, thumping ache. "Look: been there." Minus the 'tearing her own heart out' part; she'd never managed to commit that fully to any short- or slightly longer-term partner. In retrospect, that was probably part of the problem. "But you were prob. Prob."

She focuses, intent. "Probably better off hitting the bricks. Who needs 'em."

[flambeaux]

"Why's it hurt so much? Still? You'd think I'd feel better about it by now... but I can't stop thinkin' about it, can't stop hearin' the piano and the French..."

He scuffs his shoe against the snow and sighs. He begins the arduous task of ambling over to the bench to retrieve his hat, and he thinks sitting down does sound nice--

"Aw shit... Don't... don't siddown... Bad idea." Now his ass is wet and cold with snow. Goddammit. Belatedly, he rises again. Replacing his hat on his head does nothing to save his dignity.

"I am a weepy drunk. You drinkin' like a fish." He cocks his head at her and immediately his brains swim. "I should know... I can feel it in your blood." Awkward. "Okay so, who'd you leave? How'd you get over it? Please don't tell me you just ran to the bottle. I already have a drinkin' problem, and 's not helpin'."

[pacificator]

On the second or third step she took toward the bench, the toe of her boot had caught on something and she spends a moment just trying to keep from going sprawling. It's enough to distract her from whatever he's saying until he's already almost at the end.

Who'd she leave?

She can't help the cracked half-scoff, half-laugh that tugs out of her at that question. It feels like picking at a scab; something sore wells and oozes beneath it. "Everyone. I left everyone. And it didn't even fucking matter, because I got dragged right back to that all that shit."

It's definitely not the question he'd asked. She's already forgotten the context. "You know where I was? I was in Greece. I was halfway across the world and home free. And I ended up on that bus anyway."

She points a slightly wavering finger at him, swaying. "Don't get off the bus. Rule number one."

[flambeaux]

His shoulders sag. "Oh, miss..." Everyone. And Louis knows a thing or two about not being able to quit. What was that Lestat said about self-inflicted troubles? Very rich coming from him, the source of many of them.

"I was all set to go to Europe. Left home, sold everythin'. Then I ended up here."

He spreads his fingers, palms indicating the ground and the miles and miles of snow beyond even the reach of the town's furthest lights. Too late, he already got off the bus. Lestat is here, and they no longer live together, and he can't stop thinking about him and all the hurt between them.

"Hey... If we end up in Europe... spirited off again... I've always wanted to see Greece. Show me around? And France, she's the mother of New Orleans. I speak French, I could help you. It'd be fun." He sways dangerously. "They like to drink there, alcohol's like coffee to them."

[pacificator]

That sounds great. That sounds amazing. There's nothing she would rather do in this moment then find herself in Europe with Louis. They'd each get to find out what the other one hates about traveling and tourists and where they shine. He speaks French. She speaks... some French. They'd have a great time.

Except – "I promised Waverly I wouldn't go again." Not back to Greece, not anywhere. She shouldn't even be here, she's supposed to be stuck in the Triangle with all the other poor cursed suckers. "But I guess if whatever got us here put us there..."

Well, they've already got to keep an eye on each other, right? They've got that final strike promise. "Fuck yeah. You'd like Greece."

Maybe? She's basing this assumption on nothing at all. "Lots of ruins. Lots of ruins. Museums. People. Art. Good stuff."

[flambeaux]

Louis imagines sitting in little round chairs outside a bar in the temperate evening air pretending to drink while Wynonna actually drinks. Claudia is there too, impatient to get to her vampire research, all fire and intensity. It's a nice thought.

"I like all those things, and Greece has plenty. History, art, people. They connect me to this world. I'm... I'm dead, you know. I've lost a great deal already, and I haven't even finished one human lifetime. My daughter would have liked to go. She still might, without me."

He smiles sadly, this weary but resilient immortal trapped in the chrysalis of his own body.

"This Waverly a friend?"

[pacificator]

[ Wynonna curls her hands around her mouth, takes a deep breath, and leans toward him. ]

Boooooooo. Downer alert.

[ Dropping her hands, she shuffles a foot in the snow, trying to kick some at him and almost falls over, losing what uncertainly held balance she has. ]

You're fucking immortal, you've got as long as you want to do anything you want! If you're gonna be a vampire, you might as well enjoy yourself. I bet your daughter was looking forward to it. Smile like you mean it, Louis. All that art is still there. Just... waiting. I can't wait for you to bore me with a bunch of details about lighting and brush technique.

[ She shakes her head at his question, and it's her turn to be... not morose, but wistful. She misses Waverly like she'd miss an arm or a leg or her ribs. ]

My baby sister. Smart. Just... so smart. Pretty. Funny. You'd like her. Everyone loves Waverly.

[flambeaux]

He leans away from her like she just hit him with a strong wind. Words hurt, Wynonna! And so does that booze breath. But Louis has his revenge as he watches her wobble around. He taps the snow off his shoes with a chuckle.

"She sounds like the kind of person everyone loves." Someone on an opposite axis than himself, but what are older brothers for if not to take care of the family trust and be disliked for it? With his own money, he loved spoiling his younger siblings until his mother turning cold and his own anger drove him away.

"Bein' immortal doesn't mean havin' more time. In fact, it feels like less." He flashes his palm to the side at nothing in particular. "Everythin' passes you by, and if you're not careful, you'll lose it. Friends, family... they grow old. You don't. You have to maintain the thread. You have to get used to wars startin' and endin', radio changin', even fashion. My teacher, I had to... well. I had to help. Fashion from last century just wouldn't do."

His wry smile says he enjoyed the shopping.

[pacificator]

Wynonna's only half-listening to most of this, but he snags her attention again at the end. There's something there that's niggling at her alcohol-soaked brain, but first: "You are a sharp dresser."

Spoken with real admiration – she might go around in torn-up jeans and her fringed jacket, but just like ZZ Top says, every girl's crazy for a sharp-dressed man, and Louis certainly is that. Maybe not in the way she likes best – she'd developed a brand-new appreciation for waistcoats since Doc Holliday rolled into town – but there's no question he's a walking fashion plate, even here. And it's not surprising he'd want his special friend to look just as good. Speaking of –

She quints at him, before her eyes open wide. "You got involved with your vampire teacher?"