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]

[ It had taken an annoyingly short amount of time to realize she hadn't seen Edward Little in a while. Which just speaks to how ubiquitous he is here – always on his patrols in that now-familiar greatcoat and cap, a shotgun at his back. She'd at least seen him almost every day since arriving here; he's as much a part of the background of this place as the snow and empty cabins and silent birch trees.

Until he wasn't, and she noticed, which, again: annoying.

But the more she thought about it – almost not at all, he can do what he wants, and maybe what he wants is a few days off his self-imposed duties – the more it eats at her, because the last time she could really pinpoint seeing him was at Milton House, where shit went down and things got weird. She hadn't pressed him about his reaction at the time, but maybe she should have. And then there was that night where the sky turned green and La'an Noonien-Singh died. And Wynonna couldn't help but think that she also hadn't seen La'an for a while before that, too.

There's something about it all that makes her think, as she skirts the town and makes her way toward his cabin, of Dolls and his fevers. Dolls and his mysterious absences. Dolls and his lack of any kind of explanation. There's a familiar knot in her stomach that she staunchly pretends isn't worry. Why would she be worried? He's probably fine. He's got a million friends here to go to if he isn't, including the only doctor in town. She doesn't even like him enough to be worried about him.

But she still goes. And, as she does, she isn't alone.

Something has been following her for a while, now. It's dark and shadowy and shaped like her and the fearful part of her brain thinks it's Willa, come to haunt her all over again. She couldn't save those kids in the fire, and she couldn't save Willa, and now she won't be able to save Waverly, either. Or anyone else, for that matter. So why is she even trying?

She does her best to ignore it, as she steps up onto the empty porch and stomps snow off her boots, before promptly getting snow all over them again because nobody has swept this porch clean in what looks like days.

The knot pulls tighter, tense and disconcerting. Wynonna lifts her hand and raps her knuckles on the door, the sound muffled by her gloves. ]

Little.

Hey, you in there?

[fidior]

[ There's someone at the door. Edward registers this, head turning only slightly towards the sound, finally breaking contact with the eyeless thing that never stops watching him, but only for a moment.

He recognises the voice immediately, distinctive the way everyone's voices are here. They're all so different, the various people trapped in this town, and he knows all of their names and most of their faces and voices, even if there are some he doesn't know very well. But he's made it a point to at least get to know who they are, where they live, keeping record of such things. It's been important. It's how to keep up with everyone, how to keep them safe.

It isn't important anymore. La'an is dead, and others will follow. He knows that fact, as much as he thinks he knows it's always been a truth. The dream of the Thing, ancient and hungry... what happened out on the ice before this place... there was never any hope. That's the thing — he thought if he held onto hope long enough, even if everyone and everything else around him crumbled away from the concept, it would be all right. He knows better now. Hope doesn't mean anything, doesn't.... do anything. It was so foolish, so stupid to think that it could. He's been so useless, for so long, and others have suffered because of him.

It's Wynonna Earp. He can't say he knows her well, but she certainly isn't someone he'd consider unfamiliar now, either. It's a strange relationship to have with someone — she's been such a source of uncertainly, unease, discomfort, so much of her leaving him unsure of how to respond, feel. Being around the woman deeply intimidated him and then one day it didn't so much anymore, at least not in the same ways. She's been... reliable, a contradiction to how she sometimes feels like an accident looming, something to be careful of. She's helped him. Been there at his side. (She runs away from things and it's a deep worry, a stress, that next time he won't be able to find her again, but she also saved his life from a burning place, and went back in because something screamed from inside of it.) There's more to her, something that has made him feel seen, even if so briefly, it's meant something—

'I know what it's like. Wanting to protect people. I get it.'

His stomach coils with tension, and he turns his head away from the door. He notices his double has moved closer since he looked away from it, a fluid, soundless movement that's brought it a few feet nearer to where he sits. Thoughts creep into him, or maybe they've always existed and are coming from within. You'll let her down, too. (Coward. Useless. Weak.) You can't keep her safe. She'll die. Like La'an. Like everyone here, now. Like everyone then.

He doesn't answer, or make any sound, for several long minutes. No matter if Wynonna knocks or calls again. But eventually, he moves — wanting to distance himself from her position on the other side of his cabin door (unlocked, the deadbolt on the inside unused in weeks), unable to bear being this close to anyone. He stands from the sofa, and there's a resonating creak against the wooden floor beneath him, and she can probably hear it the way Kate could hear him too, but he doesn't think it matters.

If she thinks he's ignoring her, abandoning her.... well. Isn't he? His double watches, agrees; abandoning her, and all of them, was always going to happen. ]

[pacificator]

[ She gives it a minute, then knocks and calls again before studying the snow that had drifted up over the porch to his door. The only prints here are the ones she'd made coming up; none of them lead out. If he's in there, he hasn't been out in a few days, judging by the last time they had a fresh snowfall.

That's unsettling enough. Even more unsettling is the sound that finally comes from inside – the gentle creak of a floorboard that isn't followed by the thump of boots. ]

Hey! [ She waits, listening, motionless to keep from making any sound that would keep her from hearing him finally reacting to her call, but nothing else comes. ] I can hear you in there. Are you...

[ Wynonna stares at the door, helpless, hating her helplessness. Her hands lift, fist, open, fall back to her sides. ] Are you sick? Are you hurt?

[ A long beat, and she takes a deep breath. Her stomach is a tight ball of worry, mixed with a healthy dose of frustration. ] Can you talk?

[ Still nothing, and now she makes a fist, pounds the door with the butt of it, frustration as always grabbing the reins from her concern and snapping them hard, pushing her into motion. Into action. She's never been good at just standing around talking. And it's not like him to just not answer, the guy's so painfully polite he'd probably want to throw himself into a lake if he thinks he'd accidentally offended someone. Even her, which is weird and ridiculous but also kind of nice; that careful, respectful if I may? from back in the cabin during the storm, directed towards her of all people, who has never managed to get any respect no matter how hard she tries to earn it, so after a while she just stopped trying –

Anyway, she thinks about that even more often than she thinks about the awkward intimacy of trying to rub warmth back into each other's hands. Not a lot, just. Sometimes. ]

Little, I swear to god, I will break this door down if I have to–

[ But she doesn't have to, because when she reaches down to the latch, it opens without any resistance whatsoever. Nor is there a problem with the door; when she gives it a push, it swings inward, and there he is. Just... standing there.

For a second, she just gapes at him. ]

Have you been there the whole time?

[fidior]

[ He doesn't expect her to come in.

It's an odd startle, one that actually manages to tug him out of his numbing apathy for a brief moment — eyes widening, but slowly. Everything feels slow and distant, like he's trapped in a thick black ocean, helpless to move fast enough to catch up to his own thoughts. ]

Miss Earp.

[ There's no warmth to the greeting, if it can even be called that. He doesn't want her here. Rather than verbally respond to the question, Edward's head slumps forwards as though to nod, but the gesture crumbles in on itself before it can form something complete. It leaves his eyes staring down at the floor, dark and tired and miserable and refusing to make contact with her. Please, just leave. His shoulders slump; every part of him heavy and made heavier in Wynonna's presence.

The question of his own is less authentically polite and more just something to say, an auto-pilot response. There's no sincerity behind it, and he still won't look at her. ]

How can I help you?

[pacificator]

How can you help me?

[ He's not even looking at her. He'd been sitting there the whole time, listening to her make an ass of herself on the front porch – are you hurt, what a fucking moron she is – and now he won't even look at her, and he's saying those words like each one weighs a hundred kilos or more. Dragging them out, because he's supposed to, because Edward Little is nothing if not mannered.

Which just makes it worse, honestly. He couldn't be saying it any more clearly: go the fuck away.

Behind her, the shadow that's been following at a remove steps silently into the cabin. She doesn't see it, she's too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on. ]

What's wrong with you? Is it –

[ There is nothing worse than feeling completely helpless. She wants to fist her hands in that waistcoat he wears and shake him until he looks at her. Until she can see him somewhere past the unkempt locks of hair and the walls that are invisible but are no less solid for it. There's a yawning chasm between them and she doesn't know how to cross it and he doesn't even want her to cross it. Who would?

Not him. After all, to a guy like him, cultured and dedicated and polite and good, she's a living, breathing, walking embodiment of everything he's not. A smoking, still burning car wreck wrapped in hazard tape. Something to be avoided by anyone who doesn't want to deal with the inevitable mess it brings. ]

– the fire? The house? Is that still bugging you?

[fidior]

[ Why is she even here? Maybe it's an anger that he's disappeared from his duties around town — though he wouldn't have thought that Wynonna would care about that. Hasn't he only been a frustration to her? And to others? No one really wants him there. Edward knows that now, and maybe has always known it. He was only ever clinging onto something that no one else cared about, his hands grasped around it tightly, desperately. He's a fool, stupid and pathetic and useless, and it wouldn't be the first time his incompetence made someone question him, look at him the way Wynonna's looking at him right now.

Edward glances up, finally, not wanting to see how she's looking at him and immediately wounded as soon as he does, brows knitting and mouth tugging downwards, everything so heavy. He sighs with his entire body, one movement that demands all parts of him feel it — leaving him feeling weighted down by himself after. His arms hang at his sides, limp, shoulders slumped. His own double has moved to stand just behind him, his literal shadow for those few moments, but it hovers over his shoulder, watching. He shudders at how cold it feels when it's this close, but no part of him wants to move away from it.

The house...? He stays silent, standing there as his frown deepens; he doesn't want to think about it. The experience had been haunting his nightmares when he managed to get any sleep (and then his daily thoughts when he stopped being able to), and it's only been another reminder of his failures. Of how things repeat, how he repeats. Trying and failing and trying and failing and it's never going to be enough. Nothing he does matters. His men all died. La'an died. And more here are going to, he knows. It's as though he's a curse, hurting the people around him. Perhaps not directly, but failing to help them is just as much of an offense.

Why is he even here? ]

It doesn't matter, [ he answers, knowing it isn't going to be enough of an answer for her. Edward lets his eyes flutter closed, ashamed and aching, and turns away from her with another one of those sighs that run deep to his bones. ]

You should just leave me, Miss Earp. Forget I am here.

[pacificator]

[ She's used to the way he watches her sometimes, apprehensive, like someone watching the video of the Hindenburg for the first time, knowing what's about to happen. The look he gives her now isn't that, but it's just as familiar; it's every disappointed glance she's gotten from Waverly – what are you doing in town – and Nedley, and Aunt Gus, and everyone else who wishes she'd never shown her face in the Ghost River Triangle. He looks at her with those despondent brown eyes and she can hear Nedley's voice as clearly as if the solemn old sheriff were standing right next to her. Why'd you even come back, Wynonna? Haven't the people who love you suffered enough?

It doesn't matter how hard she tries, it doesn't matter what she does to try and keep the people of Purgatory safe. They'll always hate her, and she'd started to think it could be different here, but she was wrong. Of course she was wrong. She's like a paper plane someone folded all wrong; no matter how high and straight she aims, she always ends up here. Spiraling into a nosedive. ]

Fine.

[ At least he said it: leave me. Of course he wants her to go, she's... her. Too much. Too loud. Too aggressive. He’s a million layers of uniform-as-armor and propriety impassable as a brick wall, and what’s she?

Rude. Impulsive. Unladylike. Why he even agreed to help her with the house, she has no idea. Whatever teamwork she'd thought they'd managed was all in her head. He's probably relieved to finally find a way to get rid of her. ]

Well, here’s the good news. I don’t have to be your problem anymore. We’re even now. We’re not friends, and I’m not your crew. So let’s just call it here.

[ The shadow that looks like Willa comes closer, and her mouth floods with a sour taste, tainting every word with bitter scorn as voices rush into her head.

Everyone hates you, Wynonna!
You're such a shit, Wynonna!
You're as broken as they come. ]

I’m better working solo, anyway.

[ Tossed at him before she turns, quick, and makes for the door, slamming it behind her. It bounces against the frame and drifts partly open again, but she doesn't look back.

She doesn't look back. And neither does her shadow. ]

[fidior]

[ If she were to insist — to demand that he turn around and face her, Edward would do it. Only out of exhausted compliance, only because it's easier not to fight. But he has nothing to offer Wynonna, or anyone, anymore. Nothing to give.

(Still, even so, the words hurt. And if he truly didn't care, they wouldn't, would they...?)

'We're even now', like some debt has been paid. Maybe she's right, maybe that's how it is. They helped each other (saved each other's lives), and now it's done and there's nothing left. Because Wynonna's right. They're not friends. Nor crewmates, nor anything bonded. He doesn't have any of those things. The others from his ship have given up their roles here, the way wise people would, in order to adapt and survive and he's the only fool left who's been trying to be what he once was; they aren't his crewmates anymore. How stupid he's been.

And as far as friends, well. If he'd thought that perhaps he was beginning to have anything that felt like companionship with anyone here.... that, too, was foolish. (Would he say that he's begun to feel a companionship with Wynonna? Is it that? Sitting with her in front of a fire and helping one another warm, made more vulnerable than he's been with most people, awkward and strange as it may have been, it was nice too, wasn't it? And for a brief moment they were a team in that once-grand Milton House, poking through the ruin, and that brief moment, too, was nice. Perhaps it's only been brief moments, and perhaps she unnerves him still in her ways, but a lot of people here do; there are so many things he's unused to, norms and terms so far beyond what he knows. But he wouldn't shirk from her. He could enjoy her company, he thinks, if she ever sought his out.)

But he'll never know, now. In this moment where everything is somehow both so heavy and so empty, things feel final and the swollen lump in the center of his chest tightens and drops and he's giving a shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering as he stands there still facing away from her. 'I'm better working solo anyway' she says, and he thinks this is it. It's over. Whatever... team, whatever attachment, he might have been forming with the woman, is over. Edward hears Wynonna leaving (with a clamour, a slammed door, angry and hurt and needing escape from something; hasn't he been here with her before?)

Last time he'd followed her. This time he doesn't. ]