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

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."

"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...?"

"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?"

"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.

"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."

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.

“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?

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."

"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."

"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'."

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."

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."

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."

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?"

[ 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.

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.

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?"

He gives her an exasperated look, slightly delayed due to the alcohol. Louis thinks there are a host of other things Wynonna could judge him for. Lord, let her never find out about any of them.

"Companionship in immortality as human connections fade away. I'm finally old enough to see how... impermanent my stay among the same humans can be. A few decades... People wonder how I look so young, what's my secret... Well, for a while, my teacher was the only one who knew my secret."

"Slim pickings." She's nodding while only half-listening. The alcohol and blood loss are both getting to her, along with the cold, and she's starting to feel sleepy. "I get that."

There aren't other fish in the sea in Purgatory, because Purgatory is a dried-up puddle with a couple of sad minnows flopping around, trying to escape the sun. So she gets it, kind of. "Screw 'em. Plenty of people out there into vampires. Twilight shit. Make it to the twenty-firth. Twenny fifth. Twenty first century and you're golden."

"Yeah but they die," he reiterates, and doesn't have the wherewithal to elaborate. "Get wrinkled 'n' shit if they live long enough. I know vampires take human companions sometimes. Every human dies, that's what they do."

He kicks the snow morosely. He's thinking of Antoinette, her life and her career wasted. Louis never liked her. If she miraculously came back to life and attacked Claudia he'd kill her himself, but he can't help feeling sorry for her. He'd feel sorry for the Devil.

"You not goin' die out here, right?" There is a delayed pause that makes this question sound a little too meaningful. "I mean, from the cold and the twenny-first century?"

She can't argue with that, even though Louis is being a huge Debbie Downer. Humans do die, and they don't come crawling back up to the mortal plane again... most of the time. It's Fish's face in her thoughts right now, the way he'd looked up at her with those sad brown eyes, knowing what she was going to do, knowing he and the man he loved would be sent back to the pit even though neither of them had been anything more than petty criminals.

She wonders how much more of their humanity will have burned away the next time they surface, if she doesn't break this damn curse.

Which is related to what Louis asks, even if there's no way he could know it. Wynonna shakes her head, loose and slow, making a face at him. "Can't die out here. It'd screw Waverly over."

Without Peacemaker, what chance would she have. "Don't worry about me."

"Part o' not dyin' s'havin' friends who make sure you don't die." Seems logical. The way his words slip and slide drunkenly is downright embarrassing, and there's only so much of that he can take. "At least lemme walk you back to your cabin... or the vicinity of it..."

He has no idea where she lives actually, and if she doesn't want to tell him, that's fine by him. He doesn't want to reveal his own sleeping place. That's vampire 101.

"Mmmm..." Blearily, she tries to force her brain into gear to follow what he's saying. It's difficult. What's left of her blood at this point has got to be mostly raw alcohol. "Yeah. 'Kay."

Because there definitely is the possibility that she might just faceplant into a snowbank and freeze to death. It's nice that Louis cares enough to make sure that doesn't happen. She's not sure anyone at home would, aside from Waverly. Maybe Dolls. Maybe March.

Who isn't home in Purgatory, he's stuck here, just like she is. Shit. Wynonna makes a loose, looping grab for Louis' arm, tucking hers into it in am approximation of a lady taking his arm. She's no lady, but he still seems to be a gentleman, despite his now more bitey nature. "'S this way."

They meander down the street at Wynonna’s lead, a parody of gentleman and lady out for a stroll. Louis insists on being a gentleman, to the point of ridiculousness in Lestat’s opinion. They’re bloodthirsty killers. Acting human is a farce.

But hypocrisy ran deep in their little vampire household. Lestat has a soft spot for human music and yearns for the kind of attachments vampires usually don't cultivate over so many decades. And Claudia is more like Lestat than she would like to admit.

“Glad to hear it. Don’t die. Glad you’re not dead.” What he’s saying doesn’t have to make sense. All he really has to do is stay upright.

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

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cw: hell...fire...?

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