oh you fool, there are rules, i am coming for you

[singmod]

THE DARKWALKER COMES

The Darkwalker makes its first real strike against the Interlopers, resulting in the death of La'an Noonien-Singh. In the wake of her death, her fellow Interlopers are left to deal with the fallout of this new part of the horror of the Northern Territories.

WHEN: January 25th, onwards.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: death of playable character; supernatural death; mention of dead body; themes of death; supernatural beings; themes of terror; themes of peril.

OH, THE RECKONING BEGINS

On the night of January 25th, all is calm. It is a peaceful, if not cold evening. There are no clouds in the skies, the stars and moon hang high in the blanket of inky black. It would be just another night, until something strange happens: one by one, the stars begin to go out and the moon's light fades from view, as if swallowed whole.

Instead, there is nothing but the gloom. The sky is dark and green and terrible. Interlopers all over the Northern Territories will stop and stare — horrified by such a sight. And then, it washes over you like a cold wave: fear. Interlopers will find themselves over-come, and everything in their bodies and minds tells them to run. To flee. And so you run, heading for cover indoors. Curtains will be drawn, some may hide under beds, within closets or wardrobes. Some desperate attempt to conceal themselves, make themselves small, unseen. Some Interlopers, in that fear, may rush to friends or loved ones to hide with them, others may simply cowered alone — crawling and whimpering away from the night. The fear is irrational, unable to be overcome — even by the bravest or most stoic of Interlopers.

And then: noise. Coming from towards the east, the sounds of unnatural and almost-demonic roars, groans and moans — unable to be likened to or truly described. Drawing nearer and nearer — and you know it, even if you don't understand why: something is coming. It's coming here. You are powerless, unable to do anything. And it is an agony, awaiting its arrival. You cry, you whimper, you cower. Curling up for some shred of comfort, and finding none.

It seems to go on forever, building into a crescendo. Your heart beats so hard you fear it may burst from your chest, as if you might die of fright.

And then, a screaming wail — sharp as it cuts through the building dread. A woman. You know it, don't you? You're sure you've heard it before.

The silence that follows is deafening. The green gloom subsides, the fear slowly melts away within you. You wait, and wait. Finally, when it feels like you can breathe again, you decide to move.

Interlopers who dare to venture outside, who dare to look from behind curtains may see nothing at all. The skies have returned to normal, the moon is out once more. But those close to the center of town will see the small frame of a body curled in the snow. Some may not know her, but plenty will recognise her: Lieutenant La'an Noonien Singh.

It looks almost as if she'd collapsed. But those who decide to investigate will discover a gruesome scene. While there will appear to be no physical wounds, her body will appear contorted — expression frozen in absolute fear. It will be incredibly unnatural and violent to look at. La'an is dead. Around her, the footsteps that brought her to this spot. Strange 'waves' in the snow, too. Hard to define as to what exactly made them. And... faint glimmers of green, intangible. Almost like a residue — which will vanish by the time morning comes.

This is not the first time. La'an Noonien-Singh is the thirteenth Interloper to die since they first began to arrive in this place. But this is certainly the first time something like this has ever happened.

But preparations must be made, an Interloper must be mourned and laid to rest.

And the rest of Milton must come to terms with what has happened, if they can put a name to such a thing.

FAQs

1. Essentially, a 'party post' for reactions to the Darkwalker's Arrival, the immediate aftermath, and any funerary preparations following La'an's death. Have... fun?

2. Information on the Darkwalker's attack can be found here.

3. An OOC Rundown can be found here.

4. For those interested: Harry Goodsir is conducting a post-mortem on La'an, which can be found here.

Comments

Benton Fraser | Due South

[maintiensledroit]

i.

[ He hadn't been in her house last night. He'd been with Heartman when the fear struck, when the sky turned that impossible shade of green and the sounds came. He'd been with Heartman, and not with La'an. And, perhaps, if he had made a different choice, she'd still be alive.

He has no idea if he could have kept her from walking out into that terrible green night to meet such a hideous end. It seems desperately unfair that all her courage and strength had been so poorly rewarded, that she'd been reduced to a stricken, empty shell, caught in a rictus of fear.

But he'd known her bravery. He'll never forget it.

As Interlopers come curiously out to investigate, Fraser stands a little ways from the body, hands out. There is no longer any changing what he might have done. All he can offer her now is his resolve to do his duty, as she might have wished. ]

Please... don't crowd. We must keep the scene as pristine as possible, pending further investigation.

[ One creature ignores him, as usual: Diefenbaker, who comes to nose sadly at La'an's cold, motionless hand, before lying down by her side, as he had sometimes when they'd stayed in her home. But his warmth will do nothing for her on this cold, terrible, endless night, nor ever again after. ]

ii. –– for fidior

[ A little later in the day (though the sky is still dark, at this time of year), Fraser approaches a particular cabin on the outskirts of the own. Stepping up onto the porch, he lifts his hand and raps his knuckles at the door.

In his other hand he holds a box, small despite the magnitude of the thing inside it. ]

Lieutenant Little... it's Constable Fraser. Are you in?

iii.

[ And then, of course, there is the grief. Lieutenant Noonien-Singh... La'an... had been his first friend here. She'd opened her home to him, given him some semblance of meaning and purpose. That home is empty now, as he waits for word that she's ready for her final journey, and he sits in the living space, watching flames flicker in the fireplace, his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth and chin.

Diefenbaker lies on the rug at his feet, only stirring when motion and sound precede some other visitor to La'an's residence: other friends, other Interlopers wishing to pay their respects (or to scout through her things, to which he has set himself as a deterrent.

Whoever comes may need to repeat themselves, or clear their throat, to catch the constable's attention. If they do, he'll look over, taking a breath as if waking from a dream. ]

I'm terribly sorry. Were you saying something?

i

[castitas]

[ Fear is a powerful thing. It's enough to keep her hiding for some time after the noise ends and the green lights fades back into gentle night. Enough to make her mind go blank, nothing but hot white — and she can't even think of a single prayer to soothe her. But she finally crawls out of where she's hidden, wide bleary eyes looking around — everyone's scared, terrified, even if the fear that made them cower has faded.

But there's something going on outside, and there's a new fear creeping up into her chest — enough to send her staggering in a daze for the doors of the Community Hall, following the slow-moving Interlopers around her as she look to see just what's happened. The cold stings her wet cheeks as she steps out into the clear night. There's an eerie calm above the panic and commotion that goes on outside.

There's a body in the snow, small and curled, dressed in black. Kate's breath comes quick and fast — horror flashing in her eyes. 'Who?' Is all she can think, her thoughts punctuating the air around her. Speaking, though her lips don't move. 'Please, God. No, who—'.

Her feet carry her quick in her horrified daze, even if they stumble — rushing forwards. ]

ii.

[fidior]

[ It's less and less that Edward can be seen actually leaving his cabin these days. His routine patrols have more or less come to a halt. He mostly keeps to himself, but he isn't alone.

The thing is there with him, a silhouette that matches his own, from the outline of the officer's cap to the shape of his greatcoat. Even with its featureless shadow, he can feel it watching him. It never stops. His fear of the entity hasn't dissolved entirely, but it's slowly being replaced by an apathy even to his own horror of it. It bleeds into him, and these days, he lets it.

But at this point he still leaves, from time to time. Even as his double follows him — and when he'd come across the commotion in town.... for a moment, he was able to function the way he needed to, even if with a pressing exhaustion. He helped to keep some order, to protect La'an's body until it could be taken away.

But the incident has been devastating, and sometime later on, when he returned to his cabin, he could only sit and stare widely at the wall, and feel the ache of it all pressing inwards, more and more and more oppressive. Lieutenant Noonien-Singh is dead. Dead. He failed to keep someone from this community safe.

(And she was his friend. Perhaps a word he wouldn't directly think to associate with anyone, but it's there, another ache that lingers beneath the other horrors. She was there from his earliest days here. He enjoyed her company, her reliability; she was a colleague and a companion, and he.... doesn't know what to do with this grief. He can no longer remember all of the names of those he's lost.)

She died afraid and alone.

When the knock at the door comes, he almost doesn't answer. His double is there, watching him. He closes his eyes and wishes he could sleep and not wake — but the voice is familiar, and he's moving to the door to open it. The circles beneath his eyes are deeper, darker even since when he'd last seen Constable Fraser, when the incident happened. Edward looks drearily up at the taller man, and by now knows that no one else will see the cold, lonely twin that stands just behind him. He's no longer even alarmed by this. ]

Constable. [ His voice is low and quiet, heavy. But some part of him holds on as long as it's able, realises how long it had taken him to come to the door, frowns slow and apologetic and deeply sad. ] Forgive me, I'm.... I'm not myself, it's been.... [ His words trail off. He knows Fraser understands how it's been. His eyes soften, wounded. ]

Would you like to come in?

i

[thefifthchild]

[An investigator arrives. Hood drawn up, a scarf covering his mouth, and his reinforced cloak masking most of his silhouette, he drops down from the roof, boots crunching into the snow. It's hard to mask the sound of your presence in the snow, not that he was particularly trying. His eyes are hard - stern. No shock. Of course someone is dead.

Of course they were too late. That was the point, wasn't it? A banshee's wail of terror to keep them locked indoors like trapped mice. It's infuriating.

He'd seen this girl, while he was patrolling. He doesn't believe she saw him.

As he looks down at the body - and at the wolf, his body posture grows the slightest bit less rigid as he reaches out a hand to gently pet the wolf.]

Good boy. [It's barely a murmur. Just quiet enough for the wolf to hear (or at least, he assumes the wolf can hear) as he crouches down to look at the body more closely, eyes following the footsteps and the bizarre waves... Hmm.]

Get them to clear out to the community center. They're disturbing the prints.

[He absolutely did not get anyone's permission to take charge or even be here, least of all from Fraser.]

Edward Kenway | Assassin's Creed

[jackdawvision]

i. isn’t this familiar?

[Edward’s seen dead bodies before. He’s made many of them himself. But he’s never seen anyone die of fright like this—face frozen in a rictus, fear written all over the face as though it had simply wiped out everything La’an was in a flash. They hadn’t talked much, the two of them, but he’d never thought she’d die this way, gripped by terror so deep her body shut down instead of reacting.

The residue on the snow near her body is…it sends a chill down Edward’s spine, though his attempts at touching it prove unfruitful. To everyone else:] Don’t touch the lights. Feels like death.

[All of this feels like death. He’ll step closer to her body, and gently, very gently, lift it up.]

Tell me where to take her.

ii. ghost of the bottle.

[Afterward, Edward doesn’t stick around. He didn’t know her well, beyond that they had spent the same amount of time in town together, and now that she’s dead he feels his own mortality looming over his head, a sword just waiting to drop. It already dropped once, after all, yet this place had yanked him out of the way. For what reason, he wonders.

He finds his way to the library, for a quiet place to sit and think. Years ago he’d be hitting the bottle hard right about now, but with resources so scarce, he can’t afford to go on a binge. He is sorely tempted to, though, his fingers twitching with the old need, and every book he lays his hands on gets set aside quickly.

He sighs.]

What I wouldn’t give for some damned rum, right about now. [Sobriety has never been more unappealing.]

i.

[bestsir]

[ Goodsir arrives late on the scene, and for a while all he can do is just watch. When Kenway speaks, it brings him back to himself. ]

There must be somewhere ... we ...

We must find out what happened to her.

ii.

[meadqueen]

[It had taken some time after the events of the previous night for Randvi to find the library book that she’d discarded in her blind terror, but she had managed it eventually. There is slight damage to the cover, which is easy to fixate on because it's not the terrified expression of a woman who had died alone in the snow steps from safety.

She's bringing it back with apologies when she spots the Hidden One who had followed her in the forest.]

What does that mean?

ii.

[maintiensledroit]

I'm sorry. If I thought I could find some, I'd offer it.

[ This from the man who has just now entered the library, steps quiet. There's a pale wolf at his side; Diefenbaker has been sticking closer than normal since the discovery.

Although not in uniform, Fraser is still wearing his Stetson; he now takes it off, walking the brim in his fingers. ]

Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. [ He gestures with the hat to the door and the town center beyond. ] I saw you before, assisting the doctor by carrying the Lieutenant. Do you have a moment to talk?

ii

[flambeaux]

The man with a brown wool coat and fancy walking stick left the autopsy proceedings in a timely manner. Louis has to be inside before dawn, but he makes a short stop at the library. He's not sure what book he wants, looking a bit lost and unsettled in front of the shelves. Books are what he runs to when he wants to escape. He used to run to the bottle, but he exchanged that for a different drinking problem...

"Will a half-decent bourbon do?"

He produces a metal flask of alcohol from his coat. Food and drink taste like ash to a vampire, but he carries this if he happens to barter with mortals.

His neat pomaded hair and the cut and quality of his gray suit mark him as a gentleman. His nails are pointed and shiny like glass. His skin is unusually clear and smooth except when it moves to crease (but never crack) like the flexible lines of a drawing. His eyes are very green and somber.

Louis de Pointe du Lac | Interview with the Vampire

[flambeaux]

cw: self-harm vampire bite

Louis was at home, and there was hardly time to hide. He made for his coffin and shut the lid tight and screamed until he clamped his fangs on his forearm to stay quiet, and then he had only the comfort of the blood in his mouth. He flinched at the cry outside, and the silence afterward was worse.

He doesn't know what it was or why he was so afraid. No thought of monsters or perhaps truly ancient vampires (he has no idea what they might be like) entered his head, only the fear. Maybe he was the only one who felt it, subject to some psychic machination.

He bandages his arm, dresses, and cautiously leaves his home carrying his fancy walking stick, the kind that's for decoration. But it has a knife hidden in it, so it'll do. He is late; others are already in the street. He thinks to find anyone he knows, ask them if they're all right, gauge strangers' reactions... His worried eyes are two unusually bright green jewels in the dark. He has not yet come upon the body.

"Did you hear that noise?" Louis shivers despite being dressed for the cold in a nice wool coat, clearly his own and not scavenged. His brimmed hat doesn't do much, but he does have some good gloves and a scarf.

[guidemyway]

Ruby had the unfortunate delight of coming across the body earlier- But the more investigative types had already made an effort to keep anyone from getting too close to it. Ruby hadn't wanted to get directly involved with that, but she was doing her best to keep an eye on the scene.

She looks a little haunted but resolved when she catches sight of Louis approaching. After what they had experienced, after what she had seen could anyone blame her?

She gives a nod at the question but her shoulders sag all the same.

"I think everyone did. It's- Not great, huh?"

Randvi | Assassin’s Creed

[meadqueen]

I.
[It’s a clear night, bright enough that the moon is keeping Randvi awake. She’s been curled up in one of the community hall’s windows with her book for some time when the stars start to go out. When the moon disappears, she is abruptly seized with an irrational terror, one that obliterates conscious thought.

She becomes aware of herself again in the community hall’s basement, hiding underneath the stairs and sobbing into her folded knees like a child. There's blood in her mouth; at some point in the commotion she had bitten her tongue. It reminds her of that terrible dream: This is the ending of all things.

A horrific scream rends the air, and somehow this has the opposite effect to what one would expect: the fear recedes enough to allow Randvi to get to her feet, run her sleeve across her face, and head up the stairs to investigate.

The first thing she notices is that the moon has returned, as if nothing at all had happened. The second thing is the crowd gathered outside. Oh no. The body is of a woman she recognizes but did not know, a member of their group who had arrived earlier than she had. The snow around the body seems to glow, and her face is twisted in empty horror.

Randvi murmurs, mostly to herself:] Do you see? What you could become?

II.
[Randvi had known when she’d spotted the stones outside the god’s house that these were going to be funeral rites with which she was unfamiliar.

She did not know the woman, but she wants to honour her: if Randvi had not hidden like a mouse at the first scent of fear, perhaps she would still be alive.]

Is there anything that I can do to help you with the preparations? I can assist if there are things you need to gather.

II.

[maintiensledroit]

Ah... yes.

[ La'an had come here without a dress uniform or even a normal one; the only uniform he'd seen her wearing was her cold-weather jacket, and she'd informed him, in her usual practical way, that it wasn't her usual attire.

He'd have buried her with badge and watch, but she'd had other plans for both items, plans he'll respect. Now, as he addresses the other woman, his hat in his hands and Diefenbaker at his side, he realizes he has no idea how she would have preferred to be dedicated to eternity, or if she had any beliefs to honor.

All he can do is the best he can. ]

I wonder if you could assist me in finding a red shirt or coat. She told me her uniform was red, but, lacking it...

[ And there is the grave to be dug, a coffin to be built, a head marker to carve. But there are many here to help. ]

i.

[questioningmermaids]

[ Fear's something March knows, but this? This is something else entirely. This is like the fire a few weeks back, that white-hot cold-blooded melange of fuck that lingers in his chest with a weight that makes it difficult to get up, difficult to do much of anything but hide in his basement like a coward. Wouldn't be the first time. Probably won't be the last.

He gets up off of the cold cement and pushes his way out of the house when he feels it lift, jacket on but unzipped from his hurry, half stumbling as he pulls himself out of the daze the scream had given him. Maybe it's the moon on the red hair, maybe it's willfull ignorance: March jogs out, gaze focused on Randvi and not the scene at first--is that blood around her mouth?--as he speaks. ]

What are you talk--Oh, shit.

[ Hard to ignore the dead body for long. March feels like he's going to throw up, stomach churning. In an attempt to avoid that he leans down, hands on his knees. ]

Jesus Christ.

Levi | Fear & Hunger 2: Termina

[solitarysoul]

Staying in the community hall, Levi is one of the first to find La'an's body. He's out quickly once the unnatural fear will let him. He went out with his rifle in his hands, but he straps it over his back once a quick glance around the crime scene(?) shows no lingering danger.

He's seen bodies before. So many bodies. But none that looked like this, none with that look on their face. The people in Prehevil when he'd returned had messed up faces, but it was mostly mutation, not fear. What could cause that in a person? He hadn't interacted with La'an all that much but she didn't seem like someone who'd be afraid like this. Neither did he, but that fear had washed over them all the same. Did she not make it inside in time? Or did she stay out to meet it?

He kneels down near the body to examine her face for a few moments. It was weird, but there was nothing he could do here, at least not for her. What he can do is stand guard until someone who could handle things arrived. He wasn't sure who that'd be, but he knew a few people who it wouldn't. Who he wouldn't let get near it if he could help it.
He was desensitized to death. No one else needed to be.

[jackdawvision]

It takes a bit, but Edward pushes through the crowd, spotting Levi sitting near the body, and that twists his heart into a terrible knot. He's just as desensitized to death as Levi is, but this body, the fear flash-frozen onto her face, unsettles even him. This whole night has been...

Well, unsettling is putting it lightly. Panic-inducing is a better term for it, which is why Edward had needed a moment before he could scrounge up his courage and his pride to push out past his door and find out what the hell had happened outside.

"Levi?" he asks, gently. "Can I lift her? We've got to take her somewhere other than here."

kate marsh | life is strange

[castitas]

[ Kate didn't know La'an personally, but she knew of her. Knew her name, her face. Knew her from the patrols she did of the town, sometimes with Lieutenant Little. It's what happens when there's only so many of them here in this place. You learn one another's names and what they look like. You learn the names and faces of the ones who stay and the ones who disappear. There's not even a hundred of them in this place, and now there's one less. La'an's been here as long as Kate has, right from the start.

She doesn't know if the woman held any faith, but she prays for her anyway. In the days that follow in the wake of her death, the air is filled with the gentle voice of prayer — accidentally broadcast to those in the town around her. Breath-soft whispers as she reads verses she finds fitting; psalms and popular prayers.

And Matthew. She always finds herself circling back to her favourite verse: Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

But when as she stands at the newly-filled grave, it isn't prayer she offers here. She will sit in the snow by the grave and pull out a small, aged book from her satchel, carefully thumbing through pages to find the right one she's looking for. Poetry. A book she found in amongst Rorschach's library.

This time, she reads aloud. ]

[guidemyway]

[Ruby also hadn't actually met La'an. But it was hard for her not to take any death at least a little personally. She was doing her best to give herself more leigh way on that but it's hard when the mantra you lived and breathed was "A huntress protects the people until the bitter end."

So instead she buries herself in upping how often she does her own patrols. It wont bring La'an back to do her own, but it feels in the space a little.

She wasn't exactly religious, and even if she was she wouldn't be familiar with any the verses that Kate knew. It wasn't personal, she just wasn't an earth girl. But she had to admit that she liked them, and whether Kate meant to or not it was a welcome gesture for the moment.

She doesn't outwardly approach the Kate when she's at the grave, but she's in the area. Visiting a grave was always a very private or personal thing to her- At least it always was when she stopped by her mom's grave. Instead she'll just wait until the other girl is done.]

[eighteenhalflives]

[ Sometimes the whispers in her mind aren't so lonely — her prayers met and accompanied by a second voice, masculine and distant as if carried on an old radio.

His thoughts follow hers, and then a simple step of association leads from the last word of her favourite verse into one of his. It is not a prayer for La'an, but a promise. An assurance that what took her can be grasped. That its horror isn't insurmountable.

All things through him are made, and without him is made nothing that is made. For in him is a life that is the light of men; that light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehends it not.

Someone here wants to challenge the Darkwalker. ]

Nicholas Wolfwood | Trigun Maximum

[lastdecember]

1. (locked to the Trigun team)

[ He doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to leave the church, doesn't want to head out into the night where whatever that was might still be lingering, doesn't want to leave either Vash behind and instead trust his luck with Knives... but Vee's bolted, and he has to see what that scream was about. They have to split the party -- there's no helping it.

He doesn't look back as he heads out of the church -- too much of him wants to turn back around, grab Vash (and Knives too), put a locked door between them and the rest of the world, and wait until the sun comes up. Part of him too wants to leave the monster for the rest of the town and head off into the night to find Vee, but Knives complicates that plan.

Knives always complicates things.

So he's taking the complication out with him into the night, keeping the other man behind him as he cautiously heads through the door and into the street, gun in one hand and baseball bat in the other. If there's anything still out here, it's best that it finds him and Knives first, anyway. ]

Stay close.

[ It's not the first time he's been shaken to his core by the presence of something more powerful than his mind can comprehend, but god, it's not any easier the second time. ]

-----------------------------------------------------------
2. Later (open!)

[ The sun comes up, like it always does. The monsters have slunk back into their shadows, the dead have been carried away, but the fear remains. Wolfwood's taken first watch at the church, leaning against the icy outer wall with his bat in hand, glaring down anyone who happens past. Between the monster, the crowds, the autopsy in the basement, there's just been too much going on the the past few hours, and his temper's running thin. They're all in this together, he knows this, all of them hostages here... but he has people he needs to protect, and he will keep them safe, no matter what it takes. ]

(1)

[skelters]

[ it isn't exactly knives that's put a wrench in wolfwood's plans, is it now? if you're going to be blaming someone, at least pin it on the one person who couldn't stick it out in one place ...

as soon as he feels like he could breathe, that there is some measure of room in his lungs for it - as soon as he feels the tingle of sensations coming back into his limbs from how tightly he'd been holding himself, arms cinched around vash's waist - an imprint of the warmth from the other's body still burning on his forehead where he'd pressed it against his shoulderblades - vee runs.

he is good at running. you'd think spending more than a hundred years of it would have at least taught him some things about it, at least, but vash has never learnt when to stop. when to give up. his blood is a frozen mess in the marrow of his bones. his breaths come out in clouds of white, frozen air that stings his cheeks as he bolts through the door at the earliest chance, stumbling through the snow and making his way into the woods before any of the others could react in time. he runs as though he could outrun the pounding of his heartbeats, flee from all the thoughts crowding in his head and the fear that chases at his heels. it feels as though he runs faster - his steps lighter than what they'd been, especially in the unsteady terrain of the woods.

the dark branches whip at his face but vee merely covers his face with an arm and rushes on. it is only when his lungs feel like shards of ice piercing at the cage of his ribs that he slows down - though not quite stopping still, toes catching at the odd tree roots and making him stagger. ]

2.

[maintiensledroit]

[ It had taken him a while to find everything he needed at the mines, and longer still to cart it all back on a sledge. He'd hitched Diefenbaker to the thing with an improvised harness and between them they'd pulled and pushed it all the way back to town: pick-axes, shovels, an old tarp, a wheelbarrow. By the time they get it to the churchyard gate, the sun is just beginning to peel above the horizon – it's almost noon and almost time for the volunteers to arrive.

But he has a few moments first, and there's something else he needs to take care of.

He unhitches Dief from the sledge, and the wolf stays by his side as Fraser makes his way, not into the graveyard, but toward the church, where a man is leaning against the wall, holding a bat. The promise of violence is clear, but Fraser's voice is friendly when he comes close enough to speak without having to call across the snow. ]

Excuse me! I'm looking for a Nicholas Wolfwood? I believe he stays in these buildings.

[brutalact]

[it's the absolute last thing knives wants, separating when the acrid taste of fear and panic still clung to his senses with a ferocity that made his blood run cold. he didn't want to leave vash behind to chase after vee, and that--

that was an entirely separate concern. knives' sharpened memory pulling up the memory with precision clarity, an amalgamation of everything else that had happened in such a relatively small amount of time and creating what was, essentially, a nightmare. knives was familiar with terror. he had made it his bedfellow for over a century and a half, dipped his hands into its infinite depths and fashioned weaponry and armor from the vile substance. he'd never known a life without it there to slice into his flesh, over and over and over. knives knew fear and this had been something above even that.

the difficult decision to leave vash to tend to vee and travel alongside wolfwood was just that; difficult. but he understands the reasoning and understands the necessity. vee ran from him, not the terror that left them shivering in the backrooms of a dingy church.

wolfwood held his gun and bat and knives carried his sickle, the edge of it lightly spotted with rust from when he'd found it abandoned by the farm some time ago. hearing wolfwood's command doesn't elicit much of a response from knives, only a quiet exhale through his nose and a stony expression. betraying his composure, he slowly twists the handle of his sickle around in his hand, back and forth and back and forth.]

elegy.

[maintiensledroit]

i. there in the fragrant pines

[ There's an abandoned mine outside of Milton, and he'd found more than enough equipment there: pick-axes, shovels, even a wheelbarrow. He'd collected what he could in the dim pre-dawn light and brought it to the silent churchyard, where he'd spent some time walking through the vacant areas, looking for a spot that seems appropriate. Diefenbaker follows at his heels, the wolf never far from him.

By the time noon comes and the sunlight with it, he's cleared an area beneath the branches of a healthy green pine and has marked the dimensions they'll need. When the volunteers or the curious come, they'll find him crouched over the ground, carefully sketching out a rectangular outline, with the wheelbarrow of tools set nearby. ]

ii. and the cedars dusk and dim

[ And, finally, the only thing left to do – once La'an has been lowered into the cold hard ground and carefully covered there, first with sweet-smelling evergreen branches and then with soil and rocks; once words have been said and farewells made – there is only one last step.

Lacking better tools, it had taken him a while to make the simple wooden grave marker, but when it's finally finished, Fraser brings it to the churchyard and carefully sets it at the head of her resting place. This complete, he stands at attention, the black mourning band stark against the red of his uniform, before removing his hat. ]

I wish I could have done more for you. I wish I had found a way to stop this. I –

[ He fiddles with the hat and falls silent, his throat closing around any other words. She'd never needed many from him, anyway, and the ones he'd meant most, he'd carefully carved onto the marker itself, along with the symbol that had meant so much to her. ]

La'an Noonien-Singh
Loyal Friend, Bold Explorer
& Steadfast Protector
Sic itur ad astra

i

[terribibble]

[Fiddleford has got in the habit of checking the message board, partly because it helps him feel like he's better keeping track of things and partly because it's a good way to find things to keep busy with. Now, especially, it had felt like a blessing to see someone asking for help with digging and carpentry. It's simple, uncomplicated: when someone dies, you get to work. Can't just leave a body in the snow. He didn't see it, thank goodness, or at least he doesn't think he did. If he did he doesn't remember. It's the same thing.

The point is he doesn't have to think about it, which is good, because historically when he thinks about things is when the trouble starts. No thinking, just doing. That's safer.]

I, ah. I saw the notice on the board. You think we'll have enough daylight to get this done today with how hard the ground is?

[What with. You know. The freezing and all.]

Rorschach | Watchmen

[moralabsolutism]

Unlike those who gathered in close, Rorschach stayed far, far away from the body. He had no desire to draw close, to have the sight of her fear-stricken face burned permanently onto his consciousness. He'd known La'an. She'd been one of the first people he'd met here and the vigilante had gone to check on her when he was worried after she'd been missing for a period of time. At that time, he was afraid she was dead, but he'd thought perhaps he'd find her frozen body in the snow. Having La'an dead like this was so much worse.

He stayed instead on the closest rooftop, crouched down as he watched all the people milling about, acting as if there was something to do in such a situation. But there was nothing. So instead he stayed where he was. If anyone wanted to come talk to him, they knew where to find him. His thoughts when accidentally projected outwards were series of short, staccato thoughts that never seemed to finish. "Should have watched her...why did I...no use now...can't protect anyone...who's next...?"

People came, people went, and people died. It shouldn't have affected him as much as it did. But it did.

Of course, afterwards he could be found coping with what had happened in his own way. He'd found a boxing bag in one of the garages and had hooked it up to the ceiling. Being who he was, he could be found with the garage door open and punching it as hard as he could. For those familiar with the moves, they'd recognize he'd trained as a boxer once upon a time, although his vicious movements suggested more like he was likely to kill someone than lay them out flat on a mat in a KO. Despite the freezing temperatures, he had most of his layers off, only with the usual white tank top and a sweatshirt layered on top of that to keep him warm as he pummeled the bag.

The other quieter thing that he did was something that Kate had requested of him. La'an had come from a different time period and maybe a different world. She deserved to be buried with respect. Sewing her a flat was the least he could do. But staying inside like the recluse he was to finish the project was depressing to him at the moment. So he was at the Community Hall instead, busy sewing away. Anyone who came near would find him with his face shoved up a little bit. Rather than use a needle cushion he just kept them in his teeth. Getting that close of course meant they were also getting roped into the project. "Hold this," He'd tell them, making the person grab one end while he worked on the other. Sorry, saying no time at a time like this wasn't an option and anyone who did was going to end up banished from the Hall until he was done. It was help or GTFO time.

Sewing bee

[meadqueen]

Randvi lives at the community hall and has been helping Constable Fraser find funeral clothing for La’an so it was only a matter of time before she’d get roped into helping with the flag.

“I may need to let go,” she warns, despite holding the flag steady for the moment. “I'm still learning to control my power.” As absurd as that statement sounds.