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

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

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.

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Louis left after observing the autopsy before dawn, and was not present for any of the daytime efforts. When evening falls, a man in a 3-piece suit, wool coat, and brimmed hat enters the churchyard carrying a small makeshift wreath of pine needles. He isn't dressed in black, but it is his best, and that will have to do in this place of scarcity.

That uniform is bright, like an errant but deliberate carmine mark painted with a square brush against the twilit gray landscape. Louis can resist a man in uniform, but he does note its tailoring out of habit. Fraser wears it well; what a sorry occasion to be wearing it for.

When it looks like Fraser won't leave, Louis approaches and removes his hat, reading what he recognizes as a quote from Virgil. His hair is neatly pomaded. His eyes are very green and somber. He lays the wreath at the foot of the marker.

"My condolences, sir. Were you close?"

As the other man approaches, a dirty pile of snow lifts its head and reveals itself to be a wolf, scenting the air. Diefenbaker makes a small, inquisitive sound, glances at Fraser, then stays where he is, but those wolf's eyes watch the newcomer with interest.

For his part, Fraser steps back to let the other man lay his wreath, then meets that startling green gaze and nods. "She was a friend."

Words he's said so many times in the last few days, and which still seem so lacking. But what better word than friend? It includes so much and excludes very little, and she was. She was his friend. She was someone who, if he'd lost his way, wouldn't have stopped until she brought him home. Don't lose yourself in this place.

He blinks and clears his throat, then focuses again on the other man. "Did you know her well?"

Louis smells faintly of his breakfast, the blood of a small animal. He smells like someone who got hurt--which he did, incidentally. He bit himself in the panic of last night and wears a bandage under his sleeve. Humans don't notice, but a dog might.

It's just a dog, right, not a wolf? Goddamn, that looks like a wolf. Fraser's wolf, no doubt--No, just a dog, Louis reminds himself. Wolves don't act tame, and the wolves here are crazy.

Still, he doesn't consider himself great with animals. He mostly just eats them. He also doesn't consider himself great with cops, but this one's Canadian. Louis doesn't have any beef with Canada, only the US. And he looks so sad.

"I didn't know her at all. But I am no stranger to death."

Other than his eyes, which watch the wolf and the man in turns, Louis is the perfect funeral goer. His suit is pressed and neat, and he's suitably somber. His accent, Creole and New Orleans all at once, lilts his words and lends them softness.

"Louis de Pointe du Lac," he says, so he will no longer be a stranger, and he puts out his gloved hand.

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police." His own grip is firm without being crushing, meeting Louis' gloved hand with his own. "And this is Diefenbaker."

The wolf makes a small whining noise on acknowledgment, and continues to watch Louis, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the man's scent. Fraser glances down at the animal, then back up at Louis with new interest that sparks even behind the dulling blanket of grief. "Thank you for your kind offering," he says, as the handshake ends. "Especially as you didn't know the Lieutenant personally."

Unlike most others in this community, Louis seems to have made keeping himself sharply dressed of paramount importance. His suit, and the accompanying accent, both seem wholly alien to this harsh region, but he doesn't look uncomfortable. "Your accent," Fraser says. "Louisiana?"

Louis's handshake isn't interested in crushing another's hand either. It follows Fraser's firmness and, at most, just transfers a little of the smell of pine needles. He gives Diefenbaker an awkward nod because Fraser introduced him by name, otherwise unsure about acknowledging a dog like a human associate--again, he is not amazing with animals. Just not sure what to do with them.

"Got it in one, Mr. Fraser. New Orleans," he replies with a slight quirk of the corner of his mouth--mirthless, given the occasion. He'll just address him normally like any other man. Constable, like that means anything here. Well--if Louis can guess his geography right, maybe this guy has some jurisdiction here, unlike the man who pathetically introduced himself as Lieutenant. (This better not have gone to Fraser's head. Cops.)

"I'm guessin'... Canada?" He gives his buttons a deliberate glance. A little joke. No need to guess, it's very obvious. But Louis is hesitant to actually approach the topic of Fraser's grief.

"You're correct," Fraser says, with the kind of earnest appreciation that might almost be taken for naivete. It is, of course, not difficult to place him while he's in uniform, and he expects his accent would give him away in any case. "And I'm sorry to say – "

Yes, that accent, right there. "– I've never had the pleasure of visiting your city. By all accounts it's a remarkable place."

And almost as different from the place in which they find themselves as it's possible to be. His respect for the other man grows; it's not easy holding onto the things that make one feel like one's self when thrown into a wholly different environment. La'an's note floats into his memory again – don't lose yourself in this place – and he glances down as a confused coil of emotions attempt to unfurl in his chest. He coughs, looks up with a mild, interested expression. "This must have been quite an adjustment for you."

It would be gauche to laugh, but Louis feels some desperate spark of healing amusement in the gloom. N'Awlins. Sow-rry. There's comfort in the ghosts of their long lost homes. Louis thinks Fraser is thinking of home now--and of course there is the tamping down of that emotion, can't fall apart in front of a stranger, Louis knows that so well...

"Not goin' waste a good man's time with my moanin' about the cold, not when you had to be diggin' this frozen ground. I was... unable to help."

It's his turn to look at the ground. Is he sorry? Is he embarrassed about not being able-bodied? Did he shy away from dealing with the dead despite attending the autopsy? Was he ill? Lazy? This is one of those moments where Louis deliberately lets someone assume things about him. He can't possibly tell Fraser he's allergic to the sun.

Fraser lifts a hand to forestall any other apologies. "Please don't worry about it. There were plenty of willing hands. But I am grateful for your attentions now."

He nods to the wreath the other man had placed on the grave marker, then sets his Stetson back on his head, tugging it into place before clasping his hands behind his back. "It's especially generous, considering you and she weren't all that familiar with one another."

"Not that it does the dead any good. It's for the livin', really."

He turns his hat in his hands awkwardly, yet even here there is a gentleman's affected consideration, as if his fingers can't unlearn their grace. Then he replaces his hat on his hair with a more straightforward efficiency.

"Can't help but notice the familiarity between you and Diefenbaker. Don't tell me he also came from home...?"

Interlopers started arriving not that long ago. Among their number, Louis hadn't taken pets into account.

Fraser looks over at the wolf, who is still watching Louis with unblinking interest. That's interesting, but there are several people here to whom Diefenbaker reacts strangely.

Perhaps he ought to learn more about this one. "Yes. He saved my life a few years back after we were stranded on an ice floe in Prince Rupert Sound together. The water was freezing, but he leaped in to pull me out. He's been a loyal companion ever since."

A beat, while he reconsiders. "Well. He's stuck around ever since. I've never been sure if it's due to loyalty or if he just realized he'd found a steady meal ticket."

Louis cants his head thoughtfully.

"Dogs run in packs, and the pack is their family. You and he are one. And bein' motivated for food isn't all bad. It's for survival, isn't it?"

Lestat told him there weren't many vampires. Louis imagined solitary creatures, like apex predators... yet the two of them and Claudia lived together for a long time.

"Yes, for survival." The look he turns on Diefenbaker is fond, if restrained. "But you're right, it's more than that, too. He followed me all the way out of the north, the only place he'd ever known."

There's a small frown as he hears himself saying those words, and the glance he's giving the wolf turns thoughtful. "You know, I never even asked if he wanted to come, I just assumed... you did want to come to Chicago, didn't you, Dief?"

The wolf meets his look with unblinking eyes, silent. Fraser shakes his head just as if he'd heard a response. "Well, no, I wouldn't ever doubt you, I just only now realized you might have been happier staying home."

Diefenbaker grumbles and glances away, and Fraser sighs, turns to the other man with a long-suffering expression. "I'm terribly sorry," he says. "Sometimes he really is the worst communicator. We've been working on it, but as you can see, it's a work in progress."

Louis knows dog people dote on their animals. Louis can't relate. But he notes that this man has a reserved way about him--and there he goes talking to the dog, exchanging tones if not exact translations. The air of mystery evaporates a little.

Louis can't help smiling. "Did he just grumble? Didn't know dogs could do that. Is he fair company then, when friends are thin on the ground?"

Louis assumes with everyone not having spent much time here yet that making friends is a work in progress. It is so with him, though the difficulty is compounded by his sunless hours, special diet, and need for secrecy.

"Most of the time." La'an had enjoyed Dief's company, too, once she'd gotten over the strangeness of having a wolf in the house. "He can be very opinionated, though."

Perhaps that's his fault. After all, he's the one who solicits those same opinions on a regular basis. It hadn't started out that way; he'd only started talking to the wolf out of boredom. "Having so many more people around here to spend time with will probably be good for both of us. I have to say, he adapted to city living much more quickly than I did."

This is a little misleading; Ray would probably say he still hasn't adapted at all, and Diefenbaker mostly just likes the food and the company. Fraser looks back at the grave, at the wreath now leaning there. "I wish I'd met more of the people here under happier circumstances. But I'm grateful for all the help, and for the concern they showed Lieutenant Noonien-Singh."

"Small town. One death makes ripples." Strange, when for so long, on and off, Louis was the dealer of death anonymized in the city sprawl and the incinerator in the courtyard.

Louis tilts his head at the wolf, curious if he will grumble again. But he has no desire to try approaching. He's not that confident.

"I like the city too. We have that in common. You, uh, more of a country man then?"

Maybe if he keeps him talking about things he likes, Fraser won't wallow too much. A bit of "human" interaction wouldn't go amiss. (Louis is doing his best to act like a normal human who didn't just vampire bite himself in a fit of Darkwalker-induced fear last night.)

"Yes, I suppose you could say I am." He lifts his head like a wild thing scenting the air, clear eyes turned to the sky, then the woods around them. "I'm from a place very much like this, as a matter of fact. I was born in the far north of the Northwest Territories, and I grew up there, also. But I mostly worked in Yukon, before I came to Chicago."

Everything about him, aside from the grief he wears like the black band tied around his arm, lends credence to his words: he's comfortable here, in a way few other Interlopers are. Or perhaps none of them. He likes the cold, he likes the wide arching sky and the long winter nights. He likes the snow under his boots, and the quiet pleasure of being one of the living things moving under a weak morning sun in the trees.

He thinks again about La'an's last message to him: don't lose yourself in this place. It may look and feel like home, but her death is a somber reminder that there are things here, powers at work, which he'd never encountered before. He glances back at Louis, aware he'd been woolgathering. "Have you ever been? To Chicago, I mean."

"Never been. You must be right at home here. Remind me to pick your brain about huntin' and survival around these parts."

Fraser certainly isn't half-shivering all the time like Louis. Louis is all streetlamps and automobile rides in the French Quarter, outdoor cafe seating and cigar smoke around cards, the spices of many foods and cultures wafting in through tall windows sweating with humidity. The only thing about Louis that seems to fit in well here is his graceful step, which comes in handy in the woods but can be attributed to any number of things. Maybe he dances, maybe he often strides on roads yet to be paved.

"Big city must've been a change. Why'd you come down to Chicago?"

"I'd be happy to share all I know," he promises, and he means it. He's well aware that, of the people he's so far met, he may be the best suited to survival in this place, even with its strange, changed rules, its violent animals and odd Aurora. He's never seen the Northern Lights have such an effect on electronics – or anything else – before.

So however he can offer his help, his advice, his abilities, he plans to do so. He wonders if Louis would be interested in learning how to craft a smoker for meat, or bolas for hunting. " – Ah."

For the first time, he looks a little sheepish. "Well, in the course of investigating my father's murder, I uncovered some uncomfortable truths about some rather high-ranking members of the RCMP and several government representatives involved in building a dam that was..."

He can almost hear Ray yelling at him to wrap it up, Fraser. "...That's not important. I'm afraid I embarrassed some powerful people in Canada, and was redistributed to Chicago until things die down."

Louis is surprised at Fraser's offer, and it shows in the lifting of his brows and faint wondering surprise in his eyes. Not bad, for a cop. His eyebrows rise higher as Fraser explains his origins. This was not the answer he expected. Usually people come to cities to make it big or enjoy city living.

"I got to respect a man who pissed off the Man enough to get kicked out of his own country. Sorry about the Americans though."

He's proud of his own culture, sure, but the US government? They were only good for screwing Black folks over and driving honest businesses into the shadows with Prohibition. And Tom Anderson tried to get him and Lestat to sponsor his politics... Hilarious. If Louis didn't have money, the man wouldn't look twice at him except to ask him to shine his shoes.

"You like the food at least? Music?"

It's not like Louis is fishing for fellow appreciators of jazz or anything, tired of kids in Milton laughing at him for listening to "grandpa music." Jazz is very hip!

"Oh, well," Fraser demurs. "They're not all bad. In fact, I've found most Americans to be kind and welcoming people."

(Whether they have been or not.) “There is some excellent food,” he agrees. “I’ve never had the opportunity to try so many cuisines before. And my friend – well, my partner, really – Ray, his mother is an excellent Italian-American cook. That isn’t something we have much of up in the tundra, I can tell you.”

Not much in the way of ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs or veal parmigiana this far north, generally speaking. “As for music, I have occasionally managed to make it to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and even some opera, now and then. Although usually on my own.”

Even Diefenbaker prefers not to accompany him, no matter how many times Fraser tells him he really should give opera another chance. As hard as they’d tried, no one should judge the entire form by the Yukon Light Opera, especially after the blizzard they’d come through.

“Life in the big city. You can eat your way through it for a week and still not sample everythin’.” Says the vampire. “Italian’s fantastic. We get people from everywhere in New Orleans, bein’ a major port and all. There’s an opera house there too, and my… partner would drag me to it again and again.”

He looks down. He smiles at nothing in particular on the ground. It’s the smile of a man not really smiling.

“It even got tirin’, mostly because I had to pretend to be somethin’ I wasn’t. Never thought I’d miss music so much now.”

"Oh, yes. It can be extremely draining to pretend to be something you aren't," Fraser agrees, wholehearted in his support. "For example, I once spent several days undercover as a used automobile salesman..."

He pauses, thinks about the way the other man had smiled down at the ground, the way he holds his shoulders, how his eyes do or do not reflect that same smile, and visibly hauls himself back. "...That's not important. But I can certainly agree on missing music. Fortunately, we seem to have some quite talented musicians among us. It's not jazz or opera, but it's enjoyable to hear nevertheless."

Diefenbaker shifts at his side, and Fraser looks down to meet the wolf's eyes, then back up at the other man. "Thank you for the company... it's helped. And it's very much appreciated."

Louis is roused from his bittersweet reverie and gives Fraser a guileless, curious look, rare for him. This guy did undercover work, but he seems so guileless himself...?

"Oh, I hear 'em in town on Aurora nights. Loud, modern, baroque even. Sounds the kind of which I never heard before, but really at the heart of it, it's just wilder rhythm 'n' blues." A smirk appears on his face like the ghost of a smile.

"I'll see you around, Mr. Fraser. You take care of yourself now."

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

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cw: accidental self-harm mention

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maybe for fade?

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