singillatim | I'd sit there and look at the deserted lakes and I'd sing

Entry tags:

I'd sit there and look at the deserted lakes and I'd sing

MARCH 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — EXIT STRATEGY: With the way via the main road a no-go, Methuselah finds a potential and very dangerous way out of the Milton area: the Milton Mines. During the Aurora, the Interlopers must find a way to safely navigate the mines and find a way through.

PROMPT TWO — BRAVE NEW WORLD: Interlopers make their way into the Lakeside area, and are free to explore the more of the Northern Territories: a place of both industry and leisure.

PROMPT THREE — THE ECHO: On Aurora nights, the aftermath of the Darkwalker's attack on the Interlopers continues to ripple through the community — with a painful affliction.

EXIT STRATEGY

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton Mines.
CONTENT WARNINGS: claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential electrocution/electrocution injuries; potential burn injuries; hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;

Unusually, Methuselah returns to the town around the middle of the month. He is looking pleased and will ask that the Interlopers gather in the Community Hall. Once gathered, he climbs onto the small stage at one end of the Hall and explains that following last month’s Feast, he set out to try to find a way out of Milton, and he believes he may have found a way out.

He goes on to explain that although the Milton Mine has been closed for many years, there may still be access through the mine. The mine had two entrances through either sides of the stone, one on the Milton side since many of the residents worked the mine back in the day, but there was also an additional entrance on the opposite side, which led to a railway track that allowed easier export of coal and precious materials towards the coast. Having gained access, he believes the mine seems to mostly remain intact, but not easy to get through. However, he discovered that during the Aurora, the old mine and its electronics came to life — meaning a way through is certainly possible during those times with the added electronics in play.

It is not much, and it is certainly incredibly dangerous, but it is something. There is certainly no way out towards the south; towards the north might be the Interlopers’ best chance of finding a way out of Milton.

Methuselah will ask for any volunteers to join him in trying to find a way out via the mines, taking them up north and then waiting for an Aurora to happen before they can then make their way through and explore the mine system. Anyone is free to sign up, and he suggests someone drawing up a sign up sheet so that Interlopers have an idea of who is leaving the town on the journey.

The hike towards the mines is a long one, taking a few hours on an incline to reach the northern mountains. Waiting on the Aurora may take time, so setting up camp is the next step — waiting for night and hoping the skies fill with night soon. Interlopers are free to explore the mine beforehand, but will find a lot of it locked up tight. With areas unreachable without power and the darkness suffocating, they won’t get very far.

When the Aurora does finally come, the mine will come to life: the system’s lighting will come on throughout, albeit flickering and a little unreliable. Machinery and track systems whir and groan as the mine slowly cranks itself into functioning once more. While there are maps of the system to help Interlopers navigate the system — showing a second entrance labelled as ‘Lakeside Entrance’ — the true difficulty in getting through lies in wait.

Interlopers will find that parts of the system have been partially flooded: with the frigid water in places mostly ankle deep and others reaching no higher than knee-high on an average-height man. What’s worse, is the half-destroyed electrics ravaged by both time and the Aurora mean plenty of loose wires hanging here and there. It’s possible to accidentally catch yourself on them, meaning burn injuries and mild electric shocks — but care should be taken in checking if these wires may have fallen into these flooded parts. Stepping into these live waters will be far more deadly. They will also find that the electronically-powered gates that open through into areas may not function, with the fuses having been blown.

Gaining access through the mine is not impossible, however. It will simply require a little bit of legwork. One of the larger caverns of the mines houses a fuse board. Characters can switch off sections of the mines in order to traverse them safely, find new fuses in toolboxes scattered through the mines in order to open the gates and make their way through to gain access to the elevator of the mine — which will also require new fuses, in order to power the electrics to get it to function.

It is perhaps, most frustrating, that once Interlopers get the elevator working and head downwards into the final section of the mine, that they will come across hand-cranks — allowing them to use the elevator without the need for electricity. But at least the hard part is over, and the Interlopers now have a way through from Milton that doesn’t require relying on the Aurora to power the mine’s electrics.

On the lower section of the mine, there will be a handful of more gated rooms to get through before reaching the Lakeside Entrance, and more wires and flooded areas to traverse. But you can taste it: something on the air. You’re close.

You’ve made it, Interloper.

BRAVE NEW WORLD

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Mines (Lakeside Entrance); The Ravine; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of exploration/survival; themes of peril; acrophobia; potential character/npc death from falls; potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk;

Coming out of the mines, you will be greeted by a small mining camp and railway track enclosed by mountains on both sides. It’s incredibly sheltered here, with little wind chill and not as much snow on the ground compared to some of the more open areas of Milton. It may be best to rest here for the rest of the night. There are several portacabins that were used to house some of the former miners, along with additional cabins with one being some kind of foreman’s office, one that served as a kind of mess hall and one for bathing/toilet needs.

While there is little in terms of supplies left in there, some scraps may be found here and there — plus the cabins will provide decent shelter from the cold, which may be the last Interlopers will get ahead of the long walk down through the mountain track and into Lakeside. There is also plenty of coal left lying around, too — allowing for Interlopers to craft fires to keep warm. Even with it being sheltered, it’s still cold out.

In terms of where to go from here, the only way seems to be to follow the track. It’s a long walk, but rather straightforward if you keep to the tracks. A good few hours of it, but it’s quiet — and there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of wildlife or windchill here. It almost seems too easy, or as easy as it could be in regards to a long walk through thick snow.

Until you come face to face with the ravine.

The world opens up to you, with the tracks stretching over a huge valley via a… mostly sturdy-looking wooden and steel bridge. There doesn’t seem to be any way around it, no alternative route of getting over to the other side. Crossing the bridge is the only option. Care should be taken, with Interlopers now being vulnerable to the wind and the snow-laden tracks. As sturdy as the bridge looks, it seems to creak and groan under the weight of a single footstep. There even appears to be the remains of fall train-carts in the depths, from some unfortunate incident years ago. It’s probably fine.

Crossing the bridge and continuing down the tracks will eventually have the world opening up even more — you’ve finally reached Lakeside. Thick boreal forests crowd around the tracks, and in places, Interlopers will note that the tracks have buckled and become badly damaged. When they find roads, they will also find them in similar states of disrepair from beneath the snow. Following them for another hour or so will eventually lead to Lakeside’s Maintenance Yard. From here, there is a road, with directions: signs pointing towards Milton, the Coast, Lakeside Resort and the Carter Hydrodam.

For those interested in searching the Maintenance Yard, they will be greeted by a large, fenced in building. Fortunately, a great deal of the fencing has been damaged with the bad weather and it is easy enough to gain access. The place is a bit of a mess: scrap metal, wood, and dissued trucks and cars litter the yard, along with wood that can be used for kindling and firewood. Inside the Maintenance Yard, it is a little bit of a mechanic’s dream. There’s plenty of tools in this place, and even a forge which could be used for crafting if someone has the patience to fire it up and keep it hot for long enough. There’s plenty of stores of coal, at least. But in terms of a living space, there’s not much else other than a small break room with some comfy chairs to catch some quick shut-eye. Searching the Yard for any letters or such will reveal a similar theme to that of Milton: difficulty in reaching the Mainland with postage and correspondences, the lack of staffing, and the problems with wildlife. There are also complaints and concerns over growing dangers of small quakes causing damage to the roads and rail system.

Following the road towards the Lakeside Resort is a mostly quiet and pleasant enough trek, as long as one keeps close to or on the road there as much as possible. The Resort is largely secluded, even if it is around the actual lake itself, and it’s easy to see just why this place would have been a popular vacation place.

The resort is a collection of a dozen luxury cabins dotted around the edge of the lake, each of them with a decent amount of space between them for privacy. The cabins themselves are sturdy and well built, but look far more modern and almost designer in terms of style - with huge almost floor to ceiling windows and spacious porches for that perfect lakeside view, and open plan rooms and balconies. Each of the cabins contain multiple bedrooms, suitable for vacationing families and mix both modern technology and more rustic means of heating homes — making them ideal for all weathers.

A couple of the cabins are not completed, appearing to be a kind of expansion of the resort that was not finished. Build materials still remain here. Some of the cabins on the furthest side appear to have become victims of vandalism, having been broken into and completely trashed with windows smashed, furniture missing and broken, and any goods completely ransacked from the place. There are perhaps five cabins out of the twelve that remain fully intact and may contain useful items such as food, basic medical supplies and tools, and will certainly be excellent shelters for those looking for somewhere to stay.

There is also a Camp Office, situated at the east side of the lake. Used as a kind of main office of maintenance for the cabins, along with an office or tourist centre of sorts. It has a decent stock of hiking and outdoor essentials. The Camp Office does also have a small living space upstairs — presumably used by Lake staff or rangers, with a wood stove and kitchenette, along with a bathroom and several bunk-beds. It appears that the Camp Office wasn't abandoned until a short while ago — no more than a couple of months.

Following the road to the Hydrodam is a trickier one than the one to the Resort. There is a higher volume of predator wildlife here, with wolf howls closer and more frequent. With the current state of wildlife’s behaviours, it is likely to face attacks from wolves on the way there. The Carter Hydrodam has clearly seen better days. It seems to have fallen into disrepair and may have only been run by a small skeleton crew. While the Hydrodam is gated and locked up tight, it’s possible to break in through the gate and gain access.

While the lower dam is currently out of bounds, Interlopers will be able to get into the upper levels of the main building of the Hydrodam, which consists mostly of offices, maintenance rooms, a medical bay, and rooms banked with control panels, plus staff areas. The med bay is relatively well stocked, but might need a little forced entry with certain medical lockers and cabinets. Tools and other useful items can also be found here, along with bunk rooms, a small canteen and bathrooms/showers. It might be possible with some work to get access to hot water here — the showering systems run on a back-up furnace system, and while some of the pipes are broken, it might be possible to fix them to get the hot water system up and running again.

Following the road to the Coast will find a dead end. The bridge that heads over towards that direction has been damaged beyond repair, and there looks to be no way of getting around it. Perhaps, much like with getting out of Milton, there may be an alternate way of getting further south, but time will tell.

But for now, here is an entirely new region, ripe for the picking. While it appears some places have already seen minor scavenging (with the exception to the vandalism and looting of some of the resort cabins), Lakeside is largely untouched. It is full of game to hunt, an expansive lake to take up ice-fishing in, and indoor locations to search through for supplies. Some Interlopers may decide to stay here permanently now that it’s easier to travel between Lakeside and Milton.

THE ECHO

WHEN: Aurora Nights, the month of March.
WHERE: Everywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/otherworldly afflictions; themes of grief; themes of loss

There are roughly no more than ten Aurora nights during the month of March, and everything occurs as usual: the insanely bright colours swirling in the skies before you, the crackles and pops of static in the air providing percussion to the strange, ethereal chorus of almost-electrical sounds. The electrics of the world around coming alive with its usual sputtering and falters. There is much mystery to these strange, almost supernatural phenomena — but they almost feel like a kind of staple in the Northern Territories.

But on these nights something different happens.

If you listen closely, the sound of weeping can be heard on the air. Those with the Aurora Call Feat will be particularly drawn to the sound, and will hear it more clearly compared to their fellow Interlopers. It is the sound of a woman, and those paying attention might be able to recognise the voice it belongs to: it is the same woman heard over the static of radios and televisions in December and early January. The same woman that spoke to Interlopers, telling them to sleep, with the promise of help — thus granting some of them powers. It is the same voice that screamed out the night La’an Noonien-Singh died, and the night of those recently killed in the church.

She is… grief-stricken. Her weeping is a raw and anguished thing, and the more you listen, the more it seems to grip at you. You feel her pain, maybe it echoes within your own. Those you have lost, those you have failed or hurt — a reverb that grows stronger as the night continues. It is an all-consuming pain, its depths endless. It brings tears to your eyes.

You carry this pain, as she does.

You feel it in your very bones, in your flesh and sinew. It’s an exhaustive pain, and as the night progresses, you find yourself incredibly weary. In a strange state of fatigue that won’t even allow you to sleep.

You may find yourself going in search of comfort amongst friends, or loved ones. To hold a hand, to embrace them — to not be alone in this pain you feel.

But it is a pain that is too great.

On these nights, you will find yourselves alone, without the comfort you would otherwise lean on. You will not be soothed by that comfort of others. For as long as the Aurora lasts, reaching out and touching others will bring real physical pain to you. It will hurt to touch others, and physical contact will produce a sharp biting pain, even for those who may not feel pain otherwise. Too much. It’s… too much.

Some of you were told once, in a dream: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

Once the lights in the sky fade, that pain will finally ease and the woman’s sobs will go quiet — but it will return once more, when the next Aurora comes.

FAQs

EXIT STRATEGY

1. It is entirely possible for NPC Interlopers to die in the mines due to electrocution, and players are free to use NPCs — we ask that players give mods a heads up so that the masterlist can be updated accordingly.

BRAVE NEW WORLD

1. The lower dam is currently completely physically impossible to access. The door that leads there is jammed shut. Characters will notice half-frozen water leaking on the floor around the door.

2. It is possible to find bodies in Lakeside, however there is a... suspiciously low amount of them, and the rare ones found by characters will have been there for some time. They will have appeared to have died of exposure.

3. Wolves can be found in Lakeside, and their tracks are incredibly common. Interactions with wolves can happen in the exploration of this region, and they will behave much like they did during the September event and be incredibly hostile to players.

4. Bears are also common in Lakeside, and their tracks can also be found. They technically should be still hibernating, and much like wolves — they will be aggressive towards Interlopers. Keep your distance!

5. Lakeside unlocking comes with a Companion Event of an Interation with a new NPC!

THE ECHO

1. Essentially: physical touch with others will bring Interlopers physical pain. Sorry about that.

2. It is possible for Interlopers with Aurora Call to attempt to reach out to the woman. Those interested can inquire into what that interaction may be like! They can find out what that entails here.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It surprises him too much to do something about it; it doesn’t occur to him to do anything until it’s done. Francis is practically tucking him in. And this after the careful attention paid to finding any injury in abused skin, not minding the imperfect method of cleaning with snow, or the places Raju’s feet have been—

How long has it been, since someone has tried to put him to bed this way?

Uncle, maybe, when he was old enough to try to act like a man, but too young to be quite there yet. He remembers the way it had annoyed him. Or maybe Seetha when he was ill or exhausted, and too close to sleep to be sure of what was happening. It’s been a long time.

Raju’s eyes are wide, then he tries for an amused, polite smile. He isn’t sure he really gets there.

“These are yours,” he points out, trying to focus more on putting something like a teasing tone into his voice than on his stomach or his feet. He tries crossing his legs, finds it doesn’t give the relief he’s looking for, uncrosses them again and shifts to sit on one hip. His thumbs trace the rim of his cup, and one finger starts tapping at the edge of it. “Where are you going to sleep?”

Good question. Very good, slightly uncomfortable question, though it isn’t apparent to him yet why that might be the case.

“If you didn’t mind sharing half, there are plenty of furs to go around.”

He says it and immediately feels like he’s said too much, but offsets these feelings of discomfort and confusion with a very casual shrug and a smile.

“It’d be better to take advantage of a second person’s body heat,” he continues, and again, has no idea why he keeps talking. Well — he does know, and it’s the same reason he was never able to woo Sophia or keep many friends. He’s a stupidly awkward human being sometimes, no charm to speak of.

It's hard to remember what the rest of the night has been. It's hazy, and something in him can't make it anything else. If he tries to call the details too closely to mind, he only feels tired. Trying pulls on that emptied out place inside him, and the attempt doesn't go any further than there.

Maybe if he could remember a little better, he'd know why there are tears in his eyes suddenly, now. He feels his lips trembling and looks down, trying to press them tightly together. His try for something casual-looking is gone as quickly as that, paper thin in a strong wind. He watches his thumbs move over the cup, sees the blanket pulled up over him — fur, warm and irreplaceable in this place, and put over him without a second thought — and takes a shaking breath in through his nose, trying to keep it quiet.

"It's..." Raju stops and clears his throat. Then he tries again. "I usually don't dream much, when I'm tired. That's how it was at home. But I..."

He watches his tight grip on the cup of tea that Francis made, feels too much still rushing at once into the feet Francis had checked so carefully and the fur on top of them, hears the crackling of the fire that Francis built. Francis knows that the fire comes when Raju dreams, doesn't he? The nightmares. He thinks that he's mentioned it. He has mentioned it. He'll know what Raju means.

He doesn't look up. His voice is quiet, and a little rougher than his smoke-abused throat can account for. "Do you think it's safe? For you. If—"

One thumb against the cup taps faster. "You've risked enough for me tonight."

He's worth the risk.

Crozier hears the tapping, watches as Raju's knuckles turn while unrestrained worry churns inside his mind. He's worth the risk, of course. It's all worth the risk, but him, this man, is worth the risk.

He reaches forward and stills his thumb and fingers, much like he did with his hand against his leg not too long ago. Stilling him, calming him. All is well.

"I know the risk. The fur is warm and comfortable, and neither of us has to sleep on the floorboards. Trust me."

Raju watches Francis' hand on his. His expression is tight, still trying to keep the trembling in his lips in. He remembers a touch like this. He'd thought it'd been meant to keep him still the way he'd had to learn to force himself still, to be an officer, for the English, for high society. But it hadn't been. Not really.

His thumb keeps trying to move under Francis' hand, and keeps stopping itself. His breath shakes into his lungs. Trust me. The hand with the jittering thumb turns suddenly, trying to grasp onto Francis' hand and then letting go to turn a little more, find a better grip, try again. He nods a few times, jerkily. His breath shakes out.

He looks up at Francis' face and tries to smile. Then he takes another breath and tries again, making it broader, more normal, polite. It's a losing battle, trying to seem controlled, dignified in all of this. His grip is tight. He can tell, at least, by the feeling in his eyes that if he holds it off long enough he probably isn't going to cry. He doesn't know why he's acting this way, why the kind of control he'd used to employ every day is so hard.

No one should be seeing him this way. But if it had to be anyone it should be this man, brave enough to risk himself through all of this for nothing but friendship, dedicated enough to want to, and kind.

"I trust you." He'll settle down, set the cup, arrange the furs, any way that Francis wants him to, but not until Francis wants him to. He can't think clearly enough to figure out any of it, how to arrange things or fit the two of them together.

"What should, um. What should we... do?" He frowns after he says it, frustrated with himself. It's a stupid question. He can't think. He can sit here and he can bear everything, but there's not enough else left in him to figure out how to do anything else. But Francis has given him plenty of orders tonight. Maybe he'll be able to still give a couple more.

Crozier has never been more thankful to have only one hand. It’s currently occupied by Raju’s touch, a hold of frozen fingers that he returns tightly, watching as his eyes become overbright and his lip curl in a struggle to keep himself composed. He so desperately wants to take his face into that hand and say with a gentle touch and reassuring smile that he can just be, and never mind the show outward strength.

For who, he wonders. For who is he keeping himself so meticulous and structured, because here in the wilderness, in the quiet of this cabin, Crozier keeps judgement at bay. He watched as his men went through the same struggle, they fought to keep to a hierarchy that just didn’t exist out in the ice. Slowly though, as China plates and books and lanterns were left behind, so too were their reservations.

But Raju’s asked a very good question, what the hell should they do? He finds himself squeezing his hand before detaching himself, eyeing the space available and how much room they’d both be allowed.

They’ll have to share a rolled fur for a pillow and another for a blanket, but it’s more than enough for two people. “When you’re ready we’ll just lie down,” he decides, risking sounding very stupid for such a simple directive. “With our feet pointed to the fire, to help with your defrosting.”

He manages a gentle smirk.

When Francis detaches himself Raju watches him and then looks at the blankets as he talks, nodding. What he says is simple, but it helps. He can't figure out anything that needs to be done, but he can do. Just lie down. He can set things out to make that work. For a moment he frowns at the blankets, very focused.

One thing at a time.

He pulls his legs out from under the blanket Francis had put over him. He looks at the cup in his hand, remembering that it's there, and after a moment realises that he should put it aside. Free up his hand, get it out of the way. Then he lays one blanket on the floor, makes sure it's straight and lying flat, focusing on the certain movements of his hands and not on the strange pain of moving his feet, or the grimace that twitches over his face, or the lurching in his stomach as he moves. A pillow he can do without, but Francis must be as sick of the cold as he is. There should be something between the two of them and the floor. Raju swallows and takes a slow breath, smooths down the second blanket on top of the first, rubs one cheek over his shoulder reflexively at the feeling there, in case he needs to hide any tears. He doesn't think he does. It's good to be sure.

This should be alright. He sits back on one hip again and gives Francis a quick attempt at a smile, then raises his eyebrows. Leading is too much, even in this. Maybe especially in this. But he thinks he can follow.

Crozier manages to watch Raju make a little nest without chuckling to himself. It’s…endearing, yes, that’s the right word. He leaves him for just a moment to wash his face and neck with some melt water, getting some of the soot and smoke off of him so they don’t smell too overwhelmingly of bonfire as they sleep.

He offers Raju a clean strip of cloth with water on it to do the same if desired. “Not to suggest anything,” he laughs.

Raju meets the laughter with a faint smile and grunts in acknowledgment, taking the cloth and wiping it over the same spots on his face and neck that Francis had. When he pulls it back and sees how much soot is stained on it now he frowns, running two fingers over his cheek and looking at them afterward. He hadn’t cleaned as thoroughly as he could have if he’d had a mirror, so there’s probably more soot left on him, but the idea of having to get up and find one to look into pulls at his expression in a ridiculous, embarrassing way.

He tries to figure out whether it matters, being as spotless here as he would have kept himself living in the barracks, and can’t come up with anything at all. There’s no one to do inspections here, but maybe it matters anyway. And he should be respecting Francis’ things.

“I’ll get your blankets dirty…” Raju mutters, ducking his head to scrub his cheek again with a clean corner of the damp cloth, this time harder.

He scoffs softly, as though he’d care at all about dirtying his furs after what they’d just been through. He shakes his head and pulls his boots from his feet and then the outer tunic off his chest. He didn’t wear his fur trousers today, so thankfully he can skip the awkwardness of having to shuffle out of them in front of Raju.

“If you’re so concerned you can take off the outer layers,” he tells him, trying to keep anything uncomfortable from seeping into his tone. “But I don’t mind smoke and soot. I can brush it out easily enough.”

As undressed as he feels necessary, inner seal tunic and trousers still very much on, he throws a few more logs onto the fire and then climbs into the furs.

The deep relief in the noise that Raju makes says the idea is a revelation. Thank goodness for Francis, still somehow thinking clearly. He hasn’t felt at sea like this, this caught up in little things that should be easy to work around, since he was a boy, ill and temperamental and throwing tantrums at nothing that had felt very justified, at the time.

Had he felt so close to tears at something as simple as keeping things clean, then? He doesn’t remember. He sits up straighter, lets his head fall forward, runs the cloth over the back of his neck with a slow, unsteady exhale. He swallows, nodding, and looks at the cloth in his hand for a moment, only avoiding another impossible roadblock over nothing by spotting the cup and realising he can probably put it next to that.

Shirt next. Alright. His unbuttoning slows when he catches sight of what’s underneath it, and he grimace. Strange, every spare piece of clothing that he’s found here is strange, if anyone who’d used to live here ever wore something Raju would want to be seen in those things must have been scavenged first. Or maybe he needs to look harder.

He looks up at Francis, still grimacing, then down again as his fingers start to move faster. Better to get it over with.

“It’s colder in these cabins than the Community Hall,” he mutters, wondering why, of all the states this man has seen him in tonight, this one still matters to him. “Nothing else I could find was warm.”

And nothing else fit under the proper shirt he’s still trying desperately to keep in wearing shape, but admitting that would be almost worse. It’s actually a relief to move on to the simple embarrassment of taking his trousers off.

A relief and, really, not very embarrassing in the first place. The trousers are dirtier than Raju had realised before looking down at them and he’s suddenly disguised with himself for not noticing, disgusted with this entire night, glad to be rid of them, and it’s only something like pyjama bottoms underneath. Dark, thin enough to fit under his trousers, thick enough for warmth and cinched at the ankles, to help keep the cold air out. And clean, which is the important thing. Looking down at them feels better.

Nearly there. Put these away, and then he can rest. He rubs a hand across his mouth, taking a slow and calming breath, then looks to his outer layer and starts folding them in quick, impatient movements.

“Where do you, um…” He looks around, frowning. “Just the floor? I can wash them tomorrow.”

As well as he can, anyway. For these stains, he’ll have to find soap…

It feels too big, too much, and Raju shakes his head, expression pinching, and tries to focus on Francis instead, on how ready the other man seems to finally sleep.

Nothing past the reveal of the ridiculous shirt registers in Crozier’s mind. It’s just very dignified, very put together Raju in a shirt with some bizarre looking cartoons looking far too cheery for the situation. They’re friends!

He presses a hand to his mouth and tries not to absolutely lose his mind again with laughter. But to be fair to Crozier, it’s really, really difficult to keep a straight face, especially as his poor friend seems mortified to be in it. He understands necessity of course, he’d worn clothes harvested from the corpses of his own men, but the shirt is so unexpected and Raju’s looking so sheepish that it’s an internal struggle he winds up losing.

It starts as a quiet cough and then a gentle wheeze, and then he’s laughing again and leaning forward, putting his hand flat against Raju’s chest and tapping with a delighted shake of his shoulders. “You chided me for an unkempt beard!” he laughs. “My god, that shirt!”

It’s a perfect shirt, absolutely insane in the best way. He continues to laugh and then just outright pulls Raju into a tight embrace, thumping him gently on the back. “I’m so relieved you’re still in one piece after tonight.”

And when he does focus on Francis again, the man is laughing. At him, Raju realises when Francis leans forward and says so, and something in Raju knows that he should be offended. He usually would be, wouldn't he? He would if just anyone had said it. But Francis isn't tense at all about the enormity of finding supplies in this place, at having to head into that damned unending cold one more time to find the right kind of soap to clean the right thing in the right way, the difficulty of managing a chore like washing here in a place where you can never, ever forget the freezing air and the wet, and Francis isn't tense about finding the right place to set their things, or the right way to lay out the few blankets he has, or anything more that might still be needing to be done while Raju is exhausted and he hurts and he wants to be better, he wants to take care of everything and he wants to sleep. Francis is only laughing, and teasing about something that's making him smile, the way that Raju's half-joke had broken through and made him smile before, and his hand is solid and painless on Raju's chest, and then he's pulling Raju close and suddenly his friend is here around him, happy, happy for nothing more than that Raju is alright.

Francis' chest is here against Raju's chest, and his shoulders are here against Raju's shoulders, and hands are here pressed gently, and his arms are here around him. Everything here and warm and real all at once, and it feels like touching would have before underneath that terrible light, if the feeling hadn't hurt.

Raju remembers what to do back. It doesn't feel easy or natural but that empty place inside him is pulling hard and he's tired and he wants it and it's here, and so his brow presses against Francis' neck and hands press against his back and his grip tightens around the odd material of Francis' undershirt, slowly at first and then tight and desperately.

"You're not supposed to see the shirt," he manages before a hitching breath, voice thin and wobbling and muffled against Francis. He turns his head, some part of him hoping somehow that turning his eyes further away from Francis' view will hide the feeling, too, of tears smearing between them, over their skin. "But everyone can see your beard, all the time. It isn't the same."

The moment he feels Raju go lax and finally, finally returns the embrace Crozier very softly exhales. It’s relief; he’s a Victorian man, a touch of hands or press to a shoulder can say so much when words fail. The thumping, his usual awkward means of showing camaraderie, slows and his hand eventually comes to rest on the back of his head. This embrace isn’t a tearful goodbye somewhere along the sharp rocks of King William Island, its relief and reassurance and support and affection.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest at Raju’s half-hearted protest. “Mn. True, true.” His fingers touch his disheveled hair experimentally, the color so dark that it practically shines like obsidian.

It occurs to him that Raju may, in fact, be crying, so he holds on tighter in response. How long had it been since Raju allowed himself to just be held like this? Christ knows he can barely count the he amount of times something thought to hold him.

“I do like the shirt,” he tells him. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I? It’s a good shirt.”

There's a hand on Raju's head, weight and fingers pressing there and leaving that same feeling in their wake, something here and too much and real. All the feeling sends another breath pulling itself in quick jerks and starts into his lungs and he pushes it sharply out again, stops the breath in his throat to try and win control back and a moment later he's found a little, breathing slower and steadier, if not steady. He tries to turn his head again but there's nowhere else to go; his face is as hidden as it's going to be. He sniffs, then swallows. Francis' neck is warm.

Francis' fingers move over Raju's hair and Francis' arms tighten and Raju doesn't want to think about the noise he feels coming out of his throat, the desperation he can hear in it. At least it was almost quiet.

"It's a terrible shirt." It's a stupid thing to sound so plaintive over but the force and tone in his voice is coming out all on its own, his control over it, if anything, even worse than it was before. "Why would anyone want to wear puppets? Why saying that? It doesn't make any sense."

Maybe he is embarrassed. Is he? There isn't anything about his life here that makes any sense at all, not since the moment that he came awake in the snow. A man who cares so deeply that he'd risk his life for it is here in warmth and pressure around him, and he can't figure out anything else.

He can feel Raju’s breath on his neck, warm and a little watery from tears, and he shudders in spite of himself when he realizes just how close his mouth is to he skin. If he just… even the flickering of the thought makes him shiver.

Besides Silna packing his chest wounds with herbs, he can’t remember the last time he’d been touched so intimately. He’s quietly embarrassed by these wandering thoughts, but of course he would never say a word to Raju. He knows why the aurora would take away touch, how the comfort it brings is immediate in such a desolate place. It’s cruel and feels intentional.

“But Raju,” he smirks, “they’re friends and they want the world to know via words on someone’s chest.”

The thick, pained noise coming out of Raju’s mouth resolves itself into watery laughter, then into a sob, then another pained noise as he swallows the rest of whatever this is down. This is ridiculous. It’s all ridiculous but Francis is happy, he must be if he’s teasing Raju still, and the teasing means everything is alright, even if Raju can’t force his thoughts into enough order to figure it out himself.

His feet hurt underneath him. His fingers are starting to feel the strain of winding themselves into the material underneath them and holding on so tightly. He doesn’t know if he should pull back or not, can’t remember anything like this in his adult life, doesn’t know how anything like this is supposed to go. So maybe he is supposed to pull back from Francis now. He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to. And then he doesn’t. It’s strange for a moment, being here because he hasn’t pulled away. He doesn’t want to think about it.

He swallows, smells the smoke that lingers over Francis even after his quick cleaning. Over them both. His fault. Guilt tries to kindle in him but smothers somehow and he’s grateful, desperately relieved at this one reprieve, and it moves him to speak, wanting to express something about it without any of the words.

“You lied to me,” he manages, something tense and unsteady fighting a fond warmth for control of his voice, and he swallows again. “When we talked about your beard. Your neck isn’t horrible at all. I think that was just an excuse.”

His chest rumbles in very false protest. At least Raju’s words are playful, even if his tone screams exhaustion and confusion. And it is confusing, this lingering touch, but it’s also clearly very needed for them both.

Finally (and yet still too soon) Crozier pulls back from him, saying nothing of his tear-stained face. He gingerly holds his shoulder, deciding that they must sleep now else they’ll devolve into hysterics, or something far worse, too much sincerity.

Crozier shuffles back, body aching from all the outside camping of the evening, and very slowly lays himself onto his back. He pulls back the edge of the blanket to invite Raju inside, though he pointedly doesn’t make eye contact with him. That could…well, it could be an invitation if he did it that way, awkward and unnecessarily salacious instead of something comforting like shared heat with a friend.

”I hope this means I get to skirt trimming my beard,” he says dryly, rolling up the edge of his furs to tuck under his head. He lets out a little huff, so put-upon it’s just tragic.

And eventually, Francis pulls back. If he thinks that it’s time to pull away, then it must be. Obediently Raju unwinds his fingers from Francis’ shirt, straightens up as Francis moves too far away to lean on, presses his hands flat against the floor because he’s not sure what they would be trying to do otherwise.

In the wake of all of it, Raju’s more aware of the hand on his shoulder than he is of anything else. Then the hand slips away as Francis lays down, not looking at him, and Raju takes the opportunity to lean his head back, swallow and take a quiet, shaking breath, wipe the heels of his hands below his eyes. He sniffs and looks up toward the ceiling, jaw tight

Alright. The burning feeling in his eyes might be settling now, and maybe the rest of him is, too. It’s impossible to be sure. It will have to do.

When he looks back at Francis, Francis is looking away from him still. Probably giving him time to get himself together. He slips his feet under the offered edge of the blanket without thinking much about anything, pulls it over his legs and slides down to lie beside Francis on his back.

Their shoulders are touching this way. It’s the first thing that his mind tells him, and the second is how unhappy his stomach is with such a new position. He grimaces, swallows, shifts a little onto one side to try and placate it and watches Francis that way, forearm resting on waist and hand dangling over the trouble area, discomfort faint but present on his face while he focuses on the only part of this place that’s made any of this might worthwhile.

“Mm-mm,” Raju negates firmly, shakes his head, swallows. “You can’t demand respect with a patchy beard. The edges should be even, at least.”

“Not interested,” Crozier replies, patient and unbothered as Raju shifts to try to make himself comfortable. His eyes close and he feels himself start to relax into the layers of furs, one tired bone after the other unwinding and melting into the makeshift bed.

He knows he’s always slept warmer than the others, despite their bewilderment at his iglu and general stubbornness at remaining outside even during storms. He’s glad now that he can share this with a friend.

“One day I’ll shave it all and you won’t know who I am,” he adds with a quiet chuckle. One last little joke as he tries to put Raju at ease. His arm with the hand is closest to his friend, and he raises it and lets it fall onto his folded arm.

“Don’t be afraid to toss and turn, mn? I can sleep through it all.” He actually can’t, but he’s never had an issues falling back asleep when woken.

“Mhm.” Raju nods, too… too full, or too empty, of whatever it is inside him to take that as anything but an instruction. He doesn’t have to make himself stay still; he curls his toes, tensing the muscles in his feet just to find out what will happen, whether anything there can be relieved at all.

It hurts, unsurprisingly, sends another tide of that strange, busy feeling rushing in every direction through his feet and he grimaces, shifting them around under the blanket, turning further onto his side. That only makes the complaints from other quarters increase in volume and he swallows, discomfort on his face deepening, but doesn’t turn back, contents himself with deeper breaths while he focuses on Francis’ face, his closed eyes, the dawn drifting in through the windows to mingle with the light moving off of the fire.

Raju doesn’t make a habit of sleeping during the daylight. But he hadn’t been able to sleep from the moment that night fell, had expected to bear it like he had the other nights since that unearthly sobbing had begun and brought everything in him along with it, and push himself the next day to keep awake and collapse the night after, once the dark was truly dark, and safe. There’s a certain feeling to that, staying awake that way, and to the way he’d felt when falling asleep in the barracks sometimes: a pressure, a drive, an absence of anything but the pressure, and underneath it a flat feeling. But it’s different this time. This time Raju feels like—

Well. He feels like a forest after a terrible fire, everything that had been living fled or all covered in char and ash, the air chill and… fresh somehow, fresh in only the way that something completely cleaned out and empty can be, empty enough of life and movement and noise to finally be still. There’s only the smell of snow, and the minute back and forth movement of cracked black branches under the silent breeze.

He doesn’t know what any of that means. It’s only the thing that comes into his mind. He’s tired, he aches, and he can’t bear to try and figure it out. His eyes have closed, and he doesn’t remember when. There’s a body just there, too solid and reassuring not to be closer so he rolls toward it, again not paying mind to his stomach’s complaints beyond a grimace and careful, measured breath.

Something beneath his head; a shoulder, or maybe a chest. Too solid to be a stomach. Something underneath the closer arm, but his hand isn’t heavy enough to tell just what it is. He leans forward and his legs curl instinctively until his knees bump something.

“Used to sleep like this,” he slurs, mumbling into the shirt beneath his mouth. “When…”

His mind wanders away some place and then, one quiet word and long, slow pause at a time, idly wanders back. “We were… were boys. He’d always kick.”

He's drifting in and out when he feels the comfortable pressure of a body seeking warmth, Raju's smoky hair brushing briefly against his neck as he settles again him. Crozier's chest rumbles in a half-asleep attempt to respond.

Later, when he's slept soundly for a few hours, he'll look back upon the revelation with a certain amount of fondness. He's speaking of his family, something he'd held carefully to his chest even when Crozier would gently probe.

For now his lips twitch in a soft smile. "Mm. My twin, Small, she would sleep backwards with her feet in my face." There's a lot there -- Charlotte, or Small, his closest sister, the teasing way his family called them 'twins'. He raises his hand to push his fingers through his hair. "I don't kick." Not like 'him'. Who is 'him'? A younger brother? An older one? A cousin? He wants to know, will want to know later.

The words surprise him, mostly asleep, into a graceless snorting sound that turns into surprised pleasure at the fingers through his hair. He turns his head to give the fingers more room, make it easier, hears I don't kick too close to sleeping to think to even make any noise in return and drifts away that way, breathing heavily into the warm and solid thing beneath his head, knowing the warm presence just there, thinking of it, thinking of nothing. If he dreams it's all half-formed, exhausted things that don't make any impact at all, and he doesn't remember them when he wakes.

In fact he doesn't know that he's woken up, when he's done it. What he knows is an ache that spreads vast distances, across every place that must exist, and an awful leaden immobility all through every part he has that should move, and too much light behind his eyelids. Nothing exists beneath him, or above him, or around him at all. There's only a feeling of warmth, a formless, thoughtless expectation of more, and he manages to wrench enough control out of the leaden things attached to his body to roll the whole lot in that direction and start curling it up, vaguely aware of a low, deeply unhappy noise and vaguely aware that it's coming out of his own throat. None of that matters. What matters is sinking back into whatever it is that'd been so welcoming before, and using it to block that damned light out.

His own aches and pains are mild in comparison, his back and joints less frozen through and body more used to the rough sleep of some furs on the floor. He’s not used to the warm body beside his, mind weaving elaborate tapestries of nonsensical dreams to explain away the presence beside him. There was a fire and then a white bear with a human face, and finally another person - not a woman, he remembers that detail acutely - all trying to keep him warm.

He wakes slowly, perplexed by the light outside and in his fog not quite remembering that he’d fallen asleep in the early morning hours. He rubs his forehead with the wrist of his left arm, grunting softly as the warm pressure from his dream continues into his waking moments.

Crozier looks down at and sees fluffed hair moving beneath a softly wincing form, chiding himself softly for forgetting. Raju, of course, and the pain now must be severe. He gingerly attempts to ease Raju off of him, but pauses when he realizes he might make things worse for his aches.

“Ssssh, sssh, go back to sleep.” He should be able to walk to see Goodsir for medicine, he just needs to be able to sneak off without waking him.

The welcoming thing under him is trying to move. “Ssssh, sssh, go back to sleep,” it says. Words, which mean… Which mean that something is happening. Which means that Raju should be awake. Another noise comes out of him, a protest, but he pushes his eyes open, squeezes them shut, then forces them, blinking, back open again and scowls for a while at the first thing that he sees.

His hand. That’s his hand, and what it’s over is his friend’s chest. The way his arm is lifted and bent to be there is making muscles that are already complaining about last night’s mistreatment complaint even louder. It hurts. His fingers curl, halfheartedly trying to grip but not putting in enough energy to.

And his feet. That’s what that other feeling is. His feet. They still hurt.

He groans, discomfort again of course, but with a distinctly stubborn, determined tone forced overtop it now.

He turns his scowl up toward Francis’ face, squinting, the feeling of the blanket’s pull against his scalp as it slides back off of hair that wants to go in a completely different direction only adding insult to injury. Nothing good is going to come from being awake.

He needs to do it anyway. He needs to figure out if something’s happening.

“What…” The word comes out slow and still slurred with sleep and Raju lets his head fall forward again, sniffs, rubs half of his face against Francis’ chest in hopes of avoiding all the effort he would have to put in to raise his arm to make his own hand rub at his eye. “What’s… wrong.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject