the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

[sputnik]

Who: Konstantin Veshnyakov + various
What: catchall / open & closed prompts
When: through March & April
Where: various places in town

Content Warnings: This character comes with a parasitic alien entity by default. More content warnings will be in various thread headers.

Comments

open — to those remaining in Milton during the Lakeside Expedition

[sputnik]

[ When news of a possible route out of this place starts to circulate, Konstantin couldn't be more enthused by the possibility, and of joining the volunteer team of Interlopers heading out to explore. He's all but ready to start packing his bags; finding a way home is the overarching goal. Back to his mother, and to recover his son. But the unfortunate reality is that the cosmonaut's condition is... unstable, and in many ways still uncertain. The alien thing inside him is much more of an unknown here; he doesn't understand all of the ways that this place is affecting it. Never mind the fact he's still so damnably weak most days, unable to handle as much physical exertion as his athletic lifestyle is so accustomed to, his body still recovering.

He'd be a hazard. More of a hindrance than any real help, and it's a gutting realisation, made all the worse by the fact his housemate will be heading out on the journey — an EMT, Vasiliy is an invaluable asset. It's a parting with a multitude of upsets; Konstantin wants to join him, to help, to explore. It's a mission he's not able to embark on. He also doesn't know when the group will return (if they'll return, is the worry not-so-deep-down, and he spends his days and nights wondering if he'll see Vasiliy Ardankin again; not only is the other man a source of medical care and stability to his very worrisome condition, but he's his friend).

It's also the first time he's been alone since he arrived to this place, bleeding into the snow, somehow still alive when he wasn't supposed to be. And it's... difficult for him, this sudden isolation. He keeps himself as busy as possible, a coping mechanism he's no real stranger to, but his current situation is much more limited in possibilities. Still, Konstantin finds ways. ]

clothing store —
[ Someone walking along the town might see a line of fresh footprints in the snow leading to a storefront. It can hardly count as a "shopping trip", not even if you squint, but it's at least something to do. Besides, Konstantin has been woefully lacking in clothing here. While he's found a few items to swap out on different days, he often defaults to what he has on now as he pokes around the shop: a facility-issued green tracksuit over a plain white tee-shirt, and white sneakers. At least he's managed to find a thick coat and pair of gloves to wear, but he's very much in need of some more sweaters and thicker pants.

Unfortunately, the place has been rooted through by probably most of the Interlopers to come across it, and there's little left to be found. Just a few articles of things hanging from clothing racks or strewn about in various states of neglect. Konstantin takes his time searching anyway. It's an odd environment, this eerie stillness of a store long-abandoned, and with no buzz of electricity overhead. It's like being somewhere that you're not supposed to be, standing somewhere that's faded away, just the ghost of a place and of the memories of anyone who'd once existed when it was functioning.

The man steps through the dark store, crouching to collect a scarf he finds on the floor and holding it up to try and catch the sunlight that glints through the dusty storefront windows. ]

community center —
[ Konstantin can also frequently be found at the Community Center, where he just kind of shows up to hang out. It's considerably quieter there in the days while a good number of the population are away on the excursion, but it's still a central hub where he can find a flicker of life, a balm to the persistent ache of being alone with his own thoughts. He doesn't always have to be directly socialising — one might see him sitting at a table with a little pile of books he'd checked out of the library, content to exist in the same space as others while getting up to a bit of reading. But he will often approach anyone he sees, whether it's someone he's bumped into before or a stranger; he's not shy in the least as he holds up a second cup of coffee with one of his trademark disarming smiles — "You look like you could use something warm" even if you don't look that way at all — or strikes up conversation by asking how someone's doing that day. He seems genuinely pleased for the company, and for any little ways he might be able to make himself useful inbetween. Someone might be able to catch him in the kitchen area washing a dish or two, sweater sleeves rolled up, no matter how amused his laugh might be if he's caught doing it; this isn't work that he's particularly used to.

When he's especially restless, one might even get an invitation to join him on a little jog around the town... yes, even complete strangers. Please, he needs to keep busy. He needs this. ]

outskirts — cw: mention of raising / farming grouse to be eaten / fed to an alien...
[ There's a rogue spaceman wandering around the outskirts of Milton.... not in attempt to escape this time, but rather to forage. He collects various things he finds: berries, herbs, flowers... He's been reading a few books on it, with the hopes that his cooking experiments will actually produce something that's not only edible but enjoyable. It would be nice, he thinks if (when) Vasiliy returns, he had actual meals to look forward to. This also means learning how to handle cooking grouse, which is a problem all in its own and something he'll worry about when he returns to the little homestead. For now, he's poking around out near the line of trees, gathering whatever seems usable into a basket. On occasion, he starts humming, and then even singing a song in a low murmur, one of the space anthems that have been deeply ingrained to his foundation like any other part of him. Spacemen and their songs. There was a time they meant something — but perhaps even here, they still do: his mind needs something easy and familiar to cut the silence of the everlasting sterile chill with.

Or, he might be seen hanging around outside the cabin he shares with Vasiliy. Their small homestead is quiet and private and modest: a space really only meant for one person, but somehow two have managed to make it comfortable, not cramped. There's a small coop attached to one side of the home, crafted from the materials they were able to find around town, mostly the handiwork of Vasiliy. Several wild grouse are inside, the birds a reliable source of food, and largely utilised to keep the alien entity inside of Konstantin satisfied so that it doesn't get tempted to go after its preferred source of food... humans. He sometimes putters around out there, or sits on a stump that his housemate uses like a makeshift workbench, reading a book and enjoying a cup of black tea. Despite the puffs of cold, the ache of chill drawn in and out of his lungs, he enjoys being outside for little spells like this, getting some fresh air and sun, although he can never stay exposed for much time. The creature can't take the cold, its body so sensitive to this extreme environment; even in the safe warmth of the cosmonaut's organs, it grows fitful if he's outside for too long. But he might invite someone in if they happen by; the cabin's a lonely place these days. ]

wildcard —
Feel free to toss something else at me, or hit up my plot post! I'm also happy to whip up closed starters for anything, too. ✌️
I'm also down to pepper in other things, like the bad effects on Aurora Nights (Konstantin will be Suffering with a capital S during these, given he constantly has an alien touching him on the inside), so that could be an extra option for some flavour, too.

outskirts! lmk if this works

[heckofashot]

[ Someone is poking around the cabin across from Konstantin's, a small-looking man with a sour face who keeps grumbling to himself as he tries to gain entry to the building. Admittedly, he probably should have given up on his cabin considerations for the day, the sky slowly growing darker as the sun begins its descent on the horizon. He's stubborn like that though, and he'd already made it out this far, it seemed like it would be a waste of time to come back out here tomorrow.

The cabin itself doesn't seem much different to some of the others out here, maybe it's more sheltered, maybe the roof happened to look more stable from a distance — whatever the reason, he's trying to pry the boards off of the entrance so he can at least see what state the inside is in. But, with cold hands and no pry bar to speak of, he's not exactly getting very far. ]

Son of a— [ he stumbles back from the door, after failing to get any traction, and if anyone has been keeping count, it's for the third time. For good measure, he kicks at the board, but all it seems to do is hurt him. ] Goddammit.

this is perfect!!!

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin's heading back outside after a brief warm-up in front of the living room fireplace, a cup of fresh black tea in hand. No lemons to be found in this place, but with a little dash of sugar, it's very close to what they'd drink on the regular, back home. Russians and their black tea; as he steps back out to see the darkening skies, it makes him miss late-afternoons spent with his mother.

He's about to settle back onto the stump that he's claimed as a seat when he sees movement in the near-distance. There's a few neighbours scattered around out here away from the town, but no one in the cabins closest to his and Vasiliy's. The cosmonaut pauses, watching the stranger who's clearly trying to get into one of said cabins, and starts making his way over just in time to witness another stumble backwards, and an irritated kick.

Konstantin gives a laugh — a warm, bright sound that interrupts the silence around them, and steps up closer, cup of tea in one hand, the other lifted in a friendly wave. His initial thought is that the guy might be looking for loot, but it's not like there's anything wrong with that, here. In fact, he's kind of curious to see what might be in there, himself. ]

Hello there! Need a hand?

[heckofashot]

[ Maccready would like to think he's not self-conscious enough to hear the laughter and automatically assume it's at his expense, but it's hard not to do that when he turns and spots the man. An individual who wouldn't look out of place kicking around with the Brotherhood — tall by wasteland standards and though he might not be able to see the man's physique properly beneath layers of clothing, but he'd be willing to wager a healthy amount of caps on him not being skin and bone. All that to say; yeah, he's feeling a little self-conscious. He bristles, straightening up as if it will somehow help him appear taller. ]

No, it's—

[ Fine. Except, not really. He glances down at his hands for a moment, cold fingers and blunt nails that barely allow him to get a decent grip on the wood that's preventing entry. Besides, the guy was just offering help. Ugh. Huffing out a sigh, he takes a step back from the door and makes a sweeping gesture with one arm. ]

Be my guest.

community center, bc i had to

[burying]

[ Kieren's amongst those remaining in Milton when the main group goes off with Methuselah. He has absolutely no business going with them, not to mention it just screams danger and accidents and Kieren knows he has to be careful with himself. In addition, there's the whole... specialised diet which— he'd rather not have out in the open. Some people might know his situation, but that's not to say he's thrilled with having it on show.

The town feels quieter, a little more empty. He finds himself in the Community Center, bringing more firewood for the fire there and lingers long enough to take a seat on the floor before it and just — take a moment. Sit in that quiet, thoughtful melancholy of his, listening to his thoughts.

Not so lost in them that he notices a familiar face approaching, Kieren looks up with a small tight-lipped smile the soft exhale of a heyyy. The smile soon slips into open confusion: ]

Sorry, jogging? Like— actual... jogging. For fun?

[ ... Oh, Christ. ]

I'm... not much of a jogger.

[ Or a runner. Or... anything regarding movement. Even walking looks weird to others, if they're paying attention. ]

GET READY FOR P.E. CLASS, KIEREN...

[sputnik]

[ In truth, Konstantin's not sure exactly what to make of the young man, but that doesn't mean he's trying to keep any distance. No, it's much the opposite — he'd go out of his way to find and approach Kieren, and he does here, too. It's not that he's forgotten any of what happened; he's full of questions. He'd like to make some observations if he can, but he also just... wants to check on the kid. Keep an eye on him.

The reaction has him giving a bright laugh — amused and delighted in equal parts, and he's placing his hands on his hips as he looks down at the teen. ]

It's good for you! As long as you warm up first. [ Can't risk injury... ]

And I know how to make it fun, trust me. [ ....The Soviet cosmonaut commander's idea of "fun" might be a little extreme for poor Kieren.... ]

Come on, what do you say? I could use a buddy.

WHY CAN'T IT BE ART CLASS

[burying]

[ Kieren's trying to smile out of politeness, but there's still a strain to it, a bewildered look about him as he looks up. Please, no. Not warm up. Not... anything to do with physical activity at all, thank you very much. He looks like he's got a gun held to his head and he's still trying to smile. ]

Yeah, I'm— [ Jogging and fun are not two words he would ever put together in the same sentence. ] that's not what I'm worried about.

[ God, he's gonna feel like a right twat if he says, isn't it? Also it's not exactly the best idea to go out alone. Most of them's gone off on that expedition thing. ]

.... Alright— [ His entire body sags in defeat and he slowly clambers to his feet. ] Okay, fine. I'm... in.

[ Fuck his entire life. ]

the anti-kieren

[ployboy]

[It's ass o'clock in the morning, and Tim has just helped himself to someone else's lukewarm tea. To be fair, the mug had been abandoned long enough for the tea to grow lukewarm and Tim doesn't care about catching anybody's cooties-slash-or-rabies on account of it being ass o'clock in the morning. The Community Center just seemed like the place to be for someone seeking company outside of bunnies and a cow and the harrowing idea of a younger brother now far away and having broken a leg and become a small feast for bears awakening from their hibernation-- though the pitch black trek to the town center left Tim borderline breathless. Deconditioning. It's a thing.

Enter... This Motherfucker, stage left, casually and cheerfully asking for a neighborhood walk before the sun even rises. Except the neighborhood walk is more of a (brisk!) jog through hell, and the sun isn't going to rise anyway, and Tim kind of wants to be a jerk because 1) it's too fucking early to live, and 2) what.

(Maybe he does know about the bird farm but also, consider: Tim's brain is currently a messy and muddy slurry of What The Fuck Is He Supposed To Do To Keep Feeding That Cow, and Oh My God What's Happening To The People Who Left, and Is Manual Labor The Real Reason Every Kryptonian He Personally Knows Is Absolutely Jacked Because There's No Way That Physique Is All On Genetics So Having Been Raised In A Farm And Subjected To Throwing Stupid Tractors Around Kansas Must Have Contributed To Clark And Conner Being Total Beefcakes Not That He Would Ever Call Them That In Real Life That Would Be Idiotic and--] --uh?

[Chugging tea and speaking don't mix.

Tim coughs weakly, relieved that the sputtering is minimal and that no person is caught in the crossfire as he chokes to death and feebly pounds at his own chest to get things moving.

Eventually the fit comes to an embarrassing close, and Tim gasps,] Yep!

[If he dies he dies.]

Yep. I'm down. Jogging.

Good deal.

Glad you asked.

Got a route in mind-?

It'll be better than running suicide sprints down th... the hall with the popcorn machine? Man, I usually just commandeer that space for few minutes and then I puke.

a whole new Type of Lost Teenage Boy™ appears!!

[sputnik]

[ Of the reactions to his offer so far, this one might just be even more unexpected than the doe-eyed look of confusion (and perhaps mild horror) of Kieren Walker's. One would think that the cosmonaut had pressed a gun to the poor boy's head and demanded him to jog with him Or Else. Well.... this is very different than that, although no less alarming, and his eyebrows are shooting up at the display of coughing. Congratulations, Konstantin, you almost killed someone with your offers of physical exercise. ]

Woah there! You okay?

[ He's leaning in, close and personal and two seconds away from thumping a palm against the boy's back, but thankfully the kid seems to be taking care of it well enough himself, those coughs coming to a close. Still, he hovers close, eyes looking him over for a few moments, before he's finally allowing a smile to spread across his face — slow but easy, warm, bright. It loosens up the more severe look to him and the deep tone to his voice, heavily accented in Russian. ]

There's a popcorn machine here? I can't believe I didn't know about it. Does it work?

[ A snack item he'd rarely taken pleasure in, before — greasy, buttery, unhealthy. Now? He'd love nothing more. ]

I was just thinking up and down the main road, the one that leads to the church. Nothing too crazy. [ His smile widens, nudges open his mouth to show teeth. Ordinarily he'd be all over this place, out in the woods, jumping over things like he was training for the Olympics. Having to take it easy is an unfamiliar, unwelcomed concept, but like everything else unwelcomed, Konstantin Veshnyakov hides it with a smile. ]

[ployboy]

[So he had heard right, and Tim quickly puts up a hand to signal a Halt.

If there's one thing Russians demand it's politeness, and Tim already knows he's lost brownie points. To remedy, he croaks out, in a Moscow-sort of lilt because that's what's recent in his brain, what with Mikalek and everything:] Thank you. Yes I'm fine. I appreciate the concern. [...or something similar. Tim's English is an atrocity on most days and Batman had expected he learn and retain other languages? Preposterous.

But it's funny-- French, Spanish, now Russian... the Aurora really put in the effort to ensure the Interlopers could all be understood. Is there a catch, or is this just a selfless gift to them all? (Spoilers: there's always a catch.)

Tim downs the rest of the tea and it helps soothe his throat, and also gives him a moment to acknowledge the fucking disaster that is the... popcorn machine. His brows furrow a little; his lips move to a slow sort of smirk, the kind that comes when great idea just pops into someone's head.] It's behind some junk. I just know it's there because I stumbled on it during the big blizzard when everyone was stir-crazy. Honestly?

[Yes it works, yes he always kept it stocked with good popcorn. Real gourmet stuff.] --I doubt anybody's ever plugged it in.

[Like a cat (a very stupid cat about to launch itself out of a tenth-story window for a bird), Tim stretches his arms above his head and moves around the table. Nearer to this Big Dude. He nods, envisioning the route. It's easy.

It's also way too early for this crap. My god.] Cool. We do a few laps and if I can still move my legs afterwards, I'll show you where the good and buttery things are stashed. My name's Tim.

closed — Vasiliy Ardankin (March) cw: alien / parasite horror, seizure

[sputnik]

[ It's been months since the creature emerged from the depths of him. Konstantin certainly hasn't grown complacent to the thought, it's a perpetual anxiety, but over time, he's at least been adapting to the new norms of this place. And those seem to involve the alien keeping inside of its nest, clearly averse to the environment around it. The animal blood that Vasiliy routinely helps him feed to it seems to be working to satiate its hunger (even if its condition remains weaker as a result of not having access to human's blood, and his own condition weak by proxy. He's still ill so often, most days feeling like a shadow of his former self).

He can handle it. He can handle any of that. The thing hasn't been a pressing danger to the people of this town, and that's all that matters.

That, and Vasiliy's back now, he's back and he's safe. There was a time when one week would have seemed hardly anything, but these days it's a much different case. One week felt like an eternity, long days and longer nights spent trying desperately not to mourn a loss and hold onto the hope that the goodbye they'd exchanged was not a permanent one. But he's back now, and the month carries on.

Aurora nights are painful. It's something Konstantin's become.. used to, after living through a few of them by now, but it's no less harrowing. Physical touch is literally a source of pain, and for him, an inescapable one even if he keeps his hands away from anyone, keeps a berth. For the thing inside of him is constantly touching him, and he it, and neither can escape one another.

Tonight's Aurora is no different, and Konstantin turns in early in some attempt to sleep, though it's restless — body tense, stomach perpetually agonised by the contact with its unhappy occupant. He knows all that can be done is to ride out those flashing lights in the sky, wait for the night to pass.

Tonight, something unexpected happens before it can.

The alien is an intelligent thing, capable of learning, adapting, but it lacks a certain ability of comprehension. It can't understand what causes the pain, why it's happening, only that it happens for hours and hours and then it stops. It's torment, and it can't know that these painful times will come to an end soon with the next month. It only knows that it can't take this anymore.

And so, towards the end of March on one of those Aurora nights, something begins to happen to Konstantin's body. Something that didn't happen the last time the creature emerged, for it didn't need to force its host's muscles to relax and for him to go unconscious; Konstantin already was. This time, it needs to shut him down entirely, and as the toxin it exudes seeps through the sleeping cosmonaut, his body abruptly starts going into seizure. The bed shakes violently as his muscles lock up and shake, head thrust back, hoarse wheezes and gags emitting from his throat. ]

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy's eyes open immediately as the other begins to thrash in what immediately registers to him, even in the low light, as a grand mal seizure. He'd said it presented like this when the creature left him in the night, but it's different, and far more distressing, to actually see it: no longer an abstract concept of a medical phenomenon represented by an anonymous body in his mind, instead the figure of someone he cares for very deeply contorted and convulsing, gagging, struggling to breathe.

He doesn't have the luxury of panicking, though. Vasiliy quickly turns him onto his side, fighting the resistance of rigid limbs—he'll breathe better that way, and if he vomits while the creature is coming up, he's less likely to choke on it—and slips the pillow that got shoved to the side back under his head. ]

Easy, Kostya. Easy. You're alright. [ He has no idea whether Kostya can hear him or not; sometimes people can and sometimes they can't, and that's without the additional variable of an alien and an unknown neurotoxin at play. Maybe he's saying it for his own benefit, to calm himself down as he rests a steadying hand on the man's shoulder, feeling the rigid muscles contract over and over under his palm. ]

cw: emeto / vomiting.... and much slime. alien goo

[sputnik]

[ Mercifully, there are parts to this that aren't as horrific as they'd otherwise be. The cosmonaut's eyes won't turn liquid black like something inhuman, monstrous. That only happens when he and the creature become one mentally, fully connected. But in this place, Konstantin won't remember any of this tomorrow — has no such link to the entity. He's fully unconscious, body rolling to the side as Vasiliy coaxes it that way, spasming violently against the younger man's hold.

It doesn't take long, and the seizure lasts only a few moments. Abruptly it stops, leaving Konstantin completely limp and unmoving, every muscle still, his body forced to shut down.

It's then that his stomach convulses, its occupant sliding itself upwards, working with the natural upset of Konstantin's organs, letting his stomach and esophagus propel the slimy foreign body upwards in attempt to vomit. The column of the man's throat heaves as the creature moves up it, protruding through skin, and Konstantin's mouth parts wide as the alien slithers out of him.

Smaller than it otherwise might be — it's kept itself very small, here. But it's still a visibly living mass, a wet thing that falls onto the bed beside him, quivering in a thick viscous layer. It takes some time to unfurl itself, something larval, slippery against the bedsheets. It keeps moving, wormlike body undulating as it pushes itself off the edge and lands on the wooden floor with a wet plop. ]

sincerely you describe him so well. but also here comes a very special boy

[m1895]

[ Konstantin begins to gag harder, and then the thing slips free of him and his body goes limp—and Vasiliy finds himself staring at the larval body of an extraterrestrial organism as he stands on his knees on the mattress, looking over Konstantin's limp body at the wet, lamprey-like form beside it, his own body frozen in place.

He hadn't doubted the other, and yet, he still finds himself shocked: it's different, actually being presented with undeniable evidence of complex life beyond earth. He's jolted from his reverie, however, when the thing begins to slither toward the edge of the bed—and then drops off of it. Then, all at once, he remembers its nature, the danger it poses to normal human beings. His feet hit the floor on the other side of the bed and he hurries to beat it to the door, frantically scanning his surroundings for something to shove under the space beneath. A towel, a hanging towel, good. He stuffs it under as tightly as he can, pushing it in with a bare foot, all while keeping his eyes on the alien as the lights of the aurora illuminating the dark sky beyond the window glisten off of its salamander-like skin.

An alien. A real alien, from space.

He's finally come face-to-face with the thing that's been so ubiquitous in their daily life since the moment they met. It's undoubtedly been driven out by the same contact pain that's been debilitating Kostya on every aurora night; in some ways, it's a mercy that he's unconscious for it this time, unable to feel the usual agonies. Maybe it will simply... go back when the aurora ends. Is it that intelligent? Does it understand that that's the cause of the pain? Will it even be able to find its way back in?

For now, he just watches from the edge of the room. ]

closed — Randvi (April) cw: alien / parasite horror

[sputnik]

[ Unsurprisingly, Konstantin severely underestimated the effects of the weather on his body and its... condition. The fog that's rolled in is pressing and relentless, but in the early days of it, he's stubborn. It's difficult for him to engage in the amount of physical activity he's used to, his usual routines reduced to slower walks around the town. Still— at least it's something. He hates feeling useless.

And now here he is doubled over, each breath a sharp ache of unbearable cold drawn into his lungs. He's freezing, shuddering uncontrollably as he keeps one arm wrapped around his middle and tries to make his way back to the cabin he shares with Vasiliy on the outskirts of town. It's not terribly far away, but it's some distance yet; he's near Bear's Bend now, a staggering, solitary figure in the fog. Konstantin usually has a high threshold for discomfort, but the alien inside of him does not — and the cold from the fog is inescapable, all-consuming; even the warmth of his guts isn't enough to keep it from squirming in distress.

He doesn't know if he can make it all the way back. Not like this, gasping for breath and so cold he can barely function, with a fitful parasitic entity trying to dig its way deeper inside of him, testing the walls of his stomach. Konstantin hisses through his teeth as he stumbles up to a nearby porch, one he recognises — he's kept up with where people live around here, made observations. Hopefully the young woman he needs was smarter than him and stayed inside rather than venture out into this Hell. ]

Randvi? [ He tries to call, moving towards the door and ends up collapsing against it with a loud thud, holding himself up but just barely. ]

[meadqueen]

[This house is much larger than anything Randvi would have chosen for herself - two stories! - so she doesn't hear the call of her name. What she does hear is something large, like a sack of grain, falling heavily against her door. With the reports of animals being spotted in the area she's concerned, but fortunately, the door here has this ingenious little glass that can let her see who is on the step.

It's Konstantin, and he looks terrible. Why would he be out in this fog at all?

There is the loud clunk of the turning of the lock, then she calls:] I am opening the door.

[Hopefully he's well enough not to completely collapse without its support.]

[sputnik]

[ He understands — with a grunt of effort, he uses one palm to shove himself back off of the door enough so that he can stand upright again, shivering as soon as her door is opened. It takes every ounce of self control not to just barge in out of the cold, to seek whatever warmth he can find — but he keeps himself back, not wanting to scare the woman. Not that Randvi has ever seemed particularly easy to frighten, but manners still persist. He's a human, not something else. ]

I'm sorry to— [ His teeth are chattering by this point, hair damp from the dense moisture of the fog, loosened from its usual neat part to the side and coming down over his forehead. ]

....I'm so cold. It's so cold out.

[meadqueen]

You are sodden! [Randvi tries to be mindful of his weakness and injury as she ushers him inside, but he looks terrible and she does feel some pressure to work quickly.]

Here, let me help you with your outer layers and come sit by the fire. How long have you been out in the fog?

closed — Sam Carpenter (April) cw: alien / parasite horror

[sputnik]

[ There's a solitary figure currently stumbling his way through the thick haze of fog (is it bravery or stupidity), an arm wrapped around his middle as he tries to breathe — each inhale a pang of sharp, freezing agony to his lungs. The fog is a particular brand of painful, a moist cold absorbed right into the skin, like a layer of frost over his bones themselves.

As high as the cosmonaut's own threshold for discomfort may be, the thing inhabiting him isn't equipped for this kind of atmosphere. The empty cold of space is a much different cold than here, and despite the protection provided by its host's body, the alien being is suffering. It squirms fitfully inside of him, eliciting sharp gasps of pain as the man makes his way slowly down the empty street, knowing he won't reach his cabin on the outskirts of town. He needs to get inside somewhere, fast.

In this fog, it's difficult to tell where he is. When he sees the vague edge of a building, ghost-like, Konstantin makes his way to it, urging himself to keep walking. He's shivering uncontrollably by this point, teeth practically chattering against the chill he can't escape from. There's the heavy thud of boots up porchsteps as he lumbers towards the front door of whatever building this is — maybe a resident's cabin? Hopefully someone's inside, someone who can let him in; if not, he'll have to do a little B&E (not for the first time, it's fine) but first— ]

Is someone there? Please, I need help!

[killer]

[ Her threat level awareness stays tuned to the highest setting, so Sam jumps into action from the very second she hears footsteps outside. She reaches for the hunting knife that she had on her when she first found herself on the outskirts of Milton— the one from Richie's fucked up museum, the one from case evidence bought off of crooked cops, the one that Billy Loomis used in 1996. The original, because that's what it always comes back to.

The fog clouds visibility from as close as the window nearest the front door; she can't see more than a human-shaped silhouette. But she hears the urgency in his voice and how his words shake from the effort to keep his body warm. Sam has only strayed a few feet from the fireplace but she felt the temperature drop with each step.

In the windowpane, her father's bloodied reflection smirks at her. "You're not really gonna let him in, are you? C'mon Sam, you're smarter than that! Fuck this guy."

Sam closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she starts for the door, not checking back to see if the vision is gone. She opens the door just wide enough for the man to step inside and shuts it immediately behind him. Then she raises the knife where he can see it, not a threat but a warning. ]

I'm gonna have to pat you down.

[sputnik]

[ Those initial seconds pass by and they feel like so much longer. He's afraid in a way he rarely ever is, some fear that feels as bone-deep as the cold. This is different, this.... severity of cold, the way it's affecting him — it's unexpected, an unknown, and he doesn't know how the alien might react if its host doesn't find warmth immediately. Will it evict itself from him in the attempt to find better shelter? He can't let that happen, can't let it out, but if it decides to then he can't fucking stop it—

There's the sound of footsteps, movement, and the door's opening; he's being let inside. Konstantin stumbles in without a second thought, his breathing strained and painful as his lungs struggle to process the stinging wet cold of the air that's been forced inside of them.

But his head's immediately snapping up again as he realises there's a knife in clear view: a surprise further exacerbated by its wielder, a young woman. Quickly, Konstantin's nodding as he lifts both of his hands up in the air like he's on the bad end of an arrest. He won't resist the search, and fortunately there's nothing on his person that should register as damnable, no weapons. ]

There's nothing, [ he manages to say inbetween the shudders that rack his frame, almost convulsively. ] I'm not dangerous.

[ Which is, of course, a lie. ]

[killer]

Okay. [ Sam remarks, drawing the end of the word for exaggeration. He is at the mercy of her hospitality; she wouldn't expect him to admit to being dangerous.

She proceeds with patting him down until she is reasonably convinced that he wasn't lying. Then she locks the door, all four deadbolts, and waves him toward the fireplace with her empty hand. ]

By the way, [ she starts, following him to the fire, ] Don't take any of this personally. I'd receive any stranger the same way.

closed — Benton Fraser (April)

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin behaves himself (for the most part.) After a couple of incidents in which he'd found himself practically fully debilitated by the bone-cold wet of the fog, collapsing onto the nearest cabin door to be let in, he's learned to just stay indoors — and he does.

(For the most part.)

But he wouldn't be who and what he is if he didn't try to find a way around an obstacle, and the concept of "giving up" certainly isn't something he can easily swallow, so the cosmonaut pushes the boundaries of his situation the ways he can. He doesn't have to be out in it for long at all; he just needs to keep physical exercise to a few minutes at a time. Even a ten-minute walk up and down the street is better than nothing. So that's what he does as the month creeps on — makes his way up and down the path leading from the outskirts of town to Milton, and back to the cabin he and Vasiliy occupy. By the time he finishes walking, he's usually shivering and wet from the heavy moisture in the air, but he doesn't overdo it. He dresses especially warmly, tucks a warmed rag into his coat, pressed against his stomach; this is his gauge to know when to head back inside. As soon as it stops feeling warm against his skin, it's time to go, before the thing that lives inside of him can become too fitful. Preparations — it's been working out for him for the past few times he's done this.

What he doesn't expect is the creeping green tint to the fog just up ahead. He was almost finished with today's walk anyway, a little breathless from the pressing weight of the chill that's infiltrated his lungs; the rag has lost most of its warmth, too. But he comes to a pause, frowning, staring at that swirl of green. It's... familiar, isn't it? To what's been seen in the dreams. The nightmares.

He hesitates one, two, maybe three beats too long. It's perfectly willingly — Konstantin doesn't frighten easy, and maybe part of him needs to have something to challenge, to stand still and stare at instead of follow the human instinct to flinch away. There's little time to consider anything else when, more quickly than he'd anticipated, that green breath of fog sweeps against him, and he feels it sting one of his cheeks, burn. He backs up, turns around quickly, then the other way, his sense of direction thrown off-balance by the interruption. Which way is back? He'd simply been following the same path under his feet back and forth, keeping track of it that way, but now he realises he's completely directionless in the fog.

And the green keeps rolling inwards, a miasma; he lifts his arm to tuck his face into the crook of his elbow, starts rushing away from it — blindly in the thick haze around him. ]

Shit—!

[ It's muffled against the thick material of his coat, but loud enough in the silence around him, and his footsteps are heavy against the ground beneath him as he half-runs, aimless. ]

I blinked and it was three weeks later ahhhh

[maintiensledroit]

[ It's possible he's started to rely too much on Diefenbaker's ability to alert him to danger, because Fraser, focused on stripping bark from fallen birch branches, doesn't see the green miasma until it's almost upon him. But there it is in the corner of his eye, a sick shade of chartreuse that sets his stomach roiling just to look at. The scrolls of birch bark flutter to the ground as he straightens, stands, peers at the fog and listens to the sudden silence all around.

It drifts closer, and he steps back, then back again more quickly, until finally he's running, boots hitting the packed snow with a regular, rapid rhythm.

He's put some distance between himself and the fog, and has spotted a little ramshackle cabin perhaps a quarter mile away which would offer some safety, when he hears it: a muffled curse followed by other footsteps, heavier and slower than his own. Fraser lifts his head, turning toward the disturbance, and only waits long enough to determine direction and distance before he's taking off again, this time towards the fog itself, his arm over his face. ]

This way!

[ He can barely see the figure he comes across, but his hand finds purchase in the other's coat and he's turning, trying not to breath in the searing, poisonous vapor as he pulls them both toward the edge of the cloud. ]

There's a cabin just over there! We can make it, hurry!

honestly THE biggest mood

[sputnik]

[ There's some sharp flare of awareness — recognition of the voice that finds him — and some part of that feels almost natural by now (how many times has the very diligent Benton Fraser found him, helped him?) In any case, there's no ounce of resistance when he feels that pull against his coat; he's turning to run with the other man, as quickly as he's able in such poor visibility.

Keeping one arm pressed against his mouth and nose, the other's reaching to grasp quickly for the door, pulling it wide for the pair of them (and Fraser's equally-diligent canine companion), hand clasping against Fraser's back to urge him in first before he'll follow. The door's slammed shut, and he finds himself locking it without thinking — as though that fog could follow them in, coax open the door, somehow.

It's only then that Konstantin lets himself properly breathe, leaning against the wall as he pants, before he's turning his head towards the younger man. ]

Are you all right? Did you breathe any in? [ A wince as he gingerly lifts a hand to the burn at his cheek; thankfully, the contact was only seconds, and the wound isn't too severe, but any longer.... ]

That stuff is dangerous. Some kind of poison gas, maybe.