singillatim | the steps of survival

Entry tags:

the steps of survival — ota

Who: La'an Noonien-Singh + whomever wants cr pre-event
What: Patrolling, corpse disposal, investigating, supplies
When: September; days before the event + non-event things
Where: Around Milton

Content Warnings: La'an's warnings, corpses, + TBA

step 1: recognize the situation ( open to ~~1 person~~ dr_unconscious )

[ This isn't the first time La'an Noonien-Singh has been trapped somewhere against her will. Really, she supposes she should count herself lucky that the frozen landscape means this can't possibly be the work of the Gorn — the cold-blooded lizards avoid the cold and would never choose this place as a hunting ground. Of course, if it were the Gorn, she would at least have some idea of how to handle everything, whereas all of this is... beyond her.

She isn't a scientist. She can't even begin to guess what the atmospheric phenomenon might be and whether it is the cause behind the damaged electronics or their presence here. But she can still gather information and put together pieces as she's able, and perhaps someone here will be able to take it further than her. Working in Starfleet has taught her to rely on the strengths of others as much as her own, so she just has to hope that someone here will be able to further connect the dots.

To that end, she continues searching through the homes that haven't been claimed by other unwilling residents. With a foraged notebook in hand, she documents the state of each home, what was taken and left behind, and what she can tell of the former residents. And whenever she finds a journal of one of those residents, she clears a space at the kitchen table and settles in to read, paying close attention to the final days recorded in 2014 as the town's situation worsened. ]

step 2: establish priorities ( open to all )

[ Patrolling the perimeter of the town feels natural to La'an. Bundled up against the cold (though not as much as she really should be) with a red scarf standing out against all the black, she does her best to ignore the elements while focusing on the familiar. Walking the hallways of the Enterprise is one of her many duties aboard ship, checking in at different locations to ensure everything is working smoothly and there are no issues in need of her attention. She may not have a team to check in with here, but she still has a self-appointed mission to keep these people safe for as long as they're trapped here, which isn't something she's going to shirk.

So she walks. In the morning, at midday, and when night falls, she walks along the edge of the town, keeping watch for any of the predators she'd heard while traveling here, or for signs of anyone in need of help. ]

step 3: inventory supplies ( open to ~~1 person~~ moralabsolutism )

[ It's been days since her arrival and La'an has yet to explore the town's grocery store. Her attention has been devoted to uncovering details of what happened in Milton and how they were brought here, but as she accepts that answers might not be as forthcoming as she would like, she's going to have to take stock of what they have available to them.

There's an almost ominous feeling as she steps into the building, the large room quiet and devoid of life. It's been years since she even set foot in a place like this, which makes it all the more unsettling, but in she goes, choosing an aisle at random, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket as her footsteps almost echo through the silence. ]

step 4: stay calm ( closed to fidior )

[ After finding the initial bodies in her first days in Milton, it has become increasingly apparent that there are too many to leave untended. These were once people, so of course they deserve to be laid to rest in some appropriate manner, but more than that, bodies decay. La'an can still vividly recall the smell of rotting remains on the Gorn planet, the stench mixing with the sheer terror of fighting for survival to create a memory that will be forever seared into her memory. And since she very much doubts that many of the people here have enough experience with death to stomach what needs to be done, she takes it upon herself, at first taking care of the corpses found in the houses she visits to investigate left-behind belongings, and then purposefully searching other locations for any missed remains.

Moving the bodies is anything but easy. The ones out exposed to the elements are frozen solid, and the ones found indoors in unheated areas aren't much different. But it's the ones in warming areas that worry La'an most — enough time has passed since the time of death that rigor mortis has disappeared and decomposition has begun. This is a dangerous time for the living, especially when they barely even have the most basic archaeological medicine to rely on.

The churchyard is her destination with the latest body. Using an old shower curtain, she wraps the heavy fabric around the corpse of an older man and slowly drags the frozen weight through the snow-covered street. It's exhausting work but she doesn't let that stop her. This is work that needs to be done. ]

step 5: use everything at your disposal ( wildcard )

( Comment below if you would like a custom starter, or leave one for me! This post is to establish some last-minute, pre-event CR to help set the stage for whatever is in store for us this month. These threads don't have to go on for a long time, since we'll all likely dive headfirst into event things soon, but if anyone would like to meet a stoic, absolutely not from the future, badass Starfleet officer in disguise, here's your chance.

And don't forget to check out La'an's permissions, if you haven't already! )

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[ Whatever this place may truly be — whether an unending dream, the result of a mind that has finally been broken, or a Hell that he most certainly belongs to — he is to be trapped here for an unknown amount of time. And though little of it makes logical sense, Edward defaults to what he knows best, what he has always known best. To keep practicality. To move forwards.

Though the lieutenant finds himself dazed at times, having to pause what he is doing and recollect himself. Horror and melancholy haunt him like a spectre, leaving his flesh chilled and his spirit restless. He cannot allow his mind to slip, to wander too much, or else he'll fall down into it, into that despair.

He keeps busy. Checking in on a few other lost souls around here, exploring the area, searching, rarely staying indoors for long. A couple of the men he knows have trickled into this strange little town, and so his heart continues to insist that more may.

He's moving down the street when he sees something up ahead — a woman, dragging a large object along, slow and steady. It takes only moments to recognise what the wrapped-up thing must be, and the man's throat tightens; already he is moving closer, heavy boots crunching against the snow beneath. The amount of bodies here has been.... unsettling, but not unfamiliar. Little is no stranger to cold, unforgiving death, though to willingly go near it is against his nature even after so much of it. Still, he's been checking corpses that he comes across, gently lifting their heads to look for any sign of the men he knows. So far, none have been found, but each one could be, and perhaps....

In any case, it's clear that the woman's task is a burdensome one; he well-knows the heaviness of a corpse, and he's drawing quickly closer. ]

Pardon me...! [ Lifting one gloved hand, he calls out to the stranger. His tone is polite, demeanour professional. He still wears the clothing he is used to, the proud uniform of the Royal Navy, his long wool greatcoat, and officer's cap. ]

May I assist you?

[ Her head down to ensure sure footing as she drags the frozen body behind her, she doesn't see the man until he calls for her attention. Glancing up, she doesn't stop moving, one foot evenly in front of the other, but she does give him a thorough once-over. The ever-present sinking feeling in her stomach deepens as she takes in that uniform and his facial hair, the specific styles calling up a vague memory of Earth's history. Unless he's in some sort of costume, this man is from a significant amount of time before the 21st century.

Shit. ]

I've got this, thank you. [ Her British accent rounds the vowels of her words, her tone pointedly polite rather than dismissive. Nodding in the direction she'd been headed, she offers an alternative option. ] I could use someone to open the churchyard gate, if you don't mind.

[ She could do that herself, as well, but now that she's seen him, she can't just let this man wander off. There are questions she needs to ask, information that should be gathered. Everyone else she's met here so far seems to have come from close to the same point in time on Earth, so for this man to potentially deviate so drastically from that pattern... She needs to know more. ]

[ Both hands lifted now, Edward hesitates, looking uncertain for a moment that lingers — it's heavy work, he knows. It feels strange to leave someone to their own devices, but he's also not one to push, and in fact is almost comically obedient in the face of any sort of direction. With a quick nod, the man starts, moving to walk near her, slowing his pace for the moment so that he can keep stride. There's a lingering awkwardness that he isn't helping her to carry the thing, and he keeps turning his head to look to her. ]

Just up this way, isn't it?

[ The church isn't far off, just at the end of the street, though he's not visited the place himself. No, he hasn't actually done any burying of bodies just yet, only searching. (Nothing taken; he cannot bring himself to take from the dead.)

As he walks, he looks over and down to the shrouded corpse, brow furrowed, fretful. ]

It is alarming how many dead are to be found in this place. What sort of... condition was that one found in?

[ The lack of argument on his part seems particularly strange to La'an. Even in Starfleet, there are plenty of human men who have on multiple occasions assumed her small size and stature means she must be in need of assistance. It's one of many reasons she has worked hard to be self-sufficient in every way, and why she doesn't hesitate to use her prodigious intimidation skill to its full potential at every chance she gets. But he doesn't even begin to put up a fight, positioning him at odds with everything she knows about pre-21st century humanity. So either he is incredibly enlightened for his time... or he's simply someone used to following others.

Honestly, she's a bit curious which it is. It makes him far more interesting than some of the people she's met here, which helps to slightly temper that sinking feeling. Only slightly, but she'll take it. ]

No apparent injuries and no signs of distress. He looks like he just... fell over. [ She discusses the condition of the corpse in the same manner as she would the weather: practically and to the point. This is clearly not the first dead body she's dealt with in her life. ] He's not the first I've found like this, either.

[ Her breathing is only slightly labored despite the weight she pulls, a testament to her strenuous training routine. If the ground weren't so treacherous from the snow, she would be running laps around the town for her perimeter check rather than walking them, but given the state of medical care they're limited to in this place, she isn't willing to risk breaking an ankle for a workout. ]

[ 'He looks like he just... fell over.'

It has been the same for most of the other corpses he'd come across in this place, and although a less gruesome fate than many he has known, Edward still can't suppress a certain shudder that moves through him, a frown tugging softly at the corners of his mouth, though he otherwise manages to control his expression well. He stares down at the body for a moment longer, heart heavy. 'He', the woman refers to the wrapped corpse. A man. Edward knows he will have to check this one to be certain it isn't one of his lost men, and the thought makes his stomach ill as it always does.

(Is this truly his Hell? Damned to wander and search the dead with trembling hands? Again, he thinks, it is deserved. He will not fight it. He never does.) ]

The ones I have searched thus far also showed little sign of struggle. It seems almost peaceful.

...But death so rarely is, [ the man adds a beat later. Can it ever truly be peaceful? A heart stopping its functioning, organs shutting down, eyes losing their light. He has never seen a peaceful death, not in his lifetime. ]

You mean to bury him?

[ The nature of death is something with which La'an is intimately acquainted. Being the only survivor among well over a hundred people brutally massacred does that to a person, when you remember the sounds and smells of death more than the signs of life. Add in all the many she's lost during her time in Starfleet... Well, she knows that for most, death is anything but peaceful. Only the very lucky receive that gift. ]

As well as I can. [ She confirms it with a nod, pausing in her motion just long enough to adjust her grip on the sheet before continuing her slow progress toward the little cemetery. ] It was pointed out to me recently that we may not be able to dig deep enough given the frozen ground, so if we're still here when it thaws, we may need to dispose of these bodies in other ways.

[ Most people she's met in her life wouldn't deal well with the idea of digging up corpses to burn for sanitation reasons, so she's assuming this man from the past would be no different. La'an isn't one to shy away even from the most gruesome notions. ]

[ There's a grim tightening at the corners of his mouth at that, and the hint of a nod — thoughtful, knowing. He recognises the concept, is all-too familiar with it. ]

With ground such as this.... I do not expect the earth to yield easily.

[ It isn't as hard as the pure ice, but the landscape of this place is still dismally familiar in many ways. So frigid, crackling with frost. The way his breath comes out in a puff of fog, the perpetual sting at the nose and cheeks. Edward can hardly remember what it is to truly feel warm, though it's difficult to complain so much here in this place, that at least has buildings with four walls, blankets, food... His bones may stay cold, but it is not like out on that ice. That much, is a blessing.

The thought of having to dispose of so many corpses later on makes his stomach churn, but there is truth to it, to be certain. ]

If I may assist you with that task, perhaps it may have a more successful outcome. Even if only a little.

[ Perhaps they manage to get this poor soul buried a little deeper, working together. And again, he notes how she doesn't seem to be struggling the way most would, lugging a dead body all on her own (he still feels wrong, freftul for it, for not helping), but surely the woman will be exhausted by the time they reach the church...? ]

[ Nothing about this place gives easily to anything they try to do. The cold always seems to seep into even the warmest rooms. Heating or cooking their food is a battle in homes designed for electricity. And if they try to leave this place... Well, she's heard the predators beyond the town's border. They'll be lucky if those creatures never venture within their borders, but there's no chance that luck would never hold if they traveled through hunting grounds.

Though she doesn't expect anyone else to feel the same way, La'an feels a strange sense of safety here in the frozen town. Space is cold, but she's only had a few exceptionally rare occasions to experience just how cold it can be. No, it's not some odd reminder of the home she misses that has helped her adjust more easily than many others to this place — it's the confidence she feels in her certainty that the Gorn will never come here. It's a coping mechanism that her therapist has pointed out more than once, framing her view of any given situation within a tactical analysis involving the monsters who haunt her nightmares, but for once she's grateful for it. Sleep has come more easily here than she ever could have hoped.

But that is also not something she expects to be the case for others, and being around so many corpses likely isn't helping that. She gives the man a critical look, trying to gauge how he is personally dealing with all of this, but after a moment she decides to simply broach the subject. ]

I won't say no if you're sure you're up to it. I know most people aren't comfortable around the dead, and that extends to burying them.

[ Edward gives another grim expression — not quite a smile, something that borders more of a grimace. ]

As unpleasant as the task is, as well as to admit to this — I am no stranger to it.

[ He hasn't divulged too much about his previous circumstances to too many people, but there is no true harm in it. Mostly that it aches to, to think back to it, to address it at all — still so fresh, a relentless nightmare he has not yet begun to truly process. He was there and then he wasn't, and if this place is a rescue for him, well.... it is hardly one that has brought him any true peace. Not after what had happened. Not after what he'd done. He'd much prefer to do as he's always done, which is to swallow the horror of things downwards.

Even now, he reveals what he does mostly so that he will seem a credible source of assistance, and not so much because he has any desire to. ]

The ship I was serving on before here.... we became stuck. Trapped, upon the ice. Many of my men died, and we were unable to give them proper burials.

[ Edward pauses for a moment, solemn, tense. Voicing it aloud is a particular weight. He's grateful that they've neared the church gates, close enough that he can take a few steps forwards and begin opening them. It gives him something to do with his hands. ]

The fact these unfortunate souls can at least be given some form of burial... if I can respectfully offer that to them, my heart may feel some ease.

[ The weight of his words descends upon her, the pain of his experiences sinking into her to press upon her chest. With what she's guessed about his circumstances before coming here, being stuck like that would almost certainly have meant the death of everyone on board if they weren't properly outfitted. And if something went wrong...

La'an listens with the focus and seriousness the matter deserves, cataloging all the details and tucking away the information for study later. For now, her attention is firmly on her companion, acknowledging his pain in a way that would matter to her personally. ]

I'm sorry for your loss. [ The words feel trite on her tongue, their meaning practically lost for all the repetition they've endured. But despite their overuse, they're the best she has, except to offer the perspective of her own understanding. ] To lose those you serve with, especially those looking to you for—

[ Perhaps she shouldn't be saying this. It's too much, inching close to truths she cannot share, and yet onward she continues, her words as heavy as the body she pulls toward its future resting place. ] I've lost many in my time, both before I earned my commission and after. It never gets easier, but not being able to give them the rites of their choosing... That makes it all the harder.

[ Though he'd offered the information willingly, there's a discomfort left by his own words, an awkwardness; he still doesn't know what to do with them. With the words, with the weight of them, of all of the implications underlying everything, knowledge he hasn't been able to directly face — He's alone. And he'd done.... something unforgiveable.

He dips his head slightly as he continues to push the gates, first one and then the other, slowly. The creak of them resonates loud and unpleasant in the cold stillness of the churchfront, but he's lifting his gaze again as the woman speaks.

'I'm sorry for your loss.'

Those words do mean something. An acknowledgment of that loss at all is...a lot, to him. Edward gives a soft sound beneath his breath, and a nod, appreciative. He genuinely is, even if he's somewhat shy with his reception of it. But he continues to listen to the woman speak, and the tightness of his heart seems to tighten moreso. To hear that she's also lost many, that she knows what it is... Though he may seem reserved on the outside, Edward is a deeply empathetic soul, absorbing what's around him inwards, and his frown deepens. ]

I am sorry for your own.

[ He offers, quietly. But there are other realisations there, things pulled from what the woman had said — those served with, commission... As he finishes opening the gates, he carefully wonders it aloud. It's quite unusual to think of a woman being in service, but he's known many unusual things as of late. ]

You are... in the service?

[ La'an's relationship with loss is complicated, to put it mildly. She doesn't shy away from the tragedies she's survived and also hesitates to draw attention to them. Her childhood taught her that there's no hiding from the truth of who she is, and all that pain is part of her makeup now, but if she can get through a conversation without someone looking at her like she's a victim, then she's grateful for it.

But the loss of her crewmates is something different. They were people from across the galaxy who shared the ideals of Starfleet, who were striving to learn and grow, as individuals and as a part of the Federation. They were good people who risked their lives in the pursuit of knowledge and exploration, as so many had throughout history.

Giving her own nod of appreciation, she hesitates for a moment before answering his question and slowly making her way into the little cemetery. ]

For nearly a decade now. My rank is lieutenant.

[ With his task done, he's hit with a fresh wave of uneasiness about allowing someone to lug a body on their own, and moves a little awkwardly into the churchyard, gloved hands still held upwards as though waiting for the next chore to come.

But oh — this is unexpected, and familiar, the way so little is. Certainly there is much that is vastly unfamiliar, too (a woman as Lieutenant, and clearly not from the same time as himself) but even so.... it's something. Something he can hold onto, and there's an odd sort of relief there even through all of the strangeness of this situation.

His face shows clear surprise, but there's no lack of respect to follow, and he lifts a hand to touch the rim of his cap and pull it down just slightly, as he would greet a fellow officer aboard the ships. ]

A pleasure, lieutenant.

[ The greeting he provides is in full, the title he clings onto even in this place where perhaps such things no longer matter. (To him, they still do. They must.) ]

Edward Little of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, and lieutenant as well.

[ A beat, as he reflects on her accent, and though perhaps it should be an obvious assumption, knowing now that there are people here from different worlds... he cannot assume too much. ] You are also from England?

[ There's something comforting in this exchange, she can't deny. They might be from vastly different eras and services, but hearing her title in the greeting feels like home the way nothing else has here. It's a feeling she wants to grab hold of and wrap around herself because every hour spent in this frozen landscape feels like a year away from the ship she'd gladly spend the rest of her life on.

But then he asks that question and a wave of guilt rushes in. He doesn't deserve to be lied to, none of the people here do, and yet she must to... What? Preserve a timeline she's not sure she saved? Is she even in the same timeline anymore to where her actions will have any impact on that future at all? ]

My family was, but I never spent much time there. We moved around a lot when I was a child.

[ There's truth in that, at least. She and the body turn toward where the fresh graves are, not too far from the gate. ]

What part of England are you from, Lieutenant Little? [ Because keeping the conversation away from her own specifics will be safer, for as long as she can manage it. ]

[ There's some needling little dose of discomfort to the fact of conversing when tending to such a macabre task — but he's able to swallow that down, for the moment. Practicality always takes precedence, and he keeps his mind in the place that allows for one to deal with such unpleasantries.

Besides, it's important to make contact with others here, to learn about his fellow refugees to this place. ]

Middlesex, though I hardly remember it there. My family also moved around quite often. We lived in Scotland for a time, when I was young. Then back to England — Hampshire.

[ His mouth forms a line that's not quite a smile. It is... strange, to think upon his past. His family. Will he ever see them again?

Perhaps he's already known that answer for a very long time. ]

But I suppose I've never been in any one place for long. The life of a sailor.

[ He'd followed right in his father's footsteps, as expected — into the Royal Navy when he was quite young, and being promoted not five years after. It's been his life, truly. ]

...I didn't expect I'd end up here, though.

[ The life of a sailor, indeed. He likely knows every inch of his ship the way she does the Enterprise, and can feel the way the water and wind work together just as she knows the thrum of the warp core engine. She misses that feeling desperately. ]

No, I don't think any of us did.

[ After her trip into the past, she certainly hadn't expected this. She was supposed to be home now, back with her crew, and yet here she is, utterly alone and having to lie to everyone around her. Each new lie leaves a bitter taste on her tongue, and it's only by necessity that she's able to continue on this course of action.

Letting the body gently down to the frozen ground, she straightens, her muscles protesting in a way she pointedly ignores. There are more important things to focus on. Her expression grows serious as she properly faces her companion, and she tries to impart some of what Chris keeps telling her is so important: hope. ]

We're going to find a way back. Somehow, we'll all find our way to wherever home is.

[ There's a solemn nod at that, a recognition of sameness through all of this — somehow, impossibly, here all of them are in this place. There are so many unknowns, why and how, but for the immediate moment... all that can be done is to carry forth with one task at a time.

He comes to a halt as the other lets the corpse go to the ground — and he is mindful that she hasn't shared her name in return, although Edward would never ask outright; it wouldn't be polite, particularly towards a woman. If she shares the information, then he'll take it; for now, he simply stands there facing her for that moment.

He finds himself taken aback by her words, eyes widening slightly. It's been... rare, that Edward's heard such from anyone else, apart from perhaps Captain Crozier himself. Words of... hope. Most of the other men had given up on it, by the end. Edward was one of the few to cling to it still, in his way. To behave as though they still could survive. Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps he was always disillusioned. But it was what he held onto, desperately.

And now.... now, he isn't so sure. The thought that this place may be a sort of Hell, one his soul deserves to be damned to.... has taken up residence within him. (But if that is the case, then these other poor souls here with him.... would he say they're damned, too? Certainly not. Not the people he's met, not Goodsir. It cannot be.) ]

....You're right, [ he finally offers. He can still cling to his old self, to what his heart held fast to. He can help these people, even if there is no help for him. Not really. All of them were going to die out there in the ice. ]

If we were brought here, then there must be a way out.

[ Finally he does allow a small smile, and though it's reserved, there's a warmth to the browns of his eyes that he never can quite mask. Though it quickly sobers again as he looks back down to the sheet wrapped around the body. ]

....Until then, we must deal with such unpleasant business.... I regret to ask this of you, but may I check him? To make certain he isn't one of my men.

[ Having hope can be a dangerous thing, but not having it is often far worse. She'd seen it when the crew first faced the Gorn, when she'd been placed in a role of leadership she'd never expected. The others had looked to her because of her experience, and she hadn't wanted to lie to them — but was hope a lie even in the most dire circumstances? The slightest word of encouragement or assurance had lifted them out of the darkest fear and they'd made it through.

She can hear Christopher Pike's voice at the back of her mind, guiding her through what it takes to be a leader. Operations has always felt like her calling, but after so many instances of being thrust into leadership, she's started to wonder if she might be well-suited for Command. If she makes it through this, perhaps she'll seriously consider the option.

When she makes it through this.

Given their circumstances, the smile he shows her truly feels like a gift. It might be short-lived, but she hopes she's allowed to see it again sometime. For now, her expression and stance soften, opening up because she understands that need to know. If there was even a chance that one of her crew might be here... ]

Of course. Allow me to help.

[ She doesn't wait for his permission to kneel beside the body and carefully unwrap the section around the man's head. Judging by the deceased's modern look, she's fairly certain it isn't one of his men, but she still peels the sheet back to show the lieutenant the frozen face. And then she watches him, waiting for a sign of recognition or relief before covering up the body again. ]

[ He does truly believe that hope can be a saviour, that without it.... well. He'd seen what the men were capable of, what happened to so many of them. Edward thinks of himself as a highly resilient person, and tries his best to be — perhaps in comparison to some of the other men, he may falter, but he has his own type of resiliency.

He'd never given up on his hope. It had fueled him, driven him, kept him... going. Kept him able to keep going.

....Perhaps only at the very end, did he feel it.... stripped. When he'd given every single thing, and had nothing left to give. Though that isn't something he'll allow himself to dwell on, not now, when he must keep going here, in this place. No, he's concentrating on the task at hand, however unpleasant it may be. With an assured nod, he's watching the other move downwards to expose the corpse's face, unable to avoid a kneejerk pinprick in his chest at the sight of it.

He doesn't need to crouch closer to see that the unfortunate soul isn't one of his men. He'd known every single one of their faces so well — and even now, with the lead altering his mind at times, it isn't as bad as it had been for some of them. He's able to think, reason, remember. ]

He is not mine. [ Said with a quiet exhale, and then there's a tip of his head, appreciative. ] Thank you. My heart cannot rest unless I make certain.

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the steps of survival — ota

stay calm

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