no man is an island

[singmod]

MAY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS: Young Bill asks the Interlopers for help in dealing with a group of protestors that have been harassing him for months — by stealing their hidden caches and starving/forcing them out of the Lakeside area.

PROMPT TWO — SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS: It turns out that sometimes folktales are true after all, and a mysterious creature lives within the Lake of Lakeside — and it demands payment for use of its Lake.

PROMPT THREE — GLIMMERFOG: A strange new weather phenomenon causes a new illness in Interlopers.

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

WHEN: Mid-May — onwards.
WHERE: Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; themes of morality; themes of scavenging; instances of animal mutilation; instances of corpse mutilation/desecration; themes of folk horror;


Methuselah, having visited Lakeside, passes on the message in mid-May that Young Bill is looking for assistance from the Interlopers and asks for anyone who would be kind enough to donate their time to visit him. Some may already know how to Young Bill’s cabin, but Methuselah will draw a quick map for those unfamiliar to find the way.

After traversing through the Milton Mine — which was cleared by Interlopers back in March — and using the hand-operated crank to use the lift to reach the Lakeside entrance, Interlopers will simply need to follow the train track down through the mountains for a few hours before crossing the railway bridge over the ravine and into Lakeside. Coming off the tracks and following a trail northwards will eventually lead to a small cabin and outbuilding within a clearing: this is the home of Young Bill.

… and it seems the man himself is no less wary when he steps out onto his porch, his rifle in hands raised towards the newcomers that make their way into their clearing. Mentioning that Methuselah sent you will quickly earn that rifle being lowered though, and he will nod his head indoors.

“C’mon, I’ll get some coffee on. You look like you could do with the warm up.”

Young Bill will do just that, encouraging Interlopers to sit and warm themselves by the log burner within his home — offering mugs of coffee. He’s not alone in the cabin, either. There’s also Scout, an Alaskan Malamute, who… appears to be nesting, sleeping on piles of blankets and pillows. Once everyone’s a little warmer, he will take a seat. Onto business, then.

“Alright, straight up— what I’m suggesting here isn’t gonna be all that pleasant when you look at the big picture. If you want out, that’s fine. I’m not gonna judge.”

He means that. He understands that this going to be less than savoury, and folks are gonna have their principles and their morals. People are free to walk away from his proposal, but regardless of their participation: this is happening.

“Some of you already know about this, but I’ll start from the beginning for those who don’t. There’s this group of folks who call themselves the ‘Forest Talkers’. Rocked up here a couple of years back to protest against some of the big productions going on here in Lakeside, like the resort expansion.” he shrugs. “Few of them are locals, but most of them are from the Mainland. They weren’t so bad, but they were a pain in the ass for the companies working here. Messing with machinery, protests, vandalism. That sort of thing. I’d see them around but— they never used to bother me at all. We kept out of another’s way until everything started going south several months back.

But now? Those eco-fucks have done nothing but cause trouble for months. They break my traps, they’ve stolen from me. They tried to trash my home. They’ve even tried to attack me while I’ve been out. Pretty sure they’re the ones behind some of the burnt-out and trashed lodges. …I heard some of you guys got shot at, too.”

There’s a short pause, and Young Bill’s face grows dark, a little disturbed. Those who have been in the Northern Territories longer will note that something has been bothering Young Bill for the last couple of months or so. He’s been reluctant to mention it, but the man looks exhausted.

“They’ve done… odd shit, too. Like something out of an old horror movie. It’s like they’ve gone nuts, or something.”

If pressed, he will share the more… grisly details. Killed and mutilated wildlife, often arranged in frightening manners. He’s even found the… bodies of people: Forest Talkers themselves from what he can gather, some natives to the Northern Territories, some workers from the resort and hydrodam. The bodies are just as mutilated, skin torn from limbs, eyes removed. At some point, he has to stop. He doesn’t want to go on.

“I’ve tried reasoning with them, I’ve tried threatening them. They don’t wanna listen. I’m tired of being watched and hounded in my own home.” he explains. He seems exhausted by the whole thing. “So I guess the only thing I can think to do is to try and starve them out. I’m not here to attack anyone, but I guess maybe if they don’t have much left then they’ll finally give up and just leave. I bet if they didn’t have the foothold they have in this place, they wouldn’t be half as brave as they are.”

Ah, yes. The less-than-savoury part of all of this. Stealing from others, starving them out. Perhaps it’s not the worst thing to do to another here, but cutting off lifelines might be… morally questionable.

“They have caches, all over Lakeside. Food, supplies, stuff like that. I’ve found notes.”

He gets up to walk towards his desk and pulls out a few pieces of paper. Each of them is marked with either a stamp or some hand-drawn symbol: a circle with a simple line of pine trees inside of it, topped with the shadow of a face. They’re handwritten notes, detailing cryptic clues about where caches are hidden all over the area. Young Bill will hand them out to Interlopers to have a look.

“I have a rough idea of where they are, but I need help in finding them. It’s hard enough with the fog, and now Scout’s expecting.” There’s an unamused grumble at that last part, but he continues. “You can keep what’s in them, I just want them gone.”

Some may choose to back out of this, and Young Bill is true to his word. He isn’t here to shame or judge anyone for not choosing to get in on this. But for those who do, the journey begins. Interlopers can go out into Lakeside and begin the grim scavenger hunt. Young Bill will even supply Interlopers with maps of the Lakeside area with vague ideas of where he believes the notes may be talking about in terms of these caches. For those who disbelieve Young Bill’s claims, they too will soon find their own evidence: the very same things the man had spoken of scattered around the area.

It’s disturbing. Something is… very wrong with these people. But there seems to be no trace of the actual people themselves. Interlopers may get the sense of being watched, perhaps a sound from the woods, or something of the like — but nothing more than that. Heading to the Old Hunting Lodge and getting too close will bring on gunfire from the Forest Talkers.

Caches, when found, may be rock cairns hidden against rockier areas in Lakeside. Some might be metal containers half-hidden or even buried in the snow. They will mostly contain goods such as dried food or even MRE’s. Others will contain things like basic medical supplies such as bandages, disinfectants, painkillers, or antibiotics. Others may contain flares or ammunition. Interlopers are free to claim the items as their own — just as Young Bill said.

Surely this will get rid of them, and force them to leave the area. Right?

SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS

WHEN: The month of May, onwards.
WHERE: Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creatures; serpentine creature; themes of sacrifice; potential character death/maiming; potential drownings.


While the lake of Lakeside appears to have been well known for being used all year, with fishing and watersports available during the summer, the harsh weather that has plagued the Northern Territories now means that the lake has now (possibly) become permanently frozen solid. In some respects, this is good news: allowing Interlopers to cross the terrain more easily to reach the cabins and not resorting to the long way around through the woods. It also means that there is ample opportunity for ice fishing, and it’s possible to build structures on the ice to stay warm.

But something else lurks beneath the thick ice, and it has noticed you upon its frozen waters.

In the Camp Office, a small display hangs on the wall about a monster from folklore native to the lake. It is said that the beast was the guardian of the lake and would demand sacrifice from those who wished to use its waters or otherwise drag them down to a watery grave. The whole thing seems like just some “fun” interest-grabber to visitors and those vacationing on the lake, even with cartoon drawings of a gigantic snake-like monster smiling goofily.

Or is it?

To the unsuspecting Interloper who ventures out onto the lake, whether to fish upon it or simply cross it, it appears, bursting through the ice: a huge serpentine creature with dark-green skin dotted with ridges along its back and dragon-like head — thick-bodied and incredibly fast as it rears up and opens its mouth — roaring at you with a wide, fanged mouth.

And then, it waits. And suddenly you wonder if maybe that cheesy display in the Camp Office might have had a point after all.

The creature demands a sacrifice for the use of its lake. Perhaps you have food or some freshly caught game to offer it. Or some small token you own that you can give to it: a tool, a cherished item. Maybe even the shirt off your own back, or the very blood running through your veins. You must give something.

Lay it upon the ice before it, and the beast will take it, gently collecting it between its teeth and returning to the depths below. Refuse to give anything, and the beast will roar and launch into an attack — pulling itself fully out of the lake.

It moves with speed, and will try to devour you, or wrap its body around you to squeeze the life out of you, or simply pull you down under the water. There will be no winning against this creature, no way of harming it and no way of fighting back. You may have a chance of running away, getting off the lake, but it will remember you, and will try to come for you once more if you ever step foot on the ice again.

The choice is yours, Interloper. What will you sacrifice?

GLIMMERFOG

WHEN: The month of May, onwards into early June.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural weather; themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms; altered-mental states; hallucinations; nosebleeds/blood; possible character death.


Interlopers have come to understand that strange meteorological occurrences are not uncommon within the Northern Territories, especially given the Aurora. Auroras can often last for days, as one long and seemingly endless kind of terrible, noisy bright night which affects both electronics and nature alike. Or there's the toxic fog; times where the sky goes green and the moon and stars disappear; monster blizzards… strange is the new norm.

The fog that began in April doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. Endless days where the fog is too thick to travel in. Fortunately, there are no further bouts of the green, toxic fog that plagued the Northern Territories — the fog that remains is just the usual freezing cold and clinging damp that's been exhausting Interlopers.

Until there’s something else that starts to happen with the fog.

At first, it appears to be no different than the usual fog rolling in: cold, wet, and biting. It clings to those who are caught out in it, and it’s utterly miserable. However, those paying attention will note that the clouds of fog will occasionally... glimmer.

It’s as if there’s a current of electricity running through it, if one watches carefully. Mini lightning bolts shooting through and upwards in curious patterns. Flicks and pops that make the tiny hairs on one’s arms and neck stand up — almost like static. It won’t shock those caught within it, but it might be a little difficult to look at at times — as if someone were staring at a light that’s far too bright.

It’s oddly pretty, and seems particularly harmless, but there’s something far more sinister about this new, strange phenomena — or... Glimmerfog, as Interlopers will come to call it.

The first sign that something is amiss is the insomnia. In truth, sleep is often hard to come by in the Northern Territories, so it might be something that is easily brushed off as quite usual in terms of day to day life. However, Interlopers will realise they won’t be able to sleep at all, and will find themselves lying awake for the entirety of the night. Soon enough, more things creep up with the insomnia, the usual signs of sleep deprivation: dizzy spells, unsteadiness on one’s feet, poor hand-eye coordination, difficulty in concentration or poor short-term memory, even mood swings or changes to behaviour are likely.

Eventually, the symptoms begin to grow more sinister: nosebleeds are common, aches and pains... and then the fever sets in. Interlopers will become weak, lethargic, and even then they still cannot sleep through their illness. With it, comes hallucinations: sounds or sights, and then quickly developing into a full on delirium. Dreams and reality blend into one. An Interloper’s dreams and nightmares bleed into the waking world. They will find themselves experiencing their dreams despite being wide awake.

It seems like there is very little to be done in trying to fight the illness. Trying to tackle the fever and getting the afflicted Interloper some kind of sleep is the main concern, both of which may eventually kill the Interloper if enough is not done in time. Natural sleep-aids like herbal teas, or medications still available in the world may be able to get the Interloper to sleep for short amounts of time. Keeping the Interloper inside and away from the Glimmerfog will also help immensely, as will spending time in complete darkness or even underground or within caves/mining systems.

Breaking the fever will signal the peak and decline of the illness, and with enough care the Interloper will slowly begin to recover.

FAQs

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

1. Players are free to come up with their own ideas of cache locations within Lakeside. It might be particular points of interest, a particular kind of tree, within isolated cabins in the woods.

2. Please be reasonable of finds in the caches. These supply amounts won't be a huge amount — think small but many caches.

3. It is possible to come across the grisly finds in Lakeside without meeting up with Young Bill first.

4. Caches would tend to stick to similar themes, ie. food cache, medicine cache, etc.

SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS

1. It is not possible to communicate with the beast, but it does seem to understand Interlopers. It will have no desire to communicate of befriend any one, though.

2. The beast will be a permanent fixture of the Lake.

3. Interlopers who initially refuse to give the beast anything can try again at a later date. They will have to offer their offering quickly, showing outward remorse for their initial disrespect towards the beast.

4. Locals refer to the Lakeside Beast as 'Nor'pogo.'

GLIMMERFOG

1. "Glimmerfog Disease" will run it's full course in roughly ten to fourteen days, with symptoms peaking typically around day seven to nine. Once the fever breaks, Interlopers will require a few days to fully recover.

2. Characters are welcome to kill of NPCs with this prompt, as Interlopers who don't make it through the illness — or to be used to study the sickness. Please let the mods know if you plan to kill an NPC for record keeping purposes!

PLOTTING POST

Comments

kate marsh | life is strange

[castitas]

☮ what I wouldn't give to be in church this sunday
cw: insomnia, sleep deprivation; themes of illness; nosebleeds/blood;

ONE
[ It had happened while out foraging. Kate had come across the strange, glimmering fog and at first had been afraid, worried about the green, toxic fog that had come the month before. But this… this wasn’t the same. It didn’t burn, didn’t bite. A miniature lighting storm, maybe. Light dancing in the fog, almost ticklish.

The lack of sleep isn’t surprising, really. She’s still readjusting to returning to the Community Hall after time away from it. And often the Hall can be difficult to sleep in with the noise and traffic of it being a central hub of Interlopers. Added in the increasingly brighter nights as the midnight sun approaches, Kate doesn’t question it too much. There’s plenty of reasons why she might not be sleeping so great.

But as the days start to pass and sleep still doesn’t come, the toll of it starts to fall heavily on her: lapses in concentration, lost in certain tasks where she’ll slow to a stop and stare off into nothing with a glazed look. She looks tired; dark circles deepening under her eyes, her stares heavy-lidded when she spaces out.

Maybe she’s doing dishes. Maybe she’s sat on her cot with only one shoe on and not entirely sure why she’s doing it. Maybe she’s out and about in town and can’t quite remember where she’s heading to or what she’s supposed to be doing. Conversations initiated aren’t responded to immediately, she’ll be lost in something for a long moment before she inhales sharply, apologetic and confused. ]

I’m sorry, what were you talking about…?


TWO
[ Of course, the more mild-mannered responses don’t last for long. Soon enough, irritability sets in. It seems to rear its head when she’s in the middle of trying to concentrate on something. Maybe she’s hunched over her bible, reading the same passage some five or seven times and not managing to take any of it in. Maybe she’s trying to concentrate on whatever she is she’s drawing and it’s just not going right.

It might not even be a particularly loud sound: a conversation in the Hall, laughter over a joke. It cuts into her, sets her teeth on edge, her hand enclosing around her pencil tight enough it eventually snaps. ]

Shut up—!

[ She’ll spin round in her seat, wild-eyed and exhausted fury and the offender — venom in her voice. And… then there’ll be a few beats before she sits back, realising. Her eyes widen and mortification etches itself into her expression. Kate flusters, and fumbles, mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for apologies — cheeks bright red. ]


THREE
[ Despite everything, her violin practice attempts still go ahead. It’s… not going well. A few feeble attempts at scales, some half-hearted opening notes of Mozart before sighs and lowers her bow — vexed at her clumsy fingers and uneven playing. She stands for a long moment, head resting against her violin as if might drop off to sleep there and then. Maybe she just… needs minute.

It comes on so suddenly, and she barely notices it at first. It’s the tiredness that’s far more heavy her — the dull ache in her head that she’s sure is caused by it. Then there’s a strange heat from her nose, and she looks down belatedly at the soft splash of red against wood. Another joins it, and she’s so confused, frowning at her violin — pulling it away to examine it.

She inhales through her mouth and all she can taste is copper, red spilling from her nose and down her lips. Her violin’s placed down on a nearby surface, trembling fingers going to her nose and pulling away stained with blood. ]

O-oh— oh, no—

[ She keeps trying to brush blood away, stunned at the sight of it, her eyes wide in panic — what does she do? ]

☮ God loves you, but not enough to save you
cw: themes of illness; blood

[ She’s too weak to stay standing. The illness grips her tightly, and she’s eventually confined to her cot — shivering and shaking beneath blankets. She feels like she’s burning, but she can’t be sure if it’s a burn like fire or a burn like ice. The fever hasn’t broken yet, her skin hot to the touch but no sign of sweat — and even then, Kate doesn’t still sleep.

Whatever tiny snatches of sleep she’s managed aren’t enough. Everything around her feels so faint and far away, like she gazes at the world through frosted glass. She’s so tired and despite the sickness in her she still can’t manage to sleep. Her eyes are open and heavy and she stares off, focusing on nothing. There’s an unpleasant feeling at her nose and cheek: the half-dried sticky blood of another nosebleed smeared against her skin, blooming onto the pillow beneath her. She’s too tired to try and clean it away.

Someone draws near and while she looks up towards them, her eyes are unfocused and glossy. For a moment, she’s afraid, as if she doesn’t quite recognise the person joining her at her bedside. She’s scared, scared it might be another hallucination, that it might be her dreams back to haunt her—

Her voice cracks, throat dry and thick. The words are slurred and small, unsure: ]

Are you real?

☮ WILDCARD

wildcards fine with plotting, hmu! | plotting post is here | contact: heolstor / _heolstor for questions/plotting

— if I bend under the weight that they gave me | closed to fidior

[castitas]

cw: upsetting themes, reference to Kate's Dark Room experience; hallucinations; emeto mention, but no actual throwing up

[ She's a little feverish, and she does wonder if maybe she's getting a little sick. She's tired more than anything, irritable at times. But Kate tries to temper her irritation. It's not anyone else's fault she's tired. And there's always plenty of work to do in the Hall — so she does her best to throw herself into things and distract herself from her exhaustion.

And it's fine, until it's not.

As she sweeps the floor of the Hall's main area, she jerks back suddenly — cringing away if blinded by something. Sharp, painful white fills her eyes and she steps back, balance unsteady. After a moment, she blinks through the white that doesn't seem to fade and stares in a lost confusion around her.

The voice is soft, but she recognises it. She can't make out the words, but they fill her with a familiar feeling: fear and horror and nausea. Kate turns, looking for it, the hairs on her back of her neck prickling. No, it's not— her breathing quickens and everything's blurred and pale in her vision. It doesn't feel safe. It's as if everything's underwater, just as it always is.

The broom in her hands falls with a clatter and another bright flash hits her — too sharp and too bright. Around her, fellow Interlopers are pausing to look at her, her name uttered as soft murmurs of concern. ]

No, no— [ Not again. Her limbs feel like stone, heavy to move but she's backing away. ] Stop, please.

[ She backs up until her hip meets one of the tables and she falls, landing on the floor and even still, she's backing away until she can't any more — back against the wall and others gathering towards her in some confused and concerned horror. More sharp flashes of white blinding her vision, and she's whimpering. ]

No, no— no, I don't— no, please.

[ She doesn't want this. ]

Zoey Westen | Original Character

[pythianwoman]

starters to come in the comments below
plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

[pythianwoman]

Zoey doesn’t exactly trust Young Bill, but information is information. Anything could be a piece of the puzzle, no matter how small. So she goes to hear what he has to say, listening from the corner of the room. It doesn’t sit well with her, the idea of sabotaging the Forest Talkers caches, stealing from them. Starving them out. For one, she doesn’t much like the idea of starving anyone. And for two… it could backfire spectacularly in their faces.

They won’t have much to lose if they’re starving.

She already knows that she’s not taking part in it. It’s the odd shit out of a horror movie that catches her attention, has her press for more information. Killed and mutilated, arranged in frightening manner. Skin torn off. Eyes removed. But why? And what was with the change? Because the Young Bill talked makes it sound like they weren’t ALWAYS pulling the horror movie shit.

It’s something she might need to see for herself. There might be something to do with the way they’re arranged, maybe. Or there might be something on the body that he didn’t notice. After she leaves Young Bill’s cabin, she sets out to see if she can find one of their displays. Possibly several. Maybe there’s something about the locations that’s important.

It takes her a long time, a lot of trekking through the snow and the cold, but she finds three. It’s fucking horrifying to see, but she’s a seer, even without her powers. It’s her duty to see such things. So for each of them she makes a note on her map where she found them, the directional orientation of the… bodies. Of the pieces. And she draws them in her journal. Making careful notes of all the details. Anything might be important.

After, though. After, she takes a moment to say a prayer to the dead. Make an offering. She has to do something.

And once she's done, once the information has been taken down and the offerings have been made, she starts the cold trek back to Milton. To thaw, and to drink, and go over her notes.

After she's added it all to her information wall she's headed back out and up to a rooftop for the drinking part of the equation.

Edward Little ⚓ The Terror

[fidior]

CLOSED STARTERS

⚓ — PLOTTING POST

— Holland March.

[fidior]

[ It's a few days after the little public tussle that Edward comes knocking at March's door, hoping that the other man is still to be found here in Milton. More and more people have been journeying to Lakeside to stay for however long, possibly for always, and the division in the community sits uneasily within Little's gut, a constant nagging thing. (One of many constant nagging things.)

He's confirmed by now that it was in fact Holland March to step in and secure Wynonna's safety after Little was..... rendered immovable by one of the brawlers (a kind way to say "knocked out in two seconds flat").... Checking in with the man would have come immediately, but Little's had to take a day or two to recover. He isn't happy about the fact he looks horrible — his left eye surrounded in a mess of dark brown and purple, and the iris stained red in places, thanks to a burst blood vessel or two. He's probably lucky it wasn't worse, that the hit hadn't landed against his nose or cheek, but it's Edward Little's first time ever being struck in the face, and he's deeply shaken by the incident.

...Not his first time being hit in the head so hard he passes out, however. He should probably try to avoid that happening a third time.

After giving a few hard-fisted knocks to the wood of March's door, he calls out so at least the other man, if he's in, won't be struck off-guard by a stranger's arrival— ]

Mr. March? It's Lieutenant Little.

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things

[satanicpanics]

open starters to follow
plotting | muttonchops | poultrylegs @ discord

sacrificial offerings (brief driveby); ota

[satanicpanics]

I told you. I fucking told you.

[ When word and confirmation about a beast beneath the lake arises, Eddie scrambles to gather his stuff together, shooting the lake a wary glance as he does. He’d panned to leave Lakeside regardless, but the has really kicked the process into gear. He’s clearly frightened, totally shaken, enough that his stupid Lightbringer ability isn’t entirely under his control. Sparks keep shooting from his fingers, starting tiny fires on his sleeves that he needs to pat out every few seconds with quivering hands. ]

Jesus fucking Christ.

[ He’s been staring at that lake for weeks, practically sensing something was beneath it, though he’d never been sure if it was trauma or something more. Now he knows, and this time, he takes no shame in running. He huffs out a shaky laugh, boring close to tears as he shoulders his bag and guitar and, unceremoniously, takes off in the direction of Milton.

Feel free to follow him, catch up with him, or run into him if you’re headed that way. ]

SAM CARPENTER

[killer]

Luce tan bien que hasta la sombra le combina
The Ends Justify the Means - CW: corpse mutilation/desecration

Sam heads to Lakeside out of curiosity, just to hear what Young Bill wants, never expecting to lend her hand. She stays because she needs to see the grisly scenes he described for herself. Her fears are confirmed when she does, wincing at empty-socket stares from mutilated corpses: this is serial killer shit.

Unfortunately Sam's plan ended at finding the bodies. She knows the work of a deranged killer when she sees it but she has no idea how to hunt one that isn't playing by slasher flick rules. And she can't just leave it be; she won't sleep knowing whoever did this is out there.

She kneels beside one of the bodies for a closer look and sighs. "I have not watched enough procedurals for this."

Asesina, me domina
Sacrificial Offerings

What was supposed to be a time-saving shortcut across the frozen lake turns into a monster-of-the-week episode faster than Sam can process what she is looking at. She scurried back several paces when it burst from under a thick slab of ice but now she is stuck in place, waiting for her brain to catch up with her eyes. It waits. She stares back, baffled... and it waits.

She comes back to herself with a jolt, spins around, and runs off as fast as she can. When she spares a glance back, the creature is no longer waiting.

Llena su tanque de adrenalina
Glimmerfog

Sam learned her lesson last month not to underestimate fog. She now treats it with the same instinctive fear and respect that she would a wild bear. It hasn't gotten her this time, she is reliably sure of that. Last night's bout of insomnia was the usual residual trauma induced brand that Sam recognizes so well. Still, she never could get to sleep, so today her functionality is dependent on the Go! energy drink in her hands. She is something of an energy connoisseur but the brand is new to her. Its taste leaves much to be desired but the label lists all the right ingredients.

She has only had a few sips when she starts to notice that sleep deprivation seems to be the morning trend around the community hall. Her grip shifts around the can; she has a couple more stashed plus a tin of instant coffee for when things get truly desperate.

"Here," she shoves the can at the next exhausted-looking person she sees. "You might need this more than me."

Cuando escucha reggaetón en las bocinas
Hot Springs (Non-Event) - CW: alcohol use, drug mention

There is nothing particularly special about turning twenty-seven but it still feels wrong for Sam to let her birthday pass unacknowledged. For the second year in a row, she had to fight to make it here. Too many people weren't so lucky: Wes, Liv, Anika... Sam could go on, her mind conjures their names with punishing regularity. She feels stupid that this is the thought that gets her together— that those poor kids won't see another birthday— but that's survivor's guilt for you. Never rational, often stupid, and always all-consuming.

So Sam makes plans because others can't and on May 19th she hikes out to the hot springs in the late afternoon. This May also marks roughly six months since Sam found herself fighting frostbite on the outskirts of this strange little town. She has little to show for it in interpersonal relationships (the trick to never getting lonely is remembering that anyone you let in could someday stab you) but much to show for it in looted supplies. One of the rooms in the house Sam now lives in belonged to a moody teenager, so that's dark nail polish and a celebratory joint covered. Dad was big on fishing; she has him to thank for the little blue cooler keeping her drinks and slush ice cool. Unsurprisingly, finding a swimsuit was a bust but Sam makes due with a large men's t-shirt that bore a fishing pun until she cropped it above the punchline. Now it simply reads: I'M SO GOOD WITH MY ROD.

The crown jewel of her birthday celebration stash stays in her pack when Sam first reaches the springs. She brought it just in case, knowing she might not get to use it at all. And it doesn't make or break the experience, but there is certainly a before and after.

There is before, when Sam dipped her feet in the water while preparing a margarita from the rare bottles of strawberry mix and tequila she'd been waiting for a good reason to break out. The mix is a food mart brand and over-sweet, the liquor is cheap and sure to inflict brutal hangovers, and the view overlooking snow-covered slopes is unparalleled. Even alone, Sam manages to have a pretty good time.

Then there is after, when she closes her eyes and floats around for a moment or an hour and when she opens her eyes again the dusky sky is bright with color.

"Yes!" Sam hurriedly splashes up to the edge and climbs out, trembling through the biting cold to dig into her pack for a battery-powered boombox and a handful of CDs. The skip button is jammed so she lets the album play from start, swaying with the rhythm for four tracks before really coming alive with the fifth. In Sam's defense she is buzzed when she starts singing along, both she and the boombox at top volume, to the seminal 2004 hit "Gasolina" by Daddy Yankee.

[ Wildcards welcome if nothing above works. PM or cosmology to set anything up. ]

HOT SPRINGS

[salamanca]

(OOC: Sorry, I know we discussed other things, but I couldn't resist!)

[ Does someone here finally know how to party?!

Lalo arrives to the Hot Springs to hear music and singing, and right away, he feels alive in a way he hasn't felt in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since he got here.

Almost like he's been summoned, Lalo's voice joins Sam's, singing along cheerfully. He dances before stripping down to an undershirt and boxers, sliding into the hot springs not far from her. He grins as he eyes the message on her shirt, pointing and making his eyebrows jump up in recongition.

He recognizes her. The goody-two-shoes from the church. And there's something taunting in his expression, like he's daring her to say something about it. Mention it.

At least for a goody-goody, she knows how to throw a party! ]

Now this is what I'm talkin' about! So what's the occasion?

Levi // Attack On Titan

[wingbound]

--1. THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

a) (cw: themes of survival; themes of morality; themes of scavenging)

[ Levi knows starvation too well to presume it would cause people to leave -- leave where, for one? If it were that simple, nobody would have stayed in the Underground -- but he thinks that at least thinning out their bullet supplies may make them a bit more receptive to discussion. Assuming they're not all insane or mind-controlled or something, that is. Still, it may be worth a try, and if it goes to shit they can go for something more drastic. ]

[ He's not specifically seeking a cache when he comes across some markers he remembers from Young Bill's instructions and follows them. It's probably a funny coincidence that just as he moves out of cover to get to what may be a cache, a shadow on the opposite side of the clearing does the same. ]

[ He's got a rifle up immediately, taking steady aim at whoever it is. He may or may not actually have bullets in it, but his new friend doesn't need to know that. ]

Walk forward slowly.


b) (cw: instances of animal mutilation; instances of corpse mutilation/desecration; themes of folk horror)

[ You may have run into each other at an earlier point and teamed up for some exploration -- considering the current state of affairs, a buddy system is probably a good idea -- or just happened across each other right now. Whether you're looking for someone or something, or just trying to catch some animals for food, the trek is generally quiet until you come across a clearing. ]

[ There, arranged in the center of a swirling spiral of rabbit corpses, rocks and pieces of wood, lays a single human body. ]

...

[ Levi takes in the display, then approaches slowly, rifle at the ready. The forest around is silent, but not too silent; there are distant soft noises of wildlife and trees rustling in the wind, but the air in this spot feels oddly still. ]

[ He kneels next to the body, fishing out a (newly discovered) paper handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapping it around the fingers of his glove before he gently pulls at the eyelids of the human and touches the side of their neck. ]

[ Upon touch it's clear enough that the body definitely dead and practically frozen through, even though the signs of decay haven't set in yet. It's not a huge surprise in this weather, though. It's probably stranger that the wild animals haven't gotten to it. ]

[ He leaves the napkin and stands back up, glancing back at whoever is with him. ]

More local customs?


c) (cw: themes of survival; themes of morality; themes of scavenging)

[ Later, you may find him laying low -- settled up a tree, or behind a fallen log, or under a mound of snow -- some distance from the Old Lodge grounds, watching the Forest Talker camp. It feels like there's something missing, some part of the story, and he's determined find out what, though he's not above killing if it comes to that. ]

[ There are few people who don't deserve the benefit of doubt, though. What if whatever they're doing is meant to appease or ward off something worse? The other interlopers' suggestion to try and capture one of them makes sense in that regard, but before they can make a decent plan, they need information. That's what this is about. ]

[ He's not expecting company, but he won't shoo someone who shows up away either. While his choice of words tends to be coarse, he doesn't sound hostile. ]

You want a report or something?


--2. GLIMMERFOG

a) (cw: themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms;)

[ It's not unusual to find him out and about during odd hours of the night, whether he's back in Milton or out at the Lakeside. Perhaps he's sitting on a roof or in a clearing somewhere, staring up at the night sky. He seems to like looking at stars, which may be a little at odds with his usual no-nonsense personality. ]

[ He doesn't expect anyone else to join him, though he doesn't expect anything to be wrong with them just because of that, at least not yet. ]

Can't sleep?


b) (cw: themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms; nosebleeds/blood)

[ It's when he's out and about -- perhaps doing errands around town, perhaps you two are in the middle of nowhere staking out one of the caches -- that he finally notices something he can't ignore; he brushes a hand at the wetness of his nose and it comes away red. He stares at it for a moment, then takes out a handkerchief to try and wipe himself up. ]

...

[ He still doesn't look too alarmed, of course, though he does feel somewhat tired. Usually he gets at least a couple hours sleep every other night or so; now he's been up for almost three days and hasn't had so much as a catnap. ]

[ Surely he's just exhausted and that's why his body decided to spring a leak, right? Maybe it's time to head back to town for a few days... ]


c) (cw: themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms; altered-mental states; nightmares/hallucinations; nosebleeds/blood)

[ While Lalo and Sansa get to deal with the worst of Levi's illness as he returns to town, he's going to be laid out for days after that, still. Perhaps you've been asked to watch him as he recovers, or you're a fellow patient bunking in the town hall or wherever else most of the feverish people end up at. ]

[ He's generally agreeable, though he's a bad patient in the sense that once he's not actively dying, he seems convinced he should get going. He may have been restrained after a more violent outburst earlier, though it doesn't quite stop him from sitting up suddenly, staring at something behind you that definitely isn't there. ]

[ His fever seems to be slowly receding but not quite at a comfortable decline yet, and he's pulling at whatever's holding him in place. There's blood on his face again, and from the way he's shifting, he wants to fight whatever it is he's seeing. ]

Give it back-- that was-- my mom's--


d) (cw: themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms; altered-mental states; nightmares/hallucinations; nosebleeds/blood)

[ Once he recovers, he'll be willing to help others in a similar predicament. His bedside manner is laughably bad, but he will still change the cold compresses and offer hot water with some wild herb leaves and/or pine needles in it to anyone who seems to benefit from it. ]

[ And, of course, talk or force down anyone who in their delirium starts to get violent or tries to go out into the snow on their socks. He's stronger than he looks. ]


--3. WILDCARD

(( Want to do something else? I'm probably game! Feel free to surprise me or hit up my plotting post! ))

1c

[solitarysoul]

That'd be great, actually.

[Levi comes up upon the other almost silently, and responds in a quiet voice. This place was far from safe, but it seemed like this man was doing something similar to what he'd been planning on. Scouting out the enemy's base. He'd done that sort of thing back home, though there were often other teams doing the same thing. Its nice to see he's not completely alone and thus as vulnerable here.]

peter parker — tasm

[webshootings]

[ open starters below. plotting comment is here. find me at jortles if you wanna chat! ]

( the ends justify the means ; ota )

[webshootings]

[ It's a lot to take on. For someone who's still getting used to this place, getting used to what happens, who's here, what's here, listening to someone he's just met talk about a people that he hasn't ever heard of is a lot to take in.

What Young Bill tells them doesn't sound good. But, he knows that it's one man's opinion as well. Peter's well aware that there could be bias here, that he could be exaggerating but he makes the decision to go out and try and track down some of these caches.

Peter's hope is to find some supplies that might help the group at large but he's also curious about the Forest Talkers and maybe finding a cache will also lead to some information about them.

He's about to head out when he spots something on a table in the house's been staying in. He stares at them for a moment before making the decision to grab the web shooters and take them along. He doesn't know if they'll help but better safe than sorry.

It's definitely cold as he starts traipsing through the snow, using Young Bill's directions as best he can.

When he finds one of the caches, it's heavy and huge, half buried in the snow. He tries to pull it out with his hands but it's stuck on something so sure, web shooters.

He steps back, aims and fires. Except the web from the device doesn't go anywhere near the cache. It screams off in another direction, whizzing past someone's head and wrapping around a tree where it yanks Peter's off his feet and into the snow. ]

Logan | XMCU

[lasttoolong]

[ OOC: Open & closed starters will be posted in replies to this comment!

▷ Plotting
▷ Info
▷ Town meeting plotting

Feel free to ping me via PM or at laetificat for plotting! ]

▷ open - the ends justify the means

[lasttoolong]

EARLY/MID MAY; milton outskirts, lakeside
cw: gore, mutilated corpses

There's something wrong with the forest.

It's not just the fog, though that's unsettling enough, clinging and thick, draped between the trees in gauzy layers that makes it all too easy to get lost. Logan relies on his instincts and his experience to find his way through the trees, not for the first or last time regretting the loss of his enhanced senses. But the fog isn't the problem.

As he stalks through the backbrush and slogs through deep drifts of snow, there's an undeniable feeling prickling at the back of his neck. He's being watched. Hunted. He doesn't like it, and he definitely doesn't like the way the cowards somewhere out there don't show their faces, even when his patience finally cracks and he shouts into the fog for them to hurry up and make their move, so he can teach them a goddamn lesson. More frustrating is the way they keep fucking with his traps, cutting the wires on his snares or kicking over the pegs, stealing kills before he can get to them, not even bothering to hide the prints of their boots in the snow. They're clearly trying to send some kind of message.

When he finds the first body, he's not all that surprised. The deer is freshly dead, skinned and broken up in ways that have nothing to do with butchering meat and everything to do with trying to create an unsettling scene, blood and guts daubed like paint across the snow. Logan doesn't go any closer than he has to.

It's not the last corpse he comes across out in the wilderness. The humans, when he finds them, are worse. He doesn't have much love to spare for whoever dragged him into this world, but he knows these people probably aren't responsible, and it doesn't look like their deaths were kind, or even fast. It's clear animals weren't responsible -- animals don't have the ability to be so cruel. With each one, he spends time examining it, crouched beside the body with his breaths billowing white into the freezing fog, to try and map out the scene, or maybe tempt the murderers out into the open.

A breath, the snap of a twig -- it's all it takes to have him starting up, bandaged hands fisted. His temper is on edge and he's sweating lightly, even in the cold air; tired, aching with brewing fever. Once he recognises the face, even if it's just in passing, he relaxes slightly.

"Shouldn't be walking around out here," he points out, hypocritically, then gestures at the twisted corpse cast into the snow. "Someone's hunting."

Levi | Fear & Hunger 2: Termina

[solitarysoul]

starters below!
plotting comment | ConnectiveTrick | Levi's CWs

Sacrificial Offerings (ota) CW: blood, sacrifice

[solitarysoul]

First Meeting
He wasn't really surprised that there was a monster in the lake, not after his conversation with Eddie when they first found the place and the posters in the camp office. But the beast breaking through the ice near him was still a shock. He scrambles backwards one hand moving to grab his rifle but he pauses. This thing was here before they were and the posters in the office said it demanded sacrifice. It seemed to be expecting something, after all.

"I-I don't have anything. I can get something! I-is that okay?"

The beast did not respond, but Levi took the lack of it lunging at him as a good thing.

"I'll be right back! I promise."

He doesn't completely turn his back on the monster, but he rushes back towards the tree line. He'd become quite familiar with blood sacrifice those last three days in his world. He doesn't manage to find a head or a dead person to offer, but he is lucky enough to come upon a rabbit in a trap. He quickly slits its throat and cuts it from the trap, but perhaps it was your trap? Or maybe you just got lucky enough to find him frantically taking someone else's kill so he can take it back to the lake


Further Offerings
His first offering was enough to get the beast to back off, Levi doubts its enough. So he returns later with an offering he actually caught. The poor thing is wounded but not dead as he returns to the lake to offer it up to Nor'pogo. Maybe you find him bringing his prey to the lake, or maybe you find him on the lake holding it up for the beast, of if you're lucky maybe you get to witness the monster taking the still-living animal from him and scarfing it down. He doesn't know how many he needs to keep it satisfied, but he'd like to keep the others safe too so he may be doing this more than once.


Final Sacrifice (only one please!) CW: Human sacrifice
Of if you're really (un)lucky maybe you come across him bringing a different sort of sacrifice. While he hadn't gone to talk to Bill (there were enough people going so he figured he'd wait for someone else to tell him and not crowd the man) Levi has come across the Forest Talkers displays. Offerings or art or whatever they were. The animals were bad enough, but the people...well he has no reaction, actually. Its no worse than what he found in Prehevil when he'd returned. But there had been something else done in Prehevil, something he'd (and the other contestants) had done as well, trying to get any edge they could to survive the festival of Termina.

He doesn't have a bonesaw, but he returns to one of the displays later with a axe. The offerings to the Tainted One didn't need to be his kills, so it should be fine. Maybe if it'd been an offering whoever it was for wouldn't be pleased, but as he sees it they already got their blood. All he needs is the head. So he tears down one of the displayed humans, quickly chops its head off (its almost like he's done this before...) and grabs it by the hair to carry back to the lake.

Maybe you run into him on the trek back, or maybe you run into him after he's made it back and placed the head on the ice. Once Nor'pogo shows itself he'll bow his head and speak to it, "I hope this makes up for my mistake."

He'll try not to be disappointed the creature doesn't give him a soul stone in return, but at least he's not been eaten.

lestat de lioncourt | interview with the vampire (amc)

[flanerie]

1. the ends justify the means | cw: animal death, animal multilation

[ Lestat hardly needs an invitation to take whatever people see fit to carelessly abandon in the woods, but having one does lend an air of rakish legitimacy to the practice - a letter of marque, after a fashion.

It’s the sort of role that amuses him to play at, and he could use some amusement to take his mind off of other preoccupations.

Throughout the month, Lestat may be found more often in Lakeside than near Milton, venturing the return trip only when the occasional mood strikes him. Otherwise, he keeps to the far side of their expanded dominion, collecting caches marked on Bill’s little maps as his hunting takes him near them.

It’s on one of these nightly ventures that he comes across the spiral.

Three deer, arranged in the points of an equal side triangle in a circular clearing, neatly gutted and unraveled to loop their dismantled viscera together in the strands of a three-part corkscrew towards an empty patch of flattened snow in the center. Their hollowed eye sockets stare blankly at the clouded sky above, and Lestat looks at them from the treeline. Those familiar with him might notice, as they approach, how strangely subdued the set of his shoulders is. Those who don’t know him might only note that the well-dressed blond stares at the scene before him without horror, only oddly objective fascination.

At the first sound of footsteps, he shifts his attention towards whoever disturbs the tranquility of this macabre scene. A smile touches his mouth as he raises a gloved hand in greeting. ]

Good evening. [ Flawlessly gracious, despite the context. ] What do you make of this?

2. sacrificial offerings

[ Of course Lestat offered tribute.

Such is the currency of this frozen wasteland. If a brace of three rabbits is sufficient to secure safe passage to and fro on the ice, why balk at such a reasonable toll?

Now he lingers by the lakeside, tracing the shore with an idle thought of witnessing the serpent rising up from the dark waters once more. The profligate monstrosity of the horrors of the night here inspires curiosity more than fear, if he was even inclined to the latter emotion in the absence of supernatural compulsion or more intimate deprivation.

If he comes across anyone in his meanderings, he brightens to a quick smile, crossing the distance between them in long, confident strides. ]

Out for a touch of night fishing?

3. glimmerfog | cw: blood tears, hallucinations, illness
[ At first, the restlessness seemed a product of his prevailing mood. The fits of wooziness and lapses of concentration could be attributed to the weakness that gnaws at his diluted blood, a product of his attempt at a lifestyle of virtuous abstinence. Minor inconveniences, nearly tolerable - if only they stopped at that.

The first nosebleed came only an hour before the fever. A fire kindled in chill flesh, burning under his skin in shivering waves, as Lestat retreated to the nearest luxurious cabin in Lakeside in the grip of this infirmity.

Debility. A poison infiltrating his veins and the foreign dread of heat - not the glowing bloom of it that comes from feeding, but the flame that consumes, incinerating his senses in layer after layer of thin ash that seems to clot his every thought and spill out of him in shuddering gusts. The air is painted in memory. He cannot bear to look; he cannot look away.

It’s in this state of delirium that he stumbles out of the front door of his refuge, dressed in nothing but his trousers and a cashmere sweaters, socked feet wicking up snow. The cold barely touches him, or so he thinks, as if his strength returned to him in some perverse exchange of reason for power. He stands there, just past the threshold, and stares up at the moon above, a dew of blood tears blurring his vision to a pinked haze. ]

4. wildcard
[ PM me or ping me at terriblepurpose to chat if you’d like do something else! ]

Sacrificial Offerings

[guidemyway]

[Guess who also wanted to get another look at the giant Serpent? Two hints. She has silver eyes and a giant scythe. She's also wandering around the edge of the lake looking for any signs of the beast.

She sees Lestat and gives a little wave. She is definitely on the look out for something.]

You could say that! More trying to get a good look at the greatest catch in the lake.

I have a feeling she wouldn't want to hear me call her that though.

Chloe Frazer | Uncharted

[desperate_times_right]

[Starters will be posted below. I will match either prose or brackets. Plotting post here. Feel free to wildcard under this comment, or contact me via plurk at nonhoration or discord at nonhoration with ideas.]

In Milton (ota)

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe is not interested in any Methuselah plans after that shitshow in the haunted house, so at first, she's not planning to travel to Lakeside this month at all.

A bit strangely for anyone who knows her, for once she's spending more time around the community hall than she is being a weird cryptid in the woods, though at heart it is for the same reason: concern about food.

She seems a little sneaky and jumpy around the hall, but this can be attributed to relationship problems she caused herself as much as it can to fear of getting caught snooping.

One day, she emerges from the hall basement with a hefty cardboard box, immediately leaves, then doesn't show up at the hall again until the town meeting.]

Randvi | Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla

[meadqueen]

[Starters will be posted below. I will match either prose or brackets. Plotting post here. Feel free to wildcard under this comment, or contact me via plurk at nonhoration or discord at nonhoration with ideas.]

The Ends Justify The Means (all prompts ota)

[meadqueen]

I.

[Randvi is making the trip to Lakeside to see what it is that Young Bill wishes of them. As she's heading into the mines, she spots someone else who clearly has the same idea.]

Have you travelled this way before?

II.

[Now, however, she's irritated at having made the trip. A siege isn't necessarily a bad idea, but this is both a cowardly way of going about it and one unlikely to work. It also conveniently directs any resulting ire their way rather than at Bill himself.

She makes a few stops to check in with the people in Lakeside, then returns to Milton to warn them what may be coming their way.]

III.

[When she returns from Lakeside, Randvi heads to the hall, both to warn the people she knows of what might be coming and to share her plans of what to do about it.]

I suggest only that we should be prepared. If these people make it all the way through the mine, everything we’ve built here will be at risk.

rj maccready | fallout 4

[heckofashot]

>> nested starters below

plotting post | incognico_ for chatting

open —

[heckofashot]

the ends justify the means; one
limited to two responses — preferably either side of the fence when it comes to taking food.

[ After attending the meeting with Young Bill, Maccready agreed to the request for seeking out caches; though he's not entirely too thrilled by the prospect of stealing people's food. This idea of starving them out… It doesn't sit right with him, as much as he knows these people could pose a real threat, he knows that all they'll do is further antagonise them. So, even before he'd found the first of his caches — a beat up metal thing jammed into a crevice between two rocks — he has no intent of taking it should it contain food. Ammunition, medical supplies, whatever else might be inside, that's fair game in his mind.

Leaning back against the rocky outcropping, he pulls the lid up on the box, groaning when he sees the contents; some packaged foods, the kind that are made to keep well for longer periods, as well as some canned goods. He hears the snap of a branch, eyes flicking up to where a figure approaches, and braces himself; will it be someone willing to turn a blind eye if he puts the cache back in place, or will they seek to change his mind? ]

the ends justify the means; two
cw: death and mutilation of both people and animals

Oh, Christ—

[ The sight is nauseating — not so much the gore that's strewn about, he's more than used to that — it's something in the way the corpses have been arranged. A circle has been made in blood, stark against the crisp white of the snow, but within the snow has been shovelled aside, and a deer lays in the centre on the dirt, split open from neck to stomach. Its head has been hacked at, its antlers removed none too neatly, leaving jagged edges of flesh. Behind it, arranged on their knees is a man, his hands have been bound so he looks like he's praying — there are wounds and bruising to his face and throat, dried blood caked around his nose and eyes. Atop his head, the deer antlers sit like some sort of twisted crown.

Depending on who he's with, Maccready's reaction differs— someone younger, and he'll make an attempt to have them look away, anyone else, he'll glance at them with a nervous grimace and make no attempts at hiding the display in the small clearing ahead of them. Either way, he doesn't think they should linger. ]

We— [ he swallows, glancing around the trees. ] We should get out of here.

glimmerfog;

[ Not too far from Milton proper, he stands at the edge of the fog, he's been in and out of it the past few days; while searching for caches, patrolling, trying to get around. It's not the same as the fog that had been here previously, he'd been wary at first, and how couldn't he be? But then it had been unavoidable and… It had been fine? There was no burning, no acidic bile gathering in the back of his throat while he fought for breaths. Maccready is a natural cynic, he doesn't believe that sometimes, things aren't so bad. And, after a few more treks through the fog, he's starting to think maybe it is just a regular fog— or not regular, the weather here is anything but. ]

I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[ It's said quietly to whoever happens to be near, maybe they're also eyeing the fog; he couldn't blame them, it's strangely mesmerising the way it seems to shimmer. Like the Aurora, it draws the eye, but there are times when it gets too much to look at, sometimes flickering brighter. ]

We probably shouldn't be moving through it.

[ He's a hypocrite, he knows. ]

wildcard;
[ For anything else! ]

claudia — interview with the vampire

[mordue]

001. the ends justify the means.

[ Claudia has no interest in intervening. The fight isn't hers, and she doesn't see why she should bother risking herself by inserting herself into the middle of it. But she goes to Lakeside anyway, because she's curious to see how it all falls out anyway. She's aware, at least in the back of her mind, that she can't quite separate herself from these events the way she would usually want to. She'd want to watch from a distance, knowing herself superior and unthreatened – if she had all of her faculties, she could've wiped out this group in under an hour. But she doesn't have her faculties: all she has is the weakness and the thirst.

She travels through the mine by day, timing it just right this time to arrive in Lakeside by the time the sun has set, so she can explore unhindered. She's curious to see what everyone else is doing here, and isn't above lingering at the edge of the forest to watch others march off into it in search of hidden caches. ]

002. sacrificial offerings.

A. SKATING
[ There's something quite tantalising about the unbroken smoothness of the ice, and before long Claudia has decided she might as well have a little fun. Her first few steps onto the ice are slow and careful, but it's not long before she's taking faster strides, breaking out into a run and then skidding gracefully a few feet out into the middle. She lets out a bright peal of laughter; it's not exactly ice skating, but it's close enough – the wind races through her hair, her breath catches in her throat. She feels quite unencumbered. ]

B. AFTER
[ Her interaction with the creature keeps her off the lake, but not away from it. It wanted something from her, and all she had that she wouldn't want to part from was blood: weakened by the sacrifice, Claudia sits by the edge of the lake, legs drawn up to her chest, watching. She has no words for anyone actually stepping out onto the lake – it's only when the ice cracks thickly and the serpent emerges from it that she's of any use. ]

It wants somethin' from you. Somethin' important. You probably ought to give it.

003. glimmerfog.
cw: fire, severe burns, gore, murder, blood tears.

[ Claudia is sick.

It's a long time since she's been susceptible to an illness; it feels so far away that it might as well have happened to a different person. For her, now, this feels like the first and worst time she has ever suffered. The shuddering aches and pains, the burning, sweltering heat radiating from her skin. She can't escape from it in sleep, because sleep won't come to her – but waking nightmares do. Whether she's stumbling around the town or huddled in a ball, the nightmares find her.

The sweat bristling on her skin is something she's felt before, and really that wasn't so long ago, was it? The night of the fire, the sound of her auntie screaming in agony and, perhaps worse, the sound of her auntie falling utterly silent. Smoke clogging her own lungs, scraping at her skin and her throat. It's in the room with her now, the only explanation for how burning hot she feels. It will come for her soon enough, and char her just as quickly. Claudia gasps for breath, each one torture. ] Please. [ She whispers it, her voice small and utterly pathetic. ] Please, help me. The fire—

[ Or perhaps it's not a fire. Perhaps there's blood tracking down her face from the corners of her eyes as her body heaves with wretched, desperate sobs, from a pain quite different to burning but just as strong. ] Charlie, [ she wails, desperate, childish. ] Charlie, I didn't mean to. I didn't, I swear. [ She lifts her wrist to her mouth and bites, blood gushing from the raw wound, and holds it over thin air, over nothing. ] Drink... I'll fix you...

[ Or, when her mind has driven itself to insanity, there might be someone in the room that only Claudia can see. Not smoke or a dead boy's body but a shape, glowering from a dark corner. She hasn't let the fear override her since she arrived here, but it's all-consuming now. She cowers like a little girl, her head tucked down, eyes screwed shut, arms pulled over herself as if she's trying to make herself as small as possible. There's no coherence to her words, not now, and what's audible comes in flashes, between raw-throated sobs. We had to ... We just wanted to go ... Not another cage ... We should've burned you ... And two names, repeated more than any other words. In the same borderline fearful tone, heavy with reproach: Lestat. Or, pleading, desperate, heartfelt, and urgent: Louis. ]

004. wildcard.

[ plotting comment, or just throw something else at me! hit me up on crowders if you want to plot a bit. ]

001!

[fidior]

[ The night makes Little nervous. There's too much that could be hidden, and he feels like some small animal waiting to be picked apart by something — his body language betrays it, probably, with the way he's drawn so tensely into the layers of himself, thick woolen coat with its lapels turned up as though to protect his neck and some of his face.

And the way his eyes move — soft brown and painfully wide, looking around the darkness of the looming forest as he steps so carefully around its outskirts to look for a good opening in, willing the heaviness of his boots into something as unobtrusive as possible. Yet for all of his fretful looking around, the man is at first oblivious to the girl waiting and watching. He isn't expecting anyone to be there, not here along the outskirts, and he doesn't see what he isn't looking for. He sees only the shadows in the trees, oppressive and dangerous.

But he knows others have headed in, and he can't risk anyone being in danger. He needs to patrol this forest, to head deeper into it, to make sure no one is in need of assistance as they search for those caches. The thought of supplies, of medicine and ammunition and food, is enough to make people desperate, he knows. They'll come out here, despite the warnings of the Forest Talkers.

So he'll come too, a silent guardian, even if he has to force himself forwards, even if his stomach coils with trepidation. Edward keeps poking along the line of trees, freezing suddenly when his boot snaps against a smaller twig and the sound of it is so sharp and loud in the silence. His heart hammers, though his brain tries to insist there wouldn't be any predators out here, only further in. ]

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror | ota!

[friendsfordinner]

the end justifies the means - one
Look, everybody having a nice little town meeting is nice. It's cute. People want to pretend that there's a way to solve this, that there's a way to reason with these people so everybody can hold hands and play house and have a good little celebration where they all work together and help each other out.

That's not how this works. That's never how this is going to work. Bill says that there are supply caches out there, Hickey needs supplies, Hickey's going to go out to grab some supplies from the caches. And if a few of those forest people have less food, then so be it. They'd do the same if they ran into Hickey's supplies. Anyone would. It's an actual solution, not everybody twiddling their thumbs and saying their peace and making stupid suggestions like kidnapping.

So Hickey can be found making his way out of Lakeside, towards the woods, map in his hand as he seeks out one of the caches. Anyone he spots will be given a little nod. Anyone who he thinks wouldn't throw a fit if he takes any food for himself will be given a, "Want to join me out there and see what we find?"

the end justifies the means - two
Or maybe you've run into Hickey as he bends down near a craggy rock formation, brushing snow off of a tarp. He looks up at whoever's there before bending back down and getting to work.

"I'm taking any food that's in this," he says, with a nonchalant little shrug. "If there's medicine or bandages then that's all yours, but I'm not going to let any food go to waste."

And again. Better he eat it than those pricks out there.

sacrificial offerings
Hickey's been at the lake a lot. He's dragged a few dead rabbits over, he's given it tinned food, a shirt he stole from one of those cabins, a hammer, some nails. So obviously the sacrifice itself doesn't mean much to the sea monster—just that it has to be made.

Still, everything's got preferences. And if he stays long enough, if he finds just the right thing to offer up, then he'll be rewarded. Because of course he'll be rewarded, that's how this works. That's how the universe works. There are gods here, more gods than most people here are willing to acknowledge. But acknowledge them, do the right thing, and you'll get what you deserve.

So Hickey's sitting on the shore, far enough away from the edge of the lake that the serpent isn't within striking distance. His knife is in one (already bandaged) hand and he's looking over the water with a calculated frown—perfect for others to bother him.

for little , fidior

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey's heard rumors about the sea serpent. There's something in there. Something in the lake that can drag people into a watery grave. Which, of course it's real. Why wouldn't it be real? There's so much in this world that's real. Of course this sea serpent exists.

So he's making his way to the lake, ready to explore, ready to find out what the hell this world has to offer. And when he arrives there...well, well, well.

"Lieutenant," Hickey says, as he looks over at Little. There's a mocking tone in his voice as he gives Little a small nod. "Curious to see you here."

Francis Crozier | The Terror

[goingtobeunwell]

⚓ OTA and Closed Starters below ⚓
⚓ gelise | Plotting Comment ⚓

OTA

[goingtobeunwell]

[cw: mentions of illness-induced self-harm/suicide]

⚓The Ends Justifies the Means
I. Post Town Meeting - Planning

He's more horrified by the thought of driving people to starvation than he is whatever nonsense the 'Forest Talkers' have been getting themselves into out in Lakeside. It's clear they've gone mad, but he's seen this before in certain men who've brushed against the supernatural and came away slightly touched in the head. They'll destroy each other long before they'll think to come after the rest of them.

He just hopes that if offered, they'll make a different choice when presented the opportunity. There's kindness among their numbers, for the most part they take care of their people; surely those that are still sane will see that.

Whatever's decided in the town meeting, he has an agenda of his own to fulfill - he's going to get that messenger system up and running. Spread out like this they're too scattered and vulnerable, but there are people who have been given the gift of speed. If he can somehow convince them to do a little good with it -- well. So he lingers after the meeting's finished to discuss with the more sensible people of the town.

II. Opening the Armory

He's a horrible shot. With his old percussion pistol it wasn't so much the aim as how loud the damn thing was - fire that thing into the air or in the vague direction of a scurrying mutineer and it got the job done. But precision is the name of the game when it comes to guerilla warfare, and so Crozier spends a little of his time each day lining up old tin cans and trying to knock them down with an old rifle he's found in his cabin.

He's awful at it. Truly awful. Anyone who approaches best do so loudly.

⚓Glimmerfog

By sheer luck Crozier himself somehow manages to escape the effects of the fog. His fortitude and resolve are strong to begin with, and he tends to the poor men and women who've succumbed to the electrical poison with a seemingly infinite well of patience and tenderness. He assists the ill in the day, working with the very knowledgeable doctors in order to find some kind of relief for the sick, and then slips away at night to return to his cabin and find a little rest himself.

But as the days tick on and with no apparent changes to the ill, he starts to look rough around the edges. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, a sort of tug on his shoulders that makes him slump and lean and look thoroughly exhausted. More exhausted than usual, in fact, and far more haunted.

It's the lead. It's just like the lead in their food. It's killing them just like the lead, and soon they'll all beg for death like poor Mr. Morfin --

When it's too much he slips away to some quiet part of Milton, usually the church or the churchyard, sometimes in an abandoned home, and screams into his hand.

⚓Wildcare - Out and About

Crozier takes care not to wander through the wilds alone for personal reasons, and thus invites the more hale among the Interlopers to join him when he's out hunting and gathering and generally running errands. He's particularly wary of one particular house on one particular street when in Milton, but he strongly doubts the person he's worried about will take him down in the middle of the town with so much potential for witnesses.

He doesn't speak a word about why he wants the company, instead focusing on well-being and education of the people he's roped into taking walks with him. Who wouldn't benefit from learning about edible roots and astronomy-based navigation? No one, that's who.

Svetlana Nazarova | Night Watch

[balancedlight]

ends justify the means; OTA

I. medicinal therapy

It’s not what she wanted to do. This isn’t what she wanted for herself or for anyone, but hearing the lungs of two different people and knowing that they don’t have enough antibiotics or steroids to go around is terrifying.

So she does what she can. She hates herself for it, but she picks through a cache underneath the porch of a ruined cabin, looking for anything they can all use.

Sveta is as tense as she can be, though, and the sound of something behind her sends her scurrying through the cabin window and landing on her ass with a grunt. But at least she’s safe. She really should have brought a friend....

II. scraps

The next cache she finds is empty. Already picked through by someone or - something. It took her nearly half a day’s walk to get there and there’s nothing. She lets out a cry of frustration, kicking the poor tree the cache was supposed to be hidden in, and the yelping again when she manages to stub her toe from it.

A stream of Russian cursing comes from her mouth as she shoves everything back in her pack and prepared for the journey back. She hopes she doesn’t meet anyone along the way, but if she does…hopefully they’re friendly enough.

glimmerfog; OTA

III. scrub in

Sveta is, first and foremost, a doctor. And she’s a doctor that makes housecalls, if need be. As soon as she sees what this fog can do, what it will do, she’s on high alert. With the supplies she’s already taken from the caches, plus what she can use either in her own stores in Lakeside or with help from Goodsir in Milton, she checks on her people first, the ones she knows and the ones shes’ met, and then goes for the others.

She’s available to help, to finally feel like she’s doing something here. To not yell and cry and scream against the inevitability of death and destruction and chaos and all of the ways that the world can and has fallen apart around her.

IV. worst patients

Eventually she does succumb to the fog, what with moving around so much. She’s terrible at following her own advice, but it’s difficult to rest when the insomnia keeps her from actually sleeping. That does mean she can get more accomplished. It also means that she starts to feel like the Twilight is actually there again.

"Anton," she calls out to someone who most assuredly is not him. "Anton, I cannot do it. It's too much to ask. Please..."

Nonsense to most, but she seems very afraid of the prospect.

IV

[desperate_times_right]

Chloe does expect to be judged a bit - Elena would judge her, she thinks, and maybe she wants her to - for leaving the meeting early, for raiding the caches. Despite that, she goes to see Svetlana anyway. She's got good news!

However, when she encounters her she doesn't seem to be doing well.

“Hey, Svetlana. Everything okay?”

james t. kirk (au) — star trek:strange new worlds

[itio]

[ semi-closed prompts below; mostly written for whoever plotted stuff with Jim, but anyone's welcome to hit up one of the prompts if they pique your interest!
plotting comment is here; comment there, PM or ping me @ extreminator if you want to plot first. ]

the ends justify the means

[itio]

[ Jim isn't unsympathetic to Young Bill's plight, and he absolutely understands the gravity of the situation. The Forest Talkers do seem to be getting more bold, more aggressive, and they could become a serious problem sooner rather than later.

Still, what Young Bill asks of them is a desperate plea from a desperate man; Jim doesn't think he's really weighed all the potential consequences, but that's something they do need to worry about. The suggestions made at the meeting vary in terms of gravity, some more reasonable while others will undoubtedly only invite more serious consequences, and honestly, Jim's concerned that people will still do what they believe is the best course of action, regardless of the majority.

Finding the caches is at least one point they all can agree on, at least. Jim isn't going to ransack any of them, save perhaps for whatever weapons and ammunition he can find. He's got his journal on his backpack too, which he fully intends to use to leave messages behind for the Talkers to find. It might not work out, but he still believes that trying to communicate with them is their best bet. If someone wants to join him, he'll more than welcome it; he's voiced his opinions clearly at the meeting, so he expects anyone who wants to tag along to know what he's trying for here. He'll certainly appreciate whatever help he can get in finding these caches, though. ]

I took some notes of Bill's clues. We should be able to find at least one or two caches.

Thomas Jopson | The Terror (AMC)

[lieutenantsteward]

|| Ends Justify the Means ||

Thomas had said that he wouldn’t touch the caches and he meant it. There’s a fine line that he draws between not having anything and taking so that someone else doesn’t have anything. They’re, at the moment, doing just fine.

This isn’t as terrible as being pursued by a monster and being eaten alive by the inside out.

He does take the map and walk the caches that he can find. Maybe it’s a way to monitor their status. Maybe it’s a way to ensure that they’re there. Or maybe he’s simply trying to deter anyone wandering past.

But one day he comes across one of the grisly bodies, torn and mutilated and - wrong.

He starts to gather wood. If the ground is too frozen to bury this poor soul, then he’ll burn them instead.

|| ”Glimmerfog” ||

It isn’t the fog. It isn’t the strange illness that seems to grab people as they wander through. Rather, it’s a goddamn cold that seems to have infiltrated his body and, because he’s so weak, his immune system reacts with a violent fever.

Still, he can get up and work and since Wynonna is in Milton, leaving him alone here by the lake, he has chores that he needs to complete.

He gets up. He chops wood. He takes a rest by the tree.

He sets his traps. He takes a rest beside them.

He makes his supper. He takes a rest outside of the house.

He’s fairly certain that he might be over the worst of it.

end justifies the means

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey, on the other hand, is perfectly fine taking from the caches. He's walking back to Lakeside, a bag over his shoulder, full of various medical supplies that he's stolen from a cache or two, when he comes across Jopson. And, more importantly, comes across the body.

He lets out a low whistle before bending down to inspect the body, absolutely not helping out Jopson in his gathering wood mission.

"I'm assuming you found it here, yeah?"

Any sort of sniping or anger or back-and-forth is going to wait a bit. Hickey's interested by this.

Damian Wayne | DC Comics

[thefifthchild]

THE ENDS, THE MEANS

[Immediately following the meeting, Damian disappears as quickly as possible. There's no need to let anyone see that they got to him. It would only cement their own victory in their eyes, an ego boost he feels that none of his fellow rural prisoners frankly deserve.

Agitated and restless, he patrols Lakeside's outer borders, a near perpetual scowl on his face. A few hours after the meeting, he might give a sharp look at an interloper who happens to be interloping on his brooding. He enunciates his words, speaking clearly with the impatience of a sulking fourteen year old boy.]

What?

[Or perhaps later, you stumble upon the same mess of corpses that he does. What is clearly one of the forest talkers dismembered and strewn about in a sickening display of sadism and gore.

Damian wastes no time in examining it. In fact, he grabs one of the severed hands strewn about and uses a batarang to cut off a frostbitten finger.]

That idiot wasn't lying, at least. [His voice is calm and clinical, like it doesn't bother him beyond presenting yet another setback. He pockets the finger. Best he can do in terms of DNA samples for now.] If you're squeamish, I can handle this.

THE FOG

[The fog is slow, insidious, as it always is. He wears a scarf over his mouth and thinks that's enough. The first few cycles of it are slow, ardous. He coughs a bit, measures his own symptoms. He's been trained to recognize mind control, to resist it whenever possible. It's a significant advantage in this case, and it's one he uses to help.

He's out, helping others. What's real and what's not mix together in an unpleasant whirlpool of negativity. If he finds you out, he'll appear before you, shocking and sudden as ever. He can't quite pull off his father's growl, but his own isn't bad.]

You should get inside. [Grayson lingers in the background, drawing his eyes. He smiles and asks Damian cutting questions. Not real. He knows that. He ignores it.] It's not safe.

["There are monsters around, after all," Jon says, balancing a hand on Damian's head. Strong enough to crush him with one flex. "Monsters like this guy right here."] Piss off, would you. [He murmurs his response, but it could be easy to mistake that for something directed at whoever he's trying to help.

It gets worse, of course, a few days later. He's been stuck outdoors for a few hours, and now he can't escape the fact that he's clearly sick. His lungs feel heavy. He coughs and coughs and escapes into the hydrodam. It's a big place, with a few people based around there. It's full of shadows too. Shadows where he can imagine fresh horrors haunting his subconscious. Futures that will never inevitably come true.

"How long are you going to play at the domesticated housecat, Damian? You were born for something far greater," His mother says. "I sacrificed everything for you, so that you might have a chance that I did not, and you have wasted it in following the delusions of a madman that we both hold dear. You are your own warrior, my son. Act like it."

"Please. Your own warrior? You're nothing but Wayne's windup doll, kid. He picks and chooses where to toss you at and lets you take the blame for his failings. You could do so much better." It's Slade this time.

"You can try to fight it, as I once did. As we all once did. But inevitably, we always end up right here," Batman says in his voice, staring down at his younger self with envy and contempt.

This place is hell. His nightmares used to be simpler. A funeral, a loved one sneering about his rotten soul, the ground opens up, and hell comes out.

Now he looks out from his hiding place and he hears the snap of Alfred's neck breaking, again and again, and again. Then his father shows up. As late as ever.

And then a stranger appears, and he pounces. A sword pressed to their neck. He coughs, but his grip remains strong and fixed.]

I don't know if you're real. I don't know if I care anymore. I wanted to avoid this. ["Did you?" Grayson whispers.]

the fog

[friendsfordinner]

[ There's a sword to his throat.

Truthfully, Hickey mostly came to the hydrodam to see if there was anything worth stealing. He's been in Lakeside for a couple of weeks now, he's picked up that the only ones who use the hydrodam regularly are Lalo and that creepy Russian. It's easy enough to avoid both of their gazes while prowling around to find something interesting.

Granted, he didn't expect the 'something interesting' to be a sword to his throat. Hickey looks over at the wielder—it's that child. The one who's name he can't remember right now. D-something. He keeps his calm as he talks. Hickey normally isn't one to show major emotion aside from 'slight sarcasm' in casual conversation. It's the same right now. ]

Wanting doesn't mean anything, [ he points out, as casually as if they're talking about the weather. ] I want this fog to vanish and people to stop being cowards about the caches. But it's not like I can do anything about either of those two things, yeah?

Raylan Givens | Justified

[tinstar]

Before coming here, Raylan had no real feelings on fog. It crept off the mountains overnight and settled in the holler(valleys) in the mornings, all but ran through the streets of some West Coast cities, lurking a half inch above the surface of swamps and rivers - but there was nothing that came close to what he was seeing here. The way pockets of it sparked and glimmer made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention and against his better judgement, Raylan had to touch it. Just to test, like a toe dipped in a lake at the start of summer.

That wasn't that bad.

It's just a little restlessness

'Sleep' wasn't something that Raylan tended to get a lot of by nature of his own design. At home, he's used to coming in at 2, 3, 4 AM or staying up until then pouring over a case, chewing over his liver and working on a bottle of Jim Beam before getting a few hours of sleep and finding himself back at the office by 9 or 10 AM. He wasn't even one of those guys that said 'You can sleep when you're dead', nor was he someone who particularly disliked sleep - only that he chose to not get much of it. There were better things to be doing is all. Except he's stuck here, in Milton, with no cases to pour himself into and nothing much to fill the hours.

So he ambled around, walking back and forth, up and down and around the streets of Milton, pressing in all the details of the place he could manage into his memory. How the houses looked, their state of disrepair, the refuse and shit that might be spread around them, storm damage. Some nights he ended up in the Community hall, leaned against the frame of a window as he stares outside, maybe a little lost in his own head; Some nights he stayed in the little house he had claimed where he nursed his Jim Beam bottle with reverence for what he knew he couldn't stretch more than two weeks. His normal affable ease was harder to reach, nary a friendly smile to give folks who managed to meet his eye while he was out and about, eyes a little wider, a little sharper and wilder as they kept his horizon in constant oversight. The way he walked changed too, the easy amble turning into more of a long striding, silent stepped stalking, smooth and with an abundance of seemingly resolved purpose.

But then his head would swim and that steady pace would stumble him towards the first solid flat surface he could park his ass on, hat getting taken off his head so he could rub at his forehead. Unfortunately, that meant he sat outside for lengths of time without realizing that the fog that crept around him was only making it worse.

That dampness is totally from the fog, right?

Sweating was natural, Raylan reasons with himself, with coming in and out of warm spaces into the cold, from moving for hours and hours and hours because he couldn't sleep. His walking is what he attributed his aches and pains to, tired and out of it enough now that when he stopped, he swayed slightly on his feet like a large oak tree in the wind. It had been.. longer than he could remember since he slept. Time meant nothing anymore, he'd already lost count of how many days he'd been here, and even the stiff stubbornness of his Everything had ebbed into something of a dead-eyed exhaustion that made the Marshal look a little leaner than he was.

He didn't notice the soft idle murmuring that he was accompanying himself with, the front side of a conversation that was playing out in the back of his head, one that would soon enough turn into it's own full hallucination, just like he didn't notice the nose bleed even though there was a habitual wipe at the assumed drip of snot.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with the cans, Arlo. No one's tryin' to kill me yet. Yer bein' paranoid. Bet you Boyd would agree with me.." It simmered down but eventually, it would start up again with a sharper- "Don't talk about her to me. Save that shit for someone who gives a shit about you." his own sharpness makes him a little more aware that he was speaking out loud, earning a guilty glance around before he moved himself off to any place else where he might not be seen having what he would describe as a 'fit'.

Wildcard
[Find Raylan anywhere around Milton! He'll be poking into places and generally Being Around, so feel free to set something up if you've got a particular place or situation you wanna play out!

"restless" | community hall

[meadqueen]

Randvi has her own house in Milton, but she has been living in the Community Hall again since the accident, as it will be more difficult for her to care for herself while she's healing.

She tends to move around quite slowly both because of her injuries and because her peripheral vision is compromised. Raylan can be forgiven for being a bit startled by the ghostly face reflected in the window as she shuffles up behind him, most of her face aside from her mouth and left eye shrouded in gauze bandages.

"Do you see anything out there?"

The view through the window has soured a bit for Randvi these days - this is what she'd been looking at the first time the Darkwalker had come - but that new fog is beautiful in its own way.

Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp

[pacificator]

closed starters

[ hmu @ repeatandfade for plotting ]

glimmerfog — for extramuralise

[pacificator]

[ Every day, she's getting a little stronger. But every day, she runs the risk of running into more of the fog, of this faint buzzing fever she can feel getting worse.

It's not so bad yet. Sure, the insomnia isn't great and she could do without the nosebleeds, but she's not lost in a living dream the way so many of the others are. She can still go outside for the exercise and air she needs, and when she's in her cabin, she can... try to sleep, even if it doesn't come.

Probably it would be better to just stay inside, but her leg needs movement. And she's not the only one, she sees, as she makes her way along the edge of the treeline, walking endlessly up and down the paths that lead to the outskirts and her cabin. ]

Hey— Irving, right?

[ What's he doing out here? ]

... What're you doing out here, bud?

bigby wolf | the wolf among us

[bigbaddy]

[ Honestly, this may be the first time Bigby has ever actually used the bed over at his place. At first it served no use at all, the man prefering to just sleep in a chair the way he did back home as well, and once Connor moved in he was perfectly fine with letting the kid take the bed for himself instead.

.. but he's not got much of a choice at this point. Anyone in town might have heard the rumor that Bigby got shot, which definitely means he's stuck in bed now.

It also means he definitely can't stop anyone from visiting or coming to take care of him though. Maybe you're one of the visitors? If so, you can definitely find the man lying in his bed, his torso bandaged up. Maybe looking a little worse for the wear, but apparently not worse enough to not be able to still grumble: ]

This is bullshit.

[ Yup. Sounds like Bigby, alright. Being grumpy just because he's stuck in bed. ]

[guidemyway]

[Ruby had only just back into town when she heard the news about Bigby. There was a sudden feeling of dread that came over her that must not have been too far off from what Bigby had been feeling when he found out that she had been shot the other month.

...Jeez. Caring about people sure was a lot of work, wasn't it?

So it takes her a little while to gather up some supplies, but Bigby will hear a knock at the door before she finally enters and gives a little grin.]

Well well well... How the turn tables.

closed to ned and jirv!

[notarat]

[ When Billy decided on actually traveling over to Lakeside to try and see if he could get his hands on the contents of any of those caches, he expected to either go by himself or to go there together with Hickey, since he can easily imagine the other man being very interested in the same thing.

.. what he didn't quite expect was some lieutenant intervention. Even though Billy feels like he's gotten relatively good at avoiding them in town, Milton is still an awfully small place - which means sometimes encountering them is simply inevitable. The only downside is that he happens to encounter Little at the worst possible moment, leading to the man finding out about his plans to go over to check out the caches - and promptly asking for Billy's help if he's also heading that way, talking about Irving and about how the other had been sick lately, and even though he's mostly better it would be good to have more eyes on him, not to mention that it's safer to stick in groups with the present danger--

At some point it had felt too awkward to say no to that. Too suspicious, especially if Billy did decide to go over there with Hickey instead and was caught in the act, considering Little and Irving would be there as well. So Billy knows he has no choice but to discard a fun little trip with his lover in favour of a very awkward trip with two of his ex-bosses.

Hence - the current situation. The trek over there is long enough that they had no choice to stop along the way, especially with Irving still not being fully recovered, and-- well, even if Billy would rather die than admit out loud to it, it's not like his own body is fully recovered from the way scurvy ravaged it either. He could also use the break. Even if that break also involved gathering some wood so they can make a fire for warmth and to keep the animals away.

It's when Billy is arranging the wood into a neat little pile for the fire that he does notice Irving still looking slightly off. Not like he's violently ill, obviously, but it's just like Little had said - definitely looking kind of shaky.

There's an awkward quiet moment where he wonders if he should address it, but then Billy does slowly speak up with: ]

.. is everything alright, sir?

[ He knows he doesn't have to use 'sir' anymore. That there's technically no rank here. Hell, Little explicitly told him to just call him by his first name, but.. that's definitely too much for Billy's own sensibilities. Even more so when Irving is here too. As the lieutenants multiply, it feels like habit to slip back into this. ]

[extramuralise]

[ What's plaguing Irving now may not actually be scurvy in the more literal sense, but in presentation there are some similarities: his pale complexion, mottled with bruising, or the dazed, feverish glaze to his eyes; the rigid way he sits there, hunched slightly and shivering, as if every bone in his body is paining him terribly. A cache sits at his feet, partially unbundled for taking inventory of its contents, but he seems to have already become too exhausted by the effort, or else simply distracted enough to have forgotten what he was doing.

Irving blinks, looking a bit like he hadn't even noticed Little's return, let alone that he'd also found and brought Gibson along. ]

Mr. Gibson. [ He sounds uncertain. ] Is Lieutenant Little all right? Has something happened?

[ Little's logic for having them all group together out here is very sound, of course, but Irving's mind seems unnaturally slow to process it, like he can't quite comprehend where Gibson has appeared from, or why. The edges of his vision tremble with something like movement, but when he turns his head, there's nothing to see.

He removes his hat as he looks back to Gibson, then, hair mussed and slightly sweat-damp along the forehead even in spite of the cold. ]

Yes, fine— [ he adds, at length, in a hasty murmur, as if only just hearing Gibson's question. ] A bit tired from walking, is all.

Benton Fraser | Due South

[maintiensledroit]

sacrificial offerings. — closed to Bigby (bigbaddy)

...of course, there are multiple stories of lake and sea monsters throughout cultures around the world.

[ He's warming to his topic, clearly, but it's a fascinating one. The notices and drawings had piqued his curiosity; an investigation was clearly called for.

It's not that he's looking for an excuse to delay his return to Young Bill's cabin, where Scout is coming close to her time, but... he wouldn't say he's unhappy about taking a slight detour. And it's always good to see Sheriff Bigby; he greatly respects the other man, who has proved himself thoughtful and capable many times over... as well as a fast friend to Diefenbaker.

Now, they trek out over the ice together, just the two of them, as Fraser talks. Diefenbaker is back at the cabin, worrying over Scout. ]

There's even one with a similar name here in Canada... Ogopogo. But it's supposed to be in British Columbia, to the southwest.

wildcard. — closed to Sveta (balancedlight)

It feels as though he's trying to be everywhere at once: in Milton and Lakeside, both, to draw people out of the fog and into a safe place where they can recover; in the Lakeside woods to keep an eye on those attempting to clear the caches, in case of ambush; at Young Bill's, bringing game and other resources while Bill glares at him and Scout pants, her sides plump with puppies.

Diefenbaker mostly chooses to stay there, with his mate, and Fraser can understand the impulse. It's a similar one that has him, on a day when he finally finds a few hours of time, seeking out a particular door and a particular woman he hopes is behind it.

"Svetlana? It's Constable Fraser."

It's been a little while since they sat and chatted over the bowl of borscht she'd brought him. This time, he has something for her: a small treasure in the form of a quart of maple syrup he'd found untouched in a cabinet. It's been a difficult few weeks... perhaps something sweet will soften the roughness of the days, a bit.

Wildcard

[balancedlight]

Svetlana pokes her head out from her door at the sound of the voice. She's at the tail end of that strange illness, the one that kept her from sleep for so long, and so while her fever has broken and she's certainly on the mend, she's been sleeping far more than normal. Her face is a little thin and her hair is piled on top of her head in a very messy bun, her glasses sit perched on her nose, but she lights up at the sight of him anyway.

"Benton Fraser, you are - " She stops to think of the phrasing she wants. "A sight for eyes? For - tired eyes?"

English phrases are difficult to remember and even more difficult to retain. As she told Chloe, she really should have paid more attention in English class, but there was too much to be distracted by.