singillatim | seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

JUNE 2024 EVENT

PART ONE — A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME: The Darkwalker claims another victim, and that is only the beginning of troubles for the Interlopers as they face a month of endless night and green gloom.

PART TWO — POLAR SUN: As June continues, Interlopers are faced with food insecurity as wildlife flees; tensions grow as they face hunger and the Darkwalker's continued influence. On the day of the Summer Solstice, the tension finally breaks and violent chaos descends upon Interlopers.

PART THREE — REPRIEVE: The end is in sight, and an ally comes to the Interloper’s aid.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

WHEN: June 1st, then onwards.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area (Carter Hydrodam).
CONTENT WARNINGS: death of playable character; supernatural death; mention of dead body; themes of death; supernatural beings; themes of terror; themes of peril.

The evening is quiet and still. May draws to a close and while the sun does not completely set, it dips low enough for the sky to grow a little darkdim with twilight. The midnight sun is almost upon the Northern Territories, the air is warmer than it has ever felt — even if it remains chilly. If this is summer, it is but a gentle brush of reprieve against the unyielding winter. The Interlopers wind down for the night, many turn to their beds to sleep, others sit awake and ponder their existence in this world. They think of home, of loved ones, of their predicament here in this place. The Forest Talkers, the strange beasts and monsters they’ve encountered.

The moon wanes in the skies, nestled amongst the stars. For those still awake to notice, they can see it: slowly, one by one, the stars begin to go out. Then the moon's light is swallowed whole, and a blanket of green gloom descends upon the Northern Territories.

The sky is dark and green and terrible. Many of those will recognise it, what this means and what will come. Others will not understand it, not know what it is that awaits them all.

They will soon find out: the Darkwalker comes.

Under a green sky, a cold fear washes over you — squeezing the breath from your lungs. Interlopers will find themselves overcome with that fear, and everything in their bodies and minds tells them to run. To flee. And so you run, heading for cover. Curtains will be drawn, some may hide under beds, within closets or wardrobes. Some desperately attempt to conceal themselves, make themselves small, unseen. Some Interlopers, in that fear, may rush to friends or loved ones to hide with them, others may simply cower alone — crawling and whimpering away from the night. The fear is irrational, unable to be overcome — even by the bravest or most stoic of Interlopers.

For those within Milton, it is further away but is by no means less potent: Interlopers will find themselves frozen with the constant loom of the Darkwalker’s arrival — even if it does not come to Milton. Those within Lakeside, however, will feel the true force of this presence: more like a knife edge — painfully gripping your heart as it draws close.

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic. Low moans and groans. It comes from the east, the faint booms of footsteps in the distance growing ever nearer. It is coming, once more. It's coming for one of you. And still, you are powerless, unable to do anything. And it is an agony, awaiting its arrival. You cry, you whimper, you cower. Curling up for some shred of comfort, and finding none.

For those in Lakeside, through the fear, they may be able to note the path: a straight line from the east towards Carter Hydrodam. It seems to go on forever, building into a crescendo. Your heart beats so hard you fear it may burst from your chest, as if you might die of fright.

There is an almighty sound; the Darkwalker devours and even with the distance you can hear it. The sound of gnashing teeth, and… laughter. There is no scream, no bright light in the sky — Enola is silent this time. There is only that laughter, echoing off into the night.

The skies do not return to normal. The green gloom hangs in the air. It is done, but it is not yet over. While the overwhelming fear dissolves away, but a kind of… dread remains on the air — almost palpable.

The Darkwalker has devoured another. Braver souls who go out to investigate into Lakeside will find just who has been devoured once they reach the Hydrodam — although it may be a day or two before they will find the body in the medical bay.

At least it is cold enough that the rot does not fully set in — but death will certainly be here.

And this is but the beginning of the Interloper’s troubles.

POLAR SUN

WHEN: The month of June, up to Midsummer’s Eve + Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; food scarcity/food insecurity; supernatural weather; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

In the coming weeks and days, and weeks, the green gloom lingers. From the Darkwalker’s attack, there is no sun. No day, no night. No stars or moon or sun. No Auroras. Just the gloom and biting cold. Life becomes increasingly hard on Interlopers: higher expenditure on fuel — fires and lanterns are imperative to keep the darkness and the cold at bay.

With the green gloom in the air, the wildlife becomes more scarce — as if it has been frightened away into the deeper parts of the wilds. It will be harder to bring in fresh meat in both Milton and Lakeside, and Interlopers will find that they will have to rely on whatever stores they have — and perhaps even rationing for a while.

And it’s not the only thing frightened. Even with the debilitating fear that comes with the Darkwalker’s attack gone, there is still a kind of fear that lingers on the air that slowly eats away at the Interloper’s resolve over time.

Interlopers will find themselves anxious, on edge. Some will be prone to anger in their fear, others prone to fits of melancholy: tearfulness and sorrow. Between the cold, the lack of fresh game and the fear on the air — it’s no wonder spirits are low. Bickering and minor upsets between Interlopers are likely.

They call it the midnight sun, the polar day. It's opposite is the polar night. This is neither and both. On the day of midsummer's eve, that fear on the air is even more palpable. The air feels a little stifling at times, as if the pressure is all off — often quite oppressive, a strange kind of tension. There is something brewing, a low burning thing that begins from the moment Interlopers wake — heavy and sharp in their chest.

’So, Interloper. What will you do now?’ A voice sneers in your ear. The very same voice that has haunted Interlopers since the very beginning. The Darkwalker finally speaks after all these weeks of gloom since its most recent attack. ’When all is gone, when even the sun does not rise? What will you do then?’

A nervousness sits within you as you remember the Darkwalker’s words. What will you do if the sun does not rise? If the darkness is all that is left? If the food runs out? Your wonderings will continue to gnaw away within you. The darkness is hollowing.

’Will you lean on others, like you have always tried to do?’ the voice continues. ’What bonds you hold with them, the ones with those around you. But how strong are they, truly? Can you trust them? Will it matter when your belly is empty and your heart is low? Perhaps it is time to see.

’Never forget, Interloper. I am the Rot. And I will rot within you.’

As the day progresses into the Solstice, that tension lingers in the air, and the wonderings within you continue to wear at you. You find yourself becoming more and more agitated as time goes on. Those feelings that have been brewing for some time now have started to grow close to boiling. You may snap at others, grow restless, become enraged at the tiniest of things — the upsets wildly out of proportion for the smallest slights or issues.

You find your thoughts wandering, too. Perhaps it is to someone you know in this place, or perhaps it is to someone previously unknown to you. Maybe you have an issue with this person, or perhaps the voice’s influence extends further — not only adding to your agitations but creating them, too. A slight, a grudge, a bias.

You feel a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within. From the dark, the anger within you become too much. The tension finally snaps.

For some, it might come out as a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Like a ripple, all around you: all hell breaks loose. Chaos erupts, and the air is filled with violence.

Let’s hope you might stop, or someone else stops you, before someone gets killed.

REPRIEVE

WHEN: Circa three days after the Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: blood.

All things must come to an end, even the most violent of deadly storms. In the midst of the seemingly endless violence of the night, you find yourself outside. Maybe you're fleeing from another Interloper, maybe you're desperately trying to reach someone you care for, maybe you're simply trying to find somewhere new to hide. Interlopers are hunting one another, blood lies on the snow, bodies too — some breathing, some not.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light. Perhaps it's the Darkwalker’s influence still warping your already frayed mind. Or it's the blood in your eyes, your battered and bruised body struggling to get through it all.

In the gloom, you see it. See her.

A woman, dressed in furs, stones and shells glimmering on her chest like armour, stands in the snow before you. Thin and pale, eyes sunken. Her chest heaves with each breath as she looks around with wide eyes. Her hands are bare and bloody. It drips slowly from her fingers. Is it her blood? Or someone else's? You cannot tell, but you cannot mistake how thick it coats her skin.

Her head turns to look at you. You are stunned, but not frightened. Even through the gloom, after a moment or two, her eyes widen in recognition: she knows you.

Slowly and silent, other than her noisy breathing, she draws close to you. Maybe in turn you draw close to her, closing the distance between you. Up close, her eyes are blue, and sad. You cannot mistake the sorrow in them. She is tired, weary. Her hair is dark, worn loose and long. For some, you feel as if you've seen her before, but you can't quite place her face.

Softly, she says your name.

For some, there may be no recognition. This woman is a stranger, who knows your name somehow. She has been silent the past couple of months, after all.

For others, hearing her speak brings a sudden, jarring realisation: this is Enola.

She’s here. Enola. All this time, she’s whispered to you in dreams, in static, in the very air itself.

She raises one hand, dark and dripping in the green light. Lightly, her fingers brush against your chest. You don’t feel the pressure of them, don’t feel the odd heat of blood — only the weight of her stare as she holds your gaze. It’s a long moment of peace in amongst the chaos.

You feel her exhaustion, a tiredness that sinks into your very bones. Apologies, too. You have never known anything like it. But there’s something else too, something that takes a moment or two to put your finger on. Defiance. A renewal. Something shifts in the air, a growing tension, different from the kind that’s been held on the air throughout the month. It’s the coming of a storm, the rolling clouds, the growing rumble of thunder before the first lightning strike.

Enola nods, her expression grave. She pulls away and turns from you — her head lifting towards the skies as she walks. Her arms raise, bloodied hands twisting and tensing before her. They curl, almost into fists, and she makes a gesture: the slow tearing of something huge and invisible before her — a shriek spilling from her lips. A battle-cry, a last stand, a wail of agony. It echoes.

The sky cracks and splits open before you, dazzling light and colours blinding your vision into pure white. The world tilts too hard below your feet, and you don’t remember passing out.

When you awaken, Enola is gone. The skies are clear and blue, the sun is high in the sky. As you pick yourself up from the snow, in the harsh light of the polar day, blood has never looked so red. The horrors of the night laid bare. Interlopers are dead, but the Darkwalker’s influence is gone. For now.

In the wake of Midsummer, all Interlopers can do is try reconcile. Bury the dead, rebuild, lick wounds. But that feeling in the air still remains — that different, new kind of tension that has come with Enola’s appearance. The first of the lightning bolts has struck, but more are coming.

FAQs

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

1. Alexander Hilbert has been devoured by the Darkwalker. His remains can be found in the Hydrodam. The following note has been left by Kates concerning his death: ‘Sveta gets possession of his research notes + blood samples + creepy lab journal because it's all in Russian, lmao.’

2. Information on the Darkwalker’s attack can be found here.

3. Usually, after the Darkwalker attacks, the sky would return to normal. This won’t happen. Instead, the usual atmospheric changes that occur during Darkwalker attacks will remain in place as June continues..

POLAR SUN

1. For an idea how the setting appears for June, it's like what you see in the game during the Escape The Darkwalker Challenge. Inside, there'll be a degree of green shades to rooms etc via what comes through windows but with it being lit up via fires and light sources, the gloom will be chased back.

2. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Methuselah and Young Bill are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

3. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

4. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

5. Talismans made by Heartman back in March with a Ward Sigil against the Darkwalker will come into effect during this prompt. It's been an ongoing process, with new Interlopers being offered them from their arrival. Players are free to choose what kind of talisman they received, or if they chose to get one at all. Their effectiveness is dependent on the type of blood used on the talisman.

— Animal Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from animals found in the world, such as deer, rabbits or wolves will find themselves more susceptible to the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They will be much harder to break out of the hold over them, and become almost frenzied state.
— Monster Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from any creatures or monsters that Interlopers have encountered in their time in the Northern Territories, such as the Serpent from December’s TDM will find there are no negative nor positive effects. The talisman is essentially useless. and Interlopers will fall under the Darkwalker's influence.
— Interloper Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood for Interlopers will be offered protection/resistance from the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They may be slightly affected but will have their wits about them more compared to others. If the blood came from an Interloper with an Aurora Feat — this protection/resistance will be largely increased, an the Interloper may even feel braver, less affected by the fear in the atmosphere.
— No Talisman: Similar to the Monster Blood Talisman, Interlopers will be affected typically by the Darkwalker's influence in due course.

There are no additional affects with an Interloper using their own blood, just if they have an Aurora Feat or not.

6. Animals owned by Interlopers will be more frightened and will want to hide away in the build up — they will be disturbed by the world. Mostly lying down and whining/restlessness. They may display some signs of aggression on occasion, but not to the same degree of humans.

7. Forest Talkers are hidden away and will not be able to be reached during the Solstice.

REPRIEVE

1. Enola can only be met alone, but she will appear to all Interlopers in Milton.

2. Enola will be nowhere to be found afterwards, there are no tracks to be followed. She has simply vanished.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Raju keeps seeing to the more intact side first, the hint of... something, not exactly alarm, some echo of a shock running briefly through his veins at the thought of Francis knowing, or maybe just feeling without knowing what Raju— well, without some reaction Raju can move on to chart even more of the territory under his hands, the sharp feeling of a moment ago already starting to fade into the path down to Francis' waist, to his stomach, and then very gently across it.

"You'll have to tell me how this feels." His voice is low and he doesn't look away, looking a little more solemn now as the rag gently skates over the bruising. "I don't want to hurt you again."

"You're not." Raju's never once hurt him, even if he's claimed otherwise. Crozier can't recall a moment of it.

The careful but thorough scrub of the warm cloth against his neglected skin, the feeling of the water trickling over his body, the massaging over mistreated muscles, far outweighs any discomfort he might be experiencing from the slight jostling or pressure.

"It feels good," he reassures him. He really needed this. "You feel good."

As soon as it leaves his mouth he realizes how it must sound, but there's no taking it back, is there! At least there's the bruising to distract the two of them, and a well-timed hiss as a particularly sensitive spot is touched follows up the awkward admission.

Raju looks up as Francis says it, smile curving his cheeks and his eyes. Feeling good — being good — for Francis is what he needs, after everything, and it... it just feels right, hearing Francis say that. But Francis hisses a moment after and Raju looks down, frowning, and notes the spot, moving the rag away from it.

"You might not be able to be really clean until after you heal," he notes, mostly to distract himself from the tension of keeping his touch featherlight up the broken side of Francis' ribs. Distract one part of him, anyway; the rest of him is focusing fiercely. This part is important, and he needs to make sure he's careful enough. Running the rag horizontally between his ribs, over them, barely touching, that might be the way. "We can go over you with that pine needle water after the soap, maybe that will help."

“At least not really clean around those bruised parts,” he mutters. So much for a good scrub.

If there was a twinge of defeatism in his voice, it quickly fades when his attention is drawn to the pine needle water. That wasn’t something he’d shown Raju. “I haven’t used it pine water before. Where’d you learn to do that?”

There’s a secondary little emotion curling up beside the adoration for this man, a deep sense of pride in how much he’s learned and done.

"Mm." It takes him a moment to answer, distracted as he is. Maybe he could skip Francis' injured side entirely — he isn't even using soap yet — but something about it wouldn't feel right. "That book I've been taking notes from mentioned how much they smell when they're boiled. I thought it might save us soap. I'm sure it doesn't work as well, though."

He dampens the rag again, then runs it up over Francis' other pectoral. He's prepared for the feeling of Francis' nipple under his hands this time and bracing himself not to react, and it's important to be careful on this side anyway. He breathes out a quiet, relieved breath once he's done, hand that'd been gripping the edge of the tub spreading over the back of Francis' neck as he moves the rag to the arm he hasn't gotten yet.

It's a clever move, terribly clever. He's heard that pine can be used for medicine, but mixing it with water for bathing seems like a genius move. "It's not as effective as soap, but still-"

Whatever he thinks he's going to say is interrupted by a soft groan. It's the hand moving over that aching, sore part of him. It's not free from pain entirely, but it feels so good to just have the skin and muscles touched like they were a part of him again and not some separate entity.

He isn't even ashamed of it.

Raju looks up, for a moment alert to the idea that Francis is in pain and Raju isn't being careful enough—

It isn't pain. Not judging by the expression on Francis' face, anyway. It's Raju's hand that put that noise in Francis' mouth, Raju realises, looking startled. His gaze darts between his hand and the rag, the skin underneath where his hand's gone still, and Francis' face. He feels his face going hot. "Should I, ah..."

Stop? Run the cloth over just that spot on Francis' chest again? It doesn't matter what Raju would want to ask, and so what answer he would want to hear, if he doesn't say it.

Hell. His natural assumption is that Raju mistook the noise for one of discomfort. “No, don’t stop, I’m just…”

How to explain it without sounding like some sort of deviant?

“I’m not uncomfortable,” is what he settles on, hoping it will be enough for Raju. Hoping, in fact, that he’ll continue doing exactly what he’s been doing.

It’s just been a very long time since anyone had been kind to his body, himself included.

For a moment Raju keeps looking at Francis' face, but Francis isn't going to tell him either to stop or keep going. His hand lifts, and hovers. His eyes move toward Francis chest and his face.

Raju wants it, so he moves his hand away over Francis' shoulder instead, and down his arm. He focuses, memorising the feeling of Francis' bicep under his slowly moving hand. Down that, down the forearm, and he hasn't really touched the stump where Francis' other hand used to be before but he doesn't let himself hesitate, taking Francis' wrist in one hand to clean it with the other, with the same careful thoroughness with which he'd wiped over the other scars.

The unexpected touch to his wrist, all the pink and white scar tissue, the numb and frayed bundle of nerves, causes something very tight to unexpectedly bloom within Crozier. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, if it’s someone is holding that ugly part of himself or that he actually finds himself craving the touch.

He feels tears gathering in his eyes and forces himself to casually turn his head before Raju sees them.

“You know what’s odd,” he says, clearing his throat slightly. “How unexpectedly difficult it is to wash that single hand. It’s always been the instrument used to clean the rest of me, a sort of secondary wash, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to be thorough with it.”

Raju’s hand slows again as he looks up, listening. Then he smiles. That’s an invitation, a need Francis has and a want, too. He wants Raju to touch him. This is more than just having no choice but to ask.

“I skipped over it, didn’t I?” Raju says, pleased, and reaches for Francis’ hand. He lifts it slowly, careful as he’s been with everything else,, and examines the front and back of it while he wets the rag again. When he finds himself running his thumb across Francis’ knuckles he turns Francis’ hand over, starting with the delicate skin at the inside of Francis’ wrist. “I can… keep washing this hand for you even after you heal. If you like.”

When Raju gets up to his palm in his washing, Crozier lowers his fingers to hold his hand tightly a moment. He’d continue to care for him, even when he’s no longer dependent on the care. He nods very gently to his suggestion. He’d like that very much.

He regards him fondly, unabashedly, his handsome face and long lashes and the curve of plush lips under well-kept moustache, and thinks that now it wouldn’t be the silliest thing in the world to ask for what he truly wants. He doesn’t feel silly or humiliated sitting here bare in front of him; he feels human and alive and valued. It’s such a little thing, but it means the world to him.

Francis curls his fingers around Raju’s hand and Raju looks up into his face again. Francis nods, a very small movement, and watches Raju fondly, and Raju watches back. His own expression softens; he studies Francis’ nose, his wide, shapely lips, pockmarked cheeks and overgrown beard and deep blue eyes. He lifts Francis’ hand toward his face—

It would be strange to kiss Francis’ hand, he realises. Francis would think that it was strange. It doesn’t feel it. The impulse feels as natural as feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin.

He peers at Francis’ fingers instead, as if that’s what he’d lifted his hand to do regardless of the moment of staring into his eyes afterward. He runs the rag with care over the edges of Francis’ nails.

“I can trim and file these for you, too,” he murmurs, very quiet and very fond. “They’re terrible. But I’m impressed you keep them this well, considering. Do you chew them short?”

He could have sworn Raju was lifting his hand to -

Ah, no. But it feels like he would have, that they were already in that moment. There’s not a stare like this that didn’t end in a kiss or embrace.

He looks down at his nails with a quiet frown. “When they snap and break, I do,” he admits. “It isn’t as though I’ve had a choice. And I can barely feel them, they’re so frost bitten.”

“Mm?” Raju frowns, troubled, down at Francis’ fingers. “I didn’t know that.”

It comes out sounding like a complaint. Raju doesn’t mind that, because a complaint is what it is. It’s Francis. He should know something like that. He should know how much Francis can feel when he touches his hand.

“I didn’t know frostbite did that.” He switches hands, the one with the rag holding Francis’ and the other drawing its short, neat fingernail down from the palm to the knuckle of Francis’ index finger and up it, very slowly. “Tell me when you stop feeling this. How much of it is numb here?”

“Severe frostbite can. I’m fortunate I haven’t lost any toes.” There’s a reason he’s been so particular about other people wearing gloves or mittens in this cold. He didn’t know Raju all that well when he made those mittens for him, but he’d been determined to save his hands.

The hands that are now holding his, tracing lines from his palm in an attempt to see where the feeling stops. Crozier shivers and nearly forgets what Raju’s asked of him.

“Ah, there,” he tells him once he remembers, stopping Raju’s nail halfway up the last joint of his finger. “About the same for each finger, I’m afraid. I don’t feel heat or cold like I used to, so I have to be extra cautious.”

Raju looks to Francis' face and back to his fingers again, solemn. He runs his thumb over Francis' fingertip as slowly as if it could feel him there. "Because you might burn yourself, or get frostbite again?"

He wants to kiss Francis' fingers. He looks down at the hand in his, examining the thought. Or, trying to. It's hard to tell what he should be thinking about it; he reaches for should and there's only want.

Raju wants to be tender with this, with him. Francis deserves that. So he covers the tips of all Francis' fingers with his hand, as if trying to warm them up and squeezes for one second, then another, and then he starts moving the rag slowly over Francis' thumb. "Cooking, or tending the fire... I never knew you couldn't feel what you were touching, when you did that."

Crozier smiles; Raju seems concerned, even a little bothered. He squeezes his fingers and Crozier huffs gently through his nose.

“Mhm. I lost some of the feeling in Antarctica. We experienced a week of horrible storms - I fell asleep on my feet those nights. Then the rest is just wear and tear.”

Nothing he’s concerned with, it’s just an aspect of life for an Arctic explorer.

Raju studies his face. One hand left and he can't feel the tips of its fingers; Francis is made of losses Raju had never imagined before they'd met. Had never allowed himself to imagine. But he's here, in front of Raju, building a life.

Francis may be very casual about the state of his fingers, but Raju wants to be gentle. He runs the rag over them very gently, up one side and down the other, one by one. He runs it over Francis' fingernails. "I'll start with soap next," he murmurs, focusing. "I haven't got your back, but I imagine you won't want to lean forward for that longer than you have to. Or your face. Should I go over your face first?"

His face; he’d forgotten about his face. He considers Raju’s proposal - he’s right, he won’t want to lean forward for very long - and agrees with a nod. “Yes, start with my face. I can turn around for my back and my hair.”

Seems like something he can reasonably do. He braces himself with his arms, folding them against the side of the tub and then leaning himself forward carefully.

“My beard’s matted,” he mutters.

"Mhm." He dips the rag into the water, quickly rubs a couple shreds of soap in, and runs it down the slope of Francis' nose. If he had any reason not to smile right now, it'd be hard to manage; maybe that comes of being so close to Francis' face, looking into his eyes, seeing him leaning forward that way expectantly, waiting for Raju to touch him. Or maybe it comes of the teasing about Francis' beard, old and familiar now and reassuring to go back to when Raju had spent so long knowing he'd never get to go back to any of their conversations again.

"Comes of growing it out so long." Down the other side of Francis' nose, and then over slowly across his cheek. "How long has it been since you trimmed, or washed it? Before... everything?"

Edited 2024-06-22 14:37 (UTC)

He huffs in slight protest, but it’s difficult to be actually insulted when he’s getting his face caressed by a wash cloth. He twists his head to bring his cheek to meet Raju’s hand. “I wash it regularly, thank you very much.”

But trimming it…well. He hasn’t had a proper shave since Terror Camp dissolved.

“It’s been years since I’ve had a shave. As you can probably tell.” The Netsilik never shaved - they plucked. It just didn’t seem worth the struggle.

Francis turns his cheek into Raju's hand and Raju breathes out slowly. He rubs his thumb back and forth, feeling the curving shape under his skin through the rumpled cloth. His other hand reaches out, wanting to touch still, and settles lightly over the back of Francis' neck. "I can wash it for you too, once we're closer to the fire."

Francis might not have complained about being cold here, and given how much better he is with the cold than Raju, might not be, but Raju doesn't want to keep him here naked and chilly longer than he needs to. From Francis' cheek he moves the rag toward Francis' ear, brushing the line of his beard on the way and smiling at it. "It must not grow too quickly. A pair of scissors wouldn't hurt, though."

Edited 2024-06-22 17:33 (UTC)

Settling down in front of the fire for a nice scrub sounds downright heavenly. He tries to keep wandering thoughts out of it, like what other feelings he might have with both of Raju’s hands in his beard. It’s hard enough as it is to not stare into his eyes while he washes his face and cups the back of his neck so tenderly.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says. “I could do with a trim. You might even be able to talk me into a proper shave at this rate.”

Raju's starting up the side of Francis' face toward his forehead when Francis says that last, and when he does Raju's gaze moves back to Francis' eyes, and his smile is wide.

"Is that so?" he asks, delighted, then watches his hand moving back and forth above Francis' brow. There's something about the idea, not only of seeing Francis a little more cleanly shaven but of doing it himself while Francis sits just the way he is now, waiting trustingly while Raju's hands move over him. "I thought you liked it the way it was. Getting sick of it now?"

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