extinction is the rule

[singmod]

SEPTEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS: The Aurora comes, bringing chaos to the town of Milton. Electronics go haywire, and the Interlopers learn of the original citizens of Milton.

PROMPT TWO — THE HOUR OF THE WOLF: Tainted by the Aurora and attracted to the noise of people inhabiting the town, several packs of wolves descend upon Milton.

PROMPT THREE — IT SPEAKS: A voice comes to the Interlopers, one that knows them and their darkest fears and deepest insecurities, persuading them to fade into the Long Dark by any means necessary.

THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS

WHEN: Sporadic nights over the next month.
WHERE: Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural horror; ‘ghost’ horror; hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.

After the feast, and making sure the newcomers to Milton are seen to, Methuselah packs up. He will explain to others that while he will return to check in, he is no resident of Milton and will not stay. He is a nomad, something he has been all his life. He lives in nature. That is where he belongs. But he does assure that people are welcome to remain sheltered in the Hall if they wish to. And sure enough, the old man leaves, wishing the newcomers well. He can still be found out in the wilderness, and will shelter and feed those out exploring should they come across him.

And so the days and nights of this world roll on. The initial time of those who have come to be stranded in this world is unsettled. The weather is always changing, even if it remains bitterly cold. On some nights throughout the next month, however, the snow clouds clear and Interlopers are given a rare, clear night. At first, it’s beautiful: without the light pollution, all the stars can be seen, the moon casts an eerie glow upon the snow in the dead silence of the night. One might even say there is a kind of peace that comes with it all. And for some of these evenings, they pass by: uneventful and silent — the long darkness of an endless winter’s night.

But on others, it isn’t so uneventful. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. Something in the heavens above. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops that echo. The sky is alive with sound, louder than anyone could ever expect it to. With it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night, growing brighter and brighter as the night goes on: The Aurora has come.

And it isn’t the sky that comes to life too: the whole town does too. Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering often. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring but faltering. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, both only occasionally blaring standard emergency broadcasts. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

But there’s something else too. The Aurora doesn’t just awaken the electronics of the town. Dotted around, in the streets, in homes, in stores, the lights of the Aurora begin to take shape: spectral-like forms of people, their faces hard to make out, details difficult to define. They move in glitching patterns, they speak with voices distorted by static. Eagle-eyed Interlopers may recognise the forms of some, a body or an action:

These are the residents of Milton, in their last moments on this earth.

The forms act out short scenes on repeat: a desperate fight between two men over a vehicle, a murder in a store during a riot, a suicide alone in one of the many houses. An argument over the communication lines going down. A sobbing teen curled up on his bed. A child stares up at the skies, their hands over their ears, crying in fright. A woman begs for her father to leave his home and head to the coast with her, to try to make it to the mainland, but he refuses to leave. A man succumbs to the cold walking alone in the outskirts of town without proper clothing for the elements. Several of these ‘ghosts’ are people fleeing before they stop and simply gasp, staring off into the distance for a few seconds before they drop dead on the spot.

There is nothing that can be done to stop these endless loops. Nothing to help these poor souls. Each of these moments are captured by the Aurora: final, desperate and tragic moments in some unknown, chaotic time. Some of these ‘ghosts’ maybe stop after so many loops — flickering out into nothing, others will last all night. But all will be gone by the morning and the Aurora comes to an end. There are answers, and there are none.

THE HOUR OF THE WOLF

WHEN: Sporadic nights over the next month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: (wild) animal attacks, altered wildlife, possible character injury/death, possible (wild) animal injury/death.


The growing presence of people within the town of Milton has meant more light, more warmth, more noise. The Aurora has created great change, but people are not the only thing the ethereal lights in the sky has brought down upon this old mining town.

When the sun slips below the horizon, and the clear skies of burnt embers and inky blues alight with stars, they come.

A lone howl, long and haunting. It is the first signal, which carries on the air. You can’t seem to place from which direction it comes from, it feels like it encompasses you. Then another voice joins it, and another, and another. A chorus of them. As the sound echoes off, another fills its place: a strange feral chittering, snarling and snapping — the drumming of feet upon the snow, heading right for you.

Wolves.

Unnatural, glowing green eyes in the dark — tendrils of light seeping from them as they rush in and encircle those they come across outside. They come in packs of three or more, and they are clever. They’re quicker than any wolf you’ve ever known, bigger and hardier too. They will try to strike fast by zipping in when you’re distracted, snapping and nipping at legs or trying to take quick bites out of arms before drawing back. They work together to bring their prey down, a solid unit of noise and teeth. They will hunt down those who hide inside, try to claw their way inside of homes and buildings — dead set on finding you and tearing you apart. There is no hiding from them. They will find you.

But breaking the pack can send them back. If they’re broken, their morale is depleted. Fire is your biggest friend: torches, campfires and flames will keep them mostly at bay and only the bravest of these packs may attack. Striking them with flares or flames will actually send them into brief retreats. Bullets and arrows are effective with both noise and injuring the wolves, and although hitting one will be difficult due their speed, it’s possible. Killing one of these wolves will dissolve the pack’s morale entirely, and the rest will flee off into the night.

Until next time. Maybe it’s best you don’t stick around. They do hold a relentless determination.

IT SPEAKS

WHEN: Over the next month, possibly longer.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: psychological horror; mental manipulation; themes of suicide; themes of depression; potential self-harm; potential feelings of isolation; potential attempted suicide.

There are whispers. Small, at first. Distracting. Perhaps it is only the wind you hear. Milton is so quiet, even with the new hustle and bustle of the new people to this place. Wood creaks and the trees rustle, there are plenty of sounds you could mistake it for.

‘Interloper.’ It is an old voice. Something deep and dark and ancient. Something impossible, older than the earth itself. It floats into your ears and nestles there, sending an ice-cold shiver down your spine. Even to the most stoic and unshakeable souls, it is a unnerving voice. It feels wrong. It feels like an ending. To hear the voice is deeply unsettling... and yet... you recognise it.

It comes to you, in the dead of night when sleep is far. In the long stretches of day as you go about your business, as you travel across the frigid landscape or gather firewood or try to pass the time within whatever home you’ve made for yourself. For some the voice will be clear as day, for others it may be some distant whisper — something gently murmuring in your ear. But the voice will be heard, no matter the person.

‘Interloper. Do you know what it means?’ It asks. ‘It means one that involves itself in a place it does not belong. You do not belong.’

That it isn’t the only thing it tells you. For everyone, it’s different. It knows you. It picks up on any weakness, any insecurity. It makes you feel small, insignificant. It tells you all the quiet, terrible things you hide down within yourself. For days, weeks, the voice is there. Speaking to you. It will wear you down, insist you are not wanted, that you do not belong here.

... And wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t here at all?

The voice seeks to break you. It will push you to your limit. Sleep will become hard to find, your spirits low and hollow. In time you might seem to believe it. Maybe it’s better if you weren’t here. You don’t belong in this place, why should you stay?

‘Disappear, Interloper. Go into the Long Dark.’

Perhaps you next find yourself atop the steep cliffs, looking down into the Milton Basin below. Perhaps you find yourself with a gun in your hand, or a rope. Perhaps you find your feet carrying you out into the snow. You’re going to disappear. You’re going to go into the Dark.

Or maybe the voice isn’t so loud. You can push it down, ignore it. Perhaps Faith is what keeps you steady, perhaps knowing who you are despite your faults stops the voice from taking over. Maybe you can help those who can’t block out the voice. Words of encouragement, affirmation, kindness, determination, even spite. The voice wants you dead, but you will not let it. You will not fall. You will not let anyone else fall, either.

FAQs

THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS

1. While examples are given, players are encouraged to come up with their own ghostly loops of similar loops. The key thing to remember is that the people of Milton have descended into public disorder. Fights, arguments and murders have occurred, as have suicides or other unexplained deaths. People are frightened. They want to leave the town.

2. Ghostly loops cannot be interacted with, only witnessed.

3. There is no way of putting these 'ghosts' to rest. These loops are more like residual memories, as if the energy of the townsfolk remained, and have been reconstructed by the Aurora.

4. The wolf attacks and Auroras occur on sporadic nights over the course of the next month, with the Aurora being the first thing, then the wolves. It's unlikely you'll get both on the same night. While the wolves are attracted to the Interlopers' activity, the Aurora's light and noise will keep them away from the town during Aurora Nights.

5. Sharp-eyed Interlopers may notice that the 'ghosts' of those who are staring off into the distance before gasping and dropping dead are looking skyward, towards the east.

THE HOUR OF THE WOLF

1. Due to the Aurora's influence, these wolves are harder, better, faster, stronger, than typical wild wolves. They do not die as easily, and are much more difficult to wound and kill. But not impossible. Scaring the wolves will be far easier to accomplish.

2. Wolves will return, sometimes more than once on the same night, or on other nights during the month. The only sure-fire way to have them stop coming back is to kill the pack.

3. Wolf meat is technically edible. But not advised due to parasites. Characters are still welcome to harvest the wolves they kill, however. Who would say no to a cool ass wolf cape.

4. The wolf attacks and Auroras occur on sporadic nights over the course of the next month, with the Aurora being the first thing, then the wolves. It's unlikely you'll get both on the same night. While the wolves are attracted to the Interlopers' activity, the Aurora's light and noise will keep them away from the town during Aurora Nights.

IT SPEAKS

1. Characters can be talked down and broken from the voice's influence by others. Genuine connection and empathy will work massively, but even encouragement and affirmations to keep surviving will be powerful enough to break the voice's hold.

2. Players are welcome to play with the length of time the voice can be heard with characters. Some may want to have it over a short space of time, others can have this progress over a longer time period.

3. The voice can come at any time over the next month.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[birkenstock]

Oh.

[ That's a surprisingly healthy way of viewing the situation, considering Barbie is maybesortakinda having a bit of a meltdown over it. She's used to being praised and lauded for being herself, whatever that may be. Being insulted is still an intensely new situation, and one she is absolutely certain she does not like.

She blinks at him owlishly before realizing how close she is to the edge, and how one strong breeze or one misstep could send her hurtling down into the Long Dark. It'd be what it wanted, of course, and it'd be ... well, she isn't sure whether she really wants that too. And it's that hesitation that allows her to see the hands being offered to her from afar — like a lifeline.

She decides, after a moment, to take it. ]

I guess I was a little close, wasn't I?

[birkenstock]

[ Barbie watches with wide eyes, unable to tear herself away from the violence and the gore, like watching a horrible trainwreck ... or, well, something like murder, for the very, very first time.

She's never seen anything like this in Barbieland, and not in the Real World either, and stuns her. How gushy the wolf had been, how much blood a creature that large and yet so small could carry, and how quick the helmeted man had to act to avoid being overwhelmed by the large furry beast.

She starts to blink but she appears to be in some form of shock. ]

I've — [ She swallows. ] — I've never seen that before.

[birkenstock]

[ No, this really isn't a place for Barbie. And it isn't a place for Ken either. Truthfully, she's not sure this is a place for any of the people she's met here so far, not even that old man who'd greeted them upon their arrival.

No one belonged in a place surrounded by creepy ghostly visions, echoes of tempting voices, and a lack of power. And all in a frigid place where you could never really feel warm no matter what you tried to do.

But it's Ken's last comment that has her turning her head to meet his eyes, her perfect eyebrows furrowed into a proper frown. ]

Ken —

[ She knows now that she never really treated him all that well, that she'd ... she'd taken him for granted. She isn't sure what her feelings for him are anymore, not in that way anyway, but one thing she does know is that Ken is good and kind and above everything else, he's still her friend. She treasures him, even when her emotions about him in other ways remains a little confusing.

She reaches out to grasp at his hand, to clasp his fingers with hers and give them a gentle squeeze. ]

I'm glad you're here. [ Yes, he can be a bit much sometimes, but he means well, even when he can be a little easy to misguide. ] No one else really understands what we've been through but you.

[blondfragility]

( Her fingers are cold, and instinctively he reaches up his other hand to cover hers and try to warm them. And he knows that she isn't lying to him. She's never lied to him, for better or for worse, so he believes her when she says she's glad he's there. )

I know. But I'm not ... Good at stuff the way other people are good at stuff.

( The way people here are good at stuff. )

You don't have to say I am, I know you're going to. I know I just said I'm sorry you're here but I'm happy I'm not alone, either. Is that bad?

[castitas]

I don't know. [ There's resignation, for a moment. She is not God, isn't all-knowing, all-seeing. She doesn't know what purpose she sees for him here. She shrinks back from the words. They're horrible things to hear, and her head dips low for a long moment. It's painful, this is painful — twisting her stomach into deeper knots. What can she say to them? What can she tell him? Her eyelids flutter and she shakes her head, brow furrowing. ]

Don't talk about yourself like that. [ There's a hint of fierceness in her with that. Even if the words of gentle and hushed, there's the firmness that she won't stand for that kind of talk. ] There's no cost that isn't worth it. Just because you're sick and injured doesn't mean there isn't any value left in you.

If you want meaning, then we can find it. We work out what you're supposed to do now, what purpose you're supposed to find for yourself.

[ But he has to give it a shot, it means he gives himself a chance. ]

... I think we're like trees. [ She says softly. Fragile, yes. Maybe he's right in ways, but not so fragile as grass. ] Did... did you know when a tree's sick in the forest, the other trees send help? They send nutrients. I read that once.

[alef]

[ Is that what the ghosts are doing? Making Rei feel something? There's the twisting in her stomach, sure, and the fact that she'd rather be outside than in here. But one of those is a physical reaction, and the other is a passive sort of desire. That's not what humans usually mean by feelings, she fairly sure. ]

Why not?

[ Rei asks, not because she wants to know anything about Hickey - she doesn't. Anything he can tell her will be bad to listen to, at best. But it's more information, and that's... not good, really, but sometimes useful. ]

cw: death of a parent, child

[alef]

[ Rei, meanwhile, is perfectly content to track snow into her own home. Especially because it's not even hers. It still belongs to the two ghosts in the living room, as evidenced by the fact that they won't leave. They won't stop, no matter what Rei does about them.

This scene isn't particularly violent, but maybe that's why it's hard to watch. The father pulls his son into an embrace, making little circles on his child's back with his hand. The father's mouth moves, as if whispering something. The child tries to smile - and this is the part that makes Rei want to run outside, and never return to this place - but the child cannot quite manage it.

The father and son stay in that position for a few moments. Rei says nothing, and she does not take her eyes off them. Then they drop to the ground, still and tangled up in one another. ]

Do you see it?

[ Rei asks, at last, after a long silence. ]

[m1895]

No. This is very small.

[ He's sure it doesn't seem that way to his clearly panicking patient, but in the scope of his own experience, the wounds are almost negligible—though he recognizes that it's a harrowing situation the man's just been through, it's not bleeding like a gunshot through a major artery or a puncture wound in the moment the offending piece of rebar is pulled.

The tensile strength of the dark fabric making up the man's frayed pants leg is better than that of the cheaply produced garments of the era he awoke in, but it's still no match for the strength of his arms with a crack already in the foundation. Vasiliy rips the hole open further until the full tracks the wolves' nails left are visible. They'll definitely need to be irrigated.

Vasiliy unzips his jacket and slips it off his shoulders, wrapping it around the injured leg a few times and tying off the sleeves—tight enough to apply uniform pressure, but certainly not a tourniquet. The snow crunches under the soles of his shoes as he then straightens up. ]

I am going to lift you, okay?

cw: suicidal thoughts, reference to child abuse

[alef]

[ Ordinarily, when people look at the thing called Rei Ayanami, they have already decided what they want to see. A pilot. An experiment. A rival. A mother. A doll.

But that's not what Thomas is doing. He's looking for something. What is he looking for? Rei Ayanami. What is Rei Ayanami? What Thomas sees. What does Thomas see? Nothing, surely. A shell. The last remains of something utterly useless.

Why should that matter, Thomas asks next, and Rei considers twisting herself free and running away. It wouldn't be difficult. Thomas is not very strong, and he is not very fast. But he is giving her a gift, too, even though he doesn't know it. Most humans, after they have decided what Rei is, speak for her. That's fine. It takes Rei a while to work out what to say, most of the time, and it's often safer to say nothing at all.

Thomas doesn't do that. He gives her time.

Why should that matter? It's the only thing that has ever mattered. ]

When there are no nails, why keep the hammer? When your boots wear through, you replace them with another pair.

[ He doesn't understand. Why bother speaking when nobody ever, ever understands?

The elevator chimes. ]

There are no Angels here. There is nothing, and I am nothing, and to nothing I will return.

[fidior]

[ There's a sharp exhale of breath at that, something that's not quite a laugh, and if he were a man more prone to making quips in the heat of adrenaline (or.. at all), he might jokingly say something along the lines of assuming we both live through this. But Edward remains extremely severe, brows pinched together in fretfulness, looking quickly round for anything else that might be remotely useful. There's— nothing. A few chairs around a small dining table, at least those can be used to keep holding the wolves off, but.... not much of anything. At least this cabin has a second floor, another room to run up to and hole one's self in, but clearly doors won't be able to keep the creatures out. He can hear the scrape of frenzied claws against wood, and a second body joining the first with slamming itself against the thing. It won't hold forever.

His head's snapping back to stare at the other man as Kenway quickly devises a plan, but it leaves Little horrified. ]

What if you fall? They'll be on you— [ ...with seconds. The mental image is... unbearable, and despite Kenway's clear skill with agility, Little can't help worrying. ]

[fidior]

[ No one... uses telegrams anymore....? Anymore. Like it's an outdated concept. The thought is.... shocking, spikes Edward's anxiety immediately, and it's with that discomfort that he listens, brow pinched, features tight, more disturbed than he is curious....

A person in fancy dress serenading someone while they're working? A person acting as a telegram? If he didn't look distressed enough already, he's certainly looking the part now. His stomach aches with anxious knots, heart giving nervous spasms. Anyone else might inquire further about these.... birthday telegrams..... but for the moment, he can only handle one horror at a time.

So he's listening to what Kieren describes in regards to the "computer", eyes slowly traveling back to look at the screen, squinting again at its brightness. There are many terms he doesn't understand — internet, chatroom, forums — but he does grasp the gist of it. Communication. It would be fascinating if he wasn't so shocked by the idea, just staring blankly at that screen and then down again as the boy touches a strange little item that rolls and makes it do clicking things. He doesn't like that at all! It's weird!

But he's starting again as something appears on the screen then, shifting uncomfortably, everything within him wanting to tense away from this. Edward is no pursuer of knowledge, hardly driven by a thirst for the unknown. He has no desire to endanger himself or cause himself a necessary discomfort in the pursuit of understanding more. He'd very much like to turn away from this and not look at it again.

...But he won't abandon this young man (Edward it is not that deep, he's just showing you some technology).

And so, he's... trying. To understand. Still squinting, he scans what's on the screen, realising they are messages. God above, what..... ]

Eee mails. [ He draws out the 'e' a bit too long, looking uncertain; what a strange... word. He's so confused about so many things! ]

....How does one... sign them? These letters? Can ink even attach to such a..... surface? [ He lifts a gloved hand in gesture to the computer screen (not too close to it, mind.) ]

[missionem]

[ The first thing he notices about her, which is also the first thing he imagines anyone notices about her, is that she is one of the most gorgeous creatures he's ever laid eyes on. It's a noticing that comes without any attendant desire or supposition - even if he had ever been quick to kindle that particular candle, the state of him now leaves that metaphorical wick inert.

But he appreciates it, as he appreciates the swoop of a hawk or the setting of the sun that paints her in such flattering shades. He also appreciates the stark absence of pity, which would render the contrast between her sleek vitality and his grubby debility practically unbearable. ]

How rude of me.

[ He agrees, as dryly as she observed his dying, and for the sake of that he bothers to tap a cigarette loose of the crumpled pack he fishes from inside his coat instead of merely offering it to her whole. The machine rolled type have a pleasing uniformity, and he attempts to smooth the one he retrieves back into better shape before he presents it to her.

He isn't sure of the last time he gave a woman a cigarette. It's not a vice ladies of a certain class indulge in, but he's had occasion in the past few years. More so earlier on, when there was something rakish about his ruin, instead of only wrecked. He wonders if she recognizes it as a favour she's bestowing on him. He wonders why it does feel like a favour to be asked for anything, and why he's grateful for it, in his own miserly, miserable way. ]

Have you found the dying to be particularly forgiving, in your experience? [ He asks, his own cigarette tucked to the corner of his lips and words slurred thereby. ] If so, I would hazard our experiences have been quite different.

[ Of course they have. One only needs to look at either of them to know that. ]

[fidior]

[ Angry and.... small. Black and white... Captured inside of a glass box. Well that sure is a horrifying description! And again, perhaps once, Edward would have immediately discounted such a concept, but now?

He's swallowing against a nervous tightness in his throat, lifting his shotgun up and aiming it directly outwards. A very large part of him wants to leave, to take this strange young man and flee to safety, but the other part knows he cannot. If he leaves this... thing alive, lets it escape, who knows what horrors it might unleash on such a small town? (And inaction has cost him dearly before. No, he must act.)

And so he begins to step forwards into the home, moving very slowly and carefully. ]

Be ready to run. [ He utters softly, hushed, to the other behind him. Tense with nerves, Edward makes his way further in, and begins to hear a strange sound. A sort of.... roar, almost like the ocean. Eyes wide, he slowly approaches the main room and stares in a muted horror at the sight of it there. Indeed, very small and very angry, crackling and hissing and roaring the way it is. And the brightness of it...! The light it emits is so bright that it very nearly hurts to look at. Edward gives a soft sound of surprise, finger moving to the trigger of his gun, but he hesitates. If the thing is trapped, then shooting its confines might allow it escape.... ]

....Excuse me! [ He barks instead, addressing The Thing. Is it capable of intelligent thought? The creature that stalked their ships certainly had been. Perhaps this, too... Through everything, he must remain sensible. ]

Can you understand what I am saying? Do you hear my words?

[ He tenses, keeping his gun aimed as he tilts his head slightly towards Huaisang, voice falling to a whisper again. ]

Did it speak anything to you before? Or perhaps gave some hint as to its motives?

[ Edward, it... it definitely didn't ]

[missionem]

[ Thomas stares at Edward for a moment, clear of judgment or scorn, a simple boggled stare that cracks into incongruously bright amusement of his own. ]

Oh, but I could.

[ He lifts his left hand and waves it, a ripple of unvoiced laughter curling the edges of the words into nearly softened shapes. He's quite sure that's not the joke Edward intended, but it is the joke Thomas will take of it. There's a power to jokes. He's sure that's why anyone of any dignity tend to forbid all but the most attenuated versions of them in their presence.

That's all the more reason for Thomas to slip in his sharpened slivers of dark humour. He appreciates the effect it has on people. ]

Are you offering yours? I did once long to tie knots as the sailors do.

[bigbaddy]

...

[ Of all possible things to hear here, apparently this was the one Bigby didn't expect. The other guy looks a little too old for this, after all - even from a distance. It's the sort of thing Bigby would expect a moody teenager to say, not what seems like a grown man.

So even though he's still worried deep down, his outward look turns into something closer to exasperated than anything else. ]

Seriously? What are you throwing a fit over?

[ He's still not really helping, huh. But words aren't exactly Bigby's strong suit either. ]

[bigbaddy]

Do I look like a magician?

[ The answer is 'no', clearly. Or rather - the tone Bigby is using is all by itself enough to show that the answer is no. It's basically a rhethorical question.

But at least it's not like he's being entirely unhelpful here. He was kind of hoping to find a phone right away to just show it to the other that way, but since Bigby can't spot one in the room from a cursory glance, he does turn his gaze back to the other's notebook he's still holding, opening it up and using the pencil to draw in it.

Bigby's art skills are absolutely nothing to write home about, but.. you know, it's still recognizable as a phone. One of those old ones with a rotary dial and all.

He holds out the notebook towards the other when he's done, a few moments later. ]

I doubt we'll be able to reach anyone from out here though if the TV also isn't working. [ And since he figures the other also won't know what those are, he does gesture towards the thing the other unplugged a moment ago. ] This place is probably in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

[ A very clear, concise description, clearly. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ When Nikolai admits he doesn't know what he identifies as, he assumes the kid is talking about his sexuality. That's all young people ever talked about these days, in Roy's opinion. Maybe labelling someone as a shadow or a demon were cool sexual terms now, he just hadn't heard of them because he was old as fuck. ]

You usually this chatty or is it the rabies talking? [ He'd like to know for future reference. If he is the talkative type, Roy will make a point of avoiding him, and not even be subtle about it. But like all the people in his life who have verbal diarrhoea, they'll come and find him eventually. He can't escape them, even in Milton. ]

Shit. [ He hears Nikolai land with a painful thump on the other side and feels guilty, realizing he probably should have gone through to catch him, but it's too late now. He follows Nikolai through with a furrowed brow of concern for him, staring at the elephant in the room that is Nikolai's arm because fuck, what if they have to have to chop it off to stop the infection? Will Roy have to be the one who does it? Has he been watching too many horror movies?

His gaze moves from Nikolai's arm to the young man's face at his introduction. King of where? He knows he never paid that much attention in school, but he's pretty sure he doesn't recognize the place from geography lessons. ]

Right. And I'm Roy Kent, the King of England. [ It's a sarcastic response because it's hard to believe anyone as capable as Nikolai at surviving is royalty. In Roy's experience, royalty were useless fucks. This guy acted like a king's bodyguard more than anything.

His eyes widen when Nikolai offers him the bloody gun. It's not like he's a pacifist - he practically threatens violence in his workplace on a daily basis. But he's never used a gun before. He's not a coward - at least, he doesn't want to appear as one, so he takes the gun with a grunt after wiping the blood on his trousers. ]

Make it quick. Your arm needs looking at. [ Roy knows all too well about ignoring injuries. That's how his knee is so fucked up - for not resting it all those times he should have come off the pitch. Soldiering on because admitting you needed help meant you were weak. He's learned his lesson, or at least he'd like to think he has. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ The sound of gunshots makes him flinch back from the door. Where did they come from? Was someone out there? Whoever took those shots sounded like they hit at least one of them judging from the yelp he just heard.

Roy quickly moves over to a window, pushing aside the curtain to look out. It's hard to see in the dark - he's joked about his eyesight not being good at night because of his age and maybe there's some truth to it - but then he spots some movement behind a woodpile. A mop of dark curls.

It doesn't take long for the wolves to figure out where the gun fired from. They can probably smell him, and he watches with dread as they make their way closer to the stranger's hiding. How many bullets did they have? Enough to kill a whole pack? Probably not.

Shit. He needed to create a distraction, enough of one for the stranger to flee to safety. Quietly, he opens the window and throws a bottle as far as he can down the street before ducking down out of sight. It might only succeed in distracting the wolves for just a few seconds, but hopefully it'll be enough for the man to get away. To go back to where he came from because Roy wasn't worth dying for. Wasn't worth saving.

He peeps out the window again to track the stranger's movements next. This was tenser than watching a football match. ]

[friendsfordinner]

[ Because his parents didn't mean anything to him. Why would he give a damn about something that he has zero attachment to? ]

Never knew them, [ Hickey says, with a little shrug. He looks over at the ghosts, regarding them with a frown as he continues. ] If it was someone I knew from back home? Then yeah, maybe I'd feel off. But I've got no idea who these people are. Why should I care about complete strangers?

[finefurryfella]

[ Once again, a hot blonde woman has entered his life to save the day.

He stares at her in shock for a moment, an almost comical look on his face as though she just broke his brain with her unexpected display of heroism and he needs at least a minute for it to restart like an old Windows PC. But he doesn't have a minute to process what just happened, her grip on his arm enough to shake him out of his daze. ]

Fuck, yeah, sorry. [ Sorry you got blood on your hands. Sorry you saw a grown man almost cry like a fucking baby. ] My place is just there. Come in and wash your hands.

[ He gestures to the house in front of them, leading the way. He feels awkward, like it's the end of a date that went horribly wrong, inviting her inside when she doesn't even know him. He has no idea what to say to make her feel like she's safe with him - safer indoors than she is outside - so he says nothing until they're inside. Sometimes that's why Roy is so silent - because he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. ]

Here. [ He gestures to the kitchen sink to wash the blood away. His heart is still pounding, so god knows how she's feeling right now. ] You okay? You did fucking great back there. [ Unlike him. ]

[missionem]

Thomas is good at improvising, not planning, even when sober, healthy, and not plagued by ghosts. What Levi says seems reasonable enough for speculative purposes, except for the implication of warfare.

"A military outpost?" He asks, eyebrows quirked. "I wouldn't think much of it if it was one...although if it were expected to fall, well."

It wouldn't be the most unlikely thing he's ever heard.

"You a military man, Levi?"

[solitarysoul]

"I was...for a long time." He doesn't really want to go back to that life, but it's the mindset his brain defaults to.

[missionem]

So you are acquainted.

[ Another understatement, this one delivered as Thomas opens his eyes a slit. He may not be an expert on nautical matters, but he knows the term for such frank disrespect of a commanding officer.

He wonders what happened to them out in the Arctic seas that Hickey would speak of mutiny not only lightly, but as a fait accompli. Did Little crumple then?

Thomas is grateful to the man. He doesn't dislike him, although he'd be hard-pressed to admit it. But from what he's seen of him, he also can't disagree with Hickey's estimation of his character. Even Thomas, freezing and bloodied, had been able to cow him. ]

Capacity has little to do with rank. We can agree on that. But how do you intend to persuade him? And the others, should he assert his prerogative? Not everyone holds such republican ideals.

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[The wolves lunch, snapping jaws and agile frames, and Cas shifts out of the way and pulls his blade. The wolves aren't thrilled with the torch, or its flame, but they're organized and try to flank him on either side. That's what makes Castiel punch the torch forward, hitting one of the wolves dead center on the forehead with the blunt end of the wood. The wolf startles and bounces back in surprise.]

If you insist on staying, grab the torch so I can fight these canines more efficiently.

[kidproof]

[Very different maybe, but similar enough to the frozen hellscape that it does give Joel any pause to use what's left behind after the attack. That was just good sense. Life after the outbreak demanded some natural understanding of resources, and being a smuggler gave him all the know-how and risk. Nothing got left behind to go to waste.]

I can do the dirty work if you think you can manage to help me separate things out for transport. Either that, or you can help me haul these back to my horse and I can take care of it myself back home.