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

roy kent | ted lasso

[finefurryfella]

★ open & closed prompts to follow!
★ wildcards are also welcome
★ plotting comment here or hit me up on spied

( open ) aurora; ghosts

[finefurryfella]

[ When the "ghosts" manifest themselves, Roy thinks - so this is what happens when I don't have football to keep me sane.

In his head, he hears his iconic Roy Kent football chant, except the words have changed to - they're here, they're there, they're every-fucking-where, dead people! Dead people!

It's the first supernatural experience he's ever witnessed, if you can even call it that. Whatever the fuck is happening, it's not normal. You're not meant to see someone's final moments. It's private, Roy thinks, and he doesn't want to look but it's impossible to ignore every death scene playing on a loop around him. He didn't think there was anything worse than being subjected to TikTok videos from the lads in the locker room, but this is a whole other level of discomfort.

He hears a bone-breaking thud beside him, almost jumps out of his skin, then stares down at the lifeless body on the ground. Eventually the scene repeats itself so Roy can see the cause of death: the person jumping from the second-floor window. Lovely. Just what he needed to see today. Cheers for that, Milton. ]

Well done. You almost made me shit myself. [ He speaks to the "ghost" like he just pranked Roy. ] Better luck next time.

[bigbaddy]

[ All of this is at least a little more normal to Bigby than it is to Roy - but to be fair, with the basis Roy is setting here, it's very easy for all of this to be a little more normal.

Especially when you're used to dealing with supernatural beings on the daily.

Granted, it's not quite as often ghosts, and especially not these kinds of ghosts. If Bigby has ever interacted with any ghosts, they sure were a lot more.. interactive like this, let's say. There is something eerie about just watching these people repeat their deaths over and over, even to him.

And it's while Bigby is wandering the streets, wondering if there's some explanation for all this to be found, that he spots Roy there--

-- and the way the guy is just talking to that figure. ]

Y'know, some people might call trying to talk to these things the first sign of insanity. [ Just saying.

Also, yes, clearly the most normal thing to speak up with. Bigby is great at this social thing, thanks. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy does a menacing slow head-turn towards the other man that's usually very intimidating, but not so much when the recipient is just as big (and hairy) as he is. He's about two seconds from firing back the fuck did you just say to me before he decides against it because when he really thinks about it, the stranger has a point. Since he is pretty much talking to himself, no response from the ghosts, he probably has lost his marbles. ]

Sounds about right. If I had a football here, I would have called it Wilson by now. [ Hopefully the other man understands that Castaway reference, even if it's a volleyball in the movie. He adjusts the joke to his interests - probably his only interest - which is football. ] But then if I had a football, I wouldn't be insane in the first place, I'd be putting two teams together for a kickabout. [ Coaching them, drilling them...

God, he misses his job. He really is a pathetic bastard with no life. ]

Is this shit normal to you? [ Roy waves a vague hand in the direction of the ghost falling to its death - again. ]

[bigbaddy]

No.

[ It's a relative quick answer, even though it's not really that easy of an answer for Bigby. After all, he's pretty sure this is more normal to him than it would be to most people here - because he's still assuming they're pretty much all mundies, unused to seeing actual ghosts.

But the entire 'deaths being played out on repeat' thing? Yeah, that's new for him. It's why he can say that 'no' so convincingly - it's not really a lie when he's never seen this specific scenario either.

Usually he'd address something about that football statement, but considering the situation.. Well, he's got something else to focus on for now.

(But he's making sure to remember it for if he runs into Roy again later.) ]

I think it's got something to do with the Northern Lights. Ever since they showed up, everything here started going to hell. [ A slight pause, and then adds: ] Well, more so than they already were, anyway.

[ Not like this is exactly a great place to be, between the cold and survival and the lack of anything to do other than surviving. ]

i'm sorry this is late weh

[burying]

[ Kieren's close by when the 'ghost' hits the floor. It's enough to make him jump, too — eyes staring wide for a long moment, not quite comprehending what he's just seen. It's a slow-dawning thing. He looks upwards, to where the glitching form had come from: oh.

But it's the words he hears as he draws close that feel so surreal. Well, shit. And it keeps happening, over and over — some morbid fucking show. His chest feels tight, but he keeps and outward calm. ]

Well that's one reaction to, uhm— [ It's like he can't even say the word, it makes guilt curl up in his stomach. It's one thing if it's his own, but someone else? ] Yeah. Don't think they were after trying to spook anyone with that.

you are forgiven as long as you forgive me for how late this is

[finefurryfella]

[ The kid is so pale that if he hadn't said anything, Roy would have easily mistaken him for a ghost. ]

Kicking the bucket? Popping one's clogs? Taking a dirt nap? [ The fact that he knows so many euphemisms for death is probably concerning and shows how dark his humour can be. ]

It's what I'd do if I died and came back as a ghost. I'd haunt all the pricks that annoyed me when I was alive. [ He can already think about ten people he'd like to spook as a spirit. Not that Roy needs to be dead to scare people. He's perfected a menacing way of carrying himself to make people cower. The only people he doesn't seem to scare are children, who just find his growling silly. ]

grips hands we can be slow beans together...

[burying]

[ He's rationing his cover-up mousse, he's very stressed about it. He can't have anywhere near as many layers as he'd like. But he wouldn't blame him for thinking he's a ghost. He wouldn't be too off the mark with that one.

Kieren cringes a bit at all the euphemisms. Well, a half-cringe and half like he might just pass out a little. Christ alive. ]

Yeah, yeah— alright. [ Give over, he gets it. It's almost as bad as Amy. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment. ]

So much for 'resting in peace', then? [ God, Kieren wishes. ] I don't really think this is much of a 'haunting', it's more like..... a death loop? I guess? I dunno, it's— weird. I actually just feel more sorry for him.

[ Who'd want their suicide blasted for all to see? It's bad enough for it to be common knowledge back home for Kieren, let alone have everyone watch it. ]

( open ) hour of the wolf

[finefurryfella]

[ He hasn't really thought about possible wolves in the area since he first woke up in the forest in Milton hearing one howl. It definitely unnerved him at the time, but since he didn't actually see one, he pushed the concern to the back of his mind. Unless they were clawing at his door, they were probably nothing to worry about...

(Famous last words.)

He's on a walk of the town because he hates feeling cooped up in the abandoned house he's claimed. He probably should have found a housemate to keep him company because he doesn't actually like being alone, even if he gives that impression. He needs to do something to quell his restless energy, even if that means walking for miles in circles around town when his bad knee says fucking stop. At least the pain is a reminder he's still alive, not dead in the ground like the resident corpses he's helped bury.

His blood runs cold when he hears the howling start, and then he hears the pounding of paws against the ground, glancing behind him at an incoming pack of wolves. ]

Shit a brick—

[ Of course they're heading straight for him - an unarmed easy target. He's nowhere near home so all he can do is run for the nearest building for safety. He tries the door but it won't open, like there's stuff on the other side to prevent people like him from barging in, so Roy bangs his fists on the door to get the owner's attention. ]

Oi, open up! [ When the door doesn't immediately unlock, he growls with frustration, kicking at the door with his good knee. ] If I die out here I'll be the biggest prick of a ghost you've ever met when I haunt you!

[questioningmermaids]

[ It's not the first time March has no clue what's happening and it won't be the last, either. His lack of awareness actually pretty standard which should probably be a little worrying given that he's a private detective, but the fact of that matter is that when his whole body jolts at the loud sharp insistent banging (and the low growling voice behind the door) it's all clueless instinct as he flails. March scrambles from the shitty couch he'd been passed out on on, sets the empty bottle of incredibly expired wine that may or may not kill him given its' age down from where he'd been cradling it and immediately rises. There's urgency in his movements, even if he's almost tripping over himself. ]

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah--

[ March had taken shelter from everything earlier in the night, barricaded the door like a responsible human being. Now he's wrenching the old bookshelf away from the door without a single moment of hesitation, and when he finally opens the door he's got his pistol out. Just in case. ]

Why'd you bring them here?! Jesus-- [ The door slams closed and March is already reaching for the bookshelf. Help him move the furniture back, will you? ]

[finefurryfella]

[ It's a close shave - had March gotten to the door two seconds later, Roy would have been wolf dinner by now. That's why he sounds so pissed when March finally lets him in. ]

What the fuck took you so long? [ Roy demands, acting like the wolves are March's fault because that's what he does when he's stressed - takes his anger out on others. He's quick to help March move the bookshelf back into place, though he does a bit of a double-take when he looks at the other man's face.

Once the door is sufficiently blocked and the wolves are clawing at the door to no avail, Roy grumbles a cheers, which he might as well have not bothered saying because he sounds so unenthusiastic, then he squints his eyes at March's face again. ]

You got a brother? Your face is really fucking familiar. [ Just more hairy. ]

[questioningmermaids]

[ They put the bookshelf back in--this guy is way stronger than him, not that that’s hard, but it feels a bit like insult to injury at this point given his general feeling of uselessness-–and March leans on it, breathing out with relief.

What a way to wake up. It’s almost like he shouldn’t be a disaster right now. He hears a scratch that’s a little too close to where he is and immediate decides to slink back as casually as he can, hoping the other didn't notice his slight jump of panic. ]

Oh, you met Ken? [ March stands up a little straighter, pushes dirty blonde hair out of his face, clearly pleased and preening a little bit. ] No, but we look exactly alike. [ Face wise. Ken is absolutely ripped and March has the narrow hips of a child. Roy’s given him a huge compliment. He continues. ]

We’re both very toned. Same six pack and everything.

[ravkas]

[ nikolai has already tangled with his share of wolves, so when the howling begins, he has every mind to go in the opposite direction of danger. maybe running headfirst into another wolf attack is not the wisest of ideas when the gash at his temple throbs where he hit the pavement, blood drying in his blond hair and leaving an unpleasant trail that's soaked into his collar. he should go home. well, the home he commandeered from a dead family at the edge of town. he should go home and tend to his wounds and worry about whether he has a concussion or not.

but as soon as he hears the sudden yelling in conjunction with the wolves, he knows he can't go. judging from the panic in the man's voice, someone is likely about to be ripped to shreds.

nikolai races toward the sound and sees the wolf pack closing the distance to a dark-haired man battling with a locked door. it's clearly barricaded, which is smart, but not so lucky for the man. nor for nikolai. ]

Would the haunting come with a nightly serenade? Sorry, this is loud. [ as in the signal flare he lets off, a source of fiery light that sends the wolves scattering. ] They're not going to let you in. Our best bet is to try the fire escape in the back and hope they didn't think to barricade the top floor window.

[ and if they did — well. he is fresh out of ideas, but he's certain another will come to him in a minute or two. he beckons the man to follow him as he skirts around the building, only slowing when he notices his gait. so he's injured. not so different from everyone else, now that the wolves are bent on getting rid of them all, but that particular injury is inconvenient. it means they need to find shelter here instead of running.

the wolves did scatter, but not for long. as soon as they reach the fire escape, a lone, brave — irritating — one returns, snarling, and charges straight for them. ]

Up you go. [ nikolai shoves his companion onto the stairs. manners will have to be saved for another day. ] Get that window open as quick as you can. I'll follow.

[ he blocks the stairs, drawing his gun, but the wolves here are abnormally fast. fangs sink into his forearm, threatening to crack bone. nikolai tumbles back onto the fire escape, switching his gun to his left hand and pressing it to the wolf's skull, firing off a shot. the animal's body lands atop him, teeth slipping from his flesh.

he slumps back, dazed, trying to squint upwards. ]

Any luck?

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy's not expecting the smartarse response, or the loud as fuck sound that comes after, but he's not complaining - not right now anyway, since it succeeds in getting the wolves to disperse. Though he will complain later if he notices his hearing has worsened, not needing another reminder of how old he feels.

He won't argue with the younger man - he seems to know what he's doing, judging by the use of the flare gun, so Roy wordlessly follows him to the fire escape. He grits his teeth through the pain of bolting up the stairs, very aware of the lone wolf right on their heels. When the window doesn't initially budge, Roy yells at the inanimate object, like he does at everything that pisses him off, as though he can scare the window into working through sheer intimidation (which has proven to be a great coaching technique for him). ]

Fucking come on! [ Maybe he's yelling a little at himself too, to use all the strength he has left to get the window open before he's responsible for a hero's death as well as his pathetic own, a brave man dying for absolutely nothing - and then the window finally opens.

He should head straight into the building without looking back but he has too much of a conscience not to glance behind him to check on Nikolai. It happens so fast, absolute chaos in the space of a second - the bite, the gunshot - and then Roy is gawking down at him from the top of the stairs. Any luck? Is this guy fucking serious? ]

Better luck than you, you crazy bastard. [ And Roy hobbles back down the stairs, kicks the wolf corpse off of Nikolai, then pulls the man to his feet. What he lacks in speed he makes up for in strength, offering Nikolai support up the stairs while being mindful of his wounded arm. ]

I'm probably gonna regret this once you turn into a fucking werewolf, but get inside. [ He nudges him towards the open window first. ] Before you do any more dumb heroic shit.

[ Not that he isn't grateful, of course. He is, he just has a funny way of showing gratitude sometimes. ]

[ravkas]

[ dumb heroic shit just happens to be in his convoluted blood, but he can keep that to himself for now. what he doesn't keep to himself — ]

A wolf? [ he laughs, allowing himself to be hauled along and glad for the help. ] No, monsters are more my thing. Shadows? Demons? Not sure what to really identify it as. Careful with me, I'm luxury goods.

[ he says this as he tumbles ungracefully through the window, losing his balance to land right on his wounded arm. his vision swims at the sudden jolt of pain. his hopes that it will clear his mind are dashed — apparently he can only take so much damage before it becomes burdensome.

still, they're inside, and that's progress. at least he hopes the man is behind him. nikolai pushes himself up with his good arm, unholstering the second revolver digging into his hip. ]

Give me a moment. [ he's trying to plan out his next course of action, which should include assessing the safety of the room, charming the people downstairs into not throwing them out, or perhaps just locking the doors until he feels less like he's going to pass out. he should peel back his coat and look at his arm, but he's not so keen on examining a bunch of teeth marks in his flesh right now. ] I'm Nikolai Lantsov. King of Ravka.

[ it feels like an unnecessary addition, which is, of course, why he adds it. he does, after a minute, manage to get to his feet. ]

I'm going to check the windows. [ he holds out his gun, the handle smeared with blood. ] Would you like to shoot anything that moves? Not me. Anything wolf-shaped.

( closed to mohinder )

[finefurryfella]

[ The wolves are persistent fuckers, because even though he manages to escape them with help and make it home, making him think they've given up on him, they end up tracking him down hours later. It's late at night, he's trying to sleep, and the wolves are clawing at his door. The door's either made from flimsy wood, or the wolves are that strong they're managing to scratch and gnaw their way through it.

There's no way he hasn't woken up his neighbours with the abuse he's been yelling at these wolves. If this is how he's going to die, he won't do it silently. He'll die screaming at these wolves to go fuck themselves.

He can see a snout and snarling teeth through a small hole the wolves have managed to create in the door, and Roy bares his teeth back at them, just as much a wild beast as they are. He's been filled with anger since he got to Milton, itching for a fight. It's not the fight he was expecting - Roy Kent versus a pack of hungry wolves - but it is what it is. ]

Get fucked, you furry, ugly bastards! [ He shoves a broken bottle against the hole in the door once the wolf's snout is far enough, and he can feel the splatter of blood against his face, but it's nowhere near dead, only angrier. ]

[strongnarrativevoice]

[ Mohinder can sleep through a lot, these days. When you're sharing a one-bedroom apartment with a child prone to night terrors and a paranoid cop who likes to wait up with a gun, you learn to filter out any stimulus that isn't screaming. Sustained, immediately-proximate screaming.

This counts. Mohinder has been fortunate enough thus far to hear the wolves only at a distance, see only the aftermath of their attacks while helping the doctors to bandage the wounds, but there's no question now as to why his new neighbor is bellowing profanity fit to wake the dead. In other circumstances, Mohinder might have begun their acquaintance by opening a window to yell irritably back--but how could the guy not be shouting, when the sounds of howling and clawing and slavering are louder still? Mohinder doesn't fucking blame him.

He doesn't know firsthand how persistent the beasts are, with only the shell-shocked testimony of some of the wounded to go by, but whatever the man next door has just done to defend himself only seems to increase the volume of the howls. Matt would probably be proud of the speed with which Mohinder manages to vault out of bed, throw on a coat and arm himself. This would promptly be overshadowed by a lecture about suicidal recklessness, because if Mohinder can't trust his aim in the dark from the next house over, then he's just going to have to get up closer to the pack. What else is there to do, if the things can break down doors? He takes some marginally-effective cover behind a woodpile that sits between the two properties, and fires two quick shots into the roiling canine mass. ]

[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. ]

[strongnarrativevoice]

[ As is par for the course with nearly everything he does, Mohinder has not thought this plan through. He's not sure what exactly he did expect to happen here, hasn't really had time for any expectations at all, but he'd hoped to at least reduce the size of the pack by one or two. He hadn't thought the wolves clever enough to determine where the gunshots were coming from.

But they don't need to. They head for him with alarming speed, and his first thought is to get back to his own house and regroup, but they're cleverer still than he could possibly have given them credit for--two of them have slunk around to try and cut him off from behind if he does.

The thrown bottle makes the wolves in front of him turn and startle, buys Mohinder just enough time to bolt past them instead and bang on Roy's door with the flat of his hand. The wolves are gaining on him again, though another gunshot briefly scatters them. ]

Just open up, quick, I'll help from in there--

( closed to barbie )

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy can't remember the last time he was this exhausted - probably in Amsterdam, trying to keep up with Jamie fucking Tartt running ahead of him like Speedy fucking Gonzales as well as his personal tour guide. This time it's wolves trying to kill him - actual wolves, not a metaphor for the paparazzi - and it's any wonder how he's survived this long with his knee injury, but he's had help.

He doesn't want to be a burden on anyone though, so eventually he parts ways with whoever lends him a hand, even though the smartest thing to do would be to stay with them. He's a sitting duck on his own, but he's used to being alone, so eventually the ugly duckling makes its way back to its lonely nest.

His knee has had enough. He's limping, he's tired, and he just wants to go home - not the house he's claimed here but his home in London. Fuck, he'd love a hug from Phoebe right now—

And then he hears a growl, a single wolf this time, separated from its pack but still a danger to his life, and Roy is fucked.

He raises his hands slowly, and there's no reasoning with a wild animal, but as weak as he is, it's the only option he has. The fact that the wolf hasn't attacked him yet makes him think maybe the wolf can understand him, but then maybe it's just teasing his prey, prolonging the inevitable. ]

Please. [ He's never sounded this desperate, but he doesn't want to die. He can't die without saying goodbye to Phoebe, can't fuck her up the way his grandad died when he was young. He can feel tears forming in his eyes and maybe it's from exhaustion, or maybe big man Roy Kent is actually scared. ] Just leave me alone, I'm fucking begging you—

HERE!!!

[birkenstock]

[ Between one moment and then the next, while Roy Kent is experiencing his life flashing before his eyes from the very real fear of a wolf attack, he might hear the beast that had been in hot pursuit of him suddenly yelp and then whimper before backing down.

If he looks down at the retreating beast, he may also find that there is a long line of red ribbon that stains the trodden snow. And then suddenly a young blonde woman with wide blue eyes appears in his periphery. She looks just about as scared as Roy probably feels, but there's something else there too — panic and urgency, and adrenaline that seems to push her to snatch at the man's arm and tugs him forward. ]

Come on! They're not going to stay away forever, and I really only had the one knife ... which is gone now.

[ She lets out a breath. Her fingers are stained with old, dried blood. She's never felt more terrified than she is now, but that just seems to be this evening's itinerary. ]

Turns out I still have a lot to learn about — um. Well, that whole thing.

[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. ]

( closed to la'an )

[finefurryfella]

( cw: suicide attempt by rope, brief mention of miscarriage )

[ It's not like he hasn't heard a voice before in his head making him feel worthless, lost and insignificant. Countless times in his life he's listened to it during his darkest moments. One of the worst times was after he retired from football - after the speech he made on live television which he couldn't get through without fucking crying (fucking pathetic). Or the time he discovered his ex-girlfriend had been talking about how clingy he was with everyone he fucking works with (fucking loser). Or the time he made a stupid joke about being the father to a teammate's kid, only to have the shit beaten out of him because he'd lost the baby after a misscarriage he hadn't told anyone about (fucking shit human being).

He's familiar with an inner voice, but it's only ever sounded like himself, pointing out his endless list of insecurities. This voice feels... different, almost evil, but it's not wrong. He agrees with everything the voice says, none of it new. Nobody knows him here, so he's not legendary Roy Kent, or Coach Kent, or even Uncle Roy. He's fucking no one. And he has no one here. He spends each day in Milton just existing, going through the motions, but he knows everyone back home is better off without him.

Nobody fucking misses you or they would have brought you home by now. You're old news, grandad. Everyone's moved on, including Keeley. You're just a fragile, old man, rotting alone, limb by decrepit limb... ]

Fuck this. [ He announces aloud, leaving his house to look for rope. He searches the abandoned hunting store, and once he finds a good amount to work with, he marches through town in the direction of the woods, a stool under one arm. He's not exactly inconspicuous about what he's doing, but he doesn't think anyone cares about him enough to follow and stop him, so why hide his intentions?

Once he finds the right branch, he climbs up on the stool and starts tying his makeshift noose to the tree - and then he hears a twig snap behind him, announcing someone's approach. Roy doesn't turn to face them, focusing on the tightness of the rope and the voice motivating him to continue.

You can't stop now. You need to see this through. All that pain you're feeling right now will end once you get the job done. ]

Whoever you are, fuck off. [ He's good at this - pushing people away. It's easy for him to play a coldhearted prick to get people to leave him alone. He's been playing that role for years. ]

you said you were okay with backtags... so here's a crusty ancient one!

[rescapee]

[ At first, the whisper seems more of the same, the doubt and survivor's guilt she's dealt with for the last 2 decades. Ever since she was picked up by the King Jr, she's struggled to cope with the reality of being the only one left. Out of hundreds of people, why was she the only one to survive? The How is easy to rationalize: her fear and acknowledgment of the inevitable had helped her make the right choices to survive. The Why is harder to deal with, and she may never fully come to terms with it, but she has learned how to carry her guilt and grief in a way that doesn't stop her from living because she owes it to her brother to honor his sacrifice in the only way she knows how. She protects others the way he protected her. 

In those early days, in those dark hours, she dismisses the voice. But when it becomes clearer, when she can discern that it is something more, she pulls upon everything she has learned in the last few months of therapy to push herself past its grasp. She can still hear it at the back of her mind, its terrible words scratching at her thoughts, but more than dismay and depression, she feels anger bubbling up within her. That anger is what she holds to. 

La'an doesn't know if anyone else is hearing a voice as well, though it wouldn't surprise her given the way it has addressed her again and again. Interloper. Such a specific term. She isn't close enough to anyone here yet to be able to just ask them outright if they're hearing dark voices, particularly when she isn't prepared to discuss her own dealings with it, but with everything that has happened since their arrival, the attacks and the strange ghost-like apparitions, her patrols become even more frequent. This place cannot be trusted, and she's willing to risk the bitter cold in the name of keeping these people safe. 

That's how she spots him. Off in the distance, moving through the town with a definite purpose and carrying something she can't quite make out. Hurrying to follow him, the scene she finds in the forest is perhaps one of the most terrifying she's ever faced. The branch snaps under her boot as she intentionally presses down upon it, her gloved hands already lifting to show she isn't here to fight. (Though she's prepared for things to get physical if that's what it takes.) ] 

I'm afraid I can't do that, Roy. Not if you're intending to do what I think you are. [ She takes a cautious step closer, keeping her tone careful and even, the red scarf he'd given her wrapped around her neck. All the hours of training for this sort of situation pale in comparison to the real thing, especially when it's someone she had hoped she might be able to call friend — or as close as she can come to that here. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ Her. It had to be someone he knew, someone who might talk him out of this. He knew he should have done this in the house he'd been staying in, but he hadn't wanted anyone - someone like her - to stumble upon his body, which would have been poignant after being around a dead body when they first met. This way, he'd been hoping the wolves might smell him and get rid of the evidence. If they at least ate most of him, he wouldn't be recognizable anymore.

He keeps facing forward because the last thing he wants to do is turn around and actually have a conversation about how he's feeling. There's a reason why he's avoided therapy for this long. ]

Nothing to see here. Jog on.

[ He's being polite now he knows it's her, his voice not as gruff as it first sounded. He could have just told her to fuck off again. ]