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

( 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.

[finefurryfella]

Yeah, you do. It's fucking weird if you ain't related. [ Personally, Roy doesn't think they should rule out being brothers without a DNA test, but it's not like that's readily available to them, nor is it the most important matter at hand right now.

Hearing March describe his and Ken's body type causes Roy to give him a look that says, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that information? ]

Didn't need to know that, but cheers for that visual. [ He deadpans before he acknowledges the pistol in March's hand. ] You know how to use that, right? [ Just in case the wolves get in somehow. Roy doesn't think anyone should be in possession of a gun they don't know how to use properly, but then the guy sounds American and Roy is aware everyone and their grandmother has a gun in the US. ]

[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.

[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. ]

[ravkas]

[ he does mean monsters, shadows, and demons literally, but he hadn't actually meant to say any of those things, so all the better that roy assumes he's confused about his sexuality. even if it's the last thing he's confused about. nikolai is attracted to anyone who'll give him attention — however, relationships are far more complicated when you're actually a king and need to marry into power.

does he have rabies? that would be incredibly inconvenient for all parties involved. the fact that there are no grisha healers to attend to his arm is bad enough — he hasn't suffered through the full recovery time of any injury in longer than he can remember. possibly never. his attention span could never deal with such things. ]

It's called being charming, Roy Kent. [ clearly not a king, but decent at jokes. nikolai does catch the change in expression when he takes his gun, and he realizes he might have asked if he wanted it. not everyone around here has fought through multiple wars, after all. ] Oh, are you going to look at my arm?

[ it would be terribly convenient if he took on that task, since nikolai certainly doesn't want to. he walks to the windows and checks the locks. rickety, but they'll do, unless the wolves get keen on climbing. peering down, he watches the creatures circle the building. they're stuck for now, at least.

he turns around, leaning against the sill. vertigo hits him again, the throb of his arm radiating all the way up to his skull. inconvenient. ]

Are you injured?

[finefurryfella]

[ That charming quip sounds a lot like something Jamie Tartt would say and Roy thinks, fuck, there's two of them. It's a thought that almost makes him turn the gun on himself...

Instead he aims it at the door that leads to the rest of the apartment, just in case the occupier walks in and stumbles upon two random men in their home, one of whom is bleeding on their floor, and decides to respond with violence. He raises one of his crazy eyebrows at Nikolai. ] I mean, if anyone should be looking at your arm, it should be you since it's your fucking arm, but if you're gonna be the King of Ignoring Shit...

[ King of Ignoring Shit. Now there's the title Roy should have used to introduce himself.

He walks towards the nearest piece of furniture, strong enough that he doesn't need Nikolai's help to push it in front of the door, securing themselves inside the room so for the moment they don't have to worry about anyone or anything bursting in and attacking them. For now, they can focus on Nikolai's injury, which Roy intends to do until Nikolai asks his question. ]

No. [ Well, yes, but it's a long-term injury Nikolai can't help him with. Roy guesses he probably saw how he was hobbling earlier and sighs. ] My knee's been fucked for a while, alright? Unless you can cure it with charm, it ain't worth talking about. [ So drop it, his tone says before he pushes a chair towards him with his foot. ]

Park your arse. [ He uses his Coach voice. ] Now.

[ravkas]

[ he's grateful for roy's logical thought process right now, because nikolai is finding it very exhausting to think. normally, all he does is think. but the idea of having to carve out the next little bit of a plan that is likely to fall apart seems quite daunting when he's feeling lighter and lighter in the brain with every passing moment. ]

I already know how my arm looks like. [ not good. he was there when the wolf bit him. it was unpleasant all around. ] It was like the time my brother tried to push me in front of an angry boar during a hunting trip when I was... twelve? Maybe eleven. Anyway, it was like what I imagined it would have felt like if the boar succeeded in goring me. Which it didn't. I was an exceptional twelve or eleven-year-old.

[ he drops into the chair, only because it looks slightly more comfortable than the floor. slightly. he grips the edge of the seat with his uninjured hand and lowers his head in an effort not to pass out, waiting for the dizziness to subside. ]

It'll heal. [ after a long pause, he realizes some specificity is required. he lifts his head, his face pale. ] My arm. Not your knee. [ saints, that sounds bad. he sits back and starts extracting himself of his coat with difficulty, stuck on the sleeve that's soaked in blood. ] I like attention, just not this kind. Where are you staying? In the town.

feel free to ignore, I've just come back from vacation

[finefurryfella]

[ His brother did what? What is with pretty boys casually dropping traumatic adolescent memories into conversation with him? What makes them comfortable enough to do that around him? Is it his fault for being too quiet so people end up filling the silence in conversations with him with too much information? ]

So did your brother grow out of being a prick or is he an even bigger knob now? [ Since there's a difference between brothers not getting along and almost getting them mutilated or mauled to death. Was Nikolai's brother the jealous type or inherently evil? It makes him glad he has a kind, thoughtful sister who's only occasionally annoying. ]

Never you mind, Tinkerbell. [ He would have worked it out on his own that Nikolai is an attention-seeker. ] You think I'm stupid enough to tell you where I live so you can pop by whenever you want, talking my ear off? [ He wants peace and quiet, thank you very much. ]

Here - [ He's not going to stand and watch Nikolai struggle, so he gives him a hand with his coat, trying to be careful about freeing it from him without making his wound worse. He hangs the coat on the back of his chair, then reaches for the edge of Nikolai's sleeve, undoing a button at the wrist so he can slowly peel the fabric away. ]

Right - [ deep breath ] - here we go— fucking hell. [ Oh, it's so much worse than he thought. He's seen a lot of bad football injuries in his lifetime, legs bent the wrong way and so forth, but this is gruesome. How the fuck did his sister deal with stuff like this every day at the hospital? ]

Looks... fine. [ He's a bad liar on account of always being honest, almost brutally. ]