there'll be oats in the water

[singmod]

JULY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: REDUX: A storm finally arrives, and with it — Enola extends her hand to help the Interlopers once more, granting them new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — PENSIVE LOOKOUT: With the Forest Talker efforts focused on sabotaging hunting efforts, Interlopers can attempt to explore the Pensive Lookout Tower, where they can uncover secrets from the diary of Sam Bouchard — the former firewatch worker of the summer of 2014.

PROMPT THREE — A PEEK INSIDE: A group of Interlopers get their hands on one of the Forest Talkers in search of answers — and get a little more than they bargained for.

THE AURORA: REDUX

WHEN: Mid-month, for three days.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; lightning storms; potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being trapped in ice; dreams of animal death; dreams of the death of loved ones.


July brings warmer weather. The fog has lifted, and the daylight returned — but an odd kind of pressure lingers in the air, the kind that feels similar with oncoming storms but something still feels off about it all. Measurements and readings are erratic, with them often making little sense. It’s hard to predict just what might be coming, but sure enough something is coming.

Hold on a little longer, Enola told you. A storm is coming.

It comes quickly, the gathering of storm clouds. At first, it looks as if a kind of snowstorm is moving in, but there’s something else at play here. Within the grey, cloudy skies, there is a tell-tale sound of an Aurora mixed within those clouds.

And with it, in amongst the dark, the swirling colours. Greens, pinks and purples weaving through the clouds, almost mesmerising to watch. The air is alive with sound: static noise, cracks and pops: a storm and the Aurora mixed into one. For those who’ve been here long enough, it’s a worrying, unnerving sight. The storm rumbles with the low roar of distant thunder, growing ever closer. The electronics of the world begin to come alive, and in the static of it all — you begin to hear Enola’s voice even clearer than before.

After so much darkness, now there is so much light. A lightning storm — aurora colours mingling with the grey clouds, punctured with crackles of lightning. Something powerful and strange — flash forking across the skies, followed by booms of thunder.

The storm lasts three days, and even though her voice is soft — you hear it over all the noise, nestled gently in your ear.

“You're still here. It means something. This isn’t the end, I refuse to let it be the end. It can’t win. You won’t go into the Dark.” Enola tells you. ”I will make you more than what you are, more than what was stolen from you. This place will not be your end. I have to try. We have to try. Together. I showed some of you, once. I’ll show you again.”

She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.

COLD FUSION: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of a great hall of ice: as if it had been carved into some great ridge of it. You walk through it, marvelling at the beauty of it — a blue gloom, echoing with each of your footsteps. But as you take one particular step, the ground cracks and collapses beneath you, sending you into dark, frozen waters. In seconds, the water freezes around you, encompassing you in thick ice, your entire body trapped within it. The coldness burns you, and you are stuck there — frozen in agony. The pain is immeasurable, your entire body crushed and searing from the ice. There is no escape, no reprieve.

A voice speaks to you, perhaps it is the voice of a stranger, perhaps it is the voice of someone you know: Do you know how you survive the cold?’ They ask you. You do not know, and you wait for the answer: ‘You become colder than it.

Your eyes close. You believe those words, you do. You must become colder than the cold itself. And so you will. Your breathing slows, your heart slows and the cold… it stops hurting, it doesn’t burn. The ice around you begins the crack.

When you awaken the first thing you realise is despite the temperature, you are completely cosy and warmed. You do not feel the slightest chill. It is perhaps only once you are around other than you truly notice the difference to you — you are cold to the touch, lacking the heat you once had. An understanding comes: you are at one with the cold, it will not beat you, it will not cause you agony. Winter is at peace within you: perfect Cold Fusion.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

INTERLOPER’S SACRIFICE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. You dream of kneeling in a darkened, charred wood. You are not alone. In this dreamscape, you dream of a loss, or a time you have never felt more helpless in your life. Perhaps it is when someone you knew died before you, or you stood as someone was sick and injured and you were unable to do a thing. As you kneel, they are there with you: sick or dying or even dead in your arms. You cannot do anything but hold them, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

You look up and a woman in furs stands before you, her expression solemn. Enola herself. There are tears in her eyes, as if she shares the very pain you do: the loss, the grief, the hopelessness, the powerlessness. She approaches you and lowers herself to kneel in front of you and your companion, bracing your shoulders for a long, lingering moment. There are no words, none from neither of you.

Enola shifts slightly, leans forwards. She kisses your forehead, much like when a parent kisses their child: sweet and tender.

And then you feel it, as if you are set alight: an agonising pain that encompasses you whole — so painful you cannot even open your mouth to scream. You feel yourself growing weak, the corners of your vision blurring into black. It feels as if you might die from the pain, and you want for it to stop but it doesn’t.

Enola pulls away and you gasp, slumping in exhaustion, but still alive, somehow. You stare at her, sweating and clamouring for breath, and she offers you a sad smile. Never again. you feel the words inside of you. This time, it will be different. Better.

When you awaken, you can still feel the kiss upon your forehead — enough to make your fingers reach up to touch it, your entire body tingling a little. A small voice in the back of your mind whispers, reminding you as you find yourself looking down at your hands: never again. Never again, you tell yourself and the comprehension comes to you: you have chosen. This is what it means to be: this is your sacrifice. The Interloper’s Sacrifice.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: Pensive Lookout Tower, Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; possible fall injuries/treacherous climbs; themes of terror; themes of diminished sanity; themes of starvation.

The Old Hunting Lodge is located in the southern-most area of Lakeside, and its surrounding area is generally considered no-go territory with the presence of the Forest Talkers. As June turned into July, the Forest Talker’s presence in the wilds of Lakeside has begun to grow again — but their efforts appear to be focused on sabotaging the efforts of Interlopers, Methuselah and Young Bill in hunting fresh game. If anything, it could mean that with attentions drawn away — perhaps the braver sorts of the Interlopers can explore the area a little more fully.

There’s little in terms of buildings of interest in this area. The wilderness is thick and deep here. Perhaps the odd ransacked cabin once belonging to a local may be stumbled across — its contents picked clean, presumably by the Forest Talkers. Many of these buildings will be completely inhabitable due to the damage done — with some cabins being razed to the ground.

However, on higher ground, with a good hike to access it, stands a watch tower.

These lookout towers could mean a number of things: a chance to access supplies that may have otherwise been forgotten about due to the hike to get up there, a better view of the surrounding area, and the possibility of a radio — given the sign of a radio transmitter that can be found blinking a feeble red on Aurora nights.

With the snow on the ground it’s a little more treacherous, but given the circumstances, anything’s worth a shot, right? Those who attempt the hike may fall foul to slips and trips along the steep slow to reach the tower, and should take care in the ascent. Even with the warmth of July, it’s difficult. One might hope this might make the place a decent outpost, if you think about it. Somewhere hard to reach, and with such a vantage point.

Reaching the tower and climbing it to its interior will it largely intact but a mess. Someone has lived here for some time. Interlopers will find no food here, but some useful tools that belonged to the lookout: binoculars, maps, a compass, an alidade. There is even a radio sat upon a desk, and with it — a journal.

The journal, Interlopers will find, belonged to a man named Sam Bouchard — the firewatcher for the season during the previous year, detailing the months of his arrival and ending in November last year. It is unknown what happened to Sam, but his journal will perhaps offer some insight and even some information.

A PEEK INSIDE

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: The Gas Station, Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of kidnapping; imprisonment; self-starvation; blood/minor injuries; psychological torment, supernatural abilities.

The Forest Talkers have a long history in the Northern Territories, long before Interlopers started arriving in Milton. Champions of nature, they have sought to put an end to the industries and tourism-related expansions in the Lakeside area, first peacefully and then… not-so-peacefully. But with the events known as the ‘The Flare’ last year, Forest Talkers have been… acting peculiarly, disturbingly, aggressively.

There are plenty of questions to be asked. But the Forest Talkers are difficult to communicate with. Previous attempts have ended up in aggression or being ignored entirely. And now, even with the events of the previous month coming to an end — game remains difficult to find, and Forest Talkers are keen on sabotaging any attempts of hunting made by Interlopers, Young Bill or Methuselah. And more importantly: what is the yawning grave?

It starts as mutterings between tired and disgruntled Interlopers. They need answers, and there’s got to be a way in trying to get some. They’re hungry and exhausted and so many of their numbers are now dead. Those mutterings grow, and soon enough a plan is put into place. A small group of Interlopers embark into Lakeside and wait.

Soon enough, it bears fruit. A man is captured, bound and blindfolded — quietly and secretly brought back to Milton to be held up in the unused Gas Station to be questioned. It is not the leader, but surely one of them is better than no one at all. He is injured, but not enough to kill him. It will prove challenging in trying to get answers out of him, but soon enough the Interlopers will get him to talk.

News of the Forest Talker in their midst will inevitably spread, as most things do in small communities. Secrets are hard to guard. It won’t be just those behind the kidnapping who might end up coming across the man being held in the Gas Station.

Anyone who goes to investigate will find the man sat on the floor in quiet contemplation. Attempts of conversation will be met with long, silent stares — holding your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. He will spurn any gestures of kindness: spit on the floor at Interloper’s feet, refuse any food offered — as if the man has chosen to starve himself in protest. He says nothing, at first.

But after some time, he will look into an Interloper’s eyes and utter something. A word. A phrase. It may be a name, or a place. It may be a specific thing an Interloper has read, or been spoken to by someone. Something that holds meaning to the Interloper. It may be the name of a loved one from home, or the last words ever spoken to you by a friend. Something the man shouldn’t know.

Whatever it is that he speaks to you, it is not something that will fill you with hope or fondness to remember — but quite the opposite. A reminder of something painful, of a loss, or some other thing that caused you misery. As if he had reached right inside your mind and plucked some painful part of your past from you and spoken it to the wind.

The Forest Talker smiles, and will say nothing else. The damage has already been done.

FAQs

THE AURORA: REDUX

1. The next three Aurora Feats are unlocked! Please see the following page for more information.

2. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Feat. The only time this is available is this month. After July, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

4. This Aurora/storm will last a full three days, darkening the skies almost to night.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

1. Interlopers who dwell in the lookout for the next Aurora will find the radio works, albeit poorly. They will be able to pick up the same broken morse code message.

2. There are no signs of blood/injury that befell Sam in the lookout. It appears he made good on what he wrote on in his journal and attempted to leave to get to Silverpoint.

A PEEK INSIDE

1. While only a small number was involved in the kidnapping itself, anyone can discover the fact there's a Forest Talker being held in Milton.

2. In terms of appearance, the Forest Talker is very much your typical average white guy. Bearded, weathered by the cold, someone who's lived several years without much in the way of comforts or luxuries.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[lieutenantsteward]

"A life," he agrees. "But you are too prone to flattery." He stands up, using the Doctor's shoulders to steady himself a bit. "Now, we should get a fire started for you." Thomas, of course, is content to be cold, but he knows that he's the only one. "And you can roast those acorns."

Something to do, some way to move, something to accomplish before he goes and climbs into his big bed to sleep. He's already craving it.

[thedreamer]

"Flattery, you say, but I mean it." To him, it's genuine, but perhaps he overdoes it. He's glad that he and Wynonna both have a home here, somewhere safe, to be able to count on each other. He'd want it for everyone, but especially those he cares for.

Once Thomas is standing, though, he gets up himself, busying himself with getting a fire started. The acorns will roast and eventually, bread can be attempted. In the meantime, he's eager to do whatever will allow Thomas to rest more quickly.

[lieutenantsteward]

The trek has been exhausting and Thomas is more than happy to allow him to take over more and more duties. Stoke the fire, boil water, bring the linens to dry. He eventually settles on the couch again, giving the Doctor assignments and tasks while he takes a break. He doesn't even notice that he's done it until he's comfortable, wrapped in a blanket.

"I think - some tea will do it and then we're done for the evening," he says, looking around in a bit of surprise. "Not - your bark tea. There's proper herbs in the cabinet there, above the sink."

[thedreamer]

It helps him to keep busy like this, working towards something. At the end of it, there will something tangible to show for it — chores done, things settled where they should be, a bit of food cobbled together.

To close out the evening, though, he could think of nothing better than a cup of tea. A good cup. He will privately admit to himself the bark tea leaves...much to be desired.

"Tea — that perfect hug in a cup," he says almost whimsically, sparing a glance and a soft smile at Thomas briefly before he moves to the kitchen and gets the tea going. He's focused on it intently, mumbling things under his breath — snippets of a poem whose entirety he can't quite remember. Anything to pass the minutes while the tea brews, and once it's done, he comes back with a smile, handing the cup over.

"To your liking, I hope." He gives him a little nod and takes the liberty of toasting that cup with his.

[lieutenantsteward]

"It's lovely," he tells him after a toast and a small sip. He breathes out, the warmth of the tea feeling odd against his cool skin. "It isn't the perfect embrace," he remarks. "You were wrong about that."

Thomas sits up, exhaustion seeping into his skin, into his very bones, but he's determined to stay awake for this, for the last bit of drinking tea and talking and enjoying the strange domesticity that they've achieved.

[thedreamer]

"Wrong," he huffs under his breath, swirling his cup, inhaling the aroma, sipping slowly at the warm beverage, enjoying the ritual of it, and the company most of all.

"You can't say I'm wrong without a counter-example. What would be lovelier?" Just as quickly as the words leave him, he holds up a hand and remarks, "No, wait, wait, don't answer," he shakes his head a little, a small smile on his face. "That will be something to look forward to."

An answer that's lived in. Discovered. Found. With some of his usual playfulness along the way.

[lieutenantsteward]

He is about to answer when the Doctor changes his mind and Thomas laughs over the cup of tea. "I think you are wrong about a great many things, sir. But one issue at a time." He takes another drink and, with the blanket wrapped around him as a barrier to his own chilly body, he leans against the Doctor.

"You have great confidence for someone who is still learning how to run a household." Though he can't say that he's disappointed. Everything is perfect, in working order as much as it can be.

As they finished the chores and continued talking, the fire had been their only source of light. As he sips at his tea, however, he notices a different light through the window. Purples and blues and greens and - all manner of colors. The television, forgotten and covered in a blanket to be used as another table, flickers to life, throwing quiet static from underneath the covering. Thomas blinks, startled, turning to see the lights flickering in the kitchen.

"An aurora tonight," he laughs, calming himself slightly.

[thedreamer]

"Now you're just being cheeky," he mock-scoffs and laughs under his breath at the remark about being wrong. "I'll allow it," he teases. Imagine! Wrong about many things, he says.

He would ask more, but the moment turns in a way that's perfectly pleasant, the time passing in companionable motion. Once the lights from the aurora start flickering in through the window, there's something so wondrous and quiet and still about it all. Familiar, too. Beautiful. Until the television flickers on, and now he laughs with Thomas. So much for quiet.

"We nearly have dinner and a movie, Thomas." He sits comfortably close to him, nothing really in the way of space between them. "If we could actually get a signal at all, oh, there'd be all sorts of films to show you. And we'd have popped corn, and...chewy chocolate delights of some sort. And the movie would be, oh...an old fairy tale maybe. Knights and kings and queens and duels and silly things and serious things." He settles, though, letting out a breath, letting himself relax there beside him. The static, for him, is like a pleasing hum while everything briefly comes to life around them.

[lieutenantsteward]

He sits a little closer to him, never quite sure what to do when the electricity starts up again. It's strange, the odd hums and buzzing and flickering just adding to sounds he's never heard before. Not in this sense.

But the Doctor's voice is soothing and Thomas laughs. "Films?" he wonders. "What do you mean?"

[thedreamer]

"Sort of like...theater," he explains. "Performance. Acting out a story on a sort of stage, but captured with a camera, a motion camera. Television, it allows many people to see that sort of performance all at once, from the comfort of home, without going to a theater."

But he has his own preferences. "I do love a good traditional theater show, though, even still."

[lieutenantsteward]

It's not as if Thomas has had the time or the means to see many stage plays. He certainly has snuck into a few theaters here and there and he would watch the puppeteers as a child, but he cna't imagine something as simple to access as the television. The static is such a strange noise, and to think that pictures and people can be on it - well, he's not sure he believes it.

He stands up, blanket still around his own shoulders to protect the Doctor from the cold, and he gestures to the hallway. "My window has a good view of the sky," he tells him. "We can watch there and you can tell me about a show you've seen."

[thedreamer]

No matter how many times he's darted about the sky, or even just stood still down below the big open stretch of the universe and watched the wonder of the stars above, he never tires of it. The long day, the warm tea, the conversation that comes so easy with Thomas — it's settled him pleasantly enough to feel the easy pull of sleep at him. But not yet, no, no, he wants to see this with him.

So he follows him towards his room, to the window, and nearly remarks on the blanket still around Thomas' shoulders, but the question — a show he's seen. He knows of so many, a veritable pop culture devotee, but he's done less of the actual watching. There is one that sticks out in his mind, though.

"The Muppets," he starts. "Muppet, just — a clever little mashing of the words marionette and puppet. I loved their film, the first one. There was a song — the rainbow connection." He laughs softly, eyes on the sky, his voice a million miles away for a moment. Sentimental as he can sometimes be, the words of course were lovely. Meaningful. He won't sing, but he utters the line as he waves his hand a little, "A lovely little thing, about dreams and wishes — the lovers, the dreamers, and me, is how it went."

[lieutenantsteward]

His room is small and sparse, but he has a few trinkets there. A few reminders of the small home he had in Milton. The blanket. His sewing kit. Small empty tins of coffee with silly pictures. Landscapes in frames and even a small, plastic trophy. He doesn't know what it's for, but he liked how it shined.

The Doctor tells his story and Thomas tries to imagine it. The songs, the words. He likes that. 'The lovers, the dreamers, and me.' It's a beautiful sentiment and he leans against his shoulder a moment before he simply brings him close and kisses him instead, making him brave the shock of cold that the touch heralds.

[thedreamer]

Despite the chill of it — how it startles for a brief second — he can only spare a thought for a moment because then all thinking has this curious habit of falling away. How does he do it? As though there's some magical power Thomas wields over him, this ability to make things go all fuzzy and everything else is suddenly less important for a little while.

He should, by now, be a bit more assured in his reactions, but perhaps because it actually means so much and these are approaching feelings he's so often completely shut down or turned off, it's like the slow way an old engine turns over in spurts and he fumbles, but he's no less earnest. He meets his kiss in return, his eyes closing, and he tries to remember what to do with his hands again. They land first on the back of Thomas' neck, linger, before he thinks to fuss with his hair, decides against it, and ultimately remembers he enjoyed resting them against his hips. Yes, yes, that — that feels okay. Good, even. Thinking comes later.

[lieutenantsteward]

He doesn't guide him anywhere this time, choosing instead to let him settle where he does, which is happily at his sides again. He didn't even have to dictate that, and Thomas is all the happier for it.

He pulls away and curls up against his chest, glad that the colors of the aurora filter down through the window. There aren't many electronics he keeps in the room, none that give off light, so he has nothing to turn off when he pulls away and crawls into bed.

[thedreamer]

When he crawls into bed, the Doctor lingers by the window a moment, watching the sky, the stars. When he turns away, he takes notice of the items in the room, the bits of life here, what he's collected. He picks up the trophy, briefly holding it before setting it down, wondering who it once belonged to, their story.

"Thomas — there's your bed in here and that couch out there, which was really quite lovely as couches go. Corners and cushions in all the right places and a fine place to rest. But do you want me to stay...here or there, or...here?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"You sleep where you wish. The bed is big enough and we've shared smaller. But I'd understand if you'd rather not."

He would understand and it would be alright. He had asked him to stay, and this is well beyond the bounds of what he would have asked for anyway. It had been a necessity up on the hill; it is a luxury here.

[thedreamer]

There is the feeling of...needing to catch his breath, his thoughts. It wouldn't be — well, it hadn't been unpleasant, in fact, last night when they'd been forced to share a bed. It was altogether different, it was — peaceful. Something he hasn't experienced in so long that he'd forgotten how it could feel, the comfort of being close to someone. There he stands, still near the window, fidgeting with his hands. It should be a simple thing. And they're both exhausted enough, there's likely not even half a minute of actual thought left when both their heads hit the pillows.

Trouble is, maybe...maybe he'd get used to the feeling of sleeping beside him, and that's always been his problem, hasn't it? Clinging too tightly, too quickly, holding on too much or not enough. He wants to hold on so tightly to — whatever these feelings for Thomas are, and they scare him at the same time. As it is, he's wasting time standing there debating it in his mind, delaying Thomas actually getting the rest he needs.

Right. Yes. Decision made.

He smiles softly. "I'd rather, actually. But — blanket stealer, that's me. Like I told you. I have to work on it. Tomorrow, maybe."

It's not the only thing he needs to work on. But it's easier to make up a stupid problem like stealing blankets as an excuse to shuffle off.

"I'll see you in the morning, Thomas." He turns to leave, but then in the doorway, he smiles back at him. "Oh, by the way, that was a good embrace, by the window. For the record. Almost perfect." Referencing that conversation from hours ago now. The perfect embrace. He does a little salute, as he has before, and leaves.

[lieutenantsteward]

It's an excuse. A silly one at that, which is what he's come to expect from the Doctor. He'd be amused by it if he wasn't feeling that slow ache of being alone again. This time, he's not going to beg. Or reach.

"As you wish, sir!" he calls out with a laugh, hiding everything behind his smile and his exhaustion.

He stands, closing the door and it shuts with a definitive click. He had held too tightly, perhaps. He had let himself believe that what happened up on the hill meant something. Thomas is too practical to believe that they suddenly aren't friends or that it was a lie but...a fancy is perhaps more believable. It was fun. Thomas knows people like that, and maybe he had misjudged him.

Either way, he tries not to be miserable as he returns to bed and curls up under the unnecessary blankets. It is a fitful, restless sleep, but he at least manages to achieve some sort of rest.