open | leave the horror here

[castitas]

Who: Kate Marsh + you!
What: Making rosehip tea/syrup shenanigans; nightmares; feast preparations + more!
When: The month of October.
Where: Various places around Milton.

Content Warnings: Warnings in the individual prompts. As a general rule, themes of depression and suicide, possibly mentions of suicide attempt from last month from It Speaks prompt.




contact: heolstor / _heolstor @ discord for plotting!

Comments

choir of furies in your head | rosehips

[castitas]

one cw: mentions of a suicide attempt, thoughts of depression

[ In the early days of October, the kitchen of the Community Hall is a busy little hub of activity. With a decent harvest of rosehips collected from in and around the town, Kate Marsh is cleaning and cooking the little red berries — with help and directions of a foraging book. It's... been good to keep busy, she thinks. The work leaves little time or space for her mind to wander into darker, sadder thoughts. Keeping herself occupied means she isn't thinking about back home, isn't thinking about the Voice — even if it's thankfully gone now. It means she isn't thinking of the view into the Milton Basin, how close her feet were to the edge, and how her cheeks stung with the cold against her tears.

Keeping busy doesn't mean she's a waste. It means she's... doing something good in the face of everything.

There's various stages in which one might come across her to see what all the fuss and noise (and smell — a delicate, sweet and floral smell filling the entirety of the Hall) is about. She might be in the middle of cooking up the berries into a simple syrup, stirring away at pots on the stove. Perhaps she might ask for extra firewood to keep the stove going. Or she's in the middle of the rather mechanical process she's going through of sterilising jars and glass bottles by washing them in hot soapy water before drying them in the oven.

Or towards the very late afternoon on one of the days, perhaps you might come in to find she's sitting on the floor in front of the stove, watching the ones drying on baking sheets within — waiting for them to be done so she can chop them up and sieve them to remove the pesky hairs. She's mostly looking forward to this being done — she's real excited to try out some of that rosehip tea. It might not be her and Max's weekly tea sessions, but it's something. It's hard to think of something to look forward to, but she'll grasp this one with both hands and cling to it as hard as she can. ]

two

[ With a bright red child's sled she'd found outside one of the many abandoned homes of Milton, she pulls the load of bottles and jars of rosehip syrup behind her as she treks through the town on one of the calmer afternoons. In her school satchel over her shoulder are little packages of the rosehip tea — too delicate to carry alongside the syrup. It's a slow moving progress, and she takes her time with it, trying to take care not to tip the sled, or fall in the snow.

Over the course of the afternoon, she'll go from house to house of the Interlopers of Milton. Knocking on doors, asking the inhabitants if they wish to trade some rosehip syrup or rosehip tea in exchange for something. Most of the things she'll ask for will be put towards Methuselah's preparations: canned goods, stocks, seasonings. But other times, Kate might ask for small things for herself: art supplies like colouring pencils, books, herbal teas.

Her sled parked behind her, she'll knock on a door. There's even a little sales-pitch rehearsed and everything: let her tell you about the benefits of rosehips! ]

Oh. Hey— [ There's a polite smile. ] I'm sorry to bother you. I was wondering if I could interest you in a trade—?

[ In all honesty, if someone doesn't want to trade, she'll likely give it out for free. ]

[bestsir]

The last month was difficult, but Goodsir at last feels that he's shaken off the worst of the bleakness that had threatened to completely overtake him, and he's venturing out now to check on others.

He finds Kate in the kitchen after following his nose—his sister used to make rose hip jam, and the familiarity of the fragrance startles him.

"Miss Marsh?"

[castitas]

"Oh. Hey, Mr. Goodsir." She looks up from the pan briefly with a tiny smile, pleased to see him. She doesn't stop with her stirring, even with the gentle heat she doesn't want the contents to burn and lose the whole thing. Maybe she's being a little paranoid with this whole 'literally never done this before' thing, but it'll be a lot of work to pour down the drain.

"Sorry, you're kinda early. It's not quite ready yet."

[bestsir]

He ventures closer to see what she's doing. "Is that rose hip jam? My sister made it—our aunt taught her the way of it."

two

[myfavoritemurder]

[Callisto very stubbornly refuses to consider herself a resident of fucking anywhere, and so she's been hopping from abandoned house to abandoned house, often without any consideration at all for whoever might have claimed it. The one she's squatting in today is truly empty except for her, though - which means that the woman rolling up with her handcart can't be searching for someone else. Callisto peers at her through the window, completely confounded and a little curious, before pulling open the door and peering at her some more as she gives her pitch.

She can't, she thinks, remember the last time someone wanted to do trade of any sort with her.]

Trade for what?

[castitas]

[ Kate is... more than used to those less than thrilled about her being on their doorstep. Plenty from the Meals on Wheels program are happy to just take the food from her hands and close the door. People are hard, sometimes. She doesn't mind.

So she just... tries to meet it with her usual cheer — even if it's been muted, as of late. She reaches to show the woman a bottle of syrup: a translucent orange-red liquid in a glass bottle. ]

Rosehip syrup. Or I have tea, if you prefer. [ There's a beat before she adds. ] It's homemade, I made it myself.

[myfavoritemurder]

What do you put the syrup in?

[Callisto wonders, leaning in to squint at the bottle. Then, without waiting for an answer:]

I have wolf meat and skins.

two + slight wildcard!

[fidior]

[ The days continue to pass by, and while falling into routine makes his existence here easier — knowing what's expected of him, even if it's largely a role that Little's assigned himself — there is much that lingers, and even seems to be worsening. It's difficult to move his body, most days; those aches and pains leave him having to take several moments to himself. He tries to take them only when no one else is around, leaning against a wall or closing his eyes for a moment, head spinning, stomach aching. A certain dizziness persists behind his eyes, and some bizarre sensation of loss, as though something within his mind has eroded. He forgets things, finds certain details mixed together or missing altogether.

But he stays busy. Keeps moving, even if his body often protests and even if his mind feels a separate entity from himself, one with its own will and purpose. (And within it, that Voice still whispers at times, and the nightmares grow worse. He sees Hodgson and Irving, mutilated in his mind's eye. He sees Jopson, bleeding and skeletal and wide-eyed. He sees the captain, and the unknown fate of him leaves Little gasping aloud, jerked sweating and heaving from nightmare.)

He seeks out more to do, here. Apart from his patrols of the town, he starts doing busywork for others, as well as gathering up more supplies to be stocked. Today, he's heading out to the wood to chop trees into logs and gather some smaller twigs and branches as well. He wears his officer's uniform instead of his thicker clothing and greatcoat; while they may be warmer, this one is much easier to move around in. He's also left his usual cap behind, and apart from the usual gun strapped to his back, he carries an axe. As he walks, he spots a familiar figure up ahead, speaking with someone at their door. Edward draws closer but pauses a respectable distance away, so that he can't hear the conversation taking place.

With that, he waits for Kate to be finished with her business, and when she is, he begins to approach her with a friendly, albeit polite, smile. ]

Good day, [ he calls, pleased to see her, although there's also some disquiet in his heart..... He may have been quietly angsting to himself for a good while over something he feels he must apologise to Kate for.... But to begin with, Edward greets her pleasantly, and lets his eyes look to the sled she's pulling. He's mindful not to be nosy about her business, brows lifting but only slightly, and eyes never lingering in any one place on the sled for long. It makes for an oddly muted curiosity, something restrained to the gesture, although there's no mistaking the warmth in his eyes to see young Kate Marsh. ]

May I ask, are you selling wares?

[castitas]

[ Another successful trade, and there's a small smile as she turns to step off the porch with a small, thin, brightly coloured box in her gloved hands. She'd traded a bottle for the colouring pencils, and better yet — as she pauses to examine them — all the contents seem to be intact. Not that she would have minded had one been missing. For all there is little the smile about in this place, this certainly does give her some small spark of joy. She... misses drawing; the things she really wants to draw. Her art... got a bit dark for a while. Some days it still remains dark, but not all the time. ]

Lieutenant—! [ The small smile shifts into something far more brighter as she looks up from the box at the familiar voice. She's... really glad to see him. It feels like a blessing, truly. Today is a good day. She picks up the lead, pulling the sled behind her as she moves towards him. Her eyebrows raise at the question and she turns her head to look down at her sled for a moment before making a soft sound. Ah. ]

Um. Well, trading, specifically.

[ Carefully slipping the box of pencils into the sled with the rest of its contents: canned food mostly, and few miscellaneous pieces she'd traded for herself, in amongst what she's trading. She moves to grab a bottle holding it out for him to take. A clear glass bottle, reused from its original purpose — she'd cleaned and sterilised a good amount of bottles and jars, whatever she could get her hands on. Inside, a pale orange-red translucent liquid. ]

It's Rosehip syrup. I made it myself. Rosehip's got a lot of Vitamin C, and granted we're a little short of fresh fruit and veggies — I figure it would help. [ There's a brief pause as she considers. She's... never actually been able to properly thank him for... well. The whole... standing on the ledge of the Basin thing. She... still feels so ridiculous for the whole thing, and terrible for putting him through it. Even just the thought of it makes her cringe a little, a hot flash of shame from the pit of her stomach. ]

Actually... I'd like you to keep that. I don't need anything back for it. Consider it a 'thank you'.

[fidior]

[ It's not so frequent that Edward Little finds himself greeted with so bright a smile. It may always take him by surprise — certainly a pleasant one. And there's another sort of warmth beneath that one, a relief, to see Kate smiling when not so long ago she was in such a miserable state. He hasn't forgotten it — won't forget it. That danger still lingers in him, the thought of it. He's known what hopelessness can do to someone, when it lasts without any reprieve. And truly, there is none to be found here, is there? No real reprieve for this situation, and so he has been keeping an especially close eye on Kate.

It's only after she's drawn attention to the items on her sled that he lets himself look with more outright curiosity, reaching his free hand upwards to accept the little bottle she hands him, holding it carefully in the palm of his fingerless glove. He's familiar with the rosehip fruit, but not... the rest of what Kate says. Vitamin C?

It sounds important, in any case, and he certainly understands concerns of fruit and vegetables.... He'll inquire more about it shortly, but to begin with the man gently turns the bottle over in his hand as he examines it, already about to offer the idea of giving something in return, when the girl says what she does next, and Edward pauses, expression shifting to a quiet surprise. Ah— ]

You haven't anything to thank me for.

choir of furies in your bed | nightmares

[castitas]

one cw: mention of disassociation; nightmares; emeteo mention, but no actual throwing up; disturbing visuals of being bound, inability to move, non-consensual touching

[ She can't recall the last time she slept well. More often than not, she doesn't sleep much at all — the circles under her eyes darkening by the day. Instead, she finds herself turned over, away from the eyes of the others who live within the Hall — staring into nothing, somewhere far off within herself, tears dribbling over her nose and into her hair. But she does sleep eventually, when she exhaustion becomes too much and she'll shift into something quiet and deep for a while.

It's as if everything's underwater. Dark and terrible, but the light hurts her eyes and she can't seem to bring anything into focus. She feels sick and dizzy, like she might throw up but nothing comes and she's just lost to the sea of nausea, rolling with wave after wave. There's a voice, a man's — calm and gentle but... it doesn't feel safe. It doesn't reassure her, doesn't soothe her.

She can't move. Light and dark blur before her. The sharp flash of light: too harsh, too much. There's a soft sound that filters through the dream, a gentle whimper. The flashes burn into her, and she wants to turn away from them, but she can't. She feels no control over her body, her limbs won't move, her hands feel stuck. Her wrists feel tight, as if they've been smothered in super glue, and the skin might tear. And she can only stare blankly — she doesn't want this, she doesn't want this.

Hands reach for her, manipulate her. Her head shifts, a leg. Moves what she cannot. The nausea rolls within her once more and through the buzz of it, she thinks no, please don't. More flashes, the frequency growing in intensity — it hurts.

She wakes with a strangled noise, startling in the darkness. Her hands clamp over her mouth as she sits up and then curls forwards into herself — lights dancing in her eyes. ]

two

[ Some nights, she'll awake more quietly — with nothing more than a quiet inhale and her stomach curling with anxiousness. She'll lie awake, listening to the sleep-sounds around her, and her skin crawls with the images in her mind. She feels gross, and she wants to scream but she clamps her jaw tightly shut — tears in her eyes. The night outside seems calm, and she'll rise from her cot — dressing quickly and quietly. She does her best not to disturb the others, carrying her boots and an unlit flashlight until she's out into the entranceway of the Hall. It's only then she'll ready herself and step out into the dark.

There's a soft hush over the town. The night is still. The sky is void of light from the Aurora, but filled with countless stars — far brighter than she's ever seen them before. The air is quiet, the wolves seem to be sleeping. She stares upwards for a long moment. It's... beautiful, even if the cold is bitter. For a long time she just stands there, trying to shake off the dream and the crawling feeling that weighs on her. Or she might eventually start to walk — keeping close to the Hall but wandering the streets. No one should be around, she thinks. Not at this time of night.

But she's wrong, and she startles, shifting her flashlight with speed. ]

Who's there—?

two

[solitarysoul]

[Levi was no stranger to bad dreams and insomnia. Tonight was one of those nights--or very early mornings technically--where he knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep. But he was still tired, so maybe some extremely cold air would help him wake up or feel better or something. However that was supposed to work.
So he grabs his oversized coat and straps his rifle over his back. He didn't need it, he knew that. The wolves haven't been around for awhile and he'd had heard them if they were around. But he took it anyway, because he felt better with it there.]

S-sorry.

[He says, quietly closing the Community Hall door behind him. He squints against the flashlight beam for a moment before looking down.]

I didn't expect anyone to be out.

[castitas]

[ Oh. She's staring wide-eyed for a long moment, holding her breath slightly until she realises that it's just a person and not something far more sinister. A... person also from inside the Community Hall. Kate swallows, shaking her head. She does lower the flashlight, though — a little guilt in her expression. ]

Sorry. [ She didn't expect anyone else to be up. ] Did... did I wake you up? I was trying to be real quiet, but—

[ Oh... crap. ]

[solitarysoul]

No...I woke up on my own. I didn't even know anyone was out here.

[She sounds distressed, though. He bites his lip.]

I-I can go. If you'd rather be alone, or, um...something.

two

[moralabsolutism]

[For someone who looked rather conspicuous, even in a town where there was a rather high number of masked men, Rorschach was pretty much silent on his feet when he made his way through the snow. He still hadn't found boots that fit properly, much to his ire, but he figured at some point he'd either stumble across a pair or be forced to become a cobbler.

Kate's flashlight bounced off the dark brown of his trench coat, spotlighting the movement as he climbed down from a nearby rooftop. He was strong and quick in his movements, with the practiced air of someone who did a lot of rapid climbing and descending often. Once he was about fifteen feet from the ground, he just jumped down, landing on his feet in the snow. He stood there for a moment silently watching the girl.]

[castitas]

[ That's not something on a rooftop, is it? Surely not. But her flashlight hits the flash of dark brown and she scrambles to follow it with both it and her own wide eyes, staring in half-fright, half-stun. The wolf attacks might have subsided, haven't they? She's not expecting something to be moving about in the night.

There's a soft sound of startle as he lands and she's still staring for a long moment, not sure if she's shaking with the cold, the memory of the nightmare, or the fright of all of this. Maybe a mix of all three. Oh, it's him again.

Her eyes shift up, to where he's just come from. ... Woah. ]

Were... were you just on the roof...? [ The answer is obvious, but there's still a level of disbelief to it. ] Why?

cw: misogyny by way of Madonna/whore complex

[moralabsolutism]

[Once he'd felt the spotlight on him, he'd looked for where it was coming from. It was hard to see with the light on him but he recognized the voice. Oh, it was the girl again. Rorschach didn't know what to make of her yet. She seemed innocent, almost sweet in a way. But they all did at first. Then their true colors were revealed. Truly innocent women were as rare as blue roses. Most just pretended to be so while secretly being whores, dirty and vile.

All this went through his head as he searched for a few words to explain why he'd been up on the roof.]

Better position to observe.

[Being up high meant that he could see anything coming for a fair distance around him whether that was friend or foe. It was also a very good defensible position. Most things that tried to attack him would have to climb up, giving him a chance to prepare a counter-defense. And if someone needed his help, no matter where they were around him, he could quickly get to them. His purpose had always been to protect others and that hadn't changed being here in this new town.]

forget the horror here | feast prep.

[castitas]

one cw: dead animals/game; some panic-attack related symptoms

[ Whilst there is some degree of animosity of Methuselah's return to Milton, Kate is one of those incredibly grateful and pleased to see the old man once more. Methuselah is kind and a gentle soul, and she gratefully appreciates the feast he had laid out to the Interlopers on their arrival into this harsh and horrible world. Truly, she thinks, a light amongst the darkness. She's in bright spirits, smiling a little more as she offers her help in preparations for the next feast.

She busies herself with whatever she can, heading into the kitchen for what she might be able to help with next... only to find the animals currently being butchered in there: rabbits.

Kate stares for a full ten seconds, frozen in place in absolute horror, before the smell of blood and raw meat hits her nose and she shudders violently. Rabbit. It's— Heaven, no. There's tears in her eyes, and she promptly spins on her heel and runs out of the kitchen. Her feet carry her with speed, and she's quickly dissolving into full-out hyperventilating sobs as she hurries out of the Hall.

She may end up careening into some poor soul trying to enter the Hall in her hasty exit, or find her as she quickly turns around the corner of the building to press herself against the wall, looking as if she might throw up, in a fit of hyperventilating cries. ]

two

[ Later, when she's calmed down a great deal — Kate will be helping out with setting up the canisters of tea and coffee for the feast in wait for the supposed newcomers. Does she believe Methuselah's notion that more of them will be coming? Of course she does. She might not understand how the old man knows more will be coming, but there's an essence of faith about the whole thing that she gently leans on.

Faith is such a fragile thing, as of late.

She carries plates and cups to the tables set out, along with the more heavier canisters — which she will gratefully accept help from in moving over. Things are coming together nicely, she thinks. Goodness knows how long it's been for any of them to get together for a proper meal like this. She's quietly looking forward to it all. ]

Even if no one does turn up, it'll be nice for everyone to get together to eat again.

one

[jackdawvision]

[Edward, who went out to practice shooting with his brand new handgun and pick up some firewood, very nearly gets knocked over by a young woman on his way into the hall. He gives a shocked oof as the logs scatter.]

Bloody hell, mate, watch where you're—[And then his temper dissolves when he sees just who careened into him. Oh shit.] I'm sorry—Are you all right, lass?

[castitas]

[ She staggers back slightly, stunned and gasping at the sound of wood clattering to the ground around them. There's anger, for a brief moment, and all she can do is splutter — mouth opening and closing in some attempt to speak, but no words coming out. She stares at the wood around them, uncomprehending before finally she can actually respond. ]

Sorry— sor— I'm sorry— [ The initial upset is still there, now exacerbated by what's happened here. She lifts a shaking hand to gesture behind her and just starts sobbing. ] There was— and I had to— I'm sorry—!

[jackdawvision]

[Edward holds his hands up, shaking his head, and when he speaks his voice is softer and his manner more non-threatening, as though he's talking to a spooked horse.]

Relax, lass, it's all right. See? You did me no harm. [Although he'll have to gather the wood up later, but that's fine. He smiles, reassuring.] Shall we sit down? You can tell me what happened then.

two, with shades of one

[worthallthis]

[The asset likes to be helpful. He can't deny that one even to himself. So when Methuselah shows up needing help for the feast, he does what he can. He was, unfortunately for Kate, one of the ones butchering rabbits, so when he meets her to collect the heavy canister from her, he hangs back a little, only holding out one (gloved, left) hand for what she's carrying.

He doesn't speak, not yet, sure she was more afraid of him than what he'd been doing and wanting to be as non-threatening as a murder machine can be. No eye contact whatsoever, posture making him as small as is possible for an objectively large man.]

[castitas]

[ There's a vague recognition of the man, she'd look at him briefly before she'd caught sight of the rabbits and she'd promptly just... freaked out. She still feels kind of stupid about the whole thing, in truth. But she's still sure she can smell the scent of game and it still makes her stomach turn.

He waits for the canister, shrinking from her a little, and maybe it's because she probably startled him with her outburst. She feels terrible as well as stupid, and she inhales before passing the canister to him. ]

Thank you. [ There's a beat, before she adds, gesturing. ] I think it'd be good to put it down that end of the table?

[worthallthis]

[He nods and moves obediently to set it down where directed. Then he comes back, still keeping himself careful and still. His voice, when he speaks, is softer than one would expect from someone his size, and without much inflection.]

Are there more.

future rust and future dust | wildcards / closed prompts.

[castitas]