it must be that old evil spirit

[singmod]

SEPTEMBER 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — PAINFUL REMINDERS: An Aurora briefly connects the Interlopers to their homeworlds, and with it are able to receive items from home — but these ones will bring no comfort to them.

PROMPT TWO — THE ENEMY WITHIN: Strange and familiar occurrences begin in Milton and Lakeside, growing in frequency and danger for the Interlopers. Who can truly be trusted among their numbers?

PROMPT THREE — BAD BLOOD: The Forest Fighters finally come to Milton, and with it: they bring the yawning grave.

PAINFUL REMINDERS

WHEN: 5th - 9th of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially upsetting themes; themes of loneliness/isolation.

For many, the sight of the Aurora is now one they have become used to. There have been plenty of them over the year that has passed since the Interlopers first came to the Northern Territories. Often, they have been a sign of great danger, with plenty of unsettling and unnatural things happening when the skies light up. Other times they have been the herald of aid — a link between Interlopers and Enola, gifting them with abilities to help them survive in this world. There is no real knowing what kind of force the Aurora is, truly. And there is a tension that holds amongst the Interlopers as the day turns to night and there is the soft sound that grows louder.

The ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds, is difficult to place. Perhaps it sounds like voices, or discordant strings. And with it, the low-drone of electrical buzz — punctuated with the echoing pops and sharp cracks. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night, growing brighter and brighter as time goes on — greens, blues, pinks and purples shifting and dancing across the night. And much like every Aurora before this one, the electricals of the world come to life too. Homes, streetlamps, cars long-stranded in the snow. Man’s world comes alive, buzzing and flickering precariously.

But there are no ghosts like there once was a year ago. No terrible weather, no poisonous fog. If one could call it a ‘normal’ Aurora, that’s what it appears to be. But there is something else in amongst all the light and noise. Snatches of things: whispers of conversations, names called, laughter and tears.

You realise you recognise these voices. They are the voices of home. Perhaps you hear your mother, your siblings or friends. Whoever they are, you can hear them. And although they might not be able to hear you — for one brief night, the Aurora has connected you, bridged the gap between your world and this one. You may sit for a while, simply listening to the voices, relishing in hearing those from back home. If others join you, you will find yourself compelled to speak of them: to share in stories about those from back home — the connections you share with them.

It’s strange, though. These voices do not fill you with comfort or joy. Instead you are left with feelings of sadness, anger, and isolation. The Aurora has connected Interlopers, but now you feel so cut off from home, cut off from friends and loved ones — reminded of everything left behind. Everything you long for. Everything you have lost.

Something strange skips through the sky, a warping of the sound. It’s unsettling. Something feels... wrong, somehow.

It’s not just the voices that will remind you of this. Something else comes through the Aurora after that night. A small token will be brought through. Whatever the item may be, when you go to sleep and next wake, you will find said item. It may be placed on your bedside, on your desk or dining room table.

The item, you will find, will bring you a reminder of pain. Of sadness. Of horror. Perhaps it’s something you haven’t thought of in some time. Maybe it is something that has lingered in the back of your mind. Perhaps it is a part of you, waiting to be uncovered. A sign of something to come. A painful reminder of your past, or an ominous omen of your future.

THE ENEMY WITHIN

WHEN: The month of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: kidnapping/attempted kidnapping; attempted murder; murder; vandalism; arson; assault; animal mutilation; corpse mutilation/manipulation/desecration; themes of peril/terror; possible character/npc injuries; possible character/npc death.

It starts with strange happenings at night, things left to be found by the next morning. Those within Lakeside many find themselves unsurprised by it, given their location, but the scenes found in Milton are a foreboding sight.

Mutilated bodies of animals: rabbits, ptarmigans, even deer — mangled and strewn about the streets, blood upon the snow. Some may awaken in the middle of the night to the sounds of their windows breaking, with houses on the Outskirts being targeted more than those in the middle of town. There is… a kind of unrest in the world.

It escalates.

Some may leave their home for the day and return in the evening to find the place trashed: items broken, precious foodstuffs thrown about the place and destroyed. Those within the Outskirts are once again particularly vulnerable, as are those within Lakeside. Fires are started in some of the abandoned buildings of Milton. Something, someone is targeting the Interlopers.

It is hard to pin-point who exactly, and it only puts the Interlopers on high alert. Nothing like this has never happened before. This is new, especially in Milton.

As the month progresses, the acts become more serious. Fires may be started in the middle of the night in Interlopers’ homes while they sleep. Some are attacked in the night, others are taken from their beds. Some killed within their very homes. Of the Interlopers that go missing, their mutilated remains may be found days later out in the wilds.

In Milton, soon enough, someone is bold enough to come out from the darkness, out from the gloom of the night. Interlopers may be attacked in broad daylight — by those they may recognise as newer Interlopers of the community, who appeared from the wilds: lost and shivering, with nowhere else to go. Some of them have been within Milton for a few months now.

Those in Lakeside will face something similar: Forest Talkers are making a move, rogue and isolated incidents — done with sabotaging attempts at hunting and taking a more direct approach.

They have no qualms about being captured or killed, only determined to get rid of as many of the Interlopers as they can. They whisper, they scream: “You don’t belong here. You should never have come here. It wants you gone, it wants us all gone. The end is here, it’s too late for any of us. Nature must run its course. The yawning grave has been opened.”

The attack is on two fronts: the first of Forest Talkers in Lakeside amplifying their actions. The second in Milton, enemies within the ranks of the Interlopers, Forest Talkers hiding as Interlopers.

Within Milton, newer Interlopers will likely be met with suspicion as being some of the Forest Fighters as a result of these individual acts of violence. As the numbers of Milton have been infiltrated, and it’s easy to have mistrust amongst those newer to the community. In-fighting is likely, and the entire town is stuck in some terrible, tense state — unsure of who to trust within their own numbers. In the days and weeks that follow, it remains like this. Acts of violence and vandalism — chaos and disorder.

BAD BLOOD

WHEN: The night of 27th - 28th September.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: attempted murder; murder; vandalism; arson; assault; mentions of blood; themes of peril/terror; possible character/npc injuries; possible character death/npc death; actual NPC death.

Towards the end of the month, the moon is full. They call it the Harvest Moon, but colour seeps into it — oranges and reds: a blood moon, partially eclipsed. The night is calm and cloudless, but there’s an uneasy feeling in the night.

The earth groans, the rumble of another quake that’s plagued the Northern Territories since the beginning of August. It is the only warning Interlopers will get — if they may realise it as a warning. To some, when they look back, it’s a omen, a starting pistol.

They do not come through the Mines. Thanks to the efforts of Interlopers to guard the entrances of the Milton Mines, they know better. They come to town from the south, not the north.
The quakes of August and September have opened a new way from Lakeside to Milton. They are led by their Leader: a man dressed in white, a large deer skull upon his head. And while their numbers are small in comparison, they come armed and with the determination to get rid of the Interlopers once and for all. As they come into town, they launch their attack.

More fires will be set, Interlopers will be attacked with abandon. Shot at, stabbed, beaten. It is a mass execution. They will not stop until the Interlopers, or them, are dead.

Well, the majority of them. There are just under a dozen teenagers and younger people amongst their ranks who have shown hesitance toward violence in the past. Perhaps they can be reasoned with. Perhaps there may be a way to convince them to abandon their cause. There is fear in their eyes. Some of them do not want to die. They fear the yawning grave.

What will do you then, Interloper? Are you willing to fight for your life? Are you willing to take another’s to save your own, or a friends? Will you hide, or run? What choice will you make? The Forest Talkers have long since made their own choice. Now you must make yours.

It is another night of chaos on a town already scarred by the events of June. Interlopers will note two familiar faces in the fray: at some point during the night both Methuselah and Young Bill will arrive. While Methuselah will concentrate on aiding the wounded and trying to shelter Interlopers the best he can, Young Bill will help protect Interlopers from the Forest Talkers with his rifle in hand. But fortunately, it is just for one single night. Ammunition runs out, sides are switched, and people are killed. As dawn approaches, Forest Talker numbers dwindle. Either killed, incapacitated or defected. In the early morning light, bodies lie in the snow both Interloper and Forest Talker alike.

Those trying to hunt down the leader will see him slipping inside an empty cabin, heavily wounded. Following after him, they will find him settling himself down to kneel on the floor. The white of his tactical gear stained red with blood as it blooms from his wounds. Slowly, he removes the deer skull from his head to reveal a clean-shaven man in his late twenties with a shock of white-blond hair. His eyes are blue, calm.

He sets the skull down, panting and sweating. He is dying. He is not afraid.

“My name is Mallory, not that it matters now. We are dead, you and I.” he says softly. “We exist in a dying world.”

He is in much pain from his wounds. He moves again to sit cross-legged on the floor. A hand touches the bloodied fabric of his front and he laughs humourlessly.

“You don’t understand, do you? The end must come. That is the order of things. The end must come so the world can be reborn. That is how it’s always worked. When the world is swallowed, it will grow again from the earth.”

It is a story. The story of the Darkwalker. Some believe it to be the end of the world, but Young Bill had once said there is another telling of the tale. A creation myth. The Darkwalker swallows the world and returns to its slumber within the earth. Within it, everything its swallowed grows again and the world returns.

“We fought against man’s actions to ruin this place, not knowing our true purpose. The Devourer has shown me the truth, and I sought to put that into action.” His head tilts to one side. “The yawning grave is opened. Does new life not grow from the decay? It is a cycle. The grave and the cradle.”

He finds it difficult to breathe, but he presses on.

“You fight to live. You come here and you do not see what you are. You are only delaying the inevitable, perverting the true course. Prolonging the suffering. You are the Interlopers, you are not part of nature’s design. The Darkwalker does not want you here. And where it fails, we have tried to succeed.”

There’s another laugh, something catching in his throat. He coughs, blood bubbling from his lips.

“And failed. For now. The First Cursed cannot hold it forever. She, too, delays the inevitable." Even as he is dying, he still have the energy to sneer. He speaks of Enola. "A woman who plays at being a god. What right does she have? All must go into the Long Dark. ... As will I. Return me to the grave.”

Mallory’s head dips, his body sagging. He inhales once more and then stops.

FAQs

PAINFUL REMINDERS


1. Players must sign up for items. See the toplevel on the plotting post.

2. Items will face the same warps/nerfs as everything else that is brought into the game.

3. Items can be no bigger than something your character can reasonably carry.

4. While items do not have to belong to your character, there has to be a good reason why they’d receive such an item — ie. something related to your character.


THE ENEMY WITHIN

1. The Forest Talkers within Milton are a number of NPCs that have been pre-selected from NPCs who arrived in April and August. Not all of them will show their true intentions as the month goes on but will continue to stay hidden.

2. Two NPCs killed in the June Event were also Forest Talkers. … Good… job?

3. The following NPC Interlopers will out themselves as Forest Talkers at this stage: Devon Busswood; Rita Yee; Realm Lovejoy.


BAD BLOOD

1. Following the events of this prompt, Interlopers now have an additional way into Lakeside. It’s still rather dangerous: it’s through a partially collapsed cave system that ends into abandoned bunker on the Lakeside side. The game map will be marked accordingly in due course.

2. Some Interlopers may recognise a familiar face in the Forest Talker ranks: the man who was kidnapped by Interlopers previously in July has returned. Looks like he made good on his promise. He's come back to cause problems.

3. The following NPC Interlopers will out themselves as Forest Talkers during the attack: Jackie Blackmore; Ross Huguet; Jennifer Kitchen; Daniel Kresco.

4. As a reminder of numbers: around fifty Forest Talkers will show up for the attack.

5. There is an OOC vote on the fate of the remaining Forest Talkers, the link is here.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

— A. Rama Raju.

[fidior]

Edward hasn't picked up his gun since June. It's remained out of sight — but never out of mind, no, the weight of it stays with him even though his hands don't touch the weapon again. The weight of what he'd done with it.

He tries to shove it all down into that same deep dark place within himself where so much else has been swallowed into. The months following June are spent letting himself fall victim to the beast within him, the one this place infected him with. A large furry thing with sharp claws and teeth; he spends much time that way, as the wolf.

Things are repeating, like some nightmare playing out again. The growing paranoia, the tension, the dread. And then it all snaps. The bloodshed erupts like a war.

There are too many people he needs to keep safe. Kate and John at the cabin, Wynonna at another. The rest of the men from the Expedition — every single one is a ghost he can't bear to lose again. There are young people, and new Interlopers, and he's lost in the chaos yet again. His shotgun is with him, because even he knows he needs it, but its weight and shape feel foreign to him now, and unwelcomed. His hands don't want to grasp the thing that tore Mikel to pieces, to feel that trigger against his fingertip.

He won't kill anyone. That's the thought that stays with him; the gun will be used the way he should have used it last time — to disarm, to injure, to incapacitate, but not to kill.

Suddenly, there's a Forest Talker barreling out from between two buildings, and he slams into Little's side. Panicked, he yanks the barrel of his shotgun upwards, aiming it away from the man; the thing goes off in the struggle, a loud blast, rattling back against his arm. The man headbutts him, hard, and Little sees stars as he stumbles backwards. He points the gun towards his attacker in threat, but still doesn't pull the trigger. His fingers don't even near it, and his aim is clearly wavering.

"Stop, now!"

Little's dizzied hesitation is more than enough; the Forest Talker knocks the gun out of his hands with one forceful blow, and then a second one against his chest. Now Edward's falling down, and as he does, the man raises a large spear over him; he'll waste no time taking out this easy prey.

[load_aim_shoot]

Of course Raju expected something. The smaller attacks were always leading up to a bigger one. What does surprise him is how undirected all of it is. Maybe it shouldn't. If he was attacking in their place there are certain buildings, certain goals, he'd drive his men toward first, but as far as he can tell they're only here to kill. There's nothing strategic about it. Which means there's nothing strategic to be done about it, either, but wade into it and kill them better.

It eats at him, every time he has to leave Francis behind to do it. An enemy he's never cared much about attacking a community who's made it very clear how little they themselves intend to protect the people within it— if one man can cave another's ribs in and walk away without even a pretence at judgement then the people who'd been so satisfied with themselves at letting him free can expect just as much protection on the day that they need it.

It's easier to think so — think it and actually believe it — when the danger isn't so clear and desperate and in front of him. In the end, there wasn't any question of whether Raju was going to stay out of the way, or stick to defending only what he couldn't stand to lose. The bitterness and anger is there to stay, but Raju is the same man that he always was, and that man was made to fight.

The boom of a shotgun is distinct even here and now, and Raju arrives in time to see Lieutenant Little pointing it at one of the attackers, and Raju's about to move along but the aim of the gun is wavering, and instead of shooting, Little tells him to stop.

The raised arms and Raju's approach makes it impossible to aim for the attacker's throat. Raju aims for the chest instead and hits it, but it isn't deep enough to kill right away and the man only makes a shocked, hurt noise, staggered by the impact, looking up and around for whoever hit him.

"Kill him!" Raju shouts at Little as he runs closer, trying to get at a better angle or in close range. "Lieutenant, quickly!"

[fidior]

It all happens very fast, as things like this always seem to, but for Edward time slows down. He's aware of the thick, heavy thuds of his own heart, the dizzying rush in his ears. Someone's there, someone who just saved him from being impaled here and now. He recognises the man, he realises, though numbly.

He's been given moments, seconds to act. A man desperate to survive would do what it took — would scramble back, would grab his gun, would use it. Hell, maybe he'd even run.

Little does none of those things. When he reaches for his gun again, it's only because autopilot is telling him he needs it, and he does hold it up, but— his eyes are too wide, vessels blown, breath shuddering.

He can't. He can't do it again. The gun's loose in his fingers, tipping downwards again. If Raju tries to grab it from him he could easily take it, and maybe that would be the best thing — a man who would use the weapon wielding it instead.

cw violence, death, guy getting set on fire and impaled

[load_aim_shoot]

Somewhere, Raju does feel the urge to take the shotgun and use it for himself. He'd wanted to from the first time he'd met the man, hadn't he? And he's being proven right now. But it'd be a waste of a bullet doing it this close, and his anger and his purpose propel Raju toward something more visceral. He lets his bow fall on its sling to his side. He's nearly in arm's reach, and his hands need to be free.

The attacker spots Raju, Raju's urgent path toward them both making him easy to spot even in the chaos around them, and sneers, moving to drive the spear downward regardless of the way the arrow in his chest must make the movement scream. Raju reaches him in time to drive the spear's blunt end into the man's face and under Raju's palms the wood of it bursts into flame, and the flame travels up, and when Raju smashes it into the man's face again the flames consume that, too. The man shrieks, letting go instantly to try and smother the fire spreading over his brow, and Raju turns the spear in his hands and shoves the blade of it with a hard shove into the man's stomach.

Raju's movements are precise and sure. He bends, the lines of his face hard and angry, and rips his arrow out from the Forest Talker's chest, ignoring the noises the man still makes as he slides it back into his quiver. His anger hasn't eased much as he turns to Little again; now he does grab for the man's gun, regardless of how hot the barrel might still be from the shot that'd gotten Raju's attention in the first place. Raju hadn't seen, had assumed Little had been aiming and missed, but that one must have been a warning shot. He's sure Little's grip will be loose enough to allow Raju to pull the thing, aimed down at the ground, out of his hand.

"The bank, there." He gestures, voice as hard and angry as his face, as his movements as he takes what ammunition remains out from the useless weapon. "Methuseleh is in it helping the injured. Don't show your face outside it until the fighting's done." He throws the gun next to Little again, and the ammunition next to it. "And give this to someone who'll use it."

[fidior]

What he sees play out is like something from a nightmare — another one, again and again, so many nightmares of unspeakable violence and he'll never be free of them — a man screaming, fire spreading and engulfing, a body slumping to the ground after its impalement.

Even after all that he's seen and witnessed, the sight and sounds and smells make Little sick. He feels himself heaving from the inside out, from a place way down deep within him, stomach convulsing. He turns and gags towards the snow, but nothing comes up as his body dry-heaves a few times, as though desperate to purge itself. But it can't. It won't.

There's a loud sound against the snow beside him as his gun is thrown down, and the ammunition it's been cleared of. Shuddering, he looks up ato the man glaring down at him with something that almost feels like hate — anger in every fibre of his being, every word he speaks. Little's almost stricken numb, feeling himself caught in that same fog of dissociation, the one that pulls him out of himself and leaves him strange and dazed, but before he realises he's doing it, he starts speaking. Words quick and quivering, almost desperate.

"I can't do it, I can't— I can't, not again—" He's heard Raju's hard instruction but hasn't processed it, can only spill the words out almost like a confession. The more they come, the more panicky he feels, heart pounding, mind spinning out of his control. He's not breathing properly, not swallowing inbetween the words, saliva pooling and dripping from one corner of his mouth down to the snow as he rambles like a trembling child.

"I can't kill him, couldn't kill him— I can't do it again!"

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju grimaces down at him, some tendril of sympathy trying to wind its way up through him. But the anger that'd started with the attack burns too hot, has spread everywhere, and the sympathy withers inside it. Little's put himself in this position. He took up the gun, he put himself in place to protect those who can't, and look at him now. He's lucky there hadn't been anyone hiding nearby, counting on him to keep the moaning man behind them away. As it is, Raju's going to have to make sure Little hides some place safe, instead of helping whoever he could have if this man had had the sense to keep himself away from danger in the first place. Raju shoves a hard breath out through his nose, frustrated, and grabs Little's shoulder to try and yank him up.

Forget the gun. Forget the ammunition. Maybe someone will find it and actually put some use to it. Raju will come back to try to collect it later. If Little lets Raju yank him to his feet and pull him where the hysterical and the helpless need to be, out of the way of the fighting, the gun will only get in their way. Raju can't stand to look at the thing just now.

"Up!" he snaps it in the sharp, hard tone he used to give orders in, in the hopes it'll cut through just enough of Little's panic to let him walk at least mostly on his own. It's the only thing Raju can afford to do now, harden himself; anyone who can afford compassion will be hiding in the places Little should have been keeping himself in the first place. Let one of them comfort him once he gets there. "Lieutenant, on your feet! I can't carry you and defend you at the same time, do you understand?"

[fidior]

There's some involuntary, kneejerk flinch in response to the hand that yanks at him, the hand he knows is capable of conjuring flame, but Little still lets Raju pull him upwards. He doesn't resist, stumbling to his feet, panting for breath; everything still feels too much.

Yet it's that tone that does split through his rising panic, at least enough to get his attention focusing on it, and he stares at the other man widely, hearing his words. Yes, yes he understands — the situation is still dire, there are still screams in the distance and other gunshots, other horrible sounds; battle rages around them. He needs to find safety, only...

"Then you should leave me! You shouldn't have saved me. Not after what I've done."

Mikel was only a boy. This place warped him, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't deserve what was done. (In his peripheral, Little can almost see him again, that bloodied mess of a young man, unmoving in the snow, and Kate Marsh wheezing for breath.)

"You were at that meeting — the trial. You know! You know what I've done."

Everyone here knows it; he'd killed someone, last time bloodshed like this erupted in the town. No matter his reasons, no matter what he did exactly what Raju just did now — killed a man to save the life of another — it was... different. He could have stopped Mikel some other way, he knows he could have.

"Why would you save my life?"

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju huffs out a loud breath, a noise full of frustration and deep disgust, and looks at the man with the same feeling. If Little wouldn't have died without Raju here— This feels like a complete waste of Raju's time at a time when, for someone out there right now, every second might count. But Raju can't bring Little to safety and convince him to stay there at the same time either, can he? And if Little doesn't stay in whatever safe place he's put all of this will be for nothing.

Raju glances around, one side of the small alley between the buildings and then the other. Everyone he hears and sees is too far away and too distracted to have really noticed them yet. He pulls at Little enough to try to press the both of them against the nearby wall.

"You saved a life, is what you did," he snaps, impatiently. Little's 'crimes' he does remember; they'd been part of the reason all the other self righteous idiots voting there had found it so easy to convince themselves it was the right thing to do nothing for anyone at all. It was easy to look at actions like Edward Little's and realise he didn't need to be punished, and from there, to reassure themselves that maybe no one else did either, that it was right to end the day without once lifting a finger to actually do anything hard. Raju's thought on that part of that day enough, and remembers at least the outline of the detail. "That girl. If you would stop gibbering long enough to remember her, you would know exactly why I'm here. You wouldn't have even been on trial to skew the bloody results in the first place if you weren't so taken with soaking in your stupid guilt. Why on Earth wouldn't I save you? Because you deserve it. I promise you, if you were Cornelius Hickey I would have walked by no matter where that spear was ending up."

[fidior]

He lets the other man push and pull at him, lets himself be nudged roughly against the wall of the alley, briefly, precariously tucked out of the direct line of fire. And he stares, the words at first not sinking in the right way, not cutting through so many layers of everything else. He wears his guilt like a second, third, fourth skin by this point. So many people have suffered, because of him. Because of him.

'You saved a life' — he knows he did, and he knows it mattered, because it was Kate, an innocent; he's been told that by more than one person. But it doesn't take away what he did in order to save that life. He can't see past that. He just can't—

'Why on Earth wouldn't I save you? Because you deserve it.'

It's that part that has Edward freezing like he's been hit, the breath sucked right out of him. He gives an odd, hoarse sound, an exhale that catches against his own tight lungs, and comes out like a wheeze and a whine mixed into one.

"I don't deserve it! I only killed him because the last time I hesitated, the last time I did nothing, it was the wrong thing! All those men— maybe I could have saved them, and I didn't! I let them die!"

He remembers telling Raju about that incident, about choosing not to act, not to shoot a man, a mutineer. About what came after. So the words split something in him open, in the face of this man who knows pieces of his shame. Little remembers how sharply Raju had reacted to it, anger flashing in his eyes.

"And this time— this time I did it, I— I killed him, and I could have done something else! I could have... struck him, stunned him, I didn't have to— He was in pieces after—"

He pants, unable to grasp the words fully, something he doesn't know how to identify taking hold of him. Panic. He can't breathe right.

[load_aim_shoot]

Not so far in the distance, someone screams. It isn't the first time tonight, and it won't be the last. Here, dealing with this, Raju won't be able to go to it. Raju's fingers, still holding the fabric over Little's shoulders from when he'd pushed him out of sight, tighten, and his jaw tightens, and either the cloth underneath his hands or Raju's skin itself begins to smoke. Raju lets go in a sudden movement, hands at his sides tightening into fists, relaxing, tightening and relaxing again.

"Patience," he mutters, not exactly to himself but not to Little either, eyes sliding off to the side away from the man who won't listen, who won't calm down when ordered, who must have walked into a battle with that rifle making it useless, worse than useless, knowing damn well that he wouldn't be able to use it. Raju's gaze lands on the fighting at the end of the alley for a moment, then moves up toward the sky.

"Give me patience," he mutters again up toward the dark smear of cloud he finds up there and forces a hard, calming breath out from his chest, then in through his nose, rubbing his fingertips together to try and feel whether it's safe to grab Little with them now, no matter how short on time they are, or how much danger the man's putting himself in.

Then he grabs Little's shoulders again, trying this time to march him toward the end of the building they're leaning against and toward its door. It won't be safe enough to stay in there for long, not this close to the fighting, but it's the closest to a safer place that a full-grown man's senseless and growing panic might to allow Raju to move him to.

"We're going inside," he orders, needing all of this now to go that way, and so declaring that it will. "You are going to breathe. It's over now, you understand? You've done it. You're going to live with it now. If you don't know that, you've got no place in the fighting out here. Are you trying to die?"