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

Levi Ackerman // Attack On Titan // OTA

[wingbound]

--1. PAINFUL REMINDERS

a)

[ At first, what he feels is something between panic and hope. Voices that have been fading from his memory, suddenly bright and vivid again as he hears them -- somewhere, everywhere, just out of reach. He wanders outside, trying to chase it. Perhaps he even tries calling out, before finally realizing that it's coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, perhaps the odd light in the sky. ]

[ He hears Farlan, joking and explaining the latest plan. Isabel, complaining and laughing. His mother's singing. The scouts' tales around the fire. His squad, teasing and encouraging each other as they brave his latest cleaning assignment. Erwin's last speech, though perhaps the first one he himself fully believed in. ]

[ All of them are dead. ]

[ You'll probably find him outside in the middle of the night, perhaps perched on some roof, definitely underdressed for the weather, as if he'd rushed out in whatever he's left on for the night. He looks somewhere between awestruck and melancholic as he stares at the aurora, drinking in all the sounds he never thought he'd hear again.]

[ You may leave him to it, or, perhaps, if you choose to sit down next to him, he'll eventually speak, compelled to do so by whatever is in the air tonight. ]

I was... twenty-four when I saw open sky for the first time. [ A pause. ] I think. I never knew exactly how old I was. Didn't have documents. [ His voice, always rather blank, gains a somewhat derogatory undertone. ] The rich pigs of the capitol never gave a fuck who lived or died under their feet. [ Another pause, as he continues staring up. ] I thought life above would be different...

b)

[ The next night, or the one after that, you may find him in the same spot, though he's bundled up to stay warm this time, and he seems to be holding something, peeking between his fingers whenever he shifts his hands or holds the item on his palm to look at it, distant grief in his eyes. It's a bolo tie, deep emerald colored stone in a brass setting hanging on a leather strap. ]

[ Levi doesn't seem to be able to look at it for too long; he closes another hand on top of it, rests both on his knees that he pulls up to his chest, and then rests his chin, or perhaps his cheek on top of it, looking off at the distance. ]

[ If he's unaware of your presence, you may catch a soft whisper, as if he's trying to reassure himself of something. ]

...I don't regret it.


--2. BAD BLOOD

a)

[ The formerly kidnapped Forest Talker isn't the only one keeping good on his promises. The moment Levi sees him, he's got a mission. Back then, he'd thought killing the guy was the most logical option, but he hadn't protested when the others suggested letting him go; he'd been blindfolded during the trip both ways and there was nothing he could have learned about them that would give the Forest Talkers an advantage. Plus, less death is always a good thing, right? ]

[ Wrong, in this case, and he's determined to correct that oversight. The cultist has had his chance; they've allowed him to walk away from this, and he's chosen to come right back and try to kill them. The message couldn't be more clear. ]

[ Levi flips out his knife and elbows his way through the initial chaos; he jumps and ducks and shoves to get past fighting Interlopers and Forest Talkers to get at that one smug son of a bitch in one of the flanks. He's short, but he's fast, and still surprisingly strong; he might have some scrapes and bruises by the time he reaches his destination but he does it quickly. ]

[ The way the Forest Talker looks maybe vaguely surprised but not at all afraid pisses him off. There's a bit of a struggle, though it doesn't take long for Levi to gain the upper hand, used to this sort of close quarters scraps. ]

You want to be worm shit so badly, I'll grant you your wish.

[ It's not particularly satisfying when his blade finally meets the Talker's throat, but he does feel the slightest sense of relief. It's done. ]

b)

[ After that, Levi doesn't really go after anyone in particular; he's doing his best to contribute, simple as that. You might see him wielding a thin knife or a filched axe, swinging with more force than he might look capable of at first glance; he's quick on his feet and fairly good at avoiding the worst blows, though no doubt he still ends up taking some hits. He might launch himself at someone about to strike a nasty blow on you, or maybe he needs your help when some particularly tall Talker tries to grab him and lift him to render him less slippery. ]

[ At some point, he makes it back to the community hall, helping to hastily barricade it and taking cover at the front with his rifle at the ready. He might wave you over if he sees you nearby; this is a decent position to defend but it could still use more people, especially since some Interlopers seem to be cowering inside. ]

[ Or perhaps you catch him leaving for a quick perimeter check on his own only to have a fellow Interloper -- wasn't her name Jennifer? -- pulling a gun on him, making her true allegiance known. ]

[ Whether or not she hesitates, he won't. ]

c)

[ He appears softer with the kids, though he's not exactly good at it, still. The scene you come across might almost be comical in another situation; a young Forest Talker armed with a rifle but clearly hesitant to use it, and Levi's taken the chance to walk up to him and grab onto the barrel to turn it away, except rather than a reassurance, his words probably sound more like a threat. ]

You don't want to do this, kid. Let go of the gun, or I'll shove it down your throat.

[ Said kid looks slightly panicked and attempts to pull his weapon out of Levi's grip; that failing, he cries something like don't tell me what to do, shorty and tries to headbutt him, which Levi leans away from with ease. ]

[ Maybe help them? ]


--3. WILDCARD

[ Want to do something else or get a personal starter? Surprise me, or hit up my plotting post! :> ]

a

[meadqueen]

[Randvi sits, interested in learning more about the man who has helped them so much.]

Twenty-four. I was that age when I married. You lived underground, as dwarves do?

[wingbound]

[ There's no telling what tales and fables exist on Paradis, but let's say Levi is familiar with some version of a concept of dwarves. It's probably more like the sort that runs off with little kids' socks than what Randvi is thinking of, though. ]

[ He frowns, trying to make sense of the comparison. ]

I did, yes. Doubt it was much like dwarves, though. More crime and pollution.

[ Part of him wants to express his surprise at Randvi's own revelation. Twenty-four feels like so young in some ways. That's not actually young for marriage though, is it? Regular soldiers joined the Corps as young as fifteen, and he's sure plenty of them got married at eighteen, nineteen, twenty, if they lived that long. It was just never something that he thought of in regards to himself. He's in his mid-thirties now and he still hasn't thought of it. So maybe he's the odd one out, here. ]

...Did you find a good person?

[ That's why people usually married, right? That or status. ]

[meadqueen]

Pollution?

[Randvi definitely comes from a time before widespread concern about environmental degradation.]

It's fortunate that you can stand the sun, then.

[Renny said they didn't but in her world dwarves turn to stone in the sun.]

I… [The question about herself is more difficult to answer.] The best that I could have hoped for, I think. Do you know the Saxon word freothwebbe, “peace-weaver”? It’s more romantic, I prefer it to the word we Norse use.

[wingbound]

[ There's definitely no concern about the global warming in Levi's times either, but player didn't know another word for it there's only so many ways to explain that people literally live among heaps of garbage discarded by the rich. ]

Sewage often gets into the water. If you've never tasted that, consider yourself lucky.

[ He nods once. Overall, his life can hardly be called fortunate, but he's certainly grateful for the ability to see the sky and feel the sun on his skin. ]

Yeah. I got used to it. My eyes still hurt on bright days, sometimes.

[ Especially with all of this snow around. Mix the two and it's time to loot some shades from whatever accessory store he can find in the area. ]

[ He listens to the explanation, shaking his head slightly. Honestly, he hasn't even heard the words Saxon, though by now he probably at least knows Norse refers to Randvi's people. ]

No, this is the first I hear of it. But it sounds nice, I think. Kind of like poetry.

[meadqueen]

[Of course it does. Where else would it go? No matter.]

The world must feel so large.

[At home, Randvi often feels trapped in her little room, but she had spent her youth under the open sky. The world had felt so vast then, full of endless possibilities.]

It does. My marriage to Sigurd ended a war between two clans. He is kind to me, in his way, but we are still strangers to one another.

Bad Blood - b

[unsheathedfromreality]

[It's been a long night.

Illarion had been drowsing in the community center when the tremor struck, rolled up in a blanket with his rifle. Had snapped back to full awareness and gone straight out into the starry dark and cold in time for the first Forest Talkers to start taking shots at him.

He'd stayed out since then, gone places, done--things; is only now rounding back to where he'd started, in a lull in the melee. The barricades catch his attention first, before the waving, an unconscious huff of approval in his throat. Good job, whoever did that--

And then the wave, from--that guy, whose name he's never asked. Who's solid even so, and if he's beckoning the shrike'll judge it safe to come in. He sweeps a look around him before hustling across the killing ground around the center and slipping up to the barricade.

Once inside, it's clear he's favoring his left arm, and there's blood on his face and bayonet alike. His first question is--]

Ammo? [He's low.]

[wingbound]

[ Levi looks him over critically once he's inside. He does note that side-favoring, and the blood, which isn't anything unusual in this situation but does beg some obvious questions to be asked. ]

Free under the circumstances. [ Levi has acquired a near-full backpack of rifle ammo a few months back by raiding Forest Talkers' caches in the woods, and hadn't used up much of it. (He also isn't aware there are different kinds, since it worked for his, but hopefully whatever rifles they've both looted are similar enough.) Most is probably hidden in a few strategic places including "his" house in Lakeside, but he does carry enough for emergencies like this. ]

[ He tosses a small box at Illarion; it's something he'd normally do anyway but he also wants to see if the way he catches it confirms his suspicions. Then he's out with it. ] Are you hurt?

[unsheathedfromreality]

[A twitch of a smirk graces Illarion's face; free under the circumstances, indeed. He doesn't even bother lifting his left arm to try for the box, managing the catch one-handed and tucking it against his chest to secure it. So that's for his left arm, though he also adds,] Left shoulder. Didn't hit bone. Don't think the bullet's in there.

[But enough of the muscle's disrupted to make using it chancy, before he's gotten it sutured and stabilized. Any of the dead tissue that tore itself apart before then would be that much more of a bother to mend.

(He doesn't know yet how much of a problem it'll already be, how much slower he'll heal from this one. How much more he'll need to eat to fuel it.)

He cocks his head with avian abruptness, reading what little there is on the box of cartridges to tell him what's inside. Frowns, and brings his left hand round to pull it open and peer at the contents.

Grunt.] Wrong caliber. Got anything else?

[wingbound]

[ He's lived as a criminal too long to just give things away, save for sharing food with orphaned kids, but right now they're all in danger and if whatever he gives up can be helpful to make sure their enemy dies before they do, it's a fair trade. ]

[ He raises his eyebrows at the mention of caliber. He knows what that is, but technology is sparse enough in his world that different caliber normally refers to entirely different types of weapons. Obviously you wouldn't use a pistol ammo in a rifle and vice versa, but --]

What kind of a fancy ass rifle did you dig up? [ Well, whatever. He motions at a nearby backpack with his head, apparently unwilling to move or let go of his own weapon for the moment. ] Check the back right compartment. If I have anything different it's in there.

[ With that addressed, he finally looks away from the street long enough to get a proper look at the other man. ]

Can you patch your shoulder up yourself or-- [ Or do you need help, he was going to say, but he trails off a bit as his eyes swoop over the supposedly injured area. The clothes are ripped alright, but-- ] Huh. I would've expected more blood. Clean hit?

1b

[notarat]

[ Billy should probably be asleep. But some sort of lingering anxiety, like there's something in the air he can't quite explain but his feelings latch onto, drives him out here anyway. Just a quick walk, he tells himself, and then he'll go back home and cuddle up in bed with his husband again.

.. he doesn't expect to see anyone out here though. Let alone on the roof of a nearby house. It feels like a sign of madness - especially when Billy recognizes who it is, and when Levi had seemed far more sensible than a man who'd go sit out on the roof of some house in the cold and the middle of the night.

He contemplates speaking up about it, but then he hears Levi say something else, and..

Well, Billy is just a little bit too nosy and a lover of gossip to not butt his nose into this business. ]

Regret what? [ He asks, not announcing his presence in any other way until he says that. Sorry, Levi. ]

[wingbound]

[ Levi would probably wonder the same thing, in his place. He's used to heights much higher than a simple house's roof, so that alone is not much of a concern, but the cold and the mere fact that something whispering in his brain has once again had sway over his actions, if less directly this time, could definitely be a problem. ]

[ Well, perhaps it is less sway and more coaxing. He's not acting against his will, sitting out there in the night; but whatever he hears in his thoughts, whatever he senses in the very air, has made him want to be there. And is it truly so horrible, wanting to steal a few moments of his loved ones' voices? The worst thing about it is that whoever's causing this may find a way to use it against him. ]

[ That'd be worth the cost to just hear them again, he thinks. ]

[ He startles at the sound of a new voice, mentally cursing at himself for being so out of it he let someone sneak up on him. Well, not exactly sneak up, perhaps, but approach unnoticed, at least. Luckily, he doesn't fall off the roof as result. ]

[ He does clutch the bolo stone tighter and press it to his chest, though. ]

My decisions. [ He's not sure if he really wants to elaborate more than that -- he's met the man before, but they're still practically strangers in many ways. And yet, whatever had enticed him to come out here tonight seems to be pulling at his tongue, encouraging him to share more. ] ...some are harder to move past than others. Have you been in a situation where no matter what you choose, the outcome is still shitty? It's like that. It's been like that a lot, but...

[ There's one that seems to haunt him more than others, even if he's confident he would make the same choices again if he were given the chance to relive it. ]

[notarat]

Most situations are like that.

[ Billy seems to be giving Levi this much grace by giving that answer. It's not like he can't tell that Levi is likely thinking of a very specific situation, but Billy also figures that it's likely very personal. Especially if the other bothered to climb up onto a roof to think about it in the first place.

So making it sound like something more general, like this is something everyone thinks about all the time, is a slight mercy from Billy's point of view. It's giving Levi all the room in the world to say what he wants to say and avoid what he might not want to bring up.

Even though Billy is nosy. But he knows that being too openly nosy isn't going to endear him to anyone. ]

You could even see our current situation here as such a thing.

[wingbound]

...

[ He thinks he knows what William intends with his answer, but he's been through enough shit to have, in his opinion, have a fairly objective scale of shit sucking. Most situations are the ones easy enough to live with after the fact. The one he's thinking of was much more direct than that, but he knows nobody here will know that unless he tells them about it. ]

[ Does he want to? He feels the inkling to, growing gradually stronger, but he's not sure yet. To what end? It wouldn't make him feel better, and it's not like anybody here could do anything about it, either. It's not like anybody could, anywhere. ]

[ It's not like he would, even if he somehow had the ability to. ]

Is that so? Far as I know, none of us chose to be here.

[ His words might be rather coarse but his tone remains mellow; he's not being combative, merely contemplative, perhaps even a bit melancholic. ]

bad blood - c

[thedreamer]

— Alternatively, we can all take a breath and not hold any weapons at all right now.

[ He has no care, worry, or fear as he attempts to forcibly put himself in the middle between them to try and — reason with one or both of them. In the Doctor's experience, though, it's rare that anyone holding a weapon is going to have a calm and rational conversation, and it's never a good idea when someone's on the other end of a gun. So getting the weapon temporarily out of the picture is absolutely ideal. ]

Introductions! Much better than weapons. Let's start there, eh? I'm the Doctor.

[ Of course, he knows Levi and if things go sour (and he sincerely hopes they don't), Levi's safety will be his priority. But he attempts to put his hand on the barrel of the gun. If it goes off, it hits him first, at least. ]

[wingbound]

[ Levi startles slightly at the Doctor's voice, followed quickly by him squeezing his way in between him and the kid, both watching with rather baffled expressions on their faces, though Levi's is subdued as always and the Forest Talker looks more flabbergasted. ]

[ They still haven't fired a shot, though, which is probably a good thing. ]

[ Levi clears his throat, easing his grip on the weapon as if to make it clear he's not trying to wrestle it away just yet, but he doesn't let go completely, just in case, still keeping it turned away. ]

Uh, yeah. That's a great idea, actually.

[ The kid squints suspiciously at the both of them, but doesn't make any sudden movements. "Doctor of what?" ]

[thedreamer]

If you like!

[ Doctor of what, he's heard before, and he's never much improved on a concrete response to that. That's answer enough, in his mind. He would far prefer neither Levi nor the Forest Talker be anywhere near the gun now, but slowly, he'll take this slowly, keeping his own hand on it, too. ]

Just Doctor usually suits me, though. And this is my friend, Levi.

[ He doesn't think anything of introducing him that way. ]

I want to keep him safe and I want to keep you safe. That's what's happening today, in fact — everyone's walking away from this together, if I can help it. And you can help us get there, but we don't need to need rush along. Let's just start with your name and in return for that, you have my promise no harm will come to you on my watch.

[ Bold promises, perhaps, but that's what he does. ]

[wingbound]

[ Levi keeps sullenly quiet but raises his free hand slowly in an awkward greeting. It's honestly pretty comical. ]

[ The kid looks at them both like they're crazy, but the longer Doctor talks, the less angry he looks. More... unsure. Conflicted, even. Finally, he croaks a name that sounds something like "Laurent", and then blurts that he doesn't want to hurt anyone, even if their leader might be right. ]

[ Levi takes it as a cue to attempt a good will gamble and lets go of the weapon entirely; the teen clutches it tighter for a moment but then lets it drop lower along with his hand. ]

[ "How can you possibly promise that?" ]

1A OH BOY OH BOY . tw dead bodies and yezhovshchina talk, pregnancy loss

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy knows Levi Ackerman, although not well—from the tower, and, more notably, from the situation that arose with the captive. It's the latter that hangs heavy on him now, as he listens to the voices of the people he knew, although it's not like the shadow his return to interrogation cast hasn't been thrown across everything that followed. Life has been different since the two of them interrogated that man; there is a before and an after—just like when he drank from the figurative poisoned chalice the All-Soviet NKVD offered up to him for the first time.

( You drink; you're changed. Suddenly, the only ones who understand you are those who have partaken in the same atrocity as yourself, not your family, your friends, all of the civilians who aren't creative enough to conjur up images of the horrors that become part of your daily reality, things you aren't permitted to discuss with anyone but your fellow perpetrators, anyway. Where else can you go? Who will understand; who will want you? You are a different creature now; the metamorphosis is permanent; surely, comrade, you must have known that? )

They're hardly friends, but when Vasiliy sees him on the roof, underdressed, he approaches, already sliding off his reflective EMS jacket to offer it up without a second thought.

There's a lump in his throat when Levi speaks, when he enumerates the reason people like them join organizations like the NKVD. He could just as easily be describing his own childhood.

Perhaps under the influence, still, of the voices, his ashes, the strange urge to talk about things—completely alien to him, and out-of-character for anyone who lived through the Stalinist 1930s—Vasiliy answers in kind, his voice hushed as he stares up at the eternal winter sky above them. ]

The rich, bourgeois... they never do. When I was seven years old, I saw guards shoot someone dead in public street. Just like that. They didn't care if they hit us too. [ A moment's pause. He exhales, watching his breath crystallize in front of his face and slowly dissipate, and reaches for a cigarette from the half-crushed pack in his breast pocket. ] I saw a dead man before that. Five years, I think. Frozen to death, on the street outside of liquor store. [ He presses his lips together. ] I was the only one of my friends or colleagues with no siblings. My mother... [ He remembers the screaming, so vividly, and the grandmother trying to herd him away from her as he frantically questioned what was happening, why his mother was in such distress—fragments of memories now. ] ...she was seamstress in a factory. My father and I welded. We were very poor, lived in slums. We ate bread, mostly. That is not enough to grow a baby, or survive pregnancy.

[ He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag, exhaling before speaking. ]

She got pregnant again. The fetus died because she didn't have proper nutrition and she started to bleed and kept bleeding. She almost died. No hospital, or emergency room, like the rich would have. In a one room tenement. They didn't try after that. The leaders of our country had five healthy children, except for a boy with genetic disorder. [ A small, contemptuous huff. ] Five that they kept fed with no problems. None of them worked.

[ A few moments of silence. ]

Do you smoke?

hehe oh boy!!!

[wingbound]

[ Despite having just spoken to the man -- or perhaps more at him, not fully aware of his presence -- Levi seems to startle a little as he's offered the warm jacket. He stares at it a moment -- he'd like to take it, he really would, it's fucking cold -- then gently pushes at it, not too insistent but with a small frown of concern on his face. What about you? Keep it. You'll freeze, too. ]

I'm sorry. [ He offers, a genuine condolences but so insignificant in the sheer amount of things they both have to be sorry about. There are differences, of course, but the core of what Vasiliy speaks of is painfully familiar. ] We had guys like that, too. "Military Police". [ The name is spit out with some distaste. ] Claimed to be fighting crime, did shit all. Every now and then, they'd roll a cart down the streets, picking up whoever perished in the filth.

[ Frozen, poisoned by the tainted water, outright murdered, succumbed to the many illnesses plaguing the undercity... ]

Lots of people had bad legs down there. Something about the lack of sun making bones weak.

[ Frankly, he has no idea how his own mother managed to survive and have him, almost perfectly healthy. His lungs seem to be a bit weaker than the rest of his body, but it hasn't caused him significant problems so far. Perhaps it had been a miracle. He does wonder if perhaps she had gotten pregnant again when she told him she was sick. It's not like he would have understood anyway. ]

My mother... she was sick for a while before she died, but maybe it was something like that. Or maybe she never recovered from having me in the first place.

[ Maybe he killed his own mother. It's not a pleasant thought. It's true, though, even if her sickness wasn't a direct consequence of his birth. Had she not needed to feed two mouths, she could have worked less, taken better care of her body, perhaps even found better work. He knows she chose to have him, but he still feels some guilt over it. He used to wonder if that was why Kenny left, back then. ]

[ Likewise, he offers a little derogatory snort at the idea of kids not working for their food. ]

If I wanted to eat after that, I had to steal it myself.

[ He doesn't yet bring up his sitting alone with his mother's corpse, almost dying himself -- perhaps having died, because whoever left that little room had already been someone else. A strange man who had been his salvation and his curse. Part of him wants to share that part of the story, too, but it makes him feel so vulnerable he's still hanging on in silence by the time he's asked that question. ]

[ Abruptly, he's back in the present, his nose wrinkling in a barely noticeable way. ]

...No. The air was disgusting enough as it is.

[ He's also not particularly fond of people smoking near him, but right now, he may be willing to grant an exception, just because this man seems to get him. ]

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy, perceptive both by nature and by training, catches the little twitch to his nose; it's not hard to, primed as he is by the comment about disgusting air. It's interesting, seeing someone who seems to be from a time closer to his than the time in this place reacting to cigarette smoke with displeasure; it was such a normal part of his own daily life that nobody batted an eyelash at it.

It was acrid and chemical and foul to him at first, of course, but after the first time he'd smoked, the rush of nicotine that felt like getting kicked by a horse drowned out any concerns he might have had about flavor. His first cigarette. He'll never forget that, an honored memory framed alongside his first fuck, his first kiss, his first interrogation. It's that same spike of nicotine in the blood that he craves now—that he needs in order to have this conversation—that keeps him smoking despite knowing that the other finds the smell of it displeasurable. They are, after all, outside, although he still turns his head and exhales smoke away from the man beside him, into the empty night air instead of the space around him.

He doesn't probe about what the 'down there' is, exactly; he assumes he's using a regionally idiosyncratic way of referring to the slums, the narrow, unclean streets and cramped tenement blocks Vasiliy grew up around. ]

I know what it is to be hungry. We ate bread most nights. Or cabbage soup. Kasha in the mornings. [ He's learned quickly that he, and Kostya, and Sveta are the only people here with a real frame of reference as to what that is, so he appends: ] That is like... Your oatmeal, but with wheat.

[wingbound]

[ It's really more reflective of Levi than his entire environment; he'd worked hard to keep things clean in an extremely filthy place, and adding ash to it was unthinkable. Cigarettes were also expensive, mostly reserved to those at least well-off enough to live Above, or the higher-ranking criminals. He didn't care to associate with either, though some would probably say he was the latter. ]

[ He'd gotten his rush in other ways back then, whether it was the scent of bleached floors or the way his blood thrummed when beating up men twice his size in dirty alleyways. ]

[ Vasiliy's courtesy of blowing the smoke away seems to be enough for Levi; he might scoff a little at first but he doesn't turn away or make an exaggerated cough or anything of the sort. He's shown consideration so he'll receive it in turn. ]

Ah. Grain porridge. [ He may or may not know the exact word "oatmeal" but it's easy enough to figure out. Horses love it; some horses live better than the humans under the capitol's feet. ] We had bread most of the time, too. We'd eat it even if it got moldy, since you never knew when you could get more. Something like apples was a rare luxury and cost too damn much.

[ Mold still haunts his nightmares, among other things. ]

...My mother also had a prized can of tea leaves, for as long as I can remember. It outlived her. She wasn't saving it so much that we'd never have it, but I wish she'd drank more of it while she was alive.

[ He's not sure why he shares it. Tea is important; it's his remaining connection to her. It's a vulnerable topic. But something just keeps him talking. ]

[ It's another thing people like them often have in common; saving the few good things they have -- food, clothes, whatever else -- for a "special occasion" which sometimes never came. ]

c!! sorry for the wait!!

[copacetic]

[ What the fuck. What the fuck.

Jane looks like someone recoverig from a hangover as she approaches. The night isn't even half over, and she's seen more than she has in her entire life.

Something makes her speak up. ]

Hey. [ She calls out to the kid. ] Don't. It's not worth it. Trust me. Let's go find your friends. [ She turns to Levi: ] Leave him alone. He's just a kid. These guys aren't hesitating if they really want to kill us. He's just acting out.

right back at you!

[wingbound]

[ Yes, well. That tends to happen in a place like this. ]

[ Levi huffs a little, but stops trying to wrestle the gun away. ] Kids need discipline. [ As soon as he lets go, the kid wrenches the gun away and hugs it to their body, seemingly unwilling to part with it but also not reading it to shoot. Their eyes dart between Levi and Jane, and they protest a little, "I'm not acting out!" or something similar and take a step back. ]

[ Levi stares them down before glancing back at Jane. ] Fine. You talk to him.

[copacetic]

[ Oh, shit. Okay. Jane swallows. The other kid she'd intervened on behalf of had been so grateful he would have done whatever she said. This one is a lot more rebellious and Jane has aways been the rebellious teen, not had to deal with one.

But she thinks about what she would've wanted to hear when she were a kid. Something no-bullshit. She hated it when people tried to coddle her. ]

Look, I'm not gonna tell you not to be mad. I get it. I would be. We're, like, preventing the... the... re-birth of the world or whatever... [ What had the other kid told her? ]

But, like, I can tell you don't really wanna die. But you're going to if you don't put the gun down and listen to me.