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

[goingtobeunwell]

He takes over the cooking without thought, moving swiftly in spite of the single hand, his left wrist tucked up against his chest out of habit. He remains quiet, though he can’t quite hide the disdainful huff at the mention of Gibson.

The gifts are seemingly random, but if the strange woman that visits their dream is trying to spare them she’s severely misjudged the character of a great many people here. Billy Gibson, a master of fire. Hickey, swift on his feet. What a grand pair they make.

There’s a jar above the stove where they’ve collected their dried dandelion for tea and medicines. Crozier fetches it and sets a handful of the roots out for Rama to crush for their tea, moving wordlessly to their cellar door and heading down the narrow steps.

[Crozier’s fetching some things, feel free to skip him for a few tags!]

[gildedlife]

James' first thought is that this ability does, in fact, sound incredibly useful. Sure, matches aren't extremely inconvenient or anything, but they also don't always work; they can get wet or damaged, and they'll also run out. In a place like this, where supplies are limited and the temperatures are so low, the ability to start a fire so easily could be not only convenient, but potentially life-saving. Not to mention the ability to defend oneself with it.

But the potential to lose control of it is horrifying. The image of Dr. Stanley going up in flames is forever burned--and what an ironic turn of phrase that is--into James' mind, and that's only the most recent of events; James knows far too well what fire can do, and he also knows his own often intense emotions. Would the risk be worth it?

It's also good to know that Billy apparently has this power, as it factors into the issue of Hickey, but that's a side issue.

James is drawn from his contemplation of this new information by Francis disappearing down into the cellar, and he stares off at the doorway for a few moments before turning his attention back toward Raju. He hesitates a moment, unsure if he wants to venture from lighter, practical topics, especially with someone he barely knows, but finally he lowers his voice and asks, simply--

"Is he well?"

It isn't quite the real question he wants to ask--do you know what's upsetting him?--but it's close enough. James really doesn't like having to ask any version of this, both because something's happened to prompt the question to begin with and because he doesn't already know the answer, but the only thing he can really do about it is to ignore his pride and try to get a better idea of the situation. The last thing he wants to be doing is making Francis' life any more difficult, whether unintentionally or otherwise.

[[ooc: sure thing!]]

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju looks over at the cellar door, easing himself over and pushing it mostly closed, not far enough to make the noise of shutting it but far enough to block a little more sound, before settling next to the sink again, frowning. It isn't much of a question, whether Raju's going to answer him with a polite dismissal or an honest guess; he might be a stranger to Raju, but the regard and the trust Francis feels for the man's been clear in every word that he's said about him. The only trick is how to phrase it. Francis had asked him once not to tell any of the men who'd died that they had, that Francis had outlived every single one, and Raju doesn't know what Fitzjames remembers.

"He's responsible for you," Raju murmurs. "For all of you. What you all..." Lived through? Bizarre, to be speaking to a living man and know that's not the right phrase. "...experienced, his failures, it weighs on him. But I don't know what made him think more about it now. You were thinking of those dinner parties, weren't you? Your stories? And he heard something else."

[gildedlife]

There is, likewise, a similar question on James' side of how much Raju does and doesn't know. If he's living with Francis--notoriously self-sufficient, slow to open up Francis--then there must be a great deal of trust there, and it would be natural to expect Francis might've confided in him about what happened during the expedition.

Besides, it is unfortunately not really a secret what had happened to James; most, if not all, of the others present here from the expedition know that he'd died, and at least some of them had likely shared that information. James doesn't fault them for it, but as someone who is so careful with what image of himself presented to others, this being out of his control is something he's accepted but is not at all pleased about. Just as bad is that he's well aware he still looks very much like he's had a close brush with death, even after awakening in this place better than he had been on the shale, and even with a little time to recover.

There's very little he can do about that either, aside from being sure not to act as unwell as he looks, which is a familiar role to be playing. It had seemed to be working alright for the most part, but perhaps it had been a mistake to try on Francis; of course he would see right through it, and even without the particular misstep in topic potentially bringing up its own memories, the entire attempt would've likely done it anyway.

But as much as he's realizing that faking everything being alright is not only pointless but potentially actively making things worse for Francis, is the opposite any better? He'd already done that the first night here, when he'd been so drained and in such shock over finding himself somehow alive, and he'd allowed himself to be selfish and not hide how much he'd needed to ask of Francis, even after everything he'd asked of him before. And so his first inclination of what to say, that Francis might have some obligation to look after the others but that James is not at a part of that, falls apart almost immediately.

Instead, when he finally realizes he needs to speak instead of remaining lost in his thoughts, he sits up a little straighter again and nods, studying the table a moment before looking at Raju again. "Yes. I'd thought that might be it." After it happened, of course. He had very much not meant to bring up the memory--not a terrible one for James, as he'd already long been resigned to the reality of the situation, but surely an awful one for Francis with hindsight--but it's not as if James is a stranger to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

And then, of course, he belatedly remembers something else that may have factored in. After another brief hesitation, and then deciding Raju does probably know already and if he doesn't it hardly matters, he continues; his tone is even, but distinctly distant. "I did not survive our expedition. What I said may have reminded him, and our... Altercation, earlier, likely did not help either."

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju frowns as he says it. Then he takes a slow, bracing breath and gives a businesslike nod. Just because he doesn't like acknowledging his own part in raising the spectre of Fitzjames death, or doesn't like the liquid, sour feeling of thinking of how easy it had nearly been to end a good man's life, that doesn't mean he shouldn't do it.

Better, though, to focus more on learning about Fitzjames the things he can't glean from stories: there's self control, Raju thinks, in the way the man speaks on his own death, and he approves of it in the same way he'd approved of that gesture, very casually handing Raju the arrow that'd almost killed him. For all Raju wouldn't put Fitzjames on any chore that involves any more physical work than standing in place for an hour, the idea of Francis relying on a man who'd do those things is a welcome first hint at an answer to a question Raju hadn't realised he'd been asking.

"I... regret that, for what it's worth," Raju admits solemnly, after a moment of thinking about anything else has made the regret palatable enough to swallow. "And not only for Francis' sake. I'd hoped... Well, my first impressions are usually a lot better than that."

He tries for a little smile, then sighs, fingers of one crossed arm tapping on the elbow of the other. "Have you ever found a way to distract him, cheer him up? Or is it always a matter of waiting?" His voice is even lower when he asks it. Francis would think he minded, if he'd heard Raju ask, and so Francis can't be allowed to hear it— but it's not as if he's going to meet a man who knows and cares for Francis this way without asking for tips.

[gildedlife]

The regret is worth more than enough. James nods, appreciating the sentiment itself--he'd already gotten the impression Raju felt bad about what happened, but it's good to know for sure--and even more so that he chooses to express it. Likewise, James is trying to get a better sense of this person Francis clearly cares so much for, and this forms a part of that picture.

"I have had far worse than being almost shot." James means it, but his tone is light with the inherent ridiculousness of the statement--particularly so soon after mentioning he'd died, which considering Raju's apparent lack of surprise he likely did already know--and any lingering animosity faded at this point. He's still none too pleased about the incident itself, for various reasons and respects, but he can acknowledge that this was likely an unusual reaction rather than how Raju typically handles things. Unless given reason to believe otherwise later on, he can let it go for now.

He's quiet a moment at the question, thinking back to the few short months he and Francis had shared as friends. By the time they'd truly put everything aside and become a team, the situation had become dire; James was already dying, they had already lost a number of their crew and nearly all their doctors, many of the men were already sick, their supplies had already dwindled. It was one constant struggle after another. They'd had very little reason to cheer up.

But there had been moments. In the midst of everything, they'd all still had brief moments of joy, and laughter, and exasperated but clearly amused looks. Despite the horror of it all, it hadn't always been bad.

"Yes, sometimes." James says, remembering a part of the conversation he and Francis had shared while returning from Victory Point, when James had talked about declaring himself the best walker in the service. "Distraction does work, whether it's talk or action. Of course, one does still run the risk of simply making things worse, as you witnessed."

[load_aim_shoot]

"Mm." Raju glances toward the cellar door again but there's no going down to check on him, and wouldn't be even if it'd just been another day with only the two of them here. Francis wants to be alone, and that's that. But that doesn't mean they couldn't do something when he comes back, does it?

"So what can we distract him with?" he asks, his attention turning back to Fitzjames, skipping neatly over any asking whether they should, or whether Fitzjames wants to. Raju can wait for Francis to come back to the rest of the world in his own time, and has, but waiting doesn't come naturally to him. If something can be done, then it should be. "Between the two of us, there must be something. You don't know how to cook, do you? On a stove like this?"

Admittedly something like, that's right, I don't is the answer he's hoping for — cooking is a practical thing that needs doing, and Francis knows too much about surviving in a place like this not to agree to teach, no matter how he's feeling — but Raju's expecting the answer to be yes, too. There's no question Fitzjames has known hardship, but it's easy to hear the way Fitzjames speaks and have certain expectations about the way the man had lived his life at home. And plenty of men know how to use a campfire but not a proper stove anyway; Raju had been one, until he'd left the barracks for the city and had to learn at least the basics for himself. It would be convenient, if once Francis emerged again they could simply ask him to do something that needs more attention than the place that his mind wants to go.

[gildedlife]

Fortunately enough, James is entirely on board with the idea of attempting a distraction. Not only is it worth the try for Francis' sake, particularly if the brief retreat into the cellar does little to improve his mood, but truthfully James could use something else to focus on as well.

So when Raju suggests cooking it's a perfect opportunity, and his answer is indeed the one expected of him. "I don't." James has spent most of his time on ships, or out on some expedition or another, or even staying in the home of someone who had offered hospitality; the few times he'd been at home, it had been as a child, or he'd been staying with his brother who could easily afford to employ a cook. Here, James hasn't really bothered with the stove, preferring for a number of reasons to simply use the fireplace if he even bothers to cook at all.

But it could be a useful skill to have, and beyond that, it's something to do. He's pretty sure he has an idea of Raju's plan, and rises to his feet with only minimal leaning on the table before he approaches the kitchen. "Perhaps this is a good time to learn."

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju notices Fitzjames leaning on the table as he stands. He might not think anything of it from someone who looked a little healthier, but he revises his estimate of an hour a little downward anyway. Maybe they can move a bench closer for him if this takes too long, but there's the matter of the pride he's sure a man like that will have if Raju tries it—

It's a problem for later. For now, Francis. "We'll have to get his attention," Raju says, eyes darting over the counters and cabinets to try and spot something that'll give him an idea. "Make him think you need him teaching you instead of me. Knocking something over would be easy, or we might argue, but I don't want to worry him in this mood."

[gildedlife]

Fortunately, standing won't be much of an issue for him, even if cooking does end up taking awhile; he's done far more strenuous things in far worse condition, though it would be for the best if he doesn't have to lift anything particularly heavy.

"Once he returns, that should be simple enough; all I'd need do is be clearly incompetent." Which shouldn't be too hard, and James does have no idea what he's doing, and so wouldn't even need to fake it. But as far as getting Francis to return from the cellar, James agrees an argument isn't the best idea, and knocking something over would probably also just worry Francis into thinking something dangerous or concerning had happened. But how can they lure him out of the cellar? And, actually, shouldn't he probably be back by now?

"Do you know what he went to find?" James has no idea what they might store down there, so perhaps Francis is having to search for whatever he'd gone to get but will likely be back soon. Or perhaps he's morbing about, and they really will have to do something to get his attention.

[load_aim_shoot]

"No, but there's not enough down there to keep him busy more than a few seconds." Raju says easily. If Francis didn't want Raju giving his secrets away to Fitzjames, Francis shouldn't have told Raju how much he trusts him. Besides, it wasn't as if Francis was very subtle.

Well, maybe Raju doesn't have to be subtle either. There aren't many components to cooking like this; ultimately it's mostly a matter of managing the fire, which Francis had been doing perfectly well before he went downstairs. There's preparing the tea, but that isn't very complex either, and there's the fish, but the only thing that can go wrong there involves a knife, and he's done frightening Francis that way for as long as he can avoid it.

Raju moves to the cellar door, swings it open a little, and calls down, not hiding the staged, dramatic cadence to his words: "No, Fitzjames, don't put all the wood in at once! The fire's going out, we'll have to start over!" Then he looks over at Fitzjames, eyebrows raised, and tilts his head toward the open doorway, prompting him to join in.

[goingtobeunwell]

Initially he'd come down to the cellar to look through their various rations, wanting to surprise Fitzjames with some delicacy he hasn't had in years, but the dark and the quiet quickly begins to soothe his frayed nerves. He picks up a random tin of pears and sits down on a rickety table, exhaling softly as he runs his thumb along the odd bumps underneath the label.

It's not their fault that he can't even take a joke. And perhaps he does spend a bit too long down in the cellar just catching his breath, because soon he hears Rama calling about overusing firewood or some such nonsense. He sighs quietly and rises, setting the tin back into place and picking up a few jars of pickles and some roots to slip into a pocket before heading up the stairs to join them once more.

The man that emerges from the cellar is very different from the man that went down. There's no smile on his face, but there's mirth in his eyes as he scans the kitchen for evidence of this abuse of his fire.

[gildedlife]

James gives Raju a very flat look in response to the ruse and Raju's raised eyebrows, but there's clear amusement beneath the expression. He's not really about to go along with this--if they're going to be this obvious one of them should've just gone to get Francis--but does find it at least a little funny.

But before he has to come up with a quip, whether directed at Raju or in theatrical response for Francis' benefit, Francis finally reappears. He seems to be less melancholy, which is a relief, although at that look around the room James absolutely has to remark--

"Come now. You cannot possibly have believed that." The lightness in his tone is easy, coming naturally this time instead of being purposefully affected. "The one thing I do know about cooking is how to maintain a fire. There will surely be enough to critique about the rest of my efforts, however, as I have no interest in simply watching preparations being made." Hence being in the kitchen, as he's invited himself to being a part of the actual cooking.

This is definitely what happened, and it is certainly not just a smoothly improvised part of the plan.

[load_aim_shoot]

When Fitzjames joins in it doesn't sound very promising, at first. But then he's going along with the plan after all, only making it sound convincing, and when Raju moves the roots Francis had set out for him to grind, along with the steel bowl and round, smooth rock, off the counter and to the table out of their way, it's with a distinctly satisfied air.

"You'll have to show him what needs doing, Francis," Raju tells him, pleased, and lifts the roots to indicate them. "I've grinding to do."

Which neatly gives Francis something to think about outside whatever'd driven him down to the cellar in the first place. He'd be surprised if Francis tried to get out of it; it'd take a little more than this, Raju thinks, to get him gloomy enough to refuse to play along.

[goingtobeunwell]

Ridiculous men, the two of them. Ridiculous, but concerned and clearly doing this for his sake.

"If you burn down the cabin we're moving in with you," he warns Fitzjames, fond smirk finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. On the table he sets the jars of pickled greens and a few bulbs of arrowhead and burdock he'd stashed into his pocket, then pauses to roll up his sleeves. The left sleeve is folded easily enough, but the right he always needs assistance with, and seeing Rama occupied he extends his arm out to Fitzjames for help.

When one lives with a single hand, it's surprising how little vanity one has left.

"All one needs to know about cooking is how not to burn the food. I think you can manage that, James, don't you?"

[gildedlife]

James can't help but give a small shake of his head at Raju's comment, and make a mental note to make an attempt at teaching him subtlety in the future. Because James is a great master of subtlety, after all.

"That seems more a punishment for the two of you." He remarks at Francis' warning, very glad to see that little smirk and finding himself mirroring the expression. But his attention is soon caught by the jars of vegetables, and when was the last time any of them had that particular luxury, at least not coming from the tins that were slowly killing them? In the time James has been here so far he's mostly grown accustomed to eating fish once again--thanks to Zane's constant deliveries--but aside from that and the rosehip tea Kate had provided him, the options for food here are still remarkable, no matter how mundane they might've been a few years ago.

Fortunately, Francis provides a distraction that snaps James out of staring at the jars, and he refocuses on his new task of helping Francis with his sleeve, which he rolls up in such a fastidious way that it might be a little comically mismatched with the other one.

"Were it that simple, why would one ever hire a cook?" Still, he appreciates the vote of confidence anyway, so--

"But I can manage not to burn food over a fire; surely it can't be all that different on a stove."

[load_aim_shoot]

"The real trick is to make fish more than once a day every day into something edible without any herbs or spices you didn't find laying on the ground somewhere. Francis is better at it than he lets on."

Not that Raju's standards are high, exactly. He's under no illusions there, and maybe the things Francis makes here wouldn't pass muster with a cook back home — but they aren't back home, and Francis does do more than simply not burning the food, and it's nice to feel like it's more likely than not that he's got some backup in giving Francis Crozier compliments.

[goingtobeunwell]

"All learned from the Netsilik," he reminds the both of them, but is purposely vague on when said skills were honed. "When you're continuously laughed at by small children and old women experience tends to build quicker."

Only partially exaggerated. When the taboo of his arrival wore off then the friendly teasing began, mostly from the men in the hunting parties and the children who found him completely ridiculous.

Fitzjames is thanked for his help with a slight tip of his head, then promptly passed a kitchen knife. "You can dice, can't you?" he asks, though it's absolutely not a question. "Cut up the roots on the table."

[gildedlife]

James' smirk fades to a softer hint of a smile as he listens to Raju and Francis banter a little, and he does wonder about when Francis gained the experience he's talking about, but doesn't question it for now. There are still several things he has yet to ask about--he still hasn't heard what happened to Francis' hand--but none of that is appropriate to bring up right now.

He nods in affirmation to Francis' not-question and takes the offered knife, gathering the roots--he recognizes burdock but is less certain of the arrowhead--and beginning to dice them carefully; although he's quite a bit steadier now than he had been the first few days after arriving, he still knows better than to be too confident with a sharp object just yet, especially since his thoughts are already wandering from the task at hand.

This whole little scene is very... Domestic. Not that that's necessarily a problem, something just feels a little odd about it, and after a few moments of contemplation James places what it is; it's how practiced all of this is, how familiar both Raju and Francis seem to be with each other, and with the house. That isn't a problem either, he just has to wonder--

"How long have you been living here?" In this particular cabin is what he means, and it's aimed at both of them, but he'll also take answers to the adjacent question of how long each of them has been in this place in general.

[load_aim_shoot]

"It must be..." Raju's hands move without his attention, the motions of grinding dandelion root for tea practised enough that his gaze can unfocus as he tries to place what he remembers onto some kind of time frame. Fitzjames is asking it mostly of Francis, Raju assumes, but Raju knows the answer to that as well as Francis does.

"You," he focuses briefly on Francis, "moved out of that... I always forget the word, that ice house of yours a while after I arrived, which must have been... early winter? You settled in here a couple months after after we met, and I hadn't been here long at all then.

"It's hard to be sure," he says, to Fitzjames now. "Keeping track of the days is a good deal harder without any schedule. But it's coming on Winter again, according to him, so it must have been a while now. What made you stay in this one, Francis? I don't think I've ever asked."

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier wants to slap Ram upside the head for the question. You, you idiot is the answer, but not one he’s ready to give in front of Fitzjames. He stayed in this cabin because there’s room for a fire, room for cooking, room for Rama. After tending to the man’s injured feet for weeks, growing accustomed to his company and friendship, there didn’t seem to be any reason to live alone.

“Iglu,” comes the answer, “it’s an iglu.”

He thinks about how to describe the last year, that point of isolation and then his gradual return and integration into the community. “I constructed one when I arrived nearly a year ago, but an ice-covered tree branch crushed the thing one night. But I stayed in the cabin because I like the fire. Hard to get a decent fire in an ice-hut. Ceiling starts dripping and the smoke chokes a man.”

[gildedlife]

The answers from both Raju and Francis are actually a bit more detailed than James was expecting, and in addition to what they say, there's what's implied as well. Why hadn't Francis chosen a cabin to begin with? And it seems--though it isn't completely clear--that when Francis had moved into this place, he'd been the first, with Raju then moving in afterward; why had he decided to do so, rather than stay where he had been before?

It's interesting, and he's curious, but he doesn't ask; considering how things have gone so far, he decides he probably shouldn't push his luck with prying.

Instead, he almost makes a light comment about fire and ice being a poor combination, then remembers that he's indeed very aware of just how terrible it is and mentally cuts off any thoughts of Carnivale before he can follow them too far. There must be something else in this that he can comment on that won't be too invasive or stray too close to other subjects--

"You said this place required repairs, didn't you, Francis? Was that part of its appeal?" Having a project to work on and all of that. Or had it more been the location, and the repairs were a necessary price to pay?

[load_aim_shoot]

There had been repairs, Raju remembers well enough coming here to help work on them. It'd been a relief, having something that mattered enough to do, and someone who mattered enough to do it with. But what exactly led Francis to stay here instead of finding another cabin that wouldn't need so much work, that he doesn't know, though the idea of not going back to an iglu for the sake of a good fire sounds believable enough; Francis isn't so unused to the cold as Raju, but it must have been a reminder of what he'd been missing. So this time Raju only waits for Francis to answer, glancing at him as he moves to the side of the stove to tip the crushed dandelion roots into the smaller pot.

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier, who always fancied himself a practical man, knows part of it was a sunken cost fallacy, part of it the attachment to the place that had shelter him and Rama so well.

“Moving would have been a hassle after we’d taken the time to fix the roof,” he reasons, “and not every cabin has a root cellar. It’s worth it for that alone.”

He nods towards Rama with a smirk. “He was living in the Community Hall before he wound up here. It’s easier to live with someone in this place, but maybe not a commune of children.” Though said commune of children are still very much cared for by Crozier with his bi-weekly deliveries of food and firewood.

[gildedlife]

The answers are practical but vague, though perhaps that's because they truly are that simple. A cellar, repairs done--though why they would've moved into the place before fixing the roof is a question--and a more convenient arrangement than living in the Community Hall. Makes sense, or at least enough of it to prevent any additional questioning for the moment.

So he focuses on finishing the task he'd been assigned, and although he does so without injuring himself, it's not exactly a masterful job. None of the pieces are really the same size, which he's well aware was neither expected nor matters, but it still causes a moment of intense and irrational frustration before he firmly locks the emotion and down and refuses to let it show.

Instead, he takes a calming breath and carefully gathers the diced roots into a small pile. "Where should I put these?"