this empty northern hemisphere

[singmod]

NOVEMBER 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — STRANGERS: The Darkwalker returns to directly target Interlopers by stripping away the very things that make them who they are.

PROMPT TWO — NO EXIT: Interlopers find themselves trapped within the bowels of the earth, with no way out, except one.

PROMPT THREE — LAST SUNSET OF THE YEAR: As the long night draws in, Interlopers find a way to bring about some festive cheer to chase off the chill and darkness.

STRANGERS

WHEN: The month of November
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation; memory loss; loss of self/identity; potential identity crisis; potential personality changes; possible themes of depression; possible themes of suicide.

”They failed.”

For some, they have heard this voice before many times. For others they have only heard the voice upon their arrival into this place. An old voice, deep and dark and ancient. Something impossible, older than the earth itself. The one that floats into your ears and nestles there, sending an ice-cold shiver down your spine. Even to the most stoic and unshakeable souls, it is an unnerving voice. It feels wrong. It feels like an ending. It is the very same voice that spoke to you, right from the start. The words all Interlopers share with one another: You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.

They failed, and you realise just who ‘they’ are — the Forest Talkers. Mallory slumped in a cabin, slowly bleeding out.

”Interloper.”.

The voice that wants you gone. The one that wants to get rid of you. The Darkwalker.

”Inconsequential. They have gone into the Dark. As will you. As will all.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before it continues.

“What are you truly, Interloper?” it asks you. ”Or rather…. who are you? Take it away, and what are you left with?”

You feel your hands shake, you can’t seem to breathe. What does it mean?

”Perhaps nothing worth keeping, perhaps then you will finally see. Maybe you will finally understand your place. And perhaps then you will go into the Dark.”


You remember those words, and they linger within your mind in the days that follow.

It happens slowly, like the sea erodes the cliff face. The pieces come away, everything within you is slowly undone. Not an instant, but an insidious thing. You begin to forget things, about yourself, about the others around you.

You know you have loved ones, here in the Northern Territories, or even the ones waiting for you back home, but you cannot recognise their faces. You cannot recall the colour of a daughter’s hair, or the dimpled smile of a brother. You do not remember your father’s eyes, or your mother’s laugh. You cannot recall their names, their voices.

You do not remember those around you here in this world. You look upon a friend and see a stranger. You cannot recall the trials you have gone through together and come out the other side from. You cannot remember every shared moment, every small and brief moment of joy or compassion or hope. A hug, a hand held, a joke, a kind word, an apology.

Or perhaps you cannot remember any good thing you ever did. You cannot recall any act of kindness or goodness you brought into the world. You cannot recall your good deeds. Everything falls away from you, and you are left wondering who you are, what kind of person you are. Are you a good person? Or a bad person? Perhaps you’re a terrible person, after all. One who should not be here. Why should someone who has done nothing good with their life be here in this place?

Perhaps the Darkwalker is right. Take it all away, and who are you? What is left of you? Who are you if you cannot remember any goodness of you? If you cannot remember the connections you have made in this place? If you cannot remember the love of those back home?

Is it anything worth keeping? Is it anything that’s worth staying?

For some, it may be too much. Despair and disconnection are heavy things, and it may be too much. Perhaps they are nothing worth keeping, in the end. It may be enough to seek an end to themselves. Maybe it would be best to slip quietly into the Long Dark, after all.

It is a terrible trick, but it is one that can be broken. The Darkwalker’s hold has been broken before, and perhaps it can be broken again. Even if you do not remember yourself, the ones around you do. Leaning on those you are close to and talking with slowly pull the pieces of yourself back to you. The Darkwalker has power, but the testament of Interlopers is their persistence in this world, and that has power, too. Given enough time, and patience, and care — those around you may finally make you whole once more.

NO EXIT

WHEN: The month of November
WHERE: Everywhere...?
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced honesty; claustrophobic situations; nyctophobic/scotophobic situations; themes of peril; caves/possible cave-ins; themes of starvation/dehydration; themes of imprisonment

It starts with strange happenings at night, things left to be found by the next morning. Those within Lakeside many find themselves unsurprised You don’t remember falling asleep. You’re sure you were wide awake only seconds before, but when you open your eyes, confused and groggy, you are met with a strange kind of darkness. The kind that seems thick and endless, and you stare into it, trying to get your eyes to adjust but nothing seems to shift in your vision.

The air is stale, and there’s a scent of old, damp stone that clings to it. As you move around, trying to get your bearings, the room echoes oddly and it doesn’t take long to realise that you’re in some kind of cave atrium. And soon enough, someone else is waking up — you’re not alone in this place.

Moving around is difficult, and it’s best to use your body to try to navigate yourself. Testing the way out carefully with hands and feet. Maybe you have something on your by chance to help you light your way — a lighter, a pocket flashlight, matches. However, which way you try to feel out the atrium, you both soon come to the same conclusion: no matter how hard you try, there is no exit. No tunnel or passage out from the atrium, nothing.

You are both entirely trapped within this one space.

For a while, you sit in the atrium. Maybe you sit in silence, maybe you speak over what looks to be the inevitable: you’re doomed to die here, whether you suffocate or die of dehydration or starvation. You and your companion — familiar or strangers —

Out of nowhere, comes a scraping against the stone. You turn to find that on one of the walls, there is light — a ghost writing on the wall, carving into the stone to reveal letters that will glow dimly:

THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE

For some, this feels eerily familiar. Those who have been in the Northern Territories have dealt with something similar: a game of truths, a game of deadly consequences. There is no Jackal-headed being, no chains, no blood. This time, there is the truth or there is waiting to die. For others who aren’t familiar, it may take some working out. Maybe it’s best to talk, after all.

Opting for silence will find that nothing will change in the cave’s atrium. You will be left, waiting to die in the half-gloom. Strangely, speaking any lies will find that the cave will rumble ominously, and with enough — rock will begin fall down from above, almost as the place is slowly caving in. As if the stone itself knows if your words are truthful or not.

But as the words say, the truth will set you free. If you say enough, speak your truth, you will find yourselves noting a shift on the air — a crisp, freshness that drifts in from one direction. Heading through that way will bring you to a tunnel that had not been there before, and with it — you will find your exit, out into the wilds of Milton’s region.

LAST SUNSET OF THE YEAR

WHEN: Preparations throughout November; November 26th.
WHERE: Milton Community Hall
CONTENT WARNINGS: drinking/alcohol; mentions of survival situations relating to AMC's The Terror.

As November begins to draw to a close, the daylight hours grow shorter and shorter. From the start of the month, there is less than seven hours of daylight and that number becomes smaller and smaller as the month goes on. The world is darker and colder, and the long night draws nearer — when the sun will not rise, and the Northern Territories exist in total darkness, save for the spare hours of twilight.

For some, it is not the first time they’ve experienced the darkness of winter. For a select few, they have known the darkness only too well — the bitterness, the hopelessness, the hunger for the dawn. But even in the dark, there are sparks of light — the crackles of fires to fight off the night and cold, or in a more figurative sense… the spark of an idea, another way to fight off the night and cold.

As the day shrinks, the idea grows. There is little to be cheerful of in the Northern Territories. Interlopers are tormented endlessly in this place: supernatural beings, harsh weather, precarious food situations, nightmares, the Forest Talkers and whatever mysteries lie within the Aurora. Survival is a persistence, but people are exhausted. Francis Crozier, former Captain of HMS Terror knows this more than anyone. A veteran, and a survivor of an ill-fated expedition— he has seen what becomes of those with low morale, when the darkness seems so thick and endless. He has seen many horrors.

This time, though, it can be different. This is not his world. These are not starving and maddened men, women and children. It is not Carnivale.

Over the month of November, plans are made and slowly bear fruit. Help is wrangled from Interlopers where they can — food preparation, decorations, musicians. Interlopers are encouraged to add their personal touches, country, culture, customs, to all that they plan. The only thing that’s insisted upon is light, so much light: lanterns, candles, torches, mirrors, sculptures made of ice that catch the glimmer of the nearby fires. The evening will glow.

There isn’t so much a ‘dress code’, per say. But Interlopers are encouraged to dress up for the occasion. Maybe hunting around in the homes of former Milton residents may prove lucky — with some rather dated formal-wear that has remained forgotten in the back of closets. It’s vintage, is all.

On November 26th, there is less than an hour of daylight. The crowds gather to watch the sun set after it has barely risen before the festivities begin.

The food is simple and hearty, much like what can be found at Methuselah’s feasts. While pine wine has been brought along, hot tea is also available—both can keep the chill away. Crozier digs into his stores to share all, a promise to every person as they descend into darkness: no Interloper will go hungry this winter.

There’s dancing, of course, an area cleared and illuminated with torches. There’s an insistence on a party thrown in open air, no canvas to obscure the stars, though inside the Community Hall the warmth calls to those needing a break from the chill.

It is important to remember that the last sunset of the year is not the reminder of the darkness ahead, but the promise of the first sunrise of the next.

FAQs

STRANGERS


1. While the Darkwalker Ward Talismans anointed with Interloper blood (first created by Heartman earlier in the year) will help ward off the worst of the Darkwalker's influence, Interlopers will still find themselves vulnerable to this kind of influence — particularly if their spirits are low, or if they've found themself questioning themselves or their relationships around them as of late. Interlopers who do not have Talismans (this is a handwaved thing) will fall victim very easily to the Darkwalker's influence.

2. There are three ways players can play with this plot: they can go with a loss of self, the loss of game-cr or the loss of canon relationships/canon story. Players can go with whatever way they see fit. They can also go with the nuclear option of all three, or a mix of the three.

NO EXIT

1. The truths need to be meaningful in some way in order to secure freedom. 'Small truths' will not be enough.

2. Either both or one of the characters can speak their truth in order to free themselves from the cave.

LAST SUNSET OF THE YEAR

1. A big thank you to Gels for reaching out and helping with this prompt!

2. Characters will be able to find 'formal wear' of a sort within Milton. Bear in mind that a great deal of the fashion within Milton is dated, with a lot of the clothing being decades old that the original residents of Milton would have carefully kept safe. For a rough idea, nothing would be from anything later than the late-00's.

3. Players are free to write out any preparation threads as well as party threads! This could be outfit hunting; resource gathering for food, etc.; or making decorations for the Community Hall.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[gildedlife]

The answer is reassuring even if he has to ignore the tone; it's not that Raju did anything wrong, but James is in no mood for either sympathy or the possibility of any prying questions. And so, of course, he's about to be in an even worse mood than he already is.

But feeling relatively more confident now that whatever is going on seems to be unrelated to his health, James carefully stands up and starts trying to find one of the walls of the cave. Being in a cave isn't the best news in the world, but it also isn't terrible; if it were by choice, and he had a light, this could potentially even be fun. Unfortunately, that isn't the case, because of course not.

Though at least Raju seems to think there will be light soon enough, and James has no idea how he knows this but is about to ask when he continues with the part about talking about himself. James sure does love to talk about himself, but usually with a point to it, and usually only involving a very curated choice of stories and impressions; he's not sure though what that would have to do with getting out of a cave, and--

Oh, there is a light in the form of glowing words. Sure, why not, at least this is confirmation he can see, and it also sheds some light--pun dryly intended--on Raju's comment about talking about himself. Sort of.

"What is going on here?" His previous fear has shifted into irritation of his own, none too impressed with any of this nonsense.

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju stands up himself, though he doesn't move toward any of the walls. It isn't any less cold standing than sitting, but something about the stone makes the cold feel worse. "You won't find a way out," he says, the most important part first. "Not until we... share something. I don't know what. Truths about ourselves, I think."

He nods toward the words, hunching his shoulders and tightening his arms around himself. He lets out a breath just to see the cloud it makes, confirm the cold to himself, and grimaces at the sight of it. His gloves are with his outer things, damn it. Still hanging up at home next to the door. "There'll be a tunnel out when we've got it. But we won't get any more guidance than that there. I still can't figure out why, why any of this. But that's the way it worked last time."

[gildedlife]

This is ridiculous. Magic in the sense of what he'd seen Billy do--lighting the Forest Talker on fire--is one thing, as is waking up in this place after dying to begin with; the sort of nonsense Raju is describing is another. Being stuck in an inescapable cave until they share some sort of truth about themselves is absurd, but why would Raju be lying about this?

"Truths about ourselves? In what sense?" There are so many different levels of truth, and James is not about to jump to anything particularly personal if he could possibly get away with something relatively minor. He does have various mostly low-stakes things he would prefer not to admit but which wouldn't really be distressing, and he's likely to attempt them all before even considering sharing the much more personal secret he's be guarding so long.

As he asks, he draws a little closer toward the other man, moving carefully in the dark; the glowing words aren't that bright and although James' vision is much improved recently, it's still not great in low light, especially in his bad eye. But he does notice the cloud, and realizes Raju doesn't appear to be particularly dressed for the weather, which means they do have something of a time limit beyond the one already imposed by the potential of being trapped in a cave.

[load_aim_shoot]

"Nothing easy." He grimaces up toward where the ceiling must be, remembering the way it'd rumbled when he'd tried to spare himself with something easier. "Outside that I'm not sure if there's only one thing they want to hear from us, or if anything will do, but— probably nothing you'd say at a dinner party."

He tries a wry smile at Fitzjames, not sure if the light's bright enough for him to see it, and starts pacing, hoping it'll help him keep a little warmer. It could be worse, he reminds himself. He doesn't think he's in danger, it only feels terrible, but even after most of a year he isn't sure how much he really knows about being in the cold. It's hard to tell the difference between hating the cold and actually needing to be away from it.

He should have learned to tell, shouldn't he, living with a man like Francis for so long? Well, he must be alright. And when he isn't, he'll likely hate it enough that the uncooperative thing inside him will let him muster up some fire. It'll have to do.

"But I don't see any reason to start with the worst of it. Maybe work our way up." He pauses, still pacing, wondering— but he'll have to ask something. It might as well be something that's already on his mind. "When we woke, you thought you might be blind, didn't you? Why?"

[gildedlife]

Nothing you'd say at a dinner party. Great. Though of course James can and will say all sorts of things at a dinner party, he does get the implication here; it should be something more personal, less curated, more honest. A truth, as the writing says.

Dread is beginning to creep in, but his thoughts are similar to Raju's about working their way up. There are even a few things he would be loathe to admit--and could potentially cause actual problems at home should anyone find out--but for more practical reasons than any personal shame, and with any luck, one of those might be enough if something more simple isn't.

So he doesn't bother trying to avoid answering the question, the answer falling under things he'd prefer not to talk about, but more so because he doesn't want to think about them than because he doesn't want anyone to know. It's not really a secret, and so he doubts it will count for whatever sort of requirement--this still sounds like nonsense when he tries to consider the logic of it--they need to hit, but fine. Working their way up.

It takes a moment to decide how he wants to put this, and he is vaguely aware that he's curating and carefully presenting the information the way he wants to, which may be defeating the purpose. But he's going to do it anyway, and he gives a small nod at the first question, even though Raju might not actually be able to see it. "You're aware I didn't survive the expedition. It was... I died of scurvy."

Though that isn't actually true. Scurvy would have killed him, but it didn't, and he doesn't even truly know if it was scurvy or something else that caused the rapid decline of his last few hours. Not that it matters, because ultimately it wasn't illness or injury of any sort that actually ended his life, but that is not something he's willing to broach despite the situation.

The problem, of course, is that the lie--even though it's meant as background information before he intends to answer the actual question truthfully--is met with the ominous sound of moving stone, which immediately dissuades him from continuing just yet. That doesn't sound good, but was it coincidence?

"Did that happen before?" Last time Raju was in this ridiculous situation.

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju's looking up toward the noise, expression set in grim lines. A cloud of breath whirls around his face as he sighs. It doesn't feel... right, prying this way. A man should be allowed his... allowed to edit his own story. Why not? Fitzjames knows what'd actually happened, if he hadn't he wouldn't have gotten that warning, and Raju doesn't have the intimacy with him that Francis has, to have earned anything else. The pretence that Raju's intimacy with Francis hasn't earned him knowledge Fitzjames hasn't given — certainly not everything, maybe not even most of it in terms of day-to-day detail, but facts scattered along the outline of their time leading together, enough to share Francis' pain at the way that time had ended — is a necessary one, more respectful to Fitzjames, better for the both of them.

"Mhm," Raju answers with a sharp nod, then looks down from the ceiling that he can't see and over at Fitzjames. "It means you were... weren't telling the entire truth. Was there anything you didn't—"

The rumbling warning cuts Raju off, this time with the noise of a few pebbles tumbling down the walls. Raju can see a couple near those words, tiny and bouncing away against the stone. He doesn't try to finish the question he hadn't actually needed to ask. His heel jitters against the cave floor. Then he starts pacing again, strides a little quicker than before.

"There was something you left out," Raju says decisively. He waits a second after, but the power in this place seems to allow it. "About the way you died. The cave wants that, too."

[gildedlife]

The cave wants that, too.

Well, the cave can go jump in the frigid waters of the arctic as far as James is concerned, which he's also aware is an utterly ridiculous thing to think, but then again so it the idea that the cave could want anything. But again, Raju has no reason to lie, and James is trusting his experience in this.

But when the rumble comes again at Raju's almost-question, and he rephrases, James is suddenly suspicious. If the rumble is caused by lying, or even lying by omission, then what about Raju's question wouldn't have been entirely truthful itself? Is it just that, because he knows what causes that reaction, feigning otherwise is the issue, or is it perhaps that he knows James lied about his death because he's already aware of the truth?

So James is silent several seconds, only refraining from pacing himself because Raju is already doing so, before he finally decides to just ask. "Has Francis told you?"

He's not sure how he'll feel about it if he did, but that's problem to figure out later, depending on the answer.

[load_aim_shoot]

For a moment Raju doesn't say anything. Which is enough to tell Fitzjames the answer on its own, of course, but Raju owes him more than that. It's only that deciding whether to apologise for something someone else has done is so new, and Francis hadn't been betraying anyone's confidence, at the time.

"You were dead," Raju says after a moment, plainly. "He killed you. You were too dead at the time to care how he grieved."

He takes a moment to think over what he's just said, and grimaces a little. Hard not to study Fitzjames after saying something like that, but of course he sounds alive. He'd looked alive, the last time Raju could see him clearly.

It's a bizarre problem to have, but it's the one in front of them. More important than the ever present background of impossible, this entire place is impossible, though, is however Fitzjames feels about the real, intimate facts of his own death being taken out from his hands that way. Raju tries to study his face, but what light there is isn't bright or useful enough to tell.

"But he hasn't said much about the scurvy," Raju goes on, looking ahead of him again as he paces toward the walls that he can't see. "The effects. It seemed... cruel, to ask."

cw discussion of suicide

[gildedlife]

Although he'd already suspected enough to make the guess in the first place, and it hardly matters anyway if this situation would force him to tell the truth, it's still something of an unpleasant shock to have the confirmation. He doesn't blame Francis for talking about this, especially since he'd been here for some time before James arrived; it's entirely understandable that Francis would need to talk about things that happened, especially to a trusted friend. On some level, James is even glad that Francis has the opportunity to do so.

But at the same time, he feels a somewhat nauseating sense of... Resignation, perhaps. Just one more thing that has been so utterly out of his control, one more thing he's had no choice in, one more thing he just has to figure out a way to deal with.

"He didn't kill me." James finds himself saying, focusing on one thing he can perhaps do, which is to defend Francis in some way. He's not certain if that wording is exactly what Francis had used when describing what happened to Raju, but he thinks it's unlikely Raju would've put it that way if it weren't.

His tone is distant, controlled, as he continues; if he has nothing else, at least he can choose how he conducts himself. The darkness, which has been so terrifying for the first few minutes, is now welcome as it hides him while he speaks. "I asked him, because I couldn't do it myself. The scurvy would have killed me, but more slowly, and I didn't..." He didn't want to go through it, and so he'd made that horrible request of Francis, who had agreed despite the weight it would mean he has to carry. They'd spoken about it, during the meeting, and James believes Francis meant what he'd said about not regretting it, but that doesn't make it something easy to live with.

"The symptoms of scurvy are... Varied. But for me, one of the first things to occur was a worsening of my vision." It had been so early on, before anything more noticeable, that James had just though it was exhaustion causing his blurry vision; it had taken some time to make the connection even after he'd figured out he was unwell, and fortunately it was only really bad in one eye rather than both. But he doesn't think he needs to elaborate much further on this--and doesn't want to, because the horror of what had happened with his illness is an entire separate layer to what he's already had to speak of--as the answer to the initial question of Raju's likely now easy enough to infer.

And although there's no ominous rumbling of the cave system following his words, neither is there the sound of a passage opening.

[load_aim_shoot]

It's nothing he didn't already know, mostly, but Raju listens anyway, listens to the way that Fitzjames says it. After he has Raju's pacing slows as he looks around, waiting—

No. It was too much to hope for, wasn't it? But it'd hardly be decent to ask Fitzjames for more, not without offering something of his in return. He paces for a moment, thinking, but there isn't anything. Nothing like that. Or at least nothing he'd be willing to offer straightaway, without having to. "Turnabout's fair play, isn't it? It should be me next. Is there anything you'd want to know?"

[gildedlife]

It's a relief that Raju just sort of accepts that and moves on, letting James do the same, at least for now. But it also didn't accomplish anything, even if James is not completely sure what is supposed to happen.

And he really, truly isn't sure what to ask Raju when the opportunity is offered. He knows so little about the other man that he really doesn't know where to start; he could ask something very pointed, such as if there are any secrets Raju doesn't like to share, but if there are--and Raju were willing to volunteer such information, he probably would've just done it--and so James takes several seconds to consider.

Eventually, he settles on a question that might be less like direct prying, but still perhaps qualify for their situation.

"Is there anything that you often wish to do or say, but refrain from for whatever reason?" Any hard feelings he keeps to himself, any opinions he thinks he needs to hide from the rest of the Interlopers, or something else of the sort?

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju makes a surprised noise, not expecting any questions about things he does or doesn't want, and takes a moment to think about it. Want doesn't factor into the things he does or says anyway, does it? There's what needs to be done or said, and not much point in thinking about anything else. Still, there's got to be something.

"Aside from hunting Hickey down, you mean?" His tone says it's at least a little bit of a joke, but he means it. He wonders if the lack of shaking above them now confirms that, or if the power behind this cave understands jokes. "I suppose... I don't know. Questions about you, mostly. I've never seen Francis so excited as when he found out you were here. Did you loathe him too, when you first met?"

[gildedlife]

Hunting down Hickey is not something James can entirely endorse, but he also isn't judging. It would certainly eliminate a problem if such a thing happened, and James would not be surprised if someone--not necessarily Raju, but someone--might eventually go through with it.

Despite everything going on, James can't help but brighten a little at the mention of how happy Francis was upon James' arrival. Of course it's not as though James thought he wouldn't be pleased to see him, and Francis had also made that obvious enough directly, but it's still nice to hear from a third party.

"No, quite the opposite. I liked him a great deal at first, but it quickly became apparent that the sentiment was not returned." He says it with some humor, as although it had certainly hurt at the time to be so rejected--especially since he really didn't understand why Francis disliked him so much--they're far past that now. There's of course more to the story, as although James' comment might begin to imply that his own opinion of Francis had taken a decline after awhile, he doesn't think he should go into why; if he broaches the topic and ends up having to tell the truth about it, he might have to share things about Francis that he would prefer not to.

So he leaves the subject there, turning a question back toward Raju again. "And yourself? Did you and Francis get on right away?"

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju listens, fascinated even by that brief answer, then nods. "Mhm. Different circumstances, of course." He turns away to pace again, moving his hands out from under his arms long enough to try and rub something like warmth over them. This isn't so different from what he'd spent the majority of his time here wearing outside, isn't it? Save an outer layer or two? It doesn't have to be that terrible.

He focuses, turning his mind to comparing Francis now to what he knows of then. There's a certain way Francis speaks of himself the rare occasions that time in his life comes up. "And he's a different man now, I suppose. I haven't seen him with a cross word for anyone, save the obvious."

He considers his next question. Not personal enough to get them out of here, probably, but when else is he going to get the chance to ask whatever he likes? "Was he like that with everyone, then? His men too?"

[gildedlife]

James watches Raju return to pacing and rub his hands together, clearly still cold, and James sighs--more to himself and at the situation than anything else-- before shrugging off his greatcoat and holding it out toward Raju. He's wearing the thick, dark green sweater he'd stolen off a Forest Talker, and the cold of the cave is still far warmer than he'd gotten used to in the Arctic.

"Here. And before you protest, the coat makes very little difference to whether or not I feel the cold." Even when inside with a fire blazing he can still feel it, a phantom sensation that comes from within him, and he's reigned himself to the cold simply being a part of him now.

The question gives him pause, and he knows Raju is simply curious about his friend, but it's very difficult to answer questions about what had happened during the Expedition--particularly before the walkout--without touching on issues James doesn't feel are his to share. But he'd been asked directly, so he chooses his words carefully.

"There were very few of us that he held any fondness for." So yes, it was almost everyone. Poor Edward had gotten it especially badly, and hadn't had the luxury of retreating to a different ship the way James had; even after Francis had sobered up, during the walkout, there had been a time that Francis had been harsh enough with Edward that James had felt the need to step in.

But that point, as well as the fact that Raju had asked the question at all, makes James wonder about something himself. So despite his concerns about talking too much about Francis, he feels he should ask--

"You said you've never seen him take issue with anyone other than Mr. Hickey? So there have been no conflicts with the other men?"

[load_aim_shoot]

Fitzjames holds that long, thick coat out toward him and Raju turns toward him and stops pacing, frowns. It's all well and good when Raju's the one giving something warm away, but it's different the other way around. He's trying to think of a way to say so that would sound like it made sense out loud when Fitzjames goes on, and his reasoning is so strange that Raju doesn't have a choice but to take the coat any more, purely because he's got no idea how to refute... whatever that meant.

So as Fitzjames keeps talking Raju takes the thing, frowning at it and slowly putting it on. It'd almost be easier to not mind its use if it were less comfortable; thick and falling halfway down his calves, it covers nearly everything, and he shudders as the warmth of it settling over him starts fighting the chill.

"Not that I've seen, no." He shakes his head, pulling the coat across his chest and, after a guilty moment, beginning to button it. If he's stealing warmth from Fitzjames already, he may as well keep out as much of the damned cold as he can. "And nothing bad enough that he's mentioned it. There might have been something, but— during those weeks everyone was angry, it hardly counts. Is it that much of a surprise?"

But he has to ask, too, so on the heels of that he goes on: "And what do you mean, you don't feel the cold? You haven't been in this place long enough to be... touched by it, have you?"

[gildedlife]

He'd expected argument despite his attempt to avoid it, so it's a welcome surprise that Raju just takes the coat and begins putting it on. It's also welcome to hear that things have likely been going alright between Francis and the others, or at least as much as could be expected in a situation like this.

He's about to answer the first question when Raju continues, and James furrows his eyebrows a little in confusion at the last part of what he says. Touched by the cold? "What do you mean? Is that something that happens here?"

The cave rumbles a little at the avoidance of the previous questions, and James gives an exasperated sigh and continues before waiting for an answer. "No, it isn't that much of a surprise, but our situation had been so so dire that there are doubtlessly..." How to put this? "Doubtlessly grievances that may need aired, now that those involved are no longer focused solely on immediate survival."

And moving on, the answer to the other question is much more simple; even though he's still unsure of what exactly Raju means by being touched by the cold, James knows that isn't the case. "I do feel the cold. It's constant, and the coat does very little to help." Not nothing, especially in terms of preventing hypothermia when outside, but the temperature in the cave isn't dangerously low--at least not immediately--and he's going to be cold either way, so what does it matter?

[load_aim_shoot]

"I just meant..." He tries to find a better way to phrase it. It's still hard to speak about, the bizarre things that happen here, even if he knows they're true. "What I warned you about. The abilities that come in dreams. Some can... make fire. Or turn into animals. Some don't feel the cold."

Which obviously is the opposite of what Fitzjames had meant. Looking at him more isn't going to make the cave bright enough to spot anything, and he wouldn't see anything new in any case. But he looks anyway. "Is it the scurvy, you haven't recovered yet?" he asks, a little more urgently than he'd asked the more casual questions before. This is more important than how well or badly Francis gets on with anyone. "Or something like it? Are you not well?"

[gildedlife]

Oh. Well, he'd witnessed the former two abilities, but had yet to hear of the third, which sounds... Incredibly convenient. Though he also remembers Raju had said the powers came with drawbacks--or something like that, anyway--and so he wonders what that might be, and if it would outweigh the benefit of it.

The urgent hint to Raju's tone at his next questions earns an automatic, reflexive response. "It's nothing to be concerned with."

The rumble of the cavern is immediate, a few small stones clattering down from overhead, and James gives a sound of frustration. Fine, you gossip-loving cave system.

"I am... Much improved, from when I arrived. The scurvy seems to have resolved, and I'm beginning to heal once again." And, with that comment, he knows that either Raju will ask or the cave will throw a tantrum, so he cuts off both possibilities and begrudgingly clarifies. "I was shot several years ago, and scurvy causes wounds to reopen." And nothing can really be done about them until the scurvy has been taken care of. But now it has, and James has noticed the first signs that the three musketball holes have finally begun to heal.

[load_aim_shoot]

The man may not have been the picture of health when Raju had first met him and might not be it now, depending on how easy it is to see him once the two of them walk out of here, but if it's worse than it looks then Raju needs to know it, and this time the choice to hide being taken from Fitzjames is welcome. Raju watches him intently.

He nods. "Good. That's good. But— the cold? What about that? You don't mean just the cold of being here, do you?" That last question isn't really one. Francis, with all his travels, is more adjusted to the cold than Raju, and there's no reason to think Fitzjames shouldn't be the same. And the idea of constant, inescapable cold... it's how Raju had felt when he'd first come here, the way he feels much of the time now, but at least he can escape it once he's inside and the fire's been going long enough, and he's close enough to it. Is that what Fitzjames means? It doesn't sound much like it.

[gildedlife]

Even though he'd had to be truthful, and hadn't even really lied by omission, James had still purposefully left an inference to be made instead of spelling it out. And since it's utterly ridiculous that someone would be running around for months with open bullet wounds, he'd thought he might have a good chance of getting away with glossing over that detail, though of course it might all be for naught anyway depending on what other answers he has to give.

"I don't know." It's truthful, because he doesn't really know, but a soft rumble indicates that isn't enough and so he continues. "It's nothing so strange as might be possible here, but much like when one is feverish, and the chill one feels has little to do with their surroundings." But he's been that ill before--perhaps ironically, one of the last times he remembers being warm was when he had an incredibly high fever during the walkout--and it isn't quite the same.

Perhaps it's just something he's only imagining. Perhaps it's because he lost so much weight so quickly from both illness and starvation, or maybe the stress of everything had caused some sort of permanent shock. Or it's simply that he's indeed still healing and the open wounds have been slowly bleeding for months, not enough to be dangerous, but certainly enough to weaken him.

Ultimately, it's most likely a combination of these things, but James has utterly refused to really consider any of it. He can just deal with being cold all the time, as it's a small price to pay for being alive when he shouldn't be, and it's terrifying to think too much about anything regarding his health other than the small signs that it's improving. The trauma of what had happened isn't something he can truly face just yet.

The need to escape from the topic has come on quickly, prompting him to turn the conversation back around again, trying to move onto another subject even while still stalling revealing something he thinks might actually be enough to get them out of this situation. So he goes for the first thing he can think to ask.

"Where did you grow up? Was it somewhere warm?" It doesn't seem like Raju's much accustomed to the cold himself, although to be fair most people aren't to the extent required from this place.

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju is, in fact, wrapping his arms around his chest even as Fitzjames asks it. The coat is wonderful, so long as he doesn't think very hard about the fact that Fitzjames should be the one wearing it — he'll give it back at some point, they'll have to trade — but the gesture's a reflexive one. The cold is there, after all, even with a wonderful coat.

"Mhm." He smiles, faintly. "The summers could be... it must have been ninety degrees, sometimes. When I went north... I thought fifty was cold." He huffs, watching the cloud of it gather in front of his face. The air stings at his face; he misses the blanket he's used to wrapping around it now when he goes out. But there's nothing he can do about that now and more important things to worry about, like Francis' friend and his health. The talk of cold brings him back to it, as if he was going to forget.

"You need red meat," he declares decisively, without much of a pause between it and talking about Delhi's winters. It needs saying, and he was thinking about it. "Francis has traps. We'll start bringing what they catch, it'll help you keep warm."

[gildedlife]

Somewhere that it's warm all the time--if fifty is cold, and further north--is likely near the equator, but that's still far too broad an area to tell James too much. He's spent time in many countries that could be described with those temperatures, and so he's somewhat curious if he's visited the one that Raju lived in.

The comment about red meat, though, feels like a non sequitur and quickly draws his attention, at least for the moment. "Not that I mean to refuse such an offer, but why?"

[load_aim_shoot]

"The cold," Raju offers, seeming almost surprised. It's obvious, isn't it? Maybe it isn't something everyone knows, or pays much attention to. "The way you can't get warm, and your wounds. It'll build your strength up, get your blood flowing. The cold's coming from inside you, you said, and you've been ill, all that canned food at the Community Center won't be fresh enough to help much."

He thinks on it for a moment. That canned food is what he'd survived off of, before he'd moved in with Francis and learned the things he has. But it's been a while, hasn't it? And surely there was only so much of that in Milton to start with. "Is that what you've been eating? You aren't staying there, are you? I think Francis said something about a cabin."

[gildedlife]

Sadly, health education is lacking in just about all areas in James' time, and although blood loss is certainly understood, the link between the iron in red meat and its help with healing is not as much so. But he has learned from being here about vitamin C curing scurvy, and so as Raju explains, James is entirely willing to accept that maybe there's something about red meat specifically that will help.

So he nods, both understanding and agreeing, but then the questions continue and although he knows that Raju is just trying to help, there's something about this particular line of questioning that's prompting a jolt of defensiveness. It isn't the topic itself, exactly, but perhaps what feels like a critique of something so simple, something he should be entirely self-sufficient in and not need guidance or help with. He knows, somewhere, that this is illogical--this is not a normal situation, he's been incredibly unwell, acquiring meals is somewhat more complicated than he's used to--but that doesn't help; he needs to regain some semblance of control of his situation, and of his life in general, after it's been so out of his control for so long. But he still can't really do that, and especially not when he's stuck in this damn cave where he can't even choose not to answer a question.

He wants, suddenly, to lash out, to direct this sudden rush of so many mixed emotions toward Raju, who absolutely does not deserve them. But what good with that do? He'll still be in the exact same situation, and he'll have lost what semblance of control that he does still have.

So instead he bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that it hurts, giving himself a moment of distraction to collect his composure, aware that the obvious need to be doing so probably makes him look even more like a pathetic mess than he already does. But he can at least retain a little dignity by not acting on it.

Finally, he manages a short, to the point, but truthful answer. "I am living in a cabin near the center of town, yes. I haven't considered the Community Hall's stores." He's not sure, at this point, if he'd rather starve than eat something from a tin ever again. Hopefully he won't have to find out, and has been able to simply avoid either option. "Someone I met here has been bringing fish for me, and I've begun to learn foraging."

So he's figuring it out. He has this. It's fine, and it'll be especially fine once he's well enough to go hunting; he could probably do so now, but without being able to carry a kill back, there's no real point in the attempt.

But that answered, he quickly takes the opportunity to redirect. "How did you get by here, early on?"