even though it's a cruel world

[singmod]

JANUARY 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE HUNTED, PART ONE: Interlopers find themselves stalked and hunted by seemingly supernatural presence.

PROMPT TWO — TIES THAT BIND: Those little blinks of light noticed by Interlopers finally take form, showing Interlopers just how they're connected.

PROMPT THREE — WINTERSTILLE: A new winter storm hits, with a terrifying twist at the very heart of it.

THE HUNTED, PART ONE

WHEN: The month of January, continuing into February.
WHERE: Everywhere, but especially Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; hauntings; supernatural experiences; themes of hunting, being hunted/stalked by an animal; bear ‘attacks’.


Methuselah once warned an Interloper of the changing behaviours of animals within the Northern Territories. Perhaps this is something of this kind of instance, or… perhaps it is something else entirely.

There are old tales, some of which might be found within the Camp Office like Nor'pogo: folk stories about the area — and not just of Lakeside, but further afield. One is the story of The Old Bear, and those who tried to bring it down.

In the early days of inhabitation of the Northern Territories by European settlers, a gigantic bear had already long made its home in these wilds. It was said that the bear was incredibly long-lived and unusually aggressive. The settlers had angered it by cutting it off from its feeding grounds and chased it off from where it had once freely roamed, encroaching on its territory.

Incensed, the Old Bear began to hunt and kill the settlers — determined to win back its world. It was said, however, that their weapons were no match against the creature. It was as if nothing could ever truly bring it down. Firearms could barely affect it, and its thick hide was filled with old, broken arrows that had tried and failed to injure it.

Three hunters, determined to fight back against the bear’s attacks on the settlers, and bring the animal down for its pelt to hoard as a trophy, decided to pursue the bear. Thus began a bitter hunt that lasted months. They chased it down all over Lakeside and then to the east, up towards the muskeg that lay in the shadows of Timberwolf Mountain. It is said that they went out onto the muskeg, never to return — with Old Bear disappearing with them, too.

Perhaps the four of them all met their end, both men and bear. But something has begun to stalk the Northern Territories once again. Footprints can be found in the snow, tracks of a bear far larger than anything found in the natural world. Prints that smell like bear, but there's something off about them. Prints that disappear into nothing, as if a ghost walks through the silent, snowy wilds.

Out in the wilds of Lakeside and Milton, Interlopers will start to find themselves being watched. A distinct prickling at the back of their neck. In the distance, they will hear the heavy thuds of a large animal trekking through the snow, the low grumbles of an angry beast.

At first, they are distant enough that perhaps you might be able get away from the sounds without incident. Fleeing for the safety of the indoors, or creating enough distance for the sounds to fade into silence. Surely the creature will not follow you, especially indoors. And you’re right. The indoors will seem safe.

But over time, the sounds draw nearer. Near enough to make you think it's almost upon you. You turn to look to see where the creature might be, only to find nothing in the immediate vicinity. You cannot see what huge, hulking creature is heading towards you. The woods are still and silent as they always are, save for the animals you would usually find in this place.

Or worse, you suddenly feel the heavy huff of breath behind you: hot against your neck, snarling. A beast upon you, ready to devour you whole.

And then, as you turn. Nothing.

As the month goes on, these instances increase. Other times, you catch sight of it. A huge shadow from the rocks above, shining golden eyes in the dark and a wide snarl of teeth. A bear, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. Impossibly so. A mass of dark brown fur, broken arrow shafts protruding from its hide, watching you with a keen and ferocious intelligence — staring you down until suddenly, it is gone. Nothing but the shapes of rocks and foliage.

Sometimes, it leaps down at you. Charges at you.

Turn and run, and it will give chase — but you’ll find yourself simply running from the wind.

You are not just stalked, but haunted. Hunted.

TIES THAT BIND

WHEN: The month of January, into February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: red strings of fate; possible themes of co-dependency; shared empathy/telepathy; potential forced empathy/mood/emotion alternating/mental manipulation; supernaturally induced pain; forced feelings of sadness, low mood.

In the Quiet Apocalypse, Interlopers face the harsh and unforgiving climate of the Northern Territories alone. Or so they think. Interlopers are all connected to one another in some shape or form. At the start of the month, the strange flickers of light that Interlopers previously noticed will begin to form a little more solidly and can be seen appearing at their fingers. They are incredibly weak at first, but in time the Interlopers will find that some of these strings of light will become far more stronger in their appearance.

The strings are completely intangible. They cannot be touched, your fingers going right through them if you try. But Interlopers will find that these strings of light will eventually lead somewhere: to another Interloper.

Some may have heard of strings of fate, red strings that lead others to their romantic soulmates. These strings, however, are not limited exclusively to romantic soulmates and the strings can have far broader meanings. And they do not simply connect Interlopers to one another, but have abilities that come with them. Connections are powerful things, after all.

For those who crave connection or have particularly strong bonds with others, these strings may be incredibly influential on Interlopers, and these abilities may come very naturally, like breathing. For those who relish in the solitude, they may find their strings far weaker — although they may come to find they do not like this. That it disturbs them in some indescribable way. Others may note that their strings are frayed, they seem more fragile — noting a tense or strained relationship. This too will be something that Interlopers will find troubling or disturbing to them. It sounds like you might need to work on things to make things better.

There are four types of strings that will appear:

The Red String: This string represents close relationships of a positive nature but specifically romantic interests or lovers. Concentrating on these threads will bring a kind of intuition similar to that which is experienced by Interlopers who share the Moon Touched Feat. You speak a kind of secret language, almost like talking telepathically but not quite. You become fully in tune with one another, conveying meaning and understanding without uttering a word.

The Gold String This string represents close relationships of a positive nature, specifically friends, familial relationships, and comraderie. Interlopers will find that concentrating on this kind of thread shared with another will find themselves more in tune with one another's emotions, and know exactly what the other needs at any given moment. However, it may sometimes become difficult to identify who an emotion belongs to. Emotions can be passed to one another: one Interloper might be able to purposefully soothe another's anger, or raise another's spirits if they feel upset — for example.

The Black String: This string represents antagonistic relationships. Rivalries, enemies, or those you simply mistrust. However, concentrating on this kind of thread shared with another will bring pain to the Interlopers. Sometimes this might feel like an electric shock, other times it might feel like a slow, dreadful ache. After this initial pain, Interlopers will find that they are more prone to picking up the thoughts of the other person that they are connected to. This may be in the form of specific thoughts of what the person is thinking at that time, or it may be picking up the thoughts the other has had about the Interloper previously — possibly providing useful insight into the minds of those you dislike most.

The White String: Every Interloper will have one white string. It seems to lead towards the east, but Interlopers will find it very difficult to follow it and will not be able to follow it for long. At first, concentrating on this string will bring a sense of sadness, heaviness. But for some, they may even feel a sense of comfort, or the feeling of being uplifted.

Each string will give off some kind of impression of the Interloper it belongs to, something that comes to mind in terms of identification: a scent, a colour, a sensation, a food item. Whatever it is, it is something that is related to the Interloper the string belongs to. The white string will give off the impression of feeling alone, along with campfire smoke, blood, and the saltiness of tears. Underneath that, there’s something a little more subdued: warming winter-spice.

WINTERSTILLE

WHEN: 24th - 28th January.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: extreme weather; storms; blizzards; supernatural weather; themes of survival; possible character cold-related injuries; possible themes of peril; themes of weather-related horror; possible npc death; possible character death; possible animal death.


Those versed in reading the signs will note the approach, those who have learned to read the weather, nature itself, if they pay close enough attention: the shifts in pressure, the restlessness of the weather, how wildlife absconds. Something is off, something is coming. For the rest, Methuselah arrives into town. He is hurrying, as fast as his aged body can take him. The old man was right the first time when he came with warnings. Hopefully this time the Interlopers will heed him again.

‘Something is coming.’ he warns Interlopers, breathless. Methuselah is worried, even someone as long-lived as he. He has seen many storms, but something troubles him about this one. ‘A great storm. But, in the signs— something is wrong and it is coming much too quickly, I cannot say when it will arrive, but soon. We do not have much time to be ready.’

Interlopers will have only a day or so to prepare. To batten down the hatches, to gather supplies and hunker down. The Community Hall is a good place as any to gather in, and it makes sense to gather in there again to wait the storm. Many can go there, but others are free to wait it out in their own homes, with their select company.

Free Runners and Aurora Callers are invaluable in getting messages around the town and further out to those who live in Lakeside. As will those little strings of yours. It isn’t much time to get ready, especially if this might end up lasting several days, but some warning is better than none at all.

The skies darken and in comes a violent squall: snow thick and fast, winds roaring. Buildings creak and groan, as if they might tear themselves apart. Trees will come down, some buildings may not survive it. Day and night, the storm rages around. A complete white out.

And then, suddenly, in the early afternoon of the next day… it stops.

The snowfall ends. There is a strange whistling of the winds, and then it drops completely. Everything is still, silent.

The sky is clear. There is light, the precious few hours of daylight afforded to Interlopers at this time of year seems impossibly bright — no clouds can be seen in the sky. There is nothing but clear, pale blue.

But looking toward the skies will reveal a circle of clouds surrounding that clear, blue sky. Almost a perfect circle. The eye of the storm.

For those in the Community Hall, looking to venture outside, Methuselah will shake his head. No. — ‘I do not trust it.’

It’s slow at first. There's a strange sound in the air, something coming downwards. The highest trees and buildings are the first hit by it. They crack and shift ever-so slightly, freezing instantly. From the very top and moving downwards...

If you are outside, maybe you feel it in your bones: run.

The strange ice descends, freezing everything it touches, the strange white pattern crawling downwards. Run for cover, inside, out of the elements and into dry and warm shelter. Even inside, you'll notice it crawling downwards and towards you: white frosting over walls and furniture close to it. Everything crackles and groans as it freezes over— some unprotected windows will shatter, especially those of the long-abandoned cars still scattered around the town. Mugs and plates will shatter, even mirrors — potentially sending shards flying to unsuspecting Interlopers.

You'll need to move into the center of rooms, or close to lit fires and gather close. Keep the fires going. Keep the temperature high.

And hopefully the ice will not reach you.

This strange frozen stillness will last for the next twelve hours. You will be trapped, huddling, away from the edges of your shelters.

The silence ends. And then the storm returns, the howling winds and furious blizzards. The storm will rage on for another day until it finally fizzles out and the world becomes calm again. It will be safe to go out now.

There’ll be a lot of damage to the town due to the storm, and windows and doors will likely be frozen shut and difficult to open again, meaning it will take time for Interlopers to actually leave their places of safety. In the aftermath, Interlopers may find just how deadly that stillness was, how deadly that crawling ice: the bodies of the unfortunate, human and beasts alike, frozen on the spot — dead in an instant and left stuck there.

FAQs

THE HUNTED, PART ONE


1. Interlopers will be spared by any form of physical attack at this time. The attacks on Interlopers will only be instances of striking fear, and giving chase.

2. Other Interlopers who see a fellow Interloper running away from a chase will not see the bear chasing them. It'll look like they're just running from nothing.

3. While the bear will not come indoors, Interlopers will still note it stalking around outside, even scratching or thudding at doors or walls. These will appear completely untouched when later inspected.

TIES THAT BIND

1. Weaker or frayed strings will be less powerful, and Interlopers may feel compelled to rectify this as the sensation of having a frayed or fragile string will be unpleasant to bear.

2. It is even possible to have strings that are connected to people who are not present within the Northern Territories, including people who are in Interlopers' homeworlds. Interlopers may try to follow these strings, but will find that the strings will lead to nowhere — like looking for the end of the rainbow. You will not receive power benefits of these strings, only have an impression of who it belongs to.

3. You cannot see an Interloper's other strings, other than your own connection with you. However, you can see other Interloper's White Strings.

4. If a relationship isn't really black and white, a mixed-colour thread would be acceptable of a relationship that could shift either way or is more complicated in nature. There would be a more dominant colour of the two, however, and the abilities would be from the dominant colour.

5. Concentrating on a string gives off the impression of who it belongs to, you do not have to follow it.

WINTERSTILLE

1. Interlopers with the Cold Fusion Feat will be able be out during the storm at any point and be completely unaffected.

2. Interlopers with the Lightbringer and Moon Touched traits will prove valuable for providing warmth/heat when hiding from and waiting out the ice.

3. Players are welcome to either camp out in the Community Hall or within their homes!

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[sputnik]

[ Even the slight flame flickering awake like a living entity is enough to offer near-immediate relief. Konstantin turns his body towards it and fully unzips his coat so that it's like two pieces instead of one, so that he can nudge the flaps of it behind his sides, exposing the front of the thick black turtleneck he wears underneath. Standing there like that warming himself like some reptile, he keeps listening to her talk, head turned to follow her movements to the kitchen, thoughtful in a solemn way that he usually isn't, everything made more severe by the weight of it all.

There's a nod before he can even think to stop the gesture, something affirmed and agreed to — dating, relationships; for him they're under the same umbrella of a certain type of connection, of commitment, something that feels too final. An anchor (a rope, a noose, a string around his finger keeping him hooked to someone else no matter how far away he might try to run, and it might as well be around his neck, choking him out).

There's a lift of brows at the part about using fake names — that'd be a first for him, and he's equal parts amused and impressed as he looks her over again. ]

That's not a bad idea, actually. Using a different name. [ He smiles a little, showing teeth as his eyes briefly move down over exposed skin as she stretches. But there's something to it, to relating with someone over this, that makes it all a little better — like going over it with a friend, a buddy, and maybe it'll even improve her opinion of him in the process (Konstantin... it won't) ]

The only problem is, everyone knows who I am. I can't go anywhere without being recognised. [ A fact that never bothered him before. Not him, who loved the glory of it all, there was no shame in admitting to that fact. The glory was a part of it. The starry-eyed way he was looked at. He was adored. ...Now though, there's someone who looks at him with love, not just adoration, and it's—

—It's terrifying. ]

But I agree that an exit strategy is always a good thing. Sometimes I like to map out more than one. Plan A, Plan B.

[ He turns his body around to face Wynonna fully, eyes dipping briefly from her face to the drink she's offering to pour. For a moment there's a yearning, and a bad decision trying to shove its way through. He stares, and then he smiles again, swallowing down a joke about Russians and their love of drink. It doesn't matter. He can't. ]

None for me, actually. I can't drink alcohol anymore, with this.. condition. At least, I haven't found a way to without things going wrong.

[ The last time he'd tried, he'd ended up vomiting very violently all over Vasiliy's living room floor and the thing knocked him out in its upset. He's only just making a better impression on Wynonna (he thinks); he doesn't need to throw up an alien in her cabin. ]

Have a glass for me? You look like you could use two, anyway.

[pacificator]

[ Right. The cosmonaut thing. He's some kind of big celebrity back home, she guesses, which tracks with his toothpaste-ad smiles and overall air of prom king ego. ]

And here I thought the popular kids were the ones having all the fun.

[ She arches her eyebrows at him, then pours the other glass, too, before lifting it and clinking the two tumblers together in a sarcastic impression of a toast, lifting one to him. ]

To running the hell away, then.

[ Double-fisting hard liquor; just like the good old days. She keeps hold of both glasses, lifting one for a swallow as she furrows her brows at the Russian, trying to sift through the thoughts vibrating along the string into her head and her own. Many of them are much too similar for her liking, but that's not the only thing leaving her uneasy. There are times when the connection she has with Edward — everything he is, everything he is to her, everything she feels about him — feels like a chain, a shackle, instead of something glowing and fragile and breakable. She hadn't gone out to find Willa again, knowing he'd have followed her. She'd put his life and wellbeing over the prospect of finding her sister — however unlikely success with that attempt might be — and she'd made that call herself. If she is chained down, she's the one who turned the key and threw it away. It's not his fault.

She comes around the table, glasses in hand, and stands before the fire, watching as the flames lick hungrily at the fuel. ]

Even if I ran, he'd find me. And the thing that drives me crazy is that he wouldn't even blame me. He'd get it. He'd be nice about it. He'd probably offer to stay away, just to make things easier.

What am I supposed to do with a guy like that, huh?

[sputnik]

It's not always so easy being popular, you know, [ he teases, mostly, but without his usual mischievous glint to the eye and quirk to the mouth, like an inside joke he's sharing with himself. It all falls away as he watches her clink the glasses and take a hearty swallow, and she puts to voice the concept that's been there underneath everything.

'To running the hell away, then.'

Konstantin's insides tighten unpleasantly with guilt, and most of it is because he finds himself nodding to that toast without a second thought. Because even if he did it all over again, every single thing that's mattered in his life, he knows he'd make the same choices. He'd run away from what he needed to escape from. Who he needed to escape from.

And even now, he's here when he should be there, and all he can think is that he doesn't want to go back. That he dreads the thought enough for it to bother him, and he hates that. Vasya doesn't deserve that. The problem is himself, he's broken and selfish and afraid to be loved by anyone too much.

He stares over at Wynonna as she moves closer again, towards the fire with two drinks in hand. Once again, her words could be his own thought — Vasya wouldn't blame him for anything, because he never does. There's never been any resentment towards a person who's essentially been a burden on his life. There's been no fear of him, even for everything that's so wrong about him. Vasiliy has never been anything but open and willing and loyal to him. ]

....Hope that something else messes it up before you can, [ he finds himself saying, turning his head away from the smell of alcohol wafting nearer. God, he could use it. The thing hates that pungent smell, squirms in displeasure, and he gives it a quiet mental chastise. Konstantin isn't thinking about the fact it's only continuing to associate Wynonna's voice and scent with a particular upset... This will be fine. ]

And then hate yourself for being so goddamned selfish. At least, that's what I plan to do.

[ A faint smile as his eyes shift to the growing flames. ]

This Edward of yours sounds like a soft heart. People like that are scarier, I think. I never know how to hold them the safest way.

[ Like a child unable to gracefully cup something small in their hands. They squeeze a little too hard, break things. ]

[pacificator]

[ Hope that something else messes it up before you can.

Wynonna snorts, letting one hand lower to her side, the glass in her fingers nudging gently against her thigh, and lifts her eyebrows as she brings the other up for a swallow. If she plays her cards right, she'll be nicely toasted by the time she has to go back to the other cabin, and maybe it'll dull a little of everything she hasn't been able to escape feeling. ]

Coward. Mess it up yourself like a real man.

[ The words are mean, maybe, but there's a wryness to them that undercuts any real venom. And it's not like he can't hear her thoughts, how she knows it simply doesn't matter that she won't try to mess it up, to break this fragile thing she barely understands and which sometimes feels like the only shaky, unstable scaffolding she's got holding her up in this place that manages to be even worse than the Ghost River Triangle, which is really saying something—

Anyway. He's looking at the fire, and so is she, but she's not really seeing this fire, she's seeing a flickering combination of so many others: one she'd lit here, the day she and Edward stumbled in looking for any kind of safety; another that had kept them warm at the Lakeside cabin; a third that they'd built in desperation as the blizzard howled outside, before they even really knew each other at all.

So many of her memories of him are like that, tinged in the gentle smudged light of a fire's glow. If she closes her eyes, she could picture him on the couch in his old cabin, limned in firelight and achingly beautiful in a way she has no idea how to describe or even understand. It wasn't just the way he looked, it was everything she felt, and she feels it again now, sore and yearning. ]

He does have a soft heart.

[ It's absurd, is what it is. He's such a gentle soul, kind and reserved and shy, and absolutely no part of him is anything she's ever expected to want. Sometimes it makes her furious; he's so lame in so many ways, he'd ruin her rep if anyone from home ever came here, he's gentlemanly and polite and she still has no idea what it is he even sees in her. He's so soft-hearted it's stupid, and if anything or anyone hurt that too-tender heart of his she would eviscerate them without hesitation. Including herself. ]

It's a huge problem, honestly.

[sputnik]

[ Coward. It's such an unexpected, foreign word for someone like him — the antithesis of cowardice. He has a medal to prove it. (The medal means nothing here, and it meant nothing to Tatyana, who called him a coward for all the reasons tucked up under the heroic acts and the journeying to places so few men have ever been.) For a moment he could be back in that isolated room with her, feeling smaller than he ever remembered feeling, facing the subject of his worst guilts dug up by Tanya.

He misses her, now. He wishes she were here. He's looking into the fire again without really seeing it, because Aleksei and Vasiliy are two people in his mind and then they blur into one, and he wishes he could give them both to someone better.

He takes a breath against the sting up under his sternum — coward; she's teasing you, don't take it so fucking personal — and smiles again, lifting one brow and tipping his head forwards like he's making a toast of his own. ]

It's probably inevitable. [ That he'll mess it up himself. He can admit that, maybe needs to admit it, prepare himself for the thought, smile about it beforehand like maybe that'll make it hurt less when it happens.

Wynonna's thoughts keep leaking through, warm but not for him, warmed by fire and memories, and turmoil about this soft-hearted man of hers. It makes him think of Vasya, stoic and composed on the surface but so soft underneath, soft as those mink-brown eyes. Vasya, weeping against his chest for the loss of his parents and the weight of the things he'd done. ]

Ever thought about giving him up? [ He turns his head to look at her again. ] You know, like an act of mercy.

[ There's a mental image of putting some small animal out of its misery, a bird, a mouse. (For a dangerous moment, his thoughts leap right to Averchenko hooked up to a machine, kept alive. One act of mercy and he'd be freed. Konstantin failed to do even that much.) ]

Don't they say if you truly love something, you'll let it go? Something like that.

cw: reference to executions by firearm

[pacificator]

[ An act of mercy. The image that comes to mind, hard on the heels of the flash she gets of some man he must know helpless and and linked to a machine, isn't of Edward or even of the small, helpless animals he thinks about. No, it's Shorty: Shorty with tears in his eyes, trying to hold the demon inside at bay; Shorty watching her with trust and warmth along the barrel of Peacemaker even as the muzzle pressed to his forehead. Shorty saying they're wrong.... you're a good girl, Wynonna while tears streamed down her face.

And then it's Fish, his smile sweet and trembling as he looks up from holding the shaking, ruined body of his lover, so gentle even in the face of another death for them both. Fish telling her you'll be the one to break this curse, Wynonna like he believed it. Fish telling her he doesn't want to live knowing death is right around the corner at her hand. Levi a smoking wreck of himself, embracing a death with his lover rather than a life waiting for the Heir to gun them down.

Neither of those felt like mercy, but she has to believe she gave them a chance at peace. She has to.

(And if it were Edward, kneeling there in front of her, asking for the peace only she can give? What would she do then?)

Her lashes flutter and tiny muscles in her jaw and throat jump. Could she give him up, if she had to? Could she lose another person she cares about, on her own terms, and keep going?

She knows the answer is yes. She'd perfected the art of losing people years ago. But even with the fear that pushed her out of the cabin and away from him today, the thought of letting him go on purpose, pushing him away, meets with an almost visceral shove of stubbornness, a wall of I don't wanna. ]

I guess I must not truly love him, then. Mystery of the red string: solved.

[ Maybe Konstantin will understand this, too: the selfish desire to keep someone who probably shouldn't be hers in the first place. But she does want to keep him. She wants him to be hers. Just one person. Is that so much to ask?

She pours one of the glasses of liquor into the other, moody, and looks back over at him. ]

You got strapped into a giant rocket and went to space. You'd think something like this would be easier to deal with.

[sputnik]

[ At once, he finds himself taken aback by the lightning bolt images of thought and memory that come through to him — like flipping through a television set, lingering just long enough to catch a program, a face, a piece of dialogue exchanged. (A man staring up as Konstantin stares right back through Wynonna's wet eyes, and a gun pressed to his forehead, her finger against the trigger. Another man — two men, one burned almost beyond recognition of being a man at all, held by the other. Curse, that man says, uses that word, break the curse, and... just who is she?)

Konstantin jumps a little, like a shudder, just enough to rattle himself in a way he's not used to. The creature writhes unhappily again, and almost by instinct he steps a little away from her, tries to make it seem natural, like he's just adjusting his position by the fire. He clears his throat, one hand going up to the ledge of the mantel, fingers curling around it as he looks into the dancing flames. He doesn't like seeing people in pain; it shakes him in a weird, deep way. Maybe because of all his own guilts, all of the people who have suffered at his own hands.

Concentrating on the words voiced aloud and not the upsetting ones in their heads is no easier, but Wynonna's immediate pushback against the idea of letting the guy go makes him smile, not with humour but something wry and understanding and he's ducking his head a little as though to hide it.

Yeah. Yeah, he gets it. Maybe it is selfish. But is that so bad? Is it so wrong? If this is love, really truly is love, then does wanting to keep it no matter what cheapen anything? Lessen anything? Maybe some people are capable of that... sensitive type of softness, the kind that would give up something they wanted, that would let go. And maybe there's people like him, and her, because even though he may not flash a pair of fangs as sharply as Wynonna, maybe he hides his own beneath a bright smile, but he's just as vicious about what he wants. He'll fight for it. Dig in and hold on tight. You're the real monster, Tanya told him once. ]

...You know, I've always done whatever it took to get what I wanted. I mean that. I suppose some people may say that's relentless, or self-centered, and they're probably right. But we only have one life to live. We're here and then that's it.

[ He looks back up and over at her too, movements slow, because the thing's still agitated. It's warmed from the fire now, and he's stopped moving around, so its discomfort must be because of her. ...It should ultimately be fine! It's just not used to her! ]

So I think it's bullshit, actually. Giving something up as a mark of true love. And if it's going to be difficult either way, might as well choose the option that means you get what you want.

[ It's objectively selfish for him to be close to anyone that way at all. The thing's an unknown; it could kill Vasiliy any night. It could fucking kill him. All these months living under that man's roof, and Konstantin has known and worried about this, and still he hasn't left. Because he's already made his decision too, really, up under the fears and uncertainties about the shape of everything, how to label it. He's keeping what he wants. ]