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

Konstantin Veshnyakov 💫 Sputnik

[sputnik]

CLOSED STARTERS

💫 — PLOTTING POST

— Kieren Walker.

[sputnik]

[ It's during the scant periods of January daylight that Konstantin leaves the safety of the cabin sometimes, and heads out. Perhaps more than he should, considering his condition — and he's reminded of it in all the worst ways as the days become colder, as winter stretches on. The thing's no longer just in chronic discomfort by the environment around it, but actively in pain. The warm shelter of his body isn't enough when the wind whips cruel and stinging into his senses, when there's never enough hours of sunlight to warm the landscape at all.

It hurts, and he hurts, too.

But he's been reminded of something else, these days. The glint of so many strings seemingly attached to his fingertips, as delicate and yet unbreaking as spider's web, and each one.... a person. Konstantin figures that out quickly enough. These are people, people he knows. (And one that he's never met, but can recognise all the same. How could he not recognise his own child? This one hurts the most of all.)

....There is no escape in this place, not really, but he tries to find some. He heads towards town sometimes, to the library or store, seeking solitude and constantly aware that he can't have it. The threads keep him tethered, and his heart skips an unpleasant beat at the thought. There's more gold than he knows what to do with, even if most of them are dulled or frayed or flickering. Slowly, cautiously, he starts letting himself approach each one, picking through them piece by piece, flinching back if he starts feeling, hearing, knowing too much.

They're not all too much, though. Some are more gentle, quiet. (One is still and cool and feels like taking in a breath of fresh morning air. Something soft and sad ripples behind it. When he realises who it belongs to, he heads out to Basin Overlook one day when he's already in town, bundled up against the cold.)

It takes him a good while to trudge up to Kieren's cabin, half leaned over, one arm wrapped almost protectively around his middle. He's pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose to try and filter his breathing, keep the sharper hitches of cold out of his lungs and bloodstream and insides, keep the thing from feeling it. By the time he's reached the cabin, though, he's pale as a sheet and panting irregularly from pain that blossoms from the inside out. He slouches against the porch railing for a moment — at least he isn't throwing up blood onto it this time — before moving to the door to knock. He knows Kieren is in, because he'd followed the string, a gold that's bright enough to gleam, but is slightly frayed in parts. ]

cw: mention of self-harm scars

[burying]

[ It's all the gold that bothers him. Well, not— maybe 'bother' is a strong word. But it certainly makes him feel a flush of shame, in a way. He doesn't expect, doesn't deserve— and yet, there they are. Delicate glints of sunlight at his fingertips.

He leans on the ones that feel familiar, the ones from home. His parents, his sister and friend. Amy's feels whimsical, floral and the punchy kind of sweet that makes him think of something like citrus. Jem's is brash; gun metal and thrashing drums but there's something softer in amongst it all. Amy's thread feels distant to him. Jem's feels a little tenuous, but precious. It creates a dull ache— Kieren misses them terribly.

But there's other ones, too. Glints of gold that connect to people here. Some more gold, others are murkier or muddied. He flits between them, noting the feelings of them. Some feel bold and bright; another is string too tight; a third like a stomach ache— then one a soft low drone, just a soft, endless buzz of noise. Quiet, still, empty—

It somehow reminds him of a grave.

(And graves are filled with blood.)

He works by lamplight in the faint daylight; the fire is low — allowing enough warmth but conserving resources. He doesn't need the heat. His kitchen table is adorned with art work, portraits: ways to fill the long, endless hours. His sleeves pushed to the elbows as he works with charcoal, grey-pale fingers blackened as he sketches and blends. And then comes the knock at his door, and Kieren's lifting his head, eyebrows raised.

He pulls his sleeves down as he opens the door, hiding the sewn scars at his wrists. ]

Konstantin, I— [ Kieren's mouth opens and closes. Ah, shit— ] Hey, come in—

[ He... doesn't look great, and Kieren's ushering the man in, his brow furrowed with concern. He looks over his shoulder, to the fire. Probably not warm enough for the living, and he's quickly closing the door behind the man and moving to the fire to toss a couple of logs on the fire. ]

You okay?

[sputnik]

[ It's only by the grace of a few seconds that Konstantin remembers not to lean all his tired weight on the door so that he doesn't fall forwards when it opens. Hearing Kieren's footsteps approach on the other side, the man lifts himself back, leaning on the doorframe instead.

He tugs his scarf down to expose a smile as Kieren makes his appearance, though it's strained, and he doesn't waste time taking the boy up on the offer. Stumbling in, he heads over to the fire, grateful for the immediate warmth it offers, even if it's slight to begin with. ]

Thank you. I'm all right, just— it's cold out there.

[ All right, that's an understatement. He's not just cold, he's ill, nausea from pain making the back of his throat slick. Gently, he peels off his gloves and stuffs them into his jacket, which he then unzips the front of, letting the warm glow of the fire reach his abdomen a bit more directly. His unhappy passenger coils and uncoils fitfully, like a slippery fist clenching and unclenching inside of him. He gives a soft grunt of pain, hoping the warmth soothes it soon enough, running one hand over his lower jaw as he turns his head back to look at Kieren.

He's aware of the glint of gold that truly runs right to the boy's hand, eyes following it for a moment, wondering if Kieren can see it too. He doesn't know how to directly ask, hesitating as he takes an initial few moments to gather himself. ]

Sorry for the sudden intrusion. I hope I didn't interrupt you too badly.

[burying]

... Ah. Yeah, right. [ There's a smile that's a bit like a wince. Sorry, mate. He can't relate. Feeling the cold isn't something he has to worry about, but he's done well to keep himself relatively intact and avoid getting any cold injuries.

He wipes off his hands after he finishing fuelling the fire; they're still covered in charcoal. He busies himself with grabbing a damp cloth and starts cleaning them up his fingers. There's a brief pause: a thread of gold, bright but slightly frayed. The one that feels like a grave. Kieren swallows. ]

Uh, no. No, it's cool. Nothing important. Just— [ He doesn't finish, shrugging. You know how it is. Just doing something to pass the time. Even when there's plenty to do to keep surviving, even survival allows a certain amount of downtime. And Kieren finds if he keeps himself stationary, he's not burning through his energy and needing to eat less. And he likes drawing, so at least staying still means he can still do something he enjoys. ]

I've probably got some shit coffee lying around in a cupboard. [ There's a little pause as he shifts his weight from foot to foot before before offering a brief smile. He makes a gesture, offering the man to sit. ] I'll get you some.

[ Kieren's cupboards are empty, save for a few things. He'd donated most of it. At first, he'd keep them just to maintain appearances of being Very Normal and not someone who doesn't actually eat. But it's not exactly necessary, not now. At this stage, his kitchen cupboard are emergency supplied for others, or if he happens to have guests.

Not that he has them often. It doesn't bother him as much as maybe it should. Or— maybe it really should. He doesn't know. He won't dwell on it right now, moving to start boiling some water for it. ]

Yeah. Definitely shit.

[ Instant, and probably out of date. Beggars can't be choosers. ]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin glances sideways as Kieren wipes his fingers, turning his head that way to look down at them for a moment, the glint of gold — before his gaze sweeps to the art spread out on the kitchen table. There's a memory, and it was— about an entire year ago now, the first time he'd stumbled up to Kieren's cabin, in an even worse state than he is now. Helped in by the boy, he'd seen art spread out just like this. Strange to think that so much time has passed. He'd been so sure that he'd find escape from this place, and now....

'Nothing important', Kieren says, and Konstantin wonders if he really thinks that way about his art. He supposes he already knows the answer. (The string that comes from Kieren's slender finger and joins to his own is weighted with a soft sadness, a quiet ache, and Konstantin knows how the boy sees himself.) ]

Oh— that would be nice, thank you.

[ To the coffee — which will help warm things up but he'll simultaneously have to be careful of, considering his little passenger is already in so much turmoil. Konstantin's jaw works in thought for a moment before he voices it though a strained exhale. ]

Don't worry about boiling it too long. Lukewarm is fine, something mild. I'm not— We're not doing so well. [ He winces slightly, looking briefly down at himself in gesture. He doesn't like bringing it up at all, but Kieren knows about his situation, and it's... better to keep people in the loop about his status. He's trying to remember that, to make more of an effort about it. ]

The cold's made things a lot worse. Winter's difficult. [ He sighs through his nostrils, carefully. ]

But how are you holding up, out here? It's been awhile.

[burying]

[ Kieren nods, even if his brow does pinch with concern. Not too hot, got it. It won't take long, then. He only portions out enough water for one person. He won't need any for himself. He'll keep an eye on it. If it starts getting too hot, he can always add some more cold water to it.

He keeps close to the fire, gesturing for the man to sit. Kieren doesn't mind where, if he wants to be close to the fire too, or take a seat at the kitchen table instead.

It's weird, considering Kieren's actually.... seen the thing. Outside. In the cold. He opens his mouth to speak, but he's cut off by the question directed at him. Oh., well— ]

I'm okay. [ Bit of a cop-out answer, and there's a shrug. ] I'm just— y'know. Chugging along, I guess.

[ That's just him. Chugging along. Helps out carrying stuff around for people in town: firewood, supplies. Spends his days inside. It's quiet, almost peaceful. He misses Eddie a lot. ]

I prefer keeping my head down, for— well, the whole zombie thing. It's not Halloween every day. [ There's a little wry smile. Yes, he knows Chloe's party was a bold choice. He inhales, his smile twisting a little as he nods towards Konstantin. ]

What about you, though? How is it— worse?

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin glances from the kitchen table to the fire again, trying to gauge things for a moment. Not having any access to the creature's "thoughts" in this place makes it so much more difficult; he can only look to its behaviour to try and figure things out. The fire's growing a bit, warming his body and thus warming it, but he can still feel the thing moving around, pained and restless. Best to stick to the safe side, for now.

So he moves to sit as close to the fire as he can, body faced that way as he tilts his head over to watch Kieren. There's a soft smile of his own in response to that — he'd seen Kieren's natural state for himself, back at that party. He hadn't had a chance to say hi to him then, he'd been keeping pretty low himself, but he hadn't forgotten. It seems like a big thing, for the kid who'd referred to himself as a monster. Publicly showing up that way. ]

It's in a lot more pain, these days. I don't think it does well with Earth's atmosphere, in general. Much less this kind of environment. [ Konstantin sighs too, brushes a hand up over his face for a moment and then back through grey-flecked hair. This place is, of course, always cold, but winter's been a hell of a lot worse. ]

It hurts me, too. Moving around the way it's been. [ He winces again; it's not a pretty mental image. It's disgusting, thinking about some slimy creature squirming around in his guts. He's carried this thing for over a year now; his body's not coping well with its long-term occupant. ]

I probably shouldn't be up and around so much— had to step inside somewhere. It's a good thing you were home. [ A quiet smile, but something else lingers behind it, something slightly hesitant. It wasn't just chance that he came here. He followed that thread. He sought Kieren out. Why is it so hard to tell him that? Why is it so hard to look at the fact that on some level he's frightened to understand too much, he cares about this quiet young man with the mournful eyes more than he ever cared about his own son?

(That's exactly why. He glances back down to the few black-ish threads amongst the others. Aleksei's is pitch-dark, like a starless sky. A void. There's nothing, and Konstantin almost can't bear it.) ]

....This might sound crazy, but I knew you'd be home, actually. Do you— [ He carefully lifts a hand, one finger, the string between them drawing a little more taut. ] —Do you see these, too?

[burying]

[ It makes sense, really. Going bare-faced for a Halloween. Au natural-e, as Amy would call it. It's supposed to be the one day of the year where the monsters are accepted. And well— not like it's really a big secret anymore, anyway. ]

I guess it didn't really think things through— choosing someone from Earth to end up in. It's a bit... War of the Worlds, really. [ Aliens finding this planet toxic to be on. Kieren's face twists into a sympathetic wince. It's a shit situation to be in, in all honesty. ] Although... isn't space really cold, anyways?

[ How was it even surviving out there all that time? And... yeah, the idea of it is... admittedly pretty gross. But Kieren's polite enough not to really comment on it and— well— he's not really got a leg to stand on when it comes to being something gross. His body's barely alive. No blood pumps through his veins. He's a walking sack of meat, really, when he thinks about it. His body doesn't fit him the way it used to, the way it's supposed to.

It's hard to judge how how the water is. It's not boiling, but there's certainly a bit of a bubble going on. He think it'll be enough. He's quiet as he moves the water off from the flames and sets about making a mug of coffee. It's... definitely shit, like Kieren says. But it'll be warm, at least, and Kieren hands the mug over with another little wince, the tiniest smiles at his lips. ]

I can add cold water, if you need it. I'm not... really the greatest at gauging temperature. [ He lowers himself to sit, a bit of a lumbering task of manoeuvring limbs. Kieren pauses, fingers shifting to one of his eyes, adjusting his contact lens. ] Ah, home most days. If you need a break from out there, it's cool to drop by.

[ I knew you'd be home, actually. Kieren pauses at that, eyebrows raised. His lips part and he's frozen for a long moment— ah. Right, yeah. He ducks his head, raising one grey-pale hand to the golden string attached to one of his fingers. Yeah. That one. The one that feels so still. ]

Yeah, I— I guess they're a whole thing, right now. [ He can only see one at Konstantin's fingers, but Kieren's got a whole collection at his fingers. ] You've got... loads, right? I can only see one there, but— well, I've got more on my fingers.

— Wynonna Earp.

[sputnik]

[ It all happens very suddenly, and it's enough to keep his mind off of things — the storm, the move to the Community Center. He and Vasiliy occupy a corner of their own, and then one of the smaller rooms as needed, where they can keep the animals out of people's hair.

It's a lot of work. And though he can barely keep up with it — he's so ill these days, and trying with all of his might not to think about the bag of human blood that Vasiliy asked that boar for, trying not to think about how it would stabilise him again, make things hurt less, make his body feel like his again for just a little while — Konstantin finds a certain reprieve in the frenzy of it all. It's easier to ignore all those glinting things at the tips of his fingers.

But then the windows and doors are locked shut and secured, and the waiting comes, and it's almost unbearable. There's not much to keep him distracted anymore, and he starts picking apart some of those threads like a wound he can't stop touching, feeling out who they belong to, cautious, and then flinching back too fast. He's never been claustrophobic — he was perfectly at home in a small, small place, drifting out further than most can ever dream of — but this makes him feel like he's somewhere too tight and he can barely breathe.

When the silence happens, and some people poke their heads out, and chatter drifts, thoughts of going out there, Konstantin does. Against any warning, unconcerned with consequence.

He has to get away. Just for a little. Just for a moment.

It's too bright out here, too beautiful, and the hairs at the back of his neck prickle with some awareness that something isn't right. But he keeps moving, not too far, just— away. Hands shoved into his coat pockets, head dipped down, it's completely still and silent out here right now, and he thinks he's alone. It's exactly how he wants to be.

His gait and breathing slows, but his thoughts run wild. Most of them center around one concept: escape. It's always been what he's best at.

He doesn't notice the dull black thread, the one that's some shade of grey, ripple with movement. Eventually he comes to a halt there in the center of the deserted town, and just stands there, breathing. He doesn't know where to go. ]

[pacificator]

[ It's not like things have been bad, riding out the storm with Little and Kate and Irving. The two men are polite and they give her space, and Kate's still clearly reeling from her first brush with teenage heartbreak, which has been a useful distraction from all the confused adult feelings flying around the place. And if she's being honest, she hadn't really wanted to let Little too far out of her sight after... after everything. She still feels sore and bruised all over from that night, the one where she ran out into the wilderness and tried to force it to bring her back. He was a lifeline then. He still is, with the fresh guilt and heartbreak that keeps swelling to the surface, trying to drag her under.

But she'd been right, with what she'd been trying to say to March. None of this is simple, and she wants to run from it... and him... as much as she wants to cling to it. She's never felt more vulnerable.

And it's not just the red string that leads to him, either; it's all these gold ones. Where she would have expected a nest of black threads, her hands are instead full of gleaming gold: some more faded and frayed than the rest, but unmistakably glowing and golden, each one leading to a friend, an ally, a companion. Before this place, she could count the numbers she had of each of those things on one hand. Now they spill from her fingertips like a bucket of yarn someone's tipped over, and it's... it's too much.

She just needs some air.

It must have shown on her face — actually, it must have been telegraphing through that string — because she'd actually managed to convince Edward that she'd be just fine for the hour or so it'll take her to go back to her own cabin and grab some changes of clothes while the eye of the storm passes uneasily overhead. She doesn't like it — it plucks at the back of her neck; the place is too quiet, too motionless — but the alternative is staying in the cabin and almost definitely fucking something there up beyond repair when she inevitably tries to run later on.

She just needs a break. Just a short one.

She takes the long way around, heading down the main street of the town — but that turns out to be a mistake when another string, that black one that zapped her early on, shifts and tugs at her. She looks up, right before her expression flattens into aggravation.

Great. This fucking guy. ]

Haven't you heard? Storm's coming. You should probably get back inside.

[sputnik]

[ He thinks he hears something before he actually sees her — a thought, or the echoes of one. After his own initial shock (sharp and sudden and very unpleasantly reminding him of one or two of the tests done back at the research facility) he hadn't dared touch upon that grey-black thread again, but now....

Konstantin, realising who the tether belongs to, can't help his mind from brushing its fingers across it, only to startle a little when he realises he can hear Wynonna speaking — not the initial, unhappy response to see him, but something else. His own thoughts spill out his uncertainty before the rest of him can — What's she doing out here? — and then he finds himself frowning.

Why's his thread with Wynonna dark? What is— What does that mean? It's even different from Aleksei's, which is just... empty, black and empty. This one's dark grey, like something that could be found under a damp log.

Disgusting, his mind whispers again. You're disgusting. ]

I should say the same to you.

[ He manages a thin smile, not able to pretend even half as much as he usually can. ]

Heading to the Community Center?

[pacificator]

[ Their eyes meet and it's a weird sort of vertigo for a second, both like and as different as possible as the moment she and Little caught sight of each other out in the snow, under the blanket of night. Some connection slides into place, and for a second she thinks she hears him say... something totally different.

You're disgusting.

She blinks and gives her head a shake, like a dog with a bug at its ear, and narrows her eyes thoughtfully at him. ]

No. Back to my cabin.

[ There's a sharp swell of something like guilt for a second, and she gives herself a hard internal glare. It's just for a little while. I'm going back. ]

Just to pick up a few things.

[ She sucks at her teeth for a second, hands sliding around her hips to slip into the back pockets of her jeans. One the one hand, she can't stand this guy, and the last thing she wants to do is to sit here and make small talk with him. On the other hand, the longer she stretches out this conversation, the more time before she has to head back. ]

What about you? Just getting some air?

[sputnik]

[ She squints at him, and he swears he hears, or feels, something else. Words, but not spoken, more like his own thoughts, like something coming from inside.

The mere concept of that is some knee-jerk horror — he's grown used to not having access to the creature's "thoughts", if they could have ever been called that. He doesn't like much the idea of anything getting into him even more than it already has. Here, at least, his mind has stayed his own.

Stop, he thinks, unsure exactly who it's directed to, but the words that come through are also something he could be thinking to himself anyway, and with just as much guilt behind them — 'It's just for a little while. I'm going back.'

It's not that he wants to run away from Vasya, specifically. Even now he misses him already; they've grown into each other, like roots under the soil, and not having him in plain view is an uneasiness, a coldness. I'm going back. It's just for a little while. ]

What? [ He blinks back into the conversation, looking disoriented. Wynonna always makes him uneasy in a very particular, very unfamiliar, very unwelcomed way, but something's different. Worse. Still, it's a distraction, even if something's very strange, and he turns to face her fully. ]

Oh. Yes. [ "Just getting some air" sounds a lot nicer than all the parts of the truth beneath it. But after a moment, something in his mind sighs quietly and he continues. ]

Had to get out of there for a while. Feeling claustrophobic.

You're staying with someone else?

[pacificator]

Yeah, I tried staying there during the storm last year. You couldn't pay me to get snowed in with all those people again.

[ Claustrophobic is a good word for it, but that's not really the words that come sifting into her head, making her rub at her temple like there's some way to mitigate the itch of them. ]

I'm at the cabin where Kate Marsh lives with John Irving and Edward Little. You know them?

[ She wouldn't be surprised. Most people here know Kate and Little, even if they haven't gotten too acquainted with Irving, yet.

A different name flits through her head — Vasya. It's not one she knows, but everything that comes connected to it is all too familiar, blending into her own. It's not like she wants to leave Little, it's not him that's the problem. It's her, it's always her, she's always the problem and the thing is she's got no reason to think she won't break this one good thing, this one good man, like she's broken everything and everyone else in her life, except Waverly.

(Always, always except Waverly. She's the only possible exception. And maybe someone might say Edward could be an exception, too, that just because her hands are bad at holding something delicate and precious without shattering it doesn't mean she'll shatter this.

To that person, she would say: but you don't know me.)

Even now, she's torn: wanting distance and simultaneously wanting him in line of sight, within arm's reach, at all times. This is all too new, it's too fragile, she wants it too much... what the hell is she thinking? ]

[sputnik]

[ Funnily enough, the names don't register much, and it probably shows in his face first, no real recognition sparking in the dark of his eyes. He's probably heard of Kate before, but none of them elicit any real reaction. He still barely knows half the people in this place. He told himself it was necessary, safer for everyone that way, and maybe there's some truth to that. But the deeper truth is that ever since he showed up here, bleeding all over the snow, he'd been planning escape.

Escape's easier when you don't know the names and faces of the people around you. And now he feels too many people, these threads keeping him anchored, bound. Their emotions and feelings and— whatever the hell's happening to him in Wynonna's proximity. His eyes drop to that monochrome thread for a moment before he looks back up, expression serious, a little searching. ]

I don't know them, no.

[ He keeps getting snippets of what's in her head, and he begins to realise that now. Little. Edward. That's the one that sticks out the most. And— Breaking everything you touch, wanting distance and wanting closeness and both wants existing like opposite ends of a magnet, two unlike charges doomed to ricochet off one another. There is no right choice when you're the goddamned problem. No one who's ever been close to him has had a happy ending.

Whose thoughts are these? They're his, only they're also not. Konstantin keeps staring at her, and there's a kneejerk urge to take a step back, put distance between himself and this too, only.... only he doesn't have anywhere else to go right now, in this moment where he really needs to get away. And the blips of her thoughts keep him occupied, maybe, not exactly welcomed, but it's a static that's a lot better than being left alone with his thoughts.

Abruptly— ]

Do you want to get a drink somewhere?

[ He can't actually drink alcohol, and the whole town's quiet and still, but there's places to go and sit and drink something. ....He'd even follow her back to her cabin if she insists on going there instead, or he'd try to, anyway. He's aware Wynonna dislikes his company at least a little (.....a lot, Kostya), but that's never stopped him from nudging his way into her peripheral anyway. He can pretend for a little while that he doesn't know she looked at him like he was something unpleasant to be found under a rock.

What he lets go unspoken are the waves of his own thought, not intentionally broadcast to her but just that — I can't go back. Not yet. Not now.

Need to get away ]

[pacificator]

[ It should be the easiest, quickest no in the world. He's the kind of guy she would've enjoyed hustling back at Shorty's, putting her tab on his card and cash and disappearing before it was deep enough into the night for him to start patting his pockets for a hotel room key. She even opens her mouth to say it, before shutting it again, abrupt.

There's no right choice when you're the problem. Things she can't stop thinking — there's no happy ending here for her, and not for Edward, either, if he sticks with her, which he will because he's the most loyal man she's ever met, she'll have to run him off like a dog if she wants to break this connection, fling rocks and sticks at him and yell at him to go away while she hopes he doesn't see that the thing she hates about this could never be him, it's always only her —

And that buzzing, circling thought that she can hear in his Russian and her own English, the two languages merging easily and without any sign that neither of them should be able to understand each other (she understands him all too well; not like Edward, who right now feels like an extension of herself and vice versa, but like looking into a slightly warped mirror) and saying one thing over and over again: I can't go back. I need to get away.

I need to escape.

She presses her lips together, then breathes out in an aggravated puff through her nose, nostrils flaring, before she jerks her head toward the path that leads out of town. ]

No place around here to drink, so you may as well tag along with me.

[ God, they really need a saloon. ]

— Louis de Pointe du Lac.

[sputnik]

There isn't much warning. They do what they can for the farm, for their home — but there's more to be done in town. They'll be staying at the Community Center, he and Vasiliy, and Konstantin spends a good few hours pitching in there to help fortify the place, though his condition is even worse these days, and the labour leaves him weak, ill.

He's already in a lot of pain when he realises he's close to one of those black threads, that its pull is more taut than the others. Konstantin hasn't let himself pick apart those strands too much, look at them too closely. His mind brushes so tentatively against this one and— it hurts suddenly, a sharp shock that jolts through him. He gasps a little, and the thing squirms uncomfortably inside of him.

He doesn't want to know more. But now that he's let himself feel pain from it, something opens up and he understands who's on the other end of it. It's an odd realisation — and the thread isn't quite black, more a dull grey, frayed and flickering. He doesn't know what it means. He only knows Louis is close.

Konstantin hasn't spoken to him in a very long time. There are things better left unsaid, and he's always at his best when he's escaping.

But he shuffles that way now, slow and careful in the darkness of these mostly sunless days, realising the tether's leading towards the general store. He couldn't say why he does it, exactly, except he knows one of these black strings leads to Aleksei, and he thinks maybe they represent the people he's wronged. He can't do anything for his son.

But—

"Louis?"

Konstantin calls as he steps up to the place and pokes his head around a corner to find the other man working on boarding up the place, getting it ready for the impending storm. The black string is stretched only a few feet between them now.

Re: — Louis de Pointe du Lac.

[flambeaux]

Louis has been feeling and ignoring this unease for a while. There's too much to do. Being from New Orleans, he knows well the danger of a storm. The rain simply goes sideways, and the wind lifts roofs off houses.

Then there is this insistent pull directed from Konstantin, and Louis well remembers the worm and the sun and the convulsions he witnessed. If Louis brought it up, he'd have to explain himself, so he never did.

Now he looks up from his work at him, half surprised, half guarded. His green eyes are alert as ever, but he's looking a little peaked, and the whites of his eyes are too bright. He's hungry, he should feed soon, and only blood can satisfy.

"Need somethin', Konstantin?" he asks warily. Before a storm, the grocery gets quite busy.

[sputnik]

Louis doesn't look like how he had that time before — skin raw and burning, leaking pain, eyes flashing acerbic and deadly when Konstantin had drawn too close. But he's still... strange and a little uncomfortable to look at, with those green green eyes and something so tense and tight in him. Konstantin remembers the sharp curves of his canines, bared at him. Different from the countless rows of tiny needles that circle the creature's mouth like some kind of lamprey, but still reminiscent of the word predator.

He keeps a distance, keeps those few feet, but he's still closer than he probably should be. He's never been afraid of danger the way most people should, though. Maybe he's always sought it out, enjoyed the thrill, enjoyed the surge of life that comes after a narrow escape, a brush with something man was never meant to brush against. He of all people knows what happens when that brush is too close.

....And yet even now, he's not afraid of the cosmos. Even now, he'd go back up there, knowing what wet horrible things exist. There's no denying that he loves glory, functions at his best when it's involved, but beneath all of that is the simple fact that Konstantin feels most alive when he knows a situation's not safe enough to ever become a permanent thing, a thing to fall into complacency to. It's probably fucked up. He's more at home around monsters.

"No— nothing from the store. We have enough," he answers, fingers brushing against the black thread at his side. How the fuck does he explain? Or ask about this? He's not sure what the rules are.

"....Do you see this, too?" He decides to just go for it, lifting his hand, and then breathes out a soft laugh, coping mechanisms always at play. "If not, it wouldn't be the first time I thought I was insane."

[flambeaux]

Louis stares at him as if he is indeed insane. But he's more surprised that he even asked that question outright. It's almost obscene. Louis is so used to keeping up appearances. Louis tends towards self-preservation out of habit, even if he has contemplated throwing himself into danger or simply throwing his life away. This is part of why his outbursts of bravery (or foolishness) are so surprising.

"Yes," he finally admits, quietly, as if there are eavesdroppers who would care. (Lestat might.) "Care to explain yourself?"

Because of course this couldn't possibly be Louis's fault. Surely this is another of Konstantin's weird tics, like the worm. That goddamn worm! What the hell was that? How does he even begin to ask about that?

[sputnik]

Touching directly upon the subject of these tethers has been unthinkable. It goes against everything in him, whether that's innate or behaviours learned by necessity; the distinction hardly matters, now. Self-preservation is always the most important. And addressing something too-raw, too-real, too-unknown is... like willingly opening up his own chest and exposing what beats inside.

But the string connecting him to this man isn't like most of the others. It's more like the one he has with his son, and... he needs to know why. There's something there. Something that wills Konstantin to push through his own need to hide.

It's clear Louis is less than thrilled by the question, though his own reply has the other man looking visibly startled.

"I don't know what caused this," he quickly shakes his head, mindful not to move his hand too much, or else it'll pull right back against Louis's. "I was hoping you might."

Be able to provide some kind of insight. Something. Konstantin lowers his voice to the same volume as the other man's, conspiratorial. "Do you have other ones, too? Other....colours?"

[flambeaux]

Wrong question. Louis purses his lips and clams up. His bright eyes flash in annoyance.

"If I did, would I be tellin' you that? Reveal the number and nature of connections to myself? You must be out of your mind." He shakes his head incredulously. He's already a target for being a vampire; is he really going to tell a worm man more of his secrets?

"So... you can't see any but your own. What do the colors mean? Grayish, black, red, gold, white...?"

Louis suspects the red one leads to Lestat. Lestat is in that approximate direction. Is it red because they're vampires who drink blood or because they're in love? Louis is glad Konstantin can't see this one. If it were spotted by everyone while Louis was talking to Lestat...

[sputnik]

The reaction is freshly jarring, irritation flashing dangerous in those green eyes. It's all so different from his first meeting with this man, both of them all smiles and easy conversation. He remembers stepping aside briefly to bring Louis and Vasiliy both a drink, and returning to find them chatting happily with one another.

Now— well, now, Louis seems like he wants nothing more than to be rid of this conversation as quickly as possible. Konstantin's brave, but he's not stupid (...mostly). This man is something else, something other, he knows that now, even if he doesn't know what. He lifts a hand, hoping to seem placating.

"Look— I'm not trying to find out anything too personal. I just want to know if I'm the only one who has... all of these." He lifts his hand higher as though in gesture, even if it seems other people really can't see the majority of them. But he supposes his question is answered, more or less, as Louis lists off those other colours. Gray, black, red, gold, white. He's not the only one who has them.

"I'm not sure, either." What they mean. But there's something else now, something opened up more to him now that he's opened up the connection with Louis. A word here or there, a thought shared; nothing he can make too much sense of just yet. Konstantin blinks, staring widely at him.

"Ours is black. Right? Sort of black." Grayish, Louis said, and that's about right. And after a beat, Konstantin decides to do something else brave, and maybe stupid, but mostly vulnerable and a little desperate. He's hardly brought up Aleksei to anyone here.

"I have one with my son, too. It leads back home to him... I can just tell that it does. One like this, sort of black. I just— I don't know what that means."

[flambeaux]

Louis's eyes follow his hand as he gestures, but he can't see any of the other strings. He had no idea Konstantin was a father. Louis goes very still as his own storm of emotions smothers him. Claudia.

"Means it's complicated," he murmurs quietly. Is that the sentiment between him and Konstantin? "However much love is there, it ain't all sunshine and rainbows. How old is your boy? Is he like you, does he have a... condition?"

Amidst the bittersweet and what could have been a touching moment comes a new thrum of disquiet and even a bit of disgust conveyed through the thread that connects them. But still, he was brave enough to bring it up.