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

— 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.

[sputnik]

Different kind of cold for it, I think. [ Konstantin nods thoughtfully, though the subject is an uncomfortable one. He's spent much time thinking about it, as much as he doesn't want to — the workings of the thing. So much of it is still an unknown, but there are parts that make sense. ] The snow, the temperature changes... I think its body needs something stable. Constant. In comparison to life up there, Earth is... so unpredictable.

[ And it, in turn, is unpredictable. It can evolve and change — or it could before; this place seems to have stagnated its progress. That's probably a fucking good thing, even if it means he's doomed to be a perpetual incubator for the thing. But Kieren's right; it didn't think things through. He's not even sure it was ever capable of that, really. It seems... young, maybe just hatched, and he has to wonder if it was a mistake on its part to imprison itself in his body. Neither of them were probably ever meant to collide with one another; their existence is an unpleasant, painful one.

He smiles as he reaches for the mug, drawing it back to himself and carefully brushing a fingertip against its surface to gauge the temperature, before settling back against his seat a bit. ]

This is just fine, thank you.

[ For the offer to drop by, too. It's nice having places that are safe to go. He'll wait a bit before actually chancing a sip, let the thing calm down a bit more. The last thing he wants is to throw up again in the poor boy's vicinity.... whether that be blood or coffee. But now Konstantin's looking up and over at him, falling silent for a few long moments as he listens. Then he's giving a soft nod again, eyes dropping to his hands. ]

Yes, I have several, too. .....Different colours. [ Several. He doesn't know what to make of it, of them. He's afraid to look too closely, but... with Kieren barely a few feet from him now, and that one golden thread more taut between them, he gingerly approaches it again, cautious. ] They all feel a little different too, I think. [ Some are pleasant and some aren't, and Kieren's— Konstantin draws in a soft breath as he lets his mind open more to the sensation. He grew up in the city, was there for most of his life, so in contrast, the feel and small of fresh morning air stands out. Something... calm, peaceful and still, but a little sad, too. A little lonely. ]

...Yours reminds me of being in a painting. [ He finally voices, with the slightest hint of a smile, and in that statement, admitting that he has one connecting him to the boy. Yes, a painting comes to mind, like something of Kieren's art. ] Somewhere rural, maybe. A little rainy, and a little cold. It's easy to breathe there.

[burying]

See, I thought space wouldn't exactly be... stable. [ Kieren's thoughtful for a long moment, his mouth twisting to one side and brow furrowing a little. ] Like, yeah. Earth's weather is unpredictable but space is... well, it's space, isn't it? A universe just— forever expanding, moving. Filled with planets and stars and asteroids and.. y'know, all of that stuff.

[ There's a tiny smile, a little bit of a cringe because yeah — Kieren sounds like he's talking a load of shit compared to a man who's actually been in space before. Kieren'll be lucky if he ever leaves his hometown.

(Rick thought it would. He was wrong. Rick got out, Kieren stayed.)

Kieren nods. Yeah. He's got the same. Different coloured ones. Mostly gold, though. There's a red once, barely visible — broken and... well, it's gone. Barely a string at all. Kieren knows who it belongs to. He doesn't think about it, doesn't let his mind linger on it. He can't afford to right now. And yeah, they feel different too.

Besides, Konstantin's telling him what his feels like and Kieren's almost like a dear in the headlights. Being in a painting, and... that's actually kind of nice, really. But then he huffs out a breath, like a laugh but it's almost like he wants to cry. Jesus, that's rich. His string feels like home. ]

Roarton. It's— a village. Middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of nothing. All that space and— it's— [ Kieren shakes his head, helpless. ] suffocating.

People back home, they— they hated me before I was like this. It was never somewhere you could breathe. Not for someone like me. [ He stops, because he sounds so bitter and it's shit. Kieren's mouth twists again, head dipping. ]

It was always cold in Roarton. It would... in the winter, there'd be all this mist. Kind that clings to you. I used to go out and just walk. Out in the woods, through the fields. Sometimes it was just... nice to get lost in it. You could feel like you'd be separating yourself from the village, just for a little while.

[sputnik]

Well, its body is definitely extremely suited to adapt. [ Konstantin smiles a little grimly again. It's very much an unpleasant thought, this disgusting little beast that's able to shift its body so well. And he has no idea that Kieren's actually seen the thing for himself, by now, so he's trying to be careful what he says, not wanting to disgust him.... ]

I believe its body is made perfectly for space, and to adapt to it — to those particular types of changes and circumstances specifically. But this atmosphere... I suppose it just can't adapt so well, here. It has to have a host to protect it, and even then... I'm not always enough protection.

[ He's not sure it would need a host body, up in its natural habitat. He doubts there are many warm-bodied creatures for it to hide inside of. Perhaps it only forced its way into him out of desperation, fear, as they plummeted to Earth.

Something changes. Konstantin feels it, deeper now than he could before, when he was keeping a careful and intentional distance from those threads. Now, focusing on Kieren's the way he is.... something leaks through — surprise, then much worse, an ache, a bitterness. A loss.

The older man's mouth sags into a frown as he stares over at him, eyes widening. This thread... is how his village feels? His home? And as he thinks more about it, listening to the boy's words, he can paint a mental image to go along with them. Isolation, and a small amount of people, and mist. The feel of the woods, cold and quiet. He knows what it is to need escape, to need to get away, even if for very different reasons.

(Kieren was hated? Before... before this happened to him? Why would that be?) ]

....I'm sorry. [ Konstantin starts there, and the emotions that ripple back from him are genuine sorry, and genuine concern. Being able to feel what Kieren feels makes it all so much worse, makes it hit so much deeper, and yet Konstantin can't imagine pulling away from the way he ordinarily would need to. How could he? ]

Were you really so different from the rest of them?

[ Voiced quietly, eyes soft. For him to be hated... 'Someone like me.' It's as though he was some sort of... outsider, even before he became the way he is now. ]

cw: mentions of homophobia

[burying]

I guess humans are even more changeable than Earth itself. [ And fickle, fragile things. Their bodies are— changeable. ] Hard to adapt when you can't keep up with the changes.

[ Kieren's not quite what to say. He's seen the thing, outside of Konstantin. It's clever, intelligent — from what he saw of it. But it's a touchy subject. Kieren hesitates for a long moment before uttering. ]

It comes out. It— there's now a way of finding it another home? Something more... stable?

[ Like. He doesn't know. Science is pretty good, right? There'd be a way to create a perfect climate for it. They do it for all sorts, bacterial, animals, humans. He's not sure, he's not really... all that science-y. But if they can find a way to medicate people like him, then really they can do anything. ]

Different enough. [ Kieren's smile is tight-lipped, his head dipping again. He keeps it dipped as he continues, low-burning anger and frustration mingling with that bitterness. Being different cost him so much. It cost him Rick— ] People have this... mentality in places like Roarton. Even if you're just a little bit different, it's enough to mark you as the outsider. I was the quiet kid that dressed like a punk and was going to art school.

[ Yeah. He dresses in jumpers and practical clothes that keep him covered. But that it wasn't always the case. Kieren remembers opening his wardrobe for the first time after he'd come back— full of clothes meant to draw attention, meant to stand out against the backdrop of Roarton's normality. Men's men and their football and pints in the Legion. His eyebrows raise in the lull. So yeah, Konstantin can imagine how well that would have gone down, right? Small town mentalities, and a kid that didn't fit in. But then, more than that— ]

And well— then there was people like Bill Macy. You got on his bad side, it was all over. [ The bitterness remains, his jaw tightens a little. Kieren shifts stiffly from where he sits, drawing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around them. He doesn't look at Konstantin, his gaze averted towards the flames. Not out of shame, even though he's not quite sure why he's saying it—

Understanding, maybe? Or maybe because Konstantin's a rare person who happens to share some of the more... grim parts of existence. Exceptionally rare circumstances. He does have trust in the man. ]

I happened to love his son. He was my best mate. [ Was, and the ache is unfathomable. Kieren doesn't know when he'll stop grieving. He was the one who always kept them going. Then Rick died, and it all went to shit and Kieren died and then they both came back and then Rick died all over again all because of Bill Macy. ] and when I was fourteen, I made him a mix CD and Bill banned me from his house because God forbid another boy love his son.

[ Kieren tries to swallow down the anger, but it sticks in his throat. He takes a few moments, trying to calm himself — but it's hard to stop the bristling. His smile is strained with that anger he feels and he swallows again, his voice wavering a little. ]

So, yeah— feels a bit rich this thing feels like a place that was so suffocating. [ There's a little shake of his head. ] Don't get me wrong— my family are there, and I love them. But— all I even thought about the last few months before I came here was leaving. Going someplace else.

[sputnik]

I think you're right. I don't think it ever anticipated just how difficult its life would be, inside of a human. [ Konstantin smiles faintly, strained. The thing's just as miserable with him as he is with it. His body is its nest, but an unideal one, especially in this place. The next question makes him sigh quietly though, eyes sweeping to gaze at the fire for a moment. ]

That's what I was trying to find out, before here. A doctor was helping me, trying to find a way to safely remove it from my body. It's.. bound to me back home, symbiotically. But here, where things are a little different... I don't know. Maybe it's possible, while it's weakened. I've thought about it. About trying it.

[ Could it really happen? Could he be freed from it here? If that could be true... then maybe he could have a second chance back home, assuming he's able to return and still be alive, that is. He could go to Aleksei, save him, set things right. ]

...The trouble is, it's probably a dangerous thing to test without access to a proper medical facility. If something goes wrong, I might die. But maybe...

[ His thoughts fall silent as he listens to Kieren's next words, head turning to stare at the boy again. At first, it does sound like Kieren was a bit of an outsider, quirky in the wrong ways for the place he grew up in, but as he elaborates further.... the older man's brow slowly furrows, something sobering his expression as he stares, even though Kieren's no longer holding his gaze.

There's a soft exhale at the confession. He's surprised by it, by the directness of it; such things are certainly considered worse than mere taboo in his own country, they're criminalised. Although in Konstantin's time, there have been shifts below the surface, tolerance certainly not widespread but... different. Those types of things happen, everyone knows it, even among those in the higher levels of society. It's just kept hushed. Secrets to kill for. Secrets to carry to the grave, like any secret that could tarnish someone important's reputation. Like the secret of having an illegitimate child. His son's name is a red flag in Konstantin's file. A secret. A shame.

(And then, of course, is the fact that he feels the way he does about Vasiliy, and he's not sure how to define it or if he's ready to face defining it, and among the emotions of surprise rippling through his end of the gold thread to Kieren is something unsettled and quietly nervous.)

But then comes something else. Listening to that tightness in Kieren's throat, seeing the way his face looks, something else bleeds out of Konstantin, quiet and aching, a horror, a sympathy. He's not ashamed of his own feelings for Vasiliy. Shame simply isn't there, somehow. There are a lot of other things, fears and uncertainties and a loss of self — or the loss of his constructed self, but... not shame. And he thinks of what it would be like to lose him — as he's assuming Kieren lost this young love of his, even if he can't know in what sort of ways that might be. Suddenly, a sharp pang of hurt beneath his ribs — and he swallows. ]

I'm sorry. [ He says quietly, hands folded together in front of him as he keeps his body facing the fire, but his head turned to Kieren. The creature reacts to the shifts in his hormones, the ache of his own emotions, coiling tight again, but Konstantin ignores it, even if a wave of pain ripples out from the core of him. This is not about you right now, this is about Kieren. ] ...What was his name?

cw: mention of murder/filicide

[burying]

We should come with warning signs. [ His smile is wry, tone dry and a little bitter — Kieren's humour comes with a particular flavour of clever teenage cynicism. ] Big neon one: 'Don't bother. Not worth it.'

[ Probably would have saved both Konstantin and the creature a whole lot of bother. But they can't change things now. Now they're both just... stuck like this. Kieren can relate, unfortunately. There's not really going to be any fixing, any sorting any of his own situation out. And... probably the same for Konstantin. Even before the man actually says it, Kieren listening along and thinking the same thing — they have doctors here, sure. But this is the middle of fucking nowhere and not a hospital in sight. ]

Stuck, then. In the meantime. For God knows how long. [ Kieren's lips press together for a long moment. ] Well, if they can come up a drug to sort something like me out, then I guess they can probably do anything.

[ It's so shit though. Not an enviable situation. And the thought makes his skin crawl a little. They had to work out how Neurotriptyline worked in the first place didn't, and then there was Doctor Shepherd's answer to Kieren when he asked him what happened to PDS sufferers when they didn't respond — we take care of them.

There's a nod, a kind of nod that makes his whole body rock with it. Like he's trying to force his body in responding, a reminder he can't be numb. And it's hard not to be— not with— it doesn't feel like his own feelings, shivers of surprise and apprehension. Horror and sympathy. It's the apprehension that makes him pause, and the pang of hurt that makes Kieren look up. There's a strange prickling in the back of his mind, and his blinks back glossy eyes. What was his name? It brings a smile to his lips, bittersweet. ]

Rick.

[ His head lifts, turns towards the direction of his room. He gets up then, slow and long limbs drawing him back up to his feet. Kieren turns, walks off. He isn't gone long. He cradles two things in his hands, both held with a kind of delicacy: an object wrapped in a handkerchief, and a photograph.

He hands the latter to Konstantin and moves to sit down again, finds himself fiddling with the wrapped up item. It feels so heavy in his hand. ]

He told me he sort it with his dad. Next thing I know, he's signed up for the Army, off to basic training and then we get the news he's killed by an IED in Afghanistan, and they couldn't find his body. [ It doesn't matter what Jem says, what anyone else says. It's Kieren's fault Rick died the first time. He signed up because of Kieren, and because he was so determined to stay in his good books. Maybe if that had never happened, maybe things might have been alright. They'd have been alive, maybe they could have run off together — away from Bill. Kieren got Rick killed the first time, and Bill Macy ruined the gift of Rick's return. ]

He came back, like me. And he showed his dad who he really was, [ He unwraps the other item: a hunting knife, still coated in black blood. ] so he stuck a knife in the back his neck and dumped his body like it was nothing at my front door.

[ He's so matter of fact in how he speaks about it, but on the inside he's crumbling. His voice barely contains the tremors of fury and grief. It isn't as raw as it used to be, but it's still there. His chest roars with it, a deluge of it down the golden string between them from him. Kieren inhales, tries to steady himself. ]

So— so I guess you can probably understand why I might hate a place like Roarton. How I might feel like it's suffocating.

[sputnik]

[ There's a faint amused smile playing at Konstantin's own mouth, for a moment. But then it slowly melts, shifts into something more severe again. A cold feeling seeps through him, something that seems to react to that skin-crawling sensation leaking into him from the tether to the boy and crawl right back. A quiet shudder that seems to come from the inside.

'if they can come up a drug to sort something like me out'

He can only imagine what kinds of... tests might have been done, involving those with Kieren's "condition". And now that Konstantin's been on that side of it himself — an experiment — he fears it in ways that run deep, disturbing him in ways he never expected to feel. Being kept in a room like an animal, watched and observed through cold layers of white. Hooked up to machines, poked and prodded, monitored, toyed with, the smell of blood and disinfectant. And then there were the even worse things, even worse fates, looming— ]

Truthfully, I'm just waiting for the day men in labcoats show up at my door here. [ He tries to smile again, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and that cold fear tightens in his gut. He's been worried about that with Kieren, too. He doesn't believe for a second that they're free of that kind of danger in this place. "something like me", Kieren calls himself, and Konstantin understands.

Something like him, too.

He's watching Kieren move to find two objects and sit back down again, one hand slowly reaching to accept the one that's handed to him, dark eyes gazing silently down at it for a long moment. Two figures look back up at him: young. So young, just boys. Kieren has the same sweet doe eyes, and Konstantin gives a soft smile before he looks to the other youth in the photograph. Rick. ]

You both looked happy, [ he remarks quietly before he looks back up to Kieren, a stone heavy in his chest. He can feel the creature reacting subtly to these fluctuations in his emotions, his hormones, his upset — it uncurls and curls in on itself, a little restless, but the warmth of the fire and his present company keep the thing calm enough; it likes Kieren.

'killed by an IED in Afghanistan' — Konstantin draws in a slow, tight inhale. The rest only continues to be a horror, this tale. Hearing that Rick came back the same way Kieren did is... startling, but it's when he hears that the boy's own father killed him that Konstantin's eyes widen, and he's staring down at the knife. Kieren has it, here. It's all a cruelty that feels surreal, like it shouldn't be possible.

There's silence for a long few moments, and both of them are calm enough on the outside, but it's inside that everything falls inwards; he can feel those crumbling parts to the boy, not something that shatters like broken glass, but something that... slowly falls, losing its shape. Sand or dirt or mud spilling downwards, washed into a new form by the rain. Kieren's grief hurts, and Konstantin lets himself feel it, not trying to block him out. His heart is tight in his throat; there are layers to this boy's loss. Losing, then finding someone he loved again, only to lose them once more. In such a horrible way... ]

I'm so sorry, [ he finally says, voice deep and rumbling, and he's reaching over to place a hand at the space where Kieren's shoulder slopes to his neck, large palm spreading warmly, fingers giving a soft, but affectionate squeeze, and he lets the gesture linger. ] I can't imagine— the devastation you must feel.

[ But he can, he can feel it now, some of it, what leaks through. Konstantin dips his head for a moment, body feeling too heavy. ]

I served in my military, and then I commanded in it. I trained boys like this. They seem so young, now. So young to be exposed to such horrors.

[ He looks back up to Kieren, brows knit, eyes sad. And then what that poor child's father had done to him... it's unthinkable. ]

How could a father do something like that to his own son? No matter what might have changed about him, he was still his son. [ And that he'd... dump his body at Kieren's doorstop... It's all too horrible, how this young man has suffered, the ways in which he has. ]

Is there any chance he could... come back again?

[burying]

[ I'm just waiting for the day men in labcoats show up at my door here. Spoke easily, with a smile. But Kieren doesn't need the tight, cold sensation to know it's not a joke. Not really. Not with the way the smile doesn't reach his eyes. It gives him pause. Enough to distract him for a long while until his head jerks up suddenly at the comment: You both looked happy. ]

We were. It was— [ He swallows thickly, tries to smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. ] special. Not without difficulty, but— we were happy. Rest of the world didn't really matter.

[ His head dips and he's quiet for a little while, listening. The gentle squeeze he doesn't feel, but he appreciates the gesture of it. Like something his hand would do. Gentle shoulder squeeze, with a little rock, or the pat on the back. That kind of gesture. Kieren does manage to smile, appreciative, but it soon fades. ]

Yeah. Doesn't seem to matter what year you're from in this place, we've all come from a time where they're sending off teenagers to get blown up or shot.

[ Kieren doesn't mean it with any maliciousness, but it's clear he's unhappy with the idea of it. It's like nothing ever gets learned. People like Rick just continue to die. ]

He didn't see it that way. [ And he's so bitter about that. Bill Macy was given a gift, and he spat on it. He took it in his hands and crushed it, destroyed it. Ruined it. ] Thought he was a monster, an imposter. He didn't see his son, and he especially didn't when Rick showed him who he really was — as a person, not as a zombie. His dad wanted him to kill me. Rick refused.

[ And he knows what he's been told. He knows what his mum said, what everyone's said. Kieren didn't have any share of the blame, that none of it was his fault. Rick left to join the army and got himself killed. He came home and refused to kill Kieren and got himself killed once more. At the center of it all is Bill Macy. Rick just wanted to be in his dad's good books, just wanted to make him happy — so desperate for his approval. Rick could never win.

And yet it was because of Kieren. Because of what they had, what they felt for one another. It doesn't matter what people say to him. Kieren knows he'll always have some hand in it all, and he'll have to carry that with him for the rest of this... second life. ]

There's all this talk about a Second Rising, only this time people would come back 'properly'. [ His voice is flat and he reaches up to carefully rub at his brow. He thinks it's bullshit. There's no Second Rising. ] It was a one time deal. A freak act of nature that brought us back.

Bill believed it would bring his son back to him, he just refused to see Rick was there the whole time.