awooooooo werewolves of milton

[friendsfordinner]

Who: open to all, with a special focus on #TeamMoonTouched
What: let's all get together and be a proper pack
When: forward dated slightly to late January/early February
Where: Milton, in and around the church to start with.
Content Warnings: n/a, will edit as needed

The day after the storm clears out, Hickey tacks up a note on the community hall message board. Ever since Raylan mentioned the idea of all those wolf-changed getting together to form a pack, to take down a deer or a moose in a communal hunt, it hasn't left Hickey's mind. There's at least four of them here, probably more. That's enough. They could absolutely take down a moose. They just need to get to know each other, figure each other out, and become more in-touch as a pack. Easy enough, yeah?

So he puts up his notice. And the evening of the meeting, Hickey gets his little soiree set up. He does have food: rabbit jerky, a few jars of pickled vegetables, bottles of water and a bottle of pine wine, all set out on a table he dragged out and placed near the pews. (He's a good host, dammit). The set-up is very informal: it's a place where everybody can chit-chat and get to know each other at the start. Gotta make sure everyone is comfortable before he makes his proposal, after all.

( ooc: feel free to use this as a mingle post! Make your own starters and tag around. While the note on the message board is specifically tailored to the Moon Touched folks, anyone is welcome to crash the party. )

Comments

Mingle!

[fidior]

There's some kneejerk awkwardness to approach Raylan — due to nothing that the man has ever done personally, simply for the fact that Edward witnessed him dancing so freely with Wynonna in the glow of so many candles and lanterns during Crozier's party. That memory in general is warm and discomforting all at the same time, and something Edward touches upon shyly, at times shamefully. A red mouth and his hand against Wynonna's waist. He had longed to move with her as freely as she'd danced with others, and yet he couldn't dare.... How could he even imagine such a thing?

Anyway—!

"Mr. Givens," he tips his head in a polite nod of greeting to the other man, formal as always, yet not unfriendly. There's something soft and warm and a little nervous to Edward as he makes eye contact, gloved hands grasping a plate and drink of his own.

"Ah, I do think it's a sensible idea, drawing all of us with the same ability together." Speaking so well of something facilitated by Hickey is still strange for him, but he can't pretend not to approve of it. "I must admit, I have been... less than enthused to have such an ability, but community is essential to our survival here..."

Beat, as he looks Raylan over curiously. It still seems too forward to ask directly, but it's important to clarify who here is actually one of that wolfish community. "So you are another who can transform?"

[tinstar]

Raylan had planned on approaching Little but the man had beat him to it - alls the better, to see how a man introduced conversation. He'd seen Little and Wynonna at the party, having spent more time people watching than not despite the two very kind dances he had been allowed. This was the ideal reason to get to know the man.

Tipping his head in return, one hand coming up to touch the edge of his brim, Raylan remains his easy affable self, polite and as welcoming as he can be.

"Mr. Little." Who didn't know everyone in this town after a few months.

"I'm glad Hickey took up the suggestion as far as to do all this. Though he does like the sound of his own voice, so it all tracks out." His tone edged near fondness when he said it; he didn't have a problem with Hickey, so long as lines weren't crossed. They understood one another.

"But yes, I am another who can transform. I wasn't overly pleased when it happened either. I've since gotten used to the upsides of it though, those ain't too bad. Us all gettin' together is somethin' I think will be a boon. Packs can get a lot done. Put some real food into our stores."

[fidior]

Raylan certainly has a way of speaking that's very different from Little's experience — he's very American, the drawl hazy and warm and unfamiliar. His own Victorian English TM is an almost comical counter to it, persistently formal, each word carefully chosen and spoken, never missing a beat of propriety.

Just as comical, perhaps, is how it only serves to make Little a bit more nervous in the face of him. Like March, Givens has a certain... energy, assured and confident (and cool, if Edward were to know the meaning of that word in this sort of reference).

He does manage to smile a little at the Hickey remark, although the faint strain at the edges of the gesture might make him look somewhat queasy. (That's just How Victorians Are, to be fair.)

"I must agree. If we are able to help provide more fresh meat... as you said, our stores might flourish. This might truly be a turning point for our community."

They haven't starved, but... food has certainly been scarce. It's been a constant worry; he knows what might happen otherwise.

"Have you done much hunting before this place?"

[tinstar]

Unsurprisingly, Raylan was aware that his general calm level of confidence and self assurance was sometimes intimidating. It was part of the reason he kept his tone easy and smooth, friendly and relaxed. All that being said, he found himself both unwilling and unable to reel that in and 'stiffen up'. At best, Little and anyone else with those kind of proper manners would get the Raylan Givens that presented when he was in the court of law.

Plenty of decorum there. Besides, Little looked a little sick and choked on the repression of it all.

Somewhere, an eagle was screeching.

"Not a ton of the kind you're thinkin' of, but I grew up in a huntin' community and killin' animals either as a deterrent or for food was an expected role of every man. One way or another. Not os much used to the group thing either, but.. We got these powers for a reason, right? Better to put them to somethin' useful. And if it's good enough for wolves..." He frowns a little as a thought hits him.

"Do you have wolves in Britain?"

[fidior]

So he truly is a learned man! Little nods, eyes wide, impressed. He wouldn't consider himself such a knowledgeable individual; his skills are quite lacking, really. A long time ago, he might have known what it was to be in his element, aboard a ship and surrounded by particular structure and order. He'd even thrived on the promotions that carried him upwards to first lieutenant and executive officer, though never because he'd sought power or glory or status — simply that it was a mark of doing well, and an opportunity to keep doing well.

....But in the end, he'd proven only to fail there, too. In any case— growing up in a hunting community must surely mean this man is an asset to this community.

"We do not have them," he answers, smiling faintly. "I am very unused to such predators, actually. When I first learned of my ability to transform into one... it was quite a shock."

....He'd freaked the fuck out.

"So you have come to accept your other form more easily, now? Forgive me if my inquiry is too brazen, it's only— well, I can't help considering it as a sort of punishment."

[tinstar]

It wasn't the kind of learned that Raylan was proud of, though there wasn't much of anything about his hometown he was proud of, save for the never ending fight against the Company by the coal miners. His pride was mostly saved for what he could do now, what he learned how to do by getting out of where he was born, and what side of the line he kept himself on.

Whether he was an asset or not, that wasn't his place to say.

"Huh." The word is grunted out more than said properly and he can't help but imagine that the reason they didn't have wolves had something to do with all of the beasts getting murdered by their ancestors. Shame he wouldn't remember the question near reliable technology.

"I didn't take too kindly to it myself, but now that I've had a few months-" His head bobs back and forth a little, eyes centering back on Little as he continues. "Whatever it is, it's still our choice if we use it or not. Far as I can tell, we aren't werewolves and honestly, that's a perk. If we couldn't control it, I'd be more inclined to agree with somethin' shaped like 'punishment'."

Must be those Victorian sensibilities he's heard about.

"Unless you've experienced somethin' different?" He had to ask, just in case.

[fidior]

Choice. That is important, very important — and yet Little can't help a certain dread that creeps in day by day by day. One that insists such an important word might soon be stripped from those afflicted with such an "ailment".

(Victorians and their ailments....)

"I've not experienced anything different, no. Not yet." He hesitates, eyes lingering on Raylan's, not wanting to spread fear and uncertainty, but.... All of this is very wrong. To be touched by the supernatural at all is— it's a wrongness.

"....But it is what I fear. That these... "gifts" might change us, alter us, over time. The same way that this place itself seems to have become poisoned by such things. By the supernatural itself." The Darkwalker... what it does to people... the shared nightmares, the inexplicable occurrences.

"If a man lives with a literal beast in his heart... I fear it is only a matter of time before he becomes victim to it, one way or another."

[tinstar]

Raylan nods briefly at the answer, relieved. Something different meant more trouble of one kind or another and they had enough of that as it was. There was some part of him that was convinced the rules of this game was going to be changed on them at some point, no matter how long it had been, like a cruel joke.

But he can see how much this is weighing on the man and listens as he spells out his position and as Little rounds to his point, Raylan bobs his head considering it. Though that last comment gets a quick side glance. It was one of those fears that ran parallel to something Raylan kept vigilant on restraining. Man should be classified as literal beasts sometimes. He didn't want to be one of them.

"If we removed them from the equation, would you not still find yourself changed by what the.. supernatural happenings are doin' to us? I certainly would. Terror is gonna leave its mark on us, regardless of if we let ourselves be broken by it or not... I worry about man and his beast too, metaphorical or otherwise, with or without the Darkwalker."

It almost pained him to say 'supernatural', face grimacing as it came out. He didn't like it or 'magic' or the implications, left a weird unsettled feeling in his mouth but he understood it's usefulness here. The need to identify their ugly reality. Neither did he make the connection between Terror the feeling and the HMS Terror, though if he thought about it, he would regret the poor wording.

[fidior]

Indeed, the word choice has something sharp and unexpected slipping through Little's ribs, like a knife made of ice. It startles him, the way suddenly thinking of a lost loved one does, a sort of grief that's become numbed more over time, but never gone. Just striking unplanned, catching one off-guard like an attack from behind.

His eyelids flutter a bit, breath catching in his throat. It's strange, perhaps, to still mourn the ship and all that it once represented. But he does. Some part of him can never leave it, feels tethered even now. And that's what this is, he realises. A ghost, suddenly reminded of the place it's doomed to haunt. He may be here in this world now, but his heart, his spirit, died back there.

"Yes, you— I quite agree with you," he manages, pushing through the sudden and odd swell of ache up under his sternum. "Even without the presence of... all that is strange and otherworldly to be found here.... this environment, this... emptiness— Man cannot survive it unscathed. Unchanged."

And he does know that to be true, because the ache of the word Terror is really an ache of all that happened to his ship, his men. And this place seems to be just as doomed, from the presence of that supernatural to the natural horrors. The struggle to stay alive, the persistent fear that one day there won't be enough food, the awareness each and every day that they are in an environs that man was never meant to survive within. ...And the horrible things that men are capable of doing to each other. That, perhaps, is truly the worst of all.

There's a faint smile, a sadness that weighs heavily in his eyes. "I suppose in that way, all of us are doomed no matter what."

[tinstar]

Raylan may not make the connection, but there's no missing the wash of Something over the man's face. The wash of Pain. Shit. He'd said something wrong. If it were causing offense or a simple disagreement, Raylan wouldn't care, but that look.

"We're only doomed if we resign ourselves to that fate." It was something Raylan earnestly believed and it reflected in his tone. He wanted to reassure Little, if he could. "If you believe you are defeated, then you're gonna be. We might not be doomed. We might just have to.. weather the storm. Come out Human on the other side. As human as we can be, anyway."

Raylan trails off as it occurs to him that he might never go home. That this, this place, this life, this wolf curse, would be all be all he was for the rest of his life. That was disquieting.

"If we keep to our sanity, we can make it. We have to."

[fidior]

There was a time he was fueled by hope. It was what drove him, even when so much went so wrong out there on the ice — perhaps especially then. At times it may have been to such an extent that it could have been seen as foolish. Perhaps, at times, it was. But it was his. It's how Little's heart functions best, how it beats.

'We're only doomed if we resign ourselves to that fate.' There was a time that he might have said those very same words. And now...? Could he claim to believe such words, now? Some part of him still clings onto them. Another part... has long-ago bowed its head down.

He's terrified it will be again. Terrified that this place will follow the pattern of the last place he'd known. That everyone he has come to feel responsibility for here (and everyone he has come to care for and even to love) will suffer, and fall, and become nothing.

He smiles again, faint and sad. He doesn't want to risk extinguishing this man's belief; it's important that he has it. But Edward's heart doesn't beat the way it used to.

"Holding onto such hope may help one survive the worse of circumstances," he at least can admit to that much. He won't add that it's what once led to his own undoing, ultimately. Still... he has an obligation to try and warn the people here, of certain things.

"....Before this place, I was trapped in another. In many ways it was similar to this land. Though— emptier. We were so very alone." A full-bodied sigh, and he looks back down. "I do not mean to sound so doleful, but— I have known how difficult it is to... to stay Human. I regret to say that even I failed at it, in the end." What he'd done... That horrible thing.

"I see many ways in which this world repeats the events of my own."

[tinstar]

Raylan wouldn't call it hope. He would call it grit. Determination. Resolve. He was unwilling to be broken. Unwilling to stop, unwilling to accept things just as they were. It was a dangerous stance and Raylan knew it. He was just as susceptible as any other man to those urges, to the darkness and justification that can follow someone too unwilling to bend.

For a long moment, Raylan isn't quite sure what to say. He wasn't the type to dismiss people's experience or how that wisdom might apply to their current situation.

Finally, he opts for what he knows is true.

"That's what community is for. To help keep us from slippin' down into a pit of desperation." It was why Raylan worked so hard to contribute to their food and fuel supplies. "Part of why I think what Hickey's tryin' to do here is for the larger good, all said and done. Bein' alone with it all... That's just as dangerous by your experience. Why I think it's a good idea."