Alan Wake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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singillatim2025-01-28 06:12 pm
lightschampion) wrote in singillatim2025-01-28 06:12 pm
Entry tags:
when winter's weighed down on us
Who: Alan Wake, open to all (including if your character needs a place to escape the storm!)
What: Local writer chased by bear, huddles up in the cold, and angsts over emotional connections good and bad. Basically a top level for the event but it got way too long so I made it its own post. look I'm writing a writer don't blame me--
When: Throughout January
Where: The wilds outside of Milton, the Community Hall and immediate surrounding area, Alan's cabin
Content Warnings: n/a, will edit as necessary
[A - THE HUNTED]
[Being chased is hardly an unfamiliar experience to Alan Wake. From the beginning of the nightmare in Bright Falls to the subsequent thirteen years in the Dark Place, he's had to deal with being hunted by Taken, Fadeouts, the Dark Presence, and the goddamn asshole currently living across the street. Rarely getting a chance to breathe, brief moments of solace only found in the few lit safe rooms he could find and the prison that was his writer's room. One of the few good things about now being stuck in this frozen wasteland was that he didn't need to deal with as much of that (minus the last part). There'd been the whole issue with the raiders last month, granted, but at least he hadn't been the sole target.
Right now, with no one else in sight, he knows that he is.
The all too familiar feeling prickles on the back of his neck, cold and icy in a way entirely divorced from the weather. He hears footsteps, too heavy to be that of a human. Heavy breathing, a snarl. But every time he turns around, there's nothing there.
He doesn't bring it up to anyone, not needing to be seen as crazier than he already is.
But it only gets worse every time he goes out to forage. Alan keeps his gun on him, but it's only a revolver. Not much use against something large. The goal now is to find a rifle or something similar. As he searches empty caves and abandoned houses, the feeling only grows, and the footsteps get closer. The snarls get louder. He feels heat on the back of his neck--
Until one day, when he turns, there is something there. He lets out an undignified scream at the monstrous bear staring down at him from the nearby rocks, its eyes shining and locked onto him.
Alan runs. He hears a roar, heavy footsteps through the snow, and runs faster-- god, he can never run fast enough, and the snow isn't helping matters, but he has to get away. Terror courses through him; he doesn't think he can come back from death in this place, and he hasn't gone through thirteen years in the Dark Place to be killed by a goddamn demon bear.
He can be found running and stumbling through the snow, fear in his eyes.]
[B - TIES THAT BIND]
[He's used to the strange, but waking up one day to find multiple strings tied to his fingers still takes him by surprise. Alan's initial thought is that Zane (or Scratch breaking into his cabin again) was playing a prank on him, but when he tries to untie them, his other hand goes right through the threads. They're undeniably there, but intangible. Phantom strings leading to everywhere and nowhere. For all the oddness that can happen in this place, he's never heard of anyone mention such a thing happening.
For a while, Alan stares at them. They're in a variety of colors: one red, one gold, one what almost looks like a braid of gold and black with slight bits of red, and one in black with the tiniest specks of gold and red, nearly imperceptible. And then, one white.
He begins to examine them, thread by thread. The gold one brings him a sense of warmth and comradery, ribbing between friends, bad decisions and fumbling through the consequences.
The red, light and longing and love. A smile barely perceptible in the darkness. A reason to keep living and fighting.
The other two feel a bit more solid, even if still intangible. Staring at the more clearly multicolored one, he feels allyship and suspicion both, uncertainty and uneasiness but some strange sense of fondness nonetheless. Something else he isn't sure of. There's a too familiar face that comes to mind.
And the black-- Just focusing on it feels like it physically hurts. A sharp ache and a brief shock. Dread, someone in the darkness, mirrored eyes that never stop fixating on him. This string, at least, is undeniable. But there's also the barest whispers of something else he also doesn't understand and can't associate with the rest.
The white feels different from all of them. A feeling of melancholy, but nothing and no one comes to mind.
The first thing Alan needs is answers. And so he makes his way to the community hall, looking for those who may have been here longer and have an idea of what's happening to him. If he spots a person there, even if he can only see a single white string tied to them, he'll make his way up to them:]
Uh, hey... Do you know what's the story with these strings? They just...appeared out of nowhere. This normal here?
[Afterwards, he begins to attempt following the threads. Some lead nowhere. The white one, he doesn't mind, but seeing the red and the gold dissipate into the distance leaves him with an aching sorrow. God, he just wants to see their faces again.
The other two, however, go in different directions. He has a good feeling where they're going to lead, and somewhat reluctantly begins to follow them, though he doesn't know what will come of it. Trouble, more than likely.]
[C - WINTERSTEELE - COMMUNITY CENTER]
[He hears Methusela's warning, and begins to prepare as best he can. Alan's grown used to needing to constantly stock up on supplies. But the worry in the old man's voice tells him that this is something bigger, something that Alan isn't ready for. When the snow begins to fall and it's clear that this isn't just a normal storm blowing in, he decides that maybe it's a better idea to wait it out somewhere with others who are far more familiar with these sorts of things than him. After quickly making sure his cabin is as sealed up and battered down as possible, Alan rushes to the community center before the visibility makes it impossible for him to navigate.
He remains there for the initial duration of the harsh blizzard, shivering under what layers he's wearing and what blankets he's brought with him. Always running cold wasn't helping matters for him in a place like this. Though he's mostly quiet and keeping to himself, he wouldn't terribly mind some company.]
[D - WINTERSTEELE - WRITER'S CABIN]
[There's a break in the weather, and though Methusela advises them otherwise, Alan feels the need to check up on his cabin and make sure it's still in one piece. Just a quick trip, he thinks. And then, a few blocks away, he feels it. A deeper chill settling in and a crack of ice. He runs. Alan's closer to his cabin than the community center, and has a feeling he's not going to make it in time to the latter. He can hear shattering around him, windows from buildings and cars flying, and does his best to make sure he isn't hit by any of them. He reaches his cabin, thankfully still standing and mostly undamaged. Alan closes the door behind him, makes sure everything is as boarded up as he can, starts a fire, and waits.
The chill gets worse. He sees frost seeping in from the windows, across the walls and what furniture he has close by. He's never been this fucking cold. Though he keeps the fire going, it only helps so much, and he curls up near it as much as possible while staying away from the white frost that's made its way in. Though he's battered the place down, if he hears a knock on the door, he'll (reluctantly) answer it: scared as he might be of this cold and the potential of more coming in, he doesn't want anyone else to get trapped out in it.
The storm starts up again not long afterwards, and god, he wishes he could just sleep through it. Again, he'll let anyone in that's in need of shelter, but he'll be looking fairly miserable overall.]
What: Local writer chased by bear, huddles up in the cold, and angsts over emotional connections good and bad. Basically a top level for the event but it got way too long so I made it its own post. look I'm writing a writer don't blame me--
When: Throughout January
Where: The wilds outside of Milton, the Community Hall and immediate surrounding area, Alan's cabin
Content Warnings: n/a, will edit as necessary
[A - THE HUNTED]
[Being chased is hardly an unfamiliar experience to Alan Wake. From the beginning of the nightmare in Bright Falls to the subsequent thirteen years in the Dark Place, he's had to deal with being hunted by Taken, Fadeouts, the Dark Presence, and the goddamn asshole currently living across the street. Rarely getting a chance to breathe, brief moments of solace only found in the few lit safe rooms he could find and the prison that was his writer's room. One of the few good things about now being stuck in this frozen wasteland was that he didn't need to deal with as much of that (minus the last part). There'd been the whole issue with the raiders last month, granted, but at least he hadn't been the sole target.
Right now, with no one else in sight, he knows that he is.
The all too familiar feeling prickles on the back of his neck, cold and icy in a way entirely divorced from the weather. He hears footsteps, too heavy to be that of a human. Heavy breathing, a snarl. But every time he turns around, there's nothing there.
He doesn't bring it up to anyone, not needing to be seen as crazier than he already is.
But it only gets worse every time he goes out to forage. Alan keeps his gun on him, but it's only a revolver. Not much use against something large. The goal now is to find a rifle or something similar. As he searches empty caves and abandoned houses, the feeling only grows, and the footsteps get closer. The snarls get louder. He feels heat on the back of his neck--
Until one day, when he turns, there is something there. He lets out an undignified scream at the monstrous bear staring down at him from the nearby rocks, its eyes shining and locked onto him.
Alan runs. He hears a roar, heavy footsteps through the snow, and runs faster-- god, he can never run fast enough, and the snow isn't helping matters, but he has to get away. Terror courses through him; he doesn't think he can come back from death in this place, and he hasn't gone through thirteen years in the Dark Place to be killed by a goddamn demon bear.
He can be found running and stumbling through the snow, fear in his eyes.]
[B - TIES THAT BIND]
[He's used to the strange, but waking up one day to find multiple strings tied to his fingers still takes him by surprise. Alan's initial thought is that Zane (or Scratch breaking into his cabin again) was playing a prank on him, but when he tries to untie them, his other hand goes right through the threads. They're undeniably there, but intangible. Phantom strings leading to everywhere and nowhere. For all the oddness that can happen in this place, he's never heard of anyone mention such a thing happening.
For a while, Alan stares at them. They're in a variety of colors: one red, one gold, one what almost looks like a braid of gold and black with slight bits of red, and one in black with the tiniest specks of gold and red, nearly imperceptible. And then, one white.
He begins to examine them, thread by thread. The gold one brings him a sense of warmth and comradery, ribbing between friends, bad decisions and fumbling through the consequences.
The red, light and longing and love. A smile barely perceptible in the darkness. A reason to keep living and fighting.
The other two feel a bit more solid, even if still intangible. Staring at the more clearly multicolored one, he feels allyship and suspicion both, uncertainty and uneasiness but some strange sense of fondness nonetheless. Something else he isn't sure of. There's a too familiar face that comes to mind.
And the black-- Just focusing on it feels like it physically hurts. A sharp ache and a brief shock. Dread, someone in the darkness, mirrored eyes that never stop fixating on him. This string, at least, is undeniable. But there's also the barest whispers of something else he also doesn't understand and can't associate with the rest.
The white feels different from all of them. A feeling of melancholy, but nothing and no one comes to mind.
The first thing Alan needs is answers. And so he makes his way to the community hall, looking for those who may have been here longer and have an idea of what's happening to him. If he spots a person there, even if he can only see a single white string tied to them, he'll make his way up to them:]
Uh, hey... Do you know what's the story with these strings? They just...appeared out of nowhere. This normal here?
[Afterwards, he begins to attempt following the threads. Some lead nowhere. The white one, he doesn't mind, but seeing the red and the gold dissipate into the distance leaves him with an aching sorrow. God, he just wants to see their faces again.
The other two, however, go in different directions. He has a good feeling where they're going to lead, and somewhat reluctantly begins to follow them, though he doesn't know what will come of it. Trouble, more than likely.]
[C - WINTERSTEELE - COMMUNITY CENTER]
[He hears Methusela's warning, and begins to prepare as best he can. Alan's grown used to needing to constantly stock up on supplies. But the worry in the old man's voice tells him that this is something bigger, something that Alan isn't ready for. When the snow begins to fall and it's clear that this isn't just a normal storm blowing in, he decides that maybe it's a better idea to wait it out somewhere with others who are far more familiar with these sorts of things than him. After quickly making sure his cabin is as sealed up and battered down as possible, Alan rushes to the community center before the visibility makes it impossible for him to navigate.
He remains there for the initial duration of the harsh blizzard, shivering under what layers he's wearing and what blankets he's brought with him. Always running cold wasn't helping matters for him in a place like this. Though he's mostly quiet and keeping to himself, he wouldn't terribly mind some company.]
[D - WINTERSTEELE - WRITER'S CABIN]
[There's a break in the weather, and though Methusela advises them otherwise, Alan feels the need to check up on his cabin and make sure it's still in one piece. Just a quick trip, he thinks. And then, a few blocks away, he feels it. A deeper chill settling in and a crack of ice. He runs. Alan's closer to his cabin than the community center, and has a feeling he's not going to make it in time to the latter. He can hear shattering around him, windows from buildings and cars flying, and does his best to make sure he isn't hit by any of them. He reaches his cabin, thankfully still standing and mostly undamaged. Alan closes the door behind him, makes sure everything is as boarded up as he can, starts a fire, and waits.
The chill gets worse. He sees frost seeping in from the windows, across the walls and what furniture he has close by. He's never been this fucking cold. Though he keeps the fire going, it only helps so much, and he curls up near it as much as possible while staying away from the white frost that's made its way in. Though he's battered the place down, if he hears a knock on the door, he'll (reluctantly) answer it: scared as he might be of this cold and the potential of more coming in, he doesn't want anyone else to get trapped out in it.
The storm starts up again not long afterwards, and god, he wishes he could just sleep through it. Again, he'll let anyone in that's in need of shelter, but he'll be looking fairly miserable overall.]
wintersteele: community centre
He has a few threads, as well. One gold, which doesn't surprise him, he's a friendly enough fellow. One red, which he has suspicions about. The white he tried to follow with no luck, and the last one... hm. The last one. It seems to be a red thread with a black one tangled around it. He followed it as far as he could without getting lost, but he never did find the end of it. Strange.
Anyway, what matters now is stocking up for the storm. He's no meteorologist, that isn't his area of expertise, but things are looking grim, weatherwise. He finds some instant coffee (thank god), as well as what appears to be some sort of soup mix, and some jerky. That should hold him for a bit, anyway. If only he had his pistachios.
He almost doesn't see Alan, mistaking him for a pile of blankets before realizing there's a person under there.] Ah, Mister Wake. You seem to be... bundled. How are you settling in?
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Best I can, I suppose. Not the first time I've been snowed in, but I don't have the luxury of a nice apartment to huddle up in this time.
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There is something about Alan's voice. He'd noticed it with Scratch too, but not quite as much. Just... something familiar he couldn't pinpoint, that scratched at the back of his brain in an uncomfortable way.]
But I mean you've found a place to stay, I hope? If not, I do have a perfectly serviceable sofa or a window seat. I'd hate to see anyone out in this.
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[Wrong? Unnatural?]
I've been living in a cabin in town here, but honestly, I figured I'd take my chances riding out the storm here. More supplies, probably warmer. Just hope I don't go back to see the windows broken and the place piled up with snow. Thanks for the offer, though.
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Anyway -- my point being that there is something strange, but I can't do any sort of readings on it so I have to just... wait. [Which he's clearly unhappy with. He hates being in a situation with no obvious solution.]
But still, I'm glad you're -- safe, somewhere. I just wanted to grab a few supplies before heading back. Maybe you have the right idea.
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It's not fun feeling helpless like this, huh? Can't really do anything myself, either. Sit, wait, survive. Doesn't seem like I can do shit right now to get out of this place.
[Alan shakes his head. God, it's frustrating being stuck in another hellhole, but without the power he had in the Dark Place. Even if he's been essentially bashing his head against a wall for thirteen years, he can at least make some kind of progress.]
Glad you're safe too. Zane talks about you pretty fondly. He'd be pretty despondent if anything happened to you, I think.
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But then the comment about Tom pulls him up short, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks is not at all from the cold.] Does he? He is... such a fascinating person. A good friend, I'd be pretty upset if anything happened to him, too, honestly.
I knew him, before we arrived here. Or had been acquainted with him, at least.
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The hunted
A small dog starts barking loudly and herds him over to the woman. She looks at him, concerned.]
Was it the bear?
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The sight of a human relieves him, but only so.]
It-- It's chasing me, it--
[He spins around, fully expecting it to have followed him.
...But there's nothing there.]
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[She’s serious by nature, and says this very gravely. The little dog returns to her right side.]
It has been doing that. It knocked me down once, but it mostly seems to stalk us.
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[It was so close. How could it have disappeared so quickly?]
Where the hell did it come from? I think one of us would have noticed if a massive bear was on the rampage before.
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[One of them had cost her her eye several months ago.]
This is not such a beast. I think it must be a ghost, or a spirit.
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[He's had it up to here with dealing with otherworldly entities. Alan realizes that he would have rather an actual massive bear have been chasing him.
Sad, really.]
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cabin;
But he's not entirely without some benevolence.
There seems to be something a bit unspoken between him and Alan right now. He doesn't want Alan to die if he doesn't get to do it himself, and Alan is so desperate for the familiar that he lets Scratch hang around. Anywhere else, it'd be annoying. Here, it's a desperate-times-desperate-measures sort of thing. And that's why Scratch has bundled up some wood in his arms and he strolls through the storm, crossing the street to knock on Alan's door. ]
Special delivery.
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The f-fuck do you want?
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Why don't you open the fucking door and find out, princess?
( Honestly, it's not a very neighbourly way to greet someone. )
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Pulling his blanket tighter around him, he gets up, making his way to the door and reluctantly opening it.]
Get in quickly, then.
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Too bad you can't have your fancy heated tiles here, huh?
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When he turns around and makes his way back towards the center of the room, away from the frost, he realizes that he'd neglected to keep the fire going. He'd been so fucking miserable and cold, exhausted from not being able to properly sleep, he hadn't even noticed something that could have spelled death for him if this frozen spell kept going for much longer.
(Alan won't thank Scratch out loud for fixing that fact. At least, not this exact moment.)]
Not exactly a Manhattan penthouse.
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b
The threads he'd first noticed fishing with Fitzjames, twining with them, branching out later. The ones leading home--he thinks they're home--are painful, the singular pure red one belonging who's identity he knows without guessing. He susses them out, knows exactly which one belongs to Alan, and he waits.
Alan's silhouette against the open door is striking. It's cold, yes, and Tom had been waiting for him expectantly as some sort of test, yes, but that doesn't mean he can't nudge things alone with a silent invitation. ]
Hello, handsome.
[ He's by the fire, reading an old dusty book he'd found in his travels, though at this point it's just the same page over and over again. He snaps it shut with one hand, mostly for dramatic affect, and looks over at the other, holding up the finger with their shared string on it. ]
Been waiting.
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Alan's gotten used to seeing Zane in his cabin, days at a time before popping off elsewhere, across the street or to Darling's. So he doesn't startle upon walking inside again, only hovering at the open door a few moments before shutting the door behind him so as not to let in the cold.
That, and he was expecting it, seeing that string trailing back there.]
Figured as much.
[He shakes his head, shedding his coat and hanging it up, as well as his boots.]
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I have a present for you.
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If it's more drugs, I'll pass.
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It's beautiful. ]
It might help further this. And, no, it's a physical gift. Take a seat, man. Hang out, stop looking so wary.
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He sits down on the couch, but can't help the weary look on his face.]
Can't exactly help it.
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