singillatim | please don't deceive me when i hurt you

[ Joel doesn’t think much of Old Bear, Young Bill, or his faithful companions but his aggravation is palpable with idle hands. He’s been stuck here with fuck all to do and no way around pilfering the tech he’d picked up during the last aurora. The remnants of it litter his kitchen counter, and even though they remain more or less functional, he can’t get anything to work beyond a spark here or there, followed by the threat of complete overload or a blown fuse.

So, when it comes time to take down the titan despite his kinship with the old beast as another from one battle scarred old warrior to another, the meat, and the pelt provide too much of a resource to the town and its inhabitants for him to look the other way.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

The truth is, he’s got to blow off steam and release all he had pent up. He can feel it brimming, boiling under the surface like a volcano about to blow. He’s got more questions than answers, and the adrenaline he’s been riding directly conflicts with how little he’s slept in the last month.

When the floor gives way he goes tumbling with the rest, spear in hand and rifle slung over his back by the strap. He hits his knee hard first, and then goes feet over head to land half on his side and half on his back. ]

Ah, hell…

[ Joel plants the blunt end of his rifle and uses it as a cane to get up and out of the snow. There's the litter of debris everywhere and powder white in the air from them knocking the snow around.

He follows the variances in color, and pushes the toe of his boot into a heap of a coat that's embedded in the snow with no clue if it's attached to a living person or a corpse. ]

Hey. Get up.

Edited 2025-04-23 00:28 (UTC)

[ When it comes down to it, Joel doesn’t know Young Bill from Adam let alone trust him. The only thing that makes the guy worthwhile is his insight to the bear and the fight. That alone kept him among good company, but it only went so far. They were still stranded on a frozen island in between time and space with limited resources and too many mouths to feed.

The Old Bear was at least reliable in its pursuit, in the fact that specter or not it was a damned animal and behaved like one. Joel still remembers his dream pretty vividly, so when shit hits the fan down in the hollowed out area where the others had been trapped he’s not surprised.

He’s sporting some nasty injuries, scrapes and gashes he couldn’t feel bleeding thanks to the natural charge in the air but the flecks and the self sacrifice leave him not with a sense of accomplishment but with a churning sick kind of disappointment.

Joel’s got his palm over his right flank where he took a blow from getting knocked back. It’s already shadowed up in a bruise as dark as the room around him. He’s up, kicking the wood that had peeled off the building around them in the altercation on his way to pick up the damn abalone claw. He stows it in his pocket and staggers to the wall to plant his shoulder when a dizziness grapples him. ]

What a waste.

Edited 2025-04-23 00:36 (UTC)

[ Typically, Joel didn’t spend much time around people at the school house and when he did he preferred to be a fly on the wall. Better unseen, unbothered, then pretending to be part of a community he had no foot hold in.

It would be a cold day in hell that Joel would be the life of any Milton School House supper but cold it was and hell it very well could be so he made the occasional trip when his hunting heralded him no results or sleep couldn’t find him for more than a night or two. The crackling of the fireplace stirred something in his soul, and so he’s laid out, bandaged up on the side that took the blow from Old Bear, his flannel shirt open and his winter coat being used as a head rest.

He’s got a dusty old copy of The Brothers Karamazov open on one knee and the claw from Old Bear out on his other glinting off of the fire light. He’s been unraveling the parcord from an old bungee cord he’d pilfered from one of the houses in between chapters and the text is faded and discolored, making it difficult for Joel to read for too long without a resulting headache.

It’s a delicate dance, the books text, his work on unbraiding the old bungee cord. It leaves the small space in front of the fireplace looking like a bomb had gone off and Joel had been the casualty.

Put “Always doin’ too much,” on his headstone. ]

You're in my light.

[ Curiosity gets you an irate look and he'll drop whichever thing he's working on. The claw, the cord, or the book and stare at a person deadpan until they say something.

If they don't: ]

Take a seat or keep moving but if you don't get out of my light I'll ankle pick you.

Edited 2025-04-23 00:50 (UTC)

[ Since arriving, Furiosa had been largely content to stick to her cabin on the outskirts. She's a loner, but she's not quite so used to being physically alone. Not that she trusted the legions of war boys or the other Praetorians and Imperators, but there's something to be said for the noise of the crowded Citadel and roaring engines that's conspicuously absent.

And with Max on his apparent journey, she finds herself walking back to town. Not for company, exactly. She's not sure exactly for what. She spots a familiar face and walks over. ]

You always so friendly?

[ Not really a question. She folds into a cross-legged seat next to him near the fire, apparently largely unbothered by the threat. It's kind of familiar, actually. She likes it. Or at least she doesn't mind it. ]

[ It was worth noting that the survivalists among them always self-isolated and never went out of their way to be social. Almost like surviving wasn't worth the casualties lost along the way.

Joel's had a reputation around this place since day one but it didn't get any better after he'd left and come back. In some ways, it was worse, those who knew him from before now gave him the wide berth he'd been looking for since round one.

Her reply gets an earnest sort of sideways smirk out of him, his flannel is off and under the small of his lower back. Leaving him in just his jeans with bare feet toward the open flame and his chest aglow from the source his new bandage work not as bloody as the last, bruising a ghastly color compared to the tone of his skin. ]

Yeah, I'm a delight.

Edited 2025-05-07 16:25 (UTC)

You gave warning first. That's actually pretty polite in my book.

[ What kind of company does she usually keep? Never mind. She looks forward, eyeing the bandage with a sort of casual curiosity. ]

What's the story with that?

[ Her question lacks any sort of put-upon sympathy or saccharine pity. He's still standing, that's enough of its own reward. ]

Me and Methuselah were playing Pink Belly and he won.

[ Any opportunity to rake Methuselah over the coals was a good time for Joel, but it's so very clearly not how it went down. He's got the tone and all the markers of an old man veiling "None of your business," in the form of a sharply placed quip. ]

Didn't you hear? Chivalry's dead? But there's enough fire and flame for both of us if you're lookin' to warm up.

[ And that's as generous as Joel is willing to get with his niche little spot in front of the fire. ]

[ She grunts a little in gruff recognition. Okay, keep your secrets. She was just trying to garner a little bit of intel about dangers. She'll just assume it's something embarrassing.

Can't argue with a little warm up by the fire though. She toes off her boots so she can warm her feet up and lean forward to keep the end of her blunted left arm closer to the fire, phantom pain always acting up in the cold.

She knows the cold can steal limbs, and she doesn't exactly have the appendages to spare. ]

It ever actually get warm here? Guess I can't complain since the sun finally came back but I was hoping it'd get a little less crisp during the day.

Not that I've experienced.

[ Joel's in a similar state, bootless, shirt open, his holy socks pointed toward the fire. His wounds from the bear situation have been tended nicely, and the blood has coagulated. It's a testament to his comfort that his stew has been set off to the side and he's just relaxed in front of the open flame with the book.

He evens maneuvers a bit to allow her some extra room to do the same, to let the heat lick at any aching bones or old injuries. He regards her blunted arm with very little concern, the same as he would with any other survivor. There were just some things that mattered less when every waking moment was occupied with survival. ]

Ya cozy?

Good enough.

[ But Furiosa's pretty adaptable. Sturdy. As long as she can still stand upright she'd probably say she's doing good enough.

The fire is nice though. She scoots a few inches closer to it, massaging the end of her left arm with her hand. ]

Never saw snow before I got here. Starting to get used to it.

[ Adaptable and sturdy was what it took to survive in a place like this one. Joel's never been a fan of the snow, before the brain infection and after. He was from Texas, and he didn't choose to stay there just for the business or the company. It was deeper than that, but life made him keep moving and winter was everywhere whether he liked it or not. So, he's familiar enough to know how to hack it but he still hated it and made no secret of that.

That's why he always posted up in front of the lofty fireplace when he was at the schoolhouse. It was the one thing he could come to rely on when everything else was undependable. ]

Yeah, it's a real bitch, but seasonal where I'm from.

[ Being gone a month in this sleet-filled never ending icy hellscape meant that he had to do routine maintenance on the farm house he'd taken up residence in. Besides turning the top of the barn into a crows nest he's got pit-falls around his meat reserves he's slated under ground and booby traps around the barn itself to protect the horse. Nothing that'd kill a person, only inconvenience them and he regularly checked them too in case some poor unfortunate moron found themselves on the reverse end of one of em.

Joel's working with wood, and the sound of his mallet pounding nails through the wood that wasn't rotten through from the dampness of the snow and sleet echoes off of the flat margin of land between him and Milton. So does the sound of the saw, and the fire he's got burning in an old metal barrel to keep him warm while he works if the sweat's not enough.

He's singing to keep track of the time, under his breath, Future Days by Pearl Jam. ]

All my stolen and missing par-

[ It's when he pulls down a hot cup of steeped herbs that almost managed to taste like tea that he realizes he's got company. ]

Why can I never do my chores alone? I reckon if you're gonna stand there looking stupid you might as well make yourself useful. Can you grab me some more wood from over there.

[ Joel jerks a hand in the direction of the wood pile he's already chopped apart. Less work for his back if he's gonna have spectators any time he decides to patch holes in the fence and the foundation. ]

Edited 2025-04-23 01:43 (UTC)

[To be fair, Armand was here first. Well. Today he was, anyway. Arguably. The booby traps make this a relatively safe place to sleep during the day, so he bedded down in the hay here, tucked away out of sight and wrapped in his dark blanket, a silent vagabond alighting where he can. When the sound of the saw first wakes him, he doesn't move until he can ascertain that he has not yet been perceived. Even without his vampire gifts, he can still move quietly, but the hay proves too much for his abilities. A moment after Joe speaks, a head of messy black curls pops up from behind a stack of bales, bits of straw randomly stuck to it. From the shadows, his orange eyes almost glow, but his expression is more perplexed than anything, like an unsuspecting deer caught by unexpected eyes. A few heartbeats later, he rises and moves toward the pile of wood. Eyes dart between it and the fire, ascertaining which pieces would be most advantageous to select before he mutely carries the chosen candidates toward Joe.

There, he halts. He doesn't immediately put anything on the fire. He hasn't been told to do so yet. This man might want it done a particular way.]

Okay...

[ Joel's going to have to address the random house guest or in this case barn guest. No wonder Callus was so vocal this morning, Joel figured it was the shoes and made a mind to figure out how to play Ferrier but now he knew it was because he wasn't alone. ]

That'll do for now. Should I ask why you're camped out at my place? If you're smart enough to get around my boundary work then you're smart enough to know I'm gonna charge you for your keep. Labor, time, or resources.

[ The months stretch on and the sunlight stretches on with them. The days are getting longer and longer, slowly stealing precious hours of true darkness.

Edward once loved the sun. Now, it brings him agony.

Still, he tries to force himself to bear it for at least some amount of time, inbetween the periods where he needs to shut himself away indoors, curtains drawn, towels stuffed under cracks in doors, snuffing out as much light as possible. He insists on getting some direct sunlight here and there, hoping that it might help stave off his own darkness.

So here he is, a solitary dark figure dressed in the full uniform of the Royal Navy, shotgun slung over one shoulder. Doing one of his usual patrols, or some ghost-echo of it, for he's in no shape to actually do much of anything. The fatigue and illness brought on by the sun keeps him slow and heavy. His complexion's pallid, rich brown eyes now dulled and dim, breathing staggered. He might have pushed himself a little too hard, but if he doesn't, then what is the alternative? To give in to— to this?

(He longs for shadow, for the comfort of darkness. And beneath his ache lurks a hunger, terrible and yearning. What has he become?)

Someone's alive, up ahead. There's an old farmhouse that has been abandoned for a time, but now someone's there. He hears a voice, he's drifting that way, gun slack against his back, head dipped down, breathing hard and heavy.

The man.... He recognises him, the way he knows every Interloper that's come through here — perhaps not well, he'd hardly spoken to him, but ever since his own arrival he'd kept up with the roster of residents. This man was gone, and now he's back. It's enough to perk Edward's head up, hazy eyes wide and surprised.

He starts shuffling over towards the wood pile to fulfill the man's request, letting his gun slide off of his shoulder, resting it down. Two pieces of wood is all he can manage grasping in his arms, and as he brings them towards Joel, he's looking faint. He's stubborn and foolish and desperate to keep going. His words come out in a breathless rush. ]

You were here before, weren't you...? You've returned to this place.

[ One of the benefits of knowing exactly who he was and how he felt about being stranded in this hellscape was that he never gave anyone more mind than he had to the first time around.

After hauling bodies out of the snow, burying them, burning some — there wasn't much left to discuss. After he moved out to the farmhouse his presence in the schoolhouse got scarce and Joel did what he could to not have to go there and deal with Methusalah or any of the newer recruits to save himself the grief.

He doesn't recognize him, but he regards him the same way he would any other person out this far and meets his gaze when he drops the wood mild concern in his expression but not enough to state it openly or out loud.

Joel jerks his thumb in the direction of another chair. He looked like he could use a seat, but he's not gonna waste his words hammering that point home. ]

Yeah, some real good fortune, huh?

[ Edward's dark eyes sweep to follow where the man gestures, and he feels the pull of exhaustion wanting nothing more than to sit, to rest. But he shakes his head (stubborn, foolish, desperate). ]

Thank you, but I'm all right. It's best to keep one's hands busy.

[ He sets the wood down and goes to get more. He has to move slowly, but he still moves. ]

Forgive my asking, but do you... remember everything, from before?

[ La'an returned after she too disappeared, but she wasn't the same. She remembered nothing and no one. ]

[ Joel's not gonna make any demands of him or force him to do the leg work at keeping himself whole. He shrugs and keeps pulling the logs onto the flame as he brings them. Listening, halfheartedly to the conversation as he speaks to him from point A to point B. ]

I remember enough. Some things are hazy. Why?

[ Little keeps bringing logs over, slow but steady. ]

There was another who... left, and then returned after some time had passed. But she was not.... She remembered neither her experience here, nor any of us.

[ It's all very worrisome, thinking about the influence this place has on a person's mind. The supernatural influence. ]

Do you feel... at all changed?

[ These questions were deeper than Joel knew how to figure himself or what to do with. The truth was, he didn't feel changed. If he felt anything it was frustrated, at the frayed edges of memories he couldn't quite flesh out and a longing to be home in the hellscape that was more familiar to him. The frown fixed on his face makes that clear, the discomfort visible in the tension held under his eyes and between his brow. ]

Can't say that I do. Not like whoever you're referring to. It was like going to sleep, losing time, but I remember enough. I remember plenty. I know I don't fuckin' like it here, and that none of this ever seems to get any better.

[ Edward sees the way the other man's face tightens with some underlying tension. He knows it's a difficult question to answer. The act of being brought to this place at all might make someone feel changed.

But this man is different from the average Interloper. He vanished, and then came back. Like La'an did. Is there a reason for that? A pattern? And a worse, horrific thought — what if that pattern means he's a mark for the Darkwalker? If his pattern continues to follow La'an's..... although it's clear from his response that the pattern isn't fully the same. He remembers being here. ]

...I see, [ Edward answers thoughtfully, his own brow knit. ] I wish I could reassure you that our circumstances have improved since you were here last, but... unfortunately, things have only grown worse.

[ He casts a look around, a worry creeping in. Bad things have been happening to people on their own. ] Are you living out here alone, sir?

please don't deceive me when i hurt you

the hunt, ota

what one man can do, ota

milton school house, ota

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covers up the timestamp with my hand

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farm house homestead, skirts of milton, ota

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