bury your doubts and fall asleep

[singmod]

SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: ENOLA’S VISIT : Rather than visiting in dreams, Enola appears to the Interlopers with a warning, and another offering of help.

PROMPT TWO — THE AURORA: KICKBACK Following Enola’s visit and the dream where Interlopers can gain a new ability, the Darkwalker bites back.

PROMPT THREE — AS THE DEAD SLEEP: In the dying world of the Quiet Apocalypse, Interlopers are driven to lay a part of themselves to rest.

PROMPT FOUR — SIGNAL VOID: The radios fixed up by Marra and given to Interlopers lead to unexpected finds in the Northern Territories.

THE AURORA: ENOLA'S VISIT

WHEN: September 21st.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams involving animal death; dreams involving fire/being burned alive.

In the late afternoon, when the sky is still light, you hear the telltale signs of an Aurora. The endless hum, punctuated by cracks that echo across the air. There’s the strange ethereal shrill sounds made by no instrument known to man, faint at first but growing louder. As you look towards the skies, you can see the faint swirl of colours in the daylight. The electricity of the world comes to life, flickering and sparking erratically.

As the day shifts into evening and the skies darken, those colours in the sky begin to brighten: purples, pinks, red, greens and yellows — an abstract painting of colour and light that paints the sky brighter than any day, so bright the stars look like ghosts. The Aurora has come, and Interlopers settle in for a long night of noise and light.

Whenever you find yourself alone, she will come to you. You might be out in town, you might be sat in your cabin by the fire. You are alone and in a blink, she’s standing with you: a woman dressed in furs, one side of her face blackened and withered, the eye missing. Her remaining blue eye is bloodshot and exhausted. Her hands are caked in blood, old and new. She is dishevelled. Enola has seen better days, but she stands proud as she stares at you.

If you have spoken to, or seen Enola before — she greets you warmly like an old friend. If this is your first time seeing or speaking with Enola, she introduces herself: My name is Enola, I’m one of you. I’m here to help.

“Time is running out.” she tells you. “Things are changing. You’ve probably seen it, felt it. How the wildlife shifts, how the winters never end, how the world trembles.”

While prevalent long before Interlopers ever came to the Northern Territories, the seismic activity in the world has been a staple in recent times.

“Caged animals grow restless.” She’ll take a moment to walk around you, looking around with interest: examining homes of their contents, or taking a moment to appreciate the lush green trees. She takes genuine enjoyment out of it, smiling softly.

“I can still help.” she says suddenly, looking up at you. “I’ve seen you use your gifts well, learn how to control them. You learn so quickly. But more of you keep arriving, and this world keeps growing colder and crueller.”

She looks above you, or towards a window if you’re outside. She is silent for a long time.

“It was never supposed to be like this.” her voice is soft, sad. You notice there are tears in her eyes.

“Sleep, and it will come to you. If you choose for it.”

In an instant, she is gone. But when you go to sleep that night, a dream may come to you.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Lightbringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. Enola’s voice calls to you: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

THE AURORA: KICKBACK

WHEN: September 22nd.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of violence; supernatural weather/altered environments; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

When you awaken the next morning, the sky is impossibly dark. There is no daylight, there is only endless night. No moon, no stars, no sun. The sky is empty. A void. Just the darkness and the green gloom — the telltale sign of what is to come: the Darkwalker.

You awaken and the cold fear washes over you; a vice-like grip on your throat, squeezing, choking. The air is heavy, oppressive: fear, anxiety, anger. The day is eerily still, and even as you try to go about your day — you know something is coming, your instincts tell you as much.

And you’re right: the ancient, impossible voice finally crawls into your ear.

“The First is desperate.” the Darkwalker sneers.”Look at how she tries to protect her precious brethren. Arms you for a world that you were never meant to be in: the interloper in nature’s design.”

The earth shudders beneath you, things begin to shake and tremble around you.

“I am not some weak, powerless thing.” The Darkwalker tells you. “Even if I am bound, I am inevitable and so very hungry. The table is laid, and I will have my fill — as it is meant to be.”

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic — breaking off into dark laughter. The earth shudders again.

“I will break you down from within, and if I cannot — I will break you down by one another’s hands once more. I am the Rot within you.”

Above you, white-hot green lightning streaks across the skies like cracks — impossibly bright. Something shifts within you, a growing tension. The anger within you builds. A familiar sensation for some: a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within.

It is not the first time the Darkwalker has done this. Many remember only too well the Summer Solstice of last year. By now, many wear talismans crafted to ward off the Darkwalker’s influence. But not everyone, and the Darkwalker’s influence is stronger now. From the dark, the anger within you becomes too much. The tension finally snaps with another crackle of lighting across the skies — and in the flash of it for a brief moment: the giant three-headed wolf skull, eyes glowing sickly green.

Another night of violence is upon the Interlopers: a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Chaos erupts once more.

But there is noise above you this time, a furious unseen battle. The skies are not just empty and green, but a furious blaze of light of the Aurora streaks across the skies. Enola is grasping for control, and there are sounds of pain — as she tries to end the madness.

“Leave them be, Devourer.” Enola’s voice booms across the air like the cracking of ice of a frozen lake.

As Interlopers fall to chaos and madness with fists, weapons and words: Enola and the Darkwalker battle against one another. The skies flash violently with green streaks of lightning and the sharp colours of the Aurora: a frightening sight and it’s almost impossible to truly describe the sights before you — should you have a moment to look up.

Hide, or fight. Survive.

The night is long. The fight above you goes on for hours, and ends with a tearing of the skies and the world snaps to normal. You hear a gasp of pain from Enola, then nothing. The air is silent and clear above, but blood may have already been spilled below.

AS THE DEAD SLEEP

WHEN: The month of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation; themes of loss; themes of grief; themes of death; themes of catharsis.

In the Quiet Apocalypse, it is easy to see the world sitting on the long road of the End of Things. Everything must end, that is part of nature. All things begin and all things end. So many Interlopers have been ripped from their worlds, often in the midst of crisis, trouble or change. And with it comes a pause, something left unfinished. The end has not been completed.

It is a notion that greets you when you awaken one morning. A compulsion. An itch. One might try to press it down, ignore it as much as you can. But the longer it is ignored, the more the feeling becomes. You go about your business and the feeling grows: a blooming sensation in your chest and the innate understanding: all things must end. It is a desperate, lonely feeling.

Perhaps it is not the end of you, but the end of something else. A life, a friendship, a loved one. Perhaps something left unsaid, something left undone. Whatever it is, you find yourself thinking of it constantly, even when you particularly don’t want to. It feels… wrong, to leave such a thing unfinished. To keep putting such a thing off feels unnatural. And that feeling inside of you comes almost too much to bear.

Whatever it is, you must put it to rest.

For Interlopers, a different destination will come to them. They may wish to go out into the wilds. Others may wish to go to the Church in Milton, or at Silverpoint. Some may wish to travel to the edge of the ravine, or even to some part of Lakeside. Some may wish to stand on the edges of the ice upon the seas at the Coast. Whatever or wherever they feel they need to get to — a distance will need to be covered, to find somewhere quiet and alone. They will prepare themselves for the journey and leave to go on to put something, whatever it may be, to rest. To say goodbye.

And so you walk, through the snow and wind, your thoughts occupied. You must say goodbye, you must bury something, you must finish what needs to be finished. But… other thoughts mingle within your own. You cannot recall where they come from, but they feel like yours, somehow. Like something deep down within your spirit, pooling out from it and drifting into your mind. Soft prayers, hushed apologies — even if the words are not your own, they have never felt truer. They weigh upon you, so heavy despite their softness:

… The night was so bright, too bright to count the stars. We forgot about them. … And yet it was a bitter and empty place. Did you truly know, somehow?

Did who know? Did they know what? There are so many questions, but you cannot seem to find the answers to them. It is a quiet agony. There are more thoughts:


… I could not go. I would not. Why couldn't you hold out? Why couldn't I let go?

Who’s thoughts are these? Even if they are not your own, they seem to make sense, somehow. Perhaps you piece things together, make them your own thoughts. Perhaps there was something you could not let go of. Perhaps there was someone who could not hold on. Perhaps there you were stubborn, too stubborn.

… The world falling away. The lights, they used to go on. Please forgive me.

The final words linger within you as you finally come to a stop. Here. This is where you must stop. Here you will lay it to rest. Your hands reach for the snow, fingers clawing into the frozen white. Perhaps you wish to lay it beneath the ice. You prepare. Perhaps it is an item you bury, some small token that represents what it is you wish to finish. Perhaps you are drawn to write something down: a name, a secret, an apology. Or perhaps you simply wish to make some kind of symbolic grave: decorated with stones and even crafting some kind of marker for it.

You will not stop until it is done, even if the day grows darker and colder. You will work until you have finished it. If others have come with you, you will feel compelled to unburden yourself of this loss, this thing you must finally put to bed. You do not have to be alone in saying goodbye.

And when it is done, you feel lighter, somehow. Forgiven, perhaps. As if the very thing that has weighed down so terribly upon you has lessened, eased. Things feel right once more.

As the dead sleep, you are here and alive — for now.

SIGNAL VOID

WHEN: Aurora nights; the month of September, onwards.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival/exploration; potentially dangerous situations; altered wildlife; wild animal attacks; potential character injuries; potential maiming; potential character death.

In July, Interlopers who tackled the Cannery and fought against the Timberwolves that had made their home there managed to recover some shortwave radios. These radios were given to Marra, who has managed to get these devices working again despite the Aurora’s effects on electronics.

No one can say for sure how Marra has managed to do this, much like how she manages to ensure the lighthouse works at all times. Even her own answers have proved insufficient, but she cannot even explain it herself: for some reason I can keep this place going. I'm in here and the light still shines, and I don't know why.

Having been returned to Interlopers via Molly at the Frozen Angler, Interlopers across the Northern Territories will have access to these tools. While not enough for everyone to have one each, Interlopers will need to share the radios as they navigate the world. The radios don’t work like regular walkie-talkies, but will work by using them to send morse code messages — like how telegrams work. But in the month of September, during Aurora nights, these radios start picking up strange signals.

The signal seems to appear on the radios like some kind of radar, with the screen lighting up and flashing, and a beeping sound emitting from the radio. Following the flashing and beeping on the radios, Interlopers will find that they are being led to something — with the lights and sounds increasing in frequency and intensity the closer they get.

The signals will lead Interlopers to bunkers, buried in the snow. Interlopers will need to dig through the snow to reach the door, and the doors themselves will be heavy and difficult to open. Inside, Interlopers will find a shelter that has been carved into the earth, and modest caches of stocks that have been lost to time: food, water, medical supplies, tools, books, weapons. It looks as if these bunkers were created as places of protection in the event of some kind of nuclear war, or some kind of apocalypse prepper — clearly a great deal of work has gone into crafting these places.

However there are certain dangers when it comes to traversing the world during the Aurora. Wildlife tends to become more volatile during these nights, and will actively seek out Interlopers who are out in the wilds following the signals on their radios. Packs of wolves, solitary wolves or even bears and wild cats can be found stalking after Interlopers who may be out.

The threat of these predators is high, and they will actively attack Interlopers. But it’s worth the risk of more supplies: the endless night is on the way as the daylight hours grow thin and bitter winter draws in.

But it is not just these bunkers that the radios reveal: in addition, another signal is being broadcast. One that may be familiar to some Interlopers. A broken message from last year, recorded in the diary of a firewatcher:

- .... .. ... / .. ... / --- .--. . .-. .- - .. ...- . / -... . .- .-. --- .- -.- .-.-.- / .--. .-. --- .--- . -.-. - / .-- .. -. - . .-. -- ..- - . / -.. --- .-- -. .-.-.- / -.. .- -. --. . .-. ---... / .- ..- .-. --- .-. .- / .. -. ... - .- -... .. .-.. .. - -.-- .-.-.- / -.-. --- -- . / .- - / --- -. -.-. . .-.-.-

FAQs

THE AURORA: ENOLA'S VISIT

1. Aurora Feats are unlocked! For this round, RNG picked Lightbringer, Moon Touched and Aurora Call.

2. Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After September, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

THE AURORA: KICKBACK

1. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Other NPCs, especially named ones (ie. Methuselah, Molly, Marra, etc.), are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

2. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

3. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way, saving them with the power of love/friendship. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

4. Interlopers with the Darkwalker's Revenge Feat will be incredibly energised by the Darkwalker's influence on the world and feel at their physical peak. They will also be more susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence to be violent, meaning it will take extra work to break them out from the Darkwalker's hold.

5. Interlopers with warding talismans anointed with Interloper blood will be the least susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence to be violent, but can still be influenced eventually as the night goes on — especially if they have any grudges or interpersonal issues going on.

6. Interlopers who have natural penchants for violence or darker impulses will also be more susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence.

AS THE DEAD SLEEP

1. Items don't have to just be buried, they could also be burned, or sunk into a body of water.

2. It doesn't have to be a specific item, but could be something symbolic of the thing that the Interloper wants to 'put to rest'.

SIGNAL VOID

1. There are six bunkers in the world to be found. Two in the Milton region, two in the Lakeside region, and two in The Coast region.

2. The morse code message cannot be replied to as of yet.

3. The firewatcher refers to the Diary of Sam Bouchard, which can be read here.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

kickback — closed to @fidior

[pacificator]

[ The last time this happened, she killed a man.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Not as often as she remembers Willa, Daddy, but often enough that she'll sometimes startle herself awake with the echo of Peacemaker's report still rolling through her head like distant thunder.

Edward knows about it, of course. He'd been there back at that sham trial the Interlopers had put on, when Louis had supported her, pointed out she'd acted in his defense. Edward knows that's far from the first life she's snatched away, and he's never judged her for it. She doesn't go into details when those memories wake her up; she doesn't need to. These days she's pretty sure knows her better now than anyone ever has, aside from Waverly.

The whole world feels as though it's holding a breath as the night drifts away and breaks to a black morning, and even Peacemaker's weight at her hip isn't enough to reassure her. Her head is full of thoughts, her own voice she can't keep locked inside, and the sky is bleeding virulent green, and fuck — it's happening again. She doesn't know where Edward is. She hasn't seen March in days. Her heart patters in her chest in the flickering beat of some small prey animal; some part of her that hasn't been audible since she was a little girl afraid of the things in the dark reaches up as if to tug at her hand. Hide, it whispers. They're coming.

But it isn't a they, in the end, and really, she shouldn't even be surprised. Cris has been showing up more and more often at the saloon or loitering just outside, eying the door. He's a sullen presence at the best of times, and she remembers his gaze boring into her back that afternoon all those months ago during the trial when she'd stood up and admitted to murdering his buddy Elias. He corners her now on her way back to the saloon — she's been trying to find Edward, Kate, Irving, Fitzjames, Bigby... the friends she has left and that she can't lose — and he's ready for her. The whisper of steel against leather turns into a yelp of pain as he flings a weighted knife at her hand: the blade misses, but the handle smacks into delicate bone and she yells in pain as Peacemaker is flung into the snow.

Cris stalks forward, another knife in his hand, backing her towards a dark, tangled thicket of trees, putting more and more space between her and Peacemaker, limned with an evil green glow.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, his grin a white snarl of teeth in a twisted face. "Was Elias afraid, bitch? Did he scream for you to stop, the way I'm gonna make you scream?" ]

cw: wolf attacke....

[fidior]

[ It's easy, this time, to lose himself. To want to. Little hears the horrible voice the same way everyone does, that slither through his ears and mind. But he also feels the Darkwalker inside of him like a second pulse, like something opening its eyes and mouth wide, feels the connection he has to it, and as much as that sickly green glow frightens him, on a level he can't change — the same way any animal can't change its basic functioning — he wants to lean into that darkness. His body wants to feel strong and hale, wants to roam the night with sharpened senses, to feed on what it needs to survive. To be freed the way only the darkness can free him. He's a predator now.

He feels all of the ways in which he's a predator, prickling up under his skin and peering out from behind his eyes, and he has to escape it. There's a way — to detach from the man and all of the ways that the man feels everything, too much. So he becomes the beast instead.

But this is a danger of its own. This is a worse danger, and he couldn't know just how much worse it would be. His wolf form has been... different since he became infected with the Darkwalker's curse, stranger at times, more aggressive, but not quite like this. Tonight, it will lose itself completely. Freed of everything the man still holds onto and flooded with hostility from the Darkwalker's influence, the wolf will run free and brutal.

To begin with, however, there's some lingering trace of Edward's loyalty towards his precious ones. It's faint, flickering, more a ghost at the back of the wolf's mind, something guiding it like instinct. And so to begin with, the wolf might seek out places where it needs to protect, to defend, fangs already bared and ready to kill.

It can't remember the woman's name, but when it hears her scream, it comes. And then he's there, a big black shadow barely discernable in the dark night, eyes flashing in the green glow of the nightmare world. The wolf isn't capable of reasoning, of deeper thought. The human — his human — is in danger, and he'll rip apart whatever's causing the danger.

Snarling wildly, he lunges. It doesn't matter who the attacker is, it could be anyone. The wolf doesn't care, doesn't even register it, or the weapon held in the man's hand. Jaws snap onto one of his legs without an ounce of inhibition, teeth sink into skin, and then he bites. There's a loud crunch of bone snapping, and the wolf grins around flesh and the taste of fresh hot blood, yanks and pulls and shakes his head violently, aiming to get the man down on the ground. ]

[pacificator]

[ This guy is gonna kill her, Wynonna thinks.

At least he's definitely going to try. She might not have Peacemaker in her hand anymore, but she's far from defenseless. The bear's strength is hot in her veins, red and blaring in this sickly green haze. She could grab that hand and snap that wrist before he could do more than swing that knife at her. Her own hands stay up, cautious as she steps back, trying to find some less slippery ground under her boots.

But Cris won't give her space. He stalks close, green light gleaming off the blade of that knife, thick as poison. There's something wild in his expression she doesn't like. ]

That's a pretty big knife there. Sure you know how to use it? Seems like a guy like you is used to handling smaller pricks.

[ Probably a mistake. Definitely a mistake. Cris snarls and moves and oh shit, he's faster than she thought, faster than she is, he must have been changed here, too—

But before the blade of the knife can land, he's yelling in surprised pain as some clump of darkness in the underbrush takes shape and leaps for his leg with a furious snarl. Yellow teeth sink into flesh and crack bone, and Cris screams, raising the knife to stab it down — not into Wynonna, but into the massive black wolf that has appeared out of nowhere.

Wynonna knows that wolf. She's intimately familiar with the texture of that thick fur, knows how soft it is under her fingers. She knows the weight of the wolf's form, how it feels curled up next to her legs or against her side when she's transformed into the lean timber wolf body and they're relaxing in a pile of snow together. Those teeth have closed tenderly, lovingly, around her hand or muzzle, shaking her with all the gentle threat of someone carefully petting a very small animal.

Not anymore. The wolf is huge, and when it snaps its head back and forth, Cris goes down, still trying to defend himself. Wynonna sees that knife lift, aiming to drive into the wolf's ribs, and her voice is a scream. ]

Edward!

[fidior]

[ The man screams and it's no longer just animal aggression fueling the wolf, but something more intentional. Something meaner. The sound of that scream, of that pain, ripples down the wolf's back like a sharp wind, bristling through his spine, and his blood surges hotter. He wants to hurt. He wants to kill. It's not just a compulsion now, it's the desire. It's what this freedom truly grants him. Kill, kill, eat, eat.

The woman's screaming too, a single word and the wolf doesn't recognise it anymore. 'Edward' means nothing; it could be any word at all. It doesn't belong to him. But he's attentive to her distress, alert and aware, and when that flash of movement comes at his side, the wolf unhooks his sharp bloody mouth from the man's flesh and snaps his head to the side and bites the man's arm instead. Fast as seconds, as a split flash. If the knife makes any contact with his chest when the man goes down, if its blade makes it into thick fur and down to scrape against skin, the wolf doesn't react, doesn't care. He isn't afraid of anything.

His eyes are wild but not lost; they stay locked on the man, knowing. Around his arm, the wolf's mouth stretches back in a wide grin. Then he bites down there too, breaking more bone. The man's arm folds inwards a little beneath his fangs, like a broken toy. This time when he screams, it's pure agony, not padded in any numb layering of initial shock.

Down he goes on his back, still trying to move, to fight, still filled up with the Darkwalker's green whisper, but he's not going anywhere. The wolf stands with one large paw on the man's chest and claws already digging in, panting heavily, dripping a frothy mixture of blood and saliva down on his shirt. He's excited to kill him, but he pauses for just a moment, head turning to face the woman, staring right at her. (What is he looking for? To check on her? To see if she approves? To make sure she doesn't try to run? Maybe he kills her next— no, no not her, she's his. That's right. This is for her.)

The wolf grins even wider at her, mouth split open at the seams, wicked, excited. ]

[pacificator]

[ It's been a long time since she's thought about how big Edward's wolf form is. She's used to him being a shy but enthusiastic companion in the woods, his shoulder standing higher than hers but still happy enough to let her bully him into whatever direction she's decided to lead them, or as a warm weight against her legs in front of the fire or in bed, the way he had been during those days when she slept and slept and slept. She's never thought of him as dangerous, even with those sharp yellow fangs and all the strength and weight behind them. He would never hurt her or Kate or any of his friends; she has trouble imagining him hurting anyone at all.

Not anymore. The wolf bears down on Cris' arm and she hears the wet snap of breaking bone, smells blood as it wells up and out of him in an offended rush. The wolf has him pinned, but she's pretty sure Cris wouldn't be going anywhere regardless. Her hand throbs where he'd hit it with his knife, and she knows if the wolf hadn't appeared, it would probably be her there on her back in the snow, her blood seeping into the mussed drifts like thick syrup.

The wolf looks at her, and she meets its eyes right back, sees that wicked grin with its tongue and teeth both wet and red with blood. She doesn't know what it's waiting for, but one thing is clear: the wolf knows what its doing. She can see the violent delight flashing in its yellow eyes.

A better woman would try to save the man who'd tried to kill her, probably. Wynonna's not really that good of a woman. Her voice is just as hard and cold as the night around them, words flat but clear. ]

Make it hurt.

cw: wolf having a little too much fun w his victim... and then killing him. and eating him.

[fidior]

[ The wolf can't comprehend the words exactly — but maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe, the way it has again and again throughout this place, a certain thing keeps him tethered right to Wynonna Earp. Some understanding, even when the form he's currently in has little thoughtful mind left at all.

Granted, Edward the human would never agree to such a concept, would he? Make it hurt. Wanting to hurt someone. ...And yet, even though he'd cringed and his breath hollowed when Wynonna all but tortured the man who'd come for him, the man she then killed, Edward hadn't tried to stop her at all.

(Because maybe, maybe, no matter what form he or she are in, no matter what influences them both here, some certainty will always stay the same beneath everything else: they keep one another alive.)

The wolf thinks none of this, isn't capable of it now, but he knows anyway. He knows he'll make it hurt. This man isn't just a random kill: he's going to be made dead because he had to be, because he hurt her.

The wolf's eyes flash bright at the woman and then he's swiping that large paw right down the man's chest, splitting thick layers of winter clothing and thinner layers of flesh in one movement. Cris screams again, curses and sputters and cries as hot blood spurts up out of him, and the wolf presses his snout right into that fresh wound, making heaving guttural sounds, rooting around, sniffing blood, tasting blood, and having fun doing it. He gives a hefty snort — which elicits another scream from his victim — and then pulls back, enthused.

The man is trying as hard as he can to get away now, flopping uselessly, bleeding all over the snow, and the wolf lets him try a few long seconds before he pounces again. Back onto his chest, hard and heavy, feeling more things crack and crumble beneath his paws. The man's screams don't seem human anymore, too high.

Jaws open wide, tongue lolling, the wolf goes for his throat. Not to kill in one bite — only crunching down hard enough to split some seams, to make the man's sounds become gurgling noises instead. He's still alive but he can't really move anymore, stunned and bleeding out. The wolf indulges in the taste of hot blood pumping right up into his throat for a little while, and then finally, like something's snapped, he tears into the man's throat with a frenzy. Snarling, he pulls through the last remaining skin and bones holding everything together.

Now he's ripping up big bloody chunks, swallowing them without chewing, and he's working his way down, chomping back into that claw wound, where the man's glistening intestines are inches away from his teeth. Mouth open wide enough to swallow the whole world whole, the wolf starts eating the man up. ]