arrival/catchall

[gascogne]

Who: D'Artagnan + open
What: arrival/settling in/catchall
When: November
Where: Milton

Content Warnings: tba


[In the days since his arrival, D'Artagnan sets out to explore most of Milton with the eagerness of a young man unused to the environment but relatively aware of its dangers. He'd procured a scarf and gloves from a man on the road early on, the latter ill-fitting, and before he goes too far, he's searching for warmer clothing in the Community Hall, huffy and particular about some things, like more weather-appropriate boots to replace his own, where their padded and insulated interiors feel uncomfortable and awkward, and it's been difficult to find a pair where his toes aren't curling inside them. The materials of many items confuse him, and he might oddly finger the fabric, or struggle with unfamiliar small fastenings as zippers. Whilst there, he lends a similar frustrated curiosity to the bathrooms and the kitchen, and any relatively modern items he doesn't entirely fathom, whether they work presently or not. On his way out to the streets, he'll glance over the message board, anything regarding traveling out of Milton of particular interest.

Odd as it is to occupy someone's home when they'd died of mysterious madness, as far as he might understand it, or fled such things, D'Artagnan had chosen a smaller two room cabin on Mackenzie Street, and he might be found examining the exterior, rooting around inside re-arranging things and taking stock of what's been left behind that might be of use, or introducing himself politely, if dry and monotonously, to anyone he hasn't met, potentially his new neighbours for the foreseeable future. He heads out to Paradise Farm earlier on, as he'd promised to have a look at things and see where his skills might be needed or desired, and in the later days, he wanders out towards either end of town, quite confused by the gas station and abandoned cars, and stops into the hunting supplies store to look for any weapons or gear not yet absconded with, spare as they may be, and will hang around the general store, as the proprietor had been generous with his whisky and he'd found the place comfortable enough to loiter.

He's generally an amicable attitude if he stops to ask questions or offer assistance if seems one might need it, yet tends to towards a judgmental bent when enquiring of things he doesn't understand, as if it a personal offense to be made aware of his ignorance.]


(ooc: some basic 'around milton' ideas there. i welcome wildcards, any continuations or other tdm flavour things here as well, and will write individual starters upon request!)

Comments

community hall

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey also stopped in the community hall, though it's mostly because he knows it's a good choice to store some clothes, slip in as a wolf, and have some privacy to put his clothes back on when he turns back human. There's enough people in this town and enough of them who can turn into wolves, hopefully people are smart or sensible enough not to mess with a bundle of random clothes sitting around.

Hickey's making his way from one of the back rooms, slipping his shirt over his head, very obviously getting dressed (though thankfully his pants are on) as he spots D'Artagnan looking through some clothes. ]

Those should all be fair game, [ Hickey says, with a little nod. He's glad to see D'Artagnan being sensible, looking through all the clothes to find something to claim of his own. ] Though there's a pair of boots stored in the back of one of those closets, that one's mine. Take any shoes but those.

[gascogne]

[D'Artagnan looks up at the familiar voice, nothing noted out of place in dressing oneself half in public in a community building, simply a crooked smile and nod of acknowledgement. He sets aside a knit jumper with an odd repeating pattern of what might be foxes or squirrels, he can't quite tell, but it fit and it was warm. His own dingy and worn linen shirt is askew, floppy and voluminous without his leather jacket containing most of the fabric, still considering it a decent undergarment apparently, despite the impracticality. He presses his lips into a thin line of judgment, picking up a coat of an orange-red colour with strange harder fabric on the outside, as if a wax had been placed overtop it. The inside is too smooth and slippery, and he can't imagine it being at all warm. A disgruntled noise given to that, he looks back at Hickey.]

You've my word.

[On the boots, and after a more discerning glance at Hickey's comparative stature...]

Quite certain they'd be too small as it is. Which is my current problem.

[He gestures to three pairs of boots, clearly discarded, and drags another out from under a bench to try.]

[friendsfordinner]

[ Sometimes you’re a shortass with tiny feet and that is NORMAL, okay? Hickey rolls his eyes at the comment, though it’s obviously nothing personal—just the sort of eyeroll one gives when a new friend is being a shit and they both know it.

The dressing continues, as Hickey makes his way to the closet where his boots were stashed in. ]

First month I was here, took me ages to find a pair of boots in my size. I ended up wearing something just a little too big—wore three pairs of socks just so my feet would stop slipping around. [ He gives D’Artagnan a little shrug before, ] Not complaining about the free clothes, mind you. But sometimes, the selection could be better.

[gascogne]

[Lifting his hand in a shrug of agreement for the statement, he's glad someone understands that a few derisive or frustrated comments do not a proper complaint make.]

I'll make do.

[Rather than freeze, and he shoves his foot into the boot for emphasis, an annoyed grunt in pushing past the puffy lining. It's roomier than the others at least, a bit wide, but long enough he'll not continually rub a toe against the front. The other boot follows before D'Artagnan stands again to test them, a bit of stomping whilst they're still untied. Satisfied, he'll lace them up and shove the others back under the bench for another scavenger, a glance up at Hickey by the closet.]

Are there any hats in there?

[friendsfordinner]

Yeah, I see some. Here.

[ Hickey reaches into a box on the closet shelf, pulls out a few hats, then lightly tosses them in D'Artagnan's general direction. He's still shoeless, after all. He bends down to put on his boots as the conversation continues. ]

Making do is all you really can do in this place. Still, I don't mind. Stuck in a worse situation back home—this feels like paradise in some aspects.

[ No bear's trying to kill him! They have actual food here! ]

[gascogne]

[A quiet note of thanks, he gathers the hats, feeling for thickness of the knit.]

I'd not go that far myself.

[Paradise. As sardonic as his comment is, there is an undertone of concern with it as he pulls on the jumper he'd set aside earlier, content now with his findings for the moment, and used to not having many sets of clothing as it is.]

How worse a situation?

[He needn't pry really, but he is curious. Slipping on the coat with a small click of his tongue for the material, he shoves one thinner knit hat in an interior pocket, and keeps a thicker one with a ridiculous pompom to wear, unaware of its ridiculousness in terms of modern styles.]

[friendsfordinner]

Lack of food.

[ It's obvious that Hickey doesn't like talking about this. That the lack of food back in his own world bothers him more than he wants to admit. But he keeps his tone calm, as if talking about the weather, and not about the possibility of starving to death. ]

We went on an exploratory voyage to a place like this. However, we were stuck. Frozen in the ice. No food around, nothing for us to eat. It was miserable. [ There's a pause before, ] This place is a lot like that. But here, at least there's game.

hunting supplies store!

[sputnik]

[ It's been a bit since Konstantin last took a trip to the old supplies shop to pick up some more ice fishing gear. The past few months have been taken up with other ways to keep busy — treks to and from the coastal town or out to Lakeside, working on setting up that physical fitness center he's had on the mind for some time now, doing as much labor as he can. They say an idle mind is the devil's workshop, and while the cosmonaut doesn't quite believe in such things, he has to appreciate the concept. Better to stay busy.

Especially now that more of his precious ones in this place have vanished. There's an odd tightness in his throat as he steps into the store and heads for the wall where some augers, poles, and lures still remain. Much of this place has been picked through of things like weapons and clothing, but the fishing section a bit less so.

He's not used to bumping into company here. His attention's fixed on the task at hand when he hears movement an aisle or two down and freezes, looking that way. Clutching a pole in one hand — he already has one, but he's been thinking about bringing one to his housemate — Konstantin moves to where the other is, brows lifting in surprise. A newcomer... Konstantin hasn't seen any of those in a while.

Is that how it works? For every person who disappears, another takes their place? The stranger looks young, and that makes that tightness in his throat constrict further; with a flash, he remembers another young man who suddenly wasn't here anymore. Kieren's empty cabin, art left behind. But Konstantin's friendly despite that hitch, putting on a smile quickly. ]

Hello there. [ His voice is coated in a thick Russian accent. ] I hope I didn't startle you. I'm not used to bumping into anyone here. You finding what you're looking for?

[gascogne]

[Glancing up from a display of lures on an otherwise mostly spartan shelf, D'Artagnan sets aside the one he'd picked up to examine more closely, out of curiosity more than use, but he's not yet found his way to the poles.]

You've not.

[His reassurance is stated mildly in a rasping monotone, rather dismissive, but his eyes are warm as he assesses the man quickly, the accent unrecognisable, and as yet he's not quite given thought to how everyone understands each other, when he'd clearly distinguished another man speaking French earlier. It's a strangeness he's set aside like many, many others. His response continues with a slightly more conversational bent, if still generally flat and somewhat disappointed.]

I hardly expect to, if some of you have been here two years. I was looking for weapons, or at least a decent knife for skinning.

[He's a parrying dagger and a sword, but something more convenient would be appreciated.]

I'm D'Artagnan.

[Polite, if sparse, he's at least remembered to properly introduce himself, 'recently arrived' an unneeded distinction.]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin's easy smile relaxes more, into something warm and conversational, no matter if it's a literal stranger he's conversing with. He leans against the nearest shelf, the fishing rod tilted at a comfortable angle from the crook of an elbow. ]

Most of the good stuff has been picked through, but you're in luck. We've recently discovered a new town — out on the coast. More supplies coming back and forth. If you don't find anything in here, there's still hope.

[ ...And with more people vanishing these days, there's sure to be things left over, but he doesn't say that. Instead— ]

What's your weapon of choice? I'll keep an eye out.

[ As he does, he stands up straight and sticks out his free hand, offering a firm but friendly shake. ] Konstantin Veshnyakov, but please call me 'Kostya'.

[gascogne]

Silverpoint?

[Hickey had told him of it, but D'Artagnan doesn't wish to be presumptuous and assume it the only possible settlement; that, and he wishes to encourage any casual information that might be imparted, his knowledge very little, only that it had been unreachable at first to the inhabitants of Milton. Reaching for Konstantin's hand after a small pause, he isn't certain what to do, but grasps it firmly and makes a small acknowledging noise for this apparent custom unfamiliar. He repeats the name offered, 'Kostya', and he's grateful for the amendment, as the other is an unexpected painful reminder of recent heartbreak.]

Weapons, well. I'm best with a sword, but I've not seen many about. And this.

[D'Artagnan shoves his coat aside and pulls a pistol from his belt, a wheellock with long barrel, the wood scratched and the metal dull in places with wear. He isn't the best shot, but he's discovered already his rapier is cumbersome beneath all of the layers of clothing, and it currently resides in his chosen cabin, his dagger out of sight still strapped at the small of his back.]

I haven't seen any shot balls or gunpowder, so it's useless.

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin's eyes shift with recognition at the name. Given how much time it takes to make the journey out to Silverpoint and back, he reasons that the new Interloper most likely hasn't been there himself yet, simply heard mention of it from someone else here, so he's happy to provide more details. ] That's the one! The trek isn't easy, but it's worth it. There's even a tavern.

[ He smiles cheerfully through the hand shake, before his brows are lifting impressively. A sword — now that is a rare weapon of choice to come across. Watching the younger man pull out his gun on hand, Konstantin leans closer to see. That pistol's older than anything he's used to, and he realises with a faint startle that D'Artagnan is most likely from a much earlier point in time than he himself is. (Granted, even his time is considered "outdated" compared to most others here.) ]

There is another way besides looting to get some things you're looking for. But it's a bit... strange. [ Understatement of the year. Konstantin shifts, hesitating a moment to voice it aloud. Even now, he doesn't fully believe in the supernatural components to this place, though it's difficult to deny all of them. But... well, drug-induced hallucinations can make almost anything seem real, and in the back of his mind, he can't help feeling that most of the strange things that happen around here are put in place by some team of scientists, doctors, military — it wouldn't be the first time the Soviet cosmonaut was exposed to such things. ]

In December, this... creature appears. We're able to ask it for one "wish", and as far as I know, it'll grant just about anything. Tangible things, I mean. [ His mouth tugs at one side, thoughtful. Last year he'd asked for more cigarettes for Vasiliy. In a place like this, the small comforts are the biggest ones. ]

If you ask for bullets, I'm certain you'll get them. Though most people seek out sentimental items from home. I suppose I can see why.

[gascogne]

I would like to see it.

[D'Artagnan's smile broadens, a hopeful spark of adventure for his inevitable journey to this Silverpoint when a good time arises. His eyebrows furrow as he slides his pistol back in its place, both offended by the conceptualising of his search as looting, when surely he's only scavenging an abandoned store, and an interest more prominent in Konstantin's words. He finds himself leaning a little closer, as if the information secretive, on edge with the strangeness of this world still, but determined to cover that with a pragmatic attentiveness for knowledge.]

A creature that is to grant wishes?

[His disbelief is mild, as he's already taken many things here at face value due to necessity, and seen beasts come to life through speaking of them alone, encountered odd things both mundane and questionably unnatural.]

What is the price one pays for this?

[There must be one, a bargain, an exchange. But then, he'd thought that of the food provided by Methuselah too and no one has demanded repayment.]

Mackenzie Street

[ricochetingbullets]

[D'Artagnan's nearest neighbor is a tall, serious-looking guy that rarely smiles and keeps to himself most of the time. He doesn't introduce himself at first when he sees he now has a new neighbor, the closest one to his own cabin in fact, simply minding his own business after taking note of that fact. When it comes to interacting with people, Dex prefers to do so as little as possible. He's not good with social interaction, not when caring about people in a normal fashion is impossible for him.

When D'Artagnan finally makes his way over to say hello, Dex is on his porch, sitting there performing a curious task. He's got an enormous pile of stones and is holding each one briefly, just for a few seconds at the most. He seems to be testing them for something, though how he can figure anything out in that short amount of time isn't immediately obvious. The majority of the stones are set into a separate pile, a large reject one. Every so often, he finds one, and puts it into a smaller pile by his side. These stones all have the same qualities: large, smooth, and with no irregular edges or lumps that would make them feel off-balance.

He nods when he sees the guy next door coming over. He nods to him briefly, keeping his eyes on him even while he continues to sort out rocks. They're the flat, emotionless eyes that would look more appropriate in a predatory animal like a wolf or bear instead of a human being.]

You're new?

[There's very little emotion in his tone, just the barest amount of politeness Dex can summon when he's talking to anyone. He sounds very much the same talking to a stranger as he does to someone he's known for years.]

[gascogne]

[Taking the nod upon his approach as an invitation, D'Artagnan continues straight up, and though he doesn't entirely respect personal space, he does hang back at the edge of his neighbour's porch, leaning against one of the posts in a casual manner. Ostensibly, as his eyes are narrowed a bit in a wary sort of curiosity, both for the odd quality to the man's gaze, and for the large collection of rocks. As he crosses his arms at his ribs, D'Artagnan answers the question in a similar flat tone, though not one born of detachment or lack of emotional fortitude, and it slides a little more cordial.]

I've been here a few days now. My name is D'Artagnan.

[He glances over back to his own cabin.]

I hope you'll not mind the company.

[ricochetingbullets]

That was me two months ago. I'm Dex.

[The former FBI agent tells the guy he supposes he's going to be seeing a lot of now. Dex thinks he should probably at least pretend to be friendly in that case, which isn't much of a surprise. Most of his life has been spent pretending to be a person that in truth has never actually existed.

Dex shrugs as he picks up another stone, holds it, and then sets it into the bigger pile.]

I don't mind.

[He says in a flat tone. No truer words have ever been spoken. Dex cares about one of the Interlopers hanging about him as he does the funny wolfdog that has apparently decided he is its new owner. The lack of empathy means both register with him little emotionally.]

[gascogne]

[Not here too long then, others it's been years as he's heard. Dex's stoicism and apparent boredom or indifference doesn't bother him, and D'Artagnan will continue on as if he might with any more engaged man, shifting from the post to move closer and stand beside the pile of rounder rocks, nudging it with his toe.]

And what are these for?

[He suspects it's not for building, unless too concerned with the look of it, for the discarded rocks must be just as good for any reasonable utility.]

[ricochetingbullets]

The best stones to use for a sling.

[He pulls what at first glance looks like a weird scarf from around his neck. In truth, it's a sling he's made from some fabric that was lying about. Finding (or creating) a gun or bow and arrows had been harder than Dex would have liked. But a sling to use with stones? That was a lot easier to make and use. With his uncanny abilities when it comes to hitting anything he aims at, Dex has found it a handy weapon.

While he could really use any stone with the sling, why make it harder for himself when he could make it easier? Hence picking out the best stones available for him to launch at a subject. All he needs is one shot when it comes to taking down a subject, whether an animal, monster, or a human being.]

[gascogne]

For a weapon...

[His response isn't quite a question and doesn't hold the lilt of one at the end, though he is both curious and sceptical, eying he scarf. It's practical, he'll admit, as he'd trouble finding any suitable ammunition himself, and he's making do with blades, but projectiles have their purpose.]

Forgive me, but wouldn't you prefer sharp stones?

gas station

[greatdeliverer]

[If D'Artagnan is hanging around the gas station, he might notice a pair of boots sticking out of the back sat of one of the cars, kicking a little as the owner of the boots (and, in fact, the feet they are on) digs around inside the car as thoroughly as possible. Most places have been heavily looted, Sam is sure. But he wonders if anyone had thought to check in the cars, instead of just under the hood.

He hasn't found anything useful yet, but, you know. Optimism.]

[gascogne]

[Having had a small look around the building, D'Artagnan has found it abandoned without anyone nearby to explain its function, but as he walks by the pumps, movement in the otherwise eerie stillness catches his attention. He stares for a moment, eyebrow raised, until he's understood what's happening, someone rummaging around in one of the metal carts. He strides over, boots crunching loudly, no care to whether said person might mean him harm, walks around to the opposite side of the boots and raps on the window, peering inside.]

Sir?

[greatdeliverer]

[Sam starts a little at the knock on the window, almost falling off the seat and into the footwell in surprise. But it's not a BT or a Darkwalker staring down at him, just a kid. So Sam gives him a thumbs up and a shouted hang on! before he wiggles his way out of the car.

He stands, stretching his arms over his head and leaning against the roof of the car, so he can chat with this new guy with some distance between them. Better to block a handshake, this way.] Hey. Help you?

[gascogne]

[Biting the inside of his lip to keep from smiling over the reaction, D'Artagnan awkwardly returns the thumbs-up gesture, its meaning unknown. Once the man has exited, he gives a proper nod of greeting.]

I hadn't meant to frighten you.

[It's an unnecessary comment, but he makes it in a husky tone that holds a small thread of mockery he can't resist. He points then to the pumps, though his question is arguably over the entire place.]

What's the purpose of this?

[greatdeliverer]

You're good. [The kid even gets a wry smile and a wink in return. Honestly, Sam's not used to being around this many people. Where he's from, everyone stays in their homes unless absolutely necessary, so when he's on the road it's rare to run into anyone. He's still getting used to people approaching him like this.]

Uuh, the pumps? [He looks over in the direction of the gesture with a shrug.] They put fuel in the cars. These things. [And he pats the top of the car demonstratively.] They need fuel to run, and the pumps over there get the fuel from the tanks into the car easier.

[gascogne]

[He takes a moment to process that, the best he can, eyebrows knit as he studies the car again.]

I'd not seen one in motion. They need no animals to pull them?

[Convenient, or it would be.]

There's none of that fuel, is there? Or people would ride them and leave the town.