stripped to the bone, i wait

[singmod]

JANUARY 2026 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — SUNDERED PASS: The sun does not rise, and a new pathway is unlocked to Timberwolf Mountain: through the Sundered Pass.

PROMPT TWO — THE GRAVEYARD: Interloper explore Bittermarsh Muskeg, and find an unusual graveyard of forgotten things.

PROMPT THREE — THE LAST RIDE: Interlopers come across a deadly steed and become potential victims of a watery grave.

SUNDERED PASS

WHEN: Mid-January, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Region, Timberwolf Mountain region.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of exploration/survival; potential injuries from rocks, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

Marra had once said that access to Bittermarsh Muskeg to the north was a treacherous journey, and often blocked off by the winter weather — even long before the lights went out. Now, the area is essentially cut off. The harsh, unforgiving weather has meant that the usual pathways have never revealed themselves. No thaw, no warm weather to allow passage to Timberwolf Mountain.

When Interlopers dream of Enola and the Darkwalker on the night of January 1st, a new pathway opens — even if it isn’t as obvious as first. The trembling of the world Interlopers wake to has been a shifting of the world: the mountains that envelope the Milton area crack and shift. Snow gives way, and a route lost to time is revealed: the Sundered Pass.

On January 14th, the first sunrise of the year is expected: those brief forty minutes of daylight to signify and end of the winter. Enola had warned you: The Darkwalker has been waiting, the solstice has only just come but it doesn’t intend for the light to return.

The sun does not rise, but lights can be seen to the east, growing closer to town: the flames of torchlights. Methuselah leads them, having found them in the wilds.

There are five, all women: four appear to be middle aged, one is no more than fifteen. They come to Milton, dressed in thick furs to protect them from the winter chill.

“They are natives from Mountain’s Watch.” Methuselah explains. “They say they have come through the Sundered Pass. It has been a pathway to the east long closed off by the quakes, but it seems the recent shifts have rendered it accessible.”

The women are fed in the Community Hall. They are exhausted from their journey, a couple of days traversing through the mountain pathways. They explain that while they are largely dependent on themselves, their trade routes with Silverpoint have been cut off for over two years now — making it difficult to get through the winters. Their numbers are low.

“There were others, but they’ve gone now.” the youngest tells you. “They went east with the one from here.”

They’re open to trade: they’ve brought caribou pelts and meats/jerky; cattail pollen flour; arrowheads made of bone skilfully crafted.

Methuselah looks at Interlopers carefully before offering: “If Enola is east, perhaps it is wise you travel there to meet her. Offer the people of Mountain’s Watch aid. You know only too well the hardships of this world, and how you have suffered in the face of it.”

After a few days rest, the women will depart to return home. Interlopers are free to go with them, journeying east towards the mountains that curve around the Milton region. They warn Interlopers to pack well: the journey is difficult and cold — climbing is involved. They will mark down maps for those who wish to venture forth at a larger date, advising the path is marked along the way.

The journey through Sundered Pass begins at a gorge between the mountains: a long, winding path that rises and falls through altitudes. In places, the space will open up, and travellers will have to climb and zigzag through the rocky ledges to pass through. The snow is thick and uneven in places, making it even more difficult to get through.

While sheltered from the worst of the weather, the tremors of the earth makes the rock tremble and can send broken pieces of rock tumbling down below. There are rest places here and there, overhangs and shallow caves where Interlopers can camp for the night. There are fallen trees remaining, ideal to use for fires to keep Interlopers warm through the night.

Coming out the other side of the mountains on the second day will reveal a mass expanse of open land and muskeg — dwarfed by the silent giant of a mountain to the north: Timberwolf Mountain. You see the small shapes of Mountain’s Watch up ahead, and with it: foreign and strange shapes of things dotted around Bittermarsh Muskeg.

THE GRAVEYARD

WHEN: Mid January, onwards.
WHERE: Timberwolf Mountain.
CONTENT WARNINGS:. themes of exploration/survival; memory-sharing themes; potential disturbing scenes; dead bodies of humans, beings and animals; possible gore/decomposition;

Bittermarsh Muskeg is an expanse of frozen muskeg that lies in the shadow of Timberwolf Mountain. The boggy pools differ in both size and depth, with some being marshy enough to sink an unsuspecting traveller into knee-deep frozen peat and others being several metres deep. While frozen over, the sections of pools are not sturdy ice and you may find yourself walking onto ice that cracks and splinters — sending you into the chilly water below. Sometimes it might be a better idea to take the long route and skirt the edges of the muskeg, where it’s far safer to travel.

While rugged and harsh, there’s a peaceful kind of beauty to the muskeg. Before the Flare, you could understand why people travelled here: teeming with wildlife, but a stillness too — the looming mountain above you.

They call Bittermarsh Muskeg ‘The Graveyard’ now.

You’ll have seen it as you first entered the region: the shapes of things in the distance — strange and out of place amongst nature. From Mountain’s Watch, these shapes become clearer, but seem to make no more sense. The people of Mountain’s Watch keep well away from these shapes, but they mention one from the Mainland who can often be found out there. The objects out on the muskeg disturb them, and they don’t seem keen to scavenge through — although they can hardly be blamed, considering how disturbing the scene is.

Throughout Bittermarsh Muskeg lies the remains of various things: objects and beings that were once living things, now dead, and their remains left behind.

Some of the things found are huge: sections of buildings from different points in time: the corner walling and windows of a Georgian townhouse; broken columns that one would find from a temple in Greece; the front door and mantle of a library. They lie in a heap, scattered across and half-sunk in the muskeg: brickwork warped and strange. There are smaller objects: vehicles, vessels, aircrafts, broken and useless in the snow and bog — warped and half-melted, rusting in the silence.

Among the buildings and objects lie the remains of both humans and animals alike — in varying states of completion and decomposition. Fortunately the cold keeps the rot away, and the remains are well preserved, half-mummified by ice or the peat from the muskeg. But Interlopers can find bodies of people, wide ranges of animals from whales to domesticated animals. They can also find remains of strange, otherworldly creatures — some of them no more than bones and frozen skin or scales.

But it is not just physical things that lie scattered across the muskeg. Throughout the Graveyard lie whispers and glimmers: ghostly visions of brief moments in time. It might be a simple, mundane thing: someone turns away, someone walking; an argument between friends, an embrace between lovers. Each of them on loop, playing over and over again for a time before they fizzle out, lost. Some of these moments you might recognise as moments from your own life: a few seconds of yourself, with a loved one. Tiny moments, significant and insignificant. Memories colliding between worlds. There for a few moments, then gone.

It’s not just yourself you can see in these moments, but moments from Enola can be found in amongst the ruin of the muskeg — sporadic instances throughout her life:

You see her as you recognise her now, but before her face was injured. Her face is grave, apprehension lingers. She turns to someone unseen: “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

As a child, she sits, clicking clumsy fingers to make them ignite with flames. She is barely seven, her eyes are wide and afraid. But there is wonder here, too.

Another, she is even younger. She sits with two boys, who you recognise as the Barker boys. The boys bicker as they fish. Enola is silent and sad as she watches them.

As a woman, she bites down her pain as she tends to a wolf bite on her arm. She works with shaking fingers to clean the wound and stem the bleeding. The wolf lies dead, she pays it no mind.

As a teenager, she stands awkwardly in borrowed black clothes in the churchyard. The funeral is done. Methuselah puts his hand on her shoulder in comfort. Enola doesn’t cry, only looks down. “Where am I gonna go now?” she asks. Her lips do not move.

Another as a child, she kneels in snow in a stun, coughing and choking. Above her, a woman stands holding her arm, injured as she dry heaves: ... what did you do, Beatrice?! What did you do?! You have heard this voice before, in a dream, and now as you see her — you feel this woman is very familiar to you.

All these moments, all these relics. Held in this place. More questions.

THE LAST RIDE

WHEN: The month of January
WHERE: Everywhere, particularly near bodies of water.
THE LAST RIDE — CONTENT WARNINGS: malevolent mythical creatures, horse-creatures/kelpies; falling through ice, attempted drowning/possible successful drowning, potential character death; potential npc death.

The Northern Territories are home to many members of the Cervidae family: moose, deer, caribou — a good choice for the hungry Interloper looking to capture a decent bounty of meat. Interlopers these days are well accustomed to the sounds: their calls, how they flit through the woods. Given how long it’s been, hearing a different kind of animal may initially draw confusion.

Off in the distance, you hear the soft whinnying and snorts of a horse.

It’s hard to say just where a horse might have come from. Maybe it belongs to another Inteloper, because it’s not unheard of for Interlopers to bring animals from their words here. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you go in search for this mystery horse.

And you’ll find it, soon enough — snorting and stomping one of its feet at the water’s edge, trying to press at the ice.

At a glance, it looks like any ordinary horse. No saddle or reigns. But the horse will appear and behave to Interlopers depending on the Interlopers. It might come across as a favoured colour of coat or pattern — maybe a horse you once owned, or a horse you liked in a movie or TV show. Even the breed itself may differ: some Interlopers come across a warm-coloured Thoroughbred, or a powerful Shire. It might even appear as a Shetland Pony. Its behaviour towards you also differs depending on the Interloper. It might be skittish, or playful. It may be calm, just patiently watching you when it realises you are close.

However it appears: congratulations, you’ve just found a horse.

The horse will warm to you, with even the most aloof horses finally coming around. But however long it takes, the horse will seem to invite you to be close to it. To even climb on to ride it — maybe there’s a nearby trunk you can use to help get you on, or you could just hop on and try for the best. Either way, the horse is patient enough to wait for you. It seems relatively well-trained, and will even listen to your directions as you try to maneuver it towards civilisation. A horse could be pretty useful, for travel or for tasks back in Milton.

Until it decides it’s no longer listening to you and it bolts: back towards the direction of water.

Whatever body of what you might find yourself by, a river or pond or lake or muskeg, or even the sea itself — the horse gallops in the direction of it and onto the ice. You realise, as you hang on and try to correct the animal that the beast is no usual horse. The beast’s fur shifts into a mottled green-grey; pale and wet and sticky. It’s mane (perhaps the only thing you could hold on to) shifts from hair into thick clumps of ragged, wet reeds. You’re seemingly stuck to this creature, and it’s taking you straight for one thing: the water.

As the ‘horse’ moves onto the frozen water, the ice begins to crack beneath you — pings echoing in the air, sharp snaps as the surface begins to give way. The beast bears down hard, its hooves driving into the ice to break it and the ice finally gives way — slowing down as it begins to sink into the water, and dragging you with it.

Soon enough, you’ll find yourself submerged in the waters, stuck to the beast and slowly sinking down into what will be your watery grave. The beast plows onwards, breaking ice as it goes — and you can’t help but feel you’re stepping into your death in slow motion.

Perhaps you might have a friend close by. One who might be able to carefully brave the fragile ice to rescue you. There are ways to stop the beast from killing you, at least.

And after that, the beast will vanish — leaving you to flounder in the frozen waters. Pray you were in the shallows, and you might find yourself reaching a watery end still — or fall victim to hyperthermia.

FAQs

SUNDERED PASS

1. Timberwolf Mountain is now unlocked! The areas page has been updated to show the new details of the new area, along with the world map on the State of the World page.

2. Players are free to ask for more information from the women of Mountain's Watch if they wish.

THE GRAVEYARD

1. Yes, there are even dead dinosaurs here.

2. A question answered about the aircraft that can be found in The Graveyard.

3. A question answered about the possible loot in the graveyard.

THE LAST RIDE

1. This creature is based off of Kelpies, a creature of folklore who would lure weary travellers and then drag them to their watery graves.

2. Many of the typical ways to defeat kelpies can be used: they are susceptible to iron and silver, along with religious iconography/symbols. Bridling the creature while its transformed into its true self will also stop the creature from its course of action.

3. Players cannot keep the kelpies. Sorry.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

jason todd ( dc comics )

[reneger]

(re)arrival.

( jason awakens slowly, cold nipping at his nose and his fingertips as he pushes himself upright from his place face down in the snow. this isn't the first (nor does he think it would be the last) time he's awoken cold with no idea how he ended up outside to begin with, but it feels - off.

about as off as it typically does, now that he thinks about it.

last time, there had been a redhead standing above him as he'd pulled himself up, colt in hand and barrel pointed straight towards him. this time, he's alone, significantly less bruised, battered, and angry than the last time, too. both hands press to the ground under him, pushing himself halfway up so he can get his boots under him and pull himself upright.

one hand raises, fingers shoving through wet hair to brush the snowflakes out of it. he hears - something, but doesn't bother turning towards it just yet.

instead, jason keeps cleaning himself off, shaking off the cold and pulling his coat just a little bit tighter around him, head tipping back just enough in acknowledgement before he offers a, )

What, never seen someone take a nap outside before?

sundered pass.

( a large black and white wolfdog walks beside jason, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as his tail wags excitedly behind him as they both trek through narrow pathways that lead - elsewhere, which is the only goal jason has in mind currently. elsewhere might have who he's looking for, whereas milton certainly doesn't. he's not walking with any particular group, keeping more to himself (and bitewing) rather than walking beside anyone else opting to make the hike across - but when jason sees someone falter in their step, when he watches them almost fall backwards into the snow, he takes a few quick steps to catch up to them, hand extending out to either press flat against their back to steady them or grab hold of whatever he can reach to keep them from falling.

it's habit, more than anything else. )

Watch it. Fall far enough an' you might just bury yourself out here.

the graveyard.
CW: torture, murder, child death references.

( he'd laugh at the irony if there was anyone around who would get why it's funny.

jason stands amongst countless relics, most of which do not look like they belong here at all. there's a large piece of wood in his hands that he's taken from - somewhere, off the side of something, which he's using to dig his way through the rubble, searching through remnants for something useful. corpses remain, for the most part, untouched - he does a quick pat-down of any obvious pockets, then moves on to start digging through cars and sections of buildings he's able to fit himself into.

miscellaneous junk is tossed out of where he's looking into a pile - if one were to look through it, there are various pieces of things that look like they would be mildly handy to have around: a tire jack, an old screwdriver, snacks full of preservatives, cans full of miscellaneous things, - useful to an extent, but not great. )

Are you gonna stand around or are you going to help?

( it's called over his shoulder, using the wood to dig a little deeper into the snow he's currently searching through. there's a flicker of flames, barely visible out of the corner of one's eyes, but jason seems intent on ignoring it. )

Crap's not going to dig itself out.

ooc notes.

( please feel free to throw whatever at me! if none of the above prompts work or you'd like to chat things out, you can reach me at crowbars. )

rearrival.

[afterdrop]

Sure, but they don't usually wake up after. [ The voice doesn't match the softness of the noise; a young man, by the sound of it, whose footsteps barely crunch in the snow as he approaches. ] I was guessing you planned on doing that.

[ The boy comes around Jason's side and into view, flashing a loose, friendly grin. He's clearly a bit younger, with floppy limbs and a soft face, and his hands stay tucked in his coat pockets a he looks down. ]

Alright there, mate?

rearrival;

[powersuited]

More than you might think, actually.

[ The remark comes from someone who admittedly looks a bit underdressed for the weather, coat unzipped and lacking in any kind of scarf, but Snow's had an easier time staying warm ever since waking up as a wolf, so to speak. It's the same reason she recognizes Jason pretty quickly, his scent distinct enough for her to not only pick it up while being outside but track it to its source. (Not that she's going to mention that part of it here, now, because it tends to weird people out when you bring up the fact that you can smell them.)

She doesn't immediately crouch down to his level; instead, she squints out around them, trying to figure out how he got this far out into the woods with no discernible footprints around him. ]

But I'm assuming I haven't interrupted anything.

the graveyard!! because i had to

[jettisons]

[Bellamy hasn't fully accepted this whole situation yet - it's a little hard to, when he went from being in a metal tube in space to the fucking arctic, surrounded by more snow and ice than he's ever seen in his life. Part of him is still suspecting that maybe he's dying on the Ring, and this is some warped hallucination as he goes, failing synapses firing for the last time.

But really, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? Hang out until everything goes dark? Survival was trained into him too firmly on the Ark and on the ground for that, so here he is, wandering. A part of him knows he should be digging through the wreckage for supplies, but he's still trying to get his bearings. Whether he's determined to accept the situation or not, it's still baffling.

It isn't so much the bodies that disturb him as the anachronism of the ruins themselves. He's used to dead people, not so much... whatever the rest of it is. And he's freezing, so, you know. That isn't exactly helping matters.

Luckily for Bellamy, Jason snaps him out of it, with exactly the sort of flippant ordering around he responds to instinctively, although he finds himself bristling even as he approaches, preparing to help. He isn't exactly relaxed about it - who knows what sorts of intentions this guy might have, or what kind of person he might be? Still, it doesn't take a genius to pick up on the fact that running into other people here is a rare occurrence, and so he reins in the suspicion as best he can. Better to find a potential ally than wander off to freeze in the woods alone.]

Yeah? And how much of it is useful crap?

[Bellamy picks his way over, not wanting to break an ankle in the detritus, and picks up a can with an unfamiliar label. The seal has broken, and whatever was inside has frozen, so he tosses it aside, not trusting the contents.]

Anything that'll keep me from losing my fingers to frostbite?

(re)arrival

[pacificator]

[ Somewhere between when he wakes in the snow and starts pushing himself up, a half-grown wolfdog pup comes shoving her nose at his hip, snuffling curiously with her ears pricked and tail up.

She's not the only one who'd stopped to check him out, either. There's a shuffle of boots in the snow, and then what might be a familiar, sardonic voice. ]

Once or twice before. But that guy was an asshole. I seem to remember needing to point my gun at him to make sure he behaved.

[ Said gun is still tucked away in her holster right now, but Wynonna's got a hand resting easily on the grip as she arches her eyebrows at the returned Mal. ]

Anyone ever tell you they're happy to see you back?

(re)arrival

[bigbaddy]

[ For a moment Bigby stares as if he's seen a ghost, rather than-- well, a guy napping in the snow, as Jason points out. More or less that.

Then the utter shock slowly melts into something a little closer to exasperation. There's something familiar about this, despite the fact that it's been such a long time. The exasperation can't help but come, even though Bigby is well aware that maybe this actually isn't the same guy. That maybe he has no idea who the fuck he's even talking to here. ]

Yeah? That a hobby of yours now?

[ Might as well be fairly direct like this. Figure out what's going on right away, before he can get wrong ideas one way or another. ]

rearrival

[greatdeliverer]

[It's not like Sam can really judge a guy for sleeping outside. How often has he done the same on a delivery job, after all? Too many times to count. In the snow, too, when he had to.

Just not, you know. By choice.]

Sure. [The answer is mild enough, said with a shrug.] Just that there are places with roofs and stuff, around here.

Nancy Wheeler | Stranger Things

[consistentpatterns]

starters to come in the comments below
plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

settling in.

[consistentpatterns]

Nancy’s getting used to being here. She’d hate being here, if not for the familiar faces. At least it helps her not feel like she’s completely abandoned everybody back home. And Eddie’s alive, so. She thinks it might be worth it. Not like she’s got much choice either way. So she’s just… settling in. Getting the lay of the land. Gathering supplies. Getting used to the cold.

She can be found just about everywhere, with a backpack and a satchel and a baseball bat on her at all times. Nancy’s not carrying her shotgun as much because she needs to make the ammo last. So she has it when she needs it. She’s looking for warm clothes, and food, what weaponry she can. She’s pretty sure it’s all been pretty picked over, but she rummages around anyway. It can’t hurt to try and put together an armoury all over again. She wants to be prepared.

holding down the fort.

[consistentpatterns]

There’s no way in hell that Nancy’s leaving her brother and the rest of her people to go off on an expedition. Even if she wanted to. There’s time enough for her to explore and learn more about the places outside the town. She’s staying here. For now, anyway. There’s places enough for her to poke around without leaving.

So she keeps doing what she’s doing. Gathering supplies, and information. Asking questions. Taking careful notes. Grabbing a few books to read in her explorations, because she needs something to keep herself busy without Hawkins things to do the job.

the last ride.

[consistentpatterns]

Nancy’s not going on patrols. Honestly she’s not. She’s just… keeping an eye on things. Regularly. (Nancy, that’s a patrol.) She’s new here, and everything’s new. This isn’t Hawkins. There’s a different set of rules here. And she needs to figure it all out. So she knows what to expect, and can plan. So she’s out. Keeping an eye on things. With her baseball bat and backpack for supplies.

She ends up by the lake mostly by accident. Which turns out to be lucky, because there’s a something out on the ice. Is that a horse? That does NOT look like any horse Nancy has ever seen before. Not in person, anyway. In books is another story.

A kelpie. That’s a kelpie.

“Shit!” She sets off into a run as the ‘horse’ and its rider start to sink into the water. Does she have any silver? Any iron? She’s hoping so.

wildcard.

[consistentpatterns]

[Choose your own adventure!]

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror | ota

[friendsfordinner]

THE GRAVEYARD - cw: grave robbing
Hickey knows exactly what he's doing when he sees those corpses and the graveyard of what he's assuming are cars—at least, most of them look like the cars he's seen unmoving around town or in the various books he's read since arriving here. Considering that some of them seem slashed in half, Hickey's not entirely sure, though—but that's besides the point. These hold stuff. And Hickey wants stuff.

He's found a tire iron from a car's trunk. It's heavy and metal and just perfect for this. Hickey can be found absolutely not caring about the dead. He moves corpses, rifling through what remains of their pockets, before callously dropping the body to the ground and moving to another. If a car remains intact, Hickey breaks the windows and crawls in, rummaging through the trunk and the glove compartment. He's not finding much. Frankly, he'd like any information about this town, this world, but after his fifth owner's manual, he's realizing that might not actually happen.

There are some crackers, though. So Hickey's sitting on top of a car, munching on some stale crackers, rummaging through a child's backpack, throwing schoolbooks and school papers onto the ground as he searches.

THE LAST RIDE
"Are they supposed to do that?" Hickey asks, with a frown, as he looks at the kelpie, just chilling next to him. The horse is just staring. Looking at Hickey. Occasionally blinking. And frankly? Hickey's a little weirded out. He's a city boy! He has no idea how horses work.

"All I've heard is that they're supposed to be skittish, yeah? Why's this one just sitting there and staring? Shouldn't it have run away by now?"

That makes sense! That would be sensible for a horse, or at least Hickey's idea of a horse. This thing is just...odd. And somebody's had enough character development to learn not to run to weird creatures with his arms wide open.

WILDCARD
( message me if you want something specific or something else! )

the graveyard

[wingbound]

Levi, on the other hand, does care. He makes an effort not to move the bodies too much -- the ones that aren't frozen solid into the marsh, that is -- and when he does, he tries to make sure they're not left at an awkward angle. They should be burned or buried, but neither of those is particularly possible here, so he either leaves them as is or tries to pile some rocks and ice lumps on top of them, like a makeshift grave.

That does not stop him from checking their pockets, or rifling through the discarded vehicles.

There's a half-broken car propped up by an ice ridge next to a pile of fuselage parts, hiding the other side of it from view. The doors had fallen off, but the driver -- or what remains of them -- is still buckled into the seat, their clothes still intact.

Levi's crawling into the passenger seat and reaching a gloved hand into their jacket when another hand with apparently the same goal comes in from the opposite side, and for a moment, he very vividly remembers Randvi's talkes about the dead who walk, and almost hits his head on the car's roof as he jolts away with a "Shit!!"

Only then he realizes there's in fact a familiar face looking at him from the other door-hole. Fuck. Okay. He forces himself to breathe again.

"You were this close from owing me new pants," he says stolidly. It definitely doesn't sound like that's the case, but he feels the need to bitch about it anyway.

the last ride.

[somethingtosay]

“Pretty sure they’re not?” the rainbow-clad slip of a girl says from where she stands on his other side, away from the kelpie. “I mean, not that I know much about horses. There aren’t many in 12. But I don’t think they’re… supposed to be like THIS. All… staring. And weirdly calm.”

Something feels wrong about it, and even as much as Lucy Gray is a little bit fascinated because she’s never seen a horse up close like this since she can remember, she’s smart enough to not try and pet it.

the last ride

[notarat]

Let's make that a two count for people who have no idea how the hell horses are supposed to work.

But whereas Hickey is having some sort of staring contest with the horse, Billy looks like he's trying to actively not look at it while keeping his distance. There's something almost a little nervous about him. Instead of the horse being skittish, it's him being skittish about this..

"Why would a horse even be here?"

Why would a horse be here, Hickey!!

the graveyard

[greatdeliverer]

Sam's not above it, that's for sure. Hell, half his jobs involved stealing back merchandise from unconscious bodies, so dead ones? Even easier, really. Especially since the ones here don't seem to be in danger of causing massive city-leveling explosions, which is strange but okay by him.

He pauses in his own scavenging when he sees someone who pings him as familiar. Something around the eyes, something he can't quite put his finger on why he'd know this guy, but he for sure does.

"Did we meet yet?" he asks, scratching his head as he looks up at the man sitting on top of the car. "I can't place you."

The graveyard

[nicehobbit]

After Frodo's last year or so of life, he has gained a different perspective on many things. The memory of all the corpses on the road to Silverpoint is still fresh in his mind, as is the image of the charred bodies in Enola's vision. He wouldn't say he is desensitised to bodies, exactly, but he isn't as affected by the Graveyard as he might have been only a few months ago.

Another thing that has changed is that something he would have normally disapproved of - rummaging through the belongings of someone deceased - also seems absurd to try to stop. After all, supplies are scarce here, and the dead won't need it.

Even so ...

He bends down to pick up one of the schoolbooks, turning it over to see a picture of a stone castle. It appears to be a history book.

"What are you hoping to find in a child's backpack?" he asks, and it isn't accusatory in tone, but genuinely wondering.

Lucy Gray Baird | The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (2023)

[somethingtosay]

starters to come in the comments below
plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

before everything. (pre-event shenanigans)

[somethingtosay]

It’s all a lot for Lucy Gray, and it takes her more than a little while for everything to sink in. She’s away from the Games. From the nearly dying, and the snakes, and… Coriolanus. Away from everything. Maybe she was dead, and this is the only thing keeping her alive. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how long her song might have worked, if she hadn’t ended up here.

So she finds herself a little place to call her own, something she’s never had before in all her life, she’s pretty sure. Not only her own, anyway. (She’s not sure she likes it, but it is what it is.) She tries to make it… home. Tries to make it HERS. It needs colour.

And so does she. So she’s scrounging what she can, colourful things. Pretty things. And supplies. Food, water, firestarters, needles and thread, tools. Everything she might need. She still has the oversized fur coat she’d found in that cabin, along with the gloves. The flannel, too. And she’s adding to it. Using bits and bobs to sew together something new. Something more… her. It’s nice to be able to change out of her mama’s dress. To be able to wash it. To take a BATH, even if it’s a cold one.

GOD she’s missed being clean.

But she’s never been so glad to find a hot springs as she is to find this one. It’s not like she’s had the time, what with the fighting for her life and all. So she’s going to soak her bones as often as she can. Take a break from the cold and the snow.

It’s good to have her guitar, and it’s with her as much as it isn’t. (She leaves it home when she’s at the hot springs.) She can be found settled somewhere, more often than not, playing something. And singing something. She doesn’t have to sing for survival, here. Doesn’t have to worry about singing something wrong, something that’ll get her into trouble.

She can just sing.

Konstantin Veshnyakov | Sputnik

[sputnik]

THE GRAVEYARD —

a little variety-pack of Kostya's memory blips / choose whichever you like~ also happy to utilise this for him to see memories from your character, or for mutual memory shares!
cw: the second group of memories offers horror & darker things; I've included descriptions and linked images. the very last option involves suicide via gunshot wound


[ Konstantin picks his way through the scattered pieces of time and memory, slowly exploring this strange graveyard of dead things with care. On occasion, he tugs back large shards of metal or plastic or glass, unearthing what might lie beneath. Sometimes he crouches down closer, hands sifting through various items. So far he hasn't taken anything.

When he realises he can see the ghosts of the past playing out, he's split in two by the urge to run away from them, and to draw closer. Ultimately it's the latter option that wins out, although he does it tensely, painfully — perhaps he's witnessing one of your memories, standing there watching some particular snippet of your past play on loop, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight.

Or it's one of his memories. Some of them are simpler, nicer things: he's sixteen years old watching footage of Yuri Gagarin make history; he's a young man in military uniform, kissing his mother on the cheek; he's in bed with a woman, her hair tousled all over her face; he's looking down on Earth and it feels like a dream.

Sometimes he's in a sterile room that looks like a holding cell, sitting across from a man in a lab coat, insisting that he doesn't remember what happened up there in space.

Many of his memories involve a blonde woman; he's sitting with her in that holding cell, jogging with her outside in a slightly larger cage, or maybe he's reaching with trembling fingers to cup her cheek.

Some of the short loops are of worse things:
He's with another man, his co-pilot, and both of them are staring in shock at the shuttle window as something thin and slimy moves past.

He's moving through a small, lowlit room with the woman while the sounds of a nearby ventilator force air into his unresponsive co-pilot's lungs; he's showing her up close — one half of the man's face and most of the top of his head is a mess of gore and charred skin; he's looking at things hanging on the wall in that same room, a strange and macabre collection: a dead man who's bled out on the floor from traumatic injuries to his head, strange X-rays of a human abdomen and something within it, with Konstantin's name printed on them.

He's writhing on the floor; he's throwing up something long and wet and alive; he's losing consciousness as the thing squirms weakly on the floor near him in a puddle of its own goo.

There's blood all over him, dark and leaking from his mouth, the woman's with him but not looking at him, concentrated on something approaching in the distance; with the last bit of strength he can muster, he reaches for a nearby gun, places its muzzle to his abdomen, and shoots. Then everything's dark.

It's possible you see one, or more than one, of these memories on your own. If he's asked about anything, Konstantin will be open to talking about it; he's carried these things for a long time, but they no longer feel like secrets anymore. Or it's possible you come across him watching one of his own memories and you witness it with him. As fixed on the glimpses of memory as he is, he won't notice you at first, not until the loop's played out a few times. ]

cw: alien worm parasite, suicidal ideation, suicide via gunshot wound

[flambeaux]

Louis has to wonder why he even came here. He's no explorer and often passes up long difficult journeys in favor of simply supplying the ones who do make the trek. But there are several people here whose survival Louis is invested in and something of the Old Bear stirs in him. There is also the fact that he is meeting the natives of this land for the first time. Louis has no doubt they have proven knowledge wisdom, and he, who has been a fool his entire life, is drawn to that.

A vampire walks into a graveyard. That seems like a stupid joke to Louis. A vampire can't stand the dead any more than the living. After the blood is gone, there is nothing for them but the person they've killed, and that must be gotten rid of fast if only for pragmatic reasons.

"What was it they said?" Louis mutters to himself. "'The yawnin' grave hungers' or somethin' like that... Who's there? Konstantin, is that you--?"

Then he is thrust into the midst of a vision. He comes out of this one clutching his stomach through his warm coat. Louis has his hallucinations, but he never thought of himself as with a head full of birds like his brother. He couldn't (can't) afford to be.

Back home he imagined his end as sad and contemplative, sitting on a bench waiting for the sun to take him. No desperate battle for him. He wants to ask if Konstantin succeeded in killing the thing in his stomach, but he can't form the words.

"Are you... dead?" he finally breathes. Are you like me?

Frodo Baggins // Lord of the Rings

[nicehobbit]

Sundered pass

The past few months, Frodo hasn't ventured far from Milton. He wouldn't say that exploring and scouting is at all his area and he's better suited for helping with the greenhouse and rations and similar duties. But he's holding out hope that one day, a new area opening up will lead to being able to return home, and so he doesn't hesitate to join the women when they return to Mountain's Watch.

A journey that would be difficult for anyone because of the snow is doubly difficult for someone as short as a hobbit, unfortunately. When they reach the pass, it doesn't take long for him to end up waist-deep in the snow, and while the strength Old Bear has granted him helps him keep pushing, it is clearly a big problem.

The Graveyard

The fact that people are inclined to keep away from the Graveyard is precisely what brings Frodo to explore it. He does so soundlessly, with great caution, only making a sound if he happens to trip over something and, if he does, freezing in place the next moment.

One cannot be certain if there's anything out here that might be dangerous, after all.

He doesn't know what he's searching for, except anything that seems especially strange, or perhaps useful. It's while he's pulling open the drawers in a bureau that he hears a familiar voice behind him.

"Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

Gandalf.

His heart skips, and he whips around, taking a breath to speak--

But he stops himself as he sees his own back, sees Gandalf turn and walk out through the door at Bag End. And just like that, the scene dissipates like mist, only to reform again. He watches Gandalf duck down and lean in towards this whisper of himself.

"Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

Gandalf's hand comes down on his shoulder, and he swears he can feel it, himself. His chest smarts, and he swallows past a rapidly forming lump in his throat.

The Last Ride

Anything strange happening around here is worth at least a cursory examination, Frodo thinks, which is one reason he follows the sound of the horse. The other is that he can't recall ever seeing a horse here, which certainly makes it stand out.

Once he finds it, though, two things make him immediately suspicious of it: The way it's kicking at the ice, and the fact that it looks very familiar.

"Bill ...?"

The horse lifts its head, ears pricking and turning in Frodo's direction like it recognises the name. Frodo's not quite convinced, though. It isn't impossible, he supposes, for Bill to have ended up here like he and the other Interlopers did, but where is the saddle and bridle? Not to mention, if the Graveyard is any indication, anything that ends up here is not alive.

Wildcard

[ OOC: I will match format if you prefer brackets! Feel free to wildcard me! He's available if people need to be advised against messing with the suspicious horse, for example, or if anyone gets hurt thanks to Interloper's Sacrifice. He'll be around Mountain's Watch and the Graveyard for the foreseeable future. I've got a plotting comment here! You can hit me up wherever. ]

the last ride

[notarat]

.. wait, what?

Actually, that's a double surprise, not just a singular instance of it. It's surprising enough to see a horse here of all animals when Billy can't think he has ever seen one before in this place. But it's even more surprising that Frodo seems to recognize the creature somehow.

Billy does quickly move his glove to pinch the skin around his own wrist - just to make sure he isn't having some sort of strange hallucination. Why would a horse be there!

"You.. know this horse?" He asks Frodo, turning to look at the other with a confused frown.

Levi Ackerman // Attack On Titan

[wingbound]

--1. SUNDERED PASS

[ Once their mysterious newcomers are ready to head home, of course Levi decides to head with. He's not entirely convinced it's not some sort of a trap, but he figures he's probably among the people with best chances to survive one if it is, and someone should check it out. ]

[ Besides, it's an expedition. It's been almost two years since he's done anything as part of the Scouts, and the last time they've had a big trip like that here was when they were traversing to Silverpoint. He's maybe curious, and even a little excited. ]

[ They've been walking for hours now, traversing the rocky path, and despite his forced sabbatical, Levi still proves quite agile whenever he needs to climb or balance on narrow ledges. ]

[ Maybe it's you who's started to fall behind first, or maybe one of the native women, whether she may be coming down with something or has recently recovered and the few days rest in Milton hadn't quite been enough. But as soon as Levi spots it, he's slowing down himself, perhaps not wanting to draw attention to whoever it actually is that's grown too tired already. ]

That's enough. We should rest.

[ ...Nobody has to listen to him, but it seems no one has any objections to it, either. (Unless, of course, you do.) ]


--2. THE GRAVEYARD

[ It's weird and creepy, sure, but it seems that they're not getting out of here by avoiding weird and creepy things. So he goes to investigate. ]

[ He moves quietly, even rather gracefully despite the thick winter coat and large backpack he's carrying. This might be more of a junkyard than a graveyard, but there are still graves -- or what should be graves, were the ground and marsh not frozen solid in most places -- and that means he's paying it some amount of respect. He might even try to build some low, wide cairns on the exposed bodies he finds if there's enough rocks or hunks of ice around. ]

[ None of that will stop him from still checking the intact-looking pockets or bags, though. So rather than him being solemn and respectful, you might instead come across him patting down a corpse and pulling a pocket knife out of their clothing, or scavenging through some gloves and very expired looking first aid kit in some random half-submerged car. ]


--3. THE LAST RIDE

[ It wouldn't be the first time that things that shouldn't be here show up. They weren't usually alive, but... well. If people could arrive here, who's to say the same could not apply to horses? They were important members of the Survey Corps as well, after all. ]

[ The horse that approaches him is either very dark brown or slightly washed out black, almost impossible to tell without real daylight, but it's familiar in the way it calmly regards him and nudges his hand demanding carrots when he comes closer and tries to touch it. ]

...Chamomile?

[ No. Maybe not. It doesn't seem to behave quite the same way, but the resemblance is striking, and that alone is enough for him to keep circling it, patting the horse's sides fondly, and trying to encourage it to follow him. ]

[ He might indeed even attempt to climb on it, though he's either going to need some help (like a convenient tree stump) or it might just take him a while as he tries to heave himself up with pure stubbornness. ]

[ Or maybe you're late to the scene. Maybe you just see a dark shadow run past and head for the water, while Levi swears and tries to stop or direct it in vain. The ice under its hooves starts cracking. ]

Shit--!


--4. WILDCARD

[ event plotting here! if you want to share some memories or do something else feel free to surprise me or talk to me there~ ]

3

[nicehobbit]

[ The sight of Levi trying to heave himself onto the horse is honestly quite amusing. Frodo definitely shouldn't find it amusing, considering he's even shorter, but he can't stop himself laughing for a brief moment before he controls himself. Because it may be funny, but more importantly it's worrying.

He's not entirely sure what the horse might do, but its behaviour is strange and he doesn't trust it. So he starts jogging over while he calls out: ]

I would step away from the horse!

Zoey Westen | Original Character

[pythianwoman]

starters to come in the comments below
plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

pre-event (+ pre-crisis response)

[pythianwoman]

Zoey might not be a seer, anymore, but she can still feel the weight of… something, in the air. She’s been here a long time, now, and sooner or later, she knows something has to give. Enola can only stand so long in the place in between.

It hadn’t been the first time she’s had visions like this, here. But it hadn’t been the first time she’d had visions before, either. She knows what to do with this, cataloguing glimpses, disjointed flickers, each second of the skipping record remembered, etched into her mind.

this is the end of all things

She’s worried about Enola. She’s been worried about Enola since the beginning, before they’d known hardly anything about her. And she listens, as Enola tells her that it’s coming, that she thought she could keep it under control.

That they don’t have much time.

The rune was filed away with everything else. Use this, when the time comes. It will help keep it at bay. You have power, never forget that.

And then she RUNS. And is hunted. The end of all things. Zoey wakes screaming, the memory of dodging the Darkwalker’s claws sharp in her mind. And falling.

After, she keeps herself busy. Deeply, aggressively busy. Gathering supplies, checking in on people. Working furiously on her map wall, and her wall of information, adding in everything Enola had told her to it. Everything that had happened in the dream. She'll need to gather more art supplies, at this rate. She keeps on the move, a lot. Through Milton, and down to Lakeside. Hunting, sometimes, on two legs and four, plus gathering supplies and looking for useful plants. Such as they are in the constant winter. And other things, too. She can be found exploring just about anywhere.

And as always, she can be found at the hot springs, too, sometimes. Soaking in the glorious hot water (giving glimpses or more of scars and tattoos). (Gods, she fucking hates the cold. And snow.) It gives her too much time to thinks, too, though, sometimes. Maybe that's why sometimes she brings a book, with her, or art supplies that she doesn't worry much about getting wet. Something to distract herself. Keep her hands busy.

And some nights, she takes back to the rooftops. The gift from the Boar had been a case of booze. But there was more than a little sentimentality to it, too. A reminder of where she’s been. She’d been collecting alcohol from all the different worlds she’s been. And she’d had quite the portable booze cellar by the end of it. Until, of course, she’d come here. She’d lost more than just her powers, being dragged here. (The powers were the more important loss, but she cannot help but miss the keepsakes, too. The little things, kept in remembrance.

(There are journals, kept safe in her home, where she has drawn things. People. Places. Memories. She keeps them close in the ways that she can.)

So she can be found, once more, on rooftops, with a bottle of alcohol. This time, though, the alcohol is a vibrant blue color. Sitting, and drinking, and raising a toast to those who have been lost to distance. There have been so many. And she misses them all. So MUCH.

Frankenstein's Creature (Adam) | Frankenstein 2025 | OTA

[simplyam]

plotting post | ladybastet92

early january | invisible benefactor

[simplyam]

( It is a strange new world he has found himself in. There is much he does not recognise in this village, and he knows even less about its inhabitants. And his dreams - his dreams are not like any he has experienced before. It unnerves him, and a battered and bruised instinct in him calls out to retreat. But for some unknown reason, his body does not heal itself as it once did, and the cold seeps into his deadened skin in a way that it never had before, so he knows he cannot make it on his own. Perhaps no human can - but few have considered his reanimated form truly human, and he doubts this will change in the future.

Still, as out of place as he is here, he was still greeted with kindness, his wound treated without question. He wants to repay the village's kindness, so he does so in the only way he knows how: in silent service.

There are many modern devices in these homes that he does not recognize, but he notices that fire is still essential for survival here. So, early in the morning, he ventures out to the outskirts of the woods with an axe and collects kindling and firewood for the village. His strength is halved in his place, but he can still carry a decent amount over several trips, the wood strapped to his back or in his long arms.

Daylight has just started to peek its head over the mountain ridge when you find him placing a pile of firewood down by your door. He has not spoken to all the villagers, but he can assume their needs are the same as his, so he provides the supplies quietly and without suggestion. He is wrapped in his furs, his face covered with a cloth to keep away both the cold and violent reactions from strangers seeing his his scarred visage. If you see him at the right moment, open your door at the right time, you might catch him before he silently slips back into the frozen landscape he emerged from, like some sort of spectre. )

john irving | the terror | ota

[extramuralise]

» † 𝕬𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌⨾ ＳＵＮＤＥＲＥＤ ＰＡＳＳ.

---

[ Irving is, of course, anxious as always to jump on any new potential opportunities for helping shore up the Interloper's ever-insecure food and overall supply stores — although frankly, barring any unforeseen disasters, they probably won't be hurting on that front for quite some time now, given how many of their numbers have been gradually disappearing — and so, he wastes almost no time speaking to Milton's newest visitors, gratefully trading for some meats (both fresh and cured), flour, and pelts with as much of their rare inventory surplus the town can afford to spare.

This investment proves almost immediately prudent, in fact, when the women ready themselves for their arduous return home. Knowing well how difficult such travel can be for even the most seasoned, well-trained explorers, Irving would feel deeply remiss allowing five women — one of them surely still but a child, to look at her — to make such a perilous journey back through the mountains alone, without offering them some manner of aid or accompaniment; his Victorian sense of chivalry simply cannot abide it, nor can his remaining Naval, polar-and-climbing-experience-having pride, regardless of how little he truly relishes trekking almost blindly over bitterly cold, and no doubt treacherous, mountain pathways.

In any case, the cured meats and pelts will be a tremendous boon to bring along for such a journey, even if the layering the warm hide upon his heavy greatcoat will make climbing more of a challenge.

As it is, Irving already imagines the group will most likely have to make their way relatively slowly and carefully to account for how much gear and provisions need to be carried with them, never mind the vicious wind, snow, and ice they'll no doubt be fighting against for their every forward step, or the uneven, slippery, and almost certainly unstable terrain underfoot as they wind their way through with completely miserable, almost nonexistent visibility.

Irving will gladly assist or advise any of his fellow travelers with their climbing, should they appear at any point to be struggling, and perhaps for some this will actually be helpful, just as for others it may be so unsolicited as to come across somewhat patronizing— not Irving's intention by any means, but his manner can oftentimes, inadvertently or not, give off that impression.

And eventually it comes time to make camp, although after hiking endlessly for one dark hour after another after another after another, it's hard to truly know for certain what time it is or how far they have already traveled, let alone whether or not night has actually even fallen yet. Still, they do need to stop and rest a while regardless, they need to eat and sleep and make sure they're in the necessary condition to keep navigating the twisting obstacle course that lays ahead of and behind them, all the while praying to God with every step they don't get lost or simply just walk themselves off a ledge in all this darkness.

Irving manages to find adequate-enough shelter for the night(?) by the flickering light of a campfire, using one of the lanterns to ensure it isn't already home to any hibernating animals, hanging icicles, falling scree, or sudden drop-offs hiding under snow and shadow, before he drapes one of the heavy pelts over the opening and lays out his sleeping bag. There's even room enough within the small chamber for one or two others to join him in camping there, as well a small gravel ditch just deep enough to light another modest campfire should they find themselves still in need of any additional warmth.

And so Irving does, in fact, begin going through the motions of trying to light one, the pelt insulating the hollow nicely but also blocking the warmth of any other fires from reaching them. Getting the fire started isn't easy, but eventually small flames faintly start coming to life around the dead branches put down as kindling, the heat slowly spreading itself throughout the cavern. ]

» † 𝕹𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄⨾ ＴＨＥ ＧＲＡＶＥＹＡＲＤ.

---

[ Irving does not find much beauty in the swampy, waste-and-ruin-laden muskeg, and that's even before he takes notice of how many bodies — large and small, of both man and beast — lie strewn all throughout that dank and sunken wasteland. He takes the long route around it, trusting the faint frozen crust no more than he would dare walk over British bog-lands even in the drier seasons, knowing full well that underneath that brittle crust, they're often nothing less than yawning, fathomless sinkholes eager to swallow down anything foolish enough to come to rest upon their opaque, mossy surfaces.

The scattered ruins that litter the expanse are testament enough to this geographical probability, half-sunken in the frosty murk and damaged beyond salvation by the pressure and relentless damp, or else partially preserved by either the peat, freezing temperatures, or some combination of both. Most of what Irving sees feels almost impossible for him to make any sense of, yet the more he notices while steadily continuing to walk, the easier and easier it becomes to understand why he's been hearing people call this place "the Graveyard."

Then suddenly voices, too, rising and fading in uneven murmurs all around him, as visions then begin to appear from out of the soupy mist like some magic lantern shadow play:

—a spark of hope and certain salvation borne of a stranger's kindness ⨾  an attempt to assert discipline and authority easily foiled by a very large man, who with one hand then effortlessly shoves [you?] forcefully backwards until [you?] are subdued against the wall ⨾  fire, screams, costumed figures in a frenzy of shock and panic as the unmistakable scents of blood, smoke, and burning flesh thicken the air ⨾  witnessing a crewmate being lashed and feeling a sickening churn of misplaced guilt, shame, and pity ⨾  sitting in the wardroom of a ship that is filled with stern men all in the costume of officers, while [you?] remain slightly apart, a monkey climbing upon [your?] shoulders ⨾  lowering a gun in the flickering firelight, heart dropping ⨾  accidentally uncovering a secret much too heavy for [you?] to carry ⨾  and various other brief, scattered glimpses of assorted moments from a man's life.


The visions overwhelm him, both his own, and whatever arbitrary other memories he may see but not recognize; all of it seems to flicker across both his brain and his line of sight within merely seconds, there and gone, but that cannot possibly be right... can it?

He stumbles forward on unsteady feet, bracing himself against a dead and uprooted (yet still somehow upright) tree that has, miraculously, managed thus far to avoid being digested by the muskeg despite how low over the muddy surface its skeletal branches bow, before then whispering shakily to himself: ]

W-what in God's name was that...?

🌊 w i l d c a r d｡

Choose your own adventure⨾

—aka hit me up with anything else, and/or feel free to PM or plurk me @ reggiemantle to discuss further! ❤︎

the graveyard / wildcard - cw aviation accidents/immolation

[faa]

[ Freddie knows what he's looking at before he's even close enough to see the full extent of the half-sunken wreckage—any pilot would. And he feels hollow, feels the empty space where emotions were carved out of him like the pit of a fruit more than he feels the presence of something—he feels the grief lurking, a shadow below thick ice, but it doesn't touch him, not yet. There's just a strange cold feeling as he moves through the tall dead grass in the direction of the CRJ's heat-warped skeleton, studying every bone in its industrial whalefall as he carefully picks his way closer in silence, identifying each disassembled part as he steps over and around them, leading the way for the man behind him: a dislodged aileron, a bent elevator half driven into the ground, all blackened with decay and the incredible heat its fuel burns at.

There wouldn't have been any survivors; they didn't even leave behind remains, just... splinters of what might be bone scattered around some of the remaining seat frames. He hopes the deaths were instant; the way the plane's body seems to have been pulled apart by the force of the impact seems to suggest that. He can't imagine anyone crash-positioning their way out of an accident so gruesome.

The pilots probably went first, if only by a fraction of a second. He imagines them fighting the yokes, the strain of pulling back as hard as the human body will allow in a struggle with the reins of a tremendous machine, the shrill outcry of every sensor in their ears—wonders at what point they knew it was over. His throat feels tight.

Bombadier's instruments would have frantically reminded them, over and over, that they were approaching their death. Sink rate. Sink rate. Sink rate. Pull up. Pull up.

For whatever reason, they couldn't. He wonders if they watched the ground approach in those last few moments or if they closed their eyes in anticipation of the impact. At least it was probably as instant as a death can get, the split-second change from everything to darkness that comes with a single blink. He turns his head to look at Irving. ]

Well, this is a plane, [ he says, a little quiet. Freddie gestures up and down the rows of half-sunken seat frames. ] It's a smaller one. It's called a Bombadier CRJ. It would be used for shorter flights, at full capacity it would have been carrying maybe 65, 70 people. Two pilots. [ All of them dead now. ]