singillatim | I am naked in the dark

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I am naked in the dark

Who: Frodo Baggins and OTA!
What: Trying to cope with malfunctioning feats.
When: Month of February
Where: Milton

Community Hall - early February

It is barely noticeable at first, though Frodo does notice it. After all, it isn't the first time he has felt it. The sun doesn't rise, and he wakes one morning and his body feels so heavy, too heavy, to move. Then, even as he is surrounded by people, he feels disconnected from them, and he realises his mind is eerily quiet.

For a moment, he feels a cold dread spread through him, with the thought that Sauron must finally have found him. Even though he has long since concluded the risk of that is next to nil.

When he checks the Ring and notices that it's no heavier, that it hasn't started tugging at him once again, he concludes it couldn't be Sauron. Which means it must be the Darkwalker. It is absurd that such a terrible thing could be a comfort, but in a strange way, it is.

Even though the Darkwalker promises an end to the world.

The sun doesn't rise, and so, after that scare, Frodo starts preparing what fresh food is left. Without sun, there is no telling what will happen to the animals and the plants around, and the warmth of the greenhouse may no longer be enough either. The first half of February, he can be found in the Community Hall most of the time, drying meat and vegetables. As the days pass, he seems more and more tired.

Milton - Middle of February

The Interlopers of Milton are managing to keep the rot at bay somewhat, but the forests around it are faring worse, of course. Frodo is returning from an attempt to check his traps, and he's carrying two of them, looking worse for wear as he trudges back into town.

If he sees someone else who doesn't look too busy or too deep in thought, he stops to ask:

"Have you seen any rabbits this month?"

Community Hall and Milton - Late February

Anyone who has spent any significant amount of time in the Community Hall would know that Frodo has lived there ever since he arrived, except for the times he went to the coast and the Timberwolf Mountain. Even outside of Methuselah's feast, he would ensure there was often soup simmering at the hearth and hot drinks available.

Now, however, he appears to be moving out. Over a few days, he moves between the Hall and a nearby house on Blackrock Road, carrying clothes and supplies he's gathered over the months, as well as rations of food. He's moving quickly, keeping his head down, and seems to be intentionally avoiding anyone nearby.

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Nancy’s been in the Community Hall often enough to recognize people, even if she doesn’t know them. So she has definitely seen Frodo around. Which is why she notices him moving out. Or appearing to. He’s trying to keep his head down, looks like, trying to avoid people.

Sorry Frodo, you’re going to have a young woman with wild, curly hair who has a baseball bat on her back, stuck through the backpack she’s wearing fall into step beside you when you come back for another load. “Need a hand?” she asks. “It’ll go more quickly with another pair.”

It's easier to avoid people on the streets of Milton than inside the Hall, so Frodo isn't all too surprised that he fails this time. Despite not being surprised, and despite seeing her feet in the corner of his eye, he still starts when she speaks, almost stumbling when he comes to a halt and lifts his head.

His mind is almost torn in two. On one hand, the loneliness makes him desperate for any connection someone else could offer. On another, he can feel his mind slipping more and more as the days go by, which is why he has decided moving out must be best. Nancy clearly does not intend to stop him, but he still feels his temper flare even as he tells himself it makes absolutely no sense to lose it here. He has to take a deep breath, and then shakes his head.

"I'm all right. Thank you."

Nancy probably should let it go… but that’s not in her nature. “You don’t look all right. Something’s obviously driving you out of the Community Hall.” It’s a little hard to miss. Because if he was moving out just to move out, he wouldn’t be moving out like this. Quick. Keeping his head down. Trying not to be noticed or stopped. “Whatever it is, you get out of here quicker if you have help.”

Dorian has told her about gifts going haywire. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything that’s happening. It seems like it’s been getting bad for a while, from what she’s heard. And he’s probably been here longer than she has. At least a little bit.

Keep it together. She's being kind, she doesn't deserve anger.

Not to mention she's right. It would be quicker with help. Frodo takes another deep breath, and looks out the window. He was supposed to not do this. Refuse help. He'd made a promise to Sam that he wouldn't, even if Sam doesn't know about it. If the Darkwalker is coming for them all, they need each other's help more than ever.

"Very well. I am moving the wood I gathered before the fog came in."

Another set of hands for that would be very useful.

Nancy nods. She’s relieved. She wants to help. She needs to. She’s not used to… not having something to deal with. Something to focus on. The Upside Down. Vecna. There’s always been something to figure out, something she needed answers to. There’s a LOT she needs answers to, here, but there’s not the straightforwardness (relatively speaking) of investigation that there is in Hawkins. Not that that’s ever stopped her, or ever would stop her. But it makes it a lot harder to keep busy, sometimes.

So she’s just going to go grab a large bundle of wood in her arms, ready to follow Frodo wherever he’s taking it.

When she grabs a bundle of wood and clearly waits to follow, all without a word, some of the tension runs out of Frodo's shoulders. He only notices he held it when it dissipates, and he manages a small, grateful smile as he grabs a bundle for himself, then starts leading them out of the Hall.

The silence helps his temper settle, and as he heads towards the turn down Blackrock Road, he offers:

"I'm Frodo Baggins."

Rorschach shakes his head at the question. He's seen it too when he goes out into the woods: the large dearth of animals out there. They've never been plentiful but at least they could be found. Now, it's like they've all disappeared to parts unknown. The ones that remain are small and scrawny, often looking too weak and pitiful to have left with the others or kept up with their rapid pace, leaving them behind stuck in the woods to wander until another animal or person snatched them up.

"So many gone," he observes. "It's getting bad." People were barely civilized at the best of times in Rorschach's experience. If food becomes scarce here? That's when society will completely collapse.

It's the answer he expects, but of course he'd been hoping that he simply ... what? Put his traps in bad spots? That the rabbits had moved on? Something like that.

Although he'd believed the Darkwalker since the beginning, to see things turn so grim is frightening, to say the least. His thoughts turn more often to Sam, Sauron, and the Ring. To the possibility of dying here, so far away from home, unable to tell anyone what happened to him. And it's very possible that Sauron could not reach his ring here, but then what will he do? Without it, he is weakened, but he still has his orcs, has his forces.

Frodo cannot think about that. He needs to focus on this.

"If daylight does not return ..." he says, feeling a shiver travel down his spine at the thought. "We have food to last us for some time, if we can keep it safe, but too much has already spoiled."

"Been here over two years. Daylight never been gone for this long before. Think it might be gone for good." There's no use in beating around the bush or trying to be 'tactful' in a situation like theirs, where survival is starting to become less and less of a certainty as the days pass.

Rorschach scrubs at his face for a moment as he thinks of all that. Despite the rough life he's led, at least he'd always been able to find food in New York. Indeed, there was an overabundance of food if only one knew where to look in the dumpsters and back alleys. But now? They're gonna be close to running out sooner rather than later. "Will have to try to stick together." Though he knows better than most that's also a fool's dream of a different sort. He just doesn't want to think about when the collapse of polite society will come for all of them, likely far sooner than before even the food runs out.

That thought has struck him, as well. That daylight will not return. If the Darkwalker gets its way, which it very well might, that is surely true. The only way to bring it back would be to somehow defeat the Darkwalker.

He wonders if that is possible. He wonders if it is has some have said, that this is simply the way it is meant to be.

He wonders if the course of the future can be changed at all.

If he was meant to have the Ring, does that also mean that he was meant to end up here? Is this always how the Ring was going to be brought away from Sauron's reach?

"Mm," he says, and shakes his head to try to remember where he is. "We will simply have to try to make our supplies last."

There's no reason hoping animals will return. They will have gone to hide in the hopes that whatever this is will simply pass quietly by.

"Got to stick together." That sounds almost humorous coming from someone as much of a loner as Rorschach is. Forever aloof and watching the rest of the Interlopers from a distance means sometimes he doesn't really come off as being so much as one of them as some odd watcher from afar.

But he means what he says.

If they're all to survive this (for as long as possible anyway), they're going to need to come together as a community, which also means Rorschach will have to put away the last of his loner tendencies and work harder to cooperate with everyone.

One doesn't need to know Rorschach well to know that he usually keeps to himself, but Frodo doesn't think much about it now. It's a perfectly sensible thought. Sticking together has got to be the way people have survived for as long as they did, how they built up something like a community here.

"Do you think it is possible for us to survive this?"

"......." The silence that follows says magnitudes on its own. Finally, Rorschach responds. ".....Don't know." He truly doesn't.

All the evidence points that they are heading towards their doom. But Rorschach, despite his cynical outer shell, still has a core full of hope. He truly will keep believing there is a way for them to keep going until all their options are exhausted or the Darkwalker decides to devour all of them at once.

Truthfully, Frodo prefers that response over insisting that it's obviously possible. He would envy anyone who has such belief in it, but ultimately find it very difficult to believe. And if he were the only one in that position - as unlikely as that would be - he would feel incredibly alone.

He nods slowly, and looks into the distance, thinking about the fog and how oppressive it felt.

"It seems ... absurd to think we could defeat something that appears to be the force of nature it claims it is."

Rorschach is glad that Frodo is as clear-eyed about this situation as Rorschach himself is. Still, he won't give fully into despair, not when there are still people here that he cares about. "Can only hope a weakness for itself will present itself. Or, like other forces of nature, will lose power and energy till it sputters out."

"It only seems to be gaining energy at the moment." And rapidly, after being quiet for so long. "I wonder if that is why Methuselah has left."

He remembers that Randvi hadn't trusted the man very much. Perhaps she was onto something. Although ... If the world were to end, Methuselah would end with it, wouldn't he? Isn't it in all their best interest for the Darkwalker to not succeed?

Sam is on his way back to his cabin when he sees what he thinks is maybe a kid, or at the most a teenager, holding some traps and looking forlorn about something. Which honestly, doesn't surprise him, given the state of the town right now.

"Uh... you know? I don't think I've seen any rabbits since I got here. But hey if you want to talk we should probably keep moving? My place isn't too far off, I don't want to be out in this fucking fog too long."

Oh maybe he shouldn't swear in front of young people like that.

If he wants to talk? 'Want' is a stretch, but at least Frodo's uncertain and perhaps suspicious frown is mostly hidden by his trapper hat and the scarf over his mouth. His current weakness makes him more unwilling to trust, which was already difficult to begin with, but at the same time he feels desperately lonely, and the fog feels like its seeping into him.

Seems they may need more runes.

"Where?"

The Community Hall and his own cabin are still a good walk away. And getting to know more Interlopers is something he should have done a long time ago.

"About two minutes that way," he points ahead of them. "Just up the road. It's small, but it's got a fire and running water, so it's a place to rest anyway. Get some of the fog out of your lungs."

Sam has his winter gear on, hood pulled up to try and block as much of the fog as possible. "Not to be an asshole, but you should probably decide in the next couple minutes what you want to do."

Well, he was about to decide. The Old Bear's temper flares in him again, mixing together with all the other bad things that keep trying to choke him, and he made a promise that he wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to shut himself away completely. They need each other. There is no chance they can make it alone.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he takes a deep breath, then nods.

"Very well. I will rest."

He notices the tension and winces internally. Despite saying he wasn't an asshole Sam had, in fact, been an asshole. But the kid does say yes, and Sam exhales in relief that he hadn't accidentally shoved him away entirely, and nods. "Right this way, then."

The cabin on Greene Street is small, but functional. Not homey by any stretch of the imagination, but Sam's never been one for decorating. He makes sure the door is secure and shoves the scarf back into place at the base of it; someone had put one of those blood runes next to his doorway, but better safe than sorry, right?

"I'm gonna poke at the fire. There are a couple of tin mugs hanging around if you want to grab water." And he does just that, kneeling by the woodstove and using a stick to prod the embers. "I'm Sam, by the way," he calls over his shoulder.

It's shelter and warm, which is good enough. Frodo drops his traps by the door, takes off his outermost layers and hangs them up, secures Sting around his waist, then goes searching for one of those tin mugs. A few minutes, perhaps half an hour at most, a chance to warm up and breathe more easily, then he can return to the Community Hall.

"I'm Frodo. When did you get here?"

"Not long. Six months, maybe?" The fire gets going again, and Sam moves to one of the chairs to start taking his gear off and getting more comfortable. "It's not a lot different from where I'm from, just that everywhere is cold here.

How about you? Oh shit -- " he laughs in surprise when he sees Sting. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting a sword. But I guess that makes sense to have, here."

About half the time Frodo has been here, then. But that would be the winter half of the year, so it wouldn't be completely impossible that Sam hasn't seen a single rabbit.

He looks up briefly from the mug he's identified when Sam laughs, and offers a sort of crooked smile. It's a little difficult to smile right now. It feels strained.

"I never go anywhere without it."

That, and Sam isn't much of a hunter. He can forage alright, but hunting is not his forte, so he hadn't really looked.

"That's smart," he says, nodding to the sword. After a moment of fiddling, he detaches what looks to be a chord with a cloth wrapped stone attached to either end. "I made this? It's called a bola, it's what I used back home. It was dangerous to actually kill someone, where I'm from, but this could knock a guy out pretty well. Or trip them up, if you aim at the ankles.

String versus stick, right?" Sam adds, with a noise that's almost a laugh, but with a hint of bitterness to it.

Honestly, he could probably make better use of a weapon like that than a sword, and it doesn't look difficult to make either. Perhaps he should make one. But ...

"Dangerous to kill someone?"

Isn't it always? Usually, it's not something people approve of. The way Sam said that, though, is quite strange. He has to wonder about it.

"There was an event, in my world. They called it the Death Stranding, that messed up whatever separates the living from the dead. It meant that if someone died and wasn't very quickly cremated, it could cause a huge explosion. One that could wipe out an entire city."

While he talks, he sheds his gear until he's down to his tee. If Frodo looks closely, he'd see what look like overlapping handprints patterened across both of his forearms. "But if you know how to use a sword, I bet wherever you're from has its own dangers."

For now, Frodo is rather distracted by this concept that Sam is describing. There are ways to avoid death, if one knows how to do so, but what would it take to entirely remove the veil between the living and the dead?

"Yes," he says, absentmindedly, and shakes his head before he continues a bit more clearly. "A great evil that wishes to rule over all."

He remembers the mug in his hand, and goes to fill it.

Shaw is another Community Hall frequent flier - not so much as Frodo, because she has a few other places that she bops around to, but if she had to pin down one singular home base it would be this one. She doesn't have much patience for small talk and isn't very social in general, so Frodo won't have heard much from her since they escaped that fever dream of a burning building together - but when she sees him heading towards the door with a moving-sized bundle on his back, she stops to do a double-take.

"-- You're leaving?"

Her double-take gets one in return from Frodo, because of all people to stop him, he didn't expect it would be Shaw. He doesn't get to think a step far enough to say anything but the truth (although it's not like he really has a reason to be evasive either).

"Y-yes. It ... seems safer."

He couldn't say who it would be safer for, though. Himself, or those around him.

The look she gives him is... skeptical, to say the least. It's the same look she'd give almost anyone who declared their intention to strike out on their own, now of all times - but it's admittedly a bit heightened due to who it's coming from. Sorry, Frodo. She has no idea that you have a perilous world-changing quest under your belt, and you look like a tiny cinnamon roll.

"Safer," she says, flatly. "Is there a fortified city out there that I don't know about?"

She would be far from the first. And Frodo is aware of the instinctual reaction a Hobbit can have on Men, and aware that there are many reasons to question this decision. Nonetheless, he is certain it's the right one.

Right now, he has no intention to fully isolate, but somewhere to hide away is a good idea.

He offers her a smile that's a mixture of wry and understanding, and shifts on his feet. The strange short temper he has had for a couple of weeks seems to be staying quiet, at least for now.

"Do you not feel strange? Not yourself?"

The direct question gives her pause, far more than a standard "How are you?" would have. Absolutely she feels strange. But after everything - everything at home, and then everything here - who's to say that strange isn't her new normal?

"I don't know what myself feels like anymore." It's more honest than she'd planned to be, but what's the point in lying? "But--"

She pauses. Thinks back. Reassesses It seems safer in a new light.

"You feel like you're gonna hurt someone?"

"Maybe." Even as he says it, though, it feels ridiculous, and he shrugs. "I may not be a real danger to anyone here, but ... I would rather not put anyone in that position."

He thinks about Boromir, about the desperate apologies that followed him as soon as he left, and his throat twists painfully. He doesn't want himself in that position, either.

Welp.

Shaw shifts her gaze off into the middle distance, crossing her arms hard over her chest. "Been there," she says hollowly. "I get it."

But she is also a trained soldier with extensive combat experience, not a three-foot-tall guy who looks like he's just out of his teens. She flicks her gaze back to him, briefly, looking him up and down in a way that very possibly gives away her reservations.

It does give away her reservations, and although he just thought about them himself, seeing someone else think them ends up lighting a spark in that temper he's trying to keep at bay. Once again, he thinks about Boromir, about the way the man had ruffled his hair after the Ring seemingly tried to tempt him on the mountain. Even the way he'd practice fighting with Merry and Pippin suddenly seems irritating rather than heartwarming.

A Hobbit knows they seem like children to Men. Unlike Dwarves, they aren't bulky and clearly strong. Normally, he wouldn't blame them either. But right now--

"Rash assumptions are ill-advised," he says, wrestling with the urge to snap or yell, clenching and unclenching his hands.

Edited 2026-04-13 19:07 (UTC)

Anger has always been the easiest emotion for Shaw to grasp at, and that's been especially true lately, even if it looks a bit different on her than it does on other people. She isn't angry now. But she sees it on him, and she respects it: both in the sense of like meeting like, and in the sense that she respects anyone willing to stand up for themselves. Still, though--

"Bears, wolves, and the cold can outclass anyone, no matter how good we are at fighting."

There's a reason she herself largely stays in the Community Hall.

"I'm just saying. Those people you want to spare having to fight you probably wouldn't like it if you died for the cause."

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