singillatim | nature offers a violence

nature offers a violence

NOVEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — WHITEOUT: Methuselah makes an unexpected early return to Milton to warn Interlopers of an impending monster storm, and boy does it surely come.

PROMPT TWO — A CHOICE: Following the storm, sightings of a mysterious stag prompts a hunt down in the Basin and out in the Outskirts.

PROMPT THREE — REST MY WEARY BONES: While the storm causes a great deal of mess, it also uncovers some far more pleasant surprises. Hot springs.

WHITEOUT

WHEN: Early to mid-month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: extreme weather; storms; blizzards; themes of survival; possible character cold-related injuries; possible themes of peril.

In the times that he is no longer occupying the Community Hall in the center of town to help tend to the newcomers, Methuselah is out in the wilds. Despite his growing age, he is a hardened survivor, and has been more than accustomed to life living as a nomad, out in the thickest, deepest parts of nature. Sometimes he can be encountered, sheltered in a cave or out in the woods, huddled by a warm campfire, or busying himself with his latest game catch. He seems to be always on the move, never staying for too long, and never coming into town — unless it’s to begin preparations for the latest batch of new arrivals.

To see him returning to Milton outside of these times is a curious sight, and the grim expression he carries is enough to make anyone wary. Even his voice is grave. The warmth and kindness usually found in his expression is gone, replaced with a deathly seriousness. He doesn’t speak in jest.

"I am long used to this world and its weather, even with the changing times to more bitter nights." he will say. "I have seen the years rise and fall, too many to count. Please, I beg that you hear me with this— a storm is coming. Greater than some of you may have ever known. It is in the air, and we must prepare to see it through. We do not have much time. Three days, perhaps. But no more."

He will tell anyone and everyone; encouraging the word to be spread around. He will instruct on what needs to be done, what needs to be gathered. The storm will be long and hard, and will last for some time. With that, Methuselah will begin to prepare the Community Hall as a place of refuge with a stock of food, fuel and water to get through the storm. Interlopers will be free to join Methuselah and bunker down together, or can choose to bunker down on their own in their own homes, or with others.

You have only three days.

And sure enough, the storm comes. Maybe you can notice the signs too: the sudden updraft, the slow gathering of clouds, the drop in temperature, the changes of pressure in the air.

Halfway through the third day, the storm rolls in: a ferocious snow-storm unlike anything you’ve seen before. Even with the fading amount of daylight as mid-winter approaches, the sky turns as dark as night as will stay like night for the duration. Strong howling winds batter the town, and even the sturdiest of buildings creak and groan under the weight. Trees will be felled, some buildings might not fare the storm.

Relentless snow that falls so hard it’s a complete whiteout, and will be impossible to navigate if one were to step outside. Even then, it isn’t advisable. The temperature is bitter, with a frigid windchill. Going out in this kind of storm would be a death sentence. Staying out in it for longer than a half-hour will certainly kill you.

It would be best to wait it out, to huddle around warm fires in the darkness. It may certainly be a test of patience, depending on your choice of place to stay. The storm will last a full week, a stark reminder of what you are, the words you have heard in your arrival: thrown to Mother Nature’s mercy, the Interloper in her design.

But will you persist?

A CHOICE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards to end of month.
WHERE: Milton Basin, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: survival themes; themes of hunting; possible animal death.

After the storm passes, there’s a certain kind of hush that falls upon Milton and its surrounding areas as Interlopers are left to pick through the wake. While the temperature certainly doesn’t get that much warmer, there’s days and nights of clear, calm weather — short afternoons of weak sunshine and nights of chilly peace, the moon hung high in the starry skies. Winter is drawing ever-closer, but it’s still for a little while.

In the early evenings, before the sun sets, there’s strange sightings of a particular white stag that can be found roaming the area — particularly down in the Milton Basin. It seems quite elusive, but there’s plenty of Interlopers that have been able to capture a glimpse over the coming days. Even Methuselah himself has seen this beast before, remarking there has long been tall tales of a ghostly stag that roams the Northern Territories and is said to bring good fortune to those who manage to hunt it down.

Perhaps you’re a little low on luck. Perhaps you’re feeling lucky. You’re going to find that stag.

Hunting down the stag, however, will take a great deal of patience and time. You might find yourself waiting several hours to wait for it to appear. Building a snow shelter, or hunkering down in some old shack might be needed in order to keep warm. But if you’re patient enough, and able to withstand the cold for long enough — the beast will soon make an appearance.

In the dying light of the day, it is there. It’s unlike any deer you’ve seen before: tall and majestic, with thick, soft fur of brilliant white. It almost looks ghost-like in some angles, it’s an incredibly beautiful creature. But it seems to have also noticed you, just as you have noticed it. It doesn’t dart away, however. Instead it stands before you, waiting for you to act.

You have a choice: slay the creature, or let it go.

It will not move until you make your decision, holding your gaze until you raise your weapon or until you lower it and give up your hunt. But there is a consequence to either action: if you choose to kill the stag, you will be rewarded with a sizeable bounty of venison. Eating said meat will help you feel fuller for longer, and the meat will keep for far longer than any other deer slain.

However, if you choose to spare the stag, the creature will lower its head, as if bowing to you. Then, it will disappear with a swirling of powdered snow. When you return home for the evening and go to sleep, the next morning you will find a gift at the foot of your bed: a pair of deerskin boots, or a deerskin blanket. These boots are supple, tough and waterproof — allowing for a great balance of mobility and warmth. The blanket is incredibly toasty, and will provide a great deal of comfort in the long nights ahead.

REST MY WEARY BONES

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards indefinitely.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.

The storm has blown in plenty of snow to make traversing the area much more difficult, but there’s something else of note that comes with its passing. While the storm has brought much devastation, and some places have been buried in snow drifts, plenty of snow in areas has been blown away, uncovering otherwise lost secrets within Milton. Clouds of what looks like steam can be noted not too far from town, towards the mountains of the north.

If Interlopers head to explore the clouds, they will find old trails leading up towards the mountains. It isn’t a particularly difficult journey, for once, and they will soon discover that the storm has blown away the previously blocked access to a cave. It appears that this is the right place.

The air is warm here, pleasantly so. Warm enough that hats and mittens and coats seem a little unnecessary. One might wonder if someone lives within, and that a great fire is stoked to keep the place warm. But there’s no one in sight, no sounds of life: human, animal or otherwise. If they press on, they will discover that the cave floor is well worn with footfall: plenty of people have come here before, and the reason why is soon revealed.

The air grows even warmer, and more humid. The space opening to reveal small pools of slow-flowing water, warm water. The stone houses a natural hot spring, and following the cave out the other side will lead to another space in the rock open to the air, where there are even larger pools of warm water, perfectly sized and deep enough to bathe in. It seems that this place was frequently used by the people of Milton, where their life of hardship could be forgotten for an hour or two.

The water is pleasantly hot, and incredibly inviting. After so long in the freezing cold without modern appliances and utilities, a natural hot spring sounds like an absolute luxury.

FAQs

WHITEOUT

1. Characters are free to play around with this prompt how they want. Maybe they're dumb enough to go into the cold and get injured or sick. Maybe they're stuck in the Community Hall for the week. Fights might break out as tensions run high whilst everyone's stuck together, or maybe you're actually having a nice time.

2. For those stuck in the Community Hall: there are board games and old school textbooks stored in cupboards. There is also a piano.

3. A floorplan of the Community Hall can be found here.

A CHOICE

1. .... Yes, you can pet the ghost stag.

2. Characters will get one choice only with the ghost stag, meaning they can't keep going back to find it to get extra gifts.

3. If characters can't agree on a course of action, whoever acts first will get their gift. The second character will have a chance to try again another time.

4. If both characters agree on sparing the stag, but players want different gifts (ie. one player wants the boots and one wants the blanket), characters will get the gift the player wants their character to receive.

REST MY WEARY BONES

1. The hot springs will now be a permanent fixture in the Milton Area, enjoy!

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It's later in the night that Edward comes to find the young man — well-after things in the Community Center have calmed down, once people have had dinner and most have tucked in. He waits for some time, not wanting to cause a scene, although his stomach has continued to ache with internalised worry and stress (to be fair, this is not a new state for Edward Little to exist in).

....But for Kate, it's a particular sort. It reminds him of the worry he'd felt for the captain when the man was drinking himself to death. It isn't difficult for people to crumble inwards, to reach a point where hope is lost. He has seen so many men fall to it, losing hope and becoming nothing. (If he lets himself think too much about the things he has done and the ones he has failed, he might, too.) And he has seen the young Kate Marsh standing on the brink of it — torn apart by inner turmoil, by memories and ghosts, fueled by the whisper in this place that Edward has heard, too.

She'd come back from the edge. He'd offered his hand, and held hers firm as she'd come back to him, weeping like a child. Some weeks have passed, but he worries. A person doesn't stop loathing themselves, and feeling like they deserve nothing. He knows. He knows too well.

....He hasn't specifically brought along his shotgun for the purpose of meeting the young man. Edward already had the thing with him, strapped to his back as he makes his late-night patrols, checking in on things. That said...he'd made the decision to keep it on-hand as he heads to find him. You know. Just in case. (Not to use, of course, God no..... but such things can make a certain appearance. Maintain a certain safety. If he were back on the ice and addressing a Problem Sailor, he would keep it with him.)

Addressing Problem Sailors (and a multitude of other Problems) was a part of his responsibility, as first lieutenant and the captain's executive officer. It makes him uneasy, as it always does; Edward is not comfortable with confrontation... but there is a certain confidence to be found now, because this is for Kate's sake, and he won't be shy about expressing his disapproval. He's already frowning quite severely as he comes up, boots heavy against wooden floors. It's in one of the connecting halls that he's noticed the boy staying, away from the center of things. It's a relief; he wouldn't want an audience.

Edward approaches when the young man appears to be in the middle of some exercising, and gives his throat a purposeful clear. ]

Good evening. Might I have a word?

Edited 2023-12-05 22:30 (UTC)

[Oh. My. God. Tim inhales. Exhales. Every second is purposeful, counted, every moment and movement is controlled, his breathing especially so.

It's what saves his sorry butt from blurting out I knew you were going to say that! Right down to the growl-y rumble of the obligatory greeting.

His gaze flies to the guy, and of course Tim's big surprise is the shotgun. But if he reacts to it then the Big Man gets what he wants, so Tim grunts through the effort of a chair-dip: one good hand braced on the seat of a busted bench supporting his weight. His legs are out, heels on the floor. Arm-in-a-cast is doing arm in a cast things, just there at his middle.] I mean, you already said that you would.

[His face is the splotchy sort of red that physical exertion calls for and his voice comes out pretty even. Which Tim finds himself thankful for. The silent challenge of or are you going back on your word is too... worn, weathered, old to be tailored to be Little's perfect fit.

Tim knew he should have gone outside. Maybe tag along with Levi. Get hypothermia.

Or, you know, regular ol' sleep would be good too.

Most others are or are getting ready to snooze, and long before now Tim had been alone to pat himself on the back for a dinner rush done well. All that matters are full bellies, anyway. It's not like he's got numbers on who would go down first in famine.

What.

Numbers are numbers, don't--]

I'm two sets away from finishing up.

[His conditioning shouldn't suffer from his weaknesses.

Gonna get swole.

His form stutters, though, because Tim would be damned if he did so out loud so he supposes the surprise oughta let itself show some other way-- he catches himself in time, slides his palm into a steadier position.

His dad used to get super fucking pissed when he'd diss him like this; patiently, he offers,]

What's on your mind, Officer?

[ Edward watches the younger man continue his movements, silently taking in the sight of him: one arm wounded, but he's clearly in impressive physical health, capable of moving like that.

'I mean, you already said that you would.'

There's a slight quirk of a brow, but otherwise he remains patient and calm, not wanting to risk inflaming this situation. He already suspects this youth to react.. unfavourably to him, given his attitude towards him back in the kitchens — and the last thing that Edward Little wants to do is incite things. No, he is here to hopefully appease the tensions of earlier, but also to hold this young man accountable... He has to keep things running smoothly here through the storm, and that includes making certain that people are behaving respectably towards one another.

And so, the lieutenant lets the boy continue, though there's a pause of mild alarm when he seems to slip up for a moment; should he be doing this when injured....? ]

Ah — yes. I wish to speak with you about the incident that took place earlier today, involving Miss Marsh.

[ Formal as ever... and saying nothing that the both of them don't already know, but it's important to properly Announce His Business... ]

Surely you can see how one may be alarmed by what transpired. [ He lowers his voice, mindful to use discretion, even if there isn't anyone else nearby. ] Is there some discord occurring between the both of you?

[Starting off by stating the obvious. Nice. Tim's eyes leave the man and he tells himself it's to divide his attention to good form, not to be entirely dismissive. Before the judge and jury that the Lieutenant fancies himself as, Tim knows where he stands.

And it's not like Tim himself has the need to build a case; he has nothing to prove. For once. It's refreshing.

He hums, decides to hold back the question of what business it is of Little's. Tim's a quick study, a good student. He got thoroughly dismissed already- why go fishing for disrespect again?

He still doesn't understand how this show is more important than first assuring that Kate's alright.

Tim won't ask if she is. If Little is here then his charge has been settled and calmed. It's cool. Don't get him wrong. That level of devotion, here or elsewhere, is cool. Tim's just gonna have to wonder about what that mother-henning would feel like later, maybe when he's all self-pitying after a cold sweat wakes him up again.

Anyway.

One obvious statement is well met with another. Is there some discord--]

Not to my knowledge.

[Ball's back in their court, Kate and Little as that unified front.]

[ Edward lifts his brows at the reply, and then his mouth tightens a little before he gives the softest sigh. Not wholly frustrated just yet, only... at a loss. He's hoping for an explanation — for insight, for something. Anything. (Please, give him something, the thirty-six-year-old lieutenant who has never had children of his own and has been married to his job for all of his adult life is extremely bad at this!!!)

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, but he's looking a bit uncomfortable. It all gets layered beneath that padding of stern severity as he keeps his shoulders squared and his expression a frown, but it's there in his body language, tense.

Is the boy playing games with him? Being stubborn? Refusing to offer anything unless it's pulled out of him? Edward hesitates, before trying again. ]

Then can you help me to understand how a conflict came about in the first place? And to such a degree that it should cause a young woman as gentle and mild-mannered as Miss Marsh to become ill?

[ Of course disagreements may happen, especially when people are in such discomforting, strained, frightening situations as this. But to that extent? He can't even imagine what sort of exchange must have happened, what might have been said or done. It had to have been.... quite intense. ]

[It's infuriating. That sigh is infuriating because it's soft. The austerity that is the cement to this wall of a man is infuriating because the face doesn't break a crack. And Tim feels lied to, deceived.

Kudos to the big guy for keeping it together. Logically, Tim recognizes the value of the virtue. In a military man, it's a priceless armor.

He thinks that maybe he should have joined up with the army back then, after all.

Winter makes scars hurts. This place is hell.

Inhale, straighten the arm but don't lock the elbow, exhale,] I told you already.

[There's a restlessness under his skin.

And it's... that... tiny swarming of self-awareness that comes to one when they're breaking a sweat that makes Tim decide that he can't take this. He can't do this. It's a new panic-- because it is a panic, a rough ocean wave wrenching him from the surface and forcing his head under into the burn of salt and cold pressure.

It's infuriating.

But it's new. Tim hadn't... had an opportunity to learn he'd react like this. He's been alone since-- so, no, he hadn't gotten through a workout with any other person around since-- and it's like, suddenly he's feeling naked, and he's sweating and panting because of the heat-cold-heat of exercise... and it's wrong with the Lieutenant's eyes on him. Tim, though, he just. He just. He exhales, thinks he's already exhaled, and so he shuts his lightly parted and chapped lips and breathes in through his nose, and he maneuvers and manages to bring his feet down under him.

He eyes Little like a lion does a hyena. Or like a hyena does a lion.

Like the man will take something that belongs only to Tim.

(Probably not, but.)

He won't say his thanks to paranoia but his legs are sore and his one arm is sore and then (ta-da) Tim's standing and he can fight, and that's what matters. Five-six and breathing hard and his heart thrumming like a stalling engine inside his chest, he feels so very incredibly dumb.

It's infuriating.

It's not Little's fault.

He gets it, okay? He gets why he's getting A Talking To.]

There's not much to do around here, is there?

[--it's an out it's their escape from this standoff that neither of them want, it's no diss because the man would know if he was dissing, it's just

Tim's voice comes a little clipped. Sharp.

It's fucking infuriating and all he can do is look on at that impassive face, his own a mirror of an emotional void. Because

because he feels dumb, and this is stupid, all of this is stupid; he sighs. Softly. Adds, helpfully,] I mean, other than polishing the rifle.

[--phrasing]

Edited (I FORGOT SOMETHING ) 2023-12-15 04:11 (UTC)

[ 'I told you already.'

Edward's freshly stunned at that, though at this point, he probably shouldn't be. It's just— he's not used to this. This insolence, because that's the word for it. It isn't even so much a matter of his being a figure of authority as it is simply a matter of respect towards an older man at all — granted, he sees the world through the norms of his own time and culture and particular social class. Being treated this way by A Youth is.... practically unheard of. Or by anyone; people don't behave this way.

He doesn't know what to do, brow pinching, looking a mixture of agitated and nauseated as his mouth forms a thin line, staring at the boy. Then he's getting to his feet, and the older man is tensing slightly; he doesn't know what he's capable of. This is all such an unknown, and his heart is a nervous animal in the face of it. Again, he thinks of Hickey, and his particular brand of arrogant insolence, and how men like that can become very dangerous.

He still doesn't know what happened to Kate. The boy told him earlier, yes, but it didn't explain anything. What did they talk about? Argue about? What did he say to her, to make her so upset? Will he say it again? Is he a danger to her?

The question makes him blink; he can't predict anything the boy will say next, and it makes him feel out of control, deeply unsettled. (Fortunately, he doesn't grasp any other nuances to the phrase polishing the rifle; he only regards Tim with a wary look.) He's nervous of him, of this, but Kate is under his protection and that is what matters more than anything.

Edwards takes a step forward — non-threatening, non-aggressive. It's only to close some distance, head tipped forwards, voice lowering even further. Mindful, always, to be polite, to give the benefit of the doubt, to not make this boy feel publicly berated. But he's freshly stern, voice quiet and unhappy. ]

Let me make myself quite clear. I understand these circumstances are less than desireable, and tempers may be tested. But ruffian behaviour will not be tolerated in this community center. And right now, I have every reason to believe that you said or did something indecent to Miss Marsh.

[ Something cruel? Some form of bullying? Something hurt her. This is strange, alarming.... What is going on here? Edward lifts his brows again, higher. ]

Now would you like to explain in greater detail, or is that the impression you wish to leave me with?

[Little steps forward and Tim wants nothing more than to step back, to recover and protect that bubble of space he'd been confident had been carved out by both.

But as much as he has nothing to prove, he's already wounded by being blindsided by the girl and the flaring worry over that whole affair. And like any respectable wounded, hunted, and now cornered animal, Tim snarls,] Are you f-- [and the fire's gone out, just like that, and Tim feels his breath leave him as his words fail.

You're fucking kidding him.] Who says ruffian? Oh my god.

[Talk, yap, circle, evade, run. Tim shudders a spiteful little shudder- something pathetic in him wants to kinda cry, maybe, because even at his worse, in the academies, nobody ever pegged him as a bad kid.

See? Entirely pathetic.

That Tim died somewhere around the fifth funeral service of the summer. There's Robin, who gives no fucks; but Tim's world never stopped shifting and burning. He's not Robin.

He's gotten people killed, and the hate

(hate, the real thing)

shows behind Tim's eyes, his expression no longer a stonewall but as surly as one would expect. Maybe some day the Lieutenant will learn that the hate is an ugly thing directed inward. It's the only constant in his life apart from the loneliness etched into his very bones. So, to recap: the man stepped forward, Tim surrendered to good pedigreed breeding and didn't cuss the man's head off because he's only doing his job, he despises the low and cold adrenaline of being accused of being the Bully of the class, and] Miss Kate Marsh, [oh, well, he's still yapping.

He misses throwing a good punch.

But he's got something of his own to defend, and the clean and even and simple enunciation of every word wouldn't be amiss if he was sharing a table at a charity dinner with Luthor or Vale or Mikalek.

Miss Marsh,] -is far more capable and less fragile than your outdated lenses will let you see. She never boarded your boat, Officer, yet she suffered and survived every one of her days before you. I feel sorry if you have never had to argue one of your convictions but my point is, sir

[imagine anyone ever stepping up to bat for him, isn't that a funny little queer little idea, ha and ha--

Tim was young when he learned why he was left alone.

Several hard knocks to the head and licks of fire later, he even learned to like it.

His every nerve wants him away from this man, who's older and bigger and taller, who's seen him struggling and slipping and sweating and panting through self-abuse veiled as routine.

Not much else to do 'round here but get into fights, though. Tim's eager for bullets-- this, not so much. But he's a hardy masochist.]

Making an accident into anything more doesn't help anyone but the ruffians. Moving forward, and helping others do so, is a more commendable use of our time. [Thanks for staying with Kate, but if he says it now, no one will believe it. Tim wouldn't, and he's the one who knows it's a genuine-- thing.

The contradictions are infuriating, and Tim knows he's flushed red across the bridge of his nose. He's far too... close. For comfort.

So he bites, says,] Or will your uniform not let you agree?

[ If the boy won't start speaking up, Edward doesn't know what he'll do. He's trying to give him every opportunity to explain himself; above all else, one must stay fair in matters such as these. Follow order, wait for evidence before making judgments. But there is some evidence, of course — the display of extreme upset from Kate. If the boy refuses to explain what he'd said or done to upset her, then how can Edward assume better than the worst? That she's been mistreated somehow.

Surely, the young man will... explain, will give him something. But what he gets completely baffles the lieutenant. Edward's mouth opens in shock at the words fired his way, stunned. He isn't one to use profanity, but the phrase 'What the blazes' does make an appearance in his mind; he refrains from voicing it, however, just standing there staring at the youth. He's.... expressing protectiveness of Kate....? Or....? It doesn't make sense, all of these contradictions, but he's listening with all of his focus, trying to understand.

'An accident', the boy says. How on earth could an accident lead to Kate becoming that ill? But at least it's something, some snippet of an explanation. Edward stares at the flushed features of the boy, perhaps around the age he was when he'd first joined the Royal Navy, following in his father's footsteps. And then surpassing them, being appointed to lieutenant quite early on in his career. He'd succeeded, done well. He was well-liked by his superiors; he took orders well. Kept his head down, and then lifted it when he was told to. He was proud of himself.

Compared to the man he is now, that one feels like someone else entirely. (That younger man, full of potential and so aware of it — so hopeful for it. Now, Edward Little has seen the other side of his potential, the ways in which he has failed it. Failed everyone, and himself.) But still, he tries — in the ways that he can, to protect those that he can. Even this boy is someone he views as his responsibility, by virtue of being a part of this community, and now held captive in a harrowing situation that could turn out severely poorly. (Edward knows from experience, and it's one big reason he's so on-edge; he knows what happens to men trapped and hungry and afraid.)

'Or will your uniform not let you agree?'

He's quiet for a long few moments, absorbing everything that has just been launched at him, the barrage of accusation. It's immensely uncomfortable for him, being the object of such heat; Edward ordinarily shirks from confrontation like it hurts. But his stun keeps him standing there, brows knit, mouth still opened. ]

...I feel there has been some sort of misunderstanding. [ He begins, carefully. His body language remains tense, but he shifts back a bit, allowing a little gap of personal space, meaning no hostility towards the youth. For him to react this way is.... unsettling, for many reasons. It's very clear he needs to appease this situation, and he lifts a hand upwards, gently. ]

I had no intention of... questioning the resiliency of Miss Marsh's character. I know her strength. I do not doubt it.

[ It's uncomfortable to talk about her like this, and he won't dare share any more of her personal business, but.... of course he knows. He's seen the girl at the literal edge. To have faced what she had back home, and so alone through it.... ]

Please know that I do not for a moment believe that kindness and sensitivity are marks of fragility. But she is my.... [ A beat; there's a word he can't quite grasp. But after that hiccup, the rest of his words come eloquently and easily; they are his earnest truth. ] ....responsibility, as is everyone in this community center through this storm, for however long it may last. I must keep you all safe. If there is unrest, it is my duty to make certain that no further harm will come as a result.

[ He still doesn't quite understand what's angered the young man so, but his voice has softened in the process of speaking, and even more now. The boy's clearly troubled, upset. ]

Are you facing difficulty here? Is there something I can help you with?

[A man who thinks he's a hero and a girl who only he can save- there's a lot of wrongdoings that can cover and color that story. Tim just hadn't thought he'd need to be keen to it. Another slip of his. Little's hesitation at naming Kate a favorite is a sour note to swallow, and if the man can weave his fantasies and call them responsibilities instead then so can Tim.

But this is the kind of suspicion that's proven wrong or right in cold time; Tim's eyes narrow at being given the scrap of grace that is a misunderstanding.

Ya think, he doesn't say.] You're talking about a contract which doesn't exist here, sir. [Because saying this instead is much better. Tim wants to know where in his development his skills at deescalation were permanently set to Nil.

Robin had had training, naturally.

Batman hadn't graced him with a word for months- fucking months- so of course Robin absorbed everything and learned more than he ever should have. Robin had had training.

But a month and change ago, Tim had trekked out of a snowdrift with chinos and Givenchy, not leather and kevlar. His fate was sealed. His duty was cemented back then. He says,]

No person here has an obligation to do as you want or believe you need them to.

[Tim thinks, he's created a program before, a computer simulation; he's traded names of individuals for lines of code and numbers.

It had worked out.

In some roundabout way, he thinks it might help the Lieutenant through his self inflicted anxiety. Tim can respond to a softer voice; Tim Drake's been trained too, in his own way.

He wants to pace, fidget, move, do something, anything, to make the itch under his skin lessen. He stands still and stands tall, unimpressed but-- conversing. Not attacking.

He desperately wants a shower.]

I didn't come to this shelter with the intention of making anyone uncomfortable, and I'm not going to set out to stir up conflict. That's what you needed me to say, isn't it? It's true, too. But as far as you're concerned, your assurance is that shotgun you went out of your way to show off. It's not my word.

[ If only it were so simple as the word "favourite". No, the reason he stumbles is because the issue stems so much deeper — First Lieutenant Edward Little is a man who belongs to order and structure, and his relationship with Kate, and nearly everyone else here, is not typical of where he belongs and what he serves, which is a vessel of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. This is not his ship, these are not his crew, his men. This is not even his country. (Nor his time, he is a fish out of water in ever aspect.)

Even among the men who are from his particular world and time, he is an outsider now. The captain, the others; they seem to have no interest in re-forming the particular structure that was lost. Little has had to attempt to keep order on his own, and it is— frightening, and upsetting, and he is overwhelmed almost always. His method of coping with it is simply to pretend as though he isn't.

...The truth is that Kate should be nothing to him, but he cannot accept that, of course. This may not be his world, his time, his homeland, but these are people, humans, and he will not forget the laws of decency. Of being a good man. Protecting those who rely on him for safety. He has to, he has to, or they may suffer the way the men who'd relied on him once before had suffered. (But what is the word for it? For what Kate is to him? For what any of them are, to him? His community?)

He watches the young man uncertainly — but carefully. Yes, like Cornelius Hickey, this youth has a gift for reshaping words, taking what's said and turning them to another form. It's unsettling to witness take place before his eyes. He has never encountered someone so dead-set on thinking the worst of him. And of course, this youth has no reason to trust him, but when and where Edward comes from, his uniform and ranking would be something. Not here. Not now. The boy doesn't see any of it, and if he does, he only scorns it. ]

Having decency is an obligation. [ He does not falter when he says it, speaking only earnestly. It is the truth. It is everything he believes. ] No one here is expected to report to me. But I do expect decency towards others, as I should hope anyone would. And if I believe that anyone is becoming a problem, or having a problem, I'll not hesitate to step in and assist.

[ There's another pause, a lift of eyebrows. His shotgun...? ]

....I do value your word, young man. [ Does this youth truly think so badly of him? A man's word is important. He's pleased to hear the boy say that he has no intention of stirring up trouble. To Edward, that does matter. (Perhaps foolishly, he still believes in the best of people, at the core of everything. Believes in promises, spoken word, assurance.) ]

And I appreciate your saying that. [ He nods, gloved hand adjusting the strap of the aforementioned shotgun. There's an uneasiness to the boy bringing it up. Does he mean.. that Edward would use it? Or threaten him with it? ]

...I would not resort to violence against anyone here. I barely even have ammunition left. It's simply that the sight of a weapon can help people feel a sense of security.

[A Misunderstanding it is, after all. Tim wars away the reflexive snarl and snark, and with those things he also boxes and neatly puts away, into the same far corner of his mind where all depressing things go, the unholy bewilderment of hearing trust from a man, and the hollow sound of gunfire in high school hallways.]

Security?

[The incredulous lilt is what saves them a migraine of another spat; Tim, embarrassed for the Nth time, thinks his voice just cracked.

Which is the big issue now, clearly. And he shifts his weight back, back to that safe space of a personal bubble. His breath hasn't come back to placid regularity on its own and that's troublesome. Emotionally, yes, but physically too.

He should be better, recites the old voice in his head.

Better than in the last exchange and reaching for some stability, Tim moderates. He shakes his head, the action slow and only once. And maybe sadly.] A uniform and a gun, [and power and the reluctance to be left without,] can mean just the opposite.

[He thinks of the Detectives and the images on late night TV, the 9 months of rehab. How can he not? It's fresh. It's a trophy he had hunted, earned, and won, to have those bastards put away behind bars.]

To some people, all it can mean is to brace for what will come next. It's hard enough to navigate everything going on with--

[Tim reminds himself, this isn't about him. He's just. The common denominator. In the skirmishes.

It's whatever.

He can deal with it. He says,] And I think you should be aware of that.

[ Once again, Edward thought his words might alleviate any of the lasting suspicion and venom towards him, might provide an explanation to settle this agitated young man, but he seems even more confused, given the way he voiced that word. Turns it into a question — incredulous, unbelieving. 'Security?'

But as he continues, Edward begins to understand why he may have had that reaction (not knowing the scope of what horrors and memories are on the boy's mind, of course, but... ah.) 'A uniform and a gun can mean just the opposite.'

Of course, doesn't he know as much, as well? A uniform is a symbol, and as most of the other men shed pieces of their uniforms, no longer seeing the value in maintaining them, Edward Little kept his on. He thought... it mattered. Thought it would matter. That even as everything rotted and the natures of decent men became rotten along with it, his presence as a senior officer might mean something.

....In truth, he has fear of guns, not to any point that's debilitating, but only that the sight of one aimed at him is a particular horror. He would never aim his own unless the situation were dire, unless his hand were forced. (It was forced, once, then twice, and neither time did he shoot the man on the other end. He'll always wonder what might have been different, if he had.)

But this boy doesn't know that about him. Doesn't know anything about him, and if he's had... ill experience with uniforms, and guns, then... perhaps that explains some of his attitude in response.

It leaves Edward feeling almost stricken, through his startle. His brows lift, eyes wide and wet (painfully expressive as always, and generally expressing distress). ]

...I see.

[ That his presence might actually... be unnerving, unpleasant, to some... It's a deeply uncomfortable thought, and a gloved hand shifts against the strap of his shotgun, slowly, tense. He realises he'd come in that very way intentionally — shoulders squared, expression stern, very much wearing his Lieutenant Severity, thinking it might help, but... 'brace for what will come next'... What does the young man expect could come next...? ]

I apologise if I have made you feel distress. I— [ He pauses, awkward with his words. ]

....If I may introduce myself properly, my name is Edward Little. I serve as a first lieutenant of Her Majesty's Royal Navy.

[ A beat; he's thrown off, a bit. None of this has gone how he expected. (Perhaps that has been his downfall more than once!) ]

I mean only to help those here, as much as I am able. To protect them. I would not hurt anyone.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

nature offers a violence

( Tim Drake ) cw: mentions of suicidal ideation / attempt

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ooop im sorry he thinks he's Helping!! cw; anxieties and alluding to past SA

IT'S FINE THIS IS FINE

how to say Everything except what You Want To, a tutorial:

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cw a brief school shooting mention

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