nature offers a violence

[singmod]

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

Comments

Edward Little ⚓ The Terror

[fidior]

WHITEOUT — STORM PREPARATION

[ So much of it is familiar.

A warning, time to prepare, and the building dread, creeping and clawing. Edward Little is no stranger to those concepts, and some part of him immediately feels overwhelmed — the other part raises its voice louder, knows what must be done.

Three days isn't much time to prepare for what's coming, but he's going to make the most of it. He doesn't waste a moment. For those three days, the first lieutenant can be found anywhere in the town of Milton — he'll even go door to door, checking on each resident to see what their plans for the storm may be. You may be the recipient of a steadfast knock at your front door, and there he'll stand, formal as always in his uniformed greatcoat and officer's cap, brows lifted. He's not an unfriendly face, but he's clearly here on business — "Good day. Might I have your ear for a moment?"

Or perhaps you've decided you won't be seeking refuge in the Community Hall, and are beginning to prepare a different building for what's to come. He'll come walking up, attention alerted to any windows being boarded up, any supplies being hauled inside — "Planning to weather out the storm here?"

Much of his time is also spent preparing the Community Center, where he can be found hauling in wood and other supplies, preparing cots with extra sheets and blankets, or strategically arranging piles and boxes of food down in the basement storage to accommodate as much as possible. He's quiet as he works, and extremely serious, mouth a thin line, eyes tight, body language tensed. One might be able to perceive a certain upset there in the small moments, however, with the way he sometimes stands off on his own, eyes a little wide and unfocused, trapped in thought.

(What if he can't keep everyone safe? What if he fails, the way he already had once before?) ]

WHITEOUT — COMMUNITY CENTER

[ The storm hits, and it's cold and unforgiving. A constant howling thing. Edward's at times reminded of the worse nights at sea, and at other times of the unbearable cold of the ice afterwards and the way it sometimes screeched as the ship settled within it, but nothing can truly compare to what this is now. A storm the likes of which he's never seen.

He spends most of his time tense and quiet, and checking in on things, doing patrols even within the safety of the Community Center, trying to keep an eye on everyone there. He's well-used to endless Arctic nights, and how time can be lost within them. He also knows the particular issue of those trapped within a space, contained, bored at minimum and.... upset, frightened, irrational, hostile at the very worst. He was never particularly suited to raising people's spirits; some of the other officers took on that role much more easily, while Little was focused more on a different type of practicality.

Here, that's namely making certain they don't run out of food. So through that long week, he's very often found near food storage, whether that be in the kitchen or down in the basement. He tends to sit at a small table down there, sometimes reading a book, sometimes just sitting there, gloved hands folded together, seemingly deep in thought.

Or maybe you're playing a game — board or otherwise — and he happens to draw near, not quite within your personal space, but standing close enough. If you take notice of him, his eyebrows will lift slightly, and he'll tip his head both knowingly and approvingly, though his words perhaps prove that he has little experience with such things himself.... ]

Recreational activities. I've observed that they're appropriate for keeping the mind off of upsets.

[ Little.... have you ever played a game in your life.

The only time anyone will ever see this man dressed down, slightly, is when he's sleeping. Even then, he makes an effort to maintain as much meagre privacy as he's able, having chosen a cot tucked against a far wall. Once he's tucked in, he typically stays that way, but there may be a few rare times during the week that he actually slips from bed in the middle of rest. It's then you can actually catch him not eternally wearing that greatcoat, but the clothing beneath it — white collar peeking up from a black wool jumper, and a waistcoat over all of it. He may peel off that waistcoat for a bit more comfort in the night, and he may be found quietly moving through the Community Center, to sit at a lone table with a mug of water in his palms. He seems... restless, a little, though he tries to stay very still and quiet, so as not to disturb anyone else....... that is, until his stomach gives a very loud growl.

He's hungry. (He's always hungry, because even here in this town where there is food, Edward never eats enough to feel full, and especially since the storm began, he's been limiting his own rations.) ]

---

A CHOICE / REST MY WEARY BONES / ETC.

^{For other plans & prompts, I will be sticking to tagins and closed starters! Feel free to hit me up if you'd like a thing — plot post here ⚓}

whiteout - community center - food storage

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju's been restless even before any of this started. Finding something to write with had helped a little, doused some of that thing inside him which needs to grow and spread and burn until everything which can't be explained in this terrible place crumbles underneath the force of it. But there had only been so much to write, because there had only been so much to do to record after, and he'd seized onto the need to prepare for the storm with a passion which made it easy to ignore the fact that he had no idea what a 'great storm' in this place was going to mean at all.

What the great storm means is that he's trapped inside again. Trapped even more completely than last time. And it means that any gloves he'd been able to borrow or blankets he'd snatched from beds in order to endure going out during the three days before all this had to go back where they came from, and all he has again is clothes which were well-suited to the now forgotten warmth of the city, and terribly suited even for the insides of the buildings here. He paces back and forth in front of the fire whenever he can stand spending long enough in one place for the warmth to try and seep in. In the meantime, Edward isn't the only one who's been patrolling.

Keeping track of the food stores would be something, wouldn't it? And it isn't a bad way to push himself. It's colder still down here in the basement, of course, and he'll have to get used to this damned cold sooner rather than later. Raju's arms are wrapped loosely around himself with hands tucked under his arms, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, but his lips twitch into a little smile when he sees a man set up with a table down here, obviously standing — sitting — guard. After a moment to assess him anyway, Raju's eyes quick and watchful— but he does smile.

"I see you and I had the same idea. Any trouble yet? Who's been trying to take more than their share?"

[fidior]

When someone comes down, Edward's immediately looking up, alert. It's not that he means to make anyone feel uncomfortable — he'd left his shotgun upstairs, tucked safely in a closet — and he has no plans to have to become rough in any other ways. He is not the law in this place. And this is not his ship. He knows both of those things.

But he also knows that there is a man here in this town, and in this very community center right now, who has committed unspeakable acts. A man who may prove to commit them again. Perhaps that man decides to form another little party, manipulate others to his will. He may even concoct some plan to control the food, to take over this place.

He'll take no chances. He stiffens slightly at the man's appearance; he's noticed him around the community center but not made acquaintance, yet. Edward isn't unfriendly, however, lifting his head and then giving a polite little tip to his head of greeting.

"Good day. ...Or perhaps evening. It is difficult to tell."

The slightest hint of a smile, something that flickers away. He remembers so many sunless days out on the ice.

"No trouble. But I suspect that could change as our time here lengthens." There's no telling how long they may be trapped here.... how desperate people may become for food in these cold, aching days.

"Though it is something of a relief to hear I'm not the only one with such concerns."

[load_aim_shoot]

Concerns. When Raju hears the word he realises he doesn't, exactly; he isn't concerned, he wants... He wants something he can put his hands on and actually change it, to make something go the way it should. Something. And food stores, at least, are easy to understand, easy to measure and monitor and know what it is that needs to be done, and to do it. But he isn't going to argue with someone after they've tied the two of them together by the same goal, even if it was only said to be polite.

Or maybe he actually means it. The alert way he'd looked up at Raju as Raju had come down the stairs, the way that smile after the greeting can't seem to stay on his face: he's tense, and the worse any man feels the more he wants to feel he has someone he can trust at his back.

Raju doesn't have to think that way here, doesn't have to speak to a man with that accent constantly calculating how in favour he might be at any given time, how much he can get away with. At least, no one else seems to think he has to, yet. Not even the Englishmen. It's the one good thing about the place. Maybe they're all as distracted as Raju is with trying to get this damned ice out of their veins.

The man's relieved to hear he's not the only one. Raju nods, slowing as his eyes flicker over the cans and bags and stacks of supplies, holding his arms tighter against his chest to keep his restless hands warm against him instead of cold and gesturing. "It's a good idea to keep an eye on things. How long until someone tries to take what isn't theirs? It sounds like you're the one with experience here."

White Out - Storm Preparation

[guidemyway]

[Ruby had only just started to get settled into house she had found, but she was already packing up what she could to take to the community center. ...It would be safer over there, and she could do more good there than on her own in here.

She hears a knock at the door and she shouts back in response.]

Just a minute!

[Edward can probably hear the frantic scrambling of a teenager as she sets down a box at the door. There's a glass or gem sword poking out from the top of the pile.

She swings the door open panting for air lightly as she looks up to him.]

Uh- Sure. You can borrow my ear- Just don't leave it out in the snow or anything. I'm going to need it back.

[fidior]

[ The door opens to reveal a woman — young, perhaps in her teens. Edward's eyes quickly drop to the thing that also becomes revealed along with her, a box full of odd items (is that a weapon?), before he's looking quickly back up to her.

Anyone else may take this reply with some humour, perhaps even giving a joke in response, but Edward just looks mildly baffled, and a little uneasy. Sorry Ruby, he's so.. serious.... ]

Pardon? [ A breath, before he continues, his fretfulness simply increased by the fact the girl is so young. Is she on her own...? He glances up over her shoulder as though trying to look inside to see if anyone may come to join her on the doorstep. ]

Forgive me for such a brazen question, Miss. But do you live here alone?

[guidemyway]

I-uh-You know what, just forget about it.

[She kind of rubs the back of her head sheepishly and looks toward the ground. Why did no one get her jokes?

But she looks up and tilts her head at the next question. That wasn't exactly something she had been expecting. Mind you she had been globe trotting for the better part of two years after running away from home. She wasn't exactly used to what the norms of living with other people were.]

Uh- Yeah. I just got here the other day. Just trying to get settled you know?

[She's pretty earnest with how she answers. As if she doesn't quite get how that might be weird.]

Storm Prep

[solitarysoul]

[Levi had easily, without even being asked, fallen into step behind Little helping out to get things ready for the storm. He's been carrying logs and boxes for awhile now, not speaking much unless spoken to, but when Little stops to arrange food in the basement he speaks up.]

...do you think there's enough? I don't know how many people we'll have.

[fidior]

[ Edward's more than happy to have Levi along. It's nice to have assistance, especially that of a young man with military experience. It's something of stability, and also reminds him of working alongside the other men on his ship. It also tugs forth that role within him, the one he'd known since he was a rather young man himself. First Lieutenant: his identity, pride, and responsibility.

The question has him looking up from where he's crouched down to arrange boxes of food, and perhaps it's clear from the way his face tightens that the thought weighs heavily on his mind. ]

Truthfully, I do not know. With the arrival of new refugees here, and limited supplies as it is.... [ The man offers a soft sigh. ] It may be that these supplies will need to be carefully rationed from the very beginning. People may be.... unhappy about it. You and I will need to keep a close eye on the situation.

[solitarysoul]

I think we need to start hunting. Or send a team out to see if they can find another city or something.

[He's not sure how eager he was to try the latter, though. They had no idea where, or even if, the next town was.]

I meant for over the storm, though. If there are a lot of people maybe we should start rationing right away.

[He has no clue how people would react to that, though. He was uses to it, but being hungry most of the time wasn't very appealing.]

cw: vampire thirsty boy

[flambeaux]

Louis blew in like other latecomers who tried to hunker down by themselves, disheveled, nearly frozen, and hungry. Louis needs to hunt, but he has nothing to hunt, all creatures having retreated to hide from the storm. He cannot reveal his nature here. He would be killed. Lynched like so many other innocents, and he isn't even innocent. He's a murderer and a liar and all the rest.

It's evening, and Louis wakes because of the hunger. Edward Little keeps rechecking the provisions unnecessarily. Louis knows this because he already slipped away into the basement, trying to scout out somewhere he could curl up in private. If anyone took a close look at him as he slept during the day, they would inevitably find out his nature. (He might also have better luck finding rats here.)

The thirst sharpens the edges around everything. Even the drab storm colors and naked lightbulbs have their facets. His bright green eyes catch light, the only thing moving as he sits huddled in a blanket, very still, lost in it. It's almost exquisite. He remembers the time he and his little vampire family starved themselves for days so that one gorging feast of blood would be that much sweeter.

Finally he can't stand the stiffness of not moving. "If you goin' just sit there for hours, Mr. Little, you should know you have company," he murmurs dreamily, leaning just a little to eye him from behind a large crate.

[fidior]

It's down in the basement that Edward is most reminded of being on the ships, damp and dark, and with the sounds of the blizzard outside muffled a bit, like ghosts wailing and scraping, but unable to get closer than that.

He's come to enjoy his little basement guard sessions, the particular solitude and safety. In the evenings, he carries a little oil lamp he'd found in a shed in his preparations for the storm, and sets it upon the table, its light flickering softly.

But there are times when the darkness seems endless, and to be alone with his thoughts is a cage. When there is little peace — when the ghosts outside cannot reach him, but the ones within himself scratch the underside of his skin with cold wispy hands, crying, desperate, upset. He is here in confinement with the men he'd once known, and it is... difficult. His nightmares of Thomas Jopson now continue into the waking world, and sometimes when he looks at the man, he can only imagine his corpse.

Someone speaks, and Edward is jerked out of his mournful solitude, eyes snapping wide with a sharp exhale of startled breath. He grabs for the lamp, turns it towards the source of the sound, heart pounding so quickly that it makes him feel ill. Part of him might know that it recognises the distinctive voice, but in this moment, the figure creeping from behind a crate seems like a thing more than a man.

His free hand is against his breast, gloved fingertips digging into the wool of his clothing as though to squeeze his own pounding heart.

"God—! I hadn't realised anyone was there." It's a man. A man, not a thing, though alarm keeps his adrenaline high, blood buzzing hotly behind his eyes, a little dizzying.

"Are you quite all right?"

cw: depression

[flambeaux]

If he were sated with blood and books, perhaps Louis would be able to pass his time better. He had at least those during that depression era when he did nothing but hole up with books and newspapers as the house turned into something more fit for racoons than people.

The flicker of the oil lamp creates moving shadows where there are none, lending Louis a water-like quality like a moving statue. He's used to people being startled at his presence, but only when he does it on purpose. This is quite by accident, and he didn't mean to scare him (much).

"I should be askin' you that. Goin' die of a stopped heart if you're not careful. Welcome to my abode," he adds with a trace of humor. "There's a bottle of somethin' somewhere..."

He has no idea where, all food tasting like ash to him, so he quickly gives up the search. Louis rises stiffly, and he tells himself it's just from sleeping. He pads over in flannel pajamas, slippers, and sweater, all draped in a blanket around his shoulders. He forgets to apologize. He curls his pointy-nailed fingers around the chair opposite Edward and sits uninvited.

His exhaustion demands it. Edward should know it well, the drawn look of a man doing his best to go without food. But the state of things isn't so dire as that; most people in the Hall are eating regularly. Something else is "eating" Louis.

This close to Edward, his eyes search out any veins in a routine manner.

WHITEOUT — STORM PREPARATION

[pathologise]

( she'd gone to the community center, looking for supplies, trying to find something warmer to help with the house she'd started staying in. it had been unoccupied, adrienne didn't know for how long but it meant that it was cold.

she had the little bundle in her arms, a blanket and sheet, taking just the one even though she'd love more warmth, slowly wandering to see if there was a bag or something she could put them in. adrienne didn't know the town yet, didn't know where to find things. if she could find them )

[fidior]

[ The lieutenant's fluttering around busily as he assists with various things, though finds his attention drawn to the sight of a woman he's not yet familiar with. Edward makes it a point to try and introduce himself to newcomers, but there's several he hasn't bumped into, and now is an ideal opportunity to do that, as well as make certain she's all right.

He approaches and gives a polite tip of his hand to the rim of his cap. ]

Good afternoon, madam. [ His eyes dip briefly to the items in her arms before looking back up. ] Is there anything I can help you with?

community center - game time

[jackdawvision]

[This isn't all that different, Kenway thinks, from waiting for the winds to pick up while on the high seas. There's that same sense of boredom and uncertainty, that feeling of not knowing what's next and of not knowing what else to do that's actually useful. So he's laid out a deck of playing cards and has been teaching the rules of triumph to whoever's willing to learn.

And maybe cheating a little bit as well, but hush.

When Little approaches between matches, Kenway looks up and smiles, shakes a card out of his sleeve, and cuts the deck again, mostly just for something to do.]

You know, you can observe more if you play a game or two yourself. [He holds up the deck.] You were a sailor yourself, Little, you must know a few.

[fidior]

[ Little's eyes come to fall on the deck as the other man lifts it, offering a small, almost wry smile. ]

I must admit, I didn't often find myself with time for games.

[ The men had ways to have fun, inbetween their tasks. And then after the ships became stuck in the ice.... well. There was much strange, empty time; it was best to keep the mind busy. But Little rarely indulged in such things, keeping to his duties and tasks. When he did have free time, he'd spend it in his officer's cabin, on his own. ]

Do you have a favourite?

whiteout - storm prep

[brutalact]

[the list of tasks necessary to prepare for this storm seems never-ending, one checked off only for two or three more to take its place. he's never been one to shy away from work, keeping himself occupied with a fervent intensity that only seemed to simmer down as the last of his hair dyed to black. there is a lot he could complain about, but complaining was a waste of energy better spent elsewhere and he would rather spend that focused on what he could do now instead.

he's been working on patching up the outside of the church, stalking along the edges as he takes note of areas in need of immediate attention. windows half boarded up only because he ran out of wood to use, he'd have to go and scavenge the empty homes soon.

when little approaches the church to knock at the front door the timing is serendipitous, knives coming around the side of the building with a little notebook in hand and pen in the other as he finishes scribbling down something. he looks up at the sound, closing the book with a soft thump.]

Can I help you?

[fidior]

[ The church is a structure that Little has found himself frequenting in his months here — although not to actually step foot inside. No, it was only to bury the dead in its yard, as well as possible in the hard, frozen ground. Occasionally he comes out here to check the graves, make certain no corpses have resurfaced.

The sight of the windows, clearly already being worked on by someone, is a pleasant surprise. He'd been thinking that the church might be a good refuge for people through the storm, and clearly he isn't the only one with that thought (though it hasn't occurred to him that somebody might already be taking up residence within the place.) Regardless, as the other man rounds the corner, Edward's turning to face him, fingers reaching to give the rim of his cap a polite tip forwards. ]

Good day. I came to check upon the church, for the approaching storm. [ His dark eyes move to the nearest window for emphasis before returning to the man. ]

Is it your handiwork?

Whiteout - Community Center - Sitting at a table

[moralabsolutism]

[Rorschach had so many misgivings about staying in the Community Center during the storm. Up until the very last minute, he was still flip-flopping whether to stay among the other Interlopers or not. He still hadn't been sure he'd made the right decision and felt he should have taken his chances elsewhere after he decided to stay. Now he was stuck here and unhappy with sharing space with other people.

It partially didn't help that his sleeping schedule was reversed from a lot of other people there. He slept most of the day and woke up around four or five most of the time, which fortunately (and unfortunately, depending on his mood) meant limited interaction with the other people.

Since he couldn't patrol at night, he spent his time reading a number of books he'd lugged over to the hall with the express purpose of helping to keep people from going stir-crazy. After the storm cleared, he'd take them over to the cabin he was slowly transforming into a library. That was how he came to be up when Edward was sitting there in the dark, brooding. Honestly, anyone up in the middle of the night mulling things over was the sort of individual Rorschach would probably get along with.

So he went over, leather-bound journal and pen in hand. He sat down on the other side of the table across from the man dressed in old-fashioned clothes. As usual, Rorschach most striking feature was the mask he wore, a stark white full head covering that had black spots constantly moving around on it. Right now, in the cold of night, they were a bit slower than they were warranted to be.]

Can't sleep?

[He asked in his usual deep, growling rasp.]

[fidior]

[ Edward has certainly noticed the man by now, as.... distinctive as his appearance is. Truthfully, he's been keeping something of an eye on him while here in the Community Center, uncertain exactly as to what his particular mannerism might be, and why he is wearing such a peculiar covering over his face. So far, he's not seen any trouble from him, but when he approaches him in the dark, the lieutenant's shoulders are stiffening as he tries to quell an uneasy sensation in his throat.

Now that he's seeing him up close..... the dark spots upon his face-covering seem to be... moving? But how is that possible...? Edward's staring, eyes widening a bit, mouth parting. He allows himself to be taken off-guard for a moment or two before his default mannerism comes back in, as polite as he can be in such a situation, though his hands are nervous upon the tabletop, and he slowly moves them down into his lap. The man's voice is unsettling as well, more a growl than any sort of voice he's used to. He finds himself with the discomforting thought that this person may not be fully human — a concept that Edward would never have entertained, until very recently. ]

Good evening. [ He isn't sure where to look upon the man's countenance — his own eyes slowly searching the odd moving black spots. They look like ink spilling. ]

I suppose it's difficult to find much sleep. [ His mouth tightens, a thin line upon his face. Hunger continues to gnaw at him, but he ignores it, taking another slow sip of his water. ] And yourself?

( Kate Marsh )

[fidior]

[ The journey to fetch Crozier had been successful — and a great part of Edward had feared that it would not be, that the man would refuse to come with him, or that the trek back would be... deadly. But they'd both made it across that slow trudge back to the Community Center, Little grasping onto his captain's arm and then his one remaining hand, to lead him back through the endless white.

....Not truly endless, however. Not this time. This time, there was an end to it: buildings, people, safety. They'd both stumbled into the doors, covered in frost, and with swapped clothing; Crozier had insisted his first lieutenant wear his furs, taking Little's greatcoat and cap in return. He's still wearing the strange clothing now, though he feels someone pull it off of him, no doubt to hang the fur up to be dried near the fire. He lets this happen, unable to resist a thing, dazed and dizzy and vision still strange; the harsh swirl of white had been blinding for a time.

The seal fur of Silence's people had provided more protection than the wool he's used to, the material thick and soft and warm, insulated. Once the hood and fur are pulled off of him, Edward's shivering uncontrollably, even as someone places a blanket around his shoulders and he's shuffled further inside the warmth of the Community Center. The icy chill of it gets inside, into one's bones, makes house there. He's cold from the inside out, and every breath hurts, lungs aching from the frigid, frosty air they'd been forced to inhale, leaning forwards as a hoarse cough racks his frame. It's as he's looking up again, gasping softly for breath, that he sees the familiar face right there, looking stricken with worry— ]

Miss Marsh?

she's just GETTING RIGHT TO IT!!!

[castitas]

[ The sound of doors opening, the sudden draft — it's enough to draw attention before any claps eyes on the two brought in from the storm. She'd sat on her cot, eyes squeezed tightly shut — mouth silently forming words over clasped hands: ...The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever—

And then— head snapping up, quickly getting to her feet to peer around. There's plenty of commotion about it, people rising to see to the two brought in from the cold and quickly moving into action — there's a sense of hushed urgency about it all. Of course she'd known Lieutenant Little had gone out. She hadn't wanted him to go out, or at the very least had wanted to go out with him — it being far too dangerous to venture out into the storm alone. But she'd stayed put, and he'd gone.

(So she'd prayed. What else could she do?)

She ducks around the small crowd, gently nudging fellow Interlopers to allow her through as he doubles over to cough. Francis Crozier has already been found, currently being seen to — she recognises Mr Jopson — but there's a moment of frozen horror, worried for the Lieutenant until he looks up and it's enough to spring her into action. ]

Lieutenant Little— [ She starts forwards, towards him, arms raising as she moves to his side, taking his arm and nudging him to move. Even with the urgency, it's gentle encouragement. ] Here, let's get you sat down— just this way.

[ Close to the fire, but not too close. Given the eternal cold, it's been a good idea to at least read into how to deal with it when people are out in it — frostnip, frostbite, hypothermia... what to do about it, how to warm others up. She coaxes him to sit, someone passes her another blanket and she moves to wrap it on top of the one already around his shoulders — taking time to tuck to it around him. ]

We gotta get you warmed up, okay? [ She's totally got this! Another Interloper mentions there's already water on the boil and she nods, uttering a soft thank you. ] Here, let me take these off—

[ His gloves, she means. She reaches for his hands, the wool feels soaked from the time outdoors, incredibly gentle and she attempts to remove them. ]

We can get hot water bottles, some warm water to soak your hands and feet in, something warm to drink, okay? [ Is it assurance for him? Or for her? Perhaps both. ] You'll be okay.

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

[fidior]

[ 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?

[ployboy]

[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?