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

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( closed starters only for this event! request one at the plotting post. )

i'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees (♫)

[ A storm is coming. It's precisely what they don't need in this place, so of course it's the hand they're being dealt. She would question whether the universe was out to get her specifically if she believed in things like that; she doesn't, though, so it's Murphy's law she puts her faith in. It's time to prepare for the worst because the worst might just happen.

Pacing herself isn't an option. Methuselah said they had three days, but she can't afford to wait and take her time. If something happens and the storm arrives before she's ready to face it... So she bundles up and sets off, making her way to one of the nearby unclaimed houses where she recalls seeing a number of blankets. It's slow going, her body shivering despite her many layers, and she has to stop to brace herself against the deep coughs that leave her chest aching, but as with everything else in her life, her determination to survive pushes her forward.

The idea of asking for help never even occurs to her. ]

[ Edward, too, refuses to waste any time getting preparations started. Three days isn't long, and too much could go wrong. There are more people in the town now, and resources are limited enough as it is.

His stomach is a tightly-curled knot of nerves. The nightmares of what he'd known trapped out on the ice are too fresh — but he can't lose himself to it, to the way his breathing feels too tight if he allows himself a moment's pause of thinking. He won't allow that pause, then. He keeps going, to the Community Center first to spend some time getting the process going of stocking food and gathering other supplies.

By the time he leaves there, he's already a bit tired, but a fresh cup of coffee has perked him back up, and he's grown accustomed to ignoring the ache behind his own eyes. No, he still has much to do. He needs to start checking in with the residents of this place, see what everyone's plans are, if they need help, make sure they understand the severity of the situation to come in a matter of days.

He's walking close to a line of houses when he sees a figure up ahead. The slow, odd movement catches his attention, and the harsh, painful coughs give him alarm. The man's moving that way, more quickly upon realising he recognises the figure. ]

Lieutenant—! [ He calls loudly, rushing up to meet her, brows lifted in visible concern. Something to the sound of those coughs makes his skin prickle — it's too familiar. ] Are you all right?

[ It's inevitable that someone comes across her like this. She hates it, there are already far too many people here who have seen her in this weakened state, but she also refuses to stay cooped up inside when there's work to be done. So, when she hears her title being called through the frigid air, she tries to focus on the warmth hearing it brings to her weary heart rather than the frustration of having someone witness her struggles.

Taking a few steps forward to both adjust her footing in the snow and be in reach of a building to brace herself against, she turns to the familiar face with as pleasant an expression as she can manage when she feels absolutely terrible. ]

Lieutenant Little. [ Her voice is a bit raspy and she tries to clear her throat to strengthen it. ] It's good to see you again.

[ The state of her is increasingly alarming to Edward, and, unfortunately for La'an, he is immediately stricken by worry. The way she's moving, the way her voice sounds.... ]

You're ill. [ He voices the realisation, frown deep upon his face, generous eyebrows furrowed severely. It isn't typical to say something so directly; it may, in fact, be considered a bit rude in his time, but in this moment, he couldn't refrain from voicing it, and with an expression that's clearly bothered by it.

After all, the only time he'd seen men move and sound and breathe like that was when their ailments were already beyond help. He thinks of David Young, coughing up blood. ]

....You seem ill, [ he tries to remedy himself a little after a beat, aware he'd been quite direct, leaning in slightly closer so as to try and look her over. ] Are you... in pain?

[ She can see the worry written across his face and she hates it as much as she's endeared by it. Worrying about others is what she does; she doesn't expect others to worry about her in return. It's difficult to not simply brush that concern aside, forcing herself to acknowledge how she would feel if their positions were reversed. ]

No, I'm fine. [ Except she's clearly not. Sighing at herself, La'an presses the back of a gloved hand to her forehead before reaching out to support herself against the building. ] I'll be fine. A little pain, difficulty breathing, fatigue. It's nothing to be worried about.

[ Though it probably would be if there hadn't been any antibiotics in town, but she's trying not to think about that. Stressing about how antiquated their resources are won't help her recovery any. ]

[ Edward's brows go from being deeply furrowed to shooting upwards, alarmed at the way the woman has to lean against the nearby building. She looks about ready to keel over — he thinks of Thomas Jopson with a hitch of sharp guilt deep within his stomach — and lifts a gloved hand towards her. ]

Please— you need to be out of this cold at once. Were you headed back home, Lieutenant? I'll help you there, if you'll take my arm.

[ He'll ask more questions about the state of her, but first... there needs to be movement to get her inside warm and dry. And perhaps he looks a bit more upset by it all than most might, that worry practically leaking from the man as he watches her, eyes big and round and wounded. But to him... this is a severity that cuts deeply. Pain, difficulty breathing.... it sets off a feeling almost of panic, even if it's one he can control, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. ]

[ There's a part of her that desperately wants to do something, anything, to alleviate the emotions she can see on his face, that alarm and worry digging into him like viciously sharp talons. It'll shred him to bits if he lets it. But she can't just give in; she has work to do, and there's no telling if she'll have the energy to do it later. ]

I just came from my house. [ Yes, she's this exhausted when she's only just started out. She doesn't like it any better than he will. ] I need to get supplies to wait out the storm.

[ But she can't just send him away when he's this concerned for her well-being. That seems almost cruel, and while La'an isn't always the warmest person, she is never needlessly cruel. So she leans away from the wall and takes the arm he's offered her, trying not to lean too heavily upon it for now. ]

[ It isn't the first time that Edward Little has witnessed this woman's almost startling sense of resolve, of course — the first time he'd met her, she was dragging a full-grown man to a graveyard all on her own, after all. Perhaps it isn't too shocking to think that she would venture out alone, despite the illness racking her body.

But he couldn't step back from this, and surprise does come to hear that she's on her way to get supplies. Does she mean to weather out the storm on her own, as well....? ]

You won't be staying in the Community Center?

[ As he talks, he carefully grasps onto her arm with his other hand, and it's more physical contact than would be appropriate ordinarily, but this is no ordinary situation. He moves slowly, walking with her, looking over as he still wears plain concern in his features. ]

There will be plenty of room — and food, warmth. I've just come from there, making preparations.

[ The house she was headed toward isn't far, thankfully, only a few houses over from her own, but each step still feels like a mile, the distance stretching out before her like a Sisyphean task. It won't be long before she leans more heavily on her companion, needing help to steady herself so her feet can find purchase on the snowy path. ]

It's a good place for the others, but not for me. I haven't finished treatment yet— [ Another cough rips itself from her chest as if to prove her point, but all she does is lift her scarf to cover her mouth. Her voice is raspy when she continues a few moments later. ] I can't risk spreading this to others when our supplies are limited.

[ That might not be how the illness works. She can't be entirely sure what she has, or how it spreads, but without proper testing capabilities, she'll default to general precautions of not being in close quarters with others. If that means weathering a blizzard on her own, then so be it. ]

[ Treatment....? Edward pauses at that, looking confused for a moment, even deeply troubled. The idea of illness being spread to others in the way she implies is some years after his time (germ theory itself has nearly twenty years to go); he isn't quite sure what she means by this. In his time, most illness is seen to be a result of circumstances perpetuated by one's lifestyle and habits, and even one's inherited susceptibility. And if environmental, well.... unfortunately his knowledge would seem even more archaic, for Little supposes this could be attributed to miasma; perhaps she'd breathed in something rotten here.

Really, he needs to get her to Goodsir or to Vasiliy Yegorovich, two in this place with medical knowledge, but he doesn't know where they currently may be, and he can't imagine the poor woman able to wander around long enough against his arm to find them.. For now, he only wants to get her to where she wants to be, as safely as possible.

But he can't resist voicing another concern, deeply unsettled by the thought of her staying alone, as he tightens his grasp against her, immediately slowing his pace with alarm whenever she seems to be faltering. ]

Forgive me, Lieutenant, but you can barely move on your own. I beg you to reconsider.... I could help you there now, to the Community Center. Whatever fevers ail you can be dealt with there. I do not think there is any threat of... spread.

[ He says it like it's almost a foreign concept.... Sorry, La'an. Victorian Things. ]

[ Is he always like this? Do worry and anxiety eat away at him all the time, or has this place gifted him these forms of inner torment? La'an realizes she knows very little of the man beside her. There are others here who knew him before they arrived in this place, and he cares deeply for those under his command... but there's little else that comes to mind in her current state. ]

What year are you from, Lieutenant Little? I promise it's relevant.

[ Though it's likely plainly obvious she's preparing an argument to defend her position against going to the Community Center. Her stubbornness could win wars, and that isn't going to change in this frozen prison. ]

[ By now, Edward has well-learned that others are from different places and points in time — a bizarre, deeply unnerving knowledge, but one he has been forced to accept... He's assumed long-ago that she was from a place and time much different from his own, given that a woman should hold the rank of lieutenant at all, but also due to the manner of clothing she wears, trousers instead of skirts....

So the question isn't too startling in itself. He's been asked that before, and gives a quick nod of his head, perpetually prompt in his responses, especially to a fellow officer. ]

It was 1848 when we abandoned ship.

[ Though a disheartening place in time, that moment is what he most thinks to when conveying when he is from. ]

Edited 2023-11-28 05:07 (UTC)

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rescapee - 2023-11-28 05:26 (UTC) - Expand

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fidior - 2023-12-02 04:45 (UTC) - Expand

Rorschach hadn't seen La'an in quite a bit, though she had made a good first impression on him. He was beginning to wonder if she was one of those who had mysteriously vanished from the town. (That was a phenomenon he was still investigating in his spare time. He had yet to come to any conclusions about the matter.)

He had a rough estimate of where most people were living in town due to his lurking about. While he was bad at face-to-face interactions, he was good at learning about people through indirect ways. Going through their trash was a particular method he was fond of. So he went off to track La'an down and make sure she wasn't lying dead in the snow somewhere.

It's pained La'an to not be out and about as much as she used to be before the trip with Methuselah, and what little time she has managed to be active outside has been limited to a slow, cough-ridden walk in daylight. She longs to be able to patrol the town at night again, but there's simply too much risk of her body failing her at an inopportune moment that would leave her frozen in a snowbank. So she's been cooped up inside far too much, feeling lonely and useless and missing her life in the future fiercely.

The house she'd claimed near the edge of town isn't run-down, but she'd chosen one whose residents appeared to have left some time ago, leaving behind a few large pieces of furniture and little else. La'an had brought in necessities from other places around town back when she'd had the energy to do so, and she'd prepared it for the big storm as best she could by covering the windows with blankets and moving a mattress into the main room with the fireplace. It wasn't anywhere as calming and comforting as her suite on the Enterprise, but she knew every corner of the place, and given the circumstances, that counted for a lot more.

If she had to be stuck somewhere, there were far worse places to be. And occasionally she gets a visitor, whenever people notice the handwritten sign by the door bearing her full name.

Rorschach looked methodically until he found La'an's place, the sign being most helpful in telling him who should be there. He made a mental note to tell others to do so as well. He wouldn't, of course, wary of having anyone know where he was. But being able to find each other quickly during crisis could help save lives.

Without so much as knocking, Rorschach just barged in like he always did. Personal boundaries were not something he was used to respecting, another aspect of his socially-awkward nature. When he saw La'an, he was pleased. "Oh good. You're not dead." It was hard to tell if he was joking or not in that flat voice of his, devoid of emotion as it usually was.

From her spot on the bed, propped up against the wall with a blanket over her lap, La'an has a clear line of sight to the door. She'd been dozing slightly, her coughing calmed slightly by the cooling tea in the mug she held in her hands, but she jerks awake at the unexpected sound of someone entering. Had she forgotten to lock the door after she went out earlier? Her hand is under the pillow and grasping the knife there before she registers who's entered, and she pulls it halfway into view before her mind catches up to her instincts.

There's no hiding the flash of fierce determination tinged with fear that crosses her face, though she does her best to smooth out her expression and calm her racing heart with a few deep breaths. "Thanks for the concern," she mutters, considering getting up and then staying where she is. "You might not be able to say the same if you come in here again like that without knocking, though. My reflexes might not be so slow next time."

There's no bravado or threat in her tone; she's offering an honest warning.

Someday, Rorschach was going to barge into the wrong house, and on that day he'd regret that particular tendency of his. He stopped when he saw La'an lying on her bed, sharp eyes noticing that she was pulling out a knife when she realized just who it was who had broken into her home.

He stood there without moving forward. "Been stabbed before. I'll survive." Was that...an actual joke? Maybe? Sort of? Rorschach's sense of humor, contrary to popular belief, wasn't nonexistent. It was just often dour and bordered on black comedy, not helped by the lack of emotion in his growly tone. He observed her general condition. "You look terrible." Rorschach's lack of tact might have been his true superpower.

She doesn't mind the man's darker humor, though she does hope he takes the warning to heart. He might be fine with being stabbed but she's not fine with being the stabber. If they were in her own time when a quick trip to sickbay and a dermal regenerator would patch him right up, then sure, but in these conditions, she's not even sure they could properly prevent the wound from getting infected.

Giving him a deadpan look in response, she replies, "Why, thank you. I feel terrible, as well." And then a cough erupts from her, irritated into existence by too much speaking. It isn't as wet and deep as before, at least, which is a glorious sign that her round of antibiotics had done their work.

Well, at least that explained why he hadn't seen her for days on end. That nasty cough made him glad he was wearing a mask. Two layers of latex would do a lot in helping to filter out some of the germs. He began to wander through the room, examining things in it and touching them, like the blankets covering the windows. While even in normal times he had no concept of personal boundaries, he was now taking advantage of the fact La'an probably wouldn't want to get out of bed to stop him from being nosy.

"How long?" He asked. If she'd been sick for weeks on end, it would be good to know what to look for in case anyone else started getting infected. In a place like this, without a proper way to combat the illness, a bad flu could turn into a plague.

There isn't anything overly personal for him to find in his perusal, so she doesn't particularly mind the nosiness. The items that are important to her are kept on her person at all times: the broken diving watch on her wrist, and the Starfleet badge pinned at whatever shirt she's wearing at the time. A red scarf carefully folded on the coffee table is the only thing she's gained in this place that has any meaning to her.

La'an takes a sip of nearly cold tea that does little to help with the slight raspiness to her voice. "A few weeks. I went out with Methuselah and came back like this. Well, worse than this — I've had a round of antibiotics and they've helped. I've mostly kept my distance from the others, though, just in case."

He listened to her talk as he wandered into the other rooms, lingering in the kitchen in the vain hope of finding some sugar cubes. Alas, there was none to be found. Sometimes he thought there weren't any left in the entire town period.

As he came back into the main room, Rorschach shook his head in a disapproving manner. "Wandering around playing out a Jack London novel with an old man in the middle of the ice and snow. Smart." Yep, he was judging her for her choices. She had seemed more sensible than to make such a choice when he'd first met her but perhaps not.

That disapproval grates on her, though she knows it shouldn't. He isn't her superior or even a fellow officer, nor is he a close friend whose opinion she values dearly. For all intents and purposes, he's a stranger, and it shouldn't matter this much what he thinks of her.

But it does, and that makes her angry.

"It was, actually," she bites out tersely, but she can't just leave it at that. "I didn't have training in tracking or archery before and now I do. Considering how few people there seem to be here with survival skills, I deemed it worth the risk and I stand by that decision."

He leaned up against the nearest wall, arms folded across his chest as he watched her reaction carefully. Some of Rorschach said and did was deliberate, trying to see how far he could push people before they wrote him off entirely. He was pleasantly surprised that not only did she manage not to start getting into an argument with him despite clearly being angry but also defended her decision with some good reasoning behind it.

"Good," He said approvingly. "Knowledge is power." A lot of people thought Rorschach was completely insane. Not quite. He still had enough of his wits left about him to be crazy like a fox and knew the best way to survive was to learn to adapt to whatever landscape you were in.

That approval knocks the proverbial wind right out of her sails. Anger and tension drain out of her, leaving her feeling almost hollow as she slumps a bit more against the wall.

"On that we agree," she tells him softly, watching that strange mask of his for any sign of... something. Anything. So much of her life has been spent learning to read people's facial expressions that relying solely on body language and tone is proving difficult while she's not at full mental capacity. After watching him for a few more moments, she gives up and decides to just ask her question. "Did you come here because you were concerned or because you need something?"

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moralabsolutism - 2023-12-23 10:07 (UTC) - Expand

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nature offers a violence

la'an noonien-singh | star trek: strange new worlds

— for fidior.

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Checking up on her

i've been waiting FOUR HOURS to post this tag

DW, it is RUDE to make us wait!

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