methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2023-11-09 04:18 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2023-11-09 04:18 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- alluri rama raju: xil,
- bigby wolf: jelle,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- dean winchester: verna,
- edward little: jhey,
- harry goodsir: karin,
- jack kline: jean,
- jason mcconnell: balsam,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- kieren walker: cheryl,
- knives: lassie,
- la'an noonien-singh: amy,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- max mayfield: jean,
- rei ayanami (ii): floral,
- rorschach: shade,
- thomas jopson: kota,
- tim drake: fox,
- vash the stampede: fen,
- vash the stampede: fyn,
- wynonna earp: lorna
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
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.
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.
1. The hot springs will now be a permanent fixture in the Milton Area, enjoy!
no subject
And there's a tiny exhale as he finishes, though. Aware of himself. It's almost like a laugh, but muted. There's a little shake of her head when she finally speaks: ]
Oh, it's okay. I don't mind. [ It's fine, honestly. ] I'd like to think I'm pretty okay at listening, but it's good practice.
[ Okay, it's said with a little bit of humour, but there's something far more sincere to it. It's important to be listened to, to be heard. God knows plenty of people haven't afford her that, back home. No one wants to listen to her, no one cares enough to listen. They'd rather share a viral video and snicker at her behind her back, or worse. But Kate won't let that make her not listen to others.
And she's actually pretty impressed with it, what he's doing. And sad, too. The way things are in his world, in his city. ]
It honestly all sounds amazing. It sucks school didn't work out for you. School's important. [ Says the nerd with the almost perfect GPA. ] But I guess... there were more important things that called to you.
[ The pasta's done, too. Just needs drained before it can be added to the sauce, which she'll do momentarily.
But first, her brow pinching a little, she's devastated for him: he lost his parents. ]
And— I'm... so sorry about your parents. I can't imagine a loss like that.
cw neglect aka batmans parenting
He steps aside, all to easily giving space for Kate to march over, take control. To not feel corralled by the guy with the ego.
Lucky, he had said. He sure hadn't felt lucky with Bruce's steady hand at his back as the giant man had led him away from the front steps to the Manor that Tim had called a home for months, before. He hadn't felt lucky being put in the carriage house, a barren and out of the way building for animals, when Tim had had a room in that Wayne Manor that he would look to mournfully in the deafening silence of nights.
School's important-- Tim lets that just hang, obviously disagreeing but unable to voice why.
A miracle, truly.
Dead parents, though. His smile's dropped off in between flighty thoughts, but Tim tries for one anyway.
It's as annoying to hear sorry for your loss for the millionth time as it is to be spoken at. Kate wouldn't know, Tim gathers.]
It's all about getting your feet back under you. Nobody can control everything. Doesn't mean we can't exercise some control over ourselves.
[And,]
Where do you need me?
no subject
what does she do with that.
Kate just stares, and then just shuffles awkwardly, looking down at her feet. Like... oh, okay then. No one's ever winked at her before. Um.
Moving very quickly on. Where do you need me? ]
Um— uh, can you grab a colander and put it in the sink? There should be one in one of those cupboards— [ She nods over to where she means, picking up a few dishcloths and reading the to pick up the pan. ] We'll need to do it in little bits.
[ There is... so much pasta in this pot. They can't drain it all in one go, they'll need to do it increments. ]
If you can move the pasta back into the sauce once it's drained and then bring the colander back for some more.
[ Like a well-oiled machine, essentially. Although she's pensive for a long moment, considering what else he'd said. No, they can't control everything. Kate knows that much, God knows how much she knows that. And she's quiet as she considers it as they get to work draining the macaroni and moving it into the sauce pan. ]
How— how do you do it? Exercising control over yourself, I mean?
no subject
[Because God said fuck you, if you're lactose intolerant.
Tim follows instruction with a nearly automatic... grace? There's a clear rote tinge to his shuffling about, even if he does have to pause to guess correctly at where the colander is. Yeah, she has told him, but he'd well turned away by then.
He's not even flustered, but rending the girl speechless brought its own thrill and satisfaction, and she shouldn't have to see it.
Like a well-oiled machine, then. Even with the busted arm, Tim is good at predicting, preparing, foreseeing-- body language goes a long way in battle. It also helps a busy kitchen run smoothly, it turns out. Tim keeps his open, and the alien clinks and clangs of cooking begin to weave patterns to him that push their way to second place in terms of his divided attention. Kate, and her closeness to him, keeps firmly in first.
Shut up.]
It's a lot of practice.
[Distant, almost.]
I've had a lot of teachers. It's going to sound like a cop-out... but meditation helps. Clearing your mind of everything-- it's hard. And, uh. When you let the voice in your head speak up again, it's different. Everything is different for a while. Because you just [the hell does he know. Tim shrugs, breaking his rhythm.] you just conquered the biggest variable in your life. At that moment.
no subject
And she's thoughtful as she listens, eyebrows raised in interest when she's not cringing back from the steam from the macaroni.
She takes the brief break to wipe at her cheek with the back of her hand. She'll never complain about being too hot ever again, not in this place. ]
... Meditation doesn't sound like a cop out to me. [ Not at all. ] It... kind of feels like prayer to me. Only instead of concentrating on a conversation, you're working on emptying everything out of your mind.
[ There's a tiny smile offered to him. ]
Either way, it... feels like something really peaceful, and powerful too.
[ Which is to say she's open to at least trying it out. ]
welp congrats my friend
[Which. He understands is unwelcome and sloppy.
He understands.
Tim sports his forever-frown, daring himself into Kate's immediate space once more. But he doesn't hinder her work.
He's just here to help.]
A clear head says that this food isn't going to last us forever. We can't stay dependent on it, Kate, not when all it takes is one bad day for the supply to go to waste. We should be making our own luck instead of immediately emptying every can of rations we find. You know that. You've worked with people. You know what a disaster haste and worry can cause on an otherwise healthy operation.
[A beat.] Or does prayer work in reigning in others, too?
cw: some negative sense of self mentions, anxiety/panic symptoms
why do they make her feel like she's stupid? like what she believes in is stupid? because she believes in what she does? ]
It's not talking to yourself. [ A quiet defense of something so precious to her. It's all she can muster.
She still doesn't look at him, even close as he draws himself to her. There's tension behind her eyes and maybe it's trying to concentrate on what she's doing and maybe it's trying not to cry. She knows, of course she knows. She knows how bad it might get, she knows they're trapped here and they're probably going to starve and get sick and die, and it frightens her. Everything in the place frightens her and she can't do anything— she's useless— and she's trying—
Or does prayer work in reigning in others, too?
She stops from what she's doing. She looks up then, fixes him with a stare, wounded for the most part, but there's anger too. Somewhere lost in all the hurt is the anger. ]
Stop. [ Her eyelids flutter and she shakes her head, looking away from him again. She exhales, deflating. No, he's not helping. ] Just... stop. I'm not stupid.
[ She feels dizzy, like her heart's beating too fast. Like it might threaten to stop if it keeps going. ]
We're... we're dying, here. We're trapped and dying in a place that wants us dead. I know— [ She's breathing hard, too quickly, her voice doesn't raise louder than a hushed whisper. ] and I'm reminded of that, all the time.
And don't you dare— don't you— [ She can't finish. ]
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
It's messed up and unwanted and Tim holds his ground as she does hers. He is surprised she didn't go the way of shutting all the way down-
maybe that's where the balm over his own troubles comes from, that small and pleasant surprise of a fight.
He didn't use to go around looking for a fight; Tim Drake avoids them. So then explain to him why he resigns himself to ask,]
Don't dare, what?
[Control and manipulation and it all comes down to the human right to high emotions:
He never got a better answer on how to work through the things. He only knows to keep digging.]
cw emeteo mention; continued panic/anxiety symptoms; minor suicide ideation
Quickly, everything crumbling away from her— and they're going to die, trapped here and why couldn't she just be dead already why did Lieutenant Little talk her down—
'Don't dare, what?' And there he is, baiting her.
Her mouth opens and closes, lungs in a vice-like grip. Don't, she thinks. She grips the edge of the counter to keep herself steady, her gaze lowered. ]
Act like it's stupid— [ She finally manages to say, but even then her words are jumbled over the hammering of her heart. ] Like it means nothing, that it's— wrong and you sneer just like— just like—
[ Just like everyone else. She doesn't want him to be like everyone else.
She can't do it anymore. Her mind is too brittle. Too much of it bleeds over and it hurts. ]
It's important— it's— and you're—
[ (It's all she has.) ]
cw sup, emeteo mention
[Something he knew the moment he spoke; Tim doesn't like fights, so someone please tell him why he chose to continue boring down instead of lowering the rope to free the drowning from the well.
He steps back. Literally. Gives space.
She's so tense he wonders how she can resist the shudders-- he's been slacking in his own restraint and he knows this only because he remembers the tremors of adrenaline when he'd pestered Louis. But his eyes lose that cut-off distance, as if he'd been in an island looking out for the mainland. Kate's here, not there. Close. Too close for her own comfort, probs. She's upset (understatement, and he understands why) and it's on him.
He's not apologizing, and he bets Tam would get it. Stephanie should, because she's the one who started all of the
Anyway, he's not... scared, of getting barfed on. He's not sure if she'd even tolerate the sound of his voice, much less instructions on breathing or, God forbid, concern.
So Tim sighs, the culprit of frustration neither here nor there. Kate probably won't understand that. The following is (appropriately) flat,] Okay. Am I getting anyone for you?
NANNY 911 🚨
He's circling back now, taking time inbetween to help out with various chores or check in on people, and is making his way to the kitchens to see how preparations are going there (as always, ignoring the pang in his own stomach at the smell of food. He eats, of course he must, but never enough to really satisfy himself).
He knows Kate Marsh is helping there, as she often can be found, and so he thinks he'll pop in and see if she could use a hand. But as he enters the room, the sight to greet him is... unexpected. There's the young man whom Edward has yet to meet for himself, though recognises, and Kate — leaned over and gripping a countertop, looking extremely ill.
He's immediately alarmed, his polite entrance into the kitchen shifting abruptly to something more willful, a thump of heavy boots against the floor as he moves quickly in. Dressed as always in the long uniformed greatcoat and officer's cap of the Royal Navy, he's a severe sight (perhaps thankfully, he's left his shotgun beneath his cot today), and when he speaks up it's with his Lieutenant's Voice — rich timbre rising in volume, tone no-nonsense. ]
Just what's occurring here?
[ His eyes stay on Kate, posture stiffening, before he drags his gaze to the young man and stares, clearly directing the question to him. ]
terribly sorry.... cw: emeteo for reals....
And he steps back, too late— she's too tightly wound— She needs to tell him to go, to leave her alone. She doesn't need any more help, thank you. But there's no words that come out and she's so stupid, she's being so stupid but why is it always the same—
Footsteps. Kate looks up, her eyes go wide. There's more panic, for a brief moment, as if being caught — something so stupid her brain thinks, for some reason. But it's all too much. Just that last little stressor to send her over because now Edward Little's here and what if this gets any worse because she's being stupid—
(they're going to die here, they're—) ]
Lieutenant— [ She doesn't even have a chance to finish, her body lurches slightly and there's a new flood of panic— her body urging her what's about to happen and it takes a second for her brain to catch up. Oh, no. Oh, God no—
There's a sharp flurry of movement, as she tries to just... hurl anything remaining in the sink out and onto the bench
and then promptly vomits. ]
no subject
(he should worry--)
and Tim sets himself back on track with what he's learned of Kitchen Duty. Distantly, he hears a man's steps. And then the man is in this space
(and Tim's by a knife)
and Tim says,] Sir.
[The greeting kind of goes wasted, kind of sounds like a mumble, and Tim's not one for mumbling. But his voice is interlaced by the man's accusation and Kate's
Kate.
(he is worried)
But he's always kept an eye on people. This man knows her, or at least she knows him, and so Tim is predictably demoted to a simple waste of space.
He keeps his eyes from-- her, because he's not curious, he's concerned, and anyway the Man had asked him a question, and Tim raises his hand a little in a particularly irritating halfway admission of guilt.]
Foot-in-mouth disease.
[It's not supposed to sound like a dare; can't Kate just pray that anxiety away; Tim wonders who it is that's got him on autopilot going in the wrong direction.
(There used to be a book series he liked as a kid, about secret alien invasions and these kids-- and the big bads were these mind controlling slugs--)
He needs to do something as much as he needs to--]
I'll get her some water.
[--maybe shouldn't talk about Kate like she's not here but, well,
look
He needs to do something, and so he does. And that's all there is to it.]
no subject
Miss Marsh—!
[ What is happening here?! That alarm's only ringing louder within his mind, every worst case scenario, and Edward's looking over his shoulder at the boy who fails to provide any true cause of this... this upset. (Foot-in-mouth disease? What? He is Too Victorian to understand the context of this, and his mind latches onto the only word that's familiar — disease?!) ]
Yes— do that now, quickly!
[ Get her some water, he means, barking the words like an order. And as the boy moves to, Edward's finding Kate's shoulders with both hands, a gentle, careful grasp as he leans over her from behind. His voice lowers just for the girl, softens as he stays with her. ]
It's all right. Here, when you're ready— [ He's going to be turning for the cup of water that the boy fetches, not hesitating to take control of this situation, and forceful about it if he has to be, so that he's the one who will be offering it to the girl, one hand remaining on her shoulder while the other lifts it up towards her so that she can take it when she can. If she needs to be sick again, he'll wait, although he hopes that will not be the case. ]
no subject
There's the faint awareness of hands at her shoulders, and it's enough to pull her from any further panic spirals; her head dropping a little, almost shameful. ]
I'm— okay. [ She utters it back to him. Her voice is hoarse. Tearful. No, she isn't. She isn't okay, it's plain enough to see. She's a wreck, her body finally giving a shudder after being held so tensely.
A shaking hand reaches for the offered cup and she has to rinse her mouth, shuddering again, before she can take a sip.
But nothing else comes up. The moment's passed, and she's just— just— trying to breathe, trying to still the quick ragged breathes that make her heart race, that make her dizzy. She feels so tired. ]
I'm— I'm not sick. It's just— [ Through the white spots in her vision, thankfully starting to fade as she calms, she blinks, shakes her head. She doesn't want to move from the sink, she doesn't want to look at Tim.
Think. She has to think. The Lieutenant's going to be so angry with him. She doesn't want that. ]
We had a disagreement. I— I got upset. It's— it's okay.
no subject
[Here's what he's done: he got a cup. He got water in the cup. All without ever blocking the big man's line of sight should he have cared to look. Because trusting what you drink is important, and Tim knows that. And he gave the man the cup with the water, and he held his tongue between his teeth when the glass was jealously taken.
But when there's barked orders, Tim can be a good soldier.
So he's hanging back only because
like,
he doesn't know if he's been dismissed. He doesn't care if he has or hasn't been, he's never cared about it. But he doesn't know this man's every mannerism and--
Tim glances at Kate. Well, at Kate's back.
Well, at what part of Kate he can make out, what with the Lieutenant hovering over her like that.
(Imagine? It was just some hurt feelings, it's not)
He waves his hand casually, gesturing at beautiful Nothing. Coincidentally, also what his expression offers.] When someone puts their foot in their mouth, they say something they shouldn't have.
[Is she okay.
Sorry-
Is she okay, sir.
Tim looks up properly to the. Lieutenant. Informs,]
The condition's not usually contagious.
cw: reference to suicidal ideation / attempt
A disagreement.
When someone puts their foot in their mouth, they say something they shouldn't have.
If there's any humour meant to be found in the part about the 'condition' not being contagious, it either flies right over Edward's head or he simply doesn't react to it, only staring. So this young man said something to upset Kate, to the point that she's.... literally sick from it.
(And of course, memory is still so fresh within him, of following the young woman out to the edge of the Basin, watching her stand on a precipice, led there by the whisper of things from this place but borne from her own world, really. What happened to her there. This young woman who was bullied and abused by her peers, whose reputation was tarnished to the point she thought death should be the only choice left. Who didn't feel she deserved anything else. Her state is still precarious, he knows that. He checks on Kate more than he does anyone.)
Slowly, Edward's turning to fully face the boy now, and he's never been one to lose his temper — some inbetween of his fellow two lieutenants aboard Terror. Neither a grinning friend to the men like Hodgson, nor someone with a sharp tongue and frigid disposition, like Irving. But he is used to keeping order, and his tone is harsh around the edges, his anger controlled but not hidden. ]
You mean to tell me that you've said something to upset this young woman so badly that she should become ill from it?
[ He looks back to Kate for a moment, keeping close, before those generous eyebrows of his furrow severely in the boy's direction. Still, part of his role is to get to the understanding of things in order to best deal with them. ]
Why would you ever do such a thing?
cw emeto mentionz
With all due respect, Lieutenant,
[And hey, his granddad was a military man and regardless, Tim's not an ass just for the sake of being an ass (usually), and the respect to the uniform is dutifully there.]
you came in to what was a private conversation.
[And maybe more than he wants to bristle at being singled out for an escalation he didn't see coming, it's the palm-to-the-flame oath to the Secrets that keeps Tim in his mild... distance.
Because he's so sick of being the only one to be told to
anyway, it's kinda funny to Tim that his anger flares only when Bruce comes to mind.
It's not funny at all, and the line of his shoulders goes rigid. And he wants to ask, Can I get some help with bringing in more water? because he doesn't care about the smell of upchuck but he doesn't like seeing his own after he barfs and he strongly doubts Kate is loving that and the warm foodstuffs and the tension in the air and
But imagine having a bulldog come bellowing in, and Tim remembers the Huntsman's hounds, and he doesn't say anything because of course he's going to get told off if he says anything, and there's also the childish and giddy anger that wants to meet fire with fire and he'd just love to say something irrefutably idiotic like Why would I do What?
Tim patiently... recaps,]
Our conversation took a turn and became a disagreement. These things happen, and there were strong emotions involved due to the subject.
[But
is she okay, as in is she actually going to be okay or is it all his]
That's. It.
[But he's so fucking done with
back off
claws sheathed
and he's just never supposed to say his piece. Tim never remembers having agreed to that when Batman asked for his hand over the lit candle despite the prevalence of that code in every waking moment of his life.]
no subject
She winces again— it's her fault, it's all her fault because she's so stupid. She got upset and she's stupid
And of course she has the inkling as to why there's such a reaction, why there's anger— Edward Little knows her far better than most, even in the short space of time spent here in this place.
Finally she turns around half-way, pale and trembling and looking about as well as anyone who's just stress-puked in the kitchen sink can do. She looks in Tim's direction, but she can't quite look at him— still hurt, sore from the unkindness, from the baiting. ]
Stupid. I'm stu— [ It comes out as a half-mumble, and she doesn't quite finish — head dropping and shaking a little. Still, she doesn't want this, doesn't want this becoming some far uglier than it already is. There is little she can do to stop Tim from continuing, but at the very least she can attempt to calm things where the Lieutenant is concerned.
A hand reaches for Little, grips onto his coat sleeve. ]
Lieutenant, [ Softer, imploring. Still dizzy. Please. ] I'm okay.
[ No, she's not. Tim doesn't know that. Not the true extent. He doesn't know why she isn't okay. ]
He— doesn't know. [ Doesn't know about her, about her difficulties. He lacks the context the Lieutenant has about her. ] Didn't realise.
no subject
....But this is different. This is a cause for much alarm — a disagreement. People do not... argue to a degree of this severity, in his time. Not in any such public space — and certainly men do not argue with women. It's a horror in itself, a particular disrespect. One only exacerbated by the attitude of the youth, which conjures images of one Cornelius Hickey to Little's mind — a young man, self-assured rather than apologetic in his explanation, and even seeming almost bored. He should be apologising profusely to Kate at this very moment, and yet he continues to remain cool-headed. 'These things happen'
Edward draws in a sharp hitch of breath in the same moment when he feels a grasp at his sleeve and tilts his head to Kate with her wan complexion, shaking and faltering — for breath, for words. 'I'm okay', and he knows that she isn't. 'He doesn't know'
Had the boy.... said something relevant to her upsets? That's the implication, isn't it. Perhaps teased her? Remarked inappropriately? Edward's anger is swelling in his chest, which puffs outwards, and his eyes darken slightly, warm browns more black as he turns his head back to face the boy, directing his words at him. ]
I'll not ask what was said. [ Later he'll speak with Kate privately, once she's had a chance to recover; if she wishes to share more with him, it will be on her terms. ] But it is painfully evident that it was allowed to go too far.
[ If it led to her becoming physically sick.... His eyes stay on the boy's, unblinking and unyielding. ]
I'll expect sincere apology to be made to Miss Marsh, of course. Promptly.
[ As in, now... He lifts his brows at the boy, purposefully, and he'll allow him a moment to gather his words — turning his attention back to Kate for a moment, reaching up to gently grasp the girl's forearm for support. Anger is still there in his features, tight and darkened, but he's worriedly looking over her face. She'll likely need to clean up properly, and to rest.... she looks ready to keel over any moment, and Little swallows against the sensation of tightness in the hollow of his own throat. He has his own fears and upsets — that Kate may become lost in hers. She's still so raw to them. ]
That's all right, please lean to me. I'll help you to get cleaned up and find somewhere quiet to rest.
cw esteem issues who, obligatory past relationships traumas, and cw, 17 year old boy
that's
I've been trying!
--except way to go Drake you sucker everyone is totally going to believe that now.
Kate's outburst- the only thing Tim has properly heard come from her that weren't a body's struggles to stay upright, is explicitly unsettling because where is her conviction where is her head where the hell did all of this take that sharp turn south that she went from fiery to naming herself stupid and
and he's held back from even attempting to send the lifeline when this old guy's already imagined him tightening the noose.
He thinks, you're fucking kidding me
he says] Y'think? [like he's one more push away from pushing back. But he won't, and he bets the Ego in Uniform never had the pleasure of staying up into the mornings on rare holidays spent at home because both parents were screeching and screaming and hissing and hitting plates against never used, mahogany kitchen tables.
He doesn't know if Kate intimately knows the weight of words exchanged over her head, the venom dripping down and scalding her scalp.
Even if she doesn't, though, he's not
seeing how barking at him is worth the time which could be used to
it's like, yep, here he is again. Standing dumb, unable to think straight when adrift in an alien human world he obviously is no part of.
Except he's not standing dumb; he's the guy who is knotting the noose and if that's all he'll accomplish under Little's eyes then Tim can play the part, because a good soldier knows what he needs to be and not what he wants to be and]
Damn it-
[of course she's not okay, Mister Lieutenant Sir, so stop fucking around and
Tim breathes in. Says, placated by a promise not made to him (again)
(always lapping up the relief of words spoken to others because he's hungry and he'd never be fed any other way),]
Just go, okay? I'll clean up. It's fine. Don't worry. I got it.
cw: lil bit of bad self-image stuff at the end :)
She feels tired, gross. Her head sinking, a little numbed, staring off for a long moment, downwards. I'll expect sincere apology to be made to Miss Marsh, of course. Promptly.
But no apology comes, like the Lieutenant expects it to— there's a tight inhale, another wince. Kate's well aware he's from another time, and that certain things are very different. That there's a certain way of how things are supposed to be. To demand an apology for a wrong-doing, and to immediately hear it — there is an expectation. But this isn't his time, his expectations. Quickly, she's shaking her head— before anything else can be said: ]
It— doesn't matter. [ She utters it to Little, grips at his arm. She doesn't want this yet sparking into something far more terrible than it already is. ] Please. It's okay, it doesn't—
[ Tim's telling them to go. Dinner isn't quite finished yet, and she's turning her head to look towards the stove, mouth opening and closing. But what about— people need to eat, they're waiting—
(the thought of food makes stomach curl.)
Finally, her eyes look up, to Tim: red-rimmed, unfocused, wounded. ]
I'm sorry.
[ It's hushed. She's not sure what to be sorry for, but she feels like she should be. Something went so wrong here, and... she knows it's her. Somehow. She knows she's wrong. Inside. She's stupid and wrong and messed up and she's trying— and he doesn't know what's wrong with her. He couldn't possibly know. ]
no subject
Well, now. That certainly gets a reaction from him, or at least starts one — the man's stance visibly puffing up more, eyes giving a glint of anger. Of course he is not this young man's superior officer, and wouldn't claim to expect any loyalty from him, but he does expect a young woman to be handled with decency and respect, and the dismissal of the situation doesn't anger Little for his own sake so much as for hers.
Will he not apologise, then? Oh, Edward Little won't have this—
—there's Kate at his side, grasping his arm and pleading, and Edward's body language is tense and taut, straining towards the boy but relaxing to something more slack when Kate tugs at him so that he isn't pulling from her.
'I'm sorry.'
It stuns him. Edward's mouth parts and his nostrils flare slightly, all signs of what he truly wants to say and do suppressed inwards (but then, he's no stranger to that, is he?) No, for her sake, he'll let this drop for this moment only. Not forever. He will speak again to this shockingly belligerent young man who has wounded her so severely, and refuses to show the sensitivity that he owes to her. To think that she is apologising now....!
Edward swoops in like a bird, one arm going around Kate's shoulder so that he can quite literally usher her out, although gently, and the stance is visibly protective, as though he means to shield her from this stranger. There's an angry frown sent the boy's way, eyes narrowing near into slits for a moment, keeping her close. His voice is a low rumble, rich and dark in tone, almost a growl.... ]
I'll be speaking with you again shortly.
[ If it comes out sounding mildly threatening, well.....! ]
no subject
[Where Little's inflection is ice, Tim's is air- undimmed and weightless.
He makes the first move. Which is to say, he steps forward first, breaks this dumb little standoff of theirs. There's no intimidation when he pierces the man and Kate's bubble, no apologetic or cowed cringe. There's a stocked under-sink cabinet and Tim has one arm to work with: he needs to start now if he aims to get any work done. (Which, of course, he does.)
He pierces that bitchy bubble, and when Little turns away (because at some point he must turn away and Tim is trained to see without looking), Tim steals the offensively small moment to peer at Kate. He ducks his head that hair-of-a-fraction that teens do, his eyes don't hold a storm; he's worried is she okay it's not your fault it's all just a big... uncertain, Tim offers a subdued, defeated, guilty half upturn of his lips. Boyish. Sorry. I'm sorry, he mouths, the words silent.
And with that sheepish admission
he winks
because it'll be okay, she'll be okay, the Big Guy is on her side after all except he's English and hairy--
and Tim gets to work.
There's a lot of work to do.
And that's that.]
just a lil wrap from me
Instead, she's gently ushered out of the room before she can argue. She knows when to give in in the face of authority (pretty much immediately), and even if she isn't a boy on a ship and he's a commanding officer — she recognises Edward Little's authority, regardless. And she likes him and respects him enough to silently let herself be walked out. She cuts her losses that she won't be able to finish up dinner, as much as she really wants to (and needs to).
The man's parting words do make her pause though, and it's really a lot more like a warning than anything else. Enough to make her look up with a little shudder of worry, enough for her catch Tim's eye as he ducks his way to catch hers — the boyish half-smile of apology.
I'm sorry— an apology silently mouthed. For a long moment, she can only stare in some mute stun before there's a flutter of eyelids in comprehension.
And then he winks, and it completely, once again, catches her off guard—
Her mouth opens then closes, still-dizzy and now flustered all at once, but she makes no further comment as Edward Little walks her out the room. ]