The Start of the Storm

[shardofwinter]

The god hosted Yule party left the Nexus in the state of beautiful Winter Wonderland. With the snow falling softly and steadily, and the beautiful festive lights twinkling in the darkness, the Nexus is left with a sense of serene nostalgia hanging in the cold air. This peace and joy clings to the streets for several weeks, buoying everyone’s mood as they look back on the past year and forward to ringing in the new one. 

It starts in the Wilds, and the outskirts. The cold air suddenly feels like it freezes everything it touches in an instant. Light doesn’t quite pierce the gloom. Gentle snowfall becomes thick and falls hard. One or two people looking for shelter from their uninhabitable homes isn’t too noticeable. People can still enjoy their pretty Winter, blissfully unaware. Pipes freeze solid, paths become impassable, power cuts out, simple walks become baffling in the poor visibility. Soon it’s not one or two people, it’s many, it’s families. There are people coming in, bloody, bruised and scared, saying they were chased. Eventually the kindness of friends and strangers becomes strained. Spare rooms are packed to the brim and the storm that stays just shy of the bizarre torches somehow seems to have a slow, but unmistakable march closer towards a point where the Plaza, Industrial sector and Downtown meet. On top of that, people are complaining about PINpoints acting up or portals freezing over. 

Streets are becoming packed full of people with far more problems than solutions. Huddling together and whispering about ghosts and monsters moving about in the shadows. In a place with no government, no organisation, no collaborative emergency services, chaos and confusion reigns supreme. And with chaos, comes panic. With confusion, comes frustration and anger. The Nexus is a powder keg waiting to blow.

That’s certainly how one Durant sees it. As a manager, Isidor is keen on organisation and order. Both things that are lacking in the Nexus at the moment. Groups pop up to help, but struggle to communicate effectively, or work together. Some people get free food twice, some people are still waiting for some at all. It’s madness, and Isidor can’t stand it. Particularly because she, her brother and sister-in-law are stuck here. So, when nobody else takes the mantle, Isidor Durant takes it upon herself to inject some order into this scrum.

In her fur hat and long coat, leather gloves and thick boots, Isidor can be seen directing people this way and that. There’s something about a confident person taking charge that means people instinctively defer to them. She becomes the point of contact quite easily, with people soon taking her direction regardless of whether or not they know her. Under her instruction, people are directed to a building that has tables set up, queues in front of them, and volunteers behind them taking names and telling people where to go. It might still be chaos, but at least now it’s organised chaos.

The question is: Where will your character go?

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((Below are comments for each desk. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. Comments marked with a snowflake ( ❅  ) have been coordinated with the mods and I as official event comments. The OOC Post is here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note
Medicine/Illness | Shelter/Heat | Food | Security/Crime | Lost items/people | Misc resources/Donations | Volunteers | Expeditions | Planning Table/The woman in charge | Drulb's Deelz | A Ship in the Outskirts 

Comments

[lovesuwithknives]

Luckily for the patient, the Medical station is currently being manned. Unluckily, it's being manned by Azwel, whose procedures would not exactly garner the approval of any kind of medical board. Still, he directs them behind the desks to where beds and supplies await.

"How long ago did this happen?" He pulls open the man's clothing to expose the wound, taking in the treatment already applied.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket's not sure what's left off the end of that I'm not, but even with everything else going on he's acute enough to see it's something that's hard for Steve to articulate, maybe hard for him to think about, and...and he's been kind, protective, exactly the kind of help Cricket needed in this debacle, so the least he can do is accept.

"Yessir," he says, almost gently, and puts forth no more arguments, hanging his cane off his own belt and clinging obediently to Steve's back on the way back to base.

There'll probably be questions later, but now is not the time.

Cricket and Azwel haven't talked a lot, but he recognizes him, and it's kind of a relief to see a familiar face. He gives him an uncertain smile, arms folded across his chest as if to protect himself, and answers, "'Bout an hour and a half, I reckon? Maybe a little less. Two bullet wounds. Chest and belly."

[juststeverogers]

Steve's standing aside once he has the man laid out on one of the cots, only moving when he needs to help move clothing or lift the man gently for Azwel to do what he needs to. He's a looming figure and never strays far from Cricket's side. His worry about the kid is very real. It's too much, too soon, and it's taken away the sense of safety Cricket has had up until now.

Steve can't just let the boy alone now. He needs someone. Steve might not be the best for this, but until someone better comes along he's decided he'll be there.

"We didn't have time or the tools to disinfect the wound, but both shots passed cleanly through the body at least." The risk for infection if they had to go digging bullets out of a guy would be astronomical. Especially given their meager setups. "We've staunched the bleeding as best we could but he lost and awful lot before we got there."

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel's used to that sort of presence--it doesn't faze him at all as he smoothly peels open one of the injured man's eyes, listens to his pulse and breathing, and, interestingly enough, presses the man's fingernails. He frowns.

"The cold managed to slow the blood loss somewhat. But he's lost rather a lot." He looks at the supplies. Realises they have no blood and scarcely anything to hydrate with. There's a pause.

He clearly makes a decision, as he snatches up the strange golden gauntlets from the nearby table and slips his hands into them. Ralts squeaks in alarm.

"Noffin ell forrit," he says, tightening the straps with his teeth.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket is so very, very used to dealing with things on is own, is the thing. Had Steve just taken the wounded man and headed back to the Plaza, leaving him alone, Cricket would have quietly boarded everything back up, swept and cleaned, and probably hidden under Harley's bed for the duration of the storm. Or at least until she or one of the Lokis came back for him.

He feels cold right now, a little too calm, like the part of his brain that tells him to move and speak is functional, but the rest is locked up and silent, emotions more or less flatlined.

He's pretty lucky to have someone looking out for him, and the way he's shadowing Steve is instinctive, rather than deliberate, but he seems to feel some relief from his presence.

"That happened to Forrest," he says a little vaguely. "When he got his throat cut. It was cold. Doctors said he mighta bled out otherwise."

The gauntlets make him wary all over again, and he sidles closer to Steve, until they're practically in contact. "What'chu gonna do?"

[juststeverogers]

Steve's hand falls onto Cricket's shoulder, easing him back and away from the cot as Azwel pulls tight the straps of his gauntlets. He saw the look that flickered across the supposed healer's face. Steve's been aware since even before he saw the man's body that there wasn't a good chance of saving him with the supplies they've got on hand. Without a stocked medical facility there wasn't going to be much they could do.

Relying on magic-based healing is all they can do now, but it's so hard to trust something like that. Sure, he's met beings (and people, people like Wanda) that can do some strange kind of magic before. Carried powers within themselves that Steve had no answers for. Usually, they ended up being folks Steve had to fight. Makes it a lot more difficult for him to stomach seeing it being used on someone this weak and unable to defend themselves.

It's the circumstances that lead them here, ultimately, that has Steve backing up to give Azwel room to do his work. He pulls Cricket back with him before glancing up.

"Should we be here for this?" And by 'we' he means Cricket, but well. It would probably upset the kid if he phrased it like that.

[lovesuwithknives]

His eyes flicker over Steve and Cricket for a moment before he returns his gaze to the patient. "You might need to stay--I've only used them in this capacity once before." And that's all he's going to say about that, considering how Grøh turned out....

Over by the supplies, Ralts squeaks again, unwilling to leave her post but distressed at what her human intends to do.

That intent becomes clear as, with a huge surge of primal magick and an oddly musical tone, the blue and red settings on the gauntlets flare brightly. But this time, instead of forming weapons of hard light, the glow swirls and then arcs. It wicks into the patient's body and coruscates around it.

And while it does that, the essences of Order and Chaos dance in the atoms around and in the injured man. The tone stretches out, becomes something almost like a song, harmony and dissonance somehow weaving into a cogent whole. The sound can be heard throughout the room, the magick felt throughout the base and its surroundings, flickering in glass in abandoned buildings, humming in the magickal (or even subconscious) senses of everyone sheltering within the ring of torches.

Someone, somewhere, might have called it the Music of the Spheres.

It rings and warbles and all the while Azwel's mind works furiously, darting amidst the numbers of creation; a digit here, a few more there, all changed to tweak reality ever so subtly, to pull water and other elements from the air and match them to blood and flesh, to restore them, to seal the wounds shut.

All this for a stranger. But if not him, then who?

Blue and red flow and flicker, and the song grows louder. Azwel, himself, is still save for small movements of his fingers as he holds his hands over his patient. A twist or a pull or a flick. His gaze is intent on something only he can see. Behind him, Ralts curls in on herself, keening softly.

Colour rapidly returns to the injured man's face and his breathing grows regular again. And the better he looks, the worse Azwel looks. Whatever this energy is, it is literally draining him--his already pale complexion goes ashen and blood glistens under his nose.

And then, as though it had simply run its course, the sound and the lights die down. Azwel leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, wheezing. A couple crimson drops fall from his nose.

"He'll live...." He steps back and drops heavily into a chair. "Do not wake him. The mind is... fragile in this state."

[alittlehinky]

"...um." Cricket says softly, like he kind of wants to object, to question, because this is partly his responsibility, and since the man on the table can't say yea or nay to whatever Azwel wants to do, it seems like someone should at least try to understand what's about to happen. It's not that he distrusts magic in particular. He's fascinated by it, especially after meeting Caleno, after getting close to Loki. It's not for him, the same way pole-vaulting isn't for him, but he can admire it.

But there's always a price to be paid for a miracle.

On the other hand, the man clearly has no chance without some major intervention, so Cricket opts to shut up and let the sorcerer do his work. And what a work it is! Cricket was already a little shaken up, but the light and sound and the thrum at the base of his spine makes him feel like he's about to pass out, and potentially vomit in the process. He sways and takes a couple hasty steps backward to drop into a sitting position on a crate, letting his head hang between his knees.

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath. And it's a mercy it ends when it does, and he's spared any further embarrassment.

He looks up woozily and is immediately concerned that Azwel looks about as sickly as he feels. "Y'a'ight, sir? You best sit..."

His gaze goes to Steve, then. He's halfway checking to make sure he's okay, and halfway hoping he can drag Azwel to a chair ASAP.

[juststeverogers]

Steve's got no sense for the magic or arcane. But just because he can't pick up on magic doesn't mean he can't see what's being done. The effects themselves and the almost-melody that ring through the air feel like they're messing with his sense of balance. Like his inner ear has been damaged or he's experiencing the mother of all seasickness. He moves back when Cricket does, though not quite as far and is honestly startled by how unsteady he feels on his feet.

As though they'd give way underneath him at any second.

Okay, he feels a lot more woozy than he thought he would. Steve's actually gotten used to the way things hit him now. Not as intensely (unless they're things that are meant to be fatal to ordinary folk), and never lingering for as long as they should. Flashes of pain that dull away rather than chronic lingering pain he's known all his life.

Right now, in this moment? Steve feels like he's both at once. He's clearly in his altered body but he's shaky in a way he hasn't been since he was in his own. He doesn't like it one bit. But whatever else the magic has done, it's clearly done good for the man on the cot.

Steve looks up with a gaze as shaky as the rest of him when Azwel tumbles back into a chair. Turns slowly so the room doesn't spin to look back at Cricket and make sure he's alright. And then, to Azwel.

"Will you be okay?" A beat. "Should we restrain this guy?"

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel swallows hard, rubbing one arm under his nose and blinking at the blood there. Well. That's new.

"Might be best... for his own safety." Later, he'll examine the fellow thoroughly--with the absence of any kind of supernatural injury, it'll be interesting to see how he weathers these energies.

For his own part, though, Azwel leans bonelessly back in the chair. "...need something to... eat or drink...." Looks like his blood sugar plummeted, the fool.

[alittlehinky]

It's not really Cricket's place to put a value on a stranger's life, even one that's tried to do him harm, but he can't help wondering if saving him is worth the cost Azwel's just paid. He worries his lip, patting his pockets until he comes up with about a third of a chocolate bar left over from Christmas. It's the only edible thing on him, but he pushes it at Azwel firmly. "Here. Ain't a meal, but it's somethin'. Gimme a sec, I can get you somethin' hot to drink once my head stops spinnin'."

Because Steve is the better choice for restraining the unconscious burglar. No question of that in Cricket's mind.

[juststeverogers]

For his own safety? Well, considering the circumstances that lead to him breaking in to Cricket's home Steve can sort of understand how if the man wakes up stable he might try to seek out revenge and that would end badly for everyone. Especially him. It hasn't occurred to Steve yet that something Azwel did might have affected the man's mind.

He's too busy trying to get his feet steady underneath him.

"Right. Cricket will get you sorted. I'm..." A deep breath, then two. He feels a little bit better now that the magic isn't being wielded anymore. He's got this, right? Right? Yeah. "I'll handle him."

Captain James Kirk has plenty of rope over by the expedition station and once Steve murmurs what it's for he'll be allowed as much as he needs to carefully bind the man's hands and feet securely. It's not ideal but he'll have to talk to Lyall about where they're holding anyone that's captured. A makeshift jail is better than being exiled to the cold.

[lovesuwithknives]

"Hm?" He blinks blearily at the offered chocolate, then smiles. "Ah, that'd be perfect, thank you." He has to lean forward a bit to reach out a hand to take it. Once he has it he leans back again, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth before looking back at Ralts, who pets his hair with a sad squeak.

"I'll be fine," he says, reaching up to gently scratch the back of her head. "Don't fret."

Then the notion of Cricket's own condition makes it way through is rather sluggish thoughts and he looks at the younger man, head tilted. "You're head's spinning? What's wrong?"

He'll explain to Steve what he means once he's sure nobody is going to fall over.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket takes a couple moments to get his feet under him, and he's keen enough to gather from Steve's body language that in spite of all his superhuman strength and stamina he's shaken, too. Actually, he looks like he may be a little more shaken than Cricket, even, although Cricket is a poor judge of his own psychological limits.

He stands slowly, testing his weight on sore legs, and purses his lips, because he can just tell from the feel that the braces are rubbing blisters at his knees, and that's not great. Between that and the pain, he's going to have to rest his legs for a few hours as soon as he can, but he promised hot drinks and he wants to follow through. The only trouble with that being things are rationed right now, and whatever odds and ends were left in Harley's kitchen are too far away for him to fetch.

So he just stands where he is, looking uncertain, wanting to help and in a poor position to do so.

"I'm a'ight," he assures Azwel with a stubborn little nod. "Just the magic-y light or whatever you did made me feel kinda queasy. Is that enough, the chocolate? I can go ask for rations if y'want me to."