Into a Rising Wind

[handsofwinter]

Winter holds the Nexus in its jaws, and its teeth sink ever deeper.

A month into the storm, the snow has yet to stop falling. The number of mouths to be fed has stopped dwindling, almost. Occasionally people go missing, and those who notice hope they’ve found a way back through their portals. It’s not enough to change the maths on their food supplies - all their supplies. Nobody is getting a full meal at a time, not any more. Isidor and Lyall have begun to enforce the rationing with iron hands. Both ignore the look that crosses Captain Kirk’s face when they upbraid a volunteer cook for being too generous – the look that lingers on Runa’s face if she’s close enough to hear. They’re doing what they must. They need a tight hold on their supplies if they want to get people through this. They need supplies even to send expeditions after more.

And expeditions are a difficult prospect now. Those who ventured into the storm and returned have brought stories that spread faster than Isidor hoped. The Crossroads Cafe has become a semi-official hub for those travelling outside or keeping watch on the bounds, a safe resting place kept warm by the combined power of Pokemon and Persona. In the long dark nights, people sit around the tables and share what they've seen, what they've heard from this scout or that refugee. Whispered tales of the creatures out there hunting in packs, hounding people from rooftops, even tearing open walls to reach them…

No-one goes out alone, now. Those brave enough to take the risk go in groups and arm themselves with the best weapons they can find. Sometimes they’re a risk to themselves. Not everyone knows how to handle that black market plasma pistol they picked up two days past. Not all of their team-mates keep their nerve when a figure looms out of the snows beside them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s run afoul of monsters, and who of their own folly. Safer, but little less brave, are the people recruited to keep watch on that shifting line of torches. Just a precaution. The creatures don’t come past it, everyone says. But quietly, everyone doubts.

There've been bright moments, too. A strange alchemist comforting a lost child. An expedition team fighting their way home, back to back. Families brought safely through the snow by soldiers and wizards, by heroes young and old and sometimes surprising. A volunteer cook stepping up to prepare, if not quite a hundred thousand meals, then something that feels close. A young man saving the life of a stranger who'd threatened him. The past weeks have seen people who may never have known one another before come together to offer a blanket, or guiding words, or a helping hand in a search. Small moments, glowing reminders of how much good the people of the Nexus have on their side. But the Winter goes on, and the winds never get less bitter, and the smiles get more strained with every day.

Slowly the line of torches close on the Plaza, a noose no-one can afford to flee. Sheltered space is at a premium. Most of those who remain are settled as close to the centre as they can be. Whether in the big public bunker or the Cafe, people find themselves crammed all together, and tempers regularly fray among residents not too cold and exhausted for fighting. The more responsible Nexus-goers find themselves trying to duck out of (or break up) fights, or spending hours stuffing drafty accommodation with any insulation they can find. There’s snow to be shoveled from doors, pipes to be defrosted, bandages to be changed. Anything’s better than dealing with the problem of working bathrooms.

At one end of the Plaza headquarters, a makeshift screen has been dragged into place to give a semblance of privacy to Isidor’s desk. It’s painfully early in the morning, though the nights are so long and the days so dim beneath the storm clouds there’s little sense of time any more. There’s no-one around yet to wonder about the meeting going on. The only people present are Isidor, Lyall and a handful of senior volunteers – those who remain. Blaze-37 crouches by a makeshift fireplace, stacking the salvaged wood just right before she punches it lightly, setting it alight with the flames that ripple over her fist. The other robot, Ghost, is hovering over the desk playing flashlight for them, shining a pale beam over the maps and reports laid out there. Light, too, is a precious resource, as batteries die and outlets are lost to encroaching Winter. It’s the only reason those here have gotten sleep. They work until they have no light to work by.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Suou?” the Guardian asks when Isidor says they can begin.

“Officer Suou won’t be coming.”

That’s part of why they’re here, Isidor explains. The torches’ march has taken them past the Grand Library. The Crossroads Café is now on the very edge of the safe zone, along with all the people sheltering there. Katsuya’s magic is the only thing that will protect it. He can’t leave. It’s a turning point that only drives home the larger problem: they’re running out of time. They’re running out of everything. Most refugees are in some kind of shelter by now; what they lack is food to keep them alive and fuel to keep them warm. Isidor’s volunteers have counted heads and counted tins and counted everything backwards and forwards and the numbers never get better. Either they do something now, while they have the strength, or the meals will run dry in two weeks. Less, if anything goes wrong.

She lets that sink in. Nobody looks surprised: she’s confirming their worst suspicions and that gets a few flinches, but they understand. They talk, instead. By the time there’s a hint of daylight outside and someone knocks on the door for the first shot at rations, they have a plan. They need an expedition, bigger than any before. They need enough arms to discourage attack, the skills to get them to any buried supplies and the numbers to haul them back in quantity. Each of them walks away from the table with a mission in mind and an air of grim determination.

They have a job to do, and they’re going to need help.

((As before, so below: the main missions/subquests for the expedition prep are listed below. 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. The OOC Post can be found here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note

Scouting the Expedition | A Fistful of Torches | Scrapyard Sweep | The Home Front | Medical Attention | Isidor's Expedition Call | Main Expedition: The Raid

Comments

❅ Scouting the Expedition

[handsofwinter]

Both Captain Kirk and Josh have been making constant trips back and forth from the base of operations to the Crossroads Café as expeditions have finished up and more have cycled back out. Kirk keeps a carefully regulated stream of people out to search for supplies but they're bringing things in slower than they're using them. Worse, as areas close by become looted and empty they're having to travel further and further out to find anything at all.

With the torch line moving ever inward things are getting dangerous.

Jim's focus the last few days has been skewed heavy on scouting. If they don't find a good haul soon things are going to turn from bad to dire. Anyone he's conscripted or who's volunteered for expeditions can find him either at the base or back at the Crossroads packing up kits for the adventurers heading out. In contrast to Jim's preparations, Joshua's only really around when he's resting up in between treks. The Canadian has been more of a blur than a man darting about the snow on his speeder running through every route he knows trying to hunt them down supplies.

Back at the Crossroads, Jim tries not to let his gaze linger on tables that used to be used for preparing food now devoid of anything other than gear. Hunger's going to be a game changer if things continue this way. The constant dull ache and gnawing at the insides that comes with too little nutrition too infrequently. At least there's water and coffee yet at the café.

"If you've got some free time, I could always use another set of eyes."

Harley Quinn -- A Little Goes a Long Way

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley had reported back to Captain Kirk on the creatures that had interrupted the salvaging of Dia's ships. She sacrificed two weapons during that attack -- her poisonous gas yo-yo and her exploding yo-yo. But she still has two blades -- the ice dagger and flame sword -- and her trusty bat.

Food is being rationed. And Harley always gives her rations to someone smaller than her. Someone who looks like they need it, more than she does. With her metabolism she doesn't need what is given to her. And always makes sure that the food does not go to waste.

Her apartment is not in any state to have anyone staying there anymore. It had been looted and vandalized. Harley couldn't really be mad about that... after all, it is what she would have done. Taken advantage of the situation.

"Whatcha looking for Captain Kirk?" Harley uses his title right now.

[smartass_captain]

It can be difficult to decide just who to give her rations to if she's going without. People will notice--she might find people asking her for them before long. She's not the only one choosing to go without, though. The captain simply doesn't eat until it gets to be too much, skipping meals where he can and leaving more supplies for everyone else. Easier not to get caught that way.

It's taking its toll on the captain though. In the time it takes him to focus before he registers Harley's question. Not a long delay, but it's the sort of thing she'd be used to looking for.

"I need to find out what's Out There, aside from us. The attacks keep happening outside the torchlines and we're running out of safe space. Even if we find supplies at this rate, we're not going to be able to bring them in."

[sweetcandygirl]

"When we were attacked... they attacked in a Pack. Several small creatures. One large creature. And I don't think they are flesh under their armor... there was a wisp of something chemical and acrid filtering from between the cloth when I scored an attack. The larger one had multiple arms." She gives as much information from her own fight that she can.

She can see how tired he is. And with a glance around to make sure there is no one nearby... she sets her rations for the day in front of him. And just gives him a look that says eat this before I make you.

"What is up with those torches anyway? Anyone got a feel for why they keep on appearing in certain areas?"

[smartass_captain]

Jim fumbles for a notebook and the pen tucked into his jacket. He's already had to transcribe everything he needed off of his PADD as its power has long since died by now. It was a good distraction at the time. Now as he's scribbling on the paper trying to take down everything Harley is recounting from her mission he wishes they still had use of some of their electronics. A body camera or something--anything--to get a clear visual of these things would be so helpful.

"I'm sure you went over this already at debrief. I appreciate it." He knows where Harley was for her last mission so there's no need to ask where she encountered the assailants. "Would you be willing to do a perimeter check and see if you find any sign of them in any other direction?"

Jim's not looking up from his notebook when Harley produces her rations and sets them on the counter. His gaze snaps to them, jaw clenching tight at whatever Pavlovian response he's having to suddenly seeing an extra meal. It's not pleasant. It passes. The pain leaves his face when he turns a very deliberate and empty expression up to Harley Quinn and meets her hard stare.

"Those are yours." He presses on every word quietly. A warning. The torchline question will have to wait a moment.

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley leans her elbows on the table, and places her head in her hands, when she meets his empty expression. It brings her face closer to his. Their conversation more private and meaningful.

She speaks just as low as he does. "I don't like to advertise the fact that my metabolism is fucked up. And I can endure a longer time than others... Don't need anyone eyeing me up like some sort of experiment potential."

"If you guys have to take me off the rotation to make sure others get what they can. Then I trust y'all to make the right decision."

"But Devil's Advocate moment... our leaders ain't going to be any good to us if they can't think right. We still need some sense of organization."

She chuckles lowly. And pulls out a piece of bubblegum from her jacket pocket. "And ain't that a strange thing. A gal like myself fighting for organization."

[smartass_captain]

Jim Kirk stands with rigid military bearing, his fingers curling tight into fists that lay resting on the counter. He doesn't dare lift his hand toward the food. Not when everything is still jagged pieces of glass inside and even looking at it makes his stomach clench onto itself. It's taking all of his self control to be calm, cool, and in charge. Across the counter Harley Quinn lounges with all the confidence of someone who isn't even bothered by the circumstances.

And listening to her speak, maybe she isn't. Jim knows about fucked up bodies. He knows about coping and he knows about keeping secrets. He might have agreed with her if she hadn't pressed on his pride. She'll see the flush of shame that colors his cheeks before the color drains form his face as anger sets in.

There is no pride in real survival.

There can't be. When the only choices are to do whatever it takes to make it to another hard fought and inadequate meal you do what you have to do. Whatever it takes. So long as Jim holds onto his pride, they're not in trouble yet. If he can hold onto his pride the stakes aren't critical yet. So long as he has pride, he doesn't need to rely on hope. What she's asking of him is...more. More than Jim Kirk can stomach.

"You don't understand. They won't let you go without eating." Even if Jim did, if someone else caught her there would be a fight. The food sits between them. In its innocuousness lies a silent accusation that pierces them both.

There can be no pride...

"Take that away from me." He can't shout, can't cause a scene. Can't let anyone see him lose his barely held in check facade of control. Jim wants so bad he bleeds to grab Harley and shake her. But he still has his pride.

For now.

Delia Battista - Pirate, Tactical Officer, Captain, and now: Scout

[attackpatternbattista]

Delia can never, ever stay still for very long, being in the Nexus this long--particularly without access to her ship and home, has made her somewhat anxious, which has largely manifested in the Need for something to do.

Asking around about the creatures attacking others has resulted in a lot of different responses. Short. Squat. Blasters, electric and energy weapons. Big, terrifying. Some kind of swords.

Truth was, this didn't net her nearly as much information as she'd like, particularly with scanning equipment's range being limited by the Nexus itself, to say nothing of the storm.

For the moment, she was perched on a roof, looking through a scope attached to the top of her rifle, trying to spot anything in the distance, beyond the safety in the plaza.

Re: Delia Battista - Pirate, Tactical Officer, Captain, and now: Scout

[smartass_captain]

The shortwave radio Delia carries on her crackles to life over the howl of the wind.

Truthfully, Kirk's been quietly relieved to have Delia on his side for this. Her keen attention to detail and get things done mentality has landed them some crucially needed supplies up till now. Also, thankfully, she doesn't put her pride above the job. Whatever he's needed done Delia has been there to head out and see to it.

Jim wishes he could be out there more. He's never been the type to lead by anything other than example.

"Kirk to Battista. I might have something. You up for a scouting run?

[attackpatternbattista]

The shortwave radio is a little older school Earth technology than she's used to using, but sometimes old school is necessary. Fortunately, it's simple enough that it's easily understood how to use it, particularly when her own communicator's range is limited, even when having Kirk's communicator code.

The first impression most people might have of Delia is that she's lazy, flirty, and doesn't really care about anything going on around her. In truth, she's observant. Relaxed in any situation, and uses this impression to her advantage frequently. When the chips are down--such as now--her attitude changes. She's still relaxed, but she's more focused. Setting forth to get things done, quickly, without causalities and with minimum loss.

She's a pirate at heart, still. But she's one with an honor code.

Shifting her position Delia tugs the radio closer to her ear, keeping the rifle in one hand so she can peer through the scope with her good eye, "Battista here, honestly getting tired of laying here with nothing in my sights, meet you in the Plaza?"

As it is, she's already getting up, tugging at the strap to her rifle to sling it over her shoulder as she starts heading that way--taking the building's fire escape down.

[smartass_captain]

It's a piece of outdated technology that neither of them are well accustomed to but everyone's gotten the hang of them and very sparing use has meant Hermione's charms have kept them working up till this point.

"I'll be there in five. Kirk out."

The frigid winds nip like a cruel taunt at Delia's exposed olive green skin, batter against her coat and body relentlessly as if to chastise her for spending time outside in the elements rather than, well. The base is quieter than it was, with most of the refugees sheltered as safely as possible in the shelters they've set up. Her steps echo against the floor, the snow slow to melt with the draft that a lack of bodies has invited to seep insidiously in.

Captain Kirk is still shaking the snow from his hair and off his all-weather jacket. The cloak he's worn over it is hung on the back of the folding chair he's not using. His gaze snaps from the maps he's tracing with gloved fingertips up to Delia when he hears her come in.

"Holding up alright out there?" It's a rhetorical question, more of a greeting than an actual query. Jim only waits for Delia to acknowledge he's said anything before he gets straight to the point. There's nothing but tension and command in his posture these last few days. Things are getting tight and everyone knows it. It's showing in the decrease in rations being given to everyone. In how thin the grip those in charge are keeping of their composure. James T Kirk is no different.

"We have a bead on what might be the largest supply cache to date in a camp near the wilds. It's well outside the safe zone and if we're going to gear up and go out there I need to know it's a sure thing. We needs those supplies, Delia. Badly. I won't pretend this is a safe or sure thing, but I'd feel better if you accompanied that Washington kid on his speeder and checked the place out. He should be on his way here now."

[attackpatternbattista]

Most of her life, Delia's either been aboard spaceships or stations. Being planetside was always a novelty and doing so for extended periods was a little disconcerting after a while, particularly as one of a nomadic species scattered across the Alpha and Beta quadrants of the Milky Way.

Not that she's unprepared for it. The jacket's long and heavy, and her uniform (with pants, rather than her usual skirt) beneath it help, but she's still very much outside her element in this situation. The Nexus is a lot like being planetside, except it's harder to predict. More chaotic than anything she's ever really experienced.

"About as well as I can be," Is the Orion's reply. She doesn't like this. Not being in contact with her ship and crew hasn't helped, as up to now she's always at least had the ability to open a comm-line home. Now, not so much. Being that it's been days and she's no doubt missed her last check in by that much, they're trying to get to her from their end.

Delia hides her stress well, but over the period of this Winter, Jim's seen her enough that he can tell there's a difference. She still at least appears relaxed to most, at ease with her surroundings, but there's an edge there, like a coiled spring wound tight and ready to go off. She is, after all, a command officer too (After all, she may introduce herself as 'Captain' Battista, but for all points and purposes, her official rank in the Defense Force is actually General), and when she's not scouting or trying to find information, she's been trying to keep charge too. Stay calm, look like there's a plan going on for all of this.

Because if people find out otherwise, well.

There's a lot of them. Crammed into this small space. Delia's heard things that happen when stations and ships are lost, lose contact with the outside worlds. How people of any species can turn desperate and terrifying when their holodecks are gone, and their bellies are starving. It's not just limited to humans, klingons, or any one race.

Desperation can drive even the most smoothly running mind mad.

"Truthfully, I've been worried about sending him on some of these trips by himself as it is," Delia admits, "Away Team tradition usually has at least two people."

[smartass_captain]

"I know, but we don't have the manpower to afford pairs all the time. He knows not to go too far on his own."

Kirk pinches at the bridge of his nose to try and ease the tension headache that never really goes away these days. Every activity is a math problem now; how much energy versus what they're going to bring back. Not everyone comes back from these missions even when they've sent teams. Joshua's pretty good on that speeder and it's definitely kept him from getting too close to harm's way and very quickly out of it when harm does come up more than once already.

It's something of a relief not to have to pretend things are okay around Delia, though he doesn't drop his in control demeanor. At this point if he lets go of it he might not get it back. Still, he appreciates his friend being someone he doesn't need to pretend around. Doesn't need to sugarcoat things. He's not sure he'd have the patience to anyhow.

Over the near perpetual howl of the wind it's difficult to hear the speeder pulling up, though Joshua's quick to dart inside before he also starts shaking and dusting off as much snow as possible before it melts and starts to chill him.

He jerks his head up slightly in a greeting to Delia and Jim. Offers a quiet 'yo' as he makes his way over to where they're standing. Jim nods back, stepping aside smartly so the Canadian can get a look at the map they're standing over.

"This is purely recon, you understand." The captain leans forward and draws a circle on the map with a pencil. It's within the boundaries of the wilds, though not too far by speeder. Not near the residential fringes or parks that tend to line its edges nearer the plaza. Definitely outside the safe zone. "We've got a lead on a large stockpile of food. A store for our enemies out beyond the torches, more than likely. I need details. How much, how guarded. We can't afford to ignore it."

[conjuredskies]

Felix hasn't made himself obvious, these last couple of weeks. As his stores began to dwindle he stopped bartering away potions: the only ones that remain are his private stash, for his own use and Jim's.

Though actually getting Jim to take them can be a struggle worthy of Talos himself. When he's not off working on his own investigations, his rituals in certain places, his visits to the torch line, then he stays close enough to keep an eye on Jim. He doesn't interfere, most of the day. Allows Jim to run himself ragged doing the work he must to feel like he's done his part. Provided he comes to sleep when the light runs out and the work slows down, provided he eats a minimum of his daily share, Felix won't nag or argue. Merely offer an arm around him in the quieter moments, a kiss nuzzled against his cheek, a soft joke in his ear. He lets his betrothed - his husband, nearly - get on with being the Captain Kirk he needs to be, for others' sake.

But when the woman in bright colors - Harley Quinn, he's heard her name often here - leans close to talk to Jim, the conjurer sits bolt upright at his corner table. His eyes dart from one to the other and linger on Jim's face. He can't see much at this distance and that's all the more worrying.

As soon as she's gone about her business he's there, detaching himself from the crowd and placing a hand on Jim's arm.

"...Hey."

[smartass_captain]

Jim's hands are pressed flat firmly against the counter, arms bent with the weight he's putting on them. It's an odd way to lean and certainly can't be comfortable. But it keeps Jim's hands steady so they don't shake. He's staring after where Harley left from with his jaw still clenched.

He didn't break. She's wrong. Jim's not in danger of breaking down or falling over. He can survive much worse than this. If it gets much worse than this, he'll have to. But it hasn't yet. For one long moment the light seems to leave Jim's eyes as a cold truth slithers from the back of his mind where it's been coiled all this time. Something he's known since this started and tried so desperately to tell himself otherwise.

Jim Kirk is a survivor. Whatever that takes.

How does it feel, Captain? To be just. Like. Me?

Cold. Empty. Vast. The breath he takes next is deeper and more controlled.

Though it startles into a gasp and a cough when Felix settles his hand on Jim's arm. He quirks his lips upwards ever so slightly toward Felix and that eerie cold stillness leaves his posture. For now. Felix's hand is warm against his arm. Close and present. Pulling Jim back from the precipice he had been teetering on.

"Hey yourself. What's up?"

[conjuredskies]

Jim is so very good at conjuring that mask from nowhere. So practiced at pretending everything is just fine. But Felix knows better than almost anyone the scars and shadows that haunt his mind. He should. He put some of them there.

He's been at Jim's side on the bad days. Through the worse nights. He knew to start worrying about Jim the moment the word 'rations' came into play and he knows, now, the signs of that shadow gnawing at the captain.

"Well, I'm thinking I've had about enough of all this sunshine and balmy weather," he says lightly. "It's all a bit much for me." He leans back against the table, casually inserting himself between it and Jim as he looks up at the other man. And lowers his voice. "Who was that you were speaking with?"

Without knowing Quinn, he doubts it was the woman herself that upset Jim, not directly. His beloved's fault lines aren't so obvious. But whether it was Quinn or something tangentially said or a total coincidence, Felix hardly needs to look at the captain to read the grinding tension behind that too-perfect poise. So here he is.

[smartass_captain]

There haven't been many bad nights here which makes it so easy to forget how deep the shadows are. Jim's had so little energy for nightmares when he does finally give in to Felix herding him to sleep. Working himself to the bone has always been his remedy against the memories that haunt him.

"Is that all?" He nearly sounds teasing, taking solace in settling back into a role that's easy and safe...but Felix asks and Jim swallows too roughly. Clenches his jaw before he can tell himself not to. It's difficult to lie to Felix when the other knows his tells so very well. Not that it's so much willful deceit as it is a desperate denial of reality. "One of the expedition ladies. Harley Quinn."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a deep breath. She took the food away. He didn't break down. He still has control. Jim Kirk has this handled.

"She wanted an assignment."

[conjuredskies]

There are times Felix will demand Jim slow down and take time out. And then there are times where it would be worse than futile. Times like this. Bones could get away with such a demand, perhaps. Felix isn't the doctor and daren't pretend to be. He can't afford for Jim to push him away, or start telling the conjurer even less of what he feels. There's nothing in all the worlds Felix could say to make the captain back down from pushing himself to breaking point for the sake of those around him. So he says nothing.

But that doesn't mean he accepts it.

His hands close around Jim's arms, the Imperial leaning forward until their foreheads touch. Until it feels like it's just the two of them, a tiny circle of warmth and quiet in the hubbub of the cafe's comings and goings.

His voice is soft when he asks, "And what else?"

[smartass_captain]

Felix is breathing so much steadier than Jim is. He hadn't even realized it until they're this close. It makes the captain try to even his own out, match his rhythm with Felix's until he stops hearing his pulse in his ears so thunderously loud. It's reassuring to have the conjurer here. A sense of calm amidst all the uncertainty they're surrounded by. All of Jim's hard work has kept Felix safe and as well cared for as any of them can be.

They're so close, like this.

Just like they would be back at the apartment in Yorktown, after Jim had calmed down from another night terror and come back to bed. Let Felix pull him close. And just like every time they do, Felix asks him in a voice so soft that he may not have been speaking at all. He could have just as soon breathed the words and Jim would still know them by heart.

And what else?

They never talk enough. Not about the things that matter. They don't talk about Rielle or Felix trying to kill Jim. Don't talk about Felix's work in conjuring and what that entails. Jim tries not to talk about his own demons either, but they're less easy to hide than Felix's are. They rear their ugly heads all too often with nightmares that always bring questions he doesn't want to answer. Doesn't want to, but does, as much as he can make himself.

Felix asks 'and what else?' so Jim pulls his hands away from the desk and turns them over to touch at the backs of Felix's hands. There's ugly red gouges in his hands from where he'd dug his nails into the palms.

"She." Jim's stomach clenches again and he grits his teeth but it passes. He should really eat today. "She wanted me. To take her rations."

princess Allura - would rather be active than not, honestly

[making_sacrifices]

Allura suddenly looks very serious.

"Could you please tell me what is it exactly we're dealing with, sir? I've only just arrived on this planet. However, I do wish to help."

[brother_alone]

"You just got here? That's some hella bad luck, lady."

It does explain quite a bit though. The woman isn't kitted out for the cold the way the rest of them are and she still walks with the ease of someone who hasn't been reduced to half rations for a week straight. Josh is one of the forward scouts sniffing out what little supplies there are to be found. He sets down the tools he was fiddling with to go and greet the newcomer as best he can.

"I can talk to some of the folks in charge, get you a safe place to sleep and eat, when we're given rations that is." He offers out a gloved hand. "Name's Josh. Sorry you got dumped here when you did."

[making_sacrifices]

"Thank you very much. However, I don't plan to staying here for long. Coran and the Paladins will soon find me, I'm quite sure."

She looks around.

"However, I can see that this place is in dire need of help."

[brother_alone]

"Well, most of us didn't mean to be here for long but lost access to our home worlds when the Portals Froze over and PINpoints started to fail."

But if the thought of being able to go home at any time was keeping her positive and full of hope Josh certainly wasn't going to be the one to snatch that away from her. There's precious little of it going around right now as is.

"If you're looking to help out I can introduce you to some folks. What are you good at?"

[making_sacrifices]

"I see."

She might be stuck here, too, or so it seems. Though. With her ship and with Voltron, anything is possible. Because... Can there really exist a planet that is cut off from everything?

"I can help with organising and planning all our efforts."

At least she sounds fairly confident.

"With other matters as well, most likely. However, first I'd wish to inquire as to what's been done already. Please, tell me."

[brother_alone]

"You've got experience running a refugee camp? Damn, your world must not be much better than here."

The look that flickers across Joshua's face is full of sympathy for whatever hardships the woman must have faced before she ended up wandering into this place between worlds. It's followed by a small nod as the Canadian sizes her up and clearly determines she means business.

"Everyone who's come to us has been assigned a shelter. Most are in an emergency bunker not far from here while a lot of our expedition runners are holed up in a cafe that's on the edge of the safe zone. Everything is doled out on ration. Food, heating supplies, medicine for those what need it. We've got a system in place. Problem is simple. Even with us stretching things as far as they'll go, we're running out of supplies. We need to find more. Food, especially. Hunting parties and scavengers are bringing stuff in but not fast enough."