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nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
handsofwinter) wrote in nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
Into a Rising Wind
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
❅ Scrapyard Sweep
Every now and then when certain able-looking people pass Tamminy reaches out and demands – because she's long since run out of the patience and energy to ask kindly – "Go to the junk yard! Someone, anyone! One of you, two of you, come on! I'm going to get materials to make some machines to help us survive. I need protection! Or at least a lookout..."
Harley Quinn -- Protection and Possibility
"The junk yard?" There is a glint in Harley's eyes. She might be able to find replacements for a couple of sacrificed weapons at the junk yard.
"Sounds like an adventure."
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Despite her short stature she's got long arms, perfect for shaking hands with tallfolk like Harley. "Doctor Photovolt. Yourself? And your specialty is, I assume..." She glances to the bat, then back up to Harley. "Smashing?"
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"I was affiliated with the Suicide Squad. So quite used to dangerous situations... and getting out of them."
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That little bit of casual conversation calms her just a hair. It makes it easier for her to gesture to herself and say, "I'm not a medical doctor, I'm the kind who went to school for forty years and only knows how to fix machines. I got my doctorate in electrical engineering. And I'm trying to make us something with the scrap we find."
She rolls her eyes and says, "I was counting on some people to bring back the parts for a snowmobile, but that ship sailed. Now I'm just hoping I can make a lens to magnify what little sun we're getting. If I can focus the rays, I might be able to power a few photo-electric cells. We can charge a few important devices if I can make that happen, but..."
But, you know. Some Jerks didn't exactly deliver her snowmobile parts, so her hopes aren't high.
Then Harley goes and says suicide, and Tamminy squeaks an uncomfortable little laugh. "Suicide isn't exactly what we're going for here, so I hope your 'getting out' abilities are PhD-level..."
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"A lens? Hey my final yo-yo has a bunch of little mirrors on it. If that would help you can have it." Harley offers. "They ain't big mirrors... just reflective enough to cause a distraction. See around corners."
She wonders if those parts mentioned were supposed to be on that ship that her team was assigned to check out in her last mission. They were unfortunately unable to get any supplies... due to being attacked.
"We were called that because we went into high-risk missions. And somehow managed to get back... even if they didn't intend for us to do so." Harley grins. "And hey... I can bring a lot of heavy stuff back with me."
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She reaches out and pats Harley's thigh (hey, it's a convenient height for her!) and says, "You keep the mirrors. Peeking around corners is going to be useful when we're in that scrap heap. I have the feeling we aren't going to be the only scavengers there."
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"Everybody needs protection, so you'd better have some compelling arguments on why you're the one who should get best one."
And don't mind him, he's going to smoke in the meantime.
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"Frankly, if you're going to be sour about it, don't assist me. I need team players, not rogues. Otherwise, if you see the value of having a reliable source of electricity and heat crafted from the parts we scavenge, come with. I'm an electrical engineer; heat and energy are my specialties. With a few additional parts I could create hardware to help more of us last longer."
She eyes him up and down, more suspicious than she might be otherwise. "And what are you alleging to bring to the table?"
hi. and like I've said, this Loki isn't from Marvel. etc. :) My other one is.
"I can be a 'team player' when necessary. However, I see your point. If I'll have to stay here - which, for all I know, might be true - I should do my part to make this place hospitable. Fine."
He shrugs. What he brings, hm. Good question. Or rather, the proper question is, what he'll decide to bring to the table. This is a completely different world, he can feel that much, and so, as of yet he's undecided.
"Why should I show all my cards at once? You'll see. If you even want help, that is. I'm not going to insist if you complain."
As for the 'dick' comment, Loki manages not to laugh at that. He's been called worse in his life. Much worse.
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She's not the only one sweating, though. While she waits for Harley to arrive, she and her one-armed human friend are joined by another face that might be vaguely familiar: Zandros Alter, the blonde-haired man who may have caused some slight offense in summer upon meeting Harley. Today he's dressed more appropriately for the weather with his flowing fur cape. At his hip, a thin, slightly curved sword. On his back, a slim, silver heater shield nearly as tall as he is.
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She is ready to help out again.
An eyebrow is arched as she approached Tamminy, her one-armed friend, and Zandros. Another test for her? Harley glances him over... and takes note of the sword at his hip. And the shield on his back.
Harley is dressed in appropriate weather gear too... a bright pink coat, that is well insulated. On her weapon belt hangs a bat, a dagger, a boomerang, a yo-yo, a slingshot and a few throwing stars. On her back is a large sword carried in a decorated sheath.
"Doctor Photovolt. Zandros." She greets them with their names.
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"Light. I certainly hope you don't intend to engage in a mission wearing such obvious colors. Should there be any need for stealth along the way..."
Tamminy cringes. This is getting off to a shit start! She laughs uncomfortably and looks between the two. "Mister Alter, she's, um. The only other person who's agreed to assist..."
He looks down at the gnome, her own gaudy pink hair now covered by a dull grey hat. At least she's keeping her colors under wraps. "I'm being practical, Doctor."
She pulls a face, but what can she say? If she offends him, he might leave! If she fails to stand up for Harley, she might leave. She bites her lip and her eyes dart between the two.
In the back, Lawrence watches, fighting a smile. Discomfort. Yes! Entertainment!
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"Consider me that bullseye that will get attention... and will get through the worse of any situation just fine."
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"Well," he says with a final sigh, "I suppose we're at an impasse there, as I've nothing to give. Though I resent the idea of using any person in our party -- however small -- as bait. We must, first and foremost, remain together. A party of three is simply too small to be split."
He eyes Harley suspiciously. "I see you're well-armed, but what are your specialities? What role can I expect you to fill in this expedition other than as a living target?"
Tamminy continues to cringe at Zandros' 'leadership,' but keeps her mouth shut for now.
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"I am a Valkyrie. A warrior." She is more and more comfortable using the title that Loki had given her. "I am trained in several different fields of combat. I am skilled with a variety of weapons. I have expertise in chemistry, explosives, poisons, survival techniques and fighting against large numbers of enemies. And as I previously told the good doctor here... I was a member of the Suicide Squad. A team of experts who were sent into difficult situations to get the mission done."
"What roles can I expect you to fill, Zandros?"
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He gestures between them all and says, "As a shieldbearer, I shall walk first among us. Doctor Photovolt, not being a combatant, shall go behind me. Miss, I would advise you to stay behind us and guard our rear."
Looking at each of the women he'll be venturing forth with he asks, "Are we ready? Shall we enter the scrapyard and commence our looting?"
Tamminy is reluctant to nod, but eventually does. "I'll keep my eyes open for valuable goods as we go. It's pointless to try to sum up everything that might be useful before I see what the scrap heap offers. Just... Be quick to take what I need when I call for it? I-if you can?"
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"I brought a sack. We can toss anything useful into it." She smiles at Tamminy. One of those bright-as-life smiles.
"And being quick is something that I can do."
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They can gain some shelter from the wind by sticking to the side of the street, though that means they have to carefully watch the doorways and alleys they pass for signs of ambush. Sometimes a shadow seems to move on the rooftops above, yet for now they pass unmolested. They’re well out of sight of the torches when the wind shifts and carries a distant, rasping howl unlike any natural creature on Earth. Perhaps even of Azeroth.
But they’re close. Close enough to hurry on until suddenly the scrapyard entrance looms beside them. The arched sign above is clumped thick with ice, but the way is open, a maw of gutted cars stacked like corpses and tangled columns of scrap metal, gaping wide for its visitors. The moment they step within those walls of junk it’s strangely quiet, save for a little wind that whistles through cracks and holes in rusted metal. Did it always feel this ominous? Did the piles of junk tower and totter so high over the shadowed avenues where freezing mists now curl? By no means does this place look welcoming, or safe. But… it’s the only place they’ll find their prizes.
And it’s got to be better than what hunts outside. Right?
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But there's nothing comforting about entering the scrapyard and suddenly being free of that raucous wind. Tamminy groans -- much louder than she meant to in this silence -- and looks back one more time to be sure Harley is close behind.
"I didn't know the snow would be this deep," she whines, a little tremble in her voice. "Finding what we need... Seeing what I want... Th-th-this is a bad idea. This is a bad idea! W-we should go back. We should go back. This is -- It's not too late! We can go back!"
Ahead, Zandros tosses Harley a glance. He's wind-blown and white with the snow that settled on his clothes, but there's far more determination in his green eyes than in Tamminy's. So, Harley? What will it be? Turn back now, or continue forward?
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And then they reach the scrapyard. Harley looks around to the gutted cars and tangled columns of scrap metal. And sure she doesn't feel welcomed here... but she can barely remember the last time she did feel welcomed anywhere.
The glances of Tamminy checking on her was something that reminded Harley of her reason of coming on this mission. To find something that the gnome can use to help the others.
Harley kneels down a little so she can place a supportive hand on Tamminy's shoulder. She catches the determination in Zandros eyes. And nods slightly. "We made it this far. We might as well look around to see if there is anything we can bring back with us."
"And if it helps, you can get on my shoulders." She removes the fire sword from its sheath so it is not in the way. "Might give you a better vantage point of looking around for any items you think would be useful."
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Looking up at Harley, Tamming begins clearly eyeing her shoulders. Her large eyes dart as her mind grinds away at thoughts. Eventually she tenses and shakes her head rapidly. "Something could go very wrong if we're stacked like that. I'll do better to keep my feet on the ground, but..." She tries to smile, but really only looks queasy, "Thank you for the offer..."
She nods to Zandros, who nods back, and with no further ado turns and trudges forward into the maze of junk.
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For Tamminy, of all of them, there’s a distraction: new materials. As soon as they’re inside she’ll find a small pile of discarded electronics, abandoned just after delivery. It’s not much but it offers the promise of more and better things inside, the chance that everything they’re gambling on is just waiting to be found in this maze. And maze it might be, since the map nailed up nearby shows where different types of scrap are meant to be taken, but nothing about the actual paths leading there. They do, however, have a direction. Something Zandros can draw confidence in as they leave the entrance far behind them. They have to move slowly enough that Tamminy can check that each fresh pile of cars and engines they pass has actually been stripped of viable parts. That gives her protectors more time to check the path ahead, or look carefully over the decrepit skyline that looms over them.
That said, some dangers aren’t so easy to spot. If Zandros sees the glimmer of light from within the scrap, the thin beam of red light at knee height he’s about to stride right through… he clearly doesn’t recognize the lethal danger it signifies.
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She does know what that thin beam of red light is and how dangerous it can be. And quickly she tackles Zandros to get him out of the way, before he is exploded into a million different pieces. "Heads down!"
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