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

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.

[sweetcandygirl]

It might seem that Harley is not bothered by the circumstances... but in all reality she is holding onto the small fabrics of sanity she has left right now, just like everyone else. There are moments in the dark -- when she knows she is alone -- that the psychotic energy of her past catches up with her.

In those rare moments -- she is very dangerous. And she is just trying not to endanger others right now. They have enough on her plate to be concerned about her.

She wonders for a moment about the they he mentions. Would they be like the guards at Arkham? Force food down her throat until she can't breathe? Let the food go to waste when she was not touching it?

There is a quiet laughter echoing behind Jim's words. At the edge of her eyesight she can see him and his damn purple jacket. What did you expect, my dear? A round of applause? A medal? My gratitude? You will never be enough...

It takes her half a second to blink the madness back to the corner of her mind. The eeriness is like walking a tightrope over a thousand knives.

With a movement, she removes her offer without another word.

He is not the only one who can fake control.

"Where is the worst place to go right now, that would help the most?" Redirects the conversation for both of their sanity. Nothing happened here. Neither of them almost cracked under the pressure.

"Where can I go, to do some much-needed good?"

[smartass_captain]

Silence settles over the counter.

With the rations gone Jim lets out a breath he'd been holding up until now. His hands unclench, leaving little crescent shaped red marks in the palms of his hands that are quickly hidden when he turns them back flat against the counter. They stare at each other with tsunamis of unwanted memories hanging over them both.

But the waves recede. The shadows pull back just enough for them both to be human.

"Worst? Industrial sector's full of gangs that are a raiding threat. I'd say the wilds but without an expedition target in mind it would just be pointless to go. At least in an urban jungle you're likely to actually find something we could use."

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley tilts her head. And nods. "I am familiar with how gangs work."

"I will go see what I can do about them..." She gives him a respectful salute, before heading out of the tent.

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