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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
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He halfway lights up when he spies her, deeply relieved to see her safe and in one piece, but when she sits by him with those gestures of affection, he sort of just...breaks down, turning to put a shaky hand over hers.
"H-hi, Harley. I'm sorry, I kinda...there was two men and they busted in and I shot 'em, and I reckon the blood's gonna stain the carpet if there even is still carpet come Spring..."
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"Hey... I'm sorry that happened to you." She whispers to him. "Don't worry about the carpet."
"You handling the shooting thing alright?"
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It was only a matter of time.
"I don't know," he says then, looking into her face, and his expression is definitely troubled, but it doesn't look like he's consumed with guilt and horror, either. "I ain't sure how to feel. I think they'd have done something bad to me if I hadn't. Maybe if I coulda run, but...I ain't built to run."
"I just keep trying to think if I coulda done something different, but I ain't comin' up with no answers."
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"What is up with those torches..." She muses.
"It might come as a shock to you later. And if it does... I will be there, if you want to talk to someone." Harley tells him.
"And try not think on the would-have should-have could-have. You did what you needed to do. And protected yourself."
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"I don't know about them torches," he says. "They're magic, I guess, but why they're doing what they're doing, and why they're moving? Beats me."
"Loki was sayin'...I mean, the older one, the one you're courting, he told me he was going out past 'em to fetch a body and see if he could figure out what's out there. And to tell you not to worry. But I ain't seen him since, and I ain't seen my Loki, either."
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She nods slightly at the mention of Loki. And sighs. "I am sure both of them are capable enough to figure things out. But to say not worry is a little silly. I mean I am going to worry about him."
"And I am sure you are worried about the other."
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"I want mine back," he grumbles a little. It's an utterly sincere complaint, and he knows the phrasing is childish, but Harley's not likely to judge him for it.
"I know he can handle the cold. He's built for it. But there are plenty of other things that could hurt him, and I hate the idea of him being so far off and me not being able to do anything for him."
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"He is a God in a way... ain't he? You could pray to him. And he will hear it. He will know you are thinking about him. Waiting for him."
"Maybe that will give him extra incentive?"
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It hasn't escaped Cricket that religion gets hella complicated in the Nexus. He was raised in church, but they stopped going after his mother died. In retrospect, he thinks that's probably because Aunt Winnie was mad at God, and that kind of makes sense. He's not, but he doesn't know what to make of the Divine any more.
Still, no one's suggesting he sacrifice a black lamb or anything. Actually, knowing Loki, if Cricket had a black lamb around he'd rather cuddle it and try to keep it as a pet. In any case, praying doesn't sound like it'd hurt. "...yeah, you know what? I might try that."
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"You two got somethin' special."
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Or maybe she has already, and doesn't want to talk about it? He worries his lip. "Y'ain't gotta tell me. Just askin'. Are you a'ight, Harley? As much as you can be? I know you been out in the snow. Must've been a lot to deal with."
He puts his hand over hers. If he can't go out and help in the wilds, himself, he can at least try and help or comfort the people who can go. Especially his friends.
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She is a flash in the fire. And has fallen for the wrong type before.
Is she and her Loki something special? She really doesn't think anyone else would describe them as that.
"I pray by fighting." She answers. Because that is the truth. In her last expedition, she became the Valkyrie that he calls her. She fought tooth and nail. With his gifted ice dagger in one hand, and the flame sword in another. And she is sure wherever he is... he would have sensed that moment of chaos. Of her letting go and truly fighting with everything she has. Everything she is.
And maybe a little part of him also senses her when the madness catches up with her. When the laughter in her mind gets so loud, that she can't hear anything else. That moment when her crazy claims her again.
"I am more aiming to be a little above wrong." Harley glances at him, when he asks if she is alright. She knows she isn't. Never could be. All she can do is fight for that last piece of sanity.
And Cricket is helping keep it safe.
"I ain't giving up. Not on finding answers. I can promise you that."
no subject
Maybe one of these days he'll tell her so, but he doubts it's his place. And there's no point right now. They might all end up dying before the season's out.
He nods slowly at her answer. He's seen the ice dagger but doesn't really get the significance. But it kind of makes sense, praying by fighting.
That's not really Cricket's style. He can fight, he can shoot, and if he has to he will, but at heart he's a caretaker. A lover, not a fighter, in the truest sense of the phrase.
But that's what he can do, here and now: he can love Harley, as his friend, as his sister, and when she says she's not giving up, he pulls her into a hug. "You best not give up," he says. "We're more'n halfway through the Winter. I reckon we can finish it out if we keep a hold on what matters."
no subject
It was that 'seeing hope in all things' that kept her with Joker for so long.
But Harley will not be burned more than once again. She learned a hard, valuable lesson with Joker. While she might have hope for Loki -- that she can be a light in the darkness for him -- she will also know when to jump ship if it gets to the point where she is giving too much of herself again. And not seeing anything given in return.
She knows what love is. It is not perfect. It can be arguments. And joys. And hopes. And distress. But there is honesty. And communication. And both partners (or more, depending on the relationship) need to find their balance.
And so... if Cricket does tell her what he thinks one day... Harley would listen to his concerns. And know that he wants what is best for her.
So many of her friends do. That gives her hope of finding whatever that is.
Harley returns the hug with a small smile. "I got a hold on you. Even if you ain't in my arms, Cricket. You are one of the people who matters in my life."
no subject
But maybe Harley ain't wrong to see hope there, either. Time will tell.
For the moment, all that matters is that they get through this. "Likewise," he tells her with a little laugh. "Reckon you're my best friend. So you...don't you forget it."
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If it doesn't work out with Loki -- she will know it wasn't meant to be.
"You are my best friend too." She kisses his forehead. "And I won't. It will keep me going..."
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"You can come to me and talk any time," he tells her. "I know you're gonna go back out there, 'cause that's the kind of person you are, but I'll be thinkin' about you."
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"See you later, promise."