nexus_crossings | Into a Rising Wind

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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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Palmer didn't learn about what happened with Cricket until he returned from his expedition, badly shaken. He gives Cricket a weak wave when he sees him, recognizing his apprentice on sight. He's taken to wearing his winter coat even indoors, though his hood's down. It's cold enough for that.

"Howdy there, Cricket. It's been a while." The mechanic's in the Cafe to relax as best he can from his own recent adventure. Palmer's jacket sports a couple new patches. He's stitched his clothes back together where they were torn by the ice monsters.

He's got himself a drink, badly shaken by the adventure, his Sableye by his side. Palmer and Cricket are alive. He's grateful for that. They'll survive this hell of a winter, he'll do his best to make sure.

"Was attacked by the ice creatures," he explains, indicating the ripped spots. "I was with Furiosa and Harley. Asked the things why they were going after us. They just laughed at me, and I got angry. Shot one of 'em in the face." Palmer doesn't like violence, but he can't help but be a little proud of his courage. "Heard you had a hard time yourself. Can't wait for this winter to end."

"Hey, Palmer." He dredges up a slightly-weak smile, but stands to greet him and gives him a brief, back-thumping hug. "Glad you're in one piece."

He was sitting at one of the booths, so he beckons them over to join him. "Hey, Sableye. All of the Pokemon I know of are spendin' time in Pokeballs right now. You keep an eye on him, Palmer. People're gettin' mean and he might end up a target for somethin'."

He's damn well not letting Willie out until there's enough food to go around and no one's thinking about fur coats.

"Yeah," he agrees softly. "Harley's place got busted into while I was there. I couldn't protect it. I shot the men and one of 'em almost died, but Azwel saved him. Don't know what happened to the other."

Palmer smiles, accepting the hug and giving Cricket a quick hug in return. "Just wanted to let you know I'm all right."

"Kinner's workin' as a volunteer cook - a good one, too. He's okay, too, last I heard of him, but he has to work hard making meals for everyone. Haven't seen him for a while."

Palmer's careful with Sableye, all right. He knows there are thieves active during the winter storm and he doesn't want his Pokemon friend to be attacked. Sableye gives a concerned click, staying close to his Trainer.

"You shot someone?" Palmer's surprised, but not angry, since Cricket shot the thieves presumably in self-defense. He can see himself reacting the same way. He shot to kill back with the ice monsters. "I'm sorry all that happened to you. People ain't always nice to each other, even though we gotta work together now more than ever."

"I seen him around," Cricket says. "Ain't spoken to him. He looks busy."

He smiles weakly at Palmer. "Maybe I ought to stop by an' talk to him sometime soon, though."

He rests his chin in his hands pensively and gives a little shrug. "Seems like kind of a waste all around, is all. They didn't get what they wanted from me, just got shot. I didn't get what I wanted from them--for them to just leave peacefully--and since they busted the door to the place down, it's been looted since. People're gettin' desperate, and in the end ain't no one coming out of this without a scratch."

He sounds grim, but not panicked. He's a child of Prohibition, Depression, and poverty the likes of which some other Nexus residents have never seen. "You start watchin' your back any time, a'ight? Best if we work together, but not everyone's gonna see it that way."

"I'll let him know you're all right. He seems a little stressed." More than a little, but Palmer doesn't want Cricket to worry too much about Kinner. He's pretty sure the cook will do just fine. Kinner's not a big man, but he's tough. "I guess the winter must be getting to him, even though he's been in a mess like this before."

Palmer's willing to bet Kinner will be all right. He hasn't talked to him, either. Kinner seems more on-edge than usual, making Palmer reluctant to approach him.

"I don't know why those creatures are attacking everyone," he says, still bothered by the unprovoked attack. "They refused to tell us anything. They're smart enough to know what we're saying, so I got no clue why they want us dead so much. We did nothing to them. I was just hoping I could stop the fight before anyone else got hurt..."

Palmer's been guarding what little he has. He doesn't really have much worth stealing besides weed and tools.

Cricket snorts at Palmer's reassurance good-naturedly. "Well, damn, if he's only a little stressed, he's doin' better'n most of us."

Cricket doesn't say so, but he suspects, that Kinner and Palmer are both having uncomfortable memories of Antarctica by now. And maybe Kinner more than Palmer, because he was in the midst of the fear for longer, because he actually lost his encounter with the Thing and died. He'll check on the cook when he can, but there's so little he can do to reassure either of them.

"Ain't seen 'em," he says of the creatures, thoughtfully. "Don't wanna see 'em, particularly. But I reckon it was worth at least asking 'em once what they want. I'm glad you did."

"But if they won't answer and they won't stop, we have to fight. That's all we can do."

"I haven't talked to him - Kinner's kind of the quiet type a lot of the time. Figure that's just the way he is - he's trying not to show that this weather's getting to him. That'd be my guess." Palmer doesn't know the way Kinner thinks, he's not in the cook's head, but he seems to be carrying himself pretty well given circumstances and all the pressure on him. Palmer doesn't envy Kinner at all.

He wishes he hadn't seen the creatures. The ironic thing is, before the attack he had wanted to study them, even talk to them if he could.

"The thing is, they knew I was trying to talk to them, because one of them went out of its way to laugh in my face. That's what really set me off, 'cause I was trying to offer them a way out and thought what I was sayin' was reasonable."

The time for talking is over. If Palmer's confronted with the creatures again, he won't make that offer twice.

"Ain't nothin' about this that's reasonable," Cricket sighs and pats Palmer's back. His heart was in the right place--that's probably one of the reasons Cricket likes him. Palmer's got quirks, but there's a heart of gold under 'em all.

"But you know now, and you're still alive, and that's pretty good." He smiles at him. "Just remember you gotta do what you gotta do, and if somethin' looks like it might bite you, go ahead and bite it first."

"Did you ever hear that story about the frog and the scorpion? Where the scorpion asks the frog to swim it across the river on his back? The frog says, 'But what if you sting me? I'll die.' And the scorpion says, 'It'd be stupid if I did that, cause you'd sink in the water and I'd drown, and then we'd both die.' The frog thinks that's pretty reasonable, and agrees to carry the scorpion, and then as soon as they're in deep water, ZAP! Scorpion stings him right in the back of the neck."

"'Why??' the frog asks as they're both drowning. 'Now you killed us both!' And the scorpion says, 'Well, that's my nature.'."

"Some people're like that, too. And maybe that's what those creatures you bumped into out there are, too. Scorpions. They're doing what's in their nature, and negotiating ain't part of it."

"It ain't personal. But don't let 'em get close enough to sting you."

"Don't worry, Cricket, I won't give 'em the chance again."

Palmer relaxes, appreciating the comforting gesture. He still remembers the blasts of gunfire and the sounds made by the creatures.

"I shot one of 'em. The one that was laughing at me - I figure I wasn't thinking when I did it, I just got mad and let my handgun take over. I think I was able to show 'em James Palmer wasn't about to be easy prey. First time I hurt somebody on purpose."

At least Furiosa and Harley had seemed to appreciate Palmer's burst of courage, something which wasn't lost on the mechanic. He'd carried himself a little straighter ever since he came back from the expedition.

"It was a little disappointing. I was hopin' there was a way to talk them down, or at least find out why they're giving us such a hard time. I mean, we Nexus people didn't do anything to them, at least as far as we know. I thought it might be a misunderstanding. But you got a good point about the scorpion thing. Some folks are just not good or reasonable, I guess." Palmer hadn't tried talking to the Thing, but if he had known it took human form he may well have tried. That almost certainly would have ended badly.

He manages to crack a smile. "That scorpion in the story sounds like a jerk."

Cricket laughs softly--not at him, but in a friendly way. "That's the point, though, Palmer. It wasn't a jerk, it was just a scorpion."

He looks up at him with sympathy in his eyes. "You don't have to feel bad about it. You know that? Especially since you tried so hard not to have to hurt it. I was talkin' to a man earlier about what I did. He said I shouldn't feel ashamed for tryin' to keep myself alive."

"I think it was good advice. I think you can mourn a little for having to hurt someone, but don't let it bring you down. That defeats the purpose."

"You did nothing wrong, Cricket. I don't think so, anyway. You had every right to defend yourself. I'm glad you're still here."

Palmer brightens a little at the sound of Cricket's laughter. He likes making his friends laugh, both at Outpost 31 and in the Nexus. He's happy to have made Cricket happy, at least for a while, before the winter closes in again and the fear returns. He's sure it will.

"You're right. I guess there's just some times when talking thing through doesn't work and you've gotta fight. Didn't enjoy hurting 'em, though."

"You wouldn't be the man you are if you enjoyed hurtin' things," Cricket tells Palmer earnestly, giving him a warm smile. "I know you. You'd rather talk to people and fix things and have fun, and honestly I reckon that's a good kinda person to be."

He gives him hug and a thump on the back. "Once this is over and we ain't trapped and starving no more, you and me and Kinner and Forrest'll do something fun. Hell, we could invite Harley and Loki and some others too. Fish fry and picnic and lots of liquor, maybe."

"I prefer to avoid fights when I can. I guess I thought that if I found out what the creatures wanted and why they were attacking people, i could convince 'em to stop. I really oughta learned my lesson back from the Thing, huh?"

He grins, appreciating the hug. Hugs made him feel better.

"Yeah, I'd like to hang out with your friends. I've never met most of those people. There's you and Kinner, but I don't remember meeting Loki or Forrest. If you like 'em, though, they must be all right." Palmer trusts Cricket's judgement. "Fish and liquor sound great by me. Maybe I'll try and bring in somebody from my world."

"You ain't met either Loki? Huh." Cricket's mildly surprised. He thought one or the other of the Lokis had talked to everyone.

"Well, mine'll tease you but he's mostly sweet. The other one's a little spooky, but I don't think he's completely bad."

"If I have, I don't remember," says Palmer. "But they sound like interestin' people, I'll tell you that. Wouldn't mind getting to know them at some point. I trust your judgement."

Palmer chuckles. "Harley, though? I know Harley. Fixed up some yo-yos for her and fought the ice creatures together. That dog creature she has scared me at first. I dunno what breed it is, if it's even a dog, but it scared me."

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Into a Rising Wind

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