nexus_crossings | Into a Rising Wind

Entry tags:

event

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Under ordinary circumstances, Horvath would be one of the first volunteering to join the search party; he's not fast, but he can walk and his eyes are better than Steve's right now. Unfortunately the snow has turned the surrounding landscape into something far beyond the ordinary, and traveling in that is not kind to a man with a prosthetic leg. He's been teleporting roughly twice a day, spending twelve hours or so doing triage in the Plaza, then resting and recovering and eating a meal at the shelter Steve has set up.

He's had a few hours of sleep and some food, between healing people and returning to escort Steve, but it's earlier than he usually returns. He's not at his best.

"Do we have any kind of system in place for loudspeakers? A way to put out a call for anyone who's seen them?" He leans on the table, and runs a hand over his face, distressed partly on Steve's behalf.

Fresh from delivering some back-alley justice with Natasha and Prometheus, Matt hasn't quite yet had a chance to make it to the safehouse, but the familiar voice catches his attention before he can start asking around for directions. The same Steve? Matt can't tell. There's something odd about the way he's holding himself, though, like he's disoriented or uncertain where he should stand.

"Captain," he calls out, projecting his voice to cut through the noise, perfected over years in a courtroom. "You said there are kids missing?" Yes, they may be called Spider-Man, but Daredevil's met at least one of them, and he's heard that voice. That's a kid.

Kinner's head snaps up as he relaxes near the security desk. He knows at least one of the Spider-Men, the one he helped when the kid was injured. At least he guessed the Spider-Men are kids, or at the most in their late teens. This is dangerous weather, and needless to say it's not safe to be outdoors in conditions like these. There's concern in Kinner's voice as he steps forward to offer his services to the search party. They're all familiar faces so far. Horvath. Steve. Matt.

"You're gonna need somebody who has experience in conditions like these," says the cook. He's brusque, moving on to business. Lives are in danger, there's no time to stand around and talk. "You all know me. Count me in - I'd hate it if something happened to those kids."

Missing kids? Harrowheart catches that much at least and, looking to the source of the worry, finds at least one familiar face: Steve Rogers. What he doesn't know, of course, is that this isn't the Steve he's familiar with. It wouldn't matter either way. If people are missing, it's his obligation to help.

He approaches the group and puts a floating hand on Kinner's shoulder. "I overheard what y'all said. I'm good out there in the snow, I can fight off a monster or two, and I can track by scent. If you'll have me along, I'll help you find your missin' kids." He gives two serious nods as he looks around the gathering.

Steve can't see any of the volunteers, and with the possible exception of Matt, none of them can probably tell why, given the sunglasses he's wearing. The way he turns his head, tilts it to catch sound, and continues to look subtly lost and disoriented probably tells them he's not at his best, though.

Two of the voices, Harrowheart and Kinner, are unfamiliar. The first one that's spoken, though, he knows. "Is...is that you, M--uh, Daredevil?"

He takes a breath. "Yeah, it's both of them. One's about fifteen, the other is maybe thirteen-fourteen. They're both enhanced--super strength and agility, stamina, and both have been in the field before, otherwise I--I shouldn't have let them go. I got injured on the trip back to the safe house and they took it on themselves to sneak out for help. I heard them, and I could have stopped them, but it's a half-mile distance and the civilians in the shelter needed to be reassured, too."

He fucked up, guys. He pulls off his glasses, and Daredevil won't be able to tell visually, but the others will probably notice how his eyes look weirdly frosted-over, the lids swollen and inflamed. It looks painful. "I'm compromised. I can't see a goddamn thing. Horvath here says it's a curse, and we can't waste resources trying to figure it out further right now, so I'm stuck in one place for the moment. I can't go with you. I have to get back to the safehouse and guard the people there, and Horvath has to do his job here, so what we're really asking is for you to go out there without us."

Steve's current impairment is not something Horvath is going to tell anyone about first, and he actually stands by looking slightly guilty as Steve explains it. This feels like something he should be able to fix. Curses are a form of magic, and he seems to be one of only a handful of magic users around right now. But the fact is that curses are very tricky things; no two are ever the same, and his resources are severely limited right now. Teleporting and healing people all day is sapping his strength, even if he is enduring the harsh conditions far better than most.
He should be able to fix this, and he can't.

"We need to know if they reached here, first. If they never even got here, then the path between this and the safehouse seems an obvious place to start. But... if they did get here, first..." Horvath runs a hand down his face. "It would help to see if they were asking questions, I suppose. I'm not sure where they would have gone, from here."

Yeah, what Matt's picking up of that body language is familiar as fuck. What the hell happened? He was fine a couple hours ago. Unfortunately, he knows all too well how quickly shit like this can change. And while he can't see the damage for himself, he can feel the heat in the other man's face even from over here, low and angry like a sunburn.

He doesn't quite wince at Steve's slip of the tongue; he'd kinda figured his identity wasn't as secret as he would've preferred. But maybe it's better this way. If anyone here has any idea what kind of darkness the captain's been plunged into, it's Matt Murdock. And he kinda doubts this 'curse' was kind enough to give the good captain the same kind of enhanced senses Daredevil uses to navigate the world around him. "Yeah, it's me." He steps close enough to reach out and touch the other man's shoulder, providing a solid anchor point in the dark.

Fortunately, Matt can't smell any fresh blood, can't hear the creaking of any broken bones, or anything else that'd hint at further injuries Steve wasn't sharing. Matt's probably the only one here who's relieved to realize that though. Blindness is familiar, and curses are (he hopes) temporary.

Temporary enough that it's relatively easy to set it aside to deal with later, something Steve appears to agree with, despite the faster thrum of his heartbeat. "Is there anywhere else they might've gone? Or someone specific they might've been looking for?"

"I don't know anything, or I'd help. But I think having somebody around who knows conditions like these could be good for the team. This ain't Antarctica, but it's close enough. I figure I can put my experiences there to use here. Has anyone else here been in weather like this?"

Kinner unfortunately doesn't know much about the Spider-Men, where they went or who they might have been after. He's spent most of the storm by himself, trying to keep out of other Nexus denizens' way. He looks around the grouo, taking in names and faces one at a time. A physically capable group with fighting experience. That's a good thing, with the possibility of encountering hostiles in the snow.

"Blindness, huh? In weather like this, that's dangerous. I was snowblinded once, and the only reason I made it back to base camp rather than dying of hypothermia is 'cause the other folks on my team had more presence of mind than I did and had a rope on 'em. If we're gonna go looking for those kids, I suggest we bring a guideline so nobody gets lost." Kinner's stubborn at times, but he learns from his mistakes. "Don't wanna lose anybody else out here."

Blinded? Steve's been blinded? It looks gruesomely painful, and worst of all it's magical. That kind of damage isn't going to disappear before the spell has run its course. Seeing it, thinking about it, Harrow's nostrils flare and his lips press tightly together. This implications are hitting him: Reynard was certainly the one that cast this magic. Which means he's not above appearing in order to lay waste to the mortals who cross him.

The conversation nearly passes him by as he loses himself in his thoughts. He snaps to attention with a shake of the head just as Horvath nears the end of his words. Find out of they made it here? Smart enough. He nods along, then focuses intensely on what comes next.

"Only thing I know right now is whatever we're gonna do, we should move fast. It was the Winter Spirit that cursed you, wasn't it, Steve? If he's out there castin' more than just this storm, a couple'a kids – enhanced or not – are gonna look like a good pair of victims. We gotta find 'em before he does."

"If they got this far, they'd have...they'd have gone to the medical tent," he says weakly. "They were going to look for help and warn everyone what happened to me."

Why didn't he stop them?? He takes a breath, hands clenching and unclenching. Guilt isn't going to help anyone right now. "A guiderope is a good thought. Do you have anything like that on hand? Whoever's going better make a quick run to collect supplies. It's only been three hours; they can't have gotten too far."

"I have no way of knowing who or what cursed me for certain," he tells Harrowheart, turning toward him in spite of the fact he can't see him. "But it was very targeted. I thought I saw...a very good friend of mine, in trouble. No one else saw anything but an ice formation."

Okay. Right. He can do this. "Antarctica--" He doesn't know anyone's names here, except Daredevil. He's probably met Kinner, but he doesn't recognize his voice, so now he has a nickname. "I need you to go get a guiderope and whatever other supplies the expedition desk can spare. Lights or flares if they have them, anything warm they'll let you take. Meet back here as soon as you can. Anyone who's not dressed to go out there? Suit up."

"Horvath, I need you to check the med tent and make sure the boys haven't been there. And you're gonna have to take me back to the shelter once the others get going. We can't leave the group alone for long."

"And you--you said you can hunt by scent?" He gestures vaguely in Harrowheart's direction. "What do you need, for that? Their trail would have started back at the shelter. It might be best to go back and start from there."

Horvath has seen his share of harsh winters and primitive conditions, even if that was mostly in the long-distant past. He's never been to Antarctica though, and he has no advice to give that's as experienced as what he knows Kinner must have to offer. He gives the smaller man a nod of thanks. His impression of him as level-headed and smarter than he gives himself credit for continues to hold up in the face of this new crisis.

The other two men he doesn't know, but Steve seems to, and he's following his lead here. "I can put a shield on anyone who goes out, but it will only last ten minutes or so, and it will do nothing to help you find your way back, so the ropes are an excellent idea. I'm no good in this snow and ice, but I can teleport anyone to anywhere I'm already familiar with, if you need to pick up a trail from there."

He straightens from where he's been leaning on the table's edge. "Let me check the medical tent, and I'll meet you all back here in a few minutes." They'll need that time to gather supplies anyway, and if Horvath gets some news they were spotted in the medical area earlier, it would help.

Much as Matt hates the idea of tying himself to anyone, he can't see a way to get out of it. Even though he would be perfectly fine if hit with the same snowblindness (and how would he even tell, anyway), the others won't be, and the middle of a blizzard is a poor time to try to teach somebody how to get around without sight.

He's not quite sure what to make of the tracker, though. That heartbeat sounds ridiculously sluggish, like his blood is thick as syrup, and when he's not talking, Matt can't hear him breathing either. The air currents and echoes mapping his arms don't seem quite right, like his hands are somehow disconnected from his arms and floating around on their own. (And why does he smell like wet dog?)

That all can wait, though. They've got some kids to find first.

Steve hasn't assigned Daredevil to go do anything, which is fine. As most of the others scramble to get prepped to go, Matt stays with the captain, still providing that grounding touch. Matt remembers all too well how disoriented he'd been, after the accident, before he'd learned how to use his other senses to fill in the spaces where sight used to be. Even if Steve has somehow been spared that, he hasn't shrugged off the touch just yet, so Matt has to believe that it's helping. Or at the very least, not making it worse.

Signals are a good idea. Kinner gives a respectful nod of thanks in Steve's direction. He likes the way Steve thinks.

Kinner knows where to go to gather the resoures he'll need. Once given the okay, he runs through what he'll have to bring - he already has the proper clothing for the expedition, but he'll also need a guiding line so they don't lose anybody on the team. The last thing they need is more people getting lost, or, even worse, casualties.

"I'll be off to gather expedition gear," he says, adjusting his backpack. "The guideline's absolutely neccessary. You don't want to be caught alone in this weather, even without those varmints running around. I suggest whoever can see the best leads the way." He slips some goggles over his eyes to protect his vision in the snow. "And we occasionally make sure everybody's there. Flares are a good idea. I'll pass everyone some so we can signal for help in case of trouble."

He remembers the creatures, no doubt still out there. "We oughta make sure we've got weapons in case we're attacked. We'll look like easy prey if we aren't careful. I've got a pistol lying around, for example, and I'm not a bad shot."

To Steve's question Harrowheart replies, "I'll need somethin' that smells like them, so I know what I'm lookin' for. Clothes'd be helpful? Or a place they're sleepin'?" He looks pointedly between Steve and Horvath and asks, "You happen to know where that's at?"

Then he nods at Kinner to get his attention and shrugs a shoulder, jostling the sheathed sword strapped to his back. "I got my weapon already, and if I'm out there trackin' I'll be, uh. In a different form. I can help keep us safe while we're out there, I figure. Already killed a couple'a those whatever-they-ares lurkin' out there in the blizzard. Figure I can do it again, worse comes to worst."

Steve gives Horvath a squeeze on the shoulder as he straightens. He's more grateful for the support than he knows how to say right now. The poor sorcerer is probably already running himself into the ground, and Steve has to ask still more of him.

"I'd like to think they wouldn't venture past the torches," Steve says. "But they're both city kids. Maybe they got disoriented."

God knows he's disoriented. He's grateful for Daredevil's grounding touch. Really, Steve is lucky he's got the enhanced senses he does; even if they're not a match for Matt's, they're more acute and telling him more than the average person's might, were they suddenly struck blind. He cocks his head at the rustle as Kinner (AKA Antarctica) pulls his goggles on and adjust his pack, and he gives the man a faint nod. "I need you to set off as soon as you safely can. Get what you need, get back here in ten minutes, okay?"

Meanwhile, Harrowheart can look as pointed as he wants, but Steve can't tell. He gets the gist of what he means anyway, though. "You're right. Your best bet is to start out at the safehouse. That's where they've been staying and where they left from. I have...I have art supplies they've been using, and the bunks they've been sleeping in. And I know they left via the roof."

"I hate to ask it of you, Max, but I'm hoping you can get us all back there? It's our best chance to find them fast."

After Kinner and Horvath depart on their tasks, he puts his hand over Daredevil's. "This isn't what you signed up for," he says. "But if you're in, I'm grateful. If I could go out there, myself, I'd have already gone. They're good kids."

There's a brief blink at being addressed so informally, which is at once mildly startling and deeply touching, but he nods, then realizes how little help that is. "I can get us back there, and then back here again, if need be." He's going to need some rest, after, but he can do it. Ordinarily it really wouldn't be much to ask, but he's over-exerting himself daily, not necessarily magically so much as in every other way.

He pats Steve's arm lightly before he goes, almost maternally, and it shouldn't take him too long to ask around the medical tents for any sightings of the spider boys.

Unfortunately what he returns with is no real news at all, since they haven't been sighted there in days. The only good he can do now is to ferry people back and forth between here and Steve's safehouse. "I'm sorry, no sightings in medical."

"I'm armed," Daredevil adds, glad that he hasn't gotten around to returning those taser batons he's borrowed from Natasha. He knows how to find her later, once he no longer needs them, and she's got other weapons in the meantime. He can hear the shift of leather and steel that says 'sword' to his senses on the tracker, though that weird low humming resonating down the blade is new. Sounds like everyone has something to defend themselves with; that's good. "We're going to have a hell of a time fighting anything if we're roped up. I say tracker goes first, Antarctica second. I'll take up the rear."

He's not used to having to deal with group tactics from this end, but it seems straightforward enough to him. Melee fighters on the end for greater mobility, long range fighter protected in the middle. And of course the tracker should be in the lead - Matt's senses are exceptional, but he's not used to following a trail purely by smell, especially not in these conditions.

Matt smiles slightly when Steve addresses him, even though neither of them can see it. "I'm pretty sure protecting people is part of the job description, actually. We'll find the kids, captain." And then, because he knows damn well his identity is already blown, he lowers his voice and adds, "If you need anything else, just let me know. I know what it's like, what you're going through. You don't have to deal with it alone."

Kinner's back in about ten minutes. As he said, he went to gather up materials that he'll need for exploration, including the guideline and a set of flares. He offers them to his teammates, having arrived in time to hear Matt's idea. His pistol is tucked in a smaller bag at his side, ready for him to grab if he needs it. Kinner's a decent shot, and he agrees that the middle would be the safest place for him to be.

He doesn't actually mind being called "Antarctica". In fact, he kind of likes it. He's definitely been called worse things. He offers Matt a small smile of his own before moving on to business. There are people missing. This is serious. They can't afford to stand around talking for too long. It's important to find the two missing Spider-Men quickly, before the creatures or the Winter Spirit do. Kinner wonders why a spirit would be petty enough to go around blinding people, but he's smart enough to keep the question to himself.

"I have a bundle of flares here - I suggest everyone takes three each. They're to signal members of the team if things go wrong or you find yourself cut off from the group. We've got to stay together if we can, but we need to prepare for the worst. There's a lot that can go wrong in weather conditions like these."

As pedantic as he can be at times, Horvath knows when it’s time to move quickly rather than talk. As soon as everyone is back and seems ready to move out, he does not waste time. One of the rings on his right hand glows blue, and he lifts his hands, focusing on an empty space just next to their small gathering.

The theatrics will likely be lost on the two men who can’t see, but they may feel the weird crackle of ozone that tends to accompany things like ripping a very small rent in space. When he has only himself to transport, there are simpler methods, but there are several people here and he can’t be sure how comfortable all of them are with magic. Rather than causing them to be pulled from one place to another, he opens a shimmering, rippling space in the air, as wide as double doors, through which they can see the drafty living room of the safe house. There is no frame to this doorway but a border of uncertain air that is probably distressing to look at too closely. They are faced with a large and roughly oval hole in the world, on the other side of which is their destination.

Horvath gives the assembled men a mild nod towards the gate. “It’s easiest if I go through last.” Not absolutely necessary, but easiest. He’ll wait until they’re all through, and follow last, letting the doorway close up behind him and the air resolve back into nothing more than ordinary air.

Harrowheart might have the upper hand here: Portal magic is not uncommon on his world, and is in fact his preferred method of arrival in the Nexus. He doesn't wait for the rest of the group to follow through the barrier, but nods respectfully at Horvath and steps through the rift with confidence.

Inside, he steps away to ensure others can follow, and then he works a little magic of his own. A magical smoke swirls around him and in the span of a breath, to quick to comprehend with the naked eye, his form twists and transforms into something entirely different. With a heavy thud he falls to his hands in the shape of a lupine monster. He's a bulky thing, in the front at least, with broad forearms and an arching back. What parts of him aren't covered by armor are thick with golden fur. From his long snout extend two jutting, tusk-like lower fangs, and at the top of his wolfen head two stumpy ears swivel as they pick up sounds. His runeblade is still strapped to his back, where it might likely stay if he needs to wander around on all fours like this.

He doesn't wait for direction, but goes about the room with his black nose twitching, chest heaving as he snuffles and snorts his way through everything. Clothes, rags, cabinets, beds... Hope nobody who was staying here values privacy in any way, shape, or form!

Maybe it's some kind of reverse Florence Nightingale effect, but Horvath has definitely won Steve's trust. He appreciates the reassuring pat, giving a vague nod as the man retreats.

He also appreciates Daredevil's presence. It's frustrating to be knocked down like this. He's angry that he can't contribute more, angry at himself, not so much the curse. "Well," he tells him with a wry smile that may well carry through in his voice, "we write our own job descriptions. I wanted to protect them without being overbearing. Guess I fucked that up."

If they come back safely, he'll forgive himself.

"I could really use some guidance," he adds quietly. "Yes. Please. I can't just...not do anything until this is fixed. If it even can be fixed. I've got to figure out some workarounds, fast. But the kids come first." He can't look at Daredevil, not quite sure how to pinpoint his face properly, and anyway he couldn't see it if he did, so Steve has to hope his voice carries his sincerity. Honestly, he's scared, but now is not the time to let himself feel it.

When Kinner returns, Steve makes a small approving sound at the preparation he announces. The man wasn't kidding; he knows how to deal with this terrain. He'll have to thank all of them properly later, once the boys are safe, but he's starting to feel some optimism.

He'll have to be nudged or led through Horvath's gate, but once they get there and into the building, he seems to be able to get around without being led. As long as no one's placed objects in the middle of the floor without telling him, he knows the layout of this building by heart. He has to direct Harrowheart up the stairs to the bunkhouse, and one of the refugees can tell him where the boys were resting. Dimly, Steve is aware of the shape-change, but he's in no position to react to it. Which is fine. When the refugees make alarmed noises and back away from the immense wolf, he tells them, "It's all right, he's a friend."

For the moment, that's all it takes to keep anyone from panicking or interfering.

Matt's hand tightens on Steve's shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. "Yeah, I hear you. When I get back, I'll show you the ropes. Even if you've lost your sight, you still have your other senses. They're more useful than you might think. If we're lucky, you won't have to live like this for long, but if we're not, I promise you I'll teach you everything I know."

The first person who makes a 'blind leading the blind' joke is getting a baton between the eyes, by the way.

Daredevil takes his share of the flares, nodding briefly to Antarctica. Sure, he won't be able to see the brightness of their blaze, but he's familiar with the burning chemical stench and the hissing noise they'll make when lit. Useful for everyone.

The portal is a bit of surprise, though, and Daredevil tilts his head to one side as it draws his near-complete focus. It's like opening a soundproof door and having the noise from the other side suddenly spring into existence, and the way the air currents flow through the space it's created is one of the more confusing things he's ever felt. He resists the reflex to cross himself, and guides Steve's hand to his elbow, the same way he prefers to be led by others, before following the tracker through the portal.

And then there's more magic - or at least Daredevil assumes that's what's going on - and suddenly the reason why the tracker smelled suspiciously canine makes a lot more sense as the space he takes up in the room expands with some truly gross noises that probably only those with super sharp hearing can pick up. Not to mention those deep heaving breaths as the tracker gets to work sniffing the whole place out like a bloodhound. "Well, that explains a few things," Matt says after a long, startled moment. It's probably for the best that his expression is half-hidden beneath the brim of his beanie.

"My name's Kinner," the cook explains. "Figure if we're going to work together, I ought to share it."

Kinner makes sure the other flares have been taken, keeping three for himself. Visibility is key in conditions like these, but they aren't needed just yet. In the wastes of Antarctica, a light source that could pierce through the snowstorms was a lifesaver. Kinner himself could testify to that.

The portal also isn't so strange. Kinner's used PINpoints, and he's traveled to Furiosa's world, so this is semi-familiar territory for him. Useful, though. He wishes they'd had access to something like this in Big Magnet, that could've saved a lot of lives.

He steps through Horvath's portal, watching Harrow transform. It's an interesting sight, if slightly unsettling, and he remembers what Horvath taught him about how shapehifters could get around energy-matter laws. He takes it better than he would have back home, stepping aside to let Harrow do the tracking work. Dogs are good trackers, he knows that much. It's a good idea to bring somebody who had canine tracking abilities with them.

Kinner's used to dogs, even big dogs, mostly thanks to Clark. However, Clark's huskies and Alaskan malamutes would be dwarved by Harrow's massive wolf form. Kinner isn't sure it's a wolf, his mind goes to werewolves, but Harrow seems to have control over his wolf form that monster movie werewolves lack. The small cook is grateful for that. He's sure even Clark would be spooked.

"It's all right," he tells the refugees. "We're here to help. We're lookin' for a couple people, that's all."

Edited 2019-02-23 22:01 (UTC)

Horvath limps through the gate last, and it shrinks and closes behind him with a minimum of fuss and no obvious attention on his part. There's something reassuring about being back here. Even though he's been visiting the Nexus lobby on a daily basis to work, he's been coming to think of this place as home base, since it's where he comes to relax and rest. It's a little warmer here, too, since it's a smaller more enclosed space that they have to preserve heat. Warmth is relative, of course, since nobody wants to take their coats off in these temperatures either.

He watches Harrowheart transform with mild interest- Horvath has seen werewolves before, but this fellow looks like something else. Regardless of what he may be, it's clear he still has his mind focused on the task at hand, in any shape, so he'll just try to stay out of the way. "I don't know if there's any additional supplies you need from here, but if the search has you returning here instead of the main area, we also have medical supplies." He's thinking of in case of emergency, because if somebody gets hurt, they can return to whichever place is closest for urgent care.

Everyone is talking, planning, but Harrowheart is following his black nose. Once he's found the boys' clothes he soaks up the scent (teenage boys! horrible!) and sets to following it. He paces around the room, chasing their steps, suddenly awash in their presence. They were all over this place! And... They... Went...

Oh! Yes! Outside! He snuffles his way toward a window, stands on his hind legs long enough to pry it open with his forepaws. He pops his head out into the cold air and grunts as he breathes in the scent. There's no way he's going to be able to fit himself through with his spiked pauldrons on, so he pulls his head back in--

Or tries to. His neck fat doesn't make it easy and it takes one, two, three hard tugs before he pops back inside. He shakes his head and his ears flop in all directions, and when he's got his bearings again he growls in a bassy voice, "Outside."

Without tossing a look to the others he pads down the stairs and out toward the door, and he's off. It's pointless trying to track with his nose in the snow, so he keeps his snout raised and sniffs at the air above. In the well-traveled areas around the shelter he doesn't need to plow snow from the party's path, but his eager tracking leads them quickly to the torchline.

Now is when he finally looks back at his companions. "Kinner, plant your lead line. Everyone else? Get your weapons ready."

And just like that he disappears into the blinding gale.

Edited 2019-02-24 16:18 (UTC)

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