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

[websnextdoor]

"He's always taking care of others, like us, is all. This time...this time I wanted to do something for him. Guess it didn't turn out the way I planned is all."

Peter's hands skim across what must be a barrel before they find Miles and after tapping the other's shoulder to make sure Peter knows where he's at he settles in on the ground next to him. It's a tight fit but they're small dudes. He's squished right up next to Miles and honestly given the situation that's probably for the best. Sharing and conserving heat is a thing he's pretty sure he read about before.

"I mean this is just a minor setback, y-you know. We'll get to the plaza first thing in the morning." He has to keep saying that even if he's starting to wonder just how badly they've miscalculated. Gotta stay positive for the younger Spider. "Ah, honestly me neither. Some of my classmates said they've camped upstate before or like in their backyards? I never really did either. I did get trapped in an EX-SHIELD bunker once though and this is kinda like that."

[telarano]

"Let's be real how much of what we do is turning around setbacks, yeah? We'll backtrack in the morning and everything will be good." Miles wasn't about to complain at the moment. Even a city kid knew the concept of bundling up and sticking close to help keep warm. And he definitely made a good candidate for that, as hot as he tended to run even when he wasn't bundled up. As it was he tucked in against Peter's side, bumping his knee lightly against the other teen's in solidarity.

"Mom tried to talk me into boy-scouts when I was a little kid. Most miserable summer of my life, I think I found every bit of poison ivy and poison oak in the whole state by the time she finally relented on the idea."

[websnextdoor]

That's honestly a lot better so far as comfort goes. Already the chill of the shed is starting to sink in, but Miles is warm next to him so Peter shifts to let Miles lean on him as much as the other wants. Sitting still isn't usually something he's good at in any capacity. His anxiety and spider senses keep him on edge and moving more often than not.

But there's no where here to move. And the snow is making everything so quiet. Aside from the wind there's nothing really for his senses to twig on. Even with his eyes adjusting to the dark Peter can see that there's no real sense in getting up.

And it's warm like this. Sitting and talking isn't so bad.

"God, that sounds like the worst. Imagine getting mosquito bites on top of that? My skin just tried to crawl out of itself imagining it. It would itch and sting so much." He leans his head back against the barrel with a sigh. "They didn't teach you anything cool? Like knot tying or whatever? I never joined up either everything I know about the boy-scouts I saw on TV."

[telarano]

It was cold. But then he didn't need to say as much they both knew it. All they could do was stay hunkered in out of the wind, bundle in close and hope it was enough. Thinking of frostbite, Miles shifted just enough to cross his arms and tuck his hands under against his sides. His suit's gloves offered some thermal protection but he'd rather not test that out right now. Not when he was already subtly shivering, chuckling softly at Peter's comments.

Trying to pretend like they were just sitting back at base chatting.

"Nah man, we were all pretty young. Like it was early year cub-scouts stuff, they were just happy to keep us all in the same general place on a trip at that point."

[websnextdoor]

It must be completely dark out by now. Everyone says that whatever has been attacking people has stayed outside of the torch line, but it's all hearsay. That didn't stop Steve from being cursed. They listen and wait, holed up like this in their dark little shelter as the minutes turn to an hour. Then more.

They're both shivering now and again but they're safe. Nothing strange joins the wind in a howl. Nothing claws at the door of their shed.

"My Aunt May likes to tell this story about how when she and my Uncle were younger, they got lost during a storm trying to get back home after a concert. Before the days of GPS and all. Ended up halfway through Jersey before they figured out where they were and got on a road to get home." Peter huffs out a breath that's half chuckle and half shiver. Leans a bit closer to Miles while he's talking. "She tells it better than I could but she talks and talks about how much worse the rain was and how much she's freaking out because they should have been home by now before she grabs me by the shoulders and says--'Peter, I have never been more glad to realize I was in Newark than right at that moment.'--before bursting into laughter and then telling me I don't want to drive. It's too stressful."

She still took him out to parking lots now and again to practice. He's getting better at it. It twists at something in him to know that she's going to be worried sick wondering where he's at. He tucks his knees up a bit tighter to him.

"I never worried about getting lost until now, it's funny."

[telarano]

Everything was as quiet as it was going to be. In a way the wind was a relief, as Miles didn't have to twitch or start at every sound outside their little ramshackle haven. The cold was stressful enough as it was, seeping through layers and he hunkered in even more securely against Peter's side. The shivering becoming more of a constant as time ticked by, but that didn't stop a faint huff of a chuckle at the story Peter told him.

"I think everyone gets lost in Newark at least once in their life. Like a universal constant." He let his head tilt back, thumping lightly against the heavy plastic of the barrel they were sitting by, though the twist in his gut was because of the opposite. If anything happened here, there'd be no family back home to worry sick. If not for Genke he could vanish and no one would be the wiser, not really.

"Mom... always said to think about being lost as a chance to learn something new about the world." He huffed slightly, the sound a little wry. "I think she just didn't want me getting scared if I got turned around, but not a terrible way to look at things."

[websnextdoor]

"So what you're s-saying is that I'm due for getting lost in Newark myself. Have you filled t-the quota for yourself?"

In truth, Peter's having a hard time concentrating enough to be too witty or clever. It's difficult to remember the details of the stories he wants to tell to lighten the mood in here. It's all like a whisper in his head struggling to be overheard over a constant repetition of how cold he is. How they need to get back to the base. If anyone will notice they're not there. It's so cold. Peter gives a full bodied shiver and trails off to listen to Miles. Where May Parker sometimes feeds into his own anxiety and vice-versa, Missus Miles' Mom sounds (sounded, a tiny voice reminds him through the cold) like the sturdy pillar stone of his family. Sort of how Uncle Ben had been for them. He wouldn't want Peter to be panicking now, especially not with someone younger to look after. He'd be giving Peter that same patient look until the youngest Parker realized for himself what the responsible course of action was. It steadies the elder Spider-Man from trembling with anything more than the cold.

He has to be strong for Miles. They're in this situation because of him, the least he can do is hold it together until morning when they can... going out into the cold again makes his stomach turn instinctively. But they have to. They can't stay here. Once it's light out again...

Once it's light out again.

"It's a good way to look at life. " He agrees quietly. "Makes everything seem like...l-like an adventure."

[telarano]

"Y-yep!" God it was cold. Miles wasn't sure if spiders did worse or better than people in the cold, if that trait transferred. Proportional ability to ice up that much faster, wouldn't that be a lark. "10 years old, got my t-transfers crossed and wound up a couple blocks down the way before I realized I wasn't anywhere near where I was supposed to be. got turned around tracing my steps and by the time I f-found my way back, mom had mobilized t-the whole neighborhood."

He tried not to feel the heavy punch in the gut of emotion that came with thinking about how worried she'd looked when he was finally trudging up the stairs to their front door, or how she'd hugged him so tight all the air had wooshed from his lungs for a moment. Tried to pretend he was just shivering from the cold.

"S-she'd be so worried. I've never... been gone this long." Said softly, trying to reel in the tremor to his tone. "Dad too. He..."

Miles stopped abruptly, letting out a quiet, raw huff that might have been a laugh if one tilted their head and squinted for it.

"Man, assuming he even knows, I guess."

[websnextdoor]

Oh, oh jeez. Peter reaches over and pulls Miles closer to himself in a half embrace filled with as much apology as he could radiate through gesture about how sorry he was to bring up family at a time like this. His mother's gone and they're stuck here alone and freezing because of something stupid Peter did.

His gloved fingers dig into Miles' shoulder as he fights not to cry because damn it all, this is his fault. Not Miles'. The younger Spider-man doesn't deserve this.

"Come on. We c-can't give them reason to worry, yeah? We gotta s-s-stay positive." What could he do to help? Peter doesn't know. But after a few moments he starts rocking back and forth ever so slightly still holding on to Miles. The motion is comforting for him, maybe it'll help out his Spider-Bro too.

[telarano]

If he wasn't so scrambled from the chill, Miles would have picked up on that air. That apologetic air from Peter, even as he was burrowing almost immediately into the embrace instinctively seeking whatever warmth he could get. Because it wasn't all Peter's fault. Not in his mind anyways, it wasn't like he couldn't have pumped the brakes on the idea.

But he was too slowed by the cold, by the heavy ache of limbs as he curled a bit more securely at his companion's side.

"He d-doesn't care enough to worry." No, no, he can't tear up, his voice isn't going to break there he's fine- "He left. Found out about me and bailed-"

Just pressing his face against Peter's shoulder, mask and all, hoping the movement might help keep him together.

[websnextdoor]

Peter loses track of how long he holds tight to Miles, both of them shaking with the cold and overflowing emotions. They're tired, scared, and so cold. He rocks back and forth with Miles until the other is done shedding his tears, humming pop songs as well as his parched throat will allow for to try and fill the shed with something other than the howl of the frigid wind.

"I-It's going to be okay. People here care. I care. Steve cares. We're here." He's said it a dozen times over the last however long. Minutes, hours. Peter doesn't know anymore. He feels sluggish now. Sleepy, but not quite like that. Leaden, perhaps.

"Once it...g-gets light out. We'll..." What were they going to do again? He knows it was important but he's struggling to think straight. It's So Cold. "We'll get back." Yeah, that's it.

[telarano]

His focus was shot. It was all he could do to pay attention to the reassurances that Peter was offering even if that was starting to become beyond him as time ticked on. The last thing he actually remembers is the other teen starting to hum, and he'd joined in, voice slurring a bit as he sang along with the songs he knew. Just trying to keep himself alert, knowing he shouldn't let himself slip off.

But why was becoming harder to grasp. And Peter might notice that the response to his planning, to reiterating what they'd do came late, was little more than a soft mumble of noise, the shivering starting to lessen as the weight at his side seemed to slump a bit, supported entirely now by being propped up against the teen's shoulder.