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

[smartass_captain]

Not a moment's hesitation, none of the pain or the boiling frustration of perceived impotence in his casting, not even a flicker of doubt existed in Felix's gaze when he healed Jim. The captain can't remember when he last quietly urged Felix to keep trying. Not to give up on the spells he used to be quite adept with. Not when every attempt caused the conjurer so much pain and anger with himself.

How could Jim inflict that on Felix when progress was less than slow. It was nonexistent and ate away at the confidence of Felix's recovery in other areas. They focused his studies on Jim's world instead, to prepare for his move to living with the captain full time.

Jim's fingers curl to keep close to that warmth. That mischievous glimmer in Felix's smile. This close, still huddled together touching like they are, no one else will see the stray tears the captain sheds. They're stretched to their limits out here and everyone is suffering. Jim's finding himself inched further and further back into a place he's tried so hard to move past from. He's so close to the edge he can feel his heels slipping at the edge and hanging over nothing.

And still.

With such a tiny tender action Felix has reminded Jim what hope and relief feel like. Desperation and determination will get him through much. But this? This will let him come through the other side intact. He doesn't dare pull away to wipe his face. Doesn't hardly trust himself to speak.

"Thank you."

[conjuredskies]

Felix's thumb brushes over his cheek, wiping the tears away. The Imperial has never considered himself a reliable sort, not a steadfast family man like his brother or his father. Not the kind of man anyone should count on to hold them close and constant and yet- and yet for Jim he can be, he must be the man who will be there to tend his wounds and soothe his fears. He wants to be, with all his heart. It's a fact that's long since washed away his old doubts and expectations of himself.

And neither time nor love can undo all that they've been through, but there can be healing, for both of them.

"I love you," he murmurs in reply, chest aching with the truth of it- and then, too, with the fresh understanding of how raw and open are the old wounds beneath Jim's cool exterior. Pit fights, murderous invasions. Living Nightmares. Choking under his lover's hands. Rielle. Hasn't the Nexus put his captain through enough?

[smartass_captain]

It won't last for long. These moments can't, really. Not during the day when there's work to be done and people to rally. When Jim Kirk needs to be a captain, a man in charge and someone for people to rely on. To draw strength from. He starts putting himself back together even as Felix is still wiping away the proof of his tumultuous emotions just barely kept at bay. The good ones and the bad.

"Me too." Jim clears his throat, lips twitching briefly into something soft and fond before they settle back into a thin line. Somber and determined. In command. Of others and himself. He pulls away, just half a step so that they're no longer embracing.

"You'll come get me when it's time, right?" To eat, he means. Because Jim won't let himself eat just yet. Especially not right now. There's people to help, work to be done. Kits to repair and prepare for their next expeditions. Maps to update, people to organize. Meetings with Isidor where they do the numbers again before readjusting the rations so that everyone can keep eating even if no one's getting near enough anymore.

[conjuredskies]

Felix's eyes never leave him as he pulls away. He watches, inch by inch and muscle by forced muscle, as Jim draws the pieces of his mask back over himself. The mask hides him, but it can't protect him, Felix thinks. It won't stop the pain around them from eating at Jim's hard-won recovery., or the decisions he takes from weighing down, heavier and heavier.

And Felix is the only one who'll realize. The only one who has any business knowing, true. But also the only one who can judge what to do about it...

"I will," he promises. His smile has faded, but he rallies it again just for Jim. "I'll let you work your magic a little while longer, first."