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

[eumenis]

Furiosa shrugs. "It's home. I could move anywhere in the multiverse if I wanted, but I'm not planning to. As long as there's a world to salvage, I'm going to try to save it."

"You sayin' you have regrets?" She smirks. "Welcome to the human condition. You better apologize to your family later. Right now, just focus on living."

Sobering a little, she turns back to the snowy landscape around them. "You're young. No one knows how to respond to a situation the first time they encounter it. Maybe you shouldn't have stayed, but it's an honest mistake. Don't blame yourself."

"Your friends? You want me to take charge of your Pokemon if the worst happens?" Furiosa looks uncertain. She has zero experience with Pokemon. "I can keep them safe in their balls until I find a better caregiver. That, I can promise."

[walking_on_fire]

"You've seen a lot of tragedy and combat. There's something about your presence that resonates with years of experience, and yet, you're getting saddled with me. Someone who's only commanded creatures into battle." She sighs, watching her breath linger in the air, before fading away. "I'm studying the human brain, but I can't even begin to understand my own. That's the universe for ya."

There's a nod, as she slowly pulls one Pokeball from her pocket, then hides it once more. "Fire only grows with the strong-willed. Promise me that you will be the caretaker if I die." She won't take no for an answer here. "If we get through this, you and I should work together to help your world. Then we can take a vacation and do something fun, like go travelling to the Pokemon world."

For the first time since the conversation started, Natalie turns and brightly smiles to Furiosa. "You would make an amazing trainer! We could travel across the ocean or visit vast forests. It would be nice to learn from you, Furiosa."

[eumenis]

Everything out here hurts. Furiosa looks at Natalie thoughtfully, subtle warmth in her storm-green eyes. "No one starts out experienced. You have to walk before you can run, or drive. Don't worry that I look down on you just because you haven't seen what I have. Some of it, I hope you never have to see. And there's a lot to be said for energy, and seeing possibilities in the world around you."

She studies the Pokeball briefly and can't help but smile at the comment about strong will. Yes, okay, that makes sense; that would make Furiosa a good choice to inherit these creatures of Natalie's. "In that case, I promise. But try not to die."

She's never had such a bold or simple request to be a mentor, and her expression says she's both startled and touched. "Tell you what, let's get through this, and get our strength back from it, and then I'll take you up on that."

"Maybe we can figure out what type of Pokemon would be comfortable in the Wasteland. Some that could help protect our people, or care for the sick and delicate, or tend the gardens."

[walking_on_fire]

"No, but there's clearly a time to stand and fight over retreating. And there's also times when running away outweighs all other options. It's just tough figuring out which one is correct, if that's even a thing." She huffs a little, clearly frustrated and confused, which are poor moods to be in right before a mission. It's most certainly a good thing that Furiosa is keeping the conversation supportive and enjoyable.

"I'll try not too. No guarantees, but I'd do my best to not go down without a fight." Thinking about it is hard, however, the prospect of helping Furiosa's world is a new goal to aim for. "Of course. There's a great deal of Pokemon who can help with water and the growth of plants. A few can even heal the sick. I know quite a few trainers around her who'd be more than willing to help once things calm down."

[eumenis]

"I wouldn't say there's a correct or not-correct, when it comes to fighting or fleeing. More like...you learn how to weigh the options in your head, guess which has a better chance of you ending up alive, that kind of thing. But it's okay if you don't have that yet. It does come with time."

She runs her tongue over her teeth thoughtfully, quiet for half a beat, then adds, "I got very set in my ways, once upon a time. In the Wasteland, it's almost always easier to kill a problem than try and sort it out, and I learned as a very young girl that I had to be vicious. I had to have men frightened of me, or they wouldn't respect me at all. So there's a lot of blood on my hands."

"But I met a woman named Angharad, who abhorred violence, and she was anything but weak. She had a steel spine, just as kami-crazy as any War Boy I ever knew, but she didn't want anyone to die for her. She wanted me to promise no killing, but I didn't know any way except killing. And I still say it has to be done sometimes. So we compromised: no unnecessary killing."

"I wish I could go back in time and tell her how grateful I am she made me promise that. Because it makes everything ten times more complicated, but it's also made me think about what's really necessary, and what can be saved, not just what can be destroyed."

"People like me, who break things, need people like her, and like you, who build and save them. We'll learn from each other."