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nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
handsofwinter) wrote in nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
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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
Re: A Cook Off Hours
"Howdy, Kinner!" he tried to greet cheerfully to hide his own exhaustion when he approached the cook, "Um, how are ya doin'...considerin' the storm and all?"
Re: A Cook Off Hours
His store's shut down due to the weather, which cut Kinner off from his suppliers. He has bigger concerns now.
Re: A Cook Off Hours
His tail flicked from side to side as he studied the cook for a moment. He looked thoughtful.
"Um, are ya doin' alright?" he asked in a gentle tone.
Re: A Cook Off Hours
Kinner's quietly grateful for being approached, and offers a small smile.
"Yeah, I'm doin' fine. Mostly. I just...why is Reynard doing this to us? He seemed all right when I met him, and now he's behind all this. He's Winter, right? He could stop the storm if he wanted to, or move it somewhere else. I wonder if he's got somethin' to do with those ice monsters, too."
Re: A Cook Off Hours
He smiled warmly in return. He felt happy seeing a familiar face.
"I'm glad ya are doin' fine. Um, I gotta admit I'm not sure. I'm hopin' it's just nature bein' mean. I have never met this Reynard fella so I'm not sure how he's like. Is he the Spirit of Winter?"
The alien looked nervous at the mention of the ice monsters.
"They sound quite dangerous. I haven't encountered 'em before, but I don't wanna take any chances. I mainly stayed inside, but I sometimes feel claustrophobic bein' here,"
no subject
At least he hopes it can't. The weather would be bad enough without the monsters lurking outside. The monsters just It's almost as if they're cutting the Nexus people off from supplies out of spite.
"Yeah, Reynard's the winter spirit 'round these parts. I dunno what we did to set him off, if anything, but he's giving us a real hard time of things this year. It's a bit of a letdown, honestly, since he seemed to be all right when I met him. Nothing but polite to me."
The mention of the ice monsters makes Kinner shudder.
"I have a friend, Mr. Palmer. He tried to have a word with the ice creatures, to try and find out why they're out to get us. He figured they're intelligent, since they wear clothes and have weapons. Well, they just laughed at him."
no subject
Mr. Slick knows it might actually be a big lie, but he wants to cling on a tiny bit of hope he still has left. The winter made him feel miserable and frustrated. He knows things are quite bad at Nexus.
"Ah," he looked thoughtful as he fiddled with the end of his scarf, "It is mighty disappointin'. Part of me hopes it's just nature bein' mean, but since this Reynard fella is the Spirit of Winter...I really hope he realized how bad the storm is and uses his magic to make the storm stop..."
The alien looked stunned.
"They are? Boy Howdy! I thought they're just actin' on instincts and attack folks 'cos they're hungry or folks enter their territory," Mr. Slick gave a humorless laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck, "That is worryin'..."