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

[conjuredskies]

Jim could have helped. It's what he wants to say, Felix knows. And he could have been hurt, which is a little of what Felix fears, or he could have seen something to repulse and horrify him about the truth of the conjurer's work. But most of all, he could have learned the true scope of Felix's negotiations - the kind of things he's been trying to ask, and the beings he's considered asking. And if he did that, well, he probably wouldn't approve.

He's too out of it to come up with a soothing comment, any kind of excuse. And maybe that's for the best. It's a good time to keep quiet and listen and let go any protest about taking Jim's coat.

His thoughts, such as they are, come to a screeching halt when Jim mentions leadership. His head snaps up to look at Jim, stiff and reddened fingers clutching with difficulty at the coat around him. "You're going out there?"

The clumsy gesture of his hand nonetheless points toward the boundary so close by down the street. They both know exactly what it looks like, that freezing chaos kept just at bay by the torches. And yet even in the moment he blurts out that fearful question he knows the answer. He knows Jim Kirk, after all.

[smartass_captain]

If it's for Felix, there's very little Jim wouldn't at least consider doing. He wonders sometimes if Felix knows that. If he believes it no matter how often Jim tells him he means the world to the captain. It scares him that he's so fiercely devoted to someone else but he's long since accepted that this was just going to be the way of life for them. It doesn't mean they're going to see eye to eye all the time.

Like now, for example. Felix stalking off on his own to perform rituals without any kind of safety net in place. No one here to help him if something went wrong. If Jim hadn't been waiting here would Felix have been okay when he snapped out of it? At the same time, Felix knows how had Jim's been pushing himself. How weak it's left the captain despite all his attempts to hide it. Hurting himself so someone else can have a bit more. And now he's going out there. Out past the torches where danger lurks. To feed a den full of mostly strangers.

"It has to be done, Felix. We're going to starve if we don't do something. Whether this is the right call or not doesn't matter anymore. It's the only call we've got. We either see this through, or people die."

[conjuredskies]

But you don't have to go. He knows better than to say it. Jim has been pushing himself to the limit of his own resources - physical and otherwise. He's cut back on meals, on sleep, on rest, always trying to do that little bit more for the others. Always trying to stay ahead of the demons that haunt his thoughts. To even suggest that he should stay back this time, that he should let the others take the risks or that he's not up to it...

Felix holds his tongue. Nods slowly. His mind is racing. This is it. He's tried so hard to find a way out. Tried to preserve their escape route until it failed, and then searched for some way, any way to save them both before Jim could do something like this. And now it's too late. He's watched his beloved sink deeper and deeper into nightmare-haunted exhaustion, the calm mask cracking a little more each day, and now Jim's going to get himself killed trying to drive out the shadow of Tarsus.

Because Felix has failed him.

Unless...

"How long until... how long do we have to prepare?" He's distant again, biting his lip.

[smartass_captain]

There's that suspicious lack of complaint from Felix again, and this time Jim watches him carefully. But no, Felix is still not himself, not entirely. He needs sleep and rest. Jim's hardly up for a fight so it's easy to assume Felix is likewise as exhausted. Spent down to the marrow of his bones.

Jim's leading him toward the door, now. He has Felix's satchel in one hand. The other is wrapped around the mage's shoulders to steady him as they walk.

"We're getting volunteers ready for training and task assignment now. Best guess is we're about three days out. It's going to work." Because it has to. Damn the odds or anything else that tries to get in their way. "It's got to."

[conjuredskies]

He looks around for his satchel when they're almost to the door, and there's a moment's delay as he panics. But he spots it in Jim's hand and slumps again, mind still abuzz. It's very easy to believe, right now, that he's just not thinking coherently enough to raise his normal objections.

"Yeah. ...Yeah." He grabs at Jim's coat just as the captain puts his hand on the door to force it open again. Peers up at his husband through damp bangs. "You'll... you'll take the potions. At least."

[smartass_captain]

"Won't you need some for your rituals?" Jim hasn't told Felix not to continue trying to get information. Not to do this. He doesn't like that Felix is putting himself in danger but it's not as though Jim is doing any different. They're all making the calls that have to be made. Making sacrifices for the greater good.

As much as Jim wants to tell Felix he's got it handled, the truth is they need every advantage they can get.

"If I can't be here to make sure you're safe and able to recover, you should at least have the potions."

[conjuredskies]

"I'll take the magicka ones. Sure. You need the others more." One concession. Felix pulls a wry smile as he finds Jim's gaze. "You can't summon up a flame atronach for yourself."

And he needs to persuade Jim that he's fine with this expedition plan.