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]

Furiosa's there from the start of the gathering, so she'll be able to see Jim Kirk show up late with his notes to hand looking like death warmed over but with as much fire and steel in his gaze as he can muster. He's got more experience with this kind of situation than most anyone aside from Furiosa but pushing himself harder to help others is starting to run the captain to his limits.

He's exhausted and it's starting to show in more than just the leanness of his face. It shows in the leaden weight his every move is beginning to take, in the way he stares for seconds longer than he should have to before he processes what's being said and gathers up his notes.

"I've got a rough map of the camp here, as well as notes from our preliminary scouts, both of whom will be coming with us for the expedition." Kirk gestures for Furiosa to join him on the other side of the table so he can show her his notes.

[eumenis]

She takes an extra half a second to look into Kirk's face, and what she sees there is anything but unfamiliar. Everything out here hurts. The world exists to be fought, in Furiosa's mind. Survival has to be dragged out from between the teeth of despair, and the fight wears on you after a while.

Happens to everyone. Sometimes it hits the best people hardest.

She circles around the table obligingly and puts her right hand on his shoulder, leaning over to look at the notes and the map. Offering any kind of verbal reassurance, she assumes, would insult or irritate him. (It would if it were her.) But she's here.

"Piece of cake, then," she says mildly, voice tinged with sarcastic cheer. "They won't know what hit 'em."

[smartass_captain]

Struggles like this are sadly not extinct even in the twenty-third century, even if they're much more rare. It's been decades since Jim's had to live through something like this. A hell the captain keeps finding himself drug back into no matter how many times Jim thinks he's put the past well and truly behind him.

Last time, during The Nightmare, the stakes were illusory. The only ones at risk were himself and his counterpart. This time here in the Nexus real people are dying. Kirk's seen the numbers, has demanded a report daily to keep track of the overall impact of the ongoing storm and their dwindling supplies is having on their settlement. His analysis has been critical in shaping Isidor's decisions, in their actions. But it's not without cost.

Jim jerks his head up to level a sharp look at Furiosa but there's no pity or concern evident on her face which allows him to relax incrementally before leaning slightly into the hand on his shoulder to accept it. When she pulls away he doesn't acknowledge it, merely keeps pointing to the notes and explaining everything that Josh and Delia encountered during their scouting mission.

"This isn't going to be about revenge or extermination. It can't be. We need those supplies over anything else. I'm not fool enough to think that won't come without any kind of fight but..." Jim shakes his head. "I'm also not fool enough to think that there's not the possibility that some if not most of us won't come back from this, either."

[eumenis]

For a moment, the look in Jim's eyes reminds her painfully of Max in those moments where he's quiet, so quiet, but she can tell his ghosts are talking. She doesn't know what they say to him, exactly, but she knows they blame him for their deaths.

They had a long talk about Angharad once.

It's hard to carry so many other people on your shoulders. She squeezes his shoulder before she lets go, but falls easily into the discussion, then. No time to bleed for anyone else here, even if the compassion would be welcome, which it's not in Kirk's case.

"I'm happy to take my chances," she says. "I'd rather go out Witnessed than starve. I'm just glad I get the choice. I already asked Kinner and Natalie to check on my people if they live and I don't. Gonna ask the same of you."

[smartass_captain]

Furiosa understands but she doesn't pity. She doesn't pry. She doesn't call attention to the fatigue. Like many of her people Furiosa understands survival in a way many other worlds can't comprehend. In a way even Jim can't quite bring himself to come to grips with.

The moment passes and they both stand tall. There's still work to be done.

"No one's going out any way if I can help it, but if it comes to that....well. We'll see to finishing the job so it's not a waste." The favor isn't one that surprises Jim, but when he thinks of who he'd ask Furiosa to check on in kind his stomach knots. If he dies, then Felix would be...for the first time in his life there's not no one to think about in a moment like this. The captain isn't quite prepared for how strong the ache in his chest is to imagine Felix left to survive alone. His breath comes out in a shallow wheeze.

"I will, obviously. And if." His mouth is so dry. "If I don't make it back, make sure Felix gets back home safely. My. M-my husband."

[eumenis]

"You don't have to be responsible for everyone. Not here." She suspects it's far too late to tell him that. He's already accepted a leadership role, has been doing it all winter; of course he feels he has to follow through to the bitter end.

"I'm going into this with eyes wide open."

She glances up at him, not quite sure what to do with the emotion suddenly welling up from him. This is something she hasn't experienced. She's had casual lovers, she has people around her that are as close as family, and of course there's Max--but he never stays put, and she knows enough never to expect him to. She's never had a spouse, not really.

But she knows the right answer here, the only one she can give. "Of course I will. You have my word. Whatever he needs."