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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
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There's a lot of that going on, actually. And gunshots, which nearly drown out the sound of something else. Something predatory, more than one, taking advantage of the distraction to launch their own assault.
Not that Matt knows they're invisible, of course. But no one else seems to notice, too intent on taking down the floating robots. "Incoming!" Matt shouts in warning, homing in on the nearest assassin to intercept its blades with his batons, intending to follow that up with a strike at the attacker's head, or whatever sounds most like it.
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Her blades flash again, spinning in a wide arc to catch whatever it was that might be foolish enough to catch her unawares, and though they meet resistance, she sees nothing.
Wonderful--an invisible attacker. "I can't see them!" she calls back to Daredevil, her voice more annoyed than concerned.
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He remembers what the child that was attacked said, back at the beginning of the winter, and how Harrowheart said he'd killed one of the monsters without actually seeing it. Does this mean they can have no clear idea of numbers? The whole lot of them could be walking into an impossible ambush.
He almost makes a move to intervene on Sif's behalf, but he's not shocked when she displays how little she needs his concern by turning and blocking her attacker. Good. Now the thing he probably should be worried about is getting mistaken for one of the invisible foes, rather than the invisible sort-of-ally he actually is. He darts toward the incoming invisible beasts, his own knives out and cutting indiscriminately at whatever gets within his reach. Perhaps he can use the element of surprise to draw blood--or vapor, whatever they have in them--and make them a bit easier for the others to see.
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Snow and ice make this a difficult prospect at best, all things considered, and she'll probably want a new pair of winter boots when this is over given she has to kick one leg out to maintain her balance.
But as soon as she's stopped, she slings the rifle off of her shoulder, takes aim at one of those zippy little robots (which, in her humble opinion, kind of vaguely resemble a couple of those drones her engineer's built before), and fires. A wide, circular green burst of energy bursts forth from the end of her rifle.
Disruptors cause damage to the target by breaking the bonds of atoms, and this burst in particular is big enough to pass over most targets bodies like a pulsating wave, dissipating momentarily afterwards.
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Speaking of noise, they may be invisible but the electric hum of those blades may as well light them up as far as Matt's concerned. There's a pause when he parries them so readily, as if the creature behind them is surprised - and then his strike follows the muffled hiss of breath and cracks down hard against a metal helm. The cloak drops as the Fallen warrior staggers, suddenly revealed to all eyes... not that Matt will notice. As it reels though, it turns the motion into an evasive spin. A lower arm grabs up at Matt's, trying to throw the human.
Sif's opponent is likewise not expecting her to swing to meet it. Sparks fly as their blades clash, briefly giving a hint of the creature's outline. Whatever their swords are made of, they don't immediately fail under her steel... but the assassin is backing up, aiming to evade rather than parry blades again. Unfortunately that means it backs closer to the unseen Loki- and it jerks and flickers into view as his knife slashes into an unguarded arm. Vapor sprays from the wound, slick and chemical-smelling- it recovers, but it's on the back foot and struggling to hold its own against Sif.
To Loki's view, the third creature looks like it's heading toward Palmer for a moment: a pity for it that he's closer. The capes they wear make it a little harder to strike at their upper backs, but he has an easy chance to land a strike before the creature realizes they have a fourth opponent and shouts something to the others...
And then the trio of shanks creeping in to reinforce them ends up on the wrong end of a disruptor burst. The one nearest Delia sparks and smokes and tumbles into the others as it explodes, sending the others skidding through the air as their circuits fry. One flies right into the robot menacing Palmer and sends it spinning helplessly.
no subject
If only for a moment.
Were he at his best, Matt might try to duck and roll out of the way, but his agility isn't what it used to be and he has little choice but to shift his weight to move with the throw, lessening its ability to incapacitate him but still sending him hurtling into the snow. He's back on his feet as soon as he can manage, coming right back at the assailant with renewed determination, and just before he's in striking distance he drops, snapping a kick at the enemy's knees, seeking out joints or soft spots, and follows it up with a charged baton strike into the creature's belly.
It's not like fighting a human, and it occurs to him that their weak points could be totally different, but there's little time to get a clean sense sweep of the assassins in motion. All he can do is rely on instinct and training, and hope they're similar enough that he can take it down.
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He doesn't say a word, simply aiming at the head of the unmasked Fallen warrior. Palmer dislikes killing - hell, he's never killed anybody before - but he's not going to waste this chance.
Palmer puts his finger on the trigger, makes sure that he'll be hitting the correct target, and fires.
no subject
It turns out that her sword has another trick, and she accomplishes it with muscle memory alone, twisting the double-ended sword apart into two separate swords. She would pause to marvel at the ingenuity of the thing, but instead she goes on the offensive. Strikes as fast and as powerful as lightning hit at the Fallen, and the fact that it's wounded only slows it down.
Its arm is cleaved from its body, then its head, and it drops to the snow with a muffled thud. Sif flicks her blades to shake off the drops of whatever served for blood, then moves to help her friends.
no subject
He doesn't want to get caught up in a blast like whatever it was Delia just fired. He might well survive it, but he's sure it would hurt. Time to reveal his presence to his allies, but instead of simply dropping the invisibility glamor, he circles around the fray and releases two illusions of himself, in typical Asgardian armor. One of them snaps into view close by Sif and gives her an impish smile.
The other is closer to Matt, but of course the visual aspect of the illusion will be lost on him. Loki's fairly exacting in his work, though. There is no heartbeat coming from his illusions, but they make soft sounds as they step in the snow, and they breathe.
They also laugh. Loki's knives carry over only in appearance; the illusions can stab but will not harm their opponents, but they can move through the battle and point out the invisible Fallen by the way they dart and pretend to fight them.
Meanwhile, the real thing remains invisible, preparing a fire spell.
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However, Delia is quick on her feet if nothing else. She slings her weapon back over her shoulder, revving her bike and taking a quick glance around as she suddenly spins her bike in a wide arc.
Less an attack--more flinging snow everywhere to land on invisible opponents, reveal their positions with their surroundings.
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Ah. And there. Loki’s doubles shadow-fighting with empty air that hums like blades is a hint to at least two more of the villains, before Delia swings around and sprays snow across the battleground. That might irritate some of her allies, but for those who watch where it lands, it marks out both the assassins distracted by Loki’s illusion… and another, near a tree, this one with a rifle aimed at Sif. As for Matt, well- he already knows.
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There's little time to reflect on it, though; he has no idea what's happening with the sudden addition of allies that sound exactly like the Hand, breathing but without heartbeats to fully anchor them in his mental map of the battlefield, but they're tangling with the assassins so he's not about to complain too much. He has bigger problems, namely the one who sounds two seconds away from taking potshots at the team.
"Sif, down!" Matt shouts, and though his skills are stronger up close than at range, he hurls one of his batons at the assassin's rifle with as much force as he can muster, moving quickly to close the distance so he can bring his other baton into play.
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While Daredevil tangles with that foe, Loki spins seidr yet again, motions too fast for the eye as he abruptly switches physical places with one of his illusions, castles like a king and a rook on a chessboard. And now, face to face with his illusion's former opponent, his dagger lashes out, sinks in, and tears downward.
He has no compunctions about killing.
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"See?" His voice is a snarl. All the Fallen seem to understand is violence, and he's killed one of them. He's furious, turning from the body, ready to shoot again if he has to. "Am I worth your respect now?" He's not expecting an answer, and this time his guard is up.
Next he takes a shot at the assassin facing Matt. Even if he can't pierce the armor, two on one is better than one on one, and Palmer's settling into his role in the fight, picking off wounded Fallen as his teammates injure them.