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

[bitterguardian]

A pulley system is probably something that Horvath can help with, now that he's heard the idea, and from the rubble he's already set aside he finds a long beam that still seems sturdy enough, moving it into position so they can make use of it for that purpose.

Now that his digging has brought them closer to reaching the trapped kids, those helping up above can hear the sobbing, faintly. It's both a welcome sound and a worrying one.

[mudblood_andproud]

"Danny!" Hermione yellows down to the excavated hole. "Can you hear me?"

"We are going to lower a stretcher down to you. Only load one child at a time." Hermione starts providing instructions to the volunteers on how to set up the pulley system, that Horvath is creating. Making sure that there are strong bodies on the other end of the ropes, so Horvath can concentrate on keeping his magic in place.

[prescription_grade]

Danny's shaking again, and breathless, but he levers himself up on hands and knees and comes over to the kids. "See, nothin' to it. We're good. We've got this."

He's halfway muttering to himself out of sheer anxiety, but he puts a hand on the youngest child's head, ring gleaming again as he casts a painkilling spell. "This should help but stay still because it's not going to fix any injuries. Here, wrap the jacket around that leg, I can't tell if you're bleeding, it's too dark..."

Hermione's voice makes him look up, and the amount of light he can see through the debris above is heartening.

"Hermione! I'm here. We're all here! One of the kids is gonna need a medic!"

[bitterguardian]

The beam is set in place resting on parts of the rubble once he's very sure that they're stable, but he'll leave running the rope and the other details to Hermione and the others offering assistance. They need enough of an opening to lower a stretcher into, so his primary focus is on carefully widening the hole in the ceiling of the space Danny and the kids are trapped in. Snow and dust sifts down from the edges of the opening as he removes rubble, and the watery gray light they've all been living in through the storm glares down and brightens their narrow shelter.

They may have to take the kid to the medic tent, unless once they're all up there's nobody else Horvath needs to unbury. They may be reaching the end of who they can save, though.

[mudblood_andproud]

Hermione supervises the chaos of ensuring the children are saved from their difficult situation. "Make sure the one who needs a medic comes up first, Danny." She yells down the hole.

It is tedious work, lifting one child at a time. Making sure they are transferred to another stretcher to get to the hospital. And then repeating the process all over again. Hermione has to make sure that those assisting don't crowd the scene too much, in their eagerness to rescue the children.

"Someone go ahead and make sure the beds for the children are placed by their mother." Hermione continues staying in her hole of guiding the other rescuers, until all three children are retrieved from the hole.

Last to come up will be Danny. "Okay, Danny. Your turn."

[prescription_grade]

"Yeah, got it!" He calls back. "I got him out from under the beam, though!"

He did a good thing, and in case he dies he wants to make sure someone knows it.

He's surprisingly gentle and efficient getting the kids loaded onto the lift system, one at a time. He goes youngest to oldest, exchanging a few harried but friendly words as they go. He's proud of himself, anyway, but he's also eager to get the hell out of the pit.

After the last child goes, he quiets, trying to listen in case there are other sounds around him, potentially other people trapped down here, but he hears nothing.

He clutches at the rope with white knuckles as he's pulled back up, shivering in the cold. He's probably going to need a replacement jacket in spite of his insistence that his was only a loan to the pink child. He jogs over to Hermione's side as soon as his feet hit the snow, but he can't help but peer wide-eyed at Horvath, from behind her shoulder.

[bitterguardian]

He's a striking figure, cane forgotten in the snow beside him, long coat accentuating his towering height. Much like Danny, he has turned his attention to seeking out any further signs of life in the rubble. With what's left braced, he spares a moment for a different spell to try to seek out heartbeats, but there's nothing left to find, even though it seems likely there are still some bodies lost inside.

With a sigh, he turns his attention to making sure what's left is stable, and past Hermione he shoots Danny a brief look that clearly says, 'We must have words, later.'