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nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
handsofwinter) wrote in nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
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
no subject
"Can you tell me what you know? Or does that fuck up the bargain?" His voice is thin and frightened, but he's looking for loopholes. He's got street-kid pluck, if not much else noteworthy about him.
"I mean, anything you tell me I can pass along. Or not. I mean, if you tell me not to, I won't. Maybe...maybe they just meant that next Winter's going to be bad, too? Like this one will end but we'll get a chance to prep for the next time?" Because he could deal with that. Potentially by leaving, but hey. Could work.
He crouches a little to watch what Felix does, then looks up, up, up at the atronach and gives it a wary nod hello.
no subject
"They... asked me if I thought a few wolves and missed meals were the worst in store for us. Whether I really believed Winter had had its fill of blood." His sigh puffs cloudy in the cold air. "I'm sorry, all right? I wasn't pressing for answers. I already knew I had to get him out. But I really, truly don't think she meant next Winter."
Which makes it all the harder to walk away from the kid. Felix fumbles in his satchel, pulls out one of the bigger potions of frost resistance and nudges Danny.
"Here. Look... don't use it unless you have to, but it's more potent than the others. If you have to hide in a snowdrift it'll... keep you warm enough for a few hours."
no subject
"You don't have to...say sorry to me." Danny looks genuinely confused by the apology. It's not that he thinks Felix is his Master or anything. No one has officially taken on that responsibility, and the one who's come closest is Hermione. But he definitely outranks him as a sorcerer is concerned, and Morganians do not apologize to their underlings.
Mystified, he nods his understanding. "I mean. You're not the one in charge of the weather, so no hard feelings. Are your chances good, the way you're going?"
He's even more floored by the gift of the frost potion, taking it without question. He looks it over for a second, then breaks into a grin, shoving aside the dread in favor of cheek and desperate optimism. "Thanks! As long as you're still feeling guilty, how about you promise to teach me how to make 'em in the Spring?"
no subject
Danny's view is so much less complicated. No hard feelings. Sounds like something Felix would say. A smile creeps onto his face as he nods- and then can't help but laugh a little, at the cheeky attempt to bargain. "Nice try. But- you know what? All right. If we're both back here in the Spring, then we'll talk alchemy."
He gets to his feet, brushing snow off his knees. The big elemental stoops to pick Jim up again now that the captain has a potion warding away frostbite. Felix adjusts his satchel and shrugs. "The path we're taking, our odds are... good, I think. But if I'm wrong- well, wish me luck, Danny, and I'll do the same for you."
no subject
He gives a subtle squirm at the reluctant assent, like an excited puppy. He might have been terrified sixty seconds ago, and he'll certainly be terrified again sixty seconds after Felix leaves, but that doesn't dampen his momentary optimism. "I'll hold you to that," he says.
He'll survive the winter out of sheer stubbornness, to hold him to that.
"'Good'," he repeats, with a raised eyebrow, and decides not to ask for details. He glances down at Kirk and adds, "Well, maybe I'll get to meet him when he's conscious some time. Best of luck, man. Both of you. Uh...all three of you?"
no subject
With that, the conjurer turns away and walks into the storm, his hulking minion and unconscious husband at his side. Together they head out into the freezing wind and gathering dark beyond the torches.
It's a long march ahead to their destination.