The Silence of the Storm

[shardofwinter]

Rations have been cut. Again. Everyone is on one bowl of watery soup a day. Sometimes with crackers, sometimes not. Most people are too tired and weak to do much more than sit around and talk, and nobody discourages them in the slightest. Work has to be rotated constantly as people weaken quickly, but the fires still need to burn, people still need to guard the cooks and rations, and the sick still need to be tended to. Soon the hardest job is keeping up morale while the big expedition comes back. All the gods and heavens of the multiverse help them if they don’t come back with supplies, and soon.

The boundaries have tightened to an almost suffocatingly small space. It doesn’t take much to imagine where they will be by the end of Winter, which at least makes planning a little easier. People are already relocating to deeper in the Plaza. Unfortunately it means that those who have enough energy to often end up fighting with their neighbours, as the close quarters tests everyone’s patience. There are a few spaces carved out for like minded people to shelter from the dreary situation. Mechanics and those like them have set up a nice little place close to the Crossroads Café, and a break area for those helping the sick is sheltered in a room behind the injured and ill. Zandros moves from groups to individuals, looking for help in creating some form of morale boosting display that will adhere to Isidor's instructions. People are surviving in whatever ways they can, but it's reaching breaking point.

((It's the Final Event Post, everyone! OOC Post is here! This is for those stuck at the hub while the Main Expedition is going on. There will be a second part to this post for the Return of the Expedition. In the meantime, have fun!))

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Drulb's Deelz - He’s still here

[staticandstock]

Hunger is on everyone’s mind all the time. So to have the smell of a roast dinner wafting down the streets is agonising. Drulb has been shooed out of the main areas by Lyall and those working for security, but he seems to pop up again somewhere else almost instantly.

His wares are covered by tarpaulin and guarded by the armoured mass of hulking fur, a mace in its hand, though it looks entirely detached from the things going on around it. In sharp contrast, Drulb hops around, animated as ever as he draws people in closer to the bubbling cauldron that smells so good.

“Come on up! Take a whiff! I know you want somethin’, you know you want somethin’! Come on! Blankets? Got ‘em! Food! O’ course! Come find what you’re lookin’ for at Drulb's Deelz!”

[prescription_grade]

Danny was dimly aware of this guy the first time he showed up, but took no interest then. He wasn't all that hungry yet, by that point, new to the Nexus and more concerned with making friends than obtaining hot meals with suspicious origins.

Now, though, it strikes him as weird, maybe even ominous that the same goblin or whatever he is is hanging around with the same pitch.

"How is it you still have food?" he asks. "Are you not eating it yourself?"

[joblin]

Ah. Another goblin. Peter himself is green, tall for a goblin, and looks like he just stepped out of a climate controlled office. That's because he did. The icy cold refugee camp of the Plaza was a shock. He'd wasted precious minutes getting his bearings.

He hurries over to the cart. "Just need s-something warm. How about a blanket?"

[ineednohelp]

Thor's gotten a bit lost. That's how he found himself here.

Hm. It could be worse. Drulb's Deelz can be useful, at least, it seems to him.

"Two blankets! I don't have gold on my person at the moment, but you can have my word I'll pay you later."

Isidor Durant - The Haggard Organiser

[heirtothedragonsfire]

Her cheekbones are sharp and her gaze is emphasised by the dark circles around her eyes. Isidor Durant does not wear poverty well. Out of determination, or spite, she continues to make decisions and ensure everything is organised. At this stage, however, it's mostly a waiting game. When she's not keeping an eye on her brother, or visiting the notable locations, Isidor sits in the main organiser hall.

With a glower like hers, it's not an inviting prospect to approach her. Those who do, however, will be met with exhaustion, not irritation. She misses coffee. She misses warmth. It takes all her energy not to snap and snarl at people, but she does her best. She will remain composed until the bitter end, helping the people who feel lost and seek her out, or simply happen upon her.

Runa the Hungry

[volurofthehearth]

The young Swedish woman took it upon herself to keep morale high during the majority of the storm. Now, however, even she finds herself flagging in the face of poor rations and an immense workload. Most of her time has been spent helping the sick and wounded, but now she finally has a break she sits slouched into her hand in front of a cup of hot water. She misses coffee. She misses comfort. But most of all, she misses baking.

Not for the first time, Runa can't resist reminiscing over what now seems like another life It doesn't matter if anyone is listening or not, she just wants to remember.

"Cracking open the eggs and carefully separating the yolks... Whisking them into the cream and milk, filling the room with the smell of vanilla..." She sighs mournfully, her mouth watering. "Continuing to whisk while stealing a tiny little taste..."

[mudblood_andproud]

"That sounds lovely. What recipe is it for?" Hermione seems to be more hair than woman right now. But what can she do? The Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that kept her wild locks tamed and smooth was in her clutch -- which was stolen.

Right now, Hermione had wanted to ask Runa for advice. But the description of the baking caught her attention instead.

[coldsong]

Loki cannot help. Any food he had cached has already been given to his alternate to bring into the camp. Hunting was possible for a while, but the prey is scarce now. He would be hungry, himself, if he were not so thoroughly distracted by his own projects, by shape-changing and shamanism.

That, and no one has specifically called upon him. That's probably for the best, and he's not really the kind of god one calls upon in this kind of situation anyway.

He likes Runa, though. And as she reminisces, she may hear a small, sweet voice singing a children's song about the very topic she's meditating upon. The singer sounds male, but whether she recognizes the voice as Loki's or not, and how soon, remains to be seen.

Striking a Brighter Note - Entertainers Wanted

[handsofwinter]

Zandros has done his part to fulfil his promise to Isidor (whether she wanted it or not). The Azerothian nobleman has spent as much time as he can scouring the public bunker and the Crossroads Cafe alike, looking for talented people willing and able to cheer up their fellow... erm, beings. Whether it's encouraging the off-duty watchmen and women in the Cafe to sing a few songs together, or helping a recuperating mother piece scraps of paper into puppets for a shadow play, he's lend his aid to help hunt down props, clear space or just talk the shy into putting their talents to use.

Of course, some of the more artistic Nexus-goers have already come up with their own ideas to raise people's spirits. If nothing else, they'll find they have someone very willing to applaud and round up an audience for them.


(( No NPCs here! Just an open thread for general CR and any characters willing to put themselves in the spotlight (or the audience!) ))

The Dancing Demon Makes His Debut

[littledevildarling]

While not all of his adventures as a cartoon character were related to it, the stage had always been one of the places Bendy was at his happiest. He absolutely loved to dance. Unfortunately, it's a bit hard to get an audience as a horribly deformed monstrosity like he'd been before coming to the Nexus, but now? Now he could do what he was born to do, and there was a readily available audience who could use a bit of a morale boost to boot.

Bendy hadn't really needed much, a bit of music (mostly swing and jazz of course), a stage with some shelter from the elements good for tap dancing (and any other kind of dancing he felt like doing) and he could provide his own props from hammerspace. He can sing too when he felt it necessary.

Needless to say, he's a hit with the audience, as haggard as people were. Bendy himself was on cloud nine. He hadn't been this happy in who knows how long. He bowed and grinned his trademark grin as they applauded.

"Thank you, thank you! I'm here all night folks!" He called chipperly. "Any requests from the audience?"

[subjectifying]

Multiple bouts with fever have left Ellen drained, weak enough that lifting a spoon is an effort, barely worthwhile for the thin gruel -- though the heat from the soup does fight off the intense chills that often shake though her as if she were a sheet on a clothsline, battered by the wind.

She knows where she is, and wishes she didn't.

She's heard enough -- remembered enough of what she's overheard -- to know that the gruel isn't just because she's been sick. It's all there is.

"That it should come to this," she mutters into her bowl of soup.

It seems as fantastical as any Shakespearean fantasy, as tragic as any working of fate, that she is here. She, Ellen Fanshaw, actress. And at the same time, it seems impossible that she ever had any other other life than this, a prisoner of winter, waiting.

"For its bounty, there was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas that grew the more by reaping," she says, flatly, trying to remember what that was like.

Could there really be a world where she sometimes worried about money but never about food on the table? Where she stood on a stage and played tragedy, secure in the knowledge that the deaths were simply staged?

"Think you that there was or might be such a world as this I dreamed of?" she says to herself. A tear -- a flood -- runs down her cheek; she can feel it against her skin, down to her jawline, to her chin, dripping into her soup bowl.

The woman she once was, the woman who knew how to be a Cleopatra, a Titania, a Lady Macbeth -- the confidence, the poise, the presence -- and now the shaking of her hand as she raises a flimsy spoon to her mouth, lets the last of the gruel trickle into her mouth...

It reminds her of one of the songs Cyril used to sing in the pub. How long ago that was! How did it go? She remembers the first line and sings it to herself under her breath, a thin thread of melody, then a few lines until she runs up against a gap in her memory.

She shoves her bowl abruptly onto the bedside table and collapses onto her pillow, pulling the bedclothes up to her chin, but the melody won't let her go.

She fills in, repeating the song softly, over and over and over again until she's worn off the rough edges and has something that sounds right to her, even if it isn't the original:

When life takes its toll, and fate treats you bad
You used to be queen, and now you've been had
A river of tears is the new kind of fad
It's nice to take a walk in the snow.

A stomp through a storm is what I'd advise
When winter and ice have cut you to size
The future is clear and everyone dies
It's nice to take a walk in the snow.

You say you're born for a death less mournful
A scream to the wind will voice your woe.
All arguments tried, and nothing to show,
It's nice to take a walk in the snow (for several months now)
Helps to have a howl in the snow (beneath the bedclothes)
Nice to take a walk in the snow!

Turning her head to the side, she sees that she's being watched. Listened to? She remembers that she'd overheard someone talking about entertainment, but only cheerful entertainment allowed.

She hadn't meant to entertain, but her performing instincts kick in. She gives the watcher a tight smile, and racks her brain until another of Cyril's songs leaps into her head. Yes, that's cheerful. As cheerful as anyone here has a right to be expected to be, considering.

She begins to sing, a little louder. ("Cheer up Hamlet, chin up Hamlet!") As long as you don't listen to the words too closely ("Your uncle is a cad who murdered dad and married mum") it sounds cheerful enough ("Perk up and sing the new refrain!")

Her grin might be a bit manic as she reaches the end: "Cheer up, you melancholy Dane!"

Somewhere in there, she'd raised herself on her elbows; with a convulsive shiver she collapses.

She needs a softer pillow.

"Cheer up, o melancholy Dane," she sings sadly, and closes her eyes.

((A Walk in the Rain (King Lear): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwWDNFG7eQU
Cheer up Hamlet (Hamlet): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mqioi08EIHQ

Ellen's not looking for a wider audience (not really up for it), but this seemed to fit here otherwise, so hopefully it's okay.

Please keep this subthread linear by replying to the last comment in the subthread. Time will advance within this subthread; it is not a single scene unified in time and place. Direct replies are unlikely, and indirect replies are not guaranteed.))

[alittlehinky]

Well, this kind of thing can't be left entirely to the professionals. Even the professionals need a break now and then, after all, and at some point in a lull between other performers, Cricket finds a seat somewhere close to or on the makeshift stage. The song he chooses is far more modern than he is, but with the length of time he's been in the Nexus, he's been exposed to plenty of music of all kinds of eras.

Without accompaniment, there's something starker and more somber about what should be an upbeat love song.

In the middle of the night, I may watch you go
There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown
There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown
But I'd be yours if you'd be mine.

His voice is decent, not really professional-quality, but pleasant. His pitch is near-perfect, though, and as he sings, for these few brief minutes, back straight and gaze cast skyward like he's praying, a kind of quiet joy shines in him. It's as if his soul can't be contained inside his body, fluttering against his ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage.

But love the one you hold
And I'll be your goal
To have and to hold
A lover of the light.

The Infirmary's getting crowded

[juststeverogers]

Steve spends most of his time asleep, these days.

There's nothing else for it. He's no stranger to going hungry--both before and after the serum. Winter on the front lines meant folks weren't getting enough supplies more often than not, too. But not this little for so long. His metabolism is his own worst enemy now and every hour he's awake is painful. Feeble. The only reason Steve's not completely bedridden is he's too stubborn to stay down. When he does wake, usually for only a couple hours at a time, he's still taking care of bodies but even his security work has stopped.

Today's not a great day. The Expedition's gone without him. He's struggling to get up from his spot in the corner of the infirmary. Dazed, hungry, and still trying to struggle on as best he can.

"What...needs doing?"

[alittlehinky]

Cricket's on lookout duty and he couldn't be any more proud. Granted, his rotations are a little shorter than some of the others, but he's been told that's because he might be needed for internal maintenance, too. He's not sure whether that was a way to soothe him or if it was true. Certainly he's unfrozen pipes a few times in the last month.

In any case, he's off rotation now, and while he's wearing the rifle he was given when he comes in, he's definitely at ease. Or, at least, he's at ease as he can be with his legs screaming for mercy. Every step burns, and while he's been stoically turning down painkillers up until now, he's ready to give in, if the infirmary has any to spare.

He was lucky enough to bump into Horvath promptly, and he's been sitting on one of the cots, breathing deep and waiting for the medicine to kick in, but when he sees Steve stirring, he squirms his way up. "Steve? Why don't you share a cup of tea with me before you start workin'? There's plenty of pine needles. Ain't much else, but it's something hot to drink."

Because the man that carried him and another fellow his size or bigger only a few weeks ago looks like he's at the end of his tether, and that's one of the scariest things Cricket's ever seen.

[waterwhip]

Katara couldn't help but resent the fact that she'd been passed over for the mission because she was "a child" and "too young to go into such a dangerous situation," as if her life hasn't been in mortal peril countless times just since the start of the season. It's galling.

Worse still that she's been stuck in the infirmary. Her powers are perfectly suited here, admittedly, and she'd said she would help wherever she could, so she knows she shouldn't complain. She only feels frustrated because the whole thing smacks of being relegated to Yugoda's healing houses by Master Pakku when she'd wanted nothing more than to learn how to fight.

So, if her bedside manner is extra firm and fussy, who can blame her? She's gonna nurture the heck out of everyone now to make up for getting left behind.

That's why, when she sees Steve struggling even to stand, she makes a beeline for him. "Hey! You shouldn't be up!" she practically barks. He's obviously not doing well, and she's been around enough stubborn dunderheads to know it won't go well for him if he pushes himself too hard. "Come on and lie back down," she continues, more gently this time, attempting to usher him back to a cot. "I'm here to help, so don't hurt yourself."

Piranha Plant - Shelter From The Storm

[piranhaplant]

The Piranha Plant's able to survive the cold within the warmth of the shelter, but that doesn't mean it likes the winter. Far from it. It's wearing the covering Furiosa gave it, but it looks visibly weaker. Not wilted, but it's not snapping anymore, and it seems to be shivering if looked at closely. It's surviving, but it's not doing well. A little water or food would be appreciated.

But those things are getting harder to find, much to its concern.

It's trying to avoid people. It isn't sure whether the other refugees will try to eat it, especially given the food shortage, but it's very capable of biting back if it feels threatened, even in its weakened state.

A Furry Visitor

[totallyadog]

There's a dog outside the shelter, a fairly large Alaskan Malamute, maybe with some wolf in it going by its size. It isn't really clear where it came from, but it's obvious looking at it that the dog wants in. It's sitting there in the snow, wagging its tail, and trying its best to look cute and cuddly. It's been in the Nexus for a while, but it hasn't really come out in the open until now.

It sits still, then gives a single sharp bark. After a few moments, it scratches its claws on the door and whines plaintively. Its body language suggests that it doesn't like the cold, but how did it survive out in this winter for so long...?

[shieldborne]

The darkness is increasingly messing with Steve's mind. His sleep schedule is nonexistent; he has no idea whether it's night or day. He's keeping up with his chores--cooking, cleaning, doing whatever he can to reassure the refugees--and he doesn't trust himself to guard all alone, but he walks the perimeter of the building at dusk and dawn, listening.

He just happens to be doing so, the first one in this corner of the building so far this morning, when he hears the scratching and whining. And he's positive, at first, it's some kind of auditory hallucination, but after a moment of covering his ears, breathing through his nose and mentally reciting the Gettysburg address, the noise hasn't gone away.

It sounds like a dog.

...well, hell, he's already cursed, how much more screwed can he get?

He opens the door a narrow crack, slipping out rather than just letting the animal in. "...Harrowheart, if that's you, I'm gonna need you to use your words."

[liverfree]

Prometheus is making the rounds when he spots the dog outside the shelter's door, whining to be let in. The sight makes him frown a little in concern. Why is this dog out here all alone? All the animals he's seen have either holed themselves up in the Wilds or stuck close to the sides of their owners.

"Hello? Who left you out here all by yourself?" he asks, approaching cautiously. The dog appears friendly, but like humans, the storm may have made him suspicious of strangers.

Peter Lussmore +1 cold and miserable goblin

[joblin]

A green guy with big ears steps out onto the Plaza and immediately regrets taking that step. For one thing, he's in shirt sleeves. It takes a few minutes for him to figure out he couldn't just step back the way he came, and a few more to squint at the projected public service film.

By the time he dives into the Crossroads Cafe he's pretty desperate to get warm. If anyone's at the counter he'll plunk down some bills.

"Uh, coffee?" Do they even have coffee? he wonders as he looks around at all the other people who have obviously taken shelter here. Probably not.

[hybriddino]

An enormous dinosaur, about ten feet tall even on all fours, notices the goblin and comes a bit closer. He smiles, probably pretty intimidating from a creature with such massive teeth and claws.

He's holding a whiteboard and marker, which he writes on. Hey, it's the best way for him to communicate.

I'm not sure. We're running short on a lot of thing at the moment.

Hermione Granger -- Runes, Maps and Wand Retrieval

[mudblood_andproud]

Hermione had made herself copies of some of the Nexus maps that Captain Kirk had provided earlier scouting teams. That was one advantage of having such a good memory -- is that she was able to draw out maps for herself, without sacrificing what was needed for the other scouts. Right now, Hermione had several spread out all around her, doing her best not to take up too much room in the already crowded space.

A large mess of hair was piled up on her head. The winter weather made her hair dry and frizzy... and without the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that kept her wild locks tamed and smooth ... Hermione just was not bothering with trying to maintain her curls.

Without her wand, Hermione had been spending a lot of time around the sanctuary areas. She had helped out in the infirmary, or the kitchens, or with just keeping company with other people during this whole time. And while making those small connections -- Hermione Jean Granger was strengthening the information for her Arthimancy matrix. Every new name provided her one more rune to add to the equation. Learning about their pasts, and their hardships, helped provide more information to strengthen her numbers.

And right now, Hermione had several of her runes spread out on the maps. Her rune -- Thought -- was spread out in several different locations, creating the main points of several different triads. As one of the Golden Trio, Hermione knew the power of a Triad.

Hermione had not received any more clues about where her wand was taken by that 'Rabbit' since her search with Danny and Azwel had to be forsaken. And it had been difficult being without her wand all this time. Being unable to help others with a flick of her wrist. Unable to multiply food or blankets. Unable to cast healing spells.

And while there were still some simple magic she could do -- Hermione wanted that piece of herself back. Her wand. Her focus. Her connection to her magic.

Which is why she was so focused on the runes and the map right now. Hopefully she had enough information that her runes would guide her to the right place to start searching. The right place where her treasured wand was being hidden. Or the right person who would have answers for her.

Hermione Jean Granger was determined to get her wand back. One way or another.

[staticandstock]

Winter is a great many things to a great many people. It is the darkest time of the year. Among other things, it is a time of secrecy and hiding. The magic of a witch, one without her focus, even with all that information she has collected, means little to a primordial aspect of Nature. Reynard, and Winter, does not want her to find her wand. So it remains hidden. Even when she thinks her runes are about to show her something, it changes to a different location time and time again, and then vanishes. Perhaps if she had the right names her magic would be more precise. Instead she has to watch her runes give her flickering, unhelpful information, if they give any at all.

Days turn into weeks without any luck. The end of Winter is steadily approaching, but there's no sign of her wand. Once the Season ends, who knows where it will be. If it's intact at all.

Then one day, her runes finally give her a definite answer. Clear as day and so bright and obvious that there's not a shadow of a doubt that this is it. It's so certain that the runes almost seem to insist that she should go here. Right in the middle of a clearing within the boundaries, too!

Thawing Spidercicles

[websnextdoor]

Under normal circumstances, Peter is a fussy sleeper. He twists and turns in his sheets, kicks at blankets if he gets too warm and wakes up at the drop of a hat even if he falls right back to sleep shortly after. These are not normal circumstances. The elder Spider-Man hasn't so much as twitched since he was brought to the infirmary at the cafe to treat his hypothermia.

When Peter Parker finally rouses it's not with a jolt but with a sluggish groan. He doesn't know where he is immediately, though his enhanced senses are quick to hone in on people murmuring quietly about doses, blankets, meals, and fluids enough that he begins to put together he's in a hospital of some kind. Or at least, a medical station.

It takes a few minutes for him to process that though. There's a lingering confusion he hasn't quite shaken. When he sits up it's slow and jerky. The first thing he thinks of is Miles, his fellow Spider-Bro. Thankfully the other is asleep on the cot next to his and he's breathing properly again. His relief is palpable, shoulders sagging.

"Jeez. I really....blew it, huh."

[bitterguardian]

Even under ideal circumstances, healing the body from something like hypothermia can be tricky work. The trouble with magical healing is that it can be swifter and stronger than the body's own natural processes, and in some cases such as broken bones that's not much of a problem, but things like hypothermia that involve the whole body's systems are more fragile. Push them too far too fast, even in a positive direction, and you risk sending the person into shock.

Then of course, also, Horvath has been overtaxed for far too long and lacks his own resources to do as much for those in need as he'd like. He's holding up relatively well- the clubhouse may have a little extra to add to the rations of those staying there, even if it means they're still all living on the edge of starvation. Horvath had more personal resources to draw from in the first place, and he's not looking as bone-thin as some people thanks to that, but his once-tailored suits are hanging a lot looser on him these days. The heavy coat helps hide it, and he seems remarkably stoic, or at least resigned about it all. Like anything else that has been around for centuries, Horvath has the strength to endure.

He's sitting down though, in between patients, dozing and conserving energy. Peter would be forgiven for not even realizing the other man is awake, keeping watch over them both as they struggle to recover. It's no surprise to them that Peter is the one awake first, since he was the one better off between the two of them even before healing.

"It may not have been the wisest choice. But I trust it was one made out of good intent?" His deep, melodious voice is quiet, in the infirmary, and he does not get up, but also watches the sleeping Miles.

Dr. Alma - moment of peace

[deadpandralma]

Dr. Alma is happy to be reunited with his husband, but she is mainly busy trying to help out at the clinic and anyone that needs medical attention.

Trying to help out everyone that's either ill or injured while medical supplies are dwindling had made her quite exhausted.

She sat down nearby the counters to get some rest. She might accidentally have fallen asleep without realizing it.

After the Expedition Moves On (TW: Depictions of Blood and Gore)

[brother_alone]

Now you know how it feels, Big Brother. Now you know how we felt, how afraid we were.

There's so much pain. He's tried calling out but he's too weak to be heard over the wind. Smears of his blood stain the ice and snow and the cold that once did nothing but sting and hurt is finally bringing some blessed numbness to broken bones. Joshua can barely move. His breath comes in raspy wheezes, far too shallow from the pain. He's bleeding out but slowly. While the snow bank he's fallen into protects him from the worst of the wind he's still encased in ice. He can't climb out. Can't even sit up.

At least while he's dying, he's not alone.

Hannah's peering down at him with needle like teeth stretched into an impossibly wide smile from where she's perched atop the snow. She sits with her unnaturally long legs bent outward at the knees. Her hair's coming out in rotting clumps. Josh can't look up properly to see her that well but he knows what his baby sister looks like. Looked. Looked like, before his friends set Blackwood Lodge ablaze. Beth's laying down next to him, her frozen fingers with bite marks bruising the skin poking and prodding at his injuries with a quiet fascination. Josh can see the maggots crawling out of the gaping wound in her neck that's long since bled dry.

You know, I don't even remember hitting the ground Big Brother. I was the lucky one. Dead on impact. You and Hannah though...always trying to hog the spotlight. Soon you'll be home. Here with us. Isn't that what you wanted all this time?

"Y...You're not...y'r not real." His vision's swimming and they flicker in and out of existence along with it. Does he want them gone right now of all times? Does Joshua Washington really want to die alone? He sobs out an exhale. It hurts to shake and yet his body can't seem to stop convulsing from the cold and his own fear. When he arrived in the Nexus three Winters ago it was from a dark dank cave much like this. Starving and alone. Near death.

Josh figured if he never left the Nexus he'd never have to face his fate.

Amid his hyperventilating and tears utterly alone he stops trying to raise his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Joshua is alone down here in the dark. Broken, bleeding, and so cold. Not even his hallucinations will hold his hands now.

[shardofwinter]

"Mortals always ask why. 'Why? Why?' They whisper and scream, curse and howl. Why do I take life so joyously but claim not to delight in it, they ask. Why do I take life at all?"

Reynard stands nearby, leaning on one leg as though he's been there a while, a hand on the rapier at his side. Unlike before, he looks perfectly human. Sounds perfectly human. Though the snow, wind and ice don't bother him. His eyes are soft as he watches Josh from beneath the brim of his hat, full of pity.

"They don't understand that death in Winter is a part of Winter. The dead are as precious to me as my beloved Season." His mouth quirks in a humourless smile. "But then, why would they understand? They craft everything to suit them, and demand the world work how they please." His smile vanishes back into pity. "But you know that already."

❅ Warm Welcome

[heirtothedragonsfire]

The moment the radio message was caught, people began mobilising. Everyone had been itching to do their jobs, to do something that felt productive, and now they had that chance. People had been drilled so well on exactly what to do that by the time Isidor strode up to the boundary, everything was well on its way to being set up.

There was security, partly to keep away thieves, partly to control the crowd of desperate and curious spectators. More importantly there were healers on standby, and runners to bring the supplies to a more secure location. All the expedition had to do was pass the torches.

After everyone had set themselves up there was a long, stretched out moment. A breath held the survivors held together. The wind stabbed and jeered at skin, and the snow remained callously blank.

Sound heralded their arrival before anyone could catch sight of them. As the vehicles hurtled towards the torches they were welcomed back with an eruption of cheers. People wailed and cried and yelled, thrusting fists into the air and collapsing into each others arms in relief. Isidor didn't cheer. Isidor counted, trying to identify friend from foe.

It was Lyall who spoke up first, growling orders to his meagre band of security volunteers to get ready. The scavengers weren't alone.

Isidor rested a hand on Lyall's arm. "Stay here. Keep them safe." Then she picked out those with the best weapons, and aim, and moved out beyond the torches. Only when they had a clear shot did they give Furiosa and her crew covering fire. Only once they'd zoomed past did Isidor fling out her arms, sending a wave of fire to burn out in a wall between them and their assailants. Fuck you! This is mine! Her rage swelled for a minute, and then the fire fell away. She stared at the strange creatures until she's sure they got the message. Uninterested in pressing any further, they retreat, and she and her companions returned to the others.

The returning heroes were taken away pretty quickly, to be treated for wounds, given warm blankets and rest. A great many people will want to speak to them, when they're able to. Isidor and Lyall are top of that list, and whenever one is speaking to those who returned, the other is waiting by the boundaries to receive the rest who trickle back, restoring hope little by little.

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Daredevil is one of the wounded that stumbles in long after the main convoy, accompanied by Palmer, Harley, and Sif. He's irritable, cold, and sports multiple cracked ribs and a broken arm, which the healers are quick to assess and treat as best they can, his fingertips dusky with minor frostnip.

There's nothing that can be done for his ribs, but after his fingers are thawed with lukewarm water, they secure his arm with a splint and a sling while more serious injuries are being dealt with.

Matt eventually finds a spot to rest near one of the many fires keeping people warm, letting its heat wash the bone-deep chill from his body.