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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❅ 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.

[heirtothedragonsfire]

"You survived." Isidor takes a seat nearby and tilts her head to try to meet his eyes. Really he deserves space and time to rest and recover, but they're still figuring out what happened out there. Being left alone might be the worst thing for them right now. It's hard to tell.

She offers a mug. A rich, warm aroma rises from it: High quality coffee. Her own exhaustion means her motions are clunky, but she can afford this much kindness. "How are you feeling?"

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Matt’s more tired than he thought, because he doesn’t consciously notice her approach until she speaks, and he starts, turning his head in her direction, his gaze not really meeting hers. The mug, however, he has no trouble finding, homing in on heat and that familiar scent of coffee, reaching out to take it with his good arm. “I’ve been better,” he answers wryly, almost managing a polite smile. “Had worse too. I take it the supplies made it back all right?”

Otherwise this would be another round of steeped pine needles, he’s pretty sure. He forces himself to take small sips, both to avoid burning his tongue and to keep the precious drink lasting longer.

[sweetcandygirl]

After spending some quality time with Cricket, Harley heads over to where Matt is still keeping warm near the fire. She sits by him.

"Hey. It's Harley." She grins. "Looks like you got a little TLC."

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

There's a lot of people coming and going, in the wake of the expedition's return. Matt pays her little attention until she addresses him, and his head comes up a little. "Oh, hey." He doesn't need to self-consciously touch his injuries to know that they're there; every breath sounds like an ancient wooden ship has taken up residence in his chest, creaking with the cracks in his ribs. "It's not too bad. I've had worse than this. Are you okay?"

Normally he'd be able to tell, but he's tired and in pain, and not as inclined to focus as well as he wants. And besides, that wouldn't tell him anything about how she's doing mentally, anyway.

[lady_sif]

Although she stays away long enough to allow the healers to fuss over him, to do what they can, Sif eventually comes and sits beside Matt.

She does not touch him, and she wouldn't blame him for being angry with her. In the midst of battle, though she had helped him, she had physically held him back when he'd wanted to fight. He'd even struggled against her grip, but she hadn't relented.

She doesn't regret doing so--he was wounded enough that it would likely have resulted in his death if he'd gotten his way, but every warrior had the right to die in combat if they so desired. She denied him an honorable death, but she dared also to hope that he would not resent her for it.

He'll know she's there, and he'll know it's her. Her heart beats strong and slow, a slightly different rhythm than a human's would. Eventually, her fingers alight gently on his wrist.

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, Matt is tired and sore, his broken bones throbbing uncomfortably beneath his skin, and he's only accepted the weaker painkillers to take the edge off rather than the heavier-duty drugs. Still, it takes him a moment before he realizes he's not alone, and he tilts his head a fraction as he listens to the cadence of her heartbeat, her breath, takes in the subtly foreign scents he's begun thinking of as Asgardian. And there's only one that he knows personally, so far.

"Hey Sif," he says, his voice sounding rough with fatigue.

[outpostcook]

"Glad to see you made it, Matt. Got your arm taken care of." Kinner joins Matt beside the fire. "I wanted to check up on Palmer. Is he all right? I was kind of worried how he'd handle himself out there. He's a mechanic, not a soldier."

The little cook's worried about the other man, given Palmer's recklessness and lazy ways. Once he has informarion on Palmer, Kinner will give it to his friends.

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley Quinn is also one of the wounded that returns. Her little group of four -- Matt, Palmer and Sif -- had to trek back on foot. And even after a little rest during the night, they are still pretty exhausted.

Their return was well enough after the main convoy, that it is only Lyall and his security crew that welcome them back. Most of the other volunteers and awaiting spectators were already gone. The food had been returned and the focus was on it.

It meant that Harley was able to slip by without putting any attention on herself. And didn't even bother with the medical personal who were treating others for wounds. Her ankle was almost better... but her ribs still hurt and would still need more time to heal. But she didn't want a doctor bothering with her -- when her healing abilities would take care of everything. Especially with everyone else who needed their attention.

Harley quietly took stock of who returned. And who didn't. There were still people missing. There was no sign of Blaze or Ghost. And no sign of Josh either.

She didn't know where Azwel had run off to. And while she knew that Loki had gone to talk to the Fallen, she still worried about him. Totally not because she was falling for him

That might mean search parties. And so Harley took a moment to herself to take stock of her own personal supplies. She was ready go back out without taking much time to rest. Just because that was the kind of person she was.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket is more or less done for. Not that he's dying, just that there's no way he's going anywhere else. Once he sat, he realized he couldn't stand up again alone, and rather than make a fuss, he's just staying put for now, until the furor surrounding the food being unloaded dies down.

If Harley happens to pass by him, though, he'll call out her name, and he looks relieved to see her almost to the point of tears.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket's a slow-mover, but as it turns out he's an awfully good shot with a rifle. It comes from hunting small animals, he explains sheepishly. You can't shoot a small, fast, target, you're probably going to have a hungry winter.

Of course, it's been a hungry winter here anyway.

Probably he has no business beyond the torches, but when Isidor gathers her volunteers he's right there, because Kinner and Palmer and Harley are out there somewhere and he'll be damned if he doesn't help them, if he can. And if no one's noticed before, they sure will notice now, how he doesn't sink into the snow when he jogs along side them, breath harsh as every step sends a shock of pain all the way up his back.

He is a damn good shot, though, and his rifle cracks steadily as the convoy hurtles toward home; shot, pause, shot, pause...it's not that he's got abnormally steady nerves, it's just that, like most of them, he's beyond fear now.

But he has the sense to stop and catch his breath when Isidor's wall of flame roars over their enemies. And he looks quietly satisfied.

He hobbles back quietly, and when one of the other volunteers notes how he's lagging, they sling his arm around their shoulder and help him back into the safety behind the torches. He won't be helping to unload; he relinquishes his rifle to another patrol member, as if now he's satisfied he's done enough at last, and he sits, watching the incoming raiders for signs of his friends.

[outpostcook]

When Kinner finds Cricket, the little cook is visibly exhausted. His chest is sore where the giant Fallen knocked him off the snowmobile, and his breath is heavy. However, he's still standing, and he gives his bootlegger friend a friendly wave. He pulls off his goggles so Cricket can tell it's him.

He straightens, not wanting Cricket to worry about him too much. Kinner's injured, but he'll live. He's had worse injuries than this. He smiles, trying to seem more cheerful than he actually is. At least he doesn't have any new scars for his troubles, or a busted rib. It could always be worse. "Howdy there. Don't worry 'bout me, I made it. There were some close calls, though. Riding shotgun with Furiosa was quite the adventure."

He pats the pocket lashed to his side that contains his pistol and bullets. They hadn't actually helped him that much, mostly because he hadn't expected opponents with armor. Then again, he shouldn't have expected pirates to fight fair.

"Between you and me, though, I hope Reynard goes easier on us next year. This is the second-worst winter I've ever been in."

[heirtothedragonsfire]

Isidor saw him follow her out. After all, she was watching to make sure everyone got back safely. It was careless of all of them, really, but none of them cared very much anymore. She wasn't going to deny anyone else their fury when it had a good focus.

Still, she also sees him struggle back. Once everything is sorted, one way or another, she takes time to come over to him. Her eyes flit up and down, assessing how much he's pushed himself. Possibly too much, these last few days while he watched for his friends. "Are you alright?"

[readvondaniken]

Palmer's not injured, but he's still tired, and he's had more than a few clse calls in the fight. He has mixed feelings about what happened. While the mechanic feels braver, he's not necessarily proud of having killed people. He knows the Fallen are intelligent creatures, even if they are unrepentant killers.

He remembers cracking a joke when Garry shot the seemingly mad Norwegian in defense of Outpost 31, and winces with guilt. He wonders if Garry felt the same way when he shot a human being, and one who was comparatively blameless next to the Fallen. That dog had been dangerous. Perhaps the Norwegian had only been trying to warn them.

He finds a fire and slouches down, pulling his hood down, deep in thought. He misses his weed.

[heirtothedragonsfire]

He's not first on her list, partly because he isn't obviously injured and partly because she doesn't know him. Nevertheless, Isidor eventually finds the man almost out of view. Someone's keeping a low profile...

"You were in the expedition," a statement, not a question as she walks up to him, arms folded tightly for warmth. "How are you doing?"

[walking_on_fire]

There's a lot going through Natalie's mind as she manages to get back inside the campsite, hiding any physical injuries she may have sustained. Mentally, however...she's at her wits end. People cheering around her. None of them appear worried that the team came back with less members than before. All of them only seem to care about their own survival.

This should be a moment of victory, but to Natalie, it's defeat because of the casualties.

She has to bite her tongue, but when one happy person tries to touch her shoulder, she's pushing the person back into the crowd. Enough. That's a surefire way to keep people from physical contact or trying to act like her 'friend'. The sooner she can get away from the squabbling masses, the better. Cowards. All of them are...

Natalie huffs, flipping her coat hood over her head, aiming to escape to any spot away from the crowds. She needs time to process Blaze and Josh's disappearance, Isidor's show of fire and the general feelings she has towards people at this point.

[heirtothedragonsfire]

It takes a while. There are others to talk to and take care of, but eventually Isidor tracks Natalie down. By now Lyall and those working with him have gotten used to keeping an eye on the important things for her, and it isn't hard for one of them to point her in the right direction.

The straight backed, proud way she carries herself as she makes her way to the lonesome figure is a testament to her upbringing. Even exhausted, she falls back to propriety. Gloved hands in her pockets, she eyes up the other woman. "You should be somewhere warm resting up. We can get you some food, and somewhere quiet to sleep. You've more than earned it."

[outpostcook]

Kinner's exhausted. The entire chase on the convoy has finally caught up with him now that the adrenaline running through him has run its course. The little cook staggers through the snow, goggles fastened to his face as he staggers back into the safe zone. His breaths are wheezing, visible in the cold air. He's still alive, and as far as he's concerned this is a victory.

After all, the last time he'd faced off against an alien it hadn't ended so well. This time Kinner had actually put up a decent fight, and, what's more, he survived.

He'll check up on who made it and who didn't later. Right now, he has friends and allies back home to check up on. His ribs thankfully aren't broken, but they are hurt. Being struck in the chest by a seven-foot alien warrior does that to you, but Kinner consoles himself with the knowledge that he at least got a shot in before he was bowled off the snowmobile. And they brought back the food. That's what they'd set out to do in the first place.

He drags himself over to the nearest fire and sits down, appreciating the heat and resting his muscles.

[heirtothedragonsfire]

There were a lot of volunteers for the expedition. A lot of people who went out. Fewer people who returned. Isidor's making a point of finding each and every one of them. She needs to see how they're doing, as much for her own curiosity as anything else.

Kinner makes himself reasonably difficult to find, but he can't hide from Isidor. He's not the only one grateful for a fire. If there's anywhere Isidor would prefer to have a conversation, it's by live flames.

"How are you doing?"

[red_room]

Natasha hasn't allowed herself to be lead away from the torch line since she and Delia came back with Harley's little group. The healers will have had to do their triage there and either get back to her when they have time or left her to fend for herself with her bruises and lacerations. She's accepted a blanket and rations if they're offered but she hasn't allowed herself to sleep.

Even if she laid down Natasha doesn't think she'd see anything except for the sparking hole she'd put in Blaze's head. No, sleep won't come until she collapses but that isn't yet. She's still holding onto hope that Blaze will be behind them with Ghost in tow.

She tries to reach them once an hour by radio but so far there's been no answer.

[heirtothedragonsfire]

"Ms Romanoff." By now Isidor's is a familiar voice. Likely one that conjures up the impression that Natasha is about to be given an order. Probably one she won't like: Go and rest.

For now Isidor just makes her way over to the other woman, arms folded close to keep in a shred of warmth. "I'm glad you made it back." In a rare moment of concern, she asks softly, "Are you alright?"

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Matt's clearly been to the healers himself, his left arm splinted and immobilized in a sling, and the careful way he holds himself as he moves is plenty of evidence that his ribs aren't unaffected either. He hasn't accepted any pain meds besides the weakest stuff they have, just enough to take the edge off without using up more precious heavy-duty drugs for the seriously injured.

It's not distracting enough to his senses that he can't recognize Natasha, though, her heart rate still elevated as she gazes out past the line of torches, silent radio in hand.

"Keeping watch?"

[eumenis]

Furiosa doesn't let up on the gas even as they roar past the others, guns blazing, pointed behind them at their pursuers. It's not until the snowmobile passes the line of torches that she eases up, switching from acceleration to braking with another of her chilling war-cries. Loose snow showers up around them as they fishtail and slide to a stop, an unwitting echo of the wall of flame Isidor uses to cut off pursuit.

They're safe. Now they're safe. Any attacks from here on out will be faced from behind fortification, with enough rations to last the rest of the season.

She cuts off the engine with a hand shaky with adrenaline, then leans back in the seat and lets her head roll back as she gulps air. There's bent metal and scorched wood embedded in her shoulder, and it's bleeding; it's possible something is fractured in there, too. She's got splinters all up and down the left side and her arm hurts like she hasn't felt in a long while, but even at that rate she's a damn sight better off than after the road war back home.

She's still for a moment, and then she laughs out loud. "Fukushima! Fuck that was a rush."

Ow, ow--her lung catches, and she winces, and looks over at Kinner and the swarm of people rushing to unload the food. "I think I might need a medic, you?"

[outpostcook]

One of these days, Kinner will need to learn the slang from Furiosa's world, since all he can piece together is that Fukushima has something to do with Japan. He has his own slang, and it makes sense that different universes would have different ways of communicating to each other, not even getting into social or cultural quirks. Hearing her world's language raises the little cook's curiosity.

"My rib hurts a bit where that monster hit me, but I can walk. I reckon I'll be fine." Kinner stands, discarding the gun he held before slipping down to the ground. He lands squarely on both feet. He's survived his first high-speed road war, and the exhaustion finally catches up with him as he staggers, more tired than hurt.

So that's a road war. He can't say he's rushing to repeat the experience any time soon.

Kinner's physically okay aside from his bruised ribcage, and he thinks he'll get that examined once things have calmed down. For now, he needs to rest, and they'll need his help to load and prepare the food. "I'd suggest you get that shoulder of yours looked at. It looks pretty nasty from where I'm standing."

He salutes Furiosa as he would a commanding officer. "And thank you for what you did back there."