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Entry tags:
hatching mini-event 003
WHO: All PCs
WHAT: New characters arrive on Ethyraia as MONSOON FLOODS ARRIVE at the Basecamp!
WHEN: August 8-21
WHERE: Basecamp Leviathan & nearby fields
NOTES/WARNINGS: mentions of corpses, flooding, and cult religion
WHAT: New characters arrive on Ethyraia as MONSOON FLOODS ARRIVE at the Basecamp!
WHEN: August 8-21
WHERE: Basecamp Leviathan & nearby fields
NOTES/WARNINGS: mentions of corpses, flooding, and cult religion
AUGUST MINI-EVENT ❀
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of corpses, flooding, and cult religion
Players who participated in our TDM are welcome to keep their CR and the content of those threads. Please make sure to chat this out on the OOC intro & CR meme before making assumptions. This log demonstrates our attempt at approaching engagement aspects within the setting a bit differently and providing people more options directly geared towards the establishment of CR. Let us know how it works for you!
There are giant thunderheads on the horizon, and the air smells like ozone and petrichor. The skies are black and very little sunlight gets through — but when the sky cracks open along with the newly hatched dragon's eggs on the 8th, the locals aren't up in arms over it. Instead, they are grimly preparing for the inevitability of...
"Monsoon season," Thorkill will explain to anyone listening. "We're all shored up for it this time. Should ride it out just fine so long as we stick together." And the rest of the Adamant's survivors have plenty that the hatchlings can do to help do just that! Hatchlings will be paired up and sent off to help secure the camp: here are sandbags to be made and lined up at the edge of camp to brook the floods, securing non-permanent buildings or structures, and helping to dry or prepare food for longer term storage.
However, Thorkil's engineers insist the washes they've dug should do their job. The tunnels left by the moles are at high risk of flooding and further damaging the entire base's foundational integrity, though, so engineering will be dedicating most of their efforts in the direction of continuing to repair the sinkhole damage.
After a full day of rain, though, these levees and washes aren't feeling quite sufficient. Some of the floodwater is washing into the edges of camp. Don't expect standing water, but it certainly leaves everyone feeling on edge. Most people will still get an itchy rash from contact with any standing groundwater. The particularly sensitive may get blisters! Sunya may also ask for hatchlings' help in distilling the compounds from the Starspire plants that neutralize the acid's effects on skin.
Life around the basecamp:
But minor irritation is the least of the camp's worries. On the 9th, after a second day of active storming, Rémi can be heard from a rather alarmingly large radius yelling at some poor underling who seems to have turned tail and ran when the rains started, leaving a group of agricultural harvesters stranded!
Given the reckless action and the danger posed to the rest of the camp as a result of this, Rémi is petitioning to have this person jailed until the process of restorative justice can be started.
The situation feels more pressing when, after three days of heavy rain, three human bodies surface at the edge of camp, washed in by the flood. The remains are old, eaten by the elements, time, and a lot of acid rain. Anyone working at the aid station may be responsible for bringing them back under the cover of the basecamp for burial, and anyone drinking from Thorkil's stash in engineering may hear him telling a sad story of a group of people that splintered off from the Basecamp over a year ago and moved inland. The bodies, he assumes, badly decomposed and identifiable only through genetic testing, are what remains — though he notes that the group was larger than three when they set out, he acknowledges they may never find the others' remains. It's hard not to take this as a sign of what may be to come for the poor missing explorers.
A few notes:
☆ Tensions rise with the water level. As tempers fray, NPCs will be somewhat more testy than usual, and while the goodwill garnered by the PCs is still intact it seems rather less valuable as a currency in and amidst the troubles. No one can seem to decide if anyone should be sent out after the missing group of harvesters.
☆ One of the small congregations of NPCs is starting to get irate about the preferential treatment the Hatchlings are having. These people will be colder, pick fights with the Hatchlings, speak up against them in group settings. They will point out the fact that the Thessyx could have visited at any time over the last three years and helped them and chose not to as their reasoning.
Players who participated in our TDM are welcome to keep their CR and the content of those threads. Please make sure to chat this out on the OOC intro & CR meme before making assumptions. This log demonstrates our attempt at approaching engagement aspects within the setting a bit differently and providing people more options directly geared towards the establishment of CR. Let us know how it works for you!
❀ MONSOON BLUES
There are giant thunderheads on the horizon, and the air smells like ozone and petrichor. The skies are black and very little sunlight gets through — but when the sky cracks open along with the newly hatched dragon's eggs on the 8th, the locals aren't up in arms over it. Instead, they are grimly preparing for the inevitability of...
"Monsoon season," Thorkill will explain to anyone listening. "We're all shored up for it this time. Should ride it out just fine so long as we stick together." And the rest of the Adamant's survivors have plenty that the hatchlings can do to help do just that! Hatchlings will be paired up and sent off to help secure the camp: here are sandbags to be made and lined up at the edge of camp to brook the floods, securing non-permanent buildings or structures, and helping to dry or prepare food for longer term storage.
However, Thorkil's engineers insist the washes they've dug should do their job. The tunnels left by the moles are at high risk of flooding and further damaging the entire base's foundational integrity, though, so engineering will be dedicating most of their efforts in the direction of continuing to repair the sinkhole damage.
After a full day of rain, though, these levees and washes aren't feeling quite sufficient. Some of the floodwater is washing into the edges of camp. Don't expect standing water, but it certainly leaves everyone feeling on edge. Most people will still get an itchy rash from contact with any standing groundwater. The particularly sensitive may get blisters! Sunya may also ask for hatchlings' help in distilling the compounds from the Starspire plants that neutralize the acid's effects on skin.
Life around the basecamp:
☆ The weather will worsen over the next two weeks. The winds pick up and some of the buildings at the edge of the encampment get acid-washed. Hope that new community garden that Vidar and Zhongli built is being babysat! The power will begin flickering around the 3rd day of the rains, and on the 5th, the power will cut out completely for 48 hours. Hope you have good night vision! It's rather dark inside the Leviathan, and there are still those pesky shredder mole holes (schmoles?) to contend with. Anyone that can create a light source or is lucky enough to have a flashlight is going to be in high demand!
☆ The power cut hits in the midst of opening night of The Wrath of Ejayla Bon, a play panned as a commercial failure back on Earth that developed cult status amongst the theatre nerds the world(s) over due to its rousing musical features and encouragement of crowd participation. Along with the interactive piece near the end where the villain is (symbolically!) torn apart, there's fun for the whole family! (sidebar: ribbons are used in place of actual gore!)
☆ Vidar has graciously opted to donate one of his Gundam's reactor cores to the NPCS! Given the issues with the power, removing it becomes a top priority during the monsoon! Ian Fowler has been tasked with its removal. Maybe he could use a hand...? Someone to hold the flashlight, bring snacks, etc cetera?
☆ A group calling themselves the Guardians of the Leviathan has cropped up. Part cult of personality, part religious fervor, this group was started by one of the Adamant's survivors by the name of Petra. They claim to have had a different dream than everyone else prior to the Thessyx visit, and they have begun preaching with fervor that Doomsday is coming.
☆ The power cut hits in the midst of opening night of The Wrath of Ejayla Bon, a play panned as a commercial failure back on Earth that developed cult status amongst the theatre nerds the world(s) over due to its rousing musical features and encouragement of crowd participation. Along with the interactive piece near the end where the villain is (symbolically!) torn apart, there's fun for the whole family! (sidebar: ribbons are used in place of actual gore!)
☆ Vidar has graciously opted to donate one of his Gundam's reactor cores to the NPCS! Given the issues with the power, removing it becomes a top priority during the monsoon! Ian Fowler has been tasked with its removal. Maybe he could use a hand...? Someone to hold the flashlight, bring snacks, etc cetera?
☆ A group calling themselves the Guardians of the Leviathan has cropped up. Part cult of personality, part religious fervor, this group was started by one of the Adamant's survivors by the name of Petra. They claim to have had a different dream than everyone else prior to the Thessyx visit, and they have begun preaching with fervor that Doomsday is coming.
❀ WASHED AWAY
But minor irritation is the least of the camp's worries. On the 9th, after a second day of active storming, Rémi can be heard from a rather alarmingly large radius yelling at some poor underling who seems to have turned tail and ran when the rains started, leaving a group of agricultural harvesters stranded!
Given the reckless action and the danger posed to the rest of the camp as a result of this, Rémi is petitioning to have this person jailed until the process of restorative justice can be started.
The situation feels more pressing when, after three days of heavy rain, three human bodies surface at the edge of camp, washed in by the flood. The remains are old, eaten by the elements, time, and a lot of acid rain. Anyone working at the aid station may be responsible for bringing them back under the cover of the basecamp for burial, and anyone drinking from Thorkil's stash in engineering may hear him telling a sad story of a group of people that splintered off from the Basecamp over a year ago and moved inland. The bodies, he assumes, badly decomposed and identifiable only through genetic testing, are what remains — though he notes that the group was larger than three when they set out, he acknowledges they may never find the others' remains. It's hard not to take this as a sign of what may be to come for the poor missing explorers.
A few notes:
☆ Tensions rise with the water level. As tempers fray, NPCs will be somewhat more testy than usual, and while the goodwill garnered by the PCs is still intact it seems rather less valuable as a currency in and amidst the troubles. No one can seem to decide if anyone should be sent out after the missing group of harvesters.
☆ One of the small congregations of NPCs is starting to get irate about the preferential treatment the Hatchlings are having. These people will be colder, pick fights with the Hatchlings, speak up against them in group settings. They will point out the fact that the Thessyx could have visited at any time over the last three years and helped them and chose not to as their reasoning.
❀ SEARCH & RESCUE
The Zeta Harvesting group is roughly a day's travel from the basecamp, in variable terrain that's prone to wash-outs from the monsoon. The flooding that blocks their way back will be a challenge to navigate, both due to strong, unpredictable currents and the fact that the water does have a mild acidic bent.
Their mission, assigned by the Agricultural group and guarded by Rémi's security volunteers, was to head into the open fields to gather some of the few edible native plants in the narrow window of their growing season. These crops are largely berries and roots that grow under the cover of some of the coniferous trees in the rocky outcroppings nearby. The berry plants and root-plants largely survive by the shade of the trees' branches, but once the flooding starts, there will be no eating them anymore. They'll be washed out and damaged.
Those who were caught in the storm have retreated to neighboring caves, where they are undersupplied and dealing with a bunch of nervous botanists who fancy themselves farmer, all of whom are largely convinced that the caves will flood if they remain here too long. They push anyone accompanying them to try to find a route out of the caves, encouraging their protectors to go out in pairs with the remaining rain shields to scout a safe route home through the trees. Plus, it sounds like something is breathing deep in the caves...
Anyone from the basecamp who volunteers to go seeking the harvesting group that went missing can still communicate intermittently with those stranded, but the comms are spotty. The storm's magnetism seems to be affecting messages, sending them twice or garbled or not at all. Sometimes it sends them to the wrong people altogether, so it's a good time for some fun misfires, or even some phantom messages by the people who owned the comms before! Feel free to have fun with this.
What's more, the road has been washed out by a flash flood — so if anyone who can fly or teleport or has a hovering vehicle feels like going to play hero ... Well, we're not going to discourage them!
A few notes:
Their mission, assigned by the Agricultural group and guarded by Rémi's security volunteers, was to head into the open fields to gather some of the few edible native plants in the narrow window of their growing season. These crops are largely berries and roots that grow under the cover of some of the coniferous trees in the rocky outcroppings nearby. The berry plants and root-plants largely survive by the shade of the trees' branches, but once the flooding starts, there will be no eating them anymore. They'll be washed out and damaged.
Those who were caught in the storm have retreated to neighboring caves, where they are undersupplied and dealing with a bunch of nervous botanists who fancy themselves farmer, all of whom are largely convinced that the caves will flood if they remain here too long. They push anyone accompanying them to try to find a route out of the caves, encouraging their protectors to go out in pairs with the remaining rain shields to scout a safe route home through the trees. Plus, it sounds like something is breathing deep in the caves...
Anyone from the basecamp who volunteers to go seeking the harvesting group that went missing can still communicate intermittently with those stranded, but the comms are spotty. The storm's magnetism seems to be affecting messages, sending them twice or garbled or not at all. Sometimes it sends them to the wrong people altogether, so it's a good time for some fun misfires, or even some phantom messages by the people who owned the comms before! Feel free to have fun with this.
What's more, the road has been washed out by a flash flood — so if anyone who can fly or teleport or has a hovering vehicle feels like going to play hero ... Well, we're not going to discourage them!
A few notes:
☆ PCs are also welcome to have been part of this harvesting mission, which left on August 7th. If anyone wishes to say their character needs a rescue, feel free! This may influence how and why hatchlings might volunteer to go out into the storm to help out! (Note: Newbies will arrive after the harvesting mission has already left, so only pre-existing players can have accompanied the NPCs out. However, new Hatchlings are more than welcome to help out with rescue efforts!)
☆ Standard guidelines for auto-NPCing apply! Feel free to name them, help them or, um, have them dramatically killed! Whatever suits your narrative. Rémi will not be accompanying anyone on this mission, but he will be rather more liberal than normal with his supplies. It seems as if the PCs are starting to earn his trust!
☆ Standard guidelines for auto-NPCing apply! Feel free to name them, help them or, um, have them dramatically killed! Whatever suits your narrative. Rémi will not be accompanying anyone on this mission, but he will be rather more liberal than normal with his supplies. It seems as if the PCs are starting to earn his trust!
❀ THE TROUBLES WITH QUIBBLES
Monsoon season seems to have kicked off the migratory pattern of many of the creatures native to Ethyraia. A small herd of squirrel-like creatures have taken temporary shelter near basecamp, huddling underneath the junction of dragon wing and body when the rains come on, and they will scatter afterwards. These creatures will not venture into the basecamp properly, but will be seen frolicking on the exterior of the Leviathan and may interfere with patrols done around the premises. They will also be trying to steal food whenever they have the opportunity! Hope you weren't planning on enjoying that... odd, broccoli-flavored... cold gelatin bar...?
Although playful, these creatures may become aggressive if they feel threatened, and it doesn’t take much to startle them. They have a sharp bite that causes many potential symptoms, including a significant drop in body temperature, increased spatial awareness, altered perception of both sound and color, and a short temper. It also seems to enhance feelings of combativeness and a competitive nature in those prone to them, and some individuals may experience nightmares.
But they're so cute, though?
A few notes:
Although playful, these creatures may become aggressive if they feel threatened, and it doesn’t take much to startle them. They have a sharp bite that causes many potential symptoms, including a significant drop in body temperature, increased spatial awareness, altered perception of both sound and color, and a short temper. It also seems to enhance feelings of combativeness and a competitive nature in those prone to them, and some individuals may experience nightmares.
But they're so cute, though?
A few notes:
☆ The effects will last 3-5 days. There is no known cure or antidote.
☆ You could always try biting one back...? (mod note: do not do this.)
☆ The creatures will move on in their herd after about a week of terrorizing the local population. They've got places to be!
☆ They would make terrible pets, as their, um, bodily excretions are truly rank, and they will pee on everything and everyone you love. Highly against recommendations.
☆ You could always try biting one back...? (mod note: do not do this.)
☆ The creatures will move on in their herd after about a week of terrorizing the local population. They've got places to be!
☆ They would make terrible pets, as their, um, bodily excretions are truly rank, and they will pee on everything and everyone you love. Highly against recommendations.
❀ HATCHING
When the new Hatchlings emerge from their eggs on the 8th, the Adamant's survivors are as ready as they've ever been! Each newcomer receives a bundle from the community outreach group containing non-gendered toiletries and clothing — which is random in both size and style — and some tubes of protein paste. After a shower, the new hatchling will spend a few days quarantined in an area of the Theatre set up with emergency bunking and privacy screens.
Given the weather, the new Hatchlings are mostly trapped in the basecamp. Anybody up for a rousing game of tic-tac-toe? Ensign Ashley Porter will be flitting around introducing himself to everyone and explaining that he's terribly sorry you're all stuck here! He has a questionnaire prepared for your characters that includes a list of their likes, dislikes, allergies, etc what planet they originally come from and their technology familiarity level. He's also designed a technical fluency guide to help anyone from a less developed world adjust! Isn't he just the best!
A few notes:
Given the weather, the new Hatchlings are mostly trapped in the basecamp. Anybody up for a rousing game of tic-tac-toe? Ensign Ashley Porter will be flitting around introducing himself to everyone and explaining that he's terribly sorry you're all stuck here! He has a questionnaire prepared for your characters that includes a list of their likes, dislikes, allergies, etc what planet they originally come from and their technology familiarity level. He's also designed a technical fluency guide to help anyone from a less developed world adjust! Isn't he just the best!
A few notes:
☆ Your character will at some point be pulled aside and asked about where they're from, what year, any personal information they wish to share, etc. This is not an interrogation, but a friendly chat. Captain Childe has deferred this duty to her various underlings, and she will likely not make an appearance here unless a Hatchling says or does something very interesting or meaningful — if they do, please let us know in the MOD QUESTIONS header!
☆ The NPCs will be as forthcoming about how the Hatchlings have arrived and what they know about the Chrysalis as possible. Unfortunately to both, the answer is 'not much'. They will still try to be transparent about this.
☆ Characters cannot join up with the Security team until they have proven themselves competent and community-oriented to Rémi, but the Engineering division is led by the friendly Thorkil and always needs help. Similarly, the Dr. Hyacinth's Aid Station and the Theatre-cum-Childcare Center are always ready to take on new people! Please read up on these places in the LOCATIONS page if you plan to have your character sign up.
☆ While it's not mandatory that the Hatchlings work, those that don't 'pull their weight' so to speak will find themselves being increasingly shunned by the community, and the quality of their rations and their overall care will decrease. There isn't enough to go around on the best days, much less when someone isn't contributing at all!
☆ The NPCs will be as forthcoming about how the Hatchlings have arrived and what they know about the Chrysalis as possible. Unfortunately to both, the answer is 'not much'. They will still try to be transparent about this.
☆ Characters cannot join up with the Security team until they have proven themselves competent and community-oriented to Rémi, but the Engineering division is led by the friendly Thorkil and always needs help. Similarly, the Dr. Hyacinth's Aid Station and the Theatre-cum-Childcare Center are always ready to take on new people! Please read up on these places in the LOCATIONS page if you plan to have your character sign up.
☆ While it's not mandatory that the Hatchlings work, those that don't 'pull their weight' so to speak will find themselves being increasingly shunned by the community, and the quality of their rations and their overall care will decrease. There isn't enough to go around on the best days, much less when someone isn't contributing at all!
no subject
Message received.
( And then stoically tucked away without dwelling on the moment too hard. Nary a comment on that rain shield, either.
And they're off, marching through wet grass and mud, lacking the sharp acidic bite that usually comes with the gentle, constant sprinkling it's been doing for the last two straight hours. Better than the downpour from this morning, anyway.
A few minutes in not exactly companionable silence passes before he cuts a look over to Sam. )
Where'd you serve?
( Because did you serve isn't a question. )
no subject
walks like a vet. talks like a vet. he's got an m4a1 and he carries it like a soldier, cross-body, muzzle down. the long hair doesn't dispel the sense of it, and he's got the ranger motto tattooed on his arm, sua sponte. it's the oldest one he's got. the coordinates for the al-hajarah came after.
so it doesn't get his back up the way discerning other, more private things about him might. he just works his jaw off to one side, then: ）
Afghanistan, 2002. Iraq after that. 75th Ranger Regiment.
（ the rangers have their own badass cred, but he doesn't say it to brag. at the end of the day, he's not proud of having served, nor the reason he first wanted to. he'd been a dumb kid with an us versus them mentality, caught up in the fervor after 9/11. time tempered that. breaking bread with the families of his unit's translator tempered that. all the things he's learned about the hows and whys of the wars afterwards tempered that.
sam barely likes who he was back then anyway. the military helped to shape him into the man that broke billie's heart, and he can't say he didn't deserve the fallout that followed. ）
no subject
Guess that explains the subtle, nuanced fuck around and find out thing you're putting out.
( By which he clearly means not subtle at all. )
Remind me to hide the soap bars when we get back.
( Does he really think Sam's gonna go Full Metal Jacket on him? No, obviously not. Just trying to irreverently cut the tension with the poise and delicateness of a hamfisted sledgehammer. )
no subject
still, he snorts. ）
You think these people have bars of soap to spare? That's your first mistake.
（ come on, man, they're obviously low on supplies. the comment works — sort of. it does cut the tension, but then there's the joking-but-not implication that he'd actually stoop to that sort of hazing shit, and after a moment: ）
I'm not mad. I just don't like magic.
（ it's not like he's been announcing he's a shifter all over the place either, but the longer he's here the less he cares. it's not earth. ）
no subject
I get it. I mean- ( a huffed-out kind of scoff, tired. ) I really get it.
( Which is wholly counterintuitive to the shit he just pulled, yes. )
Fifteen-years-ago-me probably would've thrown the punch, so. I know where you're coming from.
( The dislike, if not the why. Dean's aversion was rooted in the same thing as most of his worse qualities - an incredibly biased, toxic upbringing. John's ideals were his ideals, set in stone even after the guy died. Some things he's grown on, learned to be more tolerant of. Some things he can't use John Winchester as an excuse for anymore.
His eyes are on the trees as they walk; his attention might be on the conversation, but that doesn't keep him from being alert. It's a particular, practiced kind of multi-tasking most people don't pull off as well as they think they do. Not the case here. )
no subject
（ he's still getting a read on the guy. a detective's intuition coupled with a vet's experience.
they're probably close to the same age, give or take a few years. but sam he doesn't think he's military. there's too much... something going on. the nearest thing he can think of is the shifters that form their own paramilitary groups, but even that doesn't quite fit.
but while they're being forthcoming, and all, might as well ask. ）
no subject
( Tossed out without much commitment, the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Both of which are completely useless as a real explanation, so it doesn't take him more than a beat to throw out the longer version. He wasn't really committed to the whole FBI bit, lost its appeal when it didn't get him anywhere by way of intel. )
I'm a hunter. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. Witches-- ( Followed by an emphatic point and glance at Sam. The biggest offenders of magic there, doesn't take someone familiar with the life to figure that out. ) Witches are gross, it's all... bodily fluid, somebody's puking razorblades, exorcist... spewing... grossness.
( But anyway, back to the point: )
Some stuff only goes down if you know the right string of nonsense bullcrap and light the right candles. But don't get me wrong, that whole--
( Vague hand gesture sweeping in Sam's general direction. )
Thing isn't from back home. That one's a fun present from the last universe I vacationed at.
no subject
he's thinking about tino.
he's thinking about annika.
there's a fine line between an ally and an enemy in uncharted territories, and those long, cold nights in the al-hajarah were proof positive the lines can blur. so after a moment, long enough to be taken simply as his digesting the existence of all the above even in some other, alternate earth, that he decides to just go for it.
leap without looking. when you can fly, it's worth the risk. ）
Seems like you've got an issue with supernatural creatures. You might wind up not liking me much, then.
（ he rolls one shoulder back. the scar tissue pulls, where the bottom lobe of his lung got cut out. ）
no subject
The admission absolutely earns him a wary side-eye, but probably not with the intensity Sam's expecting. )
You murder humans?
( It's clear -- practically telegraphed -- that he strongly suspects he knows the answer to that. The ones that do typically don't just up and out themselves to hunters. Might not be hard to pick up what he's putting down, if you spend more than ten seconds analyzing the question. He's kind of making a point.
That's the deciding factor.
Along with the magic tolerance came the supernatural tolerance. Garth and his family of werewolves, Rowena and everything she did for them, Benny -- Dean would call him a brother. Also, you know, he's almost-banging an angel. He's officially on the other side of the mindless hatred thing. )
no subject
but he knows that's not what's being posed here. and he knows, too, that the reason it's being asked is that it's the deciding factor. still — it isn't like annika can help that she was made. she never wanted to kill anyone.
he lives his life in service. people. ideals. but he puts the shifters first. narrow margin, but the hard truth of it. ）
I like to think I've never killed anyone that didn't deserve it. （ but he has killed. no question of that. it's almost cruel, the way he says it. cold. if this guy's going to be a problem for the supernatural community, he's going to stand in his way. draw the fire. god help him if billie ever got here and heard him talking like this. ） But I guess it depends on your definition of 'deserves'.
（ he's drawn his gun exactly once in almost fifteen years of being a cop, and never fired it. ）
no subject
It's the tone more than the answer that gets something in him shutting down. That 20% stranger-in-the-field wariness comes back, but for wholly different reasons.
He's got no idea what this guy might qualify as deserves, no basis of understanding, no gauge on his moral code.
Truth be told, he was expecting a hard no here - either because it's true, or because he's the type to lie and try to snake by under the radar. Dean can usually pick up on the latter. This deviation's got him off guard.
He eyes Sam a little more keenly, looking for something in his posture. In his microexpressions. Trying to get a good read. One or two quiet seconds pass. )
The day you start snackin' on blondes is the day we got problems.
( Is it a great idea to be throwing out warnings to your mission partner in the alien wilderness where there's a possibility you'll need to depend on them to survive -- provided they don't try to kill you first? Hell no. But he's Dean Winchester. A moron, yeah, but the confidence isn't unfounded. )
cw for child abuse mentions
so sam? got real good, real fast after the war at wiping out his expressions. mean what you say, say what you mean, because kids can always tell.
he doesn't give a damn thing away. let the man look. ）
Not a big fan of blood. Gets in my mouth.
（ ha, ha, funny joke, ha.
nobody's scared of a grown-ass man that can turn into a bird because he can turn into a bird. when most other shifters meet him, they think wolf. dangerous, feral. he lets them. and he's going to let dean wonder too. but he does lean in to the side, closer into dean's space. emphasizing the fact they've got a bit of a size difference going on. sam's used to being the biggest guy in the room. ）
And just for the record, I'm not into blondes.
no subject
When Dean doesn't react to the space invasion, it's not because he's mirroring Sam and making a choice to wipe his face clean. It's more that he's dead inside, and that stature started being meaningless some time between forty years in hell and his juiced up brother sucking down demon blood. )
Well gosh, If I'd have known this was a dick measuring hike I'd have brought my yardstick.
( His tone's a strange mix of cheerful and flat; bouncing on the surface, empty underneath. Good ol' patented 'breaking the obvious tension by sarcastically shitting all over it with his idiot mouth' habit. This time, not because he's angling for a more companionable walk. It's just his obnoxious personality. )
no subject
You'd need one.
（ yards and dicks and jokes, oh my. ）
So long as you don't threaten anyone on my side, I've got no beef.
no subject
You never know. He wouldn't be surprised. It wouldn't be the first time a situation like this abruptly escalated into something life or death. Clearly he's got some issues going on.
This olive branch offering five minutes ago would've gone over a little more seamlessly. Now, he's skeptical of it. Doesn't mean he's gonna outright shoot it down, though. Instead, an even return: )
So long as nobody on your side starts snuffing people, you got a deal.
( He doesn't give a crap if Sam's got fifty vampires in his chess club. He doesn't care if they're feeding on people who volunteer. If somebody shows up exsanguinated, though, he's gonna do what he has to do about it.
A dozen or so yards ahead, the first distinctly obvious tracks lead to a rocky outcropping. )
no subject
（ occasionally, you get a shifter that goes feral. can't turn back. and it's up to the community to find them and put them down. he's hunted his own kind, too. but when he sees the tracks, he drops it. all business. holds up a closed hand, universal code for stop.
the gestures continue: he'll take point, dean can watch his six, and they'll see what's behind door numero uno. ）
no subject
At the end of the day, they both volunteered for this. They're both out here to save people. That's enough for a workable temporary foundation.
It's so professional it's seamless; he knows the gestures. He knows the intentions. He offers up a silent nod before he falls into line, his handgun slipped from its holster and held at the ready. Safety off, but no finger on the trigger yet.
The two people they can eventually spot a few poorly-concealed feet into the cave are obviously civilians. One of them can't be much older than twenty, and it's clear neither of them has the faintest clue how susceptible to danger they could be right now. Irritation thrums through him -- who the hell left these people out without a guard? He's starting to agree with the guy who wanted to throw somebody in a cell for it. )
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so sam slips into the cavern, checks on the people. three civilians, one with a broken leg. they had rain shields, but they got lost in a flash flood, along with most of their supplies. sam listens sympathetically, nodding the whole while, and pulls food and water out of the bag he'd packed in. once they're set up, fed and hydrated as well as they can manage now, sam gestures for dean to follow him back from the entrance a ways.
the rain's coming down now in sheets outside. they can't go back now, unless dean can do that nifty trick on more than just one person.
once they're out of earshot, he gives his head a shake. ）
How much magic mojo you got left?
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His few ambling yards into the cave the first pass got the hair at the back of his neck standing up. He doesn't say a goddamn word about it. Won't do them any good to freak them out any more than they already are. Has to actively repress it as Sam ventures inward, something discontent pulling at his mouth and the muscles between neck and shoulder. )
Plenty, but not for that.
( He says grimly. )
One person every eight or nine hours. Nothing else I got's gonna do us any good here. And we got another problem.
( It's so easy to miss, so innocuous. Could just be the wind.
Except it's coming from the wrong direction. )
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deep.
big. the negative pressure of the inhalation ruffles his shirt collar.
sam shifts where he's standing, just a little. putting himself more squarely between the back of the cave and the civvies. ）
Okay.
（ he scratches a nail along his browbone. triage. no panic, just a steady calm. ）
Take the injured one and the shield, head back to the Basecamp. Grab another team and something with a little more oomph than a pea shooter. I'll babysit.
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Despite their friction, his hesitance with the plan has nothing to do with worrying about leaving Sam alone with them. It's just against his instincts to abandon someone during a situation like this. Walking in the opposite direction of the threat is completely counterintuitive to his gut.
But there's no better play here. Not that he can think of. )
Alright. Don't wake the neighbors.
( The concession's light, and while it's technically a joke there isn't a scrap of real humor to be found in there.
The other two don't voice their feelings when he heads over to start hauling the injured guy up. Even a civilian knows on some innate level that the guy with the broken leg's gonna get carried out first, they don't argue it, but there's a restlessness and an envy underneath the surface that's completely natural for a human being a little afraid for their lives. )
Alright, buddy. Come on.
( But my bag-- )
Don't worry about that right now, you just worry about holding this up while we hobble our asses back to camp, alright? Come on.
( Easy, steady, calm. The kind of reassuring that comes less from outright empathy and more from the sense that this somehow seems routine to him. Like it's no big deal.
One arm over Dean's shoulders, one hand on the rain shield, he lifts--
And the guy doesn't have nearly enough experience with leg injuries to know not to even bother trying to put his foot down. The second it hits the ground he cries out sharply, a guttural pained noise that carries down the passageway.
Dean freezes in place, eyes shooting to Sam, breath held. Something in his expression keeps the other two silent, too. )
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sam meets dean's eyes, and there's that here the fuck we go exchange of team 'been there, done that, bought the t-shirt' styled expressions. and then sam just throws down his duffel bag, unslings the m4 and bolts for the danger. he hopes the get them out is implied, because he isn't going to have time to talk. better some burns from the acid than dealing with whatever the fuck this thing is.
shifters have good night vision. he doesn't need a floodlight to know that the thing that rises up from the floor of the cavern is big, ugly, and has the front-facing eyes of a carnivore. but the cave has high, vaulted ceilings this far back, and he can crow out if he needs to get away. he's grappled with uglier.
he's not about to shoot at it until he knows where it's vulnerable — one mag makes a man conservative — but he does run past it as it lumbers up to its feet. not too fast. okay. and the cave seems to go back a ways, the feeble light from the entrance all but swallowed.
there's a moment where the thing cranes its head towards the entrance. takes a step. it has tentacles coming out of its back that seem to have their own sensory feedback, they wiggle about in the air like cilia, some of them reach in his direction, but the bulk of its attention is focused on the quartet out front.
sam flicks the safety off on the m4 and fires a burst at the creature's center of mass. the rounds ting off it like armour, but it sure as hell gets its attention. all the tentacles swivel about and orient on him, and then the whole of its body starts to turn. one step. two. then one of the civilians gets
the bright
fucking
idea
to throw a rock at it.
bravery, stupidity, call it whatever you want. it's ian malcom with a road flare all over again, and the creature rounds back to the entrance with a roar, and it slams one enormous hand into the cavern wall.
he's been around ordinance and explosions aplenty. worked with his share of engineers. they blew up bridges all over afghanistan and iraq, to say nothing of the other fucking shit they destroyed. you feel those impacts in your bones, they rattle your fucking teeth out of your head. it's hard not to feel awed by the power there, that feels like it could turn your organs to paste.
cave-ins, as it turns out, are very fucking similar. there's a thunderous rumble, and then the earth shakes beneath his boots, and the creature is shrieking and sam goes crow, slips past it, is human again on the other side in time to have the whole fucking thing collapse around them. ）
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MOVE, go, now!
( Ultimately, it's the gunfire that actually gets them moving.
In the wrong friggin' direction. )
No, don't--
( Whatever else he might say is thoroughly drowned out by absolute unfathomable chaos. The guy in Dean's arm wrenches himself away in a moment of unbridled, mindless panic. His flight reflexes are like that of a man in the ocean, shoving anyone and anything down underneath him to keep himself from drowning. All he accomplishes is landing belly-down on the stone floor, but that doesn't stop him from clawing and crawling his way toward the exit.
Dean reaches for him just in time to see a soccer-ball sized hunk of rock drop down from the ceiling and smash his skull.
After that, he can't see much of anything. Dust flies, light snuffs out, screaming fills the room until it's chillingly, abruptly cut off. He kicks his glow into gear for what little light it produces -- right on time for his boots skid to a halt before a tentacle can seize him. He doubles back, ducking under rock and vaulting over crevices, one arm uselessly curled over his own head like it would accomplish anything against a friggin' boulder. It's just instinct.
His blue glow catches something -- something a little shiny, a little reflective -- wet stone. He heads for it immediately; running water means passage worn through rock hopefully. Turns out he's right. He practically shreds his forearms on rock hurrying himself through an awkward and narrow squeeze, but considering the alternative...
Worth it.
He's coughing up a hacking fit, swallowing dust, but yards of dense rock between him and it mean he's tentatively safe enough to concentrate on zapping his ass out.
Or, you know, he would if it weren't for spotting another body at the very edge of his glow's range. )
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he doesn't remember getting knocked down, but the ache in his shoulder and side sure testify to it having happened as he slowly picks himself up. shakes his head. coughs out the dust. he can still hear the creature in the distance, screeching in a way that's like knives in his mind, but it seems to be on the other side of the rocks.
sam rubs at his temple, which is itching faintly, and his fingertips come away slick. cool story. he sees the dull blue glow, but it means he can't make out who or what it's coming from. he assumes one of the humans. so: ）
You good?
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No. A cave just fell on me.
( There's a casualness somewhere behind that dry, clipped answer. No heat, no trauma, no significant ailments in the tone, just gruff annoyance. )
You?
( Here's hoping that mojo he threw on the guy actually did some kind of something, and he didn't get a broken something from falling rocks. Not exactly like they've got a lot on hand to triage any wounds. )