singillatim | Part One: The Cabin

Who: Arthur Lester and others
What: Adjusting to life and vision
When: Late August/Early Sept
Where: Largely Milton generally

Content Warnings: Catch-all warning for Malevolent content (Lovecraftian horror et al) and spoilers through S5

Getting by on getting by (Early on)

It took Arthur a few days for it to really sink in.

It was one thing to know that John wasn't there, that he had his vision back, his arm and leg and was expected to just. Learn how to survive all over again, in a new town in a new world in an environment he had only ever associated with death and hardship, not least of all his own.

It was another entirely to make peace with the fact: to finish smashing the mirrors in his claimed cabin and screaming for Kayne until his voice went hoarse. Either the god wasn't listening or couldn't hear him, and Arthur wasn't sure which was worse.

This too shall pass. And if it didn't, then he'd fucking well learn to live with it. Just like everything else.

The house next to his had been half demolished by something in the past, which left him with plenty of lumber to wade through the ruins and collect, ripping it loose with his gloved hands if he has to, and board over the bottom storey windows of his own cabin. And an empty house across the street provided blankets aplenty to throw over his shoulders, and haul awkwardly back to cut to shreds and insulate the windows inside.

(It also gave him a quite stellar view of the community centre, so. Something to stare at and make notes on, memorise the silhouettes when he needed a break.

Anything but thinking.)

Make Yourself Seen (September)

After that, he hasn't got much excuse to avoid people.

He'd met a few people already, but this time he's rugged up securely in scavenged clothes, hiding his malnourished frame. Not much to be done about the rough sand scars across his right temple, but at least he could hide his ruined ear beneath a knit hat and pray no-one asked much further.

So he starts actively hanging around. Exploring Milton properly. There's plenty of people to meet, it seems like, even if all he does is loiter around the message board. He does eventually pin something there, nondescript and no-nonsense about it, before he walks away.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Certainly not myself, no," he chuckles, squatting down again and ignoring the quiet protest of both knees. "I-I actually only got into the whole business because of my partner, Peter Yang. And of course he was never going to be a policeman, so."

Of course, like it's self-evident, a blindingly obvious fact he doesn't need to elaborate on.

"But if that shouldn't be a problem here, then- well, it certainly makes working together easier. Get all of the curious bastards pointed in the right direction, we're better than any damn sniffer dogs. Especially if there's more of us that have experience with the supernatural."

"All the same flavor of 'used to bullshit', I'd say. Might even be even on stake outs, if you ever wanted to compare." No one ever did, they just wanted to talk about how shitty those three or so days were.

"But that's what I figure. Enough people askin' enough questions, we're sure to hit on the right one sooner or later, and smart people askin' questions is how we got those talismans. You heard about the occultists yet?"

A muscle tightens in his jaw before he can help himself, with a too-even breath.

"Not the local ones, no. I'm plenty familiar with cultists back home, mind you."

Raylan hums an interested note, eyebrows lifting with the sound as he settles on his hunches, eyes taking in Arthur's general everything.

"Yeah? You might be helpful in that area then. All I know is that they're bat shit crazy. Talkin' about the Darkwalker comin' to consume us all. I can't decide if their fanaticism is based in reality or their own twisted head. They started out as protestors against industry, apparently. No idea why they are the way they are now - the forest, mountains can do that to a man, but it takes time. Trauma. Both of which they got here, I guess."

"The Darkwalker itself, perhaps," he comments flatly. "Look, gods like these, they don't leave their followers unscathed. Regardless of supernatural influence, this thing is obviously corrupting these people's minds - have they been harmful, to the rest of us, or just sticking to their own crowd?"

Raylan winces a little at the question. He wasn't going to lie or sugarcoat their situation - either Arthur would understand the position that the community was in or he'd find someone who could explain it better than Raylan could, probably. Raylan disagreed with a lot of the actions that had been taken, but he'd also just gotten here. Wasn't his place.

"They've been tradin' shots with Young Bill, over at Lakeside, breakin' into stores, stealin' shit. I don't have all the pieces of those particulars, but there was a town meetin' around if we should go after their food stores, hidden out in the trees and take them for ourselves, explore Lakeside more, push into their territory. Afraid the community chose that route.. And then someone went and got stupid and kidnapped one of their numbers. That one I missed completely but it's knowledge around town."

Raylan wasn't going to mention the rest of it, of the young Levi kid apparently almost killing the Forest Talker, but he hadn't dug into that. He didn't know how much stock to put in it and trust was low here.

"It's gonna come to a head at some point."

Edited 2024-09-10 01:53 (UTC)

It was a fairly diplomatic answer, all things considered, but it was thorough, and Arthur appreciates his candour immensely.

"It's a turf war, now," he summarises flatly. "You're certainly right - I'm familiar with the sort of- of gang mindset, as well - there's no doubt going to be repercussions from that, if there haven't been already."

He looks back at his house, and grimaces. "You know, I was only doing this because if I was going to live alone, it just felt sensible. Now it feels... more prudent, I suppose."

Some of the tension goes out of Raylan's shoulders in relief at hearing Arthur get it, the full picture in a nice succinct frame.

"Better that you're ready for the worst, in any case. Especially here. Speakin' of, we should probably make sure you get a weapon or somethin'. How do you feel about axes and knives? There's guns about too, but those are harder to find and ammunition remains on the rarer side. Not to say it can't be found of course, but rare enough that I'm savin' all mine for dire emergencies. Huntin' is bein' done old school."

Without any ceremony or fuss, he reaches inside his outer coat to pull his knife out of his belt and display it - a black blade, glossy in a way that might suggest stone rather than metal and glints unpleasantly. The word knife is far less applicable than sacrificial dagger.

"I came here with this one, actually. And I know how to use it." A simple statement of fact. "I also know how to use a gun, a-as well as maintain it, if you do happen to see me with one." He tucks his knife away again. "Don't let the accent fool you - I'm more than capable of holding my own when push comes to shove."

"I don't tend to judge people on their accents, lest I be judged on mine." He follows the statement with a wry smirk and a nod.

"But good. You'll likely be puttin' it to use, one way or another. Seems to match the general theme around here." Dark and creepy, though it looked more than serviceable. Raylan finishes pulling another plank and hucks it to the side.

"Milton ain't exactly Vegas, but the community ain't bad. Helpful sorta people when things aren't hittin' the fan. There've been.. incidents before."

Part One: The Cabin

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