singillatim | Part One: The Cabin

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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.

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Sansa's about to place a message of her own on the common boards when she comes upon a man who seems — out of sorts.

He looks worse for wear, scarred perhaps more than she can immediately see, and thinner than he should be at his age. Nothing so different from what the smallfolk might look back home when the cold weather is at its worst, Sansa thinks to herself, but she doesn't think Milton is at the point of starvation that things would be so dire. And— has she seen him before? She's certain she hasn't, but she hasn't met every Interloper yet either.

Sansa approaches, making her steps ring clear in the quiet. "Are you looking for something, ser?"

His ears still work, even if he's distracted for a moment reading some of the other signs posted up - but her footsteps are an appreciated alert, prompting him to look back at her quickly.

His face is stern, for a moment - scowling against the cold, or the information he's not finding - but when he locks eyes with her it instantly shifts to surprise. Then concern, pity, and a grim determination in rapid order, settling finally on a tired smile. "Just getting my bearings. I'm new, I'm afraid." He pulls a gloved hand out from his pocket to offer to her. "Arthur Lester."

Venat has seen no real reason to post anything to the board as of yet. She is here, and yet, she knows her people to be long gone, and she can only hope that her champions will return to her star. Instead, she has been reading the other messages, and when the rough-looking man puts his message up, she almost doesn't recognize Arthur from the woods (and the pit).

She too has found some better, warmer clothes but there is no hiding that stark white hair and the glowing blue eyes. She reads the message on the board, curious at the manner in which it is posted, before gently offering a greeting.

"Glad I am to meet you on more level ground, Arthur. Do you fare well?"

"Oh- Venat, hello."

He's a little surprised she recognised him, actually, but she's truly distinct, and he offers her a wan smile. "Y-yes, I'm... better, now that I'm not, er. W-well, in the bottom of any more damn holes."

He turns to face her, hands in his pockets, trying to ignore his own message despite his urge to fuss with it some more. "How about you? Coping well, so far?"

Don't let the ethereal vibe fool you, Arthur. She has done a lot of watching over the centuries.

"I yet draw breath," she says, her tone warm, "and each new day dawns after the last. There is still much to learn of this place; mysteries upon mysteries seem woven through every inch of this world and darkness obscures much. Far less mysterious is the work that stands before us. That, at least, I am thankful for."

Hickey stays away from the community center more often than not. He knows that Kate isn't living there anymore, but it's a force of habit. She used to live there, he tries to avoid her, he doesn't go there. Easy enough. But it's useful to swing by the message board every now and then. Occasionally, someone will post something of interest to him.

As Hickey looks over Arthur's shoulder in an incredibly nosy manner, he very quickly decides that this note absolutely is not of interest to him. This too shall pass? Well yeah, but it'll be rough until it passes. That's just as important. Besides, for some people here, this too shall not pass. After all, Hickey's acutely aware of just how many people died a few months ago.

Still, he's a nosy shit. So don't mind him as he looks over at Arthur's note to ask, "Who the fuck is JD?"

He doesn't mind the staring as much as he's accepted it's inevitable, so the urge to shove Hickey is allowed to pass unanswered.

Hickey himself just gets a dry look.

"A friend. I don't know if he's here, but I figure if he is then there's a message he'll understand, so he knows I am too."

That gets a short huff.

"Yes, well. Survival is at least the one thing most of us ought to agree on here. If nothing else we have that much as a common goal, hopefully it ought to keep everyone mostly civil."

Though he's got plenty of experience to the contrary, as well.

Raylan was out and about, raiding houses for food and whiskey, nails or tools, or anything he might find useful to stuff into the duffle bag that he carries over his far shoulder, strap cutting into his long wool jacket. Behatted and kept company by a puppy that has socks tied over up onto its legs, he slows as he watches the lone man dig into the remains of the house.

After a minute, Raylan heads that way, making his pace slow and even enough to catch the man on his way back from dropping off his latest find of wood.

"Hey. You doin' okay? Need any help?"

Thankfully the man's approach gives Arthur plenty of warning, and he does glance up frequently when he's working to watch him approach, wary but not defensive.

But the southern accent surprises him, when they're finally close enough to talk properly, and he straightens a little more once he puts his latest load down.

"I, er. I wouldn't say no, certainly." He offers a thin smile. "I'm- I-I suppose it's obvious I'm new here, then?"

The permission given lets him walk closer, shifting the weight of the duffle from his hip to his back forwards. Goose starts barking, uneasy and young, but Raylan gently shushes him and bends enough to rub his fingers together, summoning the barking puppy forward to get some reassurance.

"Hey, stop that." Goose only barks once more before falling quiet and is given a 'good boy' for his control.

Back to the man. He offers an apologetic smile that stays easy on his features before nodding at the question.

"Yeah. Not a whole lotta people around here. New faces stand out. But don't worry, that'll trade down real quick as a fact to be concerned about." The duffle is pulled off and set down as he continues. "Only just wearing off my own New. Raylan Givens. Nice to meet you. What're we harvestin' wood for?"

Edited 2024-09-05 00:29 (UTC)

If anything, the way Arthur's expression softens suggests he's slightly charmed by Goose, and gives a soft, warm huff at the quiet 'good boy'. It does a lot to ease his own tension, honestly.

"Arthur Lester," he replies in turn. "You too. I-I was, er." He lifts a hand to gesture at the intact building next door. "I was looking for pieces to cover the windows, er- reinforce it, somewhat, as a place to stay. Anything that doesn't fit the task, I'll be keeping as firewood. Seemed wiser to get it all sorted out early while I had the energy."

"Somethin' that definitely calls for two hands. This cold'll take a lot out of a man. You mind if Goose hangs out inside? I promise he won't shit anywhere, but I'd like to keep him outta the wind when I can, where he can heat up a little."

Goose was content now, to lean against Raylan's leg and watch them talk, bright blues bouncing back and forth like he was following the conversation.

"Oh- y-yes, yes, of course. There's no fire yet, but it's certainly warmer inside than out here, regardless." That's just practicality, to him; it didn't make sense to keep the fire going when he wasn't there to watch it, not until he felt a bit safer here. "And I appreciate the help, truly. I-I can't really give you anything for it, though, just yet..."

"Nah, don't worry about that," he remarks with a gentle wave of his hand. "Startin' out here is rough. I sure as hell wouldn't be here without some people helpin' me when I had nothing. Be right back."

His attention turns downward. "Okay Goose, c'mon." Couldn't let the poor guy be surprised by his leaning post suddenly moving. Goose hops up and follows Raylan easily with a few curious glances back but otherwise quiet as he was ushered into the front door. With long legs came the ability to cover ground pretty quickly, so it didn't take long before he was back.

"Speakin' of-" he continues without missing a beat, squatting down and getting into that duffle. "This'll go easier with a tool." A couple of hammers were produced and Raylan couldn't help but flip one as he hands it over.

"This gonna be your first night here?"

The flip gets a slight smirk, but he catches it readily in his right hand, flipping it himself to get a better grip on it.

"My third, actually," he admits, before scooting carefully back through the edges of the debris to some floorboards he'd been tearing up. "I mostly just- needed to rest, after I arrived, and I suppose yesterday was... coming to terms with being here. But I can't just- sit around and mope forever, really. Got to-" He grunts sharply as he wedges a board up with his boot, loosening the nails to get at with the hammer. "Got to keep moving forwards at some point."

"Better that you took the time," he agrees with a nod, looking at the mess in front of him to decide which one he wanted to tackle first. The great Southern Art of Staring at a problem for a minute before starting it.

"Once you get the run down of this place, it can be a lot. Then again, magic isn't somethin' I'm used to, to start with but I imagine even if you happen to be used to it, this is some kinda deep end."

He steps up into the house and starts pulling some trash wood away to clear himself some room before squatting down to work at a damaged piece of wood that would give him clearance to pry at something better.

"It is something I've... become used to, in recent months," he admits. "I wasn't aware it was real when I was younger, but I was rather forcibly stripped of the notion when it came crashing down my office door." He gives a short huff, as he yanks his prize free of the floor. "Even the concept of- of other universes, other realities with different rules, I-I've had some- first-hand experience with, on multiple occasions."

He stands upright, throwing the plank back towards the footpath, well clear of Raylan. "The problem I've been encountering, honestly, is that- the being who subject me to all of that is very much the kind who would take joy in all of this, but I haven't heard word of him since."

"Sounds like you're ahead of the pack then. Not that it's a particularly good thing, I suppose, dependin' on your view of regular reality," he grants, finally finding his purchase with the hammer and pulling up, wood and nails groaning as they give way a little.

"Though wouldn't bein' rid of the person who got you into it be a good thing? Why's that a problem? Save for you bein' stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"Better the devil you know, Mr Givens," he huffs wryly. "Kayne may have been a right bastard, but at least I knew I couldn't trust him. I've yet to learn anything about this place, except for that whatever this Darkwalker being is, it's killing people by some as-of-yet unknown means, functionally scaring them to death."

He pauses briefly, looking over the wood for his next target. "I encountered the Doctor here, quite shortly after I arrived. He was extremely forthcoming."

[Continued from TDM!]

Arthur's eyes narrow for a moment as confusion completely overwhelms him.

"What on Earth..."

His hanging mouth opens, presses shut, and he shakes his head.

"I'm sure that I could say the same thing about whatever time you're from, you realise."

"No threat can make all civil," she notes with some wryness. "For in crisis do different eyes see different solutions before them. Thus far, however, all seem in alignment on the most basic of needs. The greater conflicts yet lay ahead."

She tips her head to one side.

"All is well for thee regarding such concerns?"

"Yeah, if you're looking for someone, it's better to put their full name?" Just saying. It's obvious as hell to Hickey. Just putting down initials makes him think that Lester's trying to hide something—probably the full name of JD? What, is this guy a murderer or something? Why would he hide the full name?

It's curious. And Hickey kind of wants answers.

"I know a JD myself. John Diggle, ship's cook. It's probably not your JD, but how'm I supposed to know that if I'm just looking at the note?"

"If it's not for him, then it won't make sense and so it won't matter," he points our flatly. "Definitely not my John."

And since it's half-out anyway, and he can practically feel Hickey ready to pounce on that opening, he just rolls his eyes. "It's John Doe."

"Oh, us? The 70s? We're completely screwed. You could say anything and you'd probably be right."

He shrugs.

"The real question is where you're from. America, yeah?"

Edited 2024-09-05 19:38 (UTC)

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Part One: The Cabin

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make yourself seen

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For March

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