Event | Landfall | Bresilyk | Countryside

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all!
Date: December 3 - 11, 2013
Location: Bresilyk countryside (landfall)
Situation: Tu Vishan makes landfall at the winterbound republic of Bresilyk!
Warnings/Rating: Please include warnings in comment subject lines

OOC Post | Approved Items | Special Gifts
Aihsohlow | Phorezton | Markutte | Countryside

The countryside is layered with snow that is up to four meters deep, all fallen within the past two months as a cold season falls upon the country. There are numerous roads in between towns and small, domed minesteads and each road is oddly clear of snow and ice. Closer inspection reveals that the surfaces are heated by some technology buried beneath the black surfaces. Occasional construction crews can be seen tearing up or laying down new surfacing over a web of thick, coated wires that presumably provide the heat. Snow is often found sculpted near crossroads, taking artistic shape in anything from beautifully arched sculptures to recreations of local fauna.

Wildlife can be spotted here and there, with a large herd of antlered beasts making their way across the snowy grounds. Webbing between their toes (yes, toes) allows each of the large, white animals to traverse upon the snow-tops with barely a print left in their wake. Hunting parties can be seen chasing after the fringes of this herd while wearing some sort of hovering harness and it is evident that the beasts are a primary source of meat for the people. Birds flit back and forth, a few predatory mammals can be spied at the edges of the icebound forests, and there are a variety of serpentine pets kept by residents fortunate to live in the warmer domed towns.

Speaking of towns, the three within the barrier's reach are spaced roughly twenty kilometres away from one another, forming a triangle of commerce that sustains each. Aihsohlow represents the southernmost town, Phorezton the northernmost, and Markutte the northeastern one. There are a variety of small minesteads in between that would greet travellers, but only reluctantly allow them into their homes. Stories abound of troubles outside the domes and they are not apt to invite said troubles inside.

Roadways | Minesteads | Other

Comments

[wintershepherd]

[ Shit, shit what do I do? Jack thinks, unwelcome panic piling into the already cold cavity of his chest as Spock huddles in a pile . His eyes rake across the snowy field and settle on one of the small domed structures that pepper the landscape, a few hundred yards away. Spock doesn't look like he's in any condition to walk even that far without help though. ]

There's a house, come on. It's not far, I'll help you.

[ He reaches again, more determined this time and when Spock mentions rampant thoughts he pulls up mental shields like Kyle taught him, months of training in the clinic's extra rooms until the Lantern had been satisfied with his skill. ]

[dow]

[ Unfortunately for Jack, an amateur in mental acrobatics, Spock's telepathy shreds those wards and forces a wealth of near-violent enthusiasm through into the spirit's mind as he leans on him heavily. Vulcans prefer logic over emotion, he tries to convey through the cloying, heavy connection. We feel too much, too deeply. More than any human. It's a possessive and angry brand of freedom that tries to will itself to the surface, that which ancient Vulcans before The Awakening felt. If he allows himself to be wildly happy to do whatever he wants, no one can stand in his way.

Stumbling along, he lets himself be guided after ascertaining from Jack's mind in which direction to go. ]

[wintershepherd]

[ It hits him like a punch in his gut and he's glad he doesn't need to breathe because there's no way he would have been able to at that moment. High above them the wind vaunts and the air crackles with dry static as the temperature starts to plunge and the damp air from the sea evaporates in the sudden arctic downdraft.

But somewhere between the giddy, electric energy suffusing him and the untamed, vicious urge of me, me, me (dawning realization, shock, guilt -- it's his magic, he only just realizes, but his magic cranked up to a thousand, Fun on steroids) he's able to find himself again. He's been that wild fey thing, ridden that high for days on end. The temperature levels again and somehow they're only fifty yards now from the edge of the dome. ]

Hey! Is someone home! Can we... can my friend rest for a little? He's not feeling well.

[dow]

[ And because Jack figures it out, Spock follows the same train of thought. The snow. The snow did this, it owns other elements. That's as far as he gets; the homestead is thankfully empty (the auctions are very popular at this time of day) when Spock plants a flat palm on the door and shoves it flat, right off its hinges with a snap-crack of wood and iron to bang off the floor. As dust-motes rise in the air, he moves indoors to the couch. ]

Jack. [ Sitting down, he rubs at his eyes. ] I must enter a healing trance in order to regain control of my emotions. My bioreadings will lower. Use the tricorder if you grow concerned. Do you understand?

[wintershepherd]

[ How do you think I'm not already concerned is the incredulous reaction but he nods once because he has no idea what else to do. ]

Wait, just one sec. Let... let me try to...

[ He's never done this, he's never had to. He reaches out but not with the intent to touch, but almost as though to grasp something intangible that was just beyond his reach. Blue eyes blazed with concentration for a moment, drawn down upon a single determined outcome. ]

[dow]

[ Difficult as it is to maintain a hold on where his emotions begin and end, it won't be until later that Spock understands where the fresh surge of fear came from during their journey into the homestead. When Jack tries to ... whatever it is, some of the force abates and Spock breathes as if punched to the gut, relief in a bowed head leaving only exhausted lethargy in the wake of so much powerful compulsion. ]

Thank you. [ Better. He has been so, so long in the snow. ] Strike me later, hard, if I cannot ... wake myself. You will have a limited time to bring me back to consciousness once my heart-rate increases.

[ He raises his head and regulates his breathing around ten seconds later, eyes rolling up under closing lids. Spock's entire weight crumples as he enters the trance and he slumps heavily to one side on the cushioning. His heartbeat slows and already cooler-than-normal skin plummets in temperature, cold as a human as he puts all his energy into healing the wounded cavity in his mind. His last conscious thought calls to Jim, and then his system shuts down. ]

[wintershepherd]

[ The suddenness of how it takes over is startling and Jack is glad there was at least cushioning under him. Remembering how Spock shied away from his touch before, Jack nonetheless can hardly leave him like that, a marionette with no strings so he risks grasping the Vulcan's arms and legs in turn to maneuver him into a properly horizontal position. A blanket is pulled from the nearest bed (he'll have so much apologizing to do later, to these homeowners) and Spock's covered up before Jack retreats again, hoping he's not caused more harm.

He shoulders the door back into place and ices makeshift hinges to hold it secure, returns to sit on the floor nearby the tranced Vulcan, hands fisting anxiously across the old wood of his staff as he waited. ]

[jirk]

[The bond always managed to feel perfectly natural in his mind. Something new and a little weird, but it's never actually managed to breach the territory being of something unwanted. It's like adjusting to a new sense, some new spectrum of colour that human eyes couldn't catch before. Even after their little-- (Jim generously labels it a misadventure in his mind) it's settled well enough. Sometimes it's open, sometimes it's closed, but it's always there and he's always peripherally aware of it.

More aware now than usual. It hits him when he's doing scrollwork on one of the ornaments for his Christmas tree exhibit and the chisel slips against the wood, creating a long score in the bow of the miniature Enterprise he's been working on.

For a moment he stares at it in shock. Worry and uncertainty and - fear? Press in on his mind and he thinks about Marcus, about losing crewmembers through a scar much like this one, ripped through the framework of the Enterprise-- the flashback is so intrinsic, so real that he has to sit down and remind himself to breathe.

Where's it coming from? The anxiety? Not his. He was fine. Spock? It doesn't work, there's something stopping him. The bond is fraught with -- emotion, too many of them, way too many, and Jim tries to reach for it, to steady and stabilize it with every trick he's ever learned about the mind, but it's not enough. He feels Spock call to him, but it feels like listening to someone in a sandstorm, trying to hear over the rush and heat of a sirocco. Throat choked with dust, eyes shuttered with grit, it's all too much and Jim can only reach out blindly.

Enough to find his location.

He stands, mechanical, and doesn't even grab his jacket on the way out the door. He's pretty sure his car couldn't handle the snow on the mainland, though he tosses himself into it in and fires it up for the race to the edge of the turtle. He parks it near the edge of the flipper, pulls the keys and runs the rest of the way.

He's always been a good endurance runner, but through the deep snow it still takes him a while to get there, tentatively checking the bond now and then to make sure he's going in the right damn direction. It leads him to one of the domed houses, and without even thinking about it he pushes the door open.]

[dow]

[ He's never had to go into the healing trance before and so it holds his complete attention, unable to respond to the feel of Jim pushing through the bond. Those are simply hands pressing against a thick tapestry, shut out and indistinct. He's still aware of them and everything in his immediate vicinity but to look a him you wouldn't think it apparent.

Spock is on his back where Jack has moved him, covered with a blanket. His hair has dried with kinks in it from the snow and his olive skin is pale, cool like a human, the beat of his heart slow and almost negligible as he centers his entire being on mending the painful wound in his mind. So, he doesn't respond when Jim rushes in. He says nothing, still and silent as the grave. ]

[wintershepherd]

[ Jack likewise hasn't moved from his place seated on the floor, listening to the barely-there breathing that he could still hear in the absence of his own. His staff was clenched in one hand, the tricorder in the other and white knuckled on both. Spock had said use this but he had no idea how, trusting only that it would make some kind of warning if things went south. He doesn't dare leave and that means he can't

The door bangs open, the ice-made hinges shattering and he jumps to his feet, ready to defend if necessary. When he sees who it is however, he sags. ]

Jim...

[jirk]

[He takes everything in with a single look, and his brow creases in a frown. He's not sure what to think of Jack being here. There's something about him that Kyle doesn't like, and there's not much that can set the Lantern on edge quite like that. He has his suspicions, but he doesn't voice them. Instead, he just gives Jack a level look.]

What happened?

[He's not going to explain his uncanny Lassie-sense in regards to Spock's state or his whereabouts. Captain's intuition, if anyone asks.]

[wintershepherd]

[ It doesn't even occur to Jack to wonder how Jim found them in this place, not with everything else crowding his thoughts (later he'll be curious but decide he has no right to ask, especially not now) and he immediately lowers his staff. The clipped question is direct and becks the same forthrightness in response. ]

The sn-- I made him sick. From being out in the snow, there's...

[ The tricorder is practically shoved under Jim's nose, please use this, please tell me he's all right. ]

He said he was "emotionally compromised" and that he needed to go into a trance to fix it and that was hours ago and I don't know what else to do.

[jirk]

Jack. Jack. Look at me. It'll be fine, all right? Spock's good at this kind of thing, he'll be fine.

[It's said with perfect assurance and is of course completely sincere. Even his expression doesn't betray his concern, the cold grip of fear that settles in his gut. Emotional compromise. Sometimes he thinks that a Vulcan could use those words as an expletive. He takes the tricorder with a sense of curious detachment, but doesn't use it yet. He can feel Spock's mind, a bare whisper. He knows he's there, and that he'll be all right.

Or maybe that's hope, clouding his judgement.]

Who's place is this?

[He changes the subject, trying to get Jack to focus on something else while Jim figures the rest of it out in the back of his mind.]

[wintershepherd]

[ The reassurance does help, unknotting some of the fear that feels like a claw around his throat. The spirit looks around the small house and rubs the back of his neck as though trying to dissipate some of the stresses piled there. ]

I don't know. There wasn't anyone here... we kind of broke in.

[jirk]

[He uses Jack's looking around as an opportunity to surreptitiously use the tricorder to scan Spock. Satisfied that the readings are as normal as they should ever be for some Vulcan ritual, he sets it aside and looks around the house. There's nothing to indicate the family's out for just a quick jaunt - no pots simmering on the stove, while it's warm it's not lived-in warm. Could be the owners are out in one of the big cities?]

I figure they'll be out of here a while. It should be all right. See if they have any unopened mail or something so we can get their names and track them down if they're in a city, we'll owe them a favour after this.

[wintershepherd]

[ He nods, setting the staff aside tentatively before shouldering the door back into place, fingers dancing over the hinges to ice another temporary set. Then he heads for the kitchen (he assumes that's where people keep mail, he doesn't know, he's never had his own), simply glad to be doing something. Jim doesn't seem outwardly alarmed by Spock's current state and Jack isn't sure how to take that. He picks through the drawers of a Rhook wooden hutch, seeking envelopes or the like. ]

What if it's written in a language we can't read...

[jirk]

Then we find someone who can. Man, are you always this pessimistic?

[It's another distraction. Jim's fingers skirt around the edges of the tricorder and he casts another neutral look towards his XO. Only his hands betray his tension.]

[wintershepherd]

I-- no. Sorry, I'm just... worried.

[ Jack closes his mouth with an almost audible sound, going back to digging in the drawer. Eventually he pulls out a few sheets that look like a half-finished letter and addressed envelope. ]

Here... this might work.

[ He lays them on the table, smooths them out with careful fingers and like the tricorder, it is a distraction. Takes an unneeded breath, whistles it out in a little curl of frosted air. ]

It's never hurt anyone before. I didn't-- realize.

[jirk]

Didn't realize what?

[He says it casually, setting the tricorder down on the table so he can glance over the papers he found. True enough, it's in no language he can read, but the way it's laid out makes sense, and he's confident that they can find someone to translate in the city.]

[wintershepherd]

That I was even doing it.

[ A glance stolen out the window at the drifts of snow outside the dome, then back at Spock's prone form. ]

I just felt... happy, to have somewhere new to fly. There's only so many trips out to the shell's edge you can take before you start feeling like it's the same. I wasn't trying to put any magic into it Jim, I swear, I know I'm not allowed.

[dow]

[ With a few hours on the clock within his healing trance, Spock's chest begins to rise and fall with greater constancy, his chin tilting to the side as he begins to surface out of the mental lockdown. It's more than difficult to resettle his mind into his body and he otherwise makes no move after a disorientated first attempt. ]

[jirk]

[Jim's about to reply when Spock shifts, and Jim reacts instinctively, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him, to call him back. He's not sure if using the bond right now would be a good thing or not, so he refrains unless Spock initiates, and his brow is just slightly furrowed. Finally, to Jack,]

We'll talk about this later. I'm not mad, okay?

[wintershepherd]

[ Jack's eyes widen slightly as Spock's breathing finally changes, what had been white noise again seeming loud in the room. When he doesn't do anything beyond shift though, the spirit's brow furrows. ]

He said to hit him hard, if he can't wake up, that there wouldn't be much time once he started coming around. Those were the words he used. Should we...?

[dow]

[ Almost on cue, listening in distantly, Spock sighs at length and turns his head to the hand on his shoulder. ]

Strike me.

[jirk]

[WOW WHAT no not gonna happen excuse you. Jim's fingers flex in surprise against Spock's shoulder, and his mouth thins. Getting in a fight? Fine, whatever, self-defense is normal even if Spock could (can, has) flatten him in one.

(He thinks about the way he looked with the Gorn venom in his system, one eye nearly black, and that frown deepens. It was necessary, back then.)

But Jim doesn't hit people - his friends - unless he has to, and he's not going to start now. It's a dark road he's not and will never be interested in going down. Always another way.

He flings open the mental door to their bond and just dumps the force of his personality into it like an intravenous transfusion. The James Kirk equivalent to a bucket of ice water to the face. And through it all, it's an anchor point. Jim saying, come home. And maybe a faint echo, I'm not going to hit you, are you crazy?]