Fantasy FROZENSTEAM: Steampunk Survival RP

[idalie]

The year is 1886, the world plummets into a new ice age. After a small meteorite hit the eastern shores of Australia, triggering their shared tectonic line already under stress, a series of Indonesian volcanoes erupt in 1884. Scientists had been doubtful since the start, knowing there shouldn’t have been such a massive eruption due to a simple quake but it was accepted so. Coriolis Force (Cyclonic weather systems) drove the Indonesian volcanic ashes to Britain and the rest of the world, causing a long-term volcanic winter. Its effect on the atmosphere causes massive drops in temperature, aided by the jetstream descending to become a polar vortex -- whilst scientists panickedly note the Earth’s magnetic field is shifting.

Thus humanity in the midst is due a culling. The delicate environment on Earth only needed a nudge.

People flocked to the Equator for survival, perishing in the hysteria and overpopulation which quickly dilapidated resources. You are the survivors who were sent out to build the last few safe havens in the Northern Hemisphere to wait it out. The already arctic conditions proved heavy on supplies and machinery, but you powered through. Hand in hand nations clung on. London was crippled. Beijing hidden beneath snow. Australia blackened. America perishing. Your expedition left you in Norway. Traversing the frozen seas by sled and locomotive. You helped build this city, your fathers did, your mothers did.

“It must not fall.” The words were drilled into your head.

But our city did fall. It crumbled and decomposed. There was a revolution where the disgruntled, cold workers overpowered the engineers and captain, the generators were overtaxed and exploded under pressure. People begin eating the dead to survive.

A group of the survivors from the fallen New London; American, English, Scandinavian, and other, now must pull together holding onto the slivers of rumours that somewhere is an Eden. Safety.

We must survive.
​

RULES:
- This is a casual/detailed roleplay. I will be expecting 2 paragraphs of five lines, per reply. One-liners will be warned.
- Your character may die although feel free to make another! Just ensure it's not too similar to the last!
- I control the environment and random events. Please do not attempt enacting a large scale event without consulting me first.
- No OP characters or Mary Sues!
- Conflict in the roleplay stays in the roleplay, no OOC fights.
- This will contain themes of death and violence, if you are not comfortable with this, don't join!
- Have fun! Talk to me about anything you need or want to know!

 

[idalie]

Outskirts of New London
18th February 1886, 11:40 AM
Current Temp: -36°C/-32.8°F
5 Hours to Sundown​

You can smell it. The charred flesh on the wind, like fatty pork spitting on an open flame. It makes your belly growl before you can stop it, sick to the stomach at your own reaction. Houses are burning, the screaming continues. People are lying over corpses on the street with knives, shaving off pieces of meaty calves and forearms. The snow is red. New London is finished, but you realised that the moment the riots overturned both the church and the policing forces. By chance or by warning, you got yourselves outside of the city or near enough to the outskirts the blast spared you. But now, gazing upon our once fair civilisation, survival rears its ugly head. You cannot blame the hungry, nor can you blame the angry. For the cold bites, it consumes, and eventually, it turns men into monsters. You can still hear the speech; the Captain of the expedition gave it to you and a hundred other hopeful faces. 'The city must survive, no matter the cost.'

How selfish we must be to doom our own kind.

The screaming is getting quieter now and the sky is an uncanny blue. Snow clouds hang in the distance, dark and looming as they inch ever closer; the same sight you dreaded when this age of ice began -- even more so now, lacking shelter from the oncoming storm. Wrap tightly in your coats, children, for the ice is a cruel mistress. New London sits in a low basin, it is up to you, to find a way out. The elevators leading up and over have ceased working. Fix them and avoid the havoc of the rioting; there are no laws now.

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o’erflow with wine,
Let well-turned words amaze
With harmony divine. ​

CAPTAIN EDWARD KINGSLEY
Kingsley dragged on the thick, padded coat over his threadbare military jacket, looping the buttons and pulling the belt around it tight. His breath came out in clouds of condensation, fogging the air as he tugged down his snow-goggles only to have them on his forehead; pushing back the loose strands of hair which had lost its hold on the wax-grease product. Edward tied his sabre down on the belt, holstering the blade whilst picking up his wooden sledge and a larger rucksack cobbled together out of animal hide, wrapped in tougher furs and hitched up on his shoulders. Big snow-boots were soled with metal spikes, giving purchase on the ice as he trudged forward, glancing back and forth about the ruins of the city and those still in panic.

The captain moved in a purposeful stride after strapping down his toolbox to the sledge beside his bedroll and tent, tugging it after him with one foot after another. He shouldered his way through the charcoal ruins of smouldering houses, black stains brushing off on the white of his coat colouring his gloved hands like a sinner. His head throbbed relentlessly, throat parched, lips chapped beyond repair as he now dragged himself past the still, frozen bodies of half-eaten miners. "God save us," He uttered beneath his breath, although fell in beside the elevator. Using a screwdriver he chipped off the growing ice from around the outside of the main control panel and cranked it open; almost snapping it off the hinges as he panted and struggled.

With all the cogs and components encased within the familiar glassy sheen, Kingsley plucked the hooded lantern off his belt and began to open it up -- fumbling for his matches and taking a moment to hurriedly look around for any other people who took too much interest in what he was doing. All clear. Kingsley struck the match, fizzing into a burst of light which he used to ignite the oil-soaked wick. Leaving the lantern a moment, he crouched beside a corpse, pulling back the layers of clothes to find the driest and least affected piece before tearing it and wrapping it about the end of a chisel. Splashing it with oil, he used the lantern's flame to light it up, now holding it delicately beneath the machinery to thaw the pieces out.

His features were haggard with desperation but distracted as he gave it a good thumping with his fist. "Come on now, you can do it, aye, come on now missy." He crooned and sniffed, rubbing viciously at his now red cheeks and nose. The cold numbing the initial stabbing sensation till all that remained was the burn of it. Again he used the screwdriver, tapping out the ice. There wouldn't be enough space nor power with the generator out to hold more than it's original capacity for a singular group. Doomed were those who stayed. The beacons and outpost blimps had all but gone or been destroyed -- who knew how many had returned to London. His heart twisted at the thought. What a surprise they'd get. For he had heard of the telegrams that had been pinged back and forth between the superiors.

VICTORIA AZIZA KINYANJUI
The scout stood on the precipice of the basin of which sat New London, in all it's former glory. The generator husk stood tall, ever still a beacon of vanishing hope; black against the daytime sky. She was wrapped up in coat her goggles down and scarf pulled tight around the mouth. A large, fur-lined hood gave her an Eskimo outline; silhouetted by the site of destruction and a flickering lantern hitched on her breast. Head held high, Victoria said nothing. She mourned. Mourned for the losses she had sworn not to lose, and mourned for the people she had come to love and know. What was the daughter of a steelworker doing here? Among the last attempts of civilisation. What was the daughter of a Commonwealth immigrant, doing in Norway of all places?

She'd question herself daily. Sometimes the answers would be fate, others bad luck. Yet she had been thankful up to this point that her work had not gone unpraised or unadmired. She was strong; and Kinyanjui reminded herself that; strong enough that her grandmother, Aziza, had survived being struck a thousand times down by the men on their tea plantations -- and passed on her name to the granddaughter she would never meet. For that old woman knew, the horrors they would face in time. The horrors of a changing world and the importance that names played in it.

The snow creaked and compacted beneath her as she trudged up and down the basin, looking for signs of movement. The lifts had stopped working when the generator had, now relying on the outlying steamhubs to function with a little help here and there. But, since the coal stocks had been dilapidated during the storm, it would be hard to evacuate the entire populous. Tori swallowed the lump in her throat. At least the cold wasn't quite such a bad death, for you could close your eyes beneath the blanket of it and sleep until there was no dawn.

"IS THERE ANYONE?" Her voice was muffled but evident, half broken in worry. She didn't want to be alone out in the drifts. Of course she had loved it, only when there was a home to return to; parents to escape the nagging of. Yet now she was hoarse, unable to function with confidence as she had with the knowledge there were people who cared. "ANYONE?!" Her high-pitched shout creaked and wavered in the blizzarding winds which began to pick up, bit by bit. Backing away from the edge, the young woman made a beeline for the elevator structure which clung to the snowy cliffside of the city basin. Her hand reaching out to place itself on the massive steel beam of the structure.

nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy MechanicalSnake That Poppy SilverFlight Candlebell NyxDarling Ronan

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyotr's boots hit the hard-packed snow with a solid crunch. He looked back up from where he had jumped, the little way to the crank winch platform that controlled the supply lift. It was a wide, flat piece of wood, ropes from each corner trailing to a central cable. Pyotr had jerry-rigged a new winch system that could be pulled by hand. It would get them out.
"Mik!" He called, dipping back into the ruined metal shell of the supply bunker he had spent the night in. "Iz not pretty, but it vill hold. Mik?" The pile of singed blankets heaped in a corner by a dying fire did not stir.
"Mik, you hev hed enough beauty rest..." Pyotr pulled the blankets back and paused. He crouched and pulled off one of his large, sealskin mittens to hold a hand over his friends mouth.
"Niet, Mik..." There was no breath. His friend was dead.
Whether it was the cold or the injuries that took him in the end Pyotr would always have wondered. The engineers that survived the explosion may not have been as lucky as those who didn't. Pyotr by some miracle only sustained a mild concussion and a few cuts. Mik had burns on his back and legs and a wound in his side where the shrapnel got through his coat.
Pyotr sat there for a moment, looking around as if lost. He and Mik were the last surviving engineers in his unit. Now, it was only him.
It took him a moment to wrap the body, then, he said a few words in his mind, offering last rights to a friend he would never see again. He shouldered his pack a moment later and made his way towards the lift.
It bore his weight better than he expected. His muscles burned by the time he reached the top, but happily the cold did a lot to curb the sweating, keeping his clothes dry. Once up he climbed off the wood platform into the snow and looked back down into the basin. A few errant plumes of smoke drifted over charred rooftops, blown by the unforgiving wind, which howled about him now, all the more intense outside of the protective walls of the settlement. He set the mechanism loose and watched the lift plummet. Perhaps it would help someone else get out of their home turned nightmarish prison.
Pyotr froze in puzzlement when he thought the wind carried something more than it's usual mournful note.
A voice. He had heard it, because there it was again. Stumbling in the deep drifts he began to make his way towards its source. If there were others, perhaps his outlook wasn't so grim after all.
The call lead him to one of the elevator shafts, still and black and dead as the generator Pyotr had abandoned just before. He saw the figure standing close by it a hand upon one of the steel beams.
"Careful!" He called loudly, holding both hands in the air to show that he wasn't holding a weapon. After what they had been through, he expected caution, perhaps even hostility.
"Generator explosion waz big. It might hev destabilized cliff."

idalie

 

[nighttimecatplayer]

Gazelle Ilta Nishant.

The now ruined "New London" town outskirts.

Hunter occupation.

Slightly injured and exhausted.

Currently interacting with no tagged characters.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
​

Gazelle groaned as she held her pounding head within her hands, and mourned for the situation that she was currently being forced into yet once again. Everything that they had worked so hard towards was all damaged beyond unimaginable repairs, and any remaining survivors would surely perish if they made the choice to stay behind and brave the wreckage. The smartest decision for the young hunter was to try and venture out into the cold depths and find any familiar faces who might have still been alive, and figure a way out of this wretched place before the harsh conditions could have the chance to finish off the small female for good this time without any hesitations to holding back.

Although their chances of surviving out within the arctic were slim, it would have been better to start moving rather than sit here and do nothing like a deranged duck sitting out in the water and waiting to be engulfed by the flames. With one last distasteful scowl of defeat, Gazelle started gathering up her composure and threw the battle torn rucksack over her shoulder with a small grunt. The bag was a lot heavier than it should have normally been for others due to all the extra equipment that she carried, and it was going to prove to be an issue for the long run when she had to travel large distances without stopping for breaks.

With a slight creak of the door that was providing as a resting point for the young hunter, Gazelle scoffed at the burnt textures of the wooden frame and started to trudge throughout the silent outskirts of the broken town. The atmosphere lingering within the air was thick, and it chilled down to the bones if the cold wasn't already doing that job well enough for you. The young hunter shivered at the isolated feeling, and tightened her grip on the bag that was hugging so closely to her chest.

It could have been argued that Gazelle was never the best company to have around after things went to hell. Her sour mood presented was almost as cold as the cruel arctic itself, and proved to be for some awkward times since she never said anything out of turn. At this singular moment though, the hunter had wished that she wasn't so alone. It felt like she was the last person alive on Earth, and she couldn't stand to be alone again after struggling for months to fight down the drowning feeling of isolation.

A thick cough soon racked throughout the smog ridden air as the young hunter glanced back at the still burning generator with a dying flame. The sight could have almost been memorizing if not for the fact that the generator used to be the heart of their home, and stood as a solemn reminder about how everything they worked so hard towards was now gone. Although Gazelle never helped build these streets, she provided them all with food that kept them alive, and that certainly mattered towards something even if that something might have been small. Consider it ironic though that the hunter only had a few days worth left of rations, and if she didn't find a food source soon enough it wouldn't be long before she joined the charred and blister burned bodies that were now littering the streets.

Shaking away the dark thoughts that had seemed to overtake the fiber of her soul, Gazelle started making her way towards the outer ring with a sudden newfound determination and began to scan the area searching for anything that might have been useful. The young hunter knew that with the generator now being blown, the elevators that severed as one of the only entry and exit points for the entire city was also probably shot. However, if worst came to the absolute worst, the hunter could also try scaling the walls that surrounded the basin and hope that she had enough remaining strength to try and survive the trip and not plummet to her immediate doom.

That was obviously a last resort scenario though, as Gazelle began to run her hands over a short circuited electrical panel and sighed when she found no signs of life emitting from the strange device. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the device controlled most emergency back up systems, and rerouted the last remaining power to the elevators in case something were to ever happen and the citizens needed a quick escape. Several of these panels were placed all around the town to match the corresponding elevators, and it was evident that this one was far beyond repair with her lackluster of experience. Maybe perhaps though one of the other elevators throughout the town were still working and didn't require additional attention. With a small nod, the determined hunter began to set off on foot checking around the premises of the battered basin.

It was time to get out of this nightmarish hellhole.

 

[Candlebell]

ELIZABETH CATHCART
Elizabeth stared dumbly at the smoke billowing above the town, coming from the direction of the generator. Combined with that explosion that had shook the entire neighbourhood, it was clearly something had gone badly, catastrophically wrong. In the exact place Alistair had gone not an hour ago.

She’d already made a few stumbling steps in the direction of the explosion, about to break into the fastest run she could manage on the icy streets, when another bang brought her back to her senses. A gunshot from a street nearby. She looked around and saw plenty of people staring dumbly at the sky as she had only moments ago. Others were hurrying back inside their homes and a few fights were already breaking out. But the most determined and assured looking ones were already heading away from the explosion, towards the basin rim and the elevator.

Elizabeth swallowed heavily and forced herself to turn away from her desperate flight towards the fire and smoke and ran back into the house. Alistair had laid out a plan for disaster several weeks ago with Cossomo and herself, when the protests and discontent from the troublemakers had started to get more serious.

Head to the elevators, meet there and they would head for safety together. Alistair would be there, he had to be.

She hurriedly dressed in her cold weather gear, the bulky, fur-lined coat and the heavy-duty wools and oilskins. It took longer that she would have liked, longer than normal. Her hands couldn’t stop trembling. She hauled out the rucksacks Alistair had insisted they prepare for just such an eventuality, then hurried to her desk to grab a scattering of notes and instruments that she shoved indelicately into her bag. Hers was a little lighter than it should be as she’d borrowed some of the rations to help out Mrs Winchester, their son had been injured in a work accident and her husband worked as a technician under Alistair, and she hadn’t had a chance to refill the loss yet.

She dragged both bags up, a strap on each shoulder. The weight was immense on her frame, but she only had to carry it until she got to the elevator. She grabbed her husband’s rifle and cursed him under her breath for not taking it with him earlier, he might need it to get back to her.

She hurried out, not bothering to lock the door behind her and began following the people making their way towards the lifts. Cutting down the streets in a hurry, the straps of the backpacks digging deep into her shoulders, she collided with a man coming the other way. She was half-way through an apology when she recognised him as Mr Winchester. She was about to ask if he’d seen her husband when she realised he had both hands around the rifle she was holding and trying to wrench it out of her grip. She held on more out of shock than anything, staring at the familiar man in bafflement.

Winchester, his face red and eyes watering as he seemed to have come out without any headgear, suddenly shoved the rifle at her face and eliciting a loud CRACK as the barrel smacked into her nose and sent her sprawling backward into the snow. The rifle lost, her head full of stars and blood freezing to her face as it dripped out her nose.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, seconds or minutes, but she came to when she felt someone tugging at her legs. She looked down to find a woman sitting on her knees and pulling at her heavy boots. A man loomed over her face and started trying to yank her snow goggles off. Terrified, she thrashed wildly, her hand searching around in the snow for anything to use as a weapon. It closed around something and she swung her hand in a nervous jerk and pushed the point of Alistair’s bayonet deep into the man’s belly, earning a little “Whupf” of surprise as he fell back on his behind, the blade sliding back out as he staggered back. The woman shrieked and left Elizabeth’s boots, hurrying over to the man as Elizabeth scrambled back to her feet. Not a woman, a girl. And not a man, a boy in his teens.

“Sorry,” said Elizabeth vacantly as the girl pressed her hands against the bloody spot in the boys belly. Was she his sister? Cousin? Sweetheart? “I’m sorry. Sorry.”

She held the bayonet in one hand, the blood on it steaming in the air as it began to freeze, and started collecting her goods and hauling her backpack on more securely. Someone had torn open Alistair’s bag and other scavengers had made away with most of his things. She grabbed a damp shirt from his officer’s uniform and his spare uniform coat and clutched them to her chest tightly. He’d need these when they left, he’d be terribly cold otherwise. She stumbled away from the pair, finding it hard to think over the wails of the girl, calling back to them one last time as she left, “I’m so sorry.” Once she had met up with Alistair and Cossomo they could fetch a physician for the boy. He’d be fine. She wasn't sure if she meant the boy or Alistair in that moment.

She continued her way to the elevator in a daze but the blood on the bayonet gripped in her hand warned anyone that approached that there were easier targets available. She finally arrived at the back of a milling crowd surrounding the elevator that was growing bigger by the moment. She peered around frantically, looking for Alistair or Cossomo but unable to find either as the crowd got thicker. She raised her voice, trying to break through the noise of the crowd.

"Alistair?"

COSSOMO COSSU
Cossomo charged through the deep snow, kicking up a white storm as he barrelled his way back to New London. He had been outward bound on a scheduled scouting when the soft roar of the explosion had washed over his back. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint where the source of the cacophony with the towering cloud of thick smoke erupting from the basin of the city.

He ignored the well-trod and easier paths used by the scouts as they exited the city on their expeditions, cutting across the fields of deep snow as he prioritised speed over personal safety. A part of him kept telling himself how foolish he was, as all it would take was one misplaced foot into a unexpected hole to break his ankle or worse and render him more than useless. Still, he charged onwards.

He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he gazed down on the growing chaos of the city as buildings burned and people swarmed against each other. He stood motionless for a moment before a woman’s voice broke him out of his stillness. He had taken the most direct route to the basin and now stood separated from the elevator by a large snowbank. He clambered over it, slipping and sliding but eventually making it to the top and sliding down towards the lone structure.

As he approached he caught sight of the woman who had been shouting, he knew her by reputation if nothing else and had heard nothing worse about her than any of the other scouts, himself included. His eyes lit up at the sight of the man with her, a large, young man like him could be a great help in what Cossomo had planned. His happiness quickly soured as the man spoke with his heavy Russian accent and Cossomo finally noticed the military overcoat he wore. Not just a Russian but a Tsarist dog, too. Cossomo had held no love for the Russians since Crimea.

Cossomo generously decided not to wrestle the Russian over the edge and settled with giving him a dark glare. He moved up next to the woman, gripped the steel beam with one hand and leant out dangerously over the ledge to look at the bottom of the elevator. Already a crowd was forming and there was no was they’d all make it out on this contraption. He eyed it warily, it didn’t even seem to be in motion. Over the edge would be quicker, on the descent at least.

He unslung his backpack and flung it into the snow at his feet, undoing the rope coiled around it he began to loop and knot it around the steel frame of the structure, turning his heavy gaze on the woman. More trustworthy than the Russian, at any rate.

He didn’t even attempt her surname and went with her easier and more commonly known first name, “You, Victoria, yes? You have spare rope?”

idalie

 

[idalie]

CAPTAIN EDWARD KINGSLEY
The Captain wrestled with the elevator engine, broken from his concentration by a distant crawing of an overhead bird. A crunch of snow accompanied it seconds after, Edward throwing himself about to face the survivor with a wrench in hand. A child stood there, thin and pale, his face bright pink as he watched the Captain work. Edward gave a growl, stomping forward in the snow once and then twice to scare him off like one does to a lone rodent. Kingsley desperately now, turning to the steamhub and picking up the shovel; loading it with the remnants of coal. Turning the dials up, the fluffy white clouds began to emerge -- it wouldn't be long before people noticed it against the black smoke. Another steamhub meant power. Power meant the elevator could be functioning. Not something he wanted to stick around and witness. Returning now to the panel, the engineer increased the valve pressure and stocked the small lift with his sledge and supplies. Rigging it up, the cogs began to slowly shift, bit by bit; crunching the ice still unmelted. Ed, threw the chisel ontop of the sledge and did away with the remnants of burnt fabric.

However, it was moments before he pulled on the lever, Kingsley noted the wandering soul. But most importantly, he noted her bow and gun. A hunter, and more importantly, someone with weapons. He would just have to be wary with how the situation was handled, lest she turned that rifle on him. Expect no kindness of strangers and when it was offered -- expect none in return. A simple, easy to remember motto that had helped conserve supplies and lives for decades. Both in the navy and out in the snowy tundras. "HEY, YOU." He shouted, voice carried up on the breeze; gruff and slightly hoarse. "BETTER GET IN. LAST ONE HEADING OUT." The elevator in truth, was an old rickety one. Smaller, used often by scouts and hunters for quick trips. Alas, it had been easily broken a thousand or more times making it more or less untrustworthy. Edward was holding his breath for this one. That, and the fact people would avoid it since being out of order half the time the city was up and running.

Edward wasn't running a charity. It sounded cruel, but he wasn't going to carry the ones who couldn't walk unless they had a talent he needed. It was survival. He'd seen men crushed, shot, maimed, stabbed and slashed. Human nature in its primal form was both passionate and frightening, inexplicably brutal. One had to be in this environment. Without a moments notice the cold could freeze you, or the crazed would get you. Those who were just as desperate as all the rest. He had hope, of course, there was always that glimmer of hope he was known for, duller now albeit still prevalent -- he would make his own way across the wastes, or find people strong enough to join up with. No doubt there was some amount of desperation to get away, and Kingsley had plans. Plans which could offer an Eden, a possibility at something more than just surviving. Iceland.

It sounded insane, but so had Norway when it was first proposed. The HMS Lightning was only one of five expeditions. One sent to North Africa, another to Northern India, one to the Australian colonies -- and the last, Iceland. A geothermic paradise of hot springs from beneath the Earth itself. Their sister ship, the HMS Protector had parted with them in the North Sea before it had frozen over. They couldn't return to London any longer, that was for certain. Not unless they were ready to face the place once called home to hundreds.

The only thing he questioned now, was how to get from Torsvåg, back to the mainland of Norway. Perhaps, just perhaps, the citizens of Scandinavia had held up better than they, leaving no need for further travel in the freezing wastes. One had to have hope after all.

nighttimecatplayer Candlebell (?)

VICTORIA AZIZA KINYANJUI
The callback of a reply set her heart thundering, whipping around to face the male with evident caution. She certainly acknowledged he could easily crush her if he felt like it. Victoria swallowed her doubt and steeled herself, she would have to buckle down and handle any trouble as it came. But one couldn't deny it was both frightening and thankful to be in a group with men to deter others. Survival made everyone monsters, but others more so when it came to taking liberties. Nevertheless, the young Russian's hands were up in a non-threatening manner, and his shout was one of consideration. Taking heed, Tori backed away from the edge and partially shifted up her goggles to warily approach the stranger. She wanted to ask if he'd seen her parents, yet stealing another glance at the destruction she thought it best not to receive an answer. "You saw it? How bad was it?" Her gaze lifted from head to toe noting his few shallow lacerations. "Are you alright?"

Interrupted again, the shout had attracted more than Pyotr, but an older man this time. Her eyes ached now from the cold, blinking rapidly before they cleared so she could properly see Cossomo. Whilst he had appeared kind enough, the dark glare he sent across to the Russian was not something she'd like to find herself mixed up in. She'd only noted the Italian in passing, as all scouts would sharing mess halls and being paired up on occasion, but even with the rumours it didn't make her feel any safer.

Her head jerked as her name was called, freezing for a second before nodding rapidly. "I -- of course, let me just fetch it," Shrugging off the rucksack, letting it whoompf into the snow, Vic unhitched the rope buckled to a side and hefted the heavy hemp rope over to Cossomo. Looking worried at the older man, she quirked her brow. "You're not really going down there, are you? You'll get eaten alive by the people at the bottom of that shaft. How do you even expect to get back up afterward!?" Taking a few steps backwards, she retreated again and dragged on the pack. Victoria, this time, looked to Pyotr. "Have any plans ahead of this?" Kinyanjui pulled the goggles back down, concealing the upper half of her features.

SilverFlight Candlebell

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyotr was more than a little relieved when the woman's reaction wasn't hostile. He relaxed enough to give her a grateful smile, but before he could answer a gruff-looking old man came upon them. The glare he shot in Pyotr's direction left him staring after him in utter bewilderment, not having studied any sort of history at all he couldn't begin to explain the cantankerous demeanour. He shrugged it off quickly however, they had bigger problems.
"Da, I waz in it." He answered Victoria seriously. "It waz bed. All engineers on West side were killed instently. I waz on East, not az bed, but I waz lucky one. Meybe, only lucky one. Generator vill not work again, I em sure."
When her gaze drifted to the cut on his brow he unconsciously put a hand to it, it stung and throbbed both at once. "I vill be fine. End you? Not hurt?"
The Italian interrupted the conversation to ask for rope, not sparing a second glance at Pyotr. "You know him?" He jabbed a thumb in Cosomo's direction.
As Victoria went to get the rope Pyotr shifted to the edge of the basin and peered down.
"Vee ken pull him up if vee must...Vait!" He cried. "I see people down zere, zey try to restart elevetor...zey got it working!"
Pyotr didn't think the rope would be much use unless the mechanics failed but he kept his mouth shut and let Cosomo work. It was better not to argue at the moment.
"I am Pyotr Morozov." He said instead to the lady. "End you are...Victoria?" He repeated what he had heard Cosomo say. "It soundz Inglish."
His eyes drifted to the rifle on her person and he added with a hint of humour: "Senk you for not shooting me on sight."
He pondered her last question for a few moments. "Survive. Apart from zet...niet. I don't hev place to go beck to. Meybe zere iz no Russia enymore, or Ingland. I sink zo, my people vill not be beaten by zis." He gestured to the frigid landscape. "Iz like vinter et home da?...do you hev plen?"

idalie Candlebell

 

[nighttimecatplayer]

Gazelle Ilta Nishant.

The rickety old elevator alongside Edward.

Hunter occupation.

Slightly injured and exhausted.

Currently interacting with idalie

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The young hunter growled and bit her lip as she traversed throughout the foreign lands that she knew all so very well. She was taking back her wish of not wanting to be alone after running into several crazed citizens who were either panicking or already feasting down upon their own dead brethren. The saddest thing about it was that Gazelle actually recognized some of these faces, and her heart wouldn't stop screaming at her to help these broken people from their ultimate demise. But even if her heart told her otherwise, the hunter already knew that they were all far long gone beyond saving just like her own shattered soul.

It was every man for themselves now, and the hunter didn't have the spare time to be picking up after the broken pieces that the others left behind. Gazelle knew that she needed to keep moving even if the deep dark pit within her stomach was wanting to retch at the very chaos plagued all around them. That was an understatement though as a half dead survivor crawled out of the wreckage, and latched onto the leg of the young hunter causing her to trip and crash onto the cold hard ground with a loud thud. "H-help.. M-me.. please."

Gazelle immediately grimaced at the sight, and tried to yank her leg away from the death hold of a grip that wasn't appearing to let go anytime soon. The survivor was more dead than alive with half of their face charred off from the blast, and was literately dragging themselves around as both of their hind legs had been blown off and left for nothing more but a fading trail of blood behind them. The young hunter began to panic as the survivor tried to crawl towards her shaken form, and that was when she kicked the young male out of natural instinct and sent him flying backwards with a sickening snap of the neck. If the survivor wasn't already dead enough before, he was surely dead now as his body laid on the ground motionless, and blood started to seep out from the large bend that was purposely driven into his cervical vertebrae.

Color drained from the face of the young female as she picked herself up off the ground, and began to dust herself off without so much of a word. Although she had gotten used to seeing gory events and practically killed animals for a living, never would she have imagined that they would all be reduced down to the grade of wild animals struggling and fighting each other for their lives. This entire town was now a trap for the hopeless, and a resting place for the dead.

With a large intake of the shaky breath that she was holding in, Gazelle ignored the small gasps and the fearful gazes that was sent her direction as she diverted her attention towards her destination and continued on her way without so much of a glance back. So far the young hunters daring escape was unsuccessful as the surrounding elevators were all without power, and there was only one small lift left to check before she would have to try and start climbing up the walls of the faded basin.

From a distance, the elevator appeared dysfunctional along with the rest of them, but as the hunter grew closer she noticed that something was misplaced along with the thick black smoke and the chalky taste of charcoal. Small white puffs of smoke began to churn from the top of the elevator, and immediately filled the lost soul with hope before that feeling quickly faded. Although the elevator was now running, that also meant that someone else was probably already inside and had gotten the machine working once again for use. That wasn't the thing that worried Gazelle the most though as she recognized the old battered frame, and debated whether or not she should even try and take the risk at all.

As Gazelle grew closer to the small lift, a tall figure began to form, and surprisingly called out for the hunter as her guard immediately went up and her hand instinctively slid down to her dagger where it remained. With narrowed eyes, tension started to grow within the air as Gazelle stopped in front of the elevator and began to observe the owner of the voice who called out. Although he didn't appear much of a threat from a first glance, Gazelle had learned from her previous lessons countless times within the last decade and wasn't taking anymore chances. With suspicions raised, the young hunter decided that the man had at least appeared remotely sane and was worth accepting the risk.

After all, the man was inviting Gazelle to join him, and he must of had at least some engineering experience if he got the elevator working again. Gazelle could have also used someone who was handy with tools, and could have sworn that she recognized the older gentlemen from somewhere around town. It was officially decided as the hunter stepped into the lift alongside the older male, and folded her arms with a small frown. Although she had appeared agitated, Gazelle was actually extremely grateful towards the older male and sent him a small nod before directing her attention towards the front and tuned out the rest of the world.

Gazelle was far too worried about the lift that they would be taking to pay too close attention towards anything else, and shifted uncomfortably in her resting position against the wall. She had only taken the rigged elevator a few times during emergency cases, and even then it always felt like at any moment the entire machine could collapse and would take the hunter down along with it. The young female had a slight fear of elevators after being trapped inside of one when she was little, and even now the tight space made her feel claustrophobic and she couldn't help but want to claw her way out. Gazelle shifted her gaze towards the older male who seemed well equipped, and quickly looked away before she could be caught staring at him.

A small smile formed on the hunters face as she looked down. She wasn't so alone after all.

 

[monochromegalaxy]

Doctor Wilhelm Stein Maymie Vogel

Maymie finished muttering her silent prayers and opened her eyes, once more faced with an image of the fallen New London. She felt a familiar pang in her chest as her dark brown eyes flitted from corpse to corpse on the street that occupied her vision. It still hurt, seeing all the hard work everyone's put in all gone, ironically, by what they've created. Was the conflict between each other not enough? No, not according to the universe, the doctor thought with distaste.

Gently, she pried the young, injured adolescent's eyes closed, removing her hand from the young man's cold face. She gazed wistfully at the man, her chapped lips pursed. Another victim passing away before Mayme's eyes only tugged the already heavy guilt in her heart. Of course, being a doctor in a city nestled in a merciless environment, Maymie's faced death before, but that doesn't make her any more immune to tragic situations. The doctor stood up and pulled up her hiking sticks from the bloodied snow, trudging further outside the outskirts of New London with haste. Maymie had already spent a good amount of time searching for possible survivors and attempting to save whomever she came across.

She continued to mutter more prayers to herself as she walked, nudging her thick scarf over her nose, her entire face concealed from the cold air and the stench of burning flesh slightly toned down. Maymie resisted the urge to look around too much, almost shrinking into her parka's hood. As she looked up, she spotted the rising column of white, puffy smoke, curling and dancing before disappearing. As if cold water was thrown at her face, Maymie blinked rapidly, half-expecting for the sign of life to vanish. Seeing it did not, she broke out into a faster pace.

Maymie drew closer to the source of the white smoke, and waved a hiking stick around, notifying them of her presence. Seeing a familiar face, the doctor tried to move faster, nearly tripping on the way.

"Wait! Captain, it's me!" Clumsily, Maymie stepped onto the lift and sighed shakily with relief. She fought to catch her breath, gulping down as much air as she could before continuing. "Captain," she paused, catching herself not using the 'Wilhelm Voice', and coughed before continuing with a slightly deeper pitch, "Wilhelm Stein. Protégé of Doctor Hall. Was on the HMS Lightning," Maymie spouted out before trying to settle her breathing.

Walter Watson

He had no time to waste. Walter snatched a large rucksack from under his bed and tossed it on the worn sheets. It was already half-full, most of its contents being spare tools he's 'found' over the years of working at the generator and mines. The rest were rations. Walter half-heartedly congratulated himself for putting supplies and equipment aside. Too much trust and contentment is dangerous, he'd often remark to his fellow labourers, those he were close to anyway. He hesitated in his packing, his grip on a bedroll tightening. It was surreal, seeing the generator go up in flames and running citizens set alight by the fire, crying and screaming as the extreme heat was followed by the hostile arctic wind. Walter shook his head, forcing his thoughts to drift to his crucial task.

Partially satisfied in what he's packed (there's only so much Walter can carry after all), the man peered through the blinds, checking if the coast is clear before stepping outside. Walter booked it to the lifts, and cursed to himself once he saw the white smoke. Someone's already made it there first.

Walter weaved and bobbed through narrow alleyways and empty houses, avoiding the main streets and to get to his destination quickly. He's fought for survival his whole life and the thought of his life ending after much pain only caused himself to push himself. Walter grimaced, seeing a few burly men nearby too busy with a weaker citizen, knives out and eyes lacking much sanity. Walter turned looked away and blocked out the following agonising screams, soon emerging from the shadowed path and into the sight of the three who occupy the elevator. Walter halted briefly, eyeing the weapons the hunter and engineer had, unsure if they'd want another person on the lift or he's got to fight for it.

nighttimecatplayer idalie

 

[Candlebell]

COSOMO COSSU
Cosomo took the rope with a nod of thanks and went about setting up a separate line. It would be hell down there and he’d need to get the Liz and Alistair out instantly. His hands stopped as he heard Pyotr describe the carnage of the explosion. He turned back to the Russian and re-examined him for a long moment.

“All engineers in the West? You’re sure? How do you know?” he barked, almost accusatory, then restrained himself, “None got out?”

Cosomo had spoken with Alistair that morning, before he had set out, and knew the man had been heading to the generator to see what help he could provide. It was…. unlikely that Alistair would have left his station if he thought he could do something. Still, that just meant Liz was down in that pit alone. Cossomo quickly finished securing the line and walked back to the edge, preparing to rappel down. He would have looked like the hero of a pulp magazine adventure as he perched on the edge of the cliff, if only he was about 30 years younger. He shot a roguish look back at Victoria that creased his face with well-worn lines of age and laughter.

“What’s the matter, girl? Don’t you have anyone to care about down there?”

His leap off the edge of the cliff was arrested by Pyotr’s sudden shout and the crank and clatter of gears as the elevator sprung to life and he almost slipped and fell as he tried to hold himself back. Again he shot the Russian a glare as if it had been his fault.

He eyed the clouds of steam floating out from the bottom of the shaft, his knuckles tightening white on the rope in his hands in anticipation and dread. Praying to God and to the late James Napier for his intervention that Elizabeth and Alistair were on that elevator.


ELIZABETH CATHCART
Elizabeth looked around the crowd frantically, unable to recognise a single face. Some looked vaguely familiar, but all were to hungry, wide-eyed and dangerous looking to be the people she knew. Sounds of a fight broke out deep in the crowd, then another one. The crowd was quickly turning into a riot. Squeezing through any gap she could find, Elizabeth found herself bursting out of the swarm of people into open air. Some had broken out, just like her, but more and more were pressing towards the unmoving elevator, all desperate to get on.

Elizabeth stared at the crowd forlornly. Even when Alistair came, there would be no chance of getting out this way. Her tired brain finally broke through her mild-shock and she recalled the scouts lift Cossomo had shown to her when she’d asked him for tales of his scouting expeditions. It had been so rickety that Elizabeth hadn’t believed him when he told her it was still in use. But maybe no-one else would think it would work either. At least, not right away.

She hurried away from the growing tumult around the main elevator and tried to remember the quickest way to get to the scout elevator. It took longer than she would have liked, as she had to double back twice, once to avoid a gang of workmen looting a street and again when she came across another group that were literally butchering a corpse for its meat. It said something for her state of shock that the cannibalism only touched on her lightly, in an almost academic way, with the true horror of what was happening held at arm’s length until a more convenient time for a break-down.

She arrived just as the first few puffs of steam began to erupt from the machine and spotted four people standing at the entrance to the elevator, three men and a woman. Fear again seized her and she was about to back away until her eyes settled on Captain Kingsley. He had been first-mate and later Captain of the vessel that had carried them here, he was an engineer and most importantly he was a member of Her Majesty’s Armed Services. Elizabeth’s husband and father had left her with a (perhaps unwarranted) trust in servicemen. She began running for the lift again, waving the bloody bayonet in the air as if it was a handkerchief at a parade.

“Hold the lift! Captain! Hold!”

nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy SilverFlight idalie

 

[idalie]

CAPTAIN EDWARD KINGSLEY
The Captain's features were steeled, grey eyes now sweeping across to the hunter as she glanced away. Before he could ask anything of the woman or pull the lever down to take them up; another shout caught his attention. This time, one which called his title and well-known station. Wilhelm, the young doctor. There had always been something undeniably odd about him: perhaps the slipping of voice, awkward demeanour on occasion, or merely another one with secrets to hide. Kingsley bowed to the greater instinct to let the medic aboard the lift, putting up the count to three now. A surgeon was irreplaceable. "Mr Stein, good to see you in one piece. Haven't seen much of you since we docked up. A welcome surprise nonetheless." He shot a thin-lipped smile considering the situation they were in, Edward supposed simple niceties should be kept even under the immense stress of now grouping people.

And then there were four. Mrs Cathcart picking up the pace and waving her bayonet. He could've cursed his own moral compass at that point, alas the lever had already been shoved down in a hurry. The elevator slowly began to lift up off the ground, Kingsley hanging out the front with a large, gloved palm beckoning on Elizabeth. "HURRY!" Edward's eyes drifted over the half-frozen figure of Walter. "WAITIN' FOR HELL TO FREEZE OVER, SON?" He seemed mildly disgruntled, but at that point, nothing more mattered than getting up and out.

Behind those who had managed to catch up, came the first specks of strangers began to appear in the distant streets shouting inaudibly and pointing toward the rising lift. It wouldn't be long now. Tearing on through the streets as mothers clutching children were shoved underfoot, clamouring survivors either attempting to sabotage others or collectively form smaller groups. Few of the more able-bodied had begun to scale the basin with ice picks and rope harnesses, however, the panic seemed to have consumed more than common sense among the ill-fated.

Time was ticking as they said and humanity in this dark hour was nothing but an ugly, all-consuming beast. Edward twisted to Gazelle, still reaching out for Cathcart. "Fire a warning shot, try not to hit anyone. If they know we have a gun, it could bide us some time." Kingsley spoke as a military man does, sternly with an unfailing sense of order. From his time in the world, you soon came to realise that mankind was nothing short of apes as Darwin himself proposed. Easily scattered by something they didn't want to risk for the sake of survival. The Captain accepted this to an extent, even for himself. Considering he had a choice between staying behind and leaving in the wake of the generator's explosion. No doubt the situation could've been coaxed under control, yet Kingsley didn't want to stay and test his patience with insanity.

Candlebell nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy

VICTORIA AZIZA KINYANJUI
"The West side is gone?" Her chest felt tight, as if someone had begun to bind it up in a steel corset. She leant forward putting her hands on her knees whilst breathing in and out in deep inhales and exhales. "Hurt? No--no, I'm quite alright. I was -- off scouting when it went up." Tori followed the Russian's motion toward Cossomo and hesitantly nodded. "He's a scout, we all know each other. Small world." Her stomach cramped in nausea, putting a momentary hand to her thundering heart. Eyes welling slightly behind the goggles which were drawn back -- but, Kinyanjui kept her attention partially fixed on Pyotr which helped to quell her rising emotion and realisation.

"Pyotr?" She mangled the pronunciation a bit, but it was comprehensible. "I'm Victoria, yes. Victoria Kinyanjui. Born and raised in London." She nodded although let out a half-choked laugh. "My mother adored the Queen, she was always pro-crown. My father hated it." A hand pressed to her concealed mouth, closing her eyes for a moment. "Looks like we both have no more home to go back to. Right? Might as well do something with it. Like a long bank holiday." She miserably joked.

Glancing back to Cossomo as he began to descend on the rope, shouting up, Victoria fell silent. "Not anymore." Her teeth dug harshly into a lip, bordering on drawing blood. The sudden clanking and huffing steamhub caused Tori to blink in surprise. "Someone got it working! You better get back up, Mister Cossomo. Wouldn't want you to get stuck in between the lift and the wall." She placed her hands on the rope and gave an ineffectual tug. "Do you need any help getting back up?!" She manouvered her skis sideways on to try and get a good holding in the thick snow. "Mister Cossomo can you hear me!?"

Candlebell SilverFlight

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyotr looked round indignantly as Cosomo barked at him. He quelled the angry retort building inside his throat. People had lost, and when they lost, they hurt. Instead he fixed Cosomo with a look of calm certainty.
"I checked for survivors ez soon ez flemes died. I found no one on West side. If you hed friend zere, he iz dead."
It was all he said. He didn't speak of the time he spent hauling charred bodies from the wreckage, clearing debris and trying to assess whether there was any hope left for their settlement in the ruins of the main generator. He didn't mention the crushing despair he felt when his diagnosis ended up terminal. The city was going to die.
All of this he didn't say, though much of it ended up on his face anyway.
Candlebell

From the reaction given by Victoria Pyotr guessed that she may well have had friends in the engineering corps. His expression softened for her and he tried to search for the right thing to say.
A belch of steam from the elevator signaled it was beginning to move and it dragged his attention away.
The cables tightened and the pulleys squealed into action. In a glance Pyotr examined all the critical mechanisms of the system, making sure nothing would hinder the lift's progress. Then he caught sight of them, desperate survivors attempting to climb the walls.
"Wait! Stop! Zere iz better way!" If they heard him they didn't show any sign of it, driven either by fear or madness they kept climbing, some coming dangerously close to the elevator car.
Something gave a loud crack and Pyotr's head shot up. The iced cables were sliding through the pulley system and leaving snow buildup between the cable and the brace, making it harder and harder for the cable to slip through the pulley. If the buildup remained it would put strain on the already weakened electrical system, and possibly stall the lift, stranding whoever was trying to use it.

Pyotr swore colourfully in Russian. "Ze pulley will be jemmed. I must clear ice from it." The elevator cable system was on a set of beams above their heads, hanging out over the basin a good eight feet. Pyotr set his bag down and drew out a small square box and a knife. The box had a set of red and black wires embedded in it and the ends of these he attached to two metal nodes at the end of the knife.
"Victoria. I need you to hold zis box ez close to me ez you ken. I em going to climb up to pulley end melt ice." He was already taking off his coat as he said this, revealing the rather comical blue and white wool sweater underneath, but this also removed anything that could get caught in the system and make things worse. He pulled on the wires and they unrolled from a spool in the box, leaving him about 6 feet of slack, Victoria would have to lean right over the edge to keep the wires connected to the thermal knife while Pyotr used it.

Before she had agreed he was already moving, jumping up to find purchase on the grooves in the frigid steel beams. He kept his face well away from the metal, knowing any amount of moisture on his skin would likely freeze it to the structure at this temperature. Frostbite would likely not set in before the task was done so at least there was that.
Pyotr hauled himself onto the horizontal beams holding the pulley system and straddled the central one, shimmying along it with the knife handle between his teeth and both hands on the beam. Once he reached the pulley he transferred the knife carefully into his mittened hand and leaned down experimentally. Once sure he could reach the cable and groove he looked back to his chosen assistant. "Okey Victoria, zere iz big switch on side of box. Flip zat. Now give me little sleck. Lean out...end...try not to look down."
idalie Candlebell

((I hope you don't mind my liberty-taking in creating another problem. I can re-write if it doesn't work with the plan.))

 

[nighttimecatplayer]

Gazelle Ilta Nishant.

The now moving rickety old elevator alongside Edward and Willhelm.

Hunter occupation.

Slightly injured and exhausted.

Currently interacting with idalie monochromegalaxy Candlebell

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The current situation quickly grew out of hand before the young hunter could have the full opportunity to recover from her clouded thoughts and join the rest of them within the real world. Gazelle was immediately shaken out of her dazed like state however as a small voice boomed throughout the smog ridden crowd, and the unrecognized face of a male was now stowed away upon the elevator along with them. The unwelcoming soul was already starting to overwhelm the unfavorably small interior of the lift, and the groups body count was now officially up to three.

With a click of the tongue, Gazelle was noticeably staring at the newcomer with piqued interested and mixed emotions. The hunters intense gaze never left the backside of the one who she presumed was "Stein" from the older gentlemen. Instead of sending the surgeon a glare though, the young hunter continued to stare on silently as if she was observing Willhem and trying to read his features for secrets that might have been hidden.

Before Gazelle could have the opportunity to react towards the new presence however, the older gentlemen called out towards the basin as the elevator started to lift upwards with a strained force. Almost immediately, the hunter tensed up from the sudden newfound movement and peered down below to see another unfamiliar face calling out to them. Her position among the rest was starting to feel out of place, and Gazelle was even considering abandoning the group and making room for the others who were now getting left behind.

If the situation wasn't already dire enough, some of the crazed citizens already took a notice to the active lift and were alerting the others which meant that it was only a matter of time before they would all be swarmed with desperate souls. Gazelle knew from first hand experience that desperation would make you do horrible things, and she couldn't help but to feel a ping of guilt when watching the terrified faces down below since she knew that they were all just trying to do the same thing as them and survive.

Gazelle suddenly stumbled as a random jerk surged throughout the elevator, and raced to catch her balance before she could fall onto one of the others. It wasn't long before she sighed with a newfound defeat as she made eye contact with another survivor who was watching them from a nearby alleyway. The older male had called out towards him, and it almost seemed as if they weren't going to be leaving anywhere without the two. The young hunter was preparing to hop down from the elevator and literately yank the two newcomers into the shaft when she noticed that several of the dammed had grown closer, and some were now even scaling the walls in a desperate attempt to reach them.

The very idea was enough to send chills down her foreign hunter spine, and Gazelle wasn't going to be losing anyone else in these critical times of need. Almost as if the gentlemen from before was reading her mind, the steely engineer commanded the young hunter to fire a warning shot in which she eventually agreed with on her own terms. Although she didn't like being commanded with such a force, Gazelle was still one to follow directions and it seemed like the most reasonable thing to do in the current given situation.

Pulling out her rifle with a flick of ease, Gazelle pushed past the two who were occupying the lift alongside her and smashed the glass panel to get a clearer shot. The hunter positioned her automatic on the sill of the elevator, and squinted as she looked out into the black scope. She saw people rioting and turning over the entire town, and it was almost sad at how one simple disaster could change her formal comrades so drastically.

Gazelle was one to talk though as she scanned the area for even the slightest of openings, and lightly grazed her fingers against the pull of the trigger. Considering the hunter didn't have much ammunition left, she knew that she needed to make this shot count. A small smile formed upon the hunters face as she spotted just exactly what she was looking for this entire time, and held in her breath as she quickly pulled the trigger before anyone else could tell her otherwise.

The shot was ear deafeningly loud, and rang throughout the burning basin with a drawn out echo. Several nearby birds flew away with a caw as the bullet whizzed past the forming crowd of people, and hit an unseen metallic object with seemingly no consequences. As the hunter holstered her weapon however, she began to tap her foot impatiently and leaned back against the wall of the elevator slightly annoyed by the whole situation. Gazelle counted down before a small explosion was heard, and smoke began to rise from the distance where she had fired the shot.

It wasn't long until a blazing fire had broken out which seemed to halt the incoming process of the assault and bought them all a little bit more time. Several were already screaming and panicking as they were set ablaze, and dove out of the way to avoid the burning flames. Gazelle knew that her actions were a bit harsh considering she was only told to fire a warning shot, but she also knew that this was exactly what they needed to escape with their lives.

Come to think of it, Gazelle wasn't exactly even sure why she was helping out these random survivors aside from the main fact that they were currently all on the same ride together. Although the hunter never purposely went out of her way to hurt anyone, she didn't go out of her way to help anyone either unless they were all on the same boat. Gazelle frowned at the idea of more company, and could sense that this closely knit group was about to be overrun with even more lost souls.

With a small scowl of distaste forming upon the hunters hardened features, Gazelle turned towards the other two occupants and began to observe them amidst all the chaos. She was still getting a strange vibe from the male surgeon who had recently joined them not too long ago, and wasn't even sure what to make of the other newcomers just yet. The hunter would have also been lying if she told you that she wasn't considering ditching everyone once they had gotten out of this unpleasant scenario. Although they all seemed like decent people from a first glance, Gazelle never worked very well within groups and was never the greatest company to have around either.

Gazelle was admittedly worried now as she shrunk down the wall of the elevator shaft and avoided any physical means of direct contact. Surely they wouldn't want someone like her to be a part of their team and drag the rest of them down along with her when she officially crashed and burned. It was only a matter of time, and she was often known in her unit for doing drastic things and taking measures too far whenever given the chance.

The hunter watched the panicking citizens in the distance as they fought for their lives with a scorn. She always did like to play with fire.

 

[Candlebell]

ELIZABETH CATHCART
Elizabeth ran towards the slowly rising elevator as desperation lent her a little extra speed. She only stumbled once, when the crack of Gazelle’s rifle that nearly sent her running in the opposite direction. However, some primal instinct in her told her to keep running as it recognised the elevator as the only true means of survival left to her. Even if it did contain a mad-woman with a gun.

She arrived at the elevator right as it drew level with her shoulders and threw her arms against the slippery floor of the platform, clinging on for dear life as she tried to haul herself up, her legs kicking at the empty air below her as she was lifted from the ground. She allowed herself to be hauled aboard with all the grace of a sack of potatoes and sat panting in a mix of fear and adrenaline. She panted out a series of ‘How do you do?’-es to everyone in the lift with a shaky nod of her head in an impressive display of British politeness that seemed ingrained in the woman.

She peered back over the edge and lurched back, surprised at how far up they’d gotten already.

nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy idalie

COSOMO COSSU
Pyotr’s report quickly sobered Cosomo and he shot a look of chagrin at his fellow scout at his indelicate question. The screams below and the smell of smoke in the air had brought him back to a life he had long forgotten, one that had long been put to rest and gone unmissed until now. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the blood pumping through his veins and it wasn’t all out of fear for James’ daughter. It was pounding in anticipation.

He’d wanted to be down there, in among the muck and the rioting again. Doing what he’d done so well. He’d been on the brink of falling back into one of those blackout fits that had earned him his great and terrible reputation in his youth.

He pitched away from the side of the cliff, almost as if he was afraid he’d throw himself down there in a fit of madness. He was about to grab Victoria’s proffered hand before reeling away from it as well in another mad fear he’d drag her along with him. He wobbled away and stood shaking, the faint sounds of Victoria and Pyotr speaking inaudible under a dull roar filling his ears as he struggle to recollect himself.

SilverFlight idalie

 

[idalie]

Scout Elevator, Outskirts of New London
18th February 1886, 12:50 AM
Current Temp: -36°C/-32.8°F
4 Hours to Sundown

Impending Blizzard: ETA 1 Hour
Temperature Drop Warning​

CAPTAIN EDWARD KINGSLEY
Helping drag Elizabeth up into the lift as it cranked higher, the Captain felt a new sting on his cheek as the wind got stronger; assaulting even his rough appearance. Raising a hand, gripped onto the overhead beams which held the roof of the elevator together. A rickety sheet of old, now rusted corrugated iron being the only partition between them and a majority of the elements. Kingsley, only momentarily placing his hand a little ways off from Elizabeth as she lurched backwards after peering over the edge. "Not the type for heights?" He arched his brow, glancing across at the hunter before the still alight flames below and the burning victims. Not exactly what he'd asked for, nevertheless, it was effective and not something to argue over. He wouldn't spare a breath to speak of innocent death, after all, it wasn't the innocent they wanted to save. It was themselves.

The mechanism jolted and jarred to a halt, causing the passengers of the elevator to stumble -- Kingsley managing to stay upright from his hand on the beam. "Damn and blast!" He made a point to look over the lift again and then upward. His back bent painfully against the railing. Breath spilt from his mouth in storm-clouds, snowflakes landing on his brow and unshaven chin; increasing the amount of frost which had already turned it white by that point. Hairs each frozen where the moisture had collected up to the eyelashes which would be disrupted by blinking every so often. "What the--by Jove, I think I see someone up there." He muttered, still audible to those aboard the haphazard escape route.

"WHO IS IT UP THERE? THIS IS CHIEF ENGINEER, KINGSLEY. NORTH GENERATOR UNIT. WHATS HAPPENING?" His voice was bolstered by the intake of breath, forcing it up and through the wicked building of wind. His eyes watered; the tears freezing before being broken away as the Engineer tugged down his goggles for the sake of keeping his sight useful. He turned to the small group of acquaintances and strangers. "We might be getting some help, I'd ask for nobody to panic. Which I understand might be much to ask." At the altitude they were, one could plainly see the generator and which side had erupted from the valve pressure. East and West took the brunt. North and South had managed to escape relatively unscathed from the ordeal. It had blown straight through.

The Captain breathed out, his rough, gloved hands rubbing over his chin to dislodge the ice which had taken up home on his ungroomed facial hair. Where once it had been clean-cut, there was clear understanding he wasn't so much bothered about finding a barbers blade.

"What's going on?"
"I received a telegram from our London outpost. Did you have any family there?" The expedition leader now faced him, hands tucked behind his back wearing the blue sash and nicely-embroidered golden waistcoat. Edward paused,
"None of them close." He eventually responded, settling himself down in the armchair facing the desk of the large office. Warmth blasting out from the heaters in a rumble of hot water.
"Good." The blue-sashed leader sat across from the roughened Naval-Officer turned Engineer. "What I tell you cannot leave this room. I have already informed the other chiefs in their prospective areas ... we'll soon work together on how to break it to the rest of our great city."
Ed scoffed, "Hurry it on already, you think I have time to dally? What is it?"
"London was hit by a series of subzero storms, it has fallen from our maps. We must set our sights onwards, Kingsley. We cannot let the workers get the idea that they can return, but knowing how the illiterate function -- to tell them would be to cause riots. Those storms, are headed our way. I want you to inspect the Northside generator for valve regulation, keep the pressure easy. I have a feeling we may be pushing it close to the edge with this. But I have faith, Edward, faith that we are more than men. We are pioneers to a frozen world and no matter the cost--"
"We must survive." The Captain finished it for him with a grim expression. "I ... should start on those inspections." His mouth was dry, hands clammy. The end of an Empire in a matter of weeks? Days even? This wasn't so easily brushed off. Nay, this was to be uncalculated from their superiors beliefs that mankind could outrun anything. Even death itself.

nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy Candlebell

VICTORIA AZIZA KINYANJUI
"Wait -- Pyotr! You can't just--" She glanced back down at Cossomo as he withdrew and instead focused on the small box and it's attached wires. Pyotr by that point had already started to climb his way over the dangerous route to the pully, leaving her holding the box and gradually leaning out; further and further till her skis were well over the edge -- trying not to wobble. "Big switch? ... Oh," She flicked it with a satisfying 'click', although wasn't helped by the Russian's shout of not to look down. As Victoria immediately looked down and furthermore regretted it, with a chatter of her teeth. "Hurry it up! Unless you want this box shoved where the sun don't shine--" Her threat barely held enough steel in it's tone to make it worthwhile.

Even so she peered back at the older Scout, "Cossomo?! Whats wrong?" He seemed out of it, and that was certainly not the best thing to be when hanging from a rope. A shout emanated up -- Kingsley. Most knew him from his tight-belted manner of how he ran the North Generator Unit. Men were well looked after, if not exasperated when the chief engineer thought they were doing it wrong -- which meant Edward was usually on the 'factory floor' so to speak, keeping a hawk-eye out for anything he didn't like the look of. Outside of work, the old Navy-man kept to himself apparently, occasionally spotted down the public-house with a few old friends or disappearing up into the expedition leader's office to discuss engines and outputs.

Victoria squinted her eyes through the snowflakes which fell diagonally now to try and spot anyone else. There must've been, the captain wasn't the sort to leave people behind. Or so she assumed from his title. Her gaze drifted upwards to the frightening clouds that grew closer, causing the wind to change into a furious lashing of the elements. The odds stacked against them. "I DON'T LIKE THE LOOK OF THAT STORM COMIN', PYOTR. YOU BETTER MAKE IT QUICK." Tori shouted, as a vague sense of panic set in.

SilverFlight Candlebell

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyotr heard Victoria flip the switch, but even more satisfying was the current now humming through the knife's inner systems. He could feel the heat radiating off the blade on his cheeks.
Slowly he leaned down and pressed the heated metal against the frigid pulley frame. He was vaguely aware of Cosomo falling back, looking about in fear. Pyotr had seen people come back from fighting, sometimes convinced they were in the middle of battle again, was the old man's episode like this? There was nothing for it right now, Pyotr had to get the lift moving.
Victoria shouted at him and that made him look back over his shoulder.
"You speek so pretty Victoria. It touches my heart." He shot back at her with a teasing smile.

Another voice cut through the wind, this one coming from below him. Pyotr felt a faint jolt of recognition. Of course. Kingsley. He'd only been acquainted with the man's orders on most occasions, and seen him in passing, but he knew the voice, and the face. He called back: "Sir! Pyotr of East division sir! Pulley system is jemmed! I am unfreezing now!"
No sooner had he spoken then the hot sizzle of steam began to hiss at his ear. He watched the ice begin to thin, the heat from the knife transferring quickly into the thick metal of the system. Soon the ice was thin enough for him to chisel away. The system was clear and Pyotr made to climb back down.

"Iz done! Vee ken restart system from penel up here." Pyotr pointed to a control box hitched up to one of the steel beams back on the cliff's edge.
Victoria was shouting suddenly and Pyotr looked past her and caught sight of the angry roiling clouds of the blizzard she was indicating. Suddenly a gust of wind took him by surprise. It blew him over and his heart froze as the beam slid from his gloved hands.
He slipped, legs still hugging the beam as he tipped nearly upside-down. The wool fibers of his sweater began sticking to the metal as he clung to it with legs and arms now, but it was so big around he couldn't find a good purchase to climb back up.
"Iz fine!" He called, in case the others were worried. With extensive effort Pyotr managed to shift himself so he could throw his precious knife back onto the precipice at Victoria's feet. It burned it's way through the first layer of snow with a hiss.

Pyotr took a breath to calm his nerves. He could feel sweat tingling his palms as he looked down at the drop below him.
"Victoria, you vill hev to restart system. Open penel, and zen push green button end pull lever. When elevetor iz close I ken jump onto it, but you must pull lever again to stop elevetor, or I vill be squished agenst support strut. You ken do zet yes?"
Pyotr's attention then shifted to Italian, still startled into himself by something.
"Hey old men!" Pyotr shouted into the wind. "Pull yourself up! You must not foll to pieces! Vee need you!"

idalie Candlebell

 

[monochromegalaxy]

Walter Watson

Walter ever so slightly flinched back at the Captains barking, but soon registered his words and made his way into the lift with apparent ease, but struggled to hold on thanks to his cold fingers. He briefly glanced at Edward, memories of his time with the old captain who lectured his younger self when he was discovered to be a stowaway resurfacing. His fleeting gaze held no annoyance nor disdain, but one of acknowledgement. If there'd be anyone who Walter would have ordering the small group of survivors around, he'd rather it be Edward. Walter's hazel stare moved on to Doctor Wilhelm, recognising the doctor's attire, stature, and mannerisms. He'd occasionally encounter the apprentice doctor during his time on the HMS Lightning, him first meeting the student during a check-up after being discovered. The first thing he noticed how odd the man was. The way Wilhelm walked, talked, and composed himself seemed out of place somehow, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Walter once overheard a couple of the nurses chatting about Wilhelm, talking about how much of a sweet and shy lad he was, and how their advances would only fluster him. He also sized up the two strangers on board, the huntress and an overly polite woman. They don't seem too bad, but Walter felt a little more skeptical towards the huntress. She was the most armed out of them and could easily turn on them. But then again, if everyone else were on the same side, the huntress would be outnumbered. Walter brushed his hand against his trusty shovel, feeling a slight sense of comfort.

'Should've gotten that pistol from the other day,' Walter thought with a scowl, irritated he hadn't thought about getting a decent weapon. 'Anything but a shovel.'

The elevator jolted and ceased to a halt, Walter letting out a grunt as he fought to keep himself upright, not wanting to have a face full of cold metal. The temperature was bad enough. He listened to the exchange between the engineers while keeping his eyes on the generator, heart sinking at what was once a symbol of hope to him, hope for humanity's survival.

Doctor Wilhelm Stein Maymie Vogel

Maymie greeted the two newcomers with a nod, resisting the urge to check up on each of them. They would have to get to a more stable place, out of the merciless elements' hands. Not aware if there were any other doctors or nurses with them, Maymie's heart dropped. If that were the case, the responsibility of keeping these people alive sits on the doctor's shoulders. She wasn't like her mentor. Dr. Hall had decades of experience. Maymie? Sure, she caught up quickly, but the prospect still spawned butterflies in her stomach. Maymie continuously tugged at her mittens, hoping her hands would stop shaking.

The elevator suddenly stopped, its occupants caught by surprise. The doctor gasped, her real voice slipping a little bit, and lost her balance. Maymie fell on her backside, the back of her head hitting the railing with a painful thud. She doubled over, cursing in pain as she cradled her hand in her arms.

"Ouch ouch ouch ouch." Mayime quietly hissed through gritted teeth, the back of her head throbbing in pain. "By hell, what happened?" The doctor looked to Edward for answers as he cut through the rigid air with his voice. Curious, Maymie grabbed onto the railing and pulled herself up, another hiss escaping through her lips as she felt her backside sting. Once up from the floor and hiking sticks in one hand, she also attempted to look out from the elevator. As Maymie did so however, her tailbone complained again from her movements. Maymie muttered quietly again and gave up on trying to look, instead held onto the railing, mentally praying she won't fall over again.

"I'll try my best to do so, captain," she chuckled bitterly with a sniffle as her eyes watered and her goggles grow cloudy. "Ugh, damn."

 

[Candlebell]

ELIZABTH CATHCATH
Elizabeth swallowed heavily as she regained her balance, before responding to the Captain. “Not heights these… high…” she finished lamely as the rising elevator lifted them over the tops of the nearby building; higher and higher and giving Elizabeth her first uninterrupted view of the devastation caused by the explosion at the generator to both itself and the west and east districts. Her face grew a pale white as rictus of shock and despair crept across it. For how could anyone have escaped such a disaster?

“What happened?” she breathed out in half a whisper, her question muffled and forlorn expression concealed by the heavy scarf wrapped around her face.

She had returned to the edge of the platform, the long drop below her forgotten as she gripped the railing with white-knuckled hands. Her eyes locked on the burning buildings and rising smoke, staring but unseeing. Even the jolting halt of the elevator failed to break her out of her stare, yet she jumped at the loud bellow from the Captain and turned to follow his gaze up to the top of the elevator.

COSSOMO COSSU
The pounding of blood in Cossomo’s began to fade away as his heart rate slowed from a maddening gallop to a merely slightly crazed canter. The shout’s of Pyotr and Victoria began breaking through to his consciousness again and he burned with shame. To have a Russian and a woman be the voice of reason! He angrily untied the rope around his waist and flung it away from him, cursing at himself in Italian, before hurrying back to the elevator to assist.

His sense of shame was quickly washed away as he found the Russian clinging upside down to a steel beam. That was the Russians for you; maudlin or vicious or needlessly acrobatic. Cossomo and James had enjoyed the Minchenko Circus and its family of acrobats when visited London, God, ten years ago now, but this was hardly the time for such tricks.

Getting up to speed with the situation as Pyotr explained to Victoria what to do Cossomo briefly entertained offering to catch the man, but the Russian was as big if not larger than Cossomo and would probably just end up dragging them both to their deaths. Why take the risk? The two of them seemed to have it well in hand.

He peered down the shaft, trying to make out any clues as to who might be in the elevator. If Elizabeth wasn’t there, he’d be riding it back down to search for her.

"HO, THE CAPTAIN! HAVE YOU MR AND MRS CATHCART ABOARD?" If not, he'd need to be getting prepared.

nighttimecatplayer monochromegalaxy idalie SilverFlight

 

[idalie]

CAPTAIN EDWARD KINGSLEY
The cold was biting, relentless in its efforts to freeze the few living people high upon that basin wall. Wind howled past them bringing with it fresh snowflakes which whitened eyebrows and frosted lashes; turning beards premature shades of light and reddening skin till it appeared sunburnt. Edward gritted his teeth, feeling the cold down to the bone where it seemed to have taken up residence in the warmth, sapping it bit by bit. Hearing the young Doctors question and cry of pain, the Captain gave a sliver of his attention whilst waiting for the fellow engineer to reply. "No idea yet. But I do know our engineers are the best around. If one of them is up there, we'll be free in time for tea." He reassured, finally hearing the shout from above causing Edward to stick his head back out; shielding his eyes whilst craning his neck.

"GOD BLESS!" He yelled, knowing it was better than the various other scenarios he'd been imagining. Alas, before he could retire his voice, another came down -- but this time with a question. Kingsley looked a moment to Elizabeth, "I HAVE A MRS CATHCART. NO MR. NOW HURRY UP WITH THIS BLASTED PULLY!" His hand formed a fist, yet there was nothing a man could do when the source of the problem was of a greater, untraversable distance. Understandably he was anxious to get up to the top as much as anyone else, for there was a false sense of security associated in the heat of the moment over escaping. If only it could've been so easy.

Mother Nature was not prepared to give leeway anytime soon. They had been told in their youth, that no two snowflakes were the same; to never take her beauty for granted. And yet now, the Mother they were gifted Eden by, turned her back. Abstaining from duty to let her children realise the weight behind the lessons they disregarded. Edward leant against the railing of the elevator, letting out a short, amused laugh. "And they tell us hell is warm." He mused aloud, staring out upon the burning ruins of the smouldering city. "At least the sun still rises."

VICTORIA AZIZA KINYANJUI
She had smirked initially at the Russian's response, shaking her head with a breathy laugh of relief till it hitched and halted; Pytor slipping. Her courage paled, putting down the power-pack of the engineer's blade, to move past and push on through the building blizzard toward the box fitting his description. Cossomo, appearing to let her handle the majority of the issue which only had the sweat double upon her brow; freezing to her skin in a sheen of permanent perspiration. "I,--" She inhaled and exhaled, glancing at Pytor with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights. The scout steeled her expression and only gave him a nod in the end.

Using her smaller knife for skinning, Tori scraped and chipped off the build-up of ice from around the panel, wrenching it open with a grunt. Snapping the lock with ease thanks to the rusted, brittle metal. The heel of her palm punched the green button before putting her weight behind the lever and with a forceful yelp of exertion, she managed to jolt it down. Breath heavy as the lift started to rise once more. Further up as the machines and metal creaked dangerously with Pytor still clinging onto the iron strut whilst she gripped the lever a second time. Lifting it, she bit down on her lip hard and felt it rumble as it fought the inner clicking of mechanism till giving way. Kinyanjui gave a relieved smile to the Russian, aiming a thumbs-up.

"Jump on, get off, and let's get the lift up!" She called as the small victory appeared to further her hidden grin. When the Russian was to safety, the lever was flicked again with much more ease, considering it had been loosened from the rust and cold. Kingsley was the first to step off, holding open the gate to the elevator for the others as he beckoned them all out into the deep, snowy tundras. Tori pointed toward the gathering storm, "It won't be long now! We need shelter! I know a Norwegian camp not too far from here, but I don't think we'll get there in time--"

Candlebell SilverFlight monochromegalaxy nighttimecatplayer MechanicalSnake

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyotr landed beside her in a gymnast's finishing stance. He shot her a roguish grin as he caught her eye. "Zer see? You ere prectically engineer." He grabbed his coat from the snow, throwing it on gratefully and rubbing his arms to generate a bit more warmth within it. Then he set to work re-raveling the spool of wire and putting his thermal knife safely back in it's holder. He shouldered his pack again just in time to see Kingsely step off the lift.
"Sir!" he barked, his military formality kicking in without prompting. "It iz good to see et least one more us us meyd it." His voice carried a note of sadness that told Kingsley things had been bad on his side.
He eyed the storm again when Tori pointed it out. "If storm vill hit before ve get to kemp zen is not much use. Do ve hev other choice?"
Pyotr now took the time to examine their surroundings, but there wasn't much to see: miles upon miles of solid white landscape with very little change. He had had no reason to venture out of the basin at all in the past weeks. His only time leaving had been to help repair some equipment at one of the coal mining stations south of New London, but those were much too far away to help them now.
"If zer is forest it might ekt es wind-breaker enough to keep tents from blowing ehwey."
idalie
Candlebell monochromegalaxy nighttimecatplayer MechanicalSnake