The Street Lamp

[Pyran]

It was snowing. It was always snowing around here. Well, everywhere, actually. It was cold, it was wndy, and it was cold. Snow fell thick and fast, in a harsh torrent of winds that couldnt' make up their minds about which way to blow. A small red-furred figure struggled through it all, arms wrapped around his body, his light coat hardly sufficient. His eyes were narrowed, teeth gritted, ears pressed back. The wind beat at his coat like a leaf, and threatened to pick him up and send him flying. He just hunched down lower in the snow. He could see nothing but white, up, down, and around. Couldnt' get his bearings, couldn't figure out where he should go or if he should stay and try to wait it out. All he knew was that the snow would burry him if he stayed put for too long.

The red-furred raccoon, it was, was confused. And cold. Shivering. Keep moving.

Suddenly the wind howled harshly and barrleed into his left side, sending him sprawling into the deep snow, him letting out a yelp of alarm.

He swore loudly, but the wind carried it off as though to scold him. The coon found some vague humor in that and smirked. But...well, maybe he was just going a little crazy was all. Haha!

Crazy, yea...

He lay still for a moment, panting in the deep snow drift, staring up at nothing as the snow covered him. But...no, he had to be hallucinating again. Suddenly a silence broke the air, silence echoing, silence pounding. The wind had stopped. He winced as he pulled his head up. The sky was still a threatening color, or rather a blend of washed-out blues, grays, and pinkish mist. And somewhere near him a light shone...

He forced himself to look up, look left. A lone street lamp stood there. The yellow light flickered...

Where was he?

Oh...that's where.

Out on the horizon, the mist started to clear. Just enough to where he could see the ghostly outlines of distant buildings. Frozen buildings. Frozen city. Dead city.

He felt another laugh go through him and was a little worried by it, but got back up to his feet. No, the city wasn't all the way dead. People would flock to buildings and treasures from better days, treasures like heaters and cars and food. He hadn't seen people in a while. Maybe it was time to make another appearance.

[::.S.O.N.I.C.::]

The wintery wind continued in it's uncoordinated war. Like several opposing armies fighting for control of the dense wall of snowflakes that fell without relent, blinding one even with a sane mind to everything beyond a 6 foot radius.

That's why you'd never really see her coming. That's what made her methods so...efficient in this new age that had closed on them like a trap. Nothing but shadow, and maybe a equivocal flicker of a fluffy white tail. A flicker that may or may not have actually been there. Hilluciinations could be provoked just as easily by exagerated cold as by exagerated heat.

The falling, tussling whitness that thickened the air against the dark night that made it's faithful background twisted and turned until they took on the shape of tall, rounded white ears. And they fell together into what you'd swear was feathered, lightly bouncing hair. That was the explainable part. But what wasn't explainable was how the snow managed to take on the form of two, tropical green orbs, like slanted crystal balls fortelling the prophetic lie which promised the coming green again. Of rainforests and lush front lawns where children played. Of happy gardens and wind-swayed leaves.

It was odd how the mind can play such tricks during such dire times. And even more odd how the mind can convince itself that there is actually a trick at all. Even the velvet voice that rippled over the sound of the warring wind, and the light pressure like that of a hand on the coon's shoulder, was questionable.

"Come with me." And then she muttered the promise of shelter...of food.

Could it be real?

[Pyran]

Breath choked in a dry, cold throat. The coon had his head raised, trying to ask her something. Only...his voice wasn't cooperating. He supported himself up on both arms, tried to control his shivering, and fixed his amber eyes on her again. He swallowed, hard, and cleared his throat, or tried to. "Who are--" He stopped. That was pathetic. The wind was picking up again, taking his words away anyways. So his curse earlier hadn't been drowned out by the wind. Just inaudible. Well...how long had it been since he'd spoken? A while. Too long. Too many fits of bronchitis and pneumonia, too.

So, instead, he complied. He felt compelled to do what she asked, and this time he couldn't even form questions to slow himself down, force himself to think. He pulled himself out of the deep snow, though he kept sinking down again with each step. Come. Follow.

He followed, not questioning why. He wasn't the suspicious sort--well, not of women. Call it a weak spot. But a white being appearing out of nowhere...offering you everything you would kill for at the moment, everything you needed, just as you felt your life's flame was about to go out. Sounds like an angel to me.

He paused for just a second, shaking like a leaf caught in a hurricane, but he took this moment. To rub his cold hands against his arms, brush snow out of his hair and out of his boots. Then he pulled his light-weight coat around him. The ivory trench coat appeared more yellow against the white, white snow, and it didn't do a whole lot for camouflage with his bright red fur sticking out like a spot of blood on a bandage. What was he doing here and why? Well like heck if it really matters, but he was obviously more concerned about asking those questions about the lady.

[::.S.O.N.I.C.::]

He wouldn't have to go far.

Or, at least it seemed that way.

The weather wearied coon's own tedious paws would carry him through the crack, which seemed to open on it's own accord, between two large double doors. They were thick, iron, and chromed a shade or two darker than they ought when contrasted against the bright white torrents which the blizard wielded, raging against whatever force kept the door open long enough for the two mobians to enter before it slammed shut with a wall-rattling echo.

And then came the oh-so-wonderful warmth.

Was it really all THAT much of a difference? Well, about 14 degrees or so. Which probably brought the over all temperature up to a whopping 30 degrees. You could still house a nice variety of comfortable popcycles. But after being out in that storm, even the slightest rise in ferignheight was like stepping into the relms of Eden. And as the freezing raccoon was continued to be lead forward, the heavenly crackle and pops of a fire could be heard, and an amber glow streched over the smooth tile.

A soft mat beside the flame was their destination. A ragged blanket was draped over his shoulders, and a pressure from the hands that put it there encouraged him to lower.

"Sit here," The velvet voice persuaded again, smooth, kind, "I'll be right back."

"Another one, Grace?" A much more cynical, much less hospital masculan voice rumbled softly after hers. Unimpressed. "The demand's going to exceed supply."

"We have food to spare, Emment."

"Yess...and for how long?" He challenged with a hint of sarcasm in his deep bass, annoyed, though the volume of his voice didn't exceed the contageous calm the current atmosphere demanded, "For how many mouths? We have enough to spare for US. I think the kiddies would appreciate a periodical addition to one meal a day."

She was silent.

"Sometimes I really doubt your reasoning..."

The warm scent of chicken soup filled the crisp air and the clanging of a pot-top rang hollowly, just before a bowl was held a few inches from the coon's chest, steaming, radiating delicious smells. Apparently, the vibrant white wolfess had ignored the warning in the towering grizzely's tone. Emment had been there since the start of this small group, a group in which all their members and all their abilities had to contribute in order to keep the "pack" alive, they knew each other well. One of Emment's contributations simply being that the guy was huge. Nothing but thick fur and muscle. But most valubly, that nose of his was able to sniff out even the smallest traces of food from miles away, even through a storm such as this. So understandably, when he started complaining about the supply, folks got scared.

"Every day we lose people, Emment..." She whispered, "Every day one of us dies..."
Someone coughed on the other side of the room, as if to emphisize her words.

"So why waste our life-source on the ones less likely to make it through the night?" Emment glowered, his voice hardly more than a whisper itself, but it was intense, stressing his point, "And if word gets out that we have food..."

He needn't say more.

The wolf didn't respond for a moment, just knelt beside the red raccoon with the firelight turning her warm, green eyes to amber.
"I bet he could keep a secret." She muttered fondly, "What's your name?"

[Pyran]

The raccoon suddenly gave a sly grin. He was hunched over, eyes glazed as they stared into the dancing flames, trying to coax some life back into his limbs as they stretched out towards the warmth. He found some odd humor in this entire situation. And no, this time he was pretty sure it wasn't madness.

Emmet was worried about others knowing. Stealing, perhaps, as the desperate undoubtedly would. The raccoon bit his lip, debating. His name wouldn't exactly help matters. But he cleared his throat forcefully, and one again tried to speak, his voice hoarse and he had to fight hard to get it anywhere past a whisper. "Bandit," he managed with a laugh, a laugh turned to a sharp cough. "Or just...Band. Whatever--hack![/i]--works..."

He winced and closed his tired eyes, leaning closer to the fire, to the point where he could feel it burning his nose. But the rest of him was so cold, he didn't care. It was worth it, anything to warm his blood pulsing through his body. Now he had a warm blanket to wrap around his shoulders, but it didn't seem to help. The cold was biting, seeping, inching its way in like water from a leak. He shivered, shuddered, couldn't stop it, his teeth chattering like a motor. But his head started drooping...so tired. If only the world could stop spinning, just for one day. If only he could stop fighting to live...for just one day.

But a wracking, hoarse cough shook through him suddenly, again and again, each time burning like acid in his lungs. Reminding him that he would have to keep fighting. He swallowed hard and managed to calm down. After all, he was with people. People with food and fire and...heh, this was the best he'd lived in a while.

"Th-thanks for....for all this," he mumbled to Grace, or tried to, and if that was really her name. " 'S n-ice t'know there's still d-decent people in the world." He managed to open his amber eyes again and turn to flash her another grin. Though now was hardly the time for digging girls.

[Warp the Fox]

One hedgehog in particular sat huddled in a ball against a wall, his one-of-a-kind flame-painted leather jacket giving his identity away to those who knew him. But, then again, not many did, really. His name was Scorch, and the people he had met before Grace had left him in the state he was in. Granted, he had attacked first, but the girl kept calling him a rat. And the fox was so annoying....

But none of that mattered to him. He didn't even remember, or try to. The only thing he could remember was the feeling of who he was and what he could be, his very soul, shattered like so much glass. His eyes were blank, his name unknown here as well, and his actions like that of a machine. He came when called, known as Firestarter because of his ability to start fires.

When he had been ushered in by Grace, he was the same way, and Emmit had made some comment about needing more matches to start fires. Scorch had been asked to help get one going, and without thinking, he held out his arm and blasted the logs, then sat and curled into a ball, trying to forget.

When he was needed, he would go start a fire, then return to his little spot, which was left open out of courtesy. He followed commands, except those involving speech or communication. His stare was somewhat unnerving, without any emotion at all. One of the people at the shelter, a psycologist by trade, had tried getting through to him. No use.

So Firestarter he was, and Firestarter he would be. He never looked up to see who the new guy was, like those around him.

[::.S.O.N.I.C.::]

"Bandit..." The wolfess muttered, as if to test out the name on her lips, to scribe it into her memory.

Emment snorted a laugh at the raccoon's last words before he turned away, eyes sparking. Whether it was out of backwards amusement or agreement was anyone's guess. "Nah, there's just a lot to go around when all you've got is nothin'." He jested sarcastically as he got himself a bowl of soup.

Grace hardly seemed to notice him, just gazed into the flickering flames as they reflected in the depths of her tropical stare. "I wouldn't put it that way." She muttered into the fire so distantly her slow voice was almost monotone, explaining Bandit's comment. "We're just people...no, we're still people. We do what's expected of us."

For a moment she fell silent, just listening to the hyptmotizing sounds of the fire and the low murmers of the people around them, undoubtably trying to sort out the problem which Emment had provided her. But then her smooth voice returned, "Love thy neighbor..." Her eyes drifted up to the mobians huddled around the fires scattered within the vastness of the warehouse. The cold, the sick, the angry...

"it's all that's keeping us alive now."

Her eyes finally rested on Scorch, the newest arrival beside Bandet. This little "family" had grown a great fondness for each other throughout all their struggles. They saw less the differences between them, and saw more the companionship through these hard times. Of coarse, there WERE the buttholes, a select few who thought it'd be best to ditch the less important members in order to get an extra spoonfull in their mouthes, though no one dared allow that thought to become verbal unless in a time of desperation - in which case it was usually forgiven because they all had their moments. But everyone had their accepted place in the pack, they knew eachother more than even the cloest of friends back in the good days would ever venture to discover, their secrets, their dark and light sides, who would run in the face of danger, who'd stare fear in the face.

Life or death situations had a tendency to show a person's true colors.

But Scorch didn't really have a position, a widely-accepted rank if you will. The others just subconsciously classified him as an outcaste and stayed out of his way; he made no effort to assosiate himself further than he had to and nobody else really had the energy to continue trying to break through his walls. They had bigger issues to worry about than the mental delimas of the new kids. Well...most of the time.

And as for Grace, she hardnly had enough time to notice. The poor girl was constantly on the move, insisting that she take the longer shifts and travel the longest distances. Sometimes she'd be gone hours at a time simply to find trivial supplies, ones that went quick, like gauze and soap and toilet paper, even baby formula for one young mother. It didn't seem like alot, but when you were supplying for more than a typical family's worth...well, things stacked up. And when most cars either didn't work or were frozen over, everything had to be hauled however many miles it took to FIND them by hand...well...

It was hard work.

But now she had a breather, and now that she had time to chill, she understood - looking over the familure faces that she loved so effortlessly, calculating their moods and wellbeing - and she watched Sorch questioningly.

"Ah," Emment followed her gaze, "That one. Oddly enough, Sparky hasn't had his bowl yet." He glanced quickly at Bandit to catch his eye, then turned a teasingly sly grin over his shoulder at the pot, "I wonder if he wants it..."

"Hey, Firestarter," She called curiously after she drew a scoop for herself. "Why don't you come eat with us?" The pitch of her velvet tone rose on that last word, tainting her question with a touch of enthusiasm that was just as capable of knocking a few cold shivers off someone's form as their life-preserving fires.

Emment collapsed with a grunt on Bandit's other side, muttering something about a spoil sport and slerping down his brough.

[Pyran]

((Wow, I like how you just threw together a nice history for this group. We should give it a name. Oh, and sorry, this is gonna be a shorty post. Trying not to give background yet.))

The raccoon perked his ears and looked over at Emmet, smirking a little. He decided he liked this idiot, for his cynicism if nothing else. Another quaking shiver ran down his spine, his muscles aching from being so tense, so cold, it hurt. His stomach was a tight ball of nerves, his jaws ached from chattering. What he'd give just to have his body temperature right for five minutes!

His amber eyes once again found the object of conversation. Firestarter? That hedgehog looked...pitiful. Looked shell-shocked. Or possessed. Or just...well, brain dead. His eyes shifted to Grace again and he, at this rather inconvenient time when he should have been focusing on living, found himself appreciating her again. So she was pitying too. What about this woman wasn't perfect? She might talk of just being what a person ought to be, but in this frozen wasteland, it was a daily miracle that everyone hadn't reverted to feral barbarians.

He cleared his throat again, and turned towards Emmet so he'd be able to hear him a little better. Though this time Bandit wasn't trying to talk loud. "So, um...what's his story?" he asked, gesturing towards the hedgehog huddled in a corner.

[Warp the Fox]

Said hedgehog slowly stood, ambled his way haphazardly over toward the soup pot, and, after a detour where he seemed to forget what he was doing, arrived at his destination. His head slowly raised, as it had been pointing straight downward throughout the movement. His creepy eyes met those of Grace, and he simply stood there, unmoving, unflinching. He would not eat unless he was told to. All he had registered was that he was called for.

The best news was that with him he brought his natural heat. His current state had lessened his control over his power, and he radiated a warmth at all times, nearly a fire's worth himself. From time to time, a group would get too cold and have no way to get close to a fire, so they'd call him over, and he would bring them life-saving heat. Once, the mother and her young one were in that group. His warmth had saved the child.

And now he stood, waiting to be told what to do before he went back into his little corner. Eating never crossed his mind. Nothing ever did but that memory. Every single action he had taken since running away was done on autopilot, his subconscious compelling him to follow orders just for something to do to keep what sanity he had intact.

((I find it odd that he hasn't been called on to unfreeze a car yet. Oh, that should be Bandit's idea, after Grace tells that story!))

[::.S.O.N.I.C.::]

The corners of Emment's lips twitched as he finished off his soup, as if in the makings of some sort of smile. But when he lowered the bowl and set it aside, his face was impassive. "Wouldn't we like to know..." He murmered in his deep tone, as if the idea of being kept in the dark annoyed him as he glanced briefly up at the dark brown hedgehog from under his lashes.
"He's a pyro, able to control and create fire which is one h*ll of a trick. But the dude hasn't spoken a word since he got here..." The grizzley's resentfulness in that last sentence smoothed a little as he continued, "It could be that he lost a loved one, or did something horrible that he can't come to terms with now that he's in a somewhat secure social environment - canniblism or what have you. Those're the usual stories behind folks who started out in their own little world 'round here." He tone grew a little more grave as he added with a glance in the hedgehog's direction,"But if you ask me...it's that d*mn water which did a number on him..."

Scorch's withdrawn behavior didn't go unnoticed by her. But the faintly glistening wolf didn't ask questions with her expression which always seemed to reflect her thoughts, or address it; she simply smiled empathetically and tilted her head toward her shoulder, which rose as she extended and gave him the bowl.

"You need to eat," She reminded him kindly, "It'll be harder to get it down if you wait."

Emment knew that feeling all too well. When you walked the line of starvation, and your body wasn't used to getting a schedualed amount of food from day to day, your body finally stops telling you that you're starving. Sure, you still feel hungry, but it's not something that you can't ignore. That's when things start to get scarey. But it was a common occurance with new people.

"See..." The grizzley continued, "he got here similar to the way you did. Grace was jus' on one of her typical rounds, one particularly cold night, looking for fresh bedding or something rediculous like that. Snow was falling more steadily then, and the wind was nonexistant, but still-cold is just as often the MOST ungodly, as I'm sure you know." He glanced at the coon, expecting a form of agreement, "she was headed over the bridge and noticed an irregularity, looked like a flippin' crater in the ice, that went aaall the way down to where the water wasn't frozen, and..." A pained expression crossed his face, "that's where she found him." Most people believed that the deep water was frozen solid through and through. So it was at least SOMEWHAT of a good sign to see that there was enough warmth somewhere deep below to keep the water above the point of freezing. But at the same time as relief, it was also a fear. That water was even more deadly than the insane chill that lingered in the air. Just a few minutes soaking in that stuff would be enough to end someone's life.

"It was a death

[/u] trap. The ice was so thin around the water-hole he was stuck in that there was no way to pull himself out, 'less he clawed to the part of the crater that started sloping up, and at that point the ice would be too slick to escape. To this DAY I don't understand how Grace got him out of there...I know she jumped in after him - her body temperature takes longer to effect than most people - but how she got both their carcasses OUT is what boggles me"[/b] Emment rolled his eyes, "but she did, and she resesitated him, all the while talking to me on the phone, telling me to get to the bridge asap. And when i got there she was curled over his chest like the loyal b*tch she is."

He shot a teasing look her way at his K-9 reference, but she didn't seem to be paying attention to the exact wording of their conversation as she began herding Scorch their way. This seemed to bore the grizzely, so he continued with a casual shrug, "I carried him back, a few days later he got his fire-power back, and bada-bing bada-boom, we have a history-lacking mute." He glanced over at them, " 'Coarse, we all have our theories. Hers seems the most logical - that he got in a fight of some sort and underestimated either the thinness of the ice or the intensity of his fire and got himself in a bit of a pickle. But no one really knows but him...which means we're stuck-like-chuck in the dark from now 'till the meltdown..." That irritated growl returned to his voice.


[/blockquote][/size]

[Pyran]

The coon just watched Emmet throughout the entire story, occasionally glancing at Scorch or Grace, and occasionally shrugging instead of nodding or shaking his head where his input might be appropriate. A shrug was always safe. Even during the fantastic story, Band didn't get anything more than a slight spark of interest in his eyes. Well hey, he was tired. He continued to rub life back into his fingers at the fire, and his pants were...wait, were they smoking?! But Bandit didn't spare that much more than a moment's thought. They weren't on fire, and the burning, itching heat was welcome rather than hurtful.

But then Emmet's conversation came to an end, and the cynical raccoon couldn't help a cynical grin at the last comment. "Who says we're ever having a melt down?" he offered in a low voice, so it was harder to hear than usual even. He cleared his throat and shrugged. "The last ice age lasted for thousands of years. And we don't even know exactly what triggered this one. I mean, sure there are theories. Global warming, the earth's orbit changing, the sun just...not doing its job. Crazy stuff. All of those should take a couple thousand more years to fix...."

He didn't exactly want to ruin anyone's hopes...but there was a point to this, believe me. He let those words sink in before he spoke again, planning for only Emmet to hear, but likely a few more might be listening, and none to happy with what he'd said. No one likes to hear their hopes torn down. But Band spoke louder this time, confident. "That's....if any of those were the reason...." And he left it at that. If they were curios, they would ask, but Bandit wasn't going to push his theories on anyone. People thought his theories just as unlikely, or more so, than any of the others.

[Warp the Fox]

The seemingly mindless hedgehog held out a hand for the bowl, then began mechanically eating, not even looking at it. Spoonful, swallow, repeat. Bowl became empty. Scorch set it on a table and began walking away, heading for his spot again, but someone else called for him, and he approached them instead.

A fire was required, as theirs had gone out. Firestarter went to the back woodpile, gathered a couple logs, brought them back, set them up, then pointed at them, making a line of fire from finger to wood. The wood ignited, warmth was had, and Firestarter went back to his little corner.