villagelogs | 011 » moonshine mingle [open]

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011 » moonshine mingle [open]

characters: Everyone is invited
location: Hirano residence
date/time: Day 11 after sunset
content: Moonshine Mingle!
warnings: TBC

Well, they say good things take time. Can't exactly hurry along the process of making homebrew, anyway. Of course, most of them are still very much focused on why they are here, how they got here, what they are supposed to do, and all the other pressing questions that have arisen since their untimely arrival. But what started out as a mere joke of a suggestion arising from idle banter turned very quickly into a four day mission that has finally come to fruition. Three days is as fast as they can go, but. Yesterday had other plans, it seems, for a fair number of them.

So it's the fourth day when the hastily scrawled notes on pieces of paper taken from the Town Hall stack go up in various places, around the Boarding House, the Grey Gull, the Library, the Town Hall. If one happened to have not seen any of those makeshift flyers, word of mouth about the informal social gathering should have spread far and wide enough to reach everyone. Either way, it's happening, at Hirano's house after sunset. Moonshine has been promised.

The front porch, living room, dining room, kitchen, and the bathroom is accessible to everyone. The house isn't decorated for any sort of occasion, and the night starts out with the TV off and no music - mostly because the boys who have found themselves becoming impromptu hosts are kind of preoccupied. But perhaps one or a few of the guests can get something started fairly early on? Some finger food like club sandwiches and baked savoury pastries are also available, but the main attraction is the moonshine and that will be freely passed around. Having not had time to age, nor a barrel to be aged in, it is clear in colour, like water, but the gasoline-like smell is unmistakably strong. There was no real quality control to the process to speak of, so some might end up with 40 proof alcohol while others might go as high as 70. No one can promise it's safe to drink but it seems like no one's dropped dead (yet?) from sampling the goods.

Towards the end of the night, bottles of moonshine will be available for the taking, though it would probably be polite to take only one and leave some for the others. And while the bedrooms are mostly off-limits, if anyone is too intoxicated to go home later on in the evening, they may just unfortunately be stuck slumming it with the two tall, dark and mysterious cowboy-looking fellows for the night. Oh, the horror.

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"That'll be the shine," he said with a little lift of his glass and a sip, teeth bearing as he swallowed. "Bit rough for those that ain't had it before but it drinks. Always easier to get through a night with a bit of a buzz. Still wouldn't really call it alcohol. More like rust remover.." He swirled his cup thoughtfully and then brought his eyes back up to Malcolm's.

"I don't know if it'd help but you're welcome to a cup. You might wanna cut it with some water, make it less.. sharp to ya."

"No way to make it twice as sharp, huh?" he joked lamely. "Um. I'll take it straight up. It can't even have an adverse interaction with my meds." He held up a hand, still shakey, indicating about two fingers of liquor between this thumb and forefinger. "Just a little one."

"Trust me, you won't need twice as sharp. Here, hold my glass." Raylan patted him lightly on the shoulder as he stepped away and into the bathroom. He returned a moment later with another small cup, filled with about four fingers instead of two.

"Here," he said, trading his glass for the new one. "And if you're drinkin' that, you don't need to be holed up in the library. We can put you up here for the night. Doc and I will be movin' not that it really means much. You might have noticed the smell lingerin' about ain't really the most hospitable."

Malcolm took a small sniff of the contents of his cup, but looked at Raylan as he spoke.

"A-are you leaving tonight?" he asked with some concern. Was he going to wake up there alone?

Maybe that would be better. Maybe they wouldn't hear him screaming if the liquor put him to sleep.

Raylan scoffed a chuckle. "After drinkin' like he is tonight? Hell no. That's somethin' to tackle tomorrow at best. Don't worry, we ain't gonna leave you here alone. The house is open to anyone who wants to crash here since we're handin' out drinkable gasoline."

Some people had no idea what they were really in for.

Malcolm huffed a laugh down into his glass at that, his miserable and slightly manic demeanour really breaking for the first time since the withdrawal set in.

"Well, keep a little in reserve. In case we find some kind of vehicle," he teased, taking a sip. It made him cough and he felt dumb in front of someone who was clearly a hardened 'shine drinker and he covered it with his elbow. Lowering his arm, he took another - more careful - sip and managed not to look like a fool.

There was no stopping the grin that broke at Malcolm's cough or the way it changed Raylan's face. "Oh trust me. We're bottlin' up anything that doesn't get downed tonight and we'd need a hellva lot larger population than this to get it down more than an inch or two. The Grey Gull left us bottles and we gonna use 'em," he promised.

"Take that slow, the cough is natural."

That was nice of him to say, but Malcolm noticed he didn't choke on it.

God, he was the coolest person Malcolm had ever met.

He took another small sip.

"It's nice of you to share this with everyone. All the people I've met have been... pretty stressed out."

At least that first day, before he went into withdrawal and withdrew.

"In a situation like this, hoarding what you have for yourself would be natural," he pointed out.

Raylan shook his head. "Wouldn't have been able to do it without Henry's knowledge and know-how. I just helped build the thing. We couldn't hope to drink all this ourselves and.. well," he half sighed with a gesture out to the bodies and nothing else in particular. "There's a lotta stressed bodies in this place. We can make more; no need to hoard it."

Raylan looked back over at him. "Just because the world is ugly don't mean we gotta make it uglier." His tone ended with a 'right?' He wasn't telling Malcolm something he thought he didn't already know.

"You wouldn't be tryin' it if you didn't agree, I think." He curled a crooked half smile at that.

"Well. I'm desperate now," he admitted openly. "We both know that."

He took another sip.

"I was worried at first. About the alcohol dulling our ability to deal with this place. Collectively, I mean. Making us less sharp. Letting something get by. But I'm all out of sharpness. If I'm going to be useless, I might as well get some sleep."

"Well at least you're not alone in that desperation; no one would drink this shit by choice," he chuckled with a slight pull back of his chin. "You talk like someone who doesn't drink. Who's never needed to or never chosen to, either way. I've been a Marshal for twenty years and worked more than a few mornin's hungover. You might be sharper on the day to day, but I'm sharp all the time."

He bobbed his head at Malcolm's jacket. "That and the rest of your suit.. You find a line to hang it on, you can wash it and let the sun dry it out. No dry cleaners around here, but it don't mean we gotta throw it in a washing machine. Might consider tossin' one of the empty houses for extra clothes. That's what I've been doin', jeans aside."

"I drink occasionally," Malcolm told him. "I can't drink a lot; I am - as we've established - on heavy medication," he said with a self-conscious laugh. "Well. Usually," he allowed. His expression sobered. "But my mother started drinking after my father was arrested and... hasn't been sober since by my count. It's hard to spend your life watching someone destroy themselves. I don't have anything against drinking but... I'm very aware of its double-edged nature."

His eyes followed Raylan's nod to his jacket, then he looked down at his clothes. "Maybe there'll be a house around here that has clothes in my size."

"We have," Raylan agreed easily. But his head tilted a little as Malcolm continued. "You know that we are too, right? No one drinks thinkin' they're going to wake up in sunshine and rainbows. It's copin'. And we've all got a lot to cope with. 'Give them drink and a spectacle' or somethin'. There's a reason this stuff has been around forever and it ain't alcoholism."

Just in case Malcolm tried to pull that out of the back of his pocket.

"I understand coping mechanisms," Malcolm told him. "But this is an extreme situation and we don't know what we're dealing with yet. I just wanted to get somewhere first, but that's a pretty moot argument now. They cut me off at the knees themselves. There's no getting anywhere for me. There's maybe mitigating some of my symptoms. And I don't know if that's going to change when the withdrawal is over." He contemplated his glass, then looked at Raylan. "And I'm going to wake up tomorrow with a headache and all the same problems." He huffed an almost-smile. "Good thing I already have a headache, huh?" He took a larger swallow of the drink, breath hitching as he swallowed, but it wasn't quite a cough this time.

"As much water as you can stomach is your friend," Raylan suggested with a little lift of his glass before taking a sip of his own. Once he'd got it down, he continued.

"Look, can I ask you somethin'?" He waited for Malcolm to say yes before continuing. "You ever been off your meds? Or have doctors told you that meds are the only way to control your own head?"

Malcolm looked at him a second and then looked into his glass.

"There was a period of my youth where I was less diligent about taking them regularly or on time," he admitted. "And I'm not on as many meds as they wanted to put me on. It's really... the minimum that I need to... function effectively."

But he still wasn't looking at Raylan's face because he'd had that sort of question before and there were two types of judgement that came with it. Either he was hysterical, taking meds he didn't need for problems that were in his head, or he was crazy and crazy made people uncomfortable.

"That's not really an answer," Raylan pointed out. "I am not suggestin' that you didn't need them or don't need them and however crazy you may be, it all fits into the blanket of humanity here, and its important to know. Mitigation for possible injury, of you or anyone else." You want to keep these people safe, right?"

"But we still need to know, until we run up on the kinda pharmacy you need."

Malcolm nodded tightly.

"We're not going to run up on the kind of pharmacy I need," he said grimly. "If they were going to provide what I need, they'd have done it when they provided what everyone else needs. I assume you've been in town. Food. Cigarettes. First aid supplies. ...Fucking hair products." He all but spat that last one, finally actually angered by it.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again and then he did look at Raylan.

"I have complex post traumatic stress disorder. All the problems I'm medicated for stem from it. Anxiety, depression. But also psychosis in the form of visual and auditory hallucinations, which were somewhat mitigated by the course of antipsychotics I took and parasomnia in the form of pavor nocturnes - night terrors - that... I still have when I'm medicated but I don't know how a lack of medication is going to affect them. They might be worse. I don't know because I haven't slept yet."

His right hand, tucked under the elbow of the hand holding his glass, balled into a tight fist.

"I'm not sure you do want me to stay here tonight," he advised the Marshal evenly. "It might be a good idea to send me on my way sooner than later. I sleep in restraints at home. I'll walk. Or run. And possibly fight. And I won't know where I am or what's actually happening. I could hurt someone. Unless you have a basement with a lock to put me in."

Raylan did not think that was favoritism, but he also knew that there was no way to sway Malcolm out of that idea. "We started the week here, us first group without cigarettes or hair product. Maybe you'll get lucky and that'll change."

It was the only comfort he could offer.

"I take it that night terrors come with screamin'? Place this small and quiet, everyone's gonna hear it anyway. Might be able to find some rope though. Tie ya down to the couch." Raylan looked into his glass for a second before looking back at Malcolm. "You're gonna have to sleep sometime. You run, you walk, you fight, you're gonna find yourself gettin' hurt, or lost. You can take that chance, if you want. Or you can accept a little friendly help. Suffer a night here; we're all gonna hear you anyway. Or let me walk ya to an empty house, I can tie some slipknots and come back to check on ya in the morning."

Malcolm shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"I have to be able to release myself," he said almost apologetically. "Anxiety. I'll have a panic attack." He looked down into his glass and shifted his weight again. "I could..." He frowned, trying to figure out what to say to a pretty solid argument. "I could stay... just tonight. Maybe... in a part of the house where there aren't other people."

"Screened porch has a door," he pointed out with a gesture that way. "Could stay out there. Anything's better than sleeping in the library. Plenty of single level homes, no balconies for you accidently wander off of and break a leg."

But he was going to be keeping an eye on Malcolm from now on, to make sure the New Yorker didn't slack too hard on the self care. Even Raylan had his limits and he knew he wasn't the kindest to his body or himself.

Malcolm nodded, his expression tight. "Okay." When it came down to it, he wanted a connection. He didn't want to huddle alone in the corner of the library forever. He didn't want everyone to avoid the freak. "Maybe tomorrow, when it's light out. I could. Look around here." He looked at Raylan. "For an empty one." He opened his mouth and closed it and looked at his drink, then looked at Raylan. "Maybe... if you have time. You could. Come along. To help me look."

Raylan nodded with him, pleased that he seems to have taken the suggestion. The 'offer' of helping was taken with a crack and pull of his smile. Second time in as many days and he couldn't help but say yes to it. It wasn't like he had anything better to do anyway.

"I got nothin' but time," he promised. "A lotta people moved out of the houses here on the beach for something closer inland. Now that we're not gettin' battered by a hurricane, I'm inclined to stay on it. Should be your pick of houses open. Plus, I still have a few houses I wanna check for compartments. Maybe we'll get lucky and find someone's stash."

His eyes widened slightly. "Stash of what?" he asked, trying not to let his imagination run wild. He paused, trying to pull himself together a bit. "A man I met thinks there really were people here because he can detect their energy. But I still think there's something fishy with that theory. There are a lot of things that don't fit with it just... being abandoned."

He stopped, considering something, and then he took a drink of his drink.

"It's just a theory. It doesn't hold any more water than anyone else's," he conceded.

Raylan shrugged. "Drugs, weapons, important papers. You'd be surprised at what people keep in their walls or floors. Behind pictures, it ceilings.." Oh yes, he thought about all the places.

"There's a lot that doesn't match up. I've started a few columns of possibilities if X is true. I feel like we're looking for a House. A.. I'll show you the picture in a bit. It's in all of them. There's somethin' important here that we just don't have full context for. I'm still thinkin' cult, even if we do have to make concessions for magic bein' a real thing."

He didn't mind theories - tossing them back and forth, poking holes in them made them better.

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