villagelogs | 021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Western Mathias.
WHEN: Days 021-023
WHAT: A cold storm approaches.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Emily Kinney & Lauren Cohan "The Parting Glass"

DAYS 021-023
THE WORLD TURNS WHITE
“Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow,
For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?”
— John Banister Tabb
The howling wind is what wakes the residents of Mathias each day now as the world turns slowly into a bleak stretch of white. Snow continues to fall in thick curtains of flakes that accumulate on trees and rooftops, swirling sideways in the gusts of wind that bow trees and whistle through any crack they can find. The drifts of snow grow taller against the buildings and the wind makes the already freezing temperatures feel bitterly cold.

By day 022, the far ends of streets begin to resemble the hazardous fog with how little becomes visible as the winds pick up. Buildings can still be discerned as dark shapes but the weather's warning becomes clear — a storm is coming. And by day 023, the storm arrives properly, the wind still screaming through the streets like a winter banshee announcing so many deaths to come. These conditions are far from hospitable and only the truly mad would be foolish enough to venture outside in weather such as this.

THE NEWLY ARRIVED
With an embrace of wintery white, Mathias offers a chilly welcome to its newest residents. They awake along the southern treeline bordering Mathias, near the small makeshift cemetery containing a handful of wooden markers erected without names or signifiers of those buried within. And not far from them is the schoolhouse, where in a snowdrift they will the frozen corpse of a young woman named Rey.

LIGHTS IN THE DARKNESS
“A lantern can give you light only when you light it”
— Munia Khan
When residents wake on the morning of day 021, they will find outside in the snow the abandoned lanterns of those shadowy spectres who have moved so silently through Mathias. Each nestled in a patch of frozen white outside their door, the lanterns are now cold to the touch, the half-burned candle within each one seeming to have been lit so very long ago. Inside the glass encasement is a small rolled piece of paper, upon which is written:

keep it lit
There is nothing more, and the prior owners of these lanterns will not return within these days.

There is one lantern waiting outside the building for each resident wherever they are sleeping — the exception for this is those who may have already claimed a lantern as their own. Removing a lantern from its resting place results in no apparent reaction, nor does lighting or not lighting it. However, whatever residents ultimately choose to do with these lanterns should be reported.

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— SNOW continues to fall, resulting over the three days in upwards of a foot of accumulation. The winds blow in gusts over 35 mph.

— VOICES are not openly haunting our residents, though they may still be occasionally encountered in the more heavily decayed buildings where some rooms seem to almost swallow whatever light tries to enter them.

— THE FOG has still receded from the town proper and much of the eastern and northern beach, with the path through the northern forest to the lighthouse still clear on day 021. On day 022, however, as the storm worsens, the fog returns to the paths in the forest, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper or else.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue to plague the town. While Zed Martin has returned, Rey's corpse will be found in a snowdrift near the Schoolhouse; she disappeared on day 018.

— THE STRANGER is gone.

— THE SPECTRES are gone.

OOC UPDATES

— DISCOVERIES have been collected and collated for your review. Please note that this is OOC information only, put together for the purpose of helping you as players see connections and possibilities for CR and your own character's potential avenues of exploration and investigation. (If we are missing something, please report it so we can add it to the list.)

— AP REWARDS have a new option now — Ideas may be requested if you find yourself stuck. You may now claim up to 2 rewards per log: (1) idea and (1) other reward.

— SANITY may be regained in two ways: self-medication and treatment. In Mathias, this means such coping mechanisms as drinking or drugging oneself into a stupor that allows them to face their fears and issues, or talking to someone about those fears and issues. Since both of these will take some time, best get started. (A form will be added to the Sanity page.)

— REMINDERS — Don't forget about the bulletin board. Please continue reporting your updates to locations, plots, and discoveries. The map of Mathias has been added to the locations page for ease of reference. Make sure your character's sanity level is kept updated. Prospective players are still joining the TDM, so it's recommended to track new top-levels so you don't miss them.

navigation | faq | setting | mod contact

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

After last night's unfortunate discovery at the museum, Doc isn't going to leave it to chance for anyone else who might be feeling particularly ~~stupid~~ adventurous. Armed with a hammer, a fistful of salvaged rusted nails and a couple of wooden floorboards left over from their boarding up activity, he trudges through the snow to the Town Hall with something fierce in his eyes, and he spends a few moments in there writing out warnings on at least ten sheets of paper. The various sheets say different things - Warning, DO NOT ENTER, Hazard, Contagion, DANGER, and anything else he can think of.

And then he's back at the museum, trying not to think about what happened there last night. He leans the planks against the outer wall and gets to work, first fixing the hole that he and Negan had left in the window when they were too busy running away last night to fix properly, and then he's nailing various warning signs all over the condemned building. Finally he's securing the extra planks over any holes he can see, more to make sure whatever's inside will have a harder time getting out.

Dean starts his morning out right, with a little moonshine in his coffee which is an experience, but it does the trick it needs to. He bids goodbye to Cas and Claire, and heads out to do some ~~soul~~ searching. Being cooped up at night, while nothing different than the bunker, is different when you can't go anywhere, can't duck out to the bar for a few. He has a room but it's not his room. It's some family's master. And even though he's thrown most of that closet into a box in the garage and replaced it with his own choices (most flannel, yeah), it doesn't feel like his. He likes Claire to stay safe (and assumes she also goes out, she's Claire...) He's also worried about Cas, and about his newfound vulnerability. He can feel the cold now. He's been sleeping. Dean checks when he can't sleep. It's another in the long list of things he does not acknowledge.

Considering all of his feelings are just bottled there in the house, then venturing forth with a flask and a prayer and a winter coat should be enough.

It doesn't clear his head like he wants. The cold doesn't even distract him.

Buildings he hasn't been to include the museum, which he's decided is the day for it. But, on approach, he sees signs already up. Pulling the coat tighter (because it is colder than he'd like to admit), he approaches. He follows the outside of the building, reading the signs as he passes.

"Contagion? Do not enter. Danger." Turning a corner, he finds the cowboy without his hat. Is it rude to ask? He's covering something by hammering a two by for. "What's in there, Henry?"

"Mister Winchester." Dean never gave him his last name, but Castiel did. He doesn't have a hat to tip so they will have to make do with a nod of acknowledgement as Doc straightens up and leaves his handiwork for the moment.

"There's a unh..." He narrows his eyes a little and averts his gaze, gesturing with an open hand. Gesturing at what, about what, is not exactly clear. The image of the monstrosity lurking within had been so clearly seared into his mind, like a brand fresh from the coals, when he had scrambled back from it and tried to high-tail it out of there with Negan in tow, but now it's a little fuzzy around the edges, and he doesn't know how to describe it. There are only fragments now. The way it... almost seemed still alive. The rot. The smell. The indistinguishable spores dancing in the light, fluffy snowfall.

"I-... don't know." Doc seems to trail off a bit, a little confused now that he's thinking of it. The more he dwells on it the more his vivid imagination seems to take off, turning and twisting it into some grotesque shadow monster with tendrils that unfurl and thrash and lunge.

"But there were these..." he rubs his thumb over his index and middle fingertips, the way he would have described something powdery or liquidy. He must sound kind of crazy right now, but he's adamant about keeping others out. "In any case, you can't go in there."

Dean's used to news traveling fast, especially regarding his last name. He doesn't bristle at Henry using it. He doesn't wonder to how he came by it. Cas or Claire. Or, someone else he did give his last name, too. There are other things to think about. Like this signage.

"A what," he asks, before he's not given an answer.

It seems like a horror movie is playing out on the inside of Henry's mind as he fails at his description.

"Tiny violins?" What is he indicating?

"No." He makes a face at Dean, eyebrows furrowed, recoiling a bit. Tiny violins? What in the world?

"It's a-... spores." Spores, yes. How else to describe them? The details are fuzzy, but he can remember the way those tiny particles danced in the light pouring in from the hole in the ceiling, drifting alongside indistinguishable from the snowflakes. He doesn't want to think about how much of it has already gone out through that hole.

"There was an infectious fungal outbreak, where Miss Ellie had come from. Everyone died." She didn't mention the zombie thing to Doc, so he's picturing some kind of rabies, violent, everybody acting like savages biting and tearing each other apart. It's probably not that far from the truth.

"We are not taking any chances." He had come with her earlier to board this place up, but there were still a couple of gaps he is looking to seal off. There's no guarantee that he will even be able to remember the spores at the rate that everything about his encounter at the museum is turning to mush in his head.

Dean returns the face, measuring up to his exasperation.

"You think spores from Ellie's world outbroke inside the museum," he says, eyeing the boarded up window for a long time. He takes a wide step back from the building itself, like it's going to grow a second head.

"You an infectious disease expert, Henry?" he asks after, looking back at him.

“Do I look like one?” he asks wryly. “I don’t know how to... make any sense of what is in there. I do know that four of us have been inside, including Miss Ellie and myself. But she can’t get infected and I am-... possibly immune. I was with a gentleman who goes by the name of ‘Negan’ but he showed no signs of illness.” If... it can be called an illness. Ellie has tried to spare him from the truth but he’s getting a clearer picture of what she has been dealing with, the more time he spends with her and gets her to talk.

“There was a hole in the roof, when we found the- thing. If it was infectious, it may have gotten out by now. I’m no expert in anything, but. She was scared. I am doing this so she doesn’t have to be.” That’s all there is to it. Maybe this is a waste of time. Maybe it’s just theatrics so she can feel better, so she could finally feel in control of something that has controlled her all her life. He doesn’t know. Half of their stay here has been a psychological battle of some kind. He can’t kill any of her demons for her, but if he can help her on this front, he will.

"I know Negan," he says, unable to hide a visible, and uncomfortable, shudder. "How do you know you're possibly immune?" It's not that he doesn't believe Henry, it's just that Henry doesn't seem certain about anything. And how could any of them be?

"Now you think there's a spore-thing on the loose. You don't think this isn't bulletin board-worthy?" Yeah, it's too easy for him to question people. He does pause before he broaches the next subject.

"How do you know it wasn't just in your head." It sounds like something that would directly go after Ellie, if not physically, psychologically.

"He's--" Doc's eyes narrow just a fraction. "Quite a character." Yes, let's leave it at that.

"Mister Winchester," he starts and breathes out a long sigh, closing his eyes and scratching the bridge of his nose. "At this point I do not know if you and everything that has happened in the last three weeks are merely figments of my imagination. I can only work with hypotheticals and what I do know. Chief among which is that I have not gotten sick in the past hundred and thirty years." Yes, he did just say 'hundred and thirty' like it's nothing and just continued on talking, and no, he did not sound like he was exaggerating.

"I have not gotten sick from breathing them in. Miss Ellie would have killed me herself if she did not agree. The only thing that is 'bulletin board-worthy' is a great big sign not to enter the museum so that nobody will panic about what is inside, but a sign like that will only encourage people to come and investigate for themselves. She has suffered more than anyone should ever have to suffer, and I will not put her through killing people here."

He's my father.

He's not. Negan looks like John Winchester, but doesn't talk like him. That rattled both him and Negan once Dean admitted to it. For something he should've kept to himself, he was out with it early on. Negan was the first person he encountered in the general store of all places.

If he can protect people, he should. Dean would do the same thing. But, he's getting sick of not being able to do anything. He's a do-er. Waiting around, making guesses and conjecture is not something that works for him. It's getting harder. He's making less friends because he doesn't do well going stir crazy.

Instead of speaking to the spores or what happened to Ellie and this disease, and needing to be killed, Dean latches on to one thing.

"Hundred and thirty."

Is it frustrating that that is what Dean got out of the dangers he's talking about? Only a little bit. This is why he doesn't like talking about himself too much.

"Give or take." Thank you, yes, it would not be the first time he has been told he looks good for his age. Now can they focus on the good reason why nobody should be entering the museum?

"If you are hellbent on looking for trouble, please go looking elsewhere."

That's Dean. Everything is internal, including what he processed. He doesn't want to go inside, doesn't need Yellow Fever part 2, Electric Boogaloo. Or, Croatoan: Round 2, Celebrity Deathmatch. He doesn't need to be warned like a kid, either.

Dean keeps his head tilted, stepping forward.

"Hellbent on looking for trouble. How'd you see my Tinder profile?" His mouth forms a smile, cautious. "You'd don't need to worry about me second-taking your bio-shock." He studies Doc, his annoyance, and his quick-thinning patience. "You don't look a day over, what does that make you?"

"Your what?" The tinder he is more familiar with is what he uses to start a campfire. Doc doesn't know what a bioshock is either so he's just looking at Dean a little blankly. He does appreciate that Dean isn't questioning his judgment or sanity at least. It puts him in his good book.

"It makes me old and stupid, for making a deal for eternal life and for going into this god forsaken building," he gripes as he finishes up sealing off the hole. He's pretty sure that Dean would actually believe him if he told him everything, considering the other strange things he's seen, but that's all he's saying for now.

That, hopefully rules out vampire. Though, a deal could involve living forever thanks to vampire's blood. But, between the accent, and what he knows - slash - is easy to piece together, one thing is for certain. He brightens up considerably as he does the math in his head.

"You're like a real cowboy." He just grins, between the accent and his boastful sharp shooting skills. Whether he's a vampire of not, Dean sure can live with. Dean has two weaknesses. Doctors and cowboys. (Not so much all doctors. But, it does border on fetish.

"Let me help you out. I know my way around a hammer and nails. I'll hold it in place for you."

Let him, Doc. Let him!

"As opposed to...?" A fake one? Raylan? He wouldn't call Raylan a fake cowboy though. Maybe times have changed quite a bit since those Civil War days but any man with the means and the skills can still choose the kind of man he aspires to be.

He picks up one of the floorboards and holds it out to Dean with a twitch of a smile.

"Can't say there are many people who would be all that excited about boarding up a condemned building," he points out. Not that he's complaining of course. The faster they finish up here the faster they can get to doing other things and the less they have to stand around in the snow getting cold and wet.

"Suppose I like cowboy better than dentist..." he muses as they get back to reinforcing the window. "Gunslinger has a better ring to it though."

"A cowboy from cowboy times. Like, anyone could be a cowboy. I pull off the hat. But, I'm not from then. You're authentic, Henry." That's what he means, holding back how giddy he might be.

"You were a dentist?" he asks, curiously. "Gunslinger, yes." He'd point if he could, but he'd be putting down the board if he does that. So, he doesn't. His enthusiasm, however, comes through loud and clear. "Sharpshooter?" he asks, holding the board up with one hand and forming a fake, gesture-gun to ask his question.

160 years, from whenever Henry came from, to here. He was sent back to frontier times himself. And, caught onto a case in New Dodge. That as a time. Bank robbing zombie and all. And around that time, he forced Cas into several movie marathons.

"Wait," he says again, a smile forming. "Dentist. And gunslinger." Henry. "John Henry Holliday? D - Do - Are you the Doc Holliday. Dude, your mustache. Dude."

"I see." Well, if he's talking cowboy from 'cowboy times', then there is only the one, standing right before him. Though Doc probably does not think of himself as the quintessential cowboy. That is the stuff of fairy tales and folklores. They were just men trying to get by in a lawless and unforgiving, dog-eat-dog kind of world.

Doc cracks a little smile and ducks his head, feeling it unnecessary to answer the 'sharpshooter' question. It is not a secret he had been intentionally keeping, but he figured it wasn't important that the whole town know that some man who does not live up to the legend they have made him out to be is camped out in amongst them. Sometimes he likes the attention, even if it is negative attention. But sometimes he does think it would do more harm than good.

"As you live and breathe." Do... actually breathe, Dean.

"You can call me Doc," he says in his slight drawl. There may be more than one doctor around town now, but it is still preferable over 'dude'.

"As I, as -- I," he replies, bringing a fist to his mouth, fake biting it. He mouths to himself, 'No way,' and then tries to gather his minimal amount of dignity to look back at him, almost dropping the board in the process. He's good, Doc.

"Doc," he wheezes weakly.

"I will - call you. Doc. Holliday. No. Just Doc. What's up. Doc. Ha!" He's giddy and he's not hiding it. He's not great at hiding such clear enthusiasm.

Yes. They are now on first name basis. Like strippers. Truly it is a wonderful day.

Several people have been wanting to say 'what's up Doc' but Dean is the first to have gotten around to it. And Doc, of course, would not be able to understand why that particular phrasing is so popular.

He gives Dean a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Yes, he is real. He just touched him. He would hate to disappoint, to be a fraction of the man that they write and act and sing about. But the inevitable disappointment of Dean meeting his hero will come later.

"Easy there, son. I am sure you will have questions. Let's finish up here and have a drink while you ask them?" Raylan wanted to shoot with him, Neal wanted to play cards. He's not sure what Dean would like, but a drink he can easily offer.

It is. You don't even know.

"Yeah, yes. Ye-hes. We - will finish. Let's finish." He straightens himself up and slaps on a serious face again. He can concentrate when he wants to. But, underneath the serious face, he is giddy inside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

Day 21 @ Town Hall/Museum - OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wrap!