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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I would say fashion week has gone a bit gruesome for my tastes.

[ This is comforting, in a way. The back and forth. Not totally comforting, in that Dean carries a certain Matthew Keller je ne sais quoi, but at least the dance is familiar territory.

And hey, half-expecting his conversational partner to pull a gun means he can only be pleasantly surprised when it doesn't happen.

Neal blinks, taken more off-guard by the first question than the second. The second is hardly surprising, really. ]

2012, Rip Van Winkle. And it wasn't house arrest. I had all of Manhattan.

Edited 2020-12-21 23:54 (UTC)

( Fashion week. Yeah, this guy seems like a fashion week guy. Between what he's able to do with his hair and his attitude, not what he's wearing right now. )

A whole island and an ankle monitor.

( He looks almost impressed, his lower lip pushing out. )

I'm from 2020. Why I asked.

( He also thinks they're all in the late 90's, but he doesn't know Neal's bandwidth for weird, yet. )

What'd you do? Are you a material witness?

[ Neal stares for a moment. ] Pardon?

[ 2020? He either misheard or Dean has decided to mess with him in a particularly bizarre way. (Or, a small part of himself says, it's true, which would explain more about this place than it doesn't. He firmly ignores that part.)

Neal's bandwidth for weird caps out somewhere around "sunken Nazi U-boat full of plundered Russian treasure." This is all so far beyond him that he's functioning through shock more than anything else.

Get yourself together, Caffrey. Don't stare like an idiot. He turns back to the pasta, forking out a plate for himself. ]

Quid pro quo. You tell me where the blood came from, I tell you why the US government helped me accessorize.

( 2020, Neal.

Dean doesn't move, doesn't break the long stare that Neal finally breaks it himself.

He digs back into his bowl of pasta, back now against the counter. The US government helped him. That's one way to put it, and tells Dean more than enough. So he's an asset. And he doesn't belong here.

Setting his bowl back down, he pulls a flask from his pocket and twist the top open. He considers the memory, considers being honest, as he takes a sip. He then offers it to Neal, holding it out.

Whether or not Neal accepts, Dean explains. )

My best friend pushed me out of the way to save my life. He sacrificed himself. Traded himself for a deal he made behind my back.

( That this best friend is here, he doesn't say. That the best friend was pulled out of a place called the Empty. That he doesn't know how he feels about him, so talking about him won't help. Or maybe it will. Plus, he gets a story out of it. )

[ Neal hesitates for a moment. He's never been much for drinking for the sake of getting drunk. He doesn't like the vulnerability, the loss of control.

He's also never been in a situation like this one before. Arguably he should keep himself more focused. More controlled.

Still, he accepts the flask with a quiet thanks and takes a swig. And immediately regrets every life choice he's ever made. Neal wheezes, just a little, and takes another hit before handing it back.

The explanation hits a little too close to home. If Neal still had the flask, he'd be taking another pull. He doesn't bother with platitudes. Nothing he could say would make a remote bit of difference.

A pause, as Neal tries to figure out a way to explain his own situation, one not nearly as dramatic or final. ]

I was convicted of bond forgery. [ He looks at his own pasta, poking at it with a fork. ] The arresting agent made a deal with me. I consult with the FBI White Collar division in Manhattan, and in exchange I get a two-mile leash instead of a cell in supermax.

( Dean takes it back, fastening the top again and setting it down on the counter. He picks the bowl back up again, taking the fork in hand. )

All of Manhattan.

( He'd be useful to the FBI. Hell, Dean and Sam would be useful to the FBI. But, they weren't built for that. Not in their world. )

FBI must be on your tail. ( Or, they would be, if they could get here. If they know Neal's here. ) If they know where you are. None of us do.

If anyone can find us, Peter will. [ He's got perfect confidence in that, anklet or no anklet. ] Caught me the first time and again after I broke out. There's no one better.

[ He pauses to take a neat bite of pasta, chews, swallows. ]

I don't think whoever brought us here is particularly intimidated by the federal government. Otherwise they wouldn't have taken a US Marshal.

( Sounds like a benevolent agent Henrickson. Like Henrickson at the end. )

We're outside all that.

( He just knows they are. He's tangled with the government - something else of Chuck's creation, he's not sure of, but been there, done that. )

Whatever's here, it doesn't care about jurisdiction. Or fugitives.

( Something else Dean Winchester has been, a fugitive. Technically, it's how he lives his life. He can't be on anyone's radar. He's tangled with the law too many times. )

You looking to have that removed?

[ Neal pokes at his pasta some more, suddenly not as hungry as he was when he started cooking. ] Regardless, this many people vanishing--wait, whatever?

[ Yeah, he caught that, and no, he doesn't like the implication. ] You think, what, we got abducted by aliens? Are voluntold extras in a haunted village attraction?

[ HE'LL GET TO THE ANKLET IN A MINUTE. ]

Edited 2020-12-22 01:48 (UTC)

( What, his eyes ask in response. )

I think the average guy here doesn't know what exists. What is capable of doing this. Because it's a what, Neal. And a who.

( And much more haunted village attraction. )

Not aliens. Aliens aren't real. At least, not in our world, anyway.

[ Neal shakes his head. ] No.

[ He sets his plate down on the counter, paces toward the far side of the room. Laces his fingers together behind his head, staring hard at the wall.

Therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances-- ] No.

[ Neal gives a laugh that's more like a soft exhalation. ] I'm not crazy yet. I'm not that crazy yet.

[ The smudged names in the schoolhouse that wouldn't come clean, the body in the snow with no signs of trauma, the rows of empty houses, some pristine, some... Some more far gone than they have any right to be, with that heavy feeling of something there that Neal hasn't been able to shake. The way they showed up, the times and places they came from.

Neal shakes his head again.

The impossible must be possible--]

So what are you saying? Do you have any working theories?

( Neal needs his moment, so, with some concern, Dean takes up his bowl again. They always need to work through it themselves. They're not pressed for time or danger so Neal gets to process it by punishing himself. At least that's how it comes off as he incredulously stares at the wall. Dean just watches, eating the carbonara.

He does slide the moonshine closer to him, to remind him that it's an option.

Jury's out on how crazy Neal is. A guy who forges good enough for the FBI to take an interest and then turn around and use him. It does sound like Neal has led a life.

Dean's regarded again. He puffs out a cheek, slightly moving his head. It looks more like a tic than anything. He inhales, then, looking back at him. )

Couple. Something's controlling the fog. A witch, a god, lesser deity. Keeps us in. Maybe it is 1990-something. ( Time travel. It happens. ) It's something powerful, and something outside of time. So, it might even be an angel. ( It's not god. ) Doesn't add up. And, whatever we eat, we steal, shows back up. All this? Back in the fridge and in your pantries. I don't know what does that, except for someone or something that has control over everything.

[ Controlling the fog. Replacing the food. He tries not to laugh--Neal knows for a fact it would come out hysterical. ] It all sounds very Tuatha Dé Danann when you put it that way, but I think they'd be a little far from home.

[ He finally lets his hands drop to his sides, taking a deep breath--and noticing, finally, that Dean has pushed the flask his way.

Neal picks it up, takes far too deep a drink, and this time doesn't give it back. He studies the flask, because it's easier to say this if he's not looking another person in the face as he does it. It's always been easier for him to confront the truth sidelong. ]

Even if it is a what... that doesn't change the fact that there has to be some kind of motivation to this. Not to us, maybe, to the people's they're--it's--they're taking, but this place.

( Sam's the self proclaimed brain, but Dean has done his fair share of deep cut research. Irish folklore, he isn't expecting. But, something tells him Neal is the guy that's going to keep surprising everyone. The forger is charming, even when his brain is melting. )

Yeah. There's something behind it. We don't know what or why. It could also have nothing to do with us. Could be random.

( He offers that carefully, because that won't be what Neal wants to hear. )

You read a lot of Irish folklore?

[ It isn't. Neal keeps himself from straight-out saying 'no' again, at least, but the sentiment is clear on his face. It can't be random. ]

I read a lot of everything.

Might come in handy. 'Lot of what you've read about, it's real.

( Maybe not where Neal is from, or not that Neal is aware of, but Dean has to start this explanation somewhere. He sees Neal white knuckling his flask and doesn't yet ask for it back. This is going to be a harder eye-opener than Dean has taken part in before. )

[ Suddenly there's Peter's voice, saying cappuccino in the clouds, and Neal takes another slow swig from the flask. Coughs a bit.

He needs to pace himself. He looks down at the flask, hesitates, holds it out to Dean. ]

Going out on a limb and guessing I'm not going to like the answer to the question how real is real.

( Dean takes the flask back, giving Neal a minute with his thoughts as he, too, takes a steep sip himself. He lets it burn down before exhaling and twisting the cap closed again. )

Real.

( The real deal. )

Not forgeries.

[ This time he does laugh, and yeah, it sounds just as hysterical as he suspected it would.

He laces his hands together behind his neck and just... breathes. Breathes, and focuses on the buzz creeping into his system already from that godawful hooch. ]

You can't be sure of that. I've fooled artists with fakes of their own work.

I can be sure. Unless we're talking shapeshifters, then you're right. Shapeshifter's like a forgery.

( He's just trying to speak Neal, and maybe take this more gradually than he planned. He sets his bowl aside again, swallowing last of his pasta. Maybe it's not the time, but this might be the best thing Dean has eaten in awhile. He's definitely upped Dean's pasta game. )

[ A huff, one that can’t decide if it’s amused. ]

But are we talking skin-walkers, obake, or general mortal therianthropy?

[ Yeah he’s taking that flask back because that joke isn’t nearly as funny as it would have been yesterday. ]

Skin-walkers.

( He's impressed. But, as well-read as Neal is, it's different than being okay with what's out there or what's real. )

Haven't seen any piles of skin around, though. Or, any copies. Never seen a skin-walking witch, either.

[ He can’t even pretend to be amused. He can’t pretend to be anything but deeply unsettled. Neal takes another drink, his inner control freak demanding to know what the hell he’s doing.

Which is part of the trouble. He’s not even sure. ]

Right. [ Deep breath, deep drink. ] So, how accurate are the ways used to fight these things?

Depends. If there's a shapeshifter, you shoot 'em. But, they can't touch silver. Vampire, you cut off their head. There are witch-killing bullets. Werewolf needs silver in the heart. A god... every one has a different weakness. I'm not saying this comes down to shapeshifters or werewolves. My money's on witch, or someone with a witch in their pocket. Or, it's more ancient.

( His eyes say 'easy,' on the flask, but there is more where that comes from. He just hasn't had enough himself today. He's been being good after his bender the day before. )

Just because I know about em, it doesn't mean that's what's doing this.

Right. [ He’s finding that place in himself that holds up to anything, the walls he retreats behind when nothing makes sense and it hurts too much to figure it out.

Emotion stays outside. Logic is the only thing he takes in with him. Which doesn’t mean the emotion isn’t there—-it just means he’s denied its existence so firmly that, for the moment, he believes his own lies.

Neal screws the top of the flask back on and sets it back on the counter, though there’s far less left than there should be, and he’s definitely starting to feel very buzzed.

That bodes well. ]

So. First thing to figure out is whether or not this little adventure is a team effort or something’s personal pet project.

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