021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

[villagemod]

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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Comments

[hellblaze]

Oh, it was a normal place once, mate. As normal as normal goes. Might of had some unsavory types that led to the whole affair.

[ John looks up from the papers in his hands. New face. He clicks his tongue and leans back slowly in the chair he's accommodated. A chair that once belonged to the man or woman that would sit at the head of town meetings. His feet go up to rest on the table, a low grunt escaping him from the fact that his ribs are still on fire.

Internally. Obviously. ]

Suppose this means you're new in town, given I haven't seen your face around before... and I know just about every face in town. Welcome to Bloody Fucking Mathias Township.

[conning]

Bloody Fucking Mathias. Points for capturing the ambiance. [ He takes up the chair across from John, a very small smile on his face. Neal settles into the chair in much the same way John settled into his, minus the kicking his feet up part. ] Very new. Woke up here yesterday, in point of fact, and I can't say I appreciated the change in scenery. The snow ruined my favorite pair of Ferragamos.

[hellblaze]

The note's written in blood if you couldn't tell. [ He gestures to the opposite wall where the receptionist desk sits. Oh, how does he know? Well, Neal can ponder over that one. No point in taking the surprise out of it. ]

Mathias doesn't much care for the favorites. But, I'm guessing you know the basics of the situation and the town.

[ Some part of him wonders how the hell he ended up in this position. Why is he the one in Town Hall, talking to a new arrival, as if he's the fucking welcome wagon? Part of him wonders why he cares so much for these people. He's never met them before Mathias, and he really shouldn't. Yet, here he is, putting himself out like this, to make sure the people who don't go knocking around in the dark don't end up like Ritchie.

Or Gaz.

Or Annie.

Or him. ]

[conning]

[ Neal's expression goes briefly grim. ] I could tell. Reds or browns don't dry to that shade on that kind of paper, and the feathering isn't right for something as thin as ink.

[ He's just trying real real hard not to think about it.

Deep breath. Forced smile. ] Neal. Caffrey. I take it you've been here for... a while.

[hellblaze]

Oh, another bloody detective. Fantastic. [ Be still his heart and keep him from rolling his eyes backwards into his head. Still, he gestures to the rest of the room.

Really, mate. The blood note is the least of the worries in this town. ]

I was one of the first that showed up. John Constantine.

[conning]

[ Neal's lips twitch into an amused smile. ] Consultant, thank you very much. Detectives pay way too much attention to the law.

[ He picks a pen up off the desk and starts fiddling with it, walking it between the fingers of one hand, back again, then flipping it into the air and catching it before twirling it around his fingers again.

He fidgets a lot. It drives Peter crazy.

Then Constantine introduces himself, and Neal drops the pen. ]

You're one of the people who died.

[hellblaze]

Ah, so, a bit of my own line of work. Well, maybe not the entire line. Did a few cases with the New Orleans police a few times.

[ John glances at the pen but gives a half shrug. He has his own fidgets he does when he's thinking. Now, the man starts bouncing balls off the wall? Then he'll have an issue or three.

That's just bloody annoying.

He nods to the way of the bulletin board. ]

I knew I forgot to take a note off the bloody board. [ He gestures to himself. ] Ta-dah!

[conning]

Manhattan White Collar unit. Less blood, more paint. I like it that way. Dry cleaning bill is way more manageable.

[ The quips are automatic. They distract, hopefully, from the fact that he's trying to compose himself. Retrieve the pen. Act like his train of thought didn't just go careening wildly off the tracks and over the edge of a cliff. ] Ah, wasn't the note, actually. Friend of yours. Said you dug up your body.

[ Have a very questionable Look, John. ] Not that I'm judging, but there are probably easier ways to get a new pair of lucky underwear.

[hellblaze]

Mathias doesn't much care for the manageable. As you've probably noticed.

[ He can roll with the quips. After all, Five would tell anyone about John's amazing sense of humor. ]

Ah, so you've met John Henry. Good bloke, a bit old time-y too. I did dig up my old body. Did a bit poking around with our local Brain-y One and found out more or less nothing I didn't already know. Died of chocking on Fog, in case anyone left that bit out.

[ He snorts. ] Woke up on the beach in the clothes I showed up in. I'll leave it to you to figure out how that bit happened. Still working on it myself.

[conning]

I was getting that impression. Very fond of flannel, though. [ This is safe. Familiar. Reassuring, even.

Except for the context. He makes an amused noise. ] I like him. [ A pause, because he can't help himself and Peter is a bad influence: ] A straight shooter.

[ That one's for you, Burke. ]

He might have mentioned the fog, and the asphyxiation. The return, however, was not discussed. [ And Neal is more than a little disturbed by it. ] Who's the local Brain-y One?

[hellblaze]

[ He snorts at that.

Not one for flannel, obviously. ]

Just wait till he starts poking in that personal business of yours. You may not be so fond of him after that. [ His face scrunches up and he rubs his ribs a bit. ] If you want a straight shooter, mate, find our local Marshal. Raylan Givens. Big white cowboy hat. Bit hard to miss.

Worked with the FBI and what not. Harvard boy. Usually around with the cowboys. [ This means John doesn't know his name. Alright? He doesn't much care to ask either -- as Maolcolm hadn't just offered up his name.

It's almost like a game between them at this rate. ] Did the autopsy with me on my own corpse.

[conning]

[ Ah. Neal's smile turns ironic, his tone very dry. ] The Marshal and I have met.

[...Never let it be said that Neal is slow on the uptake. ] New Yorker? Likes the book store?

[hellblaze]

Guessing you had a bad run in? Surprising. Raylan radiates that perpetual goodness.

[ A shrug. ] New Yorker sounds about right. Wouldn't know about the bookstore. We, ah, don't hang out every Tuesday.

[conning]

Let's just say the US Marshals Service and I have a complicated relationship.

[ There's a smirk. There's definitely a smirk. ]

Not your type?

[hellblaze]

Huh. Well, can't say I'm in a different boat than you. Although, it is more than just the US Marshals.

[ A fellow troublemaker. He can appreciate that. ]

Questions are good and all, but, too many of them starts getting even on my nerves. Got an infinite amount of patience, me.

[ Right. John. Right. ]

[conning]

Okay. [ Neal does kick his feet up on the desk now, head tilted just a little as he looks Constantine over. That smirk hasn't gone anywhere, though now it's a little more genuinely amused. ] Your turn, then. Tit for tat.

[ An airy gesture. ] Ask away.

[hellblaze]

[ He snorts. ] I only ask questions when I feel the need to ask them. Most can be deferred from watching a person or knowing a thing or two about their habits.

You, mate, have your knickers in knots. Worried? Scared? Nervous? Might be all of them. Not my place to judge. It has apparently become my place to tell you that you can't trust much in this town. The weather, the condition of buildings, the night. It's never just something in Mathias.

[ He cocks his head back and grins in return. ] If you're trying to do a con? It's not going too well.

[conning]

[ A raised eyebrow. ] Not much of a dancer. I can appreciate that.

[ He debates for a moment, giving Constantine a look that's a lot more calculating than anything else. He could lie, or try to, but what's the point? He's been called, and his hand is shit.

He shrugs. ]

All of the above. And believe me, if I trusted anything at all in this town I'd be a pretty poor con man, even if I'm not at my best. [ Another moment of thought and he sighs, pulling his feet off the desk and sitting up in his chair again. ] I'm used to being able to at least guess at the rules when I'm thrown into someone else's game.

[hellblaze]

We all get knocked off the horse once in awhile. Just gotta climb back on and give 'er a good push forward.

[ John leans to his side, wincing slightly at the movement. There is a low hiss as he rubs his ribs again. What he wouldn't do for those heavy pain killers right about now. ]

Survival is the game. Maybe not in t he traditional sense, but we're in a town where the population has disappeared into thin air. There were hooded ghostly figures walkin' about the place the other night with lanterns. Ones, we woke up to this morning. [ One foot taps towards the lantern on the desk that is lit. ] For now all we can do is dig around and find what we can to put the puzzle together.

[conning]

[ He gets to his feet, playing with the pen again, pacing. The truth is he's well beyond worried, scared, or nervous. He's half out of his mind already over Peter and the others, that they might be out there somewhere in the middle of the madness. For all that Neal doesn't want to accept what's going on around him, he's always been more adaptable than Peter. If he's struggling with this whole thing, how would the agent possibly take it? ] Survival is the entertainment factor. Not the game. There's something else to this, there has to be something more going on than simple sadism. There's motive here, somewhere.

[ He sounds like Peter and he doesn't even notice.

Neal eyeballs John, gestures in the vague direction of his ribs. ] You okay there, cowboy?

[hellblaze]

Oh, there's always something more going on. The question is... how deep are you willing to dig, mate?

[ He pulls out a cigarette. Then, he slides it between his lips. It lights with no flame, no lighter. Seems to be the easiest way to ease people into the idea of magic. ]

English, pretty sure that disqualifies me from being a cowboy. [ A half-shrug. ] Had a bit of an altercation with an unknown prick. Sent me flying a few feet back.

[ And knocked him out flat. But, ssh. ]

[conning]

We'll need to rent a backhoe.

[ He watches the cigarette, then studies Constantine's face. He's pleased with himself for not being overwhelmed all over again, but maybe he's still in enough shock that the trick only registers as another drop in the bucket.

He raises his eyebrows. ]

You can light a cigarette with your mind, but an English cowboy is a stretch. I think we have different thresholds for our suspension of disbelief.

[hellblaze]

No point in renting. No business in the town.

[ Though, he can appreciate the sense of humor. ]

It's magic, mate. Best to accept that now rather than try to rationalize it later. [ His fingers wiggle as if to get the point across. ] Time for you to start pushing that threshold back.

[conning]

Has anyone ever told you that you're a very literal person?

[ Neal braces his elbows on his knees and leans forward, exhaling softly. Magic.

Magic.

He can handle this. He can do this. It's fine.

Under his breath: ] The impossible could not have happened, therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances. So what's your working theory, Columbo?

[hellblaze]

Only when I feel like being a bit of a prat.

[ John gives a wide grin at that. Oh, he's always a bit of a prat. Prick even. Bastard--bastard was usually the right word to use. ]

Upset local ancient deity. Wasn't appeased the right way, got its land disturbed, someone pissed in it's breakfast, or maybe it even woke up on the wrong side of the bed. They tend to get bit uppity when their worship quotas aren't met.

Not that it really match the scale we're talking about. Something got rid of the population in this town and broke the fabric of time itself. Then us lot showed up.

[ He presses his lips together, glancing up the ceiling. ]

...Although, I suppose, you could talk me into the idea that it is a very big pissed off ancient deity.