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

A librar-- [ Comment osez-vous m'accuser. He looks so affronted, Quentin. ] Right. Not going to say something I'll regret about the people who introduced me to the Romantics.

[ He eyeballs Quentin, stepping past him and toward the buildings that look like they form the edge of town. ]

Of course you're from Jersey. [ And he's from St. Louis, but that's hardly pertinent.

Neal casts one more look back at the woman in the snow, his expression going briefly bleak. It feels wrong, leaving her, but what else can he do right now?

Deep breath. Neal settles his hat back on his head, giving the brim a little tug. ] Shall we? No offense, but after all the accusations I don't exactly want you behind me while we walk.

Edited 2020-12-24 06:56 (UTC)

Hey! There's nothing wrong with Jersey.

[Except maybe all of it, but only people from Jersey could say that and not someone who looked like this. Grumbling under his breath, Quentin takes a few steps closer, trying to not look at the dead body in the snow which works about as well as he could have hoped for-- not at all.]

Uh huh, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you just killed that person or anything. Just-- I don't care, or well-- I care because-- there's a dead body on the ground and you're standing next to it and. Someone should do something about it, or I will do something about it, but right now, I really need to get back to New York.

[Stepping even closer, which would still be at least 6 feet away from Neal, Quentin nods towards the trail leading away from here.]

Yeah, no. I'm good. Here. Next to is fine.

[ Very coldly: ] I didn't kill her. I don't hurt people.

[ He almost looks at the body again, but closes his eyes and starts walking instead. A few steps until he'd have to crane around to get a look, and then he opens his eyes and keeps going. ] So either she... froze, or something here did it. If you didn't do it yourself.

[Quentin just stares, a little slack-jawed and makes a frustrated kind of sound. Because, man that is exactly what a killer would say and he rubs his face with both hands before taking another step forward.]

Why the fuck would I kill someone? I don't even know where I am, and-- okay, so not that that has anything to do with anything. But you were right here and I was way over there, by that kind of melted hole in the snow. So...

[But in the spirit of not being a total dick, Quentin lowers his voice]

Even if-- I'm going to put a rock here, or a stick. So I can find her again later and... [and what, Quentin? Bury her? Drag the dead person in to town and get arrested? He flails his hands around a little.] So, yeah. Let's go.

Why would I?

[ He shakes his head. Quentin's not wrong about their relative closeness to the body, at least, but Neal isn't in the mood to grant him the point.

Neal casts another look at the girl in the snow, throat tight. ]

Good idea. Whoever she is, she doesn't deserve to just.... [ He presses his face into his hands, takes a deep breath. Focuses. ] We need to find some locals.

Yeah. You're not wrong. Just-- wait a second.

[Since everything is covered in snow, it takes a little longer finder a stick that will stay upright, but Quentin manages, dragging his cold feet through it until he kicks it under the snow.

He put it near the head of the body and knocks it down firmly with his messenger bag. The Fillory books were hard-backed ones, they could stand a little pounding.

Once it's done, he steps back, arms wrapped around himself for warmth.]

Okay, let's go. And-- yeah.

[Maybe someone in town is looking for this person, or can at least help him find a ride out of here.]

[ He almost, almost makes a jibe about how articulate Quentin is, but decides to keep it to himself for the time being. Contrary to the popular belief of most of the White Collar unit, he is capable of occasionally keeping his mouth shut.

Neal settles his hat back on, tugging at the brim and nodding to the nearest house. ] Hopefully they're not expecting a copy of the Book of Mormon. I left mine in the library.

[ An annoyed glance Quentin's way. Neal takes a deep breath, making his way up the front steps and knocking. ]

Funny.

[Rolling his eyes, Quentin follows. Side by side, like they agreed and the town edges closer with each step. Dark houses and the empty street, the pavement almost vanished under the heavy snowfall.]

You kind of look like one, though. [Quentin says, like ten minutes hasn’t passed since their conversation] A Mormon.

[ Neal gives Quentin another Look. ] Mormons don't wear Sy Devore.

[ When they finally reach one of the houses, Neal climbs the steps. Knocks. Listens. Knocks again, louder. He tests the doorknob, reaching into his breast pocket for his lock pick set with his other hand--but the door opens.

Neal nudges it inward with his foot. Quiet. Warm. Totally dark. His instincts are screaming that something isn't right here. He pitches his voice calm and quiet. ] Hello?

[ Neal steps further inside. Tests the light. It comes on, revealing a perfectly ordinary entryway with the detritus of a busy suburban family piled around. ]

[It's a house. A regular house, and the lights make it seem even more... like a house. That they just broke in to for no reason.

But, damage done and Quentin steps around Neal to get further in to the house. The living room just off to the right looks like it hasn't been cleaned in months, and there's a door straight ahead. Somewhere in here, there has to be a phone or something that will help him find a way home.

And yeah, somewhere to report a dead body to.]

I'm just going to-- there's probably a charger in the kitchen? So, I'm just going to go look for that. Unless they already took their phone with them, and really. Why wouldn't they? Most people don't leave their phones at home...

[He mumbles to himself, setting off down the hall to find the kitchen, or a bedroom. His dad forgot about his phone all the time, maybe someone like that lived here? Hope springs eternal and shit.]

[ Neal puts a hand on Quentin's arm, trying to keep him from going too far. ]

Wait. [ It's Peter's influence, probably, that keeps Neal from just letting Quentin wander off talking to himself. ]

There's something very wrong here.

[ Neal brushes his fingertips through the dust along one surface, the sense of things not adding up making his hair stand on end. ] More wrong than one body in the snow. I really don't think we should split up.

[ His focus lands very briefly on the visible valuables in the living room--not much worth taking, honestly. Not that he would be interested in to begin with, and anything tech-related looks like it hasn't been replaced in twenty years.

Of course, there's also not twenty years of neglect showing on any of it. Neal gestures toward the hallway that Quentin had started toward. ] Carefully. Quietly, if you can manage that.

[Casual physical contact is... not something Quentin does, and his eyes snap down immediately to where Neal is touching him, his whole body freezing up.]

Uh, what? I-- [he pitches his voice low, almost whispering back] you think who ever killed that person is here? Why?

[Not that he thinks Neal would necessarily know, it's also just thinking out loud. Like moving his mouth when he reads. It's a thing.] Okay. We can not split up... and yeah. Yes, I can be quiet.

[Quentin sneaks down the hall, staying close to Neal as they get closer and closer to the closed door. He turns the door knob, the door squeaking on its hinges as it opens in to--]

It's just a kitchen.

[ The moment he feels Quentin go rigid, Neal lets go. He knows how he gets about being touched--it's easy to read the signs in someone else, particularly when they're that dramatic. ] I don't know.

[ Neal steps inside the kitchen, tries the lights. They work in here, too. He goes to the sink and turns the water on, then off again. There's a phone on the counter. ] How traditional.

[ When he picks it up, there's a dial tone, but nothing when he dials 911. Neal hangs up.

He shakes his head. ]

This is all wrong. The dust here is an inch thick, but all the utilities are on. No answer at 911, which would be somewhat more explainable if I didn't think we were in the US. Nothing overturned, no sign that the family left in a hurry. No sign they left at all.

[ He is well and truly creeped out. ]

Edited 2020-12-29 20:36 (UTC)

[With Neal taking the lead, Quentin more of less hangs back and settles for poking around in the nearest window sill. That's where he'd leave a phone, but the bleak look on Neal's face when he tries the other phone kind of nails it.]

I-- so, where I'm from? This kind of thing-- well, not this exactly, but. Strange things? They happen and I'm not really ready to just. Give up. Yet. Maybe they just stepped out? Maybe-- maybe we just have to- [Quentin is thinking, but his mouth keeps moving. Half-thoughts and near-plans, because yeah, something about this just doesn't feel right, even if Quentin wants it to just not suck for a second.

Even if Neal isn't out to find him, the Library might be close behind and who the fuck knows what's going on with magic after Fogg installed the siphon.

Running a hand over the counter top, Quentin takes a deep breath.]- there's really no easy way to ask this, but do you by any chance know about Brakebills? Or hedges?

Who said anything about giving up? [ There's no malice in the question. If anything, it's distracted. Neal has started opening drawers, planning to help himself to the things that look useful. There's not a lot, so far.

He pauses, looking over at Quentin. ] When you say 'hedges' I'm assuming you don't mean a carefully curated barrier constructed of shrubbery.

No. No, I don’t mean the ones outside in gardens, so—-

[That answers that, unless Neal is lying, which could be, but.

While Neal is searching the kitchen, Quentin is looking for more... unusual stuff, piling spices, small bowls and spoons in to his messenger bag without comment.]

We should keep looking. I mean, maybe there’s still someone in the house? Or, in the next one. Except, I don’t think breaking in to every house on the street is going to be- it’s not really the best plan? [the last part is mumbled, mostly to himself, thinking out loud] What if there was a—- disaster. Earth quake? Where would people go... a church, maybe? Hey, did you see a church on the way here?

Church, school building, town hall--good thought. We did pass a shool-looking place but it was dark, so maybe we should aim for a town center of some kind.

[ He's not sure how likely they are to find anyone. The dust argues that no one has been here in a while. But it's more of a plan than he has himself at the moment.

Neal pauses his own search long enough to get a better look at what Quentin is doing. ] ...Are we concerned that they might be running short on seasonings?

Uh huh-- not the- I don't think we need to go back there? Not until we can find someone to... to help. Someone with experience with [looking up from the spice-rack, Quentin flails his hands] dead people.

I just-- maybe. You never know when you might need it, and-- and. Okay, yes. I broke in to the house and I'm stealing this. Just-- I need this, okay?

Yeah. [ Neal tries not to shudder and fails.

He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ] No judgement. Just... an interesting choice.

[ He himself is going to keep opening drawers to see if there's anything he can scavenge that might come in handy. Or anything that might tell him more about the people who lived here, other than the fact that they're entirely average. ]

So. Hedges? Brakebills?

You'd be surprised what you can do with these. [Without looking up again, Quentin continues to search the kitchen for ingredients, stuffing interesting ones in to the bag.]

Just conversation starters? It's... it's nothing. I just thought that you might know, but. You don't. So... and Brakebills is a- a school. That I went to, and you could have maybe heard of it? But you haven't, and that's fine. That's great.

Hedges as a conversation starter. [ Neal doesn't belieeeeve you, Quentin. ] What'd you study?

Uh huh. [Not backing down on this Hedges-business.] Literature. I, uh- I have a B.A. from Columbia and just. I love books. Storytelling. Did you go to-- anywhere? [Because Neal does not look like the kids at collage. Maybe some kind of rich, upper-class learn-how-to-do-tax-breaks kind of school?]

A B.A. from Columbia. What'd you study at Brakebills? [ He's not getting the whole story here, and the more Quentin avoids it the more he wants it.

When Quentin asks about his own schooling though, Neal shrugs. ] I have a few degrees.

[ Which... is not really an answer either, but it's the truth. ]

More of the same? [Magic was kind of like literature, right? It had a lot of old books and dead languages. More death than you'd expect, but...] I dropped out, or-uh, I stopped going to class after a few years and I don't even think the dean noticed, to be honest. The past years I've just been... studying independently. Oh yeah, in what?

[The drawers are all searched and emptied, and Quentin tries the phone one more time. Nothing.]

You know, if you're trying to make me less curious, it's not working. [ Neal gives up on his own search when it seems like Quentin is finished raising the spices, pocketing a corkscrew. ] Art History, History-History, a Masters in Art restoration in Paintings, Paper and Ceramics from L'école de Condé in Paris.

[ He shrugs. ]

Shall we check for a church?

021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

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