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

"Oh, it's a story worth hearing, believe me."

But Doc is right--not now. Neal doesn't have any gauge for how bad or good the weather will be over the next few days, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. And Doc Holliday would know a lot more than him, on that front. "I've been to the general store, so I at least know what's there. Haven't seen the restaurant though. Do we have any idea how the food gets restocked?"

"It just does. I camped out at the restaurant, and then at the store waiting for a supply truck to hitch a ride on. There is no truck." He's avoiding saying ~magic~ because it sounds crazy, but he doesn't have an explanation for how it works. He watched the shelves replenish themselves and still he checked for any sort of hidden compartment or dispenser, just in case.

"If the shelf is full though it might not give any more. I haven't tested that yet. But you're best to clear it, keep a stockpile elsewhere, especially for the essentials, like first aid supplies. Least you'll have some more come in the next day."

He leans forward and moves to stand, hands resting on empty holsters strapped to an ammoless gun belt. He's accessorised with other things, like a heavy duty torch, a handle that looks like plain silverware. It'll probably end up as a tool belt around here, but he's still holding out hope that he'll find his Colts, maybe washed up on the beach one day, the same way he must have come in.

"Hope you're a decent cook, Mister Caffrey. There's a lot you will have to make do with, 'round here."

"I'm better than decent, and necessity is the mother of invention. When I come over--cards, booze, and dinner. You get to do the dishes."

Neal hoists himself to his feet. "Or we could play for dish duty. I don't mind starting low-stakes."

His smile widens and Doc inclines his head, agreeing, appreciative. Nothing wrong with Raylan's cooking ~~and he doesn't exactly trust Malcolm around a stove~~ but it would be nice to have some people over. Brings some normalcy to an otherwise very abnormal town.

"I would not have you doing everything when we are hosting." And Doc never willingly enters into a game he can't win. "And I should like to send you off with your dignity intact," he adds as a joke-flirt-afterthought, in much the same way as these off the cuff comments come easily to him with anyone he's comfortable being around.

"You'll be providing cards, alcohol, and venue. But if you're going to insist, I won't argue." His blue eyes are lit with undeniable mischief. "Besides, there are more interesting things to play for than dish duty, if we're concerning ourselves with dignity."

He tugs on the boots he scavenged from an abandoned house, retrieving his new-old coat. "But hey, it's winter here. Plenty of layers to get through before dignity becomes a sticking point."

He gets the door and laughs as he ushers Neal out, closing the door quietly behind them before they set off towards the exit.

"Oh I would give it half an hour before you wind up looking most indecent in our kitchen," Doc drawls with a confident air to match his words. "But seeing as you are our guest... I think we would spare you flaunting your finest birthday suit."

"Well, sure, if I'm trying to throw the game." A crooked grin, a tiny shrug. "But I can think of better places to be indecent."

God it feels good to have what amounts to a normal conversation. For a certain value of normal, anyway.

When they reach the front door, Neal hesitates, bracing himself. "...Which direction is it to the Grey Gull, anyway?"

"I suppose the first consultation is free, but after that I would have to charge." Assuming he would rather be indecent in someone's room. Although Doc doesn't know Raylan or Malcolm's going rate.

"It is near the beach." Everything is within walking distance in this small town so they don't have far to go, trodding through the snow. "It has fewer offerings compared to the store, of course, but we should bring all the canned food back here." Other people in the Boarding House can help themselves if Neal isn't keen.

"See, this is where I offer to play you for the next round, but then we're back where we started."

He shivers into the wind. "The restaurant might have more options in terms of spices and potentially-stolen cookware, though. Not that I can complain too much, but the selection in the boardinghouse is a bit more limited than I'm used to."

"So you are an artist, chef, professional gambler, shameless flirt, frontier historian...?" A very accomplished man, to be sure. Doc is impressed.

"Don't suppose you happen to be some kind of sleep specialist as well." That would aid them plenty. For while Doc is holding himself together as best he can, and so is Raylan, Malcolm's night terrors are hard on them all. Malcolm himself most of all. All the cowboys have to lose is some sleep. Sometimes he looks at Malcolm, several nights now from when he first arrived, and he feels like the man is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

"I'm easily bored and endlessly curious."

And he likes keeping a little mystery while he can. Granted, Peter isn't here to out him--

Which is a thought that gives Neal an unexpected rush of homesickness, which is ridiculous in and of itself. He's barely been here two days. He's not going to be here for long, no matter what Malcolm might think about cages with invisible doors. At least he doesn't let the momentary surge of emotion show.

"Not a sleep specialist though. Unless you count pairing wine with a good book."

"Heh. If only it were that simple." No matter - his search for something to help Malcolm will continue unabated. They are coming up to the Grey Gull now, towards which Doc gestures with a tilt of his head. "That's where we're headed."

Keeping his head down, shoulders hunched, not for the first time Doc thinks he really needs to be getting his hat back as they move briskly to the door. He's gotten used to stomping and shaking the snow off his boots before entering that he starts doing it on the porch on the way inside.

"Could I interest you in some coffee?" He figures Neal would want some time to explore the Grey Gull while they are here. They can pass that time with a hot drink, even if the coffee here is apparently terrible according to Malcolm.

"Always." He shivers, enjoying the comparative warmth of the Gull after being outside again. "But particularly when the weather is like this."

Neal studies their surroundings, moving deeper into the building. Noting decor, the faded signs. He can't decide if this place is more creepy or just... melancholy. Neal brushes his fingertip through one of the chalk signs, the faded marks so worn in that they don't even smudge. "I would kill for a good slice of cherry pie about now. This place looks like it would have had a great one."

Doc goes through the motions of filling the kettle with water and getting the coffee ready. By now he knows where everything is, just about. Suffice to say if something new does pop up in the Grey Gull or in the General Store, he would know about it. He has raided this place several times already.

"Hm." That brings a twitch of a small smile to Doc's face. "It would have been a quaint little coastal town, if... whatever had happened here hadn't happened. There might be enough here to be making a pie - not that I would know the first thing about it - but you may need to choose an alternative filling.

"Speaking of which... do you bake at all? Would you happen to know anything about making a birthday cake?"

"Not one of my specialties, actually. I can do pastries, but traditional baking is a little out of my wheelhouse. Not that I don't think I could manage it."

But then Peter would say he thinks he can manage anything.

"Why? Whose birthday is it?"

"There is a uh... a special little lady here, goes by the name of Ellie. She's..." Well, it's up to her what she wants to talk about, to whom. "She hasn't had it easy. Last time I met her here-" was after five people died. Doc's not bringing that up to Neal just yet. One bombshell at a time.

"She had mentioned she thought a birthday cake would be quite special. It would be nice if she got one."

"We'll make it happen, then."

Which means it's as good as done, as far as Neal's concerned. His own experience or Doc's or anyone's aside. There's got to be a cookbook somewhere in this town that has a simple cake recipe, and if there isn't, well. That's what experimentation is for. And if things restock the way Doc says they do, then they don't have to worry about limited supplies.

He stands in the middle of the Gull for a moment, listening to the wind. There's a certain New England poetry to this place that Neal could enjoy, if circumstances were very very different. One of the windows rattles in its frame and Neal hunches his shoulders up, half-expecting the wind to come blasting inside.

He rubs his hands together abruptly and turns his attention to the shelves and drawers, looking for kitchen supplies to claim for the boarding house. "Any idea what flavors she likes?"

It shouldn't be too difficult. All they need is some flour, eggs, butter and sugar. Maybe some milk? Right? Almost... just like making moonshine. Although having eaten some of his own cooking it's probably understating things. There's something of a science to baking that you can't just throw whatever together in any proportion you like and hope it turns out alright.

Putting the milk and a bit of sugar out, Doc pours two cups of coffee and places one a distance away, closer to Neal.

"Honestly? I'm not sure she knows what flavour she likes. I've been told you can't go wrong with chocolate... I've- I've heard of 'chocolate' of course, but. Didn't have any, back in the day."

Neal takes a sip of the coffee, his face involuntarily squinching in disgust at the taste. He reaches for the milk.

"We'll have to fix that. Your relationship with chocolate, I mean."

"We have some cocoa in our house, but. Can't say it's our fastest moving item off the shelf." Malcolm doesn't eat anything so he has to defer to what Raylan prefers as a point of reference. They have oddly similar palates so they haven't been particularly adventurous on that front.

The porch is the cowboys' space for emotional repression, non-conversation, smoking and drinking moonshine shrugging and grunting like cavemen. There is no huddling up with hot cocoas, thick woollen socks and heavy blankets, or any comfort-seeking action happening there.

"Maybe you could teach me what half the things in the pantry are for sometime." He assumes Raylan and Malcolm are worldly enough to know what all is lurking in those shadows.

"I'm more of a coffee guy myself." He pours a more-than-healthy dose of milk into his drink, deciding not to comment on the quality any more than his face already has. "And I'm happy to show you whatever I know how to use."

He hesitates, for a moment, but he can't keep himself from asking. "How did it happen? You ending up in 2017?"

"There was a woman." He has told this story several times now. Sometimes the little details are different but more or less the gist of the story is the same. Several good stories do start with 'there was a woman' but this particular one does not.

"She said she had a cure for my condition. I made a deal with her for eternal longevity." Doc takes in a deep breath and finishes his sentence in a sigh. "And then she threw me into a well where I had dwelled for a hundred and thirty years." All he can do about it now is shrug it off. Pretend it doesn't bother him anymore. For the most part, it really doesn't.

"Wyatt did do her wrong, by doing the right thing. But I might have died quietly, if I had known a few things I did not know then."

It's like something out of a fairytale. Grimms', specifically. Neal stares at him, trying to wrap his head around it.

Solitary confinement for one hundred and thirty years.

"How are you sane?"

The jury's still out on that one, Neal. Doc gives as nonchalant of a shrug as he can manage. Yes, he is bitter, yes, he would have killed her had Wynonna not stopped him. But there is nothing that can be done about it now. The only way onward is forward.

"I thought about a few hundred different ways I would have liked to have killed her, named every brick I could feel in the dark and stopped keeping track of how many days I thought were passing. Might recommend that last one to you if we're going to be in this town much longer." You have to joke about it because otherwise it is not something even all the tears a body can muster up would be able to placate.

"I don't know about bricks, but concrete blocks make great conversationalists when you're bored enough. Of course, people look at you funny, but so it goes."

But he only had a four year sentence, and he wasn't alone in his little cement box. Isolated, maybe, but not alone.

"...How'd you get out?"

Edited 2021-01-16 04:15 (UTC)

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