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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[ 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.

Or neither. It could also be a thing happening. And we're caught in it.

( Which is equally unhelpful when it comes to explanations. )

None of us have anything in common. My best friend, the one who - gave his life up, he's here. And another girl, Claire. And I think Elena and Elijah know each other. Everyone else met here.

Or that. [ He braces his hands on the counter, locking himself a little more firmly behind his barrier walls. Think.

Easier said than done at this point, but still. ]

There's nothing to do but let it play out, is there?

[ Play out and research. Dig where they can. Try to keep each other safe against god only knows what. Neal has never been a fan of slow and steady, but that might be their only option.

...Then what Dean says about the friend who died registers, sending a fresh cascade of shock over him.

It makes sense. In an awful way. People being dragged here from different times, different places, of course it makes sense that things could cross over like that. Neal studies Dean, tongue loosened enough to ask the question he might otherwise have let rest. ]

Does he know? What he'll do? Did do?

( It's an entirely triggering conversation, it feels like, on both ends, but Dean can't stop himself, not with how far down the rabbit hole they are. Neal knows what's real, and he half-knows what's happening, half of what any of them know. He's instinctive. Dean likes that. )

Cas knows. ( Like Neal locks himself down, Dean does as well, grabbing for the flask again. ) He lived it. And he's lived past it. I guess, he's back.

( Jack is God. Cas is out of the Empty. He's -- there, somewhere.

Dean unscrews the cap, taking a shallow, dry sip and he chokes it down, rubbing his arm along his lips. Dean holds it close to himself, keeps it inside, but he's doing a poor job of it. )

So it's not just about figuring out a way back. It's about figuring out a way to get back and make that stick.

[ Neal doesn't even question it, the additional goal. He can only imagine if Peter sacrificed himself that way, then showed up again. The lengths Neal himself would go to in making sure Peter got to go home.

Neal closes his eyes. ] Tall order.

If time keeps moving, it should. If that's mine.

( He doesn't discount another reality. And that hurts, too, not knowing if this Cas is on another timeline altogether. One that ends with Chuck being taken down and Jack rising to God-level.

But, of course, preferring to be called Jack. )

We get people back, that's what we focus on. What happens after. ( He doesn't know. And he pauses to indicate as much, dropping his head back. ) We haven't talked about it.

( Cas and him, he means. )

[ Somehow, Neal had contextualized this place as something like Narnia in his head. He would step out the other side and be back where he started, like nothing changed, like he'd never been gone. It made as much sense as a dead man coming back to life or sharing space with someone from 2020. Never mind the fact that part of him is also still counting on Peter to find him and pull him out of this.

He needs to sit.

So he does. Doesn't even miss the chair.

He should probably also eat something to at least lessen the regrets he's going to have about that moonshine, but he doesn't get up again.

Neal presses his face into his hands, laughing faintly. ]

I'm in the middle of a commutation hearing. Of course I am. Here's hoping they don't think I decided to bolt before finding out which way the chips fell. [ Neal glances up at Dean. ] I've found that the more you don't talk about something, the harder it gets to say anything.

[ He looks away, expression bleak. ] You can ruin a lot of second chances that way.

( Dean brings the flask, the bowl and Neal's bowl and fork, too, setting those down in front of him. He takes a seat opposite Neal.

They probably think the worst. Like Neal planned to skip out on his commutation. )

What's there to say?

( Or, does he mean Dean. And Cas. )

You're talking about me.

More than is, usually. [ He shrugs, picking up his fork and picking at bits of bacon on the pasta with it. Neal focuses on that, his thoughts a world away.

He looks sidelong into Dean's face, shrugs. ] All I know is that I wouldn't want to talk about it, which would mean I probably should.

( Dean sits back, taking the bowl into his lap, equally picking at what pasta is left, kicking it around in the bowl. He doesn't look up when he says what's on his mind, says something out loud that he hasn't said to anyone. Not Sam, not Jack. Not Claire. )

He loves me.

[ Ah. That one complicated, complicated word. ]

You found out when he...?

Right before. He told me, gave this whole speech. And that traded my life for his.

( Explaining that completely hurts his head. It will probably increase Neal's own headache so he doesn't go into it. Unless Neal asks. It's the truth and still the most he's spoken about it. )

[ Neal's smile is tired, sad, sympathetic. His focus stays on the table. ]

Didn't give you a choice in the matter, I assume.

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