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

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.

No, he didn't give me a choice in his feelings.

( Because, that's how Dean sees it. Cas' feelings. He doesn't think about them affecting him, or if they do, or how he feels in response. He hasn't had the time. Processing continues to delay. The alcohol never helps. )

[ That’s not what Neal meant, not at all, but the answer is telling. ]

And now you’re here, and he’s here, and you’re both stuck with revelations and chances you don’t know what to do with.

We're both stuck. We're all stuck.

( And maybe, they both are stuck. Dean's stuck. He's stuck in second gear. He hasn't confronted what Cas said, nor what he feels around it. He never gave himself the chance. He never thought he had the chance. Now, Neal says that's what he has. A chance. )

Cas hasn't said anything. That he wants anything. He - made it clear he couldn't have me.

There's stuck and then there's stuck. [ It's almost a joke, but Neal's tone keeps it from being one. ] Can't be easy for him either. Figuring out where to go, after thinking that was it.

We're not going anywhere.

( Castiel can't have him. Whether that's because it's what Castiel believes, or what's true, Dean doesn't let himself think about, even when confronted about it. )

He shouldn't love me.

[ This is all striking closer to home than Neal would like to admit. Than he will admit, to anyone but himself. ]

If love was that easy to control, the world would be a far simpler place.

[ Probably also a less interesting one, but Neal isn't sure sometimes whether or not that's a good thing. ]

Why not, though?

( His fingers tap the flask, fighting the urge to finish what's left. There could be more, here, too, shared with the boarding house. It wouldn't be neighborly to finish that off, too. )

I'm not the guy you love. You love me, you die. Or, you get erased. ( Or, he kills you. Or, he dies. Or, he gets erased. ) He waited until he had no choice. No exit. No time for me to say anything. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop Billie. I watched him get sucked into the Empty.

[ Half of that means nothing to Neal. Another quarter has information he can't quite wrap his head around, literal as it seems to be--you get erased.

Alcohol swims through Neal's system, making him unsure how long he's been quiet. ]

You could say that about anyone. [ He rubs the corner of one eye. ] Anyone who puts themselves at risk to help other people, anyway, and you--you strike me as the type.

[ A ghost of an expression crosses his face, too brief and too small to be a smile. ] To become spring means accepting the risk of winter.

[ Maybe it's the booze that makes him say what he does next. Maybe it's Dean's own honesty. Maybe it's everything from the past two days, all the impossibility catching up with him and making him loose-tongued. Neal doesn't know.

His throat squeezes around the words, but he gets them out. ] Seeing it happen in front of you, knowing you should be the one on the other side of the equation--nothing can change that feeling.

[ And there's Keller in his head, telling him they're two of a kind, telling him he's only ever going to bring pain down on the ones he cares about. ]

But for another person to put that kind of significance on you, to believe you're worth that much--it has to count for something.

[ Value, after all, is almost entirely assigned. Rarity, beauty, effort involved. It's always someone else's choice, what a thing is worth, whether that thing is a vacation selfie taken from a New York street corner or a Raphael.

Whether it's a one-night stand or a best friend. ] You might not want to be the guy people love. But that someone does says more than denial can.

( What is that, Dr. Phil? To become spring, would that risk summer? Summer follows spring. Maybe fall accepts the risk of winter. Or, is fall already accepting since winter's next? Alcohol slows his responses down, too as Neal makes sense of what Dean's barely said. )

He didn't deserve it. He -- finally told me - and he just -

( He leaves. He's gone. Dean loses someone else. There's a reason he couldn't answer Sam's call.

That significance is something Dean lives with every day. He is loved and he loves. He's a caring person. He does what he has to because he loves. But, Dean is also a killer. Maybe not the one his father molded him to be. )

I'm not - ( Significant. In denial. Okay with talking about this. He taps the flask up and down against the table before letting go.

Maybe he's not worth saving. ) I changed him. He didn't feel emotions, he didn't feel human emotions and I changed him. Ten years. Before he dies, he tells me that he loves me and that I love, and that I'm not my dad's blunt instrument. That I -- care. And, I didn't say anything. I said it sounded like a goodbye. He thought that just telling me, it was enough. It made him happy enough, perfectly freakin' happy, to -- save my life.

[ Once again, Neal can't help but think he's entirely out of his depth. He has no context for the things Dean is saying, no knowledge base to weigh them against. What is, or was, Dean's best friend, that he didn't feel emotions? Neal is pretty sure that Dean is speaking literally.

He can't say anything intelligent to that. But there's a level on which he can relate to at least part of it. ]

The truth can be worth it. [ Neal looks down, smiling faintly. What would Peter think, hearing him say that?

Silence, then: ] Look. What's keeping you from talking to him about it?

Do I look like the sharing type? This? Doesn't happen. I'm drunk. ( Freakin' wistful. Misty-eyed. And, he doesn't know if all Castiel needed to do was say it. Maybe that's all he wanted. He doesn't want more because couldn't be more.

Even now, maybe there still can't be. ) I thought the profiler would get something out of me before the -- forger? ( He pushes his chair out, readying himself to stand. His head clouds, a brief dizzy spell kicking in. Thanks, moonshine.

He needs to keep fueling up, soak the moonshine with Italian. ) You have any more of that pasta?

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