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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Raylan peered into the pan as he passed by, heading straight for the fridge to open it up. "Well, it ain't all carbon yet, so you're doin' somethin' right. You sound chipper this mornin', swearing aside."

He looked over at his friend sidelong, hazel eyes questioning without questioning.

"I figured you subsided on rage and cigarettes, if I'm honest - you mind if I steal some of this juice?"

"Fuck off." John replied back easily.

Everyone was a bloody critic. Chas, now Raylan. If they could do it better then maybe they should cart their arses over and make food for him every morning. He ignored that questioning look and kept his eyes on breakfast.

"Oh, I do. Problem is, my corporeal form demands more substance than that every now and then. So, here I am." He raised the spatula in his hand and motioned towards the fridge. "Help yourself."

Though, he raised an eyebrow. "What brings you to the humble abode this early in the bloody morning? There's a snowstorm outside, you knob-head."

Edited 2020-12-27 06:26 (UTC)

Raylan grinned at the retort. There ya go John, lean into it. Raylan was missing Tim's dry sarcastic humor already - he'd have a field day with this. What John seemed to be missing was that Raylan was just giving him shit.

Still, he hummed a note of acknowledgement and pulled the carton out, navigating towards the cabinets to pull down a glass. Pulling a bottle out of his coat, he opened that first and poured in a few healthy fingers before capping it and filling the rest of the glass with juice.

"Worth walkin' through to end up any place that don't feel like it's startin' to shrink in on me. Figured I'd be neighbourly instead," he replied as he walked over to set the bottle of moonshine on John's left hand side of the stove. "Ain't far if Doc and I are the only one getting blitzed to stay warm. Saves on firewood too.. Not that we really need to, I suppose."

It was a roundabout way of opening the door - Raylan did not talk about his feelings normally, shrinkage or otherwise.

John looked over at the sound of pouring. Moonshine and juice? His eyebrows knit together. Not out of shock the man did it, but out of the fact that must of tasted like absolute atomic waste.

"When I, ah, mentioned that the moonshine could of used a bit of taste? That wasn't quite what I had in mind."

At least, he presumed it was the shine.

"Oh, neighborly. Right. Not used to those." He offered rather seriously. "Most didn't come to bother me in my flat in London - not unless they needed my help. Mill House in Louisiana was out in the woods. Took a drive to get there. Ended up putting up wards to confuse anyone who might stumble onto the place so Zed could hide out for a few days."

A few days had turned into Zed basically living in the Mill House.

He reached over to turn off the stove - oh. He was right. It was moonshine.

"Now that's a bloody pointed meaningless statement. What the hell is that supposed to mean? 'Not that we really need to.'" He half turned, gesturing to the glass of spiked juice.

Given the look on Raylan's face? John had a sinking feeling this was about to get personal again. That one level of personal he didn't much like confronting. Comfortable, familiar, friendly. The sort where two blokes would sit at the pub over a pint bitching about whatever was bothering them that day. That level of familiarity was one he avoided like the plague. It meant things were too close. Being too close got people killed in his line of work... and that was if they got off easy.

"It all comes out the same, this'll give it some flavor," Raylan said with a faint lift of his eyebrows as he took a long draft of it. Anything to keep his mind busy and honestly, it wasn't much different than moonshine and coffee. Whatever kept him moving.

"Next time you're in the States, I might have you come do my place. Might come in handy. But I don't want nothin' except some fresh air." Raylan ambled over to a window, peering out at the weather and pretending like he didn't see John's gesture. It probably wouldn't surprise John to know that it was not his first or his last of the morning.

"Plenty of firewood and adrenaline spikes at 3 am. I keep our wood stock fairly well and you seem to be faring well enough, yourself. Blocked off to one room, we could all respectively survive... Zed come back yet?" His bets were 50/50 on that but if she was, he'd rather know if she might walk in on them talking.

Someone was a bit prickly this morning. John felt like he suddenly should of gone into bartending instead of the Dark Arts. He rolled his eyes. Ah, shit. Someone had pissed in his cereal this morning. Not the time to point out the fact that he and Raylan most certainly came from different realities. There'd be no visiting the Marshal from Kentucky.

Might be a good thing in the end. He wouldn't want something following him to Raylan's home.

"Oi, answer the question, knob-head." John started to plate breakfast. "Upstairs asleep. Do your best to keep the sulking quiet, yeah? Mine wakes her up enough."

There's something gentle in the way he said it. Respectful. John always respected Zed to a degree. Though, now, it seems like something was a bit different.

"Klaus found her roaming around. Brought her home the other day."

He couldn't be accurate 100% all of the time in passing small conversation, that's not how conversations with him worked but no, it was not the time to be pointing it out. Knob-head got a lift of one eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at the Brit before glancing at the ceiling.

He would argue that he is not sulking, thank you very much.

"One less person we gotta fret about bein' out in the snow. I'm glad," he said with a nod. "Hope she came back all in one piece."

Raylan took another swig of his juice/shine drink and shrugged with his face, circling back around to John's 'question'. "Woke up this mornin' to hearin' my name screamed like I'd just been shot down. Not exactly a smooth and calm way to start a day."

What? He was English. That meant he gave English insults. Careful, or he might bring it from one step up of 'knob-head.'

John pulled out three plates. He didn't quite make enough for three bloody people, because well, it was just him and Zed in the house. Though now he was starting to wonder if he should keep a helping around if Raylan was going to mope his way into the house during the mornings. He turned back towards Raylan, sliding him a plate. Bacon, egg, sausage. He didn't bother making the full English spread.

Maybe another time.

"Seems alright, other than being pissed she's missing a few days. Daisy was the same way." He put his hands on the counter. One hand was still bandaged, but now with just a large band-aid over it. What is a mild stabbing between friends? "The hell your name being screamed for? Piss off a succubus in your sleep?"

It was only that he'd never been called such a thing and what an oddly funny thing to call someone, but Raylan was sure that if tables were turned and he let out some country saying, he'd get a similar look of curiosity.

It looked like Raylan might have thought about objecting to the third plate, but once the meat and egg hit it, his stomach swayed him towards accepting it. He plucked the piece of bacon up, crunching into it as he listened. Dean had fed him, very kindly, when he visited but with as much as he was likely to drink today, any kind of cushion for it would probably be helpful.

"That's better than the alternative." His dark mind being what it was and with all the possibilities that Mathis had opened up, he could come up with all sorts of unattractive alternatives. No, it was better that Zed had only missed a few days. Better still for John, he'd wager.

Raylan grunted at the question, poking the yolk of his egg with the end of the bacon bit to pop it before eating the rest of it. Once he cleared his mouth, he'd answer, snagging the bit of sausage to keep his hands busy.

"Malcolm. Scared the hell outta him so bad, wantin' to cross that bridge, that it got into his nightmares. I'd tell him that the bridge blew in but that'd be the same as tellin' him I tried to cross it alone. Apparently, he's a little.. Attached."

Well, that was technically accurate but it was its own form of dishonesty. Coming right out and saying it was harder than it sounded and Raylan couldn't quite bring himself to do it. If he didn't say it, it didn't have to be a real thing he had to figure out.

"Dead isn't permanent here always. Not sure there's any good alternatives here in Mathias."

John raised his eyebrows. Bridge? What bloody bridge? Ah, right. He must have missed that trip when he was holed up in Town Hall. John had more or less figured out who Malcolm was, but, well, he'd always be Harvard Boy or the Brain-y One. Malcolm had ruffled some feathers and he'd prefer not to get all cozy with the names.

"Attached," John repeated. "Like a puppy? Hate to tell you this, Raylan, but, that bit was obvious."

Then, he shrugged. "We all have our own bloody nightmares in this town and probably back home. Don't see why you're getting all bent out of shape because he had a bit of bumpy night."

"There are worse things than Death," he said with a bounce of his eyebrows at his plate. Didn't much matter what the alternatives were, they were all bad here. John was right about that.

Raylan glanced up under his hat brim as John continued. Had it been obvious? Slightly, perhaps, but Raylan had kept his eyes down and his mouth shut like he was supposed to. Nothing to lead to the wrong ideas, despite apparently everyone he knew here throwing it at him like he was comfortable with it.

"Who says I'm bent any kinda way? Just don't like waking up to hearing my name screamed like that." Even he knew it was bullshit. Raylan's lips tightened a little, eyes drifting down to his plate for a minute as he chewed his proverbial liver.

This was stupid. He was being stupid. "It's nothin'." Lies.

"Death usually leads to the worse things."

He wasn't privvy to the situation with the cowboys. But, it didn't take a genius to recognize that Malcolm would be attached to someone eventually. You didn't ask all those questions about people and things and not look for either answers or an attachment. Especially with the three of them coped up in a house together.

Ultimately... John wasn't really surprised.

"You walked through a bloody snowstorm in the morning and ended up at my door. You're drinking juice and moonshine. You're a bit unhinged, mate. Not in the mad sort of way. But, ah, you don't get to drag my biggest failure out of me and then come over here and mope over juice and moonshine without telling old Johnny why."

He paused.

"You're bloody terrible at lying to a conman."

Well when John put it that way. Maybe he was starting to unhinge a little. The idea hadn't occurred to him, if he were honest about it. Raylan frowned some more.

Flatly stated, it was a risk. Even giving air to it - he knew what it would lead to. Questions about him and his stances. Stances he'd never looked too hard at before for a whole host of reasons. Stances he was sure would be seen as backwards if no one looked underneath to see the matchstick supports. It opened him up to a ridicule he didn't want to have to withstand.

Raylan took a deep breath before he started. "I overheard the conversation that happened after Doc got him to wake up. 'Attached' mighta been to.. too sterile a word. He's got a thing for me." The tone he used was one of confusion as he ended it. He was not disgusted or condescending - he just didn't quite understand it.

"Doc's encouraged him to.. say somethin'." And he wasn't sure how to handle it. He was sure that question was clear.

Mathias was getting under the skin. It was bound to happen when they were trapped in a town too long without any comfort. Rather, limited comfort. He finishes off his cigarette before dropping it onto a ashtray that is on the counter. If it looked familiar? It was because he nicked it from Town Hall.

There was a tch at the mention of Doc - as he had pieced together that John Henry was the same man. Ah, what context could do. He pressed his lips together as his face rolled into a scowl. That would be all he would do about that though. No point in causing more of an issue for the good Marshal.

"Thing," John repeated. Oh, it was obvious what thing meant in this context. Christ, when did he become the man to give relationship advice? Not that John thought it was much of a relationship anyways. Not like that. Puppy dog bullshit. "Yeah? So, he's given you the puppy dog eyes. Raylan, we're dealing with some supernatural force that trapped us all in a bloody town, and you're worrying about what to tell a man like you're the height of being a bloody teenager?"

Not once ever did John Constantine say he was good at this. People.

"You got two choices, mate. You either tell him you're not interested and it's nice and all that, but you've got a little cowboy on the way and a woman back home. Or, you shut up and shag the man." John shrugged. "Me? I'd go with the first option. Then again, ah, nosy question askers aren't really my type. Maybe it's yours."

Ashtray theft; ah finally, something he recognized. He didn't care about ashtray theft either way, not even at home. It was a bit of glass no one would miss and was being given purpose now. Nothing bad there.

Raylan caught the tch, but if he'd ask about it would wholly depend on how this part of the conversation went. He was already deeply uncomfortable and two wrong words away from bailing, by no fault of John's. Though the accusation of childishness was deeply chiding in it's own way. Raylan hated how easily Arlo's voice came to mind. God the rancor the old man would wail down upon him.

"I lack the uh.. the education to follow the second and the first is gonna hit his issues, have him flippin' his shit over an awkwardness he didn't ask for. You know he was livin' in the Library before this? Like some homeless vagrant. He ain't stable enough to be on his own. You got a third option?"

It was the closest he could get to saying he'd never touched a man like that and was naive and ignorant enough to 'not know how'. The shame that was pressed upon him by his culture and his upbringing weighed heavily on him, no matter how hard he tried to crawl out from under them.

"Fuck sakes, Raylan. We've all got our issues!" John gave him a look. "We've all got demons, vices, virtues, and everything between here and a night at the Las Vegas strip! I've been in and out of a bloody insane asylum for two years. Sometimes? Sometimes you need someone to kick you in the bollocks and set you straight. Because, if your mate can't do it? Then life does it. And life is a lot crueler of a kick than when it's your mates."

This was a bloody mess.

"Third option is you ignore it. When Brain-y One comes to you baring his soul, you just take it in stride and pretend it hasn't got an effect on you. What other options do you think you've got? You give it to him flat, you go along with him, or you run away from it. Just like any other fucking relationship there is."

Raylan took it all in stride, face attentive and unreadable. Yes, true, they all had issues. Most of which couldn't be helped. Most of which didn't want to be helped. Neither of those were the case for Malcolm Bright and Raylan would be damned if he was going to be moved off making sure someone didn't accidentally kill themselves in the mess of a group of people who seemed intent on rushing towards it.

Malcolm was an innocent in his own issues, a tortured bystander. People like Raylan and John were not passive in the vast majority of theirs.

"Yeah." He took a deep breath in, eyes closing for a moment with it as his eyebrows lifted. "Maybe I just needed to hear it that way."

What he'd do, how he'd deal with it - that would remain to be seen.

His eyes stayed on John though, fingers tapping lightly on the table as he considered something else. Maybe he should just let that sleeping dog lie. Bets were on that he had the right answer, in general enough to sate his question on it.

"Food's good, by the way. I appreciate the plate, even if that's not why I showed up."

"Pretty sure someone would come complain' to me if I hadn't fed our good local Marshal." He replied with a shrug. Namely Zed. He glanced down at the finger tap.

Ah, hell. There was more.

"You've got something else rumbling in that big hat of yours. Out with it." John, though, had a sinking feeling that this one might not be at the level of the circling emotional mess going on down where the cowboys holed up. "Otherwise I'm going to confiscate that bloody juice of yours."

"I doubt that," Raylan huffed with a little shake of his downturned face, fork poking at the last of the egg before cutting another piece to stab into the last bit of sausage which he took down with a passing glance at John under the brim of his hat at the question.

Well, he certainly didn't want his juice taken away.

Once his mouth was clear, (and he'd taken another, almost defiant, drink of said juice), Raylan cleared his throat and sat back in his seat, holding John with a different sort of curious gaze.

"You made a dissatisfied noise when I mentioned Doc. Somethin' happen between you two?" Because John Constantine did not do little fights or little opinions.

"Oh, I'm sure the two blokes you're holed up with would make a ruckus if bastard Constantine upset the Marshal." He shrugged. He was used to people coming at him and throwing punches. It was normal. This? This wasn't normal for him.

...Here he had been hoping Raylan would of asked about Zed and him. If anything was going on. John instead scrunched his nose at the mere mention of Doc.

"Disagreement on a place to go and investigate." John decided it was the best way to sum up the whole fiasco. "I recall saying he'd kill me if I went. Which, means, you might have a dead mate on your hands sooner rather than later. If I decide to go through with it."

That would be the most he'd say on the subject. He didn't want to get into how the dentist took a shot at the one thing he took pride in. Wasn't really worth it. Oh, he was sure Raylan would go home and ask Doc about it.

"I been upset plenty of times, there's no one comin' to defend my feelings or my honor, relax," he said with a wave of his hand and a dismissive look. There was no one who was going to defend him or argue for him - that wasn't likely to change just because he met a few new faces. If he knew that John had defended him at all in other conversations, he'd be just as confused and surprised.

"Kill you," he echoed, face pinching again as he shifted forward in his seat, forearms resting on the table. "That's a.. pretty serious kinda warnin' from him. Somehow I doubt he's actually gonna kill you, Henry isn't that kinda man. If you were worried." He did not look worried.

"What place was the disagreement over then?"

Oh, Raylan would get to John and Zed, but he could guess that she was happy to be back, John was happy to have her back and, if he had to really take a stab at it, John's peppy mood likely had something to do with the company upstairs. Still, he'd ask.

"And what good would it do to kill me, eh? I'd just flop back up at the beach like a fish out of water. Then again, he'd get a second chance at it. Just to make sure I was." No, he really wasn't worried about if John Henry would kill him. He'd like to see the man get close enough to try. "Museum. There's somethin' in there that scared the whole lot of them. I'm not about to go in until I do some diggin'. See what I can come up with that might be haunting the old historical landmark."

Though, given what Ellie told him? It really wasn't haunting. Not in the traditional ghost sense. He would only be so lucky to deal with a spirit pissing and moaning.

Edited 2021-01-06 11:35 (UTC)

"I'd warn ya against rootin' for that but I got a feelin' you are, Mathis or not," Raylan admitted with a slight bob of his head and a pointed gaze. Did he think John was borderline suicidal? He would not put it past him.

"Guess that means I'm askin' him." Raylan sat back in his chair, tonguing his teeth. "You want me to report back what he gives me? John Henry might tell me more than he tells you and despite how much our hats make us alike, we don't see eye to eye on everything. Wouldn't be surprised if safety by ignorance is somethin' he's used to."

They might be frighteningly similar but somehow they were also strikingly different.

"I accept the occupational hazards of my profession of choice." He held up a finger. "Ask him all you want. I'm sure he'll give you a colorful story. But, ah, don't go ruining your cozy housemates just on my account. Wouldn't want to disrupt it more than I already have."

He was serious about that. Oh, John ruined peoples lives. It didn't mean he aimed to. He did his best to keep out of them and their drama, that way the toxicity of his life wouldn't leak into others. Not that it ever really worked.

"Mm." No, there was a difference between taking risks and running at the pan on fire with an intent to get in and flop around. But that wasn't a conversation for now, or possibly ever. It would be too much like telling Raylan he raced into his job too eagerly. He knew exactly what the hell he was doing. Most of the time.

"He's too much like me, I'm sure it'll be like pullin' teeth. And it ain't on your account, it's on my own, thank you very much," he replied, eyebrows curling a little with the opinion. He wasn't bothered by the implication of John being able to upend the house, only confident in his and Doc's level headedness to stop it from upending at all. "He came in at a real early hour the other night and I've been waitin' for a good door to open that conversation."

Raylan tongued his teeth and shifted in his seat, chin lifting a little as he recentered his attention onto John.

"How's Zed doin', now that she's home, hmm?"

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