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.

navigation | faq | setting | mod contact

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Shit, he didn't know that either? Raylan was batting ten for ten in uncomfortable surprises and the next time this happened, he'll have learned to be a little more careful. He blinked at the sudden rush of hand movement, watching the light flare up with no small bit of wonder in his otherwise cautious expression.

"Y-yeah, yeah pretty.. pretty much like that. Well, only you showed me, he just confirmed that he does the same kind of.." Raylan gestured as though that would explain it. "That. I'm sorry, I didn't know you weren't here with him.. He's.. still here, last I checked, anyway.."

That probably wasn't helpful, since it looked like Quentin would be wanting to find him right away. "I can give you the address he was stayin' at, if you want?"

"..."

Quentin is about to open his mouth and go 'what' again, when he snaps his mouth shut, exhaling loudly through his nose. "I'm not-- we're not really-- so, yeah. Eliot is- a friend." And he tugs his hair behind his ear, fidgeting. "But he's here? Yes, I'd like his address, or just the general direction he might be in."

Just... act like a person, Coldwater. "It's nice to met you. Even if-- so, what's a sheriff-uhm, a marshal doing in a place like this?"

Raylan was not trying to insinuate anything beyond a familiar knowledge between them and so he squinted a little at the clarification that Quentin felt the need to make. Okay - Noted.

"Not a problem. I don't have a pen on me so you'll have to settle for a torn out page and a charcoal scratch from the heavier burnt area."

He had to crack a smile at the question that came back, features curling. "Same thing you are. No damned idea. Currently? Returnin' some books and collectin' new ones. Somethin' to keep my mind busy at night. You're not gonna give me shit for tearin' out a back page that ain't being used, right?"

"I... might?"

Honestly, probably not. Mostly because while a small part of Quentin wilts at the sight of books being torn apart, he also knows it's the stupider part of him. He shakes his head. "But if you want, I have a notebook? And a pencil. For note-taking."

In case someone mentions 'hey, I know you and this is a weird as hell kind of place, have a sandwich'. Specific, yet it happened. "I'm not really," Quentin tries to clarify," here just to take my mind off things. I'm looking for something. Anything. That might explain more about... this."

"Oh. Good well, that's the better option, let's use that," he said with a gentle smile. Given the option, Raylan would rather not vandalize a book but his heart didn't break if he had to. Without a reason, it was just people being an asshole. With one, it was just practicality.

"Well if you find somethin', share with the group because we ain't got much right now. I don't know that I'm the best one to explain it either, but if you want rough bones, I can give ya those."

If he wanted. Raylan wasn't sure how much to unload on the poor guy.

"And?" Quentin hands the notebook over, placing the pencil next to it, before rubbing his face. "I mean, sure? I just have no idea how I'd do that. It's not like there's a handy online group chat for this."

He eyes the hat again, because there's something... "Hey! You're Raylan-" like the name and the hat didn't connect the dots in Quentin's head for the first few minutes, but now that he's paying attention to something other than his own misery,"your room mate mentioned you. Well-dressed guy from the NYPD? Mark? No, Malcolm? He said I should ask you about a book?"

Raylan leaned over long enough to jot down the address and a rough map of the town, glancing up at Quentin from under the brim of his hat as he straightened. Just as he went to open his mouth, Quentin continued and his face curled in a slight amusement, eyebrows lifting faintly as he spoke.

"So you met Malcolm, huh? Yeah, you loaned me a copy of Fillory and Further that you found here. Started fillin' in the margins with the original text and your own notes as corrections as you noticed them, apparently. It's been a few days, but I finally finished all of it. Wasn't sure what to do with it, so it's still at the house. Pretty good too, I enjoyed it. Even if the idea of it bein' any form of real is.." He inhaled, chin ducking a little as he kept eye contact. "Disturbin' to say the least."

"Uh, yeah. He really knew how to describe Fillory. In vivid details, while leaving out all the fucked up facts about the place." Is that bitterness in Quentin's voice? Yes, yes it is, because besides being a huge dick, Plover also lied about Fillory.

"Can I have it? Unless you really want to keep it, or maybe-- the notes. In the margins. I'd like to see them, if that's okay." There's really not much to say about Fillory, it was his one happy place and it was forever tainted by Plover and everything that followed.

It was a bitterness that Raylan hadn't heard from the man before, even when he'd asked his initial question about the book. It might be true that this Quentin wasn't that Quentin, but Raylan's brain was going to need more than a few minutes to get used to that. Still, it might gain him more insight to ask those questions again, if Quentin could stand it.

Raylan nodded. "It's your book, even if you got it from here. I was worried as to what would happen to it, if it got reshelved by.. whatever the hell puts these books back.. It's back at the house though. Means a short walk, if you're up to it." And plenty of time for said questions along the way.

"What-"

For what feels like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours, Quentin has more questions than answers. Puts them back? He's been putting his own back by hand, but someone worked here? It's like the body outside or the strange flickers when he turns too fast. Like something isn't how it's supposed to be and Raylan is just... talking like this isn't weird.

"I'm up to it, sure. Yeah, let's go and can I ask you a question? I mean, another one, because technically this is a question... what do you mean 'puts them back'?

It felt extremely strange to be this far on the side of knowing what the hell was going on when he was talking to a man who purported to travel worlds. Or Dimensions; Eliot had tried to explain it to him once but it hadn't really stuck.

"I come, I leave books - others do too, I imagine. Somethin's gotta put them back otherwise these tables would be groanin' under the weight of our returns. But they're back on the shelves, in their homes," he said with a pointing gesture towards them before gesturing for Quentin to follow him.

"I just gotta grab the couple I'm takin' with me if you wanna grab your stuff."

"Did anyone try to... stay here? Watch what might happen?" Because Quentin wants to. If anyone might know just what the hell is going on, it might whatever if shelving the books and replacing the food in the refrigerators.

"Yeah, I-- give me a minute and I'm ready." It takes less than that to scoop everything in to the messenger bag and sling it around his shoulder, and Quentin takes a second to smooth his hair back behind his ears. "Lead the way."

"Mm, Malcolm Bright stayed here a night or two before we talked him into a real place. You could ask him. He might have seen somethin'." Though, anything he might have seen might have been a hallucination, so Raylan wasn't sure how far he could throw that trust piano, but that wasn't something he would or should tell Quentin.

Collecting the two books he'd already plucked off the shelves and tucking them under his arm, Raylan looked over as Quentin came and nodded towards the door before heading that way.

"So, uh.. Can I ask what the last thing you remember before wakin' up here was? I can share mine but I promise it will be borin' as hell."

"Uh, sure?"

It's still freezing outside and Quentin pulls his shirt closer around himself to keep warm. "So. You mean before waking up in the snow. And-" he takes a breath, because-- fucking magic and this place, trying to explain about castle Blackspire and the monster and the seven Keys to Magic was just... a lot.

"I remember being tied up. With my friends. But- I know who did that and if I hadn't seen the... people who showed up to ruin everything we had worked for? I kind of would have suspected her of doing this to me. But- anyway. I remember being far away from here and with my friends."

Raylan glanced over at the shiver and held out his books, silently gesturing with them until they were taken. Once they had been, he shrugged off both his coats and pulled the inner jean jacket out, nodding in acknowledgement as Quentin explained.

"Fair assumption. Here-" he said, holding out the jean jacket as he hoisted the black wool overcoat back up onto one shoulder. "Trade you for those books. You can give it back to me at the house. We got spares there."

Once he had his books and the rest of his overcoat back on, Raylan gave a deep breath. "Any chance that far away from here was Fillory? The one in the book?" That was a good way to broach it, right?

"Uh--"

Wow, got it in one, and taking the jacket and pulling it on, is something to do with his hands while he tries to figure out a way to explain it. He settles for- "Yeah, or. It wasn't Fillory- Fillory? It was a castle on the flip-side of Fillory."

Because apparently gods were either big on recycling or just lazy.

"Someone built a castle there. A jail. And the wellspring of magic. And... thanks? For this, you'll get it back, I swear, but jesus. I really wasn't expecting to be outside in the snow."

"Like the other side of a coin," Raylan assumed with a nod of his head, unaware of how close to the mark he really was. If it wasn't for his conversations with the other Quentin, he wouldn't have any context for this, and so he was grateful.

"A jail, huh?" Of course that would be his focus of interest. "The jacket is easy. About the only thing that is easily replaceable. What was being Jailed?"

"Still, thank you. At least now I can go outside without risking frostbites."

Which, seems like something that could happen easily in this weather. Just, get cold enough and start losing pieces of yourself.

"Monsters. Only, by the time we got there, there was only one monster left. I had this whole plan, and then things just went tits up at the last moment."

"How long have you been here?

"It's one of the top things we advise against, as well as followin' spooky instructions and stayin' outta the fog. Weather kills so uh.. watch out for that." A friendly warning, given with a warm crook of his smile over at him.

"Few weeks ago, I woulda looked at you like you'd grown a third head, but I'm gettin' used to it." Thus why he wasn't freaking out at such an answer.

He rolled his shoulders at the question. "Oh, roughly twenty or so days. Near a month, though it feels.." he huffed a breath. "A lot longer. But it's been since day one, far as I can tell. Unless times runnin' weird that way too - I haven't quite wrapped my head around it."

"Wait, so-- just going back to the spooky instruction? Should I follow them, or, you know, ignore them? Because I don't really want to end up dead. Again? Or, worse, losing any more of my memories? I don't even know why that's worse, when it obviously isn't-"

It's like this stream of words, just falling out of his mouth. And maybe it's because this guy is being kind, or because he's taking his time explaining things, but it isn't until this moment it hits him- that maybe just following a stranger home isn't the best idea in the world? That maybe that's why PSAs and endless horror stories started out with that.

But on the other hand, his great adventure (heartbreaking as it had been at times) had started out the same, with him just blinding following this stranger down a sunlit garden path and that hadn't ended in murder. Not until months later.

Torn between self-preservation, weak as it might be, and not being a total tool to a kind man, Quentin covers it by talking. A lot.

"So, just close to three weeks? That's not-- that's not nothing, but. It could be worse, right? Or. Maybe that's a stupid thing to say, because obviously being stuck in this place, far away from home is a shitshow, but at least you're not dead?"

"Follow them," Raylan clarified with a little nod and a gentle smile. He'd let Quentin ramble as he would, already used to that kind of stream of consciousness with his housemate. It was just as endearing here. It helped that Raylan wasn't viewing them as people he was hunting, people that he didn't care about.

"You're the first to lose your memories, but we've.." The smile faltered and fell. "Buried a few people. Some came back. But yeah," he continued with a breath. "I suppose not bein' dead is a plus. But I did have things I was doin' and we've got no idea when or if we'll be sent back."

No idea if he was going to see his baby get born or even exist in the world.

"Debates on if it could be worse can wait a bit, I think, til you're a bit more familiar."

"I--" Quentin stalls, because he wants to know now, wants to sit down and write it all down to get some kind of bigger picture out of all of this, but he nods instead. "Sure? Whenever that might be."

Everything is already a lot, and throw dying people and mysterious strangers leaving instructions? Wow.

"I'm sorry? About the people dying..."

With nothing else to add to that, he falls silent, watching the snow crunch under their feet as they walk through the snow.

"If you want to dig into it now," Raylan offered with a turn out of his hand. "Apparently I don't seem to have the best judge of it either way," he said with a faint note of bitterness. He was trying to be the nice guy here, but he was finding it far too similar to the places he'd spent his life running away from.

Small towns, man.

Raylan shook his head. "You didn't kill 'em. Only thing I can ask is that you maybe do your best to not join them.. Or if you do, leave instructions for how you want your body handled. Otherwise, its a bedsheet and a few quiet moments."

He should feel worse about being so dry and how's the weather about it, but it was better than his alternative. Anger wasn't healthy, not in a place this small where the reverb alone would ruin a lot.

Despite appearances, Quentin actually gets that. The formless anger towards people dying, even if they weren't necessarily your people. But knowing that people were dying because of some bullshit mystical events? He gets that.

"It's-- listen, I can wait. I mean, I don't want to, but I also don't want to wake up tomorrow and have to have someone tell me all over again. I really-" he takes a deep breath, shoulders hunching forward, "- I appreciate this? More than you probably know, because I'm not really the best at explaining myself. But... yesterday, I was with my friends and yeah, things did go how I planned it. And it was actually pretty much a shitshow, but. I'm still-- I keep expecting this to stop? That I'm going to blink or fall asleep and-- and I'll be back home."

And he looks away, the blinding whiteness of the snow making it easier to push down all the thoughts about you're never getting home, you're not good enough and the spiraling thoughts about this isn't real, before opening his mouth again.

"But if it's not too much trouble? I'd like to take you up in that offer. In a couple of days?"

That was quite the story, even if given in a sparse, rambling fashion. It made him even more curious as to what the young magician had seen, as a book nerd and kid that had once wished Magic was real so it could save him from his own personal hell.

Raylan glanced over and nodded as they turned onto Phillips Drive. He wasn't great at saying 'You're welcome' or 'thank you' or any other kind of positive reinforcement. "Fair point. I might get tired of repeatin' myself too. A few days is fine; I doubt I'm goin' anywhere." He let a beat pass. "I felt that way about this place for about the first week and a half. I figure that's about normal, showin' up in a place like this."

Sometimes, when he got too comfortable, his brain almost suggested it in the first few seconds of morning until he realizes that he hasn't. That he won't, as far as he knew.

021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

wrap up?

Yup yup!