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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"Funny I don't seem to recall you giving me a hug last night. Or any night," Doc points out with a chuckle. Of course, he won't bring up the topic of Malcolm once they're actually inside. They have unspoken rules around what gets discussed on the porch - and now the garage since the porch isn't available during the snowstorm - and what they bring back in with them.

"You should heat that coffee up." At least they still have power and all the comforts of indoor living while the weather's going crazy outside. Back in his day it would be candles and cigarillos, booze and being huddled around the fireplace waiting for it to blow over.

"You want one tonight before you go off to bed?" he teased sarcastically as he followed Doc in, closing the door with a shudder behind him. It was easier to joke about it with someone that wouldn't assume Raylan was making a pass at him. He didn't even think about if Doc would bring up Malcolm inside - John Henry Holliday was a mindful kind of man and Raylan trusted him to not throw either Raylan or Malcolm under the proverbial bus.

"I'll just top it off with fresh coffee. Maybe some 'shine. You want some?" He'd meant to ask about John and that nonsense, but now that they were back indoors, and the fact that Doc hadn't mentioned it, told him that maybe later would be better.

"Only if it's not too much trouble," he jokes back light-heartedly. Raylan doesn't have to worry about Doc misbehaving or not keeping his hands above board. If there's been any funny business it's purely accidental, after two too many bottles late at night.

"Wouldn't mind some coffee with my shine. Thanks." Doc hovers around the other side of the kitchen counter. Not once has the speed and veracity of their alcohol consumption come up in conversation beyond the occasional quip about how they aren't brewing a big enough batch to age at least some of it to palatable levels, and Doc is thankful for it. He isn't sure how he is supposed to get through life without self-medicating.

"You're not planning on heading out again, are you? Malcolm's already bouncing off the walls." And it's not that Doc minds sitting with him for a day, but he's worried about Raylan going out in the storm too, even if he's saying Malcolm's the one fretting.

He was all too aware of the dangers they presented each other with when they got to far into a bottle or three and if tonight went like any other, they'd be there again. Maybe Doc would get his hug, in the end, tease or not. It all fit in seamlessly with the relationship they were building, which made it much easier to even joke about it.

Raylan smirked at 'Coffee in my shine' and knew he was meant to pour heavy, pulling down a second cup and pouring them both a generous amount of moonshine before trading the bottle for the coffee pot.

"I might do one more round. I'm sure he'll be alright once I'm back in for the night." One cup was slid towards Doc as Raylan leaned his hip on the counter, free hand propping on his hip as he got his own cup. "He worries more than he needs to. I dealt with things a lot more dangerous than some snow. That's all this is. Not even keepin' us from nothin'.."

His gaze was probably weighty as he eyed Doc and weighed bringing up John. "You really doin' okay?"

"Thanks." He drags his coffee-laced bootleg liquor closer, not expecting it to be hot when he gulps down a big mouthful. Not with that proportion mixed in.

"I'm sure that was what we were thinkin' - that it's just a bit of fog," Doc points out wryly as he stifles a groan from the burn of the shine - just because he makes drinking it look good doesn't mean he doesn't feel the drain cleaning effect same as everyone else - and sets his drink back down again.

He raises an eyebrow at that somewhat inquiring look but doesn't seem fazed by it as he folds his arms over the countertop, hunching over a bit and leaning his weight on it, fingertips resting around the rim of his cup. They aren't really the type to talk about how they're really feeling without putting up a brave front, letting things roll off easily, proclaim everything's fine with a shrug and smile. It is not what men of their disposition do. Doc wouldn't understand if Raylan is expecting a different type of response.

"Couple more of these and I'll be dandy." He smiles and lifts his thinly-veiled moonshine, drinking another dose of Bottle It Up and Stuff It Down.

Only way to have the first sip was hot, in his opinion, but at home, he didn't drink so early in the morning normally. Nothing about Mathis allowed for normality; he was startin' to really understand that. It wasn't going to kill him to bend a little. There was no living well here, not like he tried to do at home.

"Hey now, that fog had intent to disorient in ways fog doesn't do that. Snow doesn't have that same gut feelin'." Both literal and metaphorical.

But his question was it's own subterfuge - No, Raylan wasn't expecting a different kind of response but it gave him a few more seconds to stall before comin' out with it. "You wanna talk about your fight with John?"

Doc takes in a deep breath and sighs out slow, taking his time with his drink. He hadn't mentioned anything of it, so it must have been John.

"Raylan if I told you not to go into the museum and didn't say anything else about it, you wouldn't think to go. Maybe you would have had questions, maybe you might have doubted my state of mind after all this not sleeping and strange shit happening. Maybe you would have asked around if anyone else had been in there. But you know I mean you no harm, and you wouldn't have gone. It is a matter of trust. Faith. Respect. Beneath all these modern embellishments and bells and whistles we know this still to be true; you don't take anything to the grave with you, and a man's word is all that he has."

Maybe it is old-fashioned for him to be thinking this way. Maybe there is no trust, or faith, or respect left. He wouldn't know if it was all used up sometime in the last century and a half. Or maybe this is only true of a world that no one else could ever comprehend.

"I would not ask for a man who does not know me to place his trust or faith in me. But that man does not respect a gentleman's honour." Doc lifts up his mug and turns it ever so slightly, unable to stop fidgeting and playing with it with nothing else to do with his idle hand. He took it very personally, to say the least.

"I said some harsh words I regret saying to him. But when he gets himself killed and his corpse turns up in the snow I will not be burying him." That too is probably harsh. Doc will get over himself. At some stage. "That is if he doesn't get someone else killed first."

It was a little old-fashioned and, if Doc hadn't been honest with him, he might have had to break those rules. But they understood each other and the base values they shared. He knew Doc wouldn't go around giving commands like this without it being deadly serious and in this case at least, if Raylan said he wasn't going to go, he wasn't going to go.

He wasn't that stupid often.

Raylan took in the deep breaths, the fidgets, the underlying tension in Doc's voice, jaw and shoulders. Oh yes. He could tell how deeply John had dug in.

"So you told him not to go and I'm gonna guess he told you to go fuck yourself." Sounds like the way John would start a fight, yeah. Raylan nodded, the edges of his mouth downturning in a facial shrug as he glanced into his own cup for a drink before looking back over at Doc.

"I will. Might just be outta spite and decency around corpses, though I suppose. I don't know what he tells other people but I've been yelled at plenty about how bein' around him is some kinda death sentence. Apparently, everyone oughta be aware. He's a big boy, he'll handle himself, in the end. We ain't responsible for everyone who shows up here, you know that right?" Even if they both had sort of tried, between Malcolm, Neal and now Negan, though the latter two were still in progress.

"Especially for people who don't want us to be."

"Something like that," Doc replies with a small smile and an upturn of his hand, as if to say, what can you do? But suffice to say, both of them had probably crossed a line. Doc would not deny responsibility to have fuelled that fight himself.

"I will confess to never being good at letting good men suffer in a reckoning of their own making." He can mind his own business just fine but he gets restless and antsy if he has to sit by and watch people stick their hands into the fire, especially if he has been burnt the same way before.

"Though I suppose there are no good men here." Not even present company. Even the good man Doc is referring to had his flaws. Doc finishes his drink, not wanting to think about any of that, and he places his empty cup close by where his folded arms are by the edge of the countertop.

"If we can't save everyone I would at least like to keep Malcolm and yourself intact. What one man does could have consequences for us all, and I have had enough of paying for another man's recklessness. It was not simply a matter of talking some sense into him." Lifting his gaze, he tips his head to one side and makes eye contact with Raylan.

"I do hate to ask this of you Raylan, but recent circumstances dictate that I must. If I ever go missing, assume the worst and don't come looking for me. You must promise me this."

"There's no stoppin' those kinda men. No use you gettin' destroyed along with 'em trying to keep them from the edge," he said with a shake of his head. He liked John, but he was less and less endearing in his grumpy nature lately and Raylan was starting to draw some subtle lines.

But he would agree he wasn't a good man. He was an alright man. As he was sure Doc was. There were no good pure men anymore. There never had been - it was a myth and had been for more years than he wanted to try to count.

He opted to skip the next statement for now, focusing on the request.

"You are absolutely out of your mind if you think we're not comin' lookin' for you if you go missing. Look, John-" he'd never figured out if it was John Henry or just John, but it didn't matter. He leaned forward on a cast out to the side hand, hazel eyes squinting at him. "I'd like to think we know each other well enough to not bullshit me that you wouldn't go out after us. Shit, I watched you agonize for half a day about goin' after the people in the fog. If Malcolm or I were lost out there, you bet your ass we'd hope you were comin' for us. Why? Because we're all lookin' out for one another and we don't leave each other behind."

It would be over Raylan's dead body that they don't go lookin out after Doc. It might have been selfish but he was attached and he didn't want to do the day to day without Doc if he had to.

Underpinning his request, which had stemmed from the unsavoury experience at the museum, is an underlying, flawed but deeply-seated assumption that had gnawed away at Doc for the past 130 years. He had passed that time alone thinking that nobody had come looking for him, even though he knew on some level that he had been put somewhere nigh impossible to be found. It feels, to him, a reasonable request, especially knowing what they know of this sleepy little town. Especially considering they might have known each other for less than three weeks now.

Clearly Raylan doesn't think so and Doc unconsciously straightens up a bit at his name, a name no one really uses. It is always Doc, a profession he had given up so long ago he doesn't even define himself by it anymore. Occasionally Henry, or Hank; his father's name. But John, the man beneath the title, the reputation. Maybe there is still a part of John left somewhere beneath that bravado and the trials that time and several questionable decisions have put him through.

"Things are different for me," he insists. He's wary of weaponising Malcolm's affliction to use against Raylan, which is the only reason he doesn't point out that one of them has to be around for him. If Doc had suffered from similar nightly troubles, he would not want Malcolm and Raylan using it to make a point. From there it is a slippery slope to becoming a burden.

"Come hell or high water I would look for you two, but I sold my soul for that privilege. And if I found either of you in such a state where you might bring harm unto others, if there was nothing I could do to help, I would do what needed to be done, for both my conscience and yours. This is not a sin I would wish upon either of you. Just think me paying back a hundred years of borrowed time and leave me be, Raylan."

"Oh bullshit things are different for you," he scoffed with a side bob of his head with the sound. He knew that Doc was immortal but that didn't mean that it made it any kind of right to leave him out there on his own. It didn't make Doc more suited for it or anything. He'd found Doc out on his own once and would do it again if he had to.

"Are you tellin' me that if you didn't have this perceived privilege, you'd somehow not come out for us?" The curl and pinch of his features suggested not. He took a breath and continued. "Leavin' you out there, no matter what state you're in, is not going to happen on my watch."

The G's were back, watch out. He was making points. "It'd be right for you to put us down if we were in such a state. If you ever get to a similar state, I'll have to do the same thing. I've shot people I like more for less-" So don't go thinking that Raylan will let sentiment stop what needs getting done for the safety for the rest of them, but he wouldn't be happy about having to do it in the first place. "-But that's not gonna happen. And you're not gonna go crazy; you would have already. And if you're lost, you've got the best kinda people to come huntin' for you."

After all, Raylan always got his man.

"Raylan I-" Doc makes a face, a tension settling in making his jaw tight, and he sighs. It feels like anything he could say at this point would be thrown right back at him. The truth of the matter was, he would be dead without this cursed blessing. And he wouldn't be here. Wouldn't have to decide then whether he would leave someone missing or brave the perils of this town, go out and look for them.

"I just don't want anything to happen to either of you." And if something were to happen to him and they were to come looking then something would most likely happen to them too. They've made it this far, mostly without incident. Doc doesn't want to live with being the one to have let them down.

"I won't argue this with you, Raylan. Just- tell me you'll do the right thing, when the time comes." Knowing that Malcolm's wellbeing should come first over and above someone who's been through a lot of shit and is fine with the idea of going out and never coming back, such a promise would suffice.

Raylan gave him a look and ambled a few steps closer, head tilted as he propped his weight on a hand, on the counter. He knew how hard what Doc was asking was - even voicing 'Leave me be' could be hard, especially with the context they were dealing with.

"I get that you're tryin' to look out for us. Malcolm more than me, I'd wager but both of us nonetheless," he started softly, eyebrows raised slightly with his sincerity. "And I appreciate it. I do. But if you go out there, he and I both are gonna do whatever it is in our power to do to get you back. Don't know if you've noticed, but both of us have taken somethin' of a likin' to you." Well, a liking was gentle and fell short of the truth of how they felt. Raylan couldn't be 100% sure that Malcolm agreed, but he'd take that leap right now.

"I won't let anything happen to Malcolm, but I ain't going to let something happen to you just to protect him." They had value too. They weren't just people that took care of others. They needed to take care of each other too. "If it happens that, for some reason, you gotta be put down, we'll do what needs doin'. But not without exhausting every other avenue first.." They needed him, for well more than moonshine.

"You're not gettin' rid of me that easy, Mr Holliday."

It's one thing to know that they've gotten comfortable in their oddly domestic little setup. Quite another to hear Raylan say it out loud. Raylan, of all people, who exercises that age old skill of saying more by saying less on the regular, with practiced ease.

"I hadn't noticed actually," Doc jokes it off. In terms of the repertoire of responses that repressed men can offer each other, the options are rather limited. "I have gone looking for the missing before. They don't always turn up again. If you must insist upon it, Mister Givens, don't waste too much of your time."

Doc had already written a goodbye note when he thought he might not make it another night after his and Negan's museum accident. Instead of burning it he's left it in his wardrobe drawer, trusting that Raylan will find it eventually. It might look like an apology followed by some drawings of willow trees, the last tweak of the moonshine recipe and a list of names, but like Raylan, he says more by saying less.

Sometimes, some things needed being said out loud without argument or hesitation and with what Doc was suggesting, Raylan wasn't going to let him run around the point being made with those niceties and passovers that gave them subtle outs. He was too important for all that.

"It's my time to waste and you ain't gonna talk me outta what I do with it," Raylan assured good naturedly as he let his hand settle on Doc's shoulder with a brief squeeze before he stepped away to his own cup again.

"At any rate, didn't your mama ever teach you to not invite trouble by speakin' it? That's how you get ghosts, according to the hills."

Breathing out a sigh, Doc relents and mentally goes back to the drawing board. He isn't willing to let this point go. But he feels like they're at a stalemate. Maybe he can approach Malcolm about this, one of these days when he's got a rational hat on and won't let his feelings get in the way. Is it strange for Doc to think Malcolm as being the most level-headed between the three of them? But he knows himself and he thinks he knows Raylan. They're brewing up tornados in that dark and lonely place where they bottle up what they think and how they feel. Malcolm at least lets it all out, whether he wants to or not. It gives him more room to be rational.

"I'm already a ghost," Doc points out. "Must be you speaking all this trouble, inviting me in."

They were - Raylan was an unmoveable asshole of a mountain when he wanted to be and Doc inspired that kind of stubborness. Mainly because he was the same flavor of stubborn. Raylan didn't think the conversation was done, despite them moving on from it.

He knew better.

"Mmhmm. You're a damned reliable hauntin'." He wasn't going to say he'd be more than a little devastated if something did happen to Doc. Those kind of feelings had no place out here in the open, even if such a thing should happen. "You gonna stick a little closer to home for the next night or two at least?"

In retrospect, it was almost comical that none of them would be home for the next two nights.

"Don't think I have much of a choice if this weather keeps up." Doc has something of a routine. He goes to fetch supplies from the general store and from the Grey Gull. Nudges the moonshine along to the next stage. Checks for anything new and/or pressing in the town hall. Walks around town to see if any new areas are now accessible. Otherwise he would find something new in the library. He has borrowed all sorts of texts from modern medicine to homeopathy to boatbuilding to weaponsmithing. Then he tries to chip away at a willow tree before it gets too dark. Suffice to say, he isn't often found in the house until it's time for their unscheduled drinking session.

But they might just have a dangerously neverending drinking session if the snow doesn't let up.

"I'll try not to singlehandedly drink us dry on the first night we're snowed in," he jokingly promises. Okay, half-jokingly.

"We can dig a tunnel through the snow, if it gets that high," Raylan replied with a curl of amusement through his features. He wasn't going to say it, but after everything that had happened and the tension in the collective ranks, he was glad Doc was planning on agreeing to the weather and staying in.

"Drink it right outta the tub like true heathens," he said with a cheers of his coffee cup as he emptied it. "I'mma go find somethin' to do. See what Malcolm's up to maybe. Hope Negan hasn't.. pulled him into noogies or somethin', I get that kinda feel off him."

"Negan would eat him alive," Doc agrees. "Best of luck, Raylan." He will no doubt find himself something to busy himself with also. He isn't the type to enjoy his idle hands even if he is to be staying indoors all day.

Might seem oddly domestic but Doc would end up doing some laundry. And figure out how to dry anything in this weather a little later.

"Don't say that too loud," Raylan cautioned with a lift of his eyebrows, in reference to their just had comments about inviting trouble.

"Scream if you need somethin'," he offered before leaving the room. He wouldn't be going far, regardless.

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021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

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Wanna wrap this one?

Ok!

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