villagelogs | 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

Uh huh. [Not backing down on this Hedges-business.] Literature. I, uh- I have a B.A. from Columbia and just. I love books. Storytelling. Did you go to-- anywhere? [Because Neal does not look like the kids at collage. Maybe some kind of rich, upper-class learn-how-to-do-tax-breaks kind of school?]

A B.A. from Columbia. What'd you study at Brakebills? [ He's not getting the whole story here, and the more Quentin avoids it the more he wants it.

When Quentin asks about his own schooling though, Neal shrugs. ] I have a few degrees.

[ Which... is not really an answer either, but it's the truth. ]

More of the same? [Magic was kind of like literature, right? It had a lot of old books and dead languages. More death than you'd expect, but...] I dropped out, or-uh, I stopped going to class after a few years and I don't even think the dean noticed, to be honest. The past years I've just been... studying independently. Oh yeah, in what?

[The drawers are all searched and emptied, and Quentin tries the phone one more time. Nothing.]

You know, if you're trying to make me less curious, it's not working. [ Neal gives up on his own search when it seems like Quentin is finished raising the spices, pocketing a corkscrew. ] Art History, History-History, a Masters in Art restoration in Paintings, Paper and Ceramics from L'école de Condé in Paris.

[ He shrugs. ]

Shall we check for a church?

You're an art major?

[And this really does make Quentin stop and look at Neal, unlike the other times where his eyes just kind of glanced over before moving on to something just to the left of him. Wow.]

Can you paint? Or is it more the history of it?

[Yep, he's going to just not answer that question. Curiosity killed the cat... he nods.]

Church, or a police station, sure.

Something like that.

[ He can be vague also!! Still, he considers his next answer. ] I can paint. But it's about the history too. You can't have one without the other, in my opinion.

[ He leads the way back out of the house, hesitating at the closet by the door. If the family left, their coats should be gone, the weather being what it is. When Neal opens the closet up, though, there's a full stock of winter wear.

He takes one of the bigger ones without reservation. ]

[Quentin is not quite there yet, not all that ready to steal things that might be missed- because honestly? Who'd even miss spices? A small jar of oregano, a little salt. But coats? Hats? Mittens?

He does stare at little wistfully at Neal, though, looking all warm inside the -erh- borrowed coat.]

Do you work with art? Now, I mean, because you don't really look like a student.

[ Neal zips the coat up, grabbing another one down and tossing it at Quentin with the simple expectation that he'll catch it, whether he wants to or not. Hoping to preempt argument: ] We'll bring them back.

[ See? Totally actually borrowing. For now. ]

I work with the FBI, actually. White collar crimes division in Manhattan.

How--

[Eyeing the coat, Quentin only pulls it on after Neal does. If the police can do it...]

And. Okay, so-- you're an art major, who works with crime. And this is just-- how does that even happen? Did you just not like art anymore, and the FBI seemed like an obvious choice?

[It's as if it's even colder now, going from the relative warmth of the house and in to the street and Quentin tucks as much of himself inside the coat as he can. Talking, because as long as they're talking about Neal, they're not talking about Quentin, and he's going to need a moment. Or, like, a million moments, to sort through just what the fuck is going on.]

White collar crime. Art theft, bond forgery, frauds, larceny, confidence schemes. I'm a consultant.

[ Neal doesn't particularly want to tell Quentin that he should technically put 'criminal' before that 'consultant,' but he doesn't expect the other man would take it well.

He forges ahead through the snow, trying very hard not to think about the way the cold soaks into his socks. ]

What are you planning to do with your studies?

So... not really FBI?

[Not that it matters much right now, but it might. Later. Once he gets the fuck out of here and back to figuring out what happened to everyone else. Did they get stuck there, locked away in castle Blackspire? Are they dead?

Quentin’s insides clench too hard and he walks a little faster.]

I wanted to write a book? Kind of. I wanted to write something that would inspire people, or. You know, at least, entertain them. Something real.

[ Neal picks up speed to stay level with him, wondering what he said to set that off. ] FBI enough for government work.

[ Badumptish. He gives Quentin a more considering look. ]

You wanted to create art. Why can't you?

Life? Happened.

[Like that's even an answer, but the truth involves too many bank robberies, magical kingdoms and well...magic to explain. At least without sounding like a crazy person.]

So, mister FBI... can you tell me about any of it, or is it all very-uhm, secret?

Life doesn't stop happening. [ He shrugs. ] There's always another chance.

[ Which pretty much sums up Neal's life philosophies, but anyway. He makes an amused little noise. ]

Secret? No. Keep-the-names-out-of-the-press secret, sometimes, but for the most part it's just mortgage frauds and insurance scams. [ A smirk. ] And the occasional assassin hunting priceless Imperial jade, but that's more a highlight than a commonality.

[Not really that likely. Before waking up in the snow, Quentin had made a deal that, sure, brought back magic to everyone, but also locked him up inside a castle on the flip-side of a fantasy world. A permanent jailer to a monster who knows only want. Attention, games, tricks. Like a kid, Ora had said, forever childish in its wants.

And Quentin had been okay with that. Staying there, in the dark, forever. If it meant everyone else got to have magic.

He makes a face.]

You've-- hey, so. You've really done that? Hunted assassins? And jewel thieves?

Also nearly been killed by said assassin, and framed by said jewel thief. [ He tucked his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat, voice casual. ] We sorted things out.

021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

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