villagelogs | 024-027 » neither reward nor punishment

024-027 » neither reward nor punishment

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Western Mathias + ???
WHEN: Days 024-027
WHAT: The consequences of their actions.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here! The next log will be posted January 23rd.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Onryo" 怨霊

DAYS 024-025
CONSEQUENCES
“There are in nature neither rewards nor punishments —
there are consequences.”
— Robert G. Ingersoll
When the unwilling residents of Mathias Township wake on the morning of the 24th day, they will find themselves in yet another set of frustratingly unnerving circumstances. None of them are where they last remember being, and some of them have strange marks on the palms of their left hands. It's all incredibly unsettling, but truthfully they should be used to it by now. No one will remember traveling to their new location.

Residents can wake up anywhere within their new location and in any position. Curled up in a bed, sprawled on a couch, huddled beneath a coffee table, propped against a wall... Wherever they are, they will themselves to be in quite an unusual state. While they are wearing whatever clothing items they went to sleep in, plus their shoes and a coat. The newest arrivals to Mathias Township will perhaps stand out for being slightly more appropriately dressed than their new neighbors. They are all a bit damp, physically worn out, and half-frozen from their apparent walk through a blizzard.

Each of the four locations is inescapable — residents are trapped, with exterior doors and windows being shut tight and a blizzard raging outside. The locations are stocked with fresh food and water and a large pile of firewood for the fireplaces in each building. The circumstances residents will face, however, may vary wildly between locations as the forces at work in Mathias respond to the recent actions of certain individuals.

BOARDING HOUSE | GREY GULL
NEW HOUSE | MYSTERY MANSION

These residents will wake with a mark on their left hand palms, a spiraling black symbol similar to those some may have seen around town. All marks are identical and cannot be removed, but will have seemingly vanished from their skin on the morning of the 26th day.

Castiel, Daisy Johnson, Dean Winchester
Elena Gilbert, Elijah Mikaelson, Helen Magnus
Phil Coulson, Quentin Coldwater, Sherlock Holmes

DAYS 026-027
IN THE AFTERMATH
After their ordeals of the past two days, the unfortunate residents of Mathias Township will be grateful to find that they were back where they are supposed to be, a chill still clinging to their clothes in whatever place they went to sleep the night of the 23rd day. New arrivals will wake in the living room of the boarding house. None of the residents will wake with anything in their possession from the locations in which they were previously trapped, including any notes or documentation they may have made during their time there.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— SNOW continues to fall heavily on Days 024-025, resulting in white out conditions from the wind that blows in gusts of over 35 mph; the temperature also drops drastically, making conditions extremely dangerous for residents. The blizzard clears on Day 26 and residents are left with a cold, calm world covered in white.

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the northern section of town, beginning just before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be. Venturing into the fog is... ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue to plague the town. Kylo Ren and Thomas Richardson have vanished without a trace.

— NO NEW DEATHS have occurred in town, but there is a new "grave" in the small makeshift graveyard near the schoolhouse. Rey's corpse has been moved and covered with stones to wait for the ground to thaw enough for a proper burial.

— THE LANTERNS will be gone from the morning of Day 024. No trace of them remains.

OOC UPDATES
— A GIFT for everyone! As a thank you for being part of this spooky little game, every character in the game is being gifted 2 Activity Points. These may be banked over here — instead of linking to an AC post, you may put "New Year gift" in that field. Happy 2021, friends!

— NEW LAYOUTS have been installed for our communities! Huge thanks to our Eldritch Librarian Stars for putting in the time to get this place looking shiny. (You may have also noticed some new page layouts being installed — these are also our Librarian's handiwork!)

— 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.)

— 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

"Ah," Malcolm said in understanding. "Well, he still might tell me nothing; he doesn't like me either. He says I ask too many questions."

He slid his hands into his pockets.

"There were weird noises in the attic and the basement at the boarding house. Do you think the people who live there are in danger? I've never heard things like that at our house."

"Men of our ilk," which is the only time Doc will admit to having anything in common with the Briton, "we do not much like personal questions." Asking too many questions is not necessarily a bad thing, especially for a lawman and investigator, but someone who accuses another of doing it is often taking those questions personally.

"I think you keep whatever might attack us at bay every night," Doc jokes glibly. "Wherever we were, we all heard strange noises on those nights we were taken. The one night I did spend at the boarding house three weeks ago, there were some distant voices and nonsensical chattering. Nothing untoward had happened then. Besides, nowhere is truly safe. I trust those staying there can protect themselves."

That was fair. Malcolm nodded.

Then, pondering Doc's previous statement he smiled a bit.

"Maybe I keep away evil spirits? Like... a Hallowe'en mask?" he joked, giving Doc a cheeky sidelong look.

"I would say you are more of a protective, benevolent presence," Doc muses, pursing his lips as one hand rubs up from the middle of his thigh to his hip. He doesn't have that habit of sticking his hands in his pockets, like Malcolm, even if the weather calls for more warmth.

"Honestly I- found the events of those two nights quite unsettling," he admits, again with that nervous energy that he expends by adjusting his hat. That is the Doc Holliday equivalent of he had been scared shirtless. And it was his first admission to anyone so far, to the only person staying at 1306 that he feels he can talk to about this. He doesn't need the bravado around Raylan, Neal or Negan, but he puts it on around them anyway, wearing his casual confidence with a melodramatic flair like he can fearlessly take anything on. Maybe it's the moonshine or the thought of their expectations or- well. Whatever it is. He doesn't feel he needs to wear that same armour out here right now.

"I was sure those lanternless spectres were going to climb out of the mirrors and kill us all. I'd already caught glimpses of them moving out of the corners of my eyes. And there was nothing I could do about them, to keep them away from everyone." He had felt rather helpless, which maybe was the crux of the issue. He doesn't know. He hasn't dwelled on said issue enough to know what to make of it.

Malcolm understood fear. Fear in the face of helplessness. Helplessness to protect people when you feel like you should; like you should be able to.

"Tell me about them," Malcolm requested. "Were they like the Shadow Man across the chasm?"

"They were more like those who had been wielding the lanterns. They dwelled in the mirrors, but you could not see them hovering behind you. The mirrors were covered with cloths on the day we arrived. I gave little thought to it. I lifted a shroud and saw a phantom with its back turned. It had seemed... rather benign. I lowered the covering and carried on with my business." Almost as if he thought it might have wanted some privacy? Perhaps it's more that Doc subscribes to the belief that a man minds his own business, a phantom minds its own business, and they can inhabit the same house peacefully without incident.

"I... ended up sleeping most of the first day, so I would not say I provoked them. But perhaps another person in the house did." He does not want Malcolm feeling guilty about this, but at the same time he does want to explain away how he did not discover much of anything else on his first day. He was simply too exhausted.

"When I had awoken the cover had dropped, and I thought the spectre was looking at me. I tried to put the cloth back over it but it would not stay. The figure moved closer. Or- appeared bigger in the mirror, at least. I walked around the house, found all the mirrors to be uncovered. But the second time I surveyed the house, I counted four fewer mirrors, and there were- it had seemed like some phantoms had escaped. You could sense them moving around." Doc furrows his eyebrows, a frown on his lips and creasing his forehead. In the end they had all left the house intact, mostly unscathed, but there were moments he wasn't sure if anyone would have survived the night.

"They must be connected somehow. The lanterns. The figures. The mirrors. Maybe even to the people in those photographs."

Malcolm did not immediately assume that Doc's hard sleep had to do with his experiences in 1306. He had always assured Malcolm that his nightly disturbance was no trouble.

"That's interesting. The idea of the phantoms being connected to the people in the photos. He considered that. Or maybe the people that... view us here aren't quite... all the way in this reality. Maybe they just... are in it enough to make an impression but not enough to be defined. Maybe these are the customers at the zoo."

He looked at Doc.

"How do you think they made you sleep? The same way they did when they took us?"

"Well I think they would have been disappointed. We all kept our clothes on and we were not much of a spectacle to behold." Apart from the little bit of running around that they did do on that last night after the power went out and everyone had a little panic. "It also does not explain the noises in the ceiling and under the floorboard." He would have expected thumping on the mirrors if they were some kind of viewing window, not... haunted house shenanigans.

"I wish I could know how they do anything. Replenish the food or steal us from our beds." Doc shrugs. "Maybe we are simply too tired to notice. Or maybe there is something in the water."

Malcolm nodded, taking that in.

"Did everyone sleep the first day or just some of you?"

Maybe there was a clue in their activities.

"I did not think to ask, as things progressively went to shits the next morning, but I would say that a fair number of people in that house might have kept themselves busy throughout. Our neighbours Dean Winchester and Castiel were present in the house. I imagine they would know something I do not." Even though Dean had been supremely hung over and wandering around in his underpants and Castiel might have hurt himself trying to break out of the house, or at least worked himself to exhaustion.

"There was food though, and coffee. A first aid kit as well, and a sewing kit. We were not left to starve or turn on each other at least. That would have been more entertaining for an audience, surely."

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows at all that information. But at the observation, he smiled. "Well, customers at the zoo would be more entertained if the lions ate each other, but it's not worth it for the zoo."

He looked over at Doc. "Are you... are you okay?" he asked carefully.

"I don't think our captors would have any trouble procuring more lions," Doc observes quietly. Though it is flattering for Malcolm to call them lions. Doc is more of a peacock.

A peacock that is most definitely not okay. But he appreciates Malcolm asking. And he would never admit as much.

"Why do you ask?" is what Doc opts to say instead.

"You're different now," Malcolm told him. "Holding more in than usual." And 'usual' was a fair amount, but Malcolm understood the demands of masculinity through the years, even if he didn't see any gain in trying to conform to them himself. His problems meant he couldn't meet the required standard. He had to adapt in other ways. "You... don't have to be okay all the time. Sometimes it helps to... let yourself not be for a little bit."

There is an inverse correlation between how much he feels and what he says. Used to be that everyone would assume that he just needs a stiff drink and to go out and shoot something and he'll be fine. Now if he can just convince everyone here of the same.

"I--" his eyes narrow by a fraction and he huffs a sigh, jaw shifting tensely. He can't - and not because he thinks that 1306 is a staunch, singlehanded effort to keep a dozen spinning plates going, but because he has always been the one who can make the tough calls and be the bad guy and do the things that no one can be proud of doing. He has to be the support or the safety net or the fixer or whatever you want to call it because it's a long way down otherwise and he would be the one to let others down if he slipped.

"I'm fine," he hears himself say, repeating hollow, empty, meaningless words to send Malcolm and anyone else who might have asked on their way. It is too difficult to smile so he dispenses with the farce. Everyone is struggling. Everyone is frustrated. Doc doesn't see the point in venting.

"Maybe you just don't like me sober," he jokes. Look, he's making jokes. Surely he's fine.

“My mother drinks to cope,” Malcolm told him matter-of-factly. “When my father was arrested, she hit the bottle hard and she’s never really pulled herself out of it. A 9am scotch, some pills in the evening, a drink in her hand most hours between.” He glanced over. “I’d like to say I prefer both of you sober, but I don’t remember the last time I saw her without a single drink in her.”

He looked at Doc. “You don’t have to talk about it, but you can. And you don’t have to give up the protective mantle of being ‘fine’ - I use it, too - but you can. You’ve helped me a lot. Immeasurably. And if I can help you, too...I’d like to.” He gave him a cheeky little smile. “I’d never tell anyone you had a feeling. I promise.”

Doc is unsure of what to do with that kind of revelation. Usually there would be a glass that needs topping up. A smoke that can be lit. Something to busy his hands with so he doesn't have to fumble trying to fill a suitable response with words.

"I have told you more than I have anyone else," he says quietly, like he can use previous confessions as a bargaining chip to get out of this. "And I have described my time in the strange house in detail. I- am not sure what else you want me to say."

"You don't owe me any words," Malcolm clarified, reaching over to pat his arm before sliding his hand back into his pocket. "I just... want you to feel like you can talk if you want to. Not right now, per se. Any time. I know the habits of a lifetime are hard to break. But." He glanced over. "Your liver might appreciate it."

Somehow it still feels like there is some kind of right answer to Malcolm's question and Doc is just not getting it.

"I do not feel any better, talking." Which is not to say that he does not intentionally shut everybody out. He does, and he is aware of what he is doing, sometimes even as he is doing it. But talking, it- it simply doesn't work for him. He has always self-medicated with drinking, smoking, and playing dangerous games. He does not feel comfortable with this new prescription Malcolm is trying to put him on.

"I would not be so bold as to claim that your mother and I might be on to something. But you are welcome to drink with Raylan and I sometime."

"I can't say I don't.... enjoy a few sips sometimes but... it's never really been my sort of medicine," Malcolm admitted. "But talking isn't for everyone, either," he conceded.

He gestured to the path ahead. "Does anyone live in the new areas?" he asked. "That you know of?" Doc tended to make his way around and he seemed to know what folks were up to.

This is a much more comfortable topic so the tension visibly eases off Doc's shoulders as he shakes his head.

"Have you ever seen 'Property Brothers'?" It's his and Waverly's thing, if they had a thing, even if he claims to put it on in the background whilst doing chores around the house. Of course, he doesn't know if they have it down in New York, or if Malcolm even watches television. "It looked like a home after one of those 'make overs'. Uninhabited but fully furnished and ready to be lived in. Or, perhaps, abandoned like the homes in Phillips Drive. There was food, after all."

Malcolm's eyebrows go up at 'Property Brothers'; it's an odd thing to hear from a Victorian gentleman, even though he knows said Victorian gentleman lives in their time.

"Was it dusty inside? Disused? Or was it... clean?"

Because that would be unusual.

"It was clean. Like it-... had been prepared, for a family to move in." They had also arrived back in their house fairly clean. Not like that day when they'd come back dusty, him from his cave expedition with Jill and Raylan and Malcolm from the lighthouse.

"The rooms were all very blue. Maybe a family with girls. Or-" Doc narrows his eyes and frowns. "Boys. I have been told in no uncertain terms that pink is no longer masculine and blue is no longer feminine."

"Oh, that's right!" Malcolm exclaimed. "They used to be the other way! I forgot about that."

He looked at Doc. "It sounds like someone prepared it for... you guys. If they pre-cleaned it before your arrival. It's hard to deduce anything from the boarding house; people have already been living there."

His enthusiasm faded as he said that, dampened a little by shame. He pressed his lips together. "Of course it looked lived in," he concluded, just to conclude his point. "Neal was in the Grey Gull. But the mansion that Raylan was in... where could that be hidden? It sounded like it was not only immaculate but well-stocked as well."

Doc isn't sure why or when they decided to swap the colours around but, well. It's been much easier to find blue shirts so he just wears what is available.

"I cannot say for certain that it was for us. I had awoken in the bed in one of the bedrooms, but our friend Mister Winchester had been downstairs in the kitchen. Could we not have all been dropped into bed with our worldly possessions put away in the wardrobe?" If you are going to 'flex', you might as well 'flex' all the way. Doc would never draw his gun without pulling the trigger and hitting a seemingly impossible target if he was going to flex about outdrawing the competition. This half-assed showboating didn't make much sense. If you are going to take a man's shoes and bring it with him to some nicely done up house then at least have the decency take his goddamn hip flask along with too.

"Perhaps it is in the fog." So far they have already walked halfway around town and seen nothing suspect or out of place. "The crevice in the ground is in the fog now, too."

“The fog’s moved again,” he murmured in echo. He looked at Doc. “The lighthouse was blocked by the fog when Raylan and I were first brought there. I wonder how they determine where to put it.”

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