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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I figured most of your livin' outside was due to bein' on the move. Unless y'all went by train. Can't say that I recall how big or far trains were back in that day.. definitely not continental..." That wasn't really the point. Surviving in the frontier was. There was some fantastical romanticized idea about it all, about what one could learn out there living it 'rough', but Raylan knew better than to lean on and assume in that.

He scoffed as he glanced down at the snow they were kicking up in their steps. "Takes more than a lack of this kinda knowledge to make a people stupid. Maybe I'm just used to a particularly fantastical breed of stupid out in Kentucky. Always wondered why they call it snake oil. Still ain't figured that one out.."

He looked over. "Who's Contessa?"

"They were still building the railroad, so we mostly travelled by horse," Doc confirms. "Running a little short on men to do the work with the war, but they got it done in the end." It was quite a sight to watch it get done, but these days it's all heavy machinery and it would only take a day what used to be able to get done in a week.

Doc would have happily explained the history of snake oil and how it all went to shits but he had a feeling that Raylan wanted to know more about Contessa than he does about snake oil. Even though Doc would much rather talk about anything or anyone other than Contessa.

"You would know her as Kate. My wife." There was no grandiose ceremony or vows exchanged or any such formalities, but spoken and unspoken promises were made, and where possible he tries to be a man of his word. "She was-... sommin'. Suppose we weren't good for each other." But they kept coming back to each other anyway. He suspects Raylan understands this.

"Got it done and then some," he quips as they come up to the treeline. The railroad had changed everything and was still in heavy use today. "In Harlan, you don't need a watch, you can call the time by the 5:30 coal train...

Raylan looked over as they came to a stop, eyebrows lifting. "The way the stories go, they've don't mention marriage. A relationship and a deep one but." He understood the pulling boomerang effect, but that wasn't the way with him and Winona. He loved her. She loved him.. until she didn't anymore. He was too blind to her and how she made him to see the abuse for what it was. The abuse was better than nothing at all.

"Course no one really needs a piece of paper and a preacher to make that happen.. Spouses can teach you a lot, sometimes.." He looked over the trees, taking the opportunity to step off the marriage talk path before it got back to him.

"Never been great at botany, but I think I can pick out a willow tree.. Guessin' those ain't changed much in a couple hundred years, right?"

"I love dynamite." No, really. Nothing gets Doc more excited than the prospect of using dynamite. It solves all manner of problems. Except maybe his already explosive, volatile relationship with Kate. "Made for quite a spectacle, blowing a hole through a mountain."

He takes Raylan over to a tree that he's already been working on, reaching out to rub down one arm of the willow tree already stripped of its bark. The topic of their wives would come up again later that night. For now Doc is only too happy to change the subject.

"Willow trees tend to like water. They don't all droop down by the shoreline but we'll have to wait for spring to come around before I can show you the shape of the leaves. The best bark is young, off a tree or offshoot that's only a few years old." That's why Doc has left most of the main tree trunks alone. Where possible he's also just snapped off some entire sections to strip and use as firewood. No point letting it go to waste out here.

Clearly Doc has spent some time here working his way around different trees. There's even a rig that looks like a hammock where Doc might have passed out after Malcolm duty once or thrice. And right now he's finding this tour around his haunt a lot easier than the last time he had mentioned the elephant in the forest, about what he would like for both Raylan and Malcolm should he have another museum incident that doesn't turn out to be a false alarm.

"You'd get along with Boyd Crowder. He was our dynamite man. Took to yellin' Fire in the hole anytime he blew up a church. Never got enough in blowin' holes in mountains."

Following over, Raylan pushed his hat up on his forehead with his thumb and looked up and down the tree. "I won't ask why, I suppose that's not necessary but.." He nodded. "I'll remember. Do you do anything to it once you've got the bark? Pre..washin' or somethin'? Malcolm said he put it into hot water."

They had plenty to talk about when the darkness fell again and the two men found themselves cloistered in the living room that night with a few bottles. Raylan knew that's when they'd get around to anything tender on their list of topics, wives, Malcolm, each other, when they're at least half a bottle in. Raylan almost welcomed it; the subtle back and forth dance of them pushing each other's lines. It wasn't the same kind of banter he got with Boyd or anyone else but it was.. just as deep, if he allowed himself to be sentimental about it.

Alright so Doc might no longer be on speaking terms with the man upstairs but he doubts he would get along with someone who would blow up a church. The churches he knew were not only a place of worship, or marriage, or funerals, but it also housed the holy men and women who ran it, and orphaned children too. That's crossing a line.

"Well once it's old, it's dried out and brittle, grumpy and cranky as shit, like us," Doc jokes. "Most of the good stuff's gone." He pries a little bit of old bark off the main trunk to demonstrate, not enough to do any damage to the tree. "You don't wanna be drinkin' splinters." If they didn't have a choice then yeah, he'd be taking all this off too, but right now there are enough trees to hopefully last them for however much time they are spending here before they find a way out. Despite the odds, Doc is still holding out hope for that.

"I leave 'em to dry out in the moonshine brewery. You can check in on everything at the same time while you're over." And it would stop Malcolm or anyone else from just throwing them out or taking them and using them prematurely. Doc hasn't yet tried distilling or grinding them into powder or anything. This is all just acquired knowledge; he didn't bring a portable lab with him on horseback when he used to live off the land.

Once Raylan has demonstrated that he can at least use a filed down butter knife without cutting himself, they had spent enough time for a sizeable haul before the daylight was finished, and then they are back to yesterday morning's arrangement. At home, in the living room, Doc stoking the fire, Raylan on the couch.

"Scoot over," Doc grumbles before sinking into the couch with a sigh. The soap Malcolm got him makes him smell like mint and pine trees as he settles in next to Raylan. He doesn't really feel as free to talk as when they were alone on the porch, with Negan, Neal and Malcolm in the house. But that's a non-complaint since he doesn't talk anyway. He's finishing his drink and working his way to getting Raylan to talk.

"The house I woke up in," Doc starts, swallowing his moonshine and holding his glass on his knee, tipping his head back and turning to look at Raylan. "It had all this- blue. Has all that started yet, over at Winona's place? The- the paint job and the cot and the- those socks you can wear on two fingers."

Oh, Doc would find many MANY other things to disagree with Boyd on - blowin' up churches was the just the start to Boyd's list of sins, but when it came to explosives, he'd find a very intelligent and enthusiastic Fireman friend.

Raylan scoffed at the joke but nodded. "So it's gotta be dried. Thought that might be the case - nothing comes from a field that's smoked without being dried, tea's gotta be the same way.." He couldn't argue cranky or grumpy, in the slightest, but the image it all invoked was amusing enough. Either way, it was an important note. No doubt Issues could arise out of wet plant product.

Once spring came, there was going to have to be some willow hunting though - the tree Doc was having him practice on didn't look like it had much left in it. Unsurprisingly, Raylan was just as good with a knife as he was with a gun. Not that he thought he'd be putting that to work with a sharpened butter knife.

That evening, back home, Raylan was more than happy to let Doc busy his hands with the fire, silently taking in the odd quiet of the coming night in comfort, and he smirked at the command, doing just that to make more room for him. He couldn't help but notice the smell - they all smelled the same now, after they showered, but it still smelt great in its subtle way, however ruined by the waft of sharp moonshine under his nose as he took a drink.

The question posed was about as far out into left field as Raylan could have ever guess and he looked over with a slight lift of his eyebrows and another huff of breath at the talk of baby socks. Out of all the things to chose to talk about..

"Winona doesn't have a place - she was in the middle of sellin' her house from her last marriage before she.." He inhaled as he chose his words, eyes kept down on his cup inconsequentially. "Decided to go stay with her sister for a few weeks. They're probably settin' up a place and knowin' them, it looks.. perfect." There was a little sadness that he couldn't quite help in his voice. "She's the first of the two to have a baby despite Gayle bein' older, so I imagine Gayle is whippin' up all sorts of stuff."

It's not that he doesn't know that they didn't exactly roll out the red carpet for Raylan to go and take a look or get involved or anything like that. If Wynonna needed Doc to do something she would have at least asked, tumultuous as their relationship might be, complicated further by his... 'bedmate', Rosita. You don't have to have as much experience as both the idiots on the couch to know that exes are hairy business.

"Well. At least it is a safe place, I hope." There aren't many consolations to be had but they're practical and sensitive enough to sense where they're just making a bigger mess and know when to push on through or pull right back. Or at least, Doc is. Sometimes he wonders, with Raylan. He can be... denser than he looks like he ought to be when it comes to such matters.

"Do you have a house of your own?" Doc isn't sure what to picture. A cabin in the middle of nowhere? A small apartment in a tall building? Or something more stylish and idyllic like this place with maybe a few bullet holes in the wall to remind all the visitors that none of the folks with more questionable endeavours and personalities like Raylan very much?

"It's safe," he confirmed, voice a little smaller for it as he looked into his cup. "Away from me tends to be safe." He drowned that statement in another mouthful of shine. It echoed too close to the words she'd left him before he arrived here. As much as it infuriated him and wounded him, maybe Winona and the baby would be better off without him. Maybe Doc did have the right idea, no matter how much of Raylan's heart had been wrapped up in the idea of having a yard full of little Givens.

He shook his head and in so, shook off the weight in his face as best he could. "I rent a motel room in Lexington, 'bout ten minutes from work. Edges of it, not that it's a particularly large city, despite bein' the capitol.. I suppose when Arlo finally dies, I'll get the house and the plot and the gravestones. Then sell 'em to the first bidder that walks by." Yeah, he knew it was 'sad'.

"I don't plan on puttin' down roots. I got plans to go back to Miami. I like beaches and beautiful women more than hollars and poverty."

It probably says more about Malcolm and possibly Neal if they feel safe around the cowboys than it does about Doc and Raylan. He might make Raylan uncomfortable with their subjects of conversation but at least he doesn't put him on the spot watching him, just topping up Raylan's glass wordlessly when it gets a little empty and grunting at the right intervals to break up the monotony of silence and keep things interesting.

Doc wouldn't have asked how exactly a yard of children is supposed to fit in a beach and beautiful women if Raylan had mentioned the former. Both are not unreasonable wants, but they seem like rather exclusive options.

"And when will that be happening? When they kick you out of the Marshal service after you've pissed everyone off?" Doc's only half-joking. Raylan did say he was rubbing some folks the wrong way. Doc can't possibly fathom why.

Neal and Malcolm seemed to find very little comfort of that kind out in the world, while Raylan and Doc were well at peace with the ugliness of the world and what it takes to shoulder it without breaking down. Maybe that's why they projected that sense of safety. Experience. But Doc got further than anyone else with Raylan solely because he didn't push. Because he didn't mind topping off the unhealthy coping habit he'd picked up young.

Because for how different they were, John Henry was more like him than anyone he'd ever met. That was comforting in it's rite.

Raylan huffed half a scoffed laugh, lip edges lifting. "They need the shake up.. Once I get Boyd Crowder back behind bars where he belongs. That's the reason they forced me to go back, so I'm only stayin' for as long as the job takes. If I ain't been kicked out by then, I'll transfer. If I have? I'm goin' down there anyway. I'm sure someone needs a firearm instructor." He looked over. "Though I could probably look into bartending and stay fairly comfortable for the rest of my life."

"Come now, Raylan. You need to actually be selling the liquor, not drinking it all yourself." Doc elbows him gently once he's sure that the ribbing won't spill any moonshine out onto his pants or onto the rug or couch. Not to mention, he has to be social too, and not look like someone's forcing him to make small talk at gunpoint. For all the things Doc knows that Raylan is good at, he's not sure he's cut out for barkeeping.

"If there is one thing I have learnt running a bordello and a saloon - you are not there to shake and pour the drinks, or keep the lights on and the men and women employed. Anyone with a thumb and a lick of business sense can do that. You are a priest, a mentor, a sounding board, a confidant. But you, sir." Doc flashes Raylan a tight-lipped smile and gestures with his whole hand without pointing.

"Are unequivocally, undeniably, indisputably an asshole."

Raylan grinned crookedly at the nudge, shifting his cup over into his other hand for another drink, just to be safe. He didn't mind the jab or the call out of how much he drank; not when Doc drank just as much if not more. "You know somethin' about that? I'd leave some for the customers. A bottle or two to split between a crowd."

But Doc was right - for what little Raylan was good at, small talk and priesthood of any sort, formal or informal, wasn't really an option. It was much better suited for personalities like Doc's. People capable of soft understanding. Someone capable, on some level, of being able to talk about feelings.

The accusation made Raylan openly laugh, head dipping back a little with the warm rare curling of all his features as he shrugged one shoulder. "So you're sayin' I should be a bouncer instead." He bobbed his head. "I'd do it. Honest type work. Drinks on discount. It'd be weird if people liked me. I imagine most everyone likes you. Considerin' all that skill. Well. Except maybe the Brit we're not talkin' about."

"It would not be 'weird' if people like you. It is called 'progress'. Maybe you have heard of the term?" Doc likes him well enough. And the smallest elephant to have ever stomped around a room is fairly enamoured with him too. Or at least, something between the real Raylan and the idealised version without all the problems and the scars. Doc thinks there is a storm brewing under that firmly sealed lid, the same way storms brew inside all angry men. But Raylan is probably not as despicable as he thinks himself to be.

"We can talk about him if you want. Or anyone else." Doc shrugs, casual and nonchalant about the subject the same way he is with anything else. He was raised to not say anything if he has nothing good to say, but. Their disagreements are their own to contend with. It does not extend to the people they are both acquainted with.

"It's a lot easier getting through life, getting what you want when people like you, it's true." And he wouldn't say no to company. He hasn't had any in a long time. All it takes most of the time is a little bit of humility and courtesy. And maybe some flirtatious, chaotic energy doesn't hurt either. "But everybody's got an opinion, and I have plenty of enemies and people I rub the wrong way too, same as you. At least you are honest about it, about yourself." Doc values politeness and cohesion above brutal honesty. Yes, it makes for a smoother ride, but it is not necessarily better than just being unforgivingly honest.

"Only in terms of an investigation," he joked with a grin. No, progress wasn't something that Raylan saw much of in his life. Things were the way they were and very rarely did they actually ever change. Even with all the varied assholes he changed and carnage he saw, people themselves, however they were built, rarely changed.

"And sour the conversation? Thanks, but no. He's brand of.. self loathin' isn't somethin' I can handle tonight. That's why I said we aren't talkin' about him." A simple, straightforward answer that didn't give way to any of the underlying tension of his relationship with John Constantine. He liked John, despite the bitter ragged edges and that hadn't changed, but the past few days had been.. A lot on their own, somehow. Just sorting everything out and resettling into a schedule.

"Me sayin' people like you isn't me saying that everyone likes you," he clarified with a single digit back. "No one is liked by everyone. Now that would be weird. But if we're gonna talk about people, we should probably talk about this bed situation. Gotta start workin' somethin' up in the garage so we're not couch surfin' between bein' on scream duty. Not that the couch ain't nice, but.. a little more room so as to not fall off of would be nice. Give us both a door to put behind us once and a while." Oh, there was plenty brewing under Raylan's sealed lid and it had plenty to do with not only the New Yorker upstairs, but with the gunslinger next to him. Plenty to keep him busy chewing his liver for days.

They are all plagued by some level of self-loathing. Doc thinks this is normal. He makes self-depreciating comments fairly often, though he tries to imbue some humour into it. But he can understand that too much of anything isn't a good thing and they have enough problems to deal with in this house than to try and interfere outside of, whatever good they might think they are able to do.

"Are you implying you did not enjoy my company last night?" Doc asks, straightening up, turning to face Raylan more, eyebrow raised in a farce of seriousness. He had his own thoughts and feelings about it but he didn't want to smother Raylan or roll off and break the coffee table in the middle of the night either. Not to mention the mad scramble they would have to do when Malcolm started screaming.

"The garage is too cold to be spending the night in. We cannot afford to get sick. I had considered putting our extra mattress on Malcolm's floor. Whoever isn't on shift can take the couch. Would make it quicker to get to him too. It would be easier on Neal and Negan. And there would always be someone downstairs if anything were to happen." If some fog tried to break in, the phone started ringing ominously, or some lanternless spectre started trying the front or back door.

There wasn't much of any humor to John's self loathing, if they were all honest. That's what made it a little unbearable sometimes, in part.

He met Doc's question with a straight gaze and a faint curl of his lips. "Would it make me a scoundrel to say that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would? Or that I wouldn't mind it happenin' again?" Maybe kissing Malcolm had opened a brash gate somewhere, but it certainly had started a cascade of thoughts that Raylan had been trying and failing desperately to hold at bay. He liked Doc. More than he probably should. Just like he liked Malcolm.

"We can do that, if you want. Give one of us a bed for a night at least." The concession came with a bob of his head as he nonchalantly took a sip of his moonshine. "Almost a shame we didn't put Neal down here, take the Master bedroom for ourselves."

Edited (d's are important no pun intended) 2021-01-23 02:22 (UTC)

"Oooo careful now Marshal. I do believe such confessions can and will be used against you." Doc finishes the drink in his glass without refilling it, holding onto the bottle as he leans forward and moves to stand.

"That can be arranged. I can get Mister Caffrey going anywhere I want in two minutes." Ten seconds if he doesn't mind compromising his own dignity, of which he doesn't have much left anymore anyway, but he would say the sweetest things and give Neal some time to gather his things at least. He won't mind, just for one night.

Ambling towards the stairs, Doc pauses and glances over his shoulder towards the kitchen. No one else loitering. Okay to joke around a little more loudly.

"I shall see you in one minute fifty-five." Doc lifts the bottle of moonshine he is holding hostage as he starts up the stairs. "Don't leave me hanging, I charge by the minute."

Raylan's expression only curled in amusement. The bottle was being taken as hostage. He saw how it was. He was a little surprised at how easily Doc fell into the bold suggestion, putting a time limit on it and everything. Was he really going to oust Neal in favor of them now? What would Neal think?

His heartrate rose again as Doc hit the stairs and glanced back at him. He had a sense about the door he'd opened, otherwise he wouldn't have opened it, but staring at the gut possibility made his hands itch. Maybe Doc was just as lonely and needy as he was. Maybe he wouldn't be judged for any lapses that might be had in the morning. He swallowed thickly and nodded. "A minute fifty." To account for his lingering.

Once Doc was moving up the stairs, Raylan pushed to his feet and glanced around, only grabbing his hat to slip onto his head and tossing his coat into a chair. No reason to make Neal deal with all of that if Doc really could talk Neal into giving up a room for a night.

The seconds ticked by in his head and he ambled into the kitchen, half in hope of giving Neal enough time to get into the living room so that Raylan could pass him by with an "Evenin'" and a tip of his hat before he hit the stairs himself, turning on the landing toward the room he'd once called Just His.

There was no hesitation to him opening the door and stepping in, closing it softly behind him. "How many seconds am I ahead by," he teased as he took off his hat and shifted it in his hands as he moved further into the room, pausing only to toss it most expertly onto one of the far sitting chairs.

He could have made things simultaneously awkward and funny by sprawling out on the bed but that's not really Doc's style. Anyone should be comfortable staying here with everyone else, the original inhabitants included. Instead Raylan will find him leaning against the small table, bottle of moonshine to celebrate the victory of commandeering the bedroom sitting next to his hips as his hands loosely grip the table's edge. He's still got his hat on but he tips his head and takes it off in a more deliberate motion, setting it down onto the vacant chair.

Had Neal not recovered as well as he did, Doc would not have asked for the room, but it is a fine balance to cater to everyone's needs, and once the mattress is set up tomorrow morning in Malcolm's room, then Neal can move back in without fanfare.

"I wa'n't keepin' count," he drawls, running a hand through his hair, keeping it tame. Well the chairs are occupied now so they can't sit around the table, but they do still have what's left of the moonshine to get through. A conundrum indeed.

"You still come in here often?" Doc frequents his room even though he has ceded it to Negan. He was going to move his bag downstairs, with the hodgepodge collection of half-used first aid kits being tapped into more often than he would like. He would need to find somewhere to put the borrowed clothes, books and other items he has salvaged from the township. But Negan didn't bring anything with him that needed clearing out the wardrobe for, and Doc wasn't sure how long he wanted to stay for.

"I's just thinkin' maybe you've got another bottle stashed somewhere." They can take their time drinking the night away if that were the case.

It would have been awkward yes, as funny as it might have been, Raylan was subtly nervous enough to be purposefully crawling into bed with another man. Laying down for a few minutes with Malcolm as he'd done over the past two scream duties had only been the start. He'd curled into and around Doc- Henry- his brain corrected in a sudden change of decision.

"You sure were about a minute and a half ago," he continued with a smile, walking over to the foot of the bed long enough to toe off his boots and kick them under his perceived claimed side of the bed. The left, standing by the foot, if one was aware enough.

"Only when I need to shower," Raylan answered as he peeled of his socks to drop them into each boot, hazel eyes casting over to find Henry again. "I like this bathroom better." He only had a few shirts and the books he was reading at the time to worry about; vagabond indeed. Not exactly what he was used to being but men like him didn't collect things without a deeper reason.

"Ask real nice," he started with a bob of his head as he headed for the closet. "Assumin' Neal hasn't ransacked the place with the skill Arlo had in hidin' shit.." He didn't need the light of the closet to help him pry back the loose panelling, reveling a deep compartment that held four bottles of 'shine. Raylan pulled one out and reset the panelling back in, making it as seemless as it was before, and headed towards the bed with a jiggle of the bottle towards Doc.

"Country still knows how to hide the valuables," he joked as he dropped down onto the bed, one long leg folding in as he settled against the headboard, sitting upright. "If we can get through another bottle before passin' out for a bit.. I'm gonna take Malcolm tonight. When it starts, stay here. Go back to sleep if you can. Better you get somethin' closer to a full night's sleep than I do." He was just less traumatized, though somehow no less abused. He would take up watch and let Henry take the rest.

"Got you running up here, didn't it?" Funny how putting a little timer to things really lights that fire under anyone's ass. He loses his own shoes and socks while Raylan gets busy looting his own stash - far be it from Doc to interrupt or pry into a journey of self-discovery deeper and deeper into a dark closet - dragging their half-drunk bottle along with him over to the other side of the bed. They're moving around quietly now, not in a deliberate secretive or stealthy manner but just because they're barefoot padding around and this quietness that they are used to is always this calm silence before the Malcolm storm rips through the house.

Sitting on the right side halfway down the bed, facing Raylan with his back turned towards the bathroom and bedroom doors, Doc folds his arms at the wrists and drapes one elbow atop a bent knee, other leg still hanging off the side of the bed. Close enough to be within reach. Far enough to be comfortable. He knows he is treading dangerous water. He would not push too far out too quickly.

"I slept plenty in the other house. But I was planning on making up for lost drinking time." And he does believe that Malcolm would be happy for Raylan to take him any night. Cracking his bottle open, he holds it out to Raylan. He's drinking the rest straight out of the bottle after, probably finishing it himself if Raylan doesn't stop him. You don't sit on the same bed divulging plans to drink excessively and still pretend at being some kind of gentleman.

"I will admit I felt a little guilty about it too." It was impossible not to feel relieved shaking off that exhaustion.

Raylan bobbed his eyebrows in response, face curled in amusement. He hadn't realized that it worked as well as it did. "Usually, my timers are 24 hours but neither of us are gettin' outta town," he joked as Doc settled down on the bed nearby, letting the new bottle roll and rest against his own thigh as he tucked one foot up in towards his other knee. Doc could have settled closer but the dance they were dancing was a slow, careful one. Raylan didn't know how it'd end but the twinkle in his eye was engaged.

"You are behind," he said with a smirk as he leaned forward to snag the bottle, tilting it up for a few big mouthful, adam's apple bobbing until his chin brought the bottle back down. His teeth bared with a sharp exhale as he turned the bottle back and handed it over. Who needed cups when they were dedicated to some muted drunk darkness coming over them? No, neither of them were gentleman when they were alone in a room - Gentleman was for everyone else.

"Guilty about what? Sleepin'?" Raylan waved a hand, dropping it to rest over his own knee as he shook his head. "Don't be. I'm sure Malcolm would be fine knowin' that you got a few good nights. We were both runnin' on a particular form of fumes, even if we didn't realize it." He leaned back with a sigh. "Beds the house I had were nice. Lot nicer than we got here. Shame we can't either move in or ransack the place. Bedrooms enough for all of us and then some, I'd guess."

"I'll catch up," he says with a confidence that is secured by the presence of two bottles to be finishing. It's going a lot faster now that they've dropped the pretense of needing cups to work through their drinking, their problems.

"You know I was thinking the same thing about the house I was in," he muses, smoothing his thumb and finger over his moustache as he leans in a little closer to take the bottle back. "But between the phantoms in the mirrors and the scratching noises I think we're safer here. 'Home', I believe you said." Doc manages a small smile as he takes a swig. In the shadows it could probably pass for a glass bottle of water.

"Haven't had one of those in a while." But they've settled in just fine. Doc even has more of a routine here than he did in Purgatory.

"If we're stuck here much longer you might need to revisit that bouncer idea." Just because he tries to be optimistic doesn't mean he's deluded, or stupid. The possibility that they might not be able to leave, and what that would mean for everyone in this house weighs heavily on his mind all the time.

Cups were for company.

"Good to know they got at least two nice places here. Not that this place ain't nice. Very single family home, dog in the front yard, barbeques and fish frys in the summer.." As much as he hated small towns, he liked the beach, the water, and what had to have come from it. He could almost imagine these people going about their days, John and Jane Q Public.

He didn't miss the point Doc put on the word home and smiled crookedly at him for a few seconds before it ebbed off his features, dark eyes studying Doc as he fell back to joking.

"Start kickin' people out if they get too rowdy? We get any more souls here, might have to." He debated against chasing the Home argument but he couldn't help himself.

"Home requires people to be there. Someone to be there when you get there or worry if you ain't here by dark." He let a beat pass. "This place ain't what I'd usually call home but.. It's got all the requirements and I like the view."

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