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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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."

In Doc's humble opinion there is always space for more. They will redo the living room. Shift the bed and add a partition to this room. Even find some cladding and padding up half the garage if they have to. That door downstairs has to always be open for anyone who should need to come through it. There will always be room for lost souls.

"Well then I shall stand, or- sit. Corrected." Doc tilts his head and cracks a smile, holding the bottle with three fingers left against his thigh. "If that is home then I have been home, ever since it was just the two of us staring into a bathtub talking horseshit about copper pipes and cornmeal."

He lifts the bottle in a silent toast and almost empties it when he tips it back this time.

"Guess you never know when you've got something worth holding onto until it's gone."

Despite his going along with the joke, he agreed. It was half the reason he suggested renovating the garage to hold more beds - consideration of the weather and all. Why not turn the door into the front face of a fully built and insulated wall? Give them more room to house themselves. He'd been half thinking about keeping an eye out for a house the size of the boarding house, really, to no avail.

Raylan's smile spread warmly as he thought back that far. It wasn't really that far but twenty plus days here seemed like much longer, somehow. Something that wasn't a bad thing, by any stretch of the measure. "You're gonna have to write it down one day so I can remember it."

He slipped his hand around the bottle neck next to him and smirked. If Doc emptied that bottle, he'd have to come up for the other one. The smirk spread into a warmer more sincere smile at the sentiment.

"I don't wanna give credit to Mathis for anything, so I won't." But he was glad they were all back. "You and Malcolm. Y'all are worth a lot. Worth worryin' and goin' after." There was no dressing it up with extra words to soften the blow of sentiment, not this time. Just a Tipsy Feeling Raylan. He didn't have time for the dancing around more often than not. They'd taken a few steps around but he had to say it sideways but outright.

He cared about Doc and Malcolm both. Maybe more than he had any rights to but. Here he sat doing it anyway.

"I did. Around about this time last week I... thought I was not going to return. So I wrote down everything from willow bark to the refinements in technique for how to make this last batch of moonshine to people not living in this house that I would have liked for you to check in on sometime. Miss Ellie and Miss Johnson, the Hargreeves, and a few others." That is his legacy here. Malcolm, bathtub bootleg liquor, and people. A skilled gunfighter is just another word for a executioner and he does not want to be remembered as a killer.

"Ain't anybody here who would bite your head off if you said you actually cared." But he appreciates it nonetheless. "But for what it's worth I would come after your sorry ass if you go off and do anything stupid, and you're gon' wish you were dead then," Doc jokes. Except he's not really joking. He would go off the way Raylan went off on him after his museum expedition and stretch the limit of his polite vocabulary to the edges of hot, explosive near-expletives.

"I get the occasional strange dream myself, by the way." It's called a nightmare. Or sometimes a flashback. He refuses to acknowledge it as either. "In case you get an elbow to the face. Wasn't personal."

Raylan's face pinched, eyes swinging over and around the room like he could narrow down where the letter was and read it in a single glance before he brought them back to Henry. Suddenly he felt like they'd been drastically closer to losing him then before, somehow. He was glad they hadn't had to find it for the reasons Henry was preparing for.

"I don't know that Daisy would appreciate that but.. Ellie I'm already half keepin' an eye on.." Offhandedly, he started fiddling with his horseshoe ring with his thumb. He didn't like them having plans for when or if they vanished. It was the smart thing, for sure but he'd been staring at his own gravestone long enough. He wasn't ready to start imagining Henry's. Not tonight, anyway.

Raylan huffed a little breath at the assurance no one would bite him for saying he cared and while he believed Henry, it didn't feel like it could be just that easy. The curse of never really getting to do it. But his smile spread a bit further at the threat. Yeah, that sounded about right. "I'll do my best to let you know before I go divin' into the stupid pool if you'll do the same," he ventured, pulling up the bottle next to him and opening it up. After taking a drink of his own, he held it out, like it was their agreements version of a handshake.

It wasn't the out and out admission that Henry might have been angling for but he knew all too well that Raylan was a man who proved things by action more than words. Unless pushed to it, anyway.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Doc lowers the empty glass bottle near the corner leg where it is less likely to get stepped on or kicked. He can't help having made these plans. He has had time to think about it and the more he mulled over the scenarios that could lead to a potentially untimely demise it became more and more of an inevitable eventuality, not merely a passing possibility. Too many things in this town could get to them, at any time, and there were no guarantees that they would return like a few others had, before.

"You have yourself a deal," he promises as he takes the newly cracked open bottle from Raylan, gulping down two mouthfuls before wiping at the corner of his lips with the back of his hand. It's starting to make his vision swim and his eyes water but since he's sitting he can probably still play it cool. There might be no gentlemen here in this room right now but that doesn't mean he feels he can let his mask slip enough to let go of that certain kind of unhealthy, stoic, stone cold machismo that stems from needing to be a bedrock that can hold others up and centuries old social pressures that never quite left the South.

"I do not know if you have made any similar plans yourself," Doc starts, holding the bottle between them with his forearm draped over his knee within Raylan's reach. "But we could have a hundred or a hundred thousand more nights to come, or this could be our last night alive. I would honour anything you might wish to ask of me."

"No. No plans. Got plans enough at home.. Grew up with the family headstones in the front yard, right as you walk in. Been starin' at my name in that stone for too many years already. If I go, I go. Only control I got is not eggin' death on. Bein' smart."

Gently, Raylan took the bottle, considered the mouth of it for a long moment before putting the cap back on and setting it down onto the bed next to him so he could lean forward the fraction he'd had to lean back to do all that. Henry might think he was playin' it cool but Raylan, as drunk as he was himself, could still see Doc forcing it down his throat. To stop what specifically, Raylan didn't know but.. He knew he wanted to help.

"Somethin' happens to me, you'll take care of Malcolm. The other people that we both taken a likin' to.. I trust that you'll know how to handle that. Built for it." With the pause that came after, Raylan studied Henry's face before continuing.

"But if this really is the last night we're alive and kickin'..." He felt like he was standing on a cliff's edge. But Doc had seemed.. more than amiable about sleeping with him in the most practical sense. It would be fine, right? Maybe. Maybe not. "Only thing I'd ask of you is to come up here and get comfortable. Relax. Lay with me for a little while, huh?"

Doc nods. It is a given that he will at the very least continue to look after everyone here as best he can, and he did not need to be asked to. He cannot make any promises for the entire town, but of course he will try, with their neighbours, and those at the Boarding House.

"Since you asked so nicely." Doc raises his hand and almost lowers it onto Raylan's knee. He changes his mind at the last minute and plops it on that sliver of space between them, creasing the sheets, so near yet so far, and ducks his head, obscuring half his smile in shadow.

"Who am I to refuse?" Leaning to one side, Doc pulls out his cigarettes and matches from his pockets, tossing them onto the bedside table. The bed groans and creaks as he leans forward and moves to stand a bit, shuffle closer towards Raylan. One leg swings onto the bed and then the other, stretched out down the length of the mattress.

His palms move from being firmly planted on either side of his butt to reach behind his neck, a fist in his shirt collar pulling it up and off his torso, tossing it aside onto the floor. A recently healed bullet wound beneath his right collarbone made by a gun that last rolled off the assembly line over a hundred years ago is made visible for a brief moment before he tugs his askew singlet down properly and runs a hand through his hair, keeping his hand on the back of his head as he lies down, looking up at Raylan. His other hand stays resting over his abdomen on top of his undershirt, as though it's guarding other secrets of dangerous past encounters.

"Suppose this was how you were planning on solving our shortage of beds?" Doc asks, mildly amused.

Raylan knew he would.

The almost touch, the tilt of Henry's face at it all made Raylan smile, not in total victory but something like it. Raylan stayed where he was, leaning back a fraction as though it made any kind of difference to Doc getting onto the bed over him. Shifting the bottle and setting it on the floor next to the side table, Raylan shifted himself a little to pull off the red and black checkered flannel shirt he was wearing over his henley shirt before pulling that off too. Once his watch was gone, he forgot about his belt and settled back into the position he'd taken before.

He'd seen the glimpse of the bullet wound and did wonder how many others Doc's normal waistcoated layers hid, something else to roll around in the back of his head. He looked over at the question, mirth playing along his lips. "Not directly, but it works, don't it?"

No, laying down was the right way to go and Raylan lifted himself to shift down and onto his elbows before dropping into the pillow with a sigh, head swimming not a little with the reorientation. The arm closet to Doc was laid out between them, his ringed off hand settling over his stomach in a similar move.

"Since Mathis decided that we need to wake up on a couch together, seems like she agrees about it bein' a solid idea." He let his head fall to the side, eyes opening back up to look at Henry as he smirked. "Just don't be stealin' all the covers or pushing me outta bed. Or let anyone think this place has any good ideas other than this one to share."

"I will try not to have a violent reaction when you start snoring," he jokes right back, glancing at Raylan out of the corner of his eye before deciding it might be too soon to be exchanging looks in the dark and letting his gaze drift back to the ceiling. It was getting too warm with the shirt on drinking all that moonshine in bed but now it's just right. Propping himself up on one elbow, Doc reaches down past a slightly bent knee to pull up a thin sheet. They'll need the blanket later but for now he tugs on the sheet and drapes it over Raylan just under the line of his folded arm, fingertips grazing over the sewn hem as it forms a fitting mould around Raylan's outline.

"You might need to hold my hand. I'm not drunk enough to not mind the dark." He actually chuckles at that. For all the things he takes for granted with his immortality, his own gaudy ring acting as a security blanket to assuage him of his mortal fears, he can't get over his claustrophobia. Just Ellie's mere suggestion at venturing into the crawlspace under the house next door and he is four feet tall again, alone in the dark, covering the scrape on his knee with a soil-scuffed hand lying in the dirt listening to his mother's laboured breaths waiting to die.

Their time together in Mathias, though made all the better for banding together, has only made the darkness more unsettling. Every little noise has him clenching his jaw and shifting his leg restlessly, thinking of climbing out of bed to check on the others, reaching for his knife or the table lamp or just anything that can be swung at the shadows.

"Let us not ask or encourage Mathias's other wild ideas. Much as I do love some of her charms she is a wily, cruel mistress." In the shell of some folkloric legend lies a sometimes fearful, often worrying traumatised mess of a broken man. What would the history books think?

"I don't snore," he protested with a laugh that knew better, lifting his head a little at the shifting and dropping it back down with another satisfied breath as the sheet was pulled up over him, heart skipping at the draw of Doc's finger. He hadn't been cold but even if he was, he was too drunk to notice. Not to drunk to notice it wasn't nothing. He knew it wasn't nothing and now, it was starting to chew at him like a needy little thing. There were no amount of moonshine excuses to change that.

At the comment, Raylan looked over Doc's way. The dark of a bedroom must be too similar to the dark of a well. It had more than enough air and space to avoid being a mine, but Raylan could make a jump to the faint idea of what that must be like. The impulse to reach over and do just that, swiftly tend to those concerns with a touch was just as swiftly stifled. What if he was wrong?

"She is," he agreed softly. Mathis was going to break them more; Raylan could sense that much, like a storm in the air. They were going to need each other.

What if he wasn't wrong? After a long moment of silence, Raylan studying the shadowed outline of Doc's features in the dark, he opted for a leap of verbal faith. "My hands right here, when you need it." It was held up between them, pulled out from under the sheet, though he couldn't say how much of it Doc could see. "Don't think I'd mind at all." He wouldn't mind a lotta things. More than he should probably not mind but Doc and Malcolm had been working on him for a while now. Too many jokes and innuendos and open comforting understanding arms.

But he couldn't rush this. He didn't know how or how he'd handle it afterwards if he did. They were slow moving men, in this department, that's all he knew.

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