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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Doc probably shouldn't laugh but Malcolm looks so nervous, he couldn't help that warm little noise bubbling out of him. Settling back down and stretching out the length of the bed again, Doc turns inwards to face them, hand smoothing over that impossibly narrow waist and purposefully disrupting Malcolm's fidgeting hands, reaching over until his fingertips bump against Raylan's hip.

"We've got you," he promises in a loveresque murmur, eyes closed and a stray leg away from a snuggle. "It's okay to take things slow. And just... drift. Thoughts will come. Breathe 'em in, let 'em come. And let 'em go. It's okay. You're okay." Where he can't be making relaxants or what-have-you, someone's been picking up meditative and sleeping tips from the library in his spare time.

His hand drifts up the sheets in the space between Malcolm and Raylan, giving Raylan's elbow a nudge to encourage his arm to move.

As Malcolm laid down, Raylan let his hand fall onto the smaller man's upper arm, back of his fingers brushing softly up and down the few inches he had reach to without too much movement. He knew what he'd rather do to wipe that look of concern off Malcolm's face, but he settled for shifting little closer, not disencouraging the bump of fingers against his hip or the intimate way they were wrapping around Malcolm. Whatever hesitations he might have had of unabashedly embracing Malcolm in bed, Henry clearly did not.

The fingertips at his elbow made him huff a little breath of amusement as his hand slid over Malcolm's chest with an unconscious faint hum of satisfaction until it was draped all the way over him, the heat from Doc's chest nearly against the backs of his fingers.

There wasn't anything he would add to Doc's apt comfort beyond his own weight and heat and secure presence and a echo of, "It's okay."

He would bet that them being there was more comforting than 'its okay', but actions always were, weren't they.

They were.

His next deliberate breath came a little easier, a little less shakily. In through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five.

He felt like he was in a cocoon of warmth.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five.

Nobody in his life before had ever willingly crawled into a bed with him if they knew about his night terrors. He could easily fall asleep here, held like this, hemmed in by safety on both sides.

That thought was terrifying a moment after it was amazing. His eyes snapped open. He watched the ceiling for a moment, but then he pushed that aside. They said it was okay.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five. That one was a little more laboured.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured to them both. To the room.

They were holding on to him, though. Both of them. They might feel him stir before he got too dangerous. Could this be allowed?

In through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five.

Well. He hates to be the bearer of bad news, Malcolm, but other people have been there and done that already, to the both of them. There is nothing he could possibly do in that very bed that could hurt either Doc (Henry, whatever his name is) or Raylan more than how they've already been hurt, when their fingers coast along a cold indent in that gaping, empty space next to them and the person they so desperately had wanted to wake up next to were long gone. No amount of flailing or screaming can cut as deep as abandonment masquerading as a bittersweet goodbye.

"You can't," Henry replies after a stretch of quietness and stillness. He has already shared enough of their trade secrets for Malcolm to know that the two of them have already learnt their lesson. Nobody can hurt either of them anymore. Never again.

Raylan's thumb set back to brushing back and forth across Malcolm's arm as the breaths started coming more heavily.

"We're not gonna let anything happen." Unwilling to be so sentimental about his own empty bed issues with a bed full of bodies, Raylan was more focused on the physical aspect of it all. Wild elbows and fists. Something more for Henry to tend to when dawn hit. "It's alright, Malcolm. We know the risks. We're here anyway and not goin' anywhere."

Malcolm had mentioned to him that he'd never slept in a bed with anyone else before due to his night terrors, so Raylan was prepared for that, if nothing else.

He was fairly sure he could to some degree. Physically. Break a nose, blacken an eye. Fighting monsters because he didn’t understand, in the depths of it, that those solid presences around him were the two most important people in his world right now.

We know the risks.

He looked at Doc for a long moment, then looked at Raylan, studying them each in turn.

Maybe he’d misunderstood what he’d walked into. They did not exude an air of coitus interruptus. Were they just... doing this for each other?

Was he looking at Raylan’s face for too long? He looked up at the ceiling again.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five. It went easier that time. He squeezed his hands into fists, hoping that wouldn’t dislodge Doc’s hands from there.

Could he shut his eyes? Did he dare? He stared at the ceiling some more, listening to their breath on either side of him.

If he didn’t break any noses, could they do this again? Was that tempting fate?

If there had been any kind of indication below the belt that John Henry Holliday was happy to see either of them, he would have apologised profusely and excused himself until it passed. It happens - had happened frequently when he used to sleep around prolifically - and especially after so many decades of isolation, he craves the touch more so than he would ever let on. But the only thing Malcolm had interrupted was a few more hours of sleep. And that, they can scrape together quite easily during the day or try to stave off and recoup the next night.

The closer he gets to drifting off the tighter his arm-wrap gets around Malcolm's waist. He needs to protect. Keep Malcolm safe. He promised he would. His knee bumps against the side of Malcolm's shin, stopping short of getting entangled in between his legs.

But as he finally dozes off himself, all the reassurances maybe having worked a little too well, the tension in his arm seeps away and he goes lax again, face half buried in the pillow as the backs of his curled fingers brush dangerously close to the middle seam of Raylan's pants in the dark, arm hanging down too low from Malcolm's waist.

It's fine. No elbows to the face or broken noses. It's... probably fine.

With Henry around his waist and Raylan around his chest, Malcolm was as properly secured as they'd be able to get him. Raylan watched Malcolm's silhouette turn his head back and forth from his half cracked eyes and hoped this all wasn't too.. weird. He kept his brushing fingers going, shifting them just enough to brush against Henry's chest a little with the motions until the lure of sleep, steady heart beats and breaths caught him and slowed them to a stop.

However subtly Raylan might have wanted there to be a little something to interrupt, he was just as touched starved and was more than happy to be settled down next to people he felt safe with - no cotius to interupptus. Somewhere in the next hour, one finger finds its way to hook loosely underneath one of Henry's undershirt straps and if there's a few twitches of his hips towards the pair, surely he's running in his sleep.

He knew this would be just as short as the last but if they were lucky, maybe they'd get those few extra hours of sleep they were all hoping for.

Malcolm feels them fall asleep, Doc and then Raylan. The longer he stays awake, the longer they can sleep before the terrors in his head assault him and wake them.

He turns his head, watching Raylan's face in repose. There's still some kind of tension there, even in sleep. He can feel Raylan's breath on one shoulder and Doc's on the other. He shifts his hands so one rests on Doc's forearm and one on Raylan's. He turns his gaze back to the ceiling again and his eyes flutter before closing and he falls asleep.

Nearly four hours later, he starts muttering, shifting left and then right, finding obstacles in both directions. Muttering turns to shouting and he tries to bolt right through Raylan.

Doc reaches for a gun that isn't under the pillow when he is first awakened, drawing empty rivers in the bedsheet, and before Malcolm can kick Raylan in any unfortunate soft bits or climb over him and put a hole through the wall or window, Doc is on top of him. He doesn't immediately remember how they wound up in this particular configuration but it will come back to him after he rolls into action.

One hand grabs Malcolm's wrist in a grip hard enough to leave a red mark on his skin as Doc wraps Malcolm's right arm over his left, holding those strong but deceptively skinny forearms against his torso and pulling Malcolm into a tight, restraining hug while his leg swings over to trap Malcolm's lower limbs down onto the mattress. He's got thirty-something, forty-something pounds on the New Yorker and the more he rolls on top of Malcolm the more he's going to feel that warm, heavy onslaught of weight and reassurance.

Doc has one free flailing hand which he uses to grab Raylan's chest and twist a fist into his undershirt, hold him so he doesn't get shoved off the bed.

"Hey!" Doc whisper-asserts through the ruckus, raspy voice managing as assertive of a tone without coming on too aggressive. It's impossible not to be slightly threatening with a growl in his ear and one arm and leg holding him down with a cowboy half-rolled on top of him. He is too preoccupied with getting Malcolm to calm down to remember to let go of Raylan's singlet, white-knuckled fist an outlet for where he is trying to exert a controlled amount of force unto Malcolm. "Ssshhh sssshh sshh."

Oh there was no fear of Raylan goin' anywhere - The starts of distress got a twitch of his arm and at the start to wakefulness, the arm under his head fisted into the bed as his other reached out to fist into Doc's undershirt, which worked out rather well as they all leveraged their own weight against each other.

His left hand let go of the bed and came around to cupping Malcolm's jaw, helping to keep any thrashing from cracking the two men's heads together as he threw his leg over Doc's, securing Malcolm on all sides. Twisting either way would end Malcolm in a wall of Cowboy.

All he could do was hold on, heart jackhammering under Doc's knuckles - he worried that too many voices would make it worse.

As the combined efforts and weight of two cowboys renders him unable to struggle or escape, he screams. It’s a mournful howl of despair at the top of his lungs that ends in a choked sob as he gives one last fruitless push against them.

Then startles awake with a gasp, eyes darting around, body tensed until he realizes where he is. His heavy breaths get shaky. He’s trembling. He swallows hard.

“Did I hurt anyone?” he whispers fearfully.

He nearly clips a cowboy's head on his way up but Doc swiftly relinquishes Malcolm into Raylan's arms once he's awake, mumbling an apology that's nearly lost in the commotion about grabbing Raylan like that. He wouldn't have minded holding onto him until the shaking stops but since Raylan is there, he figured that Malcolm would prefer his company and his reassurances.

"You're okay," Doc promises as he starts to climb out of bed, pulling a blanket up to take his place, covering most of Malcolm and a bit of Raylan with it before letting go. Doc raises a hand to get Raylan to stay with Malcolm and gestures over to the door with his thumb before picking up his shirt, the empty bottle and the bundle of bandages on his way out. The vagabond is on the move, as always, hardly stopping even for Hurricane Malcolm. He's going to check that Negan and Neal haven't fled in terror and reassure them that he didn't try to pull Malcolm's teeth out in the early hours of the morning.

That scream was one that was likely to haunt Raylan for a few nights and he winced at it, blinking in surprise as Malcolm is pushed into his arms, automatically taking the weight and noticing the dimples in Henry's shirt that his grip had left. Doc was right to gesture at Raylan who was already in the middle of pushing up onto his elbow, mouth opening in half question, half concern.

But he wouldn't have gotten anything out if he tried, what with the way that Doc fled like it was the scene of a crime. Still, he had an arm full of terrified New Yorker and things had to be taken one step at a time.

"No one was hurt," he assured as he shifted to sink back down into the pillows, arm curling back up under his head. "Lest I don't think so. He's just goin' to make sure your scream didn't shake down any walls. That one was a new pitch... Are you okay?"

Had they made it worse?

Malcolm blinked against... blurriness, until he realized it was tears and wiped at them, looking after Doc, clutching the blanket where it had been draped over him. He looked at Raylan as he shifted back down.

“I’m fine,” he said absently, looking towards the door again before slowly shifting back down beside Raylan. “Is he mad?” he asked, shifting close to Raylan again, despite the space on the other side no longer needing used.

"I'm sure he's not. No reason for him to be, it's alright." Raylan ran his hand up and down Malcolm's back, openly inviting the closeness. Doc had shut the door behind him and Raylan would circle around later that morning to make sure.

"Probably just needs a minute." A beat passed. "You sure you're okay? Did.. Did we make it worse?" He'd never heard a howl like that that didn't come with a flesh wound. He'd made men make that sound.

“I... guess that depends on... how you look at it. Does how much I’m being restrained factor into how trapped I feel inside the nightmare? Probably. But. I’ve... never felt safer after waking up,” he admitted. “And I have to be restrained. I have to.”

His fingers fidgeted at the hem of the blanket and his eyes moved to the door again and then to Raylan’s face.

“The... Shadow Man in my dreams is getting worse. More aggressive. More violent.”

Uncertainty crossed his features.

“Are you sure I didn’t... intrude last night? I didn’t mean to.... I thought he’d be alone.”

Doc takes his time outside the master bedroom, giving Malcolm and Raylan some time together, giving himself some space for self-composure. He checks in on Negan first since he's upstairs and then makes his way downstairs to Neal. Had the commotion awoken them he would have offered reassurances to hopefully put them more at ease even if they might struggle to go back to sleep. Neal also deserves a curt but appreciative word of thanks for giving up the master bedroom - the couch, while comfortable, is not an appropriate space for guests. And while he is no longer really a guest, having unofficially moved in, he still deserves a more permanent arrangement than this musical chairs they're playing with sleeping spaces.

When Doc returns they'll be able to hear his footsteps coming down towards the master bedroom before the door creaks open. He doesn't wish to interrupt them if they are in the middle of anything but since they've dispensed with the knocking he's not going to bother reintroducing it.

"Well we haven't scared them away, and Neal hasn't frozen on the couch overnight. Might need to work on my midnight root canal joke," Doc muses with a smile that can be heard in the dark, ducking his head as he slowly runs a hand over his hair. There is less of a need to put on a chirpy, sunny, optimistic disposition to accompany his air of confidence in this bedroom. He can let himself just be tired and not bother wearing his confidence out with the two of them.

"We might need to stay here a while, let Mister Caffrey have a few more hours downstairs." Sitting on the edge of the bed with all the confidence of a man who would be invited to bed than be told to leave the room, he smoothes his hand down the length of his thigh, regarding Malcolm and Raylan in a quiet appraisal. He's got a couple of choices - maybe another hour or two of sleep, to his left, and the pack of cigarettes that he will go downstairs to chip away at on his right - and steely blue eyes seem to be weighing up between the options. He seems to be gravitating towards the smoke if the way he brushes the side of his thumb over his lower lip is anything to go by, but the longer he sits around the less likely he is going to be willing to get up again.

[Note to the eventual reader: Thread detoured over here and Raylan's response will be double posted.]

How? He understood what? Raylan did not understand and the pinch of his brows said as much. Something had played wrong; he wasn't reading something right and he felt the urge to distance himself before more damage was done - to himself or Malcolm. "I-"

Doc coming up the stairs and into the room was a blessing in disguise and Raylan swiveled his half raised head towards the door, body drawing back a few inches. He glanced at Malcolm and shifted up on his elbow, arm draping over his own hip as he listened. Having momentarily forgotten about Neal or Negan or anyone that wasn't sitting on or in the bed currently, it was a sharp reminder of where they were. Where they weren't.

"If they can withstand that, they'll fit in fine." At the suggestion of staying here a few more hours, Raylan nodded, glancing at Malcolm again before pushing the blankets off and turning his legs out to sit up and then stand up. "I gotta piss," he said by way of explanation as he headed around the foot of the bed and towards the bathroom. He needed to just. Not be seen for a few minutes.

"Get comfortable."

Malcolm’s hand slid from Raylan’s chest as he moved away and he rolled onto his back so he could see Doc.

He swallowed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I told him,” he said, barely above a whisper in the hope that Doc would hear him and Raylan would not. “I shouldn’t have. It was too much. He thinks I idealize him.”

"We didn't need to know that," Doc grunts as Raylan parts. He doesn't need the invitation to crawl back into bed but he is appreciative of it nonetheless, reclaiming his spot that has since gone a little cold and sliding in next to Malcolm.

"Do you?" He asks Malcolm as he lies down on his side facing him, folding his arm over his stomach. Doc knows a thing or two about being idealised and idolised. He can understand how Raylan feels. They might be progressing towards a point where they are straining, fraying at the edges, close to breaking, but so far Raylan has been a rampart keeping this house intact. Like Doc he probably hasn't been giving himself frequent enough opportunities to just be okay with not having his shit together.

"My relationships with the people who took care of me as I got progressively ill had changed from when I was still their gunslinging hero. You may not think of him as a caretaker but he may think of himself as needing to be caretaking. He thinks you have not seen him at his lowest, you do not know what it entails, that you are not of his world and would not understand, and that you are undeserving of that kind of ugliness. It is a difficult thing, when a man cannot articulate that he wants something precious. Only that he wants not to hurt or ruin it even more. Unfortunately, on this side of the line, you only feel the rejection all the same." But hopefully Doc can reassure him that it is not rejection. A 'thank you but no thank you' is different from a 'thank you but I just need some time'. The South is on its own schedule, ten times slower than a city that claims not to sleep. All Doc has is time. He can be wont to drag things out too.

And don't say Doc never talks. He talks plenty, see?

Raylan was sure one of them did.

Once behind the bathroom door, Raylan leaned against it for a long moment, eyes closed with a few deep breaths before he pushed up to turn the faucet on, covering any sounds he might make by his very real call of nature. Once he was done, he returned to the sink and washed his face, trying to push the clamor of questions and ideas out from his mind, a mix of hope and knowing despair and a deep desire for... The sentence couldn't be finished, not even in his head.

No, all he needed was a few minutes to get his walls back up, double mortared in place, set to age over the next two days. He could avoid answering any questions til then. Until it'd settled.

“I see him,” Malcolm told Doc. “That’s what I do. I watch people and I see the ways they’ve learned to protect themselves and when they waver and when they reinforce their defences and I see them. He’s a good person who thinks he’s a bad person, but I would bet real money that the bad things he’s supposed to have done were done to protect other people. That’s who he is. I don’t know what made him that way. It probably has something to do with his father’s failures; he uses his first name. I don’t call my father ‘dad’ either. That’s how he stays strong, worrying about other people. Checking on the town. Boarding up houses nobody is even using because somebody might. You do it too. I know you won’t let me self-destruct. I know it’s safe here because you two make it that way. But I don’t think you’re... perfect. Just.... fundamentally good at the core. Underneath... alcoholism and baggage. But I think. Maybe that’s the part he’s not ready to hear. I don’t know. I always have too many feelings; this isn’t the first time it’s been a problem. It won’t be the last.”

He took a breath and sat up. “I think... I’m going to go to my room. Do some yoga. Read. I won’t disturb the others. You two should get some more sleep in peace.”

He started scootching towards the foot of the bed. It seemed like his exit. Rolling over Raylan’s spot on the bed felt like trespassing.

"Malcolm, wait." In the blink of an eye, Doc has propped himself up just high enough on one elbow to reach over to grab Malcolm by his slender arm. There's a lot to unpack between what Doc said and what Malcolm said. Things to do with relationships where there is some level of dependencies involved, around the cowboys' self-medicating ways, and where they tragically believe they're all falling short of each other when they are so much more than the mere, paltry sum of all their glaring flaws.

Doc might not have known exactly what was said or where they stand, but he wants to salvage this regardless. Something good has to come of this town. And a life lived in fear, of hurting others or of not being accepted full of flaws and all, is not a life that was worth living at all.

"None of us have seen each other at our worst. We have not yet said something we cannot take back in the heat of the moment. We cannot know how anyone else would react. You need space to let a door open or you'll get smacked in the face. Just- give him that time, and space." Doc slowly lets go, folding an arm under his head as he lies back down.

"You are always free to come and go as you please. But if you leave now without at least reassuring him that no harm was done and that you would be around when he is ready, that door will never open." Doc would help them as best they can, but this is a door he cannot open for them.

“I wasn’t going to actually leave before he comes back,” Malcolm said softly. He needed to know they were still friends too. He knew it was the truth that Raylan left the room to pee, but he also didn’t think it was all he needed to leave the room for. “But... he doesn’t want that door, Doc. Not with me. I misunderstood what he.... what he did want. Somewhere to turn for comfort without judgement. And that’s okay. I... I’m okay with that. He basically told me and I didn’t get it and I spilled my feelings and messed it all up. There’s no door - I told you he wouldn’t...” He took a breath. “But I can be here for him like he’s been there for me. I’m okay with that,” he whispered urgently, keeping an eye on the door.

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I dunno if it's my turn I'm going anyways sorry :D

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