026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

[thering]

characters: Malcolm, Neal, Negan, Raylan, Doc
location: 1306 Phillips Dr
date/time: day 26 morning
content: the reset Playstation button was pressed
warnings: tbd

After the strangeness of the past two nights they were likely fully expecting to awaken in the same strange, different, not-so-new anymore places they found themselves in in the past two days.

Instead everything seems to have reset, again. The three permanent residents and two guests are back in 1306, exactly where they had been two nights ago. Malcolm was in his own room, Neal was in Doc's and Negan in Raylan's master bedroom. The two displaced cowboys are downstairs sharing one too-small couch, a night of drinking culminating in fighting over couch space and who gets to be the bigger spoon.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out and their Winter 2020 Collection of bespoke lanterns have vanished, but nothing else seems to be awry.

Comments

[tinstar]

The whiskey of the Mystery Mansion had been good whiskey, and Raylan had fallen asleep in a comfortable, familiar drunkenness that beat everything else away. Of course he'd expected to wake up in the same place he had the two sleeps before, but this morning, he was apparently he was fighting someone for space.

"I can't move over any more than I am," he tiredly grumbled into an ear that his brain said had to be Winona's for some reason and he sighed as he settled back in, arm tucked tightly around a.. waist that suddenly struck as too thick to be Winona's. "The hell?" he asked with an inhale of a breath, waking up a little more to peer blearily at Doc. "Doc?"

To his credit, he didn't pull back or shove Doc off the couch once he realized who he was tucked up so intimately next to.

- Later

After some coffee had been made and passed around, Raylan decided to start breakfast. He didn't know what had happened and there was no doubt that a rousing conversation about just that would happen sooner or later, but he knew that he was hungry, and that most of the stomachs in the house would be too.

Eggs and pancakes, comin' right up.

Twenty minutes later, Raylan is standing over a stove in his undershirt and bare feet with a tea towel over his shoulder as he flips a pancake to reveal a golden brown side. He knew the smell would waft through the house and hoped that that alone would summon some of the housemates and guests up from their beds.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm woke with a start, sprawled on his bed unrestrained. He blinked into the dim light of early morning, frowning. He thought he'd fallen asleep accidentally in the boarding house but... no. This was his own room, in 1306. His eyes widened. He bolted out of bed, heading for the stairs, clambering down them so quickly he missed the last couple and stumbled into the livingroom, casting around to see if anyone else was there.

He spotted Raylan and Doc on the couch and walked over there, wringing his hands unconsciously.

"Raylan? Doc?"

[vampirebats]

Morning

"What the fresh fuck is this?" Are the first coherent words out of Negan's mouth when he opens his eyes and he's pulled yet another goddamn midnight traveling act. It's not the boarding house. He's back in the cowboy's bed.

He pushes himself up off the mattress, limbs heavy and drowsy still as he stumbles out of the room. "Hellooo? Did I wake up here all by my lonesome?"

God, he hopes not.

Part of him wants to go check the front door, see if he's just trapped in a cage of a new making or not.

Later

Well, once the initial panic has settled down and he's satisfied that everyone's... somehow back in one piece, Negan is feeling listless. He can handle crazy. Goddamn, but has he seen a thing or two in his life, but this place is straining even that.

The lanterns are gone and now it seems like the weather outside is calm enough. It's why Negan's perched himself nearest the closest window. Either lost in thought or weighing the pros and cons of getting out of here, back somewhere to give his hosts some of their personal space back. Eventually, he'll huff out a sigh and turn to look around, see if anyone's around.

"Hey, don't suppose there's a way I could get a drink before I consider freezing my nuts off again, huh?"

Drinking back in the apocalypse was a hell of a bad idea, but here? He isn't sure it matters.

[conning]

WAKIN' UP - closed to one person

When Neal wakes up, he's not with Daisy. That's the first thing that registers. He'd fallen asleep with his arm around her shoulders, half to comfort her if the Gull started shaking again and half to keep himself anchored and sane.

He sits up fast and regrets it immediately, clutching at his head as the room fades out and his ears start ringing. He can't tell if he wants to throw up because he's dizzy from the blood loss still or if he's dizzy from lack of sleep. Apparently even being finally, finally unconscious isn't enough to make up for what the Gull spent two days doing.

Neal eases himself out of the bed, still wearing pajama pants he borrowed from Raylan and not much else. He scavenges a shirt from the room's dresser and pulls it on carefully, moving slow. What he wants to do is run out the front door and make sure at least Daisy and Elena are all right, but two days awake after getting attacked by a vampire do not a healthy body make.

He braces himself against one of the walls as he comes down the stairs, trying to ignore both the hollowed-out sleepless feeling in his chest and the fact that he's straining to hear strange whispers that aren't there. Instinct says the moment he stops listening for them, they'll be back. Instinct can screw itself.

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs, stands there for a moment, and then beelines for the kitchen. Not quickly but with purpose. He saw the moonshine in there, and he can't make himself feel much more like shit--might as well feel like shit and be drunk at the same time.


Evening

He checked in with people, both on the phone and in person, though mostly on the phone. He started the day tired, and the effort of talking would have been enough to exhaust him all on its own. But he's been on edge all day, waiting for the building to start shaking, for the screaming wind to come back, for the whispers to start up again. Even after almost twelve solid hours of relative peace, he still can't stop expecting it.

He's wrapped himself in a blanket from the couch and settled in with his back against the wall next to the fireplace. Whether he thought better of it or was talked out of it, Neal didn't get drunk earlier.

He's well and truly drunk now.