villagelogs | 028-029 » the winds of change

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028-029 » the winds of change

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias.
WHEN: Days 028-029
WHAT: A town meeting is called.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Ikiryo"

DAY 028
SOMETHING ON THE WIND
Another day dawns in the fair town of Mathias. The sky is a blanket of light grey, tiny specks of snow lightly falling as the hours pass. It makes the town feel almost quaint, the scenery quite peaceful in its winter garb. But beneath the veneer of peace there is a pervasive dread of something approaching. Something inevitable is on the wind, something that has come before and will come again...

Throughout the day, residents will consistently experience feelings of deja vu, that sense of having done or seen or said something before that can never be fully recalled. It happens again and again, tugging at the back of their minds, the memories just frustratingly out of reach.

Residents will also notice a note pinned around town:

The note can be found on the town hall's bulletin board and the front doors of many town establishments, including the Grey Gull, the library, and the boarding house. At the bottom of the note it is specified that the meeting will take place "tomorrow, when the sun is over the town square."

NEW ARRIVALs
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake on the frozen lawn of the town hall atop a snowdrift. They had best hurry inside and get warmed up before hypothermia sets in.

DAY 029
A GATHERING OF MINDS
In the late afternoon when the sun hangs over the town square, residents will converge upon the Town Hall, where a larger meeting room has been filled with rows of chairs. After most people arrive, John Constantine stands and addresses the room... and then sits again. A grand introduction, truly.

Residents are encouraged to share their experiences and information they have gathered in the town while holding questions until the end. Rather than getting tangled in the intricacies of each person's tale, it seems better to absorb the broad strokes and try to connect the puzzle pieces to get a look at the bigger picture that is the mystery of Mathias Township.

THE INEVITABLE
As the meeting comes to an end and residents begin to converse among themselves, the feeling of something approaching and sense of deja vu begin to build, becoming almost oppressive as night falls. An hour after nightfall, residents learn the reason for these sensations that cease immediately as the earth begins to rumble. The buildings shake, furniture tumbles, and breakables crash to the floor as the earthquake sets in without warning.

The tremors last around a minute, far longer than a normal earthquake, and then the town settles again. There are no aftershocks, which many may note is quite unusual. Residents will find quite a bit of mess in their homes and other locations around town, but there is no structural damage to be found despite the intense shaking.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER is fairly typical of a northern winter. The sky is grey, the temperature hovers just below freezing during the day (colder at night), and a light snow falls during both days. Residents should bundle up when going outside and not venture too far into the dark night...

— 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 with Sherlock Holmes being the latest victim of the town's unsettling whims.

OOC NOTES
— TOWN MEETING STRUCTURE The town meeting section of the log is designed for characters to share any information they would like to with the other residents in attendance. ICly, characters should "hold questions until the end" with the intent that they can get the Big Picture first and connect any dots they see. OOCly, this means players should post their character's information sharing tag in the Meeting section, but the actual conversation about whatever they share happens after the meeting proper in the Mingle section. That way, these conversations can happen however players prefer, be that one-on-one or in small or large groups.

— HOUSING Please be sure your character's housing arrangements are up to date on our list. We're missing a few people and it really helps to know where everyone is for planning. Frequent updates for wandering characters are perfectly acceptable.

— THE BULLETIN BOARD has been updated. Players should note there is a change to the wall near the board that may be of great interest to some residents.

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▶ day 29 : closed to doc

if she were being honest, she almost forgot about the dress. she'll blame it on being preoccupied, much of her time spent within the ruined greenhouse, picking away at what she could salvage before the frost completely took it. a collection of seeds, and supplies enough to care for them and she can only hope there's some marigolds in there.

if not that, then scouring enough of the houses to get a passable collection of spices. it left much to be desired, of course, but better than nothing.

so, sufficed to say, it wasn't her first priority, and neither did he seem like he was in a rush for her to retrieve it from their last meeting. still, she finally tracks along next door, sometime between the end of the town hall, and before the night is done, and tries to ignore the creeping feelings that's clung to her - and seemingly everyone else - for most of the passing days.

she knocks twice.

Doc was not in the best mood, having drunk far too much the night before, but by the time she comes by he's more human again, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips reaches his eyes as he opens the door and finds her standing outside.

"Miss Yennefer. Come in." He takes a couple of steps backwards, gesturing with an arm spread. She had picked a good, quiet time to visit.

"Did you learn something new from the town hall meeting?" Many pearls of wisdom were dispensed, rather liberally.

"Henry," Her own smile curls the edges of her lips by way of greeting. She's far more collected now, than at their first meeting, where the shroud of disorientation still clung heavy and the still-raw memories of a hopeless battle rang in her ears, pulled at her burning side. While several days wasn't long enough to shake any of it, there was nothing about her that implied wallowing. No one will have the satisfaction of seeing the fraying edges. Not again.

Everything is once again, refined in ways that is too much of a habit to change. Raven hair is a smooth tumble of waves, the black coat Doc had given her from their first meeting tailored and cinched. "A long night?" It isn't (just) that he looks a touch more tired, but maybe it was also that she's heard a clamor in passing by their house to get to hers, a day spent in the greenhouse, or slipping the fog into a bottle.

"It's a surprise, to simply be handed information out like that," it isn't a criticism. "I suppose there's little benefit in withholding, though it's rare that that's the mindset of the majority."

"We had guests. There were libations." And confessions. And... other shenanigans. He doesn't think he needs to say much more than that for her to get the picture of what might have transpired in the house last night. But it looks all cleaned up when she enters, the same way as it had been when she first visited.

"It is easy to get caught up in the details of what we are doing in our own houses amongst our own acquaintances. Sometimes what people need is a little nudge." And today they did receive such a nudge.

"I hope this is a social call and you are recovering well. I must say you look... quite magnificent, in that coat." And he doesn't see any holes or bloodstains on it so he's hoping she isn't going to show him a gaping wound from a stray javelin or some such similar injury.

He really doesn’t need to say much else on that, no, even if traces of last night are nowhere to be seen, everything back in their same, neat place; an attention to cleanliness that someone like Yen can appreciate, at the very least.

He’ll find her a touch more receptive to the passing complement, a small tug of satisfaction in the lift of her chin, the narrowing of her eyes. “Social, unless you’ve a hidden business proposition to discuss.”

“I’ve healed well," past tense, notably. "Your threadwork laid a fine foundation,” Still more of a lingering scar than she’d like and perhaps with a few more passes of magic, it will be entirely gone. But beneath all that had lied the fear of the lack of effectiveness - she'd been warned, in no short terms, of the limitations others have had. And stubbornness alone may not be enough to surpass them.

“A small nudge, else everyone grows too complacent with the mild comforts?” Maybe a little bit harsh of a statement, nose scrunched up before she pushes out a sigh. The fatalism was a bit too second nature. “I’m afraid it usually takes more than that."

"Not yet, but. That might change once we start bartering and charging for things," he muses with a mischievous little smile. He is very much a man of leisure and pleasure, pursuing happiness anywhere he can find it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to mix such whimsical hedonism with business.

"That is kind of you to say, thank you." He will impress her with his threadwork yet, once he ventures upstairs to bring her dress down and give it back to her.

"Most people have already grown complacent. A roof over our heads, some food and pleasant company. There is little more we could ask for." Doc, too, is guilty of settling for less. He doesn't think that looking for a way out and making life comfortable here are two mutually exclusive options. But he does concede that more time spent on one means less time can be spent on the other.

"It bothers you, these... table scraps. Though I can't imagine it would be much better if we had nothing and had to fend for ourselves." Even though they might be more inclined to attempt escape, bolder or... perhaps more reckless, they would be less willing to share resources and information and common courtesy then. And only a handful of them would survive. Banding together seems more preferable to him, even if he would stand to benefit from being on his own and playing for keeps.

“Well, until you start charging for your time,” is the wry smile of a reply. “I’d like to infringe on it freely.”

Yennefer can’t say she’s unfamiliar with the approach of complacency. How long had she lived the cushy courtly life until it all went to shit? Glorified royal arse-wiper, all for the elegance and prestige?

Maybe she would think differently, maybe she would agree, were her cold comforts ever fulfilling. “Of course it bothers me,” she scoffs, venturing further into the house, to lean against the sofa’s backrest.

“Whoever is responsible - they’re playing smart,” she sounds more begrudging than praising. “Fear is a hell of powerful way to control someone, don’t you think? As is dependency,” something she knows a little too well. “Space out the fucking pain, the losses and the nightmares so that when we are handled these table scraps, as you astutely define them, we think it’s enough. Nevermind the base fear of the unknown, which they let fester by hiding away behind their wall of fog.” That was her takeaway, anyway.

She won’t disagree with the strength of numbers, no. Hell, maybe she doesn’t know what the solution is any more than the rest of the people spilling their thoughts out in the Town Hall. And no, no one would turn down easy comforts, not even her, for all the resentment. But she’s still too freshly arrived, too new and unsettled. Yennefer has never reacted well to limits, after all. “Or am I being unreasonable?” Do share that thought, Doc.

Honestly? Doc has taken his time drawing this conclusion that someone is responsible for orchestrating all this. It would make sense, given how there seems to be some planning, some rules involved. But he can't fathom who would quite have this kind of power. His mind immediately entertains the thought of demons and witches and the like, but they are always explicit with what they want. Here they have been given no direction.

Right now he can't even be sure if he's been put under in a deep sleep and is just still in Shorty's while said demons and witches busy themselves picking over the town. So yes, it has been a while before he's come around to being willing to entertain this notion of a guiding hand, towards... whatever goal it is they have in mind.

Fear and dependency are two things that cut him deep, and two things he will need time to grapple with internally before giving them any voice.

"You are not unreasonable, but you do seem... agitated. Can I make you some tea?" he offers. Maybe it is not the profound response she is looking for, but men who wear cowboy hats do things differently. They operate on their own time. He thinks she would understand that too, as someone who has, like him, lived too long and experienced too much shit.

There is plenty of frustration, filled to the very rim, and it will not take long for it to unravel into a damn mess and culminate in ruin.

Enemies have faces and she can't let that simply go. Because fear and dependency are far too intimately known to Yennefer too, molded and remade, and she has stopped being a woman who shied away from something simply because she feared it.

No shit, she almost says but what comes out instead, slow and belying surprise, is: "...tea."

She has half a mind to ask for something stronger. "Alright."

Tea has been used to diffuse some of his agitation and frustration on the odd occasion he lets it show. It's difficult not to in a place where he doesn't have problems to shoot at or a bar to run to keep a lid on it. He figures it might help her blow off some of that pent up aggression.

"Have a seat." He starts boiling the water and getting two cups out. One cup for her for soothing and one for him for... showing solidarity.

"I see you have taken moving in next door into consideration. Never thanked you for it." He still has to run halfway across town to check in on other people but keeping friends close has never done him wrong.

Instead of taking a seat, she goes through the motion of taking off her coat, resolved to spending a touch more time here, with the offer of tea. She had to make do with the clothes available - a grey wool skirt she found shoved in the back of a closet, and a black turtleneck, both shaped and tailored to her liking. Nothing terribly extravagant - no impractical boob windows in this one - but enough to suggest she was still ill-adjusted to what Mathias had to actually offer.

Once the coat is hung, she'll slide into one of the chair, elbows on the table and fingers intertwined. Her brows quirk up, mild surprise. "I did - you think you need to?"

She might be from a completely different world but Yennefer has ended up being probably the most... lady-like? Woman he has encountered in all his time here. And he does not merely think that because she's the first he has seen in a dress or a skirt. He tries but fails somewhat to keep his eyes focused on his drink-making, on account of her being slightly distracting ~~even without her boob window~~

"You might have thought I was asking you to babysit," he says softly as he averts his gaze and keeps his steely cold blue eyes on the boiling kettle. "It was not my intention but you could have believed it to be true nonetheless."

~~Is that kettle particularly interesting now?~~ They are from intrinsically different worlds, but there was something agreeable about the company of someone like him - whether it be their extended lifetimes, or their parallels of experience, ill-shaped by magic and brittle choice. Whatever it is, it's a surprise, loathe as she is to admit. Her disposition hardly made it easy to get along, after all, no matter how distracting she could be.

But, at his answer, she laughs, open amusement. "Oh, she certainly thought so," she waves a hand, dismissive. "Though, if you feel you need to thank me, that means you thought I was doing you a favour. It was mutually beneficial — unless you intend on asking me to set her a curfew."

Even if he might reject God outright, Doc believes in kismet. He would make his own luck where he thinks it is within his sphere of influence, but some things are just meant to be. And you can try as hard as you like to escape from fate - there might be some wiggle room to give you that little glimmer of hope to keep you going, but when it truly matters, you will always be where and when and in that exact circumstance that you are supposed to be.

Maybe, for their few similarities that can overcome their cornucopia of differences, they were just meant to meet.

"It is not good to be alone in this place." He has oft repeated that line. It is one that bears repeating, should anyone be flippant enough to forget it. Pouring the hot water out, Doc leaves it to brew for a few minutes, teapot steaming away between them.

"I only ask that the both of you try and eat regular meals. I know that you are both perfectly capable of looking after yourselves, but this door is always open, at the first sign of hunger, boredom, pain, or trouble." Or holes in intricate clothing, as the case might be. Any reason is a suitable one to come over. Just because they are almost at capacity here does not mean that they would turn anyone away.

"Have you found your way around town alright? It is a small place." He can't imagine she would get lost although she might be confused by what half the shops have to sell. Doc gets that way too. He has spent hours in the toy shop, the beauty parlour, the record store.

Fate was a word worth it’s weight. At times, it was a wonder if there was a difference between a lack of choice, and destiny itself.

In so many ways, Destiny had chosen Yennefer’s life for her - and perhaps that’s why she chases control, chases choice, after having been denied it in the most pivotal of moments.

But the truth was - magic or no - fate is a vortex around each of them, twisting and forming and reacting to each decision made. Each action, intertwining or pulling apart each of them.

So maybe that’s true - maybe they were just meant to to meet.

Still, Yennefer can’t help but prickle at his kindness. I can take care of myself sits right on the tip of her tongue, which she instead runs along her teeth, soothed over only by him chasing the statement himself.

When had someone ever told her to remember to eat?

She intertwines her fingers, and stares at the piping steam rising from the freshly-poured tea. “Mm, and intrude on your full house?” Her eyes slide back to regard him, lightly teasing. She shrugs. “Our doors are just as open, should you need a reprieve.” It’s only fair to offer a balance, as it were.

“I’ve found my way fine,” she says with a an exhale. “Met more of that magical contingent you’ve mentioned.” She really doesn’t sound impressed, but maybe that’s just her.

"There is always room for more," he assures her with a good-natured smile. They would make the room, should the need arise. "But I may just take you up on your offer." He cares for everyone in this house, even Negan who seems to have made it a personal mission to annoy the hell out of him. But it can be a bit much at times for someone who has lived too long to want to keep his sociable and supportive face firmly affixed 24/7. Even he finds it frustrating when he is unable to find a moment's peace and quiet, for no other crime than silence being too easily interpreted as discontent.

"Oh? You don't sound too pleased," he observes, keeping his gaze downcast as he pours tea out for her and then himself. The colour looks to be just about right, even if he can't attest to the taste. The continuous, copious amount of substance use has all but ruined the sensitivities and nuances of his uncultivated palate.

"They are not from the same place as you are, I gather." Probably possessing a different skillset altogether, and not as kindred as one might hope. "It would be a sorry state of affairs if we share more in common than you do with them."

The burden of caring is a heavy one. As was the experience of age. She would hardly bat an eye at seeing Doc in their living room, searching for a respite from his consistent caring, overtired guardian and all.

"No, they're not," she frowns at the thought, before reaching over to sweeten the tea. It's a strong brew, one she isn't against. "Their magic is unfamiliar to me. Which means I can't rely on what they can offer, be it competent or not."

"And between being called a witch on every turn? I'm almost tempted to live up to the name, else anyone be disappointed I'm not some old crone at the edge of town." She doesn't particularly care for the title enough to insist on its disuse, though there's a prideful accuracy to sorceress that witch lacks.

"— would sharing a commonality be such a sorry thing?" She sounds amused.

Sweet tea is something the south is known for. He doubts she would care much for it in a place where they have much more pressing priorities. Still, perhaps there would be an opportunity for sharing one of these days. She can show him some of hers and he would show her some of his.

"What is one to call you?" he asks, not to taunt or goad her, tease her for the unfortunate association. He genuinely does not understand the distinction between mage, witch, warlock, sorcerer, shaman, spellcaster or any such similar titles.

"Sharing anything with you is nothing to be sorry for," he assures her with a smile. He does not need to have lived his life in courts to flirt. He has done so just fine in saloons and bordellos. But he does not intend to ask any favour of her or win any points for some hidden agenda. If he can get a little bit past her prickly exterior he would consider it a battle hard fought and won already.

"Speaking of which. Give me a moment." He leans back and shoots her a wink without thinking she might find that gesture completely foreign before turning to head briskly up the stairs. He returns in no time at all, her dress draped over his forearm trailing behind him.

"I am sorry I could not find a perfect match of fabric and shade. But I tried my best to mend your dress." It has also been washed and dried, so it smells like clean laundry and there is no blood to be found around the neat stitchwork.

"Sorceress is still preferred, if only slightly," her mouth curls, a little. Witch is oftentimes tossed too closely like a curse, and while she's no objection to being feared - a little fear is healthy, she would say - she cares little for the accompanying disdain. It tends to set a tone she's little time for, and it matters that he asks.

Her mood lightens a touch further — he doesn't make for terrible company after all. It may take some time still, but she's had enough time dancing around liars and hidden motives - plotted enough of her own - to see the telltale signs of honesty. Difficult to recognize when one is so used to seeing something else.

He disappears, and her curiosity is piqued, quietly taking a sip of tea from a steaming mug and when he returns, she almost spits it out.

"You - what?" She stares, for a moment, violet eyes wide and reaches for the dress with probably the most amount of uncertainty she's displayed thus far.

It's clean, and mended, the place where the arrow had torn through patched neatly; imperfect and real and in all honestly she nearly forgot about the dress as a whole until she'd settled in with Ellie. She rests it on her lap, a little unsure of what to say. "I'm — I hope this wasn't too much trouble?" Is the quiet, genuine response she seems to settle for.

At first he isn't sure why he warranted that sort of response. It couldn't be the handiwork she deemed as terrible because she has yet to inspect that up close. Perhaps it was inappropriate to have touched her dress. But surely it had been made by a skilled tailor or seamstress. Do men not make ornate dresses for women?

"It wasn't easy finding anything suitable from our available selection." Not only was the town woefully allergic to jacquard, but Doc also did not want to cut up a perfectly good article of clothing or piece of fitted upholstery that someone else could use. But before they launch into a detailed discussion about the Fifty Pantones of Grey in this week's episode of Project Runway, or any speculation on whether John Henry Holliday is a keeper, Doc purses his lips and casually shrugs it off. "Once that was sourced it was no trouble at all." He is a man of many talents; she can compliment him effusively later.

Honestly he doesn't really think she would be wearing it around town, even with the way she had glared daggers at him when he offered her comfortable sleep or lounging around wear when they had first met. It seemed like a form over function type of attire, and discomfort aside, it would make her stand out amongst the crowd. But to be fair, even though he has taken to all the flannel on offer in Mathias, the rest of his outfit makes him stand out too, so maybe he can't judge anyone on that.

Mostly he patched it up because he thought there might be good things at home that would keep her going that her dress might remind her of. Things other than war and chaos, which is why that gaping hole and blood had to be mended.

Yennefer, simply, isn’t great with gratitude. Doc might have noticed.

There were plenty of times when people had done things for her without her asking them to. But there had always been things at play then. She’s still taken aback by this one - he’s done plenty already, and this seemed a troublesome step for someone he met a short while ago. Certainly, there were more important things to be doing other than playing seamstress...

But - imperfect and real is everything that magic isn’t, and while she may not show it, this means something, passing along her fingertips. It will hang in the closet, unsuitable for the harsh weather. A reminder.

Does she remember her home fondly? Are there things she misses? She misses her power, for all that it mattered. She itches to see the result of that ruined war, of what destiny had decided as outcome. But a part of her doesn't want to know. A part of her thinks that was the end of her chapter.

But here she was, stuck in another.

“Well,” she muses, teasingly thoughtful in her inspection. “Your needlework remains as impressive as before.” Yennefer was a difficult woman. Fickle as summer rain, and used to projecting walls. But, for this brief moment, she allows herself to feel the warmth of satisfaction that she can't explain, the curve of a wide smile. Probably one of the first genuine ones since she's arrived. "Thank you."

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028-029 » the winds of change

day 29 - closed

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