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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"Alright. But I don't think anyone here would do that." Still, if it doesn't make him feel more comfortable with it, no point having it. Doc's used the knife for all sorts of reasons, none of them against other people, but you never know. When things go to shits they turn fast.

He follows Raylan down the left side, shining his light ahead, for what little good it does them. He's never asked Raylan much about Boyd. Now doesn't seem like the time and place for it. They need a porch with a lot more moonshine than what he's packing in his hip flask.

"He courteously and politely told me where to shove it." But Doc wouldn't hold out hope either way. Looking out for Malcolm was the right thing to do. And he really was living on borrowed time. None of what he'd said was a lie.

"We're not gon' die here." Saying it don't make it true but hell, not saying it would make his brave façade start slipping. "There has to be a way out. This kind of thing would have happened before."

Men were strange beasts when caged, two of them had been attacked already; no - no chances being taken under the White Hat. He'd seen too much of the ugliness of man to be that naieve.

Raylan smirked. "I knew he was alright." That was, after all, the correct answer.

All he could do in response to the last was take a deep uneven breath and keep his beam moving. He couldn't think about dying down here, that was too far a straw. "Hard to reinforce against earthquakes. Even a soft rumble can damage the supports. There's no sustainable way to keep these things up. Let's.." Not talk about cave ins, please. He can talk about the past, but not allude it to the now. "You see that?" He turned his light towards a dip in the wall and headed towards it, pointing the light up.

"Another hatch."

Well there hasn't been any aftershocks yet. But if he says that aloud there is bound to be some. And he would lose his shit if Raylan didn't. He's already deeply uncomfortable down here, too aware of how hard he's breathing and how his heart is racing.

"Right," he says, following Raylan's eyeline up, the hand not holding the torch seated on his hip.

"Not sure you could reach it, even on my shoulders. Where do you think we're under?"

No, better to not mention them. Running in the dark was a bad idea.

"Don't matter much. It's not a way out." He sighed heavily and turned his light back down the tunnel way before looking back at where they'd come from. He didn't want to go any further. Getting lost down here would be just as bad as anything else and Raylan was already itching to have open sky above him again. Nothing good was going to happen down here.

"Next juncture we hit, we gotta go back. This isn't somethin' to be done by two people. This is somethin' to be done by everyone, maybe at the same time. Save a few uptop in case things happen." Things always happened. "C'mon," he said, nudging Doc with his elbow as he started pace again. "One of these has to have a functioning ladder. Whether we're the ones that find it or not.."

He wasn't going to think about what they were going to do until they had to do it.

"Mmmnnh I am not so sure I would be jumping at the opportunity to return here," Doc says after clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, following a little too closely to Raylan. He would happily volunteer to assist from up top. Maybe he's not cut out to be down bottom after all. Every little noise is making his hair stand on end.

"Not quite how you pictured getting me alone, hm?" he jokes with a laugh that echoes almost eerily down the empty tunnel. Maybe empty is better than perturbing mirror phantoms but shit, he still doesn't like it.

"Not... quite... what I was. Picturing, either." Doc checks back over his shoulder for the umpteenth time, sweeping his light across his side of the tunnel frequently. He's eaten rats. There was little else to eat when he was trapped. At least he would feel somehow less uneasy with the company of rats, or just the sound of their scampering little feet. But they are in a town where rats and cockroaches fear to tread.

At the sound of something dripping - snow or ice melting, most likely, but he isn't in a rational state of mind right now - Doc freezes and grabs Raylan's arm just above the wrist, clammy hand gripping tight enough to leave angry red welts between his fingers, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"We should turn back."

Neither of them would be jumping. It was something Raylan would gladly leave to the others, he'd happily take post up top and run a rescue operation than be in one. But wouldn't they all. "The others can do it," he replied evenly, trying his damnest to keep his voice and tone level and casual.

"Not quite," Raylan answered dryly. His humor was dry and Dad level dumb on the best of days; no room for laughter or levity down here. Rats didn't even spring to mind - he expected to find no life down here. Nothing to eat, nothing to sustain them. It was the only comfort there was, something expected.

What wasn't expected was the sudden and almost painful grip of his wrist and Raylan jumped with an equally sharp inhale, head swiveling too fast over to Doc and belying all the work he'd done to pretend it was all under control. His brain supplemented the Shadow Man springing up from the walls to assault them but it was just Doc. The shot of the start, the adrenaline pumping through him kicked what was left of his rational closer to the storm drain of panic. Letting out an uneven breath he nodded and looked down.

"Do I get to keep some blood flow in my hand? Shirt's just as good to keep you anchored. C'mon," he said, turning and heading back the other way, regardless of if Doc let go of him or not. He wasn't going to say no, not with them in the state of mind they were in. Not when he was having to work his empty hand anxiously in and out of a fist.

Ah shit. Raylan was freaking out. Well they can't both be freaking out. What're they going to do? Well that depends on how long they're going to be down here, won't it? Doc let go and raises his hand, flexing it, mumbling a quiet apology as he pulls his hand back, keeps it to himself and does a 180 straight back the way they came from. He's walking briskly now, with purpose, back the way they came from or at least he thinks he is but really he just ends up following Raylan because he's not too sure himself. Nothing looks familiar in the dark.

When they get back to a more open area, Doc clicks his torch off and holsters it, thinking maybe he should conserve the battery since Raylan's using his. He starts pacing, back and forth like a restless dog. He's got matches. Cigarettes. They could start a fire to keep warm if they need to. Won't be easy with no kindling though, and the pieces of the ladder are too damp from being used to hang clothes to burn properly. There's water, somewhere. They'd be fine for. Days. Are they gonna be here for days? Shit. What if there are spores. Just floating down the tunnels like in the museum. Are they gonna eat each other? Jesus H Christ.

He doesn't realise he's panting hard and pressing the heels of his palms right up against his eyes until he starts dragging his hands down his face, pausing with his hands covering his moustache and mouth. He doesn't have to worry about not being able to do this if they die here. But that might take longer than he would like.

His hands slide down over his back pockets. Maybe they should have pressed on. Nobody's coming. Nobody's even- looking. Doc starts heading back towards the three way fork in the path. He thought he might have said something aloud through all of this. He didn't. It's just stress popping off a dozen disparate thoughts in his head. He can't stay focused on working towards a way out. He's worried about Malcolm. And who's going to check on Ellie? And those books are going to be very overdue. And Lord have mercy on whoever goes into 1307 if they've never tried to make moonshine before.

Doc was falling apart. Every second they were down here, Raylan knew it would get worse. Shit he swore to himself for the hundredth time since they'd fallen. How long ago had that been? Couldn't have been but a half hour - not long enough for anyone to notice they were gone. Could have been longer. Raylan pushed those thoughts away and followed Doc until he ended up in front somehow and at their first junction, he turned them right, shining his light on the mark he'd made to be sure.

But something up top had changed; there was no shift in the light where the door should have been and when Raylan turned his light up, he could see the bottom of the door. If it hadn't been for the door distracting him, Raylan would be pacing too, but he's stuck in the creeping fear up his spine. Were they going to have to explore the tunnels with shitty light equipment, no way to map, no way to ensure they came back to where they started? Doc had just said they weren't going to die down here. Now Raylan was doubting it.

But doubting could wait - the panting coming from Doc as he spirals is more than enough for Raylan to turn his light onto Doc's midsection as the man strode away.

"Hey," Raylan started, jogging forward to grab Doc's arm and tug him to a gentle stop, bending fractionally to set the light down so he could get both hands on Doc's shoulders. "Hey. Deep breaths. One step at a time okay. You said we're not gonna die down here, so let's not prove you wrong by chargin' into the dark. I need a minute. You need a minute. Don't you dare leave me here by myself."

No, he did say that, but truth be told, he'd rather die down here than live down here. He can't do this again. And he knows no one's coming, not because it's some kind of internalised helplessness, but because the house knows. He goes off on his own. Snoozes in his makeshift hammock by the willow trees where Malcolm's screams can't reach him. Goes all over town, here, there, everywhere, meets strangers and fast friends alike. Ends up getting caught up in someone else's problem. Maybe someone's gone missing and he's offered to help go looking. Maybe it's Fashion Disaster Thursday and Doc is holding bags of unpaid purchases outside Poe's finest flannel selection. Maybe he's still figuring out how to make a birthday cake in the library. In any case it's normal for him to not return until it's drinking hour with some canned fish and chickpeas and a jar of prunes that nobody wanted from the General Store that day. Nobody knows. Nobody's looking.

"Okay," Doc mutters seemingly in agreement but with his eyes downcast and the way he nods a few times it is apparent that he doesn't know what he is agreeing to. At least Raylan has gotten him to stop, but there's no guarantees that he would just stay there for long. He needs to find a way out. Dig with his bare hands if he has to.

"We are on our own." At least he's communicative, and still using his inside voice. The meltdown might have started but he's still coherent. "We needa keep movin'."

"We're not stoppin'. We're thinkin'," Raylan assured. No there was no way he was going to be able to stay in one spot. Sitting down was not an option for him. That would lead to giving up and Raylan was not broken enough to have given that up yet. Focusing on Doc, focusing on the problem, that was the only thing saving him right now. They still had options.

"We'll head the other way. Maybe it won't branch. Lead us right to the Gull. No way this doesn't extend out to the beach somehow, somewhere." He gripped Doc's shoulders tightly for a second before clapping one and bending to reclaim his light. He didn't think about why when he put a hand on Doc's elbow but if he did, it would be a revelation that he was fucking terrified that they were going to be stuck sitting down here.

"We'll find our own way out." His breathing was coming a little heavier as his brain tried desperately to not think about how unlikely it was that they would be found, even if anyone knew to start looking. That trap door blended well with the flooring and they both had their habits. It wasn't even terribly late at night which left them with far too much time.

It's not as bad this second time around. He thinks he knows what to expect now. And Raylan is here. He doesn't expect that Raylan has all the answers or knows what to do but having someone else here, even if it risks them witnessing him panic over something so trivial and irrational that it shouldn't really bother him, means he hasn't done anything stupid so far. He also doesn't have to talk to or entertain himself for the foreseeable future.

"Never looked at the Gull all that closely," Doc admitted as they start walking the other way. Doing something feels better than doing nothing even if they are just wasting their time and their energy.

"Too busy tryin'a figure out a can opener." Stabbing through the lid with a serious hunting knife wasn't really an option.

"This town used to be so simple, when we first got here."

"You don't know how to work a can opener? How long have you been topside anyway?"

Long enough to make a baby and given what he knew about Doc already, he'd guess at least 8 months. A month and a half to get Wynonna in bed, another two to get her knocked up. If he had to guess. Man like Doc knew the process for making babies.

"Was it? Was it ever?" Normally, he would have left room for Doc to answer his question but the statement stirred up something in him. "Nothin about this place makes sense, not the people it's pulled, not what we're here for, not how it moves." He was spitting. Raylan took a breath and focused his impotent anger forwards. "Not these goddamned tunnels either."

They were both tall enough and it didn't take them long to hit the end of the tunnel, his flashlight kicking up against the back wall before he turned it up, looking for the door to the Gull he expected.

"No," he muttered, walking back the way they came with his flashlight pointed up. "Goddamnit. GODDAMNIT," he swore, the word echoing around them like it was mocking him. "This is not fucking happening, all these goddamned stone walls, stone walls and not an extra ladder; This is by design, this has got to be fuckin' personal, shit." If the walls weren't stone, he'd hit it. Instead he stalked back the way they came.

No. There had to be a way out of here. There had to be a way out of these tunnels that wasn't started from the top.

"Maybe a year or so. I've never needed one - I stab through the top with a knife." No knives here that can do that though. He needed Ellie's help the first time but he's figured out the can opener after that. Bold of Raylan to assume Wynonna didn't get into his pants sooner though, honestly.

Back then it was just a few of them in a dark and lonely town, just a restaurant and a few houses. The only thing they were worried about was each other, and how they were going to survive. Doc would have tried to pacify Raylan saying as much, but he's not sure if it's better to get him to bottle it up and quash it down or if it would help for him to let it out down here, in relative privacy.

"Raylan," he says quietly, his voice barely able to be heard over the cursing and swearing. "Just stop, for a minute. Please." Doc deploys the p word very sparingly. Though he's not sure if Raylan can hear him right now.

Doc was going to swallow tin shards at this point, but Raylan was too far into his own anger to say as much, to return to the small talk starting to creep into their conversation.

If Doc wanted to keep up, he'd better hoof it.

"I am not gettin' stuck down here; I wanted to stop - you didn't, so we're not, keep up," he snapped. "If we're smart, we can make a half map of what's in front of us. Like hell I'm just going to sit down somewhere and die or soak in panic. We ain't go no food, no heat. We need to keep moving, right?"

There was some danger to be sensed when Raylan stopped dropping his G's, a note of steel wall that he normally only took with northerners; a clear indication of how hot under the collar he was.

Edited 2021-02-08 02:59 (UTC)

Raylan has never talked to him like this. To be fair they've probably never felt like this while they're in each other's company. But he finds himself eyeing Raylan's back warily, coming to heel only because he doesn't want to be left alone in some chamber he would get lost trying to find his way back in. He also feels somewhat guilty about getting them both in this mess, which doesn't help things.

Instead of arguing and forcing his way, trying to make a point of anything, Doc goes unusually quiet. It's not good to be trapped in his own head given the mess in it, but he doesn't want to talk to Raylan like this.

Will the real Raylan Givens please stand up?

Raylan had had his best manners on display, not that too many people thought too much of said manners, but down here, under the earth and stressed thin, he didn't have the patience to keep it up. He wasn't a kind man, he wasn't an easy man; it was mask. An effort to be something better than he was. An ideal he didn't get to quite meet at home.

Keeping his light pointed up, Raylan only paused at the hatch he knew to be 1306's with a rough scrap of Doc's sharpened knife on the stone to mark the hatch up with a scribbled 1306 under an arrow pointing up.

"We'll go towards the Town hall. The tunnels might not match the streets but we know what direction we're going in. Limited number of turns; we can make our way back. This is still the best spot for us to be found; where we vanished. Let's hope our New Yorkers find my hat. Hope you didn't kick that shit under a couch otherwise we're screwed."

There was no waiting as Raylan strode with all seven miles of his legs back up the way they'd gone originally, pausing a moment once he was in the new hallway to scrape a new arrow along the wall, pointing back towards 1306.

He'd turned back because Doc was panicking. Because Doc had wanted too. Now? Now Raylan was moving at his own pace, like a racing, furious river that would peter out into a babbling stream at some point.

Doc is more prone to despair and melodrama when he's steeped in fear and uncertainty. He has outbursts, yes, but even then there is some amount of control leading up to them, and some amount of pushing is required to get him to snap. Maybe it is the century-long isolation or maybe it is how he has always coped when he was too sick to snap, but his preferred method of coping right now is to withdraw.

There is clearly no getting a word in sideways with Raylan unless Doc wanted to start a fight - he didn't; not with the guy with the knife and not when he knows they would both end up saying something they would regret - and there is not really a means to stopping him, either. In the end they split up, Doc staying behind as White Hat rolls on relentlessly ahead.

He hangs around beneath their house, pacing a bit before lighting up a cigarette in the dark. That little '1306' scratched into the stone is the only comfort they have down here. Not even Hurricane Raylan ripping on ahead and the receding echo of his determined footsteps could make Doc want to go closer to the sound of the water.

Raylan realized he was alone when he hit the junction, flashlight sweeping back towards where he knew Doc was standing but the light didn't make it that far, seemingly swallowed whole by the darkness behind him. It was enough to steal some of the fire out from under him. He didn't want to be alone.

"I won't go far," he promised the man standing back there somewhere before striding ahead into the straight most tunnel. Someone had to go look.

With the knife of his free hand on the wall, Raylan only got about halfway down the new section of tunnel before his flashlight flickered and went out. "Shit," he swore, slipping the knife into his back pocket and slamming the heel of his hand against the flashlight before throwing it as far as he could down the hall with a rough noise from the back of his throat that he kept clamped down. No, no screaming. Once that started, he worried it might not stop.

Squatting down, Raylan rubbed his hands against his face and tried to re-compartmentalize. Okay, light was gone. Options were gone. The only thing he could do was head back the way he came and sit and wait until something better occurred. Knowing better than to move around too much in the dark, Raylan turned around, put his hand on the wall and started slowly back. It seemed longer in the dark, like the walls stretched with the lack of light, to be whatever they wanted to be.

He was only really nervous about it once he got back to the juncture. It didn't sound hard to walk in a straight line, but if he was off and hit a wall and got redirected.. Well, he'd have to follow the sweetdark smell of cigarette smoke. With a deep breath, Raylan walked purposefully, hand waiting to run back into wall and he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath til it did. No turns. Just straight lines.

Not wanting to scare Doc anymore than he likely already had, Raylan spoke up as he slunk back, voice and tone quieter, tired, and somewhat defeated. "My light died." The bootsteps stopped and scuffed as Raylan sat down against the wall nearby, head falling back into his hands.

"Sorry for yellin'."

He at least heard Raylan saying he wouldn't wander far, but the rest of the noises he was making were unsettling at best, especially as he went further and further away. Doc tries to drown it all out with a songless hum and the sound of his own footsteps. At least those can drown out his racing heartbeat while he stands alone in the dark, back of his hand pressed against one closed eye.

The sound of Raylan's light clattering against the ground has him picking up his head, thinking something might have happened to Raylan. He should go. Maybe. Blinking a few times at the dark, he contemplates throwing his cigarette away and giving chase. Small, tight, dark spaces is one thing. Losing Raylan here is worse.

Doc starts towards the tunnel but stops once he hears the footsteps. He doesn't dare call out to Raylan, hoping it's him and not something or someone else that got him, free hand gripping and loosening on his own torch. He is tense right up until it's obvious that it's just the Marshal marching back.

With one foot pressed flat against the wall, Doc watches the silhouette of Raylan Givens move around the darkness under the brim of his hat in his own quietness, initially not quite sure if he's blown off enough pent up frustration and if it's safe to approach. Lowering his head, Doc blows smoke out through his nose and between his lips, letting a silence that had up until today never been uncomfortable between them stretch on for a second too long.

And then he pushes himself away from the wall, approaching quietly with slow footsteps. Pulling out his flashlight in one hand, he clicks it on and turns it to offer the handle to Raylan, along with his pack of cigarettes in the other.

The silence was it's own admonishment for Raylan snapping; the only thing that would hang around after he had, even back home. Trying to fill it felt like it would only lead to excuses. All he could hope was that it was as forgivable as the last time he lost his temper. It was no one's fault but his own.

When the light clicked, Raylan lifted his head from the thumb rubbing of his eyes he'd been doing, looking up at Doc and his offerings for another long second before taking them both, light then the pack. The light was set down in favor of him puling out a cigarette, lighting it and handing the pack back. He could see these for what they were - soft offerings of comfort in a situation where there was very little of that to be found in the first place.

"We should probably save as much battery life as we can," he started, voice just as subdued as it was before and making absolutely no move to turn off the torch, smoke curling out with his words as he dropped his head back to close his eyes. "In a minute."

Doc pockets the cigarettes. He would leave it out, there's plenty of sticks left for both of them, but in the darkness they risk getting trodden on and maybe he shouldn't be encouraging bad habits. Even if Raylan seems a lot calmer now.

Had he been topside and not hungover for much of the day, Doc would have snapped right back at Raylan. He doesn't take a beating without giving one back, verbal or otherwise. Wouldn't have even hesitated to set this bridge on fire with a passive-aggressive are you done? and left it to burn.

As it is, he doesn't have it in him tonight. He just moves to sit down, next to Raylan but just out of arm's reach, one leg bent at the knee and the other outstretched. He can still hear his own breathing, shallow and faster than usual. They really should be better than this.

"Are you cold?" Doc finally says something, turning to look over at Raylan.

He was grateful that Doc sat down, even if it was out of arms reach. He must have scared Doc with the outburst, which only made the weight of guilt worse. But he hadn't decided to sit on the other side of the tunnel, so that was something. Raylan let out a wholly jagged and uneven breath as he lifted his head again to stare at the cigarette between his slightly trembling fingers.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Can't tell yet." It was either adrenaline or fear or cold and Raylan couldn't pin down which. "If you are, I probably am," he reasoned as he rolled the smoke back up to his lips, shifting to lean on one hip as he pulled the sharpened butter knife out and set it between them, arms returning to their lazy drape over his upbent knees. He doubted there'd be anything else to mark tonight.

"Good news is that it shouldn't get colder than it already is, with us bein' this far down. We're below the frostline."

Edited 2021-02-08 16:45 (UTC)

To be fair, he's probably hanging around out of sheer masochism. He's expecting another outburst or three before Raylan really runs out of gas, though he's not sure how big of an explosion he should be watching out for. Doc figures this place is too small to be able to escape it unscathed, at any rate.

He starts shedding out of his coat and only retrieves his knife once his arms are out of the sleeves.

"Here." He offers his bundle of coat to Raylan. "I've got enough layers on. You're not dressed for this." Again, he doesn't mention. Nor does he mention the possibility of spending the night here. But no doubt he was thinking it before he took off his coat.

Raylan never really ever ran out of gas, just like his guns were always loaded but there was nothing left to push him, down here. Doc would have to put in work to get Raylan pissed off at him enough to snap again.

He caught the starts of the jacket tug, kicking himself for not knowing it would lead to such a thing, and furrowed his brow a little, gesturing out to protest just in time for Doc to stick the coat out at him. He let out a little breath, hand drooping back to a more casual kind of pointing that Doc generally seemed to disapprove of.

"You're gonna worry if I say no, aren't ya?"

He didn't want any trouble and was more than pliable after his break in apology, shifting one leg down and in while the other cocked out the other way. Speaking from cigarette hosted lips, he tugged it on with a visible shudder of appreciation as he popped the collar and hunkered into the latent body warmth that bit away some of the cold in his shoulders. "Wasn't exactly expectin' to need more than the three shirts I got on for a walk next door. I'll wear my coat next time."

"I'm already worrying." There is nothing Raylan could say or do short of pointing at a neon EXIT sign that could alleviate the weight of fear and anxiety on his shoulders. Who knows, maybe the warmth and weight of the coat will keep Raylan simmering and not blow over again.

They should probably talk about it.

Doc doesn't want to, right now.

If they don't talk about the drinking, they don't have to talk about anything else that rocks their little rowboat that they're trying to keep afloat in the ocean.

"My fault we ended up here," he says quietly. Not as if Raylan could have known an impromptu visit to the brewery would have resulted in this. "Maybe we'll be down here a while." The hours can pass by like days. It's not easy to keep track and from Doc's experience it's better not to.

Taking off his hat, Doc sets it to his side so he can rest the back of his head against the wall.

"Did you find anything down there? Seems like you can get anywhere in town from down here. Maybe it'll even get us to the other side of the crack in the ground to meet your friend." The Shadow Man, or whatever Malcolm calls him.

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