villagelogs | 030-035 » a-hunting they will go

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030-035 » a-hunting they will go

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias.
WHEN: Days 030-035
WHAT: Unexpected changes come to Mathias, followed by a Hunt.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here! And shiny new CR meme too.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Marco Beltrami "It Hears You"

DAYS 030-032
A CHANGE IN CIRCUMSTANCES
The day after the earthquake dawns like any other in Mathias Township. The sky is a light winter grey, clouds obscuring even a hint of true sunlight, and snow falls off and on in dustings that rest atop the piles left from the storm a few days past. The air is bitterly cold, a gentle wind feeling like ice in the sub-freezing temperatures, and residents should be grateful that the earthquake didn't do more damage than just breaking a few household objects.

It seems like business as usual. It will not be until the second day that residents will begin to notice the difference.

The General Store's shelves have not been restocked. Items in kitchens have not replenished in the passing night. Food from the previous day has aged as normal, and as the days continue to pass, things will begin to grow stale or become moldy as they would in the outside world. Two days pass, three, four... Still, the food does not return.

Perhaps rationing should be considered.

NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake on the snowy beach near the Grey Gull restaurant. They should probably hurry inside and get warmed up before hypothermia sets in or something finds them out in the cold...

DAYS 033-034
IN THE NIGHT, IN THE DARK
These days, too, seem to be simply more of the same. The days are cold and grey, the food does not replenish, and they continue to be trapped in this eerie town. But when night falls, the story changes.

An hour after sunset, it begins. Scratching sounds at walls, like something searching for a way inside. The ominous feeling of something out there in the darkness, moving through the town, stalking through the night. The inability to find any sign of something being there at all. It's enough to make anyone feel like they're going mad. To happen just one night, it could be a fluke, a trick of the mind as so many things here seem to be. But to happen a second night, with more intensity... There is something there, or they are going mad.

It's hard to know which to hope for.

DAY 035
THE HUNT
This day is not like the others. There is something in the air, a dreadful anticipation that rises inside them all as the hours pass. Every moment that brings them closer to nightfall brings it closer too — if only they knew what it was.

An hour after sunset, the Hunt begins.

Those who are outside at this time are gripped by such terror that they can do nothing but run and be chased. They are prey and the predators that stalk them with steadfast determination are creatures never meant to be seen by mortal eyes. All lights outside go out, from streetlamps to flashlights, and the world descends into deeper darkness, only the clouded moonlight and curtained glow from illuminated houses lighting their way as they flee.

Those who are inside at this time are trapped in their safe havens. No doors or windows can be opened from within, nothing can be broken or forced, and they can do nothing but wait and listen while their friends and neighbors are pursued by creatures whose very presence they can feel in their bones and whose growls echo in the night, entwined with the screams of their victims.

In the thick darkness, these creatures appear little more than shadows, large and looming, deadly and unknown, but in rare glimpses in scattered pieces of light, the Hunted are met with a sight they cannot comprehend and will never be able to properly describe or fully remember, for these creatures cannot be fathomed within the limits of the human mind.

The Hunt lasts for one hour exactly and then the creatures vanish into the darkness, leaving only fear and death in their wake.

ABOUT THE HUNT
— Players may choose to have their resident be one of the Hunted or a Witness to the Hunt. None are exempt from the the Hunt and all will be affected by it in some way.

— Those who are hunted must flee the creatures or they will die. The Hunted may move throughout the town at any speed, for the creatures may choose to move both quickly or slowly, but the creatures will always inevitably find them. The only escape is to seek shelter — the creatures will not enter a building where living people are, but they will follow the Hunted into buildings where there are no other living people.

— Those who are trapped within buildings at the start of the Hunt are unable to open doors and windows from within, but the Hunted may open them from outside in order to take shelter in these safe havens.

— Those who are hunted are unable to fight back against the creatures until the moments just before their death. This is due the creatures only having physical form in these final moments, rendering any attacks against them useless, whether they be physical, magical, or psychic in nature. Attempts may be made in those moments before death, but by then it is too late — the prey has been caught.

— When one of the Hunted is caught, there is no escaping, there is only screaming in madness as death falls painfully upon them. No one can come to their aid and their body will be found afterward, the bloody remains ripped and torn apart by something that cannot be identified. Large sprays and pools of blood stain the area around the corpse, turning the snow sickening shade of crimson that darkens as the hours pass.

— After the creatures have vanished, there are no signs of them to be found in the snow. There are no tracks or marks of any kind save for the carnage of the fresh kill.

— Those who have been sacrificed to the Hunt will revive two days later on Day 037. The conditions in which they revive will be detailed later, but there will be only minor lasting physical damage from the Hunt.

— The Hunted will lose 5 points of sanity. Those Witnesses who find the corpses will lose 2 points of sanity, or 3 points if they are not unaccustomed to this type of sight. Others who are merely Witnesses to the sounds of Hunt may choose to lose 1 point of sanity as a result of the experience.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER is fairly typical of a northern winter. The sky is almost always grey, the temperature is below freezing during the day (and colder at night), and a light snow falls intermittently. The sun sets early in the evening. 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 beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the northern section of town, beginning just past Hill Lane, before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be between Hill and Stine Road. Venturing into the fog is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Sherlock Holmes is still missing, and Phil Coulson, John Constantine, Zed Martin, and Helen Magnus have vanished as well.

OOC NOTES
— FOOD will be restocked in some fashion in the next full log, don't worry. We aren't going full survival mode yet.

— DAY 036 The next log will cover Day 36 only and will include the locations of deaths and any corpse burials that occur the night of Day 35 or are planned for Day 36. (There will be prompts included for both the "living" and the "dead" in this single day log.) Please submit all information by Wednesday, Feb 17.

— MOD STATUS It's mostly just Amy steering this ship for now, so things will probably be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pinging me if you're stuck waiting for something.

navigation | faq | setting | mod contact

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's okay," Malcolm insisted. "Really."

At the question he tilted his head in concession. "I got to know Raylan when we got displaced into the lighthouse together. I was in withdrawal and I... almost fell off the top of the lighthouse stairs. I... almost let myself fall off. He stopped me. I was sheltering the library back then, trying not to sleep. He and Doc had just finished the first batch of moonshine and they were having a party. Invited everyone who wanted to come. I wasn't going to go but... the inside of my head was just...." He let out a breath. "Raylan had told me he would help me choose a house to live in. That he'd go with me to look the next day, after the party. I showed up, still in my... very soiled suit I arrived in, looking like I was dragged under the door. He let me use the shower, found me some clean clothes. I had some moonshine. Then some more. Too much, but it quieted it all down for a minute. I passed out on the sunporch. At some point in the early morning hours, I bolted into the house and... apparently I knocked over a chair and broke my glass. Cut my hand." He held up his hand where the mark was still pink. "They wrestled me to the floor until I woke up. Raylan and Doc. And they made me a plate of scrambled eggs so big I wouldn't be able to eat it in a week. And they told me I was staying with them."

Klaus walks in easy stride next to Malcolm, with a few glances to make sure he isn't going to run into something, but his attention is primarily on his friend (they are, he's decided, friends-- it's the only thing that makes sense, anyway).

He listens to the story of how he came to know Raylan and his features shift from stalwart listening to something soft, and understanding. Stepping off the lighthouse would have been a bad way to go, as endings happen, but the desire to just let go can run so deep sometimes; it's a familiar feeling.

And, too, with the full story laid out for him, the deep thread that runs between Malcolm and, collectively, "the cowboys", all sort of makes a lot more sense, too, suddenly. Apparently, Doc and Raylan were just really good at mitigating people in a crisis.

"I didn't know how you met them," he admits finally, "but it makes sense... why they're both so protective of you." Vaguely reminiscent of how Five is with him, in a way, he thinks, even if the execution is very, very different between them. "I met Raylan when he was digging the graves for the people that died in the fog... and I met Doc in the middle of a whole fucking mental breakdown." Simpler versions of those stories. He doesn't want to get into the packed details; it's enough, to feel like he shared something in return, without making him walk back down that particular line of thought.

“I have very serious mental health issues and my bad days would worse and more often without them. When I tell people to go to them if they need help, it’s because I know they’ll help anyone if they can. They’re good people.” He looked at Klaus. “It’s going to be hard if not impossible to get Doc to talk in a group. We might be better off sticking to one on one with him. Each.”

"Yeah, I... I don't know where I'd be right now, without my brother. So..." He nods a little. "I get it." On a different sort of level, in a different way, maybe, but it's there.

He exchanges that glance with Malcolm and lets his lips quirk up into a soft approximation of smile. "Yeah, I guess that's true." He's still not sure anyone will bother at all, but he's going to try and hold out hope for it, somehow. "He's better at the listening part, I guess." He's always good at it when Klaus breaks on him, at any rate.

"It's not impossible to get him to talk a bit," Malcolm told him. "But it takes time and patience and you can't push it." He looked at Klaus. "All we have here to keep us from getting pushed over the edge by this place is each other. Whether this idea works or if we have to come up with another approach, I hope you know that I count you in the number of people I feel I can rely on."

"Yeah, yeah..." He nods his agreement at first, absolutely on the same page with him about being all each other had in this place. But he pauses, mid-step, as Malcolm comes out with that particular little piece of praise. Whether it was intended as such or not, that's what it is, for him.

"Really?" he can't help the twinge of self-doubt in his tone, the caught-off-guard features in his face. He never really expects it when it happens. When people tell him he counts. That he matters, in some way.

“One hundred percent,” Malcolm told him earnestly. He glanced around. “Have you been everywhere? The bookshop? The library? Don’t, um.... I don’t recommend the clinic. There’s nothing left and I got trapped there.”

"...Thanks." he says it, almost like a question, breath caught for the tiniest half-second in his lungs before he breathes the word out. He's not sure Malcolm understands the gravity of that little compliment to him. The smile on his face might give him a tiny hint of an idea, though.

He shakes his head. "No, not really. I don't- do a lot of the investigate-y stuff the rest of you guys have been doing."

“I wouldn’t say it’s been fruitful, but... I can’t stay inside my head. It’s just... a room full of nightmares. So I wander.”

He gives a facial shrug at that. "Mine's more like a mausoleum." There it is again, a giggle in spite of the heaviness of that statement; that light, airy tone that's all bright half-smiles and faded sunshine, jokes in the light of things so much more serious than he presents them. He doesn't really know how to turn it off, honestly.

Malcolm looked at him. "After you contact someone... do they stay in there?"

He folds his arms low around his middle as they walk, shaking his head. "Not like that. I mean- not literally. It's..." He bites his lip a little as he tries to find the right way to explain it. "When I... conjure a ghost, it's... it's like I pull them from whatever weird in-between space they're in, to the front, but it's not like they're...in my head or anything." Although, he'd spent a lot of time when he was younger wondering sometimes if it was, until Dad found his weird ways to prove it, not for Klaus but for his own purposes. And he spent more than enough time cycling through psychiatrists and hospitals thinking it was some sort of schizophrenic episode.

"For me, it's no different than you standing right here, except they look like whatever they did in the moment they died. It's not usually a pretty sight, honestly." As someone who's been on his fair share of crime scenes, Klaus figures that Malcolm can picture it well enough. "They can use me as a vessel. I'm not sure they all understand that, though. My brother's the only one that ever tried." Oh. He's not sure he's talked to Malcolm about Ben before. Passively, maybe, in the greater sweeping generalization of "my siblings" or "my brother(s)", but never specifically about the fallen brother they'd all lost at seventeen.

Malcolm glanced behind him towards the boarding house, then looked at Klaus with some confusion.

"I thought you couldn't contact him after the fog," he said.

He frowns, confused in his own right for a moment, in that way that everyone does sometimes, when someone isn't following the line of thoughts in your head, even when you haven't said it all out loud.

"Wha-- oh," unthinkingly, he puts a hand on Malcolm's arm to draw his attention back. "No, not Five... Ben." There's a waver in his voice, and his fingers absently, lightly close around the other man's wrist. "Um- he- he died when we were seventeen, on a mission."

"I'm so sorry," Malcolm told him earnestly. "He must have known about your power, huh? Did he already know it could be used that way?"

He’d be singing even deeper apologies if he knew the way their father placed their brother’s death on their shoulders, laid the blame at their feet, tried to weaponize the guilt to make them all work harder, do better.

But that feels too big and too deep from the emotional well than he’s prepared to acknowledge right now.

“Knew I could see him, sure. But it was really recently we’d noticed he could take control like that.” He explains softly.

"Does he need your permission or... cooperation to do it or can he just... take over whether you like it or not?" Malcolm asked curiously.

"Nope. He can just..." he mimes with his hands. "dive right in, regardless. He did that, actually. The bastard." He huffs softly, a sound that's half-bitter, half-amused. "Not easy to eject 'im once he was in there. But- but yeah. It, uh- it's a weird feeling."

"How did you eject him?" Malcolm asked.

His face twists at that question, or more so at the memory of the answer to it. “Well, I tried to push him out and that didn’t work and then I went full-on Linda Blair in the Exorcist.”

You asked, Malcolm.

"You.... threw him up?" Malcolm asked with a squint of doubt.

"He's a ghost, it's not like anything has to be anatomically sense-making, man." He knows it sounds ridiculous, but it's literally what happened. It was awful and he would rather it never happen again, thanks.

"So... did he embrace consent a little more carefully after that?" Malcolm asked.

"Um..." he pauses and shakes his head, coming to stop next to one of the houses on the street. He leans against the brick side of house, arms folding around his middle. "no. Uh- he didn't... he didn't get a chance for it. He-" He's only talked about it one other time, and he was having a whole freaking breakdown when he did. Tears sting his eyes and he tries to blink them back. "He's gone. For good, now..."

“I’m so sorry,” Malcolm told him. “How did that happen?”

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