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

"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?”

"It's, uh- it's complicated... he- possessed my sister, sort of? She was being tortured, and she was stuck in her own head, kinda, and uh- anyway, the...the electrocution was fucking up her powers, she was gonna go nuclear and we had to stop it. Ben was the only one that could get past everything, because..." He shrugs. "He wasn't physical? So, he got to her and he kind of met up with her, somehow- I-I don't know, anyway... he woke her up. But he had sacrifice himself to do it...he went into the light and he's gone now."

It's a disjointed explanation at best, and probably doesn't give Malcolm a very complete picture, but it's obvious it was a pretty heavily emotional thing, either way. He sniffs and scrubs both hands under his eyes, a desperate huff of laughter escaping him. "He's been with me our whole lives. I called him back immediately after the funeral... he never left me. And now he's really gone...forever."

There's a familiar deep pressure building in his chest that feels equally like panic, and the feeling you get when you hold your breath and your lungs are screaming to breathe again. His eyes squeeze shut and all he can think is that he really doesn't want to do this right here, out in the open, where anyone could just walk by and witness it.

Malcolm nodded at Klaus' explanation. He didn't need more details; it was unlikely he would understand them anyway. As he trailed off, Malcolm recognized the beginnings of a panic attack. He'd had enough of them in his life. He stepped towards Klaus and pulled him into a hug, holding on to him with a gentle hand at the back of his neck.

The fingers that circled his wrist to pull him in, arms circling an entirely too small frame, the pressure of Malcolm's hand on the back of his neck--

just like that, his body remembered how to breathe again.

A gasp escapes him, rough and ragged with unshed tears, and he circles his arms around Malcolm's shoulders tightly, the desperate grip of someone that needed to be grounded, demanded to know that everything was real in this moment. He buries his face in Malcolm's shoulder and just tries to breathe. What was it- 8 seconds in, 5 out? 4 in, 8 out? Fuck, he doesn't remember, he just tries to make sure his breaths are slow and deep, to stop the spiral he had been standing on the edge of.

Malcolm just stayed there, steady, keeping that grounding touch right there. And he could hear the attempt to control his breathing. And where it stuttered as he tried to remember how.

"In through your nose, count of four. Hold for seven. Out for eight," he murmured.

"Thanks." he mutters around a jagged, amused sound that didn't know how to be a laugh. He takes a few minutes to fully calm his breathing down, much better with the reminder from Malcolm. And the presence of him, just there, and solid, and real.

He focuses on his breathing, and Malcolm, and eventually his breaths are steady again, his heart less of a hammer in the cage of his ribs, and everything doesn't feel tilted too far on an axis he didn't ask for.

Klaus loosens his grip and slowly pulls away, hands swiping under his eyes again. "Thank you," his voice is quiet, heavily coated in a genuine, stark gratitude that was almost palpable in the air between them.

"Oh, it's not... some kind of special... ability. I've just... had a lot of panic attacks in my life," Malcolm told him. He squeezed his arm before letting go completely. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Brain chemistry in rebellion."

He laughs a little at the comment and nods. "I know... I just- you know how it is. People just-" He shrugs and shakes his head. "people don't know how to handle it. That one was gonna be really bad, I could feel it. I'm just glad you were here to stop it before it got very far."

Malcolm looked down and nodded and then looked at Klaus.

"I know. I've been... off my meds and sometimes I get... wired. Verging on manic. The day the clinic appeared, Doc took me there to see if they had anything... useful to me. That place has a weird feel and I was... really hoping. Anyway, Dean was there. The way he looked at me... made me realize that I wasn't used to it here. The way I've always been treated..." He gestured vaguely away from them. "Out there. Except for him. I think he thinks I'm a junkie."

"Man, I can't even imagine... nothing I've ever taken was prescribed, it was all self-medication, you know... But you were on, like, a real regimen and everything and then just- to go cold turkey like that..." He shakes his head. He knows what withdrawal is like, that he has experienced plenty of times. Happens every time he gets court-mandated rehab slapped down in front of him.

He frowns at the story about Dean-- he hasn't met him yet. "Well...he was there, lookin' for shit. So pot fuckin' kettle, asshole. Why the fuck did he just assume that?" Klaus actually sounds mad about it, on Malcolm's behalf, because he doesn't seem to have any anger or annoyance in him over it.

"Because I was jittery and fidgety and anxious and he deals with his own PTSD by suppressing it and keeping people at arm's length. He said he was there for medical supplies, in case his monster hunting friends got hurt. I believe him, on that count. His self-medicating regime involves copious use of alcohol, like a lot of the people here," Malcolm said. "And while he is keen to point out that he fights stuff the rest of us don't understand, he is also keen to dismiss what he doesn't understand."

Mental illness was stigmatized in a lot of places in a lot of ways.

"I saved his life a little while ago and he told me off for being in his house. He doesn't process his trauma, he rages at it."

"Jesus..." he mutters bitterly, shaking his head. "Sounds like you'd be better off to just stay away from that guy, Malcolm." He levels him with a look. "Seriously. I know this place is small and it's basically impossible not to meet everyone at some point or another, but..."

He shakes his head. "He can find other people to rage with or whatever. You don't need that bullshit." And honestly? Neither does Klaus. He files the name away for later, in case he ever comes across the guy. He doesn't sound like someone that would get along with him, anyway.

"Maybe. He lives down the street from us. Intellectually, I know it's a defence mechanism. And I couldn't let him freeze to death when he collapsed in the snow, but... I don't go out of my way to hang out with him. Interestingly, he did approach me at the Town Hall meeting. Just to chat. And refute my theory."

He shrugged a shoulder.

"I do prefer hanging out with you," he admitted.

"Of course he does," he mutters with a roll of his eyes. He glances over at him again at the mention of the town hall meeting. "Was he an asshole about it?" Sorry, Malcolm, he's officially tainted against this Dean guy now. He likes you, and someone acting that way with you? Not okay.

That comment breaks a wide grin across his face. "I like hanging out with you, too, Malcolm."

"He was all right. He brought me a plate of food he couldn't know I couldn't eat. He was trying to be nice," Malcolm allowed. He looked at Klaus. "We should see if we can find cookies at the general store."

"So, what's your thing with food, anyway?" He asks, curious rather than dismissive, and he nods and starts walking with him again. "Totally. We gotta have something to serve at our meetings." He smirks.

“Oh. Yeah. The food thing. Anxiety, anti-anxiety meds, anti-depressants, antipsychotics... Suddenly being off of all of the above for the first time since I was fourteen. I just... can’t stomach a lot of things. But I think cookies might get some people through the door, right? They’re comforting. With tea and coffee.”

"Fourteen... Jesus..." He was doing plenty of pharmaceuticals by then, himself, but... it was his own, recreational use, not anything he needed (and nothing as high-powered, either). "I started popping pills when I was twelve. I broke my jaw when I fell down the stairs in my mom's heels," he laughs a little, it was the worst at the time, but it's a funny story in retrospect now. "And I had to have it wired shut for like eight weeks. Anyway, I had pain killers prescribed and...that was when I realized that I could stop the ghosts." The true beginnings of his descent into addiction.

He nods a little, "Yeah, yeah it's a good start, I think."

"Pain killers stop the ghosts?" Malcolm clarified. "What did they have you on? Opioids?"

"Mm-hmm," he nods a bit. "I don't remember, that was a long time and a lotta drugs ago, man. Probably, though..." He shrugs. "Doesn't really matter, anyway. Any kind of inebriated state would make them shut up. Drunk. Stoned. Whatever I could get my hands on, any given day."

He scoffs a little, shaking his head. "Most addicts- you know- they have...their choice-drug. Uppers, downers, they want one specific vibe most of the time. But that didn't ever matter for me, really. Because I wasn't... at first, I wasn't looking, specifically, for the high, I was looking to make the voices and the dead go away. It just..." he waves one hand vaguely. "catapulted into something worse, in the end, by the nature of it."

"The high from drugs yields diminishing returns," Malcolm granted. "So what did you do after that? Find another way to suppress them or teach yourself to live with them?"

"I mean, I just chased the high. Did more to make up for the tolerances. I-I can't even tell you how many times I overdosed in the thirteen years between leaving home and Five showing back up." He shakes his head a little. He really didn't expect this conversation to happen today, but... there's never really a good time to talk about it, and they're already here, so...

"Then OD'ing became a game. The night I heard about my father's death..." He shakes his head. "I walked out of rehab, met a guy, got some heroin. I called the EMTs before I shot it up." He scoffs, a sort of disbelieving not-quite-amusement at himself, "I high-fived the guy in the ambulance when I came back."

"Is that why you want to help people here with their mental health?" he asked.

"You mean because mine's so fucked?" He asks through a laugh that doesn't really own any humor behind it. "...yeah.... I guess?" He hadn't really thought about it, not like that.

030-035 » a-hunting they will go

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cw: mentions of suicidal ideation

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