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

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He stands there a few long seconds, considering the question. To Neal, maybe it seems a little like the guy is building an order, but surprisingly, he answers with something pretty simple.

"Maybe just a couple of pancakes? That something you still have ingredients for?"

Yes, he's that easy. No, they don't need to be fancy either.

Neal blinks, waiting for some additional request. When it doesn't come, he shrugs. "Yeah, I can do pancakes. Any filling requests? Fruit allergies?"

He starts gathering up the necessities. "I'm Neal. I haven't seen you around."

"Um," he thinks, looking, honest to goodness like Neal has just asked him a trick question. "No, plain is fine. Maybe a little bit of butter if there's some."

No one's asked him the question before. Then again, he's never asked someone for pancakes before that wasn't his mother. Seventy-nine years ago.

"And I'm Bucky. I just got here a few days ago."

"...Nice to meet you." He pauses. "...I might make a couple of different kinds, in case anyone else comes in."

Neal casually goes over to sort through some fruit from the General Store, pulling out the best-looking strawberries, blueberries, and a banana. After a moment's pause, he goes over to the sweets and pulls out a generic bag of chocolate chips. "How are you with sweets?"

"Nice to meet you," He watches Neal move around and can suddenly feel how awkward he must be making the other man and so he tries a little harder, belatedly adding in, "Too."

His focus wanders off, looking at the other preparations Neal was doing before glancing back.

"I don't mind sweets," Bucky answers, brow pinching curiously. "Wait, are you going to put it in the pancakes?"

Either this guy is in even more shock than Neal was when he arrived, or... He's not sure about the or yet.

He pauses in the middle of grabbing a mixing bowl. "Yes...?"

Oh, wait. Maybe he's like Ellie. Maybe this whole thing is new to him, the availability of things--well, the former availability of things. He gets back to work, pulling together ingredients and getting a knife to start cutting up strawberries. "Is there a New York where you're from? Or, I guess the better question to start with might be when are you from. Apparently that varies."

"Brooklyn," Bucky starts, giving a slight nod as he moves just so that he can watch what Neal is doing, keeping his blue eyes down on the other man's hands until the next question gets asked and registers.

He takes another moment to answer, gaze bouncing back up to Neal's face.

"2023, but we didn't put things like what you're going to put in them back in '45." Bucky lapses into deep thought, then shakes his head. "We were rationing."

"Brooklyn, huh? I live on the Upper West Side." 2023. It seemed a million years away, somehow. He'd be in his forties--

Forties. Neal slowed mid-quartering of a strawberry, this time getting back to it with only a moment's hesitation. "I'm not sure I follow."

Well, there was no way to backpedal out of it now, so Bucky moves over to a table that was close enough to where Neal stood and he wouldn't be standing there looking awkwardly impatient. When he gets close enough, he puts a metal hand down on the surface before lowering down onto a chair.

"1945 was the last time I was in Brooklyn," he replies, though his expression shows some uncertainty in saying it. There were a lot of years that he couldn't account for.

Edited 2021-02-27 04:02 (UTC)

He notes that uncertainty. He notes that hand, doing a mild double-take at the sight of it, but Neal has gotten a lot better at rolling with the acutely unexpected since getting here. He's always been good at rolling with the normally unexpected. Superpowers, aliens, magic, metal hands? Less so.

Still he, recovers smoothly, starting to mix up one giant batch of plain batter to separate out into smaller bowls. Gently, he says, "I'm still not sure I follow. You... are you..."

It shouldn't feel stupid to ask a question to which the answer might very possibly be yes. "Are you a time traveler?"

Quite honestly, it's the first time someone's asked him that, though it doesn't show past the school neutral expression Bucky seems to still have on his face. But as he tries to decide how best to answer the question, there was no getting around the fact that he sort of was. Just one that didn't really leave the current linear timeline that is his own.

"Not a time traveller," Bucky answers, looking down at his exposed metal hand and then to Neal. Whether he saw it or not, he pulls it back down into his lap, not wanting to open up that topic of discussion when things were a bit clumsy. "It's, uh... a long story."

A very long complex one.

Neal wants to ask. God, does he ever want to ask. He's desperately curious, something that hasn't changed in spite of the trauma and the darkness he's found to be a common thread in the lives of the people he's met here.

It takes him a moment of wrestling with his own impulses, but he finally just says, "Noted."

Neal starts dishing the batter into smaller bowls. "Should I go heavy or light on the chocolate chips?"

Bucky appreciates not being pressed. He's sure that some of his past will come out. There are far too many things that can be said that will inevitably lead to further questions being asked. But he doesn't linger too long on that truth.

A brow lifts in thought but dips down seconds later because he really doesn't know the answer to that.

"What do you suggest?" he asks, looking very uncertain.

Somehow, Neal can't help but smile at that uncertainty. It's weirdly sweet on the face of someone who looks like he could punch Neal into the dirt. "If you're not used to it, we'll keep it light."

He finishes prepping the batter and heats up one of the clean pans, taking care of a few other dishes he's mid-cooking at the same time. "So, you weren't in Brooklyn before this--where were you?"

That was probably the best idea.

"I was in Georgia," For the funeral of a guy he killed the parents of and almost him. Bucky could go on -- say something that might spark further questions but he doesn't.

He regards Neal a moment. "Where are you from?"

"State or country?" It's a valid question, as far as Neal is concerned, and one asked with real curiosity.

Neal shrugged expansively, smiling in his easy way. "New York."

Yeah, he can guess that it's not a repetition where were you, but he can play dumb with the best of them.

"Oh, state. But only there to say goodbye to a friend," Bucky reveals, keeping it all fairly normal sounding. "I didn't stay."

There's a lingering pause, one that lets Bucky register the absence of no accent from any of the five boroughs that made up the city.

"But not originally."

He busies himself with the first round of pancakes. "Not originally, no. But I've been native for about... thirteen years? Give or take a few years abroad."

Abroad, like he didn't spend that time robbing palaces, rigging gambling tables, and replacing holy relics with foil-wrapped chocolate replicas. "Are you much of a traveler?"

Neal's going to guess yes, though like with many of his instincts, he can't put a finger on why.

Bucky has since come to terms that when he asks a question, there's a good chance that person was going to return the same question. He's still working on how he phrases those questions so that doesn't happen.

"Yeah," he answers, looking like he wants to say something else but thinking again about how much he wants to give. "A few places over in Europe."

Try most of it. Along with a number of other countries scattered across the globe.

"On business."

Oh, how he wishes he could take that last part back now.

Edited 2021-03-20 20:58 (UTC)

He recognizes the look on Bucky's face. He's seen it before, on the faces of criminals he's known who worked jobs that went so bad it drove them out of the life entirely, or on the faces of mercenaries and wetworkers-turned-information-salesmen who stayed in one job too long. Neal saw it in the mirror after Matthew Keller killed the third man in their heist right in front of him, years ago.

So he redirects with a casual good cheer that makes it seem like he didn't see anything at all. "I probably spent the most time in Paris. Well, in France. Great museums, challenging security systems, and the food is amazing."

It was funny that he had been to so many places and yet, barely saw any of them beyond arriving with a mission and then watching the life drain from his target's eyes after ending their life and anyone else who so happened to bear witness to his deed.

Bucky lowers his gaze and stares absently across the room and for a long moment he doesn't seem to hear Neal. But he does.

"Challenging security systems, eh? That part of a full city tour you pay for?" Bucky asks, still looking ahead before breaking himself out of his trance to look at the man.

He has to wonder where Bucky goes, when he drifts off like that. Whatever in-between space nightmares tuck themselves away during the day. He flips the pancakes expertly, the smell of chocolate mingling with the other scents in the air.

"Absolutely. Part of the behind-the-scenes Musée d'Orsay package."

That smell makes his stomach growl and he looks on with a little more eagerness. He remembers that being a sign that whatever was cooking was almost ready. Still, Bucky finds a second to let out a huff in amusement.

He wasn't going to ask, but he's liking Neal more and more as the minutes go on.

"Where else in Europe have you been?"

It's nice, seeing that little bit of energy perk Bucky up. Neal takes a moment to think before answering, fetching a plate to shift the pancakes to and utensils for Bucky.

"Spain. Portugal. Ireland and the UK, of course. Italy. Germany. Denmark, Sweden, Norway... A bunch of places in Eastern Europe. Greece. Turkey, for a little while, if that counts." He pauses. "It might be easier to think of where I haven't been."

"I was going to say.." Bucky gives a little smile and nod of understanding. "It's the same thing for me. Only most of the places blend together. It was only after going back to a couple of them that I actually could stick around and enjoy."

He finds himself missing Romania a little right then. It was the one place that felt like it could be a place he could stay.

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030-035 » a-hunting they will go

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