The Village Mod (
villagemod) wrote in
villagelogs2020-10-03 08:52 pm
Entry tags:
- *overview log,
- doc holliday (wynonna earp),
- ellie (the last of us),
- raylan givens (justified),
- ~ claire novak (supernatural),
- ~ daisy johnson (marvel live action),
- ~ jill valentine (resident evil),
- ~ john constantine (dc live action),
- ~ kylo ren (star wars),
- ~ max guevara (dark angel),
- ~ number five (the umbrella academy),
- ~ phil coulson (marvel live action),
- ~ rey (star wars)
001-003 » a chilling mathias welcome
WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: The east end of Mathias, along the waterfront.
WHEN: Days 001-003
WHAT: The newest residents of Mathias Township are welcomed with a storm.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: A small love letter from your mod. This spot can be used for plotting.
RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Mara"




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WHERE: The east end of Mathias, along the waterfront.
WHEN: Days 001-003
WHAT: The newest residents of Mathias Township are welcomed with a storm.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: A small love letter from your mod. This spot can be used for plotting.
RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Mara"

DAY 001
THE ARRIVAL BEGINS
Is it the whooshing crash of waves on dark jagged rocks that wakes you? Perhaps. It might also be the near-continuous rumble of thunder growing closer every second, the vibrations almost seeming to come from the wet sand beneath your hands. Or maybe it’s the shivering of your own body as water recedes from the pebble-covered shore, the cold sinking into your very bones as a chilled wind picks up. It could be any of these things that rouse you from a deep slumber that leaves you feeling groggy and out of sorts--
But it’s the fear that gets you moving. A deep, intense terror grips your chest and squeezes the breath right out of you, and you know without a shred of doubt that you have mere minutes before whatever it is you’re so afraid of arrives on that stretch of rocky beach to greet you. Even if you want to stay rooted to that spot and faced it head-on, your body betrays you, a survival instinct etched into your genetic code forcing you to seek shelter.
Welcome to Mathias. You should probably run now.THE STORM ARRIVES
When the storm crashes into the small township, it's hard to remember what life was like before it. The ocean becomes a raging thing, waves rising and falling as if trying to attack whatever they can reach along the coast. Any foolish enough to venture along the beach have no hope of surviving the encounter; their bodies will be swept out with the current, gone in the blink of an eye.
The wind is a howling beast, screaming between buildings and driving spikes of cold into any crevice it can reach. The rain is just shy of freezing, every drop like a shard of icicle trying to itself into your skin. It will bite at your nerves and leave you shaking if you stay out in it too long, so you had best get inside if you haven't already. You certainly don't want to attract the attention of the lightning that arcs in the sky like a vengeful god ready to unleash its wrath.
The Grey Gull restaurant sits at the edge of the town along the beach, and just a few yards away are two parallel rows of houses lining what might be a picturesque street if the world weren't beginning to resemble an apocalyptic landscape.
Move quickly, and choose wisely.

DAY 002
THE STORM RAGES ON
The storm has somehow become even more violent overnight. The world outside your shelter might be trapped in an endless night, for all you can see through the thick covering of storm clouds. Lightning continues to streak across the sky, thunder following almost immediately in its wake, threatening just how near those spikes of electricity truly are. You can see them touch the shore at times, even the street between the homes, but never the buildings themselves. A blessing, perhaps, or an oddity to take note of?
Some may be foolish enough to try venturing outside. They are welcome to, of course, that is their right, but the rain is still like ice and that lightning is so very near. You may try heading further into town, and you can certainly see buildings beyond this row of houses, but should you walk toward them...
Well. It is far from a pleasant experience. Exhaustion sinks into your bones so quickly that it leaves you reeling, and every second you push through it makes you physically ill with a feeling that you might collapse at any moment. The second you turn away from that path, however, you feel infinitely, and even more so each step back the way you came.
Something wants you to stay where you are. Perhaps you should.

DAY 003
THE CALM DESCENDS
The third day begins much as the second, with waves crashing upon the shore and thunder booming with such force that the ground seems to shake. It feels very much like the world might end right there, torn apart by a force of nature unlike any seen before. Any who venture outside at this time are almost immediately afflicted with a terror so intense that they can make it no more than a few yards or the short distance to cross a street before they become incapacitated by the fear that sets their heart beating dangerously fast. The term scared to death may very well become literal this day.
And then, suddenly it stops. The rain, thunder, lighting— all if it just stops and the silence that fills the night is deafening. There are no sounds of life within the town, no car motors or dogs barking or the voices of anyone beside those new arrivals in the immediate vicinity. In fact, none of those things even exist in Mathias. There are no cars, no animals or insects, no other people. There is just... emptiness and silence.
It may be best to wait until daylight to move further inland.THE NIGHT DARKENS
For those who are foolish enough to leave the relative safety of the cluster of houses near the Grey Gull, they will find their journey quite chilling, in a very literal sense. There is another row of houses beyond where they had been, branching off on either side into a neighborhood. There are no lights on in any of these homes, though there are occasional streetlights illuminating their way. But as they continue further, reaching a third block of houses, those lights begin to dim, until they have gone out completely, and what had previously been a simple fall chill becomes biting cold as the temperature sharply drops.
In all of this, there is silence. No sounds travel through that night air to comfort them, and even looking up to the sky stretched out above them offers little reassurance. That sky is black, without a single star and not even the faintest outline of the moon to guide them. All that reaches them here is the barest hint of light traveling from the way they've come. The longer they linger outside in this place, the colder it will become, and any light they carry with them will slowly begin to dim as well.
Truly, they should have waited until the sun rose once more.

LOCATIONS
THE GREY GULL is what one might expect of the most frequented restaurant in a small coastal town. The wrap-around porch is lined with white chairs characterized by peeling paint. Exposed wooden walls and worn seating speak to its many years of existence, and the mishmash of décor confirms that the owner never much cared for how the place looked. What mattered here was the food, and faded chalk menus advertise soup specials and a daily pie. The bar appears to have once been well-stocked, but all the bottles remaining are unfortunately empty. There is, however, quite a bit of food in the kitchen that is somehow as fresh as if it were purchased that day.
The second floor of the restaurant is a sparsely furnished apartment. There are no personal items to be found; perhaps it was waiting to be rented out to someone.
THE HOUSES are well-kept, middle-class homes, four lining either side of the street. Their doors are unlocked, windows unshuttered, and everything within feels like the owners might return at any second. There is running water and electricity, fresh food in the fridge, photographs on the wall... but also dust everywhere. If you didn't know better, you'd say the place had been abandoned for years, and yet nothing has aged. It is both strange and unsettling, and yet no matter how hard you search, no answers may be found within these homes.
What can be found within them, however, is a phone. One single black phone within a main room of the house, and beside it, a list of handwritten numbers and names that have been crossed out.1302 8-5491Thomasen
1304 8-9256Lyrie
1306 8-4712Anders
1308 8-3201Mulcalley
1301 8-0415Sanderson
1303 8-6762Reese
1305 8-9132Evers
1307 8-9025Hirano
Should your character choose to shelter in one of the houses, you are welcome to choose the features of that particular unit. Please reply to the comment thread below with the details you decide upon, specifying the house number in the subject line.

no subject
And then he goes and drops another unexpected question. There are... different ways?
"In a ship," she says as if it's the most obvious answer. Then, because he might need a little elaboration, she adds, "A plane, technically, with a time drive installed." A brief pause. "But I'm guessing that's not how you traveled. So... something with your powers, then?"
Traveling through time probably wasn't that different from traveling through space, which she's clearly seen him do already. Right?
no subject
Actually, the existence of more time traveling technology somewhere out there, from whatever version of time she was from, was a little unsettling. In his experience, timelines really didn't appreciate being messed with. That hadn't stopped him, per se but...
"A time drive on a plane," he parrots, because that's really hilarious. "Huh. Should've put that one in the suggestions box."
She even doesn't miss the implied nuances of his powers. Which, again, is more than a little impressive and causes his brows to rise. She wasn't unfamiliar with superpowers, then. "Yeah. Except I can't do that here. I tried," he doesn't mean to sound so upset on the count of the last point. But the edge slips out still, bitter and resentful and so terribly disappointed as he looks down at his hands.
"Maybe if I can figure out when we are, I can find a way out of here."
There's a long pause, as they stand in the living room, before he pushes out a long sigh. "Okay. I'm making a pot of coffee before I try to figure any more of this shit out." An offer is implied there, as he turns to head into the kitchen.
no subject
The suggestion box comment is a bit beyond her, though. Must have something to do with the Temps Commission he'd mentioned. It sounds like an organization, maybe something along the same lines as SHIELD, except... for time? If she didn't have a strong sense that they weren't from the same timeline, she'd wonder if they weren't the only agency that had encountered Chronicoms in an up close and personal way. But he doesn't know SHIELD, so they can't possibly be from the same 2019.
She uses the stretch of silence to mull over what he's said, weighing each implication and debating which thread of inquiry to follow. The distraction of coffee is a welcome one and she follows him into the kitchen without hesitation, immediately moving to search the cabinets for some mugs. They're plain white, matching the plates she also finds there, but wonderfully free of the dust coating everything else.
"So your powers aren't working right here," she surmises, holding the mugs in each hand and leaning back against the counter. "I wasn't sure if this place had done something to mine or not."
Is that relief in her voice? Yeah, maybe just a bit...
no subject
It was the same perspective with just enough of a different angle to maybe mean something.
But, that would be the hopes of someone getting far ahead of themselves. He's far too old for some childish sense of optimism when all they had was more questions. A half soaked post card in his inside pocket with the town name and dates erased from existence.
He doesn't want to admit the last part scared him, and chalks it up to the storm outside instead.
He finds the coffee fast enough, proverbial sixth sense, before getting the off-white coffee maker. To his relief, it actually turns on. "Oh yeah?" Comes the casual sort of wonder. He isn't surprised by her admittance, but decidedly curious. "And what powers would those be?"
The comment on powers not working right is filed away for later.
no subject
He's very casual with his questions. She can't quite tell if it's genuine or feigned, but considering he's already shown off his, she might as well reciprocate. So she glances around for just a moment before settling on the can of coffee still on the counter. Moving both mugs to one hand, she holds out her free one and focuses, calling up what little strength she's regained and directs it at the can. There's rattling as it vibrates in place and on the countertop, and then she pushes it further down.
"Vibrations," she offers as simple clarification.
no subject
This isn't the same thing, not really. Except that vibrations have sound - is sound. The same sort that can ruin a fruit centerpiece in a terribly awkward family dinner, or destroy the whole moon and end the world.
She isn't Vanya, though, and this isn't the same thing. That's the pragmatic approach. Logical and true.
The coffee drips into the pot, and he blinks, and nobs with slightly thinned lips. "Ah."
"Funny, you'd fit right into my 2019," his nonchalance isn't forced per se. "The superpower thing - it's common for your world?"
no subject
"It is and it isn't," she answers in a completely unhelpful way. "We've had enhanced people for a while, though lately more and more of them are becoming superheroes or vigilantes now that the public knows about them. But powers like mine... Those have only been in the public for a few years, and they're definitely not common."
no subject
Even if it all runs surprisingly close.
Five's response is only thoughtful hmm, for a short while. "There was just seven of us, back home," he decides that back home will henceforth be referred to as the place his family inhabits. Never mind that he's actually painfully unsure if they are still in 1963 or back in 2019. "Just recently found out there was more," his voice is quieter and tighter than before. "Dad had us do the superhero thing for a while, too. Didn't turn out that well." He'll leave it at that grand understatement.
He isn't sure why he's telling her this, truth be told. Maybe because it all went back to familiarity. Or some form of unspoken understanding with someone who was distinctly not part of their crazy family.
"Name's Five, by the way," is the change of subject, as he pours them both coffee, the brew strong and warm.
no subject
She wants to ask questions but with the way he's speaking, it seems better to keep them for later. If there is a later. They both have a lot of other things to worry about, it seems.
"Daisy," she offers in return, reaching for one of the mugs once he's done pouring. It's too hot to drink but the heat immediately seeps through to her very bones. "So, how did a kid get involved with an agency that deals in time travel?"
She might be making some leaps based on what he's said, but she's pretty sure she's hitting close to the mark.
no subject
Conversely, Reginald would have been all over anything that implied more power. Probably. Five will never get close enough to understanding that man, but he does know this would have made it to the dinner table, at the very least, were it within their timeline.
He snorts. "That's -" she is close to it but not quite, and he gives a long-suffered sigh, shoulders dropping. What she said wasn't untrue, but that's also plenty to pick apart and he contemplates how much detail she should even give her. "- complicated. Short version? I used my powers to time travel. Which, as dear old dad would is, is not unlike going blindly into the depths of freezing water and reappearing as an acorn. I trapped myself in an apocalyptic future for forty-five years. The Commission - let's say they headhunted me into their employ. I used them to get back into my timeline. It gets - complicated. Like I said."
That's severely abridged, and purposefully detached, lacking so many details but...he can't get too into it right now. Everyone's got their shit. "And I'm not a kid. My subconscious is 58."