001-003 » a chilling mathias welcome

[villagemod]

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"

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 8-5491 Thomasen
1304 8-9256 Lyrie
1306 8-4712 Anders
1308 8-3201 Mulcalley

1301 8-0415 Sanderson
1303 8-6762 Reese
1305 8-9132 Evers
1307 8-9025 Hirano

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.

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Comments

II

[40seconds]

Coulson's been out and moving around, dipping in and out of the houses closest to his current location, looking for any objects that might turn out to be useful. It hasn't been the most fruitful of searches, and after a decent amount of time (about 20 to 30 minutes; it's hard to track the passage of time here, even though he has a watch), he decides it's time to put the search on hold just long enough for him to catch his breath. As luck would have it, a house is just a few paces away, and he passes by the window, peering into it as he walks by.

He doesn't immediately spot anyone just inside, but there's a chance someone's already holed up in there, and while he's not being too picky about the places he stops by, he doesn't want to intrude either.

So, with that in mind, he slowly turns the handle and pushes the door open a crack.

"Anyone in here?"

[fika]

Five hears the footsteps only when they're at the front door, and the knob turns shortly after.

He hadn't bothered locking the door. Which is either confident or stupid or straight up careless, but he didn't see the point.

He has another steaming cup of coffee out in front of him, and a half-eaten peanut-butter marshmallow sandwich, because he's exhausted. Papers are already strewn out on the coffee table in front of him, notes scrawled in blue ink when he looks up at the door and immediately tenses.

It's habit and training both that makes him grip his pen in his fist, and firmly plant his feet on the rug, ready to spring.

But the stranger doesn't seem inclined on anything other than a polite question, so Five shrugs. "Yeah. You don't happen to live here, do you?"

[40seconds]

Coulson's the door-locking type sometimes, but other times, like Five, he just doesn't see the point in it. It doesn't feel like complacency to think that even if there is someone with a hidden agenda among the people here, the few people Coulson's encountered so far were lacking in weaponry (as far as he could tell), so unless there's folks here capable of breaking necks with their bare hands or anything else equally unpleasant, he's decided he can take that chance.

And the houses themselves don't have much of value either, so that's another reason why locking the door feels a little unnecessary. But the narration digresses, so moving on.

Coulson takes in the scene in front of him, from the coffee (!!) to the sandwich (are those marshmallows?), and then he looks back at Five. "No, I don't. I'm starting to think these houses are uninhabited, except for us."

[fika]

Five has, for the most part, gotten very used to being one of the most dangerous people in the room. In his world, anyway. Between dear old dad and the Temps Commission, they all made sure of that.

So, why lock a front door when you can, in fact, break a neck with your bare hands in the blink of seconds?

It isn't that he'd geared up for those terms. And he especially doesn't want to be. This was still, more than not, a display of carelessness. The fact remains that he should have locked it. Maybe it's the continued lack of sleep, catching up to him from all directions.

He gives the other man a small, pressed smile. Polite and tired and maybe (definitely) a little forced. "I've been through all of them. On this street, anyway. So you're correct on that."

(leave his marshmallow peanut butter sandwich be!!) ..."Coffee?"

[40seconds]

It's an interesting thing to be, even if it carries a certain weight to it, but as someone who's never been that person, Coulson figures he can only speculate what it must be like.

And, well, he certainly hopes that no one's about to break his neck, because that would really be counterproductive to figuring out what's going on here. Not that he's made any particular strides towards that goal, but he doesn't anticipate any speed bumps being thrown in his path either.

"That does beg the question of who lived here before we did, but I don't suppose we'll be learning that anytime soon." At least, Coulson hasn't stumbled upon any particular clues to point him in any useful directions.

He'll pass on the sandwich, though; he's not that adventurous. But there's no denying that a cup of coffee would be great right about now. "If you have any to spare, if not, I'm fine." Far be it for him to take someone else's stash.

[fika]

Five shrugs, rises from the couch, and goes to fetch another mug.

While, of course, spending a very long time in the apocalypse has gotten him used to having a stash, as it were, everything seems so suspiciously well stocked that he hadn't considered the possibility of being too precious about hoarding resources.

Besides, the more everyone continues to be on the same page, the more chance there is to figure this shit out faster.

Five has never been much of a team player, but he's not stupid either. So he sets the steaming mug down on the coffee table.

"All of the houses seem to have the same list of numbers, by the phone. All of the names are crossed out," which was the only indication that anyone has really been here in the first place. "Which means someone was here to cross them out, right?"

Listen, Five treats nearly everyone he's met here as a proverbial soundboard. He can't sleep, so it's either talking to himself, or someone real.

He's done the former for forty-five years, so he'd much prefer the latter.

[40seconds]

"Thanks," Coulson says as he takes the mug of coffee and carefully wraps his hands around it for just a second. It helps take some of the edge off from being outside.

"Sure, that's a logical conclusion. And it raises the question of was that person or persons forced to leave, or did they leave on their own? Or could it be they never left?" Either they're still here somewhere or someone or something did them in and hid the evidence. There's too many possible scenarios here and nothing to indicate one over the other.

Coulson is very much the same way; talking aloud to lay out his thoughts helps, and it also opens the floor for others to offer their own insight.

[fika]

"I don't know. Maybe they didn't like the shit weather?" Five deadpans, though it's because he doesn't have a real answer.

The more disquieting thought, however, is what Coulson says: could it be they never left?. "Really don't want to find those skeletons in the closet." He's checked for bodies, but there haven't been any.

No signs of struggle, as far as he knows.

This guy seems reasonably well adjusted, too, and arguably the most sane conversation to date. Which wasn't saying much, but more than nothing. "So, where're you from?" He gestures to the notes on the table. "I'm trying to keep track. There's been absolutely no consistency so far."

[40seconds]

"I can't blame them for that," comes the reply, accompanied by a brief chuckle. "Give me a sandy beach and a grass hut and I'd be satisfied." Minus the other complicated combination of things that he also associates with that, but he's not going into that right now.

"That makes two of us. I don't mean to get ahead of myself, because maybe whoever lived here before just moved on. Their absence doesn't mean they wound up being murdered." It's a grim thought, and he hopes it has no basis in reality, but clearly something happened here.

Five seems equally well adjusted, at least based on Coulson's initial impressions, and he seems to have a similar analytical thought process which further helps. "Well, I travel around a lot for work, so I don't really have a home in any one place. It's hard to put down roots when you have to take off again as soon as you start to settle down." At least that's not a complete lie. "What about you? Where do you call home?"

[fika]

"I'd just settle for anywhere but here, for now," Five offers up with a tight-lipped smile, strained and tired both.

"A mass exodus doesn't sound much better," he continues, looking around the home, and inevitably setting on the series of family photos still sat atop the mantle piece. "And it's too whole for an apocalypse," he should know.

His scowl only deepens at Coulson's answer, eyes narrowed. "Wow, gee, what a perfect non-answer." If he had to guess, he'd say this guy was government. Or an agency of some form or the next. Too even keeled to be the Temps Commission, at least. "And that's - complicated." Okay so he had little room to complain at Coulson's answer but. "I don't - haven't called a place home in a very long time." His focus had, after all, always been towards returning to his family. And the Commission made sure he didn't belong anywhere. "1963 Dallas, Texas was where I was, before here. Not from there, though."

[40seconds]

"No, you're right, it doesn't, because it just leaves us with the question of what caused it to happen in the first place." And he nods his agreement with the statement about an apocalypse. If that had happened, this place would presumably be more in disarray than it is.

"Sorry, I know it's not an answer, but it's actually the truth. My team and I don't have a base of operations on the ground. Our- Well, our plane is our base, and we just go wherever we're needed." How's that for a non-answer? He can't really go into specifics, but he can at least say that much. And, it's also a half-truth, because there are SHIELD bases, but he only makes use of them if they need backup or if they're ordered to go there.

Five's not far off the mark at all, though, in terms of guessing what Coulson's occupation is. "But that just confirms for me that there's no rhyme or reason for who got dropped off here." Everyone seems to be from different places and times, so no unified pattern has yet emerged.

[fika]

"A plane, huh," Five hums into his mug. Daisy said something, about a plane too. "Not the first time that came up." And, because he's a cryptic shit, he doesn't make a move to extrapolate further.

Five shrugs though, apology disregarded. "So long as you're not with the Temps Commission, I don't actually care about your specifics," it isn't meant to sound callous, even if to a degree it is. But he certainly wasn't asking for anyone's life story, day to day occupation...not unless he thought it was somehow relevant to the grand scheme of things, and it wasn't.

"You're right about that, it seems. No patterns. It also means, for every single person who ends up here, there's a goddamn different theory." His notes are a mess. "All of this is like trying to figure out a puzzle with too few pieces. It's annoying."

[40seconds]

"Yeah, a plane. A pretty high tech one too. It even has a built-in bar." He chuckles lightly and adds: "We had what was going to be a fish tank before the higher-ups quashed that."

And then he leans forward just slightly. "Oh, does someone else around here fly around on a souped-up plane when they're not trapped in mysterious villages?" So, it's not really funny, but even bad humor is better than none, at least in Coulson's experience.

"Nope, can't say that I am. I've never even heard of the Temps Commission, but I take it they're not exactly good news." He gets that, though; in his line of work, there's a very clear distinction between what's relevant and what's not, and small talk falls into the latter category.

"Too few, or too many? Because like you said, everyone here represents a different piece of the puzzle, and between you and me, I still can't figure out how we all fit together, if we do at all." He crosses his arms and leans back again. "I do agree that it's very annoying."