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.

day three | ota | 1308 8-3201 /mulcalley/
ii. if you can pay the right price, your evening will be nice.
ii!!
But right now, standing outside with the rainfall gone, clouds clearing into overcast and the smell of seaside petrichor overwhelmingly crisp, Five struggles to keep it together.
The clues he'd gathered were a start, but there was a part of him that hoped for something else, once the outdoors became less perilous to venture out to.
Instead, it's the apocalypse all over again, albeit with the very few faces he's already caught sight of before.
Not all, though, if the man smoking on the porch was anything to go by. It isn't that Five is purposefully sneaking up on him. It's that years of training develops habit, and habit doesn't break easy. His footfalls are light on the wet wood of the deck, but he keeps his distance, hands tucked into the pockets of his schoolboy shorts.
"No chance you're local, right?" Listen, he had to ask.
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"Can't say that I am, mate. Showed up on the beach a few days ago." He points off into the distance with his cigarette in hand. "Soaked to the bone with a sense of dread loomin' over me. I don't suppose that sounds familiar?"
Without waiting for a reply he puts the cigarette back in his mouth. "You're not going to find anythin' out there in the pitch of night. Best to wait till the sun is up."
He has his plans of doing a bit of looking around himself. Maybe a few locator spells. Something that will give him an idea of where he is and how the hell he got here.
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There's something to be said about predictability, and pattern. If they all got here the same way, then that's another clue.
It may not be a terribly strong one, nor very surprising considering, but one all the same. It means there's been a singular event - or at least a singular snap, converged on one point in time - that caused them all to be yanked out from their timelines and into this one. At least, that's how's he's choosing to see it.
"So you got the same feeling when you stayed out in the storm?" That's something that had yet to be confirmed, and Five turns a curious glance to John.
He hates to agree, but the other man is right. No one is finding anything in a night like this. "Assuming the sun does come up, but with how the rest of this shit's been going, I don't have high expectations."
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He tilts his head towards his new companion, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Had it hit me pretty hard on the beach though. I'm guessing I wasn't the only one. You got a point about the sun though. May need to make a light of our own if it doesn't grace us with its presence."
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He's been out in the storm himself, of course, relying on his powers to keep him from staying outside too long, before the waves of panic could take over for long. It made sense to want to find things out faster, and he's put his own work for that in.
But the end of the storm is bringing more questions than answers. "Huh. If everyone felt the same way, than it's probably not just a simple storm, either."
"None of this is going have a neat little explanation," he scowls, before giving John another curious, if passive, look. "What, planning on starting a bonfire on the beach?"
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There's a nod to the assessment made. None of this town is just simple or normal. Especially not the house he had holed himself up in. He tilts his head back with a sigh and takes another drag off the cigarette.
"Bonfire? Nah, mate. Now, a signal to get somethings attention? Maybe."
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Somehow, he knows, deep down in the same sort of visceral knee jerk reaction that triggered his fear to run, back on the beach, that it won't be as simple as walking out of wherever they are. That no, nothing is simple or normal if only because his powers aren't working right.
"Something's attention-," you know what, he's tired. He's really fucking tired and right now he talked to three people too many about demons, witches, and fist-fighting something out there in the storm and while he sympathizes wholeheartedly with the urge, it's still more new than not. It's still exhausting to hear and he can't rightly say why. "That's just great. And what's your plan after that? Assuming that you find whatever it is you're hoping to find."
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"Haven't gotten one just yet. That's why I'm not out in the dark pokin' around just yet." John finally finishes the cigarette and flicks it to the ground, putting it out with the tip of his shoe. "What I do know is that at least some people in this town weren't expecting 'It'--whatever that was--to happen. That something is more powerful than we'd think. Maybe It controlled the storm, maybe It has some bloody terrible manners and scares everyone off beaches as a hobby. I need more information before I go about trying to poke the nest in more ah, crude manners. Once I've got my answers? Maybe I'll try to banish It wherever It came from."
John looks at the young man who gives off an odd air. Bit formal, bit rigid, and something else that strikes him as odd. "What's your plan?"
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See, John thinks there's an It. Their judgements, left to themselves from the sheer lack of anything else, are made from their experiences.
"Well, good luck with that," it may sound facetious, but there's a pinch of passive honesty in there. It doesn't matter to him what someone else's method to the madness is - the fact is, they're each seemingly working to figure it out.
"Answers are seemingly hard to come by right now," he peers into the darkness around them, still and silent, and seems to be surprised to be asked. "I need to figure out the date. And a time, both of which seem to be completely wiped. It's like this place doesn't exist."
"You think there's something controlling this shit? Why - you know of anything that can pull people out of so many different timelines like this?" Asks the literal time traveler. "Because save for a temporal anomaly that fucks with the quantum state of everything here, I'm fresh out of ideas right now."
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John looks at the window beside him and into the home he'd been staying at the last few days and sighs. Happy family without a damn realization of whatever happened.
"In my experience there's always something or someone pulling the strings - even of natural phenomenon. I know of magic that can pull across realities and dimensions. This is a bit massive. Something powerful, if that's what it turns out to be." He looks over at the younger man again. "Something's not right with the ebb and flow of time though. Dust without eroding houses? That's unnatural."
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He doesn't exactly know what to make of John, quite yet. Just another man with a past of secrets and stuck in the same damn predicament as the rest of them.
"October, yes, but that "calendar" didn't have a single date on it, though, and I saw one in the Grey Gull."
It's so incredibly frustrating. So much so, with the whir of thoughts, that Five barely manages to pull himself back enough to listen. "So...magic? You're not the only one thinking that, here." He leans further against the guardrail of the porch, crosses his arms, pressing his jacket closer around the scrawny frame.
A snort of acknowledgement at the mention of time. "Yeah - nothing seems to be working in any consistent pattern either. I don't get it," he says, staring at his wristwatch. "No patterns at all. The clocks all stopped at different times. This watch tells me a different thing every time I look at it." He looks about ready to chuck it across the street. "We just need to keep digging. Nothing's infallible. Whatever happened here should have left traces."
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"Magic would be easiest. Could be a curse, an omen, maybe even a slip into another dimension." John purses his lips and sighs. There's plenty of things it could be. "I can't take on whatever 'It' might be while knowing nothing. I need a name, where it comes from... what it best responds to. Then, I might be able to do something about it."
John looks up at the younger man in front of him. "Depends on how far we are from the epicenter of events. This house?" The hand with the watch taps on the glass behind him. "Not close enough, it seems. Did a bit of poking around earlier... got one hell of a magical hangover for it too. Which means that even the outlying areas don't want to be poke and prodded for answers."
Then, he grins. "Which is why we poke and prod it more."
He stands then, offering his hand for a shake. The younger man seems to have some manners and it'd probably be best to roll with them for now. "John Constantine. Exorcist, demonologist, and petty dabbler of the Dark Arts. Seems like I left my business cards in my other coat."
Not that he had another coat.
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II!
She hasn't found anything worth heading back to the Grey Gull and leaving a note about so far, unfortunately.
True to her thoughts, it's easy pickings and she finds herself in the house with ease. There's little noteworthy until she finds herself in the study.
There, she picks through anything she can find. Although she's eager to find something to change into so she can get rid of the battlesuit, clothing is low on the list of her needs. Ideally she could find information in somewhere like this, though she suspects it may not be immediately useful.
Jill makes no effort to disguise her sound, certain others such as herself are around. Although she's not loud, she's certainly not silent. The effort she puts into quieting herself like she would on a mission isn't present.
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The noise does attract him back inside. In the main doors, turning right, and leaning against the door frame of the room. His head tilts as he watches the blonde move around. Well, at least they've got plenty of gorgeous people on this soaked ghost town.
"Those books are all in pristine condition." He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and gestures to the bookcases with it in his fingers. "Never been opened. Found that a bit weird.
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Though quiet, she does hear the approach. Enough that she's looking toward him when he talks, her brows raised. She's not surprised someone else had been in here before her, especially since it's one of the few that seem to have multiple floors.
"Only with how many of them there are. Don't notice any that look worn among them." She comments while glancing over the collection, looking for discoloration or a sign of something. A gap, anything. "Better to hide notes in, but it'll take a while to go through each page-by-page without missing something."
Jill settles against the desk, sitting on the edge of it, crossing her legs as if she expects more from him. However, she doesn't give him space to start on whatever it may be.
"Did I interrupt?"
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Obviously, he had already.
"Unless there is something in particular you're looking for, luv."
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She watches back, though with only mild interest; a considerate gaze while talking to someone. Nothing intense or scrutinizing.
"Then I take it that you've claimed this house. Sorry for barging in, in that case." But she considers the offer quite seriously. Visibly, even. "Might take you up on it later. Guess I'm surprised that there's working plumbing."
She jumps a little so she's pushed back slightly more on the desk. More comfortable and settled in than a moment ago.
"I mean, it'd be great to find my weapons but I'd say I'm probably shit out of luck for that." She talks a little with her hands, only settling them on a paperweight that's a cluster of geometric shapes and lifting it for inspection when she takes her eyes off him. "Jill Valentine."
(Her name, obviously.)
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Inmates. Oh, if only this place was an elaborate trick of his mind. Find out he finally snapped again, ended back up in Ravenscar. That'd be lovely.
"Plumbing, electrical. TV snaps on and off. Same with the lights." He reaches over and flicks the lights in the room to make his point. He is twelve years old. "Knives in the kitchen. Not sure what good they might do though."
A nod. "John Constantine."
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She huffs out a little laugh to his phrasing and puts the paperweight down, hopping off the desk to swerve around and cross the distance between them. She offers her hand; straight, sturdy. Militaristic.
"Why didn't you say so?" It's only obvious what has perked her up when she brushes past him to look down the hall, finally veering for the kitchen once she's taken a few steps back and forth to figure out where it is.
Jill looks around, straight to the drawers to see what's available.
"Better stop me if you want first pick." What can she say? She likes a good knife.
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He turns with her as she brushes past, following after her. Not that he's worried she'll take the knives. They're just the typical kind of typical ones you'd find in the kitchen anyways. Including the dull bread knives.
"Oh, have at it. I've got more... unusual means of fighting the scary things in the dark." He slips his hands into his pockets. "Now, this might be a bit personal, Valentine, but... most military I've met don't quite wear what you've got."
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She doesn't shake his hand, rather she clasps it. Tight, but not so much that it's a power move. Just a plain greeting.
Jill goes for the biggest and sharpest. It doesn't quite fit in the sheath at her leg easily, but she slips it in with a fluid motion.
"Jill." She interjects and goes to closing the drawer, looking back at him. "No, generally we don't wear things like this at the BSAA. My uniform's much better than this."
Jill leaves it at that without offering any further information.
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Call it being a detective of the occult for so long. The human element tended to be the most important--even if it involved ghouls and demons.
"Jill," he agrees to calling her then. "Not sure if I'd say something's better than what you've got on."
John doesn't even bother hiding the grin on his face.
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Jill walks to the list and lets her gloved fingers run over it. The human element was what she fought for. Could it be like that town in the Caucasus Mountains? Abandoned when the underground laboratories became a problem. When the experiments made their way out.
"Keep your eyes on mine. I can crush a man's skull with my thighs." She hums softly, pleasant. Like it's no big deal. "People matter. But in my experience, they usually aren't people anymore by the time you get somewhere like this."
Jill turns, leaning with her shoulders against the fridge.
"Anywhere we can sit and talk? I've been on my feet, going nonstop for days. Could use a bit of a break."
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He pulls out his lighter, casually opening it and closing it again. She has a point. Though he has a feeling that they haven't had the same sort of experiences. Usually he can save the human element -- usually. Sometimes the sorry sods are too far gone for even him. Sometimes he fucks it up. It all depends, really. Yet, Heaven came to him for help so... that said something.
"Living room," he casually points the way to it. "Or, beds upstairs."
There's a wink, but he's already on his way to the living room. He even sits down on the arm of one of the chairs, rolling his lighter between his fingers as he thinks.
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