villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

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037-040 » the reason for time

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias
WHEN: Day 037-040
WHAT: The dead return and the living wake to changes within Mathias Township.
WARNINGS: Some explicit sexual content in threads. (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Kammarheit "Sleep after Toyle, Port after Stormie Seas"

DAY 037
THE DEAD RETURN
“The only reason for time is so that everything
doesn't happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
The dead return to Mathias forever changed by their experiences. Waking along the beach, near the tree line, or among the graves, they will find that their bodies are not as they remember them. They are whole again and not torn to shreds by the shadow creatures that cannot be described, but they are also not as they were before the Hunt. These residents will find, so strangely, that their bodies are in the physical state in which they first arrived in Mathias — any injuries or recovery they have made since their initial arrival no longer exists, as if their time in Mathias has simply been a horrible nightmare. Except they all now carry a last reminder of the Hunt with them: spiderweb-thin healed scars marking their injuries from the Hunt. Those who were injured by fire in the other realm also carry those burns with them.

The dead are not the only things that have returned to Mathias. Inexplicably, fall is back, with the temperature finally reaching above freezing and snow falling from trees to reveal beautiful autumnal colors. As the sun rises higher in the lightly cloudy sky and the day warms, the snow begins rapidly melting, puddles growing in the slowly revealed grass and little rivers forming in the streets. And with that snow comes the frozen blood from the deaths to the Hunt, tinting the street river on Phillips Drive a sickening shade of red.

Another oddity that residents will notice: houses with broken windows from the encounter with the fog on Day 015 have now been completely repaired, though any boards put in place are still there somehow. A small bit of good news, at least? And truly, how kind of Mathias to clean up its own mess.

Finally, alcohol is back. Enjoy in moderation, friends, for more will not be arriving the following morning.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's quite chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. Indeed, their timing is perfect, for alcohol has finally returned to Mathias Township — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

DAY 038-039
THE CHANGE OF SEASON
The continued warm weather proves that the unseasonable shift of the previous day was not merely a fluke. Once again, the sun rises and brings with it a temperature that feels almost spring-like, save for the fact that each day there seem to be more and more leaves on the trees in hues of red and orange. For those who have been in Mathias for some time, this new type of weird may be almost normal at this point, but newer arrivals will likely find it quite odd.

The gently trickling river running along Phillips Drive is still somewhat pink in color as the snow continues to melt and refreeze each night. By Day 040, the bloody snow will finally be gone completely, though the relief will be... short-lived.

DAY 040
THE BLINDING WHITE
In the late morning of Day 040, when the sun is visible through patchy greyish clouds, the fog sweeps into town like a like a tidal wave. It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. Rather than a soft blanket enveloping the town, it is a heavy weight pressing down, blotting out the sky in a way that almost feels suffocating, for none can see further than their outstretch hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in.

Unlike the last time the fog swept into the town, residents who encounter it are not immediately killed. Instead, they are simply disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

By nightfall, the fog still has not dissipated.

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE WEATHER conditions are fairly typical for late fall: chilly "sweater weather" days and nights that can dip just below freezing. You don't want to be outside without a coat, but it won't kill anyone if they bundle up. Probably.

— 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 western 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 blocking these areas is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Castiel and Sam Winchester have vanished, and Dean Winchester has not returned with the others after his death during the Hunt.

— THE GRAVEYARD has now seen around a dozen burials, both below and above ground. With the weather warming, though, something may need to be done about the handful of temporary graves aboveground...

— ALCOHOL has returned to Mathias! A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull has also been restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. Alcohol does not replenish in the same way as food.

— THE GREY GULL has been cleaned up and stocked with moonshine. Along with the newly restocked usual offerings, the place almost seems like an actual bar again.

— THE GENERAL STORE is in a bit of a state following the brutal slaughter of two residents during the Hunt. Cleanup on aisle 3, anyone?

OOC NOTES

— FOOD is now being mysteriously restocked as per usual, including inside homes and at the General Store. Alcohol is not being restocked. Use those rationing skills, friends.

— REWARD REDEPEMPTION is back and will soon have a new option for anyone looking to spend big AP and learn a bit more of the lore of the town.

— MADNESSES due to the Hunt have been earned by Klaus Hargreeves, Ellie, and Malcolm Bright and may now be claimed. Players may also claim additional sanity loss from the aftermath of the Hunt; only losses from the Hunt itself have been deducted from totals thus far.

— SANITY REGAIN is now available! Players will submit a form with some details of the progress their character has made and the mod will review and decide on the numbers of points that will be regained.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that 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.

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Looking up, Malcolm could see there was some sort of struggle going on in him, but he had no context to understand what it might be. He got to his feet, letting the tub fill behind him as he turned his attention to Raylan, reaching for his shoulder.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked softly.

Raylan worked a fist at his side, unfamiliar with this particular type of feeling, this fear. He kept his eyes down, locked somewhere on Malcolm's thighs as the smaller man stepped in and chewed over if he should admit to such pointless vanity.

It took him a long second to say anything.

"Tell me how bad it is.. My face."

“Your face?” Malcolm reached up and pushed Raylan’s bangs back, raking fingers through his hair. “Well, when we found you, most of it was... missing. The marks only seem to be on the seams, as it were, and they’re very faint.” He traced one along Raylan’s jaw with his fingertips. “It’s barely worse for wear. Still stunning to look at,” he assured. Nothing like the mess he’d last seen. “All chiseled bone structure and smoulder.”

His head lifted a little with the rake of fingers through his hair, eyes coming up to meet Malcolm's as he made his evaluation. Even considering the bias he knew Malcolm had, the feelings he had, he trusted that Malcolm would give it to him straight. The word 'seams' made his brow bounce into a passing faint pull, easily placated by the compliment that followed.

Raylan huffed a breath that would have, normally, come with a little smile but his lips only pulled towards it before abandoning the effort.

"If they're there... logic follows they're gonna be across my chest too.." Which was why he hadn't gotten any further than his undershirt. Equally sprawling scars like a decoration above a still healing gunshot wound on his lower side. Malcolm would get to see all of it in the light of the bathroom. Raylan had never cared before but he wasn't sure he was ready to assess just how much of him bore new scars.

Malcolm nodded. “And your abdomen.” He didn’t have to look. “It gutted you; I cleaned up the mess while Doc burned Negan.”

He slid his hands across Raylan’s waist, then grasped the bottom of his undershirt and pushed it up, to tug it off over his head.

“They’re not bad either,” he said, hand ghosting over one. “Not... just compared to the last time I saw it,” he clarified. “They’re not really scars; they’re not ugly or dark. Just the faintest lines.”

His fingers found the bullet hole. “This one is worse, honestly.”

‘Seams’ was really the most accurate word for the new ones.

“You got hit in a fire fight?”

Raylan let out an uneven little breath, eyes closing as his brain helpfully supplied when that had to have happened, connecting it to what he actually remembered. "I don't remember feelin' anythin' after the first swing.. Just heard myself..." Screaming.

He lifted his arms, letting his shirt be peeled off, one hand coming to settle around Malcolm's waist as the inspection continued. It was easier somehow, to get the news from Malcolm than to grope around and find out himself. He was relieved that they weren't bad, weren't marring, but it felt like for what they had suffered, the scars should be worse.

Raylan looked down as Malcolm's finger found his most recent bullet hole. How was that wound so much uglier than the rest? When had that happened? It wasn't his only bullet scar, but they did always look worse before the tissue settled.

"A standoff with the Bennet Family. They had a little girl inside, Loretta.. Almost.. two months ago now.. We had to talk Loretta down from shootin' Mags Bennet in cold blood for killin' her daddy. If it wasn't for the Marshal's Service, pretty sure I woulda caught more than one.."

"That's what friends are for," Malcolm murmured about the Marshals before lifting his eyes from the bullet wound to Raylan's face. "Did you save the girl?"

"Didn't know they were comin'," he admitted quietly. He'd gone by himself into that firefight, just as surprised at the Marshal's coming to back him up as he was by the way everyone here rallied around to search and hunt for each other.

It still felt strange.

He nodded. "Talked her outta puttin' the gun down. Got her out.. Mags Bennet and I sat at a table, me bleedin' out, her old as hell breathin' heavy.. Poured us some of her apple moonshine.. Except hers was laced with cyanide. She wasn't gonna go out in cuffs or prison." There was a respect there, under his tone. The unwillingness to go quietly or the way anyone else wanted them to. It was right, for them.

"Tubs gonna overflow," he pointed out gently.

Malcolm was watching his face while he talked, all but forgetting there was a tub in the room and that was what they had come for.

He shifted out of Raylan's grasp to turn off the water and let a little out so it wouldn't make a mess when Raylan got in.

He gestured to the door awkwardly. "Do you need help or do... you want me to go? I can... wait downstairs or something."

Raylan was sure he qualified for some kind of help, considering everything he'd just been through but he didn't need any help getting into the tub or washing, not that he really intended to do much of the latter. He shook his head.

"You don't have to go if you don't want. Not like you're seein' anythin' you haven't before," he granted as he dropped his boxers, trying and failing to summon a little levity from the gnawing emptiness inside him. Stepping around Malcolm and into the tub with a groan, Raylan slowly lowered himself down to sitting and leaned back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed.

"Don't plan on movin' for a while, so if you went downstairs, you'd just be sittin' by yourself for too long. I'll.. be fine.. if you wanna go home. Make sure Neal and Negan are.. " Well, no one was okay. He'd say breathing but he realized he didn't know if Negan was even back. "We seen him? Negan?"

"I haven't seen him yet."

A beat.

"But I don't. Want to go."

He glanced around the room, like the walls or the ceiling or the light fixture could hold the answer to anything, then he looked at Raylan, trying to summon any tiny amount of boldness he could muster.

"Do you want... company?" he asked, gesturing towards the tub.

Did he mean in the tub? Raylan looked into the surface of it thoughtfully, his legs distorted by the water itself. He didn't want to be alone, he just didn't want to be around what felt like a million people. He didn't want Malcolm to leave, however pathetic the urge might have been. He'd also never been in a bath with another man, but he would rather take a solid warm body against him than just next to him.

In answer, Raylan lifted a hand towards him in invitation. "Might be a little tight but I think we can make room. Can't promise I'll wash your hair though."

"I might wash yours," he said with a hint of a cheeky look. He unbuttoned the red flannel shirt he was wearing and hung it almost reverently on the robe hook, then slid off his track pants, tossing those on the floor. He climbed into the bath, between Raylan's knees, and shifted so he was sitting on his hip, so he could rest his head against Raylan's chest, where he could hear his heartbeat.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he listened to the sound of Raylan's life and inhaled the scent of his skin.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, hand splayed just below his collarbone.

"Maybe in a shower," Raylan granted, lips ghosting towards a smile before that too fell away. Shifting his legs here and there, knees going up to the side, Raylan wrapped his arms around Malcolm and rested his lips on his head. It was the weirdest comfort he'd ever gotten, but it was effective, letting some of the worry weight that hadn't moved off his chest since he'd died the first time start to dissolve at the edges.

He took a deep breath and let it out, almost contentedly, at the question, eyes closing as he let the warmth of the water and Malcolm sink into him. Yes, this was perfectly okay.

"Is that my shirt you were wearin'?"

Malcolm pressed his lips together for a moment, feeling the prick of tears he'd shed on and off since the massacre threaten again.

He swallowed them.

"I missed you."

It wasn't, he supposed, too forward a thing to say when they were curled around each other in a bath.

"I looked everywhere for you and Henry," Raylan whispered in response. It was sweet and heartbreaking all in the same breath, that Malcolm would wrap himself up in one of Raylan's shirt while he was gone. Like he was being kept close just in case. Raylan was glad it could help someone.

"Until I realized neither of you were there. Til I accepted.." The fact that he had legitimately died. That they weren't ever going to be there in that red, odd in between world.

"I missed you too darlin'. I'm sorry for.." All of it. "Makin' you worry so much."

Malcolm's hand tensed slightly where it lay on Raylan's chest.

"Please don't be sorry. What happened couldn't be stopped; not by any of us."

He lifted his head and looked at Raylan's face for a moment, his own eyes a little watery, his own expression a little fragile, then leaned in and kissed him gently.

What if he was anyway? It wasn't something he could so easily discard; he could only imagine the shit he'd hoisted onto them because he decided to stand outside at that wrong time. It wouldn't have been so bad if Death wasn't the consequence.

He lifted his head as Malcolm did so he could look down into his face and take in the held back tears in Malcolm's eyes. As he was kissed, he brought a hand up to cup Malcolm's face, keeping him there so Raylan could steal an extra few when it broke.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Everything's fine now."

It wasn't but it was a lie he could accept telling.

As Raylan kissed him back, then kissed him again and again, Malcolm melted against him, hand sliding from his collarbone up over his shoulder, like he was holding on to a life raft.

"I know you... have a lot to process, but. I'm glad you're here. I'm... " He frowned faintly. "You looked for us?"

His brain was just catching up to some of the things Raylan had said.

"How did you... where were you? I thought you were dead. You... looked for us?"

When the last of them broke, Raylan kept his hand along Malcolm's face for a long moment before sliding it over his shoulder and down his arm. 'A lot' felt like an understatement, but he wasn't sure there was an accurate word for the loom of it all. Here though, he could shove all that on the other side of the bathroom door until he crept out of it again.

Raylan nodded a fraction. "We.. did. Die. We died." It was hard to say, which is why it had taken him 10 hours, two deaths, and a hot bath (apparently) to wrest it loose from his lips. If he said it, it had to be so. It was real, it wasn't some never ending nightmare.

"But there wasn't any.. white light or empty darkness. Just Mathis.. Covered in red.." His voice got faraway again as he took an unevenly drawn breath, brow pinching faintly. "The sky, the moon, the light, the-... the air," he emphasized with a sudden intense kind of focus on Malcolm's eyes, like he could just push the memories over somehow. "Like we'd soaked the place in it."

"They soaked you in it," Malcolm told him, his grasp on Raylan's shoulder tightening. "Th..." He trailed off.

You're doing it again, he told himself.

He gave Raylan another kiss. "I'm sorry. That's a lot to go through."

Raylan shook his head, fingers coming up to Malcolm's face again. "Doesn't matter. Soaked it in us, we soaked it." It wasn't about who did the killing, who deserved blame. Whoever was, the world had been soaked in it.

"I found it. The lodge," he relieved quietly, not content to end it with apologies and attempts to move through it. There was too much. He had to linger. Malcolm, stuck here with him, was forced to suffer the linger with him. For all it had inflicted, it hadn't come without some small prize.

Edited 2021-03-02 03:39 (UTC)

Malcolm would suffer a bathtub of piranha with him if that was what he needed, but the information? He was interested in that. His face lit a little as his eyes scanned Raylan's face.

"You did? Where?"

"Across the chasm. Not where we can get to it here but.. The fog wasn't there. In the In-between. I followed it north for about a half hour and there it was. I'm sure it's the mansion that I was stuck in. I know it was." He knew in his gut but he trusted his gut.

"I couldn't get across but.. It still exists. It's there. If the fog is still here, we know some of what's behind it."

Edited (IT NOT HIM) 2021-03-02 03:50 (UTC)

"It seems like they must be hiding it for a reason, but they let a bunch of you inside it," Malcolm said, his fingers fidgeting absently at Raylan's shoulder as the wheels of his mind turned. "If the fog lifts..." He looked at Raylan's face again. "We're going to need a bigger bridge." His expression faltered a little. "It might tell us something more definitive. Instead of just. Wild guesses."

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