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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When the boys started trickling back through the front door of 1306, Doc had been quietly relieved. Yes, he had shown some signs of life. Some signs of guarded excitement, even. But he gave space for Malcolm to be overwhelmed and comforted, and left no room for himself to be the same. Everyone is going through their own heavy shit. They can't all fall apart, regardless of the tumultuous, raw, cutting emotions rolling around in the pit of his stomach.

So it is with some resolve and an unhealthy amount of repression that he greets Raylan, stony-faced and determined. He stopped tipping his hat at Raylan two weeks ago so when he walks into the Grey Gull he simply walks in, steady footsteps echoing off the aged floorboards. They weren't all in a big rush to get back to 1306 despite the harrowing events two nights ago, but once they were there it was evident that they couldn't wait to get out. The house was empty more often than it wasn't compared to before. It's a damn shame, considering Doc was just starting to think of it as home, but as usual he arrives too late to that conclusion, after everyone else had gone.

"I left no stone unturned searching for Dean Winchester. It seems he is gone, along with his brother, and that angel." Because apparently he would rather talk about every other man in this town than the Marshal standing in front of him.

The nights since they'd come back hadn't been easy, though that didn't discount the eases and comforts they'd been offered and offered themselves, and while he'd twisted over it for a while, come daybreak each day he knew they were going to find a way forwards in it. If Mathis had hoped to break him, she was going to have to try harder.

Not completely unplagued, he'd been spending a lot of time at the Gull and the record player was there, ripping out Tom Petty but anyone who knew Dean knew it wasn't one of the hunter's records. A lot of people had been in and out of the Gull, but Henry hadn't been one of them, generally speaking and Raylan took his being here as something urgent. Something was wrong.

His face pinched at the news, wet rag dropped in favor of a dry one so he could dry his hands as he ambled a few steps closer. "They didn't come back? Did Sam and Castiel die with us or vanish?" He hadn't seen any of the three in the 'other' Mathis but that didn't mean shit.

Doc only comes to the Grey Gull late at night like a paranoid nocturnal squirrel, to take some extra ingredients to add to his little stockpile before the stock replenishes again. He might stop doing that now that they are repurposing the place into something else. Something greater than just a place to raid when their supplies are low. But he isn't sure whether the Winchesters' disappearance is going to put a damper on those plans.

"Dean had-... perished, along with you." Doc still doesn't have a clear picture of what had gone on in 'the other Mathias' but he hasn't felt comfortable asking where people have been reluctant to talk about their experiences there.

"Sam and Castiel had buried him. They are only recently vanished. Or taken. Or-... I don't know." Doc leans back against the nearest table, crossing his legs at the ankles. This past week hasn't had any good tidings to offer at all.

"Miss Claire, stubborn young lady that she is, is likely alone, again, in that house." He would obviously check in on her. That would go without saying. But what they are to do with the missing boys of 1301, if there is anything they could do at all, well. This is why Doc talks to Raylan.

Doc would start to find Raylan here when he wasn't at home, more often than not, in the apartment upstairs that he'd cleaned and reorganized over the day. It wasn't any place private by any means, but when everyone else was in their homes, Raylan bet that it was quiet here. Should he need it.

Raylan frowned at his hands as he finished, draping the towel over his shoulder as he stuck one hand in his pocket and ambled closer, stopping just inside arms reach. He wasn't going to encroach too far, especially not in a public place like the Gull but he wasn't going to make it awkward. He liked Dean, more the longer and more he got to know the man - he'd only met Sam and Castiel once, but he'd been intrigued at these real life bible myths professing their agency. They would have been useful. Maybe that was a little heartless, to look at new faces with a consideration of what they brought the collective, but that kind of mentality helped utilize the resources available.

"We'll keep an eye out for 'em," he promised, him and the proverbial mouse in his pocket. "Though I'm sad to see all of 'em go. They coulda been alright."

He looked down at his boots as he thought about Claire, mind supplying the ugly twist of her face when he'd found her body in the boarding house. "Ellie would be best for her, I think. Maybe the boarding house. She'll want to make the choice herself but you should suggest her options to her. When you check up on her."

In no world would anyone make a decision for her, she'd made that well and clear. With her face still haunting his mind, Raylan folded his arms across his chest and tried to push it and the echoes of his own death that came with it, his addition to the number of dead, aside.

"I suppose it would be too optimistic to hope that those who have vanished had gone home," he muses, tipping his head to one side slightly and scratching his cheek. He would like to think that a better place and time awaited them. But those who had vanished and subsequently returned didn't give him much hope for that.

"Hey." Doc purses his lips and kicks Raylan gently in the side of his shoe. The Marshal - or is he a barkeep now? - looks troubled. "She's as tough as they come. She will be alright." He can't throw everyone at Ellie, much as he would like for her to be looked after, even if the ladies might do well together. And now it is an Ellie and Yennefer thing, not just an Ellie thing.

"Are you planning to proceed on your own here?" Doc asks quietly. Whether he thinks it's a great idea or not, he doesn't let show on his face just yet.

"Yeah, cause luck loves runnin' deep here." He couldn't help the bite of sarcasm and turned his dour expression to the floor til he could school it back into his casual affability. He'd almost managed when Henry kicked his boot and he huffed a breath, lips curling in a natural response.

No, of course. Everything was fine. Raylan nodded, sure that their silent communication was good enough to convey him shoving it all back down under his hat. He took a deep breath as he looked around the bar and lifted his eyebrow, shrugging a little before swinging back to look at the gunslinger.

"For a bit at least." It would give him something to do. Something to tend to that wasn't the house. A place to escape too many eyes if the house got too busy. "Course this is what you did back in Purgatory, right? You got any tips?"

"Sure. Don't be an asshole, for starters," Doc says dryly, unable to drop the smile completely from his face. The general aesthetic with the draped towel and the dressed down attire works fairly well in his favour but honestly Raylan isn't the most outgoing amongst them and sometimes a bit of small talk is the grease that keeps the cogs in this machine turning. You can't please everyone but you're going to have to try and please someone in order for this to work.

"If you can't make conversation last a good thirty minutes you're better off pouring and cleaning in silence. But I suppose it's not like anyone's got a choice goin' anywhere else so I guess it don't really matter how badly you screw this up." Really he should be more supportive - and he is - but what is the point of friendship if not for the gentle ribbing and the brutal honesty?

Raylan snorted, rolling his eyes to the side as he body followed to amble over towards the bar so he reclaim the cold cup of coffee that had cooled there while he was cleaning.

"Hard to break habits of a lifetime," he granted with a glance Henry's way before he slid himself up onto one of the four barstools there. He deserved a break and Henry was welcome to join him off their feet. "If I hold the moonshine hostage, they have to come in here," he jokingly reasoned. "But you're a better talker than I am. Maybe you should work it. I'll just work the kitchen.. once I can do so without gettin' a terror boner."

"Hmmh." Doc slips into the seat next to Raylan, hunching like a seasoned drinker and resting his elbows on the countertop. "If you are confiscating all the moonshine then I would have no choice but to come here everyday, anyway. But I had presumed, perhaps wrongly, that you would have wanted some time and space away from the house, with different company." There must have been a reason why he had chosen Dean Winchester to be his partner in crime. Or at least had agreed to go along, if this was what Dean wanted to do.

"Tell me about this 'terror boner'," Doc asks. "We should work on it. And your social graces. A bit of customer ire surely builds character."

"Cracked my master plan there," he said of the moonshine with a little lift of his cup before he busied his mouth with a drink, bobbing his head in consideration of the idea and ending it with a little shake. "It was just somethin' to do with my hands. Maybe give the town a little life again for some reason."

He couldn't say why that was something he wanted to do; they weren't going to stay here forever and the Gull would, after they were gone, slip back into the dirty disrepair that plagued the rest of the town. Dean had just happened to stumble on him having it at just the right time. For all the good that had done. Well, some good - Raylan couldn't argue that the place got cleaner a hellva lot quicker with the help.

Taking a breath in, Raylan lifted his eyebrows as he starts, eyes themselves never quite making it up past Henry's midsection with the glance over he gave. "Sounds like exactly what it is, though I don't know what that says about me." He shook his head a little again, cup moving around in his fingers. "It's the weirdest fuckin' thing. Anytime I see fire, I.. can barely stop myself from scramblin' away. Except all at the same time, I don't. Like I'm playin' Russian Roulette or somethin' and enjoyin' it and I'm not."

Except madness's tended to override a lot. "Keep findin' myself wanderin' towards the treeline to test the fog, I can't stop thinkin' about it or the fireplace or your goddamned lighter," he sighed, one hand finally coming up to rub at his eyes like he could push the visions of it all out of his head. "I dunno."

Edited 2021-03-12 16:42 (UTC)

"I don't think it that strange." The man had burned. Badly. Died from it. An aversion to fire was only natural. People have rational and irrational fears over far more minor incidents. Avoid dogs if they've been bitten, become averse to horses from a bad fall. Maybe it is a little strange to have this push-pull, attraction-aversion to it all. But men can get reckless after a close brush with death. More so Raylan who had actually died. Twice.

"Hey," he says gently, reaching over behind Raylan's back and giving his further upper arm a firm squeeze, tugging him close for one of those masculinity-reaffirming cowboy bro to cowboy bro side-hugs. Doc won't be lighting one up near Raylan anytime soon.

"The only thing any of this says about you is that you are too hard on yourself. This wasn't ever gonna be easy. It sure ain't sommin' you can just snap yourself out of. Give yourself some time. Some space. Some forgiveness."

Needless to say, there were somethings about Raylan's way of thinking that were, inarguably, backwards. Such as there being any other option than getting back up on the horse that just knocked you off. It was fire, something he'd wielded since he was young - he knew the rules, knew how to handle it safely and -- The broken basic rules of reality offended him, to say the least. There was no adjusting if the rules kept changing.

That's the way madness lay.

He didn't expect the hand, the gentle tug into the side hug and it made his face all the softer around the edges for the effort Henry was putting in. Life habits were a bitch to break and as much as he wished it otherwise, no amount of side hugs were going to make it better.

"Forgiveness I can manage. Space and time?" He shook his head a little. "We're borrowin' both here. And it's the kinda venerability that could get someone else killed." They couldn't afford him the time and space - there was none for men like them, even in an empty town with no one to save.

"But there's somethin'... wrong. I haven't seen it in Negan yet, but I've seen it in Neal. Haven't seen enough of Klaus or any of the rest but.." He shook his head. "Somethin' else happened that I don't understand. Will overrides fear and it feels like that switch got.. flipped. Just.. you can help me out by keepin' your ear to the ground and your eye on all of us." Which was what he'd be doing too, as best he could.

He can understand that compulsion. That unwillingness to indulge in something that could cost them dearly should they not be ready for the next calamity coming their way. Most days Doc has trouble forgiving himself. It is impossible to ask all three of others, however hard he might try.

"I... don't think I understand, either?" Not based on that explanation. "I would keep an eye on all of you." That much should go without saying. It is what they do in this town, in this house. But he's not sure if there was something in particular he needed to be keeping an eye out for.

"What did you see in Neal, exactly? The same thing you are experiencing?"

He could forgive himself the fracture, the weakness itself happening, but not the inability to look at it hard and get over it. He knew where that sprang from and he hated it. Even when he told others to take the time they needed, there was some small part of him that judged them to be acceptably weaker for needing to take it.

Raylan nodded a little, face pinched again as his eyes got lost somewhere in the lower level of the shelves while he searched for the right words. "It's.. a mania. An impulse. An instability, a suspension of better sense. Of actionable reason."

Snapping out of it a little, he glanced over, meeting Doc's eye before he was eyeing his cup again, emptying it after he finished. "We'll have to see if it passes. I sure as hell hope it does. I'll keep you up to date. Can't have you worryin' any more than you already will. We got better things to worry about.. You restockin' everything now that the foods back? We'll be more careful, this time around. Seems like the Honeymoon with Mathis is over."

"Well it's too late for that," he points out casually with a slight tip of his head in Raylan's direction before he settles back properly on his stool, both elbows on the countertop gazing off in a similar direction even if his gaze isn't settling on the shelf. He is already worrying. Worrying is what he does. Whether he is spinning one or twelve plates of worry, he is still worrying. What is one or two more plates to add to the Mathias circus show? Not much more to add to the load.

"And here I thought I had a reason now to keep you handcuffed to the bed," he jokes with a wistful-sounding sigh, trying to lighten some of Raylan's load whilst making approximately zero mention of Last Night. It'll be fine. Doc will know to keep an eye out on them now, stop them from leaping into stupid as best he can.

"I have started again, yes." Nobody's mentioned the holes in the wall adjacent to the new screwholes that haven't been plastered over yet, which either means nobody's looked too closely or they were sparing Doc the need to excuse his snapping with some pointless lie about how the little quake shook the shelf loose from where it had been screwed into the wall.

"Taking only what is left over at the end of the day. I do not wish to build a safety net out of depriving anyone of anything they want to take for themselves." If other people who might be starting their own little hoard wish to do so, that is their business.

"And I would no longer take from this place either, if you are looking to build something of it." Raylan can't run anything out of the Grey Gull if the place is constantly getting looted.

"Though perhaps, until it passes, you might want to spend more time in the house. This place will... probably still be here then."

That was fair. They'd been worrying John Henry Holliday since he got attached to the lot of them. Maybe he'd rethink that in the future. Raylan hoped he wouldn't - they were all the better for Doc being there.

"Not sure you need a reason," Raylan joked back, unashamed since there was no one else there to overhear or see them being within spitting distance of honest about what they'd done the night before. It'd be a lie to say Raylan's ass didn't throb a little in appreciation every time he thought about it.

Having not been over in 1307 since they'd gotten trapped there, Raylan only had the suggestion of drywall dust on Doc's everything, and he could guess what that meant. Regardless, when he did find out about the damage, he'd go about trying to fix it wordlessly. They were allowed their breaks.

"Smart." Kind even but he wasn't sure that Henry would appreciate it being called out so starkly. "But the food ain't that important. I still think that we should leave a little somethin', in case a new soul wanders in."

Raylan's lips curled a little as he eyed Henry sidelong, hazel eyes halfmoons over the amusement. "You sure?" It was just a joke. He nodded. "I won't wander too far. Not outside Phillips Drive after maybe tomorrow.." He wanted to hunt down Will Graham at some point.

"So long as you can promise the same. Leave a note or somethin' if you plan on bein' out for more than a few hours maybe. Just to let us know." He wouldn't even joke that they might not worry - Raylan felt more protective of Doc now than he had before, the way Mathis had been jerking them about, the way he relied on the solid, equally stoic presence next to him. Last night not withstanding.

Doc leans over closer, dropping his voice to barely more than a low whisper-threat even though there's no one else here to listen in on them.

"Give me a reason to put you under house arrest and I'll make you scream for your Worchestershire sauce," he drawls before shooting Raylan a knowing look and pulling back slowly. Flirting is always easy. Not so easy to address Last Night directly, and he's of the mind that not mentioning it meant Raylan didn't have any pressing complaints to file about the rough (but possibly enjoyable) time he had, although he would be willing to talk if Raylan wanted to go there.

His gaze settles back ahead of him as they slip easily back into talking about business. Usually he likes keeping his hands occupied with a drink or a cigarette but he might hold off on the former for now and save the latter for when he's out of Raylan's hair. No need to spook the old man.

"We'll keep an eye out for the new folk, though I'm. I'm not always much in the mood for herding them." That's more to do with all this death and undeath than last night though. It's not like you can die for a day and come back and act like nothing happened. Even if the two of them are acting exactly as though nothing happened.

"I do have a penchant for taking off without a word, but I will leave a note," he promises. Maybe he'll keep one of those colourful square pads of paper that's got a sticky strip and a few pens on the side table near the entranceway, remind himself to write something and stick it on the back of the door on his way out.

"But I will try and stay close by, least until whatever this is passes. Be at your beck and call until you annoy the shit outta me."

That whisper-threat, however far away from his ear, Raylan could still feel across it, like Doc was still mounted over him as as much as he would have liked to have hidden the subtle shiver it sent through his shoulders, he couldn't. Right in the daylight, mentioning that? Scandalous. Thank god Raylan wasn't a blusher in his old age. He was only willing to talk about it because there was no one else in the building. The second someone walked in, the topic would be dropped like a hot iron.

"I do that, we're gonna need provisions and an empty house that we can wreck our way across." Yes, he enjoyed it. Despite all his expectations, he ached in the best way that, if he thought about too long, he would have to excuse himself to distraction. What enjoying it meant was.. something to be debated and chewed over, if looked at at all.

"I can help with the herding. Despite your utterly disparaging comments about my social and customer service skills, I'll have you know the Marshal's service likes sending me in, most'a the time, to use this sweet smooth accent and half decent mug to diffuse and resolve situations that would otherwise be immensely volatile. I think I can manage the new comers-" By virtue of not really giving a shit if they liked him or not, welcome to hell?? "- and a bar. Though that offer to give you bar time wasn't an empty one.."

Since Doc always needed something to do with his hands that wasn't lovingly trying to break his arm.

"My beck and call, huh?" Oh the devilish look Raylan slid Doc's way. "Careful what you offer there cowboy, I just make take you up on it." But he knew what Doc meant and thank god because Raylan knew that he wouldn't have enough in him to herd what their house had become by himself. For a man that lived in a single, sad motel room for more years than he'd like to admit, their house was more full than he'd ever dealt with before. He imagined it was the same with the man next to him, considering how often he was on the move.

"I seem to recall coming upon an empty house just sometime yesterday," Doc muses. He didn't miss that reaction he managed to get out of Raylan but he didn't push, didn't mention that maybe he'd prefer taking a Marshal rather than a pipe wrench to a wall, didn't linger on the topic or speak at any great length about yesterday, or last night, or any of what happened. It had been joked and alluded to that Doc could have anyone anytime he wanted, and while he's flattered by the notion, it really has taken him this long to give in to who he wanted. He doesn't want to mess a good night up by being too glib.

"Tch. What accent?" he scoffs, the way friends who frequently give each other shit are wont to do. "You mean every time Mister Caffrey gives you a blank stare because he can't understand what you just said?" No comment about the mug. Those faint scars add a certain ruggedness that will certainly be a conversation starter for any lady with a working pair of eyes.

"I will come by, often," he promises. That is part of what being at Raylan's disposal entails. He will split his time with their brewery, the willows, raiding vacant houses to add to their stockpile, and here. Though he would also rather be around in relatively close orbit of the house if Raylan is going to be here for long stretches of time. At least anyone staying in the whole day will see one cowboy popping in and out, in case anything happens.

"Have to say. This house is more responsibility than I have ever had." Even when he had the bordello, things were different. The ladies looked after him sometimes. He had always felt ready to leave at a moment's notice, even when he was running a business. This place though has him longing to stay, put down his roots. Fill up half a cupboard with his flannel shirts. Unpack his bag. Maybe it wouldn't hurt, just leaving one or two things of his lying around. Maybe that snowglobe on the fireplace mantle could really be his, just like Malcolm insisted.

"Would hate to leave you to it, all to your lonesome. Even after you get over whatever this is." They don't own or run the house, but that sense of the weight of it on their shoulders is almost palpable. He wouldn't want to kick a leg out from under them after throwing everything they've got into it.

Raylan's eyebrows lifted in an interested 'Well how about that', clearly socking the musing away for the next time they felt like dancing. He'd rather Doc not take out any more walls full of useful materials if he could help it; they both minded the shortages in their own way.

He grinned at 'What accent' and tonged his teeth a little before bobbing his head, smile still broad. "For all the speed New York is accustomed to havin', cut off a few G's and he's lost. It's almost adorable."

Neal wasn't used to just how quick those words could come if Raylan was pissed off or had a point to make. The smile came back down a few notches as Raylan hummed an acknowledgement at the confirmation and a sidelong look that did no work to hide the playful fondness in Raylan's eyes before he pointed it back towards his cup.

"Good to hear, 'cause it wouldn't be the same without ya. I'm used to mindin' people, just not all under one roof. In the name of full transparency, I didn't plan on havin' anyone livin' with me here. 1307 was the furthest from all of 'em I could get." If it wasn't for Doc, Raylan couldn't imagine the house being what it was now. Filled with the people it was now. No moonshine party to get Malcolm snapping on their kitchen floor, no slow collection and adoption of Neal and Negan - no matter how Doc felt about the man, something Raylan still wasn't clear on - it all tied back to the gunslinger.

"Things are better this way.. And I'm sure I'll.. get over it." Find a way to get over it, whatever, same thing. "Just.. gotta find the right bat to swing at the problem is all. We got other things to worry about, right?"

"I wasn't planning on outstaying my welcome either," Doc confesses quietly. He figured it was a bit of hospitality that their customs had decreed necessary to build good relations and extend their grace and blessings unto others. "It had not been my intention to take advantage of your courtesy, but the moonshine needed tending to, one day rolled over to the next. And then Malcolm came into our home."

Doc doesn't dwell on the implications of that. Easy to dismiss it as a slip of the tongue.

"Is it too much?" he asks quietly but earnestly. It had not been his intention to herd the strays, either, they kind of just followed him home really, but Malcolm has more friends in the house and that can't be a bad thing. If he wants to make room for said strays that is his own business, but the fact that he'd inadvertently made Raylan give up his own space isn't lost on him.

"I figured that was why you might've come here. Maybe it got to be too much." Or, who knows. Maybe grappling with death wrestling with angels has made everything be a bit too much right now.

Raylan looked over at the question and settled his hand over Henry's wrist, gripping there with a gentle insistence that he wouldn't have ignored while his heart was trying to claw his way into his throat. If he could convey how much he needed and wanted Henry next to him in this legitimately crazy fucking world through that grip alone, he would have, but questions asked demand being answered.

"It's not too much. And there's no limit on your welcome either, you didn't overstay anythin'. I-.. I wanted the company. I needed it." He knew for a fact Doc did too. "I don't regret the house growin' into what it is." Even if he was displaced and set back adrift for it. A bit reluctantly, Raylan pulled his hand back, not wanting to seem clingy or over-sincere in a way that would drive Henry back into that Hat of Habits.

"I do miss the quiet of it though." Something he did get here. "As comfortin' as all the sounds of everyone is.." He somehow felt in the way sometimes in a way he didn't like. He took a deep breath and pushed his coffee cup away. "I lived in a shitty motel room for the last two years. I think it'd be easier if I had a reliable door to call my own is all." A place to fall apart behind. They'd secured that, once.

Raylan looked over. "But don't ever think that you shouldn't be gettin' comfortable. I'm not goin' anywhere. I hope you aren't either." It wasn't a profession of love, but Raylan knew that card was unplayable. He couldn't factor it in, despite everything. Too much sway to be had there, sway he didn't want to deploy. Let Henry make his own decisions.

"If I'm left to drink all this moonshine to myself, I'll be in three more graves before the season is over."

Doc was not at all expecting the touch so he seems surprised, straightening up just a bit even though he doesn't move his hand away. Coupled with those quiet confessions he doesn't know what to make of it. Apart from the fact that he probably didn't have this same kind of courage to confront these thoughts and feelings in Raylan's company, give them a life of their own if he were to say these things aloud.

"Can I make that space for you again?" he offers. Doc's been alone for so long the last thing he wants to do is be alone. But sometimes that's the only thing he wants to do. And if there's just the one thing you want to do, it don't really matter if it's first thing on the list or the last. Everyone needs some alone time, this much is easy to understand. And if Raylan felt he didn't have a space to do it then it would only make sense to create one for him.

"I would stay. Although, you shoulda led with moonshine." Much easier and safer to defuse a hairy emotion-laden conversation with some lighthearted commentary about their drinking as if it's the only way into John Henry's heart.

He wasn't sure whether the straightening was a good or bad thing until Henry spoke and when he did, Raylan didn't hear any judgement or subtle admonishment for having given those soft little confessions. A lot of things were new to Raylan here in Mathis, but this calm acceptance that didn't challenge the machoisms he felt the need to hoist up was one of the strangest. One that had wormed its way beneath and between those self-defensive measures with a subtly that allowed him to turn a blind eye to it happening in some fractured hope that this time, he wouldn't get kicked around just for being there.

"I'll remember that for next time," he huffed with a faint pull of a smile that stayed for the most part, barely curling the edges of his lips. "I'm not sure how we'd go about it, short of tellin' Neal to bunk with Negan and takin' back the master. I'll be fine without it, if it ain't somethin' that can be done at home. Gives me a reason to go on more walks or end up here for a few hours. S'long as I know people at the house are safe."

With what Mathis had thrown at him, handling not having a door to be alone behind was the least of his real concerns. It wasn't that important, in the grand scheme of this place. But if he could steal a few moments here and there, he was sure he could get through.

"And maybe I find a door in an empty house now and then." One that Henry could join him behind, should they ever get that kind of chance again. Raylan wasn't counting any chickens before they hatched. "After leavin' a note, of course."

Maybe he could give Raylan the garage. The garage is already theirs, anyway, when they don't go out onto the porch to drink, or when they're building something. Nobody else goes in there. He could do it up nicer, give a warm corner to Raylan.

Doc will give it some thought as to how to go about that. For now they can maybe use the Grey Gull for that purpose. Even if shit goes sideways while he's here, he'll have plenty of food to tie him over, furniture to block the entrances and exits with until it's safe for them to reunite in the house again.

That loaded suggestion gets one eyebrow raised and a small smile flashed at Raylan's direction. Two can play at the coy game.

"Maybe I'll come find you then." A small, nonchalant shrug. "In case you want the company. A big old empty house all to your lonesome. Might be a good place to... bang your problems out."

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