villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

Entry tags:

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.

navigation | faq | locations | report updates

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Gull

Having gone to collect and reclaim Dean's record player and a few of the good records that the man had, Raylan carried it all back to the Gull where it could be enjoyed by anyone who happened by it. Real shame the Gull didn't have a jukebox, but this would have to do. He had the perfect spot for it, tucked away on a table all it's own with the record box next to it.

He knew what he was going to play first; something he'd found outside of Dean's collection, a record that had been sitting in 1306 for weeks now. Setting the black disk on the spindle and setting the record needle on, a sweet rich voice filled the empty space with the unique twang of a banjo behind it.

In the deep, dark hills of eastern Kentucky
That's the place where I trace my bloodline
And it's there I read on a hillside gravestone
"You will never leave Harlan alive"..

For the first time since Raylan had arrived in Mathis, there was a drawn, sad reverence about him and his expression as he poured himself a drink, in time with the song. He knew that peace wasn't an option here, but for a few seconds, he could almost smell honeysuckle on a summer night under his nose.

Closed to Negan

Several hours later and half a bottle in to keep his mind's worst corners a little less loud, Raylan had kicked around the two feet of tree line that he could manage the effects of the fog without puking or passing out and found a couple decent sized sticks, as thick as his forearm in their thickest parts. He'd been hoping to find any hint of spring or better yet, mushrooms of the natural edible variety in all this moisture, but as soon as he saw the branch, cracked in half over a rock, he knew exactly what they were for.

Both bits riding on one of his shoulders, hand casually draped over the ends with just enough weight to keep them straight, Raylan went on the hunt for Negan, starting at the house itself and moving outwards. He didn't really expect to find Negan inside, they'd all scattered during the daytime, but it was the most reasonable place to start.

Once he found the man, chin lifted in greeting, he bounced the sticks a little. "Hey. Found a couple of somethin's worth swingin'. Thought it was probably rude to keep it to myself, considerin', and I have to say, the beach has some decent rocks to match."

All Negan's wanted to do is drown himself in as many different ways as possible. Keep busy, keep drinking, keep doing anything that doesn't involve thinking about what it feels like to be torn apart, then burned up, then brought back in a dizzying whirlwind of utter shit.

"Well, goddamn..." Negan wasn't expecting to run into Raylan either, if he's at all honest, but he doesn't mind it when the other man seeks him out. Even less when he's got a ready made distraction with him. Pretty inventive, he's gotta say.

"Be pretty damn rude of me to say no when you've gone to all the trouble of finding two sticks, huh?" He gives a ready grin.

"Lead the way, cowboy."

"Oh yeah. You don't know the burden of wood collection 'round here, real intense," Raylan sarcastically joked, ignoring the very real danger that was there, grinning in return as he turned around and aimed them towards the beach. The fog didn't seem like shit anymore, in comparison, like a night guard they had to be wary of but not afraid of.

"Still can't believe there wasn't one batter in this town, but these'll have to do. I'm guessin' since you coached, you didn't do much of the sports yourself anymore. I've been battin' since elementary and I used to fall back on it in Lexington when I had somethin' on my mind. They were shitty batting cages, but they were batting cages. That, a bottle of Jim Beam and a hours time could almost provide the answer to everythin'."

A familiar process that he'd often used before when too much was on his mind. Seemed sound enough to fall back on.

They both know being outside at all might be a fucking gamble. Hell, being inside too. Nowhere is feeling especially safe nowadays, is it? But who needs to dwell on that shit when you can go hit rocks with sticks of wood, right?

"Oh, you'd be surprised how good I am with a bat." There's a grin. Oh, if Raylan knew he probably wouldn't be inviting him out at all. "But goddamn do I miss batting cages. Even the shitty ones. Guess no one in this town was the type... wonder what those kids that went to that school here did for fucking-- anything."

Not that he wants to think too deeply about what might have happened to any hypothetical kids here. "Didn't peg you for a baseball fan though. Were you good?"

Nowhere was safe. Inside had fireplaces, a new terror he didn't quite know how to swallow to take and whatever was living between the walls, something Raylan had directly connected to the mirror bullshit of the mass kidnapping of the town.. Felt like longer than a week ago.

"That's a dangerous hole - no sports, small town.. Kids bein' the assholes they are." Way to many possibilities, and darker than Raylan would like to let himself think about right now. As dark as his mind was, it would get ugly quick.

"I was. Mighta gone somewhere with it if I hadn't gotten kicked off the team over a fight with another kid.. He threw the ball too hard too close, cracked me right in the head. I woke up to his clets in my face.. responded by swingin' at his knee. Gave him a limp that the world is better for, if I'm bein' honest. Little shitstain he is." Raylan didn't sound and wasn't sorry or bothered by it at all.

"You play in school or is it somethin' you picked up later?" Later/Elsewhere - school wasn't the only in to sports, he was aware.

Fire in general makes something in Negan freeze up now, calls up what it feels like to have fire burn through skin and muscle and all the way to the fucking bone, the pain--

He shakes head to try to clear all those fucking disturbing as hell memories aside and just focus on what Raylan's saying.

"Holy shit... you were a little badass. I'm impressed." He huffs out a laugh. "Some people deserve it."

And some kids were despicable little shits if you let them be. He can't blame a kid sticking up for himself.

"Played a little in school, yeah. I was always the type into sports and shit. Liked to keep busy." He pauses.

"Then the bat came in handy when guns drew in too many of the dead." But that's all he's saying about that. He doesn't want to get too dark here.

Raylan huffed a breath behind a crooked smile and a little bob of his head. He could neither confirm nor deny. "Just a kid tired of takin' a Bennett's shit."

Oh yeah, listen to those small town, back woods family feud goodness.

He nodded at the answer, head tilting with a curious look as he applied that nugget of information to the context he had. "Stayin' busy tends to keep kids outta the bottle-" Aka good job Past Negan, "-bet you never guess it'd get put to that use."

The beach drew up in front of them and Raylan unshouldered one of the sticks, turning it deftly to offer one end out to him. "These are a little long, but I figure you can snap your own wood."

"Ah, so it was extra personal, huh?" Hey, he's familiar with that kinda shit. Before the end of the world, after. Plenty of petty as fuck people who had grudges against one another for whatever goddamn reason.

"Or they just find ways to work it in." He might not have been a shining example of anything when he was younger. He was still a bit of an asshole in high school. "I did not. You'd be surprised what you're capable of when the choices all suck."

Either kill or die.

"Oh, don't you worry... I know a thing or two about handling wood." He takes the stick, giving Raylan a look.

"I want to see what you got, Mr. Batting Cages. C'mon... gotta show me that swing."

"My daddy screwed over their daddy early on. Some scam or drug runnin' they were doin' went south. Arlo probably stole somethin', if I'm being honest." It was always worse when there was money involved but doubly so when it undercut and undermined the controlling clan. Raylan didn't opt to detail most of that part out because it made it sound exactly as bad country novel as it was.

Raylan bobbed and nodded his head at the answer - can't argue much with that logic at all. Life or death demanded some creativity sometimes.

Grinning, Raylan turned his stick over and, using his boot, shortened the thinner, swishier end with a single kick and judged it before propping it over his shoulder to amble over to where some smaller free stones were.

"These are probably better for skippin' but.." He ambled back and found a spot, turning himself towards the sea for all the basic safety he could bother to muster and tossed the stone up in the air, shoulders testing the seams of his jacket as he swung and connected with a crack. The stone flew pretty well but dropped fairly quickly. Raylan bobbed his head.

"Not shabby. Your turn, Coach."

"Shit, man... that is some country crap if I've ever heard it." No judging. Hell, he's heard and been involved in worse over the years than some dumb as shit drug feud. "But shit like that gets ugly... and it doesn't just go away. Usually festers."

He works on getting his own stick ready to go, but his eyes linger on Raylan. He gives an impressed whistle when he manages to hit the stone. "Not bad at all, man. Bet I can do you one better though."

Because what's the point if there's not some friendly goading between guys, right?

But really, he's not sure if he manages to get his own stone to really go much further than Raylan's in the end. "Hah! What do you think of that?"

Raylan chuckled, grinning broadly with a bob of his head. "Yeah well, can't say the hollar doesn't keep to type." Negan might not judge but plenty of other people had and Raylan had built up quite the defense of no fucks given to it.

He could do with some friendly goading and lifted his eyebrows over his grin, gesturing in invitation. "Give'er a pitch, Coach."

Might not have gotten much further but it was far enough. Raylan nodded, lips turning down in a quiet approval before breaking into a grin. "Somehow, I think bettin' between us might be a bad idea. Glad to see all those years in the schoolhouse didn't make your swing go soft."

Never mind all the things that made his swing more vicious; Raylan knew full well how much damage a well placed, well swung hit could do.

"Real shame there isn't a big ass rock out there to swing at for gauge," he mused as he looked over the ground before finding a rock he liked. "Maybe we drag a bit of wood out.."

That's the thing. People are always gonna fucking judge and hold their noses up at shit they think is beneath them without realizing every single goddamn person is the same at their core, capable of the same fucked up shit as the next. The end of the world shows you that much, and just how much people are willing to do.

"Please." He grins. "Like I'd let my fucking skills go rusty. Gotta impress those brats somehow."

And gotta keep it strong for other issues too. "A big ass rock... pretty sure we could go looking for a big ass rock somewhere. Or wood. Plenty of both around here."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe one day we'll luck out and find a goddamn ball for real though. Seriously, who the fuck do we have to sell ourselves to to get some basic shit around here?"

Balls and bats aren't that high tech, goddamn.

See, this was why they got along. Not enough people had that basic kind of understanding.

"Fair enough, fair enough." He wasn't even going to ask the specifics how how it served Negan; what he'd said before was more than enough to answer any question Raylan might have about it with his own dark imagination.

"Mm," he hummed to the idea, eyeing the ocean like it had stolen his wallet. "No idea how deep that bay is though and I dunno where you woke up, but I'm not gettin' in that water until its Ninety five degrees out here, at least," he said, face curling into a smile at the thought, his balls liked having feeling, thanks and he snorted at Negan's colorful lament.

"There's a joke somewhere in there about playing ball-" He'd let Negan find it. "They probably thought sports brought everyone closer to the devil or some backwards ass shit. But hey - we got blessed with real whiskey." Only took blood sacrifices. "Maybe we'll get a Sports Center next."

Day 39 - closed to Neal and Negan

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject