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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[He made a poor sight. She had seen men like this before and been in a similar position. Listening to his breathing, something she became adept at as a midwife, it was obvious that he was finding his way through a sharper fog than what was outside.

She was mending in the Gull, taking advantage of the quiet and the supplies. He hadn't noticed her when he arrived, but that wasn't much of a shock. When you didn't speak, it was easy to be overlooked. One of the few advantages, she found.

Eventually, it was clear that he wasn't holding together as well as he could be. Feeling a bit uneasy about spying on him, she approached with an already written note for him:]

You all right?

[It was early. Normally far too early for someone to be in the Gull, but apparently today was the day that changed. It set him full of unease that he didn't see her. He wasn't the kind to overlook anything, being the Marshal that he was.

He started sharply, inhaling through his nose as she came in on approach, sense snapping back to reality. He frowned a little, brows knitting at the note she was holding out. Mathis being what she was, this was all a little.. Well, fucking spooky.

He almost expected the note to written in blood.]

I-

[He looked back up at her, unsure if she was real.] Who are you?

[No. He was not all right, no matter how hard he would try to hide it.]

[She had to scribble in the answer at the corner, as she drew the bottle away from the counter. There were enough supplies that she could whip up something for him to eat. Given how much he was drowning his sorrows, he would need something in his stomach to offset the liquor. So she went about the task quietly, cutting a few vegetables before putting them to simmer in a pot.]

Liz Brundy.

[It would take a few minutes, but the smell might be enough to help ease his mood a bit. Something about home cooking, she found, often soothed even the most hardened of men. He wasn't going to understand her, but she signed instinctively:]

You need to eat.

[Patting her stomach, she pointed to the kitchen, hoping he'd catch on to what she was doing.]

[Raylan stopping to read the short scribble cost him catching that Liz had grabbed his bottle until she was already walking away and towards the kitchen. He considered protesting but at the last second, opted not too, eyes narrowing uncertainly.

Long legs ambled him down the short hallway that held the stairs up to the apartment and to his right, the door of the office and he stopped just at the threshold of the kitchen.

He had to keep it together, the itching restlessness in his legs that had him tapping his fingertips against his hip, thumb hooked in his pocket. Even when freestanding, Raylan stood like he was leaning. His brain gave him images of the fire jumping, catching her clothes, curling up her hair--

Her gesture forced him to focus on reality again, blinking the fire from discoloring her skin, face pinching a little.]

Sign language.. I see those on TV, any official government broadcast. Never got around to learnin' myself. You're cookin'. Soup? Stew? You're lucky- [As he continued, his free hand thumbed the horseshoe ring there anxiously, trading that movement for the taps on his hip.] -food wasn't restockin' past couple of days. We're gonna have to be careful.

[He's anxious. It's obvious in his body movement and in the tone of his voice. Trauma was something easy to recognize in someone when you suffered in similar ways. There was always something in the eyes, emotion that was held back or walled off. It was like a freshly dug grave with the rich soil thrown over. You would always know by looking at it that something was recently buried, but might not stay that way for long.

She went to his side and put her hand on his arm, guiding him to where she had gathered a few bowls. She held out a cloth for him and gestured to the bowls. They would need at least a good cleaning before being used. Some had gathered a bit of dust, certainly not something she would allow on her table.

She made a washing gesture. If he was anxious, this would keep his hands busy and let him focus on something other than whatever was troubling him. Nothing like hard labor to keep the demons away.

And it was better than letting him drown himself completely in a bottle. She would put him to work instead.]

[His eyes danced between her and the flame, brow pinching only slightly as she took his arm. Raylan let her lead him, eyes darting back towards the oven with a clear panic even his practice years of repression couldn't hide, hazel eyes almost wild before they settled on the bowls in front of him. The cloth got a gently confused look but he took it none the less and nodded mutely.

He was sure they were clean, but that didn't matter. The movement was helpful, giving his hands something to do other than fidget.]

If you're willin', I'd like to learn. The sign language. I imagine it's easier than writin' all the time.

[It was only a little odd to have this one sided conversation that wasn't one sided at all. He was used to silence, but not silence as a response. He'd get used to it.]

[She watched him for a time with the patience and gentleness of a mother, used to putting her children to work for their own good. When it seemed that he was calmed a bit, she returned to cooking, letting the savory aroma fill the kitchen. It should be strong enough to pierce through the haze of alcohol, no matter if he had far too much or not enough.

She slid her pad of paper towards him, having scribbled an answer for him:]

I can teach you. I have been looking for a book as well in the library, but no luck so far.

[It was a kind offer though. She certainly missed having an interpreter to help speed things along.]

[It should have bothered him more, the comfort that came with it, but it reminded him of Helen after a fashion. Get in her way in the kitchen, you were either conscripted or cussed out of the room with a fond frustration that he imagined some might not understand the mix of. The food smelled good, his stomach grumbling despite himself, as he worked.

He paused to read it and nodded.]

Seems like Mathis likes to strip this place of anything useful, unfortunately. But I can't imagine that writin' everythin' is easy.

[Raylan looked over at her, focused more on her than the fire she stood in front of and grateful that the fire stayed where it belonged for now.]

You okay if I ask a few questions? Normally there'd be a back and forth that I'd slip 'em in but..

[If she nodded yes, he'd continue.]

You don't feel very modern. Where and when are you comin' from? Have you always been mute? I've heard of people goin' blind or deaf later in life for various reasons, can't imagine that being struck mute isn't also a thing, somewhere..

I have never heard of Mathis before. Where is this place?

[The explanation was likely going to be a long and complicated one, but it would allow her enough time to finish making the stew. After a few minutes, she collected a few of the bowls he cleaned and poured a bit of soup into them, adding a piece of bread on the side. The sort of fare she enjoyed in the wilderness with her family. It would be hearty and soak up the alcohol, as well as add a bit of clarity for him. He seemed like he needed it.

She accepted his questions with a nod, writing out the answers quickly before sliding him the pad again.]

I forget the year. 1850s. We didn't keep track back home.
I live near Bismuth out west.
I lost my tongue a few years back.

Edited 2021-03-26 00:40 (UTC)

Best as we can tell, it's a small secular fishing town in the northeast of the country. But all the paperwork we've found hasn't had anythin' to confirm it. It used to have people livin' here.. Pretty obvious by the houses, I suppose, but it seems that they.. vanished. Or something. About middle of the 1990's. Haven't found anythin' that dates past that yet. It's an old town though, established in the 1770's I think. We don't know much about the history of the place, outside the fact that it.. had a...

[He had to set the bowl in his hands down as they threatened to start shaking. He couldn't say it without unleashing images he didn't want to see in his head.]

A tragedy.

[Better.

The rag was dropped onto the counter and he gathered both bowls with a little jerk of his head towards the small 2 person table that the kitchen area held that he headed towards, setting the bowls down on either side before sitting down with a heavy breath.

Once she slid the pad towards him, he read it and his brow pinched, hazel eyes snapping back up to her with a concerned look.] Shit. I'm. I'm sorry, that's.

[He wasn't going to ask how. That would be rude and overstepping of bounds that he wasn't impolite enough to encroach on. But it was horrible. He couldn't imagine any good or pleasant reason to have that happen.

He cleared his throat.]

The 1850's, huh? [Real smooth recovery.] That's.. I'm from 2015, since it's only fair that I return the favor of askin'. 1850's.. West was still mostly territory. Can't imagine that life was easy out there.. [His face lit up a little, like he'd remembered something good, and he had.] We got a guy here from only a few decades after that, I think. 1880 something.. Not that I imagine y'all will be talkin' about how good the wheel was back in the day but..

[Someone who was closer to her own time and understandings.]

How've you found the place? Us with our electricity and too much abundance, even if we did recently run out of whatever magic replicates food in this place..

A tragedy? [There was a small weight of uncertainty in her about asking him, given that it was obvious he was struggling with something. It was hard to know if he had any involvement with that. Simple observation said no, but talking about something like that might be enough to hurt him further.

It's better he didn't ask. That was a story that she didn't have a prepared answer for. One of the better things of losing her tongue was that no one really asked what happened or how. Either out of politeness or worry at harming her "delicate sensibilities." It spared her from having to make something up. Much like everything else in her life, she'd sit on the truth.]

Doc? I met him. He does remind me of the men back home. [Her husband specifically, which brought it's own mixture of discomfort and pain. But it was true, having someone else who understood what it was like to be out of your own time helped. She still was figuring out much of the contraptions in the boarding house, fully prepared to do laundry by hand if need be.]

Some things make life easier, others seem too complicated. At least... [Her hand shook a little, the pen smearing the last word as she debated whether to actually write down her full thoughts. Her look went a little distant, her face becoming more solemn and withdrawn.]

[Raylan fiddled with his spoon as she scribbled the first question.]

Lightin' storm started a.. a fire.. Burnt everythin' except the library and the forest. Only a handful survived it. They went on to rebuild everything.

[He took a bite while she wrote out the rest and looked up at her face as her pen stopped, brow pinching in soft concern again.]

Hey. It's okay. Take your time. And if you don't wanna tell me, that's okay too. [He wasn't going to push her. It seemed like she'd been through a lot, who hadn't in that era, and Mathis on top of it all can't be easy.]

But Doc's a good guy. If you find yourself needin' something and he's nearby.. He's onna the few people I'd trust next to me in a gunfight, not that we've got guns or bullets here.

Where are the original villagers? If we all were brought here, there has to be some natives?

[She shook her head. Letting her composure and calm slip was frustrating for her, but thoughts of her daughter always weakened her. Staying here, Liz might be safe, but she couldn't help but feel lonely for her child, aching for her.]

I left my daughter back home. [That seemed to be the simplest response to her reaction.]

Doc is a quick shooter?

[It was easier for him to start at the top and work his way down.]

There were, until late 1993. They all vanished. Town seems to have been dark since then. 'Til we showed up.

I'm sorry to hear that. 'Bout your daughter. I'd ask but..

[Losing kids were hard. Especially when they were young. He wasn't ready to hear that kind of load, if he was honest.

Raylan nods at the end of it all, fork pulled back up into his hand.]

He is. But there's no weapons here. Nothing we could shoot even if we wanted to.

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037-040 » the reason for time

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