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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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."

"What, too worried you'll freeze your nuts off?" He flashes an amused grin. He doesn't blame him -- Negan's not stepping foot in any goddamn water anytime soon. He doesn't trust this warming trend much either at the moment.

"You know what--" He gives Raylan a look. "Real whiskey would've only made this better. Why the hell didn't we think to grab a bottle?"

... Shit, he's a little worried about what a Sports Center will take as a sacrifice though.

"Looking on the bright side, huh?"

"Only because I'm out here doin' it and not puttin' the benefits of it to practice." Cold being a common therapy for low sperm count men - not that he had a problem with that or anything but if he was freezing anything off, it was gonna be for a good reason, damnit.

"You know.." He started with a sly glance over. "The Gull ain't but a five minute walk away. And if you think I didn't stash some in there that ain't gettin' served out at the bar, you are sorely underestimating me."

Raylan grinned openly at Negan at the last bit. "Only problem with killin' us is now we know what it's like. So what is the old bitch gonna throw on us next that tops that?"

Turning, he headed up towards the Gull with an idle gesture back. "Don't leave your stick, these are good sticks. Can't have someone snaggin' them for firewood."

"Wow, alright... Maybe one day, man." He didn't expect the sperm reference, but he does let out a surprised laugh regardless, reaching over with his free hand to clap Raylan on the shoulder.

Maybe giving him a little bit of a nudge because goddamn, that whiskey sounds good right about now. "C'mon, we gotta go break open that bottle. Tossing a ball around's always a little more fun after a few."

Except when you're teaching kids. You really don't want to be drunk or put in a position where your reflexes to guard the crotch area if the little fucker gets swing or throw happy aren't quick.

He gives Raylan a look at that, pointing accusingly at him with his stick. "Don't jinx us! This place'll have something gnawing our nuts off next just to spite us."

Like hell is he leaving this stick behind. It's his stick now.

It was strange - Negan had been living with them for near a week now, maybe a bit more or less by a few days - but it had taken dying next to him for them to find some easy ground that didn't feel just like small talk to get them from one movement to the next. That was hard to avoid in such a small house and nothing wrong with it, but Raylan liked things to be as easy as they could be.

"Technically got one on the way, but that ain't got anything to do with the ocean." The grin was back in full force as they walked back up the sand. His boots weren't really made for this either.

"I feel like that's a set up for us punchin' ourselves in the balls. But if they come runnin' at us.." Raylan wound and swung a mock swing before the stick returned to his shoulder and an idea hit. "Damn - it's a shame we can't afford to lose some apples or oranges or somethin'. We'll have to keep our eyes out for a rubberband ball or two."

He eyed Negan sidelong. "You got any kids of your own or do you teach to remind yourself why not to have 'em?"

Negan's good at keeping his distance when it comes to anything beyond surface level small talk, but hell... dying together is a bit of a bonding experience, isn't it? And he's got to be able to trust some people in this godforsaken town. Seems like Raylan's a good one for that, like the other people in the house.

"What? Seriously, man? Congratulations." He hopes it's a situation where congratulations are in order, especially with that grin Raylan's got on his face.

"I don't know about you, but I am not swinging anything at my crotch for any reason." You gotta keep that area safe and secure, alright.

"Maybe we can visit the toy shop or whatever it is again. Might be something in there ball-shaped." Worth a try, right?

The next question has him falling quiet for a second, idly swinging his stick back and forth. "Me and the missus, we tried. Never happened. So I just teach other peoples' kids how to not be little shitheads."

He bobbed his head, grin firmly affixed in place over that topic. "Winona's only a few months along, so it's just a bean, but." It was a bean he helped create. There was hope in that, even if Winona was never going to let him all the way into Willa's life.

"Toy shop ain't a bad idea. Even if we only find a kickball or somethin." Or those weird little ass trays with wheels, but the idea of tall ass men like them on those little things was hilariously not going to happen.

Raylan nodded at the answer, face drawing into seriousness for a handful of seconds. He didn't want to linger in that. "If you can't do, teach.. I never wanted kids, myself. Not til a few months ago. Then we got on a case of a pregnant felon getting kidnapped from her transport. By the time it ended.." Raylan shrugged. Something had happened between the start and end of it and while he could pin down exactly what, sharing it wasn't exactly on the menu.

"Well, all the more reason to get out of this shithole and get you back home before that bean gets too much bigger. You don't want to miss the adorable period before that shit starts talking and getting into everything." And because this place is going to inevitably drive them all crazy or something.

"Guess we got a date at the toy shop then. Maybe we can find something useful." But not goddamn bats, he's looked. He'll take a ball shaped anything though.

He shakes his head at the suggestion, reaching out to give Raylan a swift clap on the shoulder. "Think that time's passed for me. Got a lot of shit back home that makes it real unsafe to pop out any little Negans at the moment."

A war for a start. "But hey, I guess leaving my mark on rebuilding society is better than nothing."

"What I'll get to see of it," he granted with no tonal sense of what that all actually meant. No reason to drag down the mood with the details of a woman who couldn't decide if she loved him enough to stand next to him.

He bobbed his eyebrows in a passing lift, chuckling. "A date huh? And not even dinner to speak of." These kind of jokes were getting easier in light of everything. "Haven't been there yet, myself. Not that I've been much into hopscotch and jump rope since I was in elementary." Clearly, he'd already pigeonholed the place a little.

The clap of the hand on his shoulder makes him look over, eyebrows lifting a little. "I can't aruge with that. Kids are hard enough to keep alive as it is. 'Sides, someone will end up doin' it anyway, and someone's gotta help man that wall, right?" He had a feeling Negan would without question, if a kid was involved but those kind of gut feelings were the only ones that Raylan listened to with a fistful of salt. He might be completely wrong.

Raylan lifted his chin at the Gull they were drawing up on. "This ain't much of a society either, but if empty bottles are gonna be our mark, we better get started."

"Things aren't so good with you and the baby mama, huh?" He gives a sympathetic look. Hey, seems like most of them have got issues with chicks back home. Even Negan's got a few who'd rather have his head than look at him again.

There's a huffed out laugh. "Goddamn, I take it back. You want dinner too? Bet I gotta pull out all the chairs and hold open all the doors..."

Honestly, he wasn't even meaning it like that, but it's good Raylan's got a sense of humor over a little playful jab. "Nah, you're clearly a hula hoop guy anyway."

Much as Negan wants to deny it, he would absolutely take in a kid or two or three. Hell, they're growing up in a shit enough environment back home without lacking some guidance, someone to show them how to navigate it, and keep them as safe as possible in between. "Hell, yeah. some empty bottles, some more swinging our sticks... maybe we can call it a decent goddamn day for once. If nothing comes along and eats us again."

"Considerin' she's my ex-wife already and just left me for the third time, nah, I'd say we're all peaches and roses," Raylan said with no tone of sarcasm, though the last half of his statement was chalk full of it.

"Lucky I don't ask for flowers," he continued to tease, laughing at the hula hoop comment. "God gave me these hips for a reason, I guess." No way in hell his narrow ass hips could even come close to the skills needed for hula hooping but Negan didn't need to be told that.

"If it does, this time we got sticks." The threat came with a grin and a waggle of his stick.

As they hit the Gull's porch, Raylan looked over. "I'mma ask an indelicate question. Ready your pearls. How old are you clockin' in at? I'll take a ballpark if you don't wanna be specific."

"Jesus Christ and I thought I had marriage issues..." But that-- gets rough, especially when there's a kid involved now. A kid Raylan seems like he might want to know at least.

There's a laugh when Raylan goes off -- and goddamn if he's not gonna try to find a hula hoop for the asshole now. It'd be good for a laugh at least, because something tells him Raylan's probably not got the most rhythm out there.

"What--" The question has him pausing, giving Raylan a look. "Alright, alright... Take a fucking guess. I'll only hit you once with my stick if you say something insulting like sixty."

... But it's a good question. All Negan might be able to give at this point is a ballpark range. Not like he's kept up with birthdays and years -- time gets significantly harder to care about when the world's gone to shit.

It wasn't even the start to the issues that Winona had caused but they were too sober and it was too much daylight to be diving into those kinds of conversations. But don't ask him for rhythm Negan, unless you wanna take a shot at dying laughing.

Raylan paused with him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he tilted his chin up. "So a hundred and ten is outta the question, right?" He broke into a shit eating grin. "Nah, my best guess would be mid to late forties. Maybe fifty if I'm stretchin' it."

How close was he to getting hit?

"Asshole." He narks out a laugh though. He just feels like a hundred and ten sometimes, alright. "Huh, well, alright..." He shrugs his shoulders.

"You're not so at this guessing game then. Not fifty."

No hitting this time, then. Although he does give Raylan a curious look over. "Why?"

'Asshole' feels like a victory and he was gonna take it. He pulled the door open for them, gesturing for Negan to go in first and following behind long enough to get into the door.

"Just curious as to how broad Mathis is in pullin' people in. Wonderin' if there's something to a balance of old against young. You've seen somea the kids pulled in. Five, even if he is an old man himself. Max, Claire, Ellie." Raylan shook his head a little as he set his stick down against the bar and stepped behind it to start rifling through the bottles.

"Since I don't know what's important here, I'm tryin' to consider all the possibilities."

"Yeah..." Negan is quiet for a moment as they head inside. He puts his own stick down and thinks it over. "You're not wrong. It's kinda weird. But I'm not sure if there's a rhyme or reason to who or what's brought in, you know? Wish there was."

Then maybe they could-- figure out how to be prepared at least. "Not a lot of ladies coming through, comparatively speaking. Feels like the sausage damn sure outnumbers the taco."

"Now that's what's weird." He'd noticed that gender disparity. "Don't suppose filin' a complaint is gonna get us more ladies that are.. Aren't teenagers or fresh outta bein' teenagers." He made a face and set one bottle on the bar before going back down to put everything away. One bottle would be enough and leave plenty of daylight to sober up before trying again that night.

"So long as none of us go testosterone frat boy on anyone else, we might even be able to manage not breakin' down into animals. Oh!" he sounded as he straightened, one finger stuck out at Negan. "Got a new blond in town. Doesn't talk much.. on account of the no tongue thing but. Adult."

And that's what mattered.

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