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'd gone from a month of behaving and keeping his hands to himself to a lot of things happening in quick succession. It's not like he doesn't know what Negan's been gunning for. The man is not exactly known for being subtle. But he doesn't know if Negan is after a trophy, if Doc is just another wife to add on the list of whores he's fucked, if he's after the man they made Doc Holliday out to be or if he's fine with the man in front of him writhing on the couch, or if he's after something else altogether.

Honestly, he should probably care, but he doesn't. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground in between being a harlot and a dirty little secret. He's fine with occupying either extreme.

That hand grabbing his ass earns Negan a quiet little moan but when it dips too far between his legs the whimpering morphs into a low growl. Doc bucks up from the couch and nearly snaps his knees shut. A fist twists in Negan's shirt while his other hand splays over the side of Negan's chest, inadvertently palming his nipple as he pushes up firmly against him and turns his head away to break their kiss.

"Easy," he hisses, swallowing the lump in his throat, breaths coming fast and shallow as he relaxes again. "You're gonna get me hard in these pants." And then they won't be able to come off.

Considering he's not sure if that whole Doc Holliday shit is real or this guy's just batshit crazy, he's definitely fine with the man who's writhing under him on the couch -- whoever he is. He's entertaining, he's definitely hot when he's moaning under him, and he's not half-bad company when they're both not spitting venom at each other in annoyance.

As for whatever this is-- maybe even Negan doesn't know. Sex is the last good goddamn thing they've got, something they're hardwired for even when everything else is shit. Everything is definitely shit right now and Negan's definitely seeking some sort of distraction with somebody he actually kinda likes. Doesn't have to be about trophies or wives or anything besides getting in these fucking obscenely tight pants and making each other feel good for a little while.

Or that is what it'd be about if legs weren't snapping shut too quick for him to get any further. There's still a low rumble as hands twist in his shirt and it takes a hell of an effort to not chase those lips, try to get them right back to where they were with the mindless pawing and making out. He relents though, his hand sliding back up higher, rubbing over the outside of his hip in a far more soothing motion.

"And that'd be a shame," he manages after a moment, voice low, a little rougher. Lips move to what's now exposed of Doc's neck, grazing over the skin there first before closing over the pulse point.

"I don't suppose it'd be more agreeable to you if I got you hard out of the pants, right?" Unless Doc tells him to fuck off and make dinner right now, Negan isn't sure that's gonna happen anytime soon.

"Wasn't joking when I said I know a trick or two to do with my mouth."

The couch doesn't seem too happy about the two bigger-than-teenage men kicking and humping on it, groaning and creaking as Doc slowly ceases his struggles as Negan gets closer to finding his off switch hidden in that curve where his neck melds into his shoulder.

The dozen things rolling about in his mind, the worries, the reservations, the things he finds really grating and frustrating about Negan slowly empties out as he nods a few times, agreeing without complaint. His own hands drift lower to help loosen the belt and undo the button and zip, although it's going to take a lot more kicking and writhing if he's going to try and take his trousers off by lifting his butt off the couch without getting up properly.

"If it'll shut you up," he quips breathlessly, all bark and no more bite once he falls a little more still again beneath Negan. Has he told Negan lately he's annoying as shit? It's been a while by now, surely, and he's overdue for a reminder.

"Oh, I know not to talk with a full mouth, don't you worry." Doc can call him as annoying as he wants, but he's the one dropping his fucking jeans real quick here. Not that Negan is complaining.

Eager lips move over the expanse of his neck and shoulders as Negan's hands slide down to tug at his trousers, sliding them down. They don't have to come off properly, they just need to come down enough for Negan to claim his prize. Fingers brush over warm skin along the tops of his thighs and in.

"But you-- you should make all the goddamn noise you want." There's a grin pressed against Doc's skin as he palms over him again -- this time there shouldn't be any complaints or snapping his legs together, right?

It would kind of ruin the image of the stoic and cool gunslinger to be howling like a common whore - nevermind that he's quite a prolific one - but he's slowly coming undone by the promise of release after days (perhaps weeks) of pent up frustration with this place, eager to reconnect with someone from a house that was lonely and quiet for a day too long, someone who's clearly been working away at him chipping at his resolve for about as many days as they've known each other, someone he thought he was going to die with and ended up having to take care of Negan's remains anyway (selfish asshole that he is), and Doc's not kicking up too much of a fuss right now letting Negan tug on his loose threads.

He's not Lucille. They can't make amends for the marriages they wrecked, like this. But he'll never be too sick to put out ever again and Negan would likely never be too tired to fuck either. That's all this is - just a fuck to cut the tension that's been building since the museum. There's no emotional misattributions or complications at all. They can both do just sex just fine.

Those legs don't move too much this time around and Negan gets at least one noise out of him, a quiet, low little sigh as his hips move encouragingly, stomach going taut as a hand finds its way through short strands of dark, oddly soft hair. His other hand starts to wander, not too low as to get in the way, but low enough to get under the hem of Negan's shirt and tug it up partway, enough to feel the hard and soft edges hiding beneath those layers of an oddly familiar tough, hardened exterior.

Maybe what Negan needs right now is something that makes him feel alive, something that gets his blood bumping and his heart racing... something that just fucking makes him feel again, and not just all the bad shit piling up. He doesn't want to think about the cracked skulls and burnt faces he's left behind, or the teeth and claws that sunk into his flesh that night outside their house here. He damn sure doesn't want to think about the fire that bit at his skin and burnt all the way down until the bone, how it had been absolute agony.

He doesn't want to think about how fucking useless he feels since his arrival or how eager people are to fucking help one another without an iron grip keeping them in line.

Maybe part of him is thrilling in the fact he's worn Doc down after however many days and he gets to sate all those curiosities he's had about the man. No one can ever be Lucille, that fucking angel was one of a kind. And Negan will never be the wife Doc had and lost. But they can help each other out with the physical stuff at least, ward off a little bit of the frustration and loneliness as it sets in. Or they can spend at least one night sating whatever the fuck started between them at that museum.

He tilts into Doc's fingers as they push through his hair, a sigh leaving his lips. For a peaceful goddamn minute, all he's thinking about is the body underneath his, the hands touching him. He pauses long enough to tug his shirt up and off the rest of the way. Tattoos and scars, new from the recent shit that's gone down and old from living in a goddamn apocalypse, stand out against his skin here and there. He's thinner than he was before the apocalypse and a little softer in places he probably wasn't as a much younger guy, but there's still a strength there. The kind that comes from having to work hard, fight hard for a damn long time. Nothing to be ashamed of, really, if Negan was ever the sort.

Without any resistance given, a rough hand wraps around Doc's dick properly, stroking him to full mast as his free hand pushes at his shirt to get underneath it, eager to see and touch and explore while he can. At least until it's time for him to sink down on to his knees and put those skills he promised to good use. "Well, you are most certainly not a disappointment, are you?"

Hey, his mouth isn't full yet. Being quiet does not apply.

He's never found himself to be particularly curious about Negan beyond the uncomfortable history they shared with each other in the museum. He was a little curious about the end of the world perhaps. Idly he had wondered about Negan's wives. Not Lucille - that tragedy he understands. The other women. But none of these things ever really held his interest.

Right now though, as he's peeling back that outer layer, he thinks the scars might be a little interesting. The tattoos. They were not as prolific or colourful as they could be today, or used as a fashion statement. Blunt nails rake over scar tissue, finding similarities here with Raylan although he's actively trying not to think about Raylan, what they got up to last night. This is different. Negan is not the endearing kind of asshole he's fully warmed up to. At least, not yet.

"I do try," he hears himself say, raspy and hoarse between laboured breaths as Negan gets him achingly hard using just a steady hand. Kind words go a long way into worming into Doc's good books, even if it is blatant flattery. He can't take his own shirt off whilst lying down and geting jerked off like this, but his affinity for button-up shirts does make it easier to undo at least a few buttons and forgo needing to take it off properly. He doesn't share the same scars that the three recently dead men are sporting, but he did not manage to survive the frontier completely unscathed. The many years that have passed have done him great favours in making the old scars fade, but if he's an impostor he did go to great lengths to get himself stabbed and shot, the unevenness and stitched ridges still evident in his skin upon such close inspection.

Doc manages a half-hearted attempt at lifting his head, watching Negan's hand work him hard before he groans and sinks back down into the couch, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. At this rate using his mouth would just be a formality. The back of his hand runs over Negan's warm skin, down to the tent in his pants where it lingers without attempting to get him further undressed. He's careful not to knee him in the crotch but there's a couple of close calls when the sensation gets to be too intense and involuntary squirming nearly costs Negan his family jewels. Maybe the couch isn't the best place for fucking it out like teenagers.

"Have you even done this before or have you just been talking shit?" Doc asks, voice cracking a little exasperatedly.

He's never been the endearing kind of an asshole, really. The fact that the majority of the house seems to think he is is still something of a novelty. He's used to being the tough asshole people fall in line with because he seems like he knows what he's doing, or the bastard the strikes fear into them that they wouldn't dare step out of line. He gets a few laughs, sure, connects with people here and there... but his life hasn't really given him many opportunities to want to be seen as anything that could leave him vulnerable.

Blunt nails draw down over his skin, over scars, and make him draw in a sharper breath. His own free hand smooths over Doc's body, trace over old scars... maybe one day he'll ask the stories behind them, but right now? Right now, his attention is firmly on the way Doc moves under his hand, each sigh or noise he draws from those lips.

"You keep asking that, Doc," he points out with an amused huff. "Starting to think you want details. I've slept around with a lot of people for a lot of different reasons... I don't have to talk shit."

And he doesn't go on to give any details either, even if he could. Bringing up Klaus in front of the fire had caused enough of a stir and he doesn't want to give Doc a real reason to kick him in the crotch.

Speaking of-- He rearranges himself into a more comfortable position. His fingers stay wrapped around the base of Doc's dick while his free hand goes to put some steady pressure on his hip, just to keep him in place. A hot, slick tongue works over his cock at first, Negan getting used to the taste of him, the feel of him before his lips wrap around him proper.

He might not be a fucking deepthroating porn star, but he seems to know enough of what he's doing as he sinks down and takes more of the cowboy into his mouth. The weight against his tongue, the taste of him have him moaning out like one too -- whether that's for show or he's really getting off on a dick in his mouth probably doesn't really matter much either way when the vibrations hit sensitive skin and Negan looks to be into it. Besides, he doubts Doc will last too much longer anyway.

Frankly, he doesn't want to know those sordid details. He expects people to respect his entanglements with others as his own business and he would do the same. A simple yes/no would have sufficed, honestly, but who is he to stop a prideful man from boasting about his various exploitations?

A misbehaving hand grabs a fistful of Negan's hair as rapidfire panting and gasping lets the occasional whine and moan slip. Nothing's really worth waiting over a century for but it really has been that long since he's had another man's hot mouth on his dick and it sure feels like Negan knows what he's doing.

Before he can tear Negan's head straight off his shoulders, his white-knuckled fists end up in the couch, gripping and tugging while he tries to keep relatively still. Save for the occasional writhing and trying to shy away from the intensity of hitting the back of Negan's throat, perhaps saving them both the twinge of embarrassment if he ends up blowing his load too soon, he's mostly succeeding.

"Christ--" The back of his head makes a dull thud as he squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, hitting something on the way. He grabs Negan's hair again, pulls, unapologetically hard, a wordless warning to not ease up at his own peril.

Jesus fucking Christ, that's a hell of a grip that Doc has in his hair at first, tangled in tight. The noises he's drawing out, the very real reactions he can feel in the tension throughout the cowboy make it all worth it though. He's had very few moments of actually enjoying himself since he came back from the dead again, but this is one of them for sure. He's not thinking about the things he can't escape from, he's not thinking about his own mortality.

He's just focused on the cock sliding past his lips and the whines he earns.

And sure, swallowing might not be his favorite thing, but Doc's not making him want to stop even with the warning tug at his hair. The painful pull against his scalp earns a hungry moan, a jolt going through him at the sensation that makes his neglected cock twitch in the confines of his own trousers. Fuck, but that hair pulling is as hot as everything else.

Doc slumps a little lower, curled up and squashed a little compactly in the couch. Negan keeps his legs mostly still, saves them both an incident involving an errant knee and chest or chin.

In amidst the noisy fidgeting and the tension building in all the muscles in his lower body there's a quiet sigh and a long gasp, a shaky, laboured, audible moan lost in a sigh falling from his lips before he cums hot and hard in Negan's mouth. He allows himself be a little more vocal, a little more animated catching his breath afterwards, grip slowly loosening in Negan's hair, hand tingling with a kind of numbness that's slowly permeating through the rest of his body. There's an inordinate amount of self-restraint involved in having the kind of ninja sex two companions have when they don't want travellers on the other side of a snuffed out campfire and innkeepers knowing about because they don't want any trouble in a time that had brought them nothing but trouble. It will take him several more trysts with men to unlearn that self-restraint.

His hand slowly falls away and it takes him a full minute before he starts trying to prop himself up with his elbows and straighten up in a couch that keeps trying to swallow him in between the cushions.

Oh, now that's what he wanted. The moan he pulls from Doc is one he's gonna remember for a long damn time in little private moments he steals for himself. He makes sure to milk it for as long as he can, until Doc is spent and gasping on the cushions of what is surely a fucked up couch by now.

He swallows and pulls away, sitting back flushed and breathless. He wipes his mouth absently as he grabs for the forgotten bottle of whiskey, swigging it down to wash the last bit of the taste out of his mouth. For now, he lets himself sprawl back on the other end of the couch to catch his breath, not a little bit ashamed of his own-- well, not-so little problem as he takes another pull from the whiskey.

"Well, are you satisfied with what I know now?"

"I've paid for worse. And you didn't bite," he concedes. He's not sure if being a better-than-mediocre cocksucker is something Negan wants to wear as a badge of honour though.

It's near impossible to be able to pull his pants up, stuff his dick back in and zip back up whilst sitting down so he just tries to arrange his unbuttoned shirt to look semi-decent while he sits there catching his breath. His eyes wander, with Negan still shirtless and a tent in his pants desperate for attention, but when he catches himself doing it he ducks his head and busses himself arranging his shirt again, covering up the most recent bullet wound by properly tugging his shirt further across his shoulder.

He would risk mockery by admitting to inexperience in same sex post-oral encounters so there's a moment's hesitation where Doc doesn't know what to say or do but doesn't want to be awkward about it. Does he offer to take care of that in return? Is he expected to bend over now? What does decorum dictate?

"Excuse the shit outta me. That was not I've paid for worse quality. If you need me to show you, I'm sure I can do it again sometime." He's got his pride, and being only passable at cocksucking is not a thing he wants muddying it, thank you very much.

He takes another pull from the bottle before he puts it back on the table. He sees that look, the one that says Doc's trying to play this cool, but Negan isn't sure it's really succeeding. He's also not one to press or demand the attention gets returned if Doc isn't sure, if he's not into it and it's hard to tell if he is at the moment. Hell, it's hard to tell what any of that was, fast as it happened.

But he's not expecting shit really, so after a second, he pushes himself up to his feet and reaches for his discarded shirt. "I'll be back in a few, alright? We can figure out dinner, then maybe get some shut-eye after."

He doesn't think he has to explain what the hell he's doing when he starts towards the bathroom, considering there's no goddamn way to hide his obvious enjoyment of tonight's activities.

He is not going to argue with Negan about the quality of his blowjob. Not now and likely not ever. If he wants Doc to lavish him with compliments he needs to not let them get to his head first and then maybe he'll get Doc talking.

"Uh-" he starts to peel his back off the couch and lean over a bit, and then he hesitates and nods. He's still a glass full of inhibitions when he hasn't filled that glass up with whiskey yet. "Alright." He thinks maybe he should have... said something other than that. But the moment's passed now and Negan's walking away and he's left sitting there in a bit of a mess wondering if maybe that's the last they'll talk about what had just happened.

Likely not, given Negan's track record. After a few unconscious self-reassuring rubs down the inside of his thigh, Doc gets up and cleans himself up in the kitchen before tugging his pants back on on the way back to the living room, arranging the couch and picking up his hat.

When Negan returns he'll find Doc back in the kitchen with what they'd need for a basic one pot pasta laid out on the countertop. He will most definitely not be asking about the bathroom wank session.

There's a pause when Doc starts to talk, a quick glimpse over his shoulder until he gets that 'alright' and then carries on. He's not sure if what they just did was a good idea or not, if it really helped save for a moment's distraction, but... they're fucking grown ass men and sure the rest of the night doesn't have to be awkward as fuck because one of them had the other's dick in their mouths. Hopefully.

Whether or not they'll talk about it-- well, time will probably tell on that one. If it's something Doc's gonna be weird about doing or act like he regrets it, it's probably left buried as far fucking down as they can get it. Right now, he takes his time in the bathroom, cleans himself up while he's in there and collects himself before he comes back out with his usual swagger.

"Alright, well... already got everything out, huh?" He rubs his hands together as he looks over the ingredients.

"Why don't you go sit that ass of yours down and let me handle this, huh?" He did promise to do the cooking after all and pasta's not all that hard.

"Okay," he relinquishes easily as he moves to one of the barstools on the other side of the kitchen counter and slides into it. He is not completely useless in the kitchen but his meals tend to be fairly basic and he would rather not get in the way if Negan wanted the kitchen to himself. That doesn't mean he's going to just slink into the living room and sit there in awkward, lonesome silence brooding over a not-empty-enough bottle of whiskey.

"If you need any help, just holler." He's not sure how Negan's going to be around the stove. The man has been acting weird about the fireplace in 1306 even though there's been no reason to light it with the weather warming up. Actually, come to think of it, so has Raylan and Neal. It's their repulsion-attraction thing he's still trying to figure out.

"Hate for you to think I'm just. Taking advantage." In any sense of that that Negan wants to interpret.

It's the stove that has his stomach already twisting in nervous knots right now, if he's honest. But like Hell is he going to take that blow to his ego, asking Doc to handle turning it on or watching everything cook. He just needs to quit being a pussy about fire, that's all. At least he can busy himself with gathering some ingredients, getting them ready for a few moments longer.

He licks his lips absently before he manages to plaster a grin on his face as he tilts back to look back at Doc. "I seem to remember offering, so don't worry about it."

On both counts, really. It's not taking advantage when you're just taking the shit people are offering up.

He goes to grab the pot and get it filled with water, tries to keep his expression straight and not eye the stove like it might be coming after him. "We should grab that deck of cards before we go... maybe we can drag the house into a game. Even better with more people."

Is he trying to distract himself? Hell, yes.

With his chin propped up in one hand, Doc turns half over his shoulder to glance at the backrest of the couch they'd been on before turning to look back at Negan. It's a fairly unreadable, nonchalant raising of one eyebrow and shrugging that he gives him. He's not sure if Uno is supposed to be a euphemism for something, if it is a sex thing and the appeal to children is some kind of inside joke. It was his first time playing it after all.

"It makes you rather competitive," he drawls, seemingly not too bothered by that. He can see that Negan is acting a little strange around the stove so he slowly slides off his stool and ambles back in. Fair, he offered to make dinner, but Doc wouldn't put him through the trauma of an open fire stove. Putting the pot of water on top, he lights the stove and then keeps his back turned to it so Negan doesn't have to stare at it like it might burn the house down, resting his hands on the edges of the stovetop.

"D'you wanna talk about... what happened three days ago?" He can't imagine that Negan has no one to open up to about it. But Negan is also moping around alone in this house, so. Doc's not sure what to think.

That was definitely not how the game usually goes. If it did, Negan might have played a lot more often honestly. "Being competitive is human nature, Doc."

Or maybe it's just his nature, or the nature of guys when they're in groups. Whichever the case, Negan doesn't seem to think it's an issue. Makes things a little more fun.

What's not fun is the fact that Doc comes around to turn on the stove like he's a goddamn child who can't handle making himself a meal. The irritation isn't directed at the cowboy though, just himself. He's dealt with fire before. Fuck, he's gotten real up close and personal with it when he's had to punish people in the past, but-- maybe that's not one he'll repeat if he ever gets home. He didn't like doing it all that much in the first goddamn place.

He clears his throat at the question. "Don't really know what there is to say. Shit happens, you just have to keep going on."

Except he's getting drunk in a house alone, feeling like shit until Doc happened along. "Did Neal and Raylan ever tell you anything about it?"

"Sure. They told me about the other place. What they went through. How it felt." Doc isn't going into specifics so Negan can be rest assured that he wouldn't do the same to him.

"You can just say whatever you wanna say." Doc glances over his back, watching the pot of boiling water just in case it bubbles over or if his shirt does get too close to the flame.

"Or we could drink and have pasta. Not say too much." That works for him too.

"Did they tell you about the fire? It was like it was alive... goddamn sentient. Saw it skip buildings, saw it chasing people until it caught them. Until it caught me." He wouldn't share this shit except-- maybe it needs to be shared. Maybe so Doc and Malcolm can prepare if they ever end up in the same spot.

He huffs out a sigh, agitated looks between Doc and the stove because last thing they need is someone else catching fire.

"... I deserved it. Getting torn apart, burned alive. Hell, I probably deserved worse." He might be an arrogant asshole, but he knows what he is.

"But saving people is what I do. Hell, it's all I try to do back home, and I couldn't fight any of that shit or stop Neal from pulling one of the dumbest moves I have ever seen. Not that it wasn't brave, but..." Misplaced. He shakes his head, clears his throat.

"It's tough to swallow, but I'll get over it. So-- scoot over and let me do this. Can't be a goddamn pussy forever over a little flame. After this, we can drink and eat and not talk about this shit anymore."

"Saw your scars," he points out quietly, clearing his throat. He saw a bit more than those scars but Doc's likely not going to talk about their uno game unless pressed.

A fire that chased people... sounded like whatever had ripped them to shreds. Maybe not deliberately targeted but it skipped over the people indoors just like the fire had skipped over the buildings.

"Hardly anybody gets what they deserve." Whatever Negan has to atone for, only he would know best. Doc is under no illusions about people doing what they have to do in order to survive when faced with insurmountable odds. Maybe Negan is a good person, whatever the hell that means. He's made it this far, so. Doc doubts it. The good people have all been taken advantage of and are likely all gone by now.

He moves to the edge of the kitchen but he lingers, watching Negan with a wary eye. He isn't sure if he's been seized by the same compulsion as the others to be both avoidant of the fire and also feel tempted to stick his hand in it.

"What do you want to talk about?" Doc understands Raylan better than he understands anyone else in Mathias and he has learnt these New York ways. Negan doesn't fall into a neat little box and Doc's still trying to figure him out.

"Hell, you burned my corpse." He's seen plenty, and maybe if Negan was still in that sort of mood, he'd tell Doc he can see a hell of a lot more if he wants. But he isn't, so he just tries to focus on what he's doing.

He's not planning on shoving his hand in the flame. Probably. "Don't I know it."

But it's not about deserving, is it? It's just whoever has the balls to take what they want, and life fucks everybody over in the end anyway.

"Anything, man... Don't suppose you're a sports guy." A little after his time, the kinds of sports Negan's always enjoyed.

"Tell me some stories. You can't tell me you don't have some good goddamn stories to share, right?"

"I thought you were dead," Doc protests with a shrug. "I have to protect Malcolm. Wasn't in the mood to deal with your reanimated..." pieces. "Remains, should that happen. Don't tell me you're feeling precious about how I treated your body." He could maybe leave some instructions if he is so Doc knows how to deal with a zombie apocalypse? Did that ever cross his selfish, conceited mind?

"I know very little about it. But I suppose I could tell you a few stories about the frontier. Used to get a lot of questions about Wyatt." Funnily enough they don't seem to care much about him here. Doc can't really fathom why, given that Wyatt was the hero everyone idolised. He's always been Wyatt's +1, Wyatt's sidekick, Wyatt's best friend, Wyatt's whatever. Perhaps with no Earps here, they don't care so much for their shared past.

"I could tell you some stories that'll make the shitshow at the OK Corral sound like another plain old Tuesday afternoon."

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CW: sexual content

oops that shoulda been there a few tags upstream 😆

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