villagelogs | 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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No," he readily admits. "Nor was I a blacksmith. After the war there was some demand for prosthetics, as you can imagine, but they did not look anything like that." He's talking about the Civil War in the 1860s so he's only spotted the very rare Hanger Limb in action. This is something else entirely. Each plate seems to be able to move on its own, like scales.

"We have come a long way, it seems," he observes, flashing a small tight-lipped smile at Bucky. "I suppose you fought in a war too?" Could have been an arm vs. woodchipper incident but it was not the first thing that came to mind when Doc looked at a man who feels he has duties toward the dead whom he supposedly did not know very well.

Talk about war makes his eyes grow a little distant but not because he was having a hard time relating. On the contrary, Bucky relates a little too much and on too many levels that might seem impossible for a guy that looks his age.

"Yeah, second World War," he replies, taking the shovel and loading it up with some dirt from the loose pile and tossing it into the hole. "I lost mine after a mission went sideways."

Bucky scoops another pile of dirt and considers how much to tell Doc. Before he realizes it, Bucky's mouth is already moving.

"I fell off a moving train."

Doc has had some time to read up on some things that have happened while he was imprisoned in the well. He hasn't caught up with things he did not know to catch up on, like the fact that people have gone into space, but he vaguely knows about the wars.

"You don't look a day over fifty," he jokes with a small smile, glancing up at Bucky before moving to assist him with the burial.

"I am sorry to hear that." Whatever that new arm can do, it was terrible to have gotten hurt like that, lost it in the first place, the trauma of it all. And it probably can't feel the cold or the dirt between his fingers or hold and touch other people in quite the same way as before.

"I'm 106," he states, only it's a little hard to tell if Bucky is being smart or genuine. But given the high-tech prosthetic and the fact he looks like he could fall over from exhaustion, the former is what most would conclude.

Bucky stops and stands a little straighter, brow pinching like he's trying to remember something. He moves his eyes up and looks at Doc and starts shaking his head. Not just of the fall itself, but more and over a longer stretch of time.

"I don't really remember it."

Abruptly, Bucky shifts the question asking.

"What war were you in?" It's a little hard to tell but he suspects it's earlier than the one he was in. Perhaps the first World War?

Well if they're measuring dicks Doc's is longer by 60 years so he gives Bucky a wary sort of once-over but doesn't question him too much.

"I wasn't, but my father went off to fight in two, the last one being the war between the States." Only a few years older than the first world war, surely. He was only 10 when it broke out and his mother was ill. While he's sure the Confederate service would have taken a kid anyway, he had other things to worry about.

"He never quite came back the same. Lost his wife to consumption a few years later so. I suppose nothing was ever the same."

There was definitely no dick measuring. In fact, it might be nice for him to know that he wasn't the only one over a hundred years old there. It didn't entirely create the sense of loneliness that he made for himself but with Steve gone, it hardly helped.

"I'm sorry," He stays quiet for a moment. "But, no, you're right, nothing ever was the same after that war or so I read. A friend of mine lost his father to mustard gas and his mother to tuberculosis."

If it wasn't war, it was sickness and disease.

There is the most gorgeous old lady hanging around by the name of Yennefer too. Possibly as old as Doc or even older. Perhaps he can introduce them sometime. They can maybe start a geriatric club, figure out what it is people their age do for fun. Play bingo and knit sweaters, were the stereotypes, weren't they?

Even with their familiarity with war and disease, even after all these people have passed on, this doesn't get any easier. Doc nods in acknowledgement of the loss even if he doesn't give words to it. Sometimes words and time can cheapen what had happened.

"What else is there left to do except to survive?" Doc muses quietly as they continue their digging. Survive and drink a lot, that is.

"Could I interest you in a bottle of moonshine sometime? It's fairly terrible stuff but that would be the kind of thing worth sharing," he jokes.

Bucky doesn't tend to be overly sensitive to people poking fun at his age. Most don't believe him when he says it, though that can be expected seeing as how his physical age doesn't exactly match the age he's telling people. But, there was power in numbers. Even if they were considered elderly.

"I think I've tried it at the Grey Gull a few days ago, but yeah, I'd like that," he answers. At least they'd have a little more room to talk openly about things without feeling like a heathen doing so.

Or any more of one.

"Name's Bucky, by the way," he adds, glancing up to look at the other man.

It'd be easier to talk while lounging around somewhere with some moonshine as opposed to talking over desecrated bodies, that's true. He might save the deeper conversations for their next date.

"John Henry, though no one calls me John," he replies, brushing the back of his curled finger against the tip of his hat. "I was a doctor, once. Most everyone calls me 'Doc'." With that, he's offered up about every name he has, other than 'Holliday'.

"If I don't see you at the Grey Gull, you may come by any time, to 1306 Phillips Drive. If you are hurt or if you find anyone else who has gotten hurt, and neither Helen nor John are available, you may also stop by." He's sitting on a pile of first aid kits and continuing to amass more with each passing day.

Perhaps if the last 100 or so years were a little more than a giant haze of brainwashing and murder, he'd pick up on the fact that he is actually in the presence of the Doc Holliday.

"I don't think I've met either one," Bucky admits but nods just the same. "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks, Doc, especially for the help here."

It seems like you can't live to a hundred years these days around here without getting a boatload of crippling trauma and a healthy load of paranoia.

"Of course." It's the least Doc can do for someone who's trying to do right by his fallen friends.

037-040 » the reason for time

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