villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

Entry tags:

037-040 » the reason for time

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias
WHEN: Day 037-040
WHAT: The dead return and the living wake to changes within Mathias Township.
WARNINGS: Some explicit sexual content in threads. (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Kammarheit "Sleep after Toyle, Port after Stormie Seas"

DAY 037
THE DEAD RETURN
“The only reason for time is so that everything
doesn't happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
The dead return to Mathias forever changed by their experiences. Waking along the beach, near the tree line, or among the graves, they will find that their bodies are not as they remember them. They are whole again and not torn to shreds by the shadow creatures that cannot be described, but they are also not as they were before the Hunt. These residents will find, so strangely, that their bodies are in the physical state in which they first arrived in Mathias — any injuries or recovery they have made since their initial arrival no longer exists, as if their time in Mathias has simply been a horrible nightmare. Except they all now carry a last reminder of the Hunt with them: spiderweb-thin healed scars marking their injuries from the Hunt. Those who were injured by fire in the other realm also carry those burns with them.

The dead are not the only things that have returned to Mathias. Inexplicably, fall is back, with the temperature finally reaching above freezing and snow falling from trees to reveal beautiful autumnal colors. As the sun rises higher in the lightly cloudy sky and the day warms, the snow begins rapidly melting, puddles growing in the slowly revealed grass and little rivers forming in the streets. And with that snow comes the frozen blood from the deaths to the Hunt, tinting the street river on Phillips Drive a sickening shade of red.

Another oddity that residents will notice: houses with broken windows from the encounter with the fog on Day 015 have now been completely repaired, though any boards put in place are still there somehow. A small bit of good news, at least? And truly, how kind of Mathias to clean up its own mess.

Finally, alcohol is back. Enjoy in moderation, friends, for more will not be arriving the following morning.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's quite chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. Indeed, their timing is perfect, for alcohol has finally returned to Mathias Township — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

DAY 038-039
THE CHANGE OF SEASON
The continued warm weather proves that the unseasonable shift of the previous day was not merely a fluke. Once again, the sun rises and brings with it a temperature that feels almost spring-like, save for the fact that each day there seem to be more and more leaves on the trees in hues of red and orange. For those who have been in Mathias for some time, this new type of weird may be almost normal at this point, but newer arrivals will likely find it quite odd.

The gently trickling river running along Phillips Drive is still somewhat pink in color as the snow continues to melt and refreeze each night. By Day 040, the bloody snow will finally be gone completely, though the relief will be... short-lived.

DAY 040
THE BLINDING WHITE
In the late morning of Day 040, when the sun is visible through patchy greyish clouds, the fog sweeps into town like a like a tidal wave. It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. Rather than a soft blanket enveloping the town, it is a heavy weight pressing down, blotting out the sky in a way that almost feels suffocating, for none can see further than their outstretch hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in.

Unlike the last time the fog swept into the town, residents who encounter it are not immediately killed. Instead, they are simply disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

By nightfall, the fog still has not dissipated.

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE WEATHER conditions are fairly typical for late fall: chilly "sweater weather" days and nights that can dip just below freezing. You don't want to be outside without a coat, but it won't kill anyone if they bundle up. Probably.

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the western section of town, beginning just past Hill Lane, before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be between Hill and Stine Road. Venturing into the fog blocking these areas is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Castiel and Sam Winchester have vanished, and Dean Winchester has not returned with the others after his death during the Hunt.

— THE GRAVEYARD has now seen around a dozen burials, both below and above ground. With the weather warming, though, something may need to be done about the handful of temporary graves aboveground...

— ALCOHOL has returned to Mathias! A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull has also been restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. Alcohol does not replenish in the same way as food.

— THE GREY GULL has been cleaned up and stocked with moonshine. Along with the newly restocked usual offerings, the place almost seems like an actual bar again.

— THE GENERAL STORE is in a bit of a state following the brutal slaughter of two residents during the Hunt. Cleanup on aisle 3, anyone?

OOC NOTES

— FOOD is now being mysteriously restocked as per usual, including inside homes and at the General Store. Alcohol is not being restocked. Use those rationing skills, friends.

— REWARD REDEPEMPTION is back and will soon have a new option for anyone looking to spend big AP and learn a bit more of the lore of the town.

— MADNESSES due to the Hunt have been earned by Klaus Hargreeves, Ellie, and Malcolm Bright and may now be claimed. Players may also claim additional sanity loss from the aftermath of the Hunt; only losses from the Hunt itself have been deducted from totals thus far.

— SANITY REGAIN is now available! Players will submit a form with some details of the progress their character has made and the mod will review and decide on the numbers of points that will be regained.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's mostly just Amy steering this ship for now, so things will probably be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pinging me if you're stuck waiting for something.

navigation | faq | locations | report updates

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

There's a genuine look of confusion when Doc seems to get all... defensive about shit when Negan had only been pointing out facts. He bites back the urge to say he's had wives who weren't so sensitive or looking for double meanings in his comments, but he's too tired to fight. He just shakes his head and holds up a hand in a pacifying gesture. "I don't care what you do with my body, man. It was dead and gone and Malcolm didn't need to see that shit coming back to life and trying to move around or look for dinner. I was just pointing out you've seen a lot of me and not all of it's been pretty."

Honestly, Doc didn't need to see it either, but he isn't sure pointing that out is a good idea. "Anyway--"

He shrugs his shoulders, managing a grin. "Shit yeah I want to hear about the frontier."

Even if he's still not convinced, he's curious. Hell, maybe he should ask about Wyatt Earp while they're at it, see how deep this story goes.

Hovering around the edge of the kitchen, Doc keeps his hands busy fiddling with a new type of can opener he's never seen before figuring out how to open a can of tomatoes while he talks.

"Imma tell you about the first time I met Wyatt. It was fall in Kansas, 1877, not unlike the weather is right now..." is how that story starts. It's kind of implied that Kate, whom he does not bother to sayanything else about than her name, had a hand in introducing them. Doc had already started his gambling career but he did still try to do a bit of dentistry then. He wasn't that sick that he couldn't. Wyatt was pursuing an outlaw and ran into some trouble. By the time he finishes the story with saving Wyatt's life the pasta has been cooked and is ready to be served.

Well, at least Doc manages to keep Negan nice and distracted from the fire, more hooked on his story for most of the cooking. He asks questions here and there, laughs here and there at the sheer fucking detail going into the story.

And by the time they're done and ready to eat? He just gives Doc a look. "You really aren't kidding, are you? Or you're fucking amazing at coming up with a convincing story."

He shakes his head. "But you are one hell of a story teller. But I gotta wonder... is Wyatt Earp still around where you are?"

Two immortal cowboys or something.

Doc just shrugs at that. If people don't want to believe him, he wouldn't blame them, but he wouldn't go out of his way to try and prove his authenticity.

"He's long gone. I'm-- friends with his great great granddaughter." 'Friends'. Yeah. Let's not go there. "Seemed like he had lived to a ripe old age though. I'm happy for him." He still loved Wyatt even if they had had a falling out, even if he never came looking, even if he had moved on long before John Henry ever could.

The pasta serves as a good distraction from their topic of conversation. It draws Doc's attention as Negan plates up and he moves into the kitchen again to help gather up some cutlery.

"I suppose if you ever met someone claiming to be Wyatt we could vet each other," he muses with a chuckle. He's pretty sure he would never see Wyatt again, even if he should know better than to say never about anything.

"Well, I'll keep my eye out for any new cowboys in town, just in case." He even refrains from asking if that great great granddaughter is the baby mama he's been going on about. See? He can have tact.

He settles in at the table once everything is set up, giving Doc a curious look over. "How the hell did you handle stepping into the modern world anyway? Lotta shit changed since the old west."

"Mmm." Doc tilts his head and purses his lips as he chews on his pasta, holding the fork vertically with his fingertip on the tip and the prongs in the pasta. The tip of his tongue flickers out over his upper lip and he shrugs.

"You just go up to someone, tip your hat and say 'excuse me ma'am'. Doors tend to open for you when you're polite." He's never had a problem with opening doors. Or windows of opportunity. Or legs, for that matter.

"Taught myself to drive. Got some help with my phone. I still do plenty of shooting and I run a bar same way I did a saloon, more or less. It's not all that different." It's not like he's tried to be some kind of expert on cloud computing cybersecurity.

"Excuse me ma'am," he repeats with a laugh. Excuse me ma'am.. That's a fucking good one. "You know, that's rarely ever been the case where I'm from, but I'm guessing we come from two very different sides of the track."

No, what opened doors for him is being an asshole and not taking shit. Opened plenty of legs for him too, in his time.

"Man, I fucking missed how convenient phones were back home. Pretty soon, we'll all be back to horseback too. We can't keep our cars running when there's no way to get more fuel."

For better or worse Doc hasn't known a place where he needed to be aggressive or callous to get what he wants. There was plenty of that back in the day, more to assert how big his balls are so nobody tries to mess with him or Wyatt. But Doc has always been more of a lover than a fighter. Circumstances being what they were, a bit of the latter was inevitable. If it was up to him though, he'd rather their disputes be settled over Uno blowjobs than bullet holes.

"Would've thought you'd eaten all the horses by now, heartless bastard that you are," Doc observes lightheartedly without any judgement or malice in his voice.

"You don't eat fucking horses, man. That'd be like eating gold." They're precious goddamn animals, Doc. Get with the program. He shakes his head, lips curling up. He doesn't seem to be all that bothered by it, really.

"But I've had to eat other shit I never thought I would just to live. I'd like to not go back to that again. I suggest avoiding feral dog if you can, by the way. Dog food... hey, that shit's not so bad if it's the wet kind."

"Gold wouldn't be worth anything at the end of the world," Doc points out softly. It may not have been the end of the world for Negan but it sure didn't sound like they were in a good place to be appreciating something so rare and precious regardless.

"Is it not simply meat that goes into dog food?" He knows what Negan is referring to. The prepackaged stuff in cans or sachets or plastic wrapping, not wild rabbit or whatever they have at their disposal when they're on the road.

"I'm not opposed to the idea." Dog food, cat food, whatever they can find here. It won't be as palatable as Negan's pasta but you do what you have to do to survive. There is no judgement in that.

"I would- rather eat your pasta, of course." Their talking about pet food isn't meant to be a commentary on Negan's cooking.

"Alright, smartass, it's like-- eating the last ration of your goddamn food then." He was trying to make it sound relatable. Nothing has much value beyond the necessities back home, not really.

There's a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess so. Probably none of the bits most people'd typically want to eat..."

But you know what? It's still not so bad. Or maybe living in situations where you're starving just adjusts your tastes a bit. There's a huff of a laugh at the reassurance though. "Relax, I didn't think you were questioning my cooking skills. But--"

Look, he can not be a prick for five seconds. Maybe. "Thanks. I'm sure I can make it for you again sometime... maybe without you having to turn on the burner and watch it for me even." One day. Hopefully.

"Sometimes it's better not to ask too many questions that way." If it's food it's food. It's fine. Knowing where everything comes from or how anything gets made, all it does is rule out options for survival here.

"I don't mind cooking," he counteroffers. "I just don't spend enough time in the house." And Neal makes him self-conscious about his simple meals. He's used to the kind of things you can wrap in foil and throw directly onto a fire or where everything goes into a single pot. With Neal around they don't need to be settling for that.

"You planning on staying out here long enough to be cooking that much?" he asks. It's not necessarily an immediate decision, he can understand if it's something Negan wants to be playing by ear one night at a time. But maybe he had some plans coming out here on his own. Plans that no doubt did not include surprise guests from their house.

"Exactly." You eat it, you don't complain if it's all you got, and you get on with surviving another day.

"Well, then... maybe we can do this once in a while. There are enough abandoned places around here. If we could camp out without weird shit happening, maybe we could even cook over a fire." Unfortunately, that's probably not happening anytime soon, but he figures that's how a cowboy is probably more used to cooking anyway.

He pauses at the question, thinking it over. Surprisingly, Negan didn't have a goddamn plan other than he needed out for a little bit. He needed somewhere to get himself together, shove all that bad shit back down until he could face the others with a grin on his face and get back to business. Or hell, maybe he planned on just running away forever, even if he knows the lack of companionship'd kill him quicker than he could ever do to himself. "Probably not. Haven't been sleeping since I've been back. Feel like I'm going goddamn insane anytime I think about-- where we all were."

And how he doesn't want to go back but he feels like it's an inevitability. "Back home, I'm supposed to be saving people. Feels like I'm goddamn useless here and that's not a feeling I take to well. Just needed a night to try to get some decent sleep in and clear my head, that's all."

But just in case Doc's getting the wrong idea here-- "... I appreciate the company though. Think it helped more than sitting here stewing in my own head. Even if we've got to get you better at Uno."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject