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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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.

"What the fuck is up with that? You cannot flirt with that. Or well-- maybe some can, but I draw the fucking line somewhere, an that line is someone who could almost be my fucking daughter. Maybe it's this place sticking the middle finger to us again... nothing makes a man feel human again like a pretty woman to keep company with. Well, unless they're into sausage."

... Not that any of that shit's actually top priority, but it's easier to handle this talk than it is to dwell on how they're stuck in this place, people are brought in at random with no discernible pattern. Oh, yeah, and how the two of them died horrible and bloody twice in a short fucking span.

... Well, horrible and bloody once, charred and crispy the other time.

The tongue thing has him laughing though. "Hey, that is not a deal breaker. At least it's another adult to the pile."

Raylan's face curled in amusement. "I am so very glad to hear you sharin' the sentiment." Last thing he needed to deal with here was pedophiles, he'd break a man's legs if he had to and 1306 didn't need to see that side of him, if he could help it.

Sexual preferences wasn't something he ever really talked about openly; what people did was their own business and none of his, so long as no one else was getting hurt. It didn't hurt that it kept people from sticking their nose into his preferences, those of which seemed to be.. under some current evaluation.

"I could make some very tasteless jokes, but she doesn't deserve them. Nice lady, makes a mean stew. Another one from the 1800's. God help anyone comin' in from further back than that, they'd need a week to wrap their head around indoor plumpin' first."

A finger was stuck out at Negan. "Only one bottle so next question is if you need a glass or if we can travel light."

Negan has done worse than break a man's legs for that shit, so he wouldn't blame him for it. That said, Negan's been trying to keep that violence under control in himself, just to avoid freaking anyone the hell out.

He snorts. "This place, however it decides who to pull in, really knows how to pick'em, huh?"

Then again, pull people from the past far enough, they're not going to get fussy over any technology they might be lacking here if they come from further on.

"Straight from the bottle works for me." Unless Raylan has some issue with sharing.

"All the more trauma and fear to feed from us, my dear," he drawled as he stepped around the bar and recollected his stick, bottle held in his off hand as he headed back towards the door, expecting Negan to peel away with him - they got what they came for.

"Hope you don't expect me to pour one out for the homies that didn't make it. Dead ain't got no use for it."

"That'd be a waste of precious fucking booze, you know? Ain't enough of that shit to spare, I reckon, let alone on anyone gone." Maybe things aren't as dry as they tend to be back home, but...

"Besides, I think they'd understand we need it a hell of a lot more."

Raylan grinned. "Very pragmatic." He liked it. "I think John Constintine might kick my ass for suggestin' it."

Once outside, Raylan took off his hat and hung it on a nail on the Gull's porch as he passed by and off the steps.

"Not that he had the best taste in booze anyway. Always preferred bourbon myself. The older miners I dug with used to drink 'shine after their shifts. I only looked like I was keepin' up because I dumped half of 'em but.. They thought I was stone cold for an eighteen year old and what kid doesn't want that."

"John Constantine would've probably tried to kick your ass for a lot of shit. That was one grouchy motherfucker." But there's a fond note to his voice, lips turning up in a bit of a smile.

"Hey, every eighteen year old wants people to think he's got gigantic, beachball sized nuts... You don't think they ever knew you were dumping it out though?"

"Wouldnt'a gotten far, I had a feeling that man liked takin' a beatin' now and then." But, then again, Raylan couldn't say much, as many fist fights as he started or finished.

Raylan shook his head. "Nah. Went back up for a case, met one of the now Old timers working, sellin' the dynamite and Emulex needed for the work. Coulda picked his face up off the floor when I told him. Doesn't mean someone didn't suspect it."

037-040 » the reason for time

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Wanna handwave the rest of this one?

Yeah, I think so!