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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Years of dealing with Hannibal, as well as keeping his face neutral when the hallucinations were at their worst, allowed Will to maintain that same neutrality when Raylan spoke of death and peace.

'Would that be considered a mic drop?' Hannibal inquired in that wry tone that was designed to get under the skin. The one where he was amused, smug and superior in your general direction. Will did his best to ignore Lecter as well as the desire to pick at his own scab.

Because he knew exactly the sense of offense Raylan indicated feeling when death had failed to be peaceful. It was a jarring sensation, one that brought a sense of anger and even disappointment, that was hard to describe; even to your own consciousness.

"How did you die the second time?" Will asked with soft curiosity. He set aside the topic of the lodge for the time being, circling back to a throwaway comment Raylan had made when he first started talking. Keeping them in the environment of what had happened in that other Mathias, for now, rather than let Raylan come back to the present just yet.

Edited 2021-03-21 18:26 (UTC)

After all that silence, a voice coming back out of Will was passingly strange. Silence laid a dangerous trap and he was just fucked up about his deaths enough to fall into it. His thumb fiddled with the horseshoe ring on his finger as he answered, the only give to the restlessness that thinking about it still put in him.

His jaw worked a little as he took a breath in, patience pasted over his face that, a minute ago, had been calm and worn out enough. "Clinically? By fire reacting to the napalm that wasn't on my jeans. Unless there's an explanation out there for live fire.."

He didn't mean to sound short but Raylan was very much the kind of man to be angry at the things he didn't understand. "A lightin' storm rolled into town. Nasty one. Lit the Town Hall on fire. Caught me on the way by."

Now it was time to go back to the comfortable silence. It was a technique he had used, as an investigator and had used against him, as a patient. Silence was powerful. It was comforting, especially when the horrors were coming from within the house so to speak. Will suspected that Raylan's talking now had less to do with who Will was and rather who he wasn't.

He wasn't Malcolm, Neal, or any of the others for whom Raylan strove to be strong.

Sitting silent, especially as the Marshal worked that ring, was akin to giving Raylan the opportunity to talk out loud, as if to himself. A chance to pull those dark thoughts squirming like a knot of ichor within his mind, out into the open.

Where the dragons could be slew.

He couldn't say why he didn't just get up and leave. Give into the itch in his palm to wrap it around a bottle, burn the edges of the memories away. But that did little good when the faces that were so vividly screaming at him in his head were at home to greet him. No, he wouldn't have handled the pressure quite so gracefully, if his position with Will was reversed. Quite the opposite. He would have murdered his way out of it. A much different story.

Instead, his mouth opened and spilled more useless words.

"I wasn't the only one either. Neal too. Stupid softhearted bastard came back to try to save me... Instead he watched me scream and... and burn-" His voice softened and cracked a little, forcing him to stop and start again. "Before joinin' me in it." He cleared his throat and pushed to his feet, thinking for what felt like the hundredth time that he needed a drink.

"Is this the first seizure you've had?" No more of the past for just now.

The redirect was not particularly subtle but Will didn't figure Raylan was going for subtle.

Off to the side Hannibal was wearing his inquisitive I want to hear more expression. The doctor eager to probe at the beautiful horror suggested in the confession of Neal's involvement. The burning alive.

Will ignored him.

"There are some beers in the fridge." He offered. No he wasn't reading Raylan's mind. He was remembering their first meeting, the whiskey being carried about, he knew the man would partake of a drink. Add that to the assumption that anyone who was reliving burning alive would need a drink and that was where Will came up with his offer.

"No." He answered the question directly. "I suffer from Anti-NMDA encephalitis." Will reminded the Marshal with a little half smile. "Seizures are a symptom of a flare up."

Edited 2021-03-21 22:36 (UTC)

No, subtle was long in the review now. Raylan hummed at the offer and turned on his heel to head that way, too hard pressed to think much of it beyond scratching the itch. Will had offered so there wasn't any misstep in manners.

"Next time it happens, I'm tempted to just toss you over my shoulder and carry you back here. Think you'd give me much of a struggle?" The beer popping seemed to echo around the house to meet the clink of the cap hitting the trash can that preceded the steady thunk of his bootheels. The ask hadn't just been for his own sake, it was also another door to allow Will to change his story or give Raylan some insight into why the man ticked the way he did. It didn't matter that he'd heard the whole story; there was some indescribable thing he hadn't figured out yet.

"I'm sorry that you suffer 'em. I suppose I oughta say that I'll pull off my questions when it happens but I didn't get much warnin' besides you snappin' at your ghosts."

No misstep at all. For all his antisocial behavior, Will was more than happy to share his alcohol supply.

Whether by accident or design Raylan had picked a good time to ask his question. Will was still tired from the seizure, too tired to lift his guard of prickly quills. In addition he was feeling a little guilty for having drawn so much out of Raylan in this conversation. It seemed only fair to return some of the vulnerability.

...

Perhaps a little guilt for what he'd written and posted on the bulletin board as well.

"Hallucinations," he corrected. "They're hallucinations. Projections of my own psyche laid atop the memories of the monsters I constructed within my imagination when I was hunting them." He waved a hand, suggesting he could go into further clinical detail but he didn't expect Raylan was up for that much depth. "However, you're not wrong in it being an indicator. I can usually function around their presence without making it obvious. If I'm openly interacting with them, then the gears have slipped." Such as they time he contaminated a murder scene.

"I would struggle," he continued after a brief water break. "This is the messed up part of the whole story, Raylan." Was that the first time he'd used the man's name? Perhaps. "The only person who has ever had my back, has been Hannibal." He flicked his eyes to a spot just behind Raylan's shoulder but said nothing to the hallucination preening back there. "Granted it was more about Hannibal's own screwed up code of honor, keeping his word, then any sort of altruistic motivation, but he could have easily left me to die in Verger's basement."

Another sip of water, this time a stalling tactic as Will struggled to sort through his next words.

"Outside of that one instance everybody I thought was a friend..." the words tapered off as Will wrinkled his nose, annoyed at what he felt was close to his own belly aching. He took a deep breath and then turned back to Raylan. His expression was oddly kind and even friendly in a way.

"I am more inclined to trust your hostility as genuine, rather than your attempt to aid me."

The look that Raylan turned on him was gently amused around the edges. "I feel like the south would confuse you quite a bit." Hallucinations were technically, the functional generalization, but they were still his ghosts. The hallucinations had to come from somewhere - those faces that followed him haunted him for reasons Raylan wasn't going to bother digging around in. There was no fixing what was wrong with Will.

"Had your back...." Raylan echoed. "Didn't you tell me he cut you open at the stomach? Didn't you take him off a cliff?" He shook a hand, face pinching. "Never mind. I never liked shrinks, myself, though the profession is useful." Continue..

His expression stayed pinched for a long moment before he shook his head, huffing a gentle breath. "I'm not here to hurt you or break you or use you the way Jack did. You know that what they did was wrong, right? All of 'em. Hannibal too, if you want my opinion." And even if he didn't, Raylan was giving it to him anyway. Will would learn that Raylan's glowering faces and stern voice that never really raised didn't lead to much unless given warnings were ignored.

"My bein' upset is genuine, don't get me wrong. But it ain't gonna end with.. End the way you're used to. It's three sheets of paper for godssake."

Will's lips twitched. "I was born and raised in Louisiana," he remarked and perhaps for the first time he sounded unhaunted.

He sobered and did as Raylan asked, letting go of the conversation about Hannibal having his back. For a few minutes Will was quiet but it was a thoughtful sort of quiet that he broke in a calm voice.

"Do you remember how you felt when you died but then found yourself tossed into that alternate Mathias?" He slowly sat forward bracing his arms on his knees, fingers folded together. "I struggle with that ... anger and confusion every time I open my eyes here. I didn't take Hannibal off that cliff out of some misguided sense of martyrdom. I was done, Raylan. I was done with the fighting, the pain, the broken edges I live with ... I wanted peace."

Lacing and unlacing his fingers he looked down at Raylan's knees.

"You got a taste of that. Tell me, as you struggled with the disappointment, having to shift gears from letting go to being trapped, what instincts did you follow? You ran on what was routine, didn't you?"

Will stopped, exhaled and leaned back. He was tired of trying to unwind his own thought processes.

"Your complaint is lodged and registered. I won't repeat the mistake."

"Oh trust me, a little bob, a little weave, we can have a conversation about how southern you are. Maybe you just been too city bound on your day in day out." It was a porch and tea conversation, something playful to pass the time, but Raylan didn't think Will did playful in any kind of manner. He hadn't see that face yet.

He'd learned that silences with Will were productive and he let it linger, looking back over at Will as he spoke up again. Face trained into the mask of casual confidence, Raylan's head tilted a little at the question returned to him.

"After what they put you through, being suicidal in any kinda fashion is to be expected. Hell, I think they would have enjoyed the turn of game, from what you told me." Turning himself, he ambled back towards the living room and propped his fingers on his hip.

"The disappointment came well after. The anger, not so much. No room for it when I was tryin' to shove unspilt guts back into my stomach. But once I had, I took advantage of my situation for as long as I could. More answers, even if I couldn't carry them back.. I know that's what you were tryin' to provide everyone else." He stopped and took a breath. "It was valuable information, it just needed a.. An edit. It's not.. somethin' that needs to be entered into the program. Just a note for.. Next time."

"You're doing better than me," Will admitted, leaning back and looking up into Raylan's face. His voice was deadpan but there was something in his eye that was almost a twinkle of wry amusement. "I'm pissed as hell, finding myself back amongst the living."

It was honest sentiment but touched with a wry, macabre humor of self-awareness. Will did not intend for them to linger on the subject and he waved a hand in acknowledgement.

"I know I should say something comforting like 'there had better be no next time' but we both know that is not a particularly realistic likelihood. So. Noted."

"Too many years of practice," he freely admitted in return, already sure that Will had somehow gotten a glint into the possibility of Raylan's deep seated anger, despite him barely showing even the edge of it here. But he wasn't going to linger on the subject either.

Raylan huffed. "I appreciate the candor. Agreed upon lies aren't helpful to anyone here." He took a deep breath.

"I should let you rest, since you're clearly not gonna do so while I'm here. But I'm coming back with a plate of food around dinner. Won't be what you're used to, I'm sure but.. I saw how little was in your stomach. So no arguments, huh?"

Will briefly considers pointing out that they're probably both glad there wasn't much on his stomach, but he decides he's too tired for the snark. Raylan isn't wrong about his waiting to rest until he was alone so Will doesn't try to deny that either. He does begin to toe off his shoes and make I'm nesting, please close the door on your way out motions.

"I never argue about food," he says ignoring Hannibal's smirk. "At least I don't have to worry about the protein."

At least there was something Will wasn't going to argue over. Raylan nodded, a small smile playing along his lips. "Expect me back in about three, four hours then. Take it easy, you need that rest."

He nodded once more in farewell before he opened and stepped out the door.

True to his word, it was about three and a half hours later that Raylan turned back up on Will's porch with a plate in hand. He'd gotten some questions at home about where he was going but they were easy enough to answer without getting any shit. After all, if Doc was allowed to do it, why not Raylan.

At some point Will had stripped off his flannel shirt, though in a turn of luck for them both he'd left his jeans on. His hair was even more chaotic than usual and he was blinking sleep out of his eyes as he cracked open the door. For a long moment he stared at Raylan with the expression of a man who was trying to remember where the fuck he was, what the fuck he was doing there, and who the fuck was standing outside his door.

Raylan was astute enough. He could probably pick out the moments when each of those questions clarified into an answer. It was shortly after the last piece slid into place that Will stepped back and pulled open the door in invitation. Will would have closed the door politely but there were no lights on in the house so he wandered off to rectify that situation, trusting Raylan was capable of kicking the door closed if his hands were full.

At least Raylan wouldn't have to question if Will had rested; Will's everything screamed fresh from sleep. The Marshal took in what he could with the ambient light as Will got his bearings and walked in behind him. Will was more solidly built that he'd expected - something to keep in mind if the smaller man got.. excitable.

The door was shut gently behind him and he ambled towards Will's kitchen as the lights were turned on nd the cursory glance around ended on the kitchen table where he set the plate down. "It ain't nothin' fancy but it's somthin'. Corned beef with some potatoes and corn. Not exactly the top shelf Hannibal got you used to, but. It'll give your body somethin' to chew over that isn't your stomach."

He did not make a big show of it but Will did detour to get his flannel shirt. Covering up for the sake of proper manners. Being outdoors and someone who thrived on DIY projects Will had always maintained a level of physical fitness. He was no hand to hand combat specialist and his marksmanship would probably make Raylan weep, but he was a wriggly little shit when he put his mind to it.

"Less said about Hannibal's cuisine the better," Will said in a dirt dry wry tone. The scent of the food hit his nostrils and his stomach gave an eager grumble of approval at the idea of eating. Will looked a little abashed. "Excuse me. I'm sure it will be fine. Thank you."

Perhaps the way to a man's ... politeness was through his stomach? The ex-profiler was definitely less prickly than usual at the moment. He approached the table and the plate with a fork in hand, then paused and looked about worriedly before offering. "Help yourself to a beer?"

It was rude to eat alone!

It would have been impolite even to Raylan's sensibilities to come to a table to eat with no shirt whatsoever, however well Will might be built, and Raylan smirked with a faint lift of his eyebrows - a subtle nod to go with it. Probably for the best - Raylan's stomach didn't want to think about what Hannibal served.

All that mattered was that Will looked like he was interested in the plate and might get some of it down. Having lived with Malcolm, Raylan was a little more used to people not eating well and it was strange to see and note. He glanced at the fridge before looking back, brow pinched slightly.

"You sure?" He hadn't been expecting the invitation or even the idea that he would be invited to stay but he was not against it, if it wouldn't make Will uncomfortable. The poor man seemed like 98% of his existence was uncomfortable; Raylan didn't want to make it worse.

98% of Will's existence was uncomfortable. The other 2% involved dogs, which he did not have here in Mathias so ... 100% of Will's existence was uncomfortable. The look he gave Raylan said as much even as he pointed out.

"Do I strike you as someone who makes an empty offer out of some misguided sense of politeness?"

Come on Marshal. Get your beer and sit down. Will neatly forked a bit of corned beef and potato together on his fork in a surprisingly elegant manner before lifting it to his mouth to munch.

His expression held for a second before he bobbed his head with a flaring roll of one hand that said 'Fair enough' as he ambled towards the fridge and got said beer. Popping the cap off with his horseshoe ring in one practiced motion, Raylan pitched it neatly into the trashcan before taking a seat. In the name of manners, he even took off his hat, setting it on the tabletop for safekeeping.

"How are you doin' on food regularly, out here by yourself? I assume you've been scavengin' but I can get where it's easy to overlook the actual eatin' itself. Real shame that garden isn't givin' us tomatoes yet, I'm lookin' forward to fresh produce and not whatever the hell it is that Mathis is replicating."

Oddly enough Will did not immediately bristle at the implication that he could not take care of himself, despite being a grown man.

"I spent almost forty years as a bachelor," he remarked looking at Raylan with a wry twist of his lips. "I can do more with a can of SPAM then most people could do with a prime rib eye." Of course having his dogs depending on him had helped Will at times, with the motivation to get up and out of bed, but he didn't need to bring that up.

"Be nice if there were fish," he said as way of agreement with Raylan about the fresh produce. "Besides being a good source of protein, there is something about standing hip deep in running water, casting a fly, that is just good for the mind."

"Bein' able to cook it isn't the problem, most men figure out how to do it. Don't think there'd be half of us if we didn't. Though, those of 'em with wives always tend to be.. thicker than the rest of us." It was a gentle way of correcting the misunderstanding on that particular point. "You've also managed to stay fairly the same since comin' here, what you carry in your face and shoulders. Just checkin' in on your appetite."

But his stomach had been empty fairly late in the afternoon, and Raylan was a curious kind of man.

"Never been much good at fishin' though I imagine that's lack of practice and know how. If you can apply the same.. techniques in open ocean water, you might be able to do it again. Mathis is a fishin' town. I'm still waitin' to see her port. It's gotta be here. And with it, fishing tools, engines maybe. Something to put our hands to. Since shootin's off my list right now, I'm always lookin' for things good for the mind and figurin' out the forest is on hold."

"My father was a good man," Will began in a quiet tone as he continued to steadily eat, speaking after each swallow. "He never let me go hungry but sometimes he had to be out on the water for days that turned into weeks. Inconvenient as hell but that kind of overtime was good money." Munch, munch, munch. "I learned early that if I kept myself fed, clean and in school, people kept out of our business."

It was a habit that had carried over in his adulthood. Where keeping himself fed, clean and showing up to work meant that people didn't show up at his door asking about his mental health.

Will glanced up at the news that Mathias was a fishing town and he perked up a little at the idea of fishing tools and the possibility of engines. The comment about shooting earned a flat look from the ex-profiler, something that was definitely self-deprecating.

"The greenhouse is keeping my hands busy these days," Will offered. "Horticulture is not my long suit but building maintenance is a good hobby. When there are no fish to catch, engines to fix or targets to shoot."

Raylan sipped his beer slowly, ankle crossing over his knee and giving him someplace to set said beer as he listened, nodding a little at the point Will was making. From a legal standpoint, Will was right. That's about all the state tended to care about.

"Smart move. That's the best way to stay under the radar, especially if you're stayin' outta trouble on top of it. No reason for anyone to look your way."

So fishing was Will's thing huh? Good. It was good he had something. Raylan's lips twitched towards a smile at the flat look he got. What could he say, he liked shooting.

"There's enough goods here, in these rottin' houses to fortify it for another five years. If you want the help. Been thinkin' about buildin' a one room shed off the house, if I'm honest.. What're you plannin' on doin' once the greenhouse is finished?"

"I would have been happy to spend my life under the radar," Will muttered before he focused on a few more bites of food. Then he sat back and lightly tapped the fork on the plate with a pensive expression before setting it down so he could scrub his face with both hands.

"No idea." He answered, uncharacteristically forthright with his hands dropping to his sides and his eyes settling on Raylan's face. Also uncharacteristic. "I try to think beyond one hour at a time ..."

He trailed off and though he didn't wind up to twitchy levels he looked tired.

"It becomes a cycle. There's the urge to orchestrate beautiful deaths and dismemberment for everyone in this town, which leads to the itch to go throw myself off the cliff edge into the abyss." He picked up the fork and sat forward once again eyes going to the food. "Best way to control is the same tactic I've always used; do something with my hands."

037-040 » the reason for time

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cw: suicide ideation

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