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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What did he say, to himself, in his brain? A cactus made of cactus. A very important cactus who still goes to the effort of offering familiar jabs after being uprooted. It softens out something in the line of Hardison's posture even as he's letting out an offended little scoff, just enough, easy as that.

He wishes they had problems that annoying Eliot into taking a nap would fix. It might not be the first time he's wished that. Maybe later he will valiantly crash for the both of them.

"I can start you off with our finest tap water selections. Maybe a nice Capri Sun." All the chill drinks. "If you wanna graduate up to the hard stuff, I can't confirm or deny snooping around enough to know where people stash it. Since that would be morally wrong."

Which is to say, he had ample time to snoop and the desperate zeal to occupy himself with anything possible. Pre-earthquake. God, he forgot about the earthquake. There's not a ton of outdoor evidence of it that he sees, as they get up towards the buildings. This has really been a whole experience.

"You're covered either way, though."

Hardison doesn't have it in him to begrudge a man a drink after he literally died, if it's what he wants. Handle that when it comes to it, too. It's like the opposite energy of a last meal.

Honestly he'd take the Capri Sun and even one of Hardison's orange sodas that he suspected were about 99% sugar anyway. He'd even take the nap, too. Anything to escape the crap that's in his mind right now.

"Morally wrong and completely unethical. I definitely don't want to know those locations."

In more ordinary circumstances he'd be a little more strict on not taking other people's food or drink--stolen candy bars and sandwiches aside--but he just died twice, dammit, he'll make it up to them later.

There's something strange in the way that Eliot approaches the buildings. The dangerous situation plus the subsequent consequences of the past 48 hours or so has put him fully back into combat mode. He takes a few steps ahead of Hardison, scouting out the next twenty or so feet before moving from point to point, as if he's expecting literal fire to fall out of the sky and consume them both. Which it already did for him, so it's a thing he's legitimately worried about.

Huh.

It's not to say that he doesn't usually pay attention to Eliot and what he's doing or saying when they're out getting coffee or heading back from a job or anything. Because he does. He's an attention-payer. For various reasons, today he happens to be putting some extra percentage into the attention, even.

Eliot at this level of overdrive is still weirder than not. Another little scoop of worry for the bucket of worries, regardless of the fact that Hardison can't blame him for a vigilance uptick.

He hangs back a bit to let Eliot have the run of his route-picking. Mentally puts the nap back on the table. Looks around with the air of someone who doesn't expect literal fire to fall from the sky as they go, but who respects the concerns of someone who would probably pick up on it a lot faster if it did happen, somehow.

"Would it help you feel better if I also, like," and there, he pauses in favor of a back-and-forth pointing gesture, mostly made for his own benefit,"serpentined? Or is it cool if I just keep walking straight?"

It's lightly put, but a legitimate question. Zig-zagging is certainly on the long, long current runway of things that he'd be willing to do if it helped Eliot feel more settled.

"Yeah."

It's almost distracted, as he's currently looking around from side to side, making sure that he has all points of attack covered before moving the next few feet. He motions his hand towards Hardison to hurry up and get to him. Easier to protect you if you're next to him.

"Don't know if they're watching us."

It's unclear if they were the A. Original Things that killed him or B. The Mysterious Fire that also killed him, but clearly he's assigning blame to something that's after them, or at the very least, a force of nature that seems to delight in picking him off.

"Stay close. Let me know if you hear or see anythin' weird."

This town is officially a Threat now.

Edited 2021-03-24 02:35 (UTC)

"Right." Well, he put the offer on the table. So he'll honor that commitment and stick close to Eliot through this sudden cover-to-cover mission to the boarding house.

Hardison weighs the merit of pointing out that he walked this route out to where he ran into Eliot in the first place, with no incident to speak of. The weirdest turn of the day so far goes without saying. He ultimately decides against it. Lock him in a box and 'point out' that there's air holes; see what good it would do him.

Not a great example to live in, mentally. Kind of regretting that.

"I'd say it's weird how I'm probably the only Black dude in at least a five-mile radius, but that part's actually not super different from Portland."

Saved it. Pulled that throttle and leveled back out.

Some things aren't about the logical fact flowchart. They're about the principle, or the control, or the reassurance. Whatever. It's two birds with one stone, anyway, because he finds plenty of reassurance staying in close proximity. More for Eliot being solid and real than for perception of any Threat.

Not that within proximity of Eliot isn't generally the most solid safety protocol humanly possible.

It's very slow going but eventually, with his strange route, Eliot makes it roughly to the boarding house.

"I've been wonderin' about that," Eliot says, momentarily distracted from the unseen threats as he reaches the door of the boarding house. "We definitely ain't in Portland, though. Seems to be mostly dudes here, too. But I ain't even so sure this is..."

He doesn't want to say earth or at least, any reality they're used to.

"Either way I don't know if it's random or if we got sent here on purpose."

"If I ever get the census tallied up, we can think on it from there."

It's a very post- egg sandwich process, sure. Processes for most anything are going to take a longer time to put the work in on. That's always slated to be more frustrating than anything. Right now, it sort of works in their favor. He's willing to bet neither of them are fully online.

Hardison leans over to the door, pushing it most of the way open. He hangs back then, in case Eliot wants to take his cautious approach all the way over the threshold.

"C'mon, I'll show you my room. Can't do anything about the jeans, but I've got a couple of extra shirts you could swing if you want."

Half the flannel he found only came in size 'baggy' anyway.

He's looking forward to the egg-sandwich and post-egg sandwich activities, definitely. It's also really great to be not thinking about the earth suddenly opening up and swallowing him whole, so that's also a plus. He's wary even as Hardison opens the door, and he enters the house like he's pretty sure he's going to be attacked any second now. It's not unlike the way he moved when he was a mercenary, or in the army. Careful steps, constantly scanning.

...they're fine. He's inside and they're fine.

He relaxes, just a tiny bit. The tiniest bit.

"...yeah," it's distracted but he manages to piece together what Hardison is saying. "Shirt...good. Yeah, I'll...that's what I'll do."

Hm. It's something.

A mostly extremely concerning something. It makes sense. God knows, all things considered, the wariness isn't barreling in from left field. It's no less worth the sharp concern, the wanting to stick close. Indoors has some benefits over outside there, and they're all related to the concept of there only being so many ways in and out of a room to start with. It's worth all the point to point slow progress of getting from the edge of town to here to see Eliot's shoulders relax a tiny bit after the fact.

As long as Eliot's sort of vaguely paying attention, he can still herd him in the right directions, at least. Case in point, up one set of stairs and into room 3. It is, if nothing else... pretty Hardison-ed up already for a one-night stay. The Lucille of boarding house living spaces, perhaps.

He's got his box of basic hygiene staples next to the nightstand, which may or may not have a box of cereal sitting on top of it. A couple of dusty paperback sci-fi novels that he found sitting around. A VCR in the middle of the floor that's halfway through either being methodically taken apart or put back together.

The blankets and pillows are all neatly folded, untouched, at the foot of the bed, which he seems to have elected to use as a temporary clothes-storage catchall. Such as it is. That's where he points Eliot to go flannel-hunting, while he squats by his hygiene box to dig out a fresh bar of soap.

"And to think you're missing out on all these settled-in benefits." Simple life hack: talk enough for both of them. He's the talker. It's his niche. "Mister I-don't-travel-with-luggage. Probably got a bag of stuff hanging in a tree somewhere."

He's immensely thankful for Hardison just...being exactly himself, talking enough for the both of them, reading him exactly right and knowing what he needed, the space he needed, but also the connection he needed.

Eliot takes in the room, committing it to memory instantly, wanting to huff and puff about the VCR but being thoroughly endeared by it at the same time.

Hardison is here, really here, this is really happening, he just died twice, and now he's gonna clean up and get new flannel.

He takes a new shirt and the bar of soap and there's a pause, and a vulnerable look in his eyes for a moment. Only reserved for those closest to him, only reserved for those who he lets see him this vulnerable.

"Thanks."

It's not just any old thanks. It's genuine and it's so much he wants to say but can't, maybe he never will be able to, and it's everything.

Oh, Eliot's gonna go and make him emotional. As if he wasn't emotional already, baseline status. Hardison walks up to the line of looking like he might start crying again, but doesn't take the last step over that line.

Yesterday, there was just never gonna be any of this again. He got the proof and then some. No more dumb arguments, no more 'dammit, Hardison,' no more hard-earned rare vulnerability or silent back-and-forths with Parker or annoyed snapping or angry, weirdly specific rants about the restaurant industry. No more Eliot. No one in reach even halfway to understanding exactly how devastating that prospect is.

He's the talker, but he still hasn't worked his way up to knowing how to explain it. Hardison doesn't feel pressed to try and spit it out half-baked, because Eliot and Parker are at least people who already know the shape.

He blinks a few times. Swallows. Nods, because of course, because literally anything he can or could do that might help a little, of course, it's out on the table.

"I'll be in here when you're done."

Putting a floor between them? Sounds fake. Can't be done. A hallway is his max limit for the time being.

Eggs get cold too fast, anyway. Better to just fix that up fresh.

He sees that look on Hardison's face, the emotional pain seems to stretch out in the air between them and he catches a glimpse of what he must have been through in these past...how many hours has it even been? He doubts Hardison will be very far off at this point, and he can't blame him. He'd do the same.

There's a nod and he goes to close the door and finish washing up. It doesn't take long, not that he ever takes that long and plus he too doesn't want to be away from Hardison for very long. As if he opened the door and suddenly everything was back to 'normal,' normal being relative, and Hardison disappearing. A horrific dream within a terrible nightmare.

But maybe this nightmare's on pause, at least. He comes out, with new flannel and a new appreciation for running water and things that are decidedly not fire, and not being chased by invisible, unknowable monsters.

"Hey, Hardison. So how about that egg sandwich?"

He sounds a little better. Feeling a bit more human, clearly.

Hardison ditches the paperback he was idly flipping through and heads for the door, like a consummate professional.

Eliot does sound a little better. And hey, no mysterious void in spacetime opened in the shower. Reality gets two reward points for that. A little goes a long way.

"Coming right up."

"Thanks, man."

It's...exhausted, mostly. Driven by coming down off an extreme adrenaline rush and exacerbated by the relaxing shower. But he's not gonna fall asleep, even if his body protests and wants to.

He's not sure if he's gonna wake up or not. Or what world he'll wake up in. He wonders, vaguely, how he's going to sleep ever again, but that doesn't matter. He's used to dealing with little sleep.

He closes the bathroom door behind him, shaking some water out of his hair.

"Need help?" You know, so he can distract himself instead of hurtling through the existential horror that is his life now.

"Do you wanna help?"

Might as well cut to the heart of the matter. Wanting could be the case. And valid if it is.

"That's one way to supervise if it's up to your standards, I'll give you that."

He's not actually salty about it. Eliot has a standing soul-bond with kitchens.

There's a beat.

"Yeah, I wanna help."

You know him so well. But there's a softened look on his face, one that speaks of appreciation. Good to get his mind off things.

"All I'm doin' is showin' you how to be the best cook you can possibly be. You always gotta improve, even if it's just somethin' simple like an egg sandwich. Wish we had some parsley, maybe oregano, a little onion or pepper."

"Cool."

What's good for Eliot also significantly lowers the chances of accidentally messing up an egg sandwich and losing face. Hardison is down for that.

"You say simple and then you list like, four extra things. Dedication to the craft."

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037-040 » the reason for time

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