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Entry tags:
- *overview log,
- alec hardison (leverage),
- callisto (xena warrior princess),
- doc holliday (wynonna earp),
- elena gilbert (the vampire diaries),
- elijah mikaelson (the vampire diaries),
- ellie (the last of us),
- john carter (er),
- malcolm bright (prodigal son),
- parker (leverage),
- raylan givens (justified),
- yennefer (the witcher),
- ~ bucky barnes (marvel live action),
- ~ daisy johnson (marvel live action),
- ~ neal caffrey (white collar),
- ~ number five (the umbrella academy)
059-061 » the place where you stop the story
WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Southern Mathias
WHEN: Day 059-061
WHAT: Time returns to "normal" and Mathias grants a reprieve.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here! The next log will be posted the weekend ofMay 15th May 22nd.
RECOMMENDED ♫ Nathan Johnson "Foul Play"


CONDITIONS UPDATE
OOC NOTES
navigation | faq | locations | report updates
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Southern Mathias
WHEN: Day 059-061
WHAT: Time returns to "normal" and Mathias grants a reprieve.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here! The next log will be posted the weekend of
RECOMMENDED ♫ Nathan Johnson "Foul Play"

DAY 059-061
A BRIEF REPRIEVE“There is no real ending. It’s just
the place where you stop the story.”
— Frank Herbert
Residents awake to a peaceful morning with the sun shining and earth remaining still. There is no unsettling shaking to rouse them at dawn, and time has continued moving onward as they slept. Whatever state they were in the night before, they remain that way now, for good or for bad.
On the surface, there seems to be little lasting effect on the tiny town from that strange series of days, save for the memories of any traumatic experiences residents may have faced — but there are always consequences within Mathias. The perpetrators of acts against the town are tormented by nightmares of those acts being used against them, and those who did not raise a hand to stop those acts of destruction may yet face consequences of their own. For now, however, the unwilling townspeople should do their best to rest and recover from the disturbing ordeals of late, for this reprieve from the madness shall surely be shortlived.THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's a bit chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. They may even find some alcohol within — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

— THE HISTORY MUSEUM has not fared well with the return of "normal" time. The once esteemed wooden building is now a charred ruin, the recent fire leaving behind little of the contents within for study. The structure is unstable and it is not wise to venture into the ruins for long.
— THE WEATHER conditions remain fairly typical for early fall: warm days and cool nights. It feels almost like spring arriving except that there fewer red and orange leaves on the ground and more of them oddly returning to the trees and slowly fading to green. It's like watching one of those nature documentaries that have a timelapse of the seasons, only it's going in reverse.
— THE FOG has retreated from some areas!— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated farther into the western section of town, now stretching across town between Stine Road and Shelley Drive. This has revealed the Chasm in the earth that stretches from one side of town to the other between Stine and Hill Lane.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.
— DEATHS & DISAPPEARANCES continue! Max Guevara has vanished into the fog. Claire Novak's body can be spotted on Day 059 facedown at the bottom of the Chasm between Hill and Stine, near Phillips Drive; by the morning of Day 060, her body will be gone. (Attempts may be made to reach her body but will likely not end well for those involved. Such attempts should be reported under Exploration.)
— ALCOHOL is still in Mathias! Just barely. (Supply is running very low after recent town events.) 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 was also restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. (Alcohol does not replenish as food does.)
— PROJECT HELP Your mod needs help with some projects!
— FUTURE PLANNING If you haven't, please answer the questions here for future log planning. I will almost definitely need some of these answers for the log going up the weekend of May 15, so act quickly! Late submissions will not be considered for that log.
— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made.
— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's just Amy steering this ship, so things will are going to be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pestering me if you're stuck waiting for something.
arrival
So the confusion, the panic, it's familiar, in all the ways he doesn't want it to be, makes him sick by some decades-old association. There's something frantic in his movement as he scrambles back from the water, as if convinced that it'll pull him back in. Taking some gulping breaths, he looks around, trying to get some context for fucking anything here. The where, when, and how of his situation. This isn't any beach he knows, and god knows how much time has even passed since he was... what was he doing...?
His eyes land on his guitar, sitting a few yards away in (thankfully) dry sand. That's right. He'd been in his bedroom, smoking, jamming, and then... Blank. And now he's here.
As if on autopilot, Jeff moves for his instrument, plucking it out of the sand, his heart banging around a little hummingbird that got trapped in his chest. Just breathe, Calhoun. Don't even think. Just breathe, and move, and walk to that building over yonder. Act calm, act normal, find a person and get some basic fucking answers.
Guitar in hand (like, what, a traveling bard of yore?), he walks into the Grey Gull with a cheerful smile, trying his best not to look like he's totally freaking out inside. It's... mostly empty, which isn't all that promising, but hey, maybe this is just a sleepy town, or the restaurant isn't open yet, or... some other fucking thing, who knows. At least there's a fire going, and one other person, and the guy seems like he belongs here, so that's a plus. Jeff's absolutely going to make an eager beeline for him.
"Hey! Hi! Hello there!" Jeff waves. He's totally fine, totally normal, and he comes in peace! "Uh... Are you... open?"
What, obviously the guy's the manager, or owner, or something.
oh no he's adorable ;o;
What he gets is another stranger, hair wet, and he finds himself visibly taken aback at the friendly wave and the friendly tone in his voice. It's oddly refreshing in a way that's both grating and magnetic. His hand relaxes by his knee, subtle: he doesn't view the other as a threat. The Darkling rises, and...
Hold on, is that an instrument with him? He doesn't bother hiding the flash of confusion that bubbles up around his usually stoic features before he shakes his head, fixing the other with a look of something close to worry.
"I'm afraid I'm not the owner. I woke up on the beach only an hour or two ago." He's getting a separate chair without prompt, setting it next to the one he's using, a silent indicator for the other to sit and warm himself. The chair with the long embroidered coat remains exactly where it is. He's not entirely without sympathy, being wet sucks, but his kefta is important to him, so a separate chair it is.
"You're the first person I've seen here," he confesses, voice smooth. The other has an accent that's completely unrecognizable to him, but it's easy enough to understand.
no subject
"Well..." Wait for it, he's gearing up to say something, some theory about their predicament, some cool observation, some proactive planning from Jeff Calhoun, man of action. "Fuck."
He practically wilts down into the offered seat, thinking nothing of the coat getting its own chair, like it's a placeholder for some invisible man, or, maybe, and much more likely, just needs a place to dry.
Jeff keeps hold of his instrument as he sits, one hand on the guitar's neck, his other arm resting on the body, fingers dangling, hovering just over the strings. It's almost like he's about to play a song.
Or, at least, it's just the most natural position to take when he's sitting with a guitar. Fuck, like he could actually play anything but a muted, tinny ghost of a song, without an amp. He's got the unplugged electric guitar blues!
"Do you... think there's others? What if it's just us? What if we're all alone here? Ohh--" His eyes widen as he draws in a breath, a lightbulb of dreadful possibility going off in his head. "Dude, what if some weird rich asshole had us abducted so he could hunt the most dangerous game!" A gesture to the two of them, as if Jeff is equally as formidable as the man before him. "Man..."
no subject
"Stop."
He rises, immediately moving to the bar, talking as he does so. "Worrying at this point in time is pointless. Theorizing can come later, after we're dry. For now," he pours the other a glass of the same moonshine he'd been drinking, courtesy of whatever kind soul had been here previously. "Start with something simple." His head cants to the side, offering the other the glass. "Your name?"
email tag was a bit borked so this MIGHT POST TWICE SORRY
Wild speculation isn't helping.
Jeff watches as his fellow abductee moves to the bar, seeming to radiate a calm, controlled presence, which Jeff can't exactly relate to, though he's always admired how some could just be so composed. He's always been too much, himself; too jumpy, too flighty, too animated. All limbs and no poise.
Carefully, he sets his guitar aside and joins the other man at the bar.
"Jeff. And you're...?" He smiles apologetically as he waves a hand at the drink. "Oh, ah... Thanks! But I think I should stick to water right now."
Tempting as alcohol is, he doubts he'd stop at one drink. Then they'd really have a mess on their hands.
two jeffs one inbox
Kirigan. [ It's one of his aliases, his most recent--he has a sneaking suspicion that being called 'The Darkling' in a place like this probably isn't a wise choice, despite the fact that no one seems to know who he or his family is. ] I'd say it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, but under these circumstances, I'm not so sure pleasure is a word in my vocabulary, currently.
Did that instrument of yours wash up with you?
cw addiction
So he smiles brightly at the offered water, says his thanks, and follows Kirigan like a lost puppy back to their seats by the fire.
"Who knows, maybe this is all a misunderstanding, and we're here for a totally awesome reason, like-- Oh! An elaborate surprise party!" He grins, as if that'll convince himself, let alone Kirigan, that it's totally plausible. "Then it'd absolutely be a pleasure."
Yeaaaah, they're definitely not here for a party.
"And, ah... Yeah. It's funny, because the last thing I remember-- you know, before waking up on the beach? The last thing I remember was jamming by myself, just me and my guitar. Then I must've... spaced. Blacked out or something." He tries to say it casually, with a shrug, like it's totally a hypothetical that just came to him, and not something he's had too much miserable experience with. But maybe he's trying too hard, coming off as too casual, too forced.
"What about you? What's the last thing you remember?"
no subject
He files it away for later, and takes a sip of his own moonshine. The liquid in the glass is almoist done, and his chest feels as warm as the fire they're near. Jeff asks the question and his gaze slides to the brilliant flames, face softening.
'I don't have to kill you, Darkling.' The tracker boy's words cut through his thoughts, floating out of reach but still cutting to the quick. 'Your past will do it for you.'
"Pain," he answers softly. Maybe that's what's under the surface for Jeff, too, something underlying the maundering speech. Maybe if he tugs on that thread they'll have something in common.
no subject
As far as answers go, it's vague, lacking in the specifics of what Kirigan was doing in the last moments before washing up, but also oddly precise, cutting right to the core of it all.
And Jeff has no poker face to speak of, so he winces sympathetically, then draws his brows together with a little frown as he considers his own circumstances. In the past, when he'd blacked out, pain was certainly a factor. Or, more like, fucking endless psychological torment. Sometimes it was like he was drowning in it, but mostly, it was just a steady, persistent little drip wearing away at his sanity.
But it's been nearly 25 years since he'd last spaced out like that. Lost time. Wandered on autopilot. And he can't say he was hurting in any particular way in those last moments he can remember back home. He was just... strumming and singing a song of no particular significance. Sure, there was some bittersweet thread running though it-- there always is, when he plays-- but nothing, like, significant. Just your usual dull, old pain.
Jeff takes a sip of his water to stall saying anything real.
"Sorry." He offers a slight, sympathetic smile, his overall demeanor a bit more subdued now. "It does have a way of making everything go all, ah... fuzzy, doesn't it."
no subject
"Quite," he says softly, and visibly pulls himself back together--his shoulders move back to how they'd been before, stiff and regal, back returning to his usual straight posture. He clears his throat. Enough thoughts of the tracker boy, enough dwelling on the girl who betrayed him, enough of the world sought him out to be the villain.
Time to tug on that thread he'd seen in the other, the little part that had been peaking out, just a little frayed.
"What had you been playing?"
no subject
He shrugs one shoulder, still smiling, "Nothing special. I was teaching myself the guitar solo in Nancy's Boys. You know, the Ally Shady song?"
Okay, so it's possible that Jeff still hasn't picked up on the fact that they're literally from two different worlds. He just assumed Kirigan has a very particular fashion sense.
But most people in his world know the band Ally Shady, if they know, like, rock. Jeff just happens to know the titular Ally on a way more personal level. Or he used to, anyway.
no subject
"Perhaps you should play it." If the other plays, maybe his nerves will calm--or maybe he'll think, and maybe that thread will present itself once more. Regardless, the Darkling can find some semblance of peace as the other becomes more and more at ease.
There's the chance this could backfire horribly, of course, and the other's skills are limited at best, but he's willing to take that chance.
no subject
God, they made something incredible together.
The thought's enough to make his fingers freeze before he'd even come close to plucking a string. No, if he were to play a song for the other man, it'd be something without so much of the stain of his own experiences on it. A simple, straightforward cover of a song by an artist who's never even entered his orbit before.
Which is all fucking moot, because of one key, totally crucial detail.
"Find me an amp and I'll play something." Not that song, but something, sure. "But, ah... As it is?" He leans over to pluck one of the strings. There's sound, but it's definitely muted, doesn't have the same resonance a proper acoustic instrument would. "You won't really get the full effect."
He's being evasive, but, like, at least he's friendly about it.
no subject
There's also the fact that he doesn't know what an amp is, but he's quickly learning that half of what Jeff says is completely gibberish to him. Context is key in these sorts of situations, as much as he wants to grind his teeth together and clench his jaw in annoyance. His face is impossibly neutral.
"Your hands curl around it while you're talking. It clearly brings you comfort," he observes. Sure, it could be fidgeting, but the way the other plucks at the strings absently all but confirms things.
no subject
...okay, he isn't, but he doesn't need to get called out like that! Jeff seems to shift a little in discomfort at the other man's observations, benign as they seem to be. It's probably pretty easy to tell that Jeff's somebody who doesn't exactly like to be seen. Not like, physically; he's certainly not a wallflower. It's more like...
He has a mask that he's comfortable with.
"Well... Yeah, I mean." Jeff shrugs and offers (or forces) a relaxed smile. "I've been playing since I was old enough to hold a guitar. It's pretty much an extension of me." He finishes his water, and leans over to set the glass down, before shooting Kirigan a curious look. "You really want me to play something, dude?"
no subject
It's infuriating. He's lucky he controls his face and keeps that passive look on it, lest he starts sneering.
"It calms you." The Darkling knocks back the rest of his moonshine, what little that had been left in his glass sliding down his throat, a pleasant burn spreading through him. That's a yes.
no subject
It doesn't calm him. It's not, like, some hobby he picked up to manage his anxiety. Music is the special language he shares with the Gift. It's the gateway that connects him to something beautiful and boundless, something that threads through all of existence.
"That's not what it does," he murmurs as he picks up the guitar and settles it on his thigh. But he doesn't elaborate, doesn't bother to explain what the guitar really means to him, just puts a smile on his face and tries to will some good cheer into his fingers. That's all he needs. Fake it til the gloom passes.
"Okay. Here's a song."
Of course, whatever he gets to playing is totally unfamiliar to Kirigan, but maybe he'll enjoy some sick (albeit unplugged) riffs in the tune of Taylor Swift, anyway.
And you better believe Jeff is singing along, too.
"I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say, mmm-mmm
That's what people say, mmm-mmm..."
But hey, at least he's actually got skill in both the singing and the guitar playing departments.
no subject
Jeff sings and the Darkling listens, pleasantly surprised. His musical awareness is rudimentary at best, but the sincerity in the bard's voice is unwavering, genuine passion weaving seamlessly into every note. It's impressive, he thinks, though his knowledge comes from fetes and orchestras, far more accustomed to balalaikas than electric guitars.
The lyrics need a little more adjusting, but who's he to judge? By the time the other finishes, the Darkling's second glass of moonshine is completed. He even has the manners to clap, however softly and politely, as if attending the opera.
"You'd be a welcome addition to the Small Palace."
no subject
He doesn't feel it now. The Gift's still here, of course; it still exists, and nothing can stop that. But it's kind of... fuzzy. Muted. Just a little off, like he can't harmonize with it, no matter how much he puts into his singing, or his playing, and it's just.
Weird.
Wrong.
Unsettling.
The feeling lingers even as he finishes the song, and it's only the sound of polite clapping that brings him back. Jeff blinks a little, seeming to shake off the distraction, and looks at Kirigan with a smile, trying not to let any of that uneasiness show through.
Keep smiling. Fake it til it's real.
"Thanks!" His response is genuine, at least, even if he's a little on edge from his own performance. A beat, then: "I think? That's a good thing, right? I never heard of the Small Palace..."
no subject
It's not just nervousness, there's something else.
The Darkling hides a small smile.
"The Small Palace is where I reside. It's not as...quaint... as this." A glance over to the interior of the Grey Gull. Is he judging? Absolutely, and he's not bothering to hide it. He's no stranger to huts with no electircity, certainly not above slumming it in tents (although, being Grisha, the Second Army tents are far more luxurious), but this is different. He was put here, he didn't choose it.
no subject
Finally, the clouds of ignorance part, and a lightbulb starts to flicker to life.
What if-- and this is crazy, but hear him out-- what if they're not from the same reality?
"Oh," he says. Followed by, "Sorry, where's that?"
no subject
"Os Alta," he says smoothly. "The country of Ravka." Which, he can already tell, is completely foreign to the other just as much as the strange references and the unusual instrument is. He continues, mostly to watch his face. "Fjerda to the north, Shu-Han to the south." The Fold to the east, his own creation, a scar of darkness tearing his country in two.
no subject
Blink blink blink.
Jeff really makes an attempt at keeping his face a cool and collected mask of neutral impassivity, even as every single name and geographical reference flies right over his head.
"Ahhh..."
And then he fails.
"I'm sorry, dude, I've got no idea where any of that is, and normally I'd chalk that up to the whole American ego thing, like, 'Oh wow, there's an entire world outside of the US? What a surprise!' but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have forgotten four whole countries!" Or was it three? What's Os Alta? Is it a city? A continent? A planet? "Shit! There I go, arrogantly assuming you even know what America is! We really are the worst!"
Okay, so maybe he's having a bit of an existential meltdown right now. It's one thing to, like, speculate and theorize that they're from different worlds. It's another to have it... not confirmed, exactly, but not refuted, either. It's an idea that's beginning to become more and more of a reality.
"So either I'm in your world, or you're in mine-- which wouldn't make any sense, I mean, the Gift wouldn't feel so out of tune if we were home-- or! Third option! Neither of us are in our worlds, and this is some new fucked up layer of existence as we know it-- or not know it, I mean--"
Jeff just might just keep going if he isn't stopped.