059-061 » the place where you stop the story

[villagemod]

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 of May 15th May 22nd.

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.

---

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— 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.)

---

OOC NOTES

— 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.

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Comments

[skladka]

[ The Darkling draws his lips tight, looking down at the other, dark eyes glittering. It's the fifth or sixth time in the span of two whole days that people have spoken to him like this. It's not a matter of manners--the Darkling is no stranger to speaking with commoners, with being a commoner--it's the words that make absolutely no sense to him that annoy the absolute fuck out of him. He forces a smile, slight, pained. ]

I don't know what any of that means.

[ And oh, how he fucking hates it, admitting that he's lost. ]

[walkingtrigger]

[ Tim looked up with a confused expression. He opened his mouth to inquire how Kirigan had gotten through life without meeting a S'More but managed to avoid shoving his foot in there. Instead he apologized. ]

Sorry. [ It was sincere, promise! ] Raylan told me that people from all manner of places and times come here. I really need to work on being more culturally sensitive.

S'Mores are a dessert a lot of people associate with outdoor camp fires. The other ... [ How to explain Bill Murray ... don't. ] It's a plot device in fiction where a person, or people live through the same day/circumstances over and over again. It's based in the lore of a morality tale, as the individual who is aware of the looping has to discover something about themselves or address something they've been avoiding in order to break the cycle.

[ Sorry Kirigan, apparently drunk snipers are also loquacious snipers. ] We had our own version here, just before you came. Though I don't know if anyone learned anything about ... [ Uh. Tim. Kitchen, Day 56? ] Well we didn't learn how to get out of here.

lmao my b for prose switch

[skladka]

Is he...drunk? Kirigan has no frame of proper reference, but his eyes dip to the bottle, snapping back when Tim talks. Far be it for him to judge if that's the case, he thinks, considering the other is explaining things in a way that actually makes sense. He nods.

"Thank you." It's sincere as well, and the Darkling finds himself relaxing somewhat--he's not putting on airs, he never has, but his shoulders are slack and he even leans into the back of the chair. Progress. Asking about what the other learned, if the morality tale is what truly happened--that seems a bit too personal for people who just met. He tucks it away in his mind, something to ask for later.

"And the tall, dark man?" He's suddenly very well aware of his height.

No worries!!!

[walkingtrigger]

He is heading in that direction, with a quickness!

"Yeah," Tim says and his face goes grave and pensive for a long moment before he gives his head a shake. "Don't ever see his face, just a general shape and that hairs standing up on the back of the neck feeling."

The word was terror. It was a feeling of terror, but Tim is not so far drunk as to admit such a thing to a relative stranger.

[skladka]

His brows quirk up, listening to the other, though he's not too impressed. Tim has just described a man, no more no less--an imposing, intimidating one, but a man. It falls flat to him, dim, though perhaps there's more to the story, or he's linked in some way.

"Is he the one responsible for us being here?" If that's the case then the Darkling would very much like to meet him.

[walkingtrigger]

Were he sober Tim wouldn't have speculated. He knew the importance of working in facts because if you went too far down the route of theory, you could start trying to warp facts to fit theory. But he wasn't sober and he'd had a rough day down in the tunnels and then on the lighthouse, so Kirigan was getting his money's worth tonight.

"Think he's maybe a representation of what is responsible for us being here," Tim said in a pensive tone, pausing his paper shuffling. "Whatever is here, watching us, it has nothing to do with human beings. Maybe just puts on a form we can comprehend." He trailed off, and muttered under his breath. "Guess we should be glad it isn't some sort of clown."

[skladka]

"Have you tried shooting him?" The Darkling's words are quick and precise; a matter of fact. Practicality is what he's going for, no more no less--he's guessing the other is Otkazat'sya, as the Darkling seems to be the only Grisha here, so shooting is the logical conclusion.

"From what you and others have told me, if he's responsible--or a representation--lying down and taking it seems... an inefficient use of your time." A quick glance at the papers.

"Unless this research is on how to do just that?"

[walkingtrigger]

"No guns," Tim said and boy did he looked pouty about that fact. "No knives, drugs or traditional weapons of any sort in this place. I've managed to put together a passable slingshot but I don't usually sleep with it."

...

Huh. You know, maybe that was something he should start doing! Tim didn't say those words but Kirigan could probably see the sentiment pass over his features.

"I think you'll find that no one in this town is lying down and taking anything," the words came with a Look. It was gone quickly and he lifted the papers. "This is recon, or at least an attempt at it."

[skladka]

Ah. There it is, more information, open and offhanded, casual in a way that the Darkling finds himself pleased to hear. The words itself--no knives, no drugs, all of that--it's less than ideal, but the fact that he's learned a great deal more in a few short moments with the other versus anyone else save maybe Mr. Givens has him nodding.

There's something else, too. Something in Tim's words, how his face shifts. Normal people don't usually sleep with a weapon, an assumption that the phrase was merely a joke flickering across his mind before Tim's face pulls in such a way the Darkling is certain he's actually entertaining the idea.

The Darkling is keenly aware that this town isn't what it seems. From Raylan's scars, from the few others he's talked to, it's not a leap to think the short man before him, drunk on moonshine as he sorts through trivial papers under the guise of recon, has something else lingering on the surface.

Perhaps it's from the village. Perhaps it's from home. The Darkling takes note, tucks it away: a weakness, he thinks. A man who presumably won't hesitate should something happen, enough that a weapon nearby while he sleeps is necessary.

The Darkling can relate in the sense that he, too, feels comfortable when he has his own weapon whenever he needs it: himself.

The pointed look gets ignored--has he touched a nerve?--and the Darkling merely watches, paying far more attention to the other's body language than he had been before.

"You're used to rifles?" He's circling back, focusing on the pout that had come before all of this, voice casual.

[walkingtrigger]

Were the younger marshal not deep into that bottle of 'shine, he would probably be more cagey about what he let drop. Or at least less casual about it.

"Spent most of my career looking down the barrel of one," Tim admitted. Definitely feeling a little loose in the tongue. "Ranger sniper scout in two wars; currently U.S. Deputy Marshal in civilian life."

[skladka]

There it is, US Deputy Marshal, that accent--coworkers, then, with Raylan. His smile thins somewhat.

At the very least, though, there's common ground. The Darkling's voice is as even as ever, despite the glint of curiousity in his eyes. Two wars. He'd been fighting the same one for centuries, and in Tim's (presumably) short lifespan, he'd fought in two.

He's assuming a ranger is similar to a tracker, though he has no basis. It's all First Army, and while he's acquainted with the otkazat'sya side, he leads the Second. Still. But a soldier is a soldier, and that grants Tim an ounce of respect.

"Being a soldier is a difficult honour."

[walkingtrigger]

Kirigan was a little off on his assumption about what it meant to be a Ranger. But unless Tim explained the elite fighting force it was only to be expected and at the current time the young sniper wasn't really in the mood.

"It is not without its challenges and its rewards," something in the way he said the words made it sound like he may have heard them as part of one too many speeches.

"The Army got me out of a shitty home life, and gave me prospects I would not have had otherwise. I proved to have serviceable skills to offer in return. Everybody was happy."

Even drunk his tone is dry as a bone. Tim has no genuine animosity towards the military and he will fight hard to support his fellow veterans. But he may have a chip on his shoulder about the support network available to veterans when they get dumped back into civilian life.

[skladka]

He's seen it on the battlefields and camps: the otkazat’sya, huddled with their rifles, quietly resenting Grisha. They chose service for a better life, they chose to enlist not because they believe but because anywhere was better than where they were currently and if they work hard enough, they'll earn a meal.

The Darkling glances over at Tim, casual as he continues the conversation, searching for the dullness that denotes a certain type of man or woman who's been through far too much war for one person--the thousand-yard stare that leaves their minds completely blank.

"Our First Army is similar--many enlist for the same reasons as you." He nods, mostly to himself, still looking closely at Tim's face.

[walkingtrigger]

Did Tim have a thousand-yard stare? Were he asked about it, he'd know exactly the stare Kirigan was thinking of and would be the first to say he did not. At least not when he was around other people, even if he was drunk. Most likely the Darkling saw nothing more than neutrality on the sniper's face as he worked. Perhap a bit of slack from the amount of alcohol he's ingested so far.

"'Reasons' are like opinions and assholes," Tim said in a bland, bored tone. "Everybody's got their own."

[skladka]

The Darkling's gaze shifts from scrutinizing to what can only be described as an eye roll without the physical act of rolling his eyes, barely shaking his head. Definitely First Army material, he thinks, and it's very much not a compliment. But he doesn't detect much in the terms of shell shock, or at the very least he doesn't have a strong grasp on Tim in general. That comes with time.

He draws himself up, standing up from the chair. He may as well poke around some more.

"You're acquainted with Mr. Raylan Givens from home?" he asks, though he's not entirely interested in the answer.

[walkingtrigger]

It was probably a good thing that Tim didn't give a rat's ass about compliments. He knew his strengths, never needed to prove them to everybody around him least of all relative strangers. Hell part of his superpower was being overlooked and dismissed, it was almost requisite for a sniper.

"We're co-workers," Tim confirmed, offering nothing more than that as an answer partly because he kept things low key about he and Raylan but mostly because he was reading something interesting. "Hmmm."

It was a grunt noise and Tim's eyebrows stitched together as he held a newsletter up for closer inspection under a lantern. "That's weird."

[skladka]

Coworkers. The Darkling's brow quirks up at that. Both marshalls, if he's remembering correctly, and he can't help but wonder if Tim will gently correct him if he uses Mr. as well.

He decides not to push his luck. Not yet.

"More odd than this village itself?" He has the Darkling's interest, however: he takes a step towards the other, and while he doesn't crouch to his level, he does lean ever so slightly. Colour him curious.

[walkingtrigger]

It would depend upon his mood honestly. Tim rarely felt the need to swing his badge around at the end of his dick unless someone gave him a reason. It was again a case of just ignore the man behind the curtain with the long range night vision scope on you.

He decided to ignore the commentary from the until now peanut gallery, and spoke to the heart of the matter.

"The note in this newsletter. It's from the editor, creator of the publication and it's a goodbye message. He's been invited up to the "Lodge"." For a man who was nearly at the bottom of his bottle of moonshine, Tim appeared to have sobered up right quick.

"Grab me that stack over there," he motioned behind him. "Second from the left."

[skladka]

"Being invited to a fete at a secondary location is hardly anything strange. A farewell from his service, perhaps." he says evenly, mostly because he's a little annoyed with the way the other orders him without warning. It reminds him of King Pytor, fat and content in his grand palace. It reminds him of having to be subservient to a leader he cares little for.

Nontheless, he does what he's told, noting the shift in demeanor: long, slender fingers grasp firmly around the stack of papers, the Darkling handing them to the soldier, barely a shift in his expression.