villagelogs | 059-061 » the place where you stop the story

Entry tags:

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 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.

navigation | faq | locations | report updates

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Malcolm sets each one aside as he butters them.

“Is this your go to or just for party food?”

Tim meant to only say that it was a 'go to'. But his brain tripped over itself and the fact that as a general rule he did make an effort to eat healthy, which a diet of grilled cheese would not support. So he ended up saying more than he meant to at this time.

"It's a go to, when I need a comfort food."

“Mine is licorice,” Malcolm tells him. “Red Twizzlers, specifically. Raylan found some in the movie theatre for me.”

For some reason 'Red Twizzlers' stuck out in his head. Tim paused for a moment to rewind his mental tape until he hit up the image of Malcolm offering him a Twizzler.

Ah.

A little too late to go back on that specific interaction, so Tim went forward.

"Never had much of a taste for chocolate or candy," he admitted, simply to make conversation, not calling anyone out on their choice of comfort nummies. "Salt, carbs and dairy are my vice. I can go through a quart of icecream and a box of tissues when I watch Old Yeller."

“I find ice cream heavy. I can manage yogurt, frozen or otherwise. I rather like sorbet,” Malcolm tells him.

"I always get sorbet and sherbet confused," Tim responded and he was stepping up to the stove to start making sandwiches. "On it refreshing, I agree with you there. The other has a texture like someone tried to freeze bubblegum."

The young marshal's tone said clearly how he felt about that texture. Spoiler. It was not positive.

Malcolm looks at him sidelong.

“Does your PTSD mess up your appetite?” he asks.

Malcolm. You have all the tact of a Sherman Tank.

Tim considered reminding the smaller man of the idea of boundaries, but he figured that he owed him for the melt down in the tunnel.

"No it does not," he drawled out as he set the first piece of bread into the skillet, butter side down and then began to build three slices of cheese onto the bread. "You don't get through Ranger training without learning the value of a meal when you have it."

He nods.

“Between complex PTSD and GAD and clinical depression, I have every kind of food aversion. Loss of appetite, food trauma, texture issues.” He shrugs. “Raylan and Doc worry.”

"They care about you, Malcolm. Of course they're going to worry, and want to attend to your wellbeing." The second slice of bread was laid atop the perfectly portioned cheese and Tim picked up a spatula and waited, occasionally nudges at the edges of the lowermost crust.

Malcolm looks over at him.

"I know that. I love them too," he replies matter of factly. "They take on worries over a lot of people, though. I'm worried about them. They're stretching themselves thin and I think they don't know another way to be."

Staring down at the shiny surface of the spatula Tim considered smacking himself in the face with the utensil. His brain, already jittery to the point of wanting to crawl out his ears went skewing into an emotional tailspin that was held behind his tight jaw by sheer force of Ranger will.

The uncertainty of what the hell he and Raylan were trying to do, when Raylan already had close, emotional entanglements with two other men in this town. But with that thought came the brief, logical consideration of stopping what he and Raylan were doing. The panic attack that hit on the heels of that thought was definitely unwelcome and Tim silently coached himself through it as he flipped the grilled cheese sandwich in the skillet.

"It's just another form of running from demons," the sniper focused on the last part of Malcolm's words, ignoring the ringing in his ears as he forced his hands through the motion of making sandwiches. "They'd be in a worse place if they didn't run themselves ragger for other people."

"I understand why they do it," Malcolm tells him, watching that stress reaction move under the skin of his jaw. "I understand how diving deep into other people's problems lets them forget their own between using the moonshine to do that. I understand defence mechanisms. But this kind of defence mechanism can't be sustained forever. There were arrangements we made in 1306 that weren't sustainable long term, either. We didn't think we'd be here for literal months. They need people to look after them as much as they look after everyone. The fire wasn't the snapping. It was a pressure valve. I don't want to lose them," he says.

Tim wavered between what he wanted to say, as a selfish asshole, and what he knew was the right thing to say. It was a struggle but he came down on the side of 'right thing to say'.

"Then look after them," he said, pleased that he didn't snap the words given the tension running under his skin like lightening. "Show them you're there for them, don't just tell them they can come to you. Take care of yourself and be their anchor."

Malcolm raises his eyebrows at Tim.

"That's exactly what I am doing. I just... had this idea that you might participate. Because you're Raylan's friend. And maybe you can at least help with his burden of responsibilities. Take some of them on or... help with them."

Okay.

It was time for a boundary to be established while Tim could still do so with relative calm. Shifting the perfectly (if he does say so himself) cooked sandwich onto a plate Tim set the skillet to a cold burner before turning to Malcolm.

"Malcolm," he began in a tone that was firm but lacked the sharp aggression of some of his other conversations with the profiler. "Raylan isn't going to appreciate us talking about meddling with his business as he sees it. What support I provide him is his business and my business. Just as what is between you two is your business and his business."

He paused and then because that had been a lot of repeating the word business, Tim boiled it down.

"I'll tend my yard, you tend yours. I think we'll both be able to coexist a lot more peaceably that way, which I think we can both agree would be a load off his mind."

Malcolm watches his face for a moment.

"I think he would appreciate his mutual friends discussing how best to help him stay safe and sane but... we're not ever going to be his mutual friends, are we?"

Malcolm feels like he's tried as hard as anyone possibly could to at least find some sort of common ground where they have someone in common.

"We're going to be... two friends that he has... at separate tables. And never the twain shall meet." He nods, setting down the butter knife in what he realizes was just busy work to mollify him and possibly shut him up. "Ten-four," he says firmly, to demonstrate he understands. "I'll..." He makes a vague sort of a gesture towards the living room. "Just get out of your way."

He steps around to head back to the main room.

"Malcolm," Tim began, though he made no physical move to stop the other man's retreat.

"You're the one driving the wedge in deeper. I have made attempts to bring those tables together, but you keep sabotaging the efforts and I'm not entirely sure you're aware of it. Might want to ask yourself why. When you figure it out, the door is open and we can talk."

Malcolm stops and looks at him with genuine confusion.

"I don't..." He takes a breath and starts again, as evenly as possible. "All I've tried to do since the first moment I met you is try to connect in some way. I was excited to meet a friend of Raylan's from home. Every attempt I've made has been rebuffed. You don't want to talk, but the door is open? Open for what? Can I get a list of approved topics? Is that the issue?"

Tim dropped both hands back against the counter and exhaled a soft breath.

"Malcolm. There is a world of difference between, 'hello, you're a friend of someone I care about, let's get to know one another' and diving straight into hauling my motivations and thought process out of my head and tossing em up on the blackboard for discussion.

It's taken me a bit to realize it, but I honestly do not think you recognize it when you're doing it. You have never talked to me, Malcolm. The closest you've ever shown to interest in me was when I was in the middle of a flashback and ... honestly?" Tim's expression was a combination of a tad hurt but also resigned. "When I was in that psychotic break? That's the first time I've felt like you were talking to me, rather than down to me."

Sighing Tim lifted one hand up and brushed it over his face, pushing away from the counter to get back to cooking.

"Everytime you talk to me, I end up feeling like you've judged me an idiot and not worth Raylan's time. It's not a pleasant experience."

Edited 2021-05-23 17:34 (UTC)

Malcolm's expression goes from confused to dumbfounded. "How can I judge you anything? You don't let me know you at all. You were Raylan's friend before you got here. When you pushed him away those first few days? It hurt him. Now that you've reconciled, I'm pleased. But that is the sum total of my thoughts on your friendship because that's all I know about it. And maybe - maybe - the only time you felt like we were engaging on a human level was during your psychotic break is because that's the only time you didn't have your shields up full-blast. That's the only time you've let me in for even a moment and only because you couldn't stop yourself from being vulnerable. Maybe you need to think about that. I've been open with you. I get a stone wall in return. Every time."

"Everybody gets a stone wall," Tim's voice finally rose a little an expression of his own mounting confusion. "It's not about keeping people out, it's about keeping myself in."

Even as he heard the words coming from his mouth, Tim wanted to stop them but he couldn't.

"I do not wear my damage on my sleeve, because I don't want to. I have steamer trunks full of trauma I need to unpack. I know they're sitting there waiting and I will have to deal with them but I have to do it at my own pace. Not because someone asks me why I don't have friends or why I made myself a slingshot." The breath he took was shaky and Tim dropped his hands to grip at the counter again.

"If the only time you feel like we can have a conversation is when I'm vulnerable? Then we have a problem, Malcolm." Tim tried taking another breath, but his chest ached as if he couldn't get the air into his lungs and suddenly he needed to be outside. But as he moved towards the back door he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"I made the sling shot because I needed a security item. Something I could touch, feel in my hands and manipulate in a way that comforts the cacophony in my head. I'm sorry it disturbed you." Tim yanked open the door and it was his turn to go out and ruminate on the back porch for a bit.

Malcolm just watches him go. Back when he asked about the slingshot, Tim didn't even have to say that. He could have said he was settling in well. He could have said anything that wasn't nothing. It was all the nothing that made it weird. At least this is something. He'd rather have Tim spit Something in his face and run away than bristle Nothing at him for hours.

Malcolm presses his lips together and turns off the burner.

"I think that went well," he tells himself flatly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

059-061 » the place where you stop the story

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject