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

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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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I have jeans," he said quickly. Jeans that actually fit, even. Maybe they were designer and tailored. That didn't matter, right? "And t-shirts." He wanted to blend in if blending in helped Raylan.

And helped him stay with Raylan.

No one would really notice, unless his shoes were super shiny.

"Put a flannel or something over it and you're set," he assured with a squint of one eye. "They'll still mark you for bein' from outta town, but. Nothin' to be done about that. Probably better that way, in Lexington. They'll think you sized down, might even be the talk of three or four blocks."

“Well, I’m not going to leave here with any shortage of flannel,” he teased. He reached over and rubbed the collar of Raylan’s flannel shirt between his thumb and forefinger. “Or maybe I’ll wear one of yours. The sleeves will be too long, but I’ll smell you just faintly all day.”

[OOC Note: As noted in another thread, slight flubs. These conversations are meant to be in this thread. Conversation will resume with a mix of both of Malcolm's last tags.]

Raylan hummed a pleased note, glancing at the lapel that Malcolm had fingered. Just as cute as it had been when Malcolm curled up in his clothes to keep him around while he was dead. "Is it emasculatin' to say I think that'd be cute as hell?"

He nodded at the can, one eye squinting to almost shut. "I think the rice will be carbs enough but if you want toast and can't eat the other half of that. A garbage disposal, at your service.

Malcolm laughed. “I’ve been called a lot worse than ‘cute’,” he teased, though his face gave away that he was actually delighted. He gestured to the soup. “I prefer chicken and rice to chicken noodle. The texture of the noodles...” he winced slightly. “They’re always so.... squooshy.”

"It was always my go to when I feel like crap with a sore throat. No effort needed beyond mushin' it against the roof of your mouth. Aunt Helen would bring it with Saltines and 7-up. Never seemed like rice belonged in there, but I won't hold it against them. I'm fairly sure I could find a few stock recipes if I looked, and that's where all the goodness is, right?"

While Malcolm tended that, Raylan headed for the coffee pot. Never too early for coffee.

"Neal settlin' back in alright? I've seen less of him than I mean to."

"He's doing well," Malcolm assured him. "He's even getting along with my sister," he added with a grin. "He's cooking a lot, so he's not completely okay, but I think that's understandable."

"It is. The cookin' will keep his hands busy and feedin' us is therapy on it's own, of a type. Were he and she not gettin' along before? Considerin' the way she tends to barge in and yell at people, I'm not surprised, but I thought she saved all that just for me."

“I think she’s had a hard time adjusting overall.” He opened the car and dumped it in a saucepan with a splat before going to the sink to measure out water. He looked over at Raylan. “She’s not still giving you a hard time, is she? She told me she’d give you a chance.”

"Most people do," Raylan granted. Ainsley had been there long enough to start getting her footing; he hoped that was really the case. At the question he shrugged, eyes dancing away before coming back up to meet Malcolm's blues. "Nothin' I can't handle. We seem to have.. come to some kinda understandin' this last time. We'll be alright, nothin' to worry about. She just wanted to.. express her opinions about my havin' set the town hall fire."

Malcolm sighed. “Is it an understanding like Athena and I have an understanding? Like. A ceasefire, at least?” he asked. He started stirring the soup, then looked at Raylan again. “I.... think I could eat a little toast,” he confessed.

"Somethin' like that, yeah. Even if it gets broken.. I think she wants someone to fight with. Someone to yell at, somethin' to rage against, however she can. I can handle it. Her," he said with a look that he hoped was reassuring.

"But we can do toast," he said with a nod, pushing up to fetch the toaster and plug it in.

“I didn’t want it to be a chore, you two getting along. Considering how we’re... friends,” he said, swallowing and looking down into the soup as he gave it a stir. “But my... ambitions for one big happy family have been thwarted at most turns. I guess it’s fair that my people cause as much unrest as your people and Doc’s people,” he admitted with a chuckle.

Raylan's face pinched, head turning at the way Malcolm said 'friends'. They were certainly more than that, weren't they?

"Friends?" No one here and that was the word choice. "We're not all gonna get along. Statistically. And Tim's.. Workin' through some things." A lot of things. Things that would eventually reach Malcolm but for right now, it would hold. Now wasn't the right time, not after all that sweetness.

"Just like Ainsley is. I'm sure a level will come of it all, sooner or later. We've all got rough people. Not used to sharin' us or seein' us in the light that Mathis puts on us." No one had gotten ugly yet. He hoped it stayed that way.

Malcolm looked over. He caught that tone on ‘friends’. He was trying to be accommodating. Trying not to apply the pressure of his own dreams.

“I never know what to call us outside my head,” he admitted. “I don’t know what you’re comfortable with.” He watched Raylan curiously for a moment. “What would you call us?”

"Between us?" Raylan shrugged, eyes locked on Malcolm. "I like lovers. That's what we are right? By definition?"

Several definitions, as a matter of fact.

That makes him smile - small, but pleased and genuine - as he looks over.

“I like that. The way it sounds when you say it. Like a frontier poem.”

"My Dearest Malcolm," Raylan drawled theatrically, southern drawl deepening and harkening back to the way it might have sounded in the 1800's. "It has been an age since I've seen you and my arms seem like they may fall off from loneliness without you to fill them with warmth and life. The nights are an endless torment without my lover next to me."

He broke into a grin.

Malcolm's smile broadened as Raylan spoke with quiet delight.

Nobody had ever made a Cheesy Romantic Gesture towards him before.

At Raylan's grin, Malcolm abandoned the soup to its simmering to slide his arms around Raylan's neck. "I'd have hopped on the first covered wagon going west," he promised.

He loved making Malcolm smile like that and it made his own eyes warm, one hand coming out to embrace and pull the profiler in against him.

"And I'd be the luckiest man in the west for it.. We oughta steal that record player sometime. Steal an empty house too, set it up. Dance. Henry made me learn how to dance 'properly' after Neal's party so I won't offend your sense of honor or somethin' by not bein' the most Gentleman to ever Gentleman."

"My honour, specifically?" Malcolm said with a charmed grin. "Well." He considered the night of the party. "Henry is a pretty good dancer." He raised an eyebrow at Raylan. "Did he notice you didn't dance with me?"

Anyone's honor, Raylan assumed, but he couldn't say anything that would dampen or tarnish that beautifully brilliant smile getting beamed at him. It was all enough to make him almost forget that they were standing in a public type kitchen, even if no one else was in the building yet.

"I'm sure he did, but I told him I don't dance. Outside of weddin's, but that's the only place. Mainly because all I know is the middle school sidestep, the most basic and lamest of hot dance moves."

John Travolta he was not, even a fraction.

Malcolm laughed, pressing up against Raylan a little more. “You know… when I’m standing… this close to you, it’s a little hard to be concerned about what your feet are doing…” he promised with a grin.

Raylan hummed, a chuckle pulling out of him afterwards as he bounced his eyebrows a little. "Can't say I don't enjoy bein' that kinda distraction. We might not wanna chance it and just do this instead, save your toes."

The toaster beside them popped, bread popping out almost cartoonishly, but the furrow of Raylan's brow was pointed towards the stove.

"I think the soup might be startin' to burn."

Malcolm’s eyes went wide and he let go of Raylan to rush back to it, where it wasn’t yet burned, but it was on the verge of boiling over and it hissed angrily where drops splashed onto the burner. He moved it over off the heat with a wince.

“It’s okay!” he called, even though Raylan was only, like, four feet away. “It’s okay; it’s still good!”

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