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villagelogs2021-06-05 08:09 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagelogs2021-06-05 08:09 pm
063-064 » no matter how much / part ii (group A)
WHO: Group A members only.
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 063-064
WHAT: Matthias becomes a little larger and a little smaller at the same time.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!
RECOMMENDED ♫ DEADLY AVENGER "Raiju"
CONDITIONS UPDATE
OOC NOTES
navigation | faq | locations | report updates
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 063-064
WHAT: Matthias becomes a little larger and a little smaller at the same time.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!
RECOMMENDED ♫ DEADLY AVENGER "Raiju"
DAY 063-064
NO MATTER HOW MUCH“No matter how much suffering you went through,
you never wanted to let go of those memories.”
— Haruki Murakami
At first, in the calm following the storm, nothing seems amiss. When the residents awake, it is to another glorious morning dawning in the unsettling paradise that is Mathias Township. Indeed, it does seem rather glorious that morning, for there is sunshine in a blue sky that has been cleared of any remnant of the angry storm clouds from the day before. But before long, residents will start to notice signs of something being not quite right.
It should be a familiar sensation to most by now.
It begins as just a feeling, a strange hint of something in the air, a nagging voice at the back of the mind. They can't quite put their finger on it but there is something. Something wrong, something that shouldn't be — which is quite a statement in a town where everything shouldn't be. But then the pieces will begin to come together.
A person has gone who ought to be there. This in itself is not a strange occurrence, for many have vanished and then returned, or not. This time, though, it is one person, and then two and three... A dozen people or more have gone, with no trace of their whereabouts to be found.
No resident is alone, thankfully. There are others who also remain: friends, acquaintances, strangers. Others who are just as trapped in this nightmarish place.
As the hours stretch on and residents begin to venture beyond their self-claimed shelters and move about the town, they will find that their fellow captives are not the only things that have vanished. The Chasm is gone as well, the crack in the earth that once stretched across and cut off the western part of town. There is not even the smallest mark to show where it had once been; it has gone so completely that some might wonder if they had merely imagined it.
ABOUT THE NEW LOCATIONS
POPPY COTTAGE This bed and breakfast has a sense of casual elegance with the elusive quality of being both sophisticated and comfortable at the same time. Aside from being covered in dust and grime, of course.
PENHEW HOUSE Perhaps familiar to some in Mathias, this grand house is different from any of the others the residents have entered. It looks... new. Fresh. Clean. The usual thick layers of dust and grime that would be caked onto every visible surface are nowhere in sight; this absence may be a relief for some and unsettling to others. There are certainly other unsettling things to be found in this location.
THE OLD CHURCH Barely more than ruins, the property is marked by a crumbled stone outline that has no roof and only partial walls, nothing left inside besides a broken cobblestone floor.
BANEBERRY HALL From the outside, Baneberry Hall seems like your average rich person's house, but one would be mistaken to assume anything of the sort. Even the baneberries that cover the back lawn leading to the forest treeline are deceptive, for they appear harmless but are fatal to any human foolish enough to eat them.
The building is decaying from within. The rooms have begun to rot, from the parlors and libraries still done up in grand and expensive style to the bedrooms that have locks on the doors and bars on the windows. There are restraints in some of those bedrooms, while others are bereft of sharp objects. In the hall closets, there are identical sets of white pajamas of all sizes, and the offices have locked cabinets (that may be picked) full of a rainbow of sedatives (that will not replenish). The names on doors and in logbook lists are all smudged beyond legibility, and all paperwork has been water-damaged and weathered, leaving no indication of who may have been kept in those bedrooms or why. But within each room, there is an item that may be familiar to one of the residents now wandering its halls. As caked in dust and grime as anything else, each item is placed as if it belongs there, as if it might have been there for years. But it couldn't have been... could it?ABOUT THE ITEMS FROM HOME
Within the unsettling walls of Baneberry Hall, residents may find OBJECTS that are uncomfortably familiar to them. Each item has one singular memory attached to it that, when touched in any way, will be experienced first hand, as if the person receiving it had lived it themselves. This person will endure all of the associated emotions and psychological reactions to the memory that the memory's owner experienced.— Items may only be found within Baneberry Hall. These items from home are not all in one room or a specific location but instead are scattered throughout the bedrooms. (Only the items on this list are available to this group.)
— Ownership and possession of the item are important elements to this event. While the item is in possession of someone who is not its owner, it will continue to infect all who touch it with the memory that belonged to its owner. The item will also, before long, begin to make the possessor ill, both physically and emotionally uncomfortable and upset. This only occurs until the item is reunited with its owner, or until it is no longer in someone else's possession. (For example, if Person A finds Person B's teddy bear and carries it with them, they will continue to experience the bear's associated memory until they no longer have it in their possession, whether this means they have left it somewhere or it has been returned to Person B.)
— Recipients of memories will retain those memories even after the event has ended.
— When the owner of an item finds their item or has it returned to them, they will also experience the memory once themselves, having it returned to them as if they had just lived those moments again. The memory is only replayed once in their minds and then the memory effect of the object is gone. After this point, the item can be held by the owner or any others without consequence.
— If a person removes an item from its room in Baneberry Hall but does not remove the item from the property entirely, the item will be mysteriously returned to its original location when no one is looking. This is so that people do not have to keep close track of where items are going in the possible changing of hands, so the original owners can still easily locate the item without having to plan in great detail. Once an item is removed from the property, it will not return to its original location even if it is discarded by the possessor before reaching its original owner. Instances such as this should be planned among all involved parties, including the owner of the item.
— Once an item is removed from the property, please comment below so that information may be updated. Items that are not removed by the end of the event may reappear at a later time, so accurate records are essential.
— Before an item's memory is viewed by someone other than the owner, permission must be granted or requested for that memory to be viewed by another character. Because the experience is an uncomfortable one for the other characters, the viewing of memories not their own should ideally be kept to a small number.
— 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 new boundaries.— 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 from the western section of town entirely.
— 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.
— DISAPPEARANCES AND DEATHS continue! Yennefer, Number Five, and Tony Stark have vanished and Ellie is still missing, though this may be difficult to tell with half the town also seemingly having vanished. Will Graham's body may be found within the ruins of the Old Church; he appears to have been frightened to death. (If someone decides to take care of the body, please report it below. For in-game reasons, this does not need to be coordinated across groups.)
— ALCOHOL supplies have run dry, save for any dregs that have been squirreled away by individual residents. Moonshine can still be acquired by those in desperate need.
— NEW MAP Thanks so much to Scy for yet another amazing new map of Mathias!
— 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. IC events are also helpful to know about in advance so they can be included in the log write-ups.
— MOD STATUS For those who don't know, I run a summer program that is set to start in just 2 weeks. We've only recently been given the green light to go ahead in person, so it's a scramble to get everything pulled together in time. My non-RP life is going to be busy and chaotic for the next while and I am thus asking for your forgiveness and understanding as things continue to be slow, as I cannot guarantee timely mod responses beyond weekends, and even that is not guaranteed.
— NEXT LOG Because of the aforementioned real-life chaos, the next log will be more relaxed and free form with everyone coming back together again and having a few chill days. It would be very much appreciated if some of the more intense investigations could be saved to take place in future logs, as the new locations that are opening up in this log will remain open in the next few at least and there will be plenty of time to explore all their mysteries.
— ITEMS FROM HOME The items from home remaining in Baneberry Hall will not be available past this log, at least not in this form, so if you would like to play with these elements, you should not sleep on this opportunity. More things may show up in the future but, for now, this is the main event.
— DW NOTIFS Back at the beginning of the year, the issue of missing email notifs was discussed in a code push plurk by Mark of the DW admin team. For those who missed it, the gist is that the issue with missing notifs is not going to be fixed anytime soon. The issue is so sporadic that the dev team has concluded the only way to possibly fix it is to redo the notification system entirely. This issue does not extend to DW's internal inbox, so short of checking every thread you're involved in, the DW inbox is the best way to make sure you're not missing things.
— ACTIVITY CHECK Beginning with June's AC (posted at the start of July), all tags that consist of only dialogue will count as 0.5 comments, not just those that occur in an inbox thread. This applies to both AC and AP totals.
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He looked over. "You bothered by it? Puttin' him down."
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Tim inched back to give Raylan room, looking at the scope in his hand as he considered the question.
“I did what I had to do,” he said quietly. “Hell, I did what he wanted me to do. Finished the job started in the Sandbox.” Glancing up and looking off to the side, the younger marshal’s expression was far, far away from Mathias.
“I tried to help him,” he continued quietly. “But what really sticks is the way I saw myself in him. What I am one broken shoe lace, on bottle too many away from becoming.”
Maybe Malcolm had been right to call him out for sociopath tendencies.
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Raylan watched Tim's features sidelong, clocking the 1000 yard stare that put him a million miles away.
"I'm not gonna let that happen, Tim," he said quietly but firmly. "You were good to try to help him." Raylan hoped Tim wouldn't stop that. "You were right to put him down. He gave you not choice, as sad as that was. No way out for him other than that or prison.. Doubt he'd d well there without more self destruction... I don't want to see the same thing happen to you."
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"I've been lucky, Raylan and I recognize it." He said moving stiffly to stand beside his partner in case Raylan needed a human crutch for a few steps. "Partly because, and I promise you this, I want to leave the shit behind. I don't want to keep going back there. I'm out. I have a job I genuinely like -save morning prisoner transports- and I want to live my life."
Colton ... Tim had to wonder if the ex MP had wanted the same. He kept escaping into drugs until the moment he had an out that hadn't involved his own gun. Tim knew he'd done what had to be done, what Colt wanted. He just mourned the waste of it all.
Peeking around to make sure they were alone, he cast a quick glance towards Raylan and smirked slightly.
"Except for all the sand, would be nice to live in Miami. Maybe get away from all the furtive hiding of a large part of who I am," unspoken was also the fragile hope of a life with Raylan and Willa. Those words didn't see the public air, not yet. They were for the private hours behind closed doors, where the bubble could be safely maintained.
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The comment about Miami, the glance towards the future took Raylan a little by surprise and his lips curled fondly, crookedly. "You should come with me when I transfer out. The foods good, the community is.. less tightassed than Kentucky.. The waters nice too. Makes up for the sand. Except when tourism is high." Made the sand worth Raylan's bother, if he were being honest.
His mind drifted past the same idea as Tim had had. Would the sniper want that? Or would the freedom of Miami break him away to someone who was less of a shit heel by nature? But that was later. That was the future and assumed things they couldn't confirm.
"Would you? Consider the transfer. Even if Art is gonna give you shit about it." But he was sure Tim was aware of that oncoming fact anyway.
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"Thinking maybe it's time for me to get out of tightassed communities," he loved his brothers in arms, was proud of his military service, but DADT had been a nightmare and Lexington was just more of it. "Lexington was my first posting out of Marshal Service training and working with you, Rachel and Art has been a good four years. But Art's getting closer and closer to retirement age and we both know Rachel's going higher up the ladder, somewhere not Kentucky."
He paused because he didn't mean to be sounding like Raylan and Willa were just some 'eh ain't got nothing here, guess I'll go there' decision. But at the same time he didn't want Raylan feeling beholden to the idea of having to create some sort of idyllic existence because of Tim's decision. Between the job and their hardheads? Tim wasn't imagining white picket fences and weekend barbeques.
Glancing around again, confirming it was just them, he cast a shy look towards the older marshal. "Kinda come to a point where I like my days better when you're there to fight beside, fight with, give and get shit from, work out the difficult cases beside. Pick up the goddamn coffee because you 'forgot' it was Wednesday," if either of them were steady on their feet, he would have bumped their shoulders together. "I want to share life with you, Raylan. In all its fucked up messy glory."
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"Even if she is," Raylan countered, "Doesn't change the rest of the community so you're still in the same spot." It was a terrible spot to be in, no matter how well they both handled it. He knew how heavy everyone's eyes could be and Lexington was large enough that normal people might think they'd be able to slip under it all. Oh how wrong they'd be.
He knew what it was like to be in Miami already. Unmarried, unattached and with no roots worth acknowledging. It was the most free he'd been, finally out from under Arlo's shadow. It was great and if left to his own devices, he'd likely stay down there till he was at least Art's age.
Raylan noted the glance around, dark eyes sidelong on Tim as he waited for whatever else was coming. What came was not at all what he expected and his head tilted with a crook of a smile that was glanced down at the ground before he brushed their hands together. He knew he was riding a lot of lines, a lot of 'What if's and eggs in delicate baskets, but the promise that he wasn't going to go home and back into a bottle of bitter misery that was worked out by too much Marshalling, too many side jobs and a few more disappointments to boot.
"Shame we didn't wait to do this indoors." His smile pulled but went sweet. "I'm not gonna lie and say I ain't glad to hear it. There's a few theories bouncin' around about if we'll remember this all and no one can really say but.." He met Tim's eye without hesitation. "I'd like that to be a reality. Least I know you wouldn't leave me for gettin' shot at or bein' out on stake outs." Or he hoped anyway, as a baseline at the very least.
"I'd like to see what kinda go we could make of it, if you were interested in that kinda thing." Which, considering all of what Tim had just said, made him 98% sure the man was amicable to it. "Wouldn't that piss Winona right off," he suddenly realized, laughing the laugh that only slightly bitter and hurt divorced men manage.
"She'd have kittens."
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"Think I'll work from the position that we'll remember," he said softly. "If I'm going to focus my limited supply of positive thinking on something, I'll focus it there." Because the turn of his head and the look in dark blue eyes echoed the sentiment; that he'd also like to make a go of it.
"Not doing the job right if you don't get shot at once in awhile," he pointed out. "I reserve the right to fuss when you get hit, and then tease your ass while you're recuperating. Don't leave the pee bottle in the car after a stakeout and we'll be fine." Tim paused and then chuckled softly at the mental image of Winona's reaction. There was more than a hint of malicious glee in the curl of his lips as he initiated the 'accidental' brush of their hands.
"There were nights," he began softly. "Usually after she'd yanked your heart around, when I imagined the ways to show you how you deserved to be loved. To make sure she understood that her weakness was not a fault in you but in her."
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Things had changed. Maybe it shouldn't have, but a lot of things had happened here that shouldn't have. Him being housed in so close with someone so soft and someone else so rough, trapped and panicking with Doc in the tunnels, dying off the porch after clawing off his nails to try and get back in to them, like a little boy screaming for the only safe space he had.
He didn't regret any of it. Not a single moment that it lent him, in the end. Maybe that made him terrible. Maybe that made him a greedy manipulator, to ask for them to accept such odd rules. He didn't know and right now in the moment, he didn't care.
Tim's claim to fussing cemented and the unspoken agreement to not leave piss bottles in the car a general kind of etiquette, Raylan hooked that wayward pinkie with his own, unwilling to let it be just that. If anyone came up, they were walking closely enough to excuse it.
"I don't know that sometimes I don't totally disagree with her," he admitted. "Normal people aren't equip to have mobsters and thugs show up and the door multiple times, making them live their lives afraid of the doorbell or strangers. And when you're talkin' about raisin' someone in that?" His face twisted a little, the questioning look turned towards Tim; no sense in that, right?
"Even before Willa.. More nights than not, I wasn't comin' in til 3 am and I was leavin' again at 8. That's no life for someone." Someone that wasn't them was unspoken; Tim had worked similar hours.
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All this didn't stop his pinkie from wrapping around Raylan's. A firm grip but one that was loose enough that it could be a fluke of how closely they were walking along. Explained off as each need a bit of physical support from the other. But for now, it was holding hands. Companionably holding hands and shuffling along painfully, distracted by a fragile bubble of hope for a future.
"Don't know that you can assume the fitness of one environment over another," he said thoughtfully. "We see plenty of normative families where the children are treated like shit, raised running drugs, or having to be the adult of the house." Loretta McCready. "Maybe Willa gets used to a few extra locks on the doors, learns to be a little more streetwise than her classmates, doesn't get upset when I sit by the window with my rifle." They both knew any mobster or thug who showed up at the house looking to rough up Raylan's family was getting a .308 up the nose. "If at the end of the day she knows she can come to you, come to me, go to her mom, and we'll be the adults in her life with her best interests as our compass?"
He shrugged.
"Worse ways to grow up." Both of them had grown up in a house with a mother, a father and for the most part not much shit at the front door. Only behind the front door they'd been victims of domestic abuse, in Raylan's case watched his mother be a victim of his father's violence. "Willa's going to end up being the most well adjusted of the lot of us."
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"Bein' raised like shit and dogin' bullets at five is apples and oranges," he replied in disagreement with a look over. "That picture you just painted is a best case scenario."
Which was to say, yes, he could see it. But Winona.. She wasn't going to allow that. Raylan gave no mind to how he was raised or how Tim was raised beyond the lessons of How Not to Treat a fucking child, the bar was higher than that by default. Raylan's main concern was keeping his child alive long enough to get to the growing up part.
"But you're right about that last bit. If it's the last goddamned thing I do." Why yes, Raylan was more than ready to charge to the forefront of having an opinion about how his daughter should be raised and what she should be spared from. Yes, they'd make her ready, but that didn't mean he welcomed a chance for her to work those skills.
"I don't want either of them dragged into anythin'. Not more than Winona already has. Willa doesn't ever need to see the real side of the job. I'm not sayin' we lie but.. She's gotta be protected as long as we can before the world gets its fingers into her."
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Since Raylan seemed to be in a pensive mood, the younger ranger's expression became thoughtful, head tilted slightly to the side as they walked along.
"You consider stepping back from chasing fugitives?" It was a genuine question, without any hint of judgement or expectation. There were many marshaling duties that wouldn't involve the insane hours and thug life risks of pissing off fugitives. Wasn't as exciting maybe, but it also wasn't just prisoner transport or purging casefiles.
"Would stabilize your hours, reduce the frequency of you getting shot at and significantly reduce the risk to your family." He was not going to bring up the fact that Raylan wasn't getting any younger either.
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"Thought about goin' back to Glynco for Winona's sake but.." He shook his head. "Chasin' down assholes and shootin' is the one thing I'm good at." This job was the one successful thing in his life. He couldn't step back from that.
"And it wouldn't stop the people already after me. Better that I keep the badge and have a legal recourse to puttin' them in the ground and off my plate for good. It'd be like askin' you to never fire a gun again - you think we'd do well with those rules?" His head bobbed. "Maybe you would. Still young enough to change some parts of you, but I think I'm too far gone. I'm gonna be a Marshal until they kick me out or kill me."
He'd long ago made peace with that and he wasn't going to lower his level of protection power as a way to keep Willa safe. That seemed counterproductive, for all the arguments he made.
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"Those skills you're talking about, teaching the next generations of Marshals? You're going to save some lives without ever being present." Lives of Marshals and of the people those young men and women would be protecting.
"I ain't suggesting you turn in your badge, Raylan. I known damn good and well we're going to be putting that thing on top of your coffin when the time comes. And I know you got enemies. Just suggesting that there's no need for you to go gathering any more."
Tim fell quiet then, trying to imagine a life like that for himself. His pinkie curled a little tighter around Raylan's as he peeked under rugs he's thrown down over ugly mental scars when he'd gotten out of the Army.
"I'd have to do some real thinking, Handsome." The word slipped out. "But you challenge me with those words and I can't say that I kneejerk hate the idea. Think there may come a time, if I can get through all the shit in my head without self destructing, I might want to get away from the mad minute."
Teaching hadn't ever occurred to him until this conversation. But now that he'd voiced the idea, gotten a small taste, the idea didn't suck.
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The more Tim talked, the more concessions of how and what Raylan was at his core being acknowledged and voiced, the less terrible it sounded. Tim wasn't suggesting that Raylan change or turn into someone he wasn't. Just an adjustment. His own pinky tightened in response to Tim's and he looked over sidelong to read whatever he could that might come with the words.
Somehow, the idea of doing it to help get Tim out of all the running field work was less troublesome than doing it for himself or Willa. There were still the same hurdles as before but.. Well, all Raylan really needed was the right motivation.
"We'd both have to do some thinkin'. And we got time. Here and there. Maybe I take a few years, clean up my edges. Let you.. us. Figure out how we can get you through that to the other side. I might be ready for some peace then."
By age or comfort, he'd take either one. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized that giving up field work meant that he would have to be happy at home. Have something to come home to that wasn't his own thoughts and frustrations.
"And I will think about it," he promised. "If you will."
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"It's some good thinking," he continued as they made their shared, slow way along. "Lot of good things to imagine, in among the frightening prospect of change." Thoughts like getting through the shit. Of giving up the release of the mad minute and taking more steps towards living a proper civilian life.
A life where he came home to someone, showed up at school musicals and found ways to make encouraging noises at eight year olds who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. That last thought made him smile. Not quite full teeth, but the smile that made slits out of his eyes, especially at the corners.
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But Mathis had moved things right along, putting him in twisted positions that, had they been left unchecked, would have been just as sad as his life at home, if not worse. The crazy didn't fall far from the apple tree, or that was his worry at least. No, it was better he bend and cave to the affections afforded to him. Before they were gone and he was facing the world alone again.
"I find myself doin' a lotta pretending here. Imagining. I wonder sometimes if it ain't too much, no matter the drivers." I.E. < Mathis. "Like I'm lettin' myself be setup for a hard let down." He frowned and shook his head a little. "It's too hard to think or plan about what might be when we got no idea what we're leaving this place with.. Or if we're leaving. Then again, it's hard to be throwin' ourselves against this cage wall of no answer bullshit."
There wasn't any answer. For any of it and while he felt better getting it off his chest and out from under his hat, there was still nothing to do but go at it one day at a time.
"But I'm glad I'm not alone," he ended, squeezing Tim's pinkie a little. "Where the hell are we goin, anyway?"
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He could have rambled on about how it was a natural thing, when you were in the shit, to build 'what if' futures. It was a way to stop the brain from dwelling on the horror of the present, a way to manufacture hope and something to keep fighting towards. When all you wanted to do was lay down and give up in the face of the futility of it all.
But there was something in the way Raylan had changed the subject that suggested the time for such contemplation was passed. That some more internal unpacking needed to happen before any of it saw the light of day. So obviously it was time for some sass.
"I thought you were going somewhere and I was just tagging along."
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Tim could have gone on but Raylan would have just argued that he knew better than to do what if's. Knew better than to build up that idea of what could be too high. The higher the expectations, the harder the fall and he'd already taken his tumble. Not again.
Giving up wasn't in his DNA though.
At Tim's answer, Raylan laughed openly. "Then lets sit down on a goddamned porch and figure it out, my steam isn't what it normally is."
He really meant any porch too and led them towards the closest one, breaking their pinkies apart so he could carefully lower himself down onto a step with a loud groan and a wince.
"What would you do with that lotto money, huh?" Since Tim could handle the what ifs.
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"Invest some of it, so I can look at retiring around a reasonable age. Donate the majority to charities out there helping veterans. Stop drinking cheap beer, go for that high ABV microbrew shit."
He was a simple man.
"What about you, Raylan? You will one of those big ole $250 million jobs, what is your next step?"
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"Microbrew is exactly that you know. Shit. Any kinda IPA, if I'm honest. Nothin' beats what we grew up with."
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"IPA, are those the ones that taste like grapefruit? I like my beer to taste like beer. If I want grapefruit, I'll eat a grapefruit."
He would, as they both knew. Tim's healthy dietary habits were well known around the office. Most guys and gals took chips, jerky and a couple of Slim Jim's on stakeouts. Tim Gutterson packed fruit and string cheese. One stick of string cheese could amuse the young sniper for almost half an hour!
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But Raylan smirked at the grapefruit.
"I'll leave that to you. Much more of an apple man, myself. IPA's always taste like badfruit piss. Then again, the only beer I won't drink is Colt 45 or Miller Lite."
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"Those are two good ones to avoid. Anything with a number in the name, like Mad Dog 20/20. Black Label is also pretty foul. Tastes like someone tried to brew beer through a sweat sock," Tim gave an exaggerated shudder. Though he couldn't leave it alone and had to ask.
"How you come to learn what badfruit piss tastes like?"
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"Too many bad nights of drinkin' it when I was young," he lamented with a sigh and a long look off the porch. "It was less to deal with than the moonshine the guys at the mine were tryin' to pour down my throat after a shift. One or two shots into a plant and they'd let me beg off onto somethin' weaker till the next round." Wherein his manliness and balls were tested once again.
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