004-006 » it was the possibility of darkness...

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern Mathias.
WHEN: Days 004-006
WHAT: Where has the day gone?
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Graham Plowman "The King in Yellow"

DAY 004
THE DAY OF DARKNESS

For those who ventured out on the third night, the day will look eerily familiar, for this is no day. The sun does not rise in the morning as it should, and the black sky still stretches ominously above them with no stars or moon to light their way. It is impossible to tell either the hour or the passage of time, a truly disorienting experience for those used to the normal cycle of day and night.

Beyond the safety of that initial cluster of houses are three blocks more of residential spaces, along with streets branching off on either side into neighborhoods. There are no lights on in any of these homes, though there are occasional streetlights illuminating the way. The unwilling residents of Mathias are welcome to explore these home, though it is wise to take care of being out in the cold for too long. The temperature hovers near the freezing point, dipping lower the further one ventures down those side streets. At a certain point, the temperature drops sharply and those comforting streetlights blink into darkness. These same conditions befall those who try to walk beyond the Mathias Public Library.

The silence from the start of the unearthly night also continues into what should be day. No sounds travel through that bitterly cold air and while there is no physical impact on any who wander outside, the silence feels oppressive and like the rest of the world has disappeared beyond their small circle of sound and whatever light they carry with them.


A NEW ARRIVAL

A terrible time to arrive in Mathias, surrounded by darkness and freezing cold. The newest resident will find herself shivering awake beneath a streetlight outside the Public Library, with no sign of how or why she has ended up in this unfamiliar place.

Best get inside, dear. It isn't safe in the cold.

DAY 005
NIGHT CONTINUES

There is still no sign of the sun. No moon. No stars. Nothing but darkness and painful cold greets our weary fellows on the fifth day.

Indeed, it seems almost monotonous, like this stretch of hours will be exactly as the last... until it isn't. At unpredictable intervals, the power begins to fluctuate within buildings where it had previously held steady. Lights flicker, central heating stutters, and as the hours wear on, there is the notion at the back of the mind that the electricity may go out entirely. Many houses and buildings in Mathias have fireplaces — it might be a good time to start using them.

DAY 006
SILENCE BROKEN

Across Mathias, the power fails completely. Now our ill-fated friends understand why emergency kits are so easily found in residences and businesses in town. Candles, matches, crank flashlights — these are the only means to light your way if you're foolish enough to move beyond the safety and warmth of a fireplace.

The silence is no longer relegated to the outdoors now, but has seeped inside. Sounds almost seem to be absorbed by the impenetrable blackness, disappearing into its depth so completely that one might begin to believe they never existed. The feeling of utter isolation becomes almost maddening, relief only provided slightly by the company of others. And then, suddenly, within that dark nothingness—

Voices. Indiscernible whispers from within the black, one voice or a dozen, with no source to be found. Lasting a mere second or for minutes or hours on end, coming from any direction or from nowhere at all, heard by only one person or by everyone, there is no shutting them out. Following the whispers is ill-advised, as they may lead away from the safety of a group, or out into the cold and beyond the point of no return.

---

LOCATIONS

THE PUBLIC LIBRARY A large brick building with a string of round lightbulbs draped across the double door entry way, the library resides at the intersection of Phillips Drive and Jackson Boulevard. The building is older than most in this area and coated in more dust than an ill-used library might usually see. There are a number of tall windows throughout the main room that are either broken with glass and debris scattered across a wide stretch of floor or coated in grime so thick that light couldn't penetrate even if there was any. There are lanterns with candles set around the room on lower shelves or the tops of pedestals, and low lamps with green glass are perched on reading tables at one end.

The books are what one might typically find in a small town library - classics, history, dry biographies, but nothing too controversial and nothing published after 1990. But these books are all collected at the front half of the library — toward the back is a different story. Almost as if walking into a different era, the shelves suddenly filled with old leather-bound tomes that smell add a musty smell to the air. Those shelves rise up toward the high ceiling, the tops barely able to be seen with one of the lanterns should it be lit, and as one reaches the very back of the library—

Streaks of soot cover the shelves, or what remain of them, and those along the wall are a blackened mess of what is left behind when books burn. From floor to ceiling, these shelves are a mangled ruin, and there is no way to tell what these books might have contained, or why the fire did not spread further into the room.

THE RESIDENTIAL HOUSES The stretch of new houses mentioned on Night 3 may still be explored as the night continues. Phillips Drive continues on for three blocks past where Mathias's newest residents took shelter, and the cross-streets of King Lane, Stoker Park, and Jackson Boulevard are also open for one block in either direction. Venturing beyond this area is met with painful cold and debilitating exhaustion.

The houses in this section of town are both locked and unlocked, ranging from pristine (if dusty) condition to rundown and falling apart, as if some houses have aged where others have not. The "oldest" houses have been overtaken by rot, interior walls missing whole sections, holes in the floors between levels. There is running water in all the houses in this area of time, but only the best condition houses have working electricity, though the electricity will begin to fail as the night stretches on. The corded landline telephones found within the homes are still working, thankfully, and new sets of numbers (this time without names) are easily found for each block.

As utterly empty as the "newest" houses seem to be, the oldest are... less so. There's a feeling that someone could walk around the corner at any moment. It is almost the sensation of being watched, or of there being thing else there that cannot be seen. Nothing in the houses is disturbed and there are no shadows springing out, so perhaps there's really nothing there at all...

THE BOARDING HOUSE Another large brick building at the intersection of Phillips Drive and Jackson Boulevard, the boarding house occupies the opposite corner from the library and seems to be almost as old as the larger building across from it. There are three stories to the building: the first floor contains the kitchen (fully stocked), dining room, shared living room space, and a half bath; the second floor has four single bedrooms and one full bath; the third floor also has four single bedrooms and one full bath. There is a locked door on the third floor that leads to an attic. Each room is furnished with a double bed, desk, and small table and chairs, and in each room there can be found the clothing and personal effects of the former boarders. The electricity and other utilities in the boarding house function just fine until the power fluctuations begin as in the rest of town.

Room 1 — unclaimed
Room 2 — unclaimed
Room 3 — Daisy Johnson
Room 4 — Max Guevara
Room 5 — Number Five
Room 6 — Phil Coulson
Room 7 — Claire Novak
Room 8 — unclaimed

To claim a house for layout designing/exploration or a room in the boarding house, comment here. House numbers will be generated in response to comments.

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➝ day 6 | OPEN

[hellblaze]

they're whispering his name, through this disappearing land.

[ Then, all at once, the power fails.

John's thankful he's got the lighter in his arsenal. He's shouting through the house, complaining about the awful goddamn state of it all. Even though the complaints can be heard? He's grabbed a few blankets and, candles, and those emergency supplies he found in the house. Thankfully, he got some of that wood from earlier and they're decently stocked. Which means the fire is going live and there's enough blankets.

Then the power doesn't come back on.

And he swears he can hear voices in the corner of the rooms.

Right, ta to that.

Poor bastards who finally make it to the fireplace. They'll find John making a half circle around the couches, chairs and fireplace itself. One that's made out of salt and God only knows what else. He's moved some of those candles to be on certain parts of the half-circle. Namely the parts that aren't going to tip over and catch the bloody furniture on fire.

He's usually not that stupid. ]

[tinstar]

[From outside the house, one noise that manages to get through the whispers is the hollar of one freaked the fuck out Kentucky man.]

IS ANYONE OUT THERE?

[The darkness was all enveloping and Raylan knew he'd cut his hand on the broken lantern, but none of that mattered. Regardless of where he turned, it was more darkness, more voices, more of Arlo and Helen coming to haunt him, more tunnels about to collapse.]

BOYD? [Odd, that he'd be calling out for that skinny stick of a man with such panic in his voice, but if he was hallucinating.. There was a clutch of hope in his chest with the call.]

[hellblaze]

[ With the circle set and he's hoping something of the wards work well on the building, John has been more or less by the fire. He can hear those voices that seem to seep into the house, echoing from the corners.

He thought he left all that nonsense back at Ravenscar.

Leaning against the rock fireplace, he closes his eyes to try and center himself. Block out the voices. There's enough ghosts that haunt him in his life that he doesn't need the bloody voices of this town taunting him. He almost drifts off for a moment when he can hear a voice he does know shouting from what sounds like the outside.

He grabs the flashlight from beside the fireplace and shines it a bit in front of him, making his way to the area of the door. Which is a bit of a chore - given he runs straight into a chair at one point. ]

God--yes shut up, will you?! [ He snaps back at the darkness. Yes, John. As if that'll do it. He finally makes his way to the door and grabs a hold of the handle. John shoves his weight into it--wondering what he expected to see on the outside of the door.

It's ...dark. Utter darkness.

'BOYD!' ]

OI! [ A very loud British accent cuts through the dark and John flashes his light into it. Sort of trying to be a human light house. ] IF YOU'RE NOT A BLOODY HUMAN, WE DON'T WANT WHAT YOU'RE SELLING. PISS OFF!

[tinstar]

[The bob of the flashlight broke the wide sense of suffocation, despite all the air he had and while that definitely wasn't Boyd's voice, it had the same effect. The guy with the light, the guy with the exit. Raylan stumbled that way blindly, tripping over where the street met the yard and landing hard with a 'opmfh' that didn't travel much of anywhere in the suppressive darkness.]

DON'T LEAVE. [He was coming, he swore. Just as soon as numb hands pushed him back to his feet and lurched him forward with one more touch to the ground before he fully caught his balance. Sense told him to walk slow, but the darkness and the whispers drove him to a long stride that probably looked ridiculous in the light.

Finally he kicked up against the stairs, earning another light right into the face that he fended off with one bloody hand raised and a solid 'Goddamn it from Raylan as he stepped up the stairs.]

Mind if we make our hellos not on the porch? [ Even as he was asking, he was stepping around John and inside, good hand bunched up at his lapels as he tried to slow his panicked breathing and rapid heartbeat like he hadn't been losing his mind.] Goddamn it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra out there.

[hellblaze]

[ Raylan is very lucky that John didn't see him land on his face in the grass. In fact, he doesn't even see the man until his body hits the beams from the flashlight. The darkness makes it hard to see, but oh, you can't mistake that cowboy hat for anything else in Mathias.

Namely because Henry's is black.

John makes a motion for Raylan to invite himself in and shuts the door. Tightly. Locks it even. Not that it'll do much good if his own magical barriers aren't... but it's better than nothing. The illusion of being safe. ]

'Ello, Marshall, just make yourself at home in my living room. [ There is a bit of bristle in his voice, but nothing terribly rude. Just annoyed as he grabs the shoulder of Raylan's jacket to guide him to the fire. ] Now, how about you sit your ass down and tell me why you did something so goddamn stupid like going outside right now!

I make shite choices, Raylan, but I'm not about to go into the damn darkness without knowing what I'm up against!

[ Namely because he can be a big coward sometimes. ]

[tinstar]

[The locks were good, very good and Raylan shuddered with his hole body, looking like he was trying his best to fuse his hat with his popped collar as he turned his other hand out to try and judge the damage.

The hand on his shoulder was taken without a glance, but the guiding and the sharpness would have gotten a smirk if he wasn't still scared out of his mind.]

Kiss my ass, [he replied with no bite as he sunk in front of the fireplace, turning out his hand again to get his first real look at the damage. Little bits of glass and a smear of a grass stain above a dripping wound.] I was in the library when the power went out. Figured I could get home. Guy I met out in the fields last night mighta come back. I got turned around.

[It wasn't his fault, but he had no way of knowing that and started gently scraping bits of glass out of his skin. Nevermind that his normally steadfast hands were shaking a little - he was fine. He was.. always fine, even when he wasn't. Something he felt he had to reiterate with a shaky exhale, just in case it was in question.] I'm fine, now that I'm in some light.

[hellblaze]

Well, thank you for the offer, but I'm not much in the mood right now.

[ John maked sure the man was sitting down before dropping onto the couch beside the fireplace. He groaned and sank further down into it, a shiver wracking his body despite the trenchcoat. He was going to wrap himself in one of those sleeping bags any damn minute now. ]

What "guy" in the fields?

[ He looks back over and that is when he notices the injury. Another swear comes from him as he moves over to kneel beside him, grabbing his wrist to be able to look at it better. ]

You turn around right into a damn window? [ John raises his eyebrows and hopes that really is what happened. ] Stay here and don't move, alright?

[ Which out comes the flashlight again and John takes a deep breath to move past the salt circle and into the dark. He should of thought to bring a first aid kit to the fire. ]

[tinstar]

[Raylan took all the quips, the innuendo the same way he had with all the other people who spoke in the same way to him; with an unbothered glance that suggested nothing other than his acknowledgement.]

Guy named John Henry. Didn't ask if that was one name or the whole thing.

[He'd barely gotten 'whole' out before John was swearing and kneeling next to him. He wasn't used to that kind of reaction when he got hurt and it was almost a little.. well, charming of John. He wasn't wholly sure how to take it and watched the Englishman get up and walk away without answering.

The further away John got, the more voices seemed to creep in under the cracks in the doorframe and Raylan was sure he heard Arlo's voice again under it all. Scared of a little dark, boy? Best get in the truck 'fore I give you somethin' to be scared of.

Raylan's jaw tensed and he kept his eyes firmly locked on his weeping palm until he heard John's footsteps return into the room.]

Fell, to answer your question. I was holdin' one of those glass candle lantern things and tripped. Musta landed on it. Doesn't even really hurt, to be honest.

[Total bullshit.]

[hellblaze]

[ John drops innuendo like a tree drops apples. Eventually it will get to the point where if he doesn't? People start to wonder.

There's a few more curses from somewhere in the darkness. John's found his way to the bathroom at least, though it's hard to hear if he's yelling at himself or the voices that are always just on the edge of his hearing.

Eventually, what seems like ages later, John is crossing the salt line again. He's got the first aid kit in his hand and sets himself down next to Raylan. Scarf and trencchoat flaring out at his sides. ]

You mean, Cowboy Henry? Good bloke. Bit olden if you catch my meaning. [ He makes his comment about John Henry then. ] Met him a few times. He didn't seem to be a fan of the magic bit.

[ That is more because he saw the sucker punch magical hangover John got after it though. ]

Sure, it doesn't hurt, [ John gives him a look as he rips open the first aid kit and dips his accent again, ] and I've always been from America.

[thering]

Having spent the night at Raylan's - is it still night? It feels like it has been night for days now - Doc is quietly making his way back out when the power cuts abruptly.

This time he is a little more prepared, having taken a cue from Daisy to find himself a torch. It sits in his empty Colt Lightning holster and he pauses to get it out, shining it around his vicinity.

There are voices coming from behind the very next door he passes so Doc knocks before letting himself in.

"...Mister Constantine." That was... not the voice he had heard before. Lowering his torch, he slides his duffel bag off his shoulder and starts rummaging around inside. He's like the Santa Claus on the December page of the cowboy calendar showing up with a sack of looted gifts.

"Don't suppose this was your doing. May I come in?" He pulls a box of 12 candles and two larger, thicker, white pillar candles out, holding them in plain view as a bribe.

"I do happen to be bearing gifts... much as I loathe to see you hurting yourself with your magic."

[hellblaze]

"Oh, Cowboy Henry! Yes, just let yourself in when there's whispers knicking at your ankles. Please!"

John is at least illuminated by the fire, so Doc can see the man's hands go up in frustration. Not really at Doc himself, but the situation. Zed's here--of all goddamn places--and it's brought up plenty of things he didn't want to have to face (ever). The power is out. He's got no idea what it is lurking in the dark, and now there's faint whispers in the corners of the house.

Why can't it ever be nice, eh? Simple even.

"Woah, aye, what makes you think I've got anything to do with this?" John holds his hands out. "I'm fairly sure that a bit of poking around isn't going to throw the whole damn town into darkness!"

He thinks. He's pretty sure...about eighty percent.

"Haven't done much magic since the last attempt. Made a fire nice without an issue." His hands rest on his hips as he gestures towards the darkened door for the man to come to the fireplace. He'll see a bit of salt lining as a half circle, and some candles at certain points. "Warm up, will you? I don't need that hat freezing to your good looking face."

[thering]

Well someone's in a catty mood. He can't fault Doc for jumping to conclusions when it appears as though he's trying to season the floor like it's made of beef brisket.

Doc closes the door behind him and leaves his duffel bag by the couch before stepping over the neat line of salt, careful not to disturb anything or knock over any candles on his way to the fire. It's a much more decent fire compared to the ones he has been making outdoors, but of course, John doesn't have the elements working against him.

He leaves his gifts in front of Constantine, laying down an assortment of unlit candles to be used for next time, before shuffling his butt closer to the fireplace.

"How are you feeling now?" Last he checked, John was less pale than he had been after his spell, sweet and smoky like good southern whiskey. He would not have allowed himself to leave John's side had he appeared less than recovered. But that was a few days ago now.

"I cannot yet tell if that is deflective flirting or an astute observation." But he's taking it anyway. He's allowing himself to be slightly shameless about accepting such kind words.

[hellblaze]

John turns and falls into the couch, rubbing at his eyes. He's tired, but, keeps reminding himself of how angry he was over certain things to keep fueling himself forward. He nods in thanks to the candles and other goodies.

"Better, more or less. Fairly sure if I went about trying to uncovering the secrets right now? I'd end up unconscious." Though part of him has to wonder if that's a worse outcome than having to deal with certain things right now.

His cheeks puffed out at that last statement. "Both."

[thering]

"We can live with some mystery a little while longer." It's not as if they only have the one or two burning questions right now. Makes it all the worse when every paltry answer Doc is able to find only leads to more questions that he had not entertained before.

Particularly raspy, suggestive voices has him turning to look in an empty corner of the room, and Doc tilts his head, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Are you hearing this?" Constantine did mention whispers, so perhaps they're both dealing with... a haunted room, or whatever is going on here. Doc has spent a hundred and thirty years alone in the dark driving himself crazy - he might seem put together on the outside, decisive, confident, but he doesn't always trust his senses.

[hellblaze]

"I don't do good with mysteries. Not long term."

The one question in the back of his mind is what is out there. He knows there's something. Nothing makes his skin scrawl and send him packing like whatever it was on that beach. The only thing that has ever made him that scared - terrified - was that bastard demon that took Astra. No demon, ghost, or whatever it is out there is going to make him feel that way ever again.

"The voices? Been going on for ... oh I'd say an hour, two. According to this." He rolls up his sleeves to show the golden watch on his wrist. "I'm not sure if they're really saying anything or just being BLOODY ANNOYING!"

The last bit is shouted at the darkness beyond the fireplace.

[thering]

"Huh." He's got a pocket watch of his own, attached to his vest, but it's stopped running since the ocean got into it. He doesn't have the tools to pry it open to dry it out and fix it, so he's fully expecting the rust to have already started setting into the cogs and other delicate parts.

"Son, you need a smoke." There's no use hollering at dark corners, all they're going to do is holler back. Sure, Doc's got a bit of a temper on him sometimes, but he doesn't always say what he means. Constantine on the other hand, seems to be a beast of his own.

"Or a full bottle of whiskey. Though we might need to make some, at this rate." Doc tilts his head and breathes out a sigh. "You know, we was talking about making some moonshine." But it's been over a century since Doc has tried and he's sure methods have changed since then. 21st century stomachs aren't likely made to be able to handle 19th century homebrews.

[hellblaze]

"Honestly, mate, I'm probably at the point of needing three bottles of whiskey." John reached into his coat and pulled out two packs of cigarettes. The last few of the one he came with, and then one that was almost full from a nightstand upstairs. Lucky him. "Moonshine. Really? You found a way to brew it?"

Not that he knows the first thing about moonshine. It's... just a welcome distraction from the whispers that keep feeling like their on the edge of the room.

Early Day 6

[waywardsister]

[ When the whispers first begin cutting through Mathias, Claire knows that she needs to start checking in on people. She's... resisting the temptation of curiosity well, so far at least. She's a dumbass, but... well.

She's already fucked her shoulder up a bit with a locked door. Five's gonna kill her if she now runs off to follow voices in the air like a reckless fool.

The first and only time, potentially, that Claire holds back from being a reckless fool. Look at her. Mature as fuck. So no, she's not following whispers.... she is however making the short trip to John's house, knocking on his door. ]

Sir, we would like to talk to you about an offer you will find impossible to refuse, at the very low cost of all your valuables.

[hellblaze]

[ We wouldn't want to upset Grandpa Five.

The door swings open surprisingly fast. John's standing there, the flashlight on the floor and angled up at the door frame. He has a knife from the kitchen in his hand and looks annoyed to high heavens. Not at Claire, though, more at the fact that he's still huddled in that trenchcoat even in doors. ]

Well, ma'am, I hate to disappoint, but--[ a wide gesture to the room behind him, ]--I haven't got any personal valuables here. Now, if you are interested, there's a nice room upstairs with a big comfy bed. Oh, if you can see up the goddamn stairs without running into it.

[ Personal experience? Maybe. Goddamn darkness. ]

[waywardsister]

Well, that is a terribly tempting offer, sir, but I'm afraid our agency's currently splitting time between checking up on all the old men we've somehow ended up adopting.

[ Oh yeah. She adopted them, not the other way around. ]

To this end, sir, might we interest you in some upgrades to your lovely dust-pit's interior and exterior design in the form or for sure culturally appropriated warding symbols, protective salt lines and the like?

[hellblaze]

Adopting. That's a strong word.

[ There's a faint smile on his face still. How nice. Adopted. Oh, Chas would be groaning right about now. ]

I've got my own warding symbols, protective salts, and ah, torches--[ this time he points to the one on the floor. ]--but I wouldn't mind showing your agency a few new ones they may not know. Just to be safe.

[waywardsister]

Yeah, it's what you do with dogs.

[ Bone dry and with a serious face, before she snorts and grins - the expression instantly makes her face that much younger. ]

Okay seriously though, let's talk shop about wardings, old man Potter.

[hellblaze]

Never had a pet before.

[ His tone is as serious as her expression then. Like his old man would of allowed something as nice as a pet to help John through his troubled life. ]

Old Man? Really? [ R U D E S T niece. ] Well, let's start with what you do know. Tell me what you've learned out there in the big bad world.

[waywardsister]

Pro tip? You ever see a living animal here, don't jump straight to any ideas.

[ Seriously, first dog Claire sees? She's gonna take that fucker out and not take any chances. This place is quiet and dead in the worst of ways. ]

Salt lines to keep ghosts out. Could use dead man's blood for various things, but we'd have to murder a guy first, and I don't see that happening. Got some Enochian wards up my sleeve. Devil's Trap, of course.

[hellblaze]

It'd probably be a bad omen for us.

[ He steps back from the door so she can enter. Namely because it's bloody cold and he doesn't want to deal with it much. ]

Oh, someone else who knows Enochian. That's rare. Most people don't know the angels have a different language.... but, your history probably leans that way. [ John closes the door. ] Basics. Thing is, we don't know what is out there and what it responds to. Hebrew is a good start.