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

Entry tags:

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

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.

navigation | faq | setting | mod contact

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For Tie:
If there was one thing Raylan was sure he needed that Mathis could actually provide, at least for now, it was firewood and he was starting to run out. Having very awkwardly hauled a wheelbarrow from the house he'd rifled through the day before, the Marshal decided that the sun might never come up again and he'd better get a move on. There were more houses than people - they had to have spare wood. Unwilling to try and hand crank a lantern and push a wheelbarrow, Raylan opted to wheel it behind him and hold a candle in his other hand as he made his way around the back of the houses.

He felt like he was in Victorian times and he did not like it.

As soon as he sees another light, another soul, he calls out before he can help himself. "Hey!" Friend or foe? He hadn't met any hostility, but that could easily change and Raylan wasn't taking any chances. He was taking chance enough, not having his gun.

For Old Hat:
Even after collecting and hauling wood back to both his and John's respective houses, Raylan couldn't quite make himself go indoors again just yet. It was stupid, foolish lizard brain thinking, and despite that fully relizing and understanding that, he couldn't stop it. The Stroker Park house had raised more flags than an empty old house should and he saw it echoed in the one he'd chosen, unsure anymore as to if he was imagining it or not. His gut had been screaming 'danger' since it got here.

So he walked some more, this time avoiding the street to slowly make his way around the backsides of equally empty yards, hunting for the treeline. This close to the ocean? There had to be. Instead, all he found was a bitter sinking in temperature the further out he got that threatened to make him drop his candle.

It turned him back fairly quickly.

Temperatures drop, the lights start to flicker? John would say the whole bloody town was haunted if he could find evidence of locked lost souls. None so far. That would be easier to deal with than being in a house with Zed after New Orleans. Dodging around things hadn't been the easiest.

Oh, well. If it isn't the Marshall himself?

John recognizes the voice at least. He stops to shine the light on his face, giving a rather devilish grin, because he really is just twelve years old at heart. After a quick laugh, John takes the few strides to close the distance and holds the flashlight up in front of him.

"Traded the badge in for a wheel barrel. Not a good trade off for you, mate." John gives him an annoying grin. "Well! At least they let you keep your hat."

Raylan winced, head turning away with a break of a smirk at the brightness suddenly in his eyes as he dropped the wheelbarrow. Somehow, he had assumed John wouldn't do something like that but he was starting to get a sense of just how devilish the man was.

"Be awful hard to get around, with this thing on my hip." His smirk broadened. "They'd have to kill me for that," being his hat, "but its good for my shoulders. Can't work 'em out the way I want since this place is unamerican enough to not love baseball." No batting cages or bats to be found and it was a sad thing.

"I could use some extra hands if you're not runnin' late to get your hair done or somethin'. Got a fireplace in the house I holed up in that needs wood. Figure I could borrow some from the neighbours." 'Borrowed' was a generous term, considering he had no intention or returning it.

"Oh, I think you could manage," John smirked--then changed his accent. "Those big strapping Southern shoulders? Ma would be thrilled!"

Alright, enough of that. He could make fun Americans more later.

"Oh, right. I need to run to do my bloody hair." John scoffed and flashed the light back at Raylan's face for that. Good to know they could do a bit of flirting and cause no harm. "The house I've ah, decided could use a few people living in it, has one too. And, between you and me, mate?"

John leaned close to him then with a grin on his face. "I don't think the neighbors are going to file a complaint."

Edited (did I get a clip of this episode for this tag yes, yes i did) 2020-10-21 07:10 (UTC)

Raylan's eyebrows lifted, head turning a little in surprised interest. Which was, apparently, prime bait for John to blast that damned light in his face again. In a place that didn't see a sun, it was hard to get Raylan on the wrong side of light in general but John was working on it.

"Then we'll stock up your wood bin too. C'mon," he directed with a jerk of his head and a grin he couldn't help.

"You weren't kiddin' about Louisiana, were ya? Do us both a favor, and don't bring that out again. Likely to die of old age out here, Louisiana speed." Oh, there was friendly shit to be talked but it was strange hearing that come out of John's face. "Can't see shit with this candle.. Who you got holed up with ya?"

"Lead on, O' Marshall of the Wheelbarrow."

John motioned for him to move ahead and kept the flashlight in front of him. They'd need to see where they were going after all. Though that big stupid grin was plastered on his face at Raylan's reaction. He'd make a note to keep that accent in his arsenal if he ever needed to.

For humor, of course.

"I was more outside of Atlanta for a time, but, contact lived in New Orleans. So, down we went." John filled in some details as they walked. He paused at the question and set his jaw. "Oh, just a chica bonita I met in Pennsylvania. Bit of an artist, that one. Bunch of curly hair and a knack for not listening to you when she should."

There was a pause then. He drummed his fingers on the flashlight before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. That one he hadn't lit when he met with Daisy the day before? Oh, he was lighting it now. The end came to life with a sudden amber and he inhaled sharply. There was little thought he gave to his companion at the display of magic.

Funny, that spell worked too.

"The name's Zed Martin." He added on with a quieter tone. John came to a stop then and turned to face Raylan, flashlight still pointed forward. That usual sarcastic playful expression he had was replaced with something more serious. Maybe even a bit vulnerable. "Do me a favor, Raylan. You see her wandering out and around? Do what you can to help her out."

Lead on indeed. Raylan listened without interruption, head on a swivel as he moved them across Phillips Street and into the collection of back yards, slipping between the houses with no sense that it was anything other than a friendly nights walk. There wasn't much to say for fences, though a house or two did have a full backyard - Raylan was trying to suss out if any of them had chimneys. Chimneys = Fireplace = Wood.

But the spark of light caught his eye and despite him looking over quickly, there was no drop of John's hands, no lighter to be seen in the empty one. Raylan's brow pinched and he stopped with John, dropping the wheelbarrow for a second as he watched his new companion sidelong and self questioningly. John tended to leave him with a list for quick processing and now was no different. A beat passed and Raylan nodded.

"Sure, you got it." He'd been married and divorced, been in love a few times - he knew what it was to have people to care about. It was an easily made and easily kept promise. "Can I ask you a stupid question?" He waited for the confirmation before continuing. "Where's your lighter?"

Well, it was a question, but not really the one he should have been asking. The gesture at the cigarette came with the question and was more accurate as to what he was actually asking. How in the hell did you light that thing.

Oh, thank whatever deity might listen that there's no fences. John's not that much of a climber. A decent runner when needed, but, he'd rather just break the door down and be done with it. Especially when it's practically pitch dark outside.

John blinks once, then twice. He's not used to someone agreeing to something he asks for without something in return. Hell, he isn't even used to someone helping him out so willingly. It's not as if Raylan knows anything he's really done. Oh, John must look all mysterious and a bit funny in his eyes. Englishman with a thing for cigarettes, wearing a trenchcoat, going on about Heaven and Hell. Raylan hasn't heard any of the bad yet -- the things that go along with knowing John Constantine.

"Right."

Part of him wonders if Raylan will actually keep an eye out on Zed.

John half turns from him, eyebrow raised at his question. Then that classic slow smirk spreads on his face. John fishes his lighter out from his pocket and shows it off.

"It's called magic, mate." He chuckles. "I mentioned the bit about the petty dabbling, didn't I? You don't just fall into the Dark Arts on any level without already being attuned to magic somehow. Some people got a straight up gift for it. Me? Well, more of a natural inclination and a whole lot of work."

He walks ahead of him then, making his way to the backdoor of the first house. Simple backdoor. Which is why he's grabbing at it and shoving it open, motioning for Raylan to step inside first. Always better to let the copper go in. Just in case.

John didn't look any stranger than the wetland rednecks with a gator obsession and a few odd quirks. Took all sorts of people, his mama used to say and he's found that true over his life. Plus, as much as he loved the people of his home, he hated them just as much. Protecting Zed fell under the umbrella he'd always hoised around; helping innocents. People who couldn't fully protect themselves for whatever reason. That was half of why he did the job.

As much as Raylan had 'Yeah Man'd and nodded his head, not rocking the boat on the ocean's difference between his world view and knowledge, and everyone else's, that wide berth was still there. But he found it impossibly hard to argue what he'd seen and his rational, pragmatic brain was left with only 'Magic' to hold onto. He followed behind John with a look of lingering, breaking disbelief and dropped the wheelbarrow again once they got to the backdoor, pulling his candle out from the wheelbarrow bottom.

He couldn't help but smirk at the invitation and he pointed it right at John as he held out the candle. "If I'm goin' first, I get the light." His hand held out expectantly for the exchange.

"Only if you intend to give it back." John winks, and flips the flashlight in his hand so the end of it faces Raylan.

He takes the candle in exchange and lets out a puff of smoke before stepping in behind the man in the white cowboy hat. He lifts it up a bit, trying to have a good look around the house they've unceremoniously stepped into. He figures its just like the Mulcalley home and they're not disturbing any restless spirits.

"I'm guessing you're holed up in a place that isn't the Grey Gull." He steps around the couch before he ends up stumbling over it.

Raylan grinned and lifted his eyebrows a little as he turned the light in and followed, sweeping it left and right across what looked like a kitchen that spilled into a dining room, plates and cutlery still left on the table and the hallway that he followed down into the living room. Another mediocre house, but it made locating the fireplace easy.

"Seems like someone left us a basket," he said, focusing the light on the little iron basket in front of the fireplace that was stacked mostly full with all of seven bits of wood. Raylan came to a stop; If he was light, John was the manual labour.

"No. Night before last, I tried to walk up this way through the storm and couldn't. I fell back to that last house on the block. It's got a couple of bedrooms but I can't sleep, so I sit beside my fire and wait for the sun." He glanced out the windows briefly. Was the sun ever going to come back?

What he wouldn't give for Winona to just show up. As much as she would hate it all, at least he wouldn't be alone. At least he could courner her for the answer as to why he'd been left with two very unacceptable sentences.

"We find a house with a darker soot top chimney, we might get lucky and find a larger pile." Easier topics.

John walked over to the nearby wall, taking in the sight of more pictures. More families, more faces, more people that seem to have just vanished. He frowned at that, head tilted as he took inventory. How many forgotten people in this town did It just take up and go away with? Were their souls bound somewhere in this town? Were they in Hell? He doubted they've found their way to Heaven.

Where the hell is that feathery shit when he needed him?

His attention snapped back to Raylan the moment he speaks. John joined him, eying the basket, then giving the man a look. Really. Did he look like the sort of bloke that did manual labor like that? He set the candle on the mantle, snapping his hand back the moment wax threatened to tip out of it. He grabs one, two, three, four before turning to head back to the wheelbarrow. Oh, if he had to carry, then Raylan would have to stand there and wait it out while he did it.

"Went out after the storm passed to have a smoke. Thought," he paused as the wood crashed into the wheelbarrow, "I'd do a bit of exploring when the sun came up. Funny bit about that story."

The sun never came back up.

"Zed and I are holed up in the nice blue one. Right there on Phillis Drive. Stop by and have a chat once and awhile, yeah? Make sure the dark didn't get you." John continues as he comes back to snag the remaining piles. "You really think we're going to find a darker soot chimney in the bloody dark?"

"Innit that what the light's for?" Raylan asked, taking his turn to flash John in the face with the light and a squinty playful look as it followed him out, turning down so he could walk back in without being blinded. "Coulda picked up the whole basket."

He bobbed his eyebrows at the information about the house, nodding noncommittally. "Maybe I will. I'll bring a fruitcake and a plant you can kill." He doubted he'd break for the need for company that soon, but he would keep it in mind. He found he liked John, for whatever reason.

"Darker chimney means a heavier burn, heavier burn means they got more need for a larger pile. Worth a shot anyway, unless you wanna spend the whole night goin' through every house."

Day 5 ◄ Closed to John and Doc

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

no subject