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

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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.

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"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.

"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.

"I used to run a saloon, and a bordello, among other things. I have some experience." Homebrew was never illegal, until the 1920s. Doc wasn't around for that. Of course, these days it's easier and quicker to buy off the shelf, and it tastes much better too.

"These were merely idle ruminations with a fellow by the name of Raylan, but." Doc shrugs and looks over to Constantine, raising an eyebrow. "I will need to return to the Grey Gull to find the supplies, if we are to make a serious attempt." Constantine does have a somewhat serious look in her eyes.

"Saloon and a bordello. Cowboy after my own heart." There's a bit of a joke in that. No jokes about the immortality bit then. "Marshall Wheelbarrow mentioned you too. Suppose you two are having a Hat Convention."

He sighs and sinks further into the couch then and closes his eyes. "House has a few bedrooms and a bathroom for whatever we may need. Can't say I've had moonshine, but, I'll take what I can get right now."

Marshall Wheelbarrow? That's not the nickname he would have chosen for Raylan, but it's true that they both have mightily fine hats. Even if Doc does prefer his original one.

"We could make it a hats and coats convention. You are welcome to join us." Not that he thinks for one second Constantine is the type who would need an invitation to be the meat filling in the cowboy sandwich.

"It will take some days to be ready, but there ought to be enough from the first batch to go around." He doesn't want to get anyone too excited about the prospect just yet. Any number of things could go wrong and have gone wrong before when it comes to homebrews, and there's no guarantee they will find everything they need here.

"It will also probably taste like gasoline, but. It will get the job done." At that point, the voices haunting this place will probably be the least of their problems.

Raylan had a wheelbarrow. Don't worry, John will probably have a name in a few days for him. Cowboy Henry might stick though.

"Hats and Coats making moonshine. What better to do?" John thinks the attempts will go tits up just like the rest of everything else in this town has. "Can't hurt to try at least."

Gasoline. "I'm no stranger to psychedelics. Can't be worse than that."

Hm, well, there are plenty other things to do. Doc had 'borrowed' a couple of books from the library. He's also getting comfortable in the kitchen in the Grey Gull. Somewhere in the back of his mind brews other ideas, such as a way to fashion usable weapons out of excess cutlery and sturdy pieces of wood, should the time come when they will require it. He doesn't feel any closer to finding answers to questions that have been brewing over the past few days, but that doesn't mean he's not been keeping himself busy.

"Better that than getting ourselves killed. Between you and Miss Daisy I've certainly got my hands full," he chides.

"Oh, I only do dangerous when I know what I'm up against. Or when I'm feeling desperate." He gives a shudder at the cold. "I haven't quite hit desperate just yet."

John stares at the ceiling. Had he hit desperate yet? He almost feels that way. How long has he been here and still has no real answers? A few bits and pieces here and there... but nothing to really go off on.

Doc looks pointedly at the little kumbaya circle he's sitting in and then looks back up at Constantine. Sitting in salt circles and yelling at dark corners of rooms is apparently not what desperate looks like, so he's not sure what to expect when they arrive at the point of desperation.

"What were you doing, before you came here?" Exorcising, demonologising and mastering the dark arts? Doc isn't sure what that entails, exactly.

A desperate John Constantine is something that no one should really see. Salt wards? That's just protection. A security blanket. When he gets desperate then he makes the bad decisions. Dying in a sewer system was terrifying enough for him to let the damn Invunche inside him and take him for a joy ride.

"Just finished up a case in New Orleans." He says easily, simply. "Got called in by--" there's a pause as he purses his lips. He doesn't feel like calling Corrigan a friend right now. "--a colleague in blue. Missing persons case."

All that cockiness in his tone? It's gone. 'The Man' is something that John doesn't want to think about ever again. Evil piece of shit hiding in the back bits of the South, doing what he did? Seeing just the low levels humanity would hit? That bothers him more than the shit between Corrigan and Zed. It's just easier to be angrier at the second one.

"Solved it though." He tries to make himself comfortable on the couch. "Found the girl, reunited her with her mum. Bastard got just a taste of what he deserved."

"I see. So you're a friend of the law." Doc tilts his head and offers an easy smile. "Some might even call you a hero." If you wander restlessly long and far enough you'll either be a hero or an outlaw. Must be a little stifling for everyone to be cooped up in a small town.

And hey, happy endings are few and far between, and everyone has things they wished they did differently. It's good to celebrate what little victories anyone can get in life.

"You do not sound too happy about that outcome," Doc observes.

"Only on occasion. Most the time I'm arrested by the law. Tends to happen when you fake identities and break in." Grave robbing too. "Hero? No, mate. I'm a bastard before anything else."

A killer, a liar, a thief of traditions, jackass of all trades and master of none, the Laughing Magician. The list goes on and on and on. Hero is never on that list. Not once.

"Death's too simple for what that son of a bitch did. Torture in Hell is too kind." His voice dips to a low tone then. One that suggests an anger and deep wrath that the outcome didn't quite sate. "But, what's done is done, and it's the best I'm going to get."

"Hm." Doc has the same relationship with the law. Sometimes friend, sometimes foe. They've arrested him, incarcerated him, tried to kill him. Yet he lived, long enough for consumption to take him. In his day he lived by his guns and not by the law. Here he doesn't know what to live by.

"I know what torture in Hell does to people. It is not a pretty sight." Having spent some time amongst the demon-people who get more demon and less people-like over the decades, he can attest that the journey is not a fun one, even if he hasn't yet ventured down below for himself.

"I think it is time to move on, Mister Constantine. Why should the dead hold your remaining time and energy hostage?" The fire flickers and crackles, and Doc starts moving to add more wood and poke around the fireplace to keep the fire going.

"If you should like to join me, it is warmer over here."

Oh, he would be so lucky for them to attempt to get him while in jail. Instead it was waiting for Chas to get the bail money as he paced around. Standard procedure of those who didn't want to see the world for what it was then had him arrested. At least he and Corrigan were on decent terms. Decent on John's end.

"Doesn't mean they don't deserve it." John's lips curled into a cruel frown, hairs standing on end.

In reality? He doesn't want to think about the torture in Hell. It's a snap shot at what is waiting for him - what Astra must be going through. Thoughts better left to the corner of his mind. Those always went down bad paths if he dwelt on them for too long.

His gaze moves to the fire. Then, he stands and joins Doc at the fire. Too many people on a roster of ever growing dead because of him. One soul in particular rotting because of his ego.

"Because the dead don't always stay nicely in their afterlives."

"We do not all get what we deserve." Doc gives John a side eye before he finishes poking at the fire and letting it be. It bathes parts of his face in dramatic warm yellow and orange hues while keeping the rest hidden in shadows.

"Where I came from, some of them - good deeds and honest mistakes my old friend made - they come back, again, and again. A little less human each time." He breathes a sigh. He has only borne witness to the cycle once. It is not something he wants to get used to.

"There comes a point where you need to do what you can so you may live with it, or simply let it all go."

No, they certainly didn't.

That bastard, though? Oh, that bastard deserved it and far more.

"Oh, I live with it. Every bloody day I live with it. What I've done? My blunders? Those will sit with me until the end of my days and beyond. The moment I try to move on from them," he inhales and makes a bit of a popping sound, "oh they just... come right back to remind me. The good days are a rare diamond in my line of work. Most days if you survive the night that's good enough."

He took a cigarette from the packs in his coat. John leaned forward, waiting for the flames to kiss it to bring it to life. Then, he placed it in his mouth and took a long drag.

"Those poor girls are at rest, the one made it home, and the bastard is dead. That doesn't mean it's over. Something darker is causing evil to rise and bubble--act more violent than normal. And I'm fucking stuck here in a ghost town."

Doc had a temper once. He still does. He remembers it all too well, the fights he used to get into, the yelling, the drinking. Hell he hasn't changed as much as he would like to think he has. Maybe if he has spent the last century differently, he might have mellowed out a lot more. But left to his own devices, in a cold, dark and lonely prison, he's gone through the whole cycle of emotions over and over again with no reprieve in sight, and there hadn't been occasions or opportunities for mellowing to be done.

"You have survived a few nights already," Doc reminds him. Hard as it is to tell night from day in this place. But you get good at keeping time after a hundred and thirty years in pitch black darkness. If they are counting small victories then let them start with that.

"Let's worry about the here and now." That's all they can do right now, difficult as it is to just table the chaos back home for when they are able to find a way home. The whispers in this seemingly haunted room are evil enough for Doc, honestly. They don't need to be dwelling on even more evil.

"...have you any blankets?" Speaking of the here and now. It is getting chilly, even with the fire going.

"A few more nights under my belt. Lucky me." John scratches the top of his head. When he gets deep down in those areas of his mind that motivate him? He isn't pleasant to be around. It's why people usually just leave him alone to drink by himself. All that self hate just comes billowing out with no real way to stop it. "Unless the Rising Darkness is affecting this place too."

There's a thought he'd rather deal without.

He points to the chair on the edge of the salt line. "Some blankets and a few sleeping bags. Looks like the people who lived here before were big on the camping."

"Well it's plenty dark alright." He's not familiar with this growing evil, rising darkness business. Getting up, he goes to fetch the blankets and throws one at Constantine's face when it's safe and he's got the cigarette in his hand to his side. Blondie needs to loosen up a bit.

It's a lot warmer now, sitting by the fire with a few blankets on their laps. Now they just need knitting needles and a few cats. And a lot less negativity, perhaps, since the whispers and the negative thoughts are hitting them stronger than ever.

Some food wouldn't hurt though. All this salt isn't doing much for them.

"Much as I wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day here, I suppose you'll be needing some supper." Yes, he is offering to fetch.

John huffs at the blanket, but nods in thanks as he drapes it over his shoulders and just... sits there. His shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the fire. He lets out a thin line of smoke before falling back into that silence that stretches on for a small bit.

"Haven't bothered to make much. Powers out." John looks over at Doc with his eyebrows raised. "Unless you can think of something other than popcorn to go over the fire."

He's not really a marshmallow kind of guy, but he did pack a few days' worth of food from the Grey Gull, in case he was spending another night out alone in the field or going further to explore more of the town. Doc has to climb out of the salt circle to get back to his duffel bag, and as he gets up with a little groan, he hesitates just before crossing the line.

When he doesn't get instantly mauled or torn into pieces by some phantom monster, he breathes out a sigh and moves over to his bag, crouching down to pull out some sandwiches and some meat and potatoes wrapped in foil.

"I do hope you aren't vegetarian," he muses before making his way back to Constantine's side, tossing the food still in the foil wrapping onto the fire. "Or fussy," he adds. He's not a chef by any stretch of the imagination.

"Oh, you know me old son, prefer the fried fish and chips." John replies dryly, but isn't turning down any sort of food. He watches the toss before turning his head to look at the man beside him. "That's how they must of cooked it in the olden days, eh? Probably without the tin foil."

And what exactly will Doc be filling a deep fryer with, pray tell? Flattering though that John would entrust him with such a task.

"We used to use tin foil to fill in missing teeth," Doc points out, flashing a smile over to John. Those weren't the good old days, in this particular case. "Back in the day when it was actually made out of tin, and not abundant enough to be wasted on food wrapping." Suffice to say, it's not as new of an invention as it appears to be.

"I much prefer the microwave, myself. It's only charming if you aren't needing to spend three hours on simple tasks everyday."

Could try seeing if the fish in the ocean are cursed! Though, really, probably best not to test it.

"Hm. Didn't know it was that old." John gives a casual shrug. He didn't do much studying in that regard. "Filling in missing teeth, eh? Bet it must of been fun."

He chuckles a bit at that. "They say things were slower back then. Wasting three hours wasn't really wasting then."

"I was a dentist, among other things. Preferred poker though." Faster and easier money, to boot. And he didn't want to die at an unripe young age having spent his life peering into mouths. He might have made for a decent dentist but life had other more eventful ideas in store.

"Things most certainly were not 'slower'," Doc scoffs. "30 seconds at the-- getting shot at back then feels just as long as 30 seconds of getting shot at right now. And watching someone you love out of the corner of your eye for 30 seconds feels just as short." Doc prods at the food and moves them to an unburnt log to cool down. Everything is precooked at least so it won't take three hours to reheat right now.

"Having said that, you are all rather unfriendly these days. Found things to keep yourselves busy."

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

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