villagelogs | 065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 065-071
WHAT: The residents of Mathias reunite under unnerving conditions.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross "Outside"

DAY 065-071
ASSIGN TO OBLIVION
“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes
place in the interim, there are some things we can never
assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.”
— Haruki Murakami

Only two days have passed since the town was fractured, leaving residents cut off from those they'd come to know and even care for. A mere two days of wandering the new streets, uncovering more secrets that continue to make little sense of this strange place. Two days with sunrises, sunsets, and nights that seem like any other.

And yet.

When residents wake on this third day, they will find that much has changed. All around them, wherever they may be, there are signs that time has passed without them. Dust covers everything, indoors and out, even areas that were spotlessly clean seemingly hours ago. The residents themselves are covered as well, dust clinging to their hair, skin, and clothing—

Clothing that they may not have been wearing when they went to sleep. Each resident, regardless of the state they were in previously, is now clad in a pair of white pajamas, with long pants and button-up shirts. Those who thoroughly explored Baneberry Hall will easily recognize these articles as identical to those well-stocked in the decaying great house. On top of this, the clothes they wore from home have disappeared, along with anything else they may have brought with them when they arrived or items from home that have been found within the borders of Mathias.

There is no sign that anyone has entered their place of shelter, nor is there any sign of what may have been done with these items or how they came to be wearing these clothes. The dust all around them is undisturbed, almost as if they had been sleeping there for quite some time, though it seems impossible for such a thing to have occurred naturally.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the lawn of Town Hall, at the center of the little town square. They, too, are bereft of any items from home and clothed in the identical white pajamas. There are shops all around them, with houses just beyond, and at first glance, everything seems almost picturesque. Except for the silence that is at times so complete as to be maddening... Welcome to Mathias.

SUMMERTIME
— When summer arrives, so too does an outdoor stand in front of the General Store. Sporting a handpainted sign proclaiming Whateley Farm, the stand is overflowing with a variety of produce: berries, plums, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, green beans, leeks, onions, peppers, potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, and garlic bulbs. These do not replace the produce offerings normally found inside the market, but they do behave strangely. The stand replenishes sporadically, sometimes every other day or every five days. There is no discernible pattern to when it replenishes, nor is there any sign of how it came to be there at all.

— With the now-complete reverse change of season, much of the autumn debris has cleared from around town. Only a few stray leaves and fallen branches remain, their crisp colors at odds with the warm summer days. The forest has also cleared of much of the fall detritus, making it easier to both follow the paths and potentially spy things that might be out of the ordinary.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER Summer has arrived in Mathias, bringing with it warm days that average 70°F and comfortably cool nights. The skies are clear throughout the week save for Day 68 when a light rain falls from a grey sky throughout the day.

— THE FOG has maintained its 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! Max Guevara and Liz Brundy have disappeared, and now that everyone is back together, residents will notice that Yennefer, Number Five, and Tony Stark have also vanished.

— 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.

OOC NOTES
— 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 My non-RP life is busy and chaotic and I continue to ask for your forgiveness and understanding as game things continue to be slower, as I cannot promise timely mod responses beyond weekends and even that is not wholly guaranteed.

— ITEMS FROM HOME All items from home that characters would normally possess have vanished for this log and will return in the next. This includes clothing and possessions they had when they arrived in Mathias, items that were found in the rain, and items that were found in Baneberry Hall and removed from the property. Items from home that were left behind by other characters no longer in the game have also vanished. (All other items and clothing still remain, it is only items from characters' homes that have disappeared.)

— BANEBERRY ITEMS The items from home that were not removed from Baneberry Hall in the last log have vanished from the property. These items will not reappear in the next log. (Please be sure to comment in the appropriate spot on those logs about the state of your character's item for inventory purposes, ie whether they were removed from the property or left behind.)

— 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 points, not just those that occur in an inbox thread — this applies to both AC and AP totals. This adjustment is an extension of what has been in place since the start of the game: that all dialogue-only inbox tags counted for a half-point. Since such tags have occurred regularly in log threads as well, the half-point status is simply being extended to all tags regardless of location in order to be fairer in point distribution. (Examples will be provided in the AC post to assist with proper counting.)

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He takes the bottle and... even if he ought to pour the shit out, he brings it up to his lips for a swig, watching Neal with steady eyes. "Well, that's a hell of a specific situation."

He's quiet, trying to weigh how to answer that. "Yeah, probably. Love makes no fucking sense, Neal. There's not an off-switch. All the shit I pulled with my wife-- she still loved me in the end. Believe me, I damn sure didn't deserve it. You've seen that first hand."

He shrugs his shoulders. Then again, he really did stop it with the bullshit in the end with her, didn't go out and repeat the same damn mistakes. "But that said, love also makes you a fucking idiot. It's hard to remove yourself from a situation when you're stuck deep in it, no matter what anyone else says. Now, a question of my own-- you in this situation or outside of it?"

He wanders over to pick up the lead pipe again, getting a grip on it, smashing it into the mirror so the splintered glass properly shatters.

"Depends who you ask," he says, and takes another swing, demolishing what's left of the mirror. He props the pipe against his shoulder, lifts his face toward the ceiling. "Raylan got into a relationship with Malcolm. Then decided to start fucking Doc. Neither of whom told Malcolm about it. Malcolm found them in bed, and Raylan convinced him not to break things off, somehow, even though Doc told Malcolm not to accept it. But Raylan got to keep both of them."

He shouldn't be saying any of this. He shouldn't, and there's a vicious satisfaction in doing it anyway. "Enter Tim Gutterson, Raylan's not-really-friend from home."

Neal steps up to an unbroken window, gives the pipe a little spin, and drives it through the glass, wincing a little as shards hit his hands. It's fine. Who cares.

"Tim Gutterson, who treats Malcolm like shit for making conversation. Tim Gutterson, who Malcolm can't open his mouth in front of without getting condescended to. Tim Gutterson, who knows Malcolm and Raylan are together."

He glances over his shoulder at Negan, raising his eyebrows, a kind of you can see where I'm going with this expression.

"Tim kills himself. Raylan is understandably upset. Did you know--I didn't--but did you know that apparently the only way to comfort someone you care about who's in distress is to fuck them? I guess they don't teach people how to say 'no' in Kentucky. Or the definition of cheating."

A smash, as Neal knocks another chunk of the window out of its frame. "They also apparently don't teach people that it's not okay to try and fuck someone else's partner when you know that partner exists, wherever Tim is from."

This feels like shit he shouldn't be hearing from a secondhand source, but he lets Neal talk. It's apparently bugging the hell out of him. Negan can't say there's not a flash of anger that this shit's been going on -- and while he's been in Raylan's shoes before, he changed.

Besides, he saw how that shit wrecked Lucille. Can only imagine what it's doing to Malcolm. He takes another swig from the bottle, watching Neal smash the mirror passively. He knows what it's like, to want to break shit, to tear everything down. He won't begrudge him an outlet, even if he's eyeing those hands warily.

"You're gonna need to clean those soon," he points out. "No sense in getting an infection."

Negan sets the bottle aside on a nearby table for now, taking a step towards Neal, tilting his head. "What's Malcolm got to say about all this? It's shit, Neal, but it's his decision to make if he wants to stick it out. Just like it's on Raylan if he chooses to cheat on a guy who must love him a hell of a lot to put up with it. Unless your plan is to take that pipe somewhere else."

He doesn't recommend it though.

"I don't care if I get an infection," Neal says, tone flat. "I can't paint consistently any more, anyway--my right hand is shot half the time, I'm not as good with my left. Who gives a shit?"

What's Malcolm got to say about all this?

Another bitter, bitter laugh. He finally drops the pipe."Oh, that Raylan loves him. That Raylan begged him not to leave, that he probably really truly means it this time when he says he's not going to stick it in anyone else. It's not ideal, but it's a compromise! You know, where two people agree to make changes to a situation so both parties get more of what they want. Only it's not that, because Raylan isn't giving up shit and Malcolm gets to watch him walk out the door every day and wonder who he'll be humping while he's gone."

Edited 2021-06-29 17:26 (UTC)

"Yeah, well... I care, asshole." His tone is harder this time. "Letting yourself get sick over dumb, avoidable shit is fucking selfish to everyone around you and you know it."

When the pipes on the ground, Negan moves to pick it up, idly testing the weight. No Lucille, but-- it's not bad either. Probably safer in his hands right now, considering Neal's state. "Holy shit... you love Malcolm, don't you? And I'm not talking in a friendly way."

He huffs out a laugh, though it's not exactly meant to be cruel. "In my opinion, Raylan's probably full of shit, whatever he promises not to do next. But hey, what do I know? Maybe this was his wakeup call."

Neal glares at Negan when he reprimands Neal for not caring about his own health. Glares harder when Negan says what he does about Neal's own feelings. That only lasts a moment before he looks away.

You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.

Neal pushes past Negan--quickly, not close enough to do more than brush his arm--and reaches for the bottle again.

Fuck it. Maybe he'll get lucky and poison himself after all.

Edited 2021-06-29 17:41 (UTC)

"What? Oh, come on. You wanna take a shot at me next? First one's free for people I like... or it seems like it lately." He shouldn't be goading him, but then again, Neal's making a show of glaring at him, of rushing past.

"Doesn't matter how much you love him if he's wrapped up in somebody else, there's not a whole hell of a lot you can do if he's made up his mind either. And I am sorry about that, Neal." He spins to look at Neal disapprovingly as he drinks more of that shit.

"But you can't destroy yourself over it. You think Malcolm's gonna be happy about that? Or hell, any of us."

He wants them to hurt, Neal realizes idly. He wants them to hurt, to get mad at him, to... he's not sure. He stares down at the bottle dangling from his hand, thinking about Raylan using a load of moonshine to start the Town Hall fire. He'd worried about Raylan then, even if he was too broken in the moment to offer much comfort.

He doesn't care now. He doesn't care. He doesn't care what any of them think, what any of them want, he doesn't care.

Neal puts the moonshine back on the table, hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, swaying a little bit. He's not going to fucking cry about this. Not this. He's not going to give Tim that, give Raylan that, even if neither one of them would ever know.

"Some of us don't get to just have what we want," Neal says, his voice wry in a way he doesn't expect Negan to understand. He wasn't there for the conversation where Malcolm said it, after all.

Edited 2021-06-29 17:57 (UTC)

"You know, I've been there. Maybe not exactly in your shoes, but man-- I get the path you're joyfully fucking dancing down." He huffs out a sigh, tilting his head back towards the ceiling.

"I get being angry and I get wanting to hurt other people because of it. Hell, I get being hurt... You know, first guy I ever killed-- I'd been out looking for Lucille some medicine. She had a couple rounds of chemo left, her medicine went bad because I was a fucking idiot and forgot to check the generator."

He huffs out a laugh. "I found it, got kidnapped and beaten for-- fuck, I don't know how long. They wanted to know where I got it, the doctors who still had access to medicines. I didn't want to crack, but they told me they were gonna destroy Lucille's medicine in front of me and then kill me... Whatever, I told them what they wanted to know and rushed my happy ass back home. Lucille was dead by then. Killed herself, probably thought I skipped out on her... hell, I can't blame her for it. I was an asshole."

But all of that to say-- "You have no idea how fucking angry I was. Seeing red was fucking literal. I don't know if I was angry at myself for leaving her at all or angry at the asshole for keeping me away from her for so long. Either way, I burned my house down and buried whoever Negan fucking Smith was and went back... beat that guy's head in. You think Glenn was bad?"

He laughs bitterly. "My point is, I know how anger works, how it fucking eats away at you until you want to just burn it all fucking down. But you don't want to end up like me, Neal... You don't want to end up numb and hopeless besides the endless goddamn guilt and nightmares. You don't want to be alone and hated because it fucking sucks, man. So my suggestion? Go talk to Raylan, go talk to Malcolm, or Tim, or whoever the fuck you need to and try to clear the air the best you can."

It breaks his heart for Negan, and he knows it would hurt more if he wasn't so angry himself. So furious. So drunk. So bitter with jealousy.

Talk to Tim. The corner of Neal's lip twitches for a half-second into something that is desperately not a smile. "If I talk to Tim, I'm going to kill him or get killed. Maybe. Maybe just get killed. I've never been strong enough to pull the trigger, even when it was a gun pointed at a guy who murdered someone I loved."

He stares at the bottle in hand a moment more before letting go. Looks over at Negan, everything mulling together into one giant mindless blot of emotion, but there's not enough viciousness left in it for him to try and take the pipe back.

It's an impulse, what he does next, the same way grabbing the moonshine was an impulse. It's something he can do to get outside of his own head. It's wrong, he knows that, but he's so so far past caring.

Neal crosses the short distance between them and kisses Negan, hand going to the back of his head, the other going to grip the man's undershirt near his waist. It's not romantic love, the emotion behind the action, but that doesn't make it less passionate. He presses himself up against Negan, ghosting his fingers down from the man's hair to the back of his neck, his fingers making light little circles there, the barest contact that he knows tends to send tingles across the scalp. He takes a breath, then bites at Negan's lower lip, gently touching the other man's mouth with his tongue in request and invitation.

He's not going to stop unless he's made to.

"Well, I can't condone killing anybody, Neal. Not here. And I've seen killers, you're not--" One of them. He's not. He's too goddamn soft -- he's one of the people he'd have needed to protect back home, guard like some precious fucking thing because humanity's wasting away. Maybe he could be shaped into a killer -- Hell, maybe Negan would've tried back home. No one thinks they're capable of taking another life until they have.

Strangely, he doesn't want that for him.

Just like he's not sure he fucking wants this either. He's got Neal up against him, kissing him in a way that has him wanting to cave into it. Negan's always been weak to physical gratification and Neal's-- well, he's fucking attractive and good company. For a moment, he thinks about dipping into that kiss he's being invited into. Why not? It's the one way he knows to make anybody feel better in any sort of shit situation, and he wants to offer Neal that.

"Fuck--" He can't do it in the end. He lifts a hand up to cup the side of Neal's face. "You're lonely and you're angry and you're fucking drunk, sweetheart... you don't want this. I'm not that big of an asshole."

When Negan pulls away, Neal tries for a moment to follow. But then Negan has his hand against Neal's cheek, he's outlining so simply the reasons this is a bad idea, and god Neal doesn't care, he doesn't care.

"Please," Neal says quietly.

Some of us don't get to just have what we want.

He rests his forehead against Negan's chest, not even entirely sure what he's asking for. "Please."

When Neal leans in against him, Negan slides his hand to rest against the back of his head. Fingers brush and tangle through dark hair as he slides his other arm around him, holding on.

"I'm here." He shushes him quietly, not entirely sure what he's asking for either and not sure what he can actually give. "You know that place I got? Why don't we go there... bed's nice. I'll stay with you, alright?"

He stands there for a little while without answering, one hand still gripping Negan's undershirt, the other fiddling mindlessly at the edge of Negan's jeans.

This is as good as it gets, he thinks, though he's not sure what he's referring to either.

"All right," is all he finally says, noticing the scratchiness of his throat for the first time. He must have been doing a lot of yelling.

He wants to get the moonshine bottle on the way out of the house, but he doesn't think Negan would let him. That's fine. That's okay. He snatched a few of Malcolm's pills before he left the house, too, not really thinking about why or what the results would be. Not enough to kill him--he doesn't want that--but enough to do something. Malcolm had said, after all, that he would share if Neal needed something to calm him down. This qualified, more or less.

He lets out a sigh, keeping that pipe in one hand and his other arm around Neal. Better to keep him close as they leave, just in case he has any other smart ideas like busting a house up -- or Tim's head, really.

"You gonna let me clean those cuts on your hand up too? I know I'm an irresistible kinda guy, but priorities here, Neal."

Neal looks down, studying his hand in the fading light as they get to the street.

"Do I have a choice?" He tries for wry, mostly gets tired.

Edited 2021-06-29 20:08 (UTC)

"Not really, but I'll give you the option of sprawling out on the bed first." See? He can be a reasonable guy.

He's passively glad for the arm around him, the moonshine hitting even harder now that he's starting to calm down. Or lose steam, at least. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focuses on staying steady, and mostly manages.

"I punched Raylan when I found out," he says, tongue heavy in his mouth as the alcohol catches up to him. "He told me he'd only slept with Tim twice. And that it wouldn't happen again until after he told Malcolm. As though that makes him less of a--"

Whore. Neal can't quite make himself say it. His voice starts to rise again.

"And he was upset with me, before that, upset with me for breaking into the house of somebody I cared about, betraying them, he was upset with me for lying!"

Edited 2021-06-30 21:08 (UTC)

"So, he might sleep with Tim again?" Raylan's really getting his cake and eating it too, from what Neal's telling him. He'd be impressed if he wasn't caught off fucking guard by all of this, if it wasn't causing a lot of fucking issues around them. Jesus fucking Christ...

"People can be hypocrites, Neal... that doesn't surprise you, does it?"

"He will," Neal says flatly. "He didn't give up a damn thing."

He's silent for a moment, closing his eyes, nearly losing his balance. He keeps himself upright by grabbing a handful of Negan's undershirt. "No," he says softly. "I am one."

"Whoa, there-- Not time for lying down yet, man. Gotta get you to the bed first." He tightens his arm around Neal, trying to keep him upright. "Yeah? What makes you say that, Neal?"

"I'm a liar," he says thickly. "I'm a liar, a criminal. I've never deserved my friends."

He laughs quietly. "I told Raylan he didn't deserve Malcolm, but it's not like I do."

"For fuck's sake, Neal... you're talking to a guy who lost his job for beating up an asshole, was on fucking parole and in debt up to his fucking eyeballs, and then became a murderer at the end of the world. Trust me, you're fine." Or as fine as Negan's company tends to ever be.

"It's not about deserving, you know. You don't really get to decide that for other people."

He’s sinking into a pit of self-loathing, marinating in his own gloom, and even as Negan lists his own faults and crimes, somehow Neal tells himself that’s different. That’s who Negan was before, it’s who he doesn’t have to be now or even when they leave this place, if they can choose where they go.

But if Neal went back to his own New York, he’d be going to a New York where the most important person in his life will hand him off to a stranger for his own good.

This is pathetic, the tiny, still-sober voice in the back of his head snaps. Pull it together and stop feeling sorry for yourself.

He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning against Negan, still hanging onto his undershirt.

“They will eventually,” he says, calmer than the words deserve, probably. “Decide. They always do.”

Edited 2021-07-01 15:22 (UTC)

"Hey, you still got me, asshole, for whatever that's worth." Which probably isn't much, honestly. Murdering asshole and all that. Still, he tips his head in to press a quick kiss to the top of Malcolm's head--

before he's steering him towards the door. "C'mon, gotta get inside. You think you can stand on your own a second?"

065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

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