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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Reaching up, Tim rubbed at his eyes with his fingers and exhaled a soft sigh. He knew how to dance a conversation, hell the back and forth with Colt had been a damn waltz set to classical music. But he was also tired and lost in his own head and trying to lay down metaphorical pathways suddenly felt like too much work.

He looked at Doc, at the man's pale blue eyes. Eyes that were so much like Raylan's in that they saw more than they ever wanted a man to know. Still braced on the sill he set his hands on the top of his thighs, bent slightly at the waist as he shifted his gaze to the floor.

"You and Raylan," he began softly. "Doesn't even make me bat an eyelash. Hell ifn I thought either of you were up for it, I'd hop on in and join you." Raylan was still learning about sex with one other man, and Doc did have that old fashion streak that did not seem to lend itself to threesomes. "I don't feel awkward around you, don't feel like I have to watch every word off my tongue. I know you see into me in ways that strip me raw to the nerve but ... I don't feel like you're gathering intel to hurt me."

Tim had gradually looked up as he spoke but then he exhaled and his shoulders curled as he looked back down.

"It's all different with Malcolm. Every conversation it seems my words get turned around, sharpened and then used against me. Just being in the same room with him makes me feel like a long tailed cat on a porch of rocking chairs. I keep trying, Henry but anytime I'm around him, all I want to do is escape."

"There is no me and Raylan." It is just sex and if he says it enough times to enough people even Doc and Raylan themselves would start believing it. Although, insisting there was nothing at all between them hadn't really worked for Doc and Wyatt. The man's been dead for the better part of a century and people are still asking Doc questions about them.

"I know my way around bodies. Around people." That's not a no to the threesome, if Tim is taking notes. Doc is nothing if not adaptable. Although this is a difficult position that Tim is putting him in. Doc was only recently made aware of the various troubles in paradise but he never wanted to get involved, even if it was somewhat inevitable, just a matter of time.

"If it helps any, I had oft felt the same around Malcolm. He latches onto everything. Reads too much into and misconstrues the few words I am willing to part with." It is not just Tim. Doc doesn't keep overly analytical company. It has taken some adjusting, after very similar initial inclinations of throwing in the towel and cutting all their conversations short.

"Tell me something, Marshal. You are your own man, with your own wants. What is it that you want? Do you want to have anything to do with Malcolm? Genuinely want, for your own self? Or are you only doing it because it is something you think you know that Raylan wants?"

Raylan's words, whispered in his ear when they were hiding from the storm in the tunnel, echoed through Tim's brain and he gave Doc a cheeky peek from beneath his lashes. He didn't say anything or even argue the man's words because neither were his place but he did look back to the floor under he could get the urge to grin like an asshole under control.

He was taking notes but they were carefully written down and placed up on a shelf for the time being. He hadn't missed the fact that Doc seemed to have avoided the worst of the mess and Tim had no desire to drag the gunslinger into anything. But from a strictly aesthetic perspective, what he envisioned in his private shower times was his own damn business and did nothing to hurt nobody.

The direct questions at the end did a lot to sober the younger marshal up toot sweet and he continued to lean on the window sill with his hands clasped together in front of him. He didn't answer immediately, took some time to test the questions against his experiences with the profiler and his general impression of the man. Eventually his head hung a little lower as he shook it side to side.

"No," he admitted softly. "It isn't personal, ifn that makes sense, and it aint got nothing to do with he and Raylan," Tim peeked up and motioned at Doc; this was why he'd said what he had about his reaction to the gunslinger. "Outside Raylan and trying to survive in this town, we're like oil and water. I respect him from a professional perspective and I don't envy him what he deals with in his own mind. But beyond that?" Tim shook his head.

He was quiet, lacing his fingers in and out, again and again before he continued.

"Everybody keeps telling me I have it all wrong, when it comes to Malcolm," he turned and looks out the open door. "I try. I tried, but all I end up wondering is what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't ..." he unfolded his hands in a helpless gesture, shoulders slumping.

"And that makes me wonder how it's supposed to work. How we do this without tearing Raylan in pieces. Feels like I'm the mother standing in front of Solomon and there's only one right choice."

"Everybody's got an opinion about cornbread. They can't all be right." He won't say there's nothing wrong with Tim. He doesn't know the young man well enough to make such a proclamation. Men who can pack their entire lives up in a matter of minutes and walk away from everything at the drop of a hat tend to be carrying baggage bigger than their actual duffel bag. But he suspects that whatever is broken with Tim has very little, if anything, to do with Malcolm.

"That ain't your problem, Tim. The only person you will ever meet who genuinely cares about what you want is standing here in this lighthouse." And, needless to say, it ain't Doc. "What Raylan wants, who Raylan wants, how Raylan wants to sort his shit out - those are Raylan problems. It isn't on you to befriend someone who makes you feel like you need to escape. It isn't on you to impose your own exile. You can waste what's left of your life chasing someone else's goalposts settling for things you know in your heart you don't want to settle for and still neither of you will truly be happy. You need to know what you want, and you need to be honest with yourself about it."

It was true. There were a lot of opinions about cornbread and except for Tim's, they were all wrong.

What Doc was saying made sense. It wasn't the easiest thing to hear but it was solid advice that Tim didn't feel he had to go looking for hooks waiting to trip him up. It was honesty that begat honesty in return as he looked at the older man.

"Henry, I've been in love with Raylan for over three years," he admitted. "Back home I knew it was hopeless and I'd made my peace with it, but here?" Tim took a deep, slightly shaky breath as he lifted his hand to rub at his eyes. "I want him, and the only way it works is to share him or break both our hearts trying to insist on a normative in this place that destroys any semblance of normative."

If they wanted easy to hear, they don't generally go seeking Doc out. It's taken them a while to finally get to this place where Tim is talking about what he wants, even if it is tangled up messily in what he perceives he can have.

"Is that what he has asked of you?" Raylan isn't some kind of ride-sharing application and frankly Doc doesn't see it working out for anyone the way things currently are. But contrary to popular belief, he doesn't know 100% of the time exactly what Raylan is thinking or feeling.

He would tell Tim the same thing he told Malcolm, except their circumstances are a little different. If they go back to Harlan together they may have a chance of working things out somehow. Same line of work, same odd hours, and he's probably already met Winona and Willa. No... strange city boy ideas of how the world works.

Is that what this place is? Some kind of sharing arrangement you have agreed to?"

Hard to hear or not, this feels like the first time anyone has asked him about what he wants. About how he feels. The first time anyone has not made him feel like a piece of shit for not tripping over himself for Malcolm Bright. Maybe it will turn out to bite him in the ass, he has enough lawman suspicion to consider the possibility that Henry is setting him up in some way. But he's also too tired and heart sore to try to protect himself.

"I guess I don't really know what he's asked of me," Tim answered honestly. "I've offered on a couple of occasions to put it all back under my hat," he looked at Henry, hoping the gunslinger could figure out what he meant by 'put it all' without him having to spell it out in detail.

"He reacts like I've sucker punched him when I bring it up and," Tim shook his head. "I'm not strong enough to break his heart that way by insisting."

His head dropped, shoulders as well. It was a slightly defensive posture, as if he were waiting to be told that he needed to nut up and break Raylan's heart to help them all to be more settled.

"I love him," he said in a tight voice that was struggling not to crack. "I want him to feel loved, to finally know that there are people who do love him, unconditionally. I may not be able to find common ground with the man, but I know Malcolm loves him that way. I know I should leave them be ... but I can't."

Edited 2021-07-06 02:36 (UTC)

If anyone needs to be breaking hearts, it's Raylan. You can't play this game and somehow also be the good guy who comes out unscathed from all these entanglements. Unfortunately it seems he's either not thought everything through and had the necessary conversations yet, or he has and he's too chicken shit to man up and deal with the fallout. Of course, it doesn't help that it seems neither Malcolm nor Tim have laid all their cards out on the table and he's having to work off of incomplete information.

"Alright." Doc nods, recognising that he's pushing Tim to the edge of a rather uncomfortable conversation and not wanting to tip him over. He appreciates the honesty thus far and he's not going to trample all over it. There's a lot more self-awareness on display than he was expecting, so there might be a mature soul hiding away in there. But there are a few fragile and youthful things still left inside the young man's outer casing.

"Well, look, it-- he ha'n't told me anything. And I'm not gon' tell him anything either. It is not my place. You feel what you feel, and it ain't worth any more or any less than how anyone else feels. I'd give it a few weeks and two crates of 'shine at least before I even consider breaking anything, if I were in your shoes, and even then it'd be for my own sake and no one else's. Nobody's going anywhere fast, in any case."

They may not have talked a lot, relatively speaking, but Doc's hundred plus years held him in good stead in terms of being able to see a man. Tim was that curious blend of very old, mature soul, yet fragile, young and easily lost at the same time. A product of fighting in war at too young an age. Nothing new in the history of man, just one of the many casualties of war.

As if physically responding to Doc letting up the pressure, Tim took a deep breath and then another before forcing himself to stand up straight. He still rested his hip against the window sill but was no longer curled in on himself. Doc's advice is sound, giving it all some time and a couple of crates of 'shine sound like heaven at the moment. He'd kept away from the hard stuff while everything was blowing up, but it might be a good idea to christen his new abode with a blind drunk night. Make sure the toilets were up to snuff.

Another deep breath and Tim dropped his hands back to brace them on the window sill as he shook his head slightly.

"Got to admit, discussion feelings was not even in the top ten of things I ever imagined discussing with Doc Holiday back when I was a kid. Had a list as long as my arm about marksmanship."

Honestly, Doc just came to make sure Tim was recovering okay and to bring him a few supplies because he'd heard he might not be staying over at 1308 for a while. He had not expected to be giving counsel about anything.

"We can talk about marksmanship - or anything else you want, if you'd ever like to take me somewhere nice one evening." It's a little inappropriate to flirt given what has blown up but Doc can't help a little bit of harmless teasing, and he doesn't really mean anything substantive by it. Being a gunslinger is only one of his trades.

"Will you be relocating tonight, then? I will let Raylan know you have moved. Just as a courtesy, in case there are fog swamp monsters or three-headed pterodactyls descending upon us tonight." They can all use the time and distance right now. Doc isn't going to be encouraging anyone to do anything too rash too soon.

"Open air picnic with a slingshot, moonshine and little breakable figurines it is then." Tim recognized the flirting as habit of breathing behind Doc's words and didn't take them seriously. Not that given a completely different set of circumstances he wouldn't have stepped up for the opportunity. He'd said as much when he'd mentioned joining Doc and Raylan in the sheets for a fun time.

But now was so not the time and not a thing anyone needed to add to anyone else's plate.

Tim nodded in response to the question and motioned out the door, down the cliff towards the beach. "Found a decent house on King Lane, most northeastern edge. Dusty, sandy, metal all rusted and mildew for miles, but windows are intact and the electrical seems safe. Number is 320."

"I could help you tidy up enough to make it livable, or bring you dinner later if you'd rather keep yourself busy," Doc offers. He doesn't particularly want to smother Tim with unwanted fussing and attention. But he doesn't want Tim to be going at anything alone, either. Forced, imposed dadding is likely to ensue for a while longer.

"I suppose you like it out here but I do appreciate you moving a lil' closer." Gives him one less thing to worry about, if nothing else.

Tim was using all the lifting and cleaning as a way to distract himself, a way to keep from dwelling too much. He still managed plenty of unhealthy overthinking, but the lifting, hauling, cleaning and fixing helped.

"I could eat," he said in response to the offer of some food coming over, his eyes brightening with more interest than the casual words might have conveyed. Ranger training had instilled in him a healthy appreciation for food. Even through deep emotional upheaval, he rarely came off his feed. He might retreat to comfort foods, but rarely did his appetite desert him.

"I like up," he admitted, glancing towards the archway that lead to the tower steps. "Full field of vision, or at least the illusion of one."

"I will be making some kind of pasta bake." If that offends Tim's palate he best speak up now. Although Doc's culinary skills are fairly limited and he can't make anything too fancy.

"Heights and I..." Doc makes a face. He doesn't mind a good view and looking far out as his eyes can see, but standing on the edge looking down, well. Makes his stomach churn.

"You can still have the roof." Not quite the same vantage point, but that was high enough for Doc the last time he went up on one.

"I'm a Ranger, Doc. We are not picky about our food," Tim explained with a half smile. A pasta bake might be a little heavier than the sniper would make for himself, but he wasn't about to turn down food he didn't have to make.

"The house I'm looking at, it has this little cupola at the top," he grinned with an impish twinkle in his eyes. "Good for looking outwards and up, but not down." He was making an assumption, but the face Doc made was pretty telling.

There's no point living a hundred and sixty six years if you can't throw everything into one dish and press a few buttons on a modern appliance to make it cook. He can even leave the pasta bake alone and walk away to work on something else without worrying about burning the house down.

"I see." He's still unlikely to be able to get Doc onto the roof unless he pulls a Callisto on him - please don't - but he might be able to handle it if there's no looking over the edge required.

"I will be leaving your dinner in the kitchen. OberEats don't do roof deliveries. And I suspect that is a place you want to be alone, anyway."

"It's not on the ..." Tim began to explain the idea of a cupola but then stopped himself. Maybe he could show Doc later.

Instead he grinned without teeth, a boyish expression and chuckled. "I always show up for food," he clarified. "No need to leave anything sitting anywhere. I'll make sure there is a bottle of 'shine to accompany dinner. For a pasta bake would you want a seventy-two or thirty-six hour vintage?"

That gets a small laugh out of Doc, such a rare sight of something able to tug lines on the corners of his eyes that it's a wonder how he's managed to charm anyone without it thus far.

"Thirty six will be fine I think. Ain't anything fancy." They can save the seventy two for when the fresh ingredients get deployed in some spectacular dish.

"Well I suspect you came here to be alone, so I shall leave you to it and see you there tonight." He's happy to stay, and he indicates as much by simply standing still until he's dismissed. But he doesn't wish to outstay his welcome.

Tim also chuckled softly, nodding to show he understood that a good thirty-six hour soak would be good enough. He looked up the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that spoke of long hours looking through a scope under the blazing sun.

He recognized what Doc was offering and honestly Tim wasn't sure if he wanted the gunslinger to go or stay. Henry wasn't bad company, but at the same time did they know each other well enough to provide supportive companionship? The sniper wasn't sure.

But there was one thing he was sure of, so rather than answer the unasked question he looked out a window for a long minute, before turning his eyes back to Doc. A sad smile touched his lips and he took a deep breath.

"He's going to break my heart," Tim announced softly. "When it comes down to choice, he's going to go to Malcolm." The young sniper's voice was rich with the weight of a very old soul. There were no tears this time, just an ancient sort of ache in his eyes. "I know how it's going to go Henry, but you asked me what I want." Tim took another deep breath, looking at a spot past the gunslinger's shoulder.

"I've watched Raylan reach out with love, to a long list of people. Starting with his father, to the mother of his child, to women who saw him only as a means to an end. I've watched him be hurt, again and again. People running out on him because they weren't strong enough to stay beside him." Dark blue eyes came back to Doc's face and Tim smiled sadly. "I'm not going to walk away from him to save my own heart, Henry. This time, when he makes that choice you and I can both see coming? This time he gets to walk away, towards something better. I love him too much to want it to go any other way."

Edited (I'm done, I promise!!) 2021-07-09 02:40 (UTC)

Doc would have told Tim to just let Raylan sort out what he wants first. There's no need to preempt anything. But at the same time there are merits to setting yourself up for rejection. He does not want to give Tim any false hopes, any illusion that they might have a chance at anything when they return to Harlan, any impression that this might resolve itself neatly. It may very well end with all involved parties being unhappy. That is... at the end of the day, nobody walking away happy is more or less how compromise works.

But they are realistic people. The South makes realistic men. He cannot say he knows anything of the big cities on the coasts. All he knows is that nobody goes to Harlan, or Valdosta, or Purgatory to pursue their dreams. The dreamers end up in places like New York.

"If I knew what was to come, I would have chosen to die in 1887. Nobody knows what is coming, Tim." That is the most optimism Doc is willing to muster on the subject. "Maybe you will not be happy. But you will survive."

Doc was not wrong about the South making realistic men. Tim listened to what the gunslinger said and from the intensity of his expression, hopefully Doc understood that the young sniper was taking the words to heart.

After a moment he nodded, smiled with a wryness and glanced aside.

"I know," he almost whispered in response to the assertion that he would survive. As much as he wrestled with in his life, he knew he was not the self-destructive type. Not yet at least.

"I'm happy now," he continued, eyes moving back to Doc. "This is more than I ever imagined I'd get with him. If it comes with an expiration date, then I want to embrace it to the fullest. Not ... focus on what more I should want from him. Figure it's my choice to be happy or not with what I have. I understand it's not conventional and please don't get me wrong, Henry I do hear you. But I want this opportunity to love him."

That is a sentiment Doc understands intimately. His own expiry date, unpredictable as it was, had been very short. He could have had so much more. He would have traded away 30 seconds and eternal posthumous fame for 30 more years with Wyatt visiting his farm and watching his chickens, dying penniless and nameless in a place where nobody cared about the nature of their friendship. Where nobody and nothing would remind them that they could have wives. They could have children. They could not have each other. Not in remotely any similar way to how men can have each other now.

It was better to have loved, and lost, and grieved, and suffered, and die alone as the last lone guardian to stale old memories than to die alone with nothing.

"I am not here to tell you what to do," Doc says simply with a purse of his lips and a small shrug. "I only came to check on your injuries and bring you some supplies." He was kind of blindsided by all this Raylan business but he is nothing if not adept at rolling with the punches.

Sorry Doc. Guess that's what happens you're all warm, cuddly and easy to talk too.

It is tempting to ask Doc how he feels about the whole situation. But Tim's not sure they have that kind of relationship and he's more reserved about charging in where angels fear to tread. At least in an emotional context. From what he's observed, Raylan and Doc's relationship is just as complex as any of the other two men the marshal is involved with, perhaps even more so. It also appears to work best when left alone, for the two cowboys to work out.

Tim's lips twitch cookedly and he holds his arms out to the side. "Hale and whole, sir." He confirms, regarding the injuries. "And I do appreciate the supply of 'shine and promise of a hot meal I do not have to microwave for myself."

Cowboy in the streets, Care Bear in the sheets, Doc Holliday would protest he is not.

"I can always make your share, every time I'm in the kitchen," Doc offers. He would not force Tim and Malcolm into the same place especially since it seems to make the former rather uncomfortable. Nor would he request whoever happens to be working in the kitchen to make extra portions. But just because he wouldn't invite Tim over to 1306 to spare both of them the awkwardness of being turned down doesn't mean he can't simply make another serving and bring it over to wherever Tim is staying. Doc does that often enough for Ellie.

"You are a part of this community, even if you are not staying in our house." Raylan's people are Doc's people, and vice versa. It is what they do.

Except he totally is and Tim was willing to die on that hill.

His knee jerk response was to politely decline the offer. As he had told Malcolm, he'd been feeding and caring for himself since he was less than five years old. It was part of what gave him that incredibly stubborn independent streak.

Doc was right about Tim's relationship with 1306. He would avoid the house telling himself that it was his attempt to be respectful towards Malcolm. Which was genuine but not the entire reason, as Doc had already rightly assumed.

But before he could open his mouth to decline, Tim stopped and thought about it for a moment. Thought about Doc's words, regarding community. Thought about what Raylan and even Malcolm kept poking at him about. Considered that perhaps having the excuse to check in on him, without it being a case of checking in on him, could be settling for Doc.

"Think I'd appreciate that, Henry." Tim said with a boyish grin that crinkled his eyes in a friendly way. It stripped a lot of the world weariness out of his habitual resting dick face.

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thering - 2021-07-11 14:22 (UTC) - Expand

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walkingtrigger - 2021-07-11 15:23 (UTC) - Expand

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065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

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😭 Tim

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