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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He blinks in surprise, turning Malcolm's way again.

"No," he says, the surprise still clear in his voice. He hesitates. "If anything it's going to be a public space. I hope so anyway."

Malcolm’s expression brightens, his interest piqued. He’s always been fascinated by the idea of Neal and art. Malcolm himself has zero percent of any skill in it.

“Like a gallery?”

He hesitates a moment. "Kind of."

Neal knows that Malcolm won't think the idea is stupid. If anything he'll love it. He drags a hand back through his hair, then looks at it in slight surprise when it comes away dusty. He shakes it off--literally and mentally--before looking up again.

"I thought... The paper garden on Stoker is a lost cause, really. It's not worth the work it would take to put it back together again. But I thought maybe I could make this house into a... park, I guess. For lack of a better word. Somewhere for people to retreat to that isn't the Gull. I told Ellie ages ago that I wanted to make Rey a headstone, and I told Negan that I wanted to make a memorial for the graveyard, but I think putting a memorial in a place like this once it's done might be better. So it's not out there in the elements, waiting for the next ugly thing to come our way."

“That sounds amazing,” Malcolm enthuses. “What sort of memorial? Do you need help?”

Neal feels a little something inside him relax, like he's taken a step in the right direction after a series of them going the wrong way. Like maybe he hasn't walked himself over a cliff quite yet, like maybe he hasn't run hard enough for everyone he loves to stop chasing him.

His smile this time is equally as fleeting, but it's a little more real.

"I'm not sure yet. I thought maybe a mural on one of the walls, but it could be woodwork or a sculpture. Not that there's much to actually sculpt with here. No matter what it is, I want it to have a place for names."

A pause, and he adds a little more quietly, "I'd love help."

Edited 2021-07-06 14:27 (UTC)

"I'd love to help," Malcolm tells him.

No, he'd never be able to make them stop caring. Even if Malcolm had gone when he was asked to, if Neal hadn't called him back, he'd have given it a day or maybe a day and a half and he'd have been back trying to work things out. Neal started a fist fight with his sort of boyfriend, which left a lot more bruises than he'd initially realized, he aired their laundry and he left their house, but they still didn't stop. They'd never stop.

"I remember right after that time we ran into Bucky and Daisy, when the snow stopped, I ran into Bucky digging graves to replace the rock graves we'd built."

Though he maintains such graves are adequate in warm weather; they use them in the desert.

"I tried to explain to him how important it was to know all their names."

Bucky and Daisy. A pain made fresh by the past forty-eight hours. Even though it only happened a week ago, it feels somehow like a cauterized wound being reopened.

"It is important," Neal agrees quietly. Even if it's their own names. Even if they came back. What happened to them doesn't go away. He remembers, he defended Bucky before, insisted that he cared about the dead whether he knew them or not, and Neal still thinks that's true.

He also just doesn't want to think about Bucky and Daisy.

Neal clears his throat, gathers himself. "I'm thinking after we're done with this room, we see how much of the next bedroom over we can get before we break and rinse off. Have you eaten today?"

Malcolm huffs a laugh. "No. I haven't. I know: that's very like me." He twirls his broom in his hand. "I don't suppose I can talk you into another pie if I help you make it?"

This time, Neal's small smile doesn't fade. "You might be able to convince me. Blueberry again, or do you want to try something else?"

"Trying something else feels risky," Malcolm tells him, lifting an eyebrow. "Do you think we can do it?"

"Blackberries, raspberries, and strawberries all have a relatively low acidity. We can give one of them a shot, and if it works, maybe even..."

He leans forward a little. "Mix them."

God this feels good. On some level it feels fake, too, like he's pantomiming a casual conversation, but even that feels better than nothing.

"I like raspberries," he confesses. "Can we try that first?"

It feels like they're getting back to normal. He doesn't know there's an element of pretense to it now.

"Absolutely."

Anything.

It's a good thing they're too far apart to touch. That's going to be something else he'll need to be careful with. He can't withdraw, he doesn't want to hurt Malcolm that way, he doesn't want to give up the physical affection they have. Moreover, Malcolm doesn't deserve to feel like he's done something wrong when all he's done is be honest.

He pulls his mask back up, getting back to it. "Maybe I can even teach you how to make it yourself."

“Where’s the fun in that?” Malcolm asks as he turns back to his task. “I barely enjoy eating. But making it together? That sounds like the fun part.”

It sends Neal's mind haring off down a hole of things they could do together, in Mathias, in New York. He tries to shake himself out of it for a moment, but--

"Do you have a favorite museum? Back home, I mean."

Malcolm grins. “I really like the Museum of Natural History,” he answers, moving to another bit of wall. “But I enjoy the Guggenheim a lot, too. What about you?”

Neal has to think about that. Really think about it. He flits through a dozen possibilities, weighs the pros and cons and security systems of each.

He laughs softly. “Call me prosaic, but the Met.”

He shakes his head, scrubbing away. “There’s something about the history there, all the memories in those halls. All those masterworks in one place. The Guggenheim is a close second though.”

After a moment, he adds, “I wonder if it’s different between our worlds. The artists, I mean. The movements, the influential painters.”

Malcolm looks over, intrigued.

“Do you know them well enough to tell?” he asks.

He keeps forgetting he's just Neal, here. Not Neal Caffrey, con artist, forger, internationally known art thief. His knowledge isn't known or assumed.

Neal shrugs lightly. "I do, yeah."

“That’s amazing. Do you… do you think you’ll still be happy there if they’re different?” Malcolm asks carefully, focusing on his scrubbing more than he really has to. He’s afraid to look at Neal. Consolation prize.

"Of course." There's even a tired bit of enthusiasm in the words. "Seeing where the divergences are, how they affected the later movements of an entire field? Getting to actually study that, rather than hypothesize? It'll be strange, but..."

He'll probably feel stupid more than once, and that isn't exactly an enticing prospect, but the rest makes it worthwhile. Another small shrug, though Malcolm doesn't see it. "And imagine if the touchstones of different eras are different too. Entirely different paintings, or the same paintings but differently composed."

There's a building enthusiasm in the words, the topic drawing him out of that shadowed place he's been existing in for the past two weeks. "Would the artists' lives be different? Their techniques? Their politics? How would that change things?"

He finishes the section of ceiling in question and steps down to move the ladder over and resume. "And what if everything is the same? What does that say? Theoretically? Philosophically? There have to be at least a few differences somewhere."

At some point while he’s talking, Malcolm’s scrubbing stills and he turns to watch him, to watch the growing enthusiasm.

“I’d love to hear about that,” he says softly.

Neal looks back at him, a trace of surprise in his eyes that vanishes quickly. No one ever wants to hear him talk about all of that, even Peter, half of whose job revolves around art. Of course Malcolm wants to, though. Of course he does.

Quietly, Neal answers, "I'd like to share it. It'd be nice, to have someone I can talk about it with."

A tilt lilt of amusement seeps into his tone, "Or talk at about it."

Edited (words in the wrong order who me) 2021-07-10 21:31 (UTC)

“I wonder what else will turn out to be different,” he muses, turning back to his work. “Maybe your favourite hotdog cart will be on a different corner from where it is in your world. Maybe the Guggenheim will be on the wrong street.”

"I'd be able to go where I want," he says, half musing and half mystified. "I'd be able to travel again. Go back to France. Spain."

See the world. An entirely different world. Neal exhales softly. "Weird to think about."

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