singillatim | Summer of where the hell are we

Entry tags:

Summer of where the hell are we

Who: Raylan and you!
What: Feasting, MemLoss, around town SoL
When: Month of August
Where: Around Milton, Community hall

[Methusalah's Feast]

Raylan always made sure to come to these when he was able to without betraying himself in one way or another. He also made sure to come with plenty of firewood and dried fish over his shoulder and in his hand respectively, to offer new 'settlers'. Free supplies made things a lot easier when you were just learning how to survive like this and he remembers all too well how harrowing it was to just show up here in Milton out of regular life. It didn't hurt that he liked to see who came in, as well as take an opportunity to check up on the message board. It could be it's own form of entertainment sometimes.

At his side moved a wolf, tall at nearly hip level, with the standard kind of grey and white most people would think of when thinking 'wolf', but seemingly perfectly well behaved as his eyes stay on the rest of the room. Quiet but ready. All up until he got distracted by a smell and starts to nose into someone's meal.

"Goose! No, goddamnit, that's rude," he tuts as a long stride carries him over to push the wolf away. Goose didn't even look sorry, in the way he licked his chops, still eyeing the plate. Raylan sighs and offers an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Normally, he's got better manners then that."

[In the Woods somewhere]

It was cold. It was the first thing he'd noticed when he woke up and while a deluge of other wildly concerning circumstances were upon him, the cold dug at him more sharply than anything else. He felt sure that he must know who he was, if he could only warm up enough to think about it. What did it matter who he was if who he was didn't have any goddamn fingers? The flash of irritation warmed him only slightly, and he pulls the coat he's lucky enough to be wearing closer around his ears as step by step, he makes his way through the forest.

It was quiet and the kind of quiet that left live nerves under his skin. The kind of quiet that make his ears try and stretch somehow, to hear more clearly anything that might be moving in the roving mists. He couldn't decide if it had worked but after a little while, the crunch of something else stepping in the snow sent his ears right back to their proverbial stretching. Unnerved enough by not knowing who he was, the man without a hat hurries his stride a little bit, in the hope that what was making that noise was human.

"Hey! Hello, yes-" All it would take is eye contact for him to start moving closer. "Can't tell you how good it is to see someone else out here. Is there a- a town or something nearby? I seem to've gotten lost.."

[Around Milton - Wildcard]

Raylan hated this month. There was at least one shiny good part about it, but that withstanding, he wasn't sure how anyone here was sane anymore. The day in and day out that was only broken by terrible things upon terrible things, the gnawing hopelessness that felt harder and harder to fight each time they got knocked down was starting to fray his edges. So Raylan did what he always did when he felt like this (since there wasn't enough whiskey to drown it all out); he stayed busy.

Wood chopping was always needed. The library? Well there were some books he thought Tim might like. The clothing store? Just checking in, to see if anything new has come in. A few t-shirts end up over his shoulder after a quick hold up against his chest sizes it out. Hell, he even stops by the church, just to see the place again. He was happy to do anything that wasn't sit still and think. What he needed was a proper bath in the hot springs but honestly, he would need company lest his head get too far away from itself.

Threaded | Flat

Zoey had been keeping herself busy, after the little revisiting last month of a memory she’d thought she’d long since dealt with had torn open the wound (metaphorically) more than she’d ever expected. Combined with the still lingering realisation of just how long she’s been here. Coming up on her two year anniversary, she thinks. She’d slunk off and kept busy, kept to herself, drunk on rooftops until it finally started to ease a little. Until the wound started feeling a little less raw. Even if it was still haunting her nightmares more than she’d like.

And maybe that’s why she notices when Raylan starts doing something similar. Like calls to like. More than that, she cares about him deeply. Of course she’d notice. So when she does notice it, notices just how busy he’s keeping himself, she has to do something. So she prepares, gathers some supplies in a satchel, and goes to intercept him before he can reach the church. It’s been a while since she’s paid the hot springs a visit, and she thinks a hot soak might do the both of them some good.

“You and I have a date with the hot springs,” she declares, holding out her hand and waggling her fingers towards him.

It has been a long time since Randvi has seen Raylan. Other than in passing in the village, the last time they'd spoken may have been during the terrible winter storm when they'd been barricaded in the hall.

So much has happened - Francis and Ragnar’s deaths, her revenge against the Old Bear, Jon and Lyanna and Fraser and Svetlana’s disappearances, her trips to the coast - that she feels like a completely different woman.

She smiles broadly at the sight of her friend.

“Raylan, hail. I bring news from the coast.”

Chloe had been out and about last month - even travelling to Lakeside a couple of times! - thanks to the green fog that had been rolling through, but now she's back to keeping out of the sun.

Out of sight of others, too, after the talk that she's been hearing about Dorian and what he is. What he's done. It's only a matter of time until the wrong person finds out and they come for her, too.

Not all others, though. Wood for the boiler that she doesn't have to chop herself is always welcome, and watching Raylan chop it even more so. Yes, it's stress work but at least it benefits her.

“Hey. Thanks for coming up. It's been a minute, huh?”

This is the ending of all things. The man who is occasionally known as Cornelius Hickey knows that. He also knows that the ending of all things doesn't matter. He'll survive. He'll adapt. Whatever's going on, all he needs to do is keep going, keep living, keep himself alive and well and thriving until the day he actually dies.

He's squatted down, rummaging through some of the bones when he hears the other man approach. He tenses, ready to strike if needed (with what? the bone?), but the question catches him off guard.

"Hell if I know," the man who used to be known as Hickey shrugs. "But look at this. These bones aren't human, yeah? That means there were animals around here. Did you see any tracks or anything like that?"

This is the ending of all things. But frankly, Hickey's a bit hungry, and contemplating the end of all existence can wait until after he's had a meal.

Raylan's been keeping himself busy.

To be fair, Tim has too. He's had to after the memory, with the flashback and the nightmares and the paranoia. It all hung around longer than it would've at home, where there was lots of liquor and plenty of fugitives to chase down. Fishing leaves his mind too idle. Wood chopping is fine, but there's only so much of it he can do before his body is screaming at him to stop. Hunting works okay so long as he's tracking and not waiting.

The first few weeks after the memory, he slept in his own bed. The nightmares were too bad, the paranoia too high. It wasn't a matter of Raylan not seeing him at his worst, but a matter of how dangerous it could get. When his body wakes up but his mind doesn't, and there's the chance that when it does catch up with reality, he has his hands around his partner's throat or a gun to his head.

He can't risk it, so he sleeps alone until the worst of the aftermath has worked its way out of his system, and then one night he simply follows Raylan into his room and crawls into bed with him.

They've settled into an odd sort of domestic bliss, a tiny sliver of reprieve amidst the shittiness of existing here. Tim's home, and he's found lately that cooking is something that occupies his hands and his mind. He never gave a fuck about cooking at home, perfectly content to live off of frozen dinners and MREs and probably die an early death from it. Now he's-- making venison chili. Or attempting to, with vegetables from the greenhouse and what little recollection he has of his mother making it growing up. It smells good, at least.

When Raylan comes in, Tim is crouched in front of the fire, stirring the pot of food. He speaks without looking back.

"If this sucks, you have to tell me the truth."

"Oh!" Casper laughs in surprise, raising the plate he'd intended on sitting down with a little higher, hopefully out of reach of -- "Goose, was it?" he asks, looking from the dog (wolf?) to who he assumes is its owner.

"He's alright, didn't manage to steal anything. Though he probably could, if he tried. Rather large, isn't he? Sturdy boy."

Eren is back in town for a few days in time for the gathering at Community Hall. There's at least food here today, which is less work. And there are new faces, though whether Eren actually cares about that is hard to say, even for Eren himself.

He's not exactly distracted so much as he's lost in his own head, mulling over his desire to get the hell off this island. There are still more steps they need before they can even try, and that grates on him. He's not a planner by any means.

There's still food on his plate when the dog (wolf?) comes to clear it for him. It startles him back into the present; he jumps a little, chair sliding along the floor a few inches.

"What the hell," he says. He looks up at Raylan, registers the words.

"Is that your wolf?" Eren asks, incredulous. He's never heard of anyone keeping a wolf tame before.

This month had been a little bit better than last to Levi, especially since there wasn't any flashback inducing fog. But it was still...weird. Not that any month wasn't, but it made him think about things he didn't really want to anyway.

So when he comes across Raylan chopping wood he pauses, "Want any help?"

Threaded | Flat

wildcard: hot springs.

Wildcard - return from the coast

no subject

in the woods

wildcard; at home

the feast

feast

Wildcard, feel free to ignore if this too late