THE THINGS I GAVE YOU.
» THE BANK — INTRODUCTORY NOTES
District 2 is open, bringing with it access to new and interesting locations—including the city's main bank branch. The bank is a large building with a stone exterior, wrought iron grating on the windows, and large, heavy metal doors that take surprisingly little effort to open, their hinges silent and well-oiled.
Early in the day on July 19, characters in the vicinity of the bank will hear first a low, metallic creaking sound from inside the building, like metal straining against metal. This is followed by the sharper noise of locks disengaging, and then the large, heavy doors on the front of the building swing open slightly, enough to let a person through.
Directly inside the doors is the bank lobby, and beyond that is the main banking floor, with elegant marble flooring and dimly lit chandeliers. It would appear that this was once the main commercial bank of the city, although it is now completely empty, with no tellers behind the counters and no cash in any of the drawers.
You may rifle through the tills and filing cabinets to your heart's content, but similar to the files in City Hall, there is no useful information to be found—all the papers are blank, or are empty forms without any personally identifying information. There are no monetary devices to be found either; this is, after all, not a city that operates on a cash system, so there are no coins or paper bills in any of the tills or, indeed, anywhere within the bank.
What you might be able to find, though, is a rack of delicate, burnished brass keys on a wall toward the back of the main banking hall. Each of these keys is attached to a stamped metal keychain bearing a name on one side and a number on the other. Some of these may be names you recognize, and some of them may not, but they are all names belonging to current residents of the city, and each key corresponds to a safety deposit box within the vault at the back of the building. Can you remember what you stored in that box for safekeeping? Maybe you had better go find out.
At the back of the main banking hall is a vault secured with a large circular metal door. The door is currently unlocked and propped open; it can be closed, but cannot be locked (intentionally, anyway) from either the inside or the outside. The vault contains row upon row of safety deposit boxes, each locked. Participating characters who are in possession of a key can open their own safety deposit box, but it is not currently possible to force open any safety deposit box that does not belong to them. After August 1, players will be able to use their safety deposit boxes to store their own belongings, and break-ins will become possible with prior player permission and appropriate consequences.
Below sections detail the safety deposit boxes for both choose-your-own-adventure players and randomized players! Please see the randomized matches for this event HERE.
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IT'S TRUE, PEOPLE TAKE THINGS BUT RARELY.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A SELF-GUIDED TOUR
For some of you, getting into your safety deposit box is quite straightforward.
You take your key from the rack behind the teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.
When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.
You open the safety deposit box to find—something that shouldn't be there. It's yours, that much you're sure of, but you didn't bring it with you to the city. You reach into the box to pick it up, and the surge of memory is immediate, sending your mind back to your strongest memory associated with the item in your hand.
Then the vault door swings shut, trapping you inside with whoever else has the misfortune of sharing the vault with you right now. No matter what force you try, the door won't open again. There doesn't appear to even be a mechanism that unlocks the door from the inside, and from within several feet of metal and stone, no one on the outside will be able to hear you shout. It seems hopeless—how long can anyone last, trapped in a place like this?
Should you turn back to the open safety deposit box, you might notice a slip of paper resting on the bottom. The paper looks aged, like it's been in the box for quite some time, and in printed text it reads: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it."
Maybe it means you should let another hold the item you've retrieved from the box… or maybe it means you should share the weight of memory. Try to interpret the meaning in whatever way you can. But should you decide to unburden yourself, and share with someone else the weight of the item you're holding in your hands, you may find that there's a means of escape after all.
Once you free yourself from the vault, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…
Characters who wish to participate in the event, but who do not wish to randomize the contents of their safety deposit boxes, can open their safety deposit boxes to find an emotionally significant item belonging to the character—player's choice as to what the item is. The only guidelines are that it should be small enough to fit reasonably in a pocket and may not have any magical or weapon properties. Similarly, players are able to choose the memories associated with the items in the safety deposit boxes. The vault door will remain closed until the characters in the vault explain to each other the significance of their items and the memory associated with them, at which point it the vault mechanisms will disengage and the door will swing open as if it had never closed to begin with. However, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.
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A CRASH-SITE IS SACRED, WE'RE FAITHFUL.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A JOINT VENTURE
For others of you, the contents of the safety deposit box may be considerably more disconcerting.
You also take your safety deposit box key from the rack behind the bank teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.
When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.
You open the safety deposit box to find—wait, what is that? It certainly doesn't belong to you. Tucked inside the safety deposit box alongside the item is a slip of paper with another name on it, as well as a cryptic message: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it." The item isn't yours, but it does appear to belong to another resident of the city. Maybe your safety deposit boxes somehow got mixed up? It seems like it would be a good idea to find this person and return their property to them.
Whether you encounter the owner of the item in the vault or elsewhere in the city, when it comes time to hand the item over, two things happen. One—the doors are locked tight, refusing to allow either you or the item's owner out until you both understand what the item is and what it means to the other. To unburden your heart is the only way to free yourself.
And two—as the owner of the item explains its significance, you find yourself oddly captivated, resonating strongly with whatever emotion the item's owner most closely associates with it. You may not be able to see the memory that the other person describes, but you can certainly feel the emotions they felt—after all, the easiest way to unburden oneself is to share the load with another. Isn't that right?
Once you free yourself from your enthralled state, and once you have your own belongings returned to you, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…
Characters who opted to randomize the contents of their safety deposit box during the plotting post, or who plotted a joint experience with another character, will open their safety deposit boxes to find a small, non-magical but emotionally significant item belonging to another player character in the city. They will need to find the owner of that item and return it to them—this can either be inside the bank vault or in another location within the city. Regardless of where the meeting takes place, the character holding the item will find themselves unable to leave until the character who owns the item explains its significance; as they do, the holder of the item will find themselves swept up in the emotional highs and lows of the memories associated with that item, allowing them to share all of the feelings, regrets, joys, griefs, and rages that the owner experiences in the telling. Additionally, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.
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WILDCARD.
The city is by no means small, and there are plenty of things for you to see. There's no rush in exploring, so feel free to take your time looking around and peering into various nooks and crannies and alleyways—and don't worry, you're not very likely to find anything peering back.
If none of the above prompts appeal, feel free to check out the Locations and Maps pages and write your own freestyle prompt using one or many of the available locations.
This month's event headers come from "The Things" and "The Gatherer," two poems by Brendan Constantine. The text of the paper slip comes from Ursula K. LeGuin's The Dispossessed.
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citylogs2023-07-19 08:45 pm
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This guy.
He doesn't trust it, but part of him hates that he wants to trust it. It's why the instant the vault spat him out, he started hustling back to the apartment he's currently sharing with Nebula to examine it closely. He doesn't need the unhelpful company of some random stranger. He knows his own Walkman like he knows the back of his own hand – he's confident that with enough time and focus, he'll be able to tell a fake from the genuine article.
Peter doesn't slam the door open like it owes him money, thank you very much, but he does shove it open like there's an angry mob hot on his heels. At the very least, he keeps control of it enough to keep it from bounding off the wall. As he enters, he hears the quiet thunk of something landing squarely in the trashcan, and reflexively, he says, ]
And she nails the free throw.
[ He moves to shut the door then hears something crunch beneath his boot. He blinks down at it and spots the shattered glass and the frame lying face-down.
He's quiet for a heartbeat, then, ]
... Why is that on the floor?
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[ Her irritation is shaken only by the first comment and she makes a face of confusion. Repeating: ]
Free throw?
[ It's a quiet sound, because it's not like she's ever played any kind of sport before. She barely knows the rules of the stupid game with the stupid piece of scrap paper. At his next question she pushes back the chair, rough as it scratches against the ground, and gets it up. Instead of answering properly she just offers: ]
I'll clean it up.
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That's "I'm Half a Thought Away from Wringing Your Neck, So Choose Your Words Carefully" Nebula.
He avoids making any additional loud noises by very quietly nudging the door shut with his heel. Why doesn't he use his hands? Mostly because he has both of them raised in the near universal gesture for "don't shoot."
For the moment, he refrains form his usual bullshit. ]
What happened?
[ In that tone of voice that manages to simultaneously ask "Do you need me to make something up so you have an alibi?" and "Is there someone we need to kill?" ]
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Nothing.
[ Firmly, because nothing did happen really, right? More than a few annoyances and unwanted reminders. She swallows hard as she shoulders past him to reach to pick up the frame and its glass with the mechanical hand - the good news about being half metal, you didn't have to worry about glass cuts. ]
We just need to find a way out of this damned city. Soon.
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So when she says "nothing," Peter quickly ascertains that what she actually means is "something." A really fucking big "something."
He watches her pick up glass shards for a second, trying to think on the best approach to pry the truth out of her. When nothing immediately comes to mind, he lets out a breath and moves further into the apartment. ]
That picture kind of gave me the creeps, anyway.
[ So, you know. No big deal that it's broken.
He grabs the little trash can – still mostly empty, considering they only recently found this particular place and decided it was satisfactory – with the intention of bringing it over to Nebula to discard the broken glass. Naturally, the trash can's current, lonely occupant catches his eye – especially considering how reflective it is.
Apparently Peter sticks by the old adage "one man's trash is another man's treasure," because he retrieves the little triangle, examining it as he brings over the bin. ]
—when did you learn how to make a paper football?
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[ Nebula breathes out, the response automatic. She means a general 'you'. It's far from the strangest planet they've been on, but there is strangeness about it. The weird forced truthfulness on her tongue currently the highest thing on her list. ]
[ She was just finishing piling the broken glass atop the remnants of cardboard and standing straight up when she sees him digging into the trashcan. Her shoulders stiffen again and scolding comes to mind: don't dig in the trash like a raccoon Peter, you're not Rocket (this is a joke). But all the same she snorts out a breath, ]
I don't. It's just trash, put it back.
[ About that not being a very good liar? Clearly, from the tone of her voice she does know what it is... and the fact she doesn't quite look at him. What was that about Thanos? He was never a liar and he never taught his daughters how to lie, either. ]
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He sets the trash can down beside her, and in the other hand, he's tossing the little football up and down in his palm. He knows getting Nebula to talk about anything she doesn't want to talk about is like trying to convince a brick wall to loosen up a little. If he pushes too hard, she'll either storm off or punch him. Or maybe both. ]
It's a paper football.
[ Apparently he's doing her a favor and taking her lie at face value – at least for now. ]
We used to play with these all the time when I was young. During math, we would goof off while the teacher's back was turned, but she'd always catch us.
One of the kids next to me always got pissed off when he started losing, so he'd ruin it for the rest of us by snitching.
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[ Another immediate response, easier then focusing on the steadying irritation. Because he won't just throw the damned thing away again like she told him to. She dumps the trash unceremoniously before looking up to arch a brow at him: ]
Did you do something to him?
[ ... Just because she's one of their more moral members does not mean she's above doing something to snitches. At least it shows she was listening. ]
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[ —wait, didn't that kid get sent to the nurse's office one time? Peter's pretty sure that was just an unlucky (or lucky?) hit. Also kids always got bloody noses at that age, he's pretty sure.
Or was that just Peter, on account of all the fights he would get into?
Anyway. ]
Where'd you even find this?
[ And he punctuates the question with another quick toss of the paper football. Since she says she didn't make it herself. ]
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[ She says no more on that particular matter. ]
[ Watches him and then breathes out, ]
The same place you found old junk, I imagine.
[ Okay, so Peter's isn't junk but she doesn't know that. Besides, calling it junk is just her separating from it. We're fine. ]
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[ Unsurprisingly, the response is immediate and sharp, and judging by the way his free hand immediately goes to the Walkman, he's feeling a little defensive.
Which, he knows, is very unhelpful, so he takes a quick breath to steady himself. ]
You got this from the vault?
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Maybe not for you.
[ There, there's that at least. And she folds her arms with a simple nod of 'yes' to indicate as much. But now that she's really seen his, it makes her uncomfortable. Since she does know that it's important to him. ]
For some reason.
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And— okay, maybe he's a little biased, considering the vault somehow managed to procure a Walkman for him (though whether it was just a convincing replica remains to be seen), but he was under the impression that folks were getting stuff that was significant to them, in some way. So— ]
—and you threw it away?
[ There is probably a fair bit of disbelief, there. ]
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[ Immediate, because she knows where his head's at. Is too quick to throw it under the bus, like it's nothing of import. In the grand scheme of things, maybe it is small. She'll still deny its significance, even to herself. ]
[ Then, direct: ]
You haven't been feeling like talking about your mother all of a sudden?
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But it's not a problem for him, exactly, beyond picking and prodding at an old, scarred wound, beyond the annoyance of it.
Still. She's made her point, and he nods curtly to acknowledge it.
Another breath, then, ]
So you threw it away. 'Cause you don't want to talk about it.
[ ... yeah. Sorry, Nebs, he still sounds kind of incredulous. ]
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[ It scratches against every fiber of her being. ]
I threw it away, because I'm not going to hold onto scrapped trash.
[ Simple, pointed. But given it showed up in the first place, clearly it's not entirely scrapped trash. ]
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[ And his tone is still measured, still mild, like he's defusing a bomb capable of taking out an entire city, and he's thinking very carefully about his next move. ]
If it's really not that important, I can get rid of it for you. I bet if I huck it into a dumpster outside, it'll just disappear to wherever everything else disappears to.
[ This is absolutely a bluff, but he delivers it with a straight face. Nebula may not be liar, but Peter is. Was. Is?
He's good at lying is the takeaway, here. ]
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[ Peter's tone may be measured, but hers is said with the same readiness. Definitively, she doesn't care what happens to it. It's the association with it she does care about and that one's a lot rougher. ]
It's where it was going anyway.
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Honestly, he'll probably pocket it once he steps outside. It's important to her, whether or not she wants to admit it. He was a professional thief, so it'll be a relatively simple matter of slipping it somewhere that she'll be able to find it later.
But for now, he nods, curling his fist around the little paper football in one hand, and picking up the trash can with the other. Might as well actually take out the trash while he's pretending to take out the trash, after all. Plus he doesn't want to fuck around with broken glass.
As he's opening the front door, he tosses over his shoulder, ]
Back in a minute, then.
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[ So she lets him throw it out and moves across the kitchen to grab some of the meat from the fridge to fry it on the oven. Someone might as well make lunch around here, right ??? Right, Peter you don't got to live on pizza. ]
[ When he does come back in she casts him a look over her shoulder as if daring him to ask more. Then turns back to the stove with a rough mention (thanks decisionbot): ]
Stark made one like it.
[ She's not going to say it's that one, even if it is a replica. ]
no subject
The little paper football is sitting in his jacket pocket when he returns with the newly emptied trash can in tow.
When he's back, he blinks at Nebula moving around in the kitchen, hears and smells the familiar sound of cooking. He does, in fact, look slightly outraged. Like, what the heck, man, Peter has nearly exhausted his repertoire of recipes, and she's been capable of cooking this entire time?
Thankfully, she's saved from his outpouring of displeasure when she offers that vague comment. He blinks, thrown off his groove.
As he's placing the trash can back in its proper spot, ]
During those five years?
[ He's heard some folks call it "The Blip." Peter doesn't, because that's such a shitty name for five of the shittiest years of most people's lives.
Not that he has a better name for it. Mostly, he refers to it as, "That Bullshit." ]
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[ It's not like she's a five star cook or anything, but at least it's acceptable, Like his need-more-salt-pasta. And it's just meat, so it's nothing special, like skewered orloni. ]
[ He moves, asks, and she nods. ]
[ She also thinks the Blip was a dumb Terran name and if she calls it anything it's the other term, the Decimation. It makes a lot more sense when you lived through it, to her, but after the quick nod she shrugs a shoulder. ]
After the battle on Titan. We were trapped on the Milano for a while.
no subject
He heard about the Five Years, sure – capitalized for distinction and singularity. And he heard about the heist through time. And he heard a few stories about how the Avengers were either great or royally sucked.
The immediate aftermath of the fight on Titan, though. That's been a blank space.
He knows, at least, that the teleportation network took a big hit once half the universe was wiped out, which was to be expected when half the workforce maintaining it had suddenly disappeared. It took nearly all five years to get it back up and running to its original state. So he kind of gathered for himself that getting to Earth from Titan must have sucked. ]
Did he teach you how to play?
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[ There's a tiny jerk of her head now. ]
The Milano was too damaged in battle. We should have died up there.
[ It's the same matter-of-fact way she'd speak about giving a report on repairs in Knowhere. Difficult now to piece together what she felt in that moment. Guilt, anger, or sorrow? She knows she spent more time taking care of Stark during that time than herself. But in his own way... ]
[ She snorts. ]
We had a lot of time on our hands and instead of waiting around for it to happen, he decided I should learn to have fun.
[ Her tone could be called sardonic then, but there's something more in it. The Nebula then had never had fun after all. ]
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[ And as mildly as he delivers the words, he means them genuinely.
He's seen the change in her for himself, after all. She was still impatient with the Guardians, same as she always had been, but when they came back, after the battle on Earth against Thanos' forces, after they had left it all behind them, he had noticed that she was more tolerant of their usual bullshit. That she was still liable to snap and snarl – he doubts that's ever going to change – but she was far less likely to act on her threats.
And when he or Rocket tossed out a joke, instead of rolling her eyes or scoffing in disgust, he was startled to see that she would, on occasion, actually smile. ]
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