EVENT: That Stuff Never Winds Up in a Pocket, Honest (July 2023)

[citycenter]

THAT STUFF NEVER WINDS UP IN A POCKET, HONEST.

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. JUMP TO TOP ↑ | ↓ JUMP TO COMMENTS 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. JUMP TO TOP ↑ | ↓ JUMP TO COMMENTS 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. JUMP TO TOP ↑ | ↓ JUMP TO COMMENTS 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. JUMP TO TOP ↑

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henry creel | stranger things

[vecna]

EXPLORING THE BANK.

[The bank lobby may be designed to be elegant and welcoming, but Henry sees only an overbearing building meant to keep things locked away. Empty as it is, there's little that compels him into this place other than to see if there are further secrets tucked away to unearth — a few minutes searching will disappoint him, then, finding all the papers to (once again) be blank, all the forms full of nothing. Not even a slip of cash in a teller’s drawer.

But there are the keys.

Henry plucks one from the rack, holding it up and watching it dangle before him. On one side, a name. The other, a number.]

I guess there is a mystery to unlock here, after all.

[Like, maybe literally.

Eventually, with a bit of rifling, he finds a key with his own name engraved upon it. Turning it over in his hands, something about his cordial expression twists, tilting wry at the number.]

And this city thinks it has a sense of humor.

RETURNING AN ITEM. (Closed to Mob)

[The key might have had his name and “number” engraved on front and back, but the safety deposit box held an item that he does not recognize. He’s already spent time turning it over in his hands, wondering what on earth its significance could be, if it is supposed to be a further practical joke employed by the city (after all, the title of this thing is ironically striking), but the slip of paper coupled with the book came with a name. He can only assume that name belongs to someone nearby.

Henry is not… terribly obligated to find whoever it is; in fact, it’s only the idea of this stranger potentially owning something of his—and the curiosity surrounding that fact—that compels him to seek in the most unhurried manner possible. But luck is on his side? (Citation needed.) It’s not too long before he finds himself wandering inside another building/where-have-you/whatever-is-funniest, only to find the doors slamming directly behind him. Locked up tight.

Well, then.

He looks at the young man who shares this same predicament with him, apparently.]

I’m going to assume that— [BEING TRAPPED IN HERE] —has something to do with this. [He holds up the book, waggling it ever so gently in his hand.]

AROUND THE CITY.

[It’s only a day or so after the bank decided that trapping people in its vault was its new pastime, and Henry has decided in turn, with some fervency, that he has grounds to hate this city. For all of its little ironies here and there, he’s had his real item returned to him, and it’s an old family photo that dredges up very little more than feelings of—

(deep roiling anger, bone-deep bitterness)

—discontent that makes him question why he’s bothering to hold onto it. In fact, should someone draw near in curiosity as he’s looking it over, perhaps after he’s taken a seat somewhere on a park bench, or inside an empty restaurant, he’ll offer them a strained smile, actually hold the photo out to them, and say:]

Looks like a perfectly happy family, doesn’t it?

[Okay, BUT DOES IT THO. Maybe for all but one.]

(( ooc; feel free to wildcard or hit me up over at aurajen if you want to plot something out! ))

around the city!

[blackwaterchild]

[Miu is a curious person by nature--curiosity killed the cat--so it's no surprise that she wanders over to see what this guy's got in his hands. Especially since she knows there were tons of those lockboxes in the bank with people getting random stuff back.

She's pleased he reveals the picture to her before she can ask (or pretend to just be walking past behind him while straining for a look), but the picture isn't quite what she expected.

Miu raises an eyebrow, looking skeptically between him and the picture, as if wondering if it's a joke]

Why does the boy look like someone's holding a gun to his back to get into this picture?

[vecna]

[It's debatable whether or not Henry would have revealed the photo without even being asked to, not with the ongoing compulsion to speak about their items bolstering them. Given his demeanor (and his newfound freedom to say whatever he wants, whenever he wants; no lab here to stop him!), it could go either way.

That comparison, though, really does earn a small, airy chuckle for him. Maybe it's inlaid with something a bit more sincere than usual, though he keeps any true sense of bitterness at bay. For now, at least.

Just that pleasant little grin, looking at the young woman before him in a peaceable way, despite his reply.]

Well. Maybe because it felt that way to him.

[blackwaterchild]

[Miu gives a sort of shrug as if to say, 'yeah, that's fair.']

So annoying, right? When everyone else around you is thrilled about something, and you're standing there hating every second of it.

[She glances from the picture to him, eyebrows raised] That you?

around the city

[fanstheflames]

[ Tsuruno peers at the photo, if just because he is actually showing it to her, and then looks back up at Henry, as though she's trying to figure something out. And--

Back down to the photo, before she taps the boy who looks like he's been coerced. ]

That's you, isn't it?

[ She's not bothering to answer the question. It seems kind of rhetorical to her. ]

[vecna]

[Oh hi Tsuruno. She's not wrong. It was a rhetorical question, a little barb of a joke; unkind sarcasm from a kind face.]

That's right.

[Straight to the heart of the matter, that seems her MO.]

Everyone's been getting an item from "home", right? This was mine.

[fanstheflames]

[ Yeah, she's not very good at being subtle. Very sorry for this intrusion on your everything, Henry. ]

So this must be your family, huh? Um, did you not get along very well?

[ Tiny Big-Eared Henry looks like he's dying on the inside??? ]

around the city;

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So Peter is currently raiding a restaurant for a few meals. He has the unfortunate distinction of being the only one willing (maybe even able???) to cook in his particular household, but he's a lazy bastard, and also he likes pizza. So here he is.

When he's addressed directly, Peter does the fun thing of looking behind him, first, just to make sure he's the one being spoken to. Which is kind of silly, considering the place is a ghost town. Politely, he pulls down his headphones to leave them wrapped around his neck.

Then, with the mild apprehension of someone who worries they're about to be facing down the business end of an MLM pitch, ]

Uh, yeah, sure. Very cute.

👀

[vecna]

[He's the only one here for Henry to speak to, and despite his (usually) unassuming manner and (always) soft-spoken tone, this is a man who’ll still strike up a conversation with a stranger if it means—

Well, he’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish today. Let the little tinge of bitterness uncoil and stretch outwards for someone else to see and hear. Let someone else know how utter ridiculous this photograph is, for how oblivious three out of the four are. Look at how lanky and nerdy he was in the 50s.

A pale brow hitches straight up.]

Cute?

[LOOK AT THAT SMALL BOY SUFFERING AWKWARDLY—

But then he chuckles, retracting his hand, leaning an elbow against the table where he’s seated. A glass of water, collecting condensation, rests before him.]

Do you really think that? You can be honest.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah, all right, Peter's getting the impression that he didn't give the right answer, there.

(Probably because it had the same thoughtless delivery of a distracted parent's "That's nice, dear," in response to their child saying, "Look how high I can jump!")

He glances at the picture again, lips pressing into a thin line. This time, he takes a second to really look at the photograph.

Then, ]

I think that dude's eyes are weirdly spaced.

[ you said he could be honest. ]

around the city

[willtheunwise]

[ it’s with a renewed sense of get me the fuck out of here purpose that Will has taken to poking around the city. It’s still as much a mystery as it was the day he covered a sidewalk in a chalk dragon but he really needs out and it’s better then hiding away.

He happens to stumble into the same restaurant as the man he met the day of the party because he needs a drink to wash away the ashtray taste his new terrible ‘I miss my mommy’ habit has left in his mouth and he doesn’t pay much attention until he’s half way through an orange soda of indiscriminate branding (that isn’t as good as Fanta, fuck you city) that he bothers to. ]

Most of them. He looks like… [ Will points to the boy on the left as he slides into the opposite seat ] …like he’d rather be eaten alive by 1000 tiny alligators than be in the photo.

[ He looks like every Wheeler family photo with Mike uncomfortably to one side, shoulders by his ears, like the camera legends of soul stealing might just be true.

And when Will looks closer there’s a sense, faint and out of reach, that he’s seen these people before. Or at least the parents and the girl. But it’s like when you wake from a dream and can’t recall why you’re uncomfortable. Almost reminiscent of staring at the numbers of his safety deposit box and knowing he should know something about them but not what. The same strange anxious strange moment lifts the hair on the back of his neck a fraction and he once again ignores it. ]

[vecna]

[Henry’s hardly as interesting when it comes to drink choices—just a glass of water collecting condensation around its sides—but that’s not the point, is it?

Instead, oh— It’s the boy who fancied himself an artist with chalk, scrawling a dragon across the sidewalk. How could he forget? He offers him a peaceable look as he takes a seat across from him.]

That bad? [He says with a small, quirking smile, turning the picture around to look at it again, as though he doesn’t already know the answer.] I’ve never heard it described exactly like that but now that you mention it… You’re right. At least a thousand.

[(If there's a flicker of something uncertain in Will's demeanor that Henry can pick up on, well. For now, it's easy to chalk up to streaks of awkwardness he's already encountered in the young man.)]

[willtheunwise]

[ Well Will is considerably less chalky this time, that’s for sure. Even if this time he smells a bit like an ashtray and looks like he hasn’t been sleeping properly. ]

That bad. And you only get one thousand, any more and it defeats the point of them being tiny because it’s not as slow and agonising. [ He looks from the photograph back to Henry a few more times before it sinks in properly ] Was that you?

[ There’s still something bugging him about it, a nagging feeling the more he looks the more he’s almost sure he’s seen it or the people or the house or something before. But only almost.

And he’s already made himself sound totally insane in front of the older man once. Probably twice because he’s talking unfiltered surviving on caffeine alone garbage already.

He can’t just stroll in like this and ask the most batshit and off the wall question at the front of his mind; why do I feel like I know you? ]

around the city;

[matermali]

[ When she had decided to finally give into her indulgences and ransack the nearest kitchen, Vanessa had hoped she would have the dignity of being alone, but when she does spot a man sitting at a table, it still isn't enough to send her away. He seems lost in his own troubles, and Vanessa is quite lost in her own. Who isn't, these days?

Just as she's passing by, though, something gives her pause. It isn't his voice (familiar) or the photograph that hovers, but such a strange pull that for a moment it feels as if her feet are frozen to the spot, unwilling (unwanting) to pass by. It's a strange dread, one that tastes like home and smells of burning flesh. It's a gut-wrenching stench that Vanessa knows well.

The sense passes so quickly, she is left wondering if it was imagined. Something muddled from her own history.

The photograph is printed differently than she has seen before, and she would admire the coloring of it if not for the apprehension the sight causes. A family—his family. Or are they? They don't pull him close as if he were family. He has no smile for them, nor for whoever will bear witness to this faulty display.

What compels her to indulge here instead of the kitchen, she cannot say. ]

Is it meant to?

[vecna]

[He does find her voice very familiar, but in the same vein as Vanessa, there is a singular pull of something he cannot quite place that draws his own curiosity beyond the photo of a not-wholly-happy family in his hands. What is it, he wonders? Perhaps it is the brushing of two minds against each other, or maybe it's just memory—of whose, he can’t be sure—intermingling in hushed, whispered ways?

(Times like these, he wishes he had his full capacity of psionic powers; wishes he didn’t have to guess and suppose at what he feels from bystanders who might be overwrought with their own thoughts. It used to be easy enough to pluck imagery from their minds as though they were weeds sprouting too high.)

He brings himself into the present to answer the question.]

My parents and my sister certainly thought so.

[So yes, it’s his family, then. Still, he peers up at her from where he’s seated (at one of the tables, just nursing a glass of water, how exciting), tilting his head slightly.]

We’ve spoken before, haven’t we?

[matermali]

[ That seems to be the way of things when parents are the most apt at fooling themselves into surviving their own entrapment. Such is the travesty of traditional marriage. For a sister, she couldn't say, but then what had Mina been? ...More than a sister, by far. ]

Yes.

[ Fingertips trail the back of the chair across in consideration before she decides to pull it out. Just enough to perch on the edge. She always appreciates putting a face to the voice in a city where so many occupants remain anonymous to the public. (She has been little exception.)

The eyes are the spark of life, the sign of existence, and that's where she focuses beyond any other fleeting details when taking him in. With this one, though, it's an unnerving draw rather than a calculated move. Strangely, she couldn't resist if she tried. ]

I doubt this is what you had in mind when you suggested exploration.

Exploring the Bank

[abit_ofboth]

[Loki already has his key, but he has not yet used it. He's been wandering the bank, running into others who have found their keys, and just generally debating on whether or not he's going to bother opening his little storage box at all. He didn't really see a purpose currently. Others seem to have found things that belonged to them, but Loki has never used that kind of storage before and can't imagine there is anything in his.

Or at least that is what he is telling himself. Really, he knows he should open it because there could be some sort of clue, some information that could give him a way out of here, but he's skeptical enough of that to convince himself to wait before looking.

It is while he's there that he notes a rather unhappy looking man, despite the almost pleasant look on his face. If there's one thing Loki can see in others, it's the things he can see in himself. He might not be as angry as he was, but that did not mean he wasn't angry at all.]

A sense of humour? Really? How so?

[Loki is suddenly standing next to the man, though not too close, certainly not close enough to see what is on the key. He is, however, curious to know what the joke is, and not just because he enjoys a good trick now and then.]

[vecna]

[Ah, he'd see right through him, then. Henry wears his polite and peaceable nature quite well, but there is little more than discontent and anger churning just beneath the surface, something that inches just a little closer to the top as he looks over the brass, weighted key in his hand.

Blue eyes flick up briefly to the other man.]

The number on the other side. It means something to me. And that's [annoying] ironic, in a way.

[Perhaps one is not surprised to learn that this number, in fact, might resemble something close to a 001, but that only strains Henry's smile further.]

It also means I have the very first lockbox in this bank.

[Which is also ridiculous, but he guesses one of the lockboxes must be labeled the first of many.]

Did you find your own key?

[abit_ofboth]

[It is possible that most could not see through the man's exterior performance, but Loki has been putting on the same act for a thousand years now. It makes it rather easy to see in others.]

Ah yes, I believe that is true for me as well. I wonder if that is true for everyone. It would not surprise me at least.

The first? Well, you must be special. [And yes, he is teasing a bit there, adding some sarcasm to his tone. Loki's number is much higher, 965 to be specific, but he doubts being first is what is significant to the other man.]

I did, but have not yet felt the urge to open it. [Lies.]

item return!

[centile]

[the moment mob got his hands on the photo he was on a quest. this was not his, this family photo, and even without all the oddity around this it was obvious it was personal to someone. it might be the only thing someone has of people very dear to them. surely such a happy little family.

(he's looked at the photo a bit since he got it, and the boy... well, there's something about the boy. maybe it's how he's looking somewhat blankly at the camera, at least without a smile. you're supposed to smile for pictures, mob's been scolded about that enough. he wonders if the boy is like him in a way, that smiling is a complicated thing. or maybe the boy has nothing to smile about.)

either way maybe they can end up in a diner, specifically so a jukebox playing an array of very, very annoying songs can jingle on in the background endlessly. what's that meme about playing what's new pussycat seventeen times in a row? either way when the door shuts mob turns, a blink.

this man could be the boy. he pulls out the photo to look, glancing back up and to the book-] Ah, that's master's book.

[and there's his face in all reigen's glory. mob walks over, offering the picture as well, his eyes on the book for the moment. he hasn't seen his master since he came here. (45%)]

[vecna]

[But what a difference it is, that photo — then compared to now. Look how easily Henry wears a smile that he never truly means, not in any very earnest measure. It slides on as easy as breathing, practiced for so many, many years. To most, at least, it comes across as polite and non-threatening; it makes him unassuming. In this city, for now at least, he prefers it that way.

Thus, that simple little smile and soft-toned voice as he speaks to the young man he’s now trapped with.]

Master’s? So this has some meaning to you.

[(He has to say it over the ruckus of a jukebox playing the same song over and over and over and over, some terribly catchy jingle that Henry refuses to focus on so it doesn’t needle into his brain like an irritating ear worm. The irony.)

The young boy comes up and shows him—

Ah.

The way something in Henry’s face twitches, reaching out with his free hand to gingerly take the picture with forefinger and thumb.]

And this unfortunately has some meaning to me, too. Thank you.

[thanks he hates it]

[centile]

Yes. [some meaning, he guesses so. in his life back home did it have meaning? he supposes it did. he worked hard on it, even if it wasn't his idea. his friends supported him during it. in a way maybe getting a lot of what happened down in text was oddly cathartic.

he didn't think of it much after the whole thing was over, though. now it's the only piece of home he really has here.

he regards it for a moment before saying,] Master Reigen wanted to write a book about stuff that happened. He never had it published though.

[and his eyes slide up. hm, well if the 'unfortunately' didn't give it away the way he holds the photo does. the sound track isn't very fitting, thanks shitty diner.]

Is that your family? [a beat] Sorry, I guess that's nosy.

around the city

[furibund]

[ Nebula wasn't coming over for curiosity of what he had, it was more happenstance. While she was trying to gather her own information, it had nothing to do with the man and his... picture, she realizes, once he turns it to her. ]

[ There are two options she can answer and she frowns, just a touch, at the image before decisively answering a single word: ]

No.

[ Sorry, Henry, she's not helpful. ]

[vecna]

[That's fine, because at least he's not the only one who can see what's obvious about this photograph; further driving home the ridiculous truth of how the rest of his family seemed so utterly oblivious.

Anyway. This is certainly a very interesting-looking woman, and his eyes very much sweep over her frame before he replies, even and soft-toned.]

Then how would you describe it?

[He's curious, and a little amused by her forthright reply.]

[furibund]

[ Part of the joke here is that she doesn't know what a happy family should look like. How could she? Her childhood wasn't really a childhood and the only thing she'd known is fear and anger. The Guardians may be family and it's there she felt loved and wanted - however difficult those two things were to fully accept - but she knows not what an organic family is, or a home. ]

[ She pauses to think about it. There's no point in lying, she doesn't know how, so she adds: ]

Not everyone looks happy to be there.