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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Comments

[nerine]

[The small bottle rolls across the counter and stops when she places her finger on its side. Monts glances over at Weir and shrugs.]

You have to share because I've made it my life's mission to make sure you don't get walk all over me. Yes, you specifically.

[Smartass. But Monts does nod to confirm his statement.]

Yeah. I did. Pretty worthless. The whiskey isn't even that good.

[fossick]

[And the comment rolls right off of him. Should he expect anything else from her?

...Her mood seems different, though. Clearly she's been affected to some degree.]

But it must have some kind of meaning, otherwise why would this city bother?

[And, to cut her off before she rejects the notion of sharing first-]

And I will share the tale of my own object, yes. I only wish to compare first.

[nerine]

[Monts makes the bottle stand properly before moving to start creating a drink.]

Did it make you remember something when you touched it?

[With her back turned to him, her mark is visible. It barely pulses but it seems to reflect her mood; dark and pensive.]

[fossick]

Aye, I did. Nothing kind.

[But nothing he balks to remember, either. Nothing that tortures his dreams at night; it is unpleasant to remember, but coldly. Distantly. It was also a moment that changed his life forever.

He feels something pulse from her. That thing on her neck, he assumes.]

Violence in the Pit.

[nerine]

[Pour the espresso beans. Turn on the machine. Make a fine grind. Familiar steps, familiar smells, she just wants to hold onto those things.]

I'd imagine that your previous job was full of it. Violence I mean.

[No good. Her mind starts to wander. What if she was better suited for a life of that instead of this idyllic state where she is neither safe nor dangerous? Friendly to all to ease the loneliness —

Dammit, she hates languishing in this. But Weir has shared and both that and the mysterious compulsion makes her do the same.]

I used to have a lot of friends. But I'm not friends with those people anymore.

[She points to the shot bottle.]

They liked drinking too much and it made them loud and annoying. And unwise.

[fossick]

[To be fair, he's barely shared anything at all. Even his item still remains hidden away in his pocket.

But this is an instance where he will keep his word. He will share; for comparison's sake, yes, but also due to the strange compulsion to simply speak on the matter, imbued in him for these past couple of days.]

Unwise. [He echoes. Friends that drank too much, became loud and annoying, and unwise. He can make an attempt to read between them lines.] Did they cross a line? Or perhaps you ran out of patience for them.

[nerine]

[ Her hip leans against the side of the counter where he can see her side profile with crossed arms. Her eyes stare at the opposite wall and she stays there even after the whirring of the espresso machine winds down.]

... Both. It was both.

[Her gaze moves to the floor.]

You know, I don't really get drunk. Alcohol tastes good and it warms me a little but I've never gotten... [She gestures with one hand and then just decides to be crass.]

I've never gotten fucked up before. It's kind of amazing how booze can really bring out the worst in people.

[fossick]

[He watches her, her contemplative nature that this whole nonsense with the bank has manifested within everyone. He shares his own moments like these, private for very little to see, however, so it's hardly new to him. Rumination is an old friend.]

You can't at all?

[Well, what is an abundance of alcohol but just another form of poisoning? Does that mean she's immune? That she can heal? Ah, but his own admittance slips out before he can think any better of it:]

Neither can I. Not truly.

[Get drunk. But he presses on:]

What happened, then? One instance of too many drinks and too many unkind words?

[nerine]

[That makes her look at Weir. He can't get drunk either? But that could mean anything. It definitely doesn't mean he's like her with just one similarity.

His question makes Monts stand there with a stony expression on her face. Internally, she's fighting against the compulsion to speak freely of her story. A year has passed since the incident that awakened what could be considered her "true" self but aside from Iona and Oren (because they were directly involved) no one knew her full story. Maxim and Rokuro had bits and pieces and everyone else only understood her as someone who wasn't human.

And Weir? Weir was someone who wanted to know things so he could file them away for later. He wasn't a pleasant man which was something Monts could accept but it meant she needed to protect parts of herself.

Monts takes the espresso and starts pressing it down aggressively.]

That's pretty much how it started. My old friend group was a mixed one and we hung out a lot to do stuff like that.

[fossick]

[She's right. He's slotting information in his mind to be saved for later, but he is listening and listening thoroughly. He is not aware of the compulsion to speak on these items that propel them to tell these tales, not enough to take clear advantage of it—and let’s be real, he wouldn’t hesitate if he knew of it more cognizantly—but that will not spare him from asking. Nor will it spare him from telling when it’s his turn, either.

Still, she’s as hesitant as ever. The lack of trust and familiarity between them makes itself known even in moments such as these.]

The city is given you that bottle to remember these ill-gotten friends by. You needn’t speak on the matter so casually.

[It must mean something, heavier than she’s making it out to be, for her to feel so dour about it, at that.]

[nerine]

[When he says that, Monts can't help but smile and remark upon it.]

That is probably one of the more nicer things you've said to me so far, Weir. You need to try that out more often.

[She hooks up the portafilter to the machine to start the extraction.]

Can I see what you got from your box first before I continue?

[fossick]

[Ah, the laughable irony of Weir being "nice" when he wasn't even trying to.

He gives her a look that isn't withering, but it is a little sardonic, but he chooses not to remark on that bit. Let her think he's being considerate rather than what he believes it to be: simply truthful and straightforward.

Still, he leans back to dive his hand into his satchel still slung over his shoulder, and pulls out a small little trinket, miniature enough to be held between forefinger and thumb. It looks the color of ivory--some kind of animal bone, for sure--and is carved into the shape of some strange canid-looking creature. There are knife-markings where two small eyes and the jawline filled with teeth exist, and he sets the small object on the countertop on its four small legs.]

Carved from a monster's bone, that.

[But she said she would continue, and he will, too... But later.]

[nerine]

[Monts looks at the trinket with renewed interest and it distracts her from her own tale. There's a unique artistry to it that reminds her of other trinkets or souvenirs you could find at small shops around the States if you knew where to find them. She glances back at Weir and points to it.]

May I?

[Hold it, she means.]

[fossick]

[He spreads a hand in its direction, as though to say "go ahead".]

If you like.

[It's nothing hugely remarkable, other than the fact that it's made by hand, and apparently carved from monster bone. Lightweight and small, made to be either turned into a pendant to hang around the neck, or in Weir's case... simply carry it about on his person in a pocket, or in a bag.]

It was a good luck charm.

[There is something incredibly wry about the way his mouth twists when he says that.]

[nerine]

[With his permission, Monts takes the trinket and lets it lay in her palm. Her thumb brushes over it as she examines it to and fro.

And then she starts playing with it.

No really, she just silently makes the dog glide across the counter, up the espresso machine, and down. And it's not like she's making any play noises either, just letting this dog carved out of monster bone surf across the coffee counter.]

[fossick]

[ ...

You know what? He isn't inclined to stop her. To Weir, this is not a precious item that everyone else must treat with propriety and sacred consideration. He just tracks its path with his eyes as she sends it up and down the expresso machine.]

It doesn't work, though.

[Doesn't work? As what? A good luck charm? (That's indeed what he means.)]

[nerine]

[That makes her let out a light laugh and she stops, returning it to Weir.]

But you aren't doing that Dredger job anymore since you're a huntsman now, right? That's technically good luck. Technically.

[fossick]

[He takes it back, but lets it remain on the counter before him.]

I do not think of it that way, no. I am not a Dredger any longer because I chose to take a different path in life. To change things. [It's technically true, of course.] Luck has so very little to do with it.

[nerine]

Hm.

[Monts could go on about probability and the mathematics of chance but it's not the right time. And she doesn't feel like it.

The espresso has been brewed and she pours it out into two small shot glasses; one for her, one for Weir.]

Bottom's up! [She holds up her glass in a mock cheer.]

We're drinking this straight.

[fossick]

[Tonight, the Dredger-turned-huntsman cannot even bring himself to question what she's brewed up in a shot glass for him. He holds up his glass, but he wouldn't be Weir if he wasn't dry about it.]

Do I earn more of your tale if I drink your newest concoction?

[nerine]

Sure, we'll go with that.

[Well, she'll tell him either way but she won't sound committed to it. She holds up her shot glass and swirls the contents around.]

This is just an espresso shot. Regular coffee has more water to coffee bean grounds ratio where the grinds are coarser, while this is a finer grind and less water.

Bottoms up!

[And there she goes, chugging down that espresso.]

[fossick]

[He watches her down it first before he follows suit. Espresso goes down a lot easier than spirits than burn their way down the throat, so it's an easy enough task. It's strong, but it's just espresso.

He clinks his glass down on the counter.]

Easy enough.

[nerine]

[Her glass is set down and she lets the bitterness and warmth bloom on her tongue.]

Whew! That's strong stuff. Now where were we?

[Monts taps her fingers against the counters.]

Ah, yes. Ex-friends. Assholes.

[fossick]

Ex-friends and arseholes. [He echoes, dully.] What was the tipping point of no return? Of no forgiveness?

[nerine]

[Monts considers for a couple of seconds on what to say to Weir. He already has an idea that she's something else not human, being that he's the only one who's also noticed what's on her neck.

She can evade some details, can't she?]

... Well, we were a mixed group, guys and gals. One night, one of them, a girl, definitely dipped too deep into the liquor stash and was nearly out cold. The rest of them, the guys, were awake but super drunk nonetheless.

[And when you're drunk, you become stupid. Stupid ideas come out to the surface and become a priority and show your true colors.]

One of them had the bright idea to take advantage of her but I put a stop to it and made sure she had a ride home.