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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But he doesn't really get a chance to expound on that, and—
Sorry, Henry. He kind of snorts out an incredulous laugh at that. ]
Like, was it actually haunted? Or was it just a gas leak?
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Plagued by nightmares. Seeing awful things that weren’t there. Items in the house moving with no explanation, the lights flickering all the time. Small, dead animals littered around the property. Sometimes the radio would play for no reason.
[Hitching up a brow.]
If it wasn’t a demon, then it was a pretty bad gas leak.
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So what was it actually, then? Did you ever find out?
[ Because Peter is clearly working under the assumption that, lol, demons ain't real. ]
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Of course. It was just me.
[Casual-like, as if speaking about the weather. Is it the compulsion to talk more freely about the safety deposit box items that has him admitting to this? Maybe the fact that he never feels quite as compelled to stay tight-lipped in this city, anyway, because honestly who's going to stop him? No US government here to shut him up, to keep him caged.
Maybe it's both!]
And they stayed oblivious for nearly the whole time. That photo really encapsulates it, doesn't it?
[Yeah, so no. Henry wasn't happy about the move. But he just wasn't happy in general.]
But I still don't know how to feel about the city giving it back me.
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Unbidden, some vague memory of some statistic about how serial killers were likely to find their humble beginnings by killing animals rises to the surface of his mind. His gaze darts quickly toward the most expedient exit. ]
Sounds everyone is getting some really weird gifts from the vault. Not all of them have been great, it seems like. Sorry you got kind of a stinker.
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To Henry's ears, that heralds the end of talking about his item, and the start of being nosy about this man's. He asks, as he casually returns the gift to a pocket-]
And what did you get? Something that's a "stinker", too?
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Nah. It wasn't too bad, all things considered. I mean, it hasn't exploded yet. Or forced me to kill my friends yet.
[ Both of these possibilities have been discussed to varying degrees of length. He's not sure how much that says about either him or Nebula, if it has to say anything at all. ]
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[He says with a touch of amusement, except who knows? Given how much Henry trusts this city (read: not much), he wouldn't be surprised if these items somehow did turn into more trouble than they're worth.
He looks at the Walkman again, intrigued. Henry comes from a year where such a thing was new, freshly introduced to be marketed to the public — except he wouldn’t know that, imprisoned as he was.
Still, the context is clear, given how he hears music eking from the headphones.]
So it plays music? What are you listening to?
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Yeah. Um, it's a mix tape. My mother put it together for me when I was a kid.
[ This, at least, isn't reluctantly given. He's had enough time to sit with the memory his late mother that it doesn't sting quite so keenly, anymore. He depresses the orange button at the top of the Walkman to raise the volume back up, listening for a second, then— ]
"Escape." Rupert Holmes. 1979. Ever heard of it?
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1979? That's the year I come from, actually. [Go figure.] Unfortunately, I was never much of a music person. I wasn't really given the opportunity to listen very often.
[Or the desire, his relationship with music being a... belligerent one. He sees it more as an inconvenience than an outlet or an art.
That is to say: no, he hasn't heard of it.]
It sounds catchy, though. Is it the favorite of the ones in your... "mixtape"?
[Said with purposeful pause and enunciation of a grandpa talking about concepts beyond his time.]
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(Or, secret option three: congratulate the guy on avoiding one of the more frustrating songs of that decade. As gratifying as it is to shout along with the chorus at the top of his longs, sometimes listening to the verses makes Peter want to shake the stupid couple and tell them they're seriously not gonna last beyond the length of the song.)
The phrasing draws another quick, involuntary smile from him. (It does, in fact, remind him of his grandfather, grappling with some unfamiliar term Peter had thrown his way. "And that's when you went through one of them... jump-points?" ]
Nah. It's just one of the fun ones.
Sorry. Did you have a name, or...?
[ Because if he's not willing to share, Peter is going to start dubbing him Norman Bates.
He still might, regardless. ]
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Right, sorry. My name's Henry.
[Not Norman Bates, but the vibe sure is there.]
And you? I assume you're new; we've had an influx of particularly confused faces lately.
[Not to lump this stranger into the "particular confused-looking" group, but Henry feels as though he's nosed around enough to know who was present at that... strange welcoming party the city threw for them, and who wasn't. (Of course, maybe this man just isn't the partying type.)]
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[ Like they're freshly baked cookies! ]
I'm Peter Quill.
[ And at this point he would normally add, "Most people call me Star-Lord," but he's trying to break himself of the habit. Mostly because he's been spending more time around St. Charles, Missouri, lately, and introducing yourself to someone while you're getting a Slurpee from a 7-11 with "I'm Star-Lord" will have them reaching for something heavy to use as a defensive weapon. ]
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Peter. It's good to meet you.
[He wouldn't mind hearing the title "Star-Lord"; likely it'd be met with equal shades of curiosity and amusement, teasing out even more of a tale that everyone here seems to carry with them. Henry might hate this place, but he has to admit: everyone seems so interesting, with layers he wishes he could peel back with more than just a simple conversation.]
What year are you from, then? If you don't me asking.
[You and your fancy Walkman, sir.]
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[ It's not an entirely new experience, revealing that he's from the future – but it's one thing to tell his friends that he's lived one month to eight years more than they have. It's quite another to reveal that it's a matter of decades. ]
I'm from 2026. Ish.
You said you were from 1979?
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That's right. 1979.
[Which seems rather far behind—technologically and culturally—compared to someone from 2026.]
…I have some catching up to do. At least compared to you.
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[ Which, evidently, is about how old Peter is.
Well, one year less, actually, considering he was born in 1980. But that doesn't bear mentioning, he figures. ]
No flying cars on Earth just yet, at least. I know everyone's been banking on that ones.
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On Earth specifically?
[Henry thinks that's a rather interesting way of phrasing it.]
I'm disappointed. I'd at least have expected jetpacks, too.
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Just not for everyone.
[ Only if you're a late billionaire playboy philanthropist. Or a former soldier in a top secret program. Or probably any number of very selective groups.
Listen, Earth is weird now, and that's coming from a guy who spent most of his life in space. ]
Which is probably for the best. I don't know if anyone's gonna trust Little Jimmy getting to school with a jetpack without swan-diving himself straight into a well, first.
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Little Jimmy would have learned his lesson quickly, at least.
[Trial by fire.]
I'm guessing you're not one of the lucky few with a jetpack, then?
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[ A beat, as he realizes how weird this sounds, then, ]
I should probably clarify that I left Earth when I was young.
[ Did that make it better? ]
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"Left", as in... You went to space?
[He is imagining a little alien spaceship ufo, now, sweeping this man away. You know, the disc-shaped ones.]
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[ Peter likes expressing the story that way – mostly because it sounds a lot better than "I was abducted from a field." Folks need to be at a high enough social rank to unlock this backstory. ]
Didn't run into nearly as many little green men as you'd probably expect, though.
[ And now should probably be when he extricates himself from this conversation, but he pauses, curiosity getting the best of him, then, ]
Whatever happened with your family? And the nightmare house.
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He thinks to ask, wondering what sort of people and/or creatures fit the bill if little green men do not (grey ones, then?), but then that question comes instead.
And Henry, well -- he is well aware that the truth will paint him in a particular light that most will not find comfortable, and he makes a keen effort to make himself appear approachable, non-intimidating. Usually easy enough. But talk of his past in any honest way well upends that, so it's a matter of how much he cares, now with a compulsion to speak gnawing at his mind.]
My father... ended up being arrested for the murder of my mother and sister. [This is, in fact, not a lie.] Maybe I played with his mind a little too much, in the end. [That, too, is not a lie.]
Sorry. That's a little morbid, I know.
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Oof.
Well, Peter did ask, and after everything the guy said, that does seem like a logical conclusion. A shitty one, admittedly, but it makes sense.
His expression turns a little grim, though. ]
And did he kill them?
[ Peter's largely unconscious of it – to him, it's just a reasonable question to ask – but the emphasis on "he" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, there. ]
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