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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[ Someone has to find this entertaining right? (And in this moment this conversation became a little too meta.) Whatever it was, there wasn't a chance she doubted danger was around the corner. Why wouldn't it be? No one takes away means of defending oneself without it. ]
[ A beat, and she adds: ]
There's a lot of children around here.
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[ And it comes out soberly, meditatively. Peter has never really considered himself a "kid person," despite being frequently accused of acting like a child, but it'd take a bigger dick than one Peter Quill to not be silently working on some game plan for what to do about the kids if things go horribly wrong.
Not that he has one, yet. A game plan. He'd feel a whole lot better if he at least had a gun. ]
If this is some kinda experiment, they're working with a lot of variables.
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[ Shakes her head and picks up the football again, ]
There's got to be a slip-up somewhere. Something this massive can't be airtight.
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[ A reassurance, as much as it is a declaration. Even with as few areas as they're allowed to explore, it's still a shitton of ground to cover for two people, much less one. They've definitely got their work cut out for them
Which, admittedly, Peter both is and isn't looking forward to. Aside from the shit with the vault, aside from the creeping disquiet that comes part and parcel with wandering around a deserted city, Peter has been bored. Barging into empty buildings and rooting through dozens and dozens of desks in bullpen offices isn't entirely his idea of a good time, but it's something to keep him occupied.
At least now he'll have his Walkman to keep him company—
Though even as he's thinking that thought, he's wincing at himself. His gaze involuntarily flicks to the Walkman, still sitting blithely on the tabletop. He shakes his head sharply. ]
Chances are, though, anything worth finding is in the districts or buildings we're not allowed into.
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[ Her eyes follow where Peter's go - to the Walkman. This idiot was overly sentimental yet, wasn't he? (Fond/Affectionate) She tears her eyes away and gives a slight tilting shake of her head: ]
Then we'll find them.
[ Said in the tone of 'there's no debate there'. Then ambling on, ]
Are you going to keep it?
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Then, he hesitates for the span of another breath.
Then, when he realizes he's hesitating for yet another breath, he deflates. ]
It's not like I can just get rid of it.
[ There's a tired sort of resignation in his voice. Yes, he's sentimental. He guards anything – anyone – that's important to him with an all-consuming intensity. One of his many faults, as much as it's one of his few merits. ]
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Does that include her Peter?][ Well, it's true, if Peter hadn't just brought the football back in it would have come back on its own unless they destroyed it. But she - they - likely don't know that strange mechanic of it just yet. She sighs, but it's more her sign of resignation because did she expect anything different? ]
[ The answer is no. ]
I'm telling you now, if you start acting strangely I'm destroying it.
Stranger for you.
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Don't touch it.
[ Even Peter knows that it's hard to say if it's old habits turning his voice cold or if it's whatever compulsion has come coupled with the items from the vault. He falters a little, taking a steadying breath and scrubbing at his face.
Sounding a little more like himself, ]
Just— let me look it over. I haven't even had time to see if it's actually mine or just a really convincing replica.
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I said if.
[ She's not backing down on the matter, but it's reaffirmation she's not touching it — yet. ]
The last thing we need is this place turning us against each other.
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[ And his tone is flat. Dry. ]
Our friendship is so airtight.
[ And even if he says it woodenly, he does, in fact, mean it. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a tired little smile. ]
If I'm, like, actively trying to hurt you or anyone, then do whatever you have to. But only then. Okay?
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[ However complicated she feels about the thing given to her, his is important to him. She won't begrudge him that, won't judge him for it either. Even if an age-old, less compassionate part of her wants to. ]
[ At the next part of his statement she does roll her eyes with a jerk of her head to the right as if to say 'well, yeah' it's matched with a dry: ]
Obviously.
[ That obviously sounds a whole lot more like 'duh'. ] That's what family is for.
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That absolutely pulls him up short.
And, yeah, he knows that they're family, even if they rarely say so aloud. If he were a more poetic person, he'd say something about how their bonds were forged in the fires of crises after crises. And if he were a more honest person, he'd tell her how shocked he was that they had ever gotten to a point where she didn't immediately want to rip his spine out of him by going through his mouth.
He smiles – a small, surprised thing – and he huffs out a laugh. ]
For keeping each other out of trouble. Yeah.
[ He could easily cast it out as a joke, but he doesn't. He plays it completely straight, for once. ]
... Thanks for understanding.
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[ She half looks away in that way she does in moments like that and then heaves a sigh that's half a laugh. She shrugs, as if to say it's nothing and adds: ]
Or for kicking your ass when you need it.
[ Your is emphatically said, she means him specifically. He refrained, she doesn't because she's said her piece. He doesn't need to thank her
she doesn't know what to do with that. ]no subject
[ A little less sincere, that time, but the evidence she had given him was already damning enough, and like some bastard suffering in a snow storm, he'll use that little match to fuel him for a while. ]
Try not to kick my ass too much, though. I'm still out of practice.
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[ Her immediate answer is quick, she shakes her head. Moves to glance at his Walkman again. And because the era is mid-2000s and a Zune is mid2000s/other devices: ]
We could get that recorded onto something else for you.
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Probably a good idea. In case someone changes their mind and wants their bribe back.
[ He takes a breath, and hesitantly, he reaches out to pluck up the Walkman, to turn it over in his hands. ]
Yondu and Kraglin kept clones of it. On the Eclector.
[ And the admission is reluctantly given. ]
One of the other Ravagers stole it from me, once. Halfnut, I think. He was pissed about how much attention Yondu was paying me.
[ Only later did Peter understand just how pissed so many of the Ravagers were that they hadn't turned Peter in to Ego, that they didn't receive the bounty they had been promised. ]
And I just shut down. I was practically catatonic for, like, a week until Kraglin figured out what happened. After that they made sure they had clones stashed around in case it happened again and they didn't have time to beat the ass of anyone who messed with me right away. I kept up the habit ever since.
Then Rocket made a dozen clones, too. Said it was better to have backups of backups. First couple weeks after the shit on Xandar, he kept hiding the fact that he was listening to them, himself.
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[ It makes sense, well enough, it's not like there aren't copies on the ship. They used the Zune for Peter's sentimentality, mostly, she imagines. Like a blanket for a child. ]
[ She snorts. ]
Ain't no denying Rocket probably likes music more than even you.
[ The amount of arguments someone's had to run interference on over control of the Zune - ]
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Yeah. I think there came a point where he appreciated the Zune more than I did.
[ Which is why he left it with Rocket, in the end. Rocket had had the thing for five years longer than Peter, after all, and as protective as Peter was over his things, Rocket probably was five times worse.
Unconsciously, his thumb runs over the edge of the Walkman, and he notes the minor imperfections: the way the silver foil on the "S" on "Sony" had been slightly chipped off. The way the metallic blue paint on the corner of the Walkman had been partially worn away, revealing the white plastic enough.
He hates that it looks right, because if further examination means this is the real deal, he's not entirely sure how he's supposed to feel. ]
I'm guessing he got pretty attached to it. During...
[ He gestures vaguely with a hand. ]
The Bullshit.
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[ She can remember long days and nights when the ship was quiet with just her and Rocket, after a long day answering some distress call that the music helped feel the void. ]
[ Maybe that's why she gives a small shake of her head, ]
Most days, after we left whatever planet we were on, he'd turn it on.
Wasn't that different from now - or before.
[ Before they go separate ways, she means. ]
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First couple weeks after Xandar, he kept bitching about how often I was playing my mom's music. Up until I caught him red-handed, listening and bopping and singing along to "Come and Get Your Love."
Asshole.
[ (Fondly.)
It's funny, he thinks. That he was worried about how much he'd be sharing about his mother, about the wildly uneven upbringing he experienced in his childhood, but in reality, his mother's music had spiderwebbed into his adult life. It meant a lot to him, surely, but it had also started meaning something to the other Guardians, too. ]
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[ She scoffs, ]
Bet if you ask him now he'll call it a "classic".
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Asshole.
[ It's accusatory again, but still just every bit as fond. ]
Eventually he gave up the front and just, you know. Let himself sing along. Didn't even pretend to mumble through the words, 'cause it became really obvious really quick that he knew the lyrics.
[ A pause, then, ]
Gamora did the same. Eventually.
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He was singing them on that planet you idiots got us stranded on.
[ Never forgive, never forget. ]
[ Somehow, someway it always circles back to Gamora. Pausing minutely, she asks: ]
Spoken to her since?
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[ He doesn't entirely know why he's being coy. The answer is an unequivocal "no." Somehow, though, that feels... harsh. For someone he was attached to the hip to for years, to have this wall up between them is unsettling. ]
Have you?
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[ Which is... To be expected, really. What else would you expect? What would she have done? Probably not wanted to be around people herself. ]
I'll contact her.
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