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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He sees the label through the plastic window himself, sees the yellowed label and faded blue ink christening the tape as "Awesome Mix Vol 1." He turns the volume up as loud as it'll go, just to avoid having to put the headphones on.
He still lifts the headphones up like they're a miniature speaker, so they can both hear the results.
The reels clack quietly, in a way that's so achingly familiar that his breath catches with it, and the rhythmic chanting begins immediately:
Ooga chaka. ]
Seems like it. That's nice, at least. I was worried I got a paperweight instead of the real deal.
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... I'm high on believing
That you're in love with me...
[Lucinda loves music in her own reserved way. It makes her think of the early days of arriving in the United States, meeting other young espers who were much more modern and fashionable compared to a village bumpkin like her. The music they would listen to was foreign to her ears at first until years passed, and hundreds of tracks and many karaoke sessions later, all of the popular songs and classics finally felt like home.
She's moved closer to listen without realizing it.]
Hooked on a Feeling, right? You're lucky you got something fun back then.
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Yeah, "Hooked on a Feeling." Blue Swede. 1973.
[ But the implication of her statement pulls him up a little short. Because, ]
Guessing that means you got something not fun?
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[She unfurls her palm and shows him the jade bracelet.]
It's harmless enough. But still no fun.
[Lucy shakes her head with a sigh and a smile that could be read as bitter but she's well-versed in masking it.]
I don't really wear jade anymore.
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[ And he casts it over his shoulder as he returns to the safety deposit box he recently raided – mostly for lack of anything better to do, but also because he vaguely remembers there was still something inside. He plucks up the note, reading it over a couple of times, then, very decisively, ]
I hate cryptic bullshit.
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[Considering her outfit (it's mostly black and white), might be hard to tell but the pink peony tattoos across her collar are a good indication. She notes that he's received the same message as she did in her box.]
It's not too hard to get out, fortunately. But on the other hand... It'll require something of us to satisfy the conditions of the note.
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Instead of speaking those thoughts aloud, however – because he's getting wiser with age, thank you – he instead asks, ]
And what is it we're supposed to do, exactly?
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I'm afraid it's very embarrassing and rather forward even for me!
[oh no]
We're going to have to share an emotionally intimate moment by telling each other the memory we have associated with our items.
[OH NO]
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It's a little of a letdown, at the end, when she fully explains the situation, and— yeah. Okay. That's actually not so bad, all things considered – and, you know, with the general creepy vibe of the place, he was expecting they'd have to, like, make a blood pact. Or fight to the death. Or something.
And maybe he's just a paranoid bastard, but he waits another heartbeat, in case she's going to add anything, but when she doesn't— ]
... What. Seriously? That's it?
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[She leans against the wall and exhales softly.]
Think of it as digging into each other's old wounds. I think a theme across the board here is that everyone has had a time of it.
[Life is pain; that's been ingrained in her since she discovered her medium powers.
Regardless, she offers Peter a kind smile.]
Names are first though, right? I'm Lucinda. You can shorten it if you'd like.
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At her introduction, he offers a small nod. ]
Peter. Peter Quill.
[ And here's where, a month ago, he would have added, "Some people call me Star-Lord," but he's trying to get out of the habit. Folks on Earth won't call you Star-Lord if you're just fucking around, getting a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. ]
Nice to meet you. Shame about the circumstances, though.
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[Lucy holds up her jade bracelet and spins it around her index finger.]
Shall I go first, or would you like to do the honors?
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And then he just as quickly decides that he doesn't really have any secrets to keep, on this front. He figures it's better to rip off the bandage, anyway: ]
This was my mother's. She would make me mix tapes of her favorite songs from when she was growing up. It was one of the few things on me when I, um. Left home.
[ He stops the music (has Blue Swede been "ooga chaka"ing this whole time? signs point to yes!) and carefully pops open the tray, pulling out the tape neatly labeled "Awesome Mix Vol 1". ]
Some asswipe destroyed it years ago.
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"Awesome Mix Vol. 1?"
[The label makes her smile.]
I see. She must have had good taste in music.
[Because she has a feeling his mother was a past tense.]
Was your mother someone you loved very much?
[She can't help but ask; it's the type of question she would put forward when she worked as a child to the point it became trite and automatic, a ploy at gauging her clients' relationship with the spirit they wanted to talk to.]
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("Describe, in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother." Seriously? Calm down, Freud.)
It catches him off-guard, all the same, though his hesitation is more from the bittersweet twist in his gut than for being unable to find words. Because the answer is and was always going to be: ]
Yeah. She was the most amazing person in the world.
[ And if his voice catches a little, if it sounds a little thick with emotion, that's because it is.
He clears his throat, tucking the tape back into its tray. When he's feeling a little more like himself, ]
There was a Volume 2, but I guess I wasn't lucky enough to get that, too.
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Do you remember all the tracks to Volume 2? I'm sure with our phones you could probably compile it somehow.
[how the heck does internet even work here?? a mystery]
But that'll be for another time.
[It's her turn now. The medium looks at the jade bracelet and tries to figure out how to start.]
For me... I got adopted by another couple when I moved to the States. My circumstances with my birth parents are... Complicated.
[She chuckles and shakes her head.]
I don't want to waste time with all the context.
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[ He knows the tape backwards and forwards. He hadn't considered that maybe he could use the city's resources – mostly because he doesn't feel he can trust the city as far as he can throw it.
And considering it's, you know, a whole ass city, he wouldn't be able to throw it very far at all.
When she starts up, though, he does her the favor of listening, leaning back against the wall of boxes. He offers her a small, tight-lipped expression of sympathy – not quite a smile, but something close. In Peter's experience, "complicated" is usually shorthand for "a huge fucking mess." ]
You can give me the long version, if you want. Not like I'm goin' anywhere.
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I see dead people. You might be familiar with the term, medium.
[Straight to the point, just get through it. That's what Lucinda's decided on.]
I used to live in Vietnam, in a village outside of the major cities with my parents. When we discovered my abilities, my mother and father saw a financial opportunity.
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And by "academic," we mean "exclusively from what he's seen in movies."
As she offers that summation, his lips part to offer encouraging, like, "got it," or "with you so far," or something equally complaisant, but the meaning of the words catch up with him. He immediately frowns. ]
... What, you mean like, they sold you?
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Well, they advertised my mediumship. There are a lot of sad and broken people who want to hear the voice of a loved one and a lot of ghosts who want to give their true final words.
So yes, in a sense, they sold me. I was the one making all the money once I was proven to be the real thing.
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How old were you?
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I was around ten years old when I found out about what I could do. And then I foolishly told my parents and proved without a doubt that I could see spirits.
[And as they say, it all went downhill from there.]
... I don't think it would have escalated if our neighbors didn't gift them lavishly for what I did for them. And of course, word spread about me so that meant more people, and more money.
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"Yikes," his expression seems to say. ]
So then what happened? Between then and you moving to the States?
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Ah, well, some other psychics found out about me and I left Vietnam when I was fifteen. I've been living in the US ever since.
[And working for a worldwide collective of espers but yeah, that's just!! Too long!!]
... As for what all that has to do with the bracelet... My mother loved spending money on expensive clothes and jewelry. And I suppose she thought she was being considerate by dressing me up. That and being a medium, I might as well look pretty for the part.
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He kind of figured that getting adopted by another set of parents in the US meant that her parents had experienced some horrible calamity. Maybe something straight out of a morality story, warning against greed and hubris and mistreating your kids. Fitting, really. ]
I'm guessing the bracelet didn't make the trip with you when you moved?
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