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
around the city
[ 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. ]
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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.]
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[ 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.
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But time is an insidious thing, and Henry’s recollections are so mottled by anger and discontent that he can only conflate the idea of “family” with negative associations running deep.]
You’re not wrong.
[He sets the photo down on the table near where he’s seated, and his compulsion to speak on the matter makes itself known as he taps, gently, the image of his younger self.]
That’s me. Getting me to stand there long enough to take a photo was like pulling teeth.
[Smiling was a strain, as opposed to how easily he can wear one now.]
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[ Perhaps someone else would truly understand that's an abnormality. But she knows how she felt in her own "family": trapped and lifeless. So desperately wanting a sister only to realize that sister's feelings had been different - far away. ]
[ Family's not getting along were what she knew, so she turns gaze from man to photo and then back again. There's something in the photo, they aren't that close. But yet: ]
And the rest of them were... happy to be there?
[ There's no real hesitation in the question, just a quick pause to find the right word. It must be, but though they smile she knows families hold dark secrets in their realities. ]
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It feels like sandpaper against his nerves, and his smile hitches ever faintly.]
I think they saw it as a fresh start. You know, a change of scenery working out better for me.
[Henry, the problem child. Ah, well.]
This was right after a move, one that I thought was pointless. [Eyes flicking back up at her.] Have you ever felt that way?
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I guess the change of scenery didn't work.
[ Said wryly. For a moment, she's quiet as if to describe the best way to answer: ]
No, there was no move my father made that was pointless. Everything had a purpose. I knew that well.
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No. It didn't. You could argue it made it worse.
[Because they ended up dead, or rotting behind bars. Fine by him, though.
And he could expound on that—and under compulsion to share, he might just, if asked—but the conversation turns towards her, and Henry is ever compelled to hear someone else’s story. To see what he can learn, yes, but most temptingly, to know what might unravel if he prods just right. She seems a bit like the reticent sort, so maybe it’ll get him nowhere, but he may as well try.]
Really? What was your father like, then?
[Belatedly, he gestures at the empty seat across from him.]
You can sit if you want, too.
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[ Nebula's expression doesn't change from neutrality, her tone then the sound of 'it's none of my business'. She won't inquire on the line further - yet - because she can tell this man is feeling that... impulsive need to talk about it. ]
[ Perhaps, seeing others squirm under the weight of things would be entertaining before, but even then sensing emotion had been something she disliked. Avoiding it now, then, is closer to courtesy. ]
[ While it is true there's a fair few things she won't speak about, emotions and weaknesses, her father is one that always earns a cutting response. It's always one or the other, what he was capable of and tearing away from it. These days, it's less anger-fueled, but it's the former. ]
My father was a genocidal maniac - [ Thanks Rocket, for that description ] who's only goal in life was to destroy half of all living things. That is what he was like.
[ Firmly, as if to say 'we don't talk about him,' and to the invitation she shakes her head: ]
I will stand.
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Brows hike straight up, though.]
I see.
[“I see”, like that is something normal to say when a stranger tells you their father was a genocidal maniac that wanted to destroy half of all living things? But it is surprising, and consider that a high bar to clear for Henry Creel, murderer extraordinaire.
But it’s surprising only in that way that he senses an underlying philosophy there — half is terribly specific, after all.]
Why would he want to do something like that? You said that everything had a purpose, so I can’t imagine it was just mania that drove him.
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[ Given how much her life had revolved around him — been made to revolve around his... It hadn't mattered. He'd wanted dispassionate soldiers, he favored Gamora because she failed as a child. She spent so long being angry that the anger still exists now, in this conversation, but it's a muted thing than a wild beast. ]
[ He was dead and she was free. ]
To hear him tell it it was salvation and stability. Dispassionate and random, taking just half the lives to counter starvation and overpopulation. He called it humane and that when it was done, the universe would be grateful.
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[(Henry is not, in fact, an unbiased opinion on this matter.)
And though it is so easy to let his misanthropy go spilling out, to say something as heartless as "maybe he should have aimed for more than just half", his compulsion to speak more freely doesn't quite extend that far. He has just enough self-awareness to realize that might set the conversation down a path that is less than amiable, depending upon one's silly, constricting moral compass.
So, instead, something with the sharp edges filed off, but the same sentiment:]
I don't know what kind of world you come from, but "stability" isn't a bad goal. Human society, at least, could benefit from a little more of that.
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[ Look, she grew up under him. So much of what she did - while she didn't regret most of it - was done out of fear and for survival. She did start regretting it, after the Kyln. When she started pulling at the reigns that controlled her but -
Her experience with Thanos is deep and personal. She files away what the man says. Agreeing even the least little bit with her father puts her on edge, categorizes this man with caution. And she answers: ]
It wasn't stable, his results.
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The interest he shows, however, doesn’t fade with her blunt corrections, her retorts. If anything, it remains steady, clear in his look.]
Are you saying that he managed to succeed?
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[ Nebula's tone is steady. It lacks the anger she once had at mentioning Thanos's anything. Not because there had been no anger - as they said anger filled her like the stars in the sky - but because that anger, that reasoning for living died three years ago.]
And then we fixed it. We killed him.
[ She lacks that anger, but there's something in her tone - heavy and foreboding. Nebula has no remorse for her father's death. Whatever sadness had intwined with it, had been met with the feeling of freedom. For so long, her life was toiling under him with nothing but fear, torment, and torture to cling onto.]
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I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to reverse a process like that.
[Death is death is death. Isn’t it?
Time travel is simply not a consideration in his mind.]So you said the results weren’t stable. What do you mean by that?
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[ It wasn't easy. ]
[ She doesn't seem interested in divulging more information on the matter, though, or at least it doesn't cross her mind to. Talking about the complexities of the Infinity Stones and time travel can barely adequately fit in an elevator trip, after all! The important parts were exactly as she said it. ]
[ The question earns a scoff, a sound that's too bitter to sound amused. ]
It was random. Half the universe loses half their families, world leaders, and security personnel.
Many planets fell into disarray immediately, some almost destroyed themselves.
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...But is that such a bad thing, too? The chaos of upending a broken system completely, so that something new could be rebuilt — well, even if it isn't easy, doesn't that make it worth it? Henry’s wondered about approaching his own world in a similar way, though the issue of escaping the lab was already first and foremost the priority; a goal that’s garnered a few complications unrelated to him being stuck in this city, now.]
I can't imagine the panic. So many societies having to rebalance themselves, rebuilding themselves from the ground up. The strong taking advantage of the weak. [NOT SO BAD,,] I have to say, my world has its issues, but we've never encountered a threat like that to my knowledge.
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[ At least most of the Avengers were stationed on Earth facing Earth problems. For those few that could and were from space, herself and Rocket and Danvers, the distress calls were endless. Even now, they barely seemed to be cut. Or maybe it's just that the Guardians are called upon more now. ]
[ She shakes her head. ]
You might, someday. [ Especially if he's from Earth since she hasn't reached multiverse levels (surely one day). ] But count yourself lucky if not.
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Someday? I don't know of anyone who wields that kind of power, to just... do away with half of the population.
[But he sure would like to know what kind of power that is.]
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[ She just tilts her head at that, raising a fine brow: ]
No one does until it happens.
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Just his usual half-smile.]
Was it magic, then? I've heard the term thrown around a lot in this place.
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Might as well be.
[ Sorry, that's her answer. No one wants to explain Infinity Stone Bullshit Science, even writers in the franchise. ]
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So not precisely, but it might as well be to someone like me, right?
[From a mundane world where nothing weird ever happens!]
...Well, either way. Thank you for telling me.
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[ She scoffs in amusement, the sound not actually meant to be demeaning at him. But if someone said they knew how the Infinity Stones truly worked she'd call them liars. ]
I didn't tell you anything of value.
[ There's a touch of something - bewilderment, if you could call if that, because her father and his demise are of no use to anyone here. Not when their priorities should (rightfully) be to escape.]