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
no subject
That's something maybe he should tell Daan about. For now, the boy gives another soft nod as he continues walking, heading towards their destination as he listens. The words elicit a quiet somberness in him, a different one than his typical; Daan reiterating that Peter isn't the only one in this situation. That most everyone here is... lost, in the exact same way. He isn't alone, in that aloneness. It does help, in some odd, awful way. Peter finds himself holding onto the words, quietly — not verbally responding to much, but... he's listening. And he's calmer than he was when he first approached Daan with upset rising in his chest.
By the time they make it to the office, Peter's visibly more at ease than he usually is (granted... his body language perpetually remains stiff and anxious and a little strange, as though he's wearing an ill-fitting suit.) But... being here feels more safe than being out on the street, exposed. He's somewhere enclosed, with a doctor who can help him if he starts getting.... weird, again. ]
Just water would be good, if you have it around. [ He nods, slowly making his way over to the nearest seat he can spot and settling long limbs onto it. His hands rest in his lap as he looks down at them for a moment. The meat of this will come, but there is a quiet curiosity that bubbles up; he still barely knows this man, and in the here and now... there are things to ask. ]
Does anyone else work with you here?
no subject
[He isn't of the habit of using tap water, so Daan is bringing out a bottle of water to fill into a clean glass for Peter. The question seems reasonable, so he gives a nod of affirmation.]
Not formally, of course, but there is another doctor named Shinobu that I'm corresponding with. A sharp tongue on that one when she feels like it. I haven't shared any patient information with her, so you don't need to worry about confidentiality.
[His notes are his notes. Some things he won't be so willing to share.
Approaching, Daan offers the glass out to Peter.]
Are you willing to discuss that photograph with me?
no subject
The part about confidentiality is a relief he didn't expect to feel, but certainly does now. He doesn't think he'd want too many people knowing what's... wrong with him. (What is wrong with him? He isn't fucking sure. But he's painfully aware he probably seems on the verge of a mental break-down half the time.)
Peter takes the water gently into one hand and lowers it towards his lap, staring there for a few moments. The photograph. There's some part of him fiercely resisting looking at the thing ever again, but the other part.... the part influenced by whatever forces are at work here, needs to show someone. Peter takes a quiet breath and reaches his other hand into his pocket to extract the thing, holding it up a little. ]
....It's my family. [ That word hangs in the air for a few moments, a weighted thing that makes him feel tired to voice aloud. And what he says next is macabre, he knows it is, and heavy to just dump on someone else, but he's too tired to try to make this light-hearted. ]
Um. I think they're all dead.
no subject
Still, he can afford his compassion toward Peter, and nods lightly at the news.]
I'm sorry. [And he means it.] I'm sure seeing the photograph was a real shock to you on top of everything else you're experiencing.
Were you uncertain if the photo really existed, or was it something else that confused you?
cw: mention of familial death will be all up in this thread / death by fire & throat trauma
But Peter can't be sure (and hasn't been able to try to be sure), not when it comes to his parents, at least. .....He knows Charlie is dead. But what happened to the rest of his family.... was it a nightmare? Was it his own broken mind, dreaming in fever?
(Or was it his mother's broken mind, finally shattering into pieces too small and jagged to ever put back together? She killed his father and then killed herself with a piano wire pressed to her throat and digging inwards, that makes some horrible kind of sense, and Peter can still remember the way the charred remains of his father smelled; she killed him the same way she tried to kill Peter and Charlie that night—)
The little dose of compassion helps, and Peter draws in a shuddering breath. ]
I didn't know how.... how it ended up here. From my house. [ Should be impossible, but everything about this place is. But... no, there's no doubt that what's in the photo really happened. He.... remembers it. Taking the photo with his family. As the thought comes in, Peter's frowning deeply, staring downwards at the thing. ]
It wasn't that long ago we took it. Um. It was after my grandma died. Not long ago. [ The words come softly, memory a hazy ghost that slips through his fingers. He hasn't been willing to try to hold onto it until now, compelled gently by this place. The truth comes with a sniffle. ]
None of us really wanted to be there.
no subject
No one knows how these items got to be here. Someone is probably fucking with us, to be honest. Either way, I'm more concerned with how much it's impacted you.
[He wishes he was better at comfort. Daan can remain fairly friendly and empathetic, but often people and patients seek more than that. It isn't that he doesn't relate or feel for people, but it's hard to know how to comfort someone when he's never really received it himself.]
Who was your grandmother to you?
no subject
It makes a weird, awful kind of sense. And maybe the way Peter reacts to that thought betrays something odd — his eyes widen, but not necessarily with shock. There's some... recognition of the concept. Of being fucked with. (Watched, stalked, strangers creeping in closer and closer....)
Those people... who are they? Have they done this? ....But no one else has mentioned being watched by gleaming, hungry grins before they showed up here.
For the moment, Peter keeps it swallowed down. Focuses on what Daan directly asks, though it's not a question that has any easy answer and he's having to take a few long moments to even attempt to sort the thoughts. ]
I didn't know her that well, but she seemed.... There was a lot... wrong with her. Um. She and my mom didn't get along much. And she kind of... didn't want me around her.
...But she was close with my little sister. Like um... she pretty much raised her when she was a baby. [ The circumstances of it are all so strange to try and explain to someone else, fucking weird family drama. You get used to things being a certain way and forget that to other people, it must sound so bizarre.
His eyes drop back down to the photo, resting on the little girl. Eyes wide, his throat tightens, and the words come in a whisper. Looking at her face is harder than even looking at his own, and grief, shame, horror make him feel light-headed; his body tips forwards just a little. She was wearing that same hoodie when she— ]
...That's her. Charlie— my sister.