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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[ So, less forgiveness here, more mildly bemused pleasure. (He notes the mints, but that emotion that accompanies it is absolutely indeciperable with no other context, so he tucks it and said context in his metaphorical back pocket for now. ]
I don't pretend to understand everything you've just described, but more societal barriers exist for your vision of a future similar to this one. You've failed to mention which ones. [ ... Midnight laughs. ] And if you'd like for this all to change your world in the way it's shaped this one. And mine, of course. You're right, of course. It's energy-intensive in ways that one could consider prohibitive. Here.
[ And he tucks a can in Kaveh's hand. ]
This one's a cider, not a beer. Pear, if that suits you.
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If I spent time detailing which ones, we'll need more than just a single can of cider. [ with the slow shake of his head. ] You don't want that. I'm not sure if even I want that.
[ but the cider is readily accepted, and welcome. kaveh cracks open the can. the drink is not terribly sweet, not terribly sour. it's not terribly anything, but the acrid taste of alcohol is there, and that, too, is welcome - he follows. ] And what are you drinking?
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[ While he thinks about that, though, he looks over at the open can in Kaveh's hand, then his reaction to it — not at all objectionable, obviously — then reaches down and snags a 6-pack of the same brand. There. More than a single can. It's good to have the option. ]
Been looking into more herbal brews recently, but only for variety's sake. I like fruit in my lighter beers, generally. So... choose for me. This, or this.
[ He'll point at two drinks: one that promises a tropical mango aftertaste and an herbal hibiscus concoction. He'll grab whichever one Kaveh picks. (Or he might just grab both and drink Kaveh's choice first. Why not? Money's no object, after all.) ]
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herbal, he says. the two choices presented to him are in cheerful, terribly impersonal packaging. luckily, kaveh has an opinion on everything. observe: ]
The hibiscus. [ kaveh says, immediately. ] Every fruit in this place tastes artificial regardless, so the mango aftertaste promised by the first one will inevitably be disappointing. It shouldn't even be allowed to be called mango. It's more like the memory of a mango that's been put through a three-dimensional modeling software and then reconstructed by someone who thinks they know what a mango tastes like, but lacks the tastebuds to actually try. Hibiscus, at least, is meant to have a bit of a sour aftertaste. It's terrible in alcohol no matter how you slice it, so you won't be missing out on something better.
[ theory set, kaveh reaches for the hibiscus drink, and picks it up. he hefts it in hand, passes it along to midnight with a quirk of his brow. ] You're not going to grab six of these, too, are you?
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[ Midnight is very rarely so forthcoming about the ways he's aware he can get under other people's skin. It's just funny. Kaveh's so very funny to him. Most people are, but when Midnight can manage to get past the barrier of having to step gently around a stranger... Well, it's simply more fun to be a nuisance, is all.
He scoops up both the herbal and the fruit beer in one hand, but opens the bottle of water first, taking a sip and wincing slightly at how sharp and sweet it tastes. Well... he needed that, apparently. How awful it is for food and drink to taste refreshing. ]
You mentioned you were poor company earlier. Why is that? I can't begin to imagine a reason to think so.
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kaveh cuts himself off. not because the realisation is anything to have a mild crisis over, but because midnight just flinched at drinking water. what manner of man, kaveh thinks, a little despairingly, must you be to live a life where the taste of water has become foreign. the rest of the script practically writes itself: kaveh reaches to filch both beer cans from midnight, an architect's knack for balancing more than his fair lot of things in one hand coming into play with three cans stacked in a single hand, one of which is open - and graciously uses the other hand to tilt the bottom of the bottle that midnight's holding back up to his lips.
bottoms up it goes. ]
One more big sip. Preferably one that drowns you. Oh, I know you, one only gets that odd about the taste of water when it's been at least seventy-two hours without it. Come now, this is happening before you dehydrate yourself again with alcohol. What was this about me being good company?
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Midnight's smile drops, but more into bewilderment than any personal offense, as his precious alcohol disappears from his grip and he is led to water like a burdenbeast. ]
Bit dramatic, isn't it? It's been less than seventy-two hours, I'm sure. [ This is in a self-possessed murmur, less petulant than it is simply a bit puzzled, but he obediently takes another sip. He isn't going to drown himself. His survival instincts might be lacking, but his fear of death is still alive and kicking back there.
But there we are. The flashbang of being cared for out of the blue can't last forever. Levity floods in to fill in the void, fast and loud like a broken sound barrier. ]
I'd insist you were good company, really, on account of your concern for my level of hydration, but I would like my beer back. How much water until I've reached quota, sir?
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the water bottle empties itself into midnight. kaveh observes it with a critical eye, red and sanguine and entirely unimpressed. ] One third of the bottle now, and one more third before we get to city hall. You get your beers back once both those conditions have been fulfilled. [ kaveh is already reaching for another reusable tote bag - he loves these, and more so that they're plain, because they can be painted over and decorated - and begins slipping a few more water bottles in. ... and midnight's beers. ] And caring about your hydration level has nothing to do with good company, and everything to do with preserving what little sanity I have left. This is about the bank, isn't it?
[ - abruptly, kaveh stops himself. and merely stops there, the words bitten off like the heads of truncated snakes. ]
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It isn't, actually, although I do wish I could convince you otherwise. If you acted any more like my mother, you would have written the letter in my... pocket.
[ ... The sentence dies. Lets out air like a sad, half-dead balloon. Midnight thinks back, finds the smooth, flat stop Kaveh's nagging hits, and extrapolates back to this moment fairly quickly.
He looks into his water bottle, then back at the door. The bottle is still two-thirds full, and he never heard the tumblers in the lock clicking into place. Eventually, he lifts the water to his mouth, drains it to half, and recaps it. ]
Let's start walking. Did you need anything else?
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kaveh's breath seethes between his teeth. and then, his brain catches up to him, and he follows the trace of midnight's gaze.
um. ]
Well, no. [ ... with phenomenal self-restraint, just on this side of brittle: ] Why are you looking at the door like that? [ ... with slow, dawning deliberation: ] Does this place lock too?
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[ His hearing has been a little weak, though, so he walks over to try the door... Which swings open as easily as anything. He breathes a little sigh of relief. Well, they're not trapped, at least. ]
We should leave. I don't want this place changing its mind on us, no matter how partial I am to your company.
[ Midnight pushes the door open for Kaveh, leaning his head toward relative freedom. Well... They're not obligated to share at the cost of their freedom, at least, but it seems as though they're not quite off the hook. This is much more preferable to being stuck in a bank vault, though. Midnight doesn't like being trapped in places with others. Or, rather, he doesn't like the idea of others being trapped with him. He's not at all claustrophobic, just... Wary. People should be free to leave him. ]
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You really ought to stop saying that. It gets old, you know. [ is what kaveh says instead, after gauging the moment for safety. because that's certainly what's happening here - the careful picking and choosing of words, and then the dance around a compulsion that is suddenly a third wheel in this entire conversation that kaveh has never been comfortable with. ]
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[ Midnight, on the other hand, is measuring how much truth he can deposit into the conversation with regards to the letter in his pocket so he can satisfy the city's appetite for schadenfreude, relax, and have a normal conversation. He's quite aware that just thinking about this in terms of having a "safe conversation" may inflate the threshold of what the city thinks would suffice, though... ]
I generally use my lies much more wisely. Well, unless it's amusing to lie. I'll make an exception for that.
[ 1/2 ]
[ or rather, kaveh knows his own measure - he is not, in fact, good company on most days, especially not on days where he feels like he's being taken and contorted into a shape not of his own making, and that midnight is saying so despite all evidence to the contrary is a good indication that this compulsion bullshit is - ] And in the case that you are not and this is simply you being compelled to say things you genuinely don't mean to assert as any form of truth, I'd like to point out that I liked it much better when we weren't being emotionally candid and having to consistently swerve around the topic of what's in our pockets-
[ 2/2 ]
this is, in fact, the sound that an anemo slime being stepped on by a cat might possibly make. ]
- the audacity of these people! [ the bright flare of kaveh's temper leaps, ] Who do they think they are to compel me or you to say things we don't want to? Do they think they're gods? Because I happen to know one that's been reduced to a heap of scrap metal in a basement somewhere, and that's exactly what's going to happen to them if this continues.
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I can start by talking about my mother, if you like, then take the lead for the duration of this conversation. I don't mind the sound of that.
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And you! Don't oblige so easily! I thought you've a stronger sense of privacy than that, if not a stronger sense of self-preservation. Who am I to be allowed to hear things of you that touches the core of who you are?
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And who am I, among others, to hold parts of who I am at such a lofty height of sanctity? My mother isn't here, Kaveh. As long as I'm aware of the consequences — as long as I'm the one making the choice — what does a little honesty hurt?
[ ... To be fair to Kaveh, though, Midnight's saying this to reinforce the idea to himself as well. It doesn't matter. The past is no longer in a position to hurt him. He's said as much many, many times before. He tries to mean this, if nothing else. ]
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kaveh's jaw works as the words him in struggle to find some sort of coherent order. it's about the feeling, as it always is. you couldn't always put those to words. you shouldn't always try. ]
You, actually. [ is what kaveh says at last; the kaveh who remembers lines in the sand and who knows what it's like to draw them. ] Do we not carry the love and the grief with us wherever we go? Are we not made of it? Where else would it be allowed to go? Your mother isn't here, but you are.
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I tend to leave those sorts of things in the past. The present, the future... those interest me more. So digging up the past is more of an exercise in tedium for me. Just a record of things that occurred, decisions I've already made. Nothing terribly happy or sad, just irrelevant most of the time.
Which is why volunteering it doesn't require that much from me, if you understand. [ Midnight shrugs. It's not a big deal. ] I just tend to be choosy about it. I curate all the lovely parts so I don't get bored.
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[ the moment kaveh says this, he thinks - he's done it again.
but this time, the shards of the diadem are like that stone in that well. the well didn't ask to have the stone tossed it. it didn't ask for its insides to be churned. it didn't ask for the ripples to spread and the laughter of something cruel and innocent both haunt its echoes. but that's what happens to wells, and some wells are terribly empty for it.
kaveh pushes on: ] No. I will start the conversation. I'm going to talk about this stupid, haunting bauble in my pocket, and you will listen to me. You will listen, right?
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(Is losing empathy for oneself really the same thing as losing it for others? Whisperain may have been onto something with regard to the long-lived and their many ghosts, but in terms of the effect, rather than the cause.) ]
I will, if you're certain this is what's to be done. Of course.
[ Kaveh lives in a world of his huge passions, of grand gestures. A world where memories mean something. How wonderful it is, to care that deeply. Why wouldn't Midnight give Kaveh the room to show him what that's like? ]
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it ought to be. kaveh looks. and then, because city hall looms in the near distance, he pulls out midnight's can of beer. the mango one comes to hand. he tosses it over to him, and without another word, downs half of the cider that midnight had procured for him earlier. there's not enough alcohol content in it to burn his throat, but it scalds anyway, as if something unseasonably warm. ]
Drink. [ kaveh says, breathing out, and doesn't manage to cough. ] I don't want to be too sober for this, and you might not want to be either. [ there's a lump in kaveh's throat that won't go down. kaveh forces it anyway, and the words come. they always do: ] Because I'm about to tell you how my father died.
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Don't worry, Kaveh; Midnight will tilt his head back and drain the waterbottle dry, his mouth and throat cramping from the sudden effort, catching the other can one-handed out of the air. He swallows one last time, then pulls his own can open, taking a pull from the can before he's prepared, feeling everything go down unpleasantly, before he's prepared. They should definitely have something stronger than this. ]
I know a good bar near here, actually. We should sit.
[ He's visited this one enough to know the hard liquor selection rather thoroughly. The lighting is fine, the seating is comfortable. A very normal bar among all the other normal bars around here. It'll do. ]</small.
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Near here? It's not the one with the terrible pot lights, is it?
[ but the complaint is perfunctory at best. the city hall recedes into the distance as they make their way into the bar proper. the bartop counter is an excellent place for kaveh to slide both elbows onto as he cracks open the sealed bottle of what looks to be rum. the taste promises to be anemic, but the percentage of alcohol seems promising. he offers the lip of it to midnight, first, before he takes a dredge of it himself.
ugh. kaveh winces. horrid. kaveh's finger skim the flat lines of the bottle as he considers where to start. ]
I was nine when I sent my father to his death. [ the beginning has always been such a letdown. ] Both my parents were good people; I think that was the issue. If my father hadn't been such a good person, he wouldn't have gone off based on a whim I had when I was nine, and then never came back from it.
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me, watching kaveh's drunken ramblings give midnight a minor crisis:
i wish standing man emoji was an emotion one could describe in words other than standing man emoji
HAHAH
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