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quietplacelogs2018-03-12 06:34 pm
bequiet) wrote in quietplacelogs2018-03-12 06:34 pm
Entry tags:
INTRO LOG #3
INTRO LOG #3
Put a Sock in It
Content Warnings: Disorientation, memory loss, confusion
Themes: Arrival, survival, exploration, horror
You wake, standing. A thick, muddy red dust coats your skin and clothes - it sticks to your tongue and blocks your vision. Inhale and it chokes you, exhale and your breath puffs out in front of your face in a transparent maroon cloud. It tastes of copper, tangy and harsh. Movement is difficult, every limb tingles and aches. Look to your left, your right. Evenly spaced in each direction stands another person indistinguishable in every way from the next. You're disoriented and lethargic, unable to grasp onto a single thought. A pinprick of light blooms ahead and grows steadily larger; a door has opened.
Hands grip your wrists, push at the small of your back and guide you out of the darkness into a room with four walls and a thin, sagging ceiling. The plaster is peeling, the air is musty, and the floor is slick. White plastic piping juts up from the center and curves into multiple spouts, clean water flowing in uneven streams. Those hands pull your clothes off and clear the dust from your body, redress you in handsewn jumpsuits. By the time they’re through, you will have begun to come back to yourself.
A finger is pressed to your lips. Kind eyes meet your own and a single word is whispered - hush.
Led out of the room in a line, you’re taken down a short hallway and into another, much larger room. There’s a woman waiting for you there, Constance, with a child hugging her leg - a cloth bag in her hands. She reaches in and pulls out a device, passes one to each of you. Once finished, she begins to move both hands in graceful gestures, a language. One of the people who helped you lifts their device and the screen lights up, tracks the woman’s hands. Letters appear on the screen and you understand the device’s purpose. She tells you what she knows and it’s not much.
This world is haunted. Noise attracts them, so it is not allowed. Communication is through body language, soundless writing, and the device. She tells you that your feet must be light and your mouth never used. There is a community outside these doors, where you can survive together, but only if you agree to one thing: complete and total silence. You'll have time to talk it over. You may ask one question and receive one answer. There are others like you in the room, those who'd come earlier. They're there to help.
Acceptance allows you to journey outside. The ground is marked in pathways of sand, lining the paths to each building and everywhere in-between. You notice that the locals hold their devices always, aloft and glance to it often. It will not vibrate or make a sound to signal a message. Notices appear. Rules. Guidelines. Feet on the sand and never anywhere else. To open a door you brush your fingers along the hinges - oiled and you may enter. If not, take the brush from the can sitting nearby and coat the metal with the dark liquid.
Now, you're to settle into your new home – with or without the help of those who have come before you.
In Freakish Flight
Content Warnings: Threat to safety, death, weird creatures
Themes: Plot, survival
This is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye,
As I smoked my pipe in the camp-fire light, and the Glories swept the sky;
As the Northlights gleamed and curved and streamed, and the bottle of "hooch" was dry.
The new arrivals are here, like clockwork it seems. A strange occurrence that the natives haven't missed. They don't have answers but following support and encouragement from some of the older arrivals, they have been looking into it. If they notice anything odd, they post it to the bulletin board and they're working as hard as ever to help. Settling in is easier this time around, smoother, as everyone is more prepared than before. The first few days go well, one of the natives finds a patch of wild berries and makes fresh jam - serves it with breakfast until it runs out. There's a nice breeze that night, not too hot and not too cold. The stars twinkle and the moon is full, a pleasant atmosphere rolls through the community as everyone falls asleep.
Everyone wakes to the soft sounds of birds chirping. There's a light fog, windows misted over, and abruptly, it goes quiet. The only way to see outside is to open the door and those curious
OOC: Removing the threat, these creatures, is possible in a few ways. They have a weakness for water, which slows them down and shuts them up. They can be killed, the same as any normal animal might. Or they can be captured, something tied around their bills to silence them. Unfortunately, only a few will survive being caught alive ( we randomized out of the twelve houses - 5, 1, 2, 12, and Private Housing (Sora) and the Permanent Apartments ) and can be kept for study. The players in each house can decide what they want to do with them or use the comment below if they want to hand it over. As a side note, the dead ones can be kept too.
Alone or Together
Content Warnings: Poisoning
Themes: Plot
Up until now everything around here has been, well, pleasant. Recently certain things have become unpleasant. Now, it seems to me that the first thing we have to do is to separate out the things that are pleasant from the things that are unpleasant.
The natives have been up front about those that came through the Reset Room before. Some left, some didn't survive, and a few now call themselves natives. The above message lights up everyone's devices ( username - lamar ) but all ways to respond are disabled. A follow up message comes from Constance, explaining that they don't know how the message has been sent due to the fact that Lamar has been dead for over a decade. That night at dinner, the set up in town hall, the natives are abuzz talking about the mysterious message. Food is passed out. Drinks are had.
Before the first person leaves the hall, a plume of red dust sprays out from an old vent near the floor boards and fills the room. Quickly, all color is leached from the world. Every person is now color blind, seeing everything in varying shades of black, white, and grey as they cough and choke, trying to clear the dust from their faces and mouths. Was this Lamar? Was this the person who rigged up the noise machine in Verdel Square? What did the message mean?
OOC: The effects will fade after twenty four hours. All arrivals, new and old, plus all natives will be effected. For each character, one person will still be in color. Players can decide who this is. A friend, lover, enemy, one of the natives.
OOC
From your mods:
Please be mindful of content - if something triggery comes up or if it goes up a rating to say, something sexy, mark your threads in the subject line. We're very flexible and allow any material; we just want our players to be respectful of each other. If you have questions, pp the mod account, use the faq or comment to the appropriate post below. Have fun!
4 leaps out back of moving van
She doesn't realize that it's Trish, not right away; the golden straw of her hair glows, even matted wetly to her head, and Jess is behind her, can't see her face, but feels instinctively who it is. Cue tumult of emotions: Elation, fear, relief, guilt, so on, back and so forth. Her heart's a goddamn ping pong ball. Her body lurches forward, mind lagging behind the physical imperative to see her sister's face. Jess trudges and then trots up. It's not far yet she arrives short of breath. ]
Trish? [ Jess reaches for her arm, willing herself too weakly not to shatter the illusion with such a childish tactile urge, to have her dirty fingertips leave dusty spots on the cotton. Fuck. She didn't want her to be real, and she did. Shit. It was like 70/30. ]
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It's a short list.
A familiar voice in her ear, just audible above the patter of rain, is like static electricity buzzing her fingertips. Not enough to surge life into this sodden, monochrome town, but she whips her head to chase the sound, anyway. The touch on her arm shocks the system more, prompting a practiced twist of her arm that only accomplishes half a rotation. Oh. The sight of Jess, bright against the landscape despite her intentionally dour dress, well, that's lightning: a full-body short-circuit that shuts down every alarm and escape protocol in her head. The rest is automatic. ]
Jess. [ Trish throws her arms over Jessica's shoulders, around her neck. Thank god. ]
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Her arms hang lamely at her sides until she wrenches them up and wraps them carefully around Trish. Her eyes close to shut out the colours and the light, flush everything out so that when she opens them, there's a chance she'll wake up in red dust. No dice. Jess squeezes her briefly before letting her hands fall from her back. ]
Are you okay? [ Aside from the obvious disorientation. Did she arrive here in a moment of peril? Death? Has she spoken to anyone exceptionally repugnant since then? Jess stares at her searchingly, unable to voice any of the useful questions churning below the riptide of her surface thoughts. Why is she here? Why is this happening? Why won't this place be satisfied with what it's taken from her already? ]
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But Jessica is here, and her presence suffuses Trish with relief. She hasn't been here long, after all, so the wear and tear on her pristine appearance is minimal. ]
Yeah, [ A slight smile. ] Of course I am. [ Then, quickly. ] Are you? [ A crease forms between her brows. ] I saw your name on the information sheet, but I didn't know if you were still here or how to find you.
[ It's a gentle prod to ensure she doesn't receive an answer as simple as her own in reply. ]
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Still here. [ Trish is expecting more but Jess can't figure out how to condense it and drops her gaze to the floor. ] I've got my own place. Unlisted.
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[ Unlisted has her quirking a brow. Well, now that's something. She tips her head. ] Should we go there? Get out of the rain.
[ Then Trish will know where to find her from now on, too. ]
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[ She can tense every muscle in her body but she can't toughen up her imploring stare, or spare either of them Jess's shame, vivid in the gleam to her eyes. ] He's alive. [ She shuts her eyes briefly, her "I'm dealing with it" defense against Trish's concerned prying. Often justified, always annoying. ] I need to know if he knows you're here. If you can't tell me then... Something you would never say. I need to know. [ Jess already cribbed this strategy to decent effect last month, but credit where it's due now. The Trish Test is the current industry standard. the industry is misery. Jess has it monopolized. ]
no subject
She doesn't have to think of what she would never say because it's already spilling out of her mouth. ]
Kilgrave says hi. [ And her eyes shutter closed, mouth thinning in frustration. She can't even stop herself from talking, let alone protect anyone else. It takes her a few seconds to recover and pry her eyes back open. Her lashes are wet from the rain, which suits her just fine at this precarious moment. ] I saw him earlier, at the town hall. [ Of course there's a hitch in her breath then, betraying her as much as her mouth had. ] But I'm fine.
[ Are they ever fine? ]
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You'll be fine in 23 hours. [ Jess licks the rain from her lips to try and soothe her throat, suddenly dry. ] I can't leave you alone til then. [ There are any number of things he could have told Trish to do and not tell her about, far too many for Jess to guess at in order to confirm or deny them one at a time. Easier to keep an eye on her until the timer runs out. ]
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And underneath all the love and appreciation that she feels for sister, her own inadequacy stings. She looks away, mouth thinning into a tight line. ]
Yeah, okay. [ With a nod, she returns her attention to Jess. ] You're right. [ He could have asked anything of her, but she worries over becoming like Malcolm most of all. Not concern over a coerced return to addiction, no, but fear of inadvertently spying on Jess. She retrieves her phone from her pocket and holds it out. ]
[ Softly — ] Here, just in case I feel talkative.
[ Well, just in case she's under orders to broadcast tearing off her own limbs — or tasked with supplying simple updates on Jessica. Trish won't be a part of that. ]
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They don't come out in the rain. [ She isn't trying to comfort her but to her ears it sounds that way. ] Too loud. [ She nudges Trish into a walk with her elbow. ]