INTRO LOG #3

[bequiet]

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 brave enough will find, covered in red dust, a handful of individually unique creatures scattered around the fountain at the center of the community. There's about fourteen of them - each one focused on the door of the main residences and two have scurried off towards the others, quiet now but watching. After the first door opens, they move, stopping only when they're right in front of each of the houses and then the sounds start again. Louder.

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!

NAVIGATION

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Comments

[vocable]

[ she cards her free hand through her already messy hair (just one more thing she can't control out here, huh). ]

Yeah.

[ naturally, that's when it clicks, like a camera coming into focus. she knows his face from the news: new york daily, nbc new york and even her own station WNEX have covered his story, stringing his name through tangential debates on guns and vigilantism in the time following when the people v. frank castle was seared into public memory. her hand fans over her mouth, as if that will stop any soundbites from going off. her years in media stop her from doing anything more theatrical, even if this is on par with daredevil saving jessica in the field of shocking vigilante encounters. ]

No way. [ it's breathed more than said. ] I do know you.

[oorah]

[ he frowns, unconsciously taking a step back. no, is this...? this is what he expected on day one. and here he is on day 58 instead face-to-face with someone who knows his secret. he takes in a shallow breath and max stands up beside him, sensing the sudden tension in frank's frame. her voice is what does it. her voice coming over a crackling frequency or left on carelessly while he drove. her face clicks then too - from billboards and city buses. goddamn. his eyes are wide and fearful when they meet hers again, trying to fight every urge in his body that tells him to flee. ]

No, you don't. [ it's soft, his already gravelly voice raspy from unuse. he puts out a hand like he's telling her to stop. he's not the punisher, not here. he's fucking... mayor hotdog, and the surrogate dad to a bunch of kids, and a dog. he shakes his head, no. this isn't happening. ] You don't, okay? Things are different here.

[vocable]

[ she steps back once. twice, when he extends his hand. nothing about him is threatening in this moment, except for his reputation, but that factor undercuts every word and movement. there was a period where his confession played on a recursive loop. she can recall snatches of headlines and featured quotes. all of it feeds into her own insecurities and experiences of violence.

the irony of patsy judging someone by their mediated reputation isn't lost on her — in fact, that acute awareness is what stops her from bolting. the daily practice of curating her words keeps her from a clipped, "Explain how they're different," too. maybe she's kinder (or, perhaps, shrewder) than that demand would suggest. ]

Okay. [ her voice matches his softness, but there's a steadiness there, too. she knows how to twist the dial in her head to a low setting, adjusting to the unstable variables that barrel into her life, like hope and simpson. like the punisher, presumably, too. ] What do you mean by different?

[ she hopes that encompasses all the questions rattling in her head, while presenting a clear opportunity for him to be heard. ]

[oorah]

[ he drops his hand and takes a breath. she's giving him a chance at least. it's more than he probably deserves. ]

Trish? [ is that okay to call her? he doesn't know. it's weird to be two public figures on the same world in a place like this. he swallows and tries to gather his thoughts, feeling like he owes her an explanation even if he doesn't really. his dropped hand finds max's head, stroking absently to try and calm his nerves; and the dog sits obediently at his side again to receive more pets. ] Look. I, uh. [ he has to take another breath. he's thought about this moment so often, but actually having it upon him takes all the wind out of his sails instantly. ]

Listen, Trish, all my enemies are dead. [ except billy. and death isn't exactly permanent around here, so. kilgrave is still walking free, which kills him. it actually physically taxes his soul. but she doesn't need to hear that, she just needs the facts, right? he tries to pretend he's talking to karen. except that just makes it more complicated a moment in- ] I don't mean anyone here any harm. You don't have to believe me, but it's the truth.

[vocable]

[ her thoughts scatter, filling in his pauses with assumptions, guesses, and questions. are all his enemies dead because he killed them? a thin voice asks if that's not unlike jessica and kilgrave. oh, it's different. kilgrave had to die. for hope, for trish, for the people at the docks and beyond. "you don't have to believe me" is nonthreatening, at least, when she doesn't know what to think of him.

there's a sharpness to her gaze, searching for something in his face. in the end, trish doesn't know him. she has never met frank castle or the punisher until now. she only grasps a figure of stitched-together news clippings — tinted by the faint awareness that karen was on his defense team with the lawyers from the midland circle incident. even now, adding in his assurances, the pieces don't add up to a whole person. ]

Okay. [ uh, not okay, exactly, but it feels like the thing she ought to say. hell, she should play it on repeat until they part ways. ] I hear you. [ belief is muddier. she takes a measured breath. her need to be alone has only intensified since meeting someone else from the city. ] But I think I should go.

[ it looks as though she may say more, except she doesn't know how to address him. she's trish, alright, but is he frank? the moment is too tense to throw in a "hotdog" in acknowledgment of his introduction. ]

[oorah]

[ the relief at being heard is palpable, whatever she decides to do with the information is hers. she says she wants to go, but she isn't going. frank crouches down so he's just about the same height as the dog. it's about as nonthreatening as it gets, something he's used to doing for new arrivals even when they don't know his record. he nods, slowly, wanting to tell her not to; but maybe it's for the best. ]

Okay, but if you need anything I can help you. I know a lot of people here. [ frank's eyes light on hers steadily for a change. he has resources and connections here he never would have dreamed of having back home. even if the place overall sucks, he has the power to make it suck less for people who come here and that's enough for him on arrival days. he nods in acknowledgment that if she needs help, she probably won't be asking him. ] It was good to meet you, Trish.

[vocable]

[ that's the thing about trish: she's always stuck in the liminal space between fight and flight. frank crouches down, and there's no suggestion that he'll follow her. he doesn't even ask her to stay quiet. no threats. not even a hint of the instability that characterized his portrayal in the media.

it leaves her hovering where she stands, unable to look away throughout his offer. trish would like to think of herself as perceptive. in this moment, it's hard to see his words as anything but genuine. all she can do is nod, recognizing and processing his statements. the wariness etched into her features remains, but the hard lines soften just a touch. she glances at her feet, steeling herself to do or say the right thing. ]

[ looking to him. ] Thank you, Frank. [ it's muted, though not entirely without warmth. ]

[ and she finally makes good on her wish to leave. jesus, what a way to start the day. ]

[oorah]

[ he stays down, watching her go with a tiny nod in acknowledgment. he pets max and doesn't say another word. anyone out there will tell her how to get in touch with him if she ever wants to, but he's not about to chase her down and spook her any more than she is already. though he'll be watching the network in case she decides to take her revelation to the people. that's what she does, isn't it? he wouldn't even blame her. even if there are a few people he'd rather not know... jessica springs to mind.

only once she's out of the room will he stand and go back to his post at constance's side. trish talk is here, who's next? ]