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quietplacelogs2018-02-12 02:11 pm
bequiet) wrote in quietplacelogs2018-02-12 02:11 pm
Entry tags:
INTRO LOG #2
INTRO LOG #2
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, a child hugging her leg, and 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.
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.
The Place Inside
Content Warnings: Disorientation, hallucinations, body horror
Themes: Plot, exploration
Have you been to hell. And more importantly, have you been back. We all know this pain but are too scared to recall. This horror controls us, pulls at our strings to ensure how our life plays out. So, let me rephrase my question: have you been to Ile Lacrox. And more importantly, can you come back.
In the community, if you hear something you're not supposed to hear, you learn to look the other way. If you see something you're not supposed to see, you pretend it never happened. If you feel disappointed, you learn to never ask for more. So, through good times and bad, famine and feast, the natives held fast to their rules until one common day a sly wind blew in from the south...
That same red dust twists through the streets, curling up in faint, little plumes of familiarity. The farther south you go, the thicker it becomes. Those willing to explore far enough will find it coming from an island in the middle of the river. Once there, doting every available surface is the evidence of Sound Eater births, and the closer you are to the island, the harder it is to avoid being coated in red. Even if it's not rubbed into the skin, it doesn't take long for the effects to take over. Every sound is amplified. Your breaths are deafening, the slightest step echoes. But no Sound Eater attacks. Your vision blurs, and it's as if your mouth is sealing itself shut. Those you traveled with seem to be similarly affected, and you know you have to be quiet. Anyone who brought supplies with them might discover that a drink of water subdues the symptoms.
OOC: Only characters who entirely submerge themselves in water will be free of the dust effects. Just remember that noise will attract Sound Eaters.
Liplocked
Content Warnings: Violent tendencies, mind alteration
Themes: Love, romance, obsession, sex
The natives are of French origin, and with that comes a love of romance. Residents will find treats and valentines at their doors. That same night, there will be a small, red-glowing fire built near the fountain. There will be jars pressed into the dirt and filled with a sweet, red liquid. Some natives can be seen drinking it and being very affectionate with one another. Anyone who drinks this is inspired to show endearment or lust to others, and it will wear off after sleeping.
There's also the noticeable addition of a new arrival. They came through the Reset Room just like everybody else. They understand the rules and follow them to a tee. They are the perfect example of what the natives want in their residents. They are charming and captivating. They say nothing, and they don't have to. When your eyes meet, you feel seduced. There's a nervous flutter in your stomach. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Pounding, constricting. They smile and then turn away.
As they're walking, you notice you're not the only one looking at them, and in their expression, you see your own mirrored. What started as sweet infatuation and longing dissolves into a jealousy unlike any you've ever known. All you understand now is that to win their affections you have to come out on top—so you're the only one they see. Your actions are not your own, but they're still yours.
OOC: There are two ways to break the "spell". Your character fights it out with someone else who is feeling the same way OR they're approached and physically touched by someone who isn't affected by the newcomer. A third of the community will be completely unaffected (everyone else is affected unless the player is uncomfortable with playing out the scenarios). The newcomer can be of any gender the player wishes. For those partaking in drinking, the players can choose what effects it has; it can inspire feelings of lust or boost paternal/maternal instincts or devotion towards friends.
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!
no subject
This place isn't anything like that, he's pretty sure the words 'Tagged' or 'Twilight' don't mean shit to the people here. The residents had confiscated his dog tags and no remark was made, no vitriol spewed. To them, he was just like everyone else - assumed human, until proven otherwise. Still, it's instinctive to keep a watch when someone stares too long, to prepare himself for the worst.
It takes him longer than he'd care to admit to notice - about a minute - as he tries to absorb himself in the task of repairing the shitty place he's taken up as residence without making any sound. Tougher than he'd care to admit, considering he can't hear a thing, but he makes a point of keeping one hand on any materials he touches to feel for vibrations and go slowly. Still, when he turns, rubbing sweat from his eyes with the back of a hand, it's hard not to notice the stare of someone who isn't completely there focused on him. It's harder not to instinctively reach for his tags, where they should be around his neck, to flash them from across the way.
He takes the time to make a quick assessment - weird dye job, a towel on his lap, lanky, one armed with a look he's seen a thousand times - before crossing the street, no rush, no real need to.
By the time he's made his way over, the guy has snapped out of it and is pretending not to see him (also familiar, and it chafes his nerves just as much). Still, Nic just can't help but reach out his left hand, making a gesture like he's about to snap his fingers an inch away from this guy's ear - until he thinks better of it, and instead waves a large hand just in front of his nose.
The fuck you lookin' at, dude? ]
no subject
Trying to evade the inevitable, he's staring stubbornly at the peeling paint on the house above his head like it's the most interesting thing in the world. He's fighting the mad impulse to wriggle under the death glare or even take off running, which he was sure in this quiet world would sound nothing short of a stampede.
But finally he has to admit defeat as suddenly there is a large hand in his personal space. He is honestly shocked that his collar hasn't been grabbed or slammed against the wall, but he'll take it. His knee jerks a little in surprise and all but one of the pastries on his lap roll off on to the ground. He catches the last one in the napkin with his only hand. He could cry a little. All that doughy goodness gone in one cruel act of fate. He looks up at the guy, reflexively plastering on a stupid smile that he has crafted just for deescalating situations like this. Not that that has ever worked once in his life.
He waves back, pastry still in his hand, so it's more of a fist than a flat palm. He looks at the pastry, then at the stranger. Then at the pastry. He extends his hand and holds it out.
Who doesn't like a peace offering? He's got a very eager and accommodating expression on his face as he's craning his neck up. They can be friends. Nobody wants bad blood, right? ]