Arthur Lester (
lestercraft) wrote in
silentspringlogs2024-01-29 09:49 am
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Part Two: The Dinner
Who: Arthur & Helly Lester and anyone who actually goes for the invite
When: Evening of Jan 29th
Where: The Lester Household
Open/Closed: Open! Come one and all from Haven Street.
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of January events, mass conspiracy (it's us, we're the conspirators)
It's even odds, he thinks, whether people thought he was off his rocker in making a post like that, or if people would believe he's actually trying to contact people the only reasonable way he knew how. It was certainly much faster than trying to contact people individually, especially in this weather, and hopefully between himself and Helly that they've met enough people to get a decent turn-out.
The more they can learn about this place, the more they can trust each other, the better. Right now, trust is all they have.
The lower floor of the house is well lit, even if all the windows are curtained and shut, and there's a record playing in the lounge, audible from outside - something jazzy and dated by the standards of the time, but a bit of Hoagy Carmichael and Billie Holiday is settling his nerves, if nothing else - and the kitchen is... sparse, clearly underused but for the stack of mugs by the sink, but with some effortthe blind leading the blind he and Helly have at least put together a salad for people. Theoretically they'll be bringing their own food too, make it at least ostensibly a potluck.
When: Evening of Jan 29th
Where: The Lester Household
Open/Closed: Open! Come one and all from Haven Street.
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of January events, mass conspiracy (it's us, we're the conspirators)
It's even odds, he thinks, whether people thought he was off his rocker in making a post like that, or if people would believe he's actually trying to contact people the only reasonable way he knew how. It was certainly much faster than trying to contact people individually, especially in this weather, and hopefully between himself and Helly that they've met enough people to get a decent turn-out.
The more they can learn about this place, the more they can trust each other, the better. Right now, trust is all they have.
The lower floor of the house is well lit, even if all the windows are curtained and shut, and there's a record playing in the lounge, audible from outside - something jazzy and dated by the standards of the time, but a bit of Hoagy Carmichael and Billie Holiday is settling his nerves, if nothing else - and the kitchen is... sparse, clearly underused but for the stack of mugs by the sink, but with some effort
Wrench (Smith) | Fargo TV | Husband
A dinner plan, he means. Because this is a nice, simple dinner. Not that Wrench has the first clue what to bring to such an event, but he hasn't arrived empty-handed. He'd had every good intention to bring a bottle of something strong, but a single trip to the grocery store had put that notion to rest. Why the hell is alcohol so expensive? He's arrived instead holding a pitcher of Tang and hoping maybe Teddy did better.
Once he's found a place for the powdered beverage somewhere around the salad Wrench might be found comparing the layout of the Lester home to his own or checking again and again to make sure their little soirée hasn't caught the attention of any neighbors who might take offense to not having been invited.
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He does take a moment to step into the kitchen, though, obliviously passing Wrench by on his way to the kettle.
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Footsteps shuffling more than he'd normally walk, Wrench squeezes Arthur's left shoulder and taps the back of his hand, just like they practiced. With the other man's hand atop his, he takes the chance, thinking a half-salute for hello will probably explain itself.
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Norton Folgate | Torchwood | Husband
Later, once everyone has arrived he'll flit around with a bright smile like the social butterfly he is. He introduces himself to anyone he hasn't met yet and says hello to people he has met. He'll act like this is a perfectly normal dinner party until he has a chance to get the lay of the land.
helly r. | severance | wife
So she makes herself known to just about everyone who arrives, offering drinks – she meticulously followed the instructions on how to make punch, and there's not a shred of alcohol in it in case anyone's concerned – and making small talk.
002.public service announcement.
The music's still on, and she doesn't talk too loudly, making sure that she's only just audible to the people gathered in the room. "Okay, so. Obviously we're here to do more than just – party, I guess. We wanted a way to get all of us together, everyone who's come here from someplace else, because we need a way of organising and sharing information without being overheard. I've been thinking about it, and we can't rely on the communication devices they gave us – at least not to say things out in the open – since it seems like they delete posts. Maybe if you're desperate, you can put something up there and hope that one of us sees it before they take it down, but we need another way to share information. And I'm open to ideas, but I think right now we need to make it a priority that we all keep an eye on each other and make sure none of us goes missing or – or ends up somewhere we shouldn't be. I think a lot of us had pretty shitty experiences with the doctor guy for just talking out of turn, so... I guess if you don't want to make this a habit because you're concerned about your own safety, then that's fine. But I think it's smart."
A pause, as she has a sip of her drink. Her mouth is very dry. The last time she talked in front of a lot of people, she was too riled up and angry to even really notice the amount of eyes staring at her. Not so right now.
"I think we should form some sort of club. Something we can advertise meetings for publicly, something any of us could host, and it's not like all of us has to come, because we can just pass things on to each other verbally. Behind closed doors, obviously. But – if anyone has any ideas on how this can work, and how we can make this happen without being caught out, we should discuss it tonight."
003.wildcard.
002
"The easiest and least suspicious is probably going to be this-" with a gesture at the gathered strangers. "Dinner parties. People ought to be watching less at night, especially if we keep the music raised to help drown out any listeners. I'll be taking notes on everything - I was a private investigator, before I was blind," he points out dryly. "We can't assume we're safe in public, but we need to be careful in private too, in case there's anything that can listen in on us here. We should rotate locations, no one location more than once a month, and if we absolutely need to take notes, keep them in separate places, difficult to find. The less we have to commit to paper, the less this place can pin on us."
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2
"A club would be a good idea, but how do we make sure that unwanted neighbors don't show up?" she asks. "Word seems to travel fast here, and I don't doubt that whoever's running this show might want to poke their nose into our business."
She purses her lips, thinking.
"It might be a good idea to have some sort of secret code or password to say when or where something is taking place. When I was serving in the army, we'd give our guards a password that was regularly updated to weed out any intruders." She pauses, then continues in a slightly grumpy tone. "Theoretically speaking, as long as you've got guards with integrity."
3
"You are brave," she says in an undertone, cutting her gaze to the younger woman, "but." She extracts a plate, dries it, and sets it carefully in the rack. "I worry."
numbers | fargo tv | threadjacking encouraged!
At some point during the discussion, Numbers becomes impatient and decides to interject. Loudly.]
I'd like to identify someone as a person of interest--the shithead to kidnapped me and injected me with God knows what.
[His voice comes out as a snarl, his teeth bared. For once, he doesn't bother with propriety or charm to dress up his words. From his perspective, Numbers has been slighted, punished for pushing for answers. Which means he'll only throw himself into the task with even more vigor.]
I don't know who he is or what his deal is, but I want that asshole dead.
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Norton isn't against murder per se, and finds the undercurrent of violence in the omme rather sexy if he's honest with himself, but he definitely doesn't know enough about this unknown kidnapper to be sold on the idea.
"Does this person of interest have a name? A description?"
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vasiliy: https://i.imgur.com/vw14UVe.png cw torture mentions
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the most pointless tag
also pointless tag
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Do you know why he kidnapped you? Did he say?
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Still.]
If they'll do that to you for being "subversive", what d'you think's gonna happen if you murder somebody? [Want him dead all you want, actually doing it might be a bad idea.]
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supremely late with the clue... sorry
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cw for mention of suicidal thoughts
Re: cw for mention of suicidal thoughts
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Agathe | OC | wife (ota forever)
II. She says very little all the while, perching herself on an empty chair and sitting like a tall, suspicious gargoyle, her periphery always on the nearest window. If she has thoughts on the "club"'s planning, she doesn't volunteer them, at least not to the group at large-- but by the consternation on her face, she definitely has a few.
III. Wildcard me babey
margaret houlihan | m*a*s*h | wife
ii. wildcard
i
[Nothing like a bit of common sense to keep things flowing.]
I'm Arthur Lester - I'm a private investigator in Arkham, Massachussets. [
And hey, maybe the town name is familiar to anyone that knows Lovecraftian lore.] From, er... 1934. I've been an investigator for- more than five years now, and- I've been blind for one month. I would like to stress that this makes me no less proficient at my job, so long as there's someone willing to set the scene for me, as it were. I've been highly active in my job with just my own skills and a partner to guide my hand even in this state.(no subject)
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cw: mild ableism??
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mild threadjack - he'll wait his turn in the convo
Re: mild threadjack - he'll wait his turn in the convo
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Sorry for the delay!
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Actually, he's not a half-bad cook, as far as he's concerned. Eating mostly from necessity teaches a man not to be too picky, but if fresh-caught fish or game offal had been on the menu, he'd have really shone. So maybe rubbery eggs or a single pitcher of mostly-unsweetened Tang isn't so bad after all.
They're going in a circle, and the blonde haired woman with the severe look about her seems to be the ringleader. Maybe Wrench ought to have listened to Numbers when he said he was ready to go. Maybe he ought to find him now and drag him back to handle this.
Sorry, Arthur. Evidently tonight you're both host and paper mill. Wrench is going to borrow whatever's closest to write both on and with and present it to Margaret with very little preamble, like she'll... what? Read it out? Keep it in her records?
Wrench. From Massachusetts, in 2016 last I checked. Mostly do odd jobs. Whatever people say they need.
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jfc, have you ever typoed an entire state?? took me to this reply to see it, and now i facepalm.
LMFAO IT HAPPENS i was like huh. i guess wrench is saying hes from massachusetts i guess
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i
Norton Folgate, London, England, 1954. I work for the British government. -ish.
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Uh. [ Very eloquent. ] I am — that is, my name is — Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov. I am from Saint Petersburg.
[ When we’re from, the army woman (a woman in the army!) had said, so with some trepidation, he adds, ] It was the year 1866 before I arrived here.
[ He decides not to share any of his skills. What would he say? I can speak some French? I killed two women? That would certainly not endear him to any of the people here! ]
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i
Maureen Robinson. [She's one of those narrow women who seems to take up more space than she should. Even now, looking faintly haggard around the edges (a little insomnia is probably understandable under these circumstances), there's a sense of readied momentum about her.
She hasn't touched the eggs. Maybe later.]
I'm an aerospace engineer with the 24th colonist group. It was 2046, and I wasn't [it's complicated] in this galaxy.
[Is there a prize for furthest distance traveled?]
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i
The name's Sans.
[Sorry if you wanted more.]
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He's been loitering around it like it's an art museum, and he's the first time artist just waiting for someone to walk by and comment on the piece, rather than like someone who meant for this food to be eaten. Along with taking notes on the party, since it's not in the same style as that uncannily smiling one, and it sounds like he might need to throw one himself soon.
In the meantime, introductions are... probably a good thing, but there's a lot of info Margaret's asking for. A lot of info that others are sharing, that would be... a little difficult for him to match.]
...And I'm Papyrus! From a little snowed-in town you won't have heard of.
[Heh. Except for his brother, anyway. Whose approach to this is probably for the best, except for how it could raise extra questions with its pointed silence, and they're both still working on their poker faces here.]
I was something of a sentry... and then, an elected community leader!
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this isn't exactly a threadjack this is just here
this is a delayed threadjack now >:3c
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wildcard! | closed/private
weddedassigned wife attended alone, and furthermore, because he likes Helly's company, a hell of a lot more than Margaret's. He's isolated here, and while he doesn't quite consider the woman he met on the pond a friend, she's at least friendly.But Vasiliy hadn't realized the incriminating nature of what he was walking into, and he watches with horror as Margaret wholeheartedly throws herself into all of it, saying any number of things that could get her jailed or worse in a
countrysociety like this with careless abandon. Did he not give her a talk about what they have to do to survive in a place like this?He thought that they were at least "on the same page" about keeping their heads down. He burns with frustration—and, more importantly, tension and worry as he approaches her once she's separated from the other partygoers for a moment, keeping his voice low. ]
We need to leave. Now.
[ If they're lucky, they won't be placed here. But simply having been present where the conversation about killing a man took place could still be enough. It would have been during his time. ]
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cw rape mention, discussion of torture
cw: rape mention, continued american exceptionalism....
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3000 years late rip. tw torture/execution discussion from here on out!
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Edward Nashton | The Batman | Husband
Cup of Tang in hand, he selects a spot on the wall and plants himself with his free hand in his pocket and eyes lowered to the ground. There's no shrinking in a crowd so small and that isn't wholly his goal, but he wants to be unobtrusive. Let others talk, mill about as they might. He's silent as groupwide introductions are made, pretending to busy himself with a topping off his drink or making a stop by the restroom while people have their separate conversations, eavesdropping as best he's able. It isn't actively suspicious so much as his default. He's polite in passing, quick with an excuse me or sorry.
When talk suddenly takes a sharp turn toward premeditating murder and other crimes, however, he decides both that the risk outweighs the reward and that he'll obtain little of use until the topic shifts. Again he excuses himself, this time to the porch. He's reluctantly acquiring the taste for cigarettes, which he deems an easy ticket to hitting pause. Coat abandoned, a sign he'll return, he immerses himself in the bitter cold and focuses idly on the positives. The moonlight glinting off of the snow, the way the slight discomfort helps him think. ]
Needed some air. [ He's quick to explain, should anyone join him then. If they seem amenable he'll offer his pack of cigarettes. ] Doesn't it seem warm in there to you?
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Not long after he absconds, Edward is joined by Agathe, who closes the door behind her so quietly that he might not even notice her presence if he isn't actively looking in that direction; when he speaks, however, it's clear any stealth was unintentional.]
Quite.
[She holds a cup of tea in her thin hands, perhaps more for warmth than for drinking.]
People speak so loudly here.
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