silentspringlogs | The Evening “Book Club”

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fargo: numbers

The Evening “Book Club”

Who: Numbers and Arthur and literally anyone else
When: April 10th, evening
Where: The Numbers Household
Open/Closed: Open
Applicable Warnings: Will add if necessary!

Following their investigation and the consequences that unfolded regarding that, and after they had recovered, Numbers recruited Wrench and Arthur to spread the word about a “book club” occurring on Wednesday evening. He would not chance the strange, anachronistic messaging devices—it was a bad idea to leave a paper trail of any kind. He was already well familiar with the kinds of things that could be dug up from someone’s email and text messages, and as far as he was aware, this place likely had someone monitoring the phone and those messages, as well. Anyone that they had identified as someone who was “safe” was encouraged to also reach out to those they knew that came from outside of town.

Numbers feels a little bit out of his depth preparing for the meeting. It’s not as if he’s hosted many social events in his lifetime, much less a book club, even if the book club in question is a veneer for conspiracy and discussion. He manages to grab a few snacks from the store and books from the library to at least pretend that some sort of scholarly forum is taking place in his house, draws the blinds, turns on the TV and record player to allow the noise to overlap with any incriminating discussion that might be taking place.

Of course, with more people arriving in the town and Numbers not knowing all of them, Numbers picked a password for people to share. Guests arriving need to sign LOCK around their throat for Numbers to actually let them in. Yes, even those that he recognizes.

Once inside, all pretense about the book club is dropped. It’s time to get chatting about the insanity unfolding in Sweetwater.

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Arthur is looking a bit worse for wear at the moment. Not just because he's still visibly injured; there's ligature marks visible around his wrists, not quite hidden by his sleeves, and his normal stiff formality (the lowkey anxiety of never quite knowing what's happening in a room that's become the background tension of his existence here) has dropped off, as he slumps in the chair he's pulled against the wall.

He also just... looks rumpled, in a way he's never done before. Like he hasn't actually ironed his clothes in a while, his tie properly knotted but uneven, and - in rare form for Arthur - his jacket and pants don't match. They look fine together, but they're not the same colour.

When he's got the impression that everyone's supposed to be here, he stands up, tugging his vest and jacket a bit straighter.

"Alright, everyone." His voice is clear, quiet but carrying over the chatter. "We've made some discoveries regarding the barrier around town - namely, first of all, the fact that there is one."

Chell hates using the text-to-speech on the weird little IBM messenger -- the tinny voice sounds too much like a turret to her to be comfortable. Whatever her voice would sound like, if she had one, she's sure it wouldn't be that.

But we do what we must. Numbers is about the only person around who could reliably interpret, and he's got other things to do. She, meanwhile, has questions.

"WALL?"

He recognises the tinny text to speech, and while he hates it himself he actually only knows one person who uses it besides him, so he gives a small smile, awkward but genuine, in the voice's direction to acknowledge her.

"More or less. I checked it out with Bucky. He assured me it's invisible, but it has a very real, physical presence - we couldn't go through it, even with a vehicle." He gives a short huff. "Even with a local present, despite the fact that we - Numbers, Wrench and I, I mean - were witness to that same local driving through the barrier completely unimpeded."

Wait, okay, there's a lot to unpack there. Are you running off with her husband, Arthur? After you and her ran off together at the party? Do blatant social missteps mean nothing anymore?

Anyway.

"ONE. LOCAL? TWO. FORCE FIELD? NEEDS GENERATOR."

"Local, as in people who live here who aren't us," he says dryly. "Or perhaps they were an outsider that was allowed in. Regardless, there wasn't any way for us to get through the barrier after them, or even in the same vehicle as them."

He rests his hands on the handle of his cane, unaware of how the shift bares his bruised wrists. "Bucky and I weren't able to find one in the immediate area we travelled, though if the, uh. Force field, is it? If it goes all the way around, perhaps there's a generator for it, o-or some other exit further away from the main roads."

She huffs slightly, annoyed. There's a delay; her response is longer, and takes more time to type.

"I MEAN WHICH LOCAL. MAYBE ITS IMPORTANT. MAYBE SOME LOCALS ARE ALSO TRAPPED AND OTHERS ARE ALLOWED THROUGH. HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE SAME VEHICLE THING?"

"A delivery driver," he answers readily. He's too tired to fuck with lying about it. "We tried following his vehicle out of the barrier, which didn't work, so we..." He takes a breath, and sighs crisply. "So we took over his vehicle and forced him to try and drive out again, with us in the truck."

okay her expression is lost on him but oh my god, are other people hearing this? Can they get off her dick for wanting to do things like break curfew?

"IS THAT WHY YOU LOOK LIKE SHEET?"

Evidently the voice doesn't quite know what to do with the word "shit."

"BECAUSE YOU CARJACKED SOMEONE."

He grimaces, pulling his hands into his lap so he can adjust his cuffs self-consciously.

"More or less, yes. The plan was my idea." He's not going to throw Numbers and Wrench under the bus for that. "However, it rather turns out that the punishment for that is a bit more intense than anything we've encountered to date."

Chell blows out a breath, an audible sound of thinking. Okay. Well. Yikes. This is not great.

It is weird, though, isn't it?

"KIDNAPPING IS A REAL CRIME. WHY NOT PUT YOU IN JAIL?"

She's glad he's not, but why would they let him just ... wander around?

"Breaking and entering is also a real crime, and that only got me re-educated after a few hours in jail," he comments flatly. There's no expression in his flat brown eyes, but the brow above them is furrowed tightly, his mouth a thin line as he swallows quietly. "I'm sure they don't need to use jail time, however, when they can just..."

His expression falters for a moment, looking- tired, lost. Almost scared. Then he breathes deeply, and back under it goes, keeping him stern and steady.

"We were tortured. For... I-I can only assume multiple days." Everything ran into a blur, and it's not like he can efficiently tell time anyway.

... Ah. Chell watches the expressions chase across his face, glances around the room at the others. Trying to figure out if this is a revelation to others. Trying to figure out what to say. Trying to figure out how she feels about it, besides slightly sick.

Eventually, she swallows and types.

"BY WHO?"

They're here to share information, right? If Arthur didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't have started it.

Chell appreciates the "VOICE-OFF" password, signing it with an ironic grin when Numbers opens the door. Of course, she doesn't expect other guests to be signing, though privately she thinks if people are worried about being overheard, they could do worse than learn a few silent methods of communication. It's hard to bug ASL, after all.

Once they're past the awkward mingling and milling of people arriving, she sits down near the living room fireplace, writes in her notebook, then rips the page out and puts it on the coffee table for others to read.

DID ANYONE ELSE HAVE A HALLUCINATION WHEN THE GUY SHOT HIMSELF? DID ANYONE ELSE HALLUCINATE WEARING A SUIT LIKE HIS BEFORE THAT? WHERE WOULD A PERSON WEAR A SUIT LIKE THAT? CAN WE GET THERE?

Edited 2024-04-29 19:32 (UTC)

Sans has been leaning up against various pieces of furniture and parts of the wall, meandering in the laziest way possible. He leans forward to read what Chell has put on the coffee table, though. He's seen her respond to people speaking, so he figures she's probably not deaf. That or the best lip reader ever.

"A suit like that? A lab, maybe the nuclear plant. They're so you don't get contaminated with--whatever." There's a lot of options in that whatever. Sure, radiation is the most obvious with a nuclear power plant nearby, but they don't know enough about this place to really be sure.

"...Hey, can you understand this?" Sans signs can you understand this?, slower than a native speaker, but smoothly enough he's clearly used it before, perhaps in a work environment or similar. It's not ASL--not any human version of sign language. He knows it didn't work once before, but one attempt isn't solid evidence of anything.

Chell nods at the first part, considering.

IT'S A LONG WALK FROM THE NUCLEAR PLANT TO HERE TO KILL YOURSELF

To the second bit, though, uh ... he gets a long, blank look.

No, she signs. What the hell was that?

Sans sighs and shrugs. Even without being able to tell what she's saying, Chell's blank look says enough on its own. "I can't understand what you're signing. Weird, right? That's what I know from back home, but it doesn't seem like it--translates. But I'm pretty sure we don't all speak the same language, either." He puts that emphasis on speak to indicate he's referring specifically to spoken language.

"As far as that guy goes, maybe there's something closer. Underground, maybe, given the earthquake situation."

Oh, that is weird, now that he mentions. Her expression lightens a little with curiosity. Why can they understand each other when they speak, and not when she and Wrench sign?

Typical. They figure out a way to make sure the people they think are important can be understood and let everyone else just figure out how to keep up.

WHY DO YOU KNOW SIGN?

Yeah yeah tunnels that's also a good point she'll get back to it in a second.

That question catches him off-guard, and the confusion shows on his face before he realizes that, no, it should have been obvious this entire time that signing isn't a common human skill. Chell is here writing on paper instead of using her hands, and Sans has seen Wrench do the same. They don't expect to be understood otherwise. If Sans was going to be honest, he could explain it as well, not everyone where I'm from is guaranteed to have a mouth or ears, but he's absolutely not going to do that.

Instead, a shrug and a lopsided grin. "Seemed useful. When I'm sellin' hot dogs back home, I can sell to everybody." Admittedly, nobody being able to escape Sans's jokes is another good reason to have learned it.

WHERE'S HOME?

An afterthought:

↑ + WHEN

Maybe he's from some far future where they have hot dogs and an unfamiliar sign language?

"Nowhere important. Some little town," Sans says. "It's got one store and one bar. Good bar, though. Real warm atmosphere."

That joke is just for Sans, and maybe Papyrus if he's listening. Surely worth an eyeroll from his brother. He doesn't want to talk about home; he tries not to even think about it except at very precise angles. So--

"You were askin' about hallucinating having those suits on, too, yeah? That happened for a little while. Hallucinated when that guy shot himself, too. Hallucinations seem like kind of a theme here."

Right! Back on track. Her eyes light up with sharp interest when he says he hallucinated during the suicide.

WHEN HE SHOT HIMSELF WHAT DID YOU SEE?

"First it was mostly just hearing some guy freaking out. Which ain't exactly unfitting for the--uh, occasion--but it wasn't anyone who was actually there, y'know?" Sans says. "Then I could see some other dead guy behind the wheel of a car, and whoever was talking before said 'you've fucking killed all of us.' Y'know, to make the vision extra ominous."

Sans is a pretty good mimic; he hits the rhythm and tone accurately, even if he can't quite match the voice perfectly. Considering he felt as if he was the one saying it at the time, it's easier than usual.

That! she signs emphatically, her eyes widening. Same!

HOW COULD WE SEE THE SAME THING? I COULD FEEL MYSELF TALKING

Which was t r i p p y.

HALLUCINATING SUITS -> COULD HAVE BEEN FUMES EG CO SHARED HALLUCINATION THO??

[Sans isn't entirely committed to these little get-togethers--he knows it's dangerous, that the pretense is paper thin if anyone really wants to go looking--but things still feel loose enough that he thinks they have some worth. They don't have a lot of other options right now, anyway, unless someone wants to go door to door.

(Which isn't something Sans is against, necessarily, except for how he feels that inevitable tug of suspicion toward everyone. Well. Nearly everyone. Not Papyrus.)]

Dr. Ravichandran prob'ly knows more than he's letting on. The guy looked downright exhausted around the beginning of March. And he made some call out to the operator, too, not that I caught it.

[But apparently he found out about it? Sans doesn't seem inclined to elaborate on how.]

Edited 2024-05-29 00:21 (UTC)

Didn't he... move here, recently?

[He remembers some kind of announcement about the start of those classes being offered, some big to-do about the science-doctor's presence, anyway.]

Not the same way we did. But maybe not not the same way, either.

[Unwillingly, that is.]

If somebody brought him here, they really rolled out the red carpet fitting him in. [Respected job and everything.] And his books've been in the library since before he got here.

[They're pretty good. Sans isn't going to voice that opinion out loud, though, lest someone think too much on Sans having opinions on the quality of complex physics texts.]

So he's really from here... Just not here here. A further away here.

[Probably. But Papyrus can't totally count himself convinced by the evidence of books, whether by the publish date or how long they've been in the library. Mysterious photographs he doesn't remember posing for exist too - why not books?]

Hmmm... Maybe there's multiple kidnapp town bubbles, and he's in... an exchange program.

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The Evening “Book Club”

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Chell | Threadjacking welcome

up to you if Chell can understand the sign language, of course!

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