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silentspringlogs2024-08-10 12:40 pm
silentspringmods) wrote in silentspringlogs2024-08-10 12:40 pm
AUGUST EVENT.
Event №4 : Aug 2024
Part I; Chapter 8. Silence means security
Part I; Chapter 8. Silence means security
I. Cruel, cruel summer
August 1st - 5th.
CWs: no warnings apply.
August in Maryland brings with it an insufferable heat in the high 80s that the locals will be quick to remind characters has always been typical for this part of the state. The mosquito man continues to make his rounds to combat the sudden explosion in insect life, and air conditioning units go out here and there, but repairmen are usually easy enough to come by. (Just don’t expect immediate service–a lot of folks have finally decided now’s the time to get A/C installed, you know.) There is no controlled burn on the first of the month, and the weather is perfectly, ruthlessly sunny.
Despite that, early in the afternoon on the second, with seemingly no provocation… the lights go out. Air conditioning units suddenly stop blowing. Ceiling fans slow down until the blades come to a complete halt.
All around town, the power is completely out. There are no fallen branches, no downed power lines. Nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary. As the sun lowers in the sky and generators run out of power, the owners of the supermarket next to the town park wheel out carts with soon-to-begin-melting popsicles as well as ice cream novelties and cartons and hand them out for free - and, mercifully, bags of ice, although that’s not too terribly long for this world, either.
The hospital and fire/police station run on generator after the first day, but nothing else in town does. The heat wave continues, brutal and unrelenting, for two more days.
August in Maryland brings with it an insufferable heat in the high 80s that the locals will be quick to remind characters has always been typical for this part of the state. The mosquito man continues to make his rounds to combat the sudden explosion in insect life, and air conditioning units go out here and there, but repairmen are usually easy enough to come by. (Just don’t expect immediate service–a lot of folks have finally decided now’s the time to get A/C installed, you know.) There is no controlled burn on the first of the month, and the weather is perfectly, ruthlessly sunny.
Despite that, early in the afternoon on the second, with seemingly no provocation… the lights go out. Air conditioning units suddenly stop blowing. Ceiling fans slow down until the blades come to a complete halt.
All around town, the power is completely out. There are no fallen branches, no downed power lines. Nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary. As the sun lowers in the sky and generators run out of power, the owners of the supermarket next to the town park wheel out carts with soon-to-begin-melting popsicles as well as ice cream novelties and cartons and hand them out for free - and, mercifully, bags of ice, although that’s not too terribly long for this world, either.
The hospital and fire/police station run on generator after the first day, but nothing else in town does. The heat wave continues, brutal and unrelenting, for two more days.
II. Living in a movie scene, puking American dreams
August 5th.
CWs: noncon memshare.
Power returns the morning of August the 5th. Televisions crackle to life with a loud buzz of static, and characters will find that the ‘off’ switch on the box simply doesn’t work. The screen stays on, lines of static rolling across the display, and then… a memory. But this time diverges from the last similar incidence of the phenomenon, in which a home video sent from an Indian suburb appeared on the screen. This is a memory that belongs to someone here, someone characters know. Maybe it belongs to another member of their household, or maybe it belongs to one of the non-townies across the street. And, if they ask around, they may just find that their own very personal memories have been screened on a household television set a few houses down from their own.
Power returns the morning of August the 5th. Televisions crackle to life with a loud buzz of static, and characters will find that the ‘off’ switch on the box simply doesn’t work. The screen stays on, lines of static rolling across the display, and then… a memory. But this time diverges from the last similar incidence of the phenomenon, in which a home video sent from an Indian suburb appeared on the screen. This is a memory that belongs to someone here, someone characters know. Maybe it belongs to another member of their household, or maybe it belongs to one of the non-townies across the street. And, if they ask around, they may just find that their own very personal memories have been screened on a household television set a few houses down from their own.
III. Could never tell you what happened the day I turned seventeen
Throughout August.
CWs: abuse of power by police, police raids, nonconsensual drugging, interrogation, gaslighting, auditory hallucinations, injections.
Remember the air conditioning outages? Characters who invited the repairman into their house last month or invite him into their house for repairs this month may be greeted by a knock on the front door and a police cruiser parked along their front yard from the 19th to 21st. Over those three days, the police invite themselves into the homes of said player characters, barging in under the guise of a ‘routine safety check’ based on some ‘concerns the neighbors raised’, assuring them that there’s no cause for alarm.
It is a house search.
The members of the household–and any characters who might be visiting at the time the police arrive–are shepherded to the dining room and kept there by one officer as two more methodically go through their drawers, bookshelves, and desks, keeping anything they find that might be considered ‘subversive’ or counter to the general values of the Sweetwater townies with them. Some characters, but not all, may experience brief flashes that feel a bit like fragments of one of the more developed memories that have seeped into their consciousnesses in the past: staring at papers strewn all over the floor and a half-packed suitcase full of unfolded clothes atop them, although the sight is too blurred by tears to make out what the papers say or even what language they’re written in. The feeling of their legs folding underneath them and sinking to the ground, even though they’re seated in a dining room chair. No, a young woman, or maybe a teenager, screams through her tears from another part of the house. No, no, no! Let go of her! No!
None of the police seem to hear anything in the home, although their housemates or PC guests may have the same auditory hallucination. It is possible–not likely, but possible–for especially perceptive characters to notice that the girl’s voice sounds not unlike Marjorie’s. Not identical. Younger, maybe, or a relative. But similar.
If characters are insistent about going to the source of the voice after police tell them that they don’t hear anything, they’ll be stopped by any means necessary, be it physical force or even handcuffing; if they’re particularly emphatic about the existence of the voice, they may find themselves in Norman’s basement the next time they wake up.
When the search concludes, the findings are brought into the dining room and held up for them to see; characters are asked to explain.
Players may choose if the NPC police officers seem to accept their characters’ explanations, or if they escalate. If the police don’t buy the explanation, all members of the household are taken down to the station for ‘further questioning’, i.e., interrogation, and separated into different rooms when they get there.
Chief Clark himself is the one to conduct the ‘conversation’ about ‘what we’ve found here’, with Norman Pollock standing silently behind him and one of the character’s wrists handcuffed to the bar at the center of the interrogation table. If characters resist, they’ll be given injections of sodium pentathol, a depressant that makes further resistance and the mental processes necessary for evading questions very, very difficult. If they continue to attempt to subvert their interrogators, they’ll be given a second injection, at which point they will lose consciousness and wake up strapped into the chair in the basement where Norman conducts Sweetwater bog standard brainwashing/sleep deprivation torture.
- Note that some findings, such as overtly Communist literature, would always lead to arrest.
- Characters who cooperate with the interrogations under the influence of sodium pentathol are returned home when the police are done with them, and aren’t further bothered.
Remember the air conditioning outages? Characters who invited the repairman into their house last month or invite him into their house for repairs this month may be greeted by a knock on the front door and a police cruiser parked along their front yard from the 19th to 21st. Over those three days, the police invite themselves into the homes of said player characters, barging in under the guise of a ‘routine safety check’ based on some ‘concerns the neighbors raised’, assuring them that there’s no cause for alarm.
It is a house search.
The members of the household–and any characters who might be visiting at the time the police arrive–are shepherded to the dining room and kept there by one officer as two more methodically go through their drawers, bookshelves, and desks, keeping anything they find that might be considered ‘subversive’ or counter to the general values of the Sweetwater townies with them. Some characters, but not all, may experience brief flashes that feel a bit like fragments of one of the more developed memories that have seeped into their consciousnesses in the past: staring at papers strewn all over the floor and a half-packed suitcase full of unfolded clothes atop them, although the sight is too blurred by tears to make out what the papers say or even what language they’re written in. The feeling of their legs folding underneath them and sinking to the ground, even though they’re seated in a dining room chair. No, a young woman, or maybe a teenager, screams through her tears from another part of the house. No, no, no! Let go of her! No!
None of the police seem to hear anything in the home, although their housemates or PC guests may have the same auditory hallucination. It is possible–not likely, but possible–for especially perceptive characters to notice that the girl’s voice sounds not unlike Marjorie’s. Not identical. Younger, maybe, or a relative. But similar.
If characters are insistent about going to the source of the voice after police tell them that they don’t hear anything, they’ll be stopped by any means necessary, be it physical force or even handcuffing; if they’re particularly emphatic about the existence of the voice, they may find themselves in Norman’s basement the next time they wake up.
When the search concludes, the findings are brought into the dining room and held up for them to see; characters are asked to explain.
Players may choose if the NPC police officers seem to accept their characters’ explanations, or if they escalate. If the police don’t buy the explanation, all members of the household are taken down to the station for ‘further questioning’, i.e., interrogation, and separated into different rooms when they get there.
Chief Clark himself is the one to conduct the ‘conversation’ about ‘what we’ve found here’, with Norman Pollock standing silently behind him and one of the character’s wrists handcuffed to the bar at the center of the interrogation table. If characters resist, they’ll be given injections of sodium pentathol, a depressant that makes further resistance and the mental processes necessary for evading questions very, very difficult. If they continue to attempt to subvert their interrogators, they’ll be given a second injection, at which point they will lose consciousness and wake up strapped into the chair in the basement where Norman conducts Sweetwater bog standard brainwashing/sleep deprivation torture.
- Note that some findings, such as overtly Communist literature, would always lead to arrest.
- Characters who cooperate with the interrogations under the influence of sodium pentathol are returned home when the police are done with them, and aren’t further bothered.
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Rubber forehead aliens... [Papyrus echoes the notion as he finishes checking the door is firmly closed, then circling his way to perch on the other side of the couch. Not facing towards his TV, but not quite facing his brother. The better to try to match the semi-silly mood, for the moment.]
Not... No, alas, there was a complete and utter lack of that kind of costuming!
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[He gestures towards one of the end tables, to the printed magazine on top, TV Guide title a subtle hint that it lists the upcoming schedule for some chunk of time.]
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They could just keep doing this. It would be easy. But Papyrus knows something about Sans, and Sans doesn't know what it is exactly, and that knowledge is rattling around like he's got a rock stuck in his skull.]
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But it's also clearly enough on the table on Papyrus's side, easier for him to grab and pass over than expect Sans to get up to grab it.] Yes, sure, I'll get it. Here.
[More importantly, it's easier to talk about the morning's sci-fi after giving his brother something to look at besides his face. Not easy, exactly, but the sheer contrast of that scene with anything of his life is absurd.] Earlier... It wasn't like the fireworks, it was just a show on TV - but it wasn't a show. Just a sudden broadcast, after the static. And it looked... It looked like you. Really you, except... Did you see that?
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Well, I didn't see me. [As if that's the only issue here. As if he isn't trying to figure out what part of Sans Papyrus saw just based on tone of voice alone.] It was someone else. But not from here, y'know? Like us. [Well, not so like them that they were an entirely different species, but still.]
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So he grimaces through Sans's response, concluding:] One of the others.
[All the kidnapping victims, through all their inexplicable appearances and disappearances, with home photos and belongings shifting with astonishing speed and quiet through the night - and always nights he's more tired than usual. But, 'not from here' raises a couple questions. He hesitates, and asks, trying to sound casual:] Back, wherever they're from?
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[Sans's mouth quirks a little at the idea of him doing something quite that proactive. Going outside to talk to people there is about as much as he wanted to do. Of course, in Papyrus's timeline, Sans does paperwork, so maybe Papyrus would expect him to go door-to-door. Who knows?]
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But... but maybe not too obvious, if that fight scene he watched did have anything real to it... He chooses to disregard that thought for the moment, in favor of explaining his better idea.] The polite and secretive thing, obviously, would be bringing over one of my gelatin crafts. As an icebreaker. Who would expect those to expect reminiscing over anywhere but here?
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[As if all of the jello molds don't weird people out. What Sans means is that people don't appreciate the hot dog ones enough for him to talk his way in the door with them as easily. Oh, sure, he can probably pull it off, but why go to the extra effort?
(The real way to solve this is for Papyrus to tell Sans what he saw. Sans is ignoring that.)]
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But, even so - that just gives a great cover story for the neighbors, for any loud grossed out sounds! [That there would be grossed out sounds seems a little more obvious to Papyrus than is necessarily warranted.]
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[Maybe so one of them will actually appreciate those barbecues, he leaves unsaid, available for Sans to quip. It's not a sincere jab, just the sort of brotherly bothering to cover his mixed feelings. The lingering relief that his brother is here, instead of being here as alone as he'd initially thought. His reluctance to challenge that relief by asking anything... difficult.]
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...Flattery and jokes aside... Brother? [It's a questioning tone - not of doubt in Sans being his brother, but of testing the waters - uncertainty whether they're actually going to do more than joke and give Papyrus well-deserved praise.]
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[Maybe it's too casual, though, considering the reason they came inside in the first place. Maybe it's obvious Sans is holding himself under tight control. But he always does that, right?]
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[Which, to some extent, is the same risk as if anybody saw Sans - the already sometimes fearful fellow-kidnapped humans might be alarmed by the knowledge that two of them were actually skeletons. And just look at what that kin of fear can do to people. Wars with bombing (or threats of bombing) neighborhoods, unsolicited movie nights for educational purposes, an increasingly dusty child actively hunting down every monster they could find...
Well, for all his stammering struggles to deal with the new threats here, he hadn't had much preparation before going to face the human, and he'd only stammered a little there. Asking his brother unpleasant questions is, surely, at least a little less frightening than that.]
So. We really should, confirm, whether what I saw was... some sci-fi extravaganza, or something even a little bit true. So we have a better idea what else to expect.
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(Because it's how he has been most days since the day the anomaly came, up until he found Papyrus alive in this strange place.)
He'd really like to be able to teleport again. Getting up and walking out would be so obvious. Anyway, he can't exactly outrun Papyrus. So he just sits there. Waits for whatever Papyrus will say.]
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It's enough for Papyrus to try take extra care with his own tone, for all he's not sure what to go with between calm, or reassuring, or direct.]
Right. So. It's been, a while, so maybe neither of us remembers... all the details, of that day, with the human. [No need to specify which one, even now.] I know you'd rather laze about anytime. Is there any reason... did you fight the human?
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Does that seem like the kinda thing I could do?
[Which isn't an answer. Which is a lie. Which is somewhere between the two.]
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[Papyrus trails off with a vague gesture to the blank screen, unveiling to jump directly to describing the morning's scene.]
That's why I said, a sci-fi extravaganza! Remarkable special effects. Remarkably... implausible, and yet.
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It could also be referring to blood. Sans's mind is never quiet, but it's very still. Papyrus is almost as good at talking around a situation as Sans is. Part of Sans, most of Sans, is fine taking advantage of that. But some part of him deep down is just waiting for Papyrus to say it outright. To accuse him. The killing blow, you know? But there's only one murderer in this room, and it's not Papyrus.]
When would I have fought the human, anyway? [Sans's understanding of Papyrus's timeline is vague, but if Papyrus is still alive, he knows he wouldn't have. He can rely on that.]
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...The when would've had to have been, very late in their... journey. [Journey, rather than mildly relenting murder spree, because that's less baggage (and dust) filled. Very late, and not just because of how motionless the skewered and stained body had looked, in the morning's odd broadcast.]
But, not late enough to make any sense. I... recognized the where. [That golden hallway, before the throne room, before where Asgore's discarded note indicated he'd been, before those emptied containers meant to house souls. The timing didn't fit, and yet...] It looked, a little different, the last I saw it. But it was close. And even I might be challenged, trying to recreate that hallway for a stage set. The attention to detail alone...
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