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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.
B
Despite her own simmering paranoia, Kalmiya gives a winning smile and a conversation-greasing laugh.] You know, I did catch a program I was just enthralled by not too long ago!
[Then she tilts her head in knowing curiosity. This is obviously about the television broadcast, but she wonders if it pertains to something more specific within that.] But I'm not sure what you consider interesting.
no subject
Well, you know TV, [does she? Doesn't really matter,] it's mostly all the same stuff. But it was somethin' new this time, so I figured, hey, that kinda thing's good water cooler talk.
no subject
Her eyes go a little wide in excitement, showing nothing of her tech-related ignorance.] Oh! So you caught something interesting, too?
[Obviously he must have, or he wouldn't be bothering to ask about what's on TV. But she's delighted to have an excuse to return the question now that he's elaborated out loud, curious (and not entirely unworried) about what he might have seen.]
no subject
It doesn't seem like she's immediately made any connections to him. That's good, though not confirmation of anything. It's not like he'd be immediately recognizable in his memories, after all. Sans swings his arm lazily, gesturing to his house.]
Well, speaking of cooler, it's too hot to talk TV outside. Wanna head in? I've got snacks.
[Snacks and a lot of drinks and ice. Being human during this heat is enough to make him understand Papyrus's hatred of Hotland.]
no subject
Whatever it is, curious though she may be, it's none of her business. He's inviting her to speak more candidly about this whole situation, and while she's not eager to spill her own history, she would love to dispense with the pleasantries and subtext.
So she gives another one of those pleasant laughs, though this one is obviously more empty. An absolutely transparent attempt to assert that this is a friendly conversation, and she will not be entering his dwelling for any transgressive reason.] Yes, please! Might as well make use of the power now that it's back on. Do you have anything I could bring back to my husband?
[Friendly. Not untoward. Not transgressive.]
no subject
no subject
[With the performance of propriety adequately given, Kalmiya follows his lead as casually as possible into the house, trying to maintain a posture of friendliness, but nothing more than superficial interest.
This is clearly more for the benefit of the locals than for Sans, because as soon as she crosses the threshold and tucks herself around a wall to be out of line of sight of the open door or any windows, the sociable wife smile falls off her face to be replaced with an exaggerated (but silent) roll of the eyes. For the moment, she waits for him to secure the space and reinitiate the conversation.]
no subject
So, first off, d'you actually want snacks? [Nobody will ever accuse Sans of being a good host, but they will at least also not accuse him of letting anyone starve.]
no subject
She sits with an arm stretched over the back of the couch and her head tilted back, legs pointedly not crossed in the most ladylike fashion. Her tone becomes more candid, again couched in a certain genuine lightness of demeanor but transparently frustrated despite her easygoing nature.] Gods, yes. The way they look at women here when we've got a little too much on our plates drives me crazy.
no subject
Sans meanders to the kitchen and returns with sodas and junk food. And...]
My bro, he likes cooking. Tries out the local recipes sometimes, yeah?
[A geletin thing. He wiggles it delightedly. There is indeed a piece missing from it that suggests it might have been tasted in the past. Sans just likes showing it to people, honestly.]
no subject
[Thrilled by novelty as always, even when the novelty is actually a little unpleasant.
She noticeably cranes her neck to get a better look as she voices this opinion, searching the plate the gelatin is on for cutting and serving implements—apparently wondering if he is actually intending to share it.] Your brother made that? It does look just like the ones the neighbors make. He did a good job.
no subject
[Sans puts the wiggly thing down on the table. He does have plates and utensils! The plates are paper and the utensils are plastic. There are no other adults here to make Sans behave reasonably, and Sans chooses to minimize dishes even if that means maximizing trash.] If you make the fruit jello part without the stuff in it, it's actually pretty good for dessert. Dunno why they keep sticking vegetables and mayo in it here.
[Sans says that, but he seems entertained regardless.]
no subject
While Sans is still quite on guard, Kalmiya seems almost entirely distracted from the point of coming in here. Her full attention is on the matter of these gross gelatinous meals. Uncaring of the fact that the host generally serves the food, she reaches out for one of the plastic utensils—a fork—and holds it up in front of her, flicking one of the prongs lightly with her thumbnail in fascination. Plastic is another substance she's not terribly accustomed to; the sound it makes and the way the prong vibrates and bounces back serves as an additional layer of distraction while she speaks.] Well, I'd be very happy to taste test his creations! Vegetable-inclusive or otherwise.
[He seems quite happy to talk about his brother. She makes a mental note of that as she stops fiddling with the fork and moves to cut herself a piece of the jello.] I'll have to give you my address to pass along so you know which of the billion similar houses is mine. I'd hate for it to be mistakenly delivered to one of the locals.
[Though it's not like it's that hard to find the weirdos of Sweetwater generally, even without someone's address. Kalmiya in particular is not a quiet presence even when she's playing at conformity.]
no subject
[Even if most of them tend to come and go at seemingly random. Of course, maybe Kalmiya's figured that out already, but sharing some info is a good way to make friends, in Sans's estimation.]