(july intro log) WELCOME TO THE CONTAINMENT ZONE! (for real this time.)

[vestigemods]

JULY INTRO LOG

► PROMPT 1 ► WAKING UP

Whenever you're from or wherever you were, you awaken now with the mildest of headaches in-... oh, this is new. For some people, you wake in a cabin - in a bed, on the floor, amidst boxes in the basement - and for others, you wake up somewhere else entirely. Off in the woods. Between aisles in a run-down gas station. Lying on a branch ten feet up a local tree. Perhaps even on a leaky boat out on the middle of a lake. It's mid-morning, and across the nine square miles of containment zone, a little under two-dozen people are waking up just as you are. I'm sure you'll run into some of them soon enough.

This might be your first time waking up where you don't expect to be. If it is, consider yourself lucky to have missed what came before. For those have been through a Loop or three (or five or twelve), you'll find that waking this time feels different. It's as though you've woken from a dream - and that's what those memories feel like, trapped in the semi-tangible realm between dream and reality, though if pressed you can probably discern that they were undeniably real. (Or perhaps you can't - or perhaps some of the memories are missing altogether. This is hardly a precise science.)

Somewhere in your vicinity (in your hand, in your pocket, on your chest) is a smartphone, if you're able to recognize it as such. The models tend to vary, but they all share the capacity to connect to what seems to be an overarching network, able to connect to others with similar devices via text, voice calls, or even video messages.

But the phone is likely the least of your concerns, at least for now. More pressing is where exactly it is that you've awoken and whether or not you've woken up alone.

PROMPT 2 ► THE CABINS + LAKE

As many as a dozen cabins sit in the general vicinity of the lake, some along the shore and some a bit farther back in the woods. Perhaps you awoke in one, or perhaps you're stumbling into one after dragging yourself out of the lake or through a couple of miles of woods. Either way, you're in perhaps the best place you might have ended up. The cabin's amenities are sketchy but functional, and the kitchen is stocked with food...

And let's not forget about the pamphlets.

On at least a couple of nearby tables or countertops sit a handful of them, fanned for display. They're vividly colored, depicting what you might recognize as the landscape outside, and the title reads: THE CONTAINMENT ZONE AND YOU! Within these pamphlets, a conversationally cavalier voice explains a bit about the Containment Zone, which (as it turns out) you're stuck in right at this very moment.


"THE CONTAINMENT ZONE AND YOU", summarized


• Where am I?
  Earth. Well - an Earth. Definitely not your Earth. if that creates more questions than it answers, glance to your left and right and ask any follow-up questions to whomsoever seems least confused.


• Why am I here?
  To feed the elder gods with your death and/or suffering in order to prevent any more of an apocalypse than we already had.


• Can I leave?
  Voluntarily? No. Involuntarily? Probably not.


• What do you mean, 'death'??
  Oh, calm down. You'll come back.


• I have very important shit to be doing/people to be saving/weed to be smoking back home!
  Lucky for you: If you go back, we'll put you back right where and when you left off. You won't miss a thing.


• Isn't that how you break time!? I'm pretty sure that's how you break time.
  Only if you remember this place and/or what you've learned here when you get back. Which you won't.


• Supplies?
  Cabins and gas station.


• Cabins?
  Yours. Pick one.


• Lake?
  Safe. (For now.)


• Moon?
  Haunted.


• Who even are you?
  Call us the Technicians. Individual identities don't matter. We may give you sweets and toys but we're not your friends.


• Do you at least negotiate?
  We'll consider it. Depends on what you're asking for. And, of course, on what you have to offer.


• Wait! I'm (insert emotions) and have more questions!
  How unfortunate. Expect your next pamphlet in 4-6 weeks.




Well, that certainly is... something. Lots to discuss, lots to consider. If you're the get-right-to-business sort, that could easily occupy you for a good long while.

Alternatively: It's a hot day, and you've just ever-so-conveniently learned that the lake is 'safe (for now)'. Why not go for a dip to clear your head? The water is actually impressively clear, offering visual reassurance of the lack of abject horrors lurking below.

Those who do swim find that the lake is, as promised, mostly innocuous. 'Mostly' being the key phrase, as anyone who swims out close to the center will find it getting more and more difficult to stay on the surface. As if you're getting heavier and heavier, or your limbs are getting weaker and weaker. It isn't enough to drown you (probably), but you certainly might find yourself considering how peaceful it might be if you let yourself sink.

These thoughts are simple enough to push away in much the same way you might push through the heaviness of your limbs. One could consider it more a warning than anything: Even that which is 'safe' should be treated with proper caution. (Quick and senseless deaths are junk food to the elder gods - tasty but unsatisfying.)

PROMPT 3 ► THE GAS STATION

At the south end of the containment zone sits an old gas station, run-down and overgrown at first sight. It sits alongside a cracked asphalt road, one which (as you might discover) bisects the containment zone from the east wall to the west without a single other building in sight.

You may have woken up here, or perhaps you found it at the pamphlet's behest. Either way, it's a discovery that you'll thank yourself for many a time as throughout the next few months here, for reasons that become apparent the moment you step inside.

In sharp contrast with the outside, the inside of the gas station looks... well, like a functional gas station should. Floors and surfaces seem recently-wiped, shelves seem stocked and organized... It's enough that if you're familiar with gas stations as a concept, you might find yourself reflexively glancing around for an attendant.

But no attendant seems to be present. Just shelves and shelves of goods - perishables and nonperishables, first aid supplies and whatever else one might expect to find at such an out-of-the-way pit stop, all ready for the taking. You might even find an extra surprise. Oh, and let's not forget a nice array of THE CONTAINMENT ZONE AND YOU! pamphlets on the check-out counter, in case you missed them back at the cabins.

Maybe you encounter someone here - are they friend, or foe? Maybe they're as lost and confused as you are. Maybe they're reaching for that last fucking can of Spaghetti-Os and you're serious about your fucking Spaghetti-Os. At least one person is definitely waking up in a gas station fridge... Maybe you're lucky(?) individual who spots them and has to decide whether or not you've discovered a corpse where the soda should be. The world (or, at least, the gas station) is your oyster.

PROMPT 4 ► THE WOODS + BARRIER

The vast majority of the containment zone is covered in evergreen forest, populated with wildlife that look and act disarmingly normal. It may, in fact, be a nice quiet place to stroll in order to clear your head. While large swathes of the woods are moderately dense, there are a number of paths to make your way along should you choose to. Birds sing overhead, deer occasionally bound across the path ahead... If you didn't know any better, you might be able to forget that this isn't a normal stretch of woods somewhere not far from home.

But nothing in the containment zone is truly harmless. The blackberry bushes that line many a cabin (you remember, the ones that make your mouth and tongue go numb?) are out in force in the woods, and out here they're even more of an infernal menace: While the cabin variety only cause havoc when ingested, so much as a scratch from the woods variety's thorns will induce a tingling numb in the affected area that lasts for the better part of an hour.

And let's not forget the lovely field of "wildflowers" that definitely aren't not infested with poison ivy. It's a shame, really. The flowers themselves are quite pretty, an array of pastel blues and pinks and oranges. It's almost like a painting, if touching that painting happened to make you itch, burn, and blister for one-to-two weeks.

But why are we talking about flowers? What you're truly interested in is the containment zone barrier, aren't you? That's fine, you're bound to encounter it out there somewhere. It's invisible until you touch it, at which point a honeycomb pattern ripples out from the point of contact. As a general rule, the barrier gives back what it gets: Place your palm on it and you'll receive a faint uncomfortable buzz. Run headlong into it, and it will ricochet you multiple yards back into the woods.

The barrier stretches all the way around the containment zone without a single break or point of yielding. No further buildings can be seen beyond the barrier, nor any real sign of civilization at all save for the gas station's road stretching past the barriers and out of sight. The only thing of passable interest is the somewhat concerning tree sitting at the far end of the field across the street from saud gas station, at least two-hundred yards past the barrier. At this distance, it's a bit tricky to make out what flocks in the tree's branches. Those have to be birds... right?

► MOD NOTES ►

• This log takes place from July 4th onward, arguably through whenever the event goes up - though you're welcome to toss up your own logs in the meantime. I'm gonna troubleshoot the HTML to leave a space for IC dates, but I didn't want to waste any more time on that right now.
  
• Vestige is now open for business! You're welcome to post logs + network posts of your own, post memes on vestigechat, whatever you want.
  
• This log is functionally intended to be a tour of the containment zone for new characters and players, with dashes of mild horror or discomfort along the way. Don't worry: The actual horror is rolling in later this month. (I'm tagging this under 'event' anyway, just to keep track of it.)
  
• You can literally have your character wake up wherever you want within the containment zone, even if I didn't list it. Go nuts.
  
• It's worth noting: None of the cabins are recognizable as the precise one from the TDM loop, nor is the forest fog still present. The forest is recognizably the same flora/fauna, but that's about it.
  
• You're welcome to include a network post with your top-level (or to put it up on vestigenet as per usual) - but don't forget to consult the NETWORK: USERNAMES ARE FUCKY drop-down of July's Infopost before you do!
  
• Direct any and all questions at Trace on plurk/discord or (for slightly slower answers) this top-level.
  
• My deepest most heartfelt apologies for the lateness, I failed to factor in my own godforsaken attention span.
  

Comments

[hierophante]

[OA lingers with the answer, head still a-tilt, for a few moments longer. The weight of it is perfectly satisfactory; its perfunctoriness feels like an in-joke. It may not necessarily be one in which he's sharing, may be more private still than that, but it still leaves her smiling softly to herself when she lowers her gaze back to her own sifting.

Nostalgia, perhaps. Perhaps that's the joke: that brusqueness can make her nostalgic in the first place. It echoes. Live in the way she has and one learns to spot them: no plucks a cosmic string along which who asked you, crazy? is already thrumming, and I liked you better when you were blind before that.]

Then I won't ask you if it bothers you because they might lie or because they might tell the truth.

[OA pauses, stretching fabric taut between her hands and peering down at the front of one of the shirts with a gentle furrow to her brow. Her eyes don't skim the words so much as they fix on each in turn, lips parted faintly as though poised to work through the shape of each sound as she falls upon it.

At length, one shoulder rises in an acquiescing half-shrug, a brow is quirked, and REACH OUT TOUCH FAITH MOTHER FUCKER NASTY BITCH joins Hamberger friend: I feel happiness When I eat a him in the modest selection of statements she could be interpreted as making about herself.]

And I don't have to tell you that you shouldn't be because I think everyone has more to worry about than whether or not what you're wearing is representative of your feelings on...

[A beat, a subtle frown; at length, she holds up a shirt for him -- grey, much less ostentatious lettering than the average shirt here seems to bear, lettering which simply reads: ]

Condensation.

[After another beat, she gives the shirt a little shake.]

This one's subtle.

[Comparatively.]

[casner]

[ all right, he supposes he'll give Condensation the chuckle it deserves, while abandoning his own fruitless search and coming around to accept this offering with an appropriately grateful head nod. ]

I'd lead with "inexplicable," but six of one...

[ etc etc. he eyes her own pile, and then apparently decides to be some mashup of contrary, antagonistic, and. friendly? look. he's somewhat professionally and personally abrasive; we all know this will stop the oa for exactly no seconds. ]

And those? Hoping to make some Hamberger friends?

[hierophante]

[Something seems to break. Whatever remained in her of the woman who felt at ease in the sort of clothing OA woke up in, she's sleeping now. The fit of it all seems to change, subtly but tangibly, when she ducks her head as though to hide her smile -- wide, genuine, a little crooked, a little shy -- and plucks at the fabric of the shirt in question with her fingers. A little huff of laughter escapes her, a wry sound.]

Mm, I don't know; maybe. I wouldn't say no. I can't remember the last time I had one. I must have been... God, twenty? Nineteen?

[The smile dims, teeth hidden away again and though the corners of her mouth retain their upward angle, her gaze has softened and gone distant. Elsewhere. Another time, another place, other people. For just a moment, she senses that span of time in full; the weight of those years of stolen potential settles about her shoulder like a cloak, a blanket, the arm of an old friend.

At least there's this. It's a tenuous thread and she gets the feeling they both know it, but laughter matters. It's one of the only things that really does. It's an impulse, a spasm, a helpless, animal thing -- they're here, they're alive, and however spare it might be, they're laughing.

Another soft huff; OA shakes her head.]

You might have to get used to inexplicable. We're here.

[casner]

[ Casner does not audibly harrumph, if only by a very slim margin, but the sentiment is palpable. ]

I'll get used to it. Doesn't mean I'll like it.

[ rar stomp casner angrily thrashes pine boughs and shoots rock slides! ....none of that helped last time, actually, which won't stop him from trying every trick he knows before kowtowing to whatever bullshit governs this place; all of that is very briefly visible on his face in the form of a tsunami of stubborn, but more immediately: they are, indeed, here. the two of them. and so casner must do as a casner does. ]

My name's Graham Casner; shout either of those and you'll get my attention.

[ he is, yes, introducing himself this way to everyone; in the tiniest spaces of truth he prefers his surname (less personal), but that's just. Whatever. Not important in the scheme of the inexplicable. ]

You doing all right here? In the broader sense, not specifically in this search for only moderately appalling clothing.

[hierophante]

[It isn't the name that earns a contemplative pause so much as the way he delivers it -- the implicit shout if you need me, all the things that could be read into that. A need to be needed, perhaps. Certainty in his own competency. Desperation for something to which to pin himself, perhaps. Maybe just sheer arrogance.

She understands, to the extent that she can understand, each of these options in turn, and as she watches him with that curious angle to her head, she mulls over each in turn.]

Mm, I'm not sure 'all right' is in reach for any of us right now.

[For the moment, at least, it's an acknowledgement that leaves her more thoughtful than perturbed. She's also aware that it's a dodge, one that bears remedying.]

I'm not. I'm... scared, I'm angry. Confused. I don't know how to proceed. I don't want anyone to get hurt but I don't think I can stop it.

[She's enumerating these things calmly, as calm goes, but with a simmering vehemence in her emphasis, enough to betray their honesty. If she doesn't tell the truth, she isn't what she says she is. Maybe more importantly, she can't ask of anyone else that they be vulnerable if she isn't willing to reciprocate, and she's sure, absolutely certain, that if they're going to get through this, they'll have to be raw with one another.

There's no shame in hurting. Whether he wants to partake or not is his business, but this much she wants known.]

I've been all those things before. Something always survives.

[Hap's words, hers now. He'd been more right than he knew, more right than he'll ever know, and OA will steal from him what she can.

The set of her jaw is intransigent when she pauses, savouring that brief swell of certainty, and meets Graham's gaze.]

I'm the OA. You need me, that's what you shout.

[The quirk of her brow is playful, but it's only half a joke.]

[casner]

Under the circumstances, I'd ascribe not suffering severe dehydration or bleeding to death to all right.

[ That's about the same amount of joke. There is something in the glacial planes of his bone structure that softens, momentarily, at all rightness beyond the corporeal that can't possibly be accounted for; he understands all of those things with an intimacy that feels like suddenly breathing in ice, despite the July of it all. Whether or not he's being raw with her, specifically, remains ambiguous, but there is an open wound there, for certain. ]

And while that's a very nice sentiment, no. Not always.

[ he survived, yes but what was the fucking point? let's... just not dwell, he'll do that later. ]

You gonna tell me what I'd be shouting for, if I had cause?

[hierophante]

[Tense, relax. OA pauses. To say that she didn't mean to press at that wound is only half-true. It may be true that one must debride what does not heal before it can knit over, but that isn't the point either. She's honest because she has to be, because it draws out the venom in her, but also to communicate this: that anyone who feels the something like the same hurt doesn't feel it alone.

Still. She can read the writing. The subtle bile, that not always -- they tell her this is not somewhere to poke and pry and wheedle. Not yet, certainly. Not until he knows her, if he ever knows her. Maybe not even then. She's not as desperate as she once was.

OA catches herself regarding him, brow furrowed -- not cold, but assessing. Weighing. How much is he likely to believe?]

Maybe just an ear.

[She gives it a moment before she smiles, indicating the likelihood of that with a wry little snort before she looks back to her hands, to the clothing.]

I don't know; I don't know what this place needs, what we're going to need, what about me might fill that. Maybe someone who knows how to endure life in a cage.

[She spares Graham a glance. Not always. This probably isn't the time for context, or for the things context might explain.]

I'm strong. I can work hard, but the things I know are... specific. I, mm, I know how to make things last longer than they're meant to. Clothing especially. Food, water. I can... read braille?

[Another item of dubious usefulness, acknowledged by the slightly scrunched expression she wears as she gives a tight little shake of the head.]

English, a little Russian. I know how to get around in the dark.

[And... what? How to die? Here that may indeed be an asset.]

Maybe just that. Company in dark places. Another pair of hands, someone else's shoulders.

[casner]

[ Graham sort of .......quarter smiles, if a person squints; this, too, looks like it hurts (it does). Company in dark places etc, etc, offers he hears reflected in a different accent. He knew Rosa for so little time he knows feeling her absence in so deep a wound is at best irrational, at worst what might be a mere twinge exacerbated by his own guilt, but this woman - the OA, apparently, whatever that means - has what he can ascribe to similar intentions. Company in dark places no light can alleviate.

He grabs on to the concrete parts of what's she's said, digs his nails in and drags his expression back to its usual resting lineface. ]

We have no idea how long our captors intend to keep us in good health, and what they're offering isn't exactly substantial anyway. The ability to stretch resources always fills a need.

[ This is less utilitarian, of course, but feeling lost here can't be avoided even for someone who might insist as much as staunchly as Graham Casner; as such he does visibly take note of what he will always parse as a little piece of home. ]

I speak a little Russian myself. [ technically speaking he is, you know, fluent, but we will still be relying on italics around here. ] Might be nice to hear the language once in a while.

[ too personal abort abort clear throat ahem-- ]

[hierophante]

[This time the glance she aims at him... sticks. It isn't quite a double-take, but there's a visible moment of consideration before a smile, wide and genuine, breaks across her face.]

Yeah, it would.

[If a fractional concession sticks in the throat, how small can it be, really? Does the scale even matter? What's important is the connection, the acknowledgement -- however slant and however spare -- that part of him is grasping for purchase on all of this too.

How does an angel answer? She sees, acknowledges, then releases him from her scrutiny. The increasingly chaotic assortment of clothing earns another few moments of consideration before she adds a hooded sweatshirt reading REALITY Is For People Who Can't Dreams to her modest collection. It's only upon slinging it over her arm that the hood flops up to reveal the text emblazoned on the back: HOT EROTIC DREAMS.

She declines to put it back.]

I should-- this is doing me no favours in this heat.

[OA looks down at herself, smoothing a hand down the front of the white pantsuit. To say it's ill-suited to both climate and locale is an understatement. It belongs, besides, less to the caged bird and more to the woman who dreams. Hard to know if Nina Azarova will ever surface here.]

«It's good to meet you, Graham Casner.»

[Her Russian is halting, strangely-accented. The attuned ear can probably tell that she's coming back to a native language after a long time.]

«I'll be easy to find.»