(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

graham casner | ota

[casner]

i. gas station

[ graham can be found here doing a number of things, chief among them frowning at the camping type supplies doing the mental math to figure out how many he can hoard stock up on without leaving anyone else in the lurch, opening and testing a lot of said supplies to make sure they aren't, you know, shit, (what is he going to do, offend the proprietor? offend you, perhaps?), fucking around with an ancient push mower marked FREE, AS IS in the parking lot, and fucking around with turning inside out t-shirts and tank tops to see which one looks the least stupid without the idiot slogans showing.

also, stealing the air conditioner from the window of the back office. he has creature comforts to secure, thank you! for. someone else, but never mind, the principle is the same. ]

ii. lakefront & cabins

[ the sights to be seen here are probably less uh, eye catching (and ear catching, in the case of the lawn mower); graham began to absolutely loathe the heat here five minutes before he actually stepped into it, so it didn't take him long to find and tentatively assess the lake as not brimming with immediate danger, strip out of his shirt and shoes, roll up the legs of his jeans, and embed himself up to the calves. his eyes are closed, though he does look less like ........dead inside (possibly outside as well) than anyone who encountered his Couch of Exhaustion; he might perhaps be relatively at peace, for all the shenanigans and goings on.

not far from the lakeshore itself, he makes the occasional appearance stalking purposefully from cabin to cabin, assessing them less (far less) aesthetically and 300% which look the least horrifying to make livable.

let's watch, won't we? ]

ii.

[chaleureuse]

( at this point, it's become abundantly, unavoidably clear that what's insane here is not graham casner but the situation that they're in. either this is real or she has completely broken with reality herself, and either way the only thing for it is forward—so it had made sense to agree when he proposed locating something that could be fixed up and sharing it, that steadiness more comforting now than it had initially been. she is—

less useful than graham, when it comes to both locating a suitable option and, probably, in making it livable. petra damerel has never lived anywhere without at least two people employed as household staff, and has been camping exactly once in her life.

(glamping. she's been glamping once in her life.)

which is to say, she's on the lakeshore beside him, and indeed still there while he's stalking between cabins; watching intermittently when he goes, unclear on whether his favouring the lakeside choices is a preference or in deference to remaining visible from where she's sitting on his shirt (and not her sweater, neatly folded). either is fine. both is fine, too, actually; she thinks nearer the lake is better than deeper into the forest, given her own druthers, and she prefers being able to at least hear the sound of his footfalls between cabins this far out of arm's reach of the only person with whom she's yet acquainted.

she keeps reading the pamphlet. you won't miss a thing, it says. but before that it says, if, and what if she doesn't? she can imagine the ifs of that scenario all too well, and when she eventually gets to her feet, hands on the back of her hips, to consider following graham to express some irrelevant opinions—it's mostly just to think about anything except what martel might be doing right now. )

[casner]

[ graham, who is keeping the colloquial and possibly literal one eye on petra at all times, notices when she gets up, and has been noticing the fixation on the pamphlet. he gets why - let's just admit that's certainly a large part of what he's doing, it's just that his unhealthy coping mechanisms run to a] laser pragmatism and b] gritted jaw - and comes back to the shore proper to meet her. he doesn't actually take the pamphlet from her, but does clip fingertips around the top edges such that if she lets go, will make it disappear into a pocket or something. ]

All that's going to do is drive you crazy.

[ trying to regain control on one front while focusing on something else completely uncontrollable .....at least looking for a house will get them a house. it's got that going for it. he sympathizes perhaps a little too much. a gesture away from the shore, then a hand reached up to telegraph cupping the back of her elbow, the polite and extremely platonic version of touching hands. ]

Come on. I've found one that should work, but I need your opinion structural integrity and rustic charm.

[ the very tiniest trace of an encouraging smile, possibly. his crow's feet get deeper. ]

[chaleureuse]

( he's not wrong, but she doesn't immediately relinquish the pamphlet—like it matters, like she hasn't committed it uselessly to memory already—only letting go after she's resisted enough to feel stupid about it. she looks up when she does, instead of watching where he disappears it. that is control, of a sort. that she tells herself she doesn't need it.

she is going to drive herself crazy, probably, but there is something like relenting in the release of her shoulders and the way she holds onto his arm when she ducks down to scoop his shirt and her sweater from the ground. tucks them together under her arm, tilting her chin in a sort of lead on, macduff.

instead of acknowledging any of the first part, now that the pamphlet is out of sight and they can pretend (she will pretend) that means it's out of mind: )

This is a euphemism, yes?

( rustic charm. she assumes for even less structural integrity and maybe possible dry rot. )

[casner]

[ as if he would know what to do if she did acknowledge it beyond like, half a shrug and one quarter of a back of the throat noise, pls. the point is definitely not to acknowledge it, possibly ever again. this will be deflected further by gesturing for his shirt and, if possible, her sweater; if i start going "this isn't some weird form of chivalry, it's just graham's tendency to take responsibility for all things, including carrying shirts," i will never stop, so this is the single time i will do it, and now i am done.

anyway, in response to the question he sort of huffs through his nose, which is about the closest he gets to real laughter and we should all be grateful. because his chuckle is dangerous and, frankly, sinful. ]

More or less.

[ the house turns out to be the remnants of a lakeshore cabin that was once probably quiet and pretty, although everything on the water facing balcony has mildewed beyond repair, and the plants decorating the edges of the walkway to the front door lie dead in their pots; despite the massive aesthetic damage, the building itself does look reasonably sturdy.

graham walks petra around both stories, pointing out various safe...ish things that i know nothing about because i know nothing about building codes, basically demonstrating why this particular domicile is more likely to stay standing than some others. also if there's one quality it has retained it's the quietness; there are a number of other houses in sight, but at a bit of a remote distance. that was definitely a selling point for graham, who would be living by himself, contentedly, if a] they hadn't run into each other again and b] this was that other life. 2010 BF (before fristed)

he doesn't know if having someone else in the second bedroom will keep karina from scratching at his door all night, but it's worth a shot. ]

Some of what's inside looks...salvageable.

[ despite the dubious nature of this sentence graham clearly sees it as a positive, hands on his hips as he tips his head back to survey the house in full, once they're back on the walkway. ]

The exterior will need more work, but as far as I've been able to make out so far, nothing too complicated for me to handle. Provided the gas station has basic building supplies in addition to the requisite perishable snack foods and cheap sunglasses.

[ he relaxes his stance, arms loose at his sides as his attention turns back to petra in full. given something to do he seems focused, confident, illuminated where the listless loop version was dark and untethered. ]

I'm--going to head there now and see what I can track down. Look around inside while I'm gone, and try to catalog what won't have to be replaced.

[ there's some kind of look here, half warmed by fond memory, but quickly shuttered. ]

Uh--please.

[chaleureuse]

( this seems like something she can do—and she has this new phone, too, so sure: it probably has a notes app, she can make a little list as she goes, it's going to be extremely practical. she doesn't quite follow the look, except that there is something innately recognisable about someone who has been previously reminded to use his please-and-thank-yous, which is charming, so, )

Bring back cleaning supplies also, ( in the same tone, and then, graciously: ) Please.

( the gas station will probably have those, right? if not for sale then for—use, if it's set up like an actual gas station. and they probably have instructions; she can figure out how to clean things. a deep clean will go a long way to the salvage operation of making this place inhabitable, and she sharpens into focus with a task in a similar fashion.

she's cleaned up a mess or two before. it's just—bigger.

it's not like she has anywhere else urgent to be. apparently. )

[casner]

[ presumably, they shared a very nice smile here before casner remembered himself and headed stationwards. he's gone for a while, and the first time he appears in the doorway of wherever Petra found herself it's just to inform her he's making a second trip and will be back soon. in the interim she can find what he's hauled back so far out in the little room attached to the kitchen, which seemingly every house on a lake has for purposes of removing muddy shoes and such: the requested cleaning supplies, a mop that looks like it was made in the 70s but does appear to be in fit shape to clean, the various supplies mentioned up yonder, and the at least quasi-working push mower on the flagstones that connect the house to the road.

120 lbs of air conditioner isn't exactly agony for him to carry back, but it's definitely still audible as he thunks it down in the kitchen. they can figure out bedrooms later, and graham will just go ahead and set it up in hers without so much as a by your leave.

on which note, however, despite how he has given his outer layer to the cause of petra not having to sit on bare ground, he does still have on a white t-style undershirt, starting to darken in places via the fucking lake humidity; there was a time when graham would have professed to prefer the cold, but: again, 2010 BF. that was then, this is now; he's grateful for the heat even as he uses the tail of his shirt to mop his forehead.

presumably he and his housemate will eventually encounter one another again, due to living in the same house and all, by which time he's investigated the basement and come up with several bottles of wine of the quality that escapes Boxed, but not by much. while he'd rather something stronger, they are in the process of accepting living here, at least for a little while, and quite frankly he would like to be anything but sober for it.

as such: petra is presented this offering alongside some plastic glasses bearing the remains of various faded pro sports logos. they seem mostly american, or so graham figures when he only recognizes one out of the half dozen that were in the cupboard. ]

If you're a drinker you're welcome to join me. I can take over cleaning duties after that.

[ what, it's equitable division of labor. ]

A wild wildcard appears (July 6 after Lalli's post sometime)

[coolmotivestillevil]

[ The heat is, well, hot, so Geralt has discarded the jacket Jaskier put him in and opted to walk around in only the light grey shirt. He hates that he's stuck at a place where he doesn't know the threats without armour or his silver sword, but it is what it is. The best thing to do? Map out everything, so that when everything goes to hell, he'll at least know where everything is.

Which is why he's currently wandering through the forest, sword in hand because he still doesn't have a sheath for it. He's already encountered the barrier, and moved on with a complete lack of surprise. Wouldn't be much of a prison if they could just wander out of the forest. So, now, he's shifted to mapping out exactly where the barrier goes, and is frequently reaching out to touch it so he doesn't stray from it or walks face first into it. ]

[casner]

[ graham encountered the barrier about eight seconds after getting here, and has since been deliberating whether or not he wants to waste a round from his single handgun clip when the damn thing will probably just bounce it off or eat it or something; given some of the delights he experienced in loop hell, he'd rather have the bullet. at least for now.

the other man moves quietly enough to come the closest to startling graham another person has in quite some time, absolutely too close for someone currently as deep in the throes of ptsd-induced hypervigilance as he, and he course corrects so that he's facing this sword-carrying newcomer (why do so many people here have swords....), back against a tree. he would also very much like to have a weapon directly in hand, but if worst came to worst the can of yellow spray paint in his right hand would do.

they're almost certainly out here for the same purpose, so graham attempts to tell the EVERYTHING IS A THREAT impulse in his lizardbrain to like, quiet the fuck down. it doesn't work particularly well, but his greeting sounds calm enough, deep and sardonic and buried in his lower register. ]

Out for an evening stroll along the impassable electric fence?

[coolmotivestillevil]

[ Electric fence?

He raises an eyebrow, and looks at the barrier as he reaches out to touch it again, following the honeycomb pattern with his eyes. Then, he looks back at Graham.

Fence? ]

You call that a fence?

[ Blankly. ]

[casner]

[ Graham shrugs, uneasy with staying in one place. The nice thing about this exercise, aside from its pragmatism, is that it keeps him moving. ]

It's keeping us in, isn't it? Last I looked that's what fences do.

[ even huge stupid weird ones graham is not over being annoyed he can't shoot ]

[coolmotivestillevil]

Hm. Never called a magical barrier a fence.

[ So clearly, it is incorrect.

Anyway.

He finally notices the can of spray paint in Graham's hand, and while he doesn't know exactly what it is, he assumes it has something to do with the very bright yellow spot on a few of the trees. ]

What are you doing?

[casner]

Marking the magical barrier.

[ why not, he'll swing with whatever this other fellow wants to call it, though there is nigh-imperceptible skein of humor wrapping the words; a month ago he'd have scoffed and explained that science is not magic, but. a lot can happen in a month, and that a lot can more or less rip the head off what a person once thought of as possible.

he inclines his head in the direction of a canvas bag leaning against a nearby tree trunk, which a] appears so old as to be held together by duct tape and sheer strength of will, and b] visibly contains several more cans of spray paint. ]

I see you've had the same idea. [ hmm. ] Combining our efforts means faster work, and less of it.

[ he could have like ...asked geralt if this interested him, but nah. ]

i.

[subroutined]

[ Green isn't entirely sure what he thought he might find at the gas station. He doesn't really need food or supplies for himself, but he wants to be helpful, to be able to come to the aid of the other people stuck here. He's presented with just such an opportunity as he sees a man walking out of the back office, carrying a window AC unit. ]

D'you... need a hand with that?

[ His voice is soft and Irish, his face open and innocent, even after all he's been through. ]

[casner]

[ graham feels two simultaneously and equally urgent reactions to this: a] he must look after this innocent soul with all his might and b] please god let there be other adults who aren't petra or his very own self. ]

I've got it.

[ one reason this tag is so late is that graham's player kept forgetting to google how much ancient clunky air conditioners weigh; turns out about 120 lbs max, which graham is capable of carrying because he's a monster who frequently hauls around human beings and an entire tourist's worth of luggage. however: ]

But if you're asking you could grab those bags there.

[ he has also filled several plastic bags with camping supplies and cleaning equipment, because he is a hoarder planner. ]

I'm Graham. Casner. Shout either and I'll answer. You?

[subroutined]

[ Eager to be of help, Green quickly scoops up the bags and holds them in each hand. If they were heavy, they don't look particularly heavy when he's carrying them. The added bonus of android strength, I guess.

He'll follow along behind Graham like an obedient little puppy at the heels of its owner, because that is really what Green is best at doing. ]

Green. Newman. I'll answer to just about anything, though... "Hey, you! Ginger!" That's a particular favorite.

[casner]

[ graham looks over his shoulder, said muscles lifting and falling back to resting "carrying an air conditioner" position. his version of a laugh is, uh. subtle? ]

I think I have it in me to remember Green. Though if I forget you'll be the first to know.

[ this is where a person less used to leading would probably match his steps to reduce the puppy at heels imagery; this doesn't even occur to mr. "do what i say and you'll stay alive" casner, alas. on the other hand he doesn't seem to have any trouble stepping surefootedly, despite the occasional looking back. ]

You're not bringing back any supplies of your own. Already stocked up?

[ he really hopes this is the answer and not like, oh, i hadn't thought of that. little does he know how few of the convenience store's offerings green actually requires. ]

[subroutined]

Mm. I suppose I will, won't I?

[ Considering it'll be him who Graham is talking to. Anyway, Green thinks it's funny, so he smiles. It's probably not funny to anyone else, but he'll take his levity where he can get it.

Green keeps pace well enough, stable and surefooted himself, though he does keep a steady eye on the ground to avoid tripping over any stray tree roots. At the question, though, he looks up, smiling self deprecatingly and shrugging his shoulders just the tiniest bit. ]

Don't really need anything, me. I'm more worried about everyone else.

[casner]

[ Graham's eyebrows perform a complex and majestic dance of disbelief. ]

I like to think I'm as frugal and self-sufficient as the next man, but I still need to eat.

[ Are you like, implying you do not do this, you slender lily man? ]

i.

[hierophante]

[To shed realities is to shed skins. Sometimes it happens as a natural consequence. Here, it hasn't. Here it must be undertaken by choice. The implications of that distinction ricochet around her mind, the rattling and churning of her thoughts betrayed by the pensive set of her brow -- though as contrasts go, it's hardly the most obvious from the outside. That would be another: the juxtaposition of this woman, elegant in her heels and her fitted white suit, with the racks of questionably-adorned t-shirts through which she's sifting.

In a way it's a return to form, a source of strange comfort, and for that reason the task absorbs her perhaps more than it might deserve -- at least until the rustle of fabric on fabric reorients her to her broader context, reminds her that she isn't alone.

One glance becomes another, lingering, the pensive knitting of her brows deepening as she watches Graham systematically turn shirts inside out and then hold them up, pinning them against an invisible somebody. OA's own hands cease their sifting; head angled slightly to one side, she watches.]

Does it frighten you?

[The words may not be gentle, precisely, but her tone is, tempered further by a faint, if weary, smile. A nod indicates the shirt he's holding.]

The idea that they might say something about you that you don't want said.

[casner]

[ graham, torn between blue and black long-sleeved t-shirts (it may be 80F outside, but something in his core refuses to thaw and so he's always cold), takes a second to realize this is addressed to him, because why would it be, and after that, has to rake a few coals in his most immediate short term memory to confirm the inquiry was what it sounded like. he's barely able to parse actual small talk as a priority right now (and by barely i mean not at all), so this ...what, existential challenge? just kind of bolts him between the eyes abattoir style.

after a few seconds he recovers. ]

No.

[ back to the shirts. ]

[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.