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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1
Each year in this town, the winters seem to get harder and the summers seem to get hotter, and this was no exception. After several months of sweltering afternoons and sweaty nights, fall is finally starting to break the town’s fever, although with the cooler weather comes the death of the horseflies, leaving many of the town’s flat surfaces coated in bug carcasses. The sky is overcast, the air remains humid, and in the distance thunderstorms can be heard almost every hour of the day.
During the day, people go about their usual routines, working primarily at the slaughterhouse or mines during the weekdays, vegetating in front of the television on Saturdays, and sitting straightbacked and paranoid in the pews on Sunday, fearful less of the wrath of God than the ire of the neighbors. Evenings for the average person are filled with drinking at Nog’s or Auntie’s or peering at the TV until bedtime.
This is where our heroes find themselves, waking with a new lifestory that integrates them into this, the shitty little town.
PROMPTS
a) NOG'S
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
b) AUNTIE'S
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
c) THE DOCKS
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
d) THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
e) BIG TOP CIRCUS COFFEE
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
f) THE FARMER'S MARKET
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
g) THE LIBRARY
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
h) WILDCARD/NEW LOCATION
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
i) THE SPOOKY WOODS
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
❅ OOC Plotting: Here. More locations can be found there. You can also ask the players running the plot questions there.
❅ Event Length: This part of the plot is to establish CR and characters' roles in town. It will last about a week and half before future parts that allow the characters to start digging into the mysteries of the town.
❅ New Characters: If your character is introing at this time, assume they arrived just in time at the location the plot takes place in to be caught up in the magic drawing everyone in. They would have gotten the Man in the Moon's spiel from the welcome page right before being magically sucked in.
❅ Opt-out: Anyone that doesn't want to play in the plot can handwave their character didn't go on the mission that put the characters in the location where they were sucked in. You can thread your characters back at the Pole or send them on another smaller mission with other characters.
Miguel | prompts as they come along!!
MINE 8 (For Boba)
After what feels like an exceptionally long foray into the earth, the tunnel constricts once it hits ore. The ceiling becomes low and claustrophobic, supported by a seemingly endless array of hydraulic chocks, chains, and a conveyer belt. At the end of the carved coal face is a bulky, incomplete shearing machine of a new design.
At Shields 68-72 of a late weekday afternoon, Miguel finds an alarm blinking on his console at the head of the coal longwall. His test run of the new automatic system had been going well, with the roof shields holding steady and the conveyer belts showing no issues. The shear arm sensors appeared to be functional, getting good reads of the wall that would be chewed up by drill bits once they were installed later.
Well, he'll consider it a success of the system that it had shut itself off once it detected an obstruction as designed. But now he had to see what tripped it. Kitted up with dust mask and helmet, Miguel walks down the longwall illuminated by harsh halogen lights. He scans the sharp cast shadows for a fallen piece of ceiling or small animal that might have wandered inside and tripped the safeties.
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Boba wants to know the secret.
He thinks all the modern tech is weird. Don't miners work with pickaxes and those old carts? This all seems too complicated for digging up rocks. He doesn't even need his flashlight! The way the machine noises echo is kind of cool, though, and the overhead lights make the shadows look creepy as hell.
The tunnel starts getting smaller, but Boba doesn't mind. He's not claustrophobic, and he's short enough that it's not a big deal.
Cato is going to be so jealous when he hears about this.
Then the machines stop. Boba takes a few steps, but they're really loud and the echo is really weird, so he stops. Then he realizes that it isn't an echo, there's someone coming! He's gotta hide, he can't get caught. This isn't just regular trouble, like stealing candy bars or spray painting in alleyways, this is big trouble. Trouble that could get him thrown out of the house, or the town, and arrested and put in jail just like his social worker said.
Boba should hide. He's good at hiding. There aren't a lot of places to go, but if he's crouched behind a support strut, stays very quiet, and doesn't move maybe he won't be noticed.
It's that or running deeper into the mine, but the tunnel has to end somewhere and then he'll just be trapped.
No, better to hide.
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"Briar. Are you there?"
"Shoot."
"The dig was cleared out before I started the test procedure today, right? Anyone missing?"
"Heads are accounted for up here. Found some stress in the old wood trusses upstairs, though. We're taking measurements. Why, something show up?"
The footfalls of his work boots stop as he looks down at a peculiar smear of dust on the rails and the base of the hydraulics. A hand print? Or was that just his imagination? The hand was awfully small if it was.
"...The automatic shutdown was set off."
"Think it could've been an error?"
"It's not an error. I don't build junk, Briar. There's something here." he retorts, annoyed. "I'll report back in ten."
He then shuts off the radio, surveying the area. A red light on the shearer, dimly blinking its silent alarm. The system had definitely detected something down here. He starts to search: first around the shearing machine, then following the trail of the dust smear. He sticks his head in between two hydraulic struts, having a more difficult time navigating the tight space than Boba does.
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Boba makes himself stay very, very still. Even as the steps grow louder. He doesn't let himself panic, because fear is the enemy. He needs to stay in control of himself.
He isn't actually holding his breath, but he is breathing slowly and shallowly through the mesh of his shirt.
He pushes himself further against the strut, but his back must've shifted against something. A few pebbles and a trail of dust fall from the ceiling above him. It's only now that he starts to wonder if this place is stable.
The rocks above him don't seem to want to fall and crush him into a bloody paste, so that's good. He doesn't think the rocks hitting the floor is enough to catch the attention of whoever's coming. He just needs to keep quiet.
Boba wishes he could close his eyes, but that would be too much of a risk.
Don't talk. Don't move. Don't breathe.
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Although his face is obscured by the half-mask, his eyes are visible enough to betray surprise when he gets a glimpse of a living thing in the forest of steel, rock and rubber. Some of the lightbeams catch a bit of reflective sneaker-strip and dusty, tousled hair.
"A kid...?" he thinks aloud. How on earth did a kid get in here?
"Hey, are you all right?"
His first thought is to offer a hand, the kid was either stuck in the crevice or too terrified to move?
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Unfortunately, during all that Boba manages to lose his flashlight, and the tunnel seems to be getting darker and dark as he goes on. It takes him a few moments to realize that he's running the wrong way. He's moving deeper into the mines.
It's too late to turn around. His mind is racing to come up with a new plan-- his best bet is to get as far ahead as he can and find a proper hiding spot this time so he can sneak back out when the guy goes past him. Same plan as before, but hopefully with a better execution.
Right now the only thing he needs to focus on is running.
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"You--!" he grunts in a rage that subsides the instant he realizes the boy making a break for it. "Wait, stop running!"
What the hell?! Some kind of feral child raised by bears? As the pain subsides, Miguel spins around to make chase. He can't let some stray get lost in the mines - much less near all the large and dangerous machinery. He notices the dropped flashlight and scoops it up as he pursues, trying to catch a glimpse of the kid with his headlamp.
"You're going the wrong way!"
His voices echoes off the walls deeper down the coal vein.
HONK HONK (Logan)
Vehicle troubles come to a head when he turns a curve on his way north into towards the hills and finds himself with too little runway between several tons of steel and some moron standing around on the asphalt! The tires shriek with the slam of the brake pedal, one microsecond away from twisting the steering wheel to hit a tree instead of this guy!
Mercifully, the vehicle comes to a stop (too close for comfort). But he's pissed, and now the air smells like burnt rubber and fucked up tires. Buddy, you're getting the long honk. And then maybe two more for good measure!
"¡Oye pendejo! - You left your brain at home or what?!"
( *HEY MORON >:( )
Re: HONK HONK (Logan)
Logan has a whole circuit he does on some days. Get out of the bar, crash somewhere unconscious. If it's not at his apartment, go home and clean up just enough to not instantly get fired at work, do his shift at the slaughterhouse, shower enough to get the slaughterhouse stink off of him, go to the bar, rinse, repeat.
But there is the occasional day he heads to the cemetary. Or at least takes a long walk down the road to it, and a long walk back without going in, often times with a bottle in hand.
The bottle is empty. After being honked at, Logan chucks it off to the side of the road. At first it seems like he's going to just quietly walk out of the way. But before he's entirely out of the way of the front of the car, something metallic flashes between his knuckles.
Three keys between his fingers, as he palms the keychain from his jacket pocket. He reaches out with them and digs them into the car's paint job, slowly and casually walking around the passenger side as he keys the car. He doesn't break eye contact once, just has an extremely mellow look on his face, like the human version of a cat slowly shoving an object off a table as their owner watches, acting like they're doing nothing wrong. When he gets to the passenger side tire, he bends down and there's a forceful jab, a twist, an audible whoosh of air and all of a sudden that side of the car starts to dip.
He stands up again and his expression is very much a challenge.
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The guy was clearly drunk, the smart thing would be to stay inside the steel cage. Maybe consider he was tripped up by the near-death experience and cut his losses on a vehicle that wasn't even his. But nope. That wasn't going to cut it. Onto the ground level he goes, door shut behind him to take on the challenge.
"All these rigs have cameras, you nutjob. You got a few grand you're really eager to let go of? That'll be the minimum to get the damages fixed."
The paint job wasn't even good. It was a company logo coated in dust and dirt, and the scratches were barely noticeable amid all the mountain grime. But Paul can have a field day with this guy to get it sparkling fucking clean.
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In fact, he could try to cop to this and fix it. Some people would, even after they did it. Some people would hear a threat of possible litigation and proof of their crime on tape, and try to fix it outside the courts. Especially if they could do the work themselves.
But he doesn't have the equipment anymore. And he definitely doesn't have the steady hand he used to. And he's definitely not sorry.
And he's also deeply un-intimidated.
What can they do? Ruin his life? Ha!
"Whoops," he says, putting the keys away. "Hand slipped."
cw: alcoholism mention
God, he should not be goading this guy. But fuck him!!
"Maybe leave the bottle alone for a few hours and that'll fix itself, pal. Want to give me a name, or do you prefer we just add the hassle to find you to the list? It's all the same to me."
He is so ready to drum up a big fuckin stink, buddy. There's only so many asshole old men with sideburns in this shit town and he's game to hunt down the right one to make miserable for however-long-it-takes.
cw: alcoholism
He eyes the logo on the car.
"You work for that rich asshole Goluboy, don't you."
He knows that's who bought up his land after he couldn't pay.
He looks as if he's reconsidering this whole thing, for half a second.
He's not. "My name is-" He immediately drops into a more insulting tone and it is immediately clear he is not, in fact, giving his name "- Go fuck yourself. Do you want me to spell it for you?"
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He looks supremely unimpressed, only feeling a bitter confirmation about all the belligerent, ignorant loudmouths he's had this misfortune of running into in this town. He has his evidence, and now a good look at the guy's face. If he wants to be loud - well, whatever. They were about the same size. He isn't feeling the imminent danger from standing ground until he fucks off or trips over his drunk feet.
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As in Safelite Auto Glass.
With that he picks up a big honking rock from the side of the road (a two-hander) and moves towards the windshield of Miguel's truck.
It's not Miguel. It's not the fucking truck. It's everything.
It's that there is a rage deep inside him - so deep - that in this form, where he can't access it, it just floods his entire self. All the room there could be for something else is filled with anger leeching upwards like it's coming from a festering bog.
When he's himself, the rage is unleashed. Unconstrained, it can be let out, and it and the sorrow and self-hatred are infinitely bigger, it makes him more out of control, but at least it's not being filtered into a space far too small for it. When it's free, there's still room for other things. He doesn't even know it yet, but there is.
This much rage can't fit inside a normal man. It's meant to be the worse part of a mutant's nature. It means there's room for absolutely nothing else. Every last bit of him is spite.
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"Hey!" he shouts.
Once again, he doesn't know what possesses him to tackle the guy and send them tumbling over asphalt. This was a terrible idea. His last memory of actually fistfighting had been a scrap in grade school - and he'd been complete crap at it! His best option would be to run, or yell it out, or maybe get something from the truckbed to actually menace the guy off with.
But his body leaps before the rational, slow-thinking part of his brain tells him to stop. And that's how he's putting himself in bodily jeopardy for the stupid company truck that wasn't even his!
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field science (for Suvi!)
It was brisk enough this early in the morning to see their breaths. A duet of great horned owls and a milieu of chirping crickets fill the soundscape of the misty forest, with more birds to follow in the coming hour. He came prepared with the appropriate cold weather clothes, a flashlight and some other field gear in the truckbed for them to take some measurements. Some sinking and cracking on the surface is to be expected with projects boring deep into the mountain. So, the occasional 5:00 AM morning surveys to at least give the illusion of MineCorp caring about its impact on the area.
"The rest of the team should be here in about half an hour, but we can get a head start." he says to Skye, slipping on a bulky looking hiking pack to take with them.
"Ready?"
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The empty thermos stays in the truck and she starts grabbing what she needs out of the bed, unbothered by the extra weight. She might not have followed Stella into her military career, but she was sent to plenty of camps over the years that involved worse conditions than this.
"How worried should we be about bears?" Miguel has been here longer than her and will know the area better, but she can't help a small amount of concern considering the recent attacks.
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Miguel heard rumblings of the maulings and chalked it up to small town exaggeration, like the rest of the gossip. He'd yet to bump into any wildlife on the mountain that really worried him more than the structural integrity beneath their feet. So he operated on the usual hiking rules.
"The trailhead's this way."
Once she's packed, he gets going northward on the roughed out line of dirt they'd formed from many bootfalls of previous surveys. Miguel was close enough to forty to get a whinging knee here or there, but nothing that really obstructed these treks outdoors. The exercise and the high views from the trail were one of the things he'd deign to call pleasant about this town. Especially in the autumn.
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"Cool, okay. The only food I have is sealed." Both inside her bag and inside packaging. Since they really aren't supposed to be out here that long, she only brought a few energy bars.
Skye falls into easy step behind him, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings despite the reassurances. There's something about the sound of crickets chirping that draws a small edge of worry, but it's the same thing she feels when she drops a piece of food and knows that Bear will get it before she can. It isn't any concern for safety, really, so she dismisses it.
After ten minutes of quiet, uneventful trekking, she pipes up, "Why does everyone have such a problem with these woods? They seem fine."
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There's a reason Miguel's haunts tend to be by himself at the lake, at work in a hole in the ground, or in the middle of nowhere at the mountain survey with the others. Then again, maybe that was part of the selection process for all this in dear ‘ol Minecorp.
An early risen crow calls and rustles a snarl of dry twigs above them as it takes flight. He’s undisturbed by the noise, trudging over a small stream.
Both of their legs should be long enough to make easy use of the flat stones to cross.
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"I heard some of them suggest there was a werewolf." There's a bit of a dramatic spooky voice for emphasis, because she isn't allergic to being a little silly sometimes.
The stream crossing is easy enough, and though she does casts a glance towards the crow, it doesn't strike her as anything unusual. "Thank god none of them have probably ever watched the Blair Witch project."
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Miguel recognizes he's being snide, but he is rather sick and tired of this place and most of the people in it, and sorely missed his real home. The nice view of the old mountains and the sound of the stream at least sooth over the darker thoughts of being stuck here.
Besides, they still had a job to do.
"Here. It's this way."
They veer westward past a mossy boulder jutting out of the ground, through a clearing and towards the center of what one member of the team elegantly labeled The Big Crack (Miguel refused to call it that).
It was an area of subsidence, where some of the ground had started to cave in enough that it was noticeable with the naked eye. The slope of the trough had developed a fissure sometime between the completion of the new dig site and the lagging development in reinforcing all the old abandoned mines. Any significant movement at the bottom had a way of disturbing everything above if they weren't careful.
It could be nothing, since this part of it was in the middle of nowhere. Or it could be a headache for them later down the line, if sinkholes start eating people's sheds.
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It's the sort of joke she wouldn't make around most of their other coworkers, but even if they've never explicitly addressed it, there's a level of solidarity that comes from being visibly other. She trusts Miguel to understand that not only is she joking, but also who's expense the joke is at.
She keeps up the rest of the way, grateful that her equipment isn't too heavy. The distance is fine, she just isn't the strongest person in the world.
Once they're at the site (Skye would absolutely call it the Big Crack with a giggle), she frowns at the extent of the collapse, already making mental notes.
"There's an old coal mine under this area but it closed so long ago that we don't have accurate maps of the tunnels. They could be a problem if they extend far enough towards town." And because she can't help getting a jab in, "I've been asking Goluboy for the resources to do a proper assessment, but apparently he isn't too worried about it."
He should be, she thinks.
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