❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1

[nightmods]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

h)  WILDCARD/NEW LOCATION

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.

OOC DETAILS
❅ 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.

Comments

anthony crowley | open (cw: alcohol abuse)

[demonicmiracle]

⋟ i. day to day

[Over the past few years, Crowley has found some small comfort in a steady routine. It doesn't feel right, the routine, but nothing has felt right for as long as he can remember, and at least this doesn't result in him losing entire days to a few bottles of whiskey. If he feels a bit like the prison warden of his own life, that's not a thought he wants to dissect any time soon.

In all but the coldest months, his morning starts at 6:30am with a jog through the town, because as much as he loathes exercise, it serves the same function as the routine itself, giving him something to do with his time that isn't sleeping or drinking. It helps a little beyond just that; there's the endorphins that come with it, and he finds that his brain is quieter when he's moving.

After a shower and change of clothes, on weekdays he stops at the coffeeshop to buy an ungodly amount of espresso and linger over whatever pastry looked the most interesting that day. He has no reason to loiter beyond the desire to delay the inevitable just a tiny bit longer, and the desire is strong enough that he might actually engage in conversation with anyone else in the vicinity.

Work itself is the worst part of the day, but it's the best paying job he can get without the right education to work at the mine, so he manages it, day in-day out, hoping that one day he'll earn enough to get out of this hellhole.

It's a rare thing for him to return home immediately after work, it never feels right, as if he needs time to shake off the awfulness of the office lest it stick in his carpet or take up residence in his walls. More often than not, it results in a drink or two at Nog's Bar, where Crowley allows himself a single hour in the establishment. That's where the routine comes in. One hours, a couple drinks, and if he's feeling in a decent mood or particularly horrible mood, a casual conversation with another patron of the bar.

And then he goes home. Probably.

Wherever he goes, it means that Anthony Crowley isn't seen much after 7:30pm, at least on the weekdays.]

⋟ ii. farmer's market

[The routine helps with some things.

It doesn't help with others, and the thing that is a constant gnawing at Crowley's sanity is the boredom. The repetition. The lack of options. Before, a lifetime ago, it was never boring. Back then, he had thought that boring would be a blessing, that a quiet town in the middle of nowhere could be peaceful. It's clear now that he was an idiot, although it's never enough to make him think about going back, at least not back there.

The farmer's market is something different in a sea of monotony and he can't resist that pull, even if he knows he isn't entirely welcome. While not a lackey of Cygne, like the sheriff and her deputies, he's still part of the system that has the town so beaten down and he understands why he's eyed with suspicion.

Understand it, sure, but he still chafes at the perceived unfairness of it. They all have jobs to do, mouths to feed, debts to pay. His work isn't any worse than the men slaughtering pigs day in and out.

So while he tries to be relaxed and inconspicuous when browsing the market, eventually someone gives him the sideways look that ends up being the straw to break the camel's back.]

What? Is my money not as good as everyone else's?

⋟ iii. wildcard

[[ooc: plotting comment here for info and/or planning. Feel free to toss a wildcard at me if you have ideas, Crowley can be found pretty much anywhere in town.]

i. drinking "alone"

[composinghistory]

[A body slides onto the stool next to Crowley. He digs through his pockets and counts out a few bills and a coins to place on the bar. He doesn't place an order, but June does come around to sweep up the money and drop off a glass.

Julian takes a drink, then sighs. After a moment, he sighs again-- loudly. Dramatically. Perhaps in a manner that would cause someone to turn and look to see what's wrong with the poor soul occupying the neighboring seat.]

[demonicmiracle]

[Ignoring Julian is a necessary evil; it wouldn't look right for Crowley to be too eager to have a conversation with the man, not when the gossip mill is as cruel as it is. God knows that Julian lacks any sense of self-preservation, so Crowley has to be careful for the both of them.

The second sigh is loud and dramatic enough that it's only reasonably for Crowley to look at him, an eyebrow arched above his glasses.]

You right, mate?

[It could be read as dismissive, to anyone eaves dropping, but Julian knows he isn't as sharp as he comes across. He just has to play this particular game.]

[composinghistory]

[Julian knows this song and dance. It can get tedious, and a bit insulting, at times, but he doesn't bother holding onto any occasional resentment that crops up.]

Oh, I suppose I am. It's nothing, really.

[If he's going to play this game its only fair that he gets to ham it up. Just because Anthony may have reputation to maintain doesn't mean Julian has to make himself miserable through the whole thing. He's miserable enough most other times of day-- he refuses to be so in a warm building with a drink in his hand.]

[demonicmiracle]

[There's guilt, there always is, but he's an expert at burying that.

He could leave it, be dismissive, but a swig of his drink covers a glance around the room, and he doesn't think there's anyone within earshot except for June, and he knows she's good at keeping her mouth shut.]

It certainly doesn't sound like nothing.

[composinghistory]

[Julian despondently runs a finger around the rim of his glass.]

It's just... it looks like it's going to rain tonight.

[And I've nowhere to go is heavily implied. His guitar is safely stored at Big Top, but that does little for his own well-being. The weather's getting colder and Julian simply can't afford to get sick.

He's not above using Anthony's guilt against him, especially if it gets him a place to stay for the night.]

cw: implied abuse

[demonicmiracle]

[The implication hits a bit like a blow, but years with Luke taught him how not to flinch.

He could skip past the unasked question, play at ignorance, if he really wanted to be cruel.]

Got thrown out of your latest bed, did you?

[composinghistory]

Mrs. Hendricks has decided to let her husband out of the doghouse, yes.

[He isn't particularly quiet when airing someone else's dirty laundry. He has no shame in who he sleeps with, and it's not his fault if they do.

Anthony being the exception, because he actually likes the man. Julian would even consider calling him a friend if he didn't think the other would have some sort of apoplectic fit about it.]

It was nice while it lasted.

[Another sigh.

The sex was... fine, but the king-sized bed and easy shower access was downright luxurious. If he left with his pockets a bit heavier and Angelica's purse a bit lighter, he simply calls it payment for being so unceremoniously kicked out at four in the morning before Mr. Hendrickson came back from his sister's.]

[demonicmiracle]

[It's not a bad tactic; anyone eavesdropping is more likely to latch onto that piece of information, something stated outright, rather than guessing at where Julian will end up tonight.]

Lucky for Mr. Hendricks. Not so lucky for you.

[He knows it isn't about the sex. Julian might have more libido than sense, but getting laid isn't as important as having a roof over his head.

They both know how this ends, it's just that Crowley hates saying it too plainly in public.]

M'sure it'll sort itself out, you're plenty resourceful.

[The words themselves are mild, but the sideways glance he gives Julian is a little softer, trusting that he'll understands the invitation for what it is.]

i.

[hallelujahjunction]

[Dan's on the hunt for another drink and a conversation. He earned enough money selling caricatures today to get drinks at Nog's instead of shoplifting vodka from the grocery store, so he decided to treat himself. He finds it ironic that now that he least has the financial capacity to treat himself, he thinks he needs it the most. Getting through every day as the town's least-beloved, rumpled, battered nuisance feels like a Herculean effort that should have a cash prize at the end, and instead, every once in a while he manages to buy his own whiskey at the bar before he gets hassled into leaving.

He hasn't been hassled yet. There are some guys from the slaughterhouse eyeballing him, and he's very intentionally avoiding their eye contact and looking for someone, anyone, whom he can rope into a conversation long enough for the guys to lose interest. Dan never starts fights, but the guys who work at the mines and slaughterhouse always have bad moods they need to take out on someone, and the homeless alleged sex offender is an ideal target.

He sees Crowley and he decides that that's his target, but only because he doesn't have many better options. There's nothing that a well-dressed professional like Crowley's going to want with Dan. He's sure Crowley will humor him for as little time as he can get away with, but with the guys at their booth glaring at Dan, he decides to try and take shelter's in Crowley's company quickly.]

Hey, if I tell you a joke, you mind spotting me two dollars? That's what I need for more Jack. [Dan sits down next to Crowley at the bar, intending to stay.]

[demonicmiracle]

[There are rumors about Dan; Crowley remembers them spreading when he rolled into town, a few of the locals dragging out newspaper articles and talking about broadcasts they'd seen, and he'd approached it with the same grain of salt he approaches most gossip.

There's a danger in associating with the man, but regardless of what Dan has or hasn't done, he's never struck Crowley as dangerous himself. He knows dangerous men, after all.]

We'll start with one, and you can have the other if the joke's decent.

[He fishes a crumpled dollar from his pocket and offers it out.

The game is a bit stupid, but it feels necessary, to keep a little distance.]

[hallelujahjunction]

Much obliged.

[Thank goodness Crowley's humoring him. Dan takes the dollar and slips it into his pocket with impressive sleight of hand. Once upon a time, Dan was a dealer in Vegas; many times upon a time he was a card-counting thief who only narrowly avoided getting kneecapped by security at the Luxor.]

You ever seen a dog bowl? [He grins, and when he does a careful eye can see a missing molar.] If not, don't worry about it. They ain't very good at it.

[The joke's stupid, but Dan hopes his delivery is winsome. Catching a glimpse of those guys in the mirror lets him know that they're still watching him. He wonders if they'll try and harass him when Crowley's here, given that Crowley has a bit of a reputation about town as well, although not nearly as toxic as Dan's. Government officials aren't Dan's favorite people either, but in this town people take the work that's available, and Dan can't begrudge someone for working for The Man.]

[demonicmiracle]

[It's a deeply stupid joke, but Crowley was expecting something a little better crafted, so the stupidity of it startles a laugh out of him.]

That was bloody awful.

[While it might not count as decent, he'll still pay for it, holding out another dollar bill.]

You here 'cause I've got money, or was there something else I can help you with?

[The question is fairly neutral, he's mostly asking out of curiosity, without minding whatever the answer may be.]

[hallelujahjunction]

Good. I was hoping if I couldn't might make you laugh, I could might make you groan. Glad I got both. [He takes the dollar, folds it in half and tucks it into the breastpocket of his jacket, where he's been keeping the entirety of his fortunes.]

Safety in numbers, [he says, lowering his voice and cutting his eyes towards the guys still glaring at him from across the bar.] If you don't mind talking to me until they lose interest, you'd could be saving me a lot of grief.

[In this miserable town, people tend to take out their aggression on whatever soft target they can find more than in other places. Dan's had his belongings trashed, been pushed around, had cold water and garbage thrown on him while sleeping in an alley, been taunted to do degrading things for a dollar by teenagers with cameras on their phones. He's seen people harass the homeless like that in other cities, but this is the first time in his life he's had to modify his own behavior and be so paranoid about people around him for fear of being bothered.]

[demonicmiracle]

[As a seasoned expert in being somewhat shady and also being a gossipy bitch, Crowley resists the natural urge to look where Dan is indicating, mostly because he doesn't have to look to know exactly the sort of men being referenced.

They're the same men that he carefully avoids, since he's committed the apparently grievous sin of wearing jeans that are a bit too tight.]

The honesty's appreciated. [Which is the truth; it might have rankled a bit if he'd felt used, so Dan being open about why he chose to strike up a conversation helps soothe any potential hurt feelings.] Might not have chosen the best person to chat to, but I suppose the job helps, hm?

[It adds a layer of protection that he wouldn't have, otherwise, and he's been known to extend that protection to others when he can.]

[hallelujahjunction]

It do. They reckon the police will listen to you if things get hairy and the cops get called to break it up.

[Dan's father's heart would have broken to know his son was breaking bread with a government man, but Dan's sure he'd have already broken his father's heart a hundred times if his dad had seen where Dan's life has taken him.]

But just because I got ulterior motive don't mean I can't enjoy the conversation, right? [When he smiles at Crowley this time, it's genuine. Dan is sincerely interested in other people, and now that he has Crowley's attention, he wants to know more about him.]

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley tips his head in a moment of thoughtfulness; he'd simply been thinking about the fact they're less likely to go after someone with a 'respectable' profession, but Dan's got a good point.]

Never considered that, but I suppose they would. The cops, I mean.

[It's always nice to have extra cards in his pocket, when it comes to ways he can protect himself, so he appreciates the new angle to play, should he ever need to.]

The answer has less to do with ulterior motives and more to do with whether you've picked a decent conversationalist.

[The implication here is that Dan has not picked a good conversationalist, on account of Crowley is an asshole. He can be a good conversationalist, it just usually requires being far more open than he wants to be.]

1

[sk8terh8ter]

[There's a little rat-a-tat at Crowley's apartment door. No one will be there when he opens it. This is not typical. Usually, Cato will just be there, asking if he can crash or asking if they can hang or asking if he can help him with history homework because he's old so clearly he'll know more about it and has probably seen some of it.]

[But while not typical, occasionally Crowley will open the door and no one will be there. And instead, from the shadows of the stairwell, he'll hear:]

Psst, Mr. Crowley. Mr. Crowley. It's me. Cato.

[(Like it could be anyone else psst-ing at him from the stairwell.)]

[The fact Cato is hiding is because either a) it's after curfew and he's worried about being seen out and maybe ratted on by one of the other tenants, and/or b) he has pissed off the sheriff or one of her deputies and is worried about another tenant ratting him out, or one of said deputies might be maybe searching the place for him.]

[It's happened before, after he couldn't successfully dodge a tail by ducking into the building. Since then, he clearly thinks the safest route when he thinks the fuzz might be after him is psst-ing from the dark of the stairwell that doesn't have working lights.]

[Right now it is a little of column A and a little of Column B. Yes, he pissed off a deputy by getting caught doing a blunt with his board off the bumper of their cop car, without realizing they were napping inside. And yes, after trying to lose them for like a half hour, it's after curfew. Even if he wanted to try to get back to his foster parents, curfew's a thing for like everybody, honestly.]

Can I crash at your place? Deputy Sausage Roll is pro'lly still circling the block to try to catch me breaking curfew.

[He has specific nicknames for all the deputies in town, and all of them are assorted pork products naturally. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[It's early enough that Crowley hasn't made it to bed, yet, but late enough that he isn't expecting any visitors, which likely means the knock on the door is one of the various delinquents who occasionally use his couch as a bed.

So when he opens the door to an empty hallway, the initial reaction is confusion followed quickly by annoyance at the thought that someone's playing silly buggers. That resolves into a sort of fond, mild annoyance when he hears Cato's voice.

If it weren't for some of the other visitors he has, he'd just give Cato a damn key, but sometimes he needs a little privacy, so he has to deal with the nonsense.]

Come on in, kid. You know my flat's kosher.

[Naturally all the nicknames are pork products, and naturally Crowley is willing to roll with that joke, considering his general disdain for cops.]

[sk8terh8ter]

Ha, I got that one.

[Sometimes Mr. Crowley was sarcastic but the joke was smart in a way he didn't always get, but that one he understood.]

[He hurries in, just as feet can be heard heavily stamping up the other stairwell up the hall. There's also a lot of huffing and puffing. Officer Sausage Roll was skinny as a rail and didn't seem to have enough muscle to retain even the tiniest bit of endurance, something that was always to Cato's benefit.]

Whew. Close one.

[He tosses his board down and immediately heads for Crowley's kitchen, looking for a snack, which is no shocker. It's not like he doesn't get fed but his foster parents don't seem to care enough to keep two boys fed enough to not still be a little hungry.]

I didn't do anything wrong. Obviously.

[He has never done anything wrong in his life ever.]

[demonicmiracle]

Glad to hear school isn't a complete waste.

[This is also a joke.

The door is shut and carefully locked behind Cato, and Crowley lingers by it for a moment or two in case there's a follow-up knock from the officer. He's careful not to spend too much time around Cato when they're out in public, in case anyone gets fucking weird about it, so he's not expecting Sausage Roll to connect the dots.

Still, never hurts to be careful, and the flat is small enough he can still keep an eye on Cato.]

Obviously. [More than a little sarcastic.] You want me to whip up some eggs?

[He remembers being a teenager.]

[sk8terh8ter]

[They would be weird about it. They wouldn't understand that some adults would see a neglected foster kid and go "is no one going to parent them??" understand the system is fucked and that direct legal channels hadn't and wouldn't do shit to help him, and take over at least some of the basic parenting tasks like, oh, feeding him, when Cato came to him in need of them.]

[Cato himself had been anxious in the beginning and kept his butterfly knife close but by now he knew for sure Crowley was safe. He wasn't quite good at being daddish about it but he was trying hard enough he could at least pull off cool uncle-ish.]

Yeah, that'd be good. I haven't eaten since school.

[As it stood, he snagged an apple and practically skipped over to Crowley's records and record player.]

Can I listen to more of your old guy music?

[demonicmiracle]

[The huffing and puffing is faintly audible on the other side of the door for a few seconds before it fades, leaving Crowley feeling safe enough to follow Cato further into the flat.

It means he can get started on those eggs.]

You ever need a meal, swing by the coffee shop and tell 'em it's on my tab.

[Cato is a little shit on occasion, but Crowley trusts him enough not to take advantage of that offer, the same way he trusts Cato not to steal his shit when let into his personal space.]

Depends. You wanna rephrase that without calling me old?

[The answer is yes, it always is, but he has to make a token protest about being called old.]

[sk8terh8ter]

[Cato decides he'll stop at the cafe sometimes then, and true to form, he'll be a good kid about it. Only when he's hungry and there's nothing at home.]

You know I can't. Some of this stuff is, like, three times as old as me.

[He walks over and pat pats Crowley in the arm, sighing in compassionate resignation.]

It's happening again, isn't it. You forgot what year it is. That'd be the dementia.

[He is a very good kid. He is also a very smartass kid at times.]

[demonicmiracle]

S'cause you're a bloody infant.

[This is why he's never having kids.

He playfully swats at Cato with the spatula, with no real intention of actually connecting.]

Careful, I'll forget what I'm cooking and you'll end up with sugar in your eggs.

[He could've made a joke about forgetting who Cato is and kicking him out, but that's a line he's not going to cross, not with everything the kid's been through. He remembers being a teenager in this way, too.]