nightlogs | ❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1

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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1

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.

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[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.]

[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.

[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.]

[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?

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.]

[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 am, aren't I?

[He isn't above basking in the praise-- he receives so little, these days, he can't be blamed for coveting what he does get.

Julian hears, and sees, the hidden offer in Anthony's words and expression. Never let it be said that he can't pick up on a hint, even if he often chooses not to.]

Maybe I'll even get lucky myself.

[It's a taking of temperature. Some Anthony's game, sometimes not. Julian is confident enough that his friend won't take offense and revoke the offer that the unspoken question doesn't feel like such a risk.]

[Crowley can hardly blame him for basking in the compliment; God knows he's been inclined to stupidity over a few kind words, and God knows this place doesn't inspire much kindness in the general population.

He's never asked why Julian doesn't just leave. It's the same reason that Crowley hasn't left. That so few people do. Something always pops up, an emergency, a problem, an attachment.]

Might do, if you play your cards right.

[It's neither a yes or no. Some nights, the worst nights, he can't muster up the pretense necessary to make sure it stays about sex rather than comfort and it's easier to keep a distance.

That sort of thing is better when he's in a decent mood, and can make sure nothing complicated sneaks in.]

I'll drink to that.

[Julian lifts his glass in a toast and takes a swig. It's not a yes, but it's not a no either so he'll take it. He knows Anthony likes to leave his options open. Hell, Julian does too. (Anthony also seems to get twitchy around anything remotely approaching "genuine connection" or "emotional attachment". Julian has no interest in being tied down, but he also takes no shame in hoarding what comfort and luxuries he can get. Coveting is the least of his sins.)

He looks down at his pint of the cheapest swill Nog's has to offer.]

I would kill a man for a proper cocktail.

[He's never been a beer man, but it's often all he can afford.]

[As much as it's nice to be pursued, sometimes, right now he's relieved that Julian accepts his answer without needling or pushing. That might come later, but he doesn't need to make a decision or defend it just yet.]

Fuck, tell me about it.

[Whiskey is great, he'll happily drink whiskey neat or mix himself an old fashioned or a Manhattan, but it isn't the same as wandering into some posh bar where he could get a cocktail with twenty ingredients.]

I've not even found a bottle of bitters in this shithole.

They likely hid it when they saw you come in. You're plenty bitter enough.

[Zing.]

It almost makes me miss uni. The drinks were shit, but at least there was variety.

[Julian knocks back the rest of his drink in one go. It's not good enough to nurse, and he got what he came for.]

Well, I'm off to sort myself out a sleeping arrangement.

[AKA he's going to loiter behind some bushes near Anthony's apartment building until the man decides he's drunk away enough of his problems for the evening.]

Be home before curfew, you know how those stodgy dicks at the station can get. Your shiny reputation wouldn't survive it.

[He's not above making a dig at Anthony's need to hide his personal life (read: any hint of association with Julian) away. Julian may not have much dignity left, but he's got plenty of pride. He doesn't enjoy being a dirty little secret.]

[Dryly:] You ought to go into stand up.

[Crowley would like it known that he doesn't think Julian is funny, except for when he is actually funny. As much as he occasionally wallows in his own misery, he wouldn't risk so much if he didn't actually enjoy Julian's company.

That doesn't stop the little dig from stinging slightly, although he doesn't react to it all that much, merely lifting his glass in Julian's direction, a silent toast.]

Don't worry, I've no interest spending the night in a cell. [It's his way of telling Julian that he won't have to wait too long.] Good luck, mate.

[The idea of drinking alone has lost its appeal, but he forces himself to wait a little over thirty minutes after Julian leaves to finally settle up his tab and head out the door in the direction of home, as little as it ever actually feels like a home.

They've done this enough times that Crowley doesn't bother searching for Julian in the dark; the rock by the entryway gets kicked into place to stop the door to the apartments from closing, trusting Julian to nudge it back out of the way once he's through. Up the two flights of stairs, wondering if this is how Orpheus ever felt, he leaves his own door unlocked and open, knowing that Julian won't be far behind.

In something of an apology, Julian will find Crowley in the kitchen, in the process of preparing two whiskey sours.]

[Julian waits a few minutes before following Anthony. He smoothly kicks the rock aside so the door will shut behind him. Climbing the stairs helps to get his blood flowing to regain some of the heat he lost waiting out in the cold for a half hour.

His thoughts are occupied with wondering what mood Anthony's going to be in tonight. It's been a while since they've slept together, and there's always something nice about spending the night with someone who cares-- are at least, someone Julian can fool himself into thinking cares.

He gets to the apartment, quietly slips in, and locks the door behind him.]

It wouldn't kill you to have a pop of color in this place, you know. [This is a complaint he makes every time he comes to Anthony's. Then he notices what's being prepared in the kitchen.]

Anthony, you are a fucking saint.

[Julian hops up and sits on the counter so he can loom over the drinks as they're being prepared. The moment the drinks are finished he makes impatient grabby hands. His fingers are a bright, painful-looking red after moving from the cold outside to the heated indoors. His nose, cheeks, and ears are heavily flushed.]

[The mercy of Crowley's apartment is that it's always warm; despite the cost of heating the damn place in the colder months, he allows himself this indulgence for his own sake, with the bonus that it'll warm Jaskier up after his stint outside.]

There's color in the books.

[There's always a rebuttal, though it changes from time to time, and he watches Jaskier out of the corner of his eye as he moves around the kitchen.

It never feels quite right, having people in his space, but it's — nice, to not be alone, so he hands the drink over and leans a hip against the counter, facing Jaskier.]

We both know that's very much not true, but I can make a decent whiskey sour.

Anthony Crowley: Patron Saint Of Sorry Bastards Who Desperately Need A Decent Drink.

[His voice is teasing, but there is an undertone of genuine gratitude. Possibly even affection. Julian doesn't like thinking about it in these terms, but he does know that he's indebted to his friend. He's probably saved his life multiple times over the years, whether that's from freezing in an unforgiving winter, drinking himself to death in moment of self-pity, or simply being there when Julian's not sure if it's worth it to continue on.

Anthony doesn't know the extent of this, of course, because Julian has never gone so far as to tell him all that. He likes to put on an air of composure and terminal optimism, even when being incredibly pessimistic.]

One day I'm going to buy you a horrible, neon pink orchid. Then you'll be sorry.

[They both know Anthony would never let a flower die out of spite, even one as fickle as an orchid. No, he would obsess over keeping it in an ideal condition, which would mean keeping it on the window in the kitchen that faces East and everyone would see it.

It's the perfect evil plan, if Julian ever had two pence to rub together.]

Yeah, alright, I'll take that.

[He'll even raise his own glass in a halfhearted toast. Despite his earlier coldness, they're alone now and it's a little easier to be genuine, to show a little humor and gentleness to Julian. The situation is more than a little complicated, but he doesn't regret letting him come here, and it isn't as dangerous as it is in public.

He can risk things like being close enough to touch, even if he doesn't reach out himself.]

Lucky for me, orchids can change colors if you mess with the conditions a bit. I reckon I could get it back to white.

[He's such an asshole.]

[Julian drinks to his victory]

I'll simply get you another. It will be your Sisyphean burden: endlessly turning obnoxiously colored flowers to white.

[Anthony may be too brood-y to reach out to someone else, but Anthony has no such restraint. He kicks his feet a little as he slides himself across the countertop and closer to the other man. He leans in a little, allowing their arms to touch, but not so much that Anthony can't brush him off if he's not open to it.]

I'm sure you'd easily charm them to do your bidding. You have such a delicate touch when you want to.

Hey now, I've not done anything worth a Sisyphean task. I'm a perfectly good host.

[They've probably had far too many conversations about mythology; Crowley doesn't even remember when he learned most of the facts that he knows, they just sort of pop up when the subject arises.

The touch isn't brushed off. If anything, he leans into a little, not willing to admit that he actually appreciates the company, but he is grateful that Julian is here. God knows it's one small bright spot in several years of a miserable existence.]

You're already here, Julian, there's no need for all the flattery.

[Things that are true in any universe: he's awful at taking a compliment.]

My darling, I'm your Sisyphean task.

[It's funny because it's true.

Julian quickly makes himself comfortable in Anthony's space.]

Yes, but flattery might get me other places.

[He turns his head so the other man can feel his breath on his ear as he speaks.]

Your bedroom, perhaps?

[Crowley exhales a laugh, half-amusement and half-agreement.]

Better than being Prometheus, I suppose.

[If he's going to be stuck in some sort of cycle, at least Sisyphus was just rolling a rock up a hill, not having his liver eaten every day.

The affection is familiar, the flirting is even more familiar, and there's no need to pretend anymore, not in the privacy of his own home.]

Mrs. Hendricks didn't wear you out, then?

[There's always a hint of doubt in the back of his mind, the concern that Julian only does this in exchange for a safe place to stay, but he's enough of a coward to keep the questions to himself. He doubts either of them want to confront the reality that Julian thinks the only thing he has to offer is sex, and that Crowley is lonely and selfish enough to allow it.]

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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1

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cw: implied abuse

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cw: brief mention of passively suicidal thoughts

:(

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