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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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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!
no subject
But he does.
Logan's life has one important rule when it comes to violence, which, given fist fights and bar fights in town never net a visit from the cops unless someone dies, has kept him away from any long bouts in prison.
If a man comes at him with fists, he'll meet him with fists. But if he takes it a step worse, against him or anyone he's trying to protect (not that he has anyone left he would), he has no sympathy for them. They'd have made their choice and would have to live or die with it.
Miguel's lucky it's just fists. Even partly drunk, even with a body worn down by far too much drinking, he's a tough old bastard, still wound together with wiry muscle despite being partly wasted away. He works hard work at a slaughterhouse, used to work a ranch, and was a soldier before that. Shaking fists can still hurt when they hit hard.
The two of them roll down a small embankment into the parking lot of a broken down, out-of-business Waffle House. Logan grapples with him before hearing a few cheers and looks around in confusion.
"Hey now, looks like we've got some new contenders! Place your bets - the young guy or the geriatric!" calls out a young man sitting on the edge of his truck bed.
There's another pair of men fighting nearby too and a whole crowd of people ranging from their early 20s to 30s just hanging out drinking beer out of coolers.
"I know where we are." And that's all he needs to know to ignore them and keep fighting in earnest. "Waffle House Fight Club."
Of course Logan knows about Waffle House Fight Club. Doesn't go - he's far too old to spend once a week getting fucked up on purpose, and he knows he can't take a lot of the young guys there. But he's heard about it at the bar. Maybe when he was younger, he might have gone, probably been King of the Ring at some points during his youth, where he generally was considered the toughest guy in town.
no subject
He hesitates enough with punches and elbows that he doesn't think to do any dirty fighting that'd be free game in a street brawl, either. No use of dirt or rocks or clawing for the face. He's mostly scraping along on the raw strength in his limbs and the simple fact that his body isn't nearly as beaten up by time and injury - though Logan's fists come in shockingly hard for his age. What rage will do to a guy!
In the middle of their grapple, he uses the brief distraction to shove one boot between them and either kick Logan off or push himself away. Was he tasting blood in his mouth? He scrambles to his feet, far from done.
"Waffle House what?" he shouts out, ears thrumming loudly with the adrenaline.
no subject
The comment is barbed and the glare Logan gives him is suddenly sharper and far more hateful than the one he's been looking at Miguel. Yes, he's angry but there's something else there, something provoking actual wrath.
It is entirely possible that despite his anger, he's been going somewhat easy on Miguel.
He takes another hard swing at him, but it's perfunctory, like he's trying to teach him a lesson and get it out of the way.
no subject
He stumbles forward a step and swears under his breath. Great. Perfect. Right in the middle of the den of lunatics. Why does it feel like he’s suddenly in a gladiator arena trapped with the rabid bear?
“This is stupid. You got to punch me, I stopped you from doing something you would’ve regretted later. Isn’t that even enough?”
He raises his hands up defensively. He does not give two shits about ruining everybody’s bets here.