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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 2
There's an article in the local paper, but word travels through the town hours before the first newspaper hits a doorstep: a man went missing down the mine, and they couldn’t even retrieve his body for his wife to bury. The official story is that there was a freak cave-in while the night crew was working, that no amount of preparation or technology could have prevented the act of God that left one of the arterials from the main mining cavern obstructed. Given that it was the night crew, there was only one witness, and he was violating protocol and too far down another arterial to hear or see what happened; because Goluboy has a zero-tolerance policy for breaking protocols, he fired the surviving miner. Goluboy has informed the newspaper that there will be no further efforts to recover the body.
Thus, two events are happening in town this weekend: Ms. Cygne’s debut ball, and a protest against the mining conditions outside the mouth of the mines.
Out in the woods, the fog has been thick to the point where subsistence hunters can’t venture in more than a few yards, and there seem to be strange sounds, almost like music, soft tank drums and ringing, emanating from the murk. It almost feels like the menace of the woods is...encroaching.
PROMPTS
a) PROTEST OUTSIDE THE MINE
The rage at Goluboy has been a long time brewing, but the people who live in his apartments wisely don’t appear at the protest. Instead, it’s all about twenty people who have just managed to avoid being dependent on Goluboy’s grace who have shown up with posterboards and a loudspeaker, rallying during the miners’ workday. This was all coordinated the day before my word of mouth, and it isn’t particularly well organized; people frequently end up blocking the mining equipment, and the foreman shouts at them to stay away from dangerous areas with marginal success. The three people with loudspeakers end up talking over each other and the chants are piecemeal and overlapping; however, the fact that people are upset about the perceived lack of safety for the miners and particularly for the abandonment of the missing miner’s body. Bring Him Home is the main chant and the only one that seems to get any muscle to it. The fired miner seems to be the person leading the most vocal chants.
The administrative staff from MineCorp have been asked to come field complaints from the protesters, armed with nothing but some talking points from the MineCorp mission statement (something something synergized comparative advantage for diversified innovative solutions something something labor is our most precious resource yada yada). One scruffy man seems to have hijacked the protest with his loudspeaker and is rambling about the animal maulings in the woods. At some point, Goluboy arrives in his armored Ford F-250. He calls over his foreman and has an annoyed conversation, and then he gets out, bodyguard looming behind him, to talk to individuals, putting on an evidently forced smile with gritted teeth.
The rage at Goluboy has been a long time brewing, but the people who live in his apartments wisely don’t appear at the protest. Instead, it’s all about twenty people who have just managed to avoid being dependent on Goluboy’s grace who have shown up with posterboards and a loudspeaker, rallying during the miners’ workday. This was all coordinated the day before my word of mouth, and it isn’t particularly well organized; people frequently end up blocking the mining equipment, and the foreman shouts at them to stay away from dangerous areas with marginal success. The three people with loudspeakers end up talking over each other and the chants are piecemeal and overlapping; however, the fact that people are upset about the perceived lack of safety for the miners and particularly for the abandonment of the missing miner’s body. Bring Him Home is the main chant and the only one that seems to get any muscle to it. The fired miner seems to be the person leading the most vocal chants.
The administrative staff from MineCorp have been asked to come field complaints from the protesters, armed with nothing but some talking points from the MineCorp mission statement (something something synergized comparative advantage for diversified innovative solutions something something labor is our most precious resource yada yada). One scruffy man seems to have hijacked the protest with his loudspeaker and is rambling about the animal maulings in the woods. At some point, Goluboy arrives in his armored Ford F-250. He calls over his foreman and has an annoyed conversation, and then he gets out, bodyguard looming behind him, to talk to individuals, putting on an evidently forced smile with gritted teeth.
b) DEBUT BALL
Ms. Cygne’s debut ball at her mansion is the event of the year, with all the lavishness than this sort of town can muster; beautiful dresses, a chocolate fountain, gift bags with expensive accessories and bonbons, fine sparkling wines, and invitations embossed with gold leaf. Plenty of the little treats are the sort that were presumed extinct in this town; no one’s seen a pair of Gucci sunnies or eaten a Ghirardelli’s in years here.
Most of the festivities take place in the massive ballroom that anchors the mansion, and they spill out into the lawn, where Ms. Cygne has insisted on a sit-down dinner rather than a “ghastly” buffet. The lady of the hour is quite active, making sure to check in with every single person at least once to make sure she’s getting praised for her hosting skills and getting a good look at every youth who’s appeared. The youths themselves have been pressured, by family members, teachers or Ms. Cygne herself, to present themselves as elegantly and politely as possible, and to make a “good showing” at their first event as a notable, respectable young person who may be a contender for Ms. Cygne’s prestigious scholarship.
At the table, people rub elbows with people they may not necessarily speak to otherwise, all brought together by the commonality of being someone Ms. Cygne has deemed noteworthy. Almost nobody allows themselves to get too inebriated, but one woman has a bit too much champagne and begins to cry at the dinner table; her friend, another woman in her thirties, ushers her to the powder room, where she composes herself while everyone awkwardly changes the subject. A few people do mannered waltzes in the ballroom, and out on the lawn, people mingle and make toasts.
Ms. Cygne’s debut ball at her mansion is the event of the year, with all the lavishness than this sort of town can muster; beautiful dresses, a chocolate fountain, gift bags with expensive accessories and bonbons, fine sparkling wines, and invitations embossed with gold leaf. Plenty of the little treats are the sort that were presumed extinct in this town; no one’s seen a pair of Gucci sunnies or eaten a Ghirardelli’s in years here.
Most of the festivities take place in the massive ballroom that anchors the mansion, and they spill out into the lawn, where Ms. Cygne has insisted on a sit-down dinner rather than a “ghastly” buffet. The lady of the hour is quite active, making sure to check in with every single person at least once to make sure she’s getting praised for her hosting skills and getting a good look at every youth who’s appeared. The youths themselves have been pressured, by family members, teachers or Ms. Cygne herself, to present themselves as elegantly and politely as possible, and to make a “good showing” at their first event as a notable, respectable young person who may be a contender for Ms. Cygne’s prestigious scholarship.
At the table, people rub elbows with people they may not necessarily speak to otherwise, all brought together by the commonality of being someone Ms. Cygne has deemed noteworthy. Almost nobody allows themselves to get too inebriated, but one woman has a bit too much champagne and begins to cry at the dinner table; her friend, another woman in her thirties, ushers her to the powder room, where she composes herself while everyone awkwardly changes the subject. A few people do mannered waltzes in the ballroom, and out on the lawn, people mingle and make toasts.
c) EXPLORE ELSEWHERE [Link]
OOC: Please feel free to thread with each other at any location in the town. Available NPCs are bolded. Please indicate in bold in your comment if you would like an NPC to tag in, or reach out to Em or Juliet specifically. We request that each player only request one NPC per character so we may respond quickly. Thank you!
OOC: Please feel free to thread with each other at any location in the town. Available NPCs are bolded. Please indicate in bold in your comment if you would like an NPC to tag in, or reach out to Em or Juliet specifically. We request that each player only request one NPC per character so we may respond quickly. Thank you!
There is gossip around town that characters can be handwaved as knowing that might drive some questions about the town and npcs:
- The spooky deaths in the woods that have been going on for ages.
- Mining disasters like this have happened before, always before the announcement of a big new mining vein opening up.
- Children who take Ms Cygne's scholarship never come back to the town, and their letters are very formulaic.
- Goluboy's wife died under mysterious circumstances, his girlfriend went to jail for the murder, and he is about town courting again.
- Cygne has a pond full of so many beautiful swans, aren't they lovely!
- The curfew sure is heavily enforced. Is it because the sheriff knows something about the monsters in the woods and is withholding information?
❅ Deja Vu: Characters may optionally start getting some very brief flashes of memory or deja vu but this will be brief, confusing, and alarming rather than revelatory and full memory regain will not be possible. Still, players can opt to have this cause a feeling of possible unease or un-rightness to the situation that can be used to drive characters to have questions or be suspicious enough to investigate areas and situations.
❅ Event Length: This part of the plot will involve an npcing stage. It will last approx. two weeks before the last part, part 3, though this end time may be shortened to match player pace if npc threads progress quickly.
❅ New Intros: If your character wasn't introed in part 1 you can handwave they've been there the whole time and just intro in part 2.
❅ New Characters: If you app a new character and want to intro them 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.
OPEN - Nog's Bar (will match style)
Everything's fine. Everything is fine. And because everything is fine, he can go to the bar and flirt and find someone beautiful and interesting to take home with him, because things are normal and that's what you do when things are normal. If things were weird and strange, he wouldn't go to a bar.
Paul doesn't go around announcing himself as Mr. Goluboy's lawyer, but anyone who's had legal run-ins with MineCorp have certainly seen him before. He knows he's handsome and charming, and Paul leans into that charm as he buys a drink for the good-looking face a few seats down from him at the bar. He flashes a winning smile their way.
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02.
Anyone who has had legal dealings with MineCorp or Mr. Goluboy himself would recognize Paul. Even when he's not flirting with you, he's still sitting at the bar, flashing that beautiful smile and desperately trying to quash this unease he's been feeling for the past few days.
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So while Apollo is there, looking around for the lookers, Boimler and some of his farm hands are there, noticing who's sitting there down the bar.
The farm hands look smug. The area of the farm under environmental review isn't close to the vineyards - they're still at work, getting paid. But nothing can be done with the overall parcel until something is decided.
While Paul stars down the opposite way at whoever he's bought a drink for, Boimler flags over the bartender. Whatever he orders gets a few snickers from the farm hands around him and a smirk from the current bartender on duty, who is well aware of what Paul is in town for.
The bartender eventually walks over and plunks a drink in front of Paul.
"Here. This is for you, courtesy of on of them farm hands."
It's a very very blue drink. If he tries it, it'll be pleasant enough, if very sweet, made of peach snapps, sweet and sour mix, blue curacao, coconut rum, and a dash of sprite.
Boimler leans back a little to hide himself in the row of much brawnier farm workers.
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One taste of the drink and he recognizes it as a blue balls. Cute. As stressed as Paul is, he's happy to have a distraction to focus on. He puts his suave persona on as he picks up the glass and makes his way over to the farm hands. He stands a comfortable distance away, looking pointedly at Boimler.
"If you wanted to vent your problems to me, there are less cryptic ways," he says coolly, pausing to take another sip. "You have my attention."
He suspects that Boimler did not want his attention in the slightest.
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"Venting? I'm not venting anything, just commemorating the moment with an appropriate drink choice. I'm so glad we could put things on hold for a bit and reassess. It's so important right now."
He holds a hand to his chest, as if deeply moved.
"Both sides are doing right by the owls right now."
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There is no way he's going to openly talk about the real subject of conversation. He's not an idiot and his family's lawyer would kill him.
"I know placing value to something like owls is a bit beyond someone like you, but people around here have different priorities. They're proud of protecting owls."
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He drums his fingers on the glass, looking thoughtful. "When I visited Australia, I came across some cassowaries. You've heard of those, right? As tall as a human with deadly claws on its feet. They're basically dinosaurs."
Paul turns his gaze back to Boimler and smiles, finishing off his drink. "But owls are nice, too. No need to strive for anything else when you've got owls to take care of here."
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"There's plenty to strive for, like protecting your family's owls, when other people strive for the opposite." He adds, "And they always do, because they think they can just steamroll everyone's owls."
The "no need to strive for anything else" definitely got under his skin.
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"You're clever, and you're tenacious. I've seen you in action. You'd be capable of so much if you didn't insist on tying yourself down to the vineyard."
He finishes off his drink and sets the glass down, pushing up from the bartop and heading for the exit. He's not really in the mood to go fishing for some overnight company anymore.
"Thanks for the drink."
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As Boimler gets up off his stool to go after Paul, one of the other hands, Lianne, calls after him, hoping to distract him from whatever he's about to go off and do in a bad mood.
"Wait, Bradford! I seem to have spilled my beer all over my t-shirt. Can you help me towel it off?"
"Not now, Lianne!" he calls in annoyance over his shoulder as he storms out the bar's door, leaving her crossing her arm and pouting in the bar behind him.
He doesn't know why it's making him so angry, someone telling him he's capable, that he has potential outside the farm. All he knows is it digs right under his skin, the idea that maybe he should be somewhere else, doing something else.
Boldly going somewhere else -
Okay, that's a weird way of phrasing it, but the feeling is there.
He ducks in between a few of the barflies heading into the bar for the night and catches up to Paul.
"What gives you the right?" he calls after him. "To talk about what anyone else is capable of? That's some ego coming from someone who thinks a high salary and a fancy degree means anything at all when their contribution to the world is - let me check my notes -" He looks at his hand "- making rich people richer and screwing innocent people over."
He holds his hand up and makes a zero with his fingers, emphasizing with it slowly.
"I'd say your contribution to the world comes out to a net zero but really you just make things worse. But hey, you sure do have a nice watch, huh? So I guess it all evens out."
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02.
[He notes small changes in Paul's behavior. Not surprising, given the troubles his main client is going through. The important thing is, there might be an opening there against Goluboy.
[When Paul smiles at him, instead of scowling and looking away like he normally does, he smiles back and relocates to sit next to the lawyer.]
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Especially if it distracts from how wrong everything has started to feel lately.
"Mr. Keyes. Been an eventful few weeks, hasn't it? How have you been?"
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He leans forward. "Though I suppose that is nothing in comparison to what you have to deal with. 'I have no control over the matter' is not an answer you can give to your boss." He flashes a sympathetic smile.
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He is not managing well, and hopefully tomorrow he'll finally get that meeting with Goluboy to get some damn answers. But that's tomorrow.
"Of course, it's never a bad time to drum up some positive PR. Perhaps we can schedule a meeting with my boss to discuss those petitions. I'm sure we could find middle ground that serves the interests of both parties." He takes another sip of his drink. "But tonight I'm here to forget about work for a while."
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"Of course, of course. To forgetting our troubles." He raises his glass briefly. "But I hope not for long. This is official town business now, and I'm certain that Ms. Cygne will want to respond swiftly, once she is aware of the extent of the complaints."
02b. the handsome bastards table
He's not a frequent visitor here. His choice of drink is whatever lager brand they had in a bottle, not particularly confident in the homebrew concoction sitting on tap. It's been ages since he's drank much socially and he doesn't feel like testing his luck with driving home after the curfew again.
So, he looks across the table to the face of the legal department, his expression perfectly dry and even.
"How's the latest shitstorm treating you, Paul?"
DILF adventures! Even if one of them doesn't remember he's a father.
But now even that feels distant from his mind. He can't stop thinking about the way Goluboy suddenly clammed up when he mentioned the gate.
"Never a dull moment." He shakes his head. "But trying to get details about our latest problem is like pulling teeth."
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"Sounds like the boss realized he stepped in it."
Miguel is not nearly deep enough in beers to have lost his inhibitions, but something about the latest death has really made the cynic in him return in full force. Get enough accidents like this and some of the company's tar ends up on his reputation, too.
"Anyone with eyes and an ability to read could have seen this coming."
He's taking a long swig.
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Paul watches him take a swig and decides that doesn't sound like a bad idea. He downs half his pint in one go. He glances around, checking to see if anyone might be watching, then sidles a little closer to Miguel.
"I need to talk to you in private."
Paul realizes it may sound like a pickup line. He has a reputation for being flirty. But the smile's faded from his face, and his gaze is distant. This isn't his usual flirty, sunny demeanor. "I need to talk to someone."
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His expression becomes stern. With the way Goluboy liked to lord over his employees, he took matters like this very seriously. It's important that they lend some trust to each other even if they couldn't trust their boss to have their interests at heart.
"How private? The room in the back might be empty. Or we could drive to your place. Mine is within spitting distance of headquarters."
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-
The drive to Paul's place is reasonably quick. There's not enough time to discuss... everything. But there is something else on Paul's mind that he wants to ask.
"You're from out of town. You lived somewhere else before. Do you remember anything about the day you moved here?"
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“…It’s a bit of a blur, now that you mention it. Day was so busy that the most prominent thing was figuring out how I was going to unpack the piles of boxes.”
He scratches his head.
“How’s this related to what we were discussing earlier?”
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Miguel seems to remember arriving better than Paul does, so he doesn't push the issue of his own memories being fuzzy. Best not to sound crazy right before laying down some conspiracy theories.
Paul's house is modestly sized, but the space is utilized well and it has some high-tech luxuries.
"Something shady is going on." He grabs some drinks from the fridge and brings them to the table to pick up where they left off. "I don't mean regular corporate bullshit. There's something happening in that mine."
He goes on to detail Goluboy's slip of the tongue earlier that day, and brings up photos of the suspicious e-mails as well, explaining how he'd been ordered to delete them.
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Their line of business was already straddling the line between shady and barely above board, but this was beyond the pale. Asking a lawyer to delete evidence? Secret tunnels and plans? It already made MineCorp's refusal to retrieve the body look monumentally worse.
"None of my schematics of the mine had an electric gate." he says, sounding properly pissed off. "Whatever it is he had built was crossed from the records. The only way to keep that hidden is to have done substatial digging below the longwall."
And some of the pieces start to click into place as he does so - if there was activity even lower in the ground, then that would explain the unexpected ripple effects all the way back up to the surface. The instability of the tunnels, the sinking up on the surface. Goluboy was endangering all of them for this secret.
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Closed to Goluboy - Forward-dated to after all of Paul's other threads
He doesn't have access to a powerful enough magnet to disrupt the electronic lock, but he did once have an internship at an office that used something similar. Pulling a can of compressed air from his briefcase, Paul kneels next to the entrance and slips the straw under the door, firing a burst of cold air on the other side. He hears a soft click and quickly grabs the handle. It opens without an issue, and he enters.
The room is lined with file cabinets, and Paul isn't sure where to start — until he sees the papers strewn about the conference table in the center of the room. He makes his way over to see what they are.