nightlogs | ❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 3

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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 3

SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 3

The cracks are starting to show. People have been reforging connections. Rebuilding their senses of self.

Digging into things that are potentially sinister, their curiosity dangerously piqued. Now, too many truths are coming back to the surface for everything to stay suppressed.

Somewhere deep in the MineCorp mines, a wire snaps. Then another, and another.

PROMPTS

a) A CRACK IN THE DAM

A feeling of déjà vu is commonplace, and people’s dreams start to contain more and more imagery that doesn’t align with the lives they know here in this shitty little town – fantastical sleighs, huge golden globes, fae and monsters. Some people stop automatically responding when their name is called, because the name they’re being called feels wrong. Others discover they have talents at skills they don’t remember ever trying before.

But it remains out of reach until they do something that affirms their true self, an act that goes down to the core of who they are. It might be true love’s kiss, or placing a hand on their signature weapon, or invoking certain words when speaking truth to power. One way or another, once that final requirement is met...it all comes flooding back.

b) PUTTING THE PIECES TOGETHER

Your character remembers who they are, but their powers haven’t returned! The nefarious makers of the spell suppressing powers must be defeated. But who are the nefarious makers of the spell?

Several people have several parts of the puzzle. Time to put them together, anonymously, on the network. Skye has taken it upon herself to facilitate a discussion forum online with all accounts highly anonymized and access granted only by a password; details are being spread by word of mouth, friend to friend, always with the warning that just because the accounts are anonymous doesn’t mean that Goluboy or his people couldn’t try to sleuth people’s identities from context clues.

Skye sets a time for when the discussion forum will go live, and at midnight that evening, a website goes live with a simple comment post function and a message that all data will be deleted within 24 hours.

NETWORK LINK

The jig is up!

The source of the curse – and other mischief – is traced to Kyan Goluboy, and Noire Cygne. Confrontation with each of them will trigger counter-attacks and defenses.

c) CONFRONTING CYGNE

As soon as Cygne is confronted, or receives word from Goluboy that the jig is up, wilis pour into town. Normally, these undead jilted brides will dance to death whoever they get their hands on, but in a hurry they’ll resort to tearing their prey apart. Any person who the wilis get their hands on will be overwhelmed by an empathetic sense of their grief, shame, and hatred, and control of their body will be taken over as they are swept into the deadly dance.

The wilis are strong against physical violence, but can be burned by sunlight, or artificial growlights. People dancing with wilis can be pulled out of their embrace and pulled to safety, but only those with formal dance training stand a chance of changing the course of the deadly waltz, once touched.

The sheriff’s department forms the final level of defense around Noire Cygne’s mansion and person. Get past the chaos of the wilis throughout town, and Sheriff Mallard and her deputies stand between your heroes and the town matriarch.

d) CONFRONTING GOLUBOY

Destroying the torture machine hidden hidden in MineCorp will end the curse and restore all powers. Too bad everyone will have to sneak past mine workers and security guards who’ve been promised a big fat bonus for bringing your characters alive and restrained to Goluboy’s office. As the man himself would say, nothing makes a person work harder than money. Some of the wilis have made their way into the mines as well...

e) AFTERMATH

The villains have been defeated!

What will your heroes do with them? Can any of their past victims still be saved? It’s time to convene and pass judgement on your captors, and check that every I is dotted and every T is crossed.

OOC DETAILS
❅ Event Length: This part of the plot will last until 10/15, and the situation with the npcs are meant to be resolved by then, though general CR threads can continue to be backtagged after that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Someone else might not notice it, but the slight drop of Crowley's shoulders in relief is probably obvious to Aziraphale, at the reassurance that he's believed, even if part of him wanted to hope that he was going crazy. It would be easier, if that was the problem.

The relief isn't what inspires him to say more, it's the fact that Aziraphale seems to agree that things aren't right.]

You know, I've tried to leave town so many damn times. [If the glass is set down, he's going to reach for it so he can pour himself a few fingers of whiskey and take a drink.] I've got a perfectly good car, never had a problem with it, except every fucking time I get twenty-some miles out of town, the car breaks down. Nothing's ever been right about this place.

[He's never admitted to this before, all the escape attempts, because it always felt a little bit crazy and he managed to lie to himself.

But he'll tell Aziraphale now, when so much else is coming to a head.]

[ The admission brings a strange little feeling to bear. Just a blip of one, really, easy enough to ignore. The idea that if the area under control were bigger, or if it didn't matter quite so much to keep them in it, Crowley would have left.

It's less that, of course (more than a few people wouldn't be here, possibly including himself), than the idea that his altered self wouldn't have been bothered about it at all. Might have been glad hearing about it who-knows-how-long after the fact. Not a pleasant thought to have. ]

I think... there may be forces at play that go beyond, um. Well, beyond human means. A bit more occult in nature. As fanciful as that may sound off-hand. [ Things that should simply be a given, but Crowley thinks he's a human man (unfathomable) right now, so.

Aziraphale settles back into his own chair and lets Crowley do his drinking. ]

Although I suppose we shouldn't rule out a less fanciful human cult. I suppose those have quite a bit of reach.

[ If the human life he thought he'd had involved some very suspiciously cult-like surroundings in hindsight, that's between him and himself. ]

[If he didn't feel responsible for Cato right now, it would be incredibly tempting to drink himself silly. It wouldn't do to be drunk right now, though, not when he may need to drive, so he'll limit himself to the single glass.

This is why he never wanted kids. Too much responsibility.

At Aziraphale's response, he makes a sound somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a dismissive scoff.]

Right, of course, why not toss the occult into this whole mess, 'cause bloody aliens weren't weird enough.

[He knows he's going to have to explain that comment now he's said it, but he's going to put it off as long as humanely possible. He doesn't even have the energy to address the concept of a normal human cult, nor does he quite notice that it's a little weird for Aziraphale to refer to it as such.]

[ Crowley: having a mental break.

Aziraphale: needs a second to try to remember what Real People might have to say about aliens being dropped into a conversation as such. Because personally, he's not so much surprised as irritated by the idea that somehow there are otherworldly invaders to deal with on top of the human issues?

Surely not. Hopefully not. ]

As in. As in extraterrestrials?

[ He's processing. He thinks that's a fair enough energy to present. ]

Have we got those as well?

[Considering how Crowley responded to all this, with a sort of baffled resignation, he's not too suspicious of Aziraphale's reaction.

He does sigh again, staring at the whiskey in his glass as he swirls it around, trying to come to terms with the fact that is dragging Aziraphale into this. It was a mistake coming here, it was a mistake asking Aziraphale for alcohol.

It was a mistake coming to this town all those years ago.]

Don't worry, the aliens are the good guys. [He finally glances up, so Aziraphale can see the befuddled look on his face.] Call themselves the Guardians, apparently.

[There's a heavy dose of skepticism that he didn't show around Cato, because he wasn't going to be that much of an asshole around a kid who was going through A Lot.]

[ Look at him moping. Aziraphale hates him (affectionate).

He doesn't know enough about science fiction to make a funny little joke. He doesn't know when the appropriate time to mention that Crowley is technically one of those aliens, and also that they're deeply in love. What a struggle.

It's a good sign, though, if other Guardians have come back to themselves and made it known. Aziraphale will have to work out getting in touch somehow. ]

One less thing to deal with for the time being. I suppose. [ It's a technical truth. The Guardians aren't something that need to be Handled™️. Just regrouped and reconnected. ] Not sure the town has ever felt particularly under guardianship, though. If I'm being completely honest.

[ From what he thought he remembered and what he's learned in real-time, it's sort of just terrible here? All the time? They must have all been properly put through their paces when this started, to manage all this mess. ]

[The problem with having his entire world view gently shattered, along with going through a series of very overwhelming days, is that Crowley's brain-to-mouth filter isn't nearly as thorough as it should be.]

Aside from you, I suppose.

[Whatever he might feel about Aziraphale, Crowley isn't stupid, he knows that the library is a safe haven for so many people in town, especially the ones that don't really fit in elsewhere.

If he feels a little embarrassed about saying that, he's going to cover it by launching into further details.]

They've had their memories messed with, whoever they are. If enough of them remember themselves, hopefully they'll handle all this mess. In the meantime I'll be laying low, on account of being involved in a damn cop getting shot.

[In for a penny, in for a pound.

In for draining his glass in one go, to continue with all his good decisions today.]

[ The line from reflexively flustered about free praise to that last sentence is a veritable sinkhole. There Aziraphale goes. Womp. ]

You--

[ Okay you know what maybe one extremely paranoid glance about like there'll suddenly be an authority figure Standing Right There. But there isn't one. Good. ]

Did you shoot a police officer? [ Not to sound completely wholeheartedly disbelieving of that as a concept or anything, but Aziraphale really doesn't think that sounds plausible.

If Crowley wants to kill a human he'll do it in a much more interesting way. ]

Are they alive? [ But just in case the brainwashing is extra impactful after all, a STAGE WHISPER: ] Good lord, Crowley, is there a body in your car?

[ He's not certain he has an unmarked grave to offer. Mister Fell was a man of little material means. ]

[If nothing else is familiar, Aziraphale will certainly recognize the string of unintelligible syllables that spill out of Crowley's mouth before he's able to turn them into words.]

For fu— No! I didn't shoot anyone and no one's dead. [It's fortunate he had finished his glass, since he would've definitely spilled the whiskey with his gesticulating.] It was one of those lot, the Guardians. That's how they remembered themselves.

[He's about 99% sure he can trust Aziraphale, but there's still part of him that wants to protect Cato, and he can't do that if he spills too many secrets.]

[ Note to self. Offending Crowley will not jog his memory. Not that that was the intention. More a side effect.

But okay. No need to cover up a murder right now on top of everything else. That's a relief, honestly. That's where the bar is set today. ]

I don't suppose any Guardians remembered themselves for their public relations work while you were meeting them?

[ Aziraphale doubts that will be a real actual issue by the end of all this, but you know. On principle, and in the spirit of pretending to have human concerns. ]

[There's a clear look on his face that suggests he's about to make some sarcastic comment about that, before his expression shifts to confusion.]

Did you call me Crowley a second ago?

[Despite multiple attempts, he's long since given up on insisting that Aziraphale can drop the 'mister', and now that it's finally happened, Crowley is surprised by how — right it feels, to hear his name.]

[ He expected the sarcasm and got only delayed confusion. Which is a turn.

Aziraphale looks appropriately confused and also sort of preemptively guilty. Like he has perhaps made a misstep but can't figure out what it was. He makes an executive decision to look off to one side. ]

Is that... is that not your name?

[ He feels like he remembers Crowley still being Crowley in this setup? Did reflexive millennia-old memory betray him?? ]

It is.

[There's a weight to the words; not quite suspicion just yet, but there's something in the way he squints at Aziraphale that suggests some puzzle pieces are being rearranged to fit in the right spot.]

Only you've always insisted on calling me Mister Crowley. I reckon 'cause you know it annoys me.

[And then a Crowley slipped out, like it was as natural as anything.]

[ Sometimes he wishes Crowley were both stupid and an idiot, instead of being a very clever idiot. Well. That's Aziraphale's mistake. Didn't consider he'd be on higher alert after whatever the devil happened to him. ]

I'm failing to see how that's relevant to the situation at hand.

[ gaslight gatekeep girlboss ]

[Sometimes he's very much a stupid idiot, but if there's anything that he pays attention to, even on a subconscious level, it's Aziraphale.

The dots are being connected; not all of them, just enough that he is starting to get a little suspicious of how easily Aziraphale has accepted all this, that he hasn't scoffed at Crowley or called him insane. And if he does believe him, for whatever reason, he's much too calm about the danger that Crowley is bringing.]

At this point, I'm starting to think everything is relevant.

[ On one hand, Aziraphale is semi-frantically trying to work out what the next best step is for damage control. On the other hand, he doesn't know how much damage control needs doing if the long-term point is working out what's going to bring Crowley back to himself.

(And back to Aziraphale.)

It's just he would prefer not to send Crowley running out into town actively trying to hide from him, either. ]

With the day you've had, I suppose that's fair. [ It's the natural curiosity. The desire to understand how things work, why they work that way, despite everything.

Maybe if he just. Tries being delicate about it all? Aziraphale folds his hands on his desk, trying to keep them still. ]

Would you mind answering a question for me, Crowley?

[ The only thing more suspicious than dropping the 'Mister' would be suddenly doubling down on it after being called out, right? Unless that's what Crowley wants him to think. Unless Crowley wants him to think that that's what Crowley wants him to think. Truly the actor's lament. ]

[There's no reason in pointing out that it's been longer than a day; it has little relevance to the fact that Crowley is on edge, or that Aziraphale is starting to act kind of weird.

The glass is set down and some of the frenetic energy drains from him, because he's focused on Aziraphale now, watching him carefully, trying to figure out what's going on here. He's more leaning towards he's one of the Guardians than anything, but he won't rule out the possibility than the kind act has all been a ploy.]

Depends on the question, but you can ask it.

[ Aziraphale's expression does... something, at that. The way one might catch a glimpse of life darting past beneath the surface of a body of water, or a vague silhouette through a tinted window.

Of course asking would be allowed regardless of whether an answer followed. Look who he's talking to. ]

Is this town the only thing in your life that isn't quite-- right, when you think about it?

Nothing in my life is right, no one ought—

[His teeth click shut as he realizes he was going to share far too much information. No matter how much he feels like he can trust Aziraphale, there are some secrets he needs to keep for himself.

But he also stopped himself because he realized why Aziraphale is asking what he's asking, and it's not something he wants to consider.]

You're being ridiculous, Fell.

[ Oh. Oh, dear. Hard to know what's going to touch a nerve when your partner suddenly only remembers a life that you never learned anything about.

Fell. With that tone and all. It's unsettling. ]

I'm ridiculous about a lot of things. [ According to just about everyone who's met him, he guesses. Even if he thinks some of them overexaggerate, Crowley included. ] But not about this. Not about your safety, certainly.

[ Aziraphale will care enough about that for the both of them until balance is restored. And maybe for a while after. Forever, perhaps. ]

My — pfft! [A few more unintelligible scoffs join the party, for good measure, and he has to stand up, needing to move and gestures a little.] My safety! You don't even bloody well like me!

[Which is fair. He understands exactly why Aziraphale doesn't like him, considering what he represents in this town, along with the fact that Crowley has only ever been shitty to him in return. All he knows is the image Crowley presents, the worst parts of himself.]

Look, I'll buy that you're one of this Guardian lot. It'd fit with the whole librarian thing, and God knows you're practically a saint, but don't turn this on me.

[ To quote a wise, offended sage: ??? ]

Turn what on you? I'm not turning anything on you! I'm, I--

[ GESTURES? The unmitigated gall of this demon. And Aziraphale can't even be properly mad with him because he's not in his right mind. ]

I am reasonably speaking to you about a fundamental truth!

This whole damn mess!

[As if, by making him question his existence, Aziraphale is trying to foist responsibility for the situation onto him. It's a ridiculous line of thought, but here they are.]

You've no need to worry about my safety. I'm keeping well out of this and once Cygne's been handled, I'm getting out of this shite town and never coming back.

[Most of this is, to be fair, entirely true. He will be leaving town and never coming back, once all this is over.]

Oh for Heaven's sake.

[ HUFF. SCOFF. SULK.

That point where Aziraphale was like "maybe if I'm very gentle": gone, dust in the wind. Clearly it failed. ]

You're so much less fun to argue with when you're like this, do you know that? I suppose you don't yet, do you. Do me a favor and jog your memory so that I can be properly cross with you about it. 'No need to worry.' Hah. Now who's being ridiculous.

[ He needs to be standing for this, actually. Can't just let Crowley have the high ground. ]

[There's a slight lean back when Aziraphale stands, not that he's right up in Crowley's space, but it changes the dynamic enough that Crowley isn't entirely sure how to handle it.

Aside from continuing to double down and be stubborn.]

Terribly sorry that I'm not fun to argue with when I've barely slept for three days 'cause I've got a fourteen year old sleeping on my couch that I helped escape from an attempted kidnapping attempt and he just shot a cop and told me he was an alien.

[That was definitely a run-on sentence that came out in one breath.

He's fine.

(He is not fine.)]

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oh i forgot to hit send again........

u were vibin on other tabs.. its no crime

i was out touching grass 😔

how dare

my audacity knows no bounds

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