Welcome To The Village

[number_2]

Who: Everyone who was signed-up for the excursion
What: The Village December Excursion
When: Dec 1st - Dec 23rd
Where: The Village
Warnings: Involuntary capture and confinement including immobilization and restraints, violence, injury, maiming, possibility of death, torture, coercion, gaslighting, mind control, drugging, scientific experiments, and extremely inaccurate depictions of mental health facilities/hospitals, among other potentially triggering themes. Please mark all threads appropriately.




"Good morning, good morning, good morning!" A voice that sounds very similar to Friday's chirps over a loudspeaker outside your character's home. Yes, their home.

Overnight, all the passengers who signed up for this excursion have been transported to their very own personal cottages. They will awake in a bed that is familiar to them. While this home of theirs does not necessarily have to resemble the place they were born or raised, it will be a perfect replica of a place they truly thought of as their home, down to the most minute details.

The cottages are self-contained, the size of a large studio apartment so, in some cases, they may only resemble the bedroom and living room of a person's home with a shrunken-down kitchenette and bathroom adjoined. But the heirlooms of their past are here. A favorite doll? A treasured family portrait? Trinkets you have long forgotten about? All of them will be here, somehow. (All except for weapons, that is.) They are indistinguishable from the real item, down to the molecule.

After that wake-up call, the voice continues on to express that the weather will be warm and sunny, with no rain forecasted. A brass band concert is announced, to start at noon on the lawn next to the living chess set. And once that bit of news is wrapped up, lively marching band music will begin to play. And it will continue to play. All day. From every speaker...including the ones hidden in their home.

Welcome to Your Village

It only gets stranger from here. Characters may be dismayed to find that they are without any of their original clothes or belongings. They awake in conservative button-up pajamas. The closet in their home is full of the latest Village Fashion to choose from. Everything is The Village label brand, including the tin cans of food that stock the kitchen and any of the groceries you could get at the General Store.

Your ship phone rings. When you answer it, you will be greeted, once again, by the voice of Friday. "Your number, please? Of course, you have a number. Look at your badge." If they look down at their chest, they will discover a small round number badge has been pinned to their pajamas. Was that there before? It bears the symbol of a Penny-farthing Bicycle, with a number in the spokes. This is their number.

"No names here," the voice of Friday chides, "Only numbers. Number 2 would like a word with you at the Green Dome. He requests you come for breakfast. Thank you!" Before they can protest further, the line goes dead.


Some Notes:

No matter how many times your character tries to take off and disregard their number badge, they will always find it re-attached to their clothes again the moment they look away and look back.

Your characters still have their phones but now they can only make calls instead of sending texts. They also do not take or store photographs anymore.

If your character destroys or damages anything in their home, or in The Village it will instantly repair the way things used to on the Serena Eterna.

The noise from the speakers can be muffled by covering it with pillows or other creative items, but cannot be stopped entirely. (Sorry Phil)

Comments

[goodweather]

Hands go up in a pleading gesture; wings fold in, he remains exactly where he is, doesn't try to move closer. Various pasts ring in his head, he's been confronted with things like this before but--it could be real, couldn't it? A new possibility about the Village clicks into place, and the breeze of his Mantle, that little tattletale, goes cold with dread.

He glances at Cassandra, then at Valdis with a measure of frustration (outright denying paranoia never helped the paranoid person), then back to Ava. When he asked for a heads up, Peter, he would've loved some specific examples before he stumbled into them feet first. Christ.

"As if I'd willingly dress in this shit," he quips steadily, taking care to leave in the swear. "I'm not gonna push, alright? What's gonna work for you right now? You want us to go? Or do you wanna keep an eye on us?"

b

[thismaskismybadge]

[ The room behind Gwen is completely unlike the rest of their surroundings, like a watercolour painting turned 3D and come to life. Stood there in the doorway, half outside half inside, Gwen herself is currently an odd mix of both worlds—the watercolour undertones are more obvious than ever, but she's at least naturally coloured.

Her eyes narrow at Steve, dubiously, ] Did you live without bedsheets, or something?

[ Her bedroom is a copy of her bedroom from home, logic dictates others are the same, so... ]

[not_the_last]

"With a connecting tunnel, yes. What are the chances that one of us might have a way to locate that kind of thing?"

A way that doesn't involve that man, or any of his people, handing over the information voluntarily.

[goodweather]

"Ah--ehn--yes, I'll be right over when I can," he says over the lunch for two that he's in the middle of cooking. It'll have to wait, he guesses.

He turns off the stove and puts a lid over the thing when it stops cooking in the pan. After a moment's thought, he pages Darcy and Skulduggery to let them know where he's going.

And he goes.

[number_2]

He patiently waits to speak until she's done making all that racket.

"He will always be Number 6. He can no more escape that than he can escape this place." Number 2 casually lifts his teacup to his lips and takes a dainty sip.

"But I promised to show him to you, didn't I?" He presses a button on his console and the projector screen on the wall flickers to life on an image of Number 6 laying in what appears to be a simple wrought iron bed, soundly asleep."

[number_2]

Number 2 is waiting at the door to meet him. "Number 0202, thank you so much for coming on such short notice. Shall we go inside?"

He holds the door open, saying, "After you."

[number_2]

"That's going to get cold if you don't eat it soon," Number 2 remarks, before turning away from her to address someone else.

[not_the_last]

She falls into step beside him. "I've been looking around your village here -- did I understand you correctly at breakfast, to say this is a new kind of society?"

Later in the week at a time of your choosing

[number_2]

Wherever Phil is are right now, he can feel eyes on the back of his neck. He knows someone is watching. But, no matter how hard he searches, he won't find the source. Eventually, the feeling goes away, but it may leave him unnerved for the day.

Just when he thinks there's nothing more to it, he will discover his home has been ransacked. For some reason, it hasn't repaired itself. Everything is a mess. A few things may be broken. But, the most concerning thing of all is the message written in black paint on his ceiling.

BE SEEING YOU

Have fun cleaning up. Or don't.

[goodweather]

His head cants slightly. “Of course.”

He goes in, back straight, all the perfect and guarded airs of someone who’s going in to an interview. Because that’s what this is.

[number_2]

"It aims to be one, yes," Number 2 answers proudly. "Why do you ask?"

[goodweather]

Now that’s just impolite.

He’s not blowing his entire cottage up, thanks, because some of them actually need a bed to sleep in, but thankfully the place was already very small and devoid of real belongings. Not to mention the fact that he’s already given a pillow and his blanket away. There wasn’t much to actually mess with here besides the kitchen, but what a mess it is.

Later, he scrapes up some twine and manages to rig up a couple of those stupid capes to cover up the ceiling so he doesn’t have to stare at it at night. It doesn’t help knowing that it’s there.

[number_2]

"I suppose I can cross reference that, if I must." Number 2 makes it sound like a chore.

"In the mean time, let me assure you that there is nothing to worry about. We have it all well in hand."

[redlightgreenlight]

Either Number 2 has given up on fighting her on the names, or he is biding his time to flex his power over this place.

"A 'productive chat?'" She repeats with an arched brow. "I assume you plan to have more of those, or is it all going to passive mind games?"

[not_the_last]

"I'm curious about a few points, I do hope you'll be so good as to enlighten me. First though, on the original village, the one where you and our friend first met -- is this a precise replica of it? Nothing left out or added? Or have you made any, ah, refinements?"

[number_2]

Number 2 comes running, having heard the blast from his Green Dome. He's closely followed by a mini moke full of people wearing old fashioned fire brigade outfits and carrying hoses. Their arrival is announced with the shrill sound of sirens, but not lights. It should be noted that Number 2 is running faster than the moke can drive.

"What happened," he sputters, before his eyes lock on Steve. "You? Number 13? Why have you done this?"

[number_2]

"So he has mentioned me. Why didn't he say so?" Number 2 chuckles to himself.

"Oh, I may have embellished a thing or two, here and there. But only superficially. It's hard to top perfection, you know."

[inhairently]

Jut as with breakfast, it takes Steve a moment to realize he's being addressed, though this time it's more thanks to just witnessing a house blow up than it is the whole number thing. After a moment more of stunned silence he swivels his head around to stare at Number 2, mouth agape.

"I didn't do anything, man!" he insists shrilly from his spot on the ground, gesticulating wildly with both hands towards the remains of the cottage. "I was just — It just — It exploded! Right in front of me!"

[redlightgreenlight]

Even with her abilities, the burns and scrapes are slow to heal. She coughs several times, hearing the sirens she can't help but feel some small amount of satisfaction, until Number 2 starts accusing the young boy she had been watching earlier. More mind games, he has to know the kid is innocent. She steps between him and Steve, shielding the kid from the glare.

"Oh, please. As if the kid is smart enough to figure out how to blow up a house with mundane items."

[number_2]

"You don't know his history as well as I do, Number 7."

Number 2 snaps his fingers and two very large, very muscular men approach seemingly from nowhere and begin to reach down to drag Steve up off the ground.

"Hm. I think we'd better get you both to the hospital either way. We can sort it out from there."

[not_the_last]

"Splendid. I ask because I'm always interested in different approaches to the practical matter of running a city."

She glances around; there are a good few locals strolling around, some of her excursion fellows among them. Good enough, so far.

"For one thing, I can't help wondering: where are your farms, sir?"

[inhairently]

Steve sees those very large, very muscular men and springs to his feet, both hands up in a show of surrender.

"No no no no. Wait wait wait," he says. "I'm cool, okay? I'm cool. I'm good. I don't need a hospital."

Ari Tayrey - OTA

[astrogator]

[Notes: general OTA prompts for throughout the event, starters kept vague so I can give more specific detail depending on your tag-in timing, feel free to use them for any other 'chat with Ari' needs as well. Plurk or PM to plot! I'll match format.]

1. Just a man and his will to survive (Poetry Club)

[Had Poetry Club continued on the ship? Ari Tayrey didn't know. Certainly she hadn't attended in a long time. There had been too much else to concentrate on. Here, though? It didn't seem like the worst idea. They won't let Tayrey make speeches here - and, let's be honest, probably not even her allies want to listen to her monologuing at length about liberty like she's in the Kishar Meeting House - but here's a way to get her messages across. Swiftly-made posters go up, and the meetings take place in the open. All welcome, to speak or listen, and if there are any local objectors, well, she might just point out that it's terribly anti-social to block a community project.

Her contributions are the usual daring spacer adventures and stories of capitalist success, but look, she's learned some Earther poems too! Expect her to begin with her favorite, Invictus, thanks to Arthur. Beyond that? Maybe she thinks someone needs to hear It Couldn't Be Done or The Ships That Won't Go Down. In darker times, maybe she'll recite How Did You Die? - or in extremis, if someone looks utterly worn down and defeated, she'll go for the poem that brought even atheist Tayrey comfort in her despair, the Hymn of Breaking Strain. Yes, the young lieutenant's tastes are very earnestly Victorian! Comment on her choice of the day, or recite your own poem, meaningful or silly.]

2. Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past

[Anyone taking an interest in Tayrey's behavior will see that she's spending an unusual amount of time with a serious-faced, grey-haired woman over at the Old People's Home. They play a rapid-paced game with square playing cards, or speak in low whispers.

She won't explain herself to everyone, but if you've given her reason to think you're trustworthy, expect this quiet admission:]

She's a Tradeliner.

3. You must fight just to keep them alive (cw: violence, restraint)

[It's not that she's deliberately setting out to cause trouble. To Tayrey, that would be reactionary. She's not co-operative, she'll refuse any order from any sort of Village authority, but she's not interested in rule-breaking for the sake it. She's resolved to live as she pleases, with no regard for what is allowed.

In this place? Maybe she's not looking for trouble, but her attitude means it finds her anyway. The first time she's found in a restricted area, she's returned to her lodgings by polite but firm enforcers. An honest mistake by a newcomer, arguably. No harm done.

But Tayrey? She doesn't stop. Patience soon wears thin, and within a week she's being dragged back from woods or beach long after curfew. She keeps her head high, even if they've bound her hands and are pulling her along none too gently. If she's bothered by any of it, she hides it very well.]

I wanted to chart the stars. [She offers this explanation to a bystander the first time. Or the tenth. Maybe she'll invite them in, if you'd like to see spacer decor.]

4. (gonna fly now)

[Here's Ari Tayrey, peering over a wall, staring very longingly at a very well-guarded helicopter. She's never flown one one before, but she's flown shuttles and hovercars and taken a starship through L-space.

How hard can it be?]

5. Wildcard

[for all the things I haven't anticipated.]

[number_2]

"Number 12," his voice is suddenly a little sterner, "While I applaud your taking an active interest, I'm afraid there are some things that unproven Villagers like yourself simply have not yet earned the privilege of knowing. That would be one of them."

[redlightgreenlight]

There he goes with that Number 7 stuff again, she takes a breath eyeing the two men and calculating just how quickly she can incapacitate both. Even nerfed she expects it would be before either of them could effectively counterstrike.

"Leave the kid, alone, Kevin."