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

[yournewsidekick]

You know what? If her shifting's too screwed up to do a lot of damage, and Kevin's gonna subject them all to his terrible musical choices 24/7, then Nimona's gonna get her kicks by subjecting him to her music right back.

So there she is, in her stupid clothes, balancing on the railing beneath the Green Dome and hollering at the top of her lungs, "I REMEMBER WHEN WERE GAMBLIN' TO WIN, EVERYBODY ELSE SAID BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME -- "

(There was enthusiastic air guitar earlier. And an equally enthusiastic drum solo. Kevin really needs to get the full experience, not just the melody, y'know?)

[number_2]

Number 2 emerges not long after she begins this. He steps out with a smile, clapping his hands for her.

"Wonderful, Number 8. You have a lovely voice. May I ask? To what do I owe the honor of a personal serenade?"

[yournewsidekick]

"Oh hey Kevin!" chirps Nimona, as bright as if she were seeing a long-lost friend. She starts to walk along the railing, heel-to-toe, arms outstretched to keep her balance. "I mean, you were just so cool about sharing all your music with us that I wanted to share some back! 'Cause mine's way better and yours sucks!"

[number_2]

"I paid you a compliment and this is how you see fit to speak to me?" He is really playing up sounding offended, while also being completely deadpan.

"If you would like to help Number 0202 develop a new score for my Village, I suggest you go find him."

[yournewsidekick]

"Who?" she asks blithely. "Sorry, Kevin, I can't do math. You gotta speak words with me, not numbers."

[number_2]

"Either you will learn or you will have to rely on looking at the number badges to make your way." He will not be using names.

"This gentleman is not difficult to locate. Number 0202 has the wings and talons of an owl, surely that sticks out to you, of all people."

[yournewsidekick]

"Ohhhh, that guy."

Nimona hops down from the railing, sprouting a similar set of feathered wings -- pink, of course -- from her shoulder blades. They're too tiny to do anything, because ugh, of course they are, but she gives 'em a little flap anyway.

"Nah, nothin' too weird there, Kevin. Anyway, I'm not a people."

[number_2]

"A person. The grammatically correct way to say that is to say you are not a person. But if you are not, then what are you? An animal?"

[yournewsidekick]

"I'm Nimona. Duh."

She cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Wasn't that in your creepy research files you're obviously keeping on everybody?"

[number_2]

"Actually, your file was rather slim I must admit. Not much detail at all. Barely anything of much interest."

[yournewsidekick]

"Wait, seriously?"

That's... weirdly disappointing. Nimona's not sure whether she oughta be offended or not -- and her curiousity's too strong to stop her from asking: "What'd it say?"

[number_2]

"Oh, something about you being a monster with no roots and nowhere you belong, if I recall. It's all rather fuzzy. I read so many of these, you know?" He sounds bored.

[yournewsidekick]

Nimona flinches.

It's been a while since she heard someone say monster like that. Bored as Kevin sounds, it's clear how he means it: not as a point of pride, but as something for the Kingdom to destroy. Something different. Something dangerous.

"Don't call me that." Low.

[number_2]

He grins. "Call you what, Number 8?"

[yournewsidekick]

"I'm Nimona."

She bares her teeth, like a creature backed into a corner.

"I'm not Number 8, and I'm not a monster -- " she spits that word, " -- so don't call me that."

[number_2]

"You're no one," he answers coldly. "And this childish cry for attention outside my window won't change that, Number 8."

[yournewsidekick]

She tried growing shark teeth a few days ago so she could take a bite out of one of the benches. It didn't work. She knows it won't work.

She wants to try again anyway so she can rip Kevin's throat out.

But the way she's shaking right now, little trembles she can feel at the edges of those stupid stubby wings that are as useless as her teeth, as useless as -- her -- Nimona swallows. She isn't shaking from anger. Not entirely. Her chest feels like someone split it open and punched her right in the heart, and for a second, she can't breathe for it.



At last, faint, and trembling too:

"Least I've still got better taste in music than you, Kev."

[number_2]

"That's all you've got."

He turns and walks back up the stairs, leaving her to stew in her pain and anger alone.