EVENT LOG PT. 1: The Fourth of July Masquerade Ball

[progressmods]

Who: Everyone!
What: John Progress hosts a Fourth of July Ball.
Where: The Adventurer's Club.
When: Fourth of July!
Warnings: Patriotism.



Whew boy, it's the hottest Fourth in July we've had in years! Thankfully, the local nuclear family, The Progresses, are happy to host the annual Fourth of July Ball. Formal dress, patriotic wear, and straight-up costumes are all encouraged. In fact, you'll find the host wandering around in his own George Washington outfit - in fact, it seems as though everyone has turned up for this event! Anyone who's anyone is here, and this could be a good opportunity for you to connect!

...Of course, food and drink are provided. While it might be a little bit too classy for some's taste, there's a barbecue happening outside just in case you need to get away from the stuffiness for a little bit. Generally, it seems as though everyone here is friendly enough, even if the party is a little too classy.

It all seems to be going pretty well, and seems as though you finally have a pretty decent day on your hands...though, those ink splotches you occasionally see on the ground are a little weird.

[Welcome to Progress City's Fourth of July event! We're gradually going to be tagging in to the log with every NPC we've introduced thus far, and plenty that we haven't introduced quite yet! Feel free to set up your own toplevels and tag out, of course - the second part of the event log will be going up on July 10th!]

Comments

[noncomformist]

This is so lame.

[Complains the ten year old girl who's decided to still come to this dumb conformist ball anyway. Nothing says contempt for something like going to the event and complaining loudly, now does it. Not obeying whatever the dumb rules for whatever this stupid thing is supposed to be about and just wearing what Henrietta usually wears is also a good way to show contempt. Patriotism is so not goth.

The girl mostly keeps to corners of the room, seemingly just glaring into the room but not leaving. As much as Henrietta seems to hate it here, she also seems to be unwilling to leave. Its like she somehow thinks that her annoyance with the entire event might make it go away. Or maybe she's just lonely and won't actually talk to anyone to stop that.

Nah. That's stupid.

She does, however, notice the ink splotches on the ground. Enough so that she starts seeing where she can find them.]

It's like someone murdered a cartoon character.

[And that would be pretty goth.]

[not_over_yet]

...Do dead toons leave remains?

[ Hi, there's a tiny mouse also checking out the ink splotches. He's dressed in bright colors that aren't goth at all, it's terrible. ]

Have you located a source yet?

[noncomformist]

Totally. Everything leaves a corpse when it dies.

[At least, Henrietta would like to think that they do. Toon corpses sound like they could be kind of goth.

She does just take a moment to look at Basil.]

Am I really talking to a mouse?

[She's talked to weirder at this point. That doesn't mean it isn't weird.]

[not_over_yet]

The only toon I've seen die did so via dropping into some manner of acid. [ Although... ] His hat did manage to stay intact... Can a hat count as a corpse? [ ...It's. entirely possible?? Toons are such strange creatures.

Oooor he could make a minimal effort to not drive himself insane and focus on something less related to toons and their physics, like the mouse question. ]

You are, yes. ...We don't typically deal with you larger sorts. [ Said as if he'd managed to forget such a major detail of mouse-life. Because he'd absolutely managed to forget it.

Huh. ]

...One adjusts.

[ In his own case, possibly a bit too quickly, but who knows. He's always been a weird fellow, what's one more weird characteristic. Shrugs, experimentally pokes at an ink blotch. ]

[noncomformist]

That’s hardcore goth.

[One might actually call that several things, Basil. Horrifying. Macabre. But those words clearly find perfect expression in ‘hardcore goth’. Henrietta didn’t know there were so many people - or mice she guesses - who’d seen horror like that here with how stupidly happy everything seemed. That’s almost tolerable.]

Oh yeah. People’s possessions totally carry on part of them when they’re dead.

[Recently, Henrietta’s dealt with mutant sixth graders and elder gods and crab people. So she’s just going to accept the talking mouse for now. Whatever. Isn’t weirder than anything else.]

That shit is totally haunted.

[Henrietta’s eyes focus on the ink blot. Utterly unmoving. As if the kid expects it to jolt alive at some point.]

[not_over_yet]

[ Basil, unfortunately, simply calls it "making conversation" because Basil is very bad at people. ]

I wonder if we ought to have burned it--I suppose it wouldn't have mattered much, in that particular instance, but...

[ Basil is currently paying more attention to the ink than their conversation, if only because Henrietta seems so fascinated by said ink.

And now he's on his hands and knees to investigate further. Is it wet? Dried? If it's still wet he is not above inking up a hand and tasting the stuff. He's not licking the floor directly though, he does have standards. ]

[noncomformist]

[Henrietta, too, is very bad at people, though she perhaps has the excuse of being a moody ten year old.]

Obviously. When you burn it, you send it back to them. Anything that would've been left of them could've gone on too.

[She isn't getting on her knees to look at the dumb ink, but Henrietta is, at least, squatting down a little to get a better look. Maybe to hear this mouse a bit better too. Maybe.

She taps her cigarette holder against the ink - currently not bearing a cigarette, she had been terrified to learn she'd have to ration them considering she couldn't find any here, not that any of the conformists would sell them to a ten year old girl here - and frowns a little.]

...Did it move?

[Probably not. Maybe? Who knows. It's possible the kid is just seeing things they want to see.]

1/2

[not_over_yet]

[ Basil has the excuse of being self-absorbed. Wait no that's the opposite of an excuse.

He decides to shelf the hat business for now, frowning at his hand. No ink stuck, irritating--so he stands back up with a huff. ]

Stuff doesn't feel that dry, but... hm.

2/2

[not_over_yet]

[ Wait what. ] Move?

[ His train of thought just. absolutely did not get a chance to leave the station, Henrietta's question breaking his concentration almost immediately, with the cigarette holder's movement briefly distracting his attention from the ink itself--damnit. Did the ink move? ]

...It's not impossible. [ He'd love to be able to dismiss the idea, but. Magic.



Lets grouse about irrelevant details instead. ] Why do you even have that? If you're not smoking, what's the point?

[noncomformist]

[Henrietta is pretty sure that shit moved. Not enough to swear by, but she would at least like to think it did. Because moving darkness is hardcore goth.

She scoffs a little at Basil's question.]

I do smoke. But I'm not wasting a cigarette right now. This shithole probably doesn't even have cigarettes.

[not_over_yet]

Ah.

[ Yeah ok, he remembers first finding out how weird this place is about tobacco. It's not a stupid conclusion. ]

Ask Red, if they haven't stocked she can still get them--it could be a few days though. Rationing what you have for the moment might be prudent.

[ ....because she'd totally sell cigarettes to a kid, right, that's perfectly reasonable to assume,, ]

[noncomformist]

What, you mean that bitch in the pirate's cove?

Yeah, that probably isn't happening.

[not_over_yet]

...Congratulations on antagonizing the one person in this city worth not antagonizing.

[ He neither knows nor cares whatever happened in the pirate's cove. The situation's amusing on its own. ]

[noncomformist]

Whatever. She doesn’t own the fucking skeletons in this place.

[supoorhero]

[It's supposed to be a ball, but not having anything even remotely resembling formal wear sort of puts a damper on the whole "fitting in" thing. So Kenny just bypasses that little barrier entirely and opts for another option instead of sitting this one out or, say, throwing together some crappy excuse for a suit he knows wouldn't be able to match up with everyone else's outfits anyway. Superheroes are sort of patriotic, so it still counts!]

Took the words right out of my mouth.

[Also you gave him an excuse to actually do something other than skulk in the corner all night long like a loser, so that's pretty cool too. Mysterion side-steps around a nearby splotch close to Henrietta, trying to get a better look at it.]

It doesn't look like blood, but in a place like this, who knows what passes for real anymore.

[noncomformist]

It could be something even worse than blood. There is a ghost here. Maybe it’s some kind of eldritch taint.

[Henrietta motions with her cigarette holder at the splotch, eyes locked on it before moving back to Mysterion. She actually hadn’t run into him until now, which should be surprising with how few people there are. But the kid was like the night itself. Even she couldn’t see through his full darkness. That was part of what made him cool goth.]

You got stuck here too? That sucks.

[Sucks is said as close to sympathetic as Henrietta does.]

[supoorhero]

[That actually makes him feel pretty good, the way he registers it. Plus, she hasn't called him lame or conformist yet so that means he either must be scoring some serious brownie points or he just hasn't pissed her off enough. Either way, he shows his gratitude by hunching his shoulders nonchalantly.]

Not as much as it will for whoever dragged me here.

[Between Fat Goofy and Officer O'laf, Kenny has had quite a Time here so far. Falling to one knee, he gives the puddle of ink another look over before tentatively reaching out to poke at it with his index and middle fingers. It's...actually not as gross as it seems, but it still has a weird consistency he's never felt before.]

So, spirit jizz. I see. [Said in the tone of someone who is grappling with the deadly serious implications of the puzzle they're piecing together.] It's not making a path out the doors. Whoever — or whatever — left it behind could still be in here.

[noncomformist]

Whoever that is is going to know a fate worse than hell.

[Totally in agreement on that front. Whoever wanted to drag her to this lame conformist shitshow was going downtown. Aside from getting swindled by that dumb pirate, Henrietta hadn’t had that bad a time here. Not that she saw it that way.

And oddly, if it isn’t Michael, Pete, or Firkle that ended up with her here in having to brave this fucking commercial wasteland she’s happy alright with it being Mysterion.

She taps her holder at her chin as she thinks.]

They’re totally still here. If they were gone we couldn’t see it as well. They’re probably still hiding around throwing ectoplasm spunk everywhere.