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vault1132023-04-10 05:36 pm
WEEK 1 MINGLE
As you sleep, you find your mind plagued with strange dreams. You’re still trapped, of course, there’s no way to avoid that, even in the comfort of your own mind, but you’re alone. Utterly alone. The radios and jukeboxes scattered around the place all spring to life, as if they’re speaking to you directly. On the other end, you see people talk about you. From your own perspective, it can’t have been more than… 48 hours since you were taken. From the perspectives of those on the outside, the times don’t match up nearly so well. It might have been days. It might have been weeks. It might have been months.
The voices discuss you. They discuss the way things have changed. They talk about how you just suddenly disappeared without a trace. Maybe they’re glad, glad that you weren’t around to see what happened without you. Or maybe they’re angry. Maybe they know that it was your fault. If only you’d been there, none of this would have happened. If you’d met up with that friend, they wouldn’t have died. If you’d been there to save her, things would have been different. If you had apologized, maybe… or if you hadn’t abandoned your responsibilities…
You don’t get the specifics either way. Your dream - or vision, it leaves your imagination to do all the work. But there’s one thing you can be absolutely sure of.
You are running out of time.
Well, what’s there to be glum about? The vault is your home now, lovingly prepared by Vault-Tec™! Who cares what some ghosts from the past have to say about you, eh? It’s not like you’ll ever see them again.
And no matter how deeply you were sleeping, The Overseer’s voice sounds out on the intercom and seems to wake you immediately.
“Hello, lovelies. We’ve decided to be extra generous to all of you, so we bring some good news for a change. I’m sure in the last few days, you’ve gotten pretty sick of that walled off little cellblock you’re cramped in, so you’ll be positively giddy to learn that we’ve prepared and unlocked the rest of the first level for you all to explore to your heart’s content. If you’ve given up on ever getting out of here, make yourself at home. If you haven’t, well, there’s plenty of fun and interesting tools to integrate into your work whenever you decide to take advantage the former group’s complete lack of initiative or willpower.
Oh, and before I forget… check the common room before you go.”
With that particularly nasty announcement, you will find that the doors that locked the rest of this floor off to you have all been opened up. And in addition to that, the profiles have been made public, joining the rules as framed pictures in the common room.
And if you wish to contact your Overseer or her robotic assistant, you are free to stop for a chat.
no subject
He slumps against the counter. He looks significantly more exhausted than he was yesterday, though that's not saying much. His gaze flits briefly down towards Klaasje's outfit, then moves upwards to politely avoid staring.]
Anything that'll get me drunk quickly. Maybe it'll help distract from the currently unfolding nightmare.
[He taps his fingers against the bar surface. The edges of his nails seem to be ragged, as if they have been gnawed down.]
no subject
[ She doesn't notice his briefly observant gaze, or if she does, she takes it for what it is, neutral and inoffensive. A patient fisher doesn't flinch at the passing over of bait.
She produces a bottle of clear liquor to match what's in her glass and a smaller bottle of some kind of dark syrup. She pours a large measure of one and a short of the other into a chipped glass, then stirs it with a clean straw filched from the diner. She leaves the straw in when she slides it over to him. ]
Vodka and cola. I think.
no subject
[He scoops up the glass and takes a sip. It's strong--almost too strong, but he chokes it down, the vodka burning the back of his throat. His typical sensibilities lie within the 'fruity cocktail' category of drinks, but given the circumstances, he feels this is preferable to facing whatever grim reality Ianthe has set forth for them.]
I-- [Nick clears his throat, trying to eliminate the vodka's effects.] --I didn't realize you were a bartender. I'd give you a tip, but I haven't exactly been able to track down my wallet.
[It's meant as a joke, though his delivery doesn't properly convey it.]
no subject
[ The temptation to say I'm a cafeteria manager is high, but she resists. If you're going to tell jokes only you find funny, you need to make them subtle. ]
I just like to drink, and no one else was here, so. I thought I'd keep myself busy.
I'd still have taken the tip.
no subject
Better enjoy it while it lasts. I have a feeling that this much free booze isn't going to last for long.
[He pauses, digging through his pockets for the scrap of paper he'd scribbled on earlier before remembering he'd transferred his notes to the terminal in his room. He gives up, both hands now shoved into his pockets.]
I was going over the profiles again, and I wanted to ask you...are you a writer? I mean, it says you're skilled in literary analysis and story telling.
no subject
[ She picks up her half-full glass and sips, unflinching at the sharp astringent bite of what is either very cheap grain alcohol or very efficient homebrewed distillation. ]
Don't tell anyone. [ She seems to think, for whatever reason, that Nick is trustworthy. ] And no. I'm not that either.
I studied Oranjese literature in university. It seemed like the easiest thing to fake my way through. I didn't mind it, it turned out. Never did anything with it after I graduated.
I'm just relieved they didn't put roller skating on there.
no subject
[The corners of his mouth tug into the approximation of a smile. It seems difficult for him to hold this expression, his facial muscles apparently unused to pulling into anything other than a scowl or frown.]
I see. I studied writing and English literature in college, myself. [He snorts. He had wanted to become a writer, but...clearly, that hadn't panned out.] But I've never heard about Oranjese literature. Where is it from?
[Ah...time to enter the weird geography of Elysium.]
no subject
Looks like we have something in common.
And it comes from the Republic of Oranje. Like me. [ Strange, that it doesn't mean anything, here. ] Mundi. Elysium.
Where does English literature come from?
no subject
[He rubs the back of his neck, the smile retreating from his face. Something feels wrong here. Or, maybe not wrong--just mismatched.]
You probably don't have any idea what I'm talking about. That's fine.
no subject
[ She seems far less bothered. ]
I do wish I'd paid more attention to the conspiracy theorists...you know, the ones who insist there are lost isolas out there in the pale.
[ She looks down to examine her nails. ]
There was this one on the college radio after midnight, he said that there were mirror isolas. That out there was a perfect copy of you, but backwards. They didn't look like you, or sound like you, because they were reversed, but...you'd know, somehow.
Not that I think any of you are mirrors - just, the circumstances do feel like they're raising some existential questions.
no subject
[He doesn't know what an isola is, nor does he know what the Pale is, but he can make some educated guesses. He takes another sip of his drink, brow furrowed in a thoughtful expression.]
I mean, alternative dimensions aren't a new idea by any means. [Even if she isn't talking about dimensions.] Though, you're right in that the circumstances do feel...existential. If I think about the implications too hard, I feel like my brain might explode. Especially in the context of my own life and personal tragedies.
no subject
[ That's how people stay sane with the pale, or maybe how they go crazy productively, so keep going to work, out to the bar, sleeping through the night. Some theoretical psychiatrists say everyone is insane. She heard that on the radio too. ]
It wouldn't bother me if you were a cryptid, anyway. I hear lots of them are harmless.
[ She smiles at her own joke. ]
A cryptid investigator. That must be useful, on the job - since no one can ever find you.