Carcosa, pt. 2

[polymods]

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. CARCOSA
You Are Still Here.

Another month, and you’re still in the city of Carcosa! Isn’t that just wonderful?

You still have access to the city’s temple and the High Temple.

The side effects you may have suffered from throughout the month of May are now at an end - if you had a pesky mask glued to your face the whole time it will now fall off. You might need a little moisturizer, but otherwise you’ll be just fine.

You could sit around inside the relative safety of the temples, of course, but why not get out there and explore the city some more? Come on, grumpypants!

---

Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
CW: Optional alcohol consumption.
What kind of pet shop is filled with rambunctious yahoos and hot jazz music at 1 AM? That's right - the best damn pet shop in town! Sidle up to the back door of Curly's Pet Shop and a panel will open enough to reveal a pair of eyes. "What's the password?" you'll be asked. Whatever word first comes to your mind, well, that apparently is correct because you're let in at once.

The front of the building definitely does indeed house fish and birds and kittens, but the back room is definitely not a good place to find a new animal companion; you find yourself in a crowded little room with low lighting and a small bar crammed into one corner. There's seats and some tables, and most importantly there's a band playing jazz music across from the bar.

Why not take a seat and have a drink? It's probably not paint thinner. Probably. Maybe you'll spot some of your fellow Travelers and you can sit and have a chat. Make a new friend who can hold your hair back if you party too hard.

And you better hope that the place doesn’t get raided!

Notes:
1. The drinks are all era-appropriate - you’re not getting Redbull with vodka here - and even if your character has non-human physiology they will work the same as they would on a baseline human. That’s right, your magic or your healing-factor or your vampire blood is no match for these Gin Rickeys!

2. If Curly’s does get raided while you’re there, you can run and hide or choose to engage with the police, who are armed and not too shy about opening fire if you go on the offensive. As with the rest of the regular residents of Carcosa, the officers are human and can be killed. Killing them may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. (Is it beneficial to personal growth to kill in order to save someone else, for example? You tell me!)

3. Did you want a pet from the front of the building? Well, just remember that baby turtles and alligators might SEEM like a good idea, but they grow up! Also any animal you take will not travel with you to the next island. So sorry.

---

Ⅲ. EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
CW: Optional paranoia, hallucinations.
If you wander the streets at night, you may find yourself getting turned around. You'll find that the streets have lost their many lights, and the beautiful and delicate art deco architecture has given way to something much more stark and heavy. The buildings are block-like, but they curve in exaggerated ways that hurt the eye if looked at too long. All are in blacks and whites and greys. Nothing looks quite real, but you can walk along just fine. Probably better not to go off alone, though.


Periodically you will encounter that pesky sign of some sort painted on the walls. If you follow the sigils, you will eventually be led to a long staircase that winds down and down until it finally terminates in a large white room lit by a few electric lanterns. There's black paint there, with brushes. Maybe you're feeling creative?

Notes:
1. You’re pretty sick of this stupid sigil, aren’t you? In fact, you consider yourself QUITE the detective and have been searching after its meaning! Or maybe you played Call of Cthulhu a lot in college, you nerd!

Painting the sigil on the wall will cause you to feel disoriented and paranoid until you leave the white room. From that point on you can discover a copy of a play entitled The King In Yellow anywhere in the city you choose. Reading the first act of the play has no effect on you, however if you choose to read beyond the first line of the second act you will spend the rest of the month suffering from periodic hallucinations, often of a tall man in a pallid mask.

2. While there is no compulsion to paint, choosing to work out any of your character’s issues through art therapy can be reflected in your Scrywatch colour if it is significant enough.

---

Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER
CW: Optional gun violence, injury.
Art? Theatre? Music? BAH! Boring!

Maybe your tastes are a little more on the dangerous side? Whatever this island may be, it seems to offer plenty of opportunities to get into the seedy underbelly. Maybe you feel the need to steal a car, rob a bank, transport some illegal hooch for a smiling fellow in a yellow fedora. Grab your tommy guns, kids, it's time to outrun the Feds!

Naturally, you could wind up injured having all of this fun, but surely you could get some help from your fellow Travelers, either directly or by having them haul you to some sort of underground doctor. These doctors do exist, although it might take a while to get referred to one by a local.

You might also find yourself under arrest and stuck in an old-timey jail cell for a month. What fun!

Notes:
1. As was stated in the first prompt, the regular residents of Carcosa are normal humans. Killing them is possible and may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. Any weapons you find are era-appropriate.

2. You can break out of jail if you’re resourceful enough.

3. The underground doctors aren’t working in a real hospital for a reason. In fact, some of them might be less doctors and more, well. Vets.

You still jamming to that Carcosa playlist?

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

Comments

[libertalia]

( they weren't supposed to get caught.

of course, that's what all good thieves and criminals tell themselves, but, really: he and nate have been doing this long enough, they shouldn't have gotten caught. especially not by some dimwit roaring twenties cops, but apparently the whole goddamn police department had nothing better to do than chase down two motorcycle thieves. frankly, they should have had the advantage on a goddamn brough superior ss100, should have been able to easily outrun a fucking ford model T, but on an unfamiliar island with only so far to go, apparently the cops had the advantage of coming at them from all directions and cutting them off.

was the chase worth it for getting thrown into a jail cell again? maybe a little bit. it got nate feeling in better spirits for a while, anyway, but sam's obviously not overly fond of the idea of spending the next month behind bars after spending the last decade and then some in the worst kind of panamanian prison. which means, of course, he's been formulating some kind of plan for the last few days, ruminating on all the ways they could conceivably bust out of this place (security is minimal, they could probably get themselves thrown into the infirmary and take out a couple guards, steal their clothes and walk out) — but it would be easier if the guards hadn't separated him from his brother. hard to talk logistics discreetly when nate is in the cell across the way and they only get a few hours of yard time every day to discuss their next move.

then, as luck would have it, things get a whole lot more interesting when the guards toss him a new cellmate. he sits up on his bunk with a start, assessing the newest additions to the carcosa penitentiary. one of them he recognizes: a shock of long red hair, a voice he's not inclined to forget considering how often she'd threatened violence on his person. which can only mean — )

Well, I'll be go to hell. ( his personal feelings about sullivan aside, that particular catchphrase seems especially apt at the moment. he laughs incredulously at the man still trying unsuccessfully to reach across to his companion. ) Jack Rackham?

[pilferings]

[ Nate and Sam have been here for a little while now — long enough for Nate to have gotten comfortable in his corner of the cell, legs out in front of him, elbow resting on one knee, head in the hand of the other. Considering escape routes, weak points in the cell's structure, ways of tricking the guards into opening one of their doors so at least one of the Drake brothers might get an advantage to help the other one out. You know, the usual stuff.

This is hardly their first rodeo, and Nate had sworn not long ago that he was absolutely done with this life, so it's a little bit of a sick joke that he's back here all over again. Just like old times, right?

Only when the heavy metal door screeches open in protest and there's a chaotic scuffle does Nate look up. And then someone is unceremoniously thrown into his cell, practically at his feet, before the door closes shut again. The guard scoffs something about 'goddamned, funny looking troublemakers' under his breath and then he and his buddy are gone, the echo of their footsteps fading with the length of the hall. Nate immediately notes the long ginger hair, is about to say something profound or clever or hilarious, when from across the way his brother comments on —

Holy shit. ]

Jack Rackham?

[ That's what he'd just said, right? Nate, too, straightens with a start, glances across the way to find the familiar lanky pirate fruitlessly stretching an arm out through the bars. It's honestly kind of a relief to see another familiar face, despite the circumstances.

Which means ...

Yeah. He's got a pretty good idea of the identity of his new cellmate. ]

Hey, you okay?

[shapeshistory]

[ There are worse things, worse places they could be, Jack is intimately aware--the cell is clean(ish), he has company that isn't a mouse, and he can at least see Anne. He drops his hand from where he'd been reaching but keeps one hand at the bars, fingers curling around the thick metal as he leans.

'Ain't no point,' she says, and she's right, but he'll be fucked if he can't try. He's used to seeing Anne in dangerous positions--often more than he himself is in--but it doesn't mean he has to like it.

Rackham's reminded that there are other people here that aren't himself and his companion when they both say his name almost simultaneously, and he blinks before looking them over. One he recognizes, across the way with Anne--his brow quirks as a hello--and the other he looks over at, brow nestling back onto his features only to furrow. ]

Pleasure to meet you. [ Pleasure to hear my name said like that, more like. ] Shit circumstances, however--it appears that the speakeasy known as Curly's has effectively been assailed. [ His hand comes up to his hairline, and when he feels the familiar wetness of blood, he winces. Great. Just what he needed. ]

To whom do I owe the pleasure? [ He's looking at Sam expectantly. ]