September Event - Guest Appearances

[pumpkinhollow]

GUEST APPEARANCES

Ignition

September 20th is the Autumnal Equinox. Many places across the world of Concorde celebrate the first day of fall. While various nations and regions have their own cultural practices surrounding it, nature is god everywhere. And so the inception of Mother Autumn’s domain is universally recognized, even if the names change from place to place. But on a little island named Marrow, in a little town called Pumpkin Hollow, there is another reason to celebrate.

The birth of Dahlia Leeds is not so important an event that it supersedes Celestine herself, and neither Dahlia nor anyone in town is foolhardy enough to claim as much. In fact, after the events on this very same day last year, one might argue that perhaps her birth at least started out as a bad thing. But she is certainly the wealthiest person in town. It is through the combination of substantial wealth and a generous heart, two things that are very seldom found in the same place, that we end up with a soiree where the birthday girl would rather spoil everyone else on her day than herself.

The doors to Leeds Estate, which presides proudly over the town upon its throne at the crest of Founder’s Hill, are flung wide open. Large sums of Brass are paid to caterers, florists, and seamstresses to make sure this place is decorated to the nines. Some businesses labor all year, just to prepare for the handsome payoff they’ll get from this event alone. And you, dear neighbor, are invited. Not only are you invited, but you are dressed for the event in whatever your heart desires, completely at the birthday girl’s expense. Dahlia ensures no cost nor conflict stands in between anyone in town and a much-needed break. She is determined for this birthday of hers to be a good night.

Or else.

Incipience

{ The timeframe between ignition and the peak of burning, where a small, contained fire spreads and grows gradually into an established flame. All it takes is a spark. }

The whole town is abuzz as preparations for the gala begin. From the moment people begin to wake up for the day, the air throughout Pumpkin Hollow just feels electric with excitement. After August, people have been needing this lift in morale, and after how last year’s gala went… well, there’s a lot riding on this one. And Dahlia seems much more in control now.

Speaking of being in control, the whole lead-up process has been incredibly organized. You wake up to a delivery--- your outfit, perfectly tailored and completely paid for. Accessories are included. She truly thought of everything.

It’s noteworthy that Dahlia’s invitations this time included another name beneath her own. “Suzanne Marie Dyneax,” it said. Most people don’t know the name, but gossip gets around in a small town like this. It’s not hard to pick up on the fact that this probably refers to Susie, one of the teenagers that Dahlia recently moved into her home, whose own birthday was ruined by Seemingly’s attack. Gift baskets have been delivered to others whose days were in proximity to the disaster--- Zivia, Capochin, even CT. Wine, fruit, and sweets, along with a birthday card. Dahlia has said in the past, “my birthday is your birthday,” but never has that felt more true.

With businesses mostly closed for the celebration, you are left with the majority of the day to prepare in relative peace. For many of the women in Dahlia’s inner circle, there is even a pre-party group dressing room set up on the third floor of her home. Only those who received her special invitation (Susie, Noelle, Fever, Cassandra, Anya, Alice, Patty, Melanie, Basira, Elsie) are permitted to join, but any friends or partners are gladly invited to wait at the bottom of the stairs for the girls to make their grand entrance.

The food is laid out, flowers placed, dresses laced and buttoned. The clock strikes 6pm, and the fun begins.

FLASHOVER

{ The moment when a blaze reaches its maximum size and heat, and the radiant heat in the space is such that all combustible materials ignite at once, allowing the flame to steadily and freely burn for the rest of the night. }

By the time it reaches 6:15, the ballroom is already flooded with eager dancers and hungry dinner guests. After all, the whole town is invited, and everyone’s excited to see Dahlia’s beautiful new ballroom and take a load off.

The music is elegant, played by a rotating cast of musicians who join the party when their act is over. The food is extravagant--- Dahlia and two of her partners are some of the biggest foodies in town, so this is expected. There is talking and laughing and the swirling of ballgowns, and all is well.

But there is a guest you do not recognize in the corner of the ballroom. An older man with white hair, strong features, and a dour expression. You can see Dahlia eyeing him, then flitting over to him, then talking to him. Her expression shifts from anxious, to annoyed, to resigned, before at last she sighs heavily and leaves him to it. Whatever it is that’s going on, clearly it’s something Dahlia is willing to begrudgingly tolerate in order to get back to having fun.

The reason for the disturbance becomes clear in short order, but by the grace of Celestine (and perhaps Eligos), it isn’t a reality bending nightmare or an attack by some monstrous beings. It is simply more guests.

A lot more, in fact.

Those who were on the island in September of the previous year will recall the Visitor’s Center, which appeared briefly just past the beach and served as temporary living and meeting quarters for visitors from the homeworlds of current residents. It would seem that this is a repeat incident. For the night of the gala, one to two “plus ones” have been invited for the vast majority of offworld residents. Most of them are friends or family who are happy to see their guests--- but this is ultimately a working of Eligos, so naturally, this is not always the case.

At the very least, Eligos seems to have been generous with his own granddaughter. As she turns away from him, she very nearly runs into someone much shorter than her. A dark haired human man with dwarfism. He laughs at the accident, grinning up at her as she stares back at him, utterly baffled. Then, petticoats billowing out, Dahlia sinks to the floor and embraces him as tight as she can, head pressed to his chest with little regard for her carefully-styled hair. Even those across the room can hear her shout his name. ”Jonah!”

Within the hour, the ballroom is packed with nearly double the people originally expected, turning the party livelier than it’s ever been. Tearful reunions, laughter, dancing, mischief, romance, sparring, cruelty, and even proper, righteous violence. Truly, this Leeds Gala will be one for the books!

--------
[ OOC reminders: each apped-in player character is entitled to one or two guests from their homeworld. This can be former selves, family, friends, enemies, and they do not have to be from the character’s exact canonpoint. They can be from the past or the future. You may play them yourself, ask another member player to do it, or recruit a non-member player to do so with moderator approval. Non-member players are permitted to join the Discord server while they’re active in this event! Threads you write for your own guests are eligible for AC for the character they’re there with, and threads you write for someone else’s guest can be used on the AC of a character of your choice. Just make sure to mark them as guest threads. After the gala, guests will be allowed to move freely about town, stay the night on Saturday and go home Sunday, or leave right after the gala if preferred. And last but not least, characters played in the gala can be apped directly from this event, rather than going through the normal arrival process. Let a mod know if you have questions, and have fun! ]

Smoldering

{ The decay of a flame as available heat, oxygen, and burning material gradually diminish. Eventually, the flames will recede entirely into glowing embers, glittering like orange starlight amid the ashes of what once was. }

The party rages well into the night. It’s not typical for residents of Pumpkin Hollow to stay out this late, with everything around here that goes bump in the night, but eventually party-goers begin to find their way out. They move in small groups, huddled around lanterns, may they ever stay lit. Perhaps the surprising bit is that their guests can go with them. There are even reservations made for board overnight at the Oak & Iron, all under the name “E. Rex”.

But alas, these reservations are only booked for one night. And by the time the sun begins to set on the darker half of the year for the first time, an unfamiliar black boat is moored at Jack's Marina. One that the guests will recognize as the vessel on which they arrived. They must leave by the time it becomes dark.

Or must they? Perhaps for a select few, they will fail to feel the call which draws them home. It is unclear why. There are many that Mortanne would have allowed residency for, if she could. But for some reason, all but a small few feel the pull. Perhaps Eligos has simply abandoned them here. (Or maybe none at all end up marooned and everyone goes home? That all depends on you, dear reader.)

When the sky goes dark, the aptly named Heavy Heart shoves off, with only her crimson sails hanging suspended seemingly in midair in the moonlight. The black ship is otherwise consumed by the night. And soon, even those flashes of red vanish into the distance.

Moments recede into memories, like a dying fire settles gently into glowing embers at the bottom of a hearth. The festivities are over, and the guests are gone. Life in Pumpkin Hollow resumes as before. But maybe just a little warmer and brighter.

“My birthday is your birthday,” as Dahlia often says.

Happy birthday.

References to the appearance of Leeds Estate can be found here!

Comments

director wildcard

[liesdontfindyou]

"Director."

It's been a long time, now, since she last stood in front of this selfish, arrogant man and felt anything but disgust. Once upon a time there was a modicum of respect, that morphed into fear, that morphed into anger, that morphed into distant antipathy, before it finally settled there. Disgust. Disgust at his self-absorption, at the lives he'd ruined, at the utter waste of it all. For nothing. All of it for nothing.

Eight months on the run. Over a year, now, 'dead'. And here she stands again, head inclined to meet his gaze and standing firm despite the more fanciful attire.

"I'd salute, but even if you were still my commander, I don't think there's protocols for saluting when you're dead."

[cyansoldier]

"Connecticut."

Another familiar face. The Director holds his chin at a sharp ninety degrees, then scans the ample space above the traitor's head. He stands like he's always stood; a man having grown too large, too-self important to entertain the crowd around him. Even now, there's a recession in his eye. Entertaining his own thoughts, none of which pertain to the failure in front of him.

"I'd rather you spit than waste the time raising your arm at me. How is your vacation?"

[liesdontfindyou]

CT actually laughs, bitter and incredulous though it is. "Wow, you are just as much of an insufferable, arrogant bastard as you always were. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You really thought having me killed would stop it all unravelling at your feet, didn't you?"

As she says this, she curls her fingers against the beads of her bracelet as it hangs against her palm and finds that one charm, rolling it between her fingers.

[cyansoldier]

Ignorant to the Agent's charm, the Director experiences a sudden invisible pull. An impulse to speak more freely than he might have otherwise. He pushes his glasses up a little.

"Arrogance, Connecticut, is giving yourself too much credit. I needed your armor. Your life was secondary. If Agent Texas believed killing you was the most efficient means to complete her objective, then I praise her fine intuition. It's a shame you got away when you did. Left your little surprises. But I supposed things worked out in both our favor." He gestures to the room around him. "You're dead. I'm alive. On borrowed time, but alive."

[liesdontfindyou]

"I think you're more of a dead man than I am at this point, Director. I actually have a chance to make it out of this."

She can't be sure the same can be said for him. Carolina's rage is sharp, honed to a point. For all their discussion (their arguing) about what to do with the man—is it better to force him to face judgement at the hands of the law instead of the end of a gun?—there's nothing she can imagine being able to do to stop her pulling the trigger, should she choose to.

"Perhaps you can forgive my assumption, given your history of such bold tactics. How many agents was it, in the end? Seven, not counting me? The Triplets, they were first. They weren't as useful as you'd hoped they'd be, so you had them dropped off on a glassed planet and left them to die. Tennessee was barely any better at his job, so when he got injured you delayed the recovery operation. Let him bleed out.

"And Massachussets, well you just decided that ze was too big of a liability because of zir history with AI and decided you may as well kill both of us, just to make sure you got the leak. Of course, Wyoming fucked up assassinating me, cocky asshole that he was, but you still got Mass and even took out a couple more stragglers in the cover-up, so I suppose you still considered it a win until you realised it wasn't zir after all. And that's not even touching all the agents that died without your direct intervention, because you just didn't care."

It's pointless, really. He doesn't care. She knows that. And yet she speaks anyway, firm and without leaving so much as a breath of room for him to interrupt her. She wants him to hear it. She wants to hear him admit it.

"All that work trying to cover your own ass, sending Florida after me like a fucking sniffer dog, and you still didn't know for certain until I left. Or were you just so fucking sure that you could keep me on tight enough a leash that keeping me around to do your intel work was worth the risk?"

[cyansoldier]

"If you do, do yourself a favor and stay out of the mud. Piss off to some outer planet, live in the woods. If you come back swinging your gauntlets like I expect you to, you'll die all over again with no one to blame but yourself."

He's very much aware his advice of 'fuck off' will fall on deaf ears. In fact, he can see them rearing up onto their soapbox now. He has half the mind to sigh, long and depressive, for having his time wasted.

"You were test subjects in a scientific experiment. You were given variables to respond to, and the agents who did not respond satisfactorily were declared as dead weight. A waste. You should know that, for all your incessant digging. Yes, those agents died, and more have followed in their footsteps. You— I should have taken care of you after the first offense. You never knew how to keep your eyes on the ground. You make these problems for yourself, Connecticut, then you blame others for them. You act like a child. You defected. You ran off with that imbecile and you got yourself killed. You bit off more than you could chew and it got you nowhere. Yes, I'm on borrowed time. Yes, I will probably die. Are you asking me if I regret what I did?"

His expression is glacier cool, save for tight knit brows.

"If given the time, money and resources, I would do it all over again."

[liesdontfindyou]

You act like a child, he says, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not show him what this child could do with a well-placed knife and a moment's headstart. Her, a child, while he stands here and speaks shamelessly of his wilful choice to throw his toys out of the pram for any perceived slight against his greater purpose.

"We didn't sign up to be your fucking playthings," she spits, venomous. "We signed up to test gear, test your magic bullet hypothesis that you lost sight of within weeks of the program getting off the ground! The twins didn't sign up to be pitted against each other in some bunk psychological experiment you didn't even account for variables on! Your daughter didn't sign up to get replaced by her own damn mother's ghost and tricked into damaging her own mind with two AI! Maine didn't sign up to be turned into a walking fucking weapon by an AI you tortured until it snapped! And I know, I know that wasn't the plan from the start. Oh, I'm sure the leaderboard was always going to be part of it, but there was only ever meant to be one AI. Until she happened. And you lost your fucking mind."

Top of the leaderboard gets the AI, that would've made sense. Agents vying for the top spot, for the prize. Carolina was always going to be a shoe-in, in that scenario. Maybe he saw it as a gift to her. Maybe that was his misguided attempt to fix things.

But Allison always came first, in the end.

"She isn't her. She never was. She's— memories, at best. At worst she's a piece of stray code that you've manipulated into shape. And you threw it all away for her."

[cyansoldier]

"That is exactly what you signed up for." He snaps, voice beginning to pull tight and impatient. "You can thank the Counselor for his creative methods. I couldn't care less what tired thoughts you all waste your time with. What sad little lives you led that dropped you into our laps. You were a front. You know that. So why are you asking these moronic questions? You must like hearing yourself talk, Agent Connecticut, because there hasn't been a single day where you managed to scrounge up enough sense to keep your damn mouth shut. You talk yourself into a grave. You talked yourself into this one, and you'll talk yourself into the next. And don't pretend like you know anything about my daughter—"

A daughter with whom he'd abandoned at the young age of six and a half. With purpose. All of this with purpose.

"So watch yourself."

The man's face goes grim and sickly hot. He leans forward.

"What I could have done if you idiots hadn't ruined it, fighting for scraps of attention and toys to play with— because the world isn't fair and nobody gave you what you wanted. You'll never know a day of important work in your life. You'll never know what it means to love someone beyond the limitations of our worthless bodies. Good. It would chew you straight through. She was there. I saw her. I talked to her."

[liesdontfindyou]

She doesn't back up. Recoiling would gift him ground he hasn't earned. There's no power for him, here, and he's never been one to get his own hands dirty instead of dolling it out to his lackeys.

"She was a fucking computer program! Based on memories and grief! There wasn't a single piece of the real Allison in that code and you know that, no matter how much you refuse to admit it! If you really believed nothing was different, if you really believed you'd brought her back, you would've told her who she was meant to be. But you didn't. You kept her just as in the dark as the rest of us!"

Even for all of her resentment toward Texas for what she did, for not listening (not finding the data in time?), she still finds it wrong that she didn't know. That she walked around unaware of how the Director had designated her his digital corpse bride.

"You didn't even get her damn face right! And you expect me to believe you know your daughter any better than I do? I actually talked to her. Worked with her. Fought with her. I remember her drink orders on shore leaves, which stupid movies she always voted for—that's more than can be said for you. You threw away a whole life with the family you still had left because you thought you were the only fucking person in the war that lost someone worthwhile like entire planets weren't dying every fucking day! Like your daughter hadn't lost her fucking mother!"