[OPEN] Maybe Things I've Misremembered, Maybe Things I Just Forgot

[lasthumanvoice]

Who: Cecil Palmer and YOU
What: Settling in, making friends
When: October, generally
Where: Pumpkin Hollow
Warning(s): Description of panic attack in Prompt 5

1. Birds and heights and movie credits [Downtown Pumpkin Hollow]
Maybe you're shopping, or trying to go to work. Maybe you're heading to get a bite to eat. You're going to be delayed, though. There's a reporter waving you down, running up to you, preparing to ask questions.


2. Crowds and puppets, dying in a fire [Town Hall]
A large sign--no, not a sign, it's not that legible from a distance. A grid? Some sort of grid is posted on the wall of the Town Hall building. It has seven columns, each one of five rows plus a header. Days of the week? Oh! It's a calendar. Cecil has posted a Community Calendar, thoughtfully for anyone to use, to mark off days they'll need extra help at their shop or when they might be having a sale or throwing an event.

He's even taken the time to mark October 8th as the day the next edition of the Gazette comes out, and the evening of October 7th as Simchat Torah (with the preceding week marked out as Sukkot). Alright, he's guessing on those, based on the phase of the moon on his arrival, but look, he'll find time to mark his celebrations as best he can all alone.

Still, if you come to look, you're going to be offered a pen to add something of your own. Birthdays? Holidays from your world? Odes to long-dead gods? Here, have a pen!


3. Ferris-wheels and certain blues [Fall's Promise Cemetery]
"It features a plethora of carved headstones of varying ages and states of care..."

Cecil's first visit out here was to get a scoop, to see if there was information to be gleaned from the headstones. But upon seeing the condition of things, well. He left, and returned the next morning with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water borrowed from a local business, taking both to the moss and grime coating each pale stone. It's simply not proper, in his mind, leaving the stones untended and dirty. Even if death isn't working properly, even if new graves aren't regularly being added, it's just the done thing, to ensure the resting places are cared for.

He might be singing to himself as he cleans, so if you're meandering past, you'll hear someone bellowing modern music off-key. Whoops, sorry for that!


4. Oh, but mainly losing you [Wildcard]
Find me at darkersolstice on plurk, discord, tumblr, unsplash or elseweb to plot or request a custom starter.

*****

5. And this growing sense of distance that keeps building in my mind [Commercial District]
Perhaps you're headed for the Shady Merchant's shop. Perhaps you're just doing your shopping. Either way, you might pass a huddled form crouched against the side of a building, having a near-silent panic attack, struggling to breathe. It is Cecil, and he has visited Calloway and now everything is Bad.

Help? Help.

Comments

Town Hall

[batteryacid]

Eddie exits the library after a little extra research on planting times, when he notices some people milling about Town Hall. Curious, he goes to check it out and sees Cecil's handiwork.

"Oh, nothing coming up for me just yet," he defers, when Cecil first offers the pen, but then he notices that label on the 7th. Eddie at least knows that 'Torah' is a Jewish term. He gives a little cough, then asks, "Actually... if you're Jewish... I have some questions about honoring a Jewish person who's passed on. When you're done here, I mean."

And Eddie steps back a bit, just to indicate that he's not going to linger or demand answers if this is an inconvenient time.

[lasthumanvoice]

"I don't know when I'll be done here. But I can answer your questions now, if you'd like. I'm, ah, not the most observant Jewish person in the world, though. And I'm pretty sure we don't have a minyan. But. I will try. I will try to answer your questions."

What Jean had said about his hailing the Glow Cloud had stuck with Cecil, and part of him wanted to return to his cultural roots, to worship something that wasn't one of the ancient gods of the Mudwomb.

But it was hard. He'd gone to Torah school, had a Bar Mitzvah, but Abby hadn't seen daily practice as important while raising him on her own, after his mother disappeared (and then died). She was too young to be a parent, there'd been other priorities.

[batteryacid]

"Er... a minyan?"

Eddie still to one side, making sure he's not blocking others' access to the calendar.

"It's just... I know I'm going to be the only one of my friends who remembers everything. The Turtle said so. And... Stan was one of my best friends, but I don't want to be Christian about it. That feels wrong."

[lasthumanvoice]

Cecil nods his understanding, but there's already something of note to point out.

"Right, no, right. On some level, focusing on him is a Christian way to go about it. A lot of what we do, culturally, is about the mourners, rather than the person who died. It's about comforting the bereaved, instead of trying to appease the corpse, if that makes sense. If I may ask, how long ago did you lose him? And on what date?"

[batteryacid]

Eddie snorts after that correction, then rushes to explain, "Sorry, that wasn't really at you. I just... pictured the kind of face Stan would make during the times he, Richie, and me would shoot the shit about religion as kids."

Eddie thinks about it, then says, "All memorials are like that, in a way. About the people left behind. I think... really I'm the only one who'd care, but... it feels like I should do something." He sighs, "As for the date... May 29th, 1985. Which was about five weeks ago from my perspective."

Fall's Promise

[skeletonkeay]

Like any good goth, Gerry has come to the graveyard to brood. And possibly snoop, interested in the Leeds family mausoleum.

But then, there's Cecil. That odd man he found standing in the street, with as many marks of fear as Gerry himself, and a voice like velvet. (Not to mention the most expressive eyebrows Gerry had ever seen in his life. It's very impressive.)

He softens a bit at the sight of Cecil spending his free time cleaning ancient graves belonging to strangers. Having been dead himself but never with the dignity of a burial... he empathizes with those resting here in a way that not many others can.

Ah, fuck it.

"Want any help?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"If you want! I don't have an extra scrub brush, but you can help with soaking the stones, or running for more water. It's a shame that well over there is sealed. I'm sure it's for good reasons, like some dybbuk or ancient spirit trapped at the bottom, but better access to water would sure be helpful here. Or you can keep me company. That is also a form of help, with this task."

He's currently crouched by the grave of a girl who'd died at the age of thirteen. He does the math at every tombstone, paying attention to families and ages. This isn't for them, not really, this act of care-taking. But he can't help but wonder about every single death.

[skeletonkeay]

"Yeah, lemme go for some more water and another brush," Gerry agrees. "Back in a sec."

He jogs off, heading back into town and going to his shop for another brush and bucket of water, then returns. It takes him a good ten minutes or so, but when he's back he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

"What made you wanna do this, if you don't mind me asking?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"It just seemed like a shame. People aren't here to maintain these stones among those who remember the deceased, so someone ought to. The city's in trouble, but. Someone should hold onto the heart of the community that it was. I will never have known those buried here, but I can hold some piece of their memory anyway."

He ducks his head. "I hope, back home, there are those who would remember me with kindness. Those who would hold onto my memory. We don't say 'rest in peace', you know? We say 'may their memory be a blessing'."

Commercial District

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris wasn't doing shopping in the sense of purchasing anything now -- they just exist on the basic stipend for the moment -- but they have been asking around for price estimates on a particular item to be custom made.

Regardless, here they are among the shops of town, and they catch sight of Cecil huddled up. Chris hurries to cross the street.

"Are you all right?" they ask, dropping into a crouch before Cecil and trying to inspect him -- trying to figure out if they can tell what's wrong just in case he can't answer.

[lasthumanvoice]

There doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong except all of the air being squeezed out of his lungs by a very deep, painful fear. Fear large enough that Cecil feels very small right now. Too small to speak, too distant to form words. He's aware he's not alone. But he is somehow still very, very alone.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris gently takes Cecil's hands in each of zirs. "Cecil, listen to me. You're going to be okay. But you need to change how fast you're breathing. There's such a thing as getting too much oxygen."

Chris squeezes gently on Cecil's hands. Zir voice remains gentle and calm. "Can you look at me, so I know you hear me? Then I can talk you though feeling better.

[lasthumanvoice]

The flash of an upward glance. A flinch. Feeling better? That sounds impossible, when he knows Lot 37 is for sale.

But there's enough him about him to recognize that Chris is genuinely trying to help.

Downtown

[300kgbackpack]

Sam, on his way to try and find some better clothes and see if maybe the belongings that he normally would have had are elsewhere in town, has been keeping a very wide berth from everything and everyone, peering out with suspicion when approached. Of course Cecil is no exception, with his energy being exactly mirrored as Sam takes a few big steps back at the same time that his would-be interviewer hustles forward.

[lasthumanvoice]

"Oh! Wait, no, I'm not attacking you! I just want to interview you. I'm with the newspaper. I'm not here to hurt you!"

He holds up his pen and notepad, trying to looks as harmless as possible. Which is hard, because this is Cecil and his face is expressive and his voice is honeyed and he's clearly not sane.

[300kgbackpack]

"'Interview'?" the suspicious look lessens, but only slightly. Immediately he thinks on the articles that he'd gotten the chance to read, even after most available information was doomed to the wastes. His arm stays off, in case he might have to fend off further approach. That manic look is very, very not comforting.

"Uh. Whaddaya need?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"Well, I'm trying to get a handle on who's here, where they're from, what they do, what their favorite Beatles albums are, what their least favorite vegetables are, and what their birthdays are. We'll add the birthdays to the community calendar."

All the most important information, clearly.

1. Downtown

[icanmakeit]

Nieve normally doesn't handle it well when people rush at her but that is mostly because when people rush at her, they have every intention of attacking her. But this man doesn't seem to be displaying any signs of anger or ill intentions which is probably the only reason she doesn't try to stop him. That and her magic is still a bit finicky at times.

But she still slows down to a stop, blinking slowly as she watches him hurry over. "Err, hello? Can I help you?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"I'm with the--" Oh, wait, he needs to catch his breath. Huff-puff, huff-puff. "--with the newspaper and wanted to inter--" Huff-puff! " Interview you!"

[icanmakeit]

Nieve arches a brow at him as he struggles to catch his breath but there is no hiding the hint of amusement that touches her features at the same time. Maybe it's an act on his part but she is beginning to think not.

"Oh?" She looks surprised. "How come? I don't think I've done anything interesting lately."

Had she?

[lasthumanvoice]

"You arrived here! That's interesting. That's cool. We're all from such different worlds, with different skills and different experiences and lives and interests. We bring different viewpoints to the table, and that's something to explore and to celebrate. Don't you think?"

Cecil smiles. It shows a lot of teeth.

Downtown

[apocryphalarchivist]

[ As of late, between work and his own personal goings-on, Jon had turned into a very busy man.

If he wasn't among his fellow fishermen, he was lending a hand with anything and everything he could for the Ocularum. If he wasn't doing that, he was running his own errands, which seemed to stack just as high in this life as they did in the last. If he wasn't doing that, he was poking around in whatever he could find, regardless of how much of a good idea it was or not.

Today, however, was errands.

He was of a singular train of thought, and, with a just-heavy-enough-to-be-uncomfortable-to-carry satchel of groceries, his generally-brisk pace was almost more of a light jog, at this point. His mind wandered simultaneously to a dozen things and nothing at all as he hurried along, but distracted himself just enough not to catch that he was being flagged down. (So observant, for an Avatar of the Eye. If he looked for it, he'd probably feel it shaking some semblance of a head in disapproval.)

As soon as he did, though, he was visibly surprised, halting in his tracks. Oh, no. How long had this man been trying to get his attention? Not long, hopefully, or else there's a chance he'd dragged him along a fair bit of a way. ]

Oh! Hello, ah--- I'm sorry, do you need something?

[lasthumanvoice]

Yes! Hello, I wanted to interview you! I work for the newspaper, and I'm trying to get a handle on who's who around here, and why.

[What a smooth, silky voice, like an oat milk mocha latte. Like a spring rainstorm at night while you're curled up under the blanket. Enthusiastic, perhaps even a little manic, but friendly. So truly very friendly.

Cecil himself, though? To a trained Eye, he's a bit of a lot of a mess. Someone had once said of his brain that it was 'a dusty surface so easily blown clean', and that's true, that's so very true. The man has a pencil in hand, and a notepad and he smiles with all his teeth.]

[apocryphalarchivist]

[ An interview? He couldn't recall the last time he'd been the one being interviewed. What a strange turn of events. There was something bizarre that left him equal parts fascinated and mildly perturbed by this fellow, but he surely seemed so, so very friendly. What harm could a few minutes of his time do? The groceries would be fine. ]

The newspaper? [ Jon asked, furrowing his brows with thought, before realization seemed to hit him. ] Oh! You must be... Cecil, correct? I thought I'd seen a name that wasn't just Yorick's on one of the recent editions. I haven't got too much time before I'll need to get all this home, of course, but I suppose I could answer a couple questions.

[lasthumanvoice]

"Alright! Who are you? Where are you from? What kind of monster lived in your closet when you were a kid? Would you kill your double? When is your birthday?"

He rapidfires the questions, not waiting for an answer before tossing the next one.