could she go home? was that even allowed? what did she even have over here in her new life? just a job that she barely even liked, some new friends that came from it. she missed her mom, her friends, she wanted to go home and live a much simpler life again. fuck..why did she let her 'aunt & uncle' get in her head and even leave in the first place?
he was right, anyone could be tricking her, all she could do was raise her shoulders in a shrug, she didn't have an answer. hell, those were the same things the deprogrammer said to her, that they were tricking her. but how could they? how could she be tricked when it was all she ever knew? "i don't know," trying her hardest not to shut down, this was someone she had missed, a connection to back home, but she still felt hurt & betrayed in a sense.
taking a deep breath, maggie gathered her thoughts, he needed to know everything, right? and then it clicked. "they did....to get me away from everyone, from you & darla, they tricked me. i thought i was going to go see someone, to rescue someone, and they tricked me."
It was funny; in the least funny way possible, it was funny.
The people who grew up in the cult community -- Darla, Maggie, et al -- had to force themselves to stop believing; Adam, on the contrary, had to force themself to believe.
Because it was outlandish -- it was righteously outlandish. The concept of living among a certain kind of body snatcher that longed to destroy humanity (and, oh yeah, the world) was outlandish. To any person with a modicum of sanity who had not been brought up believing it -- had not been brought up forced to believe it -- it made no goddamn sense. There was nothing to support it, no damning evidence and nothing to give it merit, except a charismatic man and a beautiful plot of land.
And order.
For Adam, there was order.
There was hierarchy and order and Model Citizen and Every Man and dress code and Image-Not-Image and-
It was worth forcing themself to believe in the outlandish.
They reached a hand out to Maggie, carefully placing it upon her shoulder, ever hesitant to scare her off. What she had been told by the Outsiders, by likely Andromedans, had the potential to spike if they moved too quickly -- approached the situation with too much confidence. She seemed to be holding onto her lack of belief by a thread, but they would not -- could not -- act as if that assumption was undeniably true.
But they missed her presence -- a woman now, a child still. Flowers and braids when they had met her, lost and confused. But they had order now. They had order and she could have belief again.
"I'm sorry." A simple statement, a steady and melancholic tone. I'm sorry. That was all there was to it. I'm sorry -- that this is how you must live. I'm sorry -- that no one came for you sooner. I'm sorry -- that you've grown up lacking autonomy. I'm sorry -- that I will take you back if I am capable. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," they assured her, although the rest of the cult community would be a different story. But she would undergo The Process, and if you cleared The Process, then you had nothing to explain. "We'll take care of it, okay? We'll take care of it."
who: @memoryangers (joyce)
what: haha bev is feeling normal. anyway did u hear about that soundcloud rapper?
where: wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?
It canât hurt if it canât be remembered -- a fine mantra Bev had been living by since the moment they were rescued, however unknowingly. It canât hurt if it canât be remembered.Â
For all the time Bev and Joyce overlapped in Redford, for all the history within the confines of the town, for all of the status they had gained as local âcelebritiesâ⌠seeing Joyce meant no longer living in blissful ignorance; to see Joyce was to remember it all. Neighborhoods long forgotten, sleepovers left behind, meals now uneaten (if only⌠haha unlessâŚ)
And now, John Doe.
Something primal had taken hold again. But John Doe was gone now. And if he was gone, then he could be forgotten. What was she doing the night John Doe was murdered? She certainly couldnât recall!Â
Certainly couldnât recall until she saw Joyce.
And then the neighborhoods were remembered, the sleepovers reappeared, the meals were fresh.
It was not like that with the others.
Not yet.
But JoyceâŚ
For just a moment, she simply stood; for just a moment, just a blink, she didnât think to acknowledge her⌠and maybe it wouldâve been better to be strangers, who knows? But the social script, a script Bev kept close to her heart, suggested you acknowledge those you have a complex past with.
It just does not specify how you do so.
âJoyce, darling, do you remember that one kid from Tangrediâs class? The one who ate the goldfish?â John... something or other... John Fisheater. There were worse (better?) things to eat! "Tell me I'm not the only one who was formally invited to the 'listening party' for his 'mixtape.'"
closed starter for @abxvewater!
location: bogey mountain
character: player's choice
Minnie braced herself, shoving her shoulder against the tailgate of her truck to try and rock the tires out of the hole they dug. Sheâd already jammed a thick branch under the rear driverâs side for traction, but the mud was swallowing it whole. Her boots suddenly lost their grip and her legs began running in place for a split second, inevitably falling flat on her face. She pulled herself up with a painful grunt, wiping the wet mud from her face, only to realize she wasn't alone. "Great." She said sheepishly, recollecting herself. "If you laughed you're legally obligated to help me push."
He had become an 'observer' -- ditched the role of 'active participant' in social settings, determined that such a role was one he was not well-suited for -- and he had been content as an observer. The observer watched the woman struggling with the truck, does not have to intervene, for the observer does not have to abide by the unspoken code of conduct that polite society had dreamed up; the observer has no social script, for the observer has no script at all, for the observer has nothing to say.
But the observer, much to his or her or their chagrin, may be mistaken, from time to time, for an active participant. When the observer is among active participants and the active participants do not do as they are meant to do, do not follow the unwritten handbook they most often abide by, the observer uncrosses his or her or their arms and steps forward.
So Matthew uncrossed his arms, a hushed huff over the chuckling couple a few yards away, and approached the scene. "Key's gonna be you in the front seat. Just goin' from one person to two's not gonna change much when mud's the problem."
Filthy habit. Hard to cleanse.-Twenty-six years. Handed out like candy -- a reward in the form of a slow death. Tricked into thinking that that was better.
On the contrary, they were not allowed cigarettes on the commune -- undoubtedly for the better; really, they should not have allowed themself to smoke at all (and not just because it's an awful habit to have)! It wasn't right for the environment. But then, neither was eating meat or driving a car or plastic bottles or salting the road or fireworks or--
-- a number of things if it meant justification.
And seeing one figure -- one they were temporarily choosing to believe was human, one they needed to be human if they wanted 'justification; -- light up in the dark...
Well, it was nothing short of a sign that the universe wanted them to follow suit.
"You should quit while you're ahead," Adam said, walking nearer and withdrawing a cigarette of their own. Was this a Royce they found themselves now speaking to? In the dark, they couldn't be sure... Then, half Friendly Warm Recruiter, half Every Man, they added, "You can save yourself the hurdles of finding non-existent justifications."
nimble fingers hook underneath the corpse's torso, the soft pads of her digits sink into the blood-soaked fur and lift then push forward to flip the animal long gone. darla assess the damage â matted fur, dirt and blood mixed together in the wound left behind by a bigger animal. poor critter, she thinks empathetically immediately followed by, i guess it's survival of the fittest.
head tilts up, sharp eyes blink at adam, sun rays surround him like an ethereal light, giving him an otherwordly halo. could it? one of them in his skin?
no ... but what if ?
she squints her eyes, decides to entertain adam. even if it it might not be adam, but something else. she will entertain for her hobby is a thing she loves to gush about. " maybe. " a soft pout settles over her lips. " a lot of skin was torn at its side, but i think i can still harvest and give it a makeover. " tears push into her eyes as the light blinds her. she ties to blink them away. " do you want to watch? "
Memories of a life long gone, a life of love and warmth and lazy days and Saturday morning cartoons and lime green grass and cards in bicycle spokes and-
Memories of a life long gone faded in, past and present overlapping in the spirograph of time, and Adam was beside Darla in 2026 and their father in 1995. They both asked, almost in unison, if Adam would like to watch. But their father was turning the animal into a meal, whereas Darla...
And that was where the spirograph broke off.
That was where Adam shook their head, nodded out of the loop and into the line, and dipped down beside Darla to get a better look at the animal.
The grass was still lime green.
"Do you ever pose them?" Adam asked, eyes drifting from the carcass to the woman -- the woman, once a girl -- as she pondered her level of skill in the epic trade of taxidermy (the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows!). "Like the ones in novelty shops." Had she ever been inside a novelty shop?
hearing her name, a twinge of anxiety rang deep into her chest, she knew that voice. it was someone she hadn't seen in years, someone she had missed, yet someone that she thought would come & save her from her fake family that took her away yet never showed up. she always knew that he might be able to find her around town, randomly show up, he was one of the few that was able to wander off the compound, she just had no idea how she was going to react when that day came.
"adam?" god, she couldn't do this, she was too weak. biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself in check, she was constantly reminding herself to fight every instinct in her body, not to cry, not to run over & beg to come home, and not to run away. the word family is what tugged at her the most because that's what they were, they were her family, her real family.
"i miss you all too, more than you could ever know. i wish-..." her soft voice trailing off mid thought.
It would mean something.
They slipped the mask on as she acknowledged them, as she recognized them -- the mask of Recruiter. Not the mask of Model Cultist Community Member, nor the mask of Every Man, but the mask of Recruiter. Friendly, warm, eyes a little brighter, always smiling -- but not in a creepy way, heaven forbid! -- so on and so forth...
All of this would mean something if he could bring her back. And it was a sight to behold -- he had said all he needed to say to earn a confession that she missed them... far simpler than he had anticipated...
Always smiling -- but not in a creepy way, heaven forbid! -- but this smile, this charade he offered Maggie, was tinged with a shade of sorrow. Always smiling, but not always so happily -- always smiling, sometimes only half-cocked. Always smiling, but it was wont to disappear.
"You can... come back, you know. Come home." Come back. Start the process all over (would it be the very first time she underwent the process? -- he couldn't quite recall). The cleansing, the questioning. The assurance that she was not one of them before she became, once again, one of Them. "The people you're with now..." ('People' was used so loosely these days!) "How can you be sure they aren't trying to trick you? Even the strongest can fall prey."
who: @unnahtural (samira)
what: linda belcher vc 'but without all that awful nature!'
where: redford lodge
You know, many people would say that surviving a plane crash before becoming the victim of a groupthink that entailed cannibalism for around a year before teaming up to kill a man and cut his tongue out would really turn some relationships inside out! Many people would think that doing all of that together would really fuck some friendships up!
Maybe they were right! They were so wrong.
"God -- how do you do it?" The plan had been nothing more than making a quick stop to see Samira, to drop off some coupon, but the world had other plans! The world's plan, you see, was for her to not hold back for more than a mere second after stepping foot inside the lodge. "I would kill myself if I were out here everyday." Offhanded, light-hearted, and completely serious.
Nature? Eh, it was fine. Working in the middle of nature in the middle of nowhere? Believe it or not, the aversion didn't even harken back to those thirteen months in the wilderness! It just seemed so rugged and gross!
"Truly braver than the marines." As the best form of punctuation, she set the coupon down in front of Samira. Something for, like... nails... idk...
who: @sxmethxngwxcked (etienne)
what: rip dead guy u wld've loved being alive
where: etienne's office
One wrong turn, one wrong hole a person tried to worm their way into, one thing approached at the wrong time...
He had seen corpses; he had seen full skeletons; he had seen people who were, by medical definition, still alive -- but those people were certainly beyond saving. Perhaps the first one had prompted a modicum of fear or surprise or... something -- something other than simple acceptance that that was the way of things. Most did not step more than a few feet into the caves and live to tell the tale.
Perhaps it was unearned confidence.
Perhaps it was sharp intuition.
Perhaps it was nothing more than luck.
In any case, Matthew found himself walking into Etienne's office (no text to tell her he would be coming by, no call -- seldom did he care to use his flip phone!) with a ring in his hand. And he walked up to her desk with that same unearned confidence he entered the caves with, that unearned confidence that barging in was totally fine.
And he set the ring, date '9.9.19' engraved inside it, down in front of her. Alongside a cool rock he found.
"Widow."
She was a widow now. The woman whose case Etienne was inspecting, the woman who hadn't been able to track down her husband, had officially lost him.
The midst of decay, perhaps it was better she never saw him.
who: @memoryangers (darla)
what: taxidermy? that's hot.
where: the commune
Always standing straight, always walking so militant, always executing the most erect posture he possibly could -- always exuding model behavior, even when doing nothing more than checking in on someone they believed could not care less. Always so... stringent.
Although the straight face morphed into a warm smile -- the kind he typically reserved for potential recruits -- when Darla came into view. She didn't choose this life. For all of the oddities within the cult community, she may have been on the more severe side of it all.
And how Adam could appreciate that! A person so unflinchingly themself.
"Starting a new project?" He asked, straight face resumed (force of habit) as he nodded to the decidedly dead animal she seemed to have her sights set on...
who: @mcggielinwhat: i spy with my little eye :\
where: your choice, bestie! adam bops all around!
A familiar face.
A dreadfully familiar face.
Adam knew that they were not exactly unlikely to eventually stumble upon some of the defectors betrayers, that the more time they spent in the town with their eyes out for the poor and downtrodden, the more time they spent with the possibility of finding one of the few who had dared turn their back on their cult community but had the gall to stay in Redford, however accidental it was likely to be.
And they had seen some of them before.
And they had turned a blind eye.
And it was only with the knowledge that her whereabouts had been discussed, that if they were seen within her proximity and dared to ignore her, they would be rightfully deemed a failure. Potential punishment.
"Maggie..." They kept their tone gentle and calm, better to not scare her out of her wits, but reached out all the same. "Your family -- they want you to know that they miss you. We all do."
"Adam, you're a mess. You got garlic butter all over your hands." Keller stated. Keller reached for Adam's hand, licking his finger clean in one fell swoop. "Yummy!"
"Oh my god, it's been annoying me all day," Adam stated, relief instantly washing over them as Kellar licked the garlic butter off their finger. "You know, you've got a little something -- " -- placing their thumb against Kellar's cheek -- " -- right there."
LOCATION: DOVE LAKE/SECRET TUNNELS
CHARACTERS: MATTHEW LYLE & BONNIE TULLOCH
Bonnie sat perched on a rock near the mouth of one of Redford's many labyrinthine tunnels, enjoying the solitude as she fished one of her secret spots at Dove Lake. The lake was quiet, aside from the random plunks of her fishing lure hitting the water. She was having terrible luck, as nothing seemed to be biting around this time of year. It was moments like these where she felt the most homesick. She couldn't help but compare the hot and humid Houma marsh that felt like a living thing, to the dead waters that Redford had to offer. But there was no going back, not now.
She was just about to pack up when she heard a sudden, loud thud that echoed deep from the darkness of the pipe behind her. Bonnie froze, her grip tightening on her fishing pole, as she prepared to defend herself. She'd heard stories about the things that crawled beneath this town, but seeing a pair of muddy boots, and then a whole man, scramble out of the earth was another thing entirely.
She let out a small yelp, nearly dropping her gear as she scrambled backward. "Ohhh, mais là !" she exclaimed, holding her fishing rod out like a defensive spear. "You⌠you aren't a ghost, are you? Or one of them⌠swamp things?"
No new finds, for better or for worse; no new turns, for better or for worse. Not yet, at least -- he would be aghast to sleep or leave or so much as call it a day if he did not take so much as one turn that he had never taken before. What else was there for him? What other purpose could he possibly serve?
But seldom did he find another on his excursions, seldom did a turn -- let alone a turn he had taken at least fifty times before -- pop him out by another person. A person he had not seen before. A person he was decidedly unfamiliar with.
Redford was small.
He was familiar with most, if only in passing.
Alas, he could not hold onto that stoic demeanor -- that immediate reaction to show and be and do nothing -- upon hearing the question, so genuine in its nature. Hell, he may as well have been a piece of folklore, a cryptid in his own right! He may as well have been a ghost, no?
But that didn't mean he would answer the question, simply keep his arms crossed across his chest as he did his best to suppress a bit of a chuckle. "Seen some." A half lie, a half truth. "Right out that way," he said, nodding his head to the woods just beyond the lake.
Someone he had not seen likely meant someone new; someone new meant someone who needed more exposure to their legends, no?
For: Anyone (see plot hooks at the end)
Location: Cherry Park
Time: Early Morning - 7am.
Character: Shepherd
The red golden retriever at his side trotted along amicably, locked into his handler while Shepherd made the choice to leave his comfortable little home tucked among the woods and head to the park. There was plenty of undeveloped land around his home that Bosch, named for the artist Shepherd had studied intensely in the early years of his imprisonment, could run around in, but Shepherd's therapist had challenged him to go into town.
He didn't want to. Had no interest in being around people, but she pointed out that the longer he kept away from the townspeople, the more the mystery would grow until he couldn't integrate into the town and he'd be forced to stay on the outskirts.
The town had changed in the twenty-some-odd years that he had been locked away. Buildings that had been there when he was in his early 20s were gone now that he was in his mid 40s. Landscapes had changed. Owners had changed hands. It was unsettling.
Entering the park, he tried to find an area where he could let Bosch off leash for a bit. "Behave," he said to his dog, as he slipped off the harness indicating Bosch as a service dog and let him off leash, as if Bosch would do anything other than his best. But it made Shepherd feel better to say something. He took the tennis ball out of the bag he had on his hip and he threw it for his dog to chase.
From the corner of his eye, he caught someone staring at him.
This was what his therapist had wanted him to confront, what they had been building up to for weeks of biweekly sessions.
choose your hook from one of the options under the readmore.
FOR FAMILY MEMBERS: (only open to siblings) (cap of 2)
Shepherd had seen pictures of his siblings, well, most of them. Some of them. Whomever wanted to send him updated photos was what he was working off of. Some of his siblings wanted nothing to do with him. Still, Shepherd froze - didn't know what to do or say. This was not part of the plan that his therapist had walked him through. It was supposed to be go to the park, be there for a little while, go home - count that as a win.
"I was just leaving." He said finally.
OPEN
OPEN
FOR PEOPLE WHO KNEW HIM BEFORE THE MURDERS: (cap of 2)
It took him a moment of impolite staring for Shepherd to get an idea of who was now in the park with him. How many years had it been since Shepherd had thought of them? He felt the familiar shame creep between his shoulder blades and then sink heavily into his gut. He didn't know what he should say. He didn't have it in him to try and pretend he was anyone other than he was. "Hey." He said. "I..." what could he even say? "I was let out last month." He finally said. "Figured, no one wanted me to reach out to catch up."
OPEN
OPEN
FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE NO IDEA WHO HE IS: (cap of 2)
"Sorry - was I not supposed to let him off leash?" Shepherd asked, as Bosch came racing back, dropping the ball at his feet. "I looked at the town map and there wasn't a dog park." Bosch squirmed, happy for the exercise, happy to not be working. "I ..." He looked at the dog and then held out the tennis ball. "He'll love you forever if you throw it." He said, as he tried to push the vest with service animal emblazoned on it behind him.
Smiles. Friendly smiles. Bright eyes. Soft eyes. Inviting. Warm. Warm smiles. Warm eyes. Warm bright smiles and soft friendly eyes and smiling friendly eyes and friendly warmth and kind bright and smile and eyes and-
It played like white noise in the back of Adam's mind, a constant humming -- a reminder that, on the grounds of the commune or not, he was to project model behavior. Because projecting model behavior was the only way to escape please live a life he understood LIVE keep their standing with Redford Proper amicable; the town proper did not have to be happy with Andromeda Watch, just as Andromeda Watch did not have to be happy with the town proper, but tolerance was a requirement. And what better way to encourage tolerance than through smiles friendly smiles bright eyes soft eyes inviting warm warm smile warm eyes warm bright smiles and soft friendly eyes and smiling friendly eyes and friendly warm-
It didn't mean much, anyway -- Adam had had no reputation to uphold or to destroy, why not focus on smiles friendly smiles bright-
It didn't mean much, anyway -- it didn't mean much yet, the day just beginning to break, seldom a man or woman or human or Andromedan in sight. For a moment, for the most fleeting moment, Adam allowed himself to feel the cool breeze -- breeze he had been denied for years; for a moment, for the most fleeting moment, Adam allowed himself to admire the sun -- too early to be the vibrant and blinding yellow that the children always drew, still a soft orangey pink.
A person does not appreciate freedom -- true freedom -- until it's too late, do they?
-- But that fleeting moment of appreciation did not last long, thoughts (or, rather, lack thereof) interrupted by the sound of a jangling collar and paws padding along.
Adam's eyes flitted to the dog, free in his own way, then to the presumed owner. Was this that Shepherd fellow he had heard whisperings about? Adam felt a human presence, heard the voice of a human, saw the sad eyes of a human...
Smiles. Friendly smiles. Bright eyes. Soft eyes. Inviting. Warm. Warm smiles. Warm eyes. Warm bright smiles and soft friendly eyes and smiling friendly eyes and friendly warmth and kind bright and smile and eyes and-
"Ah, it's not a problem. What's life worth if you can't let a dog run, ey?" He was a handsome canine, majestic in his own freedom. Adam took the ball from the other, offering a friendly smile warm smile bright smile and a nod of gratitude, before glancing at the vest... letting his gaze linger for just a moment, just long enough for the other to notice him noticing, just long enough for the other to notice him leaving it be.
-- and before chucking the ball as hard as he could. Send the dog running, send the canine flying, transform the dog into a bullet, man's best friend into a weapon.
"Safe to guess that torpedo there has a name?"
- [ oliver jackson cohen, forty, demi man, he/they ] Welcome to Redford, ADAM WRIGHT! Local sources report that youâve been in town for TWENTY YEARS and have settled in ANDROMEDA WATCH COMMUNE. Youâve also gained a reputation for being DISARMING, though some whisper that you can be a bit UNPREDICTABLE. Others have dredged up rumors that youâre involved in ANDROMEDA WATCH as THE RECRUITER, but most know you for your work as a WATCHMAN at THE WATCHTOWERS. Weâll see you around town soon!Â
TRIGGERS: troubled teen industry/institutional abuse -- absolutely NOTHING graphic in the slightest, but it's a continuing theme
You could never really catch your thoughts, could never really keep up with them. No matter how hard you tried, they got ahead of you and you chased and chased and chased them...
You were a good kid, you have to believe that. You just stayed out too late a few too many times, just mouthed off a few too many times, just got kicked out a few too many times. But you were still a good kid, you know it!
The first cult you joined was not your choice -- it didn't even advertise itself as a cult. A school your parents sent you to (at least you were dropped off by them, not all of the other kids got that) that claimed it would reform you for the better. And it did reform you. Your brain rewired itself to survive.
"School."
Ha.
You 'completed the program,' but not without losing yourself to it. Not without becoming one of the cogs, one of the 'older siblings' -- not without that.
You were supposed to go to college after that. That's what every good kid does, so you do.
But college doesn't make sense. Very few things make sense. And every single thing is a reminder.
Your family was not wont to believe you about everything that happened, blamed your first escape and your claims of institutional abuse on your troublesome nature -- that's what they said, after all. They said you would say anything to leave! -- and so you almost want to forgive your family...
...but you can't manage it...
...and you can't manage sticking around, and you can't manage college...
...so you pack up and drive until you can't keep your eyes open anymore.
You stay the night at a motel, open up some message boards about the 'school' when you can't fall asleep.
And something finally makes sense: the military.
You don't really give a fuck about 'fighting for your country' or whatever, but functioning without strict order?
So you really were the perfect target, weren't you?
The next day, when you ventured into the town, mind set on getting gas then going right to enlist, you first stumbled upon a farmer's market. Everyone was fine, you didn't pay it much mind -- until someone paid you a lot of mind. You fell for the pitch, listened to what they had to offer...
The military was on the back burner. You'll stay one more night.
Maybe just one more...
Another...
You're eventually invited to stay the night on the commune and you know what this is. You know it's a cult -- you could spot one of those from a million miles away.
Eventually, you figure it's either this or the military -- and at least you won't have to fight anyone if it's this, you just have to pretend to believe in the doctrine.
Andromeda Watch soon becomes your life. You work for Ward Abbott, you answer to Ward Abbott, you do everything Ward Abbott asks of you. Your rational self knows it's all bullshit, but the part that's so desperate to have order is so loud that the feigned belief eventually turns into... almost true belief.
You wear the badge of a recruiter like a medal.
You don't look in the mirror much anymore, terrified of the reflection it offers -- not the reflection of a good kid, but the reflection of the people who destroyed all of the vivacity that the good kid had once had.
QUESTIONNAIRE:
What is their biggest fear?
Confronting himself head on. He doesn't believe in any of the shit he's selling, not really, but his brain has been doing so many backflips to convince himself he does so that he can then convince himself that he's doing the right thing. Snake eating tail, ouroboros, infinity sign, etc etc. He doesn't want to admit that, by becoming this thing, he's letting the institution win.
What is their main motivation?
Surface level? Getting as many recruits as possible. They want to do their job to the best of their ability, show Ward all that they're made of, be a shining example of success for fellow cultists and a model citizen for new recruits. Deeper down? Just trying to make life make sense.
Are they a believer or a skeptic?
They've tricked themself into becoming a believer. They were 1000% a skeptic, even when they joined the cult, but have put in the work to become a believer!
What brought them to Redford and/or what keeps them from leaving?
A chance stop on a drive-to-nowhere. They've yet to leave because... you know... they belong with Andromeda Watch...
CONNECTION IDEAS:
sibling -- i imagine adam and his sibling were fairly close. perhaps adam told them he was leaving, perhaps not; perhaps adam told them where he wound up, perhaps not. in any case, maybe they either want to join the cult (slash joined it after he did) or actively want to remove him from it. or some secret third thing.
first ex -- adam didn't have much practice with relationships before this person. it showed.
(ANDROMEDA WATCH) mentee -- adam's teaching them the ropes and trying to believe it all.
more general: friends, exes, fwbs, annoyances, many more options!
- [ ricky whittle, 46 , cis man, he/him ] Welcome to Redford, MATTHEW LYLE! Local sources report that youâve been in town for FORTY-SIX YEARS and have settled in WELCOME WAGON TRAILER PARK. Youâve also gained a reputation for being RESOURCEFUL, though some whisper that you can be a bit BLUNT. Others have dredged up rumors that youâre involved in YOUR OWN SECRET AFFAIRS, but most know you for your work as a CARTOGRAPHER/SURVEYOR at REDFORD CAVES/TUNNELS.Â
SUBPLOT & ROLE: unaffiliated - literally mapping the interior (for my stephen graham jones fans)
POSITIVE DISPOSITIONS (+):
1. resourceful
2. confident
3. adventurous
NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES (-):
1. blunt
2. reserved
3. impatient
STAT SHEET:
STRENGTH: 3/5
CHARISMA: 1/5
WISDOM: 3/5
INTELLIGENCE: 2/5
DEXTERITY: 4/5
CONSTITUTION: 5/5
BACKGROUND (OPTIONAL):
to come! bare bones for reference:
-born in redford, grew up in the trailer park
-dad went to the caves bc he's an idiot and subsequently went missing. mom started selling select services⢠to make ends meet. matt was like đ§
-worked some odd jobs, eventually dropped out of school and got into some sketchy dealings at the casino
-but he got his dad's idiot gene and also started exploring...
-started to step away from the sketchy dealings when he realized that he could, like... make a living if he offered his services as an official cartographer/surveyor
-always on the lookout for danger and monsters and corpses (rip dad)
-but also. on the note of adventures. most interpersonal adventures? misadventures!
QUESTIONNAIRE:
What is their biggest fear?
Dying in a supremely boring way. His father, while not necessarily someone to idolize, left a helluva legacy in that regard -- if Matt were putting his neck on the line nearly every single day to just, like... get in a car accident? He can hardly think of anything worse.
What is their main motivation?
Finding something that will mean he hasn't lived his life in vain. He doesn't mind the danger that the cave system brings -- he thrives on the terror in the dark, on the knowledge that one wrong turn or one wrong encounter could mean certain death (or worse!) -- but he wouldn't be able to stand it if his one purpose was all for nought. His one purpose, being the first person to map and survive every corner of the caves, the first person to find bodies and bring closure... All of the danger can't be for nothing.
Are they a believer or a skeptic?
Very much a believer. He's seen enough in his life -- and certainly had enough close calls -- to know that the stories aren't all bullshit passed down from one person to the next.
What brought them to Redford and/or what keeps them from leaving?
He was born in Redford and he'll die in Redford. Matt has absolutely no desire to leave.
CONNECTION IDEAS:
his brother (40-43) -- a gentleman scholar, matthew's antithesis
right person, wrong place, wrong time (any gender, 38+) -- matt doesn't fall in love often. alexa, play 'mr blue' by catherine feeny
people who want him to take them spelunking -- he will not do that... probably...
enemies -- for a good two decades, matt's temper could boil into fisticuffs with ease. no doubt he made some enemies in that time.
childhood friends -- redford born and raised, the only one(s) who would know he was once a good kid
buddy comedy friendship -- how they came into each other's life, one can only guess! but where y/m is a ray of sunshine who would insist that the two of them are best buds, matt is a big storm cloud who would beg to differ
more general: tentative friends (matt's carla shaw), neighbors, one night stands, fwbs, many more options!
