Week 5.

[trustmods]

WEEK 5 Two more are gone this week. Luna and Chie Hori have joined those who are present only in memory now, and their passing seems to have left a lot of emotions raw and exposed. But as usual, the group has at least a little bit of time to recover. Saturday can be dedicated to rest and sleep; on Sunday morning, the clock chimes the hour at seven o'clock. The stairwells are clear of bodies; there's no more death to be dealt with for the time being. Unless, of course, you happened to recover something particularly unfortunate in your dreams... Once again, there's a new floor to explore; your reward for doing your job well. And since you've survived for a month now, you are doing your job well. However, the new floor isn't the only thing that's changed; there are a few things about the building that seem a little...off. A few things that weren't there before might be, or a few things that should be there aren't; you'll just have to see what the week brings, won't you? That is, if you're not going to be investigating all the goings-on personally... PARTICIPANTS REMAINING: 21

SUNDAY | MONDAY | TUESDAY | WEDNESDAY | THURSDAY

[OOC: Welcome to week five of Trustfell! Save your threads for coins and the coming week's activity check; don't forget to check in to this week's activity check and submit your memory regains as well!

The Letters and Switchboard posts are still active to be used at your leisure, for the sake of contacting the jerk who's keeping you here!]

Comments

HELLO FRIEND MODS ARE HERE

[trustmods]

[Hello, Mordecai! I'm assuming you're checking the shelves where the booze is stocked, primarily?]

[forcegalactic]

[He went over the stock last week, but he might have missed something while distracted by the glorious display of alcohol, so yes. He empties the shelves one at a time and inspects each of them, running his hand along the surfaces he can't see too well.]

[trustmods]

[Hey, no one's going to blame him for that; it's a really glorious display of alcohol, man, you can't go wrong with the Reinheitsgebot.

That said, though, it seems like somebody may have been hitting the scotch at one point; it's all restocked, but it's not as cleanly so as some of the other shelves, and it seems like there might be something behind some of the bottles, pushed up against the back of the casing.]

[forcegalactic]

[If only he had someone here to geek with over the brews the Conductor provided.

That messy shelf catches his eye immediately - this bar is his new responsibility, and it needs to be organized! But before fixing that up, he carefully removes the bottles and lays them on the ground in alphabetical order, then looks inside the casing.]

[trustmods]

[Looks like someone here was in the habit of keeping small journals at one point - there's another one here, similar to the one Jean found in the library a while back.]

[forcegalactic]

[Another one, huh? Mordecai reaches for it and opens it to the first page with writing on it.]

[trustmods]

[There are a few pages that have been doodled on before any writing happens; it's a bunch of interlocking partial circles advancing down the page. The design is simple and repetitive, covering the surface of the paper; it looks kind of like reptile scales.

The first page with writing on it only has two words on it:

I'm sorry.]

[forcegalactic]

[Mordecai pauses at the doodles, turning the page around to see if it looks like anything interesting at a different angle.

I'm sorry. He has a feeling what that refers to. He slowly pages through the rest of the notebook in search of an explanation.]

[trustmods]

[The drawings don't look like much. Just the sort of thing somebody might draw if they had paper and a pencil and nothing to do.

There isn't too much of a direct explanation; there are a few portions where pages seem to have been torn, though. They weren't clean tears, either - more like someone was ripping pages they didn't like out. Angry.

The writing is angry, too, on some of the pages below that.

guess i'm never going home, good fucking riddance

I'm sorry I'm so sorry

fucking waste of space

If I give you this to send to my mom will you send it out

I'm such a fuckup]

[forcegalactic]

[He reads the writing under his breath, even the swears. If it weren't for those, he fears he those words would have come right out of his mouth.

Never going home. I'm sorry. Waste of space. Death letters to loved ones.

They remind him of a group the Conductor used to work with.

No, no, no. Stop thinking like that, Barkeep. This won't end as horribly as the last session. He flips through the rest of the book in search for more information. Clues to the writer's identity. What's the handwriting typically like? Neat, messy, rushed, childish, doctor's penmanship?]

[trustmods]

[It doesn't look like it belongs to anyone here, but it's definitely been seen in this place itself - it matches the other journal that was found. It's neat, pretty typically girly writing; it's just...a lot angrier than it was when it was writing poems and recipes down.]

[forcegalactic]

[...The Conductor locked young teens in here before to watch them die. He's no better than the people who instated Blood Sports on the Moon.

If there isn't anything else apart from the note, Mordecai will slip the notebook into his vest and put the displaced bottles neatly on the shelf. This has to be shared.]

[trustmods]

[Those notes are pretty much all that's relevant, yes.]