THE MOCK WEEK

[grimgrinningghosts]

[You find yourself waking in a large dressing room, incredibly spacious, but in intense disarray. The bed is comfortable enough, and each room seems to be equipped with a working bathroom and shower, so it's at least livable. But aesthetically, the place has hit the floor.

The horrifying clock mounted on the wall reads 9 am. After enough searching, you'll find a large tourist-y map of the studio on one of the dressers. An ominous note attached to the map with a paperclip reads "12PM WAITING AREA". It's not like you have any choice in the matter, seeing as there doesn't seem to be any way out.

Upon exiting the dressing room, you note a crooked star attached to the door bearing your name. There are 24 others like this, bearing names that you may or may not recognize. A quick tour around the studio reveals it to be in a similar state of disrepair, but something doesn't sit...right with you. Though the place is certainly creepy, you get strange vibes as you explore the building. As you move about the dust-filled halls of the abandoned building, you may spot movement out of the corner of your eye, or hear strange noises from behind you. It's nothing to be worried about, though...right?

At the very least, you'll find some comfort. The projection room and attached theater still seem to be in working order, though you'll have to manually grab one of the reels off the wall and start the thing yourself. In addition, the waiting area and lounge are both filled with reading materials, and the later features a large stage and a microphone. The commissary seems to replenish itself with food whenever you take your eyes off of it, ensuring that we won't be going hungry anytime soon. There are also cabinets full of ingredients and a small kitchen should you not trust whatever your benefactor is placing out for you.

Fortunately for them, the smaller individuals amongst your party won't find a great deal of difficulty moving around. Though their beds remain oversized, there seem to be appropriately-sized staircases and escalators placed about in appropriate spots, so as to make their lives easier. After all, they can't just keep relying on the others to get up to the cabinets and such, can they?

While you're waiting to find out what the deal here is, you might as well come out and socialize.]

(ooc: Welcome to the Foolish Mortals Mock Week! Please follow us on Plurk at foolishmortals for updates, and if you're so inclined, please feel free to join your Discord-inept head moderator as he struggles to set up a Discord chat up for everyone.)

Comments

cw: heavy drinking

[terribibble]

[So. That sure was a thing that happened. Fiddleford could be productive and investigate, but his heart's just not in it after seeing a man dissolved from the feet up. So instead he's in the kitchen with a bottle of the highest proof whiskey he could find in the cabinets. It is definitely not a bottle meant for a single person and certainly not for a single sitting but here he is anyway and it is pretty obvious he is going to try and down the whole thing.

Look. He wants that memory out of his head, and if he can't destroy his braincells with radiation then he's going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

On the table in front of him are several pieces of paper, ones he took from the office when he was in there before. In between sips of whiskey he's drawing feverishly -- it looks like blueprints of some sort?]

Some sort of rammin' arm maybe... don't know how much we'd hafta break through... could dig out but how long's that goin' to take, too long, might hit a gas line, too dangerous...

[Hey, though! His words are the right way around again, that's something? Right?]

[thedukeofficial]

[ This sure is a sight, isn't it? The Duke is gonna just sit nearby. ]

Alright, inquiring minds - just kiddin', only my mind - want to know what you're doing here.

[terribibble]

[Fiddleford's eyes flick up only for a couple of seconds before they focus back on his work. Judging by the bags under them he has not been sleeping well, if at all, and not even Edgar's soup helped because his appetite's been so off-and-on (mostly off) that he didn't touch the stuff.

It might not be a good idea to be drinking this much on a stomach with barely anything in it but shhhh. Shh.]

Blueprints. Can't even make what's on 'em here, couldn't get parts, but it -- it helps. Keeps me busy.

[thedukeofficial]

[ He isn't about to contest the value of drinking here, don't worry. He might not drink as a rule, but he understands. ]

What kind of blueprints, my man? I'm a fan of the mechanical myself.

[terribibble]

Somethin' to get us out. Bust through one of the walls. You keep breakin' them down long enough you're bound to hit the outside, right?

[In theory. He knows he can't build it in practice. There are things here he could cannibalize parts from and he could probably jury-rig tools but he'd never manage something close to what they'd need to make it out.]

It's all just wishful thinkin' really.

[pardonmylanguage]

[She walks up behind him, looking over the blueprints.] Could you build some sort of sensor first? That might be the best way to know what would work best to get us out.

[terribibble]

Bein' real honest with you there's not even enough parts in here to build this, let alone a sensor to go along with it. Unless there's some junk room hidden away I haven't seen.

[It's more a therapy thing than it is a viable plan, though he dearly wishes it were both.]

[pardonmylanguage]

Well, I haven't found any hollow spots in the walls, so I guess there isn't any hidden room here. [A pause] Is there anything you could do with the karaoke machine?

[terribibble]

Uh.

[He gives himself a moment to think. Thinking involves drinking a little more whiskey.]

Don't know if I could make somethin' strong enough. Not out of somethin' so small.

[pardonmylanguage]

Oh...that's a shame. [She looks over the blueprints.] Those designs look pretty good, from what I can tell. J. Lo would definitely like them. [A pause] That's my little brother. He picked the name himself.

[terribibble]

[At least Fiddleford, being from the turn of the 80s, has no idea why J. Lo is maybe an odd name for someone's little brother.]

I wish I could. I really, really, really... [Whoops. Lost the end of that thought. What was it? It's fine. Probably not important.]

How old is he? Your brother.

[pardonmylanguage]

Oh... [She's not sure honestly. She never really asked him how old he was in Boov years, or how that even translated to human years. Time to bluff.] Around nine or ten, I guess? He's...adopted, so we're not sure of his exact age. But he's really interested in gadgets and inventions like that. [She does smile a little when thinking of him.]

[terribibble]

[Aw. That's... that's cute. It's just as cute as it is disturbing to have it brought home exactly how many among their number are so young.]

So he'd be about my boy's age. [He thinks. He doesn't like to acknowledge that it's hard to remember exactly how old his own son is.] I could design you somethin' to bring back to him. For when we get out.

[Because they're going to get out. Somehow. Some way. Right?

They are not going to get out.]

[pardonmylanguage]

You have a son? He must be pretty worried then. [She remembers her own mom getting abducted and how freaked out she was.] Thanks for the offer though. I'm sure he'll be pretty excited about it.

[terribibble]

[... He is absolutely not going to tell this kid who is probably already in a real bad way about how his family just imploded in on itself. He is absolutely not drunk enough yet to think that's appropriate information to share right now.]

What sort of things does he like? Cars? Dinosaurs? I made a pterodactyl, once.

[Please just give him something to do. A distraction. That's what he wants.]

Kitchen

[whistlenotchirp]

[Jiminy is really not sure how to really... cope with that. The smell of burning rubber sticks with him, especially since it practically surrounded someone of his size.

He eventually stumbles his way into the kitchen, after washing himself in a blind panic, looking for something to focus on. Something to distract himself. Something useful, something that could help people out in this dire time.

Oh! Well there's a problem! He'll just hop on over and politely encourage proper behavior.]

Well look at you! Drinking liquor!

[terribibble]

[Ohhh don't you dare. Not right now, you little menace.]

Sure am. You goin' to take issue with it?

[whistlenotchirp]

What, you want me to look away from this... indecency?! There's children here!

[If he can fix this, maybe he'll feel less like a piece of garbage.]

[terribibble]

So? I'm not goin' to make them drink any.

[whistlenotchirp]

Its a bad influence! Could lead them astray onto- onto all sorts of evil paths! And that's last thing they need right now!

[terribibble]

[You know what. He doesn't have to sit here and get lectured by a dang self-important junebug. Fiddleford reaches into his coat and pulls out the cigarettes and lighter he took from the desk in the office. He holds Jiminy's tiny cricket eyes as he pulls out a cigarette, puts it in his mouth and lights it.]

[whistlenotchirp]

[You are such a fucking Lampwick.

For real tho, he gets so angry and a little jittery.]

You sick jackass.

[terribibble]

[He'll heckin' fight you you green piece of shit. Or at the very least blow smoke in your general direction.]

Y'know what I think? I think you just like feelin' superior.

[whistlenotchirp]

[He's not wrong.]

I help people. Its my job.

[terribibble]

[Sip. Puff.]

What about bein' a holier-than-thou little nuisance is helpin' people exactly?

[He's being awful petty and he knows it. He's just running on empty. He's barely slept or ate the past few days. He's had the fear of death hanging over him for all that time. Today he saw a man melt. His level of tension is through the roof and he needs an outlet, and he's not emotionally healthy enough to realize maybe that outlet should not be a cricket whose only real crime is being kind of a jerk.]