With the slow but steady growth of the city, the demand for more grows every day — more housing, more retail storefronts available for rent, more space for businesses of every caliber and category. To create said space, the administration has begun the process of clearing a section of forestland on the southern edge of the city's boundaries. Far enough removed from the downtown area and the Welcome District, the sounds of construction should have little impact on the citizens' and volunteers' daily lives... that is, until construction is ground to an unexpected halt with the discovery of a long-forgotten glen in the woods.
The construction project is naturally put on hold while the administration begins to investigate the discovery, but in its inactivity, the space becomes a natural lure for the curious and the questioning alike. What's so special about an abandoned patch of rock and stone, or the nearby pool of softly bubbling water? As with any mystery, rumors abound as quickly as smoke from a fire, twisting and changing with each whisper from person to person. The game of telephone has never been a good way to communicate.
Some say the water is simply an extension of the city's springs and cave pools, nothing more or less than a shallow pool of water trapped by the stone walls that surround it. Others say it is a medieval mock-up of a reservoir, rain waters collected over the years and forgotten amidst tall trees and brush. Still others whisper of magical properties — waters once contained in a glorious wishing well that has since crumbled under the relentless march of time, waters that give impossible things to those that drink of it or that bathe in it or simply cup it in their hands. The rumors, much like those that visit the site, are many and varied; it can be almost impossible to know for sure which are truth and which are simply wishes.
Of course, should the allure of an unsolved mystery appeal to your inner meddling kid, there's plenty of clues to uncover and even more questions left to solve at the site.
▸ In the very center of the clearing, a pool of water gently laps at its stone surrounding. The pool itself is small, barely four feet across, but its waters are kept clean from the dirt of the forest floor by a carefully laid stone barrier, two inches tall, each piece hand cut and carefully laid in place. Though the waters are clean, they are not quite clear — looking in, it is not immediately obvious just how deep the water goes, and though brave souls who climb in will certainly float, those who attempt to dive to the bottom never quite reach their goals before the need for air pulls them back to the surface.
▸ It's clear from the smooth surfaces of the stone that surround the pool that this place was once somewhere of grave importance, though what purpose it may have served is murkier than the depths of the pool itself. Adding to the mystery are the three stone benches, surrounding the water on all but its northern boundaries. They are long and cool to the touch; the surfaces remain smooth even after untold years subjected to the mercy of nature, and still hold weight of those who may choose to sit on them.
▸ At its northern edge, where the water seems to lap most often, there is no bench to sit on. The stones here are well-worn, the faintest hint of footprints left on the surface, as if someone stood upon the surface here more than anywhere else. Just past the stone barrier rests a chest — stone as well, and obviously made with care. Its lid is heavy, though someone with exceptional strength (or a friend) may be able to slide it open, and bears what must have been something important etched on its surface. Time has not been kind here; though the letters were once legible, only a few remain so today: wishing and water being the only full words left to view.
What does it mean? Will you follow the rumors? Will you drink of the pool, or perhaps dive in? Will you, instead, dismiss it as fanciful dreaming? There are no wrong answers here, only possibly more questions to consider... and, of course, the wisdom of a well-known fairytale: be careful, dreamer, what you wish for.
Oooh, spooky! As you may have guessed, this event is our take on the popular wishing well trope. Unlike Snow White's well that offers to grant her dream of a prince who may or may not come, this pool of mystical water isn't quite so straightforward. (Is anything straightforward here?)
The wishing pool is here to grant your wishes. Or, more specifically, to try to grant them. Characters who touch the water and make a wish will find their wish (be it spoken out loud, thought only to themselves, or one lingering in the subconscious mind, unbeknownst even to them) granted within the next 72 hours — though, in most cases, the magic lingering in the water they've touched will be limited to short term effects only.
How your character chooses to engage with the water is entirely up to you! Maybe they'd like to take a hesitant sip, or they're a more brave sort who wants to drink of it until they feel sick! Perhaps they want to simply stick a hand in to test the temperature — cool, surprisingly, but not cold — or they'd like to dive in! There are no lifeguards on duty, though... so swim carefully. Stone and skulls don't often clash with good results.
Of course, we do have to warn: wishes made aren't always granted in the ways one might expect. The wishing pool is quite out of practice, and though it gets a gold star for effort, it's not usually very successful — unless, of course, your wish happens to be remarkably simple to grant! Wishing for something vague, like being happy, might result in wearing the face of a beloved storybook character or a friend of a friend rather than emotional adjustments or a sudden burst of cheer. Similarly, wishing for the knowledge to impress your date might bequeath the wisher with the knowledge of every romantic comedy known to man — while admittedly useful, it's probably not what you were hoping for.
If you have any further questions specific to this event, we encourage you to ask away on our QUESTIONS COMMENT here in this post. We're glad to give suggestions on ways your characters' wishes can come true! If you have general questions, or prefer a more private venue, our GENERAL INBOX (and SCREENED INBOX) is always available for you. In addition, if you've got an idea for a future event, feel free to drop us a line at our EVENTS SUGGESTION POST.
Have fun — we're wishing you all the best! |
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cuddlecity2018-02-17 12:14 pm
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Automatically, his hand goes to where his weapon should be, but he's gotten comfortable enough to take to leaving it at home. He's not on-duty here, after all. Regretting that choice, he hustles quickly over to her, concern obvious across his features.
"Lydia? What is it?"
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His lips are moving; she recognizes her name on them, but she can't tell the latter part. She could guess that he's asking her what's wrong. Spencer is a profiler by profession, even if Lydia wasn't his friend, he'd likely be able to recognize her panic for what it is. Her chin wobbles and she takes a breath to speak, pausing because she's not sure how loud or quiet it'll be when she actually tells him. For that, she gives a preemptively apologetic look.
"I can't hear you...I can't hear anything," she whimpers, heart racing. This is terrifying. This might actually be more terrifying than the first time she'd heard the voices in her heard clearly enough to make out what they'd been saying, at the Glen Capris when she'd heard the murder that happened in the room before she and Allison checked into it.
...no, this is definitely more terrifying, because she'd thought the place had been haunted and once they left, that'd be the end of that. This, Lydia has no idea how to reverse.
no subject
If there's a way to fix it, he needs her able to explain what happened first. Reid automatically slips into victim-calming, which is practiced and smooth and completely professional in a way his characteristic awkwardness would never predict.
"Lydia. I'm going to help you." He speaks slowly, meeting her eyes, reaching out to steady her with his hands after a moment's pause. She's been respectful of his space, but blatantly fine with physical contact, so that's enough for him. Spencer slips one hand down to take hers and bring it up to his chest, resting it over his heart, so she can feel his pulse with her hand through his shirt.
"Feel that?"
He can't know how well she can read lips, but he thinks this should be self-explanatory enough, and hopefully, effective. Sensory deprivation is aided by tactile grounding.
no subject
But in spite of the fact that she can't make out what Spencer is saying, the reassuring gesture is not lost on her. Usually, he likes to keep his own physical space, so when he proactively places her hand on his heart; proactively violates his own personal bubble, Lydia's attention is focused wholly on him. She understands he's trying to help.
Her lips press together and she's trying very hard not to sob because she won't be able to hear it and know whether it's choked back or humiliatingly loud, and she's not good at reading lips, but within the context of the gesture, she picks up what he's asking. Lydia nods, lifting her chin in an effort to fool herself into thinking her pride can conquer her fear. Her eyes are steady on Spencer's face and she wets her lips, nodding again. The idea of talking is unappealing if she can avoid it, because she can't gauge the sound of her voice. Instead, she just looks him in the eye significantly as if to communicate it silently: yes, she can feel that.
It doesn't calm her down much right away, but after a short moment, she can feel her focus shifting away from the lack of hearing and toward the additional tactile sensation beneath her fingertips and palm. Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her eyes closing in a slow blink, in an effort to further calm herself. Nobody can help her if she's too busy panicking to let them, after all.
no subject
Spencer keeps one hand on her arm and the other holding hers to his chest, and gently tugs her backwards over to a nearby bench. He coaxes her into sitting with him, and once seated, finally releases her to dig into his omnipresent messenger bag and pull out an old-fashioned yellow notepad and pencil, which he offers out to her. She's likely seen him use it in class a million times by now, has to flip to a new page to find a clean one.
He doesn't bother to say anything else, knows she'll get the message with this alone. What happened?
no subject
So when he starts to lead her away from the spot to which she feels rooted, she goes with him without issue. She sinks onto the bench beside him and can't help thinking that it just feels so strange for everything to be both painfully loud and completely silent all at once, because that's how it feels. Like her head is trying to overcompensate for the lack of sound by creating entirely too much of it.
Maybe it's because she's already scared and upset, but when she sees Spencer pulling out the notepad, she already knows what he'll use it for and it washes Lydia in emotion that comes spilling out a little in silent tears and a hiccuping breath. Appreciation is all over her face when she takes the notepad from him to write in a loopy cursive script.
I wished not to hear the voices in my head. Now I can't hear ANYTHING at all.
She pauses before adding in smaller letters that are a little more messy, a little less loopy, and a little closer together:
What if I'm stuck like this forever???