Arc II, Chapter 11: The Librarian
Things rapidly started shutting down. It wasn’t as quick as what usually happened between scenes, but as the NPCs cleared out, it was evident that new players were not supposed to stick around.
“Just another day in Carousel,” Rhonda Moore said to us as she saw us standing there. “It’s always something, but that’s why I love the job. The hotel we booked for you is a bit of a walk from here. You should probably ask someone with a flashlight to show you the way. Or you can wait for me and I can do it. We’re friendly around here. Don’t you fret.”
She then walked away toward a booth in the distance.
“Surely Carousel isn’t thirty years older than everyone thinks,” Antoine said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Did anyone else notice the Mayor’s plot armor just went to 50 when he opened that capsule?” Bobby asked.
We all did.
“I guess that… doesn’t happen a lot?” Isaac asked. He was trying to stay calm.
I shook my head.
“I wish we could at least have seen what was in the capsule,” Antoine said.
I agreed.
“Whatever it was,” I said, “Carousel went out of its way to make sure we were paying attention to that event. It has to be meaningful. It could go in a few different directions. We need to know more.”
In the meantime, we needed to choose a guide to get us to our next destination.
Rhonda had used one of her Team Leader tropes to help ensure we stayed calm. It probably would have worked better on a group of new players who didn’t know Carousel’s true nature yet. For me, I couldn’t fight the potent cocktail of dread and excitement that bubbling up in the pit of my stomach.
Before us, were five people with flashlights, all Paragons, all doing their own thing.
Tar Bellows was examining the lock he had cut off the capsule as if looking for clues.
Rhonda Moore was directing some other NPCs at one of the booths.
Kitty Lincoln was furiously writing notes on a notepad.
Constance Barlow was talking to one of the other librarians.
Police Chief Willis was shining his flashlight down into the hole under the tarp.
We had to choose.
“We get to choose our own Paragon,” I said. "Any favorites?"
“What happens next?” Cassie asked. She was freaking out. I couldn't blamer her. She twisted the many rings on her fingers nervously.
The answer was a mystery, and yet, my friends and I all agreed. We were about to do a storyline. We had no doubt. The slow, safe Carousel could only last so long.
“Either we’re already in a storyline and can’t tell,” I said, vocalizing a suspicion I had since we were picked up by the carriage, “Or we’re about to be.”
We knew the part of the Throughline, referred to as the Tutorial by previous players, had storylines in it. Confused, unhelpful storylines (at that time), but storylines nonetheless.
“Which one do we choose?” Kimberly asked.
The choices were diverse.
“Tar and the Chief are likely to help with fighting. Maybe even Rhonda, she is a Final Girl, after all,” I said.
“You’re assuming they’re going to help us?” Dina asked.
“He’s probably right,” Bobby said. “Why else give us a choice?”
Dina shrugged.
“Constance is probably Insight or planning. Kitty is definitely a Hysteric of some kind so… she would do whatever a Hysteric does. Rhonda, again, would help with team synergy,” I said.
“Well,” Antoine said, “Normally new players would be making this choice, so it can’t matter too much when it comes to surviving.”
A valid point.
“So,” he continued, “We should go with the person that can tell us the most about Carousel. Like the Carousel Historian.”
No one had better ideas.
Kimberly walked to Constance and asked her to guide the way. I saw her nod. As she did, the other Paragons all dispersed, one by one. They hadn't been picked.
“She has to shut down the library’s booth and then she can help us,” Kimberly said when she returned.
Constance went to wherever her booth was and within a few minutes, the rest of town square had cleared out.
The anticipation was killing me.
We waited alone in town square, until suddenly, we weren’t alone at all.
“Strange happenings, wouldn’t you say?” someone behind us said.
We turned to see the Stranger.
“It’s you again,” Antoine said.
“It is,” he said. “I’d give you some cryptic hints about what's to come, but I suspect you aren’t as clueless as you're supposed to be. Normally I would try to keep my distance. Avoid scaring players away—"
“Players?” I asked. We had never been referred to as players by Paragons.
“Yes. Players. Don’t have to worry about you freaking out, do I? I can break the charade and warn you. Some things are stirring that you are not ready for. Carousel is cranky. After all, it did just wake up. You need to get ready soon.”
“Get ready?”
“Your tropes. Be ready with whatever you’re packing. Look, I will keep an eye out for you. It’s scripted to some extent. I can intervene. I will do whatever I can to help you. And if you make it to the opening of the Centennial, I’ll tell you more. You’ll see me again soon, but then we’ll have an audience. Good luck.”
He started to slip away, but Antoine grabbed his arm. “Wait. The opening of the Centennial is tomorrow, right? The 5th of August. You’ll find us tomorrow?”
“I’ll find you on the day of the Centennial,” the Stranger said, nodding. Then he left.
“Okay,” Kimberly said. “He can talk about us being players. Can the others?”
That was a very good question. It was a strange relief to hear one of the NPCs, Paragons or otherwise, be upfront with us. The irony of The Stranger Paragon being the first to do it was not lost on me.
I put on a brave face as best I could.
Within a few minutes of the Stranger leaving, Constance was back and ready to show us the way.
“Those little maps the city hands out can be so hard to use,” Constance said. “They are so tiny you can hardly read them. Rhonda was furious when they came back from the printers. Well, come along. My home is near your hotel. It really is a lovely place full of history. Of course, then it got gutted and replaced with modernist garbage.”
She began leading us north away from town square and the Centennial.
We talked about her job and asked her questions about the history of Carousel.
“Come by my booth tomorrow. The library has put on a much better display than the ones the high schoolers did. They only focused on the spooky propaganda for the Centennial. There is so much more to learn.”
That was a failure. No special information tonight.
When we asked about the time capsule, that too was shot down. She merely repeated her stance from the debate she had with the other Paragons.
It was around that point that I looked at her again on the red wallpaper.
I had glanced at her a hundred times and each time it was the same. Now, it was different.
I still saw her name and poster, but now, her poster had changed and the gray tropes that I had been unable to read had disappeared. Three visible tropes replaced them.
Antoine had noticed too and was nudging the others to look.
We could all see them because they were player tropes and she, from what we could tell, was suddenly a player. Her poster had changed to her at the library buried in books with the axe murderer lurking behind. It was the same as Camden’s poster.
Constance Barlow is The Researcher (Scholar)
Tropes:
“The 911 411” allows her to spend the majority of the storyline in a separate setting where she can do research for her allies. Her allies can call her for information she can look up, but she has a delay in how quickly she can provide the information. Her Plot Armor lowers for each piece of information she shares. Warning: if she is made aware of the reality of the danger and tries to help in any way other than providing research, the enemy will target her next if applicable.
“Eureka” allows her to locate desired information within a body of text at an accelerated rate.
“Where did I see that?” allows her to use props, like books, newspapers, or even the internet, as a cover to receive information on a subject matter when she had no real sources. She must pretend to remember reading something about the subject and then shuffle through props to find the text, which will appear on the red wallpaper. This takes time depending on how important the information is and may fail if the player asks for information that is too useful.
I remembered reading about Paragons in the Atlas, but when they said they could act as players, I assumed it meant like how Jack Goforth had been in The Strings Attached, an ally, but still basically an NPC.
She looked like a player on the red wallpaper now. Her level was now 24 instead of 50, the same as mine. Scholars could choose three aspects: Researcher, Sleuth, and Strategist. Of those three, she was the Researcher Paragon.
My friends and I walked in silence as we dealt with the change.
Eventually, I spoke.
“You can be a player, a side character, or an enemy,” I said. “But you’re a player right now, right?”
Constance remained silent for a time as she prepared her answer. “Yes, for a time. I suppose there is no point in keeping up pretense for now. During the coming trial, I will be a player, but I should warn you. There is some utility in staying in character. I know you Film Buffs like to drop the act as soon as you get excited about some plot point or genre trope. Some lines of dialogue can only be reached when playing the game sincerely. You cannot beat the game unless you are willing to play it. Do you understand? We’ve been worried you might not realize that.”
She actually broke character. The Stranger talking about the reality of Carousel was one thing. He was a meta character already. His script had him breaking character left right and center.
Constance wasn’t like that. I had never seen one of the Paragons say anything that was not by the book before that night. I was more taken aback by that than I was by her warning about dropping character.
My friends were just as amazed as I was.
“Can you tell us where our brother is?” Cassie asked. “Or how to leave?”
Constance looked at Cassie with an expression of genuine sympathy.
“I am sorry about your brother,” she answered. “Right now my script suggests that I delay this conversation, that I let you believe your brother merely got caught up at the hospital and didn’t manage to meet you. He was a doctor, right? But I won’t deceive you. There’s no point. I assume your teammates already told you. Your brother is no longer with us. He can be saved still. But he is dead.”
Cassie didn’t cry like she had before. Her face got even more somber, if that was possible. She must have been coming to terms with things as best as she could under the circumstances.
“As for how you leave,” Constance said, “Our scripts don’t tell us that. I’m afraid that Carousel left some surprises even for us. Now we really should get a move on. Our night is only beginning.”
We continued up the dark path, guided by the shine of Constance’s flashlight.
I was practically tripping over all the questions I had for her. We couldn’t waste the opportunity we had with her.
The others had questions too.
“What is the Throughline about?” Antoine asked.
Constance clearly expected questions like that. “My memory of the Throughline, like many of the other memories I have formed since arriving in Carousel, are sealed in my script and we are not yet to that page. For as much as Carousel likes watching you play through its assortment of horrors, it enjoys watching us languish as well.”
Of course, Carousel wouldn’t let them just give away all of their secrets.
“How did you get here?” Dina asked, piping up for the first time. “Was it like with Samantha, the Damsel chick?”
Constance took a deep breath.
“Oh yes, poor Samantha..." She looked genuinely sad to hear her name. She took a deep breath and her face returned to its pleasant state. "I translated a book I ought not to have, a book full of warnings that I did not heed. The rest is spoilers. Curiosity will take you places, and one of the worst places it can take you is Carousel.”
Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freew𝒆bnov𝒆l.c(o)m