SHEETCAKE PARTY #1

[goneawaymod]

SHEET CAKE MEETUP

“Who the fuck is Linda?”

The question pops up every few minutes, a little tack of punctuation above the offensively-inoffensive music being piped in*. The room the hires have been ushered into is clearly just a conference room, with a layout that requires either sitting at awkwardly-spaced intervals around a giant table or milling and scooting around the smaller folding table, where the “big surprise” the corporate officers promised them is on display: a sheet cake.

A sheet cake that that still bears HAPPY BIRTH DAY LINDA in blue icing across the top, although someone has, at least, gone to the effort of writing welcome, to the team new hires in Sharpie on a purple flashcard and used a Popsicle stick and tape to plant it like a dismal flag right in the middle of Linda’s “DAY”. Dedication aside, the cake itself looks pretty suspect too, not as if it were poisoned but more like if it were salvaged. The cake part looks dry, and the frosting seems strangely...sweaty. No one’s eating yet, and yet there’s already a piece missing.

However, there’s no lack of enthusiasm around the room. A projector hooked up to a laptop casts an off-center, warped rectangle of WELCOME TO, THE BEST TEAM. NEW HIRES!! onto a wall. The many paper plates have a festive print, although they all seem to be Christmas themed. The table cloth looks as if it came from both 4th of July and potentially a war, given the scuffs and tears. The shot-glass sized paper cups are inadequate to hold a satisfying amount of sparkling cider, but at least they don’t leak. There are many more plastic knives than forks, which could prompt some hires to give in to their animal instincts and just use their hands, or perhaps start a barter economy for the better utensils.

“I’m so jealous,” a corporate employee keeps saying as she ushers hires into the room. “We haven’t had a good party in this office since Kelly’s baby shower, and that little girl practically has teeth now!”

(An eagle-eyed hire may suspect that the box of donuts next to the sheet cake might have come from said baby shower, on account of the fact that the few stale hunks of donut remaining have Pepto-Bismol pink strawberry icing and that there’s still the paper envelope for a gift card with ITS A GIRL written on it.)

Most of corporate slips out after the hires get set up - this is clearly an event for the hires to do some “team building” and work on “rapport” in addition to filling their bellies with cake that tastes remarkably like sand. There’s a karaoke machine in the corner, but hires are instructed not to touch it because, as an employee points out, last year’s Christmas party demonstrated that karaoke is the worst thing in the entire world for morale (“in any world! even before this one got eaten away by the bombs!”).

There’s an additional big glass jar filled with scraps of paper, which the hires are informed are filled with prompts for ice breakers and activities in case the party needs a pick-me-up. Any hire who investigates will find that most of the ice breaker activities start with three benign questions (“what’s your name?” “where are you from?” “what’s your favorite animal?”) and somehow, always a fourth question that feels a little invasive (“what are your feelings on unions?” “under what circumstances would you kill an innocent person?” “do you use the same passwords for all your accounts?”).

“Please enjoy yourselves and all the desserts Jorgmund has generously supplied you with,” one of the employees says on her way out, “and don’t worry about making a mess, janitorial gets paid too much to sit around as is.”

*All music that can be summarized as ’grocerycore’.

Comments

[garmr]

Parties. Guts hates parties. After awkwardly being ushered into this tiny room and given food, he immediately gets to work on ditching this terrible turn of events.

a. cake

"Here."

Do you want more cake? Whether you do or not, Guts will be practically shoving his piece into any outstretched hand within sight. He's not hungry for starters, and he is getting a headache from just smelling the frosting and donut glazing. Far, far too sweet for his palate. He'll eat almost anything to survive, but he's not eating this crap.

Well, at least the plate has a rare plastic fork still sticking out of it?

b. drinks

"This is cider...?"

Disappointment. He had a little sliver of hope that the tiny cups would have wine or at least some real cider. No luck for him. It's just bubbly, incredibly sugary fruit juice as far as his eye can see. He hates it. What's even the point of a party if he doesn't get to drink something a little stronger? Now he has to put up with the insufferable socializing without anything to take the edge off.

He is at the point where he will rudely walk out of a conversation before it even gets going. What does he think about unions? A grunt and a turn in the opposite direction. It really isn't personal. He's just Like That.

c. failing to escape

Guts is stuck in a little room with crappy pastries and no booze. He manages to hold out for exactly (10) minutes before he makes his way for the exit and gets held up by an employee about a foot shorter than he is.

He stands perfectly still as he gets an earful about having not even tried the cake! or giving the icebreakers a shot. Guts is doing an... okay job of keeping his annoyance in check as he steps closer.

"Come on. Get out of the damn way."

a

[valkywhee]

Nora absolutely wants more cake, and she lights up at such a thoughtful gesture. Sure, no one's going to call it the best cake they've ever had, but even bad cake is still pretty good, because it's cake!

"Thank you!" She beams up at the nice generous grumpy man.

[garmr]

"Sure."

The enthusiasm with which this girl grabs his piece is a little off-putting. Maybe his perspective is just tainted by his last cake being lovingly baked by a literal elf queen?

He just... stares in slight disbelief. How many pieces has she eaten? That just ain't right.

[valkywhee]

Not that Nora herself has been counting, but it's at least one, because she's stacked Guts's plate on top of her own, and the bits of leftover frosting are keeping the two stuck together nicely.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" she asks...around the enormous mouthful she's already taken out of it. "I don't want to hog it all, but it looks like there's enough for everyone."

You're the only one who's eaten more than one bite of the stuff, Nora.

[garmr]

Talking with her mouth full isn't what bothers him, even if some of the cake dust floats over in his direction. How can someone her size fit so much cake in their stomach? The austere Medieval Traveler life just doesn't prepare Guts to gorge like that. It's honestly rather impressive.

"You don't feel sick? At all?"

He's keeping this in mind the next time Jorg and friends give him unsavory trash food.

[valkywhee]

"Hmm?" She looks at her cake, which definitely has a thumbprint in the frosting that she didn't put there herself and seems too small to be from Guts, and then back at him. "Of course not, silly! I've eaten way worse than this!"

[garmr]

"You have, huh...?"

Incredible. He raises his hand up to shield his face from any stray cake flecks that fly over in his direction. A part of him is starting to think that he'd prefer eating dungeon mice over this manhandled dusty bread.

[valkywhee]

"Ever had an algae 'health' smoothie? Yech!" Nora's expression crumples into one of disgust as she sticks her tongue out at the memory of the taste. "Like pond scum in a glass."

B

[becauseimacoward]

"...I wouldn't be certain it's real cider. It's...suspiciously sweet"

Cider isn't supposed to be like that, is it? It lacks a certain tanginess. Dojima is glancing at the cider like it personally offended him. God, he'd like some booze right now.

[garmr]

Guts takes his very small cup (even smaller in his huge warrior hand) and gives the drink a sniff.

It isn't as disgusting as the cake, but his lip still curls in disappointment.

"...Doesn't smell right."

It smells like goddamn apple juice.

[becauseimacoward]

Dojima sighs wearily. What a joke of a party this is.

"What does a man have to do around here to get decent booze?"

If the rig people rewarded him with booze for any of the jobs they have to do in the future he'd be rather grateful about it, admittedly.

[garmr]

"Maybe you got to ask 'em real nicely."

He hopes this guy will do it, because Guts can never be nice to the Jorgbots that he makes eye contact with. There's just something about them. Every employee he's met so far has the most incredibly punchable face. He should be lauded more for not acting on his instincts.

[becauseimacoward]

"...if they expect me to get on my knees for a bottle of booze they're going to wait forever. I'm not that desperate."

Apparently he won't. For now. Later, when the party is over, he'll tentatively ask them and find out just requesting booze isn't going to work. But of course he won't grovel to their feet.

[garmr]

"You could always try to brew something out of this," he picks up an unopened bottle of effervescent juice, "Just get clever when you sneak it out."

What was this? The dry and extremely rare Guts joke? Yes, it is! Even while annoyed, he can apparently spare one. Though now that he thinks about it, maybe it's not such a bad idea.

c

[wheyoftheadept]

"Hey, Guts, been looking for you!" Saturday materializes at his elbow, smiling winningly and sunnily at the jorgbot giving him grief. "Where'd you get off to?"

Her bunkmate is a big tough dude who can handle himself, but the employee's cajoling smile was getting a little too strained around the edges. Some of the people here really, really like being able to hurt people; others are just cowards, or seem to really think the people they've enslaved are... up for grabs, somehow, not really real because they're from another world, and came through the Stuff. Presumably that sort of self-centered attitude is why they ended up with a gone-away world in the first place.

Anyway, it's unlikely that Jorg intends and is deliberately trying to get someone to flip out so they can be made an example of, publicly, at everyone's first official meeting - but they would take the moment if it was handed to them, which Saturday doesn't intend to let happen on principle. And playing sheepdog at least gives her something to do.

Meanwhile, she meets Guts eyes, and tries to communicate these people play headgames just be cool and endure without words.

[garmr]

Guts recognizes one voice in the room, and looks away as soon as he feels a hand on his arm. He at least manages to look a little less pissed off when he sees a familiar face. All said and done, he was pretty endeared to Saturday even if he hated the situation.

"It's you..."

Oh, yep. He catches that look.

He gets it, he does. Guts just hates being caged, and being forced to do a song and dance just burns away his patience even faster. The corner of his mouth quirks up in distaste as he looks back to the door - he doesn't seem quite willing to stand down in front of this smiling robot. In his opinion, he's being quite well-behaved by not immediately getting rid of his problem the Usual Way.

Yeah, Saturday is going to need to be a bit more forceful to get him to play along. This one is too stubborn for his own good.

[wheyoftheadept]

"C'mon, there's an icebreaker you haven't tried." She pats his forearm cajolingly, a sunny smile that doesn't touch her eyes plastered on her face. "It's kinda some neat questions, you'll like it." By some strange coincidence, she just happens to have maneuvered herself between Guts and the jorgbot. The employee can only see the back of her head.

"And besides," she says, with emphasis. "There's people you should meet, you know, some really neat characters. Jorgmundr worked so hard on this party, we should enjoy it!"

Now is not the time is what her unsmiling eyes are saying. Fight back or go along, Jorgmundr wins either way, so pick the path that leaves you ready to fight when the odds are less stupid. And there isn't a room full of potential hostages.

[garmr]

"... ice... breaker? You mean those stupid pieces of paper?"

When the jorgbot tells him to try an icebreaker, his first instinct is to tell them to fuck off (mostly on principle). Now that Saturday mentions it - weird context and all - it's a little more apparent that he made basically no effort to even try to play. He maybe got one sentence into the game before rudely ditching the conversation.

Really, he was hedging his bets on how many Jorgmund clowns he could take down before they manage to shock him enough for his limbs to stop moving. He's guessing on like 3 or 4 at the minimum - starting with this one here. But maybe he should save that... for later. He's not going to stop Saturday from guiding him away from the door, even if he looks displeased.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Yeah, it's this neat game and you ask people questions about themselves to get to know them. Break the ice of not knowing each other, you know? Saturday chatters on like a magpie for about three more sentences, long enough to get deeper into the crowd and away from listening jorgbots. Then she exhales heavily.

"Sorry - I just have this feeling they're really hoping someone will lose it so they can make a nice, public example. So on principle I don't want them to have that." She nods at the sad cake and pathetic drinks. "This is too much to be coincidence. Maybe they're just that callous, but corps don't get to be corps by being stupid."

The thing about being a cyberpunk dystopia, even one with magic, is that even if you've never set foot in an office, you know what corps are capable of. She talks about them - well, maybe a little like a medieval peasant would talk about nobility. Something dangerous, incomprehensible to the point of eldritch, and where the only surety is that if they notice you, you're in for a wild and unpleasant ride.

[garmr]

Ah. So it wasn't about the papers.

Is he fearful of punishment? Nah. Not really. Was he being goaded, or was he looking for that exact kind of altercation? The cavalier way with which he considers her suggestion suggests the latter. Maybe he's just putting a lot of confidence in his own pain tolerance to give his captors a hard time. Maybe he just wanted to get back to his damn room.

"You don't have to worry about me. I have my own way of dealing with things."

He's mouthed off at every demon and god he came across that thought they were invincible - why would he stop here? It just seems like a major downgrade.

B

[gautiheir]

"I think this place may be operating on a very different definition of cider than I am." Sylvain's disappointment is also evident, as he takes a sip, frowns, and sets the cup down on the table, amidst the forest of abandoned plates and cups from everyone else who tried to partake and immediately thought better of it.

"Were you expecting social lubricant? I sure was."

[garmr]

"Even a shitty tavern has ale."

This event sucks even by Guts' Hate all Parties standards. The only thing he can be thankful for is that an apostle hasn't burst through the wall, yet.

"Did the end of the world destroy all the vineyards and barley?"

[gautiheir]

Sylvain winces. "That's a truly terrifying thought and I pray that it isn't the case."

It does seem pretty legit, though. Grapes need full sun and are a bit pickier about soil conditions (which he mostly knows from looking into why they don't grow in Faerghus, which has a much more disappointing wine trade than the rest of the continent). Barley, though... "I suppose if they can't grow much, they might be committing what's there to food supplies before drinks. Although in my experience, famine just makes people want to drink that much more."

If there's a depressing, end-of-the-world situation going on here, shouldn't people be that much more desperate to get drunk and forget about it?

[garmr]

Guts was considered a hero in his native Midland, once. There was a time or two he's sipped on the delectable wine of nobles. It wasn't bad at all. It was pretty hard to come by if one wasn't wealthy, but there were always watered down options that suited just fine.

"Guess that'd make sense. My theory is the guy who put this together did a sloppy job."

He may be from hundreds of years in the past, but that doesn't mean he can't recognize bare-minimum effort when he sees it.

[gautiheir]

"Considering one Linda gets her own cake and they can't even turn up a new one for a few dozen of us...yeah, I'd say that checks out."

Not that he particularly wants his own cake, if the quality Linda got is typical of things here, but you know. It's the principle of the thing.