#affluenceevent

𝐼ce is breaking on the surface of Wyvern Lake—cracking in the heat of midday and thinning beneath a dusting of powdered snow. It’s a sign of spring’s slow arrival, warm wind kissing the skin on student’s faces as they hustle towards their classes, trying to cram before midterms. They’ve run themselves ragged on trips to parent’s estates over the holidays and a smattering of ski trips and alpine adventures since then, but the coming of spring break calls for something with a lot more sun.

The Psychology Department has one more announcement to make, a boast that reaches all ears, bleeding into common conversation. The subsequent results of their romance related investigations yielded several publications on their study, all of which have been marked as exciting new finds in the field. With this new honour, funding has been extended towards Rye University’s annual spring break, as a thank you to the student body that so graciously played guinea pig to make it all happen.

This year, donors and the University will be fully funding a trip to Ibiza over the course of spring break. Partners and alumni of the school have worked tirelessly to ensure the best possible stay for the students of the school, and is covering the costs of flights, accommodations, meals and excursions over the course of the week. It is their intention to provide the most relaxing and enjoyable time for the students of Rye and to give thanks for everything that they have done to ensure the success of all departments and their research endeavours. Those who wish to attend will be staying at a hotel leased solely to students at the school, and will want for nothing. It’s hard to say no, and after such a long East Coast winter, who would?

                                ( OOC information under the cut )

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞.

The psychology department is made up of a fair number of students, and as they stood in place at the end of each corridor, shoulder to shoulder, grim-faced and pencil poised, you thought of the final barricade, a last stand of a resistance army. What greater motivator is there than this assignment is a pass or fail grade? It’s a survey, the student who snares you explains, a few simple questions you can answer right here and now, and there’s no option to do it later. Through grit teeth, knuckles white as they clutch their pen, they explain it’s gotta be taken seriously, and you’ve gotta tell the truth, or else. The threat feels very unfounded, but it’s Valentine’s Day themed, and in the spirit of romance you decide to throw them a bone and answer a few of their pressing queries.

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲— 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞?”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞? 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬, 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞?”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

“𝐈𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩?”

“𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧?”

“𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: “𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞…”

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧? 𝐁𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟?”

“𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

“𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲?”

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥.

You know of the house on Elmview just as everyone does: through the wraith-like whispers of its origin, a favoured topic for stories of hauntings or high contemplations. It was once a vision fit for postcards, but it is now singled out as an eyesore behind an industrial-heavy steel fence dug deep into the frozen earth around it. Once a year, the gates are left unlocked. No, not just unlocked, but slightly ajar: an invitation. 

The rumour finds you first, as you shed gloves and warm your fingers over the hum of an old radiator in a coffee shop tucked off campus. It’s a conversation between two baristas behind the counter that catches your attention (townies always seem to know things first), they whisper with a buzzing excitement that in the last week of the first month of the year, there would be a party at 573 Elmview. It is information shared like all gossip is designed for: the spread of a wildfire. You tell your roommate, who tells her lab partner, who tells their boyfriend, who tells his friends, and before you know it you can trace this live wire at your feet from campus to town, to the splitting porch of the ancient house.

The host is a mystery, but the list of attendants has its own magnetic pull, and you can’t help but admit a party like this has its own gravity. You know what they say, how the cold is bound to seep through the shoddy, animal-eaten insulation, and the creak of worn floors. But you’ll go anyway, following behind the first brave attendee to get swallowed up into that old dead house. You’ll go, because there is no way you could live a promised night like this second hand.