route666rp | MAY EVENT LOG

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MAY EVENT LOG

Out of the thorn brush, the land still looks twisted and broken. And it turns a lot more jagged as rocks burst up and out of the ground like teeth… And keep reaching upwards, in defiance of all the gravity that should be pulling them down. The further up the rock spires reach, the more they splinter until the stones are free floating. The same happens to the threadbare trees, their branches and leaves breaking off and hovering in empty air. The nature of this place becomes clear: reach too high, and eventually gravity gives up.

01: BATTLE GROUND

The ground grows rougher, pockmarked with craters and rents, like the landscape is scarred. A little further up the road is the source of those wounds. Curious Drifters will find a tangle of rock and metal reaching high up to the sky. It’s a snarl of wrecked vehicles, rock spires… And bodies.

Robotic hunters are half melted into the bones of a giant monster, and the lights have long since gone out of their lens eyes. Many of them still clutch weapons; swords, guns, and bullets by the bag-full. The hunters and weapons remain locked with the corpse of a horn crowned monster with arm length teeth, and it’s clear this tangle is the only thing that keeps the hunters or their weapons from floating off. Drifters can potentially loot the weapons… They just have to be careful about not floating off while they salvage equipment. The footing here is uneven, and the ground looks ready to break with a wrong step.

These hunters also carry prayer screen beads, but the data on them is horribly scrambled. Any attempts to tamper with them cause them to repeat a single message: “I STILL LIVE” before shorting out and shutting down.

02: HEALTH INVERSION 

A building grows out of the valley; a hospital that has been turned upside down, and its foundations reach for the sky like weird tree branches. The hallways inside are all sorts of twisted up, and the building can’t seem to decide if Drifters should walk on the ceiling or the floors.

Twisted as the building is, ruins gutted by time and overgrown with vegetation… There is salvage available. Medical supplies, healing potions, healing herbs, all of it is bountiful in the hospital. The hospital is also rife with Husks, but all of them are inert… Or have already been broken apart long ago.

Then there’s the matter of the hospital screens flickering on in the wake of the Drifters. Warning lights try to flicker on, as old electronics try to scan the Drifters. The machines give up flickers of data, declaring Drifters to be “infected.” The old restraining systems of the hospital are still active, as manacles and straps alike shoot out, trying to restrain Drifters. The bonds keep them inert until they can be sedated and enclosed in what look like holding pens for violent patients. Best hope there’s someone around to help break a Drifter out.

03: SHARED THOUGHTS

The valley is overgrown with strange plants that glow with eerie light. Sometimes in camp stray glowing tumbleweeds roll through… And any contact has interesting side effects. Drifters will find they’re more aware and capable of picking up on unsaid things. These powers can the month. Each glow confers different abilities:

Blue Glow: Makes Drifters more empathetic in a psychic sense. They can register the emotions of those nearby, and may start to feel those same emotions.
Green Glow: Makes Drifters capable of projecting their emotions to other people.
Purple Glow: Gives Drifters telepathy, to hear and send thoughts to others.
Orange Glow: Grants Drifters limited psychometry. (Object reading.) Using it in the hospital or the battleground will yield unique visions and messages. Please comment to the mod/NPC thread below if your character wishes to do so!

Drifters can stack these effects, but this can overload their minds and force transformations. Those with Swarm traits will find it easier to handle psionic abilities. Additionally, ALL DRIFTERS who experience psionics will find themselves susceptible to Events 4 and 5.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HIVE-MIND

Worryingly, extra contact with the glowing plants can not only stack mind abilities, but also force Swarm traits. The more a Drifter is overwhelmed by psionics, the more likely this is. Drifters will have access to all Swarm traits for this event, and the following:
+Psi Hunger. A need to eat psychic energy in the form of dreams, psi-infused objects (like sage brush) or even psychic minds.
+Psi Senses: luckily, Drifters can glimpse heavy psychic energy in the brush through enhanced senses, and pick out strange brain monsters. These are good eating for Swarm monsters… And there’s an unnervingly high number of them.
+Group Mind: compelled to link thoughts with other Drifters, to share emotions, memories, and achieve cohesion.
+An increasing reliance on telepathy/empathy/etc in place of speech.
+Increasing collectivist mindset. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; this becomes more evident during high stress situations.
+Compelled to spend more time in the wilds, absorbing power from plants and hunting prey in wilderness. May also be compelled to share this prey with others.
+Gravity Affinity: If possessing wings or the ability to wall climb, may freely hunt/traverse corrupted gravity areas.

05: WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

On several nights the wind picks up, and sage brush is uprooted and sent tumbling into camp. The plants trade their prior glow to something more baleful and crimson. With the wind whipping through the camp, it’s almost impossible to avoid unless a Drifter is already secure in the Convoy.

The effects aren’t immediately obvious, until the Convoy sleeps for the night… And that sleep is different. Namely the sleep is connected, showing both memories and dreams from other Drifters.

Memories from their pasts can blend together to form a strange dreamscape, that connected Drifters can travel through. But those dreams can easily turn into nightmares. Those who were exposed to the fear toxin in February will trend towards nightmares and may have their old fears make a reappearance.
If those nightmares are vivid and unsettling enough, they can force a transformation. (This may be either current monster traits, or a Swarm monster!) And then…

06: BRAIN ATTACK 

It happens just before dawn, during the blue hour… Or perhaps it might be more apt to call it the red hour, with how the sky is stained crimson. It’s just bright enough to distinguish something moving in the hills. Drifters can pick out a rustling in the brush; something that isn’t wind. There’s something moving, crawling on claw tipped legs… And looking less like sage brush and more like a brain.

The Intellect Devourers numbers in the hundreds. Their claws scour the ground as they race towards the Convoy and smash into the shield. Numbers start to overwhelm the generator, along with the chaos the brain brush has sown with their psychic echoes.

The psychic echoes increase as they swarm the campsite, trying to drive Drifters into a frenzy with nightmares, fears, and strange visions. The brains are also ready to use those long sharp claws to tear anyone disoriented enough into ribbons, and start feasting on them.

06-A: BRAIN BRAWL 

Hallucinations: The Intellect Devourers try to whip up more terrifying visions. Anything to disorient the entire Convoy, or drive the Drifters into a madness that leaves them transformed and too wild to easily counterattack. These hallucinations may be past trauma, or something a Drifter fears happening; the ultimate goal is to leave Drifters panicking, changed, and vulnerable.

Rally: Still, there’s one thing the Devourers didn’t anticipate: and that is how sharing a mental link has given the Drifters an anchor with each other. With all the psychic echoes spreading through the camp, any and all mental links from before can easily flare back up. Drifters who have shared dreams or some form of mental connection may still transform, but their mental link can keep their minds stable and coherent instead of growing feral.

Scars: Whether through brute force battles or mental link resistance, eventually the Convoy is able to shrug off the attack… But there is still some damage done. The shield generator has shorted out, and the Convoy itself has taken a few gashes and gouges. Not to mention any transformed Drifters will still need to be talked down. Luckily the mental links are still in place to help with that, and there’s a truck full of medical supplies to help with patching up any hurts.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Disorientation: When wandering through the brush, Drifters may experience a swarm of disorientation: their thoughts suddenly scramble, they forget where they were going or what they were doing. They may also come to with a set of gashes along their legs, and a sense that they may have seen something in the sage brush move… Or maybe it was just the wind.

Float: Occasionally, parts of the road just give up their hold on the ground and go drifting skywards. Hopefully those chunks of road don’t take Drifters and their vehicles with them. Tough vehicles can likely survive the drop, while Fast vehicles can speed away before they float too far upwards. Drifters caught outside their vehicles will have to hope they have fast reflexes… Or are either good fliers or good jumpers for the leap back down.

Raining Down: On occasion, gravity will flicker and warp oddly… And that means that other odd things can fall where they used to float; rocks, plants, not to mention the odd bit of hardware and buildings. Watch for falling objects of various shapes and sizes!

NAVIGATION

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[ Danse lurking around isn't something he really pays attention to, anymore. Sure, it's still a low-grade anxiety, constantly bubbling at the back of his mind - but that's all it is, now. Len seems entirely convinced the man won't make a move unless he actively catches Arcade in the act of whatever it is he's waiting for. Killing puppies or eating babies, or something equally heinous. (Though with none of either in evidence, perhaps Arcade will simply be caught on suspicion of wanting to, either way.) And, for the moment, that's enough for him to let it lie.

It isn't enough to keep those thoughts from invading his dreams, though, apparently. The tired circles that linger from that restless excuse for sleep can attest to that, as well as the stray patches of scales that have cropped up on his face and neck, creeping palely down from his hairline and up the sides of his throat.

He's outside, leaning against the truck's front bumper and lighting a bent and slightly smashed cigarette (the mint ones aren't so bad - actually, he didn't think honey-toffee was, either), when Danse decides to break the weird little ceasefire they've been standing in, after all. Maybe it's the exhaustion that prevents Arcade from being too shocked, or maybe it's the dream still weighing on his mind - but it could also be those ears.

His gaze tracks upward, over Danse's brow, before he replies. ]

If it has anything to do with a medical query or - those— [ He gestures vaguely upward. ] Can it wait?

Or--what?

[ There are a few different ways in which this is all immediately throwing Danse for a loop, and the more serious ones promptly take a backseat to raising a hand to the side of his head in utter bafflement. He's been sitting by his rearview mirror for two hours and somehow failed to notice the way his ears have taken on a different size, shape and degree of hairiness. ]

For the love of--

[ He despairs. But it would be worse if he were talking to someone with more room to judge, he thinks, as his eyes scan in turn over those new scales. He doesn't immediately draw the connection that the dream has stress-triggered any of this. And he has to wonder now, at this reaction, if the dream really had been shared at all--if his own subconscious hadn't just somehow invented a scenario, in a way it's never done before but other people claim theirs always do, and Arcade hadn't had anything to do with it at all or been any the wiser.

(Danse has not been lucky enough to find any cigarettes lying around the ruins. He has never craved one more desperately than he does right now, in a way strong enough to unconsciously project.) ]

No. It's not a medical query. I assumed you would... [ Recognize what he wanted to talk about, if not actually want to talk about it in turn; Danse hasn't assumed the conversation would be welcome. He certainly doesn't know where to begin if he has to explain all of it, or ask what Arcade had dreamed about. ]

I shouldn't have bothered you.

[ Arcade doesn't make more of it than he must, glancing away as Danse appears to come to a rather belated realization. He must be even more out of sorts than Arcade, to not have noticed that change. And why should that be, Arcade finds himself wondering, shaking out his match before it lights the tips of his fingers, too.

That I assumed you would nags at him just as immediately, as sharp a tug as the craving that sweeps over him at the same time. He holds out the crumpled, nearly empty pack of cigarettes almost automatically, the look he turns back to Danse sharp and scrutinizing, now. Considering. He'd feel incredibly stupid asking just about anyone if they maybe, perchance, had happened to have the same exact dream as him, last night. But asking that of Danse? Exponentially worse.

Not that it would even be approaching the status of most absurd touch on this whole situation, of course. So maybe he should just get over himself a little. ]

Wait. What was it? Maybe I... Maybe it's going around?

[ It's generally second-nature for Danse to refuse things people offer him, out of longstanding habit, unless he knows them well. But none of his reasons for that apply anymore, and he wants that smoke badly enough right now to accept it with a nod of sincere thanks, all the more when he sees how close the pack is to empty.

It's enough show of goodwill, paired with that intense and searching look, to make Danse think it would be worth the risk of looking ridiculous to try and articulate an answer to that question. He doubts Arcade would be pressing out of curiosity alone. He pulls a half-empty matchbook from his own pocket, and uses the time it takes to light up to find the words to explain--cautious, halting, after a fortifying drag and slow exhale. ]

I had this dream last night. You were in it. I imagine this doesn't sound unusual on its face, but...so much about it was completely foreign to me. Things I wouldn't even have known how to invent.

I've been having strange dreams for days now, but--not like this. This was different. It felt almost like it was all happening to you, instead.

[ I had this dream last night. Well, that about settles it, doesn't it? If Danse had led with anything else, Arcade may've been able to maintain plausible deniability. He could tell himself that dreams are only dreams, no matter what other thoughts he's had put in his head, lately. Feelings he's felt without wanting to. He could pretend that his nightmare was only a perfectly understandable, entirely reasonable mixture of traumatic childhood memories and new, unpleasant experiences. That's just how the subconscious works.

(Except Danse wasn't really an unpleasant part of the dream, was he? Somehow, actually, his presence made it more tolerable than it ever was, before.)

He doesn't speak for a long moment, similarly using the act of smoking to stall, to sift through his thoughts as he eyes a scrubby patch of brush, studies it in the early morning light. ]

It was, I think. Navarro, right?

[ He glances, briefly, at Danse again, sketching a shrug. ]

I had that dream every week for months, when I was a kid. Only it was... Different, then. It didn't have an end. I'd just wake up, terrified, convinced I was going to suffocate on all that smoke.

[ That does settle it. There was always far less plausible deniability available to Danse here, because his subconscious only ever works like that when it's borrowing from someone else's, and that has only become possible in these last strange, mentally-communal weeks around the convoy. But he might have believed another explanation, if it was presented to him--might still have wanted to believe something else.

(Would he really have? He's tired, and the vigilance has made for increasingly hard and lonely work, with nothing to support it and everything Arcade's done only managing to erode his suspicions further and further.)

He remembers the name on the signs, anyway. There can't be any more doubt. He listens without judgment or interjection now, only the occasional soft breath of smoke as he focuses. He's not a stranger to this genre of nightmare, at least. This one would have been enough to rob him of sleep even as an adult--even as someone who's never had anything but an adult's mind to process these things. It's hard, makes the heart ache a little, to imagine enduring either the dream or the reality as a child that young. ]

I didn't know.

[ There's only so much that excuses. He doesn't think he has the right to presume he was anything but the catalyst for the dream, if anything. He looks away. ]

...Did you still have your mother, at least?

[ He doesn't know why he wants to confirm that. Not everything about the dream had seemed necessarily so straightforward or factual, at the end, and the question has been stuck somewhere in the back of his mind. ]

It's not something I enjoy talking about.

[ Arcade shrugs again, a more decisive motion, this time. If Danse wants to be excused, he's excused. Of course he didn't know. No one told him.

Despite his admitted reluctance, though, he seems unbothered by the follow-up question. Although talking about his far longer-deceased father tends to needle at him, he doesn't mind so much talking about his mother. He did have her for a while, though. He nods, back to idly-but-not-so-idly considering that dry bramble of scrub. ]

She'd sleep in an old armchair in the corner of my room, most nights. I used to think it was purely for my benefit, but in hindsight, I suspect she needed the excuse as much as I needed her presence. At least in those first few months. After.

Might have saved us both some grief if you had.

[ He won't push the matter. There's no sense dwelling on might have, even if it's tinged with some regret.

It doesn't occur to him to wonder much about Arcade's father, except for some faint curiosity about why he wasn't in the dream-picture at all, and something tells Danse it would only serve to disrupt the new and tenuous clotting-over of this wound here if he did ask. It's not as if Arcade would have been living on an Enclave base at random in the first place. Better not to know the details.

But there's still a weird kind of relief in knowing that the ending of the dream was accurate after all, that the effort to help reunite mother and son hadn't been futile from the start, and that Arcade had at least had someone to care for him after...well, after. He nods along, eyes focused on his cigarette ash. ]

I don't think anyone could blame her. The dream alone was pretty harrowing, and it didn't even feel like you were my kid.

[ He might not push, but Arcade will - just a little. He turns his gaze to Danse, at that remark, the weight of his full attention abruptly back on him. ]

And you'd have believed that? Taken me at my word? No, 'how convenient'? 'A likely story'?

[ There's a note of accusation in the words, but no anger, no reproach. Maybe a touch of patient incredulity. Truthfully, he wouldn't have blamed Danse for not believing him. It wouldn't have made sense to, really.

On that point, Arcade won't excuse him, because he simply can't see all of it amounting to different, whether or not he spilled his guts from the start. But he also clearly isn't hoping to hold a grudge, either. ]

The reality of it was worse. My mother had no special love for the Enclave, or what it was about. She was born into it just like I was - and they didn't exactly have an open door policy on ideological differences. But that didn't really make it any easier to watch it all burn.

If you'd explained the situation before giving me a reason to doubt everything else out of your mouth, maybe--

[ He cuts himself off, and sighs. The "maybe" is operative here. He'd been furious enough, at the first sight of the truck, that it wouldn't have made sense either to expect Arcade to stake his life on a "maybe." Danse wants to think he'd have been reasonable, weighted a little further toward the benefit of the doubt by the budding camaraderie of the conversation that had come before, but even he isn't completely sure.

But this much, he understands--in a piecemeal sort of way. Neither the Institute nor the Brotherhood is any more forgiving to would-be defectors, though he'd relish the thought of watching the former go up in flames. But he's never stopped to consider the mundane individual reality of all those generations born to the Enclave without a choice in the matter. It's not the sort of thing the Brotherhood ever wanted its enforcers thinking about too hard. ]

...no. It really wouldn't have been, would it.

[ He thinks of the cannons on the battlements of the Castle, all of them pointed toward the looming shadow of the Prydwen. ]

Even if you haven't struck me as someone with much allegiance to what it's about, either.

Edited 2025-05-22 04:25 (UTC)

[ Maybe isn't much to hang your hat on. Or your life. But Arcade reads that sigh as understanding, whether or not either of them need belabor the point, aloud. They could go around in circles forever about the possibilities and the should haves, could haves, but that won't change what's done. At least now, maybe, they can just - move past it.

Arcade scoffs, genuine disgust beneath the mirthless sound (and in that tenuous mental connection, too). ]

That's putting it lightly. But I try not to ally myself with fascists or genocidal maniacs, typically.

Not a bad rule of thumb to live by.

[ Danse can do ironic understatement, sometimes. It's another one of those things he has to admit he's already been plainly told, and seen plenty of evidence for besides, but feeling that ripple of emotion is a different matter even if he did still need that to believe it. It makes sense now why they'd been in unexpectedly sincere-sounding agreement about the Institute's brand of eugenics, if not on too many other ideological points.

(Though still perhaps more of those than Danse would readily admit, after all, when approached in the right way.) ]

I'm told the west has a problem with those on a few fronts. I certainly don't envy you those alleged hordes of costumed slavers.

Edited 2025-05-23 18:09 (UTC)

There's nothing alleged about the Legion.

[ There's a sharp note of offense in his reply, but it doesn't have the sound of burgeoning argument, only correction. ]

Whatever you've heard, I can assure you it's true. And that there's far worse that you haven't.

[ Danse is a little taken aback by the vehemence, eyebrows raising, but he doesn't protest. It's a tone he's taken often enough himself when someone is being flippant about a threat personal to him, even in ignorance. And the small amount he has heard had implied the Legion's threat to be a powerful one--just a far-distant one, from his eastern perspective. ]

Worse than slaving and torture?

[ And conquest, he supposes, though something in his mind stops short of letting him say it. Look at our strength and our numbers, he can hear his own voice telling Nora. The Commonwealth is as good as ours. It's never made him feel like a hypocrite before now. ]

[ Arcade considers this, mulling it over for another moment as he smokes. He could easily outline all of the Legion's crimes in detail, but in all honesty, he'd prefer not to. It's been a relief, in some ways, to know, at the very least, that when the Convoy tops the next rise, they won't be seeing rows of crudely crucified bodies silhouetted by the sunset. He may be turning into something he can't control, here entirely against his will, but there are some small mercies left in the world.

Eventually, he sighs, shaking his head. ]

There are different kinds of torture, different, uh, methods of enslavement. What the Legion does to people is the worst of both.

...Understood.

[ He can read between those lines well enough to know he wouldn't want to hear further details even if Arcade wanted to give them. The Commonwealth might have its scattered raider gangs who try to outdo each other with horrors; he remembers the smell of burning flesh at the Saugus Ironworks keeping him up at night for longer than usual, and god only knows what's going on at that theme park he keeps hearing about on the radio, but these things are by nature isolated cases. Not a unified and growing army. ]

I apologize. I didn't really mean to initiate a conversation this heavy before anyone's even had coffee yet.

All things considered, that probably just makes us even.

[ More or less. Completely ruining a good night's sleep for both of them isn't really a fair comparison. But given that it wasn't intentional, maybe there's a little wiggle room, there.

Arcade gives Danse another measuring look, though it's less severe than before. Only cautious, this time. ]

Especially if this means you'll be finding your nightly entertainment elsewhere, once in a while. [ Not feeling watched for a little bit would be nice. ]

[ It takes Danse a second, eyes narrowed with faint confusion, to process what Arcade means by this, because the surveillance hasn't been remotely entertaining for anyone involved. Though perhaps it could have been, had things gone differently--minus the conflict, given a more pleasant sort of tension, the kind of idea he's ignored with a stony glower when Len's tried to get a rise out of him by implying it to be a motivation. But he has the manners not to stare when he isn't trying to intimidate, so maybe not, after all.

He's already been doing gradually less of that, but he's still by no means abandoned it yet, and he looks away with a little pang of embarrassment now to have it so pointedly acknowledged. ]

No, that's...served its purpose. [ Such as it ever had one. ] You don't have to be generous with the "once in a while." I'll cut it out from now on.

While I appreciate the thought, you don't have to make yourself a stranger, either.

[ Being avoided out of some sense of dutiful embarrassment sounds almost as miserable as being surveilled for crimes he wouldn't even think to attempt. Especially when there is, admittedly, a part of Arcade still concerned that Danse thinks himself some kind of nigh invincible machine, and now that he seems to be on a more even keel again, he'll go right back to making himself sick and exhausted.

He gestures broadly to the truck he's leaning against, after taking another drag off his cigarette. ]

You could actually come over and be sociable, sometime. I'm sure Len would appreciate having someone around who doesn't roll their eyes at all of his jokes. Yet.

[ Even with that embarrassment in the mix, Danse wouldn't necessarily be any more inclined to avoid treatment from Arcade now than from any other medic he's frustrated to the point of lecturing (which is to say "every single one he's ever dealt with in his life, including the ones he doesn't remember.")

But the invitation to come and hang out just for the sake of it is unexpected, though welcome--somehow still managing to be both of those despite the flatness with which he'd earlier rejected a friendly appeal from Len to "walk his ass over." Circumstances then had not been what they are now, and even then, he'd been a little tempted. ]

I could. [ A tentative smile pulls at one corner of his lips. ] I was already at the point of just asking him about his gun mods instead of trying to reverse-engineer them from a distance, so it would be more of a formality there, but I'll admit I've been curious about what you're reading.

Well, give me a little warning before you do that. That way I can preemptively think up a good reason to be anywhere else.

[ Not that he wouldn't spend an hour or two happily listening to Len carry on about how he's modified this or altered that so that he can outfit himself an even more efficient and deadly marksman. (It's not the subject matter, but the ingenuity and the passion.)

...But Len being asked about his guns is just going to lead to a lot of bragging and showboating. (And if he doesn't at least pretend to find that more annoying than it actually is, it won't ever stop.) ]

I'll be happy to disappoint you with what little intact reading material I've managed to dig up, around here, though.

[ On the appeal of that, they're both agreed, enough so for Danse to have already negotiated the occasional truce with Len in order to enjoy it, though the subject matter is as appealing to Danse as the unexpected passion it inspires. It's roughly the only thing about interacting with Len that Danse feels properly equipped to handle, though bragging and showboating are baked deeply enough into Brotherhood culture to make him consider them familiar and neutral-at-worst even in a diametrically opposite context.

It's nice to have someone to gush with over an existing interest of his, and he recalls from previous experience that Arcade does not seem to find firearms as endlessly exciting as he does, even plasma ones--but he remembers too how easily he'd been willing to shrug that topic of conversation aside, wanting to find something mutually interesting enough to keep Arcade talking for longer on the way back to the garage, even with the wind pressing them to hurry. Even after the truck had first raised an argument and soured things, his attempt to mend fences hadn't just been common decency. There are things he'd be happy to listen to without his own expertise to contribute, too. ]

I don't know why you presume it would disappoint me. You could at least let me hear about it before I judge.

It's not a personal judgement.

[ Arcade huffs out a breath, not really laughing. It's too early and he's too tired for that. ]

Most of what I've got just isn't all that... good. It's all fiction, unfortunately. I was really hoping to find something that'd shed a little light on the history of this place, or... anything. Instead, I've got a handful of fantasies and melodramas with pages missing.

I see what you mean.

[ There's a time and a place for fiction, of course, even melodrama, but as far as Danse is concerned those times usually are pretty few and far between. He's always been the type to read through historical databases for fun even when it wasn't a matter of potential life and death. ]

And of course there's no way to tell if it's deliberate censorship, which might at least be a clue to something in and of itself, or if the people here just had mediocre taste and a habit of being careless with their books.

If I ever come across anything more useful than that, I'll let you know.

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MAY EVENT LOG

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