Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me Mafia {POSTMORTEM}

[Quin]

8:07 AM: Entered Twin Peaks High School, briefly talked with James Hurley, and ingested cocaine in the bathroom.

this 12 year old knows how to have a good time

[insertnamehere]

8:07 AM: Entered Twin Peaks High School, briefly talked with James Hurley, and ingested cocaine in the bathroom.

this 12 year old knows how to have a good time

Note the dates. The diary entry is from 1984, and the activity log is from 1989.

[insertnamehere]

NIGHT 1

EXCERPT FROM LAURA PALMER'S DIARY, AGES 12-13

Spoiler: show

August 16, 1984

Dear Diary,

Never before in my life have I been so confused. It is five-thirty exactly in the morning, and I can barely hold this pen I am shaking so much. I have been in the woods again. Lost. But have been led. I think I am a very bad person. Tomorrow I will start a new way of living. I will not think any more bad thoughts. I will not think any more about sex. Maybe he will stop coming if I try harder to be good. Maybe I could be like Donna. She is a good person. I am bad.

Laura

P.S. I promise, I promise, I promise to be good!

September 15, 1984

To the person invading my privacy:

I cannot believe the distrust I feel in my family and friends. I know for a fact that my diary was taken and read by someone, maybe several someones. I will not be writing any more in this diary for a long time, if ever. You have ruined my trust and my feeling of security. I hate you for that, whoever you are!
On these pages I have written things sometimes too scary or too embarrassing even to read again myself. . . . I trust that these pages are turned only by me, only when I wish. Many things are hurting and confusing me. I need my private pages, in order to see my mind outside me, push it away.
Please stay away from this diary.
I mean it.

Laura

October 12, 1985

Dear Diary,

I have decided, over twelve months later, to begin speaking to you again. I have found a hiding place I will not speak of, in case you are found outside it and someone nosy wishes to know of its whereabouts.
I tried a marijuana cigarette the other night. Donna and I had a sleepover at her place, but her parents went out for the night with mine to the Great Northern for a party Benjamin was throwing. Donna and I didn't really want to go, and I especially didn't because of Audrey. I talked Donna into riding our bikes up to the Book House to meet some new people. It took me forever to convince her I wouldn't tell anyone, and that we would be back before our parents. Finally she agreed because both of us have been terribly bored with all the same faces around all the time.
We were barely there a half hour before these guys, Josh and Tim, and one other one, but I can't remember his name, came up to us. I was smoking a cigarette that I stole from the reception desk at the Great Northern one day when I brought Johnny an Indian storybook.
They thought we were older because one of us was smoking. So Josh came up with Tim and the other guy. They said they were from Canada, and there was no doubt about that because they couldn't stop saying "ay." "Want a better cigarette, ay?" Tim liked Donna right away, which freaked her out a little because all three of them were like twenty years old. None of them rocked my boat. They all looked like nice guys. I felt pretty safe, but not excited . . . you know what I mean?
Anyway, I said I wanted to try a better cigarette, and Donna and I followed them out to the back of the Book House to do it. Donna made up this elaborate story about how we were just visiting Twin Peaks for the night, and that we had to meet our tour bus in less than an hour. She said we were on a tour called Round About the Woods. I guess they believed her because they hurried up and lit this thing right up. Josh said we might not feel it the first time, but Donna and I proved him wrong. He said we had to "Hold it in, ay?" And we did . . . six times! Diary, it was amazing. Talk about feeling relaxed and warm and a little bit . . . sexy.
I called Donna "Trisha," and she called me "Bernice"! (Just in case they ever came back and asked for us . . . for any reason. We didn't want anyone to know.) So, we were absolutely laughing harder than I ever have before. Every single thing I saw was hysterical. Everything was blurred and kinda wavy, like I was looking at the world through the bottom of an empty water glass. There was a warm, summer wind, and the trees smelled so good.
Tim brought us a cup of coffee with chocolate mixed in, and all five of us sat and talked about all sorts of things, like if maybe our universe was just a tiny little speck of lint that a huge giant hadn't noticed on his sweater, and someday soon, who knows if this great giant would just brush us off, or toss us into a washer and drown us all to death. Donna said maybe our idea of hundreds of years is only a split second to this giant, and soon something would have to happen, because how long can someone keep a sweater on?
We all liked the idea that there might be other little universes or "balls of lint" on this sweater, and we thought we'd someday like to meet a few people from these other places, as long as they were nice to us. We could hear a little bit of music coming out of the Road House, and I just had to get up and dance a little. I felt better than I had in ages, just floating in the night air and feeling warm inside.
Donna even danced with me for a few minutes until she realized we had to go meet . . . OUR TOUR BUS! We had to lie and say we rented the bikes from the lost-and-found at the sheriff's station, but I don't think the guys bought that story at all. They were nice not to say anything to us about it, if they did know. Maybe it added excitement to their night, too. Then again, maybe not, because they're older and have probably had much more exciting nights than that.
When we were riding home, we kept having to stop because we had such giggles. Then I got the most outrageous craving for cookies and milk, like I'd die if I didn't have any, and Donna agreed a hundred percent that we had to have something sweet. She said there was pie at her house, but that didn't seem right. So we emptied our pockets and went into the Cash and Carry for treats. We bought so much junk that we had to walk our bikes back to Donna's house so that we could each hold a bag. All the way home we were paranoid just like the guys said we would be because our eyes were all bloodshot and we wanted to get home before our parents did.
We totally lucked out because just when we got into the house, Dr. Hayward called and said they were going to be a bit longer because Benjamin was showing slides or something. Thank God! We ran upstairs and put eye drops in our eyes, then turned on the stereo and ate and danced and laughed, and we were totally sound asleep when everyone got back.
I know drugs are bad, but I'm beginning to get the feeling I like being that way. Kind of bad.

More tomorrow, Laura

LAURA PALMER'S ACTIVITIES FOR THE NIGHT OF FEBURARY 17th, 1989:

6:45 PM: Drove from Harold Smith's place back to her house.

6:52 PM: Lied to her mother, Sarah Palmer.

7:00 PM: Ate dinner with Sarah and Leland Palmer. Learned some Norweigian.

8:48 PM: Pretended to go to bed before snorting cocaine in her bathroom.

9:17 PM: Snuck out of her house.

11:39 PM: Went to a pre-arranged meeting with a truck driver. Had sexual relations. Earned $200.

2:20 AM: Arrived back home, snuck back into her bedroom, and went to sleep.

It is now Day 2. You have 24 hours to decide where to go.

[DharmaHelper]

Quite a fun game so far. Seems like if anything it's just gonna get more and more crazy and things go on. My kind of game!

One thing I do want to stress is that I'm following my patented King Negan "Go Along to Get Along" strategy. That is to say, I've got no beef with anyone so long as you just kinda leave me alone. Go Along. Get Along. Understanding this simple principle will make things much easier for anyone trying to get all up in my business.

[Marmot]

Laura Palmer likes being bad? Maybe we should lynch her.

[DharmaHelper]

That being said if anyone wants to hold court I'll be in the Roadhouse.

[Enrique]

Laura Palmer likes being bad? Maybe we should lynch her.

No.

[insertnamehere]

DAY 0:

[insertnamehere]

NIGHT 1:

[DharmaHelper]

@Reywas It looks like you spent last night alone. Come hang with your boy.

[ColinIsCool]

I might not be around much tomorrow so I am taking an early spot

[DharmaHelper]

I'm leaning towards either the Roadhouse or Laura's house. Interesting to see that no one "died" via mafia during the night.

[speedchuck]

I'm hitting the Power and the Glory.

Anyone want to talk to the chuxster, come ahead

[Lunalee]

I'm hitting the Power and the Glory.

Anyone want to talk to the chuxster, come ahead

I'll be there!

[speedchuck]

I'm hitting the Power and the Glory.

Anyone want to talk to the chuxster, come ahead

I'll be there!

[Enrique]

DH if I go to the Palmer Home will you come with me?

[DharmaHelper]

DH if I go to the Palmer Home will you come with me?

Fuck it why not.

[DharmaHelper]

Only one question you gotta ask yourselves if you're gonna be hanging with King Negan

[MacDougall]

I am going to the Roadhouse. Nova is there and I feel comfortable with Nova. Maybe that is where Laura went to have her sexual liaison with the trucker.

[MacDougall]

4 pages by day 2. This isn't going to solve itself.

[DharmaHelper]

4 pages by day 2. This isn't going to solve itself.

What would you like to solve, I'd love to help.

[DharmaHelper]

Also, 24 hour days with the thread being locked up at Night, I'm not surprised to see that the thread is light on content.

[speedchuck]

4 pages by day 2. This isn't going to solve itself.

We solving it.

You want some solve? Chat with me tonight.

[speedchuck]

I mean, really, we can info dump in the chatzys and not in the main thread. Of course that's where the solving is going to happen for now.

[JaggedJimmyJay]

It's also a problem that I, JaggedJimmyJay, am only permitted two posts during each phase. How can any thread hope to function under such conditions? I don't know. It's impossible.

I might spend more time in these posts hunting mafia if someone can convince me that it matters to hunt mafia. Otherwise I will continue pursuing my artificial win condition, which is going swimmingly by the way.

I am more talkative behind the scenes, so anyone is welcome to join me in the night for a chat.

[Lunalee]

4 pages by day 2. This isn't going to solve itself.

To toss some content out there for you MacDougall, I went to the Palmer house last night! INH popped in, JJJ showed up, and we had a brief chat under their ceiling fan. Unfortunately, no items showed up.

[nutella]

Palmer house it is.

[Enrique]

I am going to the Roadhouse. Nova is there and I feel comfortable with Nova. Maybe that is where Laura went to have her sexual liaison with the trucker.

This usually happens in The Power and the Glory, ftr.

(NSFW scene ahead)

[DrWilgy]

Well shit. I forgot about this.

[speedchuck]

Well shit. I forgot about this.

Please hang with meee in the same placce

[Spacedaisy]

I think I'd like to check out the woods and who better to check out the woods with than such an avid outdoors-man as Marmot?

[dunya]

Well shit. I forgot about this.

Please hang with meee in the same placce

I thought I'd clicked on Fog of Love...

[Enrique]

[lapluie]

I think I'd like to check out the woods and who better to check out the woods with than such an avid outdoors-man as Marmot?

This is very true.

[MacDougall]

Enrique is evil. I want to vote for him.

[speedchuck]

Enrique is evil. I want to vote for him.

Do you have the ring? (You can't answer that)

Then give him tha ring, boy.

[MacDougall]

No do you?

[DharmaHelper]

Rey I wanted to be with ya but you're slow on the draw.

[reywaS]

Well, I must say that the power and the glory was mighty boring all by my lonesome.

I reckon I will avoid such loneliness tonight...not that i have a choice it appears.

[reywaS]

Rey I wanted to be with ya but you're slow on the draw.

LIES

you're just a big tease.

[DrWilgy]

Rey I wanted to be with ya but you're slow on the draw.

You..

[reywaS]

Well, looks like i get to go to the roadhouse twice.

[DharmaHelper]

Hmm just a bunch of thumb twiddling all day phase huh?
Can't wait to see what my new friends Nutella and Enrique have to say behind closed doors

[insertnamehere]

DAY 2

EXCERPT FROM LAURA PALMER'S DIARY, AGES 13-14

Spoiler: show

November 10, 1985

Dear Diary,

Last night, for the first time in ages, I slept all the way through the night. When I woke up, I couldn't even remember the dreams I had had, or if I even had any. I know they say everyone dreams all the time, but usually I remember them. All of a sudden I got this image in my head of an address: 1400 River Road, 1400 River Road. I had dreamed it. I suddenly felt like I had to be there. I had to find this place and see what it was.
Finally I found myself in front of this very old, abandoned gas station, where I saw the Log Lady standing very quiet with her log, right underneath the piece of wood that said 1400 River Road. She smiled at me, and I realized I had seen her face in my dream. We didn't say anything to each other for a long time. We just stared, smiling. I wasn't uncomfortable, but I was pretty curious about what I was there for, and just as I was thinking this, she spoke to me.
She said, "I know you're feeling curious about this place and about me."
I nodded.
"A dream told me I was supposed to meet you here, so that we could spend some time," she said.
My stomach did a flip and my mouth dropped open.
"I dream like other people sometimes," she said calmly. "It just happens."
I never realized that Margaret, the Log Lady, was so nice. We sat together on the grass out in the front, and she told me she knew a lot of things about me, special things. She said I should not worry so often. If I pay attention to the things around me, these special things will come.
She would often touch her log, be silent as she leaned down close to listen to it. Most times she would smile as if she were amused, pleased. Other times, she would tell the log that she would not hear about that now. This was not the time.
The last time that happened, she turned to me and whispered, "Things are not what they seem."
She looked away, then turned back with a different look on her face, as if she were relieved we were still alone. She said she knew I had been dreaming of being a woman, and that this was good because young girls always do. Then her words got confusing . . . she said many things about the Woods, and I tried to listen very carefully, because I trusted her and thought maybe she knew something that would help me. A lot of it seemed like gibberish. I remember it, so I'll write it down, but I don't know what it means. Maybe I'll understand it later. What I did understand made me feel so good inside, like I wasn't being bad all of this time, maybe, and that I could keep on hoping for things without being afraid that I was acting selfishly.
Here are some of the things she told me. She said that sometimes the woods are a place to learn about things, and to learn about yourself. Other times the woods are a place for other creatures to be, and it is not for us. She said that sometimes people go camping and learn things they shouldn't. Children are prey sometimes . . . I think that's how she said it. What else . . . I tried so hard to remember everything. Oh. She told me that she would be watching, and someday people will find out that she sees things and remembers them.
She said that it is important to remember things you see and feel. Owls are sometimes big. There! That was the one I had forgotten totally. Owls are sometimes big. I hope that doesn't mean my mom talked about that "Owl Dream" I had. I don't think so, but that's the only way it makes any sense to me. I hope I'll understand all of this soon. Either way, we kept sitting together, and I listened to her hum this song that I had never heard before, but I thought it was very nice. It made me feel safe, which I think she was trying to make me feel. I feel sorry for her, that people think she is strange and weird. She isn't at all.
I could see in her eyes that something had hurt her, but I didn't even begin to understand what it was until Mom told me when I got home. She said that Margaret (the Log Lady) had a husband who was a fire fighter. He was killed fighting a fire, and Mom said it was awful because he tripped over a root or something and fell headfirst into hot coals and burned himself to death, face first. They had just been married a little while when he died, and since then Margaret has been very quiet and has kept her pain to herself. Mom also said that she didn't have her log until after her husband died.
I didn't know any of this when I was out there at 1400 River Road with her, but it didn't really matter, I guess. I told her I thought she was a very nice and special person, and that I was glad I had paid attention to my dream, because I wouldn't have wanted to miss talking with her. I told her I hoped she was right about my life having special things in it, that I will look for them, because I want my life to be good.
Then I told her something that I hope she never repeats. I didn't even expect to say it, and to tell you the truth I didn't know where it came from. I told her that sometimes things happen that no one knows about. They happen in the woods when it is very dark. I told her that sometimes I wasn't even sure these things were real, and sometimes I think they are more real than the sun coming up in the morning, and that the thought of that frightened me very much. She looked away from me, I remember, when I finished. I thought I had said something that upset her. She grabbed her log tight, then looked back at me and said that I was a very beautiful girl, and that many people would love me in my life.
I hope many people do love me in my life. Someday someone will love me the way the boys did, but even more. I wonder where that person is right now, and if he is wondering where I am and what I look like, and when we will finally meet. I wonder if Margaret has ever thought about sex the way that I do.
I hope Margaret isn't feeling lonely right now. I hope she is feeling as happy as I am. I only wish I could have brought her news of how happy her life would be. It's too bad I had nothing for her.

More later, Laura

August 23, 1986

Dear Diary,

It has been a long time since I've written. School is fine but I find it almost too easy. There is not enough to keep my mind from wandering to boys, or fantasies. Donna and I have had several fights this year because she says I'm acting strangely to her, and that I'm not being the friend that I was. I hate crying, so why does it come so easily lately? I am only trying to be good, and to keep busy, and not to do too much talking or daydreaming because I thought that bothered people and made bad things happen to me.
Now Donna is mad because I won't tell her what I'm really feeling, because I'm afraid! I can't tell her I'm afraid because she would make me tell her why. I can never ever tell. I haven't even touched myself where I know I can to make myself feel good. I'm afraid, because that is about sex, and I decided I wouldn't think about that anymore . . . which is so hard!!!
I hate myself, and I hate my life! Dad has been busy all the time lately with Benjamin and his work there at the Great Northern, and I am starting to feel the way Audrey must when her father spends more time and attention with me than he does with her. Now it is happening in the reverse, and I am just trying to be good and make it stop, and it is only getting harder for me to sleep or even eat! I don't want to feel this way anymore. If I do, I know something awful will happen.
I dreamed last night that I had dug a hole in the backyard for a well, because I was trying to help us with water, and I thought a well would be a nice thing to build for the family. Mom loved the idea and smiled very big. But when she went outside, later in the dream, I was burying myself in the hole, trying to kill myself. She realized I had lied to her, and this made her very upset. She ran out to stop me, and I screamed that I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night with leaves all over me anymore. I wanted to be a tree so that I could listen for trouble in the woods. And I was buried all of a sudden. But I was inside something that wasn't a dirt hole.
Mom came to my room right after to ask if I was all right, and I told her I was fine. I was just having nightmares about the woods is all. The look on her face went from sadness to hopefulness. Then, unfortunately, she began something I didn't need to hear at all! She started telling me about the birds and the bees, and about birth control and babies, and all of this ridiculous stuff about how my dreams were just a part of my changing body, and maybe I just needed some questions answered.
The whole time she talked to me, I was thinking of something else.
I had to think of flowers and of smiling faces and anything . . . big trucks filled with lumber, of birds, of Donna Donna Donna . . . good things only. Don't listen, couldn't listen to that voice saying all of the things that were like little keys to the doors and rooms I wasn't supposed to be in! How could this happen? She didn't stop for almost an hour, and I almost had to hold my hand down. . . . I wanted to hit her, smack that smiling, helpful face and scream, "How do you do it! What has happened to that part of me!"
Today I will go to see Donna and I'll talk to her. I'll talk the best I can. I have no schoolwork left to do, and I've already finished two extra-credit projects. I made the honor roll, and the junior debate team. I pray all of the time, but have never felt worse in my life. I am starting to think that a few moments of good, in the middle of miles and ages of bad, is better than no good at all. I hope Donna still wants to be my friend.
If I can, I will tell you what happens with Donna.

Soon, Laura

LAURA PALMER'S ACTIVITIES FOR THE DAY OF FEBURARY 18th, 1989:

2:00 PM: Woke up, showered.

2:39 PM: Drove to the Double R Diner, ate breakfast/lunch. Began organizing Meals on Wheels delivery service with Shelly Johnson.

3:02 PM: Was interrupted by Mrs. Chalfont/Tremond and her grandson Pierre. They presented her with a painting, and instructed her to hang it on her wall. Pierre told Laura that ███ was "under the fan."

3:25 PM: Rushed back home. Entered bedroom to find ███ examining her hiding spot for her diary. Screamed and ran to hide outside.

3:31 PM: While hiding in the bushes, saw ██████████ exit the house.

3:54 PM: Arrived at Donna Hayward's house, crying.

4:34 PM: Was comforted by Donna and Doc Hayward, who told her the following message: "The angels will return, and when you see the one that's meant to help you, you will weep with joy."

DrWilgy has been killed by the Ring, which was given to him by Long Con. He was James Hurley, a vanilla civilian.

It is now Night 2. You have 24 hours to converse in chatrooms and send in night actions.

[insertnamehere]

DAY 2:

[insertnamehere]

Added a poll to decide whether or not to keep the thread locked during night.

[lapluie]

oh come on ... rip wilgy =[

[MacDougall]

Oh thread unlocked. Noice.

[insertnamehere]

NIGHT TWO

EXCERPT FROM LAURA PALMER'S DIARY, AGE 15

Spoiler: show

August 4, 1986
3:30 A.M.

Dear Diary,

It comes to me now that I have decided to play along. After repeating it to myself for ages it seems, I finally feel a sense of resolve with my joining him for the sole purpose of battle. To join the darkness, and perhaps cling to the bit of light remaining inside me, and use it as the strength it should always have been.
Ah, the fairness of life. That special moment when a hand flies up whether visible or verbal, screaming, STOP, she is dying! This child is dying without a safety feature everyone else seems to wrestle with, as if it were an inconvenience.
I searched carefully and have found a space inside me that says that it is almost too late, mine are not the eyes of a girl fifteen, but the eyes of someone who has been afraid to look around herself and to question the simplest of things. My mind, it continues, is not the mind of a young girl who imagines life to be a series of warm sweaters, while the cold spell passes by.
It warns me that the mind in which I live belongs to someone who knows too much of life and how it ends most often without warning. How it deals us blows, dares us to dream when in fact there is no use. Manages to leave out that there is a plan etched in the planet for me. This mind knows.
The reality that there is no choosing a day's events, or even a moment's when before you've even opened your eyes to see light for the very first time, someone of a great evil and stealth chooses you. Spins a bottle of sorts and giggles at the power in a simple game of selection.

Laura

August 6, 1986
4:47 A.M.

Dear Diary,

I cannot let myself sleep because I have to see ███ when he comes through the window. I have to be ready.
I have thought a great deal about my life. I am aging without my own permission. I believe when he comes to take me, I will either leave home and return harmed although satisfied by the brutal death of an enemy, or I will never return. And in death admit silently I knew not of my visitor's strength nor of his will.
For now I am half-numb, half-raw. A girl who still manages to rise each morning and exit the place I lately must be reminded is called home. As if nothing were less noticeable than the trail of blood left behind me as I go.
I do not doubt that BOB is aware of my every movement. That this horror who calls himself a man sits up high when the sun shines or perhaps curls up below. No matter. He watches me with eyes that burrow inside, seeing each speck of doubt, sensing each palpitation of my heart when a boy passes, each embrace from a mother who knows nothing of how far away her daughter's bedroom has become.
I try each day to memorize the face that looks back at me in the mirror. I hold tight to it. I imagine I'll be in flight when I compare it to my remains that I often dream soon will be found.
I have such an anger and an urge to charge at the sky, to call the wind a liar for never showing itself. An urge to scream at the two who allowed my birth. Cries for help to anyone who will hear them. To scream into the street that there is a lack of miracles in Mother Nature herself. Her divinity is a lie.
In a forest of trees again and again, I have been brought down. Surgery of a strange and indescribable nature takes place. Blood is let. This Mother Nature has not done away with this evil, nor has it opened its wood to allow a scream to escape. Instead, it cradles this man and keeps him safe from discovery, safe from daylight. He knows the planet will not betray him. This light will come, and stay, leave only to return on schedule. He has a promise. The universe's habit, conveniently requiring a twelve-hour fix of the two extremes.
His time is the evening, the hour during which rescue is least possible, and when most with pure hopes and dreams and memories of swinging on swing sets are fast asleep. Their eyes moving quickly under their lids. Seeing nothing.
Never is there a noise that stirs even those who sleep in the next room. Never does the world lean a bit for me, cast a vote, and cause an eye to open . . . See the man . . . see the way his eyes are frozen in the image of my face in a scream. No explanation for WHY he has chosen me, or even if he has a final plan.
I can only wait. Hold my tired eyes open with the energy of a dare. A fight to see who in fact is the darkest. Who, when forced to see the other side, will in fact survive?
I sit awaiting his arrival, kept awake by the notion that I shall grow accustomed to the dark far easier than he to the light.

Laura

September 10, 1986

Dear Diary,
Enclosed please find my mind and its memory. As well, a characteristic the enemy lack in excess - conscience. "Guilt" is simply a word he uses to silence me. He has no regard for mortality, no concern for danger.
How could such an intruder fear death, or the possibility of imprisonment, and still manage to come so consistently up the side of my home, using my window as if it were familiar to him?
He mocks me entering dressed in the clothes of one who could be a best friend. A neighbor. A traveling salesman who casually invites himself in, goes as far as to request coffee, regular, before dissolving into the daydream he sometimes is?
Does he expect to sit down and chat before taking the house's only child from her room and treating her like an experiment?
I am either dreaming him to life, and slowly killing myself, or he has told my parents of his visits and has offered, in return for their own safety, that these visits will continue without possibility of interruption. They would simply go unnoticed. Junk mail, somewhere in the house. I imagine that they would have to hear me as I am led out. Is it possible they do not care?

L

LAURA PALMER'S ACTIVITIES FOR THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 18th, 1989:

5:07 PM: Left Donna Hayward's house. Arrived back at her own house in time for dinner.

5:17 PM: Was reminded to wash her hands by her father, Leland.

7:20 PM: Told by Leland that she is loved.

9:31 PM: Hung up the painting given to her by Mrs. Chalfont/Tremond and her grandson Pierre.

9:39 PM: Went to bed.

12:45 AM: Was spoken to by Dale Cooper, who communicated to her via a strange red room. Was given the following message: "Don't take the ring."

2:01 AM: Woke up to find Annie Blackburn bleeding copiously beside her, telling her that "The good Dale is in the Lodge and can't leave. Write it in your diary."

2:02 AM: Noticed the Ring materializing in her hand. Threw it away from her.

2:05 AM: Attempted to leave her bedroom, and saw another version of herself in the painting.

2:10 AM: Went back to bed.

It is now Day 3. You have 24 hours to decide where to go.

[speedchuck]

Very good chat night. Rewarding. Just... in friendship and stuff.
Really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. Whatever. Anyone got something they want to share? Heck, something they can share?