This post was last modified: Yesterday at 3:50 PM by TPGVEVO.

Listening to the music tracks attached to each post is highly recommended. They have been composed specifically for this project and their respective scenes, and establish some thematic links and motifs that will be important later.

---

Some time ago, among the mountains and hilltops, a very special group of people gathered.

Two clowns. Two diplomats. Two masks. Two sisters.

Their fates have never linked before, and never will again. But this evening, the threads of destiny were woven into one singularity.



Through the darkness, two clowns emerge. Both hail from the young nation state of New Whimsiphae, an island of revolutionaries trying to escape the woes of modern society. Their methods to establish "Jubilite" outreach groups across the world have been met with fierce resistance and condemnation from many government entities. Some would call these clowns terrorists. Others would call them freedom fighters. Personally, they dislike both of those labels, for reasons that they wouldn't be able to explain without a lengthy blog post and thesaurus to hand.

The couple slowly make their way through the woodland path. Neither of them are meant to be here. Zhen, who already feels shame over the removal of her traditional face paint, will never be safe if she's outside her home turf. Though she always does her best to prepare, a society she doesn't rule is a society she can't trust to protect her. But with Mizzlebip, her loyal and overly protective mime, she'll at least be prepared against threats to her life.



In time, they come to the top of a hill, where the dirt path turns to paved stone. A large, modern building rests at the very peak. They approach from the back on purpose - an intentional measure to avoid prying eyes or cameras. Still, though they've dodged any risk of appearing in tomorrow morning's tabloids, at least one person has been expecting their arrival. Leaning against the wall, guarding the fire exit, their sharp green eyes glare at Zhen and Mizzlebip as they approach.

The figure appears to be a security guard, a slab of a man with a missing arm. Their remaining hand, big enough to hold a bowling ball like an apple, is hidden behind a black leather glove. An eerie mask obscures the last of their humanity.



...

---

ZHEN - WWKG: Show

MIZZLEBIP - WWKG + VARIOUS: Show

This post was last modified: Apr 15, 2025 at 9:12 AM by TPGVEVO.

Mizzlebip, unfazed by the guard's demeanour, strides up to them, beaming with a familiar grin. Tilting her head back, she pulls a letter out of her jacket pocket and flings it at them, the engraved off-white card slicing through the air like a throwing star before the guard snatches it from its arc with impressive speed. They don't need to look at it. Mail doesn't often find its way back in the hand of the sender.



The guard's head rolls slowly to face Zhen. She steps up to him, hissing:

Z: care to explain why you summoned us halfway across the world
Z: a text would have been fine

When the guard speaks, it does so clearly and methodically, in an accent Zhen can't quite place. Barely changing their pitch or tone, they continue.

G: FIRST: I WANTED TO CONFIRM YOU ARE STILL ALIVE
G: SECOND: THIS COUNTRY DOES NOT RECOGNISE THE UNITED STATES DESIGNATION OF YOUR GROUP AS "TERRORISTS"
G: THIRD: THE EVENT HAS HIGH STRATEGIC VALUE FOR A "POLITICIAN" LIKE YOURSELF. A JUBILITE APPEARANCE WILL HAVE DIPLOMATIC COVER
G: FOURTH: IF YOU ACT NICE, I HAVE SOMETHING TO GIVE YOU

Z: ok, i am alive and aware of the various diplomats and ambassadors that i risk exposing my presence to in there
Z: mizzlebip tells me she saw american agents on the guest list. maybe fbi. maybe bpi
Z: so if shit goes down we are all so fucked do you understand
Z: jesus! four years of our mutual arrangement and i still cant trust you to pick a good rendezvous spot

G: RELAX HOTSHOT. YOU'RE UNDER MY PROTECTION
G: EVERYONE HERE HAS BEEN VETTED. THIS OUTFIT ISN'T FOR SHOW I HAD TO GET A JOB IN PRIVATE SECURITY FOR THIS
G: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MANY RESOURCES THAT REQUIRES

M: 🥱

G: WELL, ANYWAY
G: I HAVE A PRIVATE RESERVATION: NO RISK OF BEING SEEN ON THE FIRST FLOOR
G: BTW THAT SECURITY CAMERA TURNS BACK ON IN 20 SECONDS

The clowns both glance up at the camera above the door. True to the guard's word, it's currently limp, lens drooping towards the ground. It's enough time for Zhen to weigh up her options - she trusts that the guard won't let her get arrested, but they certainly aren't one for subtlety. There's a good chance that she won't be recognised either, especially without her facepaint and combat suit. However, it's Mizzlebip who reassures her, offering a silent nod, gently patting the two pistols she has holstered underneath her jacket. It's not a great comfort, knowing how trigger-happy she can be, but protection is protection.

Z: fine. mizzlebip could you get drinks for the both of us pretty please and grab a table please :)
M: 🤡👍🫳🍷🍷
Z: not too much though. we are here for an INTELLIGENCE BRIEFING, not a party
Z: anyway if im here i may as well rub shoulders with the few leaders who might be sympathetic to our cause
Z: the supreme honkifex will return for our briefing shortly

G: FOR GODS SAKE DO NOT CALL YOURSELF THAT IN THERE

The guard buzzes Zhen in, but grabs Mizzlebip by the shoulder before she can sneak in through the door. Arm outstretched, they stare Mizzlebip up and down, with eyes that pierce right through her. After a brief pause, they let her go, but lean against the door with their hand open and extended.

M: 🤬🤬🤬🤬👊👊👊

G: I WILL ALLOW THE GUNS
G: BUT THE MINI GRENADES IN YOUR LEFT POCKET ARE FORBIDDEN. GIVE THEM TO ME

---

???: Show

Meanwhile...



The quiet valley town of Pengellert had seen its fair share of drama over the last few years. Three promising graduates had made the historical discovery of a lifetime - unearthing an impossibly well-preserved ancient fort - and pledged to give back to their hometown by donating all of their findings to the local museum. For a short time, their passion project thrived, drawing historians and specialists from across the world, just to get a glimpse at a certain mask of legend.

Then, everything went wrong. An anonymous tip led to reports of forgery and plagiarism, much to the horror of academics across the country. Doctorates were revoked, exhibits were closed, tickets refunded. Later, one of the graduates responsible for the alleged forgery went missing, last seen boarding a flight to Pennsylvania. They were declared dead years later due to unknown circumstances, ashes buried without ceremony.

Soon after, a number of witnesses representing a foreign intelligence agency testified that the artefacts were genuine, and the findings against the three graduates were illegitimate. What could have been a lengthy legal battle was instead quietly settled outside of court, and the two remaining students walked away with their honour and degrees restored. Although the international scope of events baffled many of the town residents, many were happy to end this strange chapter in Pengellert's long history.



Lily Evans and Hector Hughes never found the time to mourn their friend. Riding a wave of renewed interest in their discoveries, the pair secured enough funding to open a small museum dedicated solely to local tribal history, located next to the original dig site that changed their lives. It was a hard sell, and investors needed to be reassured that their new project wouldn't fail as spectacularly as the previous one. But by gently blaming their now-deceased colleague, who made some questionable marketing and financial decisions at the time, all was resolved.



As project development began, the day-to-day responsibilities fell into Lily's hands - Hector preferring to work on the actual exhibits rather than the big picture. So, when the end of construction approached, the role of museum director naturally aligned with her existing duties, and she accepted the responsibilities with feverish enthusiasm. She always tended to gravitate towards managerial positions, which more than made up for her lack of formal qualifications in anthropology or history. Under her oversight, and having learned from a cascade of mistakes in the years prior, the project finished less than a year after local council approval.





Hector, when he wasn't rewriting relic descriptions, took on the role of outreach and marketing. He convinced Lily to allow seasonal guest exhibits from across the world, as long as they kept in theme with the museum's values. He still had concerns, of course. Wanting to avoid the scrutiny and interference that international acclaim brought last time, he took a more direct role in managing the museum's image, carefully selecting the right people and places to connect to the development of his life's work. He attempted (and gave up on) learning 5 different languages to efficiently liaise with similar museums in Europe. That didn't stop him from inviting their staff to dinners and wooing them into various promotional deals.

He quickly became addicted to the game of diplomacy. Now, unable to let go of his life's newfound momentum, he is personally bankrolling his own political career.







Though their lives have splintered into vastly different directions, tonight they are united in their ambition and mutual support for each other's endeavours.

---

Lily - KG9: Show

Hector - KG9: Show

This post was last modified: Apr 18, 2025 at 11:10 PM by TPGVEVO.

H: It's good to see you, Doctor Evans.
L: And to you, Doctor Hughes. So, how was your latest interview? He looked cute.
H: Yeah, cute. Local, too. I think he's a student journalist? Fuck knows how he got an invite, but I thought I'd give him something to take back to his university paper.
L: Ah. So, no chance anyone important will read it, then.
H: Nah. Not a chance in hell. Still, it's good practice for the actual press interviews later tonight. I saw a few people who could get us on a front page next week if we play our cards right. How have the tours been going?
L: I think they're liking it so far. The outdoor exhibits are going down a treat, despite the cold. I've given about five this evening, I'll try and do one more group with the volunteers in a bit before the band shows up.
L: I don't think I ever fully understood the depths of your research back then, but now it's intuitive to me. I might even know some of these relics better than you!
H: Hah. Likely story.

L: ... I don't know if I should say this.
H: You can say it!
L: Everything you've done to set up this gala has been incredible, don't get me wrong, mate. I'm... worried, that you aren't being honest about how much it benefits you personally as well. I saw the Swedish Minister of Foreign Affairs queuing for the toilet! I can guarantee you she does not care about the exhibits, even if she understood them.
H: Okay, but can you imagine if she liked the... general vibe, I guess, and reached out to museums in -
L: Come on, Hector, it's fine that you're taking care of two things at once. Give the museum a few decades worth of good press and funding, and boost your campaign while you're here. It is nice that we both found things that are worth investing in, but you shouldn't pretend you're just here to support me. I'd be happy to help you out as well!

H: ...
H: ... Yes. Sorry. I've been dancing around this subject, and I... didn't know how to bring it up now that we're so far in. I really do want to support all of this. It's my first priority.

L: It's fine, Hector. I just think we've both had enough of people "helping" us only because it benefits them more.

H: ... You're really cool with me talking my strategy over with you? I always thought I was boring you with that shit.
L: Go on, tell me. Why is a Swedish minister here.
H: You remember the three men who bought our mask? Two of them were definitely American.
L: Yeah, the yanks got involved to fuck us over and - God, they're not fucking here, are they??.
H: No, never. I never want to see any of them again. It's part of the point I'm trying to make. I keep on thinking about it, how some random assholes were able to hustle us out of our jobs, and then tell us we were "allowed" to resume our lives. They-

Hector looks around and lowers his voice, then continues:

H: They bribed the fucking academic board!! Who the hell does that to two foreign citizens??
L: Don't start, or I'll get mad and this whole event will go to shit-
H: I don't want what happened to us to happen to anyone here. I want to make that level of foreign interference, or espionage, or whatever the "BPI" actually is, impossible. Sever our ties until we can protect ourselves from this kind of bullshit again.
L: That's radical. How are you gonna make people accept that?
L: Is that what all this international outreach is about? Gaining independence from next door?

H: I've invited two Swedes, five Germans, uh, four Norwegians and two Finns. All politicians. There's about five local MPs from around here as well, and a bunch of other guys from around the world.
L: Really going for the Vikings, huh.
H: Yes. Yep. Not our usual crowd. I'm trying to feel out the potential for a shift in allies. For the whole country. Focus on our own independence first, of course, but people will be easier to convince if they see that we can partner up with other allies.
H: Of course, I'll need to be in parliament for that to happen -
L: Hence the interviews.
H: - Hence the interviews, yeah. All part of the campaign.

G: COME ON, YOU AREN'T GETTING IN UNLESS YOU GIVE ME THOSE GRENADES
G: I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM. YOU ALWAYS BRING THEM. GIVE THEM TO ME
M: 🤬‼️‼️
M: 🖕🖕🖕🖕💂🔫🔫🔫🔫
G: SINGLE-TARGET WEAPONS ARE FINE. YOU'LL STILL BE ABLE TO DEFEND YOUR BOSS, BUT I CAN'T RISK ONE OF THOSE GOING OFF IN A CROWD
G: OTHERWISE YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT OUTSIDE UNTIL THIS IS OVER
G: AREN'T YOU COLD
M: ... 😓🥶
M: 🤡🫳💣💂

Mizzlebip reluctantly hands over the small number of explosives she squirrelled away in her outfit. Then, after the guard gives her another long, silent stare, it relents and softly motions to the back door. They both enter - the guard quickly ushering their new companion through various storage and maintenance rooms, taking a service elevator to the upper floor. The low hum of the crowd steadily raises in volume and intensity as the two get closer to the public areas. Just before they go through a door to the upper lobby, the guard stops again, staring intently at the walls around it, green eyes glaring through paint and concrete.

G: THERE AREN'T MANY PEOPLE UP HERE
G: ALL THE VIPS ARE ON THE LOWER FLOOR. MOST OF THE OTHER VISITORS ARE LOCAL AND APPARENTLY DON'T CARE ABOUT US
G: THEY CERTAINLY WEREN'T PUT OFF BY ME
G: OUR TABLE IS ALONG THE BALCONY, FIRST RIGHT. PLEASE RETRIEVE THE DRINKS AS REQUESTED AND MAKE SURE YOUR BOSS MEETS US AT THAT TABLE
M: 👍

G: DON'T GET LOST

M: 😗🎵

The mime remains calm as she strolls through the bar, a generous glass of wine in each hand - one for her, one for the boss. She figures any other clown in her position would be shaking with stress over the potential dangers of putting her boss in a chaotic, noisy, international gala. But it helps to prepare - she's already read through the RSVP list, the itinerary, and the building's map. Hell, she was here yesterday to check for vantage points for any potential assassins. She hasn't slept for a while.

In fact, she feels more nonchalant now than she ever does at the base - a region unprotected by international law, declared a terrorist state, and within bombing distance of their greatest enemies. She knows that if her favourite masked guard is involved, security's gonna be tight. She knows that no one would dare start a fight at such a high-profile event. She knows that no one would even expect the Supreme Honkifex to show up on the other side of the ocean. In time with the music, she begins to whistle her favourite tune, a heartfelt melody known only to her.

She doesn't feel like a terrorist, of course. Sure, she shot a guy once who got too close to the boss. But she shot people at her old job, too. And the job before that. To her, life was always meant to be a catalogue of groups to join, in search for a little meaning and action. It was always fun to break them from the inside when she realised they weren't meant to be, but these new clowns she's been mingling with over the last few years... they're different. She can tell the boss communes with the divine, and it shows in her ruthlessness, her willingness to tear everything rotten down. Something she never used to see.

So, she ignores the stares and the whispers, the kind that she often hears when wearing the facepaint in public. She can't speak to dissuade them of their concerns, and she doubts they're even worth talking to. She lets the boss handle the talking, and notes that she must have gotten through most of this crowd already. Stepping back up to the glass walkway, she scans the floor for signs of the boss.

Who is she trying to convert now?