Episode 1.13: Workplace Indcidental
Written by Elizabeth R. C. Lundberg
Produced by Rae Lundberg
Content Warnings (Click to expand)
Death mention, loud and sudden noises
NICHOLAS: (as the intro plays) At the edge of Gilt City, the past lingers in our lungs like a lover's breath, and all await the arrival of the Night Post. [A THUNDERSTORM RAGES. CLEMENTINE ANSWERS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR, AND THE RAIN IS MUTED WHEN SHE SHUTS THE DOOR BEHIND VAL.] CLEMENTINE: Oh, Val, come in. I’m sorry, I would’ve called to tell you not to drive out here, but I don’t have a phone. It’s nasty out here. VAL: You don’t have to tell me. I’m surprised I found this place again through the downpour, but don’t worry, (joking) nothing could keep me from you, and all that. I brought you a housewarming present. Let me dry off a bit, and I'll get it put on your door. CLEMENTINE: You didn’t have to get me anything, but thank you. I’m glad you came by. You’re my first guest. Make yourself at home, but, uh--be careful, there’s a leak by the window. VAL: It wouldn’t make much of a difference at this point. Want me to take off the boots? CLEMENTINE: If you don’t mind. Do you want some dry socks or a towel? I don’t have much to eat, but I could get you something to drink. VAL: Sure, I could go for something warm to drink. I should at least try and dry my hair, or I’ll look like an abandoned spaniel dumped in the river. But, as long as it’s not storming like this on my route, I won’t complain. CLEMENTINE: Here you are. I’m sorry I still don’t have a lot of furniture, but I’ve been working on cleaning everything and clearing out the truck. I don't know how I managed to fill every inch of it, but the truck’s finally empty. VAL: I like what you’ve done with the place, Clem. I would’ve left the possum for ambiance, but to each their own. CLEMENTINE: Oh, that possum wasn’t dead. Or, it didn’t stay dead, and it didn’t want to leave. I struggled to get it out the door. VAL: You fought an undead possum? I’m impressed, because my bet would’ve been on the marsupial. CLEMENTINE: I’m tougher than I look. I can measure up against a variety of wildlife, thank you very much. VAL: (laughing, overlapping) Of course, you’re a professional badass. CLEMENTINE: I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks. Sorry, there would be more space to sit if I didn’t have things all over. Let me-- (moving boxes/papers) VAL: You’re still holding on to that undeliverable package. Want me to open it for you? CLEMENTINE: No. I mean, maybe. I’ve been too scared to open it. (sets box down) Technically I was Dad’s sole beneficiary, and it...might be important. I don’t even know what to expect. VAL: Whatever it is, I hope it wasn’t alive. CLEMENTINE: Why would it be alive? VAL: You never know. Let’s open it and find out. CLEMENTINE: I’d hate for you to be disappointed, if it turns out to be something boring. I’ve been wondering what I should do with it, but--I should open it. It’s not that big of a deal, right? What’s the worst that can happen? (tape ripping, box opening) It’s a bunch of envelopes? (thumbing through envelopes) Oh...these are my father’s letters. How would someone get these? I thought they would’ve been destroyed in the fire. VAL: What kind of letters are there? Can I see? CLEMENTINE: They’re letters to my mother. She died before I was old enough to remember, but my dad always wrote to her. He kept all of the letters, as if she would show up one day and want to read them all. By the time he died, there were thousands of them. It was like our house was made of letters. VAL: You’ve never read one, have you? CLEMENTINE: No. It never seemed right. After he died, I wanted to. I thought maybe, I would find something in them that would help with the loss. In the end, I just wanted to let them rest. VAL: You’re dead serious about the not-opening-mail thing. What if he’d written something he wanted you to know? He might’ve expected you’d read the letters after he was gone. CLEMENTINE: I do wonder what his letters were like, but...it’s too late now. I just wish he’d taken the time to give me some warning about the Post. He could’ve prepared me, but instead he left me to figure it out on my own. VAL: You could’ve asked me for help when you first started, I’m always happy to take a baby pigeon under my wing. CLEMENTINE: Is that so? What’s your advice for new couriers? Abandon your route and pray the sleeplessness kills you before something else does? VAL: It isn’t bad advice, is it? Did you die? CLEMENTINE: (amused) Hm. No, I guess I didn’t. (pause) Val, who would’ve sent this to me? How did they get these? They could be fake, but the handwriting on the envelope looks exact, and...my Dad always bought these brown envelopes in bulk. VAL: Check the station stamp. Where did it ship out from? CLEMENTINE: Station 001, but--that’s not uncommon. Anyone in the city might have posted it. VAL: Do you know anyone who works there? CLEMENTINE: I don’t. VAL: Hmm. It’s a mystery, isn’t it? CLEMENTINE: Aren’t you tired of trying to solve all these mysteries? I know I am. VAL: I’m tired of being in the dark. (pause) It’s not too late. You have another chance to read these letters. CLEMENTINE: You’re right. I didn’t think I’d ever see my Dad’s handwriting again. It could be good for me to--well, I shouldn’t overthink it. (tearing envelope) Here goes nothing. (unfolding paper) VAL: That’s the spirit. See, nothing bad-- [THE PAPER IN CLEMENTINE’S HAND SUDDENLY CATCHES FLAME.] CLEMENTINE: Ow! What--how did that happen? VAL: Uh, hang tight. (dousing fire with water) Lucky you had a bucket of water ready to put out the stove. A good pigeon is prepared for anything, and all that. CLEMENTINE: This is such a mess. I should’ve left it alone, because there is no way a box full of burning letters is a good sign. VAL: Not all of these letters are destroyed. You could hang them up to dry and read around the burnt pieces? CLEMENTINE: Unless trying to read them again catches the entire place on fire. No, nevermind--thank you for your help. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to finally open that package without you here, and...now I know what’s inside, I don’t have to keep dwelling on it. VAL: I wish I knew what was in the other undeliverable, but it does seem like someone was trying to send you a message. CLEMENTINE: Not necessarily a friendly one. [THE SOUNDS OF A BUSY CITY CENTER: PEDESTRIANS, EXCITED VOICES, PASSING CARS.] MILO: Here we are. Gilt Tower in all its glory. CLEMENTINE: It’s even taller up close, like a giant tombstone. And I wouldn’t have expected it to be this busy. VAL: Lucky, we’ll blend in. MILO: Not necessarily. Look, their uniforms are a lot different than ours. Heh, at least we don’t have to wear those dumb caps. VAL: A pigeon’s a pigeon. Don’t be suspicious, and we'll be fine. CLEMENTINE: How will we know what to look for? It’s not like we can walk in and ask about Ashley. Not without disappearing under mysterious circumstances. MILO: Well, they should have employment records. Maybe there’s more information about Ashley in a file cabinet somewhere. Someone has to know something. (pause) We just have to find the right person and ask the right questions. CLEMENTINE: We can certainly try. Between the three of us, I hope we can find something. MILO: Any information would be better than what we have now. I’m tired of living out the worst mystery novel ever imagined. VAL: Maybe they have a secret prison for misbehaving couriers, or we’ll find out he was sent on a confidential mission to deliver a very special package. MILO: (sigh) Believe me, I’ve gone through every horrific scenario and I’d rather not dwell on all the possibilities. I want the truth, even if it isn’t pretty. CLEMENTINE: Whatever happens, we’re with you, Milo. VAL: It’s more like he’s stuck with us. Unless we find Ashley, or he decides to try and trick another poor sap into the job. MILO: Thanks. If you know anyone looking to sign up to work for the Post until they die, just let me know. VAL: Let’s split up before we go in. We don’t want to stand out, and we’ll cover more ground. Unless something goes wrong, we’ll meet back where we parked the trucks. MILO: Sounds like a plan. CLEMENTINE: Good luck. And, Val--try to stay out of trouble. [DOWNWARD FOOTSTEPS ECHO IN A NARROW STAIRWELL.] MILO: (to himself) Anyone could get lost in this place. I wish they had a map or a directory or something. Instead, I’m following this guy with a heavy box of papers and hoping wherever he’s going is useful. They’ve got to store records somewhere... at the bottom of this seemingly endless, dimly-lit staircase is as good a place as any, right? Oh, lucky guess: a labyrinth of file cabinets. Here’s hoping all that time shelving books was good for something. I don’t see anyone else around...I wonder where that station employee went. Hm. Best make this quick. Where to start? There should be a section for--okay, these flies are labeled with “NP,” guessing for Night Post. Okay, “C” for--Cylix-Wilder, unless they don’t keep their records up to date, then it could be under “W.” (opening drawer) There’s so much here, I wonder what it could all be. Records of every pigeon that’s ever worked for the Night Post? Do they store undeliverables down here, too? (thumbing through files) Obviously, no one’s been working to keep things organized...all these unfiled boxes and loose folders. Is it too much to hope that the one thing I’m looking for is where it’s supposed to be? (more shuffling of papers) Come on, come on...yes! Almost can’t believe it’s here, but--Ashley’s file. Note on the front. “Sensitive information redacted by order of the Urban Strategist.” (huffs) Dammit! (flipping quickly through folder’s contents) Most everything is blacked out, and the things that aren’t, I already know. This has to mean something happened to him, and they’re trying to cover it up...but what? [HEELED FOOTSTEPS RING ON THE TILE, GROWING CLOSER.] MILO: Hm. Better get out of here. This file’s coming with me, maybe there’s a way to pull up the ink or read what’s behind it. (slams cabinet shut) [MILO CLIMBS THE STAIRS BACK TO GROUND LEVEL. A STRANGE, MELANCHOLIC TUNE BUILDS IN THE BACKGROUND.] MILO: I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel close to Ashley here. It’s like I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I can almost smell his cologne, just...lingering. (sigh) Don’t worry, Ashley. I’m going to find you. I always will. CLEMENTINE: I didn’t get past the lobby before someone stopped me, asked me what I was doing, and sent me up here. [A DESK CHAIR SQUEAKS AND ROLLS ACROSS THE FLOOR. PAPERS ARE HASTILY SHUFFLED.] CLEMENTINE: (to herself) Apparently, I’m the spitting image of the Urban Strategist’s secretary, and I’d “lose my own ass” if I made her angry my first week here. I didn’t want to argue, and I followed their directions up to these offices. They’re definitely fancier than what we have set up at Station 103, but I can’t imagine being around all these people all the time. (chair rolling) It’s as good of a chance as any to try to find out some information. Hopefully, I’ll learn something useful before the secretary comes back, and before someone realizes I don’t know what I’m doing. (landline rings) Am I supposed to answer that? (second ring) Oh, I am not answering that. [CLEMENTINE PICKS UP THE RECEIVER AND INSTANTLY HANGS UP.] CLEMENTINE: Perfect. [A DRAWER SLIDES OPEN, AND CLEMENTINE RUMMAGES THROUGH THE CONTENTS.] CLEMENTINE: Nothing looks terribly interesting as far as I can tell, but it looks like the secretary has a sweet tooth--there’s a lot of hidden treats in here. (more rummaging) Maybe she has to stress-eat. I might too, if I worked here. (heavy sigh) I suppose it’s too much to hope for that there would be sensitive information laying around wherever we looked...but I thought there would be something. [THE CHAIR CREAKS, AND CLEMENTINE FLIPS THROUGH PAGES.] CLEMENTINE: Hmm. It looks like the Urban Strategist is in a meeting right now. Apparently it’s important, because her secretary’s written, “do not disturb under any circumstances” next to the appointment time. Some light eavesdropping is in order. [THE COMMOTION OF A MAILROOM: RHYTHMIC SORTING MACHINES, SCATTERED VOICES.] VAL: (to herself) Shame there’s not a big, locked closet labeled “details about the conspiracy at the heart of the Night Post,” but I bet there’s plenty of disgruntled workers ready to talk shit about their employers. I figured the sorting rooms could be a good place to get started. Their sorting machines are loud, but they’re much faster than the ones we have back at our podunk little station. Wouldn’t want to get your fingers stuck in one of those. No clue how these things work, but I should be able to look busy enough not to cause suspicion. [VAL WALKS AWAY, AND THE SORTING MACHINES’ RATTLING FADES. VAL GRUNTS AS SHE RUNS BODILY INTO UPTON, A CLERK AT STATION 001.] UPTON: (annoyed) Can I help you? Is there a reason you aren’t at your station? VAL: No, thanks. I’m all good, but if there’s something I can do to help you out, let me know. You look a little stressed, bud. UPTON: I’m not your “bud.” In fact, I don’t recognize you at all. What department do you work in? VAL: The same as you. Capitalism got you down? I’m happy to fetch your hot beverage of choice and listen to any complaints you might have. UPTON: Are you from HR? Tell them I’m pleased with my position. I didn’t have any demerits on my last employee evaluation. VAL: Of course, you didn’t. You’re an incredible asset. Are you worried about something? UPTON: Besides the delays caused by those who refuse to stop talking and go back to work? VAL: Okay, I get the message. Sorry for bothering you, but I know the strain this place can put on folks. I’m only trying to keep an eye out for my fellow soldiers. Upper management sure isn’t going to. UPTON: You’re right. I’m sorry for being brisk. (huffs) I don’t have to tell you about how things have been the last few days. Thank you for your concern. It’s acknowledged. VAL: Of course. No problem. UPTON: It’s not best the practice to discuss these things. But, it does seem like things are getting hellish. There’s a lot of pressure from the higher-ups, and-- VAL: And what? UPTON: No, no. I shouldn’t go spreading baseless rumors. But...there’s been talk. There always is--but, lately, everyone seems to be taking it more seriously. VAL: What kind of talk? UPTON: You haven’t heard? I’m surprised. Everyone is convinced they’re about to be carried off into the night for the slightest misstep. VAL: You don’t mean that people are disappearing, do you? UPTON: Of course not. People love their fantastical stories, anything to distract them from the work to be done. I wouldn’t pay these things any mind, except-- (huffs) I shouldn’t tell you this, but I know my counterpart in Sorting Room Four was called upstairs last week. I couldn’t tell you why, but no one’s seen them since. It’s concerning to not have heard anything. VAL: They could be on vacation, or sick leave? UPTON: Yes, I’m sure that’s it. All this talk of disappearing into the Strategist’s mysterious relocation program, it’s nonsense. Nothing to worry about, except getting back to work. We must stay on track if today’s mail is going out to our substations in time. (pause) Don’t just stand there, I want to see you back at your station. VAL: Right away, sir. [BACK OUTSIDE, SOUNDS OF THE BUSTLING CITY SURROUND THEM.] VAL: We all made it out alive. So what did we learn? CLEMENTINE: Not much, unfortunately. MILO: I found Ashley’s file in the archives, and managed to grab a copy of the building directory on the way out, but-- (sigh) all of the important information in here is redacted. I took it with me, just in case. I don’t know, maybe there’s something I’m missing. Or maybe Agi knows a way to restore it. CLEMENTINE: That’s not a bad idea. It doesn’t tell us more about Ashley, but I did overhear an argument between the Urban Strategist and...I’m not sure who she was meeting with, but it seemed heated. She insisted that something is coming, and the city needs to be protected. But, I don’t know what that means. What does the city need to be protected from? VAL: What else? Aren’t they always going on about the ever-encroaching, choking grip of the Skelter? The Governor Themself has been trying for years to keep whatever’s out there...out there. CLEMENTINE: It can’t be that serious, can it? The city’s already protected. It wouldn’t be possible to stop the Skelter’s influence entirely. It’s part of all of us. MILO: I’m not sure what that has to do with Ashley, unless these are all pieces of a larger puzzle. You know, if the puzzle were fifteen-hundred pieces, covered in oil, submerged in mud, and the pieces changed shape every time you blink. (sigh) We’re not any closer to answers than when we first started. VAL: I’ve the feeling that Ashley’s not the only one mixed up in this mess. Apparently, there are rumors of missing Post employees. Everyone in there is tense, trying to watch their backs. MILO: This “strategist,” whoever she is, seems to have her hands in a lot of very secretive pies. I’d bet anything she knows where Ashley is. CLEMENTINE: We can’t barge into her office and ask about it, can we? MILO: Why not? I mean, we could always come back and try to find out more when she’s not in the office. I've got a weird feeling Ashley might be a lot closer than we know. VAL: More trespassing? Well, if you insist. CLEMENTINE: It might move us to the top of the list of Pigeons Most Likely to Disappear, but...if we find out more about Ashley, it’ll be worth it. NICHOLAS: (as the outro plays) Thank you for joining us on tonight's route. You can find the couriers of Station 103 at nightpostpod.com or on Twitter @nightpostpod. If you're satisfied with your postal service, please rate and review us. Send a letter to your insufferable manager, and tell them about The Night Post.