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home is a place. a people. a memory. a home with open doors to those who need them, 1471 Thomas Sloane Avenue, better known as Laurie's House, is, has been, will be a place of becoming. but it is too late. 1471 Thomas Sloane Avenue, Laurie's House, is gone.
// Laurie's House is a TTRPG Actual Play, produced by tendervicious studios. Using The Home We Remember as its system, Laurie's House tells a tale of memory, identity, and community.
Hamnah: Welcome and thank you for listening to Laurie’s House! Laurie’s House is a Home We Remember Actual Play produced by tendervicious studios, a multimedia production studio that creates experimental shows with intent. We aim to challenge and redefine what is possible across mediums. Laurie’s House features Cai Kagawa as the Architect; Gwendolyn Kelly, Hamnah Shahid, and Amir or Nada Alami as the players; Sea Thomas as the dramaturg; Navaar Seik-Jackson as the podcast editor; and Lexi McQueen as the theme composer.
Hamnah: This episode of Laurie’s House would not be possible without our sponsors, Frivolous Bear Studios and Hero Forge.
Frivolous Bear Studios is a new gaming studio focusing on tabletop roleplaying games that tell untold stories and uplift marginalized voices. The studio is currently accepting pitches for tabletop roleplaying games and other gaming experiences, as well as interest from artists, editors, and designers. Go to FrivolousBearStudios.com to submit your pitch or to express interest for creative work!
Hero Forge offers fully customizable tabletop miniatures with dozens of fantasy species and thousands of parts to choose from. Their easy-to-use design tool lets you build your perfect miniature online using a fully 3D, in-depth character creator right in your web browser. Visit HeroForge.com to start designing your custom miniature today and check back often: new content is added every week!
Thank you so much to Frivolous Bear Studios and Hero Forge for supporting our show. We hope you’ll join us in giving love back to our sponsors, so we can all continue to make weird, experimental art. Without further ado, let’s walk together into Laurie’s House.
Hamnah: Content warnings for this episode of Laurie’s House include descriptions of food, complex and complicated relationships, references to ableism, romance, large bodies of water, references to self-harm, drowning, suicide and suicidal ideation, and fish. Please take care of yourself while listening and thank you for Going There with us.
Episode 4, MORNING/MOURNING.
Gwen: Take a step forward. Walk into a different room. A different building. A different part of town. Look around you. Where are you? When are you?
Memories are not perfect snapshots of places, people, emotions, experiences. They are paintings, recreated every time we step foot into the past. The act of remembering is a rewriting of our personal histories coloured by the moment we’re in, by who we are right now.
Memories are held in places. In rooms. In buildings. In parts of town important to us. Time is a place you find. When you find it, you remember. You rewrite. You erase. You relive.
What story will you tell about yourself? And how many times will you tell it?
Cai: You all stayed to watch the roof succumb. The whole house, after all, was shaped like a chimney. And the next day, you all ate breakfast. The diner, a staple for the three of you for a duration that cannot be conceptualized in language, sits a few blocks northwest from Laurie's house in a more dense, city-like part of town. It's nothing remarkable, and has been a part of the town for generations. The vinyl seats are old. The tables are old. Everything here is old. Even the habits, the memories, and the menu are old. There's a lion on an exterior wall. There's a leopard on the counter by the cash register. There's a dragon inside just above the kitchen window. A mural. A toy. A decoration. They all watch you as you eat breakfast.
Cai: Eira, Dione, and Deen. What is everyone's breakfast of choice the day after Laurie's house burnt down, starting with Eira.
Hamnah: Eira is eating, perhaps an odd choice for breakfast. Spaghetti. A desperate bid to be called out–on a call, on a job, to not be here anymore. To be needed. To save something, to save someone.
Cai: Dione.
Gwen: Chocolate chip pancakes. A stack of them drenched in syrup, comfort, food, sugar, something to just make the longing, the regrets stop, as the massive coils of the Dragon fill the diner, fall over the vinyl seats, onto the counters, the table tops, occasionally a wing flaps, and occasionally a scale lifts up and a vent of steam erupts. An aching body moves over the seat. Occasionally a bite is taken–from where, you don't know. The stack doesn't ever seem to get smaller.
Cai: And Deen.
Amir/Nada: Deen ordered last this time? No, just ordered last. And it was just a cup of green tea. And they sit next to Dione. And their head is...fully over it, the column of steam that comes from this cup being seemingly, like, white in contrast to the rest of the smells, the vapors, the smoke, draconic, or the smells, the sugar, the overwhelming nature is cut every time they take their, their nose directly over this cup and breathe, as if they were sick.
Cai: What memory from your tea shelf does this green tea pull from you, Deen?
Amir/Nada: I think it happens to be a core memory, where Deen has sorted them, you know, like, as if they ever needed to be sorted. There's a collection of several types, ah, mostly jasmine, mint, oolong–a lot of black tea is their favorite–but behind them, because their voicemail box was full of Pascal leaving three to five second voicemails of, like, ‘Can you come to the front of the house?’ And then Deen, for some reason, not really paying any mind to it, or how small their voicemail box was. Uh. They, they love, like, the herbal smell. They like making tea the most, but they are going to be given something by Pascal, and they're not aware of it yet. It is, it is sort of a blissful haze that comes before something big. Like. They weren't realizing they were walking to a destination. They were just noting that the time is passing.
Cai: Deen, as a friendly voicemail warms the air, asking if you've seen the hose, I'd like you to draw a card for me. I'm gonna have you pull from cups.
Amir/Nada: Okay! I got the 10 of cups reversed. Doesn't matter, but.
Cai: Deen. “You retreat to the comfort of your home. In what state do you find it?”
Cai: The tea cabinet is full of familiar herbs. There are herbs in the backyard, some of which you planted yourself. There are so many things here that you have done with your hands. Where do we find you working?
Amir/Nada: Right now, it is, I think, a–not confused state. They're still in the kitchen. Their phone is out of their pocket and on, and someone went through the kitchen as if a bad weather event happened in the middle, and they're not sure–because Dione cleans up–and some people in the house don't, and Dione doesn't like coming back to that. So, Deen is very, ah, unceremoniously loading dishwasher, putting things away that need to be put away, scrubbing pots as gently as they can.
Cai: Deen, how hard is it to put away dishes and cabinets that the bottoms have burnt out of?
Amir/Nada: It twinges something in their back, for sure. They forget to bend with their knees, like every sports instructor and doctor and parent told them to. And they don't notice that it's burnt at the bottom. It is more so that the, the–the weight of these objects aren't as difficult as getting out of a rhythm that you are so, so comfortable in, and then trying to get back to it.
Cai: The dishwasher is pristine. The counter seems to taper off, just the edges burnt away, but the cabinets under and over remain just as skeletal frames. As you try and clean this kitchen for Dione, the ash, this whirlwind of past memory of someone coming through and, maybe a bit chaotically making a meal with flour, or ash. Why is it so important that you clean Laurie's, no, Dione's kitchen?
Amir/Nada: Deen understands that in a community house, these roles are not consignments. And not everybody lives here, but for as much as it is everybody's house, it's also their house. So that is–it’s also something that they never want thanks for and that's why they do it alone. um For as much as they do their best–and they even think, okay, I'm going to get a footstool to sit on instead of going for the low cabinets–There is...They didn't turn their notifications on, and they check their phone. And they see the voicemails Pascal left in these boxes that are in this rectangle. And these boxes that say the same thing with approximately the same time signature, Pascal, 30 minutes ago, 30 minutes ago, 31 minutes ago, scrolls down. And the boxes move up, and the negative space around these boxes begin to look like a ladder as they are going down. And they are waiting to see when the last voice message was that is different, just to see, is there an emergency? Is something going to happen? Why does it smell like I didn't clean this place? They understand that much is wrong. They keep scrolling down the ladder.
Cai: This ladder, the bottom rung of it reads 10 minutes ago. But it doesn't say Pascal's name. Your phone is running low on battery. You've been in the kitchen cleaning, bending over, moving. You're running low on battery. Whose name is at the bottom of the list?
Amir/Nada: I don't need a minute, but Deen needs a minute. This is Theia’s number? Dione’s number. Theia’s number, Dione’s number. This is not the moment to be forgetful and make that slip up that'll have them calling the wrong person, but they couldn't help growing up and having phone numbers that their mom gave them, like a gift with two digits switched, and otherwise completely identical. Why is this fucking number unsaved? Deen had them both memorized. This is Dione's number. How long is this voicemail? It's Theia’s number. No. Deen is compelled. Deen presses–no. They slip at the bottom rung, and instead of falling, they hit the ground. There's nothing here. They just see the numbers. Area code. Not really meaningful right now. I don't think Deen knows where they are, but they press the voicemail.
Gwen: “Hey.” Dione strikes, starting a conversation. “I want to say I'm sorry,” Dione as Thea continues. “I feel like we've…grown apart with the distance, the communication. It's, it's not fair to you, but it feels strange, I mean I don't see you–I see you every day. And it feels like there's a wall, there's some sort of distance between us now. Something's…different, but it's not. But it's different. And I want to try to work it out with you, if that's something that you want with her–me. Medina, I miss you.”
Amir/Nada: Deen stops the voicemail. The dial tone rings to nothing. It sings to nothing. They don't look at the screen anymore. This is like, like a rote memorization instead, like, ‘Oh, of course I missed someb–somebody, and I have to call ‘em back.’ That's what Deen does. Instead, they just fucking call the number. And they give it three rings of silence.
Gwen: “Hey!”
Amir/Nada: “Hey! What? What was that? That's a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ name. That's not a casual name. Are you okay?”
Gwen: Dione as Theia...as Dione. “Are we okay?”
Amir/Nada: “That's–you know, I think avoiding that question is part of the problem here. Like.” Their voice, even in this, like, strained panic, it's too soft. Deen's voice is like, still looking to placate, still looking to provide, uh, and something like, breaks in them and then it reattaches, like a hairline fracture. “You think you could say what you mean? Like, of course…not. I'm trying to just be here. And you're the one with a job, who's not here. And, dare I say, mobility, if you've even noticed? It's not enough for one person to try and–I don't know. I feel…I thought this was an emergency.”
Gwen: “I'm sorry. I just...I thought...I–I thought you...we could be a reason I come back, I stay.”
Amir/Nada: “You know…you didn't have to be polite about it, when you left.” Deen speaking to Theia, speaking to this person, speaking to these people. “It would have been easier to swallow if you said there was something wrong with me. Or if you like, didn't like me. Or you outgrew me. I don't, like… There's, there's like, a version of me in your mind right now that's maybe doing much better off than I actually am. I can't access that person. I can't be that person. I was like, the platonic butch ideal, and I can't have that anymore. Because it's like I'm almost stuck to this house. Almost. You can't say that I'm the one keeping you here when you can't even give me the time of day, Dione!”
Gwen: There's a pause. Dione as...Dione: “I want to blame this on…circumstance. I want to blame this on my mother, I want to blame this on her. And I'm... I want to blame this on Dione,” as Theia. “It's what I needed to do. I needed to go. I… If I could take you, if I could take everyone with me, I would!” Dione as Dione: “It's... I could be here with you. I have the opportunity to do that, and I also have the opportunity to–”
Amir/Nada: “Make a difference?”
Gwen: Dione as Theia: “Yes! For you, for my mother, even though she's gone.”
Amir/Nada: “You don't have to remind me. It's like we're still kids. And the people that you want to blame, they were kids, probably. Is it, is it really so hard to talk about your feelings with me? Like. You probably didn't think I was too weak to handle it, but, like, this feels like it has to be a crisis, that you're opening up. And…well, like may–maybe I'm, maybe I'm a reminder of this place. Like. I don't, I don't, I don't need to be physically stuck here to know that.”
Gwen: “And what if that's what I love about you? What if I like that reminder? What if this is a home? What if you are home to me, Deen?”
Amir/Nada: “I'm sorry. Um. The…The real me, the angry version of me, Dione, it's not more real than any other version of me. Um. That, like, a better version or a happier version, it's not less real just because of all this shit. I, I just…I can't be that reminder anymore. Not even just because I can't do shit anymore. I'm waiting for you all to live your lives so I can fucking rest like everyone wants me to.”
Cai: Deen, as you apologize, you stand in a burnt out house. The home that you are, the home that you had.
Amir/Nada: “Jesus, if you, if you miss me, then show it! Please. Like.”
Gwen: “I didn't leave.”
Amir/Nada: “Okay.” This is Deen giving up, with like, the hair on their neck way too up in this moment, and their shoulders sort of rotating in a way a big cat does when it is circling the drain of a question, the circling of something important to it. Not necessarily predatorily, it's just, you know, a circular motion of a circular question, this dance where two people are in a dual orbit away from each other. And it smells... it smells like I was supposed to clean this kitchen, and Dione’s gonna be, I don't even know. As if Dione’s not right here. “I know you don't sleep. I just, I have to sleep, but I don't know if you're, if you really miss me. I ca–I can't help feeling like you're still avoiding the reality of me.”
Gwen: Dione as Theia: “Maybe I had to.” Dione as Dione: “I don't want, I don't want to. Medi–” As your phone short circuits with the venom in the charging port.
Amir/Nada: That fucking–! There are no cables in the room. There–Deen should have made a habit to keep a phone charging cable in the room, but it's missing. It is eluding them like a fucking snake. And Deen cannot have the phone in their hands anymore. They had the comeback from somebody that was stewing on their first love, and them leaving, and what would really bring them closure. And Deen sits in the burnt–marble?–wooden floor. These don't, these, these countertops aren't marble. We don't, we don't have that kind of money yet. It's like, wood paneling. This is all very flammable. They look up to the ceiling. To the house: “I don't want the only people who love me to have to be able to be paid a living wage to take on my burdens. I see that for myself. I can't give anybody who I was a year ago. And I also don't want that power over me. Don't you understand?” Looking at the ceiling.
Cai: The house, where the burn marks sweep across the ceiling, you see written in the streaks of soot: “You are not a burden. I need you.”
Amir/Nada: And their shoulders shake a little bit. They have forgotten that something important was supposed to happen today, as they look up as if it were a sunroof, as if it was an atrium letting something in. “Well, fuck, I guess I need you too. And...well, you get it.”
Cai: The windows that had been blown out are clear, beautiful glass. One that looks out into the backyard. You're used to seeing Dione just kind of peek out there when prepping food for people who are going to have a nice dinner outside for the evening. Or, it's a convenient way for you when you're out there working to just sneak a little look and see what's going on inside, a little shared portal into her world, into your world. And the house, that ever-ticking list of things to do. In there, the letters spell out, “You make me.” Deen. “You retreat to the comfort of your home. In what state do you find it?”
Amir/Nada: The house finds me like a large set of arms finds a small set of arms. The house finds me like a trust fall to a bean bag, something waterier than that, something that has more give, and something that would make me less afraid to fall because only god knows that Deen is becoming a fall hazard. So. They notice every time the house gives a little, and they don't have to.
Cai: What object in the house changes?
Amir/Nada: The tea stays the same. The tea doesn't change. It is these large, somewhat cumbersome loose leaf jars of green tea. Ah, most prominently, Moroccan mint. It is all of Deen's favorites. Deen's very convinced that there are, of course, multiple ways of making tea, but they do it in this house the best. So you got to work with what you know. And for them, that is standing, stagnating as in standing your ground physically. So maybe stagnating is not the best word.
Cai: The diner sits quiet for a moment, despite the occasional hissing of exhaust from a dragon so large the ceiling bends around it. An old tradition. The tin seems to almost exclusively be red, reflecting the scales as this presence almost surrounds all of you. And Eira, it smells like smoke.
Hamnah: Eira twirls the spaghetti, the superstition, around their fork and brings it up to their mouth expectantly. And with every bite of the noodles, Eira's striking gray eyes turn to that snow leopard on the counter that is sitting there, swishing its tail…as if waiting for something. And it goes back, their eyes go back to their plate, to the spaghetti, and they twirl faster and faster, hoping, waiting for that smoke to turn into an inferno, to turn into a call, to turn into a need.
Cai: While you look for something to run towards, Eira, will you make a pull for me? Will you pull from major arcana as you look for that destination?
Hamnah: Yeah! I got the hanged one, which is the hanged man in most decks.
Cai: “Ahead of you, you have a choice. What aspect of your identity do you feed to another?” Or, “What aspect of your identity lies waiting in hunger?”
Hamnah: Eira stands in front of a barbecue, the smell of smoking meat coming up, wafting up as they work at the barbecue, their hair tied in a ponytail as always. It is, let's say, late afternoon, kind of getting into that golden hour. And it is Theo and Pascal's joint bachelor party that they have insisted must be at the lake, and it must be a beach day for everybody. And of course, Eira can't disagree or push back with that–after all, it's the grooms’ wish that this is how we celebrate. So, as much as Eira does not like swimming or, you know, being at the lake, this is where we're at, and Eira's doing the best that they can, which is being very far away from the shore, at the barbecue, with a task to do, while everybody else enjoys themself, splashes in the water, running around, there's the sound of laughter and conversation, and every now and then somebody comes to talk to Eira, but, for the most part, they are present, but a little disconnected from the revelry all around them.
Cai: In passing Aspen attempted to keep you company, but they are also the best man for Theo. So they were a little preoccupied, and despite a strong desire to loiter nearby, ah, they let themself get pulled away for festivities. Eira, as you watch your friends, close to family celebrate at least 20 feet away from you, what emotion do you see in them?
Hamnah: Eira looks on at everybody, observing as if they are much further away from everybody than the mere 20 feet that separate them. And they see joy. They see a comfort, a stability, something that Eira honestly hasn't really felt very much themself, something that feels a little foreign to them. Something that they're chasing that they think they might have found here, one day, if they stay long enough, if they help enough. If they cultivate the relations that they've made here. But right now, anyway, in this moment, it feels like an alien emotion. This joy, this comfort.
Cai: The lake itself, while there is a large cleared area that is largely considered to be for like recreation and things like that, along the edges of it and the whole road to get up here from the other direction is all forest. It isn't deep and lush, but it is remarkably dense compared to, y’know, the trees in town and the parks and things like that. Less planful, more natural. And at your back, the forest stares back at you. And in it, feline eyes wait in the shadows as you cook.
Hamnah: Eira's hand goes down to the tongs to flip one of the skewers over and they look up, casually, just to see where Pascal has gone off to, to make sure that Dione is, um, enjoying herself, and instead they find that feline. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and all of the sound around Eira washes away. The sound of laughter, the sound of conversation, of people swimming, running around, all of it is gone in a moment. And the trees that surround the bank of this lake, some of them pine, many of them pine, almost appear to grow around Eira, and the pine trees along their forearms seem to shrink in comparison, as if giving way. And the self-harm scars that are obscured on Eira's arms by these tattoos start to peek out from behind the pine. And Eira freezes, staring at the cat, unable to look away.
Cai: This low, hunched snow leopard stalks forward. Not aggressive, just low, knowing that it is the predator. It begins to–not walk directly towards you, Eira, but rather in a slight bend, pushing you towards the grill or further towards the lake, not giving you access to the forest behind.
Hamnah: The hairs on Eira's body stand up, and they drop the tongs on the ground, as they take an instinctive step backward towards the grill, but they push up against it and jostle it. Um. It's a charcoal grill and some of the, ah, coals threaten to spill out, threatening to start a forest fire. And Eira catches it just in time. And instead, slowly, not breaking eye contact with the predator in front of them, starts to head towards the lake–but looking, always looking, for any break in any other direction.
Cai: Behind you, towards the lake, you can hear Dione talking to Pascal. Pascal, who's asked you about 90 times about the menu and if there's anything in particular you need and how can he assist you and–just essentially continuing to overplan what is already a very planned wedding. You can hear Aspen laughing with one of the neighbors. And the other way, the forest, the edge of the lake, all of that is absolutely silent, as the snow leopard almost herds you towards the edge of the water, goading you to see if you will go towards the people, or the shore.
Hamnah: In order to go to the people or to the shore, Eira would have to face off against the snow leopard. And they're just a person. They're not a big cat, they're not a predator. How could they possibly do that? They don't have another choice. They can't go back. And so Eira steps, one foot after the other, a splash as they meet water, the water of the lake, breaking through it. And it is a jolt through Eira's skin, normally so warm, as the oddly frigid temperature of the water seeps into their skin.
Cai: The last thing you see as you glance up is the snow leopard leaping towards you.
Hamnah: And Eira slips. They don't know how else to react, how to respond, and in their attempts to turn and run, they slip and they fall backwards into the lake. And they fall, and they fall, and they fall, and it is an endless drop. This lake isn't that deep, and yet it feels like a trench. And Eira fumbles, tries to grasp up towards the, air trying to stop this fall, trying to get back up, but they cannot, and they find themself–in the middle? bottom? somewhere near the top of the lake, surrounded by nothing but water, the silence pressing in on them from all sides
Cai: You see, near the surface, shattered ice. The sun dancing off of overcast clouds, no laughter, just that frigid silence.
Hamnah: And Eira instinctively opens their mouth to yell out for help, despite being underwater, and the water fills their lungs in an instant–but Eira doesn't feel the water? Or at least it doesn't hurt. The water filling their lung almo–lungs almost feels like a…invitation. A welcome–a warm hug?–in a way, as they float there, alone, in the silence.
Cai: Breathe in. Nice, deep breaths, through the nose and out the mouth, at your own pace. Feel the breath fill your lungs as you settle into your body. Focus on how the breath fills you through your shoulders, your chest, and even your stomach. Icy. Water. Eira.
Hamnah: And Eira takes a deep breath in through their nose, and exhales through their mouth. And the water fills every inch of the inside of their body–cold, yet still comforting. And they close their eyes. And they allow themself to feel that stillness. They don't need to go anywhere. They can just be here.
Cai: Today, we're going to focus on centering yourself, even when circumstances around you may not exactly be ideal. To do so, we're going to use a visualization technique that allows you to place yourself somewhere serene. Picture yourself in a beautiful winter forest, footsteps in the snow. If it helps, smell the chill air. Focus on the sound of your footsteps, as they crunch, crunch, crunch.
Hamnah: “My feet don't–” And Eira opens their eyes and tries to take a step, not being able to, their foot finding nothing, just more water as they kick it underneath them. And they realize where they are, in the lake, underwater. “This isn't right. It shouldn't–This isn't right.”
Cai: If you follow the path ahead, you can feel every step, part of your self, your body. And if you focus on each moment, your heartbeat with every step. You can continue to travel at your own speed, never running, taking the time to see the branches of the trees, the icicles beginning to form and dripping ever so slightly with water.
Hamnah: “No, no, this isn't right! I'm underwater! I–It–It shouldn't–I can't breathe down here! What are you talking about? I can't breathe! I shouldn't be able to feel this! It should be, this isn't right! Where, where is the surface? I need to get out. I need to leave.”
Cai: On the next exhale, nice and slow, you can return back to your natural–
Hamnah: “There is water in my lungs. Stop. Well, don't ignore me, I–help me find my way out. Where do I go? Is it up? Down? Which way is right? I need to get out. I changed my mind. I don't, I don't want to be here.”
Cai: Swim up, Eira.
Hamnah: And Eira swims. They swim as hard as they possibly can.
Cai: Eira. “What aspect of your identity do you feed to another?” Or, “What aspect of your identity lies waiting in hunger?”
Hamnah: Eira is always running, always moving, always going somewhere from somewhere, always forgetting. But that's the thing about forgetting, is that that doesn't make the past go away. It doesn't erase it. Even if you forget, it's still there, at the edges of your vision, stalking quietly, slowly, following you. Everywhere you look, the snow leopard follows. And that is what waits for Eira, always. Hungry. So hungry.
Cai: What part of your character changes?
Hamnah: “I don't want it anymore. I left that behind. I don't want it anymore.” And Eira tries to change the snow leopard, to erase it, to leave it behind, to tear it away, to drown it. But it won't, and they can't. And it stays. It stays there. Nothing changes. Even though Eira so desperately wants it to.
Cai: What object in the house changes?
Hamnah: The aquarium. Once full of moss, not a living thing in sight inside of it. Now is this large aquarium on the first floor of the house, with a singular electric eel swimming in it, greeting everybody with a static shock.