FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

[robbies]

 

CHAPTER TWO, PART 2: THE LIVING ISLAND

Everything you never wanted to see.

YOU CAN’T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO ENOUGH | JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY | DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH | YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH | COME AND PLAY WITH ME

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YOU CAN'T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DO ENOUGH

Perhaps you’ve been on tenterhooks since you woke up to find that your friends, your family, your neighbors somehow went missing in the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitting the pavement and knocking on doors trying to find them. So far, your efforts have been for naught. There’s been neither hide nor hair of the missing, and every attempt to find them has met with a dead end.

Until February 13.

In the afternoon, a strange, unsigned message goes live on the network. What is the meaning of “Living Island”? Does it have anything to do with what’s going on? There’s no elaboration… until midnight, when every neighbor’s television set turns on at full volume, hissing static and garbled noise as the dials turn and adjust. Several disjointed clips follow, ending on a mural that depicts the same words from the post.

“Living Island.”

The following morning, you’ll find that stranger things are beginning to happen. Some of you will be woken up to the blankets and sheets being yanked off your sleeping bodies by a powerful force. Others will find that when they step out of their morning shower, a message has been written in the steam on their medicine cabinet's mirror. Depending on how quickly you shower, you may only be able to see part of the message — but running the hot water longer and allowing the steam to fill the room will reveal it in its entirety:

“LIVING ISLAND.”

As time passes, you’ll find that the same message shows up every time the bathroom steams up, whether you’re in the shower or not. The same force that turned your TV on seems to insist that you pay attention to what it’s trying to show you, and its behavior escalates the longer you refuse. Characters will find that books go flying off of bookshelves, drawers are yanked out of dressers and desks, and breakable objects are smashed. Trying to prevent the spirit from destruction won’t go your way: If you try to catch or grab something that’s about to be thrown, you’ll find it ripped out of your hands anew and smashed anyways. If you tried to take all of your chairs down from where they’ve been stacked on top of the dining room table, you’ll find they’re back atop it the instant you look away.

All that’s to say nothing of the rumbling. It doesn’t start until the end of the first day, but from time to time you’ll feel the house beginning to shake on its foundations, a dull groan as it struggles to keep itself from collapsing in under its own weight. As time goes on, this will get louder and louder until the house seems to roar of its own accord, an unyielding shriek that can’t be stopped until the force causing it backs down.

Attempts to make contact with the spirit will never go well. It does not seem to be able or willing to communicate with you beyond its own tantrums, and characters who try may find that the attempt rapidly goes out of control. Candles flare up and burn wildly, Ouija boards are ripped into pieces and planchettes go flying, offerings of food are knocked over or thrown, and the lights flicker manically in turns. While you may be able to get some sleep at night if you’re lucky, the only thing that will reduce the poltergeist activity is to pay attention to the message it’s sending you and figure out what it means.

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JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY

Living Island. If ever there were a first step to stopping this madness, it’s figuring out what those words mean. But starting is always the hardest part, and with nothing else to go by than two seemingly unrelated, nonsensical words left behind by a force you can’t see much less communicate with, an already arduous task seems even more impossible. This is furthered by the reactions you get when you hit the street and start asking people if they know anything about Living Island. Most of them can only look back at you blankly, as if waiting for a punchline that never comes. Others actually take you seriously enough to consider the question, and to their credit, they do take their time racking their brains to remember where they’ve heard that name before, why it sounds so familiar. But the most you’ll get back from them is a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and a reply that it sounds like something from TV. It gets to the point where their answers blend together, each one more unremarkable than the last. Save for the one you get from the last person you haven’t asked. Living Island. I’m sorry, what was that? What the fuck did you just say? Dale Harding and Rosemary Craven might be as far away from each other as possible, doing things around town that couldn’t be more different, but their reactions are the same. When they overhear you asking what feels like the hundredth person you’ve seen that day about Living Island, they look your way — Harding in the middle of his patrol or lunch break, Rosemary in the middle of grocery shopping. Harding looks honest-to-God surprised. Rosemary simply looks confused, even somewhat concerned. That's such a... strange name. Where did you hear that from? When they hear your explanation, they go quiet, mulling it over. Rosemary’s expression turns thoughtful. Harding’s, suspicious. If I remember correctly, that was a clubhouse the children around town used to play in. I haven’t heard about it in… goodness, I can’t even remember. Years, perhaps. It’s a play on “safety island” — another name for a bomb shelter — and the name of this… stupid kids show that used to be popular. I guess they thought it was cute, calling a place like that something fun. But where is it? Well, most of the shelters in town are still in use, and children aren’t allowed in them unless there’s an emergency. The only place I can think of is… The grade school. Administration ran out of funding before they could finish it, so they just scrapped it. Closed it off and just hoped for the best. Didn’t stop people from sneaking in. I used to bust them for playing down there all the time, the little shits. Harding’s mouth twists into a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are soft and miserable, while Rosemary waits patiently for any other questions and, when you have no others, excuses herself to go back to her groceries. Now you have something even better than an explanation: you have a destination.

Finding Santa Rosita Elementary is as easy as a fifteen minute drive from North Santa Rosita to Shadyside. Getting in is a different story. By day, the school is open for business and humming with activity, so you can’t very well go barging in and not expect to be reprimanded for disrupting class. This leaves you with three options: go before it opens, wait until school is over, or come in the middle of the night. Each have their own pros and cons, but all of them will get you the same result.

After hours, the school is desolate and still. The wind, the occasional slap of a naked branch against a window, and the squeak of your footsteps on the shiny, clean floors are the only sounds you’ll hear as you navigate the empty hallways. Most of the classrooms are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have anything any more unique or worthwhile to them than the occasional lunchbox left behind by a student or the classroom frog croaking in its tank. In a way, this is a good thing — it doesn’t leave that many places to investigate and makes your path that much more linear as you finally, inevitably and silently make your way downstairs into the bowels of the school.

The long corridor that awaits you in the basement is, in theory, not very different from the hallways upstairs. There are lockers lining both sides, dented and darkened with age and dust. The tiles are cracked, dirt and pieces of stone kicked up from exposed areas of the floor. Seemingly, this appears to lead to a dead end. But look closely at the wall and you’ll see the impression of a door, painted to match the walls. The lock is flimsy — in fact, depending on when you find it, someone may have already broken it. All that’s left is to enter and descend down the tiny room’s only feature: a ladder under a rusty steel hatch door, stretching down into darkness.

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DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH

CW: gore, surgery

Stepping into the old shelter, the first thing that hits you is the stale, uncomfortably moist air. This first room is cavernous and dark, and your footsteps and whispers echo in spite of how quiet you might try to be. There’s a faint smell in the air, a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol that might make your eyes water, making your mouth feel unpleasant as it hits your tongue. As you get your bearings and begin to pick your way through the dark, you’ll notice traces of another smell — something simultaneously spicy and cloyingly sweet, a scent that seems to assault your senses and leaves you with a headache pounding at the base of your skull. Thankfully, there isn’t enough to do more than make you nauseous, but the smells warn of what’s still yet to be found.

As you continue through the labyrinthine warren, you’ll begin to find signs of human presence — some of the trashed rooms may be fitted with tables and supplies one might expect to find in a laboratory, meticulously labeled with typewritten strips. Several of these boxes appear to be old, covered in grimy layers of dust, while others are fresh and clean. All of them contain medical supplies. Eagle-eyed investigators might note that the untouched supplies tend to be the type contained in first-aid kits — acetaminophen, antibiotic ointment, simple adhesive bandages — while the ones that have been opened are for heavy duty surgical work — coiled IV lines and tubing, empty syringes, surgical gloves. One room in particular seems to have been fitted out for someone’s personal use, boasting a stripped-down bed, a chair and desk, and a comfortable recliner.

The trickle of water can be heard in the depths of the shelter, and as you emerge from one corridor that filters into a large chamber, it becomes immediately obvious where you are: This is an operating theater, with a table stationed beneath all manner of lights that can be adjusted and moved. A faucet drips monotonously in the back of the room, over a sink stained with blood with bits of grey, pulpy matter stuck in the drain. A bucket filled with blood and viscera ferments on the ground beside it. There are smears of blood, both dried and fresh, on the cloudy tiles, and a cabinet full of surgical instruments is slightly ajar. Looking at the instruments, characters will find that a couple of scalpels and a pair of tongs have dotted blotches where the metal was cleaned with water; whoever used these tools last didn’t dry them before putting them away. A small table near the operating area has a turntable sitting atop it, with a record already set under the needle: a single of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel.” There are a few other records sitting in the cabinet beneath it, including Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog,” Frank Sinatra’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely,” and James Brown and the Famous Flames’ “Think!”

In a separate area of this room, an oversized desk is piled with books and empty food containers that look as though they’ve been repurposed for one reason or another. These books are chiefly on anatomy and the medical sciences, though there are a number of books on psychology and how the brain functions. Though some of these books are water-spotted and dog-eared, there aren’t any notes written in the margins, nor are there any papers to be found. You can turn this area as much as you'd like, but all you’ll find is a couple empty cigarette boxes and some broken and bitten pens; the trash can next to the desk, filled with soggy ashes, seems to suggest that any papers that might have given you a lead were destroyed before you got here.

But the lab, with all its instruments, isn’t what you came here to find. There’s still at least one more room to be found…

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YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH

CW: gore, surgical trauma, amputation, lobotomy, brainwashing and interrogation, mouth trauma, eye trauma, ear trauma, body horror

The missing are being held in small, sturdy cages in a single room connected to the back of the operating room, dim and dank. The cages are placed equidistant around the room, ensuring that even if you try, you can’t reach out and make contact with your neighbors. The missing will find that they wake at approximately the same time, curled up on the ground in uncomfortable positions. Unlike your rescuers, your nightmare began far earlier than when you first awoke in this room, sore and disoriented. In fact, you could argue it started the moment you went to sleep on February 9th, leaving empty beds and concerned family members behind.

With no clocks or watches available to tell the time, you may not be able to tell how long you’ve been here. You sleep and wake, sometimes to a bowl of what looks like sticky rice lying in your cage that wasn’t there before. Sometimes, an overpowering smell will fill the room, faint at first; by the time you register it, it’s already overwhelmed you and sent you into a deep sleep. And when you wake, one cage will be empty. The inhabitant will be returned the next time you go to sleep and wake up, but not quite the same as they were before. They seem heavily drugged, discombobulated — or perhaps there's something visibly different about them. Whoever has taken you is doing a lot of work in their lab — and from the smell of things, meat work — and before long almost all of you will be sporting dressings of some type or other, fresh red seeping through the sterile cloth within a matter of hours.

Maybe you should try to keep each others’ spirits up. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, after all.

All of this goes on for a while — days, although it won’t be easy to count them given that there are no windows in the room. But nearly a week later… you wake to find that the front of your cage is unlocked. Unlatched. Open just an inch. Looking around the room, you’ll find that yours is not the only cage to have been opened — all of your cages have been unlocked.

Is it a mistake? Or are you really free?

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COME AND PLAY WITH ME

CW: blood and violence

Whether you’ve released yourself from your cage, or were discovered by a well-meaning friend before you could, or you’ve simply had your fill of exploring the shelter-turned-laboratory, the time has finally come to leave. Unfortunately, if things were that easy, you wouldn’t even be around by the time the scuttling sounds begin — somewhere down the hall, in the room behind you, fleeting and sly. It’s not an animal sound, a creature picking its way through the garbage and debris littered around the shelter. No, with the way it stops and starts every time you start and stop walking, this is a very deliberate, human sound. And if you don’t believe that, you’ll see soon enough when you see the naked, bone-white figure walk into view at the end of the hallway as casual as you please, their body smooth and sexless like a department store mannequin. They turn (your) their head and stare directly at you with (your) their wide, glassy eyes crinkled in thousand-yard delight. You hear your voice echoed back at you, airy and chirpy and so indescribably wrong it makes your blood run cold.

"Hi!"

Much like the Doppelgangers you encountered in January, these ones look and move like dolls, their limbs connected with ball-joints. However, whereas those ones were near perfect imitations of you and your friends, these ones look like they just fell off the assembly line. Their faces are unnaturally flat and plastic, like all the imperfections have been ironed out of them, but they are unmistakably yours. And when they open their mouths to squeal at you before running with all the unnatural speed not having a pair of lungs affords them, you’ll find that even their voices are perfect imitations — and not necessarily of your own either.

There’s no way to tell how many of these Doppelgangers are down here with you, hiding in the dark. They’re stealthy and sneaky, only coming out to attack when they’re sure you’re alone. Even if you’re not, they’re intelligent enough to come up with ways to separate you from your group, calling to you from another part of the shelter, mimicking a voice from someone they know you’ll listen to. Even if there’s no possible way they could be in Santa Rosita.

"Help me!"

"Is that you...? Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Please, don't leave me!"

Other times, they’ll take a more aggressive approach, allowing their limbs to pop out of place so they can sprawl on the ground, imitating a heap of discarded doll parts. Once you get close enough or turn your back on them, they’ll pull themselves together and attack, speeding towards you on fours like a crab.

There are two ways out of the shelter. The first one is the hardest: go back the way you came. With the low visibility, the number of Doppelgangers, and the confusing layout of the area, you’re more likely to get turned around and go in circles than you are to find your way back to the ladder — a location made even more difficult to discern since the hatch door has been lowered, blotting out all light from the room above.

The second way is the longest but also the easiest: head deeper into the shelter, past the operating room, through the rooms filled with broken furniture and ruined floors that are very easy to trip on — especially when you’re in the middle of running away. Eventually, you’ll come to another ladder, this one leading to an open hatch that deposits you into a dark passageway. The air up here is more fresh, but not necessarily pleasant smelling. There’s only one way to go — forward.

After what feels like an hour of walking, you’ll see a light at the end of the passage. Follow it and you’ll find yourself exiting a storm drain that drops you into the heart of Old Growth, just outside of West Santa Rosita.

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the second part of February’s event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to utilize the log and network communities as well.

There will be a top-level posted for NPC interaction tied to the second prompt below, wherein you can request to play out your character’s interaction with Harding or Rosemary. If you would like to have your character interact with either one of them, comment to the top-level with the name of the NPC you would like to thread with. You may only thread with one NPC. The mods will respond to NPC tags until February 28th.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

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OOC INFO	premise | rules | faq | taken | applications | hiatus/drop/canon updates | activity check | reserves | mod contact
SETTING INFO	calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

Comments

aftercare, coffee attempts, ota

[shalamayne]

[ It's been a strange few days for everyone involved and yet Anduin finds it difficult to stay put after having been rescued from his own situation. When he catches wind of Daylight's set up he can't help but go over, wholly intent on helping out anyone who needs it. Back home he's a healer, a priest and a follower of the Light. He may not have those powers now but it would be awful of him not to offer.

There's just not much Anduin can do without his powers except listen to anyone who needs it and fetch things for those who require them Sometimes just a friendly presence can help and at the end of it all it takes Anduin's mind off of things. Staying at home would only have him overthinking it and instead he focuses his mind on the one thing in Daylight's house that seems to be besting him right now:

the coffee maker.

How does the confounded contraption work again? Anyone walking in may find the King of Stormwind squinting at it, bag of coffee in one hand as he tries to remember how he'd been shown it some time ago.]

Coffee? Or water?

( coffee attempts oh my god. )

[sunborne]

Beats me. I've been trying to use it since we got here as well.

[ daylight entered the kitchen to wash up some dishes and cups that were left in the rooms. as he passes by anduin to make his way to the sink, he looks over his shoulder and decides- why not?

he has been using it since they got here as he had pointed out. maybe some of the things he picked up can help anduin out. ] Starting with water helps. Hot water, especially.

[ okay. so far, so good. ]

I like to add the creamer and milk with the water so it's all together.

[ okay this is where things are going to go wrong. ]

( it can't go wrong: spoiler it will)

[shalamayne]

I would like to think they assumed we all knew how to use these but after the last few days I believe it intentional.

[ Daylight at least gets a small, honest smile as Anduin glances back at the offending coffee pot. How strange it is that all this horror has happened only for things to go back to some kind of "normal". Did any of the natives know what happened? The law enforcement? Or would this simply be swept under the rug again. Anduin suspects the latter and he reaches up to rub the back of his head, silently accepting the shock that his hair had been chopped off too.

The nerve of those people.

The young king brings his attention back to the present, favouring his non-dominant left hand as he starts gathering everything for the coffee.]

Creamer, milk and water? Why...that's genius, I would never have though of doing it that way. It would save a lot of time too.

[sunborne]

I know, right? No need to fuss about when you need coffee right off the bat.

[ he passes the creamer to anduin, looking confident as possible about this terrible turn of events. since he started to make coffee for himself and agatha, he found that it’s a lot easier to put it all together. they’re all dry ingredients.

... technically? technically. you end up drinking it in the end. ]

Want me to start the coffee maker?

[ daylight begins to look through the cupboards for some clean mugs since he needs a cup of joe himself. the amount of midnight oil he’s been burning since setting up his and agatha’s house for others has been a lot and the sluggishness is showing. ]

[shalamayne]

I'm glad you decided to share that with me.

[ The smile Anduin gives may be tired, but it's legitimate and he nods when Daylight offers to help out. Sure, Anduin is meant to be making the coffee but ever since he's come back from the whole ordeal, it's been so easy to feel tired. Someone said it was simply fatigue catching up with him and Anduin would be inclined to agree.

It's easier than thinking too hard on how his right arm doesn't want to cooperate occasionally and true to form he knocks over a nearby bag of sugar, only just righting it before it spills all over.]

Yes please, that would be a big help. ....How have things been going here?

[sunborne]

It’s been quiet here, mostly. No one has bothered us and everyone is getting a breather. [ thank god for that. daylight is still smarting he had to leave his baseball bat behind in the undergrounds, meaning he has no go-to weapon.

much as he wants to go back down and get it, he knows it’s probably not the best time to do so. not when they don’t have confirmation about how many dopplegangers are there and what else is hanging out with them.

just as he plugs in and switches on the coffee maker — it hisses and groans, like it’s (rightfully) angry at his presence — daylight sees the bag of sugar nearly topple over. ] What about you? How have you been? Got a chance to talk to your friend yet?

Wrathion was absolutely losing his shit when he realised you were missing, buddy.

[ oh yeah. he is going to snitch on wrathion. ]

[shalamayne]

Good. I would not put it past those here to do something when we are at a low point but I am grateful that for now they're holding back.

[ Anduin has seen armies come back from fighting before now, he's even been there himself. It's a time to lick wounds and to gather themselves back up for the next round and here it seems to be no different. He just knows that not everyone here is used to such things and even he's feeling tired at the thought. How many more will be hurt before they find a way home?

The hissing coffee machine gets a glance, Anduin unaware that the contraption is about to be this town's next victim.]

Friend? Oh, Wrathion, yes. He helped me out of that place and for that I could not be more thankful.

Losing his shit...?

[ Blond eyebrows raise at that comment, Anduin can get the gist of it but it's not one he's heard before. That and if Wrathion lost his cool in front of other people, that is worth hearing about.]

[sunborne]

[ daylight gets to the heart of the tattle tailing, very like he's well within his right: ]

He tried to storm into the police station. He had nothing on him but his bare hands as his weapons and the biggest pair of balls I've ever seen. Which is, you know, great during appropriate times but that was not an appropriate time.

[ at all.

and no- daylight did not know wrathion had knives on him that day they were talking out in front of the police station, surrounded by smiling cops and puzzled/worried locals who noticed something was wrong. it was probably for the best too that he had no idea about that bit. daylight would have probably tried to wrassle wrathion to the ground or something, there and then.

trying to wind himself down, daylight takes a deep breath and continues with his story: ]

I barely- [ he stresses the word here and daylight likes to think he's not one for drama or excess. ] -was able to intercept him when I realised what he was doing and talk him down.

You can actually see our messages to each other on the walkie-talkie device. [ so wrathion cannot claim he had no idea what daylight was talking about if confronted. you are not getting out of this one, buddy! ]

[shalamayne]

[ There's more words happening here that Anduin is trying to keep up with, some more crude than others but he still manages to get the gist of it. Knowing that Wrathion had been on the verge of causing chaos when he'd gone missing is....something. Anduin can't even explain the emotion, almost like a sinking feeling without the negativity. Wrathion had been ready to cause that much trouble just for him?

He's not sure how to digest that as he silently turns that information over in his mind. Should he speak to Wrathion about it? Wait, no that would probably look bad for Daylight if he did and Anduin doesn't want to cause any kind of indignant bickering of the sort between those two.]

Barely. A lot of people did go missing, I'm certain a lot of people were worried sick over us all.

[ Anduin blinks when the offer of messages arises. Reading someone else's messages? A small part of him is tempted, if only because sometimes even now Wrathion is an absolute mystery. But Anduin knows deep down that it would serve little purpose and that eavesdroppers rarely heard anything good anyway. He does at least give a warm smile; Daylight is so concerned for Wrathion and that in itself makes Anduin happy.]

I do not think I need to see them, but thank you for the offer. Whatever was said was between the pair of you. Thank you though, for talking him out of doing something brash. Wrathion could have ended up in a lot of trouble is you had not been there for him.

[sunborne]

[ daylight nods in understanding and won’t insist on anduin to look them up. If anduin ever comes across the message on the network in the coming days, he can choose to take a look or not then. (unless, like, wrathion deletes it in an attempt to hide the fact, but wrathion doesn’t seem like the type to do that.

... maybe. he needs to figure out if the device can take image captures or not, later.) ]

He meant well but, oh man, my heart just about stopped when I realised what he was planning to do that day. [ to this day, he has no idea how he managed to talk the guy down. dialup had always been the most diplomatic one in the fireteam, hence being their communications. maybe some of her levelheadedness rubbed off of him. ]

But yeah... He cares for you a lot. I hope he didn’t get too scuffed up when going down there in the shelter. [ it’ll be a surprise for him if anyone was able to get out there without any injuries.

for example: daylight winces as he grabs the coffee pot with the bruised hand, hissing a bit as he pulls it out and undoes the lid. ] Okay— You can put all of the stuff in here, see? Put it in there, mix it up good, and we’ll put it back on the stand. The coffee machine can do its thing and voila! Coffee.

[ the poor, poor coffee machine. ]

[apodictic]

[ angelo inhales sharply when he sees him manhandle the coffee maker and he closes his eyes. pretends not to see it. opens it, with more determination, and asks, ]

Stop touching it.

Let me prepare the coffee, and perhaps the both of us can enjoy something instead of just trying to pretend water is a good substitute for anything.

[ and he sounds callous as he says it, but he is determined to help. angelo is a good coffee boy, he's captain's #1 simp, coffee-making is one of his skills. ]

[shalamayne]

[ Anduin can't help it really, back home there isn't machinery of this sort and with one of his arms being out of commission it truly does make a chaotic scene. He turns towards the newcomer and gives a rueful smile.]

My apologies, I am still getting used to this. I have seen it done a few times but each person often has their own method.

[ Anduin even takes a step back from the coffee machine, not at all bothered by someone else wishing to take over.] Please prepare the coffee and I shall lend a hand where needed.

[apodictic]

Then I'll teach you how to do it for yourself. You can add your own methods later on.

[ angelo ... disassembles it as best as he can, grabs a few more props, then gestures to him to come closer.

having been working at the mall downtown and being a lieutenant in the army, he sounds very much like he is giving a serious lecture about coffee-making. but he is rather good at it, slow and methodical, pausing to explain terms and definitions for anduin if he needs to stop him to clarify things. ]

[shalamayne]

Much appreciated.

[ It seems there's a trick to making coffee after all, the kind that all the instructions in the world can't seem to convey. Anduin considers this a small blessing, keenly watching as Angelo sets to work. Any words of advice given are taken as just that, though occasionally Anduin does pause just to clarify on things he's not so sure on. It is a new world after all.]

And you don't put the creamer or sugar in until after it's brewed?

[apodictic]

Well, normally, I'd say no, but in this town, you can die anytime. Prepare your coffee as you fit - you can have it in your mug waiting to be stirred by the time the coffee is made, or put it after it's brewed.

You can also have it black - no coffee or cream. It depends on your preference.

[ what else ... oh yes, he has to add this very important thing: ] You can also have it flavoured with other things. Chocolate is rather popular, so is caramel. Alcohol is also an option should that be your preference in the day.