Facetious

In such a tight, densely populated town such as Vialarem, you would think the the place would be a bustling center of activity; that the air would be perpetually filled with laughter and excitement. Even if the air was simply filled with the mediocre mumbles of everyday life, at least something would resonate and lift the heavy mountain air from the shoulders of it's denizens.

Well, you would be wrong.

When one thinks of a town square, the words 'lively' and 'business' may come to mind; while the town square in Vialarem does host a variety of small businesses, it shares the rest of the town's solemn atmosphere. People go about their duties with labored steps. Their posture is perfect; their gait is unextraordinary; their pace is slow and steady. It is not about the destination, nor is it about the journey.
To these people, nothing is unique. Nothing is beautiful or spectacular. Everything they do seems to be about as exhilarating as baking bread. In the square, they tend to move in brisk neat lines, one behind the other.

Lovely broaches. How much? Very nice; exquisite workmanship. No, not today, but how is Janice? Sweet girl. And yes, he is doing fine. You too, good day.

Prim and proper and crisp, they smooth out their skirts and their suits and move onto the next shop. The town square is also home to the Senior Deputies of Vialarem, known less formally as the SDV; while no one is exactly certain of the purpose they serve, their name is appropriate: They are seniors, and no one wants to bother with asking. People assume that the men enjoy having something to commit to and let them be.

Children with their hair pulled back, the only source of laughter as they played behind the shops, out of the way, they're oblivious to the day-to-day monotonies that the adults put up with. They're all so silly for growing up, what do they know?
Teenagers, with their heads up their asses, the ones stuck in childhood watch their siblings play; the ones who waste their youth growing up tag along with their parents, practicing that stiff gait that they would soon be utilizing for the rest of their lives.

 

The people here have nowhere to be; they've seen it all so they've got nothing else to lose. With nothing to do, however, where is the fun in that? Misery is pretty much the default in Vialarem, there's no getting around it. To be fair, however, it's hard to smile without having the flesh of your cheeks pulled four feet behind your head from the wind. Chapped lips are the must-have accessory, sheep the main source of nutrition. Personality is a rare accomodity here. While quirks are not shunned, they are not particularly favorable. So long as you stay out of your neighbors' ways, you will find your life at Vialarem quite enjoyable.

Of course, there are always those...odd ones.

The ones that can't seem to find the 'off' button, the ones that have people offering to search for it. For instance, there's old man Nacy; founder of the SDV, he's been holed up in his little shack on the farside of the mountain for the last ten years. Every once in a blue moon, he'll emerge to stock up on rarer essentials, but, otherwise, he's created his own corner in the world. People can only estimate his age these days, but there was no possibility that he was under the age of 70. He had been the kin of one of Vialarem's founders, but all honor he had stocked from that role and his helping hand in the community dissippated when he chose to distance himself from the town. Vialarem's citizens feel it is best to leave him be.

If one is really curious in the town's nutter-population, Phyl Aschio is a prime example. Once a promising young youth, 7rd generation of one of the founder's family, his name was Phillip Spacey. He was set to inherit a clock-shop in the town-square, with a spot in the SDV reserved for when he hit a ripe old age.
When his father died, the last of pure-founder blood, aside from his son and Nacy, things changed. Phillip inverted and put off plans of opening his shop. In lieu of selling clocks, he built a cozy little shack similar to Nacy's on the edge of town. People opted not to disturb him: Don't ask, don't tell. He would work it out in her own time.

Rather, she would.

Phillip Spacey became Phyl Aschio. When she emerged, the majority of townsfolk mistook her for a new female; they were stunned, but once the truth was discovered awe turned to horror. In an effort to remain impassive, the townspeople grit their teeth and bore it. They still do, to this day. 
A minor collection of folk around Vialarem do not discriminate against Phyl, and they find themselves rewarded with anonymous handcrafted gifts on their doorsteps.

However, one anomaly in Vialarem was not shunned. A young, horrifically ghostly looking woman appeared on the hill-side adjacent to old man Nacy's shack. 'Appearances', as townsfolk call them, such as these do not happen often. They are not quite sure how they happen, or when it started, but they do know that it is how one of the three founders of their quaint city arrived here.

They were fascinated by her stories, originally, but the poor woman's inability to speak properly disheartened them, and the denizens of Vialarem turned to stone once more. She did what any self-respecting freak would do in such a situation: She bought the most isolated plot of land possible to open a bakery, juuuustt in touch with civilization enough to attract reasonable amounts of business.

Go figure.