acatalepsy_ooc | test drive meme # 3

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test drive meme # 3

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test drive meme #3

It happens in the blink of an eye.

One moment, you are home. Perhaps you are with your family, perhaps you are at work. It's a completely normal day . . . and then, suddenly, your stomach drops. You are overcome with a sudden sense of vertigo. You cannot see up, or down, or where you are.

All you hear is a voice -- light, bubbly, warm, soothing, in your ear:

Don't worry, darling. This won't hurt a bit~ ♥

For those who recognize the voice, it will sound a bit strained. Possibly tired. But the moment happens so quickly it's hard to pin down, and once that moment is over, you fall flat on your face. It's bright, warm, and humid. It takes a few seconds for you to gain composure and catch your breath. You think, for half a moment, that a hand is on your back, rubbing between your shoulder blades in comfort, but when you open your eyes, no one is there. You are surrounded by ancient stone buildings, with carvings you do not recognize etched into the stone. There's a sense of nausea, overwhelming and sudden, when you realize you aren't in Kansas anymore.

Even worse, it looks like the tinier inhabitants of the Forest of the Fey are acting a little cheeky.

THE TEMPLE OF BEGINNINGS.

Welcome to the "Home Base" of Astoria's Circle. What the actual name of the base is called is lost to the ages, and there's no sense of where you could find it, unless you started asking around.

At any rate, this is a central hub of the Circle, a place of powerful magic and mysterious energy. It is a scattering of ancient stone buildings and for the most part, it looks abandoned . . . except for what seems to be a few items, some rooms taken, items moved or organized, even a small garden planted. These are just the smallest hints that there are people here that have been here before you arrived.

Overall, it's fairly beautiful. However, it is definitely not modern.

Upon exploration, you find that the buildings are kept up by some kind of magic. Some of the rooms have items, things from other Circle members already settled, and others appear to be unclaimed. Pick your rooms, explore the grounds, see the beauty and wonder all around you in such a magical place. However, be careful -- the sprites that reside within the Forest of the Fey seem to be exceptionally active, today, and tricks abound wherever you look.

KINGS AND QUEENS.

Typically, the sprites of the Forest of the Fey remain within the protective canopy of the surroundings. However, there seems to be something different in the air, and these little bastards are flitting about and giving out flower crowns to everyone. They are beautifully made, intricate and gloriously decorative, and most people would be happy to adorn one!

There's just one problem, though -- they don't come off. No matter how hard you try, those damn flower crowns are stuck on your head, and you cannot remove them no matter how hard you try. Hope you enjoy being a fairy princess for a day.

And, if you are alighted with a flower crown, your skin turns the same color as whatever flowers now sit upon your head. A wreath of blue roses? Congratulations, Violet Beauregard -- you're now as blue as a blueberry. The effect wears off in about an hour, and you can remove the flower crown then -- but have fun being every shade of the rainbow as the sprites take their time to torment the new arrivals.

BALLOONS FOR EVERYONE.

Normally, there are some animals that wander within the ancient stone buildings of the Temple. Tiny little white bats, sheep that grow on the vine . . . that sort of thing. However, the sprites have elected to add a little bit more flair the Temple, and balloon animals have invaded the living space. Where the sprites got the idea for balloon animals, no one can really be sure -- Astoria seems to think the sprites are waltzing through the spirit realm and seem to have garnered an idea there, whatever that's supposed to mean.

So, no matter where you go, there are balloon animals. Little dogs, brightly colored fish, dinosaurs, giraffes . . . except they seem to move, and make noise, and act like their real counterparts. Tiny balloon dogs nip at your heels, balloon fish flicker about in the waters that sprinkle themselves throughout the Forest, and balloon birds float through the skies.

Bonus? If you pop them, they explode into (biodegradable) glitter.

DECAYED DECADENCE.

Despite the shenanigans from the sprites, however, there seems to be something happening within the Temple that may be cause of concern. Flower crowns and balloon animals aside, there seem to be odd spots of the Temple that suddenly wilt . . . flowers that bend over and wither at a moment's notice, saplings that seem to creak as if suddenly dried from the inside out . . . and it seems, oddly enough, that it happens whenever you, an Arrival, get closer to the wild life.

Astoria seems to think that something is wrong . . . perhaps something the Circle members brought back from their last trip. An illness, or something more? Care to poke about and see how far you're willing to take it? Or does your magical gift enable the protection of plant growth? Try out your green thumb and see if you can help.

COMMUNICATIONS.

Upon arriving, you will notice on whichever is your non-dominant hand, you will have a fairly simply screen. A smart watch, if you will. Upon exploration, you will find that it has a directory of all those here with you at the Temple of Beginnings- names, and access to a direct message to them. The watch also has video, audio, and text capabilities, as well as what looks like a collection of messages sent to everyone who wishes to open them. This is your 'network', and also how Astoria can reach out and communicate with you.

There is nothing keeping you from removing and/or losing your watch! But remember that you will not have access to this network without it.

OOC: Also feel free to join us and other possible players on our discord server!

enjoy! ♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

What?

[Hank looks at Sumo, deeply confused, then looks back to Connor. He sounds breathless now and curls up, wrapping an arm around his middle.]

Gah. What the...

[Connor putting a little distance between himself and Hank has turned Sumo's internal threat level down at least a notch, but the balloon animal's still got his attention. A little rumble comes, briefly, from Sumo's throat, not a growl, just another warning to the little thing. Sumo is doing much better than Hank, admittedly, but Sumo is still disoriented and confused and his food bowl is nowhere to be found, weird things are trying to touch his Hank, and though there is no murder or even much violence in Sumo's big doggy heart he does not trust any of this.

Unfortunately, that only baffles Hank more. He breathes hard, and frowns, and stares at Sumo like he's never seen him before. It makes Hank's voice fall into something serious, seeing Sumo act like this, drops his tone into something determined and afraid and, for the moment, it doesn't matter if the person he's asking is an android. It doesn't matter if the person - if what he's asking is That Damn Android. He just asks.]

What happened? Connor. What happened.

[Connor’s excitement at seeing Hank has already subsided into something more serious, something more uncertain. These are strange reactions, strange circumstances in which Hank has arrived. Even the stains on the man’s shirt are the same as the day he crashed through the Lieutenant’s window, into the kitchen, to check on him. (Only days ago from his own last recollection, really, but a little more than a month and a half in this place.) His fingers flex in his lap, his LED circling quickly, and he rattles off a distracted explanation.]

You — we were all brought here without warning, without so much as being asked, to be a part of a group called the Circle. The witch Astoria was the one who did it, and this Temple acts as this organization’s “home base”, so to speak.

[He lets that sink in for a moment, brow furrowed deeply.]

We’re… tasked with aiding the universe. Moving from world to world, with the mission to help those in need of it. And we’ve only just returned from the last one.

[Okay. Sink in? That sinks into the reflexive fear that Sumo's attitude's put Hank into about as well as oil sinks into water and the panic taking shape under the surface of Hank's thoughts doesn't go away, exactly, but it does scatter to all the separate, half-sleeping corners of his mind, makes him twitchy.]

How bad are your fuckin wires crossed? Did something hit you on the head, or-

[Hank looks Connor over, grimacing with something that looks a lot closer to frustration than any kind of concern.]

Ugh, god, I don't- I don't need this.

[He rolls over to face the ground a little better, letting his head fall forward and grimacing.]

Hope you fuckers self-repair, cause the only thing I can do for a broken android is- [He curls up a little more as another wave of nausea rolls through him.] -agh, god, uh - guess I could puke on you. Or sic Sumo on you, maybe that'd knock some sense back into you.

I’m not broken, Hank.

[He’s not riddled with errors and that, specifically, is not a conversation he’s going to have right now. This is the reality of the situation, and while Connor wishes to ease Hank into this new place, how the man is acting towards him is causing him unease.]

I know it’s hard to believe, and if you don’t trust what I’m saying, then take a look around you.

[He gestures with an open palm to their surroundings, no matter if Hank is practically sprawled out on the ground.]

Anyone else who’s been here as long as I will tell you the same. We’re very far from Detroit.

[Hank does glance around him, his face making it very clear that he doesn't like what he's hearing and doesn't like what he's being asked to see, and doesn't like most of all that this android's last point, at least, is obviously true. There's not a single part of Detroit, not a single place anywhere near it, that looks anything like this.]

So someone- [He pauses, pants for a second.] Someone put up a set for a fuckin movie, there's some weird scenery, who cares. You have any idea what you sound like, talking about witches and- and fucking universes, or something? Wait, uh-

[Something's tickling the back of his brain. Something- It's stupid, makes as much sense to latch onto this as it does to talk about any of the other shit Connor's insisting on, but Hank's latching onto it anyway, reciting Connor's words with slow confusion, asking about them with more of that breathless tone, with a hint of that fear.]

'Sumo, it's me, Connor.' Why would you- Why would you say that? He wouldn't know you from a hole in the ground. You've never even seen him before.

[It should be comforting that Hank’s instincts align with Connor’s. That unease pointing them both to the same questions, the same concerns. Two detective-like minds gravitating towards similar inconsistencies, no matter the difference in demeanor.

It isn’t comforting, not really, but Connor follows this line of questioning like someone who had already been considering it in the back of his mind. What Hank says is… worrying. Something lances up in his chest, feeling like alarm, but he tamps it down in a very practiced way.]

What do you mean I haven’t seen him before? The night we investigated the Eden Club, I had visited [“””visited””””] your home prior to locate you. You were passed out and I had to…

[...He had to wake him up. Connor trails off, processes firing in his brain. Connections forming quicker than he can enunciate, and for a moment he just leaves Hank hanging as he considers what’s happening.]

We investigated the what?

Look, I don't blackout that bad. Unless you broke into my house you've never seen him before, and look at him! He's sure as hell never seen you.

[Sumo no longer looks as dangerous as he did, but he is alert, he is still keeping his distance and watching Connor with a lot more focus than Sumo ever gives to anything.]

I mean I passed out, sure, I guess, I must have, but I sure as hell wouldn't have forgotten having to deal with you in my house.

But you did.

[Connor looks over to Sumo, hilariously, like the dog can help. Like he might just recognize him in the slow wag of a tail, the interested look in his eyes — but there’s nothing there. Only that simple wariness, the wrong kind of being alert.

He shakes his head, looking back down at Hank. His expression has twisted into a frown in the interim.]

What’s the last thing you recall?

[His words are adorned with sharp edges, not so much irritation as it is a sorry realization.]

(ooc: warning for vague mention of a canon suicide attempt)

[The look of insult and confusion at Connor saying something so obviously wrong - he didn't, didn't Hank just say he didn't? - shifts into a look like he's been caught, his eyes a little wider for a second before he looks away. This pushy fucking machine is the last person he wants to talk to about the last thing he recalls. He scoots even further back from Connor, watching the grass and seeing the picture laying on his kitchen table, trying to push himself far enough up that Connor's not so far above him and feeling the slow, hazy memory of cold metal against his temple.]

Well, I was heading to some hippy dippy mountain retreat to detox my body and, you know, really become one with all things. Look at me, what the fuck do you think I was doing? Having a spa day?

[Hank’s deflection is telling, and there’s nothing Connor can do about the fact that he knows. He knows the state Hank was in that night, just as he knows what happened at the Eden Club, and beyond that, Hank pulling a gun on him, Stratford Tower, visiting Kamski—

He reins his thoughts in, mercilessly. Needs to focus on this one issue that’s cropped up between them, to make Hank remember. Maybe something in the transition from home to this world had been unkind to him and he just doesn’t recall.

(But no, the state of his clothes would dictate otherwise. Too perfect of a match.)]

You were drinking. In the kitchen. A gun on the ground and your son’s photo on the table.

[Vague enough for implication, strong enough imagery to drive his point home. He needs to do that.]

You sobered up afterwards and dressed. We left for the Eden Club soon after. I know this happened.

[That gets Hank sitting up straight. In fact it jerks him up straight and he stares at Connor, looking betrayed and furious.]

Fuck you. I don't-

[He uses the anger to push himself to his feet. Too bad for him that anger's a shitty substitute for balance. He tries to find it, his balance, but it gets harder to do the longer he speaks.]

I don't know what you're-

[Oops, lost track of one foot for a second there.]

-talking-

[Oops, lost track of both of them this time. Well, that was a good test run. Maybe he'll be able to catch himself without too much trouble.]

[Steeled against it, the rising anger is confirmation of its own. Connor hates to do it — feels guilty doing it, even if he wouldn’t describe it as such — and his eyes widen to see Hank attempt to stand. The little balloon dog scuttles off, afraid of the sudden shift in mood.

Connor mirrors the motion, ducking himself under Hank’s arm to catch it with his shoulder before he can topple over. His LED has transitioned into the yellow, not knowing what to do with this new revelation just yet, but he still tries to steady his partner with a free arm.]

You need to lie down. There are plenty of rooms in the Temple; maybe there’s a change of clothes for you, as well.

[The concern never went away. Maybe... just maybe Hank will accept it. He hopes.]

Get the fuck off of me!

[He shoves at Connor and it's like he can feel all the shit that was safely in his head, the shit that Connor just let come right out his own mouth like it was his, like he has a right to talk about it and use it to - to what, one up Hank or something? Hank presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. The part of him that needs to make sense of this is fighting with the part that just needs to be pissed off, and all that's too much for him to fight with his balance at the same time. Maybe Connor keeps his fucking hands on Hank and Hank stays upright; maybe Hank is about to get some distance from that slimy fucker only to maybe end up on the ground again. It doesn't matter.

The part of him that needs to make some sense out of this is, briefly, getting the upper hand.]

Why would you- why would you even pull that out - how would you even know, but, why would you- and then add all that bullshit on after it? All this shit about- about that stupid club? I don't-

[His stomach chimes in again and Hank grits his teeth, grimaces, and tries to breathe through it, his voice coming out plaintive and cracking.]

Ah, fuck, I'm too drunk for this, I don't fucking understand.

[Hank successfully pushes him away, and Connor stumbles back. Quickly, he throws a foot behind him to steady himself so that he doesn’t fall over, and any balance he had been trying to grant the Lieutenant slips out from under the both of them. Hank will just have to manage to stand on his own without Connor’s help, it seems.

The man’s words assault him like he’s done something wrong (of course they do, if this is Hank from then he doesn’t care about what Connor has to say, won’t take his advice, he was being unreasonable, maybe, to think otherwise) and Connor, for a moment, loses track of what his reply was going to be. His LED flickers erratically, his programming straining to right all of this.]

I— I’m sorry. I was just trying to convince you that I was there that night. That I remember-

[Something in Connor simultaneously deflates and tenses, the way an actuator moves in his jaw, the slow decline of the slope of his shoulders. He wants to step forward and aid Hank again, but he knows he’d only be met with an increasingly harsher rejection.

He tries not to look affected. Androids don’t look hurt; he remembers the flash of lightning on Struxta almost throwing his mind into oblivion, into shutdown. Androids don’t feel. This whole place, all of it, trying to overcomplicate a simple truth. Connor goes quiet for a moment, just watching Hank.]

…You should let me assist you. You’ll acclimate better to your surroundings, and I can try to answer any lingering questions you might have.

[The change in Connor gets through even to Hank, even now, and he grimaces at Connor, trying still to make sense of him. He's sick of trying to make sense of him, of trying to make sense of this.]

You better assist yourself right back to a Cyberlife repair shop, cause you're not making sense, Connor. You don't remember anything. The things you say you remember never happened. I don't know how you know-

[The gun, and the picture, things Connor's never been in his house to see, just factoids for a machine to spit out like it's got a right to them. He stumbles back, finally close enough to Sumo to fist a hand in Sumo's thick fur. Hank wobbles and manages to turn it into a kneel, one knee pressed against the ground, one arm wrapping around himself. Sumo, pretty used to being leaned on like this, just keeps looking at Connor, watchful.]

You need to stop trying to convince me of shit. Who even asked you to?

[He shakes his head. No. No, they did happen. He was there for all of it, he can feel the way those experiences have affected him at his core even if he’ll never admit it to himself. Hank might not believe it, but Connor can’t let him just dismiss it as error and malfunctioning.]

Why wouldn’t I want to convince you? More importantly, why would I lie about any of this?

[Lean on logic, then. It wouldn’t make any sense.]

It happened. I don’t have an answer regarding why I’ve experienced more than you, but I have. Maybe that’s a question better saved for Astoria.

Ast-

You know what, fuck it. Fuck this. You just, for once, you leave me the fuck alone, okay, and I'll figure this out on my own. I'll just go, without you yapping in my ear, and I'll just-

[His body does not want him to stand anymore. His body reminds him of this loudly, via his stomach, and he groans with it, sinking back to one knee and letting go of Sumo's fur to wrap an arm around Sumo's neck.]

Leave me alone. Why do you always- nngh, fuck... Why do you always have to make everything worse?

I wasn’t…

[He wasn’t trying to make things worse. He only wanted to clarify, to help Hank, to maybe catch up with a familiar face — something that should’ve been a blessing. Not… not this.]

I won’t say more if you don’t want to hear it. But I feel obligated to tell you this much; in the following days, back in Detroit, you and I have experienced a fair amount together. I wouldn’t consider any of it insubstantial.

As a result, you can rely on me if you need help. As your partner, it’s the least I can do.

'The following days'. Following what? You think you're a fuckin, some kind of time traveler?

[He just breathes for a few seconds, putting the back of his hand against his mouth while he tries to calm his body down. He thinks for a second about pretending to take that offer, asking Connor for help and getting him close enough that Hank can stop fighting his own body and just barf on him. But that would take a lot of effort and a lot of really pointed cruelty, neither of which Hank's got in him right now. He just wants this fucking machine to stop insisting on trying to help and just go away.]

Look, if I need help with the case I'll ask you, alright? Is that enough for you? I mean the least you can do is, it's really a lot less than this, so you can just- you can just calm it right the fuck down, okay? Lower your standards. Lower your expectations. And leave me to help myself out.

Edited (code) 2018-08-21 18:06 (UTC)

I’m not talking about just the case, I’m talking about all of this.

[The deviant case. Put on indefinite hold while Connor was here. Exceedingly put on hold if Hank wasn’t there to work it, either. Put on the back burner, the very reason for his existence; he had to use these missions, world to world, to work as a substitute.

But Connor swallows thickly, casting his gaze to the side. His LED has yet to transition back to blue.]

May I at least show you to where the rooms are?

[It feels bizarre, being asked if he'll let someone help him. Especially weird being asked that by a guy he could have sworn was dead set, a second ago, on forcing shit onto Hank whether Hank wanted it or not. It's hard to switch tracks from fighting that to answering this, which he can't find a way around admitting is a really harmless, innocent request. Weird, but there being rooms in the middle of this ruined nothing place like it's a fucking hotel is the lightest straw on this load of weird weighing him down right now, so something like that, he can accept it.]

...Uh, would if I could, but uh, don't think I'll be making it very far for a little bit.

[He knows better than to try to stand again, just takes a few deep breaths, swallows.]

I'll just, uh, I guess I'll just hang out here for a while, if that's alright with you.

Edited (forgot hank hasn't noticed the dead grass thing yet) 2018-08-21 18:26 (UTC)

[Trying to parse a reply, Connor looks around where Hank is seated, noticing more poignantly this time how wilted the grass looks under where Hank’s touched it. Hadn’t really been of a mind to look at it before, and probably isn’t now. Strange, though, some part of his cognizance notes. Files it away for later to question. Maybe a side-effect of the witch’s magic?

He looks back at Hank, though. That's unimportant for now.]

I can help you walk, if you let me.

[Like before.]

[Hank opens his mouth, looking frustrated, helpless.]

Why do you have to say it all reasonable, all nice, so I can't say no?

[He turns his head, closes his eyes, and presses his face into Sumo's fur.]

I just wanna sleep. Why won't you just let me sleep?

[Maybe he should just leave Hank alone. Let him process all of this.

But it's difficult. Connor wishes to talk with Hank, not be rejected utterly by him. He is caught between propriety and what he wants, creating an impasse in his decision-making process that he doesn't know how to resolve.]

...You want to sleep out here? With all the balloons? You wouldn't prefer a bed?

[He encourages, a little:]

Inside a room, you can shut the door, and make sure Sumo doesn't wander away.

(ooc: and here we are, at vomit warning time)

[Hank sighs. It's a long sigh, a loud one, sounds resigned. Sumo - not for the first time - is Hank's pillar in an ocean of shit, or some metaphor like that, and the idea of losing track of him now, of having some place where that won't happen - well, Hank knows when he's been got.]

Shit. Alright, just- Just give me a minute, o-okay?

[The stutter comes as Hank's attempts to stand up again - like he knew they would - shift his stomach around enough that it's had all it can stands and it can't stands no more, and Hank makes a choked, pained noise, kneels again, and empties what's left in him out onto the ground. The grass, for the record, dies under and around the touch of that, too, but Hank is too busy thinking, shit, shit shit shit fuck shit, fuck I hate this part, shit, to notice. Mostly he's concerned with this whole thing, and with balancing well enough between the hand he's got braced on the ground and the hand he's got on Sumo that he won't fall the fuck into it. If Connor wants to help enough to give him a minute he'll just, he's just going to be a minute.]

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