EVENT LOG: Bright Lights

[tramitem]

✦ MOD LOG ✦

... And when my good dream came to an end, I woke up more than ready to bend ... Full Game Navigation

Before February 12: I. Event Aftermath This text is taken from the Welcome page. Thread headers utilizing this prompt may be responded to by Mr. Martin. Simply add “closed to NPC” to your thread header to receive a response. It hits you from out of nowhere. One second you are going about your day, and then for ten or thirty seconds, everything—your surroundings, your sense of self—changes. You see a moment from another life. When you come back to your senses, there is an elderly man waiting for you, and a team of workers administering to the people in your immediate vicinity. They seem to be doing something intrusive to those other people, but they are leaving you alone. How did they get there so fast? Mr. Martin introduces himself—he is the Head of the Department of Containment at the Bureau of Interdimensional Activities. His accent is hard to place. But he begins to explain the multiverse, and now your world has turned upside down. “In summary, what you’ve just experienced is the memory of a past life. You will receive more, but I cannot tell you how many, when, or what they will be... You are one of The Different now... The Bureau will be keeping an eye on you,” Mr. Martin says, and he hands you a card with the acronym ‘IBA’ on one side, and a street address and a forum website address on the other. “There are others like you, experiencing memories from a past life,” he continues. “The Bureau has set up a network so you can connect, find support… work out your confusion.” There’s something sinister about the way he says that… maybe? It’s hard to make sense of everything happening so quickly. “And one more thing—do try to stay out of trouble.”

February 12: II. Support Group There’s a generic spread of food on a table off to one side of the room: donuts and muffins, coffee and lemonade. Maybe you’re hungry enough to try it—it’s free after all. Or maybe you can’t stomach anything, given the event you’re attending. The space is a local rec center, reserved for the evening. The beige-painted cinder block walls and the fluorescent lighting are a terrible combination. The meeting was interesting—who knew there were so many people like you, receiving memories of a past life? The group was led by someone from The Bureau—the Department of Medical Services. Some people are staying in their chairs and chatting—they must know each other from previous meetings. Some of them are gravitating towards the food. How do you feel about tonight? Has it helped you come to terms with the dream of memories you’re having? Maybe it’s time to talk to others, get an understanding of their experience.

February 16-20: III. Bright Lights The first clue that something has gone wrong is the brightness of the lights around New York City. Every lamp post you see, every fluorescent tube light in the office, even the LEDs in the microwave display, glow brighter—but not consistently. The lights pulsate and flicker, buzzing furiously, and sometimes they even burn out. It’s not just that, though—even small appliances start malfunctioning, because the use of them trips the breakers. Refrigerators have to be turned down so they don't freeze the milk. When questioned, the city administration, headed by the office of the mayor, directs questions to the Bureau. That’s probably your first clue that something is really, really not right. After all, the Bureau is meant to be an unknown, isn’t it? The Bureau being put in charge of answering questions about this phenomenon almost seems to be an accusation from the mayor—and the fact that the Bureau’s PR arm does respond seems like an admission of guilt. Something else happens that night, though. The Northern Lights, in pulsating waves of green and red and purple, descend over the night sky of New York City. The people of New York pour into the streets to witness the phenomenon, raising their phones to take pictures. Normally, this would never be possible, because of how far south New York is, and how much light pollution the city experiences at night. How is this happening? And why does it subsequently happen for the next 4 nights? The rumors begin the morning of the 17th. They grow in intensity over the next few days, and the appearance of the Bureau’s spokesperson on the Network does little to assuage any fears that are being experienced by the population in the city that includes the Different. People who remember their Event are disappearing, one by one by one. Sometimes they reappear after a short time. Sometimes, it seems, they’re just gone. What does this all mean?

... What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause ...

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Comments

Agent York | Red vs. Blue | OTA

[howkickassiam]

ii. support group —

York didn't intend to make a meal of the snacks here at the meeting, but he was late running out of work and barely had time to pull his coat on and make the bus. So he finds himself loading a plate up with a muffin, cheese, and fruit, along with a cup of coffee, and making his way to a seat outside the main circle. He normally likes to be in the thick of things, but he doesn't really want to be spotted by the leadership of the group with this much food.

He's quick to introduce himself to anyone who happens by his chair, though, nodding at them. "Hey there," he says. "I'm York."

iii. bright lights —

York is the first to notice when the lights go crazy. He's walking around a department store and checking out, of all departments, the lamps.

"Hey," he says to anyone who happens to be nearby. "You see that? It's not just me, right?" He waves his hand around the lamp he's examining—the light brightens, then shudders in intensity, buzzing quietly.

Later on, he's outside, walking through his neighborhood on his way home, when the Northern Light descend. He's amazed. Never in his life has he seen anything like this.

"What in the hell...?" he mutters, and pulls out his cell phone to get some (likely quite inadequate) shots of the sight.

ii

[traceofeffort]

How can he eat all that? At a time like this? is the question that runs through Lisa's mind automatically; she can't even think about the snacks, she's already too off balance. But she gently shakes her head again, smiling over at him. "Lisa. Pleased to meet you," she greets with energy, before deflating a little. "I kinda wish it were under better circumstances, but take what you can get, yeah?"

[howkickassiam]

He hasn't allowed himself to get overly bothered by what he saw, although there are definitely aspects of what happened that bug him. He can't help but be sympathetic though, if Lisa's more upset.

"I love meeting new people," he says, "but it'd be nice if it wasn't because of something like this."

He tilts his head a little.

"You...see something bad?"

ii

[darkforcerising]

When York called out to him as he was passing by, Anakin decided to change his plans to get another cup of lemonade and grab the seat next to York.

He set his backpack down on the ground at his feet and then offered out his robotic hand. A test.

"I'm Anakin."

[howkickassiam]

York shakes it, just a bit gingerly. He doesn't want to damage something expensive by grabbing it too hard.

"Just come from school or something?"

I

[missingache]

For Roxas' part, he just nods when York introduces himself. "I know. We live in the same building." He was just mostly here for the food. And people to talk to that weren't his mother, who didn't seem to have the same problem going on.

"So you're one of the Different, too."

Lisa Imai | BanG Dream! | open

[traceofeffort]

[A | closed: NPC | February 11th | a bar in the Bronx]
"It's hard to believe, but you're gonna miss this..." Lisa sang, strumming lightly as she went into a chorus she knew by heart as she half-sits on a stool in front of a microphone. She loved this song, and it was always good to play, both for herself and for crowds. She'd been playing this place for a few months now, maybe once a week, and she'd found herself a decent following again. Everything will be fine. Definitely... ah, gotta pay attention, can't phone the last note in. Even if she would much prefer to be at home getting some quality time with that damned paper. I'm gonna be up all night working on it... oh well. Gotta pay the bills, right?

"You're gonna mi-"

Something goes off, and suddenly she's a year or two younger, with something that is definitely not a guitar in her hands. Someone is... singing? It's powerful, but she can't understand the words, or recognize the silver-haired girl "her" age belting them out. Next to her, long blue hair and a tear guitar blasting out a rock line; behind her, a younger girl with purple twin tails banging on the drums. Lisa's own hair sweeps over her hands as she plays... is this a bass? She can barely focus on it through the feeling of euphoria running through her. Older-her hasn't ever played with a real band before, not one that matters anyway. There's a feeling of. Gestalt, maybe? She can't think of a better word for it. But something is sweeping her along, and even if she doesn't know who these girls are, doesn't know the song, can't play this instrument, she wants to be here, wants to play together with them, wants to-

-the moment ends. Lisa is so abruptly dumped back into herself that she loses her balance on the stool, expecting to still be standing, and falls to the stage, twisting so she lands on her butt and not on her guitar, or on her phone. "Ow... dammit, that hurt. So-" Before she can get out even a question under her breath, he's there, and she just sits and listens. Once Martin's done, Lisa blinks, before letting herself slip into a sardonic tone. "I'm not sure I got myself into trouble yet. Is your Bureau gonna come calling when everything goes to hell despite our best intentions?" There's a tiny note of challenge in her tone, just a little bit of steel; she doesn't appreciate the accusation. Absently, she pushes to her feet, swinging her guitar to her back.

[B | open | February 11th, immediately after A]
Once she dusts herself off and isn't quite so numb over what just happened, Lisa calmly steps off the stage, apologizes to the bartender and says she's gonna quit a bit early tonight, and asks for a glass of the strongest thing he can serve a minor. Armed with a Shirley Temple and a wry look at her before she walked off, she's sitting in a booth staring into the drink like it'll have answers, hands shaking. She'll be okay, just... not yet. Not for a while.

[C | open | rec center | TDM carry okay; new threads welcome]
Lisa's visibly a little nervous as she sits in a chair and glances around, trying and mostly succeeding to keep herself from hiding behind her mane of hair. A cup of lemonade is in her hands, shaking a little, but she's keeping her composure well enough after what's proved to be a somewhat trying meeting; her fingers on the cup, semi-consciously, move in imitation of (unfamiliar) bass lines before she catches herself and forces them to still and her heart to slow. It's some time, maybe a few minutes, before she shakes her head, works herself up to an almost-convincing smile, and musters the courage to do what she usually does when she's feeling lost: focus on other people until her thoughts settle. Lisa stands, and approaches anyone that doesn't seem too occupied with other people.

"Hey, you all right?" she gets out softly. "New stuff in your head not too overwhelming?"

Nailed it.

[D | open | network, text (voice/video OK) | February 17th, afternoon]
Help, I got kicked out of the library after I blew out two computers and a florescent light and I have a paper due in four hours I need to print. Also, less urgent, but even if the Northern lights are beautiful, I think we broke the climate if it's shining over us.

[tramitis]

[ Mr. Martin doesn't seem ruffled by her words, or her tone, whatsoever. There's a slight arching of one eyebrow, though, as he appears to be evaluating how much of a fuss she might be intending to kick up. ]

That does depend on what is causing the trouble.

[ He looks around briefly, then nods to the audience members, who are all being memory wiped as they speak. ]

Imagine if all of them could remember what you remember, or similar. It would cause a riot.

C

[darkforcerising]

Anakin was bringing a donut up to his mouth when Lisa sidled up to him and asked her question. He finished the bite and chewed, and while he chewed, he shifted his backpack on his shoulder with his prosthetic hand.

"Sure, the new memory has lots of company with," he wiggled his robotic fingers - a marvel of modern medicine, the best Earth could offer.

"What about you?"

D.

[howkickassiam]

[ York remembers this girl from the support group, so he casually answers her message about an hour after it crosses the network. ]

Honestly. I think I'm lucky my phone still works.

Aziraphale | Good Omens | OTA

[temptationaccomplished]

[[I may yet come up with ideas for the other prompts, but please accept this in the meantime]]

ii. - support group

The older, blond man in the bow-tie and light-colored tweed coat has been keeping to himself for the majority of the meeting, contributing mostly only in kind, but temperate support of others, and not yet discussing his own memories or feelings regarding those. The other Different are met with soft eyes, a warm smile, and encouragement, despite his obviously nervous, anxious energy. But Aziraphale isn't sure what to make of the Bureau yet; there's a nagging unease with the whole situation itching at the back of his mind, and a feeling that caution and limited sharing is the way to conduct oneself around such watchful eyes.

Anyway, it's not like his memory is a pleasant one, and he's rather afraid of being judged for it. Best not to go sharing that around in a room of strangers.

In any case, if he gets nothing else from this experience, at least he's not skimped on the snacks, though he has attempted to disguise the bland bitterness of the provided coffee with some sugar and creamer. (How he wishes they had hot chocolate instead. Perhaps he will just...politely leave that suggestion with one of the Bureau members in attendance, in consideration for future events.)

"Oh, here, let me move those," he offers, picking up a paper plate of snacks off the seat of a neighboring chair. As an afterthought, he dusts off the seat a smidgen too. "Terribly sorry. Didn't mean to monopolize the space."

[howkickassiam]

York had gone back for seconds, making a whole dinner out of the snacks that had been provided, unfortunately. He came back to the seats to find his now occupied, so he gladly accepts the spot the man offers.

"Thanks," he says, taking a seat and perching his plate on his lap to take a drink of his lemonade. "How you doing? I'm York."

[missingache]

"No, it's okay." It was. Roxas can understand putting plates down on a chair. That's something he's done himself when he didn't want someone sitting beside him.

"Just thought it'd be easier to sit down and not just eat by the table..." Especially since he's making this count as a meal.

Re: Aziraphale | Good Omens | OTA

[darkforcerising]

Anakin falls into the chair with a lack of grace he is unapologetic about.

He brushes off Aziraphale's concern, he didn't mind that the seat had been used as a makeshift table before he'd arrived.

He dropped his backpack at his feet.

"So they drop any important information yet?"

Obi-Wan Kenbo | Star Wars | OTA

[neverjedi]

Support Group: OTA

The memory itself was strange in the details, but not all that distressing in and of itself. What had followed worried -and if he was honest irritated- him. Something about being told to stay out of trouble, potential menace or not, was just insulting.

As such, he showed up at the meeting and was perfectly able to stomach the idea of food, but slightly grumpy about the entire thing. That grumpiness did not extend to the other people attending.

He took a muffin and a cup of coffee, which he examined somewhat critically. "Cinderblock walls and florescent lights. You'd think the 'IBA' could have done better if they were that concerned about us behaving ourselves."

For Anakin:

Once the meeting actually begins, he takes a seat and for the most part blends into the background. He watches and listens and when prompted introduces himself as Ben, but otherwise he contributes very little. He isn't evasive and he was certainly social enough before the start of the thing. He just manages to avoid providing too much information, himself.

As soon as the meeting ends, though, he approaches Anakin directly and does it with a slight, but sincere, smile and offers his hand with a sense of wryness. "Hello. I'm Kenobi." Is he sure? No. But how many people are named Anakin?

Obi-Wan and Anakin

[darkforcerising]

Anakin was still trying to make sense of everything. In a way, he was grateful for this meeting, because he knew he couldn't bring this up with his current therapist. Adding 'I have a past life and I'm getting memories of that life back' wouldn't be accepted by anyone in society.

But there was something about this whole Bureau that made him mistrustful.

And then there was the part about his memory including someone he loosely knew. They were only on a first name basis, and only saw each other a few times in the park.

"Ben Kenobi," Anakin said, putting the full name together. Staring at him now, it was so odd. In his memory the man was younger, or seemed younger - maybe it had been the hair cut.

"Anakin Skywalker," he gave his full name and shook the man's hand with his robotic hand.

[bearshermark]

Elliott glanced over, fingers hovering over a muffin but not yet taking it.

"What do you mean?" He spared a look around the interior. "..I guess it could be nicer, but it's my first time coming to one of these, so maybe it's normal?"

Merlin - BBC Merlin - OTA

[merlinastrice]

I.
"Thanks," Merlin replies.

He feels almost groggy as he rights his bicycle again. He had been riding along the street back to his flat when it hit him and...well, he hit the side of the building. Not his proudest moment. He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the intense feeling. What did Mr. Martin call i? A past life? There was more of a feeling there. Definitely more than just...a past life.

He locks his bike and makes his way into the nearest coffee shop. Maybe a chai would help settle him and give him an opportunity to assess any kind of damage he might have sustained. He is sure he looks a little frazzled.

He bumps into someone on his way to queue up.

"Sorry about that!"


II.
He's biting his thumb nail and staying toward the back of the room when he arrives at the support group. There's snacks, sure. He could gorge himself on snacks. But he'd rather not.

What did this mean? Were there going to be more surprises from his past life? Their past lives? How the hell did all of them so happen to end up here.

He's suddenly aware someone is calling his attention.

"Hmm? I'm sorry?"

II

[darkforcerising]

"I'm Anakin," Anakin said again. He shifted his backpack so he could extend his right, robotic prosthetic hand.

"My mom said she'd named me after the Greek goddess of inevitability... But someone called me 'Anakin' in my memory and now I don't know what to think. What's your story?"

I

[neverjedi]

He was not lost in thought, per-se, certainly not lost in deep or meaningful thought. He just wanted his coffee.

He didn't quite avoid being bumped into, but did catch the kid by a shoulder before they could both be thrown further off balance. "It's all-" He'd started to say it was all right, then got a better look at the kid's face. "Are you all right?"

Elliott (Eleven) | Dragon Quest XI | OTA

[bearshermark]

I

Stay out of trouble. What was that supposed to mean?

Dazed from the memory still swimming in his mind's eye, and overloaded with information, Elliott didn't make it much further before his legs decided they were done holding him up at the first available opportunity. He collapsed onto a bench with no mind for where he was. His hands shook, fingers burying into his hair and staying there as he stared down at the pavement.

His head felt suspiciously light, his surroundings and everything in his body taking on a dream-like quality: muted, disconnected, and fuzzed around the edges.

Elliott dragged his hands down to mash into his face. "This can't be real," he muttered between his fingers. "It wasn't real. Just a dream. I'm just really stressed out about school right now."

He stayed like that for several minutes, eyes closed and hands clapped over his face while he silently worked the mantra through his mind. Then his arms dropped and he slumped over his lap with a groan.

"Oh my god, I'm going crazy."


II

For all the unease eating away at his gut, the point of being there was something like bonding over shared experiences, if he understood it right. So he should probably at least try to talk to someone.

"Hi, I'm Elliott." He was always great at making friends in school, so this couldn't be too much harder, right? He was holding onto an empty glass and had been for the past ten minutes, unable to quite bring himself to put it down. "Do you really think it's true? Memories of past lives and other worlds."


III

[There's too much light pollution to see many stars, but the low-lying rooftops dotted throughout offer a breath of relief from the cramped city life. And lately, it's the only time he can focus.

Sometimes, Elliott can pick out a planet or two peeking through the blue-black sky aglow with otherwise artificial light and various aircraft, but tonight is something special.

Like star-speckled constellations, the Northern Lights are a myth to someone raised in the city. But here they are, unfolding in waves of brilliant color across the sky. They're beautiful, and Elliott remains quietly captive by the shifting display.]

Hey.. [Someone else has clambered up to his spot by the sounds of it. Still, he can't look away from the view] This is real, isn't it?

II

[darkforcerising]

Oh, the kid a chair over was talking to him. He put away his phone, took out an air pod and gave him at least half his attention.

"I gave up on western theology a long time ago." Not that that was the question asked of him, but it's how Anakin chose to answer it. "Past lives is more comforting."

Klarion the Witch Boy | Young Justice Animated Series | OTA

[hardtoignore]

II. Support Group

Clarence shoved his anxiety behind his scowl as he loaded a plate up with at least half a dozen donuts. Across the room one of the Bureau's staff made a face, so Clarence kept full eye contact with her and raised a seventh donut to his mouth. Whatever judgments she had glazed over as she turned away and he sniffed, indignant. They dragged him to this place. They didn't get to have any say in his eating habits.

Taking a cup of lemonade (there wasn't enough sugar in the entire building to make him dare touch that generic brand of lukewarm coffee), Clarence moved to find a seat he could curl up on and practically retreated into his black, cat-eared hoodie. He hated that they were forcing him into therapy. The school counselors hadn't done squat for him years ago. What made this "Bureau" think they could do better?

This was such a waste of time.


III. Bright Lights

Clarence was in the middle of feeding some of the community cats that lived behind a church in Jackson Heights* when he saw it. The can of chunky tuna hitting the ground made him jump, and he blinked down at the three cats currently scrounging for a snack.

Wiping his hand on the leg of his jeans, Clarence broke free of the alley and stared up at the sky. He suddenly felt a very, very strong urge to paint it, but at the same time something felt... off.

"What the smell is going on?" he whispered. Glancing around, he saw a fire escape that seemed reachable from even his small height. Running over, he tried to pull himself up, wanting to get a closer look despite the chill in the air.

[*Jackson Heights is in northern central Queens area.]

bright lights

[bearshermark]

Elliott turned to the clatter of someone climbing onto the roof, half-turning toward them and doing a bit of a double-take when he recognized one of his more elusive schoolmates.

"Hey, uh, this is really happening, right?"

Support Group

[darkforcerising]

Anakin dropped his backpack on the ground in front of the seat and then dropped into it with the careless grace of a millennial. He took out one of his air-pods but kept the other one in.

He looked over and said, "They haven't said anything interesting at these meetings before. Anything good tonight?"