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tramitem_log2020-02-12 12:01 am
tramitem) wrote in tramitem_log2020-02-12 12:01 am
EVENT LOG: Bright Lights
... And when my good dream came to an end, I woke up more than ready to bend ... Full Game Navigation |
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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.” |
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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. |
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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? |
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... What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause ... |
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"It's fine. It isn't a common career; really is how most people react."
He was totally unoffended.
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"Like, do you teach at that place- what's it called... Rockefeller Center?" That was the only place he knew where people ice skated. He knew nothing about ice skating.
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"I teach at a place called Aviator Arena. Mostly little kids in groups, and teenagers who are looking toward moving up in their careers and looking for a coach who is more competition aware privately. I've done a few things at Rockefeller, but most of those are exhibitions or just play."
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"Oh my god, do you perform in plays on ice, like, Disney on Ice stuff?" He didn't know why, but this information delighted him, and he silently scolded himself for not asking about Obi-Wan's life sooner.
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"I've done Riverdance on Ice?" Which is to say yes, sort of, he does do that sort of thing but also- "What did you say you did?"
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And he would have basked in the delight of learning these new details of this person he had decided should most definitely be his friend, but then Obi-Wan asked what he did. So he had to answer.
"I'm an aerospace and aeronautics engineer."
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Anakin, sweetheart, you need better standards to determine who you're going to be friends with. He has had a lot of disbelief, some disparaging, some really odd questions, but this outright delight is baffling and very, very new. He can't decide if it's adorable or the most awkward thing int he world.
Except:
"...You're an aerospace and aeronautics engineer and you're geeking out about ice skating?" How? Why? What? "That's-" That's ridiculously impressive is what that is.
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Just then their drinks and pizzas showed up.
Before saying more, Anakin reached into his backpack and pulled out three pill bottles. He took a pill from each.
"I mean, I do work on designing engines that push the boundaries of human ingenuity. And stress testing is the best part of my job. But you do something fun. That's really cool."
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He was going to get mocked if he used a fork, but honestly? He wanted a fork. He sucked it up and picked it up, anyway and did not ask about the medication.
"The plan was occupational therapy. I got my degree, but then I realized I could keep skating for a while longer and make it pay for a bit and did. Though you can't tell me that your job isn't fun."
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"My job is a blast - literally." Anakin smiled at his own pun. "The design aspect in office is necessary but stress testing when we get to intentionally wreck our designs to see what works or fails and why is great. And then testing the final product is cool, too. And watching our product in use is rewarding."
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"It's also impressive. You can say it isn't rocket science with an actual basis for comparison." A pause. "You said you were from Arizona? How long have you been in New York?"
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"I moved up start of last fall. For my job. Did you grow up out here?"
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“That shoots down one idea. Was thinking maybe we were all picked because we were recent transplants. But if you’ve been here ten years...” he shook his head and took another bite.
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"I'm not sure they'd put us all in a room together and encourage us to talk if there was any obvious link between us," he admitted. "Even monitored."
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He absolutely believed there was more.
But the fact that he had the same memory of Obi-Wan that Obi-Wan had of him...
"Okay, in your memory, was it your point of view? Or were you watching it from like, afar or something like that?"
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He wiped his fingers on his napkin and took a drink of his soda. "It was my point of view. It was virtually identical to any other memory I have, except I hadn't remembered it before and most of my own memories have more... context?"
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"Mine was from my point of view, too... So... if they are putting memories in our heads, they're highly tailored... thats..."
Out of some kind of science fiction movie for sure.
"Do you remember feelings?"
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He didn't reject his emotions, they were just odd and he'd have to think about what the hell that was all about. Sadly on his own because he barely knew Obi-Wan and he knew he couldn't bring this up with his actual therapist. And he wasn't too sure about that support group yet.
He was happy the server stopped by and he handed them his almost empty glass of rootbeer to refill
He fished into his pocket and opened his phone to his contacts and passed it over to Obi-Wan.
"If you want to stay in contact in case we get more shared memories and you want to discuss them. We probably should, if just to keep ourselves informed."
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He stopped to dig his own phone out, too, then glanced up: "I'd also like to know if you remember your feelings about it."
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He typed in his phone number and name as 'Beats you at chess,' then closed the app before handing it back.
As he was handing it back, he said. "I do- I was excited to meet you." There was something more in the encounter that he needed to figure out, but like with all his experiences in life, his emotions came in layers and apparently, these either false memories or past life memories were no different.
But he didn't stay on the topic, because it skated on the edge of being difficult to navigate for two people who really just meet... Again, apparently.
"You can text me anytime, actually. I promise to keep my texts within the bounds of what are socially acceptable times. I just don't... uh, sleep right. So I don't care."
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He nodded slightly in recognition of what Anakin said and did not try to pry further. One shared memory did not entitle him to pry, particularly not when he wasn't sure how hard he wanted to look at that memory himself, much less have to look at it too hard and share the results of it.
Which was strange, because the memory was innocuous.
At least in content.
He grinned, quick and - sweet ? Sweet - "You can text me whenever you want, too. My phone just gets turned to do not disturb between midnight and eight a.m." He sleeps very right, okay?
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The server came by and asked if they needed anything and Anakin asked for a to-go box for the rest of his pizza.
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He also asked for a to go box - yes, really, waiter, a separate one. He got busy getting the rest of his soda finished as soon as he was gone, though.
Look, he paid for that thing.
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