tramitem_log | June Support Group Thread

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*support group

June Support Group Thread

Who: OPEN (Including to all the new characters who app throughout the month)
What: Bureau Run, Non-Mandatory Support Group
When: There are meetings at various times during the week, whatever works for your character between 8 am and 10 pm
Where: There are meetings at various locations around NYC, whatever works for your character
Rating/Warnings: We ask that players put appropriate warning labels in the subject lines of their threads as they become necessary

There’s a generic spread of food on a table off to one side of the room: donuts, muffins, bagels, and cookies; coffee, lemonade, water, and because one of the Different asked for it, hot chocolate. 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. The beige-painted cinder block walls and the fluorescent lighting are a terrible combination. Maybe they are reminiscent of the public school you attended in your youth?

Why are you here? Curiosity? Maybe the Bureau official will say something that will help you make sense of things? 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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"Fell," he echoed softly, a little taken aback. It took him a moment of narrowing his eyes and squinting into the middle distance over the poor rumpled man's shoulder, but the name clicked, and his eyes widened as though there really had been a light that came on somewhere and let him see.

"No," Martin rejoined, licking his lips. "But I was mistaken for a man named Fell at a restaurant, once. They thought I was coming in for his reservation. I did get a glimpse of him when he finally arrived - it was absolutely uncanny." He held out a hand. "My name's Martin, Martin Whitly."

"Martin Whitly." Why was that name familiar? "Crowley." He shook his hand. "Welcome to the psycho ward." Greetings done he folded his arms.

"First time?"

Something about that little joke niggled at him. Why did he suddenly feel just the tiniest bit offended? He brushed it away like a fly and relaxed his own posture, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"It is, yeah. I guess it's probably obvious."

"It is a bit of a deer in front of an oncoming train look. You hold it together well." But he could guess it was inside. There was something about this man that was too casual with the whole thing. "What do you make of it?"

"Oh, thank you." The smile and gratitude were genuine. He liked knowing he still had at least some semblance of composure. But the question was a good one, much better and more practical than 'how are you doing'. He took a sip of his coffee while he gave it some real thought.

"Well, at first glance, of course, it's completely preposterous. Alternate worlds and selves, memories leaking through like something out of a B movie." His eyes widened a little at that, wooly eyebrows raising in a secret sort of impishness, a flicker that was gone as soon as it came. "But then there's the fact that I was most certainly not affected by any sort of substance. No one else around me was handled in the same fashion afterward. So logically, what seems illogical must actually be happening. I think I have a lot to think about, and this is going to change the way I see a lot of things." He rocked back on his heels, glancing around the room. "I think I'll be wondering just how many folks I see on the street are dealing with this, for starters. What about you? You sound like you've had a little more time to settle into the concept."

"Aye... well... I'm still not completely on board but you get used to it whether you like or not before it goes mad again. There's no fighting it. No stopping it. You just stare at it like you've just been in a car wreck and still wonder what the hell just happened. Your ears are ringing, your heart feels like it's going to stop, but all you can do is stare."

He shook his head.

"Some memories are... stranger than most." A beat. "Apparently."

"So there's never any warning?"

That was troubling. He had terror visions of being struck with a memory while guiding a nano-probe or stitching an artery... Trading a life for a memory seemed like not a fair exchange, to say the least.

"Well, I suppose that's good to know. Maybe I should come up woth some sort of cover for it, depending on where or when it happens. I'm guessing that Mr. Martin isn't going to always come around." A slight huff of laughter. "So odd, someone having my name for a surname."

"Not that I know of. Mine usually happen when I'm asleep so there's that. Least it's something I can avoid." He was only half joking. He sighed and leaned back. "Sooner or later someone is going to notice. Then they are going to look at you strangely, ask what's wrong. Like you're not a bloody adult and can take care of yourself."

"Insomnia, huh?" He makes an educated deduction. "I take it you handle those strange looks by telling them it's none of their business..." It's not a judgemental tone, just curious, feeling things out, going off the impression Alec has already made.

"Aye..."

He gave him a look.

"That's a pretty rude assumption, isn't it?" He did, but who went around just telling people what they did or didn't do? It was bound to get people's backs up.

The corners of his mouth drew back in a 'yikes' expression so brief that Alec would miss it if he blinked.

"I wasn't trying to be rude," Martin said, almost pouting, raising his eyebrows in a silent apology. "It was just an educated guess based off the way you said they treat you like a child. You sounded pretty upset about it."

"And if someone said that to you? Don't tell me you'd just roll with it. You wouldn't just say: 'oh yeah I tell everyone to piss off'. No, you'd say something awkward or self depreciating and feel like a moron for the rest of the day. You can't just analyze people out loud like that."

He blinked a few times, considering, lips slightly parted, the very tip of his tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth: a nervous tic he'd had for ages. If someone had asked him the same, he would likely be candid, maybe a little apologetic. Awkward and self-depreciating were not things in his usual social toolbox. "I've offended you." He put it plain, and sighed. "I'm sorry, I really am. I could try to make some excuse about being addled, or a long day, but really, that doesn't do much good, does it? Just because I could picture you responding that way doesn't mean I should have told you so."

"Nnh." He wished he hadn't said anything. Getting apologized to like that just set his teeth on edge. "It doesn't matter, forget it." He took a drink of his shitty coffee and got the dregs. Figures.

He winced, hating to come off of a first impression on a bad foot. "Can I at least get you a fresh cup of coffee?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Can't really have coffee anyway." This was his third cup. "Which is fine since I hate it." But he hated sleeping more.

"Oh." He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at the refreshment table - at the other options that had been made available. If Crowley couldn't drink coffee, why was he, especially when he looked so haggard? He had a feeling he'd already crossed one boundary too many for the night. He considered, trying to figure out a change of subject that wasn't intrusive or jejeune.

"Are there any other things we need to worry about? Besides the memories, I mean."

"Not that I know of. But anything could happen so keep on your toes." Not that he could do anything about it. Not that anyone could. "And don't trust the Bureau."

"Not that I'm arguing with you," he said, keeping his voice soft, given that the Bureau sponsored these little gatherings, "just curious: what makes you say that? They were pretty rude when I met them, but that was all."

He thought. "Intuition." Whitly could leave it or take it as he would. "When you think about it? Why should we?"

He'd learned to trust his own intuition on a procedure or two, so he wasn't about to nay-say anyone else's. Though the question caught him by surprise: possibly because the Whitlys had been such a straight laced American military family that Norman Rockwell could have painted them a generation ago. Even so, he'd been on his own for almost twenty years now... plenty of time to form his own opinions of how much The System should be trusted if things should ever come into question.

"I suppose you've got a point. ... Do many of the others think the same way?"

A shrug.

"No idea. You'd have to ask them and even then you wouldn't know the truth, not really. There's a lad named Elliot though. Nice kid. Naive as hell. He works for them willingly. Don't trust him. Not for anything. You never know what they'll put him up to or what he'll do."

He gave a soft hum of thought, nodding slowly. He wasn't about to outright avoid the boy, but ... perhaps he could be useful to learn things from if he was careful enough.

Then Martin blinked, wondering where on Earth that train of thought had come from. Downright devious, almost, and he didn't usually think that way about people without reason. On any other day he might have checked Crowley for a tin foil hat after a little speech like that, but ... developments being what they were ...

"I'll definitely keep it in mind. ... How long do these usually run? I feel like we might be the last few stragglers before they tell us we don't have to go home, but we can't stay here."

"What?" He didn't get it. A shrug then. "I don't know. I don't stick around long. Same people different day usually." He should probably go too but that wold require standing but he wasn't sure it was in him yet.

"Usually," he echoed, amused - since he was, of course, not one of those same people. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley. I should probably start my way home so I have time to settle in. Early morning, tomorrow. As usual."

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scotch_egg - 2020-08-20 05:01 (UTC) - Expand

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