The sudden chaos of the room is overwhelming, and Lens was sure the ambient energy being so charged with every kind of emotion wasn't helping. Manifesting as a sort of visual snow among those left, Lens touches a hand to his forehead, as though he had a headache, and tries to distinguish the cacophony of emotions from the more literal shouts and gasps. Disoriented as he is, it proves more difficult than he hoped; some people had left almost immediately, and others are beyond distraught, even if they didn’t outwardly show it.
“Where did they go?”
“Are they dead?”
“Did it kill them?”
“Best get started, then.”
Tangled up like a fraying ball of yarn, Lens takes a single mental thread and begins unraveling it in his mind. //This isn’t anything new, nor are these reactions. Always easier to antagonize those that are panicked and distrustful. People who have no clear path forward.// He tilts his head, taking note of those still remaining in the lobby for now.
//Two middle-aged women. Another middle-aged man. A man in his... 20s? 30s? Another in that age range. Cain. An annoying-looking blonde hanging around a child. Another machine. Another young-looking human. Yet another young human, with a canine companion.//
[[Ponder warm weiners.]] The white plates shone like the lovingly-carved marble of the temple. My heart fluttered in my chest seeing that alone. I kept gazing at them, and reached up to my head, gently touching my horns as I looked upon theirs. The detailing was so comfortingly similar. As my eyes wandered down, I couldn't help but smile like a child on Winterlight; their hands looked strong, but still nimble. So many possibilities. To grasp without breaking. I felt like my heart was going to overflow and drown in warmth. I just had to be patient.
My friend glanced towards me. Still unable to hide my emotions well, it was easy to see my sheer joy in every movement and expression. He smiled, as though my joy were infectious; it seemed like years lifted from his face, if only for that brief moment.
[[Drift Further]]Looking out felt like trying to grasp mist in a dream. My arm, raised again and again, as I lie in fog, no amount of flame or anguish able to burn it away. The fire was so bright. I missed the night that felt like eternity.Lens lies on the floor of the lobby, near the door he so gracefully flung himself into a few minutes ago. Hands clasped over his torso, the sounds of panic, rage, fear, so on and so forth, at the sudden change in plan for everyone present build and consume the lobby. More akin to a zoo than a ritzy transportation hub at the moment, he waits for the noise to settle before prying himself up and calling his journal from his pocket dimension. A few people and people-adjacent creatures had started to wander off, but after jotting down a quick summary of current events, he begins walking back towards the gaggle of odd individuals and not-so-individuals. Some of these people look like overly-decorated holiday trees to Lens, with each point of light a different consciousness. He’d certainly seen weirder, paying it no mind. For the time being, he continues.
Before he reaches the group, there’s another tremble in the air, like the first time that self-important ghost came to announce their impending doom or whatever, and a supernatural wind rips through the lobby, carrying its voice. The acoustics in the lobby are less-than-stellar, and Lens picks up something about overhiring or thereabouts; more of its typical villain speech kind of thing, he figures. All of a sudden, the darkness of the terminal grows, and the room becomes that much dimmer in Lens’ vision; over a dozen consciousnesses suddenly wink out of existence before him.
[[Observe.]] //Why is that the only thing they look at? Always lumped in with the everyman. Any interest smothered as soon as they see it.//
The next wire clicked into place, its connection hissing upon contact with the core. Its soft green glow was the only light in the room other than the small desk lamp illuminating his workspace; the sun had set hours earlier, and he was so enraptured by his project that he couldn't even be bothered to turn on the lab's overhead lights.
He'd never be able to get their faces out of his mind. Every look of active interest turned to disappointment, then to dismissal. The expressions of shock and horror at his proposal stung most of all.
The translucent jade core flickered, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat. How appropriate. It would be taking its place soon. Its surrounding plates rattle against each other briefly, like it could sense the years of frustration permeating his every action, though in joyous anticipation or fear, he didn't know, nor cared to know.
The thought to stop had long since been drowned out by the logic of failure; what use was a life without recognition? His dream, its passion replaced with cold determination, was worth whatever he had to do. His peers here were almost even tolerable. They understood more than anyone so far. Funding, a workspace, their stares ones of expectation, not condescension.
He slid a thread into the amalgam of glass and metal. His heart was a small price to pay for the future owed to him.
[[Even Further]]//Tick//.
My eye twitched. Sitting in this chair had started to get exhausting.
//Tick//.
The clock on the wall certainly wasn't helping.
//Tick//.
Every moment that passed hung thick with the weight of eternity to me, but to the man behind the desk, this was business as usual: just another engineer coming to him looking for funding. He'd been going over paperwork for hours now, sometimes stopping to call someone over the phone. Or multiple someones, from the one-ended conversations I'd been subjected to. The calls were all finances, resources, timelines, schedules, contracts, just on and on about things that these people convinced themselves mattered.
Finally, he looked up from the mountain of paper on his desk and directly at me. I almost jumped in my seat from the sudden break in routine. "Everything seems to be in order to try your method. The boys down in magitech agree it's feasible."
I shot up from my chair so quickly it took a second to center myself. "That's what I've been trying to tell you! I got through already, didn't I?" The words spilled out of me like water over the edge of a flooded dam. So many days spent, just to get started. The building was already finished. It was just the superficial touches left. "How long will it take?" I'd been here for months already. I'd nearly given up. But now the hubris of hope felt like it consumed my very being, the nearly-faded ember flaring back to life.
He smiled, less like a friend and more like a predator, but I didn't care. We only had enough power to get me through. Their best, their brightest. Our last chance, and this the only world we could even get a signal back from. A desperate hand, reaching out to infinity, with a single glance in our direction.
"To get everything delivered? About a week." That made enough sense. The people of this place could move around their own world easily. It was only extending elsewhere they couldn't do yet. I nod, and he continues, "Testing and constructing? Couldn't tell you." I didn’t mind that. I knew it would work. It already had worked, with less power available. This place is so thick with energy I saw motes of seafoam drifting through the hall every now and then. I nodded again.
He nodded in return. "Go down to receiving and make sure the parts are what you need, yeah?" Without hesitation, I'm gone, whisking myself away to the drydock downstairs.
[[Wake]] He’d been in a similar situation a few months back, with his allies back home. They weren’t trapped anywhere, but someone had seen fit to sow distrust among them, likely in hopes that they’d turn their weapons on each other and save them the trouble.
//Food. Security. Safety. Trust.// He nods to himself and strides to roughly the middle of the lobby, posture as relaxed as he can manage. Hoping others would feel encouraged, or at least distracted, by no-selling their frankly distressing situation, Lens wordlessly begins pulling out some of the camping equipment he’d been tasked with managing for his allies back home. A hole opens a few feet off the ground, and a table from within lands without much noise, followed by a coal-powered portable grill. More careful with the rest of his supplies, Lens opens another hole like one would open a backpack, and pulls out various tableware and well-preserved meats, vegetables, cheese and such, placing them onto the table.
A few people start to gather closer, and at least part of his plan is already working; the fear and shock has started to give way to confusion and curiosity.
[[Commence the weining.]]Lens steps back and pauses, considering his options.
[[Adjust their gravity.]]
[[Adjust their friction.]]
[[Throw a pickle at Zetsel.]]
[[Zetsel seems to have an idea.]]
(if: $visitedItem5 and $visitedItem6 and $visitedItem7 and $visitedItem15)[
(link-reveal-goto: "Hm. My specialty, then.")[Hm. My specialty, then.]]Tilting his head, Lens gestures upwards with a hand in a clawing motion. His magic, still its bizarre stygian blue, springs from underneath the chairs the pair of spirits are sitting on, passing through the spirits entirely, though the chairs rise upwards right through them.
Lens sighs, and the chairs gently float back down to their initial positions.
[[Try something else.]]
(set: $visitedItem6 to true)Lens snaps his wrist back towards himself. Zetsel sees the thin stygian blue string of Lens' magic streak out toward the pair, encircle them, and then dissipate into frayed thread. The shredded remains sink into the chairs they're on, and they slide to the side, bumping into some of the other chairs in the lobby. The two spirits remain in their seated position.
"How strange," Lens mumbles as he goes to place the chairs back.
[[Try something else.]]
(set: $visitedItem7 to true)A pickle from the table back in the lobby falls through the paper plate it was resting on, leaving Mother Hawthorne with a thoroughly confused expression.
The pickle tumbles through Lens' pocket space, and, in solidarity with the unfortunate test tomato from earlier, shoots out of the rift with concerning speed, catching Zetsel off-guard and smacking him with a wet //thmp// before bouncing off his face and landing on the floor.
Zetsel snaps his head towards Lens with a perplexed anger so obvious Lens didn't need to cheat at figuring out his emotions. Before Zetsel can get a word out, Lens flashes an ascii smile on his screen and says, sincere and deadpan, "A pretzel would have been too easy. Low-hanging... bread." He shrugs and continues, not letting Zetsel respond, "Either way, they don't seem to really care. Not even a shifted eye our way."
Biting the inside of his cheek and taking a deep breath, Zetsel swallows the flash of anger from his face's sudden encounter with a pickle. "Well, what now?"
[[Try something else.]]
(set: $visitedItem5 to true)One of those approaching appears to be a middle-aged human man; his attire and grooming are in the baffling middle ground between messy and meticulous. Feeling an approaching curiosity before physically registering his presence, Lens isn’t surprised by a sudden question from off to his side.
“This all seems dreadfully rote to you; is there any particular reason these portals can’t take us out of here?” The voice is dry and tired, but his curiosity feels genuine.
Without missing a beat, Lens catches a tomato from the spread he’s setting up, and in a single motion, opens a small rift and tosses the tomato into it. The rift acts like a cannon more than a door, launching the tomato out at the same mach fuck that Lens had experienced earlier, and, much to the tomato’s misfortune, it is not made out of magically-reinforced mystery metal. As such, it has a much harder time staying intact upon contact with a wall.
The man’s eyes follow the tomato’s trajectory, and Lens, still prepping what very much looked like a cookout at this point, adds, “You’re quite welcome to try if you’d like.”
The man flinches at the tomato’s fate. //The physical force was enough to crush bone//, he thought, //and the magic seemed roughly five types of unstable.// Snapping out of the accidental display of force, the man responds, “I’ll pass, thank you. Though, might I ask the point of this?”
“In short, giving people something to focus on that isn’t our current circumstances.” Lens snaps his wrist towards the coals in the grill, causing them to instantly ignite with a controlled heat. The man, still observing Lens, watches in rapt fascination by his casual manipulation of energy. To the others present, it likely appeared as standard, if impressive, magic, but to him, it was a brilliant, almost terrifying display of magical and physical forces blended together with the seeming ease of anyone else simply taking a step forward.
Lens, now busying himself with grilling, laughs. “Lens, aimless journalist, if you need a name. I find our type forgets introductions more often than not.”
“Ah. Right. Doctor Zetsel. Apologies; I’m not used to someone so casually breaking a handful of laws of physics to…” he pauses, taking a moment to glance around the lobby, “grill in the lobby of a cursed interdimensional terminal.”
[[Be a nerd.]]"Doctor, would you mind accompanying me? Typical safety rules and all that," Lens directs towards Zetsel after setting his apron and grillin' tools on the table. "I imagine your company may be preferable to those less... investigatorily-inclined."
Zetsel's brow briefly raises, the first time his face has had the opportunity to relax since he set out for this accursed terminal. //I don't think I'll ever get used to that//, he thinks before returning to his usual stoic expression. "Likewise," he returns with a nod. //At worst, staying near such an arcane anomaly may be a benefit in and of itself.//
A smile flashes across Lens' screen-like face. "Excellent! Then, shall we be off?" Without waiting for an answer, he heads off down one of the hallways connecting the lobby to everything else in the complex. For a moment, Zetsel almost regrets agreeing to wander off into the dark with such an individual, and nearly misses the unsettling coldness of his biomechanical monstrosity of a lab partner, but follows nonetheless.
Feeling Zetsel catch up to him, Lens asks, "So, Doctor, I typically try to get an idea of what my allies are capable of on excursions such as this, if you'd be so kind as to indulge me. You've seen what I can do, so it's common courtesy to share, is it not?"
That almost regret is getting closer to actual regret, but with a quick sigh, Zetsel replies, "Hmm. The long and short of it would be easiest described as magitechnical engineering. No more, certainly no less."
Lens laughs, sudden, loud, and jarring. Zetsel looks towards him in some mix of shock and concern yet again, his arms tense and ready to address whatever's coming afterwards. But it was just more words. "You are now, are you? How quaint," Lens says through fading laughter.
"Quaint?"
"I suppose 'quaint' isn't //entirely// the correct term. It's an amusing coincidence, is all."
"I see." He pauses. "Is the extent of your abilities truly what you displayed earlier? The conjuration."
"Ah, no, I'd be quite a lackluster magician if all I had were parlor tricks."
//Lackluster? All of that, lackluster?// He feels the faintest stirring of actual anger. "That's your idea of a parlor trick?"
"It is! Though it could feel that way to me, given my knack with spacial manipulation. The laws of reality are really quite entertaining; the more I learn, the more I can control." He shrugs. "Anywho, there seems to be a directory of sorts at the intersection ahead. That should be quite helpful."
Zetsel squints. He sees a sort of pillar at the end of the hallway, but it's a vague shape outlined by the cyan emergency lighting, which is distinctly not a readable directory. "I... suppose it is?" He's far more interested in how cryptic this machine is being, but solving the problem at-hand should take precedence anyway; no use in finding what he's after if he's stuck, or worse, in an old, disused building.
"Where to?"
[[Library.]]
[[Customs.]]
The library is just as oddly devoid of dust and debris as everywhere else in the terminal so far. A warm pulse emanates from Lens, warm enough that Zetsel instinctively looks towards the source of the sudden change, but it fades into the bleak dimness of the room as fast as it came. "Is something amiss?" he asks, still looking in Lens' direction.
"Oh, I'm quite alright! If anything, I'm more annoyed than ever about my current... condition," he returns, neck craned up towards the top shelves of this ornate, well-stocked library. With inhuman sharpness, he starts looking around the room, scanning the depths of the darkness for a ladder, chair, table, anything, really. After a few seconds, he stops, shaking his head. "Ah, no, can't get ahead of myself. Wouldn't know where to start anyway. We're here for specific information, not to go through every single book in a grand library in a dimension I've no memory of," he mumbles.
With a sigh, Zetsel leaves Lens to his own, overly-excitable devices, and heads towards one of the only disordered spots in view: a lone table stands in a nook near the entrance, its surface covered with books that never got the chance to be returned to their proper shelves. The emergency lighting still being one of the only sources of light does come with the drawback of the text being barely legible, and the size and number of books on the table being a guess at best, which has the further downside of there suddenly being a book where Zetsel didn't think there was one, and said book now being on the floor very abruptly.
The noise is apparently enough to startle Lens, as he makes a quick swipe at the air in front of him, carrying the motion into a sort of of odd bounce and bringing his hand back up with a gleaming ball of light.
Zetsel really hoped Lens wasn't a mind reader; he knows that motion, and he knows that he knows. That's what Lens did to open his cookout supply-laden tears in space.
Lens laughs, a bit awkwardly, looking towards the ball of light he'd conjured, and then to the book on the floor. "A little caution goes a long way."
//What a strange response. It does rule out proper mind reading. Though, with his earlier comment about being birds of a feather... Certainly this isn't some sort of elaborate game to him, is it?// Zetsel rolls his eyes. "A little caution and neither of us might be in this mess." //A little caution and I wouldn't need to be in any form of this mess at all.// The augment pulses, somehow mockingly. Or pityingly. Perhaps both.
"I'm assuming you've found something?"
"Possibly. Can't quite make out everything, though it looks to be 101s on some of my fields of study."
"Ah! So magical whatsits, then?" Lens almost tries to rift over to the table, but stops before making the motion again. His frustration releases itself with another small flash of heat as he walks, bound to the laws of gravity like everyone else.
"I suppose that's a way to put it. Regardless of your... whimsical designation, it's a complex field, and there's at least a few overlaps with what I've been wrapped up in as of late."
"Explains why you were so quick to accept an excursion around the facility with someone like myself, then."
Zetsel shoots a quick glance towards Lens before returning to the very specific selection of books. "Perhaps. In any case, I appreciate the light." Going back to the one he had open, Lens' magical light was all he needed to start reading with the practiced fervor of someone with a lifetime of experience poring over technical manuals and dense theoretical texts. //I recognize some of these authors. Early pioneers in their fields, though they'd be the current of cutting-edge portal technology at the time. This being the grounds of the first fully functional ones would make a fully up-to-date explanation unlikely to be present, though, wouldn't it?//
While Zetsel is fully occupied with piecing together parts of the puzzle that is the terminal incident, Lens takes a seat at the table, leaning forward and resting on his elbows, content for now to observe. As soon as Zetsel hits his third book, Lens asks, "Anything interesting yet?"
He groans. "Possibly. By today's standards, these are half disproven, and half updated to the point of obsolescence. Given the incident, I'd like to think these weren't pulled out for some sort of emergency maintenance. The sheer incompetence that would imply."
"There's a non-zero chance of that. I'm sure I don't have to explain that at all. Not to you."
Still reading, Zetsel replies, too busy with his study for his tone to change, "And what do you mean by that?"
"That we're almost assuredly birds of a feather. Or perhaps foxes of a fur? No, snakes of a scale feels better. Doesn't quite flow off the tongue, but it's more apt, wouldn't you agree?”
//That is quite possibly the dumbest permutation of a cliché I've ever heard.//
Lens chuckles, his screen flashing a smile. "Regardless, if your apprehensive guess is anywhere close to correct, it would imply the disaster here was in fact something going awry with the portals themselves, would it not?"
"Potentially. It would have been experimental magitechnology at the time, getting something connected off-world. Bizarre choice to use a public facility practically as testing grounds, though I suppose that would get a large sample size," Zetsel trails off, lost in another outdated textbook.
Lens tilts his head. "That it would. Are you quite done with your study session?"
"No."
"There's nothing stopping you from bringing anything interesting with you. I'd gladly even store them for you."
Zetsel looks up, then back to the pile of books yet to be power-skimmed through. With a sigh, he responds, "Having a magical storage space is almost frustratingly convenient. Very well." He gestures to the stack with a grandiose wave.
Flashing another smile, Lens flicks his wrist, and the pile of books tumbles through the table and out of sight. The departed wouldn't miss them.
[[Go elsewhere.]]
(set: $visitedItem1 to true)Another lobby greets the two, just as dustless as everything else so far. The sign on the door outside reads 'customs,' and it looks like just about every other drab bureaucratic lobby that has ever been and ever will be built. The walls are lined with affordable (not cheap) chairs, and the room is divided by a counter, behind which stands a row of doors.
Lens and Zetsel approach the counter, taking glances around the lobby as they go. Lens suddenly stops, causing Zetsel to bump into him. A noise, that noise from earlier, like a haunted fax machine screaming from within Lens' chest, emanates from him again. Zetsel knows what happened; at this point it feels painfully obvious to him that Lens, for as intimidating his magical prowess may be, is weirdly fragile, with the slightest disruption to whatever it is that he runs off of causing these malfunctions. //Inconvenient.//
Like last time, it merely take him a moment to get back to talking as if nothing had happened. He kneels down, picking up one of the very few things out-of-place in the terminal so far. "H̵̫͈͗̀̇m̸̨̼̙̏̂͝m̷̰̂.̷̬̉͊̚ ̸̪͊̊B̴̢̥̭̈́o̵̧̭͌n̵̝̻̬̑d̸͈̹̩̈́ ̷̢̻͚͒͑m̵͙͚̈̍̚ͅa̶̭̳̎͑̚g̴̖͈̿̈͜i̶̳̘͘c̵̰̦̑̽̐?"
"Bond magic? What about it?"
"I̵̟̝̘͑͋'̶̳̭̀m̸̫͐ ̷̧̤̯͆͌u̵̝̺̾̒n̵̺͐̊̀f̵̻͌̃̄a̶m̵i̷l̵iar."
Zetsel takes a moment to process what Lens said, and not because of the distortion. "How?"
Lens starts flipping through the small pamphlet. "I'm new in town."
//New or not, how do you wind up on a planet on purpose and not know even the basic way it works?//
"I have a rough idea of what it is and how it is from my time spent wandering around before taking my trip upwards, but I never thought to look into it very deeply. My magic works just fine, if not even more efficiently here, and the details seemed like something to do after this little adventure. Alas, here we are," he ends with a dramatic lilt. "But please don't hestitate to enlighten me, if you're so inclined."
Zetsel rolls his eyes. "It's simply magic that operates on your connections. Positive, negative, it doesn't quite matter. A running joke in scholarly circles has it called 'the power of friendship,' which, given that that's not entirely incorrect, agitates me in a way beyond words."
"Ah, understood," Lens nods. Placing the pamphlet on the counter, he starts towards the rooms in the back.
(text-colour:#343a40)[//Listen.//]
He opens a door, heading inside.
(text-colour:#343a40)[//Find it.//]
"Doctor, are you saying something out there?" he calls from the room in the back. Getting no response, Lens returns to the customs lobby.
Zetsel is keeping himself occupied by going through some of the drawers behind the counter, and takes a beat to notice Lens. "Can I help you?"
"I thought I- Ah, no, nevermind. Perhaps I'm having more trouble adapting to the magic here than I thought. I'm assuming there's nothing of note here?"
"Not that I can see, no."
"Elsewhere, then?"
[[Go elsewhere.]]
(set: $visitedItem4 to true)[[Library.]]
[[Customs.]]
(if: $visitedItem1 and $visitedItem4)[
(link-reveal-goto: "Go over information.")[Go over information.]]Lens puts a hand to his chin, thinking. He then pulls his pen and journal back out of a rift and starts mumbling to himself before asking aloud, "So, what do we have with those two excursions? An educated guess that the portals themselves were malfunctioning?"
"As well as a fair assumption that there was no explosion or some other generation of kinetic force. Everything seems-"
"Frozen," Lens interrupts.
"Not the word I was going to use, but yes. No dust, no damage nor debris."
"I mean, yes, frozen comes with the connotation of cold, so locked or suspended may be more accurate. Semantics aside, that could be what's interfering with my rifts to outside. Some sort of stasis that's only affecting and detectable from inside the terminal." Scribbling furiously in his notebook, he continues, "One more place before heading back? I'd like to find one of these specters up close."
[["Perhaps lost and found?"]]Lost and found was apparently the right way to go; in this lobby, much smaller than the others so far, sits a pair of women, their transparent, cyan-colored hues giving their etherial nature away immediately. The two are having a conversation, seemingly oblivious to Lens and Zetsel's arrival.
"It's not like there's a boarding process or anything," the smaller one says. Her voice is bright and bubbly, even though her animal-like ears folding back give away her anxiety. "We're up next, and I'm sure it's here. It'll be super quick!"
The other woman sits much more reserved, her one arms holding what was left of the other, and her face tilted downwards, making her bull-like horns all the more intimidating. "We wouldn't have needed to wait if you paid more attention."
"I'm sorry! I'm just so, you know, like, I got so excited. You know how it is," she says with an awkward apologetic smile. "They'll give it back, and off through the portal we go! Get you something that'll actually fit this time."
"It's just a knife."
"Yeah, but it's //my// knife!"
She huffs. The smaller one keeps going on, appearing to be trying her best to comfort the bull-horned woman about the ticket number that would never be called. The one-sided conversation continues, and Lens tilts his head. The pair had the most fascinating and concerning mix of feelings to them. Deep affection, hope, bubbling excitement, and nothingness. Like a strobe light blinking between a blindingly bright blend of sheer joy and then absolutely nothing.
"A knife. Hmm." He shuffles further back into lost and found, peering through the different boxes with all manner of labeling until he finds one that reads 'Weapons.' Taking a look into it, he sees an assortment of left-behind and forgotten adventurering tools, still perfectly real and physical. Out of the smorgasbord, there's somehow a lone knife, which he picks up and flips in his hand before catching it and shouting, "Doctor, I've got an idea."
From the front of the lost and found lobby, Zetsel is having his own confusing read on the pair seated there. Whatever they are, their energy signature is undulating between silver, black, cyan, nothing. Over and over, without any sort of pattern or reason at all, Zetsel is starting to understand why Cain had mentioned the spirits being both there and not there. //We may actually be on to something.//
It's at this moment Lens comes back brandishing a knife.
Again taking a defensive stance, Zetsel struggles to even figure out what to ask this time.
"No need for alarm! They don't seem to even know we're here, so I want to try a few things. Cain said he couldn't exorcise them, and since that's our condition of release, figuring out how to do that may be prudent."
Zetsel's face is pure incredulity as he makes a 'be my guest' gesture towards the pair of spirits.
Lens returns a sarcastic bow, and walks to place himself directly in front of the women. "Good afternoon!" he says, not bothering with figuring out what time of day it actually was.
No response.
"Apologies for eavesdropping, but this is what you're looking for, yes?" he says, showing the animal-eared woman the knife.
No response.
"Hmm."
[[Try something else.]] (set: $visitedItem1 to false, $visitedItem2 to false, $visitedItem3 to false, $visitedItem4 to false, $visitedItem5 to false, $visitedItem6 to false, $visitedItem7 to false, $visitedItem8 to false, $visitedItem9 to false, $visitedItem10 to false, $visitedItem11 to false, $visitedItem12 to false, $visitedItem13 to false, $visitedItem14 to false, $visitedItem15 to false)
(go-to:"Drifting")The inside of Lens' head is still ringing. A couch sturdy enough to accommodate feels like a wish so conveniently granted.
"Would the floor be so uncomfortable you needed to find something cushioned?"
Lens tunes back into the present to find Zetsel looking down at him. Displaying a quick smile and a wave, Lens replies, "It would, actually. I enjoy comfort just as much as others, thank you very much. This may take a bit, so you may as well get comfortable yourself."
"Take a bit?"
"Yes."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning this may take a bit." A sideways smile flashes on his screen.
With a groan, Zetsel wanders back down the hallway a bit, and eventually comes back with a fairly plain-looking chair. He sets it down next to Lens' commandeered couch, and sitting down is all the reminder he needs to understand that he should also rest.
"Something like this isn't exactly a common occurrence. Bodies of sinew and meat struggle with this whole sort of thing," Lens says, waving his hand limply in the air.
"Says the machine."
"I have my own flaws. We've been at this for a few hours and I'm already laid out on an overly-cushioned bench."
//I'm sure I- no, the amplifier didn't help.// Zetsel leans forward, resting his elbows near his knees.
"Though, this is kind of... nice, in a way. I'd almost want to stay, provided we could find a way to get this all working again. Can't imagine I can just ask that spectral fuckwit to just turn off whatever dimensional lock it's set up."
"Oh? What happened to that whole 'aimless journalist' bit from earlier?"
"Everything would come to me. Or I could go anywhere that's somewhere. Infinite universes to study."
"And what would you do at the end of your studies?"
"There wouldn't be an end."
His brow furrows. "You weren't kidding when you said aimless, were you?"
"I tend to say what I mean and mean what I say." He lounges further back onto the couch. A few moments pass, both researchers content to rest in silence, until Lens asks, "What did it cost?"
He immediately looks up, perplexed. "Cost?"
"Your mistake."
//...Maybe I do leave him here after all.//
"No need to get defensive, and certainly no need for outright hostility."
//No one is this good at reads. If he thinks that sort of conjuration is a parlor trick, there's no real stopping him from mind-reading, is there?//
"I'm serious. You just... remind me of a friend, is all. You both have this... burden, or guilt, or frustration, or whatever way you want to phrase it, hanging about you like an ominous cloud. But I won't pry into it, since you're clearly not in the mood."
Zetsel relaxes, but only slightly. "I would appreciate if you didn't."
"Of course. I could tell you about my mechanic, if that would put you more at ease."
"Your mechanic?"
"Correct; I wasn't exactly planning on getting trapped on this plane, so I didn't think I needed to even inform him of my leaving. Since you and he feel similar to each other, I'd assumed you may be one of the few individuals present to whom I may be able to entrust any needed maintenance."
Zetsel shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "I suppose that makes sense. It certainly explains that laugh earlier." //Being able to see how he works might actually be exactly what I'm after. May make up for humoring him though all of this.//
"On the note of being stuck, what brought you all the way up here? You're certainly no exorcist."
//I might have already found it.// "I'm here looking for something interesting as well."
[[Pry.]]"That 'something' involving that secret of yours?"
Zetsel tenses back up so quickly he half-expects a peal of thunder. //'I won't pry,' he said.// No slouch when it comes to measured responses, though, he relaxes just as fast, and responds, "Going from asking about guilt to accusing me of hiding something, are we?"
"We seem to be, yes. But your reaction is all I needed. That mistake of yours was costly indeed, wasn't it? Though, I imagine you aren't going to do much at all about knowing I know. I'm sure you can even play out the rest of this conversation in your head."
//Worse than a mind reader, then.// "Are you, now?"
Still perfectly relaxed, Lens lazily rolls his face towards Zetsel, "I am, yes. I'd bet my coat on it."
Zetsel waits for a moment for Lens to elaborate, and when it's clear he's going to just keep lounging, Zetsel groans. "Humor me."
Now rolling over on his side and propping himself up with an elbow, Lens returns Zetsel's groan. "Well, for starters, you coming back with a suspiciously inanimate body might draw more attention than someone like you might want."
He quirks an eyebrow, bemused. //Someone like me.//
"It would be even more suspicious because I'd made such a hard-to-ignore gesture of thoughtfulness and good will before we left to investigate. And more suspicious still that someone capable of conjuring things so freely were to become incapacitated at all."
//So it was an act after all.//
"I know this all probably feels quite... threatning. But my assumption that you won't do anything is because whatever burden you carry felt like it lifted while we were in the library. You even almost seemed... not happy, but satisfied."
Ever the day for uncomfortable revelations, the full meaning of 'the more I understand, the more I can control' dawns on Zetsel.
//So much worse than a mind reader. The worst part was that he isn't wrong. If we are as alike as he's been saying, then he doesn't have any reason to start something, either, and might even have secrets of his own. And I've got more pressing things to worry about than working out the infinite rabbit hole of accounting for each other's reactions. I apparently also have the insurance of a mere touch making him collapse, regardless.//
"I don't expect you to fully trust me. I'm just saying I'd get quite bored, on-edge even, with the gaggle of oddballs trapped in here as well." Still sideways on the couch, he shrugs. "I'm fairly certain you've recognized things about me I'd rather not be shared as well, so, there's no harm in continuing to investigate alongside each other, no? I'd offer a handshake, but that seems unwise."
Zetsel pinches the bridge of his nose. "At this rate, you're not going to be able to give anyone here a handshake. And I'm not thrilled with the idea of you being correct, but no, this might be what we need to get out. The actual exorcists may be in over their heads if we're correct about what these 'ghosts' actually are."
Lens smiles.
[[Go over notes.]](text-colour:black)+(bg:#fff9db)[Doctor Zetsel - Intelligent, magitechnologist. Almost exact pattern as Theodore; definitely hiding something quite dark. Contact agitates core. Presence feels literally draining.
Hawthorne - Cleric. Avoid. Useful as long-range assistant, apparently.
Spirits - Likely displaced. Did not react to anything like a standard undead. Doctor Zetsel was able to provoke a miniscule response somehow. Unable to pull out of displacement, which is beyond agitating.
Self - Hallucinating. Magic is more fluid. Unsure of connection. Instability periods more frequent but shorter. Stranger.]
[[Back into the seafoam fog.]] I stir. I flex my arm. My hand. //My hand//. Upright. Warm. I take a breath; it's stifled. A brief panic envelops me. I think I may be suffocating, but the panic is replaced with comfort; a freedom I never imagined. I open my eyes; the world is so much smaller now. I see how others do. A step forward, my heel clicks on the tiled floor, my tail has weight. Another shock of panic; my wings were gone. Not gone, lighter. I reach for them, and they come. I feel them again. I stretch. I don't miss my old form for a second. This is better. Correct. I can drive away the snow.
I hear a noise. I heard a noise.
It stings.
It's burning.
[[Drown.]]My temper flared. I was barely holding myself together, and every word out of his mouth was making it that much harder to stop myself from ripping him apart. Violence wouldn’t get us anywhere. I repeated it to myself like a mantra, over and over until the words stopped meaning anything.
“After opening week, we’ll see about getting everyone through. You know we sunk a lot of time and money into this place, and we just can’t have our first week full of a bunch of…” He paused, his face awkwardly contorted as he reached for a ‘nice’ word to use. “Well, you know, it’s just not what our clientele is expecting.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to destroy this entire building. But that would have solved nothing. It’d already been so long. One more day. That night. Opening week was almost over.
[[Cast off.]]He thought he was going to die of sheer system shock; the device had taken almost too well to his body, and every nerve in his body strained under the acclimation. He reaches for an emergency painkiller to deaden his nerves, jamming its point into his left shoulder.
A sharp exhale marked the beginning of the end, with the medication acting quickly and intensely. Able to think again, he started running numbers in his head, formulating exactly what he needed to write down when he could move again. A faint mist drifted through the room, snaking through the tables and cabinets in the room into the antlion’s jaws now embedded in his chest. The gem sparked to life, its interior swirling with green lights akin to a spiral galaxy: a beautiful encapsulation of a cruel reality.
[[Sink.]]“Ah! Glad someone noticed.” Lens rolls a hotdog over to get an even char, then flips a patty with extra flourish, its grease landing in the tray below. A grin flashes on his screen as he continues, “Glad to have someone around more familiar with the arcane. I was expecting most people here to be more… the spiritual type, what with the task at hand.”
Zetsel tilts his head slightly. “And what gives you the idea I’m not?”
The screen flashes to an ascii smile. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing that’ll be relevant to figuring out how to leave, at least. I am a bit worried about those who willingly wandered off into the darkness; they’re quite likely to be eaten by grue. Less heads to escape with, I suppose.”
Zetsel squints. He doesn’t trust this automaton more than he could throw him, which, given the visible metal, isn’t likely to be far at all. This machine is starting to remind him of someone, though in some ways, Zetsel’s lab partner couldn’t be more different from the whimsical wizard here in the terminal. His partner is a towering bladed creature, cold and alien, content to subject fragments of itself to cruel procedures, whereas this machine’s immediate reaction to a room full of panicked people was to bend reality to make freshly-cooked food for those present.
“I suppose people do act more irrationally when they’re hungry.” A cold pang shoots through him as his chest momentarily trembles. //What a choice of words.//
“Exactly. No point in doing this apparition’s work for it. Disappearing so much of our number so quickly has me… questioning more than a few things. Nothing much to do about those that left already, but everyone else sated and rational means-”
Another approaches, this time a woman that appears to be a similar age to Zetsel. She smiles, warmth and compassion radiating off of her. “Hate to interrupt, but would you mind if I helped out? Some of the people here seem a little… shellshocked, so to speak.”
[[Reboot.]]
Lens’ face buzzes with static. An uncomfortable grinding sound comes from under his turtleneck. His normally lifelike movements go stiff for a moment, and it feels as though the grill suddenly had a flare-up, but the heat is coming from Lens. A few seconds pass. The grinding stops and the heat dissipates.
“Ṡ̴̨̬̞̲̙̞̱̇̆̉o̶̰̤̊͊̿̐̏ͅ ̶͇̄̌̈̀͛̊̇ṩ̵̼̝̔͒̄ͅô̶̡̨͕͇̱̗̏̃̐̓ŗ̵̖̲̂̈́͊̌̄̚͘ř̴̡̮͇͚̃y̴̪̣̓͐̚ ̷͉͚̜͋͌̀͗̑̚ȁ̵̬̈́̉̇̉̔͝b̶̝̥̺̣̑̓̎͜ǫ̷͈̼̞̖̀͐́ú̶̘̟̠̳̩̗͈̏͠t̶̙̖̣̔̕͘ͅ ̸͕̐͒͒͗t̵̨̻̲̺̖̰̯͐́̽̇̎h̴̘̟̽̀̃ͅa̶̭̯͙̋͛t̵̤̞̩̞͔̣̫͛.̷̧̡̛̱̖̥́͛͌̐̑.” His voice is distorted and hollow. He looks down at the grill. The hotdog definitely has enough char on that side. In an odd mechanical approximation of a sigh, he flips the slightly burnt hotdog onto a plate set out on the nearby table.
Zetsel and the newcomer look more than a bit concerned, and doubly so when Lens carries on as if nothing happened. Still grilling, he responds, “Nothing to worry yourselves with. And now you know how I knew you weren’t any sort of cleric or priest, Doctor Zetsel.”
The newcomer looks quickly between the two and starts, “Oh! I’m incredibly sorry if I caused that, then.” She seems sincere, but there's something Lens can’t quite pick out from all the noise and feedback her mere presence brought. So many little points of light, but was that a bug? A fault or flaw on his end, or a feature of her connection to divinity?
“It’s unfortunately a common incident. It will make continuing this a bit more difficult, however, so, if you would take over, I’d quite appreciate it. I assume one of your… experience can work a simple grill?”
She laughs. “Of course! I’d offer you a handshake, but I imagine that’ll just make things worse, huh? Mother Hawthorne, either way,” she says with a wave. “And you don’t have to concern yourself with a polite way to say I’m old. I’m not as young as I used to be, but all the more reason to want to fix things here, right?” She nods over towards Zetsel at the last part, making no attempt to hide looking at his own graying hair.
He forces an awkward laugh of his own. “Yes, of course,” he responds with practiced sincerity. He isn’t entirely sure what he was responding to, as his mind is roughly five other places that aren’t making niceties with the others still left in the terminal; he isn’t sure exactly how to interpret the visual data from what he just saw.
Normally it was easy enough to add two and two together, or even simpler, identify something by color, so to speak. Kinetic energy looked far different from magical heat, for instance, but whatever just happened around Lens was nigh-incomprehensible. Zetsel had expected to expect the unexpected when he decided to come to the terminal, and arguably, that was his entire goal, in a way, but there was a line between alien and eldritch that he didn’t imagine tripping face-first over so quickly. If the terminal’s ambient energy was a gentle, crisp cyan, Lens normally was stygian blue, and whatever had happened when Mother Hawthorne approached has Zetsel figuring he knows what mantis shrimp vision is like now.
[[Skedaddle.]] This feels like a terrible idea, but Zetsel starts, "I may have something to try." He walks forward, moving past Lens, and the claws on his left glove extend. He waits for their signatures to shift more cyan than anything else, and, given his opportunity, he strikes forward, clipping the shoulder of the smaller of the pair.
She jumps a bit, glancing around. "I think something bit me! Felt like a bug or something."
"You're alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course! Just kinda weird. Didn't think there'd be bugs somewhere like this."
"Fascinating," Lens says from off to the side, journal back in hand.
//It's like there's something there and that something is nothing.// "Indeed. That's not normally supposed to be something like a simple bug bite, but it's a reaction, at least."
[[Try something else.]]
(set: $visitedItem15 to true)"I have one last idea. You may want to stay a reasonable distance back, Doctor." Zetsel doesn't need an explanation of any sort this time; he's spent enough time around mages making questionable decisions to not ask.
Lens looks at his hand, deep in thought. He can't move anything out. He can't even move things within in any controllable way. But maybe he could bring things back.
He reaches forward, aligning his palm with the oblivious spirits. Not pulling from what is, but digging backwards through the fabric that he bends with the ease of breathing. His focus renders him rigid, but his mind again wanders to that infinite flexibility that got him to Thraelos in the first place. One at a time. She's right there. He sees her, this snag, like a pulled thread, out of place and unsightly. Pulling her out and weaving her back in should be simple.
But it's not. Like deep, thick mud, he hits an oozing wall. Not hard, like a barrier, but a dense, heavy sludge impeding him so much that pressing any further might combust his core right then and there. Coming back to physical reality, he realizes he may have backed off too late anyway.
[[E̸̲͕̩̊̏r̷̠͒r̷̨̮̃͗o̶̖̤͐̿ŕ̷̹̃͜.̴̟͗͠]]He clutches at his turtleneck, the fabric on his chest crumpling in his grip. His screen flickers between its lightless black and static. His chest grinds from within its metal shell.
(text-colour:#343a40)[//Find it.//]
//The odd voices never happened back home. Is this why I forgot?// The ringing in his head gets louder and louder, until there's nothing but that faint voice left.
(text-colour:#343a40)[//Please.//]
Zetsel's lost in his own thoughts, though much more in control of his faculties. Resting his chin in his hand, his eyes flit around the scene, picking up traces only he can see. Heat, motion, magic. Lens' stygian blue now looks much more... green. Like seafoam. Almost cyan. It appears to be swirling around him, desperately clawing its way in, or perhaps being dragged in, but if Lens was anything like the augment, at least where power sources were concerned, taking in the ambient energy of the terminal wouldn't lead to anything positive.
He sighs. "Lens? Do you require assistance? As intriguing as it would be to continue observing, you seem... distressed."
Zetsel sounds like he's coming from underwater. Or perhaps he's calling from above the sea line, and Lens is the one submerged. Lens was painfully aware of his eccentricities and how prone he is to unfortunate errors, but this one was new. A mix of dread and curiosity is enough to bring Lens a little closer to the surface, and he chokes out a broken, “P̵̝̀̀͒u̴͍̬͛̇ņ̶͎̖̍͒̅c̶̨̣̈̓͝ḧ̷̨̟́ ̶̡̛̫̈̈ḿ̶̝͙̘̇͝e̷̤̾.̵͙́̐́”
The doctor stares on incredulously. His fr- his //ally// had just asked something beyond bizarre. He knew the effects of contact. It nearly caused an incident earlier. //But//, he stops, thinking as fast as his brilliant mind could go, //maybe that’s the point. Either way, it will keep the augment quiet for a while.// By no means a trained fighter, Zetsel takes a step back, lines up a punch with his right hand, and aims for Lens’ face. Staggered as he is, he takes Zetsel’s quick jab well enough; Zetsel’s assumption that the more delicate metal extension on his dominant hand’s glove might not survive contact with whatever the hell Lens was made out of proved a solid guess, though not as solid as Lens’ face.
The grinding noise and heat fade quickly, and Zetsel watches Lens' stygian blue and now, seafoam, be pulled into the augment. The surge feels just as strange as he expected after his brief contact with Lens earlier; eldritch, confusing, and layered in such a way that he can only assume Lens truly is new in town. He suspects he knows the answer, but asks, "Why did you think that would work?"
"Ẁ̷̜e̵̩̓̓̚͜ ̷͉͘b̸̲̥̝̏̈o̸t̸h̴ ̶k̷n̶o̷w you know," Lens says. Steam escapes from the gaps between his paneled skin. "Apologies about that, though."
Zetsel's brow furrows more than usual. "In the grand scheme of things, I suppose this is relatively minor," he grumbles. "And that is at least useful information."
"It is, though it's not particular helpful right now. It simply confirms an unsolvable problem." Lens crosses his arms. "No use slamming my head against a wall though." He groans, and starts off down the hallway until he comes across a small, fancy couch aligned against the hall wall. Zetsel follows, mind still ablaze with ideas, and catches up just in time to see Lens practically fling himself onto the wallcouch.
[[Rest.]]“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not my decision. They want to extend opening to the end of the month.”
That was it. Without a word, I left. Down to the core that only works because of me. Their best and brightest. The core shatters into countless shards.
[[Drift.]]