My feelings are similar to Bean. I've enjoyed what we've had so far and think this is a good group and I like the story. But if it's going to end down the line anyway, seems better not to push ourselves into continuing. So, my vote would be to let it end here, but if enough want to continue, I'll stick it out.
I do appreciate you bringing it up now though, instead of struggling against your available free time and posting inertia here or springing the surprise end come September. *shrugs* It is what it is, and fun was had, so I'm not fussed.
If asked, Lucas could not have said he was happy with his choices. He’d started to regret taking that step forward as soon as he did. Or, well, he was regretting leaving his first choice empty, because no matter how much he wanted to be a neutral, open-minded person, seeing obvious proof of the ups and downs Team Blackjack was going through didn’t offer much by way of enticement to join them. He still would, if he had to, since he’d already made the offer, but before the second whistle blew, he’d definitely been tempted to pull out the Eclipse armband to be sure he wouldn’t. Too late to change his mind though. He didn’t like changing it too often or he’d forget how to hold onto what he wanted. And then the whistle blew, and it was definitely too late.
Thankfully, though he was tense throughout the brief rearranging, they ended up pointing him towards Eclipse. He’d take it. One last glance at Firebird had him grinning and waving back at Ariel before he joined his new teammates with the smile still lingering. He wasn’t the only one from Firebird here either, so it didn’t feel quite as daunting. Alyssa, who thought trees could fight back (and he wasn’t going to argue that) and Sierra, who was really Sierras and who made dad jokes. He wasn’t nearly as sure about the two who’d come over from Blackjack, but he gave them a smile all the same and was relieved when he discovered he’d thought right. The voices around him were all still vaguely familiar, even if they came from shirts instead of walls. Maybe it really wouldn’t be that hard learning new names and faces. He already had one down: Suzanna Poots. Didn’t know anything else about her, but he’d learn more eventually.
First, a welcome from Aaron Matthews, then back to Dr. Lehrer and finally time to pick Houses.
Suzanna already had, apparently, and he watched her walk off for a moment, letting his gaze follow along to naturally take in the House representatives that had been waiting for a while now. It all looked very formal. And colourful. And he didn’t even know what his choices were yet.
So, he opened his envelope to have a look, frowning through the friction of pulling out the invitations and laying them on the grass in front of him as he squatted down to consider. Green… Silver… Brown… The silhouettes were all very recognizable and he liked that they said the same thing, made reading faster. Alces said he was gentle; Lynx, that he was patient; and Ursus, that he was empathetic. He… wasn’t really sure what to do with that information. He hadn’t bothered looking up much about the Houses before this. The invitations themselves didn’t come with much more information than that, just the warmth of being printed, gathered, and slid inside the envelope. No voices he could identify or words he thought were important. But if he was going to choose based on what each House thought of him, then… Well, he didn’t know.
But when he looked up to see if the house leaders and representatives behind them might give him some inspiration it hadn’t managed before, his frown bloomed into a wide grin, and he made his choice.
He’d switched teams so other people could have a chance at different social environments. Didn’t have to do the same with the Houses. Didn’t have to think as hard as he had been, either. Still grinning, Lucas gathered his invitations and the envelope and joined the rest in making their choices known. He arrived in front of House Ursus’ leader just behind Jonna and grinned even bigger when he realised that was one more person he wouldn’t have to go looking for if he wanted to spend time with them.
Following her lead, he held out his own invitations, Ursus on top, and added, rather less formally. “Hi. Me too.”
Rocking back and forth heel to toe as Dr. Lehrer provided the introduction into an event Lucas wasn’t sure anyone had been looking forward to, he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering across the crowd watching them. He didn’t really get it. This whole thing. The school teams he knew were sports or competitions and homeroom. Since they weren’t playing anything and were taking classes together, he’d mostly equated it with homeroom on a smaller scale. Hadn’t really thought any further than that until he’d gotten stuck trying to connect the names of his team members to their voices from his P.T. shirt. Ended up catching the wrong voices, listening to short-lived screams, and drowning in waterlogged fabric as he fell into each sullen silence between Hyperion’s picking out the pieces while the rain ran through the weave with gravity towards the next grand claim. Played it all on repeat often enough he could quote the gods into worshipping the ground they walked on and had so many aching reminders of what happened when powerful people picked you up and dropped you like a hot potato that his bruises felt bruised.
He hadn’t gone splat because he hadn’t been that high—and he wasn’t an actual hot potato—but Banjo had…
He didn’t remember that part.
He didn’t remember much of that night, really. He forgot about a lot of things all the time, pushed them to the back of his mind so he wouldn’t have to think about it. This time at least, he hadn’t forgotten, he just hadn’t noticed. Would have been nice if he didn’t have to know either. But it was his shirt… It might not have the whole story, but it had enough. Too much. After Dr. Miranda’s calm voice cut through his numbed reviewing of Hyperion’s attack and pulled him back to H.E.A.T. and raising the temperature from storm-wet chill to sunny day and pizza-oven hot, he’d gone looking for her. Found the pineapple lady first.
Jess. She was Jess, not Pineapples.
Handed her the shirt and told her he didn’t want it while asking about the team swap in the same breath. He wasn’t sure when the shirt ended up back in his hands—though he’d tossed it into a corner as soon as he got back to his room—but he’d at least learned a bit more about the swap. Mostly, that it was still happening, and that it was a bigger deal than he’d thought. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be, but anything made into public spectacle had to be bigger than the bare bones made it seem, right?
He'd been thinking about it off and on ever since. Nothing concrete, not really wondering which team he should pick. Who he should pick. If staying or going was bad. But the more the walls started making him uneasy, counting down the time until he could leave them for good, the more it started weighing on him.
The teams weren’t perfect. Nothing and nobody ever was. But they’d all fallen into place like someone shaking dice. Everyone got a number and a square hole to fill and that was all right for him. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t be a square, he could still fill the space. It was probably that way for most of them. Didn’t get to pick so it didn’t matter, right? But then someone died. Others took the killer’s side.
Made him even more all right with staying where he was. The other floors felt so thin when he went down the stairs he’d started holding his breath to get out the front door. He didn’t know if all of that was just from the last week, might have been other years and other people all piling on, but either way… He didn’t know what team meant to the rest of them now. And after feeling a lot more nerves around him while they’d all made their way onto this field, even with all the eyes on them, he was thinking things weren’t that casual anymore. Things weren’t all right anymore. It wasn’t just about pretending they could be squares together. Wasn’t even about finding a different group of circles.
That thought had wormed its way deeper and deeper into him until he couldn’t ignore it. And as the ceremony played out and pushed him closer to stepping out or staying still, Lucas didn’t notice his thumb finding its way between his teeth. Didn’t really feel them pressing down. Didn’t know if he was thinking too much or not enough or if he even wanted to do anything about it. Wasn’t his problem, but it would be if he took that step. Switching teams meant switching floors. Staying on thin ice. He didn’t want to deal with it. But was there anyone who would?
Looking down the line both ways and not seeing anyone he couldn’t get along with—from the beehive to those he’d not really spoken with yet, to the Sierras who’d made him part of their conversation to Ariel, who’d teased the water out of the stegosaurus without needing to be asked twice, they were all just strangers slowly becoming people he could recognise both inside and outside the walls.
The same could be said for the other teams staying at the Intake House though. Both now and last year, and the year before that, and before that, and on down the line. He didn’t know if he’d miss them, didn’t think they’d miss him. Didn’t know if he’d be making any sort of meaningful point but when first one and then another from Firebird stepped forward, he did too. A beat late, flinching at the whistle and needing a deep breath first, but he did.
Couldn’t stop now and that made the next step easier.
Turning with a slow-growing sheepish grin to look at them all lined up, he pulled his shoulders right up to his ears. “Sorry, thanks. I like you guys, okay? You’re nice. It’s nice, all right. But they all need nice, too. Uhh, want your bee back?” There’d been one crawling on his shoulder for a while now and he wasn’t sure if it belonged to Firebird’s beehive or some… other beehive….
He also hadn’t had a chance to ask Jess if he was about to look really stupid. He’d only asked for the rules he’d thought he’d need to know. Hadn’t asked what happened if students didn’t find their fit. Hadn’t asked if you could only make half a choice. And no one here had said anything new. He'd... sort of been listening... So, he was glad for an excuse to stall the next step. But he didn’t want anyone standing on the field now to feel unwelcome or unable to make the choice they wanted. Being angry wasn’t fun. Neither was being scared, or sad, or guilty. But Blackjack and Eclipse both were full of those things. Probably for different reasons. They all needed to know they weren’t alone or unwelcome. Maybe they needed what their team couldn’t give them. And they couldn’t find that if no one let them in.
So, once the bee was dealt with, he turned back around and marched towards the middle, raising his hands like he was supposed to. Firebird in his left, nothing in his right. If anyone wanted to switch with him, they could. If nobody did, then he could just go back to his spot.
But as a small group of other students stalled a little way off, with growing frowns as things were said and more people got involved, his shoulders and arms began to sag, and he forgot to keep smiling so others would know he was happy to trade places. He wasn’t hearing everything that was said, and their expressions didn’t make him eager to try, but even so, he was losing what little confidence he’d had in his decision. Were they not even going to let people leave?
They’d been sent to hunker down beneath the building storm in shelters made of straining, collapsible frames with plays of light and shadow figures in the corners of his eyes across plastic windows. Soft whispers rustled through cloth over wrinkled bedding asking if he was asleep, awake, excited, scared, crying? Do you know what time it is?! Muffled laughter made up the enclosing shell keeping out the cold wind curling around him, underscoring the steady drumming patter of rain already blurring the line between then and now. He wasn’t sure if the wet he could feel was the morning’s condensation lining the tent last time or creeping in through a new leak in the corner. Had to test it a few times and ask his tentmate—Ariel? They looked over when he said it—if it was leaking. Wasn’t even raining yet…
He stayed quiet after that, going through the motions, working through the tent’s history for awhile. But once they were both tucked away and ready for sleep, when the influx of new discoveries slipping through his head had slowed enough to let him drift back to the last few hours, Lucas sat up and asked them about names. The ones he’d picked up and the ones he hadn’t. There were three he was particularly interested in. The beehive, whom he hadn’t heard name herself. Whether or not Sierra was the name of all the girls that looked the same. And who Dominik was. He got his answers. He also learned more about pro wrestling than he’d asked for, though he didn’t mind it much. And that he hadn’t introduced himself. Once that conversation wore out its words though, it was late, the storm was almost upon them and the howling winds naturally filled in the shadowy spaces the night had set between them.
Sleep seemed a long way off then, with the skirling scream rising all the higher as the tent shook faintly around them, but haunting as the sound was, it drowned out all the rest. And when the rain came, scattering across his skin and pounding on his bones, he was numb. Between one blink and the next, the memories became real. Though what woke him was the delayed snap and tear of fabric and frame separated to let in the rain. Left him breathless and gasping and so confused that the sudden soaking hardly registered. He was simply stranded, tangled in a blanket, and tumbled off his cot in a slowly growing puddle that splashed briefly when he finally flailed upright, but then flowed in a steady stream over his feet to join with the new shelter Ariel had built for themselves.
There hadn’t been time to truly register what they were doing or why the roof was gone or what he was hearing over the storm after he’d untangled himself and worked his way upright before he’d seen the brown splotch of a small dinosaur tumbled to the ground beside him and reached to save it only to watch it fly away just beyond his reach, and stay there, no matter how much he struggled to close the distance.
The threatening figure so full of furious pride that even the blurred remnants of his power could pull it free of their clothes became nothing more than a hand playing keep-away like the schoolyard bully. The might on display nothing but a tool withholding cheap stuffing, worn, wet fabric, and a voice he’d never hear again.
Watching it fall made his heart drop before the rest of him did. No time to try righting himself in the air or even notice how far off the ground he was. Just landed with a breathless grunt and scrambled back to his knees, desperate. He couldn’t lose it. He couldn’t.
Distantly, the silence registered as a collective moment of held breath. Words were being spoken. Shouts were pulled free of fear-closed throats and so many shirts were full of fast-beating hearts wrapped in sodden terror. His brain felt muddy. But he wasn’t using it to think so all that mattered was finally catching sight of the little stegosaurus and cradling it in both hands to his chest. All that came into view when he finally raised his head were so many pale faces spread around the still figure who’d made it all happen.
And then they were gone, and in their place was a single slumped form. It was dark enough he could have doubted his eyes… Just a mound of dirt or someone’s lost bag… But he couldn’t avoid the certainty of one more pale face staring sightless through the grass even as his view was cut off by the adults closing in with desperate hope or grim practicality.
Don’t you get tired of living like this, Lucas. I know you’re tired of living in the past. Echoes of things will be alright, okay? These things just happened to be how it goes, right? It doesn’t end on a good note here. But—
With careful fingers, Lucas reached out and straightened the two rows of fabric plates running down the little plush’s back, interwoven voices instantly jumping clear of each other.
—don’t you get tired of living in the past? Seeing echoes of things that already happened? —I know you’re tired of living like this, Lucas. I’m sorry. Don’t mean to put it all on you but things will be alright, okay?
What was one more voice in the background noise of his father’s growing wheeze and slow rasp? It shouldn’t have mattered. The soaking didn’t, or wouldn’t, if he left the toy sitting in the sun often enough. But he couldn’t erase anything.
He’d tried, sometimes. Best he could do was ignore them a while or cover them up with other memories. Or walk away. Walk away like it never happened. Pick up something else. Leave those sounds behind.
Frowning to himself while lying on the lawn and feeling the sun soaking into everything, Lucas had his chin hooked over one arm as he kept straightening those small cloth plates into the semblance of the stiff armor they were meant to be, copying the rougher fingers he could feel pinching them straight with idle care. He’d left walls behind because walls were full from the start and when they squished down with the weight of the roof under so much strained silence, he didn’t want to deal with it. So, he’d brought the toy out with him to consider its newest memories for as long as that took. Now, they were facing each other, him and the small plush toy, and he wasn’t really thinking because there was nothing to think about.
This new voice had ruined it. Carried memories with it he didn’t want to remember, made his dreams wet and murky and breathless if he left the toy in its usual pride of place on his bedside table. But he couldn’t throw it away. Couldn’t put it somewhere else. Couldn’t pretend he’d lost it. Couldn’t leave it behind. So, there really was nothing to think about because it was a problem that did not have a satisfactory solution. It did, however, ignite a familiar feeling in his chest. Something he was used to turning on anyone asking him to do what he didn’t want to do, what he was too tired to do, what he’d done a hundred times before, what he’d tried telling them didn’t work and wouldn’t work and couldn’t help no matter how many times they insisted…
It wasn’t a matter of rebellion this time though. Or of being too tired and aching to bother. Wasn’t a matter of misunderstandings and not understanding sliding under the radar into frustration.
Hyperion simply existed now. A memory no one wanted. Rumours ran through every building. The stain of fear couldn’t be washed out like dirt. In the moments of quiet that manifested in a corner, in the hall, at one empty seat, he’d found tense waiting for something to break. The school hadn’t been perfect before, though he hadn’t had much time during his one day of exploring to understand the general atmosphere, but it was ruined now, too.
Lucas didn’t like that. He resented that voice speaking for him as though it knew what he wanted. Breaking into the last gift his dad had given him and pretending it was worth more than anyone else. If they’d wanted to help, they’d gone about it all wrong. If they wanted the fear…
“Yeah, okay, I don’t know about tired, but I don’t need to listen anymore.”
Huffing out a breath to blow the hair out of his eyes, Lucas pushed himself off the ground, snagging the dinosaur as he went. He was done. And he was hungry.
Present
Standing quietly and watching strangers honour another stranger wasn’t exactly how Lucas wanted to spend his time. Standing quietly all dressed up amidst similarly dressed strangers bidding farewell to a burning corpse wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time either. Funerals were full up of other people’s griefs. Their angers and shames and guilts and reliefs. Full up of fidgets and trembling and hitched breath broken sobs. No one cried pretty. Tears spotting thighs or soaking into handkerchiefs and tissues was annoying enough. But when snot got involved…
He'd just walked away.
Sat down far enough off that he could watch the proceedings without distraction and promptly lost himself in the warmth of an iron pressing clean folds into the kilt he was wearing. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d picked it instead of pants. Something different and fun. Hadn’t expected he’d be standing on the edge of the ocean, legs bared to the breeze, and halfway to shivering. Schools didn’t have funerals. Most definitely not Viking funerals. Wasn’t what schools were for. But as he sat there letting handfuls of sand tumble between his fingers and watching a small boat drift out on the tide before flaring into smoke and fire, he supposed this school did.
Despite sharing the same house with the dead guy for all of a day and having the last week to learn more about him, Cassander Charon’s presence in his head was limited to toes tapping a footboard and minimal conversation. He’d spent most of his time either sleeping or outside the Intake House and finding him anywhere else was too hard to manage. Five days was hardly any time at all for leaving an impression. He had though, beyond the walls, dying on the first day. Standing up for something. Asking for it. Lucas didn’t know which was more accurate. But he was dead before he should have been, when he shouldn’t have been, facing a threat that shouldn’t have existed, most people agreed on that.
And even if he was only a stranger, Lucas had already said his goodbyes his own way when he’d found the leftovers of his presence haunting the halls. He was here because tradition made funerals significant, wasn’t leaving because the ones who were grieving didn’t need to see that, but he wasn’t interested in sharing the load. So, when the larger group began breaking up, he stood up, dusting his hands and kilt free of sand grains, and started walking along the shore.
Cassander wasn’t the only one missing from the Intake House after that night. It had taken him almost the whole week to glean the full story out of bits and pieces. Not because no one was willing to tell him, but simply because he hadn’t thought to ask. One was dead. Lucas knew where he was. Another was badly hurt and somewhere in the infirmary. And the rest had left with Cassander’s killer. Everyone left over was stuck in their own heads with their own thoughts and the whole building was full of ghosts. The only loud noises came of anger or accidents. Avoiding that brittle gloom had left him spending his days nowhere in particular after a while. That meant stalling now. Walking along the water’s edge was better than going back to the Minotaurs. Better than being back in a space where the silence was suffocating under too much unspent emotions. He knew without having to ask that he wasn’t the only one jolting awake in the middle of the night and lying there breathless, staring at the ceiling long after the dream had faded.
After a while, however, his stalling tactic turned out less than great. Every step grating sand across the soles until he grimaced and sought grass. Wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, but he did glance up when he felt new records simmering in the back of his mind. “Oh… Uh…” Who was he again? “Efraim?” Probably right. But… Twisting his fingers until the knuckles twinged, he eyed the trunk of the tree and then huffed out the frustration tightening his chest. “I’m not helping if it fights back. Okay? You okay?”
The wind in the cliffs was still howling, and the benches kept playing it softer on repeat with the snap, crackle, pop of sparks in the background and people sitting on his shoulders alongside cold spells and winter rain. It was… The sort of soundtrack that spelled out horror in the background until a better rhythm picked up nearby falling tinny out of earbuds and then rising to a nice crescendo. Had him blinking out of smiling loose and grateful at the girl for making sure the plush was safely stowed in his pocket once more and glancing around again. With more people gathering around, the music playing, and nothing too much to add from their clothes, it felt a little less daunting being in the middle of a group feeling an itch under his skin that the oven’s heat only aggravated.
But, well. “Thank you. Thanks. It’s alright now.” Answering nobody in particular as he addressed his gratitude to two people at once and finally pulled his pizza out of the oven with a grimace, Lucas wasn’t really trying to keep track of who was saying what. It wouldn’t have been too hard if he’d put in the effort, but he was more used to just going with the flow, picking up the pieces down the way like he was standing in a river hauling in a net full of words and other peoples’ scraps. Nobody asked much of him then. Better than raising anyone’s expectations to disappointment the next time they met. This way, he could just smile and nod if his head was too loud and no one would bother him into pushing against the tide. Besides, he was working on putting all that earlier explanation together. Picking words out of the weave around him and feeling more than pleased with himself for trying, despite the fact there weren’t many other words to find. The bench made voices hollow. It was almost easy, separating Miranda’s voice from the older conversations.
Picking out names. Finding other voices to remember for later. Eating his pizza. Ariel. Efraim. Harlowe liked music. Dominik… No one looked upset about anything when he glanced around trying to figure out what the apology was for.
But that glance was all he needed to startle him out of his own head as he registered one girl slightly farther away who looked—he double checked—very similar to the one sitting next to him. And then another one even farther away. Sisters? Sierra. He heard that. Three times in a round when it echoed in his head. “Sierra?” All of them?
He adopted the same, though slightly more confused, hesitant stance when she offered her hand to shake as when he’d asked her to help him with the plush. She seemed to understand and he nodded absently. “Yeah, sticky.” Also greasy now, and kind of full of pizza. He’d have shaken her hand otherwise. He was also considering her question and wondering if it was a group talk with the other voices starting to chime in or if he was supposed to answer it when the wind flared up and his hands weren’t full anymore. He’d been holding everything too lightly, trying not to burn his fingers on the fresh from the oven dinner and now it was on the ground. Of course it landed cheese-side down.
He'd only had two bites…
Well, the crust might still be good.
Kneeling so he could right the plate and peel the crust up for an inspection to see if it really was salvageable or if the dirt had somehow managed to spread between the cheese and the sauce, he finally figured that it wasn’t group so much as grouped up discussion, even if they were all gathering around the pizza ovens. “Sorry, I, huh?”
New distraction. There were a few right now. But, uh… The pizza was floating. Lucas wasn’t sure if it was some new technique, and magic trick, or a display of something hyperhuman, but it definitely stalled him completely until the girl had set it down and joined them with a very big grin. Then, he tried, he really did, to go back to Sierra’s question while he still remembered and before she decided he wasn’t going to answer. He’d lost track of his place in his own clothes though and the itch was back. Tiny little claws pricking at his skin.
“Uh… Okay. There’s leaks in my head and things get in so it's itchy…” Already scratching at his arms to back up his words, he scowled at the people nearest him before landing on the one wearing long sleeves and sitting there too quiet for innocence. Didn’t know if they’d said their name yet, but since no one else was next to them, he didn’t need to specify more than his stare already was. “You have bugs? They’re crawling in my skin on your clothes.” He started out almost accusing but not quite sure. It felt like the little hooked feet of insects tucking around thread, but usually that came with old things, not new. Or panic. But… No one was flailing. So, he ended with a rather more plaintive than not, “Why?”
Change didn’t have to weigh hard and heavy; so, he grinned back when someone answered him instead of leaving him hanging. He’d set the tent up; they’d make sure it stayed down. “Alright. Thank you, thanks.” He hadn’t cared who it was, but a smile was definitely better than a frown, and anyone actually willing to take on what he asked them to was someone he’d happily hope stuck around. Not… that he thought there was much choice. They’d all enrolled into team spirit to be folded up and squished together. He’d kind of liked that thought before. Still did. Assigned or not, meant he didn’t have to struggle through finding ways to meet. They were all here already. Might not make them friends, but at least he’d get to know someone. Friends… When the word echoed in his ears rather than his head, his expression turned bemused, not sure if he’d said his own thoughts aloud or if they were just thinking the same. Wasn’t going to turn them down though. “Okay. Yeah. Friends.” Friends were good. This one was tall and freckled and seemed confident; he could use more of that in his life.
But thinking about pizza toppings while ignoring the way the wind was screaming was really all he wanted to do just then, so he focused on that next. Pepperoni, sausage, and cheese were his choices, after careful consideration. Then, he put his in when Ariel pulled theirs out and was very much wondering why he was staying where he was by the time Hawaiian was asked about. He’d held out the pineapple container just in case Miss Friend was asking because she wanted some, then glanced towards the vegan question, not sure if… well… she was definitely looking at him. Wasn’t sure why, but it wasn’t hard to answer. So, head shaking and voice rising over the wind to be a little too loud himself, he did. “Vegans don’t like meat, right?”
Holding out the pineapple to her and her restlessness next, since she didn’t look too eager for the rest of what was on offer, he raised a shoulder in a helpless half-shrug at her confusion while making the same offer of pineapple to the black-haired girl who’d just sat down nearby before pointing to the oven. “It’s hot. But I’m watching my pizza so it doesn’t burn?” Despite the direct explanation, Lucas’ lack of certainty as to how well his meaning would be understood made it sound more like he was asking Kisha if that’s what he was doing. It was the best answer he had though. Or, well, the easiest one.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to try harder if she didn’t get it, wasn’t sure it was worth the effort, maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe no one would… That’d be—“Huh? I dunno. Okay.”
He’d maybe gotten a little too good at not listening and a little too practiced at being confused. Didn’t realise someone else was talking to him until Stegosaurus echoed itself and then he ran through words stalling for time before he’d even tried picking up the rest of hers. Had to twist back her way to see where she was glancing before he found the context for her question under his arm and falling out of his pocket. “Oh! Yeah.” His grin flashed quick and crooked. “It’s my dad. He thinks they’re cool, like Spike, but I like the longnecks.” As he talked, he’d set the pineapple down and then paused with his hands in front of him as he looked between them and the small plush dinosaur, forehead furrowing. “Can you put it back? I’m sticky.”
He didn’t want to lose it or make it dirty. And his pizza was probably about ready, but he couldn’t move anymore until he was sure, absolutely sure, that the plush wouldn’t fall out. He also had no actual answer to the last question asked. He hadn’t been listening. He knew they were supposed to be pairing off because the tents had two beds, but whether Ariel had already been paired with him or if they’d simply taken him up on his offer, he didn’t actually know.
Location:Team 78 Campsite - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.76:Made It Here
Interaction(s):Team 78
Previously:First Post
A breath of fresh air…
Breaths…
Lots of them. Finally.
Finally felt like he could breathe. Just breathe…
Maybe the Trials would be a good thing, after all. To be fair, he’d only not wanted to do them coming right off the opening ceremony and the headache it gave him. Before that, he’d been looking forward to it. Or, well, the camping part, at least. Didn’t care about the rest cuz he didn’t know about the rest. But he’d asked Miss Friend if he could just… not… cuz he hadn’t cared about camping either after so many feet walked over the bones in his head. No roof to hold up didn’t mean the stadium wasn’t heavy. Its walls rustled with echoes upon echoes of delight and enthusiasm he didn’t want to feel. Just stood when everyone else did, stayed up a beat too long, and already knew the words they said every year. Didn’t hear the rest.
One day between the tin-can pressure slipstream of an airplane’s inner turbulence and the ferry’s constant motion, swept by wind and water both—even on a calm day there’d been moments when the waves ran tremors through his bones—hadn’t been enough. Another day between the ferry’s free-floating rise and fall and the stadium’s team spirit hadn’t seen him quite recovered soon enough. But she’d only had time to find him a Tylenol and suggest a nap and they’d see how he felt later all hot and bothered busy before something else called her away. Probably plenty for her to do.
They’d both helped though, the Tylenol and the nap. And when he found out they were walking, his grin meant she didn’t need to ask. Through the trees, warm sun, sea breeze… Yes, please. Lucas started strong. Never really faltered, but somewhere between the intake house and the campgrounds they were headed to, as Dr. Rivers explained things Lucas wasn’t sure had been explained before or not, it occurred to him that familiar and welcome as the easy hike was, he’d missed something so simple. How long had it been? Since he’d walked somewhere like this? With anyone?
Even if he didn’t know the company he was keeping. Even if the grind of all their shoes into the dirt made his teeth feel dirty. The air was lighter out here. It was… nice.
He probably should have been trying harder to pay attention to what was being said since he could hear it. Should have looked for familiar faces. Tried being friendly. But he didn’t have to talk now, and he didn’t want to listen. He just wanted to walk and breathe and remember what it felt like. He looked remarkably content for someone who’d been pale and clearly miserable barely two hours before, but he certainly didn’t look any more attentive. But it was easy enough to follow along once they made it where they were going.
A weird wailing wall with a view and he didn’t know how many bubbles of manufactured safe space filling the area. Definitely looked like a campground. Colourful, too. But the sky wasn’t as cheery anymore and he wasn’t so sure they shouldn’t just turn around and start hiking back. It already felt cooler here, the wind a little wilder, and he knew those signs. But no one else was leaving so he just picked up a folded tent to fiddle with until it remembered what started the unpacking process and then sat back and watched.
“Huh. It makes itself too easy. Okay.” Once it was all done and hopefully looking less sturdy than it was, Lucas tested an anchor point and then tossed his bag inside with a shrug. “I’m snoring here.” Two beds… Probably why they were supposed to be in pairs. He’d skipped a step. “Uhh… Someone want that side? You can pound the stakes.” Just in case they’d need that extra help to hold the tent down when the wind picked up; he figured it was a good idea, but someone else could do it. After making that offer in the general direction of the people who looked as unpaired as he was, Lucas glanced towards those who’d picked a tent for themselves to see if anyone couldn’t figure it out. If anyone needed to know, he was happy to tell them how, but they could pass it along after, cuz he’d just noticed Dr. Rivers taking out the food.
He was waiting on his pizza in the first batch, feeling by turns fevered and refreshed as he stood in the wind too close to the oven, when Miss Friend returned. “It’s no good with that ham so I just ate the pineapple.” He was, in fact, still eating it, though he’d made sure to offer it around now and again so no one was missing out. He was also only still standing there because he didn’t think it was right not to when it was his dinner being cooked, but he’d underestimated both how much time and heat were needed to make a pizza and despite the external drop in temperature, his face was flushed as he finally gave in. He probably should have asked sooner. “Can I go if I’m burning?”
"It’s Lucas, okay? For when there’s leaks in my head."
▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅
Lucas Emery Bray _________________________________________________________ May 5th, 2004 | 19 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | ♂ | Asexual _________________________________________________________ Toronto | Ontario | Canada
▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Ectomorph ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Brown ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Brown ◼ H E I G H T || 5'-9" ◼ W E I G H T || 143 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Caucasian -
▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ He’s honestly just tired of being tired and wants to figure out how to fix that by learning how to either control his power or at least adapt to it a little more and maybe find somewhere he can fit in along the way now he’s lost several years, his friends, his certainties, and his ideas for the future to being Hyperhuman. He’s not really bitter, but he’s definitely floundering. Having structure in his life is a good thing right now. G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Although his memories are vague and he’s still not certain if he didn’t just make them up, Lucas encountered several voices recorded throughout the city that shouldn’t have gone unheard and part of him hopes that not only will he be able to take control of his own life and power, but he’ll also be able to use it to help others and make those voices heard. Or at least stop there from being too many more making layers like dust swept under the rug. H.E.A.T. seems like the sort of push he needs to get there.
He also wants to make new friends and live his life now he’s not quite as scared of everyday ordeals. -
▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ►Bilingual: he speaks French and English fluently. ►He carries a little stuffed stegosaurus with him pretty much everywhere he goes. It was a gift from his dad. ►He also keeps a perfectly ordinary prescription bottle in his bag. It’s empty, but the rattle it makes in his head is pretty good for shutting everything else out. ►There are too many secrets playing in his head that nobody cares about for him to maintain a proper filter and he’s as likely to expose a secret accidentally as he is to keep it. ►His smiles, until he shows his teeth, are almost always an apology of some sort. ►Eye movement when trying to find words for himself = towards the ceiling/sky, from the environment = towards the ground. Sideways is utter uncertainty. ►Lucas cannot drive, and probably never should. -
▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Lucas grew up in the Summerhill district of Old Toronto under the care of his single father after a succinct divorce. Despite the rocky circumstances of his entry into fatherhood, the man persevered and put in the work and his parents were always willing to lend a hand when he needed it, and Lucas grew up feeling loved and looking forward to the future. It can’t be said that his life was the most exciting, but with winters set aside for school, summers were for swimming and sailing and eating ice cream at the cottage they shared with a friend of his dad’s. And plenty of camping in the nearby national parks.
It was a normal, pleasant life broken only by the few rough spots of occasional arguments and sports-induced injuries and the odd worse than average grade.
Then, a few months after his 14th birthday, Lucas caught a football and suddenly couldn’t stand straight. The dizzy sensation of spinning uncontrollably unnerved him completely, but he didn’t know where it came from. He shrugged it off at first; maybe he just needed a drink more than he thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Gradually, he started hearing and seeing things too, sometimes clearly and other times too faintly to make out. But he found himself answering questions he hadn’t been asked or feeling people nearby when there weren’t any. He managed to keep it… mostly under wraps until he failed that year with no real excuse save the truth. When he finally came clean, his dad was rather alarmed, and took him to a psychiatrist.
The eventual diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia. Unfortunately, the prescribed treatment didn’t work out as planned. Instead of helping, it interfered with the natural process of his emerging powers and the sudden influx of information made his brain shut down. He spent the next several years cycling through periods of being overstimulated and barely functioning to being mentally exhausted but coherent. Gradually, his father began to make the connection between location and coherency and heard enough repeated conversations from Lucas to realise what the actual trouble might be. So, he called his ex-wife to ask for her help.
Although an inhibitor is only a temporary solution, it certainly helped. And at least they discovered the reason behind his difficulties. Unfortunately, Lucas wasn’t the only one having problems during this time, and within the month, he both celebrated gaining some control over his life and saw his dad collapse due to lung cancer. The man succumbed quickly, leaving him and his mother to navigate the ins and outs of life turned upside down.
While his mother was willing to make things work if he wanted to take it slow and stay with her or with his grandparents, it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t used to being a mother and his grandparents were dealing with their own grief. So, they decided together that the best place for him was probably PRCU. Since he was too old for their collegiate program, he studied his ass off for a year and managed to pass his GED so he could enroll in H.E.A.T. without issue.
▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || P S Y C H O M E T R Y __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || PSIONIC
Lucas can perceive the history of an object through proximity with it. This history can be anything from where it’s been and who or what interacted with it, to how it moved and what its purpose was. In Lucas’ case, object means any inanimate thing that has been shaped or made by humans. In general, foods don’t count, but some highly processed foods might.
Also, while Lucas would call them memories, as they feel like active processes in his brain, the glimpses he gets of the past are more like recordings layered over each other. Similar acts make similar recordings meld together and become stronger, while the less repeated, less insistent activities get lost in the shuffle. They’re still there, every minute of every day since the object first became whole is caught up in its shape, they just aren’t as easy to tease out. Or, as Lucas reacts to each recording running through his mind, he might drag free the more unusual moments that something has to offer simply by unconsciously focusing on them. In a similar vein, external stimulus can prompt a shift in the sort of recordings being broadcasted. Climbing up stairs might bring up the memory of all the other feet that have weighed them down. And greetings are often echoed by a multitude of voices.
L I M I T A T I O N S || D I S T A N C E , K N O W L E D G E , R E C O R D C L A R I T Y
He has an average range of about 5’ with nearby objects; the smaller they are, the closer he has to be to them, usually. But memories can bleed together through walls or connected objects, and sometimes buildings, particularly large ones that see lots of activity, broadcast memories from up to 50’ away. For an object to transmit a recording to him, Lucas doesn’t need to be touching it, and he doesn’t choose whether or not it does, but the transmissions will remain mostly incoherent until he does touch the object. Once in contact with it, he has more control over what information he receives, but it’s mostly just a method of making things clearer and easier to understand or focus on (like tuning into a radio station).
Every object tends to have something that it retains better than others. For instance, reflective materials can record images, not always clearly, but usually enough to at least create some play of light and shadow. Windows and mirrors are the best. Almost all objects collect sound, though walls do it especially well, and more porous materials can best retain scent. And cloth, clothing in particular for obvious reasons, absorbs a lot of emotional tells. None of them record taste, however. And the sense of touch is often relegated to recording the temperature and varying amounts of pressure, though some of the finer details of object interaction are preserved.
It also does not come with any miraculous translating abilities, so while he can hear someone talking, if he doesn’t know the language, he’s not going to know what they’re saying. And while he can use more complex screens, the only reading he gets off them is a light aura around them. If he tried for anything more, he’d probably suffer the worst migraine ever.
W E A K N E S S E S || O V E R S T I M U L A T E D
As every sensation is from the object’s point of reference, this excludes them from recording such things as pain, pleasure, fatigue, and some movement, but this doesn’t guarantee that Lucas won’t find the feedback uncomfortable. Each transmitted sensation is almost always intrusive and can be confusing, even if it isn’t unpleasant. So, even if he’s prepared, big events and busy buildings can be remarkably overwhelming. As he cannot turn it off without either depleting his supply of HZEs or wearing an inhibitor, he’s almost always at least a little distracted or tired, even at his best, and often has a hard time focusing on the here and now. Any sudden influx of recorded memories leaves him relatively unresponsive and unaware of his surroundings for a time, so he doesn’t like using the inhibitor.
▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T , W H A T W O K E Y O U?
“Uh… I don’t—No.” Cutting off his usual answer, Lucas paused, frowning through his thought processes until a proper one came to him. Then, he flashed a bright grin, rather proud of himself for finding the most obvious one. “Things!” Probably, maybe, not really… He deflated almost immediately at the steady expectation waiting for more. It was an answer though, right? A little less certainly, he tried explaining in detail, slumping back into the chair so he could stare at the ceiling while he did. “The things leaking in my head are noise. But, you know? Ha! I sleep like the dead.” It really wasn’t likely he’d be waking up for much.
A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P , H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?
“Help? It's me.” Head tilting, staring at the ground now as he drummed his fingers on his knees to the same unsteady pattern echoing off his skull, Lucas’ eyebrows drew together at the question. Wasn’t the answer obvious? Or was it too obvious? But what else were you supposed to say? Well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t asked it before. “If everyone says help, that’s what you do, right? I dunno… He asked for it, anyway. Helping’s nice if you can.”
A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S , H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?
Though it took him a moment to get all the words straight, once he understood the question, Lucas just stared back, not even incredulous or confused, just… deadpan. They had more alarms than fire drills? He didn’t want to think about it, he wasn’t going to— “Ow.” Flinching, eyes shutting tight at the sudden blaring rush of sound that never came slow or gentle, he just squished his hands into his ears as though it had any hope of working and glared miserably across the room. No one’d warned him about intruder alarms. Wasn’t like a house alarm either, it was worse. So much— “Ow! Stop it, stop it, stop! What?! It’s loud!”
Provided it doesn't break itself again, I swear it wasn't my fault for most of that, I think it's also managed to fix itself. This also had nothing to do with any brilliance I can lay claim to... But anyway. Lucas is done! Hopefully, I got all the details right.
L U C A S B R A Y L U C A S B R A Y
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
"It’s Lucas, okay? For when there’s leaks in my head."
▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅
Lucas Emery Bray _________________________________________________________ May 5th, 2004 | 19 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | ♂ | Asexual _________________________________________________________ Toronto | Ontario | Canada
▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Ectomorph ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Brown ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Brown ◼ H E I G H T || 5'-9" ◼ W E I G H T || 143 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Caucasian -
▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ He’s honestly just tired of being tired and wants to figure out how to fix that by learning how to either control his power or at least adapt to it a little more and maybe find somewhere he can fit in along the way now he’s lost several years, his friends, his certainties, and his ideas for the future to being Hyperhuman. He’s not really bitter, but he’s definitely floundering. Having structure in his life is a good thing right now. G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Although his memories are vague and he’s still not certain if he didn’t just make them up, Lucas encountered several voices recorded throughout the city that shouldn’t have gone unheard and part of him hopes that not only will he be able to take control of his own life and power, but he’ll also be able to use it to help others and make those voices heard. Or at least stop there from being too many more making layers like dust swept under the rug. H.E.A.T. seems like the sort of push he needs to get there.
He also wants to make new friends and live his life now he’s not quite as scared of everyday ordeals. -
▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
-
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ►Bilingual: he speaks French and English fluently. ►He carries a little stuffed stegosaurus with him pretty much everywhere he goes. It was a gift from his dad. ►He also keeps a perfectly ordinary prescription bottle in his bag. It’s empty, but the rattle it makes in his head is pretty good for shutting everything else out. ►There are too many secrets playing in his head that nobody cares about for him to maintain a proper filter and he’s as likely to expose a secret accidentally as he is to keep it. ►His smiles, until he shows his teeth, are almost always an apology of some sort. ►Eye movement when trying to find words for himself = towards the ceiling/sky, from the environment = towards the ground. Sideways is utter uncertainty. ►Lucas cannot drive, and probably never should. -
▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Lucas grew up in the Summerhill district of Old Toronto under the care of his single father after a succinct divorce. Despite the rocky circumstances of his entry into fatherhood, the man persevered and put in the work and his parents were always willing to lend a hand when he needed it, and Lucas grew up feeling loved and looking forward to the future. It can’t be said that his life was the most exciting, but with winters set aside for school, summers were for swimming and sailing and eating ice cream at the cottage they shared with a friend of his dad’s. And plenty of camping in the nearby national parks.
It was a normal, pleasant life broken only by the few rough spots of occasional arguments and sports-induced injuries and the odd worse than average grade.
Then, a few months after his 14th birthday, Lucas caught a football and suddenly couldn’t stand straight. The dizzy sensation of spinning uncontrollably unnerved him completely, but he didn’t know where it came from. He shrugged it off at first; maybe he just needed a drink more than he thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Gradually, he started hearing and seeing things too, sometimes clearly and other times too faintly to make out. But he found himself answering questions he hadn’t been asked or feeling people nearby when there weren’t any. He managed to keep it… mostly under wraps until he failed that year with no real excuse save the truth. When he finally came clean, his dad was rather alarmed, and took him to a psychiatrist.
The eventual diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia. Unfortunately, the prescribed treatment didn’t work out as planned. Instead of helping, it interfered with the natural process of his emerging powers and the sudden influx of information made his brain shut down. He spent the next several years cycling through periods of being overstimulated and barely functioning to being mentally exhausted but coherent. Gradually, his father began to make the connection between location and coherency and heard enough repeated conversations from Lucas to realise what the actual trouble might be. So, he called his ex-wife to ask for her help.
Although an inhibitor is only a temporary solution, it certainly helped. And at least they discovered the reason behind his difficulties. Unfortunately, Lucas wasn’t the only one having problems during this time, and within the month, he both celebrated gaining some control over his life and saw his dad collapse due to lung cancer. The man succumbed quickly, leaving him and his mother to navigate the ins and outs of life turned upside down.
While his mother was willing to make things work if he wanted to take it slow and stay with her or with his grandparents, it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t used to being a mother and his grandparents were dealing with their own grief. So, they decided together that the best place for him was probably PRCU. Since he was too old for their collegiate program, he studied his ass off for a year and managed to pass his GED so he could enroll in H.E.A.T. without issue.
▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || P S Y C H O M E T R Y __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || PSIONIC
Lucas can perceive the history of an object through proximity with it. This history can be anything from where it’s been and who or what interacted with it, to how it moved and what its purpose was. In Lucas’ case, object means any inanimate thing that has been shaped or made by humans. In general, foods don’t count, but some highly processed foods might.
Also, while Lucas would call them memories, as they feel like active processes in his brain, the glimpses he gets of the past are more like recordings layered over each other. Similar acts make similar recordings meld together and become stronger, while the less repeated, less insistent activities get lost in the shuffle. They’re still there, every minute of every day since the object first became whole is caught up in its shape, they just aren’t as easy to tease out. Or, as Lucas reacts to each recording running through his mind, he might drag free the more unusual moments that something has to offer simply by unconsciously focusing on them. In a similar vein, external stimulus can prompt a shift in the sort of recordings being broadcasted. Climbing up stairs might bring up the memory of all the other feet that have weighed them down. And greetings are often echoed by a multitude of voices.
L I M I T A T I O N S || D I S T A N C E , K N O W L E D G E , R E C O R D C L A R I T Y
He has a range of about 5’ with nearby objects; the smaller they are, the closer he has to be to them, usually. But memories can bleed together through walls or connected objects, and sometimes buildings, particularly large ones that see lots of activity, broadcast memories from up to 50’ away. For an object to transmit a recording to him, Lucas doesn’t need to be touching it, and he doesn’t choose whether or not it does, but the transmissions will remain mostly incoherent until he does touch the object. Once in contact with it, he has more control over what information he receives, but it’s mostly just a method of making things clearer and easier to understand or focus on (like tuning into a radio station).
Every object tends to have something that it retains better than others. For instance, reflective materials can record images, not always clearly, but usually enough to at least create some play of light and shadow. Windows and mirrors are the best. Almost all objects collect sound, though walls do it especially well, and more porous materials can best retain scent. And cloth, clothing in particular for obvious reasons, absorbs a lot of emotional tells. None of them record taste, however. And the sense of touch is often relegated to recording the temperature and varying amounts of pressure, though some of the finer details of object interaction are preserved.
It also does not come with any miraculous translating abilities, so while he can hear someone talking, if he doesn’t know the language, he’s not going to know what they’re saying. And while he can use more complex screens, the only reading he gets off them is a light aura around them. If he tried for anything more, he’d probably suffer the worst migraine ever.
W E A K N E S S E S || O V E R S T I M U L A T E D
As every sensation is from the object’s point of reference, this excludes them from recording such things as pain, pleasure, fatigue, and some movement, but this doesn’t guarantee that Lucas won’t find the feedback uncomfortable. Each transmitted sensation is almost always intrusive and can be confusing, even if it isn’t unpleasant. So, even if he’s prepared, big events and busy buildings can be remarkably overwhelming. As he cannot turn it off without either depleting his supply of HZEs or wearing an inhibitor, he’s almost always at least a little distracted or tired, even at his best, and often has a hard time focusing on the here and now. Any sudden influx of recorded memories leaves him relatively unresponsive and unaware of his surroundings for a time, so he doesn’t like using the inhibitor for multiple reasons.
▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T , W H A T W O K E Y O U?
“Uh… I don’t—No.” Cutting off his usual answer, Lucas paused, frowning through his thought processes until a proper one came to him. Then, he flashed a bright grin, rather proud of himself for finding the most obvious one. “Things!” Probably, maybe, not really… He deflated almost immediately at the steady expectation waiting for more. It was an answer though, right? A little less certainly, he tried explaining in detail, slumping back into the chair so he could stare at the ceiling while he did. “The things leaking in my head are noise. But, you know? Ha! I sleep like the dead.” It really wasn’t likely he’d be waking up for much.
A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P , H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?
“Help?” Head tilting, staring at the ground now as he drummed his fingers on his knees to the same unsteady pattern echoing off his skull, Lucas’ eyebrows drew together at the question. Wasn’t the answer obvious? Or was it too obvious? But what else were you supposed to say? Well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t asked it before. “If everyone says help, that’s what you do, right? I dunno… He asked for it, anyway. Helping’s nice if you can.”
A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S , H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?
Though it took him a moment to get all the words straight, once he understood the question, Lucas just stared back, not even incredulous or confused, just… deadpan. They had more alarms than fire drills? He didn’t want to think about it, he wasn’t going to— “Ow.” Flinching, eyes shutting tight at the sudden blaring rush of sound that never came slow or gentle, he just squished his hands into his ears as though it had any hope of working and glared miserably across the room. No one’d warned him about intruder alarms. Wasn’t like a house alarm either, it was worse. So much— “Ow! Stop it, stop it, stop! What?! It’s loud!”
cottonferret
badfool
Vampiretwilight
Fetzen
FulgrimLives
Hound55
Vixere
Lucid Dreaming
Tim the Yeti
