Ninth PSI

[a_gentle_boy]

[He awoke in a bed.  That was strange.  He had gone to sleep on a chair, having successfully made it around the neighborhood to visit anyone who was ailing.  The Netherlands hadn't yet returned when he'd snuck back into the house, pretending as if he had never left in the first place. What was even stranger was that he was apparently in his pajamas and . . . looking out the window . . . There was no haze.  There was no rubble.  There were no hazmat men.  There were no corpses.

 . . .

He slowly walks downstairs as if in a trance and sees the familiar sight of his kitchen.  Tears immediately coming to his eyes, the boy rushes to the telephone.]

Hello?!  Is this Mayfield?  Am I . . . Am I back?!   Did we win?  Did . . . Did we all make it?  Is everyone.  Is everyone OK?  Mr. Netherlands?  Mr. Netherlands, did we beat them?

Is this real . . . ?  If this is really Mayfield, someone please answer me.  There were so many things we found in Westport.  And last night -- Last night, that voice.  Richard Grey's last message.  You all heard it too, right?

EDIT:
Kay's right.
We all found clues over there that everyone should see.  I have a copy of the note that Kay and I found in the library and the one that Miss Alice and I found in the car.  If anyone wants to come see them, that's fine.  We should all get together sometime soon.

Comments

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[He doesn't seem to mind.]

Hopefully. After we all rest for a few days, we really should get the clues together.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

[starting the car up] Good idea. America and I are going to start having nation meetings, too.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

So Mr. America is a country, too? Are Mr. Russia and your sister? It seems like there are a lot of them . . .

[windmill.livejournal.com]

...Yeah. Belgium is my sister. There's hundreds of us.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

H-Hundreds?! All from the same world? . . . Wow. There was only one where I came from.

I wonder if the Nowhere Islands might show up here as a person.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

Nowhere Islands? Is that where you're from?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

T-That's right.

[There is the tiniest trace of quiver in his voice. He'd forgotten that he'd never said anything about his past to the Netherlands. They'd gotten so close that it hadn't even crossed his minds.]

And my town was called Tazmily.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

[He drives slowly.] I'd like to learn more about where you come from. [He's genuinely curious.]

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

Tazmily was a wonderful place. It was . . . It wasn't even much of a town. It was a really small village, where everyone knew everyone else. The type of place that I guess isn't very usual for other people. But I loved living there . . . I really did. But . . .

[Lucas's voice trails off. He doesn't really want to keep going. Not now, after what they've just gone through.]

[windmill.livejournal.com]

[He detects the subtle change in mood, but smiles kindly.] Tell me more about it later, ja?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

OK.

[And he smiles. The Netherlands understands.]

I promise I'll tell you all about it sometime later. Just some other day, maybe.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

Whenever you're ready.

[and instead of hunting for injured people, he's ... pulling up to the malt shop]

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

[Lucas does not notice until they are about to leave the car.]

This is -- Ah, weren't we supposed to be . . .

((Gotta go to bed now, night!))

[windmill.livejournal.com]

We haven't had anything good to eat for almost a week. Come on, it's my treat. We can get started making rounds right after. Promise.


[ooc; night!]

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

But . . .

[Oh hey what's that sound? Lucas glances down at his stomach momentarily. He'd eaten an omelette at home, but that's not nearly enough for a growing boy, right?]

W-Well. A few more minutes won't, um. Hurt anyone, right?

[windmill.livejournal.com]

[leading the way in] Right.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

I've never been in here, actually. I don't have any money and my dad says that sugar rots your teeth or something. My fake dad, I mean.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

Your dad is a dic- [quickly censoring himself] -he sounds like a jerk.

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

Well. I-I guess he's not a real person, so I can't really blame him. I did kick him once, though. I felt bad afterward.

[windmill.livejournal.com]

[He's looking at the menu.] What are the other members of your 'family' like?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

The other ones are real people. Miss Ushiromiya was quiet at first, but she's pretty nice. Fuuko's . . . um. Fuuko's interesting.

[Lucas is staring at the menu, too. He doesn't know what any of these things are.]

[windmill.livejournal.com]

Is Fuuko your brother?

[not familiar with the concept either, not being American, but hey, he does understand things like chocolate and vanilla] What's your favorite flavor?

[a-gentle-boy.livejournal.com]

Fuuko's my sister. She's supposed to be older than me, but I'm not sure about that sometimes . . .

[Lucas is scanning the menu for omelettes, which does not appear to be an option for some bizarre reason he can't comprehend.]

Out of these? Um. I've only ever tried strawberry-flavored anything . . . Maybe I should go with something else, then. Chocolate sounds good.

[Strawberry-flavored tofu was definitely not his favorite thing in the world.]