Thirtieth PSI
Feb. 3rd, 2011 11:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a_gentle_boy[action, dated back a few days]
[He'd heard from Rin that both Roshian and Giriko had gone in a single night. Though he wasn't very fond of them himself, he remembered how distraught Luke had been for those few weeks when his 'mother' had been droned, and how happy he'd been to have her back. The two of them . . . They were obviously important to his friend.
He isn't surprised when he rings the doorbell to be greeted by Roshian's smiling face. She pats him on the head. 'Luke was upstairs.' Evidently, she still remembered that they were friends. They were the same age, after all, in the same classes. And if he thought about it . . . Luke was the first real friend he'd made here and still his closest. He nods to the drone, quickly hurrying up, a jigsaw puzzle tucked underneath his arm, a small box of chocolate held in his hands. If Luke felt even half as badly as he had when the Netherlands had gone, or Margot . . .
But the moment he walks through the bedroom door to be greeted, his face falls. No cap. Nothing blue. No trace of that interesting way of speaking Luke had. Around the room . . . No Gizmo. No home pictures. And now that he thinks about it . . . no funny robot on the front lawn.
It is suddenly very difficult to swallow. He carefully walks to the desk, setting his presents down, barely capable of doing so without trembling. His hands . . . Lucas shoves them into his pockets quickly. As he backs away, a small box set atop the desk catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. "For Lucas". Turning to the drone boy to ask in a casual manner, he is greeted with mild surprise. If it had his name on it, certainly, it was for him. Once again, his shaking hands can hardly grasp ahold of the object, but he manages it in the end. And when he turns to leave, he doesn't even apologize as he accidentally sweeps a stack of books off the desk.
He stumbles down the steps and out the front door, clutching the box to his chest. The heaving of his chest as he runs . . . He can pretend that it is because of the exertion that his chest has become so tight. Not because it has become so hard to breathe. Not because of the tears that flow, unwanted, from his eyes.
. . . Goodbye, Luke. May you solve every puzzle that arises to challenge you.]
1. Alone in the park, Lucas finds the most isolated bench he possibly can and eases into it, still holding the box to his chest. He has an inkling of what's inside. The same reason he had shown Luke where he kept his box . . . Now, though, he simply sits. And allows himself, after a few futile moments, to cry softly.
2. He has calmed down enough to go through the things that had been left to him. Just as with the Netherlands, just as he himself did, Luke had kept notes. Lucas dries his tears, looking through each piece of information carefully. It's hard for him to understand right now, but . . . He will go through everything again when he's in a less harried state of mind. The Westport notes.
3. It had been too late for Luke. But it didn't have to be that way for anyone else. Not if he hurried up with this. Lucas is too shy to take pictures of people, but late into the afternoon, he is in the park with an ancient, half-broken camera, practicing taking pictures of trees and squirrels and snowdrifts . . .
((A bit deliberately less accessible than the usual entry, so I'm going to ask that no more than 3-4 people respond to the first prompt. Thanks.))
[He'd heard from Rin that both Roshian and Giriko had gone in a single night. Though he wasn't very fond of them himself, he remembered how distraught Luke had been for those few weeks when his 'mother' had been droned, and how happy he'd been to have her back. The two of them . . . They were obviously important to his friend.
He isn't surprised when he rings the doorbell to be greeted by Roshian's smiling face. She pats him on the head. 'Luke was upstairs.' Evidently, she still remembered that they were friends. They were the same age, after all, in the same classes. And if he thought about it . . . Luke was the first real friend he'd made here and still his closest. He nods to the drone, quickly hurrying up, a jigsaw puzzle tucked underneath his arm, a small box of chocolate held in his hands. If Luke felt even half as badly as he had when the Netherlands had gone, or Margot . . .
But the moment he walks through the bedroom door to be greeted, his face falls. No cap. Nothing blue. No trace of that interesting way of speaking Luke had. Around the room . . . No Gizmo. No home pictures. And now that he thinks about it . . . no funny robot on the front lawn.
It is suddenly very difficult to swallow. He carefully walks to the desk, setting his presents down, barely capable of doing so without trembling. His hands . . . Lucas shoves them into his pockets quickly. As he backs away, a small box set atop the desk catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. "For Lucas". Turning to the drone boy to ask in a casual manner, he is greeted with mild surprise. If it had his name on it, certainly, it was for him. Once again, his shaking hands can hardly grasp ahold of the object, but he manages it in the end. And when he turns to leave, he doesn't even apologize as he accidentally sweeps a stack of books off the desk.
He stumbles down the steps and out the front door, clutching the box to his chest. The heaving of his chest as he runs . . . He can pretend that it is because of the exertion that his chest has become so tight. Not because it has become so hard to breathe. Not because of the tears that flow, unwanted, from his eyes.
. . . Goodbye, Luke. May you solve every puzzle that arises to challenge you.]
1. Alone in the park, Lucas finds the most isolated bench he possibly can and eases into it, still holding the box to his chest. He has an inkling of what's inside. The same reason he had shown Luke where he kept his box . . . Now, though, he simply sits. And allows himself, after a few futile moments, to cry softly.
2. He has calmed down enough to go through the things that had been left to him. Just as with the Netherlands, just as he himself did, Luke had kept notes. Lucas dries his tears, looking through each piece of information carefully. It's hard for him to understand right now, but . . . He will go through everything again when he's in a less harried state of mind. The Westport notes.
3. It had been too late for Luke. But it didn't have to be that way for anyone else. Not if he hurried up with this. Lucas is too shy to take pictures of people, but late into the afternoon, he is in the park with an ancient, half-broken camera, practicing taking pictures of trees and squirrels and snowdrifts . . .
((A bit deliberately less accessible than the usual entry, so I'm going to ask that no more than 3-4 people respond to the first prompt. Thanks.))
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:08 am (UTC)I . . . said she died protecting me, right? Four years ago now. Claus and I were almost ten.
What happened was an invasion. Don't laugh. An army from a different dimension invaded our world. They turned all the animals into monsters and set loose a lot of robots . . . Mom died because we were attacked by a chimerized Drago.
[Lucas's voice as he says this is curiously detached. He has to be.]
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:11 am (UTC)[She's sympathetic, but also amazed.]
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Date: 2011-02-08 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:25 am (UTC)So why'd they invade, anyway?
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Date: 2011-02-08 02:29 am (UTC)[Kay has likely never heard that tone of anger or disgust in Lucas's voice before. It is, perhaps, shocking.]
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Date: 2011-02-08 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:34 am (UTC)[Lucas pauses. Porky Minch. . . . He doesn't dwell upon it, but for whatever reason, it doesn't feel right to mention his name when he is in the town.]
This person was a time traveler who had lived for centuries as an immature kid. He wanted to destroy things, corrupt things . . . He was insane. That was what he thought was fun.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:45 am (UTC)I don't know. He just . . . showed up. And everything was ruined. It wasn't just the monsters, you know. It was . . . our friendships, our trust in one another, the way we lived.
Our love.
He knew how to bring out the worst side of people, and that was even worse than the chimeras. In three years, he had the Nowhere Islands under his control -- And had everyone thinking it was a good thing.
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Date: 2011-02-08 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 02:50 am (UTC)He had something better. Money. And 'entertainment'.
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Date: 2011-02-08 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:00 am (UTC)But once it was introduced, everyone just wanted more and more money and more and more . . . stuff. And they were happy that he'd shown them these things. Dragon points and Happy Boxes and entertainment clubs . . . Everyone thought they were amazing.
A lot of people ended up joining the army. I guess they didn't care who was killed because of it anymore as long as they had things.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:03 am (UTC)[Yeah, it's pretty hard for her to fully grasp this. But she's close enough to be properly horrified by it, anyway.]
So everybody just got greedy and crazy and it ended up being the new normal, huh? That's really terrible.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:13 am (UTC)I shouldn't say everyone. There were still people who recognized how horrible it was. ... And a little before I turned thirteen, I set off with some of these people to fight back against the army.
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Date: 2011-02-08 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:23 am (UTC)[But he falters there. The story of the Masked Man . . . that isn't something he can say without tears.]
It was hard. It was very hard.
But we won.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:41 am (UTC)...Good. I'm glad everything turned out all right, at least.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:56 am (UTC)I'm not a hundred percent sure on that yet, but I think . . . I think it should be alright.
. . . I guess that's my story.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 04:05 am (UTC)Um. I'm sorry. Can you . . . not tell anyone about all of this, either?
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Date: 2011-02-08 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 09:40 pm (UTC)[He tries to smile now. The mood has been bleak for far too long. And it's really very awkward now . . . To tell this story. He feels, for a moment, very self-centered.]
I guess I'll let you know if I need to, again.
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