a_gentle_boy | Entries tagged with kay

[action]
[It was difficult to celebrate a holiday under the effects of mind control, no matter how subtle. So he'd postponed his plans, just a few days. The exact date wasn't of much importance to him - they hadn't even had this day in Tazmily - but the spirit of it . . . That was what he wanted to honor.

He holds a single sunflower, the mass of roots and dirt cupped between his hands as he makes his way to a corner of the park he had sought out for this purpose. It may be that it would be gone the next day, but . . . if he could have this for a day, that would be enough. Enough time to sit, to think . . . to remember and to reflect. A large insect of some sort sits atop his shoulder and chitters away curiously. He ignores it, for the time being, and sets the flower down carefully against the grass. He takes ahold of his trowel and begins to dig.

The work is not hard. The hole is made before long, and gently, he lowers the flower, nestling it within the hollow. He pats the dirt down, adjusts the leaves and petals . . . finds a rock and sets it before the golden flower. He begins to speak aloud as he carefully scratches away.]

Little stinkbug... You've recorded the history of my world, right? You remember everything Leder said to us that day. Right before we went to face Porky for the last time. To remind us in case we forgot . . . if we forgot what it is we were fighting for.

So... I want you to record something else, too. Is that OK? ... Something... Something just as important. Not in case I forget. I couldn't ever forget. But because . . . it's something that should always be remembered. No matter how much time passes. A hundred years from now, I want people to remember her name...

She saved the Nowhere Islands. Not me and Boney, or Kumatora, or Duster. If it weren't for her... I would have died a long time ago.

Her name was Hinawa. My mom. Hinawa.

[action 2]
[Sometime later, he sits by himself in front of the rock that reads, 'HINAWA - A loving mother'. The stinkbug is gone. Lucas draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.]

( Happy Mother's Day )

((Either action/conversation can be responded to, though if you have little to no CR with Lucas, I'd prefer you not overhear the second prompt.))

[action, dated back a few days]
( Goodbye, Luke. )

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.))

[action]
[The days of January have passed relatively uneventfully for Lucas. He's had a lot to think about, and a lot to consider. For now, though, each time passes much like the rest, and he will take happiness in whatever peace he can get. His routine is fairly straightforward.

1: ( Lucas attacks your front door with newspapers. )
2: ( Lucas plays piano. )
3: ( Lucas draws you )

[voice]
[A phone call is broadcast to everyone later that night.]

Hello? A-Ah. This is Lucas.

I've been thinking a lot lately, and there's something that's been on my mind. I guess I want to ask . . . How long has this town been here? How long have people come in and out? Does anyone really know? But what's more important is . . . does anyone really remember everyone who's been here?

When people get droned, we think they've gone home, right? It's the hope we have, and a lot of the times it's true, but can we really be sure that it's everyone? Sergei -- the Russian man. He, um. Didn't he say that they were in a lot of pain? That some people who were droned . . . that they were still inside. If that's so, then . . . then we can't just forget about them, right? Even if one person is still here as a drone, we can't forget about them. And either way, it's terrible to forget the people you've become friends with at all. To forget about the people who've come to Mayfield and who've gone.

............. I know I've already started to.

Does anyone think we should maybe start keeping track? Just . . . something so that the people who come here won't ever be forgotten. Maybe even signatures. So if you do start to forget, then you can look back and see everyone's name and remember. Small things like . . . Miss Margot, and how she was always caring for her sister. Fuuko and how much she loved starfish. Mr. Zero, and how fun his gym classes were.

It might be a bad idea. Or too much work. But . . . Well. I guess if you don't want to talk about that, maybe we can just share stories of people who've been here and how important they were to us. I'd love to hear that kind of thing.

[Please specify 1, 2, 3, or voice. Although the actions are really just default Lucas interactions if your character has no interest in this topic.]

[public]
[There is fumbling on the phone line for a few seconds and a bit of hesitant breathing, as if the speaker isn't sure whether or not he should say what he's about to say. When he finally gets the words out, though, they are spoken firmly, with confidence.]

I believe him.

I'm not going to ask anyone else to, but . . . I do. I don't think for a second that he can really get us out of here, but I think he's trying to help us. It's not out of selflessness or anything -- There's some reason we can't understand . . . If it makes sense, though, I think . . . I think whatever he's after, it's better for him if we escape than if we stay. It's not for our sake. But I believe him.

We've fought so hard for so long. So when somebody offers to help us for the first time . . . If we just refuse and say it's a trick to hurt us even more -- Isn't that a victory for them, too? We've all been hurt so deeply that our first reaction is to be afraid. . . . I don't want to become like that. I don't want to become someone who's bitter and frightened and always suspicious. I understand -- I'm naive, and I'm stupid. But I've gotten as far as I have by believing in the good of people, and I won't let Mayfield take that away from me.

. . . He said something to me. 'Keep on keeping on'. . . .

[filtered to Crowe, Kay, Luke, and Ness]
[He's chosen the people he wants to speak with carefully. There are so many people he loves and cares for in this place, but . . . He needs a certain type of person for this. And after carefully considering for another few moments, Lucas slowly and deliberately filters away from his mother. There are some things he doesn't want her to know.]

I have something to show you. It might not be a good time now -- When all of this is over, though, I'd like to ask you to come over when you can. Thanks.

[filtered and whatever]
[The voice that speaks into the phone is strangely calm. After having suffered a severe shock and half-believing he had been transported back to Westport, Lucas wisely decided to remain at home.]

Please listen, everyone. There are some things you should know about these people.

We called them the hazmat men when they first showed up in Westport. They started off pretty slow and they weren't much of a threat, but as the days passed, they became much faster, stronger, and smarter. I don't know how they'll behave now, but to be on the safe side, you should assume that they're at full power.

If you have to fight them, you should know that there's nothing underneath the suits. Blunt force won't do anything and they won't react to getting hit. What you need to do to break through -- stabbing or piercing or shooting works. When the suit is opened, they release a lot of poison gas that can kill you if you're too close. If you touch them or if you inhale any of it, the chemicals will burn you badly. Some people died from the gas alone.

They attack with axes and they carry gas sprays with them. Don't let them touch you. The best thing to do if they're chasing you is to run. They're not too fast.

[This was the the task entrusted to him. And come hell or high water, he would do it. The man hadn't specified what exactly 'something' was, but Lucas figured that being roasted to a crisp qualified. It wasn't too hard to guess what had happened. The Netherlands and America had invited Jane Smith into the pharmacy on some pretense. They'd confronted her. And some how or another, the pharmacy had burnt to the ground, all three of them killed.

He'd wiped away his tears and set to work, returning home and making 10, 20, 50, nearly 100 copies of both sides of the note by hand. It had taken him nearly two hours. Placing a note into each mailbox took even longer and by the time he'd gotten back to his house, he was exhausted. But that was alright. Being so tired . . . It meant he could hardly think about what had happened And that meant he wouldn't just crumple up and cry. There was no time for that. Now . . . Now he had to complete the task that Mr. Netherlands had asked of him. He would be strong. He would believe that tomorrow morning, both of them would be back in their beds just like Margot had been.

He ate dinner, thinking over what he was going to say in his head, then waited another half hour before picking up the phone. He, of course, filtered it away from all the drones. And when he speaks, his voice is quiet and calm, but almost completely toneless.]

This is Lucas, the boy who lives on 846 Goldberg.
I have something important to say. By now, everyone should know that the pharmacy burned down this morning with three people inside -- there were three bodies. I'm here to tell you that it's almost certain they were Mr. Netherlands, Mr. America, and Miss Jane Smith.

[pause]

Mr. Netherlands found something in Westport that he'd kept to himself the last few weeks. I didn't see it until today. But because of what the note said, I guess it seemed like a good idea to talk to Jane Smith and find out what she knew. So he did. In the case that something happened, I was asked to distribute this note to as many people as I could. Please check your mailboxes. It should be clear what I mean once you read it.

. . . This is the reason they died. Remember that. I don't know how the building burned, but I'm certain of it. This is why they died . . .
If there are any questions you think I can answer, you are welcome call me back in about ten minutes. Thank you.

[Click. Lucas stares at the phone silently for a long time after he's hung up, his breaths short and ragged. Finally, he lets himself go and allows the tears to come pouring down his face.]

EDIT:
There's a witness who saw Officer Grady do it. Set it on fire, I mean. . . . Um. That's it.

[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.