a_gentle_boy | Entries tagged with shina

[Lucas has a package! It is very large and it is wrapped up all nicely on his driveway, blocking the passage of any cars. He wonders momentarily what he could have possibly gotten back until realizing that he only has one 'possession' that's shaped like this. After spending about twenty minutes carefully removing it from its packaging, Lucas beams at the extremely odd . . . thing.]

Hi. It's nice to see you again.

[With that, he gets on. And is instantly dragged away.]

W-Wha . . . Uwahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! S-S-Slowwww d-doooooown!

[He hangs on for dear life.
Mr. Saturn's Tea Table is rampaging around the town! Lucas has forgotten how to control this thing and is liable to smash into anybody and everything. It's a little smaller than a car and seats four. Here is a picture although it's larger than that in canon. Here is a video demonstrating it running things over.]

Sorry! . . . Ah, get out of the way! . . . I-I'll heal you later . . . ! Tea Table! You've got to calm down!

[It is time to sum up what Lucas has been doing all summer. This is the culmination of hours of hard work and dedication. This is the pinnacle of success for the boy who has been deprived of a normal childhood. It is also the first time the player has tried a post of this sort.

Four scenarios will be presented. One is welcome to respond to as many of them as one wishes. Numbering the initial comment may be helpful.]

First Scenario:( Lucas bakes. Read: Lucas sets things on fire. )

Second Scenario:( Lucas learns to play an instrument. Read: Lucas breaks eardrums. )

Third Scenario:( Lucas draws. Read: . . . Actually, that's about right. )

Fourth Scenario:( Lucas practices martial arts and yo-yo tricks. Read: Lucas attacks your face. )

. . . . . . . . .

I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't mean any of it, of course, b-but. It still happened . . . And I still did what I did. I don't know if I can really apologize enough. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry . . .

[There is sniffling for a few moments before Lucas seems to calm down.]

I don't know if I can make up for it . . . But I heard people are still hurt after everything that happened. I can try to heal you if you want . . . I know people will ask, but it's kinda . . . it's magic. And I can fix blindness, too . . .

I'm really, really sorry.

[After this call, Lucas can be found sitting on his front porch looking extremely dejected. He is aimlessly throwing a yo-yo back and forth, and although he's not doing anything particularly impressive, he seems to have some skill.]

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hi, everyone.

As foreman of the section of the factory responsible for producing canned beets, I'm pleased to announce that we've pretty much got things covered for the rest of the week. I think we're about 2000 cans of beets over where we need to be. In light of your hard work over the last few months as members of the Glorious Amazing Incredibly Happy People of Um, Prola . . Prolatarines That Hate America, I think it's fair that everyone who works in the beet-produce section should get the next few days off to think about how much you love communism and how happy we all are and how you want to stay out of trouble for sure definitely.

If anyone needs me, I'm going to be, um . . . somewhere far away, I think. And if anyone asks why you're not at the factory, remember that you have permission from your foreman to stay indoors and not cause trouble until this all blows over. I mean, until the end of the week.

And if I make any more telephone announcements after this that sound stupid, you should ignore it.

[for household]
What is that horrible racket at 5:30 in the morning?
If you stumble downstairs to check out the noise, you can find Lucas standing on top of a chair yanking at the smoke detector in an increasing state of panic as time passes and the noise continues. On the stove is a pan of frying bacon that wasn't actually burned when the smoke detector began to go off, but certainly is now.]

[for Free]
In lieu of breakfast, there is, instead, a large steak meal sitting on the table around lunchtime with a small bouquet of flowers in a vase.

[for the Netherlands]
The doorbell rings at approximately 3:00 in the afternoon. No one will be there when the door is answered, but there is a wrapped present, a card, and a bouquet of sunflowers. The present is a small stack of artwork featuring Miffy in generally cute poses, including sitting in a field of flowers, having a picnic with assorted other animals, and tucked into bed sleeping peacefully. They seem to improve, skill-wise, as they progress chronologically. The card reads as follows.

( [Cut for mushiness] )

[and finally, for everyone]
Um. It looks like the same thing that happened on Mother's Day is happening again, but backwards, right?

. . . Does anyone know if, maybe there's a Children's Day? That might be fun. Actually, Mr. America said his birthday is coming up soon, right, which means that it's a pretty big holiday for this world, too. Are there any other big ones we should all know about? And are there any really cool holidays from other worlds that people want to share? Maybe we could celebrate them together even if the town doesn't.

[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.

Hi, everyone.

Um. I guess this is kind of a silly thing to mention, but I'd like to say that what I got back the other day was my PSI. I think most people think of it as magic . . . But it's a bit different. Anyway, most of the PSI I know is used for defense and healing. So if anyone is ever hurt or anything, please let me know. I'm sure a lot of other people here know healing magic, too, but I'll be glad to fix you up as well as I can, which is, well. Pretty good, actually. I can heal mostly anything . . . As long as you're not actually dead, Lifeup will do the trick. Oh. I can't turn people back from stone either. Which actually happens more often than you'd think it would.

I was thinking about finding a job at the hospital . . . But I don't think they take kids.

Anyway, thanks for your time.

EDIT:
[Lucas's PSI skills are put to the test. Unfortunately, the poor guy was dead before he could do anything at all.]

AH! Mr. Captain . . . He -- I think he's dead. W-What should I do? When will he come back?! . . . . . How could something like this have happened already?