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| Flamel Parsons | SOMEDAY... Two keyboards inscribe raw fury over government letterhead. URGENT, FOR IMMEDIATE REVIEW AND TIMELY RESPONSE To the Director of Project Mystic, Following a review of available information concerning the Psychogate Event, it has come to our attention that you and your subordinates have not furnished a complete set of information and materials concerning activities undertaken before and during the event, especially as concerns outside contractors brought in from offworld. Records regarding persons involved, hour-by-hour activities thereby, and most importantly, interactions with the Collective Unconscious or any activities occurring within a "Gate Expedition", have not been provided. These records are essential for analaysis of the Psychogate Event. International law regarding psychic activities requires these records to be kept for exactly this sort of scenario. Provide them in a timely manner for immediate examination by the IPAR Bureau. Yours, Director Deems, International Psychic Affairs Regulation Bureau To the Director of the IPAR Bureau, You've received all necessary data. What happened that day and in the following days is clear, and additional details carry the existential risk of providing biased parties with material to leak and damage the reputation of the Psychonauts. This is an unacceptable risk at this time. You'll receive your records when those records are available to the general public, which will be shortly after the IPAR rescinds its emergency moratorium on Psychonaut public communications. Best regards, The Director of Project Mystic |
| Flamel Parsons | CURRENT DAY GREEN NEEDLE GULCH The infiltration camp is well-established now. A combination of Watch and Foundation staff have, mostly, gotten it hardened against the startling and strange surge in the weather. It's snowing. Big flurries, in the middle of November, and the chill in the air bites aggressively. But nothing has gotten a firm hold on things, it melts damply. http://files.at.decompressed.space/3e1YexXM As before, the camp is sunny and deep in the distant Green Needle Gulch. The inside man still provides Thinkerprint spoofers and false staff credentials for the more mature, as well as genuine intern credentials for those who can pull that off. Bring your own 'professional wear', though. The little blue tube leading to the OTTOBON, and the OTTOBON that leads to the main atrium, are both as ever still available, an incredibly convenient little quick-travel to the heart of the MOTHERLOBE. Speaking of which... Files are available about the Motherlobe's interior: http://files.at.decompressed.space/kJQWCQXI http://files.at.decompressed.space/AB3xqkah But can anything match seeing it in person? http://files.at.decompressed.space/KtoHP3Q5 http://files.at.decompressed.space/hTa2Sx3d Flamel and his team haven't been sighted in more than a day. Concord envoys are bogged down in meetings with Truman Zanotto, the Grand Head of the Psychonauts. Concord scientists and other workers are also absent... There shouldn't be anything stopping anyone's plans to investigate anything. The current leads are: - One can likely get conversational with Truman while he cools off in the in-headquarters bowling alley. He might be open to discussing this. - Flamel's material-purity demands for Psitanium have been unthinkably high recently. - Otto Mentalis, head of R&D for the Psychonauts, has been locked out of the Psychogate project. What does he know? - Flamel's motivations seem centered around regrets and damage he's done, as well as damage he's seen done in the world. Elibe has frequently come up, as well as Sector L-57 and The City. |
| Storm Investigators | Greta and Marcus have returned to join the investigation! They're dressed in their usual big coats of brown and blue to handle the cold, but they're also dressed in matching two-piece suits underneath that to help blend in and look suitably professional. When it's time to figure out what leads they're chasing, it doesn't take long for them to decide on a path of action: With the Concord scientists and Flamel out of the picture for now, they can be a little more adventurous and head straight to the bowling alley. "Is it really going to be alright to read his thoughts, Madam Hofmann?" "If you must, but let's see if we can get what we need purely by speaking to him about the matter. It will be a good way for you to learn how to press someone for details." "I see... Huh? A-am I going to have to do the pressing...?" And so, they head to the bowling alley, looking for Truman Zanotto, trying to strike up a conversation through the power of bowling in suits. With any luck, they might be able to catch him getting shoes, taking a break, or even snagging the lane next to his with whomever else might be in on the plan. |
| Regulus | Regulus isn't a therapist and, more relevantly, has only the vaguest possible idea as to why Flamel feels guilty about anything at all. So that leaves Regulus with three options. And she narrows it down to two because Truman is, like, in charge? That makes him an AUTHORITY FIGURE and Regulus would rather avoid going to the biggest authority in the Psychonauts that she knows about. That leaves talking to Otto Mentalis, whom she knows used to be a COOL AND RAD MUSICIAN, and trying to find out where Flamel gets his Psitanium. It's a tough call, because she's curious about Psitanium as an alchemist Unfortunately she has no idea about how to go find the supply so ultimately she settles on heading off to Otto Mentalis. Not only did he used to be a RAD MUSICIAN he didn't go completely lame like she assumes the other Psychic Psfive did because he got into R&D and tech! And maybe she could bum off a cool device (hopefully one that doesn't require psychic power but Regulus isn't even that picky) off of him, you know, by sucking up to him enough? And then she could use that cool device to FOIL FLAMEL'S EVIL SCHEME to ... treat his regrets? Look, she's not sure she really understands the full breadth of what he's up to and SURE she feels a little bad that he's doing all this because he's feeling BAD but he hurt her feelings! And really, isn't that worth feeling regret about??? So basically she has decided to go looking for Otto. And that means she's largely asked other Psychonauts as to where he could be found so she could go looking for his lab and then pester him! A lot! With a lot of questions!! So many questions!!! She's got a lot of questions and some of them are actually sort of related to what's going on! |
| Tamamo | Through Foundation channels, Tamamo-no-mae has come to poke around -- that is, to investigate what Flamel Parsons has been up to, apart from 'divulging a ton of tactically relevant data' about her fiancee to someone who then shot her. Her presence may become a problem, because her ability to disguise herself is... Well! It's a good thing Flamel isn't here today. Maybe Tamamo won't run into anyone who knows her, at all. The most she can do, under most circumstances, is project a constant, low-level feeling of trustworthiness and belonging into people who can see her, but aren't immune to mental compulsions of divine origin. She has made some attempt to change her usual look, opting for camping-ready autumn clothing in earthy tones, from the skirt to jacket, with similarly color-coordinated but darker sweater and tights. A scarf won't be needed indoors, presumably, but she did bring one for the 'camp' part of the trip. All in all, she's still a pink-haired fox carrying a phony ID, to anyone who sees past the charm. After exchanging (or rather, acquiring) notes to update herself on leads, written into a little notepad with a half-sized pencil that all fits neatly into a jacket pocket, Tamamo greets Greta and Marcus, and then splits off to cover more ground (and/or not implicate them if she's caught). "The City I know, and perhaps Elibe, but Sector L-57...?" A name like that isn't drawing anything out of her memory, but if it's a secret to which she was privy, maybe hearing something else about it will jog her memory. There's no 'records' on the map. Maybe it's Storage, or maybe it's in the agent or head offices. "Oh, of course. He is an agent, after all." And so Tamamo steps off brightly, to see if Agent Parsons has an office, and whether it's worth snooping through. |
| Timekeeper | Vertin's outfit, as a 'disguise', is as minimal as possible. Despite their noted interest in fashion, all the Psychonaut infiltration allows them to do is change from one kind of officeworker to another, and not only that, but to become one whose explicit goal is to not be unique. This means that instead of their typical elaborate waistcoat and jacket, they have a black knit turtleneck and navy pants, Psychonauts badge pinned to her chest. The hat's still there, but she's untied the ribbon bow that transforms it from 'a simple short top hat' to 'Vertin's hat'. TTT is relegated to a goofy bean-shaped personal transponder with two coil-wrapped antennae sticking up out of it. This should mean that she basically just blends in seamlessly as a program or employee, which she has decided to make as difficult as possible by also choosing to 'disguise' herself. The collective internet slurry outfit for what spy gear for a woman should be means that the TTT on the screen is wearing a slutty fitted jumpsuit that's meant to look like a tuxedo, with a tie tucked down to narrowly cover her cleavage. She's still in the Halloween spirit, a little bit. Before Regulus leaves, Vertin pulls her aside and presses the TTTransponder into her hands. "Would you mind taking TTT along with you? I'm sure you're more likely to find or create an opportunity for her than I am." Vertin is interested in precisely the opposite information as Regulus, which is why they make a good team. She'd like to know Flamel's accumulated regrets, and the highest authority of the Psychonauts seems like the best source for that casual conversation. The psychological profile of Flamel is particularly important to her, for not just this investigation, but understanding his motivations behind joining the Manus Vindictae as he has. |
| Persephone Kore | Once again, Dylan Cruise and Marc Heller- two not-exactly-Partners who don't-exactly-trust Flamel- are on the skeptics' side. She is, sensibly, warm and cozy in a little faux-leather bomber jacket. He is, insensibly, shivering through it. AT THE CAMP: "Are you sure you don't want a turn with the coat?" "Won't fit." "That's not a no." "It'll come down to my belly button. Don't be ridiculous." "You're sniffling, dude." "Sniffling won't make the coat fit me, Dylan." "Are you suuuure--" INSIDE: Marc is cradling a little telekinetically-sustained flame in one hand to warm his fingers, and blowing his nose on a silk handkerchief with the other. Dylan is looking smug. @ TAMAMO: Dylan- who is sort of like if Persephone were a normal human, and also sort of a short sporty butch- eyes where Tamamo's eyeing the map, if the charm doesn't prevent her from recognizing her from the camp. "I was just in his office a couple days ago," she murmurs aside, voice lowered. "Looked like he cleaned the place out, but I might've missed somethin'. Try talking to his next-door coworkers too, maybe?" @ VERTIN: "Shame about the hat," Marc commiserates just before the group splits up, with an 'I-know-it-had-to-be-done-but...' air. Marc accompanies Greta and Marcus towards the bowling alley, partly out of residual responsibility for Marcus, and partly recalling Vertin's earlier nudge about... well, about being a professional-looking man talking to other professional-looking men. Dylan follows Regulus and Vertin towards Otto Mentalis, with the intent of figuring out where she could inspect the psitanium and psitanium accessories to get a 'why' out of it- he's R&Dish, after all. |
| Chuyao He | As was relayed to Chuyao, there is no set uniform for the Psychonauts, much as their informant would wish it to be so. Though he politely asked Regulus for a suit to fit in upon his last visit, this time, he sticks with robes. Rather than the black-and-white shenyi robes denoting a scholar (particularly a Confucian one), he arrives in a simple, midrank official's vermillion paoshan robe, with a round collar and a black futou headdress in place of his usual hair crown. The abacus makes a return appearance. He opts for a Thinkerprint as with last time, and heads through the OTTOBON to the MOTERLOBE, where he will, as previously advised, make a beeline to the BOWLING ALLEY. A-am I going to have to do the pressing...? Chuyao, following his success on the prior visit, is able to give Marcus a confident smile, and shake his head. "It is written in the Analects that the Master, when traveling abroad, did not need to ask questions, for his manner was such that he was given answers freely. Do you remember what the coins advised, sister? Perseverance will win us the day, if we are earnest." "Therefore, think of it not as 'pressing;' we must not 'press,' but 'inquire,' ever keeping our manners about us." |
| Flamel Parsons | http://files.at.decompressed.space/0VxYA5BA http://files.at.decompressed.space/XH3mK97k http://files.at.decompressed.space/d107S37H Convening at the Astral Lanes, some are interested in finding Truman on his off-hours. It's an *in-house* bowling facility, clearly put together in the late seventies and then never updated. Two lanes is all it ever needs for its activity level. Today, that's a short man wearing a hat with a prodigious lock on it, who's bowling in a friendly way with another man with a stylish rosebush beard and wearing a startlingly official-looking... bathrobe? Maybe there's a good reason Chuyao hasn't been bothered that much while he hangs out. He and the short man occupy one lane with their telekinetic bowling, conversing idly, while the lane next door is free. Mr. Bathrobe is definitely Truman Zanotto, based on intel-gathering. The short man is another, unknown matter. Truman: http://files.at.decompressed.space/3k3h1XcU The stranger: http://files.at.decompressed.space/jd36t7Ts "Well, I suppose I just don't know." The stranger says. "Just an opinion would be worth a great deal, old friend." Says Truman. "You of all people should know my worries... Tend to spike." "Maybe worries should spike right now. Maybe I'm not afraid enough." "And you'd like me to be the one to scare you?" "I'd like you to be the one to tell me how you feel." "Scared. But just as scared of it working as it exploding." "Why's that?" "You remember the last time the Psychonauts changed the world for the better." "I do. That's when I had to become the Grand Head, after all." "Well. You only did that because the job was open." "And that's what I should be scared of?" "It's what *I'm* scared of, Manny." |
| Flamel Parsons | Those heading for Otto Mentalis will find his labs a distance away. It's a short walk through the quarry, although you can also jump over several floating platforms, or take a small personal ferryboat, if either faster shortcut appeals. It looks like, around here, they deliberately keep Psychonauts from having *un-engaging* shortcuts, as if jumping, rowing boats around, hiking in the woods, or clambering around a quarry are somehow critical to their function. Not long before one gets there though, however they choose to. Though once they head inside the tall tower, they find... http://files.at.decompressed.space/wHEmMOkM http://files.at.decompressed.space/mc77hPMc ...Nothing? Just an empty room? It looks like their spoofed thinkerprints don't do anything for the one scanner in the room (though TTT could surely hack straight through if she wants, it's airgapped away from Otto's core systems). The conscpicuous rock wall and square construction actually requires Regulus and Dylan to approach with an, unfortunately, standardized Foundation investigatory pattern, which is to walk around and interact with things in various permutations of a grid shape for unclear reasons and maybe to the point of moderate annoyance until something happens. Or ask TTT to open it. But *after* they do... http://files.at.decompressed.space/UdRiZyjh http://files.at.decompressed.space/zOfVtWOk Otto Mentalis is in his lab. A graying man in a silver jacket barely gives them a glance as they enter. He's fussing with devices that make bleeping, chirping sounds and pointing them at strange objects that shouldn't be notable for any particular reason but surely do emit various waves and energies for those with eyes to see, ears to hear, skin to feel, or brains to resonate. "Janitorial services, not Otto Labs." He says. "They're in charge of fixing vending, not me. I'm only in charge of product." And then it's like they never arrived, total silence as he resumes his work. |
| Timekeeper | "Shame about the hat," "It'll survive," Vertin says to Marc, halfway between joking and reassuring. They're actually accompanying him to the bowling alley, hoping to engage in a pure social challenge and only belatedly considering that they may be forced to bowl to blend in. Vertin has never bowled in her life before. The Psychonauts might have questionable taste in agents and their stance on apocalypses-- well, if Vertin knew more agents than Flamel, she probably wouldn't think that-- but their aesthetics are stellar. She regrets, in a vaguely melancholy way, that while being the most professionally dressed person present is necessary for her to not instantly be read as 'Vertin', it's a little sad to see an office so clearly decorated as a communal space be such an office in the end. Marc is useful for another thing, besides looking like a professional somewhat-older man. She gestures at the lane, buying time until she's forced to bowl. "Mind starting us off?" Vertin smoothly integrates herself nearby the other pair of bowlers, sitting down on the couch to slip on her bowling shoes, coincidentally in conversational range. She lifts up her head as if surprised to overhear them, smiling dimly when she sees them. "Oh, hello, Grand Head." "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Parsons' project, would you? It's as though I've suddenly begun hearing my own worries voiced out loud." |
| Storm Investigators | After waving lightly to Tamamo in passing, Marcus is ready to get her investigation face going! That means... What does that mean again? She's starting to fall into the overthinking trap as her steps slow down, but a firm hand on her shoulder from Greta along with the encouraging words of Chuyao and similarly encouraging presences of both Marc and Vertin help perk her right back up. "Relax, Marcus. Zanotto will not bite your head off. Greet him as you normally would, maintain eye contact, and... Yes, no need to press him. This is not an interrogation, but an investigation. We can take our time." "Perseverence and earnest inquiry... Right. Yes. That will be much easier. Thank you, Madam Hofmann. Thank you, Brother Jianya. Oh, the hat... Um. Would you like to borrow mine, Miss Vertin?" Upon heding into the Astral Lanes, Greta and Hofmann are both struck by the sheer purpality of the place. Even with the shades on, they have to pause just to blink it out, and then they catch sight of the only two other bowlers in the facility. Identifying one as Truman and the other as Another Man, they make a brief detour to get some bowling shoes if they're available, and then they head right into the nearby lane to alongside Marc and Vertin to drop off their stuff/Marcus' big portable bookcase) at the benches. It's a convenient opportutnity to do a little bit of eavesdropping from being just one/the only lane over, and also for Marcus to remember how to bowl. Marcus is so SO tempted to 'read' the balls and scorecards to figure out the rules without having to speak to anyone, but hearing Vertin starting them off gets her to look right up and over at Greta. "Afraid...? Should we be worried, Madam Hofmann?" "No, I'm sure it is under control or will be soon. Isn't that right, Mister Zanotto?" "... Ah? That's Mister Zanotto? Oh! Hello." Just like they rehearsed in one of many potential commentary-to-introduction scenarios, the pair chatter between each other for a moment before Marcus turns to face Mr. Bathrobe and Hat Man while Greta stands a good distance away to figure out which bowling ball to start Marcus off with. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Grand Head. A... Parsons project? Is there anything we. Er. I... We can help with? I only got accepted recently, but if there is something I can do, I.. I'll do my best." She offers, trying to play up the part of the overeager intern. |
| Persephone Kore | "It'll survive." Marc nods, entirely seriously. So it will, as is proper. Marc is one of very few outsiders properly equipped to take part in the local bonding ritual of Telekinetic Bowling, so he wordlessly understands that- even though it kind of isn't his vibe- he's required by all-important propriety to do so. "Mind starting us off?" "Naturally," he says to Vertin while cinching his own shoes- he doesn't go through all the motions, but they end up tied anyway- and then stands to levitate the bowling ball over his index finger, like that trick with the spinning basketball but hovering by half an inch. "It's as though I've suddenly begun hearing my own worries voiced out loud." Marc, in the middle of shutting his eyes to achieve Total Telekinetic Focus, clucks his tongue and breathes out as if Vertin's deflated him by stealing the words from his mouth. "I'm sure it's nothing we need to be worried about...?" he says to them, in the precise tone of trying-and-failing to reassure himself, in a way that will hopefully elicit further details from the Higher Ups. "I mean, the- *sniff*, ahh- unseasonable snows aside." The bowling ball spirals elegantly down around his body like a planet in a delicate orbit, returns to his fingertips, and glides perfectly down the lane. Gutterball. His face wrinkles a little. |
| Flamel Parsons | Heading to Flamel's lab finds something along the lines of... http://files.at.decompressed.space/6BCNMWMU Tamamo's mental field of Very Trustworthy Don't Worry certainly doesn't result in anyone seeing through her surface thoughts. She can arrive easily. However, much of what was actually *studied* has been cleared. Equipment is gone. Which doesn't match clear regulations on walls, plastered up, saying 'RESEARCHERS MUST KEEP SENSITIVE EXPERIMENTS *INSIDE* PERSONAL LABS', as well as much more serious and rigorous limitations set in place by the Psychonauts and their regulations. Still, there's plenty of marks on the floor, long streaks of ash and signs of intensive psychic manufacturing. The ritual is gone, so to speak, but the trace yet remains, and surely psionics are mystical enough to glean something. http://files.at.decompressed.space/LRw3oMeS Flamel's personal records, available on rows of computers, are unguarded in terms of access but, as always, heavily redacted. An astute search might find something, or other methods might help even more. |
| Timekeeper | TTT is sort of put out by all the quarry-clambering that she can't do. She gets a little bored and huffy, sitting down in her tablet screen and turning away after Regulus fails a jump that she totally could do flawlessly her first try if she had legs. The next time Regulus looks at her screen, TTT has her back turned to her, and is busy playing Brain Invaders in the back of the screen, which is exactly identical to Space Invaders except that the aliens are replaced with pixellated Bad Ideas. Which means she's twice as willing to solve the door puzzle instantly, as long as she's sufficiently praised for it. The moment they enter Otto's lab, TTT stands up and puts a fist to her mouth to haughtily cough into, waiting for someone to ask her nicely. If Dylan or Regulus does, they're rewarded with a quick 'beeep', and then TTT pushing up sunglasses that she acquired offscreen. "We're in." Otto's a man who knows his *screens*, though. TTT claps her hands together the moment she sees the office, totally ignoring the man himself at first. She zips off the side of the tablet, appearing split four-ways across the computer screens in Otto's office, full human-height and dissected disjointed from floor to ceiling. "Oooooh~ hi there!!! Love the workspace! Mind talkin' about your product for a bit?" She swivels around, to bring her face down to one of the more head-height screens, heels of her palms squished into her cheeks. "I'm a fan~" |
| Regulus | ''Would you mind taking TTT along with you?'' "You mean WWW right?" Regulus winks. Does this make it a WWWADIO?? "I'll take her along, for sure!" She twirls the TTTransponder on her finger in a circular motion coolly though the moment that Vertin isn't looking she fumbles it and has to bounces it off her hands a couple times before she gets a firm grip on it again. "Aheh...sorry TTT." On the way over she tries to reassure Dylan, "I'm not always wearing the outfit of a square like this." She's still in disguise as a Psychonauts intern. "Normally I'm ''way'' more fashionable. I've got quite the fetching and fab jacket, bright apple red. And I'm not prudish at all, skirt well above the knees--That's more common in the future, I suppose? But when I'm from it was ''quite'' unheard of." She's being smug. "Those frumpy officials would act so aghast and turn up their noses so high it's a surprise they didn't fly off...! All this to say, of course, that I ''adore'' your jacket. It's groovy as all out." They arrive ... at THE LAB. "Not a bad carpet, old man." Regulus murmurs as she spins around. She reaches into her bag to get her tools so she can take apart the scanner and-- Oh, right. "TTT, love, would you be a dear and open the ... way? Bound to be secrets here in a place like this, there's all sorts of warning signs with exclamation points and 'X'es on." And once they get in and can see the man... "Oh wow...!" She says. "We actually get to meet the great Otto Mentalis...!" Regulus says, eyes wide and doing her best to not think that she sort of wants to steal his carpet. Member of the Psychic Six and...even more impressively...one of the band members from one of the most fab concerts in history, Psychodyssey!" She doesn't see a stool to hop on so she hops up onto the desk, hand instinctively reaching out to soothe out a miniskirt that isn't actually there anymore because she's wearing slacks now. "We're not actually here because of complaints about vending. We're part of an oversight committee regarding the Psychogate project that Agent Flamel Parsons has been involved with." She cranes her head to try and get a peek on what Otto's working on. "What're you working on? A new miracle of psitech?" |
| Chuyao He | "Begging your pardon, good uncles, brother and sisters," Chuyao says, to both the two men who belong here, Marcus who's doing her best, Vertin and Marc who are very good at seemingly like she does, and Greta who's somewhere in the middle to his inexpert appraisal. "I, Chuyao He, the responsibly appointed member of a vague yet benevolent auditing committee, come bearing an introductory present for Grand Head Zanotto." Sure enough, he procures from his traveling pack the source of its suspiciously birdcage-shaped protrusion--a small birdcage, with a live pheasant inside. He offers it forward, head turned to the left, away from the gift. "If the Grand Head will accept this gift, and my *profuse* apologies for the impropriety of conducting business in the bowling alley, there is a matter which must be discussed due to its urgency." The business itself, once the gift is either accepted or declined: Chuyao procures his notes from the other day. "I, the lowly auditor, beg the Grand Head's forgiveness for not following through the proper channels, but was advised that things here have been... informal, as late." Clearing his throat, he proceeds to go through the line items. "I have taken note of the proceedings within the Motherlobe as of late. Your subordinates are passionate about their work, and... some order remains, despite the unfortunate state of the senior officials on-site." "The Motherlobe is to be commended for its adherence to its daily responsibilities in the face of such a workload." He offers Zanotto a slight nod of his head and a pleasant smile, letting the praise settle for a moment, before he moves on to a concerned frown. Not *too* concerned--the kind of concerned where you're sure that something is just a mistake or a miscommunication. "However, there are some items pertaining to Agent Parsons' project, which must be brought to your attention, as my colleagues shall attest from their own investigations." "Agent Parsons is, apparently, well-liked, and seen as the model of a virtuous Psychonaut. It has come to this committee's attention that his project, perhaps because of its noble aims and his own reputation, has not been subject to the necessary oversight owed to an endeavor of such a scale. I, the auditor, felt it best that you were informed of this, as the project is nearing completion." |
| Tamamo | If Tamamo doesn't find anything, or if she runs into a dead-end reasonably quickly, she'll certainly go and ask the neighbors. It's a little risky, but only a little. People who see her are likely to remember someone like her being around, but so long as they haven't actually met her before, and don't have an outside reason to question why a pink-haired fox was snooping, it won't be a problem. Probably! Very strong mental defenses could also be a problem, though she has techniques for those. "Things have certainly been removed. However..." Among her techniques is what the local agents would certainly recognize as psychometry, at least by its results. "Streaks of ash... signs of..." Tamamo goes to read the traces. These, and this place, connect to something. The more important it was to Flamel, the stronger the motives involved in it, the more she's likely to read, in terms of the web of connection. Tamamo may not use a corkboard, but like that sort of investigator she, too, visualizes a red string. Her hands reach out to trace the paths, but not to tug too strongly. Computers, unfortunately, are something she has relatively scant experience using, but more than none. She's been using the Internet for a few years, now. "Let us see. Is there anything that connects those three places together? 'Sector L-57,' and... 'the City,' but more importantly, perhaps, the 'Storm'...? Perhaps 'experiment,' sort by 'recent'...?" |
| Persephone Kore | Dylan of course takes the floating platforms shortcut, making several low-gravity leaps with the hint of a starscape sparkling around herself, and offers a hand for Regulus if she struggles with the platforming herself. "These folks really know how to make a place of business, huh," she says, upbeat-but-sternly, as if she were professionally inspecting the Fun Quanta for structural integrity. "I mean, I can really feel the enrichment, y'know?" "I'm not always wearing the outfit of a square like this." "Uh-huh?" Dylan seems a tiny bit confused why this needs to be defended. "Normally I'm ''way'' more fashionable." "Uh, yeah...? I'd love to see sometime, if we, uh..." Dylan suddenly realizes that a peppy and groovy girl is trying very hard to impress her. Oh no. "And I'm not prudish at all, skirt well above the knees--" "O-oh, haha, yeah, like with the stockings or high boots or something?" Dylan no!! "All this to say, of course, that I ''adore'' your jacket." "Oh!! Well. Uh. Thanks. I guess it is groovy. Had it since I was a kid, y'know. You do seem like you'd, uh, look really good in red, y'know? I mean, a little bit of it goes great on Phony..." Dylan rubs her face when Regulus skips ahead a bit. . . . Inside, she stops at the rock wall with its assorted signs, thinks for barely half a second, and confidently steps forward to give one of the palm signs a HIGH-FIVE. This probably doesn't work. She thinks for another half a second, and adds a fistbump. "Well what's the deal then?" she complains, just in time for TTT to open it anyway. . . . She leans on her bat behind Regulus, regaining her smile. "We'd, uh, love to see some of the psitanium that you're providing to Mr. Parsons, too," she chips in amiably. Hopefully she can get out 'why' he needs it so refined. A moment later, she leans in towards Regulus. "Hey, what does 'prudish' mean anyway?" Wow. The future really is different. |
| Flamel Parsons | "It's as though I've suddenly begun hearing my own worries voiced out loud." Grand Head Zanotto is in his flow, so his conversation flows out, for a moment, without concern for secrecy, and obfuscated on the assumption that his counterpart knows. "A man who has power, in a good job, should put himself out of business. He ought to do enough good that there's no more good to do with his power, and then he doesn't have it anymore. But my daughter, mmh. What's she going to think? Will things still be good for her? Will I still be able to help her?" He exhales, rolls, and strikes bedposts. "Gah. It's tough! It's tough when your moral center is a person and she's going through her teens." He chuckles good-naturedly. Whatever all that meant, it was unguarded, but piecemeal. He just assumes she knows enough to fill the blanks. "I mean, the- *sniff*, ahh- unseasonable snows aside." "Wish I knew what that was about. Director Mux still can't figure out what's going on. If it's not a brain and it's not an experiment, then where?" He grabs up his ball from the rack once it returns. "Is there anything we. Er. I... We can help with?" "I'd *love* more volunteers on the Psitanium purity. Are you one of the new hires for Geokinetics?" Truman rambles, trying to figure out some way to solve the split he just knocked out. He glances over to her -- Marcus is going to need to find a way to convincingly look like a psychic bowling! Vertin's got that covered, but Marcus needs to look like she's doing something with that ball... "I, the lowly auditor, beg the Grand Head's forgiveness..." "Oh, not again." Zanotto grumbles. The Stranger pipes up, drifting in levigating in a way that... is surprisingly confident despite his apparent fearful nature. "Listen, now, believe me-- *believe me*." He gestures with a hand urgingly. "We're *all* quite afraid of what could happen with the Psychogates." He falters a little tapping his hands together nervously, but drifts a little closer, as if forming a bit of a wall between Chuyao and Zanatto. "But something like this can't be, ghh, can't be bogged down in anxieties. That sort of fear, all that waiting instead of jumping to do the right thing, *that's* why Grulovia was an apocalypse instead of a, just, instead of an uncomfortable conversation..." He does falter a little there. Another case of more presumed information than is truly known. |
| Flamel Parsons | "...One of the band members from one of the most fab concerts in history, Psychodyssey!" Otto peeks up from over the machine he'd hunched down over. "A fan of the *band*? Why, I thought I'd never have another one in this quarry again!" He beams, brightly. If you look closely, you can actually see Flamel's precise smile, which he got from Mentalis' connectome. "But you can't have an autograph." He grumbles, turning back to his work. "I'm designing a Brain Tumbler peripheral for the Playbrick." Under his breath, resentfully, "Not that anyone's interested in anything *internal* these days..." "We're part of an oversight committee regarding the Psychogate project that Agent Flamel Parsons has been involved with." "We'd, uh, love to see some of the psitanium that you're providing to Mr. Parsons, too," "Is he *still* needing it more pure? Why, at this rate I'm going to have to invent a new notation. It's pure as it gets! I can stand here and recite nines to you all day, but I don't want to so I won't." Turning to one of the shelves behind him, he continues under his breath, "You form a man out of raw connectome and what gratitude does he give you? 'I need it an order of magnitude purer, please!' Bah." An elaborate metal can, clear glass on one side, with a piece of gleaming purple crystal suspended magnetically inside. "Here's one of the rejects, because it was *only* ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent pure and I can't lathe it myself here because L-57 data is private." He briefly vents, then stops, grabs a small device, and presses it against his head. One loud hiss-pop later, and he's... not resentful at all. "Sorry, that was a bit of an immature display. Is a rejected sample enough?" "Mind talkin' about your product for a bit?" "Ahh-- what did you track into my office?!" He sounds startled, like this is more regular than it ought to be. "Gah, it's Petra all over again. Listen, I told your friend and I'll tell you, the Brainframe will get damaged if you cycle it or relay without setup, so don't! I need that data, I don't want it all scrambled." Yep. There's indeed some type of artificial system just nearby, but it's partially made of... brains! Hundreds, maybe thousands, of human brains in tanks! "I'll answer questions, but I won't make repairing my hardware a regular activity, so be *gentle* and don't step on my work." |
| Chuyao He | That sort of fear, all that waiting instead of jumping to do the right thing, *that's* why Grulovia was an apocalypse instead of a, just, instead of an uncomfortable conversation... <A mention of a lost kingdom... could this be what the coins warned of?> "This lowly auditor would prefer not to discuss such matters, and kindly thanks his senior for refraining from further mention thereof," Chuyao says, politely but firmly, with a shake of his head. "As for the necessary oversights, it is so, that some guidelines, obeasances and rites are made for the sake of assuaging fears." "This committee does not disparage Agent Parsons' accomplishments, nor his care in seeing to his duties. By all accounts, he is a credit to the Psychonauts. As Grand Head Zanotto knows," he continues, addressing Zanotto despite the Stranger's interjection and physical walling-off, "Rules and guidelines also serve to ensure objectivity, uniformity in action and fairness. When we rationalize why a rule ought to be ignored, we make it easier to do the same in the future. If Agent Parsons' project is meant to be the future of Psychonautry, then, surely, it will pass its due examinations with flying colors." "Of course," Chuyao beams, "Grand Head Zanotto is surely aware of such a thing, and no doubt intends to proceed as befits his responsibilities, now that he is aware of the minor oversight issue." |
| Flamel Parsons | In Flamel's lab, ash is examined. It's important, in that it represents an ongoing failure. Some kind of threshold warped, split, behaved oddly -- and was then incinerated by something else in the lab, immediately. The two phenomena were disconnected but not unrelated -- one happened in response to the other, something was flash-burned in response to the trace mystical disruptions corresponding with the shape of the ash. But the flash-burn is a mystical absence, a purely physical process. One Tamamo recognizes less from magic and more from, like, cooking disasters. There are all kinds of records here, with all kinds of redaction. There's... constant, almost unnervingly dense references to Type Black in an 'L-57 Event', but those vanish shortly after the incident. In its place... Lilian. Lilian Rook, now referred to as something more human in the records. And buried among dense redaction, a term: 'Truth Phenomenon'. But there's also The City, known for its Wings and Districts, with another incident, the Light Event. Buried under more redaction: 'Truth Phenomenon' again, in extensive discussions about the psychic and physical outcomes of the events that dissolved Lobotomy Corporation. And the Storm Syndrome is easy to find, as well as Flamel's records for UPE-1999 - The Storm In A Bottle. That, too, has dense, thickly-redacted records referring to the 'Truth Phenomenon'. It's the Truth Phenomenon, connecting that and several other far-past events. The Caelondia Reversal? Truth Phenomenon. The Warp Iris? Truth Phenomenon. Always in reference to world-scale events connecting to personal psychology. Something referred to as 'Truth' is being studied as if it were an energy or a wave. |
| Regulus | Regulus really can't let a girl with a leather jacket think that she dresses like a government official for real she would just die. She'd just die! "Oh! Well, we're not gonna just be work friends are we? There'll be plenty of meetings for sure." Regulus is confident in this despite them not actually even being work buddies yet but Regulus is someone who is quick to offer friendship, especially if they are fashionable like Vertin or have a cool leather jacket. "I've got these black boots with these adorable ribbons on--oh yes, and I do wear stockings now that you mention, mhm mhm!" She beams at Dylan agreeing her jacket is 'groovy'. "Oh you're a darling, Dylan. And you've taken such good care of it." She pauses for a moment at the mention of Phony. APPLe rolls along in his brainball. Regulus glances down at him, then over to Dylan. "Is this Phony you mention... a phone? Like APPLe is an apple?" She's imagining a phone wearing this tiny red jacket now. How does that work with no arms? Maybe the phone does have arms like APPLe has arms? Speaking of, BRAINe does have little stick-figure like arms sticking out of it... ''What does 'prudish' mean anyway?'' Regulus blinks. Wow, she thinks, she knew the free love movement was SO strong and accomplsihed SO much but she never imagined that it was so effective that in the modern era when Dylan is from has evolved so far that they have forgotten the word 'prudish' as if it was a vestigial idea that they never really needed! Yes!! They won!! Take that Edward Heath! Take THAT Margaret Thatcher!! "Well, back when I'm from, it meant someone who didn't care for people wearing what they'd like or loving whom they liked." Gosh, she thinks, they probably even passed the Equal Rights Ammendment back in the States! It had been over forty years, it's about time! She could only imagine how terrible it would be if like a hundred years had passed without it being ratified. ''Flamel's precise smile'' Woah, spooky, Regulus thinks. ''Not that anyone's interest in anything *internal* these days...'' "Hey that's not true... Lots of people are still interested in getting into the ''guts'' of design." She pauses a moment before adding, "You know, metaphorically speaking. I positively ''adore'' seeing what makes tech tick." She does think it's, like, kind of rude to not offer an autograph to a fan but if Regulus was THAt easily deterred she would have snuck backstage on way fewer concerts than she had. And been thrown out of even fewer! ''You form a man out of raw connectome and what gratitude does he give you?'' "Woah..." Regulus says. "Are you his papa?" No wonder he's so grumpy, Regulus thinks. "I bet he doesn't even send a card on Father's Day." She commiserates. It was Dylan who asked about the psitanium so Regulus lets her take it. Teamwork makes the dream work! ''Gah, it's Petra all over again.'' "You know Petra?" Regulus blurts out before remembering her cover identity. "Oh no no no--we'll be..." She pauses for a moment and then gets an idea. "Iiiis there anything you've got around here that needs some repairs? As thanks for helping out I can take a look." |
| Storm Investigators | Seeing Marc doing some Telekinetic Bowling reminds Greta that she's terribly out of place here, having to bowl with her hands and all. Regardless, she picks out a pair of balls and hands one off to Marcus before heading back to the bench. She barely reacts visibly to Marc's trying-but-not-really attempt to reassure himself, readying herself to make a dismissive gesture as a self-appointed believer, but she holds her hand still once Zanotto reveals that neither he no the Director know. She could go deeper, but it sounds as though Truman is giving plenty of information already, and Marcus isn't panicking yet! For now, Greta can just be the one that remains steadfast in believing in the process, even if there's the slightest hint of concern at nobody knowing what the heck Flamel is up to. That means she sticks with Marc at the lane for the time being, letting out only the barest of noises at the gutter ball. "It's not so bad. The snow is pleasant to walk through." Greta lies while picking up her own ball, waiting for her turn before stepping up to the lane wordlessly. She holds the ball close to her face like she's eyeing where to aim, leans forward like all the seasoned players do, and takes a few steps forward before launching the ball expertly with just her fingertips. It's fast! Her form is impeccable! The ball slams directly into the gutter within the first quarter of the lane! Without even flinching, Greta returns to the bench, still keeping her eyes obscured by the shades so she can continue listening in on the conversation and preparing to jump in if Marcus is in trouble. Marcus, meanwhile, is just a little surprised by Truman's rambling question. Geokin...? Ah. I could be? I am... Er. I was recently hired here, so if that is where you think I should be stationed, I can." Marcus offers 'helpfully', trying to sound like a properly eager intern while keeping her eyes fixed on the bowling ball Greta gave her. It's a convenient place to focus, and it's also an opportunity to show some kind of power without actually being a psychic by reading its structure closely. All the little impurities, the imperfections of the ball, the little bumps and grooves in the lane invisible to the naked idea, even the rules of bowling... Oh. That's what a split is. That's what the situation Truman's gotten himself into is. "I see... That's the ideal path to avoid a split, with this type of ball." Marcus steps up to the lane next with her ball, squats way off to one side, and shoves it really really hard with both hands. It looks like she's just avoiding the center entirely, but she's seen the lane. This is the perfect way to guide it towards the middle and get a split! She deflates a little, seeing that tricky situation. "Um... Hmm. Theory is much easier than practice, I guess." She tries to 'joke' with an awkwardly nervous chuckle, then freezes up a bit when the Stranger speaks up. With Chuyao answering him and working to keep Zanotto involved in the forefront, that gives her somewhere to piggyback off of. "This oversight... Um. Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but I think... Yes, establishing those steps and guidelines to follow would be very helpful! For reproducing the results, should it all succeed. Then we could refer back to how it is meant to be done, and study it further refine the process to do it all more efficiently..." |
| Timekeeper | Vertin hadn't even considered, before stepping onto the floor, that this would be *psychic* bowling. Somehow, this is equally possible for her as physically bowling-- she'd have to speak out loud to cast a levitation incantation, and she'd have to engage any level of physicality to roll a ball down the lane. So Marc's offer to levitate a ball for her is accepted with a hasty "Yes please, thank you," while she stands up to mime taking her turn. "Gah. It's tough! It's tough when your moral center is a person and she's going through her teens." Vertin smiles flatly, which is almost like her laughing along if you squint. "It's better than the alternative. If your choices can satisfy a person in a stage of their life where their moods and ideas for their future change weekly, then it's a surer bet that the rest of the world would agree." Shooting a glance out of the corner of her eyes to Marc while miming her throw, Vertin presses her lips together tensely until the ball successfully, fucks up and falls in the gutter. Well, it counts. She rubs her fingers, as if embarrassed by the display and reassuring herself that she's just warming up. "I try and place my morality in a range of people, but at certain times, a teenaged daughter can seem like several on their own, can't they?" Offhandedly, she continues, "Agent Parsons has a similar perspective, doesn't he? What with his focus on several individual events that have happened recently to justify the Psychogate project." |
| Persephone Kore | Marc Heller, while sitting on the bench and examining his nails to make sure they weren't chipped by bowling (he didn't even touch the ball with his hands, c'mon), is happy to exert his telekinetic prowess on behalf of anyone else needing to blend in as a Real Psychonaut. Vertin finds the ball floating an inch or two above her hands; moving the ball to respond to her apparent intent, it's a little like ventriloquism. When he gets the 'sync' just right, it might give the exhiliarating illusion of having psychic powers oneself. Marc still sucks at bowling though. No getting around that. "A man who has power, in a good job, should put himself out of business..." Marc nods along serenely. Yes; indubitably so. (Only the first word trips him up a little.) "If it's not a brain and it's not an experiment..." "Well, I can certainly hope it's not an 'omen'," he says, lips squiggling uneasily. "The most ideal world would be one where the Psychonauts have the least to do. I can't argue against being moved by the gravitas of the world's suffering, and yet..." And yet this lurching action rankles him. Or his persona. When Marcus returns from bowling, Marc leans over towards her with a companionable air. Slightly under his breath: "How'd you come to be named 'Marcus', anyway? Ah, if it isn't rude to pry..." |
| Timekeeper | "Ahh-- what did you track into my office?!" TTT gasps, affronted. She plants her hands on her hips, which are on a screen three feet below and six feet to the left of her shoulders. "I'm a *who* that got tracked in here, thank you very much!" "Gah, it's Petra all over again." TTT, who has heard of Petra twice in a context where it's actually extremely relevant whether she's 'tracking anything in', immediately drops all of her scandalized unhappiness. "Oooh? What's that about? What sorta stuff's she tracking in?" As to the rest, TTT sighs, and her glossy black loafers fizzle and swap out for fuzzy slippers to prevent her from... kicking anything over? "Got it, got it~ I'll be careful! I'll check to make sure I don't carry any mental tics on the way out!" Someone has to prevent TTT from interacting with the Psychonauts enough to start talking like them. "Gosh, though. Y' built him, and you're still not allowed to check his project..." TTT shifts to 'sitting', legs lightly swinging as they dangle down within the TV screens. "You've probably gotta have some insight into why, don'tcha?" |
| Persephone Kore | "Well, we're not gonna just be work friends are we?" "Uh-- uh-huh." Dylan no!! She scrunches her eyes tight and rubs the heels of her hands against them. "and I do wear stockings now that you mention, mhm mhm!" "L-love to see 'em sometime," Dylan says, thousand-yard-staring right past Regulus at Mentalis, as if he could save her. Straight women are going to kill her. "Oh you're a darling, Dylan. And you've taken such good care of it." "Well, ahaha, y'know, I like taking good care of things," is the red-marked dialogue choice, so of course those are the words that thoughtlessly burble out of Dylan's mouth. The grayscale tinnitus intensifies. She's in bleedout. God help her. "Oh, you do the PlayBrick stuff! Big fan. Er, um, and of course a reject's fine. Thanks, Mr. Otto. I mean Dr. Otto. I mean, Dr. Mentalis," Dylan coughs up. Thank god. A real topic. She's heaving the seawater from her lungs and re-emerging onto dry land. "... Is it, uh, safe to do that? I mean, just pull your bad feelings out like that?" Picking up the metal can, she takes a deep breath and familiarizes herself with it: its weight, the slosh of its contents, the coolness of it, the machining of its edges. 'Why' did it need to be so pure? Is this a doomed story or a hopeful one? "Is this Phony you mention... a phone? Like APPLe is an apple?" That picks her back up out of her focus. A happy topic! One that doesn't involve Dylan getting queerbaited! "Oh! No, uh," she gestures at Otto like maybe he's heard of her, "it's short for Persephone. She's like... a big sister to me, kind've. She's a big sweetheart and all. You'd love her." "or loving whom they liked." The 'bwough' that Dylan emits could plausibly be a noise of Thatcher-disapproval, and not the raw hitstun it actually is. "W-well, uh, that's silly, isn't it. What's the point of loving who you don't like, right. Haha." |
| Flamel Parsons | "This lowly auditor would prefer not to discuss such matters..." Careful, cautious, wise. The short little stranger brushes past it. He starts up something, but his friend speaks up to try to helpfully intercept the problem. Truman Zanotto is willing to speak to Chuyao, albeit guardedly. "I understand we want it reviewed and overseen as a function of psychic science. But that's the thing," He rolls, then turns, smiles, a bit sheepish, a bit helpless, making a broad gesture with his hands. The 7-10 split converts, pin bouncing across the lane and into its partner. "It's *not* psychic science." "I'll tell as many auditors as it takes, really, but at the end of all this, what he's done seems like it has nothing to do with psionics at all. We bog it down, well, he'll pick it up and take it somewhere else, and he'll know we were cowards for it. He may have used psionic technology to get there, but what he's doing is something else." The stranger's floated back to his feet sheepishly. "There you have it. Might as well have our best psiologists review Truman's garden." There's a sense that Chuyao won't make progress on imploring the Grand Head to give more oversight. But at least he's figured out what the barrier is: Whatever Flamel is accessing with psionics is unrelated to actual psychic sciences fundamentally. |
| Flamel Parsons | "Are you his papa?" "*No.*" "Iiiis there anything you've got around here that needs some repairs?" "...Are you trying to pull something?" Otto Mentallis squints a bit. "Hmm. I haven't had anyone willing to deal with the psychoseismometer problems. Get around the Quarry and find them." His telekinesis, instead, now floats something over to her. It must be a more respectful way to hand things off, in this case a little sensor with a screen, tuned to find dense clusters of psychic buildup. "And set them right, they need discharging *already*. They were discharged just last week, how could they already be full of twenty years worth of..." He trails off. Regulus has a psychoseismometer-meter now! And a quest, sort of... |
| Flamel Parsons | Truman regards Greta's failure with a smug smirk, similar to the one he'd hidden for Vertin's (which is to say, Marc's). Whatever, these guys already found the mole a while back, they don't have time to grill every newbie on their inadequate bowling technique. Well, Marcus' own effort gets... a sensible nod. Whatever she did looked similar enough to certain forms of, what, clairvoyance? It passed muster. "For reproducing the results, should it all succeed." "Ha-hah!" Truman's little chuckle breaks like someone coming up for air. "I can't wait for you to see his project. Well, believe me, reliably reproducing it isn't going to be a problem." That seemed like a nonstarter. Seems like imploring the leadership into oversight won't be an option -- and because of some fundamental incompatibility with the work. Is this really all that distinct from traditional Psychonautry? The gang are going to have to do the oversight themselves. |
| Regulus | ''PlayBrick stuff'' "I don't know what a PlayBrick is but I'd love to try one out." Regulus says. "Especially a souped up one." ''Uh-- uh-huh.'' ''L-love to see 'em sometime.'' ''Well, ahaha, y'know, I like taking good care of things.'' "Oh, darling..!" Regulus gives Dylan a one-armed hug unless she looks particularly perturbed on the way from reaching out to one-armed hugness. Regulus is a hugger and an energetic hugger and a free-hugger. She's starting to really have a good time here even while being in a stuffy suit like this. "The Foundation is taking good care of my 'little thing' now..." She complains. "But I'll get it back someday." She doesn't mention that she stole it in the first place. ''She's like... a big sister to me, kind've. She's a big sweetheart and all.'' "Oh! That is fab nickname for sure." Regulus says. "I ''would'' love to meet her sometime." Phony, having not been on team 'Shot Regulus with a bullet', is free from suspicion from Regulus! ''W-well, uh, that's silly, isn't it.'' "So true." She agrees. "It doesn't make a lick of sense to restrict it right? When it's so precious to find." ''Are you trying to pull something?'' Regulus says, "If wanting to try out cool devices is pulling something, then my muscles are all twisted up." Regulus admits. She can't telekinetically grab things though so she just sort of grabs it with her hand while trying to be subtle about it as if Psychic Thatcher is eyeing her disapprovingly. "Oh geeze, if they're building twenty years worth in a week then we should get on that." She doesn't know how much psychic buildup can be managed like that but that feels like a lot. |
| Chuyao He | Chuyao frowns, turning to an empty page in his notes and putting his abacus away in his traveling pack. He procures from its lacquered case one of his capped calligraphy brushes, licking his finger and wetting the hairs with a brisk run of the index and thumb. In even, graceful strokes, he pens a summary of Zanotto's response, and the stranger's. "This lowly auditor has his misgivings about the Grand Head's opinion," he says, "But I am grateful that it was given sincerely, all the same. This will be reflected in the report." <I had wished to resolve through official means, but it seems that will not be an option. Nevertheless, manners and sincerity have gotten me this far...> "There are but a few more matters which this auditor must attend to," says Chuyao, capping his brush and putting it away. "Thankfully, these do not require further discussions of business in the bowling alley." Chuyao gives a fist-in-palm gesture of farewell to Zanotto, to the stranger, and to the other 'Psychonauts' present. Once he's outside of the bowling alley, he relays his findings over the radio. |
| Flamel Parsons | "Agent Parsons has a similar perspective, doesn't he? What with his focus on several individual events that have happened recently to justify the Psychogate project." "I wish he wouldn't say the things he does." Truman says in a softer tone, lining up another shot. "Or I wish they weren't true. Or maybe I just wish he said them, wholeheartedly, to the people besides us. Things are worse out there than we were ever willing to acknowledge. It takes whole teams of us to live the nightmares and chase the dreams of our enemies inside their mentalities," He drifts forward, telekinesis launching the ball in a careful swing. "But what do you do when the whole world is like a nightmare? What can anyone do when there's only so many of us?" Clatter-clatter. Pin one is the only one left standing, wobbling and spinning. "That 'Storm' and 'Light' he's so focused on, you know, he did let me take a look at the memories." Quiet. Still. His stare is long. "I think it'll be worth it. I think Lili would want it. To grow into a woman, in world with Psychogates." P1 clatters over. Strike. |
| Flamel Parsons | "Oooh? What's that about? What sorta stuff's she tracking in?" "An autonomous thoughtform that showed up here, I don't know, a week ago?" More like a year or more. "I don't know many details, I just want her to not relay with my Brainframe. It's *sensitive*." "You've probably gotta have some insight into why, don'tcha?" The dour man is less resentful right now, because of whatever he put up to his temple that did that funny hiss-pop. "It's a matter of expertise. Apparently. I'm only the leader in my field, not in..." He shakes his head. "Whatever field he picked up out there. Something about Storms and Light. He thinks my focus on the ethics is too loose. I hear that a lot, and it's a flaw I've been working on." "The Concord, though... mm. They may have absorbed the League but they're nothing alike. Flamel wants something done with this, and the Concord have some kind of info-security in place. Something about it is private. Data about L-57, The City, even whole parts of mental ops in Elibe are classed Zanotto-eyes-only. And don't get me started on that Light-and-Storm business." He has no reason to connect these newbies and the Storm though, so it hangs in the air... Though TTT and Regulus may remember that key phrase. Wasn't that on a website? |
| Storm Investigators | "How'd you come to be named 'Marcus', anyway? Ah, if it isn't rude to pry..." Although Marcus looks briefly surprised Marc's question, she quickly shakes her head at the followup first before tapping on her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, it's not rude at all, Mister Marc. My name comes from... Roman origin. It is likely derived from the god Mars, although it is commonly considered a masculine name..." As she mulls that over with another thoughtful and slightly perturbed noise, she finally realizes she misinterpreted Marc's question entirey. "... Oh! I'm sorry, Mister Heller. As to how... I am not sure, actually. The people at the orphanage never had an answer, and I do not know who else to ask that would know for sure. I'm sorry." Somehow, she sounds apologetic and just a little guilty for not being able to actually answer Marc's question definitively. Truman smug smirking Things are all going according to plan! Greta holds back on nodding gratefully at Marc for the assist there, but she makes a mental note to do so once she's out of earshot of Truman and the Stranger. Marcus, meanwhile, doesn't actually notice his reaction, fixated as she is on reading the lane some more to see where she went wrong. It doesn't take long for her to conclude that bowling is a lot harder than it looks. "I can't wait for you to see his project." Marcus has to try extra hard not to perk up at that too much, but what's an appropriate amount of perking? She's supposed to be and actually is excited at getting an apparent okay to see what Flamel's doing, but she can't be too excited, or she'll give away the whole mission! But if she doesn't look interested at all, wouldn't that be insulting to one of the most important figures in the Motherlobe? After staring at the bowling lane for just a bit too long, Marcus finally snaps her head back towards Truman. "Ah! Oh, then we can observe it firsthand... Thank you, Mister Zanotto. We will not let you down!" She promises, complete with a confident little fistpump for emphasis. She's seen plenty of other people do that before, so it felt like the right thing to do in this moment to share that confidence with Truman and the Stranger. "... What would be a problem we should watch out for, then?" She adds after thinking about what he said for another second. She doesn't look or sound worried for once, either, even though Greta's still trying to sort out how she's seeing this whole matter from the sidelines. |
| Timekeeper | The tactical information is absorbed, certainly. Vertin does a phenomenal job of acting like the fact that Flamel's project isn't properly psionics, that the Psychonauts aren't willing to interfere due to that, is something that she knew all along as an employee, because in an instant, her focus is fully shifted to something much more important. Vertin's loyalty meter flickers in real time. There's no hint of it on her face, catching the bowling ball on its return and idly brushing at its surface with her sleeve so she isn't looking directly at Zanotto. "What can anyone do when there's only so many of us?" "I've often wondered the same myself. How can we rest after saving one person, when there are millions alike them, and billions who still need care besides? The true scale of a world is... staggering." Vertin swallows, sleeve-polishing having slowed to a stop. "That 'Storm' and 'Light' he's so focused on, you know, he did let me take a look at the memories." "I'm not familiar. But," Her throat is dry, concentrating all of her effort into not rushing through the words to give her interest away. "A 'Storm' doesn't sound as though it's contained within a mind, does it? When an entire world becomes a nightmare, there's no one mind that can be targeted to save it; only systems and threats to be dismantled. If it's not Psychonautry, then what techniques are there that can directly affect something like the 'Storm'?" |
| Flamel Parsons | "... Is it, uh, safe to do that? I mean, just pull your bad feelings out like that?" "Well, do I look dead or damaged to you?" Otto says, smugly. He doesn't interrupt her psychometry though. Why? Flamel strums his guitar in a distant void. "Return the peace you took from me," "Give me back my community." "Show us the goodwill you were shown." "But leave us alooo~ooo~oone..." He mutters softly, further lyrics. Some of them surface more distinctly. "Melted holes in celluloid," "Give me back what you've destroyed." "You who come demanding proof," "Let your God rebuild this roof." Strum. He stops. Re-tunes. He whispers. "Make it whole again if you can." "Stand in the smoke and say some prayers," "Wave your hand..." No. Dylan, you already know this part. You know the motive. That's why the experiment is happening. Dig deeper. Push a little harder. Why the purity? Why the psitanium? The guitar is out of tune. The voice is raspy. "Broken staff and bloodshot eyes," "How'd she forget those family ties?" "Give him back the things you took," "Can you un-burn a child's book?" "Throw the gates and let them in," "Only fair if they would win." "And after all the things you did." "I'd rather die than let you liiiive..." "So restore... the temple of Isis at Memphis." "Yeah, restore... the temple of Isis at Memphis..." He sets the guitar aside at a pile of ash and embers burned violently by massive hardware out of a seared doorframe. The crystal, even at its achingly high purity, failed to perform up to a certain specification, and something, somewhere, failed, flash-burning things. It wasn't enough, but surely it'll be enough with more purity. Flamel walks out of the psychometric frame of reference, into the dark. |
| Regulus | ''Something about Storms and Light'' Regulus knows about the Storm, of course. And she's been to Flamel's website a number of times (trying to uncover its secrets). Her own webpage actually links to that website in fact even if Regulus now warns people not to go! She also knows a little bit about The Light as part of the prep she had to go through to do City work in the first place. And she's run into a Distortion, even, and not even--like--a normal one. A Distortion made from multiple people! What is common with the Storm and the Light, though, that a Psychogate could potentially help with? The Storm isn't really a mental phenomena even if Storm Syndrome-- Regulus blinks. Storm Syndromes. Distortions. He must be trying to treat these two resultant phenomena, right? She can't imagine it touching something like The Storm itself. "Well we'll have to get to the bottom of this otherwise we can't really say 'oversight' was properly done." Regulus says. "Thanks for your insight." She reaches to her own phone, still cracked from when Lilian smacked it out of her hands and turns aroudn to murmur into it. |
| Flamel Parsons | SOMEDAY... To the Director of Project Mystic, Based on analysis of currently available information, as well as data gathered by both Foundation and Watch auditors before the Psychogate Event, existential information risk was already well under consideration during the period of time long before the moratorium was in place. However, the Psychonauts, and especially your division, elected to reveal nothing about the 'Truth Phenomenon' activities to the public, to the Foundation, or to, indeed, any authority or possible party of accountability at that time, especially in connection to the L-57 Disaster, the White Nights and Dark Days Incident, or the Storm phenomenon. Rescission of the lawfully-required moratorium is denied at this time, and IPAR data-request communications aren't the venue to pursue appeal. Provide requested information immediately. Furthermore, you are to furnish full records specifying any qualifying risk information that was known *before* the Psychogate Event, but which was not published or proactively turned over to the Bureau. Provide such information without delay. Yours, Director Deems, International Psychic Affairs Regulation Bureau |
| Persephone Kore | "although it is commonly considered a masculine name..." "Ah, alright," says Marc with a small measure of relief, as if that suddenly answered a question of his. "The people at the orphanage never had an answer..." "Me, too," he says inanely, while sitting cross-legged with hands folded over one knee. His blue eyes drift off over the lanes for a moment, blink-blink, before he realizes he's being silly: "I mean, I was sort of an orphan too; and I got the name 'Marcus' from my parents presumably, as well. I suppose it's, a thing parents like doing. Naming their children Marcus." "... Ahem. I mean, please don't apologize to me, Marcus." He dabs primly at his nose with that handkerchief, but the look he gives her is a peer-ish one. "The true scale of a world is... staggering." Vertin swallows... If everyone were keeping perfectly to persona, Marc should shut up here. It's to needle the two senior Psychonauts for intel, he should know. No matter how earnest Vertin sounds... but... He clears his throat. "Even if we reduce a human being to 'a tool for making the world better'," he says, gently confiding with a lean-over when they sit, "that tool must still be maintained. There are limits- factual limits- beyond which one can push, but not without damage. Even a well-trained person can't sustain more than four-to-six hours of compassionate labor, daily, before 'compassion'- like the attention of a long-distance pilot- itself accrues metal fatigue." "One does, I think, all one can do. Even though it may gall us to concede that we, too, are components which can give." He stands and takes the ball again, turning it over for imperfections. "'We only of Creation- how much luckier the bridge and rail!- abide the twin damnation: to fail and know we fail.'" . . . It's a gutterball again. "... Ah. Come on." |
| Persephone Kore | "Oh, darling..!" Regulus gives Dylan a one-armed hug "Urk-!!" Dylan doesn't look perturbed exactly, no. A fat sweatdrop trickles down her temple as she crosses her arms against herself while being hugged. "Wh- whoa there, 'darling'...?!" she says, but it sounds tragically like she's reciprocating the pet name, and oh god oh fuck-- "The Foundation is taking good care of my 'little thing' now..." "But I'll get it back someday." "Th-- that's fine, I don't care if you've still got it or not...!" Dylan burbles over while she's being squeezed, play-doh in Regulus's obliviously cruel hands. "I mean-- haah--" She lunges for Otto's device, puts it to her head, and hiss-pops out a little mini Regulus into its glass canister. Okay. That's dealt with. Thank god. . . . Dylan's eyes stay screwed shut, her mouth in a tense squiggle, for a little too long in meditation over the canister. "Ohh, Flamel..." she murmurs, at once softly aghast and despairingly sympathetic. She murmurs along, making sure she catches the words. "I'd rather die... I'd rather die, than let you live. So restore--" There's a deep knot forming, somewhere south of her collarbone. She presses the canister there to soothe it. Slightly hoarser: "Come on, Flamel. A hundred percent won't do it. I've... I've gotta beat you up and give you a hug." Finally her eyes open. She smiles apologetically at Otto, and puts the canister back on his desk. "Sorry. I'm... yeah, that's all I needed. If you see him, could you--? ... N-nah, sorry, never mind." |