Bloodless surroundings meant little to a fissured mind, and despite assurances to the contrary, Nigredo wondered if his brother died in the transition. Fortunately, the link confirmed a complete survival--Albedo was indeed very much alive. Moving as well. The younger no longer had a need to hold last night's tension, and he relaxed for the first time in days.
He contemplated returning to sleep. The Doyleton trip could continue without his presence. He almost passed out, in fact, but his borderline dreams were interrupted by an annoyingly tall man wearing hospital attire. His military escort. Nigredo blinked up at him as the man lowered a stack of clothing on his face
( ... )
Five sessions, three groups? All the sessions (granted, this was a sum total of two) had had an even number of players, though there was no particular reason a chain couldn't be formed with fewer. It lent itself less well to a balanced stalemate, opposing teams locked in a futile battle -- but the game had to be flexible. Roles mixed and matched -- what had GC been going on about, between the sarcasm and the sniffing? S33R 0F M1ND P4G3 OF BL00D KN1GHT 0F BR34TH M41D 0F T1M3, wasn't it? Something like that, though a few might have gotten swapped. The image of Strider in a maid's costume had been worth remembering, just to tell it to him. For ironic purposes, of course
( ... )
Five minutes were indeed better than nothing, though they proved a bit more to his mind. The murmur of atmospheric noise registered as figments in a dream, and without wanting, he envisioned familiar people doing not-so-familiar things. The dream was weird--weirder than most--and nothing in him could properly decipher its meaning. When Nigredo awoke, his head snapped straight up, last recalling movement at his side.
To the variant's surprise, there was an actual girl in the seat next to him, eating what looked to be an apple. Her somewhat casual demeanor suggested they had long since departed from the institute, though when he glanced outside, the bus hadn't moved from its initial position. That begged the question: how long was he out for?
Nigredo shifted his gaze back to the girl, the move a combination of awkwardness and curiosity. "Uh..." His usual eloquence was unfortunately gone, taken by an impromptu nap. "How long have I been asleep?"
"It's difficult to be certain." He'd been asleep when she'd climbed on the bus, after all. "More than five minutes, less than thirty." That assumed the reveille had been universal, but nothing she'd seen had suggested anything but linear time.
"I take it we're awake now?" It was a measure of adaptability, or a tendency towards psychosis, that this had become a normal question. Her world was gone; survival rested on deciphering the arcane workings of this game, starting with anything and everything she could interrogate, psychoanalyze, dismantle, or blow up. Since she was equipped only with breakfast and her own cunning, the former two would have to suffice.
More than five, less than thirty. Certainly, he had expended more than he had allotted himself, but at least the amount wasn't overkill. (Six hours, for instance.) Nigredo slid a finger against his temple, quietly noting that the girl's eyes held a similar hue to Albedo's. She was also notably taller, much like everyone else in the world. "Thank you," he said, regaining his polite tone.
"Yes. Otherwise, I would be sleeping for hours," Nigredo continued. He yawned and transferred a hand to cover his open mouth. Yawning in general was impolite, but by now, the boy had learned to disregard certain manners for necessities. Hopefully, his seat companion didn't mind. "Excuse me," he muttered afterward. Just in case she did.
"Do you think we have hours?" If she'd been awake before, and was awake now, how long had she been asleep? Did they have time to fritter away on taking this circuitous route of conversation and bus riding? Was a timer ticking away behind a seat or in a lunch bag, only to appear with timing so precisely awful it could only have been fore-ordained?
The kid -- she thought of him that way, though he couldn't be much her junior, if at all -- was too polite to align with her limited experience with Time players and/or trolls, but they'd been too busy working out the details of their own session to worry about the grand workings of the general case. This...may have been an oversight.
Nevertheless, there were things more pressing than psychoanalyzing her seatmate. Recreation took a back seat to survival, at least when she couldn't multi-task.
"Scratch that." Speculation was less useful than fact; she could draw her own conclusions. "Do you know where we are? Where we're going?" And why are we in this handbasket, Lalonde?
( ... )
Nigredo couldn't tell if she aimed the question to be sarcastic or not. From the way it was presented, however, it seemed pretty unlikely. She was probably a new arrival; available time was typically disregarded by older patients. The query, therefore, fit the hypothesis. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Time flows strangely here. 'Sometimes it feels like weeks before the next day arrives, and at times, you can sleep for days at a time with no reason.'" Quoting Sync was unwanted, but unfortunately, it happened to be the best explanation. Fortunately, the girl decided to shift subjects, allowing Nigredo throw aside the disgust that churned beneath his calm visage
( ... )
Sarcasm was usually a safe assumption when Rose was speaking, but it had been a genuine question. Uncontrollable narcolepsy seemed pretty normal, but it was odd that he didn't remember it, or find meaning in the patterns. There'd been reasons, though not always good ones, when she'd fallen asleep, and Jade had her own methods of coping.
Landel's Institute. Doyleton. Neither of those were familiar. Where was Google when she needed it? Nevertheless, she tucked away the names for further research.
"That would be an astute observation." Now the sarcasm was unmistakable. "I take it you didn't?"
She probably didn't believe him. Who could blame her? The place changed enough that from his vantage, what cemented eventually came undone. Though, that deadpanned sarcasm came off a level or two closer to insulting, even as he deserved it. Now, why was that so eerily familiar?
"Correct," Nigredo replied, his voice bland. "I can answer any questions you have if you'd like." They had the first part of the morning to do so, after all. It would be better than sitting in awkward silence as the boy tried to figure out exactly what about her was somewhat recognizable.
She opened the journal she'd been given to a clean page. They were all clean pages, due to the information-parched desert they stood upon, but no matter.
Where to begin? It seemed time was not, extraordinarily, of the essence. "Why don't you begin at the beginning. Namely, how you arrived here?"
She went to put a subject line on the page -- Morning 1: Interview with ____ ______, when an oversight reared its ugly head. "Ah, please forgive my dreadful lapse in manners." Was that laying it on too thick? Perhaps. "My name is Rose Lalonde."
...This had the feeling of formality. Note-taking usually brought that, though Nigredo conceded his assessment was a little unfair. He wasn't used to the idea, he supposed. The fact that most needed a reminder of what had transpired. In contrast, the boy could remember anything with minimal effort, as far as awareness was active.
He watched quietly as Rose set to work with her writing and her question. "I'm Nigredo." Just Nigredo. It was not worth throwing out his proper name. "To be honest, I don't know how I arrived. I was unconscious during the transition." He sighed inwardly. Delving into the full story was simply setting up for unwanted inquires. By now, he understood. Many did not appreciate child soldiers. "Before here, I was...traveling with my family."
To say that wasn't exactly what Rose had expected to hear would be a vast understatement. The vastness of which she was perfectly positioned to measure. If she had the time. Which she didn't.
She made a few notes, though what use they would be was uncertain.
Nigredo. transition between waking and sleep -- coincidence? family (multiple guardians?) There was a gold mine there, from that ever-so-fleeting hesitation. Just the barest hiccup in the warp and weft of conversation, a tiny snag from which entire armies could be unraveled. Pity she didn't have the time to aim her pointed questions towards that inscrutable aperture
( ... )
Oh. No wonder. Rose bore a striking metaphorical resemblance to Citrine (granted, the short blonde hair didn't help dissuade that image), and Nigredo had to suppress a groan. Love his sister, he did without hesitation, but there were reasons he could not spend all of his time with her like he could with Rubedo and Albedo. One of them being annoyingly accurate observations and the lack of delay in delivering the facts
( ... )
Huh. That was interesting. From the notes she'd compared with the people she was increasingly willing to give some credence to their alternate-universe hypothesis, the meteors weren't optional.
Were some of them locals? Or could the game manifest itself to technologically challenged populations? Some sort of collaborative storytelling, perhaps?
Maybe it was just a difficulty with vocabulary.
"Laptop? You see, there are these little boxes in which electrons go whirling around and in this migratory dance we call the internet, occasionally people talk to each other. Sometimes they even call each other friends."
Not that she knew his number offhand. It was saved on her phone. And her laptop. Obviously.
Obscure happened to be the correct assessment. The description brought to mind the devices that existed before connection gears, in an era where holographic interface and the U.M.N. had yet to surface. Nigredo was vaguely tempted to mention something about history and the thousands of years between them, but he figured that would be rude. As long as he understood what she meant, the details supposedly didn't matter. It would only serve to confuse, no?
Even if he was tempted...
"Oh, I see what you mean," Nigredo stated simply. "No, you won't find those here. If you did, I doubt our caretakers would let you touch them." The child crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. "They're not fond of communication to the outside world." Whatever "outside world" happened to be.
Offshoot reality was looking more and more likely. Oh, fuck. How many of these were there, before they could get back to playing properly? Maybe they'd all gotten stacked here, some timenexus clusterbomb of ultimate plotdigression nonsense. That sounded about right.
If that was the case, she had some exploring to do.
Alternatively, this kid was lying either of his own accord or on the sufferance of their captors.
The next question would not tell her which it was, but it would serve either way.
"Do you know what they are fond of us doing? Is there a purpose to this trip, or is it more window dressing?"
He contemplated returning to sleep. The Doyleton trip could continue without his presence. He almost passed out, in fact, but his borderline dreams were interrupted by an annoyingly tall man wearing hospital attire. His military escort. Nigredo blinked up at him as the man lowered a stack of clothing on his face ( ... )
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To the variant's surprise, there was an actual girl in the seat next to him, eating what looked to be an apple. Her somewhat casual demeanor suggested they had long since departed from the institute, though when he glanced outside, the bus hadn't moved from its initial position. That begged the question: how long was he out for?
Nigredo shifted his gaze back to the girl, the move a combination of awkwardness and curiosity. "Uh..." His usual eloquence was unfortunately gone, taken by an impromptu nap. "How long have I been asleep?"
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"I take it we're awake now?" It was a measure of adaptability, or a tendency towards psychosis, that this had become a normal question. Her world was gone; survival rested on deciphering the arcane workings of this game, starting with anything and everything she could interrogate, psychoanalyze, dismantle, or blow up. Since she was equipped only with breakfast and her own cunning, the former two would have to suffice.
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"Yes. Otherwise, I would be sleeping for hours," Nigredo continued. He yawned and transferred a hand to cover his open mouth. Yawning in general was impolite, but by now, the boy had learned to disregard certain manners for necessities. Hopefully, his seat companion didn't mind. "Excuse me," he muttered afterward. Just in case she did.
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The kid -- she thought of him that way, though he couldn't be much her junior, if at all -- was too polite to align with her limited experience with Time players and/or trolls, but they'd been too busy working out the details of their own session to worry about the grand workings of the general case. This...may have been an oversight.
Nevertheless, there were things more pressing than psychoanalyzing her seatmate. Recreation took a back seat to survival, at least when she couldn't multi-task.
"Scratch that." Speculation was less useful than fact; she could draw her own conclusions. "Do you know where we are? Where we're going?" And why are we in this handbasket, Lalonde? ( ... )
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Landel's Institute. Doyleton. Neither of those were familiar. Where was Google when she needed it? Nevertheless, she tucked away the names for further research.
"That would be an astute observation." Now the sarcasm was unmistakable. "I take it you didn't?"
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"Correct," Nigredo replied, his voice bland. "I can answer any questions you have if you'd like." They had the first part of the morning to do so, after all. It would be better than sitting in awkward silence as the boy tried to figure out exactly what about her was somewhat recognizable.
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Where to begin? It seemed time was not, extraordinarily, of the essence. "Why don't you begin at the beginning. Namely, how you arrived here?"
She went to put a subject line on the page -- Morning 1: Interview with ____ ______, when an oversight reared its ugly head. "Ah, please forgive my dreadful lapse in manners." Was that laying it on too thick? Perhaps. "My name is Rose Lalonde."
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He watched quietly as Rose set to work with her writing and her question. "I'm Nigredo." Just Nigredo. It was not worth throwing out his proper name. "To be honest, I don't know how I arrived. I was unconscious during the transition." He sighed inwardly. Delving into the full story was simply setting up for unwanted inquires. By now, he understood. Many did not appreciate child soldiers. "Before here, I was...traveling with my family."
That was one way to explain the Conflict.
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She made a few notes, though what use they would be was uncertain.
Nigredo. transition between waking and sleep -- coincidence? family (multiple guardians?) There was a gold mine there, from that ever-so-fleeting hesitation. Just the barest hiccup in the warp and weft of conversation, a tiny snag from which entire armies could be unraveled. Pity she didn't have the time to aim her pointed questions towards that inscrutable aperture ( ... )
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Were some of them locals? Or could the game manifest itself to technologically challenged populations? Some sort of collaborative storytelling, perhaps?
Maybe it was just a difficulty with vocabulary.
"Laptop? You see, there are these little boxes in which electrons go whirling around and in this migratory dance we call the internet, occasionally people talk to each other. Sometimes they even call each other friends."
Not that she knew his number offhand. It was saved on her phone. And her laptop. Obviously.
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Even if he was tempted...
"Oh, I see what you mean," Nigredo stated simply. "No, you won't find those here. If you did, I doubt our caretakers would let you touch them." The child crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. "They're not fond of communication to the outside world." Whatever "outside world" happened to be.
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If that was the case, she had some exploring to do.
Alternatively, this kid was lying either of his own accord or on the sufferance of their captors.
The next question would not tell her which it was, but it would serve either way.
"Do you know what they are fond of us doing? Is there a purpose to this trip, or is it more window dressing?"
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