I hereby apologise in advance.
Who: Machi Tobaye and anyone in New Bark Town who wants to join him.
Where: New Bark Town
When: Backdated to the beginning of this app cycle.
Rating: PG? PG-13? (Depends on who joins him.)
Panic.
Machi's immediate reaction--strange place, strange clothing, strange--not music, it wasn't music, really, but some primitive mockery--
--it was too much.
He fled.
Eventually he had found something his instincts told him resembled safety, sequestering himself in a hidden patch of bushes, obscuring sound and sight until he could draw the breath to exhale the pent up air in his lungs. Once he'd calmed down, he'd attempted to sort it out, but--
He raised one hand to rest, briefly, on the silver and blue pendant around his neck, heavy and familiar against his sternum. It was cool to the touch, solid. He didn't really understand... what was happening, where he was. 'Mom' wasn't a word with any meaning to Machi. 'Lamiroir,' yes, but not 'mom'--Lamiroir was Lamiroir. She wasn't his mother. 'Mom' was to him the same as, say, 'dirigible'--a thing, something that other people talked about and had and thought about, but not a thing with tangible meaning in his life.
The idea of his 'Mom,' this place--it didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. He felt like he was in a dream; a terrible, stupid dream that was way too bright and wouldn't stop looping one track of a sample over and over. It wasn't even a good sample. It was obnoxious. He really just wanted to go home. Even if 'home' was the juvenile detention centre. At least that wasn't...this.
Whatever it was.
Sitting on the ground, he pulled out the piece of machinery he'd been given, turning it over curiously and cautiously in his hands, feeling it. He pressed a few buttons--experimentally, mostly seemingly blind, but then triggered a screen, backlit and and flickering--he turned it off quickly, but fumbled it, his impassive, detached expression unchanging.
No.
No, he wasn't going to take this. He wasn't going to accept this... whatever it was. Not without an explanation. There was none. Standing, he turned, picking his way through bushes carefully, sightlessly. He walked until he felt the soft squelch of wet soil beneath his shoes, the sunlight reflecting off the clear surface in bright ripples that were visible even through the dark filter of his sunglasses.
Wordlessly, he pulled his arm back and threw the gadget out over the water--not violently, but decisively, standing wordlessly at the water's edge as it struck the surface and vanished into the lake.
Where: New Bark Town
When: Backdated to the beginning of this app cycle.
Rating: PG? PG-13? (Depends on who joins him.)
Panic.
Machi's immediate reaction--strange place, strange clothing, strange--not music, it wasn't music, really, but some primitive mockery--
--it was too much.
He fled.
Eventually he had found something his instincts told him resembled safety, sequestering himself in a hidden patch of bushes, obscuring sound and sight until he could draw the breath to exhale the pent up air in his lungs. Once he'd calmed down, he'd attempted to sort it out, but--
He raised one hand to rest, briefly, on the silver and blue pendant around his neck, heavy and familiar against his sternum. It was cool to the touch, solid. He didn't really understand... what was happening, where he was. 'Mom' wasn't a word with any meaning to Machi. 'Lamiroir,' yes, but not 'mom'--Lamiroir was Lamiroir. She wasn't his mother. 'Mom' was to him the same as, say, 'dirigible'--a thing, something that other people talked about and had and thought about, but not a thing with tangible meaning in his life.
The idea of his 'Mom,' this place--it didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. He felt like he was in a dream; a terrible, stupid dream that was way too bright and wouldn't stop looping one track of a sample over and over. It wasn't even a good sample. It was obnoxious. He really just wanted to go home. Even if 'home' was the juvenile detention centre. At least that wasn't...this.
Whatever it was.
Sitting on the ground, he pulled out the piece of machinery he'd been given, turning it over curiously and cautiously in his hands, feeling it. He pressed a few buttons--experimentally, mostly seemingly blind, but then triggered a screen, backlit and and flickering--he turned it off quickly, but fumbled it, his impassive, detached expression unchanging.
No.
No, he wasn't going to take this. He wasn't going to accept this... whatever it was. Not without an explanation. There was none. Standing, he turned, picking his way through bushes carefully, sightlessly. He walked until he felt the soft squelch of wet soil beneath his shoes, the sunlight reflecting off the clear surface in bright ripples that were visible even through the dark filter of his sunglasses.
Wordlessly, he pulled his arm back and threw the gadget out over the water--not violently, but decisively, standing wordlessly at the water's edge as it struck the surface and vanished into the lake.