You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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Rosalind Lutece | Bioshock: Infinite
A, Lutece Labs, warning for potential descriptions of gore
[The street (cobblestones beneath your feet, and suddenly your ears pop as the air pressure abruptly thins) is suddenly crowded. Men mutter to one another, shaking their heads and crossing their arms, as women clutch their children and stop them from racing forward to get a better look. Sirens wail, and the sickening scent of burnt wood and flesh fills the air.
Lutece Labs is on fire.
Well. It was on fire. Various men in official uniforms and fire hoses have taken care of most of the flames. But the building has just been through the wringer, that's for certain. Burnt books and broken bits of lab equipment are scattered amidst the shattered glass on the sidewalk.
It's a horrid sight, but what makes it worse is the figure that comes forward. Tall and dressed in black, he whistles softly as he views the damage.
It would be fitting if he snuck or crept, but no, he walks into the laboratory as bold as brass, hesitating only when it seems as if he might be in danger of falling debris. You follow him in, though he doesn't seem to notice he isn't alone.]
B, alleys
[Suddenly, you're in an alley. It's filthy and dark, the bricks shining from the downpour of rain that occured earlier this evening. At first glance, there's nothing particularly unusual about the alley-- and then you see it. An odd glow eminating from one of the walls, too bright to be a lightbulb, dimming and brightening rhythmically.
There's three figures standing in front of it. The first: a young man in his early twenties, his hair bright red, his clothing immaculate and well-tailored. He holds himself anxiously, his arms crossed over himself, as he peers at the wall. This is Robert Lutece, and perhaps it's hard to see in this dim light, but he's Rosalind's double, alike in almost every way.
The second: an older man, bearded, who cradles a small bundle of cloth. A fat arm wiggles out, and of course it's an infant, not even a year old. She seems to be in good spirits, despite the frantic atmosphere around her.
And finally, you see a woman, with short black hair and a blue dress. No one seems to be paying her any mind, but to be fair, she isn't looking at them either. No, she's staring at you, so directly you know she can see you. Her expression is difficult to read. Angry? Full of grief? Weary? Who can say.
You race forward, and suddenly it's not you racing ahead, but a man, gruff and dishevled, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He throws himself at the trio, and you follow along.
You can see that glow more clearly now. It comes from a circle in the wall, pulsating in and out. It's no man-made creation, and it seems to lead to another room: a laboratory, and in that laboratory . . .
Is a woman.
Rosalind is younger here-- twenty-three at the oldest
despite the fact her character model didn't change at all, thanks obama. Her voice has an echoing quality, and she looks frantic as she offers out a hand.It's fine, hurry! she shouts. It's Robert she has her eyes on, despite the fact the dishevled man is shouting loudly (give her back! The deal is off, give her back, and oh, but he sounds so very afraid beneath that fury).
Fine? Are you mad! Robert replies, dancing anxiously from foot to foot.
No! You will not get caught between, come! There's terror in her voice, and she keeps reaching out a hand, alternating between beckoning him and offering to take his hand. Behind the Luteces, a fight seems to be breaking out; a struggle over the infant, as the alcoholic tries his best to grab her back. The bearded man holding her is stumbling backwards, towards the portal, and Rosalind spares them half a glance before looking at Robert. Unlike her typical expressions of distant amusement or unimpressed skepticism, she looks utterly frantic right now, as desperate as the man trying to get his baby back.]
C, Girton;
[You're on the lawn of a beautiful college (Girton College, actually, if you're the sort to know your universities). Acres of green grass stretch out as far as the eye can see. You take a few steps forward, and suddenly you notice any number of students around you. They stroll in pairs, chatting happily as they go on to their next class. That's nice, but it's not what you're interested in.
Taking a few steps forward, you suddenly find yourself in one of the buildings. More specifically, the science wing. It's a rather dusty laboratory you eventually wander into. There's only a few people there, but they're notable for two reasons. One, every single person, without fail, is a woman. And two, they're dressed in oddly archaic outfits, long skirts and sensible blouses.
And on the very end, there's a girl, younger than the rest by at least five years. Her red hair is piled up haphazardly, tied back into a bun, and she frowns as she prods at her work. One of the other girls laughs, and though it likely wasn't at her expense, still Rosalind's head whips up, a wary sort of frown on her face.
Come bother her?]
a; :3c
He follows the man into the burning building, his heart pounding heavily in his ears. Hadn't he just been...walking towards the outpost? And now he finds himself in another place entirely, now in a building with the name Lutece on the outside. Where is he? And maybe the better question is...
Why?
Carefully, he calls out: ]
R-Ros?
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The man walks confidently through the entrance, past the shop portion of the labs and into the building proper. It's a house and home, though the carpet is burnt and the picture frames are cracked. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh grows worse, and yet Jeremiah Fink laughs softly to himself as he reaches the lab.
There's a machine there, so enormous someone had knocked out the ceiling and built right up into the second floor. It's off now, and the amount of smoke and ash and destruction is enough to confirm that it's this which exploded.
The two figures on the floor might tip one off as well.
They look more like mannequins than people, really. Their clothes are fused to their bodies, heat melting silk and cotton and searing it to skin. One is carelessly tossed atop the other, their limbs tangled together and bent the wrong way around. White bone juts out here and there, and now that the house has had time to cool down, blood is starting to seep over the tile.]
Hideous, isn't it?
[When had Rosalind come in? How had she gotten by his side? And yet there she is, staring down dispassionately at the corpses below. Her eyes flick up as Fink begins picking his way through the lab, grabbing indiscriminately at papers and books and tucking them beneath his arm as though it's Christmas.]
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...He just really, really wishes he was wrong.
But even if her name hadn't been on the building, this place would have reminded Prompto entirely too much of Rosalind to ignore the connection. He reaches the room with the machine, gargantuan and strange and reminding him a little too much of magitek for comfort, though he knows that isn't what this is. What it is he can't even begin to guess, but as for the bodies on the floor...
Well. Hadn't Rosalind just recently described this very thing to him?
A painful noise wrests its way out of him, because although Prompto has been fully aware of Rosalind's fate since very early in their friendship, it's another thing entirely to see her here like this - or what remains of her, anyway, and Robert, too. Charred and smoldering and broken and bleeding, the floor sticky beneath his boots.
At the sound of her voice, he looks quickly over at her, until he understands.
This isn't a dream. It's a memory. ]
...Yeah. One hell of a mess.
[ To put it lightly. ]
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[She says it coldly, nodding towards Fink. He's got most of their patents under his arm by now, and picks his way carefully towards the stairway. Rosalind follows, turning sharply on her heels and putting her back to the bodies.
She can't bear to see Robert's body. Not now, not when she's parted from him. Her own doesn't matter, but Robert . . . no. Her throat would close up, her eyes would fill, and she'd never forgive herself for that humiliation, not even in front of Prompto.
Up the stairs, down the hall, and into her bedroom. The remains of the machine rupture up in here, but there's a little area where their bed and nightstand are that's just for them.
Fink is tugging open the dresser drawers, rifling through each one with no shame.]
He's looking for my diaries. He wants to finish his looting before anyone, even the paramedics, gets in, just in case they wonder why he's so eager to explore Lutece Labs.
That was his promised price, you see: our patents, and anything else he could get his hands on and make use of. I'm sure Comstock meant it in a purely professional sense, but Fink took it to mean personal usage as well.
[She hadn't reacted when he'd grabbed her diaries. But she does go stiff when Fink hesitates, then reaches for a portrait of Robert.]
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This is infuriating.
Coldly, and unevenly: ]
So who is this son of a bitch? Did he...did he do this to you?
[ Is this the face of her murderer? ]
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C.
Not that it's nice by any means. The setting makes his gut twist and he recognizes that look of wariness at the sound of nearby laughter coming from the red-headed girl (familiar in a way he can't place). Knowing that it'll take time before he'll notice the cracks in the memory, he approaches, looking around.]
I could throw something at 'em. Don't know if it'll do anything, though. [He hasn't had any luck so far properly interacting with a dream, after all.]
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But some small part of Rosalind's mind recognizes Rocket, categorizes him as safe, and so moves on quickly. Turning on the bench, it's a bit easier to see her properly. And the effect is . . . uncertain. Certainly there's been some vague attempts at style and poise, but what Rosalind mostly looks like is a girl of seventeen trying desperately to look as though she's at least five years older. She hasn't bothered with cosmetics, not realizing that they'll help the illusion, and so more freckles than usual are scattered over her face.]
No. Thank you, though. They'll just . . . no.
[They'll laugh, probably. Or think her odd, or worse still, pity her, patronizing in their cloying false sympathy.]
It doesn't matter. I'm the one who's going to pass with a perfect grade, so let them laugh.
[A beat, and then, a touch uncertainly:]
Do you, er . . . want help coming up here?
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[And he does. It's not difficult to climb up onto a table- the difficult part is breathing once he's up there. This is a different kind of lab. It doesn't smell quite the same. The chemicals are different. The people are different.
And up here he can see why she seemed so familiar.]
So, Ros'. [It's with a kind of relaxed (and a bit resigned to his current fate) sigh that he settles onto the table, observing her work from a close enough distance that he can see and speak to her comfortably, but not so close that he's on top of it.] What's your big plan to show 'em how frickin' amazing you are?
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. . . succeed, really.
[She hesitates, then moves her arm, offering him a clear view.]
I think there's a lot one can do with atomic suspension. Namely, that one can do it-- suspend atoms midair, I mean. Not make them float, but . . . surely it's possible to put gravity on hold for a while.
If I can succeed, if I can prove that my theories are right . . . what else would I need?
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[Well, he started to say kid's stuff. Honestly, it's easier to make artificial gravity than it is to halt gravity all together, but that's only because why the hell would anyone want to remove gravity? It's impractical.
But, in a weird show of restraint, he closes his mouth, bites down on the urge to tell her that it's both easy and, honestly, kind of useless. For an Earther, that kind of thing is wondrous. Sure it might be the macaroni art of the science community to someone from his neck of space, but for her and the people here, it's life-changing.
And he's not 100% of a dick.] -Thaaaat's a good idea. And then you get all the money and fame, and all that crap. It's great.
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c
[A young boy of thirteen looks over the table before Rosalind, tone carrying a sense of superiority in addition to his expression of clear disinterest. Dorian's wandered from his own memory into the realm of another, and it seems his mind hasn't quite caught up with the process just yet. He's still concerned about going home.]
I've just transferred, and I seem to have gotten lost already.
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[The sheer amount of indigence in her voice could move mountains. Around the lab, the other women seem caught between that same irritation and laughter (though it's more the latter than the former right now). But Rosalind draws herself up.
Bad enough she's sixteen and everyone else here doesn't take her seriously. But for a child to do the same is simply intolerable.]
I am a student here. What are you?
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[The sheer amount of indigence in his could part the ocean. Dorian's shoulders tense at all the laughter—it isn't all that bad, being around older strangers, but feeling less in the know as them makes him a certain kind of uncomfortable.]
I think you're mistaken. I'm a student here, and I'm supposed to find my room. Whatever you're doing matters less than helping the best and brightest.
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b!
Rosalind? [ Sorry, he's not doing the Madam Lutece thing in the heat of the moment. Unless you want to call him Captain Kirk forever, lady. ] What the hell?
[ But then he thinks, she's so much younger here, will she even be able to hear him? He looks around, trying to spot a door out of the memory, or a more age-appropriate figure. ]
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If I get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other! Robert says, and her attention snaps back, focusing on her beloved once more. Urgency is clear in her expression, and she holds out her hand again.]
You will not get caught, I promise! Now come!
[You can't promise me that! His anxiety seems to grow worse, dancing from foot to foot, torn between desperately wanting to come through and possessing a healthy fear of being killed as he tries. But the argument behind him is getting ever louder, and Robert finally seems to see sense. He darts through, one quick movement, leaping and gasping as Rosalind catches him.
Shut the machine down, the bearded man roars, and follows right on Robert's heels, the baby still in his arms. Shut it down, shut it down right now--
Give me back my daughter! the alcoholic bellows, but it's too late: Rosalind has turned, following that order breathlessly, and with a whine the machine shuts down. The portal closes, expanding one last time before collapsing-- and as it does, the infant turns, reaching for her father. Her mouth drops open, her arm stretching out . . . and her pinky, small and slight, gets caught just as the portal closes.
There's a breathless moment of silence before the screaming begins. Blood gushes out, and Rosalind shouts as she comes forward, grabbing a first aid kit.]
She's all right.
[Rosalind-- Jim's Rosalind, older and less expressive, her body held tightly-- murmurs it from behind him.]
She lost the finger, but that was the least that could have happened to her.
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Context is probably
kingkey. (A bad Discovery joke, ignore me.) Plenty of the things Jim has lived through look pretty bad without the bookends on either side.Still: ]
Was she being stolen, or saved?
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[The baby continues crying, though now it's more out of shock than pain, as her finger is bandaged tightly. The younger Rosalind falters and falls back, slumping against Robert, then turns into him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. It's half clinging and half desperate possessiveness, and Rosalind watches it with no small amount of jealousy in her gaze.
. . . Booker had sold her willingly. He was an alcoholic, a gambler . . . and he was deeply in debt, so much so that I imagine he would have been killed because of it sooner or later. And along came a man who promised him all the money he could ever need, all in exchange for his child . . .
[She turns a savage gaze towards the bearded man, who bounces the baby, cooing softly down at her to try and calm her down.]
He was told the child would never want for anything. That she'd be safe and happy, cared for by parents who would adore her and dote on her. And I think even now, in this moment, Comstock believed that was what he would do.
[But no. He hadn't. Oh, Elizabeth had never starved or wanted for clothes, she'd never known physical hardship, but there are ways and ways of hurting a person, even when you've deluded yourself that you're doing what's best for them.]
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Girton.
the setting is not so strange, either; Diana has walked a campus or twenty in her lifetime. learning filled the years, softened the emptiness of being the only one of her kind in a world that did not know her and would not be kind if it did. she feels both at home and foreign in this moment that is not her own, as a woman in a place that she might not be particularly welcome yet not letting that bother her horribly much all the same.
Diana's attention is far from the giggles. she glances over the splay of notes and scientific tools. ) What are you working on? ( she wonders, setting her chin in her hand as she leans over the table to get a better look. )
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Light and how it affects atoms. More specifically, atomic suspension.
[A beat, and then:]
People keep assuring me it's impossible, but I don't see why. It's simply a matter of finding the right frequency and applying the correct device. It's going to take a great deal of time, but that doesn't mean it's impossible.
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( it's said lightly, as if she's noting changes in the weather or the new paint on the trim, yet her expression is painted with something a bit more serious. she's found as much through all too much experience. more than days or months or years of proof.
she offers Rosalind a twist of a smile. )
That sort could never comprehend what is truly possible.
B.
I asked, what is happening here?
[He asks once more, turning out of old habit to the imposing tone he had once employed as manager and mayor, yet receives no answer. It is then that he sees the familiar face through the peculiar hole in the brick.]
Madame Lutece!
[Yet her features belong to a younger woman, and even when her eyes fall upon him she does not appear to see him. Her frantic expression is adopted by his own features as he grows more bewildered by the scene.]
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If I get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other! Robert says, and it's almost comical how he's shifting his weight from foot to foot, physical in his fear.]
You will not get caught, I promise! Now come!
[You can't promise me that! Rosalind makes a wordless noise of frustration.
Beyond the two of them, the argument is getting ever louder. The deal is off! the alcoholic roars, struggling to take the infant back, and Robert seems to sense the way it's escalating, because in one quick movement he finally leaps through the portal.
Shut the machine down, the bearded man bellows, stumbling and yanking at the infant in his arms. He falls back through the portal, safe in Rosalind's lab. Shut it down, shut it down right now--
Give me back my daughter! the alcoholic bellows, but it's too late: Rosalind has turned, following that order breathlessly, and with a whine the machine shuts down. Impossibly, Valjean is in the lab now, teleported to Rosalind's side as the portal begins to close.]
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Madame Lutece, are you there?
[He asks this not of the apparition beside him, assuming her to be a fixture of the memory. Rather, he seeks among the sleek equipment and instruments the woman from whose memory this scene must have been torn like a page from a book.]