All In His Head

BookKnight

BookKnight

Well-Known Member
Reginald Rayburn hurried across campus, his bookbag clutched tightly under one arm as he kept his speed just under trotting. Trotting was undignified, especially for someone who carried a few extra pounds around his midriff. Speed walking, on the other hand, was not quite as dignified as walking at a regular pace, but it would get him where he needed to go quickly. Not as quickly as jogging, but with much less bouncing and jostling. That was not only undignified but also unpleasant.

He reached the glass double doors to the college library and yanked one open, rushing inside. The cool, air-conditioned air rushed over his flushed face, and once he'd made it a few steps inside, he stopped and took a few deep breaths, sighing in relief. School had only been in session for two weeks, and the summer heat of late August was not about to let go without a fight even with September only a couple of days away. Rushing through the eighty-degree weather - likely even hotter in the mostly concrete campus - was not a recipe for a cool body. He took another deep breath and used the sleeve of his long shirt to wipe his forehead. As nice as the cool air felt, he couldn't stop now. Determinedly, he marched into the library's rotunda and headed for the stairs, mounting up to the second story and making a beeline down the bookshelves to the five hundreds in the nonfiction section. Most of the books here in the university library were nonfiction, but there was a small section of fiction books. He didn't know why they bothered, but he supposed the literature department needed a few books.

Once Reginald had located the books he wanted, he hurried to a secluded corner, made certain no one was around, and settled down to read. He only had half an hour before his next class, and he needed to get as much reading done as possible. It wouldn't do to check out the books. These were far too suspicious to have on record. No, despite the inconvenience, it was better to read them here and read them quickly.
 
A lanky figure slinked through the towering walls of the non-fiction section, gaze poised on the endless spines of literature. Their Thin, nimble hands traced the shelves; clearing a path through the caked dust. With a soft crumbling of a piece of parchment, they reviewed the ‘required sources’ list- their finger suddenly stopping on a neat, white-covered book.

They hoisted it aloft, head perking up from the corner of the shelf. The tables were crawling with people; seats filled as soon as they were emptied- all except for one, fixed in the rear of the common area; with walls authoritatively covering where windows were planned to be. A man was sitting there, staring at some star-chart intently. ‘Probably some astrophysicist kid’, the figure thought. They stalked over to the barren table, sliding out a seat opposite of the man, and promptly began to sprawl out notebooks and sticky-notes across the desk.

Throughout their brief studying, they glanced up to ponder the man- mind sprawling with questions. With a bit mental debate, They finally spoke:

“I’m Alden, Alden Thomas- From Neurobiology and behavior. What’s your major?”
 
Suddenly, a large sprawl invaded his space. Papers and books spread out like a toxic ooze, creeping toward his books. Reginald slammed shut Aliens: the World's Leading Scientists on the Search for Extraterrestrial Life by Jim Al-Khalili and turned it upside down on Evidence of Extraterrestrials: Over 40 Cases Prove Aliens Have Visited Earth by Warren Agius before turning disbelieving eyes on the person who'd so blatantly and unrepentantly invaded his sanctum of study.

"Majorly wondering where you learned your manners," Reginald said stiffly. He carefully moved The Field Guide to Natural Phenomena: the Secret World of Optical, Atmospheric, and Celestial Wonders by Keith C. Heidorn to the top of the stack to hide the other two from the interloper's view. "It is generally considered rude to sit without asking first if the seat was taken or if it would inconvenience the other person who was already occupying the table. Or is that why you're in behavior? To learn manners?" Disdainfully, he flicked a wayward sticky note back toward the newcomer. "This table is taken, so if you do not mind, move your mess elsewhere. Please."
 
Alden laughed at the recluse’s response, drawing his forearm across the table and shifting his weight forward; blonde hair cascading down to blanket the sides of his face.
“Just between you and me, people don’t really follow typical social standards here. Quite the good ground for behavioral studies, eh?”
Alden grinned - face contorting somewhat wildly at the thought: he pulled himself upwards, and drew back his workspace to an even line across the desk. Without a second thought, he pulled a white-board marker from his - seemingly endless - bag, and drew a bright red line across the border.
“I doubt there’ll be room anywhere else-“ He joked.
“Truce?”
 
Reginald stared at Alden as if he'd grown another head. He'd drawn a line on the table with a marker! The man was certifiable! Reginald's expression pinched in distaste as he gathered up his books. "I would rather sit on a bed of nails," he sniffed, standing. "You may have your graffitied table, and I hope the librarian bans you for your blatant disregard of public property! You, yourself, should be studied for abnormal behavior. It appears they forgot to screw your head on quite right when they reassembled you. Good. Day. Sir." He turned and marched away from the table and the grinning maniac who had taken it over.

There went his reading time, but it couldn't be helped. Not only was the buffoon absolutely impossible to be near, but his bizarre behavior might indicate that he was not as he seemed. It was possible he was merely a malfunctioning human, but he could also be a test sent by them. Reginald wasn't going to risk it.
 
Alden initially shrugged at the thunderous response, at least he hadn’t gone without an attempt- but his mind still pondered as he sat there, scribbling down notes on the borrowed textbook. He couldn’t avoid such an opportunity, such an experience for furthering his view on the complexities of the human condition; there had to be something there, something that created the anti-social beast that spat such bile from his mouth.

He had to get closer, to stare in the eyes of that shadowed figure and peel back the layers that the darkness hid. Alden was stirred by a great wave of adrenaline, a spiked kick that traveled throughout his system- and he could feel it clearly.

His pencil hit the paper in a swift and rapid motion, emboldening the same message atop of the last again and again:



‘Find the Starman.’
 
Reginald carefully put the books back where he'd got them from, not wanting to leave any trail leading to what he'd been reading, even if it was a librarian putting the books back on the shelf. He paused long enough to check out a book related to his major and headed out. He had a class to get to, and he refused to be late.

He walked quickly, head ducked low as he hurried across the campus with his ballcap pulled low over his head. Once inside the classroom, he had to take it off, it was class policy, but he wore it up to the last second, and when he did take it off, he turned it carefully so no one could see the tinfoil tucked tightly into the top of the hat. He wasn't certain tinfoil actually worked, and it certainly marked him as being one of "those" people, but he felt it couldn't hurt. Unless the foil got folded weird and dug into his scalp, then it hurt.

Class went by quickly as Reginald took copious notes in his color-coded binder. He had one more class after that, and then it was off to home. Well, the rented room he had in a basement that his parents paid for. There, he felt he was as safe as he'd ever be, surrounded by foil and chalkboards. Nowhere was ever fully safe, but here, at least, he could work on his project without being interrupted.
 
The hours went by rapidly as Alden continued his work, the flow of his consciousness shifting to follow the endless diagrams of brain-scans and lists of symptoms. His mind seemed to move independently of the rest of him, hands automatically scrawling pencil marks that trailed neatly along the lines of his notebook; blindly calculating information.

Alden was immediately jolted from his seat as an alarm rang out from his phone, signaling his exit. In a fluid motion, he wiped away the line from the desk with a pulled sleeve, slid the textbook back into it’s slot, and stalked away from the - Now empty - library.
 
The food was gone. Why was the food always gone? He was certain he'd gone food shopping just last week and gotten plenty of food! That was all now gone. Reginald checked his refrigerator a fourth time, hoping that he'd somehow miraculously missed something, but of course, there was nothing there. Nothing but a jar of unopened pickles, a bottle of ketchup, one single-serve yogurt, and a single rather wilted-looking bell pepper that he didn't remember buying. He heaved a sigh, closed the door, and accepted the inevitable: it was time to go shopping.

He dressed in black pants, a button-up shirt, a black sweater vest, and a baseball cap lined with foil. The cap did not really go with the rest of his outfit, but he wasn't leaving without it. Grabbing his backpack, he cautiously stepped outside and locked the door, checking twice to make certain the lock had engaged. The street was virtually empty except for a couple of cars driving past. He hurried along the sidewalk, walking toward the nearest store. It was about a ten-minute walk from his rental, which was really nice considering he'd never reapplied for his driver's license. Hopefully, he could get in, get food, and get out without any trouble.
 
BookKnight said:
The food was gone. Why was the food always gone? He was certain he'd gone food shopping just last week and gotten plenty of food! That was all now gone. Reginald checked his refrigerator a fourth time, hoping that he'd somehow miraculously missed something, but of course, there was nothing there. Nothing but a jar of unopened pickles, a bottle of ketchup, one single-serve yogurt, and a single rather wilted-looking bell pepper that he didn't remember buying. He heaved a sigh, closed the door, and accepted the inevitable: it was time to go shopping.

He dressed in black pants, a button-up shirt, a black sweater vest, and a baseball cap lined with foil. The cap did not really go with the rest of his outfit, but he wasn't leaving without it. Grabbing his backpack, he cautiously stepped outside and locked the door, checking twice to make certain the lock had engaged. The street was virtually empty except for a couple of cars driving past. He hurried along the sidewalk, walking toward the nearest store. It was about a ten-minute walk from his rental, which was really nice considering he'd never reapplied for his driver's license. Hopefully, he could get in, get food, and get out without any trouble.
Click to expand...
The air of the Aisles carried a bleak chill- one that tasted of heartless economic superiority… and there was the lanky, blonde figure of Alden Thomas stalking shelves, back slouched. Tangled headphone wires hung limply about his neck, the faint melody of Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony bleeding through the cheap earbuds; his entire form reeked of subconscious hatred.

Sure, there could’ve been many more opportunities for jobs that he could’ve taken, but due to the close proximity; he couldn’t deny it. With a few nights of pondering the weight of each option, he decided to take the easiest route and stock shelves.

He had to pay his rent, somehow.
 
Reginald paused outside the store and checked to make certain his hat sat firmly on his head but tried not to pull the bill down to cover his face. There was no rule saying you could not wear a hat inside this particular store, but people tended to react suspiciously if your hood or hat blocked their view of his face. He wanted nothing more than to duck behind the flimsy safety of his hat and hide, but that would bring more attention. No, it was best to fight that particular instinct. At least for now. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the store.

The cool air floated out to greet him, and he reveled for a moment in the dry, skin-destroying cool. Then, reaching up to touch the brim of his hat, he grabbed a handbasket and hurried down the nearest aisle. For all his intent on speed and detail-oriented tendencies, Reginald was terrible at preplanning his shopping trips. Rather than having a list and a plan for what to get in what order, he went down each aisle and grabbed anything that caught his eye as something he needed or wanted. That meant he ended up grabbing a few frozen items first instead of last and nearly crushed his apples under the cans. Still, he was making good progress.

A stocker was working directly in front of the selection of refried beans where Reginald needed something. Frowning, he tried to figure out how to reach around the stocker without doing the unthinkable of talking to the fellow and excusing himself. He just wanted one can and then to be gone. Why must there always be complications?
 
A shadow flowed through the aisles, Alden’s head swung around to face the man, an instant look of realization drawing through his features. He forced an awkward laugh, hand snapping to his ear and pulling out the headphones: a singular can clattered to the floor. He scrambled to replace it, before pulling himself up to a stand and addressing Reginald.

“I- Uh- You need anything?”
 
Reginald flinched. Oh no, not him. Was he stalking him? Was this a part of some kind of sick play? Or had he been assigned to get Reginald back on track? Why else would he be here? Sheer chance and coincidence didn't seem viable. What would be the odds of having a stranger sit down at his table and then the same stranger apparently work at the store he needed to go to right when he needed to be there? It was like someone or something was orchestrating this whole thing.

"I need a can," Reginald said stiffly. He indicated the cans behind the other. "One of those. Please."
 
Alden nodded, seemingly unaware of Reginald’s shocked expression. He picked up a stray can from the shelf- gaze quickly scanning over its label.

“Canned pancake mix? Are you some kind of apocalypse planner?”

He half joked, tossing Reginald the can with ease.
 
Reginald nearly dropped his basket, completely caught off guard by the sudden toss. He tried to catch the can but ended up dropping it. Now slightly dented, it rolled sadly down the aisle. He gave the stocker a scathing look. "Who thows canned goods at people?" he sniffed. "If you had given me a moment, I would have told you that, no, I do not need canned pancake mix. I need the refried beans, which is there one shelf down." He inched around and grabbed the can for himself before all but hopping backward to avoid staying too close to Alden for too long.

As he started to walk away, he glanced back. "Also, one can does not an apocalypse plan make."
 
“I- Alright.”
Alden’s face drew into a brief grimace, eyes locking onto the man’s for a moment before darting away. His amicable jokes seemed to be contorting themselves into different shapes; although not untypical, Reginald’s verbal response certainly was. Perhaps there was some defensiveness about Reginald’s situation, were his parents skeptics?
Oh, how Alden’s mind begged him to write: to pry for information in a low, smooth voice, and play consciousness like a fiddle. The music pounded in his ears as his mind spiraled, moments turning into years of categorization as the scanning of processes took hold- how freely the information flowed! He could practically trace each nerve, each tendon that controlled the flesh-suit that was the human form- the brain being the one true narrator; with each opened facet dulling it with it’s lies.
The world pooled back into prominence, and Alden realized his own look; a blank, wide-eyed stare that gave him the stoicism of a hay-wire machine. He awkwardly chuckled, turning back to the shelf in an attempt to busy his mind from the man.

He was doing everything wrong.
 
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