Ver

Endearing Misanthrope
The Convergence Series GM
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Prologue
"Through the Looking Glass"

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"I have to say, I'm very pleased with the progress you all have made during your time here. Each and every one of you has come a long way since you first came here, and if all continues to go well, you may even be discharged as early as next week," Doctor Ellie Staple said in a pleased manner to the group that sat around her, her very own model patients.

Usually, the function of the Activity Room in Raven Hill Memorial was self-explanatory, housing various tables in the room holding all sorts of small board games, as well as a TV mounted on the wall for anyone's convenience and other harmless diversions. However, today, Staple had elected to hold a makeshift meeting with all of you, her dear patients, in the room, all of the chairs arranged in a circle for everyone to sit in with Staple at the top of the circle. It wasn't the first time the good doctor had called for this kind of meeting; she'd claimed that it would be much too formal and strict if they'd gone through the trouble of making a dedicated conference room, like they were office workers meeting up or the like, as opposed to the friendly and cordial relationship she claimed to want to foster instead, so here you all were instead.

It was difficult to gauge how long you all had even been here. Staple admitted that the medication used to tend to everyone had some degree of side effects that temporarily caused memory problems, but promised that everything would come back to them in due course. Indeed, the longer you had taken your medication, the fainter your delusions seemed to be, and the clearer your true lives became instead, until now, you could hardly remember those delusions that once defined your life before. Of course, things weren't any easier by the fact that you didn't have much in the way of outside communication. Staple insisted that it was so there wouldn't be any outside distraction, so you could focus on you and yourself alone, though one had to wonder about the efficacy of such a sentiment.

"That all said, I just wanted to meet with you all... mostly for a friendly chat, really. How are you all feeling? Any weird feelings, fake memories coming back in any way? I hope all of you are getting along with each other as well. A healthy social life contributes greatly to a healthy mind, after all."

View attachment 10734

"Yep, yeah, everything's going smooth for me. Nothing weird going on my end," Peter Petrelli sighed, resting his hand on his face. He was no exception to Staple's statement that everyone was on their way to a full recovery, but Peter -- impatient as he was -- could hardly wait to get out of this place and get back to his life, not that anyone could blame him. After all, who wouldn't be excited to return to their mundane, humdrum, completely normal everyday lives?

"Same here. I'm ready to leave once you give the okay, doctor," Fujiko Mine also said, echoing Peter's statement, before also adding a concern of hers. "Though... Shouldn't we also get Elijah here as well? If we're all just about good to go..." She said, gesturing toward the one person in the room who wasn't huddled in the circle with everyone else.

"..."

Sitting by himself, staring at the circle from the corner almost ominously, Elijah Price was the one patient whom Staple seemed to have trouble reaching, but as he'd been a patient at the institute for longer than all of you -- however long ago that must have been -- she didn't entirely categorize him in the same vein as the rest of you for whatever reason. Elijah was an erratic patient, most of the time nigh-catatonic like he spent most of his time in a vegetative state, and sometimes suddenly snapping out of his stupor to say strange things lucidly. Coupled with the fact that he had a unique physical condition that meant his bones were as brittle as glass, Staple had always recommended you all stayed away from him for his own health, but that didn't stop him from always appearing in the most random of places throughout the institute.

Staple shook her head in response to Fujiko's words. "No, you don't have to worry about Elijah. I've told you before, he's a... special case. His condition goes beyond what you all had. But I do think your presence has helped him acclimate, being around other people must certainly have a positive effect on him," she spoke clinically, crossing her legs.

Intent on taking charge of the subject again, Staple continued. "Why don't we do a little exercise? At this stage, you should all be able to confront who you once were and reject that part of yourself. Remember who you once were, tell me that's not who you are anymore, and tell me who you really are now. It's one thing to internally affirm your true identity, but it's another to say it aloud too. Or... in Michelle's case, to sign it. Sound good?"

With an indignant breath, Peter shrugged. "Fine, fine. I'll go first," he offered, before clearing his throat. "My name is Peter Petrelli. I used to think I was a budding superhero, and that there had to be others like me all around the world too. Conveniently, I thought my superpower just so happened to be power copying, so it'd just so happen I wouldn't have any powers active when I was around normal people," he recounted, before letting out a soft chuckle, with a hint of a self-deprecating inflection to those with keener hearing.

"I guess it's not surprising I'd end up thinking something like that. I used to be a paramedic, so I was always out there trying my best to save lives, but... you can't save everyone all the time. It gets to you... it got to me, I guess," Peter breathed, pinching his nose briefly as he spoke as though remembering those he might have failed to save in his line of work. "But it's okay. I'm ready to face reality head-on now."

As Peter finished his brief little monologue, Fujiko eventually took the opportunity to go next, raising her hand to no one in particular for a moment as she began speaking. "My name is Fujiko Mine. I used to think I was a secret professional thief, fancied myself a real cat burglar, but in reality, I'm not really that exciting. I suppose it's just as well, I would have gotten myself thrown in the slammer by now if I really was that much of a klepto," she said, adjusting her red-rimmed glasses with two fingers. "But what I am is a clerk at a jewelry store. I guess the leap for me is... I thought about how good I'd have it if I'd just make off with all the merch I sell and be done with it. I always wanted to live on a yacht, you know?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Now you do."

"Right, thank you both," Staple nodded, writing down some notes on her clipboard, before looking up to the rest of you. "Now then, who's next? Don't be shy now."

Today was going to be the first day of the rest of your lives. May as well say it aloud to get comfortable with the idea. Who you used to be, and who you really are.

Cast List
@Gummi Bunnies as Chloe Winters
@Rwac96 as Clark Kent
@York as Eno Liberi
@Capri as Erin Natick
@Crunch as Flynn Blazkowicz
@Sark as Godfrey Routledge "Brother Patrick"
@Takumi as Hagusa Fujisaki
@Lucky as Isaac "Icarus" Clark
@Atomic Knight as Kaapo Reyes
@Yun Lee as Karina Romanova
@Ottonomous Ghost as Khada Jhin
@Neko Shogun as Lucinia Porter
@Jeremi as Michelle Curry
@Minerva as Morgan Yu
@Not a Writer as Takara Matsushita
@Josh as Sylvia Li


Chapter 1
 
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ERIN NATICK
@Ver @Gummi Bunnies @Rwac96 @York @Takumi @Yun Lee @Lucky @Jeremi @Minerva @Not a Writer @Josh

Erin jumped to her feet after Fujiko went, excitedly introducing herself to the group.

"Salutations, everyone! The name's Erin Natick! I used to think I was... uh..." her mind wandered a little bit, "Some kind of a... painting girl? Like something out of Pablo Picasso. But I realize I'm me, and I'm not the person who I thought I was! I'm just... Erin!"

With a small salute, Erin sat back down. To be honest, she was rather upset that Peter stole her thunder and went first. Doesn't he know she ALWAYS likes to go first? But it wasn't the end of the world. After all, she had her breathing! It felt rather... how do you put it... foreign... to Erin. Even though it was something she'd been doing all her life. But, the breathing helped her calm down.​
 
The women sitting next across from Peter raised her hand. Taking a minute to find her words, she spoke"
View attachment 10735
"Okay. Hi! I'm Sylvia L-"

Of course, she got cut off​


ERIN NATICK
@Ver @Gummi Bunnies @Rwac96 @York @Takumi @Yun Lee @Lucky @Jeremi @Minerva @Not a Writer @Josh

Erin jumped to her feet after Fujiko went, excitedly introducing herself to the group.

"Salutations, everyone! The name's Erin Natick! I used to think I was... uh..." her mind wandered a little bit, "Some kind of a... painting girl? Like something out of Pablo Picasso. But I realize I'm me, and I'm not the person who I thought I was! I'm just... Erin!"

With a small salute, Erin sat back down. To be honest, she was rather upset that Peter stole her thunder and went first. Doesn't he know she ALWAYS likes to go first? But it wasn't the end of the world. After all, she had her breathing! It felt rather... how do you put it... foreign... to Erin. Even though it was something she'd been doing all her life. But, the breathing helped her calm down.​
"Nice to meet you, Erin. I don't think I can follow thinking I was a living Picasso, but I'll give it my best shot.'

Sylvia was an educator by trade, she was accustomed to younger people cutting her off.

"I'm Sylvia Li. I was, am a Professor at the Natural History Museum in London. I had a.......tiny, meltdown. I thought I could turn things into other things. Like Coffee into tea, or stones into air. Gold into wood, you all get the point by this point. I also thought I had dreams. Vivid dreams that I lived for a long time, like Thousands of years. "

Sylvia stopped, again looking for the right words.

"The Doctors here say all this was caused by my parents dying and my Husband, Issacc, going missing. Loneliness will drive anyone crazy, right?"

Another pause.

"Is that word okay to use, Doctor? I mean, look where we all are at."

@everyone
 
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Prologue:
"Always Human?"

Blue eyes shift around the Activity Room of the mental facility, where the journalist would've normally occupied himself with watching television or playing a board game with his fellow patient. Though, at this moment, Clark Kent has gathered around with the others and listened intently to the redheaded woman speaking, Doctor Ellie Staple. One would say he would be honored to be called a model patient, especially with his...tendency to look away for split second. As if he heard a window being broken, a gun being fired, or a by standard screaming for help. But thanks to the medication and the environment he was in, those tendencies had become rarer for the Kansas-Raised man.

Sitting right across the good doctor, the mild-mannered man clears his throat and begins to speak.

"Hello," he straightens out his square, black-rimmed glasses. "My name is Clark Kent, I'm a reporter for the Daily Planet." He sat straight, staring at those gathered around in the circle. "Well, I was admitted here by my wife, Lois, due to...well, what can be described as some sort of identity crisis."

View attachment 10736

He takes a moment and pauses, turning to Sylvia as she explains the reason why she was present. "Um, that's...would make an interesting book series. Funny thing," Clark takes a deep breath, "I...I was having doubts about myself. I believed I was from a fictional world called Krypton, a refugee named Kal-El who had powers beyond any normal person. The doctors here believed it was a mental break from the stress of my wife's articles on Lex Luthor and me still coming to terms of being adopted."

@Everyone​
 
We’re gonna shake things up, just like old times.

She remembered what her brother had said before dropping her off. He gave her a large hug, and sent her on her way out of the front office. That had been her last communication with someone she knew.

Now, some time later, She stared into the mug of coffee in her hands. Before her admittance, she would have smashed the damn thing. Thrown it across the room, or hit it with something heavy. She lifted it to her mouth and took a sip, symbolizing she was at peace with it. She guessed the fact that she held it in her hands now, drinking coffee from it, symbolized she had changed. She had fixed some base, irrational fear within her. She cleared her throat and stood up next.

My name is Morgan Yu. I used to believe I was, and this is gonna sound ridiculous, trapped on a space station the size of the Empire State Building. I was fighting something. Something alien. An enemy that had many forms. both humanoid and... not so humanoid.” She said, her eyes darting to the coffee cup in her hands. She seemed frozen for a second. She quickly regained her composure. “I had these... powers as well. Injections into my mind that gave me unnatural abilities. I talked to computer copies of myself and of friends. It was... bizarre.

She sighed, and took another sip of coffee. “I... guess it was a case of me... counting my chickens before they hatched. That combined with Delusions of grandeur. I wanted to discover something in my work. Take humanity to greater heights in all kinds of ways. I had hoped to work in space, but I guess we’re just not there yet.” She chuckled, a small smile crawling up on her face. “It seems silly now. Formless alien shadows lurking in the corner of my eye. Believing every other coffee mug or towel might be out to kill me. Hearing a gravelly voice talk about what might be out there...” She shook her head and sat back down. She then wrapped both hands around the mug and straightened herself out.​
 
ERIN NATICK
@Ver @Josh @Rwac96 @Minerva @EveryoneElse
He takes a moment and pauses, turning to Sylvia as she explains the reason why she was present. "Um, that's...would make an interesting book series.

"I concur, Mr. Kent," Erin said, holding her arms up in a strange fashion, "In fact, I would go so far as to say that all of these stories I've heard would make amazing novels,"

Putting her hands down, Erin would ask a general question.

"Say, is anyone here, perchance, an author?" Erin inquired. She may have outgrown her personality, but she has not outgrown her speech patterns.​
 


"I concur, Mr. Kent," Erin said, holding her arms up in a strange fashion, "In fact, I would go so far as to say that all of these stories I've heard would make amazing novels,"

The journalist stares at the young woman's arm movement, which was rather peculiar, but her words gave Clark a moment of pause. Sure, these delusions sounded like they were fabricated from various fictitious series. He himself believed that he was an alien who became a superhero, something certainly out of a serialized comic series. Her question about anyone being an author, he stayed silent on that; since he did play with the idea should he choose to leave the Planet.

View attachment 10737

"That's rather interesting, Erin," the mild-mannered man says, remembering Fujiko's delusion of being a master cat burglar. Then, he heard Morgan talk about being trapped on a space station with an alien shapeshifter. It seems the people present here experienced fantastic delusions as if it were some sort of epidemic or phenomenon. He was one of the patients here, not a doctor but something nagged at the journalist. It could be the delusions rising or his reporter's instincts of a story, as his beloved Lois would say. Then, his blue eyes slowly shift the man sitting ominously by himself, Elijah.

Clark remembered Staple instructing him and the others to stay away from him, even when he seems to appear at random places of the institute. Muttering strange things lucidly when he snaps out of his nigh-catatonic state, which, Clark had to admit, was very eerie. His parents have always taught him to not judge strangers too harshly, even if had made him nervous.​
 
"Hiii~!" A hand shot up into the air, giving a little wave as Karina called attention to herself. Once she was sure everyone was listening, she started speaking. "So! My name is Karina Romanova - yes, those Romanovs, don't mind the last 'a,' it's a Russian thing - and I..."

Karina trailed off then, the littlest cracks in her demeanor easy to see. "Um...so, like...I thought I was, like, this peasant lady from the Soviet Union? Totally weird. Totally fucked up...oh God." A hand flew up over her mouth as she giggled. "Oops! Sorry for the f-bomb. It's just...I dunno. The stuff I saw was so..." Karina didn't finish, shuddering instead. "Thank God it was all fake, y'know? I-I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being a Ukranian peasant or anything! Though, are they called, like, working-class nowadays? ANYWAY...I'm just glad to like...be me again, you know?"

@Everyone​
 
For once Michelle caught what Dr. Staples was saying. Took her long enough to realize that the good doctor usually didn't remember that one of the members of her little circle was deaf. Reading lips was something that hadn't come easy for her, but she realized it was something she needed. Especially in a group like this where barely anyone knew sign language.

She followed the moving lips around the circle. For a moment Michelle stared down towards her pad and its text to speech program before she instead used her hands. [I am Michelle Curry. Some here know me by my nickname Mac. As in Mach speed.] Michelle looked intently at the good doctor who was usually her translator before she continued. [I'm a runner. In fact, I ran so well I thought I was the Greek god Hermes brought back to life. Because you know. No one can beat me in a race. Sprint. Marathon. You name it. I thought I couldn't do all of that with just my skills and talent. I think it's time to admit that I'm just that good.] Michelle lowered her hands and smiled. It actually felt quite good to get that out in the open.

Now to see how much Dr. Staples loses in translation.

@Ver @Everyone
 


Clark continues to listen to the others sharing their stories, finding varying differences in each of these delusions. The Kansas-raised man turns his gaze to the woman known as Michelle, who stayed silent. Then, he remembered that she was deaf, a part that made the man mentally slap himself.

She followed the moving lips around the circle. For a moment Michelle stared down towards her pad and its text to speech program before she instead used her hands. [I am Michelle Curry. Some here know me by my nickname Mac. As in Mach speed.] Michelle looked intently at the good doctor who was usually her translator before she continued.

It has been some time since he had taken ALS classes, but was internally thankful as his fellow patient had a pad and a text-to-speech program for communication. The communication barrier had reminded Clark of something in his delusion, 'Kal-El', the alien he thought he was, had a skill of learning any language. Though, in reality, Clark had taken multiple foreign language classes in order to be a journalist and had kept some small books for the according to language in case he forgot. He wishes he had one of them on him, all of them were back home with Lois and Jon.

@Ver @Jeremi @Everyone​
 
There is nothing so insidious as the mind working against itself.

Elijah Price was not the only contentious patient in Dr. Staple's care. Those at Raven Hill Memorial could recall another that had proven to be an almost opposite issue for the staff compared to Elijah, even if he was more receptive to Dr. Staple's methodology. Violent outbursts were nothing unusual among the more severe cases, especially for those believed to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, but none quite like Flynn - the banging, rattling sound in the hallway at night. The words scratched into his skin to "make himself remember." It took a more active approach on the part of the staff to even begin to remedy Flynn Blazkowicz. It took everything that they had.

He was resistant - but he, much like the rest, became receptive to the medicine soon enough. Having him even leave his room to be here, much less speak out loud to another human being, was a sign of that. For once in his life, the system had not chewed and spat him out like a nasty piece of gum. Instead, for once, they had to spend the money and the time to make him better.

With more scars than skin, a man sat in the steel chair like a wild animal cowed to heel. He rubs his knuckles with his other hand and stares at them with an absent look. His white thumb glides over the back of his hand, rubbing intensely for a moment then stopping. After that, he didn't move too much, save for his chest rising and falling with his slow, measured breaths - and him swallowing the air in his mouth. He couldn't let himself breathe automatically because it had to be a manual process he had control over. It was something that he could focus on rather than let his head run wild for too long.

Flynn blinked and was still looking at his hands, still breathing clear. Finally, a shuddering gasp left his lungs and past his lips like a dam opening for the first time in centuries to let the waters run free. This was going to be his tenth year. They say that he'll be able to leave soon. Not to be relocated to another hospital or to a hearing to beg for his freedom. They say he'll be able to be free.

God, what a thing. To be free. Is that even possible, Flynn thought. How could someone like him be allowed to just walk around?

The doctor spoke - not to him, but everyone, including him. The man lifts his head, shining the light on the dull cuts on his cheek and forehead and the now-faded scar carved into his brow. He looks around the room and tunes into the conversations of the other patients. Then, when it felt like it was his time to speak, Flynn swallowed the air again and tried to remember his name.

"I'm... Fl- ... Flynn," he carefully spoke, quickly looking at his hands again. Rub, rub, rub. "Flynn Blazkowicz."

It sounded as if he was forcing the words out of his throat. "I- I was... a marine. I thought I saw..."

His eyes fell to the floor, distant and disconnected. Flynn's mouth quivers, and he swallows again, shaking his head.

"I thought I saw things. But then, I didn't. I'm better now."

He rushed through the last few words before shutting his mouth tight, biting his teeth, and forcing his eyes away from any faces. In his wildest dreams, no one would try to talk to him so that he could go back to his room. But, reality has a habit of pulling the rug out from under him.

@Everyone​
 
"Hiii~!" A hand shot up into the air, giving a little wave as Karina called attention to herself. Once she was sure everyone was listening, she started speaking. "So! My name is Karina Romanova - yes, those Romanovs, don't mind the last 'a,' it's a Russian thing - and I..."

Karina trailed off then, the littlest cracks in her demeanor easy to see. "Um...so, like...I thought I was, like, this peasant lady from the Soviet Union? Totally weird. Totally fucked up...oh God." A hand flew up over her mouth as she giggled. "Oops! Sorry for the f-bomb. It's just...I dunno. The stuff I saw was so..." Karina didn't finish, shuddering instead. "Thank God it was all fake, y'know? I-I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being a Ukranian peasant or anything! Though, are they called, like, working-class nowadays? ANYWAY...I'm just glad to like...be me again, you know?"

@Everyone​

Slyvia smiled. She had to admit, she was very intrigued by the young girl's background. However, always the teacher, Slyvia chimed in, raising her hand
View attachment 10742
"Instead of working class, I think you mean, the proletariat. If we want to be historically accurate, that would be the era appropriate technical term. "

Chuckling to herself, she couldn't help herself. However, she addressed Karina again

"Wait, really those Romanovs? Amazing! I thought all of them died during the revolution. I mean, I heard there were a few of them survived. Are you from one of lower branches? "
For once Michelle caught what Dr. Staples was saying. Took her long enough to realize that the good doctor usually didn't remember that one of the members of her little circle was deaf. Reading lips was something that hadn't come easy for her, but she realized it was something she needed. Especially in a group like this where barely anyone knew sign language.

She followed the moving lips around the circle. For a moment Michelle stared down towards her pad and its text to speech program before she instead used her hands. [I am Michelle Curry. Some here know me by my nickname Mac. As in Mach speed.] Michelle looked intently at the good doctor who was usually her translator before she continued. [I'm a runner. In fact, I ran so well I thought I was the Greek god Hermes brought back to life. Because you know. No one can beat me in a race. Sprint. Marathon. You name it. I thought I couldn't do all of that with just my skills and talent. I think it's time to admit that I'm just that good.] Michelle lowered her hands and smiled. It actually felt quite good to get that out in the open.

Now to see how much Dr. Staples loses in translation.

@Ver @Everyone
Slyvia's body shut down as Mac started to sign. A lot of weird, strange Feelings flooded, and her jaw slightly dropped her as the two women made eye contact. Sylvia knew a little ASL from taking classes and working with former students. She gazed at the runner as she signed.

[I'm Syvia. Do I know you? Did we go to the same College? }


There is nothing so insidious as the mind working against itself.

Elijah Price was not the only contentious patient in Dr. Staple's care. Those at Raven Hill Memorial could recall another that had proven to be an almost opposite issue for the staff compared to Elijah, even if he was more receptive to Dr. Staple's methodology. Violent outbursts were nothing unusual among the more severe cases, especially for those believed to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, but none quite like Flynn - the banging, rattling sound in the hallway at night. The words scratched into his skin to "make himself remember." It took a more active approach on the part of the staff to even begin to remedy Flynn Blazkowicz. It took everything that they had.

He was resistant - but he, much like the rest, became receptive to the medicine soon enough. Having him even leave his room to be here, much less speak out loud to another human being, was a sign of that. For once in his life, the system had not chewed and spat him out like a nasty piece of gum. Instead, for once, they had to spend the money and the time to make him better.

With more scars than skin, a man sat in the steel chair like a wild animal cowed to heel. He rubs his knuckles with his other hand and stares at them with an absent look. His white thumb glides over the back of his hand, rubbing intensely for a moment then stopping. After that, he didn't move too much, save for his chest rising and falling with his slow, measured breaths - and him swallowing the air in his mouth. He couldn't let himself breathe automatically because it had to be a manual process he had control over. It was something that he could focus on rather than let his head run wild for too long.

Flynn blinked and was still looking at his hands, still breathing clear. Finally, a shuddering gasp left his lungs and past his lips like a dam opening for the first time in centuries to let the waters run free. This was going to be his tenth year. They say that he'll be able to leave soon. Not to be relocated to another hospital or to a hearing to beg for his freedom. They say he'll be able to be free.

God, what a thing. To be free. Is that even possible, Flynn thought. How could someone like him be allowed to just walk around?

The doctor spoke - not to him, but everyone, including him. The man lifts his head, shining the light on the dull cuts on his cheek and forehead and the now-faded scar carved into his brow. He looks around the room and tunes into the conversations of the other patients. Then, when it felt like it was his time to speak, Flynn swallowed the air again and tried to remember his name.

"I'm... Fl- ... Flynn," he carefully spoke, quickly looking at his hands again. Rub, rub, rub. "Flynn Blazkowicz."

It sounded as if he was forcing the words out of his throat. "I- I was... a marine. I thought I saw..."

His eyes fell to the floor, distant and disconnected. Flynn's mouth quivers, and he swallows again, shaking his head.

"I thought I saw things. But then, I didn't. I'm better now."

He rushed through the last few words before shutting his mouth tight, biting his teeth, and forcing his eyes away from any faces. In his wildest dreams, no one would try to talk to him so that he could go back to his room. But, reality has a habit of pulling the rug out from under him.

@Everyone​
Something about this man, it touched Sylvia as she turned to him. His sadness, it was palpable. Sitting across from him, she smiled.

"You're among friends, Flynn. I know what you mean. I thought I saw things too. Living for thousands of years. I dreamed Issacc and I, we were married for thousands. We lived in different places, different cultures, but he and I were always together. Till he left."

Sadness rushed over the Professed as looked away.

"It's okay. It's all in my head. He was a pilot. One day he went to work and never come home. He just left. No goodbye, just gone. For months, you think, "What did you do to make him leave?" Hogging the covers or being snarky before you had your morning coffee doesn't normally cause people to leave their partners. You know that's not why he left, but You still don't know why. The loneliness, it's all you're left with. That's me, that's what I was left with. You don't have to share. You're just not alone. I just felt I needed to say that."

Taking a deep breath, she leaned back into her chair, adjusting her hair as she sighed.

@Crunch @Jeremi @Ver @Yun Lee @Rwac96 @Minerva @Capri
 
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His brows slightly raised as Flynn spoke, remembering that he was a marine; going through a difficult time. Clark didn't know the former marine was seeing, even if they were delusions, but they certainly had disturbed the man. In his time of being a journalist, he had seen his fair share of tragedies, horrible actions, and awful truths that were hard to swallow. Each of the stories he wrote broke his heart every time, to the severity that he felt like he should've done something.

Reaching down to his pants, moving them up from the floor a bit. Sitting up in his seat once more, Clark proceeds to clear his throat. His blue eyes focused on the former soldier.

View attachment 10743

"Sylvia's right, Flynn," Clark says in understanding, "everyone here was seeing things that felt real. Some sounded fantastic, others sound like they were disturbing. Heck, before waking up today, I was dreaming that I was fighting some bony monster. No one here is going to judge you. If you want to, you can share with us."

@Crunch @Josh @Ver @Yun Lee @Minerva @Capri @Jeremi
 

Slyvia smiled. She had to admit; she was very intrigued by the young girl's background. However, always the teacher, Slyvia chimed in, raising her hand
View attachment 10742
"Instead of working class, I think you mean, the proletariat. If we want to be historically accurate, that would be the era appropriate technical term. "

Chuckling to herself, she couldn't help herself. However, she addressed Karina again

"Wait, really those Romanovs? Amazing! I thought all of them died during the revolution. I mean, I heard there were a few of them survived. Are you from one of lower branches? "


Slyvia's body shut down as Mac started to sign. A lot of weird, strange Feelings flooded, and her jaw slightly dropped her as the two women made eye contact. Sylvia knew a little ASL from taking classes and working with former students. She gazed at the runner as she signed

[I'm Syvia. Do I know you? Did we to the same College?}




Something about this man, it touched Sylvia as she turned to him. His sadness, it was palpable. Sitting across from him, she smiled.

"You're among friends, Flynn. I know what you mean. I thought I saw things too. Living for thousands of years. I dreamed Issacc and I, we were married for thousands. We lived in different places, different cultures, but he and I were always together. Till he left."

Sadness rushed over the Professed as looked away.

"It's okay. It's all in my head. He was a pilot. One day he went to work and never come home. He just left. No goodbye, just gone. For months, you think, "What did you do to make him leave?" Hogging the covers or being snarky before you had your morning coffee doesn't normally cause people to leave their partners. You know that's not why he left, but You still don't know why. The loneliness, it's all you're left with. That's me, that's what I was left with. You don't have to share. You're just not alone. I just felt I needed to say that."

Taking a deep breath, she leaned back into her chair, adjusting her hair as she sighed.

@Crunch @Jeremi @Ver @Yun Lee @Rwac96 @Minerva @Capri
His brows slightly raised as Flynn spoke, remembering that he was a marine; going through a difficult time. Clark didn't know the former marine was seeing, even if they were delusions, but they certainly had disturbed the man. In his time of being a journalist, he had seen his fair share of tragedies, horrible actions, and awful truths that were hard to swallow. Each of the stories he wrote broke his heart every time, to the severity that he felt like he should've done something.

Reaching down to his pants, moving them up from the floor a bit. Sitting up in his seat once more, Clark proceeds to clear his throat. His blue eyes focused on the former soldier.

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"Sylvia's right, Flynn," Clark says in understanding, "everyone here was seeing things that felt real. Some sounded fantastic, others sound like they were disturbing. Heck, before waking up today, I was dreaming that I was fighting some bony monster. No one here is going to judge you. If you want to, you can share with us."

@Crunch @Josh @Ver @Yun Lee @Minerva @Capri @Jeremi
When directly addressed, Flynn almost seemed to flinch, as if he didn't expect anyone to hear him. But, instead, he tore his eyes away from his hands and the white, pristine floor beneath them to look at the two other patients. His dull, brown eyes, distant and threatening, fixate on Sylvia as she spoke. Even looking at her felt like a forced thing - like looking at the sun too long, fearing that it might burn the eyes right out from his sockets.

She was pretty, Flynn thought. She sounded nice. Her tone had that melodic, caring tone to it - the kind of tone that people usually try to emulate when they're acting like they give a damn. She was genuine, though. She truly believed everything she was saying and had every good intention behind her words. Again, Flynn caught himself in his thoughts, and he nodded, tightening his lips into a smile.

He didn't have the heart to say that it didn't help.

It truly wasn't anything that he hadn't heard a million times over. The thought counts, maybe. For how much, who knows. When another patient spoke - Clark, the journalist. That's a big guy, Flynn thought. Clark didn't look all too different from Flynn - darker hair, cleaner face, but with the kind of body you'd expect a marine to have. Again, he spoke, and Flynn kept that tight, uncomfortable smile, but his eyes were the same. They stare off into the space behind Clark all the same as Flynn lightly nods his head.

"Yeah," he said with a quiet voice. "Thanks. I'm- I'm good. Thank you."

He imagined that bony monster. He imagined what he would have done to it. He subtly dug his fingernail into his wrist, and the pain brought him back out of it.

@Rwac96 @Josh @Anyone​
 
When directly addressed, Flynn almost seemed to flinch, as if he didn't expect anyone to hear him. But, instead, he tore his eyes away from his hands and the white, pristine floor beneath them to look at the two other patients. His dull, brown eyes, distant and threatening, fixate on Sylvia as she spoke. Even looking at her felt like a forced thing - like looking at the sun too long, fearing that it might burn the eyes right out from his sockets.

She was pretty, Flynn thought. She sounded nice. Her tone had that melodic, caring tone to it - the kind of tone that people usually try to emulate when they're acting like they give a damn. She was genuine, though. She truly believed everything she was saying and had every good intention behind her words. Again, Flynn caught himself in his thoughts, and he nodded, tightening his lips into a smile.

He didn't have the heart to say that it didn't help.

It truly wasn't anything that he hadn't heard a million times over. The thought counts, maybe. For how much, who knows. When another patient spoke - Clark, the journalist. That's a big guy, Flynn thought. Clark didn't look all too different from Flynn - darker hair, cleaner face, but with the kind of body you'd expect a marine to have. Again, he spoke, and Flynn kept that tight, uncomfortable smile, but his eyes were the same. They stare off into the space behind Clark all the same as Flynn lightly nods his head.

"Yeah," he said with a quiet voice. "Thanks. I'm- I'm good. Thank you."

He imagined that bony monster. He imagined what he would have done to it. He subtly dug his fingernail into his wrist, and the pain brought him back out of it.

@Rwac96 @Josh @Anyone​
Watching a Flynn's reactions, or like thereof was heart wrenching. Sylvia felt like she was watching a man drowning in an ocean. She wants to help him, but look where she was? How could she save him from drowning when she was drowning herself? Her lower lip quivered, followed by another sigh. Her British accent lowly rang out.

"If you change your mind, we're here."
His brows slightly raised as Flynn spoke, remembering that he was a marine; going through a difficult time. Clark didn't know the former marine was seeing, even if they were delusions, but they certainly had disturbed the man. In his time of being a journalist, he had seen his fair share of tragedies, horrible actions, and awful truths that were hard to swallow. Each of the stories he wrote broke his heart every time, to the severity that he felt like he should've done something.

Reaching down to his pants, moving them up from the floor a bit. Sitting up in his seat once more, Clark proceeds to clear his throat. His blue eyes focused on the former soldier.

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"Sylvia's right, Flynn," Clark says in understanding, "everyone here was seeing things that felt real. Some sounded fantastic, others sound like they were disturbing. Heck, before waking up today, I was dreaming that I was fighting some bony monster. No one here is going to judge you. If you want to, you can share with us."

@Crunch @Josh @Ver @Yun Lee @Minerva @Capri @Jeremi
Then there was Clark. What to say about this man? Whoever married him was a lucky woman, first off. Real salt of the earth. Carrying, wise, a quite charisma that was magnetizing. Everyone was here for thing they had powers of some sort. However, with Clark? If anyone should be able to wield any kind of superhuman abilities, Clark Kent was top of the list. Slyvia had just met him, but she already trusted him. Maybe he was special? Maybe it was the fact he reminded her of Issacc.

"You know, Mister Kent, have to say, you're a very special man. Maybe not superhuman special, but you're truly. So, you're married? Tell me about that lucky lady, please? We do have time to kill"


@Ver @Crunch @Rwac96 @everyone​
 
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His attention turns to Sylvia, listening to her question that made him wide-eyed for a moment. Clark straightens out his glasses, letting out a small sigh. Since she did ask him about it and they are sharing such things, it really couldn't hurt. Though, he couldn't help but chuckle at the 'special' part. He was trying to suppress the delusion that he was this paragon of a good superhero, after all.

"I'm just a guy from Kansas," he replies to Sylvia, "though, my wife did have me admitted here." The journalist places his hands together, his blue eyes staring down at his shoes for the moment. "Yes, I am married, and she's the reason I'm here. Lois, well, I've heard from people that we make an odd pair." He lifts his head up, his lips spreading into a loving smile. "My colleagues would call me an idealist, especially when I say there's good in anyone. Lois, well, she's skeptical of others, to the point that she's labeled a cynic. But, her drive to uncover the truth, speaking out for others. Her firecracker-like determination, it's what made me fall in love with her. Heck, we used to be rivals when I started working for the Planet."

@Ver @Josh @Crunch @Yun Lee @Capri @Minerva @Jeremi
 
Hagusa listened as the others spoke, resisting the urge to outright scowl for a moment as he sat with his legs crossed and arms crossed. Yeah, wouldn't someone like to read a book on a bunch of wackos' fantasies? Sitting with his lips pursed as if he was in thought, he kept quiet until the conversation seemed to die down, though waited another minute or two before speaking, not wanting to interrupt anyone in the middle of talking.

He may have spaced out a bit at some point, when mention of speaking out for others and uncovering the truth was spoken about.

When he really needed someone to speak out about what was going on back in the Tajima house, no one said much of anything until he was near his breaking point. And when he finally did snap because of Kouto-the ass-he ended up here. While some people like Peter were eager to leave Hagusa was almost dreading it, because he didn't want to see Kouto, else he might deck him the first chance he got-

Blinking as he came back to himself, he cleared his throat almost awkwardly.

"Uh, hey. Name's Hagusa Fujisaki. I'm considered a problem child cause I broke some stuff at school, and uh..." here Hagusa paused, right hand scratching near his left collar bone in thought as his eyes grew distant for a second.

"I used to think I could transform my nails into claws? And there was another me named Yuki that needed my protection from the dark. Doc says it's likely due to trauma or something. I'm better now." After that he fell quiet, not bothering to elaborate further.

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Chloe looked hesitant to have her turn as everyone else spoke their pieces here and there. She knew better now, she truly feeling like her normal self again. It was just... difficult to talk about these things, even if she knew that it was better to address these sorts of things and not bottle them up.

When there was a brief period of silence, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and speak up.

❝ M-My name is... Ch... Chloe. Chloe... W-Winters. Um... ❞ She stumbles over her words, but takes another deep breath to steady herself and continue talking, ❝ I thought that... I was some sort of super soldier... a Gauntlet Knight, and that I was going to be fighting to the death with people around my age that were also these Gauntlet Knights... in an upcoming World War. Except... you know, that's entirely not true. I mean, um... everybody knows that the entire world vowed to not have another World War after the second one... I just thought on the scenario too much that I started to believe that it was going to happen one day... but everything's going to be okay. Everything... will be okay. Uh, yeah... that's it. ❞

She awkwardly wrapped up her spoken piece, staring down directly at the tips of her shoes and holding her hands together over her lap. At the very least, a heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders, and she started to relax. She was going to be fine.

@Ver @Takumi @Crunch @Minerva @Jeremi @Capri @Yun Lee @Rwac96 @Everyone
 
To say there was a lot on Takara's mind would be the understatement of the century. It had admittedly induced some rather intense anxiety, being called to a meeting with so many of the other patients at the institute. Her anxiousness had nothing to do with the other individuals she found herself in the presence of, of course; she knew several of them, thanks to their extended period of time spent living together in this place. No, what was stressing the woman out was the connotations of it all. What this meant, how important it was for the future. She was no genius, but surely a meeting of a group of this scale meant something big was happening, right? The green-haired girl certainly hoped it meant the opportunity to finally go home. During her time here, all she could think about was her sister, Fumika. It had been something of an obsession, significantly worsened during her days of disillusionment to reality. Fortunately, as her treatment had progressed, it transformed into more of a small pang of yearning... but even so, the ache to see her again was there all the same.

Not wanting to be rude, Takara did her best to set those thoughts and feelings aside for the moment in order to pour her full focus into the present. Her sister was to be something of the future, but her fellow patients... they were all in the here and now, right beside her. Her old, falsified self likely would've scoffed and turned up her nose at the stories these individuals were telling, but the true Takara felt a twinge of sympathy for these people. After all, she had endured a similar situation, and she was a compassionate soul. She hated to see others hurting.

Quiet and patient, she listed to each of the occupants of the room pour out their hearts, one by one. Some were a little rambunctious, tripping over one another in their rush to speak, but Takara herself was loathe to imagine going before a lull in the conversation. Tender moments were being exchanged, and healing was being had; that was what they were all here for, so who was she to interrupt? With hands folded in her lap, she waited, only able to smile sympathetically as the most recent in the crowd- the girl to her left- spoke up about her situation. "Wow... Chloe, was it? That certainly sounds like a tough weight to carry," she sighed, shaking her head slightly. "In fact, all of your tales sound just awful. Comparable to books or not, I'm sorry life's put us all through so much," she offered to the group at large, her green eyes combing over each and every one of the others in the circle. They flickered to Elijah in the corner as well, lingering there for a long moment before she seemed to recall herself, awkwardly looking away and clearing her throat with a slightly meek expression.

"But at least we've all been brought together in a place that can help us, right?" she concluded with an awkward grin. Her best effort at a recovery. "I bet you'd all make great friends. I'm sure we would understand each other better than most." Ugh. She was rambling. "Anyway, ah, my name is Takara Matsushita. It's... difficult, to say aloud, but... m-my sister and I were in a pretty bad car accident. I c-can't...- I can't remember all the details, but when I came to in the ICU, I was completely out of sorts." Even now, it was clear that recalling the situation was extremely difficult for her. It had been a deeply traumatic experience, after all, and there were things that even doctors couldn't completely 'fix'. "It's horribly embarrassing, but I was a total pain for the staff. I tried everything I could to get out of there to find my little sister, and when physical effort didn't work, I thought I could just... magically free myself with my mind. That I had some sort of psychic power, o-or something." As she explained herself, she found her cheeks tinting faintly red with humiliation, but she ignored the embarrassment and shame of rehashing her situation. She needed to accept what happened, and this was part of it. "I think I just wanted to protect her. But... I need to recognize that fooling myself into believing I'm strong and untouchable when I'm not isn't the way to go about it."

So... Yeah. That was uncomfortable, but at least she'd done it. Twiddling her fingers, she glanced around, the same awkward grin of before on her lips. "So... who's next?"

@Ver @Gummi Bunnies @Takumi @Crunch @Minerva @Jeremi @Capri @Yun Lee @Rwac96 @Everyboooody
 
"Khada" Jhin - Activity Room
@Ver @Gummi Bunnies @Takumi @Crunch @Minerva @Jeremi @Capri @Yun Lee @Rwac96 @Not a Writer @Ottonomous Ghost @Anyone

Link to sign-ups.


Prologue
"Through the Looking Glass"

"I have to say, I'm very pleased with the progress you all have made during your time here. Each and every one of you has come a long way since you first came here, and if all continues to go well, you may even be discharged as early as next week," Doctor Ellie Staple said in a pleased manner to the group that sat around her, her very own model patients.

Usually, the function of the Activity Room in Raven Hill Memorial was self-explanatory, housing various tables in the room holding all sorts of small board games, as well as a TV mounted on the wall for anyone's convenience and other harmless diversions. However, today, Staple had elected to hold a makeshift meeting with all of you, her dear patients, in the room, all of the chairs arranged in a circle for everyone to sit in with Staple at the top of the circle. It wasn't the first time the good doctor had called for this kind of meeting; she'd claimed that it would be much too formal and strict if they'd gone through the trouble of making a dedicated conference room, like they were office workers meeting up or the like, as opposed to the friendly and cordial relationship she claimed to want to foster instead, so here you all were instead.

It was difficult to gauge how long you all had even been here. Staple admitted that the medication used to tend to everyone had some degree of side effects that temporarily caused memory problems, but promised that everything would come back to them in due course. Indeed, the longer you had taken your medication, the fainter your delusions seemed to be, and the clearer your true lives became instead, until now, you could hardly remember those delusions that once defined your life before. Of course, things weren't any easier by the fact that you didn't have much in the way of outside communication. Staple insisted that it was so there wouldn't be any outside distraction, so you could focus on you and yourself alone, though one had to wonder about the efficacy of such a sentiment.

"That all said, I just wanted to meet with you all... mostly for a friendly chat, really. How are you all feeling? Any weird feelings, fake memories coming back in any way? I hope all of you are getting along with each other as well. A healthy social life contributes greatly to a healthy mind, after all."

View attachment 10734

"Yep, yeah, everything's going smooth for me. Nothing weird going on my end," Peter Petrelli sighed, resting his hand on his face. He was no exception to Staple's statement that everyone was on their way to a full recovery, but Peter -- impatient as he was -- could hardly wait to get out of this place and get back to his life, not that anyone could blame him. After all, who wouldn't be excited to return to their mundane, humdrum, completely normal everyday lives?

"Same here. I'm ready to leave once you give the okay, doctor," Fujiko Mine also said, echoing Peter's statement, before also adding a concern of hers. "Though... Shouldn't we also get Elijah here as well? If we're all just about good to go..." She said, gesturing toward the one person in the room who wasn't huddled in the circle with everyone else.

"..."

Sitting by himself, staring at the circle from the corner almost ominously, Elijah Price was the one patient whom Staple seemed to have trouble reaching, but as he'd been a patient at the institute for longer than all of you -- however long ago that must have been -- she didn't entirely categorize him in the same vein as the rest of you for whatever reason. Elijah was an erratic patient, most of the time nigh-catatonic like he spent most of his time in a vegetative state, and sometimes suddenly snapping out of his stupor to say strange things lucidly. Coupled with the fact that he had a unique physical condition that meant his bones were as brittle as glass, Staple had always recommended you all stayed away from him for his own health, but that didn't stop him from always appearing in the most random of places throughout the institute.

Staple shook her head in response to Fujiko's words. "No, you don't have to worry about Elijah. I've told you before, he's a... special case. His condition goes beyond what you all had. But I do think your presence has helped him acclimate, being around other people must certainly have a positive effect on him," she spoke clinically, crossing her legs.

Intent on taking charge of the subject again, Staple continued. "Why don't we do a little exercise? At this stage, you should all be able to confront who you once were and reject that part of yourself. Remember who you once were, tell me that's not who you are anymore, and tell me who you really are now. It's one thing to internally affirm your true identity, but it's another to say it aloud too. Or... in Michelle's case, to sign it. Sound good?"

With an indignant breath, Peter shrugged. "Fine, fine. I'll go first," he offered, before clearing his throat. "My name is Peter Petrelli. I used to think I was a budding superhero, and that there had to be others like me all around the world too. Conveniently, I thought my superpower just so happened to be power copying, so it'd just so happen I wouldn't have any powers active when I was around normal people," he recounted, before letting out a soft chuckle, with a hint of a self-deprecating inflection to those with keener hearing.

"I guess it's not surprising I'd end up thinking something like that. I used to be a paramedic, so I was always out there trying my best to save lives, but... you can't save everyone all the time. It gets to you... it got to me, I guess," Peter breathed, pinching his nose briefly as he spoke as though remembering those he might have failed to save in his line of work. "But it's okay. I'm ready to face reality head-on now."

As Peter finished his brief little monologue, Fujiko eventually took the opportunity to go next, raising her hand to no one in particular for a moment as she began speaking. "My name is Fujiko Mine. I used to think I was a secret professional thief, fancied myself a real cat burglar, but in reality, I'm not really that exciting. I suppose it's just as well, I would have gotten myself thrown in the slammer by now if I really was that much of a klepto," she said, adjusting her red-rimmed glasses with two fingers. "But what I am is a clerk at a jewelry store. I guess the leap for me is... I thought about how good I'd have it if I'd just make off with all the merch I sell and be done with it. I always wanted to live on a yacht, you know?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Now you do."

"Right, thank you both," Staple nodded, writing down some notes on her clipboard, before looking up to the rest of you. "Now then, who's next? Don't be shy now."

Today was going to be the first day of the rest of your lives. May as well say it aloud to get comfortable with the idea. Who you used to be, and who you really are.​

While everyone else nervously murmured their stories, Khada sat with his right leg resting upon his left, stabilizing the drawing tablet (that the doctor had ever so graciously provided for him) on his lap. Prior to the meeting, he adamantly refused to attend if he did not have the materials to continue his work. Obviously, he couldn't bring his entire painting set here -- it was crowded enough to begin with -- so he needed something to occupy himself. The little games and knick-knacks that scattered the room always made him feel like he was trapped in a hamster's cage. But now he could focus.

He found particular interest in the emotions everyone had been displaying. Upon the drawing tablet's screen was an initial sketch of Elijah Price staring aimlessly, with an emphasis on the man's vacant, almost dead, eyes. Khada quickly moved on, however, to sketching the next person, knowing that he may not have another chance to study everyone's faces so intimately again. He listened to everyone's monologues, paying particular attention to their emotions as they recounted their lives and delusions.
So... Yeah. That was uncomfortable, but at least she'd done it. Twiddling her fingers, she glanced around, the same awkward grin of before on her lips. "So... who's next?"

When a silence befell the room and all Khada could hear was the scribbling on his tablet, he sighed lightly, putting the stylus back into place. It was his turn to speak, but he had no interest in garnering sympathy from the others regarding his childhood. This was his moment to shine.

He sat straight and put his hands together before speaking, "I suppose it's my curtain call then, hm? My name is Khada Jhin. I'm an artist. A prodigy, if you will," he smirked before looking longingly in the distance, "Once I'm out of here, I'm sure my genius will be understood. But I digress." He shook his head and looked back at the group. "I began my career with acting, but my dream was cut short by an unfortunate turn of events, the first being my director's murder. Everyone tried to blame it on me, and during my days in a temporary jail cell, something unusual dawned on me while I waited for my acquittal," he smiled, "I felt inspired. A nostalgic feeling for a fictional realm I call "Ionia" blossomed within my heart. The feeling was so intense that I began pouring my soul into a new series of paintings regarding the world, depicting civilizations that lived in harmony with nature. I started believing that I was an inhabitant of this world: an assassin that made performances out of the corpses of those who dared to invade!--"

Khada looked nervously off to the side, as if disturbed by his own narcissistic recollection of events. He realized that he had been raising his voice. "I mean who would do that, right? It's absolutely absurd. However!" he snapped back to his soapbox, "I'm sure that was simply a product of my overactive imagination. Perhaps I was a little too into character. This mental error on my part will serve to simply advance my work. I've already created a dozen new pieces to sell once I'm released, in both digital and traditional forms."

ionia-the-great-monasteries.jpg

He then briefly brandished his tablet, allowing only a glimpse for those who would glance in his direction.​
ERIN NATICK
@Ver @Josh @Rwac96 @Minerva @EveryoneElse


"I concur, Mr. Kent," Erin said, holding her arms up in a strange fashion, "In fact, I would go so far as to say that all of these stories I've heard would make amazing novels,"

Putting her hands down, Erin would ask a general question.

"Say, is anyone here, perchance, an author?" Erin inquired. She may have outgrown her personality, but she has not outgrown her speech patterns.​

"And, in case you were wondering, Erin, yes. I am also an author. My work spans to nearly every form of art. Might I interest you in the story of... the Golden Demon?"
 
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