04-12-2017, 01:00 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-13-2017, 10:29 AM by Kelly MacAryn.
Edit Reason: Missing words. Bad punctuation. Missing PARAGRAPHS. I claim sabotage.
)
Kelly awoke to the smell of rubbing alcohol failing to defeat mildew, and the cool, abrasive feeling of threadbare sheets against his skin. He was in a small room with a varnished wooden floor and dark brick walls, lying prone upon a rough-hewn wooden bed-frame with a straw mattress. Dirty gray illumination filled with twinkling motes of dust streamed in through a cross-barred window somewhere behind his head. A single oak door offered the only exit. As near as the psychic could tell his only companions were three empty beds, just like his - four in total, one in each corner.
A hospital, maybe?
He lay still for a moment, processing the still-vivid echoes of his dreams. Scenes of half-unexplained tragedies juxtaposed with semi-anonymous triumphs left him with a sense of emotional whiplash, but he fought it down with little effort. As always, he'd deal with it later.
The first thing I'm going to do when I get back to Coruscant is sit down somewhere comfortable and do a LOT of thinking. About all of this. Right now though...
Kelly sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. A casual thought pulled back his blankets, confirming that his psychokinesis was in full working order and also revealing that somebody had provided him with a new pair of pants - simple trousers made of un-dyed muslin. The traveler turned and put his bare feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed while he checked himself over, taking stock of his body and mind.
All limbs accounted for, including the one I'd lost. No loss of muscle-tone - if anything, my definition has improved. Minimal scarring. Vision and hearing seem unimpaired.
He stood up with practiced ease, confirming his balance, then moved on to a more rigorous test. He triggered his vector-sketch overlay, sending his unbound brown hair swirling, and filling his lithe, athletic form with a pleasant, powerful tension. Caught in the storm of stray vector-harmonics, something small and dense, hanging from his neck, bounced against his chest.
Balance is nominal. Neural throttle is responsive... Hair is a little bit longer than I prefer it - No stubble though. Has somebody been shaving me? Aside from being a little bit creepy it probably doesn't matter, I guess. Wristcom is present and responsive - I'll have to see how long I was out, and make sure PepsiCo hasn't been trying to get in contact...Now what is this thing on my neck?
It was a pendant, hanging by a braided leather thong. The psychic powered down, took it off and examined it, holding it by the braid and letting it spin lazily in the lifeless gray light.
The necklace bore the emblem of Darkshire: the snarling crest of the unconquered city, the symbol of its garrison. Apparently, for his service, the psychic was now considered one of them.
Kelly grinned, and put it back on. His motives in coming here, and in fighting for the city, had been as much strategic as altruistic, but it still felt nice to be appreciated. Besides, disregarding the transient emotional validation, there were other benefits to having status in Darkshire: in the event that Kelly's long-term plans for Coruscant really didn't pan out, and his alternate identities became untenable, it would be extremely useful to have a secondary emergency fall-back position.
I'll have to see what I can do about strengthening my ties with the garrison here.
The psychic stretched, popping both shoulders, his neck and his chest, and activated his wristcom. It was time to find out what he'd missed while he was unconscious.
A hospital, maybe?
He lay still for a moment, processing the still-vivid echoes of his dreams. Scenes of half-unexplained tragedies juxtaposed with semi-anonymous triumphs left him with a sense of emotional whiplash, but he fought it down with little effort. As always, he'd deal with it later.
The first thing I'm going to do when I get back to Coruscant is sit down somewhere comfortable and do a LOT of thinking. About all of this. Right now though...
Kelly sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. A casual thought pulled back his blankets, confirming that his psychokinesis was in full working order and also revealing that somebody had provided him with a new pair of pants - simple trousers made of un-dyed muslin. The traveler turned and put his bare feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed while he checked himself over, taking stock of his body and mind.
All limbs accounted for, including the one I'd lost. No loss of muscle-tone - if anything, my definition has improved. Minimal scarring. Vision and hearing seem unimpaired.
He stood up with practiced ease, confirming his balance, then moved on to a more rigorous test. He triggered his vector-sketch overlay, sending his unbound brown hair swirling, and filling his lithe, athletic form with a pleasant, powerful tension. Caught in the storm of stray vector-harmonics, something small and dense, hanging from his neck, bounced against his chest.
Balance is nominal. Neural throttle is responsive... Hair is a little bit longer than I prefer it - No stubble though. Has somebody been shaving me? Aside from being a little bit creepy it probably doesn't matter, I guess. Wristcom is present and responsive - I'll have to see how long I was out, and make sure PepsiCo hasn't been trying to get in contact...Now what is this thing on my neck?
It was a pendant, hanging by a braided leather thong. The psychic powered down, took it off and examined it, holding it by the braid and letting it spin lazily in the lifeless gray light.
The necklace bore the emblem of Darkshire: the snarling crest of the unconquered city, the symbol of its garrison. Apparently, for his service, the psychic was now considered one of them.
Kelly grinned, and put it back on. His motives in coming here, and in fighting for the city, had been as much strategic as altruistic, but it still felt nice to be appreciated. Besides, disregarding the transient emotional validation, there were other benefits to having status in Darkshire: in the event that Kelly's long-term plans for Coruscant really didn't pan out, and his alternate identities became untenable, it would be extremely useful to have a secondary emergency fall-back position.
I'll have to see what I can do about strengthening my ties with the garrison here.
The psychic stretched, popping both shoulders, his neck and his chest, and activated his wristcom. It was time to find out what he'd missed while he was unconscious.
Quote:By way of explanation: Back in February - the 26th, to be exact - Alex gave the Darkshire defenders who'd survived the fight permission via Skype to write their characters receiving an Emblem of Darkshire as though they had completed the faction quest. I would have done it sooner, but Ghidorah took over my brain for a while.