mental link: Find my iPhone

[vocalis]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Bearings
WHEN: DAY: 37 - morning
SUMMARY: Putting the brain network to it's truest use
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary

[ So far, every time someone has used the mental network on a mass scale it's been for a good reason. Using it at all is prying in the most intrusive way, isn't it? It should be reserved for only the most pressing matters. Information sharing, help seeking, quiet discussion to further the mission.

So it should be for an equally important reason that Aoba reaches out now, his voice oddly pleasant as ever to listen to but nervous in it's delivery. ]

I'm really sorry to reach out to you this way all of a sudden, but... uh...



Has anybody seen my datapad?



[ Well... so much for keeping the mass mental link purely professional. And this less than professional message is going out on the morning after a long night, no less. Maybe he should've checked how many hosts were still sleeping. Too late now though, he's in the middle of it. ]

It's got a sticker on the back of it that looks like-



Sorry, it's just... I've been looking for it for like a week now and using Angel's in the meantime. But she's got some locks on it and her coding is really good and-

Uh, anyway yeah, if you see it just let me know. Sorry again.

[ He leaves the connection as swiftly as he burst in, as if bowing out and away, embarrassed. He must've really lost the thing if this is how he's going about recovering it. ]

Comments

[vocalis]

[ w h a t ]

...

Huh?

[ There's no malice in his mental voice like in their first meeting. Well, for Aoba this is technically their first meeting. And what a way to get acquainted - brain to brain and incredibly confused. Too many questions pop, one after the other after the other, beating around his mind as if to their own rhythm. ]

What do you mean? I didn't give it to you. Have we even met?

[unsea]

( Yes, you did. You threw it at me. )

[ ???????????

something is going on here, and he Needs To Know. ]

( Shortly after we all returned to the Bearings. We agreed to have a BOUT IT OUT fight to ourselves later? )

[vocalis]

[ ????????????????????! None of this is ringing any bells. ]

I... what? I didn't do any of those things!

[ Whoever this guy is, he's making all this up. He's got to be. Throwing hardware around, making challenges? None of it sounds like anything he'd do. ]

I don't even play Bout it Out. I haven't met you, I don't even know your name!

[unsea]

[ wtf

]

[unsea]

[ the image-memory of aoba, fingers on his datapad ( tap, swipe tap ) before it flings through the air toward him, along with a long string of " ??? ". ]

( I do have your datapad, at least. I'll deliver it to you. )

[vocalis]

[ The image of himself suddenly thrust upon him is a shock. His eyes widen and stare at nothing as he sits in his torn apart bedroom, mentally watching the short memory play out like an unfamiliar film. ]

That's... not me.

[ He doesn't remember doing this. That night, the place he was in, what he was wearing - all of that is accurate, but the rest of the memory is false. He watched the news, he dozed off. He woke up again and waited for Nirad, then went to bed and left the datapad on the couch. That was all. That had to be all there was. ]

You... you made this up.

[ The missing datapad is momentarily forgotten. He needs to figure this out first. ]

I'm in my room. Second door from the entrance in the main hall. Door's open.

[ He also needs to sound less afraid - that came off too hesitant and unsure. Who is this guy? ]

[unsea]

[ 'How many other hosts have blue hair', he'd like to ask, wry and rhetorical. But, he doesn't. The observation hangs between them; he's seen Aoba before, spoken to him, received the datapad from him, and yet the other host does not know a thing about these previous events. That, in and of itself, is a far more compelling reason to bring the datapad with him -- ( footsteps in the hall, the pressure of a hand against the doorframe, knock-knock, silhouette in the frame )

-- he holds the datapad up, between his hands. A peace offering. Maybe, regardless of how it had come into his possession, it is now being returned to Aoba. Whole, undamaged and with a full charge!! How considerate!! ] -- I believe this is yours.

[ He's not entering the room if Aoba is still angry with him. :( ]

[vocalis]

[ He gets up from where he was sitting on the end of his bed, waiting and concentrating on the other discussions happening simultaneously in his mind. He's getting better at managing the chatter - doesn't look so dazed anymore when he's trying to listen in on one conversation while contributing to another.

He definitely looks nothing but angry when he answers the door to... ugh, he still hasn't gotten a name out of this guy. Aside from seeing him in passing, he definitely doesn't recognize him. He takes the datapad and flips it over to check, and sure enough, the sticker is there. ]

Yeah, it is. I still don't understand how you got it, though.

[ He stands in the doorway, not inviting him inside but not pushing him out either. There's more he wants to know, starting with the basics. ]

You know me, apparently... but I mean it when I say I have no recollection of who you are. What's your name?

[ A detail he's been... unsuccessful at acquiring so far. ]

[unsea]

[ Blue hair. Pretty face. He certainly seems like the same young man that had spoken to him shortly after the bombing, but that mouth of his doesn't seem as likely to curl into a nasty sneer now. Still, he recognizes the datapad at least. Which means that there is no other choice but to hand it over. The brush of his mind suggests a hint of polite, political gratitude for letting him hold on to it for some time. ]

I believe you, [ there's something far too strange about Aoba's reaction for him to be lying. For a young man who had been electric, hostile at first to now be so puzzled and amiable - well, there are thoughts that the Darkling harbors, but does not wish to share. Not without substantiating evidence. ] I know you, though.

[ Clarifying: ] Not very well, but I do distinctly recall our meeting. I'm sorry for the confusion.

[ THEY'RE GONNA FITE SOMEDAY ok anyways ] The Darkling. A title, rather than a name.

[vocalis]

[ The... Darkling? Well, that sort of explains the mistranslation. There's a flicker of a question there between them, still halfway in each other's heads despite being face to face, but it's fleeting. If he wants to be called by a title, then Aoba is quick to accept it.

He turns the pad over in his hands again, puzzled and avoiding The Darkling's eyes. He still simmers beneath the surface, but the polite demeanor he's being met with is settling his anger somewhat. What's left is confusion, which The Darkling apologizes for, though it doesn't resolve it. ]

Alright... The Darkling. If you remember us meeting, then how come I don't? Can you fabricate memories or something?

[ His first assumption, perhaps shared a bit too quickly with others over the network. Oops. ]

[unsea]

[ There's a long and a short of it, concerning his title. He gives the short of it, in response to the pass of Aoba's question: there is no name to be found.

The data pad has been returned, at least. To be honest, he should have returned it long before now - having one of his own, and having been done with reviewing video footage through Aoba's. It slipped his mind. ]

I don't know. I have considered it, but have no information to support. [ Which means, he's not going to share just yet. He might get away with studying Aoba's face - curious and suspicious in his won right, if he isn't as up front with his thoughts as he could be. ] But, it is most certainly not memory fabrication. That's not something I can do. You don't have a twin, hidden away somewhere, do you?

[ -- AOBA WHY ARE YOU TELLING HIS FRAGILE BROODMATE ABOUT FABRICATED MEMORIES GOSH!!!! when will everyone stop setting shiro off like this..... ]

[vocalis]

What? Twin? No, that's weird. I don't even have siblings.

[ His confusion persists, alongside a growing sense of suspicion and doubt. He wants to believe this guy when he says he can't create false memories, but what else could that have been? Aoba plays the shared memory over again between them. Yellow eyes, sneering, aloof - that isn't him. Sure, maybe he might've acted that way at some point...

He's quick to squash that thought back down. No. That was a long, long time ago. Besides, he couldn't remember details of that time even if he tried. It was all wiped in the accident. A missing song on the track list. ]

I'm... I'm trying to piece it together, but what we each remember conflicts way too much. It's not making any sense... and it's giving me a headache.

[ He needs to lie down and put music on again, maybe take a few pills... Unless The Darkling wants to stay, continue puzzling through what can't be put together, and share in Aoba's oncoming pain. He'll hear out more ideas, but his have about run out. ]

[unsea]

What would I have to gain, were I to falsify memories?

[ If he and Aoba hardly know one another, what could he want from the young man - badly enough to need to create fake memories of an initial meeting with him and steal(?) his datapad from him. More than that, he wants to know something else. It might be a little more important, in the long run. ]

-- are memories often fake, in your experience? [ Worrisome. ] Go sit, you'll make yourself ill turning it over so fast in your mind.

[ He won't begrudge Aoba that. He's far more perplexed than he is upset by how things have gone - even being called a liar doesn't seem to bother him too much. Either he's been called worse, or he simply doesn't feel keen to force proof into Aoba's hands. ]

[vocalis]

[ He turns and steps a little further in his own room, though it is not an invitation to be followed. ]

You'd have less blame for stealing if you did... tch, I don't know!

[ It'd be a petty excuse if it were true. Too petty for this guy, maybe. Aoba is beginning to wonder what kind of person he is, (a person who'd rather be called by another name, a title - like Noiz and his Rhyme name) when he hears the second question. Aoba rounds on him, turning on his heel with a fanning of blue hair, wild.

There. A glimpse of the one before. ]

What? No!

[ That, followed by the mothering is quick to ignite Aoba's temper. In his mind he's growing irrational, doesn't want to listen to any more of it. He's hurt, confused, starting to feel cornered-

A faint gasp escapes him as an jolt of pain runs through his head. A claw of something caged reaches through the bars to swipe, to twist, to make itself known. Can the others feel that desire for control, that lust for freedom and pain, another part of him wonders? To Aoba, it's just the beginning of another routine migraine. ]

You need to go.

[ He remains standing near the bed, though he's ready to collapse into it. One hand pressed between his eyes, the other still gripping the returned datapad, white-knuckled. ]