savetheearth | Comparing Notes. Literal Notes, Even. [CLOSED]

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Comparing Notes. Literal Notes, Even. [CLOSED]

Who: Randolph/Randall Lyall and Fenn Forester/Fai D Flourite
Where: A local mall
When: Just after sunset

As being out in the sun is uncomfortable, after a few rounds of text messages with Fenn Forester, as the young man introduced himself, a time for just after sunset is set for their little get-together to compare notes, and a comfortably public place of the nearest mall to the school. Lyall spends the interim poking at a few other network posts, half-heartedly grading some papers and pointedly not writing that damn number down again, and pacing around his darkened home, where all the windows are shut and blinds drawn.

He's a little early for the meeting, more out of a kind of frustrated anxiety, but he has a hat on and long sleeves despite the generally comfortable temperature out. His hands in his pockets and his laptop slung in its case over his shoulder, spectacles on and the hat shading his eyes, he does indeed look very much a high school teacher. One with a halfway decent fashion sense, but still. A high school teacher.

The hat and the laptop are what he's told Fenn to look for. That, and standing under the tree just outside the mall, anyway.

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He doesn't mind a somewhat later meeting, is more comfortable outside in the afternoon, evening and night simply because that's when he's usually awake. That's his world. The daylight hours are so full of people who are always going somewhere, people with a million plans and responsibilities and aspirations. It's exhausting.

He comes strolling at a leisurely pace, dressed in the customary jeans which might well have been spray-painted onto his body, a pair of boots that look more expensive than they were, and an ice blue coat with fluffy white faux fur lining in the hood and sleeves. His friends said that it was tacky, but he didn't care much. For some reason, wearing it felt... familiar. His hair was a hopeless mess as usual, so he'd crammed down a hat on it and let it be.

At the sight of the older man he pushes down his headphones so that they dangle around his neck and waves. "Lyall, right? Fenn Forster." He grimaces faintly, the name always feels strange on his tongue nowadays. "Most people just say Fay, though."

God, the fellow was young... Lyall felt positively ancient, next to a face like that. Still, he offered a wan sort of smile and his hand, for a handshake. "Fay, then. Feel free to call me Randall, if you like." He kind of hated the nickname "Randy", after a plethora of annoying children in school making fun of it. "Lyall is for students and their parents, generally."

That got a laugh as he grabs that hand for a firm handshake despite the fact that he looks a bit like he's made out of matchsticks. "Well, I ain't been a student since I was sixteen-" hello high-school dropout "-and somehow I doubt I'll ever become a parent, so Randall it is." He honestly wouldn't call a person 'Randy' unless they expressively asked for it. "So I guess this is the part where I show you my notebook and we get down to business, so to say, but maybe we can find somewhere to sit ourselves down first."

"There are a few benches over by the entrance," Lyall suggested, having scoped them out just for such a conversation. He didn't entirely prefer being outside, but at least outside no one else was so close that they had to talk quietly and look suspicious. If there wasn't some kind of joke going on then, well, they'd probably seem awfully silly talking about magical networks.

So he lead the way over towards them, to have a seat, sliding his laptop case into his lap. "Maybe we can give this a test. I admit, I want to see what happens, in real-time."

He follows along readily enough, his long legs easily keeping pace with the shorter man's. He doesn't mind that it's a bit chilly outside, he's good at withstanding cold, strange as that would seem with his background. He's got a fake Gucci handbag slung over one arm, and from that we withdraws the notebook in question, flipping to the desired page.

"I rubbed out the number, I couldn't have the whole book filling up with a lot of nonsense, right? But if I write it down again at the same time as you write your down, we can see what happens?"

The notebook gets an almost double-take from Lyall: it's been a while since he's seen a cover that looks like it belongs to a teenage girl in the hands of a young man. But then he grins a little, and lets it slide. Sparkle on, indeed.

"Can I see where my notes came up, first, if you don't mind?" he offers. "But then we can see what comes of another attempt at networking." He wants to see what his notes looked like to everyone else....

"Oh, yeah, of course." He flips through the book, which is mostly contains doodles, shopping lists, addresses and phone numbers, until he reaches the page in question. At which point there is suddenly a text wall which looks printed instead of written, although still in the same glittery gel pen ink as most of the rest of the book, for some reason.

"Here ya go. It's all there. And let me tell you, I wouldn't know chlorophyll from chloroform, so this is all you. Oh, and there's our conversation right there."

"In pink," Lyall comments, looking a little like he might laugh and is trying hard not to. "My notes are not actually in pink... but those are them, all right." He runs a finger down the neat line of typed text, then shakes his head at it all, half in amazement and half in frustration. "I can't explain it... there is literally no way that this should be possible."

Fay titters softly at that, because fair enough. Besides, not even he writes in pink and glitter on the computer. "Tell me about it, sugar. It's like something right outta a TV show or something like that." He wrinkles his nose a bit, laughing. "It's like the aliens are gonna invade or the ghosts'll be taking over. I mean, that sure sounds pretty damn dumb, but it's not much dumber than talking to someone you never met through a notebook, right?"

Sugar. Lyall isn't sure whether to be amused by the unexpected endearment or not. He settles for ignoring it. "One of my students thought it sounded like a video game." And when he relates that, he sounds a little like he disapproves of that: not so much the premise (though he does) as the idea of a teenaged boy, his already troubled student, having to deal with that sort of mess.

"All right. Let's try this, then. We might as well experiment, while we're both here." He pulls out his laptop and opens it up, where it boots up out of sleep relatively quickly. Relatively, being the key word. While he waits, he asks: "When did you learn of this number, that opens this network up, anyway?"

"Oh right, you said. One of your students." He grimaces a bit, because he can see why one would be concerned about a kid getting caught up in something weird like this. And he nods in agreement with Randall's suggestion, rooting around in his bag until he can locate a pen while they wait for his computer to start up. "Hm? Oh, it just turned up in my head one day when my friend was teaching me to make chocolate fondants. Bam! One moment I get this- this really weird feeling all over. Then suddenly I already know how to make the dang things without being told, and I've got this string of numbers that I don't know what to do with. Then, this night, just about after that weird light in the sky, it just got stuck, you know? Like a tune you can't shake."

That ramble was enough time for the laptop to finish logging in, and Lyall already had his spreadsheet out, adding in that bit of data under Fenn's, or Fay's, row: making fondants, right next to where he'd written the fellow's contact information. Then Word came up again to cover it again, and to act as his network platform, as he didn't trust something like a web browser to not fill up someone else's connection to whatever this was with a lot of garbage. "Weird light?" he repeated, confused. "What weird light was that?"

Fai in turn writes out his own numbers on the paper in his terrible scrawl, waiting for things to start appearing like they had before. A moment later a neat little list blooms from nothing on the paper, and he makes a satisfied little noise. "Well, I was walking home pretty early from a party to avoid an awkward ex - it was around midnight - and suddenly the sky just... lit up. I looked up, and there was this weird pink shimmery thing for a moment, but it was gone the next time I blinked. And that's when that durn number got stuck in my mind again and I couldn't stop thinking about it." He shrugs and circles Randall's post on the list with the pen. "There, like that. Now we should be able to use it. Here!" And he scrawls 'Hello!' on the notebook, which of course immediately pops up on the other man's screen.

Lyall peers over Fay's shoulder at the list as he listens to the story about the light, but while he hasn't forgotten that, for a moment he's distracted. "How did you get that? --oh. Hello, back."

And, somewhat belatedly, he types it in, as well.

"But that list. Where did that come from? Is that-- my number is there. Is that everyone you've spoken with?"

"I haven't the faintest clue," he answers honestly, laughing and tucking a stray lock of hair into his hat. "I think this- this network, however it works, is sort of... I think maybe it kind of relies on what's in our heads? So when we don't really think about it, we just write the number wherever because we can, we sort of just get weird and random stuff? Maybe, I don't know. But when I put my numbers into my browser all of this stuff showed up, so maybe I was expecting the same now I was using the paper, and that's why it did this?" This is all very confusing for him, and since he has very few preconceptions of how things like this should work, he has to make do with wild guesses.

"Which makes even less sense than anything else involved in this mess," Lyall huffs, turning back to his computer. "I do have your number listed down, since you gave it to me... I wonder if there is a way to access the other people who have contacted me." Not that he thinks experimenting is the best way, since writing them down may, for all he knows, call them up.

Testing that theory, he closes the Word document they were chatting in and opens a fresh one, then types in Fay's number. "Anything change?"

"Oh, yes! Look." He holds up the book to show Randall's number appearing on a blank page, which is probably its way of saying he's trying to make contact. He scribbles down a small sun, and makes a delighted noise when it shows up on the other's computer.

"Oooh, and don't you think that maybe if you dialed that number on a phone it would like... call me up? Or try to contact me in whatever other way it could?" That is a really fascinating thought right there, and he bounces a bit where he sits, because while he's resigned himself to being dumb as dirt - not strictly true - and uneducated, new knowledge still has the power to thrill.

"It is entirely possible. Though considering you did give me your phone number, that might be more reliable." Or at least safer. Now that he's starting to believe that this is a thing, at least, he's starting to worry about who set it up, why, and whether those mysterious people are watching it.

Drifting towards them, as if on the slight breeze, is a little ball of what looks like dandelion fluff. Lyall doesn't notice it at first, but there is an odd scent on the breeze, that makes his nose wrinkle a bit.

Fay makes a small noise of amusement, nodding. "Yeah, probably. I mean, if nothing else, I think I'd jump right clean outta my skin if you tried to 'call' me and ended up scrawling words on my mirror when I'm stepping out of a shower."

He blinks at the other's sudden faint grimace, tilting his head. "Is something the matter?"

Edited 2013-04-03 01:52 (UTC)

"Just-- thought I smelled something." Which is an odd enough thing to say, anyway, but he supposes scents have been intruding on his life a bit more than usual. As the bit of fluff drifts closer, however, and now against the wind, the smell is stronger, and he looks about for something that might cause it.

"Do you smell that? Like-- like cleaner. Some kind of biotic cleaner...." And of course, Fay wouldn't. Lyall's nose, after all, is a bit more powerful than most.

That might come later, when his own senses are heightened - most particularly when it comes to blood, but in general as well. As it is now, he can only blink in confusion at the other man, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I can't smell a thing, apart from maybe the hot dog vendor over there." But he's tense now, strangely tense and alert, and he finds that he does indeed believe that Lyall can feel something. "Where do you think it's coming from?"

"I'm not sure, but--" His vision finally resolves on the black piece of fluff hovering not far from them, now. But being farsighted, he can't actually see it. He hastily pushes his glasses back up his nose to bring it into focus.

"That!" he says.

And, realizing it's been noticed, it promptly starts flying the other direction, disappearing into a nearby potted plant. There's a little rustle inside it, and Lyall rubs his nose vigorously.

Fay follows Lyall's gaze, and manages to catch a glimpse of the thing before it dives for the plant. And inexplicably bounces to his feet and over to the plant - some kind of ratty evergreen that doubles as the lost graveyard for cigarette butts. He follows the rustling with his eye and then plunges his hand in after it. He might not have heightened reflexes just yet, but never underestimate the speed and grace of a man who knows at least ten ways of hanging upside down from a pole.

His hand closes around something soft, and very carefully he extracts it once more, rearranging his fingers so that he's holding on to a large tuft of that hair. He turns and is about to return to Lyall when it happens again. A momentary feeling of being so very empty, and the world reverberating with a thudding heartbeat, and he... remembers. Strange things, confusing things. He looks a bit pale as he returns with the little fuzzball and holds it out to Lyall for inspection. "Here."

Lyall still has his hand over his nose, eyes looking just a little wild and confused. While nothing strange showed up in his head, suddenly it's like his nose decided to wake up from a very long sleep. It feels like he somehow never had a sense of smell before, and suddenly now he does. He hasn't the faintest idea how to cope.

Having only one free hand, and assuming that not enough to hold onto the little thing, he merely leans in and looks while the tiny creature struggles. "What is it? I've never smelled-- I mean-- seen-- anything like it."

He gives Lyall a perplexed look, leaning a bit closer too, but he can't think of any reason why the other man is acting so strange. "They... really don't smell like anything to me." He tries to gently get a grasp of its proportions through all the hair. "It... doesn't seem to be an insect. I can feel limbs, but they're not at all... I've got no idea what it is." But he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. His mind is insisting that while he doesn't know what exactly it is, he knows what kind of a thing he's encountered.

"I- You remember how I said I learned to make fondants without actually learning? I've suddenly got all of these memories of- of creatures from other worlds, and creatures that can travel between worlds." He gives Lyall a helpless look. "I know it sounds crazy, but it all turned up when I touched it."

"No crazier than my nose suddenly deciding everything smells," Lyall wheezes back, still trying to sort out everything he's being bombared with. He only halfway registers what Fay says, in part probably because it makes so little sense. Nothing is making sense, anymore, it seems like. "Or crazier than little tiny balls of black fluff that smell like-- like-- acidic cleaner!"

Also, it might be a bad idea to feel at the little thing, as it winds up fastening teeth on the end of a finger, hard.

Fay yelped in horror and pulls back his hand hurriedly, at least having the presence of mind not to immediately stick his finger in his mouth straight after. Thankfully he still had a grip on the thing's fur and not on its body, or it would have met a very squished fate. As it was, he gave Lyall a worried look, afraid he was going to be sick. Then he slowly and carefully tried to push back the hair on the little thing instead, adding more and more to his pinched fingers until some kind of silhouette and a pair of big white eyes can be seen.

"It... ohmygod, it looks almost like a little doll, you know? Like- like a lego figure or- or like a fairy?" His mind is showing him a reel of different strange creatures, but none seem to match. "I remember all kinds of strange things now, you have no idea, but nothing like this. Except-" Except a vague memory of something he'd heard from... from someone about miniature people living at the bottom of a lake, but honestly that sounds so crazy that he doesn't really want to mention it. "-no, nothing."

Edited 2013-04-03 17:59 (UTC)

"Are you all right?" Lyall is less concerned with what name to call the thing-- it's obviously no family he's remotely aware of, which means it must be something new and potentially problematic-- than he is with whether the thing might be poisonous. "We should get a jar or a can to put it in before it does that again...."

It's still struggling and spinning around from its fur, and really almost too small to hold onto the was Fay is. If they don't get a jar shortly its likely to pull free.

"Yeah, I think so. Stung like a bitch there for a while, but it don't feel very poisonous to me. Ain't nothing like that rattler bite I got when I was ten, at least." He shrugged, trying to get a better grip at the wriggling little thing. He had pretty thin and agile fingers, but holding the thing without killing it is tricky. "Yeah, that's probably smart. Got any idea? 'Cause otherwise I'm just gonna stick it in my bag and pull the zipper until we can come up with something."

"My laptop bag I suppose might do, but it's so small, a jar would really be safer...." He looks about, but none of the shops just inside the mall doors here are the kind that might have airtight jars, or even canned food they could empty out. The overwhelming nose issue isn't offering much in the way of helpful leads, either.

"We maybe to make do with what we have, then. Give me a moment." He fishes into his laptop bag, emerging with a ziplock plastic bag containing a few vitamins and some tylenol. "Maybe this will hold it."

((should we pretty much assume the thing either winds up accidentally squished or escaping before they can really look at it? >.> safer might be escaping, cuz otherwise they'll probably have done the microscope thing by now... XD ))

"Oh, yes, that looks like a good idea!" Somehow, he manages to manhandle the little thing into the bag, squeezing it shut before the little thing can escape. "And now... how are you feeling? Maybe we should be getting you to a hospital or something?"

((Well, since the thing will turn into steam the moment it's killed, and since it's so small and frail, it's probably safe to say that it gets killed and disappears before it can be examined. Might even choke to death in the bag for all we know.))

((oh right o.o sometimes my memory is not the best ^^' squashed is for the best then!))

"And tell them my sense of smell expanded to the Nth degree?" Lyall asks dryly, eying the little bag and its malevolent contents with misgivings. "I imagine they would send me to psychiatry, not take me seriously. Are you going to go tell someone about your sudden memory of magical creatures?"

He rather doubts it.

"No," he sighs. "Whatever is happening, I do not believe a doctor will have much to say or do for us."

"We~ell, I didn't say magical-" And then he cuts himself short and groans. "Oh my god, I just remembered riding a dragon and fighting monsters and-" And being swallowed by a creature smaller than a rabbit. Noooo, not saying that either. "I think I'm the one who needs psychiatry." He shakes his head, watching the small thing climbing the insides of the bag. "Our best bet is probably just to share what we know with everyone else and try to make sense of this together."

"Ah, you are more trusting than I am, I think," Lyall answers with a little smile. "I'm not sure how much I trust that network. It just seems so-- so-- convenient. We know nothing of where it comes from or why exists, why we of all people were connected to it, or who or what might be watching it." He doesn't mention not necessarily trusting the other people pulled into this, half thinking it self-evident and half not wanting to offend the odd young man in front of him. While he thinks Fay seems well-meaning enough, he simply doesn't know many of the others, and some of those he does know he has no interest in seeing involved in anything dangerous, anyway.

"I do think we need more information," he adds hasily. "I'm just not sure whether that network is necessarily the place to find it...."

"Well, look, it's more like this..." He sighs, spreading his hands, because truth to be told he really isn't the most trusting nature. He's suspicious of just about everything they have encountered, but... "We've got something that can plant that number in our heads, that can connect our doodles or class notes or whatever to some kind of network, that's probably messing with your sense of smell and putting memories in my head..."

He makes a small, helpless noise as he shrugs. "With or without the network, seems to me like whoever's behind it are gonna be able to watch us just fine. I mean, how do we know we're not right now? That sounds paranoid as shit, but think about it. The network's just about the only useful we've got out of this so far. We might as well use it."

The silly thing about Fay is that he genuinely believes he's dumb as dirt, but he's kind of wrong about that.

The look Lyall gives him is both sour and amused at the same time. "All right, all right, you have a point," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it, and if it's all the same to you, I would prefer to contact you using an old-fashioned telephone in the future? I won't actively avoid sharing over the network, but call me an old man if you want to, I am not very fond of change."

He's not that old. Mid-thirties, and all. But than, Fay looks like he's practically underage, and Lyall is used to teenagers who do think he's old. Mostly, though, he's just poking fun at himself.

He laughs and shakes his head, giving Lyall's shoulder a light bump with his hand. "I ain't saying there's nothing wrong with keeping it old-school when we can, if that feels better to you. Just making sure we ain't up and looking a gift horse in the mouth, you know?" He shrugs easily with a small, teasing grin. "And I know there ain't nobody older than your teacher when you're still going to school, but that was kind of a while ago for me, so don't sweat it."

"It doesn't look like it was that long ago," Lyall said with a little shake of his head and a smile. "But I'll take your word for it. I guess we've done some of testing, and-- and I really think I might go crazy if I don't find somewhere with fewer smells...."

Preferably somewhere not outside. Or like his house, with all the windows firmly shut. God, this was going to take forever to get used to. Maybe he should just go to bed and hope it was gone in the morning. "We'll keep in touch, though?"

"Oh, excuse you. I'm twenty-three, so that would make it seven years since I dropped out." He grins, though, and doesn't seem very upset. Apparently some people at the club still give his boss grief because they think he's got an under-age dancer, so what the heck, he can deal.

"And yes, I think that would be a good idea. You should go and rest that nose." Preferably close to someone whose coat doesn't smell rather a lot like weed. "And I'll contact you if something else comes up, okay?"

Probably a good idea. Though at the moment he's too overwhelmed to recognize the scent in question, but too much longer and he might. "I'll do the same."

Lyall smiles a bit and offers a hand to Fay. "At least this has been educational." And he's gotten out of his usual social circle for a little. That's beneficial, too.

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Comparing Notes. Literal Notes, Even. [CLOSED]

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