revivalproject | Night at the Museum (OTA)

WHO: Kyle Broflovski and YOU!
WHERE: The Underground of Coruscant (Level 4)
WHAT: A very wholesome field trip to the lost Galactic Museum.
WHEN: During the event. (Mid-ish?)
WARNINGS: The foulest of language. Injury extremely likely. More as needed.

Kyle's seen aliens before.

A group of them from the Jannex Galaxy, a spaceship full of greys, the Marklar, and Jeff Bezos. This is the first time he's seen quite so many different kinds in one place, but even so it doesn't take him long to feel comfortable enough to talk to a few of them at the Senate Tour that Obi-Wan had suggested he take. One of these friendly aliens had mentioned in passing that it was a pity that the Galactic Museum could no longer be toured, due to it having been lost and forgotten somewhere down on Level 4.

A lost museum seems to Kyle like exactly the sort of thing the Agrii would want them to find. And even if not, well. Kyle really likes museums.

Is it difficult to get to Level 4? Oh, yes. And extremely dangerous. This doesn't deter Kyle one bit, and so he puts out a call on the Network to let people know that hey, he's putting together a museum field trip and anybody is welcome to come! Provided, that is, that you don't mind finding your way down through huge portals/ventilation shafts into a world where sunlight is less than a memory and dangerous people and creatures lurk around every corner.

But hey, if you decide to come down, you'll find a too-tall ginger waiting for you with some flashlights and a notepad.

You bet your ass he's going to force you to use the Buddy System.

--

[OOC: Feel free to skip straight to the Museum proper of course! Mingle away, create your own TLs, whatever!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah. Nature kinda sucks." Kyle looks around, but his thirst for knowledge knows no bounds. "We can go a little further," he decides. "If we don't find anything worth looking it, we'll go back to the lobby and regroup."

He sets off, looking really no less determined than before. "Have you shot a lot of people? Every FBI agent I've ever seen was a little, uh, trigger happy."

She bristles immediately at the question, the step she was about to take scraping to a stop in the dust and grit on the floor. Jesus God, save my bod, she thought, closing her eyes as the smell of the fish market bursts through the dams of her memory and surrounds her. The sound of a baby crying. She forces herself to remember the other thing that got her through, switching from the copper of blood to clear, copperplate handwriting on fine paper.

You are a warrior, Clarice.

"I have," she says, her voice steady. "But only ever when I had no choice. Some people tried to spin it like I was some bloodthirsty bitch, but ... it was always self-defense." She gave a soft, bitter laugh. "In my time, they gave me the Guinness Book of World Records for the female FBI agent who'd shot the most people. I threw it straight in the trash."

It's hard not to notice the slight pause in Clarice's step. Not for the first time in his life, Kyle curses his complete lack of tact.

"That's... really fucking tacky," Kyle says slowly. "I mean. Wow. So they were clearly giving you more shit just because you're a woman."

Clarice lets out a laugh that, a few years ago, would have been far more bitter. "I got that a lot," she said with a little roll of her eyes. From the little smile she gives him, she's trying to make it clear that she's not upset with him for asking.

"And yet, in their book - pun intended - they'd see it as 'equality'. See, we include women too. Never mind that if that was really the way they wanted to play it they'd have taken women's statistics into mind from the get-go. But we didn't come down here to have a talk about what feminism oughta be, or any of that. We came down here for answers."

She gives him a friendly little nudge with her shoulder.

"Oh, no, I guess we didn't," he says, rocking when he's nudged. "I don't mind, though. Like, for the record. I'm all for equality, like for real equality where it doesn't matter what gender you are or aren't or what you identify as or whatever. And you know, the patriarchy is total bullshit and it really all comes from capitalism? Since it taught us to view everything as a commodity? You know, thousands of years ago and shit."

He keeps moving as he talks. Because boy can he talk. "You know, maybe down here somewhere there's a clue to why things are the way they are up there. I mean, who builds a city on top of itself over and over? And you just ditch your museum, your history? It's spooky."

The bit about gender pings against something old and best left in the dark basement corridors where she found it, but the memory is more like a horse being buzzed by a fly, and just as easy to swat aside. Not only that, but his denouncement of the patriarcy makes her laugh. "Truth," she says in a tone like a Southern Baptist at a prayer meeting, grinning, reminded of the nights when she and Mapp used to stay up ranting about Men and the Almighty Dollar and everything in between, sharing a six-pack of whatever beer was cheapest at the superette yet didn't taste like bread stuffed in weak ginger ale.

His comment about the buried museum, though, that brings her back to the present. She licks her lips slowly, combatting the dust and dryness, then presses them together.

"Unless there's something in that history you wanna forget. Think about it: it makes a sorta sense. On our way down here, it was like ... the further down you went, the poorer and rougher the neighborhoods got. These people literally bury their problems. So doesn't logic dictate that something about their history was ... really problematic?"

The way she says it - truth - makes him laugh. He's never been to an actual Southern revival in his life, but he knows what she's getting at anyway.

Kyle nods, thinking. His flashlight continues to cut shadows apart. "Maybe it's the Jedi," he says slowly. "I went to the Temple, the one Mr. Kenobi said we could check out? And it's got loads of cool stuff in it, of course, but none of it seemed very ugly. Just like if you go to a church, it looks awesome but it's not like... putting any gnarly history on display."

He frowns. "Every side has a bias. Maybe there's other parts to them they'd rather not advertise."

She breathes in slowly, careful not to look directly into the beam of his flashlight so that she can keep her eyes adjusted to the darkness and watch the shadows for threats... as she's always done. It makes her think even more and even harder about the Bureau: how they were her own Jedi Order for years, that she was their Knight and believed them in the right.

"You're pretty wise for your years, Kyle," she said with a grim, sad smile. "Maybe we should look out for anything with Jedi crests? Much as I'd hate to bring something ugly back to Mr. Kenobi."

Kyle shrugs. "Nah. I've just seen a lot." This is an understatement, but he isn't aware f the fact - Kyle tends to assume everyone had an upbringing just as bananas as his was.

"Yeah! That's a good idea. He'll either love it or bitch us out for ruining some priceless religious history." He grins. "Either way, we'll learn something."

As he picks his way forward again he adds, "Hey, when we go back to Agra, I'm gonna owe you one for saving my life. I won't forget that."

"Sometimes I feel like that's gonna end up on my gravestone," she chuckled softly. "Either way, she learned something. If I had a nickel for every time I pushed a boundary just to see what else I could find out ... well. I dunno, I'd have a lotta got-dam nickels."

She winks at him, then squints a little when he mentions owing her - accompanied by that little backwards head bob that's American shorthand for you're fucking kidding me right bro.

"No, no. None of that owing shit," she says, waving a hand. "If you're gonna insist on it, then all I'll say is, if you get the chance to do anyone else a solid, not just me, go ahead and do it."

"You and me both." But by god, he's learned a lot of things over his lifetime.

Kyle sighs. "I'd do that anyway," he says. "Help people if I could, I mean. Come on, at least let me like... if I get stuff to cook, let me make you lunch some day or something." It isn't anywhere near enough to thank her for saving his life, but it's the thought that counts.

"Lunch sounds like a damn fine time," she concedes. "It's a deal."

With that, she turns her focus back to the hall, trying to figure out if there's anything else in this wing worth exploring, any hint of Jedi history tucked away in a cabinet or display.

Night at the Museum (OTA)

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