revivalproject | Everything tragic, take it away

Entry tags:

Everything tragic, take it away

WHO: Open to all!
WHERE: The local high school
WHAT: Opening event catch-all, centering on a Very Special Guest coming to talk to the students. Anyone is welcome to assume that role! Senator, scientist, entrepreneur, superhero - whoever!
WHEN: Event start
WARNINGS: None as yet!

On a perfectly ordinary morning, in a perfectly ordinary city, a small, blonde-haired man with a pointed, delicate looking face and sharp blue eyes rose from his perfectly ordinary slumber. He did so before his alarm, which was also perfectly ordinary, as was the coffee he had at breakfast and the drive he took to work. His name was Drake Riley; he was the Principal of the School, and always had been.

“Good morning, Mr Riley.”

“Morning, Hannah.

“Fresh coffee in the lounge.”

“Already had some, thanks.” He sat at his desk in his office, looking through the papers in his in-box.

“We have a very important guest coming today.” Hannah called.

“Yes...coming to talk to the students. Can you have the cafeteria cleared and set up after second period?”

“Yes, Mr Riley.”

Later, as Drake waited for the students to begin transitioning from their classrooms to the cafeteria-turned-auditorium, his fingers absently tapped out patterns on the cafeteria menu of the week. There was pineapple today. Pineapple. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, tapped his fingers. The Guest would be coming at 12:30. 1230, 1230, 1230, XMMU J1230. He shook his head and got up, “I think I'll have some of that coffee after all.”

“Rough morning?”

“Not as such, just seem to be distracted is all,” he said as he poured himself a cup.

“Probably just a little stress,” Hannah said, stapling together a pamphlet. “It isn't every day such an important person visits, after all.”

“No, I know. Probably all it is. I'll be outside to see the students in, all right?”

“Of course, Mr Riley.”

Mr Riley. He didn’t like that; it sounded strange just as much as it sounded perfectly ordinary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Some Time Before 12:30:

"Guest Speaker?"

Echo, who looked like he was dressed for a session at the gym rather than somebody who was ready to speak to a myriad of high schoolers, leaned on his stack of food orders.

Clearly there was some mistake.

"Guest– no, that can't be right," he almost repeated, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm here to drop these off for a party. Unless the party's here at the school. Did I get the address wrong?" He dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone to double-check.

Hannah, an overly cheerful teenager in a floral blouse, looked at the clipboards spread out on the big plastic cafeteria table in front of her. "No, sir, I have you right here." And handed him one. Sure enough, his name was at the top of the list.

"Hello! You must be Mr Echo." Drake approached from the side, straightening his suit jacket - or what was probably a suit jacket, but he was wearing jeans beneath it instead of whatever trousers were made to go with it - and held out a hand. "Drake Riley. I believe we spoke on the phone. Hannah, call Brendan up here to take these, would you?"

"'Course, Mr Riley."

"Good girl. Right this way, then." Drake didn't say anything about Echo's clothing. He wasn't supposed to notice that it wasn't appropriate for public speaking, so he tried not to, though it niggled annoyingly in the back of his head. Why wouldn't he dress for the occasion? Well he did, didn't he? Obviously, this is what you wear to a public speaking event, isn't it?

Right?

The niggling thought was swept away when he showed Echo into an office adjacent to the cafeteria. "Please, feel free to review any notes you might have. The kids are still getting seated, but we'll be ready in about..." he checked his watch, "...ten minutes."

Taking the clipboard, Echo frowned. Yup, that was his name. Or at least what he had been used to going by nowadays.

"Mister Riley," he automatically greeted when Drake approached, lowering the clipboard so that his full attention was now on the principal and the handshake. "Yeah, I think we did! Although I have to be honest, I thought it was just for an on-route update."

Between watching the teenagers gather everything together and following after the man, it only confirmed that this was really happening.

"Notes?" He stole another quick glance at the clipboard before looking back at Riley. What started as a laugh immediately died in his throat when he was told he had about ten minutes to prepare. "I mean...alright?"

Drake paused in the doorway, a concerned look passing over his face.

"Unless you need more time? I can delay a little, but the students are due back in their classes directly after, and some have exams. I'm sure you wouldn't want to cut into their time," he said pointedly.

Echo straightened up. "No, sir. I'll make do."

For some reason, he felt like if he didn't do this, Drake Riley would be disappointed in him forever. And they just met.

They had just met, hadn't they? There was no way Echo's voice was at all familiar. Drake had the vague notion that he ought to be following the man somewhere, but that was silly. Drake Riley wasn't a follower. He was a leader. That's why he was the Principal of the School, and always had been.

He shook his head with a disconcerted frown. Why was he always thinking that? Like it was something that was trying to reinforce itself? Well obviously, it wasn't trying to do anything, it was a thought that he himself was thinking. It didn't have any agency. That was...

He doesn't have total control over us, just the power of suggestion.

It's probably nish'ta. It's a biological compound that makes your mind extremely pliable.

Well, your brain chemistry's been seriously compromised. This dark spot here appears on all of your scans. It's in virtually the same part of the cortex every time.

"Right. Excellent." For a moment, Drake tried not to show how shaken he felt, but a moment later, he didn't need to, because everything going perfectly according to schedule.

"I'll just go introduce you to the kids, then. See you in..." he checked his watch, "...eight minutes."

If that isn't a conditioned response, I don't know what is.

Maybe Echo saw it before in another person when he was doing a previous food run. A few customers gave off the same kind of air, after all, and their overall satisfaction with food service was always a tossup.

At the same time, that faint sense of recognition said he'd seen this man's face. Seen that eerily similar expression.

There were many faces in the city. For all he knew, they could've seen each other in passing. Wasn't too hard to run into anyone that way.

While it continued to bug him, Echo nodded. "Eight minutes."

Eight minutes was both long and short to prepare for anything worthwhile. But he was going to try, mentally going over everything he knew while he waited.

The principal stepped up to the podium as a few of the other teachers directed students to their seats, gave them Looks for having their phones out, rolled their eyes when the phones were turned to reveal an open Notepad app and wide, innocent eyes, and finally flicked the cafeteria lights on and off for attention. The room quieted and the principal cleared his throat.

"Afternoon, everyone! It's quite a special day for all of us. No doubt you appreciate the break from regular classes, but I expect everyone to be attentive and well behaved because we have an exceptional guest speaker here today. I'm sure you'll make him feel welcome. Feel free to take notes, yes, even with your phones, provided the volume is off, but do save questions for later. Mr. Echo? The room is yours."

With that, the Principal stepped down and offered the podium, presuming Echo has finished panicking and is standing by. And if not...well, that could be a little awkward.

Strange how fast the last few minutes flew by in a snap. Off to the side, Echo looked up, hearing the principal's voice over the sound system.

Swallowing at the lump that formed in his throat, he squared his shoulders, walking up to the podium with a nod of his head. "Thank you, Principal Riley," he said, voice echoing (hah) within range of the microphone. While the sound made him more aware of how loud it was going to be, his eyes briefly scanned the crowd of students and teachers packed together for the event.

If there was a chance to back out, he missed that window ten minutes ago.

Echo cleared his throat. "Looks like all of you lucked out today, so I'll try to make this as painless as possible," he began with a slight laugh. "As you already know, my name's Echo. I'm a deliveryman. Courier, runner, what-have-you – I'm a person who delivers things. Food, for instance. I'm sure all of you are familiar with the concept if you have an app like GrubDash on your phone."

The words came a little easier now that he got rolling. "In fact, I came here today because I had to drop off some trays. Suddenly, I'm here and we're having this assembly. I digress – " he held his hands up for a second, letting them rest on top of the podium, "–it's not the most glamorous job in the world, but it's doable if you set your mind to it..."

He went on to talk about what he dealt with on a daily basis, giving enough details on how ordering worked without getting too deep into it. Although he felt like it was going on forever, he probably didn't even reach whatever the maximum length of time some speakers broke past too often. Because he really wasn't sure what else he could talk about without boring everyone to death.

"So," Echo clapped his hands together, glancing about the room. "That's about it, really. I can take questions if you have them?"

Something about this whole thing - the speech, the subject, the speaker, not to mention how impromptu it seemed (but it wasn't really, was it?) - seemed terribly off. But Drake just kept nodding approvingly, despite how wrong it seemed. Weren't they suppposed to have been expecting the president? A senator? A disgustingly rich business mogul, of which there seemed to be a few too many for one small city?

"Sanja..." he whispered to a teacher standing beside him, "...I'm not sure he was supposed to speak today."

"His name is on the list, Mr. Riley."

"Doctor."

"Excuse me?"

"It's Doctor Riley."

Sanja gave a quiet, nervous giggle. "Uhh. No, sir, you're not a doctor. You're the principal of the school. Always have been."

Drake pinched his thumb and first two fingers together, stabbing them in the air with an irritated hiss. "See there-there-there it is again. Principal of the School, always have been, why is that always...always reinforcing itself?"

Sanja looked alarmed. "Always.........what?"

"Nevermind. Useless..." he muttered, turning his eyes back to Echo. The students gave a small, scattered applause, but they looked as confused as he felt, and Drake couldn't help but think he was going to get some angry calls from parents later.

But why? He was on the list, wasn't he?

It wasn't half-bad. It wasn't half-good either, but it wasn't a complete train wreck. Also, no questions meant Echo could leave faster.

He gave the audience an informal salute as he turned to free up the podium, meeting Principal (Doctor) Riley's gaze to let him know he was going, mildly joking as he leaned in to whisper.

"Maybe the next guest will get a better reception– "

There was something about the man's expression that made him pause. He felt like he'd seen it before, but that couldn't be, not when this was the first time they've met.

–Second time?

...No. First time.

"Everything alright here?"

The gaze that Drake was giving Echo might have looked calculating, but it was, as Echo had felt, the same one he'd had on when he'd first emerged from that cave-like offshoot of the mine and been given some very concerning information to process: annoyed, confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little afraid.

"Hey, how'd you end up in there?"

The voice popped into his head unbidden, and though it was obscured by memory and a strange, radio-transmission-like filter, he thought it sounded an awful lot like the man in front of him.

Drake frowned deeply.

"I don't know."

Similar tone, similar accents and inflections. Like they talked over the phone.

Meanwhile a fleeting image of a dirt-smudged and disoriented Drake passed after he blinked, returning to the deepening frown the principal currently wore. And something about a head injury...where did that come from?

...A coincidence. Simply a coincidence.

He tried to shake off the feeling with a halfhearted grin. "One of those days, huh?" Aware that there were still eyes watching the front, he gave a nod, stepping back so that he could leave.

"Yeahh..." Drake said slowly. "One of those days." More like several of those days. Maybe a week. Or a month. Or- who even knows? All he could say was that things had seemed just slightly out-of-phase, so to speak (where did that expression come from?), for quite a long time. At least as long as he'd lived in the city, which... He suddenly realised he had no clue how long that was. And lately, things were feeling more and more like a puzzle piece that had been crammed forcibly into the wrong space.

It was perfectly normal to have a private delivery driver make a speech before the student body. And yet it definitely wasn't.

"Sorry - uh. Yes, right this way." Drake moved aside for Echo to have some space and started walking. Hoping he sounded casual, he asked, "So how long have you been a courier?"

Are you quite sure that's what you are?

One thing was evident: Drake and Echo were functioning on two different levels. Whatever made the principal fret didn't seem to affect him at all.

Although the question forced him to think about it, not once catching onto the fact Drake was doing his best to conceal his mental restlessness. "For about...I'd say almost two years, give or take a month."

That was his answer, and he sounded sure. Very sure it was the truth.

Wasn't it?

"Two years," Drake repeated, "give or take a month?"

That wasn't a comforting answer for him, because he'd noticed that the further back he tried to remember his life, the fuzzier it got. Which wouldn't ordinarily be too unusual, especially approaching childhood, except that the fuzziness began only a couple of weeks ago, getting worse until Drake found he couldn't remember a single tangible, concrete memory beyond three weeks ago, perhaps four.

He knew certain things: He was a high school principal. He had a masters in educational administration. He enjoyed malty lagers in moderation. He had a golden Labrador named Champ. His favorite vacation had been an Alaskan cruise on a Norwegian ship. At the same time, he couldn't actually remember these things. He couldn't remember earning the degree, drinking a beer, getting the dog, or going on a cruise. They felt like placeholders for established events in his timeline that hadn't been fleshed out yet. As if he were someone else's character that had been developed just enough for a guest appearance but not enough to join the main cast.

Give or take a month. Something in him wanted to test that.

"How did you get into it? If you my mind my asking."

"The estimate may not be entirely accurate. I mean, time moves so fast you lose track of it."

It made sense to him, anyway. Echo felt like it was both long and short all at once, but it didn't particularly bother him. He moved around a lot when he was younger and that wasn't easy for his parents when they had three other boys of varying age, but they somehow managed. That at least gave him an advantage during road trips where he'd rarely bat an eye at the distance being traveled.

He found it kind of strange for the principal to have a passing interest in his life, arching a brow as he replied. "Eh, you know how it goes. You move into a new city to start a new chapter in your life, tryin' to find your footing while keeping track of the ebb an' flow of society at its finest. And after holding a few jobs, you quickly find yourself questioning why you even left in the first place before trying again."

Drake does not know how that goes. He's only ever lived in one city and had one job, so he looks at Echo a bit dubiously.

"You're a drifter, then."

Echo paused, then shrugged. "I guess I am," he chuckled. "Although I don't mind sticking around here for a while."

Drake stopped and turned and stuck his hands in his pockets with a tilted, scrutinising look.

"And - forgive me for asking, but...you don't get the occasional feeling like you're meant to be doing something else?"

He wouldn't have asked such a forward question, except that he was sure he'd met this person before, though he couldn't for the life of him place his face.

By the look of it, he wasn't offended by Drake's forwardness. The question was one he didn't hear very often, maybe because other people never bothered to ask.

He also stopped, leaving a gap between the principal and himself. "...I won't lie. The thought's crossed my mind a few times."

"And did the thought include any suggestion as to what that might be?"

Drake had almost no idea, himself, but he was sure he wasn't meant to be an educational administrator.

There was one. It was a suggestion Echo didn't want to return to...but at the same time, he did.

Instead of disclosing that much, he chose to shrug. "Nothing clear enough to pursue at the moment, sir."

Drake pursed his lips. "Sir. Mm. ... Well!" He suddenly changed tack and tone and plastered on a friendly, upbeat face. "I'd better let you get back to your day. Sorry to keep you."

Maybe he was just going crazy.

It was an odd shift, all too abrupt, all too visible and highly suspect from what they had just discussed mere seconds ago. Echo managed a polite smile with the dismissal, one brow furrowing slightly as he nodded.

Maybe it was nothing. He met strange people almost every day. This was probably no different, and the man had a whole school to run. "It's no problem, Mr. Riley," he replied easily, giving him an informal salute as he turned to go find his motorcycle. "Thanks for having me, I guess."

Director Starling was used to these sort of things - it didn't mean she had to like them. The board still wanted her to do the old bow-and-scrape, even after her promotion, and it ruffled her feathers. This sort of thing was for the lower echelon, now, some intern who still had all the fresh-faced love for the gig that recruiting deserved. But, no, she had to put on a good face, swap her favorite boots for Louboutins, and put her best foot forward.

She dressed to kill, even if it wasn't tactical gear - a pencil skirt in sharp navy with just a pop of white, a blazer with a red camisole underneath for modesty, vibranium stars at her ears that had been a gift from Tony Stark himself, and a matching brooch of the SHIELD logo. She was waiting just outside the office as Drake stepped out, and - had she been here before? She felt for the briefest moment that she knew him.

"Principal Riley," she said, shaking off the odd feeling. "I'm Director Starling, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Director," he acknowledged, holding out a hand. But before he could get anything else out, he paused and looked a little stunned. Possibly it was because of how expensively she was dressed (he knew there was something special about those shoes), possibly it was because wow, she was hot (did he have a thing for redheads? when did that happen?), but most probably, it was because for a split second, he got the briefest image in his mind of a dark place, like a cave, and this woman's face, lit up brightly, eyes scrunched shut, a hand coming up to provide shade. Eyes, Riley. In a flash, the thought was gone, and he thought to himself that he really needed to get more sleep.

"Uh- yes! Director Starling, of course. Welcome. Forgive me, it's been a busy morning. If you'll follow me." He started down the hall, shifting a stack of papers under his arm without realizing that he didn't even know what they were. "The students are still assembling, but," he checked his watch, "they should be settled and ready by the time we get there."

Sure enough, one of the teachers was just seeing the last students to their seats when they arrived.

"If you'll pardon me, ma'am. Just going to introduce you to the students."

The chattering died down as another teacher turned the lights off and then on for attention, and the principal began his address.

"Good afternoon, everyone. It's quite a special day for all of us; we have an honored guest here to speak today, and it is my distinct pleasure to introduce her to you. Director Starling is known for her work and innovative advancement of S.H.I.E.L.D., which, as you know, has been protecting our country from terrorist threats for many years. I'm sure you'll all remain on your best behavior and show Director Starling and her entourage every respect. Feel free to take notes, but please put everything else away, and save your questions for the conclusion of the Director's speech." He stepped down.

As she listened to him and followed, her heels clacking against the worn linoleum that seemed to have been the same in every high school from coast to coast, she got the strange feeling that something was off. Like one of them wasn't themselves. She didn't even know why, she'd only just met the man. But he was right, it had been a busy morning, and the Starbucks they'd stopped at hadn't put enough shots in her macciato. She was flagging, especially after having to make an unplanned detour to chase and harangue Stark at his company building. That was a train of thought she did not want to be riding on the way to a public speaking engagement, so she shut it behind a little door. Somehow, she'd always been very good at compartmentalizing things, putting them away until she needed them, but for some reason, whenever she picked them up again there'd be a tiny, high sound from behind whatever door she opened, like a scream...

Focus, Starling. Clarice is on a roll, Clarice has got control. She brought her mind to heel just as the lights in the auditorium flickered, and she couldn't help but smile a little at the thought that the signal wasn't necessarily just for the students.

"Thank you for such a warm welcome, Principal Riley," she said, stepping up to the podium and automatically reaching to adjust the microphone for height. "And good morning to all of you. I know some of you could care less about an assembly, and you don't need to hear some adult telling you they used to have to go to assemblies, too. I'm going to spare you all that. I'm also not going to talk down to you as though this is an elementary school and say Okay, who likes superheroes. I'm going to do exactly what got me this position I hold: I'm going to give it to you straight, and I'm going to listen to your questions, and whether or not you pay me a lick of attention is your choice." Her voice had a military cadence and the no-nonsense steel of authority, but somehow she seemed to temper and intertwine it with a warmth that made it less abrasive.

"You all know what S.H.I.E.L.D is, more or less, from the news and from T.V. and pretty much everywhere. But most of you see our frontline heroes, folks like Captain America, or our soldiers on the ground who provide support. What you don't see is that S.H.I.E.L.D needs all types of people: we have engineers creating those helicarriers and technological innovations we use to keep you all safe, seamstresses making uniforms to fit, copywriters working hand-in-hand with the press, carpenters building our facilities, and even culinary staff keeping us all well-fed and fuled for the challenges we face. Not only that, but we have a vast archive that needs tending and organizing, and there are regions of the world and concepts beyond it that have yet to be discovered or explored. What I am getting at is that given enough sit-down time with each and every one of you, I could find you a place with us that you would genuinely enjoy, which would play on your strengths and build you not only a career, but a life and a strong support group. The difference between us and something like the Army, Navy, or Marines? It's that we're not just hard, fast basic training in the name of protection - which is not to dunk on anything your Principal said when he introduced me. We're an agency of discovery and innovation just as much as we are one of security. Mr. Riley said that I've advanced S.H.I.E.L.D, but I respectfully submit to you that that isn't true. I've just been trying to give America a much broader, complete, honest picture of what we do here. And if you like what you see in that picture, we'd be happy to have you."

She paused, feeling like she'd done well, despite wondering if saying 'dunk on' was a little too much of an effort to sound relatable.

"That wasn't too painful, now, was it. Any questions out there? Anyone snoring?"

Throughout the Director's speech, Drake checked his watch repeatedly, but just as he realized that it was probably very rude and he oughtn't be doing it, he realized that it wasn't because he was feeling impatient. For some reason, he was finding himself reminded of coronal mass ejections and thinking deeply about black holes and the moment he was aware of it, all the strange numbers and letters and mind boggling calculations were whisked away, suddenly inaccessible.

What was that? What was 'string theory'? Did it have something to do with shoes? What was frustrating was that it felt like he'd been on the brink of understanding something incredible about black holes and quantum gravity and emergent space-time, but now it was gone, but that was fine because he was the Principal of the School and always had been.

And then Starling was done and asking for questions and comments and he straightened up, looking sharply into the audience as if expecting someone to make a loud snoring noise; but then he berated himself when the response was just a light smattering of applause and some chuckling. Because of course these were good kids, weren't they? Of course they were.

A boy raised his hand. Jerod, wasn't it?

"'Scuse me, ma'am. Is it like an enlistment thing, like with the military?"

"Do they pay for required education?"

"Is being a scientist really just a desk job?"

Drake bristled at that lesat question. For some reason.

She took each question in turn, and somehow it felt odd, as if she should be the one asking the questions. As if ... being in charge was like a shirt that was just a little too -

Is Catherine Martin a big girl? Roomy?

What in the hell had that been, that voice buzzing like a quick-strike matchbook, full of dangerous sparks? She took a sip of the provided glass of water to cover.

"Only if you choose to enlist in the combat division. Development and other divisions are purely voluntary, though anyone can transition from combat into something else once they've been trained."

That dovetailed nicely with her second question, and she gave the student who'd asked it a gracious, particularly grateful smile. "There is a list of approved degrees and study paths - I've brought brochures for your Principal to keep in the office if you're interested in looking at it."

The third and final question had her squinting against the auditorium lights, trying to make eye contact with whoever had asked. "Well, I'm not sure who gave you that impression, but I sincerely hope it wasn't your science teacher, and that in the very high chance it was not, you owe them an apology. Science needs to be tested, not just worked up on graph paper or a chalkboard. Sure, you need to know a lot of math and be sure that you can work complicated diagrams for several fields, but you can't even make a paper airplane without flying it to see if it works. We have several divisions of scientists who work out in the world, testing SHIELD's inventions and investigating any pertinent discoveries. You all know the story of how Captain America was brought back after so many decades in stasis - it was our scientists who went out, found him, returned him home, and revived him. I can assure you they didn't do that from behind a desk. Or stress-test our helicarriers against the force of the Queen of Thunder's hammer."

RDT&E.

What was that? What was

"Doctor, your research team has been invaluable in the development of the 302."

"I know, sir. I mean, uh...thank you."

"You're sure she's ready to fly?"

"Absolutely. Already signed off for testing and evaluation."

"And it's not going to strand anyone in the cold of space."

"Pff. HA! No. Of course n- oh, you weren't joking. No, uh...no, as you know, the previous model's recall device was deliberate sabotage, planted before it ever saw a hangar. This model was built right here, top to bottom. No sabotage possible."

"I was talking about the hyperspace technology."

"Oh! Yes, well, all simulations check out, and there're hundreds of safety protocols in place designed to anticipate every possible scenario. The technology is in its infancy, so the maiden flight'll be unmanned, of course, but every virtual model predicts..."

Drake stared off into space for some time, imagining the likelihood of his being insane climbing with every weird feeling or flashback he couldn't place. What was a 302? A recall device? Safety protocols and virtual models all sounded very serious and official, and he wasn't sure who was talking, but he had a terrible feeling it was him.

Finally, he leaned over to whisper something to his assistant, and left. It may not have been the best look, but he was starting to get jittery (probably just the extra coffee, he insisted) and felt like he would suffocate without a quick breath of fresh air.

A short while later, he was leaning against a support pillar by the front entrance, smoking a cigarette and watching a line of ants march across the walkway.

The Q&A wrapped up neatly, and as she left the stage, she saw a few of the assembly's students already speaking to their teachers and being handed brochures. Good, she thought. Even a few more future operatives meant it hadn't been a waste of her time. She wanted, however, to follow her usual impeccable good manners and thank the Principal for his time. A quick conversation with the assistant told her where he'd gone, and after a quick stop in the office for a Dixie cup of cold water, she joined him, sipping at the waxy, coiled rim and feeling the coolness slide down her throat, grounding her in the same way the smoke must have been grounding him.

She followed his gaze down to the ants and chuckled softly. "The week ends, the week begins," Starling said.

Thoroughly distracted in watching the ants, Drake jolted up straight when Starling spoke, and began stubbing the cigarette out.

"Director! Terribly sorry, excuse the smoke. I'm ah...I'm trying to quit. Just one away, you know!" He added with a sheepish grin. "I'm glad you're here, actually. I wanted to apologize for leaving your address early. I got uh....I just needed some fresh air. To. ... Contaminate with cigarette smoke."

"It's alright. I work with plenty of smokers, and you're a busy man. Must be nice to be able to steal a minute. No offense taken in the least. I just wanted to come thank you for your time."

She could sense the faintest hint of a lie, but she wasn't sure if it was because he mentioned trying to quit, or something else.

"...be able to steal a minute."

Drake seemed to zone out for a moment or two.

"What's happened?"

"Alpha was exploring that Ancient lab on P3X-"

"Short version, Gene, I haven't slept in three days."

There was a pause that got perilously close to being awkward before he snapped out of it. "..............Oh! ......... Right, yes! That's- Sorry you had to come looking for me. I really shouldn't be smoking right beside the school, it's against policy. I've been having some very um. ... Well, it's nothing. But how about that speech! Quite engaging, kids seemed interested. You think it went well?"

"Sorry you had to come looking for me..."

He was prattling, nervous diarrhea of the mouth, Starling realized. The zoning out seemed to be a frequent occurrence, and her brow knitted in concern. What was this guy's --

"If you're working with Crawford, Starling, you should know what the deal is with him - do you know?"

"I really don't."

"He's got a lot on his mind besides Buffalo Bill."

Damn, now it was her turn. What in Sam Hill was going on? She pulled herself up out of the sudden fugue and glanced around, her SHIELD senses tingling.

"Well enough for a school presentation, yes ... tell me, Dr. Riley ... has anything odd been happening around the grounds lately?"

She was so concerned with hunting the anomaly that she didn't realize she'd just unconsciously added to it, herself.

There was a moment, just one moment, when Drake noticed her sudden distractedness and recognized it as his own. He turned his head, eyes wide, and was about to latch onto it with a loud exclamation when something else she said caught his attention.

"What? The grounds? No, I don't- don't think... Doctor?" He gave a low chuckle, "I'm flattered, Miss Starling, but I'm not a doctor. I'm the principal...of..." As he said it, he began to slow down and trail off with a far away frown, as if perhaps it was a line he'd heard before. "...the school. Always have been..." The frown deepened.

Why did it seem like that thought was always reinforcing itself? Like it had a will of its own.

"Did I say -- oh, for goodness sakes," she breathed out an exasperated sigh. "I'm so sorry, I must be meeting with a Doctor of something-or-other later and it slipped out. My schedule's been ridiculous lately."

He wasn't the only one with thoughts with will of their own, apparently. She wanted to try and fight what she was saying, for just the briefest moment, and a tiny line appeared in her brow as she spoke, as though she didn't quite believe herself.

She hesitated for a moment, breathing in. Did you just have a moment where you felt like you were having memories that weren't yours, too? She meant to ask it, she really did, but what came out instead was...

"With that in mind, I should leave you to your day, Mr. Riley."

"Yyyyyyes..." he said slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on her face.

"Before you go...what do you mean by odd things about the grounds? Have you noticed anything?"

It may have been nothing, since she'd yet to hear or see anything else out of the ordinary, but ... maybe it was that Archivist and his strange mothcats. That was a distinct possibility.

"The problem in heading a division which deals with superpowers and otherworldly advances, Principal Riley, is that it's hard to be specific when asking people to look out for things. But schools are relatively routine places ... so it'd be easier to spot something that doesn't quite follow that routine, if you get my drift. Someone acting not quite themselves, or maybe more easily distracted than usual. Changes in patterns of behavior."

Drake sucked his lips in and stared off into the middle distance.

"Of course..." he finally said. Then, very slowly, "But...what if 'routine,' or....'themselves,'.....isn't...what it's supposed to be. He looked askance at her with an expression that was halfway hopeful that she followed what he meant and halfway worried that he was insane and everyone could tell.

For the briefest moment, when their eyes met, she felt like they were somewhere else: somewhere bright and busy and bustling, several conversations in different languages floating around them in the background. Then the odd feeling passed, but her heart did a loop-de-loop in her chest.

"What if," she echoed, frowning. "Dr. Riley ... when did this start happening? Just between you and I?"

Instead of immediately answering her question, Drake pointed at Clarice with wide eyes.

"See, there it is again! Dr. Riley, that's the second time you've said that. I have a masters degree in educational administration, but..." He looked suddenly a little panicked, running a hand through his hair and casting his gaze back and forth rapidly. '...but I don't remember earning it! And I'm just as certain that 'Doctor Riley' sounds....I don't know, correct. Some - somehow."

When did this start, she'd asked.

Things had seemed off for as long as he could remember, which would obviously have been his whole life. Right? Or at least as long as he'd lived in the city.

How long was that, again?

Come to think of it, how far back could he remember?

"I...I-I-I don't..." He shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. Awhile? I can't even remember anything past....maybe a month ago."

He was acting spastic, she realized. As though he wasn't entirely stable. Logic told her to call someone else over, to bring him to HQ to get diagnosed, to see if he'd been affected by some sort of power or supernatural effect.

But then there was the fact that everything he was saying was making her think, too. Normally she could keep a level head around anyone affected by what some at SHIELD coloquially called The Weirdness ... this was different, somehow. She tried to answer her own questions, and found similar answers. She tried to remember the ceremony when she'd officially inherited her title and role, but ... instead she saw flashbulbs, smelled carnations, saw a cake with a very different logo.

"Doctor-" somehow the word Lecter almost rolled off her tongue instead. She stopped herself. Why? That had been her mentor's name in SHIELD, the one who'd taught her -- taught her what?

"I'm finding the same. I don't like this." Was it him? Riley? Did he have an ability he wasn't aware of? Her defenses slammed down into place and she took a step backwards, away from him.

For a moment, Drake looked at her with the hope of a man alone in the desert suddenly seeing another person. But when she stepped back, the mirage vanished, and a look of disproportionate heartbreak passed clearly across his face.

A woman that he didn't recognize, but somehow knew he loved, was stepping away from him. There must have been a fight, or cruel words, or a rejection, because he didn't think he could feel such unbearable pain as the vision caused.

Without knowing why, he moved as if to reach out to her but stopped himself.

"'Drea..."

There was far too much sadness packed into those two syllables than they had any right to contain, and Drake still had no idea who 'Drea was or why she evoked such disappointment.

"I- ... I'm sorry. I'm"

I'm not mad.

"...am I mad?"

That sadness broke her heart, even as it confused her, and she immediately felt bad for stepping away.

Do you think if you save Catherine Martin's little girl, maybe they'll stop screaming, Clarice?

"Oh, God." She dragged a hand over her face, tried to stay cool, tried to be a professional. What would her predecessor have done? Shit house mouse, he would have turned around and walked the hell away, and God help her, a part of her wanted to do that too. But she wanted to know why their minds were behaving this way, and that might take time. She couldn't answer either of their questions in that moment. And in that, she saw her out. She saw it, and grasped it, and felt like a coward even though it was the proper thing to do.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Riley. I am. If you're mad so am I, but - I need to talk to some folks at SHIELD. See if they've gotten any similar reports. We can't jump to any conclusions, it would do more harm than good."

She reached into her pocket and took out her business card case, holding one out to him. Hopefully he would see it as a lifeline, not a dismissal. "I do have to go, but ... please. Keep in touch."

He took the card and held it close to himself, not quite knowing how he should see the gesture, but suddenly feeling very exposed and very foolish. He'd scared her away. Bang up job, mate, bloody excellent, gold star. Of course she was off. He would be, too, if some nutter suddenly went barking mad and started foaming at the mouth like that. What was he thinking?

Well, he wasn't, obviously. Thinking.

It was far too late for any sort of recovery, but although his stomach felt like it was filled with sodden tennis netting, Drake put on the only face he knew how to in difficult situations, anyway.

Be calm.

He gave a fortifying cough and a wide, sheepish grin.

Carry on.

"Of course! I am sorry to have kept you." He said, tucking the business card into a back pocket where it'd very likely go through the wash before he'd go searching for it in a blind panic after another 'episode.'

He could feel how against his nature it was to have a brave face securely fastened on, and yet how it was as familiar as putting on a comfortable old pair of shoes.

"I'll call if anything new happens." (The principal sucked in a deep breath) "At any rate," (and blew out as much pain and anxiety as he could, disguised as a sigh through pursed lips) "I'd better be getting back to the salt mine, myself. Cheers!"

And with a friendly wave and a practiced smile, he turned back to the doors to head inside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Everything tragic, take it away

I'm so sorry

I love it tho.

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(oh man, I'm sorry this took me so lonnnngg)

It's okay~ Some tags take time :>

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One Guest Speaker

Re: One Guest Speaker

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Figure this to be either a good place to end, or find him outside and data mine with her superpower!

Maybe a little bit of data mining? Not enough to break either of them yet, but ... just a little XD

Re: Maybe a little bit of data mining? Not enough to break either of them yet, but ... just a littl

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oh no now I love these two even more why did you do that

I'M SORRY I can't help it i love tragedy