dr_riley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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revivalproject2021-06-07 03:10 pm
dr_riley) wrote in revivalproject2021-06-07 03:10 pm
It's just another day
WHO: Drake and whoever happens to find him, despite his best efforts
WHERE: Cave/Research office/”Severe” subdivision
WHAT: Coping via avoidance and overworking
WHEN: Post-Event
WARNINGS: None as of yet
Off the prison bus
It hadn’t been the first time that Drake had felt helpless, but his time in the false reality had been one of few times he’d look back on and feel he’d been utterly useless. The entire time, he remembered having an underlying knowledge that everything was wrong, somehow. That his thoughts weren’t his own, but were reinforcing themselves with their own will.
At night, he dreamed of a standing pool of bright water, and during the day, strange letters and numbers, symbols, words and concepts popped into his conscious mind. He was constantly having flashbacks that weren’t his. And underlining it all was a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something much more important than approving cafeteria menus and developing a standardized curriculum. Something grander than the heroes. Bigger than the city. Vaster and more humbling than any petty human constructs, rituals, or squabbles between nations on Earth.
Now he knew what it was, and that he was separated from it, stranded with no way home. Fresh from emerging from the invasive and frightening effects of a complete memory stamp. Like everyone else still milling, confused, embarrassed, or disappointed, nearby.
Drake retreated to a nearby wall and stood against it like a mouse seeking safety and stayed still there for a long time, looking listless and shell shocked.
Research offices
So rather than do something healthy, like talk about it, he did what he always did when he didn’t want to think: he worked.
In the monastic silence of an old research lab, he sat in a corner on the floor with his knees drawn up in the twilit semi-darkness of emergency lighting, surrounded by clips and cables and scribbled notes about Agrii technology that he thought were important and complex enough that he might not be able to figure them out on his own if he gave up his current expertise. A few power and/or control crystals lay in a carefully arranged pattern beside him and his face was uplit from his tablet while he ran diagnostics and recalibrated various systems on the mobile probe he’d brought back from Coruscant. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was probably either very late or very early, judging by how hunger and exhaustion had come and, finding themselves ignored, gone away again.
Needless to say, he was not expecting anyone to find him.
Green Sector Residences
He would also attempt to explore the strange, fenced in complex nearby in an effort to find out if there was any usable equipment within. An armoury. Intact lab equipment. Any records indicating what it used to be. Or maybe just a room that looked comfortable and safe to inhabit.
From the outside, Drake might be seen trying to find a way through or over the fence, and if there isn’t already a hole or a gate, he isn’t above taking bolt cutters to it if he can find a pair.
From the inside, he could be observed by the unsteady waving of a flashlight as he makes his way through dim, cracking hallways, testing doors and elevators, trying water faucets and light switches, and hoping that the floor doesn’t collapse beneath him.
He probably should have put out a network post calling for help to scour the place; if nothing else, it would let everyone now where he was in case something happened to him. But he wasn’t always the most careful with his own safety.
WHERE: Cave/Research office/”Severe” subdivision
WHAT: Coping via avoidance and overworking
WHEN: Post-Event
WARNINGS: None as of yet
Off the prison bus
It hadn’t been the first time that Drake had felt helpless, but his time in the false reality had been one of few times he’d look back on and feel he’d been utterly useless. The entire time, he remembered having an underlying knowledge that everything was wrong, somehow. That his thoughts weren’t his own, but were reinforcing themselves with their own will.
At night, he dreamed of a standing pool of bright water, and during the day, strange letters and numbers, symbols, words and concepts popped into his conscious mind. He was constantly having flashbacks that weren’t his. And underlining it all was a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something much more important than approving cafeteria menus and developing a standardized curriculum. Something grander than the heroes. Bigger than the city. Vaster and more humbling than any petty human constructs, rituals, or squabbles between nations on Earth.
Now he knew what it was, and that he was separated from it, stranded with no way home. Fresh from emerging from the invasive and frightening effects of a complete memory stamp. Like everyone else still milling, confused, embarrassed, or disappointed, nearby.
Drake retreated to a nearby wall and stood against it like a mouse seeking safety and stayed still there for a long time, looking listless and shell shocked.
Research offices
So rather than do something healthy, like talk about it, he did what he always did when he didn’t want to think: he worked.
In the monastic silence of an old research lab, he sat in a corner on the floor with his knees drawn up in the twilit semi-darkness of emergency lighting, surrounded by clips and cables and scribbled notes about Agrii technology that he thought were important and complex enough that he might not be able to figure them out on his own if he gave up his current expertise. A few power and/or control crystals lay in a carefully arranged pattern beside him and his face was uplit from his tablet while he ran diagnostics and recalibrated various systems on the mobile probe he’d brought back from Coruscant. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was probably either very late or very early, judging by how hunger and exhaustion had come and, finding themselves ignored, gone away again.
Needless to say, he was not expecting anyone to find him.
Green Sector Residences
He would also attempt to explore the strange, fenced in complex nearby in an effort to find out if there was any usable equipment within. An armoury. Intact lab equipment. Any records indicating what it used to be. Or maybe just a room that looked comfortable and safe to inhabit.
From the outside, Drake might be seen trying to find a way through or over the fence, and if there isn’t already a hole or a gate, he isn’t above taking bolt cutters to it if he can find a pair.
From the inside, he could be observed by the unsteady waving of a flashlight as he makes his way through dim, cracking hallways, testing doors and elevators, trying water faucets and light switches, and hoping that the floor doesn’t collapse beneath him.
He probably should have put out a network post calling for help to scour the place; if nothing else, it would let everyone now where he was in case something happened to him. But he wasn’t always the most careful with his own safety.
Re: (she is sass incarnate, I thank you)
"Yes. I know. I actually... I have it already." Then he turned to face her and raised his voice defensively.
"But it was the only efficient way. I could have learned it on my own, I'm completely certain, but this was...was a lot faster, you know, and I'm writing down everything that would have taken me too long to work out on my own so I can get the wretched thing out of my head."
no subject
"Of course. ... Though, uh ... I heard tell the only way to get one Data Point erased from your head is to use 'nother one."
no subject
Besides which, he abhorred the idea that his many years of study and his natural gift for learning and understanding was made not just redundant, but utterly pointless. It was an affront to everything he'd dedicated his life to.
That's why it had been a complete accident during an attempt to study the Data Point and perhaps find a way to download the information to his tablet instead, where he could safely study it and learn from it.
Now, he was trying desperately to see the bright side of having his greatest asset crammed with unwanted information like a marinade injector. It was efficient and he could record everything he knew - which...may take awhile and several novel length textbooks - but then he could be rid of the awful thing and hope it didn't take anything important with it, like his gross motor skills or the word 'the.'
Upon mention that he may not be able to remove the information after all, Drake turned a slow, concerning shade of green and his stomach felt like it was full of upset bees.
"Where did you hear that?"
no subject
She looked over his shoulder at the ruins as she tried to remember, so that she wouldn't be staring at him and making him uncomfortable. She could understand how unnerved he'd be: touching the Agriculture point had been an experience, as well, and she'd nearly passed out from the effort of trying to absorb it all. So many names, facts, figures... she could only imagine how much more complicated an Engineering point would be. He couldn't have been feeling well.
"I think it was Jonathan, you know, the Archivist. Either him or Cobb." Clarice shifted her gaze back to him. "Do you wanna sit down for a second? You look like you're about to keel."
no subject
"I don't- ... I think..."
Fortunately, he felt it early enough to prevent it by sliding down to the ground and taking deep breaths, idly balling and relaxing his fists repeatedly in an effort to lift his blood pressure.
"I'm fine."
He let out a whoosh of air and pulled himself up.
"Let's get over this fence."
He'd deal properly what she'd told him later. Right now, fretting that he'd never be able to remove the data point wasn't going to help.