thisavrou | [Voice]

[With all of the quantum shenanigans Elizabeth has ever been involved with, this has to be the one that feels the strangest.]

[The doctor and nurses had been uncomfortably nice, even though Elizabeth had reassured them that they didn't have to treat her delicately. If this was a tragedy, she had no point of reference to mourn it. Seeing them give each other significant, sad glances was only irritating. What was possibly even more annoying though was that Elizabeth waited for the memory of her previous self to come back to her... but it wasn't. If she'd been here before, if she'd broken the rules again, memories of what she'd been like, what she'd said, how she'd died-- they would have been there. Sooner rather than later. But days went by and nothing came. She wandered around the hospital, the staff asked if she wanted to contact someone ("Who do you suggest?" she'd ask, and they would usually shrink back. No one knew who to call), and the day the 'Ingress technician' stopped by asking to talk to her she smelled a scientist and refused to let him in the room. The next day they suggested she go back to her apartment.]

[They drove her to a nice place, that they informed her she'd purchased, and once she'd been inside for a few minutes and her vitals remained stable, they took their leave to let her "get reacquainted".]

[And there she was with the strangest feeling in the world: not knowing what happened to her here.]

[There's an entire room of books-- which makes sense immediately, but the collection is the most eclectic thing she's ever seen. There are clothes in a hamper, rotting food in an ice box, dying plants on a porch, a wadded up blanket and many, many empty mugs. She was lonely, even before her apartment went abandoned for days. Did anybody know her?]

[The basic functions of the device on her wrist were explained to her on the ride to her apartment, but she's still unsure and careful as she makes selections and sets up a broadcast.]

This is Elizabeth DeWitt, formerly of the Moira's crew... [There's a long pause, and she finally realizes there's no way to avoid being straightforward.] ...I'm looking for anyone who knows me. There was an accident-- [Or incident, probably.] --and I've been told I left my timeline months ago and have been living elsewhere. Anyone who can shed some light on where I've been and what I've been doing... I'd like to speak with you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Do they?

For sure! Last time you were drunk rambling about how people leave you like a heartbroken fool and broadcasting a bar fight.

...I don't drink. [At least, as far as she's aware she doesn't. Booker's history with alcohol was enough to put her off of it, too much risk, too many bitter thoughts. Had she been so far gone that she'd gotten drunk and started a bar fight?]

Who are you?

Pfft. [Ok, how can you not laugh at claim like that. She hasn't forgotten the chat at bonfire during December. Though her next question casts a good light on situation.]

I'm J.

[Well. That laugh says volumes. What in the world happened to change her this much? Making friends, drinking? Making a public spectacle of herself?]

Alright then J, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt if you tell me how we came to know each other.

How? Oh dear. Well, the same way most of us met, I guess. We were both on Moira at the same time. [Although the number of those who still remember Moira has decreased into more small puddle. J might never admit it but the thought of losing yet another one does make her somewhat sad.]

You were little miss first mate there, remember?

That's what I've heard, though aside from a fairly nice apartment I'm not certain it counts for much anymore.

I must have cared though. I have a piece of the Moira in my apartment.

Well, it was our home for a good while. From what I picked out you were very attached to it and its system, more than most of us at least.

So. Which piece did you save?

Not surprised. I'm sure you know I get sentimental.

[It's a curse, as far as she's concerned. Feeling too much meant a loss of control, making mistakes, hurting people. At least in this case, it seems like the only one hurting was her.]

I'm not sure. It looks like maybe a piece of a hull? It's a scrap of metal, in any case. I found it on my dresser, wrapped and labeled.

For sure. Like I mentioned, your drunken rant about broken hearts really made an impression. [Now what kind, that is a whole another matter.]

Ah. Sounds like trash.

Great. [Elizabeth seems to take it in the way it was meant. At least, she happens to think that spilling her 'broken heart' all over a public place and then getting into a barfight is a negative thing.]

I imagine I could say the same about some of the things you keep around. But keeping something, however ridiculous it might seem-- [Crayon drawings, a brooch, a doll's head...] --signifies meaning.

Hey, no need to feel so bummed out. It's almost tradition for people post their sad lovesick rambles on network. [She says even though her voice is far from comforting. J doesn't really have much to say on about feeling lovesick or sad at this point but at least she doesn't make a public spectacle of it.]

How rude. I don't hold onto anything like that, dear. Sentimental trash would ruin my design.

Sounds like an invitation for bad advice. [She can imagine no scenario where crowd-sourcing advice on heartbreak or loneliness or really any kind of emotion could go well.]

Sure, 'like that', but I'd bet money you have something that you keep around that's meaningful. Maybe it's not what I have, but people attach meaning no matter who they are.

Oh, no don't be like that. They do say that misery loves company after all, and if nothing else. It makes great entertainment for the rest of us.

Sweetie. [She laughs] I will take you on that bet. It'll be your lost.

I won't argue that point, but if it's all the same I'd rather not be anybody's entertainment or miserable company.

Oh yeah? So, do you leave all your doors unlocked, or do you carry a key?

Maybe you should try to put yourself on the other perspective, then?

Actually, at the moment I don't. There's a program or something close to it that allows me in. But I get what you're trying to say and again, no use poking there. I don't get attached to places enough. [Biggest lie. Someone is still mourning for Moira]

Not my idea of entertainment, I'm afraid.

Oh no, I'm not talking about the place. [There's a sly smile in her voice.] I imagine you would lock your door with a key if we weren't in a place where these machines do it for us. That's an object you assign meaning to-- it ensures security. I'd imagine that since you have a machine do it here, you're at least fond enough of your space that you don't like the thought of someone violating it.

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