ArchivedLogs:The Otter and the Jedi

The Otter and the Jedi
Dramatis Personae Dorian Siccavil, Kismet	2013-09-09 New roommates bond. (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location TOP SECRET
This hall could be one of any, in some generic residential facility in some generic medical establishment. Bland tile on the floors, identical doors with numbers beside them and plastic slots to hold folders of information for the orderlies to identify the people inside. The tiny rooms beyond are identical, too; matching twinned cots with matching white sheets, matching plain wood chairs by their matching end tables, not much personality to any of them. Each comes with a bathroom, small and bare, too. Toilet. Washbasin. Tiny cube of shower with plastic floor and plastic sheet of curtain to pull across. The rooms all lack in windows to the outside, though, and the doors are suspiciously heavy, the small slat of glass set into them bulletproof-hard. The time of day is never exactly obvious in the windowless rooms of the Prometheus facility, but the lights had still been dimmed for sleep when the door to Dorian’s room had been opened by a pair of orderlies in crisp green scrubs and face masks. Despite his initial hesitation, they escorted him through the maze of near identical hallways filled with near identical doors, the pit of nervous fear growing in his stomach the further away from his typical room he got, as it always did. However, much to his relief, they stopped in front of another door, all but indistinguishable from the room they had just left. Another pair of orderlies, these with the same scrubs and masks, though wearing eye protection as well, opened the door and pushed the young man into the room, with little concern or courtesy, before closing and locking the door behind him. With no instructions, unsure of what his purpose in this move was to be, Dorian glances around, blinking curiously at his new, yet incredibly familiar surroundings. Still dressed in the rumpled green scrubs that were his pajamas, every day clothes, and all he had worn for the better part of a decade, he takes up a seat on an empty cot, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling his arms and tail around his legs to make himself smaller. His dark eyes scan the room - unable to focus in the somewhat low lighting, he is not entirely certain if he is alone, or has been made room mate to another test subject. And he just patiently waits - either for his room mate to make themselves known, or for the orderlies to come back to take him away to some other location in the facility, or for someone to be thrown into the room with him, as had happened often enough before. What initially appears to be a crumpled heap of clothing on the other cot shifts and stirs and finally rolls over. The young man is smallish, dark-skinned, and wearing the same jade green scrubs. He lies still for a moment, then sits up a bit unsteadily, as if drunk. He rubs his eyes and studies his new roommate for a moment before speaking. "Hello." His voice sounds dry and cracks a little. "I'm Kismet." The sudden movement of the fabric on the cot elicits a slight jump from Dorian, after which he curls himself into a slightly smaller ball on his own cot. Resting his chin on his kneecaps, the newcomer regards the other man with curiosity evident on his features, watching the wobbling motion from across the room. “Hi,” he says quietly, his voice relatively soft out of respect for the freshly awakened room mate, even if he does seem to chatter and bounce excitedly despite his curled up position, “I’m Dorian. Nice to meet you, Kismet. Sorry if you got woken up ‘cause I got dropped in here. They aren’t always the most considerate when they move people around and such.” "Don't worry about it. I'd rather be awake, anyway. I get sedated a lot." Kismet smiles broadly. "I figure putting me with a roommate who /isn't/ hostile probably counts as 'considerate' by their standards." He stands up, wobbling, and stretches. "I mean, I'm /assuming/ you're not hostile!" Even as he says this, he turns his back on Dorian to get a drink if water from the bathroom sink. “I don’t think I’m considered hostile? I don’t think I’m hostile, anyway. I’ve had a couple of people call me an annoying, um, well, there have been a lot of words that came after that one, but usually I’m just called annoying by some people. With a bit of a fill in the blank after that word, depending on who it is saying it,” Dorian prattles on for a few moments, watching as Kismet gets up to move for the water. “They used to sedate me a lot, when I first got here, I guess. Sorta not easy to remember, really, it was kinda frequent for a while, and, yeah. But now there’s a different doctor lady who is kinda in charge of me, I guess? She just lets them move me around to the rooms with the difficult subjects and stuff. Which means sometimes I get put in with some kinda hostile people. But they don’t let me near the really bad ones anymore, usually. She doesn’t anyway.” At this point, figuring that his roommate wasn’t going to launch at him in a fit of rage, he starts to uncurl a little, sitting cross legged on the cot, tail curled over his lap like a thick, fuzzy belt. He pets the tail, idly, as though it wasn't even a conscious movement, his quiet voice hesitant and cautious, “Um, you’re not hostile, um, right?” "I've been called an annoying such-and-such, too." Kismet splashes water on his face and dries it off. "OK, they mostly call me a /crazy/ such-and-such, but either way I wouldn't put much stock in the words of people who don't have anything better to say." Returning to his cot, he sits down on it cross-legged, mirroring Dorian but for his conspicuously upright posture and lack of a tail. "And no, I'm not hostile. A Jedi strives to cultivate serenity and compassion. Hostility is kind of bad for that." He says this matter-of-factly, as if discussing the right tool for a particular repair. Dorian listens and nods as he does, eyes following Kismet’s movements, although the notched ear twitches slightly at the sound of splashing water, disturbing the choppy mess of hair around it. He looks his room mate over curiously once he sits down, tilting his head to the side slightly at the answer, “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. I don’t like it when they pair me with violent people. It kinda never ends well for me.” The defeatist tone in his voice, along with the scars visible along his arms, backs up this statement, but he doesn’t dwell on it, instead returning the subject to Kismet’s statement, “So, um, what’s a Jedi?” Kismet frowns at the sight of the scars. He draws in a long breath, holds it, then lets it back out. "That doctor who is in charge of you now...she keeps you away from the violent ones?" He glances at the door as though expecting to see the doctor in question watching them through the narrow glass pane. "It must be hard to find people of conscience among the facility staff." He turns back to Dorian, blinking rapidly. "Jedi are basically warrior-monks dedicated to peace and harmony in the Force-- How long /have/ you been here?" Dorian node emphatically in agreement with the statement about his doctor, a shy smile on his lips, “Yeah. Doctor Kertis is actually really nice, or, um, I think she is. That usually gets me some odd looks when I say that.” He sheepishly ruffles his hair, scratching at the tag in his ear idly, “She’s the first one who actually talked to me while I was here. ‘fore that it was, um, I don’t remember a lot of it, just that no one would talk to me, and there’s times that I just don’t remember anything that was going on, ‘cept the really bright lights and pain. And the men with masks. They never talked. Not even among themselves that I could hear.” His ears flatten into his hair as he curls back up again at the memory, “When Doctor Kertis came, I was actually spoken to again. And then I got roommates, and had people to talk to and play with. She’d even let me actually swim sometimes, which is really fun.” In regards to timing, Dorian looks confused for a moment, looking down at his hands, “I don’t really have a way of knowing, really. I… I was almost 11 when my parents enrolled me in this study thing that was supposed to help me.” His ears flatten into the mop of hair again, and he frowns at his hands, tracing his thumb over the scarring on each finger, “I guess it’s been at least six or seven years, maybe? Don’t know how long it was before Doctor Kertis. Felt like forever.” Kismet clasps his hands together. "I'm glad you have someone watching over you now. That's a good thing to have." He sighs. "I've only been here one year, and it /already/ feels like forever! I don't know it says about me, or this place, but I'm more surprised you haven't seen /Star Wars/ than anything else." He is silent for a moment. "What was the study supposed to help you with, anyway?" “My parents were trying to take care of me. I… I don’t think they would have sent me away, they couldn’t have known what this place was, and sent me here,” Dorian says quietly, tail twitching as he speaks, “I’m, um, kind of easily distracted. And it’s contagious - I’m sort of distracting to those around me. Ok, I could be really distracting, because I’d just want to play with everyone, and talk, and get to make friends and play. And people would want to play with me, too, which was awesome, so even though I look kinda like a freak, I always had friends when I was a kid.” Dorian takes a deep breath, a tinge of a frown crossing his features as he continues, “The doctors in town said I had ADHD or something, when I was little, and it only got worse when I got into school, apparently partially due to my mutation. I got expelled, and my parents were poor, and from a rural area, so it’s not like they could really homeschool me. They… there wasn’t really anything else they could do, I think. Prob’ly think I’m dead by now.” He pets his tail, tucking it further around his ankles as he does this, nodding slightly at the Star Wars comment, “I’m, I know I’ve heard of it; there were movies, right?” he asks with a frown, continuing, “Didn’t have a TV at home, and the cinema in town was for really special occasions. So I haven’t really seen anything much. Especially not since I got here. They don’t exactly have movie night, in case you were wondering.” "Homeschooling," says Kismet, "is only as good as the teachers. I guess that goes for any kind of schooling, though my temple prefers 'unschooling'. It's a lot more friendly to people who can't sit still and stare at a blackboard for hours on end. I still ended up going to public school, but that was more for catching up on the stuff my homeschooling got all wrong." He stands up again, and looks almost like he intends to head for the door, but then does not move. "Maybe that's why I feel so energetic in the middle of the night. Do you mind if I exercise?" Without waiting for a reply, he starts stretching his arms and shoulders. "I'm sorry if I brought up a painful subject. I'm sure you'll see them again when we get out of here. And we'll have a /Star Wars/ marathon." “I guess so. Not like I really got to experience much of any kind of school, though at least Doctor Kertis has let me have textbooks and stuff to pass the time. Mostly math and science, which I’m sort of bad at, really. Occasionally I get to have a novel or something, or a language textbook. I like languages, means I get to talk to people in other places. Or I’d be able to, if I ever actually, y’know, got to go other places,” Dorian prattles on, settling back against the wall to give Kismet more room to stretch. “It’s not that painful of a subject, so I don’t mind talking about it, really. It’s a whole ‘nother lifetime ago, if that makes sense. Don’t really know if I could go back, really,” he pauses, watching Kismet for a moment curiously, “How’d you end up here?” "I like languages, too. Would you mind asking Doctor Kertis for some Spanish textbooks?" Kismet strips off his shirt, revealing a surprising amount of musculature for his unimpressive frame. "I was just starting to learn it before I came here. Got to practice a little with one of my roommates, so that was cool. Haven't met any French or Japanese speakers here, though." He drops down, does ten pushups in rapid succession, and follows with ten jumping jacks. When he speaks again, he does not sound out of breath. "I was on a mission with my master--my Jedi mentor--and we got caught up in a riot. I used the Force to get this kid to safety, and the next thing I knew I was getting thrown into an armored van. Thought the police had me at first, but, well..." A shrug, and another set of pushups/jumping jacks. "That makes sense. You can never really go back, anyway. Only go forward." He flashes a smile at Dorian. Dorian beams slightly at the mention of French language speakers, nodding for a moment, before answering in French,”{I can ask her the next time I see her. It isn’t often, but she usually checks on me if one of the other doctors has used me for something, or I’ve gotten moved around again.}” He seems quite proud of his French, although the accent is decidedly Northern, bordering on a Quebecois accent rather than a mainland accent. “Sorry, everyone in my hometown spoke it, and I was able to keep learning when Doctor Kertis took over. She wanted to see how much I could actually remember, and how quickly I could pick the language back up.” When Kismet takes off his shirt, there’s a moment of confused blinking, before he shakes his head, although he watches the exercises, since there is precious little in the room else to look at. He does do his best not to stare, focusing instead on his own bare feet for a bit, for something else to look at. “That was a really brave thing to do. And a crappy reward for a heroic act… but, um, “used the Force”?” Dorian asks curiously, still trying not to look up or stare. Kismet pauses mid-stretch when Dorian switches to French. His smile grows wider. "{What good fortune! I come from a long line of proud Creoles. /Too/ proud, perhaps.}" The two boys' accents could hardly be more different, but the language is the same. "{We spoke Kréyol growing up, but Pépé insisted we learn 'proper' French, too.}" His next set consists of twenty reps for each exercise, and he is sweating by the next break. "This is how I work off excess energy. Can put my shirt back on if you prefer." Kismet gets another drink of water from the sink."The Force...right. We believe that there is an energy field that connects all things, something that enables telepaths to read minds, teleporters to pass from one place to another, and telekinetics to do this." He stretches one arm toward his bed, a few feet away. His discarded shirt flies up and, missing his open hand, hits him in the face. When it drops down into his waiting hands, he is wearing a ridiculous grin. "That’s why I practice and demonstrate with /soft/ things. Also, they make sure the hard objects around me are nailed down. Now." "{My family is from a tiny little town on the Maine/Canadian border, aptly called Frenchville,}" Dorian explains, switching back to his accented French with ease, "{There's a lot of intermingling between the Quebecois and the people in town, since it's right there. So, most of us speak French.}" The offer to put cover up again gets a shrug from Dorian, "Whatever makes you comfortable, really. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, didn't mean to." The explanation and demonstration gets an excited giggle from Dorian, rocking back in his seated position on the cot. "Oh! That is so awesome! So, that's The Force? Neat!" He exclaims, grinning like a fool, "So, how big of a thing can you move? Or is it kinda a concentration type thing?" Dorian cants his head curiously, still grinning broadly at the demonstration, "That is probably insanely useful, though. As long as things aren't nailed down, I guess." "{I'm from Louisiana,}" Kismet says, "{a tiny village called 'Lucky'. We were that family out in the hollows that townsfolk thought was inbred and crazy and stuck in the 19th century. They weren't entirely wrong.} He mops his face with the shirt. "I don't think you want me to get /too/ comfortable! But it is much cooler to work out like this." He holds out the shirt and narrows his eyes at it. The garment lifts up as though weightless and drifts over to the laundry hamper. "Well, yes and no? The Force allowed me to do that, yes, but it's much bigger, too. We believe the Force is what's behind the theory of everything that physicists are looking for." Kismet sits down on the floor and stretches his legs out, reaching for his toes. "So the Force is gravity and magnetism and optics and nuclear um...whatever it is that holds atoms together. Some people have genetic mutations that allow them to manipulate the Force in specific ways." Rising again, Kismet shrugs. "It doesn't really /explain/ anything, it's just our way of looking at the world, and it helps me control my abilities. Not very /well/, as you can see!" He chuckles, plopping down on his bed again. "The most I've ever moved was about probably a little over two hundred pounds. It takes a lot of concentration, but I have gotten better, and will keep getting better. {Maybe good enough to get us out of this place, no?}” “{Oh! I’ve, well, I’ve heard of Louisiana. Never actually been there. I was in Maine, and then I was here. Wherever here is,}” Dorian explains, switching between languages, “I’m the intruder on your space - you were in this room first. I don’t want to mess up your routine or anything. Though warn me if you’re gonna disrobe more, and I’ll stare at the wall for a while.” He coughs slightly and shrugs, ruffling a hand through the fur visible at the top of his arm, just before the cuff of his scrubs. The explanation of The Force gets a mystified nod in response, trying to make sense of it all. “Kinda makes sense though, and if it helps you control it, that’s good, right? I mean, otherwise it would be kinda bad,” Dorian says with a short nod, “That’s a lot. {Not enough to open the doors. They weigh a lot. Added more since I’ve been here. I tried to open them, back when I was alone. Didn’t work. Not that I can do anything close to what you can.}” "It's /their/ room. All we can do is figure out how to make living in it tolerable." Kismet rolls onto his knees braces his hands on his thighs. "I guess you probably have a thing or two to teach me about that. {At least until we can find our way out. Which will probably not be through the room door. We have to wait for them to mess up, and be ready to take advantage of it when they do.}" “Fair enough. It never does actually feel like the room is yours, even if you’re pretty sure they bring you back to the same one each time. You can never really tell,” Dorian offers, frown crossing his features as he flops sideways onto the cot, shifting to try and find some comfort in the minimalist bedding. “Don’t really have anything to teach. Um, survive?” there’s a tinge of uncertainty in his voice, “But even then sometimes some of the scientists just have it out for you.” Dorian cringes slightly, his ears flattening against his head, vanishing into the rumpled hair, “{It would have to be a big mistake to get us out. I’ve been all over, and I still don’t know which way is out. I don’t even know if we’re above /ground/.}” The slightest hint of despair edges into the whispered French. Kismet closes his eyes. "This is the same place I was before they knocked me out the last time." His eyes open. "I can tell. {But they don't keep the same people in the same room for long, do they? It's to keep us from making friends and hatching plans.}" Shoulders sagging, he subsides into the bed, such as the mattress will allow. "I'll protect you if I can. It may not be much, but I'm still cocky enough to think it counts for something." He smiles, serene again. "{And everyone messes up really badly, sooner or later.}" “{I’m not the one to ask about getting moved around. I was in the same room, as far as I know, for years. Alone. They knocked me out before they moved every time. I don’t even know where that room was.}” Dorian explains, his French flowing out quickly and nervously at the memory, “{Since then, I get put with people for a little while, however long they need me there, and then I get moved along, or a new roommate comes in. I’ve been moved a lot, but can’t really speak for others’ experiences.}” He shuffles himself down further into the cot, trying to get at least somewhat comfortable, tail curled around his torso and through one arm, “Thank you. I’ll do the same, if I’m able. Not that I count for much any longer.” He closes his eyes, resting on yet another new cot, in yet another new room.