ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Empirical Method

Vignette - Empirical Method
Dramatis Personae Mal	2013-05-07 An illusion is more than just a curtain of falsehood. It's mimicry.
Location <NYC> 313 {Mal} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
This is not the most luxurious of apartments, even by Sunrise standards. While it is not rich with filth or deterioration, it definitely shows signs of general neglect that the new owner is unwilling to remedy. At least it is tidy enough, and the neatness is easily maintained due to the scarceness of furniture and clutter. A shabby wooden table with iron legs is joined by a single aged plastic chair, the sort you'd find on a terrace. An old couch is positioned in front of an outdated TV, and a rickety wooden cofee table houses an outdated laptop. The adjacent kitchen is part of the living room, separated by a counter. No dishes or food can be found anywhere in there. The bedroom is small, but enough for one or two to move around in. The bed is surprisingly big, so either Mal enjoys his space, or he counts on bringing someone else. The bedside table looks like it's about to collapse beneath the modest collection of books that can always be found on top of it. Sinking into the sinfully soft leather couch is the owner of the apartment. Mal is practically lying on his back. Dressed in naught but pale jeans and a stained wife-beater, he has spidery digits on the tip of a bottle of beer, spinning it idly on the arm of the couch. The remote to the TV is placed neatly on his left leg. The television is on and set to a channel that is currently running some sort of documentary about birds. Only half of narrated words register; the spectator is far more interested in the visual and audio aspects of the critters displayed on the big screen. This particular entry in the series is covering the fauna of the Galápagos Islands, it looks like. The narrator excitedly illustrates the differences between finches that the evolution has created in a surprisingly short amount of time. The bird sounds do not emanate from the TV alone, however. While staring at the screen with a deceptively vacant expression, Mal has a large ground finch on a palm he has extended forth. The bird duly flies off with a little chime that belongs to that particular avian species, landing on the TV. It swiftly leans forward, tilting its head. Except the degree that it twists its head suggests it just broke its fragile neck. The illusion is dispersed with an angry flick of the wrist, and a scowl darkens Mal's features. Another flick of the wrist summons another experiment. "It is the largest species of Darwin's finch both in total size and size of beak", claims the narrator with a voice that is hushed for dramatic effect. This newly spawned illusory finch flies off again, landing on top of the TV. It nimbly tips its body forward, turning its head curiously. Success. The finch continues to fly around, seemingly unbound by any puppeteer. Then again, it has no reason to constantly switch positions, so a birdwatcher might just spot the well-hidden strings. The half-empty beer bottle is lifted effortlessly off the couch, and Mal takes a hearty swig of the stuff. The show moves on to a very curious evolution of a cormorant. "The Flightless Cormorant is the only cormorant that lost its ability to fly", the TV announces happily. The finch lands on the back of the couch behind Mal. It keenly observes the ripples in the air that almost make it seem as though reality has become liquid. Through this liquefaction of air, a cormorant swims idly. Well, the correct term would perhaps be flying, but it is essentially swimming through the air, cutting reality as though it were the surface of water. The casual navigation of the creature mimics the sight that is on the TV screen. Suddenly, Mal thinks of something. That something slaps a stupidly wide grin on him. The finch flies off, soon nowhere to be found. The illusory cormorant flaps its wings noisily, splashing the droplets of reality itself. Like a duck – in fact, it actually borrows the locomotion of a duck, making it look rather awkward – it takes off. The flightless cormorant takes off and flies straight out the open window, enjoying its freedom all the way to the very borders of Mal's ability, which is where the bird fades and fizzles into non-existence. The vacant hand drops onto the remote. The TV is shut off. Lifting the bottle again, Mal greedily finishes the rest of alcohol all in one go, glugging it down like his life depended on it. Well, in a way, it does. Once emptied, off it goes in the same direction the cormorant went; he's had enough practice that the bottle flies straight out the window. There are a few remains of his earlier attempts on the floor right beside the window – a handful of shards that he neglected to clean up. The couch creaks as he gets up and stretches, cracking his bones purposefully with a bit of a grunt. The remote is tossed apathetically at the couch, with enough force to almost expect it to come to life and catch it. Time to go hit a bar and get drunk proper, and fuck anyone who tells him 2 PM is too early to start drinking.