[Scott] Self-discovery
Feb. 21st, 2007 04:54 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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crossing_lostrpWho: Scott, Ami
Where: The Staff, Ami and Scott's room
When: Day 28
Invited: Ami, anyone who dares barge in
Status: Complete
The only good thing about Ami being unconscious was the time it gave Scott to reacquaint himself with his presumed possessions in their room. After lying Ami on the bed and triple-checking her vitals, he'd locked the door, then examined the video camera mounted to the ceiling. Although it didn't pan and no lights glowed, Scott dragged a chair beneath it to stand on. Closer inspection said that the camera was indeed off. He unplugged the output cable just to be sure.
Scott shook his head as he climbed down from the chair. (Not only am I empathic, telepathic, telekinetic, a scientist, and a healer? with a telepath in my head, but a paranoid one. Great.) Rather than contemplate that further he poured his nervous energy into searching the room.
A half hour later Scott sat on the edge of the bed with the fruits of his labor on the floor at his feet: his passport and wallet, a program of abstracts from the ninth annual International Society of Biochemists conference in Sydney, Australia, his laptop computer, Ami's journal, a photo that had fallen from the journal, his boarding pass for an Oceanic Airlines flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, a gorgeous portrait of him and Ami, a cloudy quartz pebble with a fleck of metal inside, and a foot-tall, silver abstract sculpture. One touch of the latter told him that it was made of the same material as the marble he'd found in his pocket. According to his Oregon driver's license he was 30 and not an organ donor. His passport was brand spankin' new; the only stamp was from Australian customs dated a week before the last day of the conference. And the passport itself had been issued two months before that.
Also strange (relatively speaking -- not even a blip on the "I've got a silver marble in my pocket that feels *right*" scale) was the absence of credit cards and photos in his wallet, and the wad of cash Scott had found in the lining of his carry-on bag. That bag and the laptop case appeared to be his only luggage. (I'm paranoid, travel light, and only carry cash. This keeps getting better and better.)
Scott scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned back to Ami. He rested one hand over hers and marveled again at their mental and physical link. How long had it existed? Although he hadn't searched Ami's things, Scott had flipped through her passport. She was far more traveled than he. Assuming that she couldn't teleport over long distances -- (Though that would be fucking amazing!) -- Ami hadn't been to the United States in years. The most recent stamp on her passport was from Sydney as well. Had they met in Sydney? Whatever the answer, how long had they known each other? The gray in their hair that wasn't in either of the passport photos suggested that a few years may have passed since Sydney. (I don't even know *when* or *where* here is!)
Scott withdrew his hand before any of his worry penetrated Ami's sleep. He turned his attention back to the array of clues at his feet. The photo resting on top of Ami's journal caught his eye again. Resisting the urge to skim through the diary, Scott picked up only the photograph. Despite different hairstyles and slightly younger faces, he'd immediately recognized Ami and the redheaded "bloke" from the cafeteria. Judging from how they and the four other twentysomethings in the picture had their arms around each others' shoulders or waists they were close friends. (Maybe I took this picture,) Scott mused.
After setting the photo down Scott willed himself to do what he'd been putting off: examining the silver marble. He was about to fish it out of his pocket when a better idea came to him. Frowning with concentration, Scott's mind easily found the marble. He imagined it floating up and out of his pocket. After a few false attempts it did.
Now that he was getting the hang of it, keeping the marble hovering a few feet in front of him was easy. Scott grinned at his own distorted reflection, and a little more from Ami's. (If we're together, I'm the luckiest guy on the planet.)
The marble dropped a few inches. As soon as Scott returned his attention to it, the ball returned to its previous position. Just for the hell of it he made it do a few loops and spirals, bringing it back to eye level when the novelty wore off. Scott positioned his hand beneath the marble to catch it when he stopped concentrating.
He didn't stop. Instead Scott focused more intently. He'd seen... no, *felt* that cool azure calm inside the marble. Letting instinct guide him, Scott reached mentally for the soothing energy. His mind touched it and the marble glowed and hummed.
Scott gasped from sheer surprise. The ball's light winked out. It dropped into his waiting hand. Scott stared at it askance for a long moment. (What. The fuck.) His eyes turned to the silvery sculpture. (I so don't want to know what that thing does.)
Where: The Staff, Ami and Scott's room
When: Day 28
Invited: Ami, anyone who dares barge in
Status: Complete
The only good thing about Ami being unconscious was the time it gave Scott to reacquaint himself with his presumed possessions in their room. After lying Ami on the bed and triple-checking her vitals, he'd locked the door, then examined the video camera mounted to the ceiling. Although it didn't pan and no lights glowed, Scott dragged a chair beneath it to stand on. Closer inspection said that the camera was indeed off. He unplugged the output cable just to be sure.
Scott shook his head as he climbed down from the chair. (Not only am I empathic, telepathic, telekinetic, a scientist, and a healer? with a telepath in my head, but a paranoid one. Great.) Rather than contemplate that further he poured his nervous energy into searching the room.
A half hour later Scott sat on the edge of the bed with the fruits of his labor on the floor at his feet: his passport and wallet, a program of abstracts from the ninth annual International Society of Biochemists conference in Sydney, Australia, his laptop computer, Ami's journal, a photo that had fallen from the journal, his boarding pass for an Oceanic Airlines flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, a gorgeous portrait of him and Ami, a cloudy quartz pebble with a fleck of metal inside, and a foot-tall, silver abstract sculpture. One touch of the latter told him that it was made of the same material as the marble he'd found in his pocket. According to his Oregon driver's license he was 30 and not an organ donor. His passport was brand spankin' new; the only stamp was from Australian customs dated a week before the last day of the conference. And the passport itself had been issued two months before that.
Also strange (relatively speaking -- not even a blip on the "I've got a silver marble in my pocket that feels *right*" scale) was the absence of credit cards and photos in his wallet, and the wad of cash Scott had found in the lining of his carry-on bag. That bag and the laptop case appeared to be his only luggage. (I'm paranoid, travel light, and only carry cash. This keeps getting better and better.)
Scott scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned back to Ami. He rested one hand over hers and marveled again at their mental and physical link. How long had it existed? Although he hadn't searched Ami's things, Scott had flipped through her passport. She was far more traveled than he. Assuming that she couldn't teleport over long distances -- (Though that would be fucking amazing!) -- Ami hadn't been to the United States in years. The most recent stamp on her passport was from Sydney as well. Had they met in Sydney? Whatever the answer, how long had they known each other? The gray in their hair that wasn't in either of the passport photos suggested that a few years may have passed since Sydney. (I don't even know *when* or *where* here is!)
Scott withdrew his hand before any of his worry penetrated Ami's sleep. He turned his attention back to the array of clues at his feet. The photo resting on top of Ami's journal caught his eye again. Resisting the urge to skim through the diary, Scott picked up only the photograph. Despite different hairstyles and slightly younger faces, he'd immediately recognized Ami and the redheaded "bloke" from the cafeteria. Judging from how they and the four other twentysomethings in the picture had their arms around each others' shoulders or waists they were close friends. (Maybe I took this picture,) Scott mused.
After setting the photo down Scott willed himself to do what he'd been putting off: examining the silver marble. He was about to fish it out of his pocket when a better idea came to him. Frowning with concentration, Scott's mind easily found the marble. He imagined it floating up and out of his pocket. After a few false attempts it did.
Now that he was getting the hang of it, keeping the marble hovering a few feet in front of him was easy. Scott grinned at his own distorted reflection, and a little more from Ami's. (If we're together, I'm the luckiest guy on the planet.)
The marble dropped a few inches. As soon as Scott returned his attention to it, the ball returned to its previous position. Just for the hell of it he made it do a few loops and spirals, bringing it back to eye level when the novelty wore off. Scott positioned his hand beneath the marble to catch it when he stopped concentrating.
He didn't stop. Instead Scott focused more intently. He'd seen... no, *felt* that cool azure calm inside the marble. Letting instinct guide him, Scott reached mentally for the soothing energy. His mind touched it and the marble glowed and hummed.
Scott gasped from sheer surprise. The ball's light winked out. It dropped into his waiting hand. Scott stared at it askance for a long moment. (What. The fuck.) His eyes turned to the silvery sculpture. (I so don't want to know what that thing does.)
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[Ami] Waking Up
Date: 2007-02-22 02:28 pm (UTC)For a few heartbeats there was nothing. No memory, just blankness. Then Ami remembered that she couldn't remember anything. And no one else could remember anything. Then she remembered the voice and the pain. Ami squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a moan at the phantom pain the memory called up until she pushed it away. Her mind groped for anything after the pain, but nothing came to her.
(Blacked out,) Ami thought. Opening her eyes again, she took in her surroundings. She lie on her side on a bed. Ami thought it was her room – the room where she found her passport – but she couldn't be certain. That memory wasn't ingrained yet. The American man, Scott – his name floated across the void of not-memories – sat on the edge of the bed about a foot from her. He was the source of the bemusement.
Ami didn't have to shift her head far to see why. A silver marble danced and floated through the air in front of his face. It was on the tip of her tongue to comment about the fun he was having when the marble held position and after a moment – it glowed and filled the room with a soft buzzing hum.
Scott's surprise joined hers. The marble dropped into his upturned palm.
Ami licked her lips and swallowed to clear the odd coppery, metallica taste in her mouth. She pushed up on her elbow and tested her stability. When her skull did not crack in two, but the headache continued at its same steady, annoying but not incapacitating throbbing, she managed to grin, "Neat trick, that. Can you do it again?"
A part of her realized that she should be alarmed by that display, but it was dwarfed by the part that was honestly fascinated.
[Scott] Waking Up
Date: 2007-02-23 03:57 am (UTC)Scott started, then faced Ami with a chagrinned smile. He'd been so absorbed in whatever he'd been doing that he hadn't felt her regain consciousness. "Uh, yeah. I guess. How are you--" On instinct he took her hand. Mentally and physically he felt her pain, thirst, and hunger. Scott winced. "Ow. That good, huh?"
Ami managed a smile. "Quite."
Although Scott wanted to end the flow of sensations, he left his hand on top of hers. Instead he constricted the link between them to a trickle. Scott sighed with relief.
Ami's brow furrowed. "How'd you do that?"
"I'm not sure how to describe it," Scott admitted. He withdrew his hand from Ami's and clasped it with his other hand. The metal ball between them felt like it belonged there somehow. Before he could get weirded out over that, Scott broke eye contact and continued his explanation. "When I was, um... emotionless earlier I could 'see' the link between us. I narrowed it somehow."
Although Ami made the slightest of nods, Scott felt her confusion clearly. "What about the blue light and the marble?"
Scott half-smiled mirthlessly. (The blue light? Oh, that's the same energy that's in me. The place without emotion.) There was no way he was saying that aloud. "I'm not sure yet," he murmured. Then he stood and crossed the room.
"What're you doing?"
Scott picked up an empty plastic water bottle from the desk. "Getting you some water. Once you can keep water down, you need food." His stomach grumbled plaintively. "As do I."
Ami rewarded him with another faint smile. "Back in a minute," he assured her. Scott headed for the men's room to fill the water bottle and get a good look at his own face.
[Ami] Another Latent "Talent?"
Date: 2007-02-23 03:38 pm (UTC)(What am I? Some kind of psychic vampire?) Ami didn't think that she was. (But I have to be used to that sort of thing, I respond to it so naturally.)
She decided not to tell Scott that she felt something else from him when he went emotionless, a part of him that was different. When he clasped the metal marble between their hands, Ami picked up on it – that cool emotionless part of him was somehow connected to the marble. The way Scott quickly dismissed the question told her that he wasn't open to such a conversation or revelation just yet.
After he left, Ami spent a moment or two wondering about that different. (Maybe he's not totally human.) She waited for the fear and panic that never set in. What did that mean that her mind pulled out that sort of alternative as though it were as natural as the difference between blue eyes and brown eyes?
Shoving all those thoughts to the side, Ami decided to be productive while waiting for Scott's return. In spite of her aching head, she needed answers. She pushed herself to a sitting position. When there was no dizziness or intensification of head pain, she slid to the edge of the bed and spotted the evidence of Scott's "research" on the floor. Ami was on the floor, with her back supported by the bed before she made the decision to go there.
(Great, I'm either too curious for my own good, too nosey or both,) Ami rolled her eyes and chastised herself. Curiosity won out over chagrin and she eyed the small grouping of articles on the floor. Most of them appeared to belong to Scott. Ami hoped that was because he respected her privacy and not because her passport and clothing were the only things in the room that belonged to her.
Scott's presence tickled the back of her mind and for reasons unknown Ami blurted, /I think you're a fit bloke./ Embarrassment rushed in and doubled as she wondered why she made such an unsolicited comment. Her social faux pas – (And is there etiquette for being psychically linked to someone) – encouraged her to take this time to figure out what Scott was doing to their link.
Closing her eyes, Ami concentrated. Mental fingers approached it, but slipped right off and her headache pain increased. "Bugger it, then. Later," Ami muttered, rubbing her temples. For now, she would simply have to rely on what Scott was doing.
A professional printed program caught her eye. Ami picked it up and looked it over. It was from the International Society of Biochemists conference in Sydney, Australia. She smiled faintly to herself as she looked it over. It explained the geeky-cuteness and charm that Scott had; he had to be a scientist. The lack of sense that some of the topics made to her on a first reading confirmed that firmly in her mind.
Of course thinking of Scott automatically made her mind flicker to him. She tried again to concentrate on their "link," following it toward him. It was easier to focus on this way and didn't hurt her head quite so much. Closing her eyes, Ami narrowed her concentration and –
She shifted in her seat and surrepitiously took a glance at her watch as she tried not to fall asleep in the middle of the presentation. Sleeping would be rude, and the bald, softly snoring man beside her had that covered. Getting up and walking out would be rude as well, although her long legs were starting to feel cramped in the auditorium seats.
Ami blinked at her watch arm. Her hairy, pale and very masculine arm wearing a very masculine watch –
Blink.
The room reappeared. The program fluttered uselessly to the floor from Ami's loose fingers.
(What the bleeding hell was that?)
[Scott]
Date: 2007-02-24 07:16 pm (UTC)/I think you're a fit bloke./
Ami's sudden thought made Scott blink, then grin. Her rush of embarrassment prompted him to keep quiet. He carefully shielded his next thought from her. (Nice to know that hot British psychics are into tall, thin, and geeky.)
Once the bottle was filled Scott chugged about half of it, then filled it once more. After capping it, he turned for the door and--
He shifted in his seat and surrepitiously took a glance at his watch as he tried not to fall asleep in the middle of the presentation. Sleeping would be rude, and the bald, softly snoring man beside him had that covered. Getting up and walking out would be rude as well, although his long legs were starting to feel cramped in the auditorium seats.
Scott blinked at his watch arm. His hairy, pale and very masculine arm wearing a very masculine watch-–
The water bottle bounced off of the tile floor as the scene disappeared. /What the bleeding hell was that?/
Scott's mind raced as he retrieved the bottle. Although he didn't remember being in an auditorium, the arm he'd "seen" sure looked like a not-tan version of his. /Um... me? Not that I did that. Or remember that. But since I apparently went to Sydney for a biochem conference and--/
Unease joined Ami's surprise. /You saw that?/
/Yeah./ Scott left the bathroom and let himself into his and Ami's room. The fact that he was taking the presumed flashback more or less in stride surprised both of them. After locking the door behind him, he handed the water bottle to Ami. "Take small sips," he advised. He was glad to see that she was sitting up, apparently looking through the items he'd collected.
[Ami]
Date: 2007-02-25 01:27 am (UTC)Questions trickled to the surface of her mind, the most prominent being to wonder what had happened when she touched the program from the science conference. If Scott didn't recall that, then somehow she had, and it didn't make sense that she should have Scott's memories. (Or does it? We don't know how long we've had this link or all the things that it does.)
Ami pushed that unsettling question aside, forcing her attention to the here and now. A few more sips from the bottle and she put it aside. Reaching behind her with one hand, she managed to pull the hair tie from her hair. Taking even that little bit of pressure off of her head helped reduce the pain a bit.
After fluffing out her hair with a hand, she looked up, surprised to see Scott's eyes on her. She shifted a bit, giving him a half-flattered, half-self-conscious smile. "Did you, um, did you find anything else of mine?
"Better yet, do you know what happened back there in the canteen?" The memory of that voice echoed in her head, and Ami explained. "I remember that voice, and then pain and pretty much waking up here."
[Scott]
Date: 2007-02-25 03:41 am (UTC)Scott decided to answer Ami's last question first. "I don't really know what happened. One of the telepaths did something, 'cause you screamed and passed out. The redheaded guy with the baby and the surly teenager were out, too."
"But you weren't?"
Scott shrugged. "I thought I heard something, but then all I felt and heard was you. May somehow got to you before I could. Caught you before you hit the ground." He paused, thinking of the distance she'd covered in less than a second. (Huh.)
"What?" Ami asked.
"I think May is super fast or something." He smiled mirthlessly. "Maybe all of us here are weird. Anyway, I brought you back here before anything else could happen." Scott nearly mentioned the hemmoraging, but thought better of it. He'd wait until her head wasn't pounding and she'd eaten.
"As for your things, two of the suitcases under the bed are yours. From the luggage tags. I didn't want to go through your stuff." He scooped up the journal and the photo and handed them to Ami. "I think this is your diary."
Ami's eyebrows shot up. "You didn't--"
"No! Not when I realized what it was." Her eyes had already returned to the photo. "The picture was tucked inside the front cover."
"The ginger-haired bloke from the canteen!"
Scott nodded. "Does anyone else look familiar?"
Loneliness pulsed from Ami. "No."
Scott had laid one hand over Ami's before he realized what he was doing. The pleasant almost-tingle distracted both of them. Scott quirked a grin. "That reminds me." He almost broke away to retrieve the rolled-up portrait, then remembered his newfound telekinetic ability. Frowning with concentration, he floated the heavyweight paper to his hand. They both chuckled from the way it wobbled unsteadily.
"Practice makes perfect," Ami deadpanned.
"Exactly." He handed her the rolled-up paper, adding, "I think this is both of ours."
[Ami]
Date: 2007-02-25 04:37 am (UTC)(Down girl! Focus!) Ami quickly gave herself a mental kick. Embarrassment warred with the tingle of attraction and Ami retracted her hand from beneath Scott's. Her face flushed hot and she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him as she took the rolled up paper and unrolled it.
She gasped. The portrait was gorgeous. After staring for a few moments in complete awe of the talent that created the work, Ami's eyes automatically searched for a signature. There was one in the corner, but it was badly smudged and impossible to make out. She looked up at Scott with a coy smile, "We look good together."
There was a beat before Scott answered with a smile. "Yeah, we do." He never looked at the portrait.
He had a nice smile and kind eyes. His mouth was nice as well and sitting this close, he smelled good. Scott smelled right, just like having him in her head felt right. She couldn’t put the feeling into words or explain it, but there it was.
Ami licked her lips, swallowed reflexively and tried to control her breathing. Her heart rate was beyond her abilities to slow down, and she marveled that even with her headache that her body could give over to such reactions. She jerked her attention to the portrait, rolling it back up with trembling hands. "We were – we are – probably then, right? Together, I mean. All our stuff is here together and this portrait, so – we probably are, then."
It wasn't an unpleasant idea, not in the least little bit.
[Scott] Score!
Date: 2007-02-25 04:05 pm (UTC)Scott pulled back, deliberately folding his hands in his lap. "How about, uh, I get us some food? Then you'll have some privacy to look through your stuff."
Ami managed a coy smile. "Alright."
He hurried to the door before his self-control slipped. Then the weird silver sculpture caught his eye. Scott scooped it up and returned it to his carry-on bag.
"What is that?" Ami asked.
Deliberately staying beyond arm's reach of the beautiful Brit, Scott replied, "Dunno. It's made of the same stuff as the metal marble, though. Look at it if you want." Realizing that his eyes had drifted south of Ami's face, he shook himself. "Back soon." He darted out the door and headed for the cafeteria.
EXIT SCOTT
OOC: Evil Laughter
Date: 2007-02-25 04:46 pm (UTC)*insert evil, maniacal laughter here*
Re: OOC: Evil Laughter
Date: 2007-02-25 05:07 pm (UTC)Re: OOC: Evil Laughter
Date: 2007-02-25 07:13 pm (UTC)[Ami] Realizations
Date: 2007-02-25 06:19 pm (UTC)/Scott, if it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, could you maybe see if there's some paracetamol available?/ Ami 'asked.'
/Some, uh, what?/
Ami smiled at his confusion. /Aspirin or something. I think you call it, um, acetaminophen?/
She felt Scott's smile. /Yeah, I can do that./
/Thank you,/ Ami said sincerely and broke contact.
Left alone, she took a few more sips from the water bottle. She looked again at the assortment of items Scott had already spread out before taking them and carefully moving them all to the dresser. Given the state of her head, she didn't attempt to do it telekinetically. That done, Ami dropped down to her knees and pulled out the two suitcases.
"I certainly don't believe in traveling light," Ami groused as she rummaged through the first one, which yielded nothing useful beyond an assortment of jeans, short trousers, t-shirts, halters and the odd jumper. Ten minutes later and the second suitcase later she'd shoved the two very skimpy negligees back into the back, along with more clothes, and came forth with the fruits of her own labor. Her pile spread out on the bed amounted to her passport, her journal and the photograph, a boarding pass for the same flight that Scott was on, a program for an anthropological conference in Los Angeles, two anthropology journals, a worn mystery novel, a CD labeled "dissertation research," a letter addressed to her at a mail stop in Indonesia, an Indonesian VISA, and an antique locket which had been wrapped in lingerie sack and neatly placed in the suitcase.
The passport told her what she'd already surmised given the number of languages she knew fluently: she was a traveler. It didn't answer the question as to when or how she met Scott, though. Flipping through revealed that it had been a good two years since she traveled to the States. According to her passport she was twenty-nine years old and British; the former was nice to know, the latter Ami had already figured out for herself.
"I'm an anthropologist," Ami mused. She flipped through the journals and decided that they were not relevant to the mystery of here and now. Ami placed the CD to the side with the journals, "I'm an anthropologist who is likely working on my doctorate." The program showed that she was scheduled to speak at the conference two days after the flight would have left Sydney.
Something clicked.
Ami reached for the passport again and flipped it to the most recent customs stamps. Scrambling off the bed, she snatched up Scott's boarding pass and passport and returned to her pile of "Ami Jackson's life." She compared the passports and the boarding passes, and then compared them again.
"We never made it." Ami looked at the documentation, feeling shock and surprise rock her. "We never made it to Los Angeles."
[Ami] "This is Your Life . . ."
Date: 2007-02-26 03:39 am (UTC)(The plane came down. The plane came down.) The thought filled her with an illogical and irrational sense of dread. Legs quivering, she sank to the floor, back against the bed. Ami forced herself to take long, calming draughts of air while she told herself again and again that she was alive and she fine.
Then she told Scott who must have picked up on her panic despite her attempts at shielding. /I'm all right. Really. I – I – think it was a panic attack./
/Do you need me? Are you okay alone?/ His concern for her, a total stranger no matter the clear evidence that they shared a bedroom, made Ami smile.
/No, I think I've handled this before./ As she said the words, they had that odd feeling of rightness that so many other things about this weird experience did. /I just need a few moments to right myself. I'll be recovered in a bit./
(Great,) Ami added to herself, (I'm a bloody psychic prone to panic attacks.)
It took more than a few moments, but eventually Ami was able to stand up and resume her study of the scattered items on the bed. Though curious, Ami did not remove the letter from the hand addressed envelope. The script was tight, elegant and feminine. The return address was a London one, and the last name was Jackson. Ami assumed it was a female relative. The Indonesian VISA and address on the envelope suggested that Ami had been living abroad.
(I can't remember myself, there's no way I'm going to remember my family.) She pushed back the pain and loneliness. The photograph of her and the five others was in her hand before she realized it. (I can't even remember these people.)
Ami put the photograph aside and opened the journal. The handwriting, lurid and flowing and yet still recognizably feminine and legible was not familiar, but she didn't know why she thought it would be. The first few passages, boring though they were, confirmed that it was her journal. The passages spoke of lunches with her Mum or her Gran and various things against the London backdrop.
Bored and saddened by the loss of those memories, Ami flipped rapidly ahead. When she stopped read the next section, it confirmed her theory: she'd been doing field work in the myriad of small islands that made up Indonesia. Though it made for interesting reading, it still didn't tell her what she needed to know.
Further ahead her fingers flew, stopping when she skimmed a passage that showed she was no longer in Indonesia. A quick comparison of the dates showed it to be a month out from the date on the boarding pass.
"Good a spot as any," Ami decided and sat back to read. Maybe this would finally answer some questions.
[Ami] "This is Your Life . . ."
Date: 2007-02-28 02:55 am (UTC)Her journal answered the questions of what had happened and where they were, but left just as many questions. Things that she wrote, one night in London, another in Sydney and the same day in Los Angeles confirmed what Scott said about her being a teleporter. She even referenced teleporting a few times, along with names that meant nothing to Ami but belonged to people who were teleporters as well. Not only was she a telepathic teleporter, but she also was clairvoyant and precognitive.
The plane crash, the revelation of the pilot, the sentient thing in the jungle, the inability to teleport from this place and the odd assortment of people gathered here all added up to too strange to be coincidental.
(Attacks by jungle dwelling telepathic cave men? Smoke monsters?) Ami shook her head. It all sounded so surreal, but unless she was writing a fabulous piece of fiction it had to be true.
The silver lining in all of it, evidently was her relationship with Scott. A relationship that the word "intense" didn't begin to describe. In a few days, Ami read that she'd fallen head over heels in love with a man that she hadn't known before boarding a plane in Sydney. She might have scoffed or chalked it up to her imaginings if Ami hadn't recalled how Scott made her feel and how her subconscious responded to him. All things being equal, she couldn't deny that somehow they belonged together and complemented one another.
Unbidden her thoughts flickered back to a few passages in the journal, passages that could have been ripped out of an adult erotica novel for all of their description and she felt her body temperature rise a few degrees. (That's not all we do with one another,) Ami thought, squirming a bit as her body keyed up from simply calling up the images that went with the words she'd recorded. (Amazing I'm not pregnant by now.)
It was no wonder most of her passages were recorded in Portguese - which Ami hadn't realized she was reading until she surfaced for her first break - those weren't things that she would want anyone to read by accident.
Her embarrassment didn't stop her from grabbing the journal and reading the last passage again. Twice. Then, taking a deep breath to calm herself, she put it aside. (Down girl! You won't be able to look the man in the face next time you see him at this rate.)
For a distraction, Ami turned to focusing on other pieces of the puzzle. Who was Megabyte? (Let's not even get into wondering what sort of name Megabyte is) And how did Scott contact his parents? And how could they really be trapped six months in the past?
Ami shook her head slightly to clear it, then pushed her personal items to the side. A short walk to the dresser revealed all of Scott's belongings, and an even shorter perusal didn't turn up anything out of the ordinary. Chewing her lip, Ami turned her attention to Scott's carry-on bag. The sculpture was the only thing that might fit the definition of the "co-locator" but Ami hadn't bothered to describe or sketch it out - only noting that it, like so many other things, shouldn't have been on the island.
(Like polar bears,) Ami thought ruefully.
She stared at the sculpture for a moment, then held it in her lap, while she ran her fingers over the surface. It didn't provide volunteer any answers.
[Ami] "This is Your Life . . ."
Date: 2007-02-28 03:32 pm (UTC)(Just act normal,) Ami reminded herself. (Whatever normal is.)
Squaring her shoulders and taking a breath, Ami exited the bedroom and stepped into the hall, heading for the kitchen.
EXIT AMI.
[OOC: My Ami muse got bored. She needs to interact with people. Anyone can feel free to bump into her in the hall.]