[Chloe] Doing What She Does Best
Feb. 21st, 2007 08:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sinanju.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
crossing_lostrpWho: Chloe aka Coppertone Girl
Where: Various rooms
When: Just after the Psychic Grenade goes off
Invited: Anyone who wants to horn in
Status: Complete
"That's it," Chloe announced after the very protective boyfriend--as least he acted like a boyfriend--carried Ami out of the cafeteria. Things were spiraling out of control, with meteor freaks--(Meteor freaks?)--popping out of the woodwork. It all felt strangely familiar, save that she felt like there was someone missing. Someone who ought to be here to set things right.
Chloe shrugged. Whatever. She'd just have to unravel this puzzle on her own--and that reaction struck her as oddly familiar too. She glanced at Studmuffin. "I'm out of here. I've got an itch to scratch."
Studmuffin perked up at that. He was so cute that Chloe hated to burst his bubble, but it had to be done. "Sorry, handsome, not that itch," she said. She raised herself on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. Studmuffin returned it with skin-tingling enthusiasm. For a moment Chloe forgot what she was planning to do. Then she stepped away, heart pounding and breath coming quicker. She gave Studmuffin a saucy grin. "But hold that thought--the day is young!"
Her first stop after leaving the cafeteria was the room in which she'd awakened. Chloe closed the door behind her, studied the room for a moment, and then searched it. Quickly, thoroughly and with great attention to leaving everything undisturbed in the wake of her passing. When Chloe realized she was doing that, it made her wonder why--and how--she'd acquired that habit.
The dresser contained an assortment of underwear, socks, shorts and t-shirts; a bright red one-piece swimsuit like something out of Baywatch; a couple of immense techno-thrillers that looked well used. One bottom drawer contained Millie's passport, a boarding pass for Oceanic Flight 815 (Sydney, Australia to Los Angeles, USA), a lengthy handwritten list of names and seat assignments on the same flight, and a handful of crumpled, torn newspaper clippings.
The first thing Chloe noticed was that one of the clippings included Millie's photo. Then she realized that the articles all described the death of "Georgia Lass" when she was struck--Chloe laughed, then stifled it guiltily--when she was struck by a flaming toilet seat from the Mir space station.
Clearly that wasn't right. Millie--or Georgia--was still alive and well. Maybe it was a gag of some kind? One of those "print your own headline" newspapers? After mulling it over for a minute, Chloe set it aside. She simply didn't have enough information to work it out. She put all of Millie's papers back in the dresser and continued searching.
Five minutes later she hit pay dirt. A large tote bag stuffed under the bed turned out to continue a few sets of female clothing, a laptop computer, a couple of spiral bound notebooks, a small jewelry box--and a passport for "Chloe Sullivan" with her picture in it.
"Chloe Sullivan, Chloe Sullivan," Chloe said experimentally. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound wrong. It was a stranger's name, with no meaning or significance. Chloe sighed. So much for the hope that finding it would jog her memory.
Chloe studied the passport. The trip to and from Australia appeared to be her first and only use of the passport. She was a resident of some town called Smallville in Kansas. (Kansas? And here I thought I was a beach bunny,) Chloe thought. The woman in the photo was definitely her, but lacking the tan--and the brilliant green eyes she'd seen in the bathroom mirror. Another mystery; she wasn't wearing contacts. How could her eyes have taken on that inhuman color?
The laptop booted easily enough. But it required a password to log in and she had no idea what it might be. With her entire past a complete blank, Chloe couldn't even muster a shot in the dark. She shut down the laptop and set it aside.
The jewel box contained a dark green marble. Kind of pretty but otherwise unremarkable. It was light, though. She'd assumed it was the marble that made the case heavy, but the empty case still had some heft. Chloe examined it and discovered that it was constructed of some thick, soft metal. (Lead? It's made of lead?)
Chloe dropped the marble back into the case and snapped it shut. After a moment she pushed it away. Was the marble radioactive? And if it was, why the hell would she be carrying it around? How could she be carrying it around? Wouldn't that violate all kinds of travel regulations? And--no, more unanswerable questions. Chloe put those aside as well.
Finally, she picked up the notebooks and flipped through them. One was nearly filled with unfamiliar handwriting, but that didn't mean anything. She wouldn't recognize her own handwriting now. The second notebook was blank. Chloe went back to the first one. It seemed to be a journal of sorts. Her journal, presumably.
Chloe settled back against the side of the bed and started to read.
Where: Various rooms
When: Just after the Psychic Grenade goes off
Invited: Anyone who wants to horn in
Status: Complete
"That's it," Chloe announced after the very protective boyfriend--as least he acted like a boyfriend--carried Ami out of the cafeteria. Things were spiraling out of control, with meteor freaks--(Meteor freaks?)--popping out of the woodwork. It all felt strangely familiar, save that she felt like there was someone missing. Someone who ought to be here to set things right.
Chloe shrugged. Whatever. She'd just have to unravel this puzzle on her own--and that reaction struck her as oddly familiar too. She glanced at Studmuffin. "I'm out of here. I've got an itch to scratch."
Studmuffin perked up at that. He was so cute that Chloe hated to burst his bubble, but it had to be done. "Sorry, handsome, not that itch," she said. She raised herself on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. Studmuffin returned it with skin-tingling enthusiasm. For a moment Chloe forgot what she was planning to do. Then she stepped away, heart pounding and breath coming quicker. She gave Studmuffin a saucy grin. "But hold that thought--the day is young!"
Her first stop after leaving the cafeteria was the room in which she'd awakened. Chloe closed the door behind her, studied the room for a moment, and then searched it. Quickly, thoroughly and with great attention to leaving everything undisturbed in the wake of her passing. When Chloe realized she was doing that, it made her wonder why--and how--she'd acquired that habit.
The dresser contained an assortment of underwear, socks, shorts and t-shirts; a bright red one-piece swimsuit like something out of Baywatch; a couple of immense techno-thrillers that looked well used. One bottom drawer contained Millie's passport, a boarding pass for Oceanic Flight 815 (Sydney, Australia to Los Angeles, USA), a lengthy handwritten list of names and seat assignments on the same flight, and a handful of crumpled, torn newspaper clippings.
The first thing Chloe noticed was that one of the clippings included Millie's photo. Then she realized that the articles all described the death of "Georgia Lass" when she was struck--Chloe laughed, then stifled it guiltily--when she was struck by a flaming toilet seat from the Mir space station.
Clearly that wasn't right. Millie--or Georgia--was still alive and well. Maybe it was a gag of some kind? One of those "print your own headline" newspapers? After mulling it over for a minute, Chloe set it aside. She simply didn't have enough information to work it out. She put all of Millie's papers back in the dresser and continued searching.
Five minutes later she hit pay dirt. A large tote bag stuffed under the bed turned out to continue a few sets of female clothing, a laptop computer, a couple of spiral bound notebooks, a small jewelry box--and a passport for "Chloe Sullivan" with her picture in it.
"Chloe Sullivan, Chloe Sullivan," Chloe said experimentally. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound wrong. It was a stranger's name, with no meaning or significance. Chloe sighed. So much for the hope that finding it would jog her memory.
Chloe studied the passport. The trip to and from Australia appeared to be her first and only use of the passport. She was a resident of some town called Smallville in Kansas. (Kansas? And here I thought I was a beach bunny,) Chloe thought. The woman in the photo was definitely her, but lacking the tan--and the brilliant green eyes she'd seen in the bathroom mirror. Another mystery; she wasn't wearing contacts. How could her eyes have taken on that inhuman color?
The laptop booted easily enough. But it required a password to log in and she had no idea what it might be. With her entire past a complete blank, Chloe couldn't even muster a shot in the dark. She shut down the laptop and set it aside.
The jewel box contained a dark green marble. Kind of pretty but otherwise unremarkable. It was light, though. She'd assumed it was the marble that made the case heavy, but the empty case still had some heft. Chloe examined it and discovered that it was constructed of some thick, soft metal. (Lead? It's made of lead?)
Chloe dropped the marble back into the case and snapped it shut. After a moment she pushed it away. Was the marble radioactive? And if it was, why the hell would she be carrying it around? How could she be carrying it around? Wouldn't that violate all kinds of travel regulations? And--no, more unanswerable questions. Chloe put those aside as well.
Finally, she picked up the notebooks and flipped through them. One was nearly filled with unfamiliar handwriting, but that didn't mean anything. She wouldn't recognize her own handwriting now. The second notebook was blank. Chloe went back to the first one. It seemed to be a journal of sorts. Her journal, presumably.
Chloe settled back against the side of the bed and started to read.
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[Chloe] Some time later....
Date: 2007-02-22 10:04 pm (UTC)The sight of "Michelle" levitating with her hair and eyes darkening, hurling a table across the room and halfway through the wall flashed across her mental landscape. Then there was the blonde with bandaged feet, changing the color of a table with a wave of her hand; May and "Buffy" displaying phenomenal agility and strength; "Millie" talking to someone who wasn't there.
According to the notebook most of them had been passengers on Oceanic 815, which had crashed here on the island. Most of the passengers and all of the crew had died--she'd copied the names of the dead into the notebook--but the survivors were remarkably healthy.
The survivors weren't the only people on the island. There were ragged and hostile locals, the "Others" they were called; there were scientists and doctors who'd lived in this bunker until they'd been overrun by the survivors of 815. And there were all the "drop-ins" as she'd called them.
For a seemingly deserted island in the middle of nowhere, this place seemed to be as busy as Gilligan's Island. People named Ripley, Rose, "The Doctor", Aidan, Faith, Jack, Chris, Dean--and May, one of the few people who knew her name--had shown up over the last three weeks in one way or another. None of them had been on the plane, but they all turned up in one way or another.
(And that's just the roster,) Chloe thought. She laid a hand on the notebook, thinking about everything else she'd just read. Polar bears. Smoke monsters. Witches. Psychics. Time travelers. Grim Reapers. Fodder aplenty for the Wall of Weird, something she'd referred to often in her notes, along with someone named Clark on whom she had an embarrassingly obvious crush, at least in the privacy of this journal.
Chloe got up abruptly. There was plenty more to think about, but she'd hit her limit for the moment. She'd think about alien "wraiths" and being turned into an old woman--and then back into a young woman (with weird green eyes, apparently)--later.