>>6109217
>Inspect self

Check the protagonist

>>6109217
>>Inspect self

>>6109227
>>6109228
>Inspect self

You're currently dressed in a large t-shirt with the logo of something you don't recognise, and a pair of comfortable boxers. The logo is of a mechanical hand holding a paintbrush, with the text under reading "LIFE IS ART" in big block letters. Your skin is brown but pale, dotted with moles on your arms and hands. Your socks are black with a swirling map of planets. In the slight glare of the window, you can almost make out your face. Your hair is brown with streaks of grey, and your face is round and plain. You'd put your age somewhere in the early 20s.

>Inspect books
>Inspect nightstand
>Inspect strips
>Inspect window
>Other

>>6109230
>>Inspect window

>>6109230
>>Inspect books

>>6109237
>Inspect window

The sun is setting, casting thick red light across the buildings. You're several stories above ground, throngs of people milling below. The skyline is broken up by buildings made of startling golden brickwork and footbridges in between them. A large clock tower sits in the distance with ten symbols stamped around its face, and several smaller rings within the central dial. In the far distance, a ship takes off, its beacon lights cutting through the encroaching darkness. Far above, larger celestial bodies shine down between the distant stars.

>>6109246
>Inspect books

The books are uncountable and wide reaching in variety. Textbooks, fantasy novels, dictionaries, comic books, political philosophy, reference texts, stageplays, and even more types you don't recognise. You take a few off the tops of the stacks. There's a book on interior design materials and techniques, a book covering centuries in the history a single building on an unfamiliar planet, a comic featuring a fantasied version of space travel, where the ships are shaped like large fish; there seems to be no rhyme or reason to their selection, like someone raided a small library and dumped it all here.

>>6109250
>Try to remember how you got here

>>6109320
>Try to remember how you got here

Your mind draws up a blank. How did you get here? You can't remember much of anything, in fact. Only quick flashes of little scenes, like recollections of a dream. This place seems familiar, but you can't remember anything important, like what planet you're on. You remember eating food here. Cooking. Reading. Talking, with a wide variety of people. A tall person with blue skin and long black hair. A short person in a stained tank top with burns from their collar to their cheek. This place does feel somewhat like home, or at least somewhere you've spent a lot of time. You turn your head to look at through the window again. This definitely isn't your home planet. It's too flat.

>Inspect nightstand
>Inspect strips
>Other

>>6109556
>Try to take the blankets off

>>6109959
>Try to take the blankets off

You take the blankets off the bed. The sheets are flannel, and white with a pattern of leaves on them. But, curiously, laid past where your feet were, are two small objects. They're metal trinkets, slightly smaller than the nail on your last finger, and identical in the shape of a blazing heart. Each has a metal chain, as if to attach them to a ansiport, or maybe a ring of keys. You'd slip them in a pocket, but you currently don't have those.

>Inspect nightstand
>Inspect strips
>Remember "Ansiport"
>Find clothes with pockets
>Other

>>6110511
>Remember "Ansiport"

>>6110524
>Remember "Ansiport"

An ansiport is a small device the size of a paperback novel that connects to an ansible, allowing instantaneous communication thousands of light years away. Of course. the other person has to have one, be on a planet with an ansible, and check it frequently. Ansible connection is expensive, too, and it's often not worth the hassle. But, you could probably see it if you tried...

You stick your head out of the window and crane your neck to get a full 180 degree view. There it is, far off, slightly hazy from latent water vapor. A large pitch black orb, probably a city block in size, stretching far above the surrounding buildings. It's a little awe inspiring, the amount of engineering, materials, work hours, all put into simple communication. Of course, the more populated planets all but rely on these things, even if 80% of humanity gets by without them.

>Inspect nightstand
>Inspect strips
>Find clothes with pockets
>Other

>>6110528
>Inspect nightstand

>>6110728
>Inspect nightstand

On top are just a lamp and a stack of a few fantasy novels, seemingly in the same series. But in the drawer lie a few things of interest. A small red metal box full of cigarettes. A golden lighter the size of a postage stamp. A tube of chapstick, vanilla flavoured. A memo book and a black pen. A stack of old instant film photographs.

>Inspect strips
>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Read memo book
>Check photos
>Other

>>6110844
>Read memo book

File: please linger on.jpg (491 KB, 2111x3415)

491 KB JPG

>>6110852
>Read memo book

Most of the pages are difficult to parse. Dense notes in shorthand, simple diagrams of things unrecognisable, a few grocery lists. One page seems to be prose, describing a sunset. There's also some amateur still life sketches, and one in particular catches your eye; a street in a city, but with a weird rounded machine that you can't parse.

>Inspect strips
>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Check photos
>Other

>>6111003
>Check photos

>>6111155
>Check photos

There's a stack of about 20 pictures with mostly cluttered scenes, and lots of people. A band playing a show for an audience of a few dozen, neon pink lights casting the shot in monochrome. Two people sitting in a forest painting, their backs to you, dressed in thick winter clothes. Another band, this time better lit, someone with fuzzy ears playing a violin, and someone with large fractal like horns on a banjo. The person you remembered previously with the stained tank top, buried in an engine block that takes up the entire rest of the frame. A dark skinned person with wings in a dimly lit room, the rough stone walls glowing blue.

The photos after this seem older, and of different subjects. A group shot of five people, delirious smiles on their faces. One of the people is the tank top again, but they seem to be missing their burns, and, unlike the rest of the group, is not dressed in a robe, which paints them as the odd one out. Another photo is just a small, cramped street, morning or dawn casting it in thin, wispy pinks. A silhouetted figure smoking out of a window. An aerial shot of a city shaped like a funnel, folding in downwards. You heart pangs slightly. This must be home. The final photo is two people. The first, a scrawny teenager with shaggy black hair and several piercings through their face and ears. The second, a blonde person with curly hair and a tooth gap. These are two of the people from the group shot, wearing the same navy and blue robes.

You hold the photo up to the window. Now that the sun is almost below the horizon, you can see yourself a little better. These people definitely resemble you in some way. You have the rounded face of the blonde one, and the darker, straight hair of the other.

>Inspect strips
>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Leave room
>Other

>>6111468
>Inspect strips

>>6111483
>Inspect strips

You hold the dark strips to the lingering sunlight. There are small, regular sockets on the top and bottom, and between them lie bright colours depicting scenes you cannot understand. It's hard to comprehend the size of images this small, but they're definitely pictures in the vein of the ones you found in the nightstand. They're pinned above the window with thumbtacks. How strange.

You start to get hungry. It's nighttime now, and with that comes lunch, right? Gah, what kind of food are you thinking of?

>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Leave room
>Think about food
>Other

>>6111766
>Think about food

>>6111935
>Think about food

Mm, what are you in the mood for? Something sweet sounds nice right now. Pancakes? Waffles? Some bacon or sausage, maybe a scrambled egg...

Oh man it sounds so good, a good pancake the way you like it, with an egg mixed into the premade batter, so it gets really thick. Yeah, that's what you want.

You press your ear to the door, still hearing that gentle music trickle through. It's a simple melancholy tune, and you can make out a quiet voice singing along. "On the twenty first day, the sun didn't hate me, the food wasn't angry, the bed didn't sigh. The ceiling said it's possible I might get my looks back, on the twenty first day of my stay here."

You're really hungry, but something about leaving the room fills you with a gut sensation of terror, like taking an action you'd never be able to undo.

>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Leave room
>Listen more
>Remember song
>Examine terror
>Other

>>6112071
>Examine terror

>>6112591
>Examine terror.

It's the outside world, of course you're scared. This is the only place you can be truly safe, away from people and noise and crowds, their unreadable faces and unknown intentions, never knowing who they are, why they're here, what they're thinking. Do any of them recognise you? Are they judging you?

At least night time is a little better, less people, less noise; it's not as hot, and the light doesn't hurt your eyes. You like the night. Maybe... maybe that'll give you enough confidence to open the door. You're sure of it. As much as the outside scares you, it remains the only place to get a decent meal.


>Find clothes with pockets
>Smoke cigarette
>Apply chapstick
>Leave room
>Listen more
>Remember song
>Other

>>6112873
>Leave room

(loving this quest so far, it's got an understated chill vibe to it and the weird elements leave me wanting to find out more about what's going on

>>6113251
>Leave room

You steel yourself. Whatever's on the other side can't hurt you.

You enter into a small cluttered living room. On the wall facing you is a large corkboard with maybe hundreds of pictures, scraps of paper, and documents. This is probably where most of the pages from the memo pad went. On the wall to the right is another large window which stretches almost entirely across the length of the miniature kitchen. Lounging on a couch to your left is the only person in this room. They're early middle age, with dirty blonde hair chopped uneven at the shoulders, like someone took a pair of safety scissors to it. They stop strumming on the guitar when you enter, silently observing, and you notice one of their eyes is missing. In the socket is wedged a small square of stained glass.

They observe you for a moment before standing and walking over to you. A little bit taller, they rest a maternal hand on your shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

>Good
>Bad
>Unsure
>Hungry
>Leave
>Other

>>6113416
>Unsure
>Hungry

>>6113430
>Unsure
>Hungry

"I dunno... kinda weird? Like... I don't remember anything. Is that normal?"

They shrug and reach into their weird shirt garment, pulling out a small toothpick, and jam it into their mouth. "Yeah."

"Ok, well. I would like some kind of an explanation? And food as well."

They move over to the kitchen and open the fridge, pointing to one of the counter seats facing the stove. "Sit. What do you want to eat?"

"Pancakes please." They grab a large bowl and some mix, before pulling out an envelope and setting it in front of you. Bolded on the front, it reads: "TO ME"

Dear me,

We're going to keep this as short as possible, but also we feel it best if as few of your questions remain answered as we can manage. There of course exist answers, but you are in the state you are in because we wished to undo past wrongs, and litigating those wrongs immediately is likely counterproductive.

You are joined by Iris Loveday, also called One, or the Captain. She was our childhood friend and knows us better than can be considered reasonable, and she'll fill you in on any truly necessary details of your life. You will choose a new name eventually, but for now you don't need to worry about it. Here's some basic details to get you going, and to not bore the Captain with your questions.

-You are a powerful magic user, called a caster, though it may take you a bit to regain your former strength. You might need to relearn magic all over again.
-You are also a saint, a magical being separate from a caster, though they are not mutually exclusive. What you are a saint of will hopefully become clear with time.
-You are a lover of art, specifically art from a long dead planet called Earth, humanity's original home.
-You employ many people for the purposes of your goal, people whose art you enjoy. Part of what led to the situation you are in right now is a severe rethinking of our goal. It would require you to hurt the people you love. Once you meet everyone again, if you so desire, Iris will inform you of this goal and the necessary collateral. The decision will then be in your hands.

Your life will certainly be difficult, but it is our hope that you will prove a more effective artist in the state you are in now.

From you, with love.


You look over at Iris, who's currently whisking an egg into the pancake batter. You can study her better, with her back to you. She's wearing pants, and a strange half robe that exposes one shoulder, and leaves the other arm completely covered.

This is your life from now on, huh? It feels so strange to just be given a purpose right away, even if that purpose is still vague. You wonder what old you was like. Well, probably someone who wouldn't do this on a whim. You haven't known yourself for long, but you don't seem impulsive, and judging by the contents of the letter, they had a good reason. Still, it's a little frustrating.

Iris looks over her shoulder at you. "You're done. Do you have any questions?"

>>6113636
>What wrongs was I trying to undo? Even if I'm not going to do anything about them right away, I want to at least know what I... he? Did? _I_ did? ...what happened. Let's go with that.
>Did I do this to myself, or was it some enemy? Do I have enemies to worry about?

>>6113898
>What wrongs was I trying to undo? Even if I'm not going to do anything about them right away, I want to at least know what I... he? Did? _I_ did? ...what happened. Let's go with that.
>Did I do this to myself, or was it some enemy? Do I have enemies to worry about?

"Ok, so. The letter talked about like, me trying to undo wrongs? And it said you wouldn't tell me everything, but I just want to know what I did? Or... what happened? And did I lose my memory on purpose, or did someone do this to me? I feel like I should at least be allowed to know if there's like, people after me."

While you talk she turns her back to you, flipping the pancake in silence. Turns around again, looking you in the eyes, chewing on her toothpick. "Glad you're still sharp. That's a good sign. Let's take this in order. The wrong that was done was when you were born. They thought they were saving your life, and it's possible that they did, but..." She trails off, looking into the middle distance.

"The life that you lived was honestly quite miserable, in my estimation. You never talked about it that much, so I couldn't say for certain. One of your... friends? Associates? Convinced you to do this, to give it all another go. So the memory thing was all your decision. As for enemies, well that's a bit complicated, but suffice to say there's nobody who's like, after you."

She turns and deposits the first pancake on a plate, handing it to you along with a knife and fork. Butter and syrup are already laid out on the cluttered counter.

>Eat
>Talk more
>Other

>>6114013
appreciate how you melded those stupid questions into one story that made sense
>Eat

>>6114026
>Eat

Oh goodness what a killer pancake, you don't think you've ever tasted a better one in your life. They say food always tastes better when someone else makes it for you, and that might be true but there's something about it that's just transcendental. Well, who knows how long it's been since you've eaten. And, also, to be fair, this is the first thing that you even remember eating. No wonder it's so good. When you consider the fact that there's even better food out there that you haven't even tried yet, it nigh melts your heart. A wide world out there, with all sorts of things to experience.

After you finish the first, Iris adds another, and you demolish it just as fast, quick enough that some gets stuck in your throat and you have to gulp down water so you can breathe again. The next time you pace yourself, and the third pancake is relished, given the time and attention it deserves. You could maybe put away a fourth, but you're full enough at the moment. No need to push it. There's a full life of food waiting for you

Damn. Now you just feel like napping. But now that night's fallen, you feel awake. Physically tired, mentally bouncing off the walls. You feel like you need to get to doing something already. But you have no idea what you feel like doing.

>>6114048
>Thank Iris for the pancakes, and everything else she's doing for you
>Ask if there's anything you can do for her in return

>>6114057
>Thank Iris for the pancakes, and everything else she's doing for you
>Ask if there's anything you can do for her in return

//this made my heart very warm

You watch Iris as she uses the last of the batter to make herself two pancakes, washing the bowl and soiled utensils as the final one cooks. Then she shuts off the stove and faces you, eating the pancakes, toppingless, with her bare hands. "So," she says, mouth full of food. "What now?"

You kinda just look at her for a moment. You realise that you don't know anything about her, really. "You've got that look on your face," she says. "Like you're trying to read my mind."

"What? No, I'm not, I'm just... well. First of all, thanks for the food, it was phenomenal." At this she nods and keeps eating. "And, you know, you're doing so much for me right now. I just - I was wondering if there was something you wanted me to do for you?"

Her face shifts a little, and it almost strikes you as sad. The wrinkles and lineaments becoming more pronounced, she finishes off her pancake. "Eh, not really. I don't got a lot of loose ends. Well - my brother Warren. You already work with him, and he's a big boy, so I'm not asking you to protect him or whatever. Just try to keep him safe...? That's not right either." She shrugs. "I'm not asking you to do anything, except try not to get him killed."

>>6114091
>I "work with him"? What does that mean? How can I make sure this guy doesn't get killed when I'm in this state?
(sorry if this is too many questions to deal with at once, I figured protag-kun would flow from one to the other like that)

>>6114416
I "work with him"? What does that mean? How can I make sure this guy doesn't get killed when I'm in this state?

"I mean how would I even do that, I can't do anything? And, I work with him, do I have a job or something?"

She shakes her head. "Well, more like you employ him. Get him to retrieve an artifact, find a book, talk to someone, follow leads towards what used to be your goal. I guess it was a stupid request, because you're probably not going to do that stuff unless you agree to take on that goal again. But you're wrong to think you're powerless, you know."

"Do you mean magic?" You glance around for... a magic circle? A big staff with a crystal? "The letter said I could do magic, but I don't know anything about it. Could you teach me?"

She laughs. "I could maybe teach you the basics, but not much beyond that. Here," she ambles over to an armchair and gestures to the other one. "I need to sit, my legs are killing me. Drag that closer, you might have to move the table a bit."

You oblige, and it takes more effort than you'd expect to push a chair. She nods at you and pulls up the sleeve that covered her right hand, revealing it to be made of a dark wood, with concentric lines and symbols all around it. "Here." She puts her pointer and ring fingertips together, with the middle fingers lowered and you try to match your hands up like hers, but you feel a tendon in your wrist straining. She then moves position, palms up, ring and pinkies together forming a triangle, thumbs tucked in, you following slowly. Then she sorta twists her hands inwards, so the last two fingers are entwined, and the palms face away from each other, and quickly joins her palms together again. Then, in her cupped hands appears a small golden light, which winks out when her hands separate. You try the last step, and in your own hands is a tiny pinprick of yellow flickering into life, then quickly out of it.

"That's good. At least you can actually do magic."

"God that hurt like nothing else. How do people do this regularly?"

She smiles and examines her right hand. "This one doesn't hurt at least. But the answer is practice. You have to be trained almost from birth to get the flexibility you need. And of course, learning dozens of languages to get their specific breeds of magic. It's basically a job in and of itself, and even if you're one of the lucky, oh, 25% of people who can actually use magic, you likely can't get the education. It's like asking why not everyone is a doctor, it's just way too hard. I only know a few paltry healing spells for emergencies." Her mouth bunches up to one side, like she's chewing the inside. "Anyway... what do you want to do now? The night is still young. We could meet up with a few of the people you employ, get to know them again. Practice some more magic stuff if you wish, or maybe something else I'm not thinking of?

>Meet people
>Practice magic
>Other

>>6115033
>Ask Iris to tell you more about herself
she's our childhood friend and only contact to the outside world, yet we know nothing about her? this needs to be fixed

>>6115190
>Ask Iris to tell you more about herself

"Well, um, I was just wondering like, you know all this stuff about me, and I don't really know anything about you."

She tilts her head and her one eye narrows slightly. "It's honestly really boring, but I guess I'll give it a go. I'm Iris Loveday, and I'm around forty years old - oh, but the second name isn't really official. Our home culture didn't have second names, but they're pretty common in other parts of the galaxy. So my siblings and I chose Loveday."

She taps her wooden fingers on the arm of the chair. "I'm deciding how much detail to go into with regards to our home. I think I'm gonna keep it simple. I don't really have an aptitude for magic, but my other sibling Kos did. We were paired as, essentially, soldiers, and I took up the sword and shield to protect them. I can fight with basically any weapon that's out there, but hand to hand is my specialty. Our brother Warren was excluded from this, since he couldn't do magic or fight, and people who can't do either are treated as sort of an underclass. He somehow left the island near the end of our schooling, and for the next year and change, we plotted to escape too. In one of these trips to a hidden library deep underground, we ran into him; he was coming back for one of his friends. Through Warren, we got passage out, and Kos and I were free."

Iris blows air through her teeth, and sips at some water from the table. "After that, we just kind of gallivanted around the galaxy, mostly working as assassins, since that's what our skill set was tailored towards. We took on some apprentices, taught them the trade. We got cold feet about the business after that, though. One of our jobs went bad, real bad, and we had to scramble to get off planet. There was this woman, Amirah, who was almost killed in an explosion right in front of our eyes, and so we dragged her onto our ship and left. We trained her, but we never told her that we were responsible for what happened."

"From there on, the story only gets more sad and more complicated, and I don't have the time or energy to get into it right now. Long story short, I found you again, completely by accident. You were struggling too, and you needed a right hand. Someone competent and reliable. I had honestly planned to drink and play guitar until I couldn't do one of those anymore, but, being with you again. It felt like the old times, and you were so determined, focused on your mission. I didn't really give a shit about that, I just wanted someone to work with, a sense of purpose, and a use for my talents. That was maybe a year ago now? A year and a half? And here we are."

She stands and stretches, limping to the row of open windows. "Join me for a cigarette?"

>>6115353
>Join her, but don't smoke. You're on some kind of second chance at life, and it's a good opportunity to shift into a healthier lifestyle — or at least try.

>>6115356
>Join her, but don't smoke. You're on some kind of second chance at life, and it's a good opportunity to shift into a healthier lifestyle — or at least try.

You follow her up to the window and after she takes the first puff you hold a hand up in a 'stop' gesture. "It's tempting, but not right now at least."

She nods. "Not like I'm too short on smoking buddies, I guess. I respect it though." She inhales and exhales, the smoke whisked away by the wind. "You used to always joke about using shapeshifting to mitigate the health effects." She chuckles, eyes alight with the reflected glow of the city.

It's beautiful out there, the sun fully set, dim streetlights and illuminated windows covering the landscape in a murky golden shimmer. It's almost hypnotising, the way you get lost in your own thoughts gazing out at all the people.

What do you think about?

>>6115645
>You think about yourself — or, rather, how detached you feel about the concept. Dwelling on your situation makes your mind race with questions:
>Are you really the person you were before all this, or did he die and leave you in his place?
> How much of him is in you? How much of your instincts and responses is his, and how much is something new, a new person? Does the distinction even matter?
>Can you even build a new identity for yourself if you can just remember something from "him" at any moment and have that override whatever viewpoint you've managed to form?
>Amid all the questions, you find resentment for your old self. He left you stranded here, with all of these fears, with all of this vast unplumbed _bullshit_ to dive through... for what? Because he couldn't cope with his own issues? He's some kind of big dick wizard, a goddamn _saint_ or whatever that even means, he had someone as kind as Iris by his side... and he _still_ couldn't get over it, reach a better place, _anything_? Had to dump it all on _you_ so he could escape it all? Not even here to take goddamn responsibility?
>...OK, looks like you were wrong. Not resentment. _Anger._
>You don't know if you're a different person from him; but right now, you sure as hell feel like one. Feel like you _want_ to be one, anyway.
>You sure hope Iris hasn't caught onto any of this. Can't imagine what kind of complicated bullshit _she's_ going through about all this. You sneak a glance at her.

>>6115841
>You sure hope Iris hasn't caught onto any of this. Can't imagine what kind of complicated bullshit she's going through about all this. You sneak a glance at her.

Iris is just leaning over the sill and smoking. It's always hard to read her expression, but from this angle, looking only at her remaining eye, she feels so much more human. You realise that she might have it worse than you. Her only remaining anchor in life, lost again. Her childhood friend, puppeted by a stranger.

You feel slightly selfish towards your rage, considering how well she's been handling it, but settle back on the fact that this was done to you, first and foremost, and you can feel however you want about it.

But then you think back on the letter again. What does "undo past wrongs" actually entail? You genuinely can't think of something that someone could do at birth that would actually constitute a genuine "wrong" that would need to be fixed, except cutting off an arm or something. And you definitely have all your arms at the moment. As much hatred as you feel towards your past self for leaving you like this, it's not like you have any context for what was done to them. You sigh. There's so much under the surface that you won't get to know, at least not for now.

Iris nudges you with her elbow. "Hey," she says, smile on her face. She stubs out the remains of her cigarette in a little ashtray shaped like a strawberry. "You would always give this monologue to people and I thought it was so annoying; I heard it so many times I can probably do it from memory. It'd be funny to subject you to it." She clears her throat and spreads her arms out of the window to the city beyond. "We're now in the district of Insko, population about half a million. Insko is a district in Acedia, a city with a total population of about sixty four million. Acedia is a city in the ward of Ankang, population twelve billion. Ankang, one of sixteen wards of the planet Tritus, population about thirty six billion. Tritus, part of the Third Dawn star system, with seven inhabited planetary bodies, and about ninety billion people. Third Dawn is in the Perseus arm of the Milky Way, which is where numbers start to break down. We've populated so many planets, moons, asteroids, and artificial bodies that we've lost track of even the ones that wished to be known to the wider galaxy. Guesses put humanity's approximate population in the trillions, low double digits. Let's say twenty trillion. Me and you, we're 0.0000000000001% of humanity, with twelve zeros. All the people we've ever met or even seen with our eyes could fit in this borough of this one city. Don't you realise how vast humanity is? There's art out there being made, books written, songs sung, jokes told, that could be the greatest thing you'd ever experienced, if you knew it existed."

She puts a hand on your shoulder. "So whaddaya say we get out there and see what humanity has to offer us?"

>>6116336
>"Was he really that pretentious? At least I know what to avoid talking like now." you say, and laugh, and stall so you don't have to move on to the next part yet. You're not done.
>You realize you might've been overthinking all of this. Sure, you don't have answers for who or _what_ you are yet, and maybe never will... but right now, you're alive, safe, and with a friend — and you're only slightly thrown off by how natural calling her a friend feels — who's willing and ready to help you figure things out. You're pretty sure that's more than a lot of people get.
>You also realize you're leaving her hanging, and you say the first response that comes to mind. It feels like a starting point, at least. Something under your feet.
>"But yeah, sounds great. Lead on."

(hey, it's the anon who's been writing all the responses since >>6109320, just wanted to say this has been a great experience so far. haven't really done collaborative writing like this in a _while_, and I appreciate you running with my ideas even when I was going "off-script"

>>6116546
//surprised its only been one person but thank you for going off script and keeping this alive. i gm a lot of ttrpg games and realised quickly that this would be more interesting if i ran it more in the style of early mspa than an adventure game. with most of my regular players moving away or getting too busy, i needed something, and cranking out 400 or so words a day for one stranger over the internet might as well be it.

//quickly though i would like to point out that you seem to be under the impression this character is a man when their gender is intended to be part of the mystery. that aside, i quite enjoy your characterisation of them.

>>6116544
>"But yeah, sounds great. Lead on."

She smiles. "Well, the definition of pretentious is affecting a meaning that isn't present, and to be honest, past you was full of meaning. Just not great at expressing it, I think." She moves to the bedroom and pulls out the photos you found in the nightstand, spreading them across the kitchen table.

"Here's your options." She points to the shot of the neon band. "The lead singer is Mars, she's a sort of prodigy technomancer. I think right now she's working a job piloting for a scientific expedition.

"Next are Terra and Lior, the painters. Lior used to be an AI piloting a spaceship, and Terra requested assistance in building them a body, so we assigned Warren to help with that. Right now, I think they're just kind of wandering around the galaxy.

"The next two are Calliope and Twig. They were lovers who got separated and now they're a traveling band. We've actually played with them a few times, hold on."

She digs through the detritus on the counter and unearths a photo of three people, arms to shoulders, one being her, one someone you don't recognise, and the third covered up with her finger. "That's you on the right, you were our drummer. The one in the middle was our singer Astrid; she's actually the current saint of time."

She turns that one face down and moves on to the person with the tank top and burns. "That's Warren, but he and Marianna are out doing something or other, and I don't want to bother them.

"Last one is Cairo, he used to be an acolyte of a religious order. I think you befriended him mostly as an easy way to infiltrate the planet Worthing, but he's somewhat chill, all considered. Very experienced in deep space travel.

"Who here sounds most interesting? You can ask more questions about them if you want."

>>6116683
>//quickly though i would like to point out that you seem to be under the impression this character is a man when their gender is intended to be part of the mystery. that aside, i quite enjoy your characterisation of them.
guess I just defaulted to male for some reason, will keep that in mind. hope people see this and pick up and you get more than just the one stranger lol

>"I could really go for chill right now, if I'm gonna be honest. I'd like to go see Cairo first."
>"Is there anything I should know about the guy in advance, or his religion? So I don't offend him or anything?"

>>6116700
>"Is there anything I should know about the guy in advance, or his religion? So I don't offend him or anything?"

She shakes her head and hands you an ansiport from her pocket. "Not really, no. I'm not sure how much he's still a believer, since he got kicked out a few months ago. Go ahead and message him, ask for his location. Let's get ready to go."

The ansiport is a large, heavy device about the size and thickness of a small paperback, a bit bigger than your hand with all its fingers together. It has a screen that changes to display text, but no backlighting, for battery life reasons. These things should last a few dozen days on one charge, and what's the point of overpaying for a little light? Magic already exists. You see a few different usernames on the frequent contacts list, but "SpeakerCairo" is easy to pick out.

You open the name, and there's no chat log. Guess it must've been deleted. What do you say?

>>6117044
>You consider asking Iris why the logs are deleted; she did say there's nothing to worry about, though, so it feels trivial. Besides, she can't hold your hand through this mountain of bullshit that your future has become forever; you have to start gripping the shovel yourself.
>In that spirit, you focus on the screen while trying to figure out what to say. It feels like you're playing with a handicap; you know very little about this guy, and he knows more than that about you. Well, about the old you, anyway. Will he respect the difference, or just be waiting for the "real" you to come back?
>You realize that you're starting to project some things onto this stranger, and that's hardly fair. If you want to be seen without prejudice, the least you can do is give him the same chance. You also realize you've been starting at the screen for a few minutes straight. You say the first thing that comes to mind to get this over with.
>"hey, my old self did something and now I can't remember anything, you included. would you be willing to catch up so we can figure that out?"
>Right after you hit send, you realize this is probably a lot to dump on someone out of the blue. You feel vaguely guilty about this entire situation and can't quite put your finger on why. In lieu of examining that, you type out something simple:
>"sorry"

>>6117171
>"sorry"

SC: oh no, don't be sorry !
SC: iris told me about
SC: uh
SC: yknow the whole thing
SC: or at least most of it?
SC: umm
SC: do you have a name?
SC: its fine if you dont,,,,,

Iris tosses you a pair of shoes, pants, and a large coat, the latter two smelling like laundry detergent. "Put those on, gimme five and we can be out the door."

SC: um, i'm at the cabin on elodia
SC: uh, tell iris if you don't know where that is
SC: see you soon!

You obey and slip on the worn sneakers. The pants are tight black jeans, worn at the knees and the outside seams. The jacket is olive green and made of a very thick, canvas-like material, but use has rendered it soft and fuzzy. Standing to put it on, it's definitely way too big for you, the hem falling at mid calf, and the sleeves extend well past your fingertips. You unbutton them and roll them up to your wrists. There's gotta be a mirror in here somewhere, but first you should probably acknowledge Cairo's reply.

>>6117600
//just realised i mixed up calf and thigh. whoops!

>>6117600
>It just now occurs to you that you don't even have a name. The most basic thing. Another thing that _bastard_ took from you.
>No time for dwelling on all that now, though. Right now, you're chatting with someone who's being, all things considered, shockingly nice and accommodating about all this on short notice. Existential crisis later, typing out a response now.
>"I look forward to meeting you"
>Too much? Ah well, it's already sent. You decide to wait for Iris so you can ask her more about the cabin. In the meantime, you try to search for a mirror, hoping you don't look _too_ awkward with this giant-ass jacket. You idly wonder if this world has actual giants.

>>6117837
>In the meantime, you try to search for a mirror, hoping you don't look _too_ awkward with this giant-ass jacket. You idly wonder if this world has actual giants.

You wander through the small apartment, taking in all of the... stuff. It's certainly lived in, you'll give it that. You think about giants, and you can swear there's something tugging at the back of your memory, but you can't grasp onto it. You do get images of some truly large humans though, one probably bordering ten feet tall. How odd.

The only mirror you can find is a small one mounted above the sink in the bathroom. It's strange to see your face for the first time. It's very smooth. According to Iris, you must be around forty, but you look like early twenties at best. Maybe even a teenager. Perks of being a shapeshifter? Although you weren't sure if that was a joke or not. Your eyes are large and deep brown, with a long nose between them, and thick eyebrows. Your mouth is small and high set. There's a smattering of moles across your face, like little drops of paint. Your wavy hair goes to the shoulders in various shades of brown. It's shaggy and disheveled, like it hasn't been brushed in a decade. You turn to view yourself from a few different angles, really trying to commit your own face to memory. Try on a few facial expressions. Are you dissatisfied? You saw a little bit before, so you're not sure what you were expecting. Was it something more plain? Less plain? Until you learn shapeshifting magic, you're probably stuck with it.

You step back, taking in what you can see of your build and outfit. Your thin shoulders slope down, or maybe that's just your posture. The "LIFE IS ART" t-shirt goes well with the coat at least, the bulk of the latter somewhat filling out your form. Almost like a trench coat in an old earth movie. Overall, it definitely doesn't look bad on you.

Iris pops her head into the bathroom. "Ready?"

>>6118119
>"Oh, uh, you got a hairbrush I could borrow? Apparently the last owner of this hair didn't bother with ever brushing it, by the way it looks." You laugh, and it feels oddly comforting that you're able to joke about your situation like this. Maybe you'll be completely OK with it one day?
>"Nothing else I need, though. By the way..." You'll need something to call your old self; if you don't have a name yet, at least you'll have an easier time referring to that fuck in conversation, and calling them "that fuck" in front of all their closest friends is a good way to make sure they're not going to be _your_ friends.
>"What was their name? You know, the one who was in here..." You rap your fist against your head. "...before all this happened?"

>>6118592
>"What was their name? You know, the one who was in here..." You rap your fist against your head. "...before all this happened?"

She nods and digs through the drawers below the sink, procuring a small plastic hairbrush. "Old you didn't believe in brushing their hair. They said that they liked the volume, and brushing flattened it. But, well. Your other question..." She looks on from the doorway as you brush, and indeed, it becomes a lot thinner, and you're unsure if you prefer it like this. Her wooden fingers rap along the tile counter. "Let's call them "Pluto" for now."

You examine yourself in the mirror, and shoot her a quick glance in the reflection. She looks back at you and blinks, stalwart and unchanging as a stone. That's definitely not the real name, although, for your purposes, you guess a real name doesn't actually matter, it's just for convenience more than anything. "Did you get a location from Cairo?"

"Yeah, a cabin on a place called Elodia." She nods briskly. "That's not too far, maybe an hour or so. Last call for anything in here you wanna grab, though-" she looks over the cluttered mess. "I'm not sure what you'd want, besides a system of organisation."

>>6118790
>"We can cross that bridge when we get to it." You sneak one last look at the thinner hair; it feels like you've scored some kind of petty victory against Pluto. It feels good to have a name for them now, like a problem has just become more tangible.
>You'd answer the rest of her question, but when you start thinking about what you'd want, you can't really find anything, and that worries you. You think seeing Cairo and the others would be good for you, but it's not something you really _want_ want to do; it feels more like a checklist Pluto left behind for you. You're doing it because it's there, because it's something to hold on to. Something that might help. But help with what?
>It hits you. What you want. And it's not going to be something you can take with you on the journey. It's not something Iris is going to be able to give, not on her own. It's something that's going to have to come from you, in the end.
>"I want solid ground." you say with a sigh, words dropping out before you can catch yourself and act stable. "Something stable to form a life around, some _identity_ around. Some sense of what normal is for me anymoer. I just-"
>You're on the brink of tears as you stare at the floor, ashamed but unable to stop yourself from spewing all this out anyway. "I just want there to be a real _me_ at the end of all this."
>And there it is; you're officially crying. Congratulations. The carpet's getting blurry, but you refuse to blink the tears out, holding on to what little empty pride you've got in you. "Sorry, I- I know this is like way harder on you and the rest and all, but..." There's nothing you can say to complete that sentence; no words broad enough to cover the huge, howling hole that is your future, your past, and your fear of it all. _You're_ not big enough to cover it. You let yourself fall to your knees instead of even trying to speak.

>>6119136

Iris sits down on the bathroom floor next to you and takes one of your hands in hers. She runs a fingernail up and down the lines on your palm, pressing her fingertips to yours, bending each individual joint and so on. You almost get the impression she's trying to comfort herself more than comfort you. "It's alright. You know I came to terms with this months ago, and you just got dumped into it a few hours ago. It's ok that you're still - unsure. I'm sorry if I'm taking things too fast, or if, I dunno, I messed up in some way. This is hard on you, and we don't have to do anything unless you want to." She continues fiddling with her hand, almost like it's a kind of stress response.

>>6119207
>Through the sniffling and falling tears that Iris' ministrations ended up pushing out of you, you hear her apologize and feel her uncertainty. The fact that she's pushing through her own issues with all this is almost too much to bear, and you feel an overwhelming need to reassure her.
>"N-no, you're not- you're fine!" you manage to spit out, a bit louder than you meant to. You don't look at her when you talk; you don't know why, since there's not really anything you're hiding from her anymore. "It's not your fault, it's- it's not your issue to fix."
>As you speak, you try to pull your hand away; as much as her movements helped, what would help you the most right now is assuring her you don't need them. You take a deep breath and wipe at face with your unoccupied hand's sleeve. "I'll be fine. I'm already making progress. I'll get there. And you only have to help with that as much as you can. This is something I need to figure out for myself." Sounding out the words does somehow help you stabilize; faking it til you... you almost remember the full saying, but not quite.
>"So if _you're_ still up for that... let's get started with Cairo."

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>>6119630
//oh my god it's been almost two weeks. i said in the first post i was busy and i guess life finally came knocking...
//im moving right now, and stress with work and life and someone close to me being in the hospital, i've just been burnt out and this stopped being part of my routine.
//i've started to write the next bit of the story a few times, but my brain just doesn't want to be working on this. apologies for the delay(s) and the poor quality of the narrative from hereon out
//doesn't help that the next bit i was thinking of was more than a few paragraphs...
//anyway here's some art i made of pluto a few years back, if it's any consolation.

She nods, her face drawn taut. She definitely has something to say, but you've gotten the impression that she doesn't voice her own opinion too often. It falls slack again, and she rubs her palms on her pants, like she's wiping off sweat or germs or something. She stands, fully back in business mode. "I'm ready if you are."

You look up at her and steel yourself. "Let's get going then."

You both leave the apartment, which exits into a grimy hallway; old, outdated wood paneling and peeling wallpaper. It's definitely not as nice as the apartment, which raises your opinion of old you a few points. If this is what they had to work with, then the somewhat controlled chaos is a definite upgrade.

Iris locks the door and you both descend a few flights of stairs in silence, leaving you worn out by the end. You definitely need to work out a little more. You weave through the uneven cobbles of the streets, the tall buildings crowding your vision of the sky, leaving you a little claustrophobic, but at least there aren't a lot of people out this time of night, and regular lights placed at street level provide a decently illuminated journey. After a walk that takes longer than you'd thought, you finally arrive at a large wide building, only a story tall.

You walk through a narrow corridor, doors spaced far apart, each with a large number painted in white, until you reach the end, number nine. Iris inserts a small slip into a reader, and the door slides open. Behind it is - you recognise with a start - a spaceship. It's the size of a small house, maybe an apartment, with unpainted, rusty metal lining the outside. Iris pulls down a set of steep stairs leading to the inside, and gestures for you to enter.

>>6127917
(don't even worry about it. I never wanted this to feel like an obligation that you should feel bad about missing, especially if you had actual issues to deal with. I just assumed you didn't feel up for doing this anymore and had no hard feelings about it, so when/if you wanna drop this that's totally cool. thanks for the art and for bearing with _my_ poor quality of responses lol)

>You don't enter yet. Some distant part of your brain is willing your legs to move, but they won't. All you do is stare, slack-jawed, at the ship whose surface feels like it's absorbing your certainties.
>You already knew up until this point, abstractly, that space travel was a thing; but facing a ship in person, and being about to board it, confronts you with the immensity of the world you've about to enter. You were 'born' in an apartment, and now you're reckoning with, what, millions of miles? Millions of miles of empty space you know nothing about. Empty space that's empty because you've forgotten so much about it. It almost feels impossible for your mind, any mind, to ever grasp all of it.
>That distant something in your head finally finds the right words to get you moving: you can figure this out in the ship. Don't make this more awkward than it already has been.
>"So." you say as you start climbing, trying to sound unaffected. "Elodia's in space. Didn't, uh, didn't expect that from the time estimate. One hour, huh?"

>>6127993
>"So." you say as you start climbing, trying to sound unaffected. "Elodia's in space. Didn't, uh, didn't expect that from the time estimate. One hour, huh?"

She nods and follows you up the stairs into an airlock, pulling them up behind her. As she cycles the airlock, she says "Oh, space travel is like, really fast." Your ears pop as a gentle hiss fills the compartment. "The gist is that you warp space, shrinking the area in front of you, expanding the region behind you. Sort of bending the rules of physics more than breaking them, our speed itself isn't faster than light, but we will arrive there far faster than if we were at light speed. It's not as quick as teleportation, of course, but it'll do for now." The change in pressure is a little strange, like it's easier and harder to breathe at the same time.

Iris turns a large metal wheel on the far door and leads you inside. It's pretty cramped, but just as homely as the apartment. A small kitchen sits in front of you, with a few chairs assembled around a small table, and scattered appliances packed as dense as possible into the walls. To your left is a large computer console with a multitude of glowing lights and buttons and dials that you couldn't possibly make sense of. Iris sits at the chair in front and says, "I'll pilot us. Feel free to explore, just don't fuck with the processor room or the engines."

>>6128138
>You sit down beside Iris, now almost fully comfortable again. Getting some kind of explanation about space travel has made the concept more tangible somehow, not as immense. That, and the room is actually really comfortable. You wouldn't mind living in a place like this, if you had to.
>It seems you prefer small spaces. You make a mental note of this; it's another thing you now know about yourself. That, too, comforts you. You let out a small sigh and smile, despite the circumstances.
>"It's actually pretty nice here. Cozier than I expected a spaceship to be. What's the console for?"

>>6128702
>"It's actually pretty nice here. Cozier than I expected a spaceship to be. What's the console for?"

"Oh, you know. Altitude, fuel, engine temps, airspeed, vertical velocity, communications, lightspeed indicators, and I think a compass, for when you're not actually going into space." She taps the window. "This is obviously for not running into things, but -" she flips a visor from the ceiling that mostly covers the viewport.

"When you're bending space like that, you have to read the inputs directly from the fine grain long range scanners, because shrinking smaller stellar bodies like asteroids is like firing bullets directly at your own ship, and that's if you're lucky. If it's something like a comet or just debris some shitheel left floating about, it's more like a shotgun blast. It contracts these things and then they accelerate and spread out when the reach the inside pocket."

She flips the visor up and rotates her chair to face you. "Wait. Do you know what guns are? I'd figure that's leftover from old earth knowledge, but you won't find any here."

>>6129015
>Flying this thing is that complicated and dangerous? And Iris is doing this because you asked to go see someone? The sense of being an inconvenience begins to overwhelm you, gluing you to your seat and your eyes to the table.
>Iris' question snaps you out of it, though, and starts you thinking about guns; now that she mentions it, no mental image pops to mind. Only vague ideas that you try to tease some meaning out of, rubbing at your temples as you spit them out. "Metal tubes... that explode? And smaller bits of metal come out? And... I guess shotguns are... bigger? Gah, I don't know."
>Wow, what incisive commentary. Could be a clue that you were actually the saint of clowns all along. Frustrated at the limits of your knowledge, you slump onto the table, hoping you at least look less stupid than you feel. "I do get the analogy, though. Avoid stuff in space or you die."

>>6129673
>"I do get the analogy, though. Avoid stuff in space or you die."

"Yeah that's good enough. Don't worry though, any decent vessel can withstand some major hits, so it's not like it's that dangerous. Anyway..." She starts pressing buttons on the computer, and you feel the vibration of the engine beneath you as it kicks on. "I'll get us going. I guess explore if you want, or you can stay here and talk to me, if that's what you're into." She chuckles a little halfheartedly, and you feel a lightness as you begin to lift in the air, the wall of the warehouse receding into a multiplicity of amber lights cast over the city like little sparks. The sensation is disorienting, but the lightness is welcome, the weight of your physical body slowly lifting out of itself. It's almost freeing.

>>6129991
>It's almost freeing. Your body breaking out of Earth's gravity makes you feel like your mind's rising too; rising from the shackles of your situation, rising towards something new... for the first time since you woke up today, Pluto's not on your mind; even the name popping up in your head feels trivial, not like the mountain looming above you that it was before. There's only the ship, you, and Iris. It's like your body's being filled with energy from the inside out. Almost overwhelming.
>Scratch that, it _is_ overwhelming. You need to do something with this excitement; taking Iris' advice (and what seemed to you like a hint that Iris doesn't really feel like talking right now), you get up from your seat and walk towards the walls.
>You look over the appliances and try to figure out what they might do on your own; even if you get them wrong, it could make for a decent topic with Cairo if you run out of things to talk about.

>>6130400
>You look over the appliances and try to figure out what they might do on your own; even if you get them wrong, it could make for a decent topic with Cairo if you run out of things to talk about.

The appliances are... surprisingly boring. Induction stove, microwave, sink, refrigerator. You wonder how washing dishes works in zero gravity. Checking the cabinets, the dishes and utensils seem to fit into foam slots that prevent them from sliding around or breaking with the motion of the ship. The cups all have lids and straws, too.

It's pretty standard, all considering. And perhaps less magical than you'd assumed.

>>6130787
>Yeah, those make sense. Not everything about your new life can be magical and mysterious, apparently. Really, it's a relief that some things turn out normal and expectable.
>Still, that's one thing you won't be able to discuss with Cairo later. Could try talking about religion, maybe? He was a priest, right? Or would that be a sore subject, since he left?
>Something about the topic itches your brain. Pluto means something religious, right? Vaguely? Maybe you should avoid that theme when choosing your name. But wouldn't that also be giving Pluto control over you? Lost in racing thoughts, you
>Open the fridge

>>6131444
>Open the fridge

It's pretty normal here too. Drink cans, sauces, and a few scattered ingredients that won't go bad quickly. This ship must not be used very often. But... your throat's a bit dry. You take stock of the cans. Soda, sweet tea, fruit juice, alcohol, and a few other types you can't exactly identify. Do any call out to you?

>>6134612
>You look over the cans, stopping to look at the unknown ones for a bit. As you do, a realization wells up inside you;
>You've been playing things entirely too cautiously up to this point; responding to things as they come, following Iris' lead, not straying too far from what you know. That's not where you're going to find yourself.
>You feel the overwhelming urge to do something new, something you have no idea will work or not. If it fails, it fails, but at least that'll be something palpable and shocking and real.
>You grab a can you don't recognize at random, open it, and start chugging.

>>6134762
>You grab a can you don't recognize at random, open it, and start chugging.

The can is bright orange with a cartoon of a young boy pointing towards the viewer. The taste is bitter and foreign, but with a little sweetness in the aftertaste. You definitely shouldn't've chugged it. The carbonation bubbles through your nose, which is wholly unpleasant, and it almost makes you want to vomit. But, as you manage to keep the beverage down, its offputting taste beckons again. It's... quite good, actually.

>Make a mental note of this brand to check it out later
>Inspect other unfamiliar cans