View source for 2022-10-25: Ride the Wave

{{Log
|cast=Banagher Links, Mineva Lao Zabi, Shelby Korts
|location=Side 4: Sweetwater
|summary=After the disaster at Char's old mansion, Banagher and Mineva meet someone new.
}}
{{PhaseAndTurn
|phase=1
|turn=2
}}
 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        Fingers curl in the grip of the handle over her head, staring out the window on the train.  Though packed a bit by virtue of it being the central line that runs from nearly end to end of Sweetwater Colony, ending in a ramp-up toward the industrial and docking zone, the crowd is not nearly as thick as it is-- or could be-- at rush hour.  Not that it'll matter, later.

        The Federation will eventually get bored and leave after they harass the locals more, she thinks to herself, staring somewhere halfway between her own reflection and the distant building.  It's going to put a choke on operations for a little bit, too.

        In another time, she wore the crisp upturned collar and formal jacket of a soldier in the rebellion.  It's not a thought Shelby Korts likes to dwell on for too long; her choices were made in the past and she has to move on for the future.  Of course, that future is a little...

        Turbulent.

        Gravity shifts just the slightest amount under her feet as the train moves, a reminder that grounds her-- ironically or not-- and acts as a subtle reminder that her stop is coming up.

        When she arrives at the hotel and consults the scrap of unfolded paper in her hand, Shelby rips it into a few pieces and scatters it amongst a few trash cans along the way, ultimately ending up standing before the door of the hotel room.  Her presence is not that hard to feel from any given range; like a light trying to survive on a stormy sea and only moments of calm in between.

        She draws in a breath.  'Ride the wave.'

        Shelby knocks three times, a pause, then twice more.

        Not the tallest girl and certainly around(?) or older(?) than Banagher or Mineva, the young woman waiting outside has shoulder-length pink hair and a pair of glasses with black frames.  Her tanktop is plain, and wearing an old purple-shade hoodie with dark leggings and running sneakers that look like they're on their last legs, but never quite give up the ghost.  She also is wearing a satchel bag, strap cutting a diagonal across her torso to the weight hanging at her hip.

        She's also listening for activity.  Or, stray, passing thoughts, those are always good to identify people too.

        "Banagher Links?" she asks the door.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed.
<poem>
"I think it's the right one. Persimmon." Banagher's voice comes through the cheap door. "I remember because I had to look up what a Persimmon even was."

Beyond the door seems to be a shimmering starfield of psychic energy -- vast, unfocused, radiant. Beneath this source of power are very human emotions, however, excitement and affection in equal parts. There's a laugh, and the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

"She's going to love this. I just know it. You know, I've still got a little of that bread left over, if you want--"

Awareness. The young man goes quiet, and his mind turns outward. Who is he sensing? A friend? An enemy? Tension, as he whispers "Audrey, get back by the window. If it's someone band, we're gonna jump out."

Footsteps toward the door, and all at once, it's swung open. A young man with wild brown hair and soft gold eyes reveals himself, one hand up as though ready to defend himself... Though that hand lowers almost instantly. "Yeah. That's me."

"Who are you?" He asks, stepping back to let Shelby into the room. "You don't feel like a bad person."

Banagher's thoughts race. Protectiveness toward the young lady in the room, confusion -- mixed with curiosity. No enemy would wear an outfit like that, right? Surely not such torn-up shoes. If they ran, there's no way this woman could keep up with them without totally destroying her shoes. A lesson he learned the hard way.

"This is Audrey." Banagher gestures toward the blonde young woman. "We're here -- visiting. Old friends."

You don't need to be a telepath to tell /that's/ a lie.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.
<poem>
A girl's voice joins Banagher's, saying, "I like her costume a lot. It's cute... and the songs look like they'll sound great." A pause. "Shame we don't have anything to play it on here..." she murmurs.

She's a more focused presence; a light, perhaps, gleaming amidst the vastness. Excitement and joy, but undercut with pensiveness. Guilt and anxiety.

And, for a moment, fear, as she feels someone just outside the door. It fades to wariness--readiness. Wondering who...

Mineva Zabi stands beside the window when Banagher opens the door, Her thoughts move similarly, giving Shelby's outfit a brief analysis, and a calmness washes over her.

She nods in confirmation to Banagher's statement, slowly stepping away and toward Shelby, guard lowering a touch. "Hello," she smiles.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        The door opens, the hand starting to lift and then going down.  The moment lingers; the stare at Banagher as though now that she can actually *see* him, she's trying to size him up in some way.  His thoughts and feelings come across as something ... pure.  Kind?  Far too kind to be the person who drove that horned unit at Torrington, the way it--

        'You don't feel like a bad person.'

        Her brow scrunches, not quite sure how to respond.  "Thank... you?"

        Curiously, she stares at Banagher for a moment longer before looking down at her sneakers almost appraisingly.  In the next moment, her attention is back on the boy with the brown hair.  She says nothing, but there's a flicker of a frown there, instead moving on to other things, like...

        Mineva.  Met with only a glance, the young woman gives a quick nod at the introduction.  Standing outside for the moment, the young woman's hands slide into the pockets of her hoodie, elbows cocked out a little.  It's almost like she's trying to go through a carefully-rehearsed script before advancing to the next part-- it doesn't come off as robotic, but definitely a little 'socially awkward.'

        "My name is Shelby Korts," she says, her cadence a little awkward-- stilted, clipped.  "I work for Ms. Mesua.  Sorry if I surprised you."

        Stepping inside, she wipes her feet on the floor mat at the door before moving aside, not wanting to barge too far into their space.  "Basically a courtesy call.  I mean."  Her eyes close, shuffling her words into the right order.  Someone three rooms down is having an argument over the phone and it might as well be right in her ear.

        "I'm just here to make sure you two are okay.  If you need anything.  What with, you know.  Everything going on."

        There are things left unsaid, but certainly left hanging in implication:  The Federation's presence.  Frontal causing problems.  The Unicorn.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed.
<poem>
Oh, one of Miss Mesua's colleagues. That makes way more sense. There's a visible sigh of relief from the young man.

"Please sit down, if you like, uh--" There's one chair. Banagher drags it over from the window and places it near the edge of the bed, where he chooses to perch. "Miss Korts. It's okay. We're just a little on-edge after what happened at the mansion."

Golden eyes soften as Shelby describes her reason, Banagher leaning forward just a hair. Trust is easily won with this young man. "Thank you. To be honest, we're both... really sorry for the way things happened. He destroyed a historical landmark, and now the Federation is all over the place." Looking away for a moment, he seems to gather his thoughts. "I wish we could do something to help everyone."

Today, Banagher is just in a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans. Brown boots are left by the door -- perhaps belonging to him -- and the sleeve of a hoodie can be seen hanging from one of the drawers of the cheaply-made dresser. Two Go stones sit atop the dresser, as well. An odd place of prominence for such simple objects. His thoughts are... grateful, primarily. Guilt and anxiety are certainly present, just as they are for Audrey, but the sensation of being cared for is still a novelty for this young man.

"I like your hoodie." He offers, with a smile. "As for us... This might sound weird, but is there a way we could get two keyboards? Electronic pianos. It doesn't need to be anything fancy. There's -- not much to do while we're hiding. Um, and some blankets would be nice, since we're sharing."

It's hard to ask for the things you need. Especially when you've already put people out simply by existing.

"And please, if anything comes up that we could do to help out, let us know. It's important we lay low, but -- everyone here has been so kind to us. I don't want to do nothing while they suffer."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.
<poem>
Audrey remains on edge; it's not Shelby's fault so much as it is everything else. Her heart's still racing a little, and she hugs her arms against herself. She nods in agreement with Banagher. "Yes. I'm... we're sorry. This is awful. We bear some blame in all of this, and it's..."

That's the guilt, there.

"I used to live here, too. I want to make up for it somehow. We're... getting by, though. Thank you." She nods to Shelby.

It feels worse when she realizes, a few moments later, that Shelby probably lives there.

It's quite true; for all the struggles their stay has brought, they've been together, and that's helped. There's happiness and support to be found in companionship, and Banagher and Audrey have forged a deep bond with each other.

There's perhaps a touch of guilt at needing help, as though she feels she *should* be able to manage. Should be more capable.

She glances at Banagher as he asks about the pianos, and smiles. "It's a strange request, I know, but we got a book of sheet music, and we're hoping to play it for ourselves before we leave."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
	"Shelby," the young woman insists, holding her hand up a little.

        On-edge is exactly what she would have expected, given the circumstances.  Easing her way over to the chair, she does not yet sit herself down, watching instead how Banagher carries himself-- it's an appraising sort of look, like she's trying to square off how this young man moves and speaks and how he seems to just be so ... positive?  Open?  Free?  When things are a little more complicated than that.  When he piloted that Gundam, full of psychoframe-- and the things that made her head throb for days.

        Again, she looks down at her clothes.  Unshouldering her bag and setting it down next to the chair, Shelby slides out of the zip-upsweatshirt.  She's wearing compression sleeves that extend from wrist to elbow, black in color-- and, she eases into the seat quickly.  "Oh, um.  Thank you."

        "There's a secondhand shop in my part of town that I could check.  It probably wouldn't be anything fancy. I-If they have it.  But it might hold you over while you're on the colony."  She shrugs a little.  "Sweetwater usually kind of ... we make do."

        'I used to live here.'

        "Oh, did you?"  It's hard to say if she actually *recognizes* Mineva, but there's something about the two of them that feels like a puzzle that needs to be pieced together.  Audrey, was it?  Her mouth opens for a moment, then slowly starts to close.  "The Sinanju popping up out of nowhere definitely caused a stir.  I was dead asleep when I started getting frantic texts about it."  She adds, looking to Mineva, "I used to live out this way, but ... I started living down in the closed section a few years ago," she adds, nodding at Mineva.  She points, for emphasis, in a small gesture, in the direction of the massive circular wall.

        "No, it's fine.  I'll do what I can.  I know there's a lot of.  ... Stuff.  Going on right now.  I hope Sweetwater's been good to you, in the meantime.  Things have gotten a lot better in recent months."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed.
<poem>
"Shelby." Banagher repeats, with a little smile.

While the young pilot is certainly open-hearted and positive, beneath all that is a later of guilt and fear. It's been stomped down as much as emotionally possible -- but if Shelby looks closely, she might see dark circles under the young man's eyes. He isn't sleeping well. But he's not the sort to put these burdens on the shoulders of a kind stranger -- so positivity is what Shelby will be outwardly presented with.

The compression sleeves on her arms get a curious look, but Banagher knows better than to ask about medical items upon first meeting someone. Politely, he only glances at them for a moment, before turning his attention back to Shelby's face. "Thank you very much, Shelby. We want to surprise someone waiting for us back on Earth. We don't need anything more than the bare minimum."

"I'm really sorry about that." Some of that gulit floats to the surface, though he quickly tries to crush it back down. "It was my idea. I wanted to see Audrey's old home, and we had no idea Full Frontal could track us."

"Sweetwater's been wonderful. People are always looking out for us, even though they don't know us." Banagher's gaze turns a little faraway -- thoughts of a woman come to his mind. Mother. "It reminds me of where I grew up, a little. It was rough there, too, but everyone watched out for each other."

"I'm sorry to bring it up, but.." Banagher shifts a little, his thoughts tilt toward a kind of fond worry. "Have you seen the Unicorn? Is she okay? Has anyone tried to take her apart, or anything?"
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.
<poem>
Audrey nods, "Yeah. I grew up in that section, actually... ended up moving out into this section afterward later, when..."

The sentence trails off.

She nods to Banagher, "Yes, we'd really appreciate it. But... don't worry if you can't find it," she reassures, "We won't die or anything without one. I know that kind of thing can be a long shot around here."

There's another nod. A lot of guilt about what happened afterward. "I'm not sure he was even tracking us," she comments, quietly. "If he has... some of Char in him... he may have been chasing a memory." A shake of her head as she adds, "But it doesn't really matter. It's safer to assume he was... and he knows we're here, even if he's leaving us be."

She smiles as Banagher mentions the help they've been given, and nods, "Yeah. People... when things are hard, people band together. And I'm thankful that they've been willing to help us."

There's a moment's pause, and she considers something. "Since you're one of Ms. Mesua's associates... if you don't already know, I should probably tell you who I am. Banagher's right--we were going to the mansion because I used to live there. I wanted to see it again."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        Chasing a memory ... she knows all too well how that goes; a twinge of readable ...sadness?  Empathy?  Even then... "I wouldn't worry about it too much right now.  With the Fed presence and now that we're on guard, he'll have a harder time of trying to sneak back into Sweetwater, I bet."

        Banagher is in a specific brand of company-- not just a Newtype, but one that does not get much sleep, herself.  Though she's managed to catch enough to be well and functional, it is a specific pain that she recognizes, knows, and will likely be the first to shake a finger about poor health conditions.  Shelby gives a quick nod and a polite smile to both of them.  "It's fine.  No thanks necessary.  Helping out is part of my job."

        A thoughtful pause, then her finger lifts.  "This job.  Not my day job.  Job-job."

        Though it takes a second for her to recover before she starts to ramble off on a tangent, Shelby *is* certainly taking her mental notes-- Frontal tracking them, friends on Earth.  Dr. Mass is, at least, vouching for Banagher, but Audrey is still an element she isn't sure of quite yet.  At the same time, a lot of the pink-haired young woman's history with Zeon starts and ends within the last three to five years-- and almost all of it with her feet firm in this colony.

        Audrey does, at least, confirm a *couple* of suspicions in the next moment.  "Ah... I see.  I--"

        A beat, before she quickly changes gears toward Banagher's query.  "Um... I haven't checked in yet.  But I believe the Unicorn is being analyzed?  There is a lot to look over.  I mean things I didn't... know, either.  I was at Torrington," Shelby adds, making a small gesture.  "I could... hear. A lot."  Tapping a finger against the side of her head, she clarifies with adding, "It.  Um.  I mean, ... that's a lot of psychoframe in there."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed.
<poem>
"That's a silver lining, I guess." Banagher murmurs, at the thought that the Federation's crackdown might keep Full Frontal away.

Banagher looks sideways at Audrey as she offers to tell Shelby who she is. Audrey gets to make this decision, of course, but -- can they trust Shelby this much? With a long, focused glance, Banagher tries to reach out to the other Newtype, searching for any sign of hostility or mistrust.

After a quiet few seconds, Banagher gives an almost-imperceptible nod. Shelby seems to have passed his test. "You have another job, besides this? You must be busy. I used to have a part-time job while I was in college, and it was exhausting." He seems to think for a moment. "If you need help at either job, please call on me."

"You were--" Banagher winces, closing his eyes. What must Shelby think of the Unicorn, of him, after witnessing the disaster at Torrington? "I'm sorry. I hope you weren't hurt. I promise, Unicorn isn't really like that. She just wants to protect me, and when Amuro appeared, she couldn't take it."

Shelby seems like a powerful Newtype, if she's so affected by the Unicorn's psychoframes. Glancing to the Go stones resting on the dresser, Banagher makes a decision. "Miss Mesua gave us these rocks to practice on. Have you seen them before? Audrey can get hers to glow, but I haven't made any progress yet. Do you have any tips?" Standing as he speaks, the young man retrieves the black stone, and offers it to Shelby.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.
<poem>
Audrey gives a glance back in Banagher's direction, one eyebrow raised as if to say 'you opened the door'. She smiles, though, as Banagher offers to help her, and nods in turn. "And me too. We won't be here more than another couple of weeks right now, but..."

There's a certain anxiousness at the talk of Torrington, and she purses her lips. Maybe if she'd been more proactive, if she'd trained, if she'd escaped... maybe things wouldn't have been so bad.

No. What's done is done... and they were up against a supernaturally strong Newtype. They're going to learn now, both of them, going to improve.

But it's difficult to say if that will help, the next time the Nu Gundam appears.

"Too much psycoframe," she adds to Shelby's remark, snatching the white Go stone off the dresser and sitting on her bed. "She told us what she thinks it's doing... the NT-D is opening him up too much. Channelling the emotion of the battlefield through the pilot, intentionally overwhelming his psychic senses with it. So it's all he can feel, all he can think about. An instinctive, aggressive self-defense in the face of a threat."

"And Amuro blinded them both." She looks at Shelby, turning the stone over between her finger and thumb. "It wasn't his fault."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        The young woman seems to be relaxing a bit more, offering a more wry smirk.  "I'm a short order cook.  I think your arms would fall off.  One shift."

        "No.  I-- I'm fine.  By my standards," she says, leaving the statement a little open and cryptic.  Referring to the Unicorn so personally, though?  Before she's able to muse on that too much, Mineva speaks up, and Shelby's expression is briefly quizzical.  "I... didn't say it was?"

        Reading Shelby is a little ... strange.  Yes, there was that lingering thought of memory and ghosts of one's(?) own(?) past, but she seems calm, centered, and in the moment -- though the longer one extends their senses out toward her, the more it is like she's surrounded:  Not by threat or weapons or hostile intent, but voices.... thoughts.  People.

        As Banagher asks for help, and offers her the stone, Shelby looks quite hesitant, but then takes it, holding it in her palm before her fingers close around it.

        "Too much psychoframe," Shelby repeats.  "At least, ... for me.  If you're going to be honest with me, I should be fair: I'm not ... normal.  Not by the sweeping generalization of what a Newtype is."

        The glow is imperceptable through her hand.  Self-imposed barriers ripple.  Thoughts feel a little strange.  Though she looks evenly at the two of them, her expression does not change.  What does, then...?  It could be that she speaks clearly, without words.  Without her mouth moving-- like a voice as clear as anything, right in their minds.

        <You both seem nice, and... I don't normally get a chance to show off.>

        When her hand opens, she offers the stone back.  "Something this size is pretty easy.  For me, I mean.  I.  ... I have a hard time ... putting things into words.  Sometimes.  But, ... you have to... it's not all about focus.  You have to be able to move with it, not fight against it.  Accept it and move forward.  Ms. Mesua's advice to me has always been pretty simple:  'Ride the wave.'  Can't always do it.  I have a lot of noise in my head.  Voices.  Other people's."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed.
<poem>
"No arguments there." Banagher says, smiling bashfully. "I've never cooked much of anything. I'm sure I'd slow things down."

Audrey gets a grateful smile as she comes to Banagher's defense. Reaching out, he takes her hand, squeezing it gently. A gesture of reassurance. "Thank you. And thank you for not blaming us, Shelby. It's -- hard not to be sensitive about what happeneed."

Unsure what to make of his reading on Shelby, Banagher looks at her with concern. "Are you... alright? Something feels strange. Not in a bad way, but in a way I haven't felt before." Shelby explains she isn't a normal Newtype, and Banagher goes quiet, listening. Even as the rock's glow is imperceptible in Shelby's hand, Banagher can feel it, and his eyes widen.

"I can hear you." He murmurs, taking back the little stone. "How did you do that?"

Looking down at the now-inert stone as Shelby speaks, Banagher still seems amazed. "Accept it and move forward. Everything so far has felt like I've been pulled along by a current, and I've tried to fight against it. I've never though about moving with it."

Curiosity sparkles in Banagher's eyes as he looks back up to Shelby. He has so many more questions to ask, but he's learned the hard way most powerful Newtypes don't exactly have pleasant histories. Instead, he closes his eyes, and reaches out to the Go stone again. Ride the wave...

Banagher's energy radiates out from him at all times. He doesn't know how to increase or decrease it, but allowing it to take him... With a soft breath, he tries to imagine his resonance flowing across the stone, instead of trying to force it into a controlled stream. It's very subtle, but miniature green motes of light float up from the rock.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.
<poem>
Audrey laughs a little. "I can cook, but... I doubt I'd be any good at it as a job." She's heard stories, certainly. She looks a little bashful, giving Banagher's hand a brief squeeze. A glance his way as he explains, and she nods.

It's easy enough to tell she was worried, now.

She studies a little as Banagher points out how unusually Shelby reads, and she nods as the girl explains. "I see... no, from what she told us, it's just... too much, I think."

But-- if he can harness it... the Psycoframe did something miraculous once before. What if...

Her thoughts are interrupted as Shelby speaks into her mind, and her eyes snap toward her. The princess blinks a few times. "That was... wow."

She listens to her advice, and nods, clutching the stone in her hand and gripping it tight.

She doesn't force or direct herself through the stone. She rides the wave, letting the current push her through the iris and out the other side. Her thoughts blossom from the stone, a little more vivid and colorful than before. There's a sensation of fascination, of curiosity. She's impressed by Shelby, and by the progress Banagher's already making as his begins to light up--and she's trying to say so.

But it's not clear like Shelby's. Not in words. The flow fades, and she opens her hand.

She stands up and puts her hand on Banagher's shoulder, grinning. "You did it." She looks at Shelby and smiles wider, "Thank you. Even just that has helped both of us, I think."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        'How did you do that?'
        "Always had my power.  I think.  But-- Something's a little different with me.  It's not just like ... feelings, and knowing things, and emotions.  I hear thoughts.  Like what people are actually thinking.  Sometimes I can do the ... the talking back thing.  But it's not.  ... It's not normal.  Not my normal.  Um."

        Briefly, she thinks about the last time she carried on a mental conversation with anyone.  That damn green-hair...

        And, handling raw psychoframe that isn't calibrated for her?  Stupid parlor trick or not, she'll be paying for it with a pounding headache later, that's for sure.  Shelby blinks, her eyes closing and hands wheeling around in front of her a little as though she's trying to apologize through rapid gesture.  "Um.  Sorry.  I-- I react to psychoframe.  I-I mean-- don't worry, like, I'll be fine!  Like I said!  Before.  And don't worry, I'm not in your heads now, or whatever."

        Easing back in the chair a little, her hands fold on her lap while giving a small, polite shrug toward Audrey.  "I'm not that good a teacher.  If you really want to learn more you really should talk to Ms. Mesua about it.  She did a lot to help me get my head on straight."

<Pose Tracker> Mineva Lao Zabi has posed.

"But yours didn't glow at all before!" retorts Audrey, nudging Banagher gently in the arm. "That's good improvement!!" She's happy for him.

She blinks a few times and shakes her head as Shelby starts to apologize, "Wait, why are you apologizing?" She furrows her brow. "And I don't think either of us are worried about you being stuck in our heads. We've all at least got enough experience to know that, I think..."

She nods in agreement to Banagher, "You are. I'm sure it must be a struggle, but... it gives you a special insight, I think. And that's important. Thank you," she echoes Banagher's thanks.

"I've got... some experience controlling what I broadcast, too, but I haven't honed it very well." There are a few things, a few secrets of others', that she doesn't want to reveal. Important things. It makes her anxious.

"And yes... that's part of why she gave us these stones. To help us train our abilities... we can't stay much longer, for obvious reasons, but. The Unicorn is our responsibility, and Ms. Mesua thinks that together, we can learn how to tame it."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
<poem>
        "Oh, thank you," Shelby says, taking the offered bottle.

        "Ah, no-- I don't know about special.  But ... I've just had more time to practice what I can do.  If you keep at it, whatever you two end up doing, I'm sure you'll find your way just as well."

        "Ah, well.  Most people get a little weird when they realize.  That... um.  That I'm ... in their head.  I mean, some do.  Others kind of ... it's a whole thing," Shelby says, twisting off the cap and taking a drink.

        "Don't fight the feelings you have, but ... don't get lost in them, either.  Keep your awareness.  Honestly, Ms. Mesua will probably have the same kind, or way better advice for you when you get into the sims.  Most importantly..."

        A haunted, distant look, as Shelby Korts intones, "Maddie will try to make you food."

        "Save yourself."

        Save yourself from the scrapple.
</poem>