2023-06-09: Awake
<Pose Tracker> Teletha Testarossa has posed.
The duties of a Captain near-perpetually at sea and abroad were neverending in these tumultuous times; The back-to-back smacks of Char Aznable and his fallout, along with the ongoing situation of dealing with the best course of action to direct the Shuffle Alliance as a whole (and dissuading as many antsy elements from assaulting Vist Foundation in broad daylight) had continued straining the submarine captain. There were others in Mithril who could direct the burdens, who could be delegated and managed, but in the end...The final say of these operations all came down on her shoulders, again and again. Such was Mithril's way, even as she continued being a higher-up cog in the machine for them.
There were, of course, people (figuratively) beating down the door for her words and answers: All who asked about Char were rejected. All who asked about the Vist Foundation were rejected. The location of Dr. Murasame? Rejected. But to let them down in such a way that did not inflame their desire for peace, for justice...That was the hard part.
Truth be told, Shelby's insistent messages (routed through her secretary) to meet up and /talk/ were welcome in of their own right; There was just no good opportunity until the past few days, and even then...People /were/ insistent.
The sight of the gal was familiar enough in these recent days, the mildly exhausted commander making sure that the place was vacated. (There were drills in the early morning for the crew; Mardukas was quite stringent about them.) Radiating a sense of minute exhaustion, she could only walk up to the seated girl in question, knocking on the table to push the mind of someone so concentrated off-kilter enough. Politeness.
"Shelby Korts? Teletha Testarossa." Her voice was chipped, upbeat; a farcry from the raging thoughts inside her head, trying to discern the actual reason for such /insistent/ talks. Curiosity, wonderment, and just...well, its not everyday someone lugs around decade-old hardware. No derision, only mild curiosity and a deep understanding of how those instruments worked.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Pink hair, thick-frame glasses, and a worn old t-shirt that looks like someone walk-sliding down the face of a clock at a strange and unusual angle. Her handwriting is an absolute mess, letters curving into each other and a little bit chaotic, but still ... relatively legible, if you hold it at a weird angle. Her spelling is awful, no less. But as soon as the knocking hits the table, her head lifts to look at the hand, then up at the young woman before her.
Her eyes flit-- the markers, the stance. Her headphones come off; the cacophany of organs, synthetics and the deep, dirty noise of a seven string guitar that could reverberate with the force to crack teeth.
"Oh--"
She stands in a bit of a hurry, clicking the music player off and quickly putting the headphones down on the table, shifting her footing.
"Captain! Hello, yes, hi, I-- sorry-- Yes, Captain Testarossa," she stammers out, putting the pencil down in the notebook and flipping it closed. Shelby offers her hand for a shake, swathed in near-skin tight black cloth from about halfway down her palm all the way to her elbows. "I'm sorry. I tried to make an appointment a couple of times. I know you're busy, but. I was hoping. I could." There's a brief pause, like she's trying to slow down, manually self-correct her thoughts. "... We could talk. It isn't ... directly about the operation. But I thought. ... I needed to ..."
Closing the laptop with a clunk and setting it-- and her phone-- to the side, she gestures to the seat at the opposite side of the table. "Please."
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
Tessa's instincts work on her usual overdrive; There's no time to parse the writing in question in any detail, but a glance is enough to get the general gist. She keeps that cordial smile, watching the pinkette jump and basically flail in her presence. The minute perk of a person with authority, however (un)earned it was.
There's the slightest bit of pause before taking that hand, a firm, confident grip that she managed to put up. Trying her best to keep herself composed, to brace for any sudden Newtype connection that could come. Ever since a prior incident, she did make sure to calm her mind as much as she could, maintaining that handshake the slightest bit longer than usual before releasing.
"Its been a busy state of affairs for everyone. But I understand." Relatively calm and controlled. "To talk about what?" She's already shifting over, to sit down on the implied offering of a seat. Ashen eyes scanning over the figure in question, a mental sizing of "consideration" and "extent of begging to kill Char" meters already underway.
"You need to..." A shot in the dark. "Process what's happening with someone else who has answers, don't you?"
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
The hesitation is, of course, a fair reaction: A Newtype pilot in a psychoframe-reactive mobile suit, a dossier full of history and contraditions, and at least three separate asterisks and sub-heading notes on her abilities.
Easing down into the seat again across from Tessa as she does, Shelby sits with her back straight and legs together, though her ankles cross. She's a little nervous. "Yes. ... Sort of."
a flicker of a fleeting thought
Char scooped up from the battlefield
before she could do it--
Her head slants, hands wringing in her lap. "And I'm not going to ask if I can shoot Char."
"What happened with Doctor Mass. She's ... she helped us, a lot. Not just our team, but Sweetwater Colony. We don't have a lot there. A-And the work with the Yumi Foundation. It... It's made it easier for people to live. I guess it's ... It's a couple of things, really. Like. I want to make sure she's all right."
One of her hands lifts. "Also, on comms. Um. The meeting. When I said I owed Leina. I do. It ... goes past that. That was why I wanted to ..." Her eyes press closed, wrist rolling a little as the words form. "I'm an Augusta survivor. I don't remember my life before it. I don't remember a lot of it."
"Leina managed to put me in touch. With ... my family. My sister. I wanted to talk to you because if it got out it could put people in the Alliance in danger."
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
The smallest of eyebrow raises about Char. It was fair to immediately dismiss the notion, to think about the outside societal pressures. But she hadn't...said anything about Char. Not at all.
Her own posture is formally up, the guarded restraint of a woman in her workspace. Back straight, looking on with an expectant gaze. What was it? What was worth hounding the people she knew to get an appointment like this?
"...I can say that Sayla is fine." A restained tone, all the same. Sayla touched so many. It's hard to know where people might be without her...And yet, she was the only one in figurative control. "I can't speak as her, but she's managing to piece herself together. No matter what she's done, she has my support, as does the Shuffle Alliance and Mithril." You really touched a lot of people, Sayla.
She remains quiet with the rest. Augusta. A Cyber-Newtype. Her eyes flick from face to Shelby's fingers and back. There's a tenseness about her, a reservation and a small bit of wariness. "My condolences." However hollow that sounded. It was formal politeness. "In danger? How? Is your sister in need?"there's so many people everywhere
how can we get them all
more and more and more?
...So many people in need. We need to scurry around like this, but we can never bite first. Frustrating.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Listening to the explanation carefully, attentively, Shelby nods after a moment. That's good enough for her. She isn't sure where Sayla is still, but knowing that she's fine is... well, it's all she can get. The pink-haired psychic will have to take what she can get. "She has mine too."
Lack of sleep in her eyes. Hints of callouses at her fingers-- a pilot's grip. Her fingernails are short by necessity. The gap of arms exposed between her t-shirt sleeve and the compression garb on her forearms, hints of surgical scarring as well as a life lived rough. "Thank you. ... I'm okay. Apparently I was taken in as a kid. My abilities... I guess I was born with them. I still don't know a lot about it."
she's looking at you
why can't you just speak
Thoughts brush against her mind. Trust is difficult. Being wary and paranoid kept her alive for years-- and even still some habits are hard to break. Shelby swallows, "She's not... it's not specifically, ..."She starts to stammer again, her brow creasing as the Captain's words again start to slip out of her own mouth. "No, w-we don't... we don't need to get her... i-it is ... so, ... she's-- Commander Sophia Mayhew Castellan. She captains the BU/G-Hound's ship, the Hyperion."
The Castellans? A Britannian family of noble standing, and captains of industry. Weapons manufacturing and shipping. And then a decade ago, their shipping contracts dried up. They were forced to sell their space transports, and a few scandals, but they kept noble titles, lands, and their other businesses-- but the shipping was a major blow.
Sophia Mayhew Castellan was also the woman that reduced the Institute for Continuing Study to a smoking crater months ago.
my name is
"I found out my real name is Caedra Beatrix Castellan."
And legally, she does not exist.
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
Tessa's own breathing is steady. Controlled. A dam held back by sheer willpower, manifesting a nod at the reaffirmation of trust. trust is something so hard-earned yet so abundant "It's good to know so many people have her back." [TRUST BELIEF STRENGTH COMPASSION]
Eyes ringed with the faint (makeup-covered) hints of stresses and sleeplessness. Nubile, dainty fingers that hadn't had serious physical labor. Her own body is covered; The military dress covering her up, unblemished legs crossing over underneath. "Anything unusual to note that you're willing to divulge?"
[TRUST: CHECK // SHUFFLE-MITHRIL++? CYBER-NEWTYPE (?)))]what do you know what can you say what can you give so that i may know
The mental brace as she draws in another breath, watching Shelby close. The steps of paranoia. The twitches of someone who's been on the lam, away from anything resembling a secure life. It's not the first time she's seen those signs, nor did she assume this would be the last.She keeps silent. a person left in a large space will do their best to fit the room, however large The mess hall was truly the best place. No encroachment. Only the air around them, with no risk of stifling by association.
Castellans. Her eyes narrow in confirmed knowledge, allowing the words to wash over her. A familiar name; Mithril had a few dealings with them, mainly whispered trades and deals of old equipment sourced from their coffers. (Indeed, it would be best to say that Mithril was part of the kettle that feasted on the dying carrion of a collapsing company.) Her own memories dredged up, flicking for a moment.there's a book on the massive shelf that dwarfed comprehension. a catalog that was open long ago. an aged book that showed off its products, VIOLENCE that a person was readily accepting for her dreams
"...Yet, you are still Shelby Korts, correct?" Confirmation and probing. Why tell her this? Why now? "We don't have the most cordial relations with G-Hound, but there is a line of communication. Do you need help finding Sophia's location?" Why? Why this? Why now? There's immense value in this information; A Britannian heir to a noble family was something that is of significant value.the faintest sense of relief that her own Britannian origins were not of high nobility
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Tessa's thoughts start to move faster. A slight TRUST flinch BELIEF tilts her head as she tries to compose her STRENGTH thoughts and not let too much in at once, but that's still only a fool's COMPASSION errand at this point: She is broken, and she does not know how to ever turn it off. "I am. That's ... the identity I made for myself. I really don't remember anything before that. Just faint impressions. Dreams, things that don't make sense. But ... it does."
She hesitates.
what do you know what can you say
Her mouth opens.
"I don't know where she is right at this moment. But we meet up sometimes. On the orbital ring. Somewhere neutral, so we can spend time together. I'm worried if Leina-- if something happens. W-With the missions, and her condition. It could shine a light on my team, or the Alliance, or on Sophia. I know it makes me a security risk. It was -- just -- I wanted you to kn..."
V I O L E N C E
where is this--
memory?
"Nh--" A beat, "to know, so that. I don't want the Alliance to get blindsided again by something like this."
Her condition changes the longer she speaks; distracted, head tilting with winces and her fingers getting tighter. The more she listens, whether willingly or not. The Captain is ... different. So calm on the outside, but on the inside--
a girl with golden hair
arms pulled around her
the phenex gundam?
Her eyes drift down. "B-But my abilities... um. They tested me for Newtype potential. I got sectioned off. Tested on. I was ... different. It isn't just ... the awareness, or the emotional states. O-Or psycommu reactions. I hear people's thoughts. L-Like a telepath? But I can't ... control it. I hear it. I hear everything, all the time."
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
The answer settles the minor debate in her head: Shelby Korts was Shelby Korts, no matter they were before. The association was made, but the trust was there. Mind jumping, linking, associating as her thoughts flicked to and fro; Individual thoughts switched about every so often, parallelization in her head. "That's good to know." A smile.
she is someone worth helpingshe is someone without somewhere
she is special but not what Mithril is looking for
Leina. HEARTACHE. Leina Ashta. SYMPATHY. "I understand. Leina...Leina is someone who-" ENVY. "-has many connections in many places. how can a person be so interconnected? how can a person the same age be so different? i know i'm not normal but neither was she BREATHE.
A beat as she took in a breath. keep focus and listen "Mithril will notify leadership, but it's up to you if you want the Shuffle Alliance to know in general. Sayla's lineage is important in the grand scheme of things, but she's her own person.
and so are you
She settles back into silence, listening. A small nod. The fate of any Cyber-Newtype that displays results. Telepathy. The word flicks through her mind: Instances, ideas, the various layers of theory of Newtypes, of others, of a deliberate omission of self while mulling over the psychosphere layers. Telepathy. ...Telepathy.GUARD CAREFUL WARY SHE IS LISTENING The walls raise up immediately, churning an internal storm before taking a breath. A deep, deep, deep, deep, deep breath.
BGM - Deep Blue - Heaven Pierce Her
WAIT NO no no o o o o o...Deliberately. Like a wave. Beat. Listen to the heart. The calmness of the sea the lapping of the w w w wwwwaveessss waves. Breathe. In. Out. Move like work.The turmoil tries to settle. To push down, to allow the emotions to wash over her. A small experiment. To move her lips in enunciation, but to not say anything.
>...I I I TH-HHhhhHHHOooo00000ught that SsssSSuuuch a thing would be p--p-ppp-ppp-pp000sssiii//ii\ible, but nothing con-conCONCONCOooonfIrmed.<
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
she is notMore. It's not just the thoughts, but the emotions; things washing up against her, feelings and concepts rubbing against her soul like a raw nerve and it is almost too much for her to feel comfortable and safe and--
four older girls
"Thank you," she says, visibly struggling to keep her center. "I'm still..."
ride the wave, shelbyplant your feet, korts
"... figuring out
my place
"... figuring out
who I am
"... me."
shoes so hard
The word crosses her lips: Telepathy. It hangs like odious smoke for a brief moment before it seems to actually sink in the Captain's mind and comprehension; the reaction immediate and sharp and fierce. The barriers that raise in Tessa's mind may as well be physical ones to Shelby Korts, as her face scrunches like someone slammed a door in her face. Some people, however, do not have that luxury.
help me,
Surely you realize now just how porous your mind is?
"I'm sorry," she says, looking down. "I didn't mean."
s o p h i eHer head is bowed a little. Her gaze is straight down at her hands.
>It doesn't matter if I want to hear it or not.<>I can't always talk.<
>It happens.<
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
Tessa listens. There's appreciation. A pang of sympathy; As much as both are so dissimilar, there's the knowledge of something unknown. Something that can't be comprehended. Trying to move one to one, those parallel processes in her head eliminated one by one by one, a familiar prick of what this entailed echoing in her mind.
there's a flash echoing in her mind, a stray thought that blossoms and blooms and dominates her thoughts for a moment before shrinking back down of a boy that she once knew things that shouldn't b e outside ar e out and ba re a nd we t an d so much everywhere the walls should not BE THAT COLOR
A minute wince from her own self. The red recedes just as swiftly, the calm blue washing away the stains of memory. "I'm...sorry." sorry please forgive me She doesn't have to explain herself; There's no use for empty platitudes. i say that and i'm nowhere closer than her as to what i am
>This isn't something I'd like to do as a constant.< Resonance. Was this part of it? Was it something else? There's still a touch of fear in her voice, the slight shakiness. She's doing this for her. She's trying to maintain herself, to not reach out, to deliberately flood for her own sake.
inside the waves it bets and undulates and roars of nothingness and everything at the same time,
The Captain slowly takes another breath, doing her best to stay steady. The rock in the waves. The island of solace.
telepathy -> thoughts -> links \ -> resonance -> [NO NO NO DO NOT LOOK] / -> Augusta / / -> Newtypes -> Cyber-Newtypes \ ->others like her -> [NO NO NO DO NOT LOOK] collapse the threads into one \ \\\ -------====> >Telepathy is a burden, is it not?< / ///
That was the only conclusion she could make from all this.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
She seems smaller. It isn't just a social thing: It's like she's a different person for a split second; a trick of light? Or perception? Is something wrong with her, specifically? Why is her hair so vividly red? Her hands shift from bunching in her lap, crossing to hug herself a little bit, a reassurance of some sort that she's still there. That she's still herself.
No, that's silly. Shelby looks correct.
Chaos thumps in her ears. It's not musical, it's not easy to blot out or even willingly ignore, it is simply just There, and not even covering them would keep it from resounding in her head no matter what she wants.
"It's okay."
>I've only done it with a few people.<
>I don't know why I'm like this.<
>I don't know how you--<
How is--
Her eyes flick in slightly erratic ways, like she's trying to figure it out. An equation, almost. Words hover in the periphery of her mind; a presence that is undeniably felt as Shelby's mind slips closer and farther with the tide of the waves.
ResoDO NOT LOOK and then she slips away.
Newtypes. Cyber-newtypes. Augusta. and then she slips away.
Others like her...?NO NO NO and then she slips away.
Behind Shelby Korts, it is as though reality itself starts to lens. Like the ground is fading to black, like the tables and chairs are becoming ghostly golden outlines of themselves and assembled from mosaic shards of space and memory.
Telepathy is a burden,
A short distance behind Shelby Korts, there is a girl of around ten years of age with long cascading curls of red hair tied partially back with a ribbon and impossibly large glasses.
You cannot see her face.
is it not?
Shelby sniffs, eyes red and wet and rubbing the heel of her hand against her eye.
>Sometimes.<
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
Tessa's eyes sharpen themselves, gleaming with the visible knowledge of sentience behind her movements. Every breath, every twitch of her fingers instinctually reminding herself who she was. To keep herself as herself as things dim, as the perception of the world twitches and sHuDdErS and HEAVES.
...Was it a trick of the light? the captain tries to keep herself in place
Who was she? Teletha Testarossa.Where was she? Merida Island.
Who is she talking with? Shelby Korts.
Keep these facts IMMUTABLE because that is what reality is.
She maintains herself. There is a chaos to the surroundings; chaos theory;; one is enough;; two is managable;;; three;;; possibly too much;;;; ;; ; ;; ; ; ; ; ;;
It's okay.
>While it's not telepathy I'm familiar with.<
>There are parallels I tried to get this.<
>>>>> ?<><? <<<<<
There's a shortness of breath. The sudden flicker sets her on edge, even as she's aware. There's no help to be found. There's nothing but herself
but i don't want to lose myselfPushing. Asserting herself. There is a glimmer of recognition, of knowing how to push, how to prod, how to resonate with another person even if the axis were not parallel. There was theory, there was might, there was the pure stubbornness of a gal who wanted to connect.
a girl is spotted. Teletha's eyes flick, taking in the girl. Red hair. Ribbon. Large glasses. A void of a face, muted, a gaping chasm that flicked and faded and tore at her memory. IT was not a face she knew. But the vomiting void latched.
Thoughts that were not her own. Mixing into her own thoughts, the world dimming, the world demanding what it wanted. Everything/ the tables and chairs shattering/ glimmering in the ashen grey of everything lost/ flitting to nothing/ glimmering and twinkling/ the stars blinked/ the shards of comprehension/ the crackle of thunder as the world broke/
tsunami of thought, barely held by Teletha's sudden terseness
inside the mind's eye, there is a storm, a neverending scream of the rough waves, a depth of regret and anguish and self-loathing and remorse that sunk down to black
there is only a grey pole on a small island, with a dim light brushing everything away
lightning flashesthe sigil of Mithril is etched onto that pole, carved in black
>...What I have, too.<The blackness of regret. Tessa manages another smile. It's bathed in so much. Empathy. Attempts at understanding. A want, a will, a pang of sympathy and a primal urge to reach out.
To not feel as she once has, but if there's no one, to try and carve something out.
>No, what I am.<
>It's sometimes a burden.<
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
The girl is staring at Teletha. It isn't that she has eyes in the void or something visible through the glitch of a lackface, but a presence, a feeling, a weight, a Knowing of something that has not just been seen by Teletha Testarossa, but something that has seen her as well. Lines are blurred.The air itself tastes red.
Shelby does not even seem to be able to perceive the concept of her presence.
>Parallels...?<
As the void creeps on the edges of her senses, a dreamspace she is all too intimately familiar with,
memories she wants to forget
dreams she wants to remember
the wind tears across her face in a sudden and violent rush of wind, causing the pink-haired girl to raise her arms in defense of her face against a storm of cold wind and rain but regret and self-loathing and remorse and anguish are what strike her skin, not water or air or anything that even makes sense
except that symbol. that pole.
that anchor.
Shelby is, suddenly, aware and present in the real? world?. In her chair, just as suddenly remembering to breathe. Taking a few welcome, deep breaths, clear of the storm, clear of the dark space that haunts her dreams most nights, but holding onto those thoughts -- those feelings -- all the same.
>I can't really control it.<
>I can't stop hearing everything.<
>But it's part of who I am.<
>And it helped me find my family.<
"... I know it makes me a security risk. But I'll answer any questions you have the best I can."
<Pose Tracker>Teletha Testarossa has posed.
There's a sense of sentience from that distorted, crude, absent face. As much as Tessa keeps her sight straight on Shelby (for both their sakes), there's a glance every so often. No, it wasn't part of Tessa's head. No, was it Shelby's? Someone else's? Questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon questions upon
red tastes like blood
it tastes so familiar
the dread, the anguish, the nights she spent screaming for her family
the air tastes like she never managed to understand B R E A T H E D E E P A N D C KanamE Chidori N TeleTha Testarossa E R Y SOusuke Sagara U R Shelby KortS E L F>Parallels.<
>>>a flood<<<
>adjective
>>>>>extending in the same direction, equidistant at all points, and never converging or diverging:
>>>>>having the same direction, course, nature, or tendency; corresponding; similar; analogous:
B R EA T H E
A halted cough breaking the silence of passive breathing, the pole quivering in the storm. It bends. It creaks.
It stays.
With a shudder of recognition passing through her, the Captain manages to stifle another gasp. A hand goes up, checking her face. Steady. Same. Where was she? Here. When was she? Here. Where was the person she was talking with? Here.
Another cough.
"I believe I have an understanding." Her words ripple with her thoughts. Congruent. "If there's nothing more that's in need of urgent talk, we can continue talking in my office."Parallel. She's not one of them. Not in the slightest. Something different. But still.
She won't be rejected.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
A few more flickers of thought and memory and emotion and--A few more thoughts of memory and emotion flickering--
A few more memories of emotion and flickering thought--
breathe deep
ride the wave
parallels
center yourself
plant your feet
kaname
teletha
sousuke
shelby
You are Shelby.
You are not.
It comes together, but splits apart. Something is different.
Shelby seems to be still sorting her own thoughts out as Tessa speaks, her gaze looking down at herself, then at her gear, and then at the Captain. Rising up out of her seat, she picks up a satchel bag from the floor, starting to shove her laptop and music player and phone inside. "... I'd like that."
Something is different. And that's okay. It's not always a burden.