bakerstreet | (no subject)

the USERNAME meme

Journal names. They're something we all think about, and that we often try to make as fittingly torturous to our characters as possible. Isn't it nice that our characters never have to know they're wandering around with that horrible label attached to them?

...wouldn't it be fun if they did?

RULES

1 Your character is communicating with others through a journal community, just like how we're using them, and they are perfectly aware of that fact. Whether they think that's normal or not is totally up to you.

2 The also know that when they signed on to this community, they were automatically assigned a name that supposedly has something to do with their personality and/or history. They didn't have any say in what that name was going to be, they're just stuck with it.

3 Make a post with your character's reaction to seeing what their own username is. Do they think it fits? Do they hate it with a passion? Are they downright confused?

4 Comment to other people's posts with your character's reactions to everyone else's usernames. If they know the other character, they might have good reason to laugh at them or feel sorry for them. If they don't, this could lead to some pretty interesting first impressions, don't you think?

5 If you want to use a name that's different from your actual journal name, just mark that in your post. No need to create a whole new journal just to make your character's life worse for one meme. ;)

6 PROFIT!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ While Aaron reassures him, K is unconsciously bracing himself for the physical contact, the line of his shoulders becoming stiff and his jaw tense; he's unable to know what to expect. The tension in his posture persists during the initial examination, relaxing by degrees once it becomes apparent that Aaron's intentions literally are to just... feel his hand. That's all. Such a small, simple gesture but it's nothing short of astonishing to K.

Though there's the lingering expectation of pain, it's clear enough that he doesn't mind the contact (not even when it extends up to the more vulnerable area of his wrist), alternating between watching Aaron's face and letting his gaze drift down to their hands with an expression of bemused wonderment. He finds himself feeling strangely sorry for the loss of contact once it's over, all too soon, and he has the inexplicable urge to reach after Aaron's hand just to prolong the unfamiliar skin-to-skin sensation. A desire that is carefully dismissed as he raises his eyebrows at the question about his scar. ]

It's real. I heal fast. Pretty soon it'll fade entirely, along with the rest.

[ Using his other hand, he pushes up his shirt and coat sleeves to reveal what's likely a familiar sight to someone who's been surviving in a post-apocalypse world for the last decade plus: old knife wounds zigzagging up his inner forearm and disappearing into his sleeves, reflecting the increasing desperation of someone fighting for their life against him. The scars are jagged and ugly, but there is a certain precision behind where each wound was inflicted. The perpetrator had been attempting to open his arteries. The biggest difference between what he is and a human will manifest within a month or two, when the scars will have fully healed without leaving a trace, exactly as he claims.

He listens to everything Aaron describes with interest, wondering at just what this motley community must be like. It's a little surprising that there's so much freedom of choice there — even if the population presumably consists entirely of humans (and formerly-humans), that they aren't trying to oppress each other seems unusual. Almost unbelievable. ]

It isn't that confusing. You possess the autonomy and capacity to make those choices for yourself. [ The obvious implication being: K doesn't. But he does understand free will as a concept. ] And your community... allows you that freedom. [ It's almost a question. ]

I'm the property of the law enforcement agency that bought and employs me. A person can't be property. It's unusual for us to even be given names. [ Hence why he goes by his serial number, or a shortened form of it. One of the many dehumanising practises meant to keep K and his kind from ever developing solid senses of self; too much individuality is considered a dangerous flaw. And yet, in spite of those practises and his programming... he has been developing preferences. And he's pretty sure he can add having his hand held to the short list of things he likes. ]

I think, I feel. But it's all the result of programming. You could book a consultation with my manufacturer, so they can provide you with specifications that'll aid your understanding, but— [ As though only now realising where he is, or rather where he isn't, he glances around at their surroundings. That are decidedly not Los Angeles of the late 2040s. Then he gives Aaron a helpless look. ] I don't think that's possible now. I'm not sure what happened, or how we... Do you know how we can go back? To where we came from?

The people in my community fought a long and hard battle against other survivors who thought that they could… force us to work for them, treat us like our lives didn’t matter at all. Our need to live as free people is what unites us, so I’m not sure ‘allowing’ is the right word. [ He takes a moment to think about the term K used to describe his situation, the photo-negative to living in Alexandria. Property. ] If you are part of the Law enforcement, does that mean you have a badge?

[ Curiosity is colouring his voice as he speaks and part of him hopes that K will have something on him, an ID or a badge. Solid proof. Not that Aaron needs it to believe K’s story about bioengineered androids – he already does. But part of him knows that he should be more cautious (knows that Michonne expects him to be much more cautious and stick to the protocol, for the safety of their community). She would ask for more than just his word.

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation Aaron takes the time to look at the surroundings, the white walls of the room they are currently in. The cool light the bright panels of the ceiling are emanating highlights the scars on K’s arm in an unfavourably way, but aside from that the artificial glow seems to morph the location into a completely empty space. Like a new page, white without any hints or traces.

Is it possible to leave this place? He doesn’t know (and he doesn’t really want to think about the possibility that they could actually be stuck in this amalgamation of realities, not when Gracie is out there somewhere, waiting for him to come home). ]

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea where we are or what kind of place this is—I thought it was an old factory. [ Because that’s exactly what the building looked like from the outside when he discovered it – like just another long-abandoned factory site, with windows dirtied to blindness and walls showing the unmistakable signs of decay and year-long neglect. ] But at least I think I know the way back to my… my reality?

[ And that is probably the only advantage of ten years of living in a post-apocalyptic world, that all the hunting and scavenging and fighting for your life would relentlessly sharpen the skills necessary to stay safe on unknown territory (or to read a person (or android) and decide whether they can be trusted or not).

Drawing a deep breath, he takes one last look at the heavily scarred skin of K’s arm, resisting the urge to reach out and trace the uneven lines that run up from wrist to elbow. To think that they could truly vanish, fade away like the colour from an old photograph… ]

I’m not sure if it is possible for you to make choices, any choices of your own. But if you don’t know your way back to your world, I think you should come along with me so that we can get you supplies. [ Because as endless as the labyrinth of corridors and rooms may be, there doesn’t seem to be a single source of nutrition. Or water. ] If you don’t want to stay for a while, I suppose. See what it’s like…

[ A glimpse of a free life, of what could be. Something real. ]

My original plan was to find my way back, and then seal or destroy the… the gateway or whatever this place is. [ Not just to stop potential invaders, but also to stop the virus from spreading into other realities or dimensions. ] Should we get out the same way I got in? I think it will be possible for us to block the entrance from my world, to make sure the walkers will stay where they belong. Maybe we can put up some warnings, too. For anyone who might take the same route as we do.

[ Securing the passage and making it as safe as possible without destroying K’s only chance to return. At least for a while.

The prosthetic creaks a bit like a knight’s armour as Aaron shifts and uses his right hand to bend the artificial elbow so that he can shoulder his backpack once again. Action to counter the brief surge of nervous energy. Taking an android from another dimension along to his zombie-infested home world probably isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but it surely feels like it’s the right one. ]

Do you have a weapon? Anything to protect yourself?

[ If not, ‘weapon for K’ will get a spot on Aaron’s imaginary list of items they will have to search for in the corridors or rooms on their way out. Reaching for the knife he carries at the hip, Aaron turns to take one last look around.

An empty room. Just four white walls with four white doors. Now, which door is the right one? ]

All right...

It's TWDland - if there's more than just one door always pick the dustier, more battered one and you'll be home in no time...

(no subject)

no subject

Kinda TL;DR - sorry! Also sorry for the wait <3

Here there be walkers!