Bugs and Bolts [Closed]

[Designation Alice]

In her dorm, Alice was stretched out on her stomach with her knees bent so her feet were swishing around the air to the beat of music only she could hear. She hummed softly, bobbing her head up and down as she turned the page of the enormous psychology text book in front of her. It wasn't for class, of course, but ever since she had begun visiting Ms. Wilson, Alice felt the need to study up on what she didn't already know. The internet wasn't always the most reliable source when it came to science, so she had wandered over to the library to pick out some heavy reading. Her scope scanned each page in a matter of seconds, snapping images to store into her databases just in case she needed to call them up later. She pursed her lips, pausing at a section dedicated to the subconscious. Freud was such a quack. Alice chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she continued humming.

"Baby you're a fiiirewooork," She mumbled along to the music, flipping the page. She couldn't believe she hadn't tried to look through all of this information on her own sooner, but she had been... Busy, to say the least. First she'd been struggling with joining Westbrook, then she'd been dealing with the bullying, then that Loa business had started... And now of course she was busying herself with classes and Roach. "You're gonna leave 'em falling dow-ow-owwn," She continued humming, waving her feet around in small circles. Her head bobbed from side to side, and she chewed on her bottom lip as she flipped to a page about the subconscious and dreams. She stopped, giving the page a quick scan before twitching her head to the side. The consciousness had a lot of issues that were repressed into the subconscious, and most social psychologists seemed to believe the process of dreaming worked out the cognitive dissonance of the consciousness.

Alice's eyepiece clicked a few times as she stopped, suddenly wondering about herself. She didn't dream. If she did, there would be recordings of the dreams for her to peruse at her own discretion. So how did her mind work out what was really bothering it? How did it work through things she didn't even know where really bothering her. Alice ran her thumb down along her jawpiece, shaking her head in uncertainty. That was troubling. The logical conclusion was that without the ability for the subconscious to resolve these issues for the consciousness, all of Alice's internal issues would be unresolved, eventually manifesting themselves in insecurity and other neuroses. She continued to chew on her lip for a moment, only stopping to hum through another part of the song. "Booom boom booom, even brighter than the moon mooon moooon, it's always been inside of yooou yoou yoou, and now it's time to let it throoo-ooough," She wiggled along with the beat, and when the verse was over she twisted around to her left leg. She pressed a button, opening the compartment. She tugged her journal out of its secure position in her leg before closing it again. She began to wonder if maybe that's why Ms. Wilson had wanted her to start writing things down. To literally get them out of her head to work out the issues consciously. She began raking her gaze over the journal, wondering if maybe there was a way to replicate a dream state... Maybe render herself into a trance. There were students who could do things like that, right?

Flipping to the next blank page, Alice pulled the small silver pen out of the binding. "Baby you're a fiiirewooo--" She cut herself off, staring down in surprise. Instead of a blank, pristine page marred only by horizontal lines, Alice was greeted by scribbled and frantic writing. With a twitch of her head, the music cut off. This handwriting wasn't hers. She couldn't have written this. Alice lifted her head to stare straight ahead, skipping frantically through her recent memories. Nothing. She hadn't written in a few days. Fear and panic began to well up inside of her and she sat up onto her knees, staring down at the page. She read it over and over again, until the scrawled writing was burning itself into her mind. If she hadn't written this, who had? And when?

[Roach Copeland]

Roach felt... Mook-like.

It was an odd feeling really. And almost insulting. Could a person of a group really taste like the rest of said group? Did that work for race? Culture? It didn't matter, however, but it was something to consider. An interesting thought that would work its way back into his mind during those nights when all he was left with was the soft murmur of dreams around him.

So, he felt Mook-like. Confident. Stubbonr. Maybe a touch brash and flirtatious? He even felt an itch along his trigger finger and not a worry in the worry that he'd be safe if folks decided to push for his territory.

All in all, he felt good. Roach felt really good.

So, with good feelings present and smelling of cheap cologne, he was doing what most teens would do at this time. He was strutting. Hair greased back, dressed in what looked like an outfit right out of a 80's prom photograph, Roach pushed his way through the crowd in the hall until stopping at Alice's door. He spat his toothpick out to the side and then knocked.

And before he even got an answer, that confident sonova bitch just opened the door. He pushed it right open, strolled in, and presented her with... wow, flowers? Ribbon wrapped around them, long stemmed roses - the total works.

He flashes a grin, ran his comb through his hair, and held them out towards her. "'Ey! You lookin' like a thousand bucks, baby. What say you and me hit this party out on the town, eh?"

[Designation Alice]

Alice was flipping between two pages of her journal, analyzing the discrepancies in the handwriting. The first page showed her usual style. Every letter was evenly spaced and rounded. Aside from a few well-placed flourishes and calculated spacial differences between words, it was almost like reading something that had been typed. The last page looked entirely different. It was sloppy, and slanted, with most of the letters ending with sharp edges. The further along the entry got, the more slanted and illegible it became. Alice's tongue darted out to anxiously wet her lips. There was something about this that she couldn't just place. Something itching at the back of her mind. The pen was still poised in her hand, ready to hit the page again before a knock on the door jerked her out of her thoughts. Before she could slam her journal closed and hide it back in her leg, the door was already open.

Seeing it was just Roach, Alice relaxed, exhaling softly as the tension in her shoulders disappeared. She paused, giving him a double-take. "Roach??" She exclaimed, giving him a look up and down as the corners of her mouth threatened to pull into a smile. "... What are you all dressed up for?" Her gaze locked on his greased back hair and she chuckled. "Prom's not for a few months you know," She teased, gently closing her journal and setting her pen down as she slid off of her bed. She landed silently on the floor, looking down at the flowers he was holding out for her. No one had ever given her flowers before! Alice leaned forward, turning her head slightly to study him. She knew he'd been out eating last night, and she knew the influence that had on his personality. Maybe he'd snacked on some kinda greaser? She took the flowers from him, handling them delicately as she lifted them up to brush the petals against where her nose was hidden under her faceplate.

Roach's appearance was a good distraction, but in the forefront of her mind, her worries over that journal still remained. The entry was unfinished, and she couldn't help but wonder why.

[Roach Copeland]

Personality was something that always risked entering into the equation when Roach went out to 'snack'. Take too much of a good thing like psionic energy and you develop more than just ticks from the previous host. And as Alice had guessed, Roach had found himself manifesting some of the more... powerful traits of the 'dinner companion'.

Yet personality was simply a covering over actual thought. A setting for the stage. A tarp over the dead whale that you were trying to hide on a beach. It was there to hide the mind, blanket it and give the appearance of control. So, even though Roach was experience a hell of a personality shift, he still could feel through his connection with Alice that... worry? Confusion. That intellectual equation that meant these things, at least.

Roach wasn't one - especially now - to allow those things to linger. He continued to comb back his hair as he moved towards her before tossing an arm around her shoulder. Leaning forward to give he a very.... well, some would say passionate kiss, he grabbed the sides of her scope, steadied her in place, and let it remain the constant just for a minute.

Worried. Confused. Towards something. Not someone. All thoughts that swirled around her mind and filtered through the link into his own.

He pulled away, his brows scrunching together in an expression that just didn't fit for Roach, as he pushed her chin up just a tad. "Hey, beautiful, you gots some problems you gotta chat 'bout? Someone givin' you grief? A few of the boys and me can give him a talkin' too if he's givin' you grief." He said before stepping back to... well.. comb his hair again.

[Designation Alice]

Why in the world was he combing his hair so much? It had to have something to do with that snack. Alice became more sure of herself that he had been snacking a greaser - maybe several. She wasn't entirely sure how the shift in personality worked. He was still him, that was certain, but she didn't even need to click through to see his vitals to know that he was being influenced. She didn't spend too much time pondering this, though. She was far too busy worrying about other things. She lowered the flowers, smiling up at him with a, "Thanks Roach." It was a sweet gesture, and there was no way she would be turning these down or letting them dry up and wilt, greaser or not. Her eyepiece clicked a few times as he drew near to her to drape an arm around her shoulder. She glanced toward his hand, and a slow grin began to make its way across her lips.

"You're in--" She stopped as Roach moved in without warning to kiss her. Her eyepiece retracted in shock and she angled her head for the kiss so he wouldn't get clipped by any metal. He didn't need another black eye like the last time they'd gotten careless! Her surprise at being kissed was joined by the warm fuzzy feeling that generally bubbled up within her chest during their kisses. Usually when their lips met it was in an innocent peck, or something soft and brief, so she was taken entirely aback by this particular kiss, especially when he raised a hand to steady her in place. When he pulled away again, Alice took a deep breath as her head spun. He had kissed her into a daze.

"Hu-whu? I.. problems.." It took her a minute for her mind to catch up to the present. She smiled in timid embarrassment over the kiss until she cleared her throat, rolling her shoulders. "Well I dunno if it's a person, daddy-o, but I've definitely got some problems on my mind." She watched him comb his hair again, and she suddenly wanted to ruffle his hair to mess it up, but she restrained herself. She looked down at the somewhat flattened flowers and walked over to lay the bouquet on its side on top of her desk. Alice was itching to tell Roach about what was bothering her, but couldn't tell if now was really the best time. He obviously wasn't thinking in a very Roach-like way. She glanced over her shoulder at him, deciding to venture forward anyway, "So, you know how Ms. Wilson's been making me keep a journal right?"

[Roach Copeland]

She -had- been kissed into a daze. Not a surprise. Roach had that effect on people. So, while she just stood there with that shocked expression painted on her lips, Roach took his time to do what he felt like doing- which was comb his hair. And so he did, staring, observing for signs of stress or what not. Clues of what was behind her worry.

Ah- She had relaxed. He could tell that. It was how she carried herself- her body took on a more human apparel when she was relaxed. Shoulders weren't so stiff, hip was cocked to the side, and even her head would drift to a tilt. Not so much when she was worried. It was an interesting 'retreat' function of hers.

Roach stopped his combing as Alice began talking and going about finding a place for the flowers. Much more relaxed, indeed. More Alice and less machine- Like any woman, it could be settled with a plate of noodles, flowers, and a kiss from a gent with a solid sense in fashion. He took a step towards her, resuming with the combing.

"You been doin' what the broads been sayin'. right? She might be a few bottle's short from a tonic-tub but she's 'aight."

[Designation Alice]

Alice chuckled faintly at his slang, turning back to the flowers to toy with the ribbon wrapped around them. "I sure have. It's a good idea, you know? I thought it was lame at first but it's been kind of fun." She rolled her head to the side with a sigh. "I don't have a whole lot of people to talk to about stuff, not people I trust anyway. I mean there's you, and there's Eli, but I can't just go to you guys to hash out the random thoughts that go through my head, you know? That'd be super boring for you guys." One corner of her lips quirked into a half-smile and she turned back around, folding her arms together over her chest to watch Roach comb his hair some more. "Plus I was just reading other ways it might be good for me," She nodded toward the large psyche volume before her gaze twitched to the closed red leather journal on her bed next to the pen. "Just. Something weird happened." She shifted her weight, walking over to her bed to pick up the palm-sized book before flipping open to the page in question.

She looked down at the scribbled writing again, rolling her shoulders uneasily. For some reason, an odd chill ran down her spine. It felt like she was seeing a ghost, but she couldn't explain why. She gnawed on her bottom lip before finally turning the book and holding it out him with the page open. "Take a look." She offered with a nervous tremor in her voice. "It uh. I can't... explain it. I don't know where that entry came from." Alice held her breath, softly adding, "The date is... well. You can see. And the writing--" She trailed off, flicking her gaze up to Roach to study his face. She wasn't sure what to make of this, and she sure didn't know what Roach would think. Especially if he was under the impression he was some kind of gangster. The more he spoke, the more she was leaning toward a mook snack. The suit fit. The lilt to his voice fit. She just wasn't sure if this mook Roach would be able to help her any.

Still, she wouldn't doubt his ability to help her, even if he was paying way too much attention to his hair. Even if his personality was dressed up as someone else, he still had the ability to keep her calm at the very least. She cleared her throat adding, "And look... how it ends? Just. Cut off like that. I don't know what to think about any of it."

[Roach Copeland]

He plucked those diary from her and tilted his head as he read it. His lips moved slowly as they worked through the words, his tempo occasionally halting as he came to a word that just wouldn't click immediately. However, by the time the big hand on the clock had moved a degree to the right, he was finished.

Odd. That was the only way Roach wanted to describe it. Oh, he had several other colorful terms hop into his head and almost out of his mouth, but he restrained himself. Kept his cool- No need with upsetting the dame. He turned back towards Alice, tossing the diary over his shoulder and onto the bed.

He stepped forward, flashing her a smile- which honestly showed more signs of brushing than the norm. "Doll, cakes, beauts- Nothin' to worry 'bout." He grabbed the side of her head to deliver yet another one of those kisses before stopping, a hint of Roach showing with his brows furrowing. He remained still for a moment before just shaking his head and looking back her way.

"Maybe.." He began, mind mind slowly working through the process. "It's a fragment. Like... Alright, doll. Take a seat. Let your boy give you the thrills you need" He pushed her for show, pointing towards the bed before he took a few steps away. He rubbed his hands together before spinning on his heels to face her.

"Longs term, my beatifully busted dame, happen when your mind realizes it gots a prize to hold onto. Lotta juice pushed to the memory, lots of emotion. Thinks of If you's goin' to remember somethin' you flash to the most memorable part of the memory- highest emotion- and then you cobble the rest from that. Maybe you just found yourself stumblin' onto a memory fragment that's got an assload of 'fuel' behind it."

[Designation Alice]

Alice laced her fingers together once the journal left her grip. She struggled against the urge to begin pacing, studying his expression as he read. Her gaze locked on his lips as he mouthed the words that were scrawled across the cream colored page. She was nervous, even a little twitchy as he stopped reading and tossed the closed diary onto the bed. He flashed her a grin that had a bit of familiarity to it, forcing her to relax just a tad. She took a small breath, trying to keep her own cool. Odd was definitely the kindest word that could have been used to describe the entry, at least in Alice's head. She'd already run through freaky, weird, disturbing, bone-chilling, insane. Oh God - what if she was crazy? What if she was legitimately insane and belonged in a nut house? There was a spike of anxiety in her heart as her mind began to flit through horrible possibilities.

She was barely listening to Roach as he spoke, only aware of him again after he grabbed her head. Her thoughts were cut off as he pressed another knee-weakening kiss to her lips, and her shoulders slumped down as her pent up anxiety began to ebb away again. The kiss distracted her from just about everything in the world, and when he pulled away again she breathed a soft, contented sigh of distraction until she noticed his frown. She remembered they weren't there to sit around kissing, and she twitched her gaze to the side in embarrassment. "A... fragment?" She glanced back toward the bed as he nudged her before nodding. She hoisted herself onto the bed, hanging her legs over the edge before watching him again.

As she listened to his explanation, Alice chewed on the inside of her cheek, inching back onto the bed to pull her legs up and cross them. She looked down at the journal, tugging idly at her knees. "So, you think this is a memory?" Her eyepiece remained locked on the journal before she reached out to gingerly pluck it from the mattress to set it down in her lap. She flipped it open again. "... A memory that I don't even remember recording? Is that possible?" If that's what this was, it certainly made sense. From what little she could remember about her life before the explosion, her dad was a scientist. An inventor. Alice traced her index finger over the words, rereading them for perhaps the millionth time.

"If it is a memory, why does it stop short? Do you think the uh... 'fuel' ran out?"