crossmyheartandhope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2020-04-06 09:14 pm
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2020-04-06 09:14 pm
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Memory 22: Gates
“Gates,” says Hurricane.
The image on the paper before him doesn’t look quite like gates, if he’s honest. There’s a swoop that suggests a high arch and what might be bars, but it’s all in the sloppy black of splattered ink.
“Interesting,” says the woman sitting across from him. She has black hair that’s cut short, around the length of her ears. She’s wearing a long, white coat and sports a name tag that reads ITO. Although there’s a desk nearby, she’s not seated behind it. She’s next to Hurricane, on the other side, in the chair beside his. “What kind of gates, do you think?”
“I dunno,” says Hurricane.
He knows, all right; if they really were gates, they’d be the kind you see in a cartoon cemetery, all jagged and grey, with ghosts behind them. He knows better than to say that, though. “The big kind? Like something out front of someone’s mansion or something.”
“Hmm,” says Ito. She makes a note on her clipboard – sets down another image on top of the first. “And this one?”
It’s a vaguely rectangular shape, with some squiggles in the middle. A line branches off from the side. It doesn’t look like anything, honestly, but if he squints, it can kind of be –
“Hey, check it out,” says Hurricane. “It’s another psych eval form.”
Ito sighs. “Oh, honestly.”
“No, for real,” says Hurricane. “Look, there’s the pen. And there’s the middle part that’s like fifteen thousand words long. And there’s –”
“Cross,” says Ito. It’s not a stern tone, but it is a warning.
“C’mon, dude,” says Hurricane. “Gimme a break. I been seeing these things in my sleep. I’ve had more evals in the last couple of weeks than I have since training.”
“You know as well as I do the dangers of mental infiltration,” says Ito, patient. “We can’t afford another catastrophe like Chroma.”
“Well, yeah,” says Hurricane. “But they passed their evals, right? And then went out and –” He shrugs, jerky and a little awkward. “– you know.”
Ito just watches him for a moment, thoughtful. Her expression is unreadable; her face is smooth and still, like a doll. “You deployed for the cleanup, didn’t you?” she says at last.
“The rescue,” says Hurricane. “Yeah. Not like it was a TPK or anything.”
“Hmm,” says Ito. “And how was that?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane, and tries to put on a smile, though it doesn’t feel quite solid. “C’mon, what happened to the ink blots? We’re gonna run out of time.”
“Cross,” says Ito, level and unwavering.
“You totally got another appointment at quarter past. You really wanna turn in a blank form or whatever cause we got sidetracked talking about ancient history?”
She looks like a shark, a little. Sharks have eyes like that, flat and unreadable. She’s just watching him, gaze fixed on his face, and Hurricane squirms and looks away.
After what feels like a thousand years, her hand reaches out to set the next card down.
The black spots spray out in a wide arc, like blood. The central figure is a person, barely standing. That should have been a head, but there’s not enough of it left.
“And this one?” says Ito.
“Some kinda weird moth or something,” says Hurricane. “Look, there’s the wings.”
The image on the paper before him doesn’t look quite like gates, if he’s honest. There’s a swoop that suggests a high arch and what might be bars, but it’s all in the sloppy black of splattered ink.
“Interesting,” says the woman sitting across from him. She has black hair that’s cut short, around the length of her ears. She’s wearing a long, white coat and sports a name tag that reads ITO. Although there’s a desk nearby, she’s not seated behind it. She’s next to Hurricane, on the other side, in the chair beside his. “What kind of gates, do you think?”
“I dunno,” says Hurricane.
He knows, all right; if they really were gates, they’d be the kind you see in a cartoon cemetery, all jagged and grey, with ghosts behind them. He knows better than to say that, though. “The big kind? Like something out front of someone’s mansion or something.”
“Hmm,” says Ito. She makes a note on her clipboard – sets down another image on top of the first. “And this one?”
It’s a vaguely rectangular shape, with some squiggles in the middle. A line branches off from the side. It doesn’t look like anything, honestly, but if he squints, it can kind of be –
“Hey, check it out,” says Hurricane. “It’s another psych eval form.”
Ito sighs. “Oh, honestly.”
“No, for real,” says Hurricane. “Look, there’s the pen. And there’s the middle part that’s like fifteen thousand words long. And there’s –”
“Cross,” says Ito. It’s not a stern tone, but it is a warning.
“C’mon, dude,” says Hurricane. “Gimme a break. I been seeing these things in my sleep. I’ve had more evals in the last couple of weeks than I have since training.”
“You know as well as I do the dangers of mental infiltration,” says Ito, patient. “We can’t afford another catastrophe like Chroma.”
“Well, yeah,” says Hurricane. “But they passed their evals, right? And then went out and –” He shrugs, jerky and a little awkward. “– you know.”
Ito just watches him for a moment, thoughtful. Her expression is unreadable; her face is smooth and still, like a doll. “You deployed for the cleanup, didn’t you?” she says at last.
“The rescue,” says Hurricane. “Yeah. Not like it was a TPK or anything.”
“Hmm,” says Ito. “And how was that?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane, and tries to put on a smile, though it doesn’t feel quite solid. “C’mon, what happened to the ink blots? We’re gonna run out of time.”
“Cross,” says Ito, level and unwavering.
“You totally got another appointment at quarter past. You really wanna turn in a blank form or whatever cause we got sidetracked talking about ancient history?”
She looks like a shark, a little. Sharks have eyes like that, flat and unreadable. She’s just watching him, gaze fixed on his face, and Hurricane squirms and looks away.
After what feels like a thousand years, her hand reaches out to set the next card down.
The black spots spray out in a wide arc, like blood. The central figure is a person, barely standing. That should have been a head, but there’s not enough of it left.
“And this one?” says Ito.
“Some kinda weird moth or something,” says Hurricane. “Look, there’s the wings.”