Sime~Gen Roleplaying: District Controller's Office Scenario
Episode #84: Smashed (10/2/99)
Pylor grits his teeth and struggles to hold his support a little longer.
Arat's eyes are closed and he tells himself, for the thousandth time since Pylor's new rehabilitation stage begun, that he will make it to the end of this hour.
Pylor has already had to stop for a rest once during this session, and is sure that Arat is sneering at his inadequacy behind his closed eyes.
Pylor feels the wobble begin again.
Arat does not ordinarily compare himself to others, but right now he can't stop thinking about a news item he read about some livestock slaughtered by shot put sized hail one spring.
Arat's thoughts turn to a shipwreck story that made major headlines, as the wobble commences.
Arat's pallor becomes somewhat greenish.
Arat debates begging Pylor to stop, but tells himself that he can last just five more....
Nick signals, in blissful ignorance of what is going on in Arat's office.
Pylor drops the fields at the disturbance.
Pylor: Shen!
Arat stares at Pylor in shock.
Nick hears swearing, and opens the door.
Nick: Arat? Is everything all....
Arat still, even after all he's worked with Pylor, can't believe Pylor would handle him so clumsily.
Arat of course does have a certain element of denial on the matter, without which it would have been impossible to force himself to accept Neptude's instructions.
Arat: I'm fine. [automatically, and a bit sharply]
Pylor flushes at the implied criticism of the stare, and fumbles to resume support.
Arat drags his outraged look away from Pylor and directs his attention to Nick, trying to keep the effects of Pylor's wobbling, fumbling and field-dropping off his face. With little success.
Arat: Nick.
Nick enters the office, his nager ~~ concerned ~~
Nick: Not like that. [to Pylor] Like this.
Nick slips effortlessly into ~~ support ~~
Nick: If you try to force it, you overcorrect.
Pylor looks at Nick with a sour expression on his face, and more than a touch of ~~ envy ~~ in his nager.
Arat leans back in his chair in relief as the correct support kicks in.
Arat suddenly feels exhausted, and not without reason!
Arat: Pylor has been working on his stamina.
Arat comes as close as he will to defending Pylor's lameness in other areas.
Pylor thinks it is totally unfair for this rogue to be a Farris-trained Natural Donor, while he, who has always been loyal, is stuck fumbling around.
Nick moves closer to Arat, increasing the efficacy of his efforts.
Nick: From the looks of things, he's managed to wear you out.
Nick puts his hands on Arat's shoulders for more precise control.
Arat waves a hand and tentacles vaguely, as an intended rebuttal fails to resolve itself.
Pylor is not so far gone in envy that he can't appreciate the unscheduled rest, however.
Pylor's nager is, in fact, almost as frayed around the edges as Arat's, by now.
Arat is able to use Nick's help to get his field back into good enough condition that he doesn't feel like a mash of poultry, ham and granulated ice spread on the deck of a heaving trawler.
Arat finally recovers enough to trust himself to voice one of the many lies that he has become accustomed to uttering in the name of Pylor-placation.
Arat: That was very much improved. [to Pylor]
Pylor watches as Nick manages to do what he has been trying his best to do for almost an hour, in a few minutes and without apparent effort.
Pylor finds the extra five minutes he managed this time, before losing it, small consolation.
Nick feels an urge to use the interpersonal relations he learned during his days as a laborer, and plant a fist in Pylor's smug face for mistreating Arat so badly.
Nick is, fortunately, not as impulsive as Snake.
Arat zlins that Pylor is not thrilled by the praise.
Arat also zlins that Nick is not thrilled by Pylor's attitude.
Arat unfortunately has an obligation to butter up Pylor, while Nick will probably behave professionally either way.
Arat therefore tries again.
Arat: Through diligent practice, over time, you will build an excellent skillset that will serve you well.
Arat: This is a good beginning.
Arat thinks this is perfectly wretched, and he'd be dead by now if he hadn't had a Zeor-trained Donor during the rest of his hours.
Pylor nods grudgingly.
Arat still can't let go of a lingering fear that Pylor might accidentally do something to kill him on the spot, even so. Not that he'd admit to such a fear, of course.
Arat is relieved that Pylor accepted that, especially after only 2 tries. On average, 3 praises are required to keep him cooperative.
Pylor prepares for another... assault... on the exercise.
Arat: Perhaps a short break.
Arat: Five minutes should be sufficient.
Arat doesn't want Pylor to think he's trying to avoid him or anything.
Pylor looks surprised, but subsides.
Arat would have recommended more like a half hour for someone in Pylor's condition, or lack thereof - but there is no accounting for logic in Pylor's case and Pylor's goodwill is more important than his health.
Arat: [or Arat's, apparently...]
Arat clings nagerically to Nick's continued support.
Nick gathers that this means he has five minutes to get Arat back into shape to deal with Pylor's best--or worst--efforts.
Nick sets to work with the sort of nageric precision only a pain-addicted, homicidal rogue Farris channel could beat into one.
Nick: You know, if you're going to continue with these... training sessions, you really ought to have Alea around to help during rest periods.
Nick sounds just a touch aggravated, as if Arat has been deliberately making work for his poor Donor.
Arat: It's her rest period.
Arat: At any rate, the sessions are only an hour in length.
Arat is of the opinion that he should be able to endure anything - anything that doesn't outright kill him, at any rate - for only an hour.
Arat: Was there something you required of me?
Arat isn't trying to get Nick to stop, only wondering what he originally came for.
Pylor scowls at this implication that his control is so poor that he is causing major trouble to Arat--even if he knows that is the case. (Perhaps especially since he knows that is the case.)
Nick looks at Pylor thoughtfully.
Nick: You know, if he doesn't get the hang of it quickly, you should send him to Snake. She enjoys a challenge.
Pylor reacts with ~~ horror ~~ at the suggestion.
Arat looks disapproving.
Nick: Don't tense up.
Nick attacks a particularly stubborn muscle on the back of Arat's neck.
Pylor: You wouldn't...?
Arat pushes Nick's hands away from his neck, irritably.
Pylor looks at Arat with something approaching abject pleading.
Arat: Did you come here just to bait my patient, or do you have something you want from me?
Nick: Oh, yes.
Nick lets his hands fall, and lightens up on the support, as well.
Nick: Snake sent me after more reading material.
Arat: For her, or for you?
Arat had been giving Wise Snake a lot of grueling dry reading matter on subjects much better studied in First Year.
Arat is unhappy about the lightened support, but he couldn't deal with the tension between Nick and Pylor, not with Nick baiting Pylor and touching Arat at the same time.
Nick: Well, both, actually. She wants more detailed background on some of the cases she'll be treating, and more case histories to read at night.
Nick hopes that Arat can find some adequately challenging material.
Arat: Please let Snake know that I am in the middle of a session right now, but that I'll get some materials together for her this afternoon.
Nick: Thank you, from both of us.
Nick is stretching the point, there, since Snake is not known for thanking anybody for anything.
Arat nods.
Nick: I'll leave you to your... session, then.
Nick withdraws his support, smoothly.
Pylor's nager immediately becomes much more zlinnable.
Arat is left with nothing, since Pylor apparently wasn't paying attention and has dropped the ball as it were.
Arat shies away from any more hailstone imagery.
Nick shoots Pylor a condemning look.
Pylor flares resentment at Nick, then fumbles to catch the ball--or maybe hailstone?
Arat blinks at the exchange and then for some reason slips underneath his desk.
Arat: ~~ out like a light ~~
Pylor stares at Arat, gaping like a fish dropped suddenly into ice water.
Nick's rogue-honed reflexes are a bit more on the ball.
Nick runs for Arat, taking as precise a grip on the fields as he can manage.
Arat is crumpled in a heap under the desk.
Nick: Shen. Pylor, has he been eating any large blue horse tranquilizers, by any chance?
Nick takes Arat's hands, and reaches out with his nager.
Pylor: ...horse tranquilizers???
Pylor knew that Farrises had distinct medical requirements, but this sounds pretty extreme.
Arat starts to come around as Nick's nager manipulates his.
Nick: Never mind.
Arat is rather disoriented (in the mental, rather than the psychospatial, sense) and takes a moment to regain his wits.
Nick slides his hands up Arat's arms, for closer control.
Arat's tentacles grip Nick's arms instinctively.
Nick is well aware that his nager will zlin a tad Aratlike after this, and that Snake might be a little disgruntled about it, but doesn't let that stop him.
Nick figures that Snake would be equally disgruntled if Arat happened to die of Pylor-exposure through no effort of her own.
Arat finally figures out who he is, where he is, and what he's doing, and it won't do at all of course.
Arat: I'm fine, I'm fine.
Arat lets go of Nick and tries to clamber up.
Pylor has enough sense to stay back and let Nick work, figuring that Nick will get the blame if something goes wrong.
Nick half picks Arat up, and guides him to a chair.
Nick: You are not fine.
Arat falls into his chair.
Arat: I am.
Arat presses a hand dizzily to his forehead for a moment.
Nick: Tell me that when you can walk without falling over.
Arat: It was just... nothing. It was nothing.
Nick thinks that that really isn't all that bad a description of a dead faint.
Arat wisely doesn't attempt the walking bit.
Nick doesn't let his close support waver for an instant.
Nick: Pylor, I don't think that Arat is in any condition to tutor you any more today. How about fetching Alea for him?
Pylor's mouth opens reflexively to object, then he thinks better of it.
Pylor: Controller Arat?
Arat, who is still looking rather pale, lifts a hand to acknowledge Pylor's leaving.
Pylor doesn't want to be blamed for leaving the Controller collapsed with nothing but a rogue Donor for assistance, even if said rogue is a far better Donor than himself.
Pylor figures he can't be blamed if he's following orders, though, and so leaves.
Nick: Arat, you've got to do something about him. He's a menace.
Nick: And you've been spending an hour a day with him??
Nick: It's a wonder it took you this long to collapse.
Arat: Two hours.
Arat: Mid-day and evening.
Arat: Neptude's orders.
Nick: Is he trying to murder you?
Nick: ~~ indignant ~~
Nick does not let his indignation interfere with putting Arat's nager back together, however.
Arat: I don't think he's ever understood the difficulty.
Arat begs the question.
Nick: Couldn't you have at least had Alea around to buffer you?
Arat shakes his head.
Arat: No... not together. Not again.
Nick thinks it through.
Nick: ....Oh. They didn't get along?
Arat makes good on his reputation as a "leaner" as they speak.
Nick hadn't known there was any other type of channel until he worked with Deah, and so is not disturbed.
Arat: No.
Arat quoth a serious understatement.
Alea is sitting outside, sweater on, fingers chilled in the wind as she stares off in the distance on her break.
Pylor plods towards the lunchroom in search of Alea.
Pylor is filled with conflicting urges: the Donor's urge to get help for a channel in trouble, and the urge not to see Alea again.
Pylor notes that the lunchroom is Alea-free, and plods on.
Alea rubs her hands together and again wonders at Arat's stubbornness.
Alea thinks the man reminds her of Loran Farris, a dear friend she had growing up--and unfortunately loved to torment with her field.
Pylor makes some inquiries of passing staff members, and eventually traces Alea to her seat outside.
Pylor: There you are.
Alea note a presence and glances up.
Alea: Hello Pylor.
Alea offers him a smile, studying him.
Pylor: Arat had some trouble. Nick's with him now, but he sent me after you.
Alea grabs her sack lunch as she shoots up.
Alea: What happened?
Alea ~~ worry concern ~~ Where is he?
Pylor: He fainted. He's in his office.
Alea: Fainted!!!
Alea starts off at a rush toward the door, forgetting her drink, her lunch, or that her shoes are still untied.
Alea trips on her shoe strings, scraping both knees and hands but jumping right back up ~~ pain ~~
Alea: What'd you do to him?
Alea stuffs the strings in her shoes and starts as fast as she can toward the door.
Pylor's eyes widen at this demonstration of Alea's reputation for clumsiness.
Pylor starts after Alea.
Pylor: What makes you think I did anything to him?
Alea shares a few very colorful words in several languages.
Alea: You were with him and you aren't Farris.
Alea thinks that explains everything.
Alea realizes she still has her sack lunch in her hand and shoves it in the black belt at her waist then starts working to clean the abrasions as she hurries down the hall.
Pylor: So was Nick Reckage--and he isn't a Farris, either.
Alea: Nick....
Alea takes a breath.
Alea: Nick wouldn't do that.
Alea: Nick wouldn't do anything like that.
Alea is at least pretty sure of this.
Pylor: What makes you so sure about that?
Alea: If he did, he'll have to deal with me.
Alea smiles shortly, not a nice smile.
Alea: Because he's worked with Snake long enough to know better.
Pylor: He's a rogue, after all. And one who's consistently refused to pledge.
Pylor: Not that he should have been offered the chance.
Alea slows and glares at Pylor and opens her mouth to reply to that, planning to blast the little nerd.
Alea realizes now is not the time and hurries on toward Arat's door.
Alea signals, bringing her field under control
Alea doesn't wait for an answer but pulls the door open, making sure Pylor is behind her.
Pylor somehow doubts that his services will be required to treat Arat, with both Nick and Alea present, so he drops back.
Alea looks into the office to see what has happened and scope out the situation.
Nick looks up from his work at Alea's entrance.
Nick knows Alea well enough to check for obvious damage before stepping back.
Nick: Good, Pylor found you.
Alea looks to Arat.
Alea: Hajene? ~~ not realizing the title she bestowed upon him ~~
Arat: Alea. Your services are required. I apologize for the interruption.
Alea: Not at all.
Arat does a pretty good job of Farris-denying-it's-anything-serious.
Alea shifts into professional mode and glides forward, lunch bobbing on her side.
Alea sinks down, dropping next to him and offering support.
Nick works to pass control of Arat over to Alea without any loss of support or disturbance of the fields.
Alea: Nick? What happened?
Arat sighs as the two accomplish the switch with perfect smoothness.
Alea reaches out and automatically takes Arat's hand and runs her fingers over his sensory nodes to increase the contact.
Alea: He's a mess.
Nick: I know.
Nick: Working with Pylor has been hard on him.
Alea has the bad tendency to crawl all over her channels driving them crazy and manipulating their fields without their permission when she is worried.
Pylor thinks, yup, somehow it's all my fault.
Alea glances at Arat.
Alea: Forgive me, Hajene, for leaving you.
Arat: It wasn't your fault.
Alea does not notice that the mustard is oozing out of a hole in her bag and all over Arat's nice clean (formerly clean), white--formerly white--pants.
Arat doesn't notice either... yet.
Nick is used to working with a channel adorned with far more... objectionable matter, and doesn't think to mention the mustard.
Alea studies Arat close.
Alea: I should not have left you.
Alea is very worried, knowing just how badly this can hurt a Farris.
Alea: Do you need to balance or... um....
Alea offers her arms in question.
Pylor is interested to observe that the Farris clinginess apparently works both ways.
Arat takes Alea's arms and gratefully uses her field.
Alea gives over full control working with him.
Alea ~~ concern, worry, caring ~~
Nick notes that the mustard seeping from Alea's lunchbag is being joined by a red streak of ketchup.
Pylor sneaks out Arat's office, knowing that no one will care where he is until the crisis is over and blame can be assigned.
Pylor does not wish to be around at that time, so leaves the Sime Center in search of consolation.
Pylor could definitely use some consolation, just now.
Pylor: ~~ glum ~~
Pylor finds a nice pub, and settles down to drown his sorrows in a mug of porstan.
Pylor might have done better if he had considered the relative sizes of said sorrows and mug.
Pylor would have a hard time, for instance, getting Arat's or Alea's Farris noses far enough into the mug for drowning.
Riyyh finally manages to slip away from the group of people he was hanging out with, by slipping into a bar.
Riyyh actually shouldn't have been able to do this, because the entire purpose of the party was to travel from bar to bar having a porstan at each one, and they should have stopped at that one too.
Riyyh took his chance when he realized they'd missed it.
Pylor starts sipping at the porstan instead, which is probably just as well.
Riyyh peeks through the window long enough to be sure his erstwhile companions are safely gone, and then turns and goes farther into the bar.
Riyyh spots Pylor and zlins Pylor's sorrows and automatically becomes concerned.
Riyyh hurries in that direction.
Pylor stares gloomily into his porstan.
Riyyh misjudges the distance, since he'd failed to break away from his friends until the 16th bar, and sways against the counter for a moment before succeeding in taking a seat beside Pylor.
Riyyh: Sosu Pylor... so good to see you. But so down! What is the matter?
Pylor looks up slowly.
Pylor: Sectuib Riyyh?
Riyyh smiles, radiantly.
Riyyh edges closer, since Pylor is a First Order Donor after all, and it's been a while since Riyyh enjoyed the services of one.
Riyyh's inhibitions are also somewhat inhibited, or at least they would have been had he had any.
Pylor is a bit uncertain, since he only met Riyyh once, the light in the bar is dim, and Riyyh has not had time to primp for several bars.
Riyyh: The one and only.
Riyyh's language centers have more room for alcohol-effect than his morals.
Pylor starts to respond to the radiant smile (and encroaching nager), then breaks off and stares into his porstan.
Pylor: I'm a failure as a Donor.
Riyyh blinks at the nageric fluctuations, then puts an arm around Pylor's shoulders.
Riyyh: No, no, that can't be.
Riyyh: Look at all your good points.
Riyyh: You have a strong field, you look good in the uniform....
Pylor: And the sort of talent that makes the District Controller faint dead away.
Riyyh: Literally?
Riyyh frowns.
Pylor: I'm afraid so.
Pylor: ~~ glum ~~
Riyyh: Well, is he OK?
Pylor: I think so. Nick happened to be there when it happened, and now Alea is with him.
Riyyh: I'm sure everything will be all right, then.
Riyyh: But what about you? Will you be all right?
Riyyh inspects Pylor for damage, as well as is possible from a position of practically in Pylor's lap.
Pylor considers Riyyh's last three sentences, as a whole, and wonders if that means that he is not part of "everything".
Pylor: I don't know. I suppose it depends on how well they put him back together, and how much Regional Controller Neptude learns about it.
Pylor turns his head slightly to avoid Riyyh's alcohol-laden breath.
Pylor is pretty sure that Alea, at least, will want to exact a penalty for Arat's collapse.
Riyyh pushes himself back to his own stool and asks the bartender for a soda water.
Pylor: I never wanted to learn to work with Farrises.
Pylor says this as if he wishes it was a valid excuse for failing at the task.
Riyyh nods sympathetically.
Pylor: They're such a temperamental, aloof, demanding lot, with those beaky noses looking down at you.
Pylor: I only agreed to try because I would have been sent out to some rural Center out in the middle of nowhere if I'd refused again.
Riyyh: You know, the rural stations might not be so bad.
Riyyh waves some tentacles in a fluid (porstan, perhaps?) motion.
Riyyh: I was born out in the country. It's nice there.
Pylor: I'm a city boy myself. New Othwol.
Riyyh gives the bartender a large tip and thanks him, then sips at his soda.
Riyyh: New Othwol... a pretty town. A pity I've been banned there.
Pylor: You have?
Riyyh wouldn't ordinarily have admitted that to just anybody, but it's been quite a morning.
Pylor: How come?
Riyyh: Its first City Controller was a man named Jaingk. He didn't like me much.
Riyyh remembers sadly.
Pylor: But to ban you? That takes more than simple dislike. At least usually.
Riyyh: The channels' and Donors' schools there were to be pure Tecton, with no Householding influence beyond the historical.
Riyyh: But of course, there were many problems when the town was new and the schools were first opened, and it is Naros' nature to wish to help.
Riyyh fondly recalls the large number of very impressionable young First Year School students who fell passionately in love with him, or indeed formed lifelong crushes.
Riyyh still gets letters from some of them.
Pylor nods; having read the Capitol papers regularly during the school-vs-agriculture battle, he has some idea of how welcome Narosian "help" might be to the Controller of a new city.
Pylor wonders if Naros tried to put hydroponics setups in the transfer rooms.
Riyyh: There is also the issue of my involvement with Family Audnes.
Riyyh sighs.
Riyyh: But that was a long time ago, and a lot of water has gone under the bridge.
Pylor's ears perk up at the mention of the Audnes name.
Pylor: You were involved with the Audnes?
Riyyh: Just a little bit. Society things... it was a courtesy really.
Pylor: But I'd heard that you never meet Controller Arat, at least if you can help it.
Riyyh smiles sadly.
Riyyh: He wasn't born yet.
Pylor wishes Arat had managed to stay in that happy condition, where he wouldn't have been able to affect Pylor's own life.
Riyyh sidles closer to Pylor again, because of the field.
Riyyh: [and just, well, because. This is Riyyh, after all]
Pylor's nager can't help but respond to the... closeness.
Pylor notes with some vindication that Riyyh doesn't seem to be flinching from it.
Riyyh in fact squirms closer, in an extremely friendly fashion.
Riyyh: When is Arat expecting you again?
Pylor: I expect he'd be happy if I dropped off the face of the Earth.
Pylor: But I was supposed to have another session with him this evening.
Riyyh: Are you doing anything special until then?
Pylor: Not really.
Riyyh uses a tentacle to brush a bit of tousled hair off Pylor's forehead.
Riyyh: There is a nice exhibit of Gen Territory artwork at the Nivet Museum.
Pylor: The museum?
Riyyh: I was thinking of going there today, but I didn't want to go by myself.
Riyyh: I get lonely. [sheepishly... and very cute he is, too]
Pylor: Oh.
Riyyh: And with no Donor....
Riyyh: Well, at this time of month, the artwork just doesn't seem as... vibrant.
Pylor's artistic sensibilities are almost nonexistent, but his Donor's sensibilities are in fine fettle.
Pylor: No Donor?
Riyyh: No, my Rapol cannot travel. So here I am in Capitol, entirely... without.
Riyyh expertly, if unconsciously, exposes his growing need to the Donor's field.
Pylor can't hold back his ~~ sympathy ~~
Pylor: Well, if you really require a Donor to go to this art exhibit....
Riyyh smiles.
Riyyh: If you could spare the time, I'd be pleased for you to join me.
Pylor: Why not? I don't seem to be good for anything else, just now.
Pylor finishes the last of his beer and gets to his feet.