Viola and Aristotle catch Mr. Crockett on his way out of his office in central classrooms today. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he smiles at the students and welcomes them into his office to talk.
But once there, Mr. Crockett seems to struggle when trying to follow along until Viola offers him the opened cicada shell rock. His expression contorts when he sees it, wincing as though even looking at it pains him, but he sighs, resigned, and reaches out to take the tiny bug. In his hands, it becomes that patched leather jacket. Startled, Mr. Crockett drops it, and leans back heavily on his desk as though dazed. The jacket falls to the floor, but disappears before it hits the ground.
Seconds tick by in silence, tears gathering in Monty Crockett's eyes before he's even come out of his trance. They fall down his cheeks when he blinks his eyes. For a few seconds longer, he is speechless, shoulders heavy, blue eyes hollow with aching sadness. And then, with a sigh, he seems to lighten ever so slightly. "Ah," Mr. Crockett breathes, carefully dabbing the tears from his eyes. "That was...about as difficult as I thought it'd be."
A breathy, rueful laugh rushes out of him. What he has been given was not a gift, but by the look on his face, it was a necessity. Mr. Crockett shoves himself off his desk, walks around to the back of it and starts going through drawers. With careful composure, he goes on, "Viola, you asked me once if it was strange that I couldn't remember how El died. It wasn't. I knew there was something I couldn't bear to remember, and I thought I was better for it being gone. It's still fuzzy, but—ah! Here it is."
Mr. Crockett produces bookmark, made of metal, tassled with a leather strap from which a small pendant hangs. He looks at it and frowns, then holds it out for Viola to take. "I...would appreciate if you'd hang on to this for me," he says. Once it's in hand, Viola sees that the pendant is in fact a tiny compass with two needles, one points at Mr. Crockett, the other spins. "Anyway, apologies. As I was saying. There was a muggle cult that we all got tangled up in. I don't remember why, or what they were trying to do, but ... it all went to hell. They got...Tinkerbell? But El saved her. Or...they lured El with Tink. I can't—" He frowns. "They killed him to achieve their goals. I can't...remember the rest."
"I understand your desire to investigate. I promise, I do. But you need to stay safe." Mr. Crockett gathers up a few things, then makes for his office door. "I need to speak with Zelda, and then find where my brother's gone." He opens the door, standing aside to let Viola and Aris leave, and he seems to be thinking very hard about something, chewing his lower lip. "If you have any more of those golden shells, do me a favor and return them to their owners?"
[Viola has received a magic metal bookmark. The compass at the end of this bookmark has two needles, one points to Monty Crockett, the other seems to spin incessantly. This object will have additional effects during end game which we will expand upon later.]
Lionel finds his teacher alone in the computer lab, seated behind the lab’s newest addition. Mr. Qualls doesn’t say anything for a long moment after he comes in, and doesn’t even seem to notice him at first; he’s busy, peering curiously at the computer screen, then down at the keyboard.
Finally, he looks up, and a wave of something just shy of recognition flashes across his features. “Ah!” He stands to greet Lionel, walking straight through the computer itself. “Leopold, have you seen? I haven’t the slightest idea how it got here, but I heard Muggles were experimenting with a more portable computer and—ah.”
His rambling pulls up when he sees the cicada shell in Lionel’s hand. And a look that straddles relief and dismay washes down his face. “Yes, I suppose so.”
Mr. Qualls holds out a hand, and despite a general lack of corporeality, the shell does not sink through it. Instead, it changes, becomes a stack of photographs, not quite solid themselves. The actual images in the pictures are indistinct and blurry, and when Mr. Qualls tries to shuffle through them they dissolve into nothingness in his hands.
He sits back in the chair, weight he doesn’t even have pulling him downward, and he’s still. But unlike the last time Lionel gave Mr. Qualls an episode, no lights flicker, and no computers start to smoke. This is a puzzle piece, being slotted into its place. As Mr. Qualls returns to center, his countenance feels that much more whole. Healed, just a little bit.
“Lionel—is it?” He looks up, and for the first time, possibly ever, he seems to be making actual eye contact with his TA. Mr. Qualls chuckles, warmly. “A good kid, my Lionel. Cut from the same cloth, me and him. Too headstrong, too foolish…”
The Muggle Tech Studies teacher sits for a moment, lost again in his own reverie. Time slips by around him, and it almost seems like he won’t be coming back any time soon when Mr. Qualls stands again. He cuts straight through the computers (causing one of them to blue screen and another to open the calculator four different times) to his desk, where an old keychain sits next to an open gradebook from many years ago.
“I don’t know if I’ll…” Mr. Qualls gestures at his head, then down to the keychain, a souvenir photo viewer from WizneyWorld. “But someone should.” He waves for Lionel to take the keychain, though if asked why he wants him to have it, he can’t explain. It just feels like he should have it.
“Thank you,” he says just before Lionel leaves. “I—yes. Thank you.”
[Lionel has received a magic souvenir photo viewer. When he looks through it, he sees a smiling picture of a woman and two young boys with a mop of blond curls at a theme park. This item will have additional effects during endgame which we will expand upon later.]
Mr. Purcell sticks around for a while after the session to make sure everything's cleaned up and put away, so it's easy for Aris and Viola to grab him after to return the thing he's given up. It's actually Mr. Purcell who speaks first, grinning proudly when he spots the Deeplurkers lurking. "Fine work today, Aristotle. An even more impressive performance than usual."
It's always nice for the student to surpass the teacher, it seems. His smile falters, though, when he sees the gold cicada. Like, he feels like he should know what it is, but he doesn't. Mr. Purcell is perhaps justifiably hesitant to take the cicada, but after a moment of stern thought, he reaches forward.
In his hand, the cicada grows abruptly, into the long rolled piece of parchment from the forgotten memory. He unravels it, and recognition dawns as he takes in the details. Mr. Purcell takes one step back, and then another, and then sits down hard on the auditorium floor as the parchment disappears in his hands.
Queen Guinevere hops from her pillow bed, unusually spry, and walks toward Mr. Purcell to lick his face and sit beside him as the scene replays in his mind. One second, two, three, four, and finally, he blinks.
Looking this way and that, it's clear he's surprised to find himself on the ground when he comes to. It's a moment before he even computes where he is, but once he does Mr. Purcell clears his throat to hide his embarrassment. What an undignified display. The former cursebreaker's hand comes down on the back of Queen Guin's neck to give her a fond scratch.
"Hm," is all he says at first, expression pressed in thought. But, after a moment, he stands, brushes the dust from his slacks and says, "That...was classified information. And embarrassing. I'll trust you not to mention how awful my outfit was to anyone. I was young. I made mistakes. But you can tell everyone what an adorable puppy the Queen was. Now, I need to..." he trails off again and sighs. "Well, I need to apologize to Zelda first. And then report to the BoMB. And then find Tinkerbell and ask her what other memories she's got of mine." That last part he growls.
But then, instead of leaving, Mr. Purcell hesitates...
So, Aristotle and Viola want to know about the glyph? "Well, kids, there's a lot to say there, and I don't know all of it. It's a locking glyph, meant to..." Mr. Purcell pauses, trying to think of how to describe what he wants to say, then laces his fingers, closing and opening his palms. "bend, but never break. A sort of suture, really. The idea was that we were sealing shut a wound that would eventually heal on its own."
"As you saw, it was designed by Mr. Qualls. Once upon a time, he was the Symbology teacher, too, you know. MACUSA pulled me from assignment elsewhere at his specific request, and it was my job to review the suture glyph, ensure that it would last as long as it needed to, or until we found a way to close what was beneath for good. It seems...something complicated my alterations...hm."
Mr. Purcell strokes his beard, lost in thought for a moment. What? Oh. No, he doesn't know what was beneath the sutures. Need to know basis, and he knew very little. He only recalls that it was total bedlam in Elflock Falls for the week and a half he'd come back to town. Fires, early curfews, all sorts of chaos. And that Mr. Qualls's eldest son had died. "That's what we were talking about, with the blood. Whatever wound was opened used Lionel Qualls's blood. You need the same blood, the same heart, to seal it. So..." He pulls in a breath. "You know, I think this is a little too much. You're both very bright, and I think you can draw your own conclusions from there."
Mr. Purcell gathers Queen Guin up into his arm. "Thank you for returning this to me. I think... I may be able to fix that glyph. Maybe we can make sure that wound heals this time." He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a small trinket, which he examines and then passes to Aristotle. It’s an old dog tag for Queen Guin, tarnished and worn. There’s a protective sigil on the back. “You should have this. I’m...not sure why. But a cursebreaker always trusts his intuition.”
[Aristotle has received a Tarnished Protective Tag. This tag has a generic protective sigil which any Symbology student could identify as being roughly equivalent to “safety” or “good luck.” It will serve an additional purpose in end game, which we will elaborate on later.]
Merlin will be returning Youngblood's memory and he'll be asking Imogen to come along with him...just in case. He doesn't know what he could need backup for, but still. Just in case. Ideally, he'd be doing this on Monday (5/25), but whatever date is doable is great. Thanks!
Merlin and Imogen catch Mr. Youngblood down by the quodpot field, cleaning out the pots before they’re put away for the summer. Every few moments, Zero Sugar Pepsi pops out of the pot and makes a grab for the mottled old rag he’s using to wipe it down, and Mr. Youngblood teases her and tells her to try again next time. He seems in good spirits.
But when the shell is presented to him, his easy grin falters. Ordinarily impulsive, Youngblood hesitates, flexing his fingers and clenching his jaw for a full second before he snatches the shell.
Once in his hand, the stone changes; no longer a cicada but a broom. Not just a broom, a racing broom, well-loved and used, decorated from tip to tail with peeling bumper stickers. Youngblood’s face falls. “Oh, not—” he breathes out and drops the broom, but the ghostly image is already fading, and he’s stumbling backwards.
The broom is gone by the time Youngblood hits the dirt.
He sits there for several seconds. Drip by drip, the color drains from his face, and his breathing gets more ragged, like he’s trying to suck air through a plastic straw. The cactus cat hops out of the pot and comes to bat at his rag, but bounds away when he comes back, coughing and wheezing, a throat full of fire.
“—and y’ain’t never gonna get him—”
There’s more words, but they’re lost for the moment in a shredded throat. It takes a few minutes for Youngblood to recover from the memory, and when he tries to climb back to his feet he’s knocked back once more, biting back a shout as soon as he puts weight on his left leg.
“Shit, I was—I was fuckin’ right, wasn’t I?” he pants and produces a knife from his back pocket. There’s a soft clank of metal on metal as he stabs straight at his knee and starts tearing into the leg of his jeans. “If y’all ever wanna see infinity, make sure it’s really fuckin’ infinity, not just some asshole with his foot stuck in the damn door.” The jeans tear, revealing the tarnished metal of a prosthetic leg just underneath. Youngblood continues to saw at the seams.
“Those fuckin’ shitheads. Pete never gave 'em the whole damn heart. Pretty damn easy to figure out half of it’s always gonna be with the brood—long as there is one.” The pant leg tears free and crumples on a filthy boot beneath. “Them fuckos never did their research to figure that shit out. Why their damn ass ritual didn’t fuckin’ work right. Look thataway if y’all’re squeamish, by the way.”
With half a second of warning, Youngblood pulls his metal leg free with a soft pop. There’s a smudge of blood on the liner at top, and what’s left of the leg looks red and angry—at least for the brief moment it’s visible. “What me and Z saw still wasn’t enough. You either gotta see him all, or forget him all, and far as we could figure there was only one way to yank his ass all the way out the door.”
Youngblood turns a knob at the top of his metal leg and presses a button. In seconds, the leg shoots up and transforms into an adult-sized crutch. “Sure you could figure it too but I ain’t gonna say it, ‘cause I ain’t trust some of these bitches,” he sends a sidelong glance in the direction of the BoMB encampment as the redheaded specialist lets out an obnoxious whoop. “And that one ain’t no option anyhow.” Youngblood hops up on his one good foot, balancing himself with the crutch. “If I had another way I’d fuckin’ spill, but I wasn’t never the brains. Now,” he points himself in the direction of Central Classrooms, “I think I gotta get my ass to the infirmary.”
Armani brings Chanel and Laszlo with him to return Mr. Zahidi's memory. He doesn't trust Timotheye's intentions so he's waiting to try to return it when Mr. Zahidi is away from the library and away from Timotheye. Chanel is staying in the library to keep an eye on the eye while this happens and Laszlo is with Armani when he returns the memory.
Ideally, he'd like to do this before the 28th but I know y'all have a lot to write so whatever's convenient for you!
On Tuesday, Armani and Laszlo manage to catch up to to Mr. Zahidi late into the evening on the main road between the cafeteria and the staff apartments. (Dude must just stay in the library from dawn until dusk like some kind of nerd vampire.) They try to catch up and he... is he... walking faster?
Their chase takes them very nearly up to Mr. Zahidi's narrow front door, where he stops to set his clamshell of Lunch Lady Bigfoot's Famous Vegan Sketties aside and fumble with his keys. "Oh! Armani, Laszlo." Mr. Zahidi says as though he weren't completely aware that students were following him. "How are you two doing this evening?"
They have him now, though, and whatever it was Mr. Zahidi was expecting, it certainly wasn't a gold cicada shell. But he does seem to recognize what it is when he sees it. "Oh! This is mine!" He chirrups with the tone of an astronomer finding a new planet for the first time. The cicada shell changes into a moleskine between his fingers. "I never thought that I'd have anything taken when I signed the waiver," he comments as he takes the book in both hands and begins to page through it. "But then, I guess I wouldn't have known either w—"
Mr. Zahidi falls silent, staring at the space where the journal used to be as it disappears from his hands. A few seconds tick by before he gives a shake of his head, and with a slow blink he returns to reality. Mr. Zahidi's lips part. His brow furrows. "That—I have more of those. Just a moment."
Back to fumbling with his keys once again, Mr. Zahidi lets himself into his apartment. There is a Gundam Wing tapestry hanging on the wall over the sofa. Laszlo and Armani have to wait a bit longer while Mr. Zahidi clunks and thuds around inside, but eventually he emerges with a large banker box. "Thank you for returning this to me. I can't believe I forgot how Timotheye and I met—Oh, this is my shredding," he explains, hoisting the box up. "And I never remember why it gets so full. Until now."
He sets the banker box on the sidewalk, pulls off the lid and sets it aside, and then sits on his doorstep. Mr. Zahidi scoops up his cardboard clamshell of sketties, pops it open and gestures to opened box with his fork. "Go ahead."
Inside is, as suggested, full of papers. But also notebooks. A quick rummage, it seems, is only from the last few months. Every scrap has scribbled notes. Some are just dashes and dots, some are transcribed messages. The same message that Armani had seen in the memory frequently reappears: THE SEAM PULLS. HE IS COMING. HE BURNS. SEE HIM TO STOP HIM.
Some of the greatest hits:
(Appears all year) PROM PROM PROM PROM PROM PROM PROM PROM "See how upset he gets when someone asks Timotheye to a dance and he can't go? He did that all last year, too. And the year before that. I remember, now."
(Appears all year) FIND THE KEYS SET HIM FREE FIND THE KEYS SET HIM FREE (Mr. Zahidi is chowing down on his vegan sketties for this one, and it's hard to tell what he says but it probably doesn't matter.)
(Sept only) WATER THE STONES FIND THE TRUTH "I thought Timotheye was writing poetry."
(Oct & May only) THE ROOTS THE ROOTS THE ROOTS THE ROOTS "Timotheye likes classic hip hop," Mr. Zahidi explains.
(Jan) TOO COLD TOO COLD TOO COLD "I turned the heat up for Timotheye, but it never seemed like enough"
(Mar 31st) HE TAKES (Mr. Zahidi shrugs.)
(Apr) GAMES GAMES GAMES GAMES "I've been trying to get a tabletop group together for Timotheye, but it's been hard."
"Weird, huh? I think whatever Timotheye is trying to tell me has something to do with..." he twirls his fork in the air, "Everything." Mr. Zahidi seems surprisingly chipper. Maybe he's just happy to have a memory restored and his dinner in his stomach. "This could be useful. I'll make copies and give them to Administrator Kwan. Let me clean this up and walk you back to your dorms. Buddy system!"
Meanwhile, Chanel hangs out with a floating eyeball for about 45 minutes. It stares at her, unmoving.
Bijou will be returning Mr. Youngblood's memory by herself. Along with the shell, she also presents him with a very feminine looking wrapped gift, with a book inside.
Before she hands over the shell to him, she primly states, "I just want you to know that I don't think you're the dumbest motherfucker here."
Mr. Youngblood, still hobbling around on a magitechnical crutch since yesterday, eyes Bijou’s cicada and the gift very suspiciously. This is his second shell, but his first gift, and it kind of seems like maybe someone was fuckin’ holding out on his ass if they were supposed be bringing gifts all this damn time. And if he wants to find out what’s in that pretty ass wrapping paper (and he really wants to find out what’s in that pretty ass wrapping paper), or what the fuck she means about him (not) being the dumbest motherfucker here, then he’s probably gotta take that shell.
Taking the golden bug in his hand, Mr. Youngblood quirks his head in confusion when it changes shape, taking the form of a beer can, crushed flat. He turns the can over in his hand, but in a moment, the can is gone, and so is he.
Unlike his last experience, Mr. Youngblood doesn’t hit the dirt. He stumbles into the wall and leans there, propped up, as the moment in time replays in his head. And even after he’s done, he takes a moment, toying with the memory as the sharp details already start to trickle away.
“Ya know,” he laughs, little more than air escaping, “I’d prob’ly still have two damn legs if that was true.”
Mr. Youngblood pivots on his crutch to face Bijou again. His face, usually haggard and puffy from bad decisions and hard livin’, seems almost youthful now. The young Wybie YB, champion broom racer and Deeplurk Quid MVP two-point-five years in a row (don’t ask), shines out of those eyes.
"Shit, I really hope all y'all kids ain't coming to me for some kinda pep talk or advice or some shit," Mr. Youngblood continues, picking at the box in his hand. "But, you know, don't eat yellow snow, chug water if you're hard-partyin', only talk shit when you're plannin' to back it up or lose a leg for it, an', fair's fair."
Mr. Youngblood digs in his pocket and removes a bottle opener, pink, with an image of a sunset. The words Follow Your Dreams are painted in flaking gold script. He tosses it to Bijou. "And technically, fuckin' anything can be a weapon." He can't possibly mean this bottle opener, can he?
Later, anyone who enters Mr. Youngblood's office will see the book propped up behind it. If anyone asks about it, he'll tell them he can't fucking read, but it sure does look pretty.
[Bijou has received an inspirational bottle opener. It opens bottles and maybe reminds her of a teacher who shouldn't drink so much. There are no endgame effects, but it's still nice.]
Lir does not understand what this bug is or why his employee is shoving it in his hand. "Is this from the hot dog warmer?" he asks, voice flat because he doesn't actually care if there's a bug in the hot dog warmer, that's why he's asking Trudy to clean it out.
But then, suddenly, he's not holding a little golden cicada. It's a tube of wrapping paper with red and white checkers and it bends slightly in the middle. And he really doesn't know where this came from now. Lir holds it out to ask Trudy where he found this shapeshifting bug-tube when his eyes flutter and slide out of focus, and he leans heavily against the counter.
For several seconds, nothing seems terribly out of the ordinary. Lir is silent, a single bowler from the senior women's league in town rolls a split and lets out a string of swears, Mr. Youngblood helps himself to a refill of beer from the other side of the counter. It's hard to really say when Lir comes back to the present, even. There's a slight furrow to his brow, and his lips move very slightly and the movement of his lips as he recounts the memory.
"Huh," Lir says, finally, and cranes his neck back toward Mr. Youngblood. "You didn’t lose your dick in my basement, did ya?"
"The fuck?"
Lir shrugs. "Might be weird sending kids down there."
"Fuckin’ no?"
He turns back to Trudy and picks up a rag. He doesn't offer any explanation as to why the hatch exists or why it's in the basement of his family's bowling alley. Nothing about why he was hanging out in the basement when a teenage Ms. Gunzenhauser dragged a teenage Mr. Youngblood out of the tunnel. Not even a word about his wrapping paper swordfight or a token to use in the future.
Instead, he looks down and asks her if she's cleaned that warmer yet.
Wyatt brings a half dozen donuts and Mary Grace as emotional support when he goes to give Mr. Trullinger back his memory. He tries to catch him alone to do it, or at least no in the presence of any other humans.
Mr. Trullinger is halfway through a donut when Wyatt presents him with his golden cicada shell. Mr. Trullinger does not seem surprised to have a memory in need of returning, but what's odd is he seems neither thrilled nor reluctant to take it. When he moves to grab the golden shell, it's with a steady hand, ambivalent but certain that it must be done. As he takes it into his hands, the cicada stretches long. It becomes that colorful cloth banner: PECKENPAUGH & PAW PAW MAGI-MUGGLE SOCIAL 1988. Mr. Trullinger unfurls it as much as he can, stoic expression traded for a lopsided smile as he realizes what the banner is.
"Hah! I forgot all about this party!" he exclaims just before falling silent.
Each second of unsettling quiet that ticks by robs a milimetre from the smile on George Trullinger's face. When he finally blinks back to wakefulness, he is all seriousness. Mr. Trullinger regards Wyatt and Mary Grace with a deep breath and a lift of his brow. "Nothing like a walk down memory lane to remind you of why you made the choices you did," he quips, stray puzzle pieces, long lost, falling neatly into place.
Mr. Trullinger thanks the two Wildgulch juniors for bringing back what he calls, "a very important personal piece. And vital, in general, as well."
He is uncharacteristically mum on the subject, but is clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Planning sometime, distracted in the way that adults often are when pondering things they don't want to share with the students in their care. "You haven't seen any BoNE agents around, have you?" he asks suddenly, then corrects himself: "I guess it'd be hard to tell."
After a thoughtful hum, he changes the subject, retrieves a tiny bottle from one of the shelves behind his desk. Inside is a single little brown claw. Mr. Trullinger looks at it intently, then offers it over to Wyatt. "I know this is weird, guys, but I feel like you need this, Wyatt. For good luck." After a second, that seriousness about him finally fades. "So, are you two looking forward to prom?"
[Wyatt has received Bearigold's Baby Claw. This item will have additional uses during end game which we will elaborate upon later.]
Once Armani helped her identify the impressive, domineering woman in the latest cicada Chanel processed, it wasn’t difficult to locate her. Chanel has become all too adept at stalking people in Elflock Falls, and they’ll never be safe again. She arrives at Zipporah’s doorstep with Armani (she’s dressed in full Thorntrail regalia just as a little olive branch,) and as soon as she sees someone resembling Zipporah, she folds a little shell into her hand. “I’d want this back if I was you. And I need to know everything.” She blurts, instantly.
Uh WOW. I feel like a massive idiot because I forgot that I could even return this thing for some reason. I know we're basically at Endgame Eve and you have so much else on your plates, so truly only respond to this if you want to. I have ZERO expectation of anything.
If Felicity does give him back his memory, it's with a smug, "You were wrong."
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peckenpaugh2020-05-24 04:58 pm
RETURNED MEMORIES
Viola Returns Monty's Memory
But once there, Mr. Crockett seems to struggle when trying to follow along until Viola offers him the opened cicada shell rock. His expression contorts when he sees it, wincing as though even looking at it pains him, but he sighs, resigned, and reaches out to take the tiny bug. In his hands, it becomes that patched leather jacket. Startled, Mr. Crockett drops it, and leans back heavily on his desk as though dazed. The jacket falls to the floor, but disappears before it hits the ground.
Seconds tick by in silence, tears gathering in Monty Crockett's eyes before he's even come out of his trance. They fall down his cheeks when he blinks his eyes. For a few seconds longer, he is speechless, shoulders heavy, blue eyes hollow with aching sadness. And then, with a sigh, he seems to lighten ever so slightly. "Ah," Mr. Crockett breathes, carefully dabbing the tears from his eyes. "That was...about as difficult as I thought it'd be."
A breathy, rueful laugh rushes out of him. What he has been given was not a gift, but by the look on his face, it was a necessity. Mr. Crockett shoves himself off his desk, walks around to the back of it and starts going through drawers. With careful composure, he goes on, "Viola, you asked me once if it was strange that I couldn't remember how El died. It wasn't. I knew there was something I couldn't bear to remember, and I thought I was better for it being gone. It's still fuzzy, but—ah! Here it is."
Mr. Crockett produces bookmark, made of metal, tassled with a leather strap from which a small pendant hangs. He looks at it and frowns, then holds it out for Viola to take. "I...would appreciate if you'd hang on to this for me," he says. Once it's in hand, Viola sees that the pendant is in fact a tiny compass with two needles, one points at Mr. Crockett, the other spins. "Anyway, apologies. As I was saying. There was a muggle cult that we all got tangled up in. I don't remember why, or what they were trying to do, but ... it all went to hell. They got...Tinkerbell? But El saved her. Or...they lured El with Tink. I can't—" He frowns. "They killed him to achieve their goals. I can't...remember the rest."
"I understand your desire to investigate. I promise, I do. But you need to stay safe." Mr. Crockett gathers up a few things, then makes for his office door. "I need to speak with Zelda, and then find where my brother's gone." He opens the door, standing aside to let Viola and Aris leave, and he seems to be thinking very hard about something, chewing his lower lip. "If you have any more of those golden shells, do me a favor and return them to their owners?"
[Viola has received a magic metal bookmark. The compass at the end of this bookmark has two needles, one points to Monty Crockett, the other seems to spin incessantly. This object will have additional effects during end game which we will expand upon later.]
Lionel Returns Caleb's Memory
Finally, he looks up, and a wave of something just shy of recognition flashes across his features. “Ah!” He stands to greet Lionel, walking straight through the computer itself. “Leopold, have you seen? I haven’t the slightest idea how it got here, but I heard Muggles were experimenting with a more portable computer and—ah.”
His rambling pulls up when he sees the cicada shell in Lionel’s hand. And a look that straddles relief and dismay washes down his face. “Yes, I suppose so.”
Mr. Qualls holds out a hand, and despite a general lack of corporeality, the shell does not sink through it. Instead, it changes, becomes a stack of photographs, not quite solid themselves. The actual images in the pictures are indistinct and blurry, and when Mr. Qualls tries to shuffle through them they dissolve into nothingness in his hands.
He sits back in the chair, weight he doesn’t even have pulling him downward, and he’s still. But unlike the last time Lionel gave Mr. Qualls an episode, no lights flicker, and no computers start to smoke. This is a puzzle piece, being slotted into its place. As Mr. Qualls returns to center, his countenance feels that much more whole. Healed, just a little bit.
“Lionel—is it?” He looks up, and for the first time, possibly ever, he seems to be making actual eye contact with his TA. Mr. Qualls chuckles, warmly. “A good kid, my Lionel. Cut from the same cloth, me and him. Too headstrong, too foolish…”
The Muggle Tech Studies teacher sits for a moment, lost again in his own reverie. Time slips by around him, and it almost seems like he won’t be coming back any time soon when Mr. Qualls stands again. He cuts straight through the computers (causing one of them to blue screen and another to open the calculator four different times) to his desk, where an old keychain sits next to an open gradebook from many years ago.
“I don’t know if I’ll…” Mr. Qualls gestures at his head, then down to the keychain, a souvenir photo viewer from WizneyWorld. “But someone should.” He waves for Lionel to take the keychain, though if asked why he wants him to have it, he can’t explain. It just feels like he should have it.
“Thank you,” he says just before Lionel leaves. “I—yes. Thank you.”
[Lionel has received a magic souvenir photo viewer. When he looks through it, he sees a smiling picture of a woman and two young boys with a mop of blond curls at a theme park. This item will have additional effects during endgame which we will expand upon later.]
Re: Lionel Returns Caleb's Memory
Aris Returns Lancelot's Memory
It's always nice for the student to surpass the teacher, it seems. His smile falters, though, when he sees the gold cicada. Like, he feels like he should know what it is, but he doesn't. Mr. Purcell is perhaps justifiably hesitant to take the cicada, but after a moment of stern thought, he reaches forward.
In his hand, the cicada grows abruptly, into the long rolled piece of parchment from the forgotten memory. He unravels it, and recognition dawns as he takes in the details. Mr. Purcell takes one step back, and then another, and then sits down hard on the auditorium floor as the parchment disappears in his hands.
Queen Guinevere hops from her pillow bed, unusually spry, and walks toward Mr. Purcell to lick his face and sit beside him as the scene replays in his mind. One second, two, three, four, and finally, he blinks.
Looking this way and that, it's clear he's surprised to find himself on the ground when he comes to. It's a moment before he even computes where he is, but once he does Mr. Purcell clears his throat to hide his embarrassment. What an undignified display. The former cursebreaker's hand comes down on the back of Queen Guin's neck to give her a fond scratch.
"Hm," is all he says at first, expression pressed in thought. But, after a moment, he stands, brushes the dust from his slacks and says, "That...was classified information. And embarrassing. I'll trust you not to mention how awful my outfit was to anyone. I was young. I made mistakes. But you can tell everyone what an adorable puppy the Queen was. Now, I need to..." he trails off again and sighs. "Well, I need to apologize to Zelda first. And then report to the BoMB. And then find Tinkerbell and ask her what other memories she's got of mine." That last part he growls.
But then, instead of leaving, Mr. Purcell hesitates...
So, Aristotle and Viola want to know about the glyph? "Well, kids, there's a lot to say there, and I don't know all of it. It's a locking glyph, meant to..." Mr. Purcell pauses, trying to think of how to describe what he wants to say, then laces his fingers, closing and opening his palms. "bend, but never break. A sort of suture, really. The idea was that we were sealing shut a wound that would eventually heal on its own."
"As you saw, it was designed by Mr. Qualls. Once upon a time, he was the Symbology teacher, too, you know. MACUSA pulled me from assignment elsewhere at his specific request, and it was my job to review the suture glyph, ensure that it would last as long as it needed to, or until we found a way to close what was beneath for good. It seems...something complicated my alterations...hm."
Mr. Purcell strokes his beard, lost in thought for a moment. What? Oh. No, he doesn't know what was beneath the sutures. Need to know basis, and he knew very little. He only recalls that it was total bedlam in Elflock Falls for the week and a half he'd come back to town. Fires, early curfews, all sorts of chaos. And that Mr. Qualls's eldest son had died. "That's what we were talking about, with the blood. Whatever wound was opened used Lionel Qualls's blood. You need the same blood, the same heart, to seal it. So..." He pulls in a breath. "You know, I think this is a little too much. You're both very bright, and I think you can draw your own conclusions from there."
Mr. Purcell gathers Queen Guin up into his arm. "Thank you for returning this to me. I think... I may be able to fix that glyph. Maybe we can make sure that wound heals this time." He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a small trinket, which he examines and then passes to Aristotle. It’s an old dog tag for Queen Guin, tarnished and worn. There’s a protective sigil on the back. “You should have this. I’m...not sure why. But a cursebreaker always trusts his intuition.”
[Aristotle has received a Tarnished Protective Tag. This tag has a generic protective sigil which any Symbology student could identify as being roughly equivalent to “safety” or “good luck.” It will serve an additional purpose in end game, which we will elaborate on later.]
Merlin Returns Youngblood's Memory
Merlin Returns Youngblood's Memory
But when the shell is presented to him, his easy grin falters. Ordinarily impulsive, Youngblood hesitates, flexing his fingers and clenching his jaw for a full second before he snatches the shell.
Once in his hand, the stone changes; no longer a cicada but a broom. Not just a broom, a racing broom, well-loved and used, decorated from tip to tail with peeling bumper stickers. Youngblood’s face falls. “Oh, not—” he breathes out and drops the broom, but the ghostly image is already fading, and he’s stumbling backwards.
The broom is gone by the time Youngblood hits the dirt.
He sits there for several seconds. Drip by drip, the color drains from his face, and his breathing gets more ragged, like he’s trying to suck air through a plastic straw. The cactus cat hops out of the pot and comes to bat at his rag, but bounds away when he comes back, coughing and wheezing, a throat full of fire.
“—and y’ain’t never gonna get him—”
There’s more words, but they’re lost for the moment in a shredded throat. It takes a few minutes for Youngblood to recover from the memory, and when he tries to climb back to his feet he’s knocked back once more, biting back a shout as soon as he puts weight on his left leg.
“Shit, I was—I was fuckin’ right, wasn’t I?” he pants and produces a knife from his back pocket. There’s a soft clank of metal on metal as he stabs straight at his knee and starts tearing into the leg of his jeans. “If y’all ever wanna see infinity, make sure it’s really fuckin’ infinity, not just some asshole with his foot stuck in the damn door.” The jeans tear, revealing the tarnished metal of a prosthetic leg just underneath. Youngblood continues to saw at the seams.
“Those fuckin’ shitheads. Pete never gave 'em the whole damn heart. Pretty damn easy to figure out half of it’s always gonna be with the brood—long as there is one.” The pant leg tears free and crumples on a filthy boot beneath. “Them fuckos never did their research to figure that shit out. Why their damn ass ritual didn’t fuckin’ work right. Look thataway if y’all’re squeamish, by the way.”
With half a second of warning, Youngblood pulls his metal leg free with a soft pop. There’s a smudge of blood on the liner at top, and what’s left of the leg looks red and angry—at least for the brief moment it’s visible. “What me and Z saw still wasn’t enough. You either gotta see him all, or forget him all, and far as we could figure there was only one way to yank his ass all the way out the door.”
Youngblood turns a knob at the top of his metal leg and presses a button. In seconds, the leg shoots up and transforms into an adult-sized crutch. “Sure you could figure it too but I ain’t gonna say it, ‘cause I ain’t trust some of these bitches,” he sends a sidelong glance in the direction of the BoMB encampment as the redheaded specialist lets out an obnoxious whoop. “And that one ain’t no option anyhow.” Youngblood hops up on his one good foot, balancing himself with the crutch. “If I had another way I’d fuckin’ spill, but I wasn’t never the brains. Now,” he points himself in the direction of Central Classrooms, “I think I gotta get my ass to the infirmary.”
Armani & Co Return Yassir's Memory
Ideally, he'd like to do this before the 28th but I know y'all have a lot to write so whatever's convenient for you!
Armani & Co Return Yassir's Memory
Their chase takes them very nearly up to Mr. Zahidi's narrow front door, where he stops to set his clamshell of Lunch Lady Bigfoot's Famous Vegan Sketties aside and fumble with his keys. "Oh! Armani, Laszlo." Mr. Zahidi says as though he weren't completely aware that students were following him. "How are you two doing this evening?"
They have him now, though, and whatever it was Mr. Zahidi was expecting, it certainly wasn't a gold cicada shell. But he does seem to recognize what it is when he sees it. "Oh! This is mine!" He chirrups with the tone of an astronomer finding a new planet for the first time. The cicada shell changes into a moleskine between his fingers. "I never thought that I'd have anything taken when I signed the waiver," he comments as he takes the book in both hands and begins to page through it. "But then, I guess I wouldn't have known either w—"
Mr. Zahidi falls silent, staring at the space where the journal used to be as it disappears from his hands. A few seconds tick by before he gives a shake of his head, and with a slow blink he returns to reality. Mr. Zahidi's lips part. His brow furrows. "That—I have more of those. Just a moment."
Back to fumbling with his keys once again, Mr. Zahidi lets himself into his apartment. There is a Gundam Wing tapestry hanging on the wall over the sofa. Laszlo and Armani have to wait a bit longer while Mr. Zahidi clunks and thuds around inside, but eventually he emerges with a large banker box. "Thank you for returning this to me. I can't believe I forgot how Timotheye and I met—Oh, this is my shredding," he explains, hoisting the box up. "And I never remember why it gets so full. Until now."
He sets the banker box on the sidewalk, pulls off the lid and sets it aside, and then sits on his doorstep. Mr. Zahidi scoops up his cardboard clamshell of sketties, pops it open and gestures to opened box with his fork. "Go ahead."
Inside is, as suggested, full of papers. But also notebooks. A quick rummage, it seems, is only from the last few months. Every scrap has scribbled notes. Some are just dashes and dots, some are transcribed messages. The same message that Armani had seen in the memory frequently reappears: THE SEAM PULLS. HE IS COMING. HE BURNS. SEE HIM TO STOP HIM.
Some of the greatest hits:
"Weird, huh? I think whatever Timotheye is trying to tell me has something to do with..." he twirls his fork in the air, "Everything." Mr. Zahidi seems surprisingly chipper. Maybe he's just happy to have a memory restored and his dinner in his stomach. "This could be useful. I'll make copies and give them to Administrator Kwan. Let me clean this up and walk you back to your dorms. Buddy system!"
Meanwhile, Chanel hangs out with a floating eyeball for about 45 minutes. It stares at her, unmoving.
Armani & Co Return Yassir's Memory
Bijou Returns Wyborn's Memory
Before she hands over the shell to him, she primly states, "I just want you to know that I don't think you're the dumbest motherfucker here."
Anytime is fine! Forgot to say that!!
Bijou Returns Wyborn's Memory
Taking the golden bug in his hand, Mr. Youngblood quirks his head in confusion when it changes shape, taking the form of a beer can, crushed flat. He turns the can over in his hand, but in a moment, the can is gone, and so is he.
Unlike his last experience, Mr. Youngblood doesn’t hit the dirt. He stumbles into the wall and leans there, propped up, as the moment in time replays in his head. And even after he’s done, he takes a moment, toying with the memory as the sharp details already start to trickle away.
“Ya know,” he laughs, little more than air escaping, “I’d prob’ly still have two damn legs if that was true.”
Mr. Youngblood pivots on his crutch to face Bijou again. His face, usually haggard and puffy from bad decisions and hard livin’, seems almost youthful now. The young Wybie YB, champion broom racer and Deeplurk Quid MVP two-point-five years in a row (don’t ask), shines out of those eyes.
"Shit, I really hope all y'all kids ain't coming to me for some kinda pep talk or advice or some shit," Mr. Youngblood continues, picking at the box in his hand. "But, you know, don't eat yellow snow, chug water if you're hard-partyin', only talk shit when you're plannin' to back it up or lose a leg for it, an', fair's fair."
Mr. Youngblood digs in his pocket and removes a bottle opener, pink, with an image of a sunset. The words Follow Your Dreams are painted in flaking gold script. He tosses it to Bijou. "And technically, fuckin' anything can be a weapon." He can't possibly mean this bottle opener, can he?
Later, anyone who enters Mr. Youngblood's office will see the book propped up behind it. If anyone asks about it, he'll tell them he can't fucking read, but it sure does look pretty.
[Bijou has received an inspirational bottle opener. It opens bottles and maybe reminds her of a teacher who shouldn't drink so much. There are no endgame effects, but it's still nice.]
Trudy Returns Lir Liu's Memory
Trudy Returns Lir Liu's Memory
But then, suddenly, he's not holding a little golden cicada. It's a tube of wrapping paper with red and white checkers and it bends slightly in the middle. And he really doesn't know where this came from now. Lir holds it out to ask Trudy where he found this shapeshifting bug-tube when his eyes flutter and slide out of focus, and he leans heavily against the counter.
For several seconds, nothing seems terribly out of the ordinary. Lir is silent, a single bowler from the senior women's league in town rolls a split and lets out a string of swears, Mr. Youngblood helps himself to a refill of beer from the other side of the counter. It's hard to really say when Lir comes back to the present, even. There's a slight furrow to his brow, and his lips move very slightly and the movement of his lips as he recounts the memory.
"Huh," Lir says, finally, and cranes his neck back toward Mr. Youngblood. "You didn’t lose your dick in my basement, did ya?"
"The fuck?"
Lir shrugs. "Might be weird sending kids down there."
"Fuckin’ no?"
He turns back to Trudy and picks up a rag. He doesn't offer any explanation as to why the hatch exists or why it's in the basement of his family's bowling alley. Nothing about why he was hanging out in the basement when a teenage Ms. Gunzenhauser dragged a teenage Mr. Youngblood out of the tunnel. Not even a word about his wrapping paper swordfight or a token to use in the future.
Instead, he looks down and asks her if she's cleaned that warmer yet.
Trudy Returns Lir Liu's Memory
Wyatt Returns George's Memory
Wyatt Returns George's Memory
"Hah! I forgot all about this party!" he exclaims just before falling silent.
Each second of unsettling quiet that ticks by robs a milimetre from the smile on George Trullinger's face. When he finally blinks back to wakefulness, he is all seriousness. Mr. Trullinger regards Wyatt and Mary Grace with a deep breath and a lift of his brow. "Nothing like a walk down memory lane to remind you of why you made the choices you did," he quips, stray puzzle pieces, long lost, falling neatly into place.
Mr. Trullinger thanks the two Wildgulch juniors for bringing back what he calls, "a very important personal piece. And vital, in general, as well."
He is uncharacteristically mum on the subject, but is clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Planning sometime, distracted in the way that adults often are when pondering things they don't want to share with the students in their care. "You haven't seen any BoNE agents around, have you?" he asks suddenly, then corrects himself: "I guess it'd be hard to tell."
After a thoughtful hum, he changes the subject, retrieves a tiny bottle from one of the shelves behind his desk. Inside is a single little brown claw. Mr. Trullinger looks at it intently, then offers it over to Wyatt. "I know this is weird, guys, but I feel like you need this, Wyatt. For good luck." After a second, that seriousness about him finally fades. "So, are you two looking forward to prom?"
[Wyatt has received Bearigold's Baby Claw. This item will have additional uses during end game which we will elaborate upon later.]
Goth Twins Return Zipporah Crockett’s Memory
(Date flexible! Very flexible! Whenever!!)
Felicity Returns Al Falco's Memory
If Felicity does give him back his memory, it's with a smug, "You were wrong."
OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
he'd hang it up in his office but he'd also give the cat a beer
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!
Re: OOC - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS!