Speak, Mnemosyne RPG

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#1  Edited By Perception
RPG For Io and Perception ONLY 
OoC Thread 
HERE!
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New York City, New York, Main Street  

 
James sat down in a small, wooden chair directly in front of a raised platform in the middle of the Poetry Club of New York. A waiter approached him, and he asked for a glass of water. He was too young for anything else besides fountain drinks and water-- fifteen was not legal drinking age. He had dabbed in fine wines a few times. James was much more intelligent than the best professor's at Syracuse, curiosity had led him to have a drink. The Telepath sat back in his chair, and drank his water as he awaited to hear the poetry of Magnus, an underground poet. He could read the minds of the other patrons at the studio, and felt their intense anticipation for Magnus' newest poem, titled only Open Me.   
 
The poet approached the platform and stood up, a spotlight shinning over his body. He stood out in the dark Club like a beacon of light from a lighthouse on the dark shores of New York. Magnus began to lick his lips, his words steadily beginning to slide through his mouth to the tip of his tongue. Everyone went silent with anticipation, including James, who was already reading the mind of the great man. James knew the poem even before Magnus had delivered his spoken word, but he remained seated to hear it aloud.  
 
"Open me," Magnus said, his arms separated from his body, as if he was crucified. Then he began.  
 
"Float like a butterfly, 
sting like a bee, 
that worked for Ali, 
a beast was he, 
though that's not me." 
 
Magnus stopped, peering into the eyes of the crowd gathered. Then, without another glance, he jumped down from the raised platform, and began to walk among the seated patrons.  
 
"Shy, 
just trying to get by, 
and you wonder why, 
I don't mutter bye,  
or even say "hi," 
as I pass by. 
Honestly,  
that's just not me, 
but you have the key, 
to set me free.
I gave it to you so long ago, 
when we met in heaven. 
My door is closed,  
but when you unlock it, 
you'll meet my carefree, 
true me.  
But for now 
we'll have to wait and see--- 
maybe, just maybe 
you'll remember me." 
 
The lights in the Poetry Club of New York immediately shut off, and through the darkness James heard the sound of many patrons snapping in approval of the poem. Within ten seconds the lights in the Club turned on, just as dimmed as before. James looked around searching for Magnus, only to find him gone. The Clairvoyant knew the highly acclaimed poet was still in the building, just in a spare room in the back. He didn't want to spoil the mysterious disappearance, so he uttered nothing. He just smiled at the bewildered patrons, also searching for Magnus. James stood up a few seconds later, threw a five dollar bill onto the table before him, and grabbed his trench coat from the table. He quickly exited the poetry club and immersed himself into the streets of New York, right on Main Street. It was cold, basically frigid, and James quickly put his jacket on. 
 
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and strolled down the streets. Then, he jumped into a dank alley--the first one he saw. "He's been following me this whole time," James muttered. He hid behind a pile of trash as he waited for his pursuer. Soon, a man began to walk down the alley. James couldn't identify him well, but didn't really want to access his mind just yet. The Telepath silently waited as the man continued down the alley, and then telepathically spoke to his pursuer. "Why have you been following me? Care to tell? Or will I have to forcibly take those thoughts from you?" 
  
Without fear, James stood up and pulled out his visor from a hidden compartment in his jacket. He put it over his eyes and turned the notch three times. He held his index finger sternly on a button placed near the notches. "Really, I don't want any problems." he said aloud before switching back to a telepathic message . "I am ready for them, though." 
 
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#3  Edited By Perception

James stood in a defensive position, bracing for a charge, when he noticed his pursuer turn around and look at him. However, before the Telepath could assess the situation the stranger seemed to lose his bearing. James awkwardly watched as the man fell towards him, grabbing his trench coat for support. "Stop…the Green-" he said, through clenched teeth, just before collapsing. James tried to hold him up, but the stranger was too heavy and James fell onto one knee. He laid his pursuer gently onto the floor, and then stood. "Why does this always happen to me?" he said aloud, frustrated. "Always having to give out charity." He took off his visor and discarded it into an inner-coat compartment. With his other hand he pulled out his phone. 
 
James quickly pressed '3' and 'Call,' speed dialing.  
 
"Yes," someone answered. 
 
"Charles? Come pick me up in an alley just south of the Poetry Club. I need to take an unconscious man back to my home." James quickly said, reaching down and checking the pulse of the stranger.  
 
"I'll be right there, sir." Charles responded.  
 
"Thank you," James said, just before hanging up.  
 
It took Charles twenty minutes to reach the alley. He parked the car in the tight, dreary area just before exiting the vehicle to help James with the stranger. Charles was of English descent. He was in his sixties, with a long, hooked nose and large brown, oval eyes. His face was slightly wrinkly, and dotted with the remnants of freckles. However, old as Charles was, he was able to assist James in getting the mysterious man into the back-seat of the car. They stretched him across the back-seat, on his back, before entering the car. "Take us home," James ordered. Charles nodded, and quickly pulled out of the alley into the crowded streets.  
 
Charles maneuvered quickly throughout Main Street and into Manhattan. An underground parking lot had been built underneath James' condominium, so Charles parked there. With effort, they heaved the man up a flight of stairs and laid him in a guest bed towards the back of the two-story home. "Bring some coffee, and pastries, for our guest. Close the door behind you." James said, digging into a drawer for medical equipment. James knew a lot about medicine, mostly from a previous adopted parent. He had garnered a Ph.D. in medicine, and always had medicinal tools lying around the house, in case of emergencies. The self-proclaimed doctor checked his mysterious guest's heart rate, temperature, and fluid levels. Everything seemed to be fine. Charles brought a silver tray with a cup of coffee and a plateful of pastries. The butler nodded, and placed the tray on a table near the bed. 
 
 James brought a chair up to one side of the bed. He discarded his coat onto a hangar and sat in it. The mahogany wood was uncomfortable, but the Psychic had work to do. He placed his hands onto the stranger's head, and closed his eyes. He approached the man's mind quickly, and found some average information. James now knew the stranger's name, Nicholai Akakyevich Chekov. The man was Russian who enjoyed tinkering with inventions and engineering new things on his off-time, but was working a low-grade Government job during the day. He learned of an unfair trial, which was a set-up. He vividly watched the event, in a sort of third-person point of view, as the judge declared Nicholai guilty. James could feel Nicholai's anger and sense of betrayal. Could feel the unfairness and tension in the air. He could hear the cheers as Nicholai was shackled and taken to an old, unkempt train to be taken to the frosty wastelands of Siberia. The Telepath was angered, this was no way to treat an honest human being. James felt slightly apologetic for the man.
 
From the train James followed Nicholai to Siberia, where he was imprisoned. James could feel Nicholai's nightmares, the incessant yelling in his sleep. It continued like that for a long time, and then finally two guards grabbed Nicholai and put him into a car. Progress, James thought. Now I'm getting somewhere. The Telepath focused harder. Then, without warning, James encountered something he didn't expect. A very traumatic event, which appeared to him in pieces, like the shards of a broken window, hindered his path. He was shut out. The Telepath pulled out of hNicholai's head, and sat back in his chair, exasperated. "From what I can gather," he said in disbelief, "This man should not even be this age…" 
  
He stood up, staring down at the bed-ridden man. I won't dare go any farther, without permission. James assured himself. After all, it is his decision. The Clairvoyant exited the guest bedroom, grabbing his coat and proceeded up the stair case of the condominium, towards his chambers and his laboratory. He was stopped at the top of the flight of stairs, by a question from Charles. "What do I do when he wakes up?"  
 
James shrugged, "Nicholai is his name. He's been through things you and I cannot imagine. Just tell him to come upstairs, I would like him to answer a few questions for me. He seemed to genuinely want my help, just before he lost consciousness."

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#5  Edited By Perception

James ascended the wooden staircase after issuing his orders to Charles. He entered his personal laboratory--and personal study--and began tinkering with a new project, rocket-propelled boots. They, the boots, would accompany his super-suit and would function similarly to his visor, absorbing ambient light and heat energies and transform them into something useful. He was at work with his inventions long enough to finish them when heavy breathing resonated from the doorway. The Telepath laid his wrench down on his work table and, sitting on a swivel stool, turned around. "Why…why are you helping me?" Nicholai asked. James couldn't muster a response before the Russian spoke once more.  "Whatever the case…it might be too late." The Clairvoyant didn't need his powers to know that Nicholai was delirious. James could see him swaying, observing his surroundings sharply, and trying to shake the scenes away.  
 
The Telepath frowned, his hands clasped together. The memories of a wrongful trial instantly surfaced in his memory. He inhaled deeply, trying to disperse the rage that he inherited from Nicholai's past. He also felt the fear and anxiety, which harvested in his chest, from being dragged to Siberia--the long hours waiting in a train mentally breaking. James, still a teenager, didn't know how to respond to Nicholai's question at first. He fumbled for a moment, and then raised his clasped hands to his mouth. He focused on the ground for a moment, then looked up. 
 
"Well, it's not that I'm trying to help you, it's just that I'm intrigued by you. You sought me out. You're a strange case, as it is. I want to get to the bottom of your dilemma. I can see you fighting yourself--I can feel you fighting those emotional memories. I've already accessed some of your memories, I would know. That's also how I know your name is Nicholai, and how I know your earlier years. The rest, however, is still blurry. I see shards, but not a clean-shaven picture. Sort of like a window that has been broken, and I'm trying to piece it back together. It's much harder to do so when I don't have the permission of the mind I'm entering."  
 
James hopped off of his stool. The rocket-propelled boots and wrench lay on the table, along with a blueprint. James stood in front of Nicholai, his expression solemn. He didn't want to seem empathetic, but also didn't want to seem harsh. He couldn't exactly trust Nicholai's actions, especially with his strange mental depravations. James had a casual grin form across his face. "Nicholai, you do not know my capabilities. I am young, but I have already honed my ability. It's never too late. I just need your permission, you have to allow me at least--and open your mind. Right now it's clouded, and hard to decipher. I could clear it out, temporarily, for you--and also, recover your regular senses, if only for a while. Nicholai, you're dwelling in the past, when you should be focused on the present... just realize that, and you'll set yourself free." 
 
James held out his hand, as a sign of friendship. "Give me a chance, and I'll try to fix your problems."

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#7  Edited By Perception

"Go right ahead, I think I saw this in a movie once." James didn't really comprehend what was occurring until after he had a few minutes. Why was a wrench being offered to him? It took him a few short moments to focus, and then he realized. Delirium. The wrench was supposed to help him fix-up Nicholai's head, but it wasn't needed for that. James took the offered wrench and placed it on the table, grinning. "A very delirious one, aren't you." His smile spread over a majority of his face, as he took a step closer to Nicholai. "No, we don't need a wrench today--not to help you, anyways. Maybe my boots, since you found my tinkering unsuitable."
 
He raised a hand to the Russian, but Nicholai flinched. An understanding gaze met James' eyes, and he lowered his hand. His voice became inviting, almost hypnotic, an affect of telepathy. "Now, for me to properly do this-- I need to touch you. Well, not "touch" you like that, if you're thinking dirty," the last parts began to shift in and out of actual speech and telepathy "I just need to make skin contact, it makes it easier for me to access your mind..."
 
James ushered Nicholai to sit on the previously vacant stool. The Russian sat, enticed by James suggestive thoughts-- which told him he was tired from walking so much, and that sitting would relieve his stress. Seeing his patient entranced, James rose his hand and pointed his index and middle finger at Nicholai. Then his arm slowly lurched forward, until the two fingers collided with Nicholai's forehead. A slight thump sound occurred, and then James' overpowering mind began to slice through the outer-core of Nicholai's mental defenses.  
 
It was excruciating work. Nicholai's mind was heavily fortified by shielded walls, several as thick as physical metal. James had discovered months before that these walls were mental fortifications, sometimes unintentionally created after traumatic events or more directly by anti-telepathy training. James didn't expect the Russian to have such an extensive training in anti-telepathy fields, and decided that Nicholai's mind had suffered severe trauma--probably why he had reached the shards of memories, split into tangled pieces. The sophistication of Nicholai's defenses was bizarre, nonetheless. Actually, James had never come across anything similar.  
 
Still, the gifted Telepath was able to reach Nicholai's mind, clearing out the unnecessary debris that clouded the Russian's senses and perceptions. That's why they call me Perception, he thought. Now onto the bigger fish. James went through Nicholai's memory banks, reading them like files. He was able to perceive more information now, after Nicholai was assured James was acting in his best interests. The Mind-Reader learned that Nicholai had been sent to a camp for meta-humans, people with gifts--similar to their own. Unfortunately, General Apollo Ilyich Kafka, disagreed that such abilities were gifts. To him, a very superstitious man, they were more like curses.  
 
James went through the everyday life of Nicholai, including his brand of 10 and the early-morning contraband checks that occurred. Finally, the fateful morning where Nicholai escaped prison, but collapsed from exhaustion in the frozen tundra. James watched as the man before him in the present time was dragged off into the space program. The years of extensive space training fluttered in front of James, who knew that everything he brought up was being revealed to Nicholai as well. The first test, and the first launch, quickly came. Anxiety filled James heart, and then surprise and awe as the spaceship launched effortlessly into space. Then fear, and more fear. James could see, in his mind, the events that unfolded. A blip on the screen, Nicholai looking out his window, and then the collision. A green rock split open the ship, and Nicholai died, unable to survive the vacuums of space.  
 
James thought it would end here, but instead something reached down and gathered the debris and Nicholai, and withdrew him into the depths of space. It wasn't human, James knew that much. James followed the body as it passed Mars, Jupiter, and Pluto and out of the Solar System--and into one far away, one he knew from the mind of one of the various professors he had absorbed knowledge of. It was all very familiar. James was using his extra-sensory skills to follow the body of Nicholai, an inanimate object in its own right. He could not venture farther than Nicholai's body, and watched as beings--clouded and unseeable, for now-reconstructed the Russian and sent him on his merry way, a different man, to Earth. 
 
James retreated back into the physical world, and took a few steps backwards. He was literally looking at the effects of extra-terrestrial beings, of them tinkering with a human like it was a machine. Nicholai was the product of human reconstruction, a Frankenstein. James watched as Nicholai drifted out of the artificial trance, and studied him. "My friend," he said, exasperated. "You just took me on a very intriguing ride." 
 
James rubbed his chin, and then added playfully. "I hope I just cleared out your "Green" thoughts for you."

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#9  Edited By Perception

James watched as realization washed over his patient Nicholai. After living his life, James felt connected with the Cosmonaut. His misfortunate life somehow had struck his heart. James felt pity, and admiration, for the man that sat before him. Nicholai no longer looked possessed, no longer seemed to be living in a different world. It was as if James had brought back the old Nicholai, the one that had gone into the make-shift Russian spacecraft without fear and been one of the first out of the Earth's atmosphere. Overall, James enjoyed this Nicholai more. He didn't have a reason, he just knew there was something different. James looked on as Nicholai rubbed his neck, absorbing all that he had learned from a telepathic probing. Then, without warning, he stood up abruptly. He didn't look at James, but instead looked past him to a window with a few of the night sky. The stars, shimmering in the darkness like beacons of light, were beckoning to Nicholai. James felt like he was being overlooked, he felt like a little grain of sand compared to the mission of Nicholai. This fluttered, the thought of being a little grain of sand, through James' brain as the Russian spoke.  "I have to thank them. I'm getting a ship, I'm going back there. I need to talk to them.
 
James intercepted the Russian's thoughts, making sure he could not be tangibly felt as he did so. James configured from the thoughts of Nicholai that the crashed ship that the Russian had arrived on would be the first ship the man would try to go back into space with. However, it had been badly damaged. Reconstruction would be difficult, way to difficult. The Telepath grasped the thought of stealing a ship, and an idea immediately fluttered into his head. Area 51, although slightly abandoned supposedly, would be the perfect place to search for a ship. A ship that had been constructed from supposed 'alien' technology. James rubbed his chin, focusing on the wrench on the table. 
  
"Well, I know you have to thank them Nicholai." he said, telepathically knowing. "However, I'm sure there is no need for you to 'rebuild' your wrecked ship. Especially when the United States Government and Government's around the world have been reconstituting crashed alien technology into their own. They call it reverse engineering. It is a sophisticated subject, however the main idea is that crashed UFO's have been taken to secret airbases and then military scientists have used the technology to create better, more advanced technology for human use. I've also heard of drafted plans for proposed 'spaceports.' Much like the airports we have today, spaceports would be places that spacecraft could takeoff and land on. Area 51 would be a good place to start. And I'm sure we could... apprehend a ship much quicker then fixing up your old ship." 
 
Without asking the Russian on his opinion, James pressed a buzzer placed near the door. Charles voice issued from a small box. "Yes, Sir James?"  
 
James pressed down a black button on the small, black box. Every time he spoke, he had to press the button for his voice to be heard by Charles. "Yes, Charles... I need a flight to Las Vegas, Nevada." James took his finger off the button, and spoke to the Russian. "Area 51 is eighty something miles from Las Vegas, we should fly in from there. There is also prior knowledge that the workers fly in from a special airplane that takes off from the Las Vegas airport."   
 
The Conspiracy Theorist pressed the button again, reverting his attention to Charles. " Make it a private jet, actually. You can fly it." 
 
"That, I can," Charles responded. After a few short moments the Butler spoke again. "We can leave now, sir. There is a private jet sitting on the tarmac and they have no problem with letting us use it, after I had offered a substantial amount of dollars." 
 
"That will be just fine, ready the car." 
 
"Yes, sir." 
   
 James turned to Nicholai, and with a sly grin said: "Oh, and if it isn't apparent. I'm coming with you." 
 

Newark Liberty International Airport

 
It was early in the morning when James and Nicholai, shepherded by Charles, reached the airport. Charles was already inside the jet by the time James had started his ascent onto the airplane. As he climbed the steep steps, he found himself in a lush interior. There were only eight plush seats total, equipped with tables in between them. In the back was a section reserved for caviar and wine, including more expensive and exotic rarities. There were several microwaves, two stoves, and even three refrigerator-like metal rectangles. James seated himself in a chair and fastened his seatbelt. "Ah, Charles please serve us a meal before we arrive in Area 51. I think autopilot can do its proper job for forty-five minutes." 
 
Charles nodded, the cockpit open and visible. "As you wish."  
 
Then the butler turned, focused on the controls, and the plane began to takeoff. James could see Nicholai seated, looking out the window. He began to look out the window as well. He looked into the sky, and began to think about all the possibilities. This would be the first time he had contacted an other-world species, and he hoped he would be able to have an intelligent talk with such advanced beings. He was a little unsure of himself, and as he looked into the stars he felt even more unsure. But, as he remembered Nicholai's determination, he knew he had someone to back him. He wouldn't be alone. He would be with an ally, their goals parallel to each other. The aliens would be the one thing in common, the one thing that had been able to unite the two. "It's time to catch us a ship," James said aloud, awaiting the moment when he would be able to say he had been in space.