leftinbasketforfbi | 1st Genius α Video/Action for New Bark Ω

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1st Genius α Video/Action for New Bark Ω

[It takes him a bit to figure out how the hell to start the feed. When he finally does, all PokéConnect is treated to the sight of a deceptively calm man dressed in purple pants and a white shirt tied with a gray obi, the traditional psychic’s outfit. An Absol keeps pacing behind him, as if expecting him to fall over at any moment and preparing itself to catch him. Honestly, that’s because it is, since its new Trainer has had a massive panic attack that caused him to pass out once already, and Absol can sense that there will be more to come. This is going to be a long partnership.]

Morgan, if this is a prank, alright. You got me. You win the war.

[The man holds up his hands in defeat, still unnaturally calm.]

I don’t know how you did it, but you can stop now. I get it. You can make the Pokémon go away. Once again, I have no idea how you did it…

[His throat gets tight. He struggles to keep his breathing even.

Please, Morgan. Please oh please make this stop.]

But you can stop it now. I have a lot of work to do, and giving me strange clothes, asking a woman to pretend to be my mother, and trying to make me doubt my own sanity is not helping.

[Please let this be a prank. Please say he’s not completely insane.]

And you can turn off the music while you're at it.

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[Spencer would normally be more curious about the man's clothes and what the hell is moving around in the background, but he's too busy worrying about being schizophrenic at the moment.]

No, I... [He shakes his head. No. No, don't dwell on impossibilities. Focus on ties to reality. Focus on what might be real.] Are you a doctor? Or a scientist? Your coat and gloves--you look like you're working on something.

[Ordinarily, questions like those would draw scathing criticism out of Albert — no, of course he's not a doctor, he's just wearing it because it's fashionable — but in the grand scheme of things, what he's faced with here is some kid (for a given value of "kid") who looks like he's about three steps from a complete meltdown, and so at least the small, deliberate remarks and questions aren't coming from a position of misunderstanding or idiocy, but a reasonable coping mechanism to try to calm down.

Which, you know, is actually sensible, and okay, he'll let that one fly. For the moment.]

Forensic pathologist. At the moment, I'm also the best shot a coconut crab has at living out an existence free of mummification and death by parasitic mushroom. You ever heard of a tōchūkasō?

[Thank you, Albert, you're kind. He's trying very hard to cope and questions and logic are very useful for him.

Also, yeah, it's totally reasonable to think of him as a kid. He could pass as a freakishly tall twelve-year-old and weighs around a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet. People usually think of him as a kid.]

Tōchūkasō. You mean caterpillar fungus? [Yes. Yes, he knows the extremely specific word for caterpillar fungus in Japanese. And no, he didn't even have to think about it.] I thought it generally only infected ghost moth larvae.

A forensic pathologist? [Yay, something he's familiar with!] I'm a forensic psychologist.

[No, no, he is not in the least bit kind. He is simply practical and does not have the patience to suffer hysterics. It's totally different. Totally.

His eyebrows go up, though, at the rapid identification; Tōchūkasō's not exactly a common word, and quite frankly it's only one Albert's become familiar with since acquiring his Paras. His field of expertise isn't in obscure Chinese and Tibetan medicinal remedies, and coming from 1989, the world's a slightly less interconnected place before the commercial advent of the internet, anyway. Which means either the kid is a bucket of facts, or he's got some particular nerdy interest in parasitic fungi, and given the job title he just spouted, it's looking like it's the former.

Good. More smart people. The world needs more smart people. Though preferably not ones prone to hysterics.]

That's right. The variant native to this place — [Hang on, he's got one of the mushrooms in a jar, and reaches over to grab it and hold it up for emphasis.] — infects crabs. If you believe what the local encyclopedia has to say about them — and I'm not necessarily saying I do — at a given point in the life cycle, they don't just mummify the crab, they actually possess it. Seize control of the husk and use it to walk around, go about their business. Welcome to the land of semi-sentient mind-control mushrooms, Alice.

So we took them off, which in and of itself was a miracle considering that the level of medical know-how they've got in this place makes the Dark Ages look like Star Trek, and now I'm keeping an eye on the thing to make sure he's rehabilitating.

[And after that very long explanation, he finally gets around to the most pressing question —]

Forensic psychology, huh? Where'd you go to school?

[Yes, totally, absolutely.

Yes, the kid is basically just a bucket of knowledge. It helps that he remembers everything he's ever read ever without fail and with perfect clarity, and that that usually applies to experiences and hearing things as well.

He's not usually prone to hysterics, he swears.]

Like Ophiocordyceps? [He puts a hand on his chin and leans forward, examining the mushroom through the video. Yes, this is calming him down. Talk of mind control mushrooms is calming him down.] I've heard of species like that which largely target ants, but they're generally localized in Brazilian rainforests and even the largest specimen shouldn't be that big. What size of crab are you working with? I'm assuming you got to the fungus before it managed to connect with the brain.

[Compared to his talk about the fungus, his answering the question is absent. He's often skimpy about sharing details of his life, but it's not about being secretive at all. It's a habit he's picked up because few people take an interest.] Multiple ones. I have more than one degree. Where do you work?

There's a lot of things around here that shouldn't happen but do. I may not like it, and I may not have an answer for it, but I'm also not stupid enough to pretend like I'm not actually seeing what I'm seeing. Just one more great mystery to solve.

[He tilts the camera, displaying a table with a towel spread across its surface and a de-mushroomed Paras wrapped snugly in white bandages nestled in the middle of it.]

This thing measures a foot long from the tip of the cheliped to the back; last weigh-in put him at eleven point six pounds. Our friends the doomshrooms attached here and here — [Pointing to certain places on the bandage.] — and as best I can tell, the suckers were going to put out roots that would run right along here, up to these points just behind his eyes. Dummy did a good job, we got a lot of it out, but I'm not exactly an expert in the unique and intricate physiology of some kind of mutant specimen of Birgus latro, so we're keeping an eye on him to make sure there aren't any signs of regrowth.

[Having concluded his little tour, he turns the camera back to his face, still absently petting Thing the Paras as he does so.]

Around here? Whatever half-baked excuse for a lab I can get my hands on. Back home, I work out of the Bureau's Seattle office.

[And he'll wait to see if that means anything to him.]

But you're not necessarily seeing what you're seeing. Or, well, you can be seeing it, but that doesn't mean it's real. [Do you think he's scared of that? He's scared of that.

But yes, crab. Watch the crab.] That's fascinating. Were you able to find any kind of anesthetic to use? That's definitely not any kind of crab I've seen before, but I can't imagine it would allow you to split its shell without sedative.

[Yep. That means something to him.]

FBI? [Reid nods.] I work in Quantico. BAU. [Yep. This teeny tiny kid deals with serial killers.]

Don't start with me. This doesn't have any of the characteristics of a hallucination, the closest you'll ever see me to a mind-altering drug is a cup of coffee, and I'm neither dreaming nor in a coma. I'm also not crazy enough to dream up a place like this. I've seen things I can't explain, but you better believe they were real. And evil. You don't just dream up something like that.

[This is, perhaps, supposed to be reassuring. Again, for a given value of "reassuring".]

Nothing any civilized person would call anesthesia; we managed to approximate it by paralyzing it and putting it to sleep, but to say that the local yokel nurses around here are recalcitrant toward the people who actually know what they're doing is an understatement. But that's the nature of the beast. Do the best you can with what you've got.

[And he just kind of shakes his head.]

BAU. What is it with them and sticking all the babyface, wet-behind-the-ears kids in Violent Crimes? Don't tell me you keep your gun shining spotless, too.

[Easy for you to say. You don't have a history of schizophrenia in your family.] Sometimes it happens to people you don't expect. [But that's all he'll say, because he doesn't want to talk about schizophrenia any more than he already has to.]

They don't have anesthesia here? [Ugh, that sounds awful, considering he's had to have surgery at least twice. He shudders at how that would have gone down without any anesthetic.] Don't they even have something to synthesize it with? Or at least a substitute--maybe plants with numbing properties?

[... :< ] I've... sort of been in the BAU for nine years. [sob why does he have to look like he's twelve] I don't think I really qualify as 'wet behind the ears' anymore. [Even though the BAU was the first department he was put in when he was twenty-one...]

[...Okay, he's just going to temporarily disregard everything else that's currently going on and home in on the one statement that really seems to be the most worthy of remark here: ]

Nine years? Who knew the Boy Scouts had a feeder program straight into the Academy. You're what, twenty-five?

I just turned thirty, actually. [sob sob sob WHY DOES HE HAVE TO LOOK SO YOUNG] I joined the BAU when I was twenty-one.

No, you didn't.

[They have AGE MINIMUMS, Reid, what are you even, your life makes no sense to Albert's late-80's FBI sensibilities.]

Nine years in the BAU plus multiple degrees by age thirty? I don't think so, kid.

No, I did. [He's gonna need to give the spiel again, isn't he?] I'm, um, provably a genius. I graduated high school when I was twelve, so I already had two Bachelor's and a PhD when I was recruited into the Academy. Technically they were bending the rules for my age, but they still wanted me.

[He doesn't want to give the AND I HAVE AN EIDETIC MEMORY AND MY IQ IS 187 AND LOOK AT HOW SMART I AM talk because it always makes him feel like he's bragging when really he's just trying to provide an explanation for his position relative to his youth.] You could say I had a head start?

[Hey, man, it's cool, Albert was first in his class at Yale, BEING SMART IS NOT A PROBLEM WITH HIM. He's more just facepalming at "LOL LET'S BEND THE RULES" because come on, Bureau, there is a way and a manner of doing things and that's not it.

...On the other hand, he comes from a unit that occasionally investigates supernatural crimes, just recently dealt with a case involving a guy possessed by what is apparently a personification of evil as old as the beginnings of time, and has a best friend who regularly conducts his investigations through the assistance of prophetic dreams. So maybe he's not one to talk about bending the rules.]

Any of them from Yale? There's brownie points in it for you if you say yes.

[Yeah. At least he's not using psychics to figure things out. :| Speaking of, pay no attention to the little green and yellow bead bracelet he always wears on his wrist.

...Yale was his safety school. No, seriously, it was. So he decides to be tactful and just smiles sheepishly.] N-no, not at the time. Sorry. Is that where you went to school?

[And by pay no attention you mean TOTALLY NOTICE because DETAILS. Come on, this is what he does.]

No, I just picked it out of a hat.

[SARCASM.]

All right. Are you calmed down enough to hear the rundown on this place, or do we need to keep making chitchat about what we did on our summer vacation for another twenty minutes first?

[It's totally not a religious token from a Palo Mayombe Babalawo meant to give him protection what are you talking about

As the reality sinks in again, color drains from his face, but he keeps his breathing even.] ...I think I need to lie down, to be honest. [He's had no time to process. He needs to find a bed and curl up on it and just think. And then nap. Because panic attacks are exhausting and he's still convinced he's crazy.]

[For the love of god what is it with you doe-eyed baby agents and needing protective charms from your assorted spiritualities of choice. SIIIIIIIGH.]

No, what you need is for someone to spoon-feed you the reality of what's going on in small bite-size portions that you can chew on one at a time and make the situation look manageable instead of overwhelming. You can't explain what's going on here, and all lying down is going to do is give you the peace and quiet to start internalizing, obsessing, and ultimately concluding that you're either dreaming or crazy. Which you're not.

[Pause.]

Take a deep breath. Right now, you focus on two objectives. You go through your backpack and take inventory of what you've got, and then you find the road that leads west out of town. Got it?

[If it helps at all he doesn't know why he wears it either. :<

He's already concluded he's absolutely insane, so he'd like to just curl up alone and cope for a while, but his instinct is to listen to the dominant personality and he just plain doesn't have the strength to fight against that.

So he does as told. He takes a deep breath, then picks up his backpack and starts rifling through it.]

Alright... I have my clothes, basic travel supplies... [He takes out the Trainer's handbook. He looks vaguely ill before putting it back.] And, um... [Then he takes out a potion, then a repel, then a Pokeball.] Whatever these are. I'm guessing equipment specifically tailored for the care or handling of Pokemon--the ball is meant for catching them, right? [It's kind of weird that his hallucinations are so heavily focused on a franchise he was only peripherally aware of when he was growing up, but okay.

He doesn't wait for an answer before dropping the ball back in its pocket.] And there's some money and a rope.

[He zips up the pack again. Yang the Absol stands up, tail perking in anticipation of his Trainer actually doing something beyond freaking out.] I, uh, don't have a compass. I don't know which way is west.

Edited 2012-09-17 15:01 (UTC)

So much for the Boy Scout theory, then.

[He seems to lean in and peer at the camera for a moment, and that's because he's not actually interacting with the feed anymore; he's examining the buttons on his own Gear, reminding himself how to call up the function he wants. It's only after a minute that his attention resumes on Reid.]

Okay. First up, you're right, the ball is for catching them. Of the two others, the spritz bottle apparently has general, all-purpose healing properties — you spray the thing and it suddenly decides it's feeling better. I can't yet tell if it's some kind of amazing creature based-panacea or just the most absurd application of a placebo effect I've ever seen. The other, the aerosol can, is a lot more useful. You spray it on yourself and it repels any wild ones that might try to get near you.

[Meanwhile, Thing the Paras takes that moment to try once again to make a Daring Escape™, and the camera abruptly switches hands as Albert reaches over to grab him as he continues talking.]

The other useful tip is there's a map built into your tricorder. Follow this sequence of options and it'll call up a map of where you're currently at and where you're going. And I could sit here and wait while you do all that kinesthetic learning, but I have work to do and it's faster to just tell you that west is a dingy little footpath marked "Route 29". Take it, follow it, three days' travel later you end up in the nearest city to your current location.

Three days' travel? [Right. Yeah, he guesses it'd be too much to hope for paved roads and a car.] I've... I've never really traveled that far on foot before. Isn't it dangerous out there? I don't have--my gun isn't here. I don't have any way to defend myself.

[Yang the Absol makes a vaguely indignant sound, looking up at Reid with a clearly displeased expression. Reid looks down at Yang, his brow furrowed in confusion. What are you upset about? Stop reacting to stuff he says. You shouldn't be able to understand him.]

[Speaking as someone who patently refused to set one foot in the dark woods of Route 29 and instead grumpily waited around New Bark until someone actually flew down to pick his stubborn ass up: Reid, you're all right. Good job having a head on your shoulders. Good job appreciating the legitimate concern of potentially dying hideously in the forest by bear or other assorted wildlife.]

Yeah. People around here treat it like some kind of rookie rite of passage hazing ritual. Can't earn your stripes as a true participant in this whole damn charade until you've suffered your three days in the great outdoors.

[OR UNTIL YOU CALL UP YOUR BEST FRIEND AND MAKE HIM FLY DOWN TO PICK YOU UP but obviously that's not exactly a solution that will work for Reid, will it.]

You see anybody else around you? Safety in numbers.

[Reid would like someone to come pick him up too. ;.; ]

I met a girl named Mio. She doesn't know what's happening any more than I do, so we could probably...

[Give him a second. A shudder runs through him and he covers his eyes for a moment. Well. He's accepting it now. He's treating the hallucination like reality.

What else can he do?]

We could probably stick together. I'm still concerned about the possibility of dehydration, exposure, and wildlife, though--we have enough food that could maybe last both of us for one day, but no water, no tent, and no tools to boil water we may pass by. I don't know if she knows how to camp, but my only knowledge about it is from reading.

[Sadly, Albert is not the one with seven fliers in his party, or he might actually be tempted. BUREAU SOLIDARITY and all.]

Read the handbook. There's a section on edible plants — apparently we're all Robinson Crusoe here — that should get you through supplementing what you have. Water's got to be on the way because plenty of people before you have made that trip, and nobody's walked out with cholera or hepatitis yet, despite the fact that most of them are dumb as bricks and probably wouldn't think to boil water they found in the first place. On the other hand, you could always try ransacking Mom's. Might find something useful in there.

[He just kind of shakes his head.]

Look. Your next three days are going to be hell, there's no getting around it. Unless you want to get down on your knees and start begging total strangers for a free ride on a giant owl, you don't have that many options.

[He'd love you forever if you did, Albert. ;.; ]

I... that's okay. I like to keep my feet on the ground, thanks. [He's cool with planes, but come on. Riding birds.]

People have made the trip without fire making tools, a pot, or even just a purifier? [...Even if other people have done it, he's not comfortable with it.] I might ask the woman who said she was my mother for something. Do you--does the same woman say she's everyone's mother?

1st Genius α Video/Action for New Bark Ω

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