You walk out of here with your memories. You carry them home with you every night. No one can rip them away from you, snuff them out. Like they never existed. Like you never existed.
what if you were forced to spend your entire life at work without any memory of who you really are in the outside world. happened to my good friend irving b.
romantic artist forced to work an office job instead of drawing sad portraits of his dead boyfriend 24/7
former member of a corporate cult who has since lost his religion and would rather burn the company to the ground. in the meantime though he'll settle for seeing the sky.. perhaps touching a plant or two..
occasionally tormented by visions inflicted upon him by his outside counterpart but he's got a job so he can't worry about all that right now
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a series of open starters for Optimus this month, with one for each faction! stolen from my good friend jax.
step 1: open read more
step 2: peruse starters
step 3: respond to whichever one appeals to your character (just let me know which one you're responding to in your reblog!)
i. a matter of energy - GLACIER'S PEAK.
AFTER ARRIVING HERE , THE MATTER OF ENERGON had completely slipped his mind. As far as he knew , there wasn't any here - and if there was , he had no way to properly mine it. But it was prudent now more than ever that he at least looked for it. What would happen if there wasn't any was something he didn't want to dwell on.
HIS SEARCH HAD BEEN GOING just as well as he had expected , coming up completely empty - handed. That is , until he spots someone walking down the street with a horribly familiar crystal in their hands. It doesn't take him long to kneel before them , pointing to it with as much composure as he can muster. ❛ I apologize for the intrusion , but I must know where you got that. ❜
ii. it's rough and coarse and gets everywhere - SUNSET'S END ( challenge )
THE VAST , SPRAWLING DESERT OF SUNSET'S END reminded him of Nevada. There was one difference that Optimus was quick to note , however. That was the subject of the weather. Earth had its fair share of storms , and Nevada was no stranger to them , but he had never experienced anything like this before. The wind that billowed was strong enough to blow even him back an inch or so , feet digging into the sand as it did. Sand stings his optics , and he turns his attention towards the source of footsteps nearby. ❛ I do not think it is safe to be out here at this time. You should turn back. ❜
iii. size matters - ENCOY
OUT OF ALL OF THE FACTIONS , ENCOY was one of the hardest for Optimus to navigate. He had been trying to stray away from the more populated areas ( or stay in his alt mode when necessary ) for fear of accidentally harming someone , but he at least wanted to scope out every inch of this place. And without his holoform available to him , he just had to watch his step.
HIS JOURNEY THROUGH THE HIGH - TECH STREETS had gone without incident until he heard the faintest crunch underfoot. He lifts his leg , and he almost can't even see what it was that he had flattened. Carefully , he maneuvers himself so he can kneel down , lifting up the poor robotic creature ( he has heard them called . . munchies ) with his hands. ❛ Oh . . oh no. I am so sorry. ❜
iv. home is where the spark is - LUCTENMIRE
BEING PROVIDED WITH AN APPROPRIATELY SIZED HOUSE was the least Optimus was expecting out of this arrangement. And yet , here it was. It towered above Luctenmire's other buildings ( though it looked the exact same save for its height ) , making it easy to spot , at least. Still , he didn't exactly like spending time there. It was empty except for him , and while he appreciated his solitude from time to time , there was a point where it went from him being by his lonesome to him being lonely.
HE EXITS HIS HOME , TAKING EXTRA CARE to look down at the threshold before taking his first step out , just in case. Just to be safe , taking a few steps onto the street before transforming into his vehicle mode.
Irving is glad to be away from Glacier's Peak, glad to escape the blinding snow and biting cold for as long as he can manage. Though he finds Luctenmire gloomy, it's preferable to both the dry heat of Sunset's End and the intimidating tech of ENCOY. He's the last person alive to be determining what constitutes normality, but to him it feels the most... normal, its denizens eccentric fashion choices aside.
Well. Mostly normal.
In front of his eyes, an absolute enormous being exits an equally enormous building ( he'd assumed it at first to be a warehouse of some sort, a storage facility ), takes a step onto the street some feet away from him, and collapses inwards until a bulky vehicle of some sort sits in its place, as unassuming as any oversized red-and-white piece of machinery can be. Irving gapes, opening and closing his mouth. The vehicle's headlights seem to pierce straight through him.
"I— I'm sorry," he stammers, hands lifting, and starts to back away. "I saw nothing."
THE PLACE IS NICE , ALL THINGS CONSIDERED. Not as nice as something she could've bought back home - and she really doesn't think nice should even cut it in this scenario. Usually kidnappers stick their victims in like a cell or something. If you're going to put them in a house , it better be a swanky house. This doesn't even come close. But she supposes it's better than just sticking her out in the snow. The Iowa winter really didn't prepare her for this.
SHE JUMPS AS THE VOICE RINGS OUT , letting out a sharp squeal. A hand reaches up to adjust the glasses that had slid down her face , the other smoothing out her shirt. That's embarrassing. Her head tilts down to look at her key again , just to make sure she got the right house. ❛ I didn't know we were sharing. ❜ Figures. Bring them here and don't even give them their own place. ❛ Sorry. Nothing against you. ❜ She is , however , starting to develop some major beef with the dweeb in the tacky cape that brought her here. She twists to look over the couch towards the wall where the man had gestured. ❛ Permitted ? Pffft. I'm not going to be kidnapped and then forced to freeze to death too. ❜ With that , she pushes herself off the couch and cranks the thermostat up.
ONCE SHE'S SATISFIED WITH THE TEMPERATURE she's selected , she turns back towards her new roomie ( and potential BFF ! he's a little older , sure , but she doesn't discriminate ). ❛ I'm sorry for screaming at you. Well . . I guess didn't scream at you. I screamed because of you. But I'm sorry regardless. Wish they would've told me to expect someone already being here. ❜ A hand extends towards him to shake. ❛ My friends call me Harmony ! Everyone does , actually. 'Cause that's my name. But I'd prefer it if you called me that because you were my friend ! ❜
Irving shrugs, hands open in a what can you really do about it sort of gesture before he folds them behind his back. He also didn't know they were sharing, but doubts either one of them is in a position in which they're afforded the luxury of filing complaints.
(Regardless, now that they've already met, it would seem rude to do so.)
"No, I understand. I feel similarly. The upper management hasn't been particularly forthcoming throughout the duration of our onboarding, have they?" His chuckle is mirthless. The confusion is a given at this point, but no less tiring. He's sure she'll adjust, but it's a dreadful thing to have to get used to, being left in the dark. And though he does offer a word of warning ("I wouldn't do that, if I were you") when she approaches the thermostat, he doesn't make any move to stop her, either. He's admittedly curious to see if anyone around here even deems them significant enough to communicate with even if they start pushing boundaries. She's simply braver than he is, he supposes, and he has to respect that.
"It's quite alright." And this time the smile is more sincere as he accepts the offered handshake. "Apologies for startling you, then. My name is Irving, and I, uh... yes, I... suppose we could be friends." Acquaintances, at least, which he's pretty sure is a solid step or two above coworkers (but then there doesn't seem to be a lot of work getting done around here to begin with; at least, not any that Irving is aware of). "Though I'm sorry I can't be of more use. I'm afraid I've not found many answers in my time here. Hasn't been all that long, really."
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THE WORST THING ABOUT BEING BROUGHT HERE wasn't that she was brought here against her will , or even the fact that she was completely alone. No , the worst thing about this place is that they put her in the snow. They put a girl in the snow without giving her any time to get a pair of fashionable boots ! Or even a coat ! Still , she persists , wandering through the otherwise very pretty streets of Glacier's Peak to find where she assumed she'd be staying. If she wasn't freezing her short shorts off right now , she'd even go as far as to say she could almost like it here. As a vacation destination. But like . . one that she looks at a pamphlet for and goes wow that could be nice ! and then never goes because she's not a fan of the cold.
AND YET , HERE SHE IS , numb fingers fumbling with the key as she opens the door and feverishly steps over the threshold. Snow falls from her hair as she goes to slam the door behind her ―― only to catch herself and gently close it at the last second. She shivers , dusting the snow off of her bare arms as she finally gets a good look at the place. It's very . . dark. And green. She would say beggars can't be choosers ― but the only thing she's begging for now is a blanket. And maybe a hot cocoa.
ARMS WRAP AROUND HERSELF IN AN ATTEMPT to warm up , ears and nose still burning from the cold. ❛ What a nice welcome. ❜ She mutters to herself , still shaking as she hobbles over to the couch and collapses onto it.
Admittedly, he might've made more of an attempt to make the space welcoming if he knew he'd be harboring housemates. Irving's not quite had it in him to redecorate the place. Or even let it appear too terribly lived in. It's just unnatural; how can one possibly expect a man to feel at home when he hasn't got any idea what you've brought him here for to begin with? And how long, exactly, is he meant to be a guest (prisoner?) here? What's become of his Outie? It troubles the mind, not knowing when any of this illusion could be ripped away. He's become prone to staring out windows in fits of melancholy or wandering without aim. It's a very unproductive state of being. He keeps reminding himself that it should be enough that he's alive, but he's not sure that it is, not when he's so thoroughly alone here.
In other news, he's also taken up reading.
He's in the building's small office space when he hears the door creak open and hastily puts down the book he was perusing (a fascinating read on taiga ecosystems). He peers around the open doorway of the study, cautiously, as though whatever's out there is armed, but so far as he can tell they are not. Actually, they don't look armed with much of anything at all, lacking in both belongings and an understanding of what business casual is meant to look like (not the first new employee he's seen fit that descriptor, unfortunately; youth these days).
"Hello," he offers when she falls onto the couch. She looks as tired as he feels, though in his case it's more so due to lack of sleep rather than meandering around in the snow in shorts. He doesn't even own shorts. Regardless, whether she was similarly assigned to this housing unit or she just went straight for the first building she could find, it's quite obvious she's out of her element, displaced just like the rest of them, and he's never valued wariness over geniality. "There's blankets upstairs, if you'd like. I'm not certain we're permitted to touch the thermostat." He gestures with a nod of his head towards the wall-mounted device. It is admittedly frigid in here but Lumon was never all that temperate, either, and it's at the very least warmer than outside.
in some capacity, they share a similar connection to these cellular devices: will yields from a time preceding most modern inventions, an era where their predecessors were being invented instead. in place of lightbulbs, he had torches ; in place of the germ theory, he had not knowing what it was ; in place of letters, now, he has the magical phone pointed at his bathroom mirror.
he's unsure of how it works. he assumes it quickly sketches his visage in that metal box and then paints it just as fast before sending a thousand copies to everyone. truly, a miracle of a tool: it means everyone gets to see him now.
.. so why is he being met with confusion.
[ hotgirl69 ] -> I'm aware, yeah
[ hotgirl69 ] -> That's the intention, darling 🌹
[ hotgirl69 ] -> Besides, what's wrong with a handsome guy showing you images of himself?
[ hotgirl69 ] -> You wanna fight?
[ hotgirl69 ] -> Huh? Hm?
of course, no real intention lies behind the written words - he's suffered more attacks to his ego through casual reviews of his works than he suspects the unknown user could give him. does that dissuade him into bothering the stranger less? well ..
He squints. It's an onslaught of mixed messages and how on earth did he get a picture of a flower into so small a space.
[ IrvingB ] -> What? No.
[ IrvingB ] -> No, of course I don't want to fight. Did you think I wanted to fight? I'm sorry, I knew it would come across as needlessly confrontational. Condescending, even.
[ IrvingB ] -> I was just informing you. In the event you weren't aware.
[ IrvingB ] -> But it sounds like you are, so carry on if you wish.
Privately he still thinks it's a little annoying. Obstructive to reading any actually useful messages. But of course one must find avenues of self expression wherever they can, in times such as these.
Rather than point out that the man has no possible way to make any sort of judgment call on Irving's own appearance ( gorgeous or otherwise ) when he almost certainly hasn't seen him - unless he has, lending credence to Irving's assumption that they're all being remotely observed - he instead answers his question.
Irving has never owned a cellular device before, but if it's anything like the computer at his workstation - anything like the phone that Milchick got to walk around with, back in the other branch - then it stands to reason that this, too, is intended for work use only. While he's not sure how he feels about that - he'd very much like to use it to attempt to make contact with the others - he's willing enough to lie low for the time being and therefore leaves it be. It's useful enough to observe, he supposes. There's a feed of messages, constantly updating, and one can only assume they're coming from the other... workers? Test subjects? Whatever they are. The purpose of it, he's got to figure, is inter-department communication. So that's nice.
But evidently not all of them share the sentiment that these things are best kept professional. After the sixteenth nearly-identical image in a row of some brunette man with a shirt that's most definitely far out of any company's dress code pops up, he finally figures he ought to at least somehow attempt to dissuade it.
[ IrvingB ] -> Excuse me, but are you aware that your images are being sent to my mobile phone?
[ IrvingB ] -> And everyone else's, for that matter?
[ IrvingB ] -> I'm certain you've a private server you could be uploading these to.
Was that too harsh? He gives it some thought before sending another.
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This place could almost be nice, he thinks, if it weren't for the persistent feeling of dread hanging over him. That's probably the point, isn't it? Not being able to enjoy your apparent freedom, the sun and the trees, because you've been left without direction. Irving knows two things: one, he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing; and two, terrible things are going to happen if he doesn't do precisely what he's supposed to.
Do they know what he doesn't know? They must. What are they watching him for, then? Trying to see what he does when he's left without supervision? Perhaps he should be taking initiative, looking harder. Maybe they're just waiting to see how long it takes him to attempt to escape, though he's not sure where he could escape to. He's already outside. There are trains here, trains that he's free to take - they don't require a badge swipe. He hasn't even been given a badge, still.
Or maybe they just enjoy watching him stress over the unknowns. If that's the case, the very last thing he needs is— is—
Oh, god. The thing moving down the street towards him is like something out of his dreams, the waking nightmares he's been haunted with more and more frequently, oozing black slime ( paint, he's started to think; even here his Outie won't spare him from whatever message he's trying to send, whatever he's trying to tell him of the exports tunnel ) and a face that's simply wrong.
Irving stares for a while, too stunned to move, and looks over his shoulder, not sure what he's expecting to see there. There's nothing but the empty stretch of street behind him, of course, and he backs up a couple of steps, shaking his head. He does he wake up? Realizing he's dreaming has never achieved anything for him in the past. "No... no. No, no. Go away," he raises his voice towards the thing. "I got your message. I understand— I'm not there anymore. I can't do anything for you now. You can leave me alone!"
If there was any doubt in Irving's mind that this is all some sick joke, some further punishment ( death would have been too much of a mercy, in Lumon's eyes ), that doubt is banished the second he steps foot into Glacier's Peak, grey skies and ice and snow. It's fitting, he'll give them that; sending him back to Woe's Hollow to work the rest of his days. He stands in front of the suspiciously house-shaped building he's been directed to ( he double-checked the key many times to be sure, thank you ), closing his hands into fists and then reopening them. Whatever he finds in there, whoever he's working with—
But it's empty.
Well, not empty empty. It's furnished. Extravagantly so, in fact. There's an office with just one desk and shelves and shelves of books ( manuals? some new guidance from Kier he's meant to follow, as though there weren't already enough? ) and a kitchen with a stove and there's beds. It's all very, you know, long-term arrangement-like. Dread starts to sink in.
He steps back outside in a hurry, looks left, then right. Next door a man is stepping out onto a porch very similar to his own and Irving rushes to him, pointing over his shoulder at his own office space. House. Whatever it is they're calling it.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry, but there are bedchambers in there. Do we—" he glances around furtively and lowers his voice to a near-whisper, leaning close to the other. "Are we not expected to leave? But what of our... our Outies?"
At least, he has to assume he doesn't. He's not fully sure if death is supposed to feel a certain way, but he would have if nothing else imagined it does not typically involve waking up again. But he does, and he steps out of something that is not an elevator into a room that couldn't possibly have been put together by Lumon, not in a million years, unless they're scaling up those kindness reforms by a significant margin. When he sits down they stick an interview form into his hands.
Strange. He rather would have imagined this part of the process is covered by one's Outie, not him - he certainly didn't fill out any such papers when he arrived at Lumon; at least, his memories don't extend back that far. He holds his tongue as he fills out the papers. Questions such as where am I and what am I meant to be doing will be answered on the company's own time, that much he's certain of, and he's not all too eager to start asking aloud why they've permitted his continued existence. Just feels like that would be outside of his best interest.
He's not sure what the stranger in front of him gleans from the whole process - Irving sits ram-rod straight and watches him carefully as he reads through the answers - but such things aren't for severed workers to know, and he sets Irving off with a key and a mobile phone and not a badge in sight. Irving exits the building, feels the sun on his face, and his memories ( what little there are; Helly shaking in his arms and the hatred, disgust in Mark and Dylan's faces ) remain fully in-place.
Well then.
He stands on the sidewalk blinking up at the sky, the vast expanse of it. That makes three counts, now, that he's seen it. More than any other Innie that he knows of. He supposes he should be feeling blessed but he can't quite work up that level of emotion, not even in the face of this. He would have expected someone to offer him an explanation, some direction. A warning - second chances are a rare thing and the last thing he wants to do is get himself terminated again before he's had the chance to find out how long it's been, what happened to the others. Across the street is a woman with white hair, and though she doesn't seem like she's specifically headed his way she's bound to know something. It's that or turn right back around into the room he was just dismissed from, and that man in there gave off upper management energy like nothing else. He'd rather not.
"Hello," he calls across the street to her, lifts a hand. "Hello. I'm sorry, I'm— I've just completed the interview process and I'm not all too sure where my work station is. Glacier's Peak? Are you at all familiar with the department head?"
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ended up not needing that reserve so i'd like to app in irving b from severance! app can be found in the more menu on the sidebar or by typing /app on his blog here. thanks!
Thank you for completing your paperwork in a timely manner! Now, let's see here…
The eccentric figure takes back the clipboard and reads through your answers carefully, polite interest in his expression as he nods.
"Thank you for the drawing - I'll make sure to hang it on my fridge, or.. some place similar. I hope over time, I prove myself worthy of your friendship! In the meantime however, I think the best place for you to stay would be GLACIER'S PEAK, where oddities are as many as the snowflakes falling from the ice-blue sky. The ethereal landscapes almost distract you from the terrifying creatures lurking around the snow. I'm sure you'll do just fine - just watch your step!"
With that, they hand you a gift bag containing the following items:
A house key for EQUINOX AVENUE 103
A palm-sized cellular device, complete with access to the internet!
A singular wrapped butterscotch. Enjoy!
Any other notable items you had with you upon arrival have been confiscated by the Rekindler, as have your abilities. Sorry about that, and welcome to your new home in New Yesteryear!
