milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

autor,
sasha nein

(no subject)

Sasha has brought his memory retrieval machine in again. It has been extensively modified since last time, and now occupies its own portable electronics rack, looking something like this, except about five feet tall and with lots of exposed jumper wires and a large purple crystal sticking out the top.

He's set up the machine next to a booth, in plain view but out of the way, with a prominent sign in big friendly letters:

MEMORY RETRIEVAL EXPERIMENT
VOLUNTEERS WANTED
MINIMAL RISK
RESULTS NOW SOMEWHAT PREDICTABLE

[OOC: If you volunteer to be hooked up to the machine, it will cause you to re-experience an event from your past. Unlike last time, this will be something you have forgotten, and it has about a 75% chance of being an event you wanted to remember. Sasha will talk you through the process and will want to take notes. If you'd rather, some sort of hilarious but ultimately harmless malfunction may occur. The machine does not work on data sprites or other patrons without a biological brain, say sorry.

He's also happy to just talk, if you'd rather not be experimented on.

This post is open forever.]

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"Memory retrieval?" Autor asks, tilting his head as he approaches. "So this machine causes you to remember something?"

"That's right," Sasha says. "Something you have forgotten. If you know something about a particular memory you have lost, I may be able to get the machine to stimulate that memory, but it's not fully reliable yet. I built it to help Duster and the others whose memories are trapped in the Egg of Light, but it's not to the point where I'd want to try it on him, yet."

"I see," Autor says, looking over the machine. "That sound so strange to me. Did you want a volunteer? I could help you out."

"Yes, I'm looking for volunteers. It's very safe, the worst it could do is feel mildly unpleasant and not work. I will need you to describe the experience so I can improve the machine, though. If you'd rather not tell me about the memory it brings back up, you shouldn't volunteer at this stage."

"It should be fine," Autor says, blinking. "I can't imagine any of my memories being that private. As long as the machine is safe and doesn't hurt, you've got a deal."

"Very well. Please have a seat, and put on this headset. Adjust the straps to make it fit snugly but comfortably over your head, with the blue crystals at your temples."

The headset is connected to the machine with a long gray cable which feeds into a small plastic box at the very back, but there are no exposed wires on the headset itself. Just the two blue crystals, which appear to have been glued to the webbing.

"Is there a specific memory you have lost and would like to recover? If so, what do you know about it?"

Autor sits down and straps the headset on as instructed. "I don't have any specific memories to recover," he says, folding his hands into his lap. "I suppose the first time I had my mother's pie would be a good one."

"OK, we'll start with that."

He hands Autor a small box with a red button on top; it is also connected to the machine with a gray cable. Then he leans over and flips some switches on the rack. Blinkenlights change from amber to green. There is a gentle, soothing, almost hypnotic hum.

"This is the activator. The machine will only stimulate your memory while you are holding the button down. If you feel any kind of pain, or if nothing happens except a loud, unpleasant noise, or if the memory itself is painful -- just let go and it will stop.

"Think about the pie. Don't answer these questions out loud, but: This is something she would bake often? What kind of pie was it? About how old would you have been? And when you are ready, press and hold the button. Nothing might seem to happen for a few moments; as soon as you start to experience something other than this room, please narrate it."

[I need to catch a bus - back in 30-45min.]

"All right, I can handle that," Autor says, nodding. He presses the button and closes his eyes. True to form, nothing happens for a few moments, but soon Autor starts smelling cinnamon and apples.

"I can smell an apple pie," he says, marveling. "I'm very young, probably five or so. My mother has just cut into the pie and set a slice down in front of me. The fork I'm holding is cold in my hand. I bite into the pie--it's so good!"

[OOC: See you soon!]

"Good, good. Where are you as this is happening?"

"I'm sitting at the kitchen table," Autor says, enjoying the taste of the pie. "My feet don't touch the floor. There's a fire crackling in the hearth in the living room. I think it's winter."

Sasha is quiet for a few moments. If Autor doesn't go on, he asks "Is there anyone else there besides you and your mother?"

"No," he says, furrowing his brow. "My father is out. I think my sister is asleep upstairs."

"So it's just you and your mother. What time of day is it?"

"Early afternoon. I'm surprised that my mother gave me pie before dinner, but I had a large lunch," Autor says, his eyes still closed. "I've almost demolished it now. I normally eat slower than this. But it's delicious. Oh! I've bitten my tongue."

Sasha winces in sympathy. "That always hurts a lot."

"It does. I'm trying to put on a brave face about it, though. My mother asks what's wrong, and I tell her," Autor says, running his tongue over his teeth. "I finish my pie, and take my dishes to the sink."

[I'm sorry, can we pause till tomorrow? I am tired and failing to get into Sasha's headspace.]

[OOC: No problem! Thanks for the thread so far!]

[Bleah, work fell on my head. I'm around this evening for an hour or two, and can do slowtime all weekend. Apologies again.]

[OOC: No worries, that happens. Slowtimes are no problem.]

"How does your mother react?"

"She embraces me and clucks her tongue," Autor says, nodding. "And then she asks if I wouldn't mind practicing on the piano."

"And do you, then? What do you play?"

"I play Satie's Gymnopedie 1," Autor says, moving his fingers in the air as if he's pressing ghostly keys. "It's my mother's favorite, and mine, too. I'm not very good at it yet, even though it's a rather easy song."

Sasha knows that one. He smiles a tiny bit and nods quietly along with the rhythm.

"How long have you been practicing?"

"Since I was two," Autor says, opening his eyes. "My father tutors me."

(Does Autor let go of the button?)

"How many pieces can you play at this point?"

Autor holds onto the button. "A couple dozen or so. In the memory, I'm playing the second Gymnopedie. I suspect I'll move on to the third and the Gnossienes."

"Do you want to continue with the memory? I have more questions but they will take you away from the narrative."

"I can continue with it," Autor says, holding up the depressed button. "Feel free to ask your questions."

"Very well. Do you have a sense of how ordinary this memory is? Apart from being the first time you had that pie, is it a typical afternoon for you?"

"Spending time with my mother and playing the piano are typical activities for my day back then, yes," Autor says, nodding. "The pie was special of course, but the rest of the day is ordinary."

"And do you think there's any special reason you didn't remember the event, or is it just that you were very young?"

"Just that I was very young, yes," Autor says, nodding. "I'm surprised at the detail to which your machine can help me recall things. I honestly thought I was tasting that pie."

Sasha nods. "I have been having trouble getting the machine to work with memories from when people were very young. It's good to know that that may be solved now.

"Not everyone gets as much detail as you did, unfortunately. By comparison, how well would you say you recall things from when you were, hm, about ten years old? Also, if you don't mind the question, how old are you now?"

Sasha knows Autor has keen powers of observation, but that's not the same thing.

Edited 2015-08-26 22:55 (UTC)

"Interesting. I hope you can solve that problem," Autor says, holding the button. "My memories from when I was ten are fairly clear--not to the amount of detail that I get from the machine, but fairly clear. I'm eighteen now."

"What you're experiencing is not quite the same as ordinary recollection and does tend to be more vivid for most people. But also, this memory is not that old for you, even though you didn't remember it. The psychic stimulus is good at retrieving memories that have not been properly indexed, but not as effective when the actual memory trace has become blurred by age—I could go on about the neurology of memory at some length, but the details aren't that important. A word of warning—if you were to discuss this with your mother, it is quite likely that she will remember it differently, even to the point of insisting that things you are sure happened did not, or vice versa."

Edited 2015-08-27 00:20 (UTC)

"Is that because things genuinely happened differently for her, or because she remembers it differently?" Autor asks, watching Sasha with curiosity.

"Because she remembers it differently. For you it's the first time you had a slice of her pie, but for her the memory might focus on your piano playing, or something on her mind that didn't even register on you at the time.

"Also, every time you remember something your brain edits it a little. Makes it more narratively coherent, often at the expense of what really happened."

"Ah, I see," Autor says, glancing to the button he holds. "Well, that makes sense. Does everyone do the memory editing? That's unnerving. I wonder how I would have originally remembered having my mother's pie."

"As best we can tell, yes, everyone's memory works this way -- I should say everyone human, considering where we are. It is a thing you can learn to do less, but not entirely avoid."

"That's unfortunate," Autor says, nodding along. "How much better it would be if we could recall things perfectly. Do you still need me to hold the button? I'm still playing the piano in the memory."

"I've gotten everything I need. You can continue if you want, or stop.

"I'm not sure about perfect recall myself. Would people ever recover from trauma if they could not help but remember it with perfect fidelity?"

Autor releases the button. "That's a good point. I hadn't thought of that," he says. "Thank you for the memory. It was a good one to recall."

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