Forge

The frequency with which Forge receives letters is slight. When he does receive letters, they come in the form of bills, of orders, nothing more personal than a signed check or a signed form. Emails are more frequent. Why the computer's on to field reminders, as needed.

Forge does not, therefore, know what an envelope, not of bill type, is doing on his table. He lifts it and holds it up to the window. The light against the blind side only renders the entire thing opaque, so he tilts this envelope until he can read the address. Addressee.

Sabitha never writes him letters, does she? How strange. The envelope is slit open with the small metal finger of his right hand and the contents are pulled out. Without quite knowing why, he finds his hand, the one that is capable, shaking.

Reading the letter does not make him understand. He is not exceptionally versed in nuance, in tone, expecially in the written word. Intellectually, he recognizes these are similar words to those that have been exchanged in email, in conversation. Paired or so years of friendship, many words are spoken. In many moods. In kind ones or angry ones. Sad, hopeful. These are broad emotions expressed by a thousand different words.

Forge never liked Sabitha's 'other friends,' so to speak. He knew, of course, that she lived a life beyond the coffeeshops and the apartments and him. There was Sabella. Emma. Travis. All of them untrustworthy to varying degrees. She would not let him help her, not beyond the apartment. Not beyond machines and conversation. Never direct. He was not a hero. Too many mishaps when he tried. He was a man of a certain direction of thought and she of another. They worked well together, but outside of together, they could not help each other at all.

Perhaps.

She was more the hero than he was. But still frightened. Always secretive. And she would not involve him. Would not tell him. Not about this.

He would have made that helmet for no one else.

Did it kill her?

Forge found himself, by degrees, unable to breathe. There was no way to react.

Ask me a question about Forge. I will answer.

1. Leave room (having presumably, desirably woken up first).
2. Utilize elevator in a downward fashion.
3. Leave elevator.
4. Take route to kitchen.
5. Open freezer.
6. Remove frozen hashbrowns.
7. Find cabinet.
8. Remove pan from cabinet
(etc)

( We really can't have you tipping our allies into closets, locked or no. And Averillix is flighty enough when she's busy dating terrorists and thinking we won't notice. (Jean) )

1. Confront Rossi re: Sabitha.
Shall?: a. Engage in friendly, brotherly persuasion along lines of "Hey, my friend, your friend, we can work it out." Like divorce councelling, sans certain legal ties, sexual affection (perhaps some sexual affection, Rossi perhaps has low-level pheromonic powers of attraction. Investigate).
Failure of a --> b. Mild threat, delivered jocularly, perhaps with minimal reinforcement such as non-lethal weapon, i.e. taser. Small taser. Restraint. Joy buzzer? (large joy buzzer)
Failure of a --> b1. Lie re: intentions. Attempt appearance of FBI, CIA, SSA (cannot recall what this is). Wear suit. If suit decided, implement suit before 1a for realism, do not change in bathroom into suit. Liable look ridiculous.
Failure of b --> c. Knock subject i.e. Rossi out, loot table, sock drawer, etc temporarily, leave subject in closet. No. Order small amount of fast food, leave in closet with Rossi, for sake of not starving subject. Leave small infrared camera in closet for observational purposes.

c may take more work. Working plan. Yes.

2. Confront Matt re: Sabitha
Shall?: a. gather information. Then follow dictates of Plan 1 as situation necessitates.

3. Emma . . .

( Cut for length. )

OOC This backdated to ... around Christmas. You know. Like xmm_sabby and xmm_travis. Forge spoofed by special request, log at xmm_sabby

I've had a good run. But it's time, it's time.

Last month, I ran out of Forge. I had . . . nothing left to play and trying to play had me at a loss. I never cared for driving a character to the ground for lack of inspiration if there was some other practical possibility.

There is. I'm letting Forge go.

He'll still be at the mansion, though, for anyone who'd like to succeed me as Forge player to pick up. You can contact me on my Lowe alt, which I will be checking consistently.

I am not, mind, leaving the MUCK. I've just been using Forge in one form or another for nearly three years and I'd like to leave him at this relatively content juncture. It's the closest thing to a blank slate I can offer for a succeeding player.

It's interesting. It's easy to consider mental-based powers more intrusive, more dangerous, more tempting of abuse than any other power, without realizing that you have a mental power yourself.

Just because it doesn't involve direct access to someone's thought processes doesn't negate it as a mental power. Heh. I'm like the villain in the Incredibles -- I can mimic the more obvious powers with the cruder forces of mechanics. Body suits, robots, lasers, jet-packs . . . implants. Hello superstrength and eyebeams and telepathy.

But it's . . . nothing to be ashamed of. I've spent a lot of time being ashamed of it. As you all probably know. But the only thing I'd have to be ashamed of is if I consciously misused it, which I think I'm . . . realizing would indeed have to be a conscious act. I can't be possessed by my power to do bad things. Because I am my power and it's me. At least, telepaths don't complain about their telepathy skirting around them and attacking people and I think I'm no longer able to complain that my power does things without my permission.

It's a long story, how I got separated from my power and started viewing it as a separate, foreign entity that was neither human or benign, but it's over now. I think I've gotten over it. I've always been a person to languish in emotional turmoil for long stretches of time and then suddenly see the light of epiphany. It's punctuated evolution rather than the more comfortable gradual, but here we are.

I'm sorry, Ororo. I acted selfishly and, well, probably cruelly. It was unnecessary and I've not been good for you, but that isn't something I can't change.

OOC End of Forge angst. :D Forge was originally conceived as a serious and, yes, er, painful character who had belligerent trust issues. He didn't end up getting played that way. From the first scene, he started on taking this ridiculous, self-sillifying aspect I didn't plan, and he's always wavered from melodramatically tragic to comic. I've been wanting him to just come out of the tragic for some time now, and through events with . . . a lot of wonderful people, I think it finally works. Here we go. We're trying for competent, good humored, if sometimes cheerfully rude and, er, bizarrely naive Forge.

A psychic just offered me help.

Am I right to be suspicious of a private letter without password protection, written in pink?

What do you do? I've talked to Jubilee about my current, ah, emotional problems. But I know that's not why I said what I did to Ororo. I know it's not the Machine. I know it isn't. Oh, it's here, and it's definitely pushing at me. I've been neglecting my building too long and I can't do that without consequences. But I haven't been altogether honest. I feel removed, sure, but I also feel alternately angry, exposed. Conflict, I guess. And then I talk to Jubilee and I feel more resolute, I think I understand what I need to do.

I talk to Ororo and I still feel nothing at all. I felt around Jubilee, around Hank before, even, but I think I understand. It isn't the Machine. It's me. It's simply me. For whatever reason. I don't know what to do. But I'm being cruel enough as is, asserting that it's somehow not my fault that we're growing apart with that cold rapidity and that as soon as I sort myself out, it'll all be okay. I . . . just, what do you do?

( Forge gives, um, advice? to Hank )

( Is whining all you ever do? (Jubilee) )