LOCKED TO alchemicals

[deaftly]

[He doesn't remember anything. All he knows is that there's a bright light in his face and he just wants to sleep. After a couple of minutes of tossing and turning he finally opens his eyes and sits up. The room he's in is perfectly white, without any sort of interesting features. There's a desk and a chair, but nothing on either of them. They're as white as the walls and floor, and on closer inspection, the bed he's in is just as white and spotless as the rest of the room. The sheets are a bit on the stiff side even though he's been sleeping under them, and the bed is kind of hard for his liking, so he finally squirms out from under the covers and stands.

The clothes he's wearing strike him as being wrong, though he can't recall what the "right" clothes would be. They're white - like everything else - and they're very simple. He doesn't have anything to compare them to, but the material is soft and kind of thin and feels a little odd. He shrugs off his confusion about the clothes and starts for the door. Even the doorknob is white, which strikes him as strange for about half a second before he yanks the door open.

The room that he enters is spacious. Like the room he woke up in, everything is white. There's a sofa, a small table in front of the sofa, and a couple of plush chairs. There's a couple of doors leading elsewhere, and his first order of business is to see where they lead. One leads to a perfectly white kitchen which isn't interesting right now (though some part of him wonders if the food will be just as white) and the other door he comes to is locked. There should be a front door around here somewhere though, right? He doesn't want to be here. He can't remember why he's here (or anything, really) but being here doesn't seem right.]

Comments

[alchemicals]

[He's been awake for a while.

It took him a while, at first, to realize what'd actually succeeded in waking him up - there's someone in the bed who isn't supposed to be (...is he? maybe he's supposed to be, he just doesn't remember how the guy got there, and with that thought comes the realization that he doesn't remember how the guy got there, and that...that is disconcerting) and apparently he's restless as hell and as such there's not going to be much point in staying in bed, is there. And besides, it's way too damn bright in here.

He gets up. Wanders around.

There's not really anywhere to go.

It stresses him out a bit, the notion that there's no getting out of here, though he can't really say why; there's nothing to imply that he's in any sort of trouble, the place seems safe enough, it's all nicely-furnished if a bit too bright. Pretty decent place, actually. Has he always lived here? Shit, if he has you'd think he would have included a door to the outside...

It's not something he wants to dwell on either way; he disappears into the bathroom for a moment just for the sake of getting water on his face and hoping it'll clear up some of the absolutely fucking nothing that his memory has decided to be, and it's when he's doing that that he notices the barcode. It's stark and black against the palm of his hand, and for a moment he just...stares at it, brows furrowed.

That...that isn't right, is it?

But no matter how long he stares at it, trying to figure out what the hell is striking him as being so wrong about it (outside of the goddamn obvious), nothing seems to be surfacing; after a brief moment he's tracing a light circle around it with his free hand, as though maybe the motion will bring back something familiar, idle though it is, but there's nothing to find.

Weird as shit.

Either way, he takes note of the name printed below it - at least he assumes it's a name, he can't figure out what the fuck ZOLF J KIMBLEY is supposed to mean otherwise; if he had to take a guess, it's either his name or the name of the guy currently occupying half the bed in the next room over. (Who knows, maybe he's into doing some weird claiming shit, and that...is a thought that should probably alarm him more than it does.) Either way, there's nothing familiar about the name, and when he moves back into the bedroom about the only thing he manages to register, dully, is that said guy in the bed is apparently no longer in the damn bed, making that means of identification a bit of a moot point.

Might as well see where he went.

He finds him near the locked door in the...sitting room? He supposes? It doesn't seem to have gotten more thrilling in his absence - but either way, he just sort of leans up against the doorframe leading back into the bedroom, watching the guy for a second to see what he does before he finally says something.]

Hey.

[It's casual, but he's obviously more than a bit tensed up; he's trying to keep his expression easy, though, with varying degrees of success. If this whole thing is this other guy's idea of a good way to make friends, there's not much sense in upsetting him, given that he's probably crazy as fuck - no point in having him crazy as fuck and pissed off.]

Nice place. Is it yours? [The question is accompanied with a bit of a shrug; no worries either way.] Sorry if that should be obvious, either I managed to get so completely blotto last night that I forgot everything up to and including my childhood memories, or whatever you did to me worked really well and you should be fuckin' commended - either way, result's the same and I'm not really too sure what's going on.

[deaftly]

[He's so busy examining the door - well, more accurately, trying to find a way to bust it open - that he doesn't even hear the other man's approach. When his companion speaks, he starts and whips around. His eyes are wide and for some reason his initial response is to panic.

Slowly he begins to settle as the other man talks, though strangely enough most of it is garbled and he's really not sure what the other man is trying to say. He moves to push his bangs out of the way (straight back, not to either side, which does absolutely nothing useful) before giving up and folding his arms.]

...Who the fuck are you?

[Apparently we're getting right to the point.]

This definitely isn't my house; why the fuck would I decorate like this? Everything's white. Everything. It's pretty fucking creepy.

[That... was about all he got out of his companion's words there so he settles for glaring at that guy, because clearly it's all that guy's fault.]

Where the fuck did you come from anyway? Do you have the key to this fucking door? I want out. I'm not staying here.

[He can't explain why, but something about being locked in here is really freaking him out. Maybe it's all the white furniture or maybe it's the fact that this place has no goddamn windows. Hell, it could even be the fact that there's no escape, but he can't remember anything at all, so guessing wildly isn't going to do any good.]

[alchemicals]

[...That's...not good, is it, wow.]

Fuck if I know why you'd do anything - I don't know who you are either, Princess, calm the hell down. I woke up in the other room, same as you; you were still asleep when I got up so I've been wandering around.

[deaftly]

[...That was still a jumbled mess and he's really not sure what the hell this guy's trying to say.]

Look, can you speak up or something? I can't fucking hear you.

[It then dawns on him that maybe this guy's not being quiet, but maybe he literally can't hear him.]

Sh-Shit-- If this is some fucking prank you're trying to pull, it isn't fucking funny!!

[His voice rises (not that it wasn't already loud) but he no longer looks angry. The panic is obvious in both his tone and his expression.]

[alchemicals]

[...What the hell.

Okay, he'll...kind of...look he's not exactly yelling at the guy, but he is being decidedly louder, goddamn.]

Is this better?! Shit, I don't know what's going on either, but I'm not doing anything.

[deaftly]

[That causes him to brighten up immediately.]

Yeah! Yeah, that's a lot better. For a moment there I was really worried I just couldn't hear shit at all.

[He relaxes easily, but after a moment of thought he poses another question.]

...So who are you? I don't recognize you. I mean, I don't remember anything so maybe that's why.

[alchemicals]

[Oh, hey, there we go. Apparently we're just going to be living life at the top of our damn lungs today.]

...Yeah, I could ask you the same question. Do you remember who you are?

[It's not really answering anything, but it's likewise a totally valid question.]

[deaftly]

Nope.

[...]

Shit, I don't even remember my goddamn name.

[That's definitely not a good sign and once again he moves to push his bangs back. They don't stay in place, but that's not really bothering him right now.]

So you don't remember who you are either?

[alchemicals]

Not really. I mean, I know I don't like being in here, I have no idea who you are, and I guess I let someone with a fuckin' nerve disorder hold a pair of scissors and whack at my hair at some point?

[He runs his hand through the front of his hair; he isn't really sure what to do with it in general so he'd just left it down, though that doesn't do anything for the shorter locks at the top.]

But I don't remember anything.

[deaftly]

...Yeah, your hair does look kinda fucked up.

[Was that really necessary?]

Same here. I should have plenty of memories and I should know what the fuck I'm doing in here, but I can't recall and it's pissing me off. But the first thing I'm doing is getting out of here!

[He turns back to that door again, pounding a hand against it. It seems pretty solid. He doubts he can just break it down, though for some reason that's his first instinct.]

It's locked, so unless there's a key somewhere in here, I don't know how we're getting out. I don't think I can break it.

[alchemicals]

...Okay, look. Maybe we should figure out who the hell we are first - maybe if we work that much out, we'll figure out what the hell someone would want with both of us. Make sense?

[deaftly]

...I guess, but how are we supposed to do that?

[alchemicals]

Check your hands and see if there's a mark on one of them. It should say something under the stupid design, if it's like mine.

[Granted, he's got no idea what a fucking barcode actually is, so he'd just focused on the letters.]

[deaftly]

[He immediately looks down at his hands, finding the barcode and name on his right palm. He studies it for a long moment. The barcode is familiar at least, but the four letters under it...]

I can't read this.

[That doesn't surprise him any for some reason. Maybe he can't read at all. He holds out his palm to the other man.]

What does it say?

[alchemicals]

...What, did they fuck it up?

[He'll come closer, though; he's not going to touch, he's just going to get a better look.

He glances at the guy after a moment, as though he's not sure if he's being fucked with.]

Really?

[deaftly]

What?

[He does get defensive then, though he doesn't pull his hand away.]

I can't read it.

[alchemicals]

[...Dude. Seriously?]

...'Naki' - that's what it says. Is that you?

[deaftly]

Naki...

[He repeats it slowly, still staring at his hand. He can't remember anything about that name, but there's something about it that's almost familiar, like he can almost remember something.]

I think that might be it. It's a pretty damn great name, anyway!

[alchemicals]

See, there you go. If you like it, we'll assume that's you, then. Making me...

[He glances down at his own hand for a moment.]

Well, I've got no idea who named me Zolf but I guess I had mean parents.

[deaftly]

"Zolf"? Yikes.

[He winces. That's probably the worst name he's ever heard. It's definitely worse than "Naki", but right now that's all he has to compare it to.]

So you're Zolf and I'm Naki. Okay. I guess that solves that. Though I still don't remember anything and I'm guessing you don't either.

[alchemicals]

We've also got "Naki can't fucking read" and "apparently Zolf J Kimbley fucking can," whatever that tells us.

[...]

Could you not read the word, or do you not know what the letters even mean?

[deaftly]

"Zolf J Kimbley" is that seriously what's on your hand? You're totally fucking with me.

[Right??? No one has a name that hideous!

He pauses to consider the question, tipping his head slightly as he stares at his name again.]

Well it's... I can kinda recognize the letters a bit? I know that's an A, but... I don't really know the others? Like I get that I should and they feel sort of familiar, but I can't put them together and make a word or a name out of it or anything. I dunno. I guess I can't fucking read.

[He doesn't sound frustrated by it, just confused.]

[alchemicals]

Okay, but if I were to ask you to write something down - assuming we can find something to write on - do you think you'd be able to?

...I'm trying to figure out if we should even be understanding each other right now or if this is some fucking magic shit happening.

[deaftly]

I dunno. Maybe? I can't remember. I mean I can try, but I wouldn't be surprised if the pens in this house have white ink or something.

[That said, it gives him something to do, so Naki begins to search. There's a small table beside the couch that has a lamp on it and in the drawer he finds some paper, but finding a pen is proving to be a bit more difficult.]

[alchemicals]

[...At least it's gotten him to stop banging on the fucking door. Maybe...in the kitchen there'll be something...

...Oh, hey, there we go.]

Among the things I have no damn idea about: Why the hell anyone needs that many drawers.