aufaits

[aufaits]

on introductions.

If we're to start anywhere in this story, perhaps we should start here: a camera shot, tightly held, focused on a a hand scribbling furiously in a notebook. There's little to note regarding the hand: a claudaugh ring on one finger, nails tidly trimmed, cuticles pushed back. The only speck in site are faint droplets of ink dotting the hand in question's fingers.

Let the camera pull up, tracing the tight bent tension of a arm, a beast poised to spring. Note too, the casual blazer, bearing all the marks of a fresh ironing. In the background of the shot lies a bag, only half unpacked, closet hanging open as well. Clothes dot the bed in blobs of color, and a handful of books lie on the desk in riotous lumps. And finally, the camera focuses on the face of the figure— a woman in thought, her forehead pinched, mouth set in a firm line.

Vivien sits in her room, hair pulled back into a meticulous bun, scribbling at her notebook. It was a ritual of sorts, a way of pulling herself back into herself, reminding her of the things that mattered in the here and now. The words themselves are practically illegible, shorthand sentiments of neuroses still at hand— you're capable, okay? also, it's nice to meet new people, you haven't gotten the chance in ages.

And so on and so forth. Finding the ritual done, she tosses the notebook and pen into a tote, flinging it over her shoulder. She had opted for being her polished self today— the blouse and blazer de-wrinkled with the old bathroom trick that had saved her in grad school, earrings in a subtle silver, every bit of her the thing that she knew she could be— that she knew she was.

That thing being a sure and steady gaze, an infinite patience, an eye for balance. Or at least, that was what she hoped to tell the others.

At the coffee shop, she pauses, folds her hands in front of her just so. There's something almost nostalgic about a huddle of people, crowded around a table too small for them. Some of them ping points of recollections— names and faces settling like film on the surface of memory. Others feel like a knife pick— memory blasted into desolation, bile rising in her stomach. She swallows it, forces her smile, holds back her shoulders.

"Hi, you're the rest of the team, right? I'm Vivien Jiāng, previously a Junior Archivist for RAISA at Site-7."

She cuts her teeth on the previously, allows herself to concede how strange it feels. That was then, this is now. A hand curls protectively around the strap of her tote bag, finger idly rubbing against the texture of it, reminding herself to stay grounded.

"But I suppose you should know me as Au Fait. That's my callsign, anyway. It's supposed to mean something about having knowledge."

It feels dangerously close to a lie, what she says (or at least, a lie to her). After all, French courses for the entirety of college meant she knew the meaning, held the detailed knowledge that the name implied. But she couldn't give a lecture. That had gone disastrously the last time she'd tried to talk about that language.

"I worked with maintaining the digital SCP archives and catching discrepancies in them, as well as helping general SCiPNET upkeep and data issues. Think of me as a computer guy who loves excel sheets and the smell of old paper, and you should have a good idea of what my last five or so years looked like."

She glances over at the counter, smile weakening faintly. She'd fully forgotten to have food before this, hadn't she?

"Um— I do want to meet all of you, but do you mind if I grab a coffee first?"

#— be it work or be it rite? #[hiiiii everyone i'm here]

[aufaits]

𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓.  𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢: 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ 19𝑡ℎ, 𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑒'𝑠 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑒 — 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟?

𝑂𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑎 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑖𝑡𝑒-φ'𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐾𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 411 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠—𝐹𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚, 𝐺𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑉𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦, 𝑇𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝐻𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑈𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑛 𝑀𝑦𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ—𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑦. “𝑆𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑦'𝑠 𝐴-𝑂𝐾 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘!”

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑏𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑟. 𝐴𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑟, 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠-𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒. 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠.

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑡𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚, 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑐ℎ. 𝐶𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛-𝑐𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑝𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑒. 𝐴 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑏, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 (𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢), 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡… 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑-𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑓𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑒?

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑚𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑚𝑎𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒, 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑎𝑡 𝑆𝑖𝑡𝑒-7 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑥, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑑. 𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐾𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡. 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑂𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑎-1, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡. 𝑌𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑜, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑂𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑎-1, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛, 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒.

#submission #— call me beep me. #[just posting this for posterity before i throw up my intro xo]

[aufaits]

Access SCiPNET Email? One (1) new message!

To: "Au Fait" [ [email protected] ] From: "Site-φ HR" [ [email protected] ] Subject: Welcome!

Hello Au Fait,

We hope your flight into Site-φ went smoothly. Your belongings should already be moved in. Please expect deliveries to your suite for the next 1-3 business days as well. Included with your gift basket (we hope you like pretzels!) is your pager. There is a card with activation instructions next to it, but in the case you are having connectivity issues, please find Room 1946 in the B1 floor of the Main Base. 

The Mobile Task Force Commander will be contacting you shortly via pager for your introduction to the Chi-00 Team. 

Thank you! =)

Sincerely, 

Site-φ HR Department

Ombudsperson A.J. Stamatakis ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴇᴍᴀɪʟ ɪs ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴄɪᴘɪᴇɴᴛ sᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ. ɪᴛ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ꜰᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴛᴏ sʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ, ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇɴᴅᴇʀ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ʙʏ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʀᴇᴘʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛs ᴅᴇʟᴇᴛɪᴏɴ, sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇɴsᴜʀᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ.

It’s not that jetlag hits hard. It’s not even that jetlag hits at all. But there’s a faint sense of something churning in her gut, nostalgia mixed with the way that naps never sit quite right, her whole body bleeding with discombobulation and bemusement. If we are to say (and on occasion some do) that certain emotions rest in assorted parts of the body, then her current state—  unmoored, bewildered, unraveled—  lingers in her eyes and teeth, a warmth reaching inward, paralyzing her with indecision.

Across the room, the email still beeps at her, the pretel half devoured and immediately forgotten. She knows that she ought to reread —  ought to send her thanks in return, be as peppy as the stranger on the other line, but the headache still lingers, her body is still dragged back into her bed. Around her, the items of her room sit in disarray, her books in lackluster piles, the cold light spilling through the windows, casting shadows in strange shapes.

She wants — to walk, to see, to meet —  but the mess captures her in its spiral. An hour later, and still she sits ensconced in her blankets, knowing that she will only have this for a time. Soon, she will have to be herself again. Soon, she will have to be Vivien, put her own name in her mouth and remind everyone what that means. Soon, the room will return to the precise thing that she has always known.

But for this moment —  for this point in time where she hangs in the in-between, not herself and not another, the amorphous nature of a body in travel, time passes like a liquid substance, light as the only marker of it’s transitory nature. For this moment she becomes like mercury too, never bound to a solid form, a solid mode of measurement.

And then the cold sets in, and she returns to herself.

#submission #— call me beep me. #— occam shave me down to primal truth.

[aufaits]

Leverage Redemption (1.12 The Golf Job) Morgan Lindholm as Sarah Nichols

#— glass house. #unfortunately yeah this is her

[aufaits]

prologue — a feeling you thought you'd forgotten.

[ A SONG FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD STARTS PLAYING, A MELODY THAT REMINDS YOU OF A TIME WHEN YOU WERE A HAPPY CHILD — ONCE. ]

Think of it like this: homes in suburban Atlanta have a sort of universality to them. A prototype of the American sprawl, later able to transform, under the hands of film crews into Texas, or Washington D.C., or, in the case of some particularly pervasive Netflix shows, into nostalgia for the 80s that never were, the emotion given tangible form.

You, Vivien, flit through that nostalgia, eyes held fast shut. Oh, don't worry. You've done trips like this before, felt the dips in your stomach as you hovered over ice-churned waters, reminded yourself that the only way out is through, clear as a sword's strike. But other trips did not have this— memory as a house as a memory, the ghosts of late spring wrapping themselves around you with all the grace of lazy cats.

Self dislocates from body, mind drifts through that house, the quiet hours of afternoon when it is–was-is your domain and yours alone. Your finger runs along the dial of the radio, pop hits fading in lieu of college radio, soft synths blossoming around you. There is the you that was, curled up amidst golden beams, watching the dust drift through them, waiting for the house to fill once again.

And there is the you that is now, watching from the outside and inside, eyes unblinking, mouth dry. The song pervades, knife pick against skull, the crooning of the singers a faint buzz against the understanding that this home is no more.

The foundation stands still, of course. The walls haven't moved. But this place can only exist in memory now. Vivien, you of the waters, you of the stone removed, find yourself shocked to alertness at the thought, hands scrabbling against arm rests, eyes flung wide, the soft patter of drums falling away. There is only the you that is now, only the blade of crisp light pressing against windows, cutting through the gentle blanket of memory.

Nostalgia plays a funny game — feed her and find yourself hollow too.

[ A FIDGETABLE, ANALOG ITEM, CAN BE KNIFEY THOUGH YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR IT TO BE ]

Your hand reaches for your neck, grasping for the necklace that you still imagine sits there, on occasion. It was a gift from college graduation, a good luck knot twined in gold, the small box wrapped in red and pressed into your hand by your father.

The necklace is gone now, tucked away in that same box, nestled in your bag of things. For a time, you tried to wear it, tried to keep it close, bunch each time that you reached up to grab it, the customary need to fiddle blossoming, a sense of bile rose up in your stomach instead. This was in the— the After, as you call it to yourself, the word and fact taking on all traits of a blade.

Instead, you fiddle at your ring, a solid claudaugh ring turned upside down. Up and down it slides on your finger, never quite rubbing raw against the skin, but occasionally creeping close. It happens like a dream, like something rote. It happens without thinking.

There's a weight around your neck that isn't present, and a ring wound fast that feels like nothing. In the stillness of yourself, the future feels like both things. In it is terror, the sense of measuring yourself up and coming short, but there is satisfaction as well, certainty crisp on the tongue. There is being and nothingness, wound together on a moëbius string, your own thoughts tracing that infinite path. When you fall to sleep, you barely realize that it has come to you.

[ A PLACE OF GREAT PERSONAL SIGNIFICANCE, BE THAT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE ]

For a moment, there's a memory of water— your grad school apartment, crystalizing around you, sticky with summer, freezing with winter. It tastes like your life forming around you, a crysallis dissolving you to nothing and rebuilding you from the start.

It smells like maliase and hope, like the crackle of sparks and the freeze-dried tinge of microwavable meals. It feels like a certain quality of light, the compressed beams clipping clean through you.

You cannot help but think of this place and that as the same, the whole of you caught in the lap of waves on shore, the tides of your life changing direction once again.

You ebb and you flow, you rise and you fall, and again and again you find the correct current. Perhaps you are not the lady of the waters, not Vivane as your mother named you, but the waters still claim you as home.

In the end, they wear through everything, cut clean to the bone of truth. What else can you do but follow them?

Feet find ground, hands wrap around your bag. The memory clears, your smile curves.

This moment could not be anything but itself, something new placed gently in your hands. You hope that you do not break it.

> © holly warburton, return trip.

#— occam shave me down to primal truth.

[aufaits]

you gotta learn just how to live on an ever shorter tether but if you’re good, even for once, it’s written you’ll be good forever

#— glass house.

[aufaits]

EMPLOYEE ID 5027-0983-1; 𝐴𝑈 𝐹𝐴𝐼𝑇.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 Vivien Huifen Jiāng 𝐀𝐠𝐞 31 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 cis woman, she/her 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 Stephanie Hsu 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 closed

PROFILE.

The prudent and perceptive [𝐴𝑈 𝐹𝐴𝐼𝑇] understands better than anyone that there is no secret that should be shielded from the Committee’s watchful eyes. They proved their commitment to maintaining the integrity of the Foundation when they cut ties with their very own father, a Foundation Administrator at the Decommissioning Department, by blowing the whistle on an underhanded deal he had with Andersen Robotics and Prometheus Labs for the sale of anomalous objects slated for decommissioning. Their part in that bombshell exposé earned them the credibility they needed to shed the accusations that their advancement through the ranks was due to the efforts of family and friends in high places. It certainly was enough for the Foundation to heed their call to preemptively apprehend [𝐾𝐼𝑁𝐺'𝑆 𝐺𝐴𝑀𝐵𝐼𝑇], a prior mentor, on charges of [REDACTED]. If it were anyone other than [𝐴𝑈 𝐹𝐴𝐼𝑇], many would have suspected personal resentments were behind their damning report. However, there is no doubt that they have been a useful, if self-appointed, asset to the Committee’s efforts. Now they will serve this purpose in an official capacity, imbued with exceptional powers despite being a rather junior member within the Broken Scales of Themis. If the agents assembled to form MTF Chi-00 disappoint their mandate, [𝐴𝑈 𝐹𝐴𝐼𝑇] can be counted upon to drag their indiscretions to light. — Internal Memo from the Ethics Committee.

LAST ASSIGNMENT.

JR. ARCHIVIST;  Site-7,  Recordkeeping  and  Information  Security  Administration  (RAISA). Preservation of digital archives, amending and updating SCiPNET pages, providing ticket support, and catching cybersecurity leaks and potential infohazards.

INTERRELATIONS OF NOTE.

𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇. You’ve heard of the agent with the “perfect record” but this will be the first time you get to meet with them 1-on-1 — and you must admit, you’re dying to talk to them. Any tips and tricks they’d be willing to give a junior member of Chi-00 are bound to come in handy for your future career at the Foundation. Unless, of course, the good 𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 turns out to be less than the absolute paragon of protocol they make themselves out to be. In which case, your sense of justice always comes first.

𝐹𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐹𝐿𝐴𝑀. You observed this star’s meteoric rise, and while some questioned their success story you could not disagree more. How could anyone doubt them when they come from such a brilliant legacy, and were mentored by the esteemed 𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸 𝐸𝑁𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐸𝑅? Yes, their ostentatious self-obsession grates a little, but you just know in your heart the two of you are birds of a feather. This certainly isn’t motivated by anything so humiliating as projection, but maybe they just need a little help to outgrow their inheritance — like you did.

𝑄𝑈𝑂𝑇𝐸 𝑈𝑁𝑄𝑈𝑂𝑇𝐸. You were the first human to notice this hacker within the Foundation’s cyberspace so the fact that you are on a team with them is… intriguing, to say the least. After the special briefing you received regarding this new acquisition, you’ve found yourself in the position of their private warden, not that the newly minted “𝑄𝑈𝑂𝑇𝐸 𝑈𝑁𝑄𝑈𝑂𝑇𝐸” is aware of this fact. In any case, you’ll take on this secret assignment with the same dedication you put into all your work — because while it was never said outright, you’re well aware that the consequences of a poor peer review will be… final.

#— inside me a long dark hallway continued to grow.

[aufaits]

>logging in...

vivien jiāng. 31. she/her. junior archivist. dependent blog of @foundationhq.

:// loading relevant documents

001. dossier; 002. connections; 003. tasks; 004. archive; 005. pinterest; 006. playlist.

> file select: dossier.txt

> please hold...

cw — mentions of parental death.

last updated: 03.14.2024.

BASICS.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 — jiāng huifen; vivien jiāng.

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 — vi. (please feel free to give her other ones though!)

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 — stephanie hsu.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 — dark hair, normally pinned up out of the way; clothing that oscillates between extremely precise and tidy OR the outfit of someone living far away from society who does not expect to be perceived (i.e. sports bra under a hoodie with leggings); well kept nails, even when at her most disheveled; ramrod straight posture, that barely slips; a distaste for mess in her personal space, if not her own appearance.

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — standard lobe piercings. a tattoo of dubious quality (and slightly faded) on her ribcage, reading "til on a day—" in a cursive hand.

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁. — thirty-one. 01/15/1993. 

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 — capricorn sun, scorpio moon, gemini rising. year of the monkey (water).

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 — atlanta, ga.

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

jiāng xìnyí (paternal grandmother)

dr. cassian jiāng (father) †

dr. mira wei (mother)

dr. tristan jiāng (brother)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 — cis woman, she/her.

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 — strong kinsey 5.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 — single. painfully so.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 — quixotic, clever, organized, passionate.

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 — judgemental, stubborn, proud, sheltered.

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 — tries to cross reference every person she meets with files that she has read. only sometime succeeds; fidgets with items when talking, has ruined many paper cups in this way; chews on headphone cords (switched to ipods literally only because of this); is one of those guys who has a hyper customized linux setup; memorized various style handbooks for how to format scipnet + scp record pages because she hated double checking them and WILL note if you make a mistake.

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 — crossword puzzles + solitaire count, right? honestly, has a garbage work-life balance, so most of her hobbies ARE her work. has not figured a way out of that trap. is still very fond of arthurian romances. wants to be the kind of person who can keep plants but michigan + alaska have made that a less than realistic prospect. plays piano well, does not always find it relaxing.

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄) — none. desperately wants a cat. has never had a good opportunity to get one.

THE FOUNDATION.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 — junior archivist.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒) — assistant analyst for raisa (site-87).

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — junior archivist at site-7, archives room 2303.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒  — cybersecurity, archival management, R, can still use shorthand, excellent speedreader, the general knowledge you get from someone who did an MLIS/InfoSci degree, also really good with cats?? a sharp editor, decent at the piano, weirdly good at darts (but good luck getting that out of her), intimate knowledge of scipnet, the functioning of infohazards. probably a champion of spot the difference game (at the very least, a champion of pub trivia, on the rare occasions that she goes).

EXTRAS.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 — 

Jiāng Huifen, also going by Vivien Jiāng, was born in Atlanta, GA, the second child of a Foundation researcher and an academic at Emory University. Shortly after her second birthday, Jiāng’s mother left her father, citing personal differences as the primary thrust behind that. As a result, Jiāng and her older brother Tristan (n.b. Dr. Tristan Jiāng is also a Foundation employee, currently working as a researcher at Site-██) were primarily raised by their paternal grandmother, while their father (later an Administrator at the Decommissioning Department) busied himself with work.

Reports from Jiāng’s schooling at the time describe her as “a teacher’s delight” while others note that “while Vivien is quite adept at her schoolwork, she could take more time to work with her peers, rather than against them.” MySpace posts at this time in her life describe her as “a fucking narc” or as “the kind of person that literally no one would put on their top 8.” In school, Jiāng excelled, eventually attending Brown University to study English, with a specific focus in chivalric romances, with her undergraduate thesis focusing on the figure of the loathly lady, specifically in relation to vows and promises. During the summer, she undertook several publishing oriented internships, though none of them extended job offers after her tenure with them.

Seeming to not find success or interest in the world of editing, Jiāng turned her attention to becoming a librarian, enrolling in the University of Michigan’s Master of Information Science program, originally intending to specialize in library science and archive management. However, due to reasons that she has not elaborated on, in the second and final year of her degree, she turned her focus onto cybersecurity and digital file management systems. After the completion of her degree, Jiāng was recruited into the Foundation, serving as an Assistant Analyst for RAISA’s Document Recovery Division, working from a basement cubicle on Site-87, and providing recovery support for most of the Midwestern USA. 

It is at this point that Jiāng’s record veers into the realm of semi-interesting– following a rabbit trail of incongruous files and discrepancies in deleted files, she alerts higher ups that her father, in his administrative position, had been broaching sales of decommissioned SCPs with outside parties of interest. These SCPs primarily were focused on semi-sentient computing, which is how Jiāng noted them in the first place, at least according to her own accounts. With this decrying of her own father (which lead to his termination), Jiāng  found that her career shifted tenor– she was moved to Site-7, to assist with the Archival Department located there, and told to work on maintaining and digitizing the RAISA archives as a Junior Archivist.

In that capacity, she predominantly focused on infohazards and catching discrepancies across various digital records, while also developing her own side projects of securing the digital records based on various weaknesses that she had noticed over her overall tenure at the Foundation. 

In the midst of this, she brought further attention to herself, in identifying [KING’S GAMBIT] attempt to [REDACTED]. While this did not provide her the prior career advancement that she had previously found, it has emboldened her to repeatedly email regarding ways in which the protocol records of the Foundation might be improved, amongst other concerns.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — please dm me for character specific ones! 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 — what happens when being "by the book fails"; the sheltered bubble of academia; a textbook latchkey kid; chip! on! the! shoulder; tries to act older/more experienced than she is.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — alphonse elric (fullmetal alchemist) | stephanie brown (dc comics) | sokrates nikon artemios (counter/weight) | casey blevins (morning glories) | marcille (dungeon meshi) | cheadle yorkshire (hunter x hunter) | elliot schaefer (in other lands).

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 —

CREDITS.

> theo van hoytema, five angora rabbits. 

> ursula k. le guin, the lathe of heaven.

> miles j johnston, sunbeam.

> header: holly warburton, walking to bobby's house.

> icon: SUKI_0V0_.

#fhq.task #— inside me a long dark hallway continued to grow. #— be it work or be it rite? #{me vs airplane wifi: who would win!!}