Memoirs of a RAFian

[redtailedsaffa]

*Let's Do The Time Warp Again plays*

[Cloak]

Dunno that song, I'm afraid.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Time Ignored

Cloak continued upon his self-imposed mission. If you asked him a month ago -- Walker or Dweller month, it doesn't matter -- that he would be so arduously looking for Rotiart's next of kin, Cloak knew he wouldn't have believed you. But it had to be done. This was the first actual death in RAF -- the time Ab took over the forum nearly a year ago and almost killed him didn't count. Didn't count because he almost killed him. Almost.

Cloak found himself in the business area of the city, and the streets were more or less deserted. Cloak was not surprised. It was late -- or early, as the case may be. The only people that were up this early were people who work early or the people who just want to run red lights with near impunity. Or both.

Cloak had stuck to the ambient shadows, by instinct, if nothing else. He stalked around, astonded how the city bounced back from the last time that it was in turmoil and chaotic. Cloak considered just how much of a target this place was. He couldn't help but wonder why people kept coming here to stay, to live. It had to have been like Gotham without Batman.

Perhaps the rent was dirt cheap, Cloak found himself musing. Perhaps they had jobs that they couldn't leave, either because of lack of opportunity or because of duty and loyalty to an employer. There weren't too many open jobs in the country -- even in this city, considering the number of weirdos, freaks, and monsters that ravage it occasionally.

Anyway, Cloak continued to sneak and stalk his way towards the residential district, heading toward the suburbs. He still remained oblivious to the temporal loop that happened. He had dismissed his nauseated sensation hours ago as nothing more than a momentary inconvenience. He didn't even think about it in any more depth than that.

He reasoned the reason that drove him so arduously to do something about this, to do right by someone he used not care a lick about.  It was guilt. Well, mostly guilt. His integrity also drove this, that motivated this Realm Walker. But his guilt was prominent. Odd how if Rotiart had survived, he would not feel the least bit guilty. But with his death, Cloak was driven to learn more about the boy, to understand him. A motivation he would not have if Rotiart was alive.

There was a strange contradiction in that.

Cloak stood upon a street light, looking around, wondering which house would have been likely to have housed Rotiart and his family. All these suburb houses looked alike. The same yellow paint, the same silver trim, all two stories tall. The only way to tell the difference was the black numbers on the left side of the of the front door. Each house had a single-car garage.

Then there was the outskirts, the outlying buildings that weren't kept up nearly as well as the houses in suburbs. Perhaps Rotiart lived over there. The only way to know for sure was basically go door-to-door and ask. Cloak was glad that he had the foresight to have brougt a picture of Rotiart.

He leaped down, as the first rays of dawn began to creep over the snow-laden ground. . . .

[Cloak]

Still no word . . . fortunately I saved up 4 months worth of rent in the bank for an event such as this. Sometimes, being frugal is a very good thing.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Something Wrong Here

"Aquilai, do you know where Cloak got to?" Saffa asked.

"He went to notify Rotiart's next of kin," Aila said, perplexed. "You said he told you last night."

"No, I didn't." Saffa protested. "He was in his thread last night, brooding or sulking or whatever."

"No, he did it, choosing not to go to the fireworks." Aquilai said, wiping his hands on a gray cloth.

"Um, hello? That's not until tonight?" Saffa said.

"What? No, it's not. That was yesterday!"

"I'm telling you that it's not until tonight!"

"No, it was --"

"Enough, Aila," Aquilai said, quickly diffusing the situation. "It's clear that it's December 31st again."

"What do mean by 'again'?" Saffa asked.

"It is obvious now that we are currently in a temporal loop, like a record that skips on the player. Or some other analogy that I can't think of at the moment."

"Wait, temporal loop?" Saffa asked.

"Yes." Aquilai assessed quickly. "Looks like this day, December 31st, will repeat over and over again until whatever mechanism is forcing this is stopped or destroyed."

"You can't be serious," Saffa said, skeptically.

"So says the human with the ability to become an alien super-pedator at will," Aquilai pointed out. "Who is addressing two beings with dual hearts and machines that can travel through time, and can shield the inhabitants from temporal effects. Inquiring about an energy being in a cloak who can control the elements with his mind and will."

"Okay! Okay! Point made." Saffa capitulated. "But what can we do about it?"

"Well, clearly Cloak is somehow immune to the temporal replays," Aila said, "probably due to his Realm Walker physiology, but we are not. We are subject to it. Unless --"

"Unless we are shielded by a TARDIS," Aquilai supplied. "Cloak clearly isn't 'reset' upon the temporal reversal like everyone else, either."

"Reset? What do you mean -- oh." Saffa said. "So, every night, at 11:30, we have to file into your TARDIS?"

"It's not big enough to fit the whole forum!" the Time Lord protested.

"But enough to fit you, me, Aila, and possibly two or three more RAFians, yes?" she asked, rather impishly. "Hmmm?"

"Yes, but what are you getting at?"

"You honestly don't see what she's getting at, Aquilai?" Aila said. Then she shared a look with Saffa that clearly said, Boys are so hopeless.

"Hey! I saw that!" Aquilai said.

[redtailedsaffa]

So it's not bigger on the inside?

[Cloak]

It is. But room for like 4,000 RAFians? Besides, Aquilai would probably have an anxiety attack if it became overcrowded. Then there is the the problem of getting thsm inside in a timely manner, and keeping track of them all . . . or maybe everything above is nothingg more than a humongous cop-out on my part.

Oh, correction: 485 RAFians (486, counting Helen). The rest were lurkers. My bad. Lurkers don't exist, not really, in this continuity. And some of the RAFians, like Ken and Anna and Kelran, aren't present (there's a reason why). But still, that's a substantial number.

[redtailedsaffa]

Damn, you did the math.

[Cloak]

Eh, all I did was go to the member list, sorted it by the rank, found the boundary between the real RAFians and the lurkers, and did simple math with the number said atop the list.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
The Forgotten Picture

Cloak stuck to the shadows, as the hesitant light of dawn seemed to only sluggishly bring itself around. Cloak quickly realized that he could easily be mistaken for a monster if remained as is. Especially if some the residents in this suburb were Knights, or Knight sympathizers.

Fortunately, he had anticipated something like this may have come up, and he bought an ID mask. When he put it on, it projected an image of a young human male, with short black hair, a day-old beard, glasses with silver frames that were black on the ear pieces, a dark gray shirt with black cuffs, thick black jacket, well-worn blue jeans, and white sneakers with black trim and yellow highlights. The ID mask somehow was able to mask Cloak's eight-foot-tall frame into a five-foot, ten-inch one.

He looked human now, but that did not help the fact that he was loitering around rather aimlessly. Any one of these houses could be the one that housed Rotiart's family . . . although, in Cloak's gut, it wasn't really all that likely. These homes were a little too nice and comfortable. Somehow Cloak did not think that Rotiart would have lived in such moderate opulence. It didn't look like the types of homes that would harbor . . .

But that's thing, wasn't it? It didn't matter how nice or shabby the homes looked on the outside. Thst didn't mean that abuse didn't take place. He should have known that firsthand. Though his mother's house eventually fell into disrepair and an outright dilapidated state, it looked just fine when he was a child, though it was out of the way. . . .

Cloak walked down the sidewalk, and the neighbors just assumed that he was a guy going to work -- this surprised Cloak a bit. What, with all the fearmongering a certain "news" channels does. But, no, the residents here had far more prescient concerns -- getting to work on a timely basis, doing errands, and the like. The children were determined to fill the day with snowball fights and sledding and all the other childish shenanigans that came with winter before they had to go back to the drudgery of school and schoolwork in five or six days' time.

Cloak thought that he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth --a very odd Dweller saying, by the way -- and he should continue to look for the house, for Rotiart's family. It was a duty, cinsidering the manner in which their son, brother, cousin, nephew, grandson died. Cloak was once more reminded just how little they knew about Rotiart. Sure, he came off as a selfish, immate brat -- but he was covering for his lack of confidence with excess bravado. This was rather novel to Cloak, who covered up his self-consciousness about his own inaccuracy by pulling inward, internalizing and burying his emotions and feelings. And this was all subconscious.

Huh? What was that?

He spied some piece of paper lost in a snow bank. He pulled it out and discovered that it was a photograph. Something like a Polaroid. On it, was a severe, thick-bodied man with a week-old beard in a vaguely militaristic outfit -- possibly fake and fabricated and unofficial -- holding a dark-haired toddler. The boy looked not quite unhappy, but definitely not a giggly, silly child that he should be.

It was clear that this child was Rotiart, about fourteen or fifteen years ago. The man was clearly his father or uncle or older brother. Clearly his guardian in some capacity. And he didn't seem too pleased by it.

Cloaked up, instantly, suspicious. This could be a planted photo. It showed no signs of being exposed to the elements. The colors and image were still clear and sharp. There seemed to be only the most minute wear and tear on it. It was clearly old, but not that old.

But . . . still . . . it was a lead . . . he would have to be careful.

He looked around again, seeing that he was at the most southwestern point of the suburbs, and he wondered if he should go door-to-door with the picture. All he could hope for was that this wasn't just a false lead. . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

IT'S A TRAP!

[Cloak]

Is it now?

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Time Roulette, Go!

"Hey, let go!" GH complained as she practically dragged him, Abby, and Underseen to Aquilai's TARDIS.

"I wanted to see the fireworks!" Abby protested. "Gaz and Parker worked very hard to set it all up."

"What's so important?" Underseen asked, trotting behind them.

"Just get in," Saffa said, brashly, "explanations will come in there."

Saffa wouldn't elaborate until all of them were inside, and the door was shut.

"Wow," Underseen said. "It's bigger in here than on the outside."

"That what she s--" GH began, before Saffa muffled him with her hand.

"Uh-uh. None of that," she scolded.

"None of what?" Underseen asked.

"Never mind," GH said, a bit waspishly. "Why did you drag us in here? And do all TARDISes have throwrugs there?"

"That gaudy thing wasn't my idea," Aquilai said.

"Well, excuse me for wanting to add a little color to this drab interior." Aila sniffed.

"By mugging a clown?" Aquilai offered, dryly sardonic.

"Well!"

"Enough!" Saffa said. "I promised explanations. The reason I dragged you here because we're under a time loop."

"Seriously?" GH said skeptically.

"This RAF, remember, GH," Abby said. "This kind of thing? Just an average Tuesday night."

"But it's not Tuesday," Underseen said.

"It's a figure of speech, Underseen!"

"Uh . . . I knew that," he replied.

"How is that possible?" Underseen asked.

"I do not know," Aquilai said. "It would have to take an extraordinary amount of power to reverse time, even as brief as a day. But not strong enough to reverse the flow of time completely."

"Is that possible? To completely reverse the flow of time, I mean." Abby said.

"Theoretically," Aila answered. "But that would take an immense amount of power, like a travelling TARDIS blowing up or something."

At the mention of the TARDIS, it began to rock a little before for settling down.

"That wouldn't be sufficient," Aquilai said. "Maybe if like six did in rapid succession. But that's speculation."

"Are you trying to start something, Aquilai?" Aila inquired.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Has Anybody Seen This Guy?

It was getting late, and Cloak was getting tired. He had essentially stayed up all night the night before. He retreated to the nearby forest, and terrakinetically carved out a cave in which to slumber the night away.

He also stowed his ID mask away, inside an interior pocket in his cloak. Naturally, this cause the hologram projected around himself to dissipate and vanish. Anyone who managed to look over, and come in beyond the tree line, would see Cloak as a Realm Walker.

He wasn't foolish enough to not think that he would be undisturbed had he left the "mouth" of the cave open, so he shut it. It would had entombed him had he not been a terrakinectic or a Realm Walker, and he wouldn't have been nearly as comfortable. He fell asleep rather quickly, proving that he was far more tired than he thought.

***

Cloak dreamed that Rotiart, as a toddler, as a young child, running around these suburbs. He seemed to be exceedingly reluctant to return home, which appeared to be in the direction of the outskirts.

It would make sense. Those homes tended to be more disrepair than those of the suburbs, and, thus, a more difficult life for Rotiart. Could this dream also be telling him that Rotiart was a frequent runaway? If he was as abused as Cloak himself, the Realm Walker wouldn't -- and couldn't -- blame him. There numerous times when Cloak himself had seriously considered running away, of escaping. But he was afraid of never seeing Shadow again.

That was the reason that he stuck it out. The reason he put up with all his mother's crap, all her narcissistic tendencies, all her neglect.

Perhaps Rotiart did not have such a person in his life to stick it out for. First Light . . . if that was the case . . . it was remarkable that he didn't just take his own life. It was horrible, as Cloak knew firsthand . . .

***

When he awoke the next morning and left his makeshift shelter, he reverted the area back to the way it was before he came there. Then he deftly put back on his ID mask, so no one mistakes him for a dementor or something.

He was being rather narrow-minded, and did not notice how the residents were repeating every movement, every gesture, every conversation, every argument exactly with the ones made yesterday. Cloak was too hyperfocused.

In his mind, as he went door-to-door, showing the residents the picture, and asking about the man in the picture, he sang:

I've got to get it together,
Got to use my minds.
I've got to find this guy.
And there's not much time.
I've got to travel light,
And go place to place.
Askin' everybody,
"Have you seen this face?"
Has anybody seen this guy?
Seen him at all?
Has anybody seen this guy?
He's about this tall.
Sorry to say, but the boy has died.
Has anybody seen this guy?
Here's a little picture,
For a quick reminder,
I'm hopin' you might have a clue.
Does he look a little bit like someone you know?
Does he look a little bit like you?
Has anybody seen this guy?
Has anybody seen him at all?
Has anybody seen this guy?
He's about this tall.
Sorry to say, but the boy has died.
Has anybody seen this guy?
Has anybody seen this guy?

But no one had seen him. No one.

Then again, a lot of things could happen in fourteen or fifteen years. He certainly not the same person he was fourteen or fifteen years ago (Nexus years, of course). And a lot has happened since then.

Cloak ****ed his head towards the outskirts of the suburbs. There were houses there, though further spread out. Perhaps there . . . perhaps there . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

Has Cloak not noticed the temporal loop yet?

[guitarhero01234]

"That what she s--" GH began, before Saffa muffled him with her hand.

Wait... Is this implying that Memoirs gh is straight?

[redtailedsaffa]

Nah, he might just mean that as a jab at Underseen. Who is straight.

[Cloak]

*with mock indignation*

Hey, everyone else makes a "that's what she said" joke. And I can't?

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
This is Going to Get Monotonous . . .

"Um, we are going to, uh, actually do, uh, something to stop this time loop, right? Uh, rather than sit here, and, uh, do nothing?" GH said.

"Okay, GH, what was that?" Saffa said, akimbo, head ****ed as if GH was a strange species of animal that she hadn't quite figured out yet.

"A Jeff Goldblum impression," GH said, being perfectly honest.

"Correction: a bad Jeff Goldblum impression," Saffa teased.

"Why Jeff Goldblum?" Abby asked.

"It was a line paraphrased from 'Jurassic Park', okay?" GH said, nettled. "The point that I was trying to make was what exactly are we going to do about this temporal loop? We've just been sitting in here and doing nothing for hours!"

"So, what's your brilliant idea, then?" Aila countered.

GH fell silent.

"That's what I thought." she replied smugly.

"The point still stands." Saffa said. "How do we stop this temporal loop."

"I don't know." Aquilai said.

"What?" Abby said sharply. "I thought two you know all about all this time-related crud!"

"I'm a Time Lord, not a chronokinetic!" Aquilai protested.

"Even our knowledge is limited!" Aila protested as well.

"Can't you track the source of the temporal loop? It would have to be awfully powerful to rewind time every day twenty-four hours. That's not something even broken could accomplish on his own, I don't think." Underseen pondered.

Aquilai shrugged, "I suppose that it's possible. I have never tried before . . ."

He swiftly frossed to the console, and began to type commands in. He wasn't too expectant that it would work, to be honest. But he was pleasantly surprised to discover a signal of a strong temporal energy signature.

"There," he said.

Saffa peered around his shoulder. "That's a good distance away. Wait -- is that the warehouse district?"

"I believe so."

"Why am I not surprised?" Saffa asked rhetorically.

[guitarhero01234]

. . . Checkmate.

Ok that's Independence Day not Jurassic Park. Whatever.