xp_logs | Angelo and Forge, Saturday evening

Angelo happens on Forge going through Irene Adler's diaries... and gets a look at a prophecy that leaves him a little rattled.

Forge glanced up from the couch where he sat cross-legged, laptop balanced between his knees. giving a quick nod to Angelo, he gestured at the screen. "Earthquake in Tokyo," he said matter-of-factly. "Looked like it was going to surge up to a high seven on the Richter scale, but it suddenly bled off into a couple of point-two-five microtremors. Lucky dodge in a city like that."

Angelo, remembering a childhood spent living with San Andreas, let out a whistle at that news. "Definitely lucky for them, yeah. Anyone checked on Julio?"

"Professor's got everything covered," Forge answered, turning his attention back to the screen. "Hey, you ever see that silly book of precog scribblings that Marie's got?"

"Good stuff", he said, accepting that answer, then hobbled over to peer over Forge's shoulder. "Looked at some of the scans when I had nothin' better to do, yeah. That what you've got up now?"

Forge made a grunt of assent and scrolled through the scanned pages, notes and half-legible translations marked electronically over the images of Irene Adler's handwriting. "I was seeing if anything in here had references to earthquakes. That's the trouble with precognitive visions," he explained, "most precogs can't express things in the same manner they see them. Marie-Ange usually draws or paints hers, see, because they come to her in symbols. The brain usually isn't geared to properly perceive trans-temporal sensory input. That's my theory anyway. Irene, on the other hand, seemed to have fits of autologia, across at least thirteen separate languages. We've got most of them translated - they missed one in Braille on the back, actually," Forge winced slightly as he remembered the information he'd translated for Marie about her parentage. "I'm not seeing any earthquake references, though."

Angelo shrugged slightly. "Guess she can't see everythin' that's goin' to happen, even if she just focuses on one theme the way Nathan used to. It was worth takin' a look, though - find anythin' else interestin' while you were readin'?"

Forge gave a one-shouldered shrug, absently tugging the collar of his t-shirt over the scars on his other shoulder. "It's like trying to discern the meaning of poetry half the time. You know, understanding the author's worldview, how their environment shaped their perceptions, etc. I don't know a thing about Irene Adler, I have absolutely no clue what she meant by using the words she chose. I mean, look at this one -- "

He scrolled rapidly through the pages until he found one of the obviously later-written quatrains, the lines of ink becoming harsher and less regular as Irene's eyesight had obviously begun failing her. "Skin stretched upon the cross, heart's blood spilled in sacrifice. Humanity's god stands appeased," he recited. "It doesn't make sense from a religious perspective. Almost an angry atheist perspective on the Crucifixion, which seems kind of paradoxical to me. You see what I mean? I've just been speed-reading through, seeing if anything pops out. I'm probably not the best interpreter of this stuff."

"Question is if she really did choose them, though", Angelo said thoughtfully, frowning at the quatrain Forge had picked out. "I mean, Angie just copies what she sees, right? An' you mentioned automatic writin'. There's somethin' weird about the phrasin' of that first part."

"I know," Forge said, scrolling to another document. "Crucifixion was a method of slow execution using the condemned's own body weight to asphyxiate them, or force them to die of exposure. As opposed to something like the rack, now that was a fascinating machine - one of the most common uses of the key ratchet and principles of applied torque and leverage, for its time anyway. That's humanity for you, discover wondrous new technology and find ways to kill people with it."

"No, that's not what I mean - you're right, but... Go back?" He was staring at the screen, frown deepening. "It says... skin stretched upon the cross. Not arms, not body. Skin. Does crucifixion stretch your skin?"

"Huh?" Forge called up the original documents. "As a method of execution, no. Especially if you're talking about the post-and-crossbeam structure that most people associate with the cross. It could have another meaning entirely. Tanning animal hides, for instance."

"But then that doesn't make any sense with the "heart's blood" part. Animals are already dead when their hides get tanned." He read over the verse again, quickly. "And that part about humanity's god..."

Arching an eyebrow, Forge looked up at Angelo with a skeptical expression. "You're asking for logical interpretation of a pseudopsionic sensory phenomenon that in most cases is indistinguishable from a schizophrenic episode. It's almost an aphorism that it takes a precog to interpret a precog. Shared insanity and all." He typed in a few commands, then removed a flash drive from the side of his laptop, handing it over to Angelo. "If you want to take a gander, go ahead."

"No, I just... it has to mean somethin'. Or, I guess, doesn't have to, but even wrong visions are predictin' somethin'. An', well..." He raised a hand and waggled his six-inches-too-long fingers to demonstrate why 'skin stretched' was ringing all the wrong bells. "Takes a precog to interpret a precog? Then I'm goin' to talk to Angie."

"Broken clock's right twice a day," Forge agreed, then switched over to his email, mumbling something about the Tesla Club under his breath and firing off a quick missive."Bribe her with the good coffee from that place off Broadway. She likes the expensive stuff."

"Expensive coffee it is", Angelo agreed, tucking the flash drive safely into a pocket. "Got another Tesla dinner?"

Forge shrugged. "Submissions are due for the Wardenclyffe Prize. Sort of like their Nobel, to recognize achievement. I'd submit my work from Attilan, but they're still trying to figure out how the rules apply to that particular situation. Should be interesting to see what people come up with this year."

Angelo nodded. "You'll come up with somethin' good, even if you're not allowed to submit what you did in Attilan. Not like you've got any shortage of work."

"No rest for the wicked," Forge replied, reaching behind the couch to produce another can of Red Bull, expertly cracking it open and taking a drink in one motion. "Or me, for that matter."