#a5-14

[charomiamiart]

Ashoken Portrait

I feel rusty and that I had such a void of time between my last one and now that my style changes a lil bit ontop of forgetting how to do everything in the first place!  For @helloaschefire one of my biggest inspirations and conspirators. 

[helloaschefire]

This follows what happened here. An index of Ashoken and Duncan’s story can be found here. The lovely and talented @charomiami provided the top two screenshots I worked from along with her apoco-son Duncan.

[charomiami]

Holiday Edit for Ashoken because, 

well I secretly lovingly torture this bad ass when I can. INNT SHE CUTE?! @helloaschefire I KNOW YOU ARE TOO TIRED TO KILL ME BWAHAHAHA!

[helloaschefire]

(Duncan and Echo belong to the lovely and talented @charomiami)

[helloaschefire]

“You can hide memories, but you can’t erase the history that produced them.” Haruki Murakami (This follows the events depicted here. Duncan belongs to the lovely and talented @charomiami )

[helloaschefire]

[helloaschefire]

“You have bedhead,” he said to me before he turned away, leaving his coffee behind in a pool of its own dark liquid. I saw in his eyes that he had more to say to me. I sat up as the door slid shut, dividing him and Curie from me. I touched my hair and then scrubbed fingers through it. Whatever it looked like after that, it looked like. What my hair looked like did not matter. I wish I knew what did. I closed my eyes to better hear the water lapping against the ancient boards. That Duncan could make a safe home out of this place was amazing. So many are living in squalor and filth. While this space is no ... I see white walls and people in pristine white coats. The air smells of antiseptic and pine. The Institute.  I knew Duncan was from there. I have seen him there. I have. It’s a memory I cannot catch though I run straight for it. It is always just out of reach. Duncan. The Institute. His dog stared at me. Echo was his name. I didn’t know how I knew that. And Curie. I had no memory of her. I saw her only a moment before Duncan swept her into the back room for the night. Curie. Who is she? I drank the rest of his coffee before going over my gear and getting dressed. The Railroad still had things for us to do. And I had answers to pry out of Duncan. (Duncan and Echo belong to the fabulous @charomiami.) This takes place directly after the events described here: Duncan POV and WIP Doodle by @charomiami

[helloaschefire]

Dead Drop Boogie, Part 2 (Part 1) Duncan belongs to the lovely @charomiami The dead drop led us to Bunker Hill and Old Man Stockton. Turns out, Bunker Hill is a safe house of sorts. A layover for the Railroad’s renegade Synths, like me, but not at all like me. Stockton told us that he scheduled a transfer at a nearby church -- why was it always churches? No one in the rail road, especially Duncan, were religious or openly so. I asked Duncan why a church? He answered that it was easy. Too easy. Our task was to clear the way of ghouls and raiders, of which there were plenty, and then secure the position while we waited for night to fall. Stockton was good to his word. He showed up at the appointed time with the Synth who identified himself as H2-22, a fellow who never talked to anyone but Institute scientists on which sewers to scrub. Another slave, never given a scrap of ...what? What should we expect as sentient beings, I asked Duncan. Duncan replied, “what should you expect?” I hate him sometimes. The most disturbing thing from meeting H2-22 was learning that he didn’t want to remember any of his time in the Institute. He did not want to even remember who he was. He wanted his memories erased. To kill himself. That is what the Institute does to us. It gives us enough identity to want to lose it. I see Father’s face in my own memories and I want to erase it. We escorted H2-22 to Ticonderoga Safe House. I let Duncan do the talking. There was too much to think about. Too much to remember. “Stop brooding,” he said. “Leave me alone,” I answered. Suprisingly, he did.