TRACKING By reading people’s noise, you are able to place markers on each one to an extremely high accuracy (because COMET’s location tracker has a 20% delay rate and is not reliable for high speed chase). This means that you can create a path in your mind, knowing exactly where they will go.
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You work with »MAL DE COUCOU the most because they’re the one that you can read the easiest. It’s easier to sift through their noise cloud to pick up exactly what they’re thinking. »KUEBIKO, on the other hand, is extremely difficult. But you’re not surprised—all REFORM OFFICERS are difficult to read. They wear the perfect mask and so do you. You’re the one who read through the noise that something bad was going to happen to both the DWELLERS and the COLARCIO family and although you wanted to be the one who came up with the plan, it was immediately sent to the Reformation Department where »KUEBIKO created the perfect storm. However, you realise that here was another person who read trouble between COLARCIO and the DWELLERS and they’re no longer around. You’re not entirely sure what this means and so you’ve decided to keep yourself a little more scarce about this topic. There are times where people are too loud and you forget what your original personality is, and when it becomes too hard, you seek out »KUEBIKO to help you out. You met »MONACHOPSIS by accident, while you were working in a job you hated just to search out for any crime in the area. Now, you use them as your little informant, giving them treats whenever they do well. There’s no way that you’re going to help them out further, though, because everyone’s usefulness expires one day.
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PROMPT The time when you found it so hard to separate yourself from everyone’s noise / the first time you lost someone through tracking / Observer Training.
codedby▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ shinyponkan4parchmentsO H _ Y O U _ L I E _ N E X T _ T O _ M E ___H E A R T_ I S _ B E A T I N G _ H E A V I L Y shinyponkan♚POE LINDEN
ponk*AGE 34 »»__ *RANK A »»__ *DANGER LEVEL 2 »» ponponponponponponway•__• • __•• •__N O I S E _ T Y P E ponkan90%LEFT▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌10%RIGHT
Noise, like DNA and fingerprints, are imprints. The shape and form can be changed, but the core is still the same. Like a bloodhound on steroids, Poe attach themselves to a particular noise by tagging it, like what one would do with a bookmark, or a highlighter.
They can then trace the person, knowing where they will head to. They do so by constantly filtering through the noise around them, organising what they sense via 'threads'.
Think of it as a spider web. The more markers Poe places, the more complicated the web will be. Chances of being ensnared by their own web increases, blurring the noise generated by others and themselves. Tracing the path of each marker is a physical exertion, opening themselves such that anything they experience will feel like it is real, and their body may not be able to support such a high volume of input. Since the mind is central to noise, they will most likely also experience migraines, nosebleeds, fevers etc. Brain damage is possible, though it should only happen upon fulfilling these three conditions: a) a constant and extremely heavy barrage of information, b) overloading of markers (in hundreds and above), c) lack of person(s) with sensory blockage/removal powers nearby.
The confusion between reality and others' noise occur frequently, and will probably increase whenever Poehas not taken a break for a while. Poe's existence is a taut string - when they snap, it'll be horrendously sudden - and they know it too (hence the decision to keep seeking out KUEBIKO).
'Control' and 'apathy' are predominant aspects of Poe, something that nobody else is privy to.
Apathetic jerk who crafts masks after masks, fitting in to society as an everyday Joe.
Her apathy is arguably nurtured rather than part of her nature.
Entered Precrime Department knowing exactly what it entails and, hence, has toughened their noise control.
A pathological liar who understands that they are one of the many cogs in the world and should do whatever it takes to keep playing their role.
Poe is anyone you want her to be: your sister, best friend, wife and personal assistant? No problem.
What Poe does is mostly misdirection; she doesn't lie (at least not directly), except in certain occasions, but she does produces noise & lets you interpret it accordingly.
Despises showing weakness and is very careful with what she truly reveals to KUEBIKO.
Has resigned herself to do whatever is within their means so that they can end each mission as quickly as possible.
Out of self-preservation and the belief that all things (and people expire), Poe prefers playing it smart, relying on reading others' noise and projecting certain types to manipulate others.
So long as they can keep living, Poe will make herself comfortable enough to do everything.
Is flexible with different personal pronouns.
Her identity is that of a female biological sex, but sometimes lapses into gender neutral or male pronouns.
Poe does not publicise her change, though anyone with the authority to do so can look through her background information (must be sanctioned by the Dept)
Trust is a heavy, impossible thing for Poe. It is foreign and therefore, not applicable. She does not trust anyone.
Even if she appears to do so, especially towards KUEBIKO, MAL DE COUCOU and MONACHOPSIS.
Everyone is a pawn, including herself. She just wants to extend her time as long as possible.
It doesn't hurt to use MONACHOPSIS while they are still useful.
Precrime has improved the state of the world, or at least, Poe believes that the human race has reached the tipping point whereby removing Precrime Department may cause a greater fallout.
Always safer to choose the lesser of two evils, right? repeat it often enough and you'll believe it too
The Lindens never had much luck with conceiving, and would have adopted a child if their last try had failed.
Eventually, Emmett Linden, their only son was born.
Despite efforts to behave otherwise, they saw him more of an investment whose value could only increase over time.
Emmett followed their instructions dutifully because that was the only thing he was born for, wasn't it?
His first accidental foray into tracking was while searching for his mother's perfume; he ended up tracing the route of a couple who had eloped.
Emmett found it fascinating and tested himself repeatedly, waiting till he was sure of his level before informing his parents.
He looked into the private affairs of people and found them... lacking.
There really was nothing to look forward to. Humans had such ordinary lives, so much so that Emmett wonders if there could ever a large enough ripple to change the world.
20 years old: He entered the Department of Public Affairs and was inducted into the Precrime Department as a reader.
At that time, marriage was on the cards for Emmett.
He was uncomfortable with the concept and the many possibilities it would present.
What if he ended up reading his partner & their future child, only to realise he would have to turn them over to the Precrime Dept?
The engagement was called off, though not without an unhappy argument (albeit one-sided) in which Emmett allowed his ex-fiancée to rant and scream at him.
He kept their apartment out of practicality - it's got great amenities and a lower rent than similar properties.
After a lengthy discussion with his private doctor, Emmett requested to undergo a biological change for his body.
He does not want to contribute his genetic material in any way.
What better method than to change himself, then? Emmett knows that it is a skewed perception, but he has little to no attachment towards his body and frankly, finds it rather disgusting
23 years old: While undergoing the operation and continuous hormone treatments, Emmett Linden changed his name to Poe Linden.
His parents might have sued him, had he not set up the lawyer's letter in advance. They are allowed to meet once a month now.
Poe likes their new body. They don't mind using different pronouns and continues excelling as a reader who is viciously on point with every mission.
Meeting MONACHOPSIS had been an accident... Poe hadn't meant to follow the shadow of a criminal's thread, not when they knew they were close to burning out.
Using MONACHOPSIS comes easily to Poe. People were malleable creatures, and the age-old method of carrot-and-stick had never worked better.
Poe is uneasy by the state of things regarding the Colarcio and the Dwellers, but isn't foolish enough to probe... readers should do what they do best.
KUEBIKO and MAL DE COUCOU are two other people who have some influence in Poe's life; the former takes away everything and makes it easier to breathe, if only for a while, and the latter is their partner in Precrime.
And yet, Poe sees no point in deepening their connections. They too, are only temporary fixtures in her life... even if Poe gives the impression that she is close to any of them.
codedbyshinyponkanforparchmentsT H E R E ' S __B L O O D__ I N __ Y O U R __E A R__ T H O U G H codedby▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
Which character are you applying for and why have you decided this specific character?
Anecdoche, the Observer.
Does observing something change things? A contentious point, I suppose. There is elegance in a character role that requires creating selves, while constantly connected to everything/one with the risk of losing themselves in maintaining such threads. I think I'd enjoy writing that.
Character interpretation. Personality wise, how have you decided to interpret this character? Why in particular? What has made them be like this? How about the relationships with other characters? What have you planned for this character? What ideas do you have about their past? How did they get to the position they are now? What habits do they have? What are their opinions of the group they are in? Do they like it? Do they want change in the system? Why do (or don't) they want change? Everything you want to discuss about your character here.
(Realised I've left out a part in Character Interpretation while copying & pasting the info. It's been added under 'addendum' for easy reference.)
There is a distinct streak of apathy in Anecdoche, perhaps (and arguably) nurtured rather than part of their nature. The balance between apathy and empathy should be difficult for anyone working in Precrime Dept. For Anecdoche, they were recruited for their noise control rank and, specifically, their power (tracking). They went into this with their eyes open, fully aware of what their work will entail. Doesn't always make it easier, but it does.
Anecdoche has crafted masks after masks, producing noise that misdirects by letting others interpret accordingly. It is a high-wire act, remembering the masks they use. In their daily lives, they are careful not to overdo things. They prefer to be thought of as inconspicuous. It is easier to overlook someone when their noise is ordinary, an average Joe in the coop.
When on the job, Anecdoche is resigned to do whatever is within their means so that they can end it quickly. Hence, self-preservation is a key part of their personality. Anecdoche prefers playing it smart, relying on reading others' noise and projecting certain types to manipulate others. Cowardice? Possibly. So long as they can keep living, Anecdoche will re-negotiate their own comfort levels to do what is required.
There are days when it is an impossible task. The world is a cacophony and they are sick of separating themselves, irked by the details of their next job, or are simply holding on to the last threads of what they think they are.
That is when Anecdoche goes to Kuebiko. Sweet, sweet Kuebiko, who can take everything away... if only for a while. It is a brief respite and there is still noise everywhere, but being with Kuebiko makes it somewhat bearable. Anecdoche knows better than to trust Kuebiko, or anyone else, because entrusting somebody else is akin to signing a death warrant.
After all, Anecdoche doesn't even trust in their partner, Mal de Coucou. At least not entirely so. There is a basic level of mutual reliance, since Mal de Coucou is easy to read. However, there is some part of Anecdoche that in unable to view Mal de Coucou as The Anchor.
It had been an accidental meeting when Anecdoche had been particularly close to burning out, which evolved into using Monachopsis as their informant. It is a lot like how a child uses their magnifying glass to burn the ignorant insects. Anecdoche finds some amount of contentment in Monachopsis' existence, but will not miss them terribly or care much if they are gone.
There is an innate sense of hopelessness, bordering on nihilism in Anecdoche. They do not believe in much, these days, and the Precrime Dept is as much of an executioner's blade for the general populace as it is for Anecdoche.
They think that they have come to terms with it, knowing that all things expire. The human race has lost so much. Were they willing to gamble on a future where Precrime no longer exists? Anecdoche isn't confident in humans, and they are certain that with or without Precrime... ... they are all bound to self-destruct. It is simply a matter of how quickly.
Addendum:
Anecdoche's history is nothing to boast about. They had (have) a family. Not extensive by far, but a family unit that was supportive as it was constrictive. The expectations of Anecdoche's parents were easier to bear once they were recruited by the Dept of Public Affairs. They have since distanced themselves from their immediate family, if only to reduce the amount of noise and masks they have to bear. Monthly visitations are the only allowance Anecdoche is willing to make.
There had been a time when Anecdoche could have started their own family. A romantic relationship that they gave up on, too, because the possibility of passing down their genetic material is rather horrifying. What if they read their partner & child (once of age), only to realise that they will have to turn them in to Precrime Dept? It would destroy them. At least, Anecdoche thinks so. They haven't invested much in a relationship before, always holding back and playing the part of a spectator. Less bridges to burn or build.
tldr; Anecdoche is, by default, an unfeeling bystander in the world but masks that by producing all sorts of noise to suit their personality-of-the-day/week/month.
Power: How do you interpret the power that is related to this character? How do they tap into noise? What is their danger level and why? Do they have a price when they use this particular power?
Noise, like DNA and fingerprints, are imprints. The shape and form can be changed, but the core is still the same. Like a bloodhound on steroids, Anecdoche can attach themselves to a particular noise by tagging/marking it. They can then trace the person, knowing where they will head to.
They do so by constantly filtering through the noise around them, organising what they sense via 'threads'.
Think of it as a spider web. The more markers Anecdoche places, the more complicated the web will be. Chances of being ensnared by their own web increases, blurring the noise generated by others and themselves. Tracing the path of each marker is a physical exertion, opening themselves such that anything they experience will feel like it is real, and their body may not be able to support such a high volume of input. Since the mind is central to noise, they will most likely also experience migraines, nosebleeds, fevers etc. Brain damage is possible, though it should only happen upon fulfilling these three conditions: a) a constant and extremely heavy barrage of information, b) overloading of markers (in hundreds and above), c) lack of person(s) with sensory blockage/removal powers nearby.
I am placing Anecdoche's danger level as 2 because they have acute control over their noise and are able to operate on an exceedingly rational mindset. The confusion between reality and others' noise will still occur, and will probably increase in frequency whenever Anecdoche has not taken a break for a while. I kind of imagine Anecdoche as a taut string - when they snap, it'll be horrendously sudden - and they know it too (hence the decision to keep seeking out Kuebiko). There will certainly be fluctuations in the danger level, though it'll probably be 2 for a while.
Time to write a prompt! Choose from the list of prompts with your character and write something down below. Consider the world you're in and see how you can incorporate elements I've already created into your prompt as well as sprinkling a little bit of icing sugar on the top (or a lot, whatever you fancy).
Going by Berger and Luckmann's theory, reality is a social construct. Anecdoche accepts the concept; it is sound, logical and fits this world of noise which is, inadvertently, a facet of that construct. The problem arises when accounting for outliers.
Like themselves.
Anecdoche crosses their legs, ceasing their slow tapping on the left thigh. Not all readers are the same, but they do have something in common: their reality is drastically different from the general populace. For Anecdoche, their reality does not differentiate between waking states and dreams.
"It's the levels of filtration," they continue out loud.
Flowers bloom around them, an eternal spring with scents they cannot identify. They do not reach out. There is a sweet taste on their lips, a velvet rich sensation that brightens their eyes. A burst of colours in their mouths.
Anecdoche chews absently.
They have never been to a farmers' market.
The scene shrinks, fading into indiscernible glass splinters.
"I'm sorry," they murmur, "What did you say?"
Peira sits across them. Her gaze slides fractionally lower. Anecdoche looks down. Haven't they been sitting?
She is smiling and Anecdoche wonders, not for the first time, what Peira sees when she looks at them.
"There has never been any doubt that you excel at what you do, Anecdoche."
An ocean envelopes them. Anecdoche does not blink, letting the waves seep into pores that welcome the ebbing conversation between an eager D-rank officer and a florist. They sink into numbers, bouncing off on statistics and what they – let’s have dinner - are going to do for their next meal. It is a siren's call that lulls Anecdoche into staying.
"You have too much faith in me," Anecdoche says gently.
Peira shakes her head. She is a lone rock in the ocean and Anecdoche floats by.
"I don't need to believe in you for you to do your job. And that's what this is. A job."
"A job," they repeat, "Of course it is."
Faint amusement colours Anecdoche's voice, bleeding through from a sharp ringing that permeates the air. When Peira makes no move to acknowledge the sound, Anecdoche chases after it, a low buzzing interspersed with screams and pleas.
Carve the desire into their ribs.
The dying flutter of a heart that struggles to beat.
Anecdoche sucks in a low, quiet breath in tandem with the man spread beneath. Waves break upon them, drenching them in salty waters and there are children playing by the pool. They are a family. So, so, happy. The floors are bright and shiny. Haven't the contractors agreed to change the linoleum?
They exhale to the taste of beef stew that scorches their tongue.
A lesson in intent, Ms Marge says, is the key to everything.
Something is stuck between Anecdoche's teeth. They pull it out, a thread that unravels through the building, looping into their eyes and mouth and ears.
The ocean falls through Anecdoche.
They finally blink.
Across the cold, darkened room is an empty desk. The meeting is eons ago. Years and years of tracing noise.
Anecdoche thinks of Peira and her secret smiles. Decides not to weigh in on what they may mean.
The room explodes and Anecdoche swallows the nausea. Mal de Coucou knows better than to touch them when they are sensitive.
"Precrime detected in the third level, north-west of central."
They can taste the ash.
"It will be too late."
Anecdoche feels rather than sees Mal de Coucou withdraw, a purposeful rustling of clothes, presumably off to carry out what needs to be done. The rest of the information is relayed in monotone.
A garden of ripe fruits, five degrees to their right.
Anecdoche glances at a passing D-rank officer. Fire and blood reaches into Anecdoche even as a furtive smile chases them all the way home.
The spoon dipped slowly into the bowl, stirring against the potato chunks and generous servings of chicken. Poe smiled and took several sips, stopping occasionally to sample the other soups. She reached for her glass of water in a hurry, nearly upending it onto herself.
"Everything's alright, just a little too hot for my taste."
Things are starting soon.
She sent a wave of appropriately timed noise that would cover the thought. Blonde hair wrapped in a snug bun, she laughed easily at herself, waving away attention while she dabbed at the split water on her blouse, the affected area darkening gray fabric. Poe buttoned her black blazer close, hiding the darkened spots. She smiled. Under the blazer was the assigned taser, and in the handbag across her lap were the rest of the attacker's arsenal. Two medi-gels had been slipped into her denim trousers. Brushing stray strands that had been loosened from the hair bun, Poe looked every part a white collar worker enjoying an afternoon off.
Having a gun made her uncomfortable. Weapons always did. She had the knowledge of firing a gun; all officers did, as part of their training, but she was not an attacker. Readers simply observed and gave their feedback accordingly. They were rarely deployed into the heart of a mission like this, armed and waiting for the tension to snap. Poe had a brief flicker of a thought, that the grapple and hook would be a brutal, if short-lived weapon. Unless it was in the right hands.
She glanced at her partner and winked, swimming through the vibrating noise from the children and misbehaving teenagers. Poe did not shudder. They reek of confused lust, curiosity and hormonally-triggered mood swings. All that only from a trio busy arguing over the merits of having a free meal if they took up some impossible food challenge over a thirty percent discount for each additional meal. The younger children did not fare any better; they were a constant bundle of want, their focuses jumping all over the place.
Floating under it all was a promise of pain and danger.
It was everywhere.
Poe longed to return to her apartment. Reading crowds had always felt like wading through a swamp, sinking and pulling oneself onwards through the nasty environment.
The physical din was as loud as the noise she was reading. Poe took a moment to appreciate not having any spawn of her own, much less adolescents.
If the Aveline was here, she'd fill her belly with soup while feeding a dose of maternal understanding, all the while filtering the information out of her. It was easy, frighteningly so, to have the child's trust. Aveline was the closest thing she'd had to a child of her own, perhaps. It was a revelation that could have had better timing. Poe's noise remained startlingly clear, projecting mundane thoughts of a free weekend and shopping for a new wardrobe.
Nothing revealed her ill-timed epiphany, nor the lack of attachment towards her supposed mentee.
Gleaning a strange craving of soursop, then a sickly sweet aroma that had nothing to do with her food, she continued her foray into the ambient noise.
Still, the tastes were clashing horribly with the spicy after-taste of the soup. Taking another dainty sip of ice water, she used the napkin to wipe off any traces of the soup around her mouth. Coral red lipstick smudged slightly, prompting her to retrieve her make-up pouch with an apologetic shrug. The rest of medi-gels were packed inside, lined up side by side with her favourite colours of the season.
The reapplication of her lipstick was a careful affair. Steady hands holding up a compact mirror, Poe pretended to be absorbed in lining her lips as she surveyed those around her.
Marcel was sitting in the periphery. A low, nearly sweet emotion was buried into the deepest recesses of herself. This was no time to reach for him. Poe directed her attention onto her partner, fingers dancing across his wrist for a second before letting go. A fleeting touch, like lovers or best friends.
"What do you think of the soups, sugar? Passable?"
The smile teetered too close to being genuine. It had been so long, hadn't it? Being out here, where there were so many people and things to see! So many possibilities! She snapped the mirror shut, slipping it back into her make-up pouch.
Where had that come from? It was not her own and -
Oh.
Poe let her left hand touch her partner's knuckles, linking fingers for a moment before her palm faced upwards, allowing her index finger to trace into his palm.
South-east exit. Different. Something else.
Poe knew that she could have communicated via Comet. It would have been easier. Yet she had always been more comfortable with physical touch when it came to such settings with her partner, not because she liked it, but it was harder for others to know exactly what she had done. The reader uncrossed her legs with a shrug.
"At least the pricing is... rather reasonable, if a bit steep when considering the amount we've ordered. A better discount would have been more attractive, hmm?"
She smacked her lips and pouted.
"Oh. Yours is nicer than mine! How unfair... maybe the chef likes you better~"
Poe directed a sly look in the direction of Souperman's kitchen, as if daring him to approach the chef.
They were at the North East exit and would require at least ten minutes to get to the South East side, though factoring in the crowd would lengthen the time required. There was also the matter of manpower; not everyone had to head in the same place, not when the noise was obviously screaming danger everywhere.
"Sugar, I think we're in severe need of a long walk to shake off the amount of calories accumulated... not that you'd have that problem," she chuckled, patting his wrist.
