022 - private audio/action
Diane will never get this tape.
In part because it isn’t a tape at all, but a sound file. Something Cooper is sure that neither of them really understand.
He misses his recorder, misses the familiarity of the weight and grip, and perhaps most of all the loved and well known act of replacing the tapes. Labeling them and sending them back to her and knowing she listens to each one.
It’s therapeutic, really, and since he stopped seeing counselors and therapists and what-have-you, talking freely into the recorder turned into a comfort just as much as a way of storing and organizing his thoughts and observations.
He’s sure Diane understands. She’s accepted the role he subconsciously gave her some years ago and that is something he’s grateful for.
And while he’s gotten used to the feeling of this smaller, much more advanced recorder, it’s just not the same. There’s no sense of satisfaction because he’s not replacing any tapes. He’s not sending them.
He’s not getting any replies.
“Diane,” he says after pressing the small button for ‘record’, voice strong and confident. “7.32 am, October 25th. Still in Ecruteak.”
He’s been there for more than two months now. That’s okay. It’s a place he likes.
“Heavy clouds today, Diane, and dark as shadows hunting. Am expecting some heavy downpour tomorrow. Will probably have to let Tricia out.”
There’s a pause, after that. If Diane could listen to the audio file she’d hear some rustling, some wind and a soft intake of breath before he continues, voice now mild, subdued.
“Today marks the one year anniversary of my arrival in Johto. A fact I find a little hard to believe right now. I’m sure you know the feeling … as if time, despite its consistent nature, sometimes moves a little too fast for us to catch up.”
He’s on the outskirts of town climbing a small hill, but with that thought, he stops to look back. It’s a beautiful town and it’s just waking up. He’s been awake for an hour. Maybe more. And he thinks - but doesn’t say - that maybe, time really is relative. And not only in perception.
“In any case, it’s been an eventful year. And as I’m sure you know by now I’m not only talking about the string of more-or-less peculiar incidents that seem to occur on a semi-regular basis in this place. Although they play an obvious part in shaping my stay here the most important aspect of this involuntary vacation continues to be the people and the Pokémon.”
There’s nothing in his pocket. He puts his free hand in it and continues to the top of the hill.
“My team continues to grow and make progress. Am pleased to tell you that there have been no unexpected additions since Newton joined our little party … people come and people go, especially in Johto. But you’ve already heard me talk about that once or twice by now, haven’t you.”
Those words have a slightly bitter aftertaste to them and his tone falls flat. That’s one of the things that will never cease to trouble him about the world he’s currently stuck in and something he can’t quite seem to shake. It’s easy to forget at times, the way people disappear, but it’s even easier to keep in mind.
He doesn’t say anything for a little while. When he does, it’s with a small frown and downcast eyes. Nothing you can see in the recording, but maybe still hear in his voice. He’s still now, no more crunch on frosty grass. But there are bird calls somewhere far away.
“I’m very fond of them, Diane.” He doesn’t bother to specify. She’ll know. She’s heard him talk about each of them at length. (Except she hasn’t, and never will.) “It pains me to know that whenever I do return home chances I will remember any of them are slim at best. And speaking frankly I’m once again having doubts as to whether I’d like to go back.”
A sigh. But when he keeps talking it’s a little stronger and with an air of finality, not unlike the tone a parent uses with a child.
“But doubt is a luxury I’ll try not to afford myself. Make sure I keep my eyes open. I can’t stop looking. How I feel about Johto is something I’ll tackle when I actually have a choice in the matter of staying or not. Until then, I’ll continue to go about life the best way I know how - living each day as its own and occupying both body and spirit.”
He breathes in the crisp autumn air … it’s not quite a cracker, but it still feels good to really breathe, to feel deep down.
“I believe I’ll start this morning with a walk, some coffee at the café and a relaxing came of Minesweeper.”
Click.
At the time of the next recording he has coffee in front of him and people around him. They don’t particularly seem to care about the man speaking to himself, although he does attract one of two stares from the other café guests.
“Oh, Diane,” he says, as if it hasn’t been an hour since he last adressed her. “It struck me again today: this is 22 years into the future.”
But he’s not going to talk about the wonders of the technology or any other difference between now and then.
“It seems significant to note that in three years time, that number will be 25. I’d tell you to go through my files and tapes for anything important pertaining to the year of 2014 but I know I won’t hear back from you.”
The pause here is a sad one. She can’t see it, but he’s smiling slightly.
“I’ve missed you, Diane. If by some small miracle you do get this say hi to Albert and Gordon for me for me and be sure to ask Albert to send along a greeting to Sheriff Truman and the rest of the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department.”
The third and final time he speaks into the small recorder that day, it’s late and he’s heading up the stairs to his room at the Inn. He keeps it brief.
“I've been finding myself thinking about Audrey Horne lately.”
(some IC musings/tl;dr on his anniversary, backdated to yesterday. Not really a POST-post, and not broadcasted to the network, but if you feel like some action, feel free to run into him anywhere in Ecruteak - hell, catch him recording these things. c: thanks for an epic year and some, Route. you're all awesome.)
In part because it isn’t a tape at all, but a sound file. Something Cooper is sure that neither of them really understand.
He misses his recorder, misses the familiarity of the weight and grip, and perhaps most of all the loved and well known act of replacing the tapes. Labeling them and sending them back to her and knowing she listens to each one.
It’s therapeutic, really, and since he stopped seeing counselors and therapists and what-have-you, talking freely into the recorder turned into a comfort just as much as a way of storing and organizing his thoughts and observations.
He’s sure Diane understands. She’s accepted the role he subconsciously gave her some years ago and that is something he’s grateful for.
And while he’s gotten used to the feeling of this smaller, much more advanced recorder, it’s just not the same. There’s no sense of satisfaction because he’s not replacing any tapes. He’s not sending them.
He’s not getting any replies.
“Diane,” he says after pressing the small button for ‘record’, voice strong and confident. “7.32 am, October 25th. Still in Ecruteak.”
He’s been there for more than two months now. That’s okay. It’s a place he likes.
“Heavy clouds today, Diane, and dark as shadows hunting. Am expecting some heavy downpour tomorrow. Will probably have to let Tricia out.”
There’s a pause, after that. If Diane could listen to the audio file she’d hear some rustling, some wind and a soft intake of breath before he continues, voice now mild, subdued.
“Today marks the one year anniversary of my arrival in Johto. A fact I find a little hard to believe right now. I’m sure you know the feeling … as if time, despite its consistent nature, sometimes moves a little too fast for us to catch up.”
He’s on the outskirts of town climbing a small hill, but with that thought, he stops to look back. It’s a beautiful town and it’s just waking up. He’s been awake for an hour. Maybe more. And he thinks - but doesn’t say - that maybe, time really is relative. And not only in perception.
“In any case, it’s been an eventful year. And as I’m sure you know by now I’m not only talking about the string of more-or-less peculiar incidents that seem to occur on a semi-regular basis in this place. Although they play an obvious part in shaping my stay here the most important aspect of this involuntary vacation continues to be the people and the Pokémon.”
There’s nothing in his pocket. He puts his free hand in it and continues to the top of the hill.
“My team continues to grow and make progress. Am pleased to tell you that there have been no unexpected additions since Newton joined our little party … people come and people go, especially in Johto. But you’ve already heard me talk about that once or twice by now, haven’t you.”
Those words have a slightly bitter aftertaste to them and his tone falls flat. That’s one of the things that will never cease to trouble him about the world he’s currently stuck in and something he can’t quite seem to shake. It’s easy to forget at times, the way people disappear, but it’s even easier to keep in mind.
He doesn’t say anything for a little while. When he does, it’s with a small frown and downcast eyes. Nothing you can see in the recording, but maybe still hear in his voice. He’s still now, no more crunch on frosty grass. But there are bird calls somewhere far away.
“I’m very fond of them, Diane.” He doesn’t bother to specify. She’ll know. She’s heard him talk about each of them at length. (Except she hasn’t, and never will.) “It pains me to know that whenever I do return home chances I will remember any of them are slim at best. And speaking frankly I’m once again having doubts as to whether I’d like to go back.”
A sigh. But when he keeps talking it’s a little stronger and with an air of finality, not unlike the tone a parent uses with a child.
“But doubt is a luxury I’ll try not to afford myself. Make sure I keep my eyes open. I can’t stop looking. How I feel about Johto is something I’ll tackle when I actually have a choice in the matter of staying or not. Until then, I’ll continue to go about life the best way I know how - living each day as its own and occupying both body and spirit.”
He breathes in the crisp autumn air … it’s not quite a cracker, but it still feels good to really breathe, to feel deep down.
“I believe I’ll start this morning with a walk, some coffee at the café and a relaxing came of Minesweeper.”
Click.
At the time of the next recording he has coffee in front of him and people around him. They don’t particularly seem to care about the man speaking to himself, although he does attract one of two stares from the other café guests.
“Oh, Diane,” he says, as if it hasn’t been an hour since he last adressed her. “It struck me again today: this is 22 years into the future.”
But he’s not going to talk about the wonders of the technology or any other difference between now and then.
“It seems significant to note that in three years time, that number will be 25. I’d tell you to go through my files and tapes for anything important pertaining to the year of 2014 but I know I won’t hear back from you.”
The pause here is a sad one. She can’t see it, but he’s smiling slightly.
“I’ve missed you, Diane. If by some small miracle you do get this say hi to Albert and Gordon for me for me and be sure to ask Albert to send along a greeting to Sheriff Truman and the rest of the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department.”
The third and final time he speaks into the small recorder that day, it’s late and he’s heading up the stairs to his room at the Inn. He keeps it brief.
“I've been finding myself thinking about Audrey Horne lately.”
(some IC musings/tl;dr on his anniversary, backdated to yesterday. Not really a POST-post, and not broadcasted to the network, but if you feel like some action, feel free to run into him anywhere in Ecruteak - hell, catch him recording these things. c: thanks for an epic year and some, Route. you're all awesome.)