Miss Ashley Stirling stirs in a king-sized bed. When they open their eyes, with the memories of the night crashing back, with the very lovely bedroom with a fine layer of lavender paint on all walls and modern interior, they find the bedroom alien and yet seemingly groomed to them. Like, there are sleek and dark cabinets and a computer desk with a finely-tuned chair. Has Mania pimped their decor? Well, no. There's more space in this room than the entirety of Ashley's apartment, and there's a window that, from their bed, only has scattering of skyscrapers against the sky. Mania is nowhere to be seen, but the edges of Ashley's vision recede the last of the dark cloud.
They really, really want coffee, and there's no kettle or coffee machine here.
Ash slowly accustoms her vision to her surroundings, confusion and discomfort settling in more and more with each little observation. The bed is much comfortable though, and their silken nightgown is very pleasant too. There's a three minute segment of trying to reason this into being a dream or not, and the verdict unfortunately lands on this being reality. Slowly slinking out of bed, she places herself in the office chair by the computer and taps in the password. Ashley has never used that password before, and is startled by how natural it fell to her fingers.
"Ugh, why do I crave coffee? I'm not even a coffee person. I think? Maybe... Maybe not. I'll give it a try."
The computer greets her with about ten open tabs and an email client. And, to their horror, their inbox is flooded with dozens of emails from just the last night. And, interestingly, not a single one of them appears to be spam—they are all addressed to her. Perhaps that's the end of the grocery store membership card emails, at least...
Before Ashley can settle in to seeing the contents of the emails in detail or anything other than the first open tab being a login to some sort of corporate web portal, the phone on their desk vibrates the dark wood material. It's definitely not their phone, but she knows the password for it, too, and knows she's meant to pick it up.
There's something clearly wrong, but Ashley knows she has to play along for now. They've idly taken in some movies on the matter, and need to make time to figure things out before things get out of hand. They pick up the call, gently resting their phone between their head and shoulder so they can continue browsing emails with both hands.
"Miss Stirling, hello?"
"Hey, so I was going to send you my list of candidates for the missing position in the third design group but unfortunately I got tangled in your other request to probe a contract with the retail distributor in Alaska? They were not biting, pretended like they didn't even know who we are, so I had to setup a presentation for them even though I guarantee you they're just playing stupid. I hate them. So should I work on the candidates and postpone the presentation to the evening or tomorrow?"
The woman talks over any of their oohs and aahs. They hear mild background conversation zip past her, and the echo of her hallway. It's sort of giving them a headache, nothing coffee couldn't fix. The emails are sometimes similar questions, all worded immaculately, one of them being noticeably of the same subject line as the woman's on the phone, from "Bailey Madrigal." Some other emails are stranger, suggesting they want assets or shares Ms. Stirling has and offering her their own shares or assistance.
Oh god. Dream big... Ashley ponders back to the things the overly inappropriate demon that swims in her mind had said. She'd been hired? Is this their job now? Pieces are starting to line up and the answers are not pleasant.
"Send the presentation first. I'll need some... time to be ready for the applications anyhow. It's one of those mornings, and I need some coffee. I trust you to figure things out."
Ashley opens the email, trying to find some more information on this Bailey. And information in general. This ache for coffee is almost sickening, in how unfamiliar but pervasive it is.
"Jesus, alright, I'll get you coffee." She hangs up.
Reading more of the email and similar emails sent prior from Ms. Madrigal, it's pretty clear she's Ms. Stirling's primary secretary, specifically tasked with their most personal requests and helping guide or even coerce the rest of the senior executive team just under... them. In fact, as they finally get in print on a separate email from a Chinese interested party, Ms. Stirling is the CEO of this place, this "Excalibur" Incorporated. And this company apparently sells... knives and lasers, to retail, other corporate, and maybe government...
They hear a door crack open in the adjacent room. Bailey calls in their direction, spitting in seconds, "Your coffee! Same as always. Anything else?" The CEO hears the ceramic mug sit.
Throwing what seems to be a bit of a presentable overcoat over their nightgown, they head over to the other room. Sizing up their supposed Secretary. Ash feels terrible, and realizes it's best to let that show, if nothing than to try to garner some pity from the secretary. She takes the mug, pinching the bridge of their nose slightly and sighing deeply. "Apologies if that came across as demanding. Something is wrong... What's on the schedule today, Bailey? My head is a mess. I might have to cancel some meetings."
A CEO, huh. That's certainly quite a raise from being unemployed. More and more details that come up seem eerily familiar, as if this is somehow their life and has been. And still, it's such an uncomfortable fit. This isn't what they were looking for, and their past... well, memory-past, not CEO-past, has left them with heavy biases against people like... Themselves, in their current state. The presumably rich elite.
Bailey raises her eyebrow and walks back to close the door she came in from, locking it. And she approaches her boss again with a folder, and opens it. What is it with folders? "These were on schedule today. Fortunately for you, you weren't in a particular meeting today; you were mostly requested to check the internal work in the research laboratory to your specifications. Might have forgot then it was Tuesday? But uh. Don't apologize to me. Something does seem wrong. Why are you..?" She addresses Ashley's nightgown in her executive office. "I can arrange someone to check your temperature and give you meds, if you like."
Still, Ms. Stirling's memory-past had somehow more reality than this world. Something about this reality was shadowy, only still coming together. They, for instance, can't remember their last lunch as well as they can in their memory-past. Their harry potter movie rewatch still was waiting.
Tuesday? It most definitely was Friday yesterday. Whatever was going on, it was bad, really bad. World-changingly so. And a certain Maria was responsible for it. Demonic and with the power to alter reality? Ashley was in some deep shit.
They eye over the folder, taking note of the sleek logo for Excalibur. At least their CEO-self had good taste in design, or at least in which designers to hire. "I'll see if I can get my bearings with just some coffee, but if it persists I'll take you up on that offer. I'll have to see when I can take the time for that research on a day that is not today, I hope that doesn't get too much in the way of their scheduling. Tell them to have the time off if they can't fit something else in the timeframe. Or if they really want to anyways. This one's on me."
They scan over the office, trying to get some more insight but just seeming even more out of shape and slightly bewildered while doing so.
Bailey seems quiet for a moment. She produces her own phone, then, and shrugs at her. And she calls off the research lab progress check-in and quality assurance from Ms. Stirling herself. The engineers and scientists go ahead and take the time off, not really minding one way or the other why, and a few stick around for measurements and a scientific paper. And then Bailey thanks them and hangs up. She just stares at her boss drinking coffee with her sugar and cream. Like Miss Sterling hasn't worked here nearly every day for the past couple years. "Is there something you're looking for? Look, it's my job to attend to your problems at your discretion... I'm going to go ahead and call up that nurse, though. Just call me." She starts toward the office door.
Ashley doesn't comment, and just nods along. Once she's finally alone, she returns to her room and falls face first onto her bed. This is all a lot to take in, and there's so many expectations they have not a single clue how to fulfill yet. Despite their best efforts, it seems the secretary has already assumed them terribly sick and maybe some amount of spontaneously deranged. Which wouldn't be too wrong from her perspective, Ash supposes. Meetings, tech research to attend to.
The first manner of order would be to get properly dressed and scan through the office for anything of valuable personal information. A diary would be a godsend but they weren't one to write one, generally. But for now, lying face down in the bed and moping seems to do the trick. The coffee was surprisingly a taste their body tolerates, and the more indirect effects of caffeine are setting in. Is this what dependency is like? Probably.
It's a quiet several minutes. Reality itself may be different, and they may be the figurehead of the wealth disparity of the country they so criticized before, but the bed is warm and soft. They're still Miss Stirling in their close quarters all the same. Ashley. Ashley Stirling.
But the nurse unlocks the office with a key she was handed from the secretary, and she locks it behind her. She rolls a cart and table with several over-the-counter medications and shiny medical equipment into the center of the office and then the bedroom. "Executive Stirling, please, feel free to make yourself comfortable in your bed. What symptoms did you wake up with this morning?" She's older than the executive or the secretary by a couple decades, and she's blonde, tall, and soft-spoken.
As requested, Ashley sits up in a more proper manner, as proper as she can manage in this state. "It's... Hard to explain. Not to make this seem overly dramatic, but. There's this sense of not being quite myself, you see? I wake up, I check my phone, but despite knowing how to do these things it doesn't feel familiar. I'm having a hard time even remembering how exactly the 'usual' Miss Stirling acts."
She realizes that this ramble sounds absolutely odd but there's maybe some underlying misplaced hope that somehow, the nurse knows more than she should. Ash sighs, deeply. "Maybe it's just some manner of stress reaction, who knows. I just worry what might happen if this persists."
The nurse nods her head and scribbles some of these described symptoms or theories onto the clipboard on the top of the cart. She's closed the door to the bedroom, and she says, "I see... You're displaying symptoms such as detachment, memory loss, a general lack of enthusiasm, anxiety... I think your hunch is a strong candidate, and you're experiencing great stress. So much is expected from you and it's grown exponentially in the past year alone. Please, Executive Stirling, how do you usually act, if you can recall? And how do you feel right now, if we haven't discussed that fully? Is it different from how you have felt a few months ago?"
Ashley scratches their head quite decisively. Trying to reawaken whatever lingering memories might be in the physical part of her brain. Trying to "recollect" things that she for all intents and purposes never knew. "I feel, overwhelmed mostly. As if I've rediscovered my status and position all anew. As if it just now clicked with me that I'm the CEO of a large company, that I have so much responsibility, and I never was quite aware of this before..." It's not a lie, truly, any of this. But it's very much not a direct explanation either.
"I see..." She says again. She stands more to their bedside, dragging the cart with her, and she rummages through the labels and pill bottles. She blinks as she writes something else hasty, and she faces them. "I will run this by our network soon. But I'm confident what you are experiencing, Executive Stirling, is very treatable and common among young professionals at all levels of society. You will be back to your normal self in a few days, most likely, if you give yourself some time to reflect and relax. I know it's hard, but you could really need it." The nurse pauses. She holds up a needle. The Excalibur logo shines on the base of the metal, where it's much wider. "We should take a blood sample as well. Do you have anything else you'd want to tell me?"
There's no real reason to object, and if anything was physically wrong with this new and yet familiar body, it would be in her best interest to find out anyhow. So she drops off her overcoat and pushes back the sleeve on her nightgown, offering it to the nurse. "I... Think that's it. Hard to say for sure, of course, with my state. If anything serious comes up I'll have Bailey... Miss Madrigal note you. Thank you for your efforts. I'll try to limit my hours, certainly. I have competent people to rely on, I suspect."
The nurse places a thin, protective, square, transparent patch over the large vein she intends to poke the needle into, and she then lines the needle and does so. Stirling feels an almost disturbingly minimal tug of the skin, the smallest blister of sensation, as the needle breaks through their skin and recedes out once the vial is filled with the red stuff. And the nurse bandages the spot, over the patch. "Of course, Executive. It's the job. But, you know our number if Miss Madrigal needs to get in contact with us again, yes. Enjoy the fruits of your labor for now." The nurse carts out of the room with the vial placed in a zippy bag, the tip of the needle places in a medical cloth. And she's left in the dimly lit bedroom alone once again.
It makes sense that Excalibur has an expertise in research and sharp objects, and Ashley thanks whatever process that lead them here for at least acknowledging their appeals and interests. It's astounding how precise this Excalibur brand implement is, and she can't help but be impressed. Did she really achieve this, in this other life? In a twisted sense, she's proud of herself. Dream big.
And still, the deep pit in their stomach opens again once they're done playing theatrics for unknowing onlookers. They didn't ask for this, they're not built to be a businessperson with probably limited regard for others. Bailey's reaction was pretty telling, it seems the CEO Ashley was a bit of a dick... What even happened to them, when unemployed Ash took over? This is a weird existential thread they refuse to go down right now, actually.
They get dressed. They're not at all familiar with this expensive and stylish business attire but the process of putting it on is second-hand natural motions. If only memories were so quick to be in place, they'd have this much more insight.
The outfit is tasteful, at least. Consisting of a light gray skirt, white blouse, and proper gray vest. Seeing themselves in the bedroom's full-body mirror is most assuring that they at least look the part in it. It tempts a smile.
It's habitual to check her emails in this reality, although she can quit at any time she reminds herself. The client has already updated with a dozen emails from last time, including a notice about when the medical information is projected to return—a couple days from now unless something serious came from one of the tests that completes sooner. Miss Stirling knows she's meant to update her senior executive team about her status for the next few days, though, and makes that the focus, creating the subject body for such an email. However, there is an email that comes in during this process. The subject line reads, "Hey it's Nole From Economics!" Not only was there a Nole from Economics for this Ashley Stirling, but Ashley was sure the guy she was adjusted to from economics in her original life's college was also called Nole.
Nole... Nole. Nole the economics guy. So college might have been mostly the same still, they note, and pin another red thread to the growing noticeboard in their brain. Disregarding all the work related emails feels uncomfortable, but there might be interesting details to find from this Nole so she opens it up to scour for information.
Well, after completing the internal notice, of course.
> Just a heads up, unforeseen circumstances have gotten in the way and I'll be less able to respond to or participate in business matters for a few days forward. I put my trust in you, and I'll want proper reports on anything that happens outside of my usual direct supervision.
> Ashley Stirling
> CEO
Nole's email is polite and unprofessional. Instead, Nole is requesting that him and her get in contact with one another again sometime over the phone or maybe even in person. He happens to live in Stirling's city, on the outskirts. Not too remarkable since the college they went to is also of this state, but nevertheless a nice coincidence. He leaves his phone number as well, and he clarifies that he's "ecstatic they went so far with their passion and their career" and how he remembers them just in a study group together slacking off and sometimes even putting a movie on.
When they check their other tabs, it's a slew of scientific articles, their last bank statement, and a restaurant menu. The scientific articles aren't all from Excalibur, actually, many from outside university work. Her lab workers probably sent her this.
There's no way to tell if this is a good idea or a terrible idea. But the itch to work despite already having called off for the time being could do with a real distraction. In hindsight, she doesn't even know when she woke up today - It's only 9 am? She's definitely been up for at least an hour. Fucking hell. That's the business life, she supposes.
Ashley has vague own memories of watching movies with Nole. It was mostly generic popular content, some documentaries. Being able to connect with him might be a good way to stabilize and still gain insight from the time that's diverged. She types out a response.
> Hi, Nole.
> As you can imagine, I am a very busy lady generally. But you're in luck; I have a bit of an unusual opening
the next few days. Apologies if this is a bit of a short notice, but how does a chat at...
Ashley has to make sure the place she is thinking of still exists in this timeline. A quick search says it does. Okay, good, she's not making a complete lunatic out of herself this time.
> ...Café Soleil, tomorrow at noon, sound? I haven't reminisced enough on the past lately.
> Ashley Stirling
> CEO, Excalibur
Actually, she erases that last line. The formality sits seep in their fingers but it just feels out of place here.
The email is sent. And since Nole's email was only sent a couple minutes prior, there's a quick and pleasant response.
> Thank you!
> I look forward to connecting again at the cafe. I'm really honored you have time for me in that life. I'll see
you then!
> Nole
Still, the day is early, there is more coffee to be had in several hours, and this is tomorrow they are talking about meeting. Stirling's attention drifts toward the scientific work on nanotechnology and micromaterials on the tab. Certainly, in this timeline, they have much more work and expertise than even a bit of university. The snippets of memory here sometimes include borderline obsession, times spent dusk to dawn trying to design perfect cutlery, and then funding through a research grant physically, precisely, creating them. And then marketing them and dropping out, like anyone who's become above the intended education and career path. Dream big. Surpassing every expectation, and pushing people to get there, including themselves.
In any case, Stirling can now comfortably order food delivery anytime she wants, and she's feeling lunch.
Ashley scans through the phone, for apps. Food delivery services are of course on the list. They scan through some of the backlogs, trying to get some sense of what manner of meals they have partaken in the last few weeks. They order something lighter off this list, since their appetite is still being rivalled by the deeply unsettling and unhappy feelings. Bailey gets a small phone message.
Lunch delivery will be here in about twenty minutes. Tell front desk to send it to my office when it arrives. -Ashley
The memories are intriguing, and Ash closes her eyes to try to invite more of it... Cutlery, huh. Makes sense. Shaping of metal, precision, sharpness. She's not sure where she'd have that money and support though - Oh, ugh. Surely her family enjoyed this version of Miss Stirling becoming a businessperson with large aspirations. They had resources, after all, to kickstart her if they had actually cared to in the other time. So this wasn't even truly a self-made wealth, probably, they'd likely been coasting off family funds. Sigh.
The consequence of fortune early in life is sitting too pretty from the start... Sure, the university granted funds for her expert initiatives, but Ashley was struggling with a job and college in her original life. It's much the reason she never progressed into university there. Here... Well, she had no memory of working cashier or food line. Just college, just young experiences, just this research and fondness for the sharp objects and—in university—nanomaterials and optics.
Worse, their parents met with them after their first distribution online. And it was the most proud and joyous they've been, in any timeline. Their vision of a successful daughter was realized. Of course... They grew distant. Seeing but less than annually. But, in a way, the "high" from their pride never went away. Their relationship to her became... symbolic. Bragging rights.
Executive Stirling felt smug, thinking about it. Sometime later, her lunch arrives to her office in the hand of an intern knocking the door.
Reliving these foreign memories is incredibly eerie, but the sense of actual insight and knowledge is in itself much more comforting than being entirely lost and basically being an acting amnesiac from this day on. So... Food. She takes quick look in the mirror to be at least passable in expression despite her stressed and terrible state, and then enters her office to accept the lunch with a throwaway comment of appreciation before seeing them off and closing the door again. Making sure it's locked, of course. They sit down at the office desk, and rummage a bit through the drawers in between. Familiarizing themselves with locations of trivial office objects in case they might need them later.
There's a couple objects of note: a keychain with a few keys, including a Bluetooth car key; a set of gray ball-point ink pens of varying thickness; a black wallet with a few more credit cards than a sane person would own; a passport; and the most incredible custom switch knife. The edges of the blade, on close inspection, are serrated in an almost alien design. And different protrusions of the finely-toothed design are varying colors of gray and even purple. Stirling, eventually, remembers that this is one of their latest experimental designs, not even demonstrated yet to an interested manufacturer or national hospital. And of course, the symbol of Excalibur is there again on the cool handle. A sword, both abstracted into shapes and yet composed and inspiring. It always points toward a circle of light.
Ashley takes a credit card out, and gently lets her hand guide itself. It instinctively traces out the muscle memory motion of typing a keypad, 7-6-1-4. So that's her code, apparently.
Good. She has access to her money. She puts the card back, making sure it's the front one for easy access and not taking one of the many others instead. The knife, she twists and inspects and is honestly in great awe of. This is the kind of thing she'd dream of as a student with a fascination for pointy things. There's a strong urge to find a random object to try with it, and she settles on pulling out an empty plastic folder from one of her cabinets.
It splits in half with an almost seductive grace. Mmm.
The knife leaves an impression that few materials are safe.
After they've finished eating and having some water, and all the drawers have been examined for interesting, non-work content... Ashley is left again to her thoughts, and the executive aspects of her feel almost stuffy without something to scratch the itch of her familiar leadership. The days of drinking tea and thinking of nothing at all for a few minutes, unless they can convince the demoness to give her old life back, are over. Her compulsion to check the computer returns, but she tries to shove the idea away for now. She remembers that she has a sense of fun and indulgence in this universe as well through some examples. They remember that travel in the past couple years, business-inspired but also leisure. She remembers using her fortune, as much as her fame in enterprise, to inspire strange bedfellows— often not in good faith.
Surfacing thoughts of action in bed that she can't even consider her own? Now that's quite awkward. And just a little bit hot to think back at. With the variety of girls she's bedded, there's surely been some or other celebrity news mention about her having possible partners or not. But that's really not what she's looking for - Probably the entire world knows she's gay though, as a result.
She can't tell if the tingly feeling in her stomach is from just how sexy this knife is, or if it's the more potent memories of bedding people. Oh well, no time to dwell on that. She'll surely get her real share of that eventually, if she desires. They've dug into some of their lunch, it's good food and it somewhat dispels the feelings that tried to void her appetite. Maybe having money isn't so bad... Ugh. It's not even been half a day and she worries about becoming complacent. Who knows where she'll be in a week if this continues.