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.