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goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
HERE, HAVE SOME SPIRIT
Who: Three Ghosts and the little New Hires
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
DATA
PAST
"No Christmas memories to speak of," they say as they come to a stop, clearly in no particular hurry (the past isn't going anywhere, after all). "But I think I've got enough material to work with. If you will?"
The Ghost gestures towards the nearest few doors, offering their guest the choice. If there's anything distinguishing one prospective memory from another, it isn't evident. The door will slide open automatically on being approached, and what lies beyond--
Well, that all depends.
[ So I've got a few things picked out that I think fit the vibe of what this memshare is going for! I'm open to requests for specific memories, though, or preferences on if you want your character up close and personal on a memory with good vibes or bad vibes. Feel free to hmu about it through OOC channels or the subject line, etc. Or just have your character go through a door and I can randomly select something! ]
Re: PAST
Brainy assumes it's another shared memory adventure.
He refuses to go through a door.
"The ethics of such an intrusion are questionable at best. I prefer that you cease this venture immediately."
no subject
"If it were that simple, I'd be happy to grant your request. But for what it's worth, he won't mind."
They wave their hand and the change in scenery comes to the two of them instead. A corridor into quarters. The door slides open and a young woman walks in, followed by a familiar figure in Data. While the girl's appearance is much more human on the surface, her speech patterns and body language are likely to be dead giveaways to Brainy: she's an android herself.
She's speaking from the moment she steps into the room.
"I watch them, and I can do the things they do, but I will never feel the emotions." She sits down, puzzled. "I'll never know love."
The Ghost of Christmas Past makes a wordless sound at her statement. The thoughtful vocalization of someone who knows or believes differently.
Data, for his part, is fast to respond as well. Gentle. Pragmatic, but not unkind. "It is a limitation we must learn to accept, Lal."
Lal's concerns don't seem to be assuaged by this. If anything she looks more confused (frustrated, even, which neither of them seem to realize).
"Then why do you still try to emulate humans?" She demands. "What purpose does it serve except to remind you that you are incomplete?"
Data pauses to consider her questions for a moment. He moves to sit down next to her.
"I have asked myself that many times as I have struggled to be more human. Until I realized it is the struggle itself that is most important." He meets her eyes, fully earnest in his belief in what he's saying. "We must strive to be more than we are, Lal. It does not matter that we will never reach our ultimate goal: the effort yields its own rewards."
That much does connect with Lal. She doesn't protest it, doesn't have further questions. She simply says, "You are wise, Father."
"It is the difference between knowledge and experience."
Silence reigns for a brief few seconds.
Lal is the one who breaks it (though Data listens to what she has to say with great interest).
"I learned today that humans like to hold hands. It is a symbolic gesture of affection."
A moment, almost hesitant, and Lal places one of her hands over one of Data's.
Another moment.
Data carefully moves her hand aside long enough to turn his over, palm up, and fold his fingers over her own.
The scene begins to fade away. The Ghost tilts their head, almost a facsimile of Data's signature gesture.
"I suppose if you don't believe you have emotions, you're less inclined to recognize loving someone." Like the weirdest logic puzzle ever. "Lal got there, before the end."
PRESENT (cw: threats of violence)
It's not like that's not very, very accurate.
The memory begins with Data holding an alien man at phaser-point in what looks to be some sort of shuttle bay. There's a stillness to his posture, a set to his expression and tone that's a mile off from the generally softer, friendlier countenance he displays when interacting with others on the Rig.
As it turns out, captor versus fellow captive makes all the difference.
"You won't hurt me," the alien man declares as he turns around. "'Fundamental respect for all living beings.' That's what you said. I'm a living being. Therefore, you--" a shrug, an almost dismissive little shake of his head-- "can't harm me."
The Ghost, to one side, huffs and shakes his head, his tone souring.
"No, no Christmas spirit at all."
no subject
She tilts her head just a little when she hears the words of the man being held at gun-point, however.
"Is the one holding a weapon not a living being?" she asks.
if this is too big a chunk/you'd like it broken up somehow just lmk!
In the memory, Data gives his demand. "You will surrender yourself to the authorities."
"Or what? You'll fire? Empty threat and we both know it," Fajo replies. "Why don't you accept your fate?"
His tone turns antagonistic. Dismissive. There's a shade to it of a spoiled child frustrated with a toy that isn't working the way that they want it to. Fajo points in a particular direction, builds momentum.
"You will return to your chair and you will sit there. You will entertain me and you will entertain my guests, and if you don't, I'll simply kill someone else." He gestures towards the man a few feet off, who's picking himself up off the ground. "Him, perhaps."
Another gesture, dismissing him from sight. Not so much as a second's consideration for the concept of there being a real danger to his person present.
Fajo turns back to Data, shakes his head.
"Doesn't matter. Their blood will be on your hands, too. Just like poor Varria's. Your only alternative, Data, is to fire. Murder me. That's all you have to do. Go ahead. Fire."
Data pauses, still silent.
Considers.
Keeps considering.
All the while, Fajo continues on, confident. He almost seems to be enjoying himself.
"If only you could... feel rage over Varria's death. If only you could feel the need for revenge, then, maybe you could fire." He reins his expression and tone back in, falls to false disappointment and pity. "But you're just an android. You can't feel anything, can you?"
Data finally meets his eyes. Fajo takes it as encouragement.
"It's just another interesting intellectual puzzle for you. Another one of life's... curiosities."
It's now that Data finally speaks again. The hard edge to his tone is gone. What replaces it is quiet realization. A little bit of puzzlement over his conclusion, even.
"I cannot permit this to continue," he says.
And then Data raises the weapon.
Fajo's arrogance dissipates instantly. While he's in the middle of scrambling, insisting that Data's program won't allow him to fire, Data is beamed out.
FUTURE
(It's irrational to say "goodbye" to someone who will obviously be unable to hear it. Data indulges himself. One can assume that blowing the ship up is preventing something much more terrible from happening.)
-
How he's remembered seems to take a bit of a tour before the Ghost settles on one specific memory. Bits and pieces of fond melancholy reminiscence between friends. Worf and Geordi clearing out his quarters. A moment, years and years later, of Geordi quietly reading with a lone framed image on his desk. A girl talking to a young woman about him, in the way of a child who only ever heard stories secondhand.
Then, finally, that same young woman, seated across the table from an older Picard in an empty mess hall.
"Your memories," Picard begins, "your history, to you, feel like... incidents you heard about. Something that happened to someone else."
The girl (Soji) nods. Upset. Simply answers, "yes."
"You feel that you don't have a past anymore."
"Because I don't."
Picard interjects immediately. "Oh, that's not true. You have a past. You have a story, just waiting to be claimed."
An understanding dawns on Soji's face. The expression of someone hearing something they've heard at least once before. "You're talking about Data."
"Among other things, yes."
Soji tilts her head, considering. A familiar gesture, maybe, to anyone who's spent some time in Data's company.
Then, she acquiesces.
"Alright," she says. "Tell me about Data. What was he like?"
Outside of the memory, the Ghost settles in, so to speak. Lifts a pointed finger towards the table as if to make all the more clear, this is what you're here to see.