HERE, HAVE SOME SPIRIT

[piper90npcs]

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.]]

Comments

Past

[breq]

"She doesn't celebrate Christmas, unfortunately," the Spirit says to whomever they've dragged along for the ride, "So... this will have to do, I suppose."

The air is thick and muggy and humid and smells of salt and seawater and rotting vegetation; there's the sort of cloying heat that sticks to the skin. All around them is a sprawling city. One and two-story buildings with large, open walls, with rolled-up storm shutters. There are chattering children and flower petals are strewn everywhere. The city is full of a press of people in loose clothing. Pilgrims all flowing toward a grand temple that sits here. There are trees and water plants and a great expanse of swamp or marsh and somewhere the calling of seabirds.

Stock still among all of the movement are figures clad in grey uniforms, their faces perfectly blank. Their bodies absolutely still. They are on the edges of the crowd - a half dozen or more watching them come and go. Most of them have closely-cropped hair and at a glance, it's hard to tell whether they're male or female. All they do is stand there and watch.

"She wasn't participating. Not really. But she was here to see it."

Somewhere, a chorus of rough voices rises in song. A religious chant or homily, some sort of celebration. Bells and gongs accompany it and through the crowd comes another person - again, difficult to tell if male or female, androgynous, wearing loose clothing in the local style and wearing a pin of some sort. A badge of rank. With her is another of the grey-clad figures, moving easily and smoothly, expression perfectly blank. A child approaches them both, ducking out of the throng with a slightly worried expression.

None of these people actually wear Breq's face. Or her face as those on the Rig might know it, anyway.

"Good day, Citizen," says the grey-clad ancillary to the child, "What seems to be the matter?"

"I - I was wondering-" The child starts, hesitates, and the lieutenant makes an encouraging gesture, "...if you need another flower-bearer? For the mornings, I mean."

The lieutenant glances at the ancillary, who says nothing. Looks as blank as ever.

"...I think we might be able to work something out."

[notvulcan]

"That doesn't bother me," Michael says to the Ghost. She herself has not celebrated Christmas since arriving on Vulcan when she was ten.

The fact it that this does appear to be some kind of holiday.

"What were the flower-bearers for?" she asks, figuring she might as well engage with the scene.

[breq]

Notably, none of the grey-clad figures resemble the "Breq" that Michael is probably familiar with. They're all different. But all equally blank. The ghost makes a low 'hmm' noise as the lieutenant and the ancillary continue to speak with the child.

"They're for a morning religious practice. They need to give flowers as an offering to a shrine... nothing I'm terribly familiar with, unfortunately. Traditionally, the job goes to younger people and they receive a reward of some sort - clothing or sweets."

[notvulcan]

Michael nods, and just then, notices that Breq is in the scene. Now it's starting to connect why she's here. Before that it all seemed terribly random—more like a dream than anything else.

"She wanted the reward, then," Michael says, closing in a bit on Breq. "What is the name of this planet?"

[breq]

"The plant Shis’urna, in the city of Ors," comes the reply from the Ghost of Christmas Past, "Twenty years before Breq's present."

The scene continues to play out; the festival surges and wanes and the song rises and falls. The lieutenant and her ancillary continue their walk. It's... mostly uneventful. But people give the ancillaries - and the lieutenant - wary looks at times or give them a bit of a wide berth.

"From what I remember," continues the Ghost, "This is a little after the annexation."

[notvulcan]

"Not a Federation planet, then," Michael says. "The annexation? Who was doing the annexing?"

[breq]

"The Radch," explains the Ghost of Christmas Past, "Although... this is the last annexation or it's meant to be."

They gesture at the crowd, pointing specifically at the grey-clad, blank-faced figures, "And this - they - aren't Breq yet. Not as you know her. But it's still her, all the same."

Very mysterious.

[takenalive]

<Not everyone observes the days you find sacred,> Alloran says. He's dimly aware of a few things about Christianity, just enough that it seems completely absurd and barbaric. <There's nothing unfortunate about that. If you're going to drag me into this kind of thing, the least you can do is pretend to be impartial.>

The weather is unpleasant, the sort that makes great exertion dangerous. Experimentally, scanning around with his eyestalks, the Andalite tries to grind flower petals underhoof and see if they're actually edible.

<I have a feeling I know who this is. Would she thank you for showing this to me?>

[breq]

"I understand that," replies the spirit cheerily, "But since I am a spirit of Christmas, I think I'm allowed to be mildly disappointed that someone doesn't celebrate my own holiday, don't you think?"

They are being far too cheerful about it. The flower petals are actual flowers - they're probably edible, depending on how Andalites judge taste.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know - this is a part of her past. One of the last times she was content. Or remembers being so. She was with her lieutenant. One of her favorites."

[takenalive]

<Hm,> Alloran says, unconvinced and unwilling to argue.

Not a familiar flower, but not bad. Real flowers scattered on the ground is something one might find in Andalite festivals. He wasn't aware it was something humans did, and he's not sure why they would, though he's vaguely aware of the existence of confetti. As a rule humans rarely eat things they pick up off of the ground, and these humans appear to be following that rule.

He is indifferent at gauging the genders of humans, so that doesn't register. Working off more a feeling and the formal greeting, he goes ahead and commits to this being some form of Breq.

<Surrounding this favored lieutenant with the many mindless slaves she's inhabiting. You would think free people would be perturbed. I suppose it's like anywhere, and they benefit.>

[breq]

"Some of these people will benefit, yes," the spirit replies, unperturbed, "This is the city of Ors on the planet Shis'urna, which was very recently annexed by the Radchaai. Breq participated in that annexation and now... they are trying to ensure that the new citizens enjoy the benefits. Such as they are."

The spirit sounds wryly amused.

"Or at least that is what the Radchaai tell themselves. And some, like her lieutenant, even believe that they need to do their best for people."

[takenalive]

Not everything has close analogues with the Yeerk Empire, and Alloran knows this. He still thinks of voluntary Controllers - the kinds who sell out their own people believing Yeerks will do better, the ones trapped and trying to make the best of a bad situation, either way it drives a shiver down his tail.

<What a delightful euphemism is 'annexed',> he says. <All right, so this lieutenant is attempting to hold principles and incorporating new... subjects into these rituals. This was contentment?>

It seems like a small thing, not even participating beyond the implicit threat of her presence. Even before he was infested Alloran was a member of a kind of empire which had many unsavory aspects, which he had started to serve with the best of intentions, but he'd had a life within service, and outside of it.

[breq]

"Ships are created wanting to serve their captains and their officers," the ghost replies with a shrug, "And they have emotions and their own wills, but they're meant to be tools. She was happy - this lieutenant was one of her favorites."

Breq might be able to better explain it, but she's not here. Or at least not a 'her' who can properly give words to the idea.

"Things have changed for her, of course. This is the past."

[takenalive]

<Clearly. I don't see the remnant host I met her wearing unless its appearance has changed.> He's been scanning with his stalk eyes, and that statement doesn't mean as much as it might with some other people. Alloran has a minor degree of faceblindness and distinguishes people he doesn't know very well more through differences in body, which can be problematic with humans. Their small, cut-short bodies that they have such taboos about, and each individual's readiness to wear very different garments, mean there's not much to look at and most of it concealed in inconsistent ways.

Speaking of that.

<Human hands secrete sweat to cool themselves, even in a place like this where that won't help. Why do these people all have their hands covered?>

[breq]

"She isn't here yet. That body, anyway. I could... probably show you that," The spirit taps their chin thoughtfully, "Not very pleasant, though. That whole sequence of events from that point on - although events on this planet impact that, anyway, so... bit of a long, meandering story."

There's a pause as the spirit blinks and then snaps its fingers.

"Oh, yes! The gloves! A Radchaai thing. They think of hands as... intimate, in a way and they're meant to wear gloves as a part of their everyday wear. You don't go about barehanded - it's embarrassing. Nor do you really touch others with bare hands. I don't understand it all myself."

[takenalive]

<How terrible is 'not very pleasant'?> Alloran asks, largely rhetorically. He doesn't trust the spirit's judgement and, having a low opinion of human medicine, assumes it involves cutting into the body in question.

Alloran closes his own hands together at the answer. He's been trying not to think too much about kissing Breq. She'd certainly seemed to enjoy it more than he'd expect given how clumsy and insensitive he finds human hands. It's made sense that tailless humans touch each other rather freely with their hands and humans that don't are a strange thought.

<Nudity taboos are difficult subjects. This element seems impractical. Perhaps that is the point.>

[breq]

"There's quite a bit of distress and the medic doing the operation didn't much care about making it easy..." The spirit replies, "Not all that gory, fortunately, but... you know."

They waggle a hand. Anyway, on to more pleasant thoughts.

"I'm not sure why they do it. I just know that they do and although Breq has been away from them for quite a while, she still has some of those sensibilities. She did spent over two thousand years essentially living with them, after all."

[takenalive]

Alloran doesn't have really any response to bloodshed these days - how could he, it sometimes seems like his whole adult life has been spent hock-deep, like his tail should be indelibly stained - and he's seen so many obscene medical experiments and involuntary infestations that he doesn't really feel the normal response to those, either. The parts of him that felt horror and outrage for other people have been abraded away to vestiges, he thinks, to the point where he more than half wants to ask anyway. Then he could try to evaluate whether these hosts really have suffered psychic death and aren't caught as he was caught, aware but powerless, on a level yet worse than he was. Without even the parasite's voice for company.

Esplin had headed a lot of efforts to render human hosts more pliable by damaging their brains and thus their 'free will', only to find that just like with every other host, Yeerks in damaged brains struggled to perform anything like as well as Yeerks in intact ones, and a comatose host made for a Controller who could twitch slightly. Alloran's seen some shit.

In any case, now he finally pauses to consider the nature of the entity that brought him here. <Why have you shown me this?>

[breq]

"Perhaps to give you a glimmer of understanding. A glimpse at what used to be," the spirit shrugs. It doesn't have a good answer, necessarily. Or at least not one that might make him happy.

"I don't always completely know myself."

[takenalive]

<'All that was is the roots of all that is',> the Andalite says, and might have sighed if he was human. <Yes, yes. I probably don't have the right to ask and I don't believe you have permission to tell me. Walking in someone's memories without their willingness is not something I like to be party to. It's a violation. I know this.>

There is a 'but' there.

<I cannot associate with this person without knowing if the person - a woman, wasn't it? - whose body it first was is still aware and separate from her. That is not something I can learn to overlook or move past.>

[breq]

"I can walk you through that memory, if you'd like me to," the spirit replies thoughtfully, "It is... unpleasant. Not one I like to visit. But..."

The spirit shrugs, "I'm here to help, aren't I?"

[takenalive]

<I would ask if you simply knew, but I don't know that I would trust that.> Dry voiced, Alloran crooks fingers in a gesture he only halfway remembers. Obviously it is in doubt whether anything the spirit cares to show him is truly accurate, but if he travels too far along that trail he'll be lost in stinging thorns for a long time.

He closes all of his eyes for a moment and draws his tail through a slow arc, plants his hooves so that his weight is evenly distributed on all four, and sings a note of displeasure and resignation. It's a shivery, unpleasant feeling, with a chaser very reminiscent of a human rolling up their sleeves.

<If you would, then. I am prepared.>

excuse me while i try to remember this scene

[breq]

"I can tell you," the spirit replies, "But like you said - you may want to see it for yourself."

There's a pause while the spirit contemplates this for a moment and then sighs, "Well, here we go-"

The scene shifts and changes and now they're in some sort of medical bay. Clean, white, sterile. A place of healing. In theory. There's a pod of some sort - roughly human sized - and there's a human bending over it, fiddling with the controls. There's a hiss of escaping air and it opens and a chill as cool air escapes into the room. Then the medic - for she's a medic - drags the inhabitant out with as much care as one might expect one would take with a slab of meat. The young woman is Breq. Or Breq as Alloran knows her, twenty years younger, looking dazed and confused and frightened.

She tries to say something, but the medic doesn't seem to care. She gives her an injection of something and then quite calmly and matter of factly begins working on her skull. It's surgery, of course, and she does it quickly and without much apparent thought and Breq or Breq-to-be is left gasping for air on the surgical table as her brain is cut into. Glinting pieces of metal go in; implants under the skin and the bone and the muscle. Implants to make her faster, stronger, to give her armor, to give her the ability to receive the thoughts from the ship.

To make her Breq.

To make her Justice of Toren.

Something dies behind her eyes for a flickering moment and then it's replaced by something else. There's still anxiety, fear, a sense of disorientation, but it's not quite the same. She tries to stand up, swaying and disoriented, just as the lieutenant from before - looking a year or two older - comes through the door and reaches over to steady her, shooting a glare at the medic as she does.

"It's alright," she says to Breq, "...it's alright."

[takenalive]

Alloran pulls his tail in to curl tight over his body and walks on stiff legs. He leans in, careless of intersecting with the medic on the way. They are not tangible to each other. He isn't really here.

He watches in hard-eyed silence, expressionless, sparing one stalk eye for the disinterested medic. There are a lot of things he doesn't know about brains, particularly human ones. They are complex systems that interlock in many different ways, much moreso than the computers they are so often compared to. He can admit that there is a lot of skill in the operation. The Yeerks are more clumsy about their attempts in this direction, and incorporate more chemicals.

And his own people? The Andalites would just kill someone. Maybe take their DNA first. Probably kill everyone around them, too. If virtually any other of his people saw this, Alloran knows, they would want the human species exterminated, regardless of context. Humans are Andalites and Yeerks to each other, and Hork-Bajir to each other too.

He flinches at the appearance of this other person - is that the lieutenant from before? it's the same sort of skin and hair and clothing, but if that last is a uniform that doesn't mean much - since he hadn't been watching out, and draws back. The Andalite's voice is very quiet, his hands and tail very still.

<This is evil.>

[breq]

The spirit is silent, even as the lieutenant comforts the new ancillary and tries to get her to calm her breathing. He's arguing with the medic, something about how she shouldn't be so careless. But that's not the point anymore, is it?

"It is," they finally reply, "They kill someone and put something - someone - else in their place. They use their bodies as disposable tools. Although... in her case, she's become something else. A ship and not a ship."