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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.]]
no subject
"I almost decided to go back," he says. "I had to carry South, she was hurt, though..."
He's the one who hurt her, he doesn't say.
no subject
"You were rats escaping a sinking ship," says the Spirit. "Some of you were occupied helping others survive I do not stand here in judgment of that. It is not my place or my purpose. But whatever choices were made, wrong or right, it doesn't change what was left behind. You care for your friend; I bring you understanding. Reasons he's different from the man you knew."
There is a brief montage.
Flash to Wash in the mess at what's left of Project Freelancer, his helmet maglocked to his hip. There are still agents but with the crash, half the leaderboard squad having taken off, and the Alpha moved, the program is disintegrating. And Wash is perfectly poised to take the blame from his fellow Freelancers, since his reaction to Epsilon stopped AI implantation.
As Wash holds his tray of military slop and looks for a spot at a table, he's tripped by one of the other Freelancers, nearly taking a dive and losing his lunch because of it. He pauses in place, body stock still with tension.
"Is there a problem?" he asks in a voice vibrating with suppressed anger.
"Foot slipped," says the other Freelancer.
Wash looks like he's about to completely go off, but holds it in. He heads towards an empty table.
"Hey, Wash, one thing though," says the other Freelancer. "It's Christmas tomorrow. Think Santa can bring you some sanity? Or maybe you just need a little white jacket. That seems like a small ask from the fat man."
"Dude," says another Freelancer, elbowing the first one in the side.
"What? It's his fault the program's stalling out. Now we don't get our AIs because somebody couldn't hack it."
That should be enough to make Wash flip out, but the anger from a moment before has faded to something else already. Wash doesn't freeze in place again. He sits alone at an empty table, expression hollow, eyes fixed forward on nothing. Since this is early days, before he's entirely numb, his expression briefly flashes to something more disheartened and hurt - and lonely - before going blank again.
Flash to questioning by the Counselor. Wash is wearing his helmet but the emptiness in his voice says it all.
"Are you having new feelings about the incident?"
"No. Just the same old feelings. You know, that I had another person in my head, and I got to experience first-hand as their mind unraveled while mixed with my own. That I still have trouble distinguishing between its disintegrating thoughts and mine. You know, the usual."
"What about the hostility from other agents who lost out on assignments once we suspended the use of implants?"
"What about them? Am I supposed to feel bad for them or something?"
"Do you think you could work with an A.I. or another agent ever again?"
"...No, I don't."
Flash to Wash and South are pinned down by gunfire against one man - the Meta. Maine.
"See that ship?" Wash says to South. "You get to it and take off. Get yourself and more importantly Delta back to base. I'll cover you as best I can."
"Wash, is your armor adequately compensating for your wounds?" asks Delta.
"You're hit?" asks South.
"Just twice, I'm fine. Movement on twos. On my mark: sync."
"But -"
"Sync!"
"Sync!" South answers.
"Move!" He moves out from cover and then South immediately shoots him in the back. He goes down with a short cry of pain and then is still.
"Alarm!" calls out Delta, turning purple. "Friendly target, cease fire!"
"Calm down," says South coldly, "just stacking the deck in our favor."
There is a brief flash of Wash being taken out of the armor after the incident, his under-suit bloody from multiple gunshot wounds. He is coughing up blood as the nurses and doctors work frenetically to save him.
"The healing unit kept him alive but we need to get him to surgery now."
They turn him over on his side and any time he drifts back to consciousness again his expression is numb.
Another flash to Wash in his bunk at Freelancer, suddenly waking up screaming to wake the dead, like he's being tortured. There is a brief image overlaid to show what's happening, a flash of an AI screaming in agony. And disturbingly, as quickly as it happened, it dies down, like he's just...used to this. Waking up screaming from torture that he can't tell didn't happen to him.
He calms himself down and lays in bed on his side with the same dead expression as in some of the other visions, breathing hard until his breathing finally slows.
The Spirit says, "The difference between past and present is sometimes pain. To know this grants a greater ability to offer compassion."
no subject
"It's not in my power to help people the way I wish I could," he says. "Sometimes I feel like I should have been a counselor...a real one, not like the Project's Counselor."
He pauses, staring at Wash in silence.
"I feel so helpless, seeing people in situations like this and not being able to help. If I could do nothing else, if I was trained..."
He leaves it at that.