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goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
goneawaymod) wrote in goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
3..2...1...CONTACT!
Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
Merton J. Dingle
In the back corner of a yet mostly empty high school lunchroom, Merton sat alone, lunch already half finished, like he was racing to make a break for it before it got too crowded. But lunch quickly becomes forgotten the moment he takes notice of a tall, lean, curly-haired, brunette loading his lunch tray up with as much chicken as he can get away with.
Absently shoving the book he'd been reading into the coffin backpack beside him, he started intently watching the guy as he flirted with a girl next to him in the lunch line. And it was a lucky thing no one was around him or seemed to be paying him much attention because Merton was not bothering to be subtle about eyeing the other boy.
The silent observation doesn't last long, as the girl and the brunette part ways and Merton catches a glimpse of what he was apparently waiting for. For just a moment there's a hint of something odd about the otherwise perfectly average-looking jock, as his ears briefly grew long and pointed, before shrinking back down again. It happened so quick, hardly anyone would have noticed. Unless they were watching for it.
Merton's eyes light up, and he waves his hand over his head as he calls out "Tommy!", trying to flag the guy down.
‘Tommy’ looks over at him, and at first, he just seems confused. Like he has no idea who this other teen is or why he’d be calling out to him. But as Merton calls out again “Tommy! Your ears!”, while pointing at his own ears, recognition dawns on him. And he looked like a deer in the headlights who would rather crawl into a hole than get caught joining the weird kid in his misfit corner.
And either Merton is unperturbed by the look, or he just doesn’t notice it, because before Tommy can think to make a retreat, he’s scrambling up out of his seat and joins the flustered jock in line, practically vibrating with excitement.
II. The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep [CW: Parental neglect.]
A full moon lights up the dark woods, giving just enough light through the trees for one to easily see where they’re stepping. And at first, it doesn’t look like there’s anything of interest to see here. The night’s peaceful, the only sign of life coming from birds or the occasional creak or rustle from the branches above.
Until the quiet sound of a radio crackles to life, barely picking up snippets from some old music station playing 80’s rock, that shifts to what might be a news station. Anyone following the noise will eventually find a kid, sat tucked up between the roots of a large tree, a little Walkman style radio clutched in his hands, backpack set next to him. He’s young, maybe about seven, with mussy black hair, dressed in what might have once been nice church clothes but were now smudged with dirt and grass stains.
He was speaking in a harsh whisper to…someone. Though if anyone else is there, they aren’t within sight.
II. The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep
"Hey, kid," Brand says, trying to sound less gruff than usual. "You lost?"
no subject
Then, suddenly, he jolts, looking over his shoulder despite no sound coming from that direction. And when he turns back it's with a nervous fidget, looking down at the radio. "...Sort of."
The radio gives off another crackle before tuning into an announcement from the local news station announcing the construction of a new town park.
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"Are you hiding from someone?" he asks. "Or something?"
Next best guess, if "lost" isn't entirely what's happening here. Brand keeps his hands loose and visible, both to keep the kid from thinking he's hiding something and in case he needs to grab him and drag him out of the way.
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"I was looking for something. My friend said it was out here." For a moment the kid seems to be following something with his eyes that passes behind Brand, but again, has his attention drawn back down at the radio as it starts to crackle, and this time he shuts it off. "...Did my parents send you?"
no subject
"Kind of dark to be looking for something, don't you think?" Brand asks, mostly rhetorically. He's still listening for whatever is circling him. Fuck, maybe it's using the kid as bait.
"Haven't seen your parents either," he says. "I'm just a weird stranger in the woods, which makes me...exactly the kind of person your parents told you to fucking avoid."
Great.
no subject
As Brand continued to speak, the kid's eyes widened, as if it just now occurred to him that someone might not have come out here in the middle of the night just to look for him. Or even if they had, they might not be here to help. He flinches at the curse, though it's barely perceptible in the dark, and he takes a step back away from Brand, eyeing him with a new found suspicion, and clutching the radio a little tighter.
"Then why are you out here?"
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Brand is well-versed in half-truths and not-quite-lies; he's spent his life having to tease the truth out of half of the shit that comes out of Rune's mouth.
"And how long ago was that?" he asks sternly, before waving a hand to dismiss the question. "No, never mind, it's none of my business."
He can feel a headache forming, but at least the kid is now properly wary of strange adults in the woods. Even if, technically, kids are more likely to be abducted by someone they know. He decides to go for honesty, since there's nothing he can say that should reassure a kid in this situation.
"I don't know," he says. "I wasn't here five minutes ago. I don't even like walks in the woods at night." Then, since he's being honest, he pins the kid with a stare. "What's creeping around, kid?"
I
It was something that might have made more sense if she could remember being a kid at all.
Bemused, she sat down at one of the tables, content to be ignored as not part of the memory. The thing with the ears was also kind of weird, but maybe that was normal for this environment. How was she supposed to know? She rested one elbow on the table, chin in her hand, and murmurs, "I guess his ears aren't supposed to do that?"
no subject
"Yeah, no. It's generally not something that happens with your average human here." The admission sounds somewhat reluctant. Tommy had been a topic he'd been trying not to bring up since he got here, for a variety of reasons, but the main one being not wanting to risk giving away what he was.
The chances that Jorgmund could actually pick and choose who they grabbed to work for them felt low, but the fact that there was any chance at all made him cautious about telling anyone about him, in case word somehow got back to the company. Especially when Jorgmund seemed to be collecting werewolves. Plus, it was just, their secret. He'd already made the mistake of outing Tommy to someone in the past. He didn't intend to do it again if he could help it.
Watching the scene unfold from the table it's hard to hear much of the conversation past an enthusiastic "Can I see them?" before the Merton from the memory drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, giving a quick look around them to make sure none of the other students were close enough to listen in.
Tommy on the other hand, had no such composure, quickly countering whatever the shorter boy said to him with, "So my ears are a little big? It's a Dawkins family trait". He quickly got more and more uncomfortable and irritated as the conversation went on, particularly when Merton makes the mistake of excitedly declaring "You've got all the symptoms!", then it's his turn to look around to make sure no one heard that.
Thankfully, no one seems to be paying either of them much attention, and Tommy finally decides he's had enough.
"You know what I think? I think you're spending a little too much time with your fantasy freak club." He taps a fork against Merton's chest as he speaks, and all the enthusiasm quickly drains from the other kid's expression. However he saw this conversation going down, this apparently wasn't it. Collecting his tray, Tommy skips going down the rest of the food line in favor of just getting away from the misfit. "You know, you should really watch what you say to people."
As he walks away he scoffs, "Werewolf, pft", and the real Merton leans against the table, running a hand partway down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose, while the memory of himself continues to stand there, looking dumbstruck and slightly stricken until Tommy throws him one last verbal punch, "You know, it's no wonder you don't have any friends, Martin."
"Fine!" Finally, he puts some bite in his own voice, even if it's not much. "Just be careful. It's a full moon this Saturday."
no subject
She wrinkles her nose at the yelling. How does someone make a name sound like an insult? "That seemed... really mean."
It's one thing to kick the shit out of someone. It's entirely another to be nasty on purpose.
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"He...He's usually not like that." He sounds a touch defensive, though not in an angry way. Her response was understandable, and given their last interaction he was a little surprised she'd be upset on his behalf. It was...appreciated. But this was Tommy. It was a bit odd to be the one coming to his defense for once. "We didn't know each other yet, and I kinda came out of nowhere and hit him with a lot."
"We actually end up being best friends. Believe it or not, he's probably the kindest person I've ever met." As he spoke, his gaze shifted from her to the memory of Tommy as he went to join his football buddies at another table. He watched him with a fondness that made it clear he wasn't lying, before catching himself and looked back down at the table, rubbing his temple.
no subject
She listens to what he has to say about Tommy, nodding along. Bad first impressions are a thing, she knows that. She's just glad to hear there's a lot more to it. "That's really good, then. That you guys got to be friends. Guess you never know how things are going to turn out."
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"That technology is still pretty far out of reach for us here." Catching himself he amends the statement gesturing to the memory of the cafeteria around them. "My home universe, I mean. My real one."
As Wrath spoke of his friendship with Tommy he couldn't help glanced over his shoulder at the boy again, before looking back to her, seemingly mulling something over what she'd said.
"...Yeah. I guess not," he answered a bit awkwardly.
"So you work for the military? Or did?" Did her doing media stuff now mean she left the military? Or was it media stuff for the military?
I.
She looks over to find Merton - the real Merton, whose name she now knows, but he doesn't need to know that - and smiles at him.]
Charming knapsack, Dingle.
no subject
[From where he's standing, Merton's not looking particularly comfortable with the situation. Giving Rowena a flat, forced smile.
Having people dragged into old memories of his was one thing. Seeing memories that involved Tommy was something else. He'd been trying to just not think about his friends since he got here. This situation was already just...a lot, and thinking back to them was just too much. But in having to relive old memories of them, it was impossible to not think about them, and how he'd left them.
But more than that, the last thing he wanted was to risk Jorgmund somehow learning about Tommy. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but as far as he was concerned, any chance that the company could find out about him and bring the werewolf here to turn him into another "hire", was too great a chance.
He had almost an entire life's worth of memories that had nothing to do with outing his friend. Why was it that he had to keep watching this one on a loop?
And no offense to Rowena, but she was just about one of the last people here he wanted knowing about Tommy.
He fidgets uncomfortably as his past self and Tommy start having their whispered conversation in the lunch line. Not much of it can be heard from where they stand, the past version of himself taking caution to look around them to make sure no one is close enough to hear and is mostly keeping his voice low.
But Tommy on the other hand isn't. He quickly counters whatever Merton said to him with, "So my ears are a little big? It's a Dawkins family trait" with no regard for whoever might hear it. But Merton's past self persisted, and Tommy was quickly getting more and more uncomfortable and irritated as the conversation went on. Particularly when Merton makes the mistake of excitedly declaring "You've got all the symptoms!", then it's Tommy's turn to look around to make sure no one heard that.
And thankfully, by the looks of it, no one did. Finally decides he's had enough, he jabs a fork at Merton's chest.
"You know what I think? I think you're spending a little too much time with your fantasy freak club." He taps the utensil against Merton's chest as he speaks, and all the enthusiasm quickly drains from the other teen's expression. However he saw this conversation going down, this apparently wasn't it. Collecting his tray, Tommy skips going down the rest of the food line in favor of just getting away from the misfit. "You know, you should really watch what you say to people."
As Tommy walks away he scoffs, "Werewolf, pft", and the real Merton tries to casually speak up over it, as if maybe that will distract Rowena from hearing it.]
You know, actually, if you like that, you should see my hearse.
[Meanwhile the memory of himself continues to stand there, looking dumbstruck and slightly stricken until Tommy throws him one last verbal punch, "You know, it's no wonder you don't have any friends, Martin."
"Fine!" His past self retorts. "Just be careful. It's a full moon this Saturday." ]
no subject
[If anything, Rowena's expression seems to sparkle all the more now that it's clear Merton's not terribly happy about her being here. There's nothing Rowena appreciates more than- well, shiatsu massages, filet mignon and young Sean Connery, now that she thinks about it- there's no type of information Rowena appreciates more than leverage, even against people who have only ever been good to her. Rowena doesn't trust anyone's goodness to last very long; when you live nearly four hundred years, you have plenty of time to see that there isn't a person alive for whom cooperation is a certain constant. Merton's basically telegraphing Come Get Some Free Dirt on Me: Limited Time Offer.
She puts two and two together very quickly. Not only is the memory itself fairly self-explanatory, but Rowena's from a world where werewolves are, if not commonplace, certainly a part of the supernatural veil in which she spends time. Monsters and beasties aren't typically her area of affairs, but a witch must consort with people from all walks of life if she's to gain the knowledge necessary to master all the forces of magic.]
You know, when someone first called me a witch, I tried to prove her wrong. [She raises her eyebrows and smirks. It's close to camaraderie. She's apologizing, almost, for Tommy and his defensiveness, as if to tell Merton it's not anything personal that Tommy lashed out so cruelly and so unnecessarily at someone trying to do him a kindness.] Somehow I convinced myself that if I set her on fire with my mind, that would prove that everything she was saying was bollocks.
[She idly pets her ponytail as she watches, all but giggling to herself, smug in what she believes to be unimpeachable observation prowess.]
You fancy him, don't you?
no subject
[The question of whether he "fancied" Tommy catches him off guard. It wasn’t the first time someone had questioned his relationship with the other boy, but it had been a while since it had been that blunt or to his face...At least she wasn’t accusing him of paying Tommy to let him cling to his side like the jock was some G-rated gigolo.]
Wha-? Fancy? Why would you thi-? [Cutting himself off, he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before pinning Rowena with a critical look, hands going to his hips and lips pursing into a thin line as he tried to assess her angle here. As much as she almost resembled a schoolgirl who stumbled onto some good gossip as she pats her hair with that smug, giddy look, she didn't sound mocking about it. But he wasn't so sure he'd be able to tell if she was unless she was making a point out of it.
Making a calculated turn from defensiveness into exhaustion, his tone spoke less of one who was interested in being convincing and more of someone tired of answering that question or questions like it. True or not it was his business. No one else's. But saying that outright was as good as confirming it. Then again, any answer was as good as confirming it. If high school taught him anything it was that no one asked that kind of question or made that kind of accusation without having already decided it was the truth.]
Never mind...No. I don't fancy him. He's my friend.
no subject
Rowena gives Merton a bland smile back at his critical expression, as if she has no idea whatsoever why he might be defensive. And then he folds so very easily into just accepting it, which isn't all that fun, because Rowena does love to tease.]
Those are hardly incompatible, my dear. I've heard throughout many centuries that the best lovers are your best friends. [But, as Rowena doesn't have any friends, she'd prefer not to believe that's true; Rowena hates the idea of there being something out there that's out of her reach.] So, if you were considering it, his friendship with you might be a...perk.
[A slight, innocent shrug as she checks her nails.]
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[As she continues forward with the topic of his relationship with Tommy, it becomes clear that she's not just mocking him, and somehow that makes it more mortifying. Teasing he could handle, been there done that, but an honest, strait forward conversation about his feelings toward his friend? Couldn't she just set him on fire? That would be simpler, he wouldn't have to have this conversation and it would probably be more entertaining for her. A win-win, really.
At the mention of best friends making the best lovers his face turns a brilliant shade of pink, and he can't quite keep himself from glancing around the room on instinct, like the figments of his memories might overhear. Catching himself, he squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head.]
O-Okay. There's no considering happening. There's really nothing to even consider. I don't think about him that way, and I'm not exactly his type. [Which, knowing the kinds of girls Tommy went for, that might be the understatement of the century. Quickly realizing that wasn't the best point to lead with though, he pushes forward with the next.] More importantly, there are certain aspects of our friendship that would make suggesting that...that kind of relationship arguably unethical.
no subject
And not his type just paints it plainly that the attraction is, at worst, one-sided but there.
She reaches out to give Merton's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.]
Come, dear. Show me more, or I'll never stop grilling you over that strapping young Tommy. [She bats her lashes.] If these memories were tangible and he were a few years older, I might try pursuing him myself.
no subject
Flashing an uncomfortable smile, an equally uncomfortable laugh titter out of him.
There was a temptation to bitterly joke that, historically speaking, Rowena was more his type than Tommy's, but he bit his tongue against it. That wasn't a road he wanted to so much as stick his toe down, jokingly or otherwise. It also probably wouldn't have been a great idea to just willingly open that wound for her. Rowena was sure to get enough dirt on him as it was. Why just hand her more on a silver platter?
It may have been that thought of exes though, that unfortunately spurred on the next memory, as he led them through the cafeteria doors and into a hall it shouldn't have connected to.]
[Tommy and his past self walk out of a nearby classroom that had been labeled and decorated for a “Gothic Fantasy Guild” meeting, where according to the printed signage next to the room, they’d been having a vote for Guild President. The memory of himself struggled to take off a black over-frock that was at least three times too big for him and sported a campaign button promoting himself for president of the guild.
As soon as the real Merton spotted them, recognition dawned on him and he quickly tried to lead Rowena back through the door they’d just come from.]
Oh wow, this one’s totally boring, just stupid school stuff. Why don’t we just-
[ Unfortunately for him, the doors they’d just walked out of vanished, leaving a flat wall with no exit.]
Or, we could...go with this one. I only have my dignity to lose after all. Not like I had all that much to begin with.
[ “That vote is bogus! I want a recount!” The last few indignant words get muffled as the memory of the two start heading up a staircase and the oversized frock gets caught around his head.
“Come on ya’ baby. Treasurer isn’t so bad.” Teasing but keeping his tone affectionate, Tommy walks next to his friend, making sure he doesn't trip over himself and fall back down the stairs.
“Yeah, easy for you to say." Finally freeing himself from the frock as they reach the top of the steps, he lets it drop to the floor with a huff, sounding defeated, pouty and frustrated but at least winding down to something closer to calm. "You were voted vice president and you weren’t even on the ballot.”
Before Tommy can respond, another voice cuts into their conversation with a dramatic “By the way!”, and a boy comes sweeping out of the Guild classroom with all the flair and smugness of a puffed-up rooster. Merton’s temper immediately flares back up at seeing the slick blond throwing him a cocky smile from the bottom of the stairwell, throwing back a shit-eating grin of his own. “Anytime you want me to reverse the spell I cast on you, just admit that I am the superior warlock.”
“Yeah. That’ll happen. I’ll keep that in mind.” His tone was a dangerously thin sheet of exhausted, sarcastic politeness, haphazardly tossed over a broiling undercurrent of hostility. And in a stark change from his normal timid and pacifistic temperament, it quickly breaks. “Yeah, and incidentally, anytime you want to come over and kiss my a-!” Merton quickly gets cut off by Tommy with a shell shocked, “WHOA! WHOA!”
“Merton! That is no way to talk to the president of the Gothic Fantasy Guild.” As Tommy chided him, Merton briefly looked back up at his friend with a mix of shock and betrayal, before his attention was drawn back to the blond by a mocking, “That’s right”. And it's probably a good thing that Merton didn't have Rowena's ability to set people on fire because if he had, the tall, twiggy, blond would have likely gone up in flames faster than dry kindling doused in gas.
“This guy. Sorry, chief." As Tommy blithely continued, giving the blond an apologetic wave, Merton snaps “Chief now?” with the tone of one who's trying to figure out whether or not they're losing their mind. Tommy either does not hear or just ignores it, pushing on, as he insisted, "It won’t happen again.”
As the blond shoots finger guns Tommy's way and tosses a wink at Merton, the tiny goth looked like he was about five seconds away from throwing himself down the stairs and choking him.
Seemingly sensing the very real danger of that, Tommy turns back to his friend and hooks an arm around his midsection, easily pulling him away from the other boy with a bark of “Come!”, completely unbothered by Merton struggling to get out of his hold like an angry cat.]