goneawayworld | 3..2...1...CONTACT!

Entry tags:

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.]]

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I appreciate it. It don't feel right tramping through people's private moments each time this happens.

[His smile back is tight; he doesn't get much comfort from knowing that poor Stacia's in a similar boat when it comes to what surfaces when the powers that be rummage through her memories. In a way, last time this phenomenon was kind to Dan and didn't show him the deaths, the mutilations, but just seeing the faces of the family he saw slaughtered was enough to mess him up inside for weeks.]

Yeah. [Dan's adept at lying, second-nature when it comes to putting on an easy, social face that nobody needs to pay any extra attention to, that no one needs to worry about, but this fails him here. He's very obviously rattled.] It's- it's fine. It's a rough reminder that the Rig ain't exactly a new start.

[You carry your ghosts with you, it seems.

In the memory, the girl blows a raspberry and drinks her lukewarm cocoa. "Can I try your vodka?"

"Ooh, think you might need a better fake ID for that," Dan in the memory says. "So tell me, bookworm, there any parallels between Orpheus and Lot? The biblical story with the pillar of salt? You know that one?"

"There are always parallels because the Bible stole everything- look! There's another one!" She swats his hand and he grins at her. "Stop distracting me, I'm missing all the stars."

The real Dan shrugs and while he isn't covering his eyes or ears anymore, he's also very much not looking at the cutesy scene playing out behind him.]

Don't worry, ah... [He winces at Stacia.] It's fine. That was years ago. That's Ellie, and she don't need me taking care of her anymore.

[Stacia quirks an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but doesn't say anything. With lives like theirs, you either become a good liar or you stop interacting with people who aren't in-the-know entirely. She knows Dan isn't the latter, so his lie being an obvious one tells her how shaken he really is. But commenting on that would be as rude as rubbernecking at his memories, so she just smiles and pretends his words are true.]

Yeah, even the nice memories aren't really nice when we're all stuck here, are they?

[She looks over at past-Dan and Ellie before looking back at present-Dan with a warm smile. She's not going to question the "don't need me taking care of her anymore" either, though she files it away to chew on later.]

It seems like you did a good job when she did need you. That's what's important.

[One of her own memories is gathering at the edges of this one. Hopefully it's not going to be something weird, or something that will upset Dan more.]

Edited 2021-04-13 18:22 (UTC)

I don't really think of myself as sentimental. I don't like to hold onto nothing

[Not this charming image of himself and the girl he considered his own, a scene so sweet and serene that it feels like a clumsy, fat finger shoved straight into the wound of his grieving. Not while Stacia interprets what she sees as evidence that Dan did a halfway-decent job caretaking, and he just can't bring himself to correct her.

Every child in Dan's care has died horribly. It's a universal constant.]

It's easy when they're good kids. I didn't do nothing.

[And thank God Stacia's memories are starting to seep in through the corners; Dan's never been more relieved to want to step into someone else's living diary, and he feels a rush of guilt that he so strongly prefers bailing ship on his own memory and invading that of a teenage girl.]

[Stacia's attempts to be warm and empathetic don't seem to have elicited the same reactions they usually do. Before she digs herself any deeper though, one of her own memory sweeps away the desert and starry sky and replaces it with an empty bar that has clearly seen a rather violent fight. Furniture is overturned and there are suspicious gouge marks that look like they may have belonged to claws even bigger than Stacia's. Stacia herself, heavily made up in a way that screams 'jail-bait', is perched delicately on a bar stool, watching a red haired man root around behind the bar. He makes a satisfied sound and comes up with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.

"All right," he says in a Bostonian accent, "while we wait for the cops, we're gonna teach you how to shoot whiskey."

"Really?" Stacia asks, swinging her feet. The man nods seriously.

"It's almost as important a skill as shooting guns."

Both Stacias laugh in response, the present day one shaking her head.]

That's Bulletproof. He was one of my packmates. He's not dead, just moved on.

Edited 2021-04-15 21:51 (UTC)

[It's funny; for someone as warm and empathetic as Dan is, he isn't good at receiving that compassion when it's returned, and as such Stacia's attempts at kindness sting against the fact that Dan's kid hasn't even been dead a year, that in two months it'll have been only a year since se died protecting her idiot irresponsible not-quite-dad. He just shuts down and stiffens, only relaxing a bit when he sees how much Stacia's memory isn't immediately violent.]

Bulletproof, huh? I reckon he got that name for a purpose? [He reaches out to the bar to see if he can touch anything in this memory, never wanting to just get trashed on alcohol as hard as at this moment, enough that he could ransack a teenage girl's memory to just not have to think about his own.] Different pack or moved on some other way?

I never got the story out of him, actually. He said he was bad at telling it. But I'm guessing somebody shot him and it rather dramatically failed to even slow him down.

[Sadly, Dan cannot loot the bar of Stacia's memories; his hand passes through it like a ghost. Stacia considers him for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought.]

See if you can snag one of the shot glasses after he pours but before we pick them up. I don't think it'll get you drunk, but I might remember the taste enough for it to carry over.

[Dan has time to give it a try: Bulletproof pours the whiskey and proceeds to deliver a short lecture on How To Drink Whiskey The Correct Way to a Stacia who is trying desperately to keep a straight face. If Dan does try to make the grab, he'll come away with a fragile shell of something that tastes a little like whiskey but mostly like the sensation of safety and camaraderie.]

I hope he's found a new pack. We knew from the get-go that he was only with us temporarily, but he cut ties and went into hiding after our other packmates were killed. We still hadn't heard from him when I got dragged here.

[Past Stacia and Bulletproof throw back their shots. Past Stacia does not manage to stick the landing.]

[Dan goes for it and gives Stacia a little wink before he kicks it back. He smiles at the memory of Stacia, coughing on how thick and harsh the whiskey is; even just the husk of it that Dan gets has enough of a kick to register with him. Stacia's right in that it doesn't get him drunk, but a single shot would hardly touch Dan anyway.

He's never met Bulletproof in his life, but he can see the parallels to his own life, the way he learned as a teenager how to kick back alcohol and suck down cigarettes with older monster hunters and the werewolves they both stalked and collaborated with. There's almost a resignation to it. A well, since you're stuck in this shitty situation, may as well develop a cheap coping method air from the elder statesman.]

Werewolves where I'm from don't tend to stay in touch after they split off to new packs or go into the woods either. I hope he's alright.

Depends on the werewolf, where I'm from. Or rather, werewolves -- if he doesn't call or email or send a freaking carrier pigeon after I get home again, I'm hunting him down to yell at him. I lose too many friends to death to let the others ghost me the regular way.

[The Stacia belonging to the memory finally stops coughing and flips off Bulletproof, who gets another chuckle out of that. He pours them both second shots and gives her round two of the tutorial. Present day Stacia watches Dan out of the corner of her eye.]

He was one of the first people I saw when I woke up after my First Change. Granted, he was a strange man standing over me in the woods in the middle of the night, so I screamed my damn head off. But I'm a hard girl to shake once I get attached.

[Stacia isn't even sure if she's trying to say something subtextual or not. One of them will figure it out eventually, she supposes.]

[Dan, who just, as a matter of habit, chronically ghosts people and would have wordlessly abandoned this entire Rig and everyone on it months ago if not for the fact that he couldn't and for the fact that it would leave everyone here remaining in the ambient peril of their enslavement, smiles and shakes his head.] Attachment's scary to some folks.

[An understatement, from Dan.]

Where I'm from, the first time werewolves change is real traumatic, especially for people who don't now what's happening. Most werewolves who have children turn their kids before they're old enough to remember it.

I suppose that's true. But given what I know about him, he'd probably just be proud that I figured out how to hunt him down in spite of him going to ground.

[New topic? New topic, apparently. Stacia makes a face.]

We don't know for sure who is and isn't going to shift until around adolescence. There's a whole...magical-science deal there that's not my area. [The moon decides, and she keeps her own counsel. Like the big spirits do. Not Stacia's area, though she keeps meaning to ask some Theurges about it.] It's absolutely traumatic though, even if you grew up knowing it could happen and if someone was on-hand to help you -- fuck!

[The two of them have gone from a well-lit bar to a pitch-dark forest -- well, pitch-dark except for the lights held by three men nearby, clustered around something. As one of them crouches down, the 'something' is revealed to be Stacia, unconscious, her hair a mess and her dress split along its seams and soaked in blood. Present-day Stacia grimaces.]

I didn't have any warning, and I didn't have anyone to restrain me. Cover your ears, I'm about to start screaming.

Edited 2021-05-24 07:56 (UTC)

It's alright, I'm part-deaf anyway. [Less than bringing it up would suggest, just with some loss in one ear from a lifetime of firearm useage, but it's not the first time Dan's heard someone wake up screaming and he doesn't want to do anything that might make Stacia feel ashamed of not having full possession of her faculties during a disorienting and traumatizing time like this.]

Are they... [He bites his lip looking at the men, hoping that Stacia would have told him if the three of them were people to be wary of or about to do something evil.] Were they good to you?

[Stacia looks confused by Dan's question, but her past self starts screaming fit to raise the dead before she can ask for clarification. The man who'd crouched down so that he wasn't looming over her falls over backward in surprise, and the two who'd remained standing likewise recoil from her. Past Stacia continues screaming, and adds thrown forest detritus to her defense until the men have retreated to the other side of the clearing. Present-Stacia lowers her hands from her ears as her past self stops screaming and starts to sob.]

Oh, yeah, I'm safe with these guys. Look, that's Bulletproof.

[The lighting isn't very good, but the man she points at could be the same one from the bar.]

And that's Ace with him. The other guy was never a packmate, but he also used to look out for me. That's what they were trying to do here, they didn't...

[She trails off, looking away.]

I don't remember what happened, not...clearly. I didn't have to see the body.

Edited 2021-06-23 07:13 (UTC)

[Dan's sure plenty of people have told Stacia that it wasn't her fault - it is, after all, the kneejerk way to try and ameliorate guilt and counsel somebody. So he doesn't say it. Stacia's at ease enough, it seems, with her lycanthropy that Dan doesn't need to go slapping verbal band-aids on wounds that have healed past that point.

But he does, making sure that he's not sneaking it up on Stacia, reach out to pat her shoulder, as if he could channel the universe into saying sorry you had to go through that through his hand.]

[A lot of people have tried to reassure her that it wasn't her fault. And, objectively, she's done worse since. But for some reason, this is the one that crops up again and again in her nightmares. She offers Dan a weak smile, more of an acknowledgement of his gesture of comfort than anything else, then looks away toward the wolf that's just appeared in the trees.]

It's why I'm so mad at my mom, you know? [She waves a hand at her sobbing, blood-soaked past self.] She knew this could happen. She hoped it wouldn't, but she knew it could. And even if she'd been lucky and none of us had shifted, it still could have happened to our kids when we had them. Or theirs.

[The wolf emerges from the trees and goes over to nose at the crying girl, who seems willing enough to accept comfort from someone who isn't a strange man.]

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3..2...1...CONTACT!

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