Piper 90: Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goneawaymod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.]]
no subject
She doesn’t pull away, she lets him take the hand and accepts the comforting squeeze for what it is, though there’s a look of mild surprise in her eyes and her ears tilt to match.
“...I didn’t start out so noble,” she admits, with a little shrug. “Dropped outta school, did hacking for money, got caught... but when the Doc found me, or, y’know, when he got through to us how important what we could do is... well, it’s a chance to do something.”
She likes to think her parents would be proud of her work with g:L, if not the circumstances that led her there. She’s helped people, people like her Mam, and as out of her depth as she feels sometimes, that’s good.
She remembers saving people in the towns near De Soto base, when the flooding hit; carrying kids to safety, in her giant Holon hands. She made a difference there, she wasn’t powerless.
The memoryscape around them shifts, not to that flooded town, but to a kitchen somewhere in Glasgow, where the wind is rattling the windows, heavy rain beating against the glass.
Cammie jumps. “What the—”
no subject
Realizing it's just another memory, he peeks out the window.
"Well this one's yours, 'cause it's raining and there's green outside that isn't spiky."
She'd seen the climate where he grew up. In one of those yards the trio of teens had run through, Paco had only narrowly avoided barreling into a cactus.
no subject
She does snicker a little at that, “Aye, Glasgow’s like that. This uh— this is my Gran’s kitchen.”
As she says that, there’s the sound of feet coming down a staircase. One of her ears automatically rotates towards it. Bounding down the stairs comes a much younger Cammie, in her rabbit-print pajamas and a familiar pair of robotic rabbit ears—almost too big on her head, not quite the same design as they are in the present and lopsided, as if put on hastily.
There’s two people at the kitchen table. A grey haired older lady, and a blonde man in a wheelchair, who squashes down a holographic screen showing storm projections as tiny Cammie arrives.
"It's just a storm, Bun," the older woman says.
"It's loud," little Cammie whines, earning a wry smile off her father.
Present Cammie’s eyes are wide, settled on her dad’s face. She’d been thinking about this old memory pretty recently, back home, but remembering in your own head isn’t quite like this.
“...dad,” she says, quietly, before composing herself. She coughs. “I dinnae miss the days I could be woken up by somethin’ simple as a storm, I’d never get any sleep these days. Hearing loss hadn’t progressed so far back then.”
no subject
"I'd wondered if they were for more than aesthetic," he says, "Especially since it's a nice aesthetic."
no subject
“Why thank ye,” she says, smiling. “Aye, they’re aids; built ‘em myself, these ones’re an improved blueprint from the ones little me’s wearin’ that dad and gran there helped me make. They taught me a lot, wouldn’t be half as good an engineer or coder if not for them.”
The memory in front of them progresses; it’s a comforting memory that she has no desire to try and interrupt, despite the subtle ache in her chest at seeing her dad and hearing them talk about her Mam as if she’s still alive, because back then she was.
She jumps at the same moment little Cammie does at the lightning, then laughs at herself.
“I’d snatch a biscuit if this were real,” she says, as her Gran pours them out on a plate. “Those were the kind I only got on special occasions. Apparently bein’ awake, scared of a storm, counted.”