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
"Okay, that's more fuckin' impressive than a simple concussion," South says, because jesus christ, that could have ended badly. "You got damn lucky, looks like I was almost carting your damn body out of there instead of just babysitting you."
South is still South, there's some things that have never changed; or, well, that's not quite true, because as much as she's always been rude, she used to have a better sense of balance about it. There's no real attempt at insult behind the 'babysitting' comment, it's just the kind of shit she expects any soldier their rank to be able to take from a teammate.
"You both fucked it up," she affirms, on Wash's side, giving Wyoming a look. "Big time. I probably took out more of those guys than either of you and I have maybe a few bruises. So yeah, damn right, rookie."
There's an actual flash of gratefulness in her, because no matter what point in her life she's at, South doesn't turn her nose up when someone acknowledges she did a damn good job.
"Alright, assholes, fucking triage before we get back to the ship. Wyoming, deal with your own shit, you can get at it. Rookie, let me at least clean that damn head wound so they can get a good look when we arrive."
Though she'd almost forgotten that, forgotten moments like these. Missions like this one were a dime a dozen, it's not until the memory is playing out that South really remembers it at all, and that branches off into remembering other little things. The earlier days of the Project, when things weren't so fucked. When she wasn't so fucked.
no subject
He'd forgotten a little of this too. The part where he sat on one of the seats, holding onto the edge like his life depended on it, as she cleaned the wound on his head.
It wasn't exactly tender, it was just the basic patching up most soldiers would give any other soldier, but it was still so different from right now. He was just sitting there, with his back to her. Trusting her.
It doesn't just show her he was right that she used to be someone worth being again - it actually helps remind him, too.
The Wash that was watching this all silently finally turns to her.
"That," he says, pointing, "You could be that. Maybe not to me, because I sure as hell don't trust you at my back like that anymore, and I may never trust it again. But you can be that to everyone else. There's got to be at least a few people here you haven't pissed off yet."
no subject
Her gaze lingers there for a long moment, on this memory that should be so inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things; just one mission, just a normal interaction between squadmates, somehow rendered strangely important by all the ways things have changed, since then.
When she pulls her eyes away, she gives Wash a look, but it's not got much strength behind it. "I haven't pissed off most people here, asshole. But... point taken."
She scrubs a hand back over her face, groaning under her breath. Okay. Okay.
It's undeniable proof, a memory of his bringing out a memory of hers. It's something that even everything going on with North can't take from under her feet. It's not exactly a whole new foundation, but it's something to stand on when everything else around her feels so unstable. She wasn't always this.
Or— not this, because this, whatever she is right now, isn't either of these things; she's not the South that let her brother die and shot Washington in the back, but she's not that South, sitting there cleaning Washington's head wound, either.
She's somewhere stuck in-between, trying to figure out what direction to turn; towards one of them, or off in another direction, adjacent or otherwise.