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)
goneawayworld2020-08-08 01:55 am
goneawaymod) wrote in goneawayworld2020-08-08 01:55 am
Entry tags:
- #memshare,
- #rig logs,
- adora,
- alloran semitur-corass,
- bunnymund,
- catra,
- dan sagittarius,
- guts,
- kevin armstrong,
- nora valkyrie,
- remy lebeau,
- rogue,
- ronald mcdonald,
- ronan lynch,
- sam winchester,
- saturday,
- setsuna higashi,
- stacia novik,
- tenten,
- ✘ aleifr bjornsson,
- ✘ remus lupin,
- ✘ sirius black,
- ✘ steven universe
Invasion!
Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After Intermission
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 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 cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people. Of course, there's always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up memories unbidden.]]
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After Intermission
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 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 cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people. Of course, there's always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up memories unbidden.]]
no subject
She'd meant to say it calmly, but she can't. Her voice cracks, anguish leaking through, and Gambit's memory shudders as a warehouse tries to overimpose itself. A dozen figures locked in ritual, two dying bodies - Uzar and Kirzar - Caim standing over them, his long red hair falling out of its tail. Shirt open, the horror-infection throbbing on his chest.
"We did it right. No mistake, no rushing, hit every beat an' won every fucking battle - "
Maggie on the operating table, autopsied, her guts splayed open.
" - still losing the damn war." Her voice has gone ragged now. Caim on pall, a rose in his hands instead of a dagger, her last kiss on his lips.
"Like this frog Maggie told me about? It's a math thing or something. Always going to a wall, never actually getting there."
no subject
"What your frien' Maggie didn' mention was dat, 'ventually, de distance of de hops is so small an' de distance remainin' 'tween it an' de wall are so small dat it don' make a difference." He presses his hands together, though they aren't QUITE touching. But only he can see that.
He watches the young elven man on the pall. For a moment, there's a bed beside it, a young woman with a shock of white bangs and auburn hair laying in it. Alive, but obviously not conscious. And another memory, a large, bald man with a walrus moustache. This one obviously gone. When he speaks again, his own accent falls away. Quoting someone or something and wanting it right and understood. "It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life."
no subject
Her shoulders sink, and she wrestles her thoughts into submission. They mostly retreat; one memory blooms swiftly, of a small, round woman with meek eyes looking up at Saturday, hurt in her eyes clear as a sharp knife. The one from the first memory, hugging her electronics close. Then she's gone, too.
"I just - I don't know what to do, anymore. We can't lose this, I - it's complicated, but basically if we don't win the fight we started back in that first memory, the world's kinda at stake a little. I'm - almost glad I ended up here, you know? Like. At least I got a little more time before..."
The confession comes from someplace deep inside her, in words she almost doesn't realize she's speaking out loud. But she recognizes them for truths as they bubble up. She doesn't really expect to survive the final fight. The best she's hoping for is to win.
no subject
He huffs out a humorless laugh. "Oh, oui. Been dere a couple times." Saving the world? That was what the X-Men did. As much as they could, at least. Sometimes, the world just didn't want to be saved. They did their best anyway. "Still. You go in wit' dat sorta attitude? Sorta becomes a self-fulfillin' prophesy, neh? Need t' be fightin' for more dan jus' de win."
no subject
The thing she wants more than her own survival is for the people she loves to be safe. And Maggie is there, suddenly, tied to the lab table, chest cracked open - she'd been too late and it doesn't matter that Maggie came back from it. Maggie'd had to make another bargain to do it. How many things have their hooks in her soul, now? And she'd only been taken in the first place because Saturday had let them all get lax -
"None of this would have happened if I hadn't taken that job. The only thing that matters is making that right."
no subject
He knew the look of betrayal on a loved one's face. Or how it was when the world came after those you cared about because it was a way to get to you.
"Ain't not'in' dat easy. Not when you make de kin'a mistake we do."
no subject
"But then, what's the point? If you can't stop it happening, an' you can't fix it after - "
Tears start to well, hot and stinging. She blinks them away, pretending to wipe her nose. One escapes down the back of her hand anyway.
no subject
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a half smile. "T'ought you tol' me you don' like de superhero kin'a folk."
no subject
"I don't," she mumbles. "Only cape freak I ever met was a selfish asshole too dumb to not to go for the killshot with someone he didn't actually want dead - "
And then the selfish asshole is there, before them, or the memory of him as Saturday last saw him. An elven man, on his knees, anguish in his face. He's handsome in a generic way, muscled in a generic way, wearing a generic green and black outfit that's supposed to make him look like some kinda Robin Hood. A woman, also elven, stands behind him, red hair matching the blood sprinkled across her face. She's got a death-grip on his wounded shoulder.
And there's Saturday, face cold and eyes dead, breaking an elaborately-carved bow over her knee.
"...he shot Caim in the lung," the current Saturday hisses, trading present pain for past anger. "But the fucking bow is magic so he figured it would be okay - givin' him to Gray was too good for him - "
no subject
And while Remy doesn't LIKE guns, it doesn't mean he can't use them.
Which brings to mind a memory of his own. Remy, even younger than the tunnels, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old on a shooting range. He looks awkward with the gun in his hands, obviously not a natural at it. A blonde girl about the same age laughs at him, the beads in her many braids clacking together as she moves to adjust his stance, an easy intimacy in her touches as she corrects him, then leans up to give him a kiss for luck.
It's not a surprise to him at all that mention of assassins and killing brought to mind Belladonna.
no subject
She almost doesn't catch the sob. But she does, and turns it into a sneer.
"Who's she?" Saturday asks, wringing out the kerchief as best she's able. "The blonde."
no subject
no subject
Then the "enemies" and "ex-wife" thing registers, and she sucks in a breath.
"...that sounds like a story, too."
no subject
Which...it might or might not be obvious how. "But yeah, we got a Guild. Dey been 'round a long time. Though I ain't so sure dat it's so easy to organize us. Bit like herdin' cats, or so Poppa says."