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.]]
Aleifr
The Raid
Aleifr’s memories of the day are scattered.
He doesn’t remember waking up that day, but he remembers preparing with his elder brothers and sisters. He remembers seeing Helka putting on her armor, Arvid sharpening his axe, Freja muttering prayers under her breath all morning. There was a tension in the air. Not an anxiety, but the pregnant pause that seems to settle over the world before an oncoming storm.
It lingers through the day, even as he boarded the wyrmboats along with the rest of the Ascommani hersirs. Aleifr was younger than the rest of them, despite standing nearly as tall as the men and women around him. He’d only recently seen the end of his third great year. He was old enough to hunt and fish and work the rigging of a wyrmship, but not old enough to sail for a murder-make. Not old enough for war, no matter how good he was with an axe.
He was only aboard the wyrmboat because they sailed to avenge his father -- to find the cowards that had ambushed him on the ice and left him on red snow -- and he’d let no man deny him his share in that.
He remembers the rough, chopping waves making the deck of the wyrmship buck under him. He remembers feeling sick, despite the fact that the sea had never set his stomach churning before.
He remembers seeing the Hradcana’s islands in the distance - the details of their rocky beaches and the settlement beyond them blooming into view as the islands inched closer. He remembered Helka barking for everyone to raise their shields, and doing so without hesitation despite not knowing why, and then understanding as he felt the hail-rattle of falling arrows pelting down on them.
He remembers the halt of the boats running aground, and ice-cold water splashing around his ankles and soaking into his boots as he vaulted over the side.
The memories are hazier then. It’s a blur of roaring war-cries and clanging steel. Axes rise and fall, swords cleave through shirts of mail and heavy boiled leather, stabbing spears striking home or splintering against shields.
Things come into focus again when one of the Hradcana warriors rushes towards him. He’s bigger and stronger than Aleifr was then, and a blow from his axe would have cut Aleifr’s thread for sure … but his frenzy got the better of him. He was whooping, brandishing his axe over his head, and it betrayed his attack long before he made his stroke. The warning he gave made avoiding it easy, and the force he put into it left him off-balance. He was wide open, and Aleifr buried the smile of his axe into the side of the man’s neck.
The big man’s thread was cut and he tumbled to the ground, the force of his fall wrenching Aleifr’s axe out of his hand.
He remembers stopping there and staring. He’d expected to see something there, on the man’s face. The snarl of anger he’d wore only moments ago, a grimace of pain from wound that’d killed him, fear in his eyes for whatever brief moment he felt his thread fraying … but there was nothing. His face was slack. His eyes were empty, and the void behind them pinned Aleifr where he stood.
He stared until a spray of snow, kicked up by the charge of a Hradcana hersir, crossed his vision and pulled him back.
The world blurs into madness again, ringing weapons, splintering shields, and screaming men. At some point, Aleifr’s axe returned to his hand. He found Freja in the melee, and stayed beside her for as long as he could. He remembers cutting two more threads during the fighting, but he couldn’t recall their faces. Everything was too fast, too chaotic … he wasn’t thinking, he was just fighting. That was all, that was what would keep him alive.
Eventually, the resistance fell away. The Hradcana were falling back to reinforce their settlement and gather more men. The Ascommani didn’t chase. They’d paid blood with blood, and had no need to spill more. The message had been sent.
He didn’t know whose blood was on him. It wasn’t his, but he could feel it, staining his hands and seeping through his mail and into his shirt. He could still feel it on his skin, like the faint tingle one feels when they've leaned on a limb long enough for it to fall asleep, even after he returned home and scrubbed himself clean. He felt it throughout the feast his tribe held to celebrate their victory and honor their fallen.
Helka had given him his first lanx of mead during that feast. Said he was a man now, and he should be allowed to drink like one. Then she'd leaned in more closely and quietly told him that it would help.
It did. The warmth it filled him with distracted him. Made it easier to forget the absence in the Hradcana hersir's eyes, and how empty his family's tents seemed without his father there. He still wasn't used to that.
He wasn't alone, though. Aila was there with him after the feast. She didn't have the blood tie to force her way onto the raiding party. Might not have been allowed even if she did, considering she was a little younger than he was.
She hadn't come with him on the raid, but she'd been waiting on the shore for their return. She'd fussed over him as he washed the blood off of himself, and worried over bruises he didn't remember getting. She sat with him during the feast and snuck sips from his mead - thinking she was being discreet despite the fact that her cheeks were almost as red as her hair, when the truth was that everyone else was too caught up in the revelry to care.
She had walked him to his family's tents, and they'd sat down and talked. He didn't remember what they talked about. He just remembered that her being there made it easier. That she actually managed to coax a laugh out of him, despite the strange numbness he felt.
Time passed and it grew late. She needed to go home, but as she got to her feet, he reached out and took her hand.
"No."
She stopped, and for the first time that day, Aleifr looked like the scared thirteen year old boy that he was.
"Please."
She looked him over, and gave him a small smile. She sat back down, next to him on his furs. She leaned against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. When he lay down, she lay down next to him and nuzzled into his chest.
He slept soundly that night.
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The armor of the raiding parties looked an awful lot like the straw golems back on Elfhelm. Old Seafaring raiders. Ancient warriors, long gone by the time Guts was kicking around. Curious. Even more curious than seeing Aleifr without his beard.
"Night of your first battle, huh?"
The question had been more of a thought that was spoken allowed than a spoken sentence. Telepathy is weird.
Guts finds himself materialized in his plate armor and cloak, somehow, standing beside the boy and girl as they scrubbed the blood off his chain mail. He doesn't interfere with them, beyond looking really out of place.
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Aleifr, full grown, has appeared behind Guts. He looks displeased at the intrusion, but considering it's happened twice before now, he's no longer surprised by it.
The young version of Aleifr and the girl beside him continue on, oblivious to their presence.
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"Sorry. Not sure how I got here."
He doesn't disturb the two, simply watching the beginning of the feast from where he is. Oddly enough, this feels a little more at home than the clanking behemoth of the Rig, even if it's more ancient than his time.
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Aleifr is decidedly unhappy with this situation, but he's not angry with Guts. He has no reason to believe Guts had any more say in this than the others who had wound up in his head.
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"This the village where you grew up, then? Looks pretty cozy."
It's a question with an obvious answer, but he wasn't really the type to try and pry secrets out of people. He'll keep the talk light. Even with the weather and the war-making beforehand, the festivities seemed pretty warm to be around.
The Walk
The next memory is far less grand. He's older in this one - grown into the man the other new hires know. But this time, there are no battles or bonfires, no wyrmboats or celebrations.
Just a near-blank canvas of white ahead of him - a world blanketed by a thick layer of helwintr snow, falling so thick that you wouldn’t be able to see your own hand in front of your face.
Aleifr could feel the cold in his bones as he walked, slowly numbing his face and extremities, even through thick layers of fur-lined clothing. He needed to escape it. Given the chance it would steal every last drop of warmth from his body, drain the life from him and cut his thread.
So he walked. He walked in the direction of the Aett, the clan home, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain that lanced up through his right side with each step and the growing ache of his exhausted limbs.
Stopping meant death. For him, and for the other man making this journey with him. The other figure will be unfamiliar to anyone peering into Aleifr’s memory, but he’s far closer in size to Aleifr than most people are.
He’s also clearly hurt. He’s leaning on Aleifr rather than making the journey under his own power. His left leg is dragging, very nearly limp and badly broken, and his clothes are stained with blood.
“Stay with me.” Aleifr says as the other man’s head begins to loll.
“I am, little brother, I am …” The other man speaks, a slight slur to his words. “Are we close …?”
“I don’t know.”
There are no features visible through the veil of falling snow. He can’t see any landmarks that would allow him to gauge their position.
A silence settles in between them. After a few moments, the other man speaks.
“You’re not going to make it.”
“Shut up.”
“Not if you’re dragging me the whole way.”
“Save your fucking breath.”
Another long pause.
“You’re a damn fool.” The other man says, shaking his head.
Aleifr doesn’t respond.
He keeps walking. The snow keeps falling.
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Yes, Nora, fashion is the important thing, here.
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Aleifr stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing as he regards her with confusion and a fair bit of suspicion ... almost as though he doesn't recognize her.
The
slightlysmaller man speaks up, looking over to Aleifr. "You know her?"Aleifr responds with a brief glance and a shake of his head. As disconcerting as this is ... he's somewhat relieved he isn't the only one seeing this strange woman.
"Who are you?" He asks "How do you know my name and where did you come from?"
She isn't dressed for the cold. Stands to reason she has some sort of shelter nearby, and while he doesn't know whether or not he can trust her ... she might harbor some kind of ill intent, but the cold will kill them without a doubt.
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She wrinkles up her nose. "Nora? Nora Valkyrie? Did you hit your head?" But she's not entirely clueless and she shakes her own head sharply. Focus, Nora. "Forget it. Where are you headed? I can take over the whole 'carrying the injured guy' thing. You look like you're dragging."
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Where the bloody hell did she come from, then?
"Our aett. We know it's this direction. How far, though ..." That's harder to say.
"The 'injured guy' is called Arvid, by the way." The other man adds in warily, briefly looking her up and down to try and make some sense of her.
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"Nice to meetcha." Nora's already circling around to make good on her offer/threat to carry him. His leg looks bad, and Aleifr's people don't have Auras, so he's unprotected from the weather and won't heal normally. Not good. "C'mon. You can be suspicious while we walk."
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She's damn near two feet shorter than either of them and looks like she probably weighs a third of what Arvid does.
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Arvid, unused to being manhandled, lets out an undignified noise in protest, but once she actually has him up, he's dumbstruck. Aleifr is too, even if it isn't quite as plain on his face.
"How in the fuck ...?" Arvid breathes, looking at Nora as though she'd just sprouted a second head.
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Morning
The final memory is simple.
The morning begins like any other. Aleifr awakens in his tent, wrapped in his furs. He isn’t alone, though. Asleep beside him, curled up into the warmth of his much larger frame with one of his massive arms draped over her waist, is a woman.
Her face is obscured by a thick tangle of red hair, but some details can be made out. Her bare shoulders - poking out from under the thick pile of furs they’re sleeping amidst - are heavily muscled and dappled with freckles. A long, faded scar runs down her left shoulder, along with a few others scattered about. She doesn't have as many tattoos as he does, but there are a few runes and wards inked into her skin.
Aleifr doesn’t often smile. But he smiles when he looks at her.
Re: Morning
Secondly, the fuck.
Stacia swallows an exclamation of surprise and flattens herself back against the wall of the tent, looking around frantically for the door. She's accidentally fallen into pocket realms before (thanks, Coyote), but this doesn't feel like that. This is...private.
Best to get a move on before she's spotted.
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"What are you doing here?"
When she turns around, she'll see ... a second version of the man lying on the furs in front of her standing behind her - just dressed and significantly angrier looking.
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(They don't seem to be able to see her or the angry version of the viking, but she's not taking any chances.)
"I have no idea," she says quickly, holding up her hands defensively. "I didn't come here on purpose, I have no idea how I'm here, and I'd like to not be here almost as much as you'd like me to not be here. I am very, very sorry, please point me to the exit and I'll never speak of this to anyone."
That should cover all the important bits.
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"I've seen you before," Aleifr says, "on Piper 90."
He doubts they've spoken two words to each other before now, but he recognizes her face.
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"Yes," she agrees. "Hi. We haven't really talked? I'm Stacia. And I'm really sorry about being here, I can tell it's a private moment But I genuinely have no idea how I got here."
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"Aleifr." He gruffly introduces himself. "I believe you. And you're right. It is private. When we're back, I have every intention of finding out what caused this."
And what fool had the gall to use some magic to root around in his head.
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"It's probably the Stuff," Stacia says. "If the Jorg could get inside our heads, I don't think they'd send us to spy on each other. But we can discuss that outside the tent! Door? Or do you think we can pass through the wall?"
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As to how to get out, he looks around. The walls look solid as they ever have, but he's no gothi. He wouldn't know anything about walking through someone's mind or whatever the rules are. The door is probably their best bet, but before he can say as much, his eyes settle on his past self and the red-haired woman laying next to him.
He sees her stir. She rolls over and sees his past self looking at her, smiling warmly, and a little flush of red comes to her cheeks. She grins and gives him a playful shove.
He knows what day this is, now. And it makes his heart ache.
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