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.]]
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The Fomori explanation and Sam seeing through her half-true answer about what she meant about the full moon is a little less important to Stacia at the moment than trying to keep the memory where it is instead of where she knows it's going. She can already hear the crying through the sound of flames and see the edges of what's to come pushing through what currently is.
She can't stop it though, whatever the trigger point was to kick this off, it's already passed.
Sam finds himself indoors this time, in a hand-constructed wooden hall; or if not hand-constructed, someone's gone to a great deal of expense making it look as though it was built by hand. The walls are lined with names and what are clearly memorials to the dead, none of them quite the same.
At one end of the hall, two wolves are lying in state. One is reddish, even in the dim light, and the other looks almost like a husky or a malamute other than it's size. Between them is a girl, her brown hair matted and tangled and half-fallen from its crown braids, wrapped in a blanket and weeping out a broken heart. Her body shakes with it, every sob torn from her center with an agonized convulsion.
Beside Sam, Stacia flinches, pulling in on herself as grief casts its shadow over her face.
Like the walls, the girl at the end of the hall has limbs made of unfinished wood, too.
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And it definitely is. He doesn't know exactly what's going on, but he reaches over to place a supportive hand on the back of her shoulder. Just a light touch so she remembers she's not alone. "I'm sorry."
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"Your condolences are appreciated," Stacia says dully. She doesn't look up at him, but she doesn't flinch at his touch either. "The people responsible are dead now, but that only makes it a little better."
She takes a shaky breath. "The gray one is Lilly," she says. "She was the other blonde you just saw. The red one is Bares-His-Fangs." She does finally look at Sam, muscle twitching in her jaw, eyes raw wounds in her grief. "They were good people. She liked hamburgers and making friends and protecting people. He liked teaching people and scaring the pants off of creeps and destroying drug labs in the woods."
She takes another breath and let's it out, more steady this time. "You're smart, I imagine you've noticed they're wolves. I'd appreciate it if you didn't let that get out. It's not that I don't trust the rest of the rig crew, but you know how secret underground societies are big on keeping their secrets."
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He...hadn't quite twigged that she might be talking about the fact that they were dead and still wolves, but it might eventually.
Looking back to the bodies, Sam nods. "They sound like they were great people. The world needs more of that, not less."
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"You know what, that's my bad," she says, perhaps with more sarcasm than strictly necessary -- she uses it to bleed off Rage sometimes. "We were just talking about how boys are dumb."
If he weren't over a foot taller than her, she'd flick him in the ear.
"They're dead and they're not human, Sam. That's what I'm talking about." A beat. "Which I probably shouldn't have been so bitchy about when I'm asking a favor from you, that's my bad too."
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Still, he does consider that as he looks back to the wolves. "So. More werehuman than wolf? I haven't heard about it before, but we've already established that our brands of werewolves are different."
Things waver a second as he thinks about his own world's werewolves. Not that he entirely notices, half lost in thought.
He does snap aware as the room changes from rough hewn wood to a modern apartment. Impossible to tell where, of course, but a woman and two men sit there, one of them obviously a much younger Sam, with a gentler, almost puppyish face.
The older Sam pales, sucking in a sharp breath. "Oh no. No, not this. You really don't need to see this."
The conversation that they're witness to isn't easy. Nor is the ending. Though Sam is at least able to wrench his mind away from it before the actual shot takes place. His jaw clenches, shoulders gone tight before he tilts his head to try to loosen them up. "Sorry. That...my mind wandered."
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She tenses when the world changes around them, arm extending in Sam's direction out of protective reflex. She pauses when everything settles on something that definitely isn't one of her memories.
"...Huh," she says. Then, as Sam wrenches his mind away before he has to make the shot, "I'm sorry. That wasn't a fair thing for her to ask you to do."
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If it had been her in Sam's shoes, she'd had preferred to take responsibility for it rather than risk resenting the person who took it in her stead.
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Sam pauses a moment, doing his best to keep the world around them steady and blank. "Believe it or not, it was a more innocent time for both of us. Over the next few years, we'd learn a lot of stuff that made more sense of what had come before, even if it all really, really sucked."
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"He sounds like he's a good older brother," Stacia says. "Mine would flip if he knew what I was dealing with on a regular basis."
Now that she's thinking about it, she can feel the memories stirring under the surface. She could probably pick one out and show it to Sam, something with Nick or Mila. Something normal.
"The early days are always like that, huh?" she asks rhetorically. "At first, all you've got to go on is what other people say. Then you start understanding it yourself and you start being able to follow the logic and pick up where things are going, even if they are going straight to Hell."
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"I'm not sure that logic was ever part of the way our lives went," he admits after a moment, grimace fading a bit when things don't start wobbling around them. "Pretty sure that went out the window with the demons."
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"Demons are the worst," Stacia agrees. "Fun fact, when my kind of werewolf encounters them, we get extra murder-y."
She glances around at the blank landscape. "Does this feel...unstable to you? Because I'm feeling like if we don't pick a memory to hang out in, we might end up in one we don't want."
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The passenger is obviously Sam, though a much younger Sam, skinny with floppy hair, wearing a hoodie and slouched down in a way that couldn't be very comfortable, but looking out the windshield with a contented expression. The driver's hair is more closely shorn, a dark blond to Sam's brown, wearing a leather jacket and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along with the beat.
The backseat could be scrunched, but it's memory so Sam is still comfortable here. "Anyway, yeah. Demons are definitely the worst. We've had to deal with them a lot over the years."
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"It's amazing what a hairstyle will do, huh?" she says, not really expecting an answer. She settles in herself, half-turning in her seat.
"I was lucky enough to only have to deal with them a couple times before they all got sucked back out of our reality to where they belong," she said. "One of them tried to murder me, but then, so did an angel. Well, Nephilim, technically. Ramiel." She shakes her head. "Murder-y bastards. And that's me saying it."
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He sighs, leaning back. "Yeah, no. I absolutely agree with you about the angels being murder-y bastards. Though we should probably not go down that road too far. This is an easy enough memory for me to keep going, but it could get rocked."
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"That's what brothers do," she says, on the topic of (almost certainly Dean) teasing Sam about his hair. "Or so I understand it. Nicky was off at college by the time I started really doing my own hair. He's eight years older than me, and Mila's ten, so I never got the full 'older siblings' experience."
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"Dean's only four years older, but it felt like more when we were growing up." Sam looks forward a bit, out the windshield. "Dad wasn't around much when we were growing up. I think he wanted to try, but...he was never cut out to being a single parent. He put way too much onto Dean. Really, Dean was more of a parent to me than Dad ever was."
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"That stinks," Stacia says. "For Dean and for you. I'm sure he did his best, but that definitely wasn't fair for your father to ask of him." She taps her heel against the seat. "I'd imagine your other parent is in the "let's not talk about this" category when we're staggering wildly through each other's memories, huh?"
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Though he had memories that could be used to figure out how it looked. Which means it came CLOSE to rocking, a waft of heated air and a lick of flame in the vision before he clamps down on it. "Though...yeah, I know how she died."
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Stacia tenses, looking around for the source of the fire, then hunkers back down in her seat. Dream fire can't hurt her. Can it?
"Judging by what just happened, I'm not going to press it," she says. "Which isn't something I say very often so, you know, congrats for getting that from me."
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He leans his head back, letting the music of the memory wash over him. "Anyway. This is probably what most of my memories are like. The good, quiet ones. We've put so many miles on this car over the years, just like this."
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No death involving fire is going to be a pleasant one.
"Not bad memories to have," she agrees. "It's a nice car." She twists around in her seat so that she can peer out of the back window.
"Good amount of trunk space, it looks like. Though I can't imagine you and your brother sleep in here that often, considering how huge you both are."
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He looks at the backseat and laughs, shaking his head. "If I have to sleep in the car, I sleep in the front seat. It's more comfortable than curling up back here."
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