goneawayworld | Invasion!

Entry tags:

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.]]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Attaching some specific content warning potential to each individual memory, just to be safe! Welcome to the Steven Quartz Cutie Pie Demayo Diamond Universe memory palace, mind your step. Some memories on offer are:

a. Steven versus Spinel aka the big climax of the movie where Steven gets the best song on the soundtrack, frankly. (warnings: a little bit of blood in the beginning + violence throughout)

b. That time White Diamond pulled out Steven's gem. (warnings: violence towards children, emotionally abusive language/gaslighting, some body horror/emetophobia)

c. Encountering Cluster gem experiments for the first time. (warnings: body horror, some violence)

d. And one of the many examples of Steven's habit of going above and beyond in his efforts to extend emotional labor olive branches to grown adults. (warnings: child endangerment, reference to parental death)

Steven's mood and possibly conversational quality are... going to vary in the aftermath depending on the memory in question and how he's viewed it, so slide on in here however you like and I'll kinda work things up on a case by case basis.

Although it is safe to say be prepared for apologies, because he'll almost definitely start off assuming his weird psychic dream powers weren't cut off after all and that this is somehow his doing. Being a magical boy... it's simply not always glamorous.

Feel free to reach out for plotting, hashing out closed starters, requesting some other memory options, questions, etc. ]

[I wrote a lot so you get links to a post, just remember to thread here! The first one is long enough that it can be played out as unfolding while we thread but the second one happens really fast. We can still tag after if your character wants to talk to Sirius about it right then. Also the first memory can shift into the second memory if you want your character to stick around for it.]

a. The Secret Keeper memory, just before the Fidelius charm when Peter becomes the Secret Keeper. Sirius plays with Harry and James calls him out on not trusting Remus.

b. Sirius finding Peter, failing to kill him, and getting framed for murder.
CW: Murder, self-amputation, referenced blood and gore (no details), mental breakdown

That's a...whole lot of naked, yelling kids.

It's early evening in this clearing in the woods and there are approximately two dozen brown teenagers yelling over each other in confusion while equally-confused adults of various races attempt to throw blankets on them and keep them from running deeper into the trees. A visibly-younger Stacia (though not as young as the naked kids) appears at the edge of the clearing, flanked by two white men in their early twenties, one with ash brown hair and one with fiery red. After a moment of confused staring, they join in the wrangling. Suddenly, two words break through the din.

"Mom! Dad!"

The yelling stops as the teenagers focus their collective attention on a utterly gobsmacked Latino in his late teens or early twenties and a mixed race woman of similar age who seems torn between surprise and delight. The teens descend on the pair like a tidal wave and resume yelling over each other, but at least they're not trying to escape into the woods anymore.

The remaining adults are still confused, talking among themselves before someone in the crowd goes "oh! The pond!"

Everyone looks to the pond at the edge of the clearing, then turns and looks at Stacia and the two men with her. Stacia blinks a couple times, then raises a finger in the air as if to make a point.

"I will accept credit for this, but not blame."

Edited 2020-08-09 05:38 (UTC)

It's dark enough that the streetlights are on, but the area is in enough disrepair that the alleyway is still mostly in shadow. A car is parked at the mouth of the alley and two blond girls climb out, one with longer hair wearing denim and flannel and sensible shoes and one with a shoulder-length bob wearing a minidress and low wedge heels.

"Grab the bleach out of the back, will you?" the latter asks. Her voice is clearly Stacia's. "Ugh, he got blood everywhere. I'm gonna kill him; this is exactly why I keep telling him not to go hunting alone."

"Yeah," the other girl agrees loyally, retrieving the bleach as asked. "You keep your blood inside your body."

"That's right, good girl!"

It should sound condescending, but Stacia says it with every sign of warm sincerity and the other girl bounces on the balls of her feet like she's received praise hard-won. The two of them proceed down the alley, carefully searching out bloodstains and slopping bleach on them before covering them with debris. There's a dumpster halfway down the alley, and that's where the blood seems to be concentrated.

"No cameras at least, that's good," Stacia says, eyeballing the dumpster. "...How bad do you think it is in there?"

"It's gonna be gross," the other girl says. "There's not enough bleach in the world."

Stacia sighs. "Fire it is then. Help me open it up."

The two girls open the dumpster and the stench of putrefaction rolls out, overwhelming even the smell of bleach. Both girls gag, and chorus in the exact same girlish protest:

"EWWW!"

1. Horse Girl

[ Maybe it's during a moment when Adora is catching a cat-nap (ha) or when she's just trying to rest. Either way, there's a memory. The first time she'd ever seen a horse. There's a sense of confusion but also a sense of absolute joy and wonder at finding out that there's so much more to the world than the drab industrialness of the Fright Zone.

"What is THAT?" she asks and she sounds so full of wonder, so amazed, so floored.

Then she even gets a chance to pet it.

It's a positive memory, honestly. Which is probably good, because a lot of hers aren't. ]

2. We Were Just Children

[ Other memories that crop up are less happy. The facility that the memory-walker finds themselves in is a little decript and ramshackle; an industrial green with grim hallways and gratings. There's the pitter-patter of tiny feet and a voice calls out "Catra? Where are you?"

A very young Adora comes around the corner, brow furrowed as she peers into the gloom.

Wow, weird. ]

3. For the Honor of Grayskull

[ This one is different than the other two; there's no sense of drabness here. Instead there's brightness. Color. Adora stands on a bridge of light, facing what looks like a hologram - a tall woman sketched out in blue and white. Or, well, it's probably Adora, if she were three feet taller and bulked out. She wears a fluttering outfit, a crown, and her eyes have something of a glow to them. Adora holds her sword above her and rainbow light cascades around her as she struggles to try and control something - herself, maybe?

"It is time," the hologram intones in a mechanical sounding voice.

"I won't be controlled-!" Dream Adora (She-Ra) responds with a grimace, sounding as if she's struggling against something, "I am not a piece of their machine! I am not a weapon!" ]

Edited 2020-08-08 19:55 (UTC)

[CONTENT WARNING: animal death, implied child sexual abuse]

I. 7 Years Old

“Dad! Daddy!”

It’s the middle of the night in a cramped house with cigarette stains on the ceiling, and a seven year-old boy stands at the top of a staircase with frayed carpeting. He’s staring down at a gaggle of people at the front door, a man and a woman in nightclothes and four armed policemen, at a scene which appears to have gotten contentious the instant handcuffs were broken out. The man in the wifebeater and boxers is putting on his shoes, which is difficult when he’s being manhandled by the officers. A female officer tells the woman in the nightrobe that they have probable cause to search the whole house.

“…you have the right to remain silent…” one of the officers recites, cutting himself off as he notices the boy rushing down the stairs.

“Leave my dad alone!” The boy, absolutely earnest, tries to kick at one of the officer’s thighs. His face is red, already slicking with desperate tears.

“Ronnie!” The woman grabs the child by his hair. The kid squeals and tries to wrest himself free in vain. She yanks him. “Shut up!”

“Dad! Dad!” He flails and grabs for the man in handcuffs. The man looks back at him, and the boy stops, frozen by the expression on his father’s face. It’s not one of hatred, but one of disgust.

“Get him upstairs.”

The police officers politely ignore Mrs. McDonald dragging her crying son back up the stairs.

II. 32 Years Old

“-pretty fucked up that your dad’s trying to kill us, dude,” says the guy.

The short guy, Mac and a blonde woman are huddled in coats, sitting on what appears to be a roof and passing a bottle of whiskey around. Mac has cuts and abrasions on his head, and two long lines of dried blood tracking from his ear canals to his throat.

“No, dude,” Mac says, “he’s not really trying to kill us because he warned us he was going to kill us first. He knows that we’re badass enough to predict a threat, develop an escape plan, and execute it to completion. This is all about how much faith he has in me, bro.”

The blonde woman takes a swig and looks at the short friend. “Is he serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” the short friend grumbles and rolls his eyes.

III. 39 Years Old

"You're eating the dog!" Over the dining table in a house that would be beautiful if not for the trash piled everywhere, Mac's laughing with unhinged, terrifying fervor at the man across the table from him.

"Oh, God! What is wrong with you?" shouts the other man over Mac's keening, hysterical laughter, spitting out his dinner.

Mac stops laughing and starts yelling. "I don't know, I guess it was just a cry for attention! You didn't even blink twice when I told you that the dog was dead!"

"I can't live with you anymore in this goddamn place." The other guy gets to his feet. "I'm out of here."

IV. 9 Years Old

Mac and his short friend lay in the dark in a pile of limbs in a child-size bed with the kind of uncharged intimacy only children can get away with. The boy’s head rests on Mac’s chest, and both have much-abused stuffed animals tucked into their arms. The room is small and dingy, with a sleeping bag on the floor that Mac has clearly abandoned to sleep next to his friend. Crayon drawings are pinned to the walls with blue tacks, some houses and stick figures of people and animals, others violent scribbles. Mac’s rambling.

“…and the monsters in the closet, and the ones from outside the windows too. If any monsters or bad guys come in through the windows, I’m gonna kick them right in the bird, like, kapow!” When he gets louder on the sound effect, Mac’s friend shifts a little, roused from falling asleep, and Mac lowers the volume in his heroic fantasies. “I’ve been learning all these roundhouse kicks from Bruce Lee. He’s basically my mentor. If I kick them right in the kisser all their teeth will just fly out and they’ll have to grow new ones. It’ll be so badass.”

Downstairs, a man and woman are talking. The man is inaudible, but the woman says “I set up the couch for you, Jack. You can’t sleep in Charlie’s room tonight, Ronnie’s spending the night. Isn’t it sweet how those boys get along? Having a friend is so good for my Charlie.”

“Can you punch the Nightman too?” Charlie asks, yawning, easing off to sleep.

“Right in the nose, dude.” Mac catches the yawn contagion as well. “You’re always safe when you’re with me.”

Edited 2020-08-08 19:50 (UTC)

Lots of video links, but I provided summaries in brackets.

Edited 2020-08-08 20:36 (UTC)

[CW: Violence, Violence involving Children, Blood, Underage Drinking]

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.

Edited 2020-08-08 20:34 (UTC)

There are two people in the bushes.

That's about all that can be said of them. They have hair and facial features and body shapes and all the things people should have, but the mind fails to properly register anything beyond their existence. One of the people is speaking softly to the translucent bird perched on their forearm. The bird responds with something that isn't so much a sound as the idea of a sound and hops off the person's arm and takes flight into the clearing ahead, and the two indistinct people settle in to watch.

The clearing is occupied by half a dozen others, a mix of humans and wolves and wolf-monsters like Stacia's turned into, but unlike her brown and gray fur, all of them are shining silver. The translucent bird flies directly to one of the humans, a girl with fine clothes and silver-blond hair, and she welcomes it with the delight of a surprise visit from a friend. Then it begins to speak to her, and she stiffens, shooting a look of horror first at one of the silvery wolves and then at wolf-monster brooding on the other side of the clearing. Neither seem to notice her, but she visibly steels herself, rising to her feet and approaching the latter.

When she speaks to the wolf-monster, all hell breaks loose.

The monster rounds on the wolf and roars in incandescent fury, and the wolf explodes into another wolf-monster and everything in the clearing is teeth and claws and so, so much blood. The silver-blond girl transforms into an enormous wolf and bolts from the clearing like her tail is on fire, howling her panic to the sky. The other five are locked in combat, minds lost to rage beyond anything humanity knows.

It's over in minutes, though those minutes are stretched by the horror within. And the end of it all, the only one standing is the wolf-monster who started the physical fight, and them only barely. Their silver fur is soaked in their own blood and the blood of their pack, and the two figures in the bushes wait patiently for the snarling to cease and the horror to set in.

Then they rise and begin to walk away.

[CW: Blood, Severe Injury]

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.

[No CW's this time, shockingly.]

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.

In Which Beacon Academy Employs Questionable Pedagogical Methods

Feel free to jump in between sections, because the memories don't cover a continuous stretch of time. (If you're canon-familiar, it's the Beacon initiation arc.)

"Can you imitate a sloth?"
[Nora is a chatty morning person. Ren is not.]

Just fucking yeet some kids off a cliff.
[The Beacon Headmaster is moderately crazy and also Volume 1 was very cartoony, so anyway, on their second day the kids get catapulted off a huge cliff and into a monster-infested forest to go on a fetch quest because sure why not.]

"I still don't think that's what a sloth sounds like."
[Nora, who seems to have just stayed in the trees and looked for Ren, watches him kill a snakelike Grimm, makes her "sloth call," and dangles upside down to boop him on the nose.]

"Aww, it's broken."
[Nora (one assumes) picks a fight with a bear-like Grimm and somehow starts riding it, because, y'know, Nora. She kills it as a winded Ren catches up and tells her not to do that again. She's not listening and advances the fetch quest, snatching up an oversized rook chess piece and declaring herself queen of the castle while balancing it on her head. Ren doesn't like that either, because he hates fun.]

MONSTER FITE
[The gang manages to get the attention of two giant Grimm, a scorpion and a raven, that they're not good enough to fight yet. They try running away into the depths of a vast abandoned temple, but the creatures pursue and the teens are forced to stand and fight. Everyone is predictably getting their asses beat until they start using teamwork, because obviously. Nora strikes the finishing blow on the giant scorpion, killing it by driving its own stinger into its head. Yay! She and Ren get assigned to a team and the school anime seasons kick off.]

Edited 2020-08-09 01:20 (UTC)

WARNINGS: parental death, danger to children, bullying, creepy shadow creatures, just general lethal violence

Get Your Dead Parents Here!

Nora is young enough in this memory that much of it comes in jagged, impressionistic flashes, adult understanding of what occurred a retroactive gloss on a frightened child's confusion.

Young Nora knows they're going from somewhere bad to somewhere good and little beyond that, but obviously her parents know what they're doing—they're parents, duh—and so the small bubble that is a child's world has shifted along with her to become their caravan and the endless woods to each side of the path, peopled with other travelers and the hired Huntsmen there to keep bandits and Grimm at bay. Nora remembers the smell of leaf litter and the look of broken sunlight dappling the forest floor, both new to her, and she remembers being recaptured after escaping parental custody to pepper the guards with questions, but she doesn't remember faces. Just her father's shock of hair, as red as her own, and a floral smell that belongs to her mother. Probably her shampoo, the grown-up Nora thinks, but she's never found the brand.

Her memory of the bandit attack is chaos. Yelling adults, the crack that is the first time she's ever heard a gunshot, the bang of one explosion followed by an even louder one—not that she remembers hearing the second, but her adult self knows it must have happened. The force of it sweeps her up and hurls her, and it hurts, the blow of the pressure wave and the heat of the flames. At the same moment, something inside her stirs and bursts to life with a warmth that feels nothing like the fire...then time goes back to normal and she thuds up against a tree trunk and flops to the ground, unharmed and unaware that she should be dead, and that she has her newly-awakened Aura to thank for that.

Nora remembers the sting of skinned knees when she trips—thanks for nothing, Aura—the realization she's been running, and the sudden awareness that the forest is very big and she is very small. Two fears push against each other, but she wants her parents, who will make everything all right again, as is all parents' job, and that primal draw wins out.

Miraculously, she gets the heading more or less correct, and emerges perhaps 500 feet from the now-burning scene of the attack. What seemed like forever to her hasn't really been long at all, and she has a memory of an impossibly black silhouette against the fire, the first Grimm she ever saw in the flesh, or what serves them for flesh. It can't have been that clear, Nora's aware, but she now knows what an Ursa looks like, and that turns the moment into a perfect photographic still that shatters into panic as she starts running again.

She's numb, trudging down the dirt road in a timeless haze because she doesn't know what else to do, and that, she now thinks, is the thing that saved her, the lack of any strong feelings making her invisible to the Grimm. Again, it seems like forever, a child's perception of time strangely overlapping with an adult's knowledge that it couldn't have been more than a few days before she'd reached Kuroyuri village—long enough to be ravenously hungry, not long enough for it to be slowing her down yet.

From this point on, you're basically getting this story from Nora's POV:

Part 1

[tl;dw: A young boy, Nora's BFF Ren, who looks Chinese save for his extremely fuschia eyes, comes upon a group of other boys taunting a dirty and furtive Nora, who's clutching a loaf of moldy bread presumably picked out of the trash. The two lock eyes for a long moment and Ren freezes up. The tableau breaks when Ren's father shows up. Nora takes advantage of the distraction and runs, and Ren gets a fatherly lecture about not being a bystander.

[Why no adult in this tiny town did anything about the dirty, unaccompanied, obviously foreign child running around is a mystery, but RWBY does not function on logic.]

Part 2

[Grimm attack! Ren's mother is killed by the roof collapsing, which also knocks Ren out. He comes to over his father's shoulder. His mortally wounded Dad has enough time to deliver more fatherly advice about being brave and give his son a dagger before the giant, creepy Grimm spearheading the attack gets him. Ren runs.

[He sees Nora, who's curled up under a house and crying in terror. A giant raven-like Grimm lands on the roof of the house, presumably drawn to her fear.
Terrified and crying himself, Ren discovers his Semblance—basically an X-Men power—which calms his panic and makes the Grimm ignore him. Gathering his courage, he sprints across an open space to join Nora, telling her to be brave. She tackles him in the first of what will be many hugs, and after a surprised moment, Ren returns the hug and his Semblance activates, calming both of them. The Nevermore flaps away and the Nuckelavee stalks past their hiding place, its arms dragging unnaturally along the ground, but doesn't discover them. Nora admits her fear to Ren, who tells her he's frightened too. He ventures out of hiding briefly to retrieve a wooden toy mallet that he gives to Nora, telling her they'll keep each other safe, and the two exchange introductions.]

First of all, what.

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.

That would be wise. However, as she backs up towards the tent's outer wall, she bumps into something else. When she does, she'll hear a decidedly aggressive growl of a voice sound off from uncomfortably close behind her.

"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.

"What the heck?" Nora demands of the snowstorm she's suddenly found herself in. Her Aura keeps the cold at bay, but even through that protection she can tell it's brutal, worse even than anything Solitas has to offer. "Aleifr? Why are you dressed like that?"

Yes, Nora, fashion is the important thing, here.

This time she does let out a squeak of alarm, jumping away from the voice and turning so that she, the owner of the voice, and the people in the bed make a triangle, just in case the people in the bed decide to get out.

(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.

Oh my gosh! Adora, you were the cutest little kid!

[Nora's kind of figured out what's going on here, and her priorities, as ever, are...very Nora.]

Edited 2020-08-09 01:18 (UTC)

"What?"

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 ~~slightly~~ smaller 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.

The angry giant's glare follows her, but he makes no move towards her. After a moment, though, his expression shifts ... his eyes widen slightly in a brief moment of recognition.

"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.

In the realm of the mind, Nora's dressed the way she thinks she should be dressed, and her short sleeves and short skirt aren't at all suited to the weather.

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."

Edited 2020-08-09 01:40 (UTC)

[People are screaming, but it's a distant, distorted sound. There's this pervasive damp, oily, organic smell. This is some kind of huge cave lit in gloomy purple, big enough to fit multiple football fields, with a stadium-high ceiling. There's a great gray lake or pool, buildings, and a lot of creatures, predominantly humans but some big centipede-like ones and tall reptilians too, among scattered others.

It's hard to tell much. Everything more than a few feet away from Alloran is out of focus. He's collapsed in an uncomfortable-looking position, almost face down, with two legs crumpled under him, breathing slowly. All his eyes are open and glazed and he isn't moving. There are cuts showing through his coat, and dried blood. Three of the big reptile aliens are standing over him as well as one human, a comparatively petite woman with long pale hair. Her voice is comprehensible, if fuzzy. She sounds young.]

Time. Get him up.

[The alien guards crouch and lift Alloran up together, causing a few new nicks and scratches with the blades sprouting from their bodies. Each one is seven feet tall or so, taller than he'd be standing but with nothing like his bulk. One is only carrying his long tail. He barely stirs. The human keeps pace as they all approach the pool. She puts a hand on him and pulls the fur back to reveal yellowy-orange skin that she presses something to - a last bead of liquid gleams as she pulls it back. Almost instantly Alloran shivers, nostrils flaring. The guards lay him down at the edge of a platform that extends over the pool and hold him down, two crouching to use their hands, the third standing on his tail and opening a cut with their claws. The girl tsks.]

Now look what you've done, Offret! You're not a soldier here. You have to be gentle.

[Sights and sounds are becoming clearer. The screaming is coming from people in cages or along two low piers that extend out like this platform. Calm people, humans and reptilian aliens, walk down one pier and kneel or crouch over the water. Each drops something from their heads - it looks like a gray slug, emerging from the ear - that vanishes into the opaque metallic water. Then that person either gets up, mostly still calm, and walks away, or they start to struggle and another reptilian alien or two hauls them up and into the cages between piers. On the other pier, calm people and people dragged from cages fighting and shouting go out, and their ears are pressed to the water or their heads are ducked. Everyone leaves that pier calmly. Among the humans there are elderly people and adults and teenagers and, though not many, children as young as five. One in a full-throated howl for Mommy cuts off abruptly and stops crying, expression turning to a businesslike mild irritation as she gets up and rearranges her clothes.

The human who's just dosed Alloran with something is a girl, a skinny teenager with a confident air. She pokes Alloran's side with the toe of her shoe and clinically watches him stirring and trying to struggle as he's held down.]

We might need a higher dose on the counteragent, or earlier application. He's coming out of it more slowly than I like. Unless he's faking. Are you faking it, Andalite filth?

[He lifts his head with an effort, glaring while the reptile aliens make sounds that might be laughter. He does not speak. The girl says something to the effect of Oh, here and one of the big reptilian aliens pushes the side of Alloran's head down. His legs thrash and his tail heaves, but he's pinned. Soon he goes still. At the girl's signal, the guards back off and he stands up, stalk eyes swiveling in a quick glance all around, lifting a back hoof and planting it again, curling his tail in a high scorpion arch. The side of his head is dripping.]

Welcome back, Visser Three. Was the pool to your liking?

<Adequate, Sub-Visser Fifty-One. Crowded and disorganized but I see you have had an effect.>

[His soundless voice is Alloran's, but... colder, layered with malice and contempt. Moving too fast for the human eye to track, his bleeding tail thwaps and the blade is suddenly against the throat of the guard who had been standing on his tail. The reptilian alien stiffens, holding perfectly still.]

<You! It's the very edge of treason to damage my host. One might wonder at your loyalties, Offret Three-Two-Three. Admit it! You're in league with Visser One!>

Interesting ... she knows his name, but not everything, and it looks like his guess about her having some sort of shelter was wrong.

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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Page 1 of 24

Invasion!

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Stacia

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Credit Not Blame (cw: non-sexual teenage nudity)

Trashfire (cw: blood, aftermath of violence, rot, fire)

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Mac

Nora!

Aleifr

The Raid

Nothing To See Here (cw: violence, blood, gore)

The Walk

Morning

THE FUNNY ONE: School Daze [WARNINGS: none, but the animation is bad and the physics are anime]

THE SAD ONE: Origin Story [WARNINGS: too many for the subject line, see body]

Re: Morning

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Alloran - cw Yeerks

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