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Entry tags:
OPEN
WHO: Hunter and you!
WHAT: Memshare!!!
WHERE: Vegas/dreamscape/etc
WHEN: Event time!
WARNINGS: CW for child abuse, child soldiering, brainwashing, ptsd, genocide mentions! also Owl House spoilers will be in here.....
Just a note that I'm going to be doing two separate top level headers! One will be to tag in to receive a memshare from Hunter, and one will be one where you can put your character's memory! Please give me a memory in return if you are taking one of Hunter's ♥
WHAT: Memshare!!!
WHERE: Vegas/dreamscape/etc
WHEN: Event time!
WARNINGS: CW for child abuse, child soldiering, brainwashing, ptsd, genocide mentions! also Owl House spoilers will be in here.....
Just a note that I'm going to be doing two separate top level headers! One will be to tag in to receive a memshare from Hunter, and one will be one where you can put your character's memory! Please give me a memory in return if you are taking one of Hunter's ♥
YOUR CHARACTER'S MEMORIES
no subject
He's been thinking a lot about Nicol, for obvious reasons. Not just his death, but the revenge the remaining members of the Le Creuset team tried to take for him afterwards. Him, Dearka... Then Yzak of course. And finally Athrun, all doggedly chasing down the legged ship known as Archangel, determined to sink both it and the mobile suit pilot that protected it.
As their occular implants both glitch and sync up, Hunter will be pulled into a memory seen in the first person. He's seated in the cockpit of the GAT-X103 Buster Gundam, surrounded by controls and blinking displays that all SHOULD feel completely alien to Hunter... Synced with Dearka though, the cockpit feels like a second home, the mobile suit itself almost like another skin, for how at-ease he is piloting it.
All is not well though. Familiarity of the machine is an afterthought when you're locked in a desperate fight, and a potent cocktail of emotions reverberates throughout this memory. Grief, fury, fear... Annoyance at this one persistent little fighter jet that keeps dogging him and his efforts to exact the revenge he and his squadmates all crave. There's a flash of red light from the jet, and a loud explosion that rocks the right side of the mobile suit.
Everything that happens next, happens in a matter of seconds... A complete blur of actions and reactions. The hands at the controls-- Dearka's, but also Hunter's, they're one in the same in the way this memory is being shared-- scramble to try and maintain control in flight, but it's no use. A massive impact shudders through the cockpit as the mobile suit plows into the earth back-first, coming to a stop a fair distance away from the initial point of impact, where it lays prone and immobilized. With key systems all utterly unresponsive, and the main display indicating that the Archangel is moments away from firing on him, the pilot realizes there are only two options available to him now: surrender, or die.
...He chooses to surrender. The cockpit hisses open and he steps out into the pouring rain with both hands in the air, scowling. Enemy soldiers are sent out to meet him. He's brought aboard the very ship he was just attempting to sink and stripped of his belongings before being escorted to the medical bay to have his wounds tended to, limping the whole way. Recollecting this, Dearka feels the echoes of the fury, the humiliation, the shame of that experience... Not to mention fear, although he wouldn't permit himself to show it.
He distinctly remembers his cocksure, idiotic brain deciding then and there that the ONLY reasonable way of coping with all of this, was to be as loud and obnoxious as reasonably possible as he was walked through the halls at gunpoint. Complaining, leering at the local girls... What was the logic here? Maybe he was just trying to convey to the Naturals that even though he'd surrendered, that didn't mean they'd broken his spirit. But in the process, he'd refused to accept that the people around him were soldiers just like him... People who had just experienced their own losses.
It brings him shame now to look back upon. In particular, the memory lingers for a long while on the face of the crying girl who he'd antagonized. There's a blackout, a disconnect between the visual and sound, Dearka's own words coming back to haunt him. Are you afraid of me? Find me unusual? ...What I want to know is, why are you crying again? Did a foolish good-for-nothing Natural boyfriend of yours die or something?
The image returns just as abruptly, only now, one half of the vision is stained red. The sting of a fresh wound across the forehead provides context as to why. This whole memory has continued to play out in the first person point of view, and when the "camera" looks into the shiny surface of an upended medical tray that's propped up nearby, it's not Hunter's reflection there, but of course, Dearka's. He looks about four years younger, there's a gash on his forehead and blood running down his face, and he's laying on his side on the floor with his hands still tied behind his back. Various medical supplies are strewn across the floor in front of him. He looks up and finds that same girl from before, grappling with another young man around his own age. He's trying to both hold her back and wrench a large medical knife out of her hands, as she writhes and shrieks, her face contorted in fury, her eyes full of tears.
Tolle... Tolle is nowhere to be found! But this guy gets to live!? WHY!?
At this point, Dearka-- The real one here, in the present, sitting around in some gathered common space in Las Vegas-- manages to wrench himself out of the memory, he grits his teeth and rubs his forehead, trying to abate the sharp pain between his eyes. He seems to be completely unaware that anyone else was just watching that.]
no subject
[ as far as hunter can even tell, this is a struggle between two different armies of humans. but maybe it's more complicated than that. this is just a snapshot into someone else's life -- dearka's, actually -- and there's so much he doesn't understand. ]
[ and yet, some parts he understands perfectly, even if the context doesn't make any sense. the bravado. scoffing and puffing himself up to look tougher. acting like a fool. ]
[ still, after the memory fades hunter is silent for a good few beats, still trying to process everything he just saw. after that, he.... clears his throat, uncharacteristically contrite. but characteristically awkward. ]
.... That was your memory, right? I. Uh. Saw it. Sorry, man.
[ this has the energy of 'that's rough, buddy' ]
no subject
...You did, huh? Jeez. Feels like I should be the one apologizing to you for you having to watch all that. [He shrugs. Airy, dismissive... But there's also the sense that he's maybe trying to convince himself a bit, that it's not that big of a deal.] Not exactly my finest hour... Anyway, don't worry about it. Not like any of it is a secret.
[He pauses a beat, then glances away.]
...And I did apologize to her. Eventually. Just so you know.
arrives fashionably late
And how many of other people's memories can Hunter barge into before the implants finally stop glitching? Here's another one, nighttime in a residential area. There's a house nearby, with a small crowd of children milling nearby. They're all different ages and genders, but what they have in common is a look of confusion and panic on their face. Some of them glance nervously at the house, others cry and wail, and still others glance towards the house with dark looks on their faces.
There seems to be a muffled argument floating through the open front door….does Hunter care to go investigate? ]
no subject
[ this is a completely unfamiliar place and hunter squints against the backdrop and at the children... it's easy to pick up on what they're afraid of. it's the same thing he's felt, even if he doesn't want to admit it, walking into that throne room. ]
[ and maybe he should mind his own business, but he can't help himself. he braces himself, addresses the kids, his voice softening: ]
... I'll check it out. You all stay out here. It'll be fine.
[ he tries to give them a comforting look, because he's a sucker, and then... in he goes ]
no subject
Once inside, the voices grow louder, though maybe the first thing Hunter will notice is how domestic it all looks. A family house, with toys scattered around, scenic portraits on the walls, a small fireplace tucked away on one side. If there's any sort of conflict happening inside, it must surely be the work of an intruder, a home invader, because what other discord could possibly occur in here?
But the argument grows louder, audible snippets drifting from the hallway that leads to the kitchen. ]
"-kill me like you killed the rest-"
"-shouldn't have found out then. You brats are too nosy for your own good-"
[ One adult voice and one belonging to a teenager, both of them filled with anger and malice. There's the sound of metal hitting wood, and then the smash of glass as it shatters. ]
no subject
[ besides, if everything were as perfect as it apparently looks.... why would the children be huddling outside of it, scared? no, there's something wrong, his paranoid brain tells him, even without the shouting ]
[ the shouting makes it worse, it hastens his steps. he sweeps through the foyer as quickly as he can while watching ever single step and any concurrent movement. but he's following the argument. the more he hears, the less caution he takes. the teenager's in danger, his instincts tell him. ]
no subject
There, the noise multiplies tenfold, the clatter of kitchenware scattering across the ground mixing in with the shouts that come from the people within. One man, adult and in his prime, and the other a teenager around Hunter's age. There's a third figure on the ground, immobile in a growing pool of blood. In fact, there's blood everywhere else in the kitchen, splattered over counters, on the ground, and staining the clothes of the two people still moving around, trying their best to take out the other with knives, forks, whatever they can get their hands on.
Moving around and shouting at each other, and it doesn't take a genius to put all the pieces together. A business with its office situated right in this house, but instead of selling goods it's children who are sold, all of them picked up off the streets and groomed to be whatever it is prospective buyers are looking for.
you 100% deserve a more lovingly detailed scene with written out dialogue but unforch my hospital stay threw me off kilter so bad (crying) ]
CW: body degradation/body horror, blood, gore, nudity
Why? Why? Why is it always like this? No matter what, she can never be allowed to live happily. She can't even make a single promise to someone without another person coming along to force her to break it.
Why did Kurama have to appear now of all times? Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Why did Kouta have to take a bullet for her sake? Why? When he said he hated her only a few minutes before? Why does she have to live in a world that can't allow her a single moment of happiness? Why can't she destroy a world like this as it so justly deserves?!
And why...why...why...why...why is her power hitting its limit now? Why is it now that her body begins to atrophy, her hand falling off entirely, that she's at the breaking point? Wasn't it enough to just cough up her lungs like before from the effort? Why can't this body hold on just a little while longer??
She touches down as gently as she can on the Sea Candle's ruined platform. Kouta's condition is already abysmal. The bleeding isn't stopping, but he's still breathing. For how long? She can't say. Her mind races for what to do, but... ]
Die...he'll die. It's too late. He'll die...
[ All this power and again...again she can't save a single person! Just like before, the only person who ever mattered is going to die! All because he foolishly chose to protect her. Someone who's only ever brought him grief.
But...no, wait! If she...that's right. Her "arms" can be so precise, right down to the molecular level. If she focuses, she can heal him, right? If she stops the bleeding, he won't die here...
Right? ]
If his wounds will close just a little bit, what would my life matter...?
no subject
[ maybe it's the way she's ready to sacrifice herself for another person. maybe it's feeling like a failure. maybe it's the idea of literally falling apart. but--- ]
[ he tries to stop this boy's bleeding, first of all. if he can even touch him. ]
... We can still save him! Don't give up!
[ even as she's literally falling to pieces. ]
no subject
Y-Yeah...I can't. I can't give up.
[ Her hands join Hunter's over Kouta's chest to apply pressure to the wound. Both her physical ones, and then, her vectors close in to do the same on a microscopic level. ]
My power should...if I can piece his cells back together, the bleeding should stop. I just have to- I can knit it together. The wound...if it's closed, then he should be fine.
[ Except there are enemies on the horizon. She knows, even if she doesn't see them right away. Those people surely sent ships, planes, who knows what...defending this place and healing Kouta will be so much to do, but... ]
Y-Yes. I can do this. If I focus...
no subject
[Vergilus approaches - he's dressed differently, a black leather jacket and a holster with his gladius perched on his back. He glances dully up at the building.]
So this is the building you said Lapis would meet you at? A gallery....
[Even if Hunter may not share in these memories, there's something insistent in his head. There's someone he needs to find in that place.]
[A young lady named Lapis.]