hadriel_logs | Event Log: Memories Past

Event Log: Memories Past

Who: Everyone
What: Memory Share Event!
Where: All around the city
When: November 14th-20th
Warnings: Please remember to tag all warnings for memory shares!

Have you ever looked through someone else's eyes? Heard through their ears, spoken with their tongue? The gods have tried to teach some of you empathy, but it's time you learned the hard way, exactly what the others here have been through. For a week, every time you brush skin to skin with someone, you'll experience a memory of theirs: happy, sad, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that it feels real to you.

The first touch may come as a surprise- it lasts only for a split second but may feel like an eternity, where you're trapped in someone else's memory. After that, it could be more expected, and some may even figure out how to control it and share specific scenes from their past with others. Or, you might wear gloves and long sleeve shirts for awhile, nobody's judging.

Maybe curtail the handholding for awhile- or go right ahead, if that's your thing. After all, you never really know somebody unless you've walked a mile in their shoes, right?

► This log covers November 14th-20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you die in a memory, you don't die in real life, but if you do die in real life please let us know here.

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Delmar is in the process of trying to drag a very large teddy bear, one whose legs are nearly double its already impressive body length, out of a store and back to his home. It had just been there on this day, sitting innocently in the corner of the shop, and try as he might he could not resist adding it to his small collection of bears.

However, it is proving an awkward task, the bear being all limbs and a large head and therefore hard to maneuver. Perhaps he bumps into you....or perhaps you reach out to lend a hand…

The room isn’t much to look at. It is clear from how neatly the few possessions in it are kept and the good condition they are in, though love-worn, that it was a room that, although modest, was well cared for until recently. The windows have dimmed some with a light film of summer dust and ash from the fireplace. There is a laundry basket of clothes to be washed and a washbowl on the side table with a damp towel hanging over the lip.

And in the bed, the pattern on the sheets faded from years of rough handwashing, sits an elderly woman, her hair pinned in a strict, tidy bun against her scalp, her eyes clear but her cheeks sunken.

This is her sickbed and next to it a younger man fusses. A younger Delmar’s hair is dark, nearly coal black, though now in his early forties tufts of gray poke through at his temples. His more familiar colorful sweaters and scarves are nowhere to be found, instead only white linen shirt that looks almost gray from overuse, rolled up over his elbows, and plain khaki trousers. Though he is trying to attend to her, she makes no eye contact. She does not acknowledge him. And when he tries to lift the damp towel to cool her forehead she reaches up a quick hand to slap his wrist away sharply before his hand can reach her.

The hurt flashes across his face only a moment before he forces himself to choke it back, biting his lip to make a brave face.

“I’m sorry, Mother….D-daniel can’t get away from work today….and someone needs to look after you.”

Still she makes no move to look at him, nor to acknowledge that he’d said anything. When after a few minutes he gets up the courage to try the cloth again, it happens much the same.

Hundreds of pages of paper flutter through the air, some skirting along the dirt, others flapping like limp bodies caught in a current against tree trunks and lamp posts. Several slap pathetically against Delmar’s shin before he kneels in bewilderment to grab at them. They are all either blank or covered in nonsensical scribbled notes in childish handwriting.

They’re coming from James

He thinks it immediatey. Not that they are coming from James’ and Catherine’s house but specifically that they are coming from James.

The thought causes a panic and Delmar begins a half-run, half-stumbling-to-grab-for-more-pages gait, trying to hurry to his neighbor’s house while also saving what he can. Some pages are too far out of reach, too given to the whims of the wind for him to save, but he has a bundle under his arm as he clamors inside.

“James?!” He calls as he hurries in through the front door. “Catherine??!” There’s yelling. Sounds of yelling and crashing and its coming from the top of the stairs. That is where James is. Now Delmar is horrified. All this ruckus will make James so very upset. He needs to help!! His pace quickens and he is bolting up the stairs as best he can when the younger one…James’ sister….comes into view, along with several police.

All of them are gathered at a locked door, the two policemen banging their fists on the door, their hands at the ready on their batons. Through the door comes James’ muffled voice, screaming in panic that he needs to work and that he can hear them and that if they come in the room he will throw things. More crashing and scuffling can be heard following his screams.

“I…I don’t think your sticks are going to be necessary…..,” Delmar tries to tell the police. Those sticks only ever lead to bad things. Delmar knows that. And he knows he does not want those bad things for poor James.

One of the officers turns to him and, with a scowl, snaps menacingly: “Shut up!”

[Harlan is on his way to visit Delmar at the bakery when he sees his friend trying to maneuver a giant leggy bear through the doorway. Uh.]

Jesus, Del. You should've called me.

[He could just teleport the fucking thing wherever it needs to go, after all. Way easier than trying to lug it around town, which is presumably what Delmar was about to get up to. Harlan grabs for the bear in an attempt to steady it before Del keels over, but Del moves his hand at the same time, and their fingers meet briefly in the synthetic fur.

Harlan is seven, and he's not Harlan yet—he's David. David is seven and it's hot out, very hot, even though it's nighttime and it's supposed to be autumn soon. The adults at school and on the TV keep saying words like "record high" and "Indian summer". They have an air conditioner, but Mom never turns it on because she's afraid of it. Instead, there's fluttering white curtains and a ceiling fan lazily whirring above the bed.

Mom is asleep. David waited a long time for her breathing to slow and her grip to loosen. They're both naked under the sheet, skin sticking from the sweat, her breasts too hot against his back. One of her arms sags over his and her other is wedged uncomfortably under his neck. He hates when she holds him like this. It's difficult to get away without her noticing.

He waits a little longer, watching the fuzzy shadows of leaves play over the curtains. Finally, she shifts, the arm under him pulling away to rest instead on the pillow. It's the only window he'll get, he knows.

As slowly as he can, he slips downward, navigating his shoulders out from under her arm, and then his head, and then he tugs himself to the edge of the bed.

"Baby?" Mom's voice comes in a sleepy mumble as she reaches for him. He slides off the bed before she can tighten her fingers around his wrist.

She sits up, propped on one elbow. "Where are you going?" She runs a hand over her scalp, shaking her long hair loose from where it's stuck to her neck with sweat.

"Um." He digs at the carpet fibers with his toes. "I have to go to the bathroom."

It's not true, and she knows it's not true, but it's the only excuse he can think of. There aren't many reasons to get out of bed in the middle of the night, and "I'm thirsty" only results in her leading him downstairs to the kitchen and then right back to bed. The bathroom guarantees him privacy—or, it did, the one time it worked, and she fell asleep waiting for him to return and didn't notice until morning that he had crept back to his own bedroom, the one she rarely lets him sleep in these days.

"Come back to bed, sweetheart." She opens the sheet for him.

He watches her hand move from the pillow to welcome him back. In the darkness, he can just make out the indent of where his body was. He shivers, a little cold now that he's exposed and away from the heat of her. Slowly, with his eyes still on the mattress, he shakes his head.

Her chin tilts upward. "Come back to bed. Let's go to sleep." Her words are muffled, underwater, a distorted whisper with no words at all except he understands them perfectly. He's tired, inescapably tired, and—

The memory splinters, like a VHS that's been recorded over too many times. He crawls back into bed, and then he's standing, shaking, no, but that's not what he remembers, he can feel himself smiling and it's warm but not too warm, not the muggy heat of second summer, his mother's arms snug around him, and he wants to wrench away from her, make a break for the door, he's standing naked in the glow of the streetlight dampened by the leaves, some part of him trying to cry and scream and kick but he likes the smell of her as he nestles against her collarbone, while she murmurs something to him, underwater still, he can't make it out but it's nice, he loves her, she's all he needs, he's safe and warm and hyperventilating, no, and she plays with his hair until he falls asleep, and in a year someone will notice, a teacher will see her take him into the equipment shed after a little league game and will listen through the door, Mr. Halliday will tell the principal and the principal will tell the police, and things will get better.

For tonight, though, he falls asleep smiling absently without understanding why.]

[Delmar had been about to assure Harlan that he was fine and that he shouldn't go to the trouble. In fact the words 'Don't you worry' may have even left his mouth, but now he stands stock still, feet feeling involuntarily rooted to the spot midway between the door frame and the outside world, silent. Silent except for his heart rate now pounding rapidly in his ears.

He bites his lip, blinks hard a few times, then looks at Harlan, lost.]

H-Harley?

[Explain it, Harlan. You always explain when things he doesn't understand happens....don't you? What just happened? What is he feeling? What...what had he just seen?]

[It takes Harlan a moment to recalibrate after witnessing Del's memory. James. The name keeps echoing in his head. It's a different James, he knows, but it's still eerily familiar, that tunnel-vision focus on another person. Another person that doesn't deserve all that attention. Why were there police? Harlan gets the sense that even Delmar wasn't sure of that.

He shakes his head and steadies himself against the bear. Oh, the bear. Where did Del even find this thing? That's definitely a question for later. The bear is not the issue at the moment.

The issue is how Delmar's looking at him. Christ, what did he see?]

Um, I saw you trying to collect a bunch of papers. Cops were storming a house looking for James. Does that sound familiar?

[Taking the memory at face value, it was unpleasant but didn't seem altogether private. He hopes that Del won't be upset that it's something Harlan has now seen.]

Did you, ah, get something from me?

[He falters, simultaneously nodding uncomfortably in answer to Harlan's first question, while still trying to formulate an answer to the second.]

....James was....he was very upset....

[half his mind now flashing back to that day, the other deep in Harlan's childhood.]

He threw everything out the window....his papers...his...

[A swallow]

Y-your mother. I...I think it was your mother.

[It's a struggle to listen to anything Delmar is saying. Yes, of course Delmar saw something, and now Harlan needs to figure out what. His heart's hammering away at his ribcage and Delmar is stumbling over his words and Harlan feels so guilty for not caring about anything else, for wanting to prod rapidfire until Del spits it out and tells him exactly, exactly, what he saw. It's nothing good. He can tell that much already. Del has learned something new and now it looks like Harlan has been lying to him. Did he see Robin? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

But, no, he didn't. Harlan feels the color drain from him and he swallows too, mirroring Delmar without realizing it. It's not fair. The gods have pulled some fucked up shit in the past, but this? This isn't fair.

He scrubs his palm over the thigh of his jeans.]

What, um...

[Harlan doesn't want to make Delmar describe it if he's seen something truly terrible, but he has to know.]

What was happening?

You were in bed... [And the specific details of that, the nakedness, the closeness, he isn't going to say because it balls up in his throat like a ball of sick] ....you had to go to the bathroom.

[Except...]

....well...actually...I..I don't think you did but...but you said you did.....

[He doesn't realize how tight his grip on the bear has gotten]

You were awfully small....

[Ah.

That could apply to more memories than Harlan can count. They've all sort of run together in his head. How many times did he use that excuse to try to get back to his own room?

But the description is enough. Delmar likely didn't actually see the abuse, just the aftermath. Good. Those aren't memories Harlan wants anyone else to see for his own sake, but also because no one else should have to experience what that feels like.

Harlan nods and readjusts his grip on the bear.]

Let's get this guy to where he was going and then we can talk about it, okay?

[He'll explain, but now's not the time.]

[A rarity, but Delmar doesn't follow Harlan's lead this time. He's overwhelmed with a desperate need to throw his arms around Harlan and hug him tight but also with the knowledge that he absolutely should. not. do. that. If that had been what a mere brushing of their hands could do, something like a hug would....

....well it wouldn't do anything good.

But nonetheless its a struggle. A hug to Delmar is a tool. A tool to try and help. To try and say 'i love you'. But what he has learned with Harlan is sometimes that is not what a hug does. Sometimes it is selfish even if you think you are being kind. Sometimes it says 'i am taking something from you because i want it' not 'i love you.'

His eyes flick between Harlan, the bear, then back to Harlan....and after a moment he hefts the bear with the lion's share of his strength and without making contact with Harlan himself, wraps the bear's arms around him in what can only be literally described as 'a bear hug.' ]

[Harlan lets out a little laugh as Delmar comes at him with the bear. He knows what's going on here. Delmar's always been very respectful of Harlan's need for space, finding ways to compromise with his own instinct toward physical affection acting as a panacea. Harlan appreciates it. It makes him feel normal.

He doesn't hug the bear back, though. Instead, he sets it gently on the ground, propping it up against the bakery door.]

Thank you, I mean that, but come here. I'll give you something better this time.

[He and Michael spent the beginning of the event experimenting readily with the memory sharing, so he knows the drill by now. Skin-on-skin is necessary, and if you concentrate, you can control which memory crosses the gap.

Harlan takes a breath and then pulls Delmar into a real hug, and Delmar will get another much happier memory.]

Edited 2018-11-29 08:03 (UTC)

[Delmar lets himself get pulled into the hug easily, however his stance takes on an awkward deer-on-ice quality due to the height difference and the long legs of the bear being hard to avoid. But he doesn't notice. His face presses into Harlan's shoulder and his hands hold onto the fabric of his shirt and he lets himself be open to whatever it is his friend is going to show him.

The sniffling is involuntary and probably for Harlan unsurprising after being friends with him this long.

But it's good sniffling. The kind that comes with smiling so hard your face muscles cramp. ]

Harley...?

[His voice is small and muffled by Harlan's shirt]

Is that what good love is like?

[Harlan laughs, his hand snaking up to rest on the back of Del's neck as Del buries his face into his shoulder. The correct memory went through, apparently. Good.]

Yeah, it is.

[It's the polar opposite of the first memory Delmar saw, that's for sure.]

Where are you trying to take the bear? I can teleport us.

Delmar’s sitting room is all warm colors and soft fabrics. A coffee colored couch with knitted cushions, thick tan carpeting, cheerful curtains with bright flower patterns, and of course, Delmar’s favorite armchair, ochre corduroy, pulled close to the tv so he can swaddle himself in his favorite yellow blanket, dotted with an unrepentant pattern of large orange flowers, and watch his favorite show.

It’s the 1960s. The television is a heavyset box with a small screen and gangly rabbit ear antennas and the image is muted grays and browns while the audio crackles a little with static. But that doesn’t seem to bother him, sitting with his chin resting on his palms as he watches, seemingly enraptured. He might even audibly sigh in a distant, dreamy fashion, causing the string of beads attached to his glasses, currently perched near the tip of his nose, to click faintly.

A hasty knock at the door breaks his concentration and he all but jumps in surprise before beaming when he sees whose face is peering in through the small window: James. James is a younger man bundled in a checkered beige coat, and Delmar cheerfully waves for him to come in.

The memory fades as the door opens and James slips inside out of the cold.

[Delmar's home seems to be a cozy little nook, perfect for keeping those who don't belong there out and for making those who do belong there want to stay a little longer.

she's never seen a device such as the television set before, and she watches with curiosity, wondering how people found their way into such a tiny box.

she's unfamiliar with the 1960s as well, being from Westeros in the year of 303, but she can't help taking a look around to see what new technological marvels have arisen.

and then there's a knock at the door and the face of a handsome young man staring through the small window. Delmar clearly seems to know him because his smile is dazzling and she watches Delmar wave the man into the house]

Edited 2018-11-17 22:37 (UTC)

[Delmar doesn't realize at first that Margaery has seen anything, that somehow his memories have passed to her, and he eagerly tries to show her the bear he found before realizing his friend has a faraway expression.

He leans in closer, blinking at her in owlish curiosity, a touch of worry in the way he asks]

O-Oh, Miss Margaery are you alright? Do you need to sit down??

[he should be grateful he saw nothing of Margaery's life in Westeros. much of it would be too harsh for him to manage]

I--yes. Perhaps I could sit? For a while at least. [she reaches up to clasp his free hand in hers] Thank you.

Of course...b-but you should come sit inside, not out here...you'll get your lovely dress all dirty....

[And with that he leans in to hook his other arm around her, letting the bear fall against the nearby wall for the moment]

Come on...come inside and I'll get you some tea.

[He starts leading her to one of the bakery chairs]

Perhaps you haven't eaten enough today....you need to be mindful about eating right....

All right. Thank you.

[she slips her arm around him in return and walks with him]

I would love some tea, thank you.

[she's led to the chair and has a seat]

Perhaps not. I'm so busy all the day that sometimes it's hard to find time to eat.

This event is difficult for Wash. He struggles with anyone in his head, but he's trying to send a fuck you to the gods right now by not just running around in his armor. Trying to act normal, like they're not doing anything, and just mind how much contact he has with people. Of course, it isn't working out for him. He's stopped by the bakery to get some happy distractions for his people, but isn't paying close enough attention when he reaches for the box -- he sees Delmar's hand holding the strings but not the other supporting it from underneath, so when he reaches to take it from there instead of the sides his hand lands directly over Del's.

And then the bakery is gone.

Hadriel fades away to a brutal firefight. The colorful soldiers and their would be saviors are hopelessly outnumbered. Wash is huddled behind some crates providing cover while the others run away, towards the only way out of their cliff-isolated little canyon. There's a precariously fragile tunnel through the rock that they're hustling through to the waiting ship on the other side, Freckles as a Mantis guarding the entrance.

From Wash's position, through all the gunfire, it's hard to make sense of the chaos, but his team's shouts are audible through his helmet's radio.

"What are you doing, where's Wash?" Tucker's voice, though Wash can't see the familiar teal armor on the field. He must be through the tunnel.

"He's still at the base!"

"What?"

Another voice, sounding panicked, "Sir, if we leave now, they'll just follow us back to headquarters!"

"Aw, shit, somebody get me some explosives!" This voice isn't familiar either, but it sounds authoritative -- presumably the leader of the soldiers helping them.

Tucker's voice chimes back in. "Wait, guys, there he is! Wash! Wash, come on!"

Wash glances back towards the escape route, and now Tucker is visible through it, waving for Wash to hurry the fuck up.

"We've gotta seal this tunnel!" Another random soldier, maybe the one who was running with an armful of explosives that just got shot straight in the head before he could set any charges. The man on the other side of the opening goes down too, leaving Freckles their sole defense. There's no other cover left for Wash between his position and only way out...

He looks to the enemy force advancing towards his friends, checks his clip -- he's nearly empty. Back to Freckles... and he makes a decision. He can't run. He has to protect them at all costs.

"Freckles..." Wash hesitates before giving the command, then takes a deep breath and orders the droid to do the trick Caboose taught him, which isn't quite what it sounds like. "Shake!"

"Hey, no, what are you doing?!" The last he'll hear from Tucker is frantic, and Wash's gaze settles on his friend for the next few moments before Freckles obeys.

Shake doesn't mean himself -- it means everything. The Mantis stomps the ground with a massive robotic foot, hard. The ensuing shudder is enough to collapse the tunnel without explosives, an avalanche of rock coming down between Wash and Tucker. Closing it off, trapping Wash with the enemy but saving his friends. That's it. They're safe now... Wash is not. Neither is Freckles, who is caught in the collapse, massive rocks crushing his metal form.

Wash lets out a sigh, relief and acceptance, even as his HUD blares a proximity warning. An enemy soldier has rushed up and takes a mighty whack at his head. The memory fades as Wash blacks out.

Edited 2018-11-29 08:06 (UTC)

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Event Log: Memories Past

Delmar | OTA | Will Match Format

Memory Op. 1 : Home Sweet Home?

Memory Op. 2 : Blank Pages

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Memory Op. 3 : His Happy Place

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