ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴏғ ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴇʟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hadriel_logs2018-11-14 07:35 am
hadrielmods) wrote in hadriel_logs2018-11-14 07:35 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- abigail hobbs,
- agent carolina,
- akira kurusu,
- atem,
- carlisle longinmouth,
- charles yvry,
- curufin,
- daenerys targaryen,
- dr. newton geiszler,
- elena fisher,
- fingon,
- floki,
- george lass,
- geralt of rivia,
- gren,
- hanako nurumi,
- harlan halliday,
- inquisitor trevelyan,
- isaac 'zack' foster,
- ivar ragnarsson,
- jason todd,
- jill valentine,
- jo harvelle,
- kettara bloodthirst,
- laura palmer,
- lup,
- lyanna stark,
- margaery tyrell,
- mariane cousland,
- michael munroe,
- nagito komaeda,
- nick valentine,
- oscar,
- sally face (sal fisher),
- sansa stark,
- scott ryder,
- staci pratt,
- terrence ephemera/sharkface,
- the disreputable dog,
- tinya wazzo,
- will graham,
- yusuke kitagawa
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!
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.
Washington | OTA
He trains a lot. Out for runs, sometimes with his girlfriend's gigantic dog, doing complicated drills outside, or practicing with his throwing knives. He's usually up for a spar or teaching someone who wants to learn and is on the teaching list for that as well as yoga, which he doesn't actually do in public but hey if someone wants to finally take him up on that offer go for it. Every now and then he also takes it upon himself to basically be a free ferry service to get some rowing in, that's good exercise. Anyone need a ride?
Six people in one house also go through a lot of groceries so he can be found in the shops regularly enough, and he likes to swing by the bakery to get the others treats from time to time. And every now and then, if it isn't raining? Wash will take his skateboard out for a spin purely for fun. See, he's not totally boring and routine. If you really want a challenge re: relaxing he can be convinced to hit the speakeasy or hot springs, but it'll take a nudge.
1. "freckles, shake!" aka wash sacrificing himself for his teammates (cw: violence)
2. the grappling hook to the balls incident (tm) that wash never lived down
3. for something fluffy: a random good natured rvbs bickering clips
4. wash playing drill sergeant to the recruits on chorus
5. wash injuring his CO back in the UNSC for trying to sacrifice their platoon during an attack
6. the extremely creative fight with felix and locus at the purge (cw: violence)
7. an evaluation in psych holding after epsilon's failed implantation (cw: references to torture, suicide)
Pick a memory and I'll reply with it! I can be reached on plurk @
1.
who is freckles and why must he share? surely such things are up to the individual, rather than someone in command, as Wash seems to be. but perhaps it's different if you are in command.
either way, she stands to the side and waits patiently for freckles to be shook, as was bidden. she can be patient. it remains to be seen if Wash can be as well]
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When Hadriel fades away Margaery finds herself in 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 Margaery 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. ]
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"I can't believe you're going. Leaving me behind with these people," Margaery says, a spike of frustration running through her.
the woman replies "The time has come, my dear. There's nothing more tedious than a trial. Except perhaps these gardens. If I have to take one more leisurely stroll through these gardens, I'll fling myself from a cliff."
Margaery laughs, despite her frustration. she knew she could always count on her grandmother to make a terrible situation seem a little better.
the two women come to a pavilion each woman taking a seat across from one another.
"Have they even agreed to the match? No one tells me anything," Margaery says, her irritation plain in her voice. she was a bride and a queen for a day, but she wants more. she wants the match with Tommen desperately, not because she's particularly enamored with the boy but because he comes with the throne she's been striving for.
"I wasn't originally going to marry your grandfather, Luthor, you know. He was engaged to my sister. I was to be given to some Targaryen or another. Marrying a Targaryen was all the rage back then, but as soon as I saw my intended with his ridiculous silver hair, I knew he wouldn't do. So, the evening before Luthor was to announce his engagement to my sister, I got lost on my way back from my embroidery lesson. How absent minded of me!
The following morning, Luthor couldn't make it downstairs to propose to my sister because the boy couldn't bloody walk. And once he could, the only thing he wanted was what I'd given him the night before,"
the elderly woman looks entirely pleased with herself and Margaery laughs warmly at the story. she'd known her grandmother wasn't originally to marry her grandfather, but this is the first time she's heard how her grandmother managed to rid herself of her Targaryen fiancé and wed herself to Luthor Tyrell.
the woman smiles a little smugly and continues, "I was good. I was very good," and she reaches over to clasp Margaery's hand. "You, my dear, are even better. But you need to act quickly. Cersei may be vicious, but she's not stupid. She'll turn the boy against you as soon as she can and by the time you're married, it will be too late," a spike of anxiety goes through Margaery at her grandmother's words about Cersei, confirming her worst fears. at the look on Margaery's face, her grandmother reaches up to stroke back her hair gently, soothing Margaery's nerves to a degree.
"Luckily for you, the Queen Regent is a bit busy at the moment, mourning her dear, departed boy, accusing her brother of his murder, which of course he didn't commit."
The certainty in her grandmother's voice is more than a little surprising and confusing. Everyone knew that there was no love between Tyrion Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon and Tyrion had both the motive and opportunity to poison his nephew. Margaery frowned a little and replies, "Well, he could have done."
To which, her grandmother simply replies, "But he didn't," and Margaery frowns again, wondering at her grandmother's certainty.
her grandmother looks directly into Margaery's eyes and says calmly, "But I do know. You don't think I'd let you marry that beast, do you?"
Margaery feels as though the ground is rolling beneath her, leaving nothing stable or certain anymore. Is her grandmother truly saying what Margaery thinks she's saying? she finds herself stammering "But I don't--I don't understand."
her grandmother waves off Margaery's concerns and says soothingly "Shh. You needn't worry about all that," and her grandmother smiles at her, adjusting her necklace for some strange reason, "You just do what needs to be done."
and the memory fades]
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7
They're not friends, Ephemera thinks. But they might be, one day.
He finds Washington in one of the shops. No time like the present, Ephemera supposes, and moves over to intercept.
"Yo, Washington--"
He doesn't mean to touch the man, but Washington comes up on his blindside and Ephemera corrects too sharply, bumping their hands.
For better or worse, the memory share goes both ways. Washington sees something too.
cw: torture, imprisonment, reference to suicide
--
Wash is strapped to the chair he’s in and everything is blurry. Spinning slightly, or maybe just tilting, or maybe that’s because he can’t hold his head steady. He can’t tell. He isn’t sure of anything anymore… where is this? Another room, but it could be anywhere. They keep shuffling him. He doesn’t remember. He can’t keep track. His arms are heavily bandaged and still there’s cuffs around his wrists, and if he wriggles he can make it hurt…
“Agent Washington. Look at me, Agent.”.
That steady, even voice. Too calm, detached somehow. Not real. It can’t be real but it’s familiar.
“Allison?”
“No. I am the Counselor for Project Freelancer. Do you know your name, Agent?”
“Agent..? I’m… Church. Where’s Allison? Is she okay? I need to--”
“No. You are Agent Washington. May I call you David?”
“That’s not my name. I’m not...”
There’s a sliding sound, something across a tabletop. Wash struggles to lift his head from what he can see, which is still just his arms strapped down, his legs in white pants he doesn’t remember. How did he get here? There’s a table, yes, and a man across it, his hands are free. He’s in a black uniform jumpsuit, holding a tablet and scrolling down.
“Where--?”
“You were… injured. You don’t remember?”
“No. Why..?”
“I believe you may be too heavily medicated for this session, but if you are comfortable continuing, I can answer some of your questions. If I may ask my own.”
“I-- okay. Okay.”
“What is the last thing you can recall?”
It’s a struggle but he tries, he’s quiet for a moment while he tries, everything in his head feeling fragmented and sharp, the pieces grating together. It hurts. His wrists hurt. Is he moving? “The Director told me about Tex. Tex is dead because I couldn’t--”
“After that.”
Wash’s vision blurs further, the Counselor obscured until he blinks and then he realizes it was tears. He blinks again, feeling them hot on his cheeks and then he can see better, even though the stuffy feeling in his head gets worse. “There’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
He can’t do anything right. Couldn’t save them, didn’t Washington die too? How is he..? Allison…
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did the best you could. We’ll need your help again, we need you to get better, David.”
“That’s not my name!” Sharp pain now, shooting up his arms and somehow into his neck, a stabbing at the base of his skull and deep through, all the way through. Something missing, something torn out. His memories, maybe? No, not torn out, shoved in and it broke all that he was and then they took the new self away too, and now he’s… what? Who? Who is he now? Church? David? Washington? He wants to scream at the pain but he just feels more tears, and that makes him angry. He remembers anger, that it was familiar once, it was part of him and so he tries to hold onto it, but it gets eaten by the emptiness like everything else.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Perhaps we should increase your dose, for the time being. We can do this later.”
“No-- no, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone, I need to know… what happened?”
But the Counselor is already getting up, his chair-that-he-isn’t-strapped-into scraping behind him as it’s pushed away. No. No no no no no no….
“Please!”
“Take him back to his room. Make certain he cannot harm himself again.”
And then Wash does scream, the sound raw and agonized like a sob, like someone lost who knows they will never be found. The memory fades on everything tilting again, a sharp sting in his neck before the world goes black in preparation of him waking up somewhere else, again, not sure of the journey. Or who he is at the end.
--
Wash stumbles back as soon as he can move again, and he can tell from the expression on Ephemera's face that the other man saw something too. Great. How bad..? These are the worst events, the ones where people can get in his head. When they can see. There are so many things he wishes he could keep hidden, even if he's learned to talk about them, that Hadriel keeps digging up and showing people. At least Ephemera's not his enemy anymore. At least--
--he's getting ahead of himself. He isn't actually... all that disturbed by what he just saw, which probably says volumes about him and his life, but he'll have questions about it when he knows where his end is at. Right now he just tries not to sound too worried when he asks, "What did you just see?"
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Ephemera steps back, resetting. Focus. Washington looks more confused than anything, which is - good? Maybe? The gods are fucking with them again.
"You. After Epsilon."
Not much else to say about that, really.
Ephemera runs a hand through his hair. "Guess I knew that already. But that was fucked up."
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7
[ Donut pulls away, touching his head for a moment as if he's just gotten a brain freeze. He's out of armor and in his civvies. He was just out for a walk when he spotted Wash and like any friend he offered him some rainbow skittles never expecting to get shoved into his unconscious when he grabbed his arm to shake the colorful sweets into his hand. ]
Does that technically count as being inside of you because I gotta say it's a little more than I expected without a safe word.
cw: torture, imprisonment, reference to suicide
--
Wash is strapped to the chair he’s in and everything is blurry. Spinning slightly, or maybe just tilting, or maybe that’s because he can’t hold his head steady. He can’t tell. He isn’t sure of anything anymore… where is this? Another room, but it could be anywhere. They keep shuffling him. He doesn’t remember. He can’t keep track. His arms are heavily bandaged and still there’s cuffs around his wrists, and if he wriggles he can make it hurt…
“Agent Washington. Look at me, Agent.”.
That steady, even voice. Too calm, detached somehow. Not real. It can’t be real but it’s familiar.
“Allison?”
“No. I am the Counselor for Project Freelancer. Do you know your name, Agent?”
“Agent..? I’m… Church. Where’s Allison? Is she okay? I need to--”
“No. You are Agent Washington. May I call you David?”
“That’s not my name. I’m not...”
There’s a sliding sound, something across a tabletop. Wash struggles to lift his head from what he can see, which is still just his arms strapped down, his legs in white pants he doesn’t remember. How did he get here? There’s a table, yes, and a man across it, his hands are free. He’s in a black uniform jumpsuit, holding a tablet and scrolling down.
“Where--?”
“You were… injured. You don’t remember?”
“No. Why..?”
“I believe you may be too heavily medicated for this session, but if you are comfortable continuing, I can answer some of your questions. If I may ask my own.”
“I-- okay. Okay.”
“What is the last thing you can recall?”
It’s a struggle but he tries, he’s quiet for a moment while he tries, everything in his head feeling fragmented and sharp, the pieces grating together. It hurts. His wrists hurt. Is he moving? “The Director told me about Tex. Tex is dead because I couldn’t--”
“After that.”
Wash’s vision blurs further, the Counselor obscured until he blinks and then he realizes it was tears. He blinks again, feeling them hot on his cheeks and then he can see better, even though the stuffy feeling in his head gets worse. “There’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
He can’t do anything right. Couldn’t save them, didn’t Washington die too? How is he..? Allison…
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did the best you could. We’ll need your help again, we need you to get better, David.”
“That’s not my name!” Sharp pain now, shooting up his arms and somehow into his neck, a stabbing at the base of his skull and deep through, all the way through. Something missing, something torn out. His memories, maybe? No, not torn out, shoved in and it broke all that he was and then they took the new self away too, and now he’s… what? Who? Who is he now? Church? David? Washington? He wants to scream at the pain but he just feels more tears, and that makes him angry. He remembers anger, that it was familiar once, it was part of him and so he tries to hold onto it, but it gets eaten by the emptiness like everything else.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Perhaps we should increase your dose, for the time being. We can do this later.”
“No-- no, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone, I need to know… what happened?”
But the Counselor is already getting up, his chair-that-he-isn’t-strapped-into scraping behind him as it’s pushed away. No. No no no no no no….
“Please!”
“Take him back to his room. Make certain he cannot harm himself again.”
And then Wash does scream, the sound raw and agonized like a sob, like someone lost who knows they will never be found. The memory fades on everything tilting again, a sharp sting in his neck before the world goes black in preparation of him waking up somewhere else, again, not sure of the journey. Or who he is at the end.
--
Or well. It would be disturbing to most people. Donut isn't most people. And from what he says after he's done zoning out, Wash has absolutely no idea what he could have seen. Could be anything, really. ]
No, it does not count as--! Donut, no. What did you just see?
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Not without a safe word.
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7.
She can hear movement in the kitchen although she knows that she has hidden some of the items well enough that others aren't going to be able to find them without some effort. No reason to go through them all right away. As she comes down the stairs, tying her hair back in a loose ponytail, she would guess that it's Wash, which is confirmed as she rounds into the kitchen. "Hey. How about a hand putting things away."
Team work, after all, does make things go faster, as she reaches for items, putting them away in the shelves, and repeating- at least until her fingers brush against his arm, each going for the same item. It is then that she stills, almost lost in thought, but it isn't her thoughts, and she can only stand there, watching, until the trance-like state is done. Only then can she pull her hand away, sucking in a breath and feeling her pulse quicken. "... sh it."
cw: torture, imprisonment, reference to suicide, and the fight with tex/the meta, please!
--
Wash is strapped to the chair he’s in and everything is blurry. Spinning slightly, or maybe just tilting, or maybe that’s because he can’t hold his head steady. He can’t tell. He isn’t sure of anything anymore… where is this? Another room, but it could be anywhere. They keep shuffling him. He doesn’t remember. He can’t keep track. His arms are heavily bandaged and still there’s cuffs around his wrists, and if he wriggles he can make it hurt…
“Agent Washington. Look at me, Agent.”.
That steady, even voice. Too calm, detached somehow. Not real. It can’t be real but it’s familiar.
“Allison?”
“No. I am the Counselor for Project Freelancer. Do you know your name, Agent?”
“Agent..? I’m… Church. Where’s Allison? Is she okay? I need to--”
“No. You are Agent Washington. May I call you David?”
“That’s not my name. I’m not...”
There’s a sliding sound, something across a tabletop. Wash struggles to lift his head from what he can see, which is still just his arms strapped down, his legs in white pants he doesn’t remember. How did he get here? There’s a table, yes, and a man across it, his hands are free. He’s in a black uniform jumpsuit, holding a tablet and scrolling down.
“Where--?”
“You were… injured. You don’t remember?”
“No. Why..?”
“I believe you may be too heavily medicated for this session, but if you are comfortable continuing, I can answer some of your questions. If I may ask my own.”
“I-- okay. Okay.”
“What is the last thing you can recall?”
It’s a struggle but he tries, he’s quiet for a moment while he tries, everything in his head feeling fragmented and sharp, the pieces grating together. It hurts. His wrists hurt. Is he moving? “The Director told me about Tex. Tex is dead because I couldn’t--”
“After that.”
Wash’s vision blurs further, the Counselor obscured until he blinks and then he realizes it was tears. He blinks again, feeling them hot on his cheeks and then he can see better, even though the stuffy feeling in his head gets worse. “There’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
He can’t do anything right. Couldn’t save them, didn’t Washington die too? How is he..? Allison…
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did the best you could. We’ll need your help again, we need you to get better, David.”
“That’s not my name!” Sharp pain now, shooting up his arms and somehow into his neck, a stabbing at the base of his skull and deep through, all the way through. Something missing, something torn out. His memories, maybe? No, not torn out, shoved in and it broke all that he was and then they took the new self away too, and now he’s… what? Who? Who is he now? Church? David? Washington? He wants to scream at the pain but he just feels more tears, and that makes him angry. He remembers anger, that it was familiar once, it was part of him and so he tries to hold onto it, but it gets eaten by the emptiness like everything else.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Perhaps we should increase your dose, for the time being. We can do this later.”
“No-- no, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone, I need to know… what happened?”
But the Counselor is already getting up, his chair-that-he-isn’t-strapped-into scraping behind him as it’s pushed away. No. No no no no no no….
“Please!”
“Take him back to his room. Make certain he cannot harm himself again.”
And then Wash does scream, the sound raw and agonized like a sob, like someone lost who knows they will never be found. The memory fades on everything tilting again, a sharp sting in his neck before the world goes black in preparation of him waking up somewhere else, again, not sure of the journey. Or who he is at the end.
--
Did he see anything of hers?
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"Give it up, Carolina."
Her voice makes her clench her teeth. She remains looking as Texas, upside down, shifting through the area above her. She wants to end this, to finally come out on top.
"Never. I can beat you."
"No, you can't."
She can. She will. She must. Carolina watches as she somersaults backwards, kicking the metal panel down towards her. Yet she's not that easily taken out, springboarding back to land on the glass window of the ship. Even as she does, feeling the cracks splinter beneath her feet, Texas is there. It is only a split second before both are fighting- punches, blocks, kicks, hits.
Carolina kicks her back, but she still comes, and she backflips beneath the punch aimed at her, aiming another punch that misses. She can feel the arms around her waist, tightening, and there's nothing that Carolina can do as Texas swings her up and over.
She lands with a heavy thud, helmet against the glass, the two of them splintering apart. Faster. Quicker. She needs to stop Texas, and now. The ship shutters around them as it starts to burn up in re-entry to the planet. The flames lick all around the vessel as it careens down toward the planet and she tries to stop her fall, to turn around to face Texas again.
"You can't win, Carolina, but you can come with me."
She's turned York already, York who she's left in the shaft, but there's no answer as the glass cracks, and she curls up, trying to shield herself from the inevitable impact. The ship hits against a mountain, it's course altering every so, but not slowing down.
She screams, thrown through the glass as the nose hits ground, sending her flying out in to the planet below. The snow shelters her a little as she lands on her back, but not enough. Every part of her body screams in pain, and she's not even certain how long she lays there, the wind knocked out of her.
It's the crunch of footsteps that dimly register, someone coming closer, and her brain screams, get up, win against Texas. But it's not Texas. She groans, swinging up, before twisting on to her knees. Where she's going, she doesn't know, but some part of her is yelling to move, to get away, to flee. The edge of the cliff comes closer, yet she doesn't make it any further.
Maine. Her friend. Her team mate. The solid mass of muscle that never seems to be stopped, that just keeps getting back up and coming. He's grabbing her, picking her up, pulling her helmet free. She's confused as he tosses it aside, looking at him.
"What are you doing?"
Her voice is hoarse, rough, but there is answer. No, rather he is impassive as always, cold, his hand reaching back, and it clicks what he is doing a second before he does it.
"No, no!"
She screams out loud in pain, trying to break free from that iron-like grip, but there is nothing that she can do to stop him as he pulls her AI free. Eta. Iota. They are in his hands, and there's nothing that she can do, locked in disbelief, in the pain, in the confusion. Then his arm is moving, and she realizes that she's falling backwards, flung over the edge of the cliff without a second thought-
---
There is that shuddered breath, sparing a look to Wash. Church... Her mother. Her father. She knows of what happened, far after the fact, having been gone, assumed dead, but to actually see it, to witness it. Her father had fucked a lot of things up. She can't deny that truth, had tried to kill him for that, to bring some justice, maybe even some revenge, to all those who had suffered. Her fingers curl against the counter, a tightness in her jaw. "Shit..."
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4 eventually
She doesn't require food either, not that it is stopping her from sniffing the air near the bakery. A mark, he could be called, as she watches him exit the building and her famous nose catches scent of the items in his shopping. It is why she comes trotting forward, tongue lolling to one side, tail wagging happily. Feed a poor starving hungry dog, Wash?
we will get to puppy pettings!
...this dog sure is acting like a dog, but then Tucker did at first too, but on the other hand he knew Wash personally and was trying to prank him, but this person might too...
No, he's just too fucking paranoid. It's a dog. A hungry dog that smells the bakery treats.
"Hey uh--" a quick check, because even if a dog can't understand what he's calling it he wants to be accurate, "hey girl. I don't know if much of this is good for dogs, sorry."
He does make an effort to peek into the box for her, though, because sometimes Del does put in rolls and bread should be fine-- oh, there are this time, excellent.
"You're in luck." Wash snags one through the tilted lid and squats, setting the box down and tearing pieces off the roll to offer to the Dog. He tosses the first one to see if she can catch it.
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Maybe, just maybe, it appears that she can understand exactly what he is saying. She is doing a very good job of begging, those eyes all but glued to the box in his hand. She is sitting prettily though, tail gently thumping, looking not at all aggressive. Her ears do perk, and the roll stands no chance, because the Dog catches it midair a few seconds after his hand lets it go. Inhaled? More or less.
There is a little scoot forward, tongue darting along her jowls, an expectant expression on her face.
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5!
She's burritoed them both up in whatever blankets she can find in the house, and she's tucked herself up against his chest, with her arms wrapped around him. This memory stuff has been a trip, but Kyna trusts Wash maybe more than anyone else in the world, and so she doesn't really mind the little snatches he gets from her. There's nothing she's afraid of him seeing. Mostly, she's trying to keep their skin from touching out of convenience, because it's pretty impossible to have a conversation otherwise.
She's teasing him about something stupid, like how he totally spoils Olympia, when she shifts her weight and her hand accidentally touches his. Oops.]
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He huffs at the teasing, because Olympia is a perfect princess of a cat and deserves to be spoiled (she's not and he knows it, but don't tell a parent their baby isn't perfect), but Kyna doesn't respond. Oh. Wash didn't even notice their hands brushed, since he's not getting anything this time, but Kyna sure is gone. Hopefully it's nothing too terrible...
--
In this memory, Wash is younger. He’s not even Wash yet, he’s still David, and no one’s armor bears markings because that’s what their friend or foe indicators are meant for, but he’s an enlisted corporal in the UNSC marines and he’s standing in a metal room with strange harness-type contraptions along either wall. It’s a dropship, the door on the far end meant to lower for soldiers to deploy straight out the back.
Wash is arguing with an older-sounding man, his own voice youthful, his HUD identifying the other as staff sergeant. Superior by two ranks, for those familiar with the military. Superior enough to be giving orders, that’s for sure.
“There is no time for your insubordination, corporal. When I give an order, you are to follow it.”
“...no.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said no. It’s a suicide mission! We don’t have the soldiers to take what’s coming, if you send us to that planet we’re all dead and I won’t do it. No.”
“This is our duty, we are sworn to protect this post--”
“I saw the intelligence report, they’re not sending troops, they’re sending glassers. There’s no point in going down there to get nuked, we should be evacuating these, pack this ship till we have to worry about running out of air and then take a hundred more and call for relief.”
“You are a coward, son, if I ever saw one. We are marines! We--”
“You keep saying we like it’s going to be we! You’re going to drop us like you were ordered and take a slipspace transport and say you barely made it out alive, you’re not going down there to die with us. Because those weren’t your orders. Who’s the real coward here? What are you afraid of?”
“Why you little maggot. Take him into custody, now! I will handle this myself.”
Two more armored soldiers marked as privates approach Wash, albeit very reluctantly, like they don’t like the direction this conversation has taken. He glances over his shoulder at them and moves fast as lightning, grabbing the staff sergeant’s wrist since his arm is outstretched to point a finger at where he wanted Wash taken. And then it’s a fight physically as well as verbally, but not one that lasts long. Wash takes the older soldier out, has him down on the floor of the deployment bay, probably with several broken bones and a concussion.
It was fast, it was mostly efficient, but it was not without anger. He looks up at the other two soldiers, who are just staring down in what can only be supposed to be shock that Wash just did that.
“...they’re going to court martial you, man,” one of them says softly, worriedly.
“Let them. At least I’ll be alive to get kicked out.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Don’t. Just… let’s get him contained and get the hell out of dodge. I’ll tell comms to call the post about what we picked up, we can get someone more superior than this jackass to agree with me about evac.”
“Right.” The other soldier speaks up, far less timid. “I don’t know what the fuck those orders were, but it would’ve killed the platoon and that whole planet. Come on. We don’t have much time before the Covenant gets here.”
The other two soldiers pick up the staff sergeant and Wash hustles out of the bay, the memory fading on the clang of his mag boots through the ship’s metal hallways. ]
Kyna? Hey, you okay?
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I'm okay.
[She grins up at him.]
I just saw you knock your staff sergeant out. It was amazing.
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2, let's go for some jokey shit
Whoops. Guess it's time for a reminder there's an event on.]
Re: 2, let's go for some jokey shit
--
This memory is a bit choppy, as the relevant segments were interspersed with fighting, but the most notable thing right off the bat is that Wash is in outerspace. Deep space, nothing in sight out the bay of his ship but stars and the floating station they’re presumably about to attack, surrounded by junk and old wrecked, abandoned spaceships. Welcome to the junkyard, and Wash’s first full mission in hard vacuum.
Carolina, standing tall with teal armor and an authoritative voice, is passing out packs and orders -- no, it’s a warning. "Use your packs sparingly, course correction only. You don't want to end up like Georgia."
"Wait, what happened to Georgia?" Wash suddenly sounds wary of this, although everyone else is strapping on their packs calmly, not asking questions.
The answer comes from a woman in purple armor, who doesn’t sound worried at all despite her very disturbing words, "Nobody knows, they never found him."
"Are you sure these things are safe?!"
But there’s no choice. Off they go, and Wash sails out into space and into a hangar bay where a firefight ensues. It’s impressive, but when it’s over they have to head back out into open space, the new target clear across the junkyard and the soldiers with no ship to ferry them. Wash is the last to leave, because he’s helping York up and explaining where they’re headed.
"We're going all the way over there? After what happened to Georgia?" York, similarly, does not sound terribly alarmed.
Wash most certainly does now, though. Are they just messing with him? "Would someone please tell me what happened to Georgia?!"
"Dude, you do not want to know."
"I really do, though!"
But again, there’s no choice in the matter. York flies off and Wash has to follow, but the next serious threat isn’t just more soldiers, it’s a nuke the enemy left behind that’s set to detonate. The soldiers have to get back to the ship immediately to have a chance of getting out of the blast zone so everyone fires their packs and blazes back into the open bay.
Carolina shouts, "Go go go!”
“Get inside now!" Their pilot, over the radio, sounds frantic.
"Wash, what are you doing? Get in here, use your jetpack!" York’s noticed that Wash is the only one still outside the ship, floating with nothing to push off to adjust his trajectory and too scared to fire without being certain he’ll go in the right direction. In space, there’s nothing to slow you down, so even if this whole thing is some inside joke to haze him, he’s honestly terrified now.
"I don't wanna end up like Georgia!!!"
"Oh for god's sake…” Carolina turns back and lifts her grappling hook, firing it straight at him. She snags him in the crotch, which luckily for his balls is an armored codpiece but unluckily for his dignity is still his crotch, and hauls back as hard as she can.
Wash is dragged into the ship screaming his head off, and he will never live this down.
--
He might not see anything, but Wash can tell that Alphys did by the way she goes still and distant. Sighing, he pulls back to a safe distance to let her ride it out, hoping it was nothing too traumatizing. When her eyes refocus, he sounds wary as he asks a vital question. ]
...you okay?
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Everything plays out fast and crazy, like a movie in perfect pacing. It feels like something straight out of Bebop, which considering she was rewatching that so recently it feels almost karmaically perfect. When he starts talking to her again, she has to blink, but she doesn't look super out of it when she gets back- just up at Wash, incredibly starry-eyed.]
You fight things in space.
[Alphys, you knew that.]
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7 because I gotta
He offers him a cup of coffee. Big fucking mistake. When their hands brush Epsilon gets a shotgun blast of memory the leaves him pale as all the blood drains from his face.
It was one thing to know that he had ruined Wash's life. It had been a mistake, a desperate attempt to escape the burden of being Alpha's memories. It was another thing altogether to see the effects of it first hand. ]
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...it wasn't your fault, you know. I've never blamed you for it, it was probably the Counselor more than the Director, even. But I've got a question for you.
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[ He's never giving Wash coffee again if this is what being nice gets him. Fuck! Epsilon tops up his own cup just to keep his hands busy and so he doesn't actually have to look at Wash. ]
Go for it, whatever. It's not like this can get any fucking worse.
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