tabularasa_rp | 003 - Memories of a False History

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003 - Memories of a False History

Memories of a False History State of the World ▲ Locations ▼ Bestiary
OOC ▲ Comments Please refer to the original Event Announcement for more information or to ask any questions you might have! For the disaster prompt, players are not restricted to the versions given, but they are intended to be the most common. Feel free to borrow ideas from the disaster suggestions thread as well!

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The Sound of All Things Bad
The sound comes without warning. What the sound is cannot quite be made out - it is at once artificial and natural, bestial and mechanical, rumbling and roaring and crunching, shattering and crashing and screaming. Everything about it feels like a threat, warning of danger. The cacophony of noise reaches throughout the entire Void, loud and inescapable, the mangling and clashing of different sounds leaving each individual with a different idea of what it could possibly have been. It sounds different to everyone, each person able to pick out a part of the sound that ties to their own fears.

What if...?

How long the sound lasts would depend on how the individual perceives time. It might last for seconds, or it might last for minutes, but once it stops it does not repeat. Where it came from or what it is does not become the slightest bit clearer, and people are left to only speculate.

Disaster
No one can quite be sure what has prompted them to remember that day. It might have been that noise of approaching doom, or perhaps it is seeing the crumbling ruins of Hammerlocke itself. Once a stray memory surfaces, it is easy enough to look into the details and recall in full the vivid memory of Hammerlocke’s destruction - the ‘truth’ of what caused the mountainside city to crumble into ruins, as so many have wondered since their first appearance. Though the memory is clear and detailed, vivid enough to have been witnessed in person, it is out of place and does not belong, and anyone who can recall the events knows it.

Attempting to discuss the matter will soon reveal that while others recall the event with similar clarity, the details vary from person to person. Over time, their own memory changes and adapts, occasionally changing to something new entirely, yet the original is never completely forgotten. Memory is a strange and fickle thing, so easy to influence and manipulate, that the truth is difficult to find.

While memories differ from person to person, there are three particular tales that recur:

From the Sky

Though the sky above did not change from its paper-like blank white, the land grew darker and darker as though cast in shadow. The source of the shadow was clear: above, slowly descending towards the wings of the castle, was... something. Something immense, yet shrouded in crackling storm clouds.

As it continued to grow closer and closer, something in the clouds began to swell. It grew larger and larger, an electric hum of energy in the air, until with a resounding crack it burst and a great shadowy beast fell to the ground, landing with such force that the resulting shockwave shook the earth and tore through the stone buildings, causing so much of the city to tumble in an instant. It moves, and it screeches, raising its head up as the great storm above continues to swell and crackle.

This would not be the only beast.

(Based upon: Meteor, the Lunar Cry, and the Darkest Day)

The Battlefield

It was never clear why the fighting eventually made its way to this defenseless city, but it came without warning. The chaos was heralded only by explosions as the city walls were blasted through by tanks that had somehow made their way along the treacherous and narrow mountain path that simply was not meant for such heavy machines. The thundering explosions and the collapse of buildings could surely be heard for miles, and people and animals alike were quick to flee.

Though they reached Hammerlocke first, the tanks seemed like nothing compared to the enemy. The enormous shadowy monstrosity that swooped in from the sky seemed to be made from far more advanced technology. Even just the one towering machine, as large as the castle falling to ruins beneath its feet as it lands, proves deadly as it fires upon the approaching tanks, blasting them all to pieces within an instant before turning fire on whichever buildings remain standing.

(Based upon: Tanks, and Reapers)

The Mysterious Storm

There had been no way to predict the change in the weather, never mind how destructive it would prove. One moment, everything had been still and quiet, and the next the city was assailed by howling, violent winds and freezing, glittering snow and ice. Though the city was built of stone and had stood the test of time for centuries, it could not stand against these combined forces. The only shelter was underground, for the furious storm was so powerful it could rip through earth, lift up and fling any object in its path with devastating force, shattering windows and toppling buildings.

Propelled by such force, the ice and hail proved destructive in its own right. As the storm froze everything in its path, the hailstones became like bullets and great chunks of ice became missiles. By the time the winds began to grow calm, there was little left standing.

Something about the storm seemed somehow unnatural, but where it came from was anyone’s guess. Some, however, may have spied a vague figure through the tempest, of unclear appearance but its presence somehow threatening.

(Based upon: Weather, El shortage, and Diamond Dust)

Misplaced Memories
Worries about whatever disaster must have befallen the ruined city of Hammerlocke aside, people quickly become aware that memories of the disaster are not the only invasive, foreign memories. How the other memories come to them seems, on the surface, to be very similar: a connected thought occurs, and upon realizing the memory is not theirs, people are compelled to think more about it until the memory is uncovered in full detail. Unlike the memory of the disaster, however, this one quite clearly belongs to someone else. Someone who is here.

On puzzling this out, some might find they have more than one stray memory sitting in their minds. More importantly, however, is the feeling that something from their own memory is missing, and whatever memory is missing feels like it is something important. It could just be their own phone number, or it could be their name, or the face of whoever is most important to them. It could be something small, it could be something big, but all people know is that it’s something important and it’s gone.

There is no clear, immediate answer as to what people can do about their lost memories. With regards to their new memories, however, the path might seem a tiny bit clearer, for surely it seems a bit unfair that they can see into someone’s past in such a manner without their knowing. Perhaps it’s best to talk to them about it?

Although the lost memory is not always the same as the ones borrowed, taking the memory back to its source and prompting them to discuss and think about it proves a great help - as they talk, the invasive memory leaves, a lost memory is restored, and those who succeed are able to tell others the solution.

While the invasive memory is gone, people can still recall having it, and can still recall the details, but they will no longer remember it from the other’s point of view. Perhaps it might change how they see each other from now on?

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code bases by tricklet

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[whether it's because the walls are exceptionally thin, here, because distance and sound and the like haven't figured themselves out just yet, or because there's a lot of yelling going on, Damien clues into the argument about the time Akechi yells bitch. he's content to ignore it, or at least just idly eavesdrop, whatever's going on next door none of his business, really -- and then things get a little more intense, a little louder. he can read the strain in Akechi's voice, even if he can't make out all the words, and while he's a big boy, perfectly capable of taking care of himself, well, maybe he should just. go and check, to make sure]

[(fuck, but he's getting soft, and all for one fucking kid, who's the same kind of corrupt as he is)]

[he hobbles out into the hallway, then, perhaps catching a glimpse of Hornet as she leaves, but beyond just noting her, he ignores her, slipping into Akechi's room, behind her. he takes one look at Akechi, and -- ] My God.

[Hornet leaves, and at first Akechi can only snarl, slamming his gloved fist against the floor before trying to shove himself back to his feet. He succeeds, but only barely, and by the time Damien's come in, the teen's right hand is gripping his left shoulder, a thick stain of red coating the floor where he'd been and dripping slowly down the sleeve of his button-up to the floor. She'd put a fucking hole in his shoulder.

He's staggering his way across the room to his silver attache case when Damien comes in, and his eyes widen first in shock, then furious resignation. At least it's Damien. At least he doesn't have to worry about putting his mask back on.]

Close the fucking door at least, please.

[The "please" is tacked on mostly by reflex as he forces himself to release his shoulder to grab his briefcase, hisses as he can feel blood oozing and further staining his shirt. At least he'd taken off his uniform jacket. At least that didn't get ruined, too, though his sheets are surely going to end up stained as he tosses the attache case onto the bed and tries to fumble it open one-handed.]

[Damien frowns vaguely, but beyond that, doesn't comment. (he really can't fault the kid too much for being curt when he's bleeding all over everything.) instead, as ordered, he closes the door, turning back to Akechi, once that's done. he watches him for a moment, before limping over to shoo him out of the way]

Sit down.

[he's not entirely sure what's in the briefcase, but he imagines it's something that will help in this situation, and really, even if it's not, Akechi's never going to get it open, one-handed. he can get it open for him]

...

[For a moment, he almost doesn't, out of a childish stubbornness that he can do this himself. He's taken care of his own wounds before, after all, ones far more serious than this.

But he's not an idiot. A hiss of a curse, more at himself than directed at anyone or anything around him, and he drops heavily into the desk chair, nodding toward the case.]

My first aid kit is in there. [He can't quite restrain his laugh, an undercurrent of that same mania from earlier lacing what had once been a pleasant sound as he presses his hand against the wound in an attempt to apply more pressure and stem the bleeding.] That creature didn't even have the courtesy to kill me. A corpse doesn't have to clean up a mess.

[Yeah he's. he's angrier that now he has to scrub blood out of his clothes and off the floor than he is about the actual injury itself. That'll come later, once the adrenaline wears off more.]

[Damien ignores him, finding the first aid kit in relatively short order. he pulls it out, setting the rest of the briefcase aside, and sits down on the bed with it. and -- well, he was about to gesture Akechi over, but at that, he looks up, frown deepening and, oddly, softening all at the same time]

I'm much more interested in you than the fucking carpet, my boy.

[yeah, it's going to be a bitch to clean up, but he's glad Akechi's not dead]

[It's my carpet, he wants to argue, but bites it off behind another hiss of a curse as he shoves himself to his feet to head for the kit. This isn't how the rest of whatever passes for "today" was supposed to go. Ren is still waiting for him upstairs, and probably assumes he ran off by now. Asshole.]

I've had worse.

[At least undoing his shirt buttons enough to reveal the wound is easier than opening the case, albeit awkward one-handed. Normally, he'd just rip it and buy a new one, but with supplies as they are, and things that he genuinely owns in short supply, he's weirdly loath to just destroy one of the few things he has.

If Damien will let him, he'll open the waterproof bag he keeps the kit in and pull out the disinfectant. He doesn't know if wounds can get infected here, and with something so close to his heart, he doesn't want to be the one to find out. At least this he's practiced in; everything in the kit is in a specific place, and he has had to work with his own wounds before, if not in these exact circumstances.]

I assume you overheard the racket? I apologize.

[Again, more habit than anything else, apologizing for his existence to redirect ire.]

While I know death is rather impermanent here, I wonder if you've had the chance to see how dismemberment is treated.

[your little friend can help with that, Akechi. you need to be alive, to have carpet. don't argue]

[while he's not a mindreader, however, he's still going to continue to frown at Akechi, as he lets him have the kit, to get it open. and after a beat and little more gently, he notes:] You could have just wheeled the chair over here. [he wasn't expecting him to get up again]

[he reaches to take the disinfectant and then shoos him away a little -- go sit back down, and come back with the chair. it'll be easier, this way, for him to see how bad it is, to try and fix it, never mind the fact that he strongly suspects Akechi's going to need stitches, for how bad it looks even with just a glace at it. he's -- going to find a way to get this bitch]

[he doesn't quite shelve that thought to answer, his response a touch distant] There was a boy making sashimi out of the fish, when we first got here. [Bakugou] It was -- still alive. [despite being cut into pieces, horrifyingly. hm. maybe they can dismember the bitch and scatter her pieces across the setting]

Edited 2020-09-30 09:03 (UTC)

Hm. Noted.

[Well, that's a satisfying thought for the future, knowing that it is possible. Ren would probably be upset, and if word got out, it would destroy the pleasant reputation he'd built, but. Well.

Damien gets another sour look upon shooing him away, and while he does grab the chair and drag it over with his uninjured hand, wheels tracking a thin line of blood across the carpet, his frown matches the older man's.]

She didn't even pierce all the way through, you know. It's just one puncture. Stitches, regular dressing changes, and thorough washing should be adequate.

[His body is starting to shake as the adrenaline wears off, but he still intends to grab his own supplies. Half of his shirt is already soaked through with blood, so he just uses the rest of it as a makeshift towel to try wiping himself up.]

That creature used a clean weapon, at least, which will make it easier.

[He nods toward his sword, leaning against the wall by the door, as if to indicate the difference. While her nail is a smooth, conical weapon, his own sword is serrated so once it pierces in, its jagged edges catch and do even more damage on the way out.]

At least this place understands the concept of 'healing.' [wouldn't it be fun if it didn't?] Though, I'd still take care of it, just in case. [not that he doesn't expect Akechi will, but] I'd hate to find out if it knew how infection worked.

[and Jesus Christ, Akechi, put down the duckie -- or, in this case, the shirt. he holds a hand out for it, still frowning] Let me. [then, regardless of whether or not he lets him have it, he adds] You're definitely not doing the stitches yourself.

[clean wound or no. and he'd wonder why Akechi didn't just stab her back, but he's sure there's a good reason for that, and that asking would be truly patronizing]

I'd hate to be the one to teach it.

[He frowns again as Damien holds out his hand for the shirt. It feels too vulnerable to let someone else clean him off, let alone stitch him up. There aren't any doctors in the Metaverse, after all, and while wounds heal upon exit, there's only so much generic drug-store-bought painkillers can do while still in that world. And unlike Ren and his friends, he didn't always have the luxury of weeks of preparation time to clear a Palace in stages. Sometimes it was a brutal, bloody assault done in a matter of hours without time for retreat to recoup.

Eventually, he does place the blood-soaked shirt in the older man's hand, and though his face is impassive, his eyes are wary, whether he realizes it or not. He doesn't like feeling vulnerable in front of anyone, and it's hard to feel more vulnerable than being shirtless with a wound that could have very easily been life-threatening were it just a few centimeters lower.]

You say that as though I haven't done them myself before.

[What he doesn't do is question whether or not Damien even knows how. The other man is intelligent enough that he wouldn't be offering if he didn't already know at least the basics.]

[he looks up from where he's taken over, trying to clean up the wound] I never suggested you hadn't, my boy. I just know how hard it is to do stitches, when you're hands are shaking from the adrenaline crash, and that this isn't my first rodeo. [he absolutely knows how to do stitches]

[he looks away, back to Akechi's shoulder, that said, and then -- he pauses again, after long moment, frowning at their makeshift towel. after another beat, he starts to push towards the edge of the bed, to get up] I'm going to go wet this. [if he can find a corner that's not covered in blood, now. it'll be easier to finish cleaning up, so he can start in with the rest of it, with a damp cloth]

[he'll be back in a second, and go right back to it, once he's resettled]

[He exhales through his nose, an aborted sigh, and shakes his head. What, exactly, does Damien hope to get out of helping him? Neither of them are the type to help just for the sake of helping.]

...Thank you, [he says finally, consciously forcing his shoulders to relax and hissing when that, too, fucking hurts, because of course it does. It tenses right back up again with the pain, and he grits his teeth against it.] I truly... don't mean to sound ungrateful.

[no, they aren't, but this absolutely serves him, believe it or not. it wouldn't do to let the one person who actually sees him, here, end up dead, after all -- and never you mind the fact that nothing really dies here. it's a good idea to curry favor, too, when he holds one of his secrets, and never mind the fact that he really has no proof that he kidnapped Nicky, that he tried to kill Aiden. the list goes on]

[and so he glances back at Akechi from the sink, the turns entirely, once he's wrung out the shirt so it's just damped, not soaked. and as he hobbles back over to him, and a little more gently, he tells him:] I know. You're not used to ...

[having someone on his side? not having to do something like this on his own? something. there are as many ways of finishing that sentence as there are reasons why Damien might be keen on helping, now. rather than actually supply any, however, he just shrugs, letting it go, and sinks back down on the bed]

This is probably going to sting. [not that him wiping at his shoulder with the dry shirt didn't, but]

[A muscle in Akechi's jaw tenses, and he's grateful that Damien didn't bother to finish that sentence. No matter how he chose to end it, it would make him sound absolutely pathetic.]

The nature of my mother's work meant that, even as a child, I was often forced to tend to my own scraped knees. As I got older, well. The injuries may have become more severe, but the habit remained, I'm afraid.

[He hisses through his teeth at the rough scrape of damp cotton against raw skin. The wound is far from closed, but it's not bleeding as heavily, slowing to a trickle. As blood is wiped away, though, it does reveal a pair of scars, one over his stomach, one directly over his heart. Gunshots, if Damien would recognize them, in places that would normally be mortal wounds.]

What did your mother do? [a beat] If you don't mind talking about her.

[if he does, well, like he told him once before, he can always tell him to fuck off. he won't mind. he's curious, sure, but -- well, he knows that Hornet and Akechi argued about the latter's mother, however briefly, in all that yelling. he won't press it, if Akechi doesn't want to talk about her anymore, today, as a courtesy]

[maybe he'll talk about his own mother, instead, if Akechi shuts him down. maybe he'll ask about those bullet scars, because yes, he recognizes them for what they are, and they don't make sense for the fact that they would have been fatal. either way. mostly, he's just trying to keep him engaged, to distract from him tending his wounds]

She worked in a nightclub.

[Damien's coasted through enough social links to get that detail, anyway. He's too vulnerable, too emotionally raw to hide much right now, as much as he might normally like to.]

Suffice to say that once I was old enough, I spent more time out of the house than in. I mentioned my father gave her nothing? Life is very difficult for a single mother in Japan, and his absence was devastating for her. The least I could do was try not to be a burden for her. I'm afraid that wasn't enough.

[His fist clenches and unclenches, an emotional dam fractured by Hornet's nail earlier starting to break. He might not see himself as such, but in his core, he is still a kid. A kid who was forced to grow up far too quickly, and has gone through more than any child has any right to, but a kid nonetheless.]

Edited 2020-10-07 04:56 (UTC)

[ah, now it's all coming together]

[Akechi's father, the would-be Prime Minister, met Akechi's mother at a nightclub. they hit it off to some degree, slept together, and dear old dad didn't stick around, because it would have ruined his political career. he wonders, though, why Akechi's mother didn't try and use that, try and blackmail the father for money, to keep quiet, so she and Akechi wouldn't have to struggle. maybe she tried, and she didn't really commit suicide, maybe the father had her killed. maybe, and more likely, she was just a genuinely good person and didn't think to go that route. maybe -- ]

[ -- well, the list goes on, and it's ultimately unimportant. he's not going to press anymore than he already has. not right now, anyway]

[right now, he feels like he should offer something in return, a tit for tat, if only for manipulative reasons. if he shares something with Akechi, now, he'll be more likely to share more with him, later. it needs to be something that matters, though, something relevant to the conversation, and so, at great lengths ... ] ... you know, I have a son. Marcus. He's probably about your age, now.

[a little younger, but]

[He doesn't mind the ensuing silence after the admission. His head is simply bowed so he doesn't have to look at Damien. It isn't that he's ashamed of his upbringing or his circumstances. Instead, every muscle in his body is taut with anger, the seething hatred that perhaps he'll never be able to truly let go of. Certainly not alone, anyway, it's too deeply ingrained, a defining factor of his life and even his soul.

When he finally looks back up again when Damien speaks, there's a flash of that bitter anger still visible before he manages to sublimate it behind gritted teeth, consciously forcing himself to relax as his shoulder sears with pain from the tension.]

You're... estranged, correct?

[Damien had mentioned his ex-wife once before, and his son, and Akechi hadn't pried at the time. Admittedly, he's curious, for reasons more personal than anything that could be used in the future. That's just an added bonus.]

[he hums]

Not by choice. [he pauses, then, tensing himself with every next word, he continues:] The bitch served me divorce papers while I was in prison. Naturally, she got full custody, since I was ... indisposed, at the time. [what with being in jail and all. she refused to let him have visitation rights, too, once he got out]

I... see.

[There's a part of him that wants to ask, why not kill her? or, in Damien's case, have her killed? But even he can recognize that perhaps his kneejerk reaction to simply murder someone for his own ends is perhaps a little much for something like that.

How would he have felt, if Shido had been a man in prison, instead of in power? Unable to visit or support his mother, instead of simply unknowing and unwilling? It's a futile exercise, because that isn't what happened, but...]

I don't presume to know American law, but... were you able to keep in touch with him? Before all of this bullshit.

["This bullshit" being the world they're currently trapped in.]

[at that, he pauses in cleaning up Akechi's shoulder, his jaw working as he struggles with an answer. after a moment, and at great lengths, he goes back to working as he explains:] I ... made a mistake, when I they let me out of jail. I got drunk, drove down to Rockland where Christina and my son were staying with her mother. I was ...

[he pauses, shakes his head]

I don't know what I was hoping for, exactly, but it ended with her taking out a restraining order against me. [a beat] I could have take care of it, but I'd just gotten out of prison for crimes related to my hacking. [there was a huge leap in law enforcement's ability to detect and stop online crime, about the time he got arrested. it's the only time in twenty-some years, in his entire career, that he's ever been caught, though. he's a good hacker, he was just unlucky, just once, and that was all it took] They'd have noticed the paperwork just disappeared. [there were also probably still hard copies at the time, too]

I've tried sending him letters, since then, tucked away in birthday cards, Christmas cards, but ... [but he imagines the bitch took them out of the cards and burned them. he looks a torn between pissed off, at the thought, and just a little sad, all that in mind. he's tried, but he's the fucking absent father, and it's as much the ex's fault as it is his, his mistake]

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003 - Memories of a False History

after the stabbing, natch

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