bakerstreet | (no subject)

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THE MINDFUCK MEME

This is not a very nice meme! Many if not all options are potentially triggering. Please use your best judgment before participating.

1. Comment with your character, putting their name, canon, and any prefs in the subject line.
**Please note that this meme is open to both sexual and platonic content. You may wish to list non-sexual rp as one of your prefs.**
2. When other characters tag in, they'll use this handy RNG (1-15) to pick an option from the list below.
3. Have fun, fuck minds, ???, profit.

Options:

1. I Own You: You know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that you own this person. Furthermore, you're more than willing to break them down until they accept it as truth. All that they are—mind, body, and soul—is yours. They should have known that from the beginning. Now they'll know it 'til the end.

2. We're One and the Same: You're two sides of the same coin. You practically own each other! No one else will ever complete them the way you can. You're twins. Brothers from another mother (or was that the same mother?). They won't get away—they shouldn't even desire to. Good thing you're ready to help.

3. Nobody Has Ever Loved You (Like I Do): The person before you clearly doesn't understand how worthless they are; everyone they've ever loved will and should leave them to rot. The only thing they have left—the one creature that doesn't despise them utterly—is you. They should probably start groveling at your feet for such patience and mercy.

4. By Your Bedside: You love them. You love them utterly, and just look at the thanks you get. Look how they've betrayed you! Ruthlessly! Talking to others—looking at others. Disgusting. You aren't going to allow it anymore. They need to understand the importance of your love.

5. You're a Doll, Doll: Some people just don't get it. They think they have basic human rights the same as anyone else! They don't view themselves as puppets or pets to be played with. They don't understand that they belong on a leash or sitting pretty on a shelf. Poor darlings! Lucky for them you've taken an interest in setting them straight.

6. Stop Forcing My Hand: It's not your fault you're tying them down! It isn't your fault they need to be disciplined! They making you. They stared at you with those eyes! They asked how you wanted your coffee! You wish they could apologize enough for such atrocities. You'd love to let them go. You don't want to do this. You're the real victim here.

7. Kiss Me and Smile at Me: Time for a little mindcontrol up in here! With this prompt, the other person is completely under your control. Tell them to jump, they jump. Tell them to beg—oh. There will be begging. Unfortunately, the effect isn't always complete and sometimes your target knows they're being toyed with. Too fucking bad.

8. Such a Child: If this kid doesn't want to listen and do as they're told, it's high time you start treating them like the little brat they are. Up to you how far this goes, although spanking isn't a bad start. And who cares if they're actually younger or technically older—they need to learn to listen when adults are speaking.

9. A Permanent Stain: All right. All right. You'll be fine as long as you leave this mark on them. Maybe a couple (hundred) bruises will do, or perhaps a tattoo is more your style. A piercing? Sure! Or five. Whatever—all you know is you need something physical to show your connection. Stake your claim and stake it hard.

10. Escape Cockblocker: You've got containing your target down to an art form. You know all their weaknesses and exactly what shackles fit them best. You can keep their powers at bay and break their spirit (or profess your adoration!) at your leisure. Your expertise in keeping the other right where you want them is absolute.

11. BRUTALITY K.O.: It's easy to be dark and brooding. It's simple to concoct a sinister scheme or two. Violence, however, helps drive a point home with bruising finesse. All it takes is a little brainwashing between punches and voila! You've got your message across. They'll learn to love you for it in no time at all.

12. Feeling Superior: This one is all about rank. Either you're sick of chilling on the lowest rung, or you've always had the upper-hand. Doesn't matter; you're in charge now. Call it a promotion, if you will. Call it learning to excel.

13. Semi-Genderbender: You've always thought of the person before you as a distinctly different gender. It doesn't matter how they identify, you've clearly got the right idea about this. So, you might as well start pushing it. Dresses, manly trousers—pronoun-fuckery all up in here. What about scheduling them for a few… 'enhancing' surgical procedures?

14. You Don't See Me: Sensory deprivation, anyone? This is pretty standard stuff. Take away their voice, take away their eyes— take away sound or taste or touch. Use magic, use devices, use whatever comes to mind. After all, they didn't really need all five senses. That's just greedy! Four—three at most and they'll be sitting pretty under your 'unique' care.

15. Creepozoid's Choice!: Pick any of the options above or a 15th of your own devising. Remember, 15 is always an open option if you'd rather not roll, or if you're looking for a mixture of options.

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[ He doesn't keep track of how many days or weeks have passed since he got out of the desert. He thinks around it, as he's trained himself to do with the big problems in his life. Nathaniel gives him Biblical dreams on the nights when he doesn't use the pills, so he uses them more than he should.

It all strains his composure at work, not to the point of danger, but enough to be commented upon by well-meaning coworkers. He smiles and is abashed and blames it on sunstroke (god help him, at least the scald wasn't in the shape of a hand), and eventually agrees that going out with them for once would be a good idea. He's done it before, walking blindly through dread and delusion to emerge on the other side with people who can't see inside his head reassured of his wellness.

Tonight is bad, though. It's always hard, but they're somewhere loud and full of intermittent lights that make the darkness hurt more. He tries to drink slow, he keeps as close as he can to his coworkers and the spiky disconnected conversations — keeps himself fixed in the clot of his friends among the flow of strangers, none of whom he looks closely at. If he feels occasional crawling coldness down his neck and back, it's as likely to be paranoia as it is anything else, and it's fine. It's all fine. ]

[Against the coldness in the back of Nate's neck there's suddenly warmth, softness. A hand that brushes in a friendly manner, just like an old friend finding a familiar face in the crowd. Should he turn around, he'd find Petre's dashing little smile greeting him with bright blue eyes. Funny how he could spot you in a crowd when you try to blend in so hard, isn't it.]

Nate.

[He calls out over the music, walking around for a proper hello. If any of Nate's friends are wondering who the newcomer is, he gives them no attention, no opportunity to find out.]

It's been a while.

[ It's so incongruous, so alien to what his life usually contains, that it raises only confusion and not alarm. Nathaniel finds it hard to speak when he's drinking, a fact which Nate tries very hard not to abuse, so he turns — and it's like he's in an elevator with the cables cut. How the fuck has this guy found him, and other silently gibbered questions, have to be ignored and worked past. Nate forces himself to sip his drink like everything's normal, not taking his eyes off of Petre. ]

Yeah. Guess so.

[ His deadened voice is barely audible over the music, weighed down by social calculations that can't be calibrated by looking at his friends because it's not a huge leap of logic to understand how he's afraid of what they'll see, but he's not going to show obvious weakness about it. You just don't. All he can do is crawl into the boring armor again, to have as little reaction as possible, and wait until it's possible and less socially awkward to leave. ]

[Nate could wonder many things about how Petre ended up here. If this is coincidence, if this is fate, if Petre made it happen because he went the extra mile and tracked Nate and his undying old man down deliberately. It wouldn't be so hard, not when he's a freak standing out when he tries so hard to be in the background. It's just not possible - demons can sniff out their kind, and that ghost haunting the back of his mind is all unholy. He belongs in hell, and Petre can practically taste it.]

Let's go talk. I'm here all alone.

[Again, his words are heard over the crowd, rude to the other bystanders who expect Nate to be here for them, not the random young man who just popped in uninvited.

Either way, the suggestion is made to sound wonderful. Tempting. The right choice.]

[ There's a low muttered stream of thought in his head which suggests to Nate that he shouldn't have given Petre his name, as if that's what made it possible for Petre to find him. The dazed qualities of the night so far, the exterior and interior noise, and Petre's invitation which would at least take them out from under the eyes of his friends ... it feels right. Wrong-right, which is about the only kind of right Nate knows. One of his friends says his name, and there were probably going to be reasonable questions following it, but he answers without looking back at them in a louder and easy tone of voice. ]

I'll be right back.

[ The pleasantness is a blank slate upon which they can project any explanation they want, but he can do damage control later. That'll go easier if he leaves before they notice how tightly he's gripping his drink. ]

Edited (whoops too many eyes) 2014-09-12 12:51 (UTC)

[he lets Nate walk past him, gives his supposed friends an incisive look before heading out after him. There's a quiet spot in the back, away from the music but not the lights.

He leans his side against the wall, digs into his pocket to fish out his cigarette and lighter.]

I didn't think you had so many friends.

[ Nate allows once look behind him to make sure they're in the clear. Maybe it was the look Petre gave them; his friends seem to have filed this under "something personal," which is enough of a novel concept when associated with him, to let it go. Here in the quieter area, he rubs one hand over his eyes, annoyed that the lights seem inescapable and that they affect him so oddly. As before, he avoids Petre's eyes in restlessness, gaze skittering in areas around the guy's head as he mentally piles up likely excuses for Monday's inevitable work conversation. ]

I don't. What did you want to talk about?

[He pauses, takes his time to answer and to light up his cigarette, eyes down, expression completely relaxed. Out goes the lighter and back into his pocket it returns, other hand reaching for the cigarette to exhale smoke.]

Nothing. Anything. How's the old man? He still in there? [He tilts his head, like he's trying to find him in Nate's eyes. With a little wave,] Hi.

[ He's done badly at controlling the dynamic here, he knows. It's all Petre taking his time and Nate standing stiffly by, waiting to be jerked around. His mouth flattens briefly, displeased at the questions. ]

Yes.

[ Not strongly, though. Nothing staring back at Petre from in there, like Nathaniel's asleep or temporarily suppressed. Nate looks away and drains his drink. ]/small>

[He tilts back his head, ghost of a smile hanging on his lips as he keeps his eyes locked, unrelenting. He likes making people uncomfortable, likes getting whatever negative reaction he can from them. It's what makes them fun, as far as he's concerned. He hopes he never meets anyone like him; he prefers being unique.]

So how does that work? [a beat.] Does he get to tell you what to do? Did he tell you to come with me?

[ It's fair to say Nate has never met anyone like Petre. At the same time, he knows the mindset intimately. He knows that turtling up and giving boring answers won't actually make Petre go away. It might have if he'd never cracked, but he already did and it can't be undone. ]

No. It's my body, I'm in charge. [ Except he wasn't when he tried to kill Petre in the desert. ] And no.

[ That final answer is flat. He doesn't question the circumstances of his own decision. It was the most logical one. Obviously. ]

[No, it wouldn't. When Petre doesn't get what he wants the easy way, he just keeps pushing and bending until something cracks. And Nate did definitely crack, even if what he got was a look at the monster that crawls inside his skin.

Petre could think of himself as a symmetry to his situation. A human trapped inside, lost somewhere in the body of a monster.]

You tried to kill me, then.

[He sounds disappointed, almost like a child.]

Just when I was being so nice, too.

You weren't.

[ Dispassionate, since he knows Petre either doesn't see it that way or is being typically awful, and he has no interest in arguing about it. The statement is more for his own sake, a small assertion of reality closer to the one he pursues every day. ]

Is that what you wanted to know?

[ Overtones of "officer, am I being detained?" ]

Are you surprised?

[No comment on his contradiction, because Petre simply doesn't care. He moves on to what genuinely interests him, and discussing what he did or didn't do isn't it.

With a nonchalant shrug,]

I want to know everything about you.

[ Like before, his disbelieving look skitters away from full eye contact. The answer is clear before he says anything. ]

I have to go. You can wait for my memoirs.

[ Instead of pushing past Petre (he remembers the grip on his hand), Nate elects to try going the other way. Never mind rejoining his friends, he has to leave. He'd quit his job and move to another city if that were possible. Call it a spiritual crisis and laugh hysterically in private. ]

Nate.

[He doesn't move from his spot, doesn't reach for a hand, doesn't force him to stay physically. No, instead he goes for a little trick he rarely keeps up his sleeve.]

Stay.

[And again, it sounds like the right thing to do - not like Petre suggested (ordered) it, but like it was his own decision all along - gentle and not harsh. Why leave so soon? They barely got started.

He tips his chin up, blows smoke between full lips.]

[ He stops after just two steps, and for a moment sways, unsure of the collision of feeling/reason/influences: he'd just been wishing he could leave the country, never mind the city, which is ridiculous, and Nathaniel is suddenly raging in the back of his mind but there's too much alcohol in the way for him to get a good hold on Nate. It's a strange wrong-right tug of war, one that happens to the periphery of what seems primary, which is that staying will work out.

His mouth is dry but the drink is gone. What was he thinking again? He turns back to Petre, a little dazed. The way Petre smokes is simultaneously impressive and hilarious for how young he looks. Nate has no idea why he's so confused. There's nothing to be confused about, is there? Nathaniel is always angry with him. ]

I — [ He manages to pick up the thread of the conversation. ] — I can't tell you.

[It's something he enjoys, seeing the conflict that surges when his words pour out of his mouth and into someone's head, just when they were so determined to do the exact opposite. Petre is a power freak through and through; sure he fantasizes about being controlled every now and then, but it's in his hands that he likes to hold every situation. A fight, a conversation, sex. To have such an easy time making people do what he wants - it's like letting a child run wild in a candy store.]

Why not. [He thumbs the dry end of the cigarette, flicking ash on the floor.] Are you scared? I won't let him hurt you.

[ Mentally, Nate tries to line the facts of the situation back up like a child confused by how his tower of blocks has suddenly be turned into a horse made of blocks. Petre is not good. Nathaniel is not good. Petre wants to talk to him, Nathaniel doesn't want him to talk to Petre. Goddamnit, he shouldn't have finished that drink. He's just staring at Petre's finger on the cigarette. ]

He won't let me. In a few hours.

[ Nate tears his eyes away to look at his empty drink, sad but still dimly aware that he's put a lot of work into functional alcoholism, and that he should try to cut back. Then, frowning— ]

And I'm not going to tell you. [ Right. He remembers feeling clear on that policy. ]

I'm not gonna let it go, Nate.

[He reaches over, takes the glass from Nate's hand. This time his doesn't burn, it's just naturally warm. Petre feels warm all over, and it's pleasant enough to keep him pleasant as well. The glass goes down on the floor, and now Nate has nothing to fidget on.]

I'm not gonna let you go.

[Not until he does what Petre wants, not until he becomes an open book and Petre gets bored of him.]

How long have you been possessed?

[ Watching the glass get taken from him, he knows things are entirely wrong now. What Petre says makes that elevator-dropping feeling happen again, but not as strongly. He got in the elevator of his own accord (as far as he remembers), though, so this is his fault, like it's always been. ]

Stop. [ He sounds ragged now, straining against himself and Nathaniel. ] Stop asking. It's too hard. I have a system and you're fucking it up.

[Poor little man, all messed up inside, finally showing it on the outside. It's the hypocrisy of how he plays himself as mild and uninteresting that irritates and amuses Petre, especially knowing that he can't just get away with it anymore. You've been spotted, Nate, and now you can't hide. You can't even run.]

Good.

[One step closer, now placing his forearm on Nate's shoulder. He hopes his friends see the apparently intimate gesture, he hopes it raises more questions that he has to maneuver around.]

I want to fuck it all up. You look like you need me to.

[ Looking at him from this proximity, real anger finally kicks in, the same terror-fueled fury that made him give into Nathaniel and attack Petre in the desert. But nothing happens. Nathaniel can't reach him and Petre preempted it, somehow. The thought of running, however urgent, makes him so tired.

If direct struggle isn't possible, there are still other ways. Nate lets his shoulders droop and his head drop, not quite assent but at least passivity. ]

Please don't. [ The calculated softness is something he's done before, if never in a situation like this. ] Please. I'll tell you what you want. But it has to be me, not the old man. He'll fight you and I won't, but if you keep pushing, he'll get me, he'll take over. I'll do anything.

[ And if he plans on making the same pitch to Nathaniel in a few hours, that's only survival. ]

[Petre tongues his canine tooth idly, glances down Nate's body like he's contemplating the offer, assessing whether or not he likes it. Like he needs to have the advantage point in every single thing he does, no matter how dangerous.]

No.

[Sorry, Nate. What he wants is more important.]

But I'll go slow. Promise.

[ When he finally looks Petre in the eye, it's with burning resentment, an anger echoed weakly by Nathaniel behind the haze of alcohol. The clearest and truest self-expression he's managed throughout the entirety of their interactions. And then he heaps some coals on it so it will keep and lapses back into sullen silence. He outlasted Nathaniel, he created the systems. He tells himself he can fight this, and doesn't question why he hasn't left. ]