bakerstreet | Sensory deprivation meme

Sensory deprivation meme

the SENSORY DEPRIVATION meme:
You know those things you rely on to navigate you properly through life?
Senses? Yeah, well, kiss those goodbye.

(TRIGGER WARNING: This meme deals with the loss of senses:
blindness, inability to feel. If the concept of blindness, deafness
and/or the loss of any of your senses bothers you, please do NOT play this meme)

✖ Post with your character name/fandom/options for scenarios
(ie; het/slash fluff/smut) and your prompt.
✖ Use RNG to pick your numbers.
1-5 for regular senses, 6-10 for moral sense, 11-16 for cracky senses.

The Basic Five

1. Sense of Sight - Whether you woke up that way, had an accident, a brain tumor expanded or you had a bad reaction to something, you're now blind. Fully and completely. Watch out for that bu--*wince*

2. Sense of Smell - Did someone step in dog crap? It could be you, but you'd never know. You've lost your sense of smell. I guess there's no stopping by the roses for you, huh?

3. Sense of Hearing - "I'M NOT YELLING!!" Yes, yes you are. And no matter how loud you crank AC/DC, you're never hearing Highway to Hell again. Guess I shouldn't have gotten you the Stones compalition CD's, huh?

4. Sense of Taste - No, it doesn't taste like chicken. In fact, it doesn't taste like anything. Perfect time to get that friend that burns everything to cook for you - at least it'll make them happy and you can smile through the whole ordeal.

5. Sense of Touch - Where'd you get that bruise? Or that gaping knife wound? No clue. You have utterly lost the ability to feel anything, like your body is enveloped in fuzzy packing tape. Punch the wall all you want, you ain't gonna feel anything.

The Guiding Factors

6. Sense of Right and Wrong - Tripping people that get in your way? Taking candy from babies? Killing someone that hurt you and yours? All sound like pretty good ideas right about now. Your entire moral code has been thrown into the 'grey' area. There is no right or wrong, only what you want.

7. Sense of Decency - Things that just 'aren't done' are in play for you now. Evicting old ladies and orphans because they can't pay? Pff. Good. Lousy Mooching leeches. Hitting on that underage and naive little thing? Puh-leeze, they're an easy mark. Deflower, deport and debauch yourself to your heart's content.

8. Sense of Self - You don't even know who you are anymore. What are you doing with your life? What's it all mean? What the hell's it for? Why even bother to get up in the morning? Are you going to go try and 'find' yourself? Or just give up?

9. Sense of Preservation - Your life? Means about as much as a mouse fart. Why should you step out of the way of that speeding train? You were there first. Mouthing off to that huge, angry, overpumped steroid-faced goon sounds like a good idea too. He took your seat. And he smells.

10. Sense of Empathy - That ability that lets you put yourself in the shoes of others, to relate to them? Gone. No, you don't know what they're feeling, and quite frankly, you don't want to. You have your own things to deal with, and they're much more important. Why? Because they're yours.

The Quirky Ones

11. Sense of Humor - Wait, am I supposed to laugh now? You have to take your cue from those around you, laughing when they do, usually a little bit late and a little too long. Not even a fart joke will crack a smile.

12. Sense of Direction - You couldn't find your ass with both hands. Literally. You tried. And wound up getting thrown in the clink for inappropriate conduct with a nun. Don't drop the soa-- Too late.

13. Sense of Modesty - So what if you're using a belt as a skirt. It looks good, right? Bending over and showing off too much isn't an issue for you, neither is changing in the middle of the store if you just have to wear that cute little shirt now.

14. Sense of Fashion - Yes, you think a pink polka-dotted bikini top goes just smashingly with the neon green bellbottoms. Bubblewrap tops? Freakin' awesome. Put it on and flaunt it, and watch people's eyes bleed.

15. Sense of Timing - "What do you mean now's a bad time?" Yes, because you think trying to pick up a girl at her husband's funeral is a good thing. What? She's single. You're late to everything. A clock? Wassat? Strange, foreign words...

16. Mix and Match - You poor bastard, you've lost more than one sense. 2? 3? The whole lot? Who knows, that's up to you.

(reposted from memebells@lj, originally here)

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The town isn't large, but it's large enough that Sharon is cautious as she guides him through narrow streets and alleyways. She leads him into the undergrowth of the jungle at long last. Once they're deep enough in that she doesn't think they'll be spotted from the town, she takes his hand and presses it against a tree. "Wait here. I'm going to find a trail. I'll be right back."

She gives his hand another squeeze in promise and glances at his gun, making sure it's good to go.

Satisfied, she melts into the brush, moving faster now that she isn't guiding him. She's back not long after. "It's me," she murmurs so he won't shoot her. She takes his hand and puts it back on her shoulder. "Found a game trail. Let's go."

They can't use the trail much, since that's most likely watched, but with his lack of sight and Salazar hunting them, she's putting speed over caution for now.

He's not sure what to think about Sharon leaving him in the middle of the jungle with only a tree to hold onto and his ears, but he doesn't protest. She's got the only pair of working eyes around here.

Still, once she's gone he's tense, ready and waiting. She speaks almost too late - he had nearly convinced himself to shoot in the direction of the rustling leaves. He lowers his gun and stands, grip closing more firmly on her shoulder. "Tap your foot against anything I might trip over," he says quietly, "So I know it's there."

"Got it." If she weren't so worried about getting him out alive, she'd allow herself to feel more concern. As much trouble as it is for her to deal with his blindness, it must be far, far worse for him.

But sentimentality isn't their friend right now. She sets off, tapping her foot against rocks and roots as requested. Once she gets to the trail, she picks up the pace, only slowing when she suspects there's a trap. While most of the traps are for game, she studies each one in case Salazar might have left one for them.

"We'll stop soon," she promises, guiding him around another trap. They're getting more frequent, and she won't be able to avoid them as well - if at all - at night. And she knows he has to be tired.

Or maybe not, with his enhancements. But she's tired. And since they're both relying on her, she can't afford to make mistakes because she's tired. They'll have to stop to rest, if only for her sake. "What a pair we make, huh?"

"Even more of a pair than we used to," he agrees tiredly. His body's been pumping with adrenaline ever since he woke up and couldn't see. It's not any better now except the adrenaline's wearing off so he's tired. He thought he hadn't been sore when he woke up, but that definitely wasn't the case. "I hope you brought food, Sharon, because I haven't eaten in three days."

"Longer than that, actually," she says quietly. "You've been in a coma for- we'll stop soon."

True to her word, she guides him off the path almost half an hour later to a small copse nearby. She takes him around by the hand, knocking her hand against the trees around him so he can get an idea of the layout. Once she's fairly confident he won't sprint headlong into a tree, she sits and opens the pack.

"I figure it'll take another two days to reach the checkpoint, and we can't be sure the boat is still there. Last I heard, Salazar has control of nearly half the country, and the government is in a panic." She presses a closed water bottle into his hand.

"I'm sorry, by the way." She clears her throat as she opens a can of fruit. "I should have killed him at the compound. If I had, we wouldn't be in this mess."

If she had, they'd probably both be dead. But hundreds of others would still be alive, and the country would be safe from a tyrannical, insane future dictator. So there's that.

"It's not your fault," he says. He's grateful that she took him around the trees - he now knows the rough size and shape of the little clearing they're in. And with her there in front of him, he can listen to her move - the zipper of the bag unzipping, her hand rifling through the contents of the bag, the rough cloth rustling gently. Then the crinkle of a bottle of water and a can opening. He opens the bottle of water and has to guide the mouth to his lips gingerly, so as not to spill. He takes a few gulps of the water then offers the bottle back to her. "You did what you thought was right."

He leans back a little, feels the rough bark of the tree behind him through his thin shirt. His other hand, the one not occupied with the water bottle, reaches up and back. The bark is pebbly, hard under his fingers up yielding easily to his nails.

He's going to have to learn how to navigate again. Learn how to walk without being dizzy. But already, his hearing is sharper, he can track the way Sharon moves her upper body just by listening to her breathing, her fingers tapping against the metal of the can.

"What happened to your arm?" he finally asks, curious. It hadn't been that way when he had last seen her - as he was kicking her out of the path of some kind of smoky spray that had knocked him out cold.

No, she hadn't done what she thought was right. Doing what she thought was right would have left them both dead.

She doesn't say that, though, doesn't point out that she'd ultimately decided to save James. She doesn't want him to know that she'd been worried about him and upset that he'd been hurt.

"Tried to get to Salazar anyway. Should have just dragged your lazy ass out." She moves back to him and takes the water bottle, replacing it with the can of fruit. She puts the fork in his other hand. Her gestures reveal a gentleness she rarely shows. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. "I landed on it and sprained it. It's nothing. Doesn't hurt much, and I should be good as new soon."

It's close enough to the truth. She had sprained her arm by landing on it. But the bullet had only nicked her shoulder, and she isn't going to make him worry about something that doesn't matter. The important thing is that her arm be fully operational soon. That's all.

But the dark mirth returns quickly. "I told Tilda I wanted a pudding cup of my own. I did warn her."

She leans back to give him some room. "Do you want some help? I won't tell."

He hesitates with the fork, trying to surreptitiously run his finger up over the top then down to the tines. Still, James is more focused on listening to Sharon. Over their time spent together he had learned her tells, learning how to look at her and know she was lying to him. He has that same feeling now, but there's no way to know.

Finally, he shakes his head. "No, I can handle it." He stabs the fork into the can then brings it out. He lifts the fork to his mouth and manages to drip fruit juice all down his front but does get a few pieces of the fruit into his mouth, which is the important part. He stabs in again. He slurps at the juice after a few moments then remembers to offer the can to Sharon. "Here, eat."

If he had his sight and they had the time, he would be able to hunt, catch them some food. But all the have to live off of is what Sharon managed to get into the pack. And after carrying it for several hours, he knows it's not even heavy with food.

Her lips quirk into a smile as the fruit juice dribbles down his chin. If she didn't know him so well, she'd think it was cute.

She sits close by and and watches him for another moment to make sure he's all right. But then her stomach grumbles, and she doesn't bother delaying anymore. She takes a couple bites before handing it back. She has to fight the urge to clean some of the juice away.

"Maybe it's temporary, like the unconsciousness was," she suggested. "And even if it isn't, we'll get out of here and work something out."

He wipes his chin with his right hand then returns to eating. "That would be the best thing. If this is permanent..." He doesn't want to waste his energy thinking about that just yet. "We just have to get somewhere safe. Find a doctor, see if they can tell me what's wrong with my eyes. Get away from Salazar. We can come back and mop him up once I can see, that won't be hard."

"We might be able to take care of him on the way to the meeting point if he finds us," Sharon says with dark cheer.

She eyes the can of fruit. She's still hungry, but hungry is how she's going to be for the next couple of days. She'll manage. If they have the time to hunt, maybe she can catch something.

"You get some rest. I'll take first watch."

James nods. He's more than willing to curl up at the base of the tree to finish the can of fruit. He passes her the empty can then sighs. He doesn't know if he can sleep like this, but he's going to have to try. He lets his head fall to his chest and closes his eyes, but he can't turn off his ears. He can hear everything - the breeze rushing through the trees, Sharon's breathing, everything. It's distracting but if he makes himself stop listening, there's a very real possibility something might happen that could hurt or kill either or both of them.

Still, he tries to relax enough to at least doze.

She waits for what feels like forever. It's completely dark around them; the trees shield them from even the stars. It doesn't shield them from the cacophony of insects, though. She cleans the guns they have left while she listens and waits.

And then, when she thinks that he's finally deep enough asleep that she won't wake him, she gently pulls her arm from the sling. She has to twist to get a good look at the wound in her arm, but in the darkness, it's difficult to tell if it's reopened.

She frowns at it and rummages around in the duffel as quietly as she can until she finds the antiseptic and clean bandages.

She watches James for a few minutes, noting the breathing and the stillness of his face. She can't see much, but she knows how still his face can be from memory now. She could have as many memory problems as Aunt Peggy and still see his still face when she closes her eyes.

She's not going to live long enough for memory problems if she doesn't get them out of here, and letting her wound get infected is a damn good way to get them both killed.

She grits her teeth and gets to work.

While he manages to sleep through Sharon cleaning the guns, he wakes up to the sound of her drawing a breath through her teeth, obviously pained. "Sharon?" He lifts his head and turns it so his right ear is facing towards her. "You alright?" He's still half-asleep but if she's in pain...

She freezes. "Fine." It comes out a little too quickly; she's already busy trying to think up a lie in case she needs one. "I just- I knocked my arm. It's fine. Are you okay? Need more to eat?"

He blinks, again trying to figure out if she's lying or not, then shakes his head, "No, I'm fine. You should get some sleep, Sharon. I can at least listen for anything strange."

"You need sleep more than I do," she says firmly.

She tries to finish bandaging her arm, more slowly so as to do it as quietly as she can.

"Get a little more sleep. I'll wake you when I don't think I can do anymore."

James sighs at her, "You know that's not how it works, Sharon. If you stay awake until you're falling asleep you'll just fall asleep and not wake me up. I've been asleep for who knows how long. You need the rest."

She'd gotten plenty of rest waiting for him to wake up, trapped in a building where she didn't dare leave his room for more than a couple minutes at a time.

She scowls and tucks the loose end of the bandage into place. It isn't the best job, but it'll hold together. "Fine, fine." She shoves everything back into the duffel, snakes her arm back into it's sling, and takes a seat next to him. She hopes he doesn't have some sort of super-smell power that can detect the antiseptic.

"Worrywart," she mutters grumpily.

She closes her eyes, and any further grumping or teasing stops. He's right about her needing rest. As soon as her eyes are closed, she's asleep. And she trusts him to protect her, even if he's blind, so the sleep is deep.

He doesn't, lucking for her. He sighs though and carefully reaches out to wrap one arm around Sharon's shoulders. With her tucked up against him, he doesn't have to listen to her move and instead can just tune out her breathing and listen to the forest around them. It's easy enough, and he's awake and aware enough to last until morning. Or what he assumes is morning.

She stirs when he wraps his arm around her, but she adjusts without waking, curling up against him comfortably.

She wakes hours later as her stomach aches with hunger. She's comfortable enough that she doesn't rush to lift her head, but he has to be hungry, too, and they still have to get out of here.

False dawn has filled the undergrowth with faint gray light, and she gently moves his arm so she can root through the duffel. She hands him another water bottle and opens another fruit cup, eating half the fruit and sipping some of the juice before handing it over to him.

"Did I miss anything last night?"

He shakes his head, "No." He takes the fruit cup and just eats right from the cup, dumping the contents down. The fruit is good with the sugar, but it's not going to do anything to fill them up. "Do you have anything in there to eat besides fruit?" Some sort of protein would be good for the both of them.

He's not any less blind than he was when he first woke up - this was quickly looking to be permanent.

"We've got three." Sharon had been trying not to use those until things were dire. But if they're both this hungry already, they might not be able to hold off as long as she'd like. She pulls one out and splits it carefully in half.

She places it in James' hand before she tears off a piece of her own. She only takes a bite before putting it away. She sips some water and watches his eyes for any change. Looks like another day of bad things.

"Ready for a fresh day of hell?" she asks brightly.

He takes the granola bar. It isn't much, but hopefully it's going to be enough to keep him going through the rest of the day. He carefully starts to get up, groaning. He's been sitting curled up all night, and his body doesn't really want to cooperate.

James leans against the tree for a few moments, just listening, before he straightens up. "Ready as I'm ever going to be. I'll take the pack."

"I'll take you up on that." She stretches a little as she hands him the duffel. She rolls her neck before taking his hand. She guides him up to the path again, giving him directions on where to step and when to duck and holding branches out of the way so they don't hit him.

Once they're on the path, she sets his hand on her shoulder and sets off at a faster speed. After yesterday, she's tired and sore, but he can't be doing as well as usual, either. She pushes the pain as much out of her mind as she can.

She stops again when the sun is high overhead and hands him a bottle of water. She wipes some sweat from her forehead and sets her hands on her hips as she looks around. They've avoided traps so far, but they both need a rest. The only reason she's in as good a shape as she's in now is because of her SHIELD training. Funny how she never credits the CIA training.

"How are you holding up?"

She wonders if she should take time to hunt or trap something. Speed is important, but they have too few resources to keep going like this.

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