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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"What's-" She swallows and tries again, forcing her voice to sound stronger than it had been. Forcing herself to sound stronger than she feels. "What's getting better?"

James doesn't really want to tell her. He just wants to sit here calmly and not tell her what's wrong with him.

"The fact that my body's not doing what I tell it to."

She remembers she's still holding the protein bar and looks at it for a moment. It wouldn't stay down if she ate it now, and after a moment she sets it aside.

Her first instinct is to order him to explain. She's been in a military structure long enough that it's second nature, and it's taken her time to realize that orders aren't always what James needs, particularly at times like these. She's had to train herself to work with him, not treat him like an underling sometimes, and this time, it takes her longer to get her temper under control. She just can't believe him right now. How long had he known? How long had he thought to keep it from her?

"How do you mean? Is it just... not responding? Or is it doing the opposite? What."

"I mean I'm trying to lift my hand right now." And he was. But he could still feel the fabric of his pants under his hand. "And it's obviously not doing anything." He's starting to let frustration creep into his voice. He can't see, he can't move his body, people are after him and he's helpless to protect Sharon. It's all of his worst nightmares all rolled into one, but this is real. "And I'm scared out of my fucking skull because I can't do anything. I'm a passenger in my own fucking body again."

She watches him, fighting the urge to... what? Part of her wants to hit him for not telling her any of this sooner, part of him wants to hug him and tell him everything's going to be all right.

But they would both know that it would be a lie. Things were bad before, and now they're getting worse.

She carefully takes his hand and gently rubs his palm in circular motions. Maybe it's just a circulation problem. "When did you first notice it?"

Her tone is calm. There's no sign that the frustration in his voice upset her. She's so accustomed to him being sure, to him being in control, that it nearly broke her heart to hear it, and then for him to talk about being a passenger in his own body again... She's starting to understand a fragment of what this must mean to him other than their chances of survival, and that's heartbreaking, too.

"Last night. It started in my hands. I could barely move when you were out in the rain getting water. Now nothing's working." He can feel her fingers on his palm but it's a distant pressure, not unlike what his left hand can feel.

If Salazar caught them and he recognized James before he killed him... Salazar could probably give him back to Hydra for lots of money and with the state he's in... He would be helpless to fight back. Hydra would be able to weaponize him again, make him back into the Soldier, completely destroy him.

The thought makes him cold all over. "We have to get to that boat, Sharon. Even if you have to tie a rope around me and drag me there. I'm not going to be caught and used by Hydra again. I'll kill myself before that happens."

"You know I wouldn't let them do that to you." And she won't. She's going to get him out of here. She'll come up with something.

She feels a faint chill as she remembers putting his arm around her the night before. Would he have done that himself if he could have? Or had his arm already been to numb, and he'd planned on letting it hang there? Would he have told her about this then if she'd thought to ask?

She bites her lip and grabs her protein bar. "Wait here. I'm going to look around outside some more. See if I can find more food."

And see if it would be safer to backtrack. She's getting him out of here alive. She's getting him help. She's going to make sure he gets better.

She leaves before he can argue. Outside, she doesn't last long before tears of frustration start to fall, and she wipes them away as she goes up and down the path, trying to determine the safest, fastest way in an area where she doesn't know the paths well enough.

By the time she comes back, her tears have dried, and her concern for him is masked by determination. "No food yet. You okay to move if I help you?"

Edited 2014-10-05 06:01 (UTC)

While Sharon is gone, James tries to move, forces his body to obey his commands.

By the time she is back, he has minimal control over his legs, almost complete control of his left arm (which wasn't surprising, considering that it's all controlled by artificial nerves from a sync in his brain. "Yeah, I think so," he says. "Let's just go slow for a while... My legs aren't cooperating just yet."

She nods and quickly packs all their stuff, sliding the duffel over his shoulder. At the last second, she takes off her sling and forces it in.

She tugs one of his arms over her shoulder and pushes him up. "They'll have to catch up fast. I won't be able to bridal carry you for another couple missed meals."

It's said as a tease, but she isn't entirely kidding. The path is too narrow for bridal carry, and too rocky for her to trust herself with a fireman's carry. This is they're best bet for now.

She takes it slow, making certain he's sure of each footfall before taking another step, letting his comfort be a sign of whether to slow down more or speed up.

James can barely support his own weight and each step feels like he's taking it with a fifty pound weight strapped to his ankles, but he can move. He has to lean heavily on Sharon, reaching out with his left hand when he could and using the cybernetics to support himself. For the first time since it had been installed, his left arm hurt. Gone was the phantom sensations, it was nothing but actual pain now.

He wants this to be done with.

Finally, his legs seem to want to work, after much too long struggling. "We can go a little faster," he tells Sharon.

She doesn't have to be told twice. Without a word, she picks up the pace, making him go just fast enough that he has to keep pushing himself. She keeps it up until she's sure they're both ready to drop, and then she keeps going. Evening comes, and she ignores it. The trick is to keep going until she doesn't notice the pain, or at least that's what she tells herself.

She doesn't stop until night has fallen and she hears voices. She hurriedly helps James off the path and leans him against a tree. She leans against it, too, as she pants and listens to the conversation, trying to determine who the people are. After a couple minutes, she groans. Salazar's men.

She might have to kill them.

By that time, James is really in no fit state to fight. While he has control of his limbs, they all hurt. He can barely breathe through the pain and it takes three tries for him to actually release his left hand's grip on her. "I can't," he breathes, trying to be quiet. He can move, but he hurts so bad there's no way. He'll be lucky to be able to hold a gun.

He's a mess - he's been sweating steadily for hours and is paler than usual, cheeks flushed and hair messed up. He can hear Salazar's men close by and it's pretty terrifying.

"I'm not expecting you to." Her voice is quiet. Her body feels lighter now that she isn't supporting his weight, but she hurts badly enough that she isn't sure it matters.

She swallows thickly and takes some water from the bag. She drinks half before gently pressing it to his lips and gently tipping it in. She's not sure his hands work well enough right now for him to do it himself.

"I'm going to fight them. If nothing else, they'll have supplies we need. Don't make any noise no matter what you hear, okay?"

James swallows down the water gratefully. "Okay," he whispers. "Give me a gun. I'm not letting them take me." He holds out his left hand and meets Sharon's gaze. "Please." He has no strength left to hide his fear. "If it comes down to getting me out and getting you out... You have to go, okay?" He can't let her get hurt trying to save him.

Her smile was a little broken. "You worry too much, James." She gently brushed some hair out of his face. "I said I'd get you out, didn't I? Besides. No partner they stick me with after you would just be even more of a pain in the ass."

Nonetheless, she leaves him her gun, carefully wrapping his fingers around it. She gives his hand a soft squeeze, and then she's gone.

Several minutes later, there's a faint grunt. Minutes after that, one of the men shouts. Two gunshots later, and everything's quiet again.

The silence doesn't last long this time before Sharon calls out to him. "They've got a jeep. Come on."

James listens, barely breathing, to the shouting and gunfire. His grip tightens on the gun as he hears somebody crashing through the undergrowth.

He sags in relief when it's Sharon who speaks and proceeds to try to get up. His body feels a lot like it did after waking up from the first of his surgeries, his body not used to all the weight in his chest and side. But it's that feeling all over.

Still, the relief that Salazar's men that are looking for them are dead is palpable. He leverages himself to his feet and reaches out for Sharon's support, "Did they hurt you," He asks quietly.

"Not as much as I hurt them," she says firmly. She pulls his arm over her shoulder and helps him stumble to the camp. It takes a couple minutes, but she manages to help get him into the passenger seat. "Hope you don't mind if I drive."

She makes a quick trip around the camp, tossing all the supplies she finds into the jeep. When she gets in the driver's seat, she opens a pack of jerky. "Open your mouth. I found some food." She tears a piece of jerky off and presses it to his lips. Only when she's sure he's eating does she leave the rest in his lap to start the car.

She pulls onto the road, going as fast as she dares on the rough terrain. By her estimates, they're half a day away from the boat. If it's still there. And if it isn't still there, Sharon is going to burn this whole damn country to the ground.

He's grateful for the food, but the jerky is tough to chew. He lets it sit in his mouth for a while without chewing, until he finally finds the strength to chew and swallow.

"What do we do if the boat isn't there?" They're both counting on it being there, but there's no way of knowing if it'll still be there.

She doesn't think he'd accept "torch everything" as a viable alternative plan, and she drives in silence as she tries to come up with something less catastrophic.

"Follow the coast. Get someplace relatively safe. Call for extraction." That sounded close enough to a good plan for her.

The dirt road suddenly let out onto a paved road as they came to a bridge. Sharon hit the gas. Should she call to get him airlifted out sooner? Was it safe?

James grunts as the road goes from dirt to paved. "Let's hope the boat's there," he says. That's all they can hope for. He's not going to be able to keep going how he is, especially if moving doesn't help his limbs be able to function anymore.

"If they aren't, I know from experience that you aren't likely to float," she jokes grimly.

She stops for gas once, being told the gas is free once the people working at the shop see that the car belongs to Salazar. She purses her lips and continues on, not slowing again until she sees the lights of the port city.

"If they're going to ambush us and know we've been headed this way, this is where they're going to do it." She glances over at him. "Can you get on the floorboard?"

They may be expecting two of them still. If she can throw them off...

Quickly, she bunches her hair together and tucks it into her shirt. If she can find a hat, she'll use that, but for right now, she'll do what she can. They don't have time for a full disguise.

James can't help his quiet chuckle. He can swim, but he definitely isn't able to float. Still, he slides down into the floorboard space when she asks. It's a tight fit but he manages, putting his left arm towards the floor to hide his left arm better. "How do I look?" He asked. "Am I far enough down here?"

She reaches over and carefully drapes one of the men's jackets over him so anyone looking in won't be able to tell what the lump is. "You're fine."

It sounds like she's trying to reassure herself about more than just how he looks on the floorboards, but it's all she says before she's driving again. Her heart jumps into her throat as the come to a checkpoint, but they get through the first one with only a few dirty jokes and a wink on her part. She sees another checkpoint up ahead shortly after and turns to avoid it, not sure how long their luck will hold out.

She can't avoid all of the checkpoints. The next one is tougher, far more grueling. It takes over twenty minutes before she's waved through, and even then, it's only because another man runs over and whispers into her interrogator's ear. By the time it's over, Sharon is sweating. Salazar has to be watching for a woman matching her description. The guards must have noticed that she's wearing a man's jacket.

She pulls over and digs in the cases she'd stolen from the men, taking the jacket off of James' head and handing him another protein bar. She wraps his fingers around it and watches carefully to make sure he's good with it.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say Salazar's waiting for us at the boat. Give us the illusion and hope of safety. The good news is that it means the boat is likely still here, since Salazar knows about it. The bad news is that reaching it might not do us any good. The better news is that since Salazar will likely want to gloat in person, we have another chance to kill him." She takes a swig of water, her eyes focused on him.

James lays, still and hardly moving, as they're sent through the checkpoints. He barely breathes, afraid of being found out. In this position, he's very nearly helpless. Still, he jumps when the jacket is pulled off of him, but he's grateful for the food and the fresh air. He chows down on the protein bar and listens to Sharon speak.

"Give me a gun," he finally says. "And a knife. My hearing's getting better and better. And if he is there... don't let him think I'm blind. Act like I can still see. Don't try and help me. He did this to me, let him think it didn't work and I'm still at full strength."

"Can you walk?"

She's not sure this will work. There are so many ways for this to go wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

"Maybe if we find a way to call for backup..." She sounds doubtful. They aren't supposed to contact anyone in the States from here - there's no way they can be linked to the American government. But if she can call Natasha... She knows James won't want Steve, but Sharon would happily accept help from Sam.

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Crap! I never got this tag!

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