bakerstreet | TRY NOT TO FORGET TO REMEMBER

TRY NOT TO FORGET TO REMEMBER

MEMORY SHARE MEME

That says memory share, not memeory share. Anyway, the gist is this: characters get a chance to share memories with another one. It can either be voluntary or involuntary (on both characters' parts. maybe discuss nonconsensual telepathy and shit ooc first). Mind melds, pensieves, jamjar situations forcing it on everyone, whatever. Sometimes you experience the memory like it's happening to you or sometimes you experience it as though spectating it. Sometimes you get to choose which memory and sometimes you don't. It all depends. Maybe it changes your relationship forever, maybe it catches you out in a lie. In any case, now you know something about each other you probably won't ever forget.

• Top level your character. Include any details you might think are relevant, like what memory they would be sharing. Or don't, we're not the cops.
• Reply to other people's top levels!
• Have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

//Who wouldn't want memories of a few hundred deaths nobody else can remember :D?

[So uh. Take your pic, from happy childhood memories to tragic childhood memories to whatever other adventures Goku's been on since. Odds are piles of dead bodies will be involved.]

[This is so my jam. She's got a fair number of disturbing memories, though, so beware.]

[There was nervousness in doing what she was doing, Sheeana had to admit to herself. Bene Gesserit training wouldn't allow her any self deception about that. It was far more intimate than their physical couplings, nevermind the danger that Hawke's own uniqueness might bring to the process. But one did what one had to, especially when one's...when Hawke's life was at stake.

She steeled herself and kissed her. Dilute Water Of Life flowed between their lips, heavy with cinnamon. The effect was immediate and she was abruptly elsewhere...]

[Hawke hurt.

Her eyes were open, but she couldn't seem to focus on anything. It was just a blur of grey--stone?--and a rushing of sound. A cacophany of people yelling? No, her own blood rushing in her veins, and out of her veins, and suddenly she heard with uncanny clarity the soft drop, drop, drop of liquid hitting carpet.

There was a grunt of effort, and she was flung away, another sharp edge of pain as she turned inside out, and she rolled on the ground and was still for a few moments. She spent a few hours taking two harsh breaths. Something stepped closer.

She forced herself to her feet, faltered and missed a step and went back to one knee. Raising her head took several more hours.

The Arishok wore a grim, satisfied expression. The grim, that was usual. The satisfaction was new.

She wouldn't give it to him. She would not.

Hawke screamed her defiance and launched herself forward, ducking under his swing with speed she didn't know she had, getting inside his defenses. She stabbed there and there, slashed his abdomen, gut wounds, like hers. They were both dead. They would both win, both lose, but this would end.

The Arishok roared, his axe and bloodied sword--her blood--falling from his hands as he stepped back and fell on the steps. She lurched forwards. He said something, and later she would understand what it meant, but she couldn't hear now, all she could hear was the drip, drip, drip. They'd never get the bloodstains out of the carpets.

She shrieked again and drove her final blows home, and only then did her sight and hearing return properly, letting her see and hear the crowd around applauding for some reason. But then there was pain, Maker have mercy, so much pain, not just from where she'd been impaled but everywhere, a poison burning all her blood away into acid, and she couldn't stop screaming.]

[It was essential for this process that she not withdraw. There was no room for emotional distance in what she was doing. Her Bene Gesserit training had gotten her in to 'here', wherever that was, but it would probably be useless from there out. She would have to experience this with Hawke, like a voice from Other Memory, brought reluctantly along.

So she felt every last bit of pain, the rush of an unrestrained adrenaline dump, the fire in her lungs and throat, soothed abruptly by blood. She saw the Arishok's demonic face contorted in rage. Hers (whose?) probably looked not too different. The Arishok was the Worm, bearing down on her, and she was shedding water (blood?) on it, killing it (him?) as it killed her (her?).

Life as a passenger to someone else's memories was pretty rough, she thought, in a very brief moment of clarity. No wonder personalities from Other Memory were always trying to take over.

There was still pain, but that pain was familiar, though more intense than she remembered, as she was experiencing it through Hawke.

Well. No harm in trying to reach out. At least now she might be a bit useful.]

Hawke. It's me. I know it's painful.

Edited 2017-11-27 08:48 (UTC)

No shit?

[Hawke muttered it automatically, because it was one of the biggest understatements she'd ever heard. 'Painful' didn't even come close to covering it. Her blood boiled, and the Arishok's face blurred, burned away, became something larger and stranger, known and unknown. But the mutual death was the same.

The pain went on and on, and gradually Hawke made herself stand again, gritting her teeth and forcing her way through it. It was just pain. Information, to be used or ignored. And she'd keep telling herself until her body collapsed under her completely and wouldn't listen to what she said.

It was just pain. Pain wasn't new.

It was distracting as fuck, though. Hawke's vision blurred again, and this time she saw Quentin, his mad expression distorted as he turned into the Worm and back. Her mother was behind him, broken, piecemeal, the once-loved face now a puzzle of familiarity distorted by other people's features, someone else's eyes, someone else's limbs, how many people had gone into her making? Where was the rest of her?

Hawke fought the urge to vomit, not least because she thought blood would come out instead of bile, and she didn't have the blood to spare, even if it hurt like hell in her veins. None of this made sense. Her mother had died long before the Arishok, and long after the Worm.

No, the Worm wasn't hers, couldn't be.]

...Sheeana?