Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

[headandhand]

WHO: All residents of Dualis + special guest stars
WHAT: Strap in, kiddos, it’s a ~memshare~
WHERE: In your head. Or, you know. Everywhere you go to escape that.
WHEN: August 15-24
WARNINGS: Don’t forget these if they’re applicable!

It’s been a few months, Dualis, how are you settling in? New arrivals, we know it’s sudden, but we hope you’re making new friends already and settling in well! You’re all gonna fit in juuuust fine around here.

Things have calmed down after the supposed terrorist attacks during the Dualis Days celebration, and there’s still no news about that strange network broadcast. But maybe that’s for the best, right? See, the Head really does have everything under control.

But speaking of heads…

Over the course of these next few days, yours might be feeling a little funny. Maybe you just aren’t quite feeling like yourself. Or there’s an ache that just won’t quite go away. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine! Which is completely optimal, honestly.

Except--that memory you suddenly have. Is that really yours? And what about those fainting spells that seem to come with premonitions...or are you perhaps remembering something you repressed long ago? You’d probably remember something like this, though, wouldn’t you?

It’s perfectly natural to be concerned. However, if you approach your friendly neighborhood MedBot or clinician, they’re going to be pretty stumped. It appears there's nothing really wrong with you, but hey, here's some mild painkillers if you want them. And if you try and consult the Head, all it’ll be able to do is give you it’s most sincere condolences. It seems that there may have been some complications with the transfer process, but these should definitely wear off soon! In the meantime, why not visit your local clinic for a sedative and some painkillers?

Good luck, denizens. Looks like you’re in for a bumpy week or two...

[[As a reminder, these memory shares can happen at any point in time during the span of the event, not just when your characters are sleeping! You're also welcome to have them experience no side effects at all, all the way up to fainting spells and headaches a la Cordelia circa season 2 of Angel. Feel free to reach out to your friendly neighborhood mods if you have any questions!]]

Comments

would i die for you? well, here's your answer in spades } cw blood, fire, teen death.

[scathefires]

The scene opens on a half-empty warehouse; the sound of something heavy being slammed with force into something soft echoes against the walls. A man with green hair and a purple suit and what looks like clown makeup but isn't stands, grinning, over a dark-haired boy, sixteen years old, hands bound behind his back, barefoot but dressed in a caped uniform of red and black with a yellow circled R over his heart. A tattered black domino mask sits over the boy's eyes, obscuring part of his face, but if you look closely and know what you're looking for, it's not hard to make out that this boy is Jason. The man holds a crowbar in his hand, and when he swings it at the boy's face, knocking the boy to the ground, you'll recognize it as the same sound from before, metal impacting against flesh and bone, and you might guess that this lunatic has been beating the boy to a bloody pulp for a while now.

"Wow," he says, entirely too jovial, "that looked like it really hurt." The boy is in obvious pain, struggling to breathe, coughing up blood, but somehow, he manages not to scream or cry out every time he takes a blow, and despite the assault, he keeps trying to climb to his feet, to fight back. The crowbar comes down on him a few more times, and he falls to the ground again, teeth clenched in pain and determination and defiance.

"Whoa, now, hang on! That looked like it hurt a lot more." The man stands menacingly over the boy, nonchalantly bouncing the crowbar in his open hand. "So, let's try to clear this up, OK, pumpkin? What hurts more? A?" He swings downward, driving the crowbar into the boy's body. "Or B?" Another swing, another hit, another quiet grunt of pain from the boy on the ground. "Forehand?" - another hit - "Or backhand?" - and another, and another, until he pauses, doubled over in a fit of deranged laughter.

The boy turns his head up to his attacker and whispers a few words, too quiet to be heard. The clown-faced man crouches close to the ground, over the boy's beaten body, and holds a hand up to his ear. "A little louder, lamb chop," he stage-whispers, "I think you may have a collapsed lung - that always impedes the oratory." He ruffles a gloved hand through the boy's hair, and the boy spits a mouthful of blood in his face, which he doesn't expect, and slams the boy's head into the concrete before standing up to produce a handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and wipe the blood away.

"Now that was rude. The first Boy Blunder had some manners." The boy on the ground turns his face up and flashes the man a snarky smile, pleased with what little resistance he's been able to offer. "I suppose I'm going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps." The man pauses, making a show of thinking over his options, then continues, grinning wickedly: "Nah. I'm just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar!" He slams his foot into the back of the boy's head, erupting into a long fit of maniacal laughter while he resumes brutally beating the boy with the crowbar.

This goes on for some time. Eventually, the boy goes still, face down on the floor, eyes closed. It's difficult to tell if he's still breathing, but his assailant seems either satisfied with the result of his handiwork or bored with the lack of continued response, and he tosses the crowbar aside, heading toward the exit, grabbing a heavy winter coat as he makes his way to the door.

"OK, kiddo, I gotta go. It's been fun, though, right?" He turns to glance over his shoulder at the motionless boy on the floor, who doesn't answer. "Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you - I'm just guessing, since you're being awful quiet." He pulls the coat on, tugs it into place, and continues his mocking, one-sided conversation with the boy. "Anyway, be a good boy, finish your homework, and be in bed by nine. And hey! Please tell the big man I said ... hello." He pulls the fur-trimmed hood over his head and laughs again, the same broken, gleeful sound as before, and slams the door shut behind him.

Maybe that should be the end of it, but it's not - once the door is shut and the danger gone, the boy rolls onto his back and kicks his legs up over his head, slipping his bound hands underneath his feet to bring them from behind him to the front. He pushes himself back up to his feet, breathing labored, swaying unsteadily, and takes a step toward the door, but falls straight to the ground again. Unflinching, he pulls his head up and eyes the door, then begins to pull himself along the floor, trailing blood after him as he goes. It's not a terribly long distance to go, but his injuries make every inch painful beyond words, and he doesn't rest until he reaches the door, raises his hands up to tug at the handle ...

... and it doesn't budge. Locked.

Dismayed, the boy still doesn't give up. He pulls himself up to sit with his back against the door, strategizing his next move. A soft ticking sound draws his attention to a counter on one side of the warehouse, red digital numbers ticking down from 10. In those few seconds, the expression on the boy's bruised face shifts from shock to acceptance, because he knows when that timer switches to all zeroes, he will die. There is no one to save him, and despite his best efforts, he cannot save himself.

A few short seconds later, the warehouse explodes, a storm of fire and debris. You don't need to see what remains of the boy to know he could not have survived the blast.

[doesnotsparkle]

[ One thing Michael always hated was violence towards children. Whoever that clown was he was a sick son of a bitch, and here Michael used to love clowns in his youth, but he luckily grew up far away from stories like John Wayne Gacy. Seeing the boy harmed by someone who looked worse than he did was horrible, but the point was it didn't take a few days for Michael to figure this one out. He was smart, he knew enough masks to piece it together.

When he did the first thing he realized was that Jason was stronger than he seemed, but also it explained why he seemed to sleep armed. That man was not one for pity, and Michael had so little pity, that boy clearly found his way back. Many people back home do to. All cats with nine lives.

So, the day after he realized it was Jason, he bought a pack of beer, and some snacks and left then by Jason's bed with a simple note saying.

I saw your death, I couldn't just ignore it this is the best I could think of. I do hope someone murdered that damn clown for you.

If that clown showed up here; Michael will eat a fucking clown. ]

[scathefires]

[it’s not the first time this particular memory has been publicly shown without jason’s consent, but at least last time the audience had been contained to nida, billy, and himself. now ... who knows how many people saw it this time. the entire population of the city, maybe? that would be just his luck, having his fatal failure put on display for everyone to see.

jason isn’t happy about it, but he can’t be angry at his roommate for the gesture of kindness left for him. it’s unexpected, and it makes him feel as strange as it had when billy gave him a tearful hug at the temple, back in the village. how is sympathy for what befell him so easy for strangers to part with when it was seemingly impossible for bruce?

he decides to wait until michael returns to their room before touching the gift. he’ll wait as long as he needs to.]

[doesnotsparkle]

[ Michael was always out at strange hours, he had an odd social life for someone who tended to keep to himself. He was rarely if ever asleep but often just sitting off in a chair reading, even by a book light as to not bother his roommate when he was actually trying to sleep. The longer he was vampireish the less he needed sleep. Which sucked, there was a lot of hours in the day.

He was making his way in, rather late, his shirt already untucked and unbuttoned for the most part, how he unbuttoned that shirt so fast without ripping it with those claws who knew. But, he made his way in, not expecting Jason to be awake or home really, his eyes on the open book in his hand as he made his way in, towards the bed to drop his bag on the bed only then noticing Jason, and actually jumping a bit. ]

[scathefires]

[jason remains still for another few seconds after he’s sure his roommate has seen him curled up on the opposite bed. he’s had time to consider how he wants to approach this, but it still takes him a moment to settle on the words he’s chosen.]

If you’re gonna shell out for beer, you gotta help me drink ‘em, too - them’s the rules. [wait a sec - sorta-vampire here.] Can you still drink beer?

[doesnotsparkle]

While on one hand he could have just messed with Jason at his question instead he simply sighed, and finished pulling his jacket off to toss it on the bed too before turning to the younger man.

Yes, Jason, I can still drink anything, I may eat whatever I wish as well. Shall I perhaps explain what living vampire means over the drinks?

[ He offered finally fully addressing Jason.]

[scathefires]

I wouldn't say no to hearing more about it.

[it's not that he doesn't trust his roommate - as much as jason trusts anyone. but even if he isn't an enemy, it's a good idea to know as much as possible about him. and since he's asking, he should probably offer something of himself, too.]

The clown's still alive. I think he's still alive - he was last I saw him, at least.

[doesnotsparkle]

[ The suit shirt already half unbottoned, so instead he simply tossed the tie on his desk and slipped off his boots, always wearing the almost industrial music video style boots under his suits. One never knows when they will have to run along roof tops, best to be ready.

Moving over he took one of the drinks, and slipped down to sit on the floor as he used one of those crazy nails of his like a bottle opener. It's probably a twist off, but Michael is always extra. ]

It mean's despite basically being a vampire I am still fully alive. I require all you require as well. I must eat, sleep , drink and move about as much as any other living man. It also means things like crosses and garlic do not effect me, which is good as I love garlic to an unhealthy level. I however, can not get intoxicated this way, not without a lot, however say I drank from a normal person who was already drunk, their blood alcohol level would make me just as drunk as they.