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Priority Log - Part 2
Log 06 Priority (Part II)
Still the Big Screen Car
The last two weeks have been a busy time at FONY Records! Maybe you've been working diligently on your upcoming projects — or maybe you've been fighting the sense that something is wrong. That this life, whether it's better or worse than before, is not your own.
Either way, passengers will finally receive a new objective on their phones...
From here on out, characters can regain their real memories. They can do so randomly, but the most reliable way is to work with another passenger: they will know that by touching foreheads (yes, headbutting counts) for pairs, or huddling very closely for groups, they will unlock some memories for one or all of them — of course, it also allows the other person to see and feel everything play out, as though they lived it themselves.
It's memshare time!
As passengers regain their memories, their AU lives will start to fade. Production crews disappear, texts from your parents delete themselves, your favorite coffee shop is suddenly empty... Because you can't have both.
At least one character will need to reject the AU in order for everyone to progress; there is no minimum comment count. Characters may go both routes, but should ultimately prioritize one for the AC Poll.
Remembering
As characters regain the memories of their real lives, all semblance of their fake ones will rapidly disappear. And choosing to remember comes with side effects: passengers are overtaken by a fierce chill as the source of the cold finally presents itself. The shadows in the empty buildings around them start to stretch out. These shades collect in huge swathes — and shape themselves into sharp, spindly arms and fingers. They'll grab at whoever passes, leaving them cold and constricted, making it hard to remember what's happened and trying to drag them back into the illusions of the AU. However, when these shadows have manifested, they're also vulnerable: they can be dissolved by using a strong light, like a fire, flashlight, or stage light. Even sunlight will do the trick, but physically resisting the shadows will grow more and more difficult as they sap warmth from everything they touch.
For those less physically inclined, the shades have one more weakness: real, happy memories. By focusing on something that brought them past comfort, however small, characters can drive off the shades little by little.
This force controlling the AU clearly lives in shadows. Characters can weaken it by confronting these shades, in which case they will find themselves alone with their memories and a ghostly, empty city of Danaca.
Resisting
But maybe you don't want to remember—maybe your life in Danaca is too good to give up, and you'd rather have this even if it's not real. Unfortunately, once the illusion starts to shatter, there's no stopping the cracks from spreading.Characters that don't regain their memories through contact with other passengers (whether intentionally or unintentionally), will still find their fake identities starting to fade away, but their real identities won't be able to fill the gaps. Instead, they'll find themselves... hollow. Devoid of personality, hopes and dreams. Empty.
...And in that empty space, something else might slip in. The steady collapsing of Danaca has left plenty of strong emotions and ghosts hovering in the air, and passengers might find themselves embodying a powerful current of despair or anger. Or perhaps one of the false denizens might inhabit them (Chadsef, anyone?). Contact with another passenger might also ignite enough memory to return their personality, but it might also give them the wrong one; they might start acting like someone from their memories instead, such as a childhood friend (or enemy).
Regardless of the scenario, there is one common thread: an innate desire for contact with other passengers. Though they won't remember why, passengers will eventually be driven to reclaim their original selves through memshare with other characters. Whether they get everything back before they leave is up to you!
OOC Notes
AC Check is up! The deadline to submit AC is December 1st, 11:59 p.m. EST. Please note this is a day extended as we've pushed the log back a day, AC schedule overall will remain as normal.
Memshare: To add a little spice, memories do not need to be limited by your character's canon point. That is to say, sharing scenes from your character's future will also count as memshare.
Continuing Memloss: Characters may or may not regain all their memories prior to leaving the car, player's choice. The memshare mechanic will no longer be in effect, however players are free to naturally regain memories over time.
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no subject
[He is overcome by something, an invasive thought. That no matter how hard he tries he could never truly be helpful or comfortable, that it is only temporary, fabricated. Because he has hardly ever known comfort, and so when it finally, rarely, finds a place in his life...
He must destroy it first with his own hands. Mark is so soft. There is a soothing gentle quality to the way he speaks and the faces he make. While it's clear that this guy has no idea what he's doing, the naivete is charming. Being around people who believe the best in people is nice.
In this world or the next, Rex has never been that type of person.]
Are you sure it was me?
[Rex swallows hard. He should go, but the promise of real affection, no matter how improbable or small the chance, compels him to stay.]
Maybe you're confusin' me for somebody else.
no subject
[ It's a suspenseful moment as Mark takes a moment to respond. His eyes bounce down to their hands and he rubs the pads of his thumbs against Rex's hands. He knows he's seen this before-- he has felt this before. There's no way it was someone else. His thick brows pull together as he tries to figure out where. They were.. camping somewhere? They shared a bed-- but not the hotel bed. Further back; he's trying really hard. There were other strong emotions there.. they didn't like each other. But how? But why?
His fingers tighten. His grip is pretty strong-- not enough to severely hurt Rex, but it's impressive. Almost inhuman, and he doesn't even realize it.
Mark's breath hitches and he suddenly lets go, staring at Rex with wide, frightened eyes. ]
Rex. Rex. Rex Splode. That was a name of yours. For something! A nickname.. a handle.. an alias..
Right!?
there is a cw here but i honestly dont even know which one
[not the vicious self drag...]
God, what a hu-mil-iating moniker. Did I have some kinda locker room incident? Oh, fuck! All things considered, that nickname could have been a lot more homophobic, holy shit. Man, puberty was a weird time! Thirteen-year-olds sort of look like if you fused a bunch of baby deer with horny rodents... And, since we were all creepy little losers, we totally thought that some of the other creepy little losers were sexy.
What a mess.
[He racks his brain for an answer, a solution.
It all comes back to that green-eyed little girl. Something like a portion of the audio from that memory returns, that it was loud, that there were explosions going off not far behind them. But for some strange reason, Rex hadn't been afraid of those, instead focusing on her, how beautiful she was and how her fingers looked and felt, small and pretty, like something out of a painting or a movie. Although she resembled a doll, she was she so much stronger than she looked and could do amazing things.
She could fly.
Wait. Fly?]
I think that's it, yeah. But I just know that I'm not the one who came up with it.
[Rex is having a difficult time piecing things together, but the truth iss, the person responsible for the creation of his alias was Atom Eve herself.]
hdkfhdsf
It hits. Suddenly.
Clark was not his father. He never had been. His father was someone else. Someone violet. Those are the memories that first surface-- their last interaction. How strong he was. How relentless he could be. How cruel.. and yet..
There was an inkling of regret in his eyes when he zipped off into space, his eyes filled with tears. Zipped off into space? His father? How.. then..?
Mark reacts by standing to his feet and stepping back, reeling from shock. Instantly, his eyes glass over: ]
We're superheroes. I'm a superhero.. cause I'm not human, and you.. you..
[ He approaches Rex, running a hand along his arm. Mark seems out of breath as he glances up at Rex. ]
You are too. Our lives aren't supposed to be here.. we're supposed to be protecting people.
[ It feels like glass is breaking. His mind has the texture of static as it quickly shuffles around memories, balancing his two identities and trying to stabilize. ]
no subject
That this life, that hard work, has never really cut it for this so-called Rex Splode. No matter what he does, it will not be good enough, he will never be the best or possess the love and respect he so deeply desires. He must ruin it always, as it will constantly be twisted by some deep, all-consuming hatred for himself.]
Is that supposed to be some kind of pick-up line? If you wanna get in my lap right about now, juuuuust go for it! Climb on top of me, make a scene! And if any of those hoity-toity butt-heads [he means butlers??? rex they are WAIT STAFF, SERVERS, NOT BUTLERS SMH] wants to chew us out? They can suck. My. Dick.
[He snorts, the mirth in his tone growing more noticeable with every new word.]
Superhero?
If I'm some big damn superhero, then why is the realest thing that I'm feelin' right now just...
[He should reach out. Touch the other boy.
But instead, Rex leans back in his chair, idly eyeing the expanding darkness from the corners of his eyes, not particularly frightened. He recalls another teeny factoid from the recesses of his suppressed consciousness- That for whatever reason, he is unafraid of the dark.]
Shit.
I feel like shit. I feel like shit all the damn time!
I know that. It's not this place.
It's a part of who I am. And... Maybe it's all I'll ever be.
no subject
[ Mark is thinking hard, but his head is beginning to hurt. He kind of feels sick to his stomach the way these memories start pouring in— a hand reaches up to cover his mouth. He feels like choking but simply swallows thickly as he begins to remember. Without even thinking, the tips of his toes raise off of the floor and he glides, closing the space between Rex’s seat and Mark’s standing position. He crouched down so he’s eye level with Rex and settled his hands on his face, pushing his thumbs into those rounded cheekbones. ]
This isn’t our lives.
In our lives, though, you’re so much more to me.
[ It was a recent development— their relationship— but Rex had done so much to Mark to help him grow fond of the other teenager. ]
Please remember. Even if it’s hard to. You have to be here with me.
no subject
[That sounds a lot more like him, like Rex Splode. He, too, experiences a painful sensation, almost as though everything between his ears is splitting in real time. The anguish and self-loathing has yet to leave him, a permanent fixture no matter where he decides to say, but the funniest thing is?
He recalls another memory, a personal one. That girl is in it again, only this time she's a little older and so is he. They are at a place much like this, together, on some kind of date. Rex doesn't like the way the waiter is looking at them. Fuck.
He hates restaurants like these.]
I dunno if you're cute enough for that shit.
[Rex is joking, grumpy as he might look. The hands on his face do help.]
Maybe you should show me your tits.
[Too far? Too far.]
no subject
You're Rex Splode. You're a Guardian of the Globe. We've been together here for.. awhile now. Only recently did we decide to.. um.. elevate our relationship. Can you not remember that? What about..
[ Mark nibbles on his lower lip and gives Rex a brief kiss, pressing their lips together. If that doesn't help Rex, it certainly does help Mark. It helps him feel even more sure of his emotions. ]
no subject
"Elevate?" But, you just said that we didn't... That we aren't...
[During that brief, affectionate exchange, Rex's mind is accosted by an image of that red-haired girl once more, only she is now a good deal older, sporting pink, fuzzy earmuffs and a furrowed brow. They are standing in the snow, watching a family through an open window. A man and a woman, middle-aged adults, laugh as a small toddler runs joyously in front of an elaborately decorated Christmas tree, and she, the mother figure... Is cradling an infant wrapped in cloth. They are his family, Rex's family, celebrating a life without him in a house far warmer and far more comfortable than any he's ever known.
Rex stumbles backwards, almost losing his footing, grasping at thin air. The chairs and tables, too, are disappearing.]
Are we, like, boyfriends? Are we in love? Do you love me?
[Each question fires off one by one, individual bullets, headed straight for Rex's own heart. He feels humiliated, spilling out raw emotions all out in the open like that, and only moves further away from the other boy.]
I'm askin' all the wrong questions. I'll, um...
[Rex turns to run in the opposite direction.
He fails to realize that Mark, also, was able to sneak a peek at that glimmer of the past.]
Go.