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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
You trusted him. Worse, you trusted yourself. Just look where that's gotten you now.
Red floods everything, liquid hot as magma. An active volcano ending the world. Anakin's voice screams I hate you! like something out of one of his worst nightmares—
You couldn't get there fast enough. Your heart pounds in your ears. You are twenty-five and you have spent your life training for this. Now, all you can do is watch. Every breath is too tight, like a durasteel band around your ribs. The plasma shield saturates all colour, until all you can see is red. Red like blood. Red like his tattooed skin. Red like the flashing of that double-ended lightsaber when it plunges through your Master's chest.
You don't shout the "NO!", it just explodes out of you, and when the shield drops you burst forward like a demon unleashed. There is no passion, there is peace, but you feel no peace. Only anger. Only hate. It whites out reason until you are nothing but the movement of your body, the Force buzzing around you, and you strike Darth Maul down in fury. Slice his body in half and let him fall.
And it doesn't help, because you hold Qui-Gon as he dies in your arms, and it was your fault. Because you weren't fast enough. You weren't strong enough. He died because you couldn't keep him safe. "Train the boy," he whispers, and you vow: "I will."
Obi-Wan flinches, draws her in and covers her with his body, like he could keep her fractured psyche and her bloody hands away from the council of children that would judge her. From that boy who took her loyalty and used it just to hurt her, like everyone else. From losing anything else, when so much has been taken from her already.
All you ever wanted was for someone to want you back.
Younglings age out of the program when they are thirteen, and you are running out of time. Your saber flashes in your small hand. This is your last chance. Bruck is almost as determined as you are, but you won't let this get away from you. Your offensive becomes aggressive. The blade hums in your hand, an extension of yourself, and you bring every inch of your unfiltered violence down on him.
You're so sure he'll pick you, and you look up at him, so tall like a legend — and Qui-Gon shakes his head. You are being rejected because your fighting style is too aggressive. He says: you are too great a risk for the dark side.
So they send you away, unwanted, to join the Agricultural Corps, and you will never be a Jedi Knight. They send you to Bandomeer, with it's large buildings like scars on a landscape that was once beautiful. ]
Danganronpa Spoilers
And when the red blade jabs through his middle, her rage might blow her apart.
The shields shift and she's on the monster like a lion, her own blade cuts the air quick enough to split atoms. She's supposed to embody peace. Remain calm. Those old platitudes are punched through and doused in flame. There won't be peace until he is dead.
He missteps, and she has him split in two.
There will be no peace until Qui-Gon is on his feet.
But he feels limp in her arms, even as he's still speaking. Beseeching her with his last breath. Train the boy. And as she realizes what this means, she has no choice but to agree.
No choice but to agree.
They're at the door, six students left out of fifteen. Sixteen, counting the hidden mastermind. They've beaten the bitch at her own game and she kept her word. She threw them a remote as she skipped merrily to her own execution, their only guarantee of opening the exit. They've made their promises. No matter what's outside, they'll stick together and fight for a better future.
Naegi hits the button. The blast doors part and you all wait with bated breath.
The world that waits beyond is worse than you imagined.
Pollution coats your nostrils at once, old smoke and foul fumes that sour the air and colour the sky. There's guns mounted on the school, on every surface imaginable. If you look out far enough you can see they've been used.
Hagakure heard some muffled blasts once and mistook it for construction. How naïve. There are crumpled tanks and battered trenches, black spots spackling the ground. You squint and realize they have splayed arms, crooked legs, scattered weapons. They had come to save you, shaken by the broadcast of the game. Now no one could get close enough to bury them.
She told you it was all over. She had gloated about robbing you of your memories. One year of laughing and learning with your school chums, and a second clutching them tight while you watched the world fall apart. Hope's Peak was in the middle of the city, and the city just plain isn't there anymore.
You were killing each other to come back to this. For money that was worthless, for families long since dead, for secrets that didn't matter anymore. The mastermind was right. It's all gone.
You bring your hands to your heart and wring the knuckles, fighting the urge to cry. How are you supposed to make a future out of this?
Arms come around her. Toko isn't one for being held, the gesture is always alarming unless it comes from Komaru. She doesn't fight it this time. Her arms lock around his middle, her nose buries into his chest. His pain is so potent she can almost smell it. He wears his glib guise so expertly, you'd never know. Obi-Wan buries his feelings deep, fossilizes them, and still he cannot forget them.
She finds herself in a smaller frame next, but the passion is no less. No, she has to prove herself here. Her opponent is a sound fighter but she wants it even more. There's no chances left. She has to succeed, and she'll use every ounce of strength to guarantee it.
He's no match for her then. She fells him, the practice bout soundly won. And there is the Jedi Master at the ready. She sees the beam punch through his chest and her heart seizes in shock. She sees the wise eyes cast over her frame, and she feels it. Victory. She'll be chosen.
He shakes his head.
She's too aggressive. Easy prey for darkness.
And just like that she's sentenced to a life of drudgery. Farmer's drek, after all she's sacrificed. Bandomeer is an overpopulated blight, and she can't fight her disgust at the sight of its city sprawl. Can't fight her disgust at herself.
One foolhardy miscalculation. She'd pushed too hard, and it had cost her everything.
Toko shakes her head. It shifts the set of his fine tailored suit. The thing feels wrong on him, just as the designer drapery sits ill on her. Her hands snag it in the back, as if to prove her point.
This is the man she knew. Thought she knew. She's cast him in such saintly lights, and his failings are all too human.
When Toko lifts her face, her head stops swimming. She blinks him back into clarity. Moves her hands, takes his lapels instead. Urges him to wake up.]
O-Obi-Wan. Obi.
no subject
He wants to wring his hands, or it's Toko who wants to, and Obi-Wan wants to take her them in his own and lead her from this place. Away from that awful boy, away from this planet, away from Palpatine. Somewhere in the Outer Rim, where destruction couldn't find them in a lawless place.
Bandomeer he had escaped, though not before becoming enslaved, wearing his own collar that would guarantee his compliance. Qui-Gon had come for him. Despite the disagreements, despite all the ways Obi-Wan was lacking. Maybe there was an irony in that, for Obi-Wan to be the one to keep Anakin as his own instead of returning him to Tatooine. In his desire to rescue Toko from this awful fate, if at least so she would not be alone any longer.
Reality slips in around him, amorphous. Small hands grip the lapels on his silk jacket, something far too luxurious for a Jedi to own. His pupils are huge when he looks down into Toko's face, seeing nothing but the urgency, the fear. He cups her cheek in one hand, then pulls her against his chest to cradle her head against his sternum. Under his ribs, his heart pounds. ]
It's okay. [ He lies, to her and himself. ] I have you.
[ And that, at least, is not a lie. ]
no subject
The man touches her cheek. He curls her into his body and tells her the things your father ought to. Or a mother, or a brother. Or a teacher.
A master.
There's no stopping it. One second she is newly lucid and blinking wide-eyed into his suit. The next, she's soaking it with her tears.]
I'm s-sorry.
[Her hands were trapped at his collar at first. They tremor and whisk away, around his middle and gnarling into the slack of his silk. She can't remember if she's ever had a fit like this, wound around someone sturdier than herself. Family wasn't a comfort to her, and friendships were too few and finely fraught. Most of which had been made on this fucking train, for god's sake. Komaru cried on her like this, but she was younger. It's different when you're the elder, when you're the one who has to see it through with your chin held high.
And who was ever there for him?]
I'm sorry. About Q-Qui-Gon. I'm so sorry. It should never...no one sh-should ever see that. Ever. No one...
no subject
Obi-Wan tucks his face down, his mouth pressed against her crown. He can smell the shampoo she uses, her skin. It's grounding. He realizes he can taste saltwater on his lips, and wonders when his insides started spilling out. Obi-Wan isn't even sure when the last time he openly wept was, until he does all at once. The wide open stretch of wilderness, little spirits surrounding Anakin as he'd fallen to his knees in sheer relief that it was the Anakin he knew and loved, and not the nightmare he'd come from. Reality, on the train, and not in this phantom city. ]
It's alright. [ He whispers against her hair, trying to regulate his breathing, tryign to acknowledge the onslaught of emotion and let it go. I've seen so much worse since then, is what he thinks. What he says is: ] It was a long time ago, now.