fracturarpg | [mingle] the space (april).

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[mingle] the space (april).

interim mingle

( WELCOME BACK, TRAVELERS. )

There's nothing but the clatter of train tracks, and the odd feeling of almost floating.

When you wake, it's hard to tell exactly what it is that you're missing - only that you are. There are pieces that aren't quite right, even if you're not sure where those pieces would normally be. Pieces of what, exactly....? Well, if you had to put a word to it, it would be - yourself, probably. Or did you get something back recently? In addition, characters will find that they've been allowed to bring back souvenirs from this most recent trip - trinkets, nothing violent, but items that can fit in your character's pockets, whether that be sentimental or otherwise.

The place you've found yourself in is strange, certainly. It's probably worth exploring a bit. For those who have been here a while, they might notice some expansions. Though it just as easily seems that the only form of welcome or explanation that you have, comes from nothing more than a slab of marble.

It might've changed since the last time you saw it. Today it reads:

(*´ω｀)o That wasn't so bad, was it?
Hey, you know how that old song goes?
Do you believe in magic? (☆▽☆) Do ya?

Hope you found what you were looking for!

You might have changed since the last time you saw yourself too - perhaps with a new emblem on your clothes, or a portrait on your skin. In addition to that, it seems like Home Base is on the fritz again…?

It seems that suddenly and at random, characters will be able to suddenly see visions of memories that aren't their own flash before their eyes. Pieces of your lives or where you were before this will suddenly slam into other's heads, as clearly as if they experienced the event and the feelings themselves. You might have an inkling of where your memory went and what it was - but you'll need to talk it out with that person in order to recollect it in all its strength back to yourself. Don't you want to keep those precious parts of yourself? It's best if you don't fall more to pieces while you're here. (Memories that have been lost in fragments cannot be sent to others - that's more fun for the future!)

There's no need to fret that much though. You've already gone through the ordeal once, and you might be able to see results from it. Or maybe you'll get a glimpse of where you're going next. Even so, it's best that you don't get too comfortable, because there is still the unshakeable feeling:

There's still much more ahead of you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If that's supposed to be a hint, you should know by now that I'm bad at that.

[being scared of people he maybe should-- being scared of royce, specifically. instead he's- well, probably scared by too many people he shouldn't be. but he shrugs slightly, taking another bite of ice cream; wen ning hasn't been properly intimidated by him since their first meeting, when he decided royce was nicer than he looked.]

I do know. [ more wry. ] But I also know that you are not as helpless as you appear. You don't have much to fear from me.

[ he's going to let wen ning enjoy his ice cream. it's nice to see him be able to taste it properly. ]

...you don't, either.

[it's much quieter, because-- well. royce knows what he actually is. what he should be.

and maybe it's that which makes an amalgam of memories slip from him to royce. maybe it's coincidental timing. but either way...

the first part of the memory begins with the shrill sound of a flute, but it is... fuzzy. distant. as if he's only half-aware of anything around him; he does not draw breath, and his eyes are unseeing. there's nothing but a sense of people around, of many with flagging energy and some with more vital energy. more corpses animated by resentful energy nearby. and one lone spot of more intense resentful energy, the one who called him. whose commands he recognizes. he's barely aware of anything else, until that person says something and the intent behind it makes him reach out mindlessly for the two closest bodies, grabbing them by the throats, lifting them off the ground.

then, a clearer command, in a voice royce absolutely knows. wei wuxian calls his name: 'wen qionglin!', and though he cannot speak, a roar comes from him as if in reply. 'whoever caused all of you to be like this, let them meet the same end. i give you the right to do so. settle everything!'

it only takes a moment for him to kill them both, a brief but grotesque display. the rest is a blur, fighting them, targeting who he had been told to harm, and he's in the middle of dismembering one when he's told to stop. he balks, at first, but there's a whistle and a repetition of the order, and all he can do is obey. all he can do is follow.

then, there's not much. a period of fuzziness again, where it feels like things must be happening around him but he's incapable of noticing, of paying them any mind. somewhere in there, though, there's eventually just-- blinding rage, as if something had suddenly broken and unleashed it all. the urge to fight and to destroy, to rampage thoughtlessly, unable to pay any mind to what it is he's attacking and effortlessly tearing apart. there's no sense of time, of how long it continues before there's the sound of a few notes from a stringed instrument, along with something that slows him down. he staggers forward regardless-

but the flute sounds again, the other instrument joining in, and between the two of them he's finally brought to his knees. the flute stops abruptly, the strings intensifying, tormenting him; he's all the way on the ground, roaring, curled there with his arms wrapped around his head.

through the pain, though, there's-- awareness, finally. the fog slowly clears, though he can't move, and though it's so, so difficult to speak he manages to call out for young master wei. he exclaims something in return, and the vibrations of the stringed instrument stop; he has to put effort into each word as he speaks wei wuxian's name once more, but he can look at him and at lan wangji. he feels more like himself. someone he can't identify throws themselves at him, crying and laughing both, and in the background one of the uncles cheers that he's woken up, running to let the others know. wei wuxian comes up beside him to ask how he's feeling, and he can only stammer at first, lying on the ground, his body feeling abnormally stiff. he isn't breathing. it's still hard to force his voice to respond, to make his muscles work in the way he intends them to. the strangest part, though, is that-- he feels emotions. he knows what the response should be, but it just won't come. there's sadness without the lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes... there's no physical response at all from this body that abruptly feels too hollow.

he finally manages: '...i want to cry, but i can't. what's wrong...'

wei wuxian is silent for a moment, before patting his shoulder.

'you remember, don't you? you're dead already.']

Edited 2020-04-17 05:09 (UTC)

[ it's not anything that he's experienced before, these memory shares. it hits him right in the gut, in the chest, makes it so that when wen ning can't breathe, neither can royce. he grabs the table, gloves creaking so hard it's almost a cry. the violence means nothing to him. he's done about the same, he's experienced as much. it's the part that comes after that makes him want to scream.

feeling carved out like that makes him feel sick. it's an unfortunately familiar sensation, but he's never felt it to this degree. it's ten times worse.

silence, for a long moment. a long, long moment.

and then, carefully, with a shivery exhale, like he'd been holding his breath - royce pulls off his glove. he sets it on the table, and then, staring down at the table, reaches over and takes wen ning's hand. ]

[oh. that's unexpected-- he isn't sure what he's just lost, what royce has seen, but the gesture of removing the glove first is touching in a way that small things sometimes are, a way that makes them feel much bigger. wen ning takes that hand gratefully, laces their fingers together and holds tights, just... taking in the warmth and the contact, the fact that it's something royce offered first this time.

he has a feeling, both in a distant sense of awareness and in realization thanks to that gesture, that it was one of the more difficult ones. he's quiet for a few moments before he swallows a small lump in his throat and manages-]

I'm... I'm sorry. Some of them are-- they're not things others should have to see.

[they're better without some of the things he's experienced.]

What...

[he doesn't quite finish the sentence, trailing off there.]

[ it was definitely one of the more difficult ones. royce is quiet for a moment, just - sorting through what he can still see. what he feels the remains of. he keeps hold of wen ning's hand, because. he can. because he can. it feels odd to do, but not bad. that's new. ]

You died. And were called back.

[ he goes still, a concentrated effort not to shiver. ]

Is this one of the things this place is inflicting on people? Sharing memories?

...it is. It's happened to me already. I think I can't... recall what it is that you saw, without you telling me about it.

[and that gets an apologetic look, as he continues to cling to that hand. he has a feeling going into much more detail won't exactly be pleasant.

but he does know one thing about being raised, something impossible to forget with how much it's tied into their relationship.]

Please don't think any less of young master Wei for what he did. I wouldn't be here, if he hadn't.

[he's tried to keep wei wuxian out of it, when he's mentioned being dead to royce and xie lian. but if royce saw memories of being called back again, he must know, and if he knows then wen ning feels an immediate need to make sure his young master is defended.]

I don't think less of him. [ royce says, right off the bat. because he doesn't, honestly. it makes him uncomfortable to think of someone commanding wen ning to do their bidding, more than anything. he doesn't let go of wen ning's hand, but his expression under the hood twitches. ]

There was a flute. A command from Wei Wuxian to kill the people that killed you. Violence, for a while. And then I - you. Woke up. People were excited to see you alive, but you weren't. You couldn't...

[ he pauses, and then looks away. ]

I've felt carved out, in my life, but never like that.

[-oh. there it is, there's what he was missing, and wen ning winces slightly at the thought. not because it hurts him (he's used to it by now), but because it must be-- difficult, for someone who hasn't experienced it to feel.]

I don't... know what happened to me.

[his death's lost to him, for now, but he thinks that's all right. if he ever remembered it in the first place.]

But it's- I could still feel emotions, at least. My body just couldn't respond to them... it was harder to get it to work, for some things.

[speaking, expressions, small and controlled motions. it's been a relief that his fingers aren't as clumsy as he's used to them being.]

[ so much frowning. ]

I can't imagine what that must be like. [ he says, quietly. ] It isn't like that for you right now, though.

...no, it isn't. Sometimes I feel a little like I must be making up for lost time-- I think I used to be better at... handling my own reactions.

[he doesn't really like to think about how he just- sobbed on wei wuxian shortly after arriving.]

Not necessarily a bad thing. [ royce says, glancing at him. ] If I were you, I would be taking advantage of every second.

[ a pause. he carefully links their fingers together. ]

[that gets a tiny little smile-- just a faint quirk of his mouth, as his hand settles into place.]

I'm... I'm trying to take advantage of it wherever I can.

[there's no telling if it will stick; he hopes, but he knows good things don't always last.]

...you've helped. You helped me a lot, last time.

[paying attention to what he could and couldn't feel, taking advantage of the things wen ning was able to enjoy. giving him those experiences. it's all something valuable.]

[ there's a brief look of approval, a slight nod of the head. he still has his hood up, but his body language has relaxed quite a bit. ]

Mm. [ here, in the space, it's a little harder to take compliments, a little harder to accept any sort of emotion like this. but he can try. he can try, when he remembers the smile on wen ning's face at his offer for ice cream, at the way they danced quietly by themselves. ]

I tried. [ royce says, with a sniff. ] I'm amazed that I was able to.

I don't think you give yourself enough credit.

[a slight squeeze of his hand, there.]

You- knew me well enough. Again.

[wild how this just Keeps Happening.]

[ IT REALLY IS WILD he can't remember the last person he's... wanted to do this for. literally he can't remember. ]

It isn't hard to do. All you have to do is pay attention. [ royce huffs. ] That's the problem. People don't.

Still, there's paying attention and there's... acting on it.

[it'd be easy to watch and to know things without ever reaching out, and doing that can be difficult.

it's worth it, though.]

[ it's difficult for normal people!! for royce, it's like trying to climb mount everest. ]

Hm. [ he gives himself a second to think by taking more of the ice cream. a beat. carefully not!! looking!! ] You make it easy.

You do, too.

[now excuse him while he has more ice cream also, to keep himself from going on and saying too much. they're just mutually not looking, at this point.]

[ god, royce is stupid enough that he just chills in silence for a while. holding wen ning's hand like a doofus. he's finding he likes the sensation enough that he's not too fussed about pulling away. especially because he knows that wen ning can feel everything fully, right now, and royce cares enough to give it to him.

his thoughts wander - over the gaps in his memory that he's so very aware of, in this moment. he knows he's felt similar to this before but he can't remember why. it's frustrating, fuzzy, and it starts to make his head hurt if he thinks about it too long. so he doesn't, just lets out a sigh and stares out across the food court.

he's let his guard down. and that's why wen ning gets a memory, even though royce isn't even really thinking about anything related. it just happens.

it's warm here. it smells, sure, but he's not really unused to that. he can deal with the smell of sheep if it means he gets to sleep inside, away from the bite of the wind and snow. he only means to nap for a little bit, but time gets away from him. and when he opens his eyes, there's a tall, angry man standing over him, stabbing a pitchfork down in his direction. it's a scary perspective, from a child's point of view; someone much bigger than him, wanting to kill him for disturbing the sheep.

without thinking, he tries to roll away - the pitchfork catches him in the shoulder, and he cries out, grabbing for the wound. it bleeds freely as he scrambles out of the pen and runs as fast as he can down the snowy street. the man yells after him but he doesn't listen. the wind is harsh enough to freeze his tears to his cheeks.

he runs until he can't hear the yelling anymore, until his lungs feel like they may burst, but he knows he can't just sit anywhere. this isn't the first cold night he's made it through, but - it might be the last, he thinks fearfully, stumbling slightly. the pitchfork wound throbs dully, and he hasn't stopped bleeding. it's snowing heavily, now. he's hungry. he's numb. he drags his feet until he finds a tavern, and he stares up at the warm lights and listens to the laughing and singing coming from inside. they'd beat him if he tried to go in, he knows. so he does his best not to make any sound as he turns and looks for something to hide behind.

he's lucky enough to find an empty barrel, which he crawls into. the wind isn't as harsh in here, but he's still cold, and damp. he curls up the best he can, resting his head against the wood, and tells himself to stop crying. nobody's listening. nobody ever does. except for maybe - except for maybe novron? maybe novron and maribor will hear him if he asks really, really nicely. quietly, he asks novron to help him survive through the night. please. he knows he's a filthy mir, but just this once. he doesn't want to die. ]

[he's content to sit in silence, too-- content with his company, with the contact and the warmth of royce's hand in his. wen ning could easily stay like this for some time.

--but things aren't that easy, this time, and there's a slight gasp as the memory slips to him. it's hard to experience, resonates a little because wen ning does know what it's like to know others would hate you for what you are. he doesn't know this particular kind of suffering, though, having had a decent enough (if lonely) childhood; by the time it ends, his eyes are wide and a little watery, one hand reflexively touching his shoulder at the phantom pain of that wound.]

Royce--

[he should apologize for having seen something like that, he thinks, but there are other thoughts crowding it out. he doesn't let go of his hand, and what comes out instead is-]

... you were treated so terribly.

[ royce is only vaguely aware something is gone, and so he startles slightly when wen ning speaks. royce glances at him, body language defensive all at once. ]

... What? [ fuck. a memory? treated terribly. it feels like it was far back, maybe, and royce doesn't let go of wen ning's hand, but he does close off. ] What did you see?

[he frowns, both at the thought of it all and how royce closes himself off... he really can't blame him, though, when things like this really should be private.

wen ning shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear it a bit.]

You... must have been young, I think. You were trying to sleep somewhere, and someone... stabbed you, for taking shelter.

[wen ning's brow furrows deeper. treating anyone at all that way is unthinkable, much less a child, and his voice remains quiet.]

It was so cold.

[ oh. for a split second, royce looks - horrified. that is a memory nobody should have to see. a memory he doesn't want anybody to see. his body tenses, and for a second it feels like he's going to yank his hand away, but. he doesn't.

calm down. his expression is tense, but stoic again. ]

Ratibor was not kind to orphans. I wasn't the only one. [ royce says stiffly. another pause. ] I was around seven. Maybe. I don't know how old I am now. Let alone then.

[under most circumstances, he might be inclined to flinch away when it feels like royce is going to yank his hand away. to let go and allow it. this time, though, he holds a little more firmly when it feels like they're going to break contact.]

...it felt like more than just the world being unkind to orphans.

[not purely in general. he has no idea what a mir is, but that thought sticks as he continues on with the rest of it.]

You avoided a tavern because- they would beat you. Stayed inside a barrel, instead. And you were... asking someone to let you survive the night.

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