PUNKTOBER PLOT: Memory Lane (forward dated, OPEN)

[pillz]

WHO: Ensemble Production (open to all characters)
WHERE: Downtown Maurtia Falls, an alleyway
WHEN: Approximately October 15-31 (forward dated)
WHAT: Memory share plot. Expanded OOC information post, including timeline, is here along with a fairly extensive Questions thread. Feel free to continue asking questions on either post.
WARNINGS: Potential triggers for trauma, mental manipulation, disturbing mental health themes, etc. Please mark your subject headers appropriately.



[October 15-31 (General Starter)]

[it's a downtown alleyway like any other. concrete on the ground and a couple of permit-only parking spots, dumpsters along the sides, more full behind restaurants and emptier at the boutiques and dedicated apartment buildings. fire escapes zig-zag up the brick walls up to barred windows. in the daytime, you have sour smells and sunshine and swearing sounds from the kitchens; at night, sour smells and a higher proportion of knife-wielding lunatics trying to get your wallet.

it's like any other, right up until the first echo of memories past begins to play. was it a gunshot? the rhythm of ocean waves? a familiar voice? whatever it was that happened before, it's suddenly happening all over again. it floods the alleyway with sight and sound, maurtia falls vanishing from sight.]

[Trauma Night: October 25]

[the air over maurtia falls is dark and heavy. that's not magic, just pollution and a recent wash of rain. the kind of ambience that that you don't enjoy so much as you get swallowed by it like a boa constrictor. the alleyway is more foreboding than usual.

by now, you've probably heard the rumors. a thief who turned himself in sobbing, after he saw an apparition of an old victim. old men and women who've come with candles to commemorate their lost beloved, children who run screaming about ghosts. maybe that's why you're here-- to investigate or out of morbid curiosity. to see what the narrow lane might hold for you. perhaps you're even here to end it.

but then the music from a distant concert starts to strain through the air. heavy, angry beats, a young woman's voice reverberating through the walls. and the scuttle of emotion down your spine isn't like the rumors-- it's rage and grief and blazing hope.

when the memories begin, the rush of thought and feeling might not even be your own.]

Comments

Leonard Snart | ota | warning for extreme injury

[catchacold]

October 25th
It has taken a while for Leonard to talk himself up to go here. There's the desire to see them again, the people and places he thinks are lost to him now. There is the fear of what remembering so often means, even when less vivid than this.

But it's almost inevitable that he ends up here and when he hears a woman's scream, the memory begins to play out immediately.

Leonard's hands are cuffed together and to a railing, but he drags himself along, hoping to find a way to get free. The floor he's on is a metal grating, the whole hallway he's in is looking futuristic, with its green lighting and the control room that can be seen at the end of it.

Of course, his mind isn't on the ambience. He has reached the railing's end and realises that he can't break free this way. There's an urgency to his movements, he doesn't have much time. It's then that he spots a black gun, just around the corner. He stretches out, angles himself until he makes the gun fall on the ground.

At first he tries to reach for it, but the handcuffs prohibit it. He glances at one hand, fingers already clenching. He knows what he has to do. There's no time to waste.

Leonard manages to rest the gun on one leg, getting it into position with the other. It's powering up, with a blue glow and a faint hum. He only makes sure that his aim is true. There is no hesitation otherwise.

The gun is fired and he screams.

As the blue stream hits his hand, his fist is literally frozen solid. With his head against the wall, he knows and sees nothing, but he's only out for a few moments.

Then he gets on his knees, pain clear on his face as he lifts his hands, the frozen right one and the left, still cuffed together. For just a moment he waits, looking at his hand, already lost to him, and breathing heavily.

Then he smashes his fist onto the ground, splintering his hand into tiny, icy pieces. This time, the screaming goes on for longer.


[ooc: I am very happy to do any individual starters, maybe something more lighthearted, perhaps on one of the other days! More memories and individual ones might also pop up depending on how the thread goes - maybe a mutual exchange? If you want to plot, just pm or hit me up on plurk!]

[pyrogue]

Mick wasn't entirely sure why he came back. The mystery irked him. Was it the alleyway? Was it the day? Magic, something? He's not a detective. It's not his job to figure this out. But it'd been playing on his mind is the first time. Maybe. Maybe he just wanted to see again. The masochistic part of him, to remind himself of his guilt.

Telling himself he doesn't have to go back in, he spots a familiar figure. Was that Len? Oh no, he was going that way –– didn't he know -- what if he didn't know? Mick follows, prepare to drag him out of there.

But when he turns the corner, he immediately enters the memory. And tonight, unlike the first time, he feels what Len feels. When Len screams, he screams.

When the memory fades, Mick stands there, clutching his own hand as if reassuring himself it was real. He's pale and shivering.

"What the hell."

And he spots Cold, the real Cold, and is immediately concerned.

"Len? Len are -- are you okay?

[catchacold]

No, he hasn't been aware that anyone else is even there, much less Mick. That realisation comes with a shock as he turns to look at him, his right hand still curled to a fist. The shock fades into concern and he steps closer, seeing how Mick is clutching his own hand. He frowns, but he makes the connection quickly enough.

This place. This damn place.

"I'm peachy." He remembers too much and the physical pain might be long gone, but all that he's felt? The guilt, the urgency, the knowledge of his failure, the panic that it might get worse, the terror over what Lisa had been threatened with and the horror at what had happened to Mick. That doesn't fade that quickly. "Didn't see you there."

Casual. His arms fold in front of him, the right hand tucked under his elbow. "It's over now."

I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THIS TAG I'M SORRY

[pyrogue]

Mick knows it was a memory, same as what he saw. But that doesn't make it feel any less visceral. Immediate.

He saw that right hand balled into a fist before Len stuffed it away. He has his hand somehow, obviously. Mick strides over, concerned and shaking a little from what he just saw, what he just felt.

"Over. What was that? What happened? Is your hand okay? How -- how?"

I FIGURED YOU DROPPED THE THREAD

[catchacold]

"It got better." There's a Monty Python reference buried somewhere there, but he has just relived one of the more painful memories of a painful life, physically and emotionally, and he doesn't have the levity to pull that off, so ultimately it's just a statement.

"Advanced technology on the ship I was on. They'd collected my DNA, so they could grow it back."

I MEANT TO KEEP THE MEMSHARE STUFF... but may have closed the tab when dropping other stuff sob

[pyrogue]

One time, one of Mick's friends (citation needed) died and was resurrected as a clone then they grew from childhood to adulthood in a manner of weeks. Mick himself has died and gotten better. And that's just the top of the iceberg. So when Len gives an explanation, Mick accepts it without question. After all, he already knew about some of that time travel stuff.

"Didja at least get the guy -- person, whoever, whatever handcuffed you?"

Mick has almost completely separated this Leonard Snart from the one he knew in his mind, but Captain Cold and revenge just seemed to go together like fire and marshmallows.

[catchacold]

"Nah." Len turns a little, enough to properly face Mick. He looks at him and it's painful again in a way it hasn't been in a while. Something hurts inside his chest and he wants to reach out for something he won't be able to hold on to, so instead he just looks at him and searches for the right words. Did they even exist? "I died for him instead."

No, they didn't exist.

[pyrogue]

He's just confused at first, opening his mouth, before it hits him like a sledgehammer.

"I --" No. No. He is not that Mick. That Mick is not him. Yet still feels oddly hard to breathe.

Mick flexes the fingers of his hand in the cuff of his other arm, reminding himself that what he just experienced didn't happen to him. Everything is fine.

His voice is quiet. "What happened?"

[catchacold]

Len takes a step toward Mick, his hand in his pocket and his nails pressing into his palm, to keep himself focused. It's all fresh now, not just in his mind, but in his heart. "When we joined the mission I told you about, we started to drift apart. He wasn't down with it all. Being a hero. I... mishandled it."

As he lowers his head, he closes his eyes. Only when he lifts it again does he open them, to look right at Mick. "I made mistakes. He felt betrayed, so he betrayed us all. Almost got the team killed. So I had to handle it. Handle him."

What can he do but lift his shoulders and look at this Mick. They do look alike, but the look in this Mick's eyes? It's not nearly as complicated. "I didn't kill him. I just let the team think I did. I planned to go back to where I left him, that time and place, after it was all done."

Always. Always coming back for him.

"Turns out I didn't. Someone else found him, brainwashed him, set him on hunting us down. When he got there, he got me. That's when that happened. He told me what kept him going was revenge." Leonard fell silent, working through emotions that felt far too recent now. "He threatened Lisa." He paused again, because his voice almost broke. Helpless anger, fear and so much pain inside his chest. It was too close to the surface now. "Left to kill the rest of the team. That's when I..." He finally pulled the hand back out of his pocket and gestured. That's when this memory happened. "I had to get there before the team could kill him. This was the fastest way."

[pyrogue]

Mick listens quietly, that sinking feeling in his stomach growing alongside a small burning ember of anger at his other self. That feeling was new. But it was far too easy for him to take all that self-hate and direct it at someone who is him but worse.

Not that he would say that to Len. It's clear that Len cared about Mick a lot, though it sounded like their relationship was as complicated as his own with his own Len, just in a completely different way. Almost opposite, honestly. And it's hard not to make set those feelings with the feelings he has for this Len, and the feeling this Len has towards his own Mick. It's all a jumbled mass.

He doesn't know to say, he doesn't really know if there's anything to say. He walks over, cupping Len's chin in his hands and leaning his forehead against his. Possibly the first time Mick initiated touch, made the first move. Though in this case it's to comfort.

"Sometimes things spread out of control." It's not hard to see the fire metaphor even though he's not explicit about it. "And you have to deal with it. All you can do is your best."

[catchacold]

While at first Len tenses at the touch, it only takes another moment for him to let go of the tension instead, even lean into the touch. Mick's warmth. "I knew I wouldn't make it out alive, because I'd have always come back for him."

It's as simple as that and he doesn't know if Mick can really understand him. But at least he comes close. Close enough that Leonard doesn't force himself into as much composure as he normally would. "That's why I couldn't take you hating me."

[pyrogue]

It was heartbreaking. And explained a lot. Mick thinks back to how Len was when they first met, and how he was when the topic of his death came up. And it's hard. It's hard to wrap his head around it. This Leonard Snart, and his Mick Rory. It's complicated, and Mick bites his tongue to keep from questioning further down that train of thought.

And he feels ashamed of the assumptions he made and how he treated him for months.

"I'm sorry."

[catchacold]

"Ain't on you."

Not really anybody's fault at this point. It's not as if he could have explained it sooner, nor would he ever have. It's not as if Mick could have suspected anything like this. He leans forward, leans in just a bit more and then he's kissing him. It's a soft kiss, a low kiss and his hand is on Mick's chest, fingers tightening in the fabric.

Less sexual than simply intimate. His need is raw.