maskormenacelogs | shine, shine, shine a light on your deepest fears

Entry tags:

† veronica sawyer | dead girl walking

shine, shine, shine a light on your deepest fears

WHO: Residents of De Chima #3 and any visitors!
WHERE: De Chima #3
WHEN: Nov. 11-18
WHAT: rebel house gets affected by the memory plot. o o p s. (feel free to make your own top-levels for any day! the body of this is just for flavor.)
WARNINGS: the usual Star Wars warnings (discussions of death, violence, trauma), along with the dumpster fire of Heathers canon (full list of warnings here, biggest ones are murder, suicide, bullying).

[The suckiest thing about this was, it had started out so normally.

The storm had struck just as the last class for the day was wrapping up, and Veronica hadn't thought much of it at the time. Maybe her biggest worry was that she'd get drenched, because she hadn't brought an umbrella, but one bargain with someone who did have an umbrella but didn't have a signature for their absence note later, and she wasn't that worried anymore.

One detour at a food stall later, and she had a small paper bag of churros to boot.

She lets herself in, calls out,] Hey, guys, I'm home! [She hangs up the umbrella.] I brought churros, if anybody wants some!

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Veronica.

[And there's Kay. Thanks to the hardwork of his friends, the backup was discovered (under the bed. After all that, he put it under the bed), and he'd been downloading and unpacking his memories ever since, which took a day and a half.

It's the first time he's seen her and recognized her since she'd last seen a version of him that wasn't really him.]

[She's hanging up her coat when Kay's voice cuts across her thoughts, and she turns to look at him. Blinks, in surprise. Then she smiles.

About a moment later, Kay's going to get a teenage girl throwing herself at him, trying her best to wrap her arms around his body. And from that contact, a memory:

You're checking the pulse of a girl in a red nightgown, two fingers on her neck, trying not to look at the discoloration on her lips. You're not getting anything, not even the flutter of a dying heartbeat, and panic rises in your throat, spills from your tongue in terrified pleas, Heather? Heather? Can you hear me?

You look at a boy in black clothes, who seems just as stunned as you, leaning heavily on Heather's desk. How can he stand there when your friend is hurt? Doesn't he know she's dying? "Don't just stand there!" you scream at him. "Call 911!"

"It's a little late for that," he says, gravely, even as you plead with Heather.

She doesn't respond. She doesn't even say anything, doesn't smack your hands off her and spit a cruel remark at you for daring to touch her. Oh, god. She's really dead.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "Oh my god, I just killed my best friend."

"And your worst enemy!" says your boyfriend, flippant.

"Same difference!" you all but shriek at him. Your mind is running through all the worst-case scenarios, through the headlines that are sure to hit the newspapers, through the imagined feel of handcuffs on your wrists, oh, god, does Ohio have a death penalty, you're not sure but if they do you are so fucked. "Oh my god," you say, "the police are going to think that I did this on purpose. Oh my god they're gonna have to send my SAT scores to San Quentin."

"Unless," he says, yanking drawers open as if looking for something, before he fishes out a copy of Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. "Oh, look! She was reading The Bell Jar."

You stare at him. What the hell is he talking about?

He kneels down by Heather's hand, and wraps her fingers around the book. You realize, with a jolt, what he's planning to do. "Oh, no," you whisper.

"Oh, yes," he says, and you can see the plan unfolding in his eyes, follow the thread of it even without him saying anything more. You'd be happier about this development in your relationship, if you weren't currently panicking over "You can fake her handwriting. Just—make something up, like this: I had pain my path, from Sylvia Plath. My problems were myriad—"

Heather wouldn't use myriad. You're pretty sure about that. Then again ten minutes ago your biggest worry was if Heather would let you back into her clique and now she's fucking dead, and you say, "I was having my period," in a tone like hers. Then you break into a fit of hysterical laughter, because holy fucking shit, how did you even get here?

Your laughter fades, after a moment. Your boyfriend stares at you, like you've possibly gone completely nuts. You grin at him.

Then you look at Heather's dead body, and everything crashes back down on you. You shriek, and suddenly he's got his hands on your shoulders, warm and tight and keeping you from spiraling downwards: "If this doesn't work you could go to jail! Get your head on straight, now."

"Okay, okay," you say, trying to catch your breath. "Heather would never use the word myriad 'cause she missed it on our vocab quiz last week."

"So it's a badge for her failures at school!" He waves his hand, frantic. "Work with me here."

"Okay, okay, um—" Oh god, you're actually doing this. You take a deep breath, and try not to think about handcuffs and electric chairs. "Where do I start?"

"Think, long and hard," he says, tapping your temple. "What would she say? What's her final statement to a cold, uncaring world?"

And then you have it. You stand up, grab a sparkly pink pen and pink stationery, and write, Dear world...

And through all of this, Veronica has absolutely no idea the transfer is even happening.]

[She seems to be able to tell he's 'back' in a sense, and as she hugs him, he's suddenly thrown somewhere else-

He knows it's not himself. He's never seen this girl, or that boy, and he's never sounded like that, or knows what a "vocab quiz" is. But it feels real. It feels like a simulation. He's done it before- mentally put himself in impossible situations, and 'imagined' the outcomes. But this is different- this isn't like anything he's ever done before, and on top of the fact he doesn't know any of these people are, or what's happening.

No, wait, he does know what's happening. 'He' killed a girl, and is very upset by it for some reason, and then 'he' is going to fake her death as a suicide to cover 'his' tracks. Prompted by an unknown man?

The simulation ends, and Veronica is still hugging him, but he's entirely unresponsive the whole duration, until it ends. Logic would dictate that since Veronica had just touched him, this memory was transferred (accidentally) through touch. Logic would also dictate that this was not a memory she intended to share, and that this also is a fairly ... abnormal aspect of her life he had no idea about. She probably intended to keep it that way.

Abruptly, Kay pulls himself out her of her hug, and away from her touch. If the memory transfer is via touch, then he doesn't know if prolonged touch would transfer more memories Veronica might not want to share.]

Veronica, don't.

Whoa, okay, okay.

[She steps back, holds her hands up and lets them drop. Maybe this is a normal thing among droids? Maybe they're a little bit touchy about hugs post-rebooting, which is weird, but hey, she can roll with that. She unwinds her scarf, hangs that up too. She doesn't think about Heather, or JD, or Sherwood at all—just idly wonders if she can borrow some notes tomorrow before her history class starts, they have a quiz on the American Revolution and she needs to refresh her memory.]

You all right? If you want I can help you put your room back together, it's kind of a mess. [A beat.] Well. More of a mess right now.

[Girl, you don't get to judge, your desk looks like a tornado went through it.]

...

[She seems normal. She seems like it isn't even a concern of hers, what she just shared. Meaning it's all the more unwilling that she did, and he needs to ensure it doesn't happen again. He's sure the memory was hers, but this is the last bit of verification he'll need:]

Who is Heather?

[And Veronica freezes.

She stares at Kay in shock. He didn't read her diary, she knows that, she carries that thing around with her all the time, too paranoid to leave it alone anywhere. But how did he find out about Heather? Wait.]

Which one? I knew three of them.

The one that was reading "The Bell Jar."

[That seems specific enough without saying 'the one you killed.']

Just now, I saw both of you. And another male human.

[She looks down, and away. Then she runs her hand through her hair, eyes darting briefly to the side to catch sight of Heather Chandler's knife-sharp smile, cold as ice and cruel as a knife, twisting in her gut.]

...She wasn't reading The Bell Jar. That was just to make it convincing. [She looks up, rocks back onto her heels.] You saw Heather Chandler. And me. And JD—he's the "male human".

[She breathes out, looks down again, shoulders slumping in misery and resignation.]

How much did you see? I have to know how much explaining I have to do. And—what even happened, how did you see it?

When you touched me. I experienced it, as if I was you. It was... disorientating, and realistic. Like simulations I've run in the past, but without the ability to change what was happening. I don't know if touching me again will trigger it again, and for your privacy, I pushed you away.

[She looks upset, and overall miserable, but not... surprised.]

Was her death an accident?

Edited 2017-11-13 18:50 (UTC)

Good call.

[There's so much of her past that she's trying to keep under wraps that she's a little relieved, for his concern for her privacy. She wouldn't want to inflict any more of her memories on anyone else—they're not pretty, from the party at Ram's up to the football field.

She lets out a breath.]

Yes. [And no. She wonders if JD meant to kill Heather, somehow, or if he'd just seen an opportunity and gone with it.] I'd made her a prairie oyster for her hangover. JD put drain cleaner into another mug—he said he was kidding, and I believed him at the time—and then I got distracted and I picked up the wrong mug and she—

[She chokes on the words, shuts her eyes against the tears.]

She died. Because of me. Because of some stupid mistake I made. [Because of a series of stupid mistakes she made, and JD's imaginary war.] I never—I never wanted her or anybody else dead.

[Anybody else.

Like Heather's not the only one.]

Veronica.

[He doesn't give her any kind of emotionally reassuring gesture, because they all usually involve touch, and he's trying to avoid that right now. A shame, because she's crying, and usually touch helps people when they're crying.]

I don't believe it's your fault that she died.

I gave her the mug. I should've checked.

[It's—

It's hard, not to blame herself. No matter which way you look at it, she's still complicit in the murders—maybe she didn't take an active part, but she did cover them up. She reaches up to wipe the tears away, trying to get herself under control.]

Shit, Kay, I—I'm sorry you had to see that. And the waterworks. And—[everything else, but he's not the one she should be apologizing to for that. Her shoulders shake again, and she makes a strangled noise, her knees wobbling from under her.]

And how would you have checked? Tasting it yourself?

[He can't help the slight incredous tone that slips into his speech- feelings like guilt, blaming one's self... it's all things Cassian's done before as well. Which isn't to say, perhaps, it wasn't a little more deserved in Cassian's case than Veronica's, but he's accustomed to, at this point, to be the voice of reason, or at least the voice of 'self-defense.'

Guilt can consume humans. Sometimes, even when they did do something bad, they need to be told that things will be okay.]

Veronica.

[A little more sternly this time, but he can tell she isn't quite listening, as she begins to break down further. He catches her by the shoulders before she can fall, and instead pulls her close to him. He knows he's metal, sharp edges, and uncomfortable, but a hug is a hug.]

It is okay.

[It's not the best hug she's ever received. He's cold and sharp and incredibly uncomfortable, but Veronica doesn't care about that. The moment he pulls her close, the dam breaks, and she starts to weep. It's been so long since she told anyone, it's been so long since she was able to talk about this, that it's both freeing and shattering.

She breaks, forehead gently bumping against Kay's chest. The noises coming out of her sound like a little girl's, lost and scared. She tries to speak, tries to say something, anything, but all that comes out are fragments of words, strung together to make a barely comprehensible whole: oh god I'm so sorry I didn't mean it I never wanted her dead I didn't know I should've realized I should've—]

[Sometimes...

Humans just need to cry. Sometimes they've done something they consider so irreparable that they cry.

This is due to stress culminating into the form of liquid, and with the act of crying, toxins are released, as well as endorphins are dispatched that reduce pain and improve the mood. Crying is scientifically healthy. It doesn't mean he has to like seeing it though.

Not crying isn't healthy.

Cassian doesn't cry anymore. Not since after Jenoport.

Kay holds Veronica close, lets her babble words and sob into his chassis as long as she needs to. The only additional movement he makes is slowly placing a hand on top of her head.]

It's okay. You're okay, [he repeats, low and quiet.]

[ Kay's back to normal, and Veronica has fried, cinnamon covered sticks of dough. Bodhi's day is officially made (he's never had one but) -- even if he had too just been out in the weather, because he enjoys flying in the rain. Until the weather had become too difficult to really maneuver in.

The goggles are pulled off and placed on the table as he claps her shoulder briefly, in greeting. Sorry, he's all wet. ] Hey, oh -- I'll take one of those, what'd you call em? A churros?

And oh, have you heard? Kay's memory is back.

[Veronica's a little rattled, from Kay's question about Heather when she came into the house, but she manages to give Bodhi a smile anyway (and, unknowingly, a flash of memory: the sound of a gunshot, a boy's voice snarling get off the damn fence). She deposits the bag of churros on the table, and they're still thankfully warm.]

Yeah, churros. They're pretty good, you fry them and then cover them in cinnamon. I would've gotten the chocolate dip, too, but it was raining way too hard. [She plucks one fried churro from the bag.] And I saw! Thank god. Where did you find the backup?

[Because she has no earthly clue how, in that mess of Kaytoo's room.]

Hey, did anything—weird happen while I was at school?

Edited 2017-11-12 07:57 (UTC)

Nice.

In his room, right under the bed of all places -- I don't want to think about how many piles of junk we went through to find it, it was a little horrif --

[ there's that flash of memory. The gunshot, the boy yelling. He's not sure where it came from, and unlike Kay, Bodhi is more visibly rattled by the sudden appearance. When the fog of the memory clears, he blinks, and shakes it off. Weird. ]

... sorry, what was that?

Edited (had to change since it was in a specific spot. kay, please. ) 2017-11-13 04:07 (UTC)

...in retrospect, that was probably the first place we should've looked.

[Under the bed is her go-to place for things that she needs to hide from everyone else. For example: piles of trashy romance novels picked up from a garage sale. She hopes to god there's never an occasion where they have to go looking through the junk under her bed.

She blinks at Bodhi, surprised by the sudden interruption.]

I was asking if I could go horse-riding with a clown that showed up at school today. [Kidding. She sighs.] No, I just wanted to ask if anything weird happened while I was out.

[She tilts her head.]

Something up?

We did look there, that's the thing. We looked there, and there was a little note on it that got separated from the box. We found the note, and Cassian managed to find what it'd been attached to.

[ He hopes that they never have to go through her room, either. Or his. Because it'd probably mean that something happened to one of them.

A slow smile crosses his face, but there's still uncertainty there. ]

Sorry. I just... I just remembered something, I think?

He's got to clean up his room, one of these days.

[Says the teenaged girl. She moves to the fridge, grabs a glass along the way to pour herself a glass of water. Her hands are admirably steady, considering how her mind's running through possible scenarios right now.]

Would it be prying if I asked what you remembered?

Well, we tried. I don't know if it'll stay that way, though. I'm gonna get him some storage containers.

[ Call it a habit ingrained on him from the academy days, Bodhi is pretty neat (most of the time). ]

No? I mean it was something. A loud noise, like an earth gun? And there was a voice, a boy yelling? "Get off the gate..." no, "fence" [ He shrugs. Could be anything, some half remembered thing he's seen on TV, given the lack of a familiar voice or a face. ] I don't know where that came from.

[And she freezes in place.

Oh, no.]

...he said get off the damn fence. [It's quiet, nervous, and she doesn't look at Bodhi. Doesn't make an effort to brush her hair back so she can see him better, but it's obvious enough from the way she goes rigid that this is not a memory she wanted to share, ever.]

[ Bodhi sees the change, even if he cant see her face - it's in her voice and how tightly she seems to be holding herself. Something weird is going on. How did he know that? It wasn't his memory. ] Hey. I didn't see anything - I just heard --

[ And because he doesn't yet realize it can be transferred through touch; he gently grasps her shoulder in a hopefully reassuring way.

A boy of seven, a bit small for his age and a girl a little taller than him are running through the streets, both laughing. "Bodhi, wait up!" The girl yells, but he keeps going -- running straight into someone. A someone in white plastic armor. The trooper is pointing a blaster, and the boy backs away, afraid - all traces of amusement gone. The trooper looks him up and down before turning and moving to join several others in identical armor. Around them, people are whispering, muttering "-- the Empire has come" -- "raiding the temple--"

The girl grabs his shoulder, pulling him back and away. To the safety of their home. ]

-- You don't need to explain it, if you don't want.

[Another memory jumps across:

You throw the gun aside, kneel at Ram's side. Stripped down to his boxers with a red hole in his chest, he looks weirdly small and young, nothing like the brash, swaggering jock you know, and you realize with a start that he isn't breathing. He isn't breathing, that's wrong—

"Ram?" you say. "Ram, you're—you're just unconscious, right?" JD told you these were fake bullets, the kind that would only break the skin and knock someone unconscious, make them look dead. Does that mean they're not breathing? His heart must still be beating, though, it has to be, you press fingers to his wrist and why isn't there a pulse why isn't he breathing—

"Ram!" Come on, come on. He can't be dead. He can't be. You press a hand over his heart and feel nothing. Not even a faint, thready heartbeat.

Oh god he's dead oh god he's dead oh god he's dead—

JD. Oh, god, you have to find JD. You stagger to your feet and race off after him, jumping over logs and stumbling over roots, following the shouts of get off the fence, get off the damn fence, just in time to see Kurt already halfway up the fence, stripped down to his socks and boxers, panicking even more than you are: "What does that even mean?!"

"The dinosaurs choked on the dust," says JD, calm and collected. His eyes slide over to meet yours, and he smiles softly at you. Kindly. Lovingly. But there's a fire in them now that terrifies you, a fire that just might consume you now that you're right in the middle of it. "They'll die because we say they must."

He pulls the trigger.

Kurt drops.

"What the fuck have you done?" you whisper, horrified.

Veronica blinks briefly at Bodhi, eyes wide. She shakes his hand off and backs away.]

You were a kid. [It comes out in a breathless rush of words.] You were a kid, and he pointed a blaster at you, and they were raiding a temple and oh, god, Bodhi, what's happening?

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shine, shine, shine a light on your deepest fears

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