weep not for the memories

[brushoff]

WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: all cities
WHEN: March 4 - March 6
WHAT: it's a catch-all log, sucka! Tag here and thread around for the Dorian Ruins Everything Guilt Extravaganza part of the overall March plot. Please check out this ooc post for details!
WARNINGS: Traumatic memories. Possible talk of murder, death, blood, other nasty things. I'll try to update if the warnings needed but please use content warnings if it gets super nasty!

It starts off on March 4th, the early morning before the sun's even risen. You know those weird mirages that were hanging around the day before? Well now it's getting a little personal.

These mirages come and go seemingly for no reason. They might stay for a minute, they might stay for an hour. The images vary between person but the unifying factor is that the mirages consist of people the player characters have hurt, whether people in-game or from their homes. Whether they murdered them, slandered them, or even had a petty little argument, the unifying factor is the guilt each character feels towards or about this mirage. After all, you know you hurt them somehow. You know their existence somehow makes you feel guilty.

Another unifying factor? The creepy way these mirages just seem to stick to you. They'll follow you if you try to leave, staring you down with their creepy unblinking mirage eyes. And whoops: everybody can see said mirages. Hopefully you're not being stalked by someone you and somebody else both know, wouldn't that be awkward?

Have fun confronting your traumatizing past and/or wondering why your buddy's got some creepy ghost guy following him, imPorts!

( ooc: this is a catch-all log! Make starters of your characters getting haunted by their creepy mirages, have other people react to said creepy mirages, ???, profit. Hit me up on the ooc post if you have any questions! )

Comments

Jon Snow | OTA

[song_of_ice]

March 4th, Ygritte - De Chima

[Her face is the same as he remembers it, youthful and warm. The memory that he prefers to keep rather than the last image he had of her before she slipped away. She had found him as he passed along the street, for once going unnoticed by the crowds as Jon completed the errands he needed. It was only when he turned to retrieve a fall box of nails that he paused, his hand hovered over it as his eyes locked ahead in horror.

Her hair was kissed by fire, but there was a look of genuine sorrow on her features, far more sharp and painful than when they had parted. It was an expression he understood, having seen it often in his nightmares. Look what you did to me, she seemed to say. The arrow wound in her chest fresh and weeping, staring at him with the same accusation that her gaze held.

He wanted to stumble back and flee, but all he could do was stay in place, locked in that realm of guilt and sorrow that only a Stark could achieve. As others passed him, he remained in place, willingly accepting Ygritte's scorn and sadness. It was what he deserved for all he had done. To flee now would only make him a greater coward than he already was. She was dead, but her apparition had never left him.

Now was only the manifestation of it.

It was only when someone came to his side that his gaze was ripped away, certain he'd feel Ygritte's arrows and hear her cries. He could still feel her, even as he glanced at his companion.]

Do you see her too?

March 5th, Ygritte - Anywhere

[She was always at his heels, following his steps. So close behind him that he could almost smell the wilderness wafting from her body. The scent of wet stones and leather. A flash of red appeared whenever he turned or tried to look away, a brief stab to his gut each time.

She wouldn't leave him, though he could no longer say what it was he wanted. If she left, he would be forced to return to his memories, the image of her face slowly becoming a distant dream. Yet her presence, it only raised his guilt to the surface, far more painful and visceral than any rage he had experienced or sorrow he felt.

He tried to press forward, banishing the whispers in his mind that reminded him of how he deserved this. He moved forward, unable to notice anyone else in his path. He pushed and shoved forward, hoping to lose his shadow among the crowd, but always able to sense her two steps behind.

It was only when he nearly knocked another person off their feet that he stopped in his tracks, able to focus on something else. Even if was a mistake on his part.]

Are you hurt?

March 6th, Rickon and Ygritte - Anywhere]

[It was a nightmare that only seemed to get worse. Rather than have the face of someone he loved and betrayed, Ygritte was joined by another that Jon had loved and failed. Rickon. He had grown closer towards manhood, taller and as similar to Bran as Jon had been similar to Robb. Even as he looked away, he could see the same arrow wound that Ygritte bore, a spring that never seemed to run dry, red and accusing.

He had given up on running or trying to avoid the phantoms that were never far from his peripheral. He wandered the cities, as though he were the ghost, collapsing when his guilt had become too heavy to bear. Instead, he would sit with his back against a building, pressing his hands to his face as he struggled to draw himself out of the mire.

It was never ending and he was only growing fatigued from it all. How much could a man be pushed before he cracked?]

march 4th!

[burlyboy]

[ Magnus is still getting the lay of the land here, so to speak. While he's used to enough bizarre happenings in his own life, he's not used to this place's particular variety of fucking with its denizens, which means that his own reaction to the sight of Ygritte is much less mild than would actually be helpful.

More accurately, he immediately exclaims, ] Holy shit! Are you okay? We need to get you to a healer, or a -- a --

[ And then his hand goes straight through her shoulder, and he turns back to Jon, the question just now registering in his mind. ]

No shit, I can see her. Do you -- did you know her?

[song_of_ice]

[He wants to call out as Magnus approaches her, instinctively afraid of more harm being done to Ygritte. Just as soon as that fear tore through him, it was replaced by the reminder that she wasn't real. She was dead.

That was confirmed the moment Magnus' hand went through her, causing her to ripple as though she were nothing more than the morning mist.]

I did. She died. [He still can't take his eyes off of her, afraid that she will disappear, but aching at the sight of her.] I don't know how this is possible.

[burlyboy]

Well, shit.

[ As blase as his word choice may be, there's real, aching sympathy in his voice. He doesn't know what this specifically is like - seeing his loved ones on ghosts would wreck him, he knows - he certainly knows what loss is. And unlike some people, whoever this guy is? Probably didn't ask for this. ]

I'm sorry. The dead deserve to rest. [ And the bereaved deserve to mourn, and move on. ] They have ghosts where you're from? Because that's what it looks like to me.

[song_of_ice]

No. [The dead walk, but it was nothing like this. He had seen to it that Ygritte wouldn't be turned or become like the Others.] This is a trick of the city. Something else is behind this.

[He had to hold to that, otherwise he might go mad. There was at least a reason behind it then, rather than simple chaos and cruelty of fate.]

You haven't seen anyone you know?

[burlyboy]

No. And I hope I don't. No offense.

[ He has no shame in admitting that much, insensitive as it may be. Obviously this poor fellow isn't too glad about what's going on anyway, but Magnus knows too many people that would haunt him for one reason or another for the mere idea of it not to be outright horrifying, and besides, his last run-in with ghosts mostly involved them trying to kill him and his friends.

Nooooo, thank you. That's enough ghosts for him. ]

But how do you figure that it's a trick of the city? I thought magic didn't exist here. [ He pauses. ] And if that's true, then it sounds like whoever's behind this needs to get their ass kicked.

[song_of_ice]

Some seem to, others don't.

[So what decided who would receive these visions? Why Ygritte? Why her out of all he knew? The pain of it was still a fresh wound, sharper and deeper than the daggers that had pierced his heart.

It at least wasn't his imagination, otherwise he might fear for his sanity.

He held no animosity towards Magnus for being spared this torment. There was a part of him that could appreciate and wish to share his luck. No one should be forced to confront the painful memories of the past.]

I don't know. I have seen others followed by figures that they tried to outrun. It can't all be creations of our mind.

[He bore guilt, but it was never to this level.]

[burlyboy]

I dunno... my guess is still ghosts. Maybe they're mad, maybe they're sad, maybe there's just something they want to hear - something you never got the chance to say, before they died.

[ He thinks about Noelle and Maureen, the first of which who just wants to continue on fighting against that which caused her death, Maureen, who just wants to keep her son safe. All of the dead have left something behind, something they still want to hear, or do. ]

It must be something you've already thought of, but if you wanted to tell her something? I'd say this is your chance.

[song_of_ice]

[It was a better answer than any Jon could give. There had been a number of things he had wanted to say to Ygritte, so much to apologize for and all of the things that had remained unsaid.

But it seemed too simple. This, seeing her like this, it was cruel.]

If it is about acceptance and moving on, why show them like this?

[burlyboy]

[ He shrugs. ]

It doesn't necessarily have to be all about acceptance and moving on. Just making sure that whatever they left behind gets done, but that's something people who're left behind tend to want to do anyway.

[ Making things right have nothing to do with moving on. Magnus Burnsides is an expert at never moving on, thank you very much. ]

But if I know anything about ghosts, it's that sometimes they come back wrong.

[song_of_ice]

[What did she have left to do but to show Jon his mistakes? It's a nice thought to imagine it is to finish whatever was left undone, but that seems too simple, too kind. Ygritte didn't speak, didn't show any signs of wanting something beyond staring at Jon.]

You have seen something like this before?

[He doesn't want to latch on hope for real answers. He had seen as well that the dead could come back wrong.]

[burlyboy]

...yeah, actually. I have. [ He's not sure if he should say anything, but - the bracers don't work here, they're in another world, this part isn't actually a secret, and Magnus is still pissed. He doesn't see why he shouldn't talk about it. ]

This little piece of shit decided to screw around with necromancy. [ He's a naturally friendly person - a naturally happy one too, but hell if Lucas didn't piss him right off. He wanted to snap the whelp's neck by the end of the day. ]

He wanted to bring his Mom back, but she came back wrong, as a ghost. Tried to kill him, which isn't something she'd ever do in her right mind. She got her right mind back eventually, and she was obviously horrified, but - point is that this? [ He raises one hand, gesturing towards Ygritte. ] I don't know what's going on, but if this was really her, she probably wouldn't just be following you around.

[song_of_ice]

[It's starting to hit a little too close to home for Jon's tastes. Who was to say he wasn't brought back wrong by whatever magic the Red Woman used? If no one else could see Ygritte, he might wonder if this was all due to that magic at all. But Magnus seeing her as well eased that fear.

Even without an answer.]

It is how she looked, but she doesn't speak, she isn't herself.

[She was just dead, which made it harder to stomach. The ghost lacked all of Ygritte's life and fire, it was just an image meant to hurt him.]

This isn't necromancy. [He felt certain of that.]

March 6th

[khaleesipls]

[ With the sun well on its way to set, Maurtia Falls is the last place anyone would want to be folded down beside a building with their face in their hands. An engine grumbling to a stop at the curb is no doubt the least of Snow’s concerns -- gasoline stench at odds with more modern means of transportation. There’s a last bluster and cut at the muffler -- then the sounds of boots on concrete.

The man who hauls Jon to his feet is in denim and leather, dispassionate handling undersigned by a sigh. He has his helmet-bearing left hand poised to block the draw of any sword or dagger that should come to play. ]

Thought that was you, [ he says. Familiar, in a ghostly sort of way. ]

[song_of_ice]

[Jorah was the last person he expected to see and not the first person he would think to be relieved to have at his side. The overwhelming misery and guilt was near choking him, causing all other sounds and smells to fall away. There was only the stench of blood and the unspoken accusations both Rickon and Ygritte leveled at him.

He let himself be pulled to his feet, as though he were nothing more than a boy rather than a man grown. Of all the faces he could see, at least Jorah was in no way attached to the ghosts of Jon's past.]

There is no end to this.

[khaleesipls]

Everything has an end.

[ Rickon is a Stark -- Jorah can see that at a sidelong glance, once he’s made measure of Jon’s resolve. The other looks like a wildling -- enough to confuse his jaw into a cro-magnon jut, judgment muddy in the pale blue of his eyes.

He looks back to Jon, unspoken question written in between his brows. Did you break your oaths and go to bone town with a wildling girl, Snow?

Fortunately for them both Jon is (probably) in no state to translate, and Jorah himself is much renowned as a bungler of oaths. He doesn’t say anything. Not out loud. ]

Everything except war, I suppose, [ he allows instead, offhand. Physically, at least, Snow looks to be intact. ] You can’t stay out here.

[song_of_ice]

[It didn't seem like it. The ghosts remained as the days continued, only growing more agonizing and, sometimes, increasing the number of those seen.

It was difficult enough with Ygritte, but Rickon was a fresh wound, one that he hadn't recovered from. He had been the reason that Jon had fought. It wasn't about Winterfell alone, it was about saving perhaps the only brother he had left. Yet here was the physical manifestation of how deeply he had failed.

He doesn't catch Jorah's notice of Ygritte at first, only to see it all in the look he gave him. Jon lowered his head in shame. He broke a good number of his vows and had paid the price for it.]

I don't know where to go. I can't let my family see him like this.

[khaleesipls]

[ Jon dips his head and Jorah breathes deep, a sigh suppressed long and slow through his sinuses. He keeps hold, right hand braced to lock Snow into the present against freezing brick like a sad, woolly black pelt. ].

I’ve stopped trying to keep track of how many of you there are, [ he admits at a mutter between them. Honest, at least, if hardly the ideal attitude for a man whose house has bent the knee. But Lyanna isn’t here and he is. Presumably Baelish keeps some sort of dossier -- Catelyn’s arrival certainly didn’t escape his notice. ] I’m sorry.

[ For Rickon and Ygritte. Not for being a grouse -- never for that.

There are still cabs filtering through on the tail end of rush hour -- throwing up filthy slush and sending waves through the melt in the street. ]

I have a place, [ he says, and raises his helmet away to hail at the next cab on approach. ] A few blocks from here. Come on.

[song_of_ice]

[As much as he dislikes being manhandled, the hand on his shoulder helps him feel as though he is upright and steady. A memory flickered through him like a withered flame, an image of Davos holding him up as Jon pulled himself from what was his desk. There had been death than and there was death now. Death seemed to surround him and it was suffocating. His memories, his family and the dead that brought the storm.]

I don't know what to do. [It was said as a man looking for advice and guidance, as he had looked to Davos for support and advice. He was thrust into a situation he had never been before. Somehow he was head of the family with memories the others didn't have. What did he share and what did he conceal? It was one thing to look after Sansa and Winterfell when there was no Robb, no Lady Catelyn and no Lord Stark. But now? Shouldn't it be in someone else's hands?] Don't tell them about Rickon. They can't know.

[He accepts Jorah's offer, stumbling as though he is finding his footing again.] Thank you.

[khaleesipls]

[ Mormont says nothing -- an awkward nod must stand in for both reassurance and welcome.

There are a few onlookers to witness Jorah putting Jon down into a cab like a boozed up Justin Beiber, but none close enough to snap a photo or take in any real detail. He gives directions in brief once he’s let himself in on the far side, his motorcycle left locked at the curb. It ought to be fine, for a little while at least, conspicuous as it is in shades of metallic gold.

Anyone bold enough to steal it in this part of town would have to know what they were getting themselves into. ]

It’s your secret to keep, [ he says, once they’re moving. ] But you must know by now that time doesn’t move at the same pace for everyone.

[song_of_ice]

[He leans back in his seat, feeling almost an overwhelming sense of relief, as though he could sense the specters disappearing from behind him. There was no telling how long it would last, but even a brief moment was enough to help him regain his composure.

There was no one he recognized among the crowd as the cab slipped away. No one that could report on who he saw and what shadows were at his heels. It was still his burden to bear, sparing his family from discomfort and pain.]

I do. [He rubbed his hands over his face.] None of them know what happens. They don't remember what I do.

[khaleesipls]

That may be, [ Jorah agrees, easily, ] but you have no way of knowing what the rest of us remember.

[ Nor does he have control over what any of the others might let slip.

Something to think about, in the privacy of the grimy back seat of a hovercar in Maurtia Falls. The knight keeps his eyes on the road ahead, watchful over the driver’s shoulder, with his helmet at his knee.

True to his word, they don’t have far to go. The cab draws up to a row of housing units that look very much like every other row in the neighborhood, and Jorah thumbs cash out of his wallet like he’s been doing it all his life. Resigned to the new normal. ]

[song_of_ice]

I know.

[Baelish knew enough to tell Sansa if he wanted. Jon could only hope that Baelish would want to spare her that pain, the truth so horrific that it could ruin the small measure of happiness she had found here.

The rest he could face. Being king, having died, he didn't like to discuss them, but it was easier than explaining that another member of their family died and Sansa had been brutalized.

He spent the rest of the drive ruminating over what they had discussed. It was only when Jorah was paying the driver that Jon realized they had arrived. Slowly, he pushed himself from his seat and stepped back outside. The specters had caught up to them, not far from where he stood, still staring and still accusing.]

[khaleesipls]

[ Jorah doesn’t pay the dead much heed, busy exchanging wallet for keys as he leads the way up the walk. ]

Do you want to talk about it?

[ ...seems like the sort of thing he ought to establish before they’re boxed up in a flat together. They don’t have to. He expects the answer is no.

Through the front door, a narrow flight of creaky stairs leads from storage to a two bedroom flat on the second floor. He hasn’t done much with the decor -- a leather couch with a bearskin thrown over the back stands against one wall, offset by a coffee table and a bookshelf. No television. The books are in boxes. ]

Stay as long as you need, [ he says, as he slings his keys down onto the coffee table.

There’s a set of used sheets on the floor next to the couch. Also a pillow.

Clearly Jon isn’t the first. ]

[song_of_ice]

No.

[Yes. He wants to speak to Maester Aemon or Davos, to hear their council and advice. He feels adrift and unable to stand on solid ground. The influx of family meant that he had to actively consider what should or shouldn't be told. It made him feel like a liar, just as he had with the Free Folk. He needed someone to tell him he was doing what was right or to grab him by the shoulders and shake him...

...but deep down, he knew he had to do this alone.]

Thank you for letting me stay.

[He means that genuinely. His eyes take in the simplicity of Jorah's flat. The bearskin rug earning a small smirk before disappearing once more. It didn't matter whether Jon was the first to stay here or not. He needed somewhere to rest and to hide away until these shadows were gone.]

Have you not seen anyone from your past?

[Please not the Lord Commander.]