maskormenacelogs | weep not for the memories

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weep not for the memories

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! )

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It had always been used as a courtesy to those he met that claimed themselves to be king. It was easier to give them that small measure of respect than to listen on end why their claim was better. Though he doubted any of this was on Viserys' mind now. It was hard to become angry over the smaller matters when faced with the ghosts of their past.

He doesn't see what Viserys sees. It is the only the face of the prince of legend looking back at him. The man that had apparently kidnapped his aunt and raped her. The story had been told repeatedly since Robert's victory, lending a moral and romantic reason for the rebellion, though it had never truly crossed Jon's mind. Only when he saw the look of sadness on his father's face whenever his sister was mentioned.

"I don't know what I expected," Jon spoke honestly. "I heard the stories, but the way Robert Baratheon made him sound..." he trailed off, not wanting to get into differing accounts. Not when the man was actually standing there.

"My father never spoke of him or the rebellion."

Robert Baratheon, that name alone has some small impact on all three. Rhaella looks to Rhaegar sadly, who ignores her and keeps his eyes on Jon, while Viserys' jaw clenches and the way his lips and nose stiffen and curl are on par with smelling shit. One name has torn this family apart more than any other, that much is obvious.

"Never?"

Viserys finds this strange, head tilted as he thinks over why that might be. If Eddard Stark really held fast to his duties of honor, perhaps the horrible fates of Elia and the youngest Targaryens had left a foul taste in his mouth. Of course Viserys believed all the Usurper's allies as enemies. But the idea was reached regardless, and wouldn't that have been a wonderful outcome? His allies becoming his enemies. Just as had happened to those he betrayed. That would be justice.

"The War of the Usurper held little honor. Any man who considered honor worthwhile wouldn't speak of it, especially if he'd supported it."

The salt is real.

Rhaegar's gaze never seems to flicker from Jon. While there was no animosity in the late prince's features, it left Jon feeling discomfited. He shifted beneath the man's gaze, and while Rhaegar couldn't speak, it seemed as though he had something to say. He didn't want to consider what that man might say.

"No," Jon responded, letting his gaze fall. "My uncle and grandfather were murdered by the-" mad "-late king. By the end of the rebellion, my aunt died." Supposedly because of Rhaegar. More of what Lord Stark refused to speak of. "There was little honor in all that transpired then. Lives were lost on both sides and many of them were innocent." he could play along with Viserys for only so long in that.

"It wasn't your family alone that suffered."

At least he tries, and not from some fear Viserys may hurt him if he does not. Viserys is hardly any real, physical threat to Jon Snow, with or without Ghost around. Very difficult to develop any muscle when one isn't sure where the next meal may come from.

He steps forward anyway, smile a bastardization of anything joyful.

"We did not suffer, Lord Snow. The few we trusted tried very very hard to destroy my entire family. After all we had done for them. But what would you know?" He moves closer, past any sense of personal space without being too close. "You think I do not know what they call my father? They could not destroy our entire house, but they could destroy our reputation, our legacy, our name. When you hear of House Targaryen, what do you think?"

Madness, he's always been told. Has ignored, has refused to speak of in his sister's presence. Perhaps if he had, she'd have shown some mercy when he had his fit.

Jon could feel his temper rising, threatening to burst free into white hot fury. He stood at the head of his family, not because of personal merit or skill, but because was all that remained. Robb was dead, Rickon had been killed, and Bran was missing. Their family life was nearly eradicated and Viserys had the audacity to ask him what he knew of such things.

He clenched his fist, feeling a fire brewing inside him as deadly as any dragon flame. He could feel the eyes of Rhaegar Targaryen on him, sharp and studious. It wasn't enough to drag his focus away from the arrogant prince. Any respect he showed left in an instant.

"What would I know?" He asked in a quiet voice, a threat brewing beneath the surface as murder appeared in his eyes. Viserys was close, closer than he was comfortable with. Yet he restrained himself from grabbing the man's collar and ramming him into a wall. "My father was executed by Joffery Baratheon, called a traitor to the realm! His honor and legacy destroyed! My brother Robb was butchered at a wedding, his body mutilated by his enemies! My brother Rickon was tormented by a bastard that had seized our family home then shot with arrows like a beast! My sister Sansa was tortured and brutalized by that same man! You ask me what I would know of a family being eradicated?!"

His face darkened to a dangerous level as he closed any distance that remained between them. "You are not the only one who has suffered loss."

Viserys remained where he stood, never shying away at the approaching doom, or the face of one very capable of bringing about some doom or dread or other. There was no bravery in holding his spot. He was getting quite a bit of fantastic information like this! He'd have to keep it in mind. And, Sansa, had he said? Even better.

Lips a thin line, eyes stuck on Jon's rising anger, nothing gave away what Viserys might or might not say in response. For a few seconds, he was silent, even, as if he had learned his lesson and would never...

He smiled, the first alarm bell. Then, an actual laugh, one he spoke through to give his words all the more nastiness.

"Good. Eddard Stark should be known as a traitor to the realm."

Yikes.

Everything faded but Jon's sole focus on the laughing, smiling face of Viserys Targaryen. The same silence echoed through his mind as it had when he faced Ramsay Bolton. There was only the singular urge to beat him, to knock that grin from his face and satisfy the burning rage that had built inside him. There was only red before his eyes and the darkness that he had been pulled from. Even though he spoke and moved, he still felt dead inside and nothing made it more clear than the black rage that rose inside him.

He curled his fist and knocked Viserys as hard as he could. It should have been satisfying, but it wasn't. The moment Viserys stumbled back, Jon was on him, hitting him again and again. The low growl of Ghost was in the distance, either sensing or seeing his master's anger. Jon no longer knew who was close, there was only Viserys' smile and the blackness that surrounded them.

He ignored the ghosts at their sides, the silent prince that had judged them and the specters at Jon's back. He wanted to add to them, to feel something other than this darkness. His fist collided once more with Viserys and would have connected once more, but a sudden urge rose in him, instinctual and subconscious. He looked up, as he had when Sansa appeared in the courtyard. Only instead of her face, he saw Prince Rhaegar. The man wasn't looking at Viserys, he was gazing steadily at Jon.

He didn't know why, but it shamed him. He let go of Viserys and stepped back, his eyes still locked on the prince. It was enough to pull him back to reality.

So.

Viserys is kind of a lightweight. Lightweight here meaning with little to no muscle and without training in any real sort of combat. All that time with the Dothraki and he learned nothing of their ways, had every opportunity to try and be more like his brother than his father and yet...

He stumbles first, and then he goes down like a sack of dead fish, whether on the ground or the wall or simply in Jon's beefy hands. There is no fight to be here. Not, at least, of equals. Jon might as well be beating a frozen leg of meat, though Viserys makes a few noises, each more miserable than the last.

His hands move out immediately as if that could stop potential further blows. His nose bleeds. He has some concerns it might be broken, but for now he feels only anger and humiliation and something more, something worse. His mother is right there, but she isn't. She can't offer him comfort. And he wants that more than anything else, more than he wants to spit cruel words at Jon. More than he wants to hurt in the only way he can.

And of course Rhaegar hadn't paid his brother a lick of attention. Just as it had always been, not that Viserys would ever admit such aloud. Would ever admit Targaryen weaknesses to anyone, would dare risk his sweet sister given to wonder.

Well. None of that mattered now. Viserys coughed and, through his fingers, out came a tooth. Or perhaps just part of a tooth.

Either way, it was big enough to be seen falling out as white and, once hitting the ground, turning a brilliant gold color. It even had a shine!

He hadn't paid attention to the mess that he left Viserys in, a part of him too ashamed to look and the other fascinated by the sight of Rhaegar Targaryen. He was a specter, a shadow no different than the ones that had been following Jon from the beginning. Perhaps it was because of Rhaegar's connection to his family and the near mythic and monstrous quality that had always been spoken of when the subject of him was raised. Regardless of the reason, Jon could almost feel the acknowledgement and equal fascination that Rhaegar held towards him.

"They're not real." Jon murmured, trying to reassure himself. It was only in that moment of fear that he looked away and saw the heap he left Viserys in. There was blood, just as there had been with Ramsay. Those near pale features were obscured by bruises and a potential broken nose. Daenerys won't be pleased, he mused to himself.

The fallen prince spit something from his mouth (a tooth?) and let it spill onto the ground. The gleam of gold winked up at him, giving him a measure of surprise and amusement. The man could make gold? It almost made him want to laugh. Baelish would appreciate that.

"Get up." He near growled, glancing back once more to Rhaegar. "Take your shadows and leave."

Shame drained his face of color, only for anger at the humiliation of it all to flood his cheeks with red once more. He kept a hand over his mouth at first. Unbelievable, really, though the hit had been so thorough and clean he couldn't register any immediate pain. Well. Not of the physical variety. The eternal sting of staying docked within Humiliation Station was a familiar one but one that burned just the same.

He made no move to grab his tooth. He simply stared at Jon, seething. Rhaegar...not so much. He seemed more amused than anything. The queen, nowhere near it.

After a few moments of that impotent glare, Viserys hauled himself up, taking off with the swaying speed usually reserved for those who were leaving in a huff. Which he was. Rhaella followed after, pausing only to give Jon an oddly warm smile for a man who'd just torn her miracle baby a new one. There and gone, a haunting image for sure.

But it was Rhaegar who stayed. Of course Rhaegar would be the exception. He seemed amused, too, a rare break from the usual brooding. Perhaps Jon would recognize the mild change in facial expression to indicate a Brooder found something endearing. And there he stayed, staring at Jon. Viserys huffed down the street and still his ghost lingered, as though he'd passed Rhaegar along, like his brother's memory was the same as a cold. Now Jon would share this plague for a few days.

Stomp stomp stomp. Only when two heads of silver-gold disappeared from sight did Rhaegar move along, and after a few steps away from Jon, the silver prince disappeared entirely, gone like steam from a cup of something still too hot to drink.

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weep not for the memories

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