[MEMORY] ????
WHO: Cancer?, (catatonicanon)
SENSES: All Five
SUMMARY: "Is all this... my fault?"
PERMISSIONS: Negotiable--plz see mod for details
--
Two figures stand in front each other in the midst of a discussion. The woman looks wild, not only because of her hair is dyed every color imaginable, only showing any semblance of a natural shade at her dark roots, but because she is gesticulating and looks visibly distressed. The viewer can feel the confusion and nervousness rolling off of her in waves. Along with that comes the impression that she does not seem to be the sort of person used to being nervous or unsure, or anything of the sort.
In contrast, the man speaking with her seems like he is trying to be impassive, but there is an awkward nervousness that seems innate which is simply exacerbated by the circumstances. None of this can be felt from him, not in the way it can be from the woman, but it is visible to those who know how to read expressions. His messy hair, the same color as the woman's roots, is tied in a low ponytail down his back. Aside from that the only notable feature about him seemed to be his golden eyes. Those who work in the Hatchery-related jobs might readily recognize him, though these days he seems to avoid most people.
"I heard something from some of the people who have been here longer." The woman's voice shakes as she speaks.
"They sa--" her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "They said... the--y'know, those things... the memory crystals. They didn't exist--there were no memory crystals--until I... until after I was born. Until I wante--asked for some way to you know, regain memories." A pause. "You know--this floor? This and the one below it... they didn't exist either. The islands... some of them too--until I wanted them to exist."
There is a thrumming adrenaline born of an uneasy 'what if' thrumming through the whole of her being. If she doesn't speak her fears now she may never, but she isn't the type to back down just because things are cagey. She never was. The woman takes a breath, also shaky, then blurts out the whole of her suspicions.
"Is it me? Is all this... my fault? And if it is, how do I stop it?"
"Canon--" Fugue's voice, while there is obviously an attempt to be calming, also holds a note of patronization; a quality that says this is all crazy talk. Still, he hesitates, cutting himself off and looking to the side. Even as he does so, the memory ends.
SENSES: All Five
SUMMARY: "Is all this... my fault?"
PERMISSIONS: Negotiable--plz see mod for details
--
Two figures stand in front each other in the midst of a discussion. The woman looks wild, not only because of her hair is dyed every color imaginable, only showing any semblance of a natural shade at her dark roots, but because she is gesticulating and looks visibly distressed. The viewer can feel the confusion and nervousness rolling off of her in waves. Along with that comes the impression that she does not seem to be the sort of person used to being nervous or unsure, or anything of the sort.
In contrast, the man speaking with her seems like he is trying to be impassive, but there is an awkward nervousness that seems innate which is simply exacerbated by the circumstances. None of this can be felt from him, not in the way it can be from the woman, but it is visible to those who know how to read expressions. His messy hair, the same color as the woman's roots, is tied in a low ponytail down his back. Aside from that the only notable feature about him seemed to be his golden eyes. Those who work in the Hatchery-related jobs might readily recognize him, though these days he seems to avoid most people.
"I heard something from some of the people who have been here longer." The woman's voice shakes as she speaks.
"They sa--" her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "They said... the--y'know, those things... the memory crystals. They didn't exist--there were no memory crystals--until I... until after I was born. Until I wante--asked for some way to you know, regain memories." A pause. "You know--this floor? This and the one below it... they didn't exist either. The islands... some of them too--until I wanted them to exist."
There is a thrumming adrenaline born of an uneasy 'what if' thrumming through the whole of her being. If she doesn't speak her fears now she may never, but she isn't the type to back down just because things are cagey. She never was. The woman takes a breath, also shaky, then blurts out the whole of her suspicions.
"Is it me? Is all this... my fault? And if it is, how do I stop it?"
"Canon--" Fugue's voice, while there is obviously an attempt to be calming, also holds a note of patronization; a quality that says this is all crazy talk. Still, he hesitates, cutting himself off and looking to the side. Even as he does so, the memory ends.