OOC: Fourth Memory
Sight and taste
Implied canon
Crow picked up the package that had been left on his pillow. Kitty was not home, but he preferred it that way. He knew what was inside even before he cut the string and lifted the lid, examining the so very familiar glow of the crystal. Kicking his shoes off and settling onto the bed, Crow reached into the package, touched the crystal and felt the strange sense of disorientation as the memory took hold.
This time, instead of going completely black, the scene changed around him. He could see colors, bright and cheerful. And his vision was clear, sharp for a good distance. In fact Crow was surprised to note that his vision was almost perfect.
So he hadn’t always been nearly blind. That somehow didn’t surprise him, not from his other memories.
Crow caught a glimpse of his memory self in a window, concentrated on that momentary glance as long as he could. He was younger, shorter. He wore the forehead protector, and some kind of long, black cloak decorated in red clouds. His eyes were red. He was walking next to someone, hugely tall in a similar outfit. Those were the details he noted before his memory had looked away and opened a door into a shop.
Crow felt a strange sense when his younger self entered the building. It was a confectioner’s shop he realized immediately. His memory paused in the doorway, looked up and to the side at his huge companion, and Crow realized with a start that the tall man had to be the gruff voice from his other memories. The man was talking, but Crow couldn’t hear anything.
Not that Crow would have caught his words, too preoccupied with the man’s startling face. He had blue skin and hair, marks like gills on his cheeks and strange, fish-like eyes. The tall man also had the teeth of shark, and a mocking grin to match. He seemed to be laughing at Crow’s memory-self, a smirk that could give children nightmares crossing his face.
Crow noted other details as his memory no doubt replied to whatever the man was saying-the blue-skinned man had painted nails and a huge, cloth-bound sword at his back.
Crow’s memory looked away, walked further into the shop, pausing now and then to touch things. Crow noted his own nails were painted, a ring sat on his finger, the symbol on it familiar. He could read it; it meant crimson.
Pondering the significance of crimson, Crow observed things through his memory’s eyes, surprised at how his younger self lingered over the bright candies. A sense of appreciation, quiet and subdued filled Crow, and he wasn’t sure what part was his memory, and what himself. Crow observed as his memory finally selected an assortment of brightly colored and fancifully shaped candies, and purchased them.
A taste of mint and sugar filled Crow’s senses as his memory sucked on one of the hard candies, one shaped like a leaf. His memory continued to linger in the shop, savoring the sweet taste-Crow could feel the quiet contentment his memory felt. The freedom, for a brief time, from anything but appreciation of the moment, and the colors, and the simple artistry in sugar.
It was with that sense of gentle peacefulness, that Crow came back to awareness of his real surroundings, sight fading, dimming to his short, blurry range, the taste of fresh mint and sweetness lingering, remembered but not real.
It was only several minutes later that Crow noticed his shirt was bright pink. And polka dotted.
Implied canon
Crow picked up the package that had been left on his pillow. Kitty was not home, but he preferred it that way. He knew what was inside even before he cut the string and lifted the lid, examining the so very familiar glow of the crystal. Kicking his shoes off and settling onto the bed, Crow reached into the package, touched the crystal and felt the strange sense of disorientation as the memory took hold.
This time, instead of going completely black, the scene changed around him. He could see colors, bright and cheerful. And his vision was clear, sharp for a good distance. In fact Crow was surprised to note that his vision was almost perfect.
So he hadn’t always been nearly blind. That somehow didn’t surprise him, not from his other memories.
Crow caught a glimpse of his memory self in a window, concentrated on that momentary glance as long as he could. He was younger, shorter. He wore the forehead protector, and some kind of long, black cloak decorated in red clouds. His eyes were red. He was walking next to someone, hugely tall in a similar outfit. Those were the details he noted before his memory had looked away and opened a door into a shop.
Crow felt a strange sense when his younger self entered the building. It was a confectioner’s shop he realized immediately. His memory paused in the doorway, looked up and to the side at his huge companion, and Crow realized with a start that the tall man had to be the gruff voice from his other memories. The man was talking, but Crow couldn’t hear anything.
Not that Crow would have caught his words, too preoccupied with the man’s startling face. He had blue skin and hair, marks like gills on his cheeks and strange, fish-like eyes. The tall man also had the teeth of shark, and a mocking grin to match. He seemed to be laughing at Crow’s memory-self, a smirk that could give children nightmares crossing his face.
Crow noted other details as his memory no doubt replied to whatever the man was saying-the blue-skinned man had painted nails and a huge, cloth-bound sword at his back.
Crow’s memory looked away, walked further into the shop, pausing now and then to touch things. Crow noted his own nails were painted, a ring sat on his finger, the symbol on it familiar. He could read it; it meant crimson.
Pondering the significance of crimson, Crow observed things through his memory’s eyes, surprised at how his younger self lingered over the bright candies. A sense of appreciation, quiet and subdued filled Crow, and he wasn’t sure what part was his memory, and what himself. Crow observed as his memory finally selected an assortment of brightly colored and fancifully shaped candies, and purchased them.
A taste of mint and sugar filled Crow’s senses as his memory sucked on one of the hard candies, one shaped like a leaf. His memory continued to linger in the shop, savoring the sweet taste-Crow could feel the quiet contentment his memory felt. The freedom, for a brief time, from anything but appreciation of the moment, and the colors, and the simple artistry in sugar.
It was with that sense of gentle peacefulness, that Crow came back to awareness of his real surroundings, sight fading, dimming to his short, blurry range, the taste of fresh mint and sweetness lingering, remembered but not real.
It was only several minutes later that Crow noticed his shirt was bright pink. And polka dotted.