lucetilogs | Post-Event Reaction Log!

[Mithos has woken up like this before, with reality sharply slapping him in the face to remind him that he's just been living a stupid dream for the past week. The same room, the same bed... His gut reaction isn't as raw this time. He's learned that he belongs here.

But it's not okay. It's far from okay. He hates being pried apart and altered, given false memories, a false identity...

He hates the lies for being happier than the truth.

He especially hates the lies for making him wish they were real.

Because how could he? How can he be so disgustingly ungrateful as to wish for a world where he barely knows Martel? Where they haven't shared struggles and memories and embraces and tears? Her pain is his pain; his pain is her pain. They can never be severed from each other; the pain can never be severed from him. He promised her thousands of times, in a softly desperate mantra to her still body, that he would never abandon her.

His sister is more important than any happiness.

It's this accursed world that breathes such terrible thoughts into his brain. He hates it...he hates it...

He roughly pushes the covers away and grabs for his crutches to stand up. The only clothes available are the kind of robes he'd been wearing all week; he grabs one and sits back down on the bed to change. His hands fumble with the swaths of cloth, no longer skilled in folding and arranging it just the right way. A woven hair-tie sitting on the bedside table catches his eye; he snatches it up and throws it across the room. Stupid stupid stupid, exposing himself like that in the open and thinking there's nothing wrong with it.

Hoisting himself up again, he makes his way toward the door and out into the hallway.]

[ on the 9th, buffy is going to be incredibly scarce. she has a bucketload of loot to return to one particular pirate and so by about four in the afternoon (and after considerable psyching up and psyching out back at seven), she heads over to cullen house with many many things stuffed into a bag. and many a penitent glance stuffed into her eyes.

but on the 10th she can be seen trying to get back into her general routine. she'll be at the bar and around the shops. she desperately needs to pick up some new clothes -- freetail therapy in the face of dressing like a pirate for the last week. ]

[...He woke up as himself. The self that he was before the experiment, the self he was born in Japan as. The self who failed Saki, the self he didn't have the girl, whose parents hated him, who wasn't the beloved son of a king, who wasn't mentally strong, who was a failure, who'd been tricked by Izaya. The self whose best friend was the leader of his most hated enemy.

The version of himself which was most true but he had wanted it to not to be the case. He had wanted to have been the ward of the king of Omashu. He had wanted what he knew was a falsehood by the end to be true.

I love you.

As he sat there in his own room back in Shikamaru's apartment all but catatonic, willing himself not to break down entirely into a sobbing mess, he stared at the journal. Would she summon him? Would Silver call to gloat about winning the bet? Would one of his friends call to see if he was okay? Would Sokka call to tell him he was right and confirm he'd done nothing with his sister?

No. In fact, the first voice of the morning is Aang, Avatar Aang, the one who had been so important to both him and Katara (particularly Katara) in that last week and who he now had some intuitive understanding about the meaning of to that world now. Something he could never match, something he could never touch. And... and it's selfish (and stupid) to think that any of them would have time for him today when Aang's back and they have their own problems to sort out. He's not even jealous, really, it's just the realization of what he always knew about everyone here being a million miles away from him except maybe Mikado... and he himself had burned that bridge with his best friend.

It's only at that point that he breaks down entirely, choking a sob the journal might pick up before he shuts it to cuddle with Linda (He hopes Linda doesn't hate him) and try to regain some sense of dignity. Some sense of composure. It'll only be harder as his memories from that trip home start to flood in as well.

He'll just be (alone) in his room all of today. He won't leave it. So any visitors or callers will be journal summons or people who come specifically for him. On the 10th, things might be different, but in a very specific way which won't be on this log]

[He was sitting on top of someone's chest as they struggled and wheezed, pulling a wire tighter and tighter around their throat--his arms were thin and he was light, barely able to keep the other boy down. He was back in the Games, in the arena, where he had to kill or be killed. And yet, out of all the people he had to fight, this kid stuck in his mind the most. He'd stared into his eyes for a long time. Longer than most kills would need to require. As he strained to pull tightly, he sees his arms are suddenly muscular, tanned. The boy underneath him is staring at him with two different-colored eyes--he's blond, he's not at all like the boy should have been.

"D-doyle--"

That wasn't his name. Was it? He lingers around in sleep, in the pitch dark, before he finally comes to. That's not good. Everything--no, no, fuck. For one thing, he's stuck with awful things in his head; the memories, most of them, are fading out with time, but some of them remain. Or maybe just refuse to leave him alone.

And secondly, he just nosed into Katniss' privacy, whether he meant to or not. So he gets up, pulls on whatever he has close at hand, and starts off in a daze through town, toward the lake. He'll find her again, and make things...... Dammit all.

And then when he's finally able to return back, he makes a beeline for the bar. Temporary wipe, here. Adele mentioned it, and he walked her home; a temporary repreieve from nightmares. He'll drink until he can't feel his own hands, goddammit. ~~But of course, it won't do him much good at all.~~]

Congratulations, Doyle... [he mutters, finishing another drink] Baby's first real shift.

[Sooner or later he'll manage to get back to his apartment, where everything's been corrected and carried--whether he gets walked home or not, he'll still end up sleeping in the corner of the room.

Dreamless sleeping.]

[On both days, Haruhi will be in her Brigade Headquarters. Not actually in the front room - the front room will have a little gong which says "ring if here for help." She'll be in the back room however. Sitting on her Chief's table and looking out the window. She's not too strongly effected by all this per se but she did get hit by enough that she's feeling pensive.

Either way though in addition to her own sitting there (which she will most of both days) there is a sign planted into the ground outside the HQ:]

COME INSIDE FOR CONSULTATION. SPECIAL DISCOUNT ON ACCOUNT OF EXPERIMENT

[He wakes up and just know. No, those memories aren't his own. They're altered by the Malnosso again.

Heh, what kind of King is he, if he let himself affected like that so easily?

Exiting his room, he walks over to Atsuro's and knock the door.]

...Atsuro?

[The next day, he's slowly getting back into his usual routines. After he went around and check on people he knows. If you're a friend of his, or someone he consider as a friend, chances are you're getting a visit.]

[9th]

[Rue was in a poor mood as she moped around the town Monday morning, having quietly left the house Katniss had insisted she stay in with her and "Uncle Rick". There was nothing nothing against the man, he was nice and friendly and would be a good ally, but he wasn't Uncle Rick and Katniss wasn't herself, and Rue finally had enough of it.

She knew things would go back to normal eventually. Wasn't that what everyone had said and the strange voice on the journal said too? But until things were normal, Rue decided she was going back to treehouse.

On Monday, feel free to spot Rue in and out of the shops, carefully packing a bag full of supplies. Wherever she's going, she's definitely planning for the long-haul and packing with care.]

[...Well, this is... awkward: waking up in a random apartment, suddenly remembering not only that the experiment they'd gone through was false, but... that he'd gone home. To the Promised Day, to the end of his journey. The bizarre alternate reality is shoved to the back of Edward's mind as he flings aside the covers of his bed and moves to get up, but- halfway through, he stops. Looks down.

His arm is automail again.

For a moment, he feels nothing but shock; he'd had it. For a few hours, he'd had it. And then all last week his body had been whole, and he'd indulged in the memories of growing up as someone completely different, with a body uninjured and unchanged. It had been... nice, sure, but with his true memories back, he finds himself not really missing it. He'd gone through too much, learned more than he ever could have in Haruhi's world. That other version of himself had been too carefree. ...And a stalker. Creepy.

But still... automail. Quietly he lifts his arm, studying the joints, the way it moves, the way it feels. Or doesn't feel, rather. The nerves are responsive, the construction perfect as ever, and there's a slight ache in the flesh and bone attached to the metal limb- from the cloudy, post-rainy weather outside, most likely. It's as if Al never returned his arm to him. Like the whole day had never happened.

Taking a deep breathe, closing his eyes, he claps his hand and touches a palm to the automail. With a spark of energy it effortlessly transmutes into a blade.

...Equivalent Exchange, huh...

He knows better to dwell on it- it'll just make him miserable, and in retrospect, he's pretty sure that it's better this way. To have been returned in a body like that, without automail and without alchemy, would have been dangerous. He's stronger like this. It's okay. He can miss it, he can be angry, he can regret, but- ...but. It's okay.

He packs his things and heads out of the apartment, forgetting on the way out why he'd even chosen that one to begin with. He has a few stops to make - check on Winry, check on the Hughes', check on... well, maybe Ling and Ran Fan. Though knowing them they'd find him first. He'll do a bit of pensive wandering around the village, lost in thought, available for bothering.

Once that's done, though, he's going home. To Hohen- ...no.

To his father.]

Edited 2012-04-10 00:23 (UTC)

[Every morning when Grune wakes up, it's with a smile on her face. She's always happy to greet the day; she can't wait to find out what wonderful things it will bring her.

Today is no different at first. She sits up in her bed, her mind full of plans for all kinds of ways to look after....

Her smile slips off her face as her memories tangle around one another. Though her mind is poorly equipped to deal with false and true memories, one fact drops into place: She had never lived in Baron.

And then comes the shower. Cecil was not like a child to her, and neither were Rosa or Kain. She had no family in Baron. The King of Baron had never shown her such kindness--he had never known her. She had not met Rydia as a little girl, she had never helped Cecil on his journey, she had never held Ceodore just after he had been born, never, never, never.

She had her life on the Legacy back. She had Norma and Moses and Chloe and Will and Jay and Senel and Shirley. She had her family again. But where she had gained one family, she had lost another in its place.

She stares blankly at the wall opposite her bed. Then she presses her face into her hands.

Eventually, she dresses and has breakfast, then slowly travels to House 9. After that, she returns to House 34. There, she draws and draws and draws, capturing as many moments as she can of the life she'd believed she had as, one by one, each memory dwindles and fades nearly to nothing.]

Edited 2012-04-10 01:08 (UTC)

[He was having nightmares; clear vivid nightmares of being ill and hungry and crawling in the dark with slimy wet things dragging along his belly.

He remembered this kind of hunger; even though he hadn't lived through it yet, he still remembered it from his older self; the one that came infected...almost killed several friends, almost died from it.

When he wakes up, it's with a strangled sound, with sun in his eyes, and the instincts from his dreams still in full force. He falls off the bed, away from the light, and instinctively tries to ball in on himself and scoot under the bed at the same time.

This is over ridden by other visions; out in the woods, hunting rabbits, grabbing one and tearing it's throat out...

In a sudden burst of movement, he's off the floor and headed for the bathroom, kicking the journal on the floor open as he passes by. He makes it to the door and then has to settle for the waste can there as he vomits, violently, fresh with the horror of knowing he'd eaten a rabbit raw for it's blood the night before.

Later, when he's done, he'll take care of the bucket and its contents and then exit out into the open, wandering aimlessly for a time.]

['......

Well, that wasn't as bad as it could've been, I guess.

...

Is that really what Aikawa's world is like? This explains one or two things. ...Going home was something else, though, but... I don't know if I can think about that just now... Wait a second, Nagato's gone, too? And yet I'm still here...'

With all the thinking overload, Kyon will be hanging out at Brigade HQ all day, except when strolling around the village to get lunch or go home.]

A lot of things had happened in that past week that Selphie could barely begin to process them. The name Michaelangelo lingered in her memory like a bitter tasting medicine. She'd never even met him formally and yet there was that overwhelming sadness that took over Selphie whenever someone she was close to left her behind to go home. She didn't have the tears to cry this time as she sat quietly in her bedroom, holding a teddy bear close to her in the stillness.

She didn't want to talk about things she didn't understand. She didn't want to be around anybody at the moment. Selphie just wanted to be alone with her thoughts as she grabbed one of her notebooks from her school lessons and stuffed it into her bag. She slid her nunchaku into its place on the belt she'd found before she pulled her sweater over her head. She walked without a sound through the house before finding herself in the foyer. She slipped on her boots and jacket and left House 11 for the day.

She walked, alone with her thoughts for hours before eventually she found herself at the dock where the Brittania was moored. She sat down on the dock before pulling the notebook out of her bag along with a pen. As the wind blew through her pigtails, Selphie wrote down her feelings.

Two years in Luceti. Ceodore -- her first love. Earthquakes. Malaria. The drafts. The missions. All those events that she'd forgotten. Having her memories tampered with. All the anger and frustration she'd felt. She wrote it all down and when she felt empty, the closed the book and let it slip from her fingers into the water. She watched it sink with a sad smile before lifting her gaze to stare at her surroundings.

After some time, Selphie rises to her feet and heads back for House 11. This time, she was at peace.

[Vash wakes up in House 38 and rubs at his eyes. With a yawn he takes a moment to consider and think deeply on the ideas of love and peace.

That lasts for less than a second this morning as he realizes - he's in the wrong room. No, not even that. He's in the wrong house. Before the anger at the Malnosso can settle in he's jumping out of bed. Realizing he had gone to bed in nothing but boxer shorts. This had to be fixed before any of his other "housemates" woke up and realized there was a strange man in their house.

Once his scars are hidden again he'll collect the few things he had managed to move into the room, trying to put it back the way he THINKS it was before he temporarily moved in.

If no one is up by then he'll be slipping out and headed to House 5 without saying a word. Which is what he's hoping for, but he's never usually that lucky.

Once his stuff is back where it should be and he dons his familiar red coat again he'll be heading to the flower shop. He's missed seeing the flowers and he also wants to pick up some fertilizer for the flowers at his place.

And of course; he can always be found at the bakery shop, Good Spirits, and Seventh Heaven at random times during the day.]

Edited 2012-04-10 03:41 (UTC)

[ He had thought he had come to terms with his death when it happened--no, long before that, actually. He'd steeled himself, prepared for the chance long before the day his death actually came. It was part of being a Shinobi, he'd figured. Each fight, each mission, each war...it brought you closer and closer to death. It had never stopped him, of course. He would always put in his all. He would fight and fight and fight to the bitter end. Chaotically, when he was younger, back when he'd felt invincible...he learned as time went on, and as an adult he fought with more strategy . With more caution and experience. Not that that changed the fact that he was dancing on a fine line. Like a child playing with fire, hoping to not get burned.

He thought he had come to terms with the chance of dying, and when he had arrived in Luceti, well aware of the fact that he did die. That he most likely wouldn't see his home or friends or loved one's again...well, he'd chosen to not dwell on it. Because he'd always been prepared...right? He'd known the day would come, most likely sooner than later. So why worry? Why dwell on what couldn't be changed? There was no point in it but pointless grief. Pointless regret...and yet as he wakes up, and all his real memories come crashing back, he's suddenly filled with regret.

With regret, and sorrow, and never had his death weighed more than it did now. Hadn't he come to terms with it? He wonders, fingers sliding through his hair as he tries to breathe. Calm down, Asuma, calm down. He needed to sort through everything. Through the false memories he'd been carrying around for the last week, and just what they'd meant. Just what they'd made him realize.

He gets up and paces. Hunts through his Laundry until he finds his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Lights one and paces some more, thinking and thinking and thinking. Finally he hurries to his journal, and flipping it open to a blank page, he locks it to himself and and starts writing: Names--Constance Dove. Clive Dove. Chelmey.--and a short description after each one. Places--The home he'd grown up in. His and Clive's flat. the station--and those, too, have a small description after them. And finally, specific memories--The fistfights at school. Hearing about the explosion. Taking in Clive. Constance's death. Clive's birthday. Teaching him magic tricks and helping him with his school work and comforting him when he was sad--

He doesn't know how long he sits there writing, but by the time he can't think of anything else, the sun is rising and his hand has cramped. He'd written down as much as he could remember--trying to get everything down before the memories lost any more of their color. He could feel them slipping away, seeming less and less...real, in a way. He hadn't been able to remember any of the puzzles. He knew the beginnings of a few, but otherwise they had all but faded from his memories. Along with many faces, places, and voices. He knew everything was fake now, but...

He shoves the book away, leaning back against the wall. Now that he'd gotten what he could written down, he could try and think through it properly. He remembered the real London. The one he'd wound up in on that trip to another world. It had been destroyed by..."the family". Clive had been getting arrested. He had his suspicions about that, but it wasn't the important thing right now. He knew that being there must have set off the last week. The fake memories of a fake life---

And he'd died there too.

But that wasn't what was bothering him, was it? As unfair as it was, it had been similar to his real death. No, it was what he'd left behind. The only family his other self had had--Clive. He'd been like a brother...no. No, he'd been like a son.

...

And that's what hurt about it all, wasn't it? Where the sudden regret came from...it all came from the things he'd left back home. Back in Konoha. Back on his world, and with Kurenai--his child. Someone he would never be able to see...Someone he would never know, never be able to act as a father to, like he'd been able to do with Clive. That's what was bugging him. He'd been given the chance to be a father, and it was a chance he would never get again.

And with that came the weight he hadn't realized was there, and the realization that he hadn't come to terms with his death, not really. He'd just...chosen not to acknowledge it.

But he couldn't really ignore it anymore, could he. Not when he found himself dwelling on it. Trying to figure out ways things could have played out differently. Ways he would have survived and been able to return to the family he might have had. To the woman he loved. To the people he cared about. He should have been more careful. He should have--

He should have done a lot of things.

But he hadn't, and he had nothing to show for it.

He sits there for a while, frowning at his journal, composing himself before he decides to pick it up and take care of a few things.

For anyone that would like to run into him, he'll be at the edge of the forest later that day, sitting under a tree and going through his journal.]

Edited 2012-04-10 04:13 (UTC)

[Ran Fan basically locked herself in her room. She wasn't able to deal with Ling after they... they kiss.

They KISSED!

Well, it wasn't really Ling. It was a different one, but Ran Fan knew it would only be a matter of time before he returned to normal, and she was scared of what would happen when he was.

Dealing with the other Ling was enough trouble. She couldn't even bring herself to see him after she kissed him. If she heard him coming in, then she hid away in her room. If she saw him anywhere, then she took another route. It got annoying, but she wasn't able to bring herself to face him again, so she had to do it. Even though she enjoyed kissing him, she regretted it. Ran Fan wasn't supposed to be in love with Ling. These were the feelings she was trying to rid herself of, but now it felt like they were only growing. How could she get over Ling when she just found herself falling more and more in love with him?

To help deal with everything, Ran Fan began to wear her mask once again. In case she had to deal with Ling, she could cover up her blushing face with her mask. And if the real Ling returned, then she would wear her mask even more, despite promising not to wear it in the house anymore. She wouldn't be able to face him again, knowing that she kissed him, but she was going to have to because there was no way she was going to stop being his bodyguard.

Finding a moment when Ling wasn't around, Ran Fan made her way to the kitchen to make them some breakfast. She would just leave it on the table for him and eat alone in her bedroom. Luckily Knox was getting better and was able to produce some healthy eggs, something she hasn't been able to do for awhile now, so Ran Fan starting making them each an omelette. As she watched the eggs cook, she couldn't help but touch her lips once more, the lips that kissed Ling. She was never going to be able to forget about it now.]

[Obi-Wan will be wandering sort of haphazardly through the village, concentrating. Thinking. Trying to sort out reality from falsehood, genuine emotion from artificial memories of affection.

If anybody saw the video from this morning, it's not hard to guess what he's having the hardest time sussing out.

He'll be in Seventh Heaven a long time, this morning. He's barely touching his tea. Beyond that, feel free to find him anywhere around the village.]

[She takes a long look at Paprika's card after finishing meditating.

Daisy is coping better than the last time this happened. She is starting to be aware that incidents like these would repeat themselves. It all begun to be clear once she noticed there were people that remembered the missing day, and with lives that made more sense than the ones she had.

She was starting to expect another life that was false. What she continued to worry about were the new droids. That they weren't even worried. It unnerves her tactically and strategically for the days that will come.

She grabs an empty notebook she rejected at first prior to her Desert Op. She begins writing down.

Your name is Daisy. You are a Chief Petty Officer. You are a Spartan. You serve the UNSC. You serve humanity. Your service number is S-023. You have the right to choose your fate.

You lived on Sargasso. You then grew up on Reach. Your parents loved you. Your group protected you. Your trainers did not.

Wartime articles demand prisoners to only give name, rank, service number, and date of birth, but it was still too basic to remember more if another shift like this kicks in. She knows the next time it happen she won't understand much. But the reminder of who she is will remain important.

Your name is Daisy. You are a Chief Petty Officer. You are a Spartan. You serve the UNSC. You serve humanity. Your service number is S-023. You have the right to choose your fate.

You lived on Sargasso. You then grew up on Reach. Your parents loved you. Your group protected you. Your trainers did not.

Writing it down every single day. A voice to tell her when is she being lied to. Something to keep her mind sharp. Something not to let anyone tell her she is anything else. Something to remember each, and every day. Something to remember her parents with. Something to say if she is ever imprisoned again.

Your name is Daisy. You are a Chief Petty Officer. You are a Spartan. You serve the UNSC. You serve humanity. Your service number is S-023. You have the right to choose your fate.

You lived on Sargasso. You then grew up on Reach. Your parents loved you. Your group protected you. Your trainers did not.

When she loses her patience, she heads out to the Battle Dome. Inside a simulated version of the MJOLNIR, she tears out throats, severs bodies, destroys anything that comes forward for hours. She continues in silence and isolation until she is too tired to even be angry.

This time, however, she heads to House 51 before returning to her apartment late at night.]

...Not again.

[Is there really anything else that needs to be said? Kain has to sort out his thoughts for a while, so he'll be hanging out on the roof. At least this one wasn't so bad, it's just that he really, really doesn't like having his reality altered.]

A madness shared by two... [Mulder mutters that, before continuing on a lot louder:] Thanks for another smooth trip, guys! Remind me to get a new travel agent for the next one.

So it looks like we got somehow swept into the histories of these other worlds we went to... not unlike something that happened a year ago, but this time it was all fractured, and not a mass shared experience. Did anyone end up with a world history from somewhere they didn't visit?

[He has sooooo much to compile now, and a report to write. Mulder pauses, considering things. The residual sibling-type feelings are strong, so he needs to check up on more than one person, now.]

Reimu... are you back to normal?

And hey, Scully... if I ask real nicely, will you show me your cutie mark? [She thought she was a magical talking PONY, she is never living this down, ever, ever, ever.]

Edited 2012-04-10 07:33 (UTC)

[Waking up to discover that you're Vincent Valentine is never easy.]

[For a while, he'd actually been human. Not cursed with the monsters inside, the immortality and all the mental scars of what he'd been through. True, he'd still had a pretty dark fate, but... somehow it had been easier to bear.]

[Now Vincent is headed to the Battle Dome, and once he gets there he is turning all Galian Beast-y and tearing into some simulations. Anyone is welcome to notice!]

[Having lived with his suspicions about being affected by an experiment for a good part of a week, Albert has been trying to capture as much as he can of his life in writing. Real or not, he wanted the written history to comparison with his past and possible Shift-based memory alterations.

When the corrective Shift takes effect and he is left with a journal and memories that are fading far too quickly, he unconsciously touches where he had previously been wearing an Exsphere. A parasite... Really.

Even as those memories fade, other memories flow in to integrate with what he remembers. A day in a world that was not Luceti. A day exposed to sights and sounds that were not going to be shifted away at a moment's notice.

He spends the 9th near home, contemplating as he tends to his garden.

On the 10th, he heads to the bar and the shops to keep his mind distracted from lingering on distant, shifted memories. Maybe he'll even go to the battle dome to see if driving a simulator helps in any way.]

[Anyone who ran into Chun-Li last week would probably be a bit confused to see her back to her old self so quickly. Waking up, she goes about her routine, putting on her regular clothes, doing a few exercises, and then setting off to the shop for a few notebooks and some pencils.

She'll not forget spending the day with Marco in his world, and while the memories of her 'life' on the Grand Line and her adopted father Whitebeard are still fresh she wanted to write them down. Not because she wished for them to be the truth, but because she wanted to pay tribute to Whitebeard for his kindness. She knew very well now just what Marco had been talking about before. Remembering the good and accepting the bad were things her real father, Dorai, had instilled in her, and forgetting it like a dream was something he'd not want her to do.

When she gets her hands on something to write with, Chun-Li can be found in the plaza, sitting by the fountain and just writing.]

(OOC: Bother her whereever!)

[Okay so Rin is busy on the 9th. Both what is linked there and because of the revelations of what happened back home. He did it, he defeated the Impure King. He drew the sword back home too. He mastered his flames completely ~~probably~~ and he made everything... better. His friends were safe. While he still doesn't want to be in Luceti or Shiemi (or Yukio) to be here either, it is better, knowing it worked out.

...Well aside from "FRIENDS FOREVER" dammit.

So on the 10th, Rin's allowing himself a bit of celebration. Through much of the morning in C1's kitchen you might see him baking a giant cake and then moving that giant cake into the apartment he shares with Shiemi and Yukio and Midori and Skarmy. After that though he'll be taking his own piece to eat outside near the entrance to C1 with Midori in his lap and his sword beside him.

...He did it. Heh.

He'll also send a ping on the journal for that Aoba kid, more as an afterthought than anything]

Edited 2012-04-11 00:15 (UTC)

[He realizes everything the second he breaks awake like a cold snap. It was a Shift. He was affected. His memories had been distorted. And he had been--

F-fuck.

His mind is a raw parade of thoughts and realizations fighting for his attention. This is how it always was after an experiment--shit, that's all it was, an experiment--for him, but goddammit--

This. This was the worst yet. For regardless of how little the actual events in his life had changed, he had been--

had been--

Goddammit. And Rogue was probably still in this house, too--

It's only the early morning hours, but he's tempted to just--go. Leave. Try to cast off his fabricated emotions like he had after the love experiment. He doesn't want to deal with this. He doesn't want to deal with the memories. He doesn't want to deal with the feelings. They weren't real. It'd all been a lie. The fulfillment, the pride, the shared pain, joy, goddamn family--a lie. No, he doesn't want to deal with it. But he has to. It was--

Complicated.

So, instead, he goes to the couch in the living and just...waits. She'll wake up soon enough, right as she should be. But hell if he's not going to be there when she does.

In the days following, he won't be leaving his house much. As per usual post-shift, he'll keep to himself, feverishly outpacing recurring memories with intensified work.]

[Morning already? Hiccup could have sworn he just feel asleep. But Kyle is pulling at his hair and there's sun filtering in through the window--Toothless. Oh gods, Toothless!

Hiccup tears out of the house with Kyle in arms and winds his way towards the backside of house nine as the memories come crashing back in waves and waves. A lot of confusion and emotions come with them, but they aren't enough to override the one central thought dominating his thoughts right now. Oh, please, Toothless, be there...

He couldn't lose him. Not now.

Hiccup skids to a stop behind the house, before barreling headlong into his scaly best pal with an impressive force. The dragon seems annoyed at first, but Hiccup seems especially distraught about something, so, alright. Dragon, dragon-type, and viking hug pile. He can abide by that.]

I-I-I'm so happy to see you, buddy--

[But he can't talk past the lump in his throat anymore. So he just curls up close to his dragon buddies and chokes out sobs, awash with relief.

And then? Things...go back to normal. Well, relatively. If he spots any of his trainer friends, he'll hesitantly stop them--try to explain himself, apologize, figure some things out. Because now he has a whole other life he remembers. And that? Yeah, kind of a lot to deal with.

But at least he has his dragon back. The three of them stay close together all week.]

this drama queen is for Sayo to deal with....

9th (for sparrow) & 10th (for everyone else)