Velvet Room Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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personavelvetroomdr2024-11-21 04:38 pm
vrdr_mods) wrote in personavelvetroomdr2024-11-21 04:38 pm
Entry tags:
[EVENT] Memory Tapes
On the morning of November 21st, denizens in the Velvet Room will awake to a message on their phones or by their bedsides in an envelope. Perhaps even on their computer screens.
Greetings! If you've received this message, then you've been selected as a participant in a new activity to strengthen bonds within this community.
In order to facilitate connections with your fellow residents, we advise you to watch this video. Watch it and return the tape to its rightful owner. If you lacked the means to watch VHS tapes before, we have provided you with the necessary equipment.
Failure to do so may put your own memories at risk. Do not be selfish, lest you find yourself struggling to recall crucial moments of your life. You have no way of knowing which memories have been shared, so ask yourself if it is worth the risk to selfishly hoard another's secrets.
They will soon find a VHS tape, with a case that gives off a soft, blue glow to symbolize its importance. If they lack a TV or VCR, they will find one in their living space.
What they do is up to them, but they should heed the warning, if they value their own memories.
[For links to characters' memories, please see this post in the OOC comm. Have fun!]
Greetings! If you've received this message, then you've been selected as a participant in a new activity to strengthen bonds within this community.
In order to facilitate connections with your fellow residents, we advise you to watch this video. Watch it and return the tape to its rightful owner. If you lacked the means to watch VHS tapes before, we have provided you with the necessary equipment.
Failure to do so may put your own memories at risk. Do not be selfish, lest you find yourself struggling to recall crucial moments of your life. You have no way of knowing which memories have been shared, so ask yourself if it is worth the risk to selfishly hoard another's secrets.
They will soon find a VHS tape, with a case that gives off a soft, blue glow to symbolize its importance. If they lack a TV or VCR, they will find one in their living space.
What they do is up to them, but they should heed the warning, if they value their own memories.
[For links to characters' memories, please see this post in the OOC comm. Have fun!]
no subject
"Shut the fuck up," he snarls at the cognition. Yes, he knows alright, he's seen exactly what the robot said on the network. But right now? He'll take a potential body snatcher who's trying to fight back against Maruki to the active fucking threat trying to brainwash both of them.
"This better fucking work," Kou hisses, and he slaps his hand into Kira's.
CLAP!
no subject
Stuck in a nightmare, forever stuck in an endless nightmare. Corvus's words draw a single line in his head- the possibility of it not working. It should work, he has done it once with Futaba unless Igor decided to-
CLAP!!!
The world warps around them. Twisting and turning as a loud sudden screech spears right through his ears.
Youuuuu willl payyyyyyyy-! That voice echoed and scratched like the long drawn out eeek of a chalk running across a dry blackboard. The world warped into a strange dark abyss with flashing green eyes staring down at them and then--
Home.
Kira, still having his clutched tightly by Corvus- dropped down on the floor in a flash- shoes screeching against the wooden floor of his hotel room as they are dropped right into the middle of it all. A single one bedroom hotel with a running monitor placed on the study table- showing multiple footages of areas across Tokyo, a ransacked room with a few open drawers that stowed away the weapons and a wide arsenal Akira was clearly in a rush of searching through.
None of that seemed to matter anymore. The first time Akira had used his powers of jumping through time- his mind was disoriented beyond relief. He steps ahead and leans over the chair- catching his breath as he drops his bag to the floor. "..."
"...You alright?"
no subject
It's only for a moment though, and after what feels both like maddening eternity and less than a second... they're out.
Kou stumbles, clutching Kira's hand for a moment to keep his balance. They're out of Maruki's Palace (hopefully- he's not wearing his Metaverse outfit anymore. They have to be, right?), but he's still on high alert, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Glancing around the room, he realizes it's a hotel room- one that's been thoroughly ransacked and adjusted to someone's needs.
Kira's needs, he realizes. This must be where he's been staying.
He blinks when Kira lets go of his hand, quickly snatching his own back. Even if this is Kira's home, he's not quite out of fight-or-flight mode, still breathing heavily. He barely hears Kira's question.
The tape. Where's the tape?
"My- my tape," he says, jittery as he pats himself down, "where is- where's my-"
He breathes a sigh of relief, calming visibly as he pats the front pocket of his hoodie, only to be met with something hard and square, immediately fishing it out. It is, indeed, his tape- the one Maruki stole from him, the one he held hostage in favor of...
He's been holding himself together remarkably well, all things considered. But, now that he's coming down from it all, adrenaline slowly leaving him- everything Maruki said and did, everything he was forced to live through-
It comes crashing into him at once- the horrific images of Goro, the anger, the grief, the regret of letting Goro kill himself again for the sake of reality, the guilt of that thought alone, the temptation that Maruki's offer brought. His breath catches, and he staggers- only managing to not fall by virtue of his knees hitting a bed, catching him as he drops on his ass, cradled around the tape. Palnatoke worries in his mind, but he can hardly hear it over his own heartbeat, over his own whirling thoughts.
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants- he wants-
But Kira's still here. Kira, who's seen at least some of the worst shit in his life- and he, in return, awful secrets he's sure Kira never wanted to share. It wasn't much, but enough to paint a picture- one Kou's unable to properly think about right now.
It is only by virtue of not being alone that Kou doesn't break down, right then and there, his expression shuttered into a careful neutral. His eyes are still red. He's still shaking.
"... I'm fine," he answers, belatedly. It's a blatant lie, but if Kira doesn't call him out on it, he won't call Kira out on his own objective lack of being fine, either. "You?"
no subject
But he had seen it.
His heart twisted at the memory of the cognitive Goro—of Maruki—who had been ready to kill his own twin brother. That was Maruki?
Maybe he should be more concerned. Maybe he should be picking apart what they just saw, analyzing it, preparing for whatever fresh hell awaited them next. But his thoughts kept circling back to that child. The cognition of himself—wild-eyed, wrong, golden ichor dripping like tears.
He had seen it before.
He had never heard it scream like that before.
But Akira knew himself well enough. If he let himself really think about it, let it sit—he’d start spiraling. And between the two of them, someone had to keep the mood light before they both lost their damn minds.
So when Corvus blatantly lied about being fine, Akira only let out a quiet, hollow laugh—half amused, half resigned. He gave the other boy a lazy thumbs-up, as if they had just survived an especially bad group project and not a nightmarish, soul-crushing reality-warping hellscape.
“Brain’s still catching up to me,” he finally muttered, kicking his bag further into the chaos of the room before making his way over to the bed. Yes, it was an Olympic queen sized bed, a perk of just grabbing whatever room you wanted from a cognitive hotel.
He barely paid attention to that fact as he all but collapsed face-down onto the mattress beside Corvus, letting out a muffled groan of relief. The sheer exhaustion pulled at every inch of his body, and for a brief, blissful second, he let himself sink into it.
Then he noticed the blood—his blood—smearing against the sheets.
“Ugh.”
He sighed, bringing a hand up to his nose, feeling the sluggish warmth of a shallow nosebleed. Just his luck. First time-jump injuries, then cognitive nightmares, and now he was going to have to do fucking laundry? Amazing.
Still, he didn’t move. Just shifted onto his side, using the hem of his already-ruined shirt to halfheartedly dab at the blood while keeping his eyes lazily trained on Corvus.
“Seriously, though—how’s your arm?” he asked, voice quieter now but laced with something almost genuine. “Time jumps aren’t exactly forgiving on injuries. The pain of your past wounds can do this funky little nostalgia trip in your brain.”
His grin turned wry, self-deprecating. “Actually- scratch that. It’s super nostalgic.”
CW: vomit
Kou should probably be more concerned about that, after everything they've both endured, but- fuck, he can't find it in himself to be. He's much, much too busy keeping himself from falling apart, and if Kira's not concerned, why should he be? It's kinda gross, the way Kira smears the blood on the bed first, and then wipes it off with his sleeve, but- fucking whatever. They both look like absolute shit. It's only by virtue of having a magical outfit change in the Metaverse that Kou's own clothes aren't thoroughly ruined, probably.
A noise he intends to be a chuckle leaves his throat, but it sounds more like a held-back sob. He forces himself to swallow a few times, blinking his eyes to force the tears back.
"I hardly feel it," he says, after a moment- which is true. He hardly feels anything at all, numb all over. If he's in physical pain, he's unaware. He's fairly sure he'd hardly even notice a bullet wound, now.
He swallows again.
Nostalgic. That's one way to describe things.
His nose feels clogged, he thinks. He blinks away more tears, refuses to let them fall. His breaths are still uneven despite his best efforts. He should also probably care a little more about the whole 'time jump' thing, but again- Kou can't bring himself to care. Not when he feels like he's at the edge of an abyss, teetering and fighting not to fall.
He looks at the splatter of blood on the sheets, and suddenly, he feels nauseous. Something rises in his throat, and he swallows and swallows, but it refuses to go back down. The shakes increase, cold sweat dripping from his face, his saliva tasting sweet, for just a moment-
Lightning-fast, he scrambles off the bed for a nearby trash can, nearly faceplanting but catching himself on his knees, and he's just in time before his stomach empties itself, and then some. Multiple waves wash over him, again and again, horrible noises of misery echoing from his mouth.
... When he's finally done, he notices Kira hovering near him. He's shaking even harder than before, and his mouth and throat burn, just a little.
"... Shit," he coughs, after a few seconds. "Sorry."
Re: CW: vomit
He just watches.
Sees the way Corvus swallows over and over again, his body trembling despite his best attempts to mask it. The way his eyes stay fixed on the blood staining the sheets, like it's some kind of trigger, something prying apart whatever fragile hold he has left on himself.
Then, like lightning, Corvus bolts.
Akira’s mind stutters, lagging behind his body as he lifts his head, blinking hard through the dull ache forming behind his skull. He barely processes what’s happening before Corvus is half-tripping over himself in his rush to the trash can—
And then he hears it.
The wet, gut-wrenching retch.
Akira is up in an instant. Vaulting off the bed, leaving exhaustion behind like it never existed, and closing the distance in just a few steps.
By the time he reaches Corvus, he hesitates.
Because—what is he even supposed to do?
They’ve known each other for, what, a handful of hours? This is only the second time they’ve ever spoken. And sure, Akira had been the one to pull him out of that hell, but that doesn’t mean Corvus is comfortable with him—doesn’t mean he wants him here, seeing him like this, shattered and shaking and completely vulnerable.
Akira should give him space.
Should turn around, let him get through it alone, pretend he didn’t just hear the sound of someone trying and failing to keep themselves together.
But then another wave hits.
And Corvus chokes on a sob, his entire body heaving forward, gripping the sides of the trash can like a lifeline.
And—yeah. No. Fuck that.
Akira kneels beside him immediately.
He keeps a careful distance at first, watching the way Corvus trembles like a wire pulled too tight, his face ghost-pale and covered in cold sweat. Akira’s been in that position before. He knows the raw, miserable burn in his throat, the way the nausea comes in cruel, endless waves of sometimes all too pure agony when he sees another life he can't save. Another life that he can only witness as the audience to a movie, except there's no one in the cinema hall and the cinema hall is crafted to the size of his damn body and he's trapped in that body until he claps. Claps away that noise. The dulling sensation of being thrown into a movie with a script in your head but the control in his brain—knows that if Corvus is still shaking this much, he’s not done yet.
Akira doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react to the mess, doesn’t let any trace of disgust cross his face. (Not that he would, anyway—this is nothing compared to the things he’s seen, the things he’s felt when diving into people’s memories or pasts.)
Instead, he shifts a little closer, his voice soft, sincere in a way he rarely lets show.
“Hey, hey—just breathe,” he murmurs, rubbing slow, steady circles into Corvus’s back. “It’s okay. Nothing to apologize for.”
His hand is warm. Grounding.
He lets a beat pass before continuing, voice still quiet, careful. “You think you’re done, or is it still coming up?” He’s already scanning the room, already trying to piece together what Corvus might need. “Do you need water? Something to rinse your mouth out?”
Re: CW: vomit
Kou despises it with all his might, tries to glare- but he can't. He can't. Wrung out like a dirty dishrag, both emotionally and physically, all he can do is sit there, stewing in his own misery over a trashcan, waiting for another wave to come. He tries to swallow the horrid taste out of his mouth. Ugh. He's pretty sure there's some in his nose, too. He fucking hates this.
But no more comes, and carefully, he lets himself fall on his ass, exhaling. He wants to scream. Or maybe he wants to sleep until all this blows over, and they can pretend this never happened.
"... Some water would be nice," he mutters, wrinkling his nose as he gets a look at the contents of the trashcan. Ugh, what a nasty mess.
Weakling. You've seen and done so much worse.
He hates that Kira can see him like this. Hates it, hates it, hates-
It's the only thing he can do to keep him from fully breaking down, from bursting into tears and screaming for a brother who'll never come. This is bad enough already. (Only Goro- only Goro ever got to see him like that, was allowed, trusted with it- and Goro's not here anymore.)
He needs to pull himself together. He needs to leave. He needs to get home and- he doesn't know. Sleep this off. Break down in the privacy of his own bedroom. Not in front of Kira- Kira, who already saw him at his lowest, who saw some of his worst nightmares- and he some of Kira's, in turn.
What a pitiful fucking duo they are. He almost wants to laugh.
"... I'll clean it up," he says, rising to his feet. He still feels horribly unmoored, wavering a little.
no subject
But that doesn’t mean he’s leaving.
Corvus was all alone in Maruki’s labyrinth, trapped with his pain, without anyone to pull him out. Akira had seen it—had felt the crushing weight of it when their memories had brushed against each other’s. The emptiness.
The hopelessness.
The endless looping despair.
And Akira’s not about to let him sit with that again.
So when Kou asks for a glass of water, Akira nods wordlessly. He waits a beat, making sure Kou’s not about to tip over, then backs up and makes his way to the hotel room’s small kitchenette. He grabs a clean glass from the cabinet, rinses it thoroughly under the faucet, and fills it three-quarters of the way with cool water.
By the time he returns, Kou is on his feet, a little unsteady but upright. When he mutters, “I’ll clean it up,” and starts to move toward the trash can, Akira’s eyes narrow slightly, and he steps in before Kou can do anything else.
“Whoa, whoa—you are not doing any of that,” Akira says, voice laced with exasperated tone. He sets the glass down on the room’s work table and places a firm but gentle hand on Kou’s arm, grounding him once more.
“And if you force yourself to move too fast, you’re just gonna give yourself a migraine. Trust me. I speak from experience.” He flashes a crooked grin—something light to take the edge off the moment—and then pulls his hand away again.
Without giving Kou a chance to protest, Akira side-steps quickly, positioning himself between Kou and the trash can like some sort of human shield. As if blocking the sight of it could erase the whole ordeal.
Then he grabs the glass, turns back to Kou, and holds it up for him to take. His eyes soften just a little. “Here. Take it slow.”