agogelogs | DO BETTER,

Entry tags:

DO BETTER,

WHO? Everybody! Including fourth wall visitors.
WHAT? HRHR and swap shenanigans, among other things.
WHEN? 12 XII, Year 6 of Sanaliel's reign.
ANYTHING ELSE? Please warn for anything besides physical violence and move to a personal journal if it's beyond PG-13.

BE MORE, DO MORE;

check your blood pressure

READ THE LEMURIA INFOPAGE.

STRANGE THINGS ARE AFOOT

You've been in Lemuria a little while now, trying to fit in, assimilate, and survive. But on the dawn of the twelfth day of the twelfth month of Lemuria's third and final season, something strange happens.

You wake, but it's as though your mind isn't your own. Or maybe you stayed up all night and felt the change, in the AM hours before it's so late it becomes early. A mental stirring, a feeling that only gets worse as it goes on, no matter what you tried to do and how you tried to halt it. Whatever the case, you're in its sway: Lemuria has become a hive mind.

Your memories are no longer private. Your powers are no longer your own. The barrier between you and everyone else is gone as easy as thinking. In a flash, just looking at someone allows you to instantly understand their thoughts, or encourages their memories to suddenly become your memories, too. It's instantaneous, like the memory has always been there, like it truly happened for you. Once upon a time, it was tangible.

It isn't a perfect science, however. While the intention is there, what exactly you experience is fuzzier. Your scouts will eventually chalk up the inconsistency of the experience (why do some hold up better against it than others?) to individuality and the BCEs, but who knows, really.

IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?

Stranger still, when you venture out to see the rest of the city, the city is calm and silent, like a perfectly preserved relic or a dream. The average citizen is dead asleep, in their beds or in the streets, whether they collapsed walking, riding a hoverbike, or driving a vehicle.

There are accidents, eerily still besides smoke curling from the wreck, with no paramedics on the scene. When someone dies, they die as unaware as everyone around them.

Besides you, of course.

For anyone who dies, their memories remain out of reach; otherwise, you might very well see the past of any Lemurian citizen you pass. Even if their hopes and misfortunes don't survive with them for the night, they might survive with someone else.

In the midst of the sleeping city, you can try and help those in need. They won't wake up and you'll probably never get a thank you, but bandaging wounds sure would be nice of you.

A CITIZEN'S ADDRESS

Not long after the sun rises, a post goes up on the network:

@ASHOLE | @ALL

something got seriously fucked up holy shit
were doing our best to figure it out but honestly? it seems like some kind of technomagical intercurrent based on hypothetical thaumaturgic mnemomancy
uhhh in laymans terms somebodys fucking with memories but you knew that right?
the thing is theres somnomantic undercurrents as well
only thing i can figure for why were still awake and theyre not is because of the bces
they havent been invented yet, but theyre designed to protect us from things like the sleeping shit
so we arent being affected exactly the same way as the lemurians, either
but thats got its own problems because uh
you know how were undercover spies in a volatile period of time and shit
well we aint the only ones
the regency-to-be has guys hanging around here and they got bces too
vega's already run into a couple

be fucking careful
and for the love of GOD dont go to the bolthole
youll lead them right to us

ill update with better intel as i get it
i have some theories but i wanna run a few tests

I WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT

So despite all the sleeping people and the horroresque quiet, you're not alone.

Walking around in broad daylight is a dead giveaway to Regency spies that you have a BCE. And they will attack. They're dressed as civilians and seem better prepared for the situation, lurking in the shadows and staying out of sight. Some of them may tail you for a very long time before waiting for the right moment to make a move. Some may leap out as soon as you reveal yourself. Each fights with their own style and aim to kill.

They're equipped largely with blasters similar to yours and they don't, for once, have power nullifies. They do have superhuman strength, speed, senses, and healing, so watch out.

Some may engage in conversation, but it's largely of the trashtalk variety. It's not impossible to have a genuine talk with one or two (feel free to NPC them as you like and ask if you need any specific information on something they would or wouldn't say, but really, it's up to you), but it is unlikely. They are consummate fighters.

They're trying to find the source of COST's boltholes around the city, and take out as many COST operatives as possible in the process. Why don't you return the favor?

Ooor maybe you lead them right to the bolthole. Somebody's always gotta be that guy.

I'M A BELIEVER

During all of this (and maybe despite it), there are missions. Their exact timing is up to you; while they take place around the hive mind overtaking Lemuria, they don't necessarily happen during it—barring, of course, the one where you save the day and bring down Fafnir.

You can use this event to your advantage or disadvantage, through gaining someone else's memories or knowledge, or adapting to a set of powers you haven't spent a lifetime honing. The Lemurian people are a silent wellspring of information; even the most oblivious has an intimate understanding of their home and outlying territories that COST can't replicate. And, well, an unconscious person is an easier target than a conscious one.

READ THE LEMURIA INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[[ ooc: memory/power swap comment over here for reference or if other folks want to jump in on it. ]]

i. strange things afoot

[ If there's one thing he's unfortunately used to, it's sharing ugly histories through a mental link. While dreamshare has safeguards in place, protocols to follow in order to keep the subconsciouses of each team member from smashing into each other, it doesn't always work like that. Especially if there's someone going through emotional upheaval.

Or if someone is carrying their guilt around like a ball and chain.

He can be thankful for the full Cobb Experience™, because then that means when he wakes up, head buzzing and mental boundaries lowered, his first instinct isn't to bolt or lose his shit. Instead he goes through his day, carefully avoiding eye contact once he figures out it seems to make those mental barriers even lower. ]

You know, we just came from spider planet, but this is one of the weirder things to happen, personally.

[ Well, it's definitely more uncomfortable. ]

ii. memshare

[ They're as clear as day, the memories. A sharp precision to them that reflects the mind that they come from. But some are a bit surreal; physics don't work the way they should, things are slightly off in certain places and too detailed in others. ]

a. [ You're in a private dining room. There's a wave of lights overhead in distinct lantern shapes, embellished with designs in iron. Along the walls are shoji-like screens in light gold silk, patterned with subtle and inky looking tree branches. In the middle of the room is a long black dining table, glossy top free of smudges or prints, all chairs pushed in neatly.

On one end of the room is a blond man with a manila envelope– Cobb, the memory supplies. Nearby is a Japanese man (Saito, the mark), vocalizing his disapproval. Beside Arthur are two bodyguards, holding him in place, and offset to them is a woman (Mal, who should be dead, who is dead and somehow here in this dream) with chin length hair that curls. In her hand is a gun and it's pointed at Arthur's temple. Her arm is steady.

Cobb puts his own gun down and slides it across the table, disarmed. Mal cocks the hammer back on her handgun. ]

"Ah, there's no there's no use threatening. I'm in a dream, right Mal?"

"That depends on what you're threatening. Killing him will just wake him up. But pain–" [ She shoots Arthur in the leg without looking away from Cobb. ]

"–pain is in the mind."

b. [ It's a warehouse, that's for certain. The inside is slightly musty, maybe from disuse. Scattered around are bits of abandoned furniture, scraps of paper and metal, broken glass. Windows stretch along two sides, the panes dirty and fogged. There's a large garage-looking door, one that pulls to the side to open. In the middle of the room, there are two cars parked, one in front of the other.

Cobb and Arthur are standing just outside of one of them, arguing. Saito's been shot and while it's a dream, they're heavily sedated. It means they won't wake up if they die in the dream– unprecedented. Instead, they'll drop into limbo, where they'll basically be stuck forever. Which means when the timer on the PASIV runs down and the should wake up, they'll essentially be vegetables.

And Cobb? Well, he simply didn't tell any of them this was a possibility. Gambling with their lives. ]

c. aka: the memory you've all been waiting for [ The hallway is a very neutral beige. Fairly lengthy, as most hotel hallways can be, and lined with darker wood doors, the handles modern. Arthur's struggling with another man in a suit, pinned against one of the walls. There's one more besuited man down the hall, looking ready for a fight.

Suddenly, the entire scene tips on its axis, as though it's being physically tilted to the side. Arthur's able to toss his attacker off of him, over the corner at the end of the hall. With gravity skewed, he falls down that corridor with a yell and Arthur has to climb up the edge and onto one of the sides with the doors to get back on even footing.

That other attacker, having gotten over his confusion at the shift, takes that as his cue to go for Arthur. The ensuing fight is dizzying, as the hallway continues to rotate, both men struggling to keep their feet under them.

More used to the shifting strangeness of physics in a dream, Arthur seems to have less of a problem with it, keeping his balance even as what counts as the "floor" cycles.

The fight continues in one of the rooms, door slammed open by the weight of two bodies hitting against it. Gravity still in flux, it's essentially a grapple between them, a loose handgun skittering off the bed and onto the floor, sliding around as the room moves. Eventually, Arthur gets it in hand, pulls the trigger, and the room stops its rotation, everything as still as the now-dead man beside him on the carpet. ]

iii. wildcard
[ Want to meet him while the rest of the city is asleep? Or maybe fight off some Regency agents together? Be my guest! Feel free to hit me on disco: vaulkner#5915 for plotting if needed. ]

[ Safer to meet by night, and they're both mindful of such things: they agree on a restaurant storeroom, a place they've never been and are unlikely to revisit. As on Jhashch, it hasn't taken much for order to collapse—William might wonder about it, whether upheaval follows wherever COST goes, if he could just pin down his thoughts. If he could stop himself from plunging into other lives, his mind from blotting up other memories.

He's kind of a mess, he'd be the first to admit.

The room is dead silent, even as William steps forward. He tugs an earbud from one ear and the ragged tail-end of a breath is abruptly audible. ] That was a dream, wasn't it? [ Whatever he'd planned on saying, it's forgotten. He recalls the lacquered surface of the table: somehow the whole thing has that texture. A glance down at his own leg, then his gaze flicks to Arthur, sharp but not piercing. ] A memory of a dream?

[ It's been a bit of a back and forth between the two of them, but not a bad one. If there's one thing that Arthur can give William credit for, it's that he pays attention to the details.

So, as planned, they meet in the storeroom of a restaurant after night falls. Not really a permanent solution, but one for the moment that serves them well.

There is one little bitty snag (ha). Like the aliens who'd eaten the coolant on the ship, Arthur's felt as though he's been dreamwalking. Dreamshare but awake and not everything is a dream. A lot of it, he thinks, are memories. One mind to the next and he has to be careful not to linger in spots too long, otherwise he ends up sinking into a memory. Getting lost in someone else's life.

He wonders if this is how Eames feels, when he forges.

More used to coming out of a dream (or memory) than most other people, he blinks himself back into the current, feeling a bit of twinge where he'd been shot. Or wait, not him, but William, who is looking at him sharply. Arthur follows his glance down to his leg, putting the puzzle pieces together. ]

Yes. It's not– [ How does he even start? ] –important, really.

[ He nods along, but his eyes stay on Arthur's another moment or two. Maybe he won't need to ask, maybe it'll come rushing up to meet him.

The moment drags out, and finally William tears himself away to lean against an empty (they're all empty—the only food left is spattered on the floor and starting to stink) shelf. He plucks the remaining bud from his ear and begins winding the cord carefully around two fingers. ]

What happened? [ He can rationalize it as relevant—the job-interview standby of obstacles overcome—but the mission's merely an afterthought.

Really, he just wants to know how it ended. ]

Was yours a dream?

[ He has to know. Because it doesn't make much sense otherwise, even with his friend explaining something about "Westworld". A simulation?

Of course, he can't expect William to just drop the subject, since they're similar that way. Dig for the information, pay attention to the details. Arthur mirrors his motion and leans against the opposite counter, frowning. ]

After? I woke up on a separate dream level. Cobb and I had built it to be two layers deep. You die on one level and you just get kicked up to the next one.

Mine? [ His hands stop their work. William looks away, a hitch in his breath as it echoes back: the woman trembling in his arms, the fear still in her eyes as she looked up at him. ]

Now's not really the time. [ His voice is soft, but it doesn't leave room for argument. It's complicated—another snippet of memory intrudes on the thought, a blonde woman all in white who regards him as though absorbed by his every word and gesture.

All our hosts are here for you.

He pockets the ear buds, touches a hand to his neck. He'd meant to ask about the woman, the specter of a woman looming over Arthur's memory, but it seems too sensitive. ] You get used to it?

Don't be unfair.

[ In another place and time, that could sound like complaining or whining. Here, he thinks he's perfectly within his rights to ask for some tradeoff. William doesn't get things out of him for free. ]

The dying or the getting injured? [ He pauses, staring down at his shoes for a second before dragging his gaze back up. ] Can't really say you get used to dying, but it's sudden enough that it becomes easier to shake off. Getting injured though... no, the pain sticks with you, no matter how long you've been doing it.

[ William's mouth doesn't twist but his thoughts do, sardonic a moment. When he speaks, though, it's with careful gravity. ] If I could tell you, I would. [ This time the memory begins as sound: a pained gasp, an old man's mouth working the air as hopelessly as a fish's.

Blood pooling on white cloth. A knife driven through a hand, William's eyes drawn to it over and over. His revulsion. His sympathy, an answering twinge in his own hand. His paralysis.

Another sound, a meaty thud. A feeling of free-falling dread, as though it'll never stop—the noise. As though he'll never have to collide with the knowledge of what it means. ] But when are circumstances fair.

[ He regards Arthur steadily, searchingly, his interest undiminished. There's more than a trace of regret when he says: ] We should probably talk about what it is we're here to talk about.

Your partner said you...I don't know, toured her mind. What was it like?

[ It's frustrating, to have something so close at hand, an answer nearly there and then tugged away. But something passes over William's face and the memory washes over them both, staining just as thoroughly as the blood on cloth. ]

Some other time. [ He'll ask again, because William has a point. They have something to do, despite a million questions between them. ]

Yes. I'll be honest, it was pretty broken. Like someone had taken a sledgehammer to a mirror and tried to put it back together. [ And that was the nicest way he could explain it. ] Some of her memories are clearly planted, for loyalty to the Regency. Her real self was so buried it was difficult to make out what she actually remembered versus what she thought she knew.

[ A hot fucking mess. ]

One thing was fairly certain– she's really attached to her sister.

[ A shattered mirror. His chest feels tight. William glances down at his hands, wondering what the mind of the man he'd briefly been—a man consumed by order, who saw the world as a shifting pattern—would have looked like from the outside. ]

Well, that was in the briefing. [ Not an admonishment—he's watching Arthur intently, sure there's something else. Having glimpsed Arthur's dreamscape—that long table, the low, tasteful lighting—he's confident even a fractured mind would reveal more than words in a file. ] What kind of a bond is it? Was she there?

Familial, but strong. On both sides, it seemed like. They felt like partners in crime in a way.

[ Siblings who did everything together, inseparable. All their social media activities are driving that point home. ] Her sister was there, but it was difficult to make out much of her personality aside from the two of them sharing similar ideals. Things would just come fading in and out in that memory, it was completely warped from her being written over.

[ All in all, they hadn't gotten as much as he'd been hoping for. But not everything could be a success. ] Maybe if we'd gone down one more level, we could've uncovered something her subconscious kept hold of. Wasn't going to risk it, though, since three levels was already pushing it and it was all ready to collapse if we even breathed too hard.

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DO BETTER,

Arthur | Inception

iia! let's get this hrhr on the road

YEEHAW

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