not so easy, is it?
Here's an Eorzean twist on the Memory Share Meme!
For whatever reason, your character is going to see an Echo-style vision of your thread partner's past! It can either be voluntary or involuntary (on both characters' parts; maybe discuss things OOCly first), and your thread partner may see your character's past as well, depending on what you two arrange. Mind melds, hyperresonance, the Echo, gods suddenly forcing it on you, whatever. You may experience the memory like it's happening to you, or you may experience it as though spectating it. Maybe it changes your relationship forever, maybe it catches you out in a lie. In any case, now you know something about each other you probably won't ever forget...
1. Top level your character. Include any details you might think are relevant, like what memory they would be sharing. Or don't, we're not the cops.
2. Reply to other people's top levels!
As always, tag out and have fun!
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
valoirs
Athala Hunter | Angry Axe Adventurer
Also open to receiving memories
Aragibal Kha | definitely a Very Serious Fellow
Aragibal just finished getting the fire going as a gentle Yanxian breeze picked up - camp was finished. Athala and the rest of the party was settling down, each kinda doing their own thing. He could see Athala sitting on the other side of the fire, doing whatever she was doing. Ara stretched and relaxed, for once not forcing Athala to engage with him while he mulled over his history in Doma and how his friends had been treated.
no subject
She shudders, skin damp and chilled from the prevalent, dense sea fog that had drifted onto Aleport that eve like cold, cloying tobacco smoke. Frankly the weather was miserable and she was miserable. The cold was horrible but then it had to be wet cold as well...
Her heart was racing as she ghosted through the settlement, flinching back whenever another person loomed out of the fog. Her fingernails dug into her palms, unable to relax at all despite her exhaustion, her mind a constant stream of 'Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe, unsafe.' A feeling which only magnified as she carefully drew closer to the glowing orange lights of the tavern and the rowdy, drunken singing and shouts of the sailors housed within. Atha dithered outside, her hate of the cold warring with her fear of the crowd inside, churning her stomach and adding to her general feeling of unwellness that she can't remember ever fully leaving her.
Finally, the smell of cooked meats coaxes her into the building, flinching and ducking around the mostly drunk rabble. Small, eyes down, curl in, be unseen. It did nothing to stop the eyes turning towards her as she shuffled towards the bar, sometimes she cursed her height, all those instances where life would have been easier if she was just smaller.
Athala locked her eyes to the bartop when the Innkeep came over, the Midlander shouting in a heavy La Noscean accent to be heard of the din of the inn’s patrons. Athala rigid as she has to shout in return to give the man her order, her own voice feeling jarring against the natives, a clear marker of her heritage. If she could shift the cursed accent she would, they would be searching for an Ala Mhigan after all…
The minute Athala’s order was placed in-front of her she yanked the plate a mug into her grasp, eyes darting around her, possessiveness knotting in her chest despite the tired frustration at her own actions. This wasn’t Ala Mhigo, the others here were all paying customers but what if, this was the result of some of the last of her gil afterall and the food was fresh, it would have been a ripe and tempting lure. Dangerous. Atha tucks herself into a quiet table as close to the main fire as she can manage without exposing too much of herself to the rest of the room, however, as soon as she sits down all her focus is on the food, the desperation familiar as she starts scarfing it down at unhealthy speeds, the tension and the worry that the food would be taken before she could eat a decent amount driving her.
A shadow falls over her and Athala freezes, heart hammering a malm a minute, no movement, barely taking breath around her food. Whoever the figure was laughed, loud and drunken as he moved closer. Athala didn’t dare move, fervent prayers that this stranger was not going to talk to her.
“I had wondered what sort of woman would have such a unique voice, and laying eyes on you now I underestimated just how lovely you would be!” The man’s voice was loud and deep, but his words were slurring slightly as he started flirting loudly with her. Not that Athala heard what else he had to say as her breaths got shorter, her chest tight and her mind starting to white-out as her fight and flight response kicked into overdrive, energy flooding her limbs that just left her shaking as she remained frozen. Her eyes caught movement and she jolted up from her seat as the man was reaching out of her and Oh gods the man was huge, much taller than many Highlander men she had seen, shoulders wide and arms well muscled, but it was his face that made Athala feel sick with fear. Glowing, alcohol-filmed eyes were locked on her, the orange like of the fire glinting off of horns and dark, dark scales. And that was when Athala realised that as horrible as the Ala Mhigan Incident had been...this was worse
That was all it took for all that pent-up adrenaline to kick into action as she pushes him away from her with a yell, the sound cracking as her fear tried to strangle her vocal cords. He stumbled backwards a fulm or two but righted himself far quicker than any drunk had the right to, straightening to his full height, an unhappy frown on his face. “Well that was uncalled for lovely lady.”
Athala moved, instinct overtaking completely, mind still blank with fear as she reaches for the weathered axe strapped to her back, swinging it powerfully at the man, who manages to dodge at the last minute. Athala swings again and again, focusing everything on her axe and that desperate need to make him leave her alone. But again the scaled man dodges, pulling out his own, large sword from his back, and as he parries her strikes Athla comes to the horrifying realisation. He was good. Really good. Even drunk off his arse, he still managed to parry every swing of her axe. Panicked tears prickle at the corner of her vision as she forces more strength and energy into her blows and eventually the man with the horns starts slipping up. More and more of her blows start making their way past his guard, her shouts cracking in her throat as she eventually knocks the blade from his hand and cracks how across the head with the flat of her blade, the man tumbling to the floor like a brick shit-house, unconscious and bloodied.
Athala stares at him, chest heaving, limbs shaking as the fight leaves her, tears building in her eyes in its wake as she is unable to look away from the blood starting to seep from some of his wounds. Breath catching in her throat she flees, slamming out of the door of the inn and heaving outside in the cold air, the stinging feeling of bile causing her eyes to water more as it moves up her throat. Her whole body continues to shake as she finishes throwing up as she starts to sob, her body’s reaction defaulting in the wake of her terror. She shakily makes her way up the hill from the tavern, using the last of her gil to grab a Chocobo Courier to Limsa Lominsa.
As the bird makes its way towards the city, Athla continues to shake and cry into its feathers with the patheticness of it all. She was pathetic. She hated it. Slowly, ever so slowly, as the chocobo got further away from Aleport that terror and panic morphed, heat starting to seep through Athala as she took herself in. She was angry, furious at how she was feeling, how small she had once again felt. But no more! she would let herself feel that way no longer. No longer would she hide from others. She would show them that she was strong, that she wasn’t to be toyed with. She cradles that feeling of anger, empowering it and feeling it grow as she continues on to Limsa…
no subject
Young. Strong. Full of life. Happy, despite his experience in Doma. Glad to be home.
Young. Strong. In love.
There she was: mending clothes, by chance. She noticed Aragibal’s return and he saw a hint of a smile on her face. Warmth bloomed in his chest and spread through his entire body. Happiness. Love. That was the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He passed off the bara to be processed, then went and joined her, helping her mend clothes. They talked about what each other had done that day.
The memory blurred and resumed with them getting in bed. She curled up against him, absolutely tiny in comparison, resting her head on his chest as he put an arm around her and pulled her close. She told him she had to go to the Oronir tribe to deliver something the following day and she just remembered to tell him. That was alright - it would give him a chance to gather all of the necessary things to propose to her when she came back. The memory blurred again - he was hugging her tightly and spinning her around, giving her a kiss before setting her down. He was seeing her off on her trip. She was going alone, but Aragibal had no worries - she was a strong warrior. He watched her leave, proud as could be.
The memory faded in and out, sputtering and cutting through the details of gathering all of the appropriate traditional objects for the proposal - the quality of the memory changed from absolute clarity to be a little more grainy.
It had been a few days, but there she was: Xorxoi Kha, sun and moon of his life, the stars in his sky. He couldn’t help but run out to meet her, picking her up in a tight hug, spinning her around as he was wont to do. He gave her a kiss and set her down, asking her how the trip was - he was met with an unusual stoniness. Perhaps the trip hadn’t gone as planned, but that was alright! After dinner he was going to propose - certainly that would cheer her up! Aragibal’s parents had prepared her favorite to celebrate her safe return and to lead up to his proposal. Xorxoi was apathetic and listless throughout, though she did her best to put up pretenses. She was not willing to give details on the trip and how it went. Certainly things could not have gone that poorly? What offense did the Oronir give to make her so unsettled she couldn’t be family like she had been? Dinner dragged on.
Aragibal walked with Xorxoi in silence to their dwelling, uncomfortable, but excited. With every step closer to their bed he could feel what was like a small firecracker exploding inside, his excitement becoming palpable by the time they reached their room. Xorxoi began to mechanically get ready for bed as always, but Aragibal reached out and gently caught her arm, gently catching her attention. He took her small face in both of his hands, cradling her so gently.
“Xorxoi. We have been together since I have returned from Doma. We were friends as children, trained together under our leaders. I taught you some of the ways of the strangers - as much as you let me.” He could feel tears in his eyes from how happy he was. He gently stroked one of her cheeks with his thumb. He loved this beautiful woman so much. “It would be my absolute honor if you would join your life with mine from now to the end.” He pulled out the items he had gathered and offered them to her, falling to a knee just to match her height so she didn’t have to strain to look up at him any longer. “Please live with me and hunt as my partner for the rest of our days.”
Silence. She didn’t move. He hesitated - certainly she was just so overjoyed with the proposition she didn’t know what to do with it. The silence grew. Something started to chip away at his heart.
“Xorxoi? Please, say something.”
She didn’t even look pained. She had no regrets on her face, no sorrow. It was almost mechanical. She shook her head, speaking matter of factly. “No, Aragibal.”
He could feel something inside of him start to break.
“Wh-... What do you mean, Xorxoi?”
“I mean no, Aragibal.”
“N-... No to what?”
“The proposal.” She motioned at him with the next statement, disgust creeping into her voice. “This. You.”
He was silent, the realization setting in. He felt sick and light-headed, about to collapse. “W-what happened? Wh-wh-what did I do wrong?”
Her demeanor was still flat, her affect still matter of fact, somewhat disgusted. “I was never really that into you, Aragibal. How you never saw that I will never understand. You are so full of yourself, thinking you’re really something just because you convince the outsiders-” she spat the word “-to train you. It’s pathetic. You try so hard and achieve so little. You’ll never be worth anything.”
Was the entire world spinning? Why did his chest feel so tight? Had it always been this hard to breathe? He felt like he was choking…
“Wh-what changed? Xorxoi, I don’t… Understand…” Every word was a battle. He could feel tears spilling onto his cheeks.
“I met the man who will win Naadam and rule our people. Magnai Oronir. He took quite an interest in me while I was there. I plan to go back on the morrow and never come back.”
There was a silence. Aragibal didn’t understand.
“The Kha will never amount to anything, Aragibal. I need to climb if I am to get anywhere. And anywhere does not involve you. Get out of here. You can come back when I am gone.”
Aragibal shakily stood, doing his best not to sway and to keep breathing. He said nothing as he dropped the items from his hands. He gathered his armor and sword and stood at the entrance of the tent. He looked back to her, tears still going down his face.
“Get out of here Aragibal. I never want to see you again.”
Something inside of him broke completely and he just went numb. He exited the abode and stood outside of the door, staring at the sky. Without even registering it he put his armor on, sheathed his sword, and slipped out of his tribe unnoticed, a broken man. It was only after his tribe was far behind him did he collapse to his knees and cry - truly a rare event for him. It felt as if every piece of him had been shattered and every wound he’d gained during the exchange had been salted.
The moon went dim and the sky went black.
He loved her, and she didn’t love back.
-------------------
As Athala’s memory got to the point of her panic while he had been blocking her moves tears fell from Aragibal’s eyes - silent, slow.
This was the event she’d mentioned the evening he carried her to bed after she got too drunk. This was the first time they met that he couldn’t remember in full. This was why she hated him so much at the start. This was why she always insisted on sleeping with a weapon between them. She was the one to beat him back into sobriety. She was the mystery woman with the strange accent. She was the only person to have ever beaten him - and she only barely managed that with him shit faced. How absolutely terrified she must have been all of this time.
His breath was shaking, the tears still going down his face. He doesn’t even know what to say. He stared at her over the fire, wide-eyed, obviously choking on guilt and a level of self-hatred that far exceeded what she felt on that chocobo while fleeing. Her gaze seemed distant so he had some time to figure out how to work his vocal chords again by the time her eyes came back into focus. Speaking was clearly a struggle for him - choking on his words, stumbling, doing his best just to get through the sentence.
“I’m so sorry, Athala. I didn’t realize… That was you that night. I didn’t… I… I’m so…” His voice faded. He looked horrified at his own actions and anyone looking on could tell he didn’t have the slightest clue of where to begin to apologize for literally everything that threw them together.
(OOC: alternate dialogue during the apology to Atha: laksdjhlasdhglkasdjfadiovbajsdlfjasdlkrfh ;-;)
Tw: Minor Character Death
Ara's whispered apology locks Atha up even tighter. No... somehow she had enough room to feel slowly dawning horror alongside the sympathetic heartbreak. Whatever this thing that happened is, it must have shown him that. Air hisses past her teeth in increasing speed, her breath shortening and fear and anger started to fight as her response.
Before she can do anything else, she finds herself being wrenched away into another memory-
Athala was concerned. Mummy was Ill. Which she knew had happened before, there was that one winter when Mummy got all hot and red in the face and she seemed to do was sneeze and blow her nose, and she had explained to Athala that, ‘There are many ways people can be ill, some are more serious than others.’ Athala wasn’t stupid, no matter what Oerid said about her not being smart because she didn’t know her letters even though she was almost five Suns old. She could wait to learn, Mummy was so busy with work that she didn’t have the time and Athala knew that Work was Important because Work meant there was Money which meant you could Buy Food, and Athala like the food Mummy made so she could wait a little longer for letter lessons…
Anyroad she wasn’t stupid! And because she wasn’t stupid, Athala knew that Mummy was Seriously Ill. Afterall, if it wasn’t serious she would be better by now, just like that winter. But Mummy had been poorly for a lot of weeks now and that was Not Good. Mummy hadn’t been able to go to Work which meant no new Money which meant no Food. Her Mummy was also clever and she had set aside some gil but Athala was very aware that there was not much of that left, and it wasn’t too difficult for her to understand that Not Having Food was a Bad Thing
“Athala...come here...” Athala turned away from the window, she hated Mummy being Ill, she wasn’t herself. She sounded so quiet all the time now, and she was tired, and she didn’t look like herself. Mummy was tall, and strong, and her skin was always warm and tanned. Ill Mummy was pale and slightly yellow-coloured, she was cold to touch, and she looked Small even though she was still bigger than Athala, her amazing muscles were gone and her skin looked ...baggy.
Mummy slept a lot these days which was no fun, 'cause Mummy played with her whenever she wasn’t working but that had stopped around the time Mummy has stopped her Job... Athala plonked herself on the floor next to the head of the thin straw mattress, the only one that lay on the floor of their mostly empty one-room house. Not that they needed more room, Athala never understood why people needed more than one room, what did people do with all that empty space?
“My beautiful girl...you’re getting so big and beautiful…”
Athala grinned at that, “That’s because I look like you Mummy, and you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” She grins as Mummy starts to laugh, Athala truly is proud that she looked like Mummy, from her nose to her eyes to her hair they were the same, although that grin dies as Mummy’s laughter turns to coughing, Athala’s small hand moving to rub Mummy’s back.
“Athala sweetie...I have a surprise for you...” Mummy pats her lap, and Athala happily shuffles onto if, settling in as once-strong arms now chilly and emaciated wrap around her in a hug. “Close your eyes and do not look until I tell you.”
“Yes Mummy!” Athala does as she is told, sighing happily as she feels Mummy start to slowly, and gently untangle her hair before slowly braiding it. The silence is comfortable, broken only by Mummy’s occasional coughing. “There...open your eyes...”
Athala does so and gasps, hands darting up to her hair and gently feeling it to see if there was more like the plait that had fallen in to view, green glass bead at the end. She could feel them in her hair, eight short braids, exactly like Mummy’s hair! Athala spins in Mummy's lap and hugs her as tightly as she can manage, “Now I really do look like you Mummy, I love them!”
“I’m glad...you look even more beautiful. Now...come cuddle with Mummy...tell me about your day.” Athala let Mummy lie down, before snuggling in next to her, ignoring how cold the cuddle felt compared to Before Mummy was Ill, and then starts chattering away excitedly, telling Mummy exactly what she thought about snotty Oerid, and about the fun she had had had finding this little nook not that far from the house...
.
.
.
It isn’t for a good while that Athala realises that the room is unnaturally quiet, the only sound she could hear was her own breathing. Which was confusing, she had her head tucked up on Mummy’s chest so why couldn’t she hear the slow beat of her heart, and Mummy felt even colder than Ill Mummy... Athala pushes herself up, “Mummy?” She asks quietly as she looks at Mummy’s face. Her eyes were closed and there was a small smile on her face...Athala gives Mummy a gentle shake. “Mummy?!” Athala’s heart starts to thump faster in her chest, the noise deafening in the quiet of the house, Mummy always woke up when she called.
Athala places her hands back on Mummy’s chest, but she couldn’t feel the thumping heart. Mummy had said something important about the heart, but what?
Oh.
Athala stares down at Mummy and starts to sniffle as she touches the beads in her hair, her chest felt tight and her skin warm and her eyes stung. Mummy...Mummy had been Serious Ill... Mummy...The feelings were too much, Athala felt like she might burst, something had to give. And it did, a keening, broken wail started to echo off of the walls of the room. Athala couldn’t stop, she was being Naughty, this was going to Disturb the Neighbours but she couldn’t stop, her cries shuddered but carried on.
Athala didn’t know how long it was till she managed to stop crying, but it was dark outside. Which meant that she had been especially Naughty making all that noise. Mummy always had her go out for a little while if the neighbours were angry, telling her to come back to her in a few hours. So she needed to leave, it’s what Mummy said to do and Mummy Knows Best. But...she couldn’t go back to Mummy, Mummy...Mummy wasn’t here anymore. Athala felt cold and small as she made her way towards the room’s only door, she cracked the door open and stepped out, sniffling as she glanced back at Mummy lying in Not Sleep in bed. She pulls the door closed Quietly and steps away, numb and cold as she sneaks away from the house...
Time for a little bit of happiness, even though it's 200 years later
His breath came out as a shudder as he seemed to jolt back into consciousness. It was hard to move and everything felt heavy. His heart hurt, he felt disgusting, and he was so tired. This echo thing was a drain. He was about to lay down when one more memory rippled through him, causing him to make a pained sound.
-----------------------------------------------------
But this memory isn't a bad one.
It's evening, and Aragibal has stepped foot on the Steppe for the first time in years. He takes a deep breath and smells the grass on the wind. He's just gotten back home from Doma. He has a rough idea of where on the Steppe his tribe is, and it shouldn't be too far off now. He starts walking again, relaxed under the full moon. He arrives and there is a stirring in the encampment - it is not too long and he is knocked down by a full forced hug from a young Monx. She's certainly grown quite a bit since he's been away, and she's quite a bit stronger as he playfully wrestles her. Pride swells in his chest for his sister - she's grown quite skilled. They stand and he puts Monx on his shoulders like he used to when they were little and she immediately starts asking him questions about Doma and what he learned and what it's like and what about the food and what about the Empire and this and that and the other thing and -- He laughed. And he kept laughing. She always was very inquisitive. She'd make an excellent advisor when the Kha wins Nadaam in the future and he rules.
"I missed you too sister! We need to rest, but tomorrow, I'll show you what I learned!"
That seemed to sate her as she vaulted off of him, giggling as she took his large hand and pulled him back home. He hugged his parents and they went to bed.
...
Only a few hours of rest passed before Aragibal woke. It wasn't restless, but he did make a promise. He gently shook Monx awake, putting a finger to his lips so she stayed quiet. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she dressed in training clothes and left their tent. Aragibal gathered his samurai and monk job stones after dressing, made sure to grab his samurai sword, and joined her outside. They walked in silence through the dark and sleeping tribe, but Monx perked up and started with her incessant chatter once they were far enough away. Aragibal smiled, just delighted with his sister. They started climbing a rocky outcropping above the camp, which hushed her up for the time being.
Upon reaching the top of the outcropping, Aragibal set his stuff down and sat, patting the ground next to him. He gave Monx a job stone to let her looks at, the fires of curiosity burning bright in her eyes as the job stone glittered in the starlight.
"That is a job stone. It contains the memories and impressions of past samurai. Before you ask, you don't need a job stone to learn how to fight, but it helps speed things up a lot." He smiled. "That's why I am so good without having spending my entire life learning." Monx was clearly in awe at the lump of stone in her hands. "Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find one yourself one day and be strong like me." He jabbed his chest as he said the last part of the sentence, grinning. She gave him the job stone back.
"I'm already better than you, brother! Dad says so!"
It wasn't far off - she was better at Gesi lancer traditions than he was. That was fine. He pushed on her head gently, knocking her off balance, and stood.
"Okay, but can dad do this?" He started iterating through his monk forms, aether visibly collecting around him as he focused his chakras.
"Oooooh..."
He was showing off. He started doing combos with the moves he learned while learning about monk fighting. He struggled with opening and closing chakras and moving aether through his body, but he enjoyed the challenge. He was a little slow to start, but once he got into it, his hands were moving so fast that it was hard for even him to follow them.
The sun was starting to peek at them, bathing the sky in purple and orange. He was warm, and he was happy.
He stopped and looked to his sister, who looked determined as she stood. He started the combos again, a little slow so she could see, then sped up. She started to mimic him. Monx was much slower, a bit clumsy, didn't have the aether charged in her attacks like him, but that was okay. He was proud of her for trying, and filled with warmth that she wanted so to be like her brother.
As much as he enjoyed Doma, the Steppe was his home and where he belonged. He wouldn't leave it again.
-----------------------------------------------------
Aragibal's hand went to his chest at this memory, causing him to ache more. He missed his sister. He was jealous of her for the name she was making for herself out here, but he missed her so much. And he missed home. He missed the smell of grass and the hunting and the wide open spaces. He wouldn't trade where he was at for anything, but he wished he could live through that memory again - to see his sister and train with her like they used to.
His eyes focused back on the fire. He was breathing heavily and clutching at his chest with his right hand, blinking tears away. He was pretty dazed, unable to really find words for what was going on right now, and not really wanting to speak after the memories he'd seen.