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ataraxioff2015-08-22 11:34 pm
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxioff2015-08-22 11:34 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME 001
T E S T D R I V E M E M E You wake up, alone in the dark. There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Through the fog you can see shadows of movement, the muted sound of alarms crying. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're suddenly dropped several feet onto the opposite wall. It takes you several minutes to catch your breath and gather strength in uncooperative limbs; more time still to climb up through the debris to the hole in the outer wall high above. You emerge in bright sunlight, surrounded by an immense jungle. As your vision clears, you realize you stand on the hull of a colossal spaceship, crashed on an alien planet. There's a shout behind you, and as you turn, figures climb over the curve of the ship towards you: your rescue party, weathered and scarred by the efforts necessary for survival. B A S E C A M P A ramshackle spread of tents and shelters built out of resources salvaged from the ship and gathered from the jungle. Not sleek, not clean, but alive: people coming and going from tent to tent, heading out into the jungle or returning with freshly foraged food. Some are working to build more shelters or improvize working tech out of parts salvaged from the ship; some are cooking; some are just taking shelter from the sun for a while. Whether you find somewhere to help or apply your skills, it's probably a good idea to get to know your neighbors. E X P L O R A T I O N The jungle is dense and green, teeming with life, high calls and cries of strange animals and birds, the low buzz and murmur of insects. There are no paths or notable markings; go too far into the trees and you may not be able to find your way back. Dangers hide in the shadows but there's also food, water - or perhaps you're looking for more, pushing further in a search for answers about this planet you're now living on. Or you can turn your attention to the crashed ship, the huge bulk of it balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff. It creaks and groans in its delicate position, audible from a distant but all the louder should you venture inside. Dark corridors made even more dangerous by the damage to the internal structure, debris and obstacles blocking progress, and any wrong step could cause it to collapse in on you, or send the ship over the cliff. But finding any tech, resources or supplies might just be worth the risk. C H O O S E Y O U R O W N . . . Hunt or flee from strange creatures in the jungle, take a try at rock-climbing down the cliff-face, or practise in-game gained abilities. Ataraxion is currently without a network until one is built, but test-driving on a prospective one is also totally fine! |
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Uneasy, he glances from side to side as Remus looks round, hunting for something substantial to pin all of this weirdness on even momentarily.
The smile earns an uncertain smile from James in return, but it drops the moment Remus's collapses.
James jerks a thumb back the way he came, but he's already aware that particular specific isn't what Remus is after. ]
Er, well, around, certainly. Breakfast. Class. We had that Quidditch match last week -- Mulciber fell off his broom and.... [ And he allows himself to trail off, because all of that seems irrelevant in light of the current situation. ] Better question is where have you been between breakfast and now, mate?
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He isn't trying to be difficult. He's only still stuck back on overwhelmed, and also trying very hard not to say you're dead or any variation on that theme. Trying to balance idolising James Potter, martyred hero, with wanting to wrap this young version of him in protective padding and find somewhere safe to store him forever. Trying not to start crying—successfully. He's not a crier. But if he were ever going to become a crier, it would be now.
He catches on something small and practical instead. ]
Mulciber—was that sixth year or seventh?
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And oh, Merlin. If Remus needs to ask it that way, there's absolutely something mucked up with time. The main problem he has with that, is that he has no idea what he might have done to cause it. And he's not certain as of yet a good way to rectify suddenly slinging himself forward in time. At the same time, that sudden realization of the unknown has his more reckless side ready for action.
James isn't one to roll over at a challenge. Or to be too concerned with mucking up the space-time continuum. ]
He broke his kneecap. The git. [ And now smoothly sliding over to the more interesting topic. ] Right. So the future, huh? We're going to need a sheet of parchment. How far ahead are you? Tell me you're at least past the next Quidditch World Cup. I'm going to need the scores.
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[ And James is dead. He scrubs at his hair—not like James' purposeful tousling, but a broad hooked-finger scratch, like his brain it itching underneath. The brain-itch is very possibly caused by an impulse to stop chatting about Quidditch and timelines and instead hug James like he hasn't seen him in two years and, also, never thought he'd see him again. ]
It's not really that I'm ahead of you, [ he hears himself saying in the meantime. ] We're all plucked out at random. Sirius is around here somewhere. I think he's... twenty, probably. He's been here a long time.
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[ It's all he can think to say for a moment as the reality of that tries to slink past his cheerful disbelief and fully register. He hears that they're plucked at random -- that Sirius is here, as well. That he's also a lot older than James. And, finally, a small tendril of panic begins to try to take hold. It doesn't have firm rooting, but it definitely lends a touch of uneasiness to his demeanor.
He wipes his hands on his pockets and then flexes his fingers as he tries to decide what there is to say to response to all of that. ]
How's that even work? Plucked how? Should we all... I dunno. Get pulled at the same time? Are you telling me that Sirius gets stuck here at some point?
[ His first reaction is to find out from which point on Sirius is stuck so he can prevent it, but James's already here. ]
I don't suppose you could have just asked seventh year me what happened with all this? I do get back, right? I don't just vanish at sixteen. Does Evans cry? I bet she cries.
[ It's a weak attempt at a laugh, but it's all he has right now. ]
excuse me
Just kidding. There's no crying, yet. Probably there never will be. Too manly to cry. Never to be mentioned, should there be shiny eyes and gruff voices. Some things stay secret.
But, you see, meteors don't cry, and Sirius has diverted from his path to Merlin-knows-where with all the destructive speed of a meteor hurtling through the atmosphere, burning off things like tears and misgivings and emotions, or emotions that are not James, who is an emotion in and of himself in Sirius. Don't ask how. Still half in the jungle, slicing at fallen tree branches via magic-and-wand, Sirius had heard James' voice, cutting clear. Brief tense pause. If he had been a dog, he would have been a dog with his ears pricked, nose stilled, eyes bright. And then he abandoned his work entirely, and cut his way free to here, to James, stood right across from Remus, and neither age (young! baby!) nor anything else make its way through to Sirius, burning hot and bright and not at all full of any mincey little Lupiny brain itch uncertainties.
Unfair. Everyone has different James problems to contend with. It's just that Sirius' don't matter at present, because here is James, full stop. Full stop is exactly how he crashes into James, too, all arms thrown around him and face mashed against him and grin pushed into his shoulder or upper arm or something, doesn't matter. Interrupting and he doesn't care. He should be more ginger. He should be more self-aware, and sober, and serious. But there's no room, at present, for anything except sheer incalculable happiness. Probably no one in the world has ever felt this way about James Potter. Future wife and all.
Sirius has mistaken--in the past, at a glance, even once he knew different--Harry for James. Faced with The Real Deal, he now can't imagine ever doing that. Dirty face pressed somewhere around James' shoulder, missing a finger, ancient scar tissue curdled at his ear. Dirty and sweat-sour the way someone who has been bathing with rainwater would be. Also incapable of speech, but he laughs, mashed against James. Two seconds of perfection. Three, four. The world hasn't crashed in around him yet.]
Fucking hell. Prongs. F'ckin'--
[Muffled, still, mouthful of Potter shoulder. Remembering the scope of things, big things of which James is the apex. Big things where James buggered off before. Not this time. He'll probably keep James right here. Might loop Remus in as well. Fucking hell.]
8D
Shattered in a good way. A brick through a window can be satisfying. Let some air in.
So he shatters, unseen, and once that's out of the way he can finally genuinely smile. Possibly also unseen. He doesn't mind if he's ignored for a minute or three. Again: balance restored to the universe. But he does contribute, voice thick and fond, ] He says Mulciber fell off his broom last week.
[ It's information for Sirius, a tip about timing, and a gentle jab for James. Trapped in an alien jungle outside of time, and he still managed to insult a Slytherin's Quidditch skills. ]
feelin' the feels
For now, it doesn't matter about the time gaps, or that he's suddenly not at Hogwarts, prepping for the procrastination of another long essay -- his best mate is babbling into his shoulder and James is laughing, trying to wriggle free of Sirius's grip while at the same time not entirely caring that he's trapped in a bear hug.
He manages words after another laugh, the enthusiasm not wasted on him for a second. ]
Oi, mate--! Padfoot, m' ribs.
[ At Remus's comment, James looks back to his other friend, all grins that make it difficult for him to pull off the false affront he's going for. ]
That's essential information, Moony. Wouldn't want you to forget such a shining beacon of joy out in... [ A vague gesture to encompass the strange surrounds over Sirius's shoulder as he tries to get free enough to sling an arm around the now-older boy's neck. ]
cries into my beer
[The way he responds to James' physical adjustments is like clockwork, but like the inner workings of the clock, all the gear bits that move aside and clunk solidly into place at the right moment. James goes to put an arm around Sirius' neck; Sirius adjusts without being told or asked. This is the easiest way to exist. Even being endearingly half-choked he thinks that.
Mulciber. Broom. The name and detail finally jostle their way into place, pushing past all the bright lit-up happy points in Sirius' head. Hogwarts, sixth year. (He remembers. They laughed and did impressions for weeks after.)]
Oh, well. At least his falling was consistent. Mulciber flies like a sack of old potatoes. Stands to reason that he landed like a sack of old potatoes, too.
[There's always time to shit-talk Slytherins. More of the implications of Mulciber and last week click into place, and for an isolated second, Sirius' eyes meet Remus. Bit awkward, considering James' arm is still looped around his neck, stooping him slightly. The message carries anyways: they're in this together; they have to tell him everything. He then blinks it away, before James can pick up very much of it.]
Committing Mulciber's falls to memory and forgetting all about us. I see how it is. I s'ppose you've forgotten my favourite LP? Moony's least favourite foods, plural, of which there are many--
[Double meaning in that, sort of. 'Forgetting all about us'--and the Tranquility as well, everything about it. Sirius can guess as much already. He takes it into stride. This is James: he would forgive him anything, put up with anything, do anything. Elbow him in the ribs slightly in order to relax that grip. They're going to tell him everything, after Sirius (and Remus, too) has had the proper chance to absorb all the James Potter he's been missing. It will take approximately two minutes, perhaps less.]
I s'ppose you can be reminded of it all, in time. Earn your way back into my heart.
http://i.imgur.com/BRYyW6f.gif
Not. a. crier.
The look from Sirius helps with that. They have to tell him everything. And that carries James past real enough to be miraculous and into real enough to be difficult. It does nothing to dampen Remus' crooked smile, relief and delight so far off the chart that they could probably be halved before the difference was visible, but it keeps his feet on the ground.
He rubs his mouth and leaves his hand there, fingers splayed. Doesn't point out that his least favourite Hogwarts foods are now irrelevant since none of them are here, and his least favourite alien jungle foods are all of them. Except the tiny dragons. He'll complain later.
For now he's grinning and talking through his hand: ]
As you can see, that will be a very difficult task.
http://tinyurl.com/njrzk7v
He's not accustomed to being the last one in on the plan. ]
Wait. You're gonna need to run that by me again, mate. Earn my way back where?
[ One hand suddenly clutches at his chest as he stumbles sideways, feigning shock and letting his weight fall on Sirius. Then, an affronted: ]
You lot replaced me and now I've got to earn my spot back? Dunno, mates. That's a lot to take in -- might need to take a few days to nurse my injured pride.
[ Never minding that just this morning Evans snapped at him that his ego is fast-approaching a mass to rival a fair-sized country. And that it will now take a sizable army just to puncture it. ]
I'm thinking this is a diversion while you lot try to remember my least favorite everything, [ he decides, waving a dismissive hand. ] Fine. Seems right. Your old age is sending you off toward senile. Where's Peter? Pete'll fill me in on all this while you're stalling.
[ For the first time, it occurs to him that he hasn't seen their shorter, fourth member as of yet.
James' gaze slides from Remus to the area just over his shoulder. His glance flicks uncertainly from space to space, looking for the familiar face. This won't feel right unless they're all together. ]
I've got to remind him of how he snorted milk this morning during McSimmon's Howler. Can't let him think it's been lived down no matter how long... it's been...
[ His words trail off as he stops looking for someone who's not there and focuses uncertainly first with a sideways glance at Sirius, then hones in on Remus, trying to read his expression. ]
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And natural, too, is the expression that tightens his face, angry and dark and closed-in the moment that James says Peter's name. Unnatural in some ways, but not foreign. Sirius has always been easy to anger. It will be, for James, like having your arm around a dog all bristled and growling.
The milk-snorting-Howler incident is difficult for him to summon up, because when Sirius thinks of Peter he thinks now of finding him in a dim corridor, pale-faced and sweating. James, his jaw set resolutely. He's still our friend.
Sirius shrugs out from under James' arm at last, a sharp tight movement.]
He's not here.
[And d'you really want to know what I want to do with him, James. An echo that's years old now. Sirius can feel the tight knit of his shoulders. He looks at Remus again, not so much for strength as for one final confirmation. Remus, who has been at the other end of this, where it all unravels. Where there's funerals and prison sentencings and wars, where he stood it all bleak and alone.
He looks back at James straight after. Love and anger make a tight feeling in his chest, like a fist.]
Look, we've got to tell you. Time doesn't work properly here. It gets cocked up. You were here before, you don't remember it, but you were. And Remus, he's older. He can tell you more about it. The-- war, and Voldemort. Everything. [Inadequate explanation. Sirius' mouth twists. All at once, then, like hacking off rot or pulling a knife free.] Voldemort goes for you. You make Peter your Secret-Keeper. He betrays you, and you're killed.
[The last word comes out flat. No matter how many times he says it, no matter how many times he tells James, or some other version of Remus--he can't make it make sense, he can't put together a world with the shape of James not in it.]
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It doesn't last very long, anyway. When Sirius looks at him he twitches a nod in answer--not permission, which Sirius doesn't need, only support--and once the words are being laid out there's no reason to pretend it's all right. He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and bows his shoulders inward like he's cold, somehow, despite the heat and oppressive humidity. It's his turn to try to read James, to try to remember to balance his belief that James Potter can handle anything short of a wandless fight against Voldemort with the fact that James Potter is presently a 16-year-old boy.
You're killed, Sirius says, and that's the part that matters. Not Peter, who--if he ever comes back, who'd better hope he's a 16-year-old boy, too, with fresh memories of Howlers and falling Slytherins. Any older, he's an adult and they'll kill him.
Remus doesn't have anything to add to that but a quick, tight smile, a rueful there you have it sort of eyebrow raise, and possibly the most understated thing he's ever said in his life: ]
It's really good to see you, James.
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Something in him instinctively braces when he takes in the wordless ferocity in his friend's expression.
Well... Almost wordless. That look conveys a lot more than James wants to see.
He opens his mouth to protest against the possibility that he could ever forget anything related to Sirius. Even with time all mucked up -- he feels like he should intuitively know about anything they've ever done together. But then the blunt delivery of what his future holds fills his veins with ice. ]
"Peter would never-- there's a mistake-- You--" [ James stops short before his protests can come close to implying that Sirius is lying.
Just as quickly as there was cold, now there's fire. It's a burning deep in his gut that sears away any fears regarding his fate and allows him to focus sharply on what he's been told. He automatically clenches his hands into fists as he processes a future he never imagined for himself.
Almost like a defense mechanism taking control, his thoughts flee from Peter's betrayal and circle back to focus on Voldemort. James has never made it a secret where he stands regarding the Dark Arts, but it seems mental to think at sixteen that Voldemort will come to personally off him.
His last chance to find a way out of accepting everything about what's happening lies with Remus. But he's doing that thing of his. The carefully neutral expression that James has come to define as everything is on fire, but if it doesn't show on my face we can pretend it's fine. Even when they all know it's not.
It's hard to keep up that last scrap of denial with both of his mates confirming every fact with their body language. Something in him prickles at how bollocks everything is. But, finally, he's got just one question. His expression is somewhat strained as he asks, like he's still unsure which emotion to go with at the news. Even now he doesn't want to believe it. ]
"Why?"
[ Peter is... was... is? One of his best mates. A Gryffindor. ]
"I'd die before I gave him up."
[ And there's the affront that at last solidifies into a statement. It's fact. Even if the situation has never come up for him before, James knows he wouldn't hesitate to die to save someone. ]
whoops i'm late sorry
[Sirius laughs, once, short and grim and sharp. His smile echoes his laugh. Like Remus' careful blank smile, this one is also probably familiar. This is Sirius, digging his heels in. This is Sirius, when he knows that he's right, when he's faced with some stupid shit. Stupid shit, here, is beyond stupid. Dark lords and death and blasted-out front parlors. He saw a cottage that he's not lived to seem, in Lily's memory, a cottage that would be reduced to nothing at all in just a few short years.]
So would we.
[That's a given, an oath more serious than blood ties and family names and the way of the world around them. The one straightforward thing has always been the Marauders. The four of them. But there's one that matters beyond everyone else, and that's James--and even as he turns his stubborn look on him, Sirius is searching his face, greedy for just the sight of him. He's got James' face committed to memory, but that doesn't stop him from looking.]
I don't know why. No one knows but him. He was here, for a bit. Buggered off again. [Probably for the best. Talking about him now, Sirius finds that any sympathy or second thoughts has burned off of him entirely: if Peter were stood here in front of him, he would kill him. Full stop. He's never asked Remus if he would do the same, but he knows the answer. Of course he would. Nearly killed Sirius when he first arrived. For Peter, it would be much, much worse. And he deserves it.]
If he ever comes back, maybe you can listen to his excuses, but they were all of 'em pathetic. I wouldn't bother. Because it doesn't matter why. What matters is that he does it.
[He stands, stiff and angry, still stood close to James. He probably couldn't move away even if he wanted to.]
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[ The words are reasonable, but his tone is frosty, not forgiving. Everyone was afraid--brave, but afraid--and only one person sold out the Potters and probably a dozen of the Order's other members. And it wasn't the werewolf. Or the Black.
But he looks at James' clenched fists and Sirius' rigid shoulders and decides, deliberately, to exhale and smile, because someone has to. It's not all right, what happened--will happen, whichever--at home, but Remus' ongoing list of things that are not all right starts when he was four and ends right now, with the bloody humidity. It would take a few hours to read. James and Sirius wouldn't be able to sit through it without getting bored. And at the moment every item on that long list is rightly eclipsed by the fact that James is here, breathing. ]
We can talk about it once you're settled, if you want. You must be--hungry, or something.
[ The Deliberate Smile is a little wobbly, but it holds up. ]