It may very well be the worst thing that's ever happened to you! | OPEN MINGLE

[vitaelamorte]

Who: EVERYONE!
Where: EVERYWHERE!
When: Friday October 27th - Tuesday October 31st
Rating: PG-13, warn if you're gonna go higher!
Summary: A catch all for the Horrible Memory Truth Event!
The Story:

For the duration of this event, everyone's entire room will be replaced with a memory playing on loop. They will likely recognize the moment as soon as they see it – it is a moment they remember as the worst moment of their entire lives. It could be a memory from home or something that happened in Wonderland. Lengths of the memories will vary, but they will find that these are not memories they can merely watch – they can step into these memories and attempt to make changes to them, and the memories will be long enough that they have time to make changes (though no more than 24 hours). However, anyone who tries will find that it is futile. No matter what you do or how hard you try, the outcome is always exactly the same somehow. No changes you make will prevent that horrible outcome. It just happens over and over and over again no matter what you do.

On top of that, perhaps complicating any attempts to make changes, everyone will be forced to be honest for the duration of the event. No lies or half-truths are allowed, and filters will be gone for the entire five days. If something bothers someone then they will blurt it out, regardless of whether or not it hurts someone's feelings, and no one will be able to simply keep quiet when they have something to say. They must be truthful and honest with every word they say.

This is a catch-all log for all of your Worst Memory needs! Please mark your threads clearly in the subject line with your character's name and Room Number + Floor for character rooms, or just location if you're making a top level for a public place in the mansion (like the tea rooms or the kitchen) so people can see if there's already a thread available. And here's the plot post if you need it!

Have fun!

Comments

OPEN to ALL; don't shout, no doubt my tongue is tied

[determinedest]

The day starts the same way any other day would start. The crisp fall air hums across the trees and tears the leaves from their branches in fluttering sheets of red-orange-gold. The breeze tastes of rain and apples. The garden is filled with bloomless stalks and sprouting greenery, too orderly to be a wild patch of nothing.

A heavy weight has wrapped itself around their mind in dropping steel coils, a noose drawn tight. The impending pressure of knowing something is coming, something is bound to loop around the corner, and something is bound to bite down hard when it does. It was a year ago. A year ago, almost to the day. In a few days, it will be to the day. It will be.

Will it never be the same again? Did they spoil every aspect of this holiday with their touch, with their stupid notion that they could do something silly and harmless and fun as dressing up as their counterpart and assume nothing would come of it?

It is their fate, it seems, that nothing will survive contact with them for long. Stars are like that. So are diseases. So are things that spread by touch and by air, by intakes of breath too close to the toxins that rush into the bloodstream and ache beneath the marrow of their very bones.

A holiday that should be a joyous, childish occasion is spent in solitude and silence. Sometimes people like to hear them talk, but today - and the days that follow - they doubt they'd have anything of note, anything worth hearing, to say.

So they dig a trowel into the soil of their little garden patch. They heat tea in a kettle in the kitchen. They huddle in the corners of the library and think about running away and trying to sleep in a room too big and too empty and full of too many looming edges for them to close their eyes for long. They don't return to their room. They don't need to see the wrenching consequences of their actions again, again, again, when they live with them every day, and have lived with them ever since. It's selfish, and it's awful, and it's cruel, and it's running from the reality of things, and they know.

They know.

They're sorry.

library

[naughty_nurse]

Mikan is normally very attentive to her surroundings, at least when it comes to other people so she won't bother them. But today she actually runs past Frisk, maybe not even noticing them, frantically grabbing any and every book she can find. She's not bothering to look at the titles or content... and she's also sobbing hysterically.

"Don't think, can't think, shouldn't think..."

[determinedest]

This is why. This is why they ought to stay away.

Because instead of something kind, something pleasant, maybe something to make her calmer and less likely to panic, the first stupid thing to come out of Frisk’s stupid mouth is:

“You’re loud.”

[naughty_nurse]

"Eek!"

Mikan is so startled she drops all the books she had, whirling around. "W-what?!"

library

[fulllifeconsequences]

They don't spend a lot of time in the library, themselves - they're more content to reread the same plant encyclopedias and worn copy of Kitchen over and over again than seek out something new. They know, however, that Frisk likes the library. All those myths had to come from somewhere. They remember a tiny figure nodding off over a book about determinism. They remember a pair of scissors being thrown at them and a crude little makeshift bed.

When they run away, they loiter in diners. When Frisk runs away, they huddle in a library.

Not surprised, then, when they find Frisk tucked into a corner.

"Howdy," they call.

"I haven't opened your door." Better to get that out of the way. Let them know the boundaries are all in place. They're keeping the line neatly drawn between what's Frisk and what's Chara. Keeping that safe, secure step or two of space between you and I firmly where it needs to be. They're going to be good. This will be okay.

Really. It'll be okay.

"Do... you want to be alone?"

[determinedest]

Howdy.

The word is enough to pull at their shoulders, an intolerable and inescapable tensing at the thin muscles there. A reflex, snapping things into place and snapping them back to the start of every old Game. Snapping them back to the too-earnest face and the too-wide eyes with the weight of a fresh wave of expectations pulling at the muscles of their shoulders. Dropping their chin, bowing their head. Lifting their arms to hug a child tight to them. Because they could.

Because they could, they had to?

It's hard to say anymore.

Their gaze slides briefly to Chara's and then away again. There's a book open on the floor in front of them, but it's plain from the slightly glassy look to their eyes that they haven't been reading from it.

"I didn't open yours either," they say softly. And it's the truth.

Do you want to be alone?

"I do." A small frown nestles at their brow. "And - I don't. I don't know."

And that would be the truth too, wouldn't it? Can't even be clear about that. Ha.

[fulllifeconsequences]

A bad start. Something about their approach immediately has Frisk on guard, tense, displaying all those scared-of-you tells that they know like the back of their hand. (Which is to say, scarred by life on the surface. Scarred, sometimes, even after you fall.)

They answer by backing up a pace. More space is safer, less intrusive, the instinctive reaction.

"Okay," they reply, even if they have absolutely no idea if that response means stay or get lost. Seems this little truth parade that's been going on hasn't robbed their partner of their talent for dodging straight answers whenever possible. They kind of wonder if they could ask Frisk for their secret on how to avoid actually answering questions like that, but they already know what the answer would be. That's just one of the things that makes this Frisk their Frisk, after all.

"You could probably guess what mine is anyway," they point out, with a half-amused air of self-deprecation. Frisk knows the story of the fallen human, from beginning to end to epilogue. Sequel? Whatever. Frisk knows every last one of the sins crawling on this particular back. They doubt their soulmate wouldn't be able to reason an estimate of what kind of things lurk behind their room 12.

That little bit of conversational stalling, though, does little to help them figure out whether they'd be helping by breathing down Frisk's neck or just frazzling their nerves further. Maybe the Halloween season is just... maybe the less "Chara" there is in their life at this time of year, the better Frisk feels? Considering the things they did to themself because of that, it'd make sense. But then... they were gone not too long ago, weren't they? Isn't it their duty, then, to not abandon their partner? To make extra-sure they don't start thinking they've been abandoned, they're not wanted, they should stop existing?

Chara settles for a weak attempt at compromise. Sits down on the floor a fair distance away, leaning up against a bookcase (not very comfortable, for the record). "Does this work? Can't quite simulate "alone but not alone" quite as well as when we were an amalgamate, but... you can just pretend I'm not here, maybe."

With more honesty than they really want to have, they add, "Just like in the happiest timelines." Or maybe with exactly as much honesty. Who knows.

KITCHEN

[alphyswhatsabara]

Asgore may have a cooler full of pies, but at some point, you need to get something else to eat. At the very least, a cup of tea.

But... not golden flower tea. Not today.

And so, in the kitchen, making an ink-black cup of Darjeeling (no cream, no sugar, he's getting enough sugar in the pies lately) is Asgore "King Fluffybuns" Dreemurr.

He waves to you feebly when you enter. "Hello, Frisk the Human. I have been reliving the deaths of my children."

Well that's brusque.

[determinedest]

Frisk stops with a jolt, as though electrocuted. And - they'd know how it feels, to be electrocuted. It hurts, unsurprisingly, but it's also numbing. Tingling at your nerves and senses as every inch of you gets set aflame. All in all, maybe one of the more protracted deaths they've endured.

They shouldn't bring that up. But then, Asgore has the subject of awkward and painful memories covered.

"You don't have to," they say, perhaps a bit more sharply than they intend. Or maybe just - to the point. Let's get to it. "You can lock the door."

[alphyswhatsabara]

"I know," he responds. "After the fourth time I... just sort of accepted my inability to change it. I've set up a little... bivouac outside of my apartment. A cot, a chair, that sort of thing. I kept the door unlocked, though. I think it gives... context. To many things about my life. I do not feel right in telling others that they cannot know." You can feel the resignation in his voice. Asgore is usually good at tinging moments with a maudlin sadness; this event is no exception.

He stirs his cup of tea lazily. "Are you holding out?"

Garden

[didntknowbest]

Sitting cooped up in some isolated room on the mansion isn't really Toriel's idea of a good time. Sometimes, she wants to find some isolated area outside to sit in, so she can at least feel grass beneath her feet and look up and watch the clouds. Feel some small comfort in a very stressful time.

Unfortunately, she seems to have chosen an unlucky path to follow, when she spots a familiar young child. One which she would desperately like to avoid for this event.

...That's fine, though. It's fine. She approached from behind, they haven't seen her yet. She can turn and leave, she doesn't have to start a conversation and wind up mentioning-

"My worst memory was you murdering me."

As soon as the thought enters her mind, it immediately exits her mouth, with no control over it whatsoever, calling out and making her presence known in what she's pretty certain is the worst possible way.

[determinedest]

It's not as much of a surprise to hear it when they do. They straighten, brushing crumbs of soil from the knees of their pants. The stains of grass and dirt along down the front are damp and heavy. A weed hangs limp and dangling between their fingers, a clod of earth trailing at its end.

It's okay is what they'd prefer to say. But it's not okay, and they both know it's not okay. And it doesn't strike them like a pall but it washes, a gout of hot oil pooling around their insides when they half-turn to not quite look at her. Not quite.

"I thought it might be."

[didntknowbest]

"Oh. I guess I have not done as good a job as I would have liked of hiding how much you frighten me."

The words keep spilling out. She really wants to just... leave. To just turn right around and sprint away before things get worse. But... there's a lot of truths here. Things she hasn't talked about, that she not only has to be honest about, but is compelled to be honest about, and that compulsion is rooting her to the spot.

She's going to wreck her relationship and hurt this young child and there isn't anything that she can do about it. Toriel just looks... frustrated, and resigned, as she realizes it. It's like she's a passive observer to the scene, as her voice works without any real input from her.

"Because you do scare me, a great deal. Every time I think of you, I remember it, no matter how hard I try not to. How much vicious, killing intent you put into that single blow."

"I am truly sorry that I feel that way," she manages to get out, wresting control from her compulsions to add at least some kind of comfort to it, something that really is true.

Kitchen time, time for kitchens

[kingtrousele]

[...right. Time to make some spaghetti. Times like this called for spaghetti. Not so much spaghetti that would be enough to feed the entire kingdom. Just enough for one plate, maybe two if there was someone else in the kitchen.

And lo and behold, there is indeed someone in here. The human.

He can't help but remember his worst memory...something that he really shouldn't have seen within the human's mindscape a month ago. Instead, he tries to concentrate on something else. Spaghetti. Right.

He approaches the human with a smile.]

HELLO, HUMAN! I WAS JUST ABOUT TO MAKE SOME SPAGHETTI, WOULD YOU LIKE TO STICK AROUND TO HAVE SOME??

[determinedest]

[No.]

[No, they really wouldn't.]

[It's not the taste so much that bothers them - Chara might have found it indescribable, but it wasn't quite as terrible as all that. It wasn't as bad as Dog Salad, the one with all the bones. Even the fried tennis ball tasted better than that.]

No.

[The word is sharp, but their tone is blunt. Soft, even.]

I don't think you want to be around me.

[kingtrousele]

[Papyrus's smile falters a bit.]

OH. ...WELL, THEN!! I SUPPOSE I'LL MAKE AN EXTRA BIG PORTION FOR MYSELF!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND.

[There really was no use in trying to change the subject, was there? Especially when that familiar feeling of telling the truth bubbling up in him again is apparent. Still, he tries to busy himself by gathering up a large pot, filling it up with water.]

I...HAD A FEELING YOU WOULD SAY THAT. THE...WHOLE 'I SHOULDN'T BE AROUND YOU' PART, I MEAN.

[He turns off the faucet, looking a bit dejected.]

HUMAN, I...LAST MONTH, DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE STRANGE DREAMS EVERYONE WAS HAVING? AND HOW WE COULD WALK AROUND IN EVERYONE'S...MIND SCAPE THINGS? WELL, I DIDN'T KNOW IT AT THE TIME, BUT AT ONE POINT, I FOUND YOUR MIND SCAPE, AND, WELL...I KNOW. I SAW EVERYTHING.

[An awkward silence.]

I...HOPE YOU HAVEN'T TRIED TO OPEN MY DOOR TO WITNESS MY WORST MEMORY. I PUT UP A WARNING FOR YOU AND UNDYNE ALREADY AND...WELL, THAT'S ENOUGH OF A HINT, ISN'T IT?

[He waves his hands in front of him, almost dismissively.]

BUT!! BUT, BUT!! I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL BAD ABOUT IT!! I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL BAD ABOUT ANYTHING!! STILL, I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER...WHY? WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO DO THOSE THINGS?

garden

[onetruemorty]

[ When in doubt, or when just sorta looking to avoid going back to certain bedrooms at all cost, wandering is the name of Morty's game these days. He's not even going onto the same floor.

In small, small mercies, at least he isn't trapped in there with that memory. Bright sides can be few and far between: this is a gift horse he won't look twice in the mouth. And the garden is a nice place to be. Quiet and nice to look at. Really open, which is cool, because hanging around in the somewhat-crowded sleepover areas got claustrophobic fast. Give him some open space with a younger crowd any day. ]

It's probably gonna get pretty cold for gardening soon, huh? Do you, uh. Do you ever throw down some bulbs so they can kick off in spring, o-or do you roll with the weather?

[determinedest]

[Maybe it's for the best that they've not interacted with Morty as much as they probably should have. That makes for fewer awkward conversations, doesn't it? Fewer strange and unnerving admissions. A much lower likelihood for something uncomfortable to be said.]

[The questions he asks are, mercifully, innocuous. They could almost smile with relief.]

[Almost.]

I don't know, I guess. I haven't tried to take care of it during winter yet.

[onetruemorty]

[ Morty has his own sets of skills. Tiptoeing around with words has become one of them as time's gone by. It's not always the best approach, but once in a while it comes in handy to have the experience. This truth stuff is definitely a handy time. ]

Could be something to try out if you're still here by then. I don't really garden back home or anything. I, I just hear about it from movies and commercials and stuff. There's usually something that holds out when it gets cold. Y'know, more, more interesting than just pine trees.

garden

[punful]

He doesn't mean to. He doesn't. Wonderland is just--too small. He can blip around all he wants, but eventually he runs into someone. And then there's a conversation, and he has long since just resigned himself to this event. There's no point in fighting. He knows that from last time.

They both managed to avoid it then with Frisk's quick thinking. But not this time. Not when Sans teleports about twenty feet away, landing near a rose bush. He looks around, and his eyelights settle on them.

He doesn't care anymore about all the things he could tell them. He just doesn't want them to have to tell him anything. It's so goddamn unfair. They beat this last time, so maybe...maybe he can try to spare them. One last-ditch effort to resist this event. He already ruined things by going into their room and seeing...all of it.

"i'll go. i'm going. it's not because i don't want to be around you. i do. i just don't want you to feel--obligated."

[determinedest]

It's too late.

He's already here. He's already watching them, and they can feel this sockets at the back of their skull. Their head half-bowed, hair tickling their cheeks and fringeing their face. Their eyes, heavy and lidded, sweep the expanse of turned-over dirt.

With a soft chuft of shifting soil, they jab their trowel into the earth with more than the requisite force.

"You're hundreds of RESETs too late on that one."

library!

[voidfished]

When she was younger, Lucretia liked to spend time in libraries. When she was around books, the world didn't turn, problems didn't find her, and she was able to be at peace. It's not so much now, when she's running from something, but she's trying as she gathers up a few books and attempts to find peace.

She stumbles across them as she searches, taking a quick step back when she realizes there's already someone there, and-- another kid. More and more that she keeps finding around this place.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize there was anyone else back here." She holds up a hand, halfway in greeting, halfway to show she comes in peace. Not that she really has to justify it with the way Wonderland is forcing the truth. "You wouldn't happen to know any good spots around here to read, would you?"

[determinedest]

It's someone new.

That's not surprising. Lots of new people arrive in Wonderland. What is surprising is the fact that something about them was notable enough to warrant addressing. As if there's anything here but a curled-up anomaly masquerading as a child. They study her for a long moment, brow scrunching briefly.

"You can read anywhere." But, but...the but squeezes its way out before they can consider whether they ought to bite it back. Before they can recognize the impulse for what it is and FIGHT it in earnest. "But be careful. Someone tried to burn down the library once."

They almost say librarby. Almost.

kitchen;

[restinglichface]

[Keeping far away from the memories of her own brother staring her straight in the face and not recognizing her, Lup has spent most of her time away from her room either in the music room or in the kitchen, two places so familiar she can't help but find some comfort within them.

The elf is standing in the pantry when Frisk arrives to heat up a nice cup of tea, Lup's head tipping from side-to-side as her gaze sweeps over the pantry contents. This is just... so much more than she's used to having access to. She could keep herself very busy in this kitchen. At least until this awful event is over.

Either way, Lup's attention shifts when Frisk enters, her mouth quirking to the side in a grin.] Hey, it's Frisk. In the flesh. How's tricks, kiddo?

[determinedest]

[In the flesh.]

[There they both are, recognizable and real. Fleetingly, they're struck with the absurd mental image of Lup heating a cup of tea in between clasped palms, using the heat of magic fire to warm the water, cup by cup. But it sounds, smells...good.]

[Tea sounds like a good idea.]

Not playing any tricks. Just...hiding, mostly.

[That last part sure wasn't supposed to come leaking out!!!!]