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

Entry tags:

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

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"why don't i just stick with you and keep anyone from asking? i can keep you and jay separate. it wouldn't even be that hard."

He can teleport. So long as he warns Tim beforehand and has his okay, it'd be downright simple. Barely any real effort.

Not that effort matters right now. Not even to Sans.

"you're not going to talk me into letting you go, tim."

"Because it just comes out. Because someone will say something and I'll say something and you know it's impossible to shut this stuff up!" Why is he even giving a damn? Is it hard to not be a murderer? Apparently, because Tim doesn't even know how much blood is on his hands at this point. Certainly Alex. Certainly Brian. Jay, and the nameless man in that tunnel, and Seth, and Sarah, and Amy, and everyone Alex hurt - those are on him too.

He trembles on the spot; wanting to lurch forward, and failing to. Trying to bluff his way past this, and knowing he can't.

"I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anybody."

"if i'm not compelled to say anything, then i can get you out of there in time."

He's trying to be calm, reasonable. He certainly sounds that way. The truth is he's too exhausted to feel anything else. Hollow blankness is settling over him and there's no point in fighting it. He knows how it goes.

"if you do, then it's on me. it's on me for not listening to your warnings. and i can accept that. i'm not moving."

"Get out of my way."

He won't attack. He knows he won't, and now Sans knows he won't either. He can't bring himself to, not even to save his own skin. That's never really enough. It's only ever someone else on the line, someone else's life at stake. Or someone else's death on his hands.

He steps back, hands fisting into his own hair -

And bolts the other way.

If he can't do it here, he'll do it some other way.

"no."

It's easier, somehow. It's easier to face someone who screams and yells and gets angry. Not like facing someone who doesn't say a word, whose thoughts and intentions you can only make educated guesses at. Who simply no longer cares. Who sees you as nothing but an obstacle.

Tim turns and runs.

Well. That wasn't entirely what Sans was expecting.

"wait--"

Tim knows full well that Sans can teleport. Does he think Sans won't follow?

Sans lets him get about twenty yards away before he teleports to catch up. It's gotta be unsettling, he knows--something following you without moving. Something that's just there every time you glance back.

He wonders if Tim is going to ever forgive him for this. And he keeps following.

No. No. This - he knows this. He knows what this is. It's something blurry and white flaring up in the corners of his vision and chasing him, moving between blinks. It's the thing that backs him into a wall until its unseen tendrils creep into his skull and he screams, really screams.

It's being trapped. No choice. No choice. Not ever. And it's always for his own benefit, isn't it, it's doctors saying they know exactly what you need and that you shouldn't argue, Timothy, just trust us, Timothy, we know what's best for you, Timothy.

His tone is high and desperate, laced with unadorned panic.

"Get away from me!"

There's outright panic in his voice when Tim yells again.

God, is he just making this worse?

"tim, just stop."

They never do just stop.

He teleports one last time and then tries to just follow on foot. Tim is moving way too fast, though, and Sans is too tired to do anything more than sort of trot after him. Even that makes his chest start to ache within seconds.

"tim, please."

"S-stop!" He jerks back as though struck, flinching so powerfully his foot hooks over something - a root or a rock - and sends him sprawling. He scrambles through the leaves and mulch underfoot, damp from the chill of the night, choking back the swollen bubble of a sob in his throat.

The white dome of something looming overhead, glistening in the filtered moonlight.

He snaps his hands over his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

It found him.

He always knew It would.

It found him, because It always does when the trees get to be like this, when he runs away, and It's like It lives in Rosswood and telling it to go away will never save anything, will never relinquish anything, but he still has to try, the words breaking.

"Please, I didn't - I didn't do anything wrong! I promise! Don't take me back! Don't take me back!"

He fucked up.

He fucked up, he fucked up.

Tim trips and goes down and cowers, covering his head like he thinks Sans is going to attack him, or worse. Or much, much worse. Sans remembers the tower, remembers the way Alex reacted the times he managed to startle him.

He's...

So fucking bad at this.

He stops several feet away and takes a step back, hands up.

"tim, it's me. i'm sorry. i didn't--it's just me. it's sans. i'm not going to hurt you. i'm not gonna take you anywhere. i..."

He crouches, because that thing is tall--it's very tall--and maybe if he makes himself even smaller, Tim will believe him and come out of this. He makes sure his eyelights are glowing bright, even though it gives him a headache--it doesn't have eyes, doesn't have a face at all, he remembers that. Just blank white.

He's too tired, though, especially from moving fast, so his legs sort of give out. He ends up just sitting in the fallen leaves.

"it's just me."

His breathing is ragged, but he doesn't care. He's probably going to fall asleep soon, but if he can just...time it right, try and make sure Tim is safe before then...should he go get help? Not Jay. Clem? No, she's just a kid. Papyrus? He'd make things worse with how tall he is, and he doesn't know Tim.

Max? He has no idea where she is, but she was friends with Alex, and she must understand some of this stuff, right?

Someone has to fix this, because Sans obviously can't.

"P-please, please just - just stop, stop stop stop stop stop stop stop - "

The words turn into a breathless litany. He can't hear anything but for the roar of the blood in his ears, the frantic stutter of a heart like a revving motor that can't jump into ignition. There's voices again, words humming in the icy-static air, but he can't hear them. He presses his face into his hands and shrinks into the leaves and tries to ride it out, like it's - like it's just another episode, another problem to diagnose.

His head hasn't begun to ache, but he keeps waiting. If he waits, he'll start coughing and shivering and it'll set into his bones and it'll happen and he knows it will. If he braces himself for it, it'll all be over soon.

Maybe, if he's lucky, It won't be angry.

Please, please let It not be angry.

"Don't be mad don't be mad don't be mad don't be mad..."

He sits there, makes himself small, and stays quiet. Talking isn't helping. Sans isn't even sure that Tim can hear him right now. He's seen this sort of thing before from Frisk and Chara. And he knows what it's like himself, but it hasn't been like this in...a very, very long time.

It's different. He can't imagine what Tim is going through.

He should leave. Just go before he can make this even worse. But if he goes, then Tim might go through with it. So what does he do?

What the hell is he supposed to do?

His heart doesn't slow and his breath doesn't stop. Nothing stops. Until, abruptly -

everything stops.

Sans can recognize panic. He recognizes the hard lock of limbs curling taut around themselves, the way someone can no longer speak for the jangling in the nerves of their fingers and their legs and everything else. Maybe he knows the feeling, or maybe he knows something close enough to it.

It doesn't matter what he recognizes.

Because this isn't it.

It's a dragging rasp of breath drawn into his throat. A rumble of spluttering, respiratory agony. His lungs squeeze, and he begins to cough. He can't see. He can't see anything, can't feel anything, nothing but the hot-ping rattle of spikes up against closed lids and his fingers are too numb from the cold, too clumsy from the fatigue, to go scrambling through his pockets. His pockets, his pockets -

Where is it? Where is it? It was right here.

It was right

It was right here.

Stop, stop, stop, he'll be good he knows he'll ge good he promises he'll do better he'll do better but the rictus is already snapping tight over his muscles, arching his back, the incredibly intent and inescapable contracture of muscle over bone and the agony of everything drawing tight into the core of him.

Sans would be forgiven for thinking he isn't breathing.

The only sound he seems to be able to make is a wheezing, ragged hiss of someone trying and failing to draw breath.

He almost thinks it might be working, but then--

It gets even worse.

Tim just--stops breathing. Sans's eyesockets go wide as he watches Tim's body sort of lock up, his back arching, and he makes a sound like he's trying to breathe but can't.

"tim?"

He sits up a little. Another of those hissing breaths, like Tim's chest is collapsing, like he's trying to breathe through a straw. Every line of his body has gone tight, taut, like he's been turned green, but a thousand times worse.

Sans scrambles to his feet, completely forgetting that he was trying to keep his distance.

"tim--"

He goes to his side, only hesitates a moment before he reaches out to grip Tim's shoulder. There's no reaction whatsoever, just more tightness, another drag of breath, and oh god, he's dying. He's dying, that's what's happening. Sans scared him too much and now he's going to die.

"oh god."

This is worse than just fucking up, this is worse than just getting it wrong. Tim is dying, and Sans doesn't know what to do, and this is all his fault, all his fault, and for a second he's just sort of frozen, trying to hold on as Tim jerks and shudders.

"someone--i gotta--"

Tim needs a doctor. Do they even have doctors here anymore? He needs to call someone. Would Jay know what to do? He's not a doctor, but he knows Tim, but he's also the last person who should be here right now, isn't he? Papyrus--no. Alphys? No.

Someone, it has to be someone, Tim is going to die if he doesn't do anything.

Sans pulls out his phone and fumbles with it until he finds the first name he thinks might have any sort of chance of helping. He dials.

"max? max, i need help."

After everything that had happened today, Max feels like a camping trip is the most ridiculous thing. And yet, somehow, through a mixture of wanting to get away from it all and Ishimaru's boundless enthusiasm, she finds herself in a tent near the edge of the lake. It's late- the noise in the camp is subdued, drowned out even by the soft, melancholy song playing from her Oregon cellphone. Her eyes are closed in the dark, hoping that the exhaustion of the day will carry her off to sleep.

Just as she feels consciousness edging away, her device rings.

Her eyes flutter open and she sighs heavily. She ignores it. Lets the song push through the sound.

And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones...
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs...
Setting fire to our insides for fun...

But the device rings and rings, and the light fills up her whole tent. She turns and squints at it in the dark, trying to find the right button to just make it stop. But her eyes settle on Sans' name staring out at her on the screen.

Sans. She hadn't expected him today- the stuff he said in the gallery, the way it had pulled her through her sadness... the way he understood. And the way she understood him. No one just calls her anymore, either, and she wonders what it could be about.

She answers after a brief hesitation.

"...Help? It's-" She shuts off the music and checks the time. It's late.
"Are you- okay?"

What could she possibly help Sans with? Picking up that sock, probably.

Edited 2017-11-03 05:46 (UTC)

Sans is shaking so much he almost drops his phone. He's not even sure Max will be able to help. She's human, though, so she has to know what this is, right?

"it's tim."

He tries to keep his grip on Tim's shoulder.

"i'm sorry, i just, i didn't know who to call. we're in the woods, i scared him and he's--he went all rigid and he's on the ground and i don't think he's breathing. i don't know what's--i've never seen this before, i don't know what to do. i'm sorry."

He can't even remember if Max even knows Tim. The world is coming apart.

Tim. The moment his name comes up, Max knows this is going to be a capital-P Problem. She sits up in the dark of her tent, trying to both absorb what Sans is saying and figure out what the proper response would be. Not breathing, rigid, in the woods. Why would Sans think to call Max? She's not even friends with Tim.

She can't seem to say that, though... because of the event? Normally that would annoy her to no end, but right now there are more important things. Things that Max can't help with, because she's literally that one slow teen who never even finished high school. She doesn't know the first thing about first aid or medicine.

"I'm sorry, Sans, but-" there's nothing I can do. The words won't come out. She mouths them without sound, a disconcerting feeling at best. The cold October air seems to press in around her and creep up her spine.

God damn event.

It takes a second to regain her composure. Then it's adult-mode on, because there's a life at stake. "Where exactly?" She stands and throws on a jacket and shoes even as she leaves the tent, phone pressed to her ear all the while. "And how long has it been? How many minutes?"

Edited 2017-11-04 17:19 (UTC)

She starts to apologize, and his soul sinks. Oh god, she's going to say that Tim is dying, isn't she? This is it. He's just going to have to sit and watch Tim suffocate.

She doesn't, though, and Sans takes a shaky breath.

"no, i know, i get it. i just, i need human advice, i don't know what--what this is, if he's--i don't know what to do, if i should...teleport him back to the mansion, if that would make it worse? i don't..."

He doesn't know, god, why does he know so little about how humans actually work? Why did he never bother to learn?

"it's...in the woods, kind of near the lake. left of the lake."

What is she asking? How long it's been? Right, because humans can only live so long without oxygen, right? That must be why she's--

Oh.

Wait.

He doesn't answer right away.

"make it...make it three minutes."

He pauses, because part of him doesn't want to tell her, doesn't want to make this any more stressful for her, but--well, it'll be a helluva lot worse for all of them if he doesn't say this.

"i was teleporting before that. so make it three minutes at the most."

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cw flashbacking

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cw: seizing

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2/2

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