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

[directed]

--You're coming dangerously close to sulking, you realize. [Everything from her assessment of his experience to the opinion on his gun, all of it seems to come less from a place of critical analysis and more a child's pouting fit. Yet he seems amused even as he calls her on it, a glint in his eye that speaks to teasing more than judgement this time.

…Although make no mistake; there is still some judgement there. An appropriate amount, he would think.]

I don't need this gun to be subtle. On the occasions where I needed to go unnoticed in any given era, I ensure my weaponry matches the time I'm in. [So it's exactly as she's assumed, right down to his experience with a variety of guns and their recoils.]

[mucked]

I think I can be forgiven a bit of a sulk. Given the weekend.

[ a refreshingly earnest opinion, really. it's one she'd ordinarily defer and detour and decline to admit. it's not that peggy is self-effacing, exactly, but she would normally have made an attempt to rise above such petty bait. to prove (as she so often tries) that her shortcomings don't matter.

(when, of course, they do.)

she meets his teasing look with another impatient shake of her head. ] But! All I'd need is a couple days -- three, tops -- with your gun and then I imagine I could outshoot you with it.

[ maybe only barely. but if she had a chance to adjust, to drill, to learn how not to correct for its lack of kick? well, peggy's got a healthy confidence in her own skills. not least of all because she can see where his shots with the ppk were just a little off her own. ]

[directed]

You might be surprised. I'm the source of all this misery, and yet nearly everyone has seen fit to tell me how I shouldn't blame myself. One person was particularly adamant that I do something other than dwell in my own misery for the duration.

[What a silly person who clearly doesn't know Rip at all.

But her challenge remains. Three days, she claims, and it might well be true. Rip knows just the same as Peggy that his shots hadn't quite hit with the same level of accuracy. He turns his head to look at her for a moment, as if considering the offer.]

You do understand that putting futuristic technology in the hands of someone from the past is literally a crime when I'm from? And one that I specifically work to both prevent and correct.

[Never mind that he'd done just that a few moments before. He simply has to give Peggy a hard time. It seems appropriate, with the way things are headed.]

[mucked]

[ it's her turn to take back what belongs to her. in this case, it involves leaning leftward just enough to coax her ppk back out of his hands. but with her mug in one grip and the gun in her other, she isn't quick to reveal her holster all over again. ]

Worked. [ peggy isn't correcting him -- rather, the word nearly carries an interrogative. the barest hint of a question mark. she's rising to his defiance with a bit of her own. gladly, almost. ] Your Time Masters are finished, aren't they? Which leads me to think you're not much of a lawman any longer.

And it's not a crime here -- [ doubtless he'll confirm or deny whether that's true soon enough; it's not as though wonderland hasn't already crossed that line when it comes to peggy and technology. ] -- and besides, if you refuse I can always try my luck with the closets. See if I can't replicate it from memory.

[ peggy smirks. ] Which option do you think might result in the bigger disaster, hm? Mister Hunter?

[directed]

[He'd almost forgotten he'd been holding the thing to be honest. But when Peggy does reclaim her pistol, Rip in turn picks up his neglected cup of tea, lukewarm now and still bitter without the benefit of any sweetener added to it. He takes a sip and briefly frowns, almost a wince at the reminder of what can happen to such a good drink if not tended to properly.

Shame, that.

But seemingly one never content to leave well enough alone, Peggy tries to needle him about his profession by playing both sides of the coin; suggesting at first that he's got no mandate to uphold, and then in the next breath appealing to Rip's professional ethics by suggesting he might help unleash some great horror if she were to attempt to recreate his revolver on her own.]

The Time Masters are finished, but I've taken up their task in the aftermath. [Point the first. Another sip of tea, another moment to brace himself afterwards, and Rip continues on.] And you, Miss Carter, cannot replicate a bottle of decent whiskey from memory. I somehow suspect you won't have much luck trying to recreate a pistol that you don't even know the inner workings of--much less anything worse.

[Maybe she'll end up with a showy laser pointer at best. Rip almost hopes to see her face if that is the case.]

[mucked]

[ a vigilante through time, then. is that really any better? although peggy can appreciate the position. the last year and a half have been a study in vigilantism just outside the ssr's purview. she empties her mug, but rather than rush to refill it she leaves it sitting on the floor.

now it is time to smoothly reholster her ppk. this time, with a touch more discretion than when she'd drew it first in a rush of ego. ]

I care more about my guns than I do my whiskey. [ she certainly paid a different kind of attention to his gun than she has any bottle of booze. ] But if the inner workings are that much of a stumbling block, I suppose I could always tap a shoulder. Call in a favour with one of the engineers. One of the scientists.

Tony. Or Ray, for that matter. [ a soft hum. ] Ray might be best, actually. I fear the bells and whistles that would come with any Stark-design.

[ she speaks frankly, openly, candidly. more importantly? she calls him ray. not doctor palmer. not even raymond. ]

[directed]

[Some days, Rip has to wonder.

But! The Legends cutting their way through history ever so much like a chainsaw isn't the current topic up for discussion. He once more politely turns his head when Peggy reholsters her gun; though her actions speak of greater care this time, it's the proper thing to do. And of course, there is the debate between them to focus on--one that takes an interesting turn when she calls out the names of those whom might aid her in her endeavors.]

Ray now, is it? [Not Doctor Palmer, and not even Raymond. Her point stands entirely true, of course; no doubt Ray could indeed build her a weapon akin to Rip's. Same for this "Tony Stark," if his claims about building an exosuit are true.

So clearly, the best tactic now isn't to try and argue a lie he can't even give voice to.] I didn't realize the pair of you had gotten so close.

[mucked]

[ ...altogether too late she realizes the knot she's tied herself into. peggy had gotten used to calling him ray. just as she'd gotten used to how he called her peg. and as strangely alright as that phenomenon has become, she considerably less alright with spitting those details out for someone else to hear.

her lips purse tight as she shakes her head -- but it's about as close to a lie as she can take it, because the next few words out of her mouth are plain and adulterated truth: ] He's a friend.

[ she supposes. certainly, he supposes. peggy frowns, too, because she can taste the next confession rising like bile in the back of her throat. ]

And he was my -- employer. During that event. Surely you know the one.

[ don't make me say it. peggy buries her attention in another tart, tearing it in two and shoving one half into her mouth. flipping hell, she needs to shut it. ]

[directed]

[He might have remarked on that admission of friendship, particularly where Ray is concerned. After all, Rip knows exactly what Dr. Palmer is like when it comes to such matters, how he insists and pushes and never relents, believing always in something better to be. But before he can question if she'd been goaded into accepting Ray's likely proclamations as truth, Peggy cites what is perhaps the truest source of their connection. The strange little event that tied them together, not unlike it had Rip and Peggy too.

Though in a completely different fashion, when it comes to the details.]

...Yes, quite. I, ah, do remember it quite well. [She grabs a tart from the box and Rip is reminded that he two has one in there, now perhaps best used in case of the emergency of speaking too much.

For example?]

I hadn't realized he was the one you were making excuses to when you and I had our little date. [Not a revelation he meant to speak out loud. The proclamation of "bollocks" is quickly muffled. Good thing he does like the flavor of the bakewells; it'd be a shame to have to suddenly fill his mouth with a taste he hated.]

[mucked]

[ rip wouldn't be wrong. ray palmer has been the very definition of a persistent bastard. but she has a grudging respect for persistent bastards -- the ones who won't stay knocked down. the idealists, the futurists, the ones with the hardest heads. it's an admiration that feels most natural when it's being hidden.

or, at the very least, downplayed. something this event hasn't allowed her to do. not about shield, not about ray, and now not about this either. peggy chews her way through the frangipan and the frosting while she forces herself to meet rip's eyes -- it's only a matter of time before something else comes bubbling up. but when she swallows, she finds she can't swallow the truth alongside. ]

Of course you hadn't. [ realized. ] I've worked hard to make certain you didn't. Wouldn't. It's no big reveal to say we've both been avoiding the topic. Our...little date, as you've put it.

[ peggy peels the slivered almond off the top of her remaining half a tart. ] Equally, Ray hasn't realized for whom I was making those excuses. And with a two parts effort to one part luck, he won't ever have to.

[directed]

[She meets his gaze, and it's rather damn impressive he thinks. This should all be subject matter they've gone over before, laid to rest between them the first night Peggy had shown up at his door with the request for a drink and the offer of silence once what needed to be said had been spoken. Yet it would seem the event now at play has once more brought the matter to the fore--and even as they both chew, Rip suspects it won't be dismissed so easily.

A thought proved right as soon as Peggy's no longer got pastry and frosting muffling her lips. Peggy cites her own efforts, leaving Rip to nod in quiet reply. Impressive in will and secrecy then. It's not as if Rip and Ray haven't spoken since then, but not about the convention.

Which proves the point that follows well enough.] I reasoned as much simply because he hasn't approached me about it. We might never well hear the end of it if he did know. [Two parts effort indeed, and Rip can only hope that somehow, this particular truth doesn't get told to Raymond while Rip's got no choice but to say it.

But something else in what she said clicks with him then; it's his turn to look her in the eye, curious at her phrasing.] But he does know you went on a date. As you were then, at least.

[mucked]

[ she might manage to look him in the eye, yes, but she doesn't manage to hide how she winces. it's first a soft intake of breath -- hissed inward between her teeth -- and then a sort of coiling tightness through her shoulders. her wince is sourced in a lot of things, not least among them the acknowledgement that she believes in rip's assertion: they would indeed never hear the end of it.

...and another source is one she can't help but tackle aloud: ] Must we keep calling it a date? Stupid question. Of course we must. [ she eats that slivered almond piece off the tip of her finger and then traces a lazy circle in the air. indicating, however wordlessly, the event all around them. it was a date and so that is what they must call it. ]

I suspect he suspects I was meeting with someone. [ and she's got a good track record with hunches. ] But it's been easy enough to carry on the conversational fiction that I went MIA because he was simply too demanding as a boss. In that regard, he's none too difficult to throw off a scent. Good Lord, you know I think he actually thought I was probably something like an assistant or a secretary?

[ not so easy, now. everything gets considerably tougher when other people begin to realize she's prone to short-changing the truth even in the most innocent conversations. she hasn't enjoyed ray's gradual realization about her nature and her vocation. ]

[directed]

[He nods at her wince, her mutual understanding that Ray's eagerness might well know no bounds should he discover just what they each had been up to during the event--and equally, afterwards. Nothing like a "date," of course, but weekly evenings spent together, sharing drinks and each other's company.

Which, one could argue, is exactly what they'd done during those days not spent as themselves. Right down to Rip providing the whiskey.

But she asks something else first, and Rip gives her a frown and a dry "we must" at the same moment Peggy herself utters the words. They hadn't been themselves, no, but their meeting had indeed been a date; Rip can recall the nervous excitement that the version of himself then had felt when gathering the bits and bobs necessary.

And how each time he considered the fact that he did have a date with "Lambeth," he couldn't keep himself from smiling.

Back to the matter at hand, however. Peggy updates him on the situation, in a manner reminiscent of offering up a report on mission status. He shakes his head at the end of it, at Peggy's amazement of what Ray might have been convinced of.]

You were rather good as a PA, from what I recall--and Dr. Palmer is quite trusting of people. [A trait that's been both good and bad at times.] He has the ability to quite willfully see the best in everyone, and believe in positive outcomes.

And he considers you friends, so why would he assume you might tell him anything but the truth?

[mucked]

[ peggy rolls her eyes. it's as though rather good as a pa settles like a terrible insult. there are worse ways to be described, certainly, but this one feels particularly galling. it's not rip's fault. reality is, she was good at her job -- truancy aside. her competency had been a point of frustration in the immediate aftermath. a frustration she'd explained to doctor palmer, sort of, but of course never mentioned in rip's company. until now, it had always seemed preferable to sweep that entire affair under a rug.

and just now it would do no good to tell him exactly how intrigued and interested she had to have been in order for that version to abandon her duties so often and so long. it would do no good to express the strained pained hopefulness that different woman had felt when faced with reminders of both home and the unknown in one package.

instead, she talks about ray. ]

Those are damned dangerous qualities. [ and when she says it, now, she's considering all this fuss about working on a team together -- the legends, they call themselves. ] Noble ones, but nevertheless dangerous. I suppose I was hoping for his sake it might have been some sort of act.

[ -- which is as good as saying she expects everyone else to also lie.

well. nearly everyone else. ]

[directed]

I think it's a choice, actually. [Though on the whole Rip does agree with Peggy; noble and dangerous, and he's seen Ray be burned by those traits before. But equally, Rip has seen the power of them; felt the strength of that hope at a time when he needed it most.]

You know, there was a time when we were fighting Savage when he had us--well. Soundly defeated, to be honest. The weapon he had at his disposal was unbelievably powerful, and this is coming from me. [A man well familiar with both past and future alike, with so many advancements that technology creates in the years to come.]

It was also, I believed, the last chance to save my family. We were mere days before he would set out to slaughter them. And in the darkness of my broken ship, when I was--broken by the belief that we could not defeat time--Dr. Palmer spoke of destiny as a matter of choice.

We wouldn't have won that day without him. He saved not only myself and the Legends, but dozens of refugees they had rescued.

[Although Rip's family had not been among them.]

[mucked]

[ her discomfort can't be helped. maybe, maybe if rip was explaining these things under his own steam -- volunteering the information -- then she could figure out how best to approach these revelations. but for the most part, peggy is left confronting just how unlikely it is that any of these words would be given freely had he a choice in the matter.

and there's that word again -- sacred and sentimental both whenever peggy thinks about it. not simply under these current circumstances, but because of how they'd been used in the past. how she'd hear it in her room, just now, if she dared to return. there's no dignity in destiny. but, oh, in choice...

peggy looses some of the tension from her shoulders. she leans her head back against the wall. ]

You call it a victory. [ 'we wouldn't have won that day without him,' rip says. and peggy's attention claws its way tight into those words -- and what they mean by mere virtue of the event around them. ] I'm glad to hear it.

[ a victory, despite its price. she suspects that comes down to choice as well -- choosing to focus on the triumph, as thin as it might feel to the man who lost so much in the process. ]

[directed]

[She's wrong though. Perhaps not on the whole but...if they were having this conversation under normal circumstances, Rip might have kept some of the details to himself. The story, however, is worth telling. Those long days had been the ones wherein he saw Ray best; those in which he truly began to respect Dr. Palmer, he thinks.

And it illustrates quite well just what benefits the man's outlook can hold, to match the potential pitfalls.

His tea's gone cold by now. Forgotten, really, as Rip turns to look at Peggy while she leans her head back. He nods slowly at her assessment, his mouth pressed in a tight line while he measures the shape of it for himself.]

There is rarely anything one might find in any world that is either simple or perfect. I believe we're both the kind of people who can't quite shake the truth of that.

[mucked]

[ her shoulders shake with a near-silent scoff. not out of defiance, no, but reluctant agreement. peggy knows that simple or perfect would have best applied (she hopes) to the future that got sacrificed: next saturday at the stork club. simple and perfect faded out of existence on that day -- before it even managed to manifest itself as more than a brass ring to reach for.

so maybe it's no wonder that she hadn't had an easy time tearing herself from her room on friday morning. as painful as they were -- are -- those last few moments were the last time she'd felt anything close to simplicity or perfection.

something twitches in her jaw. ]

Can't or won't. [ shake it off. ] Both apply, probably. And, yes, I believe it too -- but I also believe we must act as though simple and perfect are considerably less rare than they truly are. We must live in the world as it could be. Should be. [ ... ] Steve taught me that.

[ so the spy has a streak of idealism. one she'd rather hide, certainly -- because it most often behooves her to hide it. ]

[directed]

[The world as it should be.

He takes his time considering that. Seems appropriate for this lesson taught to Peggy Carter by perhaps the one person to have ever broken her heart, and more than once at that. Of course he doesn't yet know of the hours spent in her room, of Peggy's efforts to rend herself from the memory after so many attempts to change it.

He doesn't need to know all of that to understand what it means to be the type of person they are—and to be taught such a valuable lesson by someone he loves.

In spite of everything, he grins faintly as he rolls his head back against the wall. This event is about all of their worst memories, put on a never-ending loop of mockery, teasing that they might be changed though they cannot. But for even someone like Rip, who has seen so much hardship throughout the whole of history, there are good things to recall as well. Jewels, buried among the muck.]

And when you know it, it changes everything. [It's his turn to huff, though his agreement holds less reluctance than hers had. He turns to look at Peggy again then; head still back against the wall, but eyes less clouded, shoulders less weighted than they had been a moment before.

Miranda and Steve likely would've gotten on, he thinks.]

I never properly expressed my gratitude for breakfast, did I? [Tea and pastries, and a conversation that has left him feeling somehow better in spite of all of this mess. What a wonder.] Thank you, Miss Carter.

[mucked]

[ remarkably, there's something here that stays unspoken. perhaps that's victory enough -- that despite the broad bold truths dropping left and right like bombs, they've managed to talk a circle around whatever it is that elicits his grin.

whatever it is that makes him look a little less down-trodden compared to how she'd found him.

and that, in turn, raises peggy's spirits. she appreciates seeing an uptick in his composure (if not his mood) and it's enough to make her reach for his cup but instead of refilling it next to hers, she sets it aside.

ordinarily, she might like to play it off as though the nature of the event made her wonder indeed whether he felt any genuine gratitude to be expressed. but the truth wins, in the end, and peggy finds herself incapable even of dismissing his words with a coy think nothing of it. ]

You're quite welcome. [ she's pleased she came to the second floor, this morning. pleased it worked out well. pleased indeed that despite the uncomfortable reveals, she finds herself no less inclined to share her time with him.

and under the full gust of that realization, peggy lifts her cup and breathes in the scent of tea. as to why she never poured a new cup for him? ] You're also welcome to get yourself another quarter hour of sleep.

[ she'll carry the watch for the next little while -- should he allow it. ]

[directed]

[Curious until the end; Rip might expect Peggy to take advantage of this sudden showing, probably the closest Rip will get to cheer until the rooms are returned to normal and the event ends. Yet she sees fit to move his cup safely aside rather than refill it; equally, she opts not to nudge the box of pastry his way once more.

Perhaps it's in the name of that unspoken thing that's settled between them amongst all the forced confessions. Genuine gratitude, genuine acceptance.

But the question unasked is answered all the same. Peggy takes in the aroma of her tea, and in the same breath comments that Rip could choose to close his eyes, to doze once more, if only for a short while, if he can trust Peggy to stand guard.

If. If.

He thinks of a moment spent in the sun. A vision, a dream—a glimpse into death, wherein he had the opportunity to hold his wife and son one final time.

A memory, just like so many others. The same as the one on replay before them now, hidden only by a single locked door.]

I'm not sure I can manage it. [A quiet confession, and one of no ill-intent towards her. He wants to, and the temptation alone wouldn't exist with many. But even in moments of understanding, even after they have been dead and beyond his reach for years, some wounds remain unhealed.

His guilt unforgiven, even if Rip himself stands the only judge.]

[mucked]

-- You were managing it before I came along. Maybe not for long and not soundly. But you were asleep.

[ she applies just a smidgen more pressure. not much in the way of argument, it's more like carefully offered support. he says he's not sure he can; peggy suggests she can be sure for him. it's inconvenient to feel such ease of friendship with anyone, but oh it quite sneaked up on her with rip hunter. knitted purl by purl and row by row with wednesday nights and a few uncomfortable events.

(what was it tony stark had said about shared trauma? at the memory, peggy's nose crinkles.)

peggy takes no offense. ]

I've got nowhere else to be. [ true enough! and if he won't agree to sleep, then she relents and asks for something else: ] Do you mind if I stay? We might yet manage to sit in silence.

[ and maybe just maybe he'll fall asleep whether he thinks he can manage it or not. it's a slim wager, and one she doesn't much mind losing if it comes to it. ]

[directed]

Not intentionally.

[And therein lay the difference. If exhaustion manages to overtake thought, that is one thing. But in this moment, Rip's not sure that his body can outpace his mind, that the silence of sleep will quell the thoughts that ricochet, the reminders of what lay beyond the door and Rip's responsibility in allowing it to happen. The wounds remain too freshly reopened, though through the admission of his smile, they have at least been treated with a salve.

He can see what she attempts in her offer. Equally, Rip is grateful for it. He does not easily nor often remember that he doesn't do well when left to his own devices in such matters.

So for this, at least, he puts up no resistance.]

I don't mind, no. [And if, if sleep is possible, it seems he is quietly willing to at least try. His head lowers, and if Peggy looks she will see that Rip has closed his eyes. The mix of silence and presence might be enough, if not for true slumber, then at least for Rip to strike as close to rest as he might manage under the circumstances.]

[mucked]

[ after this most recent exchange, she doesn't actually believe he'll drift asleep -- intentionally or otherwise. but her goals do lie in that direction: that perhaps he'll find a scrap of rest or an inch of peace or, what's most likely, her very presence beside him might ward off others from stopping too long and asking too many questions.

and if anyone tries, she can shoo them along with a soft hissed shh and a finger to her lips before she points toward the 'sleeping' man.

it reminds her a great deal of missions with the commandos. there were always nights when even those who didn't have to take the watch still felt so restless and incapable of sleep. and everyone around them would pretend like sleep was had, and not call too rough of attention to the fact that once the laughter and stories died away they were all just bone-weary soldiers sitting in silence around their campfire. they might not always sleep, but it was often enough to know they could switch off the more alert pieces of their brains and let someone else take picquet. there's something comradely in how she offers that same service to rip.

in the meantime, she's got her thermos to finish off and another pastry to bite through. and although she'd said quarter of an hour aloud, she stays nearer to a full one before deciding it's time to move along. peggy minimizes her need to speak, instead pressing the palm of her hand against his shoulder to 'wake' him. she mumbles something about checking on her own space, but that she's left him a cup in the thermos. keep it for now. i expect to collect it back once this madness is through.

never anyone mind that she could simply magic herself a fresh one from any closet.

peggy rises to her feet and brushes crumbs off her skirt and when she leaves she leaves behind a buttery croissant -- the last in the box. his, she's decided, to eat or abandon at will. ]