✘ no i don't remember

[circumitus]

Rey will have a variety of memories to share for the EMPATHY PLOT below. Since I wanted to avoid too much tl;dr, I compiled a list of helpful excerpts and such.

Physical, Mental, Emotional

→ Anyone connected with Rey might experience certain CRAVINGS: Namely spring rolls and beer. She is particularly fond of German lager.
→ Even for those who don’t smoke might feel the urge to, but not as a result to any particular addiction or anything.
→ In spite of Rey’s stoic nature, a lot of what she feels are internal. Feelings of random inexplicable anger and guilt are likely to rise. Contrary to her exterior, Rey is constantly at war with her emotions.
→ Also, random bursts of over-protectiveness and a need to stalk may happen. There is also a great deal of abandonment and loss, both from her own timeline and on the Tranquility as well. She has issues with getting close to people now, feeling like those she tries to connect with will wind up disappearing, anyway.
→ Due to the memories of eight different people stored in her head, characters connected to Rey may find themselves thinking in different languages. Whether they know them or not (and they might), some might recognize them as English, Spanish, Zulu, Dutch, German, Italian, Russian, Arabic, as well as Hebrew.
→ You might get opera stuck in your head a lot. More specifically Andrea Chenier and Dido and Aeneas.
→ As far as her headspace goes, Rey is a soldier. You may be thinking of your situation in terms of military tactics, with her century’s worth of fighting battles in her head. Being connected to her may leave you feeling paranoid. If you don’t already, you’ll be wanting to sit in the corner of rooms with your back turned to the wall, just in the likely event that some crazy will come storming in with an AK-47 and tear up the place. If it sounds like a gun or explosion, you’ll be quick to jump to your defenses, ready to be on the offense.

(BIA) PLOT UPDATE
→ As a result of Rey’s “recon syndrome”, she experiences extreme discomfort that borders on panic when alone. When connected to her, one may feel and understand this better than she ever would due to their empathic bond. Your character may be feeling a need to be connected with another person.
→ Strong familial attachments towards the remaining recon team (namely Firo Prochainezo and William Tsang).

Memories

Once the memories start zapping through, characters will begin to experience what Rey has experienced:

→ Being “born” -- the creation kills its twin. {AM}
→ Sentenced to confinement called Glass House, it is visited by a man who claims he is in love.
→ He wooed her with wicked words. The death of Jonathan, the man who loved a machine {NETHERLANDS, AM}
→ Boot camp: Rey’s memory of being a soldier before she became Sergeant Stone. {NETHERLANDS, LYDIA SHEPHERD}
→ The memory of Sergeant Schmidt, a German soldier.
→ The memory of Sergeant Sheridan, a soldier from the Defense Forces of Ireland. {LYDIA SHEPHERD}
→ A night at the opera with Orion Gideon. Rey cries. {L}
→ Rey opens a body bag which reveals one of her previous vessels. {HIKARU SULU}
→ “Goodnight, Sleepyhead.” (Death and sabotage of Stone.)
→ The memory of Safronov, a Russian sniper. {HIKARU SULU}
→ After her memories come back, Rey has a meltdown and her father is at the receiving end of it.
→ Bird Song: One of many of Rey’s episodes of mental instability during her recovery from insanity. {ANNE MARIE CUNNINGHAM}
→ Don’t worry, it’s only skin: Rey cuts her face up. (tw: self harm) {NETHERLANDS}
→ tl;dr Rey sneaks out and eats at a Chinese restaurant with her brother. (Read as: Pretty much the one pleasant memory of hers I have to offer.
→ General good memories of her time spent with her brother during the four years she had spent living together: Arm wrestling. Racing each other down the streets of future!Chicago, towards a restaurant. Hitting each other (playfully). Getting drunk, which requires a lot of booze.
→ The memories of Sergeant Schuyler, a Dutch woman from Korps Mariniers, the Marine Corps section of the Royal Netherlands Navy. {NETHERLANDS}

(BIA) PLOT UPDATE
Tranquility Memories:
→ Sending the DUPRR pilot, Russe Neson, into the The White Room.

If anyone wants to share any of these memories from Rey (or if they have a personal preference), hit me up in the plotting thread over here!

Update: Pretty much anything from my Eight Lives page is fair game.
New and improved plotting thread can be found over yonder.

STAGE TWO
→ Lydia Shepherd
→ Hikaru Sulu

STAGE THREE
→ Netherlands

(unsorted)
→ L
→ Anastasia Romanov
→ Rose Lalonde
→ Tony Stark (616)

Comments

stranger in the mirror (tw: self harm)

[circumitus]

Your reflection is a lie.

What you see is a stranger.

Be it in the glass in the windows or the mirror, that person looking back at you is wearing a face that isn't yours. You feel it every morning when you wake up. The smooth skin across your face. It enrages you, makes your blood boil at the thought that your father had taken away something recognizable and replaced it with a fraud.

It's still your face, of course. But all the flaws that had once been there are now smoothed over, healed, the scars that had once maimed you gone. Why did father have to do this? He claimed that it was to help you recover from your past demons, help us start over. But you don't want to start over. You can't. And those demons are still ever-present, chiding you, reminding you that a new, pretty face will do nothing. Throughout your previous lifetimes, all those women you had once been, those scars had been the one constant.

For the last few years you've gotten used to stumbling around the rooms in this Chicago townhouse in the dark. After memorizing the walls and corners and objects in the way, you can simply avoid that liar in the mirror.

She mocks you now, her shape in the shadows when you enter that bathroom vaguely visible and copying your every movement. Because she is you, and you are her, just like you have been all of those other women as well. They're part of you. All of them.

And yet that reflection is a lie. A joke, a mask, something that has been covering up an important part of your life.

The light shining through the room behind you reveals the liar in the mirror. Her smooth, pretty face looking at.

"You're not better than me..." You mutter under your breath, your hand balled into a fist. You see the stranger, green eyes are wide and crazed and hungry. "You're not... BETTER THAN ME."

Without warning, without any hesitation, your fist swings with all the mighty force of a battering ram, shattering the glass before you into a thousand, thousand tiny fragments, and a thousand, thousand bulging eyes just staring. Staring. The pieces clatter, making a beautiful sound as they crash downward over the counter, into the wash basin. So many...

Hearing your own rough breathing, the adrenaline still rushing through your veins, you look down into the basin to find a convenient shard that reminds you of a knife. It cuts into your hand when you clench your fingers around it, pulling it out of the basin. And still, the stranger watches you from within. You hate that stranger. You can't stand her. You can't bear the sight of her. You hate her. You hate that look on her face. STOP STARING LIKE THAT. YOU'RE NOT BETTER. STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP. YOU'RE NOT BETTER JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE PRETTY, PRETTY, PRETTY.

The searing edge of the shard cuts deep through your own skin, sliding across your cheek. You do it again, and again, and again, until you can feel several hot bloody streams running down your face, gushing from your shaky hand. It's a familiar feeling. The first thing you recognize in years since you've been cooped up in this goddamned city.

It stings, but you feel them now. Your left cheek, now bearing a cross-shaped bloody mark, and another horizontal one across your chin. The right side of your face is marred by a diagonal scar below your eye, another across the side of your forehead, and a vertical gash sliding from under your jaw. The pain, the warm blood, the feeling is soothing when you feel a part of you coming back while the stranger is slowly dying. In spite of the chaos, the red-soaked bathroom, you feel in control again.

Don't worry. It's only skin.