ataraxionlogs | PLAYER PLOT: fear is the mind-killer

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PLAYER PLOT: fear is the mind-killer

CHARACTERS: You and all your least favorite things.
LOCATION: Shipwide.
WARNINGS: Violence, gore, monsters, psych trauma. (Please warn for any potential triggers—e.g. medical horror, eye stuff, recollection of past sexual trauma—in your subject lines.)
SUMMARY: Boggarts. See the plot post for a full timeline if you want to forward-date; otherwise, watch this space for updates.
NOTES: Whatever happens, however this ends, remember that it's Draco Malfoy's fault.

JAN 22

If you've been paying attention, you should already be on edge. Ward and Resnik have returned without many answers. There's the dead pirate again. The Tranquility is being pursued. People are talking about violent confrontation like it's inevitable, any cycle now. Any day. And now Morgoth is back, somewhere in the corridors.

If you keep an eye out, you won't find him. But you might find something else.

JAN 23

Never mind about Morgoth.

JAN 24

Despite very well-intended claims to the contrary (see above), the mounting evidence suggests that boggarts can be killed. Also, there's probably more than one. Sorry about that.

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[ morgoth is someone to fear — he kidnapped and hurt so many for a chance at freedom, deliberately set out to demonstrate how much stronger he is than her even after he'd already been on arima. he might not look like it, but his mind and mental powers are far more extensive than anderson's, and she can make a grown man piss himself — and has — just by playing mind games with him.

she doesn't flinch away from bellamy when he approaches her. he's not the threat here, and his behaviour and mind aren't threatening. she's not scared of him — but with what happened on arima at the forefront of her mind, with memories of rape and torture at the hand of men right there, she still tenses even though she knows he's not a threat.

she lowers the gun, but it's less because of his words or his command and more because- ] It wouldn't do any good anyway. I know. [ the last part is addressed at morgoth, and her voice doesn't tremble as much as her hand. she might not be able to put on a good show of bravery right now, but at least she's trying.

morgoth just laughs at her, darkly amused and still ignoring bellamy except for- ] You think he can help you? Rescue you from what they've done to you? [ and in her mind, the memory of peach trees resurfaces, the one she knows isn't real but remembers as just as real as the one that actually happened. the one where anderson is on the ground, naked, blood running down her back where they'd whipped her — ]

[Morgoth may be the worst person to ever grace the ship, Morgoth may be the devil incarnate, but Bellamy's got no experience with him and therefor no fear of the thing and so the Boggart holds no power over him now. As far as Bellamy can see, he's just a person, just standing there pretending to be threatening without actually doing anything. He's definitely not familiar enough with powers like Anderson's to know exactly what Morgoth is capable of either, can't fathom what the man could possibly doing to her without even moving, so there's no denying he finds the whole situation a little consternating.

When she lowers the gun, though, a small amount of relief runs through him. He knows more than maybe anyone just how terrible things can be when bullets are flying for no real reason, so his own hand drops away after it's firmly no longer an issue. It wouldn't do any good anyway, she says, and he's not so sure about that, but saying as much is the opposite of what he's trying to accomplish here, so he just purses his lips in response.

He's almost startled when the stranger speaks, eyes flying to the man, watching his lips move, and even though he's talking about Bellamy, somehow... Somehow, he still feels like a ghost. He's being talked about but still completely unacknowledged, and it has his brow furrowing.

It's not just that he's talking to her- it's like he's centered around her. Like he only exists to torment her, like he's...

An idea strikes, and he moves. Slips between them, ducking to try and catch her eye.]

We can walk away.

[He says to her seriously, firmly, a confidence in his voice he can't explain.]

Right now. He can't stop us, we can just turn and walk away.

[ morgoth isn't just a person — or he is, but he's something immortal and old and with far stronger psychic abilities than anyone anderson has ever encountered. in her world, she'd been the strongest known psychic, and morgoth's mind was, is so much vaster in comparison to her own that even when he hadn't tried, she'd almost drowned in it and lost herself the first time she'd tried to read his mind.

of course, later on he'd deliberately tried to drown her, had made her lose herself, had replaced her memories with others and made her question what was reality and what his invention. there are still days when she isn't entirely certain, though alex and charles and the soldier all had helped in different ways to reestablish her grasp on what had been her childhood, what had happened at peach trees, and what had been morgoth and morgoth alone.

morgoth is, in many ways, all-encompassing. his mind is- but when bellamy slips between them, blocking her view of morgoth and trying to catch her eye, anderson's gaze flicks towards him and then away, at first, before she manages to hold his.

there's no hiding the degree of fear she feels; it's written all over her expression. maybe later she will mind, maybe later she will wish that she hadn't revealed quite this much, but there is no thought for it now, because her mind is too focused on morgoth. ]

We can try. [ and her voice shakes, now — but she takes a step back, unwilling to turn her back to morgoth but willing to at least try to escape. ]

[He doesn't know her, she's a stranger, and Bellamy's gone his entire life with the assumption that strangers were to be avoided. Kept out, and without a doubt not his problem. And yet, and yet he's come a long way from what he was on the Ark, and when he looks at her it isn't a stranger he sees.

It's one of his kids, one of his group, frightened and needing direction. He can't pinpoint exactly when that took priority over his own guard, and he's a little disgruntled about that, but he'll deal with it later. Like it or not, he's already involved and he plans on seeing this through.

So he curls a hand around her wrist, tugging her gently but insistently back as she hesitates.]

It's alright. Come on, that's right.

[He murmurs encouragingly, voice low and encouraging, eyes flicking between her and the form of the man still staring her down. She can't seem to tear her eyes from him, and he can feel the way it makes her steps falter.]

Look at me.

[He orders gently.]

Don't look at him, look at me.

( it's funny, in a way, how very different their points of departure are: bellamy has gone his entire life trying to avoid strangers until earth and the hundred changed his perspective on the matter; anderson has always wanted to make a difference, has always cared for strangers in some abstract way that makes her want to help, improve the lives of people she's never met before, and in a concrete way aided by her mutation.

his hand finds her wrist and bellamy tugs her backwards and that, too, is terrifying in this moment because it means trusting him and she'd trusted morgoth and he turned that trust on her, abused her — but bellamy isn't morgoth and that's only her fear speaking, anderson can recognise that much at least. it isn't rational behaviour.

it's alright he says and anderson almost laughs because he doesn't know how strong morgoth is and what morgoth has done to her and to others, the damage and pain he's caused — he doesn't know and anderson doesn't laugh, but some sound escapes her nevertheless.

the physical contact with bellamy, his fingers around her wrist, makes his mind louder in her head, his feelings louder, too, and he isn't afraid. he should be, but her own fear is too close to panic for her to act, to protect herself, and it's all she can do to take some of the calm he feels and wrap it around her own mind.

morgoth made her drown in his mind, and now she's drowning out her own fear with bellamy's emotion. maybe much later, she'll be able to appreciate the irony in that.

they're still moving, if slowly, and with more distance and her own emotions more quiet now, anderson is able to force her gaze away from the still figure of morgoth — he doesn't need to move to hurt her — to bellamy instead. )

He was dead. ( but people come and go and the ship has proven more than once that time and different universes are no barrier to its bringing people aboard.

morgoth was dead, but that doesn't mean he can't be back here, alive. )

[ She's right, he has no idea about anything Morgoth. He has no fucking clue what he's done, how strong he is, whatever, but right now Bellamy's convinced that it doesn't matter. More convinced now than ever, as a matter of fact, because as he tugs Anderson back, that stranger just stand there uselessly, making no move to stop him. It's a mental fear, he has to conclude, and even though he doesn't know much about telepathy, he thinks that might be easier to get away from.

He's just got to keep her in the present, keep her from letting her own mind conveniently do the torturing for Morgoth. He may not be a hundred percent comfortable with this mind reading stuff yet, but right now? He's more than happy to shove some of his own determination at her, to let her feel the conviction of his beliefs, the belief that this isn't real, that he's going to protect her, and that she's safe. He believes it with sheer vehemency, especially when he manages to get her eyes away from the stranger and onto him instead. ]

He's still dead.

[ Bellamy replies firmly, though he can't actually know that. Morgoth may be alive somewhere, maybe, who knows. Finn was supposed to be dead too, but he showed up. The point is, that guy isn't real.

His grip tightens a little, goes from guiding to a little more firm, and he keeps them backing up, eyes flicking away only for a second to determine the best path for escape from this whole situation. The elevators, he decides, are the best and fastest way to get as from... whatever this is, so he tugs at her, trying to convince her, to steer her into turning her back on the guy fully and make their movement a little more quick.]

( he has no idea, and he doesn't know for certain that morgoth is dead, but he is so certain that either way, it doesn't matter: that he isn't here and isn't real and anderson wants so badly to believe him — and maybe that is precisely why she isn't inclined to.

(she wants to wrap his certainty around herself and draw from it, feel it herself and make it block everything else out.)

she won't, because she wants it too much and that she wants to so badly means she cannot trust her own instincts on the matter. so she doesn't let him turn her, steer her into turning her back to morgoth. he might just stand there, she might have lowered her gun, but she can't bring herself to turn her back, and she can't bring herself to let bellamy do it for her, either.

her throat is working for a long moment before she manages to speak again, and then it's only one word: ) Elevator. ( at least it's confirmation of his plan. they can try to get away, and maybe this isn't morgoth, because he hasn't gotten inside bellamy's head yet.

maybe bellamy is the one who isn't real, placed inside her mind by morgoth. maybe the elvator is going to lead her into another trap — morgoth has done it before, making her question what is real and what isn't, what happened and what didn't, what her life was like before.

it's a risk, leaving with bellamy, but it's better than continuing to stand in front of morgoth, defenseless against his mental powers.

it's another time where she doesn't rescue herself, but at least she's walking away again on her own accord, or close enough. )

[ It's a slow process, it's a tense process, trying to get her to believe him. It's like trying to lead a horse to water, but the horse doesn't trust you and something's on fire and there's a guy with a gun to his head trying to get this whole thing to happen. He feels like his control over this situation is a tightly wound, thinly fraying rope that's a few ounces of pressure from snapping, but it doesn't stop him. When has it ever.

He doesn't understand why this is so important to him, either. He doesn't understand why he's so concerned with pulling it off, when as far as he knows the only consequences of failure are that she continues to stand in this hallway facing a ghost. Instinctually, though, he knows it has to be something more. She's a telepath with more trauma than any one person should be able to withstand in their past, with loose control over her mental facilities now, and the cost of failure could possibly be high not just for her, but for anyone in her mental range. ]

Elevator.

[ He agrees, almost urges, redoubling that firm pressure his had has on her, nudging her forward. ]

Remember how we were talking about whether you're a Cassandra or an Anderson?

[ He asks suddenly, apropos of nothing. ]

( if this is leading a horse to the water, or trying to, it's not just that there is something on fire and a guy with a gun to his head and the horse not trusting that guy, it's also that the horse doesn't trust the water won't be poisoned, or even that the water will be real. the metaphor falls short only if one considers that horses don't really have the mental facilities for that kind of distrust.

unfortunately, anderson does.

still, the question is unexpected enough and jarring enough to force her out the dilemma she's facing, the way her mind goes round in circles, brooding instead of actually working productively towards a solution like she usually would. )

Yeah?

( the surprise earns him two quick steps towards the elevator, if nothing else, and a little more presence from her, her gaze flicking over his features for as long as she can stand it before morgoth's presence and her fear of him force her eyes back to him. )

[ He notices those extra steps, the way it tears her mind from that circular path, and his lips twitch upward a little in approval. ]

I don't know if you know anything about Greek mythology, but-

[ He tilts is head to one side in a sort of shrugging bob, keeping them on that same smooth, steady path toward the elevators. ]

Cassandra was the daughter of Priam, the king of Troy. According to the stories, Apollo loved her so much for her beauty, he gave her the gift of prophecy. When she didn't love him back, he cursed her, so even though her prophecies were always true, nobody would ever believe her.

[ There's a point to all of this, he swears. His voice comes out rumbling, low, and soothing, but he's not just talking, he's leading up to something. ]

( he has her attention now, if perhaps not for the reasons he figured it might catch it. anderson doesn't know much about greek mythology, but she knows the story of apollo and cassandra and the curse — not because she grew up with it or because her parents picked the name because of the story, but because when she'd first arrived on the tranquility, someone had told her.

roy — roy had sat in his bed in medbay, the bed he couldn't, or rather wouldn't, leave except for the jumps and even then unwillingly more often than not. roy, who'd been so depressed, who'd been fighting a darkness threatening to overwhelm him that was entirely in his own mind, an illness that went untreated for all that he'd spent his days in hospital in his own world. roy, who'd held her and let her press her fingers to his neck and feel his pulse.

charles had been the one to put words to the emotion instead of her, but: she'd been in love with roy.

to think of him now — it could be another weakness revealed to morgoth, it could be something he can use against her when he didn't on arima, or it could be like she'd told the soldier, that feelings aren't a weakness, that caring doesn't only hurt but makes them stronger, that the pain is worth it.

she doesn't know which is true right now, but she still draws some strength from the thought. she doesn't miss roy as much as she used to, anymore; more time has passed now since he's gone than she ever even knew him.

she swallows, then again before she speaks, even if all she says is ) Someone told me.

[ Bellamy is of the firm opinion that caring is not weakness. Caring is the only thing that makes your fight a fight, it what separates leaders from good leaders, what separates cruelty from compassion. He'd tried not caring, and he nearly burned everything to the ground. So, if he could read minds, he'd approve. Think about Roy, he'd say, and let that give her courage.

Since he can't know how she knows, though, can't figure out just how exactly he's helping, he only nods in acceptance. ]

Good. Then you know you're not a Cassandra.

[ He informs her firmly, determination on his face. ]

Cassandra was a victim. She let Apollo dictate her gift, and in the end, she let him kill her. But you know something?

[His eyes flick back toward Morgoth for a second, then back to her with fire and enthusiasm.]

Screw Apollo. You're Anderson. He didn't give you anything, and he can't take it away. Not if you don't let him. Cassandra's problem wasn't that nobody believed her, it was that she didn't believe enough in herself.

[ most of the time, anderson would very firmly agree with him. she's argued the point more than once that caring is not a weakness, that it's what makes everything worth the fight, what makes it possible to endure pain and continue instead of giving in to it. that she cares has always driven her: she wants to make a difference, improve lives where she can, both those of people she knows and those of people she doesn't.

it's not something she would have ever connected to her name, and it isn't the words now so much as the conviction in his voice that reaches her now, the strength of his belief.

she knows morgoth is stronger than her, that he can overwhelm her — but he didn't win, last time, did he? even if she had to be rescued, she walked out of the burning building on her own and she's still forging ahead, trying to make a difference in people's lives.

what morgoth did to her hurt her, damaged her — perhaps beyond repair — but it didn't break her. the sound she makes could be a laugh, or it could be a sob. either way: ] He didn't kill me, last time.

[ another step, and then another. ]

[ He's not sure if that's a laugh or a sob, he's not sure if she's conquering her fears or just learning to tune them out, but it doesn't really matter either way. All that matters to him right now is the fact that the elevator doors are within arm's reach, and Morgoth Boggart (Morggart if you will) has been frozen like an inanimate object since they've started down this path.

A hand reaches out absently, feeling the wall behind him without looking, until his fingers mash the lift button. The elevator chamber behind them begins to hum as it shoots toward them as quickly as a bullet train. ]

Where I come from, there are a race of people that live by that phrase what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

[ Mostly, the grounders mean physically, but Bellamy figures it applies here, too, right? The elevator doors slide open, and something like a smile tugs at his lips. ]

Look.

[ He nods his head toward open lift beside them. Her escape. Her chariot awaits. ]

See?

[ she conquered it before — not her fear, though she learned to at least carry on despite them in peach trees, but the consequences of what morgoth had done to her. arima had been far worse than peach trees, but with the morggart silent and still in an almost unnatural way, certainly more silent than morgoth would have been, with bellamy distracting her and urging her on, it is possible now to push arima aside for now as well, or to at least keep moving.

it helps, too, that the elevator is there and she can step inside.

still, it isn't until the elevator doors close behind bellamy and her, until her line of vision to morggart is cut off, that her shoulders drop and she closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. only now does she lean back against the wall of the elevator, a puppet with all its strings cut. the more tension leaves her, the more exhaustion shows. ]

Thank you.

[ it's about all she can get out. it isn't often that anderson feels like crying, but right now she does. ]

[ The elevator doors slip quietly closed behind them, and it feels as though the tension is cut by that rather anticlimactic ping of the elevator. Truth is, not all battles are fought with explosions and gunfire. Sometimes you have the greatest victories to the tune of a closing door.

His lips twitch up on one side, and he shrugs a shoulder. ]

You're welcome.

[ Because what else can he say? He doesn't know what really happened back there, he's not sure he wants to. He presses his floor number into the panel. ]

Good job. I knew you could do it, but I guess you already know that, right?

[ Because, you know. Mind reading. ]

[ she doesn't quite manage a smile. she tries, but it falls away all too quickly again. he's right, though: this counts as a victory even if it's to the tune of a closing door instead of gunfire and at the cost of blood.

she's too tired to celebrate, even though it counts as a win, having walked away from morgoth the way she walked away from a burning building on arima. ]

I'm trying not to read too many minds right now. [ because there's too many that are filled with fear and while anderson wants to help, she can't do it if she's overwhelmed by other people's fears.

or, as the case may be, her own. ]

[ It's that effort, that tiny smile, that has him reaching out one last time to gently squeeze her shoulder. He may not be smiling either, but there's a definite empathy etched into the solemn lines on his face. ]

Take a break, Anderson.

[ He instructs her seriously, because after this little excursion he feels like he can. It feels like giving an order to one of his people, one of his kids, a member of Skaikru, it feels natural, and that in and of itself is bizarre. He tugs his hand away to punch in his floor number on the control panel, and they glide easily away from the scene, leaving it behind them. ]

Tune everyone out and get some rest. I think you need it.

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PLAYER PLOT: fear is the mind-killer

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