ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

[ when teresa had come up in the box and thomas had felt that spark of connection in his head, he'd thought he was crazy. worse, he'd thought everyone else would think he was crazy if he told them about it. maybe that was the upside here, thomas tentatively divulging bits and pieces of his telepathy and his dreams to minho as the ship-granted abilities became less and less easy to ignore.

by no means is thomas an expert, but this isn't all necessarily new territory for him. he takes to it, grapples with the memories and manifestations until he can find some kind of control. the telepathy makes him ache for teresa, but thomas forces himself to ignore it, and focus instead on trying to help minho before minho manifests a griever, or something worse. ]

I can still feel your emotions. [ thomas tells him, hunched on the edge of their bed. ] It's okay.

[ strangely, it's helpful. thomas doesn't particularly need a link to know that minho's frustrated, but being connected to him is reassuring, makes it easier for thomas to distract himself and focus on helping him. ]

Try to tell me something without talking. Just think it at me.

[ teresa would have been better at this. she'd been faster than thomas to pick up this ability, and thomas tries to mimic her, drawing on the scraps of memory he has left. ]

[Minho, on the other hand, hates this. He's used to being able to keep his emotions in check, only releasing them when he needs to or if it doesn't matter—mainly anger ends up bubbling to the surface the most easily. But with this connection, he imagines Thomas reading him like a book and picking up on the feelings he buries, feelings like fear and sadness and loneliness. So he hates this, but he also needs to figure out how to control it.]

This is so shucking weird. [But he knew it would also be helpful, because how many times had they been split up on the ship? They'd be able to run different routes but stay in contact, theoretically. So he sighed and then closed his eyes, trying hard to repeat the same words to Thomas but with his mind instead. He had no idea how to make it work, though, so it felt like shouting to himself.]

[ thomas would try to reassure minho that he was trying not to pay too close attention, but it would be a lie. thomas is nursing his own private mortification over his wreck of longing for teresa, his still-sharp grief for chuck, the anger over losing newt. it's embarrassing to think that minho can unravel as much of thomas' emotional state as thomas can piece together of minho's, but mutual intrusions probably won't bring anyone comfort in this situation. learning to focus and control it is the name of the game.

it's too bad thomas was terrible at this the first time around. ]

Yeah. [ sheepishly, fully aware of the familiarity of that sentiment. ] It gets easier. Just...

[ thomas trails off, hesitating, and then reaches out to push the next few words directly into minho's head.

trust me. if every other dumb shank on this ship can do it, then so can we. ]

[It's strange, because he doesn't feel anything new but there's definitely a second presence in his mind. His emotions are completely the same, but maybe the empathy makes it harder to understand Thomas; Minho longs for freedom, still carries the grief for all his friends who died in the Glade, and is equally angry about Newt being sent back to whatever horrors waited for him in their world. It's all a swirling mess, but the only was to distinguish his feelings from Thomas' is anything having to do with Theresa.

He jolts with surprise at the words that come through so clearly in his mind.] How'd you do that? [He's so used to using his mouth to communicate that it's hard to break the habit now.]

[ it might be for the best that thomas doesn't try to explain how connected he and teresa had been. thomas is uncomfortable but resigned to that kind of intimacy, and he thinks he trusts minho with most of what goes on in his head. or if not trusts minho to see it, trusts that maybe minho will ignore most of it. however, thomas is pretty sure it's not the same for minho. ]

Teresa explained it better. [ thomas' gaze drops, eyes on his hands as he plucks at a loose string on his sleeve. ] I hated it as much as you so it's...I don't know a good way to explain it.

[ the words are apologetic, even if thomas has some trouble getting them out. talking about teresa is still difficult. ]

I just think of something I want to say but I don't say it out-loud. I say it in my head.

[Thomas doesn't have to say anything for Minho to know how intimate all of this was. The weirdest part was thinking about the two years in the Glade that Thomas hadn't been around for and how things might leak over, things that weren't Minho's to share. So he tried to put them as far from his mind as possible, locking secrets away that weren't even relevant now that Newt is gone.]

Helpful. [He says it gruffly, but his sideways look at Thomas holds a smile. At least they're in this together, and there's no one else he'd rather share his brain with.

Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, he takes a deep breath.] Shouldn't be so hard, right? If a slinthead like you can do it, then the Keeper of the Runners can do it.

[ it would be a lie to say thomas wasn't interested. it's in his nature, to pry, to be too curious for anyone's good, least of all his own. no one had answered his questions in the glade, and there'd been so many other things to consider aboard the tranquility that thomas hadn't asked. now it feels like a different kind of trespass, but that doesn't stop the burn of curiosity. he has the urge to apologize for it, among other things, but instead he ducks his head, returns minho's smile. the familiarity of things like titles from the glade are reassuring, even now. ]

Once you get the hang of this we can try to manifest something. [ not a griever. ] Something useful, hopefully.

[ thomas takes a deep breath, projects his next statement directly into minho's head. come on, call me a klunkhead or something. that has to come easy to you. ]

[Oh, Minho was plenty familiar with that damned curiosity. Thomas was known for asking too many questions too often, and it had been as annoying as it had been admiral in the Glade. It had also been the kind of thinking they'd obviously needed, though Minho still wonders how much their escape had to do with Thomas triggering it or if it was more about everyone getting their butts into gear while the sky was falling. Maybe both. Regardless, he didn't want Thomas poking around for answers in his brain, especially if it brought up old wounds.]

I'd kill for more clothes that aren't spandex. You know I love some runnie undies, but a whole suit ain't my style.

[Groaning, he rolled his eyes. I'd call you an ugly shuckface.]

[ minho's voice flits through his mind, and thomas' entire expression brightens. he sits up straighter, reaches back again, that's it! ]

Whatever you did, do that again.

[ immediately, passing over the commentary on the clothes. thomas had gotten used to it all. either gotten used to it, or he was just preoccupied with everything else that was happening, trying to unravel the mystery of the ship and deal with his legs crumpling beneath him at random rather than bother with the clothes he was wearing while any of that happened. ]

It was working.

[For some reason it's more startling to hear Thomas speaking aloud in the small room than in his head, and he wonders if something WICKED had done to him to make him prepared for this. He hadn't had a link, not like the one that Thomas and Theresa had... had he?

Nodding and trying not to speak with his mouth in case it ruined the magic, he replied in his mind. Maybe I gotta insult you to make it work, he teased, because that always came most naturally to him.]

[ this might be the longest either of them had ever gone without speaking. thomas almost laughs at that, but instead he clings on to his focus, clutching at minho rather than letting the ache of familiarity here spark more memories of teresa.

keep calling me a shuckface idiot then. comes thomas' reply, lips twitching into a smile. so long as you don't spew out a griever or some other klunk from the glade while we're sleeping.

the manifestations might be more difficult to deal with. thomas isn't sure how to try to teach that to minho yet, so focusing on telepathic communication for the moment might be the better bet. ]

[He sees the smile, the strange spasm, and wonders if they could laugh through the mental connection. That was probably a lot harder to do, though, tossing out the vague sound of laughter rather than clear sentences.

Shuck it, you know that’s the last thing I want. But it wasn’t an irrational fear, considering the fact that Minho had been the one to bring out a couple of Grievers when those boggart things were loose. It made him keen to keep that part of his mind locked up as much as possible. That and cranks.

Think we’ll be able to make complicated stuff? Like machines? Not that Minho would ever want a machine on his side except for a car. It was hard to trust scientific things when all they’d brought to his life were death and destruction.]

[ some of the memories thomas has are impossible to place. some of them are innocuous enough that thomas wonders if they belong to him, that he's dreamed them and forgot them and they've finally rattled loose from the tangled mess of his head. hermione's aren't like that. hermione's memories are of wands, of creatures that thomas knows he's never seen but might not be out of place in the maze.

going to find her for questions feels like an intrusion, but as always the burn of curiosity overrules most of thomas' slim grasp on politeness. actually finding her is more of a challenge than thomas had anticipated, and when he comes across her one of the common rooms it's mostly accidental. ]

I think I saw something of yours.

[ as far as beginnings go, it might need work. thomas plows on, undeterred. ]

I saw some shanks with wands, like you had at the jump.

[ Hermione's seated at one of the tables, book laid open on the desk in front of her. It's one she's read hundreds of times. Maybe that's the entire point of reading it now — it's familiar, more comforting than the bright scroll of text on her comms device.

Still, the long exhale that breaks the silence a second before Thomas shows up doesn't speak of comfort. It speaks of frustration, and the book's closed in favor of getting back to that bright scroll when he arrives, causing her look up quickly.

Something of hers. Memories, she knows that much, but what? People have been seeing dreams, haven't they? Nightmares? The thought makes her go a bit aloof, posture straightening as he answers. ]

I'm sorry. It wasn't— anything awkward, was it?

[ "Awkward". ]

[ this entire situation is awkward. that's clearly something that occurs to thomas to say, but he doesn't. sniping at hermione isn't going to make this easier. and thomas can feel the sick pull of his own curiosity, the part of him that's more concerned with why this is happening than trying to be tactful about the jumble of memories, the crackle of foreign emotions. ]

Maybe.

[ honest, if vague. thomas scratches at his jaw, shrugs a shoulder, trying to pretend he isn't nurturing a mess of questions. ]

I saw a lot of klunk I didn't recognize. Nothing from the Glade, or the other dreams.

[ though thomas isn't specifying whether they're his own dreams, or the other bleed-through from their fellow passengers. either way, the wand-waving was specific to hermione, and thomas is sure he's in the right place. ]

[ 'Klunk'. No idea what that means, but the context makes it easy enough to guess. Hermione sits up even straighter, if possible; unlike Thomas, she isn't curious.

She knows things. That's just how it's always been. She knows the rules, even if it's just so that she can bend them. The ship's speaking another language. There isn't a library full of answers, no clues waiting to be found. But this counts as research, surely — even if it's a messier sort. So while she isn't curious, she still pushes forward, grimly determined. ]

Did you see a woman? With black hair?

[ the driving need to know is familiar. but hermione isn't like thomas. she's more methodical, possibly less likely to throw herself into the unknown in desperate pursuit of answers. thomas knows that, and he wants to apologize to her for knowing that. ]

Yes. [ slowly, word stretching as thomas stalls, remembering with a shudder. ] I can still hear her laughing.

[ and it had taken thomas longer than he cared to admit to fully decide that bellatrix wasn't his. or wasn't entirely his. the wands helped, but the screaming was dubious, the pain was hard to rule one way or another. ]

[ there's someone aboard who looks like him. thomas knows, but it still hasn't stopped him from feeling the same twinge of confusion and self-consciousness when lydia's gaze lingers too long. he's not stiles. thomas knows that, has mostly managed to shake the worry that maybe he is and he's forgotten, but when the memories start--

it ultimately doesn't do much to stop thomas from worrying he's crazier than he thought, actually. thomas has to hole up and try to sift through the things he's dreaming, to contend with the low-level ebb of foreign emotion while he separates memory after memory. seeking stiles out doesn't present itself as a plan immediately, as curious as thomas is. he's wary of stiles, of this person with his face, and maybe jealous too.

when he seeks stiles out he finds him in the shuttle bay. thomas lingers by the door, watching, wrestling with his own curiosity. his legs are aching, but he's not going to apologize about that, just like he doesn't expect any kind of apology for the kinds of emotions have been coming down the line from stiles. he doesn't know how to handle this. thomas has dealt with a lot, but dopplegangers of any sort haven't been part of w.i.c.k.e.d.'s tests. ]

You're Stiles. [ for all thomas' apprehension, he still sounds faintly eager. ] Lydia mentioned you once.

[ the circumstances of which weren't going to be elaborated on. not by thomas at this exact moment, anyway. ]

[ some parts of life on the ship have become unfortunately and inconveniently commonplace. the mingling of memories and sensations fall into that category, and derek, as always, is content to try to ignore it as much as possible. the idea that someone on the ship is privy to his memories and emotions doesn't sit well, but willful denial is much easier to enact when he doesn't have to track people down to begrudgingly hold their hands.

of course, recognizing the memories rattling around his head is another story.

he's woken up with stiles nightmares, felt scott's anxiety, and now there's erica. erica, whose memories bring with them a particular kind of pain. derek tries to ignore it for as long as he can. having erica's memories and emotions spool through his mind feels like an unforgivable intrusion. blocking it all out is derek's specialty, but he still turns up on erica's doorstep, expression tight with discomfort. ]

Erica.

[ awkwardness is the surest way to knock derek back to square one when it comes to social finesse. ]

I didn't know if you were seeing things too.

[ not that apologies are in derek's wheelhouse either, but he's at least making the attempt. that's some kind of progress. ]

[It's definitely not something she feels comfortable with. Her life hasn't always been miniskirts, leather jackets, and flowing blonde hair. Those highlights have only made up the few months she had before the ship and even here on the ship things haven't been the ideal situation for a girl trying to just manage her new status as a werewolf.

Trauma has been a huge part of her life. Seizures, medical testing, and prescriptions that change as easily as the insurance company agrees it might do something different -- or cost them less in the long run. To think that someone might be seeing that isn't something she's looking forward to. If anything, she's been trying to stay out of sight, trying to avoid being recognized. Her only hope is that her appearance now is so drastically different that no one would think she's the same girl. Just one of those odd parallel universe situations that happen on this ship.

Derek isn't someone she can hide that from and unfortunately for the two of them, his memories aren't easy to discount either. Especially when she gets a front row seat to watching how he had been around her before, during the time she's forgotten.]

Yeah... it's happening to all of us I think. Except that guy on the network. He lucked out, or something.

[The awkward lingers as she lets him just hover in the hallway. Isaac isn't here. She's not even sure where he's at, but she knows that she shouldn't just let Derek shift his weight while she stares up at him.]

Do you want to come in? [She doesn't step away at first, but she realizes how odd it might seem to invite him in, but not actually move aside. Her arm crosses over her chest, a hand holding to the opposite elbow as she moves away from the entry to allow him that space if he wants it.]

[ mitchell. derek bites his tongue, rather than snap something unkind. it's not erica's fault that mitchell is who he is, or that derek's struggling with losing annie. or that derek's jealous of mitchell, painfully so. the idea that somehow mitchell's been able to escape the intrusion of other people's feelings and memories and the exposure of his own is salt in the wound. but derek forcibly wrenches his thoughts away from the subject, wary of erica sensing his emotions and asking about it. ]

If you want me to.

[ brushing aside the topic of mitchell entirely, though awkwardly talking around her invitation instead isn't much better. ]

I don't have to stay. I just wanted...to apologize.

[ it still sounds like glass and barbed wire, the words unnatural in derek's mouth. with erica, everything's amplified by the enormity of what she's suffered and the inadequacy of any apology to alleviate it. ]

[The effort is there, the words and the discomfort that comes from him actually saying them to her. She doesn't want to be this source of awkward for him, but she knows that there's no way around it. He looks at her and sees her death, he sees failure. Erica can see it with the weight that seems to just throw itself onto his shoulders whenever he's in front of her.]

No -- I mean, come in. I wanted to ask you a few things and it's less weird if you actually sit down and not loom over me in the doorway.

[She pauses.] Thanks... for the apology. [Though, the tone in there is more questioning than it is accepting.]

[ erica is broken promises, grief, failure, loss. it's unfair, another weight to make her carry when he'd promised her that pack meant he'd be the one bearing this weight. it's inescapable, but that doesn't make derek feel any less guilty about it. ]

You don't have to thank me.

[ and she shouldn't. a paltry apology doesn't measure up to even half of what derek owes her. ]

What about your questions?

[ while derek might take a few steps into her room, he doesn't take a seat. awkwardly standing about is the best derek can manage. ]

[Hearing him slightly dismiss her thank you makes it feel a bit awkward, but she sort of understands why he does it.

Of course, getting her to actually talk to Derek about what she saw and how she doesn't think that it was from him, isn't the easiest conversation to start.]

The memory thing... I saw how Boyd died. I don't think it was from you. I think it was from Lydia, but I wanted you to know that I saw it.

[ it's as if the words pull derek tight, tension winding through derek's body, gritting his teeth, expression going forcibly flat as derek fights back the wash of grief, the urge to flinch away from the words. ]

Lydia was there. And Stiles. They saw it happen.

[ unable to come up with anything better to say. there isn't any accusation in erica's tone, but derek isn't sure what else she could possibly be working up to. ]

[If he's looking for accusation, he's not going to find it in her tone. She's confused, if anything, but she could see with her own eyes that it wasn't something Derek wanted to do. After everything else she's seen - the other which she'll bring up in another moment, she knows he wouldn't have done it of his own choice.]

They're the Alpha pack, right? The ones that take Boyd and me?

Yes.

[ the involvement of kali and the twins doesn't mitigate derek's own guilt. the fault lies with him and his failure to fight on his own, on the fact that he'd let isaac and boyd stay with him. an alpha might be stronger with a pack, but risking them had been unforgivable. or derek thinks it was, no matter what transpired after. ]

If you saw Boyd, then you saw the twins. And Kali.

[ thinking about what else she might possibly have seen is difficult. there's so much. she's missed so much and she doesn't remember enough. derek can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse anymore, no matter what isaac seems to think. ]

[She's heard things, but she knows that eventually she'll know things for herself. It brings her to the thing she knows is from Derek.]

Did she know? I mean - when I was here before, did anyone tell me that I was going to die?

I saw the two of you talking. From when she was here on the ship... when I was here.

[ it's complicated. erica talks like it's someone else, and derek can at least understand that. stiles had done it too, referred to his prior visits like he'd been a separate person at the time. derek doesn't have the high ground to knock anyone else's coping mechanisms. ]

The first time, we didn't know.

[ and if they had, they couldn't have stopped it. derek needs to tell himself that, or the guilt would eat him alive. ]

She knew, the second time.

[ surprisingly, not any easier. and all the more difficult when she'd gone. ]

[It feels weird to think of it as herself when she can't even remember it. When it's happened twice and all of those memories are just gone. When her time has overlapped and been repeated as far as from when she arrived there. It's easier and yet at the same time still difficult.]

Did someone tell her... like how Allison told me? [Maybe she just needs to find things to relate to. Maybe if she knows more, it'll unlock those memories. Maybe they're trapped inside her already and she just can't find them.]

We didn't have to. We didn't know either, the first time.

[ and allison had known when she'd arrived as well. fielding the conversation about impending death and his own inability to prevent them wasn't something derek had prepared for. he'd known people aboard the ship who'd had to deal with it, but it hadn't touched him. ]

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minho.

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hermione.

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stiles.

erica.

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