aftr_stories | [MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

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[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.

Those who tell their stories will start to notice something...odd taking place. Indeed, no matter how they intend to begin their tale, the land of Mu will immediately start to warp to accommodate it, or something utterly unlike it, until storytellers and listeners alike may find themselves in an exact recreation of a seemingly random memory, in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play - you will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

It is time, once more, for you to tell a story...with a slight twist! This is, in fact, our first player plot, as provided by Dragon! The initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams.

Yet for this Storytelling only, people can imagine whatever stories they wish, from both their homes and their time on LifeAftr, as long as they don't mind the fact that others will be reliving those stories in the form of an impromptu memory share.

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. If the memory is recalled in essence, Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

There is, however, a benefit to this: those who venture memories to be relived will receive both a befuddled apology from the Storyteller, who will assert that this was most definitely not meant to happen (they're the Storyteller, not the Rememberer!), as well as a tired promise that the relived memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation.

Not that it counts for much, probably.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The following memories contain hallucinations, drowning, panic attacks, drug overdose, and suicide/character death. They're rough, basically. Very, very rough.]

I sailed the channel between Ensō and Monsun.

[Connor has not thought this choice through, maybe, but for some reason it doesn't occur to him to change his mind about what story to tell once he sees what's going on. Congrats, everyone's now in the fucking ocean because Connor's raft is absolutely not large enough to fit more than two people and there are . . . already two people on it?

One is Connor, who is arguing with someone that nobody will recognize even though he just said the story was about something that happened in-game. Mystery boy is wearing a snazzy striped shirt though, which is kind of weird since it's quite clearly freezing, and his left arm is in a cast - in case you were still wondering who I'm describing here.]

Con, when was the last time you slept?

You're not real so you can shut the fuck up, Evan.

[Protip: do not attempt to sail a channel without a supply of water or you might hallucinate your fake friend, Evan Hansen. Said fake friend may want to be a "voice of reason" or something equally stupid so it's best to just Actually Prepare to do something stupid instead of shrugging and saying "yolo."

Then again, Connor Murphy has never once in his entire life made a smart decision. This is no different.]

What are you so afraid of, Connor? Just go to sleep.

I'll sleep when I'm dead.

[Connor seems determined to be an idiot, if the way he's shivering is any indication, but the raft gets rocked by a particularly violent wave and then suddenly the memory has shifted. Hope you enjoy watching teenagers sink to the bottom of a swimming pool, because that's what's going on right now.

Fully clothed, Connor is sinking to the bottom of a pool. He appears to be unconscious, but then he jerks back to life and the landscape shifts back to normal. Connor does not look okay, though. Like, holy shit does he not look okay.]

In all my dreams I . . .

[Apparently Connor is not okay enough that the landscape immediately shifts again. Look, now everyone is in a computer lab. How many characters here even know what that is, actually?

It doesn't matter, because Connor's holding a piece of paper and talking to the striped shirt kid from the previous memory. At least Evan's not a hallucination this time, so there's that.]

So, um. What happened to your arm?

Oh, I, um. Fell out of a tree, actually.

Fell out of a tree? [Connor sounds a little like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't.] That is just the saddest fucking thing I ever heard, oh my god.

I know.

[Evan is visibly uncomfortable with what's going on, and Connor pauses awkwardly, like he regrets saying anything. Then, Connor blatantly pushes forward with whatever he was hoping to get out of the interaction to begin with. Surprisingly, for anyone who's talked to Connor, he sounds genuinely friendly.]

No one's signed your cast!

I know.

Well, I'll sign it.

You don't have to.

[Like Evan didn't even say anything:] Do you have a sharpie?

[Evan awkwardly produces a sharpie from his pocket and holds it out at arm's length. Connor steps closer and takes it before roughly jerking Evan's arm towards him.]

Ow!

[Connor looks genuinely taken aback for a moment and more gently writes his name in . . . giant letters across Evan's cast. In case anyone was wondering how to spell it? That's how to spell it. Evan seems, uh. Unenthused? About this turn of events.]

Oh. Great . . . thanks . . .

Yeah, well. Now we can both pretend that we have friends.

. . . Good point.

[Evan takes the sharpie from Connor and turns to leave when Connor thrusts out the piece of paper he's been holding the entire time.]

Is this yours? I found it on the printer: "Dear Evan Hansen." That's your name, right?

[Evan appears slightly panicked, and Connor looks down at the paper, presumably reading it.]

Oh, that's just a stupid. It's just a paper I had to write for a, um, for an assignment . . .

"Because there's Zoe." [Connor looks up at Evan, his expression . . . complicated.] Is this about my sister?

No! Not at all!

You wrote this because you knew I would find it.

[Where Connor looked confused and maybe a little hurt before, now he looks livid.]

What?

You saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and you printed it out so that I would find it!

Why would I do that?

[Evan seems slightly frightened at this point, and Connor is straight up panicking. He has progressed from being angry into a full-blown panic attack.]

So that I would read some creepy shit you wrote about my sister and freak out, right? And then you can tell everyone I'm crazy, right?

No, wait. I don't even - what?

Fuck you!

[Connor storms off, still holding the piece of paper, when Evan is scrambling to follow, yelling about how he needs the paper back.]

[It's . . . unclear, at first, how what's happening is related to the previous memory. Regardless, the sun is beginning to set and Connor is in what appears to be a park. He's sitting at a picnic table, an open wine bottle at his elbow as he casually dumps the contents of his bag onto the table. Several things tumble out: school supplies, an iPod, and most importantly an assortment of pill bottles. It basically looks like Connor put the entire contents of a medicine cabinet into his bag.

. . . Which is, in fact, exactly what he did. Connor carefully separates those out and puts everything else back into his bag slowly, like he's trying to delay some inevitable thing. When he comes across a slightly crumpled piece of paper, however, he pauses and looks at it for a long moment. For anyone who wants to get close enough to read it, it appears to be the paper he took in the previous memory. For a moment it looks like Connor's going to throw it away in a nearby trashcan but then he carefully folds it up and sticks it in the pocket of his jacket.

Once he's done repacking his bag, it becomes increasingly clear what the pills are for and why he has so many of them: he's methodically opening each bottle and taking the entire contents. To wash it all down, Connor is drinking from the wine that's been sitting on the picnic table. One of the perks of being a rich kid is that there's always wine in the house to steal and it's not like anyone will notice it's gone. It's not like anyone notices him.

There's a sort of grim determination to the way he sits down at the base of a nearby tree, nestled in the roots with his bag slung around his body. He has the wine bottle in his hand, but he doesn't drink from it. Instead: he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

He does not wake up.]

[He wasn't kidding.]

[It's not shocking, he knows. He wasn't kidding when he said that this was something he anticipated. Ending up in an afterlife for sad fucks who commit suicide.]

[He remembers how it feels, pills sticking to the back of your throat. It's...tidier, here. Neater. More methodical. He knew exactly what he was doing and maybe even why he was doing it. He made sure to pack everything away, nice and neat and economical, before working his way through his little supply of pharmaceuticals.]

[Tim watches; not out of curiosity or even pity, but out of...hell if he knows. Solidarity, maybe?]

[There's no one else here to see Connor suck wine from the bottle and feed the poison he pumped into his guts. To see him lie back against a tree and shut his eyes, easy as sleeping. There's no one else here to watch this memory as it happens: not in a flare, not in a glow, not in a black hole expanding out and drawing back in, but in the dimming of an ember long gone coal.]

[It feels wrong, to let that go as it does. Unremembered. Unmourned.]

[He doesn't mind being forgotten.]

[He just wouldn't wish that fate on anyone else.]

[The memory fades - because after a certain point there is no memory - leaving Connor on the ground, struggling to breathe. He'll joke about it forever, say glib shit about being dead and wanting to die, but he doesn't like remembering it happening. It sucked. It fucking sucked, he hated it, and he'd -

The feelings didn't go away, obviously. He'd sailed the channel because he was pretty sure he was going to die doing it and it didn't matter if that happened. All of the feelings were still there, but he'd. He'd forgotten what drowning in them felt like.

Shakily, Connor removes a folded piece of paper from his pocket and starts tearing it into pieces. He barely seems aware that anyone else might be nearby, utterly focused on ripping this paper to shreds.]

[And there he is.]

[In the flesh.]

[It'd probably be for the best if Tim were to just...depart, quietly, and leave things where they are. Don't push, don't press, don't pry, don't intrude. He knows how shitty it is to have your privacy intruded upon, and here he is right now, intruding. What a stand-up guy, huh?]

[He watches the paper get ripped to scraps. Whatever's on it, it's enough to spark something Connor doesn't want to think about. Can't blame him for that.]

I guess there are worse ways to go.

[Connor doesn't say anything for a moment, and then:]

. . . It was the most embarrassing thing I could think of. I don't even want to know how much money he spent covering it up instead of paying for my funeral.

[He.]

[It's vague enough to keep him guessing, but he can take a pretty decent shot at what he might be implying. Someone in his life he figured he'd shoot one last parting blow at. One final, permanent fuck you to someone who'd hurt him enough to leave the weight of his death on his conscience.]

[Or maybe just the humiliation of it.]

Should've stapled your middle finger up, just for that.

That probably would have been smarter than what I actually did. [Connor still hasn't looked up, instead focused on collecting all the pieces of paper he'd dropped earlier.] It was stupid to - I don't know why I did it. I shouldn't have involved a stranger. It's not his problem to deal with.

[Involved a stranger. So the papers are something...sensitive, maybe? Hell if he knows.]

The, uh...that paper, I'm guessing? [He looks like he's doing his best to utterly eradicate its presence from the story entirely, which would be a good plan in theory - except that they're just spectators, watching something that already happened.]

"I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?"

[It's clearly a recitation of something Connor's memorized, because he remembers why he kept it. Why he didn't just throw it out.]

I was going to throw his stupid letter away until I read that. At the time I figured I'd be dead and it wasn't my problem anymore. Now I realize he could just. He could show up here and I'd have to . . . How do you apologize for using someone's shitty school assignment as your suicide note?

[That's something he can just rattle off on a dime - like a story about a young woman failing to come to terms with death, struggling with the coarse reality of it.]

No reason for anyone to know it was his, right?

[Oh, Tim. Oh, Tim, you sweet, summer beardman. You don't know the name of the play.]

It's - he wrote the fucking thing to himself. [The, uh. The depths of this Mistake™ are vast.] I wrote my name on his cast. They'll know - they'll think he was my friend.

["Now we can both pretend that we have friends" is the worst foreshadowing and this is the reason why.]

[...]

...

Oh.

[MM. BOY.]

[BOY OH BOY THAT SURE IS A MAJOR FUCKING PROBLEM HUH]

[And he feels like an ass because he can't supply anything in the vein of comfort or logic that might dispel that. There is nothing but the evidence that Connor Murphy McFucked Himself with that parting shot, and Tim's own overwhelming inability to do anything about it.]

[...]

I mean, I know that "out of sight, out of mind" is a pretty shitty way of dealing with it, but if he's...he's not here, right?

[So like, burn that bridge when you get to it, assuming you ever do? y/y??]

Um. [Connor looks really unsure suddenly.] I guess he's not usually? So that makes sense.

[He's not sure how to say "I sure hallucinated him and I'm worried it'll happen again" without it sounding Very Concerning.]

Not usually.

[Hallucations are pretty par for the course in places like this, even when you aren't medically predisposed. Tim's hand automatically twitches toward his pocket, to the bottle lumped there with its precious supply of pristine white capsules.]

Like...you've seen him?

I mean. He wasn't real. [He sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than anything.] You don't have to apologize to a manifestation of your own guilt . . . right?

[He's probably going to apologize to the manifestation of his own guilt the next time it happens.]

[He wasn't real.]

[That's not exactly - that's not abnormal here, right? People have visions. They have hallucinations. They see things, sometimes. Like those giant plant things, with the poisonous spores that hit the ground and fogged his vision with gas, that had Chara desperately placing themself between him and some untold enemy.]

[Of course, not everyone needs to be affected by something to see things, right?]

I guess stuff like that doesn't really make it go away, huh?

Not really? But I guess it happened and I can't change that.

[Hell is slowly realizing, once you have enough distance, that you Royally Fucked Up and there's nothing you can do about it. It's fine, probably. Connor will be fine and definitely won't do anything reckless or idiotic in the upcoming sun death. Definitely.]

. . . But I'm still totally fucked if Evan Hansen shows up here.

Well, y'know. You burn that bridge if you get to it.

[THAT IS TIM'S DEFAULT WAY OF HANDLING THINGS NOW. Don't panic until it happens. When it does happen, by all means, please do panic - and do it in a constructive way so no one gets too upset at how unhelpful you're bring, right?]

[Why impose any further than you have?]

And that's an if.

Yeah, but it's like they always told us in scouts: "Be prepared for the potential of facing your worst nightmare tomorrow, because the cosmic irony of your fake friend showing up tomorrow would make for a great story."

[Connor's inability to ever just say the scout motto might have been part of the reason why he was eventually kicked out. Also his inability to take it seriously. He did learn like three and a half useful skills earning merit badges, though.]

You have to be prepared for anything. Even a zombie apocalypse. Or a drug bust.

[God, would you believe this asshole was almost an Eagle Scout?]

Well, first of all? I'm pretty sure the former is way more likely than the latter around here.

[Unless the Storyteller is an undercover narc, he's pretty sure they don't have to worry about drug busts.]

Didn't know scouts were big on world-hopping and hallucinations.

[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

connor murphy | ota

1. please wake me up (cw: hallucinations/drowning)

2. make me more than an abandoned memory (cw: panic attacks)

3. i just don't want to disappear (cw: drug overdose/suicide)

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