sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ BLUE (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firstroar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capencowl20202020-01-15 09:44 pm
firstroar) wrote in capencowl20202020-01-15 09:44 pm
soul cages
WHO: Soldier Blue, OTA
WHERE: anywhere local or global
WHEN: various
WHAT: psychic mindfuckery, involuntary memory/dream shares
WARNINGS: tag where necessary, but definitely mental illness, abuse, and violence warnings abound
Once upon a time, a long time ago in a world far, far away, there was a boy with pale hair and bright, blue eyes. He was seemingly no different from any other children around him: He had a mother and father assigned to him, he went to school, he played games, studied, dreamed...he did all the things a child was supposed to do. He even obediently went away as told when the time came for him to no longer be a child, saying farewell forever to his parents and school, and into the hands of the government workers assigned to evaluate his readiness for adulthood.
He waited his turn with all the other would-be adults and was soon led to the examination room. Placed upon the table, they calibrated their machine and set to work. The time had finally come to let go of childish things and integrate into society, but it wasn't a matter of will. Instead, the machine was designed to take those childhood memories by force, scrub them to their barest notions, sanitized to a satisfactory level to keep a mind content and compliant. In doing this, however, it woke a power that lay sleeping within the boy, one that crumpled the machine, shattered windows, and was unlike anything the people had ever seen before. He could hear their thoughts, feel their hearts, and it made them very afraid.
He was the first of his kind to exude such a power. Type-Blue, they named him, and kept him locked up as other children began to wake with powers of his like.
Years before this city began its hostile crackdown on the metahuman community, a man with pale hair and bright, red eyes appeared. Despite his youthful appearance, he was very old and very tired, and powers that had once crumpled steel and shattered windows was dampened by the toll taken on the frail body they were housed in. Yet even so, he could feel the thoughts and hearts of those around him, create and discern the bonds between them, and flourish in ways his homeland would never allow.
His body is still buried in one of the larger cemeteries within the City limits, marked by a humble gravestone.
Blue
Beloved friend
A soldier
Once upon a time, the City's porter brought a man with pale hair and bright, red eyes. He was young, still strong and powerful in ways the common man wasn't, and the vibrant society around him was like a dream come true -- a world where minds and hearts were free. Despite being so estranged from his home, he couldn't help but feel hope blossom inside him as he found kindness and camaraderie all around him.
He soon learned that he was both the first of his like and the second: That he, himself, had already been here. Lived and died, buried and marked by a humble gravestone.
He learned that man was himself, hundreds of years ahead of his time.
He learned a lot of other things besides, like how darkness in the hearts of men can twist them into doing terrible things, much like how they did in his homeland. Despite his strength, he was still frail of form, and it was not long after the crackdown that he was taken, locked away yet again as he had been as a boy. The experiments then were no longer about eradicating him, but in exploiting him -- using his abilities to find others he had forged those invisible ties to, the ones visible to him. For a long time, he was a compass of sorts, drugged into obedience and manipulated into daring to believe what he saw before him was still the truth.
It's been some time since he'd been freed -- by whom, he cannot be sure anymore. The faces change in the scene that dimly flickers in his memories. Sometimes the actors are filled with the faces of complete strangers, only familiar to those nearby whose memories and dreams bleed into his. Sometimes all it takes to be drawn to such strangers is the barest inkling of old kindnesses known and forgotten; he finds them in dreaming, drifting through the subconscious like a pale ghost with those bright, red eyes. In waking, he still shivers even under heavy layers of coats and scarves, his eyes sullen but searching as they stare, seeing more than just the bodies in front of him.
Dreaming, waking memories...they all have lures that pull his mind forward, searching and yearning for fragments of what he's lost. It doesn't always turn out so well, and oftentimes the demons of another's mind get pulled into the forefront, mutating into the monsters of his own memories, making it a helluva time for both minds.
Sometimes he himself is the lure; there are still special people in the world who can hear the melancholy call of psionic voices such as Blue's, reaching out into the dark for some comfort of connection.
And, of course...a withered, frail man like him is no stranger to the risks of being out in the world: Sometimes all it takes is a compassionate or harried soul reaching out to pull him away from dangers that he fails to perceive, and that contact is enough to open the doors to the heart.
It can be terrible, yes, but...it's better than being alone, right?
tl;dr, come get ya mindfucks, be it in dreams or in person
WHERE: anywhere local or global
WHEN: various
WHAT: psychic mindfuckery, involuntary memory/dream shares
WARNINGS: tag where necessary, but definitely mental illness, abuse, and violence warnings abound
Once upon a time, a long time ago in a world far, far away, there was a boy with pale hair and bright, blue eyes. He was seemingly no different from any other children around him: He had a mother and father assigned to him, he went to school, he played games, studied, dreamed...he did all the things a child was supposed to do. He even obediently went away as told when the time came for him to no longer be a child, saying farewell forever to his parents and school, and into the hands of the government workers assigned to evaluate his readiness for adulthood.
He waited his turn with all the other would-be adults and was soon led to the examination room. Placed upon the table, they calibrated their machine and set to work. The time had finally come to let go of childish things and integrate into society, but it wasn't a matter of will. Instead, the machine was designed to take those childhood memories by force, scrub them to their barest notions, sanitized to a satisfactory level to keep a mind content and compliant. In doing this, however, it woke a power that lay sleeping within the boy, one that crumpled the machine, shattered windows, and was unlike anything the people had ever seen before. He could hear their thoughts, feel their hearts, and it made them very afraid.
He was the first of his kind to exude such a power. Type-Blue, they named him, and kept him locked up as other children began to wake with powers of his like.
Years before this city began its hostile crackdown on the metahuman community, a man with pale hair and bright, red eyes appeared. Despite his youthful appearance, he was very old and very tired, and powers that had once crumpled steel and shattered windows was dampened by the toll taken on the frail body they were housed in. Yet even so, he could feel the thoughts and hearts of those around him, create and discern the bonds between them, and flourish in ways his homeland would never allow.
His body is still buried in one of the larger cemeteries within the City limits, marked by a humble gravestone.
Blue
Beloved friend
A soldier
Once upon a time, the City's porter brought a man with pale hair and bright, red eyes. He was young, still strong and powerful in ways the common man wasn't, and the vibrant society around him was like a dream come true -- a world where minds and hearts were free. Despite being so estranged from his home, he couldn't help but feel hope blossom inside him as he found kindness and camaraderie all around him.
He soon learned that he was both the first of his like and the second: That he, himself, had already been here. Lived and died, buried and marked by a humble gravestone.
He learned that man was himself, hundreds of years ahead of his time.
He learned a lot of other things besides, like how darkness in the hearts of men can twist them into doing terrible things, much like how they did in his homeland. Despite his strength, he was still frail of form, and it was not long after the crackdown that he was taken, locked away yet again as he had been as a boy. The experiments then were no longer about eradicating him, but in exploiting him -- using his abilities to find others he had forged those invisible ties to, the ones visible to him. For a long time, he was a compass of sorts, drugged into obedience and manipulated into daring to believe what he saw before him was still the truth.
It's been some time since he'd been freed -- by whom, he cannot be sure anymore. The faces change in the scene that dimly flickers in his memories. Sometimes the actors are filled with the faces of complete strangers, only familiar to those nearby whose memories and dreams bleed into his. Sometimes all it takes to be drawn to such strangers is the barest inkling of old kindnesses known and forgotten; he finds them in dreaming, drifting through the subconscious like a pale ghost with those bright, red eyes. In waking, he still shivers even under heavy layers of coats and scarves, his eyes sullen but searching as they stare, seeing more than just the bodies in front of him.
Dreaming, waking memories...they all have lures that pull his mind forward, searching and yearning for fragments of what he's lost. It doesn't always turn out so well, and oftentimes the demons of another's mind get pulled into the forefront, mutating into the monsters of his own memories, making it a helluva time for both minds.
Sometimes he himself is the lure; there are still special people in the world who can hear the melancholy call of psionic voices such as Blue's, reaching out into the dark for some comfort of connection.
And, of course...a withered, frail man like him is no stranger to the risks of being out in the world: Sometimes all it takes is a compassionate or harried soul reaching out to pull him away from dangers that he fails to perceive, and that contact is enough to open the doors to the heart.
It can be terrible, yes, but...it's better than being alone, right?
tl;dr, come get ya mindfucks, be it in dreams or in person
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