once upon a december [ open / joining ]

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Black fur glistened in the moonlight, cascading the female with a silver lining that outlined her features like a crown, jewelry fit for a queen made of the stars themselves. Her movements mirrored those of royalty as well, no step faltering and each a graceful leap from the previous. She walked like on water, like the gods carried her through the darkness themselves and led her muffled paws to her destination, wherever that may be. Despite the surety that she carried herself with, Amelie knew nought where she was headed. Amelie knew nought where she had come from, either. And to finish the sad story which she carried on through, she knew nought who she even was, and an internal monologue carried her mockingly through her journey, eyes faded and staring into nothing as she spoke to a voice so similar to her own and yet so distant. Who was she talking to? Who was talking to her? Why did she have so many questions that the answers stubbornly refused to show themselves to.

Who are you?

The voice was nothing but a hushed murmur in her head, a sultry purr that sent each of Amelie's already frayed nerves into a new state of panic. She was not comfortable with this voice, this thing that sounded so hauntingly beautiful, so much alike to her own and yet not. It was an invader, a parasite, and the more it talked the more Amelie was convinced she was going insane. Still, she spoke back as if to prove it wrong, to stubbornly show that she knew exactly who she was so that the voice would not win.

"I'm me," the female responded boldly, strutting down the long railway with the same confidence as a sharp edge entered her tone and posture, defiant in nature and proud by default. She expected that to shut the voice up, to let her actually focus on where she was and where she was heading after her escape... instead she received an answer which she lacked the response too, step faltering and nearly causing her to trip over her own dainty paws.

Who is me?

If she knew any better she'd think the voice was being sarcastic. Instead it was too kind, too sweet... it was a genuine question that was asked out of curiosity and concern, not a jab at her response. But still she felt herself closing in, a dull ache forming in the base of her temple as her mind grasped frantically at the lifeline that was always hanging mere inches from her outstretched hand, ever out of reach. The memories would not come, and the further she tried to reach the foggier it got, and the more her headache actually started feeling like a headache rather than just a dull reminder of one building in her head.

"I-" she had no time to try and formulate a response, the voice calling out to her again and forcing the woman to an untimely stop, paw pressed tightly against her forehead and jaws clenched together so tightly she could feel her teeth grinding against each other.

Who are you? Who are you? The voice was taunting her, mocking her with it's false pretense of kindness. She couldn't sense anything true among it, nothing but lies and banter. But there was nothing underneath it either, no malice and no suspicion. Just a constant echo of the same question crawling underneath her skin.

"Please, I-" she couldn't remember. She didn't know. Who was she? Where did she come from? The question cascaded around her once more like a waterfall, none falling into place but rather falling away into even more empty and broken pieces, shattering whatever resolve she had struggled to build in the first place. The more she realized how lost she was, the more the suffering built up, until it was a constant ache in her very bones that would not leave her alone. She had forgotten who she was, who she had been. She didn't know who she was going to... who she was supposed to become. Amelie was lost. She was lost and the lifeline was so tantalizingly close, driving her madder and madder by the second.

You are you. The voice was a gentle murmur once again, it's previous questions fading away in a distant echo. It was hardly an answer, and she begged for release, for the ability to find out. She was her. She was Amelie.

But who are you?

But who was Amelie? Who was this woman, whom she'd only heard of in passing, heard her name across the tongues of many when directed towards the body she inhabited? Who was Amelie? What did Amelie like? Who had Amelie loved? What had happened to her? The questions wouldn't stop, and her resolve shattered, the lioness crumpling to the ground and clutching at her head, hoping the pressure would just make it stop. Because she didn't know, and no matter how hard she tried to know... it would never come to her. Amelie didn't know who Amelie was. Amelie was broken, far beyond her reach. She was forgotten, dead and six feet under the woman she had become now. And in the end... all she could reply to the voice was one thing. "I don't remember.”

[CELESTE G.M.]

[COLOR=#bf9b30]PULL ME BACK FROM THINGS DIVINE

Memory and identity were fickle things. From what she had experienced, they were torn apart oh so easily and scattered to the wind. She had seen tribes, rich with culture and history, wiped off the map by the act of others - broken and beaten and no longer what they were. Perhaps it was different to personal identity, but the past defined a person, their home and their family defined them. You could rise above it, change, but the past would always be there.

How terrible it must be to not have a past. The future is a murky thing that nobody can divine, Temulin knows that well from all the times that she had cast her voice to the Gods and asked, but there is never an answer. To have only the unknown is something that would torment anyone - to not know who you were and where you came from. How are you supposed to deal with the future if you no past to draw reference from? What a terrible fate it must be to lose your memories, no matter how harrowing they were.

The borzoi spots the stranger on the border, talking to herself and sounding lost in her own thoughts. She doesn't remember could mean anything really, Temulin is far from a mind reader so she no way to access the internal monologue of the stranger and ask for her meaning. She does however have a voice that she can use to ask, softly spoken words welcoming and warm. "Hello? Have you lost something? This is the Typhoon, my name's Temulin, if you've lost something I can help you look for it."

© LEXASPERATED

[no more]

[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Was a person truly the memory they held, fragments of a whole drawn together into coherent scenes, each bound by a thin seam so easy to break. Or was it the experience derived from each moment of life, the lasting moment after when the memory has begun to fade yet each emotion is there, a brand upon heart and soul.

No, there was more complexities behind the moulding of an individual, so crude and basic within those first days when the mind is soft and malleable, clutching at any stimuli offered only to cast it aside for the next, ever seeking and learning, given no boundaries. With age comes wisdom, was not such a saying common upon the tongue of many, speaking of both memory and experience, bound together for it is what came to shape what one became, a fickle thing a mind, so easily changed when presented something new. To lose it all, wipe away each fragment of memory and to be given something new, a face one does not recognise in the mirror, a name the tongue is clumsy in pronouncing yet they are yours, surely they are yours.

What becomes of a person when the very core of what shaped them, lead them to become the person they are upon that day was discarded, cast aside with nothing to replace it?

Aita had come to struggle with such herself, found her own identity proved little more than a puddle left muddied within the past weeks, ever changing as she sought a place, put upon herself pressure to fit within holes she was never made for. Was she truly fit to be apart of the nerco mambas, learning to heal both body and mind while her mind was occupied in ways to destroy or kill in spare moments, each poison written upon scrap well hidden from prying eyes. Was she meant to heal others, to hold the title of sage when her paws shook when made to be around another who had come to harm, felt the chill of illness and held little idea of how to help. And what of her thoughts, turning dark as the want to learn to fight grew within her, nothing so simple as self defence, no she wanted to kill and maim, to destroy the one who had dared lay claw upon her family.

A sigh broke through her lips, ears flattening against the curve of her head. There was nothing good about lingering upon such thoughts and doubts, letting them plague a mind too young for such troubles, but they were always there, floating beneath the surface of her thoughts. Carefully she stowed the herbs she had been preparing into an empty tin, the lid closing with a soft snap, messy writing upon the top spelling out the contents. Amongst is brethren the tin was pushed, a jumble of them left for later organisation for the sage had grown weary of the work, leaving it for another time. She had grown to enjoy the mundane tasks though now they weighed heavy, of little significance within the grand scheme of the work she was meant to do, all too young for this, to be apart of this team.

Forcing herself to stand it took only a short time for her to decide to wander the border, escape any who might seek her out with pesky questions, the looks of pity upon their faces too much. It had grown tiresome handing out basic herbs, remedies for colds and acting as little more than a walking stockpile, but her pride proved too difficult to swallow. This work gave her purpose where nothing else had and so she would tough it out for the moment, give it some more time before deciding for sure.

There seem to be none about, the darkness of the night driving all but those plagued with insomnia and harbouring nocturnal habits, or at the least Aita thought so. Wandering close to the stone gate the light breeze brought with it a voice, familiar for she had worked with the other for a short time now, each who held the position of sage beside her set within her memory though she didn't care to consider them friends just yet. The gentle tone in which Temulin spoke drew her closer, wondering exactly what it was had driven the borzoi out on such a night. “Huh,” the sound escaped her before thought could be formulated, dark eyes blinking a few times to be sure it was truly a figure the other medic stood before, seemingly to cower, clutching her head as though it pained her.

She seemed to meld into the night, the pitch tone of her fur merging well with the darkness about her, yet she seemed darker, a living patch of shadow amongst the muted shade. Careful was each step the child took, placed upon the ground with thought for she had no desire to startle either, looking upon the stranger, seeking wounds. There was no tang of copper in the air and Temulin had made no move to assist so there surely was nothing wrong with her bodily, but such was not to speak of her mind. So easily did a mind break beneath pressure, the stress building within until one simply cracked, forced to release that pressure somehow. It seemed this lioness expressed it in a more quiet way than some.

Halting by the other sage Aita looked upon the stranger with a curious gaze, unsure on whether she should offer her own words.

[CAESAR CIPHER.]

ALL ALONE HE TURNS TO STONE !

CAESAR CIPHER. MALE. THE TYPHOON. OFFICER.

Being a dream demon, Caesar enjoyed messing around with the mind and fucking up peoples' memories. Unfortunately for him, traveling here temporarily stripped him of his ability to do so, which was honestly frustrating, and left his own mind open for attack. The Officer wanted the ability to fuck around with everybody's minds again, if not only to cause hurt and pain. It amused him how the mind worked and how easily it was to break, which was the sole reason why he messed around with others' memories. He liked seeing how they broke down about things.

Caesar arrived soon after Aita, standing next to his granddaughter with his head held high, waiting for a response from the stranger at the border.

#psychosocial.

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]"Hello? Have you lost something? This is the Typhoon, my name's Temulin, if you've lost something I can help you look for it." She had not heard anyone approach in her suffering, entire body stiffening and claws unsheathing instantly only to bite into her skin and to disappear once more with a low growl. A bitterness seeped into her, a welcome counterpart to the struggles that had surrounded her like they always did when she fell away and gave into her own loneliness. In silence, she suffered, and where the crowds would not reach her Amelie fell apart. Yet in the face of others, in the face of humanity... she displayed nothing, and her shattered reality fell back into place like porcelain, held together weakly by glue and ready to break into even more pieces when the time came for it. In these moments it never mattered who Amelie was. She was safely tucked away in the shadows that marred Widowmaker's soul.

But even Widowmaker was falling apart, a mere shadow of who she had been. No, the woman who stood before them did not know who she was anymore - she was a freak, a hybrid of that which she used to be and that which she had been forced to become. The simple inquiry of a name that one would so easily respond to brought her nothing but pain, nerves screaming at her to choose a side. Amelie or Widowmaker? Both names are foreign on her tongue, and she could not bring herself to say either as she slowly raised her head up towards Temulin, golden eyes giving away nothing the moment they locked onto her own.

"Those words were not for you to hear," monotonous, devoid of anything but contempt, her response was anything but friendly or welcoming, though it did not instill hostility either. It was a guarded neutrality, the voice of someone who knew they had been caught in a moment of weakness and despised it. Emotions made you vulnerable, and having anyone see inside of her was unnerving. It was unnerving because she was convinced that they'd know more about her than she could ever find out, and that the inner workings of her mind would be displayed on a pedestal for all to see. She didn't need constant reminders of how broken she was. But least of all did she need others discovering her identity without her knowledge, and for the memories they gave to her to never click, to fade away like they always did. Until she was fixed, she couldn't show them who she was.

A shuddering breath escaped her throat as Amelie tried valiantly to reel all the thoughts back into place, to give some semblance of control as Aita approached, the child doing nothing more than filling her with more bitter memories. She had a childhood, once. Everyone did. But she did not remember it beyond soft whispers in her head that could have very well been lies as well. Her gaze turned cold, and before she could lash out at an individual who had nothing to do with her pain, her gaze turned to Caesar.

The next to appear wasn't threatening in the common sense, but despite that she knew that look, and the gaze that was trapped within hers showed little but an afterthought of murder. Widowmaker was no stranger to such a gaze, and those far colder. She had been on both sides of the party once - a murderer and the victim all in one. Widowmaker had murdered Amelie, once. Talon had helped her bury the woman long ago. But the subtle intelligence and the analytical mind were still all hers, whoever it belonged to in the end (for it surely wasn't under her control.)

Her gaze hardened once more, a subtle frown making it's way onto her maw as she recalled that she still did not answer this woman's question. It was not her intent to be rude, and the voice still whispered tauntingly in the back of her head to choose. If only it was that simple, if only she knew who she was anymore. Amelie Lacroix... or Widowmaker? Dancer, or assassin? Victim... or murderer.

Hunter or prey?

"Amelie," she murmured quietly the moment she believed that she had waited long enough to start irritating those questioning her. It didn't feel right, using that name, but she had nothing else to go by. As disconnected as Amelie felt, Widowmaker felt even more so at this given time. "I did not know that there were others out here. Can you tell me where I am?" her voice regained some of it's strength (though most would call it ice instead) as she asked the question. Perhaps she didn't know who she was, but even such a simple knowledge of where she found herself to be could change everything.

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]//my muse is awful but hello again lmao

Gabriel had his moments of questioning himself, of doubting his own decisions and who he was becoming, but he couldn't say he had been caught between such extremes as either side of where the pendulum swung. Couldn't he? When a mission would go south, when he lost one too many people -civilian or soldier- and when the aftermath hit more like a storm than a respite, he did have vulnerable moments in solitude when he wondered whether he was a good man, or if necessity had stolen his ability to decipher what good was. Those thoughts chased him during daylight, tortured him at night, until it all came to a head when he lost whatever embers had kept him going and he was drowning in self-doubt. It'd obscured everything he'd worked for, had turned every partial accomplishment into a sour aftertaste. What if you're not doing the right thing? What if you're hurting more than you're helping? Look at how you've changed- you can't even recognize yourself.

Following that fuck-up of a choice, he landed in an even more physical confusion of self. The hybridized mess he woke up in was nothing like the canine he used to be, and for all his beliefs when he was younger about character making the man, not physicality, he'd felt...disconnected in a way he never had before. It took weeks for Gabriel to realize that the reflection in puddles he passed by belonged to him, that the owl-face was Gabriel, not some other idiot. Those days had passed like trudging through a bog, unable to catch a glimpse of the sun and wearing down with each step. He wished he could say reaching the other side meant something, but even now, he'd occasionally startle when he saw himself, expecting expressive brown eyes over empty pitch.

It certainly didn't help matters when he was in the middle of purposely deluding himself, though the injuries made that a bit easier. Only a bit, because he gave a shit about the person who caused them, and he'd started to give a shit about the person who patched him up when he shouldn't have. Just one more dilemma to lose himself in, tripping through another cycle of should and shouldn't. 

At least he didn't give his mind conflicting signals about taking a walk around the place. Gabe could enjoy a stroll, couldn't he? It was fine. Everything was fine.

Or maybe not.

The owl-cat's gaze roamed over his clanmates first, landing with finality on the inky lioness. Gabe would say she seemed confused, but it was more than that, something sharper than mere befuddlement. Colder, like her demeanor, and he suspected that for all her arctic demeanor, there were churning waters beneath, choppy and hiding shapes both predatory and quarry. "This is The Typhoon. I'm Gabe. Got anywhere to go? There's room for one more if you need a rest." 

[align=right][i]——INFO

[snare]

[align=center]

snare mortem —  male — wolf — typhoon — striker — argus x npc

[div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: 0px; font-family: georgia; color: #633c00;"]Snare would be the next to walk up on his big clumsy feet, looking at Amelie with big innocent moon round eyes from the safe place by his other crewmates.  The wolf puppy didn't quite understand the complexity of this particular situation; from his perspective it was just another stranger looking for somewhere to live.  He would offer a friendly and gentle smile, his fuzzy tail wagging gently.  "Yeah, we got a lot of places to stay!"  The puppy would add onto what Gabriel had originally stated.  "We'd be happy to have you."