come_sailaway | then I found a place, it's dark and it's rotted [memeshare

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then I found a place, it's dark and it's rotted [memeshare - open]

Who: Siffleur and you
What: Memory sharing & an opt-in
When: throughout March
Where: various
Warnings: Body horror, medical gore, cannibalism, death, suicide, suicidal idealization, child neglect, possible discussions of past sexual assault in first prompt, unreality

1) The River

On the banks of a newly defrosted river, a young women who looks to be in her mid-twenties kneels by the ice cold waters. The snow has melted, but there's a chill in the air that can't be shaken. Her hair is dirty and matted, and she's wearing a stained dress that's too big for her. Beside her is a freshly birthed baby, half-transformed between human and cougar, screaming in pain.

The woman isn't handling it well. Siffleur is about 10 minutes old and he's also not handling it well either.

2) The Forest

In an old growth forest in the height of summer, a small cougar kitten has left the den where his mother sleeps to play in the grass and chase the large dragonflies that dart around. Siffleur is very young and very curious, and though he usually avoids other people, today he's feeling brave enough to investigate anything new and novel. He's climbing a old fallen log in pursuit of a particularly shiny dragonfly that's resting on the end.

But he loses his grip when he sees someone new in the clearing, falling back and going head over heels, rolling back a few times before landing paws up.

3) The City

In a rundown city just across the Canadian border, a teen boy sits outside a convenience store. His clothing is dirty and stained, and he hasn't washed in at least two weeks. His stomach growls and he watches carefully as people slowly trickle in and out of the store. Siffleur's shaggy hair hangs in his eyes and he doesn't ask for help - he just watches each person as they exit their car.

There's someone here who wasn't there before. His yellow eyes snap to them, quickly looking them up and down.

4) The Small Town

In a place with a population of less than a 1000 people, less than six half-paved streets and one bar, Siffleur sits at the bar with a beer. His cellphone buzzes now and then but he's left it laying face down, not bothering to check it. There's plenty of empty stools around him - less of an invitation and more of a warning.

On the TVs, Ottawa is playing Anaheim, but from the dour mood of those folks watching the screens, it's clear that a Canadian team isn't going to win this Stanley Cup. Occasionally, Siffleur glances back, looking for someone who isn't here yet.

5) Killing Myself In Front Of You To Change The Trajectory Of Your Life Forever (Opt-In, TW: Suicide)

This isn't Siffleur's memory - it's one of yours.

Perhaps it's something personal, something traumatic and private, the kind of thing you would hate to have seen by anyone. Perhaps it's of better times, good days, drinks, laughter, that kind of thing. Maybe it's just another quiet mundane day.

It doesn't matter. The moment he realizes he's in your memory, Siffleur acts instantly and decisively, and kills himself. There's no hesitation. If there's danger he can use to do it, he does - throwing himself against the obvious monsters, picking a fight with something that's ready to rip him to shreds. Or, if not that, then he'll do the job himself with a kitchen knife if available, or anything sharp.

And in the most dire of circumstances where there's nothing for him to use at all? Well... here's your front row seat to a memory of a complete stranger looking around, grabbing his head between his hands and snapping his own neck.

He'll be back on the ship the next day, carefully avoiding the cracks as he attempts to shuffle away from his cabin and over to the buffet to eat breakfast. Feel free to ambush him for an answer then.

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"What the hell?!" It's hard to know precisely what's happening from his upside-down vantage point but, uh, did some guy just get the jump on Natira?

She's still distracted savoring her taste of blood, so she's easily tackled to the ground. A hiss escapes between her fanged teeth and those claws on the side of her head flare up like spines standing off her face, but they've barely lifted when...crack.

It's over. She's lifeless beneath Siffleur. Even from across the room, Crichton heard that sickening bone crunch.

"Hey," Crichton calls, now that the struggle is over. "Can you get me down?" He has to assume this newcomer is a friend. Why the hell else would he be here?

She dies and there's a part of him that almost regrets that she didn't kill him first - that would have been the quick way out. But again, dinner with Jack. Think of the rib tips.

"Yeah, I'll get you down." He leaves the dead alien despite wondering a little about what she'd taste like. Siffleur approaches the thing that Crichton's strapped to and tips his head a few times as he looks it over. Straps mostly. That's good. He doesn't know about the thing on Crichton's head. So, straps first.

Siffleur transforms his hand, the crunching of bones as he pushes it to an in-between state to get claws that he can use to slice open the restraint on his right wrist, moving to the left next. "Can we take that thing off your head without killing you?"

Normally, Crichton might be shocked to see a guy turn his hand into claws. But, it's been a very not normal day... week? So, he accepts this with the kind of resignation of a man already half-insane and not wanting to push it.

"God, I hope so," is all Crichton says before, as soon as his right hand is free, rips the thing off his own head without a second thought.

Good news, it doesn't kill him.

"Who are you? Did my crew on Moya send you?"

Great, Crichton doesn't die and Siffleur is still in this fucking memory. He gets the left wrist free and moves up to Crichton's legs. "I'm Siffleur, no idea who your crew are or where Moya is or what anything here is. I'm from your future where we're both stuck on a different ship."

It's the future, time-travel can't be too impossible for somebody like Crichton. Same with the idea of being on another ship - though Siffleur has no intention of mentioning that it's a cruise ship.

"From my future?!" As if this day hasn't been weird enough. This guy can't be serious... can he? It actually is possible. could be possible.

"How? Did you travel through a wormhole? Did you come back in time just to save me?"

Even better, more questions. "Came here by accident, had no idea you'd be here, considered just leaving you but I've got a date tonight that I don't want to miss, so this is easier."

He could lie but fuck, it'll be harder pretending that he's invested in Crichton than being honest with him. It also means that when he cuts Crichton's legs free, he doesn't have to care if he catches himself coming off the tilted torture platform. "My only plan is to kill our way out of here and stay alive."

"This is easier?" Crichton's voice climbs an octave with disbelief.

"How the hell did you accidentally end up inside a shadow depository? This place is like Fort Knox."

Thump. Crichton slides off the ball and lands in a pile of awkward limbs on the ground. He supposes he should thank this guy but for some reason, he doesn't feel like it. He recovers quickly and gets back up on his feet. Instinctively, he reaches to his thigh but the gun and holster are both gone.

"Who the hell are you? This place is crawling with guards and Peacekeepers now. There's no way we can take them all alone."

"Technically killing you is easier, but we're not doing that." He doesn't want to kill people in memories. He can't explain that to Crichton so he's also not going to bother. "It's a long and stupid story. I can explain, or I can get you out of here."

And since the place is apparently very well armed, Siffleur just shrugs and changes. If Crichton wished he had his gun before, he probably really wishes he had it now watching this body-horror spectacle take place in front of him as Siffleur's body folds up and sprouts fur. At the end, there's a cougar standing in front of Crichton.

"If you know which way we should go, I'll clear a path."

"I like being alive more than I like hearing stupid stories." Seriously, though, what the hell? If he's so inconvenienced by all this then what is he doing here? Crichton just can't figure it. But he also doesn't have any better options right now.

He'd turned to look over Natira's dead body to see if she has a gun he can borrow, so those wet bone-cracking noises catch him by surprise. His eyes go wide enough to show whites around the edges while he watches that horror show. Holy shit. Holy shit?? He's a cougar. A were-cougar? Now he really has seen everything.

"That's a neat trick." He looks around and finds that everything in this damn place looks the same. "Uh...I wish I knew but your guess is gonna be as good as mine. You'll have to take the guards out down the hall first either way. They've got pulse rifles. Don't get hit or they'll cook you alive."

"Good to know. I'll knock them down. Get the pulse rifle off the one I'm not mauling." He pads to the door and looks to Crichton to open it up, since he has no idea how to work this world's electronic doors.

And the very moment the door opens, Siffleur is out in a flash, silently slamming his full weight into one guard's legs to knock him over. He pivots instantly, springing off the stumbling guard to attack the other and take him down. Armour is always a pain in the ass, but it looks like this stuff is more meant for pulse rifles or whatever, not big sharp teeth and claws - and it wasn't meant to handle a monster that knows how to knock a helmet off.

Also: for an alien, it tastes pretty close to human.

That sure is a sentence that's going to be rattling around in his brain later. Mauling. What a word.

He'll think about that later. Right now, he's doing exactly like Siffleur said and pulling the rifle off the peacekeeper that's just been knocked over. He puts a shot right between the man's eyes, probably a mercy compared to what's happening to goon number two over there.

He's not waiting around for the Discovery Channel encore, with the gun strap slung over his shoulder, he aims up and tears off down the hall, keeping to the sides as well as he can, not running down the middle. So, clearly, he's not a complete idiot about this. He's about to turn the corner when...

"Rorf?" He has to stop himself just short of pulling the trigger.

Standing there is one of the bounty hunters Crichton originally hired to help pull off his doomed bank heist. Siffleur and he might get along since they are both just as animal as man.

Rorf snarls as he looks from Crichton to the cougar, "What are you doing here?"

"Getting the hell out?" answers Crichton "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you," Rorf answers, annoyed. "Who is that?"

Siffleur finishes tearing up his prey and when Crichton takes off, Siffleur pivots to follow-

And is glad to see that apparently Crichton knows whoever he's run across. This makes things much, much simpler. He trots over, his muzzle soaked in blood, and sits down. "Nobody of importance. Do you have a direct route to get Crichton to safety, or do we need to keep making one?"

Because if he can hand Crichton over to someone else and get this memory to end, that would be very nice. So far he's kept what he's learned to as much of a minimum as possible, but there's always a chance they'll round a corner and he'll see the defining tragedy of Crichton's life.

"I-I can get Crichton back to Moya," the bounty hunter says in a rough baritone. He looks bewildered to see a creature like Siffluer. It's clearly a first for him. "I will call them now."

The knot in Crichton's chest loosens a little just hearing that. He's getting out of here. Goddamn, he really didn't think he'd ever make it off this rock. "Call them," he urges. "The less time we sit around talking here the better."

To Siffleur, he asks, "Do you want to come with us? If Scorpius suspects you helped free me, he'll kill you or worse."

Scorpius must be the one in the leather. Siffleur would enjoy fighting him under other circumstances but not this time. He shakes his head no. "I will be gone before he can find me. When I see you again in the future, you'll understand what's happening."

He must sound like such a vague and mysterious asshole but he's just telling the truth. It's still annoying that the truth is so stupid. And before he can be dragged into further bullshit, he turns around and trots away from Crichton.

Siffleur's going to go back and eat that alien until the memory ends. It's not often you find something that tastes like seafood with the texture of a mammal flesh.

Edited 2023-04-06 18:26 (UTC)

Watching Siffleur eat Scorpius might be the one thing that would completely flip Crichton's opinion on cannibalism. Alas.

"O-kay..." He doesn't know what that comment about understanding in the future means but he doesn't have time to stick around and find out.

It does turn out to be true, however, the moment Crichton comes back to himself on the ship and realizes he has a very different recollection of events now. Goddammit. He's going to have to go find Siffleur now and... thank him.

"Ah, Frell..." He takes off in the direction of the Tommy Bahama. And when he gets there he calls out, "Yo, Siffleur? You in here? I come in peace."

There he is. Siffleur's used to the visitors now, and he hops down from his place in the overstock, padding over to the entrance with his tail swishing behind him. "Hello Crichton. Sorry about altering your memory."

"Sorry?" Oh, right some people take Offense to stuff like that **cough**ARTHUR**cough**

"I was actually coming to thank you." Wow, look, he said that with a straight face and everything. "You could have left me strung up there. I'm still not exactly sure why you didn't..."

"I don't like watching people I know get tortured, and I couldn't kill myself because I had a date." It's really obvious to Siffleur, but to be fair to Crichton, he doesn't really know Siffleur well. Siffleur knows his reputation among some folks on the ship and he's fine with it. There is one more important thing though that will probably make things make more sense. "And if I kept watching, I would learn even more information about your past that I shouldn't know."

A pause before he adds- " I did wonder if I had stumbled into a BDSM scene, but you weren't dressed for that the way the others were."

Well. Guess they have some common ground there. (A small voice in the back of his mind asks how eating people alive isn't torture, but he shushes it.)

"Would you believe they dress like that every day? Welcome to space. The Fifth Element has got nothing on these guys when it comes to questionable wardrobe choices. The leather guy, that was Scorpius."

His ears flip back as he thinks about it. Wearing leather every single day? Siffleur can't imagine many more uncomfortable choices - other than latex. "I suppose once your weapons are powerful enough, you don't worry about running - or chafing."

Scorpius - the ringleader. The one who was talking about clones and stuff. Siffleur's tail swishes a few times. "He had an odd smell to him. Not rotten exactly but... something like it. Something off."

There is a natural opening here to ask more - who is Scorpius? What is a neural clone? But he hates that he knows any of this. It doesn't feel appropriate to know. It makes him shift uncomfortably. "I am glad your friends were just outside so they could take you away. I hope the new memory isn't too different from your old one."

"He's got bigger problems to worry about. If he overheats, he dies. That suit keeps his body temperature regulated. He was still pissed at me because I frelled with his cooling rods earlier that day. I was this damn close to frying his brains out." He pinches his finger and thumb together as he says that last.

"Maybe that's what you smelled. But the bastard's a cockroach so of course he didn't die. Besides--hey, wait. I run around in leather all day too, man. I ain't got that problem." Okay, fine, sometimes it gets a little sticky, but it's fine.

"Rorf? He was less a friend more a hired mercenary. But ah... in my original memory, he died. Saving me." He wishes the fake memory could have been the way it really went.

"It is a shame you did not manage to kill him. It seems like something that would make everyone's lives much easier." Siffleur was only around him for a short while, but he seemed like someone who enjoyed making everyone's lives worse but also did not seem like someone who truly had fun with anything. Which was really the worst crime in his book. You should always have fun when you're doing something like that.

As for the leather, his eyes glance down to his leather pants and then up again. "Everyone with a sensitive nose can smell how hot you get in those. But it's not a bad smell on you, Crichton."

Listen, you can get him to have a pleasant conversation, but you're never truly going to get him to stop flirting in a menacing way - especially when it winds Crichton up.

But now he's finding out more information. At least it's by choice this time. He sighs. "I am sorry that he died that way. It seems uncomfortable to have someone die on behalf of you, especially when they are a semi-stranger."

"You don't know the half of it. If I'd killed him then, I would have saved myself years of running and hiding." It's Harvey's damn fault he couldn't do it. He knows that now.

Aaaaaand cue Crichton going red hot in the face. Can you smell that too, Siffleur? He sputters, searching for something, anything to say as a comeback. Unfortunately, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "A-Arthur's never complained." Oh God, just kill him. Why is he still like this? It's not like he and Arthur haven't... no. Nope. No thinking about that right now.

He never thought he'd be happy for such a grim subject change. "Uncomfortable isn't a strong enough word. He's not... the first person who's died trying to save me. I don't know how to deal with it. It shouldn't have happened. None of it."

There are so many times when killing someone would have made life better and more tolerable. It's a shame that you only ever know after the time has passed which person really needed to be gutted.

However, Siffleur's more amused by catching Crichton completely off guard. He chuckles to himself, ears swivelled forward. "That makes sense. I would expect a blind man would learn to savour his lover's scents. Were I in his shoes, I'd prefer to keep you a little sweaty all the time."

He glances down one of the aisles, over the racks and racks and racks of floral patterns. "There are many things in life that should not have happened. But unfortunately they do. I have always tried to honor the sacrifices made for me, and to live life to it's fullest. That's what my mother wants from me. I do not know what the mercenary wanted, but I expect he would be glad that his death meant something to you, and still does."

Crichton doesn't quite manage to suppress that full-body shudder. "Guess it's a good thing cougars don't wear shoes." Yeah, he would really like to not think about this anymore, thanks.

But then, that leaves him having to reluctantly identify with Siffleur over what he says next. It's actually profound and... comforting?

"The only thing he asked of us, of me, is that we made sure his mate got her full share of the price we promised to pay. We made good on that. We made sure she and the baby she was carrying would get it. But... I still have to live with knowing that kid won't ever know its father because of me." He's not like Siffleur. He agonizes over every life he takes voluntarily or by association. He wears that debt like iron chains around his neck.

"You know... I saw my own mother in one of those memories. But wasn't really her. It couldn't really be her. But it still hurt to hear what she had to say about me."

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