dear_mun | (no subject)

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[His arms are crossed as he stares contemplatively for a moment, before his face cracks and he laughs a humorless laugh. His tone is light and amused, and maybe a tad bit bitter.]

Well, didn't think you'd have the balls to bring me out to "play" -- as you creepily put it. [He makes a grand gesture.] But here we are!

[His features are suddenly all business as he folds his arms again.]

Do me a favor though, my all powerful puppeteer. Don't let anyone touch me. I can only imagine the colorful memories floating around this place. And quite frankly, I'd like to keep it at imagining them.

[His hands now move to his pockets. He can't seem to stand still, can he?]

Gotta admit, though, there's a lot of interesting people here. I don't need memories to see that.

((ooc: so this guy can see memories, you should probably look at this just in case.))

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Unfortunately, melting her brain cells would just render her preeetty useless to you.

At least I'd stop being bored though, yanno?

But yeah, whatever.

What've you been doing, huh? Just...poking around? Yelling at your writer?

Fair enough.

[He can agree with that.]

I haven't really done anything yet. This is my first foray into the world of disgruntled playthings.

[Because let's face it, that's totally what they are.]

Gonna get dumped in some game then? Is your writer an asshole like mine?

Oh she's an asshole. Fortunately she's a lazy asshole and the very idea of creating an "application" for me to enter a game makes her, and I quote, "head explode".

She's probably going to throw me around here and there until she moves on to someone else. Perhaps that half rotting zombie she's got in here. Or the solider who's died about eight times. I'm not worried about holding her attention for long.

Yeah, but until then?

Man, you're boned if you're so new. Seriously fucking boned. Don't get too traumatized the first time out.

Traumatized.

[He just kind of...laughs. A lot. A little too late for that!]

[Okay he's done. Rather suddenly, even.]

Yeah I'll try.

[Yeah. That's not creepy. Luke sort of makes it a point to read people -- sort of, he's still young and is more interested in emulation.]

What's your deal?

[He's a creepy guy, honestly. At home he usually makes it a point of being creepy.]

My "deal"? I don't have a "deal". I just found that kind of hilarious.

[Luke's mom hates him. And for good reason. He did sort of nuke a guy. Accidentally. Kinda.]

Everyone's got a deal. What makes you tick?

["Accidentally".]

What's with the interest?

[He just likes being difficult, really.]

[Long story. Actually, it's really not at all but Luke likes to embellish.]

Show me yours, I'll show you mine.

[He pauses a moment.

Information for information, then. Okay, he can roll with that.]

I can see people's memories when they touch me, or I them. Or if I try hard enough, sometimes. [Casually leaves out the fact that said memories feed a demon.] Ooor if I get close to someone. Emotionally, for some silly reason.

That's my deal. Now you.

I said show me. [At least he didn't attach 'you moron' or 'you supreme idiot' at the end? Of course, Luke's not keen on being touched. At all. Ever. By anyone. Not even for a demonstration. So, instead, he stars looking poor Scar up and down for anything metal or plastic he might be wearing. He's do the 'heat up the zipper on a guy's jeans' more than once and while that's funny and sometimes ends in pubic hair roasting, melting buttons is just as good.]

[There is some metal here and there on his outfit! The buttons on his jacket, or the big metal buckle on his belt. There's also a gun in a pocket under his jacket somewhere but he might get a little pissy about that melting.]

I showed you, with words. Be happy you got that much. [Ugh, he does not like doing this at all. And the thought makes him a little fidgety.

Though it has been a while since his last memory and his little friend is probably getting hungry. The last thing he needs is for him to be drained...]

You realize I'll see your memory, right? And it can be any memory; embarrassing, stupid, traumatic. Think about that. Just take a moment and think about it.

[That last one seems to be the most popular with this stupid demon.]

Edited 2013-11-05 18:35 (UTC)

[Shit's getting real and Luke just ain't having it. He makes two definitive steps back.]

Hey, that's on you. I already lived my own shit. Can you just touch my coat?

[Skin on skin contact kinda skeeves him out. As it is, he picks out the perfect thing to melt (he's going to go for the hair at the nape of Scar's neck for maximum laughs! But soon. He just wants to know if he can get a demo without getting touchy-feely.]

[Scar rolls his eyes before sighing. He didn't like the idea either. Fortunately it didn't have to be direct skin on skin contact. Well, fortunately for this situation. If that had been the case he could wear gloves and long sleeves all the time and things wouldn't be so annoying.]

Right. Fine.

Jesus I hate this. Okay, You're going to feel a weird pressure in your head for like, a second. Then a little lightheaded when it's over. [All it takes (after a moment of hesitance) is a light touch of Luke's coat to get a memory. That's it. Scar shuts his eyes in preparation to see it.]

Edited 2013-11-05 21:02 (UTC)

[He caught that. That little whisper. If he could see people's memories, he'd have it made in the shade. What can he do of any use now? Keep coffee hot? Leave the store with a frozen burrito and not have to stand in line to use the gross microwave?]

Well this should be--

[Pressure? It feels more like an ache. Like his eyes might fall out. Not cool man.

Of course, neither is the memory. Luke's about ten or so judging by the way he sees the world and himself when he looks down at his pigeon toed and dirty red sneakers. A man, his dad, calls him over. He's got a cigarette hanging off his lip and his hands are held out in front of him. "Guess which one has the candy, kid, and you can have it." The boy hesitates and the man looks like he's getting angry. "Are you stupid or something? Pick one." Eventually, Luke does. The left. The man reveals his hand. Nothing in the palm so he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and jabs it into the boy's bare forearm.]

Jesus fucking-- Ow!

[Present day Luke rubs at his head and pulls his arm from Scar, making another conscious step backward.]

You know, there was nothing in that fucker's other hand either. Ooh, I still have that scar, wanna see?

[Psychopath in the making, right here.]

[Oh great, he had to get the one kid with daddy issues.

The moment seems to last a little too long for Scar. His eyes shut hard enough that the pressure aggravates the scarred tissue around his eyes. The feelings in the memory are palpable, and while normally he did a good job of forcing himself to separate a memory's feelings with his own, this particular case was a little harder.

Fathers. They sucked no matter the universe, huh? Though regardless of the shit that happened with his own father after he left, his wasn't that bad.]

Crap, crap, crap-- [Damn it. He didn't fight the feelings of the memory hard enough, because he felt the burn, the anger -- when Luke pulls away Scar's hands immediately find his face as he drags his hands across it, shaking his head to bring himself back to reality.

He heard a weird noise, as he always did. The sound of the demon being satisfied. It liked that one.

He's short of breath.]

Jesus, dude. [Scar knows all about scars. It's in the name. It is the name, and it's one he chose for a reason. When Luke asks if he wants to see it, he almost says "fuck no". Visuals to go along with memories only made them linger in his mind, and he normally liked to push them far far back.

Maybe it's because of some silly..."psychopath in the making" solidarity -- or that little bit of sympathy he couldn't get rid of, but Scar just...nods. Sure. Why not? Show him.]

Edited 2013-11-05 22:51 (UTC)

[Luke might have been an OK kid once upon a time. If his mom kicked his dad out sooner, if they had a little bit more money, if she didn't have to work two jobs to support them both, maybe he'd have turned out to be the smart kid in school. Or joined drama club or painted or something. Instead, he'd been the kid that pulled wings off of insects and lit rats on fire just to feel something.

This smile? Well it's just plastered on. Only one person has ever seen him without that mask and that dude had ended up leaving him any way. In a run down diner. That he had to hitchhike back home from. Only to find out his mom had long since left. Not that he blames her because Jesus, it's hard to get blood out of a carpet. Cooked human flesh? Even harder.]

I seriously hope you feel like puking as much as I do.

[And he hopes the nausea passes from that little memory drain as he pulls up one sleeve. Wrist to where the shirt stops above his elbow, he's covered in cigarette burns.]

That one there. I was a stupid kid. Took me awhile to figure out that douche never had candy.

Maybe not as much. I've built up a resistance.

[Not that it did much for him at the moment, because the memories where there was physical pain and feelings so raw were always the hardest to resist.

Scar inspects the marks with a touch curiosity. He was a curious person by nature, sometimes morbidly so. But with the memory so fresh his gaze snaps up and he looks away. Pretty much avoiding eye contact at all cost.]

You have to be a stupid kid to learn that people are liars. [Harsh, but he firmly believed this. Even if he felt that twinge of sympathy gnawing at the back of his head like a flesh eating worm, that was just life.]

I figured that out at least.

[He's not being defensive, he's just grinning. There really is something off about Luke, and just having an abusive dad doesn't cut it. Lots of kids are abused and don't do what he can.]

My turn, right?

[Holding out his hand towards the other kid, Luke concentrates. Those little bitty hairs at the nape of his neck? Guess what's burning.]

[The fact that there was something definitely wrong with Luke wasn't too troubling. Normal, well adjusted people were hard to find where Scar came from. But adding the memory into the mix was just...

...it made things way too concrete for Scar's liking.]

Yeah. Wow me.

[Scar isn't sure what to expect when Luke holds out his hand, but he flinches ever so slightly and moves back a step. It takes him a moment of staring expectantly before he feels...heat? on the nape of his neck? His brows furrow and he reaches behind his neck as if to swat at a bug.]

What the almighty fuck is that?

Edited 2013-11-08 04:52 (UTC)

[Luke wants to keep going. To melt a landing strip right up the back of Scar's head. And maybe his eyelashes. And-- No. Luke lowers his hand and for a moment, looks angry with himself before his smile comes back.]

Microwaves.

[He's given this speech before but it never gets old.]

Some stuff burns. Some melts. Or boils. You have no idea how much fun it is around pacemakers.

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