( open ) some long for longevity

[reincarnesiac]

WHO: Alex, Vax'ildan, & [ you ]
WHEN: During Mission 011
WHERE: Throughout Etraya
WHAT: Open prompts and closed starters for scenarios.
NOTES\WARNINGS: Body horror, dismemberment, more tbd

1. or somewhere they could start again | memories found

   
   Alex stands on the path through the woods, hand held out, catching falling leaves. Her fingers twitch under the slight, damp weight of the orange-yellow leaves with their mottled brown spots as they settle on her palm, some sliding off within seconds as a cool wind gusts pasts, heavy with whispers of indiscernible words.
   
   She rocks back on her heels, fingers curling into her palm and crushing the leaves there, releasing their sharp, earthy scent. She brings her hand to her face, inhaling, brow furrowed in a gentle sort of confusion. Alex remembers herself, but not why she's here. Why is she on this road, stretching into fog on either side, lined by trees reaching into the heights of the same fog, shadows that silhouette themselves into the swallowed distance.
   
   "I'm Won Xiuying," she says to herself, fingers curling tighter into the leaves she holds. Hard enough her nails bite through them, into the flesh of her palm. "Alexandra Won. Alex."
   
   She feels this all to be true. So why is it when she turns back, looking to the person standing there, then down toward their feet, to the glint of something glimpsed in the leaves scattered in piles at their feet. She steps closer, hand dropping down, crushed leaves falling from suddenly lax fingers. What is it? What is it? Why do I want to see?
   
   "Is that yours," she asks, "Or mine?"
   
   ( ooc: indicate if you'd like to share a memory, or have a memory shared from Alex! if from Alex, let me know if you want trauma, comedy, or exceedingly mundane. )



2. where they would never be the same | crash into you

   
   Fog curdles around each of them, thick and relentless and gasping, winding tentacles of air around limbs without weight, sliding over frames without intention, calling on shadows to slide closer in the susurrations of the fog's ebb and flow, white waves crashing against the shores of their sensibilities. From this, the quick staccato step of a body in motion, tap tap tap, and from above the stretched wings of arms that gain their own halo of intent, a star crashing down upon the landscape, fallen and falling and joyous. The illusion of menacing forms fracture as Alex soars through them, coming to a landing in a crouch and a curious, popping upward motion, turning and dancing back, arms out, expression grim.
   
   I am here. The vent is not. We are here. The vent is open. Alex holds these thoughts in alternating rounds, before she smiles, distracted, but seeking out the person nearest.
   
   "Hey," she says, shoulders dropping a touch. "I didn't crash down through someone important, did I?"
   
   Alternately, she crashed down into you. Do you fight, rolling into action, ready to defend yourself from a physical threat and met in turn? Is she left straddling your not-insubstantial form, apology ready on her lips? Are you knocked out entirely, and Alex hauls you off the streets to recover somewhere in greater safety? Or something else entirely?



3. where it rains every day | wildcard

   
   ( ooc: hit me up with any prompt of your choosing, or riffing off anything in event, or thoughts from plotting; i'm happy to roll with most everything! tag in whatever style you'd like our thread to go, i'll match. )