James "dumpster fire gijinka" Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
frostythehitman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2018-07-11 10:38 pm
frostythehitman) wrote in recolle2018-07-11 10:38 pm
Entry tags:
i was a high school atom bomb
WHO: James and YOU!
WHERE: all over town, and also ~in his dreams~
WHEN: all throughout July!
WHAT: James doesn't remember a damn thing and is trying his best to navigate Recolle without letting on that something is off with him. Also, dreams.
WARNINGS: probably some violence in the dream prompts
1. time to finally fill his nighttime skulking quota
[ Okay, so it's a lie that he doesn't remember anything. He does remember a few things--and they mostly involve sneaking around to kill someone or training others to do the same.
He doesn't have any reason to do any of that now, nor anyone to do it to, but running around like this at least is refreshing--it's familiar. And he doesn't have to pretend to be James Barnes, whoever the hell that kid was. He can just be confused and empty, and try to connect with the few bits of himself he does know.
All of which is just how I'm justifying the fact that James is running around parkouring throughout the city in the dead of night, clad all in black. Even his hair is tied up and hidden under a dark baseball cap. (His arm, of course, is still completely exposed--he has yet to find a single piece of clothing that can cover it except for some neon monstrosity.)
He's just out here to get some fresh air and feel a rush, but to anyone else, it might look rather suspicious to see a mysterious figure skulking around and jumping from building to building. ]
2. he didn't choose the accordion boy band life, the accordion boy band life chose him
[ His father and sister gave him odd looks when he pulled out an accordion from his closet and he didn't want to raise any more suspicion, so...instead he's sitting in the park with it. Sure, he's still an odd sight, but at least here he's just some anonymous person with an accordion, instead of a person who apparently shouldn't be playing one.
He wonders why. Did James Barnes only play accordion in secret? Was he that bad that he was banned from playing it?
He tries playing a few notes. They come out warbled and discordant as his fingers clumsily mash multiple keys simultaneously. It wheezes like a fireplace bellows. Maybe he really was that bad. (Or maybe he was good once, and has just forgotten how to play the accordion along with everything else.)
Either way, it's kind of hard to ignore the sound of someone butchering Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. ]
3. DREAMS
3.a. a glorified hall monitor
[ James is here, but not the way you know him.
Most obviously, his arms have been switched--it's the left that's flesh now, and the right that's robotic. His hair is cut short. But other than that, his clothes and the eyeliner smeared across his eyes like a domino mask look pretty par for the course for James Barnes.
He (and you, now) stand in a long, possibly endless, high school hallway. There are endless rows of lockers and the walls are plastered in school spirit posters that look more like propaganda. James stands a good hundred feet away, posed in the center of the hallway with his arms crossed sternly. ]
Hey, you!
[ He approaches in (what he hopes is) a menacing stride. ]
Where's your hall pass?
3.b. i'd call this a teacher au except it's canon
[ In this one, James is much older--in his late 20s, perhaps. He stands at the head of a classroom of several large men who all look like they could easily be supersoldiers in their own right, if they weren't comically crammed into school desks. The writing on the chalkboard is in Russian, and everyone is speaking it too--but let's say for the sake of convenience that even a dream onlooker can understand it. A huge chunk of the classroom's wall appears to be a mirror, but upon closer inspection, the vague dark shape of a group of men behind it can just barely be made out.
James sharply taps a piece of chalk on the chalkboard and looks out sternly over his students. ]
Someone holds a door open for you as you enter a cafe. What do you do? You have five seconds to answer.
3.c. out of body experience
[ This time, there are two Jameses. One lays in a hospital bed, bandages on his hand and torso and cheek, with a tube snaking out from his chest to one of several machines at his bedside. There's no prosthetic in sight, so his left sleeve is completely empty. He's trying to read through a small pile of magazines sat in his lap, but doesn't appear to be focusing on the words. After a few moments, he grits his teeth as he tears several pages right out of the magazine in jerky motions, crumples up the pages, and chucks them at the wall as hard as he can.
The second James sits in a visitor's chair in the hospital room. He watches the first James in the hospital bed, impassive but curious, almost as if he's studying him. ]
WHERE: all over town, and also ~in his dreams~
WHEN: all throughout July!
WHAT: James doesn't remember a damn thing and is trying his best to navigate Recolle without letting on that something is off with him. Also, dreams.
WARNINGS: probably some violence in the dream prompts
1. time to finally fill his nighttime skulking quota
[ Okay, so it's a lie that he doesn't remember anything. He does remember a few things--and they mostly involve sneaking around to kill someone or training others to do the same.
He doesn't have any reason to do any of that now, nor anyone to do it to, but running around like this at least is refreshing--it's familiar. And he doesn't have to pretend to be James Barnes, whoever the hell that kid was. He can just be confused and empty, and try to connect with the few bits of himself he does know.
All of which is just how I'm justifying the fact that James is running around parkouring throughout the city in the dead of night, clad all in black. Even his hair is tied up and hidden under a dark baseball cap. (His arm, of course, is still completely exposed--he has yet to find a single piece of clothing that can cover it except for some neon monstrosity.)
He's just out here to get some fresh air and feel a rush, but to anyone else, it might look rather suspicious to see a mysterious figure skulking around and jumping from building to building. ]
2. he didn't choose the accordion boy band life, the accordion boy band life chose him
[ His father and sister gave him odd looks when he pulled out an accordion from his closet and he didn't want to raise any more suspicion, so...instead he's sitting in the park with it. Sure, he's still an odd sight, but at least here he's just some anonymous person with an accordion, instead of a person who apparently shouldn't be playing one.
He wonders why. Did James Barnes only play accordion in secret? Was he that bad that he was banned from playing it?
He tries playing a few notes. They come out warbled and discordant as his fingers clumsily mash multiple keys simultaneously. It wheezes like a fireplace bellows. Maybe he really was that bad. (Or maybe he was good once, and has just forgotten how to play the accordion along with everything else.)
Either way, it's kind of hard to ignore the sound of someone butchering Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. ]
3. DREAMS
3.a. a glorified hall monitor
[ James is here, but not the way you know him.
Most obviously, his arms have been switched--it's the left that's flesh now, and the right that's robotic. His hair is cut short. But other than that, his clothes and the eyeliner smeared across his eyes like a domino mask look pretty par for the course for James Barnes.
He (and you, now) stand in a long, possibly endless, high school hallway. There are endless rows of lockers and the walls are plastered in school spirit posters that look more like propaganda. James stands a good hundred feet away, posed in the center of the hallway with his arms crossed sternly. ]
Hey, you!
[ He approaches in (what he hopes is) a menacing stride. ]
Where's your hall pass?
3.b. i'd call this a teacher au except it's canon
[ In this one, James is much older--in his late 20s, perhaps. He stands at the head of a classroom of several large men who all look like they could easily be supersoldiers in their own right, if they weren't comically crammed into school desks. The writing on the chalkboard is in Russian, and everyone is speaking it too--but let's say for the sake of convenience that even a dream onlooker can understand it. A huge chunk of the classroom's wall appears to be a mirror, but upon closer inspection, the vague dark shape of a group of men behind it can just barely be made out.
James sharply taps a piece of chalk on the chalkboard and looks out sternly over his students. ]
Someone holds a door open for you as you enter a cafe. What do you do? You have five seconds to answer.
3.c. out of body experience
[ This time, there are two Jameses. One lays in a hospital bed, bandages on his hand and torso and cheek, with a tube snaking out from his chest to one of several machines at his bedside. There's no prosthetic in sight, so his left sleeve is completely empty. He's trying to read through a small pile of magazines sat in his lap, but doesn't appear to be focusing on the words. After a few moments, he grits his teeth as he tears several pages right out of the magazine in jerky motions, crumples up the pages, and chucks them at the wall as hard as he can.
The second James sits in a visitor's chair in the hospital room. He watches the first James in the hospital bed, impassive but curious, almost as if he's studying him. ]
no subject
Eventually, James settles on: "...I don't know."
And that much, at least, is the truth.
no subject
Togusa sighs, the long-beleagured sigh of a parent. “I said you’ve never lied to me. You’ve hidden things before, but if I work out the right question and ask it, you tell the truth. I hope it’s because you trust me. Maybe it’s because you’re afraid I’d leave if you lied.”
He stops, even Togusa can feel that he is on some kind of precipice. “But you’re scared of me asking the right question. I dont want to put you in that position. I wont force an answer out of you. I will not do it.”
“James, I’m here to help. What is it you need help with?”
no subject
The question is just, what can he give Togusa to work with?
"I..." He sighs. "I don't remember how I lost my arm." He assumes that's what this hospital stay was about, anyway--and he definitely doesn't remember it. Maybe if he admits to at least this tiny gap in his memories, it will explain enough of the odd behavior to defuse whatever mess this has devolved into.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." (Also, technically, not a lie--he's been waiting for orders, but he doesn't know when or how he'll get them...and he's starting to wonder if they even exist at all.)
no subject
His brow furrows tightly. "Do you want to? Whenever these memories come back, it's like we're reliving them in the moment. Would you really want to remember-" getting an arm ripped off? "-whatever it is that happened?"
Togusa puts a hand to a specific spot on his chest. "However the other Togusa got shot? I sure as hell don't want to know." Half a lie.
no subject
It's definitely not the interpretation he was expecting, and James looks down for a few moments, trying to figure out what to even say to that now that what he expected of the conversation has gone off the rails.
"Is it better to live the rest of my life not knowing how I ended up the way I am?"
no subject
His eyes open again and look at James seriously. "You're braver than I am, if you'd rather face this head on." Togusa doesn't want to know. He truly doesn't. Every once in a while, he can still hear Grell trying to calmly inform him that the size of the wounds indicate he was shot in the back. He is far too afraid of what that could mean.
Togusa looks down, a single mocking laugh leaves him. "Supposed to be the adult here, supposed to be helping protect you. But if this isn't a sign that I actually can't do that? And you never asked me to anyway."
no subject
The question still holds true, though--he's used to not knowing anything about himself. In fact, it's kind of an asset in his work. Not having anything to himself makes it easy to slip into being anybody else. But what he's doing here...is not the same. He doesn't normally replace someone literally--and even then, he doesn't get haunted by strange vision-dreams of their actual lives. He can't be as disconnected from his cover as he usually is.
"It's not brave. But if I have to live with it, I want to know about it. How am I supposed to know what to do next if I don't know what's already happened?"