Do forgive me for the more esoteric question this time, but it has been bouncing around in my head for sometime now. One of my favorite tropes is the psychic head space, that when someone with mind reading abilities enter deeply into another's mind that they enter a psychic space that represents that person. Such as someone who lived their entire life in the military their psychic head space take the form of the army base they lived on, or someone with a very reserved personally head space might be a a tightly back cube with containers for all their thoughts and memories. The best example of this would be the Psychonauts games. So my question is what dose your ocs psychic head space look like?
Ohhh, I love this stuff too. Magic has done it before with Jace's mind reading abilities, such as how Emrakul's mind presented itself to Jace as a great room with her angelic personification playing chess at its heart. Yu-Gi-Oh! has also played with this trope, when peering into the minds of characters like Yugi. It's very fun.
Speaking of Yugi, who famously has two rooms inside his head due to the presence of both his childlike, innocent Yugi half, and his darker, more sinister Atem half, I think my fanwalker, Joseph, would have something similar in his mind.
Joseph was notably cursed with lycanthropy in his adventures, and while I've sadly not kept up on portraying much of that to most people, in what I have discussed with friends, I've wanted it to be clear that his werewolf half is ultimately a part of him, and not some beast he is forced to share a mind with. I think his brain room(s) would portray that.
Joseph's main brain-room, I think, is something of an unkempt library. Many shelves of books and trinkets he's picked up on his adventures, but all of it is dusty and disorganized. Books are lying open on nearby tables, and many crates of unorganized new materials in some abandoned corner of the room. It shows that Joseph is someone that has learned a lot, and keeps picking up new things, but is also someone that neglects his past - he is afraid of dealing with the stuff he's lived through, and so instead he lets it collect dust, exactly where he left it, waiting for him to someday return.
Perhaps behind that towering crate of newly acquired memories he leaves unattended but ever accumulating, a locked door where he hides the room of his monstrous self. He hides it, that worst part of himself, not realizing it's not a separate room at all, but merely a facet of this one. He's partitioned it off out of fear, and every now and again, he is ill prepared when that door finally swings open, knocking his new and unsorted memories aside to run free, only doing his best to shove it back how and when he can, and piling more new things he finds in front of it, in hopes that making those new memories is enough to bury his past. But it's not.
One day, Joseph will be strong enough to move those boxes aside, and instead of leaving that beast to fester in anger and break the door down, he'll open it up for himself, and let them both have room to work on the rest of their shared living space together.
For my D&D half elf bard, Jerodin, I think his room is something like a whimsical doll house. Walls lined in pink, dresses and frilly things in all the wardrobes and dressers, and a big comfy bed, for him to lie down and relax.
Soft music plays in this room at all times, and he has a whole area full of instruments and things to play with.
The only thing of note, I think, are the mirrors of this room, of which he has a concerning number of, all covered in cloth to hide what looks back at him.
Jerodin is someone that thinks of himself a lot, and this room reflects not only his interests, but his fears, and what Jerodin fears most is, ultimately, himself.
Jerodin has always seen himself a flawed thing. A withering flower, someone unworthy enough to cared for or loved. In his head, he can be free of that hate and pain, but all it takes is a look in the mirror to see who he really is, and his illusion shatters. He remembers the way his father mocks him for what he likes, of what he'll never be, the way his mother treats him like a fragile doll, as she will long outlive him with her full elven blood. Even his close friends he feels pity him or fail to see him as an individual proper.
On days where the curtain on those mirrors fly off, his room is dark and bleak with peeling walls and his dresses scattered across the floor in shreds, and there he sits in that corner of instruments, plucking at the last strings he has left holding him together, realizing he was only ever the one making the music in his head at all.
