( 003 » ENSEMBLE ) party time.

[reveriemod]

» WHO? Everyone
» WHEN? July 1 to July 8
» WHERE? Entire Station
» WHAT? 168 hours of being forced to listen to cheesy music on repeat…
» WARNINGS? the mundane and slightly ridiculous becoming terrible, cheesy pop music, forced sleep deprivation, anger, loss of control, emotions, potential for stabbing, hallucinations, mania, memory loss, confusion, seizures, depression.

0 0 1 » LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED

It starts in the mess hall and it starts slowly. At first, it can barely be heard over the conversations that are happening but as the volume increases, it becomes apparent that music is playing. Not just any music: characters from Earth will recognise these pop hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s. They’re the kind of hits one might find on a Spotify playlist titled “Top 100 Cheesy Hits” or “Songs To Sing To In The Shower”. Power ballads. Boy bands. Girl bands. Woodstock.

Soon, the music can be heard all across the station, blasting from every speaker, audible in every room. Characters who were asleep in their quarters will be woken by the music’s volume, characters under the shower might want to start singing along (but remember, the walls might just be thin enough for the neighbours to hear) and if characters clear some chairs, there’s enough space in the bar for an impromptu dance floor.

Some characters have been working on improving the replicators, too, so while the alcohol supplies at the bar are dwindling and all but gone, the replicators are now capable of making something that’s palatable, even if it’s not quite up to scratch.

What’s the harm in having some fun? It’s just a little music, right?

( ♪ )

0 0 2 » I WANT OFF THIS RIDE

It’s just a little music, right? And it is — but it just won’t seem to stop. The first few hours may have been entertaining, at least for those who did not get woken up by the sound of decades (centuries, even) in the past, but the music keeps going long past the point of entertainment.

After two hours, the songs start repeating. After six hours, they’re still playing. After twelve? Still playing. Twenty-four? Still playing.

Sleep becomes all but impossible as the music keeps playing loudly in every room and every corridor of the station. Attempts to shut it down prove unsuccessful.

Forty-eight hours later, the music is still playing.

Characters will begin to suffer the effects of sleep deprivation, in addition to the general irritation that might come from hearing the same two hours worth of cheesy pop songs on a loop: headaches, exhaustion, tremors, irritability and confusion to begin with, followed by lapses in memory, muscle aches, malaise, violent behaviour, hallucinations or mania as cognitive effects set in, possibly also seizures and depression.

And still, the music keeps playing.

( ♪ )

0 0 3 » THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE WATER

The music and the sleep deprivation it causes are the reason for many of the symptoms people are feeling, but something is happening that goes even beyond the music, beyond the lack of sleep: something has changed about the food replicators.

The food is slowly getting better, for one, thanks to a group of individuals who’ve been working on improving them. Beyond that, however, imperceptible, the composition of the food comes with something extra -- namely heightened emotions. Whatever causes it, it’s in the water, too.

Those who are already angry feel angrier and have a harder time controlling that anger. Those who are already sad feel sadder and have a harder time not bursting into tears. Those who are already apathetic feel more apathetic and have a harder time prompting themselves to so much as move. The effect holds for all emotions, heightening them, making them harder to control or counteract. Impulses become action far more quickly than usual. Irritation at the music may become anger at the person singing along under their breath and that, in turn, may lead to someone getting stabbed with a plastic fork.

It’s nearly impossible to keep a cool head, though some people seem more affected than others.

OOC: This part of the plot is completely opt-in. Whatever characters are feeling will be heightened and strengthened and their impulse control lowered. Make sure to get ooc permission for any stabby action of comparable deeds, and keep in mind that non-con is prohibited in game.

( ♪ )

0 0 4 » AFTERMATH

After 168 hours, the music stops. Whatever was in the water and the food is gone again, meaning characters may never know it was there in the first place. After all, some of the effects of it could have been down to the sleep deprivation as well…

Still, there’s something off about the whole thing. It might seem like someone is watching them. Toying with them. But surely that’s just paranoia, right?

In the aftermath of sleep deprivation and poor impulse control, characters might want to get some sleep or try to mend those relationships that were damaged by careless words or people getting creative with the cutlery.

( ♪ )

Please remember to put warnings in subject lines if so required.

Comments

[rickitikitarr]

[In deference to her injury, he's picked them a slow dance, suitable for standing near each other with her hand in his and shifting side to side in an easy sway.]

I'm very worried we don't know what's causing this.

[Agreeing, more quietly, now that they're close enough to hear each other.]

But we can't let fear rule us, and I'm not the one who'll be able to successfully investigat station tech.

[personify]

[She can't remember the last time she danced with someone and it wasn't a part of a mission, with her pretending to be someone she wasn't just to get in close.] I don't know the first thing about this technology either, I wish I did.

[All in all Raven feels pretty useless here.]

[rickitikitarr]

We're passengers on a storm tossed ship.

[He agrees, hand resting very gentlemanly on her back as he leads her into a slow pivot.]

Tell me more about your world?

[personify]

[Sadness flickers across her face. It's so mundane a question and yet it's not at all. She keeps dancing, but there's not much life to her movements.] Normal humans don't even treat one another with kindness. They hate based on race, gender, nationality, religion. I'm assuming that's not much different where you're from?

But in a place like that, what chance do you think mutants have? We have to hide. Live in fear when our only crime was being born.

[rickitikitarr]

It's the same with us.

[He answers, softly, expression getting a little more serious, a little more thoughtful.]

It's the same everywhere, in fact, from what I can tell.

[personify]

You're probably right. [Raven had never really doubted it, but she's become incredibly cynical over the years. Experience had made her that way.] It's different here because there's so few of us and we need to work together in order to survive.

[She turns with him, in time with the music. Her glance turns to the others. Some were dancing too.] My kind were being experimented on. Murdered. I saw what happened to them. I was doing something about it. Then I ended up here. [Stuck. Trapped and unable to avenge her friends.]

[rickitikitarr]

Someone I was- not in love with, exactly, but who I would have loved very soon-

[He's startled to find himself wincing, ever so slightly.]

-she'd just been killed. In- not the same circumstances, but close. I envy your purposefulness. For my part, I was at a loss.

[personify]

Do you know who did it? [Raven's skills made her very good at tracking down information. Especially when properly motivated. Not everyone is so lucky. If Raven considered herself lucky in anything.]

[rickitikitarr]

I do.

[He agrees, stepping back to lead her into a slow, gentle spin.]

[personify]

[She follows, her leg well enough that she manages not to limp through through slow turn.] Don't you want to find them? Make them pay for what they did?

[rickitikitarr]

They wouldn't remember her name. It'd do no good, any more than I'd be able to offer answers to the wives of the men I've killed.

[He advises, quietly, as he tugs her back in.]

You can't let war get personal. You'll go insane.

[personify]

[Her free hand lands on his chest as she back up and close against him.] What's the point of fighting if it's not personal?

I'm not some cog in a machine. If someone hurts someone I care about, there are no rules.

[rickitikitarr]

I am.

[He answers, calmly. A cog.

He thinks to himself it's the difference between a personal mission and a professional.]

Maybe this is the way in which our worlds are different.

[personify]

I don't think so. There are people like that where I'm from too.

[But she can't claim to understand it.]

Do you prefer it that way? Fighting someone else's battles? Was that your choice?

[rickitikitarr]

I don't any more, so much. But when you're eighteen and need a living, and a family, it's not a bad path to walk down.

[A light shrug.]

It's difficult to look back on that time in my life with regret. That said, it's difficult to unlearn a certain- dispassion. I suppose the work changes you.

[personify]

[The music shifts to the next song. Luckily it's still a song on the slower side so her leg can manage the pace.] I suppose so. Any war changes you.

[Her expression looks distant, thinking of her own path and where it might lead. Thinking of what Rogue told her. How she'd called her a murderer. Cold and heartless. What had led her there?]

[rickitikitarr]

Survival changes you.

[He agrees.]

Whether it's a war or not. It leaves you with choices it's impossible to regret, because what else should you have done? Died?

[personify]

It makes you do things you never thought you would.

[Like kill a man. But if anyone deserved it, Trask certainly did.]

But, yes, I do agree. Sometimes there's no other reasonable option. It's you or them. Or people you care about.

[rickitikitarr]

Unless you're willing to become some kind of world peace campaigner, and I do not have the temperament to become a hippie.

[He says, rolling his eyes pointedly heavanwards. Moving on to lighter subjects;]

That's all people ask me about our time, you know. If the parties were fun, if the clothes were colourful.

[personify]

No, I couldn't be that either. [She'd never believed in pacifism. If someone threatens her, she'll certainly threaten them back.]

[Raven rolls her eyes.] I would have thought they'd ask more questions about the moon landing. Or racial tensions... or literally anything else. [She snorts lightly.] Kids these days.

[rickitikitarr]

Er- how old are you, then?

[He asks, arching the mildest possible eyebrow, aware that he isn't the greatest judge on a good day and that she's very blue.]

[personify]

[She smiles enigmatically at him, almost as though she might not answer the question before finally she relents.] I don't age normally. Because of my mutation. I'm thirty nine.

[rickitikitarr]

No.

[He says, missing a step in the dance. Cripes.]

Honest? Well, you look fantastic, I'd have thought you were half my age.

[personify]

[Raven laughs out loud as he nearly trips.]

Yes, honest. Mutants seem to age well to start with, but... I might never age. I don't actually know.

[It's a strange thing to think about. She might very well outlive everyone she knows and cares for. It's an isolating feeling.]

[rickitikitarr]

May you get out of here and live long enough to find out.

[He says, glancing around them, because the station does not feel like a good place to get old.]