( 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

[charlieoscar]

It both helps, and doesn't. Her reaction and apology ruffling as many of his feathers as it soothed. He wanted his space, but hated that he got it that way. It churned inside him; annoyance and regret twisting together.

He had just enough self-awareness left for the latter to come out on top.

This time.

Mostly.

His head jerks a bit too sharply, but his shoulders do relax the tiniest of fractions. "Yeah. Me too."

[veristitalian]

"This music."

Complains Jasnah, quietly, her own shoulders dropping. She can't cope, she can't think, she can't do a thing to stop it.

"Have you heard anyone try anything? Destroying the speakers we can see hasn't worked-"

It's been a few hours since she even heard about someone generating an idea.

[charlieoscar]

He grunts once, frustrated agreement, the tip of his cigar wagging as he rolls the other end between his teeth. Then his eyes roll and he does it again, a deeper sound caught between a snort.

"Even if I had, it clearly hasn't worked."

He almost falls silent again, but then reaches up and pinches his cigar, holding it between his index and ring fingers.

"...It feels like its in my bones."

[veristitalian]

"I didn't know a sound could make you physically nauseous."

But that's the stage Jasnah is at, throwing up everything she's trying to eat.

"When I was a girl I'd study in the library for days at a time without sleeping, and I swear I managed it quite capably."

With none of this indignity and bad temper. Maybe it's memory misleading her, maybe it's just her age now.

[charlieoscar]

"You probably enjoyed that," he mutters lowly, words tumbling against the cigar he jams back between his teeth. He can't smoke it (the urge to eats at him, an itch somewhere under his skin despite his promise), but still he clings to it. A strange pacifier. "This is torture."

[veristitalian]

"Does chewing that help?"

Asks Jasnah, who is not from a world that has cigars in it. She feels barely lucid, compelled by a strange hysteria to ask.

[charlieoscar]

"No."

Said flatly, even as he grinds it between his teeth harder.

"You're supposed to smoke it, but 'limited oxygen and never knowing if the recyclers will stop working--'" His lip curls and he jerks his head sharply. "I can't. I said I wouldn't."

[veristitalian]

"Oh."

She answers, a little inanely, then makes her way to a seat and sits down, shakily.

"I've never smoked. Other cultures have pipes, but I've never had the chance."

[charlieoscar]

"And you won't be starting now." He mutters lowly. "Goddamned space."

As if this small restriction was the worst he'd had to adjust to since arriving on station. At the moment, it felt like it, there in the red and black haze of exhaustion.

He glances back over when she moves and though he watches silently, her trembling, uncertain steps sink through the itch in his jaw. He grits his back-teeth and works to push his frustration aside.

"You eaten lately? Had something to drink?"

He doesn't ask if she's okay. No one's alright now.

[veristitalian]

She startles, when she realizes that she hadn't.

"It's hard to remember to do."

Jasnah admits, getting gingerly to her feet, not particularly fond of the way her head spins. She needs to get to the mess hall.

"Will you join me?"

[charlieoscar]

He isn't fit for company, but somehow he expects they both know that. Maybe it brought her some strange comfort, or maybe she just wanted a post to lean on should her shakes get worse. Whatever the reason, he didn't have it in him to refuse.

Maybe he was just too tired. (Maybe it made him feel better too. Something to do. Someone to help.)

Reaching into his suit, he pulls out his cigar case. He jams his mangled cigar inside it and slips it away again. Then he turns and lifts an elbow.

A gentleman. If that gentleman were as ornery as a bear with two black eyes.

[veristitalian]

Jasnah steps forward, and takes his elbow, with a gracious nod and even an uncommon, thoughtful smile. It's strange, how manners and propriety come back at times like these. She works to undo most of the formal manner of the Alethi courts so she doesn't stand out here, but the minute she gets tired and her guard is down they rear right back up at her.

"In my world, men and women of my family's rank don't eat together. On religious days, they take their meals in separate rooms. At feasts and parties, a special dais will be built for both the men's table and the women's table. Even the food they eat will be prepared differently. There's a collection of women's recipes, and men's."

[charlieoscar]

He listens silently, but his expression wrinkles as she goes on. A confused furrow that deepened with every rule. When she pauses, his reaction is instinctive and almost child-like it its straightforward simplicity.

"Why?"

[veristitalian]

"Do men and women bathe together in your world?"

She asks; it's the only comparison she can think of. It simply wouldn't be appropriate, for no reason beyond that it wouldn't.

[charlieoscar]

"...Sometimes," he replies after a moment's thought. "Though, yeah, I'll give it's not especially common outside the fun reasons, at least where I'm from."

He looks down at her.

"But I have plenty of friends and colleagues who happen to be women. To be told I couldn't so much as have a cup of coffee with them--" Then something occurs to him and he raises his eyebrows. "If it's so restrictive, how much trouble would you be in right now?"

Walking together, to share a meal, with her hand tucked neatly into his elbow.

[veristitalian]

"I'm already a well known heretic. The people who are already trying to kill me would continue to try to kill me."

She says, dismissively, and then, because she's a little loopy with sleep deprivation.

"I'm also royalty, so a few monarchical purists might decide to try to take it up with you, to defend my honour. But I'm sure if I spoke up quickly I would be able to protect you."

[charlieoscar]

"I've been on the end of your boots before," he muses and for a moment, just a quick one, there's a flash in his eyes that makes him look like he normally does. An easy, ready humor. "I feel safer already."

A beat.

"Your Highness," he adds, half a joke, half sincerely.

His tired, hazy brain isn't sure what else to do with the new information.

[veristitalian]

"I'm not telling people." She qualifies, quietly. "It's pointless here."

She appreciates his discretion, basically.

"It's just Jasnah. To any man I've kicked in the ear."

[charlieoscar]

"If you wanted to formally address me, it would be Captain Michael Slattery, 151st U.S. Navy. I'm Captain, or C.O., to my men. A few people know, but no one calls me that here."

Gently, he lays his other hand over hers with a pat and offers her a half-smile in solidarity.

"Mike suits just fine."

[veristitalian]

"I do like 'Captain.'" She says, and admits, since she might be giving him the nickname. "My title would be 'Brightness.'"

Drawing in a bracing breath as the step into the slightly crowded mess hall.

[charlieoscar]

"Don't take this the wrong way," he says, glancing down at her with what, on better days, could have been a smile. "But that's adorable."

And he likes it. It's a fun contrast. The woman as she might appear and what he knew - specifically the back of his head remembered - her to be.

As the noise of the mess hall drifts over them, he pauses, exhaling as she draws in. A small muscle under his right eye starts twitching in time to the scrape of silverware.

"Come on. Let's find you a seat."

He imagines (hopes) she doesn't any more company than he does, and starts steering her toward the first empty table.

[veristitalian]

"'Adorable?'"

She asks, and for once allows herself to do the easy thing and simply be led into a seat. Jasnah sits down, trying to focus through the way her head swims, the knot of nausea in her stomach.

"It's not a reaction I've ever heard before."

Or one she can even begin to understand.

[charlieoscar]

"Light and pretty. Delicate and graceful," he replies, almost absently, as he helps her into a seat. "You are those things, but you also put a small hole in my head. Contrast makes for a great callsign."

Like a certain steely, weathered pilot who'd flown like the devil and pulled their asses out of the fire more than once, known affectionately as Sunshine.

A muscle tightened in Mike's jaw as he thought of the man. Missed him. Hoped he was resting peacefully.

He steps back and looks Jasnah over carefully.

"Sit tight, I'll be back."

[veristitalian]

She gives him a mild look- like if he were a stranger and she were a little more awake she might put a bigger hole in his head saying something like that.

But, he's going for food for her and she feels kindly towards him, so Jasnah forgives him while she sits there, massaging her temples. Her eyes only open when he returns.

[charlieoscar]

His mouth twitches again, that slightest of smiles, as he means it in only the best of ways possible. (And something of tease, too, as was his way.) Then he was gone, turning on his heel and making for he nearest replicator.

He returns a few minutes later with cup of juice and something that actually resembled a sort of broth-heavy soup.

"Looks like they're actually making headway with the replicators, thank God," he says as he slips the tray onto the table in front of her. "I hope that's alright. Chicken soup's supposed to cure all our ills back home."