( 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

midnighter | ota.

[thingpuncher]

a. CLUB TROPICANA | anywhere

There's a guy on the floor.

Doesn't matter what you're doing or where you are: as long as you're not in your personal quarters, you're liable to find a large, generously muscled guy in newbie clothes passed out on the floor. The reason why is pretty obvious: bloody knuckles and the bloody imprint on the wall tell a pretty clear story. This idiot's been punching the wall for a while, enough to open skin, and enough to knock him out.

Careful if you get to close, if you try to wake him; he's liable to react violently. Nothing personal. Just instinct.

b. 9 TO 5 | fitness deck.

Midnighter is doing his utmost not to let the music get to him. He's come to his own conclusions about how this place works, and this musical bullshit is only reinforcing it: social experimentation. Blaring music is a form of torture, doesn't matter what kind it is. Midnighter isn't sure how to help people except to lead by example: don't crack.

You'll find him in the fitness center, doing handstand pushups, occasionally one-armed, and singing along with the music. When he spots you, regardless of your countenance, he'll encourage you to join in.

"C'mon, this verse is great-" And then he sings something. Probably while doing push-ups in rhythm with the beat. He has an absolutely horrible singing voice-- not because the notes are off (they're not), but because he has a scraping, guttural tone of voice in general, deep and unwelcoming.

c. DON'T STOP BELIEVIN' | mess hall

A man does not, actually, have to eat. He mostly just wants to get a better idea of the people stuck in this place, and that means food, because real people eat food. But he's not a real person, so he's doing it his way.

He's abandoned the stools or the chairs, instead sitting cross-legged on the counter, hunched over a jar of peanut butter and a spoon, consumed in quiet contemplation.

He notices his companion and offers up a grin with too many teeth to be completely friendly. "Honestly, the Yelp reviews don't do this place justice."

d. WILDCARD

[hey lets do things im down for everything, feel free to pm or hmu @ wehwalt or dm if you want, but i'm probs good for it.]

dramatic chord

[solarcharged]

[ There’s a guy on the floor.

This wouldn't normally be such a weird occasion – people have continued to arrive in various states of unconsciousness all over the station ever since Apollo arrived – except somehow Apollo thinks he recognises this particular guy. There’s something weirdly (intimately) familiar about the man passed out in the mess hall. Apollo leans over him, staring in horror at the face as he realises:

Oh, shit. He's a Midnighter.

It’s been three months since Apollo last saw an alternate Midnighter, but now that he’s worked it out he can’t help but kick himself for not realising it sooner. Apollo quickly hunkers down next to the unconscious Midnighter and gently takes him by the chin, turning his head all the better to inspect his features. He’s younger than his Midnighter – younger and leaner and maybe even a little bit scrappier – but he’s undoubtedly one of them.

Which means, ultimately, he’s Apollo's problem. One Apollo or all Apollos, it doesn’t make much of a difference.

Carefully he shakes his by the shoulder, leaning over his unconscious body to press two fingers carefully against his throat to feel a pulse. A pulse. Singular. Non-plural. Apparently this particular Midnighter only has one heart, or is in considerably more danger than Apollo realised. ]

Wake up, [ He murmurs softly. There's an Apollo out there who's missing his Midnighter; Apollo can't help but think how he'd want his Midnighter treated if he turned up on some random space station in the ass end of nowhere. ] God. Please, just wake up.

https://tinyurl.com/y79we28n

[thingpuncher]

[There's nothing, and then something's touching him. The computer flares to life before his eyes open, red, red everywhere, all the scans outlining vulnerabilities, jugular, eyes, cartridge, artery- Midnighter has his hands around his assailant's neck before he's even registered that he'd passed out.]

[Luckily, he's been here before. Well. Sort of. Most people know by now that if he's asleep, he shouldn't be woken except with the utmost gentleness (or distance), but that wasn't always the case. (Remember that time you throttled that cop who was just checking if you were alive? Don't fucking fall asleep on park benches in nice neighbourhoods, asshole). He lets go just as soon as he grabs on; there's only a moment of pressure, none of it deadly.]

[The computer registers something about solar energy, and Midnighter's immediately suspicious. Kryptonian, probably, since Andrew would know better than to poke him like this, and anyway, he's not here, he is far the fuck away. Shit, he doesn't want to fight a Kryptonian today.]

[Of course, all of this has happened in the time it takes for him to open his eyes. And then, he does.]

...Andrew?

[solarcharged]

[ The hand around his neck would be more worrying if Apollo needed to breathe. He flinches, reacting more to the sudden movement (something he really should have guessed would happen) than to the tightening around his throat itself. Letting go of Midnighter's chin he extricates himself firmly from the other man's grasp, gritting his teeth against the urge to shove the hand away more forcefully than Midnighter deserves. Blame it on the music. ]

We've got a small problem, [ He murmurs in to his comms device to a certain someone. Then, louder, he tilts the device aside to fire an aside to (the new) Midnighter: ]

Sorry to disappoint, but no.

[ Whoever the fuck Andrew is, he has no idea. But he'd certainly like to find out. ]

Are you going to wake up or not?

[thingpuncher]

[What's it to you, asshole? But he can't say it to this man who... can't be Andrew. Doesn't know Andrew's name. Despite the... incredibly similar readings from his computer (almost identical, actually, but with worryingly low power levels) and the likeness between them and the tone of voice and shit he even has the same way of moving, like you're used to being the most powerful thing in the room.]

[It's beautiful, but looking at Andrew is always beautiful. This is worse and better; new, gloriously new, and with just as new spikes of guilt, as though he's cheating on a man he broke up with months ago.]

[He's not dealing with this right now. Midnighter puts a hand up, shooing his companion away, while going to stand.]

I'm up, I'm up. Shit, sorry, thought you looked like somebody I know. [Knew?] Don't worry about it. You've done your civic duty. [Now get out of my face. Nope, still can't say it. He's standing, now, and turning quickly to go, trying like fuck to avoid this... whatever this is.]

[solarcharged]

[ Mystified, Apollo can only watch from his kneeling position on the floor as the other Midnighter drags himself to his feet. He doesn't move to stop him, he knows better than that; Midnighters are flighty, fighty creatures. And even though that holds no fear for Apollo, he doesn't particularly want to give any Midnighter a reason to think he's an enemy. That would be strange and painful, something that Apollo has had enough of already on this station.

So he just sits there, kneeling, and watches as this Midnighter gathers himself up. He probably shouldn't be standing so quickly after having passed out, but that's another thing that Apollo doesn't feel like doing - telling any Midnighter what he should or shouldn't do. That tends to end badly too.

Except as soon as he thinks that he finds himself saying: ]

Wait.

[ This version of Midnighter is trying to make a swift exit and Apollo isn't quite done with him yet. He slowly pulls himself to his feet, unfolding himself to his full height as he scrutinises the other man with a heavy, slightly suspicious gaze. ]

You are a Midnighter, right?

[ 'A' Midnighter. Not the Midnighter. An important distinction for the man who swore a certain wedding vow. Marrying one Midnighter does not mean marrying them all. ]

[thingpuncher]

[It's that article that snags in Midnighter's mind. He turns slowly, expression dark. As far as he's concerned, he was just insulted. He may be a tumbling freak of nature, but at least he's the only one.]

[But he's not going to show his hand that easily.]

Back up. Why are you calling me that?

[A Midnighter. A Midnighter. He wants to know what this guy seizes on. He needs every bit of information he can get from Andrew-The-Harlequin-Romance-Model, and it's the kind of data his computer doesn't pick up.]

[solarcharged]

What, 'Midnighter'?

[ Apollo frowns at that detectable edge of sharpness in the new Midnighter. On any other day there would have been nothing but mild patience, but right here and right now there's none of that left within him. That well dried up after the first 48 hours of non-stop cheesy singalong tunes.

And besides, Apollo has a few questions of his own. ]

Who's Andrew?

[thingpuncher]

A friend.

[Paranoia or lack of patience, whatever. He jabs an accusatory finger in the other guy's direction.]

You know something. Talk.

[solarcharged]

[ Apollo glowers at the finger being rudely jabbed in his direction. He curls his fists at his sides, (only just) resisting the urge to knock it aside. Moves like that don't generally get under his skin, but for this guy he'll make an exception. Blame it on the hundred or so hours of awful music seriously damaging his cool. ]

What exactly do you want me to say?

[ Honestly, he didn't understand the question the first time around. Was this guy taking offense at being called Midnighter? ]

Maybe you should go first. Talk.

a

[subplot]

Karen probably should leave well enough alone when she stumbles upon the body laying collapsed in the hallway. There's blood on the walls and it doesn't take longer than a few seconds to catch a glance of his busted up knuckles. The issue with Karen is that she never leaves anything alone, especially not when her curiosity is piqued and she thinks she might be able to help someone. She puts forth the appearance of caution as she edges in closer to him, crouching down so she can gently reach out to touch at his shoulder.

As soon as her fingers make contact with him she recoils, trying to lean back out of range. Without really knowing for sure what's happened here, she sure as hell doesn't want to be too close if he wakes up thinking she's the one that knocked him out. Of course, the blood on the wall and his hand do tell a pretty clear story. He's likely just an idiot that worked himself up and is paying the price.

"It's time to wake up, tough guy. You can't stay here."

[thingpuncher]

She's smart to move out of the way, though she probably wouldn't know it. When he wakes up, the computer informs him that no attackers are within arm's reach, so it's a slow process, no strikes, no kicks, no punches. He grunts, rubs his knuckles, and looks around blearily.

Tough guy?

He cracks a smile. It's entirely too sharp, but that's just the way his face was made. "Hey, for all you know, I'm a gentle giant." He's like six foot and pure muscle, but whatever. "Thanks for the wake-up call. Shit's still going to hell?"

[subplot]

That sharp smile reminds her of Frank, and oddly enough it makes her relax and dryly laugh. "Yeah. When aren't things going to hell here?"

But now that she hears him and looks at him, she doesn't think that she actually knows him. Which means that he's likely new. What a time for new people to be stuck in this place. Her hand stretches out toward him, slow and cautious.

"Let me see your hand. I've gotten good at patching up gentle giants that attack walls."

[thingpuncher]

"I was checking for structural deficiencies," he says with a grin. He knows its fair criticism, and he's mostly playing with her. Midnighter dusts some of the dried blood off his knuckles. It's not bleeding anymore.

"Nah, save the supplies for somebody who might need 'em. I heal naturally. This'll be gone in a few hours."

[subplot]

If he says he heals, she won't push it. Instead she retracts her hand and shrugs. He looks fine to her. "So, did you find any structural deficiencies? If you can punch through walls, you might be my new favorite person."

It sounds a lot easier to just punch through walls than to work at the access codes endlessly. The wall they're near is still intact, but maybe he managed to knock down one or two somewhere else.

[thingpuncher]

"I can normally punch through just about anything," he sighs, still rubbing at his knuckles. "No dice on these walls, yet, but then, I haven't made a full survey. And I'm nothing if not through."

Also, he just. Really. Needs something to punch.

[subplot]

Well, that sounds both ominous and promising. Karen likes those odds. "I've got a door I'm trying to get through. It's one that tried absorbing and cutting off my arms when I first arrived, so I wouldn't mind seeing what kind of progress you can make on it."

She has absolutely no problem meeting someone and roping them into helping her cause, even if she doesn't know their name. He seems like a nice enough guy. What could possibly go wrong?

c HI PEL

[ryuji]

[Jesus fucking christ, Ryuji was just trying to get a morning jog in when he sees (and hears) the worst possible goddamn thing that could have ever happened on the station, and this is taking it lightly- ever since he woke up one morning with a wire squirming around in his cheek. It's a heavily ripped dude. Singing. That.

He takes a breath inward, holds it into his chest, and thinks about turning right round, right round out of the gym and noping out of this for the rest of the afternoon, but he's got enough energy to spare and burning it is pretty much the only thing that might help him sleep through the pop charts self loop cycle. Welcome to Day 1 of hell, boys.]

Uhhh... You know that this song's a meme, right?

who are you again

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter shrugs, while doing an upside down handstand. He's nothing if not versatile.]

Not really an internet person. Like how you're not really a gym person.

[Just a shot in the dark, there.]

some weaponized twink

[ryuji]

[Wow.

Wow?

Wow.

That's pretty much (entirely true), but that doesn't stop Ryuji from getting assblasted over it for a few hot minutes. It's not his fault that he's got a runner's build and can't bulk up like all the other cool meatheads.]

Holy shit, I think this is the first time in my entire life I've ever just been low key called a nerd.

im sorry.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter grins.]

Hey, now. Never said you were smart.

never apologize

[ryuji]

[Goddamn, he goes right for the jugular and Ryuji's standing there with the confirmational dopey stare at Midnighter, like is this guy... for real...???]

I was kinda goin' for the brawn over brains image here but man, I think you got me beat in both departments. Outwitted, outplayed and outpushupped.

apologizes for forgetting to change the subject line.

[thingpuncher]

[Just keeps doing those pushups...]

So you gonna lie there and take it or prove me wrong?

[He lifts one hand up-- so now he's doing one-handed upside down pushups, fucking showoff-- and points to some 5lb dumbbells.] Those're good for beginners. Get to it, squirt.

[ryuji]

[Wow. This definitely isn't the reality that he thought he was in for, but he also doesn't??? really have a quip in return for this inhospitable treatment that he's getting either, because unfortunately, his muscles can't cash the same sort of check that Midnighter's can. And it sucks, because in the last 8 months, Ryuji's went to the gym, two-three times a week just to work out and train, yet his body refuses to see transformational results.

He squints, eyes narrowing, as he walks over to the weights. He can do more than 5lbs. What a jerk. He picks up the 10lb barbell just to doubly exceed his expectations.]

Okay, but what's your secret? I read this manga where a dude had to do 100 pushups, 100 situps, and 100 squats a day before he got ripped, and I can usually get like... uh....... halfway there before I feel like keelin' over.

[thingpuncher]

[What's a manga?]

I'm a genetically enhanced freak of nature, is my secret. But it sounds like you're not taking breaks, which might be part of it. And you gotta start slow or you'll strain something, asshole.

[He points urgently to the 5lb bells.]