reverielogs | ( 003 » ENSEMBLE ) party time.

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( 003 » ENSEMBLE ) party time.

» 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's too late to stop the tears! They're still happening, even if she's not happy about it. Even if she knows that there's something acting on her mind, doing things to her emotions - the whole world is twisted into a different shape, dizzyingly big and echoing, and automatic responses are out of her hands. Up they well and down they roll.

They're tears of relief, though. Even if it's just repairing a broken keyboard, remembering that she's managed to meet people who help her with things when she needs it...just...does something to her. It's so crucial and so arbitrary and fate threw her a decent hand when it didn't have to and it's a lot okay.

She follows the tug and sways a little on her feet, sniffing.]

Thanks. [In, like, a really solemn register. This isn't your everyday, offhanded thanks. This is definitely about more than being picked up off the ground.]

...You're welcome.

[He doesn't know why, but he understands that it's for more than just helping her up. He keeps his hold on her hand, as much to help him stay grounded as it is to keep her on her feet.

Fuck, she's still crying. He doesn't know what to do to make her stop. He knows what he wants to do right now to try to make her feel better, but he doesn't know if he can act on it-- screw it.

He steps in, too exhausted to even think of questioning the impulse to just hug her. That's what usually happens in movies, anyway. The guy hugs the crying girl, everything works out in the end.]

Edited 2018-07-05 01:27 (UTC)

[Erika doesn't wonder why she's being hugged so much as she realizes she is being hugged and throws together a rationalization for it, as though in a dream. Something about the situation - and how bad it is, and it's not being fixed but there's someone here, and that's good. Hinata doesn't smell bad. He's taller than Keisuke, kind of bonier, or maybe it's just that jackets offer more padding than what the two of them have on right now. If she pushes her ear against the crook of his neck, she's listening to the stupid music with one less ear, kind of. She puts her arms sandwiched between their chests instead of around him, but leans into the hug without difficulty.

BUT NOW, HINATA, you have to confront the fact that hugging a girl does not cut scene and kick you ahead to the aftermath. No, this hug is still happening, and y'all have to decide when to end it and whether to look each other in the eye afterwards etc. It is a completely, utterly mundane experience, and as awkward as you make it.

Godspeed.

She's just kind of chilling on your shoulder there. Sniffling a little. Falling into as much of a doze as can be managed.]

[Thanks for thinking he doesn't smell bad. He does shower daily.

It's fine that she's not hugging him back, though. Having her ear pressed so close to his neck is already doing funny things to his heart that he's doing his best not to think about. More importantly, though, it's comfortable. It's warm and secure, having someone pressed against him like this. When's the last time he even gave anyone a hug...? He can't remember. He can't remember what he was doing five minutes ago, though, in this haze of sleeplessness, so maybe that's not a huge deal.

But wait, where's his fade-to-black?? He's living in the moment. This isn't a movie or a manga. He has to actually make a decision, here, and as nice as it is to hold someone, standing still and upright like this is straining his muscles and his willpower. His head bobs, and he wobbles dangerous for a moment before the particularly rousing chorus of ABBA's Waterloo makes its comeback.]

Hey... [It's a mumble, barely audible above the music as he squeezes her gently before loosening his grip.] Let me walk you back to your room...? You should... probably lay down.

[Translation: he's about to fall over where he's standing. Please, let him go lay down in his room.]

Edited 2018-07-05 02:08 (UTC)

[The translation does not translate. Erika doesn't think anything of the request at all, caught in her head thinking about her room and how can I go there when it's back at Hudie? and missing home. Lead her by the hand, she doesn't care, she's too tired to make decisions.

She mumbles wordlessly and steps back dizzily, not refusing. Feeling suddenly a bit petulant about not having something warm to lean on anymore, though.]

[Okay, he didn't quite catch that mumble, but it's fine. She's... sort of agreeing, he thinks? But she's also not walking beside him like she usually does.]

Come on.

[He is going to take her hand and try to lead her, heading back toward Deck 3 and grateful once again that their rooms are close to each other. Not too close, they're not neighbors like he and Gundam are, but... close enough that he probably won't collapse after dropping her off.

It's so selfish, but he doesn't want to just leave her, though. He doesn't want to be by himself, curled up in bed alone with thoughts chugging through his brain too slowly to avoid.

He blinks, and they're already on Deck 3, somehow. He managed not to fall over, which is a plus. Not only would it be embarrassing, it probably would have pulled her with him, and that would just be an awkward mess.]

Mishima?

[He doesn't know how aware she is right now as he glances back to her.]

You good to unlock your room?

[What? She wasn't listening.

She blinks more-awake and looks around with a deep sigh. This is...oh.

But: if she goes to bed, and he leaves, she's alone in her room and might not be able to get back up again. Or the station might pick her off, maybe. Or something. And going in her sleep would be one thing, but like this? This sucks.

She squints harshly at the lock, and lifts her wrist to it with a sullen sort of carelessness.]

[The door's open, but... he doesn't want to leave. She's not letting go of his hand or telling him to leave, so he just... tugs her hand, gently, trying to lead her into her room. Once they're there, of course, he doesn't know what to do at all. He just wants to rest.]

You should... go lay down. You looked like you were pushing yourself really hard earlier.

[He says that, but he doesn't let go of her hand. He doesn't want to, selfishly, his desire to not be alone warring with his need to just collapse in a fit of exhaustion.]

[She steps on his foot.]

Ow, hey!!

[Erika?! He does let go, then, brows knitting together as he holds up both hands defensively.]

What was that for?

[She's still looking at his foot, eyes all narrowed and mouth all rumpled unhappily. There's something she doesn't want that's slipped right out of her mind's slippery fingers and left an ugly lump of stubborn resentment behind. Something about changing. And her thoughts are like mud, refusing to go where they should, dead pathways refusing to clear - how many miles between the brain and the tongue? How long does it take to get something through?]

...Don't remember. [Probably something bad though? Must have been. If she just got panicky for no reason that would be embarrassing. What were they doing in here, anyways?

Erika takes the two unsteady steps to the bed, starts yanking at the sheets as though to throw them to the ground for the usually Pile of Sitting, then...pauses...]

Memetan isn't... [oh FUCK that's right okay this isn't a coding jam at all. She considers that reality, then takes a pillow and kind of throws it backwards onto the ground anyways, having a tantrum on a steep energy budget.]

[What does she have against just sleeping on the bed?!

Hajime just kind of helplessly stands there to watch her pull the sheets off, not sure if he should like... go? So she can have her tantrum in peace? His throbbing foot is saying yes, he absolutely should show some kind of self-preservation and leave her be, but when she mentions Memetan...

He might not have anything he considers that important to him. He's not the type to keep stuffed animals still, but... the closest equivalent is his Game Girl, and he'd be pretty upset if that were broken. Not necessarily because it's a game system, but because there are memories in it. Maybe it's the same for her?

Damn it. He can't think straight, and his legs are starting to shake from fatigue again. Before he can question it, he's falling to the floor, just plopping straight down like a sack of potatoes to sit cross-legged on the floor near her blanket pile.]

Is it okay if I stay here?

[It's impulsive, not something he would normally ask. But he doesn't want to muster the energy to try to go back to his own room just yet.]

Just... for a little bit.

Yeah?

[She says it with this faintly baffled, kind of deadpan tone, like she's not sure why he's asking - like she assumed that was the plan from the start. Like this was....not a coding jam, exactly, but something similar.] That's what I'm doing... [ie making the floor soft so they can sit/lie down because getting on the bed would be Extremely Weird.

She tosses the other pillow in his general direction. Sort of gently. At least it's just a pillow.]

...Ah?!

[He doesn't catch the pillow at all. His hands don't even make it off the floor before it bops him in the face. He's a little annoyed at himself that he didn't manage to catch it, but the annoyance doesn't hold, replaced by a kind of mystified confusion. What, really? It's okay to stay in a girl's room with her?

...Well, okay, on the floor makes sense. He kind of feels like he should take his mag boots off, though, if he's going to be on the floor. Give him a few seconds to belatedly unlatch those and set them aside. Man, he wishes he could wear his sneakers more... stupid artificial gravity.]

Um... okay. Thanks.

[Should he... help? Maybe she has a system to how she wants them on the floor, considering how often she puts them there.]

[If there's a system, no explanation is coming. She strips the bed, builds the pile, retrieves the first dropped pillow, and more or less collapses to sitting, eyes falling closed - too tired to finish lying down, just taking a breather here. She fiddles lazily with the latches on her own boots.

The console in her room still blares and blares, even through Toto's little body strapped over the speaker.]

...The door should stay open in case something else happens. [Mumble mumble.]

Huh? Oh, right.

[He'd kind of zoned out again, not really following what her mumble actually said. Something about the door? He looks to it to make sure it's closed and assumes that must be what she's worried about.]

We'll be able to open it from the inside.

[??? Sure, obviously. Whatever's the deal with the door, it's too much for him to deal with. He's annoyed just looking at it now, flopping over and pulling the pillow she'd thrown at him over his head in an attempt to block out some of the sound.]

[It's cool, her brother will get it. It's fine.

Erika remains sitting up for a while, staring blearily at the wall, watching with suspicion as her paper-thin memories arrange themselves into panes of déjà vu. Puts herself under a microscope and peers into the chaos. Loses track. She is a stuffed animal, head full of fluff. Stuffed animals don't have to hear. Stuffed animals don't have to think.

She lies down ungently and hugs her pillow instead of putting it under her head. The pillow has no trouble sleeping. It has a lot of legs and could knock her out so she could get some rest. Botamon squeezed itself into a crevice back in the VR room; she hopes that's working out for it, as ways to deal with the noise go. She hadn't been able to come up with anything better.

Time drags and skips. Sleep now? Sleep now? Nope, nothing. It's behind a paper-thin unbreakable barrier.

Fuck her whole life she's crying again.]

[The pillow doesn't work. It just makes it oppressively hot and hard to breathe. He knows he's imagining it, but it almost feels like the pillow is making it echo around him, something physical drilling into his eardrums and assaulting his brain directly. Unless he's going to emerge from this experience talented in all kinds of music, he wants off this ride. Right now, immediately.

Eventually, he jams the pillow under his head, willing sleep to come. Come on, this is supposed to be like a movie, right? Isn't just being together with someone supposed to bring some kind of peace, so he can finally, finally get some rest?

He closes his eyes, and tries to think about the sound of the water fountain in the garden outside Hope's Peak Academy. The water always sounded soothing to him, a random melody that helped him focus his thoughts, try to ignore the voices telling him he isn't good enough, that he doesn't belong. That the only way to ever make something of himself is to stop being himself entirely. Or no, that's not how it went. Being at the fountain made it easier to do those things. Didn't it?

It's all swimming, hazy; frustrated, he grabs his pillow with one hand, ready to hurl it against the closest wall, when he hears a weird noise. It takes a few seconds to register that Erika's crying, again, and his own eyes burn sympathetically. God, he wishes he could cry. If he could cry, maybe that would exhaust him enough to sleep.]

...Mishima?

[he doesn't know what to do, but the sound of her crying is annoying. And he hates himself for thinking that; there's a part of him that's upset that she's crying, but there's a bigger part of him, tired, emotionally drained himself, that hates the sound.

He shits closer on the puddle of blankets, reaching out to gently try to take her hand.]

Hey, Mishima... don't cry.

[He barely has to ask. There's a hand on her hand, and guilt slams down like a shutter door, closing her throat and choking off the tears. Crying becomes repulsive immediately; she holds her breath until the voiceless sobs abate, and holds the hand back, and holds her eyes shut. The secret to being reassured is that you must be reassuring.

Disgust-resentment-bitterness on the back of her tongue like bile. Bottled tears ferment into useful product under the right conditions, but these are the wrong ones.] I hate crying, [she whispers with feeble heat, fingers squeezing. There's something minutely pleasing about the texture of the web between his thumb and forefinger - her thumb settles into it and presses a little as the background music hits a droning bridge.]

[Erika... that's not what he meant. Don't force yourself??

Then again, she's stopped crying, so... it worked, sort of.]

I don't think anybody likes to cry, [he says quietly, trying to make her laugh. It's a weak attempt, but it's there.] But I think under these circumstances... it's okay.

[That sounds like the right thing to say, even if he's hoping she doesn't start crying again. Absently, his thumb rubs against hers, as if that might help her calm down. More importantly, it gives him something to focus on that's not the music, or the sheets he can't sleep on.]

I won't tell anyone.

[It's the right thing to say. Erika hates it, with quiet, listless resignation, and does not laugh.

She twiddles her thumb back, making a game out of it. Trying to perfectly center the contact. Holding his thumb down and trying to block him from lifting it. Something mindless and idle that she's barely paying attention to, half-remembering her brother holding her hand in any of a variety of hospital rooms. That part meant more than any number of platitudes.]

...Obviously.

[Admission of trust??]

Nobody wants to hear about that anyways.

[Thumb wrestling... he feels like he should be embarrassed about doing something so childish, but... it's really cute. Besides, she started it. Going along with it and putting up a small fight, trying to pin her thumb under his, is kind of fun. In a childish way.]

I'd want to hear about it.

[It's a mumble; he's only half-aware that he's saying it aloud.]

I mean... just so I'd know to come see you, and make sure you're doing okay.

Edited 2018-07-09 03:52 (UTC)

[Thumb wrestling is great because it really doesn't take much physical exertion. Also, you can cheat, sort of.]

You'll get tired of it. If you think - if that's how you think. [murmur.] It's not like a movie. Even in space.

No, that's wrong.

[There's no hesitation as his grip tightens a little on her hand. He might not know much, but he does know that much. When it comes to his friends... he wants to be the kind of person they can come to, the kind of person they can talk to, or just spend time with. The kind of person Chiaki was for him.

He has... a long way to go, to become someone like that. But... he wants to try. Starting with his friends is, well, a start.]

We're friends, aren't we? Being friends means being there for each other. Even... if it's just something like holding your hand.

Yeah. That's just... [Yeah. She squeezes back. He gets it. (Gets what? Who knows.) The corners of her mouth pull up a bit - just a bit.] Even when you get tired. It's a choice, not a feeling. When you don't live in a fairytale, it has to be a choice. Every day, over and over.

[Her volume holds steady for a bit, but t r a i l s off towards the end, and her eyes slide closed.

They should just fall asleep. It would be so nice to just fall asleep like this.

How long can this last?]

( 003 » ENSEMBLE ) party time.

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