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

[ 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.

I'm The Midnighter.

[It's automatic. His name is a threat. A declaration of war. He has nothing to hide.]

And you look an awful fucking lot like a sun god I know, except even he wouldn't be this much of a fucking dick.

[Hilarious coming from him. He doesn't give a fuck. And... well, now that he's said it, now that he's raised the possibility, he can't help but soften a little.]

[This could be Andrew.] Is this a time displacement thing? What the fuck did you do to your hair?

[ 'I'm the Midnighter.' Apollo huffs a mirthless laugh at that. ]

Right. 'I'm the Midnighter, I know what moves you're going to make before you make them, you're dead and you just don't know it', et cetera, et cetera...

[ He's heard it all before, a million times over. And if Apollo took offense to everyone who called him a dick then the Authority would have disbanded a long time ago. Midnighter softens but Apollo's glower remains fixed in place. He's had a pretty shitty two months, all told. The new Midnighter's more-bastard-than-usual attitude isn't helping. ]

It's not a time displacement thing, [ He replies shortly. ] Try 'alternate reality thing' and there's your answer.

Great, you're from an alternate reality where I've got a PR campaign.

[He rubs at his eyes. He was fine before. Now everything feels too bright and raw and fucking stupid. This Apollo is beautiful, painfully so, and it pulls every ounce of regret and guilt to the fore.]

Alternate fucking realities. So you know shit about me and I know shit about you. Great. [So why does he feel like he's at a disadvantage?] Is this some 'kill the doubles' thing, or did I fuck up even worse where you're from and you're pissed?

'Kill the doubles' sounds a bit excessive, don't you think?

[ If he still sounds short then that's because Apollo's still in a foul mood; around them, the station continues to pipe in the playlist from hell. For all his enhancements, Apollo's got two perfectly normal ears. So excuse him if he still sounds a little shitty as he adds darkly: ]

Besides, you're hardly the first alternate Midnighter we've met.

[ Apollo's gaze snags on M's hair. Pointedly so. He isn't letting that previous comment slide. ]

You can't talk when it comes to hair, by the way.

[We've? Oh, Christ, he met them with... himself? He met him with himself? Fuck this.] Yeah, well, I cut it to annoy you, so I'm getting my money's worth.

[...He cut it to turn over a new leaf after they broke up. That was fucking snide. When did he get this fragile? He's always been thick skinned, fucking implacable, even around Andrew. But this is... petty.]

[Jesus. He doesn't like how this feels at all. Worse, he can't seem to make himself back down from it.]

And since fucking when do 'we' have a problem with excessive?

[ Apollo's expression flickers from 'cool' to 'incredulous' in less time than it should for someone as bone-tired (since when is that a thing he feels?) as Apollo is. ]

Sorry, I'm confused. Do you want there to be a 'kill the doubles' thing or not? Because you sound like you do.

[ He sounds like he wants a fight, more specifically. A+ Midnightering, that. ]

[He rolls his eyes, folds his arms, all tells and vaguely unforgivable ones. This guy just... gets under his skin like nothing else. All the guilt and shame is right there on the surface like oil on water, and he's just floundering trying to hide it all. Fucking pathetic.]

[If this Andrew knows him as well as the other one does, he wonders how well he can see through it. All the bluster, all the posturing, it's all hiding regret, and Andrew would have him pegged in a heartbeat. Both options are regrettable-- he doesn't want to be known that well by a stranger, and yet, the thought that every Apollo wouldn't be able to read him like a book is...]

[Whatever.]

A bit incestuous for my tastes. Look, I'm betting neither of us want anything to do with each other, so I'll stay out of your orbit and you'll stay outta mine, okay?

[ Apollo doesn't usually care if other people think he's talking out of his ass, but that eyeroll from Midnighter stings. With a flare of temper - and perhaps a small actual flare as well, a certain subconsciously brightening and a clench of a fists - takes a step closer. ]

In case you haven't noticed, we're stuck on a space station in the ass end of nowhere! Exactly how 'out of my orbit' do you think you're going to manage to be?

[ And besides - this Midnighter can't just turn up and tell them how it's going to be. He hasn't been here, he hasn't seen what they're up against. He doesn't know that this place is just one giant mindfuck, or how painfully obvious it is that they're all going to need to work together if they have any chance of escaping. Staying out of each other's way isn't just impossible, it's counterproductive. ]

[It reminds him of the last time he saw Andrew. The yelling, the confrontation, the singed fabric, beautiful power radiating from him.]

[It makes Midnighter nostalgic, and the nostalgia makes him angry, and the anger makes him livid.]

[He surges forward, grabbing at this Apollo's collar.] So, what, you own me now? You got some fucking claim on me because I look like a guy you fuck? Because there are words for that.

[he doesn't need the computer to know how to react. not this time. not when it involves someone stepping in to apollo's space without his permission. not when apollo himself had made it clear that this is one time that he doesn't mind midnighter handling things his way.

so the moment that he arrives, the moment he realises that the other him is starting to make a move on apollo, midnighter makes one of his own. a blur of blue-grey and he's slamming a fist in to the side of the impostor's face, wasting no time in using that momentum to tackle him away from his husband.]

Back the fuck off.

[words that're accompanied with--]

Sorry I'm late.

[never mind that he's actually a lot earlier than he originally stated.]

[He's so focused on Andrew, the anger and the agony of that closeness, the way it only reminds him of his own failures, when the computer does warn him (.96 seconds later than usual) something's barreling toward him, it doesn't even say what until it's too late to react.]

[Midnighter is bowled over, which isn't a fun fucking feeling. He's had some bad luck lately, but this is really taking it home. He takes the hit and the tackle, slammed hard into the ground, and that's weird, because people generally aren't that heavy or that tough to make it hurt this much.]

[And then, you know, there it is.]

[He can recognize his own features on an older face. Older and with more frown lines than he'd like, and isn't that some fucking bullshit? He just gave the other Apollo a talk-- a threat, it was a threat-- about leaving him alone, and then?]

[Yet, he can't stop the tide of anger rising in him.] Fuck off- [He gives the- the other Midnighter a solid shove, scrambling to put distance between them. Fighting himself? After all the shit he's done? Is he- is he actually scared?]

[Somehow that just makes him angrier.]

[ It's a good thing that Midnighter makes his entrance there and then; any later and perhaps Apollo would have given in to that impulse to do exactly the same as his husband does. Except if it had been Apollo punching this new Midnighter then perhaps it would have ended a lot bloodier. At least if it's his Midnighter doing the punching then there's a better chance of new Midnighter keeping his skull intact.

There's a certain vicious, burning satisfaction in seeing that look of horrified recognition in the newcomer's face as he recovers from the hit. A minor, silent moment of thinking yeah, that serves you right, asshole. And with the heat of the moment and the thrum of violence in his veins - when does he not enjoy seeing his husband like this? - Apollo almost says as much. But he catches himself at the last moment - the words aren't really him. It's the stress of the moment, the music torture, the two months of being stranded in space and being royally mindfucked at every opportunity. So instead he just watches, heatedly, drawn up to his full height and with both fists curled in anticipation as he carefully watches the new Midnighter's reaction. ]

Hello, sweetheart.

[ He keeps his voice as level as his can, eyes still trained on the new guy even as he speaks to his husband. Apollo doesn't bother with the radiotelepathy now; he wants the new Midnighter to hear exactly what he's thinking. ]

Glad you could join us.

[he's back on his feet again, poised and ready to continue the attack if the impostor decides to follow up. being as wound up by everything as he is, the idea of being able to let off some steam here and now is a welcome one, and it takes everything in him to keep from following that urge. a step forward, that control slipping, and then--

a slow breath, and it's apollo's voice that he focuses on instead. a balm to his anger, despite knowing how tense his husband is. how equally ready he is to attack the other man.

well, that's also something he'd very much like to see.]

Couldn't let you have all the fun.

[it's only then that he finally turns his full attention to the other. to the midnighter that isn't him. that thinks he has any right to touch apollo.

(his body tenses, fists tightening. the computer may not be working for him right now, but he doesn't need it to tear his opponent down. to protect what's his. he's better than that.)]

You touch him again, kid, and I'll be the one toasting marshmallows off your burning corpse.

[because as much as he may want to protect apollo, the man is more than capable of doing that for himself. in far more heat-fueled ways.]

[Something feels off. He can't imagine this scenario. He'd have just let Andrew handle it. There's no rhyme or reason to this-- his mind searches for clues, data, meaning, and finds none.]

[And then they're just... kind with each other. Sweetheart. Would Andrew ever call him that in public?]

[They're a team.]

[That hurts worse than anything.]

Sounds fine by me! [He resists the urge to put a table between them. He stands, slow and angry, and resists the urge to posture his own strength. They'll both see right through it. It's utterly pointless, all of it.] I don't wanna have any fucking thing to do with you two, believe me.

[ Later, Apollo will reflect about how fucking sad this whole situation is; this Midnighter might not be his, but he's some Apollo's Midnighter. And if his husband had crash-landed in someone else's dimension he'd hope that he could count on another Apollo to show him a little compassion.

But right here and right now, there's very little room within Apollo for sympathy. Not with 160 continuous hours of 20th century pop tunes rattling around in his brains, scrambling his thoughts in to something close to delirium.

So instead he keeps his cold gaze on the new Midnighter as he struggles to his feet. He'd taken the hit too easily; his computer must be equally as damaged by the station's weird trickery. Another thing that Apollo can't bring himself to feel sorry for, now with the way that he'd made a grab for his collar. ]

Midnighter, meet Midnighter. [ He raises his eyebrows expectantly at the new guy before finally turning his gaze back to his own, remarking: ] I waited four weeks for a Midnighter and now there are two...

[ Lucky him (??) ]

Don't start getting any ideas.

[despite the other midnighter being the supposed threat here, his gaze slides back to apollo with the words, amusement coloring his tone in a way he doesn't even try to hide. he knows what his husband is up to, and any other time, he might question it. but for now, he has no issues with rubbing their relationship in the other him's face.

gaze back on m again and--]

What're you still doing here then?

[because as long as he's within speaking distance of apollo, he's too close. and midnighter is more than ready to make that point known.]

Oh! Great! So I'm allowed to leave now! [Yep, just yelling at the top of his lungs in frustration. He points an accusatory finger, fully aware it's all he can do, fully aware his companions are aware of the same. And yet, he can't stop himself. Everyone knows he's outclassed.]

[It's a new feeling, but it's not nearly as painful as the gentle comradery these two share.]

[He murmurs darkly,] You assholes need to learn to stay out of other people's fucking business. [Before turning and attempting to leave. Again. Turning his back on them, trusting them not to stab it.]

[He's a fucking idiot, but he wants to believe no version of Andrew would let that happen. But mostly, he's a fucking idiot.]

[ Apollo is silent as the new Midnighter says his piece; he doesn't argue back, he doesn't feel the need to try to have the last word. As far as alternates have gone, they've definitely had better introductions. But none of those introductions had been as a result of kidnap and noise torture on a mysterious space station in who-knows-which galaxy.

Still: ]

That didn't go very well, [ He remarks to his own Midnighter as soon as the other Midnighter is (mostly) out of earshot. ]

Says the man who wanted me to hit him.

[he's still tense, despite the other midnighter's absence. the idea that duplicates, that other versions of themselves could arrive here-- it may not be the first time they've had to deal with other realities before, but every time its happened he's hoped it was the last.

with the music still blaring in the background, midnighter finally turns to apollo, his jaw set, urge to keep fighting still strong. he may not have that kid here anymore, but with apollo only a few short feet away from him, he has to fight to keep his computer from placing his husband next on that list.

it's...difficult.]

Gym.

[it's a spat out word. a warning, really. and then he's storming off out the mess hall before he does something he knows he'll regret.

and if he happens to toss a few chairs aside along the way, well, it's probably better an inanimate object than another person.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( 003 » ENSEMBLE ) party time.

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