( 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

[resleeves]

"You'd be upset if I died," Kovacs remarks. Then, who the hell else would Miller have to call terrible names and bitch at? There wasn't anyone else like him on the station. He was one of a fucking kind, thank you.

"Just keep it away from my neck and you can shoot me anytime since it seems like I'll just come back to life like a fucking reanimated zombie," Kovacs says, shaking his head. At least he doesn't have to worry about fucking this sleeve up since a good sleep after your heart stopped seemed to fix you up just fine.

"You wanna fucking use me for target practice, go ahead," Kovacs quips, looking over. "Just be ready for me to snap your spine when I come back."

FRIENDS.

[pampa]

He hesitates because he would be upset, he knows without analyzing it. But he'd been upset when Semi died too, the thing is, that feeling hadn't stuck around long at all. So he just mutters, "I'd get over it," and lets Kovacs continue his rant.

"But I'm still not angling to shoot you, you know, on purpose. Unless I have to." You understand. FRIENDSHIP indeed.

[resleeves]

"Appreciated," Kovacs says grudgingly, giving Miller a stiff nod. "I don't want to be shot. It fucking hurts. It's how the last sleeve I had died."

So many bullet holes. So much blood. He's still pretty smug that it had taken so much to bring him down but he knows he has Quell to thank for that. Quell who is still lurking and laughing.

"They filled me full of bullets," Kovacs recalls, shaking his head, "because they were upset that I'd left their little group of shitty soldiers. Payback was a bitch in this instance."

[pampa]

"I've never been shot, but cancer hurts pretty bad." Is this how to empathize?? He doesn't know okay. "What'd you do to them?" It's a little dull, but hearing about gory revenge sounds appealing now for whatever reason.

[resleeves]

"I killed a lot of them," Kovacs says with a shrug of his shoulder. "Couldn't get all of them because they killed me first but I made sure to take a lot of them down with me."

Fucking Jaeger had had the numbers though. He'd brought enough people that even an Envoy couldn't take them all down. Five or six bullet holes in your body made even the strongest person a little susceptible to death.

"Kind of cancer did you have?"

[pampa]

"Good," he says with a decisive nod. Even if Kovacs fucked up, it doesn't matter. Vindication is vindication. Especially here. "The radioactive kind?" He pulls the fabric around his jumpsuit on his arm so Kovacs can make out the cancer port sticking out of his skin. "Do have. Technically."

[resleeves]

"Well, that's fucked," Kovacs says, taking in the port and then settling his eyes back on Miller. He hadn't been under the impression that this space station was some kind of magic cure all for injury and disease but it was kind shitty to bring him here without any kind of fucking doctor for him to see.

"How do you deal with something like that here?" Kovacs asks him. "It's not like you can stop by the hospital for treatment."

Since there was none.

[pampa]

"Oh, I'm fine now that I have this baby." He slaps it then screws up his face in a frown. That still hurt, oops. "Holden and me had to get deep-fried in chemo for a few days, but then Naomi just shot one of these in each of us and now we're good to go. It pumps a steady flow of drugs into my system every day, or so I'm told." So he can work on destroying his liver instead.

[resleeves]

"And the drugs never run out?" Fuck, where could he get his hands on something like that? This station had given him his fucking backpack without anything in it but Miller here got unending drugs.

All right yes, it's because the bastard's got an insidious disease but the point stands.

"Or is your friend Naomi just some magician when it comes to snapping stuff into existence out of thin air?"

If so, Kovacs wants to be friends with her.

[pampa]

"I don't really know how it fucking works, but given the way this place is... it probably doesn't matter. And when I go home I'm about two hours from biting the big one. So." Doesn't matter there either. "Naomi is something else though. I'll introduce you." If only because watching that verbal beatdown would be a great day for him.

[resleeves]

"You should. I always looking forward to meeting your friends, Miller, so I can learn all the shit about you that you'll never tell me." Kovacs was never going to admit to being a gossip but considering Miller was the closest relationship he had on this fucking station, it seemed prudent to learn about him.

Plus, maybe he could learn some shit that he could hold over Miller's head. He already had some of that slang. Now, he just needs more because seeing Miller get all angry was entertaining as shit and Kovacs needs all the entertainment he can get here.

[pampa]

"Naomi likes me better than I do, so good luck with that." He continues on their shambling path, though every now and then he stops and looks around, then starts forward again like he has to keep reminding himself where the fuck they're going (he does.) "She's a Belter, too. But a rock hopper instead of a boring station squatter like me."

[resleeves]

"Well, I'm much more charming than you are," Kovacs says dryly. That's an arguable statement right there but one Kovacs is willing to believe at least for right now. An hour from now, he'd probably consider Miller the charming, suave one out of the two.

The only thing that was certain was that Miller's bones were made of cotton. That was the only thing you could count on.

"Maybe I'll take your mantle when it comes to her," Kovacs says, a joke even if he doesn't sound like he's joking. It's way too much an effort to find someone and make friends with them. He's fine with being alone. How so many people just end up around him is still a fucking mystery.

[pampa]

"You're not a belter, and you didn't save our system so good fucking luck with that." It's as close to admitting his own heroism as he can come, the music and ongoing lack of sleep eroding his will more than usual. "...But no, I actually think she'd like you. She's a shit judge of character, case in point."

[resleeves]

"Then, I look forward to meeting this woman who apparently has a hard on for you," Kovacs says, snickering before shaking his head. The music is still there, pounding into his head but Miller's a decent distraction, at least.

Thank fuck for his brittle ass.

"Come on, I feel the need to shoot out some fucking speakers," he says, frowning. "I fucking hate music now."