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.

Threaded | Flat

002. I Want Off This Ride

[ the music has been unrelenting.

even now, while he's in the shower, enjoying some hot water, it's still there, somehow pounding through the walls even though kovacs can't see a fucking speaker anywhere.

over the years, kovacs has gotten pretty good at tuning things out because everyone thinks they should get a chance to talk his ear off about what they want and what they need and what he should be doing for them and, since he can't just kill anyone, he shuts it out and goes on about his life.

but, there's something about this insidious music that just makes him want to scream. the sudden anger catches him off guard but it's steam rolls through him, lighting him up from the inside out and before he can stop himself, he's barreling out of the shower, throwing the door top his room open while naked and dripping water all over the floor to scream: ]

Turn off the fucking music!

[ he doesn't even bother going back inside because he thinks -- no, he know -- he hears someone laughing down the hall and when he turns, teeth bared and body tense, he sees quell.

no. he blinks and when he opens his eyes, it's rei with a burns covering the entirety of her body and blood slipping from her mouth to pool on the floor. ]

Turn it off!

[ the music keeps playing and, still naked, kovacs kicks his door hard enough to knock it off its hinges. ]

003. There's Something In the Water

[ quell is still laughing at him. it's all she's been doing since she showed up. laughing. a hollow, eerie, maniacal laughter that shouldn't be possible. she should have run out of breath and given him at least a moments quiet but considering she's fucking dead, there aren't any fucking rules.

he's just glad he hasn't seen reileen again, not since that first time.

naturally, the first place he wants to go is the bar but as soon as he steps foot inside, he remembers that the supplies are basically gone and that spikes something dark and red, has him reaching for empty bottles and chucking them at the wall near the door. he does this until there's a pile of glass at the entrance and then steps on the broken glass and walks out.

he has no destination in mind but there's a thrumming energy inside of him, something that's raging to come out and so he shoves people aside he comes into contact with in the corridors and ducks into the chapel of all places because he doubts anyone's going to be in there.

but if they are, well, he'll physically make them leave. ]

004. Aftermath

[ he wakes up in the observation deck. he's groggy, slow to move and there's a smear of blood on the window behind him. he's not sure if that's from him or someone else or if it was someone else's put there by him.

the backpack is open and in his lap but there's nothing in there but some paper. ]

Fuck.

[ he hates this station. ]

Edited 2018-07-01 20:15 (UTC)

001

[Thankfully Daisy wasn’t sleeping when the music started blasting through the speakers, although it did make her jump. Daisy has learned to expect the unexpected in this place, but this was something she was not expecting at all. Especially when the music playing are things she’s heard before. It doesn’t take her long to realize that isn’t just in one part of the station, but everywhere. The first person she comes across she’s asking questions.]

Any idea who did this?

[It seems some people were just excited to have music playing, as there are people singing along and dancing. If someone were to pull her in to dance she might play along, at least for a couple of minutes.]

002

[It was funny at first, but after a while it’s becoming increasingly frustrating. Especially because it’s just the same mix playing over and over again. It’s gotten to the point that Daisy has started to learn the order and what is about to play next. Not that she’s slept very well since coming here, or hell, even before arriving at the station. But now it’s even worse. No matter how much she tries to muffle the sound coming from the speaker, either by attempting to mute it with hanging/taping things to the speaker like her unused jumpsuit, or a towel, it still manages to get through just enough to slowly drive her insane.

The dark circles under her eyes are worse than they have been in a long time, and she’s not the only one sporting them. The tension on the station is at an all time high with everyone having to deal with this non stop music, to the point that fights have been breaking out. If Daisy happens to spot people fighting, she will try to intervene. Even going as far as to physically get in the middle of the fight to put some distance between the two, knowing full well they might start taking their anger out on her.

This would be so much easier to deal with if she had her power here.

She’s so exhausted that it doesn’t matter how much coffee she has. Speaking of, the coffee is actually starting to taste more like coffee. Which is about the only good thing to come out of her time in this place.]

003

[As tensions grow, Daisy has been finding it harder to contain her own emotions. Any frustrations and anger she’s been dealing with has grown exponentially harder to deal with. To the point that the moment someone makes a snark remark at her, she’s up in their face, and if they’re close to a wall, she might push them up against it.]

You really don’t want to do this. Not with me.

WILDCARD

[Have any idea? Feel free to write something below or PM/

punkchica321

[ HMU on plurk or discord (Christine#9103) if you would like to plot a closed starter! ]

OO1:

Mike's really got the rhythm of it. The silence. The not-quite the same gravity. He's finally sleeping whole nights - or whatever passed for night in a place where there was no sunrise or set, and clocks were irrelevant. There's still the odd nightmare, leftovers from home mixed with some new space fun, and sometimes he still wakes with a jerk, momentarily lost, but all in all, it's better. It's a relief.

It's ruined entirely by screeching voices everywhere and all at once. He lurches awake, reaching out for something not there and fighting against the strangle hold of his bedsheets. By the time he untangles himself, he's realized nothing's attacking and that he, in fact, recognizes the screaming.

The Backstreet Boys had never been much for him, but his eldest daughter had been just the right age to go bananas over them.

Grunting, he heads out into the hall, blinking blearily at his neighbors.

"What in the hell? Who ordered the party?"

~.~

002

The already difficult to pin-down hours stretch and Mike starts to lose what little sense of time he had. His rhythm evaporates and while he might never have been the smoothest of charmers aboard to start with, his disposition deteriorates to little more than hard looks and threatening grunts.

Objectively (increasingly deep down) he knows it's no one's fault, that everyone else is just as confused and frustrated about it as he is, but it's harder and harder to hold onto it. He sequesters himself away as much as possible, taking what small fraction of peace and quiet he can while the music continues to blare.

On the observation deck, he stands with his back to a corner, cigar clamped viciously between his teeth and his eyes narrowed as he stares out the window at nothing - pretending he hears nothing to go along with it. Until the sound of footsteps have the eyes of his muted reflection sliding slowly in their direction.

His face, his entire body stance, is a warning buoy.

Do Not.

Edited 2018-07-02 00:12 (UTC)

A. - the sound of silence

[ At first, Haruto doesn't mind the music. It's funny, he thinks. Sure, after ten or so songs in a row, it gets a little annoying. Then when the songs start to repeat it gets more than a little annoying. But when the time comes to go to sleep, Haruto rests assured that he can turn off his aural receptors and get some good, old fashioned shut eye.

As such, he's better rested, and therefore less disoriented than the rest of his fellow Reverie station-mates. The only problem is, he might forget to turn his aural receptors back on-- or else he's leaving them turned off on purpose so he doesn't have to listen to the music. People might be trying to get his attention, but unless he can see them, he'll be totally unawares, going about his business completely innocently ignoring everything around him. ]

B. - the drugs don't work

[ After three days of blissful silence, Haruto's aural receptor trick stops working. Now he, along with everyone else, is losing sleep, suffering from heightened paranoia and sluggishness. At one point, four days in, Haruto is sitting in the mess hall, eating his meal grumpily, when he looks up and his eyes widen at the appearance of a man that only he can see. ]

...D-Doctor Greene? [ He blanches, stumbling back out of his seat, crashing onto the floor in a messy tumble of uncoordinated limbs. ] You can't-- you can't be here!

[ And yet, a voice inside him whispers, you knew this would happen. New people keep showing up every day. It was only a matter of time before someone from your past would arrive.

Haruto scrambles to his feet and begins backing into a corner, eyes darting between the imposing figure of his old keeper and the exit, trying to judge whether he could escape if he made a break for it now. He's panicking, not thinking clearly. Finally, as soon as the hallucination of Doctor Greene steps closer, he bolts for the door. ]

You can't take me! I won't let you!

C. - domo arigatou, mr. roboto

[ Once he's finally calmed himself down from the event in the mess hall, Haruto settles back into his sleepless routine. Except, on day six, a certain song plays that he hadn't heard before. It starts innocently enough, with some synthetic chords. Then, a choir of voices chimes in in Japanese. "Domo arigatou, Mr. Roboto, mata au hi made..."

Instantly, Haruto stiffens. Mr. Roboto? That was his nickname, that his neighbors gave him back in Tokyo. No one here should know that name-- aside from Rhea'li who had seen it in a vision of Haruto's past. What is happening?

As the song continues, Haruto gets more and more horrified, until finally at the end, the song comes to a close with an echoing chant of "I'm Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy!" His real name. The name that no one knows, apart from Doctor Greene and the other scientists of Project Integration. Desperately, he seeks out the nearest person. ]

That song-- the song that just played! What is that? Who sings that song?

❧ i. then they're no friends of mine

[It was the most peculiar thing, to have the music suddenly be playing throughout the station's speakers. Some of it reminds him, vaguely, of the music that Minato had shared with him, for better or for worse. He'd almost rather be doing that than listening to whatever's playing, honestly. It felt more personal with Minato.

While it does concern him that music started playing out of no where, it is a little hard to ignore the arrangement in the bar: he isn't sure who started it, but he does watch with a bit of distant fondness how people are dancing with each other, or simply because.

It's silly, and freeing.

Alucard makes no effort to join, but he does watch from a distance.]

❧ iii. monster mash

[It isn't the lack of sleep that claws into him. Oh, no no. He can actually tolerate that now with the help he's received and the healing he's had done on his person.

It's something else. There just must be something else. Logically, he can see that, the lack of impulses he has, but his mind is clouded, irrational, and the thought is gone as quickly as it has come.

So whether it be in any particular room, any particular place, Alucard notices you, and he snarls, baring his fangs.]

What.

[It is an aggressive approach. How is your impulse control?]

❧ iv. take me to church

[Seven days of this madness.

A terrible thing, wasn't it? It seemed to start out so innocently, odd music playing with people dancing. It is a rarity to see people enjoy themselves, and it warmed something within him. Yet, it turned all so quickly, it seemed.

And Alucard is far too ashamed to accept what he'd done.

Like many, there is exhaustion in his eyes as he moves through the halls, looking close like a ghost of himself. Should he encounter you in the hallway, he makes no effort to initiate conversation.

No, he looks lock himself into his room for now.]

❧ v. wildcard;

[Please let me know if you want a custom starter, or feel free to do your own!]

i. ~~girls~~ old hobos just (don't) want to have fun

[Aizawa honestly finds the music somewhat irritating right off the bat, not least because he's a high school teacher, which means he's exposed to this kind of cheesy pop music (if typically in Japanese, of course) on a far more regular basis than he'd like. But it's a minor annoyance, all told, and others seem to be enjoying it--so he doesn't really pay it much mind, just grabs himself some thankfully passable coffee and proceeds to wallflower in some corner of the mess hall instead of actually dance. If any particularly friendly extrovert type comes over to try to coax him onto the makeshift dance floor, he'll shake his head.]

No thanks.

[A curt refusal, but not an overtly rude or hostile one, at least?]

ii. stop this spaceship i want to get off

[To his credit, Aizawa tolerates the music a long time before his agitation with the music (and maybe, possibly, the tainted water) overrides his usual cool rationality. A really, really long time. It's only about halfway into the fourth day of nonstop terrible music that some other tiny inconvenience finally sets him off. He doesn't know where the music is actually coming from, but a random speaker in a room or a hall or a corridor somewhere gets the full brunt of his ire, and he picks up the nearest object and starts bludgeoning the poor speaker, repeatedly. The music, of course, continues to play.]

iii. f is for 'shut the fuck up'

[It'll take more than sleep deprivation (he's always sleep deprived) and tainted water to make Aizawa lash out against any actual person, however. He has too strong of a grip on his own convictions as a Hero for that, and if he's all but hostile to anyone who talks to him verbally, he never so much as shoves back when his fellow space captives try to pick a fight. He just removes himself from the situation as quickly as possible, tends to his frayed nerves elsewhere.

But that doesn't mean he holds his patience for people trying to harm each other. He doesn't have his capture weapon anymore to simply break up fights as easily as he would at home, but at the first sign of any altercation getting physical, he'll grab the offending party by the collar and shove them up against a wall, eyes glowing red as he activates his Erasure ability.]

Stop. Right now.

Edited 2018-07-01 22:57 (UTC)

( ONE )

[ for all that it seems harmless, just a little sudden music that's apparently being played everywhere, revan seems troubled by it. there's a line between his brows and a small frown on his mouth as he travels the hallways, apparently trying to search out the source of it-- whether it's a fellow captive, or their mysterious captors. (or a bug in the system; he hasn't ruled that out.)

dressed in plain, fitted black trousers, top, boots, with his hair pulled back into a messy bun that's already coming loose, he's definitely more himself than the jumpsuit had made him. of course, all that stark black just brings attention to how tired he always seems. (already. it's going to be a rough week.)

he blows a strand of hair out of his face with a sigh, folding his arms and rocking back on his heels as he stares down the corridor. ] --Think there's any hope of finding where it's coming from? [ yes, of course he knew someone was approaching him from behind. ]

( 003 )

[ there's an entire section of the observation deck that feels.. dark. even if one isn't normally sensitive to that sort of thing, it's so strong that the fear and the dread all but overpower everything else. for people who are already struggling with their emotional control, already hallucinating, well.. it's certainly not doing them any favors.

nearer to the epicenter is worse, almost unbearable in its weight, and there at the very center of it is revan. he sits lotus-style in the air, fingers laced together in his lap, eyes closed, brow knit and a heavy frown on his features. he's clearly really struggling with his control, so.. you know. disturb at your own risk. ]

( 004 )

[ as soon as he's had a nap to reset himself, revan is upright again, trying to help clean up the mess, tend to anyone that's been injured, try to find some kind of clue to what happened--

he looks like he could stand to sleep for another three days, but hey. things need to get done, and he doesn't need the amount of rest most people do, being a force user. he is also, thankfully, much more balanced today than he has been the last couple of days, so there's no reason to be nervous around him. really. ]

( WILDCARD )

[ lmk if you want a specific prompt! ]

001: [ Garion's not really sure about the music; he can understand the words, but the instruments are... very strange, and the songs are so different from anything he's ever heard.

But they definitely stick in the ear. He's not sure how he feels about that.

He will make his way to the area where they're working on drinks, and he may, in fact, spend a little power on making his ale taste more like it ought to if only because this is clearly a celebration.

It's also the first time he's really spent much time out among everyone for a time. It's not that he's tried to be antisocial, exactly, but he'd wanted to make sure that while he was trying things out, no one was around to get hurt should something go... well, wrong. The whole experiment, however, has come up with one very firm conclusion:

His Will has no power to affect the strange ship itself. He can do anything else, but not that. It's a curious thing, and it's something that's going to have to percolate in the back of his brain with the rest of the strange details about this place as he works on what he's doing here and what he needs to do.

But that's neither here nor there for the party. Instead, have a tall sandy-haired man who looks vaguely uncomfortable in modern clothing standing around with a beer, watching to figure out what exactly this music is all about.]

002: [ Most people need to sleep. It's just a fact for your average person. But while Garion will certainly be getting grumpy as the music continues to play and he'll probably get a headache after long and he'll certainly want this whole thing to wind down, please, if you could, since no one needs a non-stop party and especially not a Sendar-raised-Rivan... he doesn't actually need sleep. Like his Grandfather and his Aunt Pol, and his Durnik whether the old blacksmith had tested that fact or not, sleep was a luxury and not a necessity. Beldin would probably put it like that, especially since he'd spent all those centuries literally just watching a dark tomb to see if the god within would be stirring.

But he can see that other people are starting to feel it, that this is going to be a problem soon enough, and he's going to keep an ear out and an eye out for any trouble caused by irritable, frustrated, and sleep-deprived people. Namely, most people all around him.

...this should be fun.]

003: [ooc: warning for probable violence]

[ Garion's a pretty even-tempered sort of man. Grumpy, of course, which he's posited is a part of the ability to work with the Will and the Word (though from what he's heard of the Twins, they might be the exception that proves the rule) but relatively even-keeled. He's had to be, given the weight on his shoulders and the sort of delicacy that's been asked of him in a number of situations.

But the thing is... he does have a temper.

A considerable temper.

The kind of temper that has at one point or another turned into a berserker rage while in battle, to be perfectly frank.

He also has a great deal of power at his disposal, power that's fueled by his will. For most of the other people he knows with this ability, a temper isn't as much of a problem, since they tend to wield their abilities like a scalpel. But Garion, for reasons that have to do with his place in Prophecy, with what was required of him, has always had a certain way of blasting past the requirements of things and going with his pure, untempered emotion, his need.

And right now, the thing that he truly needs, more than anything, is to see anyone, anything familiar. His wife, his children, Wolf. His Aunt Pol, Durnik, Grandfather. Any of them, even Lelldorin, he'd welcome it right now just to feel less alone in this place where everyone talks of 'Earth' and Earth things and not a single person seems to understand what he means when he tries to tell a story or explain the ways of a people or just... talk like he normally would.

That was true earlier, but recently, it seems as if these small frustrations, the sort of thing he's dealt with before even in some cases... they just seem so large. They throw him off balance so easily, have him holding back a snarl and he's reasonably certain he's going to punch someone sometime soon.

Because, er, that's also a possibility. The boy's got sorcery, sure, but he's also got a left hook that nearly killed a man that irritated him.]

004: [ Most people are sleeping now. That makes sense, since things seem to have gone back to normal (or as normal as they might given what 'normal' is around here) but Garion can't sleep. He can practically hear Silk in his ear telling him that now is the time to be careful, now is the time to watch out. The whole thing struck him very much like being toyed with and while he's no longer got something heightening his frustrations to a boiling point, he's certainly not exactly calm given all of that. So he's stalking around, sometimes on two legs, sometimes as a wolf. He's going to keep his watch, make sure that no one and nothing comes for the rest of the crew here since they were weakened, disoriented and in some cases, turned against one another. ]

[ ooc: if you'd like to plot anything specific, yarnzipan @ plurk!]

you drive me crazy [001; it's gotta be a bop]

[Diana is in the mess hall working on eating a slightly more acceptable version of dolma spit out by the replicators when the music starts. At first, she doesn't notice it much, thinking that perhaps someone is in a particularly good moos and has begun to sing. But then she realizes there's music as well, and as far as she knows, there aren't any instruments on the ship. And she's never heard an instrument that can make sounds quiet like the ones she's hearing now.

Finally she looks up, abandoning her food and trying to discover the source of the music. Finding none, she twists her neck around to speak to someone nearby, already smiling as she bobs her head in time with the beat:]

What kind of music is this?

i just can't sleep [002; maybe a slow tune]

[As impatient as she can be about some things, Diana is a fairly good sport about the first twenty-four hours of music. As much as she likes to sleep, she's spent some time training to go without. She also knows how to more or less tune out things she doesn't want to hear thanks to a few thousand years of nodding along to her tutors' lectures without really paying attention. That experience paired with her superhuman stamina makes the first twenty-four hours grating, but bearable.

The twenty-fifth hour is when she starts to become irritated.

Diana has been standing in the shower for around thirty minutes, hoping the sound of the water drumming against the metal walls and floor will drown out the tune. When it becomes clear that will not happen, she turns off the water and barely dries herself before dressing in her training armor and stepping out into the hallway of Deck 6. She looks strangely calm, despite the cacophony echoing through the station. For a brief moment, she scans the ceiling, looking for something--and when she doesn't find it, she turns resolutely to the wall across from her bunk, draws an arm back, and punches the metal hard enough to dent. She will not cease her assault on the invisible speakers until she either becomes too tired to do so or someone convinces her to stop.]

i'm so excited [003; power ballad time]

[The first day, Diana finds most of the music uplifting; she hums along to the melodies and even begins singing a few words once she learns them, makes up dances she sometimes pulls an innocent bystander into, and even sings in the shower. Even if she doesn't have much of a singing voice, the acoustics certainly help. Her interactions with people she knows become brighter, a fleeting touch to the shoulder or arm offered where none might have been before, and perhaps a mischievous grin flashed when the current song has a raunchy twist in the lyrics. She eats a little more than she might usually, and certainly takes advantage of the replicators' new ability to create alcohol (even if it doesn't actually make her drunk). Things could certainly be worse, and having a little music is a nice change from the eerie atmosphere the station usually hosts.

The second day, Diana is not nearly as pleasant.

She knows her hold on her temper is slipping, but Antiope's voice in her head telling her to control herself is more distant than ever, and she can't bring herself to care. The lack of sleep is finally getting to her, and even the smallest misstep earns a cold glare that could easily turn into more if the offender doesn't simply walk away. And when she doesn't look as if she's about to snap someone in half, unshed tears fill her eyes, liable to spill over any moment, but especially when she's near the chapel or walking alone for an extended period of time.]

i'm in too deep [004; a commercial break]

[At a certain point, Diana had forgotten what life on the station was like before the music had started. It's pounded itself into her head, every lyric, every tune ingrained in her mind as if it's always been there. She eats and drinks because she must, because she knows that staying alive is the most important thing she can do. Stay alive and listen to the music.

Abruptly, the music ceases--but it takes her a few minutes of dazed confusion to realize it. Her ears are ringing, and she feels suddenly dizzy. Diana sags against the nearest wall, but as soon as she does, a shiver runs up her back and makes her stand straight once more. She looks around, still confused, and begins to stumble towards the closest common area. Memories of the past two weeks are blurred at best, just a whirl of sounds, sensations, and a handful of minutes of stolen sleep forced on her by pure exhaustion. But she knows she has to find someone, to make sure that they don't hear the music any longer either. To make sure she hasn't gone insane.]

[ooc; hit me up on plurk at

watchet or pm me if you want to do something specific! here is my cr meme comment, too. as a reminder for anyone looking to get into a fight with diana, she has superhuman strength. i'd prefer to avoid her permanently injuring anyone, and i do not want her to kill anyone. anything in-between is fair game! again, please pm me for something specific, especially if it could lead to something nsfw.

additionally, please feel free to choose a song to inspire our thread!]

I. though my lens is cracked

[ There isn't much that Ryo doesn't try to alleviate the noise throughout the course of the week. Once one methodology seems to fail him, he moves onto another: foam, bedding, pillow stuffing? He's been in and out of rooms modifying their contents to his liking. He may or may not have torn open a few materials in the spaces around his quarters to get what he's needed. Either way, he's been testing it to see if he (and subsequently Akira, who seems always to benefit from these kind of odd experiments) can steal more than a few minutes of shut-eye. Even if that means using replicated beeswax toward the end of the week a la the Odyssey. If it worked for Odysseus and his men against the Sirens, then clearly it ought to work for them.

So, perhaps anyone who comes in to see what he's up to will have an item held out to them with an accompanying, terse request: ] Hold this.

[ What is it? A pillow? A blanket? Some kind of mysterious waxen structure from the replicators? It's up to them to do as he's asked or drop it. ]

II & III. right down the center i saw you

[ When he's away from Akira (which seems rare for this duration), his work on the replicators is slow and steady. After all, if he isn't going to be able to get proper rest, then he's going to make the most of it. Staying up for days at a time isn't something he's unaccustomed to already, but three days was his standard limit.

This, regardless of his better attempts, is day four. Or later. It's difficult to keep track.

The usual sharpness to Ryo's eyes has dimmed minutely, but it doesn't seem to deter him. His hands are still remarkably steady as he adjusts wires and gears within the machine's metaphorical stomach, but his moods are not. From one part of the day to the next, Ryo might be snappier with directions or in a relatively mellow state for someone like him. It's a gamble, just as much as any else. ]

a. [ There's a point where Ryo keeps back the creeping headache with an influx of coffee. For once, he makes himself take a break at one of the nearby tables, his chin propped up against his hand and his eyes lowered to dark recesses of his cup. It's certainly much more palatable than usual due to their combined efforts, but it's almost odd how relaxed Ryo is the more he sips at his standard brew. He's started to suspect that something is a little off with it like it was when he first arrived here, but it's a bit late to reverse the impact. ]

Don't touch that, [ he'll start, if someone attempts to use one replicator nearest him. If they turn their head, they'll see Ryo in their standard issue jumpsuit, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Despite the fact he's a little bit paler than usual (if that's possible), he looks... Amenable to conversation. His eyes are no less discerning than usual, but his posture isn't forbidding. ] I'm cleaning it.

[ It seems whatever interaction he had last put him in a decent spot for them. ]

b. [ Or, perhaps, they've caught him at another time when he's got his hands buried deep in the guts of the replicator, his mouth pulled into a thin, white line. There's coffee cups stacked to his right and every-so-often under his breath he hums out an unconscious bar of whatever song is playing in the background. If he didn't seem so ill-tempered, it would almost be something to remark on considering how even the softest and lowest notes he hits are decidedly on key.

Stepping too near to him might be bad choice, considering how if he hears anyone come in he snaps his gaze up and pins them as if trying to assess whether or not they're a threat.

Give him a second and he'll try to return to his work after a small breath. Or don't and try to pacify him like a startled animal. ]

III (only). and through shattered light your beauty remained flawless

[ Love doesn't exist. At least, that's what he's always told himself.

Love was only a chemical component in social bonding. It was what brought groups together. It was a mechanism, honed through centuries of trial and error. It was the continuation of biological imperatives, grown from lust and forged for the benefit of offspring. It was what brought food and shelter, protection where one adult could not serve alone. Love, for all it was stressed, was nothing more than a clever evolutionary fabrication. Like sorrow, it only served the purpose to keep oneself alive and keep one's genetic history going.

He reminds himself of this frequently. He reminds himself of it now, amid the blaring of something he recognizes as at least American, its slow open an odd match to the tightness that wells behind his ribs as he sits on the floor of the Observation Deck, his eyes fixed on the nearest moon as though he's expecting its appearance to shift.

He keeps his breaths low and slow as he presses his back against the wall behind him, one hand tangled in the white of his coat — knotted up tight to his chest, his heart, as though trying to stem an invisible wound. No matter how he tries to subdue whatever it is, it comes back sharp and insidious. It aches in a way he can't (or perhaps won't) put a name to. It hurts, and his eyebrows knit as his fingers periodically tighten. To anyone passing, it could easily mark itself as a physical reaction to a very real pain, but all he does is nod if anyone greets him. Occasionally, he might blink as though trying to clear his vision, the blue of his eyes almost — either way, it doesn't seem that he trusts his voice to answer for him at first, but he might be inclined to talk for the distraction.

Maybe. ]

IV. low light turn to night

[ At the end of it, Ryo is a touch more worse for wear than he's letting on. Even so, he finds himself next to the Recreation Center where he's taking a small break before hauling himself the rest of the way to his room (a blessed and cursed few feet).

He's alert, at least, even if he's sitting against one of the doors. It's so quiet. So, so quiet. He has what looks like a perfectly alright cup of coffee cradled between his palms, black as tar. He lifts his eyes to whoever passes him by, but can't quite summon the energy to do much more.

Wrapped up in the white of his coat (which looks incredibly soft and inviting), he looks kind of like a kid who dragged a blanket off his bed after reluctantly getting up.

Might as well join him. ]

V. ( insert strings )

[ Want something special or want to hit me with something else? Go for it! Feel free to chat with me on plurk at rasasvada or on Discord at morning star#3715. ]

Edited 2018-07-02 01:13 (UTC)

001—
[At first, it's pretty fun.

Because say what you will about certain aspects of the space station, things got pretty boring pretty fast. Sure, the food is a little bit better, and yeah, the pool finally got cleaned, but when you get down to it they're still stuck in a timeless cycle, drifting in the gravitational orbit of a planet they couldn't even get to, limited to a certain number of areas only with a certain amount of stuff to do. So the music was, initially at least, pretty exciting! Certainly much better than the standard creepiness of this place, with the echoing hallway, a-little-too-dark faulty lighting, and just the general disrepair that they hadn't been able to collectively fix in the few months since they all started waking up here.

Akira is practically bouncing as he walks down the hallway near the bar, singing to himself in undertone what is... a loose enough approximation of the lyrics of a certain song from the late 70's when he suddenly stops in place, turning to face whoever might have been sharing the same corridor at the time, going to wherever they were going.]

Hey! [There's a bright look in his eyes, a wide smile spreading across his features.] Karaoke!

[...you might need to be a little more specific, there —]

We need to set up some karaoke!

[There you go. What can possibly go wrong.]

003—
[After a few days, several things have gone wrong.

The incessant nature and loud volume of the music has robbed Akira if not only his positive spirits but also nearly all of his sleep from the beginning of the nonstop station-wide playlist to this point. It puts him in a remarkably precarious position. Akira has already dealt with heightened emotions in his life — he'd always been an empathetic kid who'd worn his heart on his sleeve, and having his human body exchanged for a demonic one had only strengthened their hold on him. So, for Akira, instead of dealing with double the usual emotional input he was used to, this was closer to four times that amount.

It doesn't go super well.]

(a) [At first the young man is slumped over one of the tables in the mess hall, eyes partially glazed over as the weight of sleeplessness and exhaustion drapes itself over his entire body, dire and crushing. He's thinking that one of the worst things about this situation is that eventually all the songs start to loop around, forcing them all into listening to something over and over again. It marks the time, like the hands of the clock tracing their path around the circumference of the clock.

There's a razor-thin period of time between one song ending and another song beginning that breathes a breath of hope into him, despite hours and hours and hours of evidence to the contrary. Hope that it would finally stop, that he could finally fall asleep right here and right now half-collapsed onto one of the cafeteria tables, but — of course, it doesn't. Another song queues up and Akira emits a low, growling groan, rising from his slouched position like a leviathan slowly emerging from the deep. He's only got so much patience, and even that seems to have thoroughly evaporated, leaving him with nothing but a frustration that had festered into an aggravation, and an aggravation which had sprouted an aggression. It pushes everything else away, leaving him with nothing but a heat of anger that spreads over his body, dwelling in the base of his skull.]

I'm gonna — fuckin' [the words rumble in his chest, his hands balling tightly into fists] find wherever the damn speakers are 'n I'm gonna rip 'em out!

[And then he's charging at one of the walls he suspects might be harboring one of the offending nodes of the sound system, so, help, maybe? Before he most likely hurts himself.]

(b) [What goes up must inevitably come back down again.

This natural rule actually means a hell of a lot less in space, especially when they were well aware that their gravity could be interrupted rather easily by the random entropy of deep space, but it holds true a little bit more for the moods and dispositions of people. Anger was hot like a fire and it burned fast and reckless until it was all gone, leaving nothing but the hollow space of emptiness and sorrow it'd once lit and kept warm.

Long story short, Akira ends up sitting against a wall in a corridor somewhere, openly bawling at the incredibly sappy love song that was playing.

And if challenged with any attention, Akira will look up at his onlooker through the haze in his eyes and the well-defined tracks of tears down his face and sniffle loudly, mumbling in explanation,] The lyrics're just — really pretty, okay...

[He swipes across his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He's a total mess.]

004—
[Wildcard! Please feel free to contact me at

novaphase or sharisper#7460 on Discord to discuss anything.]

001.

[At first? It's not as bad as one may think. Playing old tunes over the loud speakers? It's fine, even if after a while the volume may be a little louder than she would like personally.

She will look to the person across from her with a smile on her face.]

A little loud, isn't it? Though I have to say they are playing some rather old hits.

002.

[Forty-eight hours. Just one day of not sleeping was nothing in comparison to fourty-eight full hours without a moment of sleeping. Every single time she thinks that she may find some sweet relief from her sleepless being, I want it that way, begins blasting again. No, she doesn't want it that way. And she has certainly stopped believing in any sort of God right now after hearing this particular song approximately twenty-seven times, or... so she thinks. She has lost count.

Her reaction times are a lot slower, and her already bubbling anxiety about the station in general is worsened by her lack of shut eye.

Though she doesn't want to bother anyone about this, it will be very apparent that something is very off with Haru. Her normal bubbly attitude has taken a turn for the unpredictable. One minute she could be on the verge of tears, the next she could be feeling a little hostile towards the environment.

Anyone approaching her will have luck of the draw there.]

003.

[And just when she believe that it couldn't possibly take a turn more downhill than it already has? It does.

It starts after she eats breakfast, praise be that the replicators are producing something at least more edible than they were before. She's happy for that much, but she sure isn't happy about anything else.

The Haru who was unpredictable just days before is even more unpredictable now. She is unfortunately hyper aware of this fact too. Paranoid of what could happen if she ran into one of her friends. Those who are familiar to Haru will find themselves being avoided, no calls...no texts. Radio silence. Those who are unfamiliar? In passing she will give them a face that exudes both exhaustion and anger. It's best not to approach, but who knows how the other people (also exhausted) may react to that.

And for those brave enough to approach her?] Don't get any closer, I will have to advise against that.

004.

[The music is over? The music... is over, finally. There are those who will try their best to make it back to their rooms. There are those, like Haru, who will drop right where they are. Pillows, broken friendships, and bad first impressions be damned.

Haru can be found sleeping on the floor of the observation deck; unmoving.

Someone should probably move her because god knows she isn't going to wake up easily.]

WILDCARD.

[Wanna plot anything out? Want to plan a closed prompt with me? Please feel free to hit me up at

megaevolve for that stuff! ♥]

Edited 2018-07-02 06:01 (UTC)

I.

[Jun doesn't even notice the music at first. Not until he is woken up in the middle of 'the night'(whatever that means in space) by how loudly it is blaring. He is disoriented and startled into thinking he's being attacked at first until he just realizes... it's music.

That doesn't make him particularly happy though. It sounds like a mean prank, and he doesn't need his emotions to be heightened to leave his room in a huff. He pulls on his jumpsuit, not bothering to zip it up or put on boots before leaving his room, glaring down the hallway.]

Just who...

[Jun doesn't like confrontation. He doesn't like to get angry at anyone or have anyone get angry at him, but he really is not comfortable when it is loud, and so without even fixing his bedhead, he leaves his room to look for the control room.]

Can we turn it down please? Some of us actually do want to sleep.

II.

This is all my fault.

[Jun had had a cup of coffee. He hadn't been able to eat, especially after that cup of coffee, his disgust at the food amplified enough to just... lose his appetite. Eventually he would need to force himself to stomach it, but between the anxiety from the constant loud noise, the sleep deprivation, and the self-loathing amplified by the coffee, he was just not up to it.]

If I had just. Been a better son... Maybe I wouldn't have... and then he couldn't have...

And then we wouldn't be here. We could be at home, eating real food and getting to go outside and see the sun, smell the air, feel the grass beneath our feet.

[He was holding onto Tatsuya, his fingers loose on his hand, simply unable to summon the energy to cling any tighter, but he seemed to be addressing himself more than anyone else. He does stop to look at anyone who passes by, giving them an apologetic frown.]

I'm sorry. I-I promise... I'll fix it.

[He couldn't say Tatsuya would help him, he couldn't promise anything like that. He wasn't the one at fault, after all. Jun would do it. He didn't have the first idea of how, though.]

I think I can, if I can just find the control room again. I forgot where it was. What deck are we on right now?

[OOC: Tatsuya will be joining him on this adventure(at least until he wants to duck out I GUESS???) so anyone responding to this second prompt will get Jun and Tatsuya both.]

002

[ the first day, he hadn't minded the music. in fact, he found it kind of enjoyable, with some of the catchy beats and rhythms which he on occasion will find himself humming along to under his breath. Bodhi doesn't sleep well, regardless, so he hunkers down with coffee until he feels like a functioning human.

by the third day, he feels like he's coming apart. his head hurts and his hands shake and no matter how much of the coffee like drink he takes, he's exhausted.

-- it's not until he walks out into the hall, hair still damp and messy from a shower does he stop, and stumble against the wall and drop down to his knees. maybe it's you, that Bodhi is staring at - but it doesn't look like he's seeing you, but rather through you. pleading and terrified, but determined. ]

No, no, no. Please. You have to listen to me! I'm telling you, I'm not lying.

[ wherever he is, he's certainly no longer on the ship. ]

003

[ sometimes it's Galen Erso's eyes following his movements that haunt him, grey and sad. disappointed. or sometimes, it's the other members of Rogue One. Cassian. Jyn. even Kaytoo. he'd failed them, let them die. now he's here, alone and guilty.

because he'd failed them.

curled up, tucked into a corner of the observation deck, Bodhi stares out the window. ]

I'm sorry...

[ he says, to nobody in particular. ]

004

[ and then it's over. at least... he thinks it is. his ears still ring, even in the silence, everything seems so loud. it's odd. even after a decent six hours of rest, Bodhi is still tired and could probably use some more. but, he's there, helping out - trying to clean things up.

do something useful, for a change.

if you're close enough, you'll hear him humming under his breath something that sounds familiarly like some of the "hits" played over the speakers over the last week. if nobody points this out to him, he'll continue for a while, until he realizes and stops, muttering angrily. ]

wildcard

[ ooc - feel free to come at me with something different if nothing tickles your fancy! ]

Edited 2018-07-02 03:50 (UTC)

0 0 2 » I WANT OFF THIS RIDE

A. first day

4R3 YOU K1DD1NG M3
TH1S 1S SUCH BL4T4NT HUM4N F4VOR1T1SM
WH3R3 1S TH3 TROLL MUS1C???
WH3R3 4R3 TH3 4LT3RN14N TUN3S????
1 D3M4ND TROLL M1CH43L J4CKSON TH1S 1NST4NT

TH1S SP4C3 ST4T1ON 1S 4 FUCK1NG N1GHTM4R3

B. second day

OH MY GOD
OK4Y SO TH1S W4S FUNNY TH3 F1RST COUPL3 OF T1M3S BUT 1T'S NOT STOPP1NG
1F 1 H4V3 TO L1ST3N TO "DON'T STOP B3L13V1NG" BY HUM4N B4ND JOURN3Y ON3 MOR3 T1M3
1 4M GO1NG TO GO COMPL3T3LY OUT OF MY FUCK1NG GOURD

DO3S 4NYON3 KNOW HOW TO STOP TH1S?
OR, B4RR1NG TH4T, TURN TH3 VOLUM3 DOWN?
W3'V3 GOT 4 LOT OF T3CH S4VYY P3OPL3 H3R3
W3 C4N'T 4LL B3 STUCK L1ST3N1NG TO TH1S FOR J3GUS KNOWS HOW LONG
SUR3LY SOM3BODY'S GOT 4N 1D34

C. fifth day

OHHHHHHHHHH MYGOD
PL34S3
1'M SO T1R3D
1 JUST W4NT TO SL33P
WHY 1S TH1S H4PP3N1NG?
D1D 1 DO SOM3TH1NGTO D3S3RV3 TH1S

FUCK
M4N
1F K4RK4T C4N DO 1T
SO C4NN 1?
H3 W3NT 4 WHOL3 30 D4YS W1THOUT SL33P1NG ONC3
NOT ONC3!
WHO 3V3N DO3S THAT?
FUCK!!!
TH1S 1S NOTH1NGGGGGGGgggggzsdffgggggggg

[The rest of the post is filled up with nothing but lowercase Gs, repeating. It seems she nodded off while typing and accidentally hit send in her sleep.]

D. wake me up when september ends

[She said it before, and she'll say it again: this station is a fucking nightmare.

Or, it would be, if Terezi could just get to sleep.

She's so tired. She wants to rest. Every time she passes out for a few brief, beautiful moments, a new song starts blaring at max volume over the speakers and startles her into consciousness.

Food is a necessity; she doesn't particularly want to eat, but she knows she's got to if she wants any chance of surviving this stupidity. She staggers down to the mess hall, stumbling and bumping into walls in a sleep-deprived haze. Like an utter zombie, she punches in the command to order herself a bowl of troll-style breakfast, and wearily trudges to one of the tables to take a seat. She turns to face people as they walk in for food, blearily waving good morning--

--and then slumps face first into her bowl of fake space grubflake cereal.

Somebody please help her before she drowns in synthetic musclebeast milk. It's a very undignified way to go.]

0 0 3 » THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE WATER [locked to Venus]

[Terezi knocks on Venus's door. She's wrapped in her dorm-issued blankets and has as many pillows as she's managed to find stuffed under her arms.

She's desperate. She's exhausted. She's nodded off at least three times in the past five minutes, only to be woken by the sweet dulcet tones of Bonnie Tyler crooning the lyrics of the 1983 hit "Total Eclipse of the Heart." This is the fucking worst.

Between the sleep deprivation and the yawning chasm of depressed nothing clawing at her mind, Terezi knows she's at her breaking point. She knows she's at the edge of making some kind of very poorly thought out and self-destructive decision, and she has to do something to stop herself from replicating fifty bowls of sweet sundae ramen and eating herself into a diabetic coma.]

Hey! Are you there?

Edited 2018-07-02 03:47 (UTC)

Get off my lawn.

Jasnah is unfasionable, or perhaps prescient. She becomes infuriated after about the first sixty seconds of the first song.

She spends most of the time sitting wherever she's trying to work, looking alternatingly irate and incredulous. Music on Roshar involves drums, involves ceremony- maybe a flute if you're feeling particularly fancy. If you're a soldier maybe there's a dirty limerick or two about a brightlord and his horse. What she's hearing now is grating and tasteless and she points out, with an outright snarl;

"The words 'baby' and 'crazy' are not a rhyme."

This to the world at large.

Powerlessness

People believe princesses should have relatively few things to be frustrated about, but it's actually quite the opposite. There had been endless restrictions; she'd still felt penned in by her father's will and ther ardents and their strictures around impropriety. There had been many, many suitors, each more presumptuous and frustrating than the last. Everyone had been perfectly happy to make a fuss about how important she was, but no one had been particularly inclined to listen to a word coming out of her mouth. They'd say 'anything you wish, Brightness' and then proceed to force her to do the exact opposite, and at thirteen all Jasnah could do was try desperately to hide the tears of frustration.

By the time she was sixteen she'd learned to turn that rage into icy composure, and to make the system work in her favour. She'd learned to tell when 'you can't do that' meant 'I don't want you to do that,' how to change the first and entirely disregard the second. Because Jasnah is a 'no emotional grit in the microscope of my perception' kind of thinker, she'd assumed that the end of the tears had been the result of that lesson. She doesn't like to remember or acknowledge that perhaps being a hormonal teenager had something to do with it.

The drugging feels the same. Jasnah tries to distract herself with her research notes, and finds herself sitting out on the observation deck with her face hot and her eyes stinging. She wants to go home. All of that desire and all of her will haven't been able to make that come true. She should be with her mother, mourning the passing of her brother. She should be with her kingdom, leading them through the beginning months of the war.

Jasnah is determined not to cry in public, but her cheeks are a scalding red, and her eyes are bright, and she stares fixedly at her notebook without absorbing a word.

0 0 4 » AFTERMATH

Later, Jasnah makes the round, prioritizing everyone she either screamed at or wept on.

how to make love stay

He doesn't mind, honestly. Ricki taps a foot in line for food, girl, hums under his breath, you really got me now.

The nineties stuff is a little much for him, the eighties is a little sappy, but there's a song or two on the list that remind him that he knows how to do the twist- and if you're a young lady and aren't overtly frowning at the noise he might offer you a hand and lead you into an easy and gentlemanly lead.

He's from the seventies- but he's also thirty. His dancing days were in the late fifties, early sixties. All this means is that if he finds a follow who actually knows what they're doing, the dance might veer in a decidedly lindy hop-ish direction when the music is upbeat enough.

If anyone sees and is curious, he's a patient teacher.

a pack of camels

This isn't Ricki's first kick at the sleep deprivation can. Blessedly, delightfully, he's found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, to boot, so he finds a quiet corner to hang out in late the second night and sits down against the wall to light the first one.

He sits like that, back against a bulkhead and legs outstretched, and smokes with his eyes closed. Feel free to follow the scent.

criminals and outlaws

[[CW for the potential of violence in this one.]]

Sleep dep is one thing. The drugs are something else entirely.

Paranoia sinks in almost tangibly. Ricki finds himself unable to sit anywhere but a corner, dominant hand out to face the room. Finds himself unable to look away from the door when he eats his breakfast.

He has a knife. It feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket. He takes a sip of coffee, aware that he's well past the point where this is going to be a good idea, by the tremor in his hands.

It manifests as a terrible, unnatural stillness, a flatness in his eyes. Ricki is always a man who would cut a person's throat in a heartbeat; the event is just eroding his ability to hide it.

and the purpose of the moon

When it's all over, he probably owes an apology or two. He may or may not give them.

001 » dance like nobody's watching

[ Ren's moment has finally arrived.

He's prepared for this for years. Serenaded showers. Cut many a rug punctuated by the sound of breaking vases and sharp reproaches. Ren Amamiya is starved for entertainment outside of his bestie and the frequency and depth at which his foot is snugly driven into his mouth and with that in mind Ren isn't particularly concerned with the origin of the music nor the fact that nearly the entire oeuvre was pulled from Billboards before his time.

What is important is Ren's being up to get. down. as he can be found stepping down any old corridor on day one, stopping to twirl and continue on with quick kicks that shuffle him on along his way - ]

But I keep cruising, can't stop, won't stop moooving

[ And you, right there? You are perfectly within reach for Ren to grab your hands and swing you in a controlled circle through sheer momentum no matter how many left feet you may have. Just focus on the sharply grinning teen in front of you and you'll be fine, carried on the strength of his unleashed spice. ]

It's like I got this music in my mind, sayin' it's gonna be alright~

[ You:

"Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play-"

Twirl him around.

Sock him in the face.

]

003 » words are futile devices

[ Even at his most addicted World of Peacecraft days Ren wasn't fool enough/suicidal as to push past a day or two of dedicated grinding, and those were on launch weekends for new expansions. You grind and grind and keep going until fuel becomes fumes becomes thin vapor and it ceases to be Fun, transmogrifying into to rote. The zombified.

Moreover the longer the week goes on, things start... poking out of line, betraying the effortless hold Ren has on his behavior as was the norm. Little slips that became big slips- an extra sharp comment toward Akechi over text, empathy flaring wildly at a story he'd merely caught wind of in passing down the hall and pressing Ren to have to duck into an alcove and press the heels of his hands into his worn out eyes, avoiding a full blown everything-and-the-kitchen sink sob.

It's volatile. And that doesn't have an entry in Ren's personal vocabulary. In the interest of salvaging his friendships it cannot have a place.

Anywhere that a Phantom Thief is, Ren is not. That means that after being called in to help Haru after she "accidentally" flattens Akechi, after he admittedly already let his affection flare out and speak for him, he can't be in the garden. He can't afford to be in the same room as Akechi, choosing to leave it to Makoto or Venus to spare one of her many eyes for him while Ren quietly implodes. He can't entertain any offers from Yusuke to act as his canvas because he's not so certain that the activity would be as pleasant, his skin turned to paper, set to burn at the first spark. He can't - Ryuji's and his room becomes Ryuji's room for as much as Ren is present. It's for the better, trust him.

As soon as someone mentions to Ren it's the food two things happen instantly. One is that Ren pulls back hard on meals. Sadly the effect is twofold: while the mind is not as influence the body is weaker, and where the body is weaker the fragile mind cannot make up on force of will alone.

This morning is a no breakfast morning, Ren blearily trudging past his room when he's pretty certain that Ryuji is in. No fresh clothes today, then. Where a few days ago his frustration may have wheeled white hot today becomes numb resignation. An improvement in some respects, a worrying sign of imminent collapse in others.

He starts away from the door, making for the one of the last forms of distraction he hasn't tried yet up in the observatory - er. The observation deck, where he knows the shitty Nantendo is set up and where rote motor functions can help a mind zone out from its very active, very real, very ABBA problems. ]

Want in?

[ It's barely recognizable as (magically translated) Japanese when he says it, but in any state Ren knows when he's not alone. A second controller is flung out to his side, the teen flinching at the impact against the floor in spite of himself. ]

Sorry, I was working on the fifth high score slot. M'trying to fill the whole screen with my initials.

[ Sure enough when Ren dies and the screen is kicked out to the hi scores RAA is repeated almost the entire way down. ]

There were others. I've been here a while.

004 » today i don't feel like doing anything

[ It's... It's done.

Ren doesn't want to hear another one of those songs again. Hell he might not want to hear a song from those artists again. Music from those bands is forbidden. Music from bands that are derivative of those bands is forbidden.

What is no longer forbidden is sleep which Ren will be doing wherever he first freezes, straining at the first such realization that the minor, infinitesimal break between song loops has lengthened in reality and it's not simply a trick of his mushy, strung-out-on-sleeplessness-and-broken-relationships brain.

And once he does confirm it Ren lets the jelly overtake his knees as was their eminent domain, his body simply giving out where he stands in the mess hall and Ren curls up on his side, fully prepared to sleep and damn the consequences.

Are you still awake for whatever reason? If you find a boy on the floor please return him to ~~Ryuji Sakamoto~~ room 4.28 and forgive him if he's incapable of helping the process along. ]

wildcard »

[ Want bizarre sleep-deprived texts to your inbox? Did you find Ren zoning out at the food replicators, his hand still on the throttle while his plate overflows with not-ramen? plot with me either by PM or by hitting me up at

futiledevices ]

» 001: Iris

[ At Seven Sisters High, many people had found him to be cool and aloof— the badboy all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be. (Okay, some of the guys wanted him, too.) His friends, the few people that really knew him, were aware that he was neither cool nor a badboy— he's more of a shy, quiet nerd. But none of these qualities are on display right now. None of them.

Instead, he's quietly humming along to the song currently playing over the airs. At least, that's how it starts. When it gets to the chorus, he starts singing along— ]

♪♫ And I don't want the world to see me~ ♪♫
♪♫ 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand~ ♪♫
♪♫ When everything's made to be broken~ ♪♫
♪♫ I just want you to know who I am~ ♪♫

» 002. We Gotta Get Out of This Place

[ Maybe you're one of the people he ran into when walking around in a daze with Jun. Twitching, nervous, unable to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time— his every nerve is on end. His skin feels like sandpaper. His hair feels like a live wire plugged directly into his brain.

And he can't sleep. And he can't sleep. And he can't sleep. And he can't—

When you run into him this time, he's not wandering around holding Jun's hand— he's by himself, staring fixedly in front of him. Heading to the replicator so he has something, anything to think about besides how desperately tired he is. Maybe he brushed against you— maybe you brushed against him. Regardless, when contact is made, he reaches out to grab your arm. ]

Don't. Touch. Me.

» Wildcard

[ Or maybe you're near the replicators or the fitness area— the only two places you'll find him after the first day or so of no sleep, more likely than not. Hit me up at sohmamon or sohmamon#2402 on discord and let's talk! ]

Edited 2018-07-02 06:10 (UTC)

001. you spin me right round
[Arid detects the music sooner than most. Her audio receptors are much more sensitive than the human ear, and the patterns of the music are unmistakable against the background drone of station machinery. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t recognize any of the songs, even once they become loud enough to be clearly audible.

”Once I ran to you / Now I run from you / This tainted love you’ve given / I give you all a boy could give you / Take my tears and that’s not nearly all!”]

Do you know what year this song originates from? [she’ll ask to whoever’s nearby. Perhaps knowing when it’s from will shed light on who might be behind the broadcast.]

002 + 003. like a record, baby
[As the music stretches on for hours and then for days, Arid becomes less convinced that this is the doing of a single individual. An organic would not inflict this kind of torture on themselves. As for synthetics, they should know better than to exasperate a contained group of humans to this degree.

Since she does not require sleep, the music is merely an annoyance to Arid. However, she’s noticed the increasing tension among the station’s human residents and that’s enough to put her on edge. She has no doubt she could best one or several disoriented humans in combat if it came down to it. However, a large scale riot could be less… manageable. Especially for her more vulnerable allies.

For the most part, she’ll stay out of organics’ way, letting them suffer undisturbed. The only time she’ll intervene is if she sees anyone trying to damage the station—particularly any consoles.]

Continuing your current course of action is inadvisable, [she intones, in a way that sounds much more like a warning than advice.]

001;

[When the music starts, Minato has his own headphones on, cranked up relatively loud, so he doesn't even notice the difference. It's thanks to a lull between songs that he even notices something's up, and he pauses his own music and takes one headphone off, head cocked to the side curiously at the music that was now playing throughout the station. He lets his headphones fall back around his neck and turns to the person nearest to him, be it while walking along or in the dining hall, and comments aloud:]

Going kind of old, here.

[Had someone triggered something in the command station...?]

002;

[God, the food here was sub par at best, but he just couldn't stop eating. He was a hungry boy who used to eat gratuitously back home, and he'd reduced his habits so much since arriving here and having to consume this trash the replicators were producing as his only option. Now that the replicators were moderately better tasting, even if it was the tiniest sliver of improvement so far, he was feasting. Which was probably an ill advisable situation, to be entirely honest, but the name of the game was impulsive behavior this fine week. He walks up to the replicator next to yours, and perhaps if you'd been paying attention, you'd notice the fact there was at least five different empty plates where he'd been sitting, and he was going back for another. When it looks as though you're still pondering over what to choose for your meal:]

...The pizza's not too bad now. You should try it.

[...Or, possibly, you've caught him at the end of it when he's slumped over the table, groaning, obviously full of Regrets at this impulsive decision to eat a whole bunch. Pls assist.]

Ugh...

003;

[As time had gone on, Minato had just found himself so... lethargic, apathetic. It became harder and harder for him to move, and sometimes, he just found himself unable to keep going on when he was on his way to and from eating something, which was just about the only thing he was leaving his room for anymore, when he could even exert the effort to want to. This was certainly one of those times, and he was just... laying there, in the middle of the hallway near the mess hall, staring blankly at the ceiling above.

His brain was a mess -- he cared so much yet cared so little, he was feeling loopy and silly from sleep deprivation while also feeling empty and emotionless, in a state of being so so needy and desperate for contact yet wanting people to stay a distance, and he just plain couldn't understand what was going on his mess of a brain. Especially with how rapidly it'd cycle through polar opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, depending on what he was thinking about or who he was talking to. He'd already caught himself crying a few times over negative thoughts he'd catch himself having before entering completely numbness, and crying was something he just didn't do anymore. This emotional rollercoaster was just making him even more tired than he already was, and he was just feeling pretty done, over all. Things probably were slightly better for him than others on the sleeping front at least, given that he'd often fallen asleep with his music playing before and gotten used to it, not to mention how often he'd gone on barely any sleep back home, but the amount that he'd Depression Sleep™ here made him heavily miss that extra time in bed.

Either way, he was tired, he was out of it, and he couldn't move. He was, however, gently mouthing along to the millionth play thru of MC Hammers hit song U Can't Touch This, because what else is there to do with his life, really. When he hears the footsteps of someone approaching, he lifts his head a little to glance in that direction, lifting a shaky hand in greeting.]

Ah. Can I... get some help?

Wildcard!

(I am terrible at prompts. Let me know at

ahmsi or ping me on the game discord if you'd like to set up something different!)

002. I want off this ride

[It's not a good sign when Raven's starts counting the passing of time based on how many times she's heard Cher's 'Gypsies, Tramps, & Thieves'. 23 times, now.]

♫♪I was born in the wagon of a travelin' show... ♫♪

[Make that 24. Raven's tried to sleep, but now matter how tightly she's pressed her pillow to her ears or buried her head in blankets, nothing keeps the sound from rattling in her brains and keeping her conscious. Her leg is getting better, but this noise torture isn't helping her get the rest she so desperately needs to heal. She doesn't even remember leaving her room, but there she is out in the hall. Is it the 6th floor where her rooms located? Somewhere else? She's no idea. Her thoughts can't quite keep themselves together. At least some part of her brain remembered to grab the metal rod Aymeric found for her as a makeshift cane.

There's something there, out of the corner of her eye. Something blue. Maybe someone? When her head turns to face it, there's nothing there.]

Hello? Who's there? [She starts in the direction, spotting the figure again. It's very small. A child?]

Wait-! [Her voice seems to fail her, cracking as she spots a familiar pointed tail before whatever it is gone behind a turn in the deck hallway. She starts to run, dropping her cane and ignoring the protest of her leg.] Stop, please!

003. There's something in the water

[Each day seems to bring with it new issues, new symptoms of her sleep deprivation. There's no hallucinations today and she's actually got some semi-edible food in her belly, so that's welcome. And yet... she can't help but feel the weight of her situation coming down to bear on her. She's stuck here. Stuck with Erik. And Charles. And Hank. Then there's Rogue, a woman who despises her for crimes she's yet to commit. She hates this place.

Her anger surges. And she hates everyone in it.

Paris. She needs to be in Paris. Or wherever it is Trask's run off to. So she can avenge her mutant brothers and sisters. What he did to them couldn't go unpunished. How much they must have hurt. The torture they must have suffered.

Tears start to stream down her face, staring down at the replicator made tacos. If anyone comes by her in the mess hall she'll lash out at them, words coming out like a viper's hiss.] Leave me alone.

Wildcard
[ooc: want anything else? just shoot me a PM or hit me up on plurk:

owemeoneperogi

[72 hours]

[This is no longer fine.

At about 50 hours, Erika's vision starts to slide away from lines of code. Something in the network itself, a bug, a shrieking cicada they found and couldn't squash and - now it's even harder to do that. Everything on this station is impossible, unbreakable. Ensconced in the VR room, Erika seethes.

Her frustration doubles. Triples. She takes Memetan in hand like a flail and beats the room's console - just once, to let off steam - but it's not just once, it's over and over until there's a nasty crunch and Erika's heart freezes because that's the sound of something breaking inside her stuffed companion.

...

Minutes later, she storms out and through the bar, eyes red and face set in a vicious glare. And when she reaches the hall, she starts marching, fast-walking down the corridors as steadily as she can (not perfectly steadily).

There's no direction and no goal, except for inexplicable mania and a persistent little thought that maybe, if she wears herself out, she can just pass out. Certainly it's exhausting - now and then she does collapse against a wall, breathing heavily, her lack of athleticism caught up to her - but not enough. She waits like that, then slaps the wall and the floor in aggravation until her hand stings, then lies there for long minutes until her racing mind catches up to her again, then hauls herself up with a groan and starts over.]

[96 hours]

[She's so tired. She's so tired. (Everyone is tired.) She's in the mess hall, forcing some kind of sustenance into her body. She's on Deck 3 and in her room, hauling sheets and pillows to the elevator with shaky hands and weak arms. She's in the VR room, cocooning herself and poor Botamon away to try to muffle the sound. She's in the bar, sitting vacantly by the door to the VR room, just to know that there are people around and that someone will know if...something...happens.

Her lips move. Sound doesn't usually come out. Sometimes whispers, though, sometimes snippets of words that are snippets of conversation, with - someone?

"It's not like that."

"What about the seasons?"

"Maybe we could use that."

Exasperated snorts.

"You can really pack a punch, though."

Strange things, definitely meant to be heard by someone. By who? By you? You might be the only person in earshot.]

[120 hours]

[The need to know someone is there fights the sheer grating agony of yet more noise grating on her limp nerves and dragging her back into the world where that awful fucking music is still playing and she's so tired she's ready to die - and loses.

Erika goes into the VR room, shuts the door (but doesn't lock it), wraps herself and poor poor Botamon in sheets one last time, and doesn't come out under her own power, for food or water or anything. Between blinks, she fuzzes out of her body and drops into a twisting world of endless hunger, and it's safer, she thinks in moments of near-lucidity, to not involve anyone else in that.

Approaching her is a toss-up. She might not respond at all. She might have something resembling reason. She might ramble strangely and desperately. She might become frantic, and hit and claw and yell. It depends on what she sees, and what she hears, and whether there's a lull in the godawful music.

Try your luck, if you want. For her sake, or for your own interest, or just to make sure that's not a dead body in the VR room.]

[168+ hours]

[She's sleeping for a long ass time but someone please get some water into her at least. That's, uh, that's important.

Also some food into...Botamon?...who is sitting at the door from the bar to the VR room and WAILING weakly to call for help and attention when it first wakes up.]

[[ooc: one only please for any initial check on Erika; after that, Wanyamon will either be sleeping on her or hanging with one of its other near-comatose human friendpals, but Erika is still in the VR room to be woken up and whatever.]]

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Questions?

kovacs + ota (cw: nudity, violence, violent images)

002. I Want Off This Ride

003. There's Something In the Water

004. Aftermath