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reverielogs2018-10-01 07:17 pm
reveriemod) wrote in reverielogs2018-10-01 07:17 pm
Entry tags:
- angel sanctuary: raphael,
- angel sanctuary: sakuya kira,
- castlevania: adrian ţepeş,
- devilman crybaby: akira fudo,
- homestuck: terezi pyrope,
- nier automata: 9s,
- persona: jun kurosu,
- splatoon: marina ida,
- stormlight archives: jasnah kholin,
- tinker tailor soldier spy: ricki tarr,
- warframe: tyl regor,
- wktd: venus
MOD LOG
» WHO? EVERYONE
» WHEN? First half of October
» WHERE? all over Reverie Terminal
» WHAT? the devil’s in the radio
» WARNINGS? body horror, psychological horror
”Oh. Hi there.”
The devil’s voice is sweet and smoky, sharp and sultry all at once. It sounds like honey warmed over a charcoal grill; it tastes like a singer in a shadowy bar, thinking of you and only you. And it has a presence of its own: very real, and very tangible. It slides down from the speakers to the walls, permeating the station all the way down to its inhabitants. When she speaks again, it is softly into your ear.
And oh, the things she has to tell you. Your past, your fears, the things that hurt you most - she knows all of them, just as much as she knows you. And to see you hurt the way you do hurts her in turn, so, so very much. She can’t do anything if you don’t want her to - she won’t do anything if you don’t want her to - but she wants, more than anything, to help you through it.
Well? Will you take the devil’s hand?
You know the devil. How could you not? You are the devil.
What starts as an awareness turns into an itch, and then a need. There’s a new you, the real you, hidden beneath flesh and meat and hair. The devil’s shown you how to get there, her words understanding and kind, but in the end she’s just a voice on the radio - watching and supporting you from a distance.
No, this last step is up to you.
Maybe the changes come easily. Maybe you let go of your old body without fear, bloodless flesh peeling away like a hardboiled egg to make room for the new. But for others, that last step is the hardest one to make, flaying and ripping through meat and bone until you’re messily freed from your body’s prison. For some, it may be too much to do without help. Not that anyone would judge you for that - after all, all the other devils have been through this too.
To anyone who’s chosen to remain a human, all of this might seem - well, terrifying. The speakers are shrieking static, and the people around you are changing - warping, twisting, carving out a new self in a very literal sense.
But for all the new devils, none of that really matters. There’s a song playing through the speakers, wordless and indescribable. And oh, is it beautiful.
Whether out of kindness or necessity, the devil only speaks where her voice reaches: public areas, like the mess hall, and the empty corridors of the station. For those who have refused her gift, the static stays confined to these places as well, and one could very well hide away from it all in their room - assuming they didn’t need to come out for food.
However, there is one place hidden away from it all. The chapel on deck one appears impervious to the devil’s voice, and just stepping inside will stop the static (or the song, for those devils that are curious enough to enter) altogether. Nothing has visibly changed inside the chapel, but any humans who enter will find the place… reassuring. Soothing, even. Almost forcibly so.
Then again, it might just be the sudden lack of white noise helping things out. Who knows?
Devils who pass by the area will feel strongly uneasy, beginning a long ways away from the doors and intensifying the closer they get. If they manage to go inside - whether through exploration or getting dragged in - this uneasiness will transfer into outright dread and a physical burning sensation, escalating in intensity as long as they stay inside. Steer clear, if you can!
It takes a few days for the oddities to begin. At first, they’re nothing special - a trick of the light here, a whispered voice there. But over time, the station grows more and more offputting. Doors begin to lead to the wrong rooms; hallways bend and turn at impossible angles, distances shrinking and expanding without warning; the flickering fluorescent lights invert, shining darkness down on a corridor of pure light. These strange phenomena die out almost as soon as they arrive, usually within a few minutes…
...but sometimes that’s all it takes for something to go horribly wrong. A single shattering glass, a single drop in pressure is all it takes for disaster to strike - so it’s up to you to be careful. Humans, watch your steps carefully. Travel in groups if you need to. And devils, remember: you used to be just like them. Be sure to help any you see in distress, and be sure not to give them too much trouble.
Or do. It’s not like they can stop you.
Maybe you’ve ignored the voice whispering to you. Maybe you’ve asked for more time. Or maybe you’ve even cast the devil aside, focusing all you had on remaining yourself until only static made it through into your head. Regardless of your choices, though, the station continues to bend and change by the will of some unseen force.
And it’s during one of these changes that everything goes wrong. There is a sudden crash, a sound like a cast-iron phonebook being ripped down the center, and the world around you changes. The corridors rapidly depressurize; glass shatters; the metal floorings and walls are torn apart, and you are flung at terminal velocity towards a crack that should not exist. Maybe someone grabs your hand, holds you until the station rights itself. Maybe someone else is already inside, falling for what seems like an eternity with no way out.
Or maybe the devil’s voice cuts in one last time through the static or the song, loud and distressed, with three words:
Grab my hand!
Those who accept her offer, regardless of how they do so, will find their changes circumstantial and incomplete at best: a set of sticky tentacles to grab onto the walls, or an air sac to give them time without breathing, or spongy growths to absorb the eventual impact. These are not revelations of their inner selves, after all; they are mutations meant to help them survive one single catastrophic event. When they finally make it out, anyone who rebuked the devil will still hear static, and anyone on the fence can still make a choice to join her fully. These changes are like any other changes during the event, and can either fade away or stay after the event (up to player discretion).
This was a gift, no strings attached. Hopefully it’s one you won’t regret.
» WHEN? First half of October
» WHERE? all over Reverie Terminal
» WHAT? the devil’s in the radio
» WARNINGS? body horror, psychological horror
0 0 1 » THE DEVIL SPEAKS
The devil’s voice is sweet and smoky, sharp and sultry all at once. It sounds like honey warmed over a charcoal grill; it tastes like a singer in a shadowy bar, thinking of you and only you. And it has a presence of its own: very real, and very tangible. It slides down from the speakers to the walls, permeating the station all the way down to its inhabitants. When she speaks again, it is softly into your ear.
And oh, the things she has to tell you. Your past, your fears, the things that hurt you most - she knows all of them, just as much as she knows you. And to see you hurt the way you do hurts her in turn, so, so very much. She can’t do anything if you don’t want her to - she won’t do anything if you don’t want her to - but she wants, more than anything, to help you through it.
Well? Will you take the devil’s hand?
( ♪ )
0 0 1 . 1 » SHEDDING SKIN
You know the devil. How could you not? You are the devil.
What starts as an awareness turns into an itch, and then a need. There’s a new you, the real you, hidden beneath flesh and meat and hair. The devil’s shown you how to get there, her words understanding and kind, but in the end she’s just a voice on the radio - watching and supporting you from a distance.
No, this last step is up to you.
Maybe the changes come easily. Maybe you let go of your old body without fear, bloodless flesh peeling away like a hardboiled egg to make room for the new. But for others, that last step is the hardest one to make, flaying and ripping through meat and bone until you’re messily freed from your body’s prison. For some, it may be too much to do without help. Not that anyone would judge you for that - after all, all the other devils have been through this too.
To anyone who’s chosen to remain a human, all of this might seem - well, terrifying. The speakers are shrieking static, and the people around you are changing - warping, twisting, carving out a new self in a very literal sense.
But for all the new devils, none of that really matters. There’s a song playing through the speakers, wordless and indescribable. And oh, is it beautiful.
( ♪ )
0 0 2 » A PLACE OF WORSHIP
Whether out of kindness or necessity, the devil only speaks where her voice reaches: public areas, like the mess hall, and the empty corridors of the station. For those who have refused her gift, the static stays confined to these places as well, and one could very well hide away from it all in their room - assuming they didn’t need to come out for food.
However, there is one place hidden away from it all. The chapel on deck one appears impervious to the devil’s voice, and just stepping inside will stop the static (or the song, for those devils that are curious enough to enter) altogether. Nothing has visibly changed inside the chapel, but any humans who enter will find the place… reassuring. Soothing, even. Almost forcibly so.
Then again, it might just be the sudden lack of white noise helping things out. Who knows?
Devils who pass by the area will feel strongly uneasy, beginning a long ways away from the doors and intensifying the closer they get. If they manage to go inside - whether through exploration or getting dragged in - this uneasiness will transfer into outright dread and a physical burning sensation, escalating in intensity as long as they stay inside. Steer clear, if you can!
( ♪ )
0 0 3 » HELL AND HOME
It takes a few days for the oddities to begin. At first, they’re nothing special - a trick of the light here, a whispered voice there. But over time, the station grows more and more offputting. Doors begin to lead to the wrong rooms; hallways bend and turn at impossible angles, distances shrinking and expanding without warning; the flickering fluorescent lights invert, shining darkness down on a corridor of pure light. These strange phenomena die out almost as soon as they arrive, usually within a few minutes…
...but sometimes that’s all it takes for something to go horribly wrong. A single shattering glass, a single drop in pressure is all it takes for disaster to strike - so it’s up to you to be careful. Humans, watch your steps carefully. Travel in groups if you need to. And devils, remember: you used to be just like them. Be sure to help any you see in distress, and be sure not to give them too much trouble.
Or do. It’s not like they can stop you.
( ♪ )
0 0 3 . 1 » A PACT OF NECESSITY
Maybe you’ve ignored the voice whispering to you. Maybe you’ve asked for more time. Or maybe you’ve even cast the devil aside, focusing all you had on remaining yourself until only static made it through into your head. Regardless of your choices, though, the station continues to bend and change by the will of some unseen force.
And it’s during one of these changes that everything goes wrong. There is a sudden crash, a sound like a cast-iron phonebook being ripped down the center, and the world around you changes. The corridors rapidly depressurize; glass shatters; the metal floorings and walls are torn apart, and you are flung at terminal velocity towards a crack that should not exist. Maybe someone grabs your hand, holds you until the station rights itself. Maybe someone else is already inside, falling for what seems like an eternity with no way out.
Or maybe the devil’s voice cuts in one last time through the static or the song, loud and distressed, with three words:
Those who accept her offer, regardless of how they do so, will find their changes circumstantial and incomplete at best: a set of sticky tentacles to grab onto the walls, or an air sac to give them time without breathing, or spongy growths to absorb the eventual impact. These are not revelations of their inner selves, after all; they are mutations meant to help them survive one single catastrophic event. When they finally make it out, anyone who rebuked the devil will still hear static, and anyone on the fence can still make a choice to join her fully. These changes are like any other changes during the event, and can either fade away or stay after the event (up to player discretion).
This was a gift, no strings attached. Hopefully it’s one you won’t regret.
( ♪ )
no subject
Moot, now. Not regretted, but past, because the tension between feeling and being and being perceived is just gone. And she's still no habitual hugger, but she doesn't think much of a scattered few of her aspects settling a little more firmly over Jun's shoulders, heavy enough to be felt and light enough to not burden, more a contact of the spirit than of any analogue to the hand. Like eye contact - presence, recognition, communication.
The rest find their places elsewhere all around and fall still but for their wings idly pumping, like a heartbeat.]
There's always a difference, [she says, and it's just part of her saying it, but drawing a line between the parts that are and the parts that aren't would be impossible. It's an idle thought, not a wholehearted announcement.] Everyone lives in their own world, and everyone's exceptional in that world of their own. So it takes a shock to treat yourself the way you'd treat someone else.
no subject
[He does feel reassured, and saying that wasn't Jun blaming himself. Not now, anyway. It was just the truth. He had been pragmatic to the point of sacrificing others, he'd been vengeful, angry, and had lashed out at everyone around him. But while he knows that was wrong, he knows the onus isn't only on him. There will be a rough transition period where he's not sure exactly how much responsibility to take, but right now he's just so relieved to get some of the weight off of him.]
You know, butterflies...
There was a man who wore a butterfly mask that I used to know. He and a wicked creature had made a bet, and they'd used me as a pawn. They'd been able to use me as a tool to destroy the world.
[He sighed. Jun was still sorry of course, for what he HAD done, but this wicked game... He'd been a victim too, right?]
no subject
There's nothing to be sorry for, so Erika doesn't apologize. The weight mounts, then lifts. Sympathetic frustration, protectiveness, acknowledgement. Agitation rippling across the swarm, then abating.]
Before here, I was sick. My life was hanging over my brother's head, so I made myself suffer to atone for hurting him.
[More blunt than she's ever put it. More honest than she's ever admitted to herself, as much as she's wanted to protect Ryuji, even in his absence. Butterflies move from Jun's shoulders to atop his head, pressing closer, begging understanding.]
And when I died, I let something loose that tried to - something in my head made it do something terrible. It didn't understand. [The essence of a deep and quiet sigh.] Someone, or circumstance - or whatever it is - we're here now. Still having to choose to live. Whether it was someone, or just circumstance, or even if your intentions changed.
[#TeamAkechi, incidentally.....]
Right? If it were someone else, wouldn't that make sense?
no subject
He did understand. The need to atone for something you'd done, even if it was because someone else put you up to it.]
I... yeah. I guess it does make sense. I would never blame someone for something that someone else did to them. Something beyond their control.
[And in the vein, then he shouldn't blame himself for the same things, right? He would have never blamed Tatsuya, if he had been manipulated by Nyarlathotep and had become the one to end the world.]
I had hoped selfishly that I would remember, when I gave up my memories to make the new world. But can I really be blamed for being selfish? I just wanted to remember. My friends, their dreams, the things we'd gone through.
They had accepted me before... I think they'd still forgive me now.
no subject
I don't think anyone's capable of not wanting to remember. Memory is the foundation of who you are. If you forget what you've been through, and you forget that you've forgotten, you become a different person.
[Which is to say: it's forgiven, for whatever it's worth here and now.
The swarm piles on like a dense, living scarf. Legs sensation kept to minimum, thank god. They're only symbolic butterflies at the moment.]
Kurosu. [Something just kind of occurs to her, in conjunction with all this heart-spilling.] Are you trying to go home? I mean, ultimately.
no subject
It's comforting.
He is silent for a moment after the swarm of butterflies asks him that question.]
No. [It's an easy answer.] I don't have anywhere to go back to. If I went back to the new timeline we made, I'll forget. If I go back to the old world, everyone will be dead.
I don't even miss it, really. I just miss going outside. And flowers. I really love flowers.
no subject
Well.
Erika has another new brother now!]
There's more of us. Wherever we end up, we're going together. You too, if you want.
no subject
[He smiles at that, nodding. He's sure Tatsuya would go, even if he didn't accept the devil.]
He's the only part of the world that means anything to me. I don't have anything to go back to, and nothing to look forward to except... him.
no subject
[THAT'S JUST HOW THINGS ARE NOW...
The butterflies on his shoulders punctuate the declaration with a sudden flurry of activity, legs re-finding purchase and antennae swiveling.]