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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.
( ♪ )
[c]ustom
The stars are so far and so close. It's easy to imagine flying out to join them, unmooring from any semblance of familiarity and doubling until her infinity races to the edge of the universe.
But she doesn't. Been there. Done that. It was a bit traumatizing. Erika prefers staying close to the texture of solid surfaces, where everything is forced to be something, like liquid taking the shape of its container.
She simultaneously needs to breathe and doesn't, and a single butterfly resting in Venus' hair satisfies the former condition (and solves the problem of audibility). It also satisfies Erika's appreciation for close physical contact, newfound in its details. It doesn't hurt to be apart, but it's a delight to be together. She insists on it with a restless kind of stubbornness, an indignation at the mere idea of Venus' loneliness.]
Hmm.
[The rest of her moves across the station hull, occasionally arcing up to Venus' wings or arms or shoulders for balance, staying clear of her feet to avoid accidents. She pauses now, and takes human form - something faintly uncanny, faintly aliased around the edges, a memory of an avatar that shouldn't need air or gravity to exist. It floats a little, anchored by its hand on the inner elbow of Venus' wing, and cranes its neck to see the shell of distant stars wrapping around every horizon.]
why... did this notif vanish. what are you doing thunderbird
[ it's strange and not strange, talking to erika like this. it's easy enough to see her on the outside of the helmet, but it's just as easy to feel that presence on her head - light enough to be a butterfly, heavy enough to be a young woman holding her. it's soothing, and it's nice, and - well. it makes talking easier? ]
What's up? [ she reaches out with one ungloved hand, waiting for more of erika to alight across her fingers. it's still strange, standing out here without even the top of the jumpsuit on, but the warmth emanating off her is more than enough to keep the chill away. ]
bird things....
I want to know what's out there. [An undercurrent murmur of simultaneous truths follows. I want to take you with me. I want to keep everyone together. I want I want I want somehow something somewhere it could be so nice...] Not enough to just...leave, obviously. I probably couldn't even if it was enough...?
[H m m.
Weird physics.]
It's kind of funny. Back on Earth, the whole planet is mapped out. If you want to go somewhere nobody else has ever been, there's either space or the deep sea. And not just anyone can do either. So we make up places for all those billions of people to explore instead, with fantasy, or the internet...
...But here we are. In space. Without even trying.
[Right? Isn't that funny?]