☆TRACK V: I WILL TWIST THE KNIFE PT. 2

[interdimanagers]

Who: Everyone in the last part of the log.
What: Everyone has a terrible night.
When: December 7th, 2054
Where: Naomi's ocean side mansion, followed by a secret Pride laboratory.
Warnings: Violence, blood, and at least one murder. Vague gore. NPCs being unhinged in a threatening way, though it's possible to have your character avoid ended up in the ballroom if you don't want to see this mess.

☆I WILL TWIST THE KNIFE The bubble has burst. The chaos of the night’s violence has finally boiled over into something uncontrollable – blood has been spilt, screams have been heard. No matter where you are in the mansion, you know by now that something is acutely wrong. Multiple members of Pride have been hurt – possibly killed – and you may still have no idea why. Some will try to escape. Some will try to fight back. Yet, as any rebellion starts to descend, a piercing note - a melodic cry - will summon you towards the ballroom. It can be resisted, in part - but only as far as you find yourself frozen in place instead of moving forward, at least while this spell holds. It's drawing you to the source...if you follow it, maybe you can stop it. The compulsion is strong for members of both labels. The cry seems to echo long past its termination point, to be heard wherever you are. If followed, it will bring you to Naomi Rivers in the center of the ballroom, her expression creased with strain. Though you may desperately want to strike her, something intangible is holding you back. "No!" she shouts at any Virgo nearby. "It isn't done! You need to...you need to finish this!" She'll point desperately at the nearby Pride, rendered unable to flee. "Get them now!" You don't want to. "Do it!" The compulsion weighs heavily on you - for Virgo, to act, and for Pride to surrender themselves. All subtly has disappeared. This last effort is unconcealed and nearly hysterical. You feel yourself slipping beneath the soundwaves. Power rolls off of her, the energy thick in the air, like something you can taste and smell. You can't do this. "I command-" The fabric of space-time cracks like a peal of thunder. All at once, the spell shatters.

Comments

[panspermia]

For whatever this is, they're here now. They had more than enough opportunity to hide from it--they'll have more, probably. But they've committed to this point. Go team.

"He's here."

Greg strums at the guitar, and laughs. It's a sad, small little noise.

"Y'know, ten minutes ago, I was thinking it'd be cool when you get to meet him? That you'd be funny together." He could just imagine Steven getting indignant over Sans' teasing. "Not... not so much anymore."

[exhumerus]

'Ouch,' is the first thing he thinks about that response. Having your mystery kid actually be here...well, that's gotta add a whole new level of stress to things. And here he was thinking it was more of a theoretical, back in whatever verse he was dreaming about kind of thing. Secondly, he considers that having two people that supposedly knew each other with such a close bond in this parallel world would be an excellent source for accumulating data. Maybe see how it all ties together.

But, those two thoughts leave his focus fairly quickly. Mostly because he's not really sure how to take Greg's reaction there, at the end. Maybe he's misunderstanding, but he's not really sure. What had been a searching expression - one part curious, one part concerned - goes cold.

He looks away. Despite how self deprecating he's been...he guesses there are limits.

"You know I'm not a serial killer, right?" he says after a moment, his tone much the same as usual but somehow entirely without humour. "That wasn't actually the end note of this little morality tale."

[panspermia]

"That's not what I..." No, that is sort of what he meant. One person's already tried to kill him today. Blanche threatened him, veiled but definite. And now Sans is saying he killed a kid without remorse.

"Sorry. If you can believe it, I'm feeling sort of paranoid."

How exactly should he be reacting, Sans? He sure doesn't know.

[exhumerus]

The weed sure as heck isn't making this easier for him to process rationally, but it just feels like there's...some kind of moral grey area here that should be explicit. Didn't he just say the kid killed someone in front of him?

It's complicated, and it bothers him, and it makes him feel complicated, and he doesn't want to pretend it isn't complicated, but...this isn't what he was hoping for when it came to getting this off his chest. Maybe it never will be. Just another thing he'll never be satisfied with without understanding why.

'Somewhere in there. I can feel it. There's a glimmer of a good person inside of you. The memory of someone who once wanted to do the right thing.

C'mon, buddy. Do you remember me?'

The clarity of that statement catches him off guard. When he'd recalled the event before, he feels like he'd just said something blase about friendship and for whatever reason the child had complied. But...had it been more than that?

There's so much more to all of this. He's frustrated, and he hates it.

"Greg...I didn't just stumble upon a lust for nonspecific kiddie murder in the last six hours. In what universe are people ever that simple?"

Goddamnit, either disown him or don't. He can't take this uncertainty.

[panspermia]

"Cripes, Sans, what do you want from me?" He's not angry, just tired. He might be angry, if not for the music, but he's making sure to keep the tune mellow in spite of it all.

"You're my friend. And I guess you're a murderer now? Like, jeez. Sort of a bomb to drop on a guy. Sorry for being rude, I guess."

He closes his eyes. It would feel sort of good to cry right now, he thinks, but he doesn't even have the energy for that. "I don't get it. Any of it. I don't get you, I don't get being a dad, I don't get this crap going on with our heads. I'm just not that bright. I'm just going to keep playing my guitar for a while, all right?"

[exhumerus]

Sans doesn't really have an accurate measure on how angry he is or isn't, and this whole soothing music business is seriously skewing his readings. It has generally seemed pretty easy to keep his cool, relatively speaking, which is maybe why it feels so off putting when something finally snaps and relents to the rising frustration in his gut.

He'd thought he wanted Greg to understand he wasn't a very good person, but receiving feedback that suggests he's succeeded doesn't make him feel any better either. Forgiving him outright and saying it was okay would feel stupid and cheap, while calling him a murderer...it doesn't feel fair, and it doesn't feel any better. Maybe there's no actual words that can magically give him what he wants out of this, when what he really desperately needs is for this rare plea to be understood without complication.

Maybe Greg isn't very bright, or maybe Sans is just impossible to please. As usual. Heh. What Sans absolutely doesn't have is the capacity to deal with failure when it comes to showing this shred of emotional intimacy.

He instinctively feels like this would be a really satisfying time to vanish. Not in a self hating sort of way, specifically, but like...literally to disappear without another word. Like, it would feel sort of hardboiled, you know? And that overt act of being badass and cool would mean that he wouldn't have to deal with the awkward situation that this has become emotionally.

Turning your back first makes you feel like a chump.

His knuckles crack with the pressure he's putting on his own balled fist. Sans isn't a guy that makes a habit of being angry, and now that it's happening...well, this is something that needs to be analysed, and not vented. Just say something and then go. He's silent for another lingering moment, and then:

"...Take it easy, Greg."

And then he stalks off.

[panspermia]

There was a better way for this to go, Greg's sure of it. It feels like a loss for things to end here, right now--for once, tonight, he would have liked something to go right. To come out of a conversation feeling better instead of worse. Knowing he has a friend on his side would make this mess seem... not better, but bearable. He supposes he botched that chance.

There's an opportunity, as Sans walks away, to call out again. They can keep trying, until they get it right. Greg doesn't want to be alone.

It's too much, though. He knows it. On top of everything else tonight, this is too messy to navigate. He owes Sans a clear head, a proper response, and he's just too tired to handle that right now.

"Later," he murmurs, likely too quiet for Sans to hear. They'll figure it out. Just not tonight.