☆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

[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.