interstellar5555 | LOOKING FOR SOMEONE

Entry tags:

LOOKING FOR SOMEONE

Who: Garnet, Koumei, Molly, Pinkie, Greg, and Jamie
What: Where Are They Now? The Scoobies Come Together!
When: February 19th
Where: A club booth/Lesedi and Edward's offices later
Warnings: The characters in this log will be getting in trouble with the labels, so brainwashing, injuries and torture, implied or otherwise, is very likely.

It started with a simple text that evening. Well, no, that was wrong. It started with a knock on the door that morning.

Garnet had wanted to check on Nariko, on all of her bandmates. All that responded to her was silence. She kicked open the door, and was met with nothing. As if the bedsheets had never been used, or the bed even slept in at all.

Nariko - the girl she saw as a daughter, their lead singer - gone. For hours she sat on that bed, her hands over her face. Once the tears dried, however, she balled her fists and stormed out of the penthouse. She wound up here, at this club, typing on her cell phone, a grim expression set on her face.

Pinkie, Koumei and Greg. If others were at the club, and wanted to join in, fine. She didn't think there would be others, though.

P3nn Station. 8pm. I'll pay.

Its a sophisticated little place, a jazz club with a good clientele, a good waitstaff - and a good chance they will be left alone for the most part. She might be asked to perform. Otherwise, though, the guards could have their own drinks, and she would be able to talk freely with those who came.

If they came. As time ticked away, she knew her idea was contingent upon people arriving, much less be amenable to it. If this didn't work out, well - this was a nice club. She could come here again in the future.

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Greg will easily make it to the door down to the basement - somehow, he just knows what he's doing. There are no guards near when he approaches, the musical energies rapidly building inside of him. The door is locked, but he'll feel like he should be able to do something about that.

The question is, what? What do you do when anything is possible?

After a couple jiggles of the handle just to be sure, Greg pulls back, tapping his chin. Busting it down could work, maybe, but it lacks style. If this is going to work, he needs to make it interesting. He glaces around, and catches sight of a large potted plant. A thought comes to his mind-- she's surrounded by moss, crawling and oozing its way across the ground, surging as though alive out of the swamp--

"'Cause we have all the tools that we require,
Who needs keys when you've got briars..."

Creepers reach out from the unassuming little pot, snaking their way into the cracks in the door to pry it open with magic-aided leverage. Greg's starting to pant from the exertion--he's never even thought about pulling off something like this before, but if that woman could do it, surely he can make it happen.

"Trust your roots and you'll get by,
NO FEAR!"

The roots from the plant swell to a size that they break free of the pot holding them, the vines causing the door to groan with the force of their entanglement. It doesn't take long to work, and it's all perfectly aligned with the song. The door is forced open at just the right moment, allowing Greg access to the darkness of the spooky basement floor.

Stretches of empty dark hallways lead past a number of locked doors, as well as the massive gateway entrance to the labs. But what will he choose?

The effort's winded him, but this victory makes it worth it. He'd like to believe that the hard part is behind him, but he does have a crushed door in his wake. He grabs up the vines, letting them curl around his arm as he rushes to the lower levels.

"A moment spent idle
could end up suicidal
I'll be a sitting duck,
No fear..."

It's hard to figure out where to go, but he can't spend time hesitating. The looming and eerie atmosphere of the labs seem promising for looming and eerie questions, but he's been there before--a lot of them have. If people like Luce and the Doctor couldn't get information out of those computers, he's sure not going to find anything. He's going to need to check somewhere else.

"No chance to redo this,
Who knows if I'll live through this?
I'll have to push my luck,
No fear!"

The vines are set loose again. Hopefully these doors aren't quite as tricky, because he seriously doubts he can pull this too many more times.

"I'm counting on my green thumb's
Powerful premiere...."

The door tears open, just like the other one, right with the beat. What it leads to is a faintly lit room with a structure in the middle that faintly resembles an MRI machine.

Except things seem wrong. The scanning bed is built to restrain rather than just to carry - clearly built for the possibility of unwilling subject. On the wall closest to the door there is a computer, as well as a series of files that have been left beside the keyboard. On the wall, there are a series of strange looking tools holstered into their appointed position.

The light from the machine is still active - maybe not purely electrical? There is a faint sense of musical energy radiating from it, even now.

This sure looks promising--either he'd lucked out on a good room, or they just have his much shady stuff around here. It feels like he can trust whatever force leading this whole sequence brought him to the right place.

"Let's go now, bro;
One chance, one choice,
No fear!"

The machine seems pretty darn central to it all, complete with the aura of musical energy seeping out. Still, Greg doesn't think he has the time to figure out hw it works. The tools, similarly, are a mystery. He'll go for what he knows he can read, first--the files by the computer.

He grabs the folders and starts flipping through them. It doesn't take long to figure out what they're about. Each folder represents a band, with each page within representing a band member. The information is printed on a thick, transparent plastic that seems very fresh and unworn. Each musician is colour coded according to some kind of chart, and there are several categories listed on the page, though at first glance there is no information listed - just a blank expanse of clear plastic.

Each profile has a photo at its top left side of the musician in question, which isn't odd. What is odd, however, is that the pictures look to have been taken while they were unconscious, and shirtless, and - by all indications - laying on the scanning bet a few feet behind him. The stats listed are as follows:

Subject:
Skills:
Spectrum:
Potential:
Disposition:
Status:

It looks like there is probably more information to be found, but the dim lighting makes it difficult. Right now, the Spectrum Colour is the only feature on each profile that is immediately obvious.

Greg has two options: he can spend more time trying to make out the contents of the folders. If he chooses to do this, please select the 5 musicians whose profiles he will check first. Otherwise, he can change his focus to another item or feature of the room, leaving the folders be for the moment.

What does he do?

Edited 2016-02-23 23:55 (UTC)

This is definitely creepy, and he's already lost on what the colors could possibly mean. This isn't the information he came in looking for; beyond Kokoro, none of his missing bandmates are listed. Whatever happened to them, this isn't the place to look.

Still, he doesn't know if that information is anywhere in this room, anyway, and this is clearly something. They wouldn't have all these fancy, creepy forms lined up and not fill anything out, would they?

"No fear...!"

He pulls out a few pages to look over more closely: Sans, Luce, (The?) Doctor, Lenneth Valkyrie (oh god that's a bad sign), and, naturally, Greg Universe.

He focuses on a few sheets in particular and looks for more information. Upon a brief search, he'll find a coded strip towards the bottom of each sheet that, when touched, fills in the empty places on the profile with information in the form of glowing letters. When each statistic is touched, more information is displayed at the base of the page. This is the information he'll glean from the first five profiles:

Subject: Sans
Base species is a magical humanoid described as a "skeleton monster." Major reconstruction has been required for function. Soul observed as structural but brittle, with a natural aptitude for magic.

Skills: Varied
Trombone, strings, keyboard, digital, song writing, minor vocals

Spectrum: Rust Spectrum
Melancholic, violent, etheric

Potential: Low
Natural tendencies towards apathy and sloth results in lack of ambition and poor work ethic. Overall lack of passion has proven detrimental to production.

Disposition: Controlled
Frequently displays displeasure with activities but makes no attempts to cause disruption.

Status: Disposable
To be considered for Conversion in the event of Rust Spectrum vacancy. This subject is neither considered a risk nor a valuable asset.

Subject: Luce
Base species is human standard with exceptional qualities. Only minor dampening required. Soul displays advanced energy capabilities, including projection from body.

Skills: Focused, Vocal
Electric bass, standing bass, piano, song writing, vocals

Spectrum: Aqua Spectrum
Compassionate, harmonic, stable

Potential: High Risk
Natural skill and potency is overridden by tendency toward obstinacy. Recent actions have resulted in a significant downgrading of potential.

Disposition: Rebellious
Has staged open rebellion and disloyalty against Virgo. The end results of reconditioning have yet to be observed.

Status: Under Review: Conversion
High priority subject for Conversion in the event of Aqua Spectrum vacancy.

Subject: The Doctor
Appearance of human standard with advanced biological capabilities. Moderate reconstruction required for functioning. Soul has proven to be enduring under stress.

Skills: Varied, Vocal
Cello, accordion, piano, electric guitar, harp, song writing, vocals

Spectrum: Chartreuse Spectrum
Compassionate, melancholic, vibrant

Potential: Moderate
The early levels of magical development have been observed. Subject should be encouraged along this path.

Disposition: Cooperative
Behaviour occasionally causes suspicion, but is otherwise unremarkable. Has shown a commitment towards fiscal success and has been rewarded accordingly.

Status: Reliable
Last resort for Conversion in the event of Chartreuse vacancy.

Subject: Lenneth Valkyrie
Humanoid etheric deity. Major dampening required for function. Soul displays advanced versatility and stability.

Skills: Focused
Keyboard

Spectrum: Teal Spectrum
Vibrant, stable, etheric

Potential: High Risk
Natural skill and potency is overridden by deviance. Recent actions have resulted in a significant downgrading of potential.

Disposition: Rebellious
Has staged open rebellion and disloyalty against Virgo. The end results of reconditioning have yet to be observed.

Status: Under Review: Conversion
High priority subject for Conversion in the event of Teal Spectrum vacancy. Consideration to be made for subject "Greg Universe" given a close bond.

Subject: Greg Universe
Human standard. Age reversal provided for functional purposes only. Soul displays distinct musical aptitude even without modification.

Skills: Varied, Vocal
Guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, technical, song writing, vocals.

Spectrum: Gold Spectrum
Harmonic, compassionate, melancholic

Potential: High
High level magical capabilities have been observed. Keep under close watch.

Disposition: Cooperative
Displays little tendency towards disruption even when heavily provoked. Easily intimidated.

Status: Uplifted
Under no circumstance should this subject be reviewed for Conversion.

Having read this information, will Greg begin searching further profiles, or will he turn his attention elsewhere?

His mouth has gone dry by the time he's gotten to Luce's details. By "Lenneth's", his hands are shaking. His own brings a numbness over everything.

He doesn't need to understand it all. The implications are clear. He hastily shoves the sheets back in the folders, but hangs on to his own. Reading more will make him feel worse. How is he supposed to tell everyone--to warn them? What's "Conversion," and how can he stop it?

"...No fear... "

The words have lost their certainty.

He turns to the computer by the files. It's got to have more.

Messing around with the computer will eventually get it booting up, but once it has fully active there is password being requested in order to enter the profile "/freqanalysis1".

It is in this moment, perhaps while Greg makes a hopeless attempt at guessing a password, or as he merely stares in desperation, that he will hear a voice behind him.

"Mr Universe."

It's Blanche. The shivering remains of Greg's song seem to be blown away by his mere presence - there was never a chance to hear him come in. He's just standing there, in his usual suit and tie, with an expression that isn't angry, but almost faintly...amused.

Everything seems to go very cold, suddenly. Without the melody that's guided Greg this far everything is caught in a deafening silence, save for the thump as the magically enhanced vines fall off of Greg's shoulder into a lifeless heap of vegetation.

Greg feels sick. He's pretty sure he's about to die, or wish he were dead. God, he's so stupid. Why didn't he get out of here when he had the chance? Why did he come down here in the first place? He knew this would happen. What was he thinking?

Easily intimidated.

Shaking, Greg turns to face Edward Blanche. The faint humor in the man's face only makes him feel worse. This is all just a game to him, after all.

And suddenly, they are somewhere else.

The teleportation is quieter than the ones Greg has seen from Blanche in the past - ones made in haste, perhaps. This one is leisurely and in control, as if Greg's actions have come as no surprise. They've arrived in a traditional looking penthouse office, filled with comfortable looking leather seats and an excellent view of Vista City's skyline.

"You've come much further than anticipated," he says, without missing a beat. "Impressive showing."

Edited 2016-02-24 07:09 (UTC)

He jerks with the abrupt shift, eyes darting around to take in the new setting. This sure isn't the torture chamber he thought he might be seeing, but it's early yet; if anything, this is a pretty solid reminder for how he's completely at Blanche's mercy.

"Uh... th-thanks..." It spills out of him before he can even think about it, leaving Greg feeling even more foolish, if possible. "I uh, I mean..."

Though still shaking like a leaf, Greg does his best to stand straight. "I was--I was looking for what, what you've done to my friends." It's very hard to sound serious when your voice keeps cracking. "I know they haven't... haven't just been fired."

"That would be a point of confusion, wouldn't it?" Blanche says. Nothing is nothing friendly about his tone, but it's light and unoffended. None of Greg's revelations seem to surprise him, which may be comforting, or quite the opposite.

"You know," he says, moving towards the bar and getting himself a glass, "This isn't a problem we're accustomed to facing until years down the line. Your generation has truly, how to say...broken the mold. In more ways than just one."

And Blanche completely ignores Greg's question. Admittedly, Greg shouldn't have expected any different. His teeth grit.

"With all due respect, sir, if you're going to avoid my point, don't dance around yours." Greg doesn't care about the blase pseudo-flattery or casual dismissal of his efforts. The point has been made already, and the suspense is killing him, at least as much as what's coming after.

Not completely - not quite. Close enough, though. He looks up from what he's doing for just a moment.

"With all due respect, Mr Universe...you are in no place to be making demands." He starts pouring himself something that doesn't actually look like liquor, that possesses a strange iridescent sheen. Like something made of liquid metal. "Why don't you tell me about what you found? That seems as good of a place to start as any. I presume you saw the roster. Tell me, what did you think?"

Edited 2016-02-24 07:41 (UTC)

It had been a fairly futile attempt at reclaiming even the smallest bit of control. His grip around his profile page tenses. Everything, from the very start, has been a lie, and he wishes someone would give him clear answers for once.

Greg swallows hard. "I think it's... it's pretty darn crazy. S-sir." He glances down at the page, at his unconscious picture. What did he used to look like? "That anyone would go through all this trouble for some Top 40 hits."

"That doesn't begin to cover it," Blanche says, pouring a second glass. "Would you earnestly call what you just experience simply a 'Top 40 hit?'"

Greg winces, eyeing that second glass. Please let Blanche just be really thirsty, he does not want whatever creepy magic poison is in that drink. "I don't know what I'd call it, sir."

"You can read between the lines, can't you, Greg?" he says, topping off the second glass and leisurely putting the bottle away. "Given the depths of your security breech, I'm sure you've found some answers for yourself. This is your opportunity to spell them out to me - to make sure we're on the same page, of course."

It feels like a lifetime since Greg was first called in for that supposed psyche evaluation. He'd so easily shrugged off the questions, met them with casual discussion and genuine enthusiasm for his work. It had gotten them to leave him alone before. Is there any chance of playing dumb again?

The urge to spill everything is already pulling at his tongue. He's already in a world of trouble--if he talks about himself, he won't have to risk spilling anything about his friends.

"You--you messed with my head." His palms are sweating around the plastic file. "You made... made me forget who I was, so..." His face screws up. The energy he's been using, been feeling from others, that radiates off Blanche in waves. "S-so you can do things like... whatever that was."

"Mm," Blanche agrees wordlessly, lifting up the two glasses. "Take a seat."

Suddenly, they have changed positions again. Greg has been moved to just in front of one of the sofas, and Blanche is sitting across the coffee table from him. He passes over the glass of shimmering liquid.

"Drink this," he says.

Ohhhhh that's disorienting. Again, Greg glances around. It doesn't matter where the nearest exit is, after all. Blanche will keep him where he wants him. Greg sits, his posture curling away. He makes no move to take the glass.

"What... is it?"

"A mercy," he says, setting the glass down in front of him. He sits back, cradling his own glass. "Drink it."

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