LOOKING FOR SOMEONE

[twoscompany]

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.

Comments

[panspermia]

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.

[interstellarnpcs]

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."

[panspermia]

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."

[interstellarnpcs]

"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."

[panspermia]

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.

[interstellarnpcs]

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?"

[panspermia]

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."

[interstellarnpcs]

"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?'"

[panspermia]

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."

[interstellarnpcs]

"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."

[panspermia]

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."

[interstellarnpcs]

"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.

[panspermia]

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?"

[interstellarnpcs]

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

[panspermia]

He doesn't want to. He really, really doesn't want to. But Blanche is watching. Blanche is telling him to do it, waiting for him to get on with it. He can't keep him waiting. One shaking hand picks up the glass, though he can't bring himself to spill any. Still, Greg stops, looking between the drink and his boss.

"N...not before the host... sir."

[interstellarnpcs]

Blanche's lips twitch with amusement. He raises his own glass in a silent 'cheers', and then takes a measured drink of the solution. His reaction is minimal, like a seasoned drinker knocking back a shot of whiskey.

It looks like fancy nail polish.

[panspermia]

W-well. That's it, then, isn't it? He has to. Obviously. He can't... he can't keep Blanche waiting. He can't throw it on the ground smash it runawayasfastashecan because that--that would be--that would be wasteful. And rude. So he has to.

Cringing, Greg brings the glass to his lips, and drinks.

[interstellarnpcs]

The nail polish comparison fits the consistency as well, the liquid running more like a syrup than a liquor. The initial impression of taste is very faintly like that of sweet and sour sauce mixed with raw electricity. The feeling of warmth is immediate, a radiant energy seeming to spread from the moment it touches flesh and extending all the way down to his stomach.

Then, it just tastes like way too much. It's not clear what it is, but there is way too much of it. It's overwhelming, overpowering, to the point of ache - a thick knot of anxiety, longing, pleasure, and fulfillment that takes root deep in his chest. It feels like words in his mouth that aren't his.

Blanche watches him careful, obviously curious and entertained.

[panspermia]

Greg gives a restrained grunt as the thick of it hits him. It's uncomfortable, unnatural, frightening, yet undeniably an undercurrent of pleasure runs underneath. His other hand pulls at his shirt, confusion and frustration mingling in over whatever it is he just put in his body. The sensations and emotions all get tangled up in one another, impossible to discern which are his.

"Wh...?"

[interstellarnpcs]

Though it hurts, the rush is empowering. The first moments of it are blinding in their intensity, and though the sensations linger, that initial high is short lived. Even so, his emotions remain lost within the flood. It leaves him light headed.

It leaves him craving more - for that moment when every powerful feeling of life seemed to flow through him at once.

Blanche takes another sip and then smiles, still watching carefully.

"What do you think?"

[panspermia]

Greg has been a very powerless man for his whole life. In this one, and in the one he's forgotten, he's sure. His memories tell of being near people with power, awed by them, but never equal to them. Here, even with all the fame and fortune he could dream of, the whole of it has been blatantly out of his control. That feeling... it's something foreign, something alien, something unbelievable.

Breathing uneven through clenched teeth, Greg eyes Blanche.

"Wh... why... are you giving me this...?"

[interstellarnpcs]

"To show you what you'll be depriving yourself of if you carry on down this path. You have the beginnings of something extraordinary - something that separates you from the herd."

Something glints from within Blanche's eyes.

"Something that can benefit those around you if you work with us instead of against us."

[panspermia]

Greg's trying to steady his breathing, but it's hard. It feels like he's too big for his body, like there's something locked away inside him, if he could just feel it again, just let it out--

"You--you hurt everyone. All of them, you--you made Naomi..."

He hasn't forgotten. He can't forget. The confusion and fear of children, the misery and helplessness of his friends, the desperation in Naomi's voice right before it ended. Greg could have the power to stop that, maybe... no, no, he could have the power to do that again. He can't.

[interstellarnpcs]

His expression sharpens at the mention of Naomi's name. Perhaps it's a bit of a tense area, even for him. The iridescent liquid is left to swirl in his glass.

"I didn't make Naomi do anything. She offered herself to the task willingly."

[panspermia]

He doesn't sound like he's lying. Does he ever? Greg's eyes go to the remainder of the drink in his glass. Desire and revulsion grapple with each other.

"Why?" He had to've had something on her. A bribe, a threat, a promise. Greg wants to protect people, not hurt them.