[CLOSED] one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

[interstellarnpcs]

Who: Edward Blanche and Greg. And possibly also Meril.
What: Blanche is sick of Greg's shit.
When: Directly following Sans's rescue.
Where: In the Torture Lounge.
Warnings: Weird stuff. Spiritual violence. Creepy touches no doubt.

After being picked up in the laboratories downstairs, Greg will be left in the same room him and Blanche had their last pressing talk. No one else is there, and he is instructed by Juno to sit and not move until someone comes to speak with him. He is clearly in trouble.

Who is coming to talk to him hasn't been outright stated, but it can be easily assumed. Juno will impatiently state that she has a mess to go clean up and will leave him to his own devices.

A full hour will pass before anyone comes to speak with him.

Comments

[panspermia]

Greg stands still for a moment, watching his boss. The man who tortured his friends, tampered with his mind, used his son against him. Greg looks at him, and feels very old, and very tired, and very afraid.

He shrugs, sighing, and goes to sit. No point in being obtuse. "You always know what I want, boss."

[interstellarnpcs]

Blanche actually smiles, very slightly, at that remark. It is not a pleasant thing. He falls silent again for a small while, like he is thinking very deeply about what to do. He has a few options here - some he's considered in the past, given Greg's behaviour, but nothing so serious as to take action until now.

So many terrible fates could befall Greg after this moment. The idea that another being's life is so thoroughly and inescapably under his control is a totally standard experience, to Blanche's mind.

Softly, the piano starts to play, seemingly of its own accord. Yet, in reality, every inch of this is Edward Blanche's music, and the sheet thickness of its power is tangible in the air, seeming to hold Greg in place.

"I apologize if this is crude," he comments. "I usually take the whole thing."

[panspermia]

Even if he's not entirely certain what Blanche is alluding to, Greg can feel the magic in the room--thick, heavy, and drowning. He could choke on it. He sucks in a breath instead, and stops holding back from trembling.

Even if it's futile, even if it's worthless, even if it's cowardly, Greg can't stop himself. "Please." There's no chance that anything could convince this madman, not a few pathetic pleas, but he has to try. "You don't have to do this."

[interstellarnpcs]

Blanche doesn't respond to him. Instead, he seems to be focusing on the music - its chilling melody filling them both. Every part of it is under his control, like an extension of Blanche's body. It seeps into Greg's mind insidiously, dragging him down into a trance as the nebulae plucks the chords of his soul.

He even moves his fingers slightly, a physical action mirroring the metaphysical aspects of his magic. As he does, a faint smokey aura of darkness and light seems to bleed from his flesh, filling the air between them in the ghostly visage of the human hand it was only a moment before.

The taloned wisps of starlight dig deep into Greg's chest, leaving flesh unharmed but clenching tightly around his spirit. It's just a matter of finding the right parts, from here. Blanche closes his eyes, and seeks out the parts of his soul most filled with love and gathers them between his claws.

[panspermia]

The begging trails off and remains forgotten as the music rises up and washes over him. Greg sinks down into the melody, into the blackness of space, into the void where no one can hear him scream, but everyone can hear the music.

Distantly, Greg knows this isn't right. This isn't what he wants, something awful is happening to him. The melody continues, unperturbed by this knowledge. What do things like right and wrong matter, in the face of something eternal and ageless? What good will desire or knowledge do for him when all this is, with or without his awareness?

There's nothing between stars. Nothing warm, or loving, or gentle. Only space, music, and Mr. Universe. And if he isn't the one playing the music, then it must be playing him.

His will is lost against the inexorable vacuum of space, sucked out as inevitably as air.

Outside of the void, Mr. Universe's body shudders, whimpers, tries to breathe.

[interstellarnpcs]

The moment that Greg feels the weight of Blanche's true form is shorter than it feels. The fragments of soul he seeks are pulled from the being they belong to and are gathered in his dark palm. Deep space and void clasp everything that Greg is for one suffocating moment.

The next, those starlight talons are pulling back, something glowing in shades of purest gold clenched within their grasp. The darkness envelops the light and crushes it with pressure, like the earth pressing coal into diamonds.

When Blanche has returned to his human shape, there is a glowing crystal the size of an egg floating inches above his palm. Within it, there is a golden light blazing in the shape of a star.

[panspermia]

Though clocks would tell you that the time elapsed had been short, it may as well have been a lifetime. That's certainly how it feels as he regains his awareness of his surroundings. The shock of it disorients him, and he needs to quickly piece together everything to get his bearings back.

Strangely, though he can remember everything he had done up to this point, Mr. Universe cannot for the life of him comprehend why he'd done any of it.

Standing dazed and vacant, Mr. Universe stares at the shining remnant of his soul before him. Very slowly, a hand reaches out for it--not out of possessiveness, or desire. The action is closer to a moth drawn to a flame, or perhaps an infant drawn to its mother's voice. No understanding of what he reached for, only the impulse to come closer.

[interstellarnpcs]

Before he can get close, Blanche has already clasped his hand around the gem, pulling it away and apparently magically storing it in some kind of pocket space. Having done so, he crosses his arms in thought, looking down at the dazed musician.

This manner of vacancy won't be particularly useful, either. The music becomes loud again, and Blanche presses his hand to the side of Greg's head, putting the other over his heart. He allows his own spiritual influence to bleed into Greg's mind.

In the place of the motivation lost with that love, he plants aggression and ambition. Things this particular slave has never shown much of. A volatile combination, perhaps, but maybe volatile is what Virgo needs right now.

[panspermia]

The gem vanishes, and it leaves him feeling darker, emptier, and more lost than ever before. Without its light, there's very little of him left to see, and Mr. Universe looks up to Blanche with an expression filling quickly with confusion and terror.

Before the panic can take over, Blanche makes his next move, and the vessel flinches at his touch, but does not pull away. He's afraid, but this man is the only thing in the room that gives him any inkling of what to do: a sense of duty urges him to obey.

The influence that leaks in provides no comfort. It's cold, alien, poorly fitted. It fills in the ragged, open wounds left in his spirit and what's left tries to shrivel away from the touch, but there's not enough to resist. Mr. Universe grunts. A frustration is grows in him with each failed attempt to eject the foreign will. Irritation, annoyance. This isn't what he wants. This is his... damn it... he should...

"Stop it." His body has gone tight and tense, every muscle wound hard. But still he can't pull away.

[interstellarnpcs]

It's a while after that before Blanche is actually finished, though the rise in frustration is noted. It'll be interesting to see where that goes. As it is, Blanche is sure to see that things are as stable as can be managed when a large part of someone's soul is gone, and then slowly retracts his influence, leaving pieces inside like black tar to patch up holes.

He stands back and looks Greg over, as if appraising his own work. If Greg is at all wise, he'll know better than to take this as an excuse to continue being a pest, no matter how aggressive those transplanted feelings may be.

Blanche is still his master, after all.

"Now... I'd like to start with having you disgorge whatever other little secrets you might have been withholding from me. I can't imagine you have any reason to be secretive now, do you?"

[panspermia]

He trembleds and shakes as it goes on, the tension shifting from fear to anger. He's angry, furious that he's been put here, that he's got no choice in this. His breathing is shallow, through gritted teeth.

There's only one way for him to make sure this never happens to him again. He has to gain power. He needs to rise in the ranks, so he can make sure there's no one who can do this to him again. An inlaid hierarchy is put in place; there are those above him, and if he wants to truly gain power, he needs to follow in their footsteps. Everyone below him can get crushed.

Mr. Universe takes in Edward Blanche with cool appraisal. This man is the most powerful around. This is the one he's answering to. Plain and simple.

"Depends on what you wanna know, boss."

Greg had never considered himself knowledgable in particular, but now that he thought about it Mr. Universe had a lot of secrets at his disposal. It would be a matter of picking where to start.

[interstellarnpcs]

"Most importantly...I'd like to know about any more secret advantages or powers that your peers have developed without my knowledge. I do not wish to have a situations like Mr Esqueleto's rise again."

He literally can't afford it. This is good, though. He can feel Greg's new willingness to cooperate which is enough to put him in a slightly better mood after today's events.

[panspermia]

One eyebrow lifts, and a smirk crosses his face. He's still calling the skeleton that, huh?

"Most ones I knew about were in Flowers Over Bones, honestly." Thst ship has sailed. "But you know what Merril was before, don't you?" He shrugs, playing coy without remotely being coy. "I'd look into that."

[interstellarnpcs]

It's Sans's own fault for not having a last name. How else is he supposed to be properly formal?

At that tip, however, Blanche outright scowls. Ah. Yes. He should have known. He crosses his arms behind his back, and the air feels colder just due to his presence within it.

"I see," he says.