☆TRACK XIII: HIT THE BOTTOM PT 2

[interdimanagers]

It’s almost the very end of the Tokyo tour when it happens. There was no way for anyone to be sure when exactly Gold would strike, but at least with the information gained from Silver and their dreams, the rebels have been able to prepare and lay in wait. Despite some effort, contact with Gold has been impossible. It isn’t until Lesedi has presented herself on stage that Gold comes out of hiding. It’s a special occasion, presumably. Maybe our of arrogance, or maybe as some key feature of her plan, one of the final performances is Lesedi Santiago herself singing. The crowd loves it, irrationally so – it’s clear to anyone that knows what’s going on that by this point Lesedi could be making fart sounds into a microphone and the audience would swoon. The magic is thick, and the civilians are all but zombies in its wake. So much, so, that they don’t even seem to notice when Gold drops the entire metal lighting structure right onto the stage, on top of Santiago, mid performance. Gold rides the structure down, and metal bends and grinds, screeching as lights explode and sparks fly. It’s so brazen that even Lesedi doesn’t seem to be expecting it. That becomes all too obvious when the nebulae emerges from the wreckage, furious and literally glowing with astral energy. Her song and its momentum has been cut like a rope, and the stage has fallen down like the figurative piano. “What is this?!” she screeches, indignant beyond words but ostensibly not actually hurt. Metal shrapnel bursts into the air as Gold emerges as well, a powerful aura surging around their masked form as well. The remaining musicians that were dosed with Gold’s powder some months ago will feel a strange pull against their spirits. “You.” The word is cold, in contrast to Lesedi’s fury only a moment before. Gold only offers a theatrical shrug as they tight rope walk across twisted metal scaffolding. The crowd roars in appreciate for a performance that only they seem to understand. “This is where you swear you’re going to destroy me, right?” Gold says, with antagonizing ambivalence. “Well, here’s your chance, princess.” Yet, in this moment, Silver is nowhere to be seen. [This is mostly going to be one, big free for all log, though you can make separate top levels if they aren’t going to be related to the main fight. Remember, your actions here matter! What players characters do or don’t do will heavily affect the outcome.]

Comments

[traumatizing]

If he didn't have a guitar in his hands, Terry would be turning to Jamie to pull him into such a tight hug he'd never get away. So it's probably for the best that his hands are occupied, it keeps his mind fully on the music and he gives Jamie little more than a nod and a smile as he feels the added energy rush out, people in the crowd starting to peel away from the Lesedi Santiago show.

If we were all like you in the end
Oh, we'd be killing ourselves by sleeping in
So, hit the lights, I'll do it again
And keep your cars, and your dogs, and your famous friends
Well alright

Now to start getting them to leave.

[mildwildchild]

Jamie all but glows at even that slight gesture from Terry, and there's a surge of warmth and affection that he can't entirely rein in and ends up rippling through the crowd, reflecting in their increasingly enthusiastic response to Terry's performance.

Slide up the faders when the cabinet slams
And get your hands up, now get your hands u-up!
Light up the stage and watch me kick out the jams
So throw your fist up, now throw your fist u-up!

The mob screams and flails wildly, pulsing with excitement, energy surging through them and into the two mages. Jamie forces every ounce of his ability into exerting his will over the people in the crowd, drawing them and their energy away from Lesedi, keeping them firmly on him and Terry. Everyone whose attention they've gained now is focused raptly on the older musician, open to whatever he has planned - what exactly that is, beyond keeping them from fueling Lesedi's power, Jamie has no clue.

[traumatizing]

Ain't nobody gonna take my life
Ain't nobody gonna get the best of me-
Ain't a preacher gonna save me now
Grab a seat I'm gonna show you how
Everybody hit the pyro cue
We're gonna blow! This! Off!
And show you what we do!

Honestly he almost laughs, part of him feeling this swell of fondness in response to Jamie and the crowd-- even if the audience's is largely fake. He's never performed with Jamie before, not unless obnoxiously singing over him in the Flashstep kitchen counts, but this is amazing. It feels powerful.

[mildwildchild]

There's a fleeting moment where everything seems right with the world - Terry is here and okay and they're singing together, drinking in the crowd's adoration, and the relief that, just this once, he hasn't lost someone for good is so great that it almost overrides everything else. He rides that high for a moment or two, like an eagle sailing along on an updraft.

This ain't a party - get off the dance floor!
You want the get down, here comes the gang war
You're doin' all right, I got the answer
'Cause all the good times, they give you cancer!

Unfortunately, there isn't time to wallow in nostalgia and feelings. They've got a job to do.

Jamie continues wielding his influence over them, whipping into a frenzy of excitement centered squarely on him and Terry, excluding Lesedi from their attention entirely. And then, obeying Terry's subliminal command, they begin moving for the exits, the beginnings of a screaming, ecstatic evacuation that at the same time is strangely orderly.

[traumatizing]

This is good. This is so good and there's this bloom of pride in his chest when the crowd starts moving to the exits. Something impossibly fond that confirms every reason he cares so deeply about Jamie.

If we were all like you in the end
Oh, we'd be killing ourselves by sleeping in
So, hit the lights, I'll do it again
And keep your cars, and your dogs, and your famous friends
Well alright--

The music dips, but if anything Terry's pushing harder-- well alright-- his fringe is plastered to his forehead and just generally he's pretty sure he looks like the gross, sweaty mess he is at the end of a taxing show. Well alright... It's not the magic so much as just the stress and the raw, physical energy of performing.

Deep breaths. Can't afford to let it go now.

Let's go!