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Forced Confessions
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: At the end of a spring-time mingle party, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. unleashes a psychic weapon that forces characters to confess their secrets to one another. Check out the mod announcement for more information.
Date(s): First 2 weeks of April 2018
Warnings/Notes: Psychic influence/coercion, potential trauma, etc. in confessions. Please use subject header warnings appropriately!
It begins with a party, out in the woods of Xistentia, with drinks, food, and fairy lights. The glade is illuminated in a brilliant palette of jewel tones, the most intense where the dancefloor stretches out between glow-in-the-dark marked trees, punctuated by F.A.T.E.S.' ever jarring, mismatched combination of musical tunes. Not far from that, you have enclosures of soft bedding set aside in mood-lit shadows, and veiled by mosquito net, for those of us who prefer more privacy.
The deeper nightclub colors fade to a warm, lustrous gold where there are spaces to sit, socialize, and eat.
Other liquid refreshments include a blood bar, courtesy of Rafaello d'Este's local business.
But on the fifth evening, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. strikes. There's a warning— only 10 minutes in advance-- over the network, even while the vast majority of revelers are a little too busy to pay any attention to their daemons.
A black ball of some writhing, metallic substance abruptly comes tearing through the atmosphere, the size of your average adult human curled into fetal position. As it breaks through layers of gas, it adopts an orange glow for a brief instant. It's easily lost in the canopy, even for the most agile and practiced of Xistentia residents. It's impossible to tell what it is. A faint whine fills the air, and a moment later, the projectile detonates. The scent of tar fills the forest along with shouts of dismay. And too little too late, F.A.T.E.S. warning system begins to blare that a contaminant has entered the atmosphere.
However, apart from a few bruises, panic and partial deafness, nobody seems harmed at all. That is, until the compulsion sets in.
Your secrets, both large and small, suddenly become wrenching fodder for impulsive speech... or signing, texting, any multitude of communication methods wind up hijacked. The worst of it comes when you face someone you know and love. Sheer willpower might stave off the urge long enough for your character to get out of range for conversation, and it might be a good time to avoid company for awhile. It will come randomly, in spikes, for 2 weeks to follow.
Feel free to use the confessions thread here to start some textspam trouble!
A week later, F.A.T.E.S. and both magic and science-minded researchers have analyzed the goop. The worst of the epidemic is localized around the party, though psychic ripples continue to be felt across Xistentia for a few days.
And now we need cleanup.
It's a motley group of unlikely volunteers. Some people are just lucky— they have no secrets they fear to share, or perhaps just no shame. Others are just good samaritans, willing to risk a terrifying level of honesty in the interest of preventing further damage to the relationships that make Xistentia run.
In any case, the group finds themselves armed with gloves, rubber suits, and floating glass containment orbs, manipulable with gestures, that can absorb the black ichor off the trees, earth, and furniture. This will be stored at the temple. And what we'll do with it—
Who knows. Or perhaps you and your compatriots have an idea for the substance permanent disposal to share.
Summary: At the end of a spring-time mingle party, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. unleashes a psychic weapon that forces characters to confess their secrets to one another. Check out the mod announcement for more information.
Date(s): First 2 weeks of April 2018
Warnings/Notes: Psychic influence/coercion, potential trauma, etc. in confessions. Please use subject header warnings appropriately!
Forced Confessions Event
I admit I'm on the rebound And I don't care
Five-Day Party
It begins with a party, out in the woods of Xistentia, with drinks, food, and fairy lights. The glade is illuminated in a brilliant palette of jewel tones, the most intense where the dancefloor stretches out between glow-in-the-dark marked trees, punctuated by F.A.T.E.S.' ever jarring, mismatched combination of musical tunes. Not far from that, you have enclosures of soft bedding set aside in mood-lit shadows, and veiled by mosquito net, for those of us who prefer more privacy.
The deeper nightclub colors fade to a warm, lustrous gold where there are spaces to sit, socialize, and eat.
Other liquid refreshments include a blood bar, courtesy of Rafaello d'Este's local business.
Psychic Bomb: The Confessions (April 5-14)
But on the fifth evening, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. strikes. There's a warning— only 10 minutes in advance-- over the network, even while the vast majority of revelers are a little too busy to pay any attention to their daemons.
A black ball of some writhing, metallic substance abruptly comes tearing through the atmosphere, the size of your average adult human curled into fetal position. As it breaks through layers of gas, it adopts an orange glow for a brief instant. It's easily lost in the canopy, even for the most agile and practiced of Xistentia residents. It's impossible to tell what it is. A faint whine fills the air, and a moment later, the projectile detonates. The scent of tar fills the forest along with shouts of dismay. And too little too late, F.A.T.E.S. warning system begins to blare that a contaminant has entered the atmosphere.
However, apart from a few bruises, panic and partial deafness, nobody seems harmed at all. That is, until the compulsion sets in.
Your secrets, both large and small, suddenly become wrenching fodder for impulsive speech... or signing, texting, any multitude of communication methods wind up hijacked. The worst of it comes when you face someone you know and love. Sheer willpower might stave off the urge long enough for your character to get out of range for conversation, and it might be a good time to avoid company for awhile. It will come randomly, in spikes, for 2 weeks to follow.
Feel free to use the confessions thread here to start some textspam trouble!
Bomb Resolution (April 12+)
A week later, F.A.T.E.S. and both magic and science-minded researchers have analyzed the goop. The worst of the epidemic is localized around the party, though psychic ripples continue to be felt across Xistentia for a few days.
And now we need cleanup.
It's a motley group of unlikely volunteers. Some people are just lucky— they have no secrets they fear to share, or perhaps just no shame. Others are just good samaritans, willing to risk a terrifying level of honesty in the interest of preventing further damage to the relationships that make Xistentia run.
In any case, the group finds themselves armed with gloves, rubber suits, and floating glass containment orbs, manipulable with gestures, that can absorb the black ichor off the trees, earth, and furniture. This will be stored at the temple. And what we'll do with it—
Who knows. Or perhaps you and your compatriots have an idea for the substance permanent disposal to share.
1! a little powerprose lmk if not okay!!!
She's already in battle mode and checking to make sure everyone else is alright. Vanyel was most important, of course, but then there's others and- She sees a familiar face but not as composed as she's used to. Once her eyes catch that hint of blue, she's grabbing his hand and hiding it with her own best she can. There's still speckles of blue between her fingers but it's the best she can do to obscure it in the moment.
Rose knows far too well about having a side of yourself known against your will and what that can do to a person; before he can protest too much, she's giving their clasped hands a tug and saying, ]
Dude, c'mon, over here. I think it's safer.
all good <3
No! No, you can't — You can't touch me. You can't.
[ He's practically babbling, falling over his words, jagged and uneven. Nothing like the way he usually talks. ]
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Sorry, dude, I didn't mean to freak you out more, I just. [ And it hits her then, the same compulsion that he's experienced. ] I'm trying to help but it's not like that usually works out well with me.
[ She's not often so self-depreciating aloud. Yikes. ] Anyway, uhm. We should get away from here, at least.
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Nothing. A broken wail slips past his lips as he clutches his arm. ]
Why won't it go away? Why isn't my magic working?
no subject
Her hands reach out like she wants to touch him, to reassure him somehow, but stop and hover between them. She doesn't want him to flee but also wants to help still however she can. ]
I don't know why it's happening or why your magic is on the fritz but I can at least get somewhere where more people won't see.
no subject
Yes. We should leave.
[ The compulsion is still in his throat, heavy and foreboding. This isn't over. ]
no subject
Alright, dude, c'mon- Like I said, this way should be safe.
[ It isn't. She'll lead their way away from the main crowd but it isn't long before she's gripped again by the strange desire to speak her mind from before. ]
Why can't I touch you? [ It's suddenly asked before she can bite it back. Shoot. ]
no subject
My touch burns away at skin and flesh. There are little to no cures.
no subject
Is that just for humans, or-? Because I'm impervious to cold if that helps at all. Kind of have to be, coming from a place of eternal Winter.
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[ Asgardians too, suffer greatly under its sting. He doesn't know about eternal winter, but the fear looms so heavily in his mind that Loki can only parse so much. The paranoia overwhelms any sense he might possess. ]
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[ She can't blame him though, if he doesn't want to try that possibility. It's likely a longshot. ]
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No. No, I won't — I don't want to be like this. I don't want anyone to see me like this.
no subject
Why?
[ A single syllable doesn't have any right to be so loaded. ]
no subject
Because I hate this! I never asked to be like this!
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But in the past few years I've learned that you can control what being you means. What you are isn't who you are, dude.
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I've never — They've never — [ The words are hard to get out, clogging up his throat. ]
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Accepted it? Maybe they won't. But that's their problem, not yours.
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Problems pervade all areas. It is not so simple to say theirs and yours.
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Others might not be so fixed in their beliefs. You can change them, if you try.
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I don't think I . . . have ever spoken to them.
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Like- Never ever?
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[ He had manipulated them, twisted them for his own agenda. But ultimately he knew nothing about them. Not of his father or any others, even after he killed them. ]
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Did you wish you had? Sometimes I think I would've been better off not knowing mine, but- Maybe grass is always greener on the other side.
no subject
[ Loki still hates the Frost Giants. Still hates himself. There's no real way to entangle that, even if some of the rage and self-loathing has subsided. ]
They left me to die.
no subject
But only after I had known them. I'm not sure which would be worse, really. Not that it's really a contest, I guess.
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