![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
Loki. It's gas. We must go.
[ Even with that little amount, the smell is sweet and cloying, and Rafa wants no more of it. Gritting his teeth, he points out the exit and looks at Loki, expectant. They need to get outside into the wind. ]
no subject
no subject
But Loki is here, and evidently upset, and Rafa cares more about that than most of the rest of that room. His eyes move over what still is Loki's face, but looks so different. Blue, ridged skin. Red eyes… ]
Are you in pain?
[ Asking that question requires breath, and it's breath enough for Rafa to still taste that stain on the air. The gas is going nowhere fast. He glances at the road ahead of them. The more distance between them and this building, the better it will be. ]
It will be faster if I carry you.
no subject
[ He flinches, as if he's wounded, though there's no blood on him. Keep it down, he tells himself. But his survival instinct is shot through the gut. An animal, a monster, a seething mass of limbs and claws. Loki wants to peel it away. Scratch it off. ]
You can't touch me. You can't.
no subject
[ Rafa looks at him, reading panic in his every movement. He's not sure of how to calm him without actually touching him, which he senses is not the best idea. Not yet, anyway. He comes closer, instead, holding eye contact. ]
My Hunter is a werewolf. [ He says casually. He shrugs. ] I have fangs and skin as cold as death. I have touched faeries. Witches, harpies, dragons, dinosaurs. I am not afraid of blue skin, or red eyes. Let me help you.
no subject
[ Loki laughs, jagged and eerie. ]
Faeries, witches, whatever manner of beast or monster you've touched means little to Frost Giants. Their blood runs so cold, they can burn away Gods.
no subject
[ Gods, among whose number Rafa had counted Loki until this moment. So he's not a god of Asgard, he's a Frost Giant. Questions mount in Rafa's mind. He doesn't think Loki is in any state to be answering them yet. He wishes Shane were here.
Then he puts that thought away and shakes his head. ]
Well then, I shall not drink from you. [ He says, easily, and lifts his shoulders. ] I am a vampire, Loki. The blood of a god would burn through me as easily. I fought the fae for centuries, and their blood would have done the same at the time. Look at me.
[ He puts his hand on Loki's, though he would rather touch his face. One step at a time, though. ]
You are my friend. I do not fear you. Now please let me help you.
[ His eyes flicker towards the door, which he knows won't keep that gas back. They really need to get away from here. ]
no subject
Fine. Fine. Just — Don't — Don't touch.
no subject
no subject
It won't go away.
[ This feels worse than any decisive blow Xistentia has done to him. For the most part, Loki has skirted any dire consequences, but to be outed in this manner, stripping him bare of the disguises and lies that hold him together. ]
no subject
Then what did it do to you?
[ He says that softly, without any judgment. ]
The gas. Were you…glamouring yourself?
no subject
A glamour can be dispelled. I'm a shapeshifter by nature. This is my true form.
no subject
Why do you hate it, Loki? It is clear that you do.
no subject
Frost Giants are hated on Asgard. Feared. I used to grow up on stories of Frost Giants. How they would creep into our beds, eat up little children. Kill animals. Feast on our bones.
no subject
So they were the monsters beneath your beds. Many make those same claims of vampires, you know. Many are right.
But you are yourself, and not a story. Why hate yourself for your own nature?
no subject
Because it damned me. It turned everything I had ever known into a lie, it turned my weaknesses into insurmountable odds because I could never be fully Asgardian. Like I was raised to be.
no subject
You are not a monster just because they say you are. I do not think you are. I do not like you less, knowing the truth.