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pluviosa2025-01-31 10:10 pm
pluviosamods) wrote in pluviosa2025-01-31 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
EVENT - Ripple and Warp IC log (part 1!)
ripple and warp
Hello and welcome to the IC log for Pluviosa's Fourth Wall event, Ripple and Warp!
In addition to providing information about how characters arrive on the new deck (whether they're existing passengers or not), this post also serves as a place where Fourth Wall characters can post top-levels without joining the game community.
Further information on Fourth Walls in general and the other accompanying OOC updates to the game can be found on the OOC information post here. This post also serves in lieu of a regular between-events Test Drive.
Finally, you may now start sending in your applications to keep your AU, CRAU, and so on characters around after the Fourth Wall! Be sure to note the minor changes to the Applications page (namely, the addition of an "AU information" section).
Without further ado - How did you get here? And more importantly, where is 'here' anyway?
Whether or not characters remember falling asleep on the evening of Day 37, they wake up somewhere different on Day 38, lying on a couch in an almost-familiar room. The couch is similar to the ones in the lounge, though those with keen noses will note that the cushions don't smell the same - there's no scent of your fellow passengers, or of the faint hint of an unknown, arid place that first accompanied the clean furnishings the Ship dragged out.
The room isn't one you've been in before, either, but it's still clearly on the Ship somewhere - there's the familiar motion of the legs moving, and the overhead emergency lights (the only source of light initially in the room) are the same as the ones in the hallways on Fern that the Ship has been working so hard to restore. However, that doesn't mean that it's hard to see - indeed, considering the contents of the room, the low lighting might be a blessing in disguise.
It's full of mirrors.
Not only the sorts of mirrors that character would expect to find, the ones that have been missing from the Ship's bathrooms and other expected places, though there are certainly plenty of those in the room - but the walls, the door, and the ceiling are also all mirrors. Mirrors hang on a portion of the larger furniture in what appears to be the living room of a suite. It's not as dramatic as it could be, but aside from the couch characters wake up on, it's pretty close. The floor, at least, is not reflective mirrors, though it's not much less shiny - instead of the usual hotel-esque carpet of the suites, there's seamless stone tile in stormcloud grey, slight variations in the color indicating marble. And all of those reflective surfaces are perfectly clean - although it's possible to find dried spots of decay on the backs of the mirrors, overall, it seems as though time doesn't have claim on this part of the Ship, much less the Growth.
And of course, where there are mirrors, there are reflections.
Some of them - probably the majority - are normal, perfect mirrors of the person the character expects to see. Some of them are distorted, but in a normal, mundane way - funhouse mirrors among the panels on the walls, making you wide or skinny or warped.
And then some of them show reflections of you that are distorted, not as in bent, but as in there being something different about the you that's in them. Different clothes; different hair; different age; different species. Added scars, or missing ones; limbs missing, or replaced with something else. A completely unknown you in the mirror.
For the most part, these altered reflections act the way you would expect, imitating the movements of the rest of the reflections in the room. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes they climb out of the mirror - and whether they're friendly or not remains to be seen.
There's a note on the mirror-topped table next to the couch. In backwards writing that needs to be held up to a mirror to be read easily, it says:
For those who are new around here, the method of arrival is... a bit different. This applies equally to characters who are just here for the fourth wall (alternates of existing characters etc) or those who will be apped as permanent residents - there isn't a distinction to these categories until the end of the event.
These characters arrive with a first sensation of being pressed against a hard, glass surface - not unlike the whispers of sensation that haunted the existing passengers over the last few days. The difference is that this time, the glass you're pressed against isn't a horizontal floor or bed - it's vertical or at least mostly vertical, and you can tell which way is down.
Or, put another way: Newly arrived characters start their boatride on the wrong side of the mirrors that are packed away into the unknown deck. They are facing towards the real world side, the way they would if they were reflections made physical, but turning around and looking behind them is nearly impossible.
Indeed, there's a growing pressure forcing them against the glass barrier. It grows harder and harder to breathe, almost like drowning, or being crushed by water pressure -
Until, just when you think you can't survive any more, something gives way, and you stumble out of the mirror into the real world. It's not the glass breaking - it's more like forcing your way through a soap bubble or the membrane that sits inside an eggshell that separates the hard pieces from the white. Water, too, cascades down out of the mirror with you, splattering all over the floor, but it's just water, and it doesn't seem to have left more than a bit of surface dampness on you.
However, when characters turn around, they will find that while the glass is still in place and unbroken, the mirror will no longer reflect anything - not even the shine of light cast on the glass - rendering these mirrors completely black. This reflectivity stays on the puddle of water around your feet instead, which aggressively reflects the area around it even if taken elsewhere - even if poured into a cup. In motion, it's too transparent to be taken for mercury or silver, but when pooled undisturbed, it does not ripple in response to the motion of the ship. Only the actions of characters or other forces can cause ripples. Otherwise, it appears to be normal water.
Characters who are alternates of each other might come out of the mirrors while they're literally being reflected (a certain surprise for those who are on the normal side of the mirror doing the looking), but they might also just appear in rooms all by themselves, or in the presence of someone else they know (or think they know). Those who don't have any immediate connections among the current passengers are more likely to appear in some empty room, but ultimately this is left to player discretion.
Not all reflections are as potentially friendly as those played by those of us on the player side of the screen, however. In addition to the "deeper" reflections played by real humans, who have or at least appear to have personalities and histories of their own, there are also "shallow" reflections. Unlike the Fourth Wall arrivals, shallow reflections can't be of characters who aren't present at the time - they only appear in response to characters looking into mirrors (whether those characters are existing residents or new arrivals).
The shallow reflections come out of the mirrors just like the Fourth Wall arrivals, but there's always something a little off about them. Some of them stay reversed like a reflection; some of them don't make any noise when they move and cannot speak; some of them come out of the mirrors with the funhouse-esque warped reflections and stay that way. Like their more 'real' counterparts, the mirrors the shallow reflections come out of turn completely flat, unreflective black; unlike their counterparts, they don't really hesitate in striding out, much less stumble and potentially collapse.
What do they want? To shove whoever they're a reflection of into the black mirror they came from. What happens if they succeed?
You die. I mean, probably. There's no way of knowing unless one of them does succeed, after all. If you want your character to die in this fashion, please let the mod team know. While we cannot guarantee that interesting things will happen to all characters (and those who are only here to visit for the Fourth Wall are not eligible), this may have permanent consequences for your character, take them out of play for longer ICly than a typical death, or impact other characters in the game beyond the typical levels of emotional harm. Or some combination of all three.
Fortunately, the shallow reflections only have physical strength on their side - they do not possess any powers of those they take the shapes of, and they can be killed in largely the same way as unremarkable flesh and blood humans. A killing blow causes them to collapse into the same hyper-reflective water as described above; the mirror they came out of remains black.
The deck itself is open fully to character navigation. Like the lab specimen storage of Zinnia, this deck - whose name is not posted anywhere for characters to find easily - is clear of any signs of Growth, and manages to feel chilly even if you get up to the top deck where the sun is shining.
Or... Should be shining. Regardless of the weather on other deck dimensions, the skies above this deck are
always, at best, a cloudy, half-stormy grey. The air above hangs tense, like the clouds are waiting for something to happen. Unlike the other instances of Ship weather, you don't need Neuvillette's particular affinity with water to sense it - any character with empathic or telepathic powers will be able to feel the sense of looming, helpless frustration in the clouds.
The most notable feature of this deck, of course, is that it's full of mirrors. Indeed, it's not only the mirrors that are missing from the suite bathrooms, the public restrooms by the cafeteria, and so on - there are far more mirrors than the Ship would reasonably need to outfit the decks it has, even including the multidimensional nature of it. Mirrors hang from the walls, and then more mirrors lean against those, or against the other furnishings, or even against each other (since some of them are standing mirrors), and the groups against the walls are often five or six panels deep with the largest at the back the side of the glass panels of the Ship's sliding glass balcony doors. (Yes, those are also replaced by mirrors, reflective in both directions.) Tabletops are reflective in their own rights, and then littered with even more, antique-looking hand mirrors and makeup compacts and those little circular mirrors sold in bags by the dozen at the craft store, only an inch across.
Considering all the reflective surfaces, it might be a good thing that there is only emergency power supplied to this deck - enough to keep the guide lights on and ensure that the sliding doors (though not the elevators) are working, and that whatever system pumps water through the faucets and showers is still going. The water is all cold, however, and there isn't any food available on the deck so far as characters are able to find. In the place where characters are used to finding the cafeteria, there is instead a terrifying mirrored bar filled with empty bottles and glasses as well as - well. Take a guess.
With the exception of the sliding glass doors in the suites, the glass of windows and so forth seems to be what it should be - though it's more reflective than seems natural, too. Like Zinnia, the cleaniness of this deck means that characters have full run of it, all the way down to the lounge on the bottom of the Ship - which is the only place that isn't completely clean on this deck. The super-reflective water that pours out of the mirrors seems to have flowed down here at some point, where it sits, unaffected by the motion of the Ship, about an inch deep across the entire floor. This water is the only feature down in the bottom lounge - there is no furniture, in contrast to its Zinnia counterpart.
And on this floor, at the very bottom, and only this floor, the reflective water has the smell - only the smell, not any other qualities - of fresh blood.
The Ship will not answer characters here - although the terminals in the residential deck that can normally be used to communicate with it (in whatever limited capacity) are present, their screens are (of course!) mirrors, and unresponsive. There's also no signs of drones about, not even the basic roomba-like cleaning drones; there's no evidence that they've been here recently, either.
A follow-up log, in which the Ship manages to make contact with characters wherever they are, will be posted later (mod goal time is 2-3 weeks from now). That log will take place on Day 40 and will bring with it food (for everyone who has gotten very hungry by then) and drone assistance, but whether characters actually manage to escape at that point or later on on Day 42 is left open to the opinions of you, the players! Both current players and visitors will be able to vote in a Discord poll on the matter, to be posted in the Discord announcements channel tomorrow (after you've had the chance to sleep on this post and let it cook in your brains a little).
Happy playing! Questions can be asked on Discord or added to the usual questions header below this post.
In addition to providing information about how characters arrive on the new deck (whether they're existing passengers or not), this post also serves as a place where Fourth Wall characters can post top-levels without joining the game community.
Further information on Fourth Walls in general and the other accompanying OOC updates to the game can be found on the OOC information post here. This post also serves in lieu of a regular between-events Test Drive.
Finally, you may now start sending in your applications to keep your AU, CRAU, and so on characters around after the Fourth Wall! Be sure to note the minor changes to the Applications page (namely, the addition of an "AU information" section).
Without further ado - How did you get here? And more importantly, where is 'here' anyway?
existing characters
Whether or not characters remember falling asleep on the evening of Day 37, they wake up somewhere different on Day 38, lying on a couch in an almost-familiar room. The couch is similar to the ones in the lounge, though those with keen noses will note that the cushions don't smell the same - there's no scent of your fellow passengers, or of the faint hint of an unknown, arid place that first accompanied the clean furnishings the Ship dragged out.
The room isn't one you've been in before, either, but it's still clearly on the Ship somewhere - there's the familiar motion of the legs moving, and the overhead emergency lights (the only source of light initially in the room) are the same as the ones in the hallways on Fern that the Ship has been working so hard to restore. However, that doesn't mean that it's hard to see - indeed, considering the contents of the room, the low lighting might be a blessing in disguise.
It's full of mirrors.
Not only the sorts of mirrors that character would expect to find, the ones that have been missing from the Ship's bathrooms and other expected places, though there are certainly plenty of those in the room - but the walls, the door, and the ceiling are also all mirrors. Mirrors hang on a portion of the larger furniture in what appears to be the living room of a suite. It's not as dramatic as it could be, but aside from the couch characters wake up on, it's pretty close. The floor, at least, is not reflective mirrors, though it's not much less shiny - instead of the usual hotel-esque carpet of the suites, there's seamless stone tile in stormcloud grey, slight variations in the color indicating marble. And all of those reflective surfaces are perfectly clean - although it's possible to find dried spots of decay on the backs of the mirrors, overall, it seems as though time doesn't have claim on this part of the Ship, much less the Growth.
And of course, where there are mirrors, there are reflections.
Some of them - probably the majority - are normal, perfect mirrors of the person the character expects to see. Some of them are distorted, but in a normal, mundane way - funhouse mirrors among the panels on the walls, making you wide or skinny or warped.
And then some of them show reflections of you that are distorted, not as in bent, but as in there being something different about the you that's in them. Different clothes; different hair; different age; different species. Added scars, or missing ones; limbs missing, or replaced with something else. A completely unknown you in the mirror.
For the most part, these altered reflections act the way you would expect, imitating the movements of the rest of the reflections in the room. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes they climb out of the mirror - and whether they're friendly or not remains to be seen.
There's a note on the mirror-topped table next to the couch. In backwards writing that needs to be held up to a mirror to be read easily, it says:
Thanks for visiting! I'm sorry I couldn't be there to meet you, but there's just so many people here today!
I wonder if you'll get a chance to meet the real you?
Good luck!
new characters and visitors
For those who are new around here, the method of arrival is... a bit different. This applies equally to characters who are just here for the fourth wall (alternates of existing characters etc) or those who will be apped as permanent residents - there isn't a distinction to these categories until the end of the event.
These characters arrive with a first sensation of being pressed against a hard, glass surface - not unlike the whispers of sensation that haunted the existing passengers over the last few days. The difference is that this time, the glass you're pressed against isn't a horizontal floor or bed - it's vertical or at least mostly vertical, and you can tell which way is down.
Or, put another way: Newly arrived characters start their boatride on the wrong side of the mirrors that are packed away into the unknown deck. They are facing towards the real world side, the way they would if they were reflections made physical, but turning around and looking behind them is nearly impossible.
Indeed, there's a growing pressure forcing them against the glass barrier. It grows harder and harder to breathe, almost like drowning, or being crushed by water pressure -
Until, just when you think you can't survive any more, something gives way, and you stumble out of the mirror into the real world. It's not the glass breaking - it's more like forcing your way through a soap bubble or the membrane that sits inside an eggshell that separates the hard pieces from the white. Water, too, cascades down out of the mirror with you, splattering all over the floor, but it's just water, and it doesn't seem to have left more than a bit of surface dampness on you.
However, when characters turn around, they will find that while the glass is still in place and unbroken, the mirror will no longer reflect anything - not even the shine of light cast on the glass - rendering these mirrors completely black. This reflectivity stays on the puddle of water around your feet instead, which aggressively reflects the area around it even if taken elsewhere - even if poured into a cup. In motion, it's too transparent to be taken for mercury or silver, but when pooled undisturbed, it does not ripple in response to the motion of the ship. Only the actions of characters or other forces can cause ripples. Otherwise, it appears to be normal water.
Characters who are alternates of each other might come out of the mirrors while they're literally being reflected (a certain surprise for those who are on the normal side of the mirror doing the looking), but they might also just appear in rooms all by themselves, or in the presence of someone else they know (or think they know). Those who don't have any immediate connections among the current passengers are more likely to appear in some empty room, but ultimately this is left to player discretion.
shallower reflections
Not all reflections are as potentially friendly as those played by those of us on the player side of the screen, however. In addition to the "deeper" reflections played by real humans, who have or at least appear to have personalities and histories of their own, there are also "shallow" reflections. Unlike the Fourth Wall arrivals, shallow reflections can't be of characters who aren't present at the time - they only appear in response to characters looking into mirrors (whether those characters are existing residents or new arrivals).
The shallow reflections come out of the mirrors just like the Fourth Wall arrivals, but there's always something a little off about them. Some of them stay reversed like a reflection; some of them don't make any noise when they move and cannot speak; some of them come out of the mirrors with the funhouse-esque warped reflections and stay that way. Like their more 'real' counterparts, the mirrors the shallow reflections come out of turn completely flat, unreflective black; unlike their counterparts, they don't really hesitate in striding out, much less stumble and potentially collapse.
What do they want? To shove whoever they're a reflection of into the black mirror they came from. What happens if they succeed?
You die. I mean, probably. There's no way of knowing unless one of them does succeed, after all. If you want your character to die in this fashion, please let the mod team know. While we cannot guarantee that interesting things will happen to all characters (and those who are only here to visit for the Fourth Wall are not eligible), this may have permanent consequences for your character, take them out of play for longer ICly than a typical death, or impact other characters in the game beyond the typical levels of emotional harm. Or some combination of all three.
Fortunately, the shallow reflections only have physical strength on their side - they do not possess any powers of those they take the shapes of, and they can be killed in largely the same way as unremarkable flesh and blood humans. A killing blow causes them to collapse into the same hyper-reflective water as described above; the mirror they came out of remains black.
??? deck
The deck itself is open fully to character navigation. Like the lab specimen storage of Zinnia, this deck - whose name is not posted anywhere for characters to find easily - is clear of any signs of Growth, and manages to feel chilly even if you get up to the top deck where the sun is shining.
Or... Should be shining. Regardless of the weather on other deck dimensions, the skies above this deck are
always, at best, a cloudy, half-stormy grey. The air above hangs tense, like the clouds are waiting for something to happen. Unlike the other instances of Ship weather, you don't need Neuvillette's particular affinity with water to sense it - any character with empathic or telepathic powers will be able to feel the sense of looming, helpless frustration in the clouds.
The most notable feature of this deck, of course, is that it's full of mirrors. Indeed, it's not only the mirrors that are missing from the suite bathrooms, the public restrooms by the cafeteria, and so on - there are far more mirrors than the Ship would reasonably need to outfit the decks it has, even including the multidimensional nature of it. Mirrors hang from the walls, and then more mirrors lean against those, or against the other furnishings, or even against each other (since some of them are standing mirrors), and the groups against the walls are often five or six panels deep with the largest at the back the side of the glass panels of the Ship's sliding glass balcony doors. (Yes, those are also replaced by mirrors, reflective in both directions.) Tabletops are reflective in their own rights, and then littered with even more, antique-looking hand mirrors and makeup compacts and those little circular mirrors sold in bags by the dozen at the craft store, only an inch across.
Considering all the reflective surfaces, it might be a good thing that there is only emergency power supplied to this deck - enough to keep the guide lights on and ensure that the sliding doors (though not the elevators) are working, and that whatever system pumps water through the faucets and showers is still going. The water is all cold, however, and there isn't any food available on the deck so far as characters are able to find. In the place where characters are used to finding the cafeteria, there is instead a terrifying mirrored bar filled with empty bottles and glasses as well as - well. Take a guess.
With the exception of the sliding glass doors in the suites, the glass of windows and so forth seems to be what it should be - though it's more reflective than seems natural, too. Like Zinnia, the cleaniness of this deck means that characters have full run of it, all the way down to the lounge on the bottom of the Ship - which is the only place that isn't completely clean on this deck. The super-reflective water that pours out of the mirrors seems to have flowed down here at some point, where it sits, unaffected by the motion of the Ship, about an inch deep across the entire floor. This water is the only feature down in the bottom lounge - there is no furniture, in contrast to its Zinnia counterpart.
And on this floor, at the very bottom, and only this floor, the reflective water has the smell - only the smell, not any other qualities - of fresh blood.
The Ship will not answer characters here - although the terminals in the residential deck that can normally be used to communicate with it (in whatever limited capacity) are present, their screens are (of course!) mirrors, and unresponsive. There's also no signs of drones about, not even the basic roomba-like cleaning drones; there's no evidence that they've been here recently, either.
A follow-up log, in which the Ship manages to make contact with characters wherever they are, will be posted later (mod goal time is 2-3 weeks from now). That log will take place on Day 40 and will bring with it food (for everyone who has gotten very hungry by then) and drone assistance, but whether characters actually manage to escape at that point or later on on Day 42 is left open to the opinions of you, the players! Both current players and visitors will be able to vote in a Discord poll on the matter, to be posted in the Discord announcements channel tomorrow (after you've had the chance to sleep on this post and let it cook in your brains a little).
Happy playing! Questions can be asked on Discord or added to the usual questions header below this post.
no subject
This is not a good thing to draw connections to.
"....it is not a sin to want to survive, Signora. To question. It is not an imperfection." Maybe a couple years ago he wouldn't have even considered such a thing. But His Holiness encouraged questions. An order, but not. And as hard as further understanding has made his work, he doesn't feel it is....bad. That Robin speaks of her individuality, her life as something to shed in persuit of perfection. It doesn't...sit right with him.
That unease compounds when the piercing magenta of her eye turns to him. It's wrong. Something is wrong. His eyes narrow.
"The will was indeed entrusted to me, and as an Executor and his friend, I will carry it out to its fullness." Even the insinuation of her taking it from him makes his wings flare, sharp obsidian edges glinting in the low light. That sharpness transfers into his next words.
"You are not well, Signora Robin. You need rest. I will execute the will; I do not require your assistance. After all, your name is not even in it. You have no power in this situation." So would the Law dictate. No they're not in Laterano. But it's all he knows, and all his overly tired mind can cling to.
no subject
Robin slowly starts to walk forward, stumbling slightly as she'd been leaning against the mirror for so long. now that he mentions is... Fuck why am I so tired?... No... We need to push on...I could not save Sunday.. I at least need to see this through...
"You speak of my condition but yours is no better... Both of us are exhausted and we both need rest.. if what you said earlier is true and some items we need to disperse are unreachable currently then we should both rest and clear our heads. Once we are able to carry out the will we shall... And I do mean we. I may not have been close to this Sunday but he is still my brother. As dictated my holovian traditions the family must have a role in the burial.. and I am the closest thing to family he has."
The way she says 'the family " is unnerving but it's not clear exactly as to why. He notices the pink in her eye has faded slightly and her resonance is slightly stronger as well.
no subject
And wishes for him to reach the same.
Not imperfections for others, but for her...he remembers Sunday claiming something similar. But enlightenment...? A guiding light? Is that even possible...?
....his hand lays on the handle of his gun. It tightens, as he considers her questions. It's alot for his very literal, very tired mind to consider. Many hypotheticals. Even now his thoughts are running on overdrive to parse out how a perfect world would even look. Laterano is always professed as a paradise. But that is only because its laws and the peace they bring, are upheld by Executors. And even then, it is far from perfect. There is sorrow, strife, loss. He thinks of Cecelia losing her mother, and being hunted for what she is. Of the sarkaz at the monastery, how they were turned away from Laterano.
What Robin says makes sense. But if it's anything like what Sunday tried to do...it is also a removal of agency. He takes a deep breath. "I am an Executor, which is...like a soldier. But also a Notary, and law enforcement. My...world," Saints, that's still a strange concept, other worlds... "It is ravaged by calamities and wars. Sickness. There is much pain there." He sighs. "Hypothetically, the eradication of such would be indeed, a blessing. But can there truly be peace if its opposite, if all conflict is eradicated?" A pursuit of perfection, disregarding the lone, singed flower in the ruined garden...
Federico looks to her, steady, immovable. "And what if your idea of peace is not everyone's idea of peace? What then? Would you force it upon them? Even if it would make them unhappy?" An Abbot, wishing to bring his congregation into the fold of the seaborn as a last resort for survival, but then throwing out the acrid flesh at the last minute, in shame. How the gardener partook of that discarded option, was rejected, and chose to die...
Federico tilts his head, grip tight on his patron firearm. "Do you know, with certainty, that your idea of an ideal world is truly a paradise?" He closes his eyes, for a moment. "I do wish for your brother to not be burdened by his troubles, his pursuit of perfection." It hurts Sunday. He's seen it. It's hurting Robin now, perhaps. "But I believe he, and everyone, should have the choice to bear them. I do not think one person can just take them all away. It's not possible."
....Sunday is dead now, anyway. Federico hopes his burdens did not follow him.
He stiffens when she turns his words back on him. "I have operated under worse conditions, Signora. I will rest when necessary." Once he figures out how... "I have not exhausted all avenues of proceeding." Once he tracks down Aurelia...Aventurine should be around here as well.... "You should go rest, Signora. I will be fine." He's not budging on this. "I understand culture is important. As is family. But you are not on your home world right now. And I must reiterate you are not in the will. I cannot speak for Sunday as to why that is, but because of that, as an Executor, I deem you have no grounds to enforce your participation." His words are growing monotone again, more cold and clipped. Federico is not an easy man to anger, but...considering the circumstances, they're reaching something like it.
no subject
Robin's words are aimed with stinging precision, she's trying to piss him off because she is pissed off how dare he... How fucking dare he.. this man has no idea what I've done.. what I've sacrificed in THEIR name, all so I can be purified in THEIR eyes, all so I can shape my body to reflect THEIR wishes... He has no clue.. how could a pawn comprehend anything of this caliber... I was a fool for expecting otherwise.. robins rage is almost palpable. Even as her resonance was muted it still shines through.
He can feel her power soaring.. she's about to do something stupid.
"I told you once before.. pawn.. I. Wasn't. Asking."
Her wings extend and the eyes open as he suddenly feels the weight of the world on him, he feels compelled to listen to her.. to obey her. Even in her weakened state, she is still formidable. But is it enough.
"I still allow you to carry his will only by my infinite mercy, why must you seek to throw it away, you WILL let me assist you and the proceedings will be carried out to my standard. Once this is done... You will forget all you knew about my brother...Am I clear?"
no subject
"It is not leadership you describe, Signora Robin. It is tyranny." Cold, concise, biting against the burning rage he can distantly feel rising from her end.
He's about to turn and leave when her words heighten with her emotions, with the pain. He gasps, clutching at his head with the sudden spike of energy from her words. She calls him a pawn. A soldier. But he is not her soldier.
....right?
Exhausted as he is, he doesn't react as quickly as an Executor of his caliber would normally. The eyes are back, seeking, pulling, demanding. His breath hitches as the resonance climbs in frequency, forcibly rearranging his thoughts.
Why was he so determined to shut Robin out of the will?
She's not in it- especially not this version-She is Sunday's closest kin. He is being unreasonable. He's lucky she's allowing him to even carry the will. What incredible mercy. There's...no problem with allowing her to...she has every right, she deserves-You will forget all you knew about my brother...Am I clear?
Forget...Sunday?
....She would tear away some of his most precious memories? For what?
"No. Unacceptable."
Pure, protective anger slams back against that order. Federico draws his shotgun, grip unfaltering as he raises it-
"Cease this at once. You hold no power here," he growls, bringing the butt of the gun down to drive it straight into Robin's temple with a resounding crack.
no subject
CRACK
Robin's head spins, she's knocked off balance, normally a hit like that would be easily recoverable. why... Why are my limbs so heavy... Why...why won't they listen.. just...obey me her world spins, faster faster faster still as she falls to her knees, she sees Federico, at least she thinks it's Federico, she isn't sure everything is smearing into each other, her head is heavy. Before she even knew what was happening she muttered two fateful words subconsciously.
"Help me."
The ground rushes up to meet her as the world goes black.
And even in that black emptiness she saw THEM staring back at her. But it was not who she expected.
"Where is Xipe.. Ena?.. where... Where are you ..."
Yet all she was greeted by was faint laughing. And the distant mask of a fool.
She tried to reach out. To feel anything, and yet the shackles still held.
no subject
Just in time to see Robin stumble and fall.
Instinct overrides exhaustion. He lurches forward, catching her before she can fully collapse, his arm wrapping around her back as he eases her descent. He kneels as her head falls against his shoulder, as she mumbles something weak and fragmented—asking for help, but from whom? Her unfocused eyes stare past him, hand twitching toward something he cannot see, too weak to reach.
"That's enough, Signora," he murmurs, his voice steadier than he feels. Carefully, he takes her hand, guiding it away from the empty air and resting it against her abdomen. Her breathing slows. Unconscious.
The pain lingers. Not the raw invasion of before, but the dull, gnawing ache left in its wake. Discordant frequencies, too similar yet too different, clashing and leaving behind a ringing emptiness.
Like the two of them.
Federico exhales, long and weary. He cannot keep going like this. Robin had been right about that much—this path is unsustainable. Her interference only drained what little energy he had left, what little she had left. Had she always possessed the power to force her will onto others? Onto him?
Had Sunday?
His gaze lifts to the black mirror, solemn. His white Executor’s cloak stands stark against the void it covers. Normally, he would use it to keep Robin warm. But here, now, it serves as a shroud for the dead.
"I'm sorry you had to see that. If you can see at all."
The words serve no practical purpose. He is almost certain Sunday cannot hear him. And yet...he still says them. Casper had told him to let the feelings happen, even when they don’t make sense.
"I'll take her somewhere safe. Don't worry."
And he does.
His limbs protest, his body swaying slightly as he rises, but his footing holds. Robin is lighter than expected, even with the weight of her prosthetics. A fleeting thought enters his mind—he needs to find food on this level. She likely hasn’t eaten either.
He focuses on that, on idle logistics, on anything to keep his mind moving as he carries her through the empty halls. Steps heavy, but steady.
The room he woke in before is quiet when he arrives. He lays Robin carefully onto the couch, his fingers lingering a moment as he checks the swelling at her temple. A bump, nothing serious. More than likely, she has passed directly into sleep.
She looks exhausted. That makes sense.
Weariness drags at him now, too. He steps back, surveying the mirrored space, taking in its unnatural stillness. He needs to keep watch. It’ll be easier with his back against the door.
So he sits, curling around his firearm, his shoulders pressed to the doorframe. Guarding against threats. Against her, should she wake and attempt something reckless. Again.
It is quiet.
His thoughts settle with the weight of a task. His grip remains firm, posture disciplined. He keeps his guard.
And then, without realizing, he blinks a little too slowly, his breath evening out. His eyes remain closed.
Barely ten minutes into his watch, Federico is fast asleep.
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"I know you are their.. do not make me find you"
A figure emerges from the blackness, robin does not turn to greet him
"truely so cold you are my little songbird... And for what?"
"I think the years of incompetency and lies is well enough a reason..."
"yet is that not exactly what you do? Look at you.. all grown up and still taking after your old man..."
"I am not in the mood for your games ilusion.. leave now."
"oh ow, your words sting my perfect daughter.. but as much as I hate to disappoint I am no ilusion."
"So very creative... Do you think the others have not done the same, you are little more than a figment of my imagination. leave, your days... are none, you cannot harm me anymore..."
"Oh aren't they? You, my wonderful daughter should know that I taught you my playbook..."
"You did... And I countered it masterfully if I do say so myself, had the outsiders not managed to awaken from Ena's dream then I would have not only usurped you, but I also would have ascended right their on the stage..."
Her words leave a bitter taste in her mouth but she doesn't know why. She finally turns to face Gopher wood.
"You should know by now my mind is far too strong for you to handle, even if you did manage to survive I could easily kill you."
Gopher wood smiles, a sinister, haunting smile.
"you of all people little dove know I have contingency plans.. it's true you disabled them.. but not all of them... But alas before you get your wings in a twist I have no intention of coming after you..."
Robin cuts him off her words dripping with venom.
"Ah so now I'm supposed to believe the words of an illusion my mind made up to torment me? Wonderful yes let me take that seriously.. do you think me an idiot father?"
"no.. I think you are perfect... In body at least. You're mind can use some work... I truly must thank whatever force dragged you so far away from Penacony however, you very well may have ruined everything had you stayed any longer my dear... But alas I have no intention of harming you... I only wish to improve you further... Signora.."
Robin shoots upright, that was new.. none of her other nightmares have ever called her that... None of the other versions of him have ever said anything like that? What.. what was happening...
"ah.. and there it is... Are you starting to realize my dear... Coming here has weakened you in more ways then you thought possible...you have already begun to act more like me after all. I mean just imagine... Robin Oak, Penaconys dream master attempting to brute force her way into their people's minds .. to enthrall them... you really did learn from me you know? Why would I need to harm you when you are more perfect by the day? Robin.. my beautiful amazing daughter... I think it's time you learn to share the spotlight. After all I can't wait.. to watch you grow... Or should I say.. Us?"
Robin shoots twords him as fog begins to flood her senses.. everything was getting hazier and more blurred, one chilling laugh pierces through everything before she collapses.
Robin awakes with a startle, hyperventilating she takes in her surroundings as her head throbs and everything felt foggy. what.. what was .. what was I freaking out about... Why does my head hurt so much.... she notices Federico sleeping by the door. Her limbs feel distant and unresponsive. She is very tired, she closes her eyes to rest but true sleep eludes her.
Unknown to her, the shackles tighten just a little more.
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"Fucking Aeons damnit..."
She squeaks out, trying not to disturb the sleeping man he looks... Peaceful... Not at all like the perpetually stone faced look he normally gives me... I.. I don't hate it she slowly walks over as her feet still hurt but she makes it rather quietly I could kill him... No.. no he... He is innocent... after contemplating for a few moments she decides to sit back on the wall next to him waiting for him to stir
"Wake up sleepyhead..."
She says in a soft voice reminiscent of the robin he was told so much about.
no subject
(He didn’t pull in a couch because he wasn’t going to sleep. Just a moment of rest, nothing more. He was only closing his eyes for a second—)
And yet, he has. He has fallen into a rare, dreamless sleep, one so deep that even the usual undercurrent of vigilance has dimmed. His grip on his shotgun is slack but not released, his body curled slightly around it, instinct keeping some level of readiness even in unconsciousness. It’s the only sign that some part of him still refuses to let go.
But then, the voice again—soft, but present. Persistent.
'Wake up, sleepyhead...'
....Arturia? Why is she...
A soundless breath escapes him, his brow twitching slightly. His body begins to respond before his mind does. The weight of exhaustion presses harder for a moment, unwilling to let him surface, but his training—his survival instincts—won’t let him stay under. His fingers tighten, ever so slightly, around the stock of his weapon.
A shift in his breathing. A slow drag of awareness creeping back.
And then—
His eyes snap open.
Before his mind fully catches up, muscle memory takes control. The shotgun is already raised before he even registers who he’s looking at, his hands steady despite the sluggishness still clinging to his limbs. His breath is uneven, his posture rigid with alarm, pupils blown wide with the aftershocks of too little rest and too much strain.
His focus sharpens on Robin. Recognition sets in, but it’s sluggish, lagging behind the instinct that tells him to be ready for an attack.
"....Signora?" His voice is hoarse, rough from disuse. Slowly, his breathing steadies. His shoulders ease—just a fraction. His gun lowers slightly, but not completely. Not yet.
"...Ah. You're awake."
Which is good. It should be good. But the memory of what she tried to do still lingers, tangled in the edges of his thoughts like static that won’t quite clear.
The tuning, the pressure in his skull, the way it almost—
Federico exhales through his nose, steady, deliberate. His grip is still tight. Too tight. The ghosts of that moment are still too close. He now sees Robin as a threat.
no subject
"Woah woah woah... Take it easy .. that walk couldn't have been comfortable but I didn't think you'd be grouchy enough to pull a gun on me..."
Her face tightens from a loose smile to something more fitting of a diplomat of her ranking even with the painful throbbing throughout her head she knows she needs to act now to keep control of the situation. well robin lets see if you still got the de-escalation skills you used to..
"Ok so... I know I really shouldn't have done that I was just... I don't know ok.. everything felt so foggy and it still felt like I was in control but I think somewhere deep in my mind I knew I wasn't and I'm sorry for that alright?"
hopefully that should be sufficient... I do really hate apologizing.... robins pride as always been a weakness, it's not one many knew to exploit but the young dream master had some big shows to fill and she knew it. Besides it's not like she was technically lying to him. She looks away refusing to meet his eyes
"I understand if you do not trust me. I understand if you see me as a threat. As long as you show me you are no threat to my brother or his memory... Then.. you will have no conflict with me."
Robin's tone seemed almost somber, one of the mirrors briefly reflected the raven haired man from before with a disapproving look on his face.
"Federico, we may not see eye to eye but I would still like to assist in carrying out his will.. I was panicked and scared before but I've.. I've been able to think.. if he gave it to you, then you must mean a lot to him.. and I will respect that."
Robin extends her metallic hand out past the barrel of the shotgun in a show of trust.
"Will you allow me this honor?"
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"Forgive me for being hasty Signora. Last we spoke, you tried to meld me to your will and wipe my memories. My home has many laws against such actions." Not to mention it's just plain cruel.
It's of note, at least, that the safety of his gun is on. He lowers it a little more as she speaks. "You must understand why I am still on alert." He fell asleep. When did he fall asleep? How did he miss her waking up?? Concerning...
He stares at her as she delivers...what is quite possibly the worst apology he'd ever heard. And he works with Oren. "Your...attempted apology is. Appreciated, Signora." The scattered frequencies at least let him know her words are genuine...as far as he can discern, anyway. He winces ever so slightly when he can see the bump on her temple from here. "You were being unreasonable. I had to use force to stop you before you went too far. That fogginess may have been from exhaustion..." It's still no excuse.
He notes her bleary demeanor. "You may be...a little concussed for a time. It should heal soon enough." Distinctly no apologies for that. Especially since it seems she's being more reasonable while concussed.
....Perhaps he is in somewhat of a foul mood as she'd first said. Hm. He takes a steadying breath.
"I do not trust you, Signora Robin. But..." And it is then that he lowers his gun completely, laying it across his lap. "I do not wish to harm you, either. I never have. You are a passenger, and Sunday's sister. In a way." He tilts his head slightly down. "You have my word I will not be a threat to Sunday or his memory." In all Robin might have gleaned from Federico's mind, his earnest nature and his unshakeable loyalty and determination should have been clear.
A compromise, of sorts..."I would...like to do this on my own. He was dear to me in turn..." He lets out a breath, slow and tired. "However, it is unreasonable to insist on proceeding alone with such few resources. Your help...it is acceptable." He looks up at her again. "So long as you do not attempt to force your way into the matter again, I have no further protests with you aiding in this endeavor. Is that understood?" He holds his hand up, not clasping hers yet. She must agree first.
As is with the Law, perameters must be clear and set.
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She says knowing damn well she only feels guilty about trying to make him forget Sunday, the rest... Well she was conflicted on the rest, it was a tad heavy handed yes but.... Now that she was thinking about it her actions truely do seem unreasonable...
Her wings puffed ever so slightly in annoyance at her apology, one of the only few she'd ever given in her life, being called 'an attempted apology' as the corners on her mouth turn down ever so slightly but she maintains her smile that she's perfected over so long.
"I agree to your terms however I have one of my own.. if I am truely stuck here.. then I will need to get the lay of the land, once this is all over would you... Show me around? I mean I am absolutely capable of exploring myself but I am significantly weaker than I am used to so a guide would be appreciated"
Even as she talks the smile never drops from her face come on you can still be useful little birdie... No..no no no stop stop thinking like that her smile falters as the thought forces itself into her brain. It's less than half a second before it returns
"Apologies I had a rather... Unpleasant thought. But it is of little concern. The swelling should be going down rather soon and so I'll be ready to set out..."
She does not fail to notice the building resonance from him as he extends his hand... so the little birdy also has tricks... Fascinating.. on one hand... Taking that handshake could be disastrous... On the other it would guarantee his trust. Here goes nothing.. robin stares at his hand.
"I'm assuming a verbal contract wouldn't do?... Very well but I have nothing to hide from you Federico."
Robin lied as naturally as she breathed. if not even black swan could delve deep enough into mind I doubt he will be able to gleam much..
Robin reaches out and shakes his hand.
He does not trust this!!!!!!
"I hope you understand that I am not familiar with the current deck we've found ourselves on," he adds, brow furrowing slightly as if still a bit disturbed by their circumstances. "But I have patrolled the residential decks over the past month of being here. When we find our way back, I..."
His mind sifts through the practicalities. The risks. The unnecessary complications. She is not his responsibility, despite her connection to Sunday. And yet, the logic is sound—ensuring she does not become a liability benefits them both. A measured concession.
Still, he hesitates.
Not out of suspicion, but from the subtle flicker of something else. A tremor in her otherwise seamless demeanor. A breath, barely disrupted. A thought, swiftly buried. A hint of- darkness? But when he goes to look at the mirror, it is gone. Just Robin in a darker dress...
As for the Robin in front of him, her mask does not break, but without the natural ability to read what that most take for granted, he has spent his life studying human nature, tracing the minute shifts in voice and body language, cataloguing their possible meanings and messages. He can see she is accustomed to deception. But that moment—half a second of hesitation—was genuine.
He does not comment on it.
Instead, his gaze drops to their extended hands. "Were we in Laterano, there would be a physical paper contract to be signed and kept. However, supplies are very limited. Solidifying this agreement with a physical gesture is already a...compromise, on my part." Nothing to hide...most likely a lie. She appears to have every reason to hide certain information...
His wings twitch at the name.
"A last addition on my side, then." He looks up, keeping his hand away. "Since our interactions will be professional going forward, you will call me Executor from here on." It is not a request. It...feels like an appropriate boundary set, for the trust she'd broken.
"As for your addition...Understood. Once this is over, I will provide guidance."
He absolutely shouldn't
Titles are beneath her, at least
his certainly is.. Someone of her standing... ugh .. another step backwards how irritating.. calm yourself robin. You need him. she stares at him for a moment, for a brief moment she sees two hands on his shoulders in the reflection on the mirror fascinating... Perhaps that is this 'Law' figure he keeps mentioning.. I'll have to ask more about that.. could be useful
"I.. I agree to these terms"
robin takes his hand and shakes it the slight bitter tone in her voice is very subtle. A man in black stands in the mirror directly behind her looking on disapprovingly.
The connection feels tense between them, she knows she will have to work to get back in his good graces. I guess mind wiping him is off the table ... What am I even saying... How could I do that to a person?? her intrusive thoughts once again run at full speed yelling at her to end this man's life or make it significantly worse just for her own convenience why.. am I like this.. she knows that her thoughts are wrong but.. they still have a point don't they? She is leagues above him and far more important in the grand scheme of things.. why should she care?
The brain fog slowly comes rolling back in
"Fed-Executor.."
She interrupted herself with a cough to cover up her error.
"I believe that it would be useful for us to rest for a little while longer. I am doing significantly better but am still very far from where I need to be.. and that door can't have been comfortable.. so let's rest on the couches for a little bit and then go looking for the recipients... "
She puts on a charming little smile and goes to sit on one of the couches
"I can even sing us something if you want?"
She hates singing. Father used to make her perform constantly.. it brings back bad memories but.. it could be useful for her to get some alone time with the other recipients...
And yet. He is big tired and music interests him more than he'd care to admit! Sneaky Robin...
...Professionalism, he told her. Yet his reasoning has grown personal. That realization unsettles him enough that he nearly misses the flicker of irritation from Robin.
In the end, it makes sense, within the bounds of the law. That guides him forward.
She agrees. The deal is set. His grip is firm as they shake hands. There is no consecration in his touch, but he listens anyway—sifting through the static, through the dull pain. A figure lingers in the corner of his eye, watching...Robin? When he looks, it is gone.
He blinks. Exhaustion. Perhaps Robin was correct in that.
She is displeased, but she agreed. That is enough. Or it will be, if she follows through.
Her use of Executor earns a brief nod. He does not acknowledge the stumble, but the effort to cover it makes him more inclined to accept her next suggestion.
Rest.
She still struggles to stand. His own limbs feel sluggish, thoughts slower than they should be. Fatigue lingers, refusing to abate. A clear sign he needs rest in earnest—not just stolen moments of stillness. His back aches from moments--hours?—slumped against the wall.
A poor assessment. But an accurate one.
With more effort than he wants to admit, he rises. His balance wavers. He presses a hand to the wall a beat longer than intended as the room tilts.
"...That is an acceptable plan of action." A concession, but even rest is progress. He must remember that. Pushing forward in this state is reckless, especially if he is to watch Robin for further signs of concussion. Or schemes.
He sinks onto the couch, hands clasped between his knees. Already, his mind marches to the next task. The next part of the will. Aventurine should be around here, yes? His part does not require an unreachable item. And then—
"Sing?" He blinks. "I..." A pause. It is an unexpected suggestion. But not an unwelcome one. Is this her attempt at restitution?
Executor exhales slowly. Music. Sunday's promise of a song. The ache sharpens before shifting elsewhere—toward Arturia, toward memory, toward something he has never fully grasped but has always been surrounded by.
A familiar presence. A steady thing.
He shifts slightly, quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully, almost reluctant: "I am... not opposed."
A beat. His fingers tighten slightly. If Robin is listening to their frequencies, she will hear it beneath the exhaustion—something softer. Not trust, not yet, not after it being so thoroughly broken, but something simpler. A pull toward familiarity when everything else is unraveling.
"If it will help you rest," he says, rationalizing. But the interest is already there. "Then... by all means."
HI3 trauma activate
"Very well then get comfortable as I do not do this easily or very willingly, the last time I sung for anyone other than my family was over a decade ago.."
She looks pensive for a moment before continuing it's just one song.. not even all of it more than likely..but what song.. she feels like the brain fog just descended on to specifically that part of her memory for a moment... She can only remember one song.. the song mom wrote for us... The one she never finished... No no no no .... But I've already committed... Fuck.. robin you can do this...
"This.. is not something I do regularly so... I hope you enjoy this.. it is.. a song special too me so I ... I hope it may ease your mind."
She does a small vocal warmup, her voice is angelic through and through easily holding par with her brother even in her... Altered circumstances. She takes a deep breath and instructs him to close his eyes and rest. This song always used to take Sunday out in Just the first few lines.. should be no different here..
"The way I go through with
Red roses burn my eyes.."
She remembers very little of her mother... She misses her regardless, she was so sweet and kind.. so warm... Robin misses that warmth
"Cold rain starts pouring hard
I'm being called apon"
fucking fuck fuck why am I doing this.. why am I doing any of this... I need him to trust me... Need to show him I'm being vulnerable... Why does he have to trust me though? Why do I need him... Calm down robin just calm down and keep singing.. we are fine just stay the course. What is a moment of vulnerability to an eternity of salvation? she reaches the part of the song she was dreading singing the most..
"Never let you go
It's why I did it all"
Robin doesn't realize that tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.
"For a chance at least
To live in your way"
Every damn day she remembers that line she can't help but feel her mother would be proud... Her beautiful brave girl who sacrificed her own freedom so that everyone may live there own way..
"Love of you
Is my most cherished thing"
She thinks of Sunday and all the ways she could show how much she loves him, she thinks of her parents and how much she misses them, she thinks of her father.
"So stay alive bravely..."
The last line her mother ever wrote always breaks her a little on the inside, she used to try and figure out how to write the rest of the song, to finish her mother's masterpiece, but she never could.
oof owch I know this one wah
Well. It's reasonable enough. He doesn't sense any of her tuning efforts in the discordant hum of their halos, so, still a bit hesitant, he obliges, leaning back a little and closing his eyes. Arturia would request similar actions, as she used him as a sort of sounding board for when her compositions stumped her.
He senses nervousness, faint and trembling. Is it that "stage fright" Sunday struggled with...?
But then she starts to sing, and those questions, that nervousness, all fade to the background. She requested him to listen, so he shall.
The song...resonates.
It is not the music itself—though her voice is undeniably skilled, clear even beneath its grief. It is the familiarity in that grief within the words. A grief she does not name, but one he recognizes, knows, all the same.
His soror’s music was different. Lively, unrestrained, full of the things she could never say outright, encouraging others to do the same, even before the notes were wrapped in Arts. Federico had never truly understood it, yet he had listened all the same. It was calming...resonating solemnly at his amita's funeral, as Arturia played while they lowered her mother into the ground...
Now, he listens to Robin.
He means to only listen, but his body betrays his intention. His shoulders ease. His hands, still clasped, slowly relax against his lap. The ache behind his eyes dulls—not gone, but distant. His breathing slows, even as he tries to remain alert.
Her voice wavers on some notes. He tries to look, to see if something is troubling her, but finds his eyelids are too heavy to open. That should alarm him more than it currently does.
His thoughts drift. He tells himself he is merely resting his eyes, just for a moment. That he is only listening. But inevitably, inescapably—his body knows better than he does.
Federico has spent this entire time fighting his own body. Fighting sleep, fighting weakness, fighting her. But now? She'd be able to see it—his defenses slipping, not by force, but by inevitability. Her voice smooths over the frayed edges of his exhaustion. And slowly, surely, she can see him unravel.
The tension unwinds from his limbs. The weight of exhaustion, of the familiar grief, of everything, wins out at last.
His head tilts forward slightly, then to the side, as if he’s resisting the pull of gravity itself. But gravity always wins.
Then—finally, as the song nears its end-
His body lists, shifting until he comes to rest sideways against the couch’s arm, head resting against it. Completely still. Completely silent, his severe expression smoothed out into something peaceful. With the help of Robin's song, his exhaustion finally won out.
Federico is asleep.
no subject
She eventually stands and quietly walks over to Federico he.. looks so peaceful so... Innocent. He must have really needed this.. enough of this I need to find aventurine, if I'm lucky it's my aventurine but I have a sneaking suspicion it's not... robin turns to leave the room making sure she is as quiet as possible, right as she is about to walk through the door she turns to look at the sleeping executor, her wings perk up slightly at the adorable sight.
"Rest easy toy soldier..."
She mutters in a extremely hushed voice, however their is not degradation, no mocking jest in her words. She's beginning to respect the man.
regardless now it is time to find kakavasha.. I should probably not call him that however.. let's hope this goes well..
She spends well over an hour looking for the avgin debating different strategies and approaches. Eventually she decides to just break the news to him straight up, no games no gambles, this isn't her aventurine she has to constantly remind herself. She must be on her guard.
Eventually after walking around aimlessly she spots him with his back to her oh how I missed that annoying fuck boy of a gambler.. I just wish this meeting was under better circumstances... she clears her throat as she approaches
"Hello aventurine... I have some rather poor news to share with you."