hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Ringers

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Ringers

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Ringers event!
Where: All around the city
When: January 16th-January 25th
Warnings: Evil doubles, so we can assume manipulation, violence, murder, and maybe some nasty words

Everything seems normal on the morning of the 16th - actually, everything seems normal about the city for the entirety of this event. Nothing is strange, nothing is obviously wrong. Well, except that the population has mysteriously doubled, and the new residents each look exactly like one of the old residents. So weird! Definitely not ominous at all.

At least until your new double gets down to business. After all, their only goal is to ruin your life, and that can take any form. Smashing your favorite coffee cup? Telling your worst enemy they're right? Kissing someone else in front of your girlfriend? Brutally murdering you and then hiding your body in a closet so they can more effectively destroy your life? The possibilities are truly endless, and the only way to protect yourself is to kill your double first. They're not really open to negotiation, after all - but they sure might pretend to be in order to trick you.

So watch your back, and try to make sure that really is your best friend and not an evil clone masquerading as them. Boy, that would be awkward. If you can stick it out until January 25th, good for you! But if you didn't manage to and your double survives until the end - well, just as a final 'fuck you', there's a chance you'll come back to life and remember every awful thing your double did. Hey, at least that'll make it easier to fix, right?

► This log covers January 16th-January 25th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If your evil clone happens to take you out, please let us know here, and remember that you will not revive until the event is over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's been a hell of a time. A hell of a...goddamn, he needs to find the sucker who's walking around with his face and shut him down, and quick. And he needs to find the kids, all three of 'em, before that sucker gets his phalanges on 'em. And he...

He's, uh. Well, the scientific term, he's pretty sure, is "about to mcfreakin' lose it." There's sweat beaded up on his skull and he's more than a little worn from nipping all over the damn city in search of the kids, the kids he knows.

He finds Asriel eventually. Or, uh...is it Asriel, or "Asriel"? 'Cause at this rate, he's not sure he trusts himself to figure it out. Asriel's the one of 'em he definitely knows the least. He looks at him wearily as he acts all chipper and bright, and that's...that probably ain't a good sign.]

Are, uh...

[Definitely not a good sign. Sans's sockets slip closed for a second before he gives his skull a shake and makes a noise that's almost a sigh, if he had the breath to pull it off.]

Yeah. Okay. You're the other one.

Boy, you caught on quick! Just like always, huh?

[He laughs, and it feels so good, because it's vicious and keening, a distorted scrape of sound raking against the ears. No point in bothering, really. Sans knows everything. Careless, stupid Asriel already let him find out a few things about him, and he has the Resets to prove it!

So, might as well just get to the point. Guys like him can just sense evil, somehow, and they don't believe in forgiveness once they've got it into their head that something's bad. Easier to just go ahead and admit you basically suck at being evil, or whatever, that empty little anomalies like you deserve to be pruned out of the garden.]

Yeah, just like good ol' Smiley Trashbag to know everything before the fun can even starts. Kids like us are guilty until proven innocent, after all, aren't we?

[The voice that comes out of him is all...wrong. He ain't sure how to pin it down, or what to call it, but it's like nails scratching over bone, rasping across keratin with a high-pitched shrilling of two surfaces apposed. It don't sound right, and it don't sit in his ossicles very well at all.

Seems like the old "smile as though nothing is wrong" tactic is a real Dreemurr-esque trait, huh? 'Cause this kid is chirping and laughing as he bites out the words, and all Sans can do as he processes it, quietly, the warping wrongness of the pair of eyes boring into him, is stand there.

And take it.]

That ain't what anybody's saying, kid. But, uh. [That'd be his cue to chuckle, disarmingly, but he's too bone tired and he just can't quite manage it.] I don't really care.

Where's the real you?

The real me? Right. Of course. Don't think of this as really me, huh?

[Don't attach any of those imperfections. Just pick and choose which parts of him exist! Only hold onto the parts that did the right thing. Sure, Chara's not really the greatest person. Sure, Asgore's an old fool, he and Toriel are both dust a thousand times over. Sure, Frisk's just an IDIOT. But he didn't really say any of that. Just forget those parts!

His expression contorts again. Or... no, it really doesn't. It's just that the smug, mocking look on his face may have looked completely at home on a talking flower or an almighty god, but everyone knows the sweet little real him would never make a face like that.]

Boy, you really are stupid, aren't you? The real me was right in front of you, long before that simpering little toddler showed up in this place. Hilarious that someone who acts like he's wise to everything would be so easy to FOOL!

[The significance of that line is lost upon him. That warped expression, on the other hand, is not. Whatever's up with Asriel, with the things he says and doesn't say, it's clear that there's a lot more to him than what meets the eyesocket.

A lot more.

He's got no time for this, and no patience. He eyes the, uh...he eyes "Asriel" warily, trying not to let on just how much his exhaustion has overtaken him.]

If I'm so stupid, how 'bout you explain it to me?

Golly, I guess SOMEONE will have to explain it, won't they? Little old me will just have to suffice. Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow. Wouldn't want you to forget, would we?

[Boy, what a pity that he can't manipulate the world around him quite so effortlessly. What a shame HE can't be the kind of dirty hacker who can tweak map values, attack the HUD, exploit turns. Sans will just have to pretend there's a spotlight winking into existence, closing him off from the world around him.]

Have you ever heard of a talking flower?

[You ever heard of a talking flower?

Some part of him goes still. He focuses on the Boss Monster anew - the one that ain't even the real deal, but he ain't seeing any real alternatives here. There's that neat twist to the words - highlighting just the same that he must'a...

Didn't he say that, once?]

Not an Echo Flower. A talking flower.

[He can't even muster a real sense of accomplishment or fear at having pinned it down. Just knows that it's something that "Asriel" here evidently - wants him to know.

Well, all right. He can play that game.]

It rings a bell or two.

Yeah. Someone's been playing a prank on your brother, huh? Using an Echo Flower to deceive him.

Whispering flattery... advice...

Predictions.

[Not that Asriel would know, right? Poor, sweet Asriel's been gone for a long time. Asriel was already dust by the time Papyrus and Sans started asserting themselves.]

Say, Sans... I wonder. How long have these Resets been happening, exactly?

[The word pings across his skull like a hot ember skittering across the ground. He's heard that before. From...Chara - not his Chara (a dangerous thought; one he don't bother to correct just now) - but the one that hinted at the nature of things, that spoke of being the last to fall rather than the first.

RESET.

The total recursion of everything we've known. The process by which the t₀ restores itself to its default state.

How long have they been going on? How many loops, how many recursive processes? Can't rightly tell, can you? It's all guesswork, tallymarks, picking up pieces of an incomplete story and trying to puzzle them together before the ugly t₁ rears its head.

How many. How many.

How's he know the words, the exact words? It's quoting from a script, verbatim - a skill only Chara, to his knowledge, has exercised at will. And they were...they've been there, he knows, for a long time, a damn long time. Seen and heard everything Frisk has.

So how's Asriel know the same, huh?

Better to look exhausted than confused. He lets the sweat staining his skull, the tipping of his head, speak for itself. Let the weariness overtake him, and don't look at that incipient revelation too hard. It just might eat you alive, if you do.

A shrug of his shoulders. Try and - reveal nothing. Betray nothing. Be rigid, solid, implacable, immovable. Shouldn't be too difficult, right? 'Cept when he's just so tired...]

Beats me. You'd be askin' the wrong guy.

The wrong guy? That's priceless. You make such a big show of being the final authority on it, don't you? The one pouring through "our" reports, the one standing in the golden hallway.

Thanks, by the way, for setting up camp completely uninvited in our house. Really appreciate the mud you track all over the nice tile floors.

[Did Asgore even know there was a greasy little munchkin turning that stretch of New Home into his Big Noble Headquarters? Did Sans just stop everyone who needed to stop by the throne room to make himself the holy arbiter of right and wrong?

Probably not. It's fine to do whatever you want as long as nobody calls you out on the promises you haven't kept or the special powers you don't use for good, huh?]

You won't be getting any more from me, you know, smiley trashbag. Since you're so great at knowing everything, I'm sure it'll all just come to you in a rush of divine inspiration!

[How the hell's he know -

Something in his skull sets, fiercely, a locked rigidity that's like it's gettin' all frosted over. So Asriel..."Asriel," whoever he is - there's more to him, a lot more, than what meets the eyesocket. That syrup-sweet tone is distressingly familiar. If only he could place it.]

I ain't a final authority on anybody, kiddo. I'm just a guy who didn't do so great at his job.

[The pure unmitigated scorn. Coming outta such a sweet kid, it's all comin' up awful wrong.]

It's not your job, though, is it? Nobody made you do it. You DECIDED to. You decided that the best thing you could do with your time here... it wasn't protecting the people you love. It wasn't honoring promises. It wasn't making sure nobody repeats the mistakes that what's-his-face made, or helping your bestie face her demons.

No.

You DECIDED that what you wanted to do was tell a bunch of children that they're the reason everything's wrong. That things like them are better off being made into fertilizer. That they'd be dead where they stand if someone else hadn't made you make a promise - that a promise that means NOTHING to you is the only reason you can think of to not slaughter a kid in cold blood!

So why bother pretending that this is a burden to you? That it's something the cruel world forced poor Sans to do against his will! I'd say you're mighty good at your job, Sans, from one killer to another. I've never heard ANYTHING more satisfied than the way you yell geeeeettttt dunked on!!! to a child's broken corpse.

[Corpse, crushed stem. Same thing, he bets. No real difference between shredded roots and shredded flesh in this guy's eyes. They're all just anomalies to him, not people.]

[He knows an awful, awful lot about him, don't he? He can imitate tones, words, dig into all the little chinks in Sans's armor. And there's that question again - you ever hear about a talking flower, Sans?

Have you?

From one killer to another. The cruel world forced something upon him, and there's a talking flower that laughs and laughs and laughs and how easily it befuddled and tricked and wiled his brother.

All right, flower.

That's how it's gonna be.

Sans keeps on grinning.]

You really wanna do the whole "who's the bigger hypocrite" thing? Is that what you want?

[Is he gonna win? Probably, yeah. At least there ain't much the crown prince of the Underground turned soulless plant can do to knock him down any more pegs than he's knocked himself down already.]

You want me to say I'm a terrible person? I sucked at keepin' an eyesocket out for a couple of kids? That I didn't keep a shitty promise I made?

[He don't gotta explain anything to a soulless weed. Who - what was it again? Oh, right - who ruins lives for kicks.]

But just 'cause you can't feel a thing, that means nobody else gets to feel sad, or happy, or upset - or anything, right? That just ain't fair to you.

[Or is it 'cause you MADE them feel this way?]

Sure, sure. I already know THIS bit of dialogue, too.

Can't judge someone who's already condemned himself, right?

[His smile is bright, vicious, positively alight with vindictive, mocking anger. The kind of face that had come so easily when he was a flower, when he was a being with unfathomable power, when he was a god. His true face.]

And what a liberating excuse THAT is! Just smugly accept that you're utter scum, and nobody in the world can make you change! You and me, we can stay cozy in our little ruts. And you know what...? I'm not sorry.

You can't MAKE me be sorry.

Even if I wanted to be, even if I tried as hard as I could... I won't EVER be sorry, not really!

And you know exactly why, don't you?

[He didn't even have to confess to being soulless! Didn't have to admit to being unable to feel, didn't have to drop any hints. There's the good old all-knowing trashbag we all know and LOVE! Catching on to things no background character should!]

Must be that special power of yours, letting you know how I feel. Does this count as using it to do the right thing, I wonder?

[Can't judge someone who's already condemned themself.

He's heard those words before. Ring hollowly in his skull like an angry doorbell, or a wasp that buzzes in an ossicle and won't let up, even if there's no skin to sting. He just looks - it all looks so wrong on his face.

It ain't like the king's kid was known for this sorta thing. He was a sweet kid, everybody says, and so was the human the king and queen took in. That's how the story goes; it don't work if both of 'em are soulless abominations eager to exact cruelty wherever they can.

What's the point in this, then? How'd he get from point A to point B? How's he go from Asriel Dreemurr to - this?

There's missing pieces of the puzzle here. But somehow he's doubtin' that this version of Asriel would be eager to divulge that information on a whim. 'Specially since he seems to have an unnerving bead on the way Sans's mind, apparently, works.

So keeps his gaze locked on him, and he keeps smiling like nothing is wrong.

It's what he's good at.]

All righty. You said your piece. You had your fun.

[Keeps the words even and controlled.]

Where's the other you?

It's your job to know everything, not mine.

[A shrug, a smile, a single eye winking shut. A gesture that was all his own, when he was brimming full of every soul he could grab, but one that's also a cruel parody of another final boss - the final boss right in front of him.]

Though I guess knowing wouldn't have changed anything, huh? Knowing sure didn't make you lift a finger when any other monster went to dust. The only thing you'd get out of it is being able to tell which one of your beloved little EXP machines drank up that LOVE.

[Because they're his now, aren't they? The precious little humans who adore him so much, who he adores so much. The kids he wore himself down to the bone protecting and watching over, badum-tssht.]

[His job, is it? Funny, how Asriel seems to be doin' a pretty damn good job of knowing way more than Sans does. The cut edge of his grin bites the retort down before it can slip on out, though don't get him wrong - he's tempted. He's real, real tempted.

But he's -

Tired.

And pointless sniping won't change a damn thing.]

Hey, now. [He wags a phalanx at him, wearily, just for the appearance of the thing.] What's that you just said about judging people who've already condemned themselves?

Right. Silly me. You can fill a trashbag with diamonds, and it's still a trashbag.

He's not one of your kids anyway. I know you don't really care. You've done everything short of grabbing LOVE to make sure you don't care.

[He shrugs. Once again, the effortless, familiar action of uplifted arms, one eye winking shut, a dismissive shake of the head.]

I'm done wasting breath on you. I give up. Why even try, huh?

I've got better things to do.

[There's something eerie in the easy familiarity of the motion - one eyesocket closing, arms spread wide in something exaggerated, carefree, utterly nonchalant. Is he...

Wouldn't know, would he? Wouldn't know that that's how he went outta the world, hitching his shoulders in a shrug just in time for a blade to carve him in two, the lights in his sockets dilating with the sheer shock of it. He can't know, can't really know, if the flower succeeded where the kid did. Wouldn't stand to reason, would it? The world would be gone.

He wouldn't know. He wouldn't've seen it.

...right?

Don't matter, one way or another. Your kids, he says, scornful, and some part of that stings, but most of him's too dulled to do much besides simply - acknowledge it for what it is. Didn't try hard enough.

Again.]

Yeah, okay.

[Why waste breath? And on that note, why waste threats at all?

Maybe he just ain't as smart as "Asriel" here gives him credit for.]

So how 'bout this? You keep away from those who're still left, and we won't have any more problems. Capiche?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event Log: Dead Ringers

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