ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴏғ ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴇʟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hadriel_logs2017-03-10 09:15 am
hadrielmods) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-03-10 09:15 am
Entry tags:
- *intro log,
- adam parrish,
- alphys,
- anne of austria,
- ardyn izunia,
- armitage hux,
- beth washington,
- bucky barnes,
- danse,
- dr. lee rosen,
- duck,
- dylan blake,
- emily kaldwin,
- firo prochainezo,
- gladiolus amicitia,
- hannah washington,
- henry percy,
- ikaruga,
- jacob frye,
- jill valentine,
- john watson,
- johnny storm,
- leliana,
- maketh tua,
- matt murdock,
- mettaton,
- mikoto suoh,
- morgan walker,
- napstablook,
- natasha romanoff,
- ned wynert,
- noctis lucis caelum,
- prussia,
- ray shin fang,
- richie gecko,
- romulus hart,
- sans,
- sherlock holmes,
- shuuya kano,
- steve rogers,
- the outsider,
- tyki mikk,
- yehudit/ravine,
- yukari mishakuji
Intro Log: Welcome to the Snave (snake cave)
Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for March
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: March 10th-15th
Warnings: Snakes! Snakes! It's a snake!
What: The intro log for March
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: March 10th-15th
Warnings: Snakes! Snakes! It's a snake!
Good morning, new arrivals! Or, well, it's probably morning. The sun is up, anyway. Okay - not the sun, but that ball of light at the top of the cave that functions as the sun, anyway. Whatever. The point is you've woken to find yourself on the floor of Hadriel's colosseum. You may be wondering where you are and what you're doing here, but what you should be wondering is how fast you need to run to get away from a three-headed snake.
You're not the only one who just woke up. Also to be found in the arena, angry and confused, are Runespoors - large three-headed snakes. Only one of the heads is venomous, but all of them are perfectly willing to take a bite out of you if you get too close - or if you annoy it. If you're lucky, an attacking Runespoor may distract itself via infighting between the three heads, giving you time to run. If not, well, let's just hope you can fight off all three heads at once!
But that's not the only thing you might find. Also scattered around the colosseum floor are what look like tasty snacks. Popsicles, cheese, even toast! Unfortunately, if you get hungry and take a bite, you will quickly discover that each and every one of these is actually soap. So that's great. Maybe the Door thinks everyone needs to shower more? You can also find a few that actually look like soap, and if you're really lucky, you might stumble across the rare and coveted 'pile of baby hands' soap.
With luck, you didn't get eaten by a snake or accidentally eat a piece of soap. Once you find your way out of the colosseum there's plenty of other distractions. Feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!► This log covers March 10th-15th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
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Mettaton's head turns, and he regards Sans--or appears to, through his hair. There's nothing there, no eye to look through. Just a hole, as cavernous as the one left by the person who had left this scarf to him, unwittingly or otherwise.
A coil of rage manifests somewhere around his middle, and he can practically feel his SOUL ignite with his own defensiveness. It's him, that complete bastard, the one that had decided he'd had enough and finally acted on his idea to leave.
Mettaton wishes he'd thought of it first. But alas.
His response is clipped and there's a heaviness behind his tone, expressing his aggressive discomfort with this situation.]
Why don't you tell me?
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Boy. That ain't really the reaction he's lookin' for. Not from his sometimes-boss, who's always been pretty tolerant of the kinda material he delivered at the Resort. Few people escalate from quiet introspection to suppressed rage at the first sign of a simple joke, right? Whatever end he must'a come from, it can't've been real good for him.
No, he corrects himself mentally, tryin' not to let his gaze get pulled back to the familiar sweep and curve of the scarf 'round his neck. It can't've been real good for anyone.
Still. 'S pretty bad form to open up with a joke and leave it hangin' without a punchline.
So he plays the funny man. Can't quite pitch his words correctly and sell it with the familiar sweep of his tone, the artless spread of his arms into a wide shrug. Guess there just ain't enough of him for that.]
Somebody kept pushin' his buttons.
[Should he be waitin' for a laugh? A pity guffaw?
Yeah, he won't hold his breath. Somethin' tells hime he won't be gettin' it.]
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[Mettaton knows it's a joke, but given the manner in which they'd parted ways? It was incredibly coincidental that Sans would push his buttons. Maybe he just doesn't realize; after all, not all outcomes were the same, and not everyone he knew on the Moira or Thisavrou was from the same "home" he was.
He should be understanding.
He should be nice.
But he finds it difficult, all things considered.]
I'm afraid the humor is lost on me. But I suppose you get points for trying.
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Please. I never try.
[That's a filthy lie, after the week he's had. But nobody needs to know that. Even if...technically, a whole lotta everybody knows it. Those city-wide search parties made sure of that.]
Take it you didn't come in from a real nice party.
[The scarf's a dead giveaway. Heh heh. Even better, y'know? A dead one. 'Cause he -
Yeah, he's hilarious. But more importantly, the way his chassis is all banged up to hell, the way he don't like like the varnished, glamorous star of the Underground, that's even more of an indication as to what kinda life he might'a been having.
What the hell kinda ending nets you a look like that? 'Scuse him for sayin' so, but he don't think "post-apocalyptic vogue" is really in this year.]
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No, I didn't. In fact, it was not much of a party. Not that you would have known, of course. You decided that it wasn't a party worth hanging around in.
[Maybe if he speaks in the same vague back and forth, then he could avoid snapping. It's difficult not to be more blunt about it though.
A small breeze catches the scarf around his neck, and he reaches a hand to it, holding it close.]
If you have any pressing questions, Sans, then you had best get them out now. Because I would strongly prefer to avoid any of these topics in the future.
[Which is nothing to say of how he'll be avoiding most of the answers he'll have to give.]
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[Yeah, he's got no clue what he means by that, even if he speaks with the heaviness that indicates there's a significance there that's, uh, kinda lost on him. Bit unfamiliar; he ain't fond of missing things, not in general. It's kinda his whole gimmick. He's the guy who sees too much.
But whatever the hell's he implying don't line up with any of his preexisting knowledge of the way the Underground generally plays out. Not...any of it. The only time he leaves the party's when he gets kicked out of it, nearly cleaved in two. And, uh, everybody knows how that turned out. Don't we?
He quirks a supraorbital ridge in Mettaton's direction, his tone mild.]
'Fraid you lost me there.
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Mettaton is painfully aware of how it all turns out, and that is the only reason why he extends Sans the courtesy he's doing now, when he'd rather tell the skeleton to fuck off, leave him alone, and never show his duplicitous skull around again.
That's not fair though, is it? Because Sans has endured quite a lot.]
What I mean is that if you want to know where I came from, ask. If not, then we should carry on with the niceties.
However, I assume you have at least one question.
[Almost as if to cement the point, and call that mild-mannered response into question itself, the tattered end of that familiar red scarf flickers again.]
If I'm mistaken, then I apologize.
[Is he mistaken, Sans? What are you going to do? Will you play the game of puns and japes, where you hide your feelings behind clever words and attempts at humor?]
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[Easy and simple, proposing the question without missing a beat. It's slippin' into a predefined role, nice and easy. He's the shitty comic relief. He's the guy with the horrible jokes and the irritating propensity for poppin' up all over the damn place. Play the role; comes real easy to him, don't it?
Maybe he'd dance about it, if he had the energy to. But he don't have the energy to do much of anything, these days. He's all but drained, at this rate. Can't do much of anything but wearily fall into place, like he always does.
Maybe when are you from would be a bit more accurate. But hey, let's start with the basics to begin with, yeah?]
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[It sounds curt, but he eventually smiles halfheartedly.]
That's just a joke. Funny, yes?
[No.]
I've been living on a spaceship for nearly a year. Though recently, the ship was destroyed and we came to be trapped on an alien planet instead. Or planets, but that is quite technical, I suppose.
I don't recommend space. The stars are nice, and some planets are alright. However...
[Again, he finds himself stroking his neck out of unchecked habit.]
...There are other places which should never even have come to exist.
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Maybe "concerning" is the wrong word to use. He's tryin' to take a break from that whole "caring" thing. It's a work in progress, all right?]
Huh.
[Space, huh? Color him, very slightly, jealous. At least with everything else goin' on, he could've seen the sky. The stars.
All of it.]
Can't say it sounds familiar.
[His hand goes to his neck, and the lights in the skeleton's eyesockets swing up to track the motion, pinning down the way his metallic fingers drift over the cloth (tomatoes, detergent, garlic), before swiveling idly away. Keepin' his tone low and neutral.]
That where you score that little number?
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Really uncomfortable trying to pretend he doesn't want to tell Sans off for leaving, but honestly? The tipping point had to be questioning the scarf. Because how dare he ask, Mettaton had tried asking him if he wanted it and for whatever fucking reason, it had led to the most uncomfortable and unpleasant conversation of his life.
They'd both been upset in their own ways...
And Sans hadn't even let Mettaton commiserate. Was Mettaton ever good enough for Papyrus? That's something he often wonders, and for a while, he had believed that Sans had the confidence in him. Maybe...maybe his shaders were on, because that was the old him. The old him wouldn't see how awful he actually was.
And as he speaks, he is reminded, once again, that yeah he is an awful person.]
He was with me on the ship for a while. And then he was gone. This is all I have left of him.
[That's it. He offers nothing else. No question as to whether Sans wants it, because Papyrus was his brother and he deserved to have it. No inquiry as to whether Papyrus is here, because his hope was so diminished that he felt he already knew that answer.
And no sympathy...because the last time he'd tried, it had been thrown in his face.]
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Yeah. Figures. Papyruses deserve the best outta any word, don't they? They deserve to be home and happy, seeing the sun, driving an appropriately flashy red vehicle with the wind streaming through their lack of hair. They don't have any time for awful places like this, or places in space that apparently ain't that great anyway.
Better off somewhere else. He don't deserve Papyrus. He never did.
He could push the envelope, conceivably. He could probably whip up a proper case for who has whatever right to own the damn thing. But it don't matter much, in the end. He ain't sentimental.
Not anymore.
He's learned what it means to hold onto things, and holding onto things only ever got 'em turned against him. So, fine. That can be Mettaton's cross to bear, given that he's so attached to it.]
Sorry to hear that, pal.
[His rumble is low enough that it ain't exactly clear whether the condolence is sincere or not. Mettaton can put it together on his own time. Don't much matter.]
He was here too, for a little bit.
[Was, even if the word don't get any kinda additional amount of stress. But the past tense should be a firm enough indicator of what went down.]
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It would have been hard to talk about.
But to not even ask why Mettaton found it so important, feign sympathy believably, or even have the heart to wait until Mettaton wanted to ask whether Papyrus was here? Maybe he wanted to tell himself there would be a chance later, and that the longer he didn't see Papyrus--if he was here--the fonder he'd be of the tall skeleton if by sheer happenstance, he'd ended up in this place.
But no.
We have to keep things straight now, don't we?]
Of course he was. And of course he isn't anymore.
[Mettaton's hands clench into fists at his sides, so tight that the joints of each finger strain against the pressure.]
What happens to those who leave here? Do they die, or do they go back to where they came from?
[There's an icy gleam in Mettaton's eyes as he continues.]
Did he even have anything to go back home to anyway?
[Eye for an eye, Sans. Now Mettaton's feeling things out, because whereas Sans might not be entirely aware, Mettaton knew quite a bit about the workings of things back home. He didn't want to know, and if he could, he would forget and be a happier monster for it. But he can't. It's with him forever.]
no subject
No reason at all.
The temptation to up and slide outta this conversation is overwhelming, just for a moment. Clip through space and end up on the couch. Bye, see ya, thanks for catchin' up, was a real great time for everybody, but he's done.
Yeah. The temptation's there, no kidding. But he's too tired to bother just now. His shoulders lift, lightly, before sloping down again. The weight of a world's worth of dust rolling off his shoulders, showering onto the ground. Metaphorically. Paints a real pretty picture, long as you don't think too hard on where all that dust came from.
He slits open an eyesocket and locks it on the robot unblinkingly, grinning easily.]
You kiddin' me? He's drivin' a nice car under the sun, if he gets his way.
[That was the only silver lining, with all of it. At least he went back to a world that existed. A nice end for everybody, though hell if he knows how one gets there. Ain't like anyone else has seen it.
Though, hell, maybe Undyne has. He ain't asked her.
He finds himself not askin' a whole lotta questions these days.]
no subject
Surprisingly, Mettaton's expression goes entirely slack. He's finding it difficult to be mad with that answer. Whatever reason Sans might have to give it to him, it was still an answer he wanted to hear, because it reminded him of home, and that Papyrus would be fine there.
Not his Papyrus.
But still okay.
He laughs softly, an uncomfortable sound. But he still sounds relieved when he addresses Sans again.]
I would love that for him. He deserves that. He deserves only the best.
[Which, of course, means not Mettaton. This shadow of a robot wasn't worth being enamored to, after all, and he was fairly certain that nothing he did would ever make Papyrus love him again.
That's fine. It's okay.
Just as long as he knows there's one Papyrus that'll be okay.]
Sans?
I am sorry for my behavior. It's not very fair is it, to be mad at someone without even telling them why?
no subject
Better than down here, right? And even if there's that awful, selfish little piece of him that's grappling for a fraction of what he had, that wants it all back, 'cause that'd be better, somehow - it's probably for the best that he's used to not gettin' what he wants, yeah?
Papyrus ain't better off down here. He should be with the people who deserve him.
He don't expect that to be the thing that defuses the potentially escalating situation. But defuse it does, and Mettaton's entire disposition softens right outta nowhere.
Heh. All right. Maybe not outta nowhere.
And then there's the unexpected bit. Even more so than every other loop he's thrown him thus far.
He apologizes.
Sans don't answer that. Not right away. He keeps his even look and his guileless grin, until finally he droops his socket shut again, rolling his shoulders in a faint, tired shrug.]
Hey, fuhgeddaboutit. Sounds like you been through a lot.
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That might not be the best policy, all things considered. Especially when he does something as flagrantly uncharacteristic as apologizing for something he did that may have hurt someone else's feelings. Objectively, it was the right thing to do! Sans didn't deserve this if he couldn't even tell why Mettaton was mad.
It wasn't the Sans he knew.
Somehow, that did have a mild effect on his good mood...but he stifles it for the most part.]
I can't say I'm happy to be here. But I'm not as upset as I should be. Though I feel terribly that I cannot uphold my promises to Asriel while I'm stuck somewhere else.
no subject
[To Asriel, no less. And he really shouldn't be askin', considering everything, but that's really the kid that he knows the least, ain't he? There's a trio of 'em, but Asriel's awful cagey; more so than Frisk, who simply seems to think that he don't wanna hear anything that ain't a joke or a smile.
But that bit's his fault. He knows it.
One supraorbital ridge lifts in mild intrigue.]
You close with the kid or somethin'?
no subject
Unbidden, a memory surfaces of a tall boss monster sparing Mettaton a quicker death by skewering an alien on his sword. Then another, where Mettaton screams and tugs against chains, watching a young boss monster be muzzled and dragged away.
He looks intensely uncomfortable. Up rises the hand again, and he can't help but look just as cornered as he feels.]
Yes, well. Where I'm from, we became friends. Over shared experiences.
[Like wanton murder, self-hatred, and being reduced to property. You know, normal stuff!]
no subject
[His hand goes to the back of his neck, a motion that maybe he don't realize it, but makes him look - besieged. Like he's set upon on all sides by some kinda invisible force.
Could be a correlation between that and the fact that that's just where the scarf rests, but that ain't a given. Correlation don't equal causation, and all that. Either way, he don't make it real obvious that he's keepin' any more of an eyesocket on him than he was prior.]
He's been down here for a few months now. Pretty sure he never lived on any spaceships, though.
no subject
[Not his Asriel. There's nothing familiar for him here, then? So it goes, he supposes.]
It's alright, I wouldn't want to impose myself upon him for a friendship that he doesn't want.
[What a very Mettaton thing to say!
Wait...]
Who else is here from the Underground anyway? So far, we haven't really accounted for that many, have we?
no subject
...
What the hell kinda crap did he go through in space, anyway?
Seemingly unperturbed, he rattles 'em off on his phalanges.]
Lemme see here...uh, we got Alph, livin' with me and Undyne. This human who I think used to be a ghost - Napstablook, I think. King's down here too, along with his - uh, all of his kids.
["All" of them. Not sure if Frisk rightly counts with all that, but he don't know how else to call 'em.]
no subject
[Ah, now there's some of that energy. Mettaton can't really help it; he missed her dearly before she showed up on the Moira, and even moreso when she vanished. Was it so wrong to miss his best friend?
Blooky, of course, is another matter. He wants to ask, but he's not sure whether to bring it up. So...he doesn't.]
The children and the king too? Mm...it's been a very long time since I've seen Asgore or Undyne, I must admit.
[He shakes his head. This is crazy. This is unfair.]
None of you really deserve to be in a place like this. Maybe it's just my very minute experience prior to this point, but...this doesn't seem like a place one would want to live.
[Giant three headed snakes, really?]
no subject
[One socket drops shut for a second in mild amusement, mingled with a - a somethin' he don't let dwell for very long at all. Trepidation, maybe. 'Cause she mentioned, the first day she showed, and he had to ask to make sure she came from a better place than he did. And it turns out she did.
But not by a whole lot.
At least that gets a reaction. She's missed him. She watched him die.]
Eh. It ain't so bad. We don't get stars or skies, but...
[He trails off with a loose shrug of his shoulders, artless and unconcerned. He'll let Mettaton fill in the blanks if he likes.]
no subject
So...he can't quite decipher Sans' feelings.
That's probably what the skeleton preferred anyway.]
I have...really missed her too. You know how the saying goes; you don't know what you've lost 'til it's gone!
It's very true.
[He laughs mirthlessly. None of his laughs are anything other than cynical anymore, are they?]
Lots of things gone, many of them sorely missed. Almost none of them coming back. At least I can be happy to have Alphys and Bl...Napstablook too.
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