hadriel_logs | Event Log: Patron Gods

Entry tags:

Event Log: Patron Gods

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Patron Gods event!
Where: All around the city
When: March 15th-March 20th
Warnings: The gods choose you! Whether you choose them back is your call.

It's March 15th! Whether or not you've been having a good or a bad week, the gods decided to get together and put all the characters on teams- just like in those gym classes that you always skipped! Whether or not you were the last one picked is up for debate, but until we can figure that particular mystery out, there's another one to mull over... namely, who left that mysterious note in your bedside table/shoe/fishtank? And how did you get a friendship bracelet twined around your wrist?

Regardless, when opened, the letter will say-

'Congratulations! You have been chosen! [God name] thinks you're a great fit for their team! All you have to do is spread their emotion, and you'll get a blessing - and if your team wins, you get the grand prize: one (1) request for each member of the team, no payment required! Or you can band together and request one big thing, it's all up to you! So find your allies, get started, and let's win this thing!'

Whether or not this is for real becomes immediately obvious, as you seem to find yourself yearning to cooperate with your teammates, and maybe feeling a bit competitive toward your foes. Grab a squeaky chicken or a creepy doll or a snowglobe from the shops if you like, and let's get inspiring! Of course, you aren't forced to participate, but have fun telling your teammates that nobody is going to win their wish because you decided to be a stick in the mud.

Go forth and spread joy! Or sorrow, or scare people, or just really piss them off- but whatever you do, try to have fun and build that sense of community! You're going to need it...

► This log covers March 15th-March 20th.
► 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 you're just so mad at the gods that you'd rather die than participate, then let us know here!

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Wow. Rude.

"So ask her." He lifts his shoulders in a limp shrug before they drop back into their standard, tired slope, without ever drawin' his hands from his jacket pockets. "But first? I gotta question for ya."

As long as they're doin' this back-and-forth, as long as they're startin' things off on the wrong foot - what else could possibly go wrong, huh?

He's still grinning, and his tone is perfectly warm and even.

"Are you just the sorta person who likes judgin' people off their looks, or is there actually somethin' about me you just find so goddamned untrustworthy?"

"Let's start with refusing to answer a direct q-question. " She bristles at the thought that she's 'judging someone by their looks'...

Except that really was part of it, wasn't it? As disconcerting as the commonalities with the entities she'd encountered were, he clearly wasn't actually one of them. There were just as many differences, if not more. And yet there was some irrational part of her mind reacting to his bony grin, reacting to other things around the city.

She'd been horrified in her own world, during the incident when everything started to go wrong. But it was a genuine response to events unfolding before her, not this knee-jerk reaction of panic and fear on sight. No, that had been only since she want through the gate and stared up into a dead and starless sky...

Rationalizing it still doesn't help that irrational pathway burned into her mind much, though. And where would she even begin, trying to explain. Maybe it's better not to try. As pathetic as it sounds without further justification.

"And most... people... knock before they come in. The door w-was locked for a reason," she states, slightly more subdued.

"Yeah, well, I figured Alphys was in. Didn't realize you two were meetin' up in here." 'S nice that Alphys is gettin' to know other people. Even if those other people are, uh...skeleton racists. Kinda not ideal, but it's better than it could be.

Way better, in fact.

Don't think he don't notice that she never actually addresses that little comment about knee-jerk surface-level judgment. Maybe it'll just be little more'n a seed of doubt, planted in her skull for the time being. But seeds are usually all it takes.

He crosses his arms loosely across his chest, leanin' back against the wall.

"So, okay. Here's another question."

Go ahead and stop him if he's bein' too forward, but he figures this one's pretty valid:

"You treat everybody this way? Countin' their words, questionin' their answers? Or am I just gettin' a real special treatment on account of lookin' the way I do?"

Marian's starting to get the feeling he's implying something, and doesn't like it. The one advantage to that though is that irritation replaces some of the panic, although she's still going to keep him more in peripheral vision rather than look directly.

"You look like someone who's dead. Reanimated as s-some kind of v-vessel for s-s-s.... s-something else." Her voice rises again, perturbed. Not like that was a thing that actually happened. Nope. Let's not talk about that directly. "D-don't you think that bothers people? Maybe you c-can't help what you look like. And m-maybe some of us have a good reason for being ...s-s-suspicious."

Suspicious is one way to put it. Instead of, y'know, panicked.

Edited 2017-03-21 03:04 (UTC)

"Okay. 'Cept I'm not." Well, that's, technically speaking, a lie. He is dead where he comes from. He didn't arrive here dead, and that's the bottom line. He ain't dead by default. That was an unrelated thing that just kinda happened along the way.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows across the surface of the table. For all she's having difficulties lookin' him in the eyesocket, he keeps his gaze fixed, unwavering, on her.

"The weird thing here 's that you're the only one who's bothered. Or, uh, the only one who's takin' their sweet time gettin' over it. Lots of people here? They see me, they dunno what to do with me." He opens a hand to sweep a vague, two-fingered gesture up and down, as if to say well, look at me. Except she won't. Too much for her, right?

Yeah. Figures.

"Think I'm some kinda evil thing from the caves out to chomp 'em. But eventually they figure, hey. We're all stuck down here together, yeah? Might as well get along."

All the while, his tone never deviates from its pleasant, personable rumble.

"You got call to be suspicious, sure. But so've a lotta other people who come from crap worlds where, I dunno, skeletons're somethin' to be feared. Somethin' real unnatural." If there's a bitter twist to the last word there, it's faint. Barely perceptible. He keeps on going. "But those standards don't apply here. 'Cause I ain't from your world, Doc. So bottom line? whatever you dealt with back home - that don't mean squat."

He drives those same two phalanges into the table's surface, emphasizing the space the pair of them occupy.

"I follow different rules, 'cause things're different here."

For all that Sans is keeping his cool, Marian's agitation flares up, but for slightly different reasons than before. Memories of personal fears, yes, but irritation at Sans for pushing the issue and forcing her to confront it instead of ignoring it... and frustration at herself, personally.

She's learned to deal with people going on about 'magic', gotten used to the stranger inhabitants enough that she even (albeit hesitantly) offered to shake Alphys' hand when they met. But this stubborn, irrational terror of specific things is something she just hasn't been able to shake, not for Sans, not for the ice alien, not even for Ravine for that few seconds with her stupid overdramatic sunglasses in the dark.

"What kind of idiot do you think I am?" she explodes, slamming her own hands down on the table. She almost catches Sans' eye for a half second but the look is gone again as quickly as it appears. Shaking very slightly, she keeps going with, "I know it's d-different by now. I KNOW it is. But it doesn't matter what I know, because that doesn't change anything!"

Marian's used to being able to rationally approach everything. At times rude and inconsiderate, but more from a distaste for wasting time on social niceties. She likes everything to make sense. And this doesn't.

He don't jump when her fists bang down on the table, though it's a near thing. People this twitchy tend to react explosively when they're back into corners, and that's precisely what he's doin' now. And for a second, just a hair of a second, her gaze flickers over to his and then is gone again.

But it's an admission, and it's something.

"Okay."

He keeps his tone steady, the words level, and pushes away from the table once more, hands returning to their well-worn homes in his pockets.

He's tryin' to get better at gettin' to the etiology of things rather than simply letting 'em fester. Difference here bein' that Marian ain't a kid, but he also ain't a mind-reader. They got off on the wrong foot for certain, but for once, it weren't much his fault.

Weren't much hers either.

So let's start simple. Clean. Direct.

"Why?"

Now, Marian appreciates a direct conversation. But if Sans thinks they're going to end up having a reasonable talk after she's gotten that worked up, he's got another think coming. Getting to the root of the problem is a always something she's aimed for in technical problem-solving. On a personal level... not so much, when it means going back into memories best forgotten.

And although she's thought about it several times, talking about these kinds of problems conflicts with her own personal pride. Maybe she will talk about it now, sooner than later. But certainly not with one of the direct objects of her fears standing right in front of her, with this unshakable feeling in her heart that he has to be after something, that there's something going on with him and the darkness of those eyesockets...

"J-just get out," she snarls, starting to shake perceptibly, just a little. "Get out. I'll t-tell Alphys you w-were here..."

Well, he figured this was goin' well enough, up until he struck an apparent personal chord. Chara insists he get to the why, dig on in to the marrow of things. Now the doc here's implying that he shouldn't even bother. So which is it, huh?

"This ain't your place, Doc," he says, slowly. "In fact, I was kinda pals with the owners when they were still around. I got every right to be here."

He was here when the whole thing was put together in the first place. Keepin' it plenty warm and well-trodden in case -

Who's he kiddin'. It ain't a guarantee. It ain't even a little bit likely, despite the fact that it worked out as such with Chris. There's no guarantee at all. But it's the principle of thing, ain't it?

Something like that.

Let's not forget that it's fight or flight, and Marian's riding well over the cusp of that catastrophe curve. Even if she didn't think Sans would just be here waiting hours from now, like he had last time, the idea she could just fast-forward away from him... she'd only just started to feel settled in here, was unsure but on good enough terms with Alphys, moved the junk she'd been collecting over the first couple months here and had started actually doing something rather than nothing.

"They're not here any more, are they?! So what part... of g-get out... didn't you understand?"

And that's about the point where she grabs the plastic base off the fan she'd been disassembling off the table and hurls it in his direction.

Even if her throw wasn't terrible, she doesn't expect it to actually hit him. She's seen more than she ever wanted to see of teleportation, and how ineffective anything conventional was against an ability like that -- it's more of a fruitless effort borne of terror and frustration than anything intentionally harmful.

She's right; it doesn't hit him. He skates to one side easily, somehow without actually moving any. It's less like he's blipped through space as is typical, and more like he simply ended up a couple feet to the left.

He got good at dodging things early on. Had to. When you only got 1 HP, there's no margin for error. Not even a little. The plastic crashes against the blackboard, clattering against the floor. He steadiest the thing with one hand before it follows suit.

"This place ain't yours, Doc," he repeats, low and even. "You don't got any right to kick me out just 'cause you don't like lookin' at me."

Yep, just as expected. Mostly, back when these things happened, in her world, she ran. How do you fight anything that can warp space around it? And yet for a half second she finds her own crazed train of thought asking once again what she has around, what would even have a chance of harming him. Crazy thoughts.

But pushed enough, rational thought has a hard time prevailing. "S-so what, you stay here all d-day, tormenting me, is that it? Is that the kind of s-sick game you're playing?!"

"Tormenting?" He arches a supraorbital ridge in a fluid upward lift of bone - way more pliable than bone should be, but bone nonetheless. "Doc, I'm just standing here. We don't even gotta make conversation if you don't want. But I got somethin' that needs doing here, and I need this space to do it."

Putting together some speakers and extension cords, more specifically. But he doubts she cares what it is he's planning on busying himself on doing. Knowin' her, she'll probably assume it's some kinda diabolical plot or another.

Which is a pretty fair assumption. With Sans refusing to leave, and herself powerless to actually make him do so, everything swings back around again to fleeing. She can't handle this, and active acknowledgement of the fact that it's absurd that she's getting this worked up over nothing but the feeling of dread itself... is feeding back around into her anxiety about the whole situation. Everything is just horribly wrong. She's got to get out.

But... there's still the matter of all her things. The papers, parts she'd scavenged.

"Then come back... later... s-so I have time to move my t-things b-because I'm leaving," Marian sputters, redirecting that anxious energy to whirling around and gathering the pile of papers. She can at least save her notes. Come back for the rest later, if she has to.

"Uh...whaddaya think I'm gonna do, exactly?" He eyes her and her wave function with a mild sorta amusement, as though wondering how much she expects to scrub the place clean so that he don't get his...what? His bonyprints all over the place?

"Hey, you don't have worry." He cocks his skull, even if she's doin' her absolute best not to look at him. She's evidently got a full awareness that this ain't exactly rational, but seems unwilling to actually address the issue - at least to his face. Or lack thereof. "I don't even leave fingerprints."

That's not exactly reassuring. Is he implying that he is going to mess with her things? She grabs an open container of the few ICs she'd pulled off a couple circuit boards. What else? That's the two most important things. Maybe the rest can wait.

"I d-don't know! B-but I can't s-stay here any more!" Can't work with him in her space. Maybe he'll just claim wherever she moves to next, too. But either way, she can't think rationally about any of this, not right now. Got to leave. And if he won't go first, she will, turning on her heel and rushing for the door.

...fine. Great.

Progress with her is like takin' two steps forward and seven steps back. He watches her go without moving before uttering a low hum of sound that approximates a sigh, not that anybody's around to hear it. He'll get to work fixin' up his speakers, and he'll leave.

Simple as that.

Better luck next time.

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Event Log: Patron Gods

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