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etrayamemes2025-03-28 09:16 am
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2025-03-28 09:16 am
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TDM 007
content warnings for this TDM include: violence, potential death, body horror, physical transformation, loss of senses, loss of autonomy  ⏵ arrival⏴ Arrival does not happen as Aurora usually plans for it. New characters are introduced to the AI, then informed of a mission that they are required to participate in before they can return to their home base of Etraya. A world called Aphaia is falling apart, and while there is nothing they can do to resolve this broken world, they can participate in the Gamerunner's Stratagem. Their mission is simple: step through the glowing purple portal that Aurora creates once they've had time to listen to her, and survive until a similar portal reopens in front of them, allowing them to return to Etraya. The Gamerunner's Stratagem is something they have been working on building for quite some time. She informs all newcomers that they will not be present on this world that long: their exit will appear to them exactly when it's meant to, allowing them to meet the others who have been recruited to save their worlds. She provides each and every arrival with an earpiece, allowing them to communicate with the other Etrayans. Aurora suggests taking a bag full of supplies along with them, which she will fill with a few generic items as well as any specific items they may need: synthetic blood for vampires, protein bars for those who may burn through calories faster, medication for anyone who requires it.  ⏵ aphaia ⏴ Aphaia is a neon-lit, chaotic planet. Cameras are everywhere, every action and inaction is judged by the 'audience'. Towering holograms advertise upcoming events while flashing leader boards track the most "popular" players. Contestants are thrown into challenges, many of which are games of skill, survival, and deception all to keep the viewers entertained. Not participating is an option! However, avoiding playing along and not putting on a show will quickly cause participants' score to go down, and scores that reach zero? Well. Unfortunately, there are only so many resources left on Aphaia. Their wildlife has died off, their planet is falling apart, and most others in this galaxy were either destroyed from the inside out, or warring planets trying to gain control of remaining resources destroyed them to avoid others getting involved. Their natural resources are depleted, and only those who manage to keep their scores up are given the luxury of having any supplies. As soon as one steps foot on Aphaia, as soon as they breathe, they intake nanotechnology which tracks their oxygen consumption, their food, everything they do or need. As soon as their scores reach zero? They disappear. There one moment, and completely gone the next. Their communicators go offline, and while everything they were carrying will be left behind, no one will be able to find them. They are simply--gone, erased from existence. This is a death and counts as a death as outlined in the game FAQ! Please keep this in mind. "Points" that go towards their total score will be assigned to contestants from the moment they drop down on planet. This will be visible using the HUD on their earpiece, and will be randomized at the beginning. For the sake of the TDM, we ask that no one be assigned Paragon initially, but you're free to use other ranks! The possible rankings are: 100: PARAGON 99-80: LUMINARY 79-70: CHAMPION 69-50: CONTENDER 49-30: UNDERLING 30-0: SHADE Ranks may change daily, or even hourly depending on the kind of situation one has found themselves in. Are they having a very public break up in which it comes out that they wronged their ex? They may go from a Champion to a Shade before they can even blink. Did they save a defenseless reporter from the big bad villain of the week? They may find themselves quickly elevated up to Luminary and given all the benefits that comes with being upper class. The world is their oyster, they only need to figure out how they'd like to utilize it! Aphaia is broken up into four districts. The Colosseum is a dynamic battle arena where combatants fight for entertainment, with shifting environments controlled by the audience. Victories earn points, while losses depend on performance. The Symposium is a lavish social hub for top contestants, where alliances and betrayals are made under the audience’s watchful eye. The Agora is the public center of Aphaia, where contestants engage with the audience through polls, interviews, and challenges to maintain popularity. It also houses the contestants in high-rise apartments. And Backalleys provide hidden spaces with intentional blind spots for secret dealings, though the Gamerunner is always aware of what happens there.  ⏵ st★rlight soirée ⏴ Something special is happening in the Colosseum. Lights flicker as the arena shifts, rearranging itself into a grand, glittering ballroom - if a ballroom had stadium seating, paparazzi drones, and an ever-changing floor plan designed to disorient those within it. Silver chandeliers pulse with artificial starlight, their glow refracted through the crystalline floors. Music swells, but it sounds - unnatural. It thrums through your veins, setting your blood alight with the urge to dance. Why is the ballroom designed as if intentionally put together to throw off one's balance? Well, it's time for the Panopticon Prom, of course! The Panopticon Prom isn't just an adventure in dancing and impressing your most recent crush. It's a test of endurance, cunning, grace, and charm. The floor beneath your feet moves as if it has a mind of it's own, shifting to the beat like a living creature all of it's own. It tilts, undulates, even vanishing in sections to keep dancers on edge. After all, it's difficult to keep up one's pace if they're falling through a hole in the floor to the foam pit below. Drones zip through the air, catching every stumble, every misstep, and every attempt to throw off others on the dance floor. This is a competition, after all; and what fun is a dance battle without having the freedom to thwart someone else on their road to victory? The rules are simple:
 ⏵ casino royale ⏴ Out in the Agora, another popular quarterly event is being set up! The Casino Royale has been destroyed countless times, but it seems as if the Gamerunner just can't let it go - every time it gets knocked down, it gets rebuilt. There is one rule. One must take a turn at the revolving wheel just inside the door as their entry fee, and whatever the wheel lands on, they must maintain until they exit the building for the night. Sometimes, this is easier: an effect they have no control over and cannot undo even if they wanted to. Sometimes, this is more difficult: an assigned task they must complete. Failure to abide by the wheel once means receiving a penalty. Twice? Certain death if caught by any employee. The wheel's effects are as follows:
The casino is alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the steady whirl of the roulette wheels. Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over velvet-lined tables, where fortunes are made and lost with the flick of a wrist. But something feels. . . off. The dealers never blink. The cards never seem random. And the house always wins - always. Maybe it's just paranoia, or maybe this casino is something more than just a den of chance. Tonight, you're not here just to play; you're here on a mission. You've arrived dressed to kill, blending into the sea of bodies filling the casino's floors. But you're not here to win points or boost your social standing - you're here to win intel. Somewhere in this casino is a single flash drive containing information on just how Aphaia maintains their system. The only problem? The House knows someone is coming for it. After all, they're well-aware of the game: whoever retrieves the flash drive will obtain information on how to flip the script, to change the rules of the game to fit their wants and needs, rather than following the current Gamerunner. After all, this is the Gamerunner's Stratagem that Aurora has sent them out on! Many apply for 'employment' within the Casino Royale in hopes of getting insider information on where the flash drive is hidden and what it looks like. However, it seems that even the employees have no clue where it has been hidden. This is an extension of our Aphaia Mission! We have included enough information in this post that catching up to current in game logs isn't necessary to play with it, but you are welcome to use any part of the Aphaia setting in your prompts as you'd like. Current players are also welcome to bring the events from this TDM into their in-game threads. This mission can happen outside of time as needed! Incoming characters will find themselves introduced to Aphaia as they arrive. Current characters may find Aurora calling on them to visit Aphaia after the current mission for the Gamerunner's Stratagem. Characters already in game are welcome to post to the TDM, too! Please mark them as current characters in your header. Threads can be kept as game canon as long as both characters get into the game! Please direct all questions relating to this log to our mod queries comment! All other questions can be directed to our FAQ. |
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/It's fine. I lost my temper, that's all. Sorry. You want a blanc de blancs or...? I'm partial to rosé myself./
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Tomorrow. Bring whatever bottle, and, Quire?
You ever 'newsflash' me again, I'm stomping on your balls with my thinnest high-heels./
(RIP him.)
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What a terrible day.
Quentin brings the champagne—rosé of course—to Sophie's apartment door as promised. He knows she can sense him as well as he senses her, and that's why he has his mind locked down to only the most surface level thoughts. It's also why he doesn't knock at her door. She knows he's here. Why bother.
He assumes the amount they do not want to talk to each other is approximately the same, so he drops the bottle in front of the door and starts walking away.]
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Thing is, she's not just going to let him leave. They have words to exchange, and once she feels him start to leave, the door opens so she can pull him into the room by his shirt... And the pink glow that engulfs the bottle brings it too.
The same pink pushes the door until there's a click. Sorry, Quentin.)
/That's mean./
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Still, it is genuinely surprising when she grabs him by the shirt and—oh, that was some little baby level TK, wasn't it? That's fun. His eyebrows shoot up, and one of his hand reflexively goes to grip the wrist of the hand she's got fisted in his shirt.]
/What's mean?/
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The grip on her wrist makes her eyebrows lift just as his did, and she lets go, only to grip (pathetically) at his own, too, as the arched brows morph into a furrowed look. It's the dumbest stand-off in history, so it takes her a few seconds before she lets go and pulls her arm back to herself.
Manicured hand gesticulates to the couch as she has the bottle, still engulfed in the pale pink to be set on the kitchen counter, her attention focused on finding some glasses.)
/Leaving a girl to drink a whole bottle by herself./
(Besides. He has words she wants to hear.)
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/Nobody said you had to drink it alone./
[Just not with Quentin. Any "dates with Julian" comments aside, he's sure there's no shortage of people who would share a bottle of champagne with Sophie Cuckoo.]
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(Any 'dates with Julian' comments aside, she was asking him to come see her, wasn't she? Quentin, not Quire. She's still slightly mad, but not as mad as she was yesterday, if name usage scale tells him anything. The bottle pops, loudly resonating through the room as she pours to tall glasses to bring to the center table. She's got a high score, not the best, but well.
It is Sophie Cuckoo, drama Queen, Emma Frost 5.0, so.
She gets little treats like an okay place to hang, not that she had taken any advantage of it yesterday.
If he won't come to the couch, she will, leaving his glass across from her so he can stand like a nerd if he wants, but at least drink some of the champagne.)
/I'm not going to bite./
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Quentin doesn't go to the couch, but he does move to lean against the wall near the door rather than standing awkwardly in front of the door itself. And hey, why not, he'll take the champagne. He holds out a hand as a glow that's several shades brighter than the one Sophie produced surrounds the glass she poured and dutifully carries it to him.]
/What do you want, Sophie?/
[The words are a bit blunt, but his tone is more obliging than anything. Sincere. Resigned. This isn't a social call for them to enjoy each other's company, because Sophie has been nothing if not abundantly clear that she does not enjoy Quentin's company. She wants something from him. He'd rather just know what it is.]
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Loneliness. Alone. No, that's not the point. Mute, mute, mute. Mute. At least now, locked in, she can also be mad that he is here. She was dumbfounded, but ultimately slightly impressed at him yesterday for his display of an actual attitude towards her actions. Today, he went back to zero. She's hard to please, unfortunately.
Fine. She'll sip at the champagne, the surface pleased with the bubbly taste against her tongue before she replays the conversation they had yesterday. His voice resonates to both their brains; "/I'm not bringing you take out and champagne for your date with Julian Keller after you told him our fucking cult island exploded!/"; "/Newsflash, Sophie, Krakoa was my home too. I just don't—/"; "/It's fine. I lost my temper, that's all./"...
And she taps her glass with her finger, as if she was punctuating something.)
/Was this because I was a bitch or was this because of something else that you're not telling me?/
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He knows what she wants to talk about. He just doesn't know why.
But his eyebrows raise quizzically at her question, because that? That's a trap. That is so a trap. He chews on his lip for a moment, looks down at his champagne, and idly swirls it around in his glass.]
/Sounds like you don't need me to answer that for you./
[Spoilers: it's both.]
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Did get a quiet from her though, one that comes out of her lips. He saw her apologize to Kamala, there is something within her that wants to be a bit of a better person.
Does not change the lifelong experience of being... Eh, on the fence, usually. The heroic, self-righteous, holier-than-thou Cuckoo is still a Cuckoo.)
I'm aware, alright?
(That's as much of an apology she can muster right now).
/I'm not gonna force you to talk or anything. Not like I fucking can, anyway, so I'm gonna ask. Do you wanna talk?/
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/Are... you saying you'd force me if you could?/
[He's not.... entirely sure why that bothers him as much as it does. She's right that she can't force him. He's a stronger telepath and would be even with her powers fully functional. That's not the point. It just... It doesn't—shouldn't—matter. It's never mattered, not any of the times the Cuckoos have asked things of him. Why does it matter now?]
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(God, the mental sigh she gives. Why is this so tiring. Why is it so draining. The gulp on her champagne, and she's already refilling.)
/I could also guilt-trip you, which I'm not. I'm literally asking. Do you want to talk? It's fine if you don't, but I want to know why it is that made you not finish that thought./
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Quentin sighs and moves his glasses up with his free hand to massage his eyes for a moment.
Fine. Fine. Time to be the frog again.]
/Why do you think, Sophie? I didn't finish the thought because it's not something you were gonna want to hear./
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(You know how gestures make up punctuation at times? That's why she's standing, looking at her swirling glass as she steps to fit on the space on the wall next to him.
The view out of her window is nice, her room is high. She can't complain, taking a sip as her back touches the wall.)
/I just never thought you had it in you to snap at me./
(Mostly because she has been terrible to him literally her entire life and some more, and it really never did anything.
Does he not see how concerning that is and how big of a deal she's thinking he's hiding???)
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/You never thought—Sophie, we've never talked. You've said more words to me today than the rest of our entire lives./
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/Exactly my point./
(She has rejected him, time and time again, been awful, preferred DYING, and he's still here, isn't he?)
/We've never spoken more than we are now, and from the few words we exchanged, I know I wasn't nice, but I don't think we need a recap on how that meant very little to you./
(Both of them probably remember well the Phoenix event, but he will find that, at least right now, there is no grudge regarding that part; it's a neutral feeling, which probably is a good thing. It's the latest occurrences that drive her the maddest as of late.)
/So, you see, I don't think I'm wrong in thinking you couldn't be mad at me. I'm actually glad you can./
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Quentin doesn't typically express his anger through his powers. Telepathy at his scale is far, far too dangerous to be thrown around as a weapon for every scuffle and argument. And TK? Well, TK is just messy. See: Julian's stupid crater that Quentin had to fix yesterday. No, no, Quentin doesn't get the luxury of full-blown meltdowns. He needs to have control, and he's damn good at it. There's no outward sign of his foul mood other than a mild telekinetic static growing around him and his face making the subtle shift from stunned hurt to restrained fury. His mind, meanwhile, shuts down fully to her. He knows she hates feeling alone, but he's going to be selfish for a minute.
She's glad he "can be" mad at her. She's glad. Like she didn't respond to his anger with vicious comments about the riot and about Phoebe and then badger him into bringing her champagne and talking about this shit when he made it very clearly he didn't want to. For precisely this reason. If there's one thing Quentin's learned it's this: a Cuckoo's first priority is always a Cuckoo.
Quentin looks away from Sophie and sips his champagne coldly.]
/Good to know torturing me is a source of entertainment for you. Always kinda assumed, but, well. You know what they say about assumptions./
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Finding him right now is like reaching into the dark to find a cold wall. He locked her out. Again. He won't need to look beyond her face to know what she is thinking, her eyes closing, lingering, the sigh of disappointment, and she knows she's mirroring his feelings right back at him, too—shock, betrayal, bitterness, although not yet with resignation.
If he's locking her out, she's locking him out too, and she's making a statement she's staying out completely. She feels one needle out of place in her brain, she's shifting to diamond, and that's the decision she makes along with the one that she no longer wants to stand close to him as is. Pushing herself away from the wall, she moves to the window, side pressed to the wall adjacent to it with her back turned.
Entertainment. Assumptions. Does he want to pull that card with the girl he thought was going to swoon and kiss him on the mouth because he undid the destiny he brought to her in the first place? Like she was supposed to be grateful, enamoured and emotional about it. Like this was any fair to her as it was to him.
Like she was so easily replaceable. One more clone, another Cuckoo. Then, what was the point of all of it, anyway? That's what grates her nerves. Since she isn't coming near his mind for now, words meet the wind.)
Yeah, you're great at fucking assuming, Quire.
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Oh, now you're mad at me? Why? I thought this is what you wanted, huh? Me pissed off? Well, here's me pissed the fuck off.
[He steps away from the wall, pressing his hands to his chest emphatically. Now that he's started the words are spilling out of him like a toxic spill, but with them locked out of each other's minds at least there's no danger of psychic leakage.]
You, Phoebe, all of you Cuckoos, all you've ever done is fuck with me. Did Phoebe go back to the rest of you and laugh at me every time we were together? Have a good old chuckle at pathetic little Quentin Quire until you five got tired of me and threw me away? Phoebe never gave a shit about me, and neither do you. Just do me a favor and stop. Pretending.
[That said, psychic leakage may be the least of his problems as he continues spewing all these awful, petty thoughts that taste as bitter as they do satisfying. He'll have to reign in the vortex he can feel himself being sucked into sooner rather than later, but for this exact moment? It feels like the relief of opening an infected wound that's been left to fester for far too long.]
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She knows he knows, but what she also knows is the satisfaction it brings to see someone who hurt you squirm. She's denying him that.)
Good, be pissed off! That's much, much better than half the shit I've seen you do! At least you're having a normal, real fucking interaction with me for once in your life, and you don't get to talk like you give an actual shit about me, anyway. What is it, guilt? Let me do you a solid here, you didn't kill me, Esme did. There, you're free, good for you.
(God, Phoebe. Does he really want to talk about Phoebe? Okay. They're there. Might as well.)
Correction, Quire, she threw you away, not us. Wanna get mad at someone for it, get mad at her.
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Esme...
[Esme who sold him the Kick. Esme who encouraged his violence, his anger. Esme who hinted, subtly but not too subtly for a drug-addled, emotionally vulnerable young Quentin Quire to get the message, that a certain lovely Cuckoo sister might be terribly impressed by a show of mutant solidarity. The kind Charles Xavier was too much of a coward to ever do.
Quentin knew Esme screwed him over. That was obvious. She was always his least favorite Cuckoo, specifically because of that vicious streak in her, that very slight but perpetual curl to her lips that was almost cruel. She never had the kind of warmth Sophie has. The bravery. The willingness to do what's right no matter what. And Phoebe? Phoebe is soft. Kind and good like Sophie, but lacking her sister's hard edges.
Esme didn't just screw him over. She used him. Weaponized him. Just like Kade Kilgore and Beast, but worse because she used him to kill someone he cared about, not to mention her own damn sister.]
Phoebe never—I didn't... Fuck. Fuck.
[The glass in his hand shatters into a million pieces as he says that last word. It's not the TK blast he could do, nor is it the one he'd really like to do if he had his druthers. But it takes a bit of the edge off.]
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Esme, with all her flaws, Sophie can forgive. Phoebe, she can forgive. They're always going to be all she has, no matter how close, or how separated. They're parts of her that she doesn't know how to live without, but Esme didn't kill her just the once, and Sophie even went as far as sacrificing herself for her. She keeps trying, and trying, and trying, even when she's freaking dead. Fucking Esme.
Fucking Quentin, too. For the smartest kid she knows, he's an Omega-level dumbass. Of course, she is mad at him; how could she not be? Does it not occur to him that the issue had never just been that absurd riot? And why would Phoebe, who had the complete facts of it, tell him? She'd lose her upper hand, make him think of a time when she was not in the picture, probably — that would be stupid. Cuckoos are anything but dumb, they're cunning, manipulative, and all things in between.
The thing that makes her turn around is not the words, but the sound of glass. It startles her enough to look back at him with goggled eyes, concern overriding the pettiness of not letting glance at her expression. Worry is definitely a worse look in her book than anger, but she can't help it. They can go back to yelling at each other in a second. Right now, her TK opens a drawer to bring a little box of supplies to her hand as she walks carefully to not step on anything on her way towards him.
No ceremonies, she's going to check his hand for injury because if she used her TK to break things, she'd have a billion scars, but of course, he has none.
Of course.
Once she realizes he needs no patching, the box is carefully settled on the nearest surface. At least her kinder nature has her way less fired up now that it moved through the motions of anger to some care.)
I know you didn't know, and Phoebe would gain nothing from telling you.
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Oh. Because of the glass. He supposes maybe most people would hurt themselves crumpling a champagne glass into tiny bits with their mind, but Quentin isn't "most people". He'd have to turn in his "world class telekinetic" card if he couldn't manage that. He quirks an eyebrow curiously at Sophie, flicks his wrist casually in the general direction of the glass on the floor, and a tiny pink broom and dustpan made of psionic energy appear and start cleaning up.]
Why would she...?
[The way he trails off makes it clear that he's not actually asking. He knows. He looks away from Sophie and massages his forehead with a grimace.]
Phoebe was jealous. Of you. Is that it?
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