event ♃ i know i'd better stop trying, you know that there's no denying

[seekinganswers]

Characters: Sheba and you!
Setting: Around the Tower.
Format: Action to start, but I'm more than happy to switch to prose if you prefer!
Summary: Everything is just fine. Sheba's patrolling the Tower to make sure of that, and woe betide you if you're not on your best behavior...
Warnings: Willy-nilly mindreading (her Group B modifications allow her to constantly hear the thoughts of everyone who's on the same floor as her), possible character death, violence, general awfulness... let's see how bad we can be, guys! If you could indicate how far you're okay with going somewhere in your comment that would be awesome. c: Alternatively, you can plot with me instead!

[Dormitory Levels - Patrolling]
[It's a simple enough task, in theory: Ensure that the residents aren't acting up. In an ideal world - which this is, because they're safe here, the Administrators have saved them and they should be grateful for it - just passing through to check on things should be enough.

But it's not, Sheba notes with a slight frown. Something is off here, and it's not her sewn-shut eyes, or the blood trailing its way down her face from the third eye embedded in her forehead. Those she dismisses without so much as a second thought. She doesn't need a second thought - god knows she's got enough of them! Would it kill these people to stop thinking so loudly? Maybe she should give them a lesson in keeping quiet.

Sometimes it's overwhelming, all these voices at once. But - well - it's useful. Any hint of discontent, any warning sign of bad behavior, and she can nip it in the bud. If there's anything she hates, it's when a wrench is thrown into something that should be working so well. Stubborn fools - why can't they just accept the fact that they're much better off here than they would be on their own worlds?

To those who know her, the look on her face appears uncharacteristically cold - though that's not so likely to be noticed right away. Perhaps it'll be the wings, or her eyes - all three of them. Or perhaps it's her collar, the one that looks pink when it should be - should be - violet.

Those who don't know her might mistake her for a monster, or they might not. But she's just there for their own benefit. Really, she thinks, It's for their own good. They'll be much happier once they realize there's no use fighting it.]

[Around the Tower - your choice! Indicate the specific floor in the subject line.]
[The winged girl is out and about in the Tower, checking in on places where the residents congregate and where the workers... well... work. Of course, that's not to say she won't be anywhere else - perhaps a particularly loud thought will catch her attention as she's passing from floor to floor. Perhaps she'll get called over for a conversation.

Or perhaps it will be something else entirely. Her own behavior is a little erratic - perhaps you've caught her in a bad place, or at a bad time? Or perhaps both.

Perhaps your time is up. Time will tell, now won't it?]

Comments

[Cafeteria workers gonna work]

[bloodyashes]

[Hey Sheba, there's a pretty familiar zombie worker happily doing his job over by the oven.

Or... not. Because under that facade of expressionless worker unit?

Panic. Even after several hours in this state, Asch is besides himself and frantic, his thoughts a scattered mantra of helplessness - I can't move, who was that, let me go letmego - and pretty damn disoriented when it comes to the people around him, since he can't recognize any of them.

Maybe you'd better call him over and "comfort" him... You know, before there's even a chance that he might get some kind of ideas about misbehaving in his head.

Ha, as though he could.]

Floor 25

[alae]

[Dark Pit is rolling around in the grass here, but it's not out of cheerfulness - no, that's not his style. Instead he's going through the movements with his bow separated into blades. His dark wings flap behind him as he leaps and stabs.]

[I'm going to get out of here. I'll drag Pitstain along. We'll leave this place. Not like I have much I want to do at home, but he's got Palutena to serve and I've gotta make sure he's not an idiot.]

[We'll get out of here soon. I'll make sure of it.]

[seekinganswers]

[From what she can see - which is not much, admittedly, with the blood oozing from the only eye she can hope to see out of - everything looks just fine. Asch is right by the oven, and it's business as usual.

What she can hear is something else entirely. She had been prepared to finish her round in the kitchens and head back into the cafeteria to check on the residents, but Asch's thoughts stop her in her tracks. She turns towards him.]

Asch.

[And then, mentally - Asch, come here.]

[seekinganswers]

...you do know that there is nothing left for you outside this Tower's walls, don't you?

[The voice comes from the stairway. If Dark Pit turns to look, he'll see Sheba right by the railing, observing him with a raised eyebrow. It's not the first time she's seen someone roll around in the grass, it probably won't be the last - but his thoughts are a concern. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't shut them out.

Why was it so hard for these people to understand that as dangerous as the Tower could be, it was still the safest place for them? The more they tried to escape, the more monsters got in.

The dangers here were all because of their own mistakes. If they would behave, if they would just be thankful and happy...

Sheba is clutching her staff so tightly that her knuckles are white, but luckily for Dark Pit, she doesn't seem to be malfunctioning. Perhaps she simply heard his thoughts wrong. Yes, perhaps that was it.]

[bloodyashes]

[His body goes obediently, and his mind stops in its helpless circles because of confusion - he doesn't recognize her even as his feet carry him over, so he has no idea why he's being picked out and summoned. There's a definite dread in him, though, accompanied by a sort of hopelessness - then again, how much worse could this possibly get?

At least when he was actively in pain - strapped down green lights can't hear the waves over my screams - he didn't have to think so much.]

[seekinganswers]

[Spoken words don't seem to be as effective; Sheba watches through her bloodied eye as he approaches, and then reaches for one of his wrists. If he doesn't pull his wrist away, her hold is gentle. If he does, she purses her lips but doesn't reach for it again, just for the moment.

What ails you? She asks silently. There is, perhaps, a hint of concern - though whether that was because of her own consciousness buried deep somewhere beneath the brainwashing, or because he couldn't perform his duties properly if he was injured in some way, was anyone's guess. Asch, I need to know what's wrong. Why are you afraid?

We're safe here. Everything's fine.]

[bloodyashes]

[His body isn't his own to pull away with, even if he wanted to. That's the source of the panic that crashes over him in a wave - can't move can't escape can't protect (myself/everyone) WHY CAN'T I MOVE just let me go -

Unsure recognition flickers in the back of his mind, but he has to think it out longways; the realization that while there might be other people who can read minds in the Tower, chances are none of the rest are going to try to comfort him by name. So although he manages to realize who it is that's taken a hold of his hand, even looking directly at her, her face is unnotable, dead replica's eyes and a grey jumpsuit and the faint vision of a different tower, its top open to the sky -

how can you say I'm safe when I can't move it's not fine not fine no - ]

[seekinganswers]

[Any other time she would have a million questions about that other tower, but - it's not relevant to her job here, not at all a useful topic to pursue. There's a faint, flickering irritation that courses through her as Asch's thoughts wash over her.

Why the panic? They're safe here, there's nothing in here that can hurt them as long as they all do what they must.

Ah, but this panic is keeping Asch from doing his job... She doesn't let go of his hand, though her expression is marginally more icy as she looks him over. Perhaps if he can work through this, he won't have to be brought in, but a worker who can't work simply shouldn't be taking up space, should it?

No stop don't think that--

The interruption is brief, momentary, and immediately brushed off as easily as one would brush off a gnat. Whatever is within her that protests against the thought of recycling this unit - because it's not death, just recycling, a quick trip down below and then he's all ready to work the way he should again - Sheba instead focuses on Asch's thoughts and the feelings she can glean from them. Recycling takes time, and everything will move much more smoothly without any delays.

Nothing will hurt you. The thoughts are firm and insistent. You are protected. Run free, and you could be hurt; stay here, and nothing will harm you. If we feel as though we're trapped, it's not true, and it's all for our own good. We've been saved from a terrible fate, but it's okay now. We're still alive.

You're safe and you're alive. That's what matters most, isn't it? The things you're remembering can't hurt you any longer. Just think, focus. You have a purpose here, as we all do, and when you fulfill it we're all safe because everything in here is as it should be. It's not like the chaos outside, Asch. You don't have to be afraid.

I'll protect you.

And if that means protecting him from himself - from the thoughts that might lead him astray, might lead him to step out of line - well, so be it.]

[bloodyashes]

[And oh, how he wishes that he could believe that - it's all over the edges of his thoughts, because on some level he does want to believe that she'd protect him. He's desperate for a safely net of some kind, something he can put trust in and comfort himself with because didn't Van just make him into a great little follower but -

if we're safe then WHY CAN'T I MOVE why can't I be myself just give me that I'll cooperate just give me my body back why can't I recognize your face

- there's too much wrong, too much wrong without any good reason, and the fact that Sheba is defending the admins is hardly the least of it weren't you the one who hated being kidnapped so much when you first got here and if it's between this as living he'd rather be dead -

It's hard to swallow being told that the past can't hurt you when you're reliving it at that very moment. In spite of all his panicking, his body doesn't respond, his wrist still limply in her hand - even his pulse and breathing haven't picked up in response to his internal torment.]

[alae]

[He looks up at her, confused.]

[What the... ugh. Whatever. She's wrong. And it's not like I want to leave and go out to whatever's out there. I just want to go back to my world.]

Eh? I just want to get back to where I'm from.

[Not that I'm really from anywhere except his soul. Tch...]

[seekinganswers]

[everything is fine everything is fine everything is fine--

The words echo through her mind over and over again, a constant loop that she can't seem to break away from - nor does she seem to want to break away from it. It's not a lie, but even if it were, isn't it better to believe they're safe than to constantly worry and worry and worry? Look where it was getting Asch. If he kept this up then she'd have to recycle him, and that would just be such a waste...

They saved us, She thinks to him, And that's always been true. They saved us from--

Scorched earth. Crumbling buildings. A half-completed lighthouse to the north, the sea to the east, the desert to the west, an empty husk of home - no father (adopted father, not real, who's my real father it doesn't matter I'm safe now I'm happy here), no mother (why did you abandon me it doesn't matter I'm safe now I'm happy here), no brother (you were never my brother to begin with but that's okay it doesn't matter I'm safe now I'm happy here).

And the ghosts. Not ghosts, memories, but they feel like echoes and she can remember the fire, the screams, the humiliation of being pulled towards the ruins below the lighthouse's foundations, through the town, past her people, and what sort of "savior" was she supposed to be for these people if she couldn't even save herself -

But they're not there anymore. They weren't saved. She was, and Asch was, and they're all safe and happy in the Tower, or at least they should be.

--our souls being left to wander in the ruins of our worlds.

Her grip on his hand tightens a little.

All they ask in return is that we're useful to them. And it's okay if we're not right away, because they can fix that - if it's a problem with controlling your body, they can give you a new one...

Unbidden, the memories bubble up to the surface - the scene unfolding out on the little handheld screen John had carried. Her body, the liquid, that bright, shimmering orb - the replacement body, Jason -

They can fix us, but only if they have to. If you're still functional we can avoid all of that.]

[seekinganswers]

There's nothing left on your world.

[She's responding to his thoughts, not his words - though they're similar enough that perhaps it's hard to tell.]

We were all saved from our worlds as they met their ruin. What could you possibly hope to return to? There's nothing, and the sooner you accept that the happier you'll be.

[Her voice is flat. Flatter, perhaps, than it normally would be, but it was ever so irritating when people refused to see the truth when it was right there in front of them. Why was everyone in such a hurry to leave, when their hosts had done so much for them? This sort of behavior...

Her grip on her staff shifts just the tiniest bit and she eyes Dark Pit warily.]

[bloodyashes]

[The mention of their worlds has little bearing on him it's not like I have a home to go back to but the mention of new bodies?

He knows what that means. The implication is a flash, a lightning strike through his mind, and no no no no NO

Whatever calm her words might have been bringing comes crashing down quickly at the thought of being transferred to a new body, and why is plain to see in his mind. Every thought seizes up with the memory of pain, of being trapped as though he isn't now, of a piece of him being pulled out and Luke his light and he shall be called the light of the sacred flame and they took his light out and swathed it in flesh and it hurt and he's nothing Asch ashes and bone dust and all that's left over on his own funeral pyre -

Useful? He's been useful. There's a visceral rejection in him suddenly, something that would make the world spin, make him dizzy and ill if his body would respond to even a single thought -

The only person who ever saved me was myself.

Not Van, not the admins. He doesn't need, doesn't want to be saved by anyone else. He might be the ashes, the charred leftovers - No.

I'm what's left when there's nothing more to burn.

It's a stubborn determination, the kind of pride of someone who has nothing else left. He will never be "saved" by another master again.

(And it hurts, because he's not rejecting her, but he knows that's what she'll think, after becoming a good little minion of the Tower. Sheba is his friend and seeing her this shadow of herself makes him as ill as anything else coursing through his mind, but - if she were herself, she'd agree. He has to believe that.)]

[seekinganswers]

[Then save yourself from this, if you can!

Her other hand shoots forward to grab for his other wrist. It's not a definite that she's grabbed it, but her grip on his first wrist certainly tightens as much as is possible for her - perhaps almost uncomfortably so - and she tugs him forward. A moment later, the wings at her back flutter and fold forward, dislodging a single violet feather; where they're large enough to cover her entire body alone, now they're mostly being used to try and keep Asch in place, encasing the two of them - just in case her grip on his wrists fails.

Were he able to distinguish the expression on her face, it would most certainly be one that most people wouldn't associate with her - her features twist into a mockery of a smile that's half smirk and half grimace, and while her eyes are sewn shut, there's a glint almost akin to madness in her third eye, enhanced by the trails of blood that drip down her face. She doesn't seem to notice or care.

Save yourself.

It's almost an order, almost, but it may not even count. The air between them is charged and there's a faint scent of plasma as her Psynergy flows around her, within her - sparks fly from her fingertips where they're dug into Asch's skin. Outside of the wings, around them, the air currents quicken and shift, ready to push back anyone who might run up to try and interfere.

The bloodied eye doesn't blink. Sheba's expression doesn't waver, even as the Psynergy pulses under her skin, seeking a way out, ready to crash and burn and singe -

It releases itself all at once, a Spark Plasma contained within the span of her wings, and then another and another - she's within her element and unafraid of what might come next, knowing full well that she can always numb the pain and keep on going.

Save yourself...

Something deep within her screams, but it's not enough to stem the flow of Psynergy, not enough to stop the sparks or wipe the twisted look off her face. Not enough to stop the relentless assault on the young man who's become one of her dearest friends in the Tower.]

[bloodyashes]

[His unresponsive body doesn't resist - not until it's too late. He's wrapped in her wings, the hair all over his body already started to rise, when his body's programmed reactions become confused - was that an order, or not?

It doesn't matter. The part of him that's him knows the feeling of impending lightning - all he can do is brace himself for it. It's a twisted kind of burning, from the inside out, and he's not too prideful to admit that if he had control over his body, he would have screamed.

But he doesn't, because his body isn't his. It simply stands there, taking damage, until his hands in hers are smoking flesh -

His last thought is almost an echo, directed at the little voice that he knows is real. I don't need saving.

When she lets up, his body tumbles forward, limp against her, and there aren't any thoughts to hear. His face is still and expressionless even where it's burnt by the lightning, eerily serene, as though he experienced no pain at all.]

[alae]

[He adjusts his grip on his blades, glaring at her.]

Much as I think they're idiots, you can't kill the gods permanently. So there's things to go back to.

[Hades will come back, even if it takes years. Viridi is nature, so as long as there's nature she's there. And Palutena is light, so as long as there's light, she's there too.]

[seekinganswers]

What are gods? Living beings with more power than the "mortals," that's all. They're dead. Your world is dead. Deader than anything that would have been in the Underworld.

Hades' realm is empty. The shades there had a flicker of life in them - that's gone now. They're all gone. There's nothing for him to rule, and even his existence is wiped. The Lord of the Dead was still alive, but what destroyed the worlds destroyed him too. It destroyed all living things.

Nature? Hah. Nothing can grow in the wastelands - nothing. Viridi isn't there now and she won't be again. Light... the dead world is illuminated by a dying sun. There is no return from that.

There's just nothingness. If you return your soul will wander, forever - until it fades away as well and there's nothing left of you.

[She shakes her head and holds up the hand that's not clutching her staff, palm up - almost as if she's pleading with him to just listen.]

This Tower is the only safe place left. The more we struggle, the harsher the Administrators will have to be - but they'e saved us. They've saved us! And as long as we all behave and don't try to escape and don't try to fight back, everything will be just fine.

[alae]

I don't believe you. Even if I did, I'm still going to fight, because I don't serve anyone. Just myself.

[I'm not really that worried about my soul fading away anyway. As long as Pit's around, I will be too. ... I'm not even sure if my soul really counts as my own. Tch... of course it does. I'm myself. But I'm not my own person - yes I am. Ugh...]

[seekinganswers]

You should believe. I've seen the destruction with my own eyes - I've seen what the Administrators have saved us from.

[Now, she's less pleading and more just stating facts, edging closer and closer to the irritation that comes when everyone is misbehaving and nothing is going the way it should. Why? Why does this always happen? Why can't people see that living in the Tower is for the best...]

Your Original won't continue to exist if you both return to your dead world. He'll fade, and you'll fade with him. Because you're two sides of the same coin when you're on world. You're bound together.

Here, though - they've isolated your essences. [She brings her hand up to touch her own collar as an indication.] You existed before he arrived because of what they've done to save you. But the second you leave the safety of the Tower, you won't be your own person. Your existence will depend on him.

Would you really abandon a safe haven where you can be yourself to fade into obscurity as nothing more than a part of Pit?

[alae]

I'd rather the world get back someone who's actually a hero. 'Cause if what you say is even close to true, the world's gonna need one.

[Even if I fade... whatever. It doesn't matter, right? I like being my own person but it's always the freaking hero that has to save the day. And I'm not the hero.]

[seekinganswers]

The time for heroes is long past.

[There's a note of irritation in her voice - perhaps that will be Dark Pit's first clue that this is about to move past antagonistic conversation. Perhaps the way she hefts her staff and points it at him will be. Or perhaps, her next words will give it away...]

It's a shame you aren't one, because in a moment, you'll need one!

["Saving the day" - hah. That's not going to happen. But that kind of thinking is dangerous. Every time a hero rose up in the Tower, the other residents suffered for it. Better to nip this sort of misbehavior in the bud before it gets worse...

Around them, there's a faint stirring of wind. That's Sheba's doing, of course.]

[alae]

[Oh, he notices, and he connects his blades into a bow again.]

[She's going to attack, I'm going to have to take her on... ugh. Killing monsters is one thing. Killing people is another.]

I can take care of myself!

[seekinganswers]

We'll see if that's true!

[She recognizes the shape his weapon is taking, and not even a moment passes before the wind intensifies with a roar. Projectile weapons? Yes, they're good for fighting from a distance - but she's hoping she can turn the projectiles off-course.

Tornadoes form at her right and at her left, each one sparking with electricity somewhere in its center. Her gaze is cold, but she keeps her eyes on Dark Pit; with a flick of her wrist, she directs the tornadoes to rush at him. With any lucky, he'll be able to dodge.]

Dormitory Bathroom (no regrets)

[neverbeamemory]

WHEN I GET MY BODY BACK, I'M GOING TO HUNT DOWN THAT SICK SON OF A MARLBORO AND ENJOY RIPPING HIM APART ONE MISERABLE PIECE AT A TIME

[It might as well have been shouting, the thoughts coming out of that bathroom.

Sephiroth is on bathroom cleaning duty at this point in the week. However unlike dusting, feathers are not water resistant at all. His black feathers just run the water he's having to work with down to their roots, where it lingers goose-pimpling and wrinkling the fine skin underneath. It smells like what most of it is; dirty water and it's making Sephiroth cringe right down to the core of his soul.

In appearance, he's as blank and obedient as any other worker unit. Going about his task as dutifully as he can with a scrubbing brush that he can't get a very good grip on due to wing!arms. Floors are easiest as he can kneel down and press against the floor, but walls and any surface not horizontal take more than twice the effort - the brush will just fall out of slick feathers to the floor.]

Ehehehe this is going to be good. >w>

[seekinganswers]

...

[Sheba is there, lingering in the doorway and observing Sephiroth's progress. And, truth be told - she's not impressed. Certainly, the wings are a hindrance. But she can't help but think that he could be trying harder to complete his tasks.

That's probably because of his thoughts - the ones that are relentlessly there, that she couldn't shut out even if she tried. They're so much louder than any of the other thoughts from this floor.]

Try that again. [There's a note of irritation in her voice, but other than that, it's entirely flat.] Without dropping the brush this time.