ROUND 3

[idolpro]

[ The room is BRIGHT YELLOW, as all the rooms you will enter are. Black tiles make up the floor, changing to your unit's color when pressure is placed on them. There is a button in the very center of the room standing on a podium; it's slightly smaller than palm-sized.]

[♫]

Comments

Requiem vs Nemesis

[idolpro]

Re: Requiem vs Nemesis

[unbr8kable]

[Shows up, arms loose and ready. She's made it this far, may as well make a go at it.]

Who's next?

Hallucinations - Nemesis, cw self harm, decapitation/dismemberment/making humans into tiny pieces

[idolpro]

He's in danger. You know he's in danger, and you have to go—you have to go save him, but—

When you try to escape, force you back into your room. When you have no other choice but to tell them—he's in danger, you know he's in danger, you have to go—they look at you with pitying eyes, and you're ushered back into bed, it's alright, it's alright, nothing's happening.

They don't understand. Why aren't they listening to you? How can you make them listen? If only you could better sneak away, but although you've managed to memorize the layout of your room, your tactile memory can only go so far—and otherwise, the world is completely dark. Hands that you don't know are familiar—larger hands, smaller hands—will pull you away when you try to walk one way, and if they were tugging you every which way without a care then maybe it would be more bearable but their touches are gentle and caring and gently, gently, pushing you aside—gently, gently, rejecting you.

Because you're a liability, of course—you already know. You can hear it in their voices, and in the silence—you don't even know if Cardigan is around anymore, or if they just got too tired of dealing with you. They probably did; you aren't worth their energy. You can't even stab yourself to get your eyes back—you were too much of a coward at the time that you lost your eyes and now it's too late, no one will let you do it.

Finally, finally, you manage to convince them to just check. Just check on Hurricane—just let you check on Hurricane is what you want but they won't acquiesce that much so you take what you can get, but.

Has it been an hour? Has it been three? Five? You can't tell—the passage of time is so much worse now that you can't see, now that the world is blind, and soon enough you're bumping over chairs and into walls trying to get out. You have to go, you have to go—they're not here and hey, maybe they forgot about you, and that thought evokes a bitterness in the back of your mouth but right now, you can be thankful about that, right? You can do things yourself—you can find him yourself, and you can save him yourself. It's better that way.

You make it all the way to the elevator, and by the elevator, I mean you end up walking down the stairs after mistaking the stairwell's door for the elevator, and by walking down the stairs I mean you trip and roll and hit the landing and then roll down and hit the landing again, and so on and so forth, and you can't tell what floor you're on anymore and you can't tell which direction you have to go and eventually, after maybe suffering what's probably going to end up being a concussion, you fumble to stand up.

On the ground, somewhere, there's a cold blade; your stomach sinks when you remember what you could do; -this time, you can make up for being a coward—so you breathe in and out, one, two—

The pain in your gut and the inconvenience of your clothes being ruined is more than a fair price for your eyesight returning, and at last, you run to find him.

But, when you make it there—it's far too late. Worse, you see—her.

Requiem stands over Hurricane's body—no, to say that it's a body would be inaccurate, human bodies don't come in that many pieces—with her bass axe, brandishing it as though she'd just finished chopping up the firewood. She turns just then, though, abruptly—probably because you're screaming while you summon as many swords as you can—and her eyes grow wide for a moment before her pupils shrink, and you feel your wounds unraveling, pulling apart like a loose thread pulling until the clothing is completely ruined. Everywhere—hurts—

Even so, you take the knife in your hand and you stab yourself over and over as you stab yourself over and over and heal yourself and as you manage to work closer and closer to her, you plant the knife into her chest.

Suddenly, as her eyes widen again and tears bead at the corners of her eyes, as her body grows limp, as she joins Hurricane's pile of bodyparts on the floor, you feel a sense of peace. More than that—maybe it's just the adrenaline, maybe it's just the high of fighting for your life—or maybe it's the taste of vengeance, the grim satisfaction of avenging him even if you failed to protect him yet again—

For whatever reason, you feel pretty good right now.

Fox vs Glory

[idolpro]

Re: Fox vs Glory

[artisticliberty]

... Maki?

No, it's... Glory, now, isn't it.

Hallucinations - Glory, cw hanahaki, dissection, plant horror

[idolpro]

You find Intensity after the game—hoping that he's safe, that he's well. He turns to look at you, and the words die in your mouth; his face is bloodied, his expression stern. Future is Now has been hurt once again, and you just can't stop it. He holds up a hand to forestall you saying anything—"You'll just make it worse, if you do anything," he says, and turns away.

When you open your mouth to protest, to call him back, though, all that falls from your mouth are morning glory petals, your mouth dry and mealy like it's been full of dirt. The words come through it garbled, and no one you talk to—not King, not Yugi… not even Griffin or Shrike seems to be able to understand what you're trying to tell them. They tell you to calm down, to relax, to be quiet—not to be so angry. To accept things. B just shakes his head, and scurries away; Joker looks at you strangely, before making his apologies and going back to his friends.

You were just trying to say you cared. Why does it always come out wrong? Why are your feelings always wrong? And why do these damned flowers keep coming out of your mouth?

You have to get them out. You have to get them out, so you can say what you mean, so you can be clear, but it seems like there's no end—the longer it goes on, though, you can't help but think that maybe the problem is just that they can't speak your language. That you need to slice them open, plant seeds in their bellies.

Through his disdain, Intensity doesn't notice the knife, until you split him open from his navel, and plant the seeds you coughed up there. But he doesn't speak back to you in the only tongue you can put words into, now—instead, he just bleeds, and bleeds, and the light fades from his eyes.

But you have to keep trying. With each one of them—maybe one of them will learn. Maybe one of them will understand.

Song vs Wednesday

[idolpro]

Re: Song vs Wednesday

[resonantblue]

Well, well, finally another living soul! And here I thought I'd win by default.

[casually walking out, feeling Confident]

Hallucinations - Song, cw impalement, burning, bone breaking

[idolpro]

Why do you exist, anyway? You're not the favourite.

You don't deserve the body that is rightfully yours.

It's clear from the way you're treated, the assumptions they all make. That Silence was the one in control, that she always is. As you cower in an alleyway, you look up at the brick wall plastered with posters of the murderer they're looking for. It's your face, yes. The one that belongs to you, yes. But the expression? That's not yours. It belongs to Silence.

The murderer was Silence, not you! It isn't your fault! No, it's absolutely hers, entirely hers!! You tell yourself that, over and over. Not your fault. Not your fault. Her fault. Her fault. Hers hers hers hers and you cry because you feel like even you want this body to be hers. You're the one who let her do it. You're the one who wants her to face the things you don't want to. Every scary awful bloody thing that happens should be her problem, not yours! And if she commits a murder while dealing with that - that's not your fault! So why - why doesn't she deal with this?! It's her problem, she made it for you, and if she wants to take up all the time she spends in control of this body and not leave any for you she can deal with this, too! Why do you have to be the one who's singled out and ostracized and treated like a leper! Just because she stole your face...!

So you tell her. You tell her to get out there and fix the mess she made. And she protests: she didn't do it, she says. But you look at the posters again. That twisted, wicked grin. The gleeful smile, reveling in violence. No, that couldn't be you. Sure, maybe you've had to defend yourself violently a few times, but you never enjoyed it! It had to be her. She's always the one stealing time from you, anyway. She's always the one who deals with the bad things. You don't, you can't, and you wouldn't do something like this!

The bloody knife in your hand, it's hers. The blood you lick from your lips - it's her tongue and her lips, obviously, so why should it matter that you like how it tastes!

You mumble something angrily - and then she yells at you. Says she's tired of being treated like this, demands to know what's gotten into you, says she's scared because you just said you'd kill her…

…?

That's ridiculous. You'd never kill anyone, even if she is your annoying sister! And - and why is she yelling at you! You don't deserve this! You get up in a huff, run out into the streets, and punt her into the front seat.

She can clean up her mess, you think, your body wracked with your sobs as the crowd approaches. It's her fault. She killed all those people. She's the one they loved and now she's the one they hate! If she wants this body so badly, she can deal with feeling it impaled by the crowd's pitchforks, burned by their torches. She can feel their boots smash in her ribs and throat and break her limbs. It's fine! You're not hurt. It's her. She's the one who's dying.

And maybe you'll kill every single one of them for doing this to you, once the body heals. But she'll be the murderer, not you.

The world goes black as the boot comes down on your face, and all you can think as it does is what kind of cake you'll have for dessert tonight.

Intensity vs King

[idolpro]

1/3

[bluescreenwhitedragon]

[






]

[No.]

Re: Intensity vs King

[bluescreenwhitedragon]

[This isn't fucking happening.

This can't be FUCKING happening.]

Re: Intensity vs King

[bluescreenwhitedragon]

I suppose I should have seen this one coming.

Silly me.

Hallucinations - King, cw cheating (the game kind), plant horror, body horror

[idolpro]

A game, he said—a game, and your friends would be spared, given their freedom from the production. Maybe you should have been suspicious, but games are what you do. You win. And you'd win here, for your friends' sake, because you have to.

He must have cheated. You're no stranger to taking a loss in the early rounds to come from behind, though, so you accept the condition—for every round you win, the price paid for a friend; for every round you lose, you eat… a seed. A nasty, red, glowing thing that pulses in your hand as you look down at it, like blood pumping, perhaps. But you've never been one to shy away from the consequences of the risks you take, either, so: you follow the rules.

It feels alive in your mouth, as you swallow it, and—a shiver runs down your spine as you can feel its roots begin to snake their way up your throat—upwards, through your nasal passages and into your brain, embedding itself in the fertile soil of your memories.

Your vision grows dim, and then black—like you're falling into a pitch-black hole, all you knew fading away into the distance. And then you snap back into the moment, and you're sitting across a table from your gambling partner, and—

Did you save someone? You can't remember. But you're going to win. You remember winning.

But it's… harder than you thought. You're betting against the house, then again, and a demon, besides.

You lose again. And again, and again, and… what were you staking yourself on, again? No matter, though. You don't remember why you entered this game, and your hands just keep on rolling the dice, on instinct. This man thinks he has you cornered, but you'll have your revenge. That's all that matters.

You remember winning.

Paloma vs Amaranth

[idolpro]

Re: Paloma vs Amaranth

[marsascending]

[ Hey there here's a question for you:

why are we here?

because one use of Sentimental Mood wagers that you don't know anymore! ]

Hallucinations - Paloma, cw fire, tongue removal, bone breaking

[idolpro]

The world you once knew is on fire. As you smell the familiar scent of burning flesh, you remember that you couldn’t protect them this time either.

As they prepare to start the torture, your eyes linger at the room you’re stuck in. A vase of dead and wilted flowers sits lifelessly in a corner: Irises, daisies, freesias, snowdrops. You’re still smiling.

You look in the mirror and you see a younger version of yourself. That’s you, isn’t it? They’re smiling like you are, but more importantly, their eyes are still filled with hope. You’re still smiling.

Ah but that’s the mask you have on your face, isn’t it? What’s underneath the mask?

Isn’t it the expression that you made when you reached for the hand of someone you tried to trust, only to have it be slapped away? Who even knew you could make that sort of expression?

You remember the feeling of the knife against your tongue as they sliced it slowly from your mouth. That was your punishment. After all, it was your sweet words that have betrayed those around you. They made sure that it would not happen again. Still, you smile because it’s all you know. That seems to anger them further and they reach to grab your face. If you like to smile, they’ll make sure to help you remember. They cut slits on the edges of your mouth, searing pain burning your face, but you still smile.

After all, the smile is your mask.

As you feel them break the bones in your fingers one by one, you wonder. Isn’t it funny how you can’t even bother to feel bad for yourself? Is this something you feel like you’ve earned? Or is it simply because you sold your soul to the devil long, long ago?

You can see a single marigold that is standing amongst the dead flowers.

And you laugh.

Ruby Sour vs Angel

[idolpro]

Re: Ruby Sour vs Angel

[nohalation]

...

Hallucinations - Angel

[idolpro]

He appears one day with a smile, wearing the same clothes as you. You stare back at him, and you don't know how you should say—

Oh, hello, you say, and you welcome him to future is now. He's your unitmate now, after all, so you need to be good to him—he's yours, after all.

But he doesn't see it that way. With others, he smiles, but with you, he scowls—he hates you—and one day, when you're both alone, he pushes you down against a mirror.

Instead of hitting it, you fall through it: down, down, down the rabbit hole, until you're trapped on the other side, in pitch-black darkness. The light comes from the other side of the mirror—where you can see him smiling at Intensity, at your unitmates, at future is now, and none of them miss you. None of them recognize you're gone.

He takes your place.

Once again, he takes your things—he takes your home—he takes your everything. Just like your kingdom—it's snatched away from you, and it's his now.

Why didn't your brother ever learn to share?

Beyond the mirror, it starts to snow. In the darkness, you find yourself freezing, surrounded by nothing but pure white and black. It's frightening here—you could die and no one would know—you have to get out.

You dig your nails against the mirror, trying to get back to where you belong. You dig and dig and dig and dig, until your nails are worn down, until your fingertips are peeling and bleeding, and you're still on this side and he—

He plays games with Intensity. He takes your sheep. He performs as an idol that brings everyone smiles, everything that you were supposed to do, and you realize—

Well—

If he's out there, doing that, then he must be "Angel". He's "Angel", the idol that brings smiles to everyone.

If that's the case—

Then who are you?

You, with no kingdom.

You, with no court.

You, with no unit.

Everything you are could just be taken like that—even your identity as an idol.

Just who are you, now?

Yvette vs Lucifel

[idolpro]

Re: Yvette vs Lucifel

[maidenheaven]

. . . Good day.

[ with a smile, to the next person ]

Hallucinations - Lucifel, cw cannibalism, guro, homo murder

[idolpro]

You’re in a field of dead corpses by your feet, but you continue to walk. How long have you been walking? For as long as you move forward, you knew of one truth. Humans can’t kill you. But you can kill them.

And so you do.

You kill a lot of them because you know that if you don’t, you’ll fail to set out what to do. If you died here, there would be no way your comrades would be able to keep moving so you have to keep moving. There’s so much burden of responsibility on your shoulders that it becomes hard to breathe, but even that can’t kill you. You walk, you tear them down, you walk again, over and over and over until you start to lose your attention. Unfortunately, by losing your focus, it doesn’t take long for a jaguar to come leaping at you.

Can Nature Kill you? Or is it…

As you stare at your intestines that have started to spill out of your wound, you thought to yourself, “I wonder what it would taste like.” You laugh.

You stare upon the cat that has ripped you apart, staring at familiar cheek scars and you remember. Right.

Only love can kill you.

Pink vs Izanagi

[idolpro]

[bondsofsuffering]

[Your opponent is a corpse, damage pending but at least missing an arm.

Congratulations!]