January Event: Rejection Rooms

[lifeaftr_mods]

JANUARY EVENT: REJECTION ROOMS

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Rejecting your Light comes with dire consequences
When: January 25th - 28th
Where: All over Monsun
Warnings: Violence and possible character death; please note any specific content warnings if they come up!

You're Ruled by the Things You Feel

This log is primarily for the Rejection Room portion of the event, for ease and convenience. To quote our event post:

Characters intent on rejecting their Light will find themselves irrevocably drawn to Monsun's shores. They might not even be aware of it - driven by their rage, their paranoia, their fear, or all of the above, and more. Monsun, for its part, is happy to receive them. Its landscape has become so warped over time...and those parts of Monsun consumed by shadow will start to distort, molding into structures that such characters are only too happy to hide within: Rejection Rooms.

Those who challenge the Rejection Rooms need not worry about death for themselves - damage taken within the rooms will simply translate to exhaustion outside of it, with seemingly mortal wounds leading to expulsion from the room itself, and an inability to re-enter.

The same holds true for the boss of each Room. Failure to beat them into expulsion means that the Room will continue to feed from their wildly catastrophizing mind, until there's nothing left to save at all.

So, simply top-level below with your character if they've signed up for a Rejection Room and prepare for whoever wants to gamble a confrontation. We recommend linking to the comment that details your character's Room, for the benefit of others. Remember to communicate; if your character is still trapped in their Room by the event's end, they will suffer a character death, though characters who merely try and fail to free them will not.

If your Rejection Room opt-in comment did not receive any response or additional discussion from the mod team, consider your Room and moveset approved; we want to allow for retroactive edits to your comments and plans, if those become necessary!

---

Some useful links, for reference:

[ ♆ ] OOC Event Post
[ ♆ ] Rejection Room Sign-Ups, for information on what Rejection Rooms look like
[ ♆ ] Deaths Page; death penalties have been reduced for the duration of this event, but remember to let us know if your character is still stuck in their Room by the event's end!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] January 20th: The monthly Storytelling occurs.
[ ♆ ] January 21st: Shadows of both initial variants appear.
[ ♆ ] January 23rd: Shadows of both initial variants disappear.
[ ♆ ] January 25th Lights and Rejection Rooms appear.
[ ♆ ] January 28th: Lights and Rejection Rooms dissipate. Those still trapped in their Rejection Rooms by the event's end will suffer a character death.

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

beauregard | open

[lesbeau]

[It seems, at first, there's no one there.

The destroyed library before this room seems like it's in media res; the cathedral like room trashed by something with enough force to break the building itself in two. The deep blue of the dome in the ceiling is untouched, but the single light that seems to shine down from the top only adds to the ransacked nature of the space. Shelves are topped and broken, the staircases carefully carved into them crumbled and chipped. Certain ones that were pillars for other higher stories, platforms built into the spiraling expanse, leave these landings without support and they too slope towards the ground.

Welcome, adventurers, to The Archive of the Cobalt Soul. I hope you signed in correctly- though no one in this dream is here to check.

To get to Beau is to walk through her mess- the wreckage of a hurricane she left behind, books ripped and waterlogged, tables and chairs destroyed and thrown astray. But despite the wreckage, following the path- and the light- will make her location apparent. In the very center lies a large sinkhole, the wood of the floor splintered like a crashing star down a floor to the basement below. From the swinging light overhead, the stage can be seen- a sand pit, speckled with blood. Spectators against the walls in blue coats and slicked down hair, tied and posed at the ready. Four archers, one in each corner, stand with weapons; when a challenger enters, they will draw, but not yet fire.

As soon as someone drops into the pit, all of the monks in the edges will speak in unison.]

Challenger approaching! Get up!

[And out of a corner of the shadows, Beau will appear, dressed only in a brown gi with her hair tied back in a single blue ribbon.

She'll take her stance. And wait for the call.]

[ooc: Room information and movelist is over here!]

[hyperlit]

[Under any other circumstances...this would be their favored sort of place. A vast library, full of things to take in and learn, a massive, sprawling archive so massive that it's impossible gauge just how high up that vaulted ceiling goes. It reminds them, inevitably, of the great Library present in the mountains of the North, though it is just as solemnly in a state of utter disarray. It looks even worse off than the rooms built into the deep, swooping chasms and rising peaks, which merely seemed dilapidated and forgotten, acquiring a patina of dust and wear due to so many years of disuse and neglect. By all rights, a space this massive shouldn't exist in the pockets of shadow that glistened on the banks of Monsun, but the rules of space are easily mutable beneath the right amount of pressure, they've learned.]

[This place looks as though it was torn apart with purpose, or that it was simply the backdrop in a flurrying hurricane of blows. The centerpiece of it all suggests that this might be the case; that massive crater of sand, declining into a sinkhole with Beau at its heart, dominates all else.]

[The Drifter takes in each of the spectators, and the four archers, one by one. None of them attack.]

[There's no question of what must transpire, before any sort of reasonable discussion may be held. The Drifter's blade springs to life with a quiet tone. They are fully armed. Their arsenal has been untouched. Six shots in their rifle. Four in their zaliska. Two Roly Poly bombs. And, of course, their trusty hard light blade.]

[It's difficult to perceive this as a true challenge, when every confrontation with foes of this grandeur and set-up were always...they were bigger, for one. The artificially tall Hierophant, the crystalline Hanged Man, the gluttonous Emperor. Here, it is merely Beau.]

[Beau, and those who have surrounded her.]

[They know this routine. One must be beaten into submission, before they can be addressed.]

[There is no harm in trying. And Beau...Beau is someone with whom they've braved several gauntlets, at this point. It seems a particularly cruel oversight to not, at the very least, try.]

[So they do.]

come with me

[lesbeau]

[It may be worse that this place was destroyed, rather than left to rot. But as a reflection of her inner self, of the identity she's fostered, it's apropos. She can put whatever fronts she wants forward, whatever they've made her into, but inside it's all she has to knock it all down.

She doesn't know what that makes her, now, pulling herself from the dirt as the monks announce The Drifter's arrival. Taking their commands, looking to prove something, trying to fight on her own power. At least it means she isn't stopping. At least it means she won't die.

Beau looks at them ahead of her, the words appearing, her face flat. She doesn't even seem to move from her stance as one of the monks from the side shouts begin! and an archer from the corner lines up and takes the shot. In an instant, Beau reaches out grabbing it just before it hits her head, and she screams as she spins back an arm like a pitch and sends it heading their way. She's just behind it, feet hitting the sand with her staff at the ready, the question left without a reply.

It seems, first, you will need to fight before anyone can be saved.]

[hyperlit]

[Fighting is the one thing they are best at, they've always thought. Fighting, and refusing to stop, even when it would most benefit them to do precisely that. If a fight is what must occur, a fight is what she will get. They stiffen on the spot, bracing themself to duck the projectile that never comes, not in a linear, predictive fashion.]

[Instead, the arrow is caught and thrown at them with a yell.]

[They strafe, darting to one side in a blur of motion. The arrow evades them, but Beau is already charging them. Their blade whips out in a blur of cerulean, and they swing it up in a defensive arc.]

[lesbeau]

[Well, that's something they have in common. The refusal to stop. Sure seems to hinder when it matters, huh?

The arrow sails by where their chest was and right into the waiting hands of one of the monks on the outskirts, who starts passing it down the line back to the nearest archer. While they do, each of them speak in a wave, like whoever has the arrow has the voice.

Sloppy.

They were not even moving.

You are not trying hard enough.

[Beau seems to ignore them, but the blade does illicit a movement not to crash into it. Her bare feet dig into the sand, twisting in an arc to slam her staff right into their side. If she hits, the sand will twist up around their ankles to prevent them from moving- they may be able to feel it as she kicks it up, the very movement of the floor alive.]

[hyperlit]

[The purpose of this room becomes eerily clear. Beau's implacable nature, her dismissive curtness, her refusal to stop - the shattered interior belies all of that. The critiques of the spectators suggest something far, far darker lying beneath.]

[There's no time to examine it further. She's swinging at them again. They almost don't move fast enough, but the rippling of the sand underfoot is a fair warning that the consequences, should they fail to anticipate the blow correctly, may be dire - fatal, even.]

[They dash to one side, a streak of violet light, and juke backwards. Unbeknownst to either of them, the Drifter is employing the tactic they'd always enacted upon confronting the great and terrible guardians of each territory: studying their attacks, learning the patterns of each blow, taking the time to process it in pieces before taking any immediate action.]

[Their focus, for now, is evasion.]

[lesbeau]

[It's a smart move, to get out of her way. It always has been and it always will. But due to the nature of this fight, she will not simply tire- eventually, she'll have to be stopped one way or another.

She gives a bit of a snarl as they escape, circling around the opposite direction of where they moved as if to cut them off, start to box them into a corner. They can only dodge so far without getting back into her circle and trying to get past her, and if she can't get to them, they'll come to her. With every movement, there's a low murmur from the room, an echo of a chorus of voices.]

Go faster.

Do not let them escape.

[hyperlit]

[They can only weave and deflect for so long. Soon, she starts to force them into a corner, and the accusatory, judgmental host of whispers isn't helping. The Drifter's battles have, on occasion, had spectators - but most weren't usually quite so mouthy. Clusters of acolytes, or crystal-encased warriors that would break free of their prisons to leap to their leader's aid. Never anything like this.]

[Hurting an ally is inexcusable. Friends should not fight, they once said, but the choice here may as well not be a choice at all. They know what a boss fight is when they see one, and there is only one way that those end; when the Drifter dies, or they do.]

[Hopefully they will not literally kill her. But there's a fair reason to believe that, should they be felled in this fight, they will not simply be able to pick themself up by the grace of a jackal god and set right back into the fray again.]

[The Drifter springs back several paces, the intent there being a cushion of breathing room, before they plant their feet and swing back their blade in preparation to strike. There's a low thrum of charging energy, and then...the sword increases drastically in size, swiping a scarlet arc through the air.]

[Hopefully it ends up doing something of use; they can't perform that maneuver very many times per day, and always requires careful positioning beforehand.]

[lesbeau]

[It's alright, Drifter. Even if this carried a risk of serious, permanent injury- for all they know, it does- Beau would do it anyway. It is inexcusable not to fight when challenged. It is unthinkable to back down when summoned. They are here, so she is swinging. It's just the way her life has always been- a barrier arises, and she pushes and pushes and pushes until it is rubble.

She sees them get back and prepare to strike, and thinks she knows the arc of the blade; stops short enough to supposedly not get hit, so she can strike when their sword is inaccessible. But it's miscalculated- for all she knows of the Drifter, she has seen very little of them fight. The expanded end of the blade hits her chest, carving a line across an unshielded torso that cauterizes near immediately. Very little blood, but incredible pain. It sweeps her back, a stumble as she presses a hand to it instinctively, hissing through her teeth and a choke in her throat.

There's a moment of tension, where no one seems to breathe, before she stands back up. The next archer fires their mark-- she gets it, but it seems wobblier, thrown at them with more ample room to dodge. Still, she follows behind again, dogged in her pursuit, pushing down the interference of injury.]

[hyperlit]

[It worked. The urge to say something, do something, extend a hand, offer their help - ridiculously, it momentarily arrests them. It feels as though they should. It is unnatural and unprecedented to have caused an ally this sort of hurt. It makes it easier to streak back and avoid the next missile as it's hurtled for them. She's moving slower.]

[The part of their mind that they cannot ever turn off, the part that is parsing and analyzing and focused always on how to exploit an opponent's windup and preparatory gathering before they spring forward, notes that though her motions have suffered from the strike, she is nonetheless determined to finish the conflict.]

[The part of them that has seen beast after wretched beast slain, enslaved people breaking free from that wicked grip upon their lands, notes that if they can catch her off guard, they can capitalize.]

[The Drifter's weapons have recharged since their expenditure on the Shadows that confronted them. So they draw their zaliska and fire once. The orb of energy crackles - it moves slowly enough to be dodged, but their intent is to see how she might react to it at all.]

[lesbeau]

[Beau grits her teeth as she surges forward, the cut burning sharp splinters of pain away from it into her chest, a hurt that urges her forward. It's just a hit, like many many others. Who can count the amount of times she's been stabbed, beaten, cut open by those who claim to love her? She's a weapon. A useful gathering of knowledge, a pawn. This is the only way she can have any control, a lion leashed, kept in spiral until the coliseum gates open.

The projectile is foreign, some sort of magic or force she doesn't recognize, but right now she sees blinding red. She could dodge it, sure, but that's not where her focus is. Instead, she grabs her staff off her back and simply strikes it when she meets it in her path, aiming to either knock it off course or go straight through. And once she's within range, she'll take another sharp swing right down upon the Drifter in the corner, a slam from over her shoulders aimed at their head.]

[hyperlit]

[The Hanged Man's projectiles could always be countered. These shots are no different. The shot careens wildly away from the point of impact. The Drifter has no need to dodge it; it shatters harmlessly against the wall, and they blitz forward to meet her strike with a parry from their blade.]

[With their other hand, they slide a small, globular object from the folds of their cloak. Their sprite automatically picks Beau out in green.]

[They manually override and pick her out in red before hurling the Roly Poly bomb at her feet with a crackling, fizzling boom.]

[lesbeau]

[It doesn't count as a hit when they parry, the Drifter sparing themselves from getting stuck in the sand. Beau's staff meets the sword, her feet hitting the ground hard on impact and pressing back as hard as she can. From the hardened face she had when this fight started, she's starting to look more rabid, more stressed. Her teeth are bared and the hit is not gentle, seeming intent on going as hard as she can until there's nothing left.

But if the Drifter is trying to create distance, they succeed. She sees the bombs as they get tossed and knows she has to get out of the way, leaping back before the explosion detonates. The impact still hits, knocking her further back as she skids on the sand, back meeting the line of monks on one side of the wall.

They do not catch her; their hands move only to push her back, let her stumble onto her feet, let bits of hair fall on her sweaty brow.

For the first time, she speaks instead of them.]

Stay still!

[She digs in her feet and simply goes back in, throwing herself back into the combat, fists swinging their way just to land a blow.]

[devilstongue]

BEAU!

[ The place is a mess, and he doesn't really recognize any of it. It looks fancy at first, aside from being absolutely wrecked. He'd expect a library from Caleb - but then again, he doesn't know much about the Cobalt Soul other than the outside of it.

The pit below is a lot more Beauregard-ish, though. Fighting space with sand and blood? That made sense. Molly carefully jumps down, landing pretty well and even with an unintended flair of that overly patterned coat. His weapons are sheathed, obviously not looking for a fight.

He's getting his friend out. ]

I'm not gonna challenge you! We're leaving.

[ He glares over at the weird people on the sides, more likely to try to fight them than Beau. ]

[barberian]

(It looks like a storm passed through here, but Yasha does not feel relieved and energised by the thought of that as she usually would. She stoops to fish up a book from the floor, realising too late that it has no pages left in it. The empty cover flops in her hand. She tosses it aside.)

What happened?

(Molly isn't looking at the books. He's started to move toward the center of the room, following the blow-back of debris toward the edge of what looks like a pit. Yasha approaches with a bit of caution, gaze flicking immediately toward the monks lining the edge with their bows at the ready.)

Molly, (she hisses, watching him drop into the pit with nary a worry. She rolls her eyes, draws the Judge, and follows him. Molly might like to appear unarmed, but Yasha wants everybody in this place to know she's not afraid to start shit. Even Beauregard, who stands before them, unnaturally still. She drops a hand onto Molly's shoulder lightly, gaze flicking back to the monks. They don't seem like they might fire, but that doesn't assuage her concern.)

We should get out of here. Something isn't right.

[lesbeau]

[It'd be hard to think that Molly never saw this place in it's grandeur if that's what she was thinking about right now. Her eyes flick between Molly and Yasha, a snap between the pair instead of a lazy drag between friends. She's poised, and ready, and none of Molly's words seem to be changing that.

You better be a quick draw, Molly. You know she's fast.

Beau twists her neck to one side, then the next, cracking the joint there before digging her heels into the sand.]

Yeah, you are.

[It seems like all of the monks at once shout a notice of begin!, and an arrow whizzes from one of the archers directly into Beau's waiting hand. Unlike others who may find her like these, Molly and Yasha know what's coming next as she sends it right for Molly's chest-- but more importantly for the juncture between them. She needs to take them one-by-one, so the first step is to make sure they're not connected, not touching, not working as a unit.

Without missing another beat, she'll circle around Molly's free side, seeming intent on going for him first.]

[devilstongue]

We're not leaving without her. This is-

[ Fuck.

That's really all Molly can think before he's diving out of the way from the arrow sent towards him, whirling around to check that it missed Yasha and drawing his scimitars. He has one up with the flat side towards Beau to help block a strike, while the other is flipped in his hand and drawing a thin line over his forearm to coat it with frost.

Just in case.

Molly will be on the defensive, letting Beau into the fight but only attempting to block and dodge. If she wants to wail on him first, it just meant that he had to yell his idea over at Yasha. ]

The monks! Fuck them up!

[ If they can get them down, maybe things would stop.

Maybe. ]

[barberian]

I don't think that it is her–

(Yasha has to cut herself off in order to get out of the way as the arrow comes straight for the both of them, listening hard to hear if it struck Molly, but it seems to have harmlessly struck the ground instead. She lifts the Judge, hefting it to strike at whatever is closest. Beau seems to have circled back around to Molly. The archers are waiting impassively, their bows once against at the ready.

Yasha hesitates, tightening her grip on her greatsword.)

They aren't doing anything.

(She starts toward one, and they don't even flinch. Their gaze doesn't leave Beau for a second. If they are going to fire at her again like they did only moments before, they could hit Mollymauk; this thought makes her swing back her sword and bring it crashing down onto the weapon of the monk nearest to her, the blade carving through the wood with a loud thunk.)

[lesbeau]

[As soon as the two have stepped apart, Beau wastes no time circling around to Molly. He draws his weapon and she does too- she'll need to get in close to do some real damage, but that involves removing at least one of those swords. That said, she doesn't hesitate as she charges towards him as soon as the words leave his mouth to Yasha, trying to catch him off guard. She takes a number of fast steps before leaping into the air, staff over her head to strike down on him with a yell. Molly will get only one quick warning from the room that something could be amiss- once Beau's feet leave the ground, the sand around his shifts in a single twist, anticipating a strike. Should she hit him, he'll find himself wholly unable to move his legs from that spot.

That said, the monks are taking this a little differently- the Judge splits through an archer's bow, but it doesn't seem to have any effect on the person left there. The weapon is destroyed, arms where they were sliced bloody, but they stand in formation without anything to fire. It's eerie- their eyes are lifeless, directed straight ahead, watching only Beau.

But that doesn't mean it didn't work, to an extent-- the bow doesn't seem to be respawning, and the less projectiles anyone hands to Beau is better for them in this case.]

[devilstongue]

[ There was no time for planning, but Molly and Yasha work well of each other when it comes to fights. This was a little more backwards, though, as Yasha was usually the one keeping the enemy's attention and Molly the one cleaning up the little ones.

This was not as ideal, but Beau didn't seem to want to focus away from him, so here they are. Reversed like an unlucky draw of his cards.

There's a loud crack in the pit as Beau's staff connects with Molly's chest. It's enough to make stumble and gasping for the air she just knocked out of him, but he only manages one step before he's weirdly held in place by... sand?

Gritting his teeth, he makes a gesture to the monk, vein popping on his neck as he tries to blind her for a moment with his maledict. ]

Beau, fuck! Snap out of it!

[barberian]

(She hears Molly's pained gasp and her head whips around, fast enough to catch him stumble away, to see Beau's staff thrust forward in front of her. Oh, nope. Absolutely not. He's tugging his legs fruitlessly in the shifting sand and Beau is advancing upon him with a determination in her eyes that Yasha has seen directed at foes several times, but never at them. Never at the Nein.

She might have discovered the trick to the archers had she stayed with the results of her actions for longer than a few seconds, but she can't ignore Mollymauk being in any danger, not for a moment. Not when he seems intent on sparing his attacker any damage.

If Beau's vision does go black thanks to Molly's maledict, she isn't going to celebrate getting it back. Not when the first thing she sees is Yasha's fist coming in hard and fast, aiming for right between her eyes.)

[lesbeau]

[See, there we go Yasha, now we're participating here.

Beau's only been hit by a maledict once, and unprepared as she is it's enough to make her vision swim, stopping the follow-up punches she would have delivered to him as they go wide. She's got barely enough time for her vision to come back before it's replaced by Yasha's hand coming right at her. She tries to duck and makes it about halfway there, Yasha's blow missing breaking her nose but slamming into her forehead and sending her tumbling backwards into a heap about fifteen feet away. For just a moment, she doesn't move, the sand clinging to the bits of sweat already formed on her limbs.

And then the monks speak, in an almost deafening call.]

Get up.

[Beau pulls herself to her feet, just a small sway in her step as she's righted, dropping back into her stance. Molly's got maybe one more round of being stuck, but seeing as Yasha has appropriately made herself known, it's unlikely she'll be able to get to him before he's free.

She wipes the back of her hand across the blow, hair mussed, and one of the three remaining archers fires. This time though, the arrow from Beau is going straight for Yasha as she invites her to come in and engage.]

[devilstongue]

[ Molly's been kicked by a horse before. He doesn't remember why, but he was probably drunk, high and/or stupid. (His stupidity didn't always come from being under the influence, after all.) Anyway, it had hurt like fuck. This? This was like five horses in a row. He can breathe again, and amazingly there's no blood taste in his mouth. Nothing punctured. His ribs are screaming, though, but he pushes past it.

Yasha has Beau. His turn on the monks.

...he's still stuck. Fucking sand.

Gritting his teeth, Molly glares at one of the monks and spits out angry Infernal to them. ]

!

[ At least that would tell him if they were real-ish or not. ]

[barberian]

(He was all three, Yasha was there.

Beau goes down with a thud that makes her heartbeat spike in her chest, worried and angry all at once. She's listening hard for Molly's breathing without taking her eyes off the crumpled monk lying in a heap about fifteen or so feet away from her. Normally, a punch to the forehead like that would make a wiser person stay down, but they are talking about Beau here. And sure enough, she's back on her feet in moments as if plucked from the ground by a large finger and thumb, swaying a little on the spot.

Molly's ragged inhale and exhale behind her doesn't sound too bad. He sounds winded, but uninjured. Yasha's concern for him drops as he spits something nasty in Infernal behind her, but she doesn't have time to look at who he is aiming those words at.

Beau has flung an arrow at her, easy and fast. Yasha only has moments and even then the arrow still slices her as it passes, dragging a cut into the curve of her arm. She doesn't flinch, simply lets the cool, seething rage steal over her as she takes a step forward. This isn't Beau. Beau wouldn't hurt Molly, wouldn't raise arms against her unless she asked for it. Something is doing a very convincing imitation, but not enough to make Yasha reconsider lunging for her with a roar, her curled fist coming in to meet her stomach.)

[lesbeau]

[The monks seem unresponsive to words, like they can't seem to hear suddenly, they don't know. From the way the archer with the now missing bow is acting, the movements seem routine, automatic despite their forms.

So they can't hear the combatants. But if they can see, and speak... perhaps there are other ways to disable them.

As Yasha charges forward, Mollymauk will find his frozen time nearly ticked to an end, Yasha's blow having burned down the counter in the time it took Beau to get back on her feet. But there's no rest for the wicked as Yasha's terrifying scream rattles out, brings the fight back into focus. Beau waits until she gets in close, almost hits her before trying a juke to the side around the outstretched fist to slam down with her staff against Yasha's back. If she hits, Yasha may find more than her feet sticking to the sand should she tumble harder to the floor. No matter the outcome, she'll drop into her patient defense stance directly after to anticipate another hit.]