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The Mods of LifeAftr ([personal profile] lifeaftr_mods) wrote in [community profile] lifeaftr2019-01-24 08:36 pm

January Event: Rejection Rooms

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.
LOGSOOCSTORIESMAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )
lesbeau: (« [Fight] SQUARE UP)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-01-30 03:13 am (UTC)(link)
[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: (traveler you can't handle)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-01-30 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
[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: (« [Serious] meet me in the pit)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-01-31 07:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[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: (◈ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴜɪɴ)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-01-31 08:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[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: (« [Fight] SQUARE UP)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-02-03 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
[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.

Edited (well that wasnt the preview button) 2019-02-03 05:47 (UTC)
hyperlit: (◈ ʀɪғᴛs ᴄʀᴀғᴛᴇᴅ)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-02-03 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
[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: (« [Look] monks can't be surprised)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-02-07 07:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[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: (hello potion seller)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-02-07 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[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: (« [Serious] meet me in the pit)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-02-19 05:16 am (UTC)(link)
[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: (this fucking game)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-02-19 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
[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: (« [Anger] HEY FUCK YOU)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-02-24 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
[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.]
hyperlit: (to get your potions)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-02-24 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
[The Drifter does not answer.]

[Or rather, their answer is all in motion - in the streak of kinetic energy that they've become, a blaze of scarlet blurring into violet from the force and speed of their forward momentum. They tear forward, blade drawn. Press the advantage, while they have it.]

[They engage her.]

[A blur of cerulean sings across the distance between them. They pivot, duck, juke, retreat, dodge, whatever they can to prevent her from pinning them down, whether by fists or by the rippling battlefield, the sand that threatens to swallow their ankles in a hold that, for one such as them, may as well be fatal. They do not strike at any point that might jeopardize their foothold. They do not sacrifice security for a parting shot.]

[If they can outlast her, perhaps there lies a chance.]

[Assuming they don't slip first.]
lesbeau: (« [Fight] SQUARE UP)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-02-27 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
[They're doing exactly what they should. Beau may be fast, but there's only too long she can exhaust that speed, getting parried and blocked and occasionally struck back. The archers shoot new arrows and she tosses them to control their movement even slightly, but without the simple ability to stop them, it's becoming apparent she will need to do something else.

Through the next minute, as the archers shoot, she doesn't shoot the arrows back, tucking them into the belt at her waist, keeping them secure. Once she has four saved, Beau circles to their front, ducks, and flings all four in rapid succession close to the ground along their legs. For what she's planning, they'll need to jump, and Beau will be there right behind prepared to beat the Drifter down like an oversized pinata. Even if she misses, the chances of them landing right on their feet are harder, and if they hit the ground that's all the opportunity she needs.

So Beau charges in, despite the sand caked onto her feet and up her ankle, the sweat on her brow, the increasing messiness of her hair. She'll keep going. Of fucking course she will.]
hyperlit: (my strongest potions would kill you)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-02-27 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
[They don't expect her to start aiming for their feet. Immediately they have to start darting back, jumping to try and ensure the arrows don't clip them on the way.]

[Splitting their focus is difficult, but not impossible. It's the same as accounting for multiple projectiles on the same battlefield. The buzz of robotic entities spitting to life, flooding forward, while their creator churns out a spray of blindingly pink bullets.]

[This isn't quite the same. Beau is the only variable to be accounted for consistently, but they're in retreat, now, blade up in a guard against.]
lesbeau: (« [Serious] meet me in the pit)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-01 05:22 am (UTC)(link)
[While it didn't stop them, it's doing something, and Beau thinks she has an opening. She's fought mostly above board this entire time, but now she's slipping into dirtier tactics. Beau sweeps the staff once and then back, aggravated but getting an idea; if she can't use the field, she'll hold them down herself. The monks on the outside seem to approve, a whisper rushing through them.]

Go.


[She kicks off hard from the ground, abandoning grace and pretense to slam herself hard into their midsection, aiming to tackle them to the floor herself.]
hyperlit: (◈ ᴀɴ ɪsᴏʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ)

cw: violence...self-sacrifice

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-03-01 05:45 am (UTC)(link)
[She slams into them with enough weight to unbalance them. They're light and fast; they're not strong. It topples them cleanly, and they hit the sand with a soundless whump. If they'd the capacity to vocalize, doubtless it would be in pain and frustration. They've hit the ground, and they don't expect that they'll be able to rise again, not with the sand being what it is.]

[But if this is to be the end, they will go out attempting to bring her down with them, reaching so that their arms snap around her in a bizarre parody of a hug.]

[Their blade fizzles off.]

[They spin the empty red handle, try to jam into the small of her back. Screw their dark eyes shut.]

[The hard light blade blitzes back to life.]

[The way they've attempted to position it, their intent is probably clear:]

[For it to impale them both on a cerulean skewer.]
lesbeau: (« [Quiet] long may he reign)

yeah cw more of all of that. plus some blood and death

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-04 03:19 am (UTC)(link)
[There just isn't enough time.

She isn't familiar enough with the way the hard light blade works, the thought that something like this could even happen. They both crash down and she goes to raise a fist, to slam them over and over and over again and end this, prove she's better than her challenges and these fucking assholes surrounding her that don't know anything. She can win, she has to win--

The hilt presses into her back and her mind reels too late.

The blade cuts through her, bone and guts and blood, pinning them together as her eyes widen in shock. Beau's chest tries to heave, but everything is red hot pain as she does, a burning unlike anything she's ever felt before as her chest tries and fails to expand. There's blood bubbling up on her lips, feeling like it's filling her lungs, like she's going to choke before she bleeds out.

Her eyes drift down just a moment to the Drifter, copper hot on her tongue.]


What... the fuck...

[But she can't go further, because this stage was meant to move, and the archers still take aim. Beau can't run. She can't catch. They were always aiming for her.

She tries to jerk back to avoid it, but the sword merely slices further into her back, and the arrow soars directly into her right temple before it all stops.

And just like that, the room is gone, the two of them in a heap on Monsun with real sand behind their backs. Beau is still breathing heavy and dazed, unmoving from her position, not yet realizing she isn't dead.]
hyperlit: +judgment (◈ ᴀs ɪᴛs ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛʀᴀɴsᴍᴏɢʀɪғɪᴇᴅ)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-03-04 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
[It hurts, of course. It hurts the way all things do. It hurts and they've accepted this as necessary, as an evil they're meant to weather, because they can no longer recall with any clarity what it was to live day by day and not hurt. Every moment that their own sickness has teemed in their heart and lungs and blood, they've tasted its stink on the back of their tongue.]

[A blade through their middle opens a live river of fire, teeming up through their veins, blistering down their spine, igniting the back of their skull in a vibrant pulse of white-hot phosphorescence. For half a second, maybe more, their brain shorts out into a blissful numb.]

[They taste the heat of their blood, and the weight of her crashed down atop them, and there's a sickening lurch when they track the confusion and hurt in her gaze. Their instinct is to stopper it, to smooth it over, to wrest the world asunder to mend it and fix it and make it better because that is what they are and what they do but they're the reason that the blade has pinioned her in place, shot through them both, and there's a flutter of a second where they gag on their own blood as it froths up the back of their throat, missing the exact moment when the room cuts out.]

[They wake.]

[In some ways, this is the most normal thing that has happened to them: getting up on the smooth sand after the trauma of an imminent and painful demise, and rising again.]

[They stand because it is instinct, and not because they should. And then, they end up on one knee again, reaching down to lay a hand just beside hers. Not touching. Not quite.]


it is ok
lesbeau: (« [Concern] no hard feelings yeah)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-07 05:01 am (UTC)(link)
[Before Lifeaftr, Beau had never died. She had come close- felt the way acid ate through skin, the breaking of bones over and over, blood pouring out of her as she swayed closer and closer to demise. Most of these wounds leave no scar- partially from blunt force trauma accounting for at least a quarter and possibly because healing magic has almost always been there in the worst of the worst. Beau knows the slow healing of bruises and beat downs from the monks, injuries someone might incur on a drunken Saturday night. But the snap back from death, the reeling slam from something to nothing to something again has only ever been here. She shoved it down during the Trial, falling into pits of spikes, torn apart by a beast in the maze, electricity reeling through her heart and mind until they both stopped.

She's beginning to wonder when her luck will run out. When it'll finally be real.

Beau doesn't open her eyes in time to catch their text, but can hear them, cracking open an eye when they seem to settle nearby.]


... So if that was a dream. It was a fuckin' realistic one.

[She's nervous to flex her back, move her limbs, so she immediately does in an act of protest. She sure feels like she's been thrown off the top of the temple, but... it all still works like it didn't before.]

Where the hell are we?
hyperlit: (i'm going into battle)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-03-07 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
monsun
beach


[They answer immediately, because it's not an uncertainty. They had made the trek here, seen the construct for themself, and had done what they always did, in the face of unknowable terror: draw their blade, and stride for it for a confrontation.]

[It is fortunate that this one ended the way it did. Painfully, but not in death.]

[That is already better than so very many other confrontations they've had.]

[She seems rattled, but unhurt. Good.]

[It is never fair to gamble with an ally's life.]


you ok?
lesbeau: (« [Thought] quiet memory)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-13 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
[Beau flexes her hands, feels the sand underneath before pushing herself into a sitting position. Everything feels like hell, but when she was pretty sure she was going to die, any movement at all is a victory.]

I'm breathing. Hell of a move you pulled off back there.

[It all had seemed so real. At first it was just outrunning this nice version of herself trying to infect all her friends, then it was thinking about why she should even be around when they had that Beau to keep them busy. She thinks she was trying to go to the Monkey Compound, hide out for a bit, but ended up at the mana pool...

It's too blurry, between fatigue and whatever magic overtook her. She looks around, trying to find any sign of the library and coming up empty.]


So... you knew it was fake, huh. Don't I feel like a moron.
hyperlit: (if i could fly id be a bird)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-03-13 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
[Their hand only briefly runs down along their front, but they are unhurt, save for the hurt they always carry in the center of them. It is not the first time, after all, that they have died in service to a greater purpose. Not the first time that they have embarked on a self-sacrificial mission. Not the first time they have died at all.]

[I'm breathing is the closest thing to I'm fine that one could ask for. She is, mercifully, unhurt. Their maneuver did not prove lasting outside of the context of the room, built from shadows and murk and compiled into something they did not recognize.]


you were not you

[She was not in her right mind, that is, but that's the closest they can come to saying it.]
lesbeau: (« [Consider] okay mmmmaybe)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-16 03:13 am (UTC)(link)
[She looks at their words, pulling them apart in her brain. Not her, huh? She finds that hard to believe. If her Shadow was the person reveling in the kill, enjoying taking apart the world, and even her Light didn't disparage a spar--

Maybe it's just in her blood. Maybe being chained like a rabid animal and let loose on whoever dares get too close is just her birthright. Look where it's gotten her so far.]


Yeah, sure.

[That's just not a conversation she can have with herself. She rolls to the side, pushing herself up on her knees and then her feet.]

I guess I owe you one, huh? Call it if you need it.
hyperlit: (◈ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ)

[personal profile] hyperlit 2019-03-16 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
[They can't call it paying it forward, because they don't know the terminology, but that's the general gist. They cannot change the fact that they are dying, approaching an end that will someday come. They can only do all in their power to ensure that when they do pass on for good, they leave the world, and all that it entails, better than when they found it.]

[Kindness is a finer weapon than any blade, but harder by far to wash clean.]

[They don't feel the need to push any points with her. They'd be the wrong one to, in any case. But they watch her get to her feet, and...she's alive.]

[That's what matters.]


owe nothing

[The hypocrisy of this sentiment strikes them, but they ignore it. The important thing is that they are pouring this out forward, and not doing it with the intention of exchange or reward.]
lesbeau: (« [Study] careful consideration)

[personal profile] lesbeau 2019-03-19 04:42 am (UTC)(link)
[You can only pay so much forward until you either run out or someone gifts you more, Drifter. Let her lend it when it matters.

Or when it doesn't. Whatever.]


Gonna give it to you anyway.

[It's just that simple, a blank little response that says she cannot and will not accept criticism.]

C'mon, let's get the hell off this terrible fucking island.

(no subject)

[personal profile] hyperlit - 2019-03-19 04:59 (UTC) - Expand