maskormenacelogs | Day of the Dead Guy [Pretty Dang Open]

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Day of the Dead Guy [Pretty Dang Open]

WHO: Yomiel/The Manipulator, and many of you!
WHERE: The Lift, 15th-floor penthouse lounge in Heropa
WHEN: The night of November 3rd, starting at 8:00
WHAT: A desperate ghost goes to desperate measures to try and off himself, even if that means taking others down with him.
WARNINGS: Violence, mind-control via possession, suicidal themes from Mr. Coping Mechanism here
NOTES: Plot post is here. Mood music is here.

At 8:45 PM, the message goes out across all the Import devices. The Manipulator is back, out in public, and threatening to take six people down with him if the Import heroes don't try to grant his only wish-- to be destroyed permanently.

Who will live? Who will die? And will the Manipulator finally face justice- or oblivion?

STAY TUNED!

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Well, this party went downhill quickly.

What luck! An exclusive invitation to a gathering at a fancy, exclusive lounge on top of a building? Who did you impress to win this honor?

(Nobody, actually, you were randomly chosen. But you don't know that.)

Arrive, enjoy the sights and the luxury of the penthouse, and definitely enjoy those free drinks and snacks. You've got about 45 minutes until the poo hits the fan.

(not a Jersey Shore reference, god.)

At 8:45, the only bouncer in the lounge makes a quiet exit out the front door. Shortly after, the sound of iron bars and electronic gears and buzzing can be heard. Security cameras around the lounge all light up at once, and the televisions all turn on and show static.

I hope you're all having a good time. The voice that comes over the PA might be vaguely familiar to those who frequently argue with villains on the network.

Now, everyone just sit back and relax, nice and quiet. It's showtime.

This is when the broadcast goes out.

Every hour on the hour, demands The Manipulator, so you heroes had better get to it if you want to stave off his rage.

Pick a timeslot and go for it!

Fifteen minutes after the message goes out, the first fight is demanded. Hopefully someone can hustle up to the roof in time...

By 9:00, the building is surrounded by police and SWAT, who secure the whole place all the way up to the 14th floor. They don't dare to step up onto the 15th, lest they piss off the Manipulator.

It's best that no one tries to bust in independently of police consultation, given the trigger-happy disembodied ghost on the top floor. The perimeter is secured and the police are stopping anyone who tries to cross it at the door, but they will speak to anyone who identifies themselves as a hero.

They'll be allowed to try.

Anywhere else I forgot to make a sub-heading for.

Abigail only went out to try and have a good time AND SHE IS FEELING VERY ATTACKED RIGHT NOW. Like for fucks sake, can't she go to a mysterious party thrown by someone she doesn't know in a posh penthouse lounge with loads of drinks and itty bitty delicious treats without being kidnapped and held hostage?? Is that too much to ask.

Look at your life, Abigail Hobbs, the answer is a resounding yes.

He's probably a serial killer too.

Regardless to her pursed lipped annoyance and general unease and utter resignation to her life being an awful Shakespearean tragedy/comedy, Abigail remains in her seat on a plush couch, legs tucked underneath her with a drink in her hand. She is going to need about fifteen more of these, to be quite frank.

Every hour, on the hour. Thankfully, Dorian was in the nearby vicinity, so he hustled himself up to the roof of the building as fast as he could. He had multiple motives for being here, for doing this. He still wanted to improve himself in the public eye--unsurprisingly, robbing a bank tended to make people think ill of you. But he also wanted to know more about this Manipulator. Dorian had dealt with ghosts before. He had been possessed by a former lover of his, watched her burn away through the fire of a bomb dropped on London during the Blitz. Obviously this was different. This was a different ghost from a different world and no bombs.

Still, the principle should be the same. Get possessed, try to kill himself (and if that doesn't work, burn himself alive) and that ghost should be gone. Right? The principle shouldn't change at all, should it? Dorian was running on hypotheticals here.

So, as he stepped onto the roof of the building, he looked around, frown on his face. "You'll have to do something so that I know you're actually up here," he called out.

"Oh, good. It was going to be really disappointing if I had to kill someone fifteen minutes out."

The voice came from a silhouette standing near the little shed that covered the top of the stairwell. There stood a tall man, dressed in plain civilian's clothes, with the exception of a dark black hood covering his head. It appeared he had no way of actually seeing outside of it.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he stood up and strolled casually out onto the rooftop. The lack of eyesight apparently didn't bother him.

"Here I am," he said. "My face is covered. You don't even need to look me in the eyes, if you don't want to. Just kill me and get it over with."

Jonathan wasn't able to meet the first demand, boxed in by prior obligations as he was, but as soon as it became clear that whoever had arrived at nine hadn't been able to finish things he was off and running towards the Lift. If the hostages were to be rescued, the other heroes would need time to devise a strategy; he could at least provide that for them.

And...if this was the same man he spoke with on the network, he deserved to finally rest.

His breathing was under control by the time he emerged on the roof, even and already building up the ripple energy in his veins. He stood expectantly, taking the opportunity to size up the environment he'd be fighting in. There was no need to announce himself - he imagined that his presence had been known since he'd started up the stairs.

Dorian frowned, looking over at the tall man with a dark hood covering his eyes. Couldn't he see out of that thing? He strolled closer towards Yomiel's body, frown on his face as he watched the other man.

"Right, I know you're a ghost because I saw that post you made a bit before Halloween. So go ahead. Possess me."

"I've already possessed you once before." He recognized the guy. Though that didn't stop him from drawing closer.

"What are you gonna do?" Not that he really cared, since the idea was that he end up dead anyway, but it was worth asking.

The Manipulator was across from the stairwell's entrance to the roof, leaning against a smokestack.

"Good boy. I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to try to break into the lounge, but I had my eye on you all the same," he said. He stood up, hands in the pocket of his jeans, and strolled towards him.

"Go ahead. I won't fight back."

Paaaause. Because wait, he had? That was something new. He didn't remember the incident at all--but it was worrying, to say the least.

"Simple. You possess me, I kill myself, that should exorcise you."

He regarded the man thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. His words and expression were surprisingly polite for someone who was about to attempt murder to resolve a hostage crisis.

"I believe that we've spoken before today. I hope that I can help you, but if that proves to be untrue, please accept my apology."

Jonathan doesn't specify what exactly he's meant to be apologizing about. With his words said, he dropped immediately into the familiar fighting stance. He could feel the ripple crackling along his arms now - as he charged forward, he concentrated it into his fists.

The best course of action would be to strike him the same way he'd finished Dio, that night at the castle. He focused completely on the situation at hand, rather than the knowledge that that fight had been rendered pointless. This wasn't the time for that.

He connected with brutal force, all of his strength behind the fist practically crushing a hole in the Manipulator's chest. Jonathan could feel the ripple flowing into the wound even before he'd completely pulled back - whatever the outcome, his blow had landed completely.

This was surreal, which wasn't unlike a lot of things here. Kristoff, however, usually tended to be as uninvolved with this place's issues as possible. Involvement was required this time, though, because Anna. He'd frowned skeptically at a party invitation from an unknown host, but he hadn't thought much of it beyond that, and now... Now there was a ghost guy hanging out on a roof looking for assisted suicide battles as a method of hostage negotiation.

So, yeah. That's a thing.

He wasn't sure how this was meant to go, and it had been a restless couple of hours up until this point. He'd calmed and became anxious in turns, and frustrated, and now he was finally stepping onto the roof with Elsa close by. He held an axe, the weight of it somehow comforting. It was a bit crass, but it'd potentially get the job done, which suited him just fine. Not that he actually wanted to axe some guy to death, but... He'd taken Anna. (And also other presumably-innocent people.) If he wanted to die so bad, what was the harm in obliging him?

"So how's this work?" He asked, more to the space in front of them than to any person, though he did cast Elsa a quick glance. "We just... go for it?"

"I'm not sure. I still don't know how to fight him."

Elsa's had snowflakes swirling around her for the last few hours, unable to make them stop. Some of them float around airily, loose, while others twirl in tight around her limbs and fingers, blizzard-condition snowfall, contained by powerful winds she doesn't have to think to control. A trail of ice follows her footsteps. Her room back home where she was sitting when the message went up is coated in thick sheets of ice. And she doesn't care about any of that right now, because Anna's in danger.

At first she hadn't been sure about Kristoff coming with her, but she couldn't tell him no. Anna means as much to him as she does to Elsa by now, and an extra set of hands never hurt anybody. As long as he doesn't get in the way of an ice shard, he should be fine.

"As long as he has a heart or a brain, I can freeze it." A pause. "If I can figure out how to do that on purpose."

And then, "Be careful about getting in close with that." A nod at the axe. "He can possess people."

It's with Rampage being shot that how far the Manipulator's willing to go crystalizes, and Annie presses her lips into a thin line. She's been pacing, examining the room, examining the others (Kate, it would end up being Kate here too, and Will's young friend from home, not to mention the one guy who'd kept wanting to know exactly how destructive Titans were) before the Manipulator had come down, dissatisfied with events after Dorian's failed attempts at getting either one of them to stay down.

There's a pattern, and with the call of the hours, Annie has a feeling she knows what it is. She doesn't have her communicator with her. It's in for repairs, if any can be made, the melted interface finally too much for her to handle. That leaves the others to communicate out, if they can, or they want: it leaves her thinking over options.

She approaches another of her fellow "hostages." She's no innocent life to be protected, and she wonders if Levi weren't off in Alaska, if he might not be laughing to himself right now, or how much Reiner will want to wring her neck for being the one in a situation like this again, still unplanned. Her shitty luck has only gotten worse on this Earth. Her question is conversational, asked in a low tone to someone not talking on the network at the time she asks.

"Do you know how to unload the clip to your gun?"

It's not hard to see something's wrong with this scenario. The scent of alcohol is too spot on, in pretty enough tumblers glittering in a row, like so many captive fireflies with a promise of inner warmth that will burn oh so nicely on the way down the esophagus to the stomach. Annie avoids them, not liable to touch something she didn't see poured herself, and wondering at the security in this place.

More like the one guard, and the little-too-wrogn demographic of the people gathered here.

Standing near the windows, she watches her fellows move in the reflection off the glass. She'd just finished dancing with Ken, calling an earlier evening than usual. Her heels are tucked up next to a notebook and her math book in her messenger bag. She's dressed in a hoodie, one she'd picked out with Curt last month, when he'd been trying to get her to buy a dress. For all intents and purposes, she looks like a teen girl staring out at the lights of Heropa, a small city, or an overlarge town, still mesmerized by the moving lines of traffic and the sea of light that winds through the dark countryside beyond.

Something's up, but she doesn't have a read on what yet. There's no one who'd mistake her for being "of age" to drink by the general rules of this nation, let alone Abigail, or her Nonah neighbor. What exactly are we expecting here? Her attention shifts to watching the one exit and entrance to this place. What is up their sleeves?

Some weird publicity stunt?

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Day of the Dead Guy [Pretty Dang Open]

HOSTAGES

8:00 PM - The Lift Lounge/Party

8:45 PM and beyond- Hostage Mingling

FIGHTERS

9 PM

10 PM

11 PM

12 AM

1 AM

2 AM

RESCUERS

ELSEWHERE

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Icy Power Hour

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bullet sabotage

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