Label: VIRGO ENTERTAINMENT
Band: DEFYING ATMOSPHERE
Instrument: LEAD/RHYTHM GUITAR
Fame Lvl: 4 - Empathic Influence, Mental Manipulation, Reality Bending, Beginner Sorcery
Current MP: 33 (138 total)
Short Description:► With a wild mane and a passion for ripped clothes, Mr. Universe loves nothing more than the music. He may like to party, but the rock star lifestyle is more about the rock for him. His genuine passion for the craft passes on to a clear respect for his fans.
Regains So Far:
★OCTOBER★►
MEMORY 1: Discussing with his unknown child how he met his mother. What is this, like, a vision of the future???
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MEMORY 2: A beautiful, huge, pink woman encourages him to speak into the old video camera. They're recording a message for their child.
★NOVEMBER★►
MEMORY 3: The huge pink woman dances with another woman to his performance. With a glowing light, the two of them combine into a huge, four-eyed dancer.
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MEMORY 4: A colossal red eye lights the sky, before a laser beam in the shape of the pink woman destroys it. Debris crashes around him; if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn't have hot dogs.
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MEMORY 5: A writhing, shifting mass of catlike tumors struggles to walk through a car wash. He watches, desperately hoping what's underneath survives.
►
MEMORY 6: He peeks through the door to find the walls covered in frost. A small, blue woman sits on a frozen bed, and though he can't see her eye, he knows she's looking at him. "He's not going to like that it's square." This is sorta inconvenient.
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MEMORY 7: He filters an alien static through his sound system, trying to decipher its message, but his van gives out first.
★DECEMBER★
► MEMORY 8: Garnet thanks him with a handshake. It feels like he's won an award.
► MEMORY 9: Steven and a young girl burst through a portal of light on the back of a bright pink lion. Greg would run to embrace them, if not for the pain in his leg and the solid chunks of ocean crashing down around them.
► MEMORY 10: He watches, like a ghost, as war ravages the world around him. It's a battle for him, for everyone like him, older and more vast than he can comprehend. He's so small.
► MEMORY 11: The pink woman stares at him, utterly lost. This was supposed to bring them closer. It still can, he thinks. They just need to communicate.
►MEMORY 12: A small, purple woman taunts him by transforming into the shape of the pink woman. She says it's his fault she's not here. He knows she's right.
★JANUARY★
►MEMORY 13: He's going to get to sleep on a couch?! He cannot believe his luck.
►MEMORY 14: It's already hard enough setting up the camera without the toddler squirming in his arms. They have to get at least one good picture of the cake before it gets demolished.
►MEMORY 15: He takes a regal bow to his king, the indisputable ruler of watermelons. They break down into uncontrollable giggles.
►MEMORY 16: He closes the book, and smiles at his sleeping son. He casts one last anxious, uncertain look at the trio in the living room, before leaving.
★FEBRUARY★►MEMORY 17: He cannot afford the hospital. Duct tape's like a cast, right? Totally. Good enough.
►MEMORY 18: The pink woman calls plant life to come to life around her, obeying her whims.
►MEMORY 19: Cripes Steven has a LOT of powers.
►MEMORY 20: One little lie can't hurt. It means they'll get to be together again. This will all be worth it in the end. ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
panspermia) wrote2015-09-30 06:00 pm
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"Pretty sure that's what happened, yup," he replies, sounding pretty at peace with it. "Think that's a new thing, too."
Truth is, he doesn't really know that having skeleton hands means he's meant to be a whole skeleton at all. He just instinctively feels like that's the case, for some reason. Who has bone hands just by themselves? He'd have to be some kind of supervillain.
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Greg really has no idea where to go from here. He's pretty sure he's supposed to be freaked out, and he is, but it's also just a little bit super cool. With each new thing, it feels like he understands his friend less and less. He's going to have to keep up in the only way he knows how.
"I'm gonna have to rewrite that song about you."
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There's the unspoken, underlying problem of the fact that this is something that is pretty hard to hide, and with a bunch of recent firings still on everyone's mind...being exposed is a threatening idea to say the least. He takes out his hands again, looking at them, taking a second measure of how bad off he is.
Same as before, it seems: pretty hella compromised.
"I kinda figure the guys upstairs are gunna be less enthusiastic."
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Sitting back down, Greg turns his attention to Sans' hands again, doing his best to take them in as calmly as a guy can. He's not managing it as well as Sans, but better than he's have expected. Yeah, they're gonna have a problem when it comes to keeping this on the down low.
"Hey, it's winter. How's your glove selection?"
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"Good thing I don't play anything with strings, huh. Trombone takes less finger dexterity than most instruments I can think of." Shifting the valves right requires its own set of skills, but they don't involve complicated finger work.
He spreads his hands again, letting Greg look at them in a less alarming context. The bone goes right up into his sleeves. There's nothing holding any of it together, beyond what is ostensibly magic.
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His brow knits. "Boy, we've got some weird priorities, aren't they? Like... 'hey, whatever black magic's holding you together, at least it won't get in the way of the music.'"
When Sans holds them out again Greg resists the urge to reach over and touch them. The bizarre image of mewling, morphing mass plays over in his mind. He's freaking out a little, sure, but this is still his friend, skin or no.
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He's almost certainly going to look into this more later, but right now he settles for sticking one of his fingers between his radius and ulna bones and wiggling it around. Ha ha. Wow. That feels kind of cool.
"Really somethin', isn't it. Guess that's what happens when your whole worth as an individual seems to balance on your ability to toot a horn." He twists his arm with his finger still between the bones, feeling them rotate with a vague sense of satisfaction. "Still...s'something they don't want me to have. Nothing could make a guy more curious than that."
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"You're sure this all came from hanging out with the helmet guys?" With how little he's heard, Greg can't decide if he's more hopeful or suspicious of them. "They're seriously on our side?"
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"Don't seem to want to say too much about why all this is happening - seemed kind of concerned that some of us would tattle. Not surprised. Someone probably will." He's notably more sober about this part. "They're really sticking their necks out for us from the looks of it. Unless this game is several tiers more complicated than I'm expecting, I can't see how the bosses would benefit from what they're doing."
"They're really polite about it. Quick to take no for an answer. Probably because they know stuff like this might happen instead of anything actually useful."
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It still leaves them with a lot of questions to figure out on their own, though. As much as Greg would like to trust these benefactors will take care of everything, it's not about to get easy.
"So you... you can warp around, now? Is that what happened?" Greg resists the urge to add, "like THEY can?" Whatever Sans is, he's not Santiago or Blanche. "That'll make it easier to dodge the security guys, at least."
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He's still not completely sure that they won't detect him somehow - it's not outside the realm of imagination. The only way to know is to try, though, and he's way less nervous about it than he probably should be. Come what may, and all that.
"Full disclosure, I've been able to do this in bits and pieces since last month, but the distances were nigh useless. Now, though..."
He clicks his fingers (bones??) and manages to teleport Greg's wallet out of his pocket and into his hand.
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"So you've got everything at your fingertips but the fingertips, huh? I trust you've got bigger plans for it than magic pickpocketing."
The weirdness has sunk in by this point, enough for Greg to mark down under the long list of things Sans gets better than him and leave it at that. The most he can contribute is listening, and maybe a bad joke or two.
And... well. Greg chews his cheek. "Since you're here anyway, uh. I had something I kind of wanted to show you, too."
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"My plans mostly involve not doing much of anything for the time being," he says, and lets it linger just long enough that someone would have their chance to roll their eyes at him before continuing. "You don't win a poker game by showing your hand."
Unless you've got a Royal Flush, of course, which he doesn't think he does yet. Nothing could even resemble that in this situation.
"That said...show me what you got." He's definitely curious.
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Greg scoots back on the bed to reach his guitar. "I need you to listen to this song I've been working on." There couldn't be a more typical thing for Mr. Universe to ask, but his smile is slightly lopsided. "I've just got the melody down, but... I think it's pretty cool."
He doesn't wait for Sans to comment or tease, before he starts strumming out a fast, low riff. Just as soon as he starts, the lights in the room dim dramatically.
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Sans stares at the lights, squinting slightly. Um? He blinks a couple times, and then looks back at Greg, with an expression that suggests he's checking to see if Greg is intentionally fucking around with him or not.
Or if Greg even noticed what happened.
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The melody thrums out, building up energy and suspense, and after a few seconds a dramatic fog swirls in around their feet out of the ether.
Greg hits a dramatic chord, and the lights overhead flare brighter again--though they've inexplicably turned blue. Another chord and they switch to red, then to blue again, back and forth with the beat. He brings it to a head with a power chord, and lights spontaneously light him from behind, striking a dramatic silhouette in the fog.
At that point he stops, his held pose losing its drama as the fog starts to dissipate and lights fade to a more bearable brightness without music sustaining them.
"So uh." Greg waves a hand at a lingering swirl of fog, and eyes Sans. "That's uh, what I've got... so far."
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He doesn't raise his eyebrows this high for just anything, though, looking around the room in acute fascination as Greg does his thing. He can't quite pick out the source of it, except that it's related to the rhythm of what Greg is player. This all feels somehow familiar.
When Greg finishes, Sans looks back to him, baffled and invested at the same time.
"Not bad, but could use some work," he drawls, obviously being facetious. He's a bit too distracted with thinking about it to come up with a better comment at just that moment.
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The effects have worn off altogether in a few seconds, though the lights overhead are still tinted blue. Greg's grip on the guitar tenses and looses in turn, trying to work out his anxious energy.
"Like I said. I never met these guys people are talking about. This just... started happening one day." His brow knits. "If I think about it, it's probably been going longer than I've noticed, too."
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"Well, let's examine the evidence here," he says. "You ever done something besides the smoke and the lights?"
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His face screws up, and he scratches hard at his hair, trying to find the right words. "It feels... weird when I play. I dunno how to describe it, like something's leaking out and seeping in at the same time. I only just noticed, but I think it's been going on for a while."
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It's not that much of a mystery Greg, come on. Or maybe Sans is just more capable of labeling something as magic without a second thought.
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He'd have to be pretty stubborn by this point to deny magic is a thing, by now. More the issue comes from the unshakable notion that he, specifically, absolutely shouldn't be using it.
"You think there's a way to turn it off...?"
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It's said with a weird amount of authority for someone who only technically became aware of magic a couple months ago, but Sans is apparently a time science wizard in a past life, so maybe he really is the expert on these things.
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"I... I can't play like this. I'll hurt someone, or--I'm gonna screw something up, I'm supposed to keep out of things like this."
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