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.
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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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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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His eyes narrow slightly, as he glances away.
"And I can't say we're in the kind of situation where we can afford to throw out any of the good cards in our hand."
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As usual, though, Sans is right. "I guess... we're in the same boat, now." Even if his friend deals with it better--or at least has more skill at hiding his distress--they're both up this weird, mystic creek. "We've both got something special up our sleeves."
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