Trustfell Mods (
trustharder) wrote in
trusthell2016-03-13 12:39 pm
Week 3.
Another week has passed; two more Survivors are gone. Pearl and Caren both had someone to fight for, someone worth killing for; perhaps it's for the best to hope that somehow they've found peace despite not being able to collect on the Kingmaker's incentive. Saturday is given to regrouping and sleep; there aren't any bodies to be found on Sunday morning. That doesn't mean the night passed easily, though - it seems another piece of your personal puzzle may have fallen into place while you slept... Following that spiral staircase up to the second floor will reveal something strange; those stairs definitely lead far higher than you remember, up to a previously inaccessible third floor. Go ahead and explore as much as you like; consider it your reward for a job well done. |
SUNDAY | MONDAY | TUESDAY | WEDNESDAY | THURSDAY
[OOC: Welcome to week two of Trustfell! Save your threads for coins and the coming week's activity check; don't forget to check in to this week's activity check and submit your memory regains!
The text and calling posts are still active, for the sake of contacting the jerk who's keeping you here, to be used at your leisure!]

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Well, I came over to say the same thing, and now one of us is going to have to change.
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...It just went particularly badly and I'm fairly certain one of us is going to hate me for the rest of their life.
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Maybe it'll be a motive. Maybe I'll kill someone and someone will try to drag a confession out of me and I'll get so angry that I'll just say something. Maybe someone will murder me and everyone will just think it's all right to talk about things I said to them privately now that I'm dead.
So I've been open about mine because I want to control how that information gets out. It's just how things work for me. But it's not like that for everyone, and I get it.
You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I'm not going to hate you for anything you do tell me, all right?
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[If there's anyone he does trust here, at least when it comes to not holding things against people when he says he won't - it's Mettaton.
He breathes in, exhales.]
For about a hundred years of my life, I was involved in organized crime. The mob. During that time, I killed a lot of people.
...'A lot' doesn't really cover it. About the best thing I can say for myself there is that I don't think I've killed a thousand people - but it's up there.
That was two hundred years ago, and I haven't lived that kind of life or wanted to since - but I don't blame them for calling me as bad as the Kingmaker, either.
[Misa's reaction was perfectly understandable, even if it hurt him. Especially if it hurt him.]
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[And that's...surprised, but it's mildly so - there's no shock or revulsion in it, just a general sense of "Well, I don't know what I expected" and a brief pause as he tries to get his thoughts together with regards to that.
Perhaps part of it is just that he lacks any genuine comprehension of "the mob" or exactly what said mob even does; it's not the number that's throwing him, because at first that just sort of makes logical sense. A thousand people is...well, okay, it's a lot but spread over a hundred years like that - that's only, what, ten a year?
...And as soon as that thought hits, Mettaton kind of has a moment - he's usually pretty comfortably at self-awareness zero, but once in a while something strikes him just wrong enough for him to realize that whatever just crossed his mind was probably very, very wrong in some way, and this is one of those latter times.
Most people go their entire lives without killing one person, right? That's why this is fucked up.
Right.
Okay.]
Well...I can say in all confidence that I don't hate you for it. Especially if it was so long ago... It's not like you were doing this right before you arrived here.
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I... I'm glad. Really, so glad...
The others are one thing - I don't know how I would have dealt with you hating me.
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Oh my god. Are you going to get over here and hug me or not?
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Then it's hugging time.]
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He lets go after a bit, still smiling and looking a little bit less like he might cry at any moment.]
Thank you.
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[...And thank you for not crying. He's admittedly a bit used to tears, but they're never pleasant.]
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[If you can't trust your relatively amoral robot son, who can you trust?]
If you ever need anything - anything at all - I'm always here for you.
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[And he does; it's a little flippant, but he genuinely does know that.]
I probably owe you a few secrets of my own by now, don't I?
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[He kept Caren's pretty well until it was revealed by a bucket of water.]
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[...HE SAYS, LIKE HE'S DISCUSSING THE FUCKING WEATHER OR SOMETHING.]
That's it.
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If there were kids involved then there would be Words, young man, but as it is he gets a pass.]
I see. I won't tell anyone.
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Apparently that's just going to be the go-to insult around here.
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[Again - not that he blames her, at all.]
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[...he's awfully defensive of her for someone who abandoned his family, thinks the person who still thinks Alphys is basically his mom.]
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Oh, but she doesn't stop me from doing anything!
As though that's not insulting to both of us at the same time. Really.
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Really. Would that even work if she tried?
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[Although that's...probably not what was meant by that.]
And no, she can't order me around or anything. I guess she can try? But that doesn't mean I have to listen.
She has ways to shut me down if that becomes necessary, but we agreed from the start that there wouldn't be a way for her to do that remotely. She has to approach me for it, and if I don't want it, then she's out of luck.
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Good. That'd be more power than I'd ever willingly give to another person. ...Probably why I'd make a bad familiar.
[Not that witches can remotely shut down their familiars, but they've got a pretty strong degree of control if they want to use it.]
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Oh, no, I totally agree with you there! I can't imagine allowing something like that, that's just asking for it. And besides, if Alphys could do things to my body remotely, there's no saying that no one else could figure out how to, either.
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