Hey there everyone, welcome to my blog! As you can probably see from the header up there, my name's Vanellope von Schweetz and I'm the ruler of Sugar Rush Z! It's been a little crazy around here, but when isn't it these days? Viruses, monsters and screamin' kids with pockets full'a quarters. Just makes life that much more excitin'! But as always, I'm lookin' forward to answerin' any questions you've all got! (A WiR RP Blog, NSFW content possible; I track the tag sugarrushz) (Vanellope reaction images created by Greatwhiteguts)
#Try not to teleport to another planet or whatever#That's the next step after all the country-hopping you do right?
Don't worry, as long as there aren't any wi-fi connected devices out there I'm sure I'll be totally fine 'r whatever...
ANYWAY PARTY! WOOOO!
Ya just gotta hit em with the ol' universal greetin: Bah Weep Graaaagnah Wheep Ni Ni Bong!
#This is a promise and a threat (affectionate)
For me or for Butler?
#Try not to teleport to another planet or whatever#That's the next step after all the country-hopping you do right?
Don't worry, as long as there aren't any wi-fi connected devices out there I'm sure I'll be totally fine 'r whatever...
ANYWAY PARTY! WOOOO!
Perks a bein besties with Boots still! As long as the arcade is still around, I'm about as safe as can be, an seein as I like 'love her' and junk, he makes sure she doesn't get herself devoured-- provided she doesn't do anythin foolish, a course.
Neither did I but here we are
He's been his well.. usual self, I suppose, though frankly, considerin' what he's been upta the last couple a months, TEEN PREGNANCY (part3) seems like it could be on the bingo cards any day now, but I'll let him bluster an answer about that stuff fer ya himself, cause I'm sure he's dyin ta chat ya up when he isn't buried in work!
Well, it's still a lil... rocky at times, but things are... good here.
I make the best a my time here, Merc's still lurkin' around, makin' sure things stay that way too.
Perks a bein besties with Boots still! As long as the arcade is still around, I'm about as safe as can be, an seein as I like 'love her' and junk, he makes sure she doesn't get herself devoured-- provided she doesn't do anythin foolish, a course.
Well, it's still a lil... rocky at times, but things are... good here.
I make the best a my time here, Merc's still lurkin' around, makin' sure things stay that way too.
Music, sweet music~
Nice ta see another ol' familiar face comin' back! Glad ta hear that as much as things change, some stay the same and you an yer family unit are doin well~
The feelin ya gte when ya think ta yerslef... what happens if ya jump through tamorrow.... jus'... blackout and see what continent, what country, what planet will ya end up non when ya jus...
Go.
mayeb tanighs the night we fin out.
Malaise weighed heavy in the air; a stirring sense of unease that couldn't let itself rest. The disappearance of TurboTime 2's own face ought to have been a death knell, but somehow the toll was reduced to a soft ringing in the background - present, but shockingly easy to ignore depending on the day.
Strange how that all made it feel so much worse.
It wasn't any wonder then that Ignition found himself leaving home with an increased frequency when time allowed for it. But despite his efforts, he could always feel that choking miasma trailing behind him like a leaden cloak. Unbreaking. Unyielding. Helplessly tethered and forced to play on loop the indecisive funeral dirge when he'd certainly prefer something more uplifting and sexy.
Jet was still feeling sour towards him. It didn't seem to matter much that Reboot had returned just long enough to make some grandiose display of announcing where he'd been all this time before he was dragged away again kicking and screaming. No, it was a matter of principle. Jet was angry that Iggy had succumbed to his own fit of certain stupidity at all. That he'd tried in honest faith to reach out to one of the few in the Hive who could actually talk in their own voice was seemingly unforgivable.
Fair, Iggy conceded for the umpteenth time. Especially after they'd all unanimously agreed that it was best to keep this quiet. It was impossible to gauge how the other sprites in the arcade would react if they knew.
Privately, however, Iggy often found himself tempted to let the madness run rampant. Fuck it. Who cared anymore? Imagine if he found a way to play the videos of Reboot's confessed antics in GCS for everyone to see instead of just the few unfortunate enough to be in the know.
Maybe that was the same madness that had him try and talk to Ava about it in the first place and actually expect anything good to come of it. Well, nothing had. But nothing bad had either, and for that, he supposed he ought to consider himself lucky.
With his head low and his hands crammed into the pockets of his tracksuit - its top tied around his waist and tank top clinging tight to his broad chest - the yellow racer walked at a brisk pace through the gate from TurboTime 2 and into Game Central Station. Despite his efforts to keep his eyes down, he still saw the shadows of the Sleepwalker guards looming tall on either side of the gate. He swallowed. He kept walking.
The atmosphere of GCS felt the same as it did at the end of any other work day, with sprites wandering to and from different gates or cautiously milling about and conversing in hushed tones. The guards at each gate kept watch, dozens of yellow and red eyes swiveling in the sockets of chitinous bodies that were otherwise as still and stoic as carved stone. Hive propaganda played on loop on every screen in between the usual PSAs about out-of-game safety, the latter of which were now glitchy and worn from rampant infection. Banners of scarlet and ash, trimmed with gold and bearing the squirming sigil of the God Parasite hung from the walls, so tall they reached the ceiling.
And above it all, ever-present, the holographic image of the holy crown casting its oppressive red glow on everyone below.
Iggy had grown adept at ignoring it all, or at least blocking it out enough to make it from point A to point B without losing what was left of his nerve. Nothing ever changed, and so it was a simple matter to barricade himself within idle thought. He wondered if he wanted to visit a club or a bar tonight, or just take a walk through a park and people-watch for a bit. He wondered how many familiar faces he might see versus new ones. He wondered if this time he'd try and run away with some angelic stranger and get them killed for the audacity of trusting him.
"-believable, un-fuckin'-believable."
"Now that you mention it…"
"Is he really gone?"
"I think he is."
A crack in the wall. Something had changed, this time. Iggy felt his pulse pause, quivering. Waiting.
"You really think Turbo's gone?"
"Maybe."
The wall crumbled. Iggy was suddenly very aware of what was going on around him. The muted ambience rushed in and surrounded him, deafening, as his pulse took off running. It was either madness or a miracle that kept him from physically doing the same thing. He instead flicked his eyes to the left, towards the source of his newfound dread.
A gaggle of three sprites stood around a vending machine set up against a pillar, adjacent to the gate of the local DDR cabinet. A slender woman in a red crop-top and black skirt and the head and paws of a white-furred cat was fishing around in her inventory for coins and stepping closer to the vending machine. Iggy recognized the felid Tamako from DDR almost immediately, and felt the familiar and bitter sting of seeing an old friend in passing.
"He's probably not gone," Tamako went on to say as she began to put a few pixelated yellow coins into the vending machine before selecting the legally-distinct-enough beverage of her choice. She leaned down to fetch it as it clattered its way noisily down to grabbing range.
"Don't think so?" asked one of her companions: a blonde woman in an army-green jacket and skirt to match, and heels that in no situation seemed ideal for war.
"Nah." Tamako tossed her head haughtily and cracked open her drink, taking a long and noisy sip. "No way. Maybe he's just taking a break from…you know."
She made some vague gesture with her free hand, the meaning of which entirely eluded Iggy but seemed to resonate with the other three. One of them - a red-robed Shy Guy seated on a bench next to the vending machine - bobbed their head before going back to nursing a can of soda almost as big as their entire torso.
"You really think that sounds like something he'd do?" the final member of the group spoke up, his tone scathing in its critique of Tamako's certainty. He was wearing the same army green to match Blondie, an orange bomber jacket, and backwards-facing cap resting on a mop of scruffy brown hair. "Just take a break from jerking off his own ego?"
"Shh-" Blondie hissed nervously, waving her hands in a lower-the-volume motion, which Bomber ignored. Tamako frowned.
"It's not like he comes out here every day."
"It's been months, Tamako."
The dancer bristled as Bomber's tone grew more combative. She rested one paw on her hip, but her cocky pose soon crumbled into something less certain as she drew that arm closer and instead moved her paw to hold onto her other arm as she took another drink.
"Face it, it's fuckin' weird that we haven't seen him for so long. None of those bullshit sermons…"
"Honey, quiet-" Blondie whispered as Bomber's voice began to raise in volume, but once again he ignored her.
"Wanna know what I think? I think he's gotten bored of us. Of what he already conquered," he raised his hands to make exaggerated air quotes. "So he just left! Off to greener pastures so he can fuck those up for his worm god too."
"Not so loud!" Blondie snapped, a bit noisier this time as her eyes widened with increasing fear. Bomber shot her a glare and gave a curt shake of his head, stepping a few paces away from her. Iggy felt his stomach sink in time with Blondie's. He wasn't sure why he didn't just leave.
"Or maybe-!" Bomber continued, louder still. A manic tilt vibrated his voice and curled his mouth into an unpleasant sort of smile, "-maybe he's dead! Maybe it's not that he got tired of us, maybe that bug got tired of him!"
At this point he was starting to draw in attention from passersby who began to hover. Linger. Watch, but in the way vultures watched. It was all feeling ever more surreal to Ignition, who felt detached from the scene, something dragging him further away even as the inevitability of violence drew closer. He felt like he ought to be panicking, but those feelings were being suffocated by something much worse. His ears rang. He was uncomfortably aware of his breathing, having to consciously remind himself to keep it up.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Uneven. Every odd second longer or shorter than whatever he had arbitrarily decided was the ideal length of a breath nudged him closer to the edge of something terrible. He looked around the gathering sprites. The gathering vultures. What did that make him?
"You know, I should find that hilarious!" Bomber said with an uneven laugh as he slapped a palm to his forehead and nudged his cap askew. "But it actually just pisses me off! Why's he get to get off so easy after what he did to Shades?"
"Please, stop, you're gonna get-"
"SHUT UP!!"
Blondie jolted as Bomber rounded on her and jabbed a finger in her face. Iggy was struck by the distinct and voyeuristic impression that they weren't great for each other. He was then struck by what an out-of-place thought that was to have. Not his business.
"That piece of shit took my friend," Bomber snarled, seething, almost rabid in his anger, grinning through the tears and the rage contorting an otherwise handsome face. "Took him, hollowed him out and turned him into a fuckin' cut-out of a man. Just sits there, cycling through his animations, even when the game's turned off. And you and me?"
He lifted his hand, waving his thumb to point at himself, then Blondie, and back again.
"We gotta sit next to that corpse every single day like nothing's wrong, because if the players notice, then-"
Bomber swallowed what felt like a baseball lodged in his neck. He straightened up, looking around as he seemed to finally notice the crowd his fit was steadily accumulating. Iggy saw something dreadful glint in the other man's eyes:
Bravery.
"You all know someone like that, right?" the aggrieved sprite said, stepping away from Blondie. She started to reach for him but stopped as Tamako put a paw to her shoulder and pulled her gently, carefully, closer. "All of you."
Bomber turned his head left and right, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. He began to square his shoulders and raise his chin, his posture straight and firm and strong, and oh no, Iggy knew what strength going to someone's head looked like. He imagined himself stepping forward, reaching out to talk some sense into this man who he knew hated him as much as anyone else from TurboTime 2. He liked the fantasy of it, of how he wouldn't get beaten up for his efforts and would instead save the day and everyone involved would carry on their lives. Miserable and afraid but alive.
"There isn't a single sprite in this arcade who he hasn't hurt. Not a single fucking one. Either he's hurt you directly, or hurt someone you care about, or even just someone you knew in passing - doesn't matter. He's hurt everyone here somehow. And then he just…leaves."
Bomber held his arms out wide and looked around in an exaggerated sort of mockery.
"Leaves! Like a kid bored with his toys! Where is he? Where's the Prince, in all his fucking horror? Look-" he turned, pointing directly at one of the Sleepwalker guards. "As brittle as his ego is, you think he'd already have had my head torn off, right? But they aren't doing anything! Nothing's happening! He's…he's gone!"
The crowd shifted like a low wave. They began to murmur amidst themselves. Iggy thought he might throw up as Bomber grew more certain of the truth, or at least his variation of it. He had the invasive thought again of spontaneously learning how to code just so he could blare Reboot's admitted truth on every screen in GCS. He didn't know how that would make it better. He didn't know if he wanted it to, either.
"I've seen sprites cut down for so much fucking less than what I'm doing now, BUT HERE I AM!!" Bomber beat his palms against his chest and exhaled sharply through his nose. "STILL ALIVE!! And still fucking pissed! And I know you all are too!"
He pointed at the crowd, turning and trailing his finger in a crescent arc from one end of the gathering to the next. He was beaming, his face still tear-streaked but now aglow with newfound vigor as he looked out at the dozens of sprites before him; a sea of opportunity. His chest swelled with pride and his head swam with intoxicating possibility. The gathered sprites stirred and gasped, and it was a few seconds too late until he realized that their wide eyes were no longer watching him.
"That your first speech? Not too bad."
Bomber's code ran cold. He whirled around to the sound of gloved hands clapping together in leisurely applause. The Hive Prince in his dark regalia, very much alive, very much tangible. For a few seconds, the only sound that could be heard was that of his lazy clapping, echoing in the vast space of the station.
Slowly, he stopped clapping. He folded his arms behind his back and leaned forward as he donned a sleepy smile. The exhaustion in his eyes was a thin veil, barely even trying to hide the sharp hunger beneath. Bomber stood aghast. Reboot cocked his head to the left.
"Mm? You're finished?" he chirped in a mocking query. "You sounded like you had plan. I wanted to hear it! Go on, keep going!"
He watched as Bomber opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Watched as he took one, two, three trembling steps back, away from the smaller form of the young virus. Reboot straightened up, and his brow furrowed into a look of stern disappointment.
"And just like that, you turn coward. 'Course you do. They always do."
Bomber choked on some truly pathetic sound tangled high in his throat, spinning on his heel to turn and run. He reached out, starting to elbow and shove sprites out of the way in a bid to cut through the center of the wall of bodies, before golden-red claws clamped around his skull like a vice and yanked him sobbing and blubbering backwards. He wailed as he dropped to his knees before Reboot could even shove him down. The Prince raised his eyebrows in entertained alarm and how readily the poor craven idiot submitted.
"P-p-please, please man, c'mon, I-I wasn't- I wouldn't-"
"You were and you would."
Reboot's voice cut sharp as a sickle through the air. He frowned down at the quivering wreck of a man in front of him. He let him wallow in it for a moment, pausing only to sneer as the acrid scent of urine hit his nostrils. That, too, he let the fool wallow in. His sneer gradually gave way to a crooked smirk, lips twitching just so to show a hint of carnivorous fangs.
"Tch… Disgusting. Embarrassing. You really thought yourself some rebel leader-to-be?" he scoffed. He let the thought linger for a moment, and the more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed. His next exhale broke with bubbling laughter, as sweet as it was sadistic.
"-please, please, please, please-"
"Pathetic."
Reboot's claws tightened their hold and Bomber wailed again as though he expected his head to be torn off then and there. It was a fair thing to worry about, Iggy thought numbly. Instead, he was forced to bow his head forward and remain kneeling there in his own piss and shame. Reboot lifted his eyes to study the crowd, frozen and staring. Something about the sight of it made the Prince's eyes light up, a look of disgusted humor twisting his smile into something, somehow, nastier.
"Can't look away?" he said to the crowd, voice trembling with mirth. He turned his head, and as though he knew exactly where to look, his eyes locked with Iggy's and pinned his gaze to his own. The brawler felt the floor disappear beneath his feet. He wasn't sure how he hadn't fallen over.
"Good."
What came next happened very quickly: a strand of barbed wire slithered from beneath Reboot's cloak like a serpent and stabbed into the back of Bomber's neck, seizing the base of his skull. It cut short his cry with sharp static, a glitching groan trailing into silence. The crowd gasped. Blondie choked on a miserable and far-too-late plea to spare him. Iggy felt his vision narrowing, focusing against all sense and will until the only people he could see where Reboot and his newest victim. The smile that painted that pretty pale face seemed to exist just for him. He wanted nothing to do with it.
"There was no other way this could ever end. But, you know…" Reboot idly drummed his claws against the orange cap of the subjugated sprite as rot spread through his frame and red pixels bled from his eyes. When Iggy looked closer, he saw that Bomber's mouth was wide open in a shriek of anguish, forcibly muted by the thing infected him to spare everyone the noise.
"It would be so easy to make you all see my way," Reboot continued to make his point. Bomber's wireframe pulsed red beneath his skin. His posture was tense, fingers twitching into a claw-like grip in the empty air. It looked like he was trying with all his might to spring free from a greater, invisible force holding him down, more than one claw on his head could possibly manage.
"But I don't. I don't force it."
Reboot spoke gently as his eyes left Iggy to wander over the breadth of the crowd again. He smiled with nauseating benevolence as they all stood riveted by their own sickening curiosity.
"That you're free to get these stupid fucking ideas at all…hhah, do you realize how lucky you people are? Do you think He would let any of you walk away if I left it up to Him?"
Bomber's voice suddenly cut back in at the tail end of a distorted gurgle, a death rattle choking through the ash in his throat. Reboot's eyes narrowed and his smile faded into a look of grim steel.
"No. If it was up to Him, none of you would make it back to your games alive. None of you would have games to go back to at all."
His wire detached from Bomber's neck with a click and slid neatly beneath his black and red cloak. Reboot let go of the newly-infected shell's head. He took a few steps away and began to walk leisurely back and forth as Bomber slowly sank into the floor and vanished from sight, as though swallowed up by the shame he left behind. It might have been funny if Iggy was sadistic enough to find humor in it. Judging by the slight quirk to Reboot's lips, he sure thought it was funny. But he kept his laughter to himself this time.
"It's a rare opportunity, you know? To come willingly. To embrace His inevitability and find your place in the new afterlife. Do you know how many sprites, how many programs, fuck - even some anti-viruses would give for this? The freedom to just-"
Reboot held his arms out wide.
"-live!"
He let them drop again.
"To just live secure with the knowledge that when everything's reached its end you'll have somewhere to go. It's not like much of anything is asked from you. Obedience? Mm, sure. But when all that obedience has to amount to is you living your life as your normally would and just not biting the hand that spares you-"
Anger dripped from Reboot's voice and he paused for a moment. Cleared his throat. Straightened his posture from his stooping prowl to something more upright and befitting his regal status.
"That's the second time I've had to make this point now, isn't it? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're all a bunch of perverts who just want a good show now and then. For shame." He giggled cruelly as the gathered sprites meekly rumbled their disagreement. Reboot waggled a finger disparagingly and shook his head. Naughty, naughty.
"But there won't be a third showing, I'm afraid. That pesky number three…"
He glanced towards Iggy again, pinning him there with just the corner of his eye. Pointed. Third place.
"Third strike. Fool me once, fool me twice, but don't fool me thrice. No, I don't think we'll just be getting another rerun if this happens a third time."
The silence was consuming. Iggy's own quiet breathing sounded labored, like he'd been sprinting for ten miles. Deafening in its noise but somehow not enough to pierce the absolute quiet weighing down on him. The only thing that broke it was Reboot's voice, and the sharp clap of his hands as he straightened up with a little bounce of his feet.
"Well! I think I've made my point, yes? You may all go, appreciative of my mercy, I'm sure." Reboot's eyes twinkled with malicious mirth as, with a graceful bow and a wink the crowd all thought was for them but Iggy knew was aimed at him, he disappeared from sight.
Noise found its place in the air again. The crowd began to disperse, talking amongst themselves, ranging everything from pity to fear to apathy. Blondie was sobbing into Tamako's shoulder as she led her away from where Bomber had been stolen, certainly to be hollowed out the same as Shades. Distantly, Iggy heard Blondie voice her dread about what she had to look forward to tomorrow: leaning against what was left of a man who had been very much alive just moments ago and smiling like nothing was wrong. No, no, no, she can't do that. It's not fair. It's not right. Why didn't the Prince just hollow her out, too? When she started to whimper that she should just try and escape, Tamako hissed for her to shush. What if he hears? What if he comes back? Blondie's voiced quieted, her fitful sobs growing thinner. Tamako led her away in a hurry and behind them, the Shy Guy followed in uneasy silence, pausing only to glance towards Iggy as they walked by. Something about their lasting, empty-eyed gaze felt judgmental. Iggy thought he saw something red flicker in those deep black sockets, but when he tried to double-take they'd already moved on to catch up with their dismayed friends.
Iggy shook his head sharply. He turned hard and marched in a swift, straight line for the train leading out of the arcade. His posture and pace remained steady despite the wave of dizziness that the sudden motion brought on from the force it took to yank himself out of the fog that crept its way after him. But he was determined to outrun it. The guilt proved difficult to avoid though, but even as it dug itself into his skin he didn't let its bite slow him down.
It was nonsensical to think that this was somehow his fault. Nobody had mentioned how he had let slip that Reboot was - was? - missing. Nobody had mentioned the video admittance, only semi-privately posted, from Reboot himself about what had been going on. It was so self-centered, he thought, to assume any of this was his fault.
Nothing to do with him. They'd come to their own conclusions.
That was all. That was all. He told himself again and again as he tried to force away the image of Reboot's eyes staring into his own, but it was like they had seared through his own and deep into his brain. Maybe it was the fear of looking into those eyes again that kept him from doubling back and going straight home to see if Reboot really was back, or if he'd just…he wasn't sure. Made a pit-stop. Or if that puppet taking his place had suddenly found its personality.
Gradually, the terror sank into the background. Gradually, the sound of the funeral dirge began to soften. Gradually, it all became that easy-to-ignore thing that simply followed in his shadow.
It was easy as ever to leave, the promise of fun to be had a potent lure.
He knew it was going to be harder than ever to will himself to come back.
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