Monomods (
monomods) wrote in
superhighschoollevelooc2014-01-21 11:11 pm
Entry tags:
the mastermind meme

You asked for it, we're
What does this mean exactly? It means your character is the one responsible for everything! They've been controlling Monobear from the shadows (or maybe they have an assistant to help them, possibly even one of your classmates!), they've been putting forth the motives, running the trials, all of it! And now they've finally chosen to reveal themselves and their true motives.
What are their motives? Why do they want to spread despair? Are they somehow connected to the late Junko Enoshima? And most importantly what is their snazzy Monobear-themed look like? You decide!
Threading reactions is highly encouraged and feel free to AU things up to mix up our current survivor pool as much as you'd like.

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"But....But you....." He whispers, taking a small step closer as his face falls further and further.
"....this....this isn't......" Everything he tries to say is broken and ends up trailing off before he can form a proper sentence. The look on his face is indication enough as to how dismayed he is by this turn of events.
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When Lysandre responds there's a sense of patience to his tone, tempering the coldness without managing to eradicate it; his expression twists a bit, however, a light smirk crossing his features - it's a far cry from the usual understanding and guidance that he used to offer the boy on a regular basis. "This isn't happening? It's not real, it's not possible? Because I can assure you on all counts that it is."
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He finally manages to ask a coherent question, his hands balling slightly at his sides. He doesn't look angry or particularly upset. ..He looks very much like a confused child who is trying to understand
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Have they?
"How badly do you want me to answer you? Genuinely."
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"If....i-if I'm gonna die, I want to know. Now."
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"But...but you have. I...I trusted you. ...I thought...I thought out of a-anyone here on this island....you would be the one person I could trust the most."
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"In my experience, people like you are the anomaly - those that give of themselves freely, expecting nothing in return, having no ulterior motives behind their charity and their kindness - genuine people like that barely exist. Rather, we're left with a world of thieves and murderers and filth; eventually those of us who wanted nothing more but to give to others find themselves at the mercy of those who would take from us. Trust is just as much of an illusion as the holograms I work with.
"It's a lesson I learned years ago; a bit of a shame that you had to learn it this way."
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"...I know how bad of a place the world can be, but this isn't the way to change it. Turning people on each other, killing, destroying....y-you're no better than the thieves, murderers, and filth you're telling me about."
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His expression isn't flickering any at those accusations, either; if anything they seem to please him, in some dark, vague way. "And I've never claimed to be any better than the rest - far from it. Really, I'm more repulsive than the rest of you put together."
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But this? This is far worse than anything he could have possibly imagined.
"......S-so now what? Are you...are you just going to kill us now?"
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"...I j-just want to go home."
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"Surely you know what your home is by now, don't you?"
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But still. As far as Jimmy's concerned, he has no other home.
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"And do you know what sort of people are sent to Hell, mon cher?"
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Somehow he doubts the boy would want to see it now - not after what Lysandre has done to it.
"I think it's about time someone told you, don't you think? I would want to know, were I you."
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The shift in his tone of voice does help, if anything.
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His tone remains easy - almost as though nothing's changed from how it was before. He'd told Jimmy various things about Kalos; he's fully aware of how much the boy likes hearing them.
"Where I'm from, we believe that no one truly dies - some say we're reincarnated as Pokémon, or perhaps other humans; others believe our spirits simply remain as they are, they simply lack a physical container. Either way, our life-energy remains within the world; we don't believe in any sort of proper afterlife."
Despite the conversational nature of the conversation, however, there's still no gentleness in his eyes; the look there has shifted, certainly, but it's in a direction that's almost predatory in nature. "However, that doesn't seem to be the case, wherever you came from - it appears that there are a few places the dead can go. Miseryville, or Hell, is only one of them. Only a very specific set of people are eligible to be sent there."
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So when Lysandre begins talking about where he came from- his world- he lifts his head slightly, frowning. "....W.....what kind of people...?"
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And it's then that his voice takes on a bit of a hard edge; it's not openly judgmental, perhaps, but that's something easily accredited to the thought that he's already made up his mind when it comes to what he thinks about this.
"You see, it seems the reason your friend Lucius is so determined to make everyone miserable is because Hell is designed to torment all who go there - those who are there did something in life that was terrible enough to warrant being tortured for the rest of time. It's a place of eternal damnation; only the truly unforgivable souls go there."
He pauses again. "It begs the question, though, doesn't it? What in the world did you do, mon cher...?"
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All of a sudden, he feels like he's going to be very sick.
Yet all he can manage to do is stand there, his legs barely holding up his own weight as he draws his hands close to his chest, one hand gripping his wrist tightly where he's still wearing several friendship bracelets. He shudders, turning again to stare at the floor, this time wide eyed and frightened.
"....I-.....I.....I d-d....don't k-know..."
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Just speaking to him, nothing more. As though positing a scientific theory. Posing a question in debate.
"Whatever it was, it must have been terrible, don't you think? To see you sentenced to a place like that..."
He trails off for a moment; the way he resettles his left hand against his legs seems casual but must, must be deliberate, the cuff of his sleeve hiking up just a bit, that bracelet Jimmy made for him still visible on his wrist.
"After all, you're such a kind boy, Jimmy - unless all of that was an act?"
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Even through his tears he seems defiant, choking back a sob as he raises his voice, "I-I'm not a bad person! I'd....I'd never...." Hurt anyone? Lie? Cheat? Steal? ...Kill? There's no way he can prove that without knowing what his former life was like. For all he knows he could have murdered someone in a psychotic act, only to be executed or to die of undetermined causes at a young age.
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