JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

Watch on YouTube

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

claire redfield / resident evil (games) / new player

[shoots]

i. sinkin (SIKE)

[ Weird dreams? Must be a day ending in Y. Hardly a week goes by without some awful trauma nightmare interrupting her rest, no matter how goddamned tired she is from political slapfights with the corporation of the month (or worse, retrieving bodies from whatever incident they recently caused); the recurring nightmares weren't noticeable, save for the fact that they were all similar. She'd wake up, groan, then down a coffee and move on with her day.

Tonight, though -- tonight's a little more intense than usual.

But it's a dream: she doesn't need to think about it too much, right? Once she realizes she can walk on the water, that's what she does. Occasionally, she will slip, and the black waters will climb up to her knee, her thigh - but these are only momentary setbacks. The waves are shockingly sturdy beneath her feet, tempered only by those little ripples of nervousness if she pauses in her determined jog to the singular and obvious destination. There's only one thing that derails her from her path: the sight of someone slipping beneath the waves. And she doesn't hesitate to switch gears and run straight there, instead.

The thought that this could be a monster crosses her mind, of course. An infected person, far beyond saving, grasping only at a potential meal. But that's a risk she's willing to take. Anyone struggling to find their footing will instead find a firm grip on their arm. ]

Hey - can you hear me? Grab my hand, I've got you!

ii. epic meal time

[ Oh no. She knows a setup when she sees one. The sudden change of clothes, the gaudy banquet... Nothing about this feels good at all - even with the ominous whispering in her ear encouraging her just to take a bite, to try it. It's not dissimilar to stories she's heard from those rare survivors. That is enough to make her lose her appetite. She can't. She shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't. Hell, she even tries pinching herself to wake up. It doesn't work, and she tries not to take that as a bad sign.

She also tries to ignore the growing discomfort. Her success is... questionable. ]

... This is some kind of messed up test, right? I remember this one. Eat one seed, and you're stuck in Hell forever.

[ despite the wry tone she adopts, Claire looks rather pale in the face as her refusal starts taking its toll. ]

[ ooc: for those who care, i play from the original universe canon, but with cues from the remake sprinkled in for flavor. :^) and also icons so i don't go insane. she's from some nebulous canonpoint in the post-CVX degeneration era! ]

an epic meal time...

[inverseye]

Ah. Miss.

[ The young man next to Claire leans over to whisper. ]

I think you're already stuck in Hell, so isn't eating fine?

[ Look at his big, beautiful plate of dubious meat. Saheon's actually pretty happy to get a good meal out of such an awful Darkness! Usually when you're in a situation like this, you have to eat raw needles or sewage! If you think about it, eating the food is actually a pretty minor condition to follow!]

[shoots]

[ please don't mention eating needles and sewage you're going to will it into existence...

she quirks an eyebrow at her mysterious companion, casting a quick glance around at their surroundings. It is hard to argue with that. However! ]

Speak for yourself. I'm not saying I'm stuck until after I actually get a look around this place.

[ there's probably, like, a red gemstone she needs to fit into a statue or something. ]

[inverseye]

[ He's not willing it! Think of enjoying this meal as now as like proactive mental preparation. Just in case... ]

And run afoul of our babysitter?

[ He points a silver fork behind him towards the One presiding over the feast with its strange masked face. The vibe on that thing...awful. Saheon has been avoiding looking at it so far, but he keeps getting the sense its watching him. ]

How would you manage that? [ He wheels around to point the fork at Claire. Spotlight! Does she actually have a plan? It's great when competent people explain their plans, Saheon can always use them later! ]

I mean, who knows the rules here? I haven't even seen someone switch seats.

[shoots]

[ her eyes flick over to the One, too, though only briefly. Yeah, she noticed that guy - all the holograms (?) of monsters around the place are more eye-catching, but he's notable for being actually present. At the moment, he looks human enough. Claire knows better than to assume that's the case. His vibes are, indeed, rancid.

The vibes of the man beside her, on the other hand, are weird. Still, there's something at least a little bit calming about someone talking so casually in the midst of their dinner with the devil. ]

You'd be surprised. I've fought bigger and uglier than him and won.

[ so maybe she also had ballistic weaponry for those fights, but who has to know?! Her bluster is slightly put-on; if he's good at reading people, he'll probably be able to tell she's not intending on starting a fight and is, in fact, still working on any sort of plan. ]

[inverseye]

Wow. Really? By yourself?

[ Well, she could just be talking about an above average guy at the bar, for all Saheon knows. Still, he's almost inclined to believe in her conviction. He's getting a very straightforward vibe off his dinner seat neighbor. ]

I'm not much of a fighter myself. [ Because why fight when you can just solve something immediately (with extreme violence). Waste of time and a waste of your precious life if you spend too much time dragging things out. ]

Or maybe I just keep running into guys I can't beat?

[shoots]

Good thing I'm around, then, huh?

[ she's joking... mostly. If a fight breaks out, she will indeed protect this random eyepatch man. Or try, anyway. Hopefully, it doesn't come to that; at the moment, Claire feels like she's more likely to keel over into the aforementioned plate of dubious meat than win fisticuffs. If there's not anything in the food, there's definitely something in the air and sneaking into her brain in a way she definitely does not like.

But she's still not going to eat this stuff!! She's stubborn. ]

I'm Claire - Claire Redfield. You?

I

[markingnight]

[ Endless, thrumming dark. A presence from beyond the stars, felt as much as seen. In this dream, Ironeye's spirit drifted downward -- because it was upon the soft silt of the bottom where his comrades awaited him.

Wasn't it?

A voice broke in the waves of his consciousness. There was a hand on his gauntleted forearm. For a fleeting moment, Ironeye clenched the dagger at his side with his free hand. Then he looked up to see an unfamiliar woman. It was then that her question registered and he sheathed the knife. Disoriented as he was, he owed her an answer. ]

Yes, I can hear you.

[ He took the offered hand, attempted to find his feet on what he expected to be unstable ocean. ]

Sorry about that. Old habit.

omg ironeye

[shoots]

[ even if her snap judgement says he's not actually going to attack her - that he's just on guard, and who wouldn't be? - her shoulders tense up reflexively, ready to tackle him or throw him or whatever she'd need to avoid losing a knife fight unarmed. Her brother taught her well, and he doesn't look that much bigger.

But he's friendly. The water had become very slightly turbulent in the moment of perceived danger; as Claire pulls him to his feet (or tries to), though, it settles back down into something mostly calm. Provided he doesn't get too far away, at least. ]

Hey, don't worry about it. [ a grunt as she tugs him up! ] -- Not exactly the best circumstances to be meeting someone new. Are you okay?

[ she'd ask what's going on, but she's skeptical that anyone knows... especially in a dream. ]

claire :D

[markingnight]

Yes, fine. I thought I was...

[ Caught in the tides. Lulled to sleep by the cry of a being none could hope to fathom. What did its great eye see, when it fixed on creatures so small? ]

Somewhere else.

[ It was starting to come back to him now, the slow march against the darkness. He put one foot forward onto the surface of the water, then another, his steps growing more sure as he went. The will to fight on was not so easily lost. ]

And you? Make a habit of rescuing the lost?

[ There was a hint of humor in his voice; this was Ironeye's version of a joke. There was a kernel of real curiosity to it, though -- not everyone would risk themselves to help a stranger. Especially one that looked... a little suspect. In any case, he'd release her hand once he was atop the water's surface. Even an assassin ought to mind his manners. ]

i have a journal for the guardian!! but i've been lazy making icons for him

[shoots]

[ once he seems steady on his feet, she lets go of him, offering a semi-strained smirk at the comment. ]

You could say that.

[ some might even say it's a bad habit, a fool's errand - some have said that, in fact - but she can't help herself. Now that he's out of the water, she's realizing this guy looks like he came straight out of a renaissance faire. Again, though: dreams. It doesn't have to make sense, right? ]

You recognize this place? Or... thought you recognized it?

[ it's a long shot, but it's better than what she has to go on, which is jack shit. ]

gasp if you ever want to voice test him, I'd be down! love guardians they are the best!

[markingnight]

I thought I was in an ocean that wasn't an ocean. There was a creature I encountered... it's hard to explain.

[ Probably not helping his case: Ironeye's inexplicable 100% modern American accent. His costume sure did look authentic, though. ]

I half expected a friend to slap me back to rights. But they're not here.

well if you ever see greatshield on bakerstreet that's me...! heheh

[shoots]

[ umm obviously he's just got an accent from his homeland, the distant kingdom of Hamburgerveld...

hard to explain, but "a creature" is more than enough of an explanation in her eyes. Easy to panic if something reminds you of a monster. Much more reasonable than standing around and chit-chatting on top of the water, frankly. ]

Well, looks like I'm your friend now. [ hopefully with less slapping. She glances around. ] We should stick together. I haven't seen anything dangerous yet, but...

[ she knows a bad situation when she sees one. ]

ii claiiirreee omg

[merged]

[ Sharon finds herself in the same predicament: resisting Sleep's will. After two months spent clawing through a post-apocalyptic nightmare, living off canned rations, resistance is no small feat—even without divine pressure bearing down. But she clings to it out of sheer spite. She would rather starve than bend to a god's whims.

At Claire's question, Sharon lets out a low, bitter laugh. ] I thought the same thing during the last dream, but I don't think it operates like the Underworld. If you're here, Sleep's already marked you as a Vessel.

[ A Vessel. Something hollow. Something to be filled. Anger flashes hot and immediate, though her mask helps conceal her expression. It still bleeds through her voice as she adds: ] I still wouldn't eat a damn thing if I were you. It's probably the only real fuck you you can give to her right now.

😘

[shoots]

[ very suspicious, very unnerving. She's used to battles with enemies of flesh and blood - grotesque, but in the realm of reason. This all seems supernatural. Then again, she did confirm this is all a dream. Anything goes in a nightmare; she knows that perfectly well.

More importantly, she obviously has information, and that's exactly what Claire needs right now. The mask makes her very hard to read. Still, Claire's instinct is to trust. Isolating herself certainly wouldn't help anyone. (It also makes her belatedly aware of her own mask, which has been sitting unnoticed on her face up until now: red and aquiline, though she can't see it, herself.) ]

You don't have to tell me twice. [ her brow furrows, her tone becoming a mote more serious. ] Sleep? Vessel? What are you talking about?

[merged]

Sleep's the reason we're here and we're the—her vessels. [ The word tastes sour on her tongue, her nose wrinkling under the mask. ] At least, that's what she claims.

[ Sharon leans back, blue eyes sweeping over the spread of food in front of them. God, she's starving. ] She drags people into this dream, and instead of waking up at home after, we open our eyes in apocalyptic Manhattan. And everything there is-is infected with her. Like she's some kind of goddamn virus.

[shoots]

[ girl dinner has been provided, but they refuse to partake... ]

Virus?

[ oh, Sharon said the magic word. Claire's familiar with quite a few nasty strains - more than she'd like to be, frankly, and more than she thinks should exist in the first place - but she can't say she's heard of one that can cause this level of psychosis. Still... nothing's impossible. She heard the story from Leon about what happened in Spain. Even if she dearly hopes this lady is wrong, and her subconscious is simply being very creative, she can't help the way dread starts pooling in her gut. ]

So we're all sharing some woman's crazy parasitic nightmare? [ a huff. ] Great. There's always another lunatic, isn't there?

[merged]

[ Claire carries herself like someone who's already dealt with her fair share of crazy, and that kind of experience will go a long way in Manhattan. ]

I don't know if she's your typical brand of lunatic—unless the lunatics you've dealt with tend to be... godlike.

ii

[airdrops]

[Alright, this is an upgrade from the freaky black ocean, even if it is a bit too much on the fancy side for her tastes. Still a big problem to be trapped here at all, though. All it provides is a very bad combination for Blaze who is 1. stuck in a situation with nothing tangible to fight against, and 2. impulsive as all hell even during the best of times.

She has enough sense to not dive in on the food immediately, but she’s eyeing the banquet’s spread a little too readily as it is. One fuzzy feline ear twitches atop her head at the other woman’s voiced suspicions, prompting her to cross her arms and glance sidelong at her.]

This is all just a dream, right? How bad can it be?

[shoots]

[ the cat ear......... is weird. But, as the girl just said, this is all just a dream! Anything goes in a dream. Including catgirls and medieval archers, apparently. She needs to stop snacking before she goes to sleep. ]

That's... true, but still. This is such an obvious trap. What kind of meat is this, anyway?

[ prior experience means her mind goes to the worst possible option. As she speaks, though, she feels her stomach growling. The food's off the table, but... maybe the drinks are okay? Even giving the idea the slightest bit of leeway has the whispered sentiment in her head urging her to give in twice as hard. ]

[airdrops]

Alright, I’ll give it to you that diving right in on the mystery meat might not be the best place to start.

[Even if it does look pretty good, whatever it is?? And damn, she is getting pretty hungry the longer she stands here staring at it all, but whether that’s just from the appetizing spread itself or that nagging bit of prompting in the back of her head, she couldn’t rightly say.]

Plenty of other options, though…

[shoots]

[ oh, she really thinks about it for a second -- which disturbs her. Then she leans back, holding her hands up defensively, as if the banquet might leap into her mouth by itself. ]

Nope. Not happening.

[ her gut is telling her no, despite also telling her please. Claire shakes her head. ]

[airdrops]

[At least one of them has the sense to treat this with the proper suspicion… and maybe Blaze would be inclined to follow her lead had her gaze not fallen on those drinks laid out so enticingly. Like, this woman can not resist a good drink even in normal circumstances. Here, that silent temptation egging her on makes it a nearly impossible task.

So without really thinking, she steps up to the table and takes one of those gently glowing glasses of brandy in hand, turning it around in examination. Warm, floral-scented, and far prettier than her typical drink preferences, but damn.

A glance back over her shoulder at the other woman, grinning a little.]

Sure you don’t want to take the plunge with me?

ii. cw cannibalism refs.

[goty]

[Fairy tale logic is preferable to Ellie's worries-- that the banquet is in nature cannibalistic, and the guests are being tricked. The relief hits her so suddenly it shocks a laugh out of Ellie, a weird, nervous giggle.]

Uhh- yeah. I think I read that one. Is it crazy that I'm considering advice from a fairy tale?

[Her pale hand hovers, shaking slightly, over a plate of food. She's clearly considering it with some difficulty.]

ii.

[armwriostle]

[Claire isn't the only one resisting to eat the food. The feeling of being scrutinized weighs him down physically almost and burning fills his senses in strange ways. He guesses this is just another way to feel starvation, though he doesn't know if this is worse or better than the pangs of hunger one might feel when one was desperate for food.

At the very least, Claire's words make for a good distraction.

The stories he knows and the stories other knows is always vast and different, after all.] I don't think I've heard such a tale before, actually. [Hilarious words to say given that Wriothesley is actually packed with a lot of Hades imagery.] I don't think this is a test though, but I also don't think it is as generous and kind as it wants to be presented as.

[Does it even seem all that kind??? The mood of the whole banquet seems...off.]