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.

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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

[inverseye]

Screw off.

[ Saheon drinks the whole thing in one shot, not even bothering to savor the taste. Probably on the level of something expensive he wouldn't normally be able to afford, but drinking like this is just more comfortable.

The memory that blooms in his chest is nothing special. It's more of an impression, clearly from younger childhood. There's sun, and summer and he was holding his sisters hand. There was ice cream, because ice cream makes little kids happy and he was too young to know better then to be happy.

Then its over and Saheon's...well it wasn't that bad. He doesn't feel miserable remembering that. In fact, his mood has really improved? Like a lot? ]

Hey, thats not half bad! I dunno what I was so worried about!

[dedicate]

[ the impression lasts for only a fleeting moment as choi swallows down the brandy, but the feeling it leaves behind in its wake lingers. even guys like this are really just kids who went down the wrong path, huh? choi basks in the feeling for a moment, a pleasant energy thrumming under his skin.

then, bright eyed and bushy tailed, choi slaps saheon on the back a few times cheerfully. ]

That's the spirit! And here you were eating the meat.

[ not that this is an entirely good thing. even choi is aware of it, his body's desire to move and dance—this must be what those others drank, to push them to do that. it dulls his caution, and even the awareness of that fact isn't enough for him to feel confident in his ability to resist another sip. ]

[inverseye]

[ ow stop hitting him. ]

Oh...yeah? I was!

[ Hm...because he was freaked out and wanted to stay sensible? But he feels pretty sensible right now. Just not scared...why did he conflate the two again? That doesn't make a lot of sense...

...Choi has a bit more brandy in his glass and Saheon just reaches for it because he's an asshole. Give him a sip too. ]

I think I was going to hit you with my empty glass after I finished it and run away... haha!

[dedicate]

[ no? it's friendly.

in fact, he's feeling so amicable that even when this guy so boldly reaches for a glass belonging to someone senior to him, agent choi gladly allows him to take it. it's what he says next that doesn't sound so friendly though, huh? but rather than feeling like a loss... no, actually, isn't that too funny? ]

Wahahaha!! Good thing you didn't! I'm really fast, you know? I'm not on team one for nothing!

[ whether it's fleeing from a disaster, or chasing down a daydream inc. employee, you can count on agent choi to get it done! of course this guy wouldn't get far. ]

[inverseye]

That's why I had to hit you with the glass..?

[ So the blood would get into his eyes and he couldn't follow... Pretty funny he'd try to do that to his new friend!

Saheon finishes Choi's drink and smiling, offers it back to him. Yaaaaay. Drink. His movements are loose and he leans closer to Choi. Dancing is a bit beyond his sense of self, but being close to other people is nice. ]

Is team one like being a section leader...? That's cool... [ Teach him your secrets or he'll kill you haha. ]

[dedicate]

[ bold of him to think that's going to stop agent choi.

not that there's anything to be stopped right now!! no glasses smashed, no running, no problems—choi wraps a friendly arm around the other's shoulders as he leans closer, accepting the empty cup with the other hand and reaching for a new (full) glass to replace it. ]

Section leader, huh? Ah, yeah! Something like that! More like being on an elite team if I had to say.

[ their elder is more like the section chief, but as for him? you can call him lee kangheon, b squad's trusty assistant manager. ]

Hey, what's your name anyway? I didn't catch it before.

[inverseye]

No way! No! All the elite teams are so annoying!

[ His new friend: a member of the elite team? The government equivalent of an elite team? Like one of those sick twisted psychopaths, only looking out for their own survival!? Totally disregarding teamwork, and only out for a paycheck or a wish ticket. Those irredeemable evil bastards..!

Sniff...sob... he's thinking about how much he wants his coworkers to die... Let him take your jobs... ]

I didn't give it? [ Isn't that a weird thing to ask in a ghost story-! Oh wait! He's got a new drink, yay! This guy is the best. ]

I guess you can call me Saheon if you want.

[dedicate]

[ aigoo, this kid can't even get along with his seniors? guess that's what happens when you group up so many cutthroat survivalists in the same place though.

anyway, what matters: new drink for saheon! it wasn't really meant to be his though, and as this greedy little weasel moves to take it, choi yanks his hand away. a little bit of brandy spills over the top of the glass, but he doesn't seem to mind. ]

Saheon-ah, aren't you being a little greedy? Let your senior have some to drink too.

[ he'll even take his sip right in front of him to rub it in, though... once he's downed about half the glass, he'll stop, holding it out to saheon instead. under the table, he's bouncing his leg like he's restless. ]

[inverseye]

A good subordinate makes sure his seniors don't have to much to drink.

[ He presses his hands with a smile. The picture of holy innocence, Baek Saheon! This is why you should give him whatever he wants forever. Not that he'd ever work for a job as stupid as the governments...haha. That poor random agent.]

See, you get it now! [ The drink is accepted and Saheon stops having cheerful thoughts about Choi falling down the stairs or that other guy who isn't worth thinking about anyway. ]

Hey, did you know you didn't give your name? Pretty stupid of you to forget how introductions work.

[dedicate]

[ it's kind of crazy actually, because eyepatch aside he does actually have cute looks? he would be kind of angelic, curly hair and all.

if only it weren't for the words coming out of his mouth—especially those last ones. ]

Wow. Just going ahead and saying it, huh? Has anyone ever told you that you have a bad personality? Haha!

[ not that choi's offended. rather, he's got the warm smile of an uncle who just happens to be babysitting another family member's brat. like it's not his problem to worry about. it kind of isn't. ]

You can call me Agent Choi.

[inverseye]

I'm paying you with my taxes - so I'll talk how I want, Mr. Choi.

[ Do more to improve society if you don't like it~ Oh wait, you can't! lolol ]

Hehe. Hey! How are things upstate? [ He can't help letting it slip, now that he's had way to much to drink. Oh man...it's just to funny to imagine the chaos with that psycho Soleum around. How'd he even get in? ]

I wanna hear some war stories!

[dedicate]

[ this kid's a real brat, isn't he? haha!! it's kind of great actually—talking so candidly like this, choi could learn a lot! so that arm wrapped around saheon's shoulders lifts, and he uses his hand to ruffle his hair affectionately, messing it up completely. ]

Hey, it's not like I'm getting rich off them!

[ those taxes may cover a hot springs trip, but that's hard-earned after all the work his team has put in. if anything, he deserves more taxes. ]

What, like Disasters? Let's see, there was this time recently, at the Ocean Palace, we actually ran into some employees from that cult company of yours! They were a real pain, so how about that one?

[inverseye]

That's because you bastards waste it on- Cut that out!

[ Get your hands off his head! But his flailed arm up towards Choi's face is almost halfhearted. If Saheon likes being manhandled like this when he's drunk - if its a bit nostalgic? That's his business! ]

The company isn't a cult!

[ This is really important to establish, way more important then complaining about how how annoying those agents were or that Soluem was there and is a freakish ghost story monster and he's going to kill Saheon one day and he didn't even get a good item off all the incredible information he was passing along to your horrible agency through that guy! ]

Do you think I worship the board of directors? Gross. [ He's never met them + He'll kill them one day for putting him in danger if he's got the wish to spare! ] Think about it, stupid agent. If they don't pay you, the government is way more of a cult.

[dedicate]

Hey, c'mon, it's not like I'm on the streets either. It's really rewarding work in other ways. Definitely better than that cult company.

[ yeah, he's not dropping the cult bit. after all, they're basically the same—they've got even this young man believing in their myths and fairytales. ]

I mean, you're working there for a "wish ticket", yeah? But you don't really think that's possible, do you?

[ words that would usually sound sharper, an attempt to convince someone, instead sound almost mocking in his good mood. like he finds it funny. of course it's no laughing matter, but seriously... how can such cruel, selfish people be so naive at the same time? ]

[inverseye]

What are you talking about?

[ He gives Choi a confused, muzzy look. With his free hand, Saheon is groping around the table for another glass. This conversation pretty funny, but something about it is affecting his buzz. He probably needs another shot to really think about it. ]

Of course it's possible. [ With all the crazy shit in the world, why wouldn't it be? Saheon's wish isn't something he doubts a wish ticket can fix. It's completely centered on himself, after all. His finger touch a glass, and he brings it to his lips, suddenly brightening as the warmth and the taste make thinking easier. ]

You're thinking how most people die and can't use it. That won't happen to me.

[dedicate]

You do? You really believe that?

[ his eyes go wide for a moment before he manages to settle his expression into something kind of... sheepish? he's already set his own glass down, but even with the brandy on his breath as he sighs, he's still shaking his head. ]

It's not that most people die, Saheon-ah. Well, they do die, but... Even after they've used it. Have you ever actually met someone who's gotten one of those things?

[inverseye]

Yes. Don't sigh in my ear, you lunatic!

[ They're to entangled for you to start sighing and moaning about his career choice. He can smell the brandy. Off! Now!

Saheon shoves a hand at Choi's face for a second before his arm falters, to relaxed to really struggle. ]

Just jealous...just jealous. [He wants his wish so baaad sniff ] I'll even tell you since I'm in such a good mood. I saw a supervisor use it on something ridiculous at orientation.

[dedicate]

[ fine, fine, he'll pull his arm back from around saheon's shoulders and rest his other elbow on the table instead, still friendly and way too close all the same, like they're having some kind of conspiratorial secret conversation over at this part of the table—though it's more a genuine interest than anything that has him leaning in.

is this how they rope in their gullible new recruits? ]

Yeah? Huh... What'd they wish for?

[ he's still doubtful. ]

Are you sure it was a wish ticket?

[inverseye]

Eternal youth!

[ He slams his empty glass onto the table for emphasis! ]

Of all the stupid things to waste a wish on!? Get a regular job and a plastic surgeon...

[ If you waste a omnipotent wish on something you can do yourself, Saheon wishes you had just died in a ghost story and left some points for everyone else. ]

He really did get younger though...and the way it looked when he drank it... I know it was real.

[dedicate]

[ agent choi's eyes go wide for a moment. he... honestly, he didn't expect that.

but even so, his resolve isn't swayed. it still doesn't explain what happened to that person, or even what could have happened to make soleum disappear without a trace either. frankly put, he just doesn't trust it, sighing once more in a pitying way. ]

Think about it, Saheon-ah.

[ sure, he just let poor saheon go, but he's already resting his elbow up on saheon's shoulder, learning in close. ]

Wouldn't that make a best-seller potion? Even just the hair growth formula could be a derivative of it. Can you really say that the same one is going to be enough to grant your wish?

[inverseye]

My wish can absolutely be granted.

[ Choi is hemming and hawing all he wants, but he can't shake Saheon's conviction. He even gives a few drunken shakes to his head. This agent isn't listening at all! ]

If I could find an item while working to do it, I'd take it and leave. But...

[ But its the sort of wish that can only be granted by meddling with ghost stories anyway, so why not do it safely with a company behind you instead of going off on his own? That was his logic... he had a lot of time to think about it. ]

[dedicate]

[ agent choi holds his gaze for a long moment at that, even his smile falling somewhat—maybe he needs another drink? finally relenting, he'll let his arm fall off saheon's shoulder, reaching for a full glass instead. ]

Suit yourself, I guess. Don't say I didn't warn you~

[inverseye]

Don't worry.

[ He picks up his empty glass tap it against Choi's. Drink up! ]

I'll play nice with my omnipotent power, Mr. Agent.

[ He'll wish you all into a nice peaceful sleep...once he's got the power to kill every bastard in the whole world, hahah! He can probably manage that and get himself out of his stupid mess of a life at the same time. ]