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JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM
TDM & EVENT: JERICHO
ᛗ
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.
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.
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.
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.
ᛗ
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:
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.OFFERING EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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.
The table awaits.
NOTES:
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.TOKEN EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.OFFERING EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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
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.TOKEN EFFECTS
• 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.
• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.OFFERING EFFECTS
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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:
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.TOKEN EFFECTS
• 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.
• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.OFFERING EFFECTS
• 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).
• 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.
ᛗOOC 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!
➤ 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!
hong lu | limbus company | new player
[ if he had been abducted at perhaps an earlier moment, he would have been able to walk on the water without any worries. striding across the shining surface with carefree steps... ah, how unfortunate this won't be case. and he falls right in. the funny thing is, he actually did fine swimming on reflex, like a good few meters with careful, trained strokes. he's trained for that, among many things to survive. but like his thoughts that he can't run from, as this place won't let him... he sees green and white crystals grow over his arm, and then freezes. when he realizes that's a terrible mistake because rocks are heavy, he tries to just tread water, but then it's less elegant, and more like flailing. before he completely goes under, between gasps of air... he thinks he sees someone. ]
...Help? Please?
[ why in that moment is he trying to smile like nothing's wrong? his mismatched eyes are actually terrified. it's not convincing... buddy, you're gonna sink like a rock. a semiprecious jade rock. for him, that's a fate that he really, really doesn't want, if he could properly vocalize it in time. ]
b 🍷 you taste like new flesh 🏵️
[ while the movements are slow, it's not a waltz that hong lu dances. something more from a play or even a street performance, though nothing specific. his limbs move like the ebb and flow of waves, his long hair and flowing coat adding to the dramatic movements as it trails behind him. he doesn't seem to pay much mind to boundaries, sweeping steps almost close to anyone unlucky enough to be nearby. he could either graze them and have them caught in a sort of trance that has them follow his movements... or in the heat of moment, he does take someone's hands, pulling them into this dance. ]
Ahaha~ isn't this fun?
[ okay, maybe it's sort of a waltz now. his new partner can probably smell the (marigold?) flowers and alcohol. the memories, while fleeting, are of children kites and piles of flower petals. that's genuine happiness on his face. ]
c 🐉 the way you lay 🩸 (cw: body horror)
[[ potential nsfw prompt under this cut, just in case! ]]
[ well, that that euphoria from earlier is over, supposedly. it put him in a state where everything is a blur to end up where he is now. hong lu wanders these particular halls where people engage in carnal acts behind surprisingly thing wall, unbothered and more by the discomfort with his own skin under his clothes, tearing it up and causing his robes to stain with blood. but it's his problem, no one else's people are enjoying themselves, and there's nothing wrong with that. maybe that's a paltry attempt at his carefree attitude for what he mentally insists are his own needs, even with urges tugging at him to participate in some sort of intimacy. he thinks can put them aside before he finds an room of his own to hopefully settle down and deal with his partial transformation.he's on the bed and ignoring everything special about this room (there's no doubt there are peculiar things hung about), dressed down and a little disheveled to check what he thought her were unusual wounds from changing. what he doesn't realize is that he's the equivalent of fresh, delicious meat used like bait for anyone inclined, which is either the [α] designation at play or something unique to him. what's appeared on his skin are patches of drake scales... to be more specific, sanguine red scales made of his blood. paired with that, an antler like horn that somehow did not give him a headache. to him it's not all that appealing sight for anyone who was compelled by that carnal hunger to find him for carnal things. but really, he made no attempt at privacy, the door was unlocked. ]
Mm, can I help you? This doesn't look pretty, does it... You should...
[ he wants to finish and say "go", but it seems caught in his throat like he doesn't want to be alone. on the contrary, he's got a decently fit figure, he's exposed some skin on his back and shoulders... there something there that might be easy on the eyes. even his gentle gaze and smile that says very much "it's okay". what's okay? anything really. probably. ]
d 🔮 wildcard+ooc note ✉️
[[ hit me up with something if these prompts don't work, or pm this journal if you wanna hash something out! these are all good, my brain is just small.
for the canon-familiar, hong lu is from the end of part 2 in canto 8! you can let me know if you want to avoid spoilers in your tag or by pm, and i can adjust for memories/introspection! ]]
precious stones.
I have you.
[ For how petite she is, her grip is strong, and she braces herself on the weathered glass of the water to tug him up and out. It takes both hands but she hefts him as though he weighs nearly nothing, careful to pull him fully onto the path that's blossomed beneath her feet.
Edelgard is careful when she crouches beside him. ]
Careful, your arm— [ Covered in stones. ]
no subject
You're stronger than you look...! Thank you
[ It's a compliment, really. This time, he looks and sounds genuinely relieved. He takes a moment to ponder how she made her own path, and one that can support both their weight... but then she brings up his crystallized arm. ]
Oh? It really does look like jade... feels dense like it too~ I guess it isn't breaking easily.
[ It's grown to a point where it looks like a sort of solid cast on his wrist and a good part of his forearm. Edelgard will probably notice that the "jade" there is the very same color as his left iris. ]
sorry for the delay!
...And considering the way the water is, she doesn't know that she'd want to put something damp to a wound.
Edelgard frowns, taking in the sight of the arm. She doesn't reach out to touch it, even if she was just grabbing him. The color of it reflects like one of his irises, a curious thing. Purposeful? Unclear. ]
Is it causing you pain? Are you injured beyond this?
no worries! I say, also delayed.
It feels... stiff? I think that's expected, though!
[ He does want to make light of it, not minding if it convinces Edelgard or not. She's quite serious about his, but in a rather noble way... It's rare where hes from. But not non-existent. ]
I've been trained to fend for myself and found it handy on more than one occasion, so... pain wouldn't bother me, if I felt it. I really am okay, so I can keep moving.
C (this is silly)
It's when he steps inside that he realizes this room is occupied. More immediately alarming to Theseus, though, is who (what) occupies it. He shouts, pointing with an outstretched finger. ]
Monster! [Theseus sees no contradiction in giving out this designation when his own features seem less humanlike. Or maybe, like the scales and dragon horns, those weren't always there and he's not aware of them yet.]
oh goodness bless you for the silly
You found one~! Congratulations, I think?
[ He is a bit confused but the spirit is there! Mainly from the glimpse of a tone shift from careful anticipation to shock. Meaning that yes, he still maintains has some observational skills to see Theseus isn't all that human-looking either. Still, in the midst of the hypocrisy, Hong Lu straightens his posture, sitting up all polite and docilely with his legs folded beneath. ]
Are you on the hunt for them?
no subject
There is no need for a hunt, because a hero is never off duty. What nefarious scheme are you plotting that you need to sneak your way over here? [Nevermind that they are meeting because Theseus was also seeking a secret alcove.]
no subject
Maybe the new form came with a sort of instinctual pride, as if knowing it would be folly letting his guard down either, Theseus means business in his... heroic pursuits. That's a different kind of pursuit than what here is intended, perhaps.
Theres little chance of seeming completelyharmless with that kind of accusation, but this would-be dragon still smiles, trying to think of an answer. ]
Scheme... I guess I wanted a place to rest because of these wounds? There is a lot of comfy lodging available here~
[ He can play a little dumb, but not to where he's oblivious to the strange influences of this particular place. It doesn't bother him though? Even if the company that arrives to him is well, this individual. He has negative scheming ability though, thanks to privilege. ]
I didn't really think of any plans after that, sorry!
no subject
[He takes the opportunity to eye the target of his antagonism, occasionally looking up to shoot suspicious glares like to intimidate him out of any inclination to make a run for it. Sure enough he does seem to be bleeding as the result of grievous wounds, but Theseus is not about to proclaim him a victim yet.] Were you attacked by someone who came before me?
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[ He knows that'll fall on deaf ears. Or more accurately, they hear it but interpret otherwise, but he doesn't really mind. He says a lot of things, but he has yet to harm him. A lot of bark? It's quite fun to listen to, hence why he remains pretty cheerful.
Maybe it's a bit of the dragon in him, but Hong Lu doesn't want to escape anyway. Kind of like it's his comfy lair where he can recover. ]
Nope. My own body did this to itself. That's harder to run from than any enemy.
[ He tugs on his collar to expose part of his shoulder and upper arm. He hopes that gets some response of disbelief. While the irregular scaled patches are still definitely stained with blood from tearing his flesh to emerge, their true white color is starting to show through. What an odd aesthetic for a monster. ]
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Have you felt any new desires? Particularly ones of intimacy? [Theseus is not sheepish about those topics, considering where they are. ]
sorry for the delay!
With that... odd yet understandable question, theres the quiet sound of his robes as shifts his weight a bit. He's been raised to be aware of his surroundings in order to survive, so he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice what is going on with other people in this area. They definitely dont sound as human. Still, Hong Lu puts a hand to his chin. ]
Hm... If I said yes, would that be problematic? I know it's hardly discouraged here... but I'm in the presence of a very dignified individual! He'd probably find it offputting.
[ It's not bothering him as much as it should, if only because the... menial complications of his transformation are preoccupying his thoughts before he can deal with the heightened desires. First timer problems, probably. ]
a
and then, frown at the smile on his face that doesn't at all reach his eyes. ]
It's difficult to tell whether you're enjoying this experience or not.
[ he finally says after he hauls him onto the glass path, shaking the water from his arms and his clothes. ] Are you all right?
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Not really. It's not a pleasant way to go, drowning and all~
[ He'll spare the details of that experience. It could be from the exertion, but that actually helps him sound... genuine. This soggy rescuee steadily tries to get up, feeling a little unsure on such a smooth surface. When he finds it safe and won't slip, he wrings out his wet hair. ]
My legs seem to be working, so thank you for asking. And the rescue!
[ His cheerfulness is thankfully dampened. ]
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[ he's never asked mydei despite being aware of his childhood, but even phainon can tell that drowning is perhaps one of the worst ways to die. slow and painful, suffocating to death all alone. it's an end that he would not wish on others.
still, he watches and observes, making sure that the other man hasn't suffered anything else but soaked clothes and subdued cheer and that he doesn't topple over back into the water. the worst thing that could happen is getting up on unsteady legs, only to need another rescuing.
the crystals on his arm, however. ]
You're welcome. [ he means that, too. ] Are you going to be all right with those things on your body?