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

[commitments]

Ignore it, then.

[ Like that's Saheon's problem rather than his own. At least it's people about 18-23? Or does that add to more questions... Still not Adolphe's responsibility, which goes to say his reaction is reserved and lukewarm. Maybe controlled, strangled.

He's focused on leaving and his gait is fast, stride long to traverse the castle in as few paces as possible. Despite that, he keeps his steps light so the clack of his boots are soft to not draw attention. There's little attempt to lose his new follower. When the opportunity arises by a fork in the halls, he still doesn't make the attempt. ]

Just say you want to come along... [ Muttered under a breath. Fine. ] Keep note of anything out of the ordinary—more than usual.

[ Taking out the knife, he marks one of the fixtures before taking a left turn. ]

[inverseye]

Try-ing.

[ Saheon is at least silent when he follows Adolphe. It's a bit of work to keep his work shoes quiet on the floors, but he keeps up a casual half step to Adolphe longer strides without to much issue. ]

When did I become your minion?

[ Is he getting anything out of this arrangement? You're his minion, Adolphe! Find the exit already. ]

What should I say... are you hearing voices right now?

[commitments]

You're more like a parasite than a minion.

[ But parasites can be useful? That's what he remembers from school. Symbiotic relationships and all. ]

I did at the beginning, but it disappeared when I ate. [ They trek through these halls... That seem to be identical to the rest. ] It didn't last long, though. After a while, it came back... Probably because I stopped eating.

[ They meet another fork on their path, much like the last, and there's a nick in a fixture. ]

[inverseye]

[ Grr... Saheon's just barely managing to hold his tongue here. A parasite? Are you implying he'd die without you, Adolphe? He resents that! ]

Right. I don't hear it now, but we just ate.

[ At the branching path, his strides take him a little ahead of Adolphe. Saheon stops in front of the notched wall. Lacking a knife, he just digs his nails at that scratch in the fixture. Is it even real? Will his fingers even hurt?

...Probably need to do at least one more lap to find out. ]

Before we came here... out on the ocean? Was it saying something more to you then just about food?

[commitments]

[ Wow, no quip. How strange, but he likes the quiet.

Crossing his arms, he stands there and watches Saheon pick at the notch. It's a clean one made by a small blade and nails can hook onto it a little. ]

Something about coming home. [ As he tries to recall, his mind drifts off... Displaced and lost. ] It felt like those words weren't for me, but for someone else.

[ Each word tapers off and his vigilance dulls. ]

[inverseye]

Home. Right.

[ The way Adolphe says it, it feels like it resonates more in his skull then the simple word. There was more, a lot more, he just can't quite grasp it. Adolphe is right it felt foreign but...not for him...? That's not right, it promised...

There's a second Saheon's whole body feels limp. He slumps forward, but the hand he had on the wall catches him, his finger and nail screaming with pain as he basically shoves it into the crack Adolphe left and drags it down with a slight scratching noise. ]

Ow! [ What's going on? What was he thinking about? His finger comes away from the wall bloody, but his head swirls with a pounding headache that's a million times worse. Saheon's eyes snap back to Adolphe. ]

Cut it out. I'm trying to think. [ Whatever you're doing to his head, cut it out! ] Didn't I just see your home? It doesn't look like this.

[commitments]

[ A number of stringed words whispered to him on those dark waters... And he felt his whole body react, like every piece were true, but it felt off. He never truly belonged anywhere, so skepticism and doubt rumbled below all the comfort and promise. They still do.

His mind wanders to understand it, though a murmur of a thought reminds him he's trying to leave this damned castle. He should take a right this time and see if it'll be different. Before he becomes lost again, Saheon's outburst knocks him out of his trance and his shoulders draw up with a bewildered startle. ]

What...? I didn't do anything. [ His eyes flutter to focus and narrow forward. An iron tang hits his senses, more keen than usual which he finds unsettling. ] ... Are you bleeding?

[ FROM WHAT? Adolphe was dissociating, so he wasn't completely paying attention. ]

[inverseye]

[ His head hurts...the food is was bad enough. Now something is bubbling up from deep down, and Saheon wants nothing to do with it! There's something in his thoughts, lurking underneath the current. He wants to find it, get rid of it, but touching it is like putting his hand on a hot iron. The pain in his finger is a reminder that he doesn't want to slip into some fit like an invalid. ]

Ugh. What do you care? It's just a damn splinter. [ He's lucky he didn't tear the nail, probably would have if he fell further. Saheon takes a second to try and get the thing out with his teeth, which at least shuts him up for a second. ]

Something you said just now...was in my head. If you're in my head, I swear.

[commitments]

[ Adolphe's scowl tightens one more level when he hears it was just a splinter. Why did he catch so much iron, then...? Now that he thinks about it, he can still smell the food from all the way here. He can hear mumbled conversations from the hall when he shouldn't at this distance.

... He needs to leave. With Saheon saying things are getting into his head, he definitely thinks they have to escape. ]

I can't do anything like that, so you're imagining things... Or it's this place again.

[ It's time to take the quickest right possible, but he does so while grabbing Saheon's wrist to drag him along. ]

It wants us to get comfortable.

[inverseye]

[ There's some initial resistance when Adolphe grabs his wrist, but it seems more instinctive then anything. He doesn't like being led around like this normally...but the fact that Adolphe decided to grab him right when he was losing it is pretty illogical. Sometimes you have to stop and wonder at the softheartedness of some people, even if they annoy you. ]

And you know this how?

[ The surly reply lacks its usual venom. ]

I don't think I've been comfortable here. I don't like parties.

[commitments]

[ The truth is Adolphe doesn't know if that's Sleep's goal in this dream. He doesn't even know of her existence or her intentions, but there's a pit in his stomach. Dread. There are so many psychological changes and physical changes, each one a building block of discomfort. ]

It's a theory. If you don't eat, you starve. If you resist, there's this crushing weight from who knows where... If you eat, it stops. For some, they keep eating and eating.

[ Actually, he would also like to keep eating. Despite taking the right, they're back at the fork with the same notch with a tinge of blood. ]

If this is "home," we're going to get used to it.

[inverseye]

Well, that's always the logic of places like this.

[ They arrive at the fork for the third time. Saheon is still worrying at the splinter under his nail. The pain is grounding, especially when Adolphe keeps reminding him of the feast nearby, and how much he'd like to return to it. ]

They demand obedience, but that won't save you. Blindly accepting that just means being pointlessly used. [ He shakes his head suddenly, remember where he is and who he's with. What's got him spouting all this nonsense? ]

You can get used to it, if you want.

[commitments]

[ He's perturbed by how easily Saheon paints their circumstances, like it's just a mirror of many that have existed, like he has been in plenty of similar situations. It fits into the cult background, but...

One moment, he's getting whiplash. ]

What—I don't want to get used to it.

[ Said with so much conviction, even though he's taken aback by the suggestion because he thinks it's ridiculous. Insane. ]

[inverseye]

[ The outburst is surprising. For all the time they’ve been talking Adolphe’s been so contained. Taciturn and in control, even when his own wish came to light.

Saheon blinks. Then a smile slowly spreads on his face. ]

Then don’t.

[ It would be crazy too, right? Totally insane. That’s what Adolphe’s expression is saying. ]

But you’ll still eat the food, right? Haha! Anything it says!

[commitments]

[ They have other things to worry about, but Adolphe really wants to wipe that smile off of his face. ]

To slake the hunger. I'm not going to gorge.

[ At some point, it's about choosing lesser evils to survive... Or so he tries to convince himself. ]

You're the one following me despite that.

[ Granted, he was holding onto Saheon's wrist. What a perfect time to let go as he quickly stalks back down the hallway. He needs to return to the banquet hall and try a different path. ]

[inverseye]

Haha, sorry sorry sorry. It's just so funny...

[ He doesn't sound like he means it at all. Except it is funny. Really...incredibly funny. Just sate your urge. Just pick the lesser evil. Hahahahaha.

He keeps following at Adolphe's heels. He never even asked this guys name, did he? His mysterious new friend, haha. ]

Maybe I admire your conviction... But we both know it's not going to stop at food, right?

[ What will you do then? What if the next thing it puts into your head is unspeakable? It won't matter. It's going to say jump, and you'll be left asking "how high?". Hahaha. What is Adolphe's conviction then? Can he stay above something like that? Of course not. ]

[commitments]

[ They're never going to know each other's names at this rate and it might be how Adolphe wants it when Saheon is acting like this. ]

I'll endure. [ Like he always has. He shoots a leer over his shoulder, rather than venomous it's just flat and unimpressed. ] Do you like being a creep?

[ Might as well ask outright. ]

[inverseye]

[ Deserved. ]

I'm not a creep?

[ The lack of reaction gets a sigh. Adolphe's back to normal again, it seems. Too bad. Saheon was being pretty honest. ]

I think I'm acting just the way I should, in a situation like this.

[commitments]

[ Adolphe wants be in control of himself... Is that so disappointing? ]

That makes it sound like you act differently outside of situations like this.

[ He sounds dubious as they approach the banquet hall's entryway again. ]

[inverseye]

[ When people are scared or off balance, Saheon's the type of guy who likes trying to push them into a corner to get an advantage. When they're calm, he gets irritated at how they handle a situation better then him.

...So really he's the victim here, Adolphe. Just go crazy already and stop pretending you're better then him! ]

I can. [ Not, "he does" but you know. He can. If he wants. ]

If we get out of this, I'll act however you prefer.

[commitments]

[ That sounds like a personal problem. Adolphe is wound tight with tension and putting all that anxious energy into searching. ]

You're not going to get anything out of me doing that. [ Reiterated. Just so Saheon knows. ] So you might as well act how you normally would, even if it's irritating.

[ Adolphe is also betting that they'll never cross paths after this. It doesn't matter. He thinks he's going to wake up or drift back to dreamless sleep once he's out... Peeking past the doorway, he checks to see if the hall is all the same and normal since they left. ]

[inverseye]

...Whatever you say. Haha.

[ That line again, or something similar. Adolphe seems determined to avoid any transactional benefit, but what other possible angle does he have? Saheon can't make sense of that at all. Suddenly feeling very awkward he rubs his head and avoids looking at Adolphe altogether. Instead Saheon sighs and looks to the side, back towards the banquet hall.

Pauses, his solitary eye flicking up to the hall Adolphe is searching. Saheon freezes suddenly in place, a single hand grabbing at the back of Adolphe's shirt to hold him back as well. ]

Weren't those candles lit before?

[commitments]

[ Adolphe would like to avoid many things... Interaction and getting entangled with people's affairs being high up there, asocial to a near detriment. Or he sees it as a gain and benefit. Saheon can stew on the simplicity of it while Adolphe catches movement from the pedestals so far in the back, then an echoing thud.

His mind races as his eyes flit elsewhere—they should cut through to the other side or a different hall. He has to LEAVE, but the grab at his collar sobers him. Quickly, he leans back into the safety of their dead-end hallway. ]

... They were. [ It took him a moment, but the candles are snuffed. Fret weaves into his expression. ] One of the figures fell.

[ And another thud sounds right after. ]

[inverseye]

[ Saheon would love to attain Adolphe's level of asocial detachment. Unfortunately he has this nagging need for attention... ]

Of all the- [ Saheon cuts himself off by swearing quietly into his fist. He takes a step back from the door, the hand on Adolphe's collar pulling him with. The whole mood of this place is changing, like the tiles beneath their feet are being swapped out with something darker.

Worse, the eye hidden underneath his eyepatch is starting to itch horribly. Leaning towards Adolphe's ear, in a hushed whisper-]

We need to hide. Would be great if you found that exit already.

[commitments]

[ As more candles and flames go out one by one, Adolphe maps out the other entryways he saw during his quick scan and narrows down which would be safer passage. Safe from what, he doesn't know and that's driving him up the wall.

His shoulders instantly draw up when the whisper tickles his ear, not expecting it to come so close. In a low and fast hiss, ]

I don't see you doing anything. [ Realizing that Saheon has a hand on his collar, he grabs his wrist to pry it off. ] Can grown adults hide anywhere in this dead end?

[ If Saheon recommends behind curtain, he would give him the flattest look ever. Another heavy thud echoes. The clambering of silverware follows. ]