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

[sorte]

Glad to hear that.

[ Aventurine just lets his forehead rest against Caelus's upper chest and shoulder, taking a chance to just relax for little bit for a few seconds for the first time since arriving here. His shoulders slump a little bit they're be back to normal after a moment and he'll pull his head back to look up at him with an easy smile. ]

Now, how are you getting along so far here?

[trashblaze]

[ The moment that Aventurine rested on him was very brief, but it felt mysterious. Aventurine is very light in Caelus's arms, but something about it feels like it weighs more than it actually does. Maybe that's the weight of the hidden emotions that Aventurine has been carrying within him in secret. The trailblazer's eyes soften, and he decides to gently pull the gambler back to rest against his shoulder again, wanting to carry some of that weight for a while longer. He doesn't ask about it, only allowing this person some overdue peace of mind and rest, which he truly needs. He takes a step forward to add more warmth, letting his presence be known more strongly. ]

Confused, but I'm doing all right. When we wake up from here, I'll find you for sure.

[sorte]

[ He doesn't know if he should feel grateful for this or resentful— because, despite everything, Aventurine wants to believe Caelus has the ability to fulfill that. It's not his choice whether he wakes up back in their universe or he's dragged to where Aventurine is. Besides, how much more fucking selfish can you get to want someone that actually treats you like you're a person, a friend, to be trapped in the same hell as you because it would be nice to be less lonely for you? He's tired; tired of resorting back to the skills his sister taught him on Sigonia-IV, tired of living that lowest of the low life without her in it. The happiest times of his life was in utter fevers and extreme poverty with her, and now a Goddess yet again decides he should be one of the special ones, only to force him back into this life without her in it.

( "Pain and poverty are the trials of Gaiathra Triclops. SHE has also granted us a chance, and that's your good luck, Kakavasha. You're a child blessed by Gaiathra Triclops and can lead the clan to happiness. So, always remember to protect yourself and never resent the pain and poverty you're going through... All right?" )

The memory of his sister's words drag up another memory that is more violent and harsh, always vivid but even more vivid after witnessing another-person-here's memory of a massacre that brought his own thoughts of that day back.

This is honestly the worst time to get emotional and frustrated, though, and so while it momentarily bubbles up like a boiling pot threatening to spill over, it dies back down before that can happen.

Aventurine nods, not removing his head this time, his fingers involuntarily twitching with the want to just cling tight to Caelus. He can't, though. He knows Caelus will just be devastated if Aventurine shows how much he needs such a thing only to wake back in their universe. He doesn't want to cause undue stress just so he can gran hold to a lifeline for a few minutes more.

Swallowing thickly, he exhales softly as he silently regains his composure. ]

Careful now, I'll hold you to that, you know.

[trashblaze]

[ For the first several minutes, there was only silence and calm, as if Caelus managed to make a shield of his own against this dream, only leaving the two of them in it. Having the chance to have the exhausted Aventurine simply rest, to not think about anything else for now, is more than enough for Caelus. It's a rare chance considering how busy the two of them always are, even back home. However, as the images of a distant, saddening past flash before Caelus's mind, he naturally gets startled but keeps his voice down. He almost let out a noise, but it stays within his throat and swallows it down. He didn't want to startle his precious friend in a moment like this.

It's difficult not to be emotional, however. Caelus immediately knows about what he saw just now. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that those painful memories belong to Aventurine— images of an unwinnable war, of senseless carnage, of deep loss. Caelus is doing his best not to shed tears, trying to avoid making Aventurine feel worse than he already does. The trailblazer closes his eyes— deeply breathing, as he embraces the gambler even more closely than ever, lowering his head so they'd be buried in each other. Of their shared warmth, a reminder that they're here, together, and alive. ]

You can, Aventurine. You can always rely on me. I am a Nameless, so even if I don't wake up by your side tomorrow… I will find you eventually without a doubt, on the Astral Express. We will meet again.

[sorte]

[ aventurine exhales, slow and heavy. even though he doesn't want to admit it, he already knows there's a tether formed. he knows caelus sees something that has hurt him, because that bleeding heart of his and its ache drift out like lapping waves into aventurine's own. figures. this place wasn't going allow him any privacy, not even between himself and the only person who's considered him a friend.

caelus is protecting him, trying to comfort him. no one's ever comforted him before. the feeling is strange, the realization even moreso. is sleep punishing him for not doing as she expects? by messing with his head and his heart only to rip it all away when he wakes up?

there's so much anger to be felt at that thought, and yet even that can't manage to overcome the stillness and peace that the avgin feels for this moment in time thanks to the other. ]

... I know. I'll wait as long as needed.

[trashblaze]

That's the spirit…

[ The response comes with a serene yet encouraging tone, parallel to their current situation. Caelus refuses to move yet, ignoring how the feast continues behind them. He already paid his respects anyway, having eaten more than enough of his share earlier. The only thing on his mind right now is dear Aventurine, genuinely even setting aside the thoughts of trailblazing and such for now. Those, he can easily tackle anytime after this. He wants to keep taking advantage of this precious moment, wanting to keep healing that injured, treasured soul curled right within his arms. Even without the flashback just now, it's not like Caelus is entirely clueless. The Herta Space Station and the Astral Express's databases had some information, and he had also heard some hearsay here and there, so he already had ideas about how much the Avgins suffered.

Yet, the impact of the flashback still hits Caelus heavily despite that knowledge. He can't imagine exactly how much pain Aventurine had, and perhaps still has. He likely never will, but that only gives him more motivation to keep reaching out. He doesn't want to ever give up on making this person happy. He'll try to make him cheerfully smile day by day, aiming for pure smiles that form naturally, and not out of a desire to cover up something so painful. It's just too sad to keep on living while being shackled down. As a trailblazer that thrives on freedom and exploration on one's own feet, the mere idea of chaining someone is despicable. ]

Say, is it all right if I call you Kakavasha if we're alone like this? Your name is… really, too pretty, I want to say it.

[sorte]

[ Ah. Of course Caelus would think this.

Of course Caelus would find a name in a language that is practically spit on with disgust by those who look down on the natives pretty. So pretty he can't resist but want to be able to say it himself.

What is he supposed to say? How can he say anything other than — ]

...Of course. [ Aventurine reaches up now to cling to the trailblazer, still unable to even try and look him in the eyes, but far from wanting to be separated from him. He lets himself cling with a desire that refuses to let go, no matter how many times he tells himself he's being stupid feeling and acting in such a way.

( It's all just a dream, anyway, isn't it?

Who cares.

A dream is only remembered by those that think highly of it, anyway. ) ]

If it's on your lips, I want to hear it.

---

[ it's probably hard to figure out how long Aventurine clings and hides against the Trailblazer, how long Caelus offers that seemingly endless protection to him. Eventually, though, the Stoneheart's posture has the tension fully push out of it, and he finally (finally) is able to let Caelus go. Aventurine seems a bit embarrassed in the aftermath, but for the most part is able to keep his composure. ]

Well, anyway. Even though it's a tossup of what'll happen to you and the others, I guess we really should prepare for the worst.

... Who have you seen so far that is where we're from, again?

[ Aventurine realizes that he doesn't even remember it he was specifically told, and if he was, he's already completely forgotten it. ]

[trashblaze]

Thank you—

[ For allowing this significant moment to happen. For allowing him to say such a cherished name. Caelus won't forget any of this. Not the way Aventurine's usual facade is absent. Not the way Aventurine seems to quiver in his arms, allowing the trailblazer to carry his weight entirely. Though it may be a dream, he can feel his gentle breath and the way his heart beats so close to him. It's all such comforting sensations that it almost makes Caelus forget the unsettling atmosphere outside their little bubble in this shadowed corner.

The first time Caelus said it when he asked just now, it was already a silent whisper. But he stops his breath for a second, gathering the guts within him. He leans in, moving to press their heads together and whispers it again, more powerfully. He says the name with such clear intent, no hesitation. Only his smile and bright eyes. Every tone is said so preciously, as it deserves to be. ]

—Kakavasha.

[ Caelus allows the moment to keep going, as long as the other needed it. Never moving away, never feeling tired at all. He could do this forever, or at least as long as this dream allowed it. Once Aventurine pulls back, the trailblazer eagerly observes that really, really cute expression from the gambler. His smile can only become more rejuvenated after witnessing it. He lets out a small, fleeting giggle before answering the question. ]

Mm, so far? I've seen a friend I met in Amphoreus. And Sunday is here! I plan to scope around this area soon, since maybe Dan Heng is somewhere, too. Not long ago, he and I were in Amphoreus together with this friend of ours. His name is Phainon.

[sorte]

[ who the hell is Sunday? why is he saying that name so enthusiastically? obviously it has to be another Sunday?? But who would also be named Sunday??

There were some other names mentioned, but yeah— ]

...Sunday?

[trashblaze]

[ …? ]

Yes? Sunday!

[ Aventurine didn't hallucinate it, Caelus says the name in a very familiar manner now. ]

Former head of the Oak Family?

[sorte]

[ man. he thinks he just threw up a little in his mouth. ]

Really?

[ Aventurine doesn't even know what he's asking "really" for here.

...except, yes he does. it's is Caelus really saying that person's name so friendly? why!! ]

[trashblaze]

Huh?

[ Oblivious to those thoughts, Caelus is trying to piece out what exactly Aventurine means. Maybe he's trying to confirm if Sunday's really here? He's in such disbelief. ]

Yeah! Really! He's somewhere nearby. We went our separate ways temporarily so we could cover more ground to explore.

[sorte]

[ all Aventurine takes away from this is somehow that Sleep is the cause of all his problems now because if She had just left him alone he'd be clearly currently dating the object of his affections if Sunday has gotten this far already!

Damn.

Well... fine. he'll just... figure this out later. Mentally pulling himself back into something way less obviously cranky and jealous, Aventurine glances around now, looking for a sign of the halovian before furrowing his brows. ]

Maybe he went downstairs...?

[ Would Sunday go downstairs, though? ]

[trashblaze]

You want to look for him together, then?

[ Aw, look at Aventurine wondering where to find Sunday. Clearly, this means he wants to see him! … Okay, no. Caelus is still completely oblivious. Well, there's no way for the trailblazer to know. Aventurine isn't giving him any hints, and he seems to be having trouble speaking his mind. All Caelus can do is blink a few times in wonder. ]

Let's go downstairs and find him.

[sorte]

[ oh boy, where would he even begin if he tried to explain it even a little bit to Caelus?

Aventurine can't imagine Sunday wants to see him, either, especially after realizing that he still managed to dupe him and smuggle his cornerstone despite everything.

He hasn't been downstairs yet, so he isn't quite sure what's down there, but something does feel off as he is vaguely aware of the subtle pull. It's probably best to keep Caelus out of any potential trouble if Aventurine has the means. ]

I'll go check for him down there. You should stay up here since it's possible he's still up here and also to keep looking for anyone you know since they have to come through this place regardless.

[trashblaze]

You're leaving me?

[ That's just a joke. Caelus doesn't mind Aventurine checking it out by himself, since he does have a point there. Someone has to keep an eye out here for any other familiar faces that might appear. Regardless, he couldn't help but make that joke since he missed Aventurine so much. Not only the beautiful gambler, but also so many other friends of his.

Caelus had a very, very rough time in Amphoreus, so he was emotional when he saw his friends again, including Aventurine himself. The trailblazer laughs it off though, but there's a slight lonely tone to it. ]

Kidding. You can go on, Aventurine. I'll be waiting here.

[sorte]

[ he chuckles a bit. ] Actually, I think I'd like to stay around you even a while longer this time around. I do have so much vacation time these days.

I'll be back, then. It can't be that big down there. [ well, okay it definitely can be, but there's no use worrying about it now. It's just a downstairs.

he just knows this place is a little too unpredictable, and the feeling in his gut says that he will hate himself more than he already does if he lets Caelus go down with him.

so instead, Aventurine offers up another smile, bringing his hand up to both sides of Caelus's face and tug him forward little so he can kiss him gently on the forehead. he stays there a moment, simply enjoying the sunny warmth, as he really lets himself truly enjoy it for a few seconds in time without worrying about how he'll feel waking up tomorrow with the other nowhere in sight.

( perhaps a dream is meant to be where you keeps your longings for those that are too far away.

but for this moment I'm time, this isn't a dream, it's really than anything he's felt since the first time he arrived here. )

He whispers his words now, tone sincere and wistful. ]

I'm really so glad I could see you again.

[ he pulls back and sidesteps the Trailblazer, letting his gaze linger on the other's face fondly— ]

Don't get into too much trouble without me, now.

[ —before he turns to walk away and descend the stairs. ]