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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[regulate]

[ A cocktail would be nice about now...or mocktail in Sunday's case, though he is not sure why he is thinking about Radiant Feldspar at the moment. It is not a place that he would count among his favorite quiet haunts in Penacony...or why he is thinking of Tatalov.

A frown pulls at his lips as he tries to brush it off. While it is not usual for his mind to drift mid-conversation like that, he is currently under the stress of encountering the new and unfamiliar in this world, and it likely is starting to throw him a little off balance. What is more important is that, physically, he is fine. He's not turning inside out or bleeding from his mouth or feeling faint. (Yet??) ]

I am not sure. I imagine honey at the very least and some sort of stock and thickening agents outside of honey. I have never tasted anything like it before personally.

[ But he has tasted some equally nice things –like the Stargazer layer cake. All that collected sweetness and sugar is not for the faint of heart, yet it suits Sunday just fine. If only they were eating that instead of stew...His mind is rapidly starting to be overtaken by hunger again and pleasant thoughts of confections that only exist in the Dreamscape because they would likely kill someone quickly with diabetes in real life. ]

[trashblaze]

Me neither. It's interesting!

[ As Sunday thinks of the Stargazer cake, Caelus's hunger increases as well— really missing the flavors of Penacony, especially as it's been way longer for the trailblazer. But what's weird, why does he feel hungrier even though he's eating right now!? Maybe he needs more servings! He decides to go for a second portion, eating more of the same stew… Not realizing this is only worsening the strange effects on the two of them.

It no longer affects their mere thoughts. Now they both have the compulsion to… uh, hug? The urge is random as hell in a moment like this, but Caelus was never against such things. After all, this is the same raccoon that was more than willing to do CPR on Dan Heng back at the Amphoreus crash site. He finishes his plate first before setting it down somewhere, then quickly wraps his arms around Sunday. ]

Sunny, I feel a bit cold. Let me hug you for a while!

[regulate]

[ Sunday also does consume more of the stew himself, helping Caelus polish the bowl completely until he feels arms circling around him. Both his wings shoot straight up, stiffening by his head, and he's stricken by the sudden urge to jerk himself away. However, that initial reflex melts away quickly, replaced by the urge to return the hug instead, let the warmth of it envelop him and chase away any remaining worries or uneasiness.

His wings start to droop as his hands snake around Caelus' waist in return, body moving in close enough to rest his chin on Caelus' shoulder, soaking all of this in. It's very calming, his heart rate starting to drop while he enjoys the scent wafting off Caelus' neck –surprisingly not the scent of trash. That could be because he just changed into something clean though. ]

Sunny...I like that.

[ No, he doesn't. He shouldn't, but he's forgetting how to protest. Riding the vibes until they drown out all propriety and nervous tension he normally carries around with him. When he's not worried about being so polite and restraint, he can simply relish moments like these and the normalcy of a friend's hug, something he hasn't felt since his sister had embraced him after his defeat. ]

Are you feeling better? You can stay as you are until you do. I would not wish for you to feel any discomfort.

[trashblaze]

[ Having Sunday rest on him makes Caelus so happy, so his youthful smile burns brighter by the second. He grins to himself as he keeps tenderly embracing the newest member of the Astral Express, wanting Sunday to keep relying on him like this. The Halovian is likely unused to relying on others, considering his background. Sunday always had to be perfect in every way; Sunday always had to be the one to listen to people, but no one ever listened to him except Robin. Caelus wants that to change. Because he is here now, and the entire Astral Express. He takes a couple more steps forward, inching closer until no more distance remains between them, and secures his protective embrace further. He can feel the worries emanating from Sunday slowly melt away, which relieves the trailblazer as well.

Considering the effects of the food they ate, Caelus doesn't question why Sunday suddenly likes the nickname. He shot down that same nickname twice now— once on the Express, and again just a few minutes ago. Right now, hearing Sunday actually praise it this time only increases Caelus's cheer, and he gently jumps just a little while maintaining their shared hold. He tries to calm down seconds later, so they can relax against each other. He can't help but run his fingers a little through the soft strands of such perfectly groomed hair.

Idly now, thoughts drift on Caelus, recalling events in Penacony. Sunday likely resorted to those solutions back then because he couldn't trust anyone but himself and his sister. The Halovian didn't know who else to turn to, and all he wanted was to protect Robin. It was sad, but also very admirable, because he fought so hard for what he believed in. But now that he's found the Astral Express, and with Robin sharing her own thoughts with him, Caelus knows that this time, Sunday will be all right. Caelus will make sure of it. Besides, their beautiful white-haired angel is strong in more ways than one. Sunday is always doing his best, in his own way. The youngest trailblazer's heart swells with more affection, thinking about all these, likely spilling forth in these warm arms.

Even more, as Sunday shows such a kind concern. He's always been so adorable like that ever since boarding the Express. Caelus figures that Sunday's true personality is finally shining without hindrances. ]

I feel the same way for you. I hope you can depend on me more.

[regulate]

[ It is getting more difficult to tell where his own thoughts end and Caelus' begin, the amalgam of their emotions blending into a murkier stew than the one they just devoured. With each passing second, it feels more like Sunday's being swept up in the tsunami of Caelus' comfort, and all his misgivings about this Dreamscape are starting to fade quickly. Is this what it's like to be easygoing for a change? To not view every moment with a gripping fear that it might be his last?

He used to be this carefree as a child until Gopher Wood had drained him clean of all joy and wonder, molding him into his own image. The perfect head of the Oak Family. The thought of regressing is both a terrifying and enchanting prospect, and who is he to resist the siren call of a side of him he thought long lost?

...That is, until he realizes they have been hugging one another for an uncomfortable amount of time in the middle of a banquet hall. Sure, no one is commenting on it, but Sunday can feel all the eyes on him, judging him for being so improper of a guest. All his muscles seemingly tense at once, his wings twitching before they close over his cheeks as he jolts away.

What is wrong with him? Caelus must also be thinking he's lost his mind by now. ]

I apologize. That was- that was deeply uncharacteristic and inappropriate.

[ Had he been so starved for physical affection that he would abandon his rational mind so easily? It's starting to seem like it as he clasps his hands behind his own back guiltily while his feathers continue to shield the faint flush stretching across cheeks. ]

I also think we have overstayed enough of our welcome here. We should find a way to covertly explore and investigate more of the castle.

[trashblaze]

Uncharacteristic?

[ Looking at Sunday's shy expression, Caelus can tell that the Halovian is only embarrassed and doesn't necessarily dislike what they just did. The trailblazer grins boyishly at him, still lighthearted as ever, even after the intense effects of the food they had slowly fade. Caelus leans forward without taking a step nearer, knowing Sunday is extremely timid at the moment. He doesn't want to worsen it, so he gives him a reassuring smile to help him calm down. ]

Okay, let's go!

[ Before Caelus actually voices his thoughts out, he leads the way first. Since Sunday doesn't want to stay here anymore, he'll help him get distracted elsewhere. So he energetically heads to a different hallway, hoping they'll find something interesting there. The hallway seems long and kind of dim, though. As they walk forward together, Caelus takes the chance to say what he wanted to earlier. ]

I don't think it's uncharacteristic. You don't need to act as the Oak Family head anymore. Right now, you're simply Sunday, one of us at the Astral Express! I'm always here for you now, Sunday!

[regulate]

I would not say I have earned a place in the Astral Express nor have I devoted myself to the path of trailblazing as you and the others have...I am still a mere hitchhiker.

[ Even if it is heartening to have Caelus accept him so easily. Sunday knows they have a rough history, and Sunday had not been at his most reasonable at the time. He's still trying to deconstruct himself from all those beliefs he had impressed upon him since he was a child, which will take time.

He may finally be taking baby steps in the right direction for himself, but he still feels some uncertainty on how to be himself without the weight of the family's expectations crushing him. Still, he wants to make the effort to be more open and relaxed, so he does try to mentally shake off some of the stiff formalities and relax both his gait and his expression as he leads Caelus up the nearby stairwell. ]

...My sister used to be the only one who would still embrace even when Gopher Wood would try to discourage us from acting so immature and dependent on one another. It has been a while...is what I am trying to say, but I appreciate your efforts to be kind and inclusive.

[ It's not what he deserves at all, which makes Sunday appreciate Caelus all the more. He must do better to meet Caelus halfway with his generosity. ]

[trashblaze]

Hmm.

[ Since the Penacony chapters are already closed, Caelus isn't the type to dwell. To him, they've already successfully trailblazed through that place. They've resolved the complicated situation there and made so many new friends. They've moved on and are continuing their Path of Trailblaze elsewhere. There's nothing to regret, and instead, he's more focused on the future. He's walking ahead of Sunday still, but eventually stops and turns around with another bright expression. He runs to the Halovian's side and takes hold of his hand, gripping it warmly. ]

Receiving affection is never immature. That's crazy talk, especially the part about discouraging reliance on one another! You and Robin are family, of course, you'll depend on each other. That's exactly what family does!

[ Caelus squeezes Sunday's hand and looks directly into those eyes. ]

Sunday, they didn't know me at all when I first joined the Astral Express. I don't even know myself, even now. Despite that, they wholeheartedly accepted me as family immediately. I want to do the same for you and anyone else who joins the Express. We're family now, so…

[ He laughs, then gently bumps his shoulder to Sunday's own as an act of playfulness, never letting go of their connected hands. ]

Time to get used to me loving you!

[regulate]

[ Sunday awkwardly tries to imitate the gesture, affectionately fist-bumping Caelus on the shoulder before his wings straighten upwards at Caelus' last statement. Both wings then hug the sides of his own face, feeling his cheeks flare brightly. How could Caelus be so audacious, especially in the middle of these uncertain circumstances? Sunday has never met anyone who was so quick to latch onto others, especially those who have wronged him in the past. ]

I am not sure if I will ever get used to it, but I do appreciate your efforts. Please know my reticence is not rejection or disgust.

[ It's simply a product of all the social conditioning he's been through the past years, but he does feel a certain inner warmth arise from Caelus' words. Their linked hands also seems to carry with it a subtle source of comfort and something else he can't quite put his finger on just yet. He just knows he feels it stirring in the back of his mind. ]

...We really should not linger any longer. There may be other familiar faces in this Dreamscape, and who knows what state they may be in. Come, let us keep exploring.

[ He doesn't want to dwell or fixate too much on their connection, lest it be snatched away from him at any moment. He's come to expect his own happiness and relief to always be short-lived, though he'd very much like to be wrong in this case. If he could bask in Caelus' kindess a bit longer... ]

[trashblaze]

[ It's exactly because the situation is like this that Caelus feels the need to. He wants to be a source of strength for Sunday through difficult and uncertain times. It's a two-way street, considering he gets his own strength from people around him as well. He's feeling empowered despite everything going on, because he's not alone. After everything that went down in Amphoreus, he just wants to be in the company of his friends again. When Sunday returns a gesture of affection shyly, Caelus's heart immediately floods with more cheer. The shyness adds so much charm to him.

A tether forms between them, and neither realizes it yet. Caelus is focused on admiring Sunday's precious reactions. That and he's still trying to remain alert to their strange surroundings at the same time. After all, they don't know what could be found in these barely-lit hallways. Sunday's words add weight to their situation, and Caelus nods in agreement. ]

I wonder where my friend and Mr. Yang went? I hope we run into them soon. Oh, my friend's name is Phainon, by the way! He's really tall, has messy white hair, bright cyan eyes, and wears a white trench coat with yellow and blue accents.

[ Eventually, the two reach the end of the hallway after walking for some time, and they're now facing a set of dark spiral stairs that lead down. The lighting is even worse down there. And are these stairs kind of… moist? Something doesn't feel right here. Caelus can't help but tighten his hold on Sunday's hand, having continuously held it all this time. ]

I… really, really don't like this place. [ It feels worse than when they entered the banquet hall. ] But if Phainon and Mr. Yang went down there…

[regulate]

[ His eyes glance down at his own coat, which has a similar motif...Clearly, this Phainon is a man of good taste then. Little does he know how Aglaea is single-handedly standing in between Phainon and impending fashion disaster. ]

I will be sure to keep an eye out for him if we separate. Is he a companion of yours from before we met or from Amphoreus?

[ Whatever information Sunday has received has been second-hand delivered through Herta and Screwllum. He's still curious of all that Caelus and Dan Heng got to explore, wishing it could somehow be broadcast to him, though he supposes that's what March 17th's camera is for.

If they can ever figure out how to breach Amphoreus' planetary firewall, he may even be able to experience it with his own eyes as well. He's not ruling out that possibility, feeling rather eager to gaze beyond Asdana's star system for what still feels like the first time ever while brandishing a new outlook on life.

As they venture closer to that room in the basement, he can pick up the not-too-distant sounds of moaning, which do not at all seem pained or distressed. His whole body goes tense as he tries to listen in a little better, picking up other sounds like a whip cracking and flesh smacking against flesh. ]

...I am starting to think we should turn back.

[trashblaze]

[ If Caelus had a dime for every white-haired sad man he befriends… Anyway, to the first question, Caelus nods. ]

Yes! It's the same person I mentioned earlier. He's really friendly. And strong! I think you'll know right away if it's Phainon.

[ Caelus wishes Sunday could've been with them, too. But he understands that it was best that Sunday stayed behind to support the Astral Express, especially after what happened to March 7th. Though when the moaning runs through their ears, Caelus suddenly quiets down. He looks so uncertain and a bit disturbed. Is that what he thinks it is? He's not being too scandalous to think of that scenario? That people are actually having s— ]

L— let's go back! Those two definitely didn't go down there!

[ There's no way they would have, right!? Not with those going on!? Regardless of the truth, Caelus turns back and starts running towards the direction they came from, their connected hands allowing the trailblazer to pull Sunday along his speed. ]

[regulate]

...What if they did venture this way though? We should not leave any room unexplored even if I have my doubts that anything that is happening down there can be described as sanitary.

[ He's definitely not eager to go and look for himself, but he also doesn't want Caelus to have to traumatize himself either. At least Sunday has some experience being somewhat privy to other's more lurid predilections after managing the planet of festivities so long.

Penacony was not only a place for paltry indulgences like ice cream and slot machines. His connection to the Harmony made him all too aware of just how deep and base people's desires run, and he's also experienced in completely walling himself off from it if he must. ]

I can continue searching in this direction if you want to check upstairs. We can perhaps meet up once we have covered every corner of this castle.

[ Leaving Caelus behind is a difficult choice, but Sunday is confident that Caelus can take care of himself. He's always been rather self-efficient and can wield more paths than Sunday can without breaking a sweat. The only thing Sunday has on his side is his mental fortitude. does he really though? ]

[trashblaze]

[ Because of what Sunday says, Caelus freezes and stops running. They both stand quietly in that barely-lit hallway, pondering together. Sunday is right, they really shouldn't leave any areas unexplored. That's always been the trailblazer protocol. They need to see everything that they possibly can. But— but…! ]

By… yourself?

[ Caelus picks up Sunday's wording. It seems the Halovian wants to continue alone, perhaps in consideration for him, the younger trailblazer. The motive is confirmed when the older trailblazer suggests that Caelus head back upstairs instead. Fidgeting a little, Caelus considers everything again. He, too, hesitates to allow Sunday to proceed alone, especially as they don't know what else could be down there.

But in this case, he might have to give in. Sunday has more life experience than he does, so he'll be able to handle himself really well in there. At least, Caelus believes that he will. ]

All… all right. I trust you, Sunday. I'll try to find an escape route upstairs if I can, too.

[regulate]

Alright, I will find you again soon.

[ Nothing will keep him from seeking Caelus out, and it's not as though they can truly die in the Dreamscape...he hopes. Well, at the very least, he hopes he does not have to find out soon.

He tosses Caelus one more look, one more small smile, before descending downwards and bracing himself for what he's sure he's not ready to see. His wings are already deploying to cover his eyes as he disappears towards the sound of moaning and skin slapping against skin.

If there were ever a group of people who badly need Jesus Xipe... ]