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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Ash Graven | Final Space | Existing Player

[sculptedash]

Sink Down Like Precious Stone

[Belief was something that Ash didn't have in large supplies. She had lost everything before arriving here, she was still in the process of picking up the pieces and examining how she felt about all that.

So needless to say when she touches down on the water she makes one or two unsteady steps before she starts to sink. The initial panic sets in and starts flailing her arms and twisting trying to pull herself up from the water. But she just slips in all the faster. Before long it's shifting up above her chest. She sucks in a breath before her head is over taken by the water.

If someone comes around they'll see one hand flailing and grasping above the surface along with a handful or shadowy tendrils trying to pull her back up in vain.]

You Taste Like New Flesh

Eating

[Ash eventually arrives at the gala. Whether on her own or because she drowned too many times is anyone's guess. The dress she's managed to find herself in fits her more goth leanings so she's not about to question that. However she does feel a little awkward with the silent crowd hanging around. She'll move to find a seat after purloining a few pieces of jewelry off the Dream-Vessels as she passes. Some old habits she got from Clarence died hard.

Once she's seated she'll glance over toward whoever's the closest and whisper.]

Jeez. You think these guys could lighten up a little?

[OOC: Feel free to specify what kind of memory you'd like to see. For something more serious Ash's memories deal with cult life, nearly ritually sacrificed, parental murder, loss of found family, eldritch beings, manipulation, and end of world scenerios.

There is a lot of lighter found family, joking, and just general weirdness for anyone who's interested for that.]

Dancing

[Before long Ash has found herself compelled to the dance floor. Her “dancing” might leave something to be desired though. She kind of lazily shuffles back and forth from one foot to another. While letting her shoulders and head bob back and forth as she sways lazily from the left to the right.

Someone help her.

When some comes by she'll glance their way and shrug.]

Am I dying? Please say yes.

I am not worthy

[Ash's first thought about the beast as it descended was that it was incredibly cool. The second was that it probably had to die. But the moment she raised her hands to call upon some shadows to strike out at it, she felt the backlash and what tendrils she did manage to summon up whipped back and struck against her face.

She let's out a yelp- And then the sinking realization that she wasn't much of a fighter with her abilities started to hit her.
She's quick to turn to anyone else in the room and wave a hand toward the doors.]

Come on, we have to get out of here!

Wildcard

[Looking for something else? Feel free to hit me up on plurk or discord at jjabarrett to plot.. I can do closed starters for There's Something In The Way You Lay, but not making an open prompt for that.]

Like a precious stone

[herofhopeless]

[Being pulled into a world created to change one by an obsessive god was not new to Clive. This was different. An unfamiliar place full of quiet and stillness was not what Ultima usually conjured for him. If this place was meant to break his will, it wasn’t exactly the most creative method the creature had ever conjured.

Before he can think to walk across the glass surface of what should have been an ocean, he hears the splash, the thrashing. Clive was no stranger to the sound of drowning, and immediately, he moves towards the sound. He gets there just in time to see a desperate hand reaching for any kind of purchase. He doesn’t think as he falls to his stomach and shoves his arm into the unfathomable darkness of what felt like water but wasn’t.

With a firm grip on the stranger’s arm and a hard tug, he begins pulling the person from the water. It doesn’t feel like it should. Instead, it’s like he is fighting against something that doesn’t want to let this person go.

Once their head breaks the surface, he speaks.]

Hang on! I’ve got you. Give me your other hand.

[sculptedash]

[Ash would probably be relieved to find out that she wasn't the only one around with prior experience to being the play thing of a god prior to arriving here.

She'd likely have to survive this before they could ever have a conversation about that. She thrashes in the water right up until the hand suddenly takes her arm. She still felt herself getting pulled down into the dark depths, but it gave her a moment of clarity to make better sense of her situation.

Her head is pulled out of the water and she hacks up some water before giving a gasp for air.

She sees his boots on standing on the water as if they were solid through her hair and she makes an effort to plant her free hand down but it slips right back into the water.

She realizes that isn't going to work and reaches reaches to grasp onto his arm instead.]

Shi- How are you doing that?

[herofhopeless]

[If Clive has anything to say about it, she is surviving this. And usually, when Clive decides he is going to achieve something, he does.

There is something distinctly wrong about how this water feels. It is different than the warm waters that brought him here, depositing him gently on the beach. This water is hungry for something, something that it didn't find in Clive and thus seemed oddly disinterested.

As soon as the person he is trying to save breaks the surface and takes hold of his hand, he gets his feet under him and pulls. Once there is enough of her out of the water, he wraps his arms around her just under her armpits and heaves, finally pulling the other person free of the hungry grasp of the dark fathoms.]

Doing what?

[He goes to set her down, but when the water starts rising over her feet again, back into his arms she goes. He frowns.]

I'm going to assume that you meant 'standing'.

[He turns his gaze to the woman in his arms.]

I apologize for the forwardness. Until we figure out how to make it safe for you to move, I'll have to carry you.

dancing

[dethangel]

[Toki himself isn't really all that great at dancing himself, but he's hanging out on the floor having a great time just sort of flailing his limbs about this way and that. His wings are kind of getting in the way, but he doesn't seem to care.

When he peers over at Ash, he stops, tilting his head, trying to see if he can tell if she's dying or not. Best he can do is do what she asked.]

Uhhh... yes?

[sculptedash]

Awesome.

[Honestly if they were two awkward dorks out here just trying their best, she could appreciate that. It reminded her a little of her time back on Crimson Light, as much as she had very mixed feelings about those times now.]

Look, I know you're lying to me about that one. But I appreciate it. It's very cool of you.

[dethangel]

Well... it's not really lying if I don't know, right? 'Cause... maybe you could be dying and I don't know that?

[It's not unheard of, after all.]

Because I don't know that. So, you know. Maybe!

eating

[supposito]

[To say Laure is nervous is the understatement of the year. She isn't really considering what she might be grasping, but as the golden liquid touches her lips, it's as if she's swirled back into a memory of her past, her heart swelling with startled joy.

The flame-faced man, the Chosen One. The hero who would release them from the curse of the Malaise. And despite being in a jail cell, it couldn't dim the happiness Laure felt from being the one who had found him in the first place.

But once she realizes herself, she sets the drink down, looking a bit startled and nervous, looking at the other girl wide-eyed.]

You didn't...did you see that?

[OOC: open to any memory you want to toss Laure's way in response!]

[sculptedash]

[The memory flash's through through Ash's mind, and eyes briefly. She doesn't quite know how to take it. It definitely wasn't one of hers. Or at least she would have recalled a trip behind bars a bit more vividly.

She glances over to Laure who is looking pretty nervous, and she manages a bit more of an awkward but sympathetic smile.]

Uh. Yeah. Was that yours?

...Who's the fire face guy?

[supposito]

Ah--it was. Um. [She lifts a hand to tug at her ponytail for a moment, nervously.]

He doesn't...really have a name? He goes by Flameface. Says he can't remember his name.

[Damn, that means she probably saw the cell, too.]

I was in jail for soliciting. Newspaper pamphlets. [Sort of, anyway.]

eating

[clockgears]

[ Ozpin has found clothes that are, much like Ash's dress is to her, very much to his tastes. A crisp white shirt, a black waistcoat elaborately embroidered in gold, and a dark green wool tailcoat, all of them sporting gold buttons. It's been years since he's done any sort of formal dining, and at least a decade since he's been to something this formal, but after a bit of mental readjustment he falls back into old mannerisms easily enough.

At lest he's sat next to Ash. Her comment gets a soft chuckle out of him, and he pushes a little wave of grateful acknowledgement towards her through the Tether; but his laugh and the gratefulness are both undercut with wariness. ]

Don't you suppose that's why we're here? Entertainment for our hosts.

[ The feast in front of them looks incredible, but he eyes it with skepticism. Last time he had anything to eat in the dream, he ended up holding hands with a stranger for most of an hour. ]

[sculptedash]

[She is definitely not used to whole tether thing. There is a brief pause before a shaky sort of acknowledgement pops down along the other side of it. See- She knows how to link up.

Except there's one thing Oz says that does get her thinking for a moment.]

Yeah. More than likely.

[She kind of shifts and looks around the room a little before leaning in a little closer.]

Hey- You don't think these guys are Host-Hosts do you? Like they're well behaved in the dream but they're just waiting for the chance to eat our faces kind of thing?

[clockgears]

[ Ash leans closer, and Ozpin obligingly leans down. It's not exactly subtle, but... well, who cares at this point? ]

Hmm.

[ He fiddles with his brandy snifter for a moment, watching the amber liquid swirl around inside. He doesn't think the unfamiliar people around them are waiting for the chance to attack, but Ash's proposal actually brings an unsettling thought to the surface. ]

I don't find that very likely, but our bodies don't cease to exist while we dream. Perhaps these are the minds of the Hosts, while their bodies are left to roam Manhattan unattended.

[ Maybe their own bodies have joined the pack. He hopes no one recognizes he and Ash from their subway journey. ]

Dancing

[shatteredlenses]

[With all the new faces, Ash may be surprised to see one she recognizes. She may even be more surprised to see what he is wearing. Of course, it's not the outfit that makes him stick out, but the fact he might be the only one on the dance floor that looks as awkward as she feels. Ignis knows how to dance and dance well, but without his vision, the whole act suddenly becomes as hard as trying to fight a behemoth with one's bare hands.]

Don't tempt those who may be listening, Ash.

[After having to run from Hosts so much last month, the last thing Ignis wants to think about is dancing until he drops dead. His feet still hate him as it is, though it's his lack of vision and not his sore feet that are limiting him to just swaying a bit to the music instead of doing anything else.]

[sculptedash]

[Honestly, Ash was happy to see him. Though she felt bad at the same that he was struggling to get around. She knew that was an ongoing thing but it still wasn't the best. She gives a little snort.]

Oh come on. You have to a live a little, even if it's in the face of a brutal death.

[She slips over a little closer and gently touches at his shoulder, letting him make the decision to take her arm for support if he'd like.]

Has anyone told you that you look pretty dashing tonight, because you do.

[shatteredlenses]

I suppose it can't be worse than being mauled to death by Hosts.

[Despite the horrible morbidity of the joke, Ignis does try to lighten up as requested. He has to admit, though, he's glad when he feels her touch on his shoulder and can use taking her arm as a distraction from the topic. Joke as it might be, he had still come far too close to that ending more than once last month.

Her comment does even more to distract him, causing Ignis to bow his head slightly as a shy smile crosses his face.]

Do I? You're too kind. All I can think about it that there is a fair bit too much white for my liking.

dancing

[merged]

[ Ash shifts from one foot to the other, looking about as uneasy as a goth girl at her first school dance. Sharon crosses the floor quickly, her black boots making little sound, sparing only a brief glance at the endless table with its countless guests, most hidden behind masks and elaborate attire.

Even Ash had been hard to recognize at first. ]

Not dying. [ Sharon murmurs with a faint curl of her lips as she approaches. Her mask hides most of her face, her eyes just visible beneath the molded metal, but it pairs neatly with the rest of her outfit. ] Just looks like you could use someone to dance with.

[ She takes one of Ash's hands and rests her other lightly at the girl's waist. ] Ever done any ballroom dancing? [ And just like that, Sharon steps into the lead. She’s no expert, but she knows the rhythm well enough. 1-2-3, 1-2-3. Her dad had once danced with her, a lifetime ago. Before that, Dahlia. ]

[sculptedash]

[It wasn't that Ash couldn't dance. It's more that she had trouble putting effort into it from a lack of interest. Her own hobbies tended to be a little more morbid than that.

But when she catches Sharon's voice her ears perk and there's an noticeable interest that can't be hidden by her blindfold. She stares dumbfounded for just a moment before she finds her hands taken by the other girls.]

Are you sure about the dying thing? ...Because woah.

[But before she knows it there's a soft hand at her waist and she's being led along in a dance. For all her shuffling and lack of effort she does manage catch on to the step after a few attempts.]

Just a little-

The last con I went on with my da-With Clarence. [She's quick to correct herself.]

He tried to get himself married to the queen of this backwater planet for her crown-

It didn't go over very well- But we got to do a bit of dancing there.

[merged]

[ Woah. Heat creeps up her neck, blooming across her cheeks, ears burning pink. She's suddenly too aware of herself, of how she must look, but she plays it off well. The only real giveaway, hidden behind her mask, is the faint blush and the small curve tugging at her lips.

She catches the correction, though she doesn't linger on it, more interested in Ash's story about the con. The whole thing sounds like a plotline from some adult cartoon—a guy marrying a woman just to swipe her crown. Hardly something that'd fetch him much, not even the love of her people. Still, the ridiculousness of it makes it feel almost... fun. Maybe it's just the thrill of the scheme itself that appeals to her. The adrenaline of pulling it off. The rush of running when it falls apart. ]

Sounds like it could've been exciting, though, [ she admits, a little sheepish. ] Total dick move to try and con somebody, but...

Eating

[armwriostle]

[OOC: How about we swap parental murder related memories 8);;;]

The decor and everything is a little dreary in itself, no?

[Wriothesley has his arms folded as he's leaned back in his chair. He hasn't touched on any of the food yet. He can't help but be suspicious and be careful. He doesn't know what might happen and while he doesn't think it would be straight up poison, he also assumes that it must be laced with something.

So if the man looks...ashen, well, don't worry about that for now.] I do think that a lighter mood might facilitate a better environment for the guests though, right?

[sculptedash]

[OOC: Yes! I am down!]

[Ash considers his words briefly. Her own attire hit on the more dreary side of things.]

I get what you're saying, but I think there's a certain charm in a gothic setting. I don't know I've always been more of a "Let's take a midnight stroll through a graveyard." kind of girl instead of "sunshine and rainbows in a park." But that's just me.

[armwriostle]

I think that a midnight stroll through a graveyard can be quaint. This place? I don't know if I quite enjoy the vibe in comparison to a leisurely jaunt, you know? [He chuckles a little, though his brows furrow a tad. The feeling of someone's stare really does bear down in a way that almost feels physical. Suffocating. It's not a good feeling.]

Perhaps that's just me. I find myself feeling...unsettled by this place. Despite the meal presented, I don't know if I feel welcomed at the same time.

Dancing

[closetdweller]

Dying?

That's you and me both!

[Although he was an avid gamer, Urushihara was far from an example of having good rhythm. Dressed like a trad goth from the 90s, with chunky boots that seemed a tad too big and a long coat that did no favors with his height, he had taken to bobbing with the beat like a lost little chicken after a few fantastic spills left him sprawled on the floor.]

I kinda can't stop. It's getting a little... Dizzy.

[sculptedash]

Oh man.

This is it.

This place is going to dance us to death.

I've had nightmares exactly like this.

[Ash shuffles over and offers a hand to help him up.]

Should we make a death pact?

[closetdweller]

What, we die together?

[Accepting the helping hand, he looked at her- actually a little nervous.]

Didn't think I'd face death like this- but it's better than going alone!