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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megumi fushiguro | jujutsu kaisen | current player

[potentialman]

i. sink down like precious stones
[ Having weird dreams has kind of become the norm since this whole mess started, but this one feels different, Megumi immediately realizes. Less a fleeting fucked up vision that starts to fade as soon as he wakes up. More lucid, more immediate…more like that first dream that preceded everyone's arrival in Manhattan.

He doesn't really like the implications of that. But this isn't a great place to stand and think about it, with ocean in every direction and only one landmark to offer any guidance as to what the hell to do next.

It's evident from the first step that getting there is going to be…troublesome.

Maybe you happen along as he's taking those first few steps, and just starting to sink — to his ankles, to his knees. Maybe you happen along…a bit later.

Either way, he could clearly use some help. ]


ii. you taste like new flesh
[ Having finally made it to the palace in one piece (miraculously), Megumi takes a look at the banquet and immediately turns away. There's nothing about this picture that looks trustworthy, and anyway, he has a more pressing concern.

If this is like the first dream, and this is how Sleep drags new people in, then this seems like the closest they're likely to be to their old worlds — and more to the point, their old powers.

So he moves off to the side, out of the way, and concentrates, hands forming a seal. He reaches for his cursed energy the normal way, not the odd, circuitous route he's developed since arriving in Manhattan. It takes more focus than it should, and that's something he'll likely worry himself in circles over later, but for now —

His shadow twists, and ripples, and after a moment, coalesces into the form of a large wolf-like dog, pure black save the red sigil on its forehead. It immediately barks once, circles him, jumps eagerly, and Megumi crouches and melts into the flurry of nuzzles and tail wags. He almost laughs with relief. Almost. (He does, however, look considerably softer and more content than anyone's seen him in the past couple months.) ]

Hey. Did I worry you?


iii. wildcard?
( Other stuff negotiable! Drop me a line. Food prompts are fair game, he's reluctant but will cave eventually. Megumi is not visiting the sex dungeon, and he will not be dying to the Abomination, although he might have a close call. )

ii, me stabbing this cr until we make it work tbqh

[laidtocrest]

[Having somehow made it to the palace, Sylvain hesitates as he sees the banquet, because he's not a stranger in giving up pieces of himself to others and the thought of it is comforting in all the worst and most terrible ways, and he knows better than to piss off the host of wherever-he-is (too much of a politician bred into him), but he also knows a bad fucking idea when he sees it.

So he's taking a moment to survey the area, gird his loins, get ready to fuck around and find out, and then there's a bark and Sylvain's head immediately turns towards that bark.]

How the hell did you do that?

[It's like you're waiting in line for Seiros' confessional and someone whips out a puppy, everybody loves a puppy, who wouldn't want to pet a puppy. He's not petting the puppy because it's not a fucking puppy, but the spirit holds true anyway.]

hell to the yeah

[potentialman]

[ He's used to most people not being able to see his shikigami, but given how weird this place's everything has been, it's not really surprising that everyone here would have no trouble. ]

It's a shikigami. [ And, because he's gotten used to having to immediately explain that one to everyone he meets -- ] A spirit I can summon.

[ Whether he elaborates on that last...will probably depend what kind of world this guy comes from, because the reactions have ranged there from "oh, okay" to "fucking what." ]

[laidtocrest]

Uh...huh.

[Okay. Digesting this for a second.

After a moment Sylvain closes the distance between them, still keeping a slightly respectful space between, well. Him and the dog-spirit-shikigami, because a dog's a dog, he figures, and he should ask questions before immediately jumping to petting the dog. But he's also going to kneel down to be on the same level as Megumi and the dog, because he's not a savage. It's a dog. He's not going to stare at the dog.]

We don't have anything like that where I'm from, but at this point? [He gestures at the place they're in, at the obviously cursed food he's gonna wolf down in a few minutes, at the fact that all sorts of strangeness abounds.] If you told me you're Saint Macuil reborn, here to carve a path through the unbelievers, I'd roll with it. I'm Sylvain.

ii.

[roil]

[ she's not familiar with magic. being in this world so far has been disorienting and frightening for her - and the people in it, if they could be called as such, don't even act human, or at the very least, act in the way she expects.

alba is at a loss as to how to deal with everyone. in her very private and rude thoughts, unbefitting of a lady, it's kind of insane to her that everyone's not quite human and she doesn't know what to feel about that or what that means for her, especially, now that she's here. she mulls this over a glass of water that she nurses as she walks around, mostly because it's the only thing she can stomach at the moment that isn't the drugged food that they were giving them before. her mouth tastes too much like the seawater she felt she'd swallowed too much of when she arrived.

it's around this time where she sees megumi create a dog out of the shadows. alba frowns at this display of magic. given what she's seen, it feels ... underwhelming. (though to be fair, she hasn't seen much up to this point.) ]

How childish! Can't you do anything else?

[potentialman]

[ Gojo would probably be proud of him for actually being accused of doing something childish. Fifteen going on fifty, he'd called him not too long ago. But even when Megumi was in elementary school, Gojo said that he acted way too serious for his age, that he needed to go do something stupid.

(If he lives to get out of this and get home again and they manage to unseal Gojo, Megumi might even tell him it happened.)

He stands back up straight to look at her. The dog settles at his side, looking up at him as though waiting for a cue. ]

I can. When I have reason to.

[ He doesn't particularly expect anyone else to understand his reasons for summoning his dog in the middle of a creepy cult party, but it's important to him and that's all the justification he needs, as far as he's concerned. ]

[roil]

And what is the reason for summoning a pet to this world?

Nothing about this place is hospitable to other creatures.

[ alba expresses her dismay in her tone. not that megumi will care that she disapproves, but she felt it important that he ought to know she's dismayed. ]

ii

[wells]

[ Sitting down for a questionable dinner in a questionable place? No, thank you. Zanka is made of more suspicious stuff, hence his loitering off to the side as everyone else seems to stream toward the table — except, that is, for one person, upon whom Zanka soon finds himself focusing. The first point of interest: said person doesn't seem the least bit surprised by anything going on around him, as though he's been through this sort of song-and-dance before. The second point of interest, closely following the first: said person seems to be doing something purposeful with his hands, which, given Zanka's current angle, is just out of his line of sight.

He doesn't want to move, really. There's something distinctly embarrassing about drawing attention, even at a time like this — but after determining that there's absolutely no way to lean for a better view without looking like an idiot, he finally decides to leave his quiet little corner. Maybe if he just walks by, coolly and casually...

But by the time that Zanka is close enough to see what, exactly, is going on, a shadow is somehow reshaping itself into the form of a — well? A something, to be sure, that has him all but tripping over himself a foot or so away. ]

Is that a wolf?

[ Excuse him for 1. speaking so suddenly and 2. gawking, but he's only really (and recently) seen the barest concept of a wolf; coming this close to the real deal — or something similar to it, at least — wipes absolutely everything else from his mind. ]

[potentialman]

[ Megumi glances over, though he's still clearly preoccupied with scratching the dog behind the ears. ]

Dog.

[ A beat. ]

...or, that's what I've always been told. I'm not sure it really matters to a shikigami, anyway.

[wells]

[ If nothing else, Zanka recovers somewhat gracefully? Manages to hide his embarrassment behind open interest, which is slightly less of a fumble, in his eyes. Maybe. It's hard to be a teen who cares about appearances. Anyway, setting aside the mystery of the word shikigami for now: ]

Doesn't look like any dog I've ever seen.

[ Most of them from afar, admittedly, but. Huh. ]

There many of 'em around? Gotta say, he looks more at home here than most of the people I've run into. [ A beat, his eyes never leaving the dog(?), and then: ] She?

[ It's only polite. ]

i

[heavyliesthecrown]

[Fingers wind around the taller teen's wrist, and Tsukasa holds tight, releasing a grunt as he attempts to pull him up and out of the water. Strange and peculiar as the situation is, he has experienced no issue atop the water's surface, finding the event quite enchanting.

That was, of course, until he noted the other sinking beneath the surface.]

Hold on- ! I have you...

[He may not possess the most physical brawn but he will not let go, either.]

Climb your way up!

[Perhaps... if he can carry him on his back somehow?]

[potentialman]

[ Megumi doesn't have to be told twice.

It takes him a couple minutes; the lack of anything solid below the surface to push off from or brace himself against complicates things a bit. But the other boy keeps hanging on gamely, despite everything, and after the third time when Megumi's sure anyone with sense would've just dropped him and given up already, he accepts that this guy is clearly not taking no for an answer.

And that faith in this complete stranger, maybe, is what keeps the water slightly more solid under his feet when he's finally clawed his way out again. ]

Thanks.

[heavyliesthecrown]

Thank goodness.

[The sentiment escapes him aloud. He doesn't especially release the other quite yet, ensuring that he remains afloat and will not begin to perilously sink, once more, beneath the strange watery surface.]

That was rather close. Perhaps you ought to stay near me? I have yet to struggle with it, but you are not the only one to have some difficulty with this strange phenomena.

i

[lupusxylem]

[The entire way forward, Wolfwood has struggled. He's nearly succumbed to the waves multiple times over, only to finally manage to force his way out of them either due to the help of a good Samaritan, or out of sheer force of will and refusal to die. No faith in anything but himself could get that to happen, really, and even then it's shaky. He finds himself constantly slipping, beginning to sink again until he's able to force himself to empty his mind long enough to find solid ground again. It's tenuous and unstable, and it's not going to last forever.

So, when he notices someone nearby beginning to sink, his first instinct is to keep going. Save himself, he's already so close as it is.

...but with a low curse under his breath, he turns back and grabs for Megumi's shoulder to steady him.]

Keep movin'. Stop thinkin' about shit or you're gonna sink faster.

Re: i

[potentialman]

[ Is it that simple?

Megumi's a chronic overthinker, it's true. The idea of just not thinking doesn't come easily to him, unlike some idiots he knows.

The mental picture of Yuji just casually walking across the water without a care helps. The thought that if Yuji were here, he'd definitely stop and fish Megumi out or talk him through it or just throw him over his shoulder and make a break for it -- that helps even more, because the water under his feet suddenly feels less fluid and more like ground.

Megumi's bad at having faith in much, but if there's one thing he can believe in unhesitatingly, it's Yuji Itadori. ]

Sorry. [ He prods the surface of the water with one foot, testing. ] ...I'm told I overthink everything.

ii.

[vixenish]

[ watches this with a loose hand pressed to her mouth beneath her translucent veil. it's ... rather sweet, actually. ]

Oh, my. Megumi, who's this? You haven't introduced me.

[potentialman]

[ Megumi glances up to Lortel, although he stays down on the dog's level. ]

This is one of my shikigami. Kuro's part of the Ten Shadows technique I use...the part I haven't been able to get to work in Manhattan.

[ And it's been driving him quietly bonkers, to be honest. He doesn't call forth all of his shikigami on a super regular basis; some of them are kind of A Lot, outside of the battlefield. But the dogs? The dogs have been with him since he was six years old...and you better believe that as a child, he had no qualms about just calling them out for company, not only in a fight.

Because honestly, what child wouldn't? ]

i;

[cursedvessel]

[It never even occurs to Yuji that he can't make it across the stretch of sea separating him from the distant structure ahead. It takes a moment for everything to set in, for his mind to piece together the events happening around him. And in that time the water begins rising up to his ankles, locking him in place.

However, once his mind clears and he realizes what he needs to do, he's prepared to swim the entire way if he has to. Fortunately, he doesn't have to. As soon as his resolve solidifies, so to does the path before him.

But not everyone has it so easy. He hasn't traveled very far when he comes across a form flailing against the water, trying in vain to stay above the water. Yuji darts forward with zero hesitation, the glass-like platform holding strong underneath him as he reaches out his hand to grab onto the nearest limb he can.]

Hold on! I'll pull you up.

[potentialman]

[ Today is not going well.

Megumi's down to one hand above water trying to find something to grab onto, because as soon as his head slipped under and he saw the fish staring at him, he used his other to shove the nearest one away from him. The fish...doesn't seem to care much, swishing its fins just enough to regain stability and continuing to stare at him from slightly farther away.

It's creepy as hell, and that's not often something Megumi thinks about an animal. He's fond of even the slimy or weird ones. (Until they're watching him die. That's apparently where he draws the line, and really, he would've been fine not figuring that one out.)

There's a voice, but it's muffled through the water, unrecognizable, and someone's hand latching onto his wrist, and even as he fumbles to grab onto them, somewhere in the back of his mind Megumi really hopes that he doesn't screw this up and pull them in after him, because wouldn't that be just his luck? ]

ii

[sorte]

[ Aventurine's attention is caught from whatever he's doing by the sound of barking as that's not something you usually hear in a banquet hall. ]

Oh, they look like they've missed you.

[ he smiles, although he keeps his distance more or less, coming to lean back against one of the pillars. It is pretty strange that Sleep let's them have access to their abilities the dreamscape, and he wonders what the degree of freedom means from Her perspective, if anything. Above them, One doesn't seem to care that there's now an animal at the feast (and Aventurine has to wonder if One cares about much if anything at all.) ]

[potentialman]

[ Megumi is...utterly unsurprised that Aventurine just kind of pops up without warning. He does do that. Sigh.

Kuro looks over and wags his tail at Aventurine like some kind of traitor. ]

This is probably the longest I've ever gone without summoning him.

[ No "probably" about it, really. He knows for a fact it is. ]

ii. I'm so sorry

[hallowedly]

( — shikigami.

Ah, then can it be that only Seishirou's creature is proving remarkably truant? And he, thinking he'd raised a finer child. No matter. The gentleman peering down between scraps of dappling light and the corridors' claustrophobic stillness is all tame smiles, a chipped half-eagle's mask, part loosened, and a voice grown fond. )

What a good boy. Fine form.

( The lean, sweet arc of his back, the careful positioning of the hind legs. The natural lupine rigidity of his expression remarkably thawed — a socialized creature. Meaning, the shikigami carries recollections from summon to summon, rather than resetting on each instance. Either a sophisticated rite or a willing pact binding the individual shikigami and its master, sooner than a compulsion. Well met.

Now, for the part where Sakurazuka Seishirou wilts down into a half-crouch, palm slipped to his knee, facing outward — accepting and welcoming, but not yet intruding on the wolf's attention with a call-over. )

May I?

ssssh get in here and ruin me

[potentialman]

[ They've gotten a fair bit of attention -- understandably, Megumi supposes -- and Kuro has been eating it up; he (both of them, it always aches to remember) has always been that way, although being constantly summoned by a six-year-old boy who hates people and loves animals and can't quite get over having a zoo in his back pocket probably only enabled it.

So Megumi's not alarmed by another, and Kuro looks at the man appraisingly, then back to him for approval, and Megumi nods. ]

Sure, it's fine.

[ Kuro steps over, leans forward to sniff the hand. ]

( ii )

[offseers]

[ is that — noah peers at it curiously. ]

A . . . "dog"?

[potentialman]

Yes. Noah, this is Kuro.

[ The dog's tail wags at mach speed for Noah, seemingly able to sense that Megumi likes this person a lot. ]