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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Agent Choi | GDCG | New

[dedicate]

a) sink down like precious stones

[ agent choi comes to as the ink-black seawater recedes from his skin, solidifying under his touch. he's somewhere he isn't supposed to be. he understands that immediately, but putting the feeling into thoughts is almost like a betrayal. he can feel the contamination worming its way under his skin, even as he presses a hand against the glass underfoot to push himself up. a single glance around him shows... people.

masked people, just like himself, dotted across his surroundings near and far. some stand steadily atop the waves, and others flail for purchase as they're swallowed up by the black sea.

choi doesn't hesitate for a moment. the closest person to him, warm water surrounding them, will feel a strong hand clasp one of theirs, pulling them forward. ]

Come on, I gotcha!

b) you taste like new flesh

[ it feels more like a ritual than a dinner, but then again, choi supposes, there probably is room for it to be both.

don't eat anything that originates from within a supernatural disaster. that's basically rule number one, isn't it? whether this place suits the criteria of a disaster, necessarily, is hard to confirm right now, but choi has a feeling that it just might. especially when he considers the foreign set of feelings, like the unwelcome comfort in the mask that obscures his face, that are slowly beginning to creeping inwards from the outside.

for now, he's putting off the feast for a minute, even if he can feel the one's gaze boring into his back as he turns to the person next to him. surely chatting with their fellow guests is encouraged, right? maybe he can get a sense of how they're doing too. ]

Talk about hospitality, huh? Haha, it's too bad I ate before I came.

[ his pale face and trembling hands might say otherwise, but with his elbows resting on the table, he wears a grin all the same. or if his fellow guest seems to be more interested in the food than himself, his attention is quickly drawn towards their plate. ]

Hey, what's that? Is it any good?

[ his own fork comes down on the morsel before theirs can, or maybe a glass is snatched nearly out of their hands, before choi lifts it to his nose to give it a sniff. ]

c) wildcard

[ feel free to toss anything else my way, or hit me up via pm if you want to run something by me first! ]

B

[roil]

[ snatching her glass has consequences; alba grabs her knife and lightly taps it on his wrist in displeasure. ]

... are you a child? No man should be stealing a drink from a lady whose name they don't know, or aren't yet acquainted with at all. And even such intimacy has limits!

[dedicate]

[ the drink smells sweet and floral rather than rancid, so that's something, but places like these often have a way of tricking your senses. choi's nose crinkles nonetheless, lifting his attention to the 'lady' who doesn't seem to appreciate the favour he thinks he's doing her. ]

Does it? Haha, I'm not really one for those kinds of things though.

[ limits on intimacy, social rules, stuff like that—just ask his teammates. if it's getting to know her first that she wants... ]

Alright then, Miss Lady, what's your favourite flavour?

[roil]

- the name is Alba. If you're going to be cheeky at me, at least do it correctly!

[ she sighs. alba sets aside her knife, having made her point. at his question, however, she raises an eyebrow at him in response. ]

Apple. [ this is said so blandly that it's unlikely to be her favourite - and in fact, it isn't, it's something generic she'd picked because she doesn't know his intentions nor what this world has to offer. ] I hope this personal fact won't be wasted.

[dedicate]

And here I wanted to avoid using your name to this place.

[ a name is important. it's not the kind of thing you want to give away for free, you know. but someone without experience... they wouldn't be expected to know that, so he continues. ]

Anyway, Miss Apple. [ guy who thinks he's helping voice. ] You know, I have a junior called Grapes too, haha. But anyway, hmm, how should I say it... This place, you don't think it's strange?

[ how can he say this without sounding crazy. but surely she's noticed, right? ]

B also

[inverseye]

Huh...?

[ He was wet and cold up until he wasn't. Now there is food, and its free. There wasn't a lot more going through Saheon's mind. Sometimes it pay to be overcautious, but his gut was telling him right now...you need energy to live! You need meat to live! ]

The hel- Oh! Are you worried?

[ Oh. Ok! No problem, he can be helpful if he wants. The man at Choi's elbow reaches up and waves a hunk of red meat in his face with an apparently friendly smile. ]

Senior, don't be scared. These aren't human kidneys.

grabs u

[dedicate]

[ aigoo... was he really that hungry? choi's hungry too—just look at him, pale and sweaty, and even trembling in his fingertips, but he's holding out just fine over here. now he's got this questionable meat waving in his face... ]

Hmm... You don't think so?

[ but he manages to sound curious. even if his eyes are sharp—not quite so much as usual, thanks to that hunger, but he keeps a smile plastered well on his own face to match his partner's. ]

But still, they say you shouldn't take candy from strangers. Don't tell me they never taught you basic safety.

teehee

[inverseye]

[ Yeah its funny, the more he eats the hungrier he feels. Probably low iron? Saheon grabs another plate. If only he had tupperware, he'd fill some up and bring it with him. ]

Do you want me to explain how I know?

[ Human kidneys are way bigger, for a start. It would taste more like pork. This is probably lamb? ]

Whose "they"? [He puts another spoonful in his mouth before he leans back to look at Choi, crossing his arms. ] I watched other people eat. They didn't die.

[dedicate]

Just because they didn't—ugh, nevermind.

[ he's not going to convince someone like this, he'd just sound crazy if he tried to explain that even if it doesn't taste like people, even if it doesn't look unappetizing, that doesn't mean anything in a situation like this. it's more likely that such a grand looking feast is rotten, or has some kind of curse placed on it. that's how a disaster usually reels you in.

but actually... choi sets the fork down on his otherwise empty plate, using both hands to rummage through his pockets. he doesn't remember getting changed, after all, so maybe if he checks...

bingo!

from the inside of his jacket's pocket, he pulls out a small suncatcher made of glass. trying not to make too much of a scene, he'll lift it up to his eye, peering through it towards the food to find that... it's fine. it looks exactly as it does through his eyes without the suncatcher. it... might just be safe to eat.

the meat, at least. choi hasn't neglected to notice the sudden outbreak into dance that some have been experiencing. he still doesn't trust this, but he can also feel a heavy gaze boring into his back, and... and if nothing else, wouldn't a bite mean something else to add to the manual for this disaster, once he gets out?

so pocketing his suncatcher once more, choi picks up the fork. he's frowning at it, but he's holding it. looking at it. ughhh. ]

B

[untilldeath]

[The thievery earns a glare. He'd heard him talking, but after debating for quite a while over what to fill his plate with (he took a little of everything), he'd become absorbed in deciding what to go for first. Never in his life has he seen so much food.

. . . Not food that was offered to humans, anyway. The freaks that ran everything above them were always feasting. So suffice to say when his first bite is snatched away, he bristles indignantly.]

Uh, helloooo? Didn't your guardian or provider teach you to keep your hands to your own plate??

[Not like he had a lot of manners around the Segyein. He failed obedience training. But he wasn't bad enough to take from one of his classmates or something!]

[dedicate]

[ just a little bit earlier, maybe it would have been that choi had done this for noble, heroic intentions. after all, there's clearly something wrong with this food. it's just a matter of what. so earlier, that might have been the case, but now...?

agent choi is visibly sweating bullets, pale as a sheet, and as his manners are reprimanded, he can only manage a strained looking smile. ]

Sorry, it's just...

[ he casts a subtle glance over his shoulder—towards the figure who's been watching him make such a point of not eating this far. ]

I think I might get in trouble if I don't eat something, haha...

[ somehow, it doesn't sound like he's laughing because it's funny. ]

[untilldeath]

[ . . .

He stares for a moment, leans over a little to stare at the creepy-ass figure making a nuisance of himself, and then back to the man drowning in his own sweat.

Damn. He really wants to punch the creepy bastard making all of this feel extra weird. This guy is probably right, though. So, instead, he grabs the other guy's wrist to force his hand around and just works to shove the bite into the strangers mouth. It is dealer's choice on the food (if he gets it in and he swallows), because Till had a little of everything.]

So. How's it taste?

[dedicate]

[ ah? he didn't think he'd be that convincing, even if he's being honest here. before he knows it, choi has a forkful of sweet, rich fruit in his mouth, and who's he to complain about that in his state?

“...Jaekwan-ah. Thank you. You worked hard.”

Across from him, another human with cropped black hair and a cranky looking face sits stiffly in a glassy looking room.

“First, the three of us should go to the hot springs. Seriously. I’ll pay for everything we do there.”

And even as he says the words, Agent Choi feels his lips curve upwards at the corners, looking forward to it. Guilt, gratitude, and even anticipation turn in the pit of his stomach. But he can tell from that look Jaekwan gives him that he's forgiven, and the only thing left is for the final member of their team to join them.

That's right... The third member of their team... Just as he's thinking it, a knock pulls his attention to the custodian at the door—the one who's here to announce that Agent Grapes' detention has been lifted.

Despite the confusion and the conflicts they'd shared until this point, it's almost a new beginning. Black Tortoise Team 1, together from now on—with that wish to look forward to in his heart, his feet can't carry him down the halls fast enough.

and choi, oblivious to this memory, grins broadly at his question. ]

It's not bad. Thanks!

B

[lupusxylem]

[Wolfwood, by all accounts, hasn't been having the greatest time with the food here. The brandy he drank was fine, but the deviled kidneys...he took one bite and it was enough for him.

Sure sucks, then, that all he can think about now is wanting to eat more. The urge to keep eating is near impossible to ignore, and it makes his stomach ache to think about it. He could try something else, but what does he even trust to put in his mouth at this point? He's not sure, but before he can even think about going for anything else, someone suddenly uses their fork to snatch the uneaten piece of kidney right off his plate.

Wolfwood had been staring listless at the plate, so as it leaves he looks over at Agent Choi, sidelong.]

...tastes like shit. I wouldn't, if I were you.

[At least he's trying to spare him, for what it's worth.]

[dedicate]

[ it's appreciated, really, and choi looks half apologetic about it too. ]

You think so? Feels pretty bad not eating too though, haha...

[ he's laughing it off, but from the looks of things, he's telling the truth. pallid, clammy skin and a slight trembling of the fork that now has a piece of kidney on the end of it are clear enough to see. but he'll be honest, the man he's stolen it from is probably right. ]

I was trying to avoid it, but it doesn't really feel like they're giving us a choice here.

[ if this goes on any longer, he's liable to pass out, and who knows what could happen next in a place like this? so if it's between two evils, sometimes step one is about making sure you survive long enough to at least regret your choice. ]

[lupusxylem]

...nah, I get it.

[After all, the feeling of near-starvation was what forced Wolfwood to eventually eat himself. He'd be a hypocrite if he said he'd managed to be strong this entire time.

That said...he tilts his head a bit to one side, regarding the rest of the spread before them.]

If you gotta, maybe try somethin' else. Might be less... [He rolls one shoulder.] ...shit.

[Eloquent thank you]

B

[vixenish]

[ Rather nonplussed, Lortel simply regards him with a mildly amused distaste as he steals her drink for examination.

She can see his shaking. Her eyes lid slightly above a condescending smile. ]

Please, be my guest.

[ he may sample her marigold brandy all he likes. ]

[dedicate]

[ truthfully, he's still not sure of this decision even as he makes it. the one he's gone ahead and snatched this drink from, she seems to be fine, but still... ]

Wow, thanks! I didn't expect people to be so generous here.

[ it only makes him more suspicious. but though his smile falters, after swishing the drink around once or twice more, he'll lift the glass to his lips

—and immediately feel happiness bubbling up in his chest.

“Let’s all congratulate our Agent Grapes on his official appointment~!!”

it's his voice that breaks through the memory first, absolutely beaming as not only his prediction, but what has actually become something of a hope comes true. his boisterous laughter is almost obnoxious—but he's sincere! really!

“Wahahaha! How about a team dinner tonight? Our team’s overtime meal allowance for this month has stacked up quite a bit, right? How much do I have again? Anyway, it’s on me!”

compared to him, his teammates are soft-spoken and mild-mannered both.

“...I look forward to working with you.”
“......Yes.”

but despite the look of defeat they both wear, agent choi isn't discouraged in the least, brimming with pride and optimism.

ah. that's a good one, isn't it? even after the memory fades, his eyes are still sparkling, smiling wide. ]

[vixenish]

[ generous?

sure, he can think that. especially as he sips on what could well be poison before she has to try it herself.

the memory is ... expected. annoying. electric. how could she fail to feel that fizzy happiness? it makes her want to dance.

her reaction comes in stark contrast to his. she sits still as stone, her face blank except for the faintest of frowns. internally, she is fighting a fucking war not to move.

she is so sick of being controlled. ]

You can have it, [ she intones, faintly aggravated. ]

a

[funnystory]

[ The world sinks, and Ellen barely notices. It's only when a hand grips her own that she realizes that it's she that's sinking into the ground, rather than the scenery disappearing, and at that moment she snaps back to awareness.

Belief? She has none of that, not anymore, but she does have her hand, such a tight grip and a gasping breath, a kick of her heels and a willingness to be pulled up, and that does prove to be enough.

Up, up, away from those consuming depths, though perhaps those would only just be one more momentary setback -

Ah, Ellen would rather not think on that. It doesn't matter, not when her pupils are dilated, chest heaving as her lungs grasp to draw in breaths, and are she rights her footing she can only clutch her chest in an effort to stem the burning in it.

But even with it, her expression is flat, unconcerned, as though this were nothing unusual at all. No, a bit more than that... As though this were so normal that she need not acknowledge it at all, so that there's only a curious look and cant of the head at her would be savior. ]

... Thank you.

[ Simple, and emotionless, before she blinks, remembers herself, but doesn't add to it. It would be unnatural now.

But despite her hollow voice, she is grateful. ]

[dedicate]

[ with a little help from her side of things, it only takes a moment before the girl is back on her feet, standing steady atop the waves as she gasps in fresh breaths to fill those little lungs of hers. choi tries to give her a moment to right herself, but it doesn't take long before she's offering her thanks. ]

You're welcome! Good manners, huh?

[ a little flat on the delivery though. she's a good deal shorter than him, so he squats down, smiling gently up at her instead. ]

Are you okay? You didn't swallow too much of it, did you? Here, how many fingers am I holding up?

[ he doesn't know if this water has any funny side effects after ingestion, but it's best to be on the safe side—especially with a kid. ]

[funnystory]

[ Ellen nods, blinking slowly. Viola might respond more naturally, and so she might under normal circumstances, but as it is, the girl finds herself trying to reconcile two entirely different worlds. There's the horrors of the world, and there's this person, and being offered kindness so immediately is at once something to be grateful for and cautious of, in that way that something that things that come easily are lost equally easily. ]

... I'm fine.

[ To demonstrate, she does lift up the same amount of fingers that the other is. She cants her head to one side. ]

It's no more harmful than baptismal waters.

[ Instinct, or rather experience, suggests it to be so. In large quantities, perhaps, or rather most likely, but small doses are no different than experiencing rebirth. But then, filling one's water with lungs and remaining beneath the waves would leave them a bloated corpse, and so perhaps it is the same after all.

It's of no consequence. It is novel to see someone bring themselves down to her level, and she cants her head curiously. Ellen has always been looked down upon, with knights looking down their noses at her, and there's something refreshing about it. ]

You didn't sink.

[ It's a statement, but her gaze is curious, questioning in a manner that's just shy of being accusatory. ]

B

[sorte]

{ ooc. gonna let you choose the food/drink since I'm open to any of them!

---

[ Aventurine dressed differently than he had been prior to stepping into this place lets the stranger do so without fuss, going right along with the scenario like they've known each other forever. his own mask is currently off, clipped to his shoulder like a shoulder adornment. his expression is one that would usually be reserved for a friend, void of the formal distance and politeness of meeting sometime new, but very welcome in the feeling it gives off.

his tone? equally so. ]

Isn't it just~? I'm told we're very important guests, and they couldn't resist sparing no expense for our arrival.

Oh, this? No idea, really, but tastes quite decent especially with how these large catering events can be, right? All I know is that the guy up there being creepy at us with his staring ultimately had to take out all his good friends in order to feed us with something truly worthy enough for our importance.

[ he speaks fluid and cooly, casually without a lack of empathy that might make him seem cold and detached but also without any indication that he has much opinion on the suggested matter, even as he vaguely gestures to all the memorials of the guardians pedestaled below One. ]

I think you'll like it, and you should definitely at least try a little bit since such sacrifices were made for us, anyway.

🎉

[dedicate]

[ choi, for his part, is dressed more semi-formal than actual formal, if that. he might look more the part if his jacket wasn't resting over the back of the chair, the top few buttons of his collar undone to show off the scar that cuts across his neck. he's just lucky that the black undershirt he wears was left in place, or else he might've been showing off just as much chest as this charismatic gentleman over here.

which is what he's really focused on—this fellow guest of his, acting like this is just tuesday for him. ]

Aigoo, they know that a good civil servant doesn't accept bribes, don't they?

[ he's a good, upright agent, so he isn't fond of that kind of thing in the first place. though really, despite matching with a chatty, almost joking tone himself, it isn't as if he doesn't understand that there's something deeper going on here. something worse.

to be honest, he almost doesn't like it, the other's insistence to try. he turns the fork with his stolen deviled kidney at the end between his fingers. ]

To be honest, I get nervous at these kinds of events~ Since I'm a picky eater. Do you think they'll be too offended if I skip dinner?

[sorte]

She'll be insulted.

[ Although, honestly, whether he is or isn't a picky eater in reality, Aventurine certainly agrees they could have picked more widely appealing options rather than such extravagant meals as they have. Such rich taste. Clearly they didn't consider the demographics and cultures of where their kidnappings take place when preparing the menu. ]

Can I help you in any way with your nerves? We're going to be stuck here for the night, most likely, so we're going to have entertain ourselves at some point. Leaving any anxieties and fears at the door will make this much easier.

[ he picks at a deviled kidney piece still on his plate. ]