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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Mafuyu Asahina | Project Sekai | New Player

[depressured]

I. Sink Down Like Precious Stones

[ This dream again. Mafuyu is no stranger to them, though it's not like she's had them nightly until this more frequent occurrence. It's... something she takes note of, maybe something to ask Miku about, when she wakes up, but there's no helping that now. Because the dream progresses in a way that it hadn't before, and she isn't even surprised to hear "You are mine. You always were."

Because, she'd run from that before, hadn't she? Even though she'd so badly wanted...

She treads water now, processing what feels... well. Real. It feels strangely real. Like she's really in the middle of a lightless ocean, fingers grazing some sort of material over her eyes--a mask?

... What is this? She doesn't want to deal with this. Slowly, surely, she'd been processing. Healing. Maybe she'd lowered her guard. That distant light, a flame of some sort, looks so far away and she can't even get any kind of respite in her dreams--

Despite herself, there's a startled yelp that emerges, half-garbled by the water as her limbs feel heavier, the waves more demanding. And she knows how to swim perfectly well, but for some reason, she's already starting to slip underneath, hands questing for some sort of purchase to Not Do That.

Oh, dear. ]


II. You Taste Like New Flesh

[ The oh, dear intensifies.

At the very least, she's no longer drowning. Or wet, for that matter, though she still feels cold. She's at a table, for once unsure of what sort of face to wear. The mask only covers her eyes and while she is vastly used to a particular kind of personality, there's...

... Is there really a need to wield it here? But there are many people here, none of which are talking to her (at the moment) (thank goodness), so she has time to dwell on it.

Not that you may know what she's thinking about. It's just a young lady in a gauzy purple dress cradling a starpit fruit in her hands. She hasn't eaten it, not yet. She's gazing at it like she's waiting for some kind of answer from it.

Why... hasn't she woken up yet? ]


III. Wildcard!

[ ooc: I am a simple soul, I'm down for anything except for the sexy stuff, so feel free to throw us headlong into chaos if you so desire! ]

ii

[kephale]

[ too bad someone's about to talk to her that very moment.

phainon sees her deep in her thoughts, looking as if the fruit in her hand has all the answers in the world. if only, he thinks, but he pushes that pessimism aside and approaches her. his expression looks as if she's trying to avoid everyone's gaze, hoping to blend in well with the surroundings, but in a place like this, being alone is the last thing anyone should be. ]

I've never seen a fruit that has that shape.

[ he offers her a friendly smile behind the mask. ] Do you think it would be sweet or sour?

[depressured]

[ Truly, he is asking the wrong person there. Mafuyu doesn't say as much, of course, lifting her eyes politely to meet his gaze. She may have been perfectly happy avoiding attention, but she's also no stranger to being subjected to it. There's not even a short pause before she offers him an amicable smile in return. ]

I think I'd expect sweet, though I couldn't tell you why... the silvery dust it has, maybe. It reminds me of sugar.

[kephale]

[ it's fine, he asks the wrong person every single time.

phainon shifts his gaze from her face to the fruit, noticing that she seems to be uncomfortable with the attention he's given her. perhaps looking elsewhere might make her feel less ... seen, and thus, allowing her to relax more? ]

It does look like it might be sweet. The silvery dust may be a way for the fruit to attract certain creatures to eat it and disperse its seed for propagation.

[ he hums thoughtfully. ] I'm still not entirely sure if one should try and taste it, however.

[depressured]

[ It just might be impossible for Mafuyu to relax fully in a situation like this, no reflection on this absolute stranger of a man. She's trying, at least. Maybe out of necessity. ]

I'd rather not, but it feels as though...

[ ... What does it feel like. ]

... I'll be disappointing someone...

I

[supposito]

Now, now, we can't have this! [It's a bright, assertive voice that speaks, and a redhead, standing tall on the water, reaches down a mechanical hand. She looks determined, more than anything else, olive-green eyes meeting the other girl's, waiting patiently for her hand to be taken--though as the other girl starts to flail, Laure clasps one hand, gripping it with her meat hand, and hauls with a farmgirl's strength, dragging her up next to her. The priestess is nothing if not resolute.]

Do you need to catch your breath? Do you feel all right, now?

[This isn't anything short of confusing to her, either, but she's more willing to attempt to inspire another, at the moment. A friendly enough smile is on her face.]

[depressured]

[ Oh.

Mafuyu processes questions very slowly in this moment and answers rapidly after. Who is this? Not relevant to the situation at hand. How is she walking on the water that seemed so hellbent on dragging her down? More important. She appears to be willing to help, and Mafuyu sucks in a quick breath of air, coughing (politely, head turned to the side). ]

I--just a moment, but thank you--

[ She did just haul her out of the water. Onto the water? What is going on-- ]

[supposito]

Of course. You can have all the time you might need.

[Unfortunately, Laure might not have answers to those questions, but she stays close. Whatever alchemy or magic that supports her on the surface can't spread far, and the last things the priestess wants to do is let the effect slip away. She's not about to send the girl into the drink again. Not if she can help it.]

And you're welcome. My name is Laure.

[She's not even particularly sure how she got into the water, she isn't about to ask that awkward question of her new companion.]

[depressured]

Ah, I'm...

[ She'd really almost drowned. Wow. What a strange time to be introducing herself.

But there's little else she can do right now. ]

Mafuyu... Asahina. Laure-san, how are you... making this solid?

ii

[potentialman]

[ There's a boy sitting nearby who's similarly lost in thought, although he does seem a bit less lost in general. More like he has an idea about what's happening, and is still deciding what the best thing to do with it is.

Because while Megumi knows that not eating is going to be a bad idea, he's also still watching the reactions of other people around the table, and trying to use that to decide which foods are going to come with the least troublesome side effects.

His gaze has moved past the girl once, twice, thrice. Checking what everyone else is doing, looping back to see if she's moved. When she still hasn't, after his fourth look around the table, he finally decides to say something. ]

Are you okay?

[ The stupidest question in the world, given everything, but he never claimed to be good at small talk. ]

[depressured]

[ That sure is a question. Mafuyu knows the answer, of course, but it's never so simple as giving someone that answer. What do they really want to hear? How sincere should she be?

One finger lightly taps against the fruit, smearing silvery dust. The situation is a far cry from what she's accustomed to, but all the same, it's best to play it safe. ]

I'm... processing, I think.

[ In a lighter tone, a little rueful. ]

[potentialman]

[ Ha. He's had two months and he's still processing...but he's not going to drop that bomb on her. Maybe she'll be one of the lucky ones who doesn't wake up in the ruined hellscape the rest of them are sent to. He doesn't know that the ones who don't just wake up at home, in their own bed, like normal -- but he's also decided that until something actually proves otherwise, it's the best assumption to make. ]

I'm not sure what seems safest to eat yet.

[ Because he's sure she feels it too -- that hanging sense that something is watching, and waiting, and will be very displeased if they don't partake.

It's not him straight up advising that the food is probably safer than catching Sleep's (decidedly negative) attention, but the implication is there. ]

[depressured]

[ Yeah, it's a little hard to not feel that invisible but somehow tangible sense of expectation and looming disapproval the longer she just sits there. She's not used to... not answering expectations, but it's just also very hard to trust this. ]

Is this... something usual?

[ Not being able to trust what you eat? ]

i

[heavyliesthecrown]

Here-! Take my hand!

[Fingers curl securely around the thin, delicate fingers of the girl sinking at his feet. Teeth gritting as he pulls back hard. His other hand grabs her wrist.

The truth is, Tsukasa is not all that strong. Let alone against someone who feels as heavy as a rock. But neither does he believe in letting go or failing to pull her to safety. He tries to reassure her as he begins pulling her out of the sea below.]

It's alright. I've got you-!

[depressured]

[ She doesn't know who this is. Of course she doesn't. Why should she expect to see anyone in the middle of the ocean, let alone anyone familiar?

Her fingers will barely cooperate, stiff against her will, and she should probably apologize for that, but there's a whole lot of water in her mouth and nose right now to be coughed out first, legs still kicking nearly ineffectually against the water.

What words she can manage aren't much better, admittedly. ]

You shouldn't--risk yourself...

[heavyliesthecrown]

Non....sense-!

[He grunts with the effort of speaking and pulling at the same time. He does not release her, though. His grip is firm, and he digs his heels in.]

I, Tsukasa... Suou, will never... [He pulls and pullssss] leave... behind a fair...maiden!

[The water around them becomes a little turbulent, but perhaps, for whatever reason, that works to their favor. The frustration he feels at not so easily lifting her from its depths transfers into the surface moving a little awkwardly beneath his feet. The rise and fall of it, however, makes the angle at which he pulls her a little easier. He begins to tip back a little, and the momentum of that actually helps pull her up a little, too.]

It is alright! Trust me-! I am not leaving this water without you!

II

[omertosa]

[Why haven’t they woken up yet, indeed.

Past experience leads her to expect things to take a dark turn before that can happen. No, Sleep has to tantalize them with sweetness and finery first, entice a lowering of their guards before trying to worm her way in. The supposed god is proving to be consistent in that, if nothing else. And if there’s anything Cellinia Texas is well-versed in, it’s navigating around false pleasantries and watching for the thinly veiled dangers lurking beneath them.

So despite the displeasure and unease twining together within her chest, Texas remains as stone-faced as ever—at least what can be seen of her face beneath the lupine mask guarding her eyes. Against her better judgment, she’s drawn toward the enticing spread by that insistent, invisible pressure, but quietly observes rather than partakes. She’d prefer to know what she’s getting into first, and perhaps she’s not the only one hesitating on that front.

A hint of amber eyes catch the light from behind her mask as she glances over the girl for a fleeting moment.]

It’s probably not poisoned, if that’s what you’re wondering.

[That ‘probably’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting, but that’s not what worries her about the food.]

[depressured]

That was... one of the things, yes.

[ It makes sense, of course. Why bother dragging her here, dunk her in the ocean, and plunk her in this new place, just to poison her? She can't follow that logic, even though it seems there's actually no logic to be found here at all. There's something about this whole thing that carries a dream-like quality to it, nightmarish at times. But not... fully tangible.

Still.

She said "probably." ]

How can you tell?

[omertosa]

[Odd to think these dream-like spaces followed any sort of logic, but what she’s observed both this time and previously at least lends some sort of credence to the theory. They’re at the whims of their supernatural captor, but she seems to have her methods.

So, Texas feels fairly confident in calling out the beginnings of the pattern here for what it likely is.]

Something like this has happened before. Fruits in an orchard, last time. Edible, but… they had odd side-effects. This feels the same.

rolls in here with i

[hanikamu]

[ When Mafuyu stirs awake, she will find her head on someone's lap, the rest of her body supported by the glassy shore. Above her, his face is marred with worry. He checks her vitals and crystallized skin with a warm hand — unnaturally warm. But, it's comforting. Should she finally show signs of consciousness, the man tugs his frown into a practiced grin, and when he opens his mouth, he shows the girl the sign of life she needs see. ]

Kyaha!

[ His foxlike laughter rings in her ears. ]

Hello, hello! Or should I say good morning? But it ain't a good morning if we're still dreaming, are we? You're lucky you didn't turn into sea foam, cutie. Well, it's not like you're a mermaid, though♪

help

[depressured]

[ Her own skin is unnaturally cool to the touch, so the warmth is even more of a marked difference. Mafuyu...

... Is not used to waking up with her head on anyone's lap, except for Miku's, and this person with the flash of a grin chasing after the heels of his frown is most definitely a stranger. No pigtails to be found.

And he's... nonsensical. "Cutie"? "Sea foam"?

Ah, right. The Little Mermaid. The original story, where she became sea foam for failing to win the love of the prince. Except he's right, she's not a mermaid and he isn't a prince (maybe?) and she sits up as quickly as her crystal-stiffened body will allow. ]

Who are you?

[hanikamu]

Amagi Rinne, your friendly neighborhood idol at your service! Honestly, I shoulda quit by now. I'm just doing this for the haters. Not that it matters in the middle of the sea...

[The prince (?) gives her a once over, nodding to himself in satisfaction. There's bits of crystal here and there, but at least she can move herself out of danger.]

Hmm, looks like you're doing good, but there ain't much to do but make some noise and sit pretty. I'll sit with you 'til you're feeling better.

What do I call ya?

ii.

[sorte]

It's quite pretty, right?

[ at least Aventurine thinks so, and there a lot of complicated things to be thinking about for just above everyone and anyone here. therefore, it's best to be distracted by technically frivolous details considering the predicament they're in.

( he knows sleep doesn't make it that simple. even so if the actors don't play their parts, they get dropped from the show in the worst way, sometimes. )

he's dressed for the occasion, but he's taken his mask off and hooked it on his shoulder to keep it out of his way while he picks at the selection of food and drink. he'll reach by her to grab a starpit fruit for himself, as if deciding to join her in staring at it. ]

You seem like you're thinking very hard about something. [ his tone turns a bit playful as he jokes: ] Is there something about this fruit you might know that I don't?

[depressured]

[ Ah. A man who's trying to be humorous. Unfamiliar, but she recognizes that tone. So she should keep the mood light.

She has her cues. ]

Unfortunately, it hasn't revealed anything to me yet. I suppose I'm not meant to learn its secrets.

[ Without eating it.

Which, she. Truly does not want to do, at the heart of it. ]

[sorte]

Sneaky things, they are. If it has anything worthwhile to share, though, I'm sure you'll learn of it first.

[ Aventurine isn't will to try to be reassuring or act as if he has any idea what might be troubling her. So, while he isn't against giving her any information if she gets curious enough to try and ask about things here, he isn't going to offer it freely. Besides, this doesn't just seem like a dream, it's actually a dream. It seems unusually cruel to force the kind of information that he has concerning this place if she's not going to even have to ever deal with it.

ignorance is often far preferable in cases like these. ]

This is...definitely an unusual party and asking you if you're enjoying yourself really isn't the kind of icebreaker that it should be. So... how have you been doing since getting here?