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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Avocato | Final Space | New

[ventrexian]

( i. sink down )

[ It would be a little inaccurate to say that Avocato 'has faith' in himself, or anything at all. He wouldn't put it like that, at least. But as he waves start to close over his head and glittering onyx starts to creep over his fur, he thinks to himself, viciously, that he did not escape Final Space just to die in some stupid ocean trying to turn him into a rock. And he knows—he knows—that Little Cato and Gary and Quinn and Sheryl are alive out there somewhere too.

And then, abruptly, he's surviving. He pulls himself out of the ocean and onto the ocean, flicking water from his fur as the onyx crumbles away. He has no idea what changed, but he's not about to complain. Instead he looks around, trying to catch sight of anyone that might be one of his friends. He's looking for hands sticking out above the water. Orange fur, metal limbs, dark skin, gloves... and, well, with the light the way it is, he can't easily pick any of those features out.

But that's lucky news for the people around them. Avocato grabs a hand a random and pulls, dragging whoever it is up out of the water with a grunt. He doesn't stop to see if they're someone he recognizes, instead immediately calling out: ]

You okay?

( ii. new flesh )

[ Avocato's instincts are screaming at him that this is a terrible idea. A free feast, no strings attached, offered without prompting? Yeah, that's a trap if he's ever seen one. There's just one problem.

He's starving.

Worse, after being trapped in Final Space for more than a month, where his meals largely consisted of old rations, expired Earth snacks, and disgusting alien worms, everything here smells incredible. The urge to eat ends up being too much. He waits only long enough to confirm that no one else is dropping dead from poison or tripping balls, and then he finally digs in. ]

Deviled Kidneys (cw: murder; child death)

[ The scene is appropriately moody, a clearing in a forest of barren trees, the only light source a fire raging nearby. Nine people—aliens of all different shapes and sizes—stand in a loose ring, all of them dressed in some manner of military uniform and holding a pistol in hand. Kneeling in front of each is another, smaller alien of the same species: their offspring.

"For eternity!" the adults chant as one. "For Lord Commander!"

They pull the trigger. A chorus of shots rings out, and one by one the children fall over dead.

Set apart from the others is Avocato, dressed in a crisp military coat. Behind him hovers another, smaller gray-green skinned alien—the Lord Commander himself. In front of him, two soldiers are holding a young, cat-like, orange-furred child between them. Avocato has his own pistol leveled at the boy's head.

"Do it, Avocato," the Lord Commander growls, "and become my first. Do it."

Avocato doesn't. He scowls, and two quick shots dispatch the soldiers holding his son in place. He whirls around, attempting to do the same to the Lord Commander himself, but some invisible force twists the gun out of his hand and shatters it. He switches tracks, lunging for his son while said son races towards him, but roots burst from the ground an twist around them both, holding them in place too far apart to touch. The Lord Commander rises higher into the air, his eyes glowing a hideous orange-red.

"If I sense doubt in you ever again," the Lord Commander snarls. "Remember: I own your son. And now, I own you!" ]

...

[ The memory ends and Avocato jerks back. He shoves himself away from the table and onto his feet, yellow eyes wide and the fur on his tail bristling. ]

What the hell was that?!

( iii. (not) the way you lay )

[ Avocato is not downstairs at the orgy. He got one look at what was going on and marched himself right back upstairs. No thanks. Not the sort of scene he's after right now.

As he emerges from the spiral staircase, he spots another Vessel approaching. He makes no effort to stop them, but he does jerk a thumb back towards the staircase in question. ]

Just so you know, there's an orgy going on down there.

[ His tone isn't judgemental, but he definitely sounds a little exasperated, and his tail twitches in irritation behind him. ]

New Flesh

[sculptedash]

[Ash hadn’t been paying much attention to who was in the room. She was mostly trying to keep to herself as she usually did. But the memory flashes through her mind and her eyes flash open and she drops whatever cutlery she had on the table with an audible clatter.

It doesn’t take long before her pink eyes settle in Avocato- And there is a sudden flash of rage, before another of realization and fright. Without a word she’s getting up and bolting for a door.]

[ventrexian]

[ Of all the people Avocato was expecting to make eye contact with across the table, Ash was... well, higher up on the list than he would like. Still, he's surprised to see her, and he simply stares at her in astonishment while she cycles through her own emotions.

Then she bolts. ]

Hey!

[ He takes off after her. He doesn't have any of his guns with him, but he's still holding the somewhat sharp table knife in his hand. He knows for a fact that it's not going to be much use, and his brain has only halfway processed that Ash has opted to run instead of immediately blasting him with her Invictus powers, but those are things to deal with later. For now he's focused on trying to keep track of her as they race down opposite sides of the table. ]

CW: body horror.

[sculptedash]

[The thought had crossed her mind to blast Avocato. The problem was she hadn't felt the touch of Invictus' power since she had arrived here. It was strange because she had spent the last few years with that power at her finger tips, she wasn't always a fan of it, but it was familiar.

What she did know was that she couldn't fight Avocato in a test of strength. Without her powers she was wet noodle in comparison to his skills, and in a brightly lit dinner setting she didn't have as much access to her new abilities in the light.

Her eyes narrow as he gets out of his own seat and starts to follow her along.]

Avocato...

[There's more than a hint of resentment in her tone, as she takes a step back. She gathers up what shadows she can but they're thready and weak compared to anything she could pull up outside of the dream. Not to mention her limbs and fingers start bending in new directions as if she suddenly had a few sets of extra elbows, knuckles, and knees on her body. It's a really disorienting sight.]

Stay away from me, Ventrexian...

[ventrexian]

[ Okay, that's new. Avocato draws up short, ears flicking backwards and tail stiff behind him. Once again he just stares for a moment, plainly baffled. Then her words register and he scowls. ]

You're telling me to stay away from you?

[ He scoffs. Even though he's the one chasing after her with a knife. ]

You're the one that let Invictus into our universe and killed Mooncake!

[ That's not even touching on the whole kidnapping Little Cato incident. This is just the most recent bullshit she's put them through. ]

( iii. (not) the way you lay )

[shatteredlenses]

So I've heard.

[And, unfortunately, smelled every time his meandering path has brought him back near the area of the staircase. His senses seem to be working on overdrive and Ignis isn't sure if it's because they are trying to make up for his missing vision or if it's something to do with the setting they're in. If nothing else, it's kept him from falling down the stairs, so he probably shouldn't complain.

Still, it's hard not to wrinkle his nose in distaste. Doing that does make the blindfold he's wearing bunch uncomfortably, though.]

I don't know about you, but upon arriving in a strange place that isn't my home, my thoughts would be focused on something much different.

[ventrexian]

Can't say it's the first thing on my mind.

[ Or second or third or... frankly, it's pretty far down the list.

But Avocato has basic pattern recognition skills, so he can allow for one possibility: ]

Figured whatever was making dinner so weird probably did a number on the people down there, too.

[shatteredlenses]

As much as I hate to admit it, you're probably not wrong. The one in control of all of this is unsettlingly good at finding the emotions and desires you think you have buried and pulling them to the surface.

[Sleep may not have snagged Ignis with this particular attempt, but he has no doubt she will manage to find a way to do it sometime soon.]

Despite the circumstances, it's always good to meet a newcomer. My name is Ignis. May I ask yours?

[ventrexian]

Avocato.

[ He offers out a hand. It hasn't registered just yet that Ignis is blind. Yeah, he's wearing the blindfold, but Avocato has seen a lot of people move and react like their masks don't obscure their vision at all. ]

You, uh... get a lot of new arrivals like this?

(not) sorry for going with this one

[paravore]

[ This Vessel appears to be a fairly plain, unassuming human teenage boy. He'd been peeking down the spiral staircase, wondering about the strange noises coming from the floor below, when

when uh... a huge 6'4" cat appears. ]

Whoa! [ Eyes wide, he takes a step backwards, but he's clearly not afraid. Just... stunned. Maybe a little starstruck.

He juts out one finger at him. ]

Cat.

[ventrexian]

[ Avocato lurches to a stop, his expression flattening out into one of bland annoyance. This is not the first time he's gotten this sort of reaction—lots of Earthlings seem to not know much about certain non-human species—but it's not one he enjoys receiving. ]

I'm not a cat.

[ His ears give a single, irritated, and distinctly cat-like flick. ]

I'm a Ventrexian. Aren't you too young to be in a place like this?

[ Not that Avocato actually cares, but anything to try to head off any other inevitable comparisons to a cat. ]

[paravore]

A place like what?

[ 'Hikaru' is still grinning at him — cat! — but he's unusually content to move on from the revelation. He gestures towards the stairs. ]

What's goin' on down there? I saw a whole ton of folks goin' down these steps earlier and now they're makin' such a racket. What gives?

[ventrexian]

[ ... Huh. Avocato has already guessed that 'Hikaru' is young, but he doesn't know humans and their ages that well. Maybe he's even younger than Avocato realized...?

But no. 'Hikaru' looks like he's either already an adult, or close to one. Maybe he's just a little sheltered? ]

... Like I said, an orgy. Big group of people all having sex.

iii

[merged]

[ Her mask may hide the confusion written across her face, but not the way she glances back down the staircase, lips pressed into a thin, questioning line before she turns her gaze on him again. ]

Wait—you're serious? [ The doubt in her voice is clear. It's one thing to screw around in apocalyptic Manhattan, but in the dream? ] That sounds like a really dumb idea. I'm pretty sure Sleep is watching us.

[ventrexian]

[ Avocato's expression isn't too easy to read behind his own mask—which of course takes the shape of a cat skull—but there's an annoyed quality to the shrug he offers and the way he flicks his ears. ]

Figured if the food was messing with us, something like this would, too. No one down there seemed to worried.

[ Idiots, the lot of them. Sleep, though... ]

That the freaky voice that brought us here?

[merged]

[ The food might have made them mentally loose enough that they didn't consider the implications of sex in this strange dream world.

She nods in response. ] Mm-hm. Her name is Sleep. She... [ The conversation she'd had less than a week ago is still fresh in her mind. Her voice drops, quieter now. ] She brought us here to be vessels, put a piece of herself inside of us.

i.

[eidxiety]

Never better...

[A very waterlogged man replies, slicking his bangs out of his eyes. He doesn't even know how he got underneath the water, let alone where his own companions got off to... or who this creature is. Ain thinks to himself that this must be a Garen, a type of demon where he's from, but he can't sense any demon energy. Hm.]

I didn't need the help. [He says, stubbornly,] You should have grabbed someone else. ...But thanks.

[ventrexian]

Seriously?

[ Avocato is already disappointed that Ain is no one he recognizes, but that response is just so... ]

I can put you back, if you're gonna be like that.

[eidxiety]

[Welcome to Ain... truly as mouthy as he is clueless, this one.]

You could, but I could just as easily swim back to the surface, haha. I don't know why you'd try to put me back anyway. It isn't as though I was struggling very much.

[...he sees nothing wrong with what he said. What a guy. Fret not, though, for he isn't done speaking quite yet.]

What kind of demon are you?

New Flesh

[lupusxylem]

[This one...this might be one of the hardest memories Wolfwood's been forced to see, so far. Quite a popular dish tonight, those kidneys.

He sits through it of course, because he doesn't really have much choice, and yet he can feel the way it causes both hair and feather to bristle on the back of his neck, his wings doubling in size in the way all of the feathers can't seem to settle properly. It doesn't matter that the people in the scene are inhuman, it's not rocket science what's happening.

A coalition. A cult. Whatever you want to call it. You show your devotion by stooping to the lowest of the low.

Except, the...cat? Creature? No longer seated beside him didn't. It's a hard memory to have to see- and relive, in his case- but...

Wolfwood takes a few slow breaths through gritted teeth to steel himself, his own claws biting into the palm of his hand.]

A memory, I reckon?

[Given what he's seen so far.]

But I'm happy to just pretend I never saw that, f'it's all the same to you.

[ventrexian]

[ It would be an understatement to call Avocato 'tense' right now. He's like a pocket watch that's been wound and wound and wound and wound and is now one good twist from imploding under the pressure. Part of him—the part that was once second in command to a guy who would order his subordinates to murder their firstborn as a show of loyalty—is reflexively looking for an opportunity to murder his way out of the situation.

But Wolfwood's words register and Avocato's better tendencies win out. The tension starts to bleed out of his frame. Finally, he nods. ]

... Yeah. I'd, uh...

[ He lowers himself into his seat again. He does not pick up his fork again. ]

... I'd really appreciate that, actually.

[lupusxylem]

[Yeah...he figured as much.

God, he would kill for a smoke right now. The brandy is a decent replacement, but it's not quite the same.

Sighing deeply, Wolfwood takes a few moments of silence to let the frenetic beating of his heart calm down a bit, not trying to force Avocato into further conversation just yet. Honestly, he'd be fine just not saying anything at all, but...maybe it's a side effect of the food, or where he is, or something else about this place that's yanking him around. It's harder than usual to keep to himself in a way he can't quite put his finger on.

Or claw, he guesses.]

If it helps, the brandy don't have that kind of side effect. No less of a gut punch, but if you need a distraction, it's there.

iii

[vixenish]

[ she stares at him,

then bursts into startled laughter, caught rather off guard. ]

I wasn't planning to go anywhere near it.

[ she doesn't feel the same pull that many of the others seem to feel. and she has her guesses as to why that is, but it's ultimately not important. she'd be a fool if she failed to notice all the comings and goings, but it's good to have confirmation that's what's happening.

mortification, embarrassment, and shameful secrets are all powerful weapons in her arsenal, after all. she won't forget who's gone down there.

Avocato, however, gets a crooked smile. ]

You're the first person I've seen who simply come back up, actually.

[ventrexian]

[ The laughter is an... interesting response, and Avocato arches a brow in response. But it passes quickly enough and Lortel doesn't seem to be laughing at him, so he lets it go.

At her observation, Avocato offers a careless shrug. ]

It's not exactly a priority right now.

[ It hasn't been a priority for a while, as a matter of fact, but that's not something she needs to know. ]

Besides, things up here are already strange enough.

[vixenish]

You are one of the few to think so.

[ So many have vanished into the depths. Including those whom she would have believed to know better.

Sleep's siren call lulls them all, one way or another.

His comment wins a fainter smile. ]

Of course it's strange. It's a dream, first and foremost, but one shoved upon us. Meant to make us ... act against our better judgment.