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.

Watch on YouTube

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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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Comments

jinx / arcane / existing player.

[opheliac]

ᛗ. ❝ 'Cause I'm a Goddess, make you a promise that if you fuck with me, I might just change your life ❞ ▶ OPEN.
▷ You Taste Like New Flesh

( goddess — jaira burns.)

gala outfit. | blindfold
A. EATING.

[jinx pinches her lips tight together as her eyes dart and scan along the ridiculously lengthy table, each dish a temptation, yet a potential threat. she was cautious the first go-round when she spotted food from the hanging trees, and now she's even more guarded with the air thick with overwhelming scents mixed with roasted meats, exotic spices, and sugary fruits.

with her hands on her lap, she clenches her fists until her knuckles bleach—trying to suppress an urge to snatch something and gulp it all down like some malnourished animal. in which...well, she is. it's been months since she had a real decent meal, and she can't help but imagine the satisfying crunch of lamb and the explosion of its flavor hitting her tongue. the sheer effort of resisting is becoming exhausting, and her fingers twitch and drum along her knee in an attempt to divert herself. this has to be a trick; it has to be. because from scavenging to... this is jarring, and yet the weakness in her is trying to speak reason that taking one small bite won't hurt. or to maybe just chew to savor the taste, then spit it out quickly. a win-win situation, right?

she casts a glance towards your character, frowning as she studies their face, then to the food in front of them both.]

Hey. Take a bite out of that. Tell me what happens when you do.

B. DANCING.

[it started with a soft hum to a song singing in her head, then it spun to her swaying in her seat to its smooth and slow rhythmic beats. and as she takes one final gulp of her beverage, jinx excuses herself from the table and shimmies her way to the open floorboards. the song itself is exotic and sluggish, yet alluring for her to rock her hips in a provocative fashion, and people should really pry their eyes away because goodness, gracias, girl, show some courtesy to others!

but with the way her fingers shadow along her own neck and teething at her bottom lip, there's no stopping her—not when she is feeling pretty vain, which doesn't come often. if your character joins in, jinx won't notice them right away, not with her eyes shut and being so in tune with the music. but she won't say no or push away from having a dance partner. the more the merrier, right?]

---

ᛗ. ❝ I don't need your help to go ✨(UH)💦 myself. ❞ ▶ OPEN to 3 people max.
▷ There's Something In The Way You Lay

( go f*ck myself — GALXARA. )

ooc; please read this before replying to this prompt, thank you!

● jinx is 19
● jinx is canonically bisexual
● for this, jinx is only interested and open to doing mutual masturbation & voyeurism. if you are her crush (you know who you are), she will be open to more things. because she will only be open to this particular act, if your character is over 25+ of age, you are welcome to tag this. they can just be two bros chilling in a hot tub, sitting five feet apart cause they're not fucking.
● when it comes to α or Ω, i play jinx as a switch so i can play either role. just come with whatever you want to be, and i'll have her be the opposite.
● only limiting this to 3 people because i'm also backtagging to last month's stuff and tagging out/around in the TDM, so i don't want to get too overwhelmed, aksdfa;sda;

❝ Turns out I like it better when I love myself. I'll be with myself forever. ❞

[jinx clamps her hands tightly over her ears, wincing as the sounds of pleasure and pain mingle in the atmosphere. the moans seem to be seeping through every wall, and each one is sharp and persistent for everyone to hear. she couldn't bear it, just the raw vulnerability of it all, and it's roaring something within her that she doesn't want to address in the slightest—an embarrassing throb between her thighs that she attempted to vanquish by pressing her legs tight, except it was also persistent in staying.

this is becoming too much, too real, too... loud. she needs to find a place to have silence, a void where these sounds can't reach her and she can calm herself. so the bluenette continues to venture on, hyperfocusing on just looking forward rather than the naked bodies intertwining with each other in rhythmic rocks. jinx bursts into the first room she sees, slamming it shut behind her with a harsh thud to echo with cries of ecstasy.

the room is small and blissfully empty, and the girl scurries her way to slump on the couch, her fingers fumbling to unbuckle her slacks and slipping them to her knees. ... maybe if she were to just take the edge off for a few seconds, she'll be able to concentrate, able to grow numb to the sexual tension that's suffocating her. so with a trembling sigh, her index and middle fingers snake their way between her legs when the door swings open. the raven jolts almost out of her skin, and she yanks her legs up to her chest with heated cheeks.]

Shit! — What's the big idea?! Have you ever heard of knocking?!

---

ᛗ. ❝ She's so bat shit, oh wow! Don't, don't, don't tell the bitch,'Calm down'. I'm on the top, bitch, what now? ❞ ▶ OPEN.
▷ Wildcard

( crazy — snow wife.)

▌ if these prompts don't work for you, feel free to bring your own starter or mix-and-match the prompts. 👍

---

▌ jinx also suffers from mental illness. Such as the following: schizophrenia, hallucinations, PTSD, separation anxiety, & dissociation. these topics may happen in these threads. if you wish to opt out of specific topics or this character/me completely while i tag out, my opt-out is HERE.

▶ plotting comment | contact: PM for newbies / discord or plurk for veterans.

B

[merged]

[ With fabric draped just so, hot pink & black, Jinx is impossible to overlook even on a busy dancefloor. She moves with a languid, sensual rhythm, utterly in tune with the melody, entirely lost in herself.

Watching feels almost like an intrusion. Sharon tears her gaze away, downs the last of her brandy, and lets her focus shift instead to the others at the table, on the twisted looks of horror as they relive some buried trauma, the fleeting softness when sweeter memories flicker through.

When her second glass is empty, it's less for courage and more because she'd rather face this dream half-drunk. Rising from the table, she slips toward Jinx, her steps unhurried. She slides in close, leaning until her lips hover just beside Jinx's ear, her voice low and daring: ] Need a partner?

[ It comes out much smoother than she feels. ]

[opheliac]

[honestly, she felt sharon's eyes on her long before she braved herself over—having a tether will do that for you, which is a blessing and a curse all the same. a curse because you lose that unpredictability, but a blessing because you don't have to ponder over uncertainties.

and she would be lying if she claimed that the charm of the music was the only reason she was smiling more, rather than sharon closing in on her. so having the blonde murmur sweet nothings in her ear doesn't startle her despite her eyes still being shut; instead, the bluenette moves in a way so that her back is pressed against sharon's front, and her hand blindly reaches to cup behind her head. it's to keep the other girl close, to keep her lips exactly where they are by her ear as her hips sway still so sweetly.]

If you can keep up. I'm too much to handle, ya know.

[merged]

[ This kind of dancing is something Sharon has only ever seen on screens, a closeness that feels oddly intimate alongside the slow sway of Jinx's hips. She lets the alcohol dull her sense of place—ignores how much she might rather keep this private—and leans into it, letting her body follow the rhythm.

She'd never say it aloud, but the truth is she's shy. Always has been. She's just good at slipping into other roles, good at pretending she isn't. Sometimes even forgets she doesn't need the act anymore.

Jinx's cocky tone earns a quiet chuckle, Sharon's breath brushing against the girl's ear and neck as her hands trail deliberately down her waist, light and teasing. ] I'd say I've got a pretty solid handle on you right now [ she murmurs, projecting a confidence she doesn't quite feel. ]

[opheliac]

[there are two things that'll thwack sharon through their bond: first, the delightful goosebumps tickling down her arms and spine. jinx swallows a gasp and suppresses the urge to moan over just how good this feels and how starved she is for a touch or intimacy of whatever kind she is allowed to have. but then it's her words
that wavers her smile; it twitches and sinks low slightly despite it still staying in place.]

Menteur...

[she says, quiet and barely above a whisper. she won't translate the word, and maybe thanks to everything around them, sharon might not catch her calling her a fibber. because as much as she would love for it to be true, jinx is aware that no one will ever have a handle on her. those who believe so are just setting themselves up for failure and torment. it's a waste of time, really, and she knows it's only a matter of time until that realization will blossom and gleam. but she won't let that ruin this moment now, even with the slight sense of doubt thickening and balancing on their tether.]

... So how's your dream going? Made anything come true yet?

[merged]

[ The spark that runs through the tether is impossible to miss, the rush of pleasure radiating from Jinx at her touch feeding a satisfaction that curls Sharon's lips into a small smile. But then something shifts, an undercurrent of doubt bleeding through the bond. Her smile falters, though she lets Jinx's questions tug her attention elsewhere, refusing to dwell on the feeling the way she does with almost everything else. ]

Oh, it's just been one long reminder that I'd love nothing more than to kill Sleep. [ She says lightly, though a flicker of anger seeps into the tether all the same. ] Still... it is nice to actually feel clean for once, and that's a dream come true. Even if these clothes aren't exactly my thing.

[ Leggings and a loose top would've been her first choice, but she can't ignore the way Jinx wears her dress. Distractingly well. ]

[opheliac]

Hm!! Nothing like a good assassination to calm the mind. [is this a joke, or does she truly mean it? it's hard to distinguish, but she finally removes her hand away from the back of sharon's head—letting her move freely and all that.]

But come on. It can't be that bad, can it?

[her hands sneak inside her own top, fishing out two unlighted sparklers and sticking them on each side of her footless socks. and being this a dream where anything can happen, the fireworks pop and fizzle as she continues to sway/dance to the music. how strange how the flares are not hitting her skin or causing any harmful damage to her or sharon's legs. and they seem to be everlasting too.]

Should I do a spin and see for myself?

A.

[vixenish]

[ Lortel simply stares at her, and then barks a bright, startled laugh. ]

No.

[ a smile spreads across her face, one that shows her teeth. ]

Not unless there's something in it for me.

lol i love how aggressive she is with lortel. it amuses me.

[opheliac]

How does "Do it or I won't force it down your piehole" sound?

[and her hand is already skating a plate closer between the two of them, the one that's heavily filled with lamb that's overly coated with mint sauce.]

ITS DELIGHTFULLY MUTUAL.

[vixenish]

Unappealing. If you try to force that down my throat, I'll send at least three people to kill you.

[ rather pleasantly. ]

it's like they are toxic for no damn reason.

[opheliac]

Only three? Amateur numbers.

[not at all concerned, she stretches over to the dish and clutches onto the bone portion of the lamb. and to be lethally playful, the bluenette dangles the meat around like it's a stick—the dressing splattering all over the table.]

Also! Attempting to kill me means they'll get killed twice as hard. And you don't wanna do that to your puppies, right?

ITS ???? REALLY FUN HONESTLY

[vixenish]

[ Lortel actually considers that. and the lamb.

if she stabbed her hand and pinned it to the table, what would Jinx do, she wonders.

she does not seize a knife. ]

I never said I wouldn't. But you'll owe me. Again.

8)

[opheliac]

[with all that toying with the food, it almost plunges to the plate at lortel's claim, and her demeanor twists dark and stony.]

... What are you yammering about, Red? I don't owe you shit.

[at least... she doesn't think so. it's been hard to keep track of a lot of things when her mind hasn't been "up to par," so to speak.]

A

[scarletflower]

[ Most people would immediately realize what Jinx is trying to do here, and call her out on trying to make them into her personal food tasters (and rightfully so). For better or worse, Oichi is not "most people". She is ordered to eat, so eat she will, without questioning the underlying intentions or her own safety. ]

... Yes. Yes, of course.

[ She replies, nodding her head, and reaches for a piece of a deviled kidney without any signs of hesitation. Immediately, Jinx will find herself transported to a burning wooden building, corpses of soldiers strewn on the ground at the entrance. In the middle of the room stands the very woman who was sitting right next to her, a double-bladed polearm in her hand. Across the room stands an imposing man, holding a sword and a shotgun. The two begin to laugh, a maniacal cackle that makes it seem like their minds are unraveling together with the walls surrounding them.

"Fifty years of a man's lifespan..."

The man says, pointing his gun at the woman and pulling the trigger. In response, she moves her head slightly to avoid the bullet, though it still grazes her hair.

"... are nothing compared to the heavens."

She finishes the sentence, lunging forward to slash at him with her weapon. The two trade blows, laughing all the while, but there's no enjoyment in it; no, it echoes hollow, each strike bringing pain not just to the body, but the the heart and mind. Aaahh, what a sweet exstasy this is, what an agonizing torture it brings.

"It can't be helped!"

As they yell together, the burning ceiling finally gives in, falling down and obscuring the two figures, ending the memory. ]

cw: uhhhh... nsfw kinda mentioned.

[opheliac]

[there were a lot here that jinx found odd about this woman. for starters, that she did what she was told despite them being complete strangers. from the teenager's experience, the only people who would behave that way are either, one, servants for the rich or, two, servants to fulfill lecherous needs.

it's hard to distinguish which oichi falls underneath that umbrella (if she is under it at all) but that memory sucks the air out of her, her assumptions falling flat that this lady is possibly neither of those but a warrior of some kind. a sword and a shotgun is... an interesting combination, one she believes that only an ambidextrous person could coordinate.

there's pain in this memory too. as if the foe is someone who used to be important, maybe? ... it's an identical feeling she had with ekko—an enemy, but each fight was painful... something she didn't want to do deep down, but had to. when the memory becomes a fleeting thing and evaporates, jinx remains silent and stretches over for a glass of water.

You always do what you're told?

[scarletflower]

[ Oichi doesn't reply at first, a proverbial deer in the headlight, her back straight and stiffened as she stares into the other end of the room, murmuring something under her breath. Jinx might catch words like "I'm sorry" and "Brother", but overall it doesn't seem to make much sense.

Then suddenly, she turns back to the girl and, as if nothing happened, offers her a small smile as she tilts her head to the side. ]

Mhmm. Ichi is a good girl, after all.

[ What a silly question that is! Of course she does. She would never disobey... never. She knows what happens to those who go against her brother. Only a fool would do so. Only a fool. A fool. A̸͍̪͓̿͌͠a̵͖͍͆̚͠á̴͓̙̘͠a̸̡̙͚̒͝h̸̦̞̠̽̓̓h̸͎͕̪͛͑͑h̸̼͉̟͋͒͌.̴̡͙̈́̾͘.̴͓̟̪͐́̒.̴̡͖̫͑̽̈́ L̵̡̡͕̒́ó̵̻̻͠r̴̟͚͊͒d̵͎͎̒̕͝ ▮̵̻̙͙͋͋̕▮̸̼̠̼̐̕͝▮̸̝͖͓͌̕▮̵̘͉͑̓͜͝▮̴͚̪̈́͒̾▮̴̡̫͕͑͋▮̵͔̞̺̾͆͘▮̴̡̪̽̀͜͠ ]

can't believe this is about to happen again LOL ALKJFALJDF

[opheliac]

Oh really? So if I were to say, "Hey, you're gonna be my new henchwoman because I say so," you'll what? —Just do it? No crybaby tears? No bitching?

[not that she necessarily need a stooge to help her when she is in enormous trouble, especially when she is learning more on how to control her abilities each passing day. but she is without shimmer in the waking world, and that does make a difference in how she handles herself in combat. she can fly with her water wings, sure, but... only in this dreamscape dimension. could oichi be of some use to her or a crutch?]

Jinx will have an entire squadron of Ly's characters

[scarletflower]

[ Oichi watches the girl curiously, pondering her words. It's an unusual manner of speech. Has she heard someone speak like that before? Maybe... Maybe not. Maybe it was just in a dream. Or maybe she killed them. Everyone around her dies, after all. ]

... Someone told Ichi not to cry... long ago. But... Ichi can't remember...

[ She trails off, her unfocused gaze moving from the girl into the distance.

" D̴̠̺̽͜͠o̸͉̦̒͐̈́n̵͍̻̘̓̿͆'̸̺̟͓̒͊̚t̵̺͚̫̒̈́ ć̵̡̡̺̾̕r̸̞͖͙͋͘͠y̵͎̪̝͌͘͘,̴̢͙͖͝͠ Ḯ̸̼̦͙̓͆c̵̙̻̒̽h̸͔̠̦́̓̓i̴͓̝͇͌͆̒.̵͖̦̺̕̚͠ "

That someone's voice still rings in her ears sometimes, but it always feels so distant. Who was it? When was it? Why did they tell her that? No matter how hard she tries, she can't find the answers to those questions, any leads she might have had long buried deep within her. And yet... that whisper makes her both sad and happy at the same time.

The woman shakes her head slowly, struggling to direct her attention back to Jinx. ]

... Does that mean... Ichi can be useful to you...?

i know, right?

[opheliac]

[her brows knit together while she squints, wondering just what other terrors this woman could be haunted by. not that it would bother jinx in the slightest; she has her own, of course. but if the woman's horrors are such a nuisance, would it affect her from doing things that are really important? she'd be a hypocrite if she didn't take her in because of it.]

Depends, Lady. What else can you do besides swinging a sword around?

wildcard babbyy

[merged]

[ Sharon throws herself into the fight wherever she can, meeting the Abomination head-on the moment it rises. The horror of it lasts only minutes before she forces the fear down, twisting it into fuel. She's faced monsters before. She's even made them. But this one feels different. Insurmountable. Every blow, every flame, every shred of magic only slows it for a moment. Limbs hacked away grow back, and still it rises again. There's no escaping it, no way back to the water. Just the trap of this nightmare, stretching on without end.

By the time Sharon catches sight of Jinx, she feels like she's been locked in this fight for an eternity. Her body is a map of cuts, burns, and bruises, but she refuses to stop. A frantic, reckless determination drives her forward, burning hotter than her wounds.

She doesn't call out, doesn't risk drawing attention to Jinx. Instead, when the Abomination raises one massive leg to crush the blue-haired girl, Sharon digs her finger into the gash in her palm. Blood wells hot and fast, dripping between her knuckles, giving her just enough power to seize a slab of the banquet table and hurl it into the monster's leg, knocking it away before it can strike her. ]

NO, DONT DIE, MY LOVE!!!!!

[opheliac]

[during the mayhem, jinx's appearance is glaringly different during the banquet and when silco found her in the ocean. and this time, she is completely armed with her massive weapon, rhino, in her hold. and likewise with jinx, it seems every bullet that nails itself into this abomination only temporarily paralyzes it, and each time, the zauntie grunts out her frustration of it all. she was about to accept her fate too when that leg was hurling towards her, and she hadn't expected a table nor sharon to be her savior. just what the hell is she doing here?! why isn't she hiding or fleeing like the rest of the vessels?

quickly, she mounts onto her weapon—her fingers working as she presses a few buttons and levers to switch its gears. her contraption soars forward, taking flight to get closer to her companion, then putting pressure on the brakes to have it come into an abrupt halt.]

Quick—Get on!!

[merged]

[ Sharon doesn't hesitate the second Jinx calls for her to jump on. She swings on without thought, one bloodied hand steady at Jinx's waist, the other braced against her back. There's a tremor running through her, fear, strain, or both, and it's impossible to pin down, even with the tether humming between them. The only thing certain is that adrenaline has her locked in. ]

Shit, fuck! [ the words spill raw from her mouth, ] that fucker just doesn't go down!

[ Her voice is barely out when the Abomination charges, its grotesque bulk rattling the ground with every pounding step. The weight of its intent is unmistakable—it's coming straight for them. Sharon's grip tightens instinctively around Jinx, knuckles pale, resisting the urge to bark an order for speed or distance or just more. And then the thing's massive paw lifts, blotting out light as it arcs to strike. ]

[opheliac]

[she says nothing to that, not that she is purposely ignoring sharon, but there's a mutual agreement that yes, this motherfucker is not staying dead like it should. typical, honestly. when jinx wants things to die, they don't. she can sense the fear vibrating from her counterpart through their tether, and although she is on edge as well, the bluenette blankets her with comfort. it's okay to be scared; it's perfectly natural to be afraid right now, and she won't take that feeling away from her. she's here with her now, and she will protect her with every fiber of her being.

and as the paw plummets towards them, she left palm smacks hard onto the ground beneath their feet, absorbing whatever moisture she can to make a water version of a woman with massive gauntlets. water!vi sprints in full speed and takes a massive leap into the air, striking against the abomination's palm—giving jinx enough time to charge up rhino and take flight again.]

[merged]

[ The tether between them hums with a steady, comforting warmth, one Sharon leans into without hesitation. It cuts clean through the edges of her fear. She always functions better with someone to protect, someone to focus on, and right now the only thing that matters is getting them both out of this alive.

Jinx unleashes an impressive surge of power, a woman of water bursting from the ground, barreling into the Abomination to stagger it long enough for her to take flight again. It isn't enough to bring relief, but it sparks a fragile thread of hope. The massive, fleshy beast recovers faster than anything its size should, then charges after them.

It tears through pillars like they're nothing, hurling debris in every direction. Its pursuit is relentless, reaching for them again and again. Sharon throws everything she can at it, battering its limbs aside with her mind, but she is slowing. It reaches again in an attempt to smash them aside, to knock them off their fastest means of escape. ]

[opheliac]

[the limb smacks the face of fishbones/rhino, and the two girls spin in circles while they fly out of control. in an instant, Jinx clutches hard on sharon's wrist and on whatever secured handle is on her gun in case either of them tips over. there is one silver lining in all of this chaos, and it's that she doesn't have to search for water far when both her and sharon are possibly drenched with sweat from this attempted getaway.

so another water figure zips by, and he hooks his club around the nozzle part of her machine gun in an attempt to steady them again—except a debris spike goes through his stomach, and he breaks apart. jinx is unable to think or react quickly enough before another piece of debris flies in their direction, pounding rhino right in his center—flinging both the girls off. with water still being somewhat in their perimeter, she immediately forms it into ekko again, having him embrace sharon while they fall. because at least she can heal the other girl on the way down. as for herself? well...she can take in the bruises, cuts, broken limbs, or concussions. who knows what will await her once she hits the concrete.]