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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sidurgu orl | final fantasy xiv (new character, current player)

[obsidien]

sink down like precious stones (cw: mention of drowning)

[Sidurgu drowns once. He knows how to swim, and attempted to do so, but it happened anyway, and it's entirely different from any situation he's been in before-- and he thinks he's been in a lot. In the second time he wakes in this precarious position however, he reminds himself that he must get his act together because there's someone relying on him, and then he finds himself walking on the surface. Like it's turned into a solid sheet underneath his feet.

Bloody impossible but what are dreams but a place to do the impossible? He's not so fond of these sorts though. He'd rather not dream at all.

As he walks, not even knowing where to go but knowing that he must go somewhere, anywhere but here.

He might come across someone having trouble with the "water", and he furrows his brows, tail swishing from side to side. Then he huffs, and crouches to offer his scale-covered hand. Though he still has to lean over quite far to reach the water's surface, Sidurgu's just too tall.]

Here, then. Grab ahold if you're inclined to live in this place.

you taste like new flesh

[He is convinced now, this dream is bloody odd. More than odd, he could use a great number of expletives just to express what he feels about this entire affair. His face is already a semi-permanent scowl, but anyone looking up at him might just note that his teeth show in a grimace on occasion, most especially when he's tugging at the nobleman's cravat around his neck. He looks uncomfortable, but how did anyone even find an outfit with his height and proportions?

Don't worry about it.]

Godsdamned nobility outfits and these godsdamned balls, once I find out whoever managed to make me wear these... [Sidurgu's tail twitches once in agitation.]

And may the gods damn whoever made this food because I do not trust it.

[Who is Sidurgu even talking to? Don't worry about it, he's venting.]

there's something in the way you lay (α) (potential smut)

[All right, here's something new. And something unexpected either. He's no stranger to seeing bared flesh and sweaty intimacy, it'd be quite odd for him to balk at it given where he lived and what he's experienced. So he doesn't know why he's feeling hot and bothered by this.

Sidurgu's tail is still for once as he stalks through the hallways, hunched forward a little like a man on a mission-- or a predator looking for prey. Sometimes he pauses to take a sniff of the air, and then changes direction. He's clearly looking for something. A willing body, perhaps. Or a good match. Isn't that what everyone looks for?

He may even bend down to take a sniff of you.]

[ ooc: for sexual content, 18+ M/M only. there is also a kinklist available on sid's journal. i'm also up for A on A fucking. ]

wildcard
[ bring your own prompt! i'm also up for "i am not worthy", i just had no idea how to make a tl for it. feel free to send me a dm if you'd like to discuss things first. ]

new flesh

[beaffrayed]

[ More than anything, it's the voice that draws him first. He's on the other side of the room, looking at one of the shimmering forms on the pedestals (he is extraordinarily reluctant to sit down at this point), and then he looks over and--

His first thought which mercifully doesn't make it out of his mouth is Sid, you look like a gods-damned idiot in those clothes, who dressed you? and then his brain crashes quite neatly on the reef of oh, hells, Sid is here.

He thought he'd never see him again, that their brief encounter past his execution would be the end of it, that...He doesn't know. He doesn't know. (It should be the end of it, for Sid's sake; it's a dark knight's duty to uphold the truth, to not seek comfort in illusion. He shouldn't talk to him.)

He's never felt this unmoored.

He's not dressed quite the same as when he died; gauzy black robes have replaced his longcoat, there's golden jewellery strung across his chest and attached to his pauldrons, there's a silver-crowned veil that's hiding his face completely, but much of his armor is...the same. Certainly recognisable enough.

Regardless of how he's telling himself it's a bad idea, the first thing that actually comes out of his mouth is: ]

We've both been similarly afflicted, then. [ Picking at his entirely impractical jewellery. ] Though of the two of us, you're wearing far worse.

[ At least he mostly kept his armor.

And if he says something stupid and he thinks about that he doesn't have to think about everything else. ]

[obsidien]

[Sidurgu nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears such a familiar voice coming from a painfully familiar figure, and only his stoic training as a dark knight keeps him still. What manner of cruel deception is this? A fake created by this world to make him more easily manipulated? Sidurgu's lips purse-- not that it's visible behind his mask-- and turns his head away for a moment.

This is not Fray, he tells himself.

This is not his Fray.]

Do not bloody remind me. I look like a ponce from the Pillars. [Oh, there goes the swearing, he's mad.]

[beaffrayed]

[ Good. He doesn't have to tell him twice. It'll make it easier for the both of them.

Sidurgu's reaction gets a snort of hastily stifled laughter from behind the veil, a gauntleted hand lifting to press against the faceplate hidden behind for a brief moment. His shoulders shake briefly. ]

I've hardly got to remind you when all you have to do is look down at yourself. To be parted from your armor, that's punishment enough. [ After a certain point, he saw Sidurgu in the garb of a dark knight more than he did any other clothing. Is it comforting that this obvious discomfort speaks to the fact that it might still be true? That this is a strange anchoring point for the long-sleeping memories in him? ]

Did you just arrive? I'd hope so, or it means I'm less watchful than I used to be. [ The man's hard to miss, and to Fray even harder to miss when he's dressed like that. ]

[obsidien]

[When was the last time he heard a laugh from Fray? Of course, the most immediate answer would be "far too long", but still, when? It feels like a lifetime ago, even if Sidurgu knows it hasn't been that long, and while the wound was almost fully healed, the moment at the Peaks when he looked straight into familiar eyes behind a familiar faceplate slashed it open once more.

He'll continue indulging this dream a little longer. Sometimes, just sometimes, he is a weak man.]

Not too long, by my count. But what is time, when faced with a place like this? I could have been here long ago, and have never perceived the passage of it until you spoke to me. [A pause, then:] Or you truly are losing your touch.

[beaffrayed]

[ Standing here with Sidurgu, beside him, is bringing thoughts unbidden to the surface. He's not been apart like this for a while, with so much of his thought simply for himself...

If their positions were reversed, if it was he who had to look upon the face of his dead friend - alike and yet not alike - he can't be certain he wouldn't have clung to what little remained, even when told not to. He can acknowledge that much.

They had been comrades in arms, but that was not all they had been. When he had died, when his fate had changed forever - his last thoughts had not wholly been for himself.

But...
No falsehoods. No illusions. That was what he had promised. ]

Ah, true. Time runs poor in dreams...not that I've much of those any more. [ It's what makes this, everything about this, so surprising.

That last bit gets a sidelong glance, a slight huff that stirs the veil. What a thing to say... ] Hah. Are you turning into our mentor now, Sid?

[ There's a tinge of gentle amusement to his voice. ]

[obsidien]

[Even if he were to frown right now, Fray would not see it behind the mask. Nevertheless, Sidurgu does it anyway.]

Do not take that tone with me. I have done enough mentoring in my time, and it does not suit me. [Even if he knows he must do it again in the future to ensure that the spirit of the dark knight lives on and a new generation takes up his soul crystal... He would rather be student-less right now, and enjoy it. As much as he can, in any case.]

[beaffrayed]

[ That earns another stifled laugh, another twitch of his shoulders. Sorry, Sid, for the amusement at your expense. ] Hah!

Think of it this way, Sid...now you'll be ready for it, when another student stumbles upon you. You never know, aye?

Besides...it's not for us to choose our burdens, is it. [ Oh, they became dark knights willingly, but what had come before...what had come after...neither of them were able to control that. ]

[obsidien]

[Sidurgu has to shake his head. Trust Fray to be the reasonable one between them. He knows, all right. He knows he must, and he also knows that their lives are too volatile to simply make a comment about their future and expect it to come true.

Fray is proof of that volatile life. He's aware enough to admit it.]

Only if it's an actual student, and no child in need of a roof over their head. I daresay there are others who can fill that role.

something something laying there

[perpetualspark]

[The depravity of this place reminds him of the nobles and elites he once knew—though their perversion still pales in comparison, really, more so because they were bound by the laws of physics—yet it seems that "human" nature is the same everywhere. Desire and desperation are a constant presence for those who haven't shed that very nature...

Which is all to say that he's very, very out of place. He was too cautious and pragmatic to pursue the whispers he heard in salons with the uncomfortably wealthy, and after his rebirth under the Eye of Darkness any desires he may have had were washed away with his god's powers, and none of his fellows would look at him covetously. Why would they, truthfully? It means the gazes he's experienced here have felt even more piercing in their unfamiliarity, but the eyes on him don't prepare him as he draws to a halt as a man towers and... sniffs him?

Alva stares at Sidurgu, buffering for a moment.]

...Is there something I can assist you with, good sir?

[can't you at least say hi before you start scenting a guy, geez,]

[obsidien]

You smell odd. [A comment about his findings rather than an actual answer-- that's good enough of an explanation, isn't it? ... No, likely not, and he recognizes it as such, even if vaguely.

But what does Sidurgu do about it? After a beat to think, he decides he won't do a damn thing, not even a quick apology.]

Far more than the rest here, and yet I do not know how to quantify it.

[perpetualspark]

[That's absolutely not enough of an answer, and ignoring that, it's also something most people would find incredibly rude. Alva's not sure if should take it as rude, because "odd" could mean just about anything.

His lips purse together, and his gaze drops to the floor as he speaks. Humans don't have a particularly keen sense of smell—at least compared to other species, and scent was not something the Eye of Darkness saw fit to improve—but there's a fragrance that he can only attribute to the man before him. Not an unpleasant one, but... well. Odd, like he said.

Hm.]

If I were to make an assumption, the scents and their peculiarities likely have to do with this realm, as the powers that be here seem intent on toying with us.

[That feast... He wasn't a fan, not at all.]

What the purpose of the smells are I can't say, though I would not be surprised if it was similar to the food.

[well, he's absolutely going to be surprised,]

[obsidien]

[Sidurgu shakes his head. He wouldn't even know how to quantify it himself, he's just an Au Ra. And one that's getting a bit frisky at that.]

I would not call you food-- no, not the same sort of rancid, poisonous meals as the ones offered. [His tail swishes as he leans in even more.]

Something better, I would wager.

[perpetualspark]

[Ah, is he...?

Alva clears his throat, feeling equal parts flustered and flattered.]

That's a bit bold, don't you think? It sounds like you want to eat me.

[He... does not know how to flirt. He's trying to, though.]

[obsidien]

[Sidurgu's tail starts to twitch back and forth, a small motion that begins from the tip of it. He's coming down from being a predator, he's already caught his prey-- now he just has to savour it.]

Do I? [A shrug, accompanied but a soft noise in his throat, like a rumble.] Perhaps I do.

[Now he starts to lack all respect for personal space, leaning in even further, going as far as placing his hand on the wall behind the man as if boxing him in. However, there's still space to get out of the way, Sidurgu's long arm affords a large escape route.]

Will you run from me?

[perpetualspark]

[For a moment, Alva is tempted to escape—there's no oath of celibacy for someone of his standing, no, but intimacy was something he swore of for his own good all that time ago. He doesn't need to hold and be held by another, but at the same time...

All he can think about is submitting to this stranger, when there's no strings attached. They know nothing of each other, and that's why Alva stays—or at least that's how he justifies staying to himself, too stubborn to admit he wants to please and to serve.]

No, I won't.

[He huffs, something that's almost a chuckle.]

I'm too old for games of cat and mouse. Why have a chase if I'm willing to be devoured?

[obsidien]

[Sidurgu's tail wags harder. On the one hand, it's sad that he didn't have to hunt his prey, when the hunt is always half the fun (he's going to look back on this day and wonder what in the world why he's acting like some hypersexual, typical Ishgardian who can't seem to keep his bird in his trousers).

On the other hand? He wants to get to the good part right now.

He reaches out with his free hand, placing it on the man's hip, a firm grip that may lead to some interesting bruises later.]

My name is Sidurgu. You should call me by it while I am having my way with you.

sink down like precious stones

[salaryman]

Hello.

[ A cheerful greeting cuts through the gloom. He doesn't manifest through the black (how could he? he is already there) but walks toward the figure until they are close enough to properly see one another. His head gives a small tilt as he smiles. ]

This is all quite strange, isn't it?

[ Especially the way that the man looks is equally odd, but saying that aloud is a little???? ]

[obsidien]

[Aren't dreams meant to be a solitary experience? If anyone else were to show up, they tend to just be... well, just there, and not actual people. And yet here is an actual person, Sidurgu can be sure about that right now.]

"Strange". [Sidurgu snorts.] A mild word for this situation. You're clearly not that disturbed.

[Or has one odd coping mechanism.]

[salaryman]

It's best to be mild in case something odder comes along.

[ He tilts his head to the side as he continues to smile. ]

To be honest, this is all quite troubling. [ But! ] It'd be more troubling to be troubled. [ Perhaps, there is some logic to that? There are certainly times when he loses his cool, but he doesn't feel like this should be one of them. Is it instinct that tells him so? Yuuto can't be certain, but it may just be his nature. ]

I'll panic if our lives end up in danger.

[obsidien]

[He can make some sense in that logic... but only some, and Sidurgu has to roll his eyes when he hears "troubling to be troubled". He sounds like one of those pretentious philosophers who attempt to be leaders of the people and try to advise the masses on what sorts of lives they should lead. He might not actually be saying any of the sort, but close enough for Sidurgu to not like it.

Blergh.]

Your words bring to mind many things. But as of now, you sound like you're someone who doesn't know what to think when something "strange" is happening. [An oversimplification? Perhaps.

But Sidurgu has never been one to silence his own opinions.]

[salaryman]

Can't you say that it's more likely so many "strange" things have happened that I want to see where they'll go before reacting?

[ However, whatever offense that might be felt isn't. He already is laughing as he gives his counterpoint in the form of a question. His shoulders lightly shaking as they walk along together. ]

Ah, it is nice to meet you. I'm Kigai Yuuto. [ He reaches into his suit to pull out a thin metal case. Upon opening it, it has a small stack of business cards. Slowing his steps to stop, he turns to hold his card out to the man and bows just slightly. Indeed, the business card says: "KIGAI YUUTO. CIVIL SERVANT." Along with the address and phone number of his work. ]

You can call me "Yuuto," however. Rarely does anyone call me "Kigai."

[obsidien]

[He squints at the card before leaning back and frowning-- Sidurgu can't read that. Not because he can't read but... that script is only vaguely familiar to him and yet he doesn't know it at all.

So he just has to take the man's word for it, what his name is and what not.]

Sidurgu. That is the only name you need to know me by. [Then he turns around, black-scaled tail swishing.] Best to speak while moving. Your lack of surprise or any emotion aside, there may be more happening here, or waiting to happen.

[salaryman]

[ Yuuto picks up his steps to follow after the man. He doesn't recognize the language that "Sidurgu" comes from, but even if he did, he doesn't think it would matter. He is, after all, speaking to someone with quite a lot of dragon bits.

Is it right to use the word "bits?" Probably not. But since it is in his head, he believes it will pass without any incident. The water makes soft clip-clap sounds as he hurries along next to him. ]

First and foremost, I apologize. The corner of my business cards ended up a little damp so I'm sorry for the lack of planning on picking a better carrying case for them.

[ He tips his head. It feels right to say that much, first. ]

Still, you also think something is happening? It certainly feels rather oppressive doesn't it, Sidurgu?

[obsidien]

Hmph, "oppressive". [He may snort and huff, but he will not refute that-- he thinks it's incredibly accurate for their situation.

But unlike most, Sidurgu's conditioned reaction to oppression is to break it down, to get rid of the source and free himself, as he's been taught. Unfortunately, there's nothing to break down in this place because it's just a mass of dark water and the platform they're walking on.

Not having an appropriate target is stressful and annoying. It makes him wag his tail even more out of frustration.]

But no, I don't think something is happening yet.