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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Comments

[eidxiety]

[Horns, she says, and Ain's lip briefly curls before he schools his expression down to something neutral again. It isn't as though this stranger cares about how much he hates them, he tells himself, and this time he more carefully steps back and makes sure no one is in the way this time. Until he can figure out why that burst of flame came from him, he shouldn't touch anything. It wouldn't do to crisp up all the food.

Luckily for the both of them, Ain is quite used to the edgy sort of way this strange woman talks. A lot of people he's known have said similar things.]

Is that so? Do you speak from experience?

[opheliac]

[she smirks at his question, playing the illusion that she does, indeed, speak from experience. except—!!]

Nope. [what a nasty little trick, but the leer on her doesn't waver in the slightest—her fingers lacing together as they rest behind her head.] — Cannibalism is where I draw the line. But! Pig intestine could be scrumptious if you're an egghead with cooking.

[a beat.]

Get it? Egg? 'Cause it's also a thing that you eat, and a head is another body part.

[eidxiety]

[Pig intestine... Ain thinks to himself that he's eaten worse things — Demon Realm food in particular had a bite to it, and the lemons had eyeballs that cried when the fruit was squeezed — but it still doesn't sound appetizing. If he had to choose between Demon Realm fare and pig intestine, he thinks he'd rather go hungry.

(Not that eating had ever been a requirement for him. Still, he can't say he doesn't like it — it's one of the most human things someone can do, and he likes the thought of himself as one of them.)

His face remains flat at the joke, though. Whether he does or doesn't get it is difficult to tell, since he gives no indication one way or another and instead hits her with:]

What if I was vegan?

[opheliac]

A leaf eater, huh? [the raven sucks on her teeth, making a wincing expression with her lips tug to one side.] Eeeesh, looks like your days are numbered already. Once we wake up, there won't be any grass for you to munch on.

[besides all the poisonous plants and vines flourishing in manhattan, she doesn't remember spotting not one seed that was good for the human body to consume.]

You better up your tolerance, Pal.

[eidxiety]

[He isn't vegan, but that's good to know... he thinks? That begs the question of what people eat here, though. As his friend Ciel once told him, fruits and vegetables were important for a balanced diet in people, which is why it was such a task getting any into their mutual friend Lu (who would opt to eat her weight in cake if she could). He said something about scurvy...?

Huh.]

What's the state of the world like outside of this? [Ain asks, mentally logging the fact that he's apparently dreaming, too.] It sounds almost like there's a famine...

[opheliac]

Boy, aren't we shooting our shot and hitting the target? [a point for him? except this news is probably something one would wish they didn't get right, surely.] — The joint is a dump. The canned foods are okay if you hold your nose; monsters to cook if you want to be dangerous, and plants if you wanna press your luck.

[options don't sound to be so great, and she continues on—blowing a strand of her hair away from her face.]

And the world is your bed; sleep on any street you want 'cause there's no such thing as a bed.

[unless someone crashes in a mattress store like her, except she isn't going to hand out that little detail. if ain survives the dream, he can figure it out himself.]

[eidxiety]

How hard are the monsters to fight? I've fought a lot of them before... before I was stuck in a dream, to be clear.

[That's basically how he and his crew got by on Elrios; there are monsters everywhere, and food came from hunting them, as inns or towns or restaurants were few and far between. They got used to hunting monsters from not only Elrios, but the Demon Realm adjacent to it. The thought of famine doesn't fill Ain with much hope — that means people are suffering, that mean this food on the table is a rare thing and he doesn't know if he wants to eat it or wants to save it for people suffering more than he is. He's still suspicious of it, too, but from a human's perspective, it's probably better to eat something suspicious...

Or maybe, because this is a dream, they'll all wake up starving and wishing that this was real. Hm.]

No one has built any inns or taverns? No houses?

[This world needs help, Ain thinks.]

[opheliac]

[she shrugs coolly, like her attention span is starting to stray away and she is possibly looking for an exit. it's a thing with her—how her enthusiasm can come and go like a blink of an eye, but jinx hadn't abandoned the conversation entirely. maybe the frustration of having to become this miss "information" for him hadn't quite surfaced.]

They don't die, if that's what you're getting at. Beat them into a pulp all you want; they'll just get up. And weren't you listening? When I say the place is a dump, it's a dump. Everyhing's kaput, kersplat, a junkpile. — You can't build anything if you don't have the tools.

[a beat.]

Unless you're me. And you can count me out in building a whole damn society. I'm not a kind girl, and being sweet makes me want to start a genocide. There are apartments and houses, but with broken furniture. So!! The floors will still be your best friend in the end.

[eidxiety]

I've been in lots of dumps... I'm normally sleeping in the woods.

[Ain doesn't notice the social cues from Jinx. He's oblivious to such things on a good day, which today is Not.]

Haha, if I said that I thought you were being nice and helpful now, would you start a genocide here in the middle of the party? Can I watch~?

[He's joking, to be clear, but that may be difficult to discern considering Ain's verbal tic "haha, heehee"s can mean many things other than "this is a joke, we are telling Jokes".]

[opheliac]

[so this person isn't as a goody-two-shoes as she had intended to describe him, and her face illuminates at the question.]

You can have the middle seat. [she suggests, her hands now resting firmly on her curved-shaped hips.] — The front row is already taken by someone else, and I'm not going to let you swap seats with her.

The name's Jinx. [she continues, deciding that this would be the best moment to introduce herself.] And before you ask, Jinx stands for Jinx. And that's all there is to it...!

[eidxiety]

[Ain's D&D alignment is "whatever is funniest at the time". He normally hangs out with a group of Chaotic Good Murderers™.]

You can call me Ain. Did you rehearse that line, by the way? [Or does everyone get to hear it... he wonders this with a little laugh.] You're funny, too.

[He promises not to steal the front row seat during the genocide.]

[opheliac]

I didn't rehearse; I'm just naturally funny. Not a lotta chuckleheads around here, so you're in luck bumping into me, Andy.

[getting tired of standing around, she shoves several dishes to the far left side of the table and climbs onto the counter. and despite being in a dress, she sits cross-legged with her elbows propped on each knee, cheeks resting on her palms.]

So! What's your story, Champ? Have horns always been your thing, or is that an accessory Nighty-Night gave you?

[eidxiety]

[He hangs out with a bunch of feral people most of the time, so he gets it. He feels like he'd be scolded for doing that, though, that his friends probably wouldn't like it too much.

...

Ain sits up on the table next to her after moving some more plates aside. Unlike Jinx, he sits cross-legged and dainty.]

No, the horns... and gross demon appearance are new. [Demon, Daemon, it's all the same word to him.] I don't normally look like this. I'm just an average human.

[He absolutely is not a human but go off, babe, lie your heart out to this girl.]

The last place I was at before finding myself here was a hot spring. But before that, my friends and I were involved in a big battle... haha, we were trying to win one of our friends her throne back after a coup. It's hard to explain, but my story isn't all that interesting compared to that. I was never royalty, after all~.

[opheliac]

"Gross"?

[she echoes, pretending to sound appalled by this claim, yet appearing rather amused that he is following suit with the way she is sitting. it's not every day she comes across someone who would be okay with her sitting on top of a table like this when it's meant for dining. maybe there's something to do this stranger after all.]

Oh, come on! Those guys can't help themselves. And besides, a wise man once said, "There's a monster inside all of us." — The demon look is just an inner reflection of who we are! And I would be the most badass beast out of everyone.

And!! You can't say "getting involved in a big battle" and tell me it's not interesting. Making someone pay is the most rewarding thing there is.

[eidxiety]

[Ain does not want to be a demon inside! He wants to be a human!! This is fucked up and he will complain to Sleep's HR department as soon as he, y'know, figures out how to do that and what's going on. For now, he's compartmentalizing the whole thing she just said. That goes into the mental filing cabinet of "fuck that"!]

Haha, well, have you ever fought a dragon? Or a little robotic sociopath who kidnaps one of your friends and straps a bomb to him? One of these is probably more realistic than the other, depending on where you're from~.

[opheliac]

Fought a dragon? Sort of. And a robotic sociopath sounds like my kind of fella, especially the bomb bit.

[a beat, suddenly realizing she should mention...] — I'm an expert, you know. You're looking at Zaun's tippy-top engineer genius! I'm so famous people are dying to get their hands on me. Literally.

[with her elbows propped on her knees and her fists tucked underneath her cheeks, she waits for him to continue his story with great fascination.]

So, tell me all about your buddy getting strapped to a bomb. Did he survive?

[eidxiety]

Oh~ you sound like you're pretty smart, then. That's good, because I don't understand any of that techy nerdy stuff.

[He laughs, but if she really wants a story...]

Well, my friend — I call him Mr. Half-Demon, on account of being half-demon — he usually walks at the back of our group. He's our sniper, and carries two very large, [Ain pantomimes shooting a gun,] gunblades on him, so he's always at the back of our group shooting over our heads. Well, because he was in the back, someone managed to grab him!

[He leans forward and mimes like he's grabbing something, hugging the open air in front of him.]

I'm honestly not sure what the conversation he had with his kidnapper was, but he was released back to us with a bomb strapped to his wrist a while later. I'm sure he convinced them to let him go, because he's the silver-tongued sort. Haha, but it was really easy to tell that he was out of sorts when he came back. He kept laughing nervously and swearing he'd be okay as the timer ticked down...

Beep beep! Haha~. [If Ciel could hear this, he would smack Ain upside the head.] Half of our group yelled at him for not telling us about the bomb sooner, because when he came back we didn't initially know for a few minutes. He glossed over it, like he didn't want us to know, or maybe he didn't want us to worry...? I'm not really sure. But we gave him a good dressing-down, and then two of our friends said— [Ain slightly raises the pitch of his voice to sound like Eve:] "Don't worry, if something happens, I'll build you a new arm". Haha, you should've seen his face!!

But the best part is that the story has a twist~. When we beat that little robot who kidnapped him, he revealed that the bomb-bracelet wasn't a bomb at all! Haha, it was just meant to scare him, and it worked! All it did was beep and flash lights at us. So yes, he lived, but I'm not going to let him live mistaking a blinky bracelet for a bomb down~.

[opheliac]

[throughout his story, jinx's face illuminates, and her eyes widen with excitement and fascination. she bursts into a laugh at the end of it, which is surprisingly more genuine than any of her fake or mocking chuckles. the bluenette shakes her head in disbelief, wiping a pink tear away from eyelashes.]

Ha ha ha! — That is the funniest shit I've ever heard!! Oh, you're so lucky; I wish I could have been there to see it happen.

[she opens her mouth and closes it, then rubs her cheeks to massage her now sore muscles from grinning way too hard.]

Except if I was there? I would have known right away it was a faker, but I'd keep my mouth shut just to watch everyone panic. Gosh, what a doofus.

[eidxiety]

You'd think the people that understand the techy stuff in my group would've known, but nope~.

[Then again, there's a difference between a bomb squad and people who use holograms and program robots. Not that Ain really understands that.]

You know a lot about bombs, though, it sounds like. How does someone even learn that without blowing their head off?

[opheliac]

Two words, Andy. [and with each word, she holds up her index and her prosthetic middle finger.] — Test. Dummies. If you want to be the greatest inventor alive, you need to have little piggies who are so desperate that they'll do anything for a sack of coins.