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SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL β JUNE 2026 EVENT/TDM
TDM & EVENT: SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL
α
Prologue: The Pull
Sleep's wave comes unevenly after the heat of the last few weeks stack upon each other, weighed down by something that lingers even after consciousness fades for Veteran Vessels. A newer Vessel's dreams begin in familiar places before the edges darken and lose definition. A tide rolls in slowly, black and glossy, thick like oil spreading across water. Its scent arrives first, unmistakably sweet and heavy, clinging to the senses and pulling you down.
The tide slips through the dream space, seeping beneath doors, climbing walls, pooling around ankles and wrists, remaining close enough to be felt without forcing itself forward. The sensation draws attention rather than fear, offering warmth rather than the pressure of scary resistance.
For younger vessels, or those uninterested in seduction, the darkness softens as it rises. The feeling becomes comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket, accompanied by the sense that something beautiful waits ahead. The promise is simple: a place where indulgence is allowed, where desire is not something to be denied. For older vessels, the closeness carries intimacy: The tide glides along skin with deliberate intent, lingering at throats, hips, and mouths, its presence suggestive without revealing a form. Breath seems to brush against them, and the promise offered is indulgence without apology, to be wanted and consumed without consequence.
The tide does not claim them unless they allow it. Consent comes quietly, through a thought, a movement toward it, the choice not to pull away. When that choice is made, the water surges upward, swallowing the dream and pulling them beneath its surface.
You all will awaken within a Garden.
The tide slips through the dream space, seeping beneath doors, climbing walls, pooling around ankles and wrists, remaining close enough to be felt without forcing itself forward. The sensation draws attention rather than fear, offering warmth rather than the pressure of scary resistance.
For younger vessels, or those uninterested in seduction, the darkness softens as it rises. The feeling becomes comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket, accompanied by the sense that something beautiful waits ahead. The promise is simple: a place where indulgence is allowed, where desire is not something to be denied. For older vessels, the closeness carries intimacy: The tide glides along skin with deliberate intent, lingering at throats, hips, and mouths, its presence suggestive without revealing a form. Breath seems to brush against them, and the promise offered is indulgence without apology, to be wanted and consumed without consequence.
The tide does not claim them unless they allow it. Consent comes quietly, through a thought, a movement toward it, the choice not to pull away. When that choice is made, the water surges upward, swallowing the dream and pulling them beneath its surface.
You all will awaken within a Garden.
α
Play A Twisted Little Game
( content warnings: substance use, intoxication themes, addiction/temptation, manipulation and coercive influence, loss of inhibition, altered mental state, psychological horror, compulsive behavior, predatory/hunting instincts, animalistic aggression. )
The Garden stretches outward in impossible directions, lush to the point of excess, resembling a marvelously distorted fairy tale. Enormous flowers crowd the paths, their petals thick and glossy, colors saturated beyond reason. Trees twist into arches and spirals, their branches heavy with glowing fruit that hangs low enough to brush against shoulders. Massive mushrooms dot the landscape, their luminous caps casting soft light across the ground like candles and leading the way. Even where you step, flourescense lights your path.
Golden pollen drifts constantly through the air, clinging to skin and hair. Breathing it in brings a spreading warmth that softens one's restraint and dulls hesitation without fully erasing it. Laughter comes more easily, thoughts slow, and the urge to linger strengthens with every sweet breath you take.
The fruit is irresistible, for the record. It looks perfect, tastes even better, and leaves behind a pleasant haze that encourages indulgence. Those who partake may find themselves giving in to impulses they normally deny, choosing comfort over caution, distraction over vigilance, and pleasure over restraint. None of it feels dangerous, is how it entices you. How can it, when it feels this good?
Beyond fruit and flora, the Garden reshapes itself to suit each Vessel's wants and needs. It conjures whatever they love most, presenting it without shame or judgment. A clearing may reveal an entire pyramid of chilled pudding, each cup untouched and gleaming with sugar. A flower may open to offer fragrant tobacco and a lighter placed carefully within its petals. Sheltered spaces may contain alcohol, sweets, games, toys, music, drugs, books, instruments— anything capable of drawing the vessel deeper into indulgence.
The objects are real. They feel real, food tastes real, and they all satisfy, too.
The Garden responds eagerly to its use ever time. Paths widen, flowers bloom brighter, and the air grows warmer as indulgence continues among vessels. At the same time, subtle shifts begin to take hold. The pollen thickens, the sweetness becomes heavier, and vines creep closer to well-traveled spaces, brushing against ankles and legs as though testing their very boundaries. The more vessels indulge, the more the Garden thrives, and the harder it becomes to imagine leaving when everything they desire is right within reach.
Under a pink moon that hangs low above the canopy, the forest responds differently to Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings. Scents sharpen and layer richly in the air. The hum of life beneath the soil grows louder, vibrating through bone and animal instinct. The floating pollen enhances instinct rather than dulling it. Hunger, territoriality, the urge to roam or chase press closer to the surface. The Garden may conjure open stretches of moonlit forest for running, fleeting silhouettes that invite pursuit, or rival presences that vanish just ahead of your grasp. Indulgence here may take the form of movement, dominance, or surrender to instinct beneath that glowing sky. The more these instincts are indulged, the more the forest reshapes itself to accommodate them, you, clearing paths forward, closing them behind, and making your hunts all the more exhilirating.
Token Effects
Offering Effects
Beastkin Tokens & Lycan Offerings Specific Effects
Golden pollen drifts constantly through the air, clinging to skin and hair. Breathing it in brings a spreading warmth that softens one's restraint and dulls hesitation without fully erasing it. Laughter comes more easily, thoughts slow, and the urge to linger strengthens with every sweet breath you take.
The fruit is irresistible, for the record. It looks perfect, tastes even better, and leaves behind a pleasant haze that encourages indulgence. Those who partake may find themselves giving in to impulses they normally deny, choosing comfort over caution, distraction over vigilance, and pleasure over restraint. None of it feels dangerous, is how it entices you. How can it, when it feels this good?
Beyond fruit and flora, the Garden reshapes itself to suit each Vessel's wants and needs. It conjures whatever they love most, presenting it without shame or judgment. A clearing may reveal an entire pyramid of chilled pudding, each cup untouched and gleaming with sugar. A flower may open to offer fragrant tobacco and a lighter placed carefully within its petals. Sheltered spaces may contain alcohol, sweets, games, toys, music, drugs, books, instruments— anything capable of drawing the vessel deeper into indulgence.
The objects are real. They feel real, food tastes real, and they all satisfy, too.
The Garden responds eagerly to its use ever time. Paths widen, flowers bloom brighter, and the air grows warmer as indulgence continues among vessels. At the same time, subtle shifts begin to take hold. The pollen thickens, the sweetness becomes heavier, and vines creep closer to well-traveled spaces, brushing against ankles and legs as though testing their very boundaries. The more vessels indulge, the more the Garden thrives, and the harder it becomes to imagine leaving when everything they desire is right within reach.
Under a pink moon that hangs low above the canopy, the forest responds differently to Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings. Scents sharpen and layer richly in the air. The hum of life beneath the soil grows louder, vibrating through bone and animal instinct. The floating pollen enhances instinct rather than dulling it. Hunger, territoriality, the urge to roam or chase press closer to the surface. The Garden may conjure open stretches of moonlit forest for running, fleeting silhouettes that invite pursuit, or rival presences that vanish just ahead of your grasp. Indulgence here may take the form of movement, dominance, or surrender to instinct beneath that glowing sky. The more these instincts are indulged, the more the forest reshapes itself to accommodate them, you, clearing paths forward, closing them behind, and making your hunts all the more exhilirating.
Token Effects
β’ Tokens may temporarily lose track of time spent in the Garden.
β’ A Token who indulges repeatedly may find decision-making delayed or softened, hesitating when asked to leave, choose violence, or break comfort.
β’ Emotional responses skew toward contentment and nostalgia. Irritation and fear are harder to access unless provoked sharply.
β’ Tokens may unconsciously rationalize indulgence, defending their choices even when questioned by others.
β’ After waking, Tokens can retain phantom cravings or habits tied to what they indulged in, persisting for a short time in the waking world.
Offering Effects
β’ Offerings may feel an increased urge to facilitate indulgence rather than prevent it, guiding Tokens toward comfort, distraction, or pleasure.
β’ Protective instincts soften; instead of guarding against danger, Offerings may prioritize keeping the Token relaxed and satisfied.
β’ Offerings might become indulgent themselves by proxy, gaining emotional satisfaction from watching or enabling their Tokenβs enjoyment.
β’ When indulgence is interrupted, Offerings may feel mild irritation or disappointment disproportionate to the situation.
β’ Upon waking, Offerings may recall the dream with unusual fondness, even if nothing dramatic occurred within it.
Beastkin Tokens & Lycan Offerings Specific Effects
β’ Beastkin Tokens may experience heightened body awareness, reacting more strongly to terrain, scent trails, and movement through space.
β’ Repetitive motion (running paths, circling clearings, pacing) can become grounding and soothing rather than restless.
β’ Lycan Offerings may feel compelled to remain nearby without overt guarding, choosing proximity over patrol or vigilance.
β’ Subtle pack dynamics can emerge naturally, with unspoken positioning, shared pacing, or mirroring behavior during indulgence.
β’ After waking, both may feel briefly unsettled by confined spaces or inactivity, as if the body expects continued motion.
α
I've Developed A Taste For You
( content warnings: sexual content, aphrodisiac/sex pollen themes, coercion and impaired consent, restraint/bondage, dominance and submission themes, group sexual activity, possessiveness/territorial behavior, altered mental state. )
Deeper within the Garden lies a secluded expanse enclosed by dense growth that blocks sound and sight, forming a space that feels deliberately intimate. Vegetation grows close together, walls of leaves and vines pulsing faintly with warmth. Narrow beams of filtered light illuminate patches of soft ground and clusters of flowers that drip thick, honey-like nectar.
The air here is saturated with pollen that acts as a powerful aphrodisiac. Breathing it in heightens sensation immediately, making skin more reactive, touch more intense, and proximity impossible to ignore. Every sound feels closer than it should. Every movement carries weight.
The vines guide bodies together, coiling around ankles, wrists, and torsos, holding vessels in place until closeness is acknowledged. Resistance causes the grip to tighten insistently, while participation loosens it and rewards it with warmth and pressure that borders on pleasure.
The flora actively takes part for those who allow it. Vines may restrain, blindfold, or position bodies, holding them steady or pulling them closer. Some respond to voice and movement, tightening rhythmically, teasing, or delivering sharp sensations when struck or commanded. Flowers open at the sound of breath and noise, releasing thicker clouds of pollen that intensify arousal and blur restraint further.
Nectar drips freely from petals, sweet and sticky, suited for tasting, smearing, and shared indulgence, its effects compounding with every use. For Vessels willing to surrender more fully, the Garden offers deeper participation through vines capable of penetration, domination, and restraint, shaping themselves to suit acts of intimacy, control, and your very desire.
Every indulgence strengthens the ecosystem. The more Vessels give themselves over, the more responsive and possessive the Garden becomes, reshaping itself around desire until intention and influence begin to bleed into one another.
Under the same pink moon, visible here only in fragments through breaks in the canopy, Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings feel instinct surge sharply to the surface of their consciousness. Scent becomes overwhelming, layered with skin, nectar, and earth. Territoriality, dominance, and physical closeness intensify, shaped by their nature rather than restrained by it. Vines will respond readily, coiling like extensions of instinct, guiding movement and contact. The urge to claim space, to press closer, to bare teeth or mark territory grows stronger beneath the moonlight. The Garden magnifies these impulses, encouraging surrender to physicality and sensation as the forest itself seems to breathe in time with their wild pulse.
Token Effects
Offering Effects
The air here is saturated with pollen that acts as a powerful aphrodisiac. Breathing it in heightens sensation immediately, making skin more reactive, touch more intense, and proximity impossible to ignore. Every sound feels closer than it should. Every movement carries weight.
The vines guide bodies together, coiling around ankles, wrists, and torsos, holding vessels in place until closeness is acknowledged. Resistance causes the grip to tighten insistently, while participation loosens it and rewards it with warmth and pressure that borders on pleasure.
The flora actively takes part for those who allow it. Vines may restrain, blindfold, or position bodies, holding them steady or pulling them closer. Some respond to voice and movement, tightening rhythmically, teasing, or delivering sharp sensations when struck or commanded. Flowers open at the sound of breath and noise, releasing thicker clouds of pollen that intensify arousal and blur restraint further.
Nectar drips freely from petals, sweet and sticky, suited for tasting, smearing, and shared indulgence, its effects compounding with every use. For Vessels willing to surrender more fully, the Garden offers deeper participation through vines capable of penetration, domination, and restraint, shaping themselves to suit acts of intimacy, control, and your very desire.
Every indulgence strengthens the ecosystem. The more Vessels give themselves over, the more responsive and possessive the Garden becomes, reshaping itself around desire until intention and influence begin to bleed into one another.
Under the same pink moon, visible here only in fragments through breaks in the canopy, Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings feel instinct surge sharply to the surface of their consciousness. Scent becomes overwhelming, layered with skin, nectar, and earth. Territoriality, dominance, and physical closeness intensify, shaped by their nature rather than restrained by it. Vines will respond readily, coiling like extensions of instinct, guiding movement and contact. The urge to claim space, to press closer, to bare teeth or mark territory grows stronger beneath the moonlight. The Garden magnifies these impulses, encouraging surrender to physicality and sensation as the forest itself seems to breathe in time with their wild pulse.
Token Effects
β’ Sex pollen dramatically increases libido and lowers inhibition. Restraint becomes difficult to maintain in close proximity to their Offering/Tether.
β’ Vines respond more readily to Tokens, coiling around wrists, thighs, or hips at their unspoken command, assisting in pulling partners closer or holding them in place.
β’ Heightened dominance instinct. Tokens may feel compelled to physically position their Offering or guide additional partners into shared contact.
β’ Delayed climax and intensified arousal curve. Stimulation builds slowly but relentlessly, demanding escalation before release is possible.
β’ Stronger territorial urges that may manifest as possessive touch, visible marking (bites, scratches, imprints left by vines), or insistence on being the focal point.
β’ Increased openness to group dynamics. The pollen dulls jealousy and replaces it with competitive hunger or exhibitionistic thrill.
β’ Sensitivity to visual and auditory feedback. Moans, trembling, and visible pleasure act as accelerants.
β’ After climax, arousal may reignite quickly if vines remain in contact, creating cycles of repeated stimulation.
Offering Effects
β’ Sex pollen heightens physical responsiveness. Arousal triggers quickly and intensely, even from indirect contact or vine pressure.
β’ Vines tend to restrain or spread the Offering more often, guiding posture and exposing vulnerable areas to touch.
β’ Increased suggestibility. Coaxing from their Token/Tether or physical encouragement from vines feels compelling and pleasurable rather than coercive.
β’ Shorter path to orgasm. Climaxes may arrive suddenly and powerfully, especially when restrained or held in place.
β’ Heightened desire to be touched, filled, or pressed againstβphysical closeness feels necessary rather than optional.
β’ Greater willingness to participate in shared intimacy. Additional partners may feel inviting rather than threatening.
β’ Emotional attachment intensifies during and after climax. Physical pleasure deepens the tether bond.
β’ Post-climax sensitivity spikes; even light contact from vines or skin may provoke aftershocks or overstimulation.
α
Won't You Say That You Will
( content warnings: psychological horror, paranoia, identity distortion/impostor themes, stalking and predation, body horror, transformation, emotional manipulation, obsession/fixation, abandonment themes, possessiveness, isolation, anxiety, mistrust, loss of control. )
There is no sense of departure from the garden following the dream's transition, no moment where the air changes or the ground gives way. One second the dream feels familiar enough to be trusted, and the next it no longer behaves according to the rules it had just taught you. Space stretches in ways that do not correspond to movement. Pathways that should lead somewhere simply continue, folding back on themselves, their angles all wrong.
Suddenly, it's quite cold. Terrible winter winds brew and ice creeps through the newly forming geometry. There are no signs explaining where you are or how you arrived to this now strange, blank canvas of a place stricken with the worst of winter cold. The Backrooms assert themselves through repetition and absence, through hallways that refuse to end and rooms that look as though they were abandoned mid-thought. The air smells faintly of dust and something chemical, thick clouds following your breath. The longer you remain, the more your sense of sequence erodes. It becomes difficult to say whether you have been walking for minutes or hours, or whether the others near you have always been there or only just appeared. Perhaps you'll start losing the feeling you have in your extremities.
Beneath that confusion runs a quieter tension, one that does not feel native to the architecture itself. The space reacts strangely to closeness. When you move nearer to another presence, the lights flicker more often. When you pull away, corridors seem to lengthen. There is an impression, difficult to articulate but persistent, that something is monitoring these shifts, responding the most to hesitation. What does it want from you . . . ? No clue.
That uncertainty carries a familiar weight. Somewhere within the structure of this place is One, though he does not appear in any singular form. His influence manifests through moments of contradiction: doors that almost open, sounds that resemble footsteps but never resolve into a source, and the persistent sense that reassurance is being offered and withdrawn at the same time. There is no overt threat in this presence, but there is desperation threaded through it, a need for proximity paired with the fear that closeness will inevitably end in loss. The environment reflects this conflict, holding you near without fully committing to keeping you around. What's worse— Strange encounters here may happen when paths overlap, when attention lingers too long on a singular spot, or when curiosity outweighs caution.
A Skin-Stealer may be noticed first. At a distance, it looks human enough to pass, moving with an awkward imitation of natural motion, but when closer, details fail to align. Skin does not quite fit the frame beneath it, stretching or sagging where it should not. If you interact with it directly, so much as a call, you may experience a strong sense of familiarity paired with discomfort, as though someone you recognize is wearing themselves incorrectly. Yes— They shall take the form of those you know. Prolonged exposure induces disorientation and mistrust with others. Vessels may begin second-guessing the identities of those around them, hesitating before responding to voices or approaching new figures. If the Skin-Stealer makes physical contact, panic responses spike sharply, and the instinct to flee or isolate becomes overwhelming. The safest response is distance and verification through group presence; these entities struggle to maintain cohesion when closely observed by multiple people at once.
Jerry's presence, on the other hand, is quieter but far more . . . Dangerous? He appears as a thin, dark bird, out of place and almost gentle against the harsh geometry of the Backrooms. Encountering Jerry produces an immediate emotional softening. Characters may feel an unexpected calm, nostalgia, or a pull toward simple comforts that do not logically exist here. Physical contact deepens this effect rapidly. Those who touch or hold Jerry may find their priorities shifting, attention narrowing, and thoughts circling around him with increasing intensity. Speech becomes repetitive, often affectionate or reverent in tone toward Jerry. Decision-making slows, replaced by an urge to stay close and keep Jerry safe. Over time, this devotion can override self-preservation entirely. Characters caught in this state may resist leaving Jerry behind, argue against practical plans, downplay obvious threats, and at their worst— worship or even wish to sacrifice for Jerry. Separation is possible, but it is emotionally painful, leaving behind a hollowed, grieving sensation that lingers long after the encounter ends.
Partygoers announce themselves through atmosphere before they are ever seen. Decorations appear where they should not exist as posters promising celebration and bright colors clashing violently with the monotony of the halls. When Partygoers enter an area, the tension shifts sharply to predation. These entities observe first, testing reactions, learning movement patterns. Characters may feel watched even when alone, with pressure building behind the eyes and a rising sense of being studied. Once engagement with them begins, Partygoers will attempt to herd rather than chase, using obstacles, noise, and misinformation to separate individuals from groups. Physical contact initiates rapid escalation of these effects. Those seized by their arm-mouths will experience intense sensory distortion, pain quickly giving way to numbness and intrusive thoughts that do not feel entirely their own. Early stages of transformation may cause affected characters to fixate on group dynamics, viewing others less as allies and more as resources or threats— until they too, may become one of them. Resistance is possible but time-sensitive, and intervention by others is critical to limit a Vessel's transformation. Partygoers do not act alone, and escape from them often depends on breaking line of sight and disrupting their coordination rather than brute force against them— You'll hardly ever win, in that case.
Throughout all of this, One's influence grows increasingly erratic. The Backrooms respond more dramatically to moments of connection and separation, lights stuttering when bonds are tested, hallways bending when someone considers leaving another behind. His presence presses closer in moments of intimacy as scrutiny, a palpable fear threaded through these reactions, and the sense that reassurance is being sought but never believed. Echoes of his internal conflict surface in fleeting impressions: the urge to cling paired with the certainty that abandonment is inevitable, the desire for closeness tangled with the impulse to wound before being wounded. This tension mirrors the emotional core underlying everything here, from promises feeling fragile, even when spoken sincerely, to Vessels finding themselves questioning not only the intentions of others, but their own.
The longer you remain, the clearer it becomes that progression here is not linear. There is no single path forward, only moments of proximity that rearrange the space around you. What follows this depends not on where you go next, but on who you choose to stay near, who you pull away from, and which promises you are willing to believe, even when you suspect they may not last.
The dream does not conclude so much as it fails to hold together. Somewhere within the shifting halls of the Backrooms, One becomes convinced that what anchored him has slipped away, and that belief fractures his ability to remain. The space reacts unevenly as his presence withdraws: corridors stretch and then collapse into themselves, lights hum without source, entities lose their rhythm, and the emotional pressure that bound Vessels together spikes sharply before snapping. For those still inside, sensations intensify all at once, where closeness turns unbearable, attachment feels abruptly severed, and attempts to reach for reassurance meet only distortion— until the dream can no longer sustain shared coherence. One by one, Vessels are torn awake mid-thought or mid-motion, breath catching as consciousness returns too fast, leaving behind the sense of being dropped rather than released, with unresolved desire, fixation, or unease lingering long after your eyes open.
Something else has awakened. "Awareness".
Token Effects
Suddenly, it's quite cold. Terrible winter winds brew and ice creeps through the newly forming geometry. There are no signs explaining where you are or how you arrived to this now strange, blank canvas of a place stricken with the worst of winter cold. The Backrooms assert themselves through repetition and absence, through hallways that refuse to end and rooms that look as though they were abandoned mid-thought. The air smells faintly of dust and something chemical, thick clouds following your breath. The longer you remain, the more your sense of sequence erodes. It becomes difficult to say whether you have been walking for minutes or hours, or whether the others near you have always been there or only just appeared. Perhaps you'll start losing the feeling you have in your extremities.
Beneath that confusion runs a quieter tension, one that does not feel native to the architecture itself. The space reacts strangely to closeness. When you move nearer to another presence, the lights flicker more often. When you pull away, corridors seem to lengthen. There is an impression, difficult to articulate but persistent, that something is monitoring these shifts, responding the most to hesitation. What does it want from you . . . ? No clue.
That uncertainty carries a familiar weight. Somewhere within the structure of this place is One, though he does not appear in any singular form. His influence manifests through moments of contradiction: doors that almost open, sounds that resemble footsteps but never resolve into a source, and the persistent sense that reassurance is being offered and withdrawn at the same time. There is no overt threat in this presence, but there is desperation threaded through it, a need for proximity paired with the fear that closeness will inevitably end in loss. The environment reflects this conflict, holding you near without fully committing to keeping you around. What's worse— Strange encounters here may happen when paths overlap, when attention lingers too long on a singular spot, or when curiosity outweighs caution.
A Skin-Stealer may be noticed first. At a distance, it looks human enough to pass, moving with an awkward imitation of natural motion, but when closer, details fail to align. Skin does not quite fit the frame beneath it, stretching or sagging where it should not. If you interact with it directly, so much as a call, you may experience a strong sense of familiarity paired with discomfort, as though someone you recognize is wearing themselves incorrectly. Yes— They shall take the form of those you know. Prolonged exposure induces disorientation and mistrust with others. Vessels may begin second-guessing the identities of those around them, hesitating before responding to voices or approaching new figures. If the Skin-Stealer makes physical contact, panic responses spike sharply, and the instinct to flee or isolate becomes overwhelming. The safest response is distance and verification through group presence; these entities struggle to maintain cohesion when closely observed by multiple people at once.
Jerry's presence, on the other hand, is quieter but far more . . . Dangerous? He appears as a thin, dark bird, out of place and almost gentle against the harsh geometry of the Backrooms. Encountering Jerry produces an immediate emotional softening. Characters may feel an unexpected calm, nostalgia, or a pull toward simple comforts that do not logically exist here. Physical contact deepens this effect rapidly. Those who touch or hold Jerry may find their priorities shifting, attention narrowing, and thoughts circling around him with increasing intensity. Speech becomes repetitive, often affectionate or reverent in tone toward Jerry. Decision-making slows, replaced by an urge to stay close and keep Jerry safe. Over time, this devotion can override self-preservation entirely. Characters caught in this state may resist leaving Jerry behind, argue against practical plans, downplay obvious threats, and at their worst— worship or even wish to sacrifice for Jerry. Separation is possible, but it is emotionally painful, leaving behind a hollowed, grieving sensation that lingers long after the encounter ends.
Partygoers announce themselves through atmosphere before they are ever seen. Decorations appear where they should not exist as posters promising celebration and bright colors clashing violently with the monotony of the halls. When Partygoers enter an area, the tension shifts sharply to predation. These entities observe first, testing reactions, learning movement patterns. Characters may feel watched even when alone, with pressure building behind the eyes and a rising sense of being studied. Once engagement with them begins, Partygoers will attempt to herd rather than chase, using obstacles, noise, and misinformation to separate individuals from groups. Physical contact initiates rapid escalation of these effects. Those seized by their arm-mouths will experience intense sensory distortion, pain quickly giving way to numbness and intrusive thoughts that do not feel entirely their own. Early stages of transformation may cause affected characters to fixate on group dynamics, viewing others less as allies and more as resources or threats— until they too, may become one of them. Resistance is possible but time-sensitive, and intervention by others is critical to limit a Vessel's transformation. Partygoers do not act alone, and escape from them often depends on breaking line of sight and disrupting their coordination rather than brute force against them— You'll hardly ever win, in that case.
Throughout all of this, One's influence grows increasingly erratic. The Backrooms respond more dramatically to moments of connection and separation, lights stuttering when bonds are tested, hallways bending when someone considers leaving another behind. His presence presses closer in moments of intimacy as scrutiny, a palpable fear threaded through these reactions, and the sense that reassurance is being sought but never believed. Echoes of his internal conflict surface in fleeting impressions: the urge to cling paired with the certainty that abandonment is inevitable, the desire for closeness tangled with the impulse to wound before being wounded. This tension mirrors the emotional core underlying everything here, from promises feeling fragile, even when spoken sincerely, to Vessels finding themselves questioning not only the intentions of others, but their own.
The longer you remain, the clearer it becomes that progression here is not linear. There is no single path forward, only moments of proximity that rearrange the space around you. What follows this depends not on where you go next, but on who you choose to stay near, who you pull away from, and which promises you are willing to believe, even when you suspect they may not last.
The dream does not conclude so much as it fails to hold together. Somewhere within the shifting halls of the Backrooms, One becomes convinced that what anchored him has slipped away, and that belief fractures his ability to remain. The space reacts unevenly as his presence withdraws: corridors stretch and then collapse into themselves, lights hum without source, entities lose their rhythm, and the emotional pressure that bound Vessels together spikes sharply before snapping. For those still inside, sensations intensify all at once, where closeness turns unbearable, attachment feels abruptly severed, and attempts to reach for reassurance meet only distortion— until the dream can no longer sustain shared coherence. One by one, Vessels are torn awake mid-thought or mid-motion, breath catching as consciousness returns too fast, leaving behind the sense of being dropped rather than released, with unresolved desire, fixation, or unease lingering long after your eyes open.
Something else has awakened. "Awareness".
Token Effects
β’ Proximity dependency intensifies; physical distance from their Offering/Tethers causes agitation, shallow breathing, and intrusive thoughts about abandonment.Offering Effects
β’ Heightened sensitivity to tone and micro-expressions. Neutral gestures may be misread as rejection or withdrawal.
β’ Compulsion to seek verbal reassurance, even if they suspect the reassurance may be false.
β’ Increased fixation on touch as proof of presence. Tokens may repeatedly initiate contact to confirm their Offering/Tether is still there.
β’ Jealousy spikes in enclosed corridors; other figures in peripheral vision (real or not) may trigger possessive responses.
β’ Emotional volatility rises quickly from desire to defensiveness if they sense hesitation.
β’ After separation or forced distance, lingering obsession or replaying of final words heard may persist into waking.
β’ Intensified urge to control or stabilize their dynamic; Offerings may feel compelled to define their relationship in absolute terms.
β’ Heightened dominance or surrender impulses depending on personality baseline, with less moderation than usual.
β’ Increased temptation to test loyalty through emotional pressure or loaded statements.
β’ Possessiveness sharpens in tight, enclosed spaces; they may position themselves physically between their Token/Tethers and perceived threats.
β’ Strong reaction to perceived emotional withdrawal. Reassurance may be given urgently, excessively, or manipulatively.
β’ Physical closeness feels like leverage as well as comfort.
β’ Suspicion of abandonment may cause preemptive emotional distancing or sharp, reactive behavior.
β’ After waking, unresolved tension may manifest as fixation, defensiveness, or a need to revisit the conversation.
αNOTES
β€ Welcome to Somnia's TDM, which doubles as a gamewide event!
β€ This TDM is considered game canon.
β€ 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.
β€ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
β€ This is the last TDM before the game's arc change, which will skip a TDM round— Thus, the next TDM will be scheduled only for October. This App round has no character cap, so please feel free to hop on before our break or another character cap!
β€ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
β€ This TDM is considered game canon.
β€ 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.
β€ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
β€ This is the last TDM before the game's arc change, which will skip a TDM round— Thus, the next TDM will be scheduled only for October. This App round has no character cap, so please feel free to hop on before our break or another character cap!
β€ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
no subject
It would be a good one. There is a very short list of people that Silco would be lulled into lowering his knife for. Not even most of the people he's come to know in Manhattan, for all that he works with them, for all that he might even like some of them. He doesn't trust any of them, especially not in a place like this.
No, there's really only two names on that list. So of course the dream would pick one of them. How better to make him lower his defenses?
But it does look like Greed, without the unsettling feeling that Silco had before, that there was something beneath Felicia's skin, something wrong about her. Greed just seems - like himself. Unsettled, unhappy, on edge, but still the man Silco has come to know far better than he ever expected to.
That doesn't mean he's not a threat. Silco knows all the things that can happen in these dreams. But Greed talks like the man he knows, mentions things kept only between the two of them. Silco doesn't sheathe his knife, but almost unconsciously, he lowers it.]
You saw them too, then.
[That he knows he has to prove he is himself is enough to make that clear. Silco wonders what he must have seen, thinks of all the people Greed has lost. He's not a man prone to sympathy, but he remembers that feeling when it became clear that the person he saw was just - a suit.
He watches the carbon slide across Greed's skin, and oddly, that's what decides him. There's still a whisper in the back of Silco's mind: it might all be a lie. But he remembers seeing Greed like this before, when all his worst secrets spilled out of him, the first thing that really made him think there was something truly different about Greed.
Quick as a wink, Silco's knife slips into its sheath.]
No. I'd rather not break my knife on you. It would be a waste.
[He's still wary. He can't help it. But he takes one step closer, because if that is really Greed -
They'll do far better in this place together.]
CW: Mild Blood, Death, Major Death and Bones in the Image Link
[Coolly, Greed swings his toe out on the hinge of his heel, and the carbon at his jaw carefully slinks down, cutting itself sharp to a neckline at his throat.] Yeah, you could say that. [The way he talks is distancing. As if he's trying to pull where he can't, stuck between two rocks not even all his given abilities could hope to crack. Whatever he saw hadn't been Envy, but it'd been close enough. Something grotesque, taking on shapes that could do the most, possible damage.]
[The Sin steps once and pauses before tipping his head into his shoulder with a resigned, half-exhaled huff.] Can't argue with you there. Better to keep something sharp on you in any case. Might be able to tear through it just fine, but I've got a feeling that won't stop it for long. Whatever it is.
[The space between them grows, purposeful, and when he finds the next bend in the hall, he slows to a crawl. Greed chases a look one way (nothing), then another (more corridors, stretching endlessly absolute), and the points of his teeth grind. The resulting spark, popping off his lip, red and spitting.]
Not that I'd stop you, anyway. If anything happens, go for the arrays. [He clips, shorter than he's been with Silco in some time.] Dad's kill switch. It's how Wrath managed it the first time. I won't hold it against you. [The slits of his eyes shake in their sockets. A ping-pong expression that doesn't have any idea which side it'll land on.]
[He's never had regrets. Least, none that he's ever voiced. But it would improbable, nigh stupid, to say he hasn't found a few in his years. A few that have come back to chase him. To hunt him down like he's been physically (twice, if not more). Wanted men didn't come without strings, and he's no different. No different and as the next chunk of hall breathes (shortening, lengthening, and twisting itself like a squeezed artery), the former homunculus laughs. Bitter, low, and more empty than his pit could ever hope to be.]
Ha - ! That's real, fucking rich. She's really a piece of work, isn't she? [Greed rakes his claws up his forehead, grinding lines into his hair while that core of his crackles violence between his knuckles.] What? What do you want me to say here, exactly? I am what I am. That's all I'll ever be. [Whether he's talking to Silco or the void, it's hard to say. But there's a desperation in their tether that's new. One that has no problem ripping itself apart, tearing itself to shreds, as it fights tooth and claw to find an answer he doesn't fully know.]
[The Sin flicks his fingers, shooting a fleck of blood on the wall, and immediately, it trickles away to ash.] I'll always outlive you. And maybe, this place has taken some things from me, but that's just how it is. Can't change it. [Finally, he breathes, and the ice that traps itself in his lungs has little to do with the environment.] I've been around for 200 years, Silco. Only reason you and I are standing here now is because -
[Because he gave it all up. Because he gave away everything. And he's poised to do it again. To take that same, fucking gamble, if it means he can guarantee something better at the end of it.]
[Greed drops his hand, and his claws scream themselves white.] - no regrets, right? [He turns, then, and the run of his eyes is a different kind of wanting. No longer thirsty, no longer hungry, but almost begging. As much as a thing like him can, anyway.]
Should have turned around and left when you had the chance. Really, it would have been the smart thing to do. [His expression is a blank slate. However, his face tells the real story. One that's conflicted, suffocating, even as the truth of the matter weights itself heavy on his tongue.] Avarice, schatz. I told you from the very beginning, I'm not a person. Not really. So whatever rules you think apply, they don't with me. [Mindlessly, he drags his boot, earning little but dust.]
[And oh, not even he can hold back the coming flood.]
If it comes to it, don't bother looking. We don't leave a single thing behind. [His foot extends, his knee bends, before he quickly retracts himself again.] Not a body, not a scrap. Once the 'Stone's spent, that's it. [He hadn't seen Lust's final moments, but he'd been filled in on the details. How the end of her came in a barraging torrent of fire, smoking her to absolute ash. And it's that, that he shares. Without sympathy, without remorse, and without a single moment of doubt.]
[Greed's closer a second later, though the gap he leaves is obvious.] Kinda been trying to save you the trouble. There's no point. If she decides she's had enough, there won't be anything left for you to find, Silco. [His fingers extend, running scratches up the leather of his thighs.] Nothing returning to nothing. That's the price. And you, ha! Fuck. Well, suppose we already knew where we stood there, right?
[Right?]
[He almost reaches, almost tries to grab Silco's hand. Yet, for a third time, he pulls back; like a thorn, squeezing into itself. There's no words he can possibly say to take back the sting of that reality. There's no excuses he could possibly make to ease away the burden. It's simply the law of things. The law of his making, and the truth of his existence, horrid and final as it may be.]
[He figures, the least he can do is tell the man. Tell him, so he won't have to face a confession he doesn't know how to make.]
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But he does listen, to each and every word, and it paints a vivid picture. What Greed thinks will happen to him - no, what he clearly expects will happen, sooner or later. Maybe it's part of his plan, maybe it's just a consequence that he feels is inevitable. Whatever it is, it's final. Gone, nothing left behind.
He tucks other pieces away too: Greed, so easily handing Silco - Silco, of all people, murderer and manipulator and monster - the trick to taking him down. All the assumptions, Greed is always making assumptions about what Silco wants, what he should do. But more than that, what lingers is the uneasiness, the sense of desperation flickering across the tether. Nothing Silco's ever felt before from him.
And so he stays where he is, watching Greed pull away, return, pull away again. He doesn't know what to make of it, but it unsettles him as well.]
You don't know that it will be the same here. She's changed you, as she's changed all of us. Perhaps there would be something to find, and even if there wasn't - do you think I've never lost anything before?
[A ridiculous suggestion. Greed knows he's lost everything. He's lost everything, and he's survived, and that's part of what makes him so keen to hold on to what he has. But if he loses it all again - he would, at least, survive long enough to make someone pay.
Silco's not the sort of person to spin pretty lies, to say he'd find a way no matter what, that there must be some way. He knows that if Greed disappears like that, it's very possible there would be no way to fix it. Though, of course, what he doesn't say: he would, indeed, try.]
Don't throw your life away on anything that isn't a sure bet. If that's what happens, if you're gone - and if it's me you're worried about - [which seems ridiculous, because who ever would, but then why are they having this conversation?] then you'll have to make sure that if you do die, it's for a fucking good reason.
[Silco doesn't swear that often. He was never all that prone to it, even in the mines, and he was careful to smooth out his speech when he became the sort of person who often mingled with topsiders. Who needed to soothe them, and trick them, and use them.
But he does, when it's needed.]
And don't give me that nonsense about saving me the trouble. That's for me to decide. It will always be my decision, not yours. I'm not one of your little followers who needs you to help them live their life.
[For all his sharp words, Silco still steps closer. He is not built for comfort, sees little use in it, rarely gives it. But Greed, out of everyone here, may be the only one besides Silco's daughter that knows he can give it. Not easily, not with the gentle support that most people would want. But he is capable of it, even has a certain amount of practice, for all that he might pretend otherwise.
He reaches out, catches Greed's hand, because he saw that twitch, that brief movement. If he's reading it wrong, that's fine. This is the comfort he can offer, in this moment.]
'Nothing', is that what you call yourself? Hah. You're the biggest pain in anyone's ass there could possibly be. That's not nothing.
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[Though, it's not Silco's ledger he has in mind. He has some of those details already. The blood on his hands doesn't matter. The lives he's taken don't count. And sure, maybe, if he thought about it longer, some of that would bother him. The way the man had so easily wilted his wrist, dropping a toxin down to fall and pump his kingdom so full of poison, anyone else would be hard to find the ends justifying the means.]
[But is that even true? No, he doesn't think so. Cornered animals do everything they can to survive. And Piltover hadn't given them much to begin with. Vague of an idea he has of that, it's not too hard for him to put two and two together and finish off the puzzle.]
[Maybe it's better to be cruel, if only to be kind, or however the old story went.]
[The Sin's eyes narrow, and he barely registers his boots as they line up with Silco's. There is one thing they have in common and maybe, it's the cruelest of them all. Because he's not going to address what the man has to say. Not yet. Not until he's got some (part) of it out. His one-two punch, aiming to sting.] And if it were Jinx? [He starts, tapping his nail at the side his chest. On a human, it's where a heart should be. On him, it's where one will never, no matter who tries to plead the case.] Don't pretend you wouldn't be singing a different tune, schatz. If the same thing had happened in Zaun as it did Xerxes, then what. What, exactly, would a man like you do.
[And how, really, would he look at him then.]
[Despite how cold he is, he doesn't let go of Silco's hand. Not for a second. No, instead, he presses their tangled fingers right against his chest. Hard enough, forcefully enough, so the man can feel, even for a second, the weight of millions and imagine them all as a single, solitary person.]
[The most important person.]
[The former homunculus scoffs and as one of the bulbs in the hall begins to screech itself pale, his eyes shut under a helpless grin.] Got a little too much ambition to think of myself like that. You're still trying to put this to terms you understand. [He can't fault Silco for it. He hasn't given him everything, after all.] We were never supposed to exist, Sil. [His voice bites, and the lick of carbon at his neck shifts for a third time, promising the monster underneath.] We don't follow the same rules. There's a give and take with everything, and nothing comes without its price. The law of equivalent exchange.
[The tether from his end writhes. A moving thing of nerves and rot, squirming with the anticipation of whether it needs to cut itself loose or hold on (hold on, latch, and lock itself down) while it admits the worst sin of all.]
[The light behind them blares and as it yells its finale, the glass of it shatters. A pop, softer than a gunshot, drowning part of the hallway dark.] I don't plan it. [Dying, though he doesn't think he has to say it at this point. Greed opens his eyes, and the heaviness of them bleeds red against his skin.] I'm not on some wild mission here, Silco. But no one else can go through that door, less they want to ante up the cost themselves.
Thing is, Truth doesn't let you choose what the payment is. It makes that decision for you, and it's usually the one thing you need the most. [That, he'd learned, simply by looking at both the Elric brothers once.] I can. A little bit off my Philosopher's stone, and I pass through. Sleep, on the other hand. [He flattens his tongue at the point between the roof of his mouth and his teeth.] I don't know. Don't know if it'll even work, but there's no sense in sitting on it, wondering if everything will fall the way I want it to. Always knew there was gunna be a risk.
[He's delaying. Delaying and stalling, but that feeling hasn't gone away. How it sinks its nails into his skull like knives (like chipped, shark teeth), and the former homunculus snarls at nothing.]
You can't. [Can't what? He's not saying. He's just pushing. Pushing into that space, challenging where there's no fight at all because it's the only thing he knows how to do.] You can't take that same risk. And you can't really look me in the eye and tell me you would. It was never her fault, just the whole shitty deck you were dealt. But this time, you've got a chance, Silco. Call it getting back what you were always owed in the first place.
[The tires are spinning, and he doesn't care how smoked they get. He'll grind them down until there's nothing but rims.]
And maybe, she has changed me. Just makes it all the more important that you - ["Watch your back." "Take someone with you." "Don't follow down a road when you don't know where it leads." They never leave his lips, but they're almost, almost in the tether. In a wail as wordless as the souls he carries, asking for a truth.]
[Greed's smile widens, forced as taut as a bow string, and his claws nip Silco's knuckles.] Don't lie to yourself. You made yourself what you are, I'll never deny it. Won't judge you for it, either. I don't give a shit what you've done, what you chose to do. Piltover and the rest of their bullshit can go to hell for all I care. But -
[It comes, then. Not the storm, not the tailwind of people long dead, crashing down to tear the whole thing open. Just a simple sentiment. A graveyard's kiss, choosing the kindness instead.]
- I need you. You to keep on doing it. Whatever we do, whatever we try to do, I need you to keep it up. I need -
[So many things. So many, endless things. That's the nature of him, in the end. He can't change what he is, same as Silco can't change what he's become. They're already set in stone. Wretched creations, born out of wickedness and circumstance.]
[But he knows what he wants. He knows it, even if there's no word he can come up with. It's something he can't ask for. Something he knows, deep down - ]
[That everyone, everywhere, wants something they can't have.]
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A question both of them already know the answer to. Silco was willing to give up his dream, trade everything for Jinx's life. All the pain he went through, the pain he caused, the hatred directed at him. Carving away at himself until he became the monster that Zaun needed, an open wound on the city he was doing it all for. And still, he would have made it all pointless, just to keep her alive.
It's not as dramatic as all that, really. Even now, Silco thinks he would have found another way. But her life was never on the table. And the answer is clear, they both know it. Silco would have done anything, whatever it took, to make everyone involved pay. He would have torn everything down.
But it doesn't matter, because that isn't what happened. His eyes narrow. He doesn't pull his hand away, as if that contact makes a difference, can make Greed understand.]
Don't give me what-ifs and expect it to change my mind. You know my answer to that, and you know it doesn't matter. I don't care if you're thousands of suffering souls in the shape of a man. How you were made can't be undone, so no matter how much you might hate yourself for it, I couldn't care less. All I care about is what you do now. Who you are.
[And that's the last he'll say on the matter.
The rest, though. That's more difficult. It feels like there are things he doesn't understand, things that Greed isn't explaining - and Silco is sure that's the case, really. That he's missing important context for some of these things, and so it's impossible to properly understand.
All he can do is listen, and put together whatever pieces of the puzzle he has available. In the half-darkness of the hallway, the red of his eye is, still, a dull glow.
It's no surprise to him that Greed's plan involves considerable risk to himself. This is just what Greed does - call himself a monster, act like he's some sort of devil, and the run off to sacrifice himself for other people. Of the two of them, Silco has long since known who the true monster was. It's not surprising at all that this is more of that, that Greed doesn't know if he'll make it back, that he wants to plan for that.
Silco doesn't like it. He never will. When it comes to pure logistics, to planning and supplies and ideas, he can run the Nest alone. But Greed is the one who's brought everyone there, he's the one who gives them all someone to turn to in a way they never would if it were Silco. And he knows that - he's never inspired love. Fear, hatred, respect. But not love.
With him alone in charge, it'll become something else. And for all that Greed pretends he's an awful creature, in fact, Silco knows the man has been an (ugh) good influence on him. Tempered some of his worst impulses, even without meaning to. Just listen to him, talking like Silco is someone safe to leave things with. Like he wouldn't just take it all and use it for whatever he deemed fit.
Like he can be trusted.]
I can't do what you can do. And you're right - I wouldn't.
[He would sacrifice himself for Jinx. But the rest of the city could fall into Sleep's cult and worship wildly for all he cares, so long as his own were safe. So long as he doesn't lose what few things he's found for himself here.
Isn't that exactly what they're talking about, though?]
But I won't let what you've built fall apart.
[Cool, and direct. To Silco, it sounds like Greed is making another deal. If I fall, you'll keep going. And in truth, Silco might not have. He opposes Sleep because Jinx does, because Greed does. He dislikes her, but it hasn't risen to the heights of that burning thing that drove him to do everything he did in Zaun. It might never.
So it makes sense, to him, for Greed to ask that. If something does happen to him, Silco will be left to his own devices, and those tend towards nothing good. It would be all too easy to give in to his worst impulses, and where would that end? With what they've built becoming something different, certainly. Something selfish. With all the people Greed's collected becoming something for Silco to use, or leaving.
He knows what he is.]
I can't promise I'll do it the way you would. But I will try, at least, to not let it all crumble. But if you want to be certain it's done right, you'll have to stick around.
[Because how is it fair, how is it at all fair, to trust Silco, the last man in the world who deserves it - and then just disappear?]
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[And certainly not how he'd come to wear a new face, with little to no recollection of who he had been before.]
[Purification wasn't just a process to boil him down. That had simply been the means. No, what it really meant, what it had left him with was - ]
[Greed lifts his shoulders, tired and resigned, and the slit of his smile grows thin on his jaw.] Gunna have to correct you there, schatz. I don't hate myself. No reason to. It's just the reality of it. [His grip on Silco loosens, suddenly aware that he's bit the man (even if the scratch of his claws had been little to nothing).] What I mean is, mortals have one of two ways of lookin' at it. They either want that power for themselves, or they tend not to like me very much. Only been a couple of exceptions through the years.
[And they are, were, exceptions. Even the ones he'd freed had been doubtful at first. The smell of him, most likely, twitching something feral out of the animal parts that had been forced upon them by far worse men.]
[The Sin nips through the inside of his lip, earning another, sizzling round of static for his troubles.] I know you won't. [Let what Jinx, what him, what they all have built. Much as there's still plenty to be desired (and plenty to do to achieve it), the building itself is a hub. A hub of the bitter masses, gathering together as they traded solutions to survive another day.]
[Just like always.]
[The last bit of red bounces down his throat, throwing his 'Shield into a gruesome backlight, and the former homunculus shrinks his fingers off Silco's wrist.] Don't expect you to. Got a pretty clear look at how you are, Sil. It would be stupid of me to think, otherwise. [His eyes chase: his hand, Silco's, the thin of the man's wrist, and how red is, truly, his color.]
[Funny, how things mirror themselves.]
[When he comes in closer, whatever feigned anger is gone. The weight of it, trembling down along with his carbon as he exposes bits of himself from both ends.] There's more to it, though. But, like I've said before, I can't really be giving it all away. It's just part of my nature. [The more he talks, the more the hallway shifts. No more does it flex and stretch, providing an escape route. No longer do the lights pulse, hanging on the decision on whether or not they should go out completely or yell until they pop. There's a steadiness. A firmness and as things shrink, as they begin to collapse, the former homunculus finds himself nearly chest-to-chest with the man. Their breathing space, eaten to the point of a needle.]
Already have a good idea how this'll go. Never got any wild ideas about it. Rules, hmn? [He tilts his head (a curious thing usually, solemn, now).] Fact is, I could ask it of you. Could see how long you'd be willing to stand it. But I was right, Silco. Much as you can stomach it, I don't think you could forever. [The man had said it himself, after all: "You know jealousy, but you don't feel it - you can't know how it rots inside you." And yeah, yeah he does know it, but he's never felt it before. Never known the sting of it, save when looking his own kin dead in the eye and asking, always asking, why any of it mattered.]
[His rot is a different kind. Craving, wanting. Never, truly satisfied. Always hungry for something, even if that something is, by definition, a concept he shouldn't and couldn't have. Though, if he could think about it (if he'd let himself), that's not true, either. Hadn't Gluttony wanted for Lust's admiration, even if it was only for a sense of real family? Hadn't Envy turned on itself, if only so it couldn't witness the reality that anyone, much less a human, would show it a hint of sympathy? Hadn't Wrath (Wrath, out of them all) taken a wife, raised a false son, as the one thing the miserable bastard had chose, all on his own?]
[Hadn't he (before, now) decided the parts of him he wanted?]
[It isn't shocking when he hears Ling's voice. A whisper of itself, sure. The brat couldn't be here, he isn't here. But after two years, the kid had a habit of creeping in when and where he wasn't wanted:]
["Then why are you in so much pain?"]
[Greed's face hardens. To sharper points and cutting edges that dig into every inch of him like a knife. Then, with nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders, he turns on his heel, leaving his fingers to hook the filter of the single cigarette left in his pocket.] Forget it. [Without a match, he strikes the hooks of his claws up the carbon of his forearm, drawing enough of a spark to light it. Two, quick inhales, and the tobacco burns a hole in the cold.] You ran into it, too, then? Someone I should know?