— villainy wears many masks

[somatosensory]

WHO: aristaeus & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: month of october
WHAT: catch-all
WARNINGS: will update as needed!

NOTES: Starters will be in the comments. Feel free to hit me up at resurrectionist or at the event planning comment for plotting.

LINKS

• CR MEME
• OOC PLOTTING
• PERMISSIONS
• OPT-IN/OUT
• IC INBOX

WILDCARD OPTIONS

CR: OPEN TO ALL; GEN-FAVOURED OFFERING:

• KNOCK ON WOOD - General woodland encounters; he'll be escorting/teaming up with Johanna (exilire) but the woods are tricksy so it'll be easy to run into people. BONUS: Monster encounters
• GO BIG OR GOURD HOME - Feast and Harvest Hunt meet-cutes. For the Feast, I'm interested in: grablenuts, will-o-the-whiskey and elysium particularly. For the Hunt, he'll probably be the hunter.
• PARADE - No solid plans. He'd be really pressed about body-swapping.
• WAYWARD SUN - Quite probably going to try to fight the Horseman to be honest.

© tessisamess

Comments

⇀ kirigan;

[somatosensory]

[ from here. ]

( aristaeus folds his arms across his chest as the other man speaks, listening. it's not the answer he'd expected — his fault for going in with any kind of assumptions. but he has his answer now, and has a rough idea of how to proceed. )

I don't typically attack things that don't attack me first.

( to be clear. years and years of conditioning engraining that need to give an opponent the chance to turn aside, to be reasonable, before taking things to their logical conclusion.

would a shadow be so considerate? )

And if I'm supposed to be seducing you to a nefarious end, that probably says more about you than it does me.

I have been booped!

[cruelyethuman]

[What an interesting word. Typically. A Qualifier that doesn't belong in a sentence proclaiming innocence, yet here it is. The Darkling cocks his head-]

Ah- but it has happened.

[What were shadows, if not the darkness used to hide the sins too big to live in the light. It housed secrets.]

Is that how you see fighting. As a seduction. Perhaps you will merely confirm my deepest wants, luring me in to trouble. Then again, we're dead. How much more trouble could we get in to.

[somatosensory]

Sounds like you're not averse to a little trouble. ( to put it mildly.

part of him is surprised, honestly, with the vibe he's getting ㅡ part of him is still very much aware of the other man, of his posture, and how ready he'd been to fall back on violence.

the violence, itself, not a deal-breaker but he hadn't been lying about being tired and hungry. a shower, likewise, wouldn't go amiss. )

[cruelyethuman]

[It's curious, how they almost match. Like a warped mirror, and not the one before them. But one with the glass bulging from heat, the silver running down the back to distort the image even more.

How they almost fall back to the same stance, the facial expressions so like his own but alien enough to set off alarms somewhere in the back of his mind.]

I'd prefer not to.

[Violence was a way of life, a necessity. But they were dead, and shadow or not, this man didn't look like an enemy.] What brings you here?

[somatosensory]

A job.

( hardly glamorous, but it turns out even the afterlife isn't immune to capitalism. what was surprising was the number of people he'd run across while out here. was it desperation or curiosity that drove them out here? both? because he was willing to bet that next to none of them were locals. )

Like I said, a man's gotta eat. ( bluntly, matter-of-fact. it hadn't occurred to him that this would be the subject of doubt. look at him: he's not going to get by on rabbits and whatever else can be scavenged out here. not for the long term, at any rate. )

Though now I'm wondering what the deal with that, ( chin jerking in the direction of the mirror, ) is.

[cruelyethuman]

[Greed, then.

A longing for security of where the next meal is coming from. The details that come to him in the tiny flicks of his gaze that he allows to linger on this man - they could almost be related. The sharp cheekbones and the width of his shoulders.

Making note of it, if only because they are so similar, the Darkling sees the clothes, the lack of gesturing as the man talks. The near-statuesque posturing.]

We are dead, lack of food cannot make us any more dead.

[It could possibly lead to suffering, though. But he looks to the mirror again, the twin backs presented to them.]

Magic? A trick of some kind. [Or--] A trap.

⇀ mavis (closed)

[somatosensory]

— if we act like prey, they'll act like predators

"HARVEST HUNT"
[ CW: language, possible violence and/or questionableness, ari talking to himself like it's nbd ]

( the game is simple enough: get in, get out, keep anyone else from achieving that objective. it's the kind of thing he'd enjoy based solely on how well in plays to his strengths.

not that the bragging rights don't hurt.

still, that doesn't mean it's not without its challenges. his ability to orient himself hasn't quite adjusted to this new place, which has thrown off his usual methods of navigation. one hand kept to the wall on his right, refusing to break contact, as he follows the line of the wall to the nearest break.

it's a crossroads. )

Fuck. ( it's murmured, low and furious. he should have anticipated something like this. should have brought something along to mark the paths, because while this is far from insurmountable it's going to cost him time and leave him exposed.

you're getting complacent. pallas' voice in his ear, all silky condemnation, as he looks left and right to determine his best course of action. backtracking is the logical choice but it grates on him, the idea of sacrificing his progress like that. )

Yeah, well — ( he reaches for one of the buttons on his shirt, snapping it free and discarding it. ) — guess I'm improvising.

[telepathy]

[ the corn maze is the only place in town that's quiet.

stygia is a constant cacophany of idle thoughts, crowding shoulder-to-shoulder around mavis, squeezing her until it feels like there's little room for her. so she slips off, tries to put some distance between herself and others, and sits down in a corner that she believes is at the edge of the corn maze to put her head between her knees and catch her breath.

no one can see her, she tells herself, so it's alright. her fingers thread through her hair, the gentle scrape of nails soothing her scalp. stimulation that soothes and distracts instead of overwhelms.

she feels a little less nauseous for it. and also able to pick out a single, brightening star in the constellation of voices. like a radio signal growing stronger as static clears up.

it's him.

she lifts her head, alert, rabbit-like. her heart picks up. she has a sense of his movements, can hear an unfamiliar voice — you're getting complacent — because it's his memory and not hers, and there it is, a shirt button on the ground in front of her.

her fingers can't pluck it out of the dirt. it isn't really there. this is, she thinks, a comfort. she gathers what focus and control she has and tries to shove at him, as she has done before, tries to push him out and put some kind of wall there so he stops bleeding through and spilling into her. it's more of a limp wind than a shove. ]

[somatosensory]

( — well.

his attention snaps away from the maze, all thoughts of reaching the centre vanishing in the wake of this revelation. some things, it seems, persist even in death. )

Word to the wise, ( his tone is all conversational mildness. amusement making the edges curl like paper kindling. ) in future, you might want not to react quite so violently. It tends to give the game away.

[telepathy]

You're welcome.

[ for saving his life. again. she ignores the rest both because she doesn't want to hear it and because she doesn't want to ask how else could you react? violence is what she knows. her whole life has been violent.

she gets onto her feet, slowly, like she is afraid he will somehow hear the noise. ]

[somatosensory]

( aristaeus clicks his tongue, chiding. he can't see her, can't hear her, not in any real sense of the word but this way of communicating is far more familiar to him than it is to her.

not that he needs to be able to see her to know that she's about to do something unwise. )

For making it easy? ( keeping her talking. he knows what she'd meant, of course, but she can't honestly expect him to thank her for what she did. not when she'd still run in the end. )

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hoping to be caught.

[telepathy]

[ it's not just his words. his thoughts are laid bare, muddled in with her own. more intimate than just overhearing. it feels like they come from her, too. keep talking, keep talking, no — that's not her. she doesn't want to keep him talking. that's his urge.

because he wants to find her. right. the game. ]

You're wasting your time.

[somatosensory]

Funny how many times I've heard that.

( running the gamut of desperate to furious. mavis just sounds — resolved, perhaps. determined. she's going to do what she wants regardless of the cost, because she believes it's the best — perhaps the only — option.

just as well that he's always enjoyed a good chase.

he angles his head to the side, listening. there's another participant nearby, their heartbeat rabbiting. )

⇀ feast (open)

[somatosensory]

— here's to the nights that turned into mornings

"FEAST/BARDIC BLITZ"
[ CW: alcohol, possible altered states, festive shenaniganry ]

( festivals aren't really his thing.

still, the promise of free food had been enough to draw him out. after the oakwood misadventure, he'd needed to replenish himself, and the spread was so vast and varied that even someone dubious of the local hospitality would have struggled not to find something suitable.

aristaeus, who has never had such qualms, had assembled a plate for himself that looked large enough to feed three people, and has been picking over its contents for most of the evening. the savouries, in particular, seem to be a favourite of his, although occasionally, he might be persuaded to try something sweeter.

for anyone wanting to dance, he's inclined to offer a polite rebuff: ) I never learned.

⇀ johanna (closed)

[somatosensory]

— a night of dark trees

"LANTERN HUNTING"
[ CW: possible violence, language, and metaphysical bullshit ]

( serene might've been charming, his current purpose notwithstanding. it's certainly the most green he's seen in a single area in recent memory — certainly without a team of gardeners doing their best to force it into some semblance of order.

( nostalgia is a strange sensation, it turns out. like pressing down on a bruise that hasn't quite healed. )

myrtille catches him at the gate and spins her story. it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots on this, not when she's selling the whole thing with the sincerity of a true-believer.

those bastards never stood a chance. )

So, ( a cigarette is dug out of his jacket pocket, set between his teeth as he searches for a matchbox, ) just how many people do you think she's caught with that little story of hers?

[exilire]

[ she'd received the network message, they all had. and for some reason, she'd asked aristaeus to accompany her into the woods, in lieu of morpheus. it'd been an easy choice, in her mind — he's a hunter, he's proficient with a knife, he'd undoubtedly be more than helpful if they encounter something nefarious or dangerous.

she doesn't trust him, but she's counting on that unpredictability to potentially be a boon, in this scenario.

they make their way past myrtille, heading deeper into the fog-laden forest, and aristaeus digs in his pockets for a smoke and something to light it with, as she walks beside him in companionable silence until this point.

and has to huff a short laugh, at his question. ]

The question should be, how many are they still short, in their prerequisite for this blood sacrifice?

[ she shakes her head. ]

Obviously they haven't filled their quota, yet.

[somatosensory]

( striking a match, aristaeus bends his cigarette toward the flame, grateful that for all the weather is just this side of glacial there hasn't been an excess of wind to worry about yet. )

Is there a hard cap on something like that?

( idly curious. surprisingly, the inefficiency of human sacrifice seemed to be one of the few things that the empire and the unconquered territories could agree on — the former thinking them pointlessly barbaric while the latter didn't have the bodies to spare.

evidently the netherworld either didn't have those particular concerns, but then they'd just gotten a fresh batch of imports, hadn't they? by all accounts just brimming with power and potential. )

[exilire]

In my experience, yes, actually. Both humans and the demonic tend to be very exacting and precise, where their spells are concerned.

[ she turns her head to smirk at him, as they pick their way carefully through the dense trees and mist. ]

Unfortunately we don't know whether that cap here, in this land errs more on the side of five drops or five tons, do we.

[somatosensory]

( johanna flashes a smirk at him, and he wonders if she might not be fucking with him — his barometer for bullshit has expanded considerably since waking here, but demons might be pushing it.

still — ) Five tons feels like it'd be overkill. ( he says, the world's most unlikely optimist. )

Not that I wouldn't like a better look at that Lantern.

[exilire]

[ it doesn't occur to her to hold back with regard to what she dabbles in, any longer. she's had an extended conversation with him, and from the sound of it they come from an entirely different timepoint with regard to societies — if he comes from earth at all, and there's a definitive possibility that he doesn't, although she hasn't clarified that just yet.

hell is just another dimension, after all, compared to the waking world and the dreaming, and even the silver city — so there could very well be some quantum bullshit going on with respect to where they drag people into this place, from.

he brings up the lantern, and she nods at him. ]

Same here, actually...if it's crafted from the blood and bones from someone previous, and has usefulness beyond just a source of light, even mystical properties perhaps, it might be helpful to learn what sort of magic they might be dealing with further in this place.

[ and the more they know, and more artifacts they obtain, the better off here they might very well be. ]

[somatosensory]

( bless her. he's going to have a lot of questions, he can already tell. )

This is starting to sound like the beginning of a bad joke.

( "when is a lamp not a lamp?" when some old lady of dubious morals sends you into a (clearly) haunted forest to retrieve it. )

Could be the person that made the initial blood sacrifice.

⇀ oakwoods (open)

[somatosensory]

— a sad waste of opportunity

"OAKWOODS"
[ CW: implied violence against animals (harpies), aritsaeus' questionable palate ]

( while the woods are indeed lonely, dark and deep, it's clear that you're not the first brave soul to venture forth. campsites are scattered along your path, many of them abandoned; however, over the course of your journey, you might stumble upon one that is not.

a fire blazes merrily in its centre, a rudimentary spit assembled over the flames. closer inspection reveals an impressive shank of meat roasting slowly, its edges just beginning to crisp.

its scent is rather inviting. )

I hope you don't mind your meat unseasoned. ( the voice belongs to a man — who, you can assume, is responsible for the current set-up. every now and again, he'll reach over to turn the spit to keep the meat from burning. ) Sadly the previous inhabits didn't think to bring along any spices.

[arrancar]

( already having sampled the prey within the woods, grimmjow arrives at the campsite, lured in more by the crackles of a fire burning than the waft of meat in the air. a restless sits in front of a spit alone, an odd sight to behold when most of the ones he has come across are in search of the lantern.

grimmjow approaches him with his hands buried into the pockets of his pants.

by the scent, he recognizes the hunk of meat to be harpy. )

I like them raw. ( with their spirits intact. it's far more fulfilling than anything cooked. )

[somatosensory]

( his gaze flickers sideways, taking the newcomer's measure — considering, more specifically, whether or not that had been a threat or just an attempt to shock him. )

Then I suggest you get climbing. ( oh so very bland. he plucks up the knife he'd set beside him, prodding at the meat.

a few harpies are lingering in the immediate vicinity, although they keep a respectable distance. which is just as well. nobody enjoys having their meal interrupted — much less by obnoxious chatter. )

[arrancar]

( it was neither a threat nor an attempt to shock him — just simply the truth.

letting out a snort, blue eyes flickers over towards the harpies with a sneer. )

Already had my fill. ( he stops short of the pit, opposite of him. ) Humans would get squeamish with eating something like this, so ( he looks down at him with mild interest. ) you're either special or not human. Which is it?