MOD EVENT #001

[oblivium]

A CHAOTIC RESPITE

It isn't rare for the seasons in the Netherworld to be a little erratic, though many days have passed now without much of a hint of its typical mercuriality, a good and a bad omen all at once. This respite is commonly referred to as the proverbial "calm before the storm", but it also marks the beginning of merrier celebrations. The Moons above are gilded silver, the twilight sky edged with faint pink and orange -- a sunrise phantasm, spilling over the horizon. It's an infrequent spectacle, accompanied by a dulcet breeze and light drizzles that seem to encourage growth nearly everywhere. Unfortunately, under its influence, people seem a little on edge, quick to anger, but no matter; around Stygia, Restless have begun hanging decorations and ornaments on trees and windowsills, left to catch the moonlight and give off marigold and ginger glows, warmly lighting up the city. Rather than fish, the smell of freshly ground spices permeates the air in the Harbors, Mirth keeps its doors opened to all, but just before the festivities officially begin, a cacophony of chimes resounds all over, a transmission difficult to ignore.

On the screen of your cellphone, nothing; only a voice, ragged, out of breath...

“The woods... Oakwoods! They've come alive! O-One minute he was complaining about the water seeping into his boots, and the next he was... he was being yanked up into the trees! We didn’t see what happened to him, but we heard... the screams, ohh, the screams. Please! Come to Serene, I beg you. This is our safest sanctuary, and the lan... oh, no... wait, no, please... please... NOOO--”

...and the feed abruptly ends, a dull chirr of static. Will you ignore the stranger's call for help and feast, or venture into the woods?

► I. KNOCK ON WOOD (OH PUCK, HE'S HOT!)

When you cross the gates of Serene, an old woman welcomes you, palm flat against her chest and disquiet in her eyes. Myrtille, her name. Oakwoods loom dense and dark in the distance behind her, groaning low as leaves rustle without wind. The Mourning Lantern was stolen, and malevolence rose in turn, dooming them all.

“It was once kept here, a sacred Artifact crafted from the bones of Serene's first founder, who gave her heart’s blood willingly to the woods in an act of contrition. It's the absence of the lantern that is contributing to the wood’s unusually active malice, and if you lot cannot retrieve it, then we must sacrifice another. Go! Take these torches and go, before Oakwoods swallow us whole.”

So you've decided to be brave. Commendable, or foolish? The wood is dark and shrouded in mist, and the trees crowd around you, an absent wind somehow whispering foul nothings in your ear as dead leaves rustle around your feet. Your Shadow basks in the murmurs, sensing the malign presence in Oakwoods as a faint, garbled scream echoes in the distance. You wander deeper and the canopy thickens, thin streaks of moonlight peppering the woods in deep patches of darkness. Behind you, a creature you can't see hisses, and a fluttering of wings nearby alerts you to the arrival of snickering harpies lurking on branches. “Dead,” they croak, in a sing-song chorus. “Dead as daylight.” Oddly enough, they seem content to just watch and stalk you, perhaps expecting you to die quickly, an easy and effortless meal.

It's a frustrating errand if you've ever known one. You barely know what you're looking for, and your Shadow thrives in the dark, taunting, coaxing. You hear it then; a haunting melody, the silhouette of a boy on a fallen tree trunk, strumming. “Come,” he says, with a voice that shimmers like the sun on moving water. If you remember what that's like. “Rest a while. Forget your troubles.” For anyone familiar, you'll recognize him as a Puck, famous prankster, and from his hand dangles a lantern.

► If you attempt to take the lantern from him, he'll immediately drop it to the ground, causing it to break. You may choose to kill him and offer his blood to the woods, or let him go and bleed in his stead. Myrtille should be able to repair what's left of the lantern once the offering's been made.
► If you politely ask to return it, he promises that he will... if you indulge him for the night.

No matter what you choose, you will come across camps, either on your way in or on your way back: pitched tents, most moth-eaten, and some containing vestiges of prior expeditions such as putrid corpses or rotten food. You've been wandering for a while, and sleep sounds terribly inviting. Unfortunately, a wind finally picks up, and leaves begin to blow around you. A nick, then a cut, then a slash reveal the leaves to have razor sharp edges. Sleep well yet? If you've spared the Puck, he'll encourage you to sit with him around a campfire, where he'll sing and tell stories. Or are they. Perhaps you've heard of Bloody Mary before. Slenderman? The Devil that'll make you dance until you die? While the lantern remains in stranger hands, the thread between reality and fiction narrows; protagonists from the Puck's legends come to life, and the only way to rid of them is by quenching the flames of the fire.

Your journey unfortunately doesn't end there. The Puck has a riddle for you: I am a word that is hardly there. Remove my start, and I'm an herbal flair. What am I?

If you fail to answer correctly, he'll vanish before you, and you can bid the lantern goodbye. You'll be forced to gather the bones from the corpses scattered across the woods, and feed it your blood -- or a friend's -- before you escape and return to the woman. The offering will leave you drained and exhausted, weak on your legs. If, on the other hand, you do answer correctly, the lantern is yours, and you'll be teleported out of the woods with a boon in your pocket: a piece of parchment invites you to visit your home in the Shadowlands. There, you'll find an object (or a pet) that belonged to you in your world.

the answer to the riddle is sparsely! it's up to you whether you'd like your character to fail.
legends told around the campfire can be any of the ones mentioned above or any other that might strike your fancy! go wild, have fun!
remember that if you pick an item from your character's world as their boon, it'll eventually disintegrate unless reforged with a soul.

.

► II. GO BIG OR GOURD HOME

Welcome to the Frightful Harvest, a festival that marks the beginning of the Respite, a temporary period of tranquility between seasons. It acknowledges the blessings offered and the role that both good and evil play in the Netherworld. It is a time to give thanks, but more importantly, it is a time of reflection and warding. Warding against not only the darkness of the next seasons to come, but of the nefarious creatures and struggles that will undoubtedly follow.

Carved pumpkins and straw bales are placed everywhere around the city, and streamers and banners are hung from every home and storefront. Decadent cakes, candies, and pastries are made in over-abundance in order to accommodate everyone, and from the lush gardens of Radiance, an elderly, dark-robed man addresses the Netherwork. You'll learn by eavesdropping on nearby Restless that his name is Doran, the oldest among you and loved by all. His smile stretches kind, and while not an official member of the Hierarchy, it's clear he has certain privileges -- well-deserved, or so you hear.

“Let us gather, feast, dance and celebrate. Let us hold our glasses high for those who heroically perished, for goodness, and for the Ascended. May their journey inspire us to change our lives and the lives of others, to resist evil, and to triumph. To you, dear friends!”

And without further ado, let the festivities begin!

► BARDIC BLITZ
The bardic blitz is a friendly competition that pits talented musicians against one another in an attempt to win over the affection of the crowd through festive melodies or personal compositions. Although it can be hosted just about anywhere, the bardic blitz is normally held in a large canvas tent directly in the heart of Mirth, though smaller crowds also gather in Serene and the Harbors around bonfires.

► FEAST
Although all cultures around Stygia bring their own tastes and specific flair to the celebrations, there are a few staple trade goods that you can find at nearly any celebration of the holiday throughout the city. Many producing the various cakes, beverages, and cookies also use the time to test and perfect their recipes, teaching others or using them as guinea pigs.

► Firstdawn Tea: This revitalizing crimson tea soothes the mind and body and is brewed from the roots of the dawn flower, which only sprouts during the Respite.
► Grablenuts: These fist-sized brown nuts have a hard, stippled outer shell and soft, delicious spicy centers. A single bite will slightly lower your inhibitions, and you may find yourself seeking proximity and warmth.
► Elysium: A nonalcoholic beverage that smells and looks as bad as it tastes. Only those with the strongest will manage to gulp it down. Once drunk, the person experiences true bliss, which seems to last for hours; in reality, it's only a few minutes.
► Will-o-the-Whiskey: Whisky with minor hallucinatory effects, visual and auditory.
► Sundrop: A pound cake coated in a sugary lemon drizzle. No side-effects, just delicious!
► Shadowfell Candy: Chewing on this candy will grant the character a deep and rejuvenating sleep, during which they will appear dead to anyone.

. ► HARVEST HUNT
The harvest hunt happens in a corn maze located in Mirth's amusement park, specifically created for the occasion. Because of the labyrinthian horrors dwelling in the Tempest, some find the terror-free replica a little inappropriate, yet participants still abound every time. A favorite seasonal game of the exuberant and athletic, characters take on the role of either hunter or prey, racing through the maze to either corner their quarry or escape the hands of their pursuer. As long as Shadows behave, it's a relatively safe activity. Friendly spars sometimes occur, picnics, and star-gazing.

► THE PARADE
The parade is the activity most looked forward to by younger Restless. Citizens clad in colorful costumes walk the streets to the rhythm of festive music, and according to tradition, it helps ward away any lingering evil that might try to hide in the community. For reasons unknown, incidents where Restless unwillingly swap bodies sometimes occur.

► III. WAYWARD SUN

The Warding Ritual is a private affair, a behind-the-scene execution on the last day of the festival as you dance and feast and frolic, blissfully unaware. Something goes awry. First, a shriek in the distance, and soon, birds flying away in apparent surprise as the landscape rustles with the sounds of creatures and Restless alike fleeing. A vague sense of dread knocks the air out of your lungs, an iron grip around your throat. And you see it then, a headless figure shrouded in a black veil of cloth, sword in one hand and a bright flaming pumpkin in the other. Its head. It thunders through the night on its skeletal horse, its blade flashing in the moonlight in search of prey. Heads fall. You might get injured during the chase -- collateral damage. 10 members of the Hierarchy won't ever rise again, and the rider eventually charges into the Tempest, leaving behind bloody puddles and a slather of confusion. If you opt to help clean up the mess, you might come across stained sheets of paper on the ground, a painting of a white scorpion in the middle. Otherwise, it's time for you to go home.

---

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's first event! If you'd like additional, more casual prompts, the Notice Board is right here! New prompts will be added next month, if you've already had your fun with them!
► You'll find some answered questions here, but if you'd like to ask something else, please comment below!
► For a little spooky ambience in the woods.

Comments

[damnpire]

Perhaps for you and others who don't crave their blood. On the Frontier, it cannot be.

[Likewise, he doesn't really try to change Aspen's mind necessarily. The opinion is fair even if D may not agree with the theoretical adjustment.]

No.

[It isn't a lie so much as a small omission. This sounds like it should discredit his views, but he doesn't elaborate.]

[pissoffbook]

[The boots, he would notice, are actually heels; the clothing, actual lingerie. His left arm and leg would feel different, almost ethereal but also a bit evil. They are wrapped in bandages, which seems to keep, whatever it is, at bay.

Kainé on the other hand, pokes at the laces of the outfit she finds herself in, it reminds her a bit of Emil, which tugs a little at her heart. The body itself is definitely male, she'd know the feeling of that, not to mention the absence of breasts.

She looks up and sees... herself... looking just as bewildered as she feels.]

What the actual fuck?

[Let no one say Kainé pulls her punches.

She marches right over to where her body is, gesturing widely.]

What the hell kind of trick is this? Give me back my body right now or you're gonna regret it!

[Kainé never thought she'd say that since she hates her body, but here she is. Then whoever is inhabiting her body speaks and her gaze narrows.]

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Tyrann, I swear to fucking god if this is your doing...

fushiguro megumi / jujutsu kaisen

[shadowier]

KNOCK ON WOOD.

( the campfire is crowded, but it's almost a welcome occurrence. beyond it, the winds whip leaves around like knives; they cut into the already-eaten holes along the sides of the tents that adorn this abandoned campsite, and more and more he wishes not to be here. the lantern, of course, is the only reason why he remains: it's why his eyes are fixed on puck, wondering if it would have done any good to give him a couple punches, to rile him up and tear him down the way he'd done back in middle school, tending to bullies and their bad behavior with his own show of strength. his sister always hated that he did that. it's one of the only reasons he's holding back now.

instead, his hands flex together, fingertips that meet other fingertips, testing, bending. the shadows cast off from the fire are just strong enough, just enough light, and yet: he can feel the strange way it warps, a way that he doesn't think he can manipulate just yet. quiet as he is, the stories that puck tells go through one ear and out the other, although he can feel it, the hair standing at the back of his neck: the more that he talks, the less the group around the fire is alone.

and then, of course, there's a riddle. snapping his palms together quietly, he considers it only for a moment. no one seems liable to speak up, and it seems some have wandered away from the fire entirely; swallowing, he jerks his gaze down, then lifts it up again. whoever is sitting next to him will get the soft, gentle nudge of his elbow, and when he bows his head down, it's to speak in a plain tone: there's some urgency, but mostly it's just seeking confirmation. )

I know the answer. ( reading so much finally got him somewhere. ) Should I say it? We can share the achievement.

( or the punishment. he doesn't say that part. )


GO BIG OR GOURD HOME.

( he doesn't remember much, when he comes to.

there's that slight pull of lethargy, at his lash line, and it's enough that he waits a moment, before opening his eyes. when he finally wills the energy into his body enough to move, he can tell that it's just before evening, the time where the light might die out into utter darkness; it feels like it's been a long time, but since what? it feels like he's been slumbering for quite some time, as though fallen into a coma or the kind of painkiller-induced sleep that he might have back home after a tough mission. this isn't home, though, and he doesn't recognize his surroundings.

still: he actually feels good, which is a surprise. it's been a series of long days with only short bouts of sleep in between, still untrusting of this place and the effects it has on him, and so to have finally crashed into a dreamless sleep seems to have been the inevitable consequence. as he works to sit up on his elbows and take sight of his surroundings, he notices at once that he isn't alone--and that draws his brows together, his lips wet until he finds his voice enough to say anything. )

...Why am I here? ( --is what he asks first. and then, as if realizing: ) And where is here?

( the last thing he remembers is tasting candy, melting on his tongue...shadowfell candy, a gift from the feast. is it the work of that? or something else? determined, he waits for an answer from whoever must have brought him here, or at the very least, seen to him in his death-like slumber. )


WAYWARD SUN.

( it isn't fair to say that he isn't expecting it, but somehow, the finality of it all coming to a head is so delayed that he's almost been tricked into thinking things might go okay. the feast, the festivities, it all feels just this side of normal; it's enough to lull him away from that feeling, that grip of iron in his throat, clamped down against the back of it. the shriek in the distance starts it, and then the birds--his gaze turns up to watch them take flight, disgruntled, and when his eyes jerk back down to the scene in front of him, it's a strange sight. a shrouded figure, headless, clutching at something with one hand: it isn't a curse, at least it doesn't feel like one, but it's tangible enough to take off into a sprint on the back of its skeletal horse.

coming towards him.

he isn't so conceited to think that he might be the object of this creature's ire, or that it is his life that hangs in the balance, but even so, jerking out of the path of the horse's pursuit leaves him stumbling, and his boots slip against the dirt and mud, leaving him landing flat onto his backside on the ground. as he pushes himself back up to his feet again, he staggers: whatever the horseman had been after, he's gotten it, or at least part of it. a head, lolling along the ground, the skin severed and grisly around the neck, comes to a stop in a small puddle of water and blood in the street; megumi pedals back away from it, swallowing, and brings his hands up in front of him.

it won't work. the shadows around him tremble, bubbling like hot water, and though the snout of a wolf-like creature emerges from behind him, it lets out one garbled, sad howl, before collapsing back into the shadows. )

Dammit. ( it's muttered, shaky, under his breath, and he takes a swerving step around the blood spatter in front of him, trying to find sight of where the horseman has disappeared to. immediately, he's looking for someone else to corroborate--or assist, jerking his head around until he finds one. )

You saw it? Is he still out there?


OOC
not seeing a prompt you like? please feel free to wildcard something at me, or send a PM! happy to write up something closed as well.

[windsongs]

[ Hibiki grins at him. See, this guy gets it! Making her way over, she sits down on the stool, heading toward the docks rather than the water. She has to keep an eye on the action, and she can still look at him this way. Two birds with one stone! ]

I mean, why would I? They're all good people, even if they're a lot more crass than me. It's a bonding experience, you know, and today seems like the type of day to overindulge in that!

[craters]

（ this particular child is all big, somber eyes and the stoicism only a toddler can have — which mostly means he's about three seconds away from crying at any moment but is trying Very Hard to be a big kid instead of a little kid about it.

sakura bounces the boy on her hip, clearly practiced in the wrangling of the youths. the way the man adjusts his voice to speak to the child makes her smile — she has a great appreciation for those that don't mind being sweet to children. ）

He's not going to cry, are you, Cho?

（ the boy shakes his head fervently, clearly unwilling to remove the candy from his mouth, and reaches one chubby toddler hand uppppp as far as he can reach, clearly trying to grab for d's hat. ）

Ahhh, no, let's leave the nice man's hat alone, come on, here, you can play with these?

（ 'these' are the brightly woven tassels that someone had clipped onto her jacket, she plucks one off and gives it to him, and it is immediately clenched into the tight, childlike deathgrip. ）

Where should we start?

[windsongs]

[ Hibiki's gaze briefly slides away, long enough for her to carefully extricate herself from her current position; shifting to delicately place the man's head on the ground. Her hands linger on his temples for a few long seconds before she pulls herself to her feet. Forces on a thin smile as she tilts her head slightly. ]

Of course I remember you, Jonas, why wouldn't I?

[ The scene before them might be a good reason, but if anything that makes it easier for her to recall. Good, she can put a face to the name. As she watches him survey the scene, her smile slides away, as she crosses her arms over her chest. A certain conversation she had earlier coming to mind (their vitals here were still the same as when they were alive), Hibiki choose to keep that tidbit of theory-crafting to herself. It would be gauche at a time like this.

Stay in the here and now, Jonas; but he better believe that they will be talking about this later. ]

No use wondering what would've happened if he got us too. You're okay, right?

[ Says the woman with a (shallow) gash on her temple and a busted lip, but she looks much worse than she feels. Thank goodness for that adrenaline boost. Most of the blood staining her clothes isn't even hers, so she'll be fine. ]

I think he was heading east, so... the coast maybe? [ Dammit, she should have been paying more attention. ]

f

[fallingsand]

[ Well, he had been enjoying the maze right up until something kept making little running footstep noises behind him. Every time, he would freeze and whip around, wide-eyed and searching, and every time, it was the same: nothing, no one. ]

...okay, okay, this is. Fine. It's. Part of the maze, that's all. Part of the... [ He mutters to himself as he turns to carry on his way and it happens again, only this time when he whirls back around, someone is there. He leaps back a step in shock, hand flying to clutch his chest. ] ¡Dios mío!

[ Aaaahahaha but isn't that only a kid? He takes in a deep breath and lets it out again, trying to relax. ]

Uh, that's. Ha... ha, wait, you're. You're not serious, right? About the running?

[zangetsu]

（ he's taken off his black kosode and is using it to gather up the bones. easier than carrying them by hand, even if the flickering reishi that seems to cling to them and quickly dissipate is giving him the creeps.

he's quick about it, but there's a sort of somber respect in how he handles the dead that speaks to more experience with corpses than any seventeen year old boy has a right to have. he's quiet for long stretches of time as they work, but finally — ）

If you see anything that identifies them... we should try to notify their families if we can.

（ do the dead keep dental records? probably not. ）

festival

[fallingsand]

[ So far, Bruno has managed to evade most of the "predators" in the maze, which, just looking at the man might be surprising, but what his ever-constant nervousness hides is someone who's quicker on his feet than he looks. As such, he's been able to enjoy wandering the maze for the most part, but when he hears the sound of a dry corn leaf crackling underfoot somewhere close, he freezes.

He turns, casting his gaze about for some sign of who that was, but nothing stands out. While it's not exactly wise to call out when in what was ultimately a playful game of cat-and-mouse in the maze, he does anyway, hesitant though he may sound. ]

Hello? Is someone there?

[damnpire]

[No... not the big eyes...

For a moment, D glances around them. No parents seem to be, currently, desperately looking for their child. It doesn't mean they aren't, just not here. Hm. His eyes glance between Sakura and the boy, watching him clutch one of the offered tassels.

After some debate, he reaches up to pull the hat from his head. Then he carefully puts it over the boy's own. Naturally, it's much too big; immediately, it sinks down all the way to the nose. Without the hat, a lot more of D's face can be seen. Still terribly pale, as if it's nearly glowing in the low light. But like this he looks... young actually. A young man at the cusp of adulthood; he can't be any older than her, shockingly. The hard edge the hat gives in intimidation has melted into something androgynous and softer.]

Here first. Higher up if we don't find them.

bardic blitz

[fallingsand]

Bruno, as a rule, does not sing. Out of his entire family, he was the least musically capable. Another mark against him, he supposed, though it had never stopped him before when he felt like joining in, and here, he does, on occasion, when the audience jumps in on a familiar tune and there's more than enough other voices to make his own addition happily drowned out. He wouldn't get all the lines right, with how new and varied the songs were, and more than a few times he'd stumble to a halt when the lyrics became scandalous in some way or another, but overall?

It was a good time. He was feeling less and less terrible about the entire fact that he's died and gone to... well, here. Some strange purgatory where life seems to simply carry on.

And that evening would have kept going on well enough for him right up until Gilia begins to struggle. One of the bolder singers in the group, sure enough, he'd noted, but it isn't until she turns away and snatches a hand to her throat that he does anything to engage. He's typically happy remaining in the background rather than drawing attention to himself but...

"Miss? Are you..." No, he shouldn't ask if she's okay. She clearly isn't. He's approached, reaching out towards her arm but not quite making contact yet. Worried eyes peer up at her, only becoming more distraught when water begins to leak between her fingers and something, something wriggles. Oh, oh god. "That's. That."

What is that? He won't withdraw in horror, though. Geez, what is happening, what can he do, will asking questions even help? What if she can't respond?

[windsongs]

[ Surprisingly, dealing with the dead (or dead-adjacent, it's complicated) doesn't prepare anyone for dealing with death. Much like Ichigo, Hibiki takes her time, conflicted each time when she crouches next to the skeletal remains of some likely long-deceased individual. There's nothing left to perform rites on (not that she knows how. it's complicated), no way to aid the departed in finding their way to where they might go after their time in the Netherworld.

With a comment that feels more insightful than something a normal seventeen-year old should say, Hibiki turns her head toward him as she brushes a bit of detritus from the bone in her hand. ]

Not sure if teeth would work, but we can try. I'm sure the families of those missing would like some closure.

[ Wow what does that feel like, she has no idea. ]

Weird question, but do you have any water on you? I didn't think to bring anything myself.

w-w-wildcard!

[windsongs]

[ With the nature of this place being as it is, the fact that death can strike even here is enough to make one's blood run cold. She isn't used to seeing such carnage on open display, but instead of letting herself be paralyzed by it, Hibiki uses it to light a fire under her. She isn't a healer, she isn't a doctor--but she is a siren. One who has been taking what little time in her un-life here to experiment with the effects of her Voice.

Whether he is tending to someone himself or (more likely) passing through as he moves in the direction the Horseman went, D will encounter a strange sight. The young woman, her clothes stained with blood and dirt both, crouched next to one of the injured. A hand rested on their temple, she sings to them like a mother would a child. This is not the first person she has done this for, and as the injured person begins to visibly calm, Hibiki prepares herself to move on.

Just a little longer. ]

[spaceassassin]

[ see what now? keith momentarily loses the thread of conversation, his focus swallowed up by shiro’s focus. namely? how it’s centered on keith. keith knows better than to fight when shiro goes into hover mode, so he follows shiro’s insistence and bites back the reflexive i’m fine. he’s suffered worse, both his shoulder and cheek intensely known in that moment.

so has shiro, though, and with the way keith keeps eyeing the wet, sticky smear of red from cheek to chin, keith can’t wave shiro’s concern away any more than he can his own.

at least it doesn’t last long. shiro seems appeased to some level of comfort, backing off to fish around for a cloth that keith supposes he can idle through as well. he rolls his eyes for show, grinning half-cocked as he turns his arm closer, just a pinch, in a wordless okay get on with it. ]

Shut up. [ entirely fond, there’s the whisper of a laugh there in the pitch of his voice. ] You’re jacked and you know it. Your muscles have muscles.

[ shiro’s always been larger than life, even at galaxy garrison when he had height but not necessarily width, especially in comparison to a pint-sized keith who was still growing into himself. so he’s always been big to keith, in more ways than one. after kerberos though…

subconsciously, keith wets his bottom lip and looks to the side, huffing a breath that actually carries a laugh this time. ]

If anything, you’d probably be too tough for that thing to chew on. Break its jaw or something.

[wrists]

You could be a king's cupbearer, with that gift. [ this is useful information to have in case laurent ever wants to drink something questionable. the little bird is so handy in different ways, not that he would ever tell him that.

as if the universe is conspiring to meet aspen's every ridiculous want, one of the sellers stops by with a paper basket of the freshly roasted nuts, each one as large as laurent's fist. they emit a savory aroma, and laurent finds himself wanting for food, but he frowns at the nuts and makes no move to touch them. ]

Don't eat them. We have no idea what they might do.

[constellational]

⟪ listen. he’s doing his best not to coddle him, okay. he doesn’t want to, for one. he’s more than aware that keith can handle himself. himself and just about everyone else if hard-pressed. all at the same time. but you can’t keep a guy from worrying, or caring for that matter. especially if said guy is shiro…

…whose muscles apparently have muscles. that immediately earns keith a chuckle, frank and clear and bordering on an actual, full-blown laugh. it might have been one if he didn’t strive to keep quiet—the woods have eyes and ears, probably—and the sound subsides delectable in his throat, the taste of joy, however subdued, one that he’s greatly missed. ⟫

You’re not so bad yourself. ⟪ and nowhere near as small as the harpy seemed to think. keith is a subtle menace, but a menace nonetheless. swift. agile. strong. and relentless. as creepy as oakwoods is, oakwoods should probably fear keith. ⟫

Think she got spooked by whatever she thought managed to gnaw on me? ⟪ you know. seeing as he’s seemingly too tough to chew on. if she’s under the impression that something else succeeded, there might be more sinister dangers yet. it’s a half-joke, half-tease, and shiro’s eyes shine still, in the glow of the torch. but what if.

he looks up, frowning. ⟫ I think I liked the Darklings better.

[terraria]

( aspen's eyes light up when the scent reaches his nose, only for him to frown - pout - and semi-sulk. )

That was one of my duties. I caught many a cupful of poison before it ever touched the Peacekeepeer's lips.

You can't go without food or drink entirely...

[terraria]

Are you scared of hurting them?

( for all that d seems intent on damning his kind, aspen has to wonder what good it has done him to hold such a viewpoint. if humans won't be friends with him despite a frankly noble view, then aspen will. )

It seems lonely to hold such views, and yet seemingly punish yourself by keeping a distance.

2. amusement park

[spaceassassin]

[ ah, yes, the amusement park. again. the last time keith was here, he was giving a solid assist to some numbskull ( jonas ) who got himself lost inside the house of mirrors. nothing good can come from this, keith knows that, feels that, as he stands there at the entrance, staring beyond to the array of discolored lights. the crowds are few, the echo of distant rides making the whole thing read more sinister.

whatever. he handled it fine last time.

besides, after the debacle of their conversation on the app, keith feels weirdly encouraged to appear unflappable. he’s not going to be the one backing down here. ]

Sure. [ he shrugs his shoulders, just for a show of aloofness and then crosses through the entrance. ] Been here once before. It was alright.

[ a beat. ]

So you choose. Games or rides?

FEAST

[spaceassassin]

[ in this one instance in all the instances that they’ve ( unfortunately ) known each other, jonas’ timing is impeccable. why? well, because keith here has a fistful of nuts. grablenuts. there are two in his right cheek as well, puffing it out as he chomps through them. he’s already got a belly filling with them, so instead of exasperation, keith’s expression is soft and open, the usual wall quite a few feet lower than normal.

strange, too, that he shuffles closer once he notices jonas there. ]

Way ahead of you. [ sort of. he’s only sampled the grablenuts. and the firstdawn tea. he feels rather warm and floaty right now; there’s a word for it…

happy?

he sticks third in his mouth simply because he can, the nut making an audible crack as it breaks between his teeth. ]

Wanna try some of my nuts?

[ wow, he’s even holding out his palmful in offer. ]

ii.a

[appeale]

[ this festival is primarily a kind of social networking, for Rudbeckia. it's an opportunity to cement the image she's started to establish—an idiot, helpful and harmless, sweet, cheerful, friendly—as well as to get some clearer judgements about the people she's identified as useful. there are a lot of things she needs to know about her fellow Restless: who will actually protect her when it comes down it to, no matter how begrudgingly; who to tread cautiously around for fear of retribution; who will gentle themselves when she cries, and who will answer with cruelty.

the whole affair is less nerve-racking done at a party. she can observe from a distance, and she can leave a conversation at any time. that might be the only reason that she decides to approach Felix with a small bowl of Grablenuts she's been carrying, sliding into the seat beside him with a sunny smile. ]

Don Fraldarius, what about these? I tried one earlier—they're spicy!

[ Don't get angry at me, it's not like I really want to talk to you either... —but this is necessary. with a guy like this, it's even more important to know what his boundaries are so she can avoid getting hurt, or at least minimise the pain when it comes. ]

[janescayre]

[Fukawa frowns. She squints. Looks over her shoulder, glances around the place. Whatever snagged Lottie's attention is a mystery to her. Maybe it was a weird bug.

Or something more worrisome.]

R-ran into who? [And this is ridiculous, are they going to have this conversation standing ten meters apart? Fukawa edges into the alley, rubbing at her knuckles and still surveying the place with a scowl. At least until she gets close enough to see light reflect from Lottie's face in patches, thin lines that curve under her chin.]

Wh-what? Were you crying? Did this person... [Words fail her. She's standing in front of her roommate with nothing but a baffled expression and a dimming need to piss. The toilet can wait.] Wh-what happened, was someone threatening you or something? Don't lie!

[Just "ran into somebody." Who was she kidding? Someone had said something awful, at the very least!]

2d!

[paraselenes]

[ It's nice to see a familiar face, though there's a faintly distant look in Zagreus's eyes that speaks to something thoughtful; it doesn't surprise Dimitri, considering they're all dead. Of course they have things weighing on their minds.

He tries not to intrude too abruptly, nodding in greeting. ]

Mm. They must have been working towards this for some time. Especially since most of them are youths.

[ Which makes his expression lose its mirth, more conflicted as he considers it—do the children here have their parents? Did they pick up pins and needles and craft all this garb on their own. He settles into a mild sort of melancholy as he sits beside him. ]

It's impressive—even this place has its ritual and tradition.

[spaceassassin]

[ it’s easy to forget, sometimes, when in shiro’s presence. easy to forget that nothing is as it should be. that they’re dead, reborn, whatever, in a horrid forest that is in the midst of souring with cursed magic. most of all, it’s easy to forget that the missing arm shiro’s joking about is the arm keith took from him.

eventually, keith always remembers, though.

inwardly, keith backtracks, debating his right to make any reference to the emptiness of shiro’s right side. shiro takes it with grace, as he does with most anything. or at least, he pretends to. because that’s where they differ: keith has the reputation of an immovable object, emotions locked up behind a disinterested or otherwise, friery exterior, but that’s not true at all. keith’s expressions are easy to read. they play all across his face, because unlike shiro, he’s never mastered bottling hurt feelings and playing them off with a smile.

sometimes, keith wishes his best friend wasn’t such a good actor. ]

Don’t sound so disappointed. We might still see some of those. [ his smile is weaker, the apology he knows shiro doesn’t want to hear there in his eyes. he gives his head a shake, bangs covering his eyes as he does so and then he plucks the cloth from shiro’s hand, pressing it to his twin cuts, just to move this along. ]

And maybe. Maybe it knows something we don’t. [ highly probable. he means, maybe the harpy has seen something that could have been big enough to take part of shiro. ]

So let’s keep moving. The sooner we do, the sooner we can find the lantern and get outta here.

[constellational]

Ehh, no offense if there’s any around, but I’m willing to pass up the chance.

⟪ he said he liked them better, though he’s in no hurry of seeing one again. remember the netherwork fiasco? the joke that didn’t land probably because it was a space joke. actually, if they could omit running into anything unfamiliar, it’d be great… but life has a cruel sense of humor, hence why they’re here, probably.

so he’s not about to count on that.

agreeing to follow with a nod, he’s barely made one step and already he stalls a little behind, a shiver running down his spine. ⟫ Uhh, Keith? ⟪ it’s an odd sensation, a sound in his ear, though he can’t quite pinpoint where it comes from. before them, shadows, and they run deep, because even the light of his torch doesn’t manage to fully light up the way ahead. ⟫

Do you hear that? ⟪ or is he going crazy again. it’s more than just a voice, though. it’s a… song, and a particularly strong gust of wind squelches the torch’s flames, which immediately prompts shiro to drop it, reach out, and grab keith.

the back of his shirt, specifically. and he yanks, whispering a particularly spooked: ⟫ Someone’s singing. ⟪ and that’s just about the creepiest thing he’s ever heard. so much for being a good actor. he’s positively alarmed, alright, though he doesn’t pull keith closer to use him as a shield. safety in numbers. or closer numbers, anyway. and god knows keith would be game to just. go. in the dark. and punch whatever’s out there until it falls silent. ⟫