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

I

[heroproceeding]

so you got that message too? do you think everyone got it then?

Feast!! Figure we can wrap one thread up before continuing this one, but I wanted to tag in o7!!

[heroproceeding]

[ It's while Zack's in the middle of stuffing a sundrop in his mouth, himself, that he happens to hear the familiar voice behind him. He turns only then and his smile would have been smug except he's still working through that sweet.

So, he might be talking with his mouth full anyway. It's FINE. ] 'e're suppose'ly to be dea' and 'ou're worrie' abou' a- [ He roughly swallows and clears his throat right then. ] -a drinking age?

III.

[heroproceeding]

[ Casualties have always been a part of war, he'd known.

Civilian casualties, however...

Zack stands among the dead with his head hung. A whisper teases his ear again cruelly and he swings out a fist with a: ] Shut up!

[ But no one's there. No one's there except for two lifeless bodies strewn on the ground like a twisted game of dominoes. One completely decapitated. The other- they must have been too close when that rider had swung. Their eyes now stare at the sky unseeing and Zack can't help but notice how young they look. Probably even younger than him. His eyes sting and he looks away. Takes a shuddering breath as he clutches his fists way too tight. Takes another breath still to try and calm himself, but it's hard. Too hard.

He swings his gaze sideways. Catches sight of a man kneeling in front another one of the victims and swallows hard before he sets forward a few paces, steps hurried at first until he realizes what they're doing and slows. Takes a few more controlled breaths and finally.. carefully asks. ] ...Did you know them?

[m67]

[ she freezes. oh, she freezes and runs cold with these wide, owlish eyes that fit more a cornered animal looking for an escape. asa can feel herself sweating bullets. the jesting coos from an eavesdropper nearby has her barely able to lift her eyes from the hot red fluster swiping her from cheek to cheek. could they just!! mind their own business!! ]

. . . R-right. Jonas, [ she can’t even run now, that’d just be . . . a blessing for him, maybe, but it makes asa feel worse. jonas would be able to tell right off the bat, as asa turns but hardly meets his gaze correctly. just one dart up, before their back at a meaningless space that wasn’t up. she’s shy as hell. ] I didn't— I didn't see you. I didn’t see it . . . Was you.

[terraria]

I do.

( aspen, ever the tactile person, reaches to squeeze sasuke's upper arm in what's supposed to be a comforting motion, before he steps forwards. he keeps his spine straight and his demeanor calm when he does, and bows his head politely before puck. )

Good evening. We are searching for the lantern in your possession. ( he reaches into his satchel, withdrawing a batch of herbs and flowers - thyme, foxglove, and honeysuckle. he knows fae folk appreciate flora, and especially beautiful, rustic plants like these. ) May we speak and come to an agreement, for you to return it? The city has need of that lantern. Perhaps we can give you something worthwhile?

( he holds his ground even as puck seems to consider, but seems ever-cautious, ready to bolt backward if he incurs the man's ire. thankfully, he doesn't - and the invitation to indulge him is not just for aspen, but for sasuke as well. aspen relaxes, and beckons to his companion. )

[midway]

[ Look, he was just trying to see where D was coming from. Grasping his point of view. ]

I can't say I don't harbour my own suspicions. Dying feels plenty like living, and we can apparently die a second time. [ He's also looking around like Seems Fake. ] Plus, I shudder to think what children might've done to deserve this afterlife.

[ Just as the sound of them joyfully playing sounds around them. ]

[midway]

[ A country of nomads... The story doesn't sound too surprising, and despite whatever destruction the fae creatures wreak on the country, he's glad those outcasts were at least able to make a home for themselves.

Even though he still doesn't entirely understand why they regard fae as holy. Not that he thinks they should annex their land... ]

So you're saying you can't ascribe morality to them, and it's the fault of those that approach them?

[terraria]

It's difficult to ascribe blame to any party, really. At the very least - that is what I think. Some native Irian think the fae are always blameless.

Yet... the fae do not understand us, do not think or feel like us - and we approach with this... concept of society, of propriety, of morality. Certainly our ideas are 'we are kind and polite and therefore deserve the same in return', but perhaps to the fae, they think 'it is a rainy day, therefore we are rude!' and it makes just as much sense to them as what we think makes sense to us! ( he gives a gusty sigh and shakes his head. )

I apologize. Fae are difficult to understand. I certainly didn't when I first immigrated. ( he offers a sundrop cake. ) Would you like a piece?

[terraria]

( he clears his throat, face slightly flushed. )

... 'odd'... yes. I've never become so off-kilter in my life. I'd rather forget some of the things I did that night.

( what he 'did' sounds terrible and yet in aspen's mind, he deeply regrets cuddling with a dhampir and a bratty prince.

he makes sure to work the way into the wound, but he's much gentler, wiping blood and dirt away as he does. the wound's much cleaner now, and he has no doubt her leg must be tingling. )

Can you move your ankle in a slow circle?

[terraria]

Do you mean inside or outside of it? I'm afraid most tempers and hearts that were flared up came from our patrons rather than ourselves.

( aspen hides a fond smile as he laces his hands behind him. )

I'm very proud of the harem. I don't know if you're aware of how our work is perceived, but courtesans are not often viewed as legitimate workers. In my time with them, I was able to cut out a space for us, alongside legitimacy and respect. I'm quite fond of the time I had there. I feel as if I did good work.

[terraria]

( he readjusts himself, moving closer so he can reach his wing even laying down as he does. sure, he might be in his personal space, but - well, so what? D wanted to touch, so he has to get close. besides, aspen is very light. he swipes his hair over his shoulder so the curled ends of his braid isn't bothering him, letting his wing drape over the bale of hay and part of D. to the touch, his feathers are soft and warm, elegant from how wide and delicately built the feathers are. they taper off into softer down and tinier feathers that make up the bulk of his topmost feathers, all clumped together like a sheet of plush velvet.

on the backs of his wings, there are lines of iridescent feathers that glint in the moonlight, like mother-of-pearl or soap bubbles. )

This is my good wing, so you're free to touch. Have you seen birds up close?

[midway]

[ This is such a normal conversation. It's almost as if there wasn't people dying in the woods, some weird Puck thing running around and people hallucinating around them, drunk off whatever disgusting elixir is at the table.

Well, maybe the elixir thing is also pretty normal.

Dryly, ] I didn't mean this exact table.

[ Finishes off the rest of his tea sandwich. ]

We have a similar harvest month where I come from, but there's nothing "frightful" about it.

[coherer]

I'll feel much better once we get outta here. Can't make you any promises about the rest.

(he never has much in the way of optimism to share, but his dedication to being honest is unwavering—especially now when it's most important.

hibiki looks worse for wear. no one could be alright after witnessing what they did, and while her smile may convince those unaccustomed to the adage "fake it till you make it," jonas is perceptive. it goes blessedly unmentioned for now, however, as they have an immediate issue that bears mentioning:)

So, let's help where we can and then split, alright? We can—I don't know, can we even do anything? A couple of people I saw earlier were so scared they couldn't even move... and I don't know how I'm not one of them. (usually, he's fairly calm, but this is unnatural.

anxiety would be a storm in his gut preventing him from speaking in full sentences. as he speaks with hibiki, it's an ignorable tension.)

[midway]

[ He watches Felix in return. He doesn't know Felix very well, but he gets the sense that his question might've sparked something. It's likely that he's not the only who's noticed something awry.

But he's not sure that he wants Felix to realize just how awry. ]

You seem like the type to hold onto your anger forever. That's all.

[fessus]

[ The words to him are nothing but encouragement, used to "sharp words" in far gruffer tones of voice and all Set's is doing right now is managing to soothe him. Soothing him... even to the point of gently resting the side of his head against the other man's shoulder, soaking up his warmth like he's some kind of lizard. A tired, finally mildly contented lizard.

But never quite content enough to not complain. ]

I'd make some. They said this was supposed to be a feast, right? The spices all taste way off to me. [ His head lifts slightly, hair brushing against Set's collar as he squints up at him. ]

... I just said the food is bad and you're offering me more of the food? [ bemused... ] Maybe we should be skipping right to the drinks.

[seaboard]

[ Her fingers lift up, breathing quietly a hum that would only be needed for such a small thing - a trickle of water that lifts in her magic. Far more controllable and less likely to fail these days, apparently, as she weaves it in a ribbon by curling her fingers around and around. To form the shape of a sea-dragon, a delicate creature, drifting like seaweed, translucent and made bright by the firelight reflecting through it. ]

No, not an illusion. An unveiling. [ A sigh. Dreaming and content. ] I had forgotten how beautiful it is. The wonder of it all.

[damnpire]

[Hibiki is valid, even if D does not mind at all when other people talk. Will he talk? No, definitely not. Can other people fill the air of his silence if they want? Yes, absolutely.

But he doesn't try to pursue conversation for now. Just he in his Holmes mode with his Watson. The horseman really did a number on its path from crowd to sea... D's lips thin into a line, his rust-colored eyes skimming over the mess left behind. As tired and ill as Hibiki had looked when he ran across her, he's wondering if maybe he should have told her to leave.

He glances at her briefly to check on her.]

Were you here when it happened?

[constellational]

That's a no, as far as I know
And we all gotta start somewhere, Jonas

I've texted your friend
Take care of yourself, alright?

⟪ the egyptian god?? he can't decide if he's telling the truth or if it's just another drunken fantasy ⟫

[oomfies]

[ Should she tell her? Does it matter? Caroline would probably figure out where she'd live in due time.. If it wasn't from Lottie telling her, anyway. She walks closer, just a beat after Fukawa does, almost like closing the proximity is something that slipped her mind altogether. But when she mentioned crying, she remembers why. A hand moves up to cover her nose, unsure if there was any snot dribbling down her face or not -- would it be weird to go check right now in that bathroom??

..Not at all because Caroline is in there???

(She should be done by now, right????) ]

N-no it's not anything like that!! It's..

[ That hand covering her face swings down to use the sleeve of her costume to rub at her face, temporarily ridding her of those tear stains and whatever might have been lingering beneath her nose (she's fine and clear of all boogers, but just in case!!). She's gesturing with her other hand vaguely as she tries to figure out how to explain this without.. Sounding weird? 'The girl who died before me just showed up, but it's not a big deal and it's not like I care but also don't be weird if she comes over it's just friend stuff?'

She tries to clear her throat, before promptly saying, ] Hold on. [ Lottie turns away to hack up something to spit on the ground, her voice sounding clearer after the fact. She glances over her shoulder, a thought hitting her — ]

Did someone threaten you here before? Besides those reaper guys??

[ Are there more weirdos in this city??? ]

[seaboard]

She can make the excuses for it, perhaps, to explain about what was reality, what was not - all the places in between and the impossibility of it all.

But the direct answer is simplest, the smile soft, calm. Sure. The blonde curls drift, almost, swayed by an impossible current that seems to make her clothes move as well, nothing like the wind, but sunk deep to the purest, oldest, parts of herself.

"I remembered. I remembered the world was beautiful. That was such, before I felt pain, and it shall be again, after my pain is gone."

[damnpire]

[Me as the lady seeing some wild Poe horror carrying around my baby.

His eyes are good, but he finds it better to listen. A little difficult to focus when there are so many heartbeats (especially wild ones) in the throngs of people. He finds whenever he glances in the direction of racing blood, it's a Restless or two having a wild time. Momentarily, he's distracted by the clone. Hmm... Interesting. But he doesn't question it right now.

When the child spots what they're searching for, he slows to a stop, regarding the woman in the distance. Then he moves through as people part for him. The way the woman runs at him, he's already starting to crouch down so she can snatch the boy off. Good luck, lad.... He bows his head in acknowledgement of all the thanks, but doesn't say much except for a goodbye to the boy. Turning back, he finds Sakura in his hat...

It doesn't appear he's irritated by it, or the arm threading through his own. While he doesn't offer anything in return, he accepts the camaraderie and affection she's giving him like a stupid rock. This is definitely not the cautious, goal-focused Sakura from the harbors. Not that he thinks it's a bad thing.]

Did you eat the food at the feast?

[redsoil]

[ D had not gone far between the time that Set had met his eyes, and the time that their places had changed. The drift of their souls having met somewhere in the middle, leaving him less disoriented than he might have been, to become so readily aware of himself-as-D without too much issue. For the dhampir, he does not go far. He simply completes D's retreat from the writhing crowd, slipping his body into a still place, a quiet place where the crescendo of noise and scent is no longer as strong. It does not come as a shock to him, to be able to sense things around him so acutely -- however, it is still a different set of senses. The things he picks up on are not prioritized in the way his own body would. And startling him more is the sudden burst of sound within him; a voice he has never heard before, referring to him as a hijacker, speaking of D in the third person. Another soul within? Does D's body have that much room? ] Haa? [ He half-snarls, curiosity tinging the timbre of D's voice as it seeks to catch on Set's ancient syllables and curl around the dialect he speaks in. ] Who's a hijacker? I didn't do this because I wanted to! Who the hell are you, to speak like this to me! To him. About him. Whatever! When he gets here, we'll sort this out! [ HE EVEN COVERS HIS-D'S EARS, like a petulant child. As if that will help. He doesn't want to listen, he doesn't want to know things about the dhampir that D wouldn't naturally offer. He doesn't want to poison him, leave stains within him and lead to the disorderliness of his soul. Set's already done that once, with Jonas. Not again. Let this be righted, and quickly. ]

[coherer]

... Oh. You—really? (jonas doesn't know what to say, a bit stunned at zagreus' offer to see him out.) If it's a drag or whatever, feel free to just go on without me, Zagreus, I just—thanks, man, I... I appreciate it.

(it's unexpected; their trust is still brewing. this certainly helps it along, shuffling after zagreus with a little smile. suffice it to say, with someone like this at his side, jonas is feeling a lot safer than he did.)

Stuff like this... it always got to me. Like, I don't ever sign up to freak myself out on purpose, you know? Are you the hunter or the hunt-ee right now?

[coherer]

I'm not— (wimping out. jonas takes a good long look at himself, wondering, for the first time, if keith is right. is he wimping out? is he being a pussy right now?

immensely prone to peer pressure, he pops the flesh of the grablenuts into his mouth. three at once, a show for the ladies and gentlemen of the frightful harvest despite the fact that no one is looking their way.

his expression twists into something mildly alarmed, obeying the sudden and unexpected urge to reach out and grip keith's shoulder for emotional support.)

Ugh, God, you're such a—this is spicy as hell. (a mild laugh from a full mouth gives him away, but his "mock upset" is carried over into more complaining anyway.) What's wrong with you? What if I had a condition?

[redsoil]

Jonas. [ Again, he calls the young man's name. The young human man, who's soul is now being stained by a form he ought to never know in such a way. Set should not be within Jonas, where his passing from him will inevitably tear through the boy's existence like something sharp, poisonous. Jonas should not be within Set's body either, in an existence so vast and endless that he fears it might drive him mad. ( Don't look, he thinks, for both their sakes. Don't look into anything. Not the scars, not the tremble of nerves, not the chasms within us both. Look away. ) He doesn't want to see anything of Jonas that the boy would not wish to share with him. Everything feels like theft, right now. Like swallowing sour drink that he yearns to pour out, but cannot because he is so desperate for a few more moments of thoughtless bliss. ] I won't touch you. [ He says it while trying not to flinch from the bruising press of his own finger, forcing calm into his-Jonas's voice. They find distance, Set-within-Jonas slinking after his own red figure with his hands stuffed low in jacket pocket's, the forgotten ukelele tucked gently under the curve of his arm. He will not let it be damaged in the midst of all of this. And in a quiet alcove, laurel and orange lights dangling from the trellis and bowery above, he settles his stolen form near to Jonas. ] This isn't in my power. I could ask you the same thing, and I'm sure your answer would be the same. [ With Jonas, this is the first time such a trade of souls has happened to him. More importantly! ] I need you to focus on something outside of -- me. Don't examine my body, don't become lost in my existence. It's not for a human mind, you'll go mad. Here. Here. [ He fumbles the ukelele, from Jonas's own skilled hands towards the pale, unscarred palms of his own. Something to focus on, externally. ]