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

[oomfies]

What the heck are you — are you right there next to that freak?!

[ Lottie finds herself yelling, too angry to even realize that she's actually loud, for the first time in her life. That she isn't coughing halfway into her sentence, and that she's suddenly less scared for herself and more scared for him. A fist goes up to tug at her hair (his hair, and she fumbles for a second because it's not as long as she's used to), letting the tears spill down her cheeks. A man is staring back at her in the tiny corner of the camera and it's here where she realizes that same man is in her body.

It's terrible, the dread that seizes at her chest. He really thinks he can get Lottie's frail and gross body across all this chaos? She has asthma for crying out loud — ]

You go and hide right now! I-I don't care where but you can't find me.

[ She can hear the rustle of another stall being crashed further down the road, and it just feels like the screams won't stop. People are rushing in the opposite direction, but not enough to get the horseman to follow and make chase. It's crazy, just how well she can see right now — there's the outline of the beast, the horse on its hind legs whinnying, that scythe being swung up and glinting in the barely there light of the sky. She stares at the scene and hears the stark echo of it from the phone in her hands, and her feet start to move on their own.

Lottie, literally, shoves a person to the ground as she moves straight towards the chaos, not even looking towards the camera when she shouts: ]

Stay put!! Foot must not move!

[philandery]

[ he awaits with bated breath for noctis to describe his Ideal Tablecloth Pattern. the answer is... well it's almost heartbreaking, and he doesn't even know this guy. sylvain makes a face of mild consternation. ]

Why? Crests are the worst. ...No offense.

[ he will not elaborate. (well, if he's asked he might launch into a dissertation that has absolutely nothing to do with anything noct is referring to.) anyway, despite the sudden admonishment, it's hard to tell if sylvain even notices, or cares about the gradual intrusion into his personal space. ]

—You don't know?

[ sylvain has exciting news for him! ]

Horses are sweet, and gentle, and majestic creatures. [ he tries to gesticulate with his hands, to absolutely no effect. he may as well be miming an amoeba. ] They've got four legs, a glossy coat, a long mane... [ he continues to describe horses to noctis in loving albeit rudimentary detail... ]

...You really don't know what horses are?

[fessus]

[ The event itself is meant to be fun, and really, that's all he wants right now. An excuse to do something physical that's a little more structured and a little less gory than a low-paying hunt of a harpy harassing someone's pets. Besides, he doesn't know of much else better that's on offer at the festival to serve as a distraction and way to blow off steam – anything would be preferable to the seemingly drugged dishes and drinks that had had him making a fool out of himself.

So he's stepping into the corn maze as hunter, enduring the teasing from Shalem with a shake of his head and even a quirk of lips as he watches him get his head-start, fully ready to show him and any others serving as prey in this light-hearted game that he knows what he's doing. Given his demeanor, then, it may be hard to even notice the switch when he steps foot within the maze after being given the go-ahead, sprinting flat-out in pursuit of Shalem as opposed to entertaining any coy jogs. Where the shift becomes obvious is when his tailing leads them both to a dead-end, blocking any chance for escape with a heavy exhale and a narrowing of sharp blue eyes. ]

You're really taking it easy, huh? Don't you want to win? Looks to me like you've gone far enough...

[redsoil]

[ The worst of it is, even wounded and hoarse from his howling, he's still not tired of it. Despite his duty to the dead being an endless parade of promised agony from now into the distant future, he's only at the beginning of his atonement -- those slain by his hand remain in Egypt, awaiting their deliverance and pound of flesh. Those here were not harmed by him, yet still he acutely recognizes the resonance of their essence. ( Nephthys, he thinks, what more are you asking of me to understand? )

It isn't her fault, that the touch of another upon him is revolting. It is not Sakura who makes his skin crawl, uncomfortable and keen, to where he must slowly duck the supportive press of her hand upon his bare shoulder and pretend he is only bowing his body to the side to direct her attention with an outstretched limb. Pointing, to the bodies - discarded and headless.

( The energy that flows from her is beautiful. It is something that brings life and peace, even to a god of arid sands and decay. He wishes he could rest under her touch, like running to one of the oases in his domain and resting there for an afternoon. Alone, quiet, calm. ) ]

Are their heads here, or were they taken? I need to gather their forms. Bury them. Or, however they are interred here.

[ He adds: ] How is it for you, to be a doctor among those like us?

[coherer]

You sound like my dad lmao

("we all gotta start somewhere, jonas," jonas mutters moodily under his breath, using the lamp post on the corner to swing himself down another street. mug shots. mug shots.

why did the café's name have to be mug shots?)

Why don't you take care yourself?? Everyone always thinks I need someboy to look after me. I'm perfectly capable of that thank you very much, man. You've done your duty, lol

Were you lying about you liking the picture I sent you?

(emotional damage.....)

[fessus]

[ He barely has time to whirl to face him – and to battle back the endless running commentary in the back of his mind – before he's suddenly being embraced by his own arms, too stunned at first to know how to react. How the hell should he? Here Naruto is, finally, after doing who knows what with his face and body, and his first instinct is to squish them both together? ]

What the hell are you– get off. Oi, Naruto! [ A shove that's unintentionally more forceful than intended, courtesy of muscles keen to respond just differently enough to his own, separates them, and Naruto's face is twisted in an uncharacteristically troubled scowl. ]

Where the hell have you been? Do you get how annoying this is? You wanna' hug me after I've been dealing with Kurama worrying this whole time over– yeah. Yeah, it is worry, don't act like I'm revealing some dark secret. [ Great, now he looks like he's finally cracked. At least it's with his friend's face. ]

[damnpire]

[Sasuke is trying his best here.

As Sasuke takes off again, D does the same. They race after the fleeing horseman, coming across a few more people unlucky enough to be the victim. D swoops in to try to become a focus, to give Sasuke an opening, but the horseman really doesn't seem to care about either of them. That's the most annoying part. But it also makes him think the horseman is after something in particular then.

He'll come back to that later, after this.

At the docks, D stops. The water is too much like iron weights for him. He isn't afraid necessarily of jumping in if he absolutely has to, but in this moment, he remains where he is with his eyes watching Sasuke clear the water ahead. Hm. The horseman truly said goodbye losers.]

No. He got lucky.

[It isn't a platitude, but it is a little reassurance. Sasuke was not the flaw here. He can understand Sasuke's irritation, too. He has also lost a particular quarry back home over and over, just out of reach.]

Come out of the water. His job may be finished. If it isn't, he'll return.

[philandery]

[ if it makes felix feel any better, sylvain does entertain one or three regrets behind his shit-eating grin. like... this is so dank he's kind of worried about his stomach lining? when he manages to gulp down the last of it and takes a fortifying breath, the stench continues to circulate in his lungs.

—but then, the worst of it suddenly passes. the world around him seems to go rosy, the sun (or moon??) shining just a little brighter above. whatever worries he carries melts away from him, tension bleeding from his shoulders. he even manages to overlook the nasty aftertaste sticking to the roof of his mouth. ]

Yeah... heh.

[ Heheheh. he laughs softly, completely unprompted, and begins to drift away from the crowd. he finds a empty patch of grass to lay down on, and sprawls out as if he's in the snow instead, about to make an angel with a sweep of his arm and legs. ]

Isn't this so great?

[ assuming felix followed him. though, it wouldn't stop sylvain from talking up at the sky, anyway. ]

[damnpire]

[A less feral YJH...by a hair's breath.]

I won't forget.

[He will remember her offer. Maybe he will beat her up when she least expects it later. She offered, but she did not take it back technically. He simply declined. ALSO STOP. He can't help his baby face. That's what all the black is trying desperately to combat.]

It isn't another person's dream, for one.

[damnpire]

[D and Claude shaking hands on thinking this place is kind of strange and whack...wow. He peers at Claude for a long moment with just his eyes, studious... clinical?

Like he's appraising Claude now more thoroughly.]

Children die as easily as anyone. None of us can say where they go.

[fawcetted]

[ Gotta warm up with the absolute buffoonery before we get a real blockbuster hit on our hands. ]

Hold on, hold on, wait —

[ Steve doesn't even have time to respond to wild and kooky ideas about layers of hell behind this one, peeling back fruit or whatever, because he's already being yanked forward without a moment's notice to breathe or think. In order to keep from stumbling over his own damned feet, he has to keep up with the literal Flash here (not that he knows a hell of a lot more than that about the character; he's not a nerd or anything) and he can only thank those four years of being on nearly every sports team possible for being able to keep up as well as he can. ]

How are you running so fast? You sure you don't have like, superpowers or something?

[ He glances past their shoulders for only the briefest of seconds, spotting the headless horseman still in hot pursuit. Fuck. It surges him to move forward. ]

Shiit. Keep moving, I think it sees us.

[ And then, just like that, they're still running and then they're being sucked into the space between two buildings, and Steve still barely has the time for his brain to catch up. ]

[redsoil]

[ It is said. Aired not in a bid for forgiveness, but a series of factual statements about the nature of who he is; a slayer of humans, a tormenter of souls. An evil, shitty god who'd been so horrible he'd ruined the natural order of life and death, simply because he'd lashed out against humanity. Because he'd lashed out, and he'd had the power to hurt them so much.

He rests the corpse cradled in his arms upon the ground, rising to do his part and locate more heads. If the horseman did not take some, it would make performing their final rites easier - if even anyone required them in this place. Set does not ask Dimitri what he thinks of his admission. He doesn't espect understanding, or forgiveness. He knows what he is. ]

How old are you?

[ Notoriously, he is bad with mortals and their ages. The people of Kemet do not track their years, nor bithdays, and he has difficulty in telling one mortal age from another -- young gods grow and regress without paying mind to the linear flow of time. They are immature until they are not, and then they flourish and become fully fledged gods. Humans only go in one direction.

Perhaps it seems a peculiar question to ask, after all that Dimitri has said. ]

It's just that, you sound far older than your youngling face suggests. Well beyond your years.

[ He's careful, to wipe his fingertips clean as he approaches Dimitri; that same hand, bold as could be, finding its way to the blonde's cheek. He touches it, careless and without any sense of boundary. ]

Did you die in pain and grief, Dimitri?

[damnpire]

[Carefully, his hand moves away to allow Aspen to adjust on the straw. D doesn't actually mind the closeness really, even if it seems as if the Grablenuts play a part in why he doesn't shift away. Aspen hasn't appeared to mean him any harm, so the shrinking of the distance between them doesn't bother him.

He waits patiently and quietly until the wing has settled over him again. It's so odd to him how much it thrills him to feel it on top of him. He can coherently understand the nuts are wild, yet he craves this all at the same time still. Okay.

The surprisingly warm, long fingers sink gently back into the feathers, unworried they'll burn him this time. He brushes his hand over it as if it's made of the finest glass, as if he'll break it. The fingers trace the strong outline of the wing's top, the bend, the velvet coverts. It's a nice wing! For some bizarre reason, he is infatuated with being able to touch it and also with it being on him. Embarrassing.]

Yes, I remember them. There aren't many left on the Frontier anymore.

[prozaic]

Oh? [he tilts his head at his pursuer, unbothered by the fact that there's a hedge right behind him. he didn't run down this on purpose, knowing that there's a dead end. he merely turned a corner and found himself... well. cornered.

his tail flicks behind him, before wrapping around a leg so it doesn't lay on the ground.

shalem thinks he can climb the hedge if he really wanted to. but right now? he doesn't sense danger, it's fine. so all he does is tease more.]

I have to wonder what you'll do to me if I do allow you to get your hands on me.

[philandery]

[ that's a hell of an introduction, but it helps the pieces of this (terrible) puzzle fit together that much faster. if this person claims to be the "better half," then that must imply they're two people sharing the same body...

though, sylvain has no idea how this "syo" manages to pull off these stunts, given that the girl he's familiar with doesn't seem to have a lick of muscle on her. suddenly she's all sinewy strength, lethal litheness.

he doesn't spend too much time overthinking it. instead he drops her legs without warning, hand moving to catch the point of her scissors, regardless of the damage it's bound to do in the process. ]

Great. Can I get Fukawa back?

[ he's not a fan of this one, sorry not sorry ]

[appeale]

Oh—thank you. I'm having fun! I've never been to a party like this.

[ ahh, it's ruined. as soon as she eats this, all the food she's managed to swallow so far will be pointless. but it's better to eat in front of others when they expect it; it prevents a pattern from arising, gives her some lenience if they ever notice her avoidance later. she accepts the platter and plucks a shelled nut from it without thinking too much.

instead of unapproachable as Rudbeckia had expected, Set seems almost awkward now that she sees him up close, which—even putting aside his status as a literal god—is a strange look on someone with the kind of striking beauty worth being carved in stone and whose presence otherwise holds such gravity. it's... human of him. even his explanation is simply one of feeling out of place. no disdain and no dismissal of their petty lives, when even ordinary mortal men she's known would have scoffed.

maybe that's what loosens her tongue enough to ask, sincerely: ]

Did you not have celebrations after victories in battle? I was never very exposed to war, but it always seemed to be surrounded by feasts— [ she had bitten into the grablenut in a pause between her words, and now the heat of it hits her. a startled exhale escapes her— ] Hah! Oh, it's spicy... Um, did you want to have some too, Set?

[oomfies]

[ Wow.. Small world. She's finished chewing and swallowing her food, wiping the crumbs off her mouth as Silco steps closer. Lottie feels lucky that it's him, rather than someone she doesn't know waltzing closer to her bench. It's the reason why she's a little less stiff, not exactly hiding the sandwich she pilfered off that snack table and put into her purse for later. ]

I do..?

[ Sitting on a bench by yourself, deliberately away from other people, means that she's settling in well? ]

Of course I do!

[ Fuck it. She's taking it as a compliment, even if she feels utterly and terribly unconvinced of the fact. ]

Did you just finish that corny ass maze?

[paraselenes]

[ Oh goddess, Felix is dying. He's dying, or he'll snap out of this and kill Dimitri for seeing him in this state, and then himself.

He takes the bottle, but not to drink it. ]

...No, thank you.

[ This is a nightmare. It's almost as bad as realizing that he kind of misses Felix hurling abuse at him. He'll unpack that later.

He doesn't look ill, at least. ]

You ought to sit. How are you... feeling?

[zauneyete]

[ Oh no. Drugged food.

Honestly, it's a brilliant idea, and he should have thought about putting shimmer into food. What was it they said, when they shipped them off to the mines? Ah yes. Start them young. ]

Don't worry, I wasn't inclined to put anything in my mouth that I didn't know what it did. [ He said it with the kind of disgust that could almost be an insult, but the tone wasn't quite biting enough. Yet. He eyed Noctis up and down, unfortunately, he hadn't figured out how to look at other people's profiles yet.

Look, phones are new to him, and he doesn't have his tech wiz daughter around to help. ]

I am, but you have me at a disadvantage, now.

[zauneyete]

A poor excuse for a pet, don't you think?

[ He asked, his tone chiding. Silco's eyes looked the man up and down, taking stock of the curve of his shoulders, how comfortable he looked in all of this. It's hell of a party right now, with the press of bodies, and he himself has his coat to make him look larger -- but it's hardly enough of a shield from the people who press too close.

Silco stiffened, when someone came too close, but he didn't slink away. He seemed to make himself bigger -- if just to make the person move, before he continued, his tone sly. ]

I think the smell might lead them to staying in the doghouse anyway. Ugh, the sweat, with that pumpkin?

[paraselenes]

You would write it for me? [ It's a nice offer. ] I'd enjoy that.

[ He's not exactly the type with his nose in a book every minute of every day, but he likes reading, and entertainment is slim here. What better way to learn about the other cultures here than to share in stories, anyway?

It's a nice thought, but the feathery touch to his shoulder grounds him; his drink turns his reflexes to ooze, and miraculously, he doesn't tense. Rather, it's the words that make his eyes narrow slightly, a hint of disdain slipping into his tone. ]

And I've learned only as much as the people here will share. These "soul-forged" items we hear of are aptly named, it seems. Even the coin here is crafted at the Forges.

[ So those people they saved might've turned into lunch money if they hadn't stepped in. ]

[paraselenes]

[ Listen, it's barely a nerf. D is still beautiful. Now he just has that wind-tousled look that people dream of. And he thinks Joonghyuk is a bastard, but from D it feels more like the flat gaze that Dedue would shoot him when he made a particularly self-deprecating joke. It's bittersweet, though more sweet than not.

So anyway, they're holding hands now. ]

I suppose I'll linger a while longer then.

[ Because he can't really bring himself to let go now. His hand feels cooler than D's own, and he's the human one here. ]

But I do apologize. This is... unlike me. [ He's not a touchy-feely person. ]

[zauneyete]

Is that some sort of... [ He waved the hand with the cigar, trying to come up with a word. He had no idea what a dhampir was. ] Species? Like a yordle?

[ Okay, maybe nothing like a yordle. D was much more distinguished than that, wasn't he? ]

Not liking parties, though... [ A shrug. ] They're loud, raucous, and one cannot get out of them without refuse on their shoes half the time. I understand the distaste.

[ He says this with a crooked smile. Silco isn't in the middle of this, but he certainly doesn't look uncomfortable. More like the type that thrives from simply basking in all of it. ]

[zauneyete]

Me neither.

[ Silco muttered, in response to the first statement. He hadn't seen anything like this before, although he knew what scorpions were, vaguely, from the books he'd read. Brackern, he knew they were called, but the term Sasuke provided might be more recognizeable. ]

The rider almost ran me over earlier, too. [ He held a hand to his chin, thinking. ]

If I had to wager a guess, I would say it's more than likely that this was an attempt to distract, since it ran. From what, though...

[paraselenes]

[ That does sound useful, especially if he can heal, and... maybe fly? Unless those wings are for show.

All the same, it seems safer to be on the ground right now, walking near each other. He narrows his eyes at the tree boughs, clicking his tongue lightly. ]

They seem to be opportunistic beasts. Scavenging off of weakness.

[ Vultures, but ones that sing. Dead as daylight, dead as daylight. Their voices grate; he can hear his shadow murmur something unpleasant in response. ]

They've yet to attack, but they do mean us harm.

[ The hunger in their eyes speak more clearly than their mocking words. ]