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

[paraselenes]

[ Dimitri, feeling somewhat defeated despite the fact that Felix is listening to him, does not return his gleeful thumbs up. He just sits down as well, decidedly sober. ]

Yes, but you hate it when I reminisce.

[ Besides, that was such a long time ago; he'd assumed Felix had forgotten, or at least made a very earnest effort to try.

He sniffs the mouth of the bottle; even with his diffused senses, he knows it's awful. What is this? ]

Whatever this is, I suppose it doesn't hurt that you take the opportunity to... relax. [ Felix is often as on-edge as any of them. ]

[boarwitness]

It's fine, I did the reminiscing.

[but it is true, he does hate it. except that right now it seems fine? everything seems fine. maybe the drink was a relaxation drink, like dimitri said. that's nice. that's great.]

You should try relaxing, too.

[he points at the bottle again, but that hasn't really been working, and he's too blissed out to bully—so he pauses, clearly thinking.]

You could try something like gardening. You'd make a good gardener, with your strength.

[paraselenes]

[ It's true, Felix did start it this time. Dimitri gives into curiosity and takes a tiny sip of the drink, but no more than that.

So the effect is brief. But hits like a chariot, if that chariot were covered in downy pillows and fond memories. It's like he's dragged under a tide of pure happiness and he doesn't know how to feel about it when it's washed away, staring at Felix like he's grown a second head.

At least he gets where it's coming from now. ]

I thought you'd suggest my strength made me a better boar than gardener.

[ Dimitri just sighs then, giving up on his wariness. ]

I did consider it, actually. If I were born a commoner—I wonder. Maybe I'd have tended the land. [ cautiously, ] What about you?

[boarwitness]

[as soon as dimitri takes a little baby sippy, felix looks on expectantly, approvingly. everything is still very feathery for him, like gossamer wings flying him to a land where everything is perfectly fine. even between him and dimitri.]

Even a boar can till fields. That's why I thought of it.

[he says it as if the connection had been obvious from the start. boars dig! it all lines up. he even leans in a little as dimitri responds, nodding with interest at the idea of a farming king.]

You can now, you know. Nothing's stopping you.

[but the question gives him a sort of distant look. what about him? freed from the normal constraints he'd self-assign to deflect the question, he considers it seriously—and scoffs lightly at the answer he comes up with.]

A mercenary, probably. [so, still swords.]

[paraselenes]

[ He's not wrong. Boars do dig. It's flawless 'drunken' knowledge, courtesy of Felix. ]

A mercenary life does suite you.

[ Not just for swords—just a life out there, no longer straddled with history, tradition, duty. Dimitri wouldn't mind being a mercenary either, even if he finds money poor motivation for anything.

It's all idle dreaming though. He picks out another drink from a nearby serving station; this one is milder, a scarlet brew that soothes nerves. He prefers it. ]

But there's plenty keeping me from a career in agriculture. It was just a moment of silliness on my part.

[boarwitness]

But you're dead. [he states it rather matter-of-factly, but not unkindly.] We both are.

There's nothing keeping either of us from anything, anymore.

[it's a surprisingly observant comment, perhaps clarity brought on by the lack of troubles in his mind—but in the lull after it, felix reaches over and snatches his nasty little bottle back, taking another chug off of it. his eyes water, but he's soon fine again, taking this dose much easier than the last. it's not that bad!!!]

You don't have the crown waiting for you.

[this is said quite positively, actually.]

[paraselenes]

[ He watches Felix take another gulp, and doesn't try to stop him. After all that's happened, he deserves a moment of uncomplicated happiness. ]

...I suppose I don't.

[ He knows this isn't Felix glorifying death into something it isn't; he was never the type, which was one of the few similarities between them. It's just simple fact. They're dead. The mantles and trappings of king and duke are no longer in play.

There is no weight of a crown on his head anymore—so why does it still feel so heavy? He nurses his drink, which soothes the compulsion to bite the inside of his cheek. ]

Are you glad to be rid of it? The expectations. And everything else.

[ Felix no longer has to be the heir of anything, doesn't have to wield a blade for anything besides his own desires. He has no king to guard, one he has no love for anyway, no centuries-old title of Shield to shackle him in place. None of that. ]

[boarwitness]

[even floating in a river of good feelings and spectacular vibes, the question is weighty. truthfully, he hadn't stopped to consider it. everything that was going to be, that he'd had thrust upon him unwillingly, all the roles and tasks he'd shunned and detested for so much of his life would now never come to pass. even with his father gone. because he was gone.

was he pleased? his eyes unfocus, distant, thoughtful. normally, he'd say yes. minutes ago, he would have. in a second. but with peace wrapping around him, something different formed in his mouth.]

It's... [he hesitates, then suddenly meets dimitri's eyes.] complicated.

[there wasn't enough time or space, even with two glugs of joy juice, to unpack all of that right now. for a quiet beat, he taps his fingers on the table, then shakes his head.]

But that's not important.

We should talk about us. [what]

[paraselenes]

[ It's not the answer he expects. Felix could cut too sharply to the quick of things, and now he's being forced to be considerate.

He'd press a little more if his next statement weren't even stranger. Dimitri stares at him. ]

In... what sense?

[ He has an idea of what he might want to chat about, but he's distracted by Felix referring to the two of them as "us." "Us" implies a cohesive unit; a pair. He wouldn't expect this even in his own timeline, where Felix was more prickly than hostile. ]

[boarwitness]

You're not the boar I know. [again, not unkindly. felix extends one hand and gives a little conciliatory half-shrug, as if to indicate this is not his fault, and not going to be an issue.] So I want to know where you differ.

I have some idea of things. [thanks to claude] But I still have questions. [because claude knows nothing actually]

How did a coup with your uncle even happen? For us, he was murdered after the war had already started, and according to unreliable information from Cornelia, it was by you.

[normally, he'd demand answers to several pointed questions in the most direct way possible, but with elysium still exerting a blissful stranglehold, things get a lot more relaxed. like a casual interview, instead of an enemy interrogation.]

And how did you convince me to become Duke? It seems impossible I'd accept.

[paraselenes]

[ He looks briefly surprised at just how many details Felix does know, considering they've never spoken about this, but it does completely confirm that they... somehow knew different "versions" of each other. ]

It seems you've been studying.

[ He says so distantly, drumming his fingers against the table of various drinks before he frowns. Cautiously, ]

Felix... Do you really want to know? I don't want to you to feel beholden to anyone. Not even yourself.

[ Which is why he didn't delve into this any earlier. If Felix really is dead—he doesn't owe Dimitri or Faerghus. He can be as vitriolic and distant as he wants. He doesn't have to be the Duke of anything anymore. ]

[boarwitness]

[asking felix if he was certain about something, especially when it was dimitri asking, was a surefire recipe for disaster. except in this case, he simply waves it off benevolently.]

Of course. That's why I'm asking. [somewhat horrifyingly, he offers another little smile at the feedback of dimitri's own wary feelings, substituting his trouble-free ones instead.]

I already said—we're free. If anything, you're the one caught up worrying about owing each other anything.

[there had been a time when they'd both been like this, so long ago. the return, although sudden, surprised him more by not being unwelcome. but now wasn't the time to get caught up on complicated exploration of why that was. everything was possible right now, and he in a place where he was able to embrace it.]

I guess I won't force you, though.

[paraselenes]

[ After a moment, he reaches and takes the bottle from Felix. Not to drink it, but to help him sober up. Normally he'd allow him to revel, but the airy acceptance isn't what Dimitri wants from this conversation; he wants Felix in his entire, difficult capacity here. ]

...No. No, it's fine. Where to even begin?

[ Probably the coup. It was directly related to Felix. ]

I suspect my uncle had planned a war for some time, but he made his move while we were at Garreg Mach. Some nonsense about how House Fraldarius was set to use me as a puppet king. Likely an attempt to be rid of us both. [ A little dryly, ] Cornelia wasn't wrong, I suppose. I executed him, and that's near enough to murder.

[ They're only different by a matter of perspective. All the same, he continues. ]

My uncle's involvement in the Tragedy came to light, and Rodrigue volunteered as a political scapegoat to assuage any outrage. That's when he stepped down and you became Duke Fraldarius. Though—to be clear, your father was doing important work in Duscur. He wouldn't allow himself to be idle.

[ He pauses and holds his mug of tea for warmth this time, rather than drinking it. ]

As to why you accepted—Rodrigue must have convinced you. But I wouldn't say you had much choice in the matter regardless. ...You truly don't remember any of this?

[boarwitness]

[felix listens intently enough, but even elysium (or maybe, especially because of elysium) can't stop him from attempting to interject at dimitri's claim to murder.]

That's not--

[but he's already continuing on, so an oddly considerate felix simply lets him. by the time dimitri reaches the end of it, he's shaking his head.]

No. Because it didn't happen like that. Like I said, the war started first—Edelgard and the Empire declared war on the Church, and attacked Garreg Mach while we were still there. We fought that first battle as students.

[it was all so long ago, now. another lifetime. but the emotions of that month, each day in preparation, and what he observed could still be called to the forefront of his mind as easily as if they'd happened yesterday. his first real taste of war. right now, it's hard to focus on it—and as the bittersweet feelings drift off, replaced by warm feelings of bonds forged, he continues.]

Ultimately, we were routed, but we made it back to Faerghus. Then all of a sudden, the king regent is dead, and we're supposed to think you did it. Cornelia had you jailed, and executed—of course, no one ever saw the body. I never believed it.

[there's a pause as he seems to dwell on that statement, staring at the mug in dimitri's hands, watching the steam curl, lost in the calming aura of it—then shakes his head again, a twitch of a crease on his brow.]

In reality, you escaped. And I don't think I need to ask if you remember your five-year disappearing act afterward.

[paraselenes]

[ He expects Felix to cut him off, as usual, though Duke Fraldarius had gotten better at waiting until he was done talking before slashing down his ideas, so it's not like Felix is completely unable to listen.

But when it's Dimitri's time to fall silent and hear what happened in another time, another life, he's more visibly perturbed. Cornelia plotting his execution isn't surprising at all, actually. What he doesn't understand is why he'd vanish for so many years after. Surely Rodrigue would've supported him if he fought back.

Maybe that's why Felix seemed so hostile now. Had he just disappeared while the rest of them fought Edelgard's war? If his strength weren't so sporadic here, he'd have crushed the mug in his hands with how tight he's squeezing it now. ]

...I don't recall that at all, no.

[ So that makes Felix older than him, a war that's lasted at least five years, and a missing king. ]

Did Cornelia take the throne? I can't imagine she'd allow your father to. [ Even if he is a duke. ] What happened after I returned?

[ How does this connect to Gronder, of all places? ]

[boarwitness]

No one took the throne. With Cornelia and the rest of the traitor's assistance, Fhirdiad was captured by the Empire, and subdued all Blaiddyd regions. Why would they crown someone, when they could just crush the last resistance, and unify it into their own land?

[this is all delivered matter-of-factly, still buoyed by the beverage—but the next question has nearly the same effect as a hot cup of coffee on a buzz of alcohol. felix's brow twitches again, and this time, his lips purse, creeping downward for the first time since drinking. he doesn't stop talking, but reality is at least beginning to creep back in.]

You didn't return. [it's blunt, but neutral, not biting—but there's something of a foreshadowing to it, like it shortly will be.] We finally found you killing thieves and looters in the ruins of Garreg Mach.

[he falls silent for a moment, watching dimitri across the table. it felt otherworldly, relaying this—and not in the elysium way. that there could be another place where it all just... didn't happen. something unpleasant and guilty twists in his stomach, and he frowns properly.]

You were transformed. Like a monster in human skin, obsessed with revenge and killing, more at the beck and call of the dead than the living.

[as he speaks, each word becomes just a little less even, a little more vitriolic.]

You gave in to it all.

[paraselenes]

[ Given the state of the western territories, this is a sadly believable outcome. He finds himself exasperated by the consistency—even outside of his timeline, under completely different circumstances, House Rowe and the others continue to be a threat to the crown.

But Dimitri himself? Apparently he travelled a very different path.

He's stunned silent in the face of it all. And there's no point in asking if this was Felix making the world's worst joke, not when his voice and expression are slowly hardening back into steel. Not when it makes a deathly amount of sense. Felix may boldly proclaim that he knows of Dimitri's darkness, but no one is so aware of it than Dimitri himself.

So he knows this is possible, even likely, and that his "other" self hadn't transformed into that monster. He simply unveiled what he really was. He simply lived in an era where Cornelia could successfully peel back his skin and flesh enough for the molten anger of his core to come spilling out—and he wonders if that's what he was actually meant to be. The creeping thought bursts suddenly into a migraine's howl in grief, a battering of voices: Felix's Dimitri had made himself a proper instrument of vengeance and is out there doing what should be done, what must be done, while he's here, their souls left to rot in an untangled bramble of regrets as his sits aside a friend, comfortable and fed and warm.

He reaches up, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut and pushing his tea away. ]

I see. Well. I can't claim surprise.

[ His voice is almost dull, but he carries on. ]

...I'm lucky to have avoided such a fate. But forgive me, Felix. It sounds as though I left you and the others with the burden of war. [ No wonder he sounds so mad all the time, with five years of a losing battles under his belt. And now Rodrigue is dead. What do they have to show for it? ] Though the circumstances were different... Cornelia had me imprisoned as well. But she failed to carry out my execution, and lost her grip on Fhirdiad.

[ Is that the real point of history where everything changed? His mouth twists as he searches for words, and maybe stalls through the last dregs of elysium. ]

I—...You've suffered a great deal. I'm sorry.

[boarwitness]

[the silence between them is drawn out, even as the merriment continues relentlessly around them. felix watches dimitri's face, stunned and quiet, and waits for it all to settle in—for him to react, in whatever form that would take.

except as he watches, he becomes aware of something in the background of his mind, a growing feeling, like a dry river filling with water in a flash flood. slowly at first, then rapidly, pushing fully into his mind, until the sensation of it all is nearly all he can perceive.

dimitri is speaking again, but it's suddenly hard to make sense of the words. grasping at his forehead with his left hand, felix holds up his right, trying to shush dimitri—although he can barely focus on the conversation in the first place. gritting his teeeth, he cuts dimitri's apology off, tone sharp and urgent.]

Stop it.

[but his head is already so full of it—a sort of mourning, full of grief and despair, yet buzzing like a torn-open hive of wasps. guilt and regret twist and pulse, the whole mental spectacle playing out like a macabre chorus.

for a moment, he closes his eyes, attempting to will the feelings away, or at least get them under control, crushing them down and out, with only moderate success. ultimately, he just speaks around them, the remains of the elysium doing wonders for his temper.]

I don't need your apologies.

[he shakes his head, sighing out, and places both hands flat on the table to steady himself. whatever that was, he had an uneasy hunch where it was coming from.]

Just... be better. [leaning forward, his voice drops into a demand.] Swear it.

[paraselenes]

[ There's a last flicker of unrestrained emotion on his end—guilt. Regret for even considering indulging his darker impulses, for thinking that causing pain might bring about peace. But it's a complicated spiral, two warring sides that circle each other without gaining ground, and when Felix speaks again the floodgate begins to shut.

Because thankfully, the Elysium makes something mild out of Felix's reactions and emotions, and through their bond (one he's certain of now, but refuses to speak to), it helps him leash his own, settling slowly into something more old and weary, the quiet aftermath of a harsh buzz of feelings. But he's sure that Felix is returning to his usual self, too. He can hear it in the fresh terseness of his words, curt and demanding even if they lack a sharp edge.

It's actually an oath he could see his own Felix forcing at him, though his answer in either case would be the same. Wearily, stubbornly, ]

I cannot promise that.

[ He won't make an oath he'd certainly break. ]

I will do what I can to better our situation, and that of those around us. But this is who I am.

[ He's never claimed that Felix was wrong about him. Even if he makes wiser choices, causes less heartache, saves more lives—Felix is asking for something else. He's looking at him and wishing that Dimitri could grow into someone else, some version of him that died years ago. But no promise can bring that person back, and he isn't willing to make it. ]

[boarwitness]

[as the wash of emotions unbelonging begins to taper off with a final wave of guilt, and felix exhales, long and low, unaware he'd been holding it. something was settling it all, at least—good for both of them, if this was to be their burden.

until he answers.

it's not that it's unexpected—on the contrary, he should have known better, driving for an ultimatum like that. but there's a part of him that can't help but demand it, attempt to force dimitri's hand on it—and he can't help his reaction, either. there's only a momentary flicker on felix's face—a shadow of absolute fury—before it's gone again, his expression returning to stony-faced anger, teeth gritted.

within, it manifests as the mental equivalent of a sudden fist slammed violently into a wall—a venting, with multitude feeling wrapped into one gut-punch of a blow. there was rage, certainly, but other things wrapped around them, tangled and broken—grief, guilt, frustration—then a pulse of determination. but as suddenly as it appears, it's suppressed again, wrapped in a curtain of glowering ambivalence—either from felix's own coping, or the realization that he wouldn't be the only one feeling this.

expression still hard, he stands, eyes burning into dimitri.]

I should have known.

[his voice is quiet, dangerously calm, last dregs of elysium evaporated.]

It's pointless to talk to a wild animal, regardless of what shape it takes.

[and without waiting for a response, felix turns, striding away quick enough that his half-cloak flutters behind him. he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.]