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INHUMAN COURTESY

I. PUSHING UP DAISIES

cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror

The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.

It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:

► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.

► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.

if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured

II. DO NOT PASS GO

cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity

Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.

If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.

When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.

► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!

Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.

III. TO THE RESCUE

As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.

The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.

The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”

Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”

It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.

so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Luckily, he is not the swaddling comforting type, so she is safe. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder--skin below it angry with the brand--where the guards had tossed him inside. Well, this is a turn of events.]

D.

[Carefully, he takes a half a step back, toward the opposite corner, rattling the shackles strung between his ankles. He stands there much like he always stood places when he was wrapped head to toe in the black outfit: still, silent. But he looks eerily different and a little mechanical with it all gone.]

I don't think they told anyone why.

[Thank goodness, no screams of indecency for you.]

...That's it? [Even in the quagmires of her worst nightmares come true, she has time to be offended by a stupid name.] Are you t-trying to be mysterious on purpose?

[Boy we are in JAIL. Drop the act already.]

F-figures. They don't th-think they have to. Because we'll j-just be left to rot here anyway! [Fukawa clears another tear away with the heel of her palm. Her voice is still stuffy from the fit, compounding with that weird cough she can't seem to shake.] Or taken to the Forges. Or g-ground up into meat and resold as hamburgers...

[Which may sound ridiculous now that she's put it into the universe, but what wasn't ridiculous about this place? They got chased around by a Headless Horseman last week. Soylent Green is not off the table.]

[That's it, baby.]

It's simply my name, [is all he says in explanation. He doesn't try to make excuses, and he doesn't sound offended by the ribbing. D. An unfortunate moniker in this day and age, truly.]

Do you intend to try escaping?

[Right now, it doesn't look like she intends to do much outside of wallow and cry, but D would never underestimate anyone based on what they initially seam. Maybe she's got a lil spunk in her.

Or a little primal thirst for survival.]

[Wow.]

Your p-parents have no imagination.

[It's tempting to keep sniping at him. Or curl up further into her corner and pretend he's not there. There's still a squeeze on her chest that makes it hurt to breathe. Her head feels swollen and she's in the thick of a nightmare she's nursed since she was small.

But he asks the only question that matters, and her mouth becomes a tight line. Now? Right now?

She thinks of Komaru, dropped to her knees on the broken bridge and begging to give up. Sobbing her eyes out. She thinks of her on the top floor of a twisted building, empty as a shell, mourning her family. Fukawa hadn't let her give up. Gave her no choice, no rest, gotta keep moving before despair swallows you whole.

What a hypocrite she's turned out to be. Her voice comes out husky, too soft, but she means what she says.]

...I h-have to.

[Not sure if he'd make it better or worse explaining this was a name he gave himself, but luckily, he says nothing in response. His one skill is he cannot be goaded most of the time.

Briefly, he glances in her direction. If she has a will, then that'll suffice. His eyes slide to where had been tossed in. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't mind serving any sentence he's earned. If they had thrown him in for trying to break into the Palace, he would have come without resistance, done his time, and left.

But this is different. They aren't going to be let out of here anytime soon, he doesn't think.]

Alright.

[Slowly, he lowers himself down into a squat. His fingers slip through the shackles around one of his ankles, and he... just pulls. There's no strain, no gritted teeth, no jerk. He simply moves both hands in opposite directions, and the metal beneath creaks before snapping at any weaker seams. He turns and does the exact same thing to the other shackle.

He really allowed them to bind him knowing he could just get out.]

[He gave it to HIMSELF?? Dude

He's very taciturn. Moreso than even she'd like, misanthrope she may be. He's come to an internal conclusion and takes his time revealing it. Fukawa watches his movements from her corner.

There's an elegance there. Not even Maizono or Oogami, a prim pop idol and a martial arts master, had moved with such precision. It's as if he's guided by the machinations of a paintbrush, drawing long, swooping strokes in feathering ink. His hair ripples over his back, falling forward on slender shoulders.

He's very striking. Her mouth was already burned up dry from her fit, but it feels like sandpaper now. He makes her aware of her ugliness in the same way Asahina or Kirigiri did, sending pins and needles to the knobby ends of her bones, the outlines of her meatless figure, her hag-face, her stringy hair. And he draws her in like Byakuya-sama. Felix, Cedrik, Sylvain. All the boys that came before them.

Then he threads his fingers through the shackles and rips them. Her gasp is audible. She's sat high against the wall suddenly, hand to heart.]

You...you c-could just do that at any time?! [AT ANY TIME???? Now she looks appalled, because what the hell man.] Then why did you l-let yourself get captured in the first place?

There wasn't any point in causing a disturbance.

[Fluidly, he pulls himself up into a stand again, but turns away from her for a moment to look cautiously out of the cell. His eyes skim over everything, studying it. Then, he faces her like before.]

If you want to get out, you will have to let me remove the shackles.

[For now, he really doesn't make any motions toward her. He is a hilariously polite man. Who... happens to know how much of a monster he can seem to others, so why would he purposefully make them uncomfortable? It's fine.]

Y-yeah, but you would be free.

[Her nose is crinkled, brow still furrowed. Sure, right, he would technically be a fugitive the instant he resisted arrest, but then he's going to be a fugitive now anyway. With double the hurdles to escape to boot. To Fukawa, who has no special powers, a giant liability, and one mostly useless talent, accepting that fate willingly is inconceivable. Why you wouldn't take every advantage you had?

Eventually she sighs. The indignation has done some good at least. She's not feeling half so sorry for herself now.]

Of c-course I want out. Who'd enjoy rolling around in old piss? [Let us not think of the dank odours hanging in the air. She rises and shuffles closer to him, tugging her rags down for modesty. There's no hiding the tally marks carved into her left thigh, however. Japanese style, cutting off at thirty-seven. It's an indignity she'll have to weather until she gets her clothes back.

If she can get her clothes back.

Fukawa halts just within arm's reach and realizes she has no idea how best to get this done.]

Sh-should I sit?

I don't abide by being free when others are not.

[Going to her once he had her consent had been the plan, but actually, this may be better. If she feels like she has the choice to do it instead. So he stands there and allows her to approach as far as she's comfortable.

He still doesn't make any moves at her. Even if he towers over her considerably, the way he's looking at her, the way he holds himself, is as if he is making an attempt to be humble about it. Not vulnerable, but polite.]

You can stand.

[Slowly, he lowers himself into a squat like he had before. He motions for her to come toward him with his hand when she's ready. He turns his head slightly toward one shoulder, as if he's listening past the gates behind him for noise.]

[That earns him a curious cant of the head. Funny, that.]

You sound like a guy I know. [Pause.] Except he's way d-dorkier than you.

[Naegi has all the presence of a hand-tamed chipmunk, but he would lay his stupid ass on the line for anyone who asked. And those who didn't.

There's no getting around the uncomfortable condition they're in. Fukawa does her best to avert her gaze. He's too tall to keep eye-contact with and too bare to withstand. She hasn't seen a man so exposed outside of a swimming pool, and never so close as this. A shiver tickles her spine when he bids her to stand.

If she were writing this scene there would be a finger curling under her chin. Or brushing the remains of tears away. A desperate embrace in a desolate chamber.

Fukawa gulps. He's swept downwards, beckoning her forward, and she complies with a dainty shuffle. Her toes curl. Her fingers are dogmatic guards at the hem of her rags. This is an awful angle to be viewed at. He can probably smell how disgusting she is. Look, her ankles! Aren't they the knobbiest globs of bones you ever saw? And these goblin feet, you couldn't sell pictures of them online for a ninety percent discount!

Horrible. Horrible, awful, ugly, and he has to be so close for this to work, and he's so damnably pretty that even prison grime looks elegant streaked across his flawless skin. Her nostrils flare as his shoulder blades shift, rustling that raven cascade of hair.]

C-can't you be quick?

[Let the humiliation end.]

[D, the evolved (devolved?) form of Naegi...

While no heartbeats are turning in their direction, he breaks her free. The long, pale fingers slip between the heavy iron and the skin of her ankles, not hesitant or reluctant, not bothered by how normal it is to not be perfect. He's smelled worse. He's smelled death, and not even a person who doesn't bathe can smell worse than a decaying body being left to rot in the heat of the sun.

The muscles in his lean arms and shoulders flex under the white skin. The shackle bends, then snaps at the seam. He places it gently on the ground, and then he twines his fingers around the second one on the other ankle. It snaps like a twig in his hands. Like the other one, he places it on the ground so it makes no noise.

And then he tips his head back to look up at her, but he doesn't stand up yet. He's waiting for her to... perhaps step away from him out of fear.]

Was he your friend?

[As if Naegi is the evolved form of anything.

Aristocratic fingers slip between skin and shackle. Her whole body tenses. There's a sharp inhale at the metallic crack, a whole body flinch. Fukawa snaps her attention to the wall as he moves to the second. This time it's a stifled twitch and a stiff sniff when the shackle pops.

The affair is over in a matter of seconds, and still it's shot her heart to marathon speeds.]

He'd p-probably say so. [Fukawa wasn't at the top of Naegi's priorities, but he did keep chasing her down for idle chats no matter how often she swatted him away. Besides, how could anyone stand out next to that showboat Kirigiri, or Maizono before her?

She much preferred his sister anyway. Extreme circumstances and lack of choice had forced Komaru to trek past her mountainous flaws, but that girl had stuck by her side even when she had the chance to leave. Her affections weren't some casual label flung out to everyone in a two mile radius.]

But he's an idiot. W-we were classmates. Being stuck together d-doesn't make people your friends.

[Hmm.

As he slowly stands again, he takes a small step backward to put distance between the two of them. Whatever she sees in the motion, the truth is he is hyperaware of how much people are afraid of him. They're valid, in a way. He understands. This is why he never stays in one place for very long, becoming some kind of horrific inconvenience to people living their lives.

It doesn't much help he can hear her racing heart, or feel her unease either.]

You're right. But sometimes you may find friends through hardships. That is when you see everyone's true colors.

[Fukawa slides back herself. Not to mirror him, but to soothe her nerves. Her attention stays steadfast to the side until he lends his wisdom. True colours, huh? That draws a smile from her. It's small, perhaps a touch cruel.]

S-sometimes, you just discover there's more wolves in sheep's clothing than you thought.

[Weak. Those first few had folded so quickly. Even wretched, reviled, hateful Fukawa, who everyone suspected from the start, had resisted the urge to kill.

That's hardly fair, though, is it? They'd been twisted around and tormented in ways no one could have predicted. That smile drops, and with it goes her gloating airs.]

Still...it's g-good to have a senseless idiot around. Being a little stupid can help to find the bright side of things.

Edited (sometimes sometimes) 2022-11-19 20:06 (UTC)

[He's realizing there are more people here who are deeply pessimistic because of their traumas than he initially realized. Please just be emotionally unavailable like normal.]

He must have seen something in you that was worth it. Something that made him want to be your friend.

[He does not try to make any guesses what that something might be. Not knowing her aside from this first meeting, they'd be baseless platitudes.

Slowly, he turns around to face the bars of the cell. For a moment, he just stands still enough to listen to noises on the outside. He doesn't think he can break the bars as easily as he broke the shackles. So they'll have to try another way.]

[No.]

I g-guess. [It really doesn't seem worth pondering. Naegi only had higher thought when he had to solve a murder. The rest of the time he seemed to bounce passively between obstacles like the ball in Pong.] Some people find treasure in even the f-foulest piles of trash.

[Anyway.

She follows his attention to the cell bars. Fukawa frowns. Opens her mouth to ask why he isn't bending them into pretzels, then bites it back. If he's hesitating it might be for a good reason. He seems peculiarly level-headed thus far, and so she'll give him more leeway than most.]

What do you th-think? [Her frail fingers curl around the metal bars as she leans forward, pressing her face close for a better look down the hall. The view is hardly extensive, but she can see the place isn't well manned. There are screams further down. Those haven't let up since they came in.

Except there's a bark of "Quiet!" and the smack of a fist. A whimper of pain. A door slams shut somewhere far away. Fukawa withdraws, biting her lip in pensive meditation.]

S-sounds like they don't want people making a racket.

[Sounds like a good ol' day in prison to him.

Both lips have thinned into a frown. From within the curtain of long, dark hair, his eyes peer clinically through the bars at their location. There really isn't anything for them to use, not that he's surprised.]

Go stand against the far wall.

[He bends down to gather up one pair of the shackles, twining the chain over his hand. At the bars, he stands up once more. But he waits for her to be out of the way before he tries whatever wild, dumbass idea he has planned.]

[Ah...imagine if it were Byakuya-sama giving her such an order instead.

Fukawa obeys, scurrying to the back of the cell. She bites at her thumb as she watches.]

D-don't break a bone or something.

[Herniate a disk. Throw out his back. This looks hare-brained, whatever it is.]

[Toko, please get better tastes...

Gripping the chain firmly, he raises his hand, allowing one end to dangle by the weight of the second shackle.]

Cover your ears.

[Which he only gives her a few seconds to do before he starts whaling on the bars of the cell with the iron manacles. It really doesn't take very long for the same guard as before to emerge to try figuring out what all the ruckus happens to be.

The man is more irritated by the nuisance than surprised. So, as expected, he starts venturing over to make it stop.]

[okay here's her official application for D's harem

Though she complies, Fukawa still flinches when the cacophony begins. God, what an awful racket. Someone could go deaf listening to that.

The guard returns, surly and stomping hard, only to stop up short when he realizes it's the broken shackles clanging on the bars. He curses as he wrests his key into the lock and lumbers into the cell, reaching for the club on his belt. "Who the hell let you out of your chains, you little shit..."

Fukawa's heart has wedged in her throat. Sweat beads at her brow. The man's attention is all on D, so perhaps he can't notice her reach out with her foot. She edges one of the remaining shackles towards her. It wouldn't count for much in her hands, but maybe if she swung it at the right spot she could buy D some time.]

[NO

Even when the guard has taken notice of them--and taken notice of them out of the shackles--he continues to beat the bars with what he has until the guard begins coming inside of the cell.

Luckily for Toko, he's a monster, though the help wouldn't go unappreciated. He quickly lifts the opposite arm to grab the club with his fist when it comes down at him. In all honesty, he could probably break it with a squeeze, but he refrains. Then he really just sucker punches the guy in the face with the other fist balled full of chain. The club gets released when the guard goes down... but D actually drops the club back and away from him. Toko is free to take it if she wants.

Before the guard can get up, D steps heavily on his chest with one leg, pinning him down. His left arm stretches out, the palm reaching for the guard's face. Half disoriented, the guard looks both shocked and disgusted, and then there's a moment where he starts to scream. The palm closes down over the guard's face, swallowing the scream, and after a moment, the guard goes limp.]

[WHY WON'T YOU ACCEPT OUR LOVE

Violence, on screen or in person, has never been anything less than a source of terror. When the bat swings down she can't help averting her eyes.

Except it's not D taking the blows.

She watches through splayed fingers, half enthralled and half mortified, as this immaculate man makes swift work of a brute twice his size and triply armed. She doesn't even get to pick up the shackle. In three swift seconds D has him on the ground wailing, and then on the ground mute.

Her heartbeat thrums in the following silence. He's not moving. Did he—]

Is he d-dead?

[Fukawa patters closer. Her stomach is churning at the anticipation of blood, but it's a cleaner victory than she expected. Her gaze swings up to D with wonder. Who is he, really?

It's like he fell out of the pages of a book. Mortal men are rarely so beautiful and so deadly. So calm and assured. Never so valiant in service of wretches like her.]

You...th-th-thank you.

[It isn't much of a reassurance when the guy is out cold, but he says,] No. [Maybe she'd prefer the death, but it's fine. No death for him only because D gives a little bit of a shit sometimes. Carefully, he digs over the guard's body for the keys, and then he slowly pulls himself to his feet.]

He'll wake up in a while.

[He glances at her briefly.] We're not out just yet. [The thanks is appreciated... but they have quite a ways to go, so she should hold her thanks until they breathe the air outside.]

If you don't want to stay, let's go.

[No wasting time. Taking the keys with him, he moves to the cell of the door and passes out of their first and maybe only freebie. Thank you, guard, for being dumb enough to come inside.]

[For the record she would very much not prefer the death, actually. Been there, done that, hated it more than life itself. Fukawa's shoulders drop from where they'd hitched to her ears, loosing a tiny breath of relief. It soon turns into a wisp of a laugh.]

Oh, no, I've r-really gotten attached to the place! Nothing says 'Home Sweet Home' like st-starving to death on wet rock.

[Be serious.

Fukawa scoops up the discarded club (just in case) and follows after D dutifully, glancing behind to make certain they haven't been seen.]

To the r-right, I think? [Her memory wasn't so solid of the path she was dragged in here on, but she is certain that's the first leg of it.] Th-there might be more of us locked up over there, too.

[It's very hilarious the sarcasm sounds not unlike a certain parasite attached to his left hand, so he doesn't even bat a single lash at it. Very used to sarcasm actually.

The guard snoozing unintentionally gets shut up inside the cell once Fukawa is outside. Goodnight, sweet prince.] A group of us would make it more difficult to escape undetected. [He doesn't say this like he's necessarily opposed. Only, if their intentions had been for stealth, it'd be a poor choice.

He heads toward the right, walking carefully but bold and upright, not crouched or hiding. If he's seen, he's seen. It's not hard to miss him anyway: he's so pale, he stands out in the dark a little more, like a white apparition. Maybe that's partially what all the black attire had been for...?]

STOP help

:')

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CW: self harm mention

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