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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!

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（ she adjusts herself as directed, but instead of tipping her head back — a position that would get uncomfortable quickly, and reminds her of nothing else so much as how easy it is to slit a throat besides — she just pivots so she's facing the other girl instead. ）

Not the way I wanted.

（ it wasn't like sasuke ever threw her to the wolves. they were teammates. he had helped her and looked out for her and she had been greedy for the affection she read into his actions even when it seems like it had all been her imagination after all.

but when it mattered, when it counted... she can still remember him telling her and kakashi that saving them from the grip of infinite tsukuyomi had been incidental, that they were useless and unnecessary.

green eyes flick up briefly, and then away. whatever is happening here is a delicate accord, and she realizes... she'd missed having a girl her own age to talk to. she doesn't want to ruin whatever this might become by being hard-headed. sometimes, you need to be willing to be vulnerable first, and finally: ）

I don't think he ever cared about me at all. I was just a nuisance.

（ it's the first time she's ever said it aloud. but... between what happened after the war, his leaving the village and now here in stygia... as much as she knows about trauma now and how it shapes people and follows them all their lives... if he felt anything about her at all, there would have been some indication of it by now. he has no trouble speaking about naruto and the depths of their bond, but he's only ever been cold to her. ）

[What's less vulnerable for Sakura is doubly nerve-wracking for Fukawa. Her courage flees as her gaze hits direct into sea green eyes. She loses precious seconds to blinking dumbly, looking ever so stupid before she clears her throat and just...pretends she can't see anything. She scoops back the bangs and starts anew. Her eyes will remain square on this here hairline. Do not cross the border. Gaze not into the void.

Hard to do when the story carries on. The fantasy has gone sour enough to clamp Sakura's mouth shut. She tells it in five words instead of fifty, and that's all Fukawa needs.]

What? [So did he abandon her? After she'd dedicated her life to studying martial arts for his sorry ass?

Their eyes meet again in that brief flick up, and Fukawa realizes she's already broken her only ground rule. She grunts and resumes the work with more vigor. Not rough: just swifter, with a petulant scowl set in place.]

M-Men can be so callous. [Easy now. It's not even her own story and she's getting riled up.] Even if th-they don't like you back, there's no need to treat somebody like a...l-like a hot turd on asphalt!

[Where the hell do they get off behaving like that, anyway? What happened to chivalry? Basic human decency?

She works in silence for a while. Then there's a bitter mutter from behind gritted teeth.]

The f-first boy I ever liked was the only one in my class who would talk to me. I found out he was moving away, s-so I wrote him a letter confessing my feelings.

[She refolds the gauze to a bare patch. It's turning grimy but Sakura's hair is already showing vast improvement.]

He pinned it to the bulletin board the next day. Everyone k-kept laughing at me, quoting parts of it back like it was the funniest joke they'd heard. When I asked him why he did it, he said he'd always hated me. [Such a sad sob story for such a little girl. It's been nearly ten years and she still gets choked up thinking about it.] The other k-kids had been making fun of him for spending time with me. My company had made his life a complete hell.

He said he was glad he'd n-never see me again.

（ it paints an awful story, doesn't it? she can imagine fukawa, who must have been a child then, standing miserable and hurt in a circle of taunting children. she may not be familiar with that specific sort of cruelty, but she remembers being teased well enough that she can picture it. ）

Sounds like an asshole. An entire class of them, actually.

（ such crass words for such a professional woman, but hey, she means it. men certainly can be jerks when it comes to feelings, and it isn't as if she means only sasuke. they are truly and unilaterally terrible about it.

funny, how it's easier to be mad on someone else's behalf than on her own. oh, sasuke never humiliated her like that — she doesn't think he would, he's not that sort of person. he used to be sweet and gentle, once upon a time. ）

You deserved better than that. I'm sorry that was how he repaid your feelings.

[The sweep of thinning ink tapers to a crawl. Fukawa's fixated on the fine part of Sakura's scalp. Does she deserve better?

She could finish the story. She'd seen that same boy again weeks later, after he'd moved to Shikoku. Waking on cool tile in a classroom she'd never been to, a dark and foul splatter all over her body. Pooling on the floor. His body suspended on the wall, two pairs of scissors punched through his hands. A lover's crucifixion, his blood smeared in crooked kanji beside him. It was her first real introduction to Syo. The first time washing up had turned into a horror show, how blood became unbearable in any amount.

He was the first notch to appear on her thigh. She could give Sakura a run down on all thirty-seven. So many beautiful boys who wouldn't give her the time of day. Names in bold on the nightly news thereafter.

She doesn't say anything. Her lips twitch. She swallows audibly, resumes cleaning her hair. It's nearly done. Maybe not perfect, but with another wash or two she should be good.

Her pulse picks up anew.]

I d-did have... [Her jaw clamps shut. She has to swallow a second time, work the twist out of her mouth.] C-can you...is th-there anything you can do for a scar?

[The brand from the Gallows. Her stolen sweater sheathes it well, but she wants the risk of recognition gone. Only now those raised lines on her leg tingle, clamouring for attention she's loathe to give.

Syo would be furious if she messed with them. She'd probably think Fukawa was wiping the scoreboard clean.]

A b-b-burn mark.

（ she's attenuated to the girl's breathing, the way her pulse jumps. sakura's expression stays neutral, she doesn't know why she's suddenly undergoing physiological changes, but she isn't going to ask, either. ）

The brands?

（ normal healing hasn't worked, but she still has a few strips of that creature's skin... ）

I think I probably can. Here — （ she reaches up, takes fukawa's hand gently and gives her wrist a brief press of thanks before she stands up smoothly. she has a little medicine cabinet she keeps stocked with a variety of things, and the badiliscus skins are there, pressed between sheets to preserve them. she takes one out, as well as an unguent that smells like camphor and a combination of herbs, and gestures fukawa to come join her at the small working desk. ）

Here, show me.

Yeah.

[Thank god she doesn't have to say more.

Her sigh of relief is interrupted by the brief touch. A silent gesture, but a potent one. In the absence that follows her hand drifts over the ring, cupping with the same pressure Sakura had given. Her eyes trace the surety of Sakura's movements. The way her hair falls around her chin, her neck.

She comes when she's beckoned though. Wordless and quick. Fukawa slips beside her and teases the knit sleeve up. On the back of her forearm is the foul scar. The blisters had died down but the letter "F" is still a furrowed trough on her skin.]

I g-guess everyone's come through here already, huh?

Just a few people. It was Nagano Kaito, actually, that told me about the badiliscus skin being useful for scars.

（ she takes fukawa's arm gently, examining the brand in its settled keloid, the surrounding skin for any sign of infection. satisfied, finally, that the brand itself is the only thing that needs care, she snaps on a pair of gloves and sets out to clean the area with disinfectant wipes.

once she's done with that — ）

Do you mind if I use my healing on you? It'll help speed it along.

[The person isn't familiar, though she's heard the name of the beast before. Something from a passage in the library.]

Th-that's so creepy. [She looks at the husks and shudders.] D-dead skins...

[Her constitution is so delicate, why is this her life one macabre display after the other?

She endures the preparation with only a minor grimace. The worst is yet to come, and this is far less intrusive than cleaning Sakura's hair had been.]

Healing? [Fukawa's brow furrows.] ...Yes? That's why I came here, isn't it?

[Maybe it's custom for doctors to ask permission twice where she's from.]

（ she pauses in her ministrations, and then carries on as if fukawa had inquired about nothing more unusual than the weather. ）

Well, yes. But when I talk about healing, it's a little different from my work as a doctor. More like how most people here see magic. I know not everyone is comfortable with that sort of thing — you wouldn't be able to see it, for instance. My, um, 'magic' doesn't seem to work on the brands themselves, but I can ease the pain and encourage it to heal.

（ she tips her head to one side, meant to brush her shoulder against her hair where it's halfly in her way, and then continues, almost shyly: ）

If you'd like.

[Fukawa's head bobs back, as if propelled by the force of the admission.]

Is everyone here s-some kind of secret wizard?!

[Dimitri had pulled this same stunt on her in their jail cell. And then there was "Zagreus" and his flaming feet, and that carrot-top canker sore who'd vanished into thin air.

Fukawa sighs.]

And I th-thought my reality was ridiculous. [She is going to have a permanent migraine at this rate. Still, at least it's something useful. And she'd have a front row seat, and it's sort of...she can't put a word to it. It adds an extra layer to the proceedings. Maybe it's the dark of night sequestering them or the exorcism of so many fraught emotions, but magic paints the act with a degree of secrecy.

So there's a teeny crook at the corner of her lips. Curious and a bit self-satisfied.]

Go ahead, I guess. Work your w-wonders.

（ hey, there's enough ridiculous reality to go around...

but sakura nods, accepting that permission, and passes her hand over the brand. chakra is invisible, of course, but that doesn't mean it can't be felt. hers has the bright, biting cold of a day torn between the dominion of winter and summer, still pools that reflect fractals in thin ice. it's alternately serene, the warmth of the sun as it chases off the remaining vestiges of snow, and bracing like the breeze that comes from the north and carries all the memories of a cutting cold.

and lastly, it's a little like... scraping the frost away from the first delicate budding plants of spring. lush and verdant and full of summer's promise.

it does as she said — soothes the pain, chases away the fire along the nerves where they've been burnt and damaged. the brand itself... she's not sure why she can't do anything about it, only that she can't, but at least there are other ways around it.

once she's finished with the chakra, though, she does gently apply the salve, and then wraps the girl's arm in the badiliscus skin. from there it's just a matter of applying another bandage overtop the dressing to affix the dressing properly, and once she's done she steps back, peeling her gloves off with the practiced ease of someone who does this sort of thing... well, often. ）

There. How's that feeling now?

[It's not readily quantifiable. Temperature plays a steady part, perhaps even a dual role. She's reminded of mint, or stinging balms. There's a kiss of calm (a strange sensation to emanate from a forearm), then a prickling like melting ice, a stroke of a velvety petal. Fukawa's eyes flick between the brand and the other girl's face, mesmerized. There's less to watch than there is to feel, and it leaves her searching for traces of each turn in the flicker of Sakura's eyes, the way her brows knit together above her nose.

It doesn't hurt. There's a numbing effect after all the meteorological phantasms. Any remaining pangs pale to the way it pried at her before.

She's left speechless in the space thereafter. The salve pales in comparison, and the dried skins take more gently to her arm than expected. She'd thought they would chafe. Next comes the bandage. She can see some of the same tactics used for the sprains here, but then how many ways can you wind a strip of fabric?]

...G-good.

[Fukawa flexes her hand. She pats at the dressing with timid fingers, then slips the sleeve back over it. Thank goodness she has an excuse to keep covered up. With the chilly weather incoming no one's going to tease her for the thick woolen sweater, nor the skirt brushing the back of her calves.]

It's n-not stinging anymore. [Her lips press thin. A touch sheepishly:] Th-thank you...

[Considering what it took to wring those two words out of her last time, it should be counted as progress. Fukawa fidgets on the spot, feeling quite childish suddenly.]

What's it cost? I don't have a lot of m-money right now.

（ she gives the other girl a faint smile. ）

I don't charge for my work. And anyway, you just spent half an hour cleaning ink out of my hair, don't you think that makes us even?

（ she starts the process of tidying everything up, meticulous in her cleaning. she runs a tight ship. but as she gathers up the wrappers for the bandages and the gauze she'd used earlier for her hair, she pauses, arms tucked full of garbage... ）

I'm sorry I was harsh earlier. I'd forgotten how nice it was to have another woman to talk to.

[There's a wee squawk.]

But th-that's hardly skilled labour!

[It's not an equal exchange in the slightest?

She starts forward to keep protesting but Sakura just sets to cleaning up. That's that, then. Should she slip a coin or two onto the table on her way out? That might alleviate some unease, she doesn't like feeling indebted to people. Even standing too close makes her feel like a burden at times.

Her fingers itch, that ought to be her clearing the trash, but Sakura stops partway through clearing it to pull the rug from under her yet again. Fukawa blinks at her.

Oh.]

You sh-should have just thrown me out. [She huffs.] I would have.

[Nice, huh? Fukawa looks to the floor, pulling at her fingers as the term rolls around her head. A nice talk. Was it really? Did she not have someone to bemoan those heartbreaks with before? Perhaps she just lacked of female friends of any kind. Any old substitute would do, so Fukawa served that purpose for the time being.

It wasn't like talking with Komaru. But that didn't make it bad, either.

God. Her hands press over her face, nails crooking into her hairline. This was A Night. It's almost infuriating how many directions it's spun.]

'm s-s-sorry too. All right? I just... [Deep breath. It's fine. You're fine.] The l-last time someone had...people are always hiding th-things. You can't blame me for getting suspicious.

（ once everything is tidy, she turns back to fukawa with her hands on her hips. there's a lot to unpack here, so give her a moment. ）

Firstly, it doesn't matter how you value the labour, it matters how I do. It was something useful and valuable to me.

（ her hair feels a little stiff, where the alcohol had dried — but that's easily fixable, all she needs is a hair mask. ）

Secondly, I sort of did try. （ you know where the door is. it's only because fukawa had kept talking, had struck a chord with her that she hadn't insisted. ） But you made a pretty good case for yourself sticking around.

（ a bit of a wry smile, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears. ）

Thirdly, I don't. （ blame her, she means. ） I'd be suspicious too. You don't have to apologize for that, it's a pretty rational response to someone like me.

[With each point made, a string of tension is cut. Her hands fall from her face as she watches her snip through her protests with practical words and light smiles, gentle gestures. Sakura thought she had been helpful. She had allowed her to stay, even after all the foul accusations.

But most of all? She didn't think she was crazy.

Fukawa's dipped her head down again. She taps two fingers together. There's bubble of glee tickling the edges of her chest, teasing a grin of her own. The shadows, the angle, and the fall of her ragged hair may hide it, but it leaks out in the way she speaks.]

Then...I guess if you d-didn't think this was a total waste of time...I'll have to accept that.

[Her eyes meet hers. For a second that secretive warmth is shared, smile crawling wider over flushing cheeks.

Then her gaze darts to the door, the night sky beyond.]

Y-you're probably dying to get out of here. I'll just, um. I'll go now.

Honestly, I could probably sleep for a week after all that jail drama...

（ she does sort of want to go back to her little apartment and crawl under a mound of blankets, but she's also not going to let fukawa use that as an excuse to be self-deprecating about it, either. ）

Hey. Let's do lunch? Wednesday maybe?

[Fukawa grimaces. It's been rather the opposite for her. She's shocked she's been able to return to her own damn apartment, but whoever's running this taskforce is doing so with a slipshod hand. A small mercy for her, but none that have afforded her peace of mind.]

Eh?! [And just like that, she's suffering whiplash again.] Really? You w-would want—

[If she didn't want to she wouldn't offer, you numbskull!

Fukawa straightens, yanks her expression back to some degree of propriety. Her voice still squeezes to a choking peak.]

Fine! If you're so d-desperate for company. Wednesday.

（ she rolls her eyes at that. has to get a barb in edgewise, huh? it had annoyed her before, but now that she's seen a little of what's underneath the underneath... well.

she gets it a bit better. ）

Don't get the bandage wet!

（ there, that's your parting shot. she points sternly to the door flap of the tent, though her mock-severe expression doesn't last long before it crumbles into a grin. ）

Thanks, Fukawa.

Hmph!

[Fat chance of that. She's already bathed this week, she refuses to get back into water until she has no choice. Or Lottie starts complaining again. One of the two.

This time she doesn't bother hiding it: Sakura's gratitude is mirrored near exactly in Fukawa. She even gets through a reply without stuttering.]

Thank you, too. S-Sakura.

[Almost.

She sweeps through the door and scuttles into the night. The dark presses heavy on her, but her footsteps remain light on empty stone streets.

Maybe Komaru was right. The world could be a kinder place than she believed. If she let it be.]

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same energy tbh

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cw: child murder, blood, self-harm

'ah, the rompers are at it again'...

banning myself from dropping more stupid rompers nonsense until december

no give me forbidden romper lore

only if you give me arcane naruto knowledge in return!!

'chakra was given to ninjas by alien gods' how's that

Excuse me ALIENS???!!!

i wish i were kidding

damn that manga went places

not all of them were good places tbqh...

grips you, i feel that

you 🤝 me: 'our canon makes no fucking sense sometimes'

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