The House Always Wins

[reddosmod]

MARCH 2023 EVENT

Due to the UNIQUE NATURE of the Moss King, previous March events are NOT available during this month's event. Please keep that in mind.

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: Fanged, smiling carnivorous plant from little shop of horrors ]
[Image Two: House overgrown by roots.]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Person covered in glistening film that seems to be suffocating.]
[Image Two: Woman's face splattered in blood. ]

Prompt Three
[Image One: Poker chip with an anime girl's face on it. ]
[Image Two: Dogs Gambling Painting, but it's famous horror monster villains instead of dogs. ]

[NAVIGATION]

Prompt 1 • Prompt 2 • Prompt 3 • Plotting • Newsletter

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

WHEN: March 8-31
WHERE: The City of Trench and surrounding regions
CONTENT WARNINGS: Plant-Based Peril, Isolation, Entrapment, Carnivorous Plants, possible but unlikely death.

---

The plentiful and bountiful harvest of plants that started to blossom towards the beginning of the month has continued, and if anything? It's getting more and more troublesome. The old saying goes that too much of a good thing is too much, and this is definitely the proof of that pudding. Plants are literally growing everywhere. Trenchies can be seen cutting branches out of impossible locations, and vegetation is beginning to grow inside of established businesses and homes. There is an ever increasing market for vileblood based defoliation options that are being offered by entrepreneurial Trenchies, but the fact that more than a few of those selling the stuff have gone missing under strange circumstances calls into question their efficacy.

For Sleepers, this means that the possibility of encountering enlarged and potentially dangerous plants such as those seen in the earliest parts of the months grows ever more real. A human-sized venus flytrap might very well try to snatch one up, with all of the peril that entails. However, while it is possible for any exotic plant to carry with it potentially lethal threat, most of these are able to be dealt with by even the untrained with a machete. The real problem is the root systems and the plants that ones that talk. The former are the most likely to be encountered. Root systems grow over entire buildings during the mid to late month, choking over light sources and blocking windows to dim houses. They clench their grip over doors, making getting out of one's house an act of willpower and muscle that may have to be repeaated over and over again. Worst of all is the fact that many of these root systems almost seem to be intentionally creating barriers around the Lantern Network! The little moaners are safe, but their sphere of protection becomes a dome of wood, shielding and keeping them away from those naughty sleepers trying to hack their way to a teleport.

The talking ones, though, are downright disturbing. They're not very large, at first they do indeed seem to whisper and beg to be fed. Naturally, only blood will do, and the longer that they're fed the larger and more dangerous that they can become. But, so long as one doesn't feed them, they're harmless, right? Wrong. True, they can bite and it's easy enough to avoid them. However, it's what they start to say when they're denied their food that becomes disturbing. “There is a consequence of your actions, you know.” “Do not think that you are immune.” “Saving the Moss Brat seems wise now, but have a long memory.” Things like that. The voices they take on are eerie, unnatural and do not match the plants' normal begging voices. They never clear up who is speaking or what they're speaking about, but surely it's not a big issue, right?

By the end of the month, the plants wither away and break off of the various homes and businesses, leaving no visible damage behind, as if whatever caused them has faded entirely.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

THE LEECH

WHEN: Second Half of March
WHERE: Anywhere in Trench, but not the Outpost.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Magically Cursed Ailment, Severe weakness, Anemia

---

You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? From the moment that the first talking plants appeared in Trench, there has been another ominous presence. Unbeknownst to the people of Trench, but the Moss King is recovering from Riteior's attack and, while they are safe and slowly getting back to their normal self, this has allowed for Riteior to offer a little payback in an effort to cause trouble to those seeking to stop his attacks on the Pthumerians of Trench. In the night, while characters are sleeping, the plants strike. They wake to find a thin film over them, but otherwise it appears harmless. The next full day, there's nothing wrong and they feel hail and hearty. In fact, those pesky little talking plants are gone from their house. Of course, the next day the horror begins to settle in.

Within 48 hours, Sleepers will find themselves weak and lethargic in the extreme. The condition is not fatal, but it is problematic and irritating. They will find that no amount of food, water and rest quite gets rid of the malaise that they are experiencing, a strange drowsiness and lack of energy plaguing their every moment. The longer it persists, the more dangerous it becomes. However, there appears to be no obvious cause, at least until they visit someone capable of treating their condition, be they a Blood Minister or trained physician. Victims of this curse appear to be suffering from a severe, but not life-threatening anemia. There is no obvious cause, but the Ministers are certain that it is not natural and is likely a result of a curse of some kind. They can offer stimulants and high energy food, which will help the person experiencing the condition, but the real danger comes if they try to use their blood for a blood ritual of any kind. The insidious reason becomes obvious. Someone is attempting to stop them from safely having enough blood to perform the rituals to seal them away!

Victims are “fine” in the sense that they could get through the month safely without risk of death and just be weaker. However, if they attempt any form of blood ritual or blood letting, they risk running out of blood, which would indeed be a life threatening concern. The only solution, then, is a blood transfusion of another type. The Blood Ministers are willing to provide blood from their banks, but caution that it is better if a fresh supply is used. Do you have a friend willing to lend a hand? Or, do you miss one of the deadlines this month for fighting back Riteior?

FAQ:

This condition strikes after the mid-month, when the latest batch of rituals further weakens Riteior, and ensures the Moss King's safety.

This condition is not life threatening, unless a person attempts to use blood for a ritual or other purpose without first receiving a transfusion.

If a person attempts to perform a blood ritual before getting a transfusion, their anemia can become life threatening very quickly.

It is possible to completely avoid this prompt by not being targeted by Riteior. His cursed targeting is not that precise and he is clearly becoming desperate.

When a transfusion is given, both participants will be lightly anemic for another 24 hours, but the condition will fade afterwards completely.

It is suspected strongly by some of the Blood Ministers and Arcane Scholars that this is a curse brought about by a brief moment of control over the Moss King by Riteior. This can be learned easily in conversation with members of the orders in Trench.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

HIGH STAKES

WHEN: Second Half of March
WHERE: Goat Turning in The Cellar Door
CONTENT WARNINGS: Gambling, Possible Coersion, lowered inhibitions, Risk of Character Death

---

The Moss King appears to be 'on the mend' by the latter part of the month, or at least he seems to be his usual self. A flyer advertising a special for all Sleepers and residents of Trench at the Goat Turning, his personal gambling hall, circulates throughout town. The doors of the Goat Turning will be open to absolutely everyone, and nobody will be turned away for an event that will last the last two weeks of the month! Anyone who comes will be given a complementary set of chips for free, along with a very special commemorative poker chip embossed with their own face on it which they are assured they can keep afterwards, assuming they don't lose it betting! In fact, that commemorative chip is the only way that a person can return to the Goat Turning during this period, and has to be shown to get admittance, though you don't need to bet it even if it appears to be worth quite a lot! Every night, a new allotment of chips is offered to gamblers. It isn't much, and if they're willing to trade a few goods to get more, they can supplement their stash. What could be more fun than a friendly game?

The drinks and food are free for those attending, and even better? They don't seem to have a lot of strange effects. The drinks seem to ease the symptoms of corruption, in fact, and make a person more relaxed and at ease, along with lessening their inhibitions. The food is filling and pleasant, but salty, making one crave the drinks more. But, honestly, compared to Generosity's botched and spoiled food in January it's almost heavenly, even if it does make it easier to want to keep gambling and gambling. After all, those prizes for the big winners of the night are certainly something to behold, and the kinds of luxuries that Trenchies drool over.

The Big Prizes: (Maximum 1 big prize per character for the month)

A Lunar Orb

A Vial of Pthumerian Blood that can leave a person feeling sickly and weak if they come in contact with it

A Genuine Lantern, enabling a second teleportation location to be placed!

A Blood Enchanted Weapon or Armor.

An Item from Home that a character might not normally find washing up on shore

The Lesser Prizes:
Players are encouraged to use their imagination on lesser prizes that could be won. Food. Supplies. Furnishings. Weapons. Tools. Clothing. Any number of valuable could be won throughout the month.

So, what's the catch? There's always a catch. Well, like any gambling hall, the saying goes that the House Always Wins. This isn't true universally. You could have a hot streak at the Craps table, or you might just win on your lucky number in Roulette. It is very possible to walk away with enough chips to win a big prize all in one night, or build up over time to claim such a lofty goal. But the trick is that commemorative chip. It's the admission, and it's also the only way you can leave the gambling den each night. The chip must be presented both at entry and leaving, and only then does the reality become clear. That chip is so valuable because it represents your life! You might literally be betting with your life here! Should you lose your chip and not have it at the end of the night, the impressive and powerful bouncers at the door will bar you from exit, and once the hall closes there is nowhere to go but the basement. Anyone who enters the basement after hours will find that their life is indeed forfeit, and their debt is called. They will die down below. How will they die? Well, considering the fighting pits down below, any of a thousand deaths, some more gruesome than others, are possible. And, if another player holds their chip, they will be given a special pass to remain below, to demand their price themselves.

So, if you lose your chip is it still possible to get it back? Absolutely! It is a gambling hall, after all. Someone just has to be willing to give it back, or to win it back from another player or the house. What could be simpler? Of course, because there are no compulsions in the commemorative chip, and no rules about how it is to be used or transferred other than that it must be won from the house in a fair game, it is almost as if the Moss King is testing his own guests to see just how far they will go, and what they will do if their life or the life of a friend is on the line.

FAQ:

Players are limited to one grand prize per character. Please record this prize on the prompt below.

Characters that die because of this event may die in any reasonable fashion in the basement. Tools are provided. This may be handwaved.

Because this event involves the potential of players bargaining for their lives and death, we remind players to be mindful and communicative with others regarding permissions and preferences during this event. Do not break permissions.

Lesser prizes can be won in quantity, but we ask that you be reasonable about this.

The Commemorative Chip is non-magical and there is no compulsion to gamble with it. It is simply worth a lot more.

The Event is not age restricted, so underage gambling is possible.

[JUMP TO TOP]

CODING

Comments

Sharon Da Silva | Silent Hill | Coldblood

[fogsong]

▌ ▌ ▌ I. TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING | i'm a magician now CW: bitchy talking plants

[ Sharon stalks towards the Watchtower in Crenshaw, a plant pot held tight in both hands, pressed up against her abdomen. Within this pot is one of the many strange talking plants. It attempts to snap at her, over and over, but each attempt seems to be blocked by some invisible force; the only indication this is something Sharon herself is doing is the slight narrowing of her blue eyes, jaw tight. ]

You're making a mistake [ Its voice echoes at her and she just sighs deeply as if she's heard it before. ] You don't know what you're doing!

Yep, I'm totally fucking clueless. [ It snaps at her again only to be ripped backward by some invisible string. ] Careful, or I'll decide you're not worth the effort and turn you into ash like the others.

[ LATER ON at the Watchtower, Sharon can be found hacking away at the vines that wrap tight around the Lamp Friends. She's been at it for a bit of time now. The plant she was carrying with her sat in the corner, bitching about the Moss Brat and her cluelessness and the pointlessness of her actions.

When someone enters the tower, she'll motion them over, sweat on her brow. ] Hey, wanna help me free these little guys? I'd use fire but I'd rather not risk singing them.

▌ ▌ ▌ II. HIGH STAKES | be thick skinned & party CW: gambling, drinking

[ Sharon visits Goat Turning several nights in a row. She plays fast and loose the first few visits, never overly concerned with winning but she's careful to never lose all of her chips. She mostly seems to be here for the hell of it. There's some evidence she might be physically exhausted, yawning, eyes sliding shut during lulls in a game, and there are visible bags beneath her eyes, but other than that she's powering through.

You won't ever find her without a drink in hand or a snack. She never drinks enough to get well & truly drunk but just enough that she's visibly looser. Less tense. Less jumpy at the sounds of shouting when someone wins (not that there aren't moments where she doesn't jump, hands going to her hip as if to pull a weapon).

She spends a lot of time people-watching, especially those who seem to win often. She'll slink up behind them to watch every play, unabashed, and never attempts to hide. When someone she's watching wins, she'll whistle and give a small woo before asking curiously. ] Is it luck or skill?

[ Or, maybe, she approaches someone who seems to have a good idea of what they're doing. ] Hey, you up to teaching me this game? I'll give you some of my chips.

▌ ▌ ▌ III. DATENIGHT CLOSED TO MAYERLING | hearts in our eyes CW: n/a

It's not her first date in Trench, not her first time planning one out and taking great care to consider what her date might enjoy, but the day leading up to it has her all jitters and nerves; as excited as she was nervous, the butterflies wild in her belly. She calls in favors and trades a few things to ensure an exciting night for a man who could only explore the city at night already.

Sharon would give him day if she could. A part of her feels embarrassed at herself, for going to such lengths, and she couldn't quite determine the reasoning behind it. She was still learning how to sort her feelings into the correct boxes (that's right, it goes in the square hole).

She shoots him a text late into the night, nearing midnight, that she was coming by to grab him. She didn't trust herself to call, afraid her voice would give her emotions away, but she knew he'd know the moment she approached the house. Maybe even before she got up the block (she still wasn't sure what the limit on his senses was and she makes a mental note to ask).

As usual, she doesn't bother to knock before she enters the residence, calling out to him despite the fact it was so utterly unnecessary (it felt normal, though), "Hey, Mayerling, you ready?"

Sharon hasn't just taken care to plan the date, she's gone out of her way to dress nicely for him, too, choosing something both lovely but functional in case they were to encounter a beast or some other trouble (god knows the city had enough of it, especially at night). The only weapon she has on herself tonight is her dagger, hidden beneath the coat. She did try to style her hair but... Well, it's still as wild as ever.

"I got the owner of an art gallery to let us have a private viewing tonight," she informs him as she pulls a key from her pocket, winking at him, "She owed me a few favors."

Everything she chose, she chose because she thought he might enjoy them, some things, like the gallery, were only ever open during the day. Even if he were to have wandered the districts a million times and visited every establishment open to him, this would be new for him. That was important to her.

HIGH STAKES

[unphase]

Tinya was in the casino, generally enjoying herself and sipping from a lemon drop martini. Instead of her usual black, she'd opted for white and enjoying the ambiance as much as anything. The sights, the sounds, the mixture of beautiful people playing games of chance with the highest stake imaginable on the offer in some cases.

So when Sharon approached her, asking her to teach her the closest game--a Blackjack table--Tinya smiles and immediately nods her ascent to her friend. "Of course. It's really easy to pick up, all it takes is the ability to count to twenty-one." And she giggled and said "And your hope that no one else gets closer to the number than you do. Feel like a game?"

[fogsong]

Sharon gives Tinya a grateful glance over the moment she takes a seat, whistling under her breath at the outfit, brows shooting up, "Daring," she comments with an appreciative, but not at all sleazy grin. She's always admired Tinya's ability to dress in such sultry outfits without being shy about it. She could take a few pointers one day.

"Yeah, I think I can do a game, as long as you don't make fun of me when I lose," she's just joking though, nudging Tinya gently with her elbow, before she puts the appropriate amount of chips on the table so she's included in the next game.

"You gunning for any particular prize?"

[unphase]

Tinya smiled innocently at that. "What, this old thing," clearly gently teasing. As for how she dressed...well, back home it scandalized mother and old habits are hard to break. Especially if it made her mother lose her mind. That was the bonus to a lot of things she did. Tinya was her own woman and the sooner her mother realized that once and for all, the better.

"Who, me? Absolutely not! We've all got to start somewhere," Tinya replied with a grin. "Baby steps," she said with a gleeful grin. The blackjack dealer acknowledges Sharon with a nod and waits for the table to fill completely with people for Sharon to compete against.

And Tinya gave a wicked grin. "I'm going for the big one--the Lunar Orb. Fingers crossed that I do well enough to get it! What about you, have anything in particular in mind?"

[fogsong]

"This old thing," Sharon repeats after Tinya in a faux mocking tone, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, and shaking her head. If there was one thing about this woman, it was that she knew how to draw every eye in the room to her.

As she waits for the table to fill the rest of the way, she nurses the drink she brought with her, a shimmering pink beverage that's almost half-gone. She's trying not to overdrink, seems like a good way to lose, but the shit is almost too good to stop at one glass. And the salty snacks didn't help.

"Not really," Sharon admits, "I've decided to help other people win their prizes so my winnings don't go to waste, actually."

"After I make sure Luz gets hers, want me to help you out?"

(CW: underage alcohol)

[unphase]

Tinya makes a great show of widening her eyes and batting her eyelashes to appear innocent, but then she snickers and the illusion is gone in a flash as Tinya dissolves into giggles.

Tinya herself has a glass of a deep burgundy wine. Which may not go with a white dress, but there was the fact that she could always phase through anyone who'd think to bump into her. "What's that you've got there? It looks good." And Tinya was grateful that her time in other worlds had left her more willing to bend or even break vegetarian habits. Those bacon-wrapped scallops had been sinful."

"Really," Tinya asked, a pleased smile on her face. "That's very kind of you. I take it you've already claimed your prize?"

And she nodded. "I'd be honored."

[fogsong]

"It's some strawberry drink that I didn't catch the name of but it does taste like a..." She took a large sip from her glass and nodded her head, "Exactly like a pink starburst." For a girl who had no issue drinking wine and beers with her friends, she always jumped at the chance for something ridiculously fruity when she was on her own.

But as the conversation continued on, Sharon shook her head at the mention of claiming her own prize, "Not really interested in winning anything from Moss King. I mostly came for the food and drink and the chance to just fuck off and have fun for a few hours."

Sharon has never been silent regarding her opinions on the Pthumerians and some she liked less than others. Moss King was high up on her shitlist just for the nonsense Sharon had to put up with last year, even if he was the reason she met a few of her now close friends.

With the table filled, the dealer doled out their cards. Sharon paid close attention to Tinya's every action, careful to not peek, and mimicked her. It didn't take long to get the hang of the game and though she lost her first round ("Boo," she said out loud), she stayed for the next.

"You know, it's been a year since we were stuck in those catacombs?"

Date Night

[whowillmourn]

Mayerling, up since sunset, goes through his entire closet a second time only to land on the original outfit, something similar to his usual outfit save that it's full baby blue, with silver accents. Even a cloak to match it, though the metal stays dark. Though he had considering purchasing Coldblood jewelry, he'd decided against it, not wanting Coldblood jewelry made from anyone else's Coldblood.

Listening for her and her exclusively, Mayerling picks her up at the farthest range of his hearing, much of the rest fading to background noise. Dangerous, but he's not ruling out everything altogether and has his other senses. He notices the moment she walks in and makes his grand appearance at the top of the stage. Unfortunately, D chose this place for pure functionality it feels in that moment, the staircase not the grand arching entrance he imagines. Mayerling makes up for it with each slow step with shiny boots, one hand on the railing, as he comes down to her. His hair is pulled back into a tidy queue with a matching bow. Never let it be said he held back on this date's outfit.

His face splits into a beaming smile, still pouring down at Sharon when his feet reach the ground floor. Mayerling wants to kiss Sharon, but it's too early for that, and she doesn't know how she feels about him.

"Thank you," Mayerling says, so deep it's near a growl. "Thank you," again, this time holding back excitement. He glances toward the door but doesn't rush them.

"You look stunning," he says, reaching up to stroke her wild hair.

[fogsong]

Stunning, he says, and she flushes that sweet, Coldblood berry instantly as her smile stretches out and her heart skips a single beat. She hadn't been certain of herself, and has never been the kind of woman to pay much attention to what she wears; it's never really mattered. Until now, that is. She wants him to look at her; to see her trying.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she tells him, a huskiness to her voice, as she looks him over with a look that's so clearly flirtatious and approving. He emanates drama and class. A dreaminess, "You look good in that shade of blue."

She's finding her feet with him, settling beyond that initial flustered shyness. She reaches for him and loops her arm around his, holding onto him as if the movement came naturally to her, with no hiccup of hesitation to the action. She promised herself she would be herself and this was who she is: brazen and a little take charge when she wanted to be.

She leads him out the front door, giddy energy radiating off of her, "The gallery isn't ever open at night so, even if you've been to every other place I take you, this one will be new for you." A little bit of a brag. It was important to her to give him new experiences. She asked him out on this date, she was going to make it memorable.

"Plus, I get to show you some of my work that's featured," she looks up at him, smile still bright though now there's something shy to it. She's not one to brag often, not about something like this, but she wants him to know her; to know everything about her. All her passions and her fears and her worries and her loves.

That must mean something, she thinks.

[whowillmourn]

Even in the windless entryway, Mayerling manages a graceful elongated swirl of his cloak out away from them and slowly floating back toward them as she takes his arm. His own way of showing off—of peacocking—for her. The drama, the flare, the effort Sharon deserves. All in one highly reserved movement that leaves her on her own two feet.

Mayerling follows Sharon's lead with pleasure, both because he quite enjoys when a woman takes control the way she has and because it's easier to hold back on his emotions when Sharon plans and executes the date. Also, it's a better date if he doesn't vamp speed them all the way to the gallery. The journey along the way is part of it, no matter what his overeager nerdiness says. It could readily spend the whole night there. Except the point isn't, in fact, primarily the art but that Sharon's giving him the opportunity to see the art and to see it together. Walking, therefore, proceeds at a human pace.

"I have wanted to go there for months," Mayerling admits, "However, I doubt they take well to admitting anyone who is on fire, for the sake of the art even should that have been worth the effort." He even considered the best place to stay nearby and the location of the closest lamp location.

"Thank you."

He lets that conversation carry forward, as though that excitement covers up how long it takes him to notice that mention of her work. It does not. Mayerling knew Sharon did something with paint. It could have been as little as painting targets for practice or as much, it seems, as painting work worthy of a gallery. It gave him time to gather himself a little. At the shyness in her voice. At the swelling ocean of emotion that threatens to overtake him. Of course she's an artist. Of course she is.

"Sharon," Mayerling says, "What an achievement, something so many artists never achieve in their whole lifetimes. You move people. Your emotions have always been large. The talent, skill, and time to shape them into a form that invokes, incites, and inflicts them in all the best ways on others is incredible. More than all the other art in the gallery, I wish to see yours."

He wants to see all of her art. Mayerling wants to see all of her, to know all of her, to have all of her but that which he will never have of a human. His emotions run like that of any other vampires, strong from the very start—too strong to share when Sharon's still figuring hers our. Mayerling only shares smaller bites, these pieces that hint at the true depth of feelings. That is the best way to do right by her.

[fogsong]

This late into the night, the streets are mostly emptied and the moon sits up high in the sky, a pearl in an ocean of deep, dirtied denim. The snow has mostly melted away and the streets are bare, save for the occasional mound of dusty gray slush. They're not the only people out tonight but the streets are notably empty of the familiar crowds Sharon is used to in the day, even as they move from one district into the next. Mayerling receives a few long stares and how could they not? His pale hair practically glows in the moonlight, an ethereal halo. Sharon makes certain to memorize every detail, shameless.

The fact he's wanted to visit the gallery for months doesn't escape her and she feels a certain sense of pride in the knowledge that her choice for the night was solid; special. She would show him everything it had to offer but, more than that, she would show him her work. Every painting is a part of her; a reflection of the state she was in when she put brush to canvas. He would see that, she has no doubt; can have no doubt because every time he speaks, he proves that to her.

It's in the way he compliments her. The apples of her cheeks darken further and grow fat by her grin, impossible to pinch back no matter how she tries, heart thump-thump-thumping in that anxious drumbeat he's no doubt long since grown accustomed to. She urges it to slow as she leads him through the district to their first destination. Her heart feels swollen and up in her throat, a knot he's tied there by simply speaking.

"Thank you," she tells him, voice thick and tight, full of emotion she doesn't know the word for quite yet. There may not be a word in the world that would fit how he makes her feel, "I'll show you everything I've done."

She unwraps herself from him, hand sliding down his arm to take him by the hand as she walks backward, "Tell me, what is it you like to do? How do you spend your time?"

He is so long-lived that he must have dabbled in a little bit of everything. Her thumb runs along one of his slender fingers. A musician, perhaps? She could see him playing a stringed instrument. Or maybe he the flute. If he paints, she would paint with him. She would watch him as he works. If he sings, she will listen. She feels such a rush to know him and yet she moves slowly through the city, all the better to take him in.

[whowillmourn]

Sharon's reaction comes across practically all of Mayerling's senses. He swears he can even taste some of the volatile chemicals in the air. All of it before Sharon says a word. The cover of darkness buys Sharon no blanket behind which to hide her reactions. Even her face's colors, dimmed under this lighting, is clear to him. Her heart, most of all, beats beautiful music. Her words, appreciated, are the last piece of her reaction, the part Sharon gifts to him.

"You are welcome," Mayerling says, "I would like that very much."

Her exuberance, walking backwards, infects her questions. Mayerling knows that Sharon speaks not of all the times that he barely survived avalanches and hunters and desperately cared for cyborg horses or performed maintenance after maintenance on the City of the Night merely to stay alive because it is so decrepit or any of those types of memories, never mind that the longer he lived the more and more they became his every day, his common experience.

Sharon is taking him on a date to see her art. Sharon wants to hear about his artistic side. Johan performed ballet at the Red. That's the kind of thing she wants to hear about. "My family has always valued the arts, both of war and craft," Mayerling says, "I learned many instruments. The cello has always been the one that's felt most personal.

"I learned how to use technology: astronautics, electronics, engineering, mechanics, monitoring systems, plumbing... Those may all sound practical, and they are. If your kitchen sink springs a leak, call me. There's something satisfying to the fact I've kept my carriage running well past its expected lifespan and when its due to be seen by a 'proper' mechanic. I care for the horses.

"I dance ballet, my favorite among all the styles. I enjoy the waltz or the tango when I have a partner. I sang, back on the Frontier or in the City of the Night, because I was alone and it gave me company. Here, I enjoy listening to the city around me and knowing what's up with my neighbors or those passing by.

"I—" Mayerling flushes slightly, having put off this last one until the end. "I also love drama, in and out of the theater. Not merely ballet, anything that is of our own design. I can be something of a perfectionist. I was still working on a story for Julia, but the event passed before I finished revising it. I— it's often silly really. Not material of quality. Passing fancies." Why did he say anything about them at all?

[fogsong]

The more he speaks, the more he reveals himself to her, and the brighter and more clear the image of him becomes. There is so much to him; things she wouldn't have guessed. Her smile softens. Warms. Her fingers curl around his, linking them together loosely, pulling him along. She doesn't stumble or trip, not even as he holds the whole of her focus, every step back confident. Even a little giddy.

Nothing escapes her. Not what his family valued (of war, she notes) nor the fact that much of what he's learned was largely in part necessary given the world and life he lived. But every little bit impresses itself upon her, "What can't you do?" she breathes out, the question a gentle teasing

But it's the flush that paints his cheeks that really grabs at her. That makes her grin like he's shown her something new and unexpected. Something raw. She moves back to his side in a quick, smooth motion as they get closer to the gallery. No desire to foolishly walk past it and embarrass herself.

"If you've put so much time and effort into something, then it doesn't matter if it's just some passing fancy," a gentle roll of her eyes as if the very idea were silly to her, just as teasing, "I'm sure Julia still wants stories and even if she doesn't, I'd like to hear it." Her words end on a hopeful note, neither request nor demand. It clearly meant something to him, this story of his, and she would truly like to hear it sometime.

GOOD THING - Help the light friends

[smallshot]

[Gabi was still exploring, getting to know what was what. It was weird...being able to walk around so freely. And she might have been a little bit lost. Not that it mattered too much with how they handled ownership here.

So she kept wandering, her machete hanging loosely in her hand. Pack on her back, moaning skeleton buddy poking it's head out. Then she spotted the slightly open door, and heard the weird noises.

She'd only peered around the corner. Just to check someone wasn't being murdered. A part of her new 'be a better person' meant she should probably help them. Her face scrunched up when she was noticed.

Slowly she walked in. Tilting her head at the dome.]

Will it make my one stop moving around?

[fogsong]

[ Sharon's gaze is a touch hard as she looks Gabi over, a flash of recognition in her blue eyes, but she seems to shrug it off. She's seen this girl somewhere before but can't quite place her and chalks it up to Trench being Trench. ]

Nah, it'll keep moving about until you set it down. Once you do, it'll turn into a lamp post and spawn a few more of its friends and can be used to teleport to... [ She gestures to the mound of roots that obscure the lamp and its little friends ] other lamps around the city. You can't pick it up once you set it up so... You're supposed to choose carefully.

It just wants to hold on to you. They're kinda clingy like that. [ Honestly, Sharon thinks they're cute as fuck. She cuts off another root and rips it off the main mound revealing spots of cool light and small creatures moving within. ]

[smallshot]

So it'll just live in my bag until then? [She was rolling her eyes, urg. Annoying. She didn't even find the thing creepy, it was just...annoying as it petted her. Gabi didn't want to cuddle.]

...I don't get how they make us teleport. [It was weird. She'd not tried it yet and she wasn't sure if she would. It was way too easy to get lost in this city.

But she was sighing as she walked over, starting to swinging the machete at the roots.]

[fogsong]

[ Sharon couldn't help the way she grins at Gabbi's frustration with the moaner. She'd been the same way. She gets it. At the question, she has to pause a moment. ]

Honestly? [ Huh. ] I don't actually know, but it's probably just some type of blood magic. [ Oh? That isn't very comforting? Yeah, she knows. She continues to hack away at the root structure. ] I was super wary of this shit when I first arrived but it's not as freaky as it seems once you get used to it.

[smallshot]

[Just a hitchhiker, hanging out in her pack and getting clingy. She snorted.]

No, it's still freaky. [Gabi, you've been here like a week.] I was a squid and now I can heal myself when I get hurt. I couldn't back home... [Titan shifters had been able to, but she'd not been one. Even if she'd been a pure titan for a little while, healing wasn't something she could do.] I mean it's cool, but really weird.

[Giving a small shrug at the monster plants.]

[fogsong]

[ Sharon lets out a chuckle at that. ] Yeah, you're gonna find that most things in this place can be like that. Some are worse [ She hacks another chunk of squirming root away ] than others. [ And rips away another piece. ]

This one is really weird and annoying. It was cool when we were just getting a bunch of fruits and vegetables. Much less cool now. [ The talking plant she's got sat in the corner yells to be fed and Sharon shoots it a glare. ] So fucking annoying.

[ The moaners seem excited, bumbling together to peek through the growing hole. ] Hey there, fellas.

I. TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

[shiro2hero]

[Shiro can hear Sharon before he sees her. Not that she's being loud or anything, he's just the kind of person whose head jerks around at the sound of friends' voices. Especially in this world. Something in him is screaming to go home and rest, while at the same time urging him to get out and move.]

[when your blood type clashes with the new disease of the month...]

[Regardless. He's out and about, pulling plants off buildings when he gets the chance. He stops, and looks around, to finally locate where it is she is.]

Hey, Sharon - are you...? What is that...

[fogsong]

[ Sharon notes that Shiro doesn't seem to be looking so hot. Hm. ]

Oh, it's just a talking plant. [ You know, just your normal Trench flora. ] It keeps talking about Moss King, just wanted to keep it nearby in case it says anything useful, you know? [ But she gives it a bit of a shake ] But it's mostly just an asshole

[shiro2hero]

... Right. They're talking now.

[In that now-infamous tone of "I can't believe this is happening". He sort of sags, tiredly, where he stands, because of course there's talking plants.]

So they're just mouthing off. Not actually telling us anything helpful?

[fogsong]

[ His tone makes her snicker quietly under her breath. Oh, Shiro, one day you'll have to adjust to all the crazy. Expect the unexpected. Nothing should surprise you in this city. ]

They sometimes say weird, cryptic shit. Things that feel like they might be warnings, I guess? Like... [ She looks down at the plant and holds it out arm's length from her body as if to get a better look at it. ] Not even an hour ago, it was telling me that everything I was trying to do would backfire on me. And yeah, maybe it's just saying shit to get into my head, but it's voice changed. Like it was something else for a moment.

[shiro2hero]

[You'd think he'd be used to it by now. But somehow, this place keeps shocking him in extremely unpleasant ways.]

Really? [He's about to step closer, but when Sharon holds the plant out, he balks. That is - really unappealing.] It sounds less like a warning and more... I don't know. Just like it's being a brat.

[Take that, plant.]

Changed like... how? Was it familiar?

CLOSED to Pyrrha

[fogsong]

Sharon busies herself waiting for Pyrrha by heating up the homemade bagel bites and the water for tea. She sets the table and pulls out the glasses and plates and silverware, neat and tidy. Back home, in the morning, Chris would set the table for her and, at night, she would set the table for him. When Rose was here, they'd trade off. After Rose left, though, Sharon stopped bothering.

It feels nice to do something so familiar, though, and it gives her a chance to consider the conversation they're about to have. Pyrrha's worst day in her 10,000 years. The day she lost her husband. The day she lost a lot. At the thought, she grabs a bottle of whiskey she has in the cabinet and an extra pair of glasses and sets them on the table. Might as well give her parent the option.