All men must die, but first he must live.

[reddosmod]

SEPTEMBER 2021 EVENT

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: Woman holding skull in bag. ]
[Image Two: Plants sprouting out of earth.]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Woman rocking back and forth in dark.]
[Image Two: Woman rowing down river with corpses on stakes on horizon.]

Prompt Three
[Image One: Beef cake man breaking arrows off of shield with a sword.]
[Image Two: Beefy man slamming axe into troll-like creature, spraying blood.]

[NAVIGATION]

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

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

GROWING PAINS

WHEN: September
WHERE: Everywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: Minor blood ritual.

---

September, for many in Trench, is considered a month of personal sacrifice. It is the month of self-actualization and promise. To grow your future, you must first be willing to sacrifice your past. You cannot walk forwards while walking backward. All throughout Trench, natives can be seen in yards and on plots of land digging small holes and planting a variety of items. Some plant seeds, some drop in a ring, others bury small parts of a body. But the ritual is simple: bury something that represents your past and seal it with a promise for your future.

You can write yourself a note or cut off a lock of your own hair. The ways in which people do this are limitless since it's a largely personal experience. Find a small patch of soil and dig yourself a shallow hole. Bury the item inside, say goodbye to who you used to be, and cover the item up with dirt. Once you are done, you must shed at least one drop of blood onto the sacrifice. It must be your own blood willingly given. Once the blood hits the soil, a small flower will miraculously grow out of the earth within seconds.

A single, powerless flower, but this flower will be completely immortal. You can either keep it on the patch of land or dig it up and bring it home. The flower will be a representation of your progress in Trench: if its petals wilt, you are lingering too much in the past. If it is in full bloom and vibrant, you're on the right path to a better future. If the flower starts to rot, you're heading down a dangerous path.

The flower may not be able to sway you one way or another, but it may serve as a valuable reminder of the kind of life you wish to lead. Some people abandon the flowers entirely and never bother with them. After all, there are no real consequences if you let the flower rot. If a character is dropped, their flower will fleck away like dust. Many believe that the flowers are made of the same stuff omens are made of.

You can dig up other people's flowers and watch their progress (make sure to get player permission) instead. After all, not everyone will care enough about their own flowers to really observe them closely. The flowers can come in any species or size, even fictional flowers, but they will only be replicas. Meaning if your character's flower is typically used for healing, there will be no healing properties in this replica. The flowers cannot be destroyed.

Many natives in Trench will repeat this ritual a few times every couple of years since the ritual is for letting go of the past. After all, the promises you make to yourself now won't be the same promises you make to yourself ten years from now. People change and so too will their flowers. What the characters bury is largely open to interpretation.

RIVER OF REGRET

WHEN: September
WHERE: Some obscure location within Gaze
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mangled corpses of loved ones, birds eating corpses, themes of regret.

---

You will find raven feathers all over Trench. They may drift through the air, lightly touch you, or you might decide to pick one up. The moment you come into physical contact with a feather, a conspiracy of ravens tears through the air and scoops you up into a whirlwind of feathers and caws. It only lasts a few seconds before you're deposited into a canoe drifting along a still river. Another Sleeper is in the boat with you. You pass beneath massive stone walls carved into the likeness of Never Mind and his ravens.

The world is silent around you. There is no rain here. Instead, sunlight pours through breaks in the clouds. Sunlight dapples across the water and golden-red leaves of nearby trees. It's more serene than most places in Trench.

You turn a corner and smell it before you see it. The picturesque summer day is dampened by the stench of rot. Then you come upon them: corpses. Corpses tied up to posts with barbed wire, corpses put through spikes and suspended in the air. Ravens flutter to and fro, picking at strips of meat. It isn't until you're close enough that you realize you recognize the corpses.

They are the corpses of people you have hurt. And that doesn't just mean people you killed or physically harmed. These are the bodies of people you have deep regrets towards: a lover you wronged, a best friend you lied to, an enemy you wish you had forgiven. Not everything is as black and white as murder, after all, and this grisly graveyard of mangled bodies says as much. Sometimes our regrets haunt us like the dead, and it seems like yours have followed you to Trench. You might even see your own body up on a post or the body of your canoe companions.

You have one of two choices: ignore your regret or face it.
Choosing to ignore your regrets doesn't seem to have any ill consequences at first. You pass by the corpses and continue on your river voyage. But the water grows thicker, and you come across the same corpses only in a worse state. The situation gets progressively worse each time you ignore it, and the river gradually becomes a river of blood and gore. The stench becomes insufferable and you will become increasingly corrupt. Some may even turn into beasts right there on the river.

Facing your regrets means talking about them, even mildly, to your canoe companions. You simply need to acknowledge the corpses, acknowledge the slightest truth to your feelings towards those regrets. When everyone in your canoe has acknowledged their regrets, the ravens will come for you once more. You will be brought back to Trench and awaken in the School of Mutter. Those who faced their regrets will discover that they have been gifted a white gold compass. The compass's needle will always point in the direction of the nearest Lamp Friend no matter the chaos going on in the world. But the compass only works once you have calmed down and focused.

QUICK FACTS

1. Each boat can hold up to 4 people. There can be multiple canoes in the same area.

2. If you try to leave the boat, you will drown in the River of Regret.

3. This does not have to encompass every regret someone's had. It can only represent one or two things. The regret should have to do with another individual or one's self. Something like "I regret not going to college" wouldn't necessarily work within the parameters of the prompt.

4. The river can only be accessed by touching a fallen raven feather. Touching a raven feather attached to the bird or a quill does not count.

5. Characters can engage with this prompt as many times as they touch a raven feather.

6. Characters with no regrets will not see corpses, but they will still be able to interact with characters who do have regrets.

BLOODSPORT

WHEN: During the Blood Moon
WHERE: Everywhere but specifically, The Gate
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, fighting, forced aggression/violence, forced fighting.

---

The Blood Moon invokes religious reverence among Trenchies. September and October are the ultimate months of sacrifice to pay tribute to the gods and the blood that rules this world. An energy begins to swell among Trenchies and you keep hearing the same word whispered excitedly around the city: "Bloodsport."

As the Blood Moon floods the streets in red, you begin to feel antsy, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You're not necessarily angry, you just have an abundance of energy. You don't need to be told what it is: your blood is reacting to the moon. The Blood Moon enhances blood powers significantly and you're simply not used to that yet. You don't feel in control of your own power or maybe even your own mind. At least until you exert some power, some force. Slam a door shut or swing a sword, shoot some electricity or spit some poison and you'll feel at peace with yourself. That nervous energy will ease out.

Only to come back twice as strong. It starts to put you in a real fighting mood and you start to realize why the locals call this Bloodsport. Hunting down beasts and monsters might seem like the fun thing to do right now, but the real attraction for Bloodsport takes place at The Gate. You can hear the roaring crowd blocks away. Hundreds of Trenchies have settled in to watch Sleepers duke it out with each other or with locked-up monsters. Maybe join in the fight. At least you know the other Sleepers there want to be there...Right?

Unfortunately not. Those who resist Bloodsport will find themselves passing out more and more frequently. Eventually, they will be taken by Mysterious Forces to The Gate to be pitted against other Sleepers and monsters. Some Sleepers will be forced into a gladiator-style fight that they either must win or die trying. Most fights at the Gate do end in death, but there are some circumstances where someone surrenders. Of course, that never stops their opponent from killing them anyway...Hopefully, you're fighting someone who is still relatively reasonable. Both parties can be resistant to fighting, but they will feel obligated to fight each other. If they don't, monsters will be unleashed into the arena and your situation will get a whole lot worse.

Bloodsport can greatly enhance a Sleeper's ability and many believe it is a gift from the Pthumerian gods. It is generally considered an advantage to Sleepers during the Season of Blood to prepare them and train them to hone their skills for the Season of Bone. Many believe it is wisest to submit to Bloodsport and let yourself get used to the motions of violence in order to survive the remainder of the year.

QUICK FACTS

1. Casual physical training will alleviate Bloodsport feelings. You could get through the month just by jogging around a lot.

2. Characters forced to the Gate will not remember how or when they arrived - they will just wake up and be thrown into the Gate by some shadowy force.

3. Characters who willingly participate in violence/fighting will feel temporary relief from Bloodsport only for the feeling to increase.

4. Effects of Bloodsport last as long as the Blood Moon shines through September and October.

5. You can treat symptoms of Bloodsport with calming techniques such as aromatherapy, meditation, medications, etc. Can be based on what would ICly help calm your character but it should require a lot of it.

6. You can invent the monsters/beasts that are at the Gate. They should be killable creatures and easily captured for the purpose of the Gate.

CODING

Comments

wildcard baby!

[creidim]

[ It's mid-evening by the time she returns home, a little late for dinner. She'll apologise for being late, she knows it's her turn to make something. Hopefully, she thinks, Peter won't mind for the delay. Although she suspects there might be some doleful eyes in her direction: such is the life of living with a teenage boy who's stomach knows no bottom. She'll get straight to it, go for something that doesn't take long to make. There shall be no sad eyes here, thank you.

It's a thought that leaves her with an amused smile as she shrugs off her cloak, hanging it up in the hallway before pulling her satchel over her shoulder and putting it up on the hook with it. Helga lies on the floor, head pressed against the hardwood, as if she's been patiently waiting for Luna's return. The girl makes a soft sound, cheerful in greeting before she crouches down to the animal. She reaches for the dog, offering a scritch behind the ears. ]

Hello, you. Who's a good g— [ Helga doesn't lift her head, there's no wagging tail. Luna pauses, her hand moving to the side of Helga's head and then slipping under her muzzle. She gently coaxes the dog's head to look up at her, her brow furrowing. ] What's wrong—?

[ Helga whines softly, clearly disturbed by something, her ears flat against her head — huge eyes looking up at Luna. It's enough for her; her gaze snaps upwards — looks about the house. A warning. Something is wrong. She nearly calls out for Peter, but she's silent, wary. It's quiet. Too quiet. There's a dread in her stomach, twisting uncomfortably: where's Peter?

Slowly, she straightens, drawing her wand. The back of her neck prickles with that question, the silence is deafening. She whispers a single word, barely heard but loud enough for its intended to hear: Inlé.

And then she recoils, wincing backwards with the strangeness of the sensation. Black smoke pours from her chest, swirls before her for a moment before it takes shape. Out of the black, a hare leaps forth and comes to a swift halt, hovering in the air and ears quivering. She too listens for sounds about the house. Then, she looks to Luna, eyes glowing. Her voice is soft, firm — quick to assure. The girl is not alone, she will help. Luna stares at the omen before nodding. ]

I am here.

Search the house. Start from the top floor. [ The hare obliges; leaping quickly through the air and towards the stairs. Luna steps away, quick and quiet, moving towards the living room, Helga quietly following behind. The room seems empty, quiet as the rest of the house. Luna listens, carefully looks around, her wand tight in her hand, held aloft. Helga hovers in the doorway, she doesn't want to come in any further. She whines again and Luna turns to shush her when she realises: Helga's looking up.

Her own gaze follows, lifts towards the ceiling and then towards a corner of the room. She gasps at the sight; a figure curled up, pressed tightly into the walls staring right back at her. For a brief moment there's a flash of horrifying familiarity, a soft sound of surprise escapes her lips and she takes a step back. And she knows it's not Peter who's here right now, but the other being who exists beneath his skin. Immediately, she lowers her wand and her free hand raises in a defensive gesture: she won't attack. ​]

Paimon—? It's— it's alright, I won't— [ Her voice is gentle, hushed. She won't hurt him. ] What's going on—?

[possessum]

( Something's wrong with him.

It's been difficult to see where exactly it's coming from, for these initial weeks in this new place. Peter and the demon have both been... strange, since their rebirth here. The tangled pieces of spirit and self, the bright lights of Paimon and the cool dark depths of Peter, the odd flickering identities that whisper around the edges of them both. The process of returning to some sort of stable existence is an ongoing one.

And their existence is changed, now. Perhaps it isn't a matter of returning to anything at all, but having to re-form into a new one.

Over time, however, it's become clear that it isn't only their own internal strangeness keeping them so out of sorts. Something's affecting others in this place, as well. In different ways: depending on blood type, and mental state, and a host of other factors. But there's something that seems relatively consistent. A state of... restlessness, an unsettled energy. Paimon and Peter can both feel that it affects what's within: Peter's new blood. Peter, naturally, hasn't wanted to give into the sensation that tells him to exert energy, force; the boy is too sensitive, soft. He's hidden away from it instead, only to find relief from the calming potions that Luna has been providing. It has helped Peter.

But for Paimon... the restlessness persists. Even now, there's some type of separation between his vessel and himself, a reminder that the boy's physical body is the demon's home, but that he and Peter aren't fully one entity. Paimon's spirit is still its own spirit, and where his host's body finds calm and aid from his witch's potions, the demon within it has found none.

It begins to frighten him. It's... familiar; he knows such sensations. It feels abrasive to his energy, like something's rubbed raw against him. It makes him fretful, fitful, so reminiscent of periods during the Deer Town: flashes of something that manifests in upset, and tips towards anger. And he knows he can become dangerous. He knows he'd lost himself not even that long ago — when something in Peter was stripped by Maul, and something in Paimon was unleashed.

He hasn't forgotten. How he'd frightened Luna, how he'd screamed at her. Flashes of magic aimed his way, the smell of burning curtain, dust and blood. And then.... of course, what came not too long after that. Her, their, unbearable pain: a joining of souls gone terribly wrong. She'd screamed, that time.

And he'd learned, seen — what tortures the girl had gone through in her own world. He understands now that he brought all of that back out in her, and even still... he thinks she might flinch from him if he were to startle her; he's still been careful. Apart from minor appearances here and there, he's mostly been lying low, letting Peter go to the new school here with Luna, watching and observing all of the new things and moving on his own mostly at night, when Peter and Luna are sleeping, and the demon slips from the house to explore.

But he can't keep the loudness inside of himself quiet any longer; he feels it pressing up inside, and he's afraid he'll hurt Luna again. It's become a deep fear in him, one he actively worries about. He needs... help, from her, somehow; she can help him. She's always been the one capable of soothing his agitated spirit, ever since that first day back in the classroom. But she's running later than usual this evening, and as Peter waits, Paimon grows more and more uneasy. He doesn't even remember when or how Peter goes away — suddenly his vessel is quiet and the body spasms into his own control.

And he defaults back to a certain state, something that comes from way back even before Deerington. He moves like an insect, a big twitching thing; he's on the wall, the ceiling, scratching his way upwards. He scrambles across it for awhile, and the dog hears his movements, doesn't like it; she won't come in the room or anywhere near him. But soon he retreats to a corner, keeping himself pressed tightly there, as though trying to restrain himself. He doesn't know how much time passes. He doesn't dare move.

Finally, she's here; the demon hears her, but even now he doesn't dare to move. He's afraid, but when she finally finds him — for that initial moment, it's something straight out of memory. He tenses, as though in preparation for her magic, but she's lowering her wand.... lifting a hand instead. 'Paimon—?'

The demon's entire body shudders, seems almost like a shadow rippling there in the quiet of the still room. He wants to go down to her immediately, but he holds himself back. He doesn't want to scare, upset her; he's very silent and very still for a long time. Finally, the words come out strained and forced, the way they do when he feels so out of place in his vessel's body, too tightly contained within it: a reminder that what he is was never meant to speak in a human's voice. )

I need— you. ( There's a hollow rasp, and he shudders violently again, one of his vessel's bones making a pop-sound as it's suddenly forced into an unfavourable position. How does he explain this...? He... has to try. Paimon's long arms slowly shift, bend; he looks like a spider waiting to spring. )

I am...... wrong. I am..... bad. Inside.

( .... )

And I do not want— hurt. To hurt you.

[creidim]

[ It's upsetting, to see him like this. Unnerving, in a way. A coiled, strange thing in the corner of the room, shuddering violently. Something wrong; and the threat of danger is a cold feeling in her stomach. Luna stares up at him, white-faced and wide-eyed; she hasn't forgotten how dangerous that tightly-wound energy is, how she can see it in how he struggles to rein himself in. Something that might snap. She keeps still, still reeling in the familiarity of this all, as if to move would break that restraint in him — some awful stalemate of a sort.

And then he speaks, his voice strained: I need— you. Luna blinks in her stunned silence, barely breathing in as she gasps. Her body shifts backwards ever so slightly in its surprise: he's asking for her help. He doesn't want to hurt her. Her eyes flutter and she nods slowly, once. ]

It's alright— [ She keeps her voice soft, quiet. ] Did something happen—?

[ A gentle shifting in the air; the black hare returns from her search. She falls as still as Luna, body tense and alert as she look to the girl and then to the demon. She isn't afraid, though. Where Luna feels unease on the sight before them, the hare has no fear. She speaks gently, tells the girl that no one else is in the home but them. That her wards are intact, untampered.

There's a short pause, she looks to the demon once more: huge, white glowing eyes that seem to shiver silver for a moment. She understands, picking up where Luna cannot right now. Of course she knows what has come before; she's born from the girl, after-all. She knows the things that have frightened her, knows how in turn it has frightened the demon, too. ]

He is afraid.

[ The girl nods, not taking her eyes off the demon. He is afraid. Her brow pinches at that. Someone hasn't come into their home, then. Done something to him. And it's a relief, but not much comfort — something is still clearly still wrong with the demon. He is wrong, bad inside. Something that makes him afraid, fretful. The distance between them has been uneasy all this time, but still a distance. They haven't interacted, save for their time in The Great Sleep, for a long while, now. It's... helped, in a way. But at some point that distance had to close again.

And he's asking for her help. And she knows she can't just ignore him, she has to help him, somehow. Even if it makes her stomach twist painfully. She slowly tucks her wand away, her free hand joining the first — palms up to him. No wand, no magic. She needs him to come down, she can't do anything while he's up there. ]

I'm here, I'll help. Can you come down for me? Slowly, gently—? [ If it's possible, she really hopes it is. ] Tell me what... what do you need me to do—?

me: I'll try actually being more succinct and less rambly.............. the biggest joke I ever told

[possessum]

( 'Did something happen—?' He doesn't know how to... say it. How to explain. When he opens his mouth to try to speak again, his tongue catches and flutters, making strange little sounds, rapid little clicks. Not his usual single, clipped cluck sounds, but something more frantic. He is afraid.

There's this... side of him. The side that's more animal-like, and less... controlled. The side that skitters up walls and hides in the shadows of corners, the side that twitches and frets. The side that's... prone to violence, so quick to lash out. He knows he becomes like this; he can feel his own energy prickling more and more. Whatever this place is doing to Peter's blood — it's pulling that side out of him. He's fearful, and there's an anger mixed in with that emotion, something the cult had once provoked out of him and utilised for their purposes.

But he can't— explain all of this. He just stays there, quivering as he stares down at her, watching the animal that returns to his witch's side. Not quite a Familiar but maybe something similar — Peter has one too now, though his is hidden away often. He casts wide eyes down to the hare, then they cut back to Luna, tensing again as her hand moves — his gaze now locked on her wand, strange little hushed sounds tumbling past his lips. But she's... putting it away, removing it from sight.

He understands the implications of this, and the demon falls silent all of a sudden, staring widely down at the girl as though stunned. He should be put at ease by the gesture, by the... trust of it, and for a moment he almost is — she's trying to coax him down, gentle, gentle. Even after everything, she's so very gentle with him. 'I'm here, I'll help.' He knew she would, and he wants to go to her; his bent limbs twitch, and one arm moves, slowly, like a stick insect crouched and creeping downwards a bit. Slowly, gently, the way she requests; he must be just as gentle with her, he knows she can be broken, he's seen and felt what it is for her to be broken—

—Suddenly the demon stops, presses himself tighter to the wall again, and his head gives a sort of shaking gesture, a rapid jerking motion. )

Can't. Can't. ( More of those strange, rapid click sounds, distressed, seeming to be struggling against himself. He's afraid but she's asked him what he needs her to do; he needs to answer her.... The demon winces, gives a soft whine. He can't say it, but he can... show it. It means getting closer to her. It means coming down.

So after that strange pause where he was struggling with himself, he starts obediently moving downwards again, slowly, gently, creeping. It's a strange sight, all six feet of Peter's lithe body curled up against the wall, limbs working their way downwards. It shouldn't be possible to stay pressed there the way he does, but he can, stuck to it, not falling down to the floor with a thud the way he usually does. No sudden movements; he can't scare her. He can feel that she's already uneasy, that there is a fear lingering there.

Paimon's eventually down and curled out onto the floor, where he slowly stands upright again. Body still almost unbearably taut and tense, the demon approaches the girl very slowly, hunched slightly up into himself. His breathing is strange, erratic — nervous. His hands lift, very slowly, reaching for hers; there's barely any pressure against her wrists when he finds them, and coaxes them up to his face so slowly that he barely seems to move, where he places her palms gently to his cheeks. He lets go as soon as they're there; Luna can move them if she wants to, he isn't caging her to him — but this... is what he wants. A single word to express it, a whisper— )

Help.

never change, jhey

[creidim]

[ The energy of him is something wound too tightly, something that's regressed, in a way. Something twisted and fretful — he clicks and trills, too warped. And it unnerves her, seeing him like this. But the hare is right: the demon is afraid. She's bound to him, responsible for him; has to do something before it gets worse. But he can't tell her what he needs and for a long moment she feels lost.

But slowly, he creeps down from the ceiling as she'd ask. Her breath pauses in her throat, shoulders straighten and tense as she watches him climb down — her wide eyes painfully straining as he moves. She doesn't dare move, almost afraid too. As if it might break the moment, might unleash that energy in him — and she worries, fears that wild anger directed at her once more.

Her lungs burn, eyes glossing over as he slowly draws up to her, still following him and then up to meet him. Her hands flinch as he reaches for her wrist, a gentle shudder — her desperate pressing down of her fear. But it soon melts into a quiet surprise as he gently moves them up to his face. Something itches in familiarity: her palms carefully pressed to his cheeks, strange breaths uttered as he stares at her. He breathes the word: help.

Luna blinks, shivers in her stunned silence. She realises: he wants her to hold him.

And then it occurs to her: another way in which this is so familiar. In flutters in her expression and she swallows thickly — oh. She remembers the back of a classroom, a body thrown into her desk, the desperate scratching of hands at eyes. She'd reached for him, and when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd seen something dark and wild rippling under the dark pools of his eyes. Something lost and fretful that she'd tried to tame down; something she didn't understand, but she'd seen. She hadn't know it was him, then. Hadn't realised the thing lashing out at itself, at Peter, had been the demon placed inside the boy.

Paimon can't lash out now. Can't try to scratch or tear at himself, the body he shares. Can't thrash around when he feels wrong. He promised he wouldn't. Promised her. And slowly over time, he's realised he has to keep Peter safe like Luna wants to — realises in his own way his host has worth. But he's still some lost thing, at times. Still wild and angry and wrong, sometimes.

He's asking for her help, he needs her to soothe him like she'd done so long ago. She realises that. He needs her. To hold him, direct him to nothing but being. Calm the agitation. Luna inhales softly, the fear in her melting; he's asking for help — her head shifting softly in a nod, understanding. She adjusts her hands, moves them to gently cup his face better. And then slowly, her thumbs start to move, gently tracing over his skin in soft little motions, back and forth. ]

It's alright, Paimon. [ Her voice is quiet, soft. ] I'm here. Be still.

[ She hushes him, holds his gaze as she keeps gently petting him — gives him that direction to simply be. To be calm. The fear in her feels less, small. He didn't lash out, he asked. Where he'd attacked her last time, fuelled her panic and horror — this time he'd done the right thing: he asked for her help.

And Luna can't ignore that fact, as strained as they've been — as distant as they've been. His usual methods are things he can't touch, he's trying to restrain himself until she can do what she can. ]

... You did the right thing. I know this is hard, but you did it right. You asked. You did very good. [ Gentle praise offered, perhaps it'll help soothe him too. She exhales softly, lets the anxiousness in her out. Tries to be calm for him, remembering how he'd told her that he could feel how she felt. The potions have been helping keep her steady, composed. She can be calm, she can. Her thumbs keep sweeping over his cheek, a slow rhythm of sorts. ]

Can you feel how I feel? Focus on that, for me. [ A beat. ] Like you took my hurt once, this time you take the calm, alright?

in this house we write NOVELS

[possessum]

( There's a risk in reaching out to physically touch Luna — and it's not something he often does, especially not lately. There's a careful, cautious physical distance. But he doesn't know how else to tell her, besides show her, and he's.... afraid to linger too long. There's a desperation in him, to be soothed as quickly as possible. To be made safe again.

But he can tell she's very nervous and tense of the gesture, afraid as he reaches for her, and the demon feels regretful for that. He doesn't like for the witch to be afraid of him; it feels... wrong; it upsets him. For a long moment he's just staring, unsure, but then he feels something shift in Luna, and she's giving a soft breath. Her hands cup his face, the familiar soft pressure of them. Her fingers brush against his cheeks, and immediately his eyelids flutter, his spirit reacting to her touch.

'It's alright, Paimon. I'm here. Be still.'

There's another strange, strained breath, a ragged exhale. His chest rises and falls too hard, still, but the restlessness within him is being caught by her, held by her hands — protected, soothed down. It's been a very long time since she held him like this, but it has the same effect as before: it's as though she's given him a parameter, a safe space to be contained in.

And she's praising him, the words further pacifying him. Affirmation that he's done well, that she's pleased with him. He can still feel her anxiety but it's calming... lulling. For a moment, his eyes close, and he stands there, very still, torso slightly tipped forwards towards her. She gives him her calm. )

Yes... I feel— Yes. ( He whispers it, manages to speak the words. He takes her calm, feels it soft and warm inside of himself. The edges of him are still frayed and strange, and he shudders softly, but she's here now. He keeps his eyes closed, shuts off some of his host's senses so he can concentrate on how Luna feels. After a few long moments, the tension in him is easing off, and he relaxes against her hands, leaning into them. He speaks, slow and odd but capable of it a bit better, now. Finally capable of explaining the reality of it. )

My vessel.... he is calming. ....Calmed. From your potions. But I— I am..... still.... wrong. I am not fixed.

( Whatever frenzied energy is moving through this place, it's staying with him. )

And it.... grows worse. ( He frowns, but his eyes stay closed. ) I do not like it.

[creidim]

[ As difficult as things have been, she still knows she's responsible for him. She can't do nothing, she has to help him. And it feels precarious at first, his eyelids fluttering, his laboured breaths — everything inside of him still so restless, agitated. But she holds firm, keeps up with the gesture; her thumbs gently stroking along his cheekbones, keeps him carefully held in her hands. It helps, she thinks. Slowly, slowly, it helps.

She's reminded of the jar she'd made for him, the little space to keep him safe when he'd be nothing but a shape of light. How content he'd been inside of it. He leans into her hands, eyes closing. This is another little space to keep him safe, she realises. She looks at him for a long moment, letting him have the quiet, the peace of it, until he can bring himself to speak. ]

... They're not working for you like they do for Peter—? [ Oh. Oh, no. She hadn't even considered that, she'd honestly thought the potions effects would likely benefit Paimon as well as Peter. Luna exhales softly, her brow furrowing slightly, regretful. ] I'm sorry, I didn't realise.

[ This is... troubling. A problem. And she knows fine well how serious it is when he mentions it's getting worse, how bad it might get. Luna tries not to dwell too much on that thought, not wanting to send herself back to how bad things had been — considering that night. She keeps focused on here and now, on how to fix this — a solution to this.

He's reached out before things get too bad, even as difficult as it is now, even with the distance between them. He's asking for her help, and she truly appreciates that. He's trying to be gentle with her, learn from his mistakes. Something in her expression softens as she looks up at him and she nods. Alright, they can do this. ]

It's alright, we just need to... just try a different way. [ If the potions don't work, they can do something else. She can try something else for him. ] Maybe... maybe it might help if we can keep you busy, focused. Try a few different things, so you're not thinking about what's affecting you.

[ She very well can't stand here petting his face for the rest of the night, it's not very practical. It's helping, yes. But surely there are other things to try, ways to keep him calmed, soothed. She considers for a moment: keeping him busy by helping her might do, letting him shift his focus on tasks that'll soothe his spirit, keep him close to her energy. These are things that help him normally, after all. ]

It's just you and me, alright—? We'll get you better. [ A beat. ] How about you help me make dinner? Would you like to do that with me?

[ A start. ]

[possessum]

( There's a soft shake of his head; he seems almost regretful to relay the news to her. It isn't a mark of her skill, her potions themselves; Paimon has nothing but faith in his Witch's capabilities... especially since they've been working just fine for Peter. No, it's... just him that they don't seem to reach, and the demon doesn't understand why. He's been waiting for them to, but... time has only proven that they won't, and he's been growing worse and worse.

'I'm sorry', Luna says, and Paimon finally opens his eyes again, widening them like saucers. She doesn't need to be; he doesn't want her to be. He's shaking his head a little, mouth tipped open, giving a soft whine of a sound.

But of course Luna's offering suggestions, and he listens attentively despite his upset, dark eyes wide and wet. 'Just you and me'. Something to focus on, stay connected to, the most important thing, person, for him to do that with. He hesitates though, still afraid he might... hurt her again. The fear wears itself on his face, round eyes shifting around a little, body stiffening, like he doesn't dare to move. For a moment, he's breathing strangely again — soft, staggered little exhales. Then he nods again, almost mournfully. One of his arms slowly lifts again, hand creeping to gently curl into the material of her shirt, like he's hanging on. But it's a cautious act, some distance remaining to it, only barely touching. He knows she's still nervous of him. )

I want to.

( Weirdly, it seems like there's a 'but' lingering there.... It hangs in the silence for a few long moments. Of course he'll listen to her suggestion — even if framed not as an order, because his Witch never orders him to do things unless the situation calls for it; she asks him what he'd... like, what he wants. He'll listen, but he can't help expressing a concern.... )

....But are you scared? Of me. Right now.

( He knows what's been so wrong between them isn't fixed. It's still there, both of them can still feel it. And he doesn't want to.. upset her any more than she already is. )

I don't want to make you scared.

[creidim]

[ She sees it in him before he says anything, the reluctance, how he reaches for her but there's caution in the gesture. Her hands fall still, gently holding his face but paused in any motion, also most in waiting for him to speak. There's a soft inhale at the question, lips parting to speak but no answer comes. Not right away, anyway. There's a lot of wrongness between them, they both realise that. But there isn't... an easy way to put things right. ]

I know. [ Truly, she does. It's never been his intention to harm her, to scare her. He's never wanted that, and she knows it. He told her right from the very beginning that he never wanted to hurt her. Things have just been unfortunate, difficult. She doesn't know how to explain it, but she knows she has to try. He deserves her honesty more than anything, but she knows deep down they can't stay this way — never interacting, never acknowledging. ]

This is... difficult. What you did— [ He knows. He knows it reminds her of something painful. He's seen it for himself what happened to her, back home. How... she'd been treated. And he knows that effects her too, how sensitive he is to her. Luna swallows thickly, shakes her head. ] I— I know it's not the same thing, just that it... reminds me of it.

[ Luna's eyes lower from his. Being reminded of it... hurt her. But she understands that it was never something he intentionally set out to do. He's never wanted to harm her, and he's been regretful of the fact that he sent her down the dark rabbit holes within her mind. And Luna doesn't know if it'll be something that might always happen, doesn't know if there will be things that will always remind her of that pain, cause her more hurt. But she can't associate Paimon's past actions with it, not with their bond. Not when they have this... relationship with one another. ]

But I know that I— I can't let that control me. I know there's something... wrong in me, and I need to... fix it. You... aren't the ones who hurt me. [ There's a soft inhale, a silent sigh. She doesn't know how. She needs to find out... how to do that. How not to associate the two; Paimon is not Bellatrix Lestrange. His actions are not hers. ]

And you asked— [ Her brow furrows for a moment. This, tonight, hasn't been a repeat. She hasn't been faced with violence, with that wild, lost rage. He.. did something different this time. He didn't lash out. Didn't break things, didn't scare her in the dark. He knew not to do that this time. He knew he'd done things wrong, and he learned this time he needed to ask her for help. Calmly. Gently. He's... trying to be gentler with her. ]

You waited, and you asked for my help. You learned, didn't you? That... that means a great deal to me.

[ Being wrong is so difficult for him, not having the ability to really deal with it properly. He can't lash out at himself, his vessel. He can't lash out at all. Luna looks up at him again; slowly her thumbs move again, resuming their gentle pets of his cheeks — softly tracing along his cheekbones. ]

It... helps me be less afraid of you. [ It's not something completely fixed, but it's a start. It's finally starting to pick up the pieces; things can be put right again. They have to be. ] I need to learn, too. I don't want to be afraid forever.

[possessum]

( The gesture of reaching for her is almost childlike, and after a moment he lets go again, standing there mournfully as he listens to her. Much time has passed since... the incidents, and there are some things he's still processing, and others he's been able to process pretty well. He understands most of it by now: why Luna reacted the way she had to him, why it's still hard for her to... heal from it. She was hurt so badly, and it's similar in ways to how Peter was hurt so badly, too. The types of wounds that run so deeply that other things can remind you of them — and not only that, but actually bring you back to some emotionally raw, upset state that is out of your control.

...And Paimon, too, can relate to that. When Maul tore into that certain... place of him, that violent, screaming place, it was familiar to the demon. To what others had done to him once (the word feels like rip, like being ripped; the way he was ripped from host to host, torn so forcefully from them; it... devastated every piece of him). He's still having to remember exactly what was done to him, still can't quite understand it — maybe someday he'll be able to — but he does very much understand now that he can turn raw and upset and uncontrolled, too. It's a strange awareness in him now, that he doesn't want to become that way again. That he can.... relate to Luna in that regard, now. Oh... That's something to think more about, when he's able to.

'I know there's something... wrong in me, and I need to... fix it.' Those words elicit a soft shudder from the demon, those words that feel like an echo of himself. There's a sort of... ache, that Luna feels that way, because he knows what it's like. ....And Peter, too, has said much of the same — There's something wrong in me.... Paimon is starting to understand his vessel in new ways, as well.

Less afraid of him... It isn't perfect, isn't fully resolved, but it's something. It means something big. That he came to her before things got so bad that he couldn't control himself anymore. That he asked for her help. Paimon's eyes suddenly fill with actual tears — some overflow of emotion he still doesn't know how to deal with. He is... happy, he thinks, pleased — proud? Sad, too. There's an upset for Luna, for her emotional state, for the painful, hurting things that are making her wrong inside. )

I will help you. Fix it. The way you help me. ( His eyes stay locked on Luna's for a long moment, then the darker pair slowly lower down to stare at her nose. Remembering that part of her pain, too. What happened the first time was... hazier and more strange; he was in a frenzy when he'd smashed his way into her room. But the second incident... the time where he'd been one with Luna, for those few moments... he remembers it all too clearly. Sometimes he sees it happen again in his dreams — bleeding into Peter's.

He's still staring at her nose when he says it. Remembering when it was their nose; their pain. )

I am sorry.

( The demon's tongue catches oddly in his mouth before he continues, eyes slowly lifting to his witch's again, as she continues petting him. She's still afraid in ways, but she's trying. He'll try, too. )

I want to keep... learning. Keep getting better. We— ( He inhales at the word, feeling the intensity of it, of we, move through him. ) —will learn together.

( And then after a moment, that shy, almost childlike nature peeks out again; the demon fluctuating between severe proclamations and gentle timidity. )

....Can I put the things on the table, too...? ( ...He really likes doing that, setting the table. Arranging things. )

[creidim]

[ The tears surprise her, how full his eyes become with them. Emotions have always been... strange things for him, she knows. Expressing them even stranger. Luna stares for a moment; she suspects he doesn't like the thought of her... being wrong, being sad. He's close to her energy, her emotions — there'll be things he doesn't want for her. She knows he's wanted to put things right before, like when he'd taken the ache from her tattoo last year, and when he tells her he'll help she knows he will.

There's a nod, the smallest smile of thanks at her lips. Things are still wrong, but this... is a step in the right direction. And then his gaze lowers, he stumbles a little: I am sorry. Luna's eyes flutter at that, her expression shifts. An apology. He's... never really apologised to her for what's happened between them, has he? He said he didn't want to do it again, didn't want to scare her or harm her but... didn't actually tell her he was sorry for the thing he'd done. She stares at him when his eyes return to herself, touched by the words. Apologies can mean a great deal. Even when he didn't... really mean to harm her, he's still sorry for doing it. ]

Thank you. For apologising. [ She keeps petting his face, mirroring her words of thanks with the gesture. She appreciates it, she really does. ] I forgive you.

[ Even if he wasn't really to blame, not really. She forgives him. He wants to better, for himself and for her. She wants herself to do better, too. To try to work out how to move past it. They're a team too, aren't they? Like how she is with Peter. They'll learn together, she likes that.

... And then comes the hesitant question, he wants to help set the table for them. It startles a little breath out of her, softly voiced with the sound of mirth. Her shoulder sink slightly, a hint of a smile at her lips. ]

That would be good. [ She nods. ] I'd like for you to do that, yes.

[ Finally, she moves her hands away from his face. It's already late with her arriving home, they should really get started. She doesn't know how long Paimon's going to stay present for, but it's better she gets him as calm as possible in whatever time she has with him. Hopefully she can coax him to eat once they're done cooking: Peter needs to eat, after all.

Very carefully, she takes one of his hands, holds it lightly with hers. He'll not want to be too far from her just yet, she suspects — so she'll lead him through to the kitchen. She tugs gently at his hand for him to follow, leading the way. ]

Let's get started, we need to go wash out hands first.