(event) SHATTER & DECAY

[vestigemods]

EVENT LOG: SHATTER & DECAY

JULY 21ST - 27TH

► IF THERE'S NOTHING BUT PAIN, PUT IT ON ME

On the morning of the 21st, the sun dawns peacefully over the crystalline lake just as it has every day for nearly three weeks now. Birdsong melodies soften the crisp edge to the morning air, and woodland creatures retreat from many a cabin backyard, unhurried but unwilling to contend with the cabin's residents as they wake. It's... peaceful, more so than one might expect after such a dire fate spelled out in the pamphlets upon your arrival. Perhaps, after many such days, it has managed to lull you into a sense of something like security.

Today we'll be learning a valuable lesson on why that is, in fact, a mistake.

Sometime between the 21st & 22nd, you begin to feel a bit... off. Perhaps the source is apparent at once, the ends of your fingers or toes going stiff and crystalline or swelling and blooming in small rotting sores. Perhaps the source of your discomfort is a bit less clear as your senses begin to sharpen or dull. But make no mistake, this is only the beginning.

As time passes, your situation only worsens. The glass or decay carves a slow but steady path up your limb or limbs. Your sharp senses begin to overwhelm you. Your dull senses muffle altogether. Soon, you may not be alone in your own mind, bombarded by the omnipresent thoughts and feelings of those around you in a way that you can't seem to hide from. Or worse - maybe there's no one around you, and yet you hear whispers in your mind all the same... Whispers which turn to yelling and screams and sharp violent emotions and imagery you can't simply close your eyes to because it exists inside your head.

But there is a solution.

It's detailed inside your new coffee-table centerpiece, a book bound roughly in leather and written in a language none here know or can recognize. All you know is that this book was not here last night. Not far from the book's front cover, you'll find two pages of illustrations with a page of text between them. One depicts humans holding their heads as if in distress, then cutting themselves or one another, then no longer holding their heads in distress. The next depicts much the same, but instead of a their heads they hold a discolored arm or leg... and instead of simply drawing blood, it shows them rubbing one another's blood on their discolored limbs. Skimming the rest of the book will find a dozen or so pages roughly torn from the bindings. Perhaps those were further illustrations. You may never know.

Besides - you have more pressing issues to attend to. Like bleeding, or finding someone else to, in order to make this stop.

You who only suffer the mental effects are lucky, in a sense. Your condition is deeply uncomfortable but it almost definitely isn't fatal. If you've found your limb crystallizing or rotting away, however, you have little choice but to seek a solution or resign yourself to a distinctly unpleasant death.

Regardless of which effects may be lingering, you'll find blessed relief at midnight on the 27th. Over the course of an hour, your senses will fade back into their proper strength, the unwanted guests will evacuate your mind, and the glass or rot will recede from your limbs to leave them just as they were before this veritable nightmare of a week.

Now, it's time to breathe, to recover, and to lick your figurative wounds.

► MOD NOTES

• This log is a general dump for all log threads pertaining to July's Shatter & Decay event! Feel free to utilize vestigenet for any event-related network posts you'd like to make.
  
• The event takes place from July 21st - 27th. All characters begin to experience effects by mid-22nd at the latest. Any event effects lingering at midnight on the 27th fade away over the course of an hour, in much the same way as they would if provided sufficient blood during the event itself.
  
• All event information (in detail rather than the flavortext I've provided) can be found on the July Event Infopost!
  
• Important semantics reminder! While you can have a character experience both psych and body horror within the event, both must be either rot or glass, not mix and match.
  
• Limbs lost or irreversibly damaged to this event reappear next time your character sleeps (as early as right when the event ends) unless you OOCly choose for them to retain the loss, in which case they instead regain the limb upon their next death + respawn. (If your character doesn't sleep, they go offline/fall unconscious and return to consciousness with the limb fixed.)
  
• Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Comments

Lan Jingyi | OTA

[gusumouthcannon]

//Intro & Event Prompts//

Scandalized Junior Discovering His Clothing Options Bare A LOT of Skin
The problem with only having one set of robes is that he needs more clothing than that. That is just math. Reality. Something. The cabins he has rifled through do not have anything remotely similar, and everything that properly covers the skin is all very heavy and very much not suitable for the heat. So he is here, at the gas station, feeling like a criminal as he prepares to steal something more to wear that will not melt him instantly. "Are these--" He turns toward the sound of someone approaching and his tone is an even split between despair and delight as he holds up a tank top to his torso to measure its coverage. It does not cover a lot. "Are these our only options?"

Junior Beating The Heat On Verge Of Learning How Electronics and Lake Water Interact
The function of the smartphone is yet a mystery, but clearly the only way to find out how it works is to experiment! Thus, Jingyi sits on the very end of the dock wearing his new ugly sport shorts and a T-shirt, his bare feet in the water of the lake. He is hitting buttons without a lot of concern. A sound upon the lakeshore startles him, birds bursting up out of some bushes, and he almost drops the thing, bobbling the phone with a loud yelp.

Who Has Two Thumbs and Brand New Zombie Legs!
It is VERY early in the morning and Jingyi has just awoken to the fact that his legs are rotting from his body. His bloodcurdling scream is. Loud. And he is out of his cabin and into the woods as fast as his poor corpse legs can take him, which is incredibly distressingly not that fast, to see the creeping rot and shredded flesh in the chill, stark light of the morning. Hyperventilating, he wails, "They only itched yesterday!"

#PleaseForTheLoveOfHanguang-junDoNOTLeaveMeAloneMyHeadIsFullOfGhosts
He handled having corpse legs like a boss. But now his brain is haunted and that is. Not great. That is why the very next person he sees minding their own business acquires a Jingyi who is smiling a little over-brightly in the internally screaming sort of way. No reason, not even a fake one, just a beeline straight for their side and a slightly strangled (and strangely over-loud, even for Jingyi), "Hello!"

Wildcard~
HMU for a custom starter or throw something at me. :) I'll match brackets or prose.

head full of ghosts

[legbreakings]

"Hello," he echoes suspiciously.

Jiang Cheng's body language is anything but welcoming to clingy juniors, his teeth clenched, his shoulders tense, and there is a particular strained expression around his eyes which doesn't quite fit him being angry, even if at first glance he simply looks the usual bad-tempered.

He eyes the latest white-robed stranger with some faint distaste, dearly wishing he could snap at him but they've met at the beach, people are allowed to walk at the beach, even Lans.

"When did we get more Lan?"

equally scandalized junior *further* appalled at the thought of showing more than forearms

[deferences]

“Hopefully not,” comes a voice that should be familiar to Jingyi. Sizhui steps a little closer, considers the sleeveless top his friend is holding and wrinkles his nose in a mixture of uncertainty and faint disapproval. “Won't it be uncomfortable without the sleeves?” He casts an inquiring glance around them, catches a glimpse of something else, though as he moves toward the clothes rack and pulls it out, his expression falters again. “Hm...” Well, it's less revealing than the one Jingyi's holding, but what in the world does it even mean?

“Okay, maybe not this one particularly? But there have to be other things we could find that aren't as lacking.” A moment's hesitation before he amends, “I mean, you— you can wear whatever you like, Jingyi, so long as you're comfortable with it.”

Jiang Cheng | The Untamed

[legbreakings]

[ individual prompts will go below, contact me if you'd like a specific prompt on Discord or cynicalharlequin Will match brackets or prose. ]

closed to Graham - at the lake, early morning of the 25th

[legbreakings]

There's something pathetic in your own mind being unwilling to let you find sleep but being up early for some morning exercise, that is perfectly respectable.

And so, Jiang Cheng is fully dressed and walking around the lake by the time the sun is starting to rise. There are deep shadows under his eyes and his movements are a little more sluggish, betraying that this might not be the first sleepless night he's had. He carries Sandu, mostly because he never goes anywhere unarmed but also so he can at least pretend he's trying to find a place for training instead of simply being out here to hide from his own thoughts.

First, it had been the pain of the rot keeping him awake, then once that was dealt with, the whispers started. He hasn't even really registered yet that his eyesight is worsening, too distracted by the whispers and the heavy moods tearing at him.

OTA - starting 21st - rot

[legbreakings]

When his right leg starts to hurt and feel hot and infected starting at the foot, Jiang Cheng doesn't give it much mind, determined to ignore a weakness he won't permit himself. It isn't until the sores start, large and ugly and infected, followed by the skin turning blackened with a foul stench to it, that he realizes this is something that can't be ignored through sheer willpower.

He's still not going to ask anyone else for help. He can handle this by himself, handle it in the way of a cultivator.

So he can be found sitting at the edge of the lake by the boathouse he lives in, doing for hours and hours on end something which he usually keeps to the required minimum: meditating. Meditating and trying to use his cultivator's self-healing to fix the decay to his body faster than it can spread.

It is a doomed battle, one during which he feeds all his spiritual energy into the decaying wound yet it seems like the rot is only spreading faster for his exhaustion, and soon it leaves him weak even beyond the rotting limb - feverish, swaying, struggling with even the smallest effort. He still keeps the rotting limb stubbornly hidden.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he snaps, swaying in place. "I'm not infected! I have a golden core, I wouldn't be rotting away where I stand!"

OTA - starting 24th - blindness & mental effects, cw: self-harm

[legbreakings]

[ OOC: He won't be healed until the night of the 26th/27th ]

It begins slowly; his eyesight is a little blurred, there is the occasional buzzing noise that sounds almost like a human voice though he can make out no words. Soon, there are whispers whenever it is quiet and he is alone, malevolent whispers and raw, desperate laughter in a voice that sounds almost like Wei Wuxian's that nightmarish night in Nightless City.

Worthless ... You can't protect anyone ... You will always be second-best the voice is sneering and these are easier to bear, it is the other ones he finds harder to bear. They will leave you like I left ... Do you still not understand why you can't make anybody stay, A-Cheng? ... Nobody can stand you, they're just pretending because they pity you!

At night, the voices whisper loudest to him and sometimes there is screaming, just screaming, and as his eyesight grows ever weaker, false memories take the place of staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Violent deaths - him killing, being killed - and tortures he never experienced while in Wen Chao's hands but that still feel so real he could almost swear he could find the corresponding scars on his body if only he looked hard enough. When it becomes too much, Jiang Cheng bleeds himself, shallow cuts at first, then ever deeper ones with his growing desperation, Sandu never far from his hands.

During the days when he strives to keep up a facade of normalcy, his mood becomes harder to control. He is prone to snapping, going within seconds from rage over the smallest trifle to deep despondency that leaves him too numb even for tears. Weak and tired from sleepless nights, his body still recovering from the rot.

He tries to keep busy, working on the boathouse's repairs and exploring the confines of their cage by day, walking along the lake at night and in the early morning hours, sometimes even going for a swim though he is mindful to keep the innermost layer of his robes on to hide the damage he has been doing to his body, even if patches of red on the purple might betray it.

Geralt of Rivia // OTA

[coolmotivestillevil]

A. Body decay like idk July 23

[ Someone doesn't seem overly concerned with what's happening right now. Not because he isn't concerned, but because he doesn't want to give the whoresons responsible the satisfaction. He's kind of trying to ignore it, and he's also made sure to wear something that covers it, despite the heat. Even so, though, the rotting spot on his arm still shows below the sleeve on his wrist, if barely, and, well … It smells.

He's also not about to believe the supposed cure that was provided by the ones who caused it. No, instead, he's scouring the lakeside and the edge of the forest for plants that he may be able to use to create something that could potentially heal it. And how intently focused he is on this task is a good sign of just how concerned he really is. How couldn't he be? It looks and smells not unlike a necrophage bite, and while it obviously isn't, he's worried about how dangerous it is.

If you happen to be in the way of whatever patch he has his mind set on, he'll speak sharply, almost a growl or a hiss between his teeth. ]

Move.

B. Mind decay like July 25

[ Just when he thinks he might be free of it, the world around him turns … bland. The wind still rustles the leaves and the sun still shines as brightly, but he steps out of the cabin and he can no longer quite smell the forest, or the deer that he can hear walking not too far from here. His expression wasn't exactly bright to begin with, but it darkens instantly, lips curling with distaste. ]

You've got to be kidding me.

[ They're messing with his senses now? He needs those. And how come his medallion still hasn't hummed? What the hell is going on?

To anyone brave enough to speak out when he's got this face on; kudos to you. ]

C. Wildcard

A.

[hierophante]

[She hears him coming, but the mere act of perceiving and knowing does not burn away the fog of mourning absorbing all her focus. That's what it is, isn't it? Mourning.

It had happened with such finality before. She had gone into the water and come back to a world made dark, and there had been nothing to do then but to accept that fact. The suddenness had, for her, made the loss of a sense easier to bear.

This is different. She stands, clutching the branch she's been using as a walking stick and looking out over the lake and thinks about how she'd heard once that for those who come into blindness slowly, sometimes it comes on as a blur, a blur that might spread the distinct scintillae of sunlight on the troubled surface of the lake into a holy glow, an all-encompassing sea of incandescence. That might be, in its way, lovely. Instead, her world is just darkening.

The growled command jolts her back to the moment; OA angles her ear towards Geralt and nods, probing the ground ahead of her with the stick to ensure she isn't walking into the water or into the slick mud at its edge before she steps forward. It's habit more than necessity, but she takes some comfort from it. And him? She thinks at first to let him be; whatever his business, he doesn't seem to want any company in it.

That, ultimately, is what sways her.]

Is everything all right?

B.

[skittering]

( irritation. lalli is irritated, and the stupidest part is, it's not even his. he himself was perfectly fine, but then someone got irritated, someone in one of these stupid cabins - he could feel it from the woods, and now he has to go and track them down so he can tell them to stop.

or... help them fix it, probably. mrrrh. he hates this already.

he spots the culprit before too long, a terrible scowl attached to a man he actually recognizes. the man who didn't believe in finland. maybe lalli should just leave him here - oh, but then he's going to keep being irritated. with a sigh, he calls from off between trees about ten feet off: ) It wants blood. ( he draws his knife, making a vague slicing gesture in the vicinity of his own arm. ) Not as bad when you bleed. Worse again when you stop.

Jon Crane | OTA

[timetoplaynow]

It had started this morning, while he was making coffee, his fingers feeling more stiff than usual. But he'd ignored it, put it down to sleeping oddly on his arm.

By midday, however, his fingertips have turned -- well it looks like they've turned to glass. He turns his hand this way and that, watching the ends of his fingers glint in the sunlight. "How interesting."

Daemon Sadi | OTA

[singularwidower]

First Half - Hands Off

"Well that's inconvenient," Daemon says, staring at his now shattered hand. The glassy stump he now sports glitters where it has sheered off at his wrist. He...perhaps needs to do something about this.

Hrm.

The lakeside seems to be a regular meeting-ground, and so that's where he goes, eyes sharp for someone seeming to be suffering any sort of strange bodily ailment.

"You," he says when he finds one and sidles up, eyes sharp and a little bit predatory. He tips his head toward the offending damage. "Might you and I come to an arrangement?"

Second Half - Psychic Bleed
[A Network Post, to begin.]

You are all thinking far, far too loudly, and if I am having psychic bleed-through, I can only imagine the horror that the rest of you are going through. I have found that I can shield enough to dampen other's thoughts for a short period of time. And if I can do it for myself, I can do it for you, in case you are not interested in bleeding to rid yourself of the voices. Thus, I am offering.

hands off! (ง'̀-'́)ง

[hierophante]

Absence drives her to the lakeshore, to wade blindly out into more sluggish, cooler currents, to feel something other than the darkness. That's how she'd put it once: If I ever get out of here, I want to swim. I just like the feeling of being surrounded by something other than the darkness. Even then, she'd have been unable to imagine this. This interstitial darkness, a dull swathe of nothingness which has yet to be filled in by imagination.

She's stood there at the shore when Daemon finds her, heart thrumming: will the water chill her to the bone? Will she sink back into it like falling into that long-ago river, into that first of countless deaths? The thought is sufficiently absorbing that she doesn't hear his approach, and when he speaks she jolts, sucking in a harsh breath and squeezing her eyes shut.

Breathe.

"An arrangement?" Her voice is tenuous, weak. Speaking makes her feel like a cavern, a place of endless echoes. Dark, hollow. She turns her head to him, but her eyes don't quite focus on his face, on the proffered limb, the hand that isn't.

wei wuxian, open + closed

[mannerless]

█ 24th (ANYWHERE)


( this part is kind of just to grab attention for his network post! )




█ 27th, mid-day (FOREST)


( wei wuxian would like to think that he's held it together pretty decently so far. his sight and hearing seem to have leveled out now that he can't feel a single inch of his skin - and how lucky is that, to lose a sense that just makes it easier to bleed without making anyone feel guilty for it? or so he'd argue. he'd also argue, if pressed, not to worry about the angry voices (spirits? hallucinations?) either, since he's quite accustomed to ignoring mutinous whispers in his head.

so this trip out into the woods, it's just... a bit of fresh air, that's all! definitely not trying to avoid his housemates, who thus far have been thoroughly convinced that he's about as unaffected as one can be. one hand grips chenqing, white-knuckled - the flute goes everywhere he goes, but even on top of that, he's considering the distinct possibility that he might be able to play a bit of the right melody and rouse his own latent resentful energy to drown the new spirits(?) out with his own. it's a weak plan, and it's one he definitely shouldn't cave to, but that doesn't make it any less tempting. they're getting louder now, despite his best efforts. leveling accusations at gods-only-know who, showing him things he doesn't want to see -

a fallen branch snaps to his right, and he whirls on whoever approaches, flute raised in defense, eyes sharp and haunted. a moment later he seems to realize himself, lowering the flute with a sheepish chuckle. ) Ah, sorry - are these your woods? ( he hadn't spotted a cabin, but he's also a bit too distracted to trust that right now. )




█ 27th, just after midnight (FOR SIZHUI)


( anyone in the cabin a half-hour before midnight likely heard wei wuxian leave in a rush. now, barely less than an hour later, he (or at least someone) can be heard stumbling haphazardly back through the door. the door shuts too heavily, aided by wei ying leaning just as heavily back against it, and he calls - ) Lan Sizhui! If you have a minute, ( with a veneer of casual that can't entirely mask that something is Wrong.

the wei wuxian that sizhui finds leaning against the door is more reminiscent of the one that lan zhan dragged out of the burial mounds with decoys painted in blood on his stark-white shirt than any wei wuxian that has been seen in vestige thus far. his face is terribly pale, and much of his weight is supported by the door, eyes closed to fight back a wave of dizziness. his sleeves are hiked up most of the way to his elbows (they've slipped down farther than he meant them too, now getting thoroughly bled on), and the inside of each forearm bleeds from a terrible gash from the rolled-up sleeve to just inside of his wrist, blood dripping down his shaking hands and onto a pair of bloody linens discarded at his feet (they're useless, they're too bloody to soak up any more of it).

a little assistance would be great. )




█ 27th, after above thread (FOR HOUSEMATES)


( either later that night sometime in the morning proper, wei wuxian can be found occupying the largest couch. he's stripped to his undershirt and trousers (though the latter are covered by a blanket, nice and warm if he could feel such a thing), the loose sleeves of the grey shirt rolled up past the elbow to make room for the firm wrapping of bandages up the entire length of each forearm.

though he has drifted in and out of sleep since he returned, he's awake right now - awake and ready for literally any distraction from the presences lingering in his mind, and so the first person he spots he'll whine - ) I'm so bored, show mercy! Sit over here, talk about anything. ( seeing as the most recent time he tried and failed to get up was about an hour ago (blood loss is terribly annoying once you've lost your golden core), he's not yet trusting of his ability to go distract himself. )

points to eyes.... sobs

[deferences]

[being hyper-aware of one's surroundings most times, he does recognize an individual leaving the cabin, though by the time someone returns, his senses have somewhat dulled thanks to his ever-so-slowly but steadily growing exhaustion. (thankfully, sizhui had realized his own little problem some time ago, so using the strips of fabric usually wrapped around his forearms in his lan garb as a bandage had proved a mostly effective deterrent until it'd traveled up to his shoulder and – funnily enough – the person stumbling into the home figured him out.) if it were possible, he would've just worn those robes the whole time, though it's far too warm for such nonsense and much easier to not argue in the long run.

he registers the sound of the door, yet it's wei wuxian calling his name that instantly has the boy leaping to his feet, his stride into the hallway graceful despite his faint grogginess. the other cultivator sounds off, which is worrisome enough— seeing him propped against the door with his arms sliced open is downright frightening, however.] Wei Wuxian! [he cries, rushing toward him posthaste and reaching both hands to catch his shoulders.]

Hold on, [and following the slightly panicked plea, he shifts to stand beside him, hooks an arm around his middle then leads them toward the nearest seat to help him sit. once that's done, he's kneeling, left hand catching one of wei wuxian's arms and the right briefly touches his headband before glowing fingertips move to hover over the gash on his forearm.] W-What happened?

27th, after Sizhui. Laaaaate morning.

[gusumouthcannon]

[In no world has Jingyi ever been shy about accosting Senior Wei, but in his defense everyone has been extremely preoccupied for the last few days. So when he wobbles groggily out into the main room of the cabin to find Senior Wei on the couch complaining loudly, he freezes like a caught rabbit. He blinks, brains slow still and unfortunately still haunted, and stumbles over to sprawl on the couch nearby instead of completing his trek to the kitchen area.

He mushes his face into the dusty fabric (which he regrets instantly), yanks himself half-upright to cough out his lungs, and then peers blearily at Senior Wei.]

So I know that Sizhui says that you are definitely Senior Wei, but I am not going to lie, you look nothing like I imagined he would.

Forest

[hierophante]

[She doesn't mean to startle him. Questions of intent are all too easily lost, as unseen as all the rest. Perhaps if it didn't feel so personal, perhaps if the familiar weren't also rendered both foreign and frightening by circumstance, by the way it arrives.

OA has missed blindness before, missed what made her world her own. Sight had made it... smaller. Beautiful, yes. Simpler and more complicated in turns. This feels like sick vengeance, a joke played upon her for her failure to adapt with perfect grace to the painful facets of change.

She walks to rediscover it, wanders with the imperfect aid of a makeshift walking stick through the dim, fogged landscape of the forest, slow and cautious, mindful of the path. And, yes, the stick snaps, and yes, he is startled. So is she; his abrupt motion inspires a gasp, a flutter of fear which subsides, fading to a weak, giddy laugh when he speaks. Just another wandering soul.]

I don't think the woods can belong to anyone.

[It's not an admonishment, just a gentle acceptance: he has as much right to be here as she does. In the wake of the exchange, though, she's left... uncertain, uncomfortable. Is he looking at her? She feels as though he is, and the sensation is not one she's experienced in years. Watched, unable to watch in turn. Part of her is elsewhere, under the unwelcome gaze of the man who would crush her, and her skin crawls at the memory. She tries on a tenuous smile, eyes downcast.]

Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.

Housemates

[porndealer]

[Some how he'd managed to sleep through all the commotion of Wuxian leaving and his return, but something makes him restless. Maybe he's hungry or thirsty, but he'll wander down to the first floor, seeking anything to help when he's accosted by Wei Wuxian.

Accosted is perhaps a strong word.

He sees the wraps and it's clear something happened, but the way Wuxian calls to him he probably doesn't want to talk about that. He'll pad over, holding his robe closed with his one hand as he'd just pulled it on over his under clothes to come down stairs.]

If you're bored why aren't you sleeping?

[Huaisang sits beside him, tucking his legs underneath him to keep his feet warm.]

It's so early... aren't you tired?

[He drawls it, almost whining, but mostly just putting on an act to keep from asking about what happened to his friend. To have some sort of normalcy between them after the mess and stress of what had been happening to everyone.]

for yanli!

[mannerless]

( wei wuxian would like to think that he's held it together pretty decently so far. his sight and hearing seem to have leveled out now that he can't feel a single inch of his skin - and how lucky is that, to lose a sense that just makes it easier to bleed without making anyone feel guilty for it? or so he'd argue. he'd also argue, if pressed, not to worry about the angry voices (spirits? hallucinations?) either, since he's quite accustomed to ignoring mutinous whispers in his head.

so this trip out into the woods, it's just... a bit of fresh air, that's all! definitely not trying to avoid his housemates, who thus far have been thoroughly convinced that he's about as unaffected as one can be. one hand grips chenqing, white-knuckled - the flute goes everywhere he goes, but even on top of that, he's considering the distinct possibility that he might be able to play a bit of the right melody and rouse his own latent resentful energy to drown the new spirits(?) out with his own. it's a weak plan, and it's one he definitely shouldn't cave to, but that doesn't make it any less tempting. they're getting louder now, despite his best efforts. leveling accusations at gods-only-know who, showing him things he doesn't want to see -

a fallen branch snaps to his right, and he whirls on whoever approaches, flute raised in defense, eyes sharp and haunted. a moment later he seems to process that it's yanli, lowering the flute with a weak chuckle he knows has little hope of fooling her. ) Shijie. ( it's warm, welcoming despite the undertone of something like anxiety he can't quite shake. ) I'm fine, I am - I just needed a little air.

Naminé | OTA

[lethechained]

[ || A. Lake | July 22

[ In the absence of proper drawing materials, Naminé has taken to experimenting with new methods by which to express her artistic inclinations. Although impermanent, a stick and a sandy lakeshore work as a canvas in a pinch - and she is, as a matter of fact, in a pinch.

She's already made short work of one small section of beach; delicate scribbles line it in places where she's sure they'll be at least somewhat safe from the water. The little markings depict all manner of events probably recognizable to anyone who's been in the containment zone for a while, from a disturbing bat-dragon creature to the gas station to the party that took place on that very shore. One might even find themselves if they look hard enough, rendered in a simple yet oddly accurate style just cute enough to be called a caricature.

Naminé isn't far off, in the process of being responsible for yet more of these drawings - or she was, that is, until this very moment, when the stick drops suddenly from her hand. Her soft noise of surprise has an edge of discomfort, her arm pulling in toward her torso as she looks down. Upon catching sight of her fingers, she realizes abruptly that the stiffness in her joints wasn't just from overwork; the glassy texture of her outermost digits is proof enough of that.

Startled, she holds them up as she tries to make sense of what her eyes are telling her. ]


[ || B. Cabin Surroundings\\Road | July 25

[ Today, Naminé is busy.

Despite having recovered from her earlier affliction, she looks... preoccupied. She's also more stylish than is strictly an everyday occurance, assuming one considers wearing sunglasses to be an automatic +3 to fashion. The eyewear in question is cheap and gaudy and pink and doesn't really go with her simple white dress at all, but she seems dead set on wearing them as she makes her way from tree to tree, walking with purpose - if a bit unsteadily. She pauses at each trunk, placing something on it before moving on to the next.

Eventually, either all this activity has tired her out, or there's some other reason she sits down under one of the aforementioned plants, tucked not quite out of sight from the road. Although her posture is normally proper, this time it seems she's elected pull her knees up to her chest and press her face into them, sunglasses and all. ]


[ || C. Cabins | July 26

[ If one didn't happen to see Naminé wandering through the forest the previous day, it might come as a surprise should one happen upon a tree marked with a sticky note. They're not exactly the ideal way to adhere something to bark, and a few may have fallen off - but the ones that are where they're supposed(?) to be have been labelled with large, clearly written numbers.

And should one's curiosity get the best of one, those numbers can be followed back along a path toward one of the cabins near the lake. This particular cabin isn't anything special; nothing seems out of the ordinary from the outside... except for the fact that the front door is standing open. In a place like this, well - that's probably not a good sign. ]


[ || D. WILDCARD | Anywhere

[ Choose your own adventure! For the record, Naminé will also be experiencing the ambient telepathy effect during the later part of the event, so presumably that'll be going on in the last prompt, if not prompt B as well. ]

C.

[skittering]

( lalli took to the woods to escape the whispers. whispers, feelings - like minds are touching his, mostly familiar within his cabin but nonetheless unwelcome within the confines of his skull. he fully intended to wander until he found a good tree to climb, to put distance between himself and even those who might wander the forest too - but that was before he found the numbered papers.

now he follows the papers, brow knit, hood pulled up over his head. he follows them all the way to the cabin, the one with the open door.

a hand drops silently to the handle of his knife.

but he nonetheless makes his silent careful way to the door, stepping through the doorway and peering around. he doesn't speak yet - a 'hello?' might not be remiss, but he's far too wary for that in a place that has both promised and delivered dangers. )

Nie Huaisang | OTA | 500 years late with no Starbucks

[porndealer]

7/21 | Video - UN: @ nie.huaisang

[The video is shaky as it attempts to focus on something, it looks like Huaisang might be holding glass or small crystals, they catch in the mid day light... at least until the camera focuses finally and it's made clear it's the tips of his fingers to the first knuckle.]

I don't know what's happening or when or how... I swear I didn't touch anything strange! What do I do? How do I stop it? I-It's slowly moving up my fingers, I can't feel it, but l-look!

[He shoves the phone camera in closer, which only blurs the view for a moment.]

You can see it! Oh this is horrible! I just wanted to look at the birds in the woods!


7/24 Gas Station Smash:
(Before Fran's network post lol)

[Trying to keep his mind off that fact that he was slowly turning to glass, Huaisang wandered off to the gas station to snoop around. It had quite a lot of things in it that were a mystery to him. Food and clothing, literature. Mostly he just wanted anything that would distract him. For a while the many magazines and a newspaper captivate him, in fact he's rolling a couple up to tuck into the crook of his glass arm to bring back to the cabin with him.

Once his arm got to the elbow of turning to glass he'd bent it and kept it against his body, so it would at least be stuck in a way that was easy to work with. Tucked against him more like a broken arm in a sling. It has at least made for a convenient holder for things. So with a handful of magazines rolled up and tucked into the crook of his glass arm, Huaisang has a peek into one of the freezers, peering through the partly frosted glass. Nothing he could see was anything he recognized, but he was learning that trying things was the only way to figure out what was good or not. It was more fun with someone there to try it with though.

Alas. Alone he'll open the door-- er, try to open the door? The suction on the door fights with Huaisang as he tugs for a bit, wondering if he's just that weak. It would be easier with TWO hands.]

Maybe it's locked? Why would they lock the food, that would just be cruel.

[Like his arm turning to glass wasn't already. So he tries again, giving a big hearty tug and- it's way too much force than he needs and the door swings open, but Huaisang is thrown off balance and stumbles, falling glass arm first into a shelf. Thankfully he doesn't seem to be hurt, nothing feels like it hurts at least. Until he stands up right and glass pieces start falling out of the sleeve of his robe.]

Wha- no- NO!

[The horrible realization hits him and Huaisang grabs at his "arm" feeling nothing but jagged pieces of glass in his sleeve, digging into his hand. More pieces fall to the floor and he'll fall to his knees to try and collect them up, desperately muttering "no no no" to himself as he starts to tear up. The glass cuts his hand as he does smearing a bit on the floor.

Anyone who stumbles into the gas station will find a sobbing Huaisang sat pitifully beside the open freezer with a pile of glass that was once his arm.]

[legbreakings]

[ The lucky person who stumbles into the gas station just so happens to be the least qualified person to be dealing with glass limbs or the shattering of the selfsame, let alone with a sobbing Huaisang.

Thus, it is no surprise at all that a Jiang Cheng who is himself looking like death warmed over - but at least sporting a full set of limbs! - stops as soon as he catches sight of him and takes a moment to simply gape in horror.

Even he doesn't know if he is more horrified by the loss of limb or the prospect of having to offer comfort without making Huaisang cry worse. ]

What did you do?! [ he blurts out and then he finally snaps back into motion, rushing over and dropping to his knees in front of him. He doesn't quite dare reach out, though. ]

number five | tua | ota

[callidus]

July 23rd - Almost Down by the Lake

[ five gingerly touches the dead flesh just barely visible between his sock and his shorts. he scrunches up his face, both in pain and because of the realization that he'll have to burn these clothes soon. once the smell of dead flesh gets in, it's hard to get back out. the smell is why he's on his way to the lake. it was filling up the cabin and making him nauseous (not that it was simply the smell doing it. the feeling is sticking with him even outside), and before too long, it would likely seep into the wood, making the cabin uninhabitable. of course it didn't seem too much like it would matter, he could just head to another cabin, so that's more of a secondary issue. his leg is the primary issue here.

he stops for a moment to pull off his blazer and undo his tie, using the blazer to mop sweat from his forehead (he feels like he's burning from the inside, out) before tossing both to the ground. he takes a seat next to them. he's gone far enough.

five carefully rolls his sock down to his ankle, face twisted in pain each time his sock touches his leg again, revealing the full extent of the damage. yesterday, it had only been his foot. of course he saw the rot further up, but didn't quite realize it was the entire bottom half of his leg. whatever this is, it's aggressive.

he digs around in his pocket for one of the knives he grabbed from the gas station and opens it up, staring at it with his jaw clenched and his eyes wide. there are some stupid ideas swirling around in his head but instead he simply drops the knife on the ground next to himself.

doing away with the leg entirely seems a little extreme, but maybe it's what he needs to do to stop the spread ]

[lethechained]

[ The fact that there's a peculiar odor about almost makes Naminé reconsider her choice of paths. It's not so much that it's overpowering at such a range as that it tells her something's off, and she knows better than to overlook any kind of warning sign in a place like this one. But then she spots a lone figure in the distance, and that's enough to give her pause; most of her trouble here hasn't been human-shaped, but there have been plenty of human-shaped people in trouble.

She tries not to wrinkle her nose as she makes a cautious approach, walking up behind the fellow only to stop at a respectful distance - and one that's as safe for her sense of smell as possible. By then, he's already sitting down; she mightn't have caught up otherwise. Lips pursed, she hesitates, wondering whether or not it's appropriate to lead off with an, 'Are you alright?' when she's already getting a strong impression from both his body language and the scent that he isn't.

Then she recognizes the glint of a knife as he drops it, and her audible little, ]

-- Oh.

[ … makes a more well-considered greeting perhaps rather unnecessary. But should he happen to turn, he might find that they have something in common; her right arm hangs at her side, glass nearly up to the elbow. ]