(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.

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. ]

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?"

:D

[gusumouthcannon]

"A few days ago," Jingyi all but chirps, relief flowing through him.

Grouchy and displeased was normal. Even he did not particularly like Sect Leader Jiang and he did not seem quite right--he looked very young?--he was an adultier adult and also had a title. And a Zidian? Hopefully? Which Jingyi tried to surreptitiously catch sight of. (He is terrible surreptitious. It is very obvious he is trying to peer at Jiang Cheng's hand.)

"There should only be me and Sizhui, though?"

[legbreakings]

Yes, let's just call Jiang Wanyin an adult... At least he does have a title, no doubt about that. Only sect leader in town you're all doomed if he's the most leaderly leader you have.

But here he is, giving Sizhui another grumpy look when he notices the staring at his hand, and sullenly tucks it behind his back.

"Yes, two of you." Which is two too many in his book, where are his Jiang disciples? "What are you doing here?"

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.

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

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.

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."

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?

[coolmotivestillevil]

[ If he weren't so focused on his own problem right now, he might have noticed the walking stick, might have deduced what it means and shower her some consideration for it. But he doesn't, and she says nothing about it, and so he almost knocks into her when he passes her to crouch down in front of the patch of flowers.

Mindful, of course, of the poison ivy as he picks a few of them. His voice has no less sharpness when he responds to her concern, either. ]

I'm fine.

[ He's fine, will be fine, will manage. He always manages. He either goes untouched, unhurt, or if he is hurt, he will heal, whether it's with the aide of an elixir or not. He needs no one. ]

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.

[hierophante]

[One learns, at the loss of a sense, to sense the world in altered ways. In that way she has an advantage: she's been here before. Even if she couldn't see him moving, dim shadow on shadow, like a shape in a slowly-deepening fog, she'd be able to gauge his closeness by the sound of his movements, by the fact that she can smell him -- only just, but enough. Enough for the threat of touch.

OA stiffens visibly, expression impassive but for the tension in her jaw and the flaring of her nostrils on the sharp intake of breath. What she can see tells her he's bigger than she is. The body remembers lots of things: a voice cutting across the noise of a subway station, a hand guiding her own across the dishes on a table, the same hand at her elbow, coaxing her down a spiral staircase. Down into a cage. The finality in the click of the latch. It remembers, and her heartbeat quickens for the remembering.

She closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath. No. No, he's only here for the flowers.]

Mm.

[It's a dubious sound, but placid. She doesn't believe him -- nobody here is fine -- but isn't offended at being lied to. There's a pause in which she fiddles with her stick, turning it in her fingers, before she drops to a crouch alongside him, wearing a smile tenuous with residual nervousness but nonetheless warm.]

Then what are we looking for?

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. )

[coolmotivestillevil]

Useful plants.

[ Vague enough to be true but doesn't actually say anything about why. There's no need for this woman to know anything about what's afflicting him, after all.

And if she keeps asking, he might just say that too. ]

[hierophante]

[Three syllables this time. OA nods, as much to herself as to him, and mulls those syllables over. A wall. Cautiously bare. A surface at which one might throw anything, and it might for a moment stick, but only for a moment before he washes it clean again.

It's not new. Very little feels as though it is anymore. She huffs a voiceless, rueful laugh and looks away.]

Echoes.

[It's a statement to herself, to... something, someone. Ripples across time, space, dimensions uncountable and unknowable.

She isn't sure she knows what to do this time.

What's the worst that can happen? He walks away? He rages? He kills you? How frightening are those things, really?]

Sorry, just -- you remind me of someone I know.

[Another little huff; she shakes her head.]

I'm not gonna bite you either.

[The humour lingers just a moment longer before draining away, leaving her looking harried and weary in its wake.]

Look, I'm-- I could use something to think about that isn't... all of this. Is there anything I can do to help?

[coolmotivestillevil]

[ She's still talking.

His mouth twists in a grimace, and he straightens slightly with a few flowers in hand, settling back on one heel while propping his arm against a knee. 'All of this'? Is something wrong with her too? He supposes it would make sense if others are affected by whatever is happening too, if it's orchestrated by these 'Technicians'.

He inhales slowly, and pauses for a moment. Is that scent ...? Her? That's not a human smell, but his medallion isn't humming. Maybe it's just some kind of strange perfume but even then it's not usually like this. And where would she have gotten perfume anyway? ]

Know anything about plants?

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?

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.”

[deferences]

Sizhui's own rot hasn't quite made it past his knuckles yet, but that hasn't kept him from wrapping his entire forearm up to the elbow, just in case it starts spreading faster than he has time to cover it. So far, his condition hasn't been anything too noticeable, simply the faintest spike in his temperature, which is easily ignored and remedied by less clothing.

And by less, that means a ridiculously oversized t-shirt coupled with some pastel blue jeans he'd collected from the gas station. It looks a little odd having his one wrapped arm in full view, but the half-sleeves of his top at least reach somewhat past his elbows.

The only reason he knows Jiang Cheng's suffering from the same condition is because he's seen others with the same problem. Calling him out on it might not have been the best idea, though as soon as he watches the other cultivator wobble like that, Sizhui steps forward, reaches out and catches his shoulder without hesitation. “I'm not the one being ridiculous, Jiang Cheng, you are.” Following a brief head-shake, his grip tightens somewhat then he gestures toward a nearby chair that'd likely been leftover from the beach party however long ago.

“Sit,” he urges gently. “Before you end up falling instead.”

so like, i'm just supposed to be looking at your sobbing?

[mannerless]

( and despite his usual prevailing sense of pride, he lets entirely too much of his weight lean against the junior as they make their way to the couch, then sinks heavily (gratefully into the cushions with only mild consideration for the need to keep from bleeding on them.

ah, how very lan zhan of the boy, already funneling qi into the wounds before he even asks - 'what happened?' there it is. wei wuxian exhales a laugh-breath, shaking his head, though that in itself is dizzying and he closes his eyes as he speaks. ) Let's say that someone needed the blood more than I did. ( but oh, he can't forget how much this one worries, like back in that first horrible cabin. and so, in as warm and reassuring a tone as he can manage, ) I'm not dying, it's alright. I can't even feel it. I just need a bit of help making it stop, and -

Ah, actually, could you work on the left one? I think that one's deeper. ( he remembers the way his outer two fingers wouldn't quite curl, when he took hold of jiang cheng's wrist. )

yes, exactly, look what you did

[deferences]

[who cares if he gets any on the couch when the important thing here is making sure the bleeding stops before it's too much? to be honest, sizhui's surprised it isn't already at that point, considering the lacerations— like seriously, these are bad and the fact wei wuxian says he can't feel any of it isn't reassuring, either.

but he is doing everything within his power to stay calm in this situation, regardless of the ever-rising anxiety. the more he bleeds, the worse it'll get, so maybe he ought to think about bandaging possibilities as well.] Yes, well, I hope they appreciate it. [nevermind his faintly scolding tone because the remark following has him immediately softening into something more concerned.] How can you not feel it? Any worse and I don't think you... you... [nope, no time to think like that whenever there's other things to fuss over.

wei wuxian asks him to switch arms and sizhui does, letting the blue-tinted hand hover steadily while he starts rummaging in one of his pockets. another decent distraction, particularly away from the way something still feels off but he can't quite put his finger on it.]

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.

[gusumouthcannon]

"Uncomfortable, maybe," Jingyi says, "We show so much skin when we are swimming, right? Wearing this all the time would not be too different."

Only it really would and he is definitely finagling the truth at the moment.

"It would be like swimming all the time."

After that dubious statement, he considers seeing everyone he knows here while wearing so little that he is practically naked. A little frisson of anxiety zips down his spine at the very thought. He shifts his dubious frown from his shirt to Sizhui's pick, and makes a face.

"What if we cannot find anything, though?"