TDM #1

[rhodosmods]

TDM #1: AUGUST

Jump to: Arrival · Sound and Light · Into the Fog · Waking Up to a Nightmare · The Bonfire
Summary · Questions

I. ARRIVAL

Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.

But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.

The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.

Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.

Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.

II. SOUND AND LIGHT

The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.

After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.

The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.

The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.

After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.

Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.

III. INTO THE FOG

CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs

After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.

The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.

While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.

The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.

In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.

IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE

CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery

On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.

As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.

You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.

When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.

There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.

Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.

V. THE BONFIRE

CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation

Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.

A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.

The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.

Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.

At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.

The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.

If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.

The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.

If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.

In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.

The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.

SUMMARY

Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31

Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.

Test drive memes are considered game canon.

This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.

Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!

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Comments

laurent — captive prince trilogy

[wrists]

— SOUND AND LIGHT.
cw: none.

[ laurent watches the play only once, because it is a senseless thing that gives him a highly uncomfortable sensation of warmth and tightness in both his eyes and chest — and then because the sound of weeping fills the theater, which is even more uncomfortable to witness.

he has never been known to offer comfort to strangers. he barely offers comfort to the people he knows. but something clearly wicked about this minacious place overcomes him, and he turns to his companion, doing nothing to keep the distaste from his expression but somehow unable to simply leave them there in this piteous state. ]

They are shadows. Cease your theatrics.

— THE BONFIRE.
cw: blood, incest, childhood sexual abuse.

[ the pale figure is consigned to the flames — laurent, despite the sword at his hip, does not join any accompanying bystanders who fancy themselves heroic enough to rush to the aid of a creature who looks better off dead. the dogs seem deterred by the light of the fire, which is reason enough to stay. he has had his fill of fighting off the feral beasts on the treacherous roads, watching them gain strength and intelligence as the days pass.

a true respite, however, is too much to hope for. seized with a fit of coughing, laurent’s throat fills thickly with blood, dribbling past his lips and taking on a life of its own. the slick red liquid forms words that chill him despite the heat of the flames, struggling for breath for reasons that have little to do with the coughs that wrack his chest. ]

My uncle bedded me many times as a child.

[ anyone unluckily close enough to read his guiltiest secret has the unfortunate pleasure of facing laurent at the edge of his usually taut but now swiftly diminishing control. drawing his blade, he slams his shoulder into you, sending the both of you out of the safe circle of the firelight. it’s extremely possible he intends to kills you, but the dogs have noticed new prey and have begun to surround. ]

— WILDCARD.

[ ooc: open to ideas! pm me if you’d like to discuss. laurent is a prince from a fantasy world and his kingdom is loosely fantasy france. he’s bitchy, petty, and has anger issues, but he’s good to have in a fight, and can be sweet on rare occasions against his will. ]

bonfire

[cheerleader]

[She doesn't mean to read it. Actually, she's gone out of her way to avoid trying to read anyone's secrets that are written in blood. But she turns toward the fire and manages to be faced directly with his. She gasps softly, eyes averting downward right away. That's a secret that's best if she pretends it was never seen.

It's too late though, his reaction is nearly immediate. Her petite stature makes her easy to knock out of the safety of the fire's glow, and Chrissy is stunned as she collapses to the ground. The stone beneath her seems to sting with how cold it feels in the darkness, but she doesn't really have time to process it. Not when he's there with her, and he has a knife.]

I didn't mean to see it. I promise!

[Her eyes squeeze shut tight and she averts her eyes. Her own words written in blood, Refuses to save herself are dark against the white of her top. It offers an explanation as to why she's just standing there, braced for him to stab her. Only the attack doesn't come right away, and the sound of aggressive growling draws her attention.

She instantly begins backing her way toward the fire once again. There's enough of the dogs that have circled around them though, that the path is blocked. Gulping down a lump that's formed in her throat, her eyes glance over to his blade.]

chrissy T___T

[wrists]

[ caught in the brambles of his bitter rage, he barely registers her as a person at all. she is a thing for breaking, something meant to temper the depths of his pain, to make the heavy, cloying tension that resides in the cage of his chest somehow bearable. he's taken men down to their knees when he allows his anger to overcome him like this, bloodied them with his hands and eviscerated them in far worse ways with his sharp tongue. this girl, with her secret shame written in blood across her snowy clothing, is no match for him in this volatile state.

but there's a voice in his head, a truth crawling to the light between the dark shades of his ire. he is so fraught with shame that the inevitable has happened — he's blundered, badly. the dogs have circled, creating their own cage of snarling fire. for the first time, he sees the girl for what she is — frightened, defenseless, not very much younger than he is.

he should let her die. no one protected him, no one came to his aid night after night, day after day, a life marked with loss and shame and aching loneliness. and his secret, at least for now, could die with her.

but when the first of the creatures pounce, he springs to her, his sword opening the dog's throat. it falls with a terrible mewl, and he takes the next one's legs, and the third he runs through with his blade, blood splattering the tense lines of his face. ]

Get up. [ he kicks the bodies away and steps before her. he's strong but not of the stature of a greatly brutish soldier; his style of fighting leaves no wasted movement, light on his feet, his swordplay masterful. ] I'll clear a path for you back to the fire. Choose to die elsewhere. The dogs will not give you a swift death.

[cheerleader]

[She can't help but flinch and give a startled yelp when he first attacks. There's the worry that he's going to harm her, but he doesn't. He saves her from the creatures that are circling them, and she's shocked. Chrissy's eyes are wide as she watches him move, completely awestruck by the sight of him. There's a beauty and a grace to the way he moves that make him seem ethereal, and she suddenly doesn't want to leave him alone here to die.]

You have to come with me.

[If these dogs won't give her a swift death, then he wouldn't get one either. Worried that he might die if she leaves him behind, she reaches out and lightly touches at his arm.]

We can run together. Come on!

[She's terrified, legs shaking as she tries to back away and prepare to run. But she can be brave enough to insist that they retreat together. The fire isn't that far off. They'll be safe if they can just hurry, she's sure of it.]

[wrists]

[ he'd pushed her out of the firelight's safety, for all intents and purposes damning her to a painful death. and yet when she looks at him with frightened eyes, there's something else he doesn't expect to see there — compassion, of a sort. concern. his men care for his safety because they are his guards and it is their duty to die for him if they must. but she has no such obligation, and she stays all the same. the brush of her fingers at his arm feels like a lightning strike.

but she knows. his blood hasn't faded, and neither has hers. it's pity. his stomach turns, his knuckles white where he grips his sword. he can almost feel the heavy, phantom hand of his uncle trying to push him to his knees. ]

Together. [ he has to fight to get the word out, to wrangle his panic under some semblance of control once more. taking her arm, he pulls her close to him, feeling the rapid pace of her heart. ] Stay close to me. We'll run.

[ with the dogs snapping and snarling, their growls filling the air, he plunges into the fray with her, his sword slick with blood when they finally break through into the firelight. here, there are others, all with their own secrets, but laurent doesn't read any of them. he can't. he's too filled with shame about his own on display again, and he turns away from the girl, wiping his sleeve over his eyes. better get away from her before his anger takes hold again. ]

Leave me.

[cheerleader]

[She knows his secret, but it doesn't make her look at him differently than she would anyone else here. It doesn't taint her view on him, doesn't make her judge him. It does, however, make her a little more inclined to want to try and protect him. People who are victims, no matter how the abuse takes shape, they could do with flocking together. She won't let him fall here.

Chrissy isn't strong. She's not a fighter. And her fear threatens to give way to a panic so intense she thinks she might choke on it. The dogs growl and their teeth snap at them, and they run. At some point she grabs hold of him, though her touch slips free once they're safe in the light of the fire and she can catch her breath.

Somehow, she doesn't expect him to pull away entirely and actually dismiss her. She thinks of Jason, how he'd send her away whenever she tried opening up to him. It was pathetic that her boyfriend hadn't ever wanted to get to know her beyond how she looked. She had just accepted it, and never felt like pushing the issue.

Now, however, she realizes that maybe this place is punishment. That she needs to try and be better, or make amends somehow. Chrissy hesitates, shaking her head as she doesn't back away.]

It doesn't matter what it says. [She knows he's ashamed. And clearly, shame makes him lash out.] We should stick together. And I can try to get it off, if you want?

sound and light

[navcav]

[ excuse u prince fancypants, who looks enough like a certain third house cavalier to make her teeth itch ]

It's not-- [ why the fuck is she crying anyway? she yanks off her aviators and wipes futilely at her streaming eyeballs, smearing the black and white skull facepaint even worse than it already was. this is like some encore impression of the shitty teens, except thinking of them makes it worse ]

It's not the puppet show, hair boy! [ she sniffles soggily and pats at the hilt of her longsword as a normal person would pat a support animal, for comfort ]

It's not that at all.

[wrists]

[ she's not — wrong, which is another uncomfortable facet of this situation. the puppet show is dredging up old memories, his parents and his brother and his uncle, though she seems much more far along in her emotions while laurent is keeping a very tightly controlled lid on everything he could potentially experience in this theater. the king of repression, bow to him.

the facepaint throws him off entirely, studying it far more closely than her tears. ]

Slaves wear gold paint. [ he gestures with his pale fingers, not coming too close as if risking touching something undesirable. ] What are these colors supposed to signify? You wish to be a corpse?

[navcav]

[ the paint is pretty unpresentable by now, having mostly dripped and smeared off thanks to gideon wiping at her face all the time with the long black sleeves of her robes. harrow would throw a fit, to see so many slivers of her unpainted skin being presented to the public like this.

actually harrow would probably also throw a fit over the crying, but it would be more like a 'you're not properly representing the honor of the Ninth House!!!' sort of fit.

she inhales deeply through her nose like a toddler who doesn't want to bother with a hankie. the sound is obnoxious, and probably on purpose. ]

Ugh, I'm not a slave, obviously. Do they let slaves carry around big fuck-off swords where you come from? I'm a cavalier.

[ helpfully, ]

You can tell by the sword.

And the colors are... well... how do I put this. It's not a preference, at all. It's absolutely not a preference. It's a nun thing? Ninth House, shadow cultists, black nuns?

[ nobody else here had recognized her paint or her super casual references to the Houses, but it's worth a shot. also he still looks a Third offshoot branch with the blond hair and the jewel-colored eyes and the looking down the nose, and it's throwing her a little bit. ]

[wrists]

[ none of the words presented register with much meaning to him, studying her with a carefully blank expression on his face, his gaze briefly flickering to her sword. it's an odd choice for a purported nun, as is the facepaint and the less than pious language. perhaps the only thing that makes sense are the atrocious robes. laurent himself is tightly laced in the high-collared aristocratic clothing that covers as much skin as possible, dark blue and gold, his boots to his knees, a similar fuck-off sword at his hip, though one that matches his trim stature. ]

You don't have the demeanor to be a slave. You'd be put on the cross and flogged within a day. [ maybe on laurent's orders. but this world is a far cry from vere, and these punishments, along with treacherous palace life, seem far away. at least nuns are celibate. his skin is already crawling. although — no, there's no way she is a proper nun. no way at all. ] You need a sword to commune with your gods?

[ and because the sound is absolutely unbearable, he reaches into his jacket and extracts an exquisite square of cloth, satiny blue and embroidered with a golden starburst. he normally uses it to clean his sword, but it's free of blood and therefore a perfectly acceptable handkerchief. ]

Stop this. You bring shame on your house, which I normally would find amusing except that you're sitting so close to me.

[navcav]

[ alright t e c h n i c a l l y the longsword is not a cavalier's weapon at all, that stupid honor going to the useless rapier she'd left behind somewhere, so gideon hasn't any right to be telling anyone that they ought to recognize her as a cav on sight. and she is, sorta, a slave. a bondswoman is pretty damn close, not that this dude in his expensive clothes and his expensive looking sword needs to know about that. ]

What, your nuns don't get flogged? Lucky bitches. I'll show you my super cool flogging scars some other time. I'm actually a nun and a cav, so I get the sword. We're a martial order. Or something.

[ aw this is nostalgic, being told she's a disappointment by someone of higher social class! gideon actually squints at him before taking the extremely expensive looking handkerchief and stuffing it into her pocket without using it all. that's hers now, buddy. she sniffs again, smiling meanly, just to be irritating. ]

Are you related to any royalty, perhaps? You really remind me of somebody I recently met, who also used to say shitty things to total strangers. My name's Gideon Nav, of the Ninth. Who the hell are you, hair boy?

[wrists]

[ whatever made up cause she has aligned herself to, the presence of the sword leads laurent to believe that she knows how to use it. it is an adequate reason to continue, considering how he's begun to notice signs of increasing savagery of the unnatural creatures roaming the streets. they're easy enough for him to take down now, but surrounded and alone, there could be trouble.

it chafes at him. alone has been his standard method of operation since his brother, auguste, was slain on the battlefield, and laurent was left to the mercy of his uncle. now, he looks at the tear-streaked face of the woman with the unusual slave paint and watches her mouth twist into something that leaves a sour taste on his tongue. this. this is why he doesn't bother with allies.

but a sword is still a sword, and laurent is still practical. he keeps his eyes away from the flickering shadows on the wall, a king's murder in his peripheral vision. ]

Laurent. [ no one recognizes him either, which, as of the present situation of vere, likely works in his favor. no one needs to know how many times his uncle has tried to kill him for the throne now that he's due to ascend in a matter of months. if he survives, having been thrown from one treacherous plot to another. ] Prince of Vere. You should be thanking me. You're no longer sobbing like a whore on their first bedding.

[ that was, for reasons unknown, more troubling than he wished it to be. the sound and the sight left an ache in his chest, the shadows of which he still feels now. frustrating that she hadn't used his generous offering to wipe away the evidence of her shame, the paint-smudged wetness on her face catching the light. ]

This place can bewitch you. Don't allow it.

[navcav]

[ come on laurent it's called a smile, or something like. gideon has extensive experience in being horrible and disappointing to other people, mostly in self-defense, so she's out of practice for anything else.

also, of course he's a prince. of course he is. she's just drowning in bloody aristocrats these days, isn't she--

isaac had been a baron, and now he's a pincushion something whispers, absolutely nonsensically connecting the two thoughts, and her terrible smile becomes slightly fixed as that spot between her lungs starts to hurt all over again.

she is not going to keep bawling. she is not. she's not really technically a nun and she's not really technically a cavalier, but she is, absolutely, one hundred percent-- as her absent necromancer liked to reminder her-- a fucking cockroach that got back up and scurried onwards every time you thought you'd squashed it flat. ]

Oh, thank you, your Highnessness, for distracting me from my overwhelming grief suspiciously brought on by weird puppet shows. [ sarcasm will get everybody through this. ] I thought it was the acting and the profound narrative.

[ a beat. ]

...also don't compare people to whores when you first meet them, that's rude. You're ruining all my childish expectations of princes, and the bar was already set pretty low.

[wrists]

[ when was the last time he smiled? maybe when he was twelve, when auguste let him believe his pony was very fast. in any case, whatever is happening on gideon’s face is not appealing. smiling, in general, is uncomfortable both in practice and to witness, especially by those it does not come naturally to. and it clearly does not come naturally to her, or at least the version of smiling that he finds pleasant to look at.

anyway, he is clearly above being bewitched here, and she is just a stupid sword-wielding nun with no control over her emotions. and yet here he sits, unable to leave the theater. unable to leave her. ]

At least you know your expectations are childish. All the good and fair princes die youthfully, sometimes even in heroic ways. [ auguste. the war scene is on now, a chaotic thrash of shadows. ] In case you ever wondered why there are no good and fair kings, that’s why. My brother — he was good and fair, meant to be a true king, but he was slain in battle defending our kingdom, leaving only me, weaker, less honorable, stained where he was untouched. He left me without protection. He was all that I —

[ abruptly, he stops, as if suddenly realizing the depth of the confession spilling from his tongue. his blood chills, panic seizing him, though he remains perfectly still, taut as a wire beside gideon and her ridiculous robes. he can’t breathe. he can’t think. he has never, to anyone, uttered those words aloud. has never allowed himself to, when he’s seen what sort of evil the guise of comfort can bring.

springing to his feet, he strides across the room, drawing his sword and bringing the hilt down to smash into the whirring projector. the pictures cease, the room plunging into silence as the clatter of hooves and trumpets are cut short. his ragged breathing, then, is far too pronounced. ]

I would rather take my chances with the dogs — [ a measured breath, his anger a wild, volatile thing at having been beguiled into such vulnerability ] Than stay here. Will you come? Where are your lodgings?

[navcav]

[ yikety yikes. this story is striking some unpleasant third house echoes, isn't it! royal siblings are all over fucked up, even when they're not twins, apparently.

she doesn't move a muscle when he destroys the projector, striking faster than she would've guessed. not like, camilla the sixth, human greasefire fast, but decidedly naberius the third-ish. it's a resemblance she could've done without. it's also making her feel very badly about a certain crown princess, too, for reasons better left unexamined.

the smashing seems like a good move, though. she opens her mouth to say something tactful about tragic dead brothers and instead comes out with: ]

That's rough, buddy.

[ somewhere in the ether of dimensions, harrowhark nonagesimus and captain aiglamene and the sixth house and magnus quinn-even-though-he's-dead are all wincing.

well. maybe not harrow. harrow is used to the absolute dipshit things that come out of her mouth. ]

Uhhh sure, yeah. Why not. I got a little place nearby that isn't doing puppet shows.

[ even if he'd yelled at her to sod off and leave, she probably wouldn't have. friends don't leave friends alone when they're upset and feeling stabby! ]

So... hold up, doesn't that mean you're the king? Are you a 'Your Gracenessness' instead of a 'Highnessness?'

[wrists]

[ an adequate response, all things considered. he might've gone off in search of a cross to mount her on if she'd offered heartfelt sympathies. and even better that she doesn't ask they go to his lodgings instead, because the answer would have been no — his chambers at the palace hold no personal effects, and yet his housing here has somehow filled with depictions of his parents, of auguste, of his uncle. he's tried ridding the place of evidence of his life, only to find that it returns each time. ]

Kill any dog you see.

[ needless to say.

discerning the pathway through the mists proves to be a fruitless endeavor, but choosing a direction away from the theater feels better than staying put. his blade sheathed once more, he keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walks, keeping his eyes straight ahead. ]

I've not yet ascended. The Regent holds the throne in my stead until I reach twenty-one. [ an age he will never see, if his uncle has any say in it. a difficult truth to swallow, and one he still disbelieves sometimes. ] Your Highness is the correct address. What rank do you hold? A cavalier is like a soldier, is it not?

[navcav]

[ hey even she recognized that asking to go to his place would be weird. maybe it's weird that they're going to hers instead, but she did lie and say that she was a real nun and also she outweighs him handily, so it's probably fine. if they manage to make it there through the shifting mists, he can look at all the pictures of skeletons and people painted to look like skeletons that adorn her walls. there's even a picture of her mother, except it's bones, because that was all gideon had ever seen of her mother.

she makes a face at the order, mostly because it's her reflexive reaction to anything sounding like orders. ]

You can't kill them, they're already dead. All we're doing is smashing them.

[ does she feel any better, upon leaving the theater area? hard to say. it's not like she wasn't already constantly thinking of the extremely bad shit that had happened directly before she woke up here. maybe she's less sniffly now.

also she's never going to call him 'your Highness,' ever. it's derogatory nicknames all the way. ]

Twenty-one seems arbitrary. Har-- I mean, I know someone who's been running things in her House since she was like, in her tweens-- oh shit there's a dog, hang on.

[ she'll be right back.

casually, as she's professionally dispatching the undead creature, ]

So there's cavaliers and there's cavaliers. You can go for a soldier, yeah, and swing a sword all the same, but I'm the cavalier primary to the Ninth, which means I'm the best fucking swordswoman they've got, and so the only one good enough to be partnered with their best necromancer. Necromancers are useless without cavaliers doing all the hard work. I'm like a champion, baby.

[ except for how she'd never said the vow, which still makes her the best sword in the ninth but a fake of a cavalier. ]

[wrists]

[ the dogs are of the undead sort, but he doesn't appreciate the rather unnecessary correction, as is displayed in the disgruntled look he points in her direction as her watches her dispatch the creature. at least she's good, and she's killing instead of crying. a vast improvement.

the violence doesn't bother him nearly as much as her words about this friend of hers, hitting a nerve worn raw by the slander spread freely by his uncle at court, that he is spoiled and spineless, all ill-temper where his brother was a king by birth. gideon said none of these things, and yet his mind naturally goes to the worst places. this person she speaks of, leading in her youth, like he should have been. like auguste had been when he was alive. ]

Veretians love their traditions. Like how men and women of royal birth mingling must be chaperoned and their consummations witnessed. [ bastardy is shame worse than death. ] We have not had a king in years.

[ the dogs travel in packs, and he can already hear the unnatural shuffling of others approaching, so he draws his blade and circles her back as they follow the path that will hopefully lead them back to the main plaza. laurent is a finely trained fighter, quicksilver where his brother was gold, but few remember the child he used to be before he threw himself into brute physical training. that child was ravenous for knowledge and preferred books to the sword. ]

What is a necromancer? [ a genuine curiosity. he glances over his shoulder at gideon, sidestepping a corpse left crudely in his path. ] And who is this esteemed partner of yours?

[navcav]

[ buddy!

she stops trying to watch his swordplay out the corner of her eye-- he's great, actually, he'd be a fantastic cav with that speed and agility. gideon prefers the brute strength style, obviously, but that's probably still her prejudice against being forced to learn the cavalier's rapier, which is like fighting with a sewing needle. if her stupid rapier had appeared here with her and there were no prying eyes to care what weapon she used, she'd have 'accidentally' dropped it down a well on the first day.

she actually stops and stares at him, an expression of pure Y I K E S all over her face. probably the mist is too thick for him to see it though. probably. ]

You gotta have an audience to bone down? That is fucked up, being a royal person sounds terrible and you might want to consider abdication. Eugh. Unless it's like, I don't know, an audience of assembled hot people. That might be alright.

[ ah, the sweet ignorance of everything gideon's life had ever revolved around. nobody here seems to have heard of necromancers and that is just 1000% buckwild to even imagine. it's a novelty? it's something. ]

What's a necroma-- okay. O-kay. A necromantic adept is somebody who, uh. [ yeah gideon what is a necromancer in technical terms. ] Right, so there's life energy and death energy, and necros can manipulate death energy. They're born with the ability or they aren't. They can make dead bodies get up and walk around, they can do weird shit to your bones, they can talk to ghosts and manipulate flesh and stuff.

[ hahaha what if we just never talked about harrowhark nonagesimus ever again! what if that! ]

Well, she ain't here, that's for sure. How come you haven't had a king in years? Was the 'audience required every time you consummate' stuff too weird and nobody wanted the job?

[wrists]

[ that rapier would have suited him just fine. absurdly big swords and his stature don't mix for extended battle, but one should never assume he won't still find a way to eviscerate someone once he puts his mind to it, weapon size notwithstanding. ]

Royals cannot be allowed to spawn a bastard. That is forbidden and distasteful. For pleasure, men lie with men, and women with women, as is the natural order. [ natural to him, since these customs were changed long before he was born. and he doesn't plan to breed anyway; this cursed bloodline ends with him. ] The Council is the audience. People in other kingdoms find it shameful to fuck before others, but it is simply the way things are done. In our court, nobles have pets. They often fuck them in the gardens or at the table. [ he pauses, then adds: ] They are slaves, bought on contract. To be a palace pet is a coveted position to some.

[ laurent, however, has always defined himself against the opulence of court — he has never taken a pet, does not wear jewels, and is infamous for being a frigid bitch with gossip swirling around about how he only orgasms once every ten years.

while gideon may be stuck on the horrors of veretian court life, laurent turns and briefly stares at her explanation of life and death energies. with auguste so keenly on his mind, it takes him a moment to parse through this information. to raise the dead — no, not raise. simply manipulate the body. to bring back someone slain is an impossible thing. ]

Your partner would be more useful here than the two of us put together. [ a thoughtful observation, as a dog appears before him through the swirling mists. he sinks his blade cleanly through its heart and watches as it still stumbles about. ] These are dead bodies. She could manipulate them. It's a shame you were not born with this gift.

[ talk to ghosts. that sits in his mind, a curiosity to be picked apart.

the question about the king earns an aggravated huff as he cuts the dogs legs out from beneath it and kicks its body back into the mists. ] I was thirteen when my older brother died. I could not ascend to the throne at such an age. The Regent has held the throne since then, but to call him a king would be treason. I have been preparing for ascension since my brother's death. [ a beat. ] I was not meant to be King. For my brother, it — it came naturally. All of it. It is not so for me. But it is my duty and I will fulfill it.

[navcav]

[ oh shit she's read comics like this. pleasure slaves! debauched orgies in palace gardens! highly fictionalized, in gideon's universe, although maybe they do that kind of stuff at certain third house parties. that seems like their style, actually. ]

So... what you're saying is that you're the Prince of Porno-land. Hentai-ville. The Kingdom of Fucksberg.

[ it's so far from the realities of the ninth house that it just sounds like a total fantasy, cooked up by an erotic serial writer. gideon would've subscribed instantly to that publication. the slavery bit's probably bad, though.

as for the absence of a necromancer, ]

Yeah, I've heard that one every day since I was born. Necros are the prize of their Houses, yadda yadda. All their marriages and stuff are specially arranged to make the most of the bloodlines, anybody without ability might as well go die in a ditch! Unless they're good with a sword.

You know, it's actually extremely typical of her to not be where I need her. I'd almost think she's doing it on purpose, since she's a horrible bitch most of the time. Like 99.9% of the time. Finding ways to ruin my day is a basic tenet of her personality.

[ wait wasn't she going to not talk about harrowhark, why is she talking about harrowhark

the very idea of a regent is absurd to gideon, but then the emperor undying is so called because he's literally immortal. there's also some flaw in laurent's logic, about how someone could be 'meant' to be a king as if it were a hereditary trait like being born a necro, but what does gideon know. laurent sounds very certain. ]

So some guy just sits on the throne and keeps it warm for you? And he's just gonna get up and retire on the day of your birthday?

[wrists]

[ this conversation is not going well. ]

I would not lead the kingdom in such a manner.

[ in a manner that leaves children at the mercy of the warmongering regent and men like him. but gideon herself is not much different from his own men — laurent keeps his household separate from the regent's, wears his own colors, and they answer to him only. the division among the court has reached historic levels. this never would have happened under auguste's leadership. ]

You're good with a sword. So at least you have that. [ in the absence of this compelling necromancy ability. his eyes cut to her once more when she belabors the point of the absence of her partner. this one is not gifted at hiding her emotions, clearly, even away from the bewitching projector. ] If you breed with a necromancer, will you spawn a gifted child?

[ laurent goes very still at the question, the prickle of a childlike fantasy needling at his side. once, he believed in his uncle. a part of him still does believe that, despite everything, his uncle will not deliver the killing blow. he still hasn't been able to fully crush that naive part of him that trusts the only family he has left. ]

To declare himself King in my stead would be an act of war. [ and now that laurent is gone, he has no doubt of the path the regent will take. a false king staking his claim, leading vere into the same age-old war that took his brother's life. no one will fight for him in his absence. he has failed to gather even a single ally. ] But he is my uncle. He knows his duty.

[ it's both a truth and a lie, twisted up in his throat. he must still be bewitched as well.

because he was forced unwillingly to feel vulnerable: ]

You feel strongly about your partner. Her name?

[navcav]

[ oh come on it's a cultural exchange. vere sounds like a hentai comic brought to life, and gideon's universe probably sounds like a death-obsessed hellscape! which it is, so. ]

Right, right. You seem like a very dutiful soon to be monarch and I'm sure you'll manage the orgies in a responsible and ethical manner.

[ nearly cheerfully, ]

Me, do a breed? Not a chance in hell. Making a kid's the absolute opposite of being good with death energy, so allegedly it's better to mash together two necros with proven lineages and hope, rather than take a chance on a random person with no lineage diluting the gene pool. It's like, 50 miscarriages to 1 baby odds. The Reverend Mother only had one successful brat in her entire life.

[ that sounds like awkward family dynamics. imagine if the reverend mother or father had had an adult sibling around when the Incident occurred... well, harrow would've probably just killed them too and puppeted around the corpse, so maybe it wouldn't have been a problem. ]

Huh.

[ 'what if he likes war,' she almost asks, and doesn't.

don't mind her making a face like she stepped in cat sick with her bare foot. 'feel strongly,' uck. ]

I'm her cav, and she's an asshole. She's Harrowhark Nonagesimus, the Reverend Daughter, and I'm sure she'd be delighted to list off all her boring titles if she were here.

[wrists]

[ where's the universe where he can sit around with his books and make bitchy remarks to passerby while other people attend him? honestly he'd like to go back to That.

at least they have this breeding thing in common. ]

I've been told by the strong Vaskian women of our neighboring kingdom that my cow eyes and particular stature would breed weak stock. [ if pretty ones. unfortunately, they do not value pretty ones. fortunately, he doesn't wish to breed at all. ] I am not made in miniature. They are just large women.

So necromancers are highly coveted people. They are like nobles, except they have actual value.

[ what if he likes war? the answer: yes. anyway. ]

It would be a boon if she were here. [ just to restate this very obvious fact, as he cuts down another dead dog. perhaps she has heard this many times, the lauding of necromancers over her own kind. it's something he's intimately familiar with in his own way, never able to live up to auguste's splendor — laurent has always been less liked, more petty, less honorable. auguste had simply been good in a way that laurent is not. and auguste had loved him, despite his sharp edges, in a way that no one else ever has.

harrowhark nonagesimus. laurent doubts she is as bad as gideon says.

he can just about make out the archway in the shroud of the mist, and he fleetingly wishes for a horse. he steps beside gideon. ]

The dogs are worse in the plaza. Run with me, and lead the way to your lodgings. If your speed is as good as your swordsmanship, we can outrun them.

[navcav]

[ cow eyes! cow eyes laurent you've got to stop hanging out with rude amazon women ]

Most of 'em are nobles, actually. In the other Houses. [ the ninth pretends not to concern itself with aristocrats when they could be weird religious zealots instead. ]

And if Harrow saw me being chased by nasty undead dogs, she'd get herself a nice safe vantagepoint to point and laugh and say I wasn't worthy of being the Ninth House cavalier if I couldn't handle it.

[ gideon's speed is. adequate? adequate compared to her swordmanship, let's say. she still hates running. ]

Mine's got a 9 and a skull painted on the door. [ shush it's in case somebody important not harrow needs to find her. she worries at her lip. ]

Maybe I should go first, break through them. That might be safer for you. You've got a kingdom to get back to, and they'd probably rather you weren't mauled by dogs.