Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part II

[faileas]

Event Log: February, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part II



CW: This plot has a general content warning for kidnapping, torture, experimentation, violence, drug use (incl. aphro), infection/disease and potential death. This is entirely opt-in.

Spirited Away, Part 2 i. Hypothesis One moment, you were free. The next, you wake up in a cold, dark room with eyes on you and the cloying smell of decay all around you. Characters who have been kidnapped are being kept in the lower floor of Alder's estate, which is a labyrinth of rooms and corridors. Without exception, the way out is always either locked or heavily guarded. All kidnapped characters have been infected with the Cwyld (sometimes by proximity to botanical materials, sometimes by being directly exposed to the violent Shades they already have imprisoned) and are being used to further the Evergreen Circle's research into the nature of the plague. The details of these tests is expanded on in the plotting post and, needless to say, their capturers have very little interest in their wellbeing. They're needlessly cruel, often pitting victims against each other and forcing them to infect newer arrivals as they turn up. Subjects are allowed a few hours of sleep at a time and a small meal- assuming that they're not being purposefully deprived of either- and are locked together in cramped cells. ii. Alternative Theory Some characters, however, escape this particular cruelty in favour of something else just as dehumanising. If a member of the inner circle has taken a liking to someone, they'll take them out of the pool of tests subjects and move them into their households. Servitude is ensured by a strong enchantment that scrambles memories and replaces them with the false knowledge that they've been working there all along. These brainwashed servants might also be forced to participate in the torture and testing of the others.

Initiation The night of the initiation party is here. If you've managed to ingratiate yourself with the cult- or at least a member of rank- you'll have already received an elegant envelope with an invitation and all the details. Or maybe you stole one or put together a convincing forgery. Alder's estate is handsome, with a small courtyard lit up with strings of lights and servants at the double doors to greet guests. Inside is just as grand. The hall and ballroom are impressive spaces with vaulted ceilings painted with elaborate star maps and broken up with marble columns that wouldn't look out of place in a palace. Drinks tables are lined up against the walls and there are several smaller drawing rooms off to the side, all of which are full of guests. Throughout the first hour or so, Alder himself flits from person to person, congratulating them and making smalltalk, but he seems different somehow. Excitable. Eager. Of course, there are other ways one might get in; while the front entrance is closely monitored, the side one leading through the kitchens isn’t. In the hustle and bustle, you might slip through unnoticed. i. Cavorting and Cruelty It isn't long before things take a turn. Alder takes to the head of the room and, with his signature voice amplifying enchantment, addresses his audience. He greets everyone and gives a fairly standard speech thanking guests and welcoming initiates to the Evergreen Circle proper- and then it happens. Servants begin to wheel in cages and tanks, all containing individuals infected with the Cwyld at various stages. Some look to have been drugged, others are wide awake, but the regulars seem delighted by their presence. They whisper and titter and applaud. Some of the more docile victims are even taken out to be showed off like animals at a fayre. "Tonight, let us enjoy the fruits of our labour! Witness the progress we've made and share our blessings among yourselves! Fear will only blind you to taking the next step. Indulge, open your minds and take the first step towards your salvation!" What he means by this quickly becomes apparent. While they're not discussing or mocking the imprisoned witches and monsters, the other guests are partaking of vice the party has to offer. The drinks flow freely and there's a manic energy in the air. Those with sharp senses might recognise that some of it has been artificially crafted by enchantments. Furthermore, if you're looking for missing loved ones, you'll no doubt spot them among the "test subjects" or servants. Good luck trying to snap the latter back to reality, though: their memories have been tightly sealed and it might take some work. One of the drawing rooms has been half curtained off and a woman at the door skittishly offers the curious an aphrodisiac-laden draught, though some might have accidentally had some already. Within, guests are draped over every surface in varying states of undress, though there are partitions up to allow for more privacy. What better way is there to spread the Cwyld and strengthen bonds than intimacy? ii. Midnight Show Things reach a fever pitch around midnight. Once more, Alder calls for everyone's attention. "There's one more thing. I know all of you are loyal, true believers- but everyone must be tested," he says, gesturing to several larger bodyguards, "and we have to protect ourselves. There are those who don't understand us and seek to undo our work. Therefore, we need to tie up loose ends." One by one, the least aggressive Cwyld-infected subjects are dragged from their cages and any remaining individuals are brought out, all restrained. One of the bodyguards is carrying a large ceremonial dagger, which he presses to the vampire at the front’s throat. "Rest assured, their deaths with not be in vain: we have learned much and they will make for the perfect offering to the beings who gave us the Cwyld's blessing!" The knife flashes, ready to cut already decaying flesh- - a blood-curdling scream echoes through the room and glass shatters as a Shade breaks free from its prison. It ploughs into the guests, howling with rage as it tears into anyone and everyone that stands in its way, and others soon follow. At some point during the chaos, Alder appears to realise that he’s been caught. He, along with his inner circle, set to work trying to cover up their actions, setting the basement floor alight and using magic to bring down supports to block doorways completely. If you want to gather evidence, it has to be now, else you can focus your efforts on a rescue mission or chasing the cult leader himself down.

[ ooc: More information about the event can be found on the plotting post along with comments for questions, and an IC vote concerning Alder's fate! ]

Comments

[adventageous]

0. Alternative Theory

[Alice is with Karin when the pair of them is taken in early Feoveuer. After her near-miss a few nights earlier, Alice had hoped that strength in numbers would discourage further abduction attempts. Unfortunately, that was not the case--both women have been obstructing the Evergreen Circle's progress in their own ways, so the Circle took advantage of the opportunity to eliminate their interference all at once.

The two of them are split up before either of them come to. Something about Alice catches the eye of a member of the Inner Circle, Dimitri Urmanov, and he has her removed from the cage for a memory re-write and service in his home. "She looks so peaceful and beautiful, like a doll..."

As far as Alice is aware she has grown up as a servant in Mr. Umanov's home after the death of her father when she was very young. He treats her well, never abusing her or even scolding her especially harshly when something goes wrong--the only indignity she suffers is the outfits he has her wear. Alice doesn't love it, but she's not in a position to complain. She has fared much, much better than other orphans in this city.]


I. Drink Service

A. Guests (both invited and infiltrators)

[As a dedicated servant to a member of the Inner Circle, Alice is working as a waitress during the festivities. Her hair is down, falling down her back in loose curls, and she's wearing uncharacteristically suggestive attire. The low cut of the dress clearly shows the Evergreen Circle mark tattooed over her left collarbone, which may or may not make clear to others that something is amiss with her.

She moves through the room carrying a tray of beverages, stopping to offer refreshments to guests who appear to be empty-handed.]

Would you care for a glass of champagne for the occasion?


B. Captives

[Between emptying her tray and going back to the kitchens for a fresh one, Alice takes the time to sneak the experiments some water and snacks. She sticks to the ones who seem least likely to lash out and attack her--she's kind, but not stupid--and smiles warmly upon her approach. In a way, they're here as the guests of honor and should be treated as such.

When she speaks, it comes off a bit like she would speak to a beloved pet. But in her scrambled mind, she really does mean well.]

Here you are. It's important to stay hydrated amd keep your energy up, given what an important occasion tonight is.


II. Midnight (Closed to Karin)

[The stroke of midnight brings a dark shift to the proceedings, and despite her allegiance to the order Alice finds herself horrified by it. She tugs on Mr. Urmanov's arm and murmurs a question as to if this is truly necessary, which he responds to by patting her head and giving her empty platitudes. In response to an inquisitive look from another Inner Circle member, he shrugs and responds, "My Alice is too pure of a girl for her own good." The pair chuckle and continue to converse as if nothing at all is amiss.

Some unexplained bit of anger wells up in Alice then. For reasons her mind can't quite put words to, this is unacceptable. She steps slowly backward, disappearing into the crowd where Mr. Urmanov can't find her. She's not sure what she's planning to do, but she cannot stand still and allow this to proceed.

It's then when the Shade barges in, and the tension in the room snaps very suddenly. Circle members and experiments alike are running around in the chaos, and Alice nearly runs smack into an infected harpy with a broken wing.]

Oh, I'm sorry, I--

[Her words end up sticking in her throat as she looks the experiment in the face. Why does she look so familiar? Why does Alice find herself so drawn to her?]

[sonnestark]

[The Shade's entrance brings just the right amount of chaos with it to allow those who can still stand on their own an opportunity— order is no more, and Karin slams her elbow into the gut of the cult member that had been in the process of dragging her out of her cage. He doubles over as she wrenches herself free, determined to push her way through the frenzied crowd and see what other captives she might be able to help win their freedom, but she's stopped short by a collision on her way to the next line of cages.]

Let me—

[It's only then that she is able to look down and get a good look at the other person's face, and despite the searing pain from her broken wing and the burning in her veins from the exposure to the Cwyld, she throws her arms around Alice without hesitation, hugging her tightly to her amid the confusion all around them. It's brief; she doesn't want to leave them exposed, but she grabs her bondmate's shoulders with either hand to hold them both steady.]

Alice, you're safe! We have to get out of here, help as many people as we can on the way—

Momo | IDOLiSH7 | Witch | cws in prompt headers

[yesdoubt]

[a: eternal sunshine... (cw: kidnapping, torture, experimentation for both)]

[He'd come within a week of making it to the initiation unnoticed. He'd even gotten one of the stupid flashy invites. But Momo's patience only extends so far when it comes to others being hurt, and it was only a matter of time before he saw something he couldn't control himself over after he'd managed to ingratiate himself with some of the higher-ranking cult members. It was wrong place, wrong time, and in a place where it was only too easy to drag him in for a particularly in-depth session with the brainwashing enchantments. Burning through the remaining uses of his protective tattoo takes a little extra time and "care", but eventually, the way is open for the cultists to take a particularly vengeful twist on the brainwashing, a targeted irony for having made it in so far and being outed by his inability to keep quiet about needless cruelty...]

(i. for science)

[Another day, another series of experiments. Momo can't remember specifically when he was first sent to help observe and document these, but those responsible for the study always welcome an extra set of hands. For most of the last five days prior to the initiation, a dark-suited Momo, his hair combed back from his face and minus his usual ring and polished nails, trails several of the experimenting Witches with a clipboard and pencil, watching with a dispassionate, almost bored expression as they vent their cruelty on the kidnapped. He notes any observations and serves as some backup muscle in the event that anyone might escape, and occasionally is allowed to take over particular experiments on his lonesome.

Perhaps it's one of these your character is involved in, released into a different kind of confinement to fight a local who's been infected beyond the point of no return under his watchful eye. And impatient one, judging by how quickly he speaks up once the near-Shade starts moving.]

Don't keep me waiting, or you'll be their replacement. [Much like his expression, the tone is uncaring and dispassionate - this isn't his business, he just wants it done as quickly as possible.

Alternately, he may be at the side of one of the Divination users as they attempt to force their way into a character's head, regarding any attempts at resistance with a pitiless stare.]

You're just making this take longer.

(ii. expendable)

[Sometimes, he's assigned to check on the sleeping schedules. Which mostly means getting a big stick and getting to use it on anyone who's sleeping for longer than their designated amount of time. Anyone who might try to find an opportunity to doze off, or just finds themselves doing it anyway, could find themselves on the receiving end of a none-too-gentle smack around the side of the head with his stick poked through the bars of the cage.]

Nobody said you could sleep. [It's direct and blunt, as if he's enforcing orders without any particular care for them.]

--

[b: initiation]
(i. on duty [potential for violence])

[At the initiation party, Momo is in a slightly fancier suit and serving his actual duty, a bodyguard role to one of the higher-ranking cult members who fancied that he'd had a few more people trying to track him of late and needed to cover his own ass. While his "master" has decided to partake in the room full of aphrodisiacs, he's left Momo stationed outside to avoid inebriating his bodyguard prior to the main event, where Momo is flatly ignoring the woman with the aphrodisiac bottle and instead sweeping the hallway with his eyes every so often, scrutinising anyone who looks like they might be heading into the indulgent room.

If anyone directly approaches him or even stops to look at him a little too long, though, he'll turn his attention to them in return, eyes narrowing with a sharp air and the sense that even if he's obliged not to ruin the party, he's not particularly interested in showing more mercy than he has to besides that.]

I have no business with you. Keep moving.

(ii. when the clock strikes midnight [closed])

[Initially, the proceedings towards the end of the night don't seem to land much with Momo. He saw the experiments, participated in them, and was expecting that a decent chunk of the subjects would die anyway. This is really just hastening the development.

But the sight of some as yet uninfected victims among the intended sacrifices makes his eyes narrow, and something about the flash of the knife so close to a throat makes the back of his mind squirm, like something is trying to break free of its cage. Before he can brush it away, there's a scream as the Shade breaks free and the floor descends into chaos, and the one half of his brain that instinctively moves to protect his master is ground to a halt by another side of it, something else, that says he should be trying to protect more lives than just that.

He shouldn't care. It's not his concern. He has a duty to uphold. But something is stopping him from just carrying it out, and after a long, frozen moment, the sound of something else breaking into his thoughts and into his space is enough to have him turning on the responsible party with a feral snarl, expression pained and confused, but mostly enraged.]

What!? [He's visibly about an inch from pulling a weapon or a spell, the brainwashing keeping its hold just a little longer by driving him to the brink of frenzy at even the hint of it loosening.]

--

[c: wildcard]

[[Feel free to hit me up for something else at reviseleviathan or on the plot post! I'm not opposed to Momo running into other rescuers after the sacrifice attempt, but it's ultimately going to be one of his Bonded that snap him out of it and probably Yuki specifically.]]

a-ii

[sonnestark]

[As awakenings go, it's an especially rude one. Karin's body is already weary beyond description, the pain from her broken wing paling in comparison to the after-effects of tests and torture, and she lets out a faint groan as she looks up from the corner of her cage she's slumped into. She glares, her expression hard as she turns her gaze towards the person who had disturbed her— only for it to crack when she realizes she recognizes him.

Oh.]

Momo...? What have they done do you?

[Her voice is weak from pain and weariness, but she feels a new ache rising in her chest. Momo has never been anything but a friend. This— it isn't him. It can't be real.]

Jaskier | The Witcher | Witch | CWs included

[cointosser]

[Content warnings for violence, body horror, infection, mild cannibalism (??). Regular warning for dramaaaa and crying.]

Spirited Away I-A. Hypothesis (post-kidnap)

[Between holding his bruised stomach and making sure Geralt was healing from the silver burns from their chains, he had been only moments away from asking him what the fuck was going on. Why a bunch of witches and their Bonded decided one lone wolf was such a perfect target. And though he'd heard of the whisperings around Aefenglom -- impossible not to when he frequented so many taverns and now the Tearoom -- the idea that anyone would look at Geralt and decide, yes, what a perfect man to snatch, was beyond him.

Perhaps the point was he hadn't been the perfect choice. But the stupid witch with him had been.

Jaskier doesn't remember much of the first day. Or the second. Or the next few after that. He went hoarse soon enough from screaming; not from pain, but in outraged anger. How amusingly easy it must have been for them. A man without claws like a Dragon or a Turnskin. A witch who couldn't burn men to ash without blinking, like Yennefer. He'd even lost his dagger. The one Geralt had gifted him months and months ago. He'd had it on him or near him for so long.

The fucking indignity of it all! The humility! Of course, he still had the capacity to be insulted, being treated like a particularly rambunctious goat, before the experimentations started.]

Spirited Away I-B. (mild infection)

[It starts almost benignly. There is a particular harpy that comes to him every day, dropping off the paltry tray of food they call a supper here. Here is relative: to Jaskier, it's a very cold, lonely room, perhaps in a basement, where sunlight doesn't pierce. Sometimes they drag him out to a different cage in a different room, with others caged like him. At first, he doesn't realize they put it in the food. A smooth transition, maybe, into being infected.

Amusing in a horrible way. Every time he'd gone outside the city boundaries to play for the infected, he had been careful. A mask over his nose and mouth, and distance between himself and the ones he played for. A constant reminder he shouldn't touch them -- a man simply couldn't play a lute with gloves, after all.

He knows something is wrong. It starts as a fear that pierces through his head, sometimes seemingly out of nowhere. The harpy he's become used to suddenly feels dangerous, and he shivers every time she comes to set his meal down. He breaks down when she leaves, crying into his sleeve which, at this point, has already grown dirty.

Then his fingertips begin to turn grey. They tingle at first, like tiny ants crawling under his nails. As the color grows deeper, the tingle turns into a warm, near-constant pain.

How do you like your vegetables? the harpy hisses at some point, and he realizes where the infection is coming from. But what is he supposed to do? Not fucking eat? He tries to, for a couple of days. (Or it feels like days, at least.)

Then she begins injections. You have such a lovely scar, you know. The scar left from Geralt's first full moon, when he'd been feral. A ragged tear that goes up his right forearm. Mostly healed, but a small mound of tissue was left behind. They would love to know what it can grow.]

Spirited Away I-C. (monster bait/moderate infection)

[As the infection spreads, Jaskier fights less. If he has magic still, he can't find it in him to bring it to his fingertips, which mostly have no feeling anymore. He cries, sometimes, when he thinks of it -- the realization that he can no longer properly pluck a string. Sometimes he sits in the back corner of the cage shaking, shivering, backing away from every sound that he hears.

And there's a lot of them. Sometimes they echo in his head, and he can't pinpoint their origin. It doesn't really matter, when everything he hears makes his heart feel like bursting in his chest.

The injections at his scar start leeching into his veins, turning them to stark black lines. Something... he doesn't notice at first, how the scar is twisting, how his skin is bumping, then growing into small, black mounds. Mounds that grow overnight, in the few hours he can actually sleep, that begin to flower open at the rounded tops like mushrooms.

Sometimes, when he isn't gripped with a hallucination of snarling white wolves pacing around his cage, or the tips of his fingers falling off, he claws them off his skin with broken human fingernails. They bleed, but it's black. It smells like moss, like rotting.

Once he thinks he might rot from the inside out, he can't help but watch it happen sometimes, too.

As the black mushrooms spread across his skin, they start taking him out to some sort of... an arena, maybe, or at least a cleared out room. At the other end is a monster he hasn't seen before. A group of hooded forms utters some laughs or sounds of amusement as he tries to dodge the latest snapping teeth or claws of monsters that have gone too far.

Sometimes he lets them bite. The smallest desire to let them -- spread infection -- thrums through his head.]

Initiation I. Cavorting and Cruelty (display)

[By the time the bard is brought out as, well, he can only imagine as some sort of centerpiece with the rest of them, there's black, twisted mushrooms covering the scar on his bare arm, and they've begun forming at the corners of his eyes, down his cheek, as the infection spreads upward. Locks of his chestnut brown hair have turned black, and occasionally a servant comes by with a knife to cut one of the mushrooms off.

Appetizers, one laughs at him as he does it, then saunters away. In some twisted way, he envies them. At least they can stand.

He lays on the floor of the cage and lets his stomach roil. The air is sweeter out here, and if he had the mind for it he could piece together more where he is. A manor, clearly. A manor with a large, elaborate basement. Somewhere that must be on the edge of the city, if it's even in it.

He doesn't think of his Bonded anymore. Mostly because he only hopes they feel nothing from him.

Instead, he thinks of a sentiment that he frequently once heard from nobles and courtiers. A sentiment that once made him laugh, as someone who revels in such gatherings.]

Banquets truly are torture, aren't they?

Initiation II. Cavorting and Cruelty (release)

[He's dragged out of some half-intentional sleep by a scream. Jaskier shoots up, backing to the back edge of his cave. At this point he has long, dried streaks of black blood rolled down his arm and face, several bunches of the Cwyld-grown fungi cut off his body. His head swims.

Time is murky. The scream echoes and he is almost convinced he made it himself. But there's another, and as several bodies go sailing through the air, he sees it. A creature he has done his best to absolutely avoid.

A Shade. A Shade, loose. The other caged victims begin perking up, rattling and railing against their enclosures.

He wishes he could do the same. His hands barely work at this point. But his legs, at least, do. He kicks at the bars.

After so long, the desire for escape rises all at once, a rushing, fearful tide.] Someone! Let me out! Let me out!

(Feel free to hit me up at scathefire for any other alternative openers. Plenty of time to poke him between experiments/infections! Let me know if there's any content you'd like me to avoid putting in tags back!)

Initiation I!

[adventageous]

Oh, they aren't all bad.

[The response comes from a pretty servant sporting a french maid dress and a tattoo similar to one that had been marked onto Jaskier's own skin at some point in his captivity. Unlike the servants who have come by to cut mushrooms off of his arm, her demeanor toward him is warm, even kind. She crouches down, reaches through the bars and sets down a glass bottle filled with water and a small plate with a few crackers, some cheese, and a couple of cookies.]

At least the food is plentiful enough for everyone to share. Here, you look awfully pale--maybe something to eat will help you feel a bit better.

Hector | Castlevania, CW: imprisonment, inhumane treatment, infected injury, language

[petcromancer]

Hypothesis

[It is not so long ago that Hector was freely attending cult meetings, eager to learn more and be allowed to study the Cwyld unhindered.

Well, now he's gotten more of a chance than he ever wanted. A bandage is poorly wrapped around his arm, as if done one-handed, and in spots, the wound beneath it has bled through. The skin around the bandage has the tell-tale inflamed skin and black-streaked veins of infection.

His demands for healing got him thrown into the cages, and now he's stuck here, rattling the bars to no avail. His eyes sting with unshed tears. Where are his bonded? Where are his friends? Is no one going to come for him?]

Fuck! Let me out!

[He falls to his knees, curling in on himself and cradling his wounded arm.]

Midnight

[A few cultists attempted to get Hector to serve them earlier, but fauns are more resistant to mind control than most monsters. Hector seems to only be susceptible to brainwashing that relies on his gullibility, not magic.

So here he is, injured and angry and in full control of his mental faculties as the revel rages around him. When the celebration comes to a head, and the crazed shade breaks out and causes a distraction, he limps toward the lock, trying to find some way to free himself. A rescue from without would be very welcome right about now...]

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard really did mean it when he said to Hector he wished that the cult's attempts to experiment with the Cwyld study work were genuine. It was a rare hope that someone was actually responsibly studying the issue, and yet the minute they went to that meeting, the hope was dashed. Almost.

He had kept open ears, hoping that there might be a sliver of decent work among the off vibes he got from the group. But no, all Alucard heard was about disappearances and those who were missing. Of course that was what happened, and of course there'd be some weird set of invitations circulating instead.

The dhampir had just forged one though, not in the hopes of performing a rescue but in the vague thought that somewhere among all the experiments, there might be something of worth. He had grown up with Dracula for God's sake, he knew there was always value even in the mad plans.

He's quiet as the chaos breaks out around him in the revels, someone's master stroke gone horribly wrong. Alucard 's eyes go to papers on the ground, scattered journals, anything that seems pertinent and--

--oh.

Hector.

Alucard stands with a leather bound journal in his arms, frowning faintly at the faun. He absolutely does not want to be the asshole whose first words are I told you so, if only because Hector must suspect that's exactly what the dhampir will say.

Instead, he goes with:] How badly do you need medical attention?

dorian pavus | dragon age: inquisition | witch

[magisterium]

i. cavorting

[His efforts to ingratiate himself to the cult the previous month in the interest of gathering information had certainly paid off— he had been sent an elegantly-written invitation that made gaining access to this particular gathering incredibly easy. What threatened to betray him now was his anger, the fury that urged him to burn this place to ashes to make these people pay for their crimes, but that would help no one. It would not save those who had been captured, and it would not bring these people to justice. It would not help Brennan.

And so he bides his time, keeping his feelings veiled as best he can, participating in idle chatter and wearing his best party face despite the fact that he would much rather see these criminals suffer their own deeds. He laughs, and he pretends, as he's done a thousand times back home. This place reminds him too much of the worst parts of Tevinter, the decadence and the delight in cruelty, in the suffering of others.

No wonder all of Thedas thought his people to be monsters.

He drinks, but only enough to blend in, wanting to keep himself sharp. Now and then, his facade will crack, and he will become too tense, his knuckles white as he grips the stem of his glass and it threatens to shatter— he may need a reminder to keep up the act until the time is right.]

ii. cruelty on display

[It's no surprise to see familiar faces beyond the bars of the cages as he makes his way through the room, but his heart stops all the same when he finally catches a glimpse of his beloved, beaten and worn-down and looking wholly unlike himself. A thousand different emotions well up inside of him at once, enhanced by the suffering he's been able to feel his bondmate being forced through.

The crowd between the two of them remains thick, and he feels something rise into his throat as the glass in his hand finally breaks, sending wine and glass fragments to the floor as he begins to summon flame into his opposite hand, his fingertips glowing red-hot as he conjures fire.

He has no patience left, but he'll need to be stopped before he does something everyone here will regret.]

iii. midnight show

[The Shade offers precisely the diversion that he and the rest of the rescue party needed. Chaos erupts at every turn, with cultists and captives alike running about and shoving their way past the crowd. The air is thick with magic as cultists scramble to turn the tide in their favor, to cover evidence, and one even calls to Dorian for his aid in helping to restrain the captives, to corral them back to their cages.]

Oh, I think not.

[And with a sharp turn on his heel, he unceremoniously sends a series of icy projectiles towards the cultist in question, pinning him to the nearest wall by his robes.]

Stay there, will you? If you take care not to wriggle, perhaps the Shade won't find you quite so appetizing.

[Personally, he hopes for the opposite.]

ii I'm so sorry (no I'm not)

[adventageous]

Are you okay, sir?

[Alice—almost unrecognizable given how her hair is styled and what she's wearing—approaches him with alarm, taking the hand Dorian used to shatter the glass and casts a quick cure where the glass has broken skin. As she does so, she notices the flame forming in his other hand.]

I-I know spirits are high and chaotic because of the party, but please don't cast anything that might hurt someone.

[There's not even a hint of recognition in the way she looks at him. The mark of the Circle is clearly visible on the left side of her chest.]

Jin Guangyao | MDZS (cw: at least tangentially general event cws, mind control/hypnosis)

[turmoiling]

Cavorting and Cruelty: Open!

Though meandering through and exchanging pleasantries, marvelling at the captives with others... Jin Guangyao doesn't trust the drinks, wine glass half emptied into a potted plant so it seems he has been indulging along with others. He also doesn't trust any of the people here for that matter, though his smile is pleasant and manner delighted. He especially doesn't trust any of them near his Bonded, so even as he circulates, he has half an eye on Lan Xichen, never straying too far.

But with eyes scanning these cages, he still doesn't see what... or rather who he wanted to. And while he expected initiation to involve questionable activities, catching sight of the drawing room... he is most definitely staying well clear of some optional entertainment.]

What an exciting affair. [He remarks to another potential initiate, bright-eyed in keeping with the mood. Though perhaps the one responding to him ends up being one in a cage nearby...] Alder truly is a visionary, taking such explorations further than I'd thought possible.



Midnight Show (closed to Lan Xichen)

[Though in the pose of excitement, Jin Guangyao is tense inside, attentive and alert. But that alertness spikes to delight, watching with rapt attention as one of these people brought out is on his short list of 'problems' that needed to be dealt with. He'd hoped his suggestions would be heeded and he wouldn't need to keep up this pretence for this long, faking starry-eyed adoration and hanging on Cillian's every word, all while working to keep a couple interferences at bay, spellbound by soothing word and shimmering gaze. Uncertain of his hold under the circumstances earlier in the evening, he'd even spared a moment or two to stare deeply into Lan Xichen's eyes and keep hold of his complicity for now. Perhaps it wouldn't be for so much longer, then.

Even his Bonded aside though, there's also too many other Mirrorbound that he's spotted here and there; mind controlled and otherwise -- most of whom he bears no particular ill will towards. It really is a shame that they got caught up in events, but he's not about to play heroic rescuer yet, when he has his own concerns.

Lan Xichen shouldn't be here either in his opinion, but the invitations had come, and so here they were, up among the other cultists as Cillian makes his speech. Subduing his discomfort Jin Guangyao waits and watches with a pleased smile on his face - discomfort not so much for himself, for he's done worse things. But for the idea that, hypnotized as he is, Lan Xichen might find himself doing something deeply regrettable during this initiation ceremony...

When the Shade interrupts the proceedings, that small amount of relief is overshadowed by impending disaster. This isn't an altercation he wants to be involved in, dangerous no matter which way one looks at it -- and he's lost sight of Jiang Cheng already. In those initial moments of chaos, he tugs at his friend's arm, pulling them away from the rampaging Shade -- and potentially murderous former cultivators.]

This way.

[He urges. They should leave before it all falls apart.]

[zewu_jun]

[The initiation is full of quiet anticipation as the new members wait for their chance at completing the ceremony and truly becoming one with the Circle. Lan Xichen should be just as excited, but mostly he feels restless. Maybe it's Jin Guangyao's emotions, since his Bonded has been observing a little tensely this evening. Lan Xichen knows his friend can be worried when it comes to events, guarding against every possible disaster, but this is a night for celebration. A grand unveiling of the truth, Cillian says. Surely there is no reason to feel uneasy?

Although when he catches sight of Jiang Cheng, he can't help pausing. Something feels off about having that man there. The other sect leader was always someone he respected, and it seems like a mistake for him to be treated as a disruption to their cause? He almost says something, but it doesn't seem like the time for conversation. Later.

And later becomes never when the Shade suddenly bursts free and starts attacking people. Lan Xichen hesitates, holding back when Jin Guangyao tries to pull him away.]

But A-Yao, there is no reason to fear. They will calm everyone soon...

alucard | castlevania | witch

[cryptsleeper]

I. cavorting
[Alucard slips into the estate late into the proceedings. Half an hour to midnight to be exact, aware of the risk. To be late might draw attention, but likewise if there is drink and merriment, memories might see him hazily and permit the dhampir space.

It's all a disappointment, so far as Alucard is concerned. Real work, real research into the Cwyld would have been a welcome thing indeed. Working with live specimens might be a risk, but if properly handled, there was no reason for there not to be real progress made in the issue.

But no. A single meeting told him that it wasn't the case, although Alucard kept his ears open in case he might be wrong. The kidnappings meant that nothing good was ever going to come of this, and what he's witnessing here and now confirms it. Cages, tanks, experiments as pets, it's all a disaster.

Alucard's quiet as he moves through little clusters of people. His hope is that there might be some kind of notes about all the work prior to this that can be taken and studied. Something useful at the heart of all of this.

So he stands beside a handsome looking bookcase, a mostly empty wine glass in hand to make it seem as if he's simply taking a breather.]

Hm.

[He places the glass on the shelf in an empty spot and withdraws a book, idly flipping through the pages.]

II. Gathering evidence
[In the madness that ensues thanks to the Shade, Alucard walks as if the world is not in chaos. The reason he came here, subjecting himself to any of the horrors that presented themselves with glee, was in the hopes of gathering notes. There will doubtlessly be some sort of inquest or trial, but that isn't why Alucard does the work - it's in the thin hope that among all the madness, there might be a few good ideas.

Alucard knows it isn't impossible. His father was the same way, and these notes aren't bound up in human skin. There are thin notebooks in black leather, and Alucard is careful to take those along with a pile of loose pages that catch his eye. Those he pauses on, scanning the page.]

If nothing else, this'll serve as damning enough evidence if anyone survives.

[He slides the papers into his arms, pausing to look over his shoulder. There's something behind him, and to not acknowledge it would be terribly rude.]

Brennan Trevelyan | Dragon Age Inquisition | Chimera

[outofthebreach]

Content Warning for violence, kidnapping, torture, body horror, experimentation, infection/disease, and probably the whole shebang...

Spirited Away I-A; World Gone Black

[ He can feel the moon rise even though he can't see it, buried deep beneath the earth - he thinks? It pulls on him, as it has been for days now. That dark, restless energy that made him feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. It had driven him out alone and that had been his downfall. Now there was no wandering, no open sky. Even his link to his distant Bonded felt strangely twisted and muted, lost in a shroud of fog. He suspected that had something to do with the pinprick of pain he'd felt when they finally subdued him the first time.

With moonrise came pain, agonizing, burning as his body twisted, cracked, broke, and reshaped. His throat went hoarse from the screams. But through it all, he could feel their eyes watching. Hungry. Impatient. It was only after his body had reshaped - his legs strangely bent now, somehow, the very musculature of them changing beneath the thick fur - strange and different and aching in every strained muscle, that they began their work in earnest. They talked, sometimes, although those first few hours he was so delirious from pain he could barely make sense of it. His monster, they exclaimed with diabolical glee, was a unique specimen for experimentation, made up as it was of so many different monster strains. He'd known of bear and wolf - those had been a little hard to miss, through all this. Horse, that one he wouldn't have guessed at. Maybe something to do with the way his legs had broken and reformed. Not a predator, either, which shot his previous theories about what he could be all to hell. Could he hold more, he heard a few of them debate, and something about that very idea made his stomach turn sickly. Would the infection take to his different monsters separately or together?

He doesn't want to know the answer to that question. As they drag him from the room to dump him into a cell, body barely working still in the aftermath of body-breaking pain and transformation, he suspects he's not going to have much say in the matter. ]

Spirited Away I-B; No Light through the Crack

[ He'd barely regained his strength, legs still shaky and unsteady beneath him, his balance all lost in the way his transformed body now held him upright. Not that his cell gave him much room to pace, move, but he tried anyway. Some of the restlessness had faded now that the moon was past its fullest phase, but that just meant the frustration of being trapped kept building. His captors were still watching. Testing. Sometimes he was dragged to another room, pinned down to endure their questions, their prodding - worse. Sometimes he just felt their eyes on him in the darkness beyond his cell.

This morning was a break in the vague routine that had started to form. When he's dragged from his cell, it's to a new room, one much larger, the walls thickly reinforced and the door slamming shut behind him. He's not alone, but as he turns and takes in the figure across from him, he knows he'll find no help here. He thinks it was a harpy, at one time, although the feathers have mostly fallen away, leaving stretches of bare flesh and muscle - blackened and warped and twisted. There's nothing remotely human in the creature's crazed gaze and it launches itself towards him with an ear-piercing shriek.

He fights, even though he's got no sword, no shield. There's nothing in the room he can even use as a makeshift weapon, just himself and the crazed infected out for his blood. It's vicious and savage in a way he's not sure he's ever had to fight before. It's as much instinct from his monster sides as it is the sheer desperation to survive. He loses track of time, caught beneath the frenzy of the harpy's attacks. He's bleeding, countless slashes opened up on limbs and torso from raking talons, the few remaining feathers gone blade-edge sharp, slicing into him even when he does miss a pointed blow. He can feel the way it weakens him, drains him, and he knows that if this fight drags on, his endurance will be the first to give - he's not even sure this maddened infected creature can even feel pain anymore. Which is when his bear's strength roars to the surface - with a literal roar that almost seems to shake the room around them. Hands grip, strength surge, and with a snap of bone, the once-feathered creature goes limp in his hands, life fading from its eyes. He drops it and backs away in disgust.

It's only later when he's back in his cage that he looks down at the myriad of slashes and cuts that still seep all over his body. Notices the way the edges of them are black, the infection shading each of them. Already starting to creep into his veins, spiraling with black webs along his skin. And he laughs, the sound holding no mirth as he clenches his fists and closes his eyes, head thudding back against the wall of his cage. ]

Midnight Show II-A; No Mercy on Me

[ Day and night and day and night. He loses track of the passage of time. The number of times they remove him from his cell. The pain. The prodding. The fights. It becomes a pain-infused blur as he feels that blackness spread through his veins. He thinks he sleeps, but even when he is awake, his vision takes on a strange haze, like this is a dream. A nightmare? He can't tell the difference between them anymore. He starts seeing things. Things he knows aren't there - couldn't be there. Corypheus' haunting laughter, deep-toned mocking cutting deep. The vicious roar of a dragon, the kiss of flames on his skin, the bite of fangs scraping against his seeping wounds. The icy ancient eyes staring at him with no recognition before twisting away into the rabid visage of a wolf. Cullen's eyes gone lyrium-blue (or worse, sometimes, in their crimson depths) and blazing with vengeful fire. Dorian's eyes gone blood-red and gleaming, skin etched with rune-shaped scars that he remembered decorated the ancient Tevinter magister's body. The eyes he felt near constantly no longer belonged to unseen captors, but once-friends now gone dark and unrecognizable as they watched him unravel into the blackness.

He's barely aware when things change again, pulled from his cell once more in too-quick succession, only to be shoved into a different cage. This one is smaller, tighter, making him feel even more trapped and his beasts snarl and rage against the restraint, something dangerous and near-feral in his gaze as he pushes against them, paces the few scant steps within. The cage is moved, making him dizzy and unsettled, and the destination is a vast cavern of a room, filled with the scents of strangers, the sharp sting of magic. Too much noise, too many people, too much everything. He's caught between furious instinct, disorienting hallucinations, and the shattering remains of his Self as the party begins, his cage a sideshow for the revelry spilling out around him. ]

Midnight Show II-B; Playing with Fire (Closed to Dorian)

[ Time passes, the party plays on, the atmosphere around him holding a tension and a frenzy that only seems to simmer and build as the hours tick past. As if growing towards a climax, a crescendo. He knows it's coming and he doesn't know whether to dread it or welcome it in relief. He's dragged from his cage at last, struggles muted and clumsy from the drugs they'd pumped into him earlier when his aggression had grown too strong. He distantly notes all the others being dragged from their cages as well but spares them little thought. He's forced to his knees, sinking down even though the position is awkward and painful with his twisted legs. There's a flash of silver as a blade is pressed to his throat. For a moment, something in him snarls at the threat, but even that is a distant thing. Instead, he gives a convulsive swallow, feeling the edge nick the skin of his throat. A bite of pain, a momentary sharpness that cuts through the drugs and the black shroud that has shaded everything these past hours.

And he closes his eyes, patient. Waiting. Relief it is, then. ]

Midnight Show II-C; Little Bit Wiser

[ That stillness and silence is long gone now. Everything around him is chaos. Screaming. Fighting. Bloodshed. He can smell it in the air, stinging against his skin. The blackness of his veins is still there, but his eyes have gone golden instead of an empty black. Lips are curled into a silent snarl as his wolf rises to the surface. He's been freed, a shard of his sanity returned with the touch of his Bonded's magic, the link blown wide open between them once more. He's careful, trying to shelter his mage from the worst of the fury and hunger that still rages in him, but he can't hide all of it. And it demands an outlet.

He's no longer prey. The predator in him rises up to take control. And he turns, those vicious golden eyes finding the familiar forms of his captors. His tormentors. The eyes that had watched him in the dark. And he smiles, the expression sharp and almost cruel as he launches himself forward into the fight, claws unsheathed as he seeks to spill their blood in recompense. ]

I-A

[exsoldier]

[ Looking back, Zack will ask himself how he let it happen. As a trained SOLDIER with years of experience under his belt and enhancements besides, he shouldn't have been able to let himself get ambushed in that way. He'd been on the patrol routes for a month now, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd let his guard down too much. Or maybe, just like before on Midgar's bluffs, it had been an issue of sheer numbers. They'd decided they wanted him and they'd done whatever it took to make that happen, overwhelming him before he could have a hope of fighting back.

He's now been in this cell for he doesn't know how long, and that's the thing, isn't it? It's dark, it's dim, and there's no way to track the passage of time. He's done this before, and having to go through it yet again is like having his head forcibly held underwater.

The full moon's arrival is a distraction of sorts, and while there's less that has to change now that he's acquired so many of his animal parts permanently, he still has to endure the agony of two wings bursting free from his back, the tearing of skin and splattering of blood that's become the norm for every month.

It's worse than that, though. With his Bond so far away, Cloud having disappeared deep into the Wilde on a trip, holding back on his monstrous instincts is harder than it should be. Zack's slumped on his side, doing everything in his power to cling to what's left of cognizant thought, when the cell door screeches open and another body is dumped inside. There's another one that's already been here, seemingly lifeless in the far corner of cell, who Zack hasn't had the wherewithal to investigate yet.

As for this new person, though? It takes some squinting through the dark, but his sharpened eagle-eye vision allows him to piece together that it must be another chimera. The bent-back limbs, the mess of fur — do these people just want to put them all together for some reason?

Zack pushes himself up, his bloodied wings sagging behind him, and pads forward. His feet are digitigrade now, something he always has to adjust to when the monthly changes happen, but he makes it over and crouches down at the side of his new cell mate. ]

Hey. [ He grabs for a shoulder and shakes, taking care that his nails that are more like talons don't dig into flesh. ] Hey, you alive? [ How many times had he mumbled things like this to Cloud, within the depths of the Shinra mansion? The memory makes his stomach twist. Still, at least this is serving to keep his mind clear, to not let the monstrous nature buried inside him come to the forefront. ]

Vanitas | Kingdom Hearts

[darkcharge]

Content Warning: Violence, Drug Use, Disease/Infection, Needles, and the like...


( Spirited Away: Kidnapped ) - Open to other kidnappees/brainwashed

[ They had been trying to get the jump on Vanitas for quite some time. There have been multiple attempts, and really Vanitas doesn't understand why. Why would they keep coming after him after he's proven that he's more than they can handle? Why keep it up when it's clear that there are always going to be people around that have Van's back. So it's not like he is worth the effort. Unfortunately, the cultists seem to disagree. It doesn't really matter how they managed to get their hands on him, but they have.

He struggles the entire time. Kicking. Screaming. Trying to invoke magic. Oh Vanitas is sure a handful to be certain. But that's what they want, right? Someone with a bit of fight in them to experiment on. Getting to the basement poses a challenge, but the ones holding him decide enough is enough. They smash Van against a wall, hold his head there and grind against the rough surface to the point where he grits his teeth. Before he can fight back, he feels something jab into his arm - a sedative.

But the fight doesn't quite leave him - even going to try to bite at one of the cultists before they slam him down against a table hard enough for Van to see stars. Van hears a faint buzzing down then searing pain against his shoulder blade as they leave their mark.

Then they throw him into one of the cells - sedated and still bleeding. ]


( Hypothesis: Mild ) - Open to other kidnappees/brainwashed

[ Of course Vanitas continues to be an issue. The Shades nearby don't really seem to be intimidating him or effecting him too much. Van spends a great deal of time out in the Wilde and with Wilders. Of course he's built up a bit of a resistance. The most that he feels is dizzy and light headed. Of course Van thinks that probably has something to do with the sedatives that they seem to keep giving him when he gets a little too vocal and aggressive. ]

When I get out I'm going to kill you all...

[ His speech is slow, of course. He doesn't know what they're trying to do at all. Then it sort of clicks when he looks down and sees his exposed arms. The veins are discolored. Black. So he tries to get to his feet and wander over to someone else, dropping down and grabbing at whoever is in there with him. ]

Give me your arm. I need to see.


( Hypothesis: Moderate ) - Open to other kidnappees/brainwashed

[ That's not the end of it thought. Eventually when Vanitas starts to not show any signs of being too infected, he's moved. Moved to a place where he's going to have more direct contact. It's perfect isn't it? Now they can truly test how resistant someone can be. Even in this process Vanitas is roughed up, choosing to fight back despite the feeling in his head and gut.

It only makes it worse. Vanitas, when backed into a corner, panics. This panic turns into aggression. Every time someone comes in, he starts to feel it. Anyone gets too close... But what could he be seeing? Because the look in his eyes definitely leads to Vanitas not understanding who it is in front of him. Friend? No... Not all all. He sees red eyes staring at him through the darkness. Creatures he long thought gone at this point. So either (a) Vanitas takes it out on whoever is in the cell with him. Lashing out and tackling. Punching. Scratching. Anything to make the monsters go away. Anything to allow himself to live.

Or...

(b) This continues until the cultists have had enough. They grab and try to subdue Vanitas since he's getting out of hand for even them. There's a sickening crack as a cultist snaps Van's wrist - surely the pain would make him complaint? The pain is enough to get him to get away and back himself into a corner or against the wall like some kind of feral animal. ]


( Midnight Show: Release/Escape )

[ People are being paraded out of the cages now. Vanitas watches them go, shaking and staying as far away from the bars as possible. He's too tired, too exhausted from the ghosts in his brain - the whispers of thoughts that he had chased away since being here - to fight back at this point. But this is what they wanted, isn't it? Wanted to reduce him to this. It's like some kind of sick badge of honor. That's why the cultists choose to bring him out in chains.

That's why Van is on display - dark circles under his eyes. Bruised and cut up. Shirt ripped from where they decided to brand him. If he had been in the right state of mind, he would hate himself for his weakness. For being vulnerable and allowing this sort of thing to happen. But there's that voice that keeps telling him that he deserves this. He has always been a monster, a thing, and now he's just getting his due reward. Happiness is not meant for him. It never has been...

He doesn't even notice, standing there and flinching at every sound - real or otherwise - that the tides are about to change. ]


( Aftermath: Hunger ) - OTA

[ Getting Vanitas out of there is supposed to be a good thing, right? Of course it is. The most important thing should be to get him to see someone. Or maybe during the chaos of it all, Vanitas slides away from those that would seek to rescue him and bring him out. Either way there's a strong desire building up in him now. Maybe he's shuffling towards you or maybe you're coming towards him. Either way Van is reaching out - one good hand and the other in rough shape - to touch.

To spread and infect. ]

Don't go anywhere. Stay a second.


( Aftermath: Panic Attacks ) - OTA

[ But that's not going to be the only problem. The damage on his mind and body have taken a toll. A single touch is enough to set him off. A word said the wrong away can send him into another spiral. So Vanitas drops to his knees. ]

Stop! Don't touch me!

[ He'll curl into himself. Muttering and, most concerning at all, with tears in his eyes. Shaking and shuddering. ]

Get out, get out... Get out of my head!

[ You're not real. This isn't real. It hurts. It hurts. Make it stop it hurts. ]


( Wildcard )

[ You know what to do here. ]

Panic Attacks

[darkestbefore]

[ She'd known he was here somewhere. The state Sora had been in was impossible to miss, after all, and even then...

Chaos had broken out so swiftly. The show of the blade at the vampire's throat, the escape of the Shade. There was fighting everywhere. Yelling, screaming, clashing of both weapons and magic. It was disorienting and Yona alternated between freeing those she could, defending those who needed it and trying to heal the worst of the injured and infected. Even though there was only so much she could do in the midst of all the confusion, she could at least help those she came across, trying to calm them, give them a reprieve from the worst of the pain. Buy them a little more time.

It's the broken scream that has her head jerking up in alarm, searching for the source. She knows that voice, even if she'd never heard him sound like that before.

She finds him, although it takes her a moment, curled and huddled down as he is. Pushing to her feet, she dashes in that direction, violet eyes wide and frightened for him. She can see how far the infection's already spread, the wounds visible on his skin. What she couldn't see were the ones he'd have to be suffering that weren't physical.

Which is what has her slowing as she approaches, keeping her hands where he can see them, should he look up. Making herself as non-threatening as possible. As if he's a skittish animal she doesn't want to spook.

She calls to him, her voice soft, trying not to choke on her emotions as she takes in the state he's in.]

Vanitas?

zack fair | final fantasy vii | closed

[exsoldier]

[ This is a space for closed starters for pre-planned threads for the event and the aftermath. Please reach out at demonology if you wanted to plot anything! ]

→ karin koenig

[exsoldier]

[ For as much as Zack's been warned about the dangers of the Cwyld during his time here, nothing could have prepared him for what it's like when the infection actually takes root and the symptoms shift from purely physical to something else. Not that that the physical symptoms are anything to brush off. Due to being stuck in that one cell with Brennan and that vampire Shade for so long, the infection has worked its way into his lungs, and he usually can't make it longer than a sentence without coughing. There's a burning sensation in his chest and up his throat that never relents.

But then...

He starts to see things. Even before now, the similarities between this and those five long years in the Shinra mansion had been obvious in the worst way. Now that connection becomes so much more visceral, and as his fever mounts, he finds himself transported back to a different time, to a place he never once wanted to return.

He's on a table, strapped down. Nearby there are two tubes, one which he was pulled from. In the other, a figure bobs up and down, submerged in that sickly green fluid. He's laying there, shivering, waiting for the man in the white coat to come back. (He has a name. Zack doesn't want to even think it.)

He hears a door open. (It's the cell doors.) He hears someone come inside. (It's Karin, shoved in to join him in his misery.)

Zack's staring up at the ceiling. His chest and neck are a mess of black inky decay, and he lets out a few wracking coughs before he can say anything. ]

Don't. [ He's sweating, yet shuddering, caught between chills and being overheated. ] Just... stay away from us.

Rude | FFVIIR | Dragon | Infiltrator/Rescuer | OTA

[grandspark]

I. Cavorting Incognito

Getting in wasn't the hard part--thanks to Reno, he had an invitation--but maintaining his cool was, for once, very hard to do. While everyone else was cavorting about with party drinks and tittering over the prisoners, Rude was canvassing the area. He did it while pretending to be a guest, of course, carrying a half full glass of wine (that he had half emptied in a discreet corner for appearances sake but there was no way he was eating or drinking anything here) and walking slowly as if admiring all the festivities and infected test subjects. Thankfully, he was the king of stone-cold indifference and the fiery disgust in his eyes was hidden from view by his sunglasses.

He chuckled where appropriate and smirked at awful jokes when needed. He didn't have to like it to do it. That's what a Turk did. They got the job done no matter what it took. This wasn't even the worst thing he'd done in his lifetime.

At least he was here specifically to remove this problem rather than promote it. It felt good to move through the crowd knowing he was here to find someone and rescue them rather than kidnap them for a change, and he let that feeling encompass him as he pretended his intentions were otherwise. It helped him get through the first part of the night, imagining how he would gut-punch some of these smug assholes later in the evening while smiling at their cruelty as if it pleased him. It helped a lot.

II. Midnight Brawl

Rude's hand clenched tightly as he watched the beginning of sacrifices being made. It was really coming down to the wire. Thank fuck for the Shade that broke the hypnotic-like atmosphere and caused a ruckus for the infiltrators to finally snap out of it and start the rescue in earnest. The subtle parts of rescuing and whatnot weren't really Rude's forte--but this, the chaotic rush and bluntness of a full-on brawl. Well now. He excelled at this.

He didn't hold back. He was frustrated and angry at this cult for one very personal reason: they had fucked with his partner. No one messed with Reno and got away with it. No one.

His fists swung at the cultists with the pent-up rage and anger of a dragon scorned. Yeah, he wasn't holding back anything. Especially as he spotted one of them trying to make a last minute sacrifice of one of the still caged prisoners. Rude wasn't going to allow that.

A dagger flew threw the air and hit the cultist. The angle was off because Rude didn't want to risk hitting the prisoner but that just meant he got the pleasure of finishing him off with his fists. While the man was clutching his wound, Rude closed the space between them rapidly and sent a fiery fist into the man's face. He dropped hard, leaving Rude almost dissatisfied with how quick he went down, but the Turk had other concerns to deal with for the moment.

"Are you all right?" he asked the prisoner, uncertain if his concern would even register properly with the poor soul. Their perception was just so skewed from all the testing and brainwashing. Rude pitied them.

And to the nearest person not a cultist or a prisoner he called out, "Hey, you! Get this person some medical aid and help them get the hell out of here. Now!"

III. Gathering Evidence

It was a hard decision to make. Rude absolutely wanted to punish the man responsible for all this mess. The one that created and cultivated this sick cult. The person that deserved punishment above all else for what happened here. (For fucking with his beloved partner's head.) Rude wanted to pursue him--started to do just that even.

Except he knew how this sort of thing went. He hesitated when he noticed the signs of the fire down below. That wasn't good. There were people to rescue and evidence against the cult as a whole to procure. Punishing only one man for this fuck-up wouldn't be nearly as satisfying or useful in the long run as bringing down the majority of assholes in one fell swoop. It could destroy them entirely.

It was a hard decision to make, but Rude was a professional. He knew what his orders would have been if Tseng were here. The head of the Turks would have called him and Reno back to finish the bigger job at hand. Their precious resources couldn't be wasted on one man. He had to stay and help gather evidence.

So he did. With much frustration in his actions. As much as he loved fire now as a dragon, it annoyed him in this instance and he took out his frustrations on it most of all. He whipped his gigantic wings about as if to herd it with his wing beats, and spat extra-condensed earthen lava in carefully projected lines to create firebreaks. Fight fire with fire, right? Or fiery earth in this case.

All the while, he gathered up useful papers and items to use as damning evidence. One may not have thought it to look at him, but Rude was actually good at this part of the job, too. He was a part of the Investigative Division of General Affairs after all. People sometimes forgot Turks could do more than just silence protestors and terrorists.

IV. Wildcard

[[There's always other options! Hit me up with a prompt of your own or contact me at AisuYoukai for plotting if you prefer.]]

Sora | Kingdom Hearts

[oathkeeper]

[a: spirited away: rescuing]

[Fear. Panic. Pain.

Those are the sharp vivid emotions that Sora feels over his bonds with his missing bondmates. They’re like hot irons that are poking into his heart when he feels them. It makes his body ache with anger and worry. Someone has taken both of them from him and Sora is not going to be able to sit still until they are home safe. Even if it takes him hours into the sleepless night he is not going to stop until he has found them.

It must be those strong painful emotions that make Sora break. His monster senses heightening in a way that his claws grow and sharpen, his fur bristles on his neck and a monstrous growl hums low in his throat. Monsters usually only grow feral when they lack magic in their systems. And while Sora does not have a lack of that it seems he’s exhibiting some of these feral tendencies anyway. Because his very being cannot stand the thought or feeling that someone has taken his bondmates from him and is hurting them.

Sora is practically on all fours as he prowls swiftly through the streets towards where he feels negative spikes in his bonds. Much more cat-like than a rabbit in the way he jumps and leaps and climbs over the buildings and streets in his desperate search. If he runs into cultists and smells the scent of anything familiar he’ll leap and rip and tear into them with an angry viciousness.

It might be a good idea to steer clear of Sora- or try to help him in his search.]

[b: midnight show: rescuing]

[Sora is somewhere nearby when he hears the tumultuous ring of the cultist leader’s final speech. It makes his blood run cold. That feeling only gets worse when he hears the blood-curdling screams in the distance. His nails bite into his palms so hard that they bleed but he barely winces at the pain.]

We have to find them!!

[But as chaos breaks loose and the fires erupt it’s only going to get harder. Sora will look for friends to aid him in searching for any of the missing players. But most importantly Sora will be making a beeline for his missing bondmates first and foremost. He won’t be nice about anyone getting in his way this time either. His monster nerves are still on high alert and he’s a reckless and jumpy beast right now. Ready to snap at any second.]

[c: aftermath]

[When the night ends and dawn comes closer... Sora finds himself in the aftermath of it all with blood on his hands and an exhausted look on his face. He sits on a broken slab of rock while he slowly wraps a bandage around a slash on his lower arm.

... After all of this. How ... How do things go back to normal?

He can still feel the aching fear and pain from his bonds. But what is worse is that Sora doesn’t know how they’re going to cope with the aftermath of this night at all. How is he going to comfort them. How is he suppose to make things okay?

He wouldn’t mind a friendly face right now. Or someone to talk to.]

[d: wildcard]

[got something else? feel free to drop it down here!]

A

[spirialink]

[If there's one person who can understand the plethora of feelings Sora's going through right now, it's Kor. Both in terms of being able to actually feel what Sora's feeling, and being able to grasp the severe weight of having his loved ones taken by this cult, Kor understands all too well. Vanitas and Roxas were both so very important to Kor as well, after all...]

Sora, wait!

[And even more than that, Sora was important to Kor. Anyone who caused him anguish was going to pay.]

L Lawliet (but Linden Tailor, to you) | Death Note | Witch

[hearthebell]

A. Initiation

[L and Light have attended no small number of meetings, but ingratiating themselves with the higher-ups might have drawn more attention and carried greater risks than it was worth. Though their business is new, it would be suspicious if someone noticed that two detectives were attending, so really? It's been better for them to lie a bit low, listen more than they speak, remain in the outer circles, and keep their eyes peeled for anything amiss.

Like Myr, actually. That's taken a lot of L's time, but in dealing with those complications, he's also managed to sharpen his Divination skills. A healer, he isn't... but Light is, and together, they've come to understand a lot more about how to reverse the effects of certain pernicious influences, from hypnosis to outright brainwashing.

For now, they've split up. You're likely to find L alone separated from his partner while remaining cognizant of Light's general location, dressed uncharacteristically well, glass of champagne in his finicky grasp. A few runes are traced into the condensation on the outside of the glass, and if you're knowledgeable in such matters, you might recognize them as variations on symbols used in testing for poison.

Your eye had better be sharp, though. The second he notices you looking, he'll adjust his grip and smudge their remnants out of existence.

He seems to recognize you as Mirrorbound, dark-eyed gaze lingering a little longer, but the manner of your attendance matters. Whether you're in a servant's role, or simply someone he didn't expect to see here tonight, it's clear that the sense of unbalance and strangeness is only beginning.]

Pleasant party...

[Is it, though?]

B. Cavorting and Cruelty

[Not really a pleasant party, after all. Though L had determined his glass of champagne had not been poisoned, taken to toast and seem less suspicious among the other revelers, he's set it aside, suspecting that it wasn't perfectly innocent and untampered with, after all.

He can't get close to the cages, yet, but he's encountered you somewhere after their revelation. Whether you're one of the ones being passed around, a brainwashed servant, or encountering him in the dim light of the curtained-off room, he lowers his voice. His cheeks are overwarm and flushed, because there absolutely was something in his champagne, but otherwise he seems in possession of his senses.]

Don't draw attention to us. I can help you.

C. Midnight Show

["Unpleasant" is never as bad as things can get, as a general rule. There's always worse, and there's always the worst, and things seem to be hurtling toward that threshold with alarming swiftness. From his place in the crowd, L tempers the outward signs of his alarm at the flash of that dagger, but his heart is pounding.

Where's Light?

He scans the crowd for his partner. He can't be far... but things are growing chaotic, quickly, with the eruption of the shade. He jumps aside, narrowly avoiding the thing as it plows through his section of the sea of increasingly panicked guests. L's bad with crowds on a good day, and one on the verge of a stampede obviously won't be better.

Instinctively, his hand goes to an inside pocket in the jacket he wears. He can protect himself, but the extra kick of blood magic means opening a vein. Too bad that's careful work, and the level of jostling he's currently being subjected to is unsafe even when handling a very delicate blade.

There are too many grasping hands, too many uncertainties, and the shade is hurtling back his direction again. Whatever happens next is probably going to be more than a bit painful; how lovely that you're here to be a part of it!

Afterward... perhaps there will be time and ability to look toward preserving evidence, while others chase down Alder.]

D. Wildcard

[Don't see it? Want it? Have at it! Hit me up at ladylazarus#2235 if you want to plan something, or just throw a prompt in here. I'm easy.]

B. (cw: vaguely sexual advances??)

[silentsavant]

[They're away from the pulse of the party, away from eyes and safe from earshot... or rather, the uproarious laughter rising from one of the nearby drawing rooms and the exultant moan from another, further insulated by the sweet music clashing with the occasional rattle of a cage from that distance, smothers the softness of his voice level. Soren's eyes narrow in suspicion, as do his pupils as they dart over the strange witch's person. For whatever reason, just perceiving him makes his brain feel like cotton had been stuffed somewhere. Some kind of spell? But it wouldn't be the first time that happened while looking at one of these Mirrorbound...]

Help me? What makes you think I need it?

[Well, for one, the diminutive dragon does sport infection starting to creep down his wings like black and withered vines, and his tail shows signs of it, too, the beige underside of it easier to spot due to the contrast against the Cwyld. But that's no reason to help him... especially not tonight. Soren licks his lips to get a better read of the air, the look in his gaze sharpening to a predator's understanding. He faces the witch fully, the sordid tip of his long, spiked tail bobbing lightly against the carpet.]

Asriel Dreemurr | Undertale | Not quite a Turnskin yet

[justabaddream]

[Alternative Theory]

[As much as Asriel had tried to keep a low profile, he was taken. Why they'd want him - some new monster who's barely been around that long - as their captive, he doesn't know. But if it's for cruelty's sake, then it doesn't really matter does it? Just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

There's a sinking feeling in his stomach as he's locked up. No SAVE to reach... no way to RESET. Whatever happens, it's going to be permanent. And he doesn't want to die.]

Wh... what are they going to do to us?

[On Display]

[Asriel had been subjected to so many experiences that he barely realizes he's been wheeled out for others to look at him. He's curled up in the corner of the cage, hunger and beaten and feeling very unwell. The room spins around him as eyes settle on him, faces looking unsettling as people move in closer for a look. Asriel's fear of crowds rises to the surface as they gather.]

Stop... looking at me...

[Midnight]

[Asriel's worst fears are realized - he's going to die. There's no escape, he's too weak to try to struggle. The scream catches his attention, as chaos breaks loose. But he's too weak to try and escape at this point.]

Alternative Theory

[twilightskey]

[Roxas doesn't seem to understand the Cult's targets either; it seems to not matter if you've only been here a short while or been here for over a year. But regardless, the akita turnskin perks up when he hears the soft voice in the cage near his own.]

I... I don't know. But based on what I've seen, probably nothing good.

Roxas || Kingdom Hearts || OTA

[twilightskey]

CW for: Kidnapping, torture, experimentation, further CWs to be added to thread headers as needed.

Spirited Away I-A - Infection and Experimentation
[Roxas had done his best to try and gather information on the cult discreetly; after all, intel gathering and scoping out a situation was something he was trained to do in the Organization. But despite his best efforts, his facade had been seen through, and Roxas had become one of the unlucky ones to be ambushed one evening and overpowered, later waking up in a cold, cramped cage.]

[The first thing he feels is fear, and he grabs at the cell bars, pressing his face through the spaces.]

Let me go! Hey! Let me go!

[Roxas is one of the louder ones captured, and often can be heard yelling to be released or growling insults at his captors. Despite his smaller frame, it usually takes at least two cult members to drag him out of the cages and to the experiment tables. Initially, his experimentation takes the form of being strapped to a table and either forced to lay down beside a Shade’s cage or injected with something; the Cwyld infection, if he had to guess. More often than not, the person administering the injections is another infected being, who tries to calm him by stroking his ears or petting his hair, muttering whispers of “there’s a good beastie, just relax and breathe…”. It makes his skin crawl every time. He’s often left with black marks on his skin and dark veins across his body as a result.]

[When he’s not yelling at the guards or being forced into the same room as a Shade or infected, Roxas remains curled up in the corner of his cage, ears pinned down as he tries not to scratch at his skin. But if someone was sharing the cell with him and looked like they were on the verge of tears or collapse, Roxas will look up, ears low.]

Hey… are you alright? How are you holding up?

[He knows he shouldn’t get close to anyone like this, but his canine instincts hate seeing people hurt and want to help protect those trapped here.]

Spirited Away I-B - Onset of Symptoms
[As the days progress, the infection spreads further through Roxas’s body. His veins turn black, and uncomfortable patches begin to appear on his skin. Despite his best efforts to fight against the infection, he finds his ability to struggle slowly diminishing in favour of just lying on the ground. His breath comes in laboured, slow wheezes, and he just yearns for sleep… assuming his captors will even let him sleep.]

[But he can’t sleep. Every time he feels the onset of sleep, he’s shocked or violently woken. Sometimes it’s by the cult members. Sometimes it’s by a sharp, intense feeling of being watched. There are times where, in his haze of sleepless torment, his Cwyld-addled mind sees not the hooded faces of cult members, but the hooded faces of figures more familiar to him. In those times panic takes him, making him a prime candidate to either be shoved into another cage with someone else to see what might happen as a result, or a target for more abuse from their captors.]

[As time goes on, Roxas becomes more twitchy, and jumps at more shadows. He often growls at anyone who gets to close to him, be they prisoner or cultist. His skin burns and itches at the same time. And what few hours he’s allowed to sleep are plagued with nightmares and flashes of pain, be it from his own body or from the sharp jabs from the cultists.]

[More often than not, Roxas spends his days curled in on himself, trying to hold himself together.]

Spirited Away I-C - Combat Training
[With how often he tries to fight against the ones who come to experiment on him, it was no surprise that the cult members would find Roxas to be a prime fighting candidate. So as the constant experimentation takes its toll on the young Turnskin, Roxas is eventually dragged (sometimes kicking and screaming) to the nearby “exercise room” for further tests.]

[The small, underground arena becomes as much of a common sight as the inside of his cell. Roxas doesn’t want to fight (doesn’t always have the energy to fight), but when Shades and other infected creatures come lunging at him, his eyes widen and instinct takes over, his ears angling to the sides as he snarles and bares his fangs in defence.]

G-Get back! Get back!

[It might even be seen as a cruel joke, to throw a kid in with other combatants like this; he’s a teenager, scared out of his wits and high-strung on oversensitive instincts. But despite the infection addling his mind and altering his perception, he is still a Nobody with a strong desire to fight and survive. It doesn’t matter to the cult members; to them, Roxas is behaving admirably.]

Initiation I-A - Cavorting and Cruelty
[Roxas is brought out in a cage, just like the other experiments to be shown off. He’d long since clawed off his shirt, exposing more of his torso to the cool air around him, but even that does little to stave off the burning itch in his skin. The infection is over a good chunk of his body, covering more of his back than his fur did. His infection’s not so far gone to be in risk of becoming a Shade, but it’s clear he’s starting to get into dangerous territory. But he can’t bring himself to care. He’s too tired, too high-strung to care.]

[He’s shown off as something of a novelty; an example of “the beauty of the inner beast“, one person says. His fur stands on end and his pupils are tiny pinpricks, his claws flexing in anticipation of danger. His breathing still comes in laboured pants, and his fangs remain bared with each breath. He looks like a cornered, frightened dog more than a person. And the surrounding crowd in front of his cage make a game of seeing how far they can push the “wild beast” into snapping at them while pulling away just before teeth or claw make contact.]

Midnight Show
[Roxas perks up when the shouting starts. Well, it's less perk up and more flinching at the sudden, loud sounds erupting around him. It's absolute chaos, and it's all he can do to watch as people run by, as the Shade begins striking down cult members all around him. For once, Roxas is grateful to be in the cage rather than out of it. But he can't help but wonder, is this what's going to happen to him? Is he going to turn into one of these monsters? He's seen the effects of the Cwyld before, and a stab of fear goes through him as he imagines himself in that horrid, screeching state.]

[So, as the chaos continues around him, Roxas wraps his arms around himself and kneels down to the bottom of his cage. He wants to call out to those seemingly attacking the other Cult members, to plead for help, to escape -- but fear and panic grip him again, and his ears flatten against his head as he squeezes his eyes shut.]

[He just wants to go home... please...]

After Midnight/Wildcard
[When Roxas finally is brought back home, he is in need of some serioius care. The infection wasn’t incurable, but it does take a few days to remove it from his skin, and will take magic from skilled witches to help undo the mental effects of the infection. But he still finds that he jumps at his own shadow, has difficulty sleeping, or violently flinches away when someone tries to touch him.]

[If you’d like to help Roxas recover a bit, or just want to interact with him when he returns, feel free to put together a prompt of your own here!]

[[OoC: Have another idea to play out with Roxas? Feel free to DM me with a message or hit me up on plurk at pocketnoivern!]]

midnight show

[oathkeeper]

[In the chaos that follows Alder's speech Sora is an angry and violent thing. All of his emotions heightening to almost feral tendancies. He can't help it- With Vanitas and Roxas taken it's like his body goes into overdrive. And while his bond with Roxas is still new and raw he still feels the fear that Roxas might be feeling and he wants- needs- to do something about it.

The rattling cages, the screaming- through it all Sora searches for the turnskin as fast as he can. Ripping through any of the cultists that dare get in his way. He might have blood spatters all over him but he barely cares right now. His voice is a desperate crackle.]

Roxas?! Roxas, where are you!?

Soren | Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn (cw: brainwashing; coerced subservice; blood; more TBD)

[silentsavant]

In the end, it didn't matter how vigilant Soren remained, how often he kept to the safety of numbers and how circumspect he had been about carrying out his private investigations. Just a day before the initiation was scheduled, one of the more cunning and determined members managed to devise a way to capture a dragon unaware. It had to be underhanded. He had to be solitary. They needed to ensure he barely had even a second to react before he retaliated with all the tremendous force the most fearsome monster could. He blacked out completely, surrounded and cast a spell upon.

When he opened his eyes next, he couldn't recall anything of it. He couldn't recall much of anything at first. Most of his memories had tumbled beneath the cracks to be paved over or mixed up with artificial ones. The most important element of Soren had to be operated on to suit the lies he's been implanted with before he could be released from his new owner's hands: his loyalty. It was also the most difficult to tamper with. But once they figured out what made him tick, he was putty in his hands and an agent for their cause.

i. Alternative Theory (cw: mentions of blood and captivity)
The corridors reek of blood and decay, of the stains that refuse to come off and the fresh eruptions of torn flesh and spreading disease. The stagnant, fetid air is only kept alive by the howls and moans bouncing off the chambers, the constant screech of claws fighting metal. An environment like this wedges deep beneath the dragon's scales, summons an icy pang through his spine and agitates his blood, causes his sharp teeth to itch, his lungs to ache from a sudden uninvited fullness, and his temper to shorten. Soren hates that he's been tasked to go down and deal with this miserable lot, but when the command is issued from Ike, he'll endure any vile or unsettling place.

This Bond pulling on his chest... It can get him through anything.

He paces the cages, makes his rounds examining the unfortunate subjects with passing and clinical indifference, the occasional sickened scowl or even complete disregard for the suffering. The slow march of his clicking boots heralds his arrival. Once he halts, arms folded behind his back with his deep scarlet wings, he scans his next subject with that same heartless mask, the same delicate and impassive frown he gives to everyone else. Then, after a thought, he nods, and when his arms come out from behind his back, the jingle of chains and a keyring flash in the wan lighting.

"You, then. Come with me, and quietly."

[ ooc: This is left open-ended on purpose, depending on what you would prefer to have happen to your character. This is likely to lead to violence, experimentation, or any variety of Messed Up Abuse. I'll check permissions forms if you have them or get in touch with you so I know I'm not crossing any squicky or otherwise uncomfortable lines. ]

ii. Cavorting and Cruelty (cw: coerced subservience)
Anyone watching Soren will notice a couple of things about him. He tends to return to the side of one aristocrat in particular every now and again, and for those paying more attention, they'll see Soren regard him like a clingy, obedient dog who has eyes only for his owner. There isn't much to be said for his new "owner" that can't be said about any of the others, though he often appears quite composed and sure of himself — especially as he boasts to the other high-status members of his dragon's impressive qualities. He's quite happy to have such a rare and powerful specimen at his beck and call.

Another thing that might be noticed about the dragon at closer range... is the faint air of that familiar rot that plagues victims of the Cwyld. When he moves just so and the light plays on his pithy scales, is that a deeper blackness cracking across the base and the tip of his tail? Is the charcoal border of his wings bleeding just a little too far into the leathery red?

In all likelihood, at some point, Soren's eyes will be on you, lingering and penetrating. Even if he should know you, there's no indication except perhaps an even colder glare. It's the foreign guests that are subject to this appraisal, and most likely, he doesn't trust you. An anxious, suspicious energy pervades him. There are an awful lot of the Mirrorbound around. Too many, perhaps. The Coven must have sent them to infiltrate, if they're not doing so of their own accord. The Rathmore Trial has not been forgotten among the nobility. They must have marched in here with their superior attitudes, thinking it's their station to dictate what's "right" and what's "wrong", despite being outsiders. Watching them play at pretend makes him ill. They probably don't understand Alder's vision at all. Not with the way some of them look at the caged sacrifices.

Knowing them, they might want to dismantle it. But they don't understand what it means to be at the end of hope, the brink of extinction.

He might simply approach one of the Mirrorbound as all of the guests mingle and lose themselves to the revelry, feigning a casualness about the encounter but unable to bury his sober and party-pooper demeanor... or that he already doesn't like you much. But that's not straying far from his usual comportment. He's dressed stately and sophisticated for the occasion, quite like he has access to the entire wardrobe of an eminent politician.

"Welcome to the Evergreen Circle. I hope you are ready for a new beginning."

If the character is trying anything funny or suspicious, like trying to free one of the captives or sneak somewhere they shouldn't go, expect to find him there busting your operation.

"Excuse me..."

[ ooc: Let me know if you are okay with Soren transmitting the Cwyld on purpose, because that is certainly a possibility here. Otherwise, I will refrain. ]

iii. Wildcard
[ Any other plans or ideas? Hit me up via PM, paingel#4140, or wingything and I'd be happy to hash stuff out with you! I'm open to most any plot I didn't write prompts for, or for your character approaching Soren first. I will switch to whichever format (prose, brackets, etc.) you use. ]

ii

[ranyaulf]

( it doesn't take much for him to hide his ears. hide his tail. those things that made him a proud laguz would make him too easy to identify. then again, he's pretty already distinct and probably stands out in a crowd. is that why soren found him, approached him without the same kind of recognition that he was used to? it hurts him, and his bond feels like it's been blocked off with a heavy weight. something that he couldn't lift all by himself. something that made his stomach ache after soren initially disappeared, leaving the cat alone in his comfortable home.

but it's... it's that. the coloration. the change along his tail and wings. they make his heart skip a beat. an anger rises in his chest, but he has to keep it down. no... he's here, just like a few others, ready to do what has to be done to free their friends. their bonded. their...

if he thinks anymore about that, he won't be able to keep his glamor from fading.

a washroom. he should go to one, see if he can compose himself, but not before taking one last look in soren's direction before turning and finding a sink to splash his face with water. )

Irhya Pendhula | Final Fantasy XIV | Kidnapped

[omnicrafter]

[Irhya does not go easy. Of course not. And, she thinks, perhaps that'd be enough, to prove she's not worth the trouble of them taking her -- but it just seems to make them all the more determined. The power of sheer numbers overwhelms her eventually, however, and sooner or later she's jabbed with a drug that does its work.

Somehow, she finds it in herself to regret mouthing off without a care.]

Stage 1: Mild, open to captives/brainwashed

[Her brand ends up on the side of her hip. It's up high, enough that it will be hidden by any skirts or pants she chooses to wear -- but she knows she'll feel ill just looking at it every time she disrobes to bathe or change.

Sitting as far back in the cell as she can, she starts scratching furiously at it with her nails, hoping to at least scar it over enough to damage the mark. Maybe when she's out of here, she'll take a hot knife and properly go over it; until then, she'll have to settle for this.

If this is disturbing to you, her cellmate, it should be.]

Oi, if anyone in here has the claws and nerve to do it, help me with this.

Stage 2: Moderate, open to captives/brainwashed

[At first, she doesn't react when the cell door opens, sitting on the floor with one side against the wall, but when a hand grabs her by the scruff of her shirt and hauls her out, she yelps, twisting in a panic to try and pry it off. It's been a while; the infection has spread further, and it's apparent even from the outside that she's starting to crack.

They seem to like the fact she can spread the infection quickly and surely as a vampire, as they're often asking her to bite others on one part of their body or other. This time, though, it's a little different. This time, they want her to fight, and they've no care who survives or not.]

No.

[Instead of lunging, she bites down on the forced instinct, tempted instead to go for the throat of whoever dragged her out here.]

I've done all you wanted up until now, but this is not--

[But... she does itch a little to exercise, even though she knows it's wrong... She eyes the other captive speculatively.]

3: Rescue [closed to Emet-Selch]

[Irhya ends up dragging her sorry arse along the wall as everyone else fights for their freedom. The smell of distant smoke is beginning to fill the air. She ignores the skirmishes she walks past, stepping over dead and incapacitated bodies to try and make it up to the surface level.

But this exit is blocked; the knob won't turn, and the frame itself won't even budge despite her shaking it with her whole body. She's too late. Dropping to her knees, she takes a moment to try and suppress the rising panic. If she doesn't find a way out soon, she'll probably die in here.

She won't die, she thinks. She just needs a moment to... to...]

4: Aftermath, open to all

[The Coven's infirmary is busy after the fact, unsurprisingly. Her infection takes a while to heal off, but eventually, she feels the wrongness begin to ease, the paranoia begin to settle. And they want her to stay afterward, gods forbid; she'd sooner run back to her house and build a blanket fort to sleep it all off.

But if she's forbidden from leaving, then she'll just lie there, more than a little upset at herself even now. The door opens; if the person entering approaches her bed, or even looks at her, she'll shrink down under the covers and groan.]

I'm really stupid.

3

[unsundered]

[It's late when Emet-Selch arrives, and the place is already in chaos. Between the smoke, fire, and fighting, it's not that difficult for a lone person to slip inside. With everything going to hell, who cared about one more life being somewhere uninvited? It's disorienting, it's madness; shades and near-shades stalk halls, and everything has a haze of unreality to it.

That he hadn't realized Irhya had been kidnapped until recently was something that settled uncomfortably in his thoughts, as he moved between rooms, one after another, completely ignoring both victim and villain, barely able to tell any difference between them. He wasn't here for anyone else, so as long as they didn't get in his way, they hardly registered, even those who obviously needed help. Where was she? In part, he hadn't wanted to believe it, had assumed, stubbornly, that Irhya could handle herself. In other moments he'd tried to consider it as just another test for her, to prove her worthiness. But weren't they past all that? And hadn't he come to her aid once before, to ensure she could successfully put to the sword another Ascian?

It had all been excuses, and with Mettaton becoming insistent on never leaving his presence or their room, managing his increasing panic had taken so much of his concentration. His Bonds consisted of distress, and it was all he could do to not drown in it. And with his own cwyld infection getting worse by the day, Emet-Selch also grew to fear his own judgement. There was the building need to go out, to spread this illness, to bite and consume and fill a hollow that he knew was irrational- and what if the desires urging him to find her, to make sure she was safe- what if that was the cwyld twisting his concern into unreasonable fear, in order to lure him outside to spread it to her, to others? What if she was safe, and his presence would be inviting death? He couldn't tell, and it was a frustration that made his own hungers worse, to not know what was rational or not. But it had gnawed at him. Where was she? He'd tried to message her, but of course there was no reply.

But after having stayed so close, Mettaton had disappeared from their house that morning, and for all that he could sense him out towards the Wilde, he had no idea why he had gone there or what he was doing. Being alone was worst of all, and risks or not, he had to move. Everything was wrong, and he had to fix it before it was too late. He had to do something.

First, he needed to find Irhya. It wasn't like her to not answer him, and if he struggled he could get a general sense for where she was through Bond. Although... he had his own suspicions where she might be regardless. That cwyld-favoring cult; Mettaton's ties to the group had at least paid off in this one, small way, of having learned some of the relevant addresses from him.

And so here he was, surrounded by temptations, living things that were available to bite, to eat, to let the disease that ran through his blood spread itself to all and sundry. But it remained only an inclination yet, a desire, and not something he had to give into. He was handling it. It was fine. He would be fine, and he would find her.

And then suddenly, crouching on the floor before him, there she was.

--It wasn't a cell that she was in, but with the chaos around them, and Irhya on the floor, injured (or rather, infected in this case- it's no surprise, and he can easily see it on her), and himself there to find her- it reminded him of a reversal of the time she had come for him, in his torment. Cold and ruthless, she'd cut down any who stood in their path, had helped to free him. Returning the favor had been something he'd never wanted to do, and not only because of the inherent effort involved.

For the very moment there's no one else around, but Emet-Selch knew that could change at any moment.]

Irhya! Irhya, are you--

[He didn't know what sort of state she was in; the estate was impressions of madness, and what side of it was Irhya on? But though his approach is initially cautious, he's quick enough to crouch down next to her, by the door that had apparently foiled her escape, gaze a mix of angry and concerned (and hungry). Reaching out his left hand to her, he can't be sure whether she's in a state to attack it or take it; in either case she was coming with him.

It's also perhaps clear that Emet-Selch is not well either. Though his neck was always a bit bruised these days, it was now solidly dark and hardening- particularly towards the back of his neck, but it was nearly covering the front of his throat now as well. His hand, at least, appears clean.]

Mogget | OTA

[themogget]

i. cavorting and cruelty

[Mogget didn't really need to sneak in. He's a cat, and a cat - even one as clean and white as he is - draws little notice at a party like this one. The creature slinks beneath tables and any other low hiding spots, observing what's going on and listening to conversations. Should anyone notice him (perhaps one of the brainwashed servants who already know him to be anything other than ordinary) he will be happy to lead them on a merry chase.

He may be small, but he be quick.

The cat spends some time around the cages where people are sitting captured, too, watching them with slightly narrowed green eyes and always looking just on the edge of saying something. But, for once, Mogget has no sharp or witty words to give to what he sees. This is entirely abominable, and there's really nothing to be said about it.]

ii. midnight show

[He is close enough to where Alder is to hear him clearly even without the benefits of feline hearing. He wonders, briefly, just what kinds of tests this maniac might have in mind to prove the loyalty of those currently gathered around him, but he doesn't get the chance to find out. The shriek of the shade has him running, a white streak with a puffed up tail, straight under the nearest table, but he doesn't stay under there for long.

Truly, Mogget has no stake in much of this, but he has seen people here who he is marginally tolerant of and many of them have been harmed by Alder's actions. It's only for them that he stays and bounds towards one of the blocked doors as people struggle against the flames and the debris.]

Move! [His voice sounds far more powerful than it should from so small a form, and his fur bristles up as he aims a bolt of energy towards the doorway, blasting a hole through it and most of the wall around it. He darts on through afterwards, dodging between legs and ankles, ready enough to take anything (or anyone) else on if he must. He isn't going to be much use to gather anything, but he can certainly clear a path for those who can.]

iii. be wildin

ooc: hit me up at hardtostarboard or at this plotting comment for anything else! also good to do aftermath stuff :D

Ignis Scientia | OTA

[claritatis]

i. cavorting and cruelty

[Ignis walks in via the front door with the easy charm and gold-woven words of someone who is, of course, meant to be there but sadly mislaid their invitation. Getting in through the side door had been an option he was aware of, but it made more sense to him to be visible as someone who was supposed to be there, not as someone who might be caught out later. It takes a little persuasion on his part, but he makes it into the building without too much difficulty at all.

What he finds there is far worse than he could have anticipated, and it's a task to not immediately begin trying to extract those being kept prisoner (it is only lucky that Noctis isn't up there, or the entire place would be destroyed within moments). What he does instead is make a slow and gradual circuit of the main rooms and those open ones surrounding it, noting every weak point and every spot that could conceal someone or something, every point that could be exploited in the event of an escape. It doesn't take him long to realise that their options are limited, but there are options.

The only problem is that it's difficult to see how anyone could be rescued without someone noticing.

So Ignis plays harmlessly curious, straying close to the cages and observing those sitting inside. Not many faces he knows personally, but several that he recognises. What the entire thing lights up in him is a fury in his chest that is unusual for him to experience, and for as much as he keeps it to himself it shows subtly in the tense line of his jaw. This... all of this... is nothing that anyone should have to experience.]

ii. midnight show

[It's as if everything begins moving at once after the shrieks of the shade rings out over the gathering. Ignis sees quickly that there are more than enough people helping the captives and instead focuses on what Alder and his cohorts are doing. If the fire gets out of control or the building comes down, they'll never get enough evidence to bring these people to justice and all of this could happen all over again.

With Alder himself clearly getting away he's torn for a moment, but choses to focus on going after a couple of cultists as they run out of the room. He gets through without them managing to bring the door down on his head and when they turn on him, he draws two slim daggers out into his hands.]

Two against one? [He says thoughtfully, glancing from one to the other.] That's hardly sporting.

[There's an entrance to the basement not far beyond them. If he can just get by...]

iii. be wildin

ooc: hit me up at hardtostarboard or at this plotting comment for anything else! also good to do aftermath stuff :D

Cavorting and Cruelty

[twilightskey]

[All the ones in cages are shown off like some sort of sick circus, with little to no regard for the ones within. And one such cage has been garnering a small crowd, as an example of "the beauty of the inner beast", as one of the cultists was saying. But really, it was just an excuse for the revelling cultists to see how far they could push the "wild beast" into lashing out.]

[Said "beast" was Roxas, who was just trying to deal with the infection spreading over his body. It was bad enough without the cultists trying to jab at him with provided pokers, or slamming against the cage to make him jump. He looks like a cornered, frightened dog more than a person; ears flat, eyes wide, and were it not for his laboured, wheezy breathing he would be whimpering in fear.]

[Yelling or snapping at them to get back has only riled them up further, spiking his anxiety and fear even further, so he's just been trying to curl in on himself, appear small and uninteresting.]

diarmuid ua duibhne | fate/ | kidnapped/witch

[ua_duibhne]

i. hypothesis
[Diarmuid Ua Duibhne has been working for Sir Groves for the past six months. His memories of everything before that are a gaping void of nothingness but the longer he thinks on it, the more it makes his head spin so he doesn’t really try. Far better to stay in the present with his Master- ah, there comes the dizziness again- and his duties, no matter how poorly they sit with him. It isn’t his place to ask questions. It isn’t his place to tell his betters what to do.

It is. It is and he should be screaming and fighting against it, he should

In the basement floor of Sir Alder’s manor, there’s really no such thing as time; both the chiming of clocks in the hall and stray rays of natural light are swallowed up by the stairwell leading into its depths. By the time you reach the bottom, it’s hard to imagine either existed in the first place. As Diarmuid is led through the gloom, his already hazy thoughts are even more muddled; he can only nod as he’s given a list of instructions. Feed the subjects in the following rooms, patch up any life-threatening injuries, clear out any of the dead ones.

Break his jaw, you fool. This isn’t right. It’s not ri

At some point, someone must have pushed him into the cellblock because when he finally snaps out of his daydream he’s alone and staring down a cage. Mixed in with the damp, dusty air is something new: the scent of blood. It doesn’t slow his movements- if anything, it speeds them up. This is his master’s will and all of this cruelty is temporary and necessary. Really, he should be honoured to be allowed a glimpse of the Circle’s work.

… right?]

… good morning. [Ah. Right. It’s morning, isn’t it? More confident, he puts a hand up against the bars. In the dark, his new- purely aesthetic, though he doesn’t realise it himself- glasses glint.] Are you awake?

ii. midnight show
[Diarmuid arrives early with his employer and his wife and, though he’s as attentive as ever, he’s been brought along primarily to assist Alder’s own staff. Dressed in a sleek black suit with his hair brushed back- a wonder they managed to keep that usually uncontrollable stray curl out of his face- he makes for quiet the dashing manservant. No wonder the mistress will occasionally stop by to admire her handiwork, brushing non-existent dust off of his shoulders and adjusting his hair like a doll or prized show dog.

Handsome as he is, it’s all probably undercut by the vagueness of his stare. Normally hawkish eyes stare blankly at guests and fellow servants and his voice, on the rare occasions he raises it, is just as distant. The prettiness of his smile as he turns to offer the nearest person with free hands he sees a drink does very little to hide it.]

Thank you for coming. [He tilts the tray forward encouragingly.] Would you like champagne?

[ Diarmuid is a natural host and flits from gathering to gathering as he's needed. Maybe he'll even catch you in one of the side rooms, smiling wanly and offering to fetch a reversal potion for the aphrodisiac-laced wine or sit with you while it wears off.]

iii. wildcard
[drop me a message over on crescendoll if you want to come up with something together!]

ii

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Diarmuid has been missing and Berserker has been losing his mind. Ever since the attempted kidnapping on himself, he hasn't been settled. Back to barking at the dark, back to the way he was a year ago. When Diarmuid disappeared, that's when he felt himself snap. Except...he had nowhere to channel the anger.

That's why he's here now. There's murder on his mind...Stronger when he sees Diarmuid. His hair smoothed back, delicate glasses...No. Why was someone trying to take one of the only good things in his life away from him? Rage surges through him when Diarmuid approaches him as if he's a stranger in one of the halls. ]

Diarmuid...Is this where you've been?

[ He isn't angry with him. No, he's relieved to see him in one piece, even if it hurts so badly to see him this way. ]

Red Wine | OTA

[judgementor]

i. cavorting and cruelty

[It's difficult to maintain his composure under such conditions, but it isn't the first time that Red Wine has snuck into a party under the pretence of being an invited guest. He hadn't needed to use a door at all and instead a thick plume of black-red mist had drifted over the courtyard wall and in through a cracked window early in the night, just a little too quickly to be pushed by the wind.

It's difficult to be here, in part because of the smell of the Cwyld, in part because of the smell of blood, and in part because of the dense, cloying sensation in the very air itself that digs its claws deeper and deeper into his senses as the night wears on. And then, of course, there is the sheer fury at the fact that this has happened yet again, and yet again they are just that little bit too late to keep anyone from getting hurt. How many more times must this happen before something is done, he wonders.

A question to be dealt with later.

He doesn't really socialise, perhaps making himself more visible as a result, but he stands offside with a drink he doesn't touch and observes the goings on with a grim silence. The air around him doesn't invite conversation, but he doesn't shun it should it happen. His hand occasionally drifts to the pommel of his sword, but stops short of drawing it. This is just... simply almost too much to just stand by and watch.]

ii. midnight show

[The shriek of the shade breaking free is like an elastic band snapping. Red Wine's sword comes free with a ring of steel against the shealth and the fog that had been weighing steadily heavier and heavier on his mind as the evening had wore on lifts just enough to become bearable. He pulls two people out of the way before the shade can harm them, dragging them backwards and then letting them go to run. For now, he doesn't know who they are and neither does he care.

The first thing he does, in the midst of the chaos, is get himself to the locked cages to break a few of the locks off and let those who still look as if they know their own minds out. A heavy knock with the sword pommel with vampiric strength is all it takes for some of them, and though he's careful enough not to touch the people inside he does at least offer some words of encouragement for them to run, or stay put if they can't move.

As Alder begins to attempt to bring the place down and cover his tracks, Red Wine moves away from fending off anyone trying to attack those still helpless in the cages and manages to cuff a cultist attempting to flee. He shoves them up against the side of one of the occupied cages with their feet half a foot from the floor and his sword held oh-so-gently to their throat, and there's a dangerous shine to his eyes as he speaks.]

I don't need this blade to kill you, but it might make it quicker. Or I could ask my friend here to pass on the Cwyld that you seem to value so highly. You have a choice. I suggest that you make the right one.

iii. be wildin

ooc: hit me up at hardtostarboard or at this plotting comment for anything else! also good to do aftermath stuff :D

ii

[wylderrant]

I say kill him and be done with it.

[ Scoff. Iramaat doesn't much have the patience for this sort of thing. She shoots Red Wine a look and a bit of a shrug. ]

Unless you want to make him scream. It's a decent alternative, honestly. Depends on your level of vindictiveness, I suppose! Or you could just stab him in the belly and let him die slowly.

Howl / Howl's Moving Castle / OTA

[galdorleod]

𝓐. initiate intelligence.

[ Alder ended up being just the sort of evil mastermind that Howl is especially motivated to tear down. A self-important rooster with too much money and a big, stupid, wasteful estate, so obsessed with his own ideas that he no longer cares about what happens to anyone else. He's just like the King of Ingary and all the other white-bearded fools who forced him to turn his back on Madame Suliman and his apprenticeship. Howl spent the last several weeks biding his time. Although he'd convinced the Circle that he was securing more volunteers, and even falsely took credit for a few that turned up without a clear origin, he took every opportunity to discourage his customers' curiosity in the Circle during his own business hours. He kept an eye out for the suspicious tattoo he'd seen on Alder's wrist on the night he met him, and of course, for the telltale signs of Cwyld infection as well. By the day of the initiation, his disgust had grown too strong, and he kept the shop closed prior to the party's beginning as he prepared spells and potions for himself.

The only thing that seems unusual about Howl at the initiation party itself is his hair color. It's an uncharacteristic raven black, so different from his usual blond that most people would have no idea it's his natural shade. But aside from that change, he's as primped and groomed as he's ever been, donned in a pitch-dark silk suit and a matching cloak decorated with polished and carved bits of bone and ivory. Howl chit-chats with the other guests, laughing and nearly spilling the contents of a stemmed glass perpetually carried in one hand, but close observers may notice that Howl is taking very few sips from it.

What Howl is really here for are the "test subjects." When possible, he'll try to peel himself away to look into a few of the cages. He isn't looking for people he recognizes - not necessarily - but rather, seeking any possible opportunities to free even one of them. The sight of a friend is nothing short of a shock, but neither is the horrible condition some of the victims are in already. Something has to be done if they're going to have any chance at being saved. ]

Well, look at you. [ Howl feigns interest as he steps close to the bars of one cage, peering inside, trying to get a better look. ] You awake in there?

[ Hopefully none of the guests or brainwashed servants will try to interrupt him. ]

𝓑. greatest showman.

[ Welp. Violence, a Shade on the loose, chaos erupting everywhere - that simplifies this whole situation rather quickly, doesn't it?

Among the frenzy and the noise, a sharp crackling noise and shriek rings through the air from the back of the ballroom. It sends cultists and servants and victims in its immediate vicinity scattering, but hardly registers amongst the loud, frantic panic already taking place everywhere else. What follows next probably draws significantly more attention, however: the raven-haired wizard who'd emitted the shriek doubles over, his cloak turning his silhouette into a sloping hill, and in the following instant he doubles in size, sprouts an uncountable number of feathers from the silk covering his back and shoulders, and stretches upwards two massive opalescent crow's wings.

Howl gives the wings on his back a slight, tentative flap. Then, while still hunched over, he takes two long steps towards the nearest cage and grabs it in his hands. They too had doubled in size, and his arms were covered in feathers down to his wrists. After a few seconds of straining, he tears the top of the cage off completely, making its door and lock obsolete. ]

Get them out of here! [ He calls out to some gawking onlookers with a voice no different from his usual voice, hoping that at least some of them are here to help the kidnapped, before quickly darting to another cage. ] This transformation won't last long! Go! Get moving!

𝓒. wildcard.

[ Got your own idea, perhaps inspired by what Howl's up to in the two prompts above? Or something else entirely? go for it!! ]

B

[wylderrant]

[ The violence isn't unexpected - at least as far as Iramaat is concerned - but Howls' transformation is. She remembers it happening once before and her expression falls as she sees it take place from across the room. There's a pulse of very real distress across their link and then she starts toward him, ducking through the chaos, blade in hand.

Last time he vanished and left her. Is that going to happen here? She hears his voice, telling people to go and then she slides up alongside him, one hand pressing against his side as he reaches for the next cage. ]

Howl! You can't do this again!

[ It's selfish of her. But she's always been wretchedly selfish, hasn't she? So why should that change now? ]

What if it all goes wrong?

[ She's calling to him over the din and confusion and she only hopes he'll hear and understand. ]

Jiang Cheng | Merrow | OTA

[lotus_of_rage]

Hypothesis cw: kidnapping, torture
Jiang Cheng would certainly say the phrase "when it rains, it pours" applies very well to him. When things were going well, it was never far before they went crashing down, and crashing down hard.

This was the realization he had when he woke up in a cramped cell with several others, one of the Shades not far out of reach, intending to infect them. Jiang Cheng considered himself lucky even so; he had put distance between himself and the Shade faster than many of the others. But even now, as he sat in a cell that had once contained others, but now contained only himself for the time being, he could feel the infection starting. His veins had darkened around his hand and it alternated between tingly, numb, and intensely painful.

He was very aware of this. He wasn't sure that made him more conscious of the fact that it was what they wanted. When he was alone so to speak, he sat with his eyes closed, trying to tune out the world. That was until one of the captors decided to poke at him. He had absolutely no problem with his attempt to give them what they deserved and try to infect the cult rather than new captives.

Did he get beaten for this? Sure, but at this point, did it really matter? He knew if it waited too long, there'd be nothing for it. He was already deprived sleep and was avoiding what food they gave him on the risk of contracting more of it.

He wouldn't give them what they wanted easily. He was determined, if only for his vanity to last this disease and them as long as he possibly could.

Midnight Show
How many days had it been? It was hard to tell now. Aggressive thoughts were slowly seeping into his subconscious as the disease progressed. Didn't help that he was probably delirious due to lack of food and sleep. Of course, he was probably too delirious to know that as well.

As they begin to round everyone up, Jiang Cheng is dragged from his cell and restrained - clearly he had proven himself aggressive enough without the Cwyld to warrant that as they were led out of the cages...

To be sacrificed, wonderful. But as they were preparing to kill off the person, Jiang Cheng was already trying to get out of his restraints when all hell broke loose...

Sometime shortly before the Midnight Show I guess, if that works for you

[turmoiling]

[Jin Guangyao has been expressing casual interest in the captives, playing along with the rest of the cult members... but his eyes positively light up upon seeing one restrained figure in particular. Of course the eyes weren't golden, snakelike and unblinking before.

He hangs back for the most part, a figure draped in golden robes watching from afar. But eventually, unable to resist, he slithers closer to inspect the marks of the disease, as much as can been seen, commenting lightly:]

Sect Leader Jiang... what a surprise to see you here. I'm glad you've offered to help us all understand the Cwyld better. It's unusually generous of you.

Soundwave | OTA

[peacewithouttyranny]

i - cavorting and cruelty

[Soundwave has snuck into the party in his holoavatar. His real form would otherwise bring more attention and visibility to him, and even as a lightfooted Cybertronian, his holoavatar is smaller and quieter which helped a lot with sneaking through the kitchen. Soundwave doesn't do much socializing, but he won't shun people away. Looking the part that he was an invited guest at the party is easy enough, but what is difficult- which may betray him -is maintaining composure when the cages wheeled in.

It's not a sight he's unfamiliar with, captives trapped behind cages, beaten and worn-out, but it's not an easy one either. Not when this has happened yet again... What it does is lighting up a silent fury in his chest, and try as he much to keep it to himself, it shows subtly. Standing away from the crowd with his arms folded, Soundwave observes and bites down on his lower lips so hard that it draws blood on the avatar's lip as a result, occasionally lightning crackles between his fingertips before calling the spell off. Watching... has become too much.]

ii - midnight show

[All hell breaks loose after the shade breaks free with a shriek, providing a diversion for the rescue party to react. Amidst the chaos, Soundwave dematerialized his avatar and burst through the front entrance in his robo-form.

His first priority is to free the captives in the locked cages. His natural strength is enough to break open the locked by force and leans inside with his hand slowly extending towards them while taking care not to scare them, telling them to run.

After the captives are rescued, Soundwave's focus then shifts to a cultist attempting to cover evidence and flee. He grabs them by the robe and shoves them up on the nearest wall, few feet off the ground, and pins them to the wall with ice magic. His typically monotonous mechanical voice now has a dangerous edge to it.]

Consider yourself fortunate I won't kill you right here and now. Though if you try to escape I will change my mind.

[Tempting as it is to rid of the monsters off this world. But if the shade gets to him, tough luck.]

Wildcard

gon freecss | hunter x hunter | monster (faun)

[freecshow]

---

I. P A R T Y x

so Gon had been rejected for participating in Killua's salvation, though he'd at least managed to get some workable details. and despite the fact that Geralt refused to let Gon come along, as always, Gon decides to say "fuck that" to the opinions of his adult peers. he understands why Geralt would underestimate him like that, though it's none-the-less frustrating: he'd come to Geralt pleading for help (saying he couldn't do it alone), he's tiny, and, finally—he is a faun. Gon is still a great fighter, and abnormally strong, easily overpowering jacked men twice his age, size and skill. sure, he's probably a bit weaker with his faun anatomy, but... whatever. he gets it, either way.

Gon didn't want to go to the party alone, because he has to keep his limitations in mind, and he's not sure he'll be able to. but twice, he's sworn in vows to his Bonded and best friend not to be too reckless with his own life and body, especially now that he's twice weakened. but Gon's nervous. his Bond with Killua has gained recent, perilous intimacy, muddying any possible boundary they'd previously had... so Gon's emotions are high. he's been through this before, exploding with rage and grief at the loss of someone he loved, but that someone hadn't been Killua. even without all this bond stuff, way back then, it would have been so much worse if it had been Killua.

he swallows, and exhales. with some trepidation, Gon goes ahead and proceeds with his plan to infiltrate the party. somehow. he knows where it is, kind of. but he knows he can't just barge in. there were implications of heavy magic security, and Gon doesn't really understand magic well enough to get around it. and as expected, the feelings of his Bond are disturbingly muffled; Gon can't sense Killua at all, though he feels him dull and distant enough to know that he's certainly still in the same world. so a safe distance away, in case there's some kind of Magic Radar for intruders not totally unlike En, Gon's been stalking the peripheral, stressing, but trying his best to keep calm. a frantic pulse could give him away as much as a heavy breath.

and after Gon's afraid he's about to lose it, the...um, party does for him. Gon jumps and gasps audibly, visibly startled as he hears screams erupt from the courtyard, and sees people frantically running from the courtyard he's been stalking the peripheral of. and at that point, Gon grits his teeth, charging forward—only once he sees the infuriated, hulking Shade barrel through, mindlessly seeking victims. and anyone reasonable wouldn't run towards a Shade like it's an opportunity, knowing the risk—but Gon can't pass up the chaos, hoping it might lead to dropped barriers. Gon anticipates with his quickness and small stature, there's a chance someone will fall prey to it first.

and, lucky for Gon, he's right.

undeterred, Gon runs past the scene like it isn't happening.

it's not less chaotic, inside—Gon of course wants to stop to survey the scene of things, to help people, but he has to keep his focus. inside, people push past one another, and Gon does notice the horrific state of some of the folks—the kidnapped, Gon assumes, given that they aren't all in elegant attire, looking run down and messed up. and for the next several minutes, Gon searches frantically.

damn it. he needs a tell. just one tell that someone here is a Mirrorbound with the same prerogative. he just needs to figure out where he needs to go to find more of the captives.]

II. R E S C U E x A N D x S T R I F E (closed to killua)

[and whatever happens from there, Gon does eventually find himself in Killua's direction. Gon barrels almost senselessly forward once he gets the information he needs, shedding all logic as he had nervously anticipated at all the start of this he might have, feeling no consequence or concern for any opposers he may cross along his way, ]instintively giving them a good, mightly headbutt and or stomp to clear them from his path.

close, close like this, Gon can finaly feel it—the wakes of his Bond with Killua tickle at the peripheral of his mind, honing him closer, steadfastedly narrowing his instincts as he furiously moves forward, moving as fast as his hooves can carry him while he tears through room for room....

until, finally, the swell of the feeling through his Bond comes to a head, and Gon stands face to face with Killua. and a few others in a similar state—all in a sorry way, perhaps stowed for the time beaning as party favors, less favorable for whatever reason than those brought to the initial fore.

Gon essentially screams with the tension it riles within him as he bursts forward again, and though he is weaker than he was back home, and but a Faun—with his withstadingly still truly abnornal strength, Gon wrends the bars of Killua's cage with his own bare, gnarled fists, teeth clenched, sweat dripping from his brow.

after a bit of struggled yanking, Gon manages to bend the bars enough to slip in, and very carefully, Gon arranges his Bonded around his shoulders—and with powerful bull hoof, he kicks the door down after a few stomps, dashing back out just as whence he came. Killua is disturbingly and uncharacteristically slack within his arms, and Gon can't afford to trouble himself with the heavy, kitten-like lul of Killua's too-heavy head, so unaccustomed to his friend having such presentless, dead weight..

once isolated, tucked into the quiet, narrow parts of some hallway, Gon's brows furrow with worry between his horns, trying to right the slack position of his friend's head atop his neck.

Gon knows. Gon knows that drugs don't affect Killua—but this is a different world. different chemicals. different medicines. and so too, magic. Killua is so beyond lofty and fearsome that it's disturbing to see Killua this way, especially in Gon's weakened state. and worse, Gon can see it—the infection. Killua's perfect skin is marred by it, his veins thick, dark and bloated. Gon's lower lip quivers tightly as his chin dimples, and he holds the side of his face, skin cool at its surface, and with his other hand, Gon gives him a couple slaps, urgently, with tears stinging his eyes, repeating his name.]

Killua...

[Gon can't leave him. Killua is so far beyond merely "important" to Gon, and with recent complicated, intimate developments in their bond, Gon is less adverse to seeing things for what they are—this is the person he loves. and for that reason, Gon grips Killua harshly by his shoulders, blunt, dark nails denting his fair skin as Killua gives him a shake.]

Killuaaa!!

III. A N D x S O . . .

[the trifle all sorted through, Gon's reckless, emotional decisions—a point of fret from the start—not withstanding in their consequence, Gon drags the weak body of his friend out from the scene. he tries to go the least conspicuous route, occasionally giving Killua a nervy, watchful eye—he isn't used to his friend being out of sorts this way. weak doesn't suit him.

once a sorted, suitable distance away, Gon gently arranges Killua against the ground, scooping the rough of his palm across his friend's poreless skin. Gon lets go of a shuddery exhale, trying to right himself; to steel, in case of any further attack. truth told, he wants to run all the way home—to their home—but Gon needs to recollect, for a moment...

and so too, he wants to be sure Killua's had some rest before that. if anyone drifts by these two teenagers, clearly in a rough way, and decides to interact based on that or otherwise—for the moment, Gon has nothing better to do with his sorely depleted energy.]

[killuwatt]

[ It really is strange that Killua doesn't move. He's limp in Gon's arms, jaw slack, eyes shut-- but he's breathing, a strained, shallow and uneven sound with a distinctly rasping quality.

It's dark in the basement, in the cage. Gon won't see the full extent of the damage until they get upstairs, where the lighting in the hallway gives him a full view of the disturbing state Killua's in when he's leaned back against the wall.

His clothes -- just his undershirt and trousers now, no shoes or jacket -- are torn, blackened with a mix of filth, dried blood and infection. Angry red wounds from claws and teeth crisscross his arms, shoulders, legs and back, healed just enough to stop the bleeding but left mostly unbandaged. The holes in his clothes give a glimpse of the black patches underneath, but it's most obvious in his face and throat, where black veins crawl like spreading roots across his skin, around his eyes, blackening his lips.

The slap doesn't wake him. Not at first.

No, it's the Bond that gets through, eventually; Killua can feel Gon nearby, the warmth of him slowly piercing through the darkness. That, and the fading spells cast by captors who are now thoroughly distracted, fleeing or fighting somewhere in the other room, where the muffled sounds of the chaos still filter in through the walls. It smells like smoke and acrid meat.

Lashes fluttering and lids twitching, Killua slowly opens his eyes.

They're black too. ]