EVENT - THE BLACK CITY

[faileas]

Event Log: August, The Black City

A STARLESS SKY You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the taste of smog and fog heavy in your lungs - and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that. Unlike the last time this shared dream happened, only familiar faces of your fellow mirrorbound appear around you; and unlike the last time that flavor of dream happened, those native to the city of Aefenglom are nowhere to be found. Instead, an impossibly tall wall raises in front of you; along it run small windows with people peering from the edges, arrows shimmering with the tell-tale glitter of magic peeking from the darkness, with more figures standing guard or patrolling the top of it. The wall itself is made of a dark, onyx-like stone - it's reflective in the smoothness of its bricks, painting all who look into it in clear darkness, and the effect is similarly found in the wide moat that surrounds the city, the faint sound of a river feeding into it the only thing to hear in the tense silence. Only one massive door stands as the entrance to the city, chains hanging across it with the protective runes of a barrier some of you might be familiar with by now. With a groan the chains begin to pull away, the door lowering across the moat as a bridge, and a party of Witches - for they must be Witches, the pins on their cloaks the same as those found in the Coven in Aefenglom - urges the group inside. Monsters find it easier to obey the orders - compelled to, even - but perhaps that's the safety of the city calling out to you, and nothing more.

I. THE CITY ITSELF While Aefenglom is known for its dusk-hued skies, made of lustrous pinks and purples and blues, this city is dreary to the core. The streets are covered in a perpetual fog, not unlike the city you hail from, but thicker, denser, tinged with the flavor of industrial smog from the factories whose spires you can see in the distance. Magitech lights - lanterns above doors, street posts, flickering in the windows you pass - illuminate everything throughout the entire day, as if the sunshine can't reach through the foreboding fog nor the onyx walls. Even the windows are barred, offering a paranoid protection against the outside world. Doors seem hardier, and each building is reinforced and protected in a way that may feel familiar to those that have encountered the protective magic wards. They're heavier, leaving an almost ominous presence that causes unease to hang just as heavy in the air as the smog. The people of this city are just as dreary as the streets, though they do mill about with the same frequency as any city. Unlike the citizens of the dead Aefenglom that were encountered just the month before, however, these are real, living people. They can be spoken to. They can be touched. They interact with wariness and caution towards the strangers that have been heralded into their walled in world, especially those that show what they presume to be monstrous traits. Because it becomes quickly obvious that the majority of the citizens that answer a call, a question, a touch to gain their attention... They're human. a. OBEY AND SUBMIT Monsters that can be seen on the streets aren't few and far between, however. Their presence is subtle, in the fog and amidst the passing crowds of passing faces, but they're there. On a surface level, most of them seem to be fairly at ease. Passive and unfazed by anyone that tries to interact with them, as if they're disinterested by their mere presence in a way that isn't reflected by their human counterparts. A closer look shows a strained pinch to their faces, a tenseness to their bodies, a glazed look just at the surface of their eyes. Too many attempts to interact with them will cause some humans to emerge from shops, or ask that you leave their business; these are the ones that are... employed, most often seen in the shopping and industrial districts. But their movements are almost robotic in repetition, and they never speak to anyone even when addressed - even when a keen eye might take note of the sturdy leather collars around their necks, reinforced by metal and with visible places to attach a leash. Some in the industrial district can be seen with these leashes, powerful chains to keep them attached to carts, to keep them from swimming down the river, from flying away and out of the black walls of the city. All Monsters present in the city are clothed, though it's the ones on the clearly decorative leashes with the more delicate collars that are the best dressed. They accompany humans throughout the city, the same placid blankness present much like their busier counterparts. These are the aristocrats and their so-called "Bonded," though implying the same tone one would take in Aefenglom here will net a deep set of disgust. Attempting to rouse these Monsters does very little, and may even result in them jerking away and cowering behind their human company. b. GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE At one end of the city is a massive pavilion, one made of the same stone as the wall, giving off the same oppressive foreboding. Humans come and go from this peculiar town square with a casual air, an intent the same as a stroll through the stalls on the market street. Because that's, essentially, what they're doing. Monsters young and old put on display to show their abilities and strengths, tasks that range from the physically demanding to performances of artistic abilities. Some seem to be just at the surface of awareness, their glazed expressions refocusing at times with a sort of strained fear that's visible even at a glance. Many don't even react outside of doing the tasks they're ordered to do, going through the motions as a barker speaks at length about them, their abilities, how much their labor goes for and what they cost. These Monsters are purchased by the humans of the city at each display, many of them never wearing more than their basic clothes and the customary collar, a chain to keep them tied to their station with a generous enough reach. Most come and go with very little struggle, but some... it becomes obvious that they've broken through the surface and are coming up for air for the first time in a long time. Wooden posts where the chains are connected can be heard splintering with the force of their struggle, metal bending under pressure, the anxious energy of something about to happen. But the fights never last long, as attendants wearing Coven pins on their cloaks swoop in to attend to the situation - and many dreamers might notice a familiar Witch filtering in and out of the events, speaking to the auctioneers before departing for another selling. It's difficult to recall their face later, no matter how clearly one saw it before, but one thing is certain: while not necessarily prim and proper, this person is someone with a steel spine and a sharp eye. And they saw you, just the same as you saw them. c. AT BECK AND CALL With enough observation, or perhaps even experience, it becomes apparently how this is happening: any command or order issued to a Monster is taken to the most literal, and Monsters have no choice but to obey. Many Monsters employed as workers are so deep in the compulsion that they won't obey any additional commands, unless it comes from the person they have this most warped "Bond" with. Others will accept commands from anyone, even the mirrorbound Witches that have come into their city. Even the most asinine command is one that they'd obey, and one that maybe even you'll obey, too. Having a friend playfully tell them to shut up? They're forced into silence until told that they can speak again. Told to jump off a bridge? Best make sure you specify that you don't want them to jump off of a very high one, if you really want them gone that badly. Handstands, cartwheels, jumping jacks - but also, hurting someone, hurting themselves... one has to hope the Monster in question has a strong willpower, or it's a command that goes against one that's already been issued to them. But something of note is that mirrorbound Monsters of Aefenglom will find that they're also effected by this, though they're better able to fight the compulsion. Those with weaker constitutions may need help snapping out of the command, especially as a powerful command will be painful to fight against, and Witches will have to watch their words. Take care that your friends, your peers, the strangers you've arrived with, don't find themselves attending the auction block - it's a very real possibility in this place, with an unknown Monster unattended and uncollared. It should all be harmless, though. After all, this is only a dream... isn't it? No NPCs are available for this log - unlike with the midsummer dream, they're nowhere to be seen. No Nessie, no Mhairi, no one. Which means that there's no one to counsel them as they find themselves exploring the setting, and discovering that they're just as susceptible as the people in the dream...

II. THE COVEN Unlike with Aefenglom, there isn't a proper Parliament. A little investigation will lead to the discovery that the Coven of this city is the main governing body, which may explain a great deal about why there's such a massive presence of magic here. Located at the center of town - all roads lead to the Coven, a massive stone building with sharp looking spires - the grounds are notable in that there's nothing even remotely similar to the Looking-Glass House that everyone has come to know, despite its secrets. Should one gain entry to the main building of the Coven itself, they'll find that all the mirrors are within. Their main focuses of magic, rather than the more broad spectrum/free-to-study policy that Miss Nessie encourages, are enchantment and abjuration - for control, primarily. They're also heavy studiers of runes, visible across the city and with an even heavier influence in the wards of the Coven itself. They are, regardless, fairly welcoming to eager young minds wanting to learn. So long as the Monsters are left behind. But who's to say that you can't disguise a Monster? a. STUDY TIME Those curious about the Coven's library are welcome to investigate it for themselves, the Witches all smiling faces as they usher their visitors in. But they'll soon find that they aren't really left to their own devices; a member of this Coven branch is practically around every corner, and while they try to be subtle about their observation it becomes quickly obvious that they're not there for their own studies. They're stationed around the library to ensure that their guests don't make off with any of their resources, or try to get into any forbidden sections of the expansive library. Where the Coven library of Aefenglom - as well as the Undermael College's library - plays devil's advocate, with accounts and studies conducted from both sides of the anti-Monster sentiment and attempt to expand upon outdated knowledge... these ones have a decidedly anti-Monster lean in every regard. Any attempts to find otherwise will be met with bemused amusement by the Coven members, and a note that they don't carry such things here. After all, they're certainly not Aefenglom. They would never carry anything that could put their citizens at risk in such a way. Nevermind those horrid Bonds that Bell goes on and on about - it's no wonder that they're always at odds with their government. If only they'd wisen up, hm? Perhaps these new arrivals would like to transfer to their branch, instead, to better guarantee their growth. b. THROUGH THESE HALLS If one manages to slip away from the library without having somebody tailing them, they'll soon discover that the chilled atmosphere doesn't simply linger in the city itself. The halls are cold, the runes unwelcoming unlike the homey feel that Nerissa Bell's charms offer. Certainly home isn't perfect - and there's no denying that the sentiment is shared by many - but the smiling faces of the Black City's branch are at odds with the feel of their magic, the caged in weight pressing down on everything, including your shoulders. The halls are dimly lit by flickering lights, enchanted lanterns with a constantly burning yellow-white fire. Plenty of nooks and dark corners afford even large Monsters the ability to sneak through the halls, should they be snuck in for better investigation with their peers. Take care, however; there are Witches coming and going constantly. An empty room might lead to a study, a classroom, a bedroom. Locked doors don't yield easily, even in a dream, and may need to be abandoned. But a terrible, foreboding feeling emanates from large double doors that are rigidly locked. Hushed voices speak from the other side, and it's almost like the cold feeling that spreads throughout the Coven itself finds its source behind those doors. Periodically, sounds of pain escape from within - but they die out to whimpers, then silence, before they can ever get too loud. A crisp voice speaks only one word, clear even through the wood and the magic: "Again."

III. THE DARK UNDERBELLY There's always more to a city than the streets that you can see at the surface level. If you're looking, it's not hard to spot the signs. There are runes that mark walls and cobblestone streets like graffiti, and a studied eye might realize that they're not the same sort that have subjugated the more monstrously inclined of the Black City. These are intended to dispel magic, and the moment that a member of the Coven notices it - it's swept up as soon as possible, scrubbed clean or scorched off with magic. People take to the streets in small groups, standing their ground and raising their voices above the muffled din of a foggy city. They carry chains and collars that have been broken, but many of them are undeniably human as they confront something that has so obviously become the norm. Break the chains! they demand. Break the spell! Monsters go missing from the auctions with a well-placed distraction - perhaps you're one of the individuals being freed from the pavilion, or someone that's realized that there are people coming and going through the crowds, wearing the same cloaks as the Coven but without their iconic pins, dressed as aristocracy, from all walks of life... smuggling the Monsters away at the first chance. a. PARTY TO PROTEST Not every uprising can be swept under the rug at first sign, however. Witches take to the streets, looking surprised to see the mirrorbound arrivals from Aefenglom - and it's not the same wariness that most would give them. This is the calculating eye of someone assessing whether the person they've met will help or hinder, and some of them decided that you're to be help. Enchanted slips of paper are pushed into hands, runes are taught as quickly as possible in a hushed whisper and explanation, locations given out to Witch and Monster alike with a word of caution. Use the paper on a surface, any surface, and you'll see. Use the runes to break the compulsion - you might have to do it twice, thrice, however many times it takes to dispel the magic. Don't be caught. Using the enchantment as instructed - pressing the paper against a wall, the ground, a post, anything - will result in glowing runes overtaking the surface. It's the same as the runes that are taught to Witches, used to ward against the magic in place just as much as it is to create a statement of protest. If one goes to a location that is whispered to them, they'll find that they've joined an organized protest. It's small in size, a mixture of Witches and unleashed Monsters. Due to the size and frequency it's easy enough to find them, but the guards are very quick in putting them down or hiding any traces of them from the public eye, despite the protesters' best attempts. There's nothing amiss in the city, and nothing for citizens to worry about. b. REST AND REGROUP But they can't find every source of the resistance. It isn't hard for dreamgoers to find themselves swept up by these protesters. Any help is welcome, and those that show an inclination towards helping the Monsters of the city - or their Monsters that they know, regardless people that shouldn't suffer this way - will be taken into the fold. Entrances to their secret routes can be found in places that are hidden in plain sight. A storefront tended to by a Monster with eyes in sharp clarity when they look up from their robotic work welcomes a group of people in and behind the counter, to where a hatch door is hidden in the floor. A manhole cover is pried up, where people are smuggled down below. A portal is prepared, a different and darker destination on the other side. They all lead to the same location. The sewers are vast beneath this city. Much like the labyrinth that many faced in the Midsummer nightmare, it almost seems winding, endless, and the water is cold when it's crossed. But even with the stank of the runoff, the musty and moldy air, there's never the sense of dread, of death. Instead, there are signs of when you're going the right way - runes that shimmer only when looking at them out of the corner of your eye, or when you know what to look for. Three stars together - sometimes overlapping, sometimes circling each other, but always three, and always five points. While they appreciate the help, the mirrorbound aren't invited in by the revolutionaries to the main hideout. But it becomes obvious by charm bracelets, necklaces, piercings, tattoos, embroidery and stitching on shirts; this symbol, and its presence, is integral to their world beneath the city. But many are welcome to mingle throughout their circle. In the sewers, the shops, the small park where a rune gives secret announcements to those who know where to look for it on the third bench, even the homes of people that certainly don't look like revolutionaries, let alone anyone that would be a protector.

Welcome to the Black City! As a reminder, this takes place on August 18th - or rather, 3AM on the August 19th, much like the midsummer nightmare. If you have any questions or need any clarifications, you can ask them here! And as always, while we do encourage you to use this log, you can feel free to thread things out on your own log or elsewhere. Characters are allowed to try and start fights in the city, create prompts based on the information given instead of using the ones given exactly, and poke their noses where they don't belong - we encourage it, actually. But regardless of what you choose, we hope you have a good time!

And as a final parting note: If a character dies in the dream, they'll simply reappear at the beginning rather than waking up like normal.

Comments

giorno giovanna | vampire | ota

[digiorno]

i. in our confrontation ( arrival )

[It doesn't take long for him to understand.]

[It's almost funny, actually, in a bleak and nauseating way. This is what he expected when he first arrived; this is the other shoe he expected to drop, the pair to Miss Nessie's perfect witch-and-monster harmony. In a way, it brings him a grim, heavy satisfaction. This is how the world works as he knows it; this is the natural progression of people's worst instincts.]

[That doesn't mean that the first time he sees a Monster on a leash is fun. He can't help but lurch forward, propelled by instinct and horrified empathy much more than sense. His fingers catch on the strange Monster's sleeve, but the Monster of the Black City merely turns to look at him blankly before continuing on before their leash even goes taut.]

[It leaves him frozen, paler even than usual, fingers still clutching at nothing.]

ii. with an enormous & cold universe ( beck & call )

[He doesn't get clocked as a Monster as easily as most of the others, something he feels a sick, guilty gratitude for. His greatest tells are his fangs, his ears (now pointed and fuzzy at the edges), and the way his eyes shift to red when he's hungry, or frightened, or angry.]

[He's clearly angry now, eyes glowing crimson to reflect it. There are three locals around him, a loosely-grouped pack that's backed him more by implication than physical strength against a wall. They gave him a command — a simple one, not dangerous, just humiliating, an exertion of control.]

[You're one of the new ones, aren't you? Why're you looking so dour? Just smile. Shake our hands. Say it's nice to meet you.]

[His nails, claw-sharp, dig into his palms at his sides; blood drips out from between his knuckles. Fangs dig into his lip; blood wells between his teeth. He doesn't smile. He doesn't move. When the corners of his lips start to twitch upwards, far out of his control, he unclenches his jaw just long enough to spit blood in the ringleader's face before biting down again.]

iii. there's something comical to the idea ( market )

The number of native Monsters with unbroken spirits could be counted on one hand.

[He sounds so clinical, the way he says it, even under his breath — especially in the face of the auction he's just watched, shoulders stiff and pressed back, posture so perfect it looks like he might break his spine for having it so straight. It sounds like he's talking about something being witnessed by someone else.]

[He's got no choice. He has to harness this anger. Save it for later. He has to use this time to look around, gauge for weaknesses, find the chinks in the armor. This place, above all others, needs to be destroyed.]

They must be stored somewhere else overnight. [A beat; the next words come out brittle and poisonous.] The goods.

iv. that we can really enforce our will ( arson )

[Night is oppressive and dark, even more so than the bleak daylight here. He collects it and keeps it close, ducking from shadow to shadow with his eyes to the cobbles, arms clutching around his supplies: a jar of lamp oil, another of paint, tinder and matches, and a small saw, all in a cloth bag.]

[Once he's back to the now-empty pavilion, he gets to work quickly, knowing his time as well as his energy are short. The already-splintered posts are left for last; he tackles the intact ones first, sawing three-quarters of the way through them at the base before moving on to the next. Once he's done this to all of them, he goes back to the beginning, using his newfound strength to snap them all off at the base and dragging them to the stone wall, where he piles them in a pyre. Over top of the broken posts, he pours lamp oil. Before setting it all alight, he takes a few moments to write a message on the wall beside the pile.]

NOTHING LASTS FOREVER.

[Once that's done, he sets the wood ablaze and vanishes into the night.]

[Should anyone approach during this process, his reaction is swift and brutal: if he isn't physically restrained faster than his own superhuman speed, he'll rush any onlooker he hears or smells, grabbing them by the throat and pushing them against the nearest wall. Claws digging in, his other hand comes up over the intruder's mouth — just in case.]

Convince me to let you go instead of putting you on that pile. With your eyebrows. I don't care at this point.

v. on humanity ( sewers )

[Once he's finally found his way down to the sewers, the exhaustion catches up with him. It's more than just the physical work he's done; he can admit this now, here, in this city that isn't his city nor the one that's becoming a temporary home. There is something very wrong with him, and it's getting worse.]

[As he stares at the nearest tri-star symbol, across from him in the small corner of the sewer stronghold, he feels himself begin to tremble with exhaustion. Slowly, he lowers himself down to the ground, for once unconcerned by the state of his clothes, and sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms hugging his shins. Still, he offers a weak smile to anyone who approaches.]

You're welcome to pull up a seat. A . . . sewer seat.

vi. power corrupts ( wildcard )

[Change log. Please feel free to hit any of these prompts up with accidental or deliberate witchy commands, with the caveat that Giorno will almost certainly react with violence. Giorno can be found most places. I'm happy to work up individual starters, including undercover at the Coven, if folks would like — just PM me and let me know. You can also hit me up at passiones.]

II

[showsnopiety]

Yes.

[Her voice is just as detached, and she's trying-gods is she trying-to keep herself completely composed, even tranquil looking. But she knows her tail is stiff with anger, and she's had to force her feathers to smooth more then once. But she knows what's up.

So does Giorno.]

They can't possibly sell all of them in a day. There's too many.

[digiorno]

[If nothing else, his new form has relatively few tells. The angrier he gets, the quieter he is, the less he breathes, the more difficult it is to sense before he moves. The angrier he gets, the less human he seems, but only in subtle ways. Which is fitting enough, he supposes.]

[The greatest tell is the red of his eyes, something he's been able to keep mostly at bay. It flickers in now, just for a moment, before he smiles thinly.]

Do you think they're stupid enough to keep them close by?

[He sort of does. People like these are arrogant. Arrogance breeds carelessness.]

[showsnopiety]

[He feels like a self contained storm. And she isn't much better off-her disadvantage being that she looks so inhuman already. The wings are a big giveaway.]

Likely. They tell themselves it's for convenience but it's really laziness.

[She breaths out slowly, through her lips. She doesn't smile-it would only tip off others she's up to no good.]

They might even have a common penning area.

iv

[faithlikeaseed]

[It's fortunate then that when dreaming, Myr's got eyes to go with his eyebrows and the range of expression that goes with them.

He'd been so careful this time, he'd thought, on approaching the square--heeding some nameless instinct that whispered danger everywhere and tiptoeing in under the cover of night to see if anyone could be set loose. Hadn't gotten caught this time, hadn't gotten killed resisting orders--

But now here he is jammed up against a wall so roughly one tine's snapped off his antlers and he's like to be murdered again if he doesn't come up with a good accounting for himself, fast. After a moment's initial frozen shock (deer in the headlights) he cuts his eyes toward the smoldering pyre, then looks back at his captor and gives as much of a nod of approval as can be managed, under the situation.

Hard to find himself approving of fire, but in this situation...]

[digiorno]

[Deer in the headlights indeed. Even now, Giorno doesn't know his own strength; under the pulsing fury, he finds room for a flicker of guilt at the snap of an antler. He hadn't meant for all that — but it's too late, and things are resolving faster than he had anticipated them unraveling.]

[There's a moment when he considers just . . . taking back what he'd said and dealing with the witness, one way or another. But he's not a monster (figuratively speaking), so he pulls back the hand on Myr's mouth and drops him unceremoniously, lips thin with uncertainty. What's the next step after holding someone by the throat against a wall while committing arson? Should they shake hands?]

. . . Okay. [Nailed it. Swallowing down the urge to apologize, he allows himself the next best thing.] Does that hurt?

[I mean, yes, probably.]

[faithlikeaseed]

The wall or the antler?

[Whichever it is, it can't be that bad if Myr's already trying to be flip about it. Or perhaps that's how he deals with injury--he's had hard contact with the terrain more than a few times in dreams before, but rarely that hard.

Accordingly it takes him a little time to straighten from his involuntary slump against the wall, to catch his breath and reach furtively to check the broken spot with a hand.] It doesn't; they're dead all the way through.

[So: not-apology accepted.

He drops his hand--satisfied nothing's going to fall off or crack further--and looks toward the flames. Those shouldn't bother him; there's nothing green here to burn. And yet--]

Planning more of that?

v

[scaling]

[ It's a long and winding journey that finally ends with Akira being smuggled down to the sewers. The events since they all landed at the gates of this city feel like they could span days, but it's hard to truly measure the time when sleepiness has yet to blur the edges of his consciousness. Exhaustion is surely there, though, weighing down his limbs as he finally comes to a place where he feels like he might be able to let his guard down, if only by a tiny margin.

It seems he's not the only one intent on taking a much-needed rest. The huddled figure that comes into view is a familiar one. Akira recognizes after another moment that the fatigue on Giorno's face may be a much higher caliber than what he's feeling. ]

Wouldn't that be a toilet? [ That's what he chooses to comment on as he slides down the wall to sit propped up against it, long legs outstretched. Likewise, Akira isn't worried about his clothes or even his hair as he leans his head back. It may be dirty down here, but it's nothing like the filth up there. ]

[digiorno]

[Despite everything, that makes him laugh.]

I think most toilets are nicer than this.

[In the abstract, there's a certain romanticism to living on the outskirts of society like this. In reality, it's the worst. Running from the enemy is one thing, being thoroughly conquered is something else entirely. It leaves him bristling and wanting to set this whole place alight.]

[At the same time, the whole prospect is exhausting. He's content (for lack of a better word) to make toilet jokes for the moment. Cutting his eyes sideways to glance at Akira, he hums faintly, as if he was testing something in himself and has come to a conclusion.]

I'm glad you're not dead. Or locked up. [Which might be worse, here.]

[scaling]

Beats being up there.

[ It doesn't offer that much solace when the knowledge of what's happening above ground lingers. Still, Akira can finally allow some of that tension from his too-tight limbs, wound up from being ready to run at so much as a strange sound.

The spoken sentiment has him looking over to match Giorno's gaze. Akira wonders if they even would've gotten him to the point of being collared like the rest of them. There's no way he wouldn't fight with everything he has, here in this dream. He's had enough of being locked up. ]

You too. [ While he would feel that way for any of the faceless Monsters out there, there's a deeper sincerity to this. One long, black ear twitches as he studies Giorno's face. ] You look pretty bad, though...

V

[chosenside]

[Theseus is more than aware that this city, this 'dream,' has been far more taxing on the 'monsters' than for people like him-- Witches. Everything has left a bad taste in his mouth and seeing those with magic subjugate those that are unable to use it has hit a bit too close to home for him. It's almost like living in Grindelwald's vision, except instead of humans, they're controlling monsters.

So while he's definitely tired, he's been checking on others to see how they've been handling everything. It's not unlike what he did back in the great war... and it's how he comes across Giorno, sitting in the corner and away from others.]

If you don't mind the company.

[Theseus is a well-dressed man, so he can't help but look at the sewer ground with a slightly scrunched expression because well, it's a sewer. His look disappears, however, as he pulls out his wand and conjures a chair for him to sit on. There, that's far better--]

...I'm sorry, I should've asked-- would you like a chair? Maybe a mattress? [He rubs the back of his head, a little embarrassed that he didn't ask that first.]

[digiorno]

[It certainly is a sewer. Normally, Giorno would turn up his nose at it as well, but even someone as picky as he is gives after a certain point. He's going to have to burn these clothes later, but it is what it is.]

[Somehow it never occurred to him that something on the caliber of what Theseus manages half a second after speaking is even possible. There's no good reason why, really; he should be educating himself further on the schools of witchcraft, but he simply hasn't. So his eyes widen, owlish and curious, as he leans over to examine the chair that's been conjured, which is, as it turns out, entirely real and tangible.]

[There's a beat as he glances back at Theseus, expression calculating. Then:]

An armchair. Leather. And a blanket.

[He can't even say please. Typical.]

[chosenside]

[He raises an eyebrow at the request, not quite expecting him to have a clear answer such as that... and so quickly as well. But Theseus did ask for him to name something-- so it would be rather rude of him to deny this now. With a simple motion with his wand, he conjures an armchair for Giorno to sit on, one that's rather easy in design, but still matches to his specifications.

And with another flick, he creates a blanket that lies innocently on one of the armrests of the new chair.]

Feels just like home now? [Theseus asks lightly, knowing full well that a simple chair and blanket won't substitute for much.] Well, ignoring the whole sewer environment. I hope to think that your living quarters doesn't give off this sort of stench.

ii

[sageprincess]

[The bond is still a strange, disjointed thing. There are days when she hardly feels anything at all, just the gentle release of pressure that she knows can build up and a confidence that her magic will obey her will. Some days, sparks of emotion flow through the link, and they are... odd and confusing, but she bites her tongue whenever she has to urge to inquire more. Neither of them is pretending this partnership has been born out of anything other than practicality and survival, and so she hardly finds it her place to pry.

Here and now, however, the anger she feels is bright and hot and nearly overwhelming, like a star whose gravity she could not hope to escape even if she wanted to. She finds him surrounded by jeering faces, and she does not know whose fury it is that places a too-warm hand against one man's back and a familiar knife against another's throat, but it doesn't really matter. Magic sizzles and crackles in the air around her, a power barely contained as she looks the third in this awful trio in the eye and gives her ultimatum.]

... I suggest you boys find your fun elsewhere before this gets unpleasant. Treating burns is quite the painful process, I will have you know.

[zelda's internal dialogue dot mp3]

[digiorno]

[So far, the pain has kept him centered. So far, he's been able to hold out. He can feel his strength ebbing, but the fact of the matter is that he doesn't care. If push comes to shove, he'll just kill them. This is something he knows like he knows he needs to breathe to live: no matter how much pain he's in, no matter how much his body fights him, he can kill them all before they realize he's moving.]

[But it doesn't come to that. He doesn't need to snap their necks, and they don't break him — not quite. Instead, he feels a pulse of rage down the bond and suddenly Zelda's there, sharp edges and fire and magic like a halo. He ought to be angry, ought to tell her he can handle it himself, but he can't, and furthermore he doesn't want to. When he parts his lips to suck in an iron-tinged breath around the ebbing command, relief bounds treacherously in her direction down the line.]

[There are a few heartbeats, maybe, when the third (the leader, as far as Giorno can tell) keeps eye contact with Zelda; then he bolts like a coward, predictably, which provokes thick bubbling laughter from Giorno's throat as he flexes his fingers out of their fists.]

[What, asks the second one, the one frozen still with Zelda's palm to his back; is that yours? The one with the knife pressed to his throat doesn't say a word. He doesn't even breathe. Giorno can't blame him.]

III - funny as it would be to do IV

[whomthebelltolls]

Hm. Magical subjugation seems especially effective. [It's about as clinical as his own observation. Cold, detached, but the difference with Maria is that she isn't seething with a barely-contained rage beneath. No, in fact, Maria seems entirely unaffected by the goings-on. Not happy, not by a longshot, there's no hidden joy or vindication in seeing the Monsters on display, but her expression is as ever coldly distant.

She's glad she spotted him in the crowd - no easy feat, to be sure, considering the pains he was taking to keep his face obscured, but though she cannot see him as a Monster, the little shock of blonde hair and the familiar face stand out against the dreariness of the city otherwise. And what's more, he is not up on display for the rest of the people waiting on the auction; she refuses to admit it's because she cares, but there are a scant handful of people she would much prefer not to see up for "sale".] Likely. Holding pens, somewhere. A barn, most likely.

[She's seen servants, if not true slaves, so her most accurate assumption is to treat it like a livestock auction. She scans the Monsters on auction, then looks back over to him.] Are you planning something?

[digiorno]

[A barn, she says. Anger shivers cold down his spine, viscous as mercury and just as toxic. It's a fair logical leap to make. It's a clever conclusion to draw. It makes him want to rip throats out, but that doesn't make it any less helpful.]

[He doesn't know what to make of her presence here, or the way she just showed up at his side in the middle of the crowd, tall and imposing and austere. He doesn't imagine that it's because she wants to make sure he's all right. He couldn't. She's like a moving statue. The closest he's felt to her in spare moments in the garden, and she's so distant from that Maria now.]

[All the same, he's glad for her presence. No other witch would dare come near him with her standing so close. Nobody fucks with Maria.]

Yes.

[Honest and blunt. Why would he lie? If nothing else, Maria has always been honest with him. It's sort of a relief.]

If I don't, I'll go crazy.

[whomthebelltolls]

[Nobody fucks with Maria indeed, and even if he wasn't hiding, she'd make her presence so close make it look like he is her Monster to begin with. Fucked up, perhaps, but it would keep the slave collars away.

She takes a deep breath, then. Well, he's being honest, so that's... good, in its way. It won't surprise her when there's a ruckus. Nor will it surprise her later to see him clapped in irons and for sale on the auction block for getting rowdy instead of taking this for an educational endeavor to utilize later if it even needs to be as such. She knows the bite of bloodlust, perhaps better than most people, but he's not doing it because he "can't help it", he's doing it on purpose. He's doing it because of a personal indignity.

It doesn't count under her own rules for how to deal with feral Monsters. That it's a dream dulls the edge of her wanting to do anything, either.]

In a way what teaches you more about how to react in the real world? Or will it be to slake a thirst for vengeance and vindication? [Amazingly, she is not being judgmental about this. In fact, if anything, she sounds more like a scientist conducting an experiment, the results of which are of interest, but ultimately don't effect her. She is very curious about the reactions, the most.] It matters not to me either way, for this is merely a dream, and so reacting to the upsetting nature of it is how you choose. So long as it is what you choose.

ii

[fulgency]

[To see Giorno backed into a corner like this seems at odds with the boy's naturally forceful will. Which is why although Ozymandias cannot make out what is being said to Giorno from where he spotted him, that is enough to tell Ozymandias that trouble is beginning to brew. Giorno's decision to spit blood in the face of the ringleader cements his suspicion as fact, but does not quicken his approach, but rather the pace of a summoned familiar. The heavier footfalls of a sphinx very nearly the size of a horse catch the attention of the ringleader's compatriots from their fumbling around trying to determine if they should lend help or retaliate. It lopes ahead of Ozymandias, no sign of immediate aggression in its gait as it circles just enough around the trio to stand between them and Giorno. Just the tip of its tail twitches, but otherwise, it remains still and at attention as Ozymandias also comes to a stop. He appears to pay Giorno no heed, his gaze fixed solely on Giorno's tormentors.]

Leave.

[It the only word Ozymandias chooses to utter, but it is a heavy one. Absent is the usual warmth in his voice and instead, it is spoken with the tone of a man who is clearly accustomed to never repeating a command once it has been issued. And if there were any question as to Ozymandias' disdain towards repeating his commands, one concrete and sizeable piece of evidence stood before Giorno.]

[digiorno]

[There are very few things — almost none, in fact — that could get Giorno to relax when backed into a corner like this. The truth of the matter is that he's never more dangerous than when he's trapped. Just as any animal is at its most vicious when desperate, rolling the dice on Giorno's fight-flight-freeze is never a good idea.]

[By chance, Ozymandias manages to bulldoze Giorno's fury, if not squash it entirely by any means. Giorno doesn't turn his head to watch the sphinx's approach until it's close, until he's certain something really is coming, but when he does . . .]

[It's a strange moment. Blood under his nails, between his teeth, down his chin and on his tongue; a look of childlike awe underneath it all as he watches a creature of myth pad towards him and take its place in front of the local witches. Even once the sphinx has turned its back on him, even as Ozymandias continues to approach, even as the command continues to press on him, he watches the sphinx like he's seeing a miracle.]

[He is. In the middle of this ugly city, despite everything.]

[He misses what happens next, for the most part. Ozymandias says something, the men say something else; a whispered discussion between them as the command ebbs, as they get distracted. He wonders, as the ache of resistance in his shoulders begins to ebb as well, what it would look like to watch this creature rip them apart. He watches Ozymandias's back, the red in his eyes retreating, leaving only caution in its wake.]

[They're still trying to talk to him. Are they stupid? He scrubs at his mouth and watches, as if from somewhere very far away. Somehow, he isn't worried. Somehow, he knows that . . . it will be taken care of. Ozymandias will take care of it.]

i.

[bloodyuseless]

[Mary catches the tail end of the short interaction, an unknown monster shuffling away from Giorno's outstretched arm. It's the look on Giorno's face, not the state of the monster, however, that brings him to a pause.

He looks down at the piece of paper a twitchy witch had handed to him not five minutes ago, then back up at Giorno. The witch hadn't had the chance to give him much of an explanation. She'd just told him that it would help him if he ran into trouble before she ducked back out of sight. Whatever kind of help a piece of paper could possibly offer, Mary figures Giorno would be able to put it to better use than he could.

Without a word, Mary sidles up and pushes the enchanted paper into Giorno's hand.]

[digiorno]

[The sudden touch sends a jolt through him, making him twitch head to toe. If he were less in his own head, less locked into the disappearing back of that Monster, he might have heard Mary coming, but as it is . . .]

[There's just paper pressed into his hand and Mary by his shoulder like a hooded shadow. Wide-eyed and uncertain, he looks at Mary, then down at the paper hidden in his palm.]

Mary?

[He doesn't understand. At the same time — he transfers the paper to his other hand, so he can do what instinct tells him and take hold of the cuff of Mary's sleeve. Keep him close, at least for a moment or two, in such an awful place as this.]

iii

[wordsinthesoul]

It makes me wonder if there isn't something that's part of this place.

[Anger, pressed back- contained until it can be unleashed. He understands that- he's trying.]

…so we should find it, is what you're saying.

[digiorno]

Something intrinsic to the city? Psychological or magical, acting as shackles?

[It's not a terrible idea. Definitely not out of the realm of possibility. At this point, nothing is out of the realm of possibility; nothing can be excluded. So far, all they've been able to do is survive.]

[Obviously, he's not content with that. With a quick jerk of his chin, he nods.]

Yes. Later. I don't know if it will make a difference, though. [Since these Monsters are so . . . passive. But if he doesn't try, he's worse than a passive bystander.]

v

[dirtdevil]

[ honestly, the sewers are pretty much the very last place he wants to be—he spent more than enough time underground growing up—but a complete investigation of this unfortunate place wouldn't be complete without a trip down below.

it's... not as bad as the one he remembers. it's still dirty and smelly, but somehow it sucks a little bit less. not much of a comfort, but it certainly could be worse.

he has to do a double-take when he spots Giorno. is that... the guy who accused him of being sulky before he got sick? yyyeah, he's pretty sure it is. ]

I'm fine standing.

[ sitting on the ground, here of all places... yeesh. this is a dire situation indeed. ]

You look like hell.

[ it's not said in a mocking way, believe it or not—more as just a matter of fact. there might even be some mild concern in there. what a nice guy, right? ]