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FEBRUARY TDM.
● ● ● T D M . 0 5
… What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?
The words ring in your ears as in the darkness of your dream, an ocean-deep blue glow hovers in front of you. Transfixed, you reach out to it... only to hear a different voice, a distant echo of cruel laughter, and with a sudden certainty you know — whatever you’ve just agreed to has changed everything forever.
It is to this laughter that you wake, and as it fades and your heart slows into something resembling a normal tempo, you notice something you should have noticed immediately: you are not in your bed.
1.0 White walls, clinical yet clean, sparsely-furnished rooms. You may wake in one of three rooms: a room with only one bed, a room with two beds, or a room with four beds. Those waking up in rooms with more than one bed notice that they are very much not alone. Perhaps the other occupants of the room are still sleeping, dreaming the same dream as you just did, or a regular one after returning to the station just barely a week ago … or perhaps you wake to the other person in the room watching you.
What you do is entirely up to you: yell in surprise when you wake to someone staring at you? Or maybe you’ll try to sneak away before anyone notices you...
2.0 Those with life-threatening injuries find themselves awakening in the infirmary, in a regular hospital bed. Most of their injuries have been treated, and any lingering illnesses or conditions will have designated medicine bottles on the table next to the bed.
White curtains surround the bed on both sides, giving an illusion of privacy. But is that a rustling sound you hear? Some footsteps? Perhaps you’re not the only one in need of some medical attention... or you've attracted the attention of those with experience in medical aid, and they rush to your bedside, surprised about this sudden new patient.
It is not just for your injuries that you may want some company, but also for leaving the infirmary — you can’t stay there forever, after all, and will have to make your way through the hallways of the station to the living quarters, and claim a room and a bed there.
Once you’re up, you may notice there’s something in your ear: an earpiece that, when you become aware of it, quickly runs you through the instructions for how to use the network, a recorded message by a female voice that explains exactly why you’re here… and leaves you with a map of the station.
So what else is there to do but to explore? Best get to know what is now your new home.
3.0 When trying to decide where yo go, you may find your way to the armory, where you can try to work the machine there to make yourself a weapon — perhaps to replace one that didn’t come with you to the station… or maybe you want to be prepared for the future. The recently-returned team members will surely recommend having a functional weapon with you.
And speaking of weapons: to put it to good use, head to the training room, where the entire purpose is to provide you with a space to spar and train to your heart’s content!
4.0 After you’ve exhausted yourself training, it’s time to grab a bite. For that, you should head to the kitchen, which is equipped with all the basic appliances you might need, and ingredients for most regular dishes... and large amounts of chocolate. Weird.
5.0 A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds the characters can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion surrounds anyone who steps inside the room: you can hear the trilling of birds, feel a light breeze caress your skin as you walk through a grass field. It seems that the illusion reflects the season — the leaves have fallen, a layer of white covers the ground, and the air is crisp and clean. If you follow the path, it leads to where a bridge rises over a brook that has now iced over — but maybe don't try your luck walking on it, as the ice may crack underneath your feet and you'll find yourself plunging into the freezing water.
Regardless of whether you like the wintery atmosphere, it is easy to forget you are in space at all. Perhaps that gives you comfort, or just makes you miss the real nature all the more.
6.0 If you’d rather choose tinkering over nature, the lab is guaranteed to provide you with some entertainment. Glass vials and jars of chemicals sit on shelves in a surprisingly beautiful display of colour on one side of the room, while the other side of the room contains stacks of boxes containing assorted equipment: cords, bolts, panels, buttons, gears, gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. The downside is that the parts available seem to have no apparent method to their sorting. So get digging, and you may just find exactly what you need to make what you’ve always wanted to make!
7.0 If it’s items you’re lacking, though, some time after your arrival, the earpiece alerts you to a new message.
Indeed, the platform near the personal quarters is still whirring with power, and new items form neat piles on it. There’s clothes, shoes, dishware, skincare, books… even a couple of CDs, and a few cute stuffed animals. So sort through what there is and grab what you want, before someone else does!
Eventually, you’ll find yourself at the doors of the the simulation room — it has been equipped with a new simulation to take you through possible mission-like scenarios so it’s best to prepare yourself and see what it has in store for you.
8.0 The doors slide shut behind you and the room goes dark. Small pinpricks of light will start to build on each other until you’re surrounded by grey skies overhead and grassy green lawns, a row of old stone columns lining your vision. It seems you’re in a courtyard of some kind, but that’s not all. Something tugs at the hem of your sleeve or nudges at your leg, a warm presence that feels comfortable and ultimately very familiar. They look up at you, or maybe they meet your eye-level, a creature that varies in size, shape, colour, and form depending on what reflects you best. This creature, known as a compalion is a physical manifestation of your spirit or soul and will stay by your side on this journey.
You can stay here and get to know your compalion, or you can take your new companion and explore the campus. Because, if you do move forward past the line of columns (a hallway it turns out), you’ll find that the small cluster of buildings forms an academic campus of some kind.
a) They cannot go any further than a few yards away from their person; the further the distance, the more painful the separation will feel.
b) Your compalion will shift into one form throughout this simulation and can be any creature that best mirrors your personality.
c) They can be as small as a flea and as large as a small elephant; get creative!
d) Whether they speak to you in your native tongue is entirely up to you (some speak, some don’t)
e) Basically daemon rules apply.
9.0 While it might seem like fun to spend hours just exploring the old buildings with your compalion and any Orbers like you that you might bump into along the way, it’s important to remember that you have a goal to achieve: follow the clues and retrieve the orb. Your compalion might offer an idea or two for where to go, or it may just be voicing the thoughts in your head, but it’s not a bad thing to follow your heart (or your gut) as it were. You might find that the rooftops of the campus buildings are easily climbable to get a good vantage point of your location. (Just be careful not to slip and fall! The height from here is quite dangerous.) A clocktower stands proud in the distance among a cluster of other campus buildings, marking the time.
Inside, you might be led down dark stone halls and into a series of classrooms: including reading quarters, study rooms with old leather couches and warm carpets covering stone floors; lecture halls with stiff wooden seating and individual desks to match, a chalkboard with indiscernible scribbles half-wiped away; and a laboratory that deals with something a little less modern than you might be used to, or perhaps with its twisty vials and bubbling potions, it suits you perfectly. There is the large library filled from floor to ceiling with books beyond imagining.
If you look out from the tall arch-shaped window from a classroom, or if you’re outside and you tilt your head up to the sky, you might notice that the sky appears to be darkening further, growing heavy with what is inevitably an oncoming rainstorm. If you’re inside, it might be best to stay indoors; if you’re outside, perhaps it’s time to find some shelter. Or if you’re determined to find that orb outside, risk you and your compalion getting wet.
● ● ●
N O T E: Additionally, there are three personal tasks provided to each character as they enter the simulation. In-game, each character will be given one task. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re leaving it to players to pick a task for their character and run with it.
A Team up with another Orber and their compalion to find the orb's location.
B Climb into the clocktower and ring the bell.
C Explain your best theory regarding your compalion’s manifestation to a fellow team member.
F Y I
• This TDM covers the month of February.
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are currently open!
• Apps open February 24 and will remain open until February 28.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.
FOR SOME FUN:
Have a clue for your upcoming mission:
nikolai lantsov — grishaverse
SUCH A LOVELY PLACE: the sunlight room
WILDCARD
Infirmary
Uh--
[Daisy looks around to see if Leonard or Finn were aware this guy was up. With the way he's talking, he must've been knocked on the head. She doesn't recognize him either.]
No?
[Was that the right answer to give?]
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but he's not dead. this simply cannot be death. ]
What have you seen, then? [ any information he can glean could prove to be useful. ]
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Maybe you should lay back down.
[She offers, gesturing towards the bed he had been laying in.]
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[ because now he's wandering off and touching everything, pilfering through drawers for things that might be better suited for his pockets. ]
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There's nothing fun in here.
[Bones, Finn and the others aren't likely to appreciate him trying to steal what limited supplies are in here.]
You're new here, aren't you?
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infirmary.
at least, that's his intent. the new arrival had seemed in pretty bad shape, all things considered, and rhys imagined himself to be safe enough. not the case. what tenacity found in the human they bring here — rhys stiffens up immediately, slamming shut the drawer he was rifling through and turning around, shined shoes tapping sharply on the floor. )
I was not doing anything. I do not appreciate these allegations.
( the nonexistent ones, apparently. a moment late, rhys finally reckons with what nikolai said — and he shakes his head, frowning. )
None of that, I'm afraid. Maybe you should sit down? Either you had a terrifying and slightly erotic nightmare, or you're a new arrival and should take it slow.
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a new arrival. his eyes flicker up, taking in the man before him. he seems calm enough, as if he's used to this place. ]
A thief, then? [ he nods at him, glancing at the drawer. ] A poor one. You were making so much noise you could've woken the dead. I'm not much for sitting right now. What're you looking for?
[ he crosses the space and tips the drawer open, finding medical supplies, containers of tablets and tinctures, and rolls of fresh bandages. he tosses one over to his uninvited guest with a muttered hold this as he roots through the drawer, pulling out a few small bottles and vials that he examines carefully in the light. all of them then get dumped in his coat pocket. ]
I know the difference between a nightmare and — [ and what? my life. arguably the same thing. he reaches for the bandages. ] Reality. I assure you, the lethal swarm of bees was very real. Surely there are more exciting things to steal around here? Are you sure you haven't seen a woman with a penchant to threaten frequent bodily harm? She's very pretty, but don't tell her I said that.
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Oh a little that, and some this, and also maybe those? You know how it is.
( he tosses the bandages back at him, suavely slipping a hand into nikolai's pocket of goodies and pulling out a bottle at random, waving it around in the air as if he has any idea about what it even does. )
There it is, my special treasure. Wonderful. Now — I can tell you there are plenty of extraordinarily lovely women here who fit that description, and we can run down the entire alphabet of them in just a moment, but the more dire need is getting away from the scene of the crime, yes, marigold? I've heard the doctor here ( doctor bones, in fact ) knows all the most intriguing ways to hurt someone in a medically professional sense, so if you don't want to get dissected, bisected, or otherwise sected — follow the Fae! For future reference, that's generally terrible advice to follow.
( not right now, obviously. he's being very helpful, isn't he, to newcomers who are lost like little babes in the moonlight? alina will surely be pleased by his good deeds done today. pointedly, rhys spins on his heels and walks to the infirmary door, checking that the coast is clear, before casually walking away from the scene of all this criminal activity. )
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[ the fae. another curiosity in a place that makes little sense. the hallways wind to darkened spirals while nikolai tries to commit to memory the passing rooms and the mannerisms of the man beside him. dark hair, eyes a strange violet color that seem to sparkle despite the lack of light. the bandages end up absently wound around each finger in lieu of his currently missing gloves, the blackened scarring slowly covered up by thin strips of white. ]
Your name? [ his stomach churns uncomfortably, eyes flickering left to right, then back to his companion, tearing the bandages with his teeth. ] Call me Nikolai. Now, about these women. I'm looking for someone named Zoya Nazyalensky. She can pop your lungs like hollow gourds but I'm hoping she hasn't done anything of the sort yet. She's short-tempered, you see, and it's important that I find her. What sort of things can a Fae do? Bad at stealing, but good at finding?
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( an artful brow arches at the speed the so-named nikolai puts forward into keeping up — rhys is a male founded on and born into courtly rituals, so he sees the movement and interprets it as — self aggrandizing? positions of power. let him fall humbly beside then, hands tucked into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, such a pensive and modest little fae, making himself so small and delicate. he's entirely nonviolent, nondestructive, up until the moment he is — and he fears for quite little.
including pretty humans, trapped on an island in the stars with him. still, he can play the game. rhys offers him a grin, charming and charmed, winking. )
Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. But Rhys works just fine, since we're criminals together, now. ( he sighs, guiding them into the living area — a collection of sofas arranged for comfortable living. blissfully empty, for now. with a little heave, rhys flops down on one, kicking his feet up and crossing at the ankles, fetching the stolen bottle from his pocket to watch the amber liquid inside swish as he tilts the glass. ) Of course, you might rethink that dynamic once I say I don't know of anyone by the name of Zoya Naza-whatsit. Or anyone who can pop lungs for that matter, though I would like to see it happen. As far as the fair folk are concerned — I do magic tricks of all kinds. ( he grins at him more brightly, mischievously. ) And I can read your mind. Want to play?
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Zoya had never been one for euphemisms, metaphors and stories people tell themselves to shield themselves from the truth or coddle themselves from reality. Such things are for weaker people than her who cannot be trusted to do what is always needed. She has long since pulled off the blindfold men with stories of grandeur tied around her eyes. Nikolai is dead, and she will not look away from this truth. Her nails dig into her palm as if she can still feel the thorn clutched in it.
But cold and steadfast, she never wavers. Even alone here in this illusion. Chin held high, she is a wall containing the storm of grief and uncertainty. Dread. Guilt. Loneliness. And each one she squashes down with crunch of her boots across the snow.
She tips her head down, eyes closed as she listens to the almost imperceptible shift of water beneath the ice. For just a moment, she understands retreating into a lie, a place where Nikolai is no longer dead. And then just as quickly, she is scolding herself, clicking her tongue in admonishment and turning quickly on the bank she's perched on. But her quick movement disrupts the careful balance of snow she was standing on, actually covering ice. Even with lightning-quick reflexes, the ice cracks underneath her, plunging her into the water.
But it is not water she imagines in the seemingly slow moments where she plummets into the black depth. Her movements are slow and sluggish, is it what's surrounding her or just her mind moving more quickly than the reality around her. Golden haze takes her vision, she feels immobilized up her neck, over her mouth. Her legs feel heavy, pulling her down to the inevitable. She cannot fight this.
It was mistake to trust anyone but herself with her life, nostrils flared in anger, and then for the briefest moment regret to have succumbed to the fool's errand of want. A dragon's voice echos in her mind, her heart beating with the only impulse she could ever rely on: Survive.
It is not sticky golden sap that suffocates her, but the icy bite of water flooding her mouth, like a silver sword that forces itself down her throat. It infuriates her, that this place would steal wind and rob air from her lungs like she's done to so many men. She's tamed the winds and the sea. What's overcoming a little death on top of it?
Rage and spite are a perfect motivation for a resurrection.
Her fight is explosive, kicking and wrestling out of the grip of the water except that is not the grip of the water, it is the grip of a person and somehow the idea that someone would endanger themselves to save her enrages her more when she is perfectly capable of getting herself out of this situation, thank you she needs no help!! She throws her weight above the water, flopping onto the bank, heaving with the wet coughs that rack through her, spitting water onto ground.
Infuriated icy blue eyes meet her so-called-savior widening briefly into shock before they return to rage. ]
Nikolai—!
[ Naturally she slaps him.
It's nice to see him. ]
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All Saints, Zoya. [ wide-eyed, he watches her clamber out of the water, wondering if this is simply another illusion of this place, a cruel mirage of his most fervent desires. maybe he can dream up returning to ravka next. he wants to go to her, to throw his arms around her in a way he's never done before, to bury his face into her mass of wet, shining hair and let loose the pitiful laugh building up in his chest. maybe it isn't a laugh. better to keep it contained, then.
he surges forward, hauling himself over the bank. the cold has numbed his limbs but still smarts at his face, water rolling down in rivulets from strands of his golden hair. on his hands and knees, he sticks his face directly in front of hers. ]
Are you real? [ she might slap him again. he might like that. it could return some of the feeling back to him. ] Zoya, what happened to you in the thorn wood? Where is Elizaveta now? What of the Darkling? Where the hell have you been? Prove to me that you're real or I'll put you back in that lake, I swear it.
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Thankfully, she is well practiced in ignoring him. Instead, she keeps an intense and scrutinizing expression at him, her mind tumultuous with all the same questions about if this is real and what happened with more sense to keep them to herself. Deep (very deep) in the inky black depths of her heart something light akin to a giddy hope she never had the luxury of even as a girl flutters to the surface.
Ugh. Sentimentality. It makes her want to vomit.
Paying her emotions no mind like a very normal and well adjusted woman, her talons grip into his shirt ripping it to the side to reveal a star-shaped scar where the thorn pierced him. Now that's curious.
Satisfied with her inspection, she stands. Drenched in freezing water, she should be shivering but sheer will keeps her from succumbing to something so dreadfully basic as biology. If she returns to a warmer spot she can air dry much faster without freezing her fingers and toes off. ]
How am I supposed to prove myself when whatever was used for this illusion would be ripped from your mind. [ And she hates it, that she does not know he is real; that she cannot trust her own mind. ] Whatever I say would have to be something you know about me. [ Which is more than she cared to have let him know. Gross, vulnerability. ] How about I just threaten to gut you for risking your life by jumping into a freezing brook?
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she brings up a fair point, nikolai drawing up to sit back on his knees as he tries to clear his mind enough to think. his shivering fingers fumble with his buttons, his chest aching with a phantom pain. the demon rumbles, and he suddenly doesn't want to tell her that the ceremony was all for naught, that the monster hadn't been purged after all. another failure stacked upon all the others. ]
You're mad because I didn't let you drown? Perhaps you're real after all. [ he glances up, a sudden smile flickering across his lips, his tired eyes crinkling at the edges. he could sit at the edge of the brook forever and watch her. it sounds preferable to trying to unravel the mysteries of this unfamiliar place, but he doesn't doubt that zoya will actually tip him back into the freezing waters if he decides to do so, so he forces himself to his feet, coming close again this time to place both cold hands at her cheeks, his wet bandages starting to seep through with blood from where the thorns pierced straight through his palms. ] Did you really think you killed me? You're absolutely terrible at it. Valiant attempt, but better luck next time, General.
[ then he embraces her, something he's never done before but feels is warranted now, relief flowing through him. ]
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(She has the even worse sense to let him.)
While she may be stiff, she does not pull away immediately. She sighs, loudly, to express her exasperation with him. Some things will never change even in apparent death. Or undeath. Or whatever this is. ]
Enough. If you keep this up any longer you'll tempt me to try again, and affection gives me heartburn.
[ Among many other undesirable things like the warmth of relationships, rippling through her frozen heart. She lingers for a fraction of moment, longer than she would have under any other circumstances but this is nothing if not extraordinary. ]
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infirmary!!
where she should be, if she had any desire to feel brittle and shackled to bedrest. the blistering burns on her body have stitched over into new, unmarred skin — but there's a gaunt hollow shadowing her jaw when nikolai lashes aside the curtain, forcing her head to whip in his direction. the soaked paintbrush in her hand teeters before her grip tightens, blinking back at him with the widened surprise of a doe caught in a meadow. tense, skittish — all wide, uncomprehending eyes at the sight of a new stranger in her territory. especially at the flash of his teeth.
the other orbers have already proven themselves to have a bloodthirst that rears its head at the appearance of an obstacle. it's not so far-fetched, to wonder if she should regard the keen edge of his smile with the same distrust.
it takes a moment for her to look past her hidden discomfort and register the babbling brook of his words streaming together. her brow creases, nearly wearing a question mark in the crinkles of her forehead. saints, his ability to speak without pausing has to be a talent of some sort — some skill even heartrenders should envy.
slowly, her fingers lower from the wall now that she's certain her artwork is temporarily on hold, shooting him an exhausted look. ]
Did you intend to take a breath anytime soon? If you plan to keel over and die from a lack of air, I'd like a warning to prepare me first.
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Alina. [ her name tumbles breathlessly from his mouth, the distance between them crossed in an instant, his expression cracked open like a robin's egg fallen from the nest. the smile that crests his lips is nothing like the one he wore moments before, this one genuine, painfully sweet, cracked at the edges with a torment he never speaks of because no one could ever understand but her. ] Saints, is it — it's you.
[ he winds his arms around her without thinking, pulling her into a firm embrace, burying his face into her soft hair while an unhinged laugh bubbles out of him. if this is another illusion, she feels far too real, warm and soft and achingly familiar. he's missed her. saints, he's missed her. ]
I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. [ his smile widens, eyes closing as relief floods him, his knees weak with exhaustion. ] Saints, I — there's so much that's happened, most of it without a doubt terrible. I have to tell you — I tried to purge the demon and failed. I failed so terribly, Alina, and I think I may have unleashed the worst sort of evil into the world again. I saw him. The Darkling. I'm afraid he isn't gone after all, and it's my fault, because a part of him lives on in me. This has been the most trying time of my life, and I desperately need your help, because you're the only one who understands. I wish you'd never left. You're the only one I can speak candidly with about this, and I've — I'm trying to be strong for everyone because I know Ravka won't survive another weak king, but I've never felt so alone.
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a sunny smudge of paint speckles the back of her denim overalls as she teeters into the small sliver of space that is still her own, unclaimed by the man chained around her waist. for an unkind moment, she debates an indulgently morbid thought, hedges her bets on which he'll request first: a lock of her hair to brew into his tealeaves, or the crook of a fingerbone to dangle on a chain to bring good fortune, as though her suffering is only important when it's a palliative for misery. ( the former wins out, if his nuzzling is any indication, hiding within the dark forest of her hair. )
her shoulder squirms, trying to readjust it, before she gives up on the task. let the end of her antler prod him in the chin. it's what he deserves for invading the territory of her personal space. ]
I'm — what are you saying?
[ midair, her hands float uselessly, paralyzed by indecision: offer meager comfort or shove him from her space, letting the rattle of the medical cart warn him away from accosting her again. but there's something harried in his confession that makes the choice for her — something fractured that stays her hand. something that calls to the fissures within her, splintering beneath the weight of her divinely-blessed duty.
even if none of its pieces connect for her, a chapter of a tale that's scrambled its words and left her to decipher its passages. demon. the darkling. gone. help. another weak king. pyotor's own brand of poison led him to the same fate, too ill to claim his throne. and with him gone, all that remains is ...
vasily? no, the shape of his face isn't quite right, even if it had only been a blur in her peripherals. a sight observed in passing, like the grand walls or the portraits of past rulers lining them like a memorial in a mausoleum. at a loss, she awkwardly pats her hand between his shoulder blades, hardly having the good grace not to slip out with the first dawning thought that occurs to her, raking through old conversations with zoya.
that dawning thought being a tentative guess of, ] Sobachka?
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When you left, I thought that was the end of it. That I would feel the dark, but it would just — stay contained within me, an uncomfortable reminder of everything we’d endured together during the war. But the monster started taking my body at night. I would wake miles away from the palace with no memory of what I’d done, and it kept getting worse as the months went on. I tried everything to purge it, but Zoya and I have never been able to find an answer. I wanted to write to you, to visit you and Mal and tell you myself, but — [ he laughs uncomfortably, a flat sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. ] There’s no easy way to tell anyone you’re afraid you’re becoming more monster than man.
[ his words die at that, his scarred fingertips sweeping aside the dark stain of her hair to reveal the stag’s antlers embedded into her delicate collar, his face growing ashen at the sight. an amplifier. but it can’t be. not like this, and not — he looks at her, stricken at the mention of his childhood nickname. something isn’t right. the demon grows restless as he presses a finger to a tip of the antler hard enough to prick his skin, a pearl of blood staining the bleached bone. ]
You’ve never called me that before. [ quiet, his brow tense. his gaze sharpens. ] You can summon?
Such a lovely place - Sunlight room
A harsh stop to that line of thought, and he undresses, slipping in to the icy waters. Cold enough to make his heart beat frantically in his chest, a pain so all-consuming there's nothing outside of it as he dives beneath the ice, kicking his legs to keep warm and to feel the flash of icy pain that comes with it.
Swimming in the water until someone grabs him from behind and forces his head out of the freezing cold.]
Let go of me-
[As he grabs back, hand closing around a wrist to pull and twist in his capture's arms.]
i'm screaming
elizaveta's plan was to revive the darkling all along, and the evidence now floats before his own eyes. an incredulous laugh bubbles out of him. what a miserable mess he's made of things, all the taunts and accusations thrown at him in the thorn wood holding merit after all. ravka will not survive another weak king. is it even worth trying to find his way back?
of course it is. he draws in a steadying breath — less steady than he'd like, but there's the cold to blame for that — and meets the darkling's cold stare. ageless, all-powerful, frightening in ability. nikolai knows intimately just what he's capable of, has spent nearly three years struggling to coexist with the darkness within him and hold onto his unraveling mind and will. but he refuses to show fear no matter how much it burrows into him now. ]
My profuse apologies. I didn't mean to try and help you.
[ a statement that would have come out as unaffected and serene as day, if not for the way the demon keeps scraping at his chest cavity, howling in his ear, delicate fissures of black fragmenting his skin as they climb past his collar, creeping slowly up his throat. ]
I scream, you scream, we all scream for -- 'can you feel me inside of you'
But he knows this face, the wet curls plastered to the less-than-aristocratic face and he most certainly knows that voice, has heard it for years. Before the clever fox grew in to it, from before, when it was nothing but a tiny, high-pitched squeal and he's heard it deepen in to this.
Threading water, the Darkling's black eyes creep over Nikolai, the second son of Ravka. The lost prince and he sees the darkness slithering up his neck, climbing like vines against his throat.]
No, I suppose you didn't.
crying now
Interesting trick, there. [ the cold has left him painfully numb, his cheeks ruddy as he floats in the icy brook, keeping a measure of distance between them. ] You, alive and all.
[ one of the most powerful grisha in existence may be able to withstand the bitter cold, but nikolai isn't keen on going into hypothermic shock, so he swims to the bank despite how it sets his nerves on edge to take his eyes off the darkling, hefting himself over the bank. the blackened scars on his hands stand out against the snow. the demon protests, drawn to the darkling in a way nikolai has never had to contend with before because the man has always been dead. inconvenient, that. ]
Trying to make up for your crimes and drown yourself?
https://c.tenor.com/nk3ZsJ2BMiEAAAAC/vigilante-comfort.gif
Or-
He doesn't move until Nikolai climbs from the water, watching as the drops skitter down his back, the tendrils of darkness slithering across his skin. Like a mark, or a collar.
Like merzost, only there's no Small Science in this boy and he's knows it. The Darkling finds his own clothes, drying off slowly with a towel from the bathroom before finding the salvaged garments from the room of things. Dark green this time, and grey pants that feel impossibly soft.]
And what crimes might that be?
[As if there hadn't been a prolonged and uncomfortable stretch of silence between Nikolai's words and his own reply, as if he isn't watching for clues that might explain what is going on. Eyes locked on Nikolai's form, as if he was a puzzle that didn't make much sense.]
that awkward moment when the man who wrecked your life is like nbd
When every word is measured, because of the- implication
(no subject)
(no subject)
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