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peacockstop2024-08-15 09:00 pm
goldmods) wrote in peacockstop2024-08-15 09:00 pm
TDM 05
【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made in our KING SUITES for all new arrivals. We will endeavor to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We deeply apologize for any inconvenience.
As a token of our gratitude for your understanding, front reception has arranged for a GRAND FEAST to welcome our newest guests. The attendance of all guests is required. The house will enforce compliance.
Please note that rank-appropriate attire is mandatory. Guests found breaking social code may be disciplined. We hope you enjoy your stay! 】
ARRIVAL
DIVINE AWAKENING
All King suites have been set to the Heavenly setting for the comfort of these new Wildcards. To call this place a room feels like a misnomer; all of the senses scream that this is a real temple at the top of a crisp oceanside mountain. The only clue that this place isn't what it seems is the door in the distance. It stands dark against light, a stark rectangle distinctly out of place.
New arrivals aren't waking up alone. Reception would never expect their guests to wake up in a cold bed. All new guests will be waking up next to another Wildcard or a current guest snatched up from the hallways. Guests waking up in these heavenly King suites will wake dressed in sheer white tunics and togas that leave very little to the imagination.
GILDED CAGE
AN ENDLESS FEAST
Rugs and cushions have been laid out for low rank guests. All high rank guests have thrones and benches covered in crushed velvet and delicate linens. Wildcards have a seat of honor amongst it all, each fresh new divine lead to the grand dais for their own semi-private tent with daybed and eager servants.
Low ranks are carefully watched by security and wait staff. Some low rank guests may even be dragged in by resort staff to assist serving high rank guests and Wildcards. All high rank guests and Wildcards are revered and catered to during the feast. Low rank guests are expected to feed them, rub their feet, and comply with any whimsical demands. Any low rank guest that defies a higher ranked guest is at risk of being shackled, forced to scrub chamber pots, and other humiliating punishments.
PHOENIX CASINO
ALEA IACTA EST
The game tables are abuzz. Special games have kicked off in honor of the new godlings that are waiting to check in. Even here, those of different ranks are distinct from one another. The lowest ranks wear small slips of clothing. Some are even collared to show they belong to a particular royal or Wildcard. Royals and Wildcards dress luxuriously in thick robes and golden jewelry.
Game managers clap and encourage guests of all ranks to join in on the fun. While there are numerous card games, slot machines, and raffles happening around the casino, staff are promoting three events in particular.
BEAK
ENTERTAIN YOUR BETTERS
Beneath the open arena is a smaller closed arena and the warrior’s bunk. Warriors will find cold showers, rustic wooden benches, and training weapons available for their use. Deep in the earth is a grimy prison where servants who refuse to battle are thrown to wait for their turn. There are also cages where the hungry “animals” wait to go out and entertain the masses.
A long track rings around the perimeter of the arena. Gone is the standard green fuzz and white lines, replaced with stone and dust to elicit the real feeling of running beneath the hot Grecian sun. Foot and chariot races take place throughout the day.
TALON
SHOW OF STRENGTH
Servants that appear too fragile to handle mud wrestling have been conscripted into the oil bearer role. Their job is to slather the warriors in oil from head to toe, and otherwise prepare them for their matches in either the arena or in the pit. This includes styling their hair, tending to their wounds, and wiping the sweat off of their bodies if so desired.
The locker rooms that connect Beak and Talon have been fully stocked with first aid kits and luxury bathing supplies. Warriors that have won their matches get first pick, leaving the dirty towels and shampoo that smells like ass for the losers to sift through. Those sneaky ghost hands are having a field day, snapping rat tails at unsuspecting bathers and locking naked warriors together in the supply closet. Guests lacking vigilance may find their bottoms unexpectedly pinched.
INDULGENCE
DESIRES FROM THE VOID
Things begin to move around the resort. The forgotten and the old exhale a dusty breath. Like the hunger that the Wildcards woke up with upon arrival, as its heart begins to beat quicker, there is a tension in the air of those things hungering to feed. To join in, and indulge. To get what they want.
And they’re coming out.
OOC NOTES
▶ BLANKET CW: Alcohol; aphrodisiacs; battle; blood; bondage; compulsion; costumes; discipline; dominance; drowning; dubcon; fears; fighting; food; hierarchy; humiliation; indulgence; kidnapping; noncon; paranormal; power imbalance; roleplay; servitude; stalking; submission; supernatural; terror; violence; weapons
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's August event. Changes to the above locations will ICly be present from August 15th - September 1st.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ Wildcard tokens from the GILDED CAGE prompt may be redeemed even if the newbie(s) in question do not join the game, but only for the small item reward; the token does not carry over to Game 52.
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
▶ Don't forget to relax and enjoy the end of your summer! ♥
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's August event. Changes to the above locations will ICly be present from August 15th - September 1st.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ Wildcard tokens from the GILDED CAGE prompt may be redeemed even if the newbie(s) in question do not join the game, but only for the small item reward; the token does not carry over to Game 52.
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
▶ Don't forget to relax and enjoy the end of your summer! ♥
— dabi
But the thrill of a mystery, of one at least tangentially connected to magic in some way? Even if it could very easily be a trap, even if he's rather positive that it is, it still holds information, still draws him in far more than the voice's pressing insistence itself. This time, though, he's at least decided that he shouldn't just wander off on his own without a word. Dabi is here with him, as they make their way down past the 2 rank suites and to the maintenance levels. It feels oppressive down here— because of his connection to magic, his awareness of spirits— and he tries to be subtle in the way he tucks a little closer to Dabi, even as he leads the way. )
I've heard voices down here before. ( As he speaks, he turns the corner on one staircase to another, and even if it's clear that he's struggling to keep up his same pace down these flights of stairs, his interest is what helps him push past it. ) But they weren't anything like this.
( It isn't much longer before they reach the lowest level, and the door that's found itself without a padlock is one of many lined up together. )
Here. ( He says it immediately, as he steps closer, his hand immediately resting onto the door itself. He can see the print labeled just above, PUNISHMENT PROTOCOL. But the voices encourage past that, insisting eagerly that they come inside, you're almost there. )
Can you hear them at all yet? They're more insistent. Louder.
( He shouldn't, but his hand slips down to the doorknob, and as he pulls it open to enter, the dim light flickers slightly overhead. Dabi is somewhere behind him, he knows, and so he feels he can set self preservation aside entirely— or rather, he would have either way, even if he had refused to come. Right now, the strange setup of the room, the suffocating feeling of the walls, the two chairs— that's all too interesting to ignore. )
no subject
with a grim press of his lips together, he follows esikko down further. the maintenance levels seem to be something of a wildcard, when it comes to exploration: he's heard talk of people going missing, finding long corridors, forbidden rooms, and the room that esikko leads them to seems to be one of the only ones unlocked, something that he finds immediately suspicious. the resort is likely playing him: maybe it wants to get back at esikko, for that blood magic, for the murder, for any number of things that he's done, here.
there's a slight, imperceptible shake of his head. ) No. I don't hear anything.
( --which is odd, all things considered. even when esikko opens the door, and he reaches in to catch the side of it, to keep it open for the both of them--he doesn't hear anything. the room is eerily, coldly quiet, as though there's no ventilation down here, no windows, nothing that might possibly connect with the world outside or inside. and once they're both in, there's just that table, the naked bulb, the two metal chairs. without thinking, he reaches a hand in to take esikko at the crook of his elbow.
he shouldn't get closer to it. whatever it is, there's something there that just isn't right--and then the door creaks, whines, stretches on its hinges behind them; and then, suddenly, there's noise, the humming of the lightbulb, the looming groan of the shadows closing in. with a firm yank to esikko, as though ensuring that he keeps close, he squints at the light--and watches, as it clicks, fizzles, pops and burns out. )
Don't move. ( grimly, annoyed--his free hand lifts, a bulb of blue flame that slowly illuminates the space around them. like a picture book, the scenery paints itself in front of them; there's grass and dirt and twigs at their feet, a gravel path skidded up in a curl out away from them, and trees, dark, foreboding trees, trees that feel like they're taller than mountains, trees that loom in around them as though to force them to follow the path.
his hand slacks, on esikko's arm--his flames slowly burn out, the darkness of a night sky bubbling and spreading out above them, dotted with stars; he can barely see them through the veil of stilted shock that's come over him. ) ...Don't...
( his voice warbles, shakes, a tremor in his throat; he doesn't know how the fuck this is happening, but they're standing near the top of sekoto peak. )
no subject
A shift. In reality, or in perception? The truth is that Esikko isn't talented enough to know which it is, can't differentiate the sudden smell of the forest on this mountain as something real or created. What he does feel confident in is that this area is too green, too warm, in comparison to the icy mountains of his own kingdom, to be anything that he could recognize— that Dabi's voice is shaking too much, that when he looks back at him he looks too shocked, too— afraid? is he afraid?— for it to be anything other than something digging in his mind. )
You recognize this place?
( He asks, but he fears he already can expect the answer, from that reaction. It feels like a lapse in judgement on his own part. Not once during their journey down here did he consider that Dabi, the one who couldn't hear the voices at all, might be susceptible to whatever gets thrown at them, might be pushed into any sort of scenario that would catch him off guard like this. He was prepared for his own vulnerability, for his own danger, but not—
The voices are silent, now, but the overwhelming sense of presence watching them right now certainly isn't. It hangs over them enough that Esikko's chest feels tight, and he lets out a puff of a breath to try and release some of that tension, shifting just enough to grab at Dabi's wrist, to ground him further. His eyes scanning behind him find no trace of the door that had let them in. If he were a little better at what he does, maybe he'd be able to recognize that it's still there— but it hardly matters, when it wouldn't open for them, anyway.
Everything here feels real. Shifting one of his feet grants the sound of dirt and gravel, the smell of it— the slight breeze brushes past not only the trees, but the two of them. The stars overhead are twinkling in a far more realistic way than any of the projected stars in the rooftop garden of the resort. He feels like he's playing catchup too slowly, trying to connect the dots to what's happening; he still can't figure it out, can't predict what sort of thing might happen next, can't tell if following the path would be any different from staying in place. Reluctantly, he adds: )
I— can't tell if it's real.
no subject
it doesn't make sense for it to be real. there's no reason why the resort would suddenly let them be free, why it would suddenly dump them somewhere, and this--well, he hasn't been to the mountain since that time, but he doesn't think that the trees would be so well populated, that the fires that decimated a lot of the greenery could have left soil that would have sprouted so much new life so quickly.
so it's not now. it's not real. it's not--but then how--
dazed, he takes another step, and then another, and as though fueled by the fact that the path continues, he continues along with it. esikko is strong, good with his magic, and he knows that he's not leaving him to die, if he works up the path ahead of him; if anything, it's better if he scopes it out himself. across familiar dips and grooves in the path, curved around a small clearing in the trees, dipped past some low-hanging branches that he swats at with one arm, errant: he steps into that little clearing, the shield of rocks, the stumps there that he--and his father, once--had used as training dummies, still stuck just as they had been, still dug deep into the ground. beyond, to the left, is a large lake, and near it, the rusty old buckets he'd brought and dragged up the mountain, his insurance policy in case things got out of hand.
just how he'd left it. just how it had always been. alone, here, training alone, here, tending to his burns, forcing himself further, harder, trying to be the son endeavor wanted.
his throat closes, a breath that feels like vomit: his stomach tenses, his eyes so round that the seams start to prick, twisted in against his skin. )
There's...no fucking way. ( soft, like he's saying it more to himself, like he's there alone--like he always had been. always fucking alone, here. ) It's. This is where...
( one of his hands lifts, fingers clenching, before flexing out--but the fire that grapples up from his palm isn't the pretty pale blue, doesn't lick and spit up into the air like it should; it's red, and bright, spluttering, catching on the cool night air, flicking and spiriting in and out, red and orange and blue and white and orange again. )
It's where I died. ( he finally says, watching his juvenile flames arc up away from him--and the tears of shock, surprise, excitement, anger that roll down his face aren't the bulging blood of damaged nerves, but the pure, pale tracks of real tears, curved down one cheek, dripped off his jaw. it's surreal to feel them again. ) This can't be fucking real.
no subject
It's where I died. As Dabi speaks, Esikko watches the way his flames seem to flicker and falter, like the doubt of his own words. Something in that, and in the way that his stomach sinks at the feeling of being watched, is heavily familiar. Where? Why? He swallows, his steps bringing him closer to Dabi, watching those tears well up and drip down. )
Dabi.
( It's easy enough to assume what he means by dying here. Touya died here, he assumes. But it's Dabi he calls out to, hopes that the name reaches him, that it holds some sort of weight enough to make it through what he must be feeling. He reaches, not wanting to leave this tether to words alone, eyes focused as he wipes away a perfectly clear tear. )
Something must be drawing from your mind for this. It can't be real, because I'm here, right?
( A memory, or a place from memory— but he's here, invading it, touching in it, stepping in it. Is that enough? The hanging presence overhead doesn't feel like it, and in a beat, he recognizes it— the same feeling as Clubs? )
Try not to get lost in it. Can you focus on me? ( It doesn't feel like it's enough, but his hand slides down to grip at his shoulder, all the same. )
no subject
but it is real, isn't it? this is a place that's real, a place that exists, a place that he'd never gone back to, after everything. the hospital had been far away, and then he'd found his way to the streets, and then to the todoroki estate, and then after that? he never went to sekoto peak again. even so, he knows that it still exists: that it's still there, the place where his corpse had been retrieved, the place that neither his father nor his mother ever came to rescue him from.
esikko's hand slides down, and he only realizes it then, realizes the heat of his tears, realizes the touch; esikko's hand slides down, gripping at his shoulder, and the fire in his free hand crackles, blazes up, a blossom of red and orange, bleeding into blue, a little purple; and what had been his memory, here? face buried in his arms, sobbing--what had he said?
don't, don't cry, i'm not gonna cry.
and then? the steam, the overwhelming feeling of heat, the prickle of his skin in pain--esikko's touching him, and the flames build, burst out from his chest, lapping and building and climbing over his arms and shoulders-- )
No, it's-- ( it's so hot! it won't go out! he can feel the words dying in his throat, choked in his voice, and it's esikko's hand that catches, first, attached to him as it is; the flames light up over the whole shape of him, and greedy, they lap and tumble over themselves along esikko's arm, up to his shoulders, to his neck--
fuck, is this how it felt? it's been so long that he can't remember proper pain, but this feels like it; it's pure agony, feeling his whole body go up into flames, feeling damaged skin suddenly alight with nerves again, as though the memory woke them. he can't even reach for esikko: they're both ablaze, and grabbing for him will just make things worse. )
The lake! ( a scream that's only heard over the sizzling sound of skin, seared, bubbling up in agony; his boots skid against the gravel, taking a step from esikko, trying to create as much space as possible to keep the flames from migrating to him. ) The lake, you need--you're going to be fucking burned alive!
no subject
Even if it can't be real, it feels real, like this. Searing pain unlike anything he's ever felt, covering his hand, his arm, and— more, he thinks, but it's difficult to tell with the way his fragile body seizes under the crackling of his skin. It's a panicked sort of thing, the rush of fire, the race against time, the spreading across skin— foolishly trying to swat and slap it away does nothing but spread it further, but the desperate flails are all that he can manage. Dabi's voice sounds muffled at first, sounds further away than he actually is, and Esikko panics about that, too. Squinting through the fire and burn of smoke, he makes out his figure, on fire even more than him, stepping back like he is, and he reaches out with a burning, unsteady arm.
The lake!
He can hear him, he can, but it feels like every muscle in his throat is squeezing shut, like the burn of hot smoke is too much, and he knows, he knows, but what about him— )
No—
( Strangled, that's all he can make out, his hand returning to his own chest as it catches, as the pain draws out another strained noise. The fear of death is impossible to fight off with logic, impossible to rule out, right now, and it's as overwhelming as these flames. No, because he doesn't want to die, no, because he doesn't want to move to the lake alone, no, because some faint part of himself thinks he should feel it all, thinks that if he did he might be able to reach Dabi in the future.
But he does move, finally, his steps staggering and unsteady towards the edge of the lake, their rushed pace resulting in a stumble that has him dropping just short of the water, body tense and curled in on itself. )
no subject
and this is just the proof that he doesn't need, in the end--that he could have never been a hero. that even here, even with esikko, even with someone that he actually feels his shriveled heart caring about: he can't save him. all he can do is hurt him, damage him beyond repair. is that the message the resort is teaching him, here? watching esikko's skin crackle and pop and melt against his limbs, watching his clothes go up, licked into flames, watching his hair burn and his lashes burn and his breath stagger out in pain? that he should have never done any of this at all?
the pain is familiar and strange, all the same, an agony from another life, an agony that he doesn't feel anymore: it's easier for him to work against it, to stagger after esikko as he moves towards the shore of the lake, to watch him collapse down just near the edge of it, gravel and dirt smudging out some of the flames. it might look cruel, the way he staggers after him--the way he lifts a boot, kicks it into esikko's shoulder and pushes him into a roll, tumbling him just into the surface of the water; his limbs scream out, his skin seared, his face lapping with tears and flames, burning up the tender skin under his eyes. tumbling forward, he hits the lake, the water cool, too cool, over damaged, broken skin--
and that's the end. that should be the end, right? he should die here. he should have died, there. he shouldn't have been dragged back to life, dragged back to a corpse, dragged back to be used as fodder for monsters for a villain--
but the water doesn't flood his lungs, the flames cease, and when he forces his eyes open: it's not sekoto peak, anymore. esikko is lying beside him, but he isn't burned--isn't damaged, isn't broken, and with a lunging breath, he forces himself up onto an elbow. it's--fucking frigid, here, wherever they are, and immediately he palms a hand to shake esikko at the shoulder. )
Get up. Talk to me. Hey.
no subject
( The last thing he can remember seeing, through eyes barely able to keep open from the pain, is Dabi's own ignited form moving towards him. He remembers the nudge against his shoulder, a barely noticeable feeling beneath the sizzling of his skin, and the sudden plunge into water creating an even weirder mix of pain and numbness. From there, he thinks he passes out— at least that's how it feels like, in the few moments before Dabi's palm is at his shoulder, and the motion alone brings to realization how familiarly freezing it is.
Sucking in a gasp of a breath, he tries to push himself up from how he's curled on his side, but his hand slips into what he realizes now is snow. Their surroundings seem to fill in like a memory, a vague expanse slowly transforming into the white void of snow and storm around them. Wind kicks up, pushing flurries of snow into the both of them, and Esikko catches himself after the slip of his hand, now reaching with his free hand to grab at Dabi's arm. There's not a sign of anything in their minimal range of sight. Snow, untouched and smooth and freshly falling, and the stormy clouds above that blend in all the same. It's dark, with no sunlight to help brighten the dim landscape, and no stars are visible through the heavy cloud cover. )
Dabi. We're—
( Okay, is what he had meant to say, but the words come out pained, slow, distracted, and he never makes it to the last one. It's strange, how such an expanse of nothing could feel so familiar, but Esikko knows right away where they are. The memory invades him like it's fresh, the slowing steps through the snow, the way he had shivered so violently at first until it stopped, the ache of his heart slowing, struggling to pump the blood needed in any regular fashion. He had gotten separated here, and then...
The violent shivers of his own body come so quickly, this time, with how poorly he's dressed for the weather, and he finds it difficult to focus. Difficult to explain anything that he's realized, to even bring it to mind as he turns to stare out in one distance. The wind is only worsening, along with the snow, and he can't tell if he's really awake or not. Is this here, is it now? Is he with Dabi, or is he hallucinating alone? Is he dying? His grip attempts to tighten on Dabi, but he manages barely more than a twitch. )
C-can you stay warm? ( His words are jagged from his own shivers, and difficult to hear over the wind. Panicked thoughts crash into each other, and he scrambles to his feet in difficult stumbles, trying to pull Dabi up along with him. ) Through w-weather like this, can you?
( Maybe they're close. Maybe he was close the whole time, he just couldn't make it because he was separated— maybe he doesn't have to be separated, this time, this way. Maybe Dabi is safe— is he safe? )
no subject
and where is this? the look of abject horror on esikko's face seems to tell him that he knows where it is, knows where they are, and a part of him wonders: are they just lying on the floor of that room, lying there in some kind of dream? but dreams don't hurt like this, and he can feel himself thinking, and esikko's reacting in ways that he's not sure his own mind would make up; as esikko struggles onto his feet, he follows suit, boots digging into the snow to force himself upright.
it's getting colder, somehow. even if he threw out his flames, it wouldn't matter: there's nothing here for them to catch on but snow and sleet and the biting wind. after what just happened--somehow--he doesn't want esikko to get near him, and it worries him, the way he pulls at him, the way he's touching him. what if he sets him ablaze, again? what would happen to him?
a hard swallow, squinting his eyes in the wind-- ) Not for long.
( it's hard to admit it: he might be relatively fine, now, but his body will grow tired, especially--
one of his arms lifts, circling around esikko, trying to drag him in closer. he knows that esikko's always cold, always chilled over from the inside out; in a place like this, won't that just make things even worse? )
I gotta be hot enough for both of us. Where are we going?
no subject
"I gotta be hot enough for both of us."
His hands are so cold he can feel his fingers, and while he tries to press them against the warmth of Dabi, over his shirt rather than under it, he feels a sinking, dreadful feeling of worry. It must be torture, to be growing colder by the second and have to cling to someone colder. He's going to get them both killed— that's what he did by going to him for help in the first place, right? By asking him for help, by taking him down here...
"Where are we going?"
The words hit him delayed, and for a moment he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut like he's trying to wake up from a nightmare, or trying to think of some miracle of a solution. But there isn't one. There isn't one, and the longer he presses against Dabi like this, the more he's going to make it harder for him to stay warm. )
No, no, no— T-there's a town, somewhere, I don't...
( Steeling himself, he pulls back from Dabi, his feet stumbling in the snow. They're submerged enough that he can't feel them, that he knows it's bad, but he's in such a panic that he can't even focus on the logic, on trying to communicate what he'd noticed in the last setting to Dabi. None of his usual attempts at seeming stronger, at seeming confident, at seeming calm, are coming through at all now. )
We're not g-going to make it, w-we're going to die, we're going to die out here— no, no, maybe you can... Maybe you can find it if you move, if you just—
( His hands thump desperately at himself as he steps in one direction that feels "right", clumsily pulling out a journal that he drops first before bending to snatch it up and flip through the pages in his panic. His shivering is so violent that even that much is a struggle, and even if he hunches to hide the pages from the flurries of snow and ice, the pages still catch the flakes. Thankfully, something seems to be keeping it dry. )
I don't... ( want to be alone ) want you to die faster because of me— damn it, where is it?!
no subject
when the grafts started burning and the seams started slipping apart, he thought if he could just hold on another month, it would be okay. when the staples started to be more useful than just terrifying decoration, he thought if he could just keep going until the end, it would be okay. there had always been some kind of finite ending, there, with endeavor's life going up in smoke the same as his own. there had always been death waiting, a comfort after everything; in death, everything would be set right.
but that's not the way that esikko feels about it. he's panicking, shifting his steps, flipping through his journal with numbed hands, and a part of him wonders--if there are so many lives waiting for him, then why fear death? is it worse, getting to this same spot over and over again? if there's the chance to change things, would he?
wincing, his lids lower, using wet lashes to try to fight off the sleet that blow itself into his gaze; it hurts a little there, tiny prickles where the ice and snow hit him, but there's little feeling. freezing to death seems to be the same as living: a pain that dulls itself out in the middle, losing sensation. )
It doesn't matter, does it? ( his voice wheezes out a little--he wants to reach for that notebook and throw it into the snow, somewhere, but he doesn't want to waste the energy. ) If I die, you can split me open. It'll be warmer than being out here.
( a small shake of his head--he looks up, out towards the distance, but it's so hard to gauge where this supposed town might be, out in the sea of white. )
If you die, you'll come back. Right? It's okay. It'll be okay.
no subject
( Dabi speaking about his own death so casually, offering his body up like that, is something that draws him out of his focus on the journal at once. His head turns, palm pressing flat against the page in the journal to keep it open as he shoots a glare his way, the temper behind it something that might have warmed him up in better circumstances. )
It matters.
( Short, he holds the journal out to Dabi with shaking hands. Despite the spark of rage that he doesn't bother explaining, Dabi's words do help ground him a little. It's freezing, and he can feel himself slipping in it, limbs already beginning to numb. His hands are turning purple, and his shivering has lessened to a strange stop, but the page he has open does have a sketch. Buildings, focused on their unique silhouettes, and a strange tree positioned near the entrance where he's taken great detail to sketch every correct curve of split trunk and branches. )
Besides, I'd die first. ( Mumbled, he presses past that, and reluctantly steps closer to Dabi. He stumbles a little when the snow shifts under his weight, but closes his eyes, ducking his head to shove his frost-bitten nose against Dabi's shoulder. ) Maybe you're right, though. Maybe it's fine.
( Maybe it will be okay. Maybe they can just come back. Because he's not alone, because he can see Dabi's figure, can feel him, hear him. But this isn't just memory being played with here— it's wrapped around a fear, deep-rooted and cruel, and settling for dying in his arms as he tries to look for a city he doesn't know is too nice for that. Nicer than any death he's experienced, or ever will. Things shift again, a slow rumbling that's hard to hear beneath the roar of the icy winds until it's too late. Snow cracks and crumbles beneath Esi's feet, and his grip on the journal is abandoned for a desperate grasp for Dabi that he misses when his body drops with the ground beneath him, all the snow and dirt and rock tumbling down the cliffside.
The strange avalanche leaves Dabi's foothold in place, if he stays put, the isolating howl of sharply cold wind still cutting across the rumble of moving snow and dirt. )
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with a small shake of his head, he glances from the page, up across the snow, back to the page, and up again. esikko tucks himself in against him, and he lifts his free arm, stiff and chilled, to hold it in around his back, a silent encouragement; there's a nod of confirmation, as he takes another scouting glance around them. )
It's gonna be fine.
( or maybe it's not going to be fine. maybe this is all that could ever happen, the world playing its usual sick jokes; the ground suddenly gives, and even with his hero training, even with his own training, even with the notebook thrown out into the snow, his hand only grazes esikko's palm, fingertips there and gone again. the snow and the sleet and the dirt give and tumble down into darkness; there's a loud curse, frozen from his lips, but he doesn't have to think twice about it.
does it matter? it doesn't matter. no, esikko said it mattered. it's just death. it's just another death. just another death of the many that they seem to endure, all the same, while living: and so he doesn't hesitate, leaning over the edge, leaping down into the dark abyss beneath them. maybe he'll be fine. maybe his quirk will buoy his fall. maybe it won't. maybe his bones will break, splinter, spatter them both out--
--or maybe they'll hit the floor of the punishment room in the golden peacock, splayed out across its cool, unforgiving surface. )
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The drop against the floor of the punishment room startles him out of what he'd been so certain was death. His journal is face down somewhere to the side, face down with open pages, but for once his eyes dart past that as he jolts to push himself up, ignoring the wince and grimace that comes with it. None of that was real? None of that was real, he thinks, but it may as well have been— his body hurts all over. Memories of flames crackling and sizzling at his own skin blend over the ones of the biting cold numbing his extremities, but he still half-crawls the short distance to grip at Dabi's shoulder, fingers curling tight with worry. )
Hey. Come on, you're awake, right—
( Was that instant? Or has it been hours? He can't tell, and the voices are quiet now, replaced with the ominous feeling of something in the room— the same something that he'd recognized in the start. Clubs. Why does it feel the same as Clubs did? Like a tickle in his mind, uncomfortable and invasive, weighing the rest of him down. Try as he might to use logic to wipe it all away, the images of Dabi both covered in flames and covered by obscuring blankets of snow are far too vivid to forget. They replay again and again, making every millisecond that he doesn't open his eyes feel like a lifetime. He feels nauseous, like he might be sick, but he swallows it down with an impatient raise of his other hand to Dabi's cheek, touching his palm there to make sure he's still warm.
He is. He's warmer than him, as always, and he exhales out sharply in his relief. The table is still in the room, closer to where his journal has ended up, and the light above it flickers again ominously, like it might run them through it all again if they take too long. )
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with a slow breath-- )
Touching without permission, now? ( it's a wheezing sort of tease, absolutely not meant at all--there's no permission needed when it comes to them. ) Guess you get all ballsy after you die.
( letting him go, he braces his elbows against the floor, urging his way to sit up; his whole body aches, exhausted, and with a slight wince, he glances around the room. nothing seems to be different, and that light, hanging above the table, swings slightly, as though buoyed by some unseen wind; he thinks of all the snow, the crisp breeze of sekoto peak, and bends at the waist, letting out a slow breath of steam.
he reaches to touch esikko's arm, instead. )
We're not staying here. Let's go. This place is fucked.
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( That's what Esikko breathes out first, after the grip at his wrist and the quick shift into teasing that has him puffing up a little like he's offended. He's not, not really, not when he's so full of relief knowing that Dabi is alive, that he's still here, that whatever magic this was didn't send him into any sort of prolonged unconsciousness. And he's already moving to stand up as well, stretching out to brush fingers against the back of his thrown journal and drag it into his grasp just as he feels the touch to his arm.
He stands, tucking the journal into his hanbok first before he takes that light touch and turns it into a grasp of his own. Like this, he moves with him, tugging if he manages to pull ahead with his long legs, eyes glancing back more than once at the eerie silence of the room behind them. )
I didn't mean to drag you into trouble. Those voices were... ( He pauses, then shakes his head. ) It doesn't matter now. What I did notice, though I don't know what to make of it, is that the presence that took over seemed to be... related to Clubs, somehow.
( And what good does that gathered information do? Nothing. Dabi still had to die again. Esikko had to die again. They both had to watch each other die, had to suffer through heat and cold and the twisting confusion as to what was real or not. His fingers curl too tight around Dabi's wrist now, even as his steps slow once they're out of the room proper. Right now, he can't hear anything anymore. None of those tempting voices. )
Are you alright? ( His words come out a little too on edge, too layered in concern, matched with the vice-grip of his fingers on Dabi. ) I mean... I want to do magic, once we're upstairs again. A quick spell, to make sure nothing attached itself to you, that nothing can cause any problems later, but...
( He pauses. ) Maybe we should have something to drink.