🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️

[hearthwarming]

🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.

[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]

Hello, intrepid adventurer!

I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!

If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!

Sincerely,
Oriphi

[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!

On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]

Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!

[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]

( This is the ill-fated mass extinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )

Comments

[chronosynthesis]

[Bugs writhing under your skin is a horrible experience, actually? Syrlya takes stock of the situation, but the pain around the sensitive nerves of one's hand eventually drives him to squeeze his eyes shut so he can choke down a sound of pain.

He doesn't open to look at the woman, though his mind supplies the brief glimpse he had. Protecting someone's life... that does sound like a thing he'd do. In a haze of pain and confusion, he only supplies the most honest response.]

It isn't about pulling your weight. Of course I would look after your safety.

[Oh. He knows that voice. And it isn't his.]

[yourlenore]

( What is it like to be in Mishka's skin?

Busy, in the sense that an anthill is. Your arm is a frenzied scuttling of insects panicking, being forced back into flesh-functioning forms, and they scurry into the cavity of your body (and your body is an amorphous cavity) from which insects merge into and out of and scuttle about, nesting in the swamplands of your insides. You feel irrationally that, if your skin were peeled back, the underside would not be blood and muscle, but rotted earth and greenery.

Where is your body is busy, though, your mind is quiet, the world about you dim in intensity, in color. There is a distance with which you regard it, as if a beast in human skin; prowling, perhaps, but not engaging, not connecting.

Briar's frustration is strange. Roche's prayer is unfamiliar. Sasha's hesitation is sentimental. And Valerie, you know, is emptier than you.

You understand why they feel as they feel when you work backwards, but it does not resonate. This is not disinterest, but a sort of dysphoria with the world. )

I am not so weak that I need a carer.

( Briar remarks, severely. Her brows furrow, grimacing. Knowing her, it isn't that she hates that she has people to look out for her, but she has high expectations for herself— and you.

She sighs. )

... But consider this thanks. I expect that you won't do it again. I cannot return an arm blown off completely.

( You hear Roche making his way over (evidently done with his prayer) before he actually makes it to you, but, being in the position you are, you can't move when he slings an arm around your shoulder in an overly friendly fashion. He remarks: )

C'mon, Mimi did a good thing. He's learning! We ought support it. Incentivize it!

( You are in great pain and this jock of a man is ruffling your hair. )

[chronosynthesis]

... I'll keep that in mind. [He flexes his fingers, starting to slowly sink into that distance of only a barrier from the pain and crawling sensation which is being inside of Mishka while his body is repaired.

And then he's jostled, letting out a surprised grunt of pain but helpless as he's pulled into the gesture (hair ruffling, the audacity--) and talks close to his ear--

Wait.

Mimi?

...

He tucks that away into his own thoughts. To remember.]

[yourlenore]

( Briar, scolding, but who also seems to find the nickname amusing: ) Look. He hates it so much you've quieted him entirely. That never happens.

( Roche, who clearly understands Mishka doesn't like it but persists anyway: ) Yeah, because Somans hardly know a thing about fun. It's not their fault, though. Vampires hardly care for a good time.

( As he makes a remark about Somans, you notice that both Roche and Briar share an accent. They both speak Ostoyan fluently, but theirs is a divorced dialect. You understand Roche draws a line between himself, a Raevan from northern Ostoya, who has not lived under vampiric rule, and you and yours, Somans, those of the south who do live under vampires.

There is a subtle surge of displeasure on Mishka's end, whereupon he feels condescended. There is an intrusive thought of letting insects pour into Roche's armor.

Valerie, who lights up, seeing this as a prime opportunity, speaks up from where he sits on the bed: ) Yes, it's true; we vampires hardly know a thing about fun. This is why I fiddled throughout our battle.

( Briar, who knows Exactly Where This Is Going: ) If the two of you intend to bicker, I will level you both.

( She sighs. She's just about done, and the surface of Mishka's arm is looking more like skin rather than the carapaces of hundreds of thousands of insects. )

Nevertheless, I have gained intelligence that the Light Hunters have circled Voyd. Though they yet seem indecisive, I believe it is worth the investigation.

( Valerie makes a melodic little "hmmm" with a smile playing on his lips, considering, his arms lazily half-wrapped around Sasha. ) Vasinesca is a walled garden of a place; the Countess won't like us poisoning the well very much.

( Roche, leaning his weight on you, shrugs: ) Then we kill her and the people therein. It is best that they die than live on as cattle.

( Briar raises an eyebrow, finally lifting her hand from yours as the painful ordering finishes. ) You speak as if it is such an easy thing to eradicate an entire territory.

( As jovially as Roche suggested incentivizing Mishka's good deeds, he answers: ) We've a dream team here, don't we? I'm certain we could find a way. Why not literally poison the well, hm? They all drink from the same purified source over there. Mimi— You can do that in your sleep, can't you?

( Roche beams. )

[chronosynthesis]

[What?

Syrlya hisses with a sneer, which could be taken for pain as he shifts in his seat. That's despicable. Killing so many innocent lives, for no other fault than where they were born?

He bites his tongue before he argues it immediately, because right now he's not supposed to be himself. He's supposed to be Mishka.

... But even in this weird Mishka larping dream, he really doesn't want to go poison a city.

He slumps a little, tilting his head back. How should he dissuade them...] Perhaps, but what I can't do it cover every piece of evidence poisoning a city's water supply would leave. Even if we succeed, someone will trace it back to us--and they won't be likely to give us a chance to do it again.

So if you're that eager to die, go ahead and try to wipe out the city.

[yourlenore]

( As the final word leaves his lips, Syrlya maintains a sense that his argument aligns with the course of the memory.

Roche's smile does not waver, but for a moment the air grows colder, before it is broken by the sound of a beautiful laugh— Sasha. Gentle and soft, it buoys back the mood. Roche pulls away to give you a hearty, painful, backpounding. (This incites an almost abnormal amount of violent urge in you, and this sense of violence simmers, but does not fade.) Like a bro! )

That's what you get for trying to work with a Syndicate guy, huh! All sneak, no action. The Order can handle scorched earth, but you and all your connections can't? Hard to believe.

( Roche clearly takes the reply not as an indication that the plan is reckless, but that you are unwilling to cooperate with it in a way that would allow it to be a success.

Sasha, at this point, slips off from Valerie's lap to monkeyclimb their way up Roche's back, which seems to placate him, glancing back at Sasha like an older brother, and reaching around to help them link their arms up around Roche's neck.

However, Briar remarks: ) I agree with Mishka's assessment. Furthermore, even if it were possible, it would not be efficient, and would cause an imbalance in the natural order of things.

I believe we should use Mishka's connections to arrange for a trip to Vasinesca to collect upon certain trade agreements there. Vasinesca does have a deep relationship with the Syndicate, does it not?

( Whether or not Syrlya voices this, he is set upon by a thought in Mishka's head that confirms what Briar says, and understands Mishka had spoken up in favor of this plan. Vasinesca's primary export is its humans hand-reared like Wagyu beef. The quality of life in Vasinesca is obscenely high, but they live in a carefully-modulated bubble. This allows for all flavors of human to be raised primarily for the taste of their blood, as thralls for vampires with particular personality preferences, and... as human trafficking exports for other countries.

The Ebon Syndicate deals in all kinds of trade, and its trafficking is among the most profitable. This makes Vasinesca a territory they've cultivated a particularly close relationship with, of all the territories. Mishka could easily arrange for passage in.

And so Valerie speaks up, slipping into the seat beside Briar, who looks unhappy with how near he sits to her: ) And we will not rely upon my connections because?

( Briar: ) Because you are allied with Duke Koshevek and tied to the Order. Countess Vascinesca will be suspicious if you request a visit.

( Valerie, smiling broad: ) Is our sweet Mikhail not a child of my Alexei? ( At this, he takes upon both Mishka's hands, sweetly, as if a lover, and he seizes your eyes with his. ) An abandoned child, but a child nonetheless. Perhaps she will think we are plotting some matter purely because he and I are together in this little traveling band of ours?

( While you feel your body grow tense at the touch, there is a sense that you know better than to just yank your hands away— in the same way you do not want to

make any sudden

movements

around a predator,

ah,

You cannot take your eyes from him, now that Valerie has taken your gaze.

There is something strange about this man that softens the sharp edges of your caution. He is beautiful, he is handsome, in every way you find appealing (not only Mishka, but you, there inside him). How the air about him seems to glide brighter; how the lights about him seem to dance. When they sway, you, strangely, want to sway, too. )

Isn't a subtle approach such a dull thing? The countess will be suspicious nonetheless. Why not use the suspicion to our advantage, and announce half our party as visitors, under which cover the other half of our party might act free? We distract, make merry, and enjoy the nectar of Vasinesca... and we find the sunshard we seek.

( His fingers curl around your hands that much more intimately. )

Mikhail, Mikki, Mishka... You see the fun in this plan, don't you? I'm certain we can find some way to agree.

( Beneath his gaze, you feel inclined to agree, though you are not without ability to disagree, slightly. To resist Valerie's passive glamour and disagree strongly (or simply break free of it), roll a 1d20 and beat a 16. If not, then, well... )

[chronosynthesis]

[Rolled a 6 so rip to them.

Syrlya tenses as Valerie grabs his hands, sinking back into his seat as much as it will allow. It's the combination of Mishka's instincts and his own that keeps his hands in place but he stares, unblinking, as a chill runs up his spine in the face of--

Oh.

He understands when it sinks into him, that something is out to muddle his senses. His focus. He wants to yank his hands free, to scream at Valerie to back away, to strike him--but that surge of fight is quickly snuffed out as the charm takes hold of him. Despite his ability to recognize it... he isn't strong enough to fight it off.

In the face of Valerie's charm, he slowly relaxes. His gaze softens.] I--maybe. Yes...

[yourlenore]

( And here, the memories diverge. You gain the sense that Mishka resisted this temptation, better prepared for Valerie's manipulations and always alert, but you had been caught off guard unfairly. Your mind sinks into a haze, as if the room slowly, quietly, flickers dark, and Valerie remains solely, strangely, bright.

You wouldn't know how the others react, with the way your mind leans into the charm like a purring cat. Valerie's eyes narrow with his smile, his eyes shining like rubies. He's so glad you understand. You're glad you understand, too, because it makes him so pleased. If you could only lean in, and... )

You think there is any democracy in this, Valerie?

( Roche's voice cuts sharp through the haze, but does not shake you. (Still, he refers to Valerie by name, even now, and not simply as vampire. Perhaps he is not wholly immune to Valerie's charm, despite his displeasure.)

You blink into focus, and you realize at Valerie's neck there is a silver shortsword cut into it, the skin softly burning, a thin trail of smoke where Valerie bleeds. And yet, Valerie's expression only broadens into a smile as his gaze turns to Roche. Roche's expression is not jovial, as it has been thus far, but a cold anger.

Despite your displeasure and disagreements, you are his friend.

Ah, how you wish Valerie's gaze were on you. Roche continues, sharp: )

Release him. Then we can talk.

( For every suggestion this dream has offered you, they were impulses, suggestions, of how Mishka would have acted in those junctures. This is no longer suggestion.

Valerie doesn't need to move to defend himself, because you find yourself with your knives—deep scarlet things, as if crafted of blood—at Roche's neck, the blade digging in. Roche's expression hardens, as if he'd expected this.

Valerie laughs, his skin singing sharp. You're not clear on what anyone else is doing; you only understand that Roche hurts Valerie, and you can't stand it. )

Now, now. Let's not fight. We're all friends, aren't we? If you find this arrangement so disagreeable, why don't we reconvene once we've all had a moment to rest, and eat?

( Roche scowls. )

[chronosynthesis]

[It is far too easy for Syrlya to mix up the magic-induced protectiveness with his own feelings. He doesn't question getting up, brandishing knives, protecting Valerie when their supposed ally threatens him.]

Do not touch him. [It is a single warning, but he does not press further. Valerie, after all, is trying to ease the tension, and he only wants what will make him happy. Just... also safe.]

[yourlenore]

( Valerie's grin curls, clearly pleased by the response. None of this coterie, really, is easy to get his claws into, but the difficulty is what makes it worthwhile.

Still, he tilts his head so slightly, fixing his gaze on the Mishka defending him, seeming amused in some way. Whatever has his attention, though, isn't apparent to the others.

Roche begins muttering, eyes locked on you, and you feel a strange lurch in your body as you feel something something trying to separate from you that beauty, that warmth that surrounds you while affected by charm, and instinctively the part of you that wants to protect Valerie recoils, resisting it, and then—

There is the lovely sound of a chord played along the lyre, and an awful shattering sound. Roche clicks his tongue as he feels a pressure near blow him back, his heels digging into the floor before it drives him away. Roche had attempted to break your charm with immensely powerful magic, but Valerie countered the attempt with an even greater expenditure of magical force.

Though Roche opens his mouth, furious, it is Valerie who cuts in first: )

I think that's enough, now. We will reconvene later, just as I suggested. I promise it won't be long.

( And there is a sense of finality about his tone, a sense of business, that seems to settle into them and shift the attitude toward withdrawal, though no one seems pleased. )

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya's hand lowers as the charm starts to peel back, and at the opening his clear mind tries to push the haze back. To put himself to rights.

But Valerie intercepts before Roche's efforts give him what he needs, and in the liminal space of being caught and free, he just stands there numbly.

And then Valerie speaks and his whole attention is on him again.] ... As you will.