EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[faithfall]

[ He doesn't know her. After that first night when she'd killed those thieves in the blackout, they'd only seen each other in passing. She was polite enough, and Adrian had returned the greetings in kind, but her smile still sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.

He's afraid of her, certainly, but perhaps not for the right reasons. Her words haven't left him: He who is brutal first often emerges the victor. What can he possibly say to change her mind, if the world has already left her with such a cold impression? Can he even be certain that she's so wrong, when his life has been so sheltered? It would make more sense to steer clear of her entirely, but the stubborn part of him still wonders: if really believes that, why has she spared anyone at all? Is this really her?

Adrian has stared death in the face often enough to recognize it when he sees it, and thoughts of speaking sense into her flee as she begins to move toward him. He reacts on instinct; light spills from behind him. His wings burst forth, spreading wide to pull him up into the darkening sky.

Raphael, show her your— A shard of red disrupts the spell before he can finish the cast, piercing through the center of his right hand mid-gesture. Adrian cries out, and after that instinct takes over entirely. She's incredibly fast, deadly and fluid, but he's dealt with that before. For someone so reluctant to fight, he's certainly capable of keeping a level head even when he knows he's far outmatched.

He uses his wings to avoid the edges of her blood red spikes, his fingers contorting with every cast even as his hand bleeds freely, staining the white of his shirt. He summons a wall of light to blind her, weaving out of her line of sight, only to pull white hot spears from his construct and hurl them at her when she tries to get close. Even still, he only aims to wound her, and not to kill her. She does not return that favor.

When he hits her, he can smell the chemical scent of burnt plastic, but it's not nearly enough to stop her. Adrian is more resilient than his delicate frame might suggest. He knows where he can take a blow to avoid a fatal injury if he must, but he still takes far more damage than he deals. Eventually, his hand seizes in the middle of a cast, and it's all the opening she needs to send her spikes through his wings and drag him down to the pavement, pinning him there. He doesn't get up again.

He coughs, tasting blood, fighting for breath. Punctured lung. A half-dozen wounds that have missed major arteries, non-lethal but non-trivial. That's not ideal, Adrian thinks dimly.

He can hear her footsteps moving towards him, even if he can't see her now. ] Don't... have to do this.

[ Whether she's the real Knave, being taken over by plastic, or simply a monster wearing her skin — there isn't much he can do, now. He might as well try to reach her one last time. ]

[decussate]

[ It's easy enough to pinpoint the site of battle; flashy lights and an airborne struggle are akin to a stage spotlight. The Knave arrives in time to witness the height of the violence: a winged form wrenched from the air by crimson spikes, the act sharp and brutal in its efficiency. She watches clinically, if with a touch of annoyance at the clear handiwork of her mannequin with its pilfered bloodfire. It's a creature too crafty and dangerous — behavior likely modeled after her own. She would feel pity for the past recipients of her attentions if they hadn't been so utterly deserving.

Speaking of, it seems the mannequin has pinned its prey to the earth like a butterfly on a board. In that moment, the mannequin meets The Knave's eyes across the parking lot with a dark mirth. It directs a mocking bow in her direction... before unceremoniously turning around and walking away. Flaunting her inability to act against it, of course. It knows that her emotions won't be swayed by simple acts of delinquency, even should they be done in her image. But with increasing intensity and frequency, even The Knave might feel a need to take responsibility.

For now, there seems to be someone dying in the parking lot. Someone familiar, in fact: that idealistic fellow from the apartments, Adrian. Even so, there's a lack of urgency as she approaches him, his wrung out words dragging themselves over the stillness of the lot. Conventional wisdom would hold that he's already a dead man; the thorn of bloodfire piercing his lung is much more than she could attempt to address with first aid alone. He could breathe his last at any moment... and those are the words he'd waste his precious seconds on?

She would think this merely a pathetic attempt to guilt trip his killer, had he not spoken as he did when they parted last. On death's door, does he truly concern himself with the cleanliness of her soul? A laughable notion.

She finally arrives at his side, uncaring of whether he thinks her real or mannequin in the haze of his injury. There's little he can do to her in this state either way. ]

Spare me your supplications.

[ Harsh, blunt, unlike the lyrical mockery of her mannequin. She eyes Adrian's state, feels the responsiveness of the stake of blood running through him. ]

You are a healer, yes? So heal.

[ That's all the warning he gets, and the one second she grants him to process it, before the spike piercing him abruptly slithers back into the earth. She could be gentler, perhaps make an attempt to double-check his capabilities — but when a man's lung is in jeopardy, there's little room for conversation. If he can heal himself, then he will; if he cannot, then he'll die as he would have anyway. It's as simple as that.

... Though... The Knave will assist in the one way she can think of. The instant after she forces the mannequin's spike away, her own true bloodfire manifests to stop the gaping holes left in its wake. Her blood is searing, molten in the split second it takes to flow over Adrian's wounds, before rapidly cooling to a semi-solid, almost comforting warmth. It should be enough to plug his wounds on the surface for now. ]

[faithfall]

[ He can tell that there's a change in her voice. It's no longer playfully mocking, but he has no idea what it means — he would be hard pressed to guess even if he wasn't bleeding out on the ground. Does she want him to heal so that she can keep playing, like a cat that becomes bored when its prey struggles to move? Or has he gotten through to her in some way, finally?

He doesn't get much time to wonder about it. When the spike leaves him, it's worse than when it entered. Adrian is not a soldier or a fighter, though he has forced himself to become those things when he must. He's no impressive, stoic hero. When the pain of her fire sears through him, he doesn't have the breath to scream, but he makes a horrible choked-off sound that might have been a plea for mercy. His body arches, as if to twist away, his vision blurring with unshed tears. It's over nearly as fast as it started.

The pain recedes to a level at which he can still think. He doesn't remember moving, but his hand is resting over the wound, now patched with something warm but not burning. Why..? He finds himself asking that question too often when it comes to The Knave.

He doesn't waste time. He has little magic left, but the triage is not terribly complicated. His halo flashes into being again, hovering over his body without word or gesture from Adrian himself, its light narrowly focused on the worst of his internal injuries. Adrian struggles to roll onto his side, and then up onto his elbow to cough up blood that's turned to molten gold. (It's red again when it hits the concrete, and when it cools in the corner of his mouth.)

His eyes search for hers. Though his breathing has evened out, it's deliberate now, as if it's still a struggle for him to keep it under control. The more minor wounds are still bleeding sluggishly when his halo disburses again. He doesn't have anything left. ]

Did you... get what you needed? Are you alright? [ She looks annoyed, to him. It's different from amused, but he doesn't know if it's better or worse, or if she'll decide to continue what she started. His faith in her change of heart is simply a roll of the dice... but, in his defense, he's at her mercy regardless of what he believes. He might as well give in to hope over despair. ]

[decussate]

[ She watches him throughout his struggle, noting the return of the halo and his body's attempts to manage catastrophe. Fascinating, really; his powers are the equivalent of those chosen by the gods in her world. It's no small boon, and makes Adrian a handy connection to be able to draw upon should the need arise. That is, if he doesn't see fit to avoid her like a plague after all this. She certainly wouldn't blame him...

Except it seems like he doesn't have anything of the sort on his mind. If the Knave looked annoyed before, there's a sharp look of suspicion on her face now. Suspicion that Adrian may actually, factually, be a fool. ]

It seems your efforts have left you delusional. What on earth is it that you think I needed?

[ She should probably let a man who almost died ten seconds ago rest and be quiet... but if he's asking after her well-being for some reason, he's clearly well enough to answer a question or two. ]

[faithfall]

[ Adrian releases a brief, weak laugh. ] I don't know, if I'm honest? There are rumors of people losing themselves to madness, so I thought... [ He swallows, tasting blood. ] I hoped, really, that you simply weren't yourself. I'm grateful that you came to your senses when you did. If you hadn't cauterized the wound, I would be dead already.

[ She certainly seems different now.

There are all sorts of rumors on the forums when it comes to what exactly is happening; many are certain that the mannequins are taking on the traits of the people they've bonded to, which seems consistent with what Adrian has seen, but others swear that the people themselves have gone mad. It's difficult to know what the whole truth is. What matters now is that The Knave isn't currently attempting to kill him.

Adrian pushes himself up into a sitting position. Though it clearly takes him some effort, he doesn't cry out again; there's a weary determination in the set of his shoulders, now that he's judged the danger passed, as if this is far from the first time he's had to drag himself up and back to work with grievous injuries. That doesn't mean he's looking forward to trying to stand or walk, however.

He looks up at her. Her expression is so remarkably like Fern's when she's cross with him, he almost wants to laugh again, but instead there's only a wry smile on his lips. ] Would you be so kind as to help me to the temple, Lady Knave? I must rest a while before I can finish healing... and I would prefer not to do so here.

[decussate]

[ Hm. Fool or not, The Knave supposes she should be glad that Adrian seems to have no intention of making things more complicated by stirring up a quarrel or demanding answers of her. She could, perhaps, make things easier on him by explaining simply that her mannequin was responsible for all the violence, but she doesn't make a habit of explaining things about herself without reason. And apparently, there's little reason now, because Adrian is perfectly content to keep interacting with her either way.

She watches as he sits himself up, quietly approving of his lack of complaint despite what must be a painful injury. She approves less of his strange smile when he looks up at her, but she supposes the shock of near-death can make any man a little strange in the head. ]

Extra holes in one's body normally makes one less cheeky.

[ But she has no good reason to refuse. Leaving him out here might mean her mannequin could come back around to finish the job, and then The Knave would be out a perfectly good(?) healer.

With a pointed sigh as if this were very much an inconvenience, she bends to scoop Adrian up under his knees and back. However, she stops just short of touching him, her eyes narrowing, then pivoting to search his. ]

You seem to be cursed.

[ Ever suspicious, her first thought is that he's tried to lead her into some sort of trap. But there are all manner of curses... ]

[faithfall]

Depends on where they are. [ Adrian replies before he can stop himself. He has the grace to look a bit sheepish after the fact, if only because he's just asked her for help and now he's annoying her. His manners might be drilled into him but they aren't innate; the more distractions there are to deal with, the less restrained he is about what he says.

He does tense when she bends down to reach for him, but this time it's because he's surprised. ]

Lady Knave — no, I meant — [ Helping him walk, he's about to say. He looks a bit mortified by the prospect, but she does stop before she actually picks him up like a sack of wheat. Adrian blinks up at her, the frank statement catching him even more off guard.

A moment later, he gives her the smallest shake of his head. ] That... Is only a problem if you touch my skin. Any sort of barrier will prevent it. Believe me, I would love to wear shorter sleeves in this accursed heat but I have no wish to harm you... Or anyone else, even by mistake.

[ He is kind of grossly sweaty, dressed as he is in clothing that covers everything from the neck down, including a pair of gloves that are thin leather, but still entirely inappropriate for the weather. The fight didn't exactly help.

Still, even despite the circumstances, he meets her gaze with puzzled curiosity. ] How did you know? Can you sense it?

[decussate]

[ doesn't laugh at his joke because he deserves to feel bad about it

She eyes him for a moment longer, searching for signs of artifice. Satisfied for now that there are none, she replies curtly. ]

Yes. I've long dealt with such things.

[ She continues where she left off and scoops him smoothly into her arms, taking care to avoid the site of injury. Blatantly ignoring his previous protest. Beggars don't get to be choosers. And she would rather move him quickly, rather than watch him hobble along while her mannequin also watches and contemplates a bit more mischief.

If Adrian is grossly sweaty now, he may become a tiny bit grosser still, as The Knave's body runs warm even through the heavy fabric of her suit. ]

And what might I expect to happen if I have the misfortune of touching your bare skin?

[faithfall]

[ He's about to ask her what she means by that, but a moment later he's being lifted into the air. Adrian gives her a pained look, as if to ask if this is really necessary, but he has the grace not to complain. This approach is certainly... more efficient. His various cuts and bruises appreciate it, though he wonders about hers. Is she pushing herself at all? Does he even weigh anything to her? Is he just a couple of grapes??

He drops his head against her shoulder with a small huff of defeat. ]

You are very strong, Lady Knave. I thought I had at least scratched you. [ Just an aside, like he can't help observing it. Even her clothing is pristine. He doesn't know how she walks around in such a suit as if it's comfortable; she certainly feels much warmer than an ordinary person. He ought to mind it more than he does. ] Any living creature that touches me will swiftly fall ill. An irony, I know, for a healer. It isn't lethal, but it is deeply unpleasant and often debilitating.

[ He tilts his head to look up at her, brow furrowed. ] You've dealt with such things before? Are you cursed as well? I have the means of alleviating — some curses.

[ Not his own, of course. ]

[decussate]

[ One of fate's funny balancing acts, she sees. His is the kind of curse that sounds handy as a retaliatory measure, but given his peace-loving ways, he probably finds it more hindrance than opportunity. Not that it's stopping him from getting cozy against her shoulder...

At his offer, she looks down at him with skepticism. Not because she doubts his competence, exactly, but because her curse being dealt with in such a way sounds much too easy. From a more practical standpoint, if she were to become accustomed to the effects of her curse operating at a lower intensity, then she might only become complacent. A lack of discipline when her curse returned in full force could prove fatal.

Still, a curse-dampening ability could become useful someday. There's no telling what may happen in the future, especially when the powers present in this world are as variable as insects in a forest. ]

Go on.

[ Tell her more... even though she's pointedly not answering his questions. The existence of the mannequins is reminder enough that knowledge can be weaponized with or without the owner's consent. For her to speak of the nature of her curse aloud would be giving this world a knife to point back at her. ]