[OPEN] Did you just what? Is what you yes?

[spaghettification]

Who: Siebren de Kuiper and you
When: December
Where: Downtown Hollow, the Library
Warning(s): Discussion of unreality and demon metamorphosis

1. You say, stuff is way [Shopping]
Siebren's noticed something odd over the past few weeks: his clothing, regardless of what color it started at the beginning of the day, leaches color and turns pale by evening. Which means he has to make a choice now: does he shop for dark clothes that'll take longer to go pastel? Or start light so it won't change as much?

Find him in the shops in Downtown Hollow, considering both options.


2. Way to go, go away [Sinterklaas]
Anyone who leaves their shoes on the doorstep or porch in the month of December might come back to find small treats like peppermint sticks or chocolates from Ambrose's candy shop waiting inside said shoes. This just happens.

Perhaps you're in Ambrose's yourself, and catch Siebren buying in bulk, instead of catching in tampering with someone's shoes. Either way, welcome to Dutch Christmas traditions 101.


3. Who had you was? [Aimed at Siebren's demon-favored]
Crossing paths with certain people in town, Siebren catches himself staring. Like they're drawing him in, or highlighted somehow. He doesn't quite understand it yet, but if someone notices his intense attention, he might frown and look away.

"My apologies."


4. I yes, you would [Wildcard]
You know where to find me.

Comments

[abhorrently]

"Will you share it with me, or does it require more?"

Walking in public, as well, there's no one overtly eavesdropping, but...

(there is red, and great voids that appear, rents in woven fabric with fraying edges. gossamer silk spun like a veil, like cobwebs. fragments of decaying texts.)

[spaghettification]

"The inside of your head is full of blood."

Everyone's is, in the literal sense. The brain is a needy organ and craves oxygen delivery, but like. She knows what he means.

[abhorrently]

She smiles then, like a stained glass angel. Like a painting, except the eyes gain a bloody brightness - an unnerving, piercing sensation. Her presence expands, surrounds him, pressing down like cloaked hands against his ribs.

"Be very, very careful where you tread, doctor. The ground may be made of earth, or bone, or glass."

Muzzled and restrained, the urge will snap its chains. It wants more, it always does. And walking into her mind of his own accord, she can be so much more creative than in reality.

[spaghettification]

That enveloping presence, like she's unfolding herself, is much and is grand. He remains still, physically and less so, rather than thrashing against the feeling of such closeness, such power.

"Fever, how often have you seen me walk upon the ground?"

cw: gore

[abhorrently]

There is no verbal response. Not at first.

Heavier. Clothing heavier, soaked with blood and gore. Fresh. Dripping. It clings to the skin, weighting him down, flesh lining his pockets. But he is also untouched.

"You'll have to walk, if you want to go further."

[spaghettification]

It rolls over him like a wave, or like a bucket of blood spilled on a hopeful girl's head at prom. He stares at Fever quietly.

"I don't mean to intrude. It was there already. You're loud."

[abhorrently]

It's not a sudden shuttering of her mind, only a muffling, a veil drawn between this and that, where the shape can still be seen, still be heard if someone listens for it. And the humming of electric wires, daring someone to touch. The creak of leather as one's grip tightens on a whip.

"This isn't a conversation to have in public, doctor. For your sake as well as mine."

[spaghettification]

"Is it a conversation we should have right now?"

Serious question. It can wait, if she's not good for it.

[abhorrently]

"You're already standing in the doorway. You can come in or shut the door, but you need to choose. Don't let the river run out of the open gaps."

It's up to him. She won't push.

(But she wants to cover him in red, so very badly. Blood clots like garnets, glinting in firelight.)

[spaghettification]

He shakes his head slightly. "This is not the day we're that honest with one another. Again, Fever, my apologies."

As he pulls back from her mind, he floats a little further from her.

[abhorrently]

"A shame. We may never have a chance to be honest at all."

She might not be directly calling him a coward, but the sensation might be there. But she turns and hides her face, and moves to disappear into the town.