uhmani | TDM #13

If the main hub and its features don't appeal to you, that's perfectly fine. This is the perfect time to configure your Digitized Technical Friend or your DTF status. A DTF is similar to a dæmon from His Dark Materials in that it is connected to and a reflection of a character's soul. These DTFs take shape accordingly and are projections similar to the NPCs. Think of them as your own personal Clippy except less annoying. Hopefully.

Once that's set-up, there are other locations of the main hub to investigate! You can visit the training grounds, music lounge, library, and onsen. Also, feel free to leave an offering for the resident deity of sleep (Hypnos) at his shrine! You can even visit The Peacekeeper themselves on the second floor. They're always happy to have visitors! They're also conveniently where you might place a complaint about that status of the main hub and its amenities. Even if you do complain, The Peacekeeper will encourage others to set off and find their own place to live out in the simulation.

Granted, the housing market in the afterlife isn't exactly robust. It doesn't help that every place you find has a leaky roof or broken window. No, unfortunately, that will need to be fixed the peaceful way. If you'd like more lighting or even cozier clothes, simulation inhabitants are reminded that 'peaceful interactions' are very important!

It might be a good idea to stick close to someone you know, for now, since even the smallest amounts of intimacy might see subtle changes occurring where they're staying. Perhaps that broken window is now fixed, the grime and dust seem a little less, or the floor doesn't creak quite as loud.

Larger changes, however, will only come after demonstrating more powerful peaceful interactions. If you want new hardwood floors or a fresh coat of paint on the walls, you're going to have to demonstrate how well you 'get along' with others against them first.

BASKETS OF PEACE

"Hello, inhabitants," speaks The Peaceekeper, "have you had a check-up recently? While we don't have to worry about disease here in Amani, your sexual health is still important in so many other ways!" It was recently suggested that perhaps they haven't been the most mindful in terms of encouraging inhabitants to have healthier sexual habits. No time like the present to work on correcting that oversight though.

How? With a gift basket, of course!

Each inhabitant - either new or established - will receive a gift basket full of fun things to try. Each one includes (but is not limited to):

Have some kinky fun! Enjoy yourselves! Don't be afraid to ask your fellow inhabitants either about the contents of the basket if you aren't sure. This is what being peaceful should be all about.

TRIPPING OVER TROPES

Due to the influence of Dirk Strider and Rose Lalonde both, The Peacekeeper has learned about an interesting phenomenon known as 'fanfiction.' It has studied the topic intensely for the last couple of days to try and learn more about its literary significance amongst the multiverse. It is an interesting insight in some of the inhabitants' cultures and what 'tropes' appear to be more common depending on the circumstances.

Unfortunately, such an influx of information sees the AI running Amani a bit more distracted than usual. The simulation - at least for a few days - is a bit more prone to glitches as a result. Only these aren't the usual ones like a hole in reality someone falls through and ends up somewhere unexpected.

No, these ones are as if the NPCs and inhabitants both residing in the simulation are having their pathways forcibly rewritten. It isn't very obvious, at first. Perhaps you're feeling a bit clumsier than usual and need to chase after a rogue piece of paper carrying on the wind that leads you running right into your current crush. Or maybe something gets unexpectedly spilled on you and the person you like is suddenly offering the shirt off their back (and leaving them shirtless, of course) even if it's out of character.

Finally, inhabitants might really start to catch on when whatever dwelling they enter there is only one bed. Have roommates? Too bad, looks like you might have to share for a bit! Oh, no, how unfortunate... However do you think this scenario will end? The Peacekeeper knows since, well, it's the one unwittingly writing inhabitants into these romance trope scenarios.

Thankfully, it will snap back to 'reality' within a few day's time having learned that, as with most good things, fanfiction should be taken in with moderation in mind.

FRUITS OF FALL

Last year, there was an emphasis on apples but there are plenty of other common fruits to be found growing throughout Amani. Due to The Peacekeeper learning about tropes though, some of them will have a temporary effect in that vein on any inhabitant who eats them.

And what are those effects, exactly? Well...

Pomegrante

malleable

new sliding scales

Blackberries

personality flip on its head

Peaches

swap kinks

Grapes

shared experience

swapping bodies and all that means

SEXY STAMP CARD

If you're wondering about these 'peaceful interactions' that keep being mentioned or what the kinks of the month are for... Here's your answer! Upon arrival, all characters will receive a digital copy of their very own sexy stamp card.

Sexy Stamp Card

Issued by: The Peacekeeper

1 2 3 4 ♡

6 7 8 9 ♡

❤

<div style="width:100%;padding:10px 10px 0;font-family:garamond, georgia, serif;font-size:20px;font-style:italic;letter-spacing:2px;text-align:left;">Sexy Stamp Card</div>
<div style="width:100%;padding:0 10px 10px;">Issued by: The Peacekeeper</div>

<div style="width:100%;display:flex;flex-wrap:wrap;justify-content:center;align-items:center;gap:10px;font-size:16px;font-weight:bold;color:#13336b">

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<div style="max-width:300px;width:100%;margin:-10px auto 0;text-align:right;font-size:10px;"><a title="code credit!" href="http://10billionghosts.dreamwidth.org" style="text-decoration:none;color:#eee;">❤</a></div>

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Completing peaceful interactions (i.e. kinks) will reward characters with stamps that they can turn in for re-gains and many other things! While the example one here is the standard issued card by The Peacekeeper, players are more than welcome to customize it how they see fit. Have fun with it! NOTES

★ *While this effect of the gender sliding scale will be opt-in entirely and only temporary, it is a feature that inhabitants can purchase in the future with stamps if they'd like!

★ We are currently at 30/40 slots taken! Anyone wishing to claim a character must have an invite from someone currently in the game and follow the proper rules in place to be accepted into the community!

NAVIGATION

F.A.Q. ★ RULES ★ CHARACTER CLAIM ★ LOCATIONS ★ MAIN NAVIGATION

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, it was really only a matter of time before things got worse. Banabas brings with him the feeling of 'well this might as well happen'. The sound of boots draw Clive's attention, and he spins to face the man just in time for his alarming greeting.

His hand goes to his back, grasping for a sword that isn't there. Just looking at this man makes every hair on his body stand on end.

"Who the hell are you?" He practically growls, feeling much like a cornered animal without his weapon. What's worse is as he gropes for the threads of his eikons, they too are out of reach. Muddy and ephemeral, he feels naked. That doesn't mean he isn't ready to throw a few punches, though.

Pausing his approach, he stands with a more rigid posture than he normally cares to maintain among those he views as his lessers. Weak though Mythos is in the present, he deserves a touch more effort than the wretches that make up mankind. That he is unfamiliar with his countenance is of little surprise, after all, he doesn't suppose he's one for the political annals of Valisthea, and he's kept his presence otherwise outside of his notice. That he would attempt and fail to call upon the power of his Eikons is...disappointing, but not surprising given the limitations placed upon even himself coming to this place.

He will simply must needs make Mythos regain his strength.

"You may kneel before Barnabas Tharmr," he begins, his voice somewhat droll in how he speaks, as if what he's saying is little more than practiced script, one he's grown weary of, "King of Waloed, Dominant of Odin, Warden of Ash."

He keeps his eyes on Clive, his gaze cutting as the blade he ordinarily wields, those dark steely blues unblinkingly fixed upon him.

"Seek you the familiar? Cidolfus, perhaps."

Edited 2023-09-24 03:24 (UTC)

This man's vibes? Rancid. Utterly so. The absolute worst, and his introduction kind of explains why. Immediately, every muscle in Clive's body coils, wary. Of course, marvelous.

"And to what do I owe the honor, Your Majesty?" His words are polite but his voice speaks vitriol and mistrust. The mention of Cid however, the real Cid, makes him take a quick step forward before he can think better of it.

"What do you know of him?" Part of him wants to admonish the man for even speaking his name.

As he suspected, Mythos would be riled by the mere mention of that traitor, of acknowledging his mentor of sorts. There's a gleam of something behind his eyes, dangerous but unknowable. Nothing good, with how Barnabas' aura enshrouds him with a choking haze of malice. His presence is demanding and suffocating both, yet seemingly inescapable like you're actively being hunted even when you're both standing still.

"Mythos." His tone almost sounds scolding in its inflection. Then he continues, "All that fury, and for what? You think me your enemy, yet I am not. Not yet."

What the fuck does that mean?

"As for your beloved mentor, he is here. Alive as you ever yearn for him to be. I may show you, if you wish."

Edited 2023-09-24 04:37 (UTC)

"Stop calling me that." He hates it, the whole lot of it. The damned mysterious, cryptic bullshit. All of that is wiped away like a slate board though, when he says that Cid is alive. That he is here. His eyes betray the wash of emotion he feels, but so quickly it is replaced by mistrust.

"I don't know what to think of you. Why should I believe you? I saw Cid draw his last breath in my arms." There is a knot in his throat though still, despite himself. He hates how much he wants this man to be telling the truth, but there is always a game afoot. Always. Especially for someone calling him Mythos.

This is stupid. He is stupid for it.

"Fine. Take me to him. But know that if you are lying-" The threat is on his tongue, but it does not come. His finger held aloft, directed at the man in place of a sword. He has nothing here. So his lips draw a tight line, and the words fall disused. "Let us not waste time."

As Clive speaks of Cidolfus' death, having held him in his arms as he took his last breath, Barnabas' face stays impassive, but there's a shift of something about him. If one were to be generous, or perhaps deusional, the highly empathetic might clock a sense of grief from him at the words. Yet his muted expression, hollow as his gaze, does not betray any such feeling.

He waits, patient and silent as Clive decides to take him up on his offer. Threatens him for good measure, though he knows such is empty.

"Very well, he is not far." He responds simply, walking past Clive with a walk that radiates pride as much as it does lethargy—perhaps an aged weariness. An aloofness, really.

"If you need further comfort ere we arrive at his abode, focus on the aether in the air, certainly you can feel his." As he speaks, he continues on his way towards Cid's apartment. He will ad nothing else, unless Clive engages him directly. It's not too long of a walk at least.

Like hell he's going to do anything this man suggests. He follows him though, albeit with great trepidation and mistrust.

And you know what okay whatever, maybe he does try to reach out. To sense the tingling electric feeling. Senses muddled as they are right now, he gets absolutely fuck all. Figures.

"So what do you get out of this?" He asks, towards the end of their little walk, after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence. "Surely you're not fool enough to think this will endear me." And surely, Barnabas isn't looking to be endeared. There's something else he wants. Whatever drives him to call Clive Mythos.

The silence is enjoyable, or at least less annoying than all the clamor that interactions often brings. Simply their foot steps to break the otherwise pleasant peace between them, peace that will prove finite, but for now, it is what it is. That is until Clive speaks, and Barnabas frowns.

With a sidelong and withered glance spared Clive's direction, he only holds it for a moment, before he turns his attention forward towards the building he is now stopping before.

"Such is the taint of man—everything is transactional. An expected reward for every action. The weight of our avarice." He says like a fucking cryptic asshole incapable of answering a goddamn question like a normal person.

"I care not to endear you to me. I simply see of no reason to prolong the inevitable." As he says this, he disappears in what looks to be black and red mist. As far as Clive can tell, he's simply... gone.

Literally twenty seconds later, Cid comes downstairs, and as Cid catches Clive in his sights, he comes through the automatic doors and manages to keep his jaw tight. Barnabas wasn't lying about this.

As Cid crosses the threshold, Clive may notice things, like the black greasy smudge on his face, or the cigar ash smeared on his shirt, or even the big wet spot on his leg.

But he's feeling a lot of feelings as he approaches the other man with open arms.

"Clive. You've looked worse."

What an absolute rancid man. Clive is even more wary. People who tend to pontificate on the nature of man... what's with that. Either way, he has bigger worries right now, but this man has just added himself high on the list.

He scowls as he vanishes, bracing himself for an attack that doesn't come.

No, instead... Cid comes stumbling out, and says that as if they had just seen each other yesterday. Clive swallows, making no move at first. Just rigid, frozen, but as Cid approaches within a couple of feet, he finds his reflexes again. Rushing up and slamming into him like a happy mastiff that doesn't realize how big it is, he wraps him in a crushing embrace.

He tries and fails to suppress the way his body wants to shake with emotion. Naturally.

"You haven't" His banter-button isn't broken at least. With a tremble to his voice, it comes out as a harsh whisper.

"You look like shit."

“Ough- Clive,” his voice comes out a little raspier than usual as Clive knocks the wind out of him.

“Come on, now. I just got my lungs back, I don’t need you turning them into pulp,” he says with a dry laugh. He pats Clive reassuringly, but also just a bit too hard on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I look awful. Fucking Barnabas doesn’t know how to use a door. He’s either breaking them down or materializing behind them, like he doesn’t know what the round bit on the stick is for. Enough about him. Clive, what are you doing here?”

He’d already learned about the others’ appearances. Well. Some of them. There was a through-thread that makes him nervous about asking. Though there was the bit about their planets dying fed to them by the Peacekeeper, it was hard to believe even still.

Reluctantly, Clive does set him free, but lingers perhaps a bit closer than he usually would. As though Cid might suddenly turn to dust in front of him. He blinks the damp from his eyes, hopeful that the other will not notice, or at the very least, mercifully not comment on it.

"What am I doing here?" He balks at the question, "I should be asking you that! I watched you-" He draws his voice in, realizing he's speaking a bit louder than he'd prefer, "I watched you die, Cid. I took over for you... they found the hideout. We rebuilt somewhere else and-"

Ah, the other comment has finished processing.

"You know that man?"

"I was going to ask if you'd already forgotten the exchange with Garuda, but it seems it's actually been quite some time since then."

Clive is standing rather close. And he's not trying to get away but he does want to get a proper look at him. Of course he noticed the removal of his brand. And he did seem somewhat older somehow. More tired, at least. Somehow. He squeezes Clive's shoulder.

"How long has it been since I died?" He asks in the same cadence one might reminisce a shithole dive bar. A fun one.

He's not inexperienced with dealing with unpacking tons of bad news. The rest can wait, he can't even do anything about how alarming the Hideaway bit is. He always knew there was a chance.

Edited 2023-09-26 21:56 (UTC)

It's like talking to a ghost. Except he can feel the warmth and weight of the hand on his shoulder. He wilts under it. There's so much to say. He'll start though, with what Cid asks of him.

"Five years."

The time does show on his face. Less in age but far more in wear. He does look more tired. More beat-in, but there's a sense of certainty and drive that wasn't there before. A sense of purpose that has hardened him against the life he's been leading. Cast in the iron of ideals, instead of built from the twigs of vengeance.

"How long have you been here?"

“Fuck me. Five years,” he says with raised brows. The surreality of that washes over him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Not five years, that’s for certain. Maybe five weeks or so? I don’t remember exactly, spent a week of it too drunk to notice the sun coming up.”

Cid bites his tongue. This is a little awkward, isn’t it? But the lad has always been a little bit awkward, though he seems more sure of himself as well.

“I guess we have some catching up to do, but fortunately plenty of time to do it. Look, you just got here, and it’s a lot to get a handle on.” Cid finally really notices how he looks, the dizzying excitement of Clive’s arrival beginning to ease. “…Hm. I should clean up. And so should you. We’re in polite society now, or at least one with more frequent bathing. Look, before we get into all that, you look tired. Do you need anything? Food, a drink, a bath, clean clothes?”

He’s definitely hinting something here.

Edited 2023-09-28 03:18 (UTC)

Clive, for his part, does not peel his gaze off Cid for but a second. He isn't surprised to hear about the drinking, but just five weeks? Curious. It doesn't sound like Cid remembers any gaps in time, either.

As usual though, Cid has the right of it. Much as he wants to start digging, a man's got to see to the basic needs first. He can almost hear Tarja's scolding in his ear.

"Frequent bathing? I wasn't aware I'd fallen into the lap of luxury." The answer is dry with a hint of a cheeky smile. "All right, lead the way. If you've got the goods to spare that is."

Goods indeed. This is the face of a man who has missed the hint by a mile.

"Oh yes, we are well-stocked. You needn't worry about the contents of your coin purse at all. May as well throw it out or use it as a paperweight."

Cid steps back just enough to lead Clive back the way he came through the automatic doors. They pass Dion's room on the way. "Oh yeah, Crown Prince of Sanbreque is here."

He gives a little two bit whistle and jabs his thumb in the direction. "But at this hour he's at his job at the bakery making deliveries." Cid cannot stamp the amusement out of his voice.

He goes up the steps two at a time to the third floor, suddenly trying to think if he's got anything worth hiding in the apartment.

Though Clive might not even know what he's looking at. It was probably fine.

Edited 2023-09-28 03:56 (UTC)

"Right. They expect us to use these...stamps." The word hangs less with distain and more with a sinking kind of awkward dread. The kind of awkward dread that a touch-starved man who's never laid with anyone carries.

The bit about Dion quickly distracts him from that. Enough that he stops a moment from following Cid to stand there and balk before doing a wee jog to catch him up.

"The crowned price of- bakery? Please, Cid. I'm addled enough as it is, I'm in no mood for jokes." Clive takes one step at a time, his bulky frame and long legs making it an entirely unnecessary, almost silly movement.

It is indeed, entirely fine. Clive following him so closely, a dog sniffing for desperately wanted answers, he hardly registers anything else at the moment.

“Not about town so much, no. You’ll have to make an effort to go hungry or get left in the cold. But the stamps are important, and I can guess why good ol’ King Barnabas dropped you off with me. Bastard.”

Cid pauses in front of the door to let Clive catch up and to look him in the eye, to let him know he wasn’t kidding. “No joke. Look out your window a little after sunrise, and you’ll see him take flight.”

He turns back to his door, opening it with a tap of his ring. “…Ah. You’ll have to mind the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Cid pushes the door open, revealing an absolute mess. It’s not dirty, well. Not completely. But he has a few piles of laundry, the washer is fully disassembled and laid out neatly on the floor, there’s some empty bottles strewn about, a few different packed ash trays, papers with his handwriting all over, a bong on the table crowded in with the contents of the sexy gift basket, a record player, records all over…

It’s a far cry from his Solar. And it weirdly does not smell like cigar smoke in spite of all the cigars.

“Hm. I don’t recall it looking this bad. Oh right, the washer is in the other apartment… Ah, that can wait.”

“Things have gotten a little out of hand, haven’t they. Oh well. Let’s get you fed at least, hm? When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”

He really isn't sure which part to address first. Stumbling through the clutter minefield of Cid's dwelling, he nearly stumbles over a washer part.

"You're kidding me..." It's unclear as to which thing that comment is directed at, maybe all of it. The bit about Barnabas and the stamps, the bit about Prince Dion just... just living here? Working at a bakery? He glances at the basket on the table.

Is that a--

"Fucking hell, Cid." That doesn't require a response. Not really. Stated as an observation almost. "A meal? Well I-" Oh yes. Yes, he remembers. "The scorpion tail stew..." When did he eat that though? Give him a moment to try to remember. No, he's far too distracted by all the visual noise. He's got to clean this place while Cid isn't looking. Or maybe while he is, what the fuck is he going to do to stop Clive? Flat nothing, that's what.

"Alright, alright. I see now I've definitely gotten used to it," he says with a sigh and crossed arms.

"No one's been keeping me in line, dropping by unexpectedly. ...Or if they do, they're not wont to complain."

Cid glances at Clive. Is this a challenge?

Regardless, Cid makes a face at the mention of the scorpion. "Never got the taste for it myself. Though I have eaten plenty of it. I've got something better."

He wags his finger at nothing and chuckles. "Oh, you're going to love this."

Cid pulls a box from the freezer. He taps the luscious photoshopping of ham and cheese into the cross section of the enlarged for detail Hot Pocket.

"It'll just take a few minutes."

He prepares the pastry appropriately according to the instructions and sets them up in his microwave.

"This place is just loaded with the best technology you've ever seen."

Edited 2023-09-28 09:57 (UTC)

"It's fine I just- I'm just a bit disoriented." It's not fine, he's going to clean it.

He leans in as Cid prepares the Hot Pocket™, picking up the box and peering over it with scattered curiosity and attention.

"Frozen. Why are you putting it in a sleeve of paper?" He's crowding Cid now, watching more pointedly, scowling with concentration on his ministrations. "What does the box do, here?"

Technology, he says.

Clive presses one of the buttons on the face of it, eliciting a high-pitched beep that sends him jerking back just a touch. He drops his hand to his side again, attempting to hide the faint embarrassment of being startled by it.

"Of course you are, it's disorienting," Cid says with a rumbling chuckle. He pats his back.

"Yeah, frozen. Keeps it unspoiled for damn near forever, as far as I can tell," Cid adjusts the sleeve one last time, now done fussing. "It says to on the instructions for 'crisping'. I figure whoever made it knows best."

Cid watches him touch one of the buttons, and similarly jump at the beep. He turns his head to stifle a laugh. "It's for cooking. Like magic," he says with the quirk of his lip.

"But yeah, it's a bit loud, isn't it?" Cid turns to press a few more buttons and hits Start. He turns back to Clive idly scratching his jaw. "Just a couple minutes. It'll ring again when it's done."

"Crisping." He echoes, mostly to himself. He does scowl at being called on his startle, but hardly fusses more than that. "It's going to take it from frozen to cooked in a couple of minutes?"

Wild. Though he can kind of do the same thing- given it would be incinerated, not cooked.

"Okay." He braces himself for it to be done, hovering awkwardly, watching it rotate oddly inside the glowing box. When it does ring, he still squints at it, grimacing at the unpleasant sound.

Even more so, despite that indeed, the thing does feel quite hot to the touch, when he bites into it, the center is still ice cold. He doesn't say anything. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be. Or not. Who knows. He doesn't want to complain at this point, food is food, and this is... oddly satisfying. It's buttery and full of more cheese than he could even consider putting in any one dish alone.

"Thank you." He mumbles, once he's finished a few bites of it. It still feels like a terribly strange dream. Still, Cid is here, right in front of him, alive and well like he never even left. Which is to say, Clive stares at him, uninterrupted, even as he eats his weird little meat pastry.

“Crisping!” he echoes back. “If you can believe it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cid replies as Clive continues to stare at him. Can he blame him? He definitely died in his arms and all. But it’s way too weird to keep on like this.

“You’re making me feel like I’ve sprouted another head here, Clive. Relax, would you?” He flaps his hand at the other man as he finds a pack of cigarettes. They tasted a little worse than cigars, a bit more like ash, plus they burned faster- but at least they didn’t taste like fucking fruit.

He lights a cigarette and takes a long inhale.

“Not half bad, is it?” Cid asks with a smirk. “May as well be in Sanbreque in the Emperor’s own patisserie, hmm?”

TDM #13

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